*。☆。
★。＼｜／。★
˚ ₊ ♡ ❰ BALLAD OF BROKEN SWORDS ❱
*✧ ─── ❝ ❪ THESE DARK HALLS ❫ ❞
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˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ ACT ONE ── ad melinora 🏹 ⁺⑅
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CHILDREN OF ARDA DUOLOGY ⋆ ☄.
♯ ❝ SHARP TONGUES ARE
OFTEN NOT APPRECIATED ❞
CHAPTER EIGHT ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*
˚ ₊ ♡ the third age ─── year 2950
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━━ ˚ ₊ ♡ 🏹
❝ 𝘪 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝙡𝙤𝙤𝙠𝙚𝙙 𝘢𝘵, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘪 𝙬𝙖𝙨𝙣'𝙩 𝙨𝙚𝙚𝙣 ❞
*✧ ─── THEY BURST THROUGH THE THICK TREES ONTO THE PLAINS BEHIND THE MISTY MOUNTAINS WITH SWIFT HASTE. THE CANTER IN WHICH THEY continue will hopefully bring them close to the old forest road before nightfall encases them in darkness and exposes them to the dangers that surely lurk in the shadows. Their journey had started two weeks ago, and whilst the High Pass had recently become a dangerous way of crossing the Misty mountains, it was the shortest route that would lead them to the Forest Road that would guide them to their destination. Gyda rides ahead of the delegation, thoughts still running wild with the pressure of this task and the revelation of her vow to Elgarain. She sighs, gazing behind her to see Daros and Galion conversing quietly among a couple of other warriors from Imladris. She lengthens the reins of her mare, her pace slows until she is next to her oldest friend.
"You think we shall be well met by king Thranduil?" Galion wonders when he notes his friend. The words are spoken casually, but there is a hint of doubt laced between the syllables. It was not unknown to most that the King of the Elves of Northern Mirkwood had become inherently cautious of outsiders and the intentions of others. Some sort of Necromancer had taken over the once great fortress of Amon Lanc. Wretchedly, under the malign influences of the necromancer shrouded in mystery and shadows, Mirkwood had become home to Orcs and giant spiders. And thus making the Woodland elves immigrate further north with no means to fight the growing threat.
"He must." Gyda tries to speak with as much diplomacy in her words as she can muster, "he accepted Lord Elrond's proposal to strengthen the bonds between elven kingdoms."
"Well...I heard he's a right ass." Galion mutters under his breath, but Gyda only sends a smothering glare in his direction.
"We do not only represent ourselves Galion, we represent the whole of Lindon. We must show strength to Mirkwood after the devastation our people endured during and after the war." She draws in another deep breath, the crisps and clean air soothing. She can already feel the darkness that illuminates from the southern corners of Mirkwood, where darkness dwells. "We need to make sure the Aranal can call upon them when she needs them once she has ascended to the throne."
"I know Gyd. Trust me I know the importance of this task." He assures her with a dazzling smile. It is still as radiant as the sun despite the horrors he has witnessed.
She nods, easing her shoulders by rolling them back to relieve the tension that had built up over the course of the journey. Heavy silence hung between them and Gyda feels a desperate need to fill the void with something. Anything to take her mind off of the task ahead, and the surely indifferent Eleven King that awaited them in Mirkwood.
"I noticed something when we left from Imladris." She begins, mirth in her voice—something that catches Galion's attention quickly.
"Did you now." He quips gleefully, a light-hearted chuckle escaping his parted lips.
Gyda hums, hazel eyes shining, "I certainly did, Mellon. For you looked upon Arwen as if she strung the moon in the sky."
To her surprise, Galion's pale skin tinted red as he almost shyly ducks his head, the shadows of his long honey hair shrouding darkness over his eyes. "I fear your eyes have mistaken the sight Gyda." He rebuttals in a strained voice.
"They did not." She shakes her head, before pausing, a more serious tone in her voice. "Do you think she is the one?"
"I erh—well." He stutters, elven ear turning pink.
She smiles, reassuringly, her own thoughts drifting to her parents, and their love. "it's okay if you head doesn't know it yet. Your fäe does."
"I didn't expect you to be so starry-eyed dear Gyda." Galion jokes, trying to change the subject.
She shrugs, eyes focusing ahead, at the lush greenery, the towering trees and the sunlight filtering through. "The meeting of souls is very sacred Galion. It should be a wonderful experience." Her mind drifts away, to her elfling years, the ones where her mother was still a luminous presence in her life.
