*。☆。
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˚ ₊ ♡ ❰ BALLAD OF BROKEN SWORDS ❱
*✧ ─── ❝ ❪ MIRACLES MAY HAPPEN  ❫ ❞
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˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ ACT THREE  ── face et spera 🏹 ⁺⑅

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CHILDREN OF ARDA DUOLOGY  ⋆ ☄.
♯ ❝ YOU WISH TO MAKE HIM PROUD ❞
CHAPTER FORTY ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*
˚ ₊ ♡ the third age ─── year 3019
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━━ ˚ ₊ ♡ 🏹
❝ 𝘸𝘦 𝙜𝙧𝙤𝙬. 𝘪𝘵 𝙝𝙪𝙧𝙩𝙨 𝘢𝘵 𝙛𝙞𝙧𝙨𝙩 ❞

THE WEIGHT OF THE SWORD IS UNFAMILAIR IN GYDA'S HANDS, MAN-MADE STEEL ALTHOUGH SHARP, NOT quite as masterfully crafted as the elvish blade that once belonged to her father. Her eyes wander of the other sword gathered in one of the black-smith's backrooms. Dented bladed, old ones even some that no longer held a sharpened edge.

The weapons were sparse, the armor even more so, but the blacksmiths and armorers toiled tirelessly, forging weapons and armor for the war approaching their doorstep. Torches flicker, casting dancing shadows on the walls. Gyda observes the blacksmiths, their faces smudged with soot, hammering out swords and spears, their rhythmic blows resonating through the air like an approaching war drum.

A sigh escapes her parted lips, hazel eyes glimmering in the torchlight as she sheaths her new sword into her scabbard. The weight feels uncomfortable at her side, but she has no choice. Her fingers wrap tightly around her glaive in determination.

Amidst the looming darkness, the men of Rohan gather in the keep, their faces etched with determination, fear and a small glimmer of hope. The air was thick with tension, the kind that precedes a storm.

The woman, children and elderly, their faces weary and worn as they silently move among the warriors, offering silent prayers and small tokens of luck. Some move among them, preparing bandages and healing herbs, or tend to the wounded with steady hands and words of comfort.

The sight reminds her of Elgarain, and her eyes travel around the courtyard in search for the grieving Elleth. A deep ache is burrowed deep in her own heart, at the loss of a close friend. She clenches her jaw in remembrance.

"Gyda!" She twirls around at the high-pitched calling of her name, watching as a bundle of straw-blonde hair comes bouncing toward her. The child-like innocence still glowing on her face, despite the danger that nears them.

"Freda." She breaths out as the girl wraps her arms around her middle, burrowing her face against her stomach.

Slowly she wraps her own arms around the young girl.

"Freda!" Another voice sounds out through the courtyard and a woman comes rushing toward them. Whilst unfamiliar to Gyda, the Elleth can see the resemblance clearly, from the arch of the noses to the shape of the eyes. Next to the woman, a familiar boy walks next to her. Éothain looks healthier than he did upon his arrival at Edoras. But there is a grimness to his features so unlike his sister's. His bright childlike eyes held a casted shadow in them as he looked around the keep, at the warriors preparing for Sauroman's army.

As Freda stepped back, hearing her mother's call, Gyda kneeled down, observing the young child with a keen eye. The girl's knees were scrapped and dirt marred her sun-kissed face but she seemed unharmed. Upon further inspection so did the boy.

Pushing back the girl's hair behind her ears, she smiles. "I'm glad you arrived safely Freda."

The girl hums, "Your friend helped me." She bawled up her fist and showed it proudly. "She told me to be brave."

Gyda chuckles, ruffling her hair before standing back up. "I'm proud of you Freda."

"Thank you." A watery smile broke out on the face of the woman as she regards the Elleth. "for taking care of them."

Her gaze softens, and she nods. "They did the hardest part themselves. Your children are very strong."

The blonde grasped her hands, squeezing them tightly in her own. "Thank you." She repeated more firmly, a knowing glint in her eye.

Another call of her name brought her attention away and she spots one of the blacksmiths motioning her closer. Turning to look at the small family again she speaks; "Stay safe, and go to the caverns soon, I fear our enemy marches closer than we would expect."

Gyda turns around, catching the gazes of the kids one last time before she marches through the gathered people. Next to the blazing fire, with soot stained skin and sweat on the top of his brow, stands Éoden. An aged man with grey hair and sunken skin but despite it, his grin is youthful ─ cheeky even. And in a way it reminds her of her father.

Gyda wonders longingly as she rests against a group of stacked crates if this is what old age would have looked on him ─ even if it is impossible to imagine with their elven heritage. She firmly believes Gyldorn would have been happy.

Shaking away her thoughts, she pushes herself off, "You called Éoden?" She muses.

The man nods, wiping away the sweat on his forehead with the back of his brow. "Your friend is in need of you I believe."

She frowns for a moment before following his outstretched hand toward the back of the room where surely Gimli stands hammering away.

"Thank you." She nods her head in a parting gesture before weaving her way through the working smiths and armorers with a grace only elves possess.

"Gimli." She calls out.

The dwarves head shoots up and she flinches as he narrowly misses hammering down his own thumb. "Ah lass, there you are!"

Gyda hums, moving closer to peer over his shoulder. "The smith said you were looking for me."

He puffs out a heavy breath, "Indeed!" He joyfully replied, before his face turns more serious. "I prepared this for you." He turns to a table, and pulls away a dirtied cloth.

