°•*⁀➷ 𝐁𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐀𝐃 𝐎𝐅 𝐁𝐑𝐎𝐊𝐄𝐍 𝐒𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒#🏹🌋⚔️
-', ༄ ❪ 𝙻𝙴𝙶𝙾𝙻𝙰𝚂 𝙶𝚁𝙴𝙴𝙽𝙻𝙴𝙰𝙵 ❫
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌ ﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
𝗶𝗻 𝘄𝗵𝗶𝗰𝗵 ━ gyda carries a legacy she
might not be able to bear ✧ ೃ༄*ੈ✩
❝ 𝙢𝙮 𝙢𝙤𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧 𝙬𝙖𝙨 𝙖 𝙜𝙚𝙣𝙞�...
*。☆。 ★。＼｜／。★ ˚ ₊ ♡ ❰ BALLAD OF BROKEN SWORDS ❱ *✧ ─── ❝ ❪ MIRACLES MAY HAPPEN ❫ ❞ ▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅ ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ 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 ▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅
━━ ˚ ₊ ♡ 🏹 ❝ 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.
