˚ ₊ ♡ ❰ BALLAD OF BROKEN SWORDS ❱
*✧ ─── ❝ ❪ FROM THE ASHES  ❫ ❞
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˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ ACT FOUR  ── respice finem 🏹 ⁺⑅

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CHILDREN OF ARDA DUOLOGY  ⋆ ☄.
♯ ❝ I WILL WALK BESIDE YOU ❞
CHAPTER FORTY FIVE ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*
˚ ₊ ♡ the third age ─── year 3019
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THE SILENCE THAT FOLLOWED THEIR TRIUMPH AT HELM'S DEEP FELT FAMILIAR TO GYDA. A REMINISCENT FEELING THAT BROUGHT back memories of the plains of Mordor. The billowing smoke and the strange calmness was eerily recognisable. The scars of the grasslands seemed to whisper of repeated tragedies...and in a way—they were. A past war cloaked under a new banner.

In the stillness of the aftermath, as the sun casted a low glow over the rolling hills and shadows danced over the fields, Gyda thought of her father.

She could almost hear the whispers of those who had fought and fallen, joining the wind that swept through Helm's Deep. As if the Valar granted them one final moment to speak their final goodbyes. Gyda remembered how she almost had felt her father's touch as the last remnants of battle sizzled out like a dying fire. She could remember hearing him in the wind.

And now on a different battlefield Gyda once again stood—alive.

The unity forged in the crucible of battle and the sorrow that clung to victory today like a shadow—it all mirrored the way she had stood on the plains of Mount Doom with her father's broken sword in her cradled in her arms and his blood still coating her skin.

The same sombre expressions she had worn, now adorned the faces of Rohan as they mourned their losses.

The wreckage that had befallen the city made her stomach churn. The smell of blood still thick in the air as the cobbled streets laid full of those recovering from battle and those who had not seen a new dawn rise.

Gyda walked through the winding streets of Helm's Deep, mindful of her steps, her boots echoing against the stone. The bloodstains on the cobbles seemed to seep into the foundation of the almighty stronghold, like a reminder of their loss.

Makeshift infirmaries had been established on different levels of the stronghold to tend to the wounded, and the healers worked tirelessly to mend broken bodies and shattered spirits. Their groans echoed through the air. But Gyda knew most ailments would not be healed by simple balm or a gentle caress. No. Most wounds would take months, years—centuries. If they could be healed at all.

Her own heart still ached, as if the cut had been made yesterday and not many years ago. 

She faltered in her step at the sight of a row of bodies covered in makeshift shrouds that awaited proper burial rites—it was the smallest one at the end of the line that made her breath stutter.

Slow and steadily, Gyda moved closer her heart heavy with grief.

Kneeling beside the smallest shrouded figure, Gyda gently brushed aside a corner of the cloth, revealing the face of a child.

But it was not Éothain.

The innocence that still lingered on the young face clashed with the harsh reality of war, and Gyda felt a lump form in her throat. The child's eyes were closed, as if in peaceful slumber, yet the pallor of death painted a stark contrast.

She clenched her jaw.

A shiver ran down Gyda's spine as she considered the unfairness of it all—tears welled in her eyes, and she whispered a quiet Elven prayer for the young soul.

Covering the child's face once more, Gyda rose to her feet, her steps heavier than before. Her eyes casted out above the stone wall, where her view of the grasslands revealed the people of Rohan working. Most of them loyal soldiers belonging to the company of Éomir's—at least the ones that were not wounded. They had begun a great and painful labour; gathering lost lives that laid in the fields. More wagons were carted around that she'd ever wished to have seen today.

And whilst the people of Rohan, and the fallen Elves of Lothlorién were treated gently and carefully, their dead enemies were not.

No Orcs remained alive; their bodies would be left uncounted. There would be no graves dug for them as they were gathered on mounds and lit aflame.

But for those who had fought valiantly against the darkness that threatened their lives, two mounds were raised.

Beneath the first rested the Riders of the Mark. Their horses, faithful companions in life and war, were laid alongside them. The scene brough to mind the grand tapestries that adorned the Halls of Edoras—epic tales of battles, victories and the unyielding spirit of the Riders. Gyda wondered if this battle, too, would be immortalized in such artistry. If the weavers could capture the essence of Helm's Deep. If they could depict the courage and sacrifice of those who stood against the darkness and be seen by future generations.

Gyda wondered if those generations would look upon those and be moved.

To the side, the second mound held the Elves of Lothlorien, their commander Haldir among them. He was placed there by his brother Rúmil, who had lamented his fall with crystal tears before retreating to his brother's bedside. He hadn't moved since, waiting for Orophin to open his eyes. Gyda prayed he would.

