BALLAD OF BROKEN SWORDS ( LEGOLAS )

𝟬𝟬𝟵 ━━ a warrior's will

*。☆。
★。＼｜／。★
˚ ₊ ♡ ❰ BALLAD OF BROKEN SWORDS ❱
*✧ ─── ❝ ❪ A WARRIOR'S WILL ❫ ❞
▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅
˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ ACT ONE  ── ad melinora 🏹 ⁺⑅

═════════ ☆•° °•☆ ═════════
CHILDREN OF ARDA DUOLOGY  ⋆ ☄.
♯ ❝ NEVER LOSE YOUR FIRE ❞
CHAPTER NINE ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*
˚ ₊ ♡ the third age ─── year 2950
▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅

━━ ˚ ₊ ♡ 🏹
❝ 𝘪 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘦𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝙛𝙞𝙣𝙙 𝘢 𝙬𝙖𝙮, 𝘰𝘳 𝙢𝙖𝙠𝙚 𝘰𝘯𝘦 ❞

*✧ ─── HER FATHER USED TO SPEAK ABOUR MIRKWOOD AS IF IT WAS A STORY SPUN FROM FAIRYTALES, AND GYDA HAD LISTENED WITH BATHED BREATH BUT NOW STANDING AMONG THE WOODLAND ELVES SHE FELT THE FAÇADE HER FATHER CREATED CRUMBLE. It was still grant and awe-inspiring, even as they descend further below the earth and warm light illuminated from the walls where torches hung. But there was a certain coldness that lived inside the floor, almost as if it was alive and breathing.

Gyda had tried to shake off the feeling as she walks side by side with Galion, ignore the shiver that tries to finds its way up her spine. She ignores the way their escort eyes them warily, or how the ones behind them clutch their swords. She feels Galion exude the same anxious feeling, she notes it in the way his fingers twitch as if fiddling with an invisible arrow.

Cerwyn looks rigid, a strange sight for he normally looks as if he flows on the wind, but she cannot blame the older elf. Their first encounter went far from perfect and she knows it was not her place to defy the words of a king, even in defense of her own princess. She wonders how her father would reply, how he would react to the blatant disrespect. She knows she's not strong with words, and that she possesses no silver tongue. Her father called her brazen and unapologetic, for the fire in her eyes should not be tamed or kept as embers. Her mother just called her, her father's daughter.

"When shall we be expected to start training?" Gyda's voice hides her nerves well, a trait she inherited from her father.

Lanthir says nothing as they turn another corner, and walk down a steep set of stairs that leads to a lone corridor. Gyda almost feels like they are led down to their death with every step they descend. The Woodland kingdom is a stark contradiction to the lush and warmth of Imladris and Lindon and she wonders what might haunt these dark halls, what darkness might have walked beside her, which ghost traces her steps.

"When will training start." Gyda repeats, voice firm and unwavering, a clear indication she commands an answer—or the very least an acknowledgement. She had been no stranger to doubtful glances or unsure eyes, but she will not tolerate them from strangers. She had proved herself more than she had hoped to have needed to, and she was certain she would not repeat such actions here of all places.