Gyda blinks as a sword is revealed, glimmering in the dancing lights of the flames.

"I know you lost yer own sword." There is a hint of sadness in his tone as he continues to speak.

"It had been my father's," she shakily replies, eyes glazing over with tears.

"Well it may not be the sword you wish for, but it surely is better than the one you're carrying right now."

She chuckles at his gruff declaration before grasping the freshly made sword in her hand. The grip feels nice and comfortable, and the edge glints sharply. "It's okay," she admits, twirling the blade around her body to feel the weight and balance.

"Okay?!" He huffs, glaring up at her. "I'll have you known that Dwarvish blades are among the finest in Middle-Earth! I dare say better than the frilly things your lot calls swords."

"We've mastered the craft long before you were alive." Gyda counters easily, looking closer to the sword to inspect the craftmanship.

He huffs.

"I merely jest Gimli." She lowers the sword, a genuine smile on her face that cracks the normally cold façade she wears. "It is a beautiful sword, truly."

"I hope it serves you well in the battle to come," Gimli murmurs softly and Gyda nods in thanks.

With those parting words, Gyda moves again, outside where the air is less diluted and the gentle breeze caresses her skin.

Her eyes snap open at the sounds of grunts and groans and the familiar sound of metal. Brows furrowing together, Gyda listens carefully for the source. Moving along the cobbled path, higher and higher until she reaches one of the look outs atop one of the towers.

There she finds a surprising sight.

Slicing and thrusting a dull sword at a wooden post ─ Éothain.

"A dull sword is far more lethal for you than an enemy," she says out loud, startling the young boy as he drops his sword. It clatters on the ground. "Dropping it is also a surely way to perish."

She doesn't sugar-coat her words, she'd seen the fire in his eyes earlier. The sheer will. He won't do well with honeyed words. Not when he knows what is approaching on the horizon.

He crosses his arms securely over his chest, jutting his chin up in defiance. But Gyda's keen eyes still see the way his bottom lip trembles or how he shifts on his feet.

Gyda let's her own crossed arms fall by her side, shoulder untensing as she regards him. "Why are you not with your sister and mother?" She asks instead.

He mutters something ─ and despite her elvish ears picking up the unsure words she repeats herself.

"I want to fight." He grumbles out, throwing his arms back.

"It is dangerous." She informs him stoically.

"I know that." He huffs, "I know what it takes."

"I once believed that too." She says earnestly.

Innocent eyes peer up at her, the defiant stance he held slowly slacken as curiosity takes over. His eyes trail to the broch on her chest indicating her status as Head of the Guard.

"Do you know about the Last Alliance of Elves and Men?" She questions.

Éothain bites his lip before shaking his head. "When I was an Elfling all I ever wanted was to fight, like my father and his before him. Our legacy was our warrior will. I was proud of it, of the mantle we carried even then." She whispers. "It was when Sauron's forces threatened Middle-Earth that my wish to proof myself worthy arose."

Her eyes glance at Éothain as he devotedly listens with wide eyes.

"I was overconfident. I had skills and my mind was sharp from the lessons my father taught me, but I hadn't seen what war was truly like." She swallows back the lump in her throat. "I fought, for I had too. But I had never been so scared."

She takes in a deep breath. "I thought I was going to die. An enemy bested me." She squeezes her eyes shut. "My father sacrificed himself to save me. Many men, elves and dwarves sacrificed their lives during the war for the greater good ─ to protect the ones they love."

Silence hung over them, "My father died in battle." Éothain says quietly, "I don't remember his face anymore."

Her heart breaks for the boy as tears stream down his cheeks and he looks up at her. The sadness in them mirrors her own, reflecting the grief and pain. "You wish to make him proud. Like I do." She states softly.

He nods, wiping away his tears.

Standing across from him Gyda sees only herself and only sees the truth she already had known but never spoken out loud. "We already have Éothain."

"How?" He cries out softly.

"Because we live for them and through us their spirit lives forth." She approaches him, placing a gentle, caring hand on his shoulder. "Because we are our father's children. How could we ever not make them proud?"

He opens his mouth to speak, when suddenly the bells toil and a shout echoes through the courtyard below.

She rushes forward, fearful their enemies have appeared only to watch Gimli and Legolas rush through the courtyard.

As if sensing her eyes, Legolas looks up and catches her eyes. He's smiling, eyes glimmering. "Gyda!" He shouts, "You must come! He has returned!"

She frowns, unsure of his meaning but the desperate lilt of his voice makes her move. She turns to look at Éothain. "I will find you later. If you are sure, I will help you, I promise."

He nods but, Gyda is already dashing down the stairs.

She follows Legolas through the pathways and archways, they move till they reach entrance hall of the keep Gyda remembers Elgarain had been working in. For a moment she worries something might have happened to the Elleth, but then she recalls the Ellon's words.

She halts in her tracks the moment she turns the corner, torches flicker warm light and casting a glow on the people inside the room. Her breath hitches at the sight.

For Elgarain is standing in the arms of the man she loves.

The man Gyda believed to be death.

Aragorn.

And with him, her father's sword had returned once more.

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AUTHOR'S NOTE;
With the end of act three close in sight, Gyda is finally starting to heal from her trauma more! She needed several parallels of herself in others to start forgiving herself but she's slowly doing it! Happiness is in sight for my bby girl but there are still some hurdles on the way!

Thank you for reading !