The mound had been adored with flowers and leaves, befitting of the graceful Elven warriors. The delicate flowers seemed to shimmer with a silver glow, a reflection of their spirits.

As the rays of sunlight bathed both mounds in a golden hue, Gyda took a step back, offering a silent farewell. The Elves and Men, side by side in death as they had become in battle.

With a soft sigh, Gyda moved back up the winding stone streets, passing by healers and a group of Lothlorién soldiers sitting together atop the stairs. Smoke billowed from a few of the houses spread throughout the courtyard where weary soldiers had gathered to rest and rejoice in their victory.

The smithery looked almost empty, save for a few blacksmiths and apprentices as they worked on repairing armour and weapons.

The anvil rang as a man brought his hammer down—like the chiming of a bell.

On the far end, where a group of barrels laid and haybales were spread the horse master's stable was silent. Few horses had survived the initial battle, and those who had lived were left in the care of Éomer outside the city walls to help cart away the orcs and their own people. 

Her hand trailed the intricate carvings on one of the wooden support beams, fingers dancing over the deep grooves and rigid edges.

"Gyda!"

She spun around at the sound of her name, wide eyes sparkling at the sight that greeted her.

Éothain was running, dirt coated and scratched up—but alive.

Her heart grew warm and hopeful and relieved laughter bubbled up from her throat.

"Gyda! We won!" His voice was cheerful and eager as he came barrelling into her figure.

She wrapped her own arms around his short frame, resting her hand atop his head. "We did." She breathed out. You did.

The boy peered up at her from beneath his thick lashes, and although the glimmer was still there, she also recognised the dim pain in his irises. "Have you been hurt, Éothain?" She crouched down, arms gliding down his face—his shoulders and down to his arms.

He paused, as if thinking—recounting the past hours, "I don't think so..." He breathed out as he glanced at the blood marring his tunic.

"It doesn't look like yours." Gyda assured him with a gently smile. "Have you found your sister and mother yet? They must have returned from the caverns by now."

He shook his head, freckles standing out in the sun, "They're probably helping the other healers in the main square. I wanted to look for you first—" He paused, nervously biting his lip. "I-I didn't know if you...if you returned."

Her gaze softened at his words and she cupped the boy's cheeks, wiping away the tears that had gathered and fell down his face. "It was so scary and dark and all I could do was hide." He admitted with a high-pitched voice.

"Oh. Éothain." She whispered softly, "It's alright, I promise. You did the right thing." She took his hand in her own and stood up.

Gyda remained silent and guided the boy towards the haybales and gently made him sit down.

The boy continued to cry and retell his story, and her heart ached with each hiccup that tore itself from his throat. She smoothened out his hair and rubbed his back in an attempt to bring him some comfort.

When his sobs turned into the occasional sniffle, Gyda gently pried his fingers from her tunic and lowered her head to meet his eyes. "Let us find your family, Éothain. They must miss you terribly." She suggested calmly.

Éothain wiped his eyes and nodded and Gyda stood back to her full height and held her hand out for the boy to take. Lacing their fingers together, the pair made their way towards the Main Square in look for Freda and his mother.

The Main Square bustled with activity as survivors worked diligently together to restore some semblance of normalcy. Provisions were gathered inside one of the larger houses, right next to where the healers tended tirelessly to the wounded and a greying men stood filling buckets with water while his wife handed out small cups.

As Gyda and Éothain approached the centre, she scanned the faces of those who had gathered, looking for any sign of Freda or the siblings' mother. The boy's grip on her hand tightened as they spotted a familiar figure sitting on the stone ledge of the fountain. Freda, with tear-streaked cheeks and a look of frantic worry, turned as they came into view.

Freda jumped up, pushed through the people and threw her arms around her brother before turning and doing the same to Gyda. "I'm glad you are both safe!" Freda exclaimed, her voice choked with emotions.

Gyda returned the hug. "I am too, Freda."

As Freda pulled back, wiping away the tears with the back of her hand, Éothain stood between them, his eyes bright with a mixture of joy and relief.

"Éothain!" Gyda watched as a blur sped passed her and a familiar women threw her arms around the young boy. "Oh Éothain! You're back." She carded her fingers through his hair.

"You're both back." Morwen looked up, her eyes were tired and weary and there was blood on her clothes and the rag she was still clutching in her hand.

The women slowly untangled herself from her son, and despite her fatigue offered her a heartfelt embrace. "We feared the worse." She whispered in her ear, "So many had fallen."

Gyda treasured the warm feeling in her gut—how long ago was it that she had felt a mother's touch? She could not remember she realised, when she had last hugged her mother, the memory too faded now.