"Did you always know you would marry adar?" young Gyda sat on her mother's lap among the garden flowers that bloomed in bright iridescent colours.
Amren regards her daughter with glimmering eyes, eyes full of adoration and love for her family. "I did Gyda. We were destined for one another by Manwë."
"But why?"
"We are all twin flames , on a journey destined to intertwine." Amren starts and Gyda blinks, small hand touching her chest, as if flames should erupt from her skin. "We are very much in tune with our emotions Gyda, our fäe knows who we are supposed to love forever- the meeting of souls. It is a wonderous experience. It is as if life never had colour before, all is so much brighter when you meet."
Gyda frowns, the concept ungraspable for a child so young. "Well how do you know it has happened then? Does the fäe talk to me? Or Manwë?"
Amren laughs, birdsong sounds carried by the wind. "No dear. It cannot be put to words. Your head may not often know it yet, but your soul, your heart, will feel it. Be it by sight, sound or touch."
"It sounds strange." She pouts, just as laughter rumbles from further in the garden and her father appears from the archway of their house.
"It is dilthen meathor." Gyldorns speaks, eyes alight with mirth as he gazes at his wife and child. And when he comes to sit down next to them, it is as if the sun shone a little brighter. "but it will be beautiful."
"I'm very happy for you Galion." Gyda says after a moment, "you deserve it."
The sun had slowly travelled beneath the west horizon, and just as twilight's gleaming orange hues painted the sky, the travel delegation reached the eaves of Mirkwood. They direct their horses beneath the great overhanding boughs over outer trees. Their trunks huge and gnarled, their branches twisted, their leaves dark and long with ivy trailing all the way to the ground. It looks haunting as Gyda gazes at the shadows that are not touched by the last rays of sun. And knowing the darkness that has swept of Mirkwood Forest, and it's foul inhabitants, did not assure Gyda of their safety in the slightest.
"Be on your guard!" Gyda calls out over her shoulder, the reign in her hands grasped tighter. "Danger lurks in the dark here."
"Should we make camp then?" Daros suggests almost nervously regarding the forest ahead. "Wait for first light?"
The brunette shakes her head, "It won't matter. Once we follow the Old Forest Road, eternal night might as well be real. Not much light filters through the thick canopy, and the foul spiders that live there will be there still."
Gyda directs her horse forward and turns away from the last light that lays on the lands outside and plunges into the forest. They move in single file. The entrance to the path was like a sort of arch leading into a gloomy tunnel made by two great trees that leant together, too old and strangled with ivy and hung with lichen to bear more than a few blackened leaves. The path itself was narrow and wound in and out among the trunks. Soon the warm light of dusk at the gate was like a little speck far behind, and the quiet was so deep, Gyda dares think she could hear everyone's heartbeat if she wants to. The horses trot, hooves thumping. Blinking, slowly, her eyes adjust to the dimness around her. But there was not much to see. Only darkness and shifting shadows that make fear rise. Occasionally a slender beam of moonlight slips in through the canopy of leaves high above them and illuminates the path they must not stray from.
She swallows nervously, heartbeat rising when she notices the dark dense cobwebs with threads extraordinarily thick, stretching from tree to tree, or tangled in the lower branches on either side of them. There were none stretched across the path, but whether because some magic kept it clear, or by luck, she did not know, and she did not feel the need to question it.
"You think those things are near?" Galion wonders from behind her, a nervous lilt in his voice that almost trembles on the syllables.
"I don't know." Gyda replies honest, eyes focusing on the dark glimmerings moving around ahead, as if the shadows are in an eternal dance. "Keep your bow at the ready." She advise, tightening her fingers around the hilt of her own sword.
Galion does not say anything, but when she looks back over her shoulder, she can see him grasp the intricately carved bow with a newfound vigor.
Fatigue slowly creeps on the delegation as they travel further, the energy put into surveying their surroundings completely draining. Night had truly fallen by now, and Gyda was struggling to keep herself upright. Their surrounding still look the same, darkness looming, and rotten trees lining the moss covered path. It seems as if they have not traveled far, but she knows hours have passed.
The small chatter behind her also had fallen silent hours ago, clearly indicating their need for sleep. She knows it is dangerous to sleep inside the forest, the creatures lurking surely waiting to prey on them, but she knows if her people are half asleep they would not be able to fend of an attack either.
