BALLAD OF BROKEN SWORDS ( LEGOLAS )

𝟬𝟬𝟵 ━━ a warrior's will

The silver haired elf looks over his shoulder this time, and as the light from the flames touches his skin, he looks almost haunting. High cheekbones accentuated, hair flowing like mist and blue eyes startlingly clear as they settle on her. His pale skin just a couple of sunrays short of translucent.

Gyda juts her chin up, hazel eyes guarded and one singular brow raised inquisitively.

A beat of silence, heavy and uncomfortable. "Tomorrow morning."

The answer is curt, and monotonous, like it's a burden to be spoken out loud.

Gyda only nods, lips set in a thin line before the silver haired elf turns his gaze ahead. She exchanges a knowing look with Galion. At the end of the corridor a shadow flickers as another elf appears from the darkness of the halls of Mirkwood. She looks young, as she scurries past them back up the stairs. No one pays her much attention, but Gyda catches her green gaze.

"Your rooms are here. Someone will come to escort you to the dining halls later this evening." Lanthir speaks in a low voice that slithers from his tongue like summer honey. It is eerie how he can be equal alluring and foreboding.

Gyda's eyes follow his outstretched hand toward a singular oak door, patterns are carved on the wood, an intricate detailing of tree roots and sprouting flowers.

"Hanta" Galion is the first to move, hand twisting the doorknob before leading the small delegation inside.

Gyda's eyes settle on the common room, cloaked in a feverish orange glow from the hearth and the floor decorated by large grey stones, the kind with a tinge of green. The room is simple and elegant, with dark accents and wooden furniture.

"Till dinner." Lanthir bows his head, before disappearing like a ghost in the night.

In the soft hearth-light, Gyda finally feels her pulse become a steady beat once more, the rigidness of her spine softens and the tension leaves her shoulders.

"I feel trapped below the earth here." Galion voices in distaste as he inspects the room with calculating eyes from the bumpy stone walls with fingerlings of tree roots—to the yellow carnations in a beige vase at the center of the wooden table, a mocking display of their host hospitality.

"Tomorrow we will be out in the open air again." Gyda promises as she lets her own eye flicker around the room. The subtle hints of power that the woodland elves proudly exude. "Make sure to rest well, we cannot be any less than perfect tomorrow."

"It certainly seems as if they're excited for us to be here." Daros speaks up in the silence, twirling one of the yellow carnations between his fingers in a mocking manner.

Galion only scoffs, dropping his bow next to one of the many door leading to one of the bedchambers. "Those stories of your father seem like whimsical fairytales now Gyda."

The brunette elf hums, knowing all to well her father taught Galion the same thing as he did her. Seperated twins he used to call them in their elfing years.

Gyda only manages to smirk half-heartedly at her friend and give him a shrug in reply. "Time changes everything." She mutters.

"No." Galion denies solemnly, "War does."

Gyda has no more words to spare at this moment in time, instead opting to inspect her bedchambers with a soft goodbye to the others.

The room is circular, and Gyda already misses the sunlight that filters through the silk curtains in her room in Imladris. It feels dreary, like the life had been sucked from every crevice. She ignores the feeling and instead removes the baldric strung over her shoulder and drops the leather band and the scabbard holding her sword against the cobbled wall.