"I mourn the losses with you," Gyda replied softly, her voice a gentle reassurance. "But Helm's Deep stands, and with it, the memory of those who fought valiantly. Their sacrifices won't be forgotten."

As they pulled back from the embrace, the Main Square around them continued its rhythmic dance of rebuilding and recovery.

Morwen, despite her slouching posture managed a weary but genuine smile. "We'll rebuild. For those we've lost and for those who still need us."

Gyda nodded, placing an encouraging hand on the woman's shoulder and squeezing.

"It seems someone is waiting for you." Morwen announced, her eyes averted to look at something behind the Elleth.

Glancing behind her, Gyda's eyes fell upon a figure shrouded in sunlight and dancing shadows at the edge of the Main Square.

Legolas.

Turning back toward the family, a small grin pulled at her lips, "I must leave you now." She placed her hands on both Freda's and Théodain's heads and ruffled their straw-coloured hair. "Perhaps we will meet again."

Gyda spun around and followed the cobblestone path as she approached Legolas, his kind blue eyes shining with a newfound light as he regarded her.

In a way she knew it also refleced in her own eyes.

The moment she was within reach, Legolas, as if pulled by an invisible force reached for her hand.

Warmth and a tingling sensation spread through her skin like wildfire upon the soft and gentle touch.

Intertwining her fingers through his own—Gyda basked in peace by his side in silence, something his mere presence always gifted her like a rare gem.

"It is strange to think that only a day ago we feared we'd never see another sunrise again." Gyda whispered softly, her eyes wandering around the Main Square.

Legolas' frown deepened at Gyda's words, a shadow passing fleetingly across his features. He tightened his grip on her hand, drawing her closer until she stood slotted at his side, their bodies pressed close together in a comforting embrace.

"It is a thought I'd rather not dwell upon." He admitted, his voice low and tinged with a hint of sorrow.

"Yet here we stand, bathed in the light of a new day." Gyda breathed out.

"Indeed, my dear Gyda." Legolas' voice was infused with warmth.

A blush overtook her features at the endearment he called her by so casually—so easily without hesitation or fear.

Legolas glanced down at her, noticing the faint red colour of Gyda's cheeks and a tender smile graced his lips. He squeezed her hand gently. "You need not blush Gyda." He murmured, "For with your presence such endearments come naturally to my lips. You are the light that guides me through the darkness, the warmth that fills my heart."

Gyda was almost jealous at the way he spoke so easily and poetically about his heart's affections whilst she could barely admit to the fluttering mixture of joy and disbelief at hearing such lovely words.

Legolas' eyes sparkled with love as Gyda placed her hand gently upon his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heart beneath her touch. Gyda swallowed her fear before speaking: "I want you to know...I hold no regrets for what happened between us."

His smile widened at her words—at the mention of their shared kiss.

She paused, mind drifting. Her vows, her duty her family's legacy. "I never dared dream of this, of someone to love—not when I found out who you were." She spoke honestly averting her gaze to the people bustling around the square.

"I know without a doubt Gyda, that our souls were destined to meet." He revealed softly, thumb caressing the skin of her hand. "And I know that I will love you for as long as I draw breath."

She breathed in deeply, "I know you speak without doubt or lies." She bit her lip, eyes looking up to meet his own. "But it is hard for me to think beyond my duties to the High-Queen, my duty to my family's legacy."

His gaze softened, "I understand Gyda," he said softly, "your duty to Elgarain and your legacy is a noble one, and I would never dare ask you to forsake it. But know this—I am not asking you to choose between your love for me and your obligations. Instead I'd wish to stand beside you as you fulfil them."

Gyda's heart swelled with gratitude at his words and the sincerity reflected in his eyes. A wave of certainty washed over her. "You would stand by me?" She asked, her voice barely a whisper.

Legolas nodded, his gaze unwavering. "Always." He vowed, his voice steady and sure. "For as long as you will have me, I will walk beside you."

Tears welled in Gyda's eyes at his unwavering devotion, her heart overflowing with love for the Ellon who had captured her heart so completely. With a trembling hand, she reached up to cup his cheek, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath her touch. "Thank you."

"I'm glad to see you two together...and safe,"

Gyda jumped, hand quickly retreating to her side at the familiar lilt of Aragorn's voice.

Nonchalantly, Gyda tried to take a small step away from Legolas, and focused her attention on Aragorn and Elgarain—who by the look of mirth in her eyes, barely managed to hold back a laugh.

Gyda cleared her throat, whilst Legolas remained unphased by the teasing looks in the eyes of their friends and just smiled upon their arrival. "We've just found one another." She paused, taking note of their intertwined hands. "As have you it seems." 

"I was in need of his assistance in the healing rooms," Elgarain explained. "There are more wounded than healers."

