˚ ₊ ♡ ❰ BALLAD OF BROKEN SWORDS ❱
*✧ ─── ❝ ❪ THE ROAD OF THE DEAD ❫ ❞

⋆ 🌪. CHAPTER FIFTY TWO✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*
˚ ₊ ♡ rohan: dunharrow ─── act four

❝ 𝙬𝙚 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝙪𝙣𝙨𝙥𝙚𝙘𝙩𝙖𝙘𝙪𝙡𝙖𝙧
𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴, 𝘸𝘦'𝘷𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙛𝙖𝙧, 𝙨𝙪𝙧𝙫𝙞𝙫𝙚𝙙
𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩. 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘯 𝘪𝘧 𝘸𝘦
𝙙𝙚𝙘𝙞𝙙𝙚𝙙 𝘵𝘰 𝙨𝙪𝙧𝙫𝙞𝙫𝙚 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 ❞

*✧ ─── A FIRE BURNED LOW, ITS GLOW CASTING LONG FLICKERING SHADOWS AGAINST THE WALL OF THE MOUNTAIN. SMOKE DRIFTED IN slow spirals toward the dark night sky, carrying the faint smell of pine. Gyda sat close to embers, her cloak drawn tight around her shoulders, the cold of Dunharrow biting even through the wool. A crunch of gravel broke the quiet.

Gyda turned her head and her eyes found Galion. His cloak pulled close around him, golden hair like spun gold in the light of the flames. His steps were as soft as falling ash, but his eyes carried the same unease that lingered over the whole camp.

He gave her a faint smile as he lowered himself beside her.

"Should you not be resting mellon nin?" Gyda turned to him, "Your journey must have been tiresome?"

"Sleep does not come easily beneath this mountain." Both their gazes drifted to the narrow opening in the distance. "The air itself feels restless." He paused, almost unsure before speaking again. "The men murmur of spirits and oath unfulfilled. I thought such tales would fade with time."

Gyda clenched her jaw. "They never do." She said quietly, gaze fixed on the flames. "Some things the world does not forget—nor forgive."

Above them, the stars flickered faintly, through a veil of clouds, as though even they hesitated to look upon the dark road ahead.

She followed their dim shimmer with her eyes, tracing the ancient constellations she had once known so well. The ones her mother had dotingly traced with her finger. Once, their names had been songs upon her tongue—melodies sung in the twilight of Lindon when the world was young and unscarred. Times when Gyda had not yet known the true horrors of the world.

But tonight, their light seemed colder, farther away, their music faded into silence.

Rustling broke the quiet once more as familiar voices echoed from close by. Her eyes lifted, and despite the heaviness that pressed against her heart, a faint smile touched her lips.

Merry appeared from behind one of the tents, the polished edge of his small helm catching the firelight. His armour gleamed awkwardly, the straps too large for him, and the sword he held swung just a little too heavily in his grip. Yet his face was bright with determination, almost naively stubborn in its courage.

He gave his sword an experimental set of swings, behind him Eowyn encouraged him forward with a bight smile. "To the smithy." she said, her voice both kind and commanding. She gave him a playful push between the shoulders. "go!"

Merry turned, huffing a little at her teasing, and then stopped short when he noticed Gyda sitting by the fire. His expression lit up immediately. "Evening!" he called, his small voice carrying cheerfully through the gloom as he bounded closer

Gyda chuckled faintly, "Hello Merry." she said, warmth creeping into her tone despite the heaviness that lingered in her chest. Her eyes swept over his armor—comically large, ill-fitted, but worn with such pride it was almost noble. "You look like a true warrior."

Merry's face flushed red to the tips of his ears. He puffed up slightly, both hands tightening on the sword's hilt. "Thank you, Gyda!" he said with a small bow, his grin utterly guileless.

"Now along you run to the smithy," she said, her tone fond but firm, her gaze lifting briefly to Éowyn's over the halfling's head. A shared look passed between the two women—mutual understanding, unspoken and wordless. In Éowyn's eyes, Gyda saw something familiar: that quiet, steadfast courage that grew in silence, not in song.

Merry nodded quickly, nearly tripping over his scabbard as he turned. "Right then! Smithy it is!" he announced, trying his best to sound like a soldier taking orders. As he disappeared into the rows of tents, the faint ring of his armor echoed like a bell in the night, fading gradually into the stillness.

