°•*⁀➷ 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 ❱ *✧ ─── ❝ ❪ DARKNESS COMES KNOCKING ❫ ❞ ▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅ ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ ACT THREE ── face et spera 🏹 ⁺⑅
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═════════ ☆•° °•☆ ═════════ CHILDREN OF ARDA DUOLOGY⋆ ☄. ♯ ❝ THERE SEEMS NO END TO THEM ❞ CHAPTER FORTY TWO ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ˚ ₊ ♡ the third age ─── year 3019 ▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅
THE NIGHT HUNG HEAVY OVER THE ANCIENT FORTRESS OF HELM'S DEEP, A TANGIBLE shroud that clung to the stone walls like a veil of impending doom. A cold wind whispers through the narrow mountain pass, carrying with it the scent of fear and the distant echoes of approaching war. The inhabitants of the keep, a motley alliance of Men, Elves, and Dwarves, stood shoulder to shoulder, their eyes focusing on the dark horizon where the enemy lurks.
King Théoden, his face etched with the lines of both age and the burdens of leadership, surveying his people with a solemn gaze. The weight of responsibility bore down on him as he sees in their eyes a mixture of determination and trepidation. His hand clenches the hilt of his sword, a silent vow resonating through his very being that brings hope to the people around him.
Arrows were drawn, swords unsheathed, and armor clanked like a distant thunderstorm as the defenders of Helm's Deep took their positions. The narrow causeway leading to the fortress was the only way in, and the enemy knew it. Torches flickered, casting long shadows that danced across the cold stone walls.
As the first drums of war sounded in the distance, the tension in the air became palpable and Gyda felt it deep within her bones.
"It won't be long now." Legolas says softly, and Gyda can feel the air shift as if the world is moved by his words.
A white flash lights up the valley, followed by a loud crack of thunder that rattles through the night in a terrifying manner. But the soldiers by her side do not flinch, faces hardened and full of determination.
Her heart stutters a startled beat with anticipation in her chest, and her hand tightens around the hilt of her sword. The clouds above open and a thick curtain of rain is sent falling down upon them.
The noise carries a weary atmosphere with it, dreadful cold crawls over her skin and goosebumps raise the hairs on her arms. The Mithril armbraces that had been gifted to her by Galadriel shine with each flash of lightning that shocks through the night.