A sombre expression appeared on Gyda's face. "Are you..." She faltered, eyes darting to look at Aragorn and Legolas before back at Elgarain's pale face. "Are you able to keep up?" she eventually asked.

"Actually, I was hoping you could help me with something," Elgarain wondered. Then turned Legolas and Aragorn. "Could you give us a moment?"

The man nodded at her. "We'll go help with repairing the gates," Aragorn said, kissing her forehead before taking his leave. Legolas followed, though not without one last look over his shoulder at Gyda.

As soon as Legolas and Aragorn were out of sight, Elgarain softly took a hold of Gyda's arm and dragged her along to an empty corridor. "Please tell me we are not slowly losing our minds."

At the mere allusive mention of their strange experience on the battlefield Gyda's heart began to hammer in her chest and her fingers twitched at her side. Her right hand immediately found the comfort of the pommel of her sword.

Elgarain looked pale—sickly so and her cheeks were sunken in. She was worsening, so quickly and neither Elleth's knew why.

It scared Gyda to death.

Her shoulders tensed, worry clear in her eyes: "Whatever is happening, it is real and it is dangerous—Elgarain you look as if you should be laid to rest next to the dead."

The High-Queen winced at those words, but knew them to be true. "I feel even worse and I have been ever since we left Lothlórien." She took a trembling breath. "I was hoping it would get better with time but I'm no longer too proud to admit that my strength feels like it's slowly, somehow, fading but that's not what scares me."

"Then what is?" Gyda asked, worry clear in her voice.

Elgarain lifted her gaze. "Before the battle at Helm's Deep, when the Wargs attacked and we were fleeing towards the fortress, I felt this stabbing pain." She held her hand against her side.

Gyda's heart dropped—no it couldn't?

"Right here but there was no wound visible. But then you returned and I saw it was you who had been wounded." Her voice started shaking. "It was your wound and somehow I felt it too."

A sinking feeling settled in Gyda's gut, her own tunic was still marred red at the spot Elgarain touched. With trembling fingers she pushed her hair out of her face. "We both know Elgarain, whatever is happening, started when..." She took in a deep breath. "When you used Vilya to heal me."

"You don't know that—"

"Vilya calling to me, your fading strength—Elgarain something went wrong. What if I get hurt during this war or worse... I-I can't have anything happen to you because of me."

"If something does happen, it is because of me," she denied, feeling a stab in her heart. "I used a method I hardly know anything about."

"I worry Elgarain, I truly do. I don't know what to do, how to protect you from this." Gyda admitted quietly.

What was she to do? How was she supposed to protect Elgarain from herself? What if she had to sacrifice her own life for Elgarain—she would surely not survive either. How was she to fulfil her vow if she was to threatened the very safety of the one person she was meant to guard with her life?

Elgarain stepped forward, clearings take note of her inner turmoil and took Gyda's hand in her own, holding it gently. "Then let us find someone who might be able to help."

Her eyes softened, squeezing Elgarain's hand in return. "Would anyone know?"

"If only Lord Elrond was here," Elgarain sighed.

"He'd help only after scolding us." Gyda chuckled, but there was not much humour to be found. "but I wish so too."

Elgarain smiled. "Perhaps we could use a good scolding for getting into this predicament in the first place." She'd barely finished when another name crossed her mind. "Perhaps Gandalf knows something?"

Gyda nodded, pulling Elgarain's with her by the hand, "We must find him quickly then lest you get worse."

They followed the long hallways of the fortress, looking for a sign of the White Wizard, Gyda doing her best to lead them through the bustling crowd, keeping a tight hold on Elgarain as the Elleth stumbled on clumsy feet.

She caught the first glimpse of Gandalf as they neared the gates. A white robe in a sea of black and red. Suddenly she wondered if he used some form of magic to keep it clean, because the wizard seemed to shine bright as a star in the darkness surrounding them.

"Lass!" a familiar voice called out behind them.

Elgarain paused, forcing Gyda to come to a halt as well. They turned around and watched as Gimli made his way towards them. They could tell by the way he walked that he needed sleep, but they knew better than to tell him so.

"Gimli?" Elgarain asked as soon as he reached them. "Is everything alright?"

The dwarf nodded. "The king is setting out for Isengard. He's asked us to join him."

"When?" Gyda asked.

"Now."

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AUTHOR'S NOTE;
🫣 hello!

it's been like six months since we finished act three! Unlock-Your-Mind has been very busy with her dissertation and internship—which is why we tool this little break! but we are back in business 🎉🎊🥳🍾

Soooo enjoy 😉! There are a lot of fun, emotional and happy moments ahead! Please please please leave some love 💕