Gyda watched him go, her smile softening into something wistful. "Such spirit," she murmured. "If only courage alone could win this war."

"You should not encourage him." Another voice carried above the chatter of camp.

Eowyn's spirited smile faded as he posture tensed. Her head inclined sideway to look upon the person that had spoken: Eomir. "You should not doubt him."

"I do not doubt his heart, only the reach of his arm." Eomir turned away from the flames to look at her as others snickered at his remark.

"Why should Merry be left behind, he has as much cause to go to war as you." She paused and Gyda watched her curiously as she continued, softer this time. "Why can he not fight for those he loves?"

Everyone remained quiet and after a moment Eowyn turned away from the group.

Éowyn lowered herself beside the fire with a quiet sigh, her gaze following the path Merry had taken. For a long time, neither of them spoke. The fire crackled softly between them, and the wind whispered across the high valley—cold, thin, carrying the faint sound of the banners snapping against their poles. From somewhere deep within the mountain, a low tremor seemed to hum, so faint it might have been imagination.

"The men whisper about the Dimholt road," Éowyn said at last, her eyes still fixed on the dark curve of the mountainside. "They say strange voices stir in the stone. Do you believe such tales?"

Gyda's gaze followed hers toward the looming shadow of the mountain. The air there seemed to thicken, colder, heavier, as though the stone itself drew breath.

"I believe," she said, "that some oaths echo louder than death."

The words lingered in the cold air between them. Éowyn turned her head slightly, but Gyda's eyes had drifted away again—past the fire, past the camp, to the dark road that wound into the heart of the mountain.

As the night deepened, more figures began to gather by the fire. The faint crunch of boots and soft murmurs of greeting stirred Gyda from her thoughts. Gimli arrived first, muttering something about "the cold biting worse than an orc's teeth," as he lowered himself onto a flat stone. His armor clinked softly as he shifted, the firelight catching the silver rings of his mail.

"Still brooding over the mountain, are you?" he asked, glancing up at Gyda through his thick brows.

Before she could reply, a shadow moved behind him—tall, graceful. Legolas emerged from the dark like a wraith of light, his hair glimmering faintly in the fire's glow, his steps silent even on the loose gravel. He took his place beside Gyda with quiet ease, offering her a brief, knowing look. The fire reflected in his eyes, turning them to shards of bright steel.

Not long after, more shapes took form in the dark. The twins came next—Elladan and Elrohir, their likeness to Elrond unmistakable. They moved with quiet purpose, their cloaks of twilight-grey catching faint silver threads of starlight as they approached. They greeted Gyda and Legolas in the old way, a hand to the heart, a soft murmur in Sindarin: "Mae govannen, mellon nîn."

"Mae g'ovannen," Gyda returned, though her voice was distant, her thoughts still half-bound to the whispering dark beyond.

Finally, Halbarad arrived, his steps heavy with the weariness of long miles. His cloak was travel-stained, his face drawn, but his presence—like Aragorn's—carried quiet authority. He nodded in greeting, lowering himself beside Gimli with a tired sigh.

Gyda pulled her cloak tighter around her shoulders. Despite the warmth of the flames, she felt the cold creeping into her bones. A deep chill that had nothing to do with the wind. Her thoughts drifted again to Elgarain, to the fragile light that pulsed through their shared bond. Could she feel it, even now, fading a little more with every breath? Like a call that echoed more faintly with each passing second? How long did they have? Her heart stuttered at the mere possibilities.

Legolas turned his head slightly, sensing her quiet unrest. "You are far away again," he murmured.

Gyda moved to face him fully, and the Ellon took her hands in his own and brought them closer to him. The warmth of his skin moved through her body and settled deep in her bones. However, before she could speak her thoughts, something else caught her attention.

From between tents and flickering torched, Elgarain was hurrying toward them, a frown marring her features with worry. Gyda tensed immediately.

"He's leaving," Elgarain announced without delay, the lilt in her voice betraying her concern. "Alone."

There was no need to say more, they all understood. Aragorn would take the Dimholt road.

"So he thinks," Halbarad said, getting to his feet. "I'll gather the company. We'll wait for you at the entrance of the road beneath the mountain."

Gyda's hand was already on her scabbard, fingers curling around the pommel with determination.

Elgarain nodded at him, grateful. Then her gaze turned to the others. "I know we all have our fears and doubts. The path of the death will not be an easy one to take. But I will take it nonetheless, because it is the path Aragorn has chosen to go. Will you come with us?"