"We should stop and rest." She proposes, "I'm sure we're halfway there."
"Is it safe?" One of the elves from Imladris inquires—Cerwyn if she recalls correctly.
"Not really, but if we fall asleep whilst riding we won't be in any better conditions."
They make quick work of setting up camp, tying the horses to the ivy covered trees before taking a seat on the moss covered ground, sure to stay on the path. The lembas bread is passed around and Gyda can already feel her eyelids become heavier by the second. But she dares not close them, thoughts running wild with every small sound she hears. "I'll take first watch." She offers.
The group murmurs their replies and thanks before bidding each other good night. And Gyda unsheathes her sword, taking the whetstone from her horses satchel.
Hazel eyes focus ahead, gazing in the abys.
And it feels as if the abys is staring back.
*。☆。
★。＼｜／。★
𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘪𝘴 𝘯𝘰 𝙛𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘵𝘰 𝙝𝙖𝙧𝙙𝙚𝙣
𝘮𝘺 𝙙𝙚𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙢𝙞𝙣𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝙖𝙨𝙨𝙪𝙢𝙚 𝘪
𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝙛𝙖𝙞𝙡 𝘢𝘵 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨
─ marie brennan
⋆⋅ ━━━━ ‧ ༻✩༺ ‧ ━━━━ ⋅⋆
third age ━━ year 2949
DESPITE THE ARRIVAL OF THE MORNING, BARELY ANY LIGHT REACHES THE MOSS COVERED GROUND WHEN GYDA AND THE IMLADRIS DELEGATION travel further into the thick of Mirkwood. The Old Forest Road luckily remains a safe passage to the Woodland Kingdom, and to their luck, no foul creatures had come crawling from their holes the previous night. And after Galion had taken over from her last night, Gyda, to her surprise did sleep soundly. She blames it on the complete exhaustion from their seemingly endless trip, but she also knows there is no one better to watch her back than her honey haired friend. Up ahead, the dark, almost black looking scenery twisted in to a more brighter green—more alive, and Gyda realizes they must be close to the Woodland Kingdom. At least if she understood Lord Elrond's descriptions correctly. As more light filters through the lush canopy above, it is Galion who spots the landmark.
"There it is!" He grins gleefully.
The stone bridge leads across the river to the king's doors. The water flows dark and swift and strong beneath and at the far end were gates before the mouth of a huge cave that ran into the side of a steep slope covered with trees. There the great beeches came right down to the bank, till their feet were in the stream. Across the bridge, a group of Woodland elves stands, waiting.
At the front, a tall, silver haired elf stands proudly with his hands clasped in front of him. Piercing blue eyes are surveying them with a calculating and almost distrusting gaze. No one moves as Gyda leads her horse to trot over the cobblestone bridge with the delegation behind her. Cerwyn, the representative of Imladris, coming up next to her.
"Amatulya." The elf speaks up, voice velvety. "The king awaits you."
Gyda nods, bracing herself with a deep breath before descending from her horse. She pats its mane in appreciation before the grey mare is taking away from her by one of the Sandarin elves—same for the others and their horses.
"I am Lanthir." His pace is fast, but Gyda does not let the almost cold welcome distract her.
"I am Gyda, daughter of Gyldorn, oathbound guard of the Aranel of Lindon." She makes her position clear before gesturing to the dark haired elf next to her, who introduces himself as the representative of Imladris.
"I hope your journey has been safe." Lanthir continues, "the darkness sadly continues to tighten its grasp on our forest.
Gyda hums, mind drifting to the thick cobwebs. "It was." She states before letting her gaze wander around the halls.
Inside the passages were lit with red torch-light, and the elf-guards were marching along the twisting, crossing, and echoing paths. Awe fills her at the beautiful sights around her before they come upon a large set of doors. Lanthir nods at the two guards and they move to open the wooden door.
It was as if a tree had sprouted from the deepest depths of the earth, and erupted from within the cavern. Large pathways swerved around the large hall, like twisting branches. Waterfalls shuddered from high cliffs, the rushing sound familiar.
In the great hall with pillars hewn out of stone sits the Elven king—Thranduil, on a chair of carven wood. On his head was a crown of berries and red leaves, for the autumn had come again. In his hand he held a carven staff of oak.
He was casually perched on his throne, as Gyda and Cerwyn walk just behind Lanthir. Woodland elves had gathered to welcome them—or keep an eye on them, she was not sure.