Gyda knew that Elgarain would not blame anyone for their choice—if it be the road of the dead or the journey to Minis Tirith. But Gyda already knew that she'd follow Elgarain to whichever end of the earth and so she would trust her friend if she wished to follow Aragorn.

Gyda stood, posture rigid but steadfast, "I promised my sword to Frodo, I shall do the same for Aragorn, whichever road he chooses is the one I will take."

Elgarain smiled. "Allon allen, nesa."

Legolas got to his feet from beside her, his arm brushed her own. "As will I."

With a heavy sigh Gimli followed. "Well, you Elves know nothing of stone and mountains, you'll need a Dwarf with you." He smiled. "I will always follow that lad."

Elladan and Elrohir stood with graceful movements and bowed with their fists placed upon their hearts.

"Thank you, my friends," Elgarain said. "Our horses are stalled with his. I'm sure we'll find him there."

Gyda turned to look at Eowyn. "Eowyn, may I ask you to look after Merry as you take the road to Minis Tirith? I would be at ease to know someone will look out for him."

A moment passed before the blonde nodded, "Of course. I will watch him as if he is my own kin."

"For that, you have our deepest thanks, my Lady," Elgarain said with a nod.

Gyda watched as Elgarain turned, brown hair swerving in the wind. Every hint of exhaustion pushed aside with the knowledge of her lover path. The others followed close behind, a solemn heaviness between them as the path they had to take had been decided. As they rounded the corner, she could see Brego had been saddled up and Aragorn was now leading him by the reigns, away from the encampment.

"Just where do you think you're off to?" Gimli's voice boomed through the night as they hurried closer.

Aragorn halted, his shoulders tensing slightly, as though he'd expected this to happen. He turned, a frown carved on his face as he shook his head. "Not this time," he spoke firmly, "this time you must stay."

"How can you say such a thing?" Elgarain said, taking a step forward.

"It is too dangerous," he said, an ache in his voice that she recognized as worry.

Gyda watched as Elgarain took another step closer and took his hand in hers. "Every road we take from here is dangerous. I'd rather face that with you because I've tried without you before and I couldn't bear it."

Silence lingered as her words seemed to slowly crumble his last resolve.

"Besides," Legolas joined in, already holding Arod by his reigns. "Have you learned nothing of the stubbornness of Dwarves?"

"You might as well accept it," Gimli grinned. "We're going with you laddie."

"When we started this journey we all knew it was not without danger—I will not abandon my promise." Gyda added surely.

"And not just us," Galion added. "Your kinspeople are gathering at this very moment."

The last of his walls were lowered and Aragorn finally nodded. "Then, I'm glad for your company."

They saddled their horses, while Elladan was quick to gather some provisions for the road while Gyda noticed Elgarain quickly gathering supplies in a small leather pouch. Gyda only fastened her cloak tighter around her neck before gently carding her fingers through Bregdan's mane.

As they passed through the sleeping camp, the firelight trembled across the faces of the men who still lingered wakeful. Slowly they got to their feet, some calling out Aragorn's name or whispering among each other why he would flee. But as the small company neared the dark cleft at the mountain's root—the mouth of the Dimholt road—all voices faltered. The murmurs faded to nothing. Even the crackle of the distant fires seemed to die away, swallowed by the breathless hush that clung to the air.

Surely, the men of Rohan thought, none but madmen would tread that path.

The Grey Company waited there as promised, their horses restless, cloaked forms half-shadow and half-flesh in the waning starlight. The wind from the mountain carried no scent, no sound, only the chill of things long dead.

Halbarad urged his horse forward, the steel of his bridle glinting faintly in the gloom. "We did not come all this way to let you face this alone, my friend," he said, his voice quiet but steady as stone.

Aragorn bowed his head, the faintest tremor in his breath. "Forgive me," he murmured.

"There is no need," Halbarad replied, his tone soft but resolute, a vow more than a reassurance.

For a heartbeat, the world seemed to still—the only movement the ghostly flicker of cloaks in the cold wind. Then Aragorn turned his horse toward the mountain, and without another word, they rode.

The campfires faded behind them, their glow shrinking to embers swallowed by the dark. Ahead loomed the narrow path; shadowed, silent, carved between steep, jagged walls that seemed to close upon them like the jaws of some ancient beast. The path was just wide enough for two horses to ride beside each other. The trail wound upward, curling around the foot of the mountain and led them further towards the forest where they would find the entrance to the Path of the Dead.

Gyda's hand tightened on the reins. The stillness pressed upon her ears until she could almost hear the weight of her own heartbeat. Her thoughts turned inward, down paths of memory she would rather not walk.

What would she feel when she looked upon the oathbreakers? When her eyes met the shades of men who had once sworn to serve light and had turned away from it? Would she feel pity—or would the old anger consume her whole?

All her teachings had placed oaths above all things. Oaths, and the weight of words spoken before the stars. She could almost hear her father's voice again, low and steady, as it had been long ago beneath the eaves of the Greenwood. The firelight had cast long shadows that night, and she had been just a girl, still learning to braid her hair in the warrior's fashion.

"Remember this, dilthen meathor her father had said, as he sharpened his sword with calm, deliberate strokes. "An oath is not a chain to bind you—it is a mirror. It shows the truth of who you are when all else is stripped away."

He had looked at her then, his eyes gleaming with the faintest trace of sorrow. "Break it," he had warned softly, "and you break yourself. The world will forget many things, but not treachery sworn before flame and star."

The memory was as sharp as the mountain air. She could still see the fine tremor of his hand as he set aside the blade, hear the weight in his tone when he spoke.

"--Galion, I have to ask you something and as your Queen I demand an honest answer."

Gyda's attention stirred at once. Elgarain's voice, clear as birdsong, though touched with something fragile floated through the chill air. It broke the silence of their small company like a bell tolling softly in mist.

Galion flashed the High-Queen his infectious smile. "As you command, Tarinya."

Gyda's grip on her reins tightened, the leather biting into her palms. The air had grown colder as they ascended, but it wasn't the wind that made her shiver.

"Do our people resent me for leaving?"

The words fell quietly, but they cut sharper than any blade. Gyda's breath caught. How long had that question lived unspoken upon her Queen's tongue? How many nights had Elgarain lain awake beneath strange stars, wondering if her people cursed her for following a shadowed road beyond the borders of Lindon?

Gyda's chest tightened painfully. To hear such doubt from the one she had sworn to protect felt like a wound all its own. Elgarain, who had borne the weight of a crown and the love of her people with grace that could shame the stars, now doubted that love would endure her absence.

Galion's smile faded, his brow furrowing as though the question had turned him to stone. Gyda could almost see the thoughts turning behind his eyes. "Your presence is missed, Tarinya," he said at last. "Considering the secret nature of the Fellowship, not everyone understands why exactly you left. While yes, some are hurt by your choice, I have not heard anyone speak of you with resentment."

She raised a questioning brow.

"You are loved by your people, El," he said softly.

"Thank you, mellon nin."

He bowed his head at her. "Now, if I may, I have a question myself."

She eyed him, suspicious at his jesting tone. "Alright."

"What exactly has happened to my close hearted friend and her princeling?"

Her heart stuttered mid-beat, the words striking as suddenly as a thrown dagger. Trust Galion to wield mischief as deftly as he did his bow. There was laughter in his tone, light and teasing, but beneath it lingered that uncanny sharpness he carried into every battle—he had seen too much of her, perhaps; read too much between silences.

"I heard that!" Gyda called out.

Galion's laughter carried easily between the mountain walls, warm and alive against the cold. It rolled through the narrow pass like sunlight caught between stone, and for a heartbeat, even the oppressive shadow of the mountain seemed to ease.

"You were supposed to," he called back, glancing over his shoulder until his bright eyes caught hers. They shared that brief look: half irritation, half fondness and she found herself exhaling a breath she hadn't realised she'd been holding.

Elgarain's grin was unmistakable, even in the dim light. "Sadly, I do not know much. Though I have wondered about the truth of it as well."

Gyda tilted her chin, feigning regal disinterest as her gaze slipped away toward the dark horizon ahead. "I rather think such conversations have no place among company, nor on dangerous roads."

"What about you Legolas?" Galion continued, pretending not to hear his friend. "You have somehow opened Gyda's heart, care to explain how you did it? Because I have yet to determine if you have earned her affections."

Legolas's laughter was low and unhurried, as though such matters could not possibly concern him. Still, there was gentleness in his eyes when he turned to her. "Then rest assured I know her well enough not to talk of things she doesn't wish to disclose."