"So the Aranel has sent her foot soldiers in her stead." The words are spoken in a mocking drawl, "I should have not expected much from a little elfling hiding in shadows."
Gyda clenches her jaw, hazel eyes glaring at the ground before she lets them flicker up to meet the daunting gaze of King Thranduil. His eyes are raking over the small group, scrutinizing them without even saying a word. Gyda guesses Galion was right—the king was a right ass.
She clears her throat, "The Aranal, is not a soldier, King Thranduil, it be unwise to let her teach the ancient knowledge of wielding the Nõldorn spear." She tries to keep her voice steady when his eyes meet hers. "And she is studying dutifully—" , Gyda at least hopes she is "— to complete her training with Lord Elrond."
"And should the Elfling not be learning such things from her own mother, in Lindon, in her own kingdom?" The woodland king jests, leaning forward from his throne perched high above.
"Sometimes another's knowledge might provide more helpful insight. As is the occasion for this meeting." The elleth continues despite the king's blatant disregard for Elgarain.
"And are you are the best to teach such a thing then..."
"Gyda." She fills in, "Daughter of Gyldorn. I have trained since I was an elfling, I fought on the plains of Mordor in the Last Alliances of men and elves."
"Gyda." Thranduil hums, recognizing sparking in his eyes at the sound of her father's name but he does not voice his thoughts. "I heard he perished in battle. My most sincere condolences for your loss." The words are polite but they hold a condescending undertone in them that has her inhale sharply. It's clear the words are only spoken out of necessity.
"Hanta." She bows her head in respect before straightening again. "The same goes to you King Thranduil."
Silver eyes flash dangerously and there is a visible shift in the air as his posture straightens. Gyda does not know what he is thinking as silence surrounds the elegant halls. Before he turns to Lanthir, "Take our guests, to their chambers, they must be tired from their journey."
"We are." Cerwyn speaks up, albeit hesitantly, but it seems the patience of the Elven-King has run out.
Gyda frowns instead, taking a step closer to the throne, jaw set, "Should we not continue? We have a lot of work to do, and we have neither received any information nor gotten the chance to explain what we've come to teach. We have limited time, and I shall not be denied the respect of being received as an equal."
Thranduil stands, silver robes cascading behind him and Gyda has to do her best not to flinch at his murderous glare. "Tomorrow."
Gyda inhales sharply, eyes meeting the Elven-king's before she nods after a second, turning on her heel to march out of the throne room, but just before she passes the threshold, Thranduil's voice rumbles from behind her. "You should do well to remember your place Gyda, daughter of Gyldorn. Sharp tongues are not often appreciated."
The brunette does not reply, her shoulder only tense at the underlaying threat, before she picks up her pace again and walks outside the large room, following behind the woodland elf.
The door closes behind her with a bang.
Galion falls in step besides her, a worried frown carved on his flawless skin. "Are you alright?" He whispers, cautiously looking at the back to the blonde Silvan elf.
She takes a moment to gather her thoughts, flashes of her father passing in her mind. "Yes." She replies.
Galion doesn't look like he believes her words, but he knows better than to push her, especially with all the unwanted ears around them. He reaches out an squeezes her shoulder in a gesture of comfort and she relaxes under his grasp.
"Well besides the glaring contest, I think that went rather well." He tries to lightened the mood.
"Well?" Cerwyn pops up on her other side, the three marching forward in unison. "I surely believed he would send us right back outside his front door."
"Really?" Galion grins, "I though he throw us in a deep dark dungeon. He looks like the type to have a secret dungeon."
"Watch your words." Gyda hisses, eyes focusing on the elf in front of them.
"You do realize how you have spoken to the Woodland King only minutes ago, don't you?" Cerwyn mutters.
"I do." She splutters, "I will not happen again. I promise."
"He deserved it" Galion states under his breath.
"Still..." She sighs, "I am in no position to talk to Kings like that...even Kings like Thranduil." She concedes.
"You are the head of the Queen's guard Gyda, surely you have some influence."
"The future Queen Galion." She averts her eyes to look ahead, "Something he should do well to remember too."
"This is going to go terribly isn't it?" Galion groans.
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ELVISH TRANSLATIONS
mellon.— friend
adar — father
aranel — princess
dilthen meathor — little warrior
Amatulya — greetings / welcome
Hanta — thank you