Gyda's chest softened. The answer was simple, but it rang true. He had always known when to speak and when to remain silent, when her pride demanded distance, and when her silence begged understanding.

Her heart warmed at his restraint, at the quiet steadiness that seemed to anchor her even here, at the edge of shadow. A small smile touched her lips, unbidden yet unashamed, and for the briefest of moments, her eyes gleamed with something dangerously close to tenderness.

Galion watched the exchange with a thoughtful cast about his mouth. After a beat he returned her look and smiled, slow and pleased. "It seems I shall be at peace then," he said.

"What about your own heart?" Elgarain asked with a sly smile. "How is the Lady Arwen doing?"

Upon hearing the mention of his sister, Elrohir turned around swiftly. While Elladan only laughed and Galion pretended not to see the stern look of the Ellon. Which was truly quite a feat, considering the likeness of the stern look Lord Elrond would often wear was very close. There were very few known to withstand that gaze.

"She is lovely as always," Galion said, a lightness to his voice that made it sound like he might float if he could. "Though I do not see her as often as I wish."

"I am sure she shares the same sentiment my dear friend." Gyda offered with a warm smile, leading her own horse closer to his.

"I trust you on that, seeing as you are now as experienced on this matter as I am," he replied with an equal warm smile.

"I am not above toppling you off of your horse Galion." She threatened.

The Ellon faked a shocked expression, causing Elgarain to burst into bright laughter. For a moment, the darkness of mountain was lit by the warmth of years of companionship rekindled by a bright flame.

As they drove on the path became wider and the mountain slopes started to disappear between thick dark trees. They talked of their adventures, though both Elgarain and Gyda were careful in sharing too many details with their friend. They mentioned nothing of Frodo and Sam, afraid of evil ears listening in. But the story of Gandalf's death and return was shared, as well as Elgarain's abduction by the Uruk-Hai and the chase Gyda, Aragorn, Gimli and Legolas had set upon. Though they didn't mention the dreams they shared or how intertwined their spirts had become.

Slowly the forest became thicker, and their voices died away, stifled by the shadows that seemed to inhabit the trees.

Their horses bristled nervously, and it took them much effort to keep the animals moving. Soon, Gyda could spot ancient stones between the trees. Strange symbols were carved into the rock, far too deep to be made with any knife. A shiver crawled down her spine and she turned her gaze away.

At last, they came to a small glade at the foot of the mountain. A single stone stood tall in the middle of the open place between the trees. The horses refused to pass it, forcing them to leave the animals behind and continue on foot. Hopefully they would find them again, though considering the way of the Rohirrim, it was more likely the horses would find them instead.

They continued across the glade and through the dark foliage. No one spoke, no one hardly seemed to breathe. The air grew colder and heavier, pressing down on her like a cloak that was far too heavy, forcing to drag her down.

Finally, they came to a halt. Gyda shared a look with Elgarain and as one, they moved towards the front of their company, followed closely by Galion, Legolas and Gimli. At the head of the company stood Aragorn together with Halbarad. When her eyes fell upon why they halted, she couldn't stop the small gasp escaping her.

A dark door gaped before them, carved from the stone of the mountain itself. The same strange symbols she'd seen on the stones were chiselled in the pillars on both sides of the door here. The language was unknown to her but her heart understand its meaning: turn back or meet your doom.

"The very warmth of my blood seems stolen away," Gimli muttered beside her.

"Only rot and deceit lives beyond those doors." Gyda murmured with caution.

"The way is shut." Legolas regarded the carvings on the stones, "it was made by those who are dead...and the dead keep it."

For a moment none of them moved, facing the path before them with heavy hearts. Then Aragorn lit one of the torches he'd taken from the encampment and stepped forward. "I do not fear death," he spoke and disappeared within the darkness.

Gyda tightened her hand around the pommel of her sword and she stepped beneath the door.

we are soooo sorry for such a long wait but we just did not have the time to write. Our goal is still to finish this story before the end of the year. so finger's crossed. Please leave some love on this chapter!.

EVISH TRANSLATIONS:

mellon nin ─── my friend

Maegovannen, mellon nîn ─── well met my friend

Mae g'ovannen ─── well met

Allonallen, nesa ─── thank you sister

dilthen meathor ─── little warrior

tarinya ─── my queen