Gondolin walked over to Marsillion, a hint of a smile covering his usually placid features. "Finally having that arm attended to, good ranger."
The man nodded sheepishly, then winced as the bandage was tightened. "I'll live, its a deep cut; but not that deep. It should be fine in a few days."
When Anunderial was finished wrapping it, the ranger stood, testing it. "A fine bandage indeed. My compliments, good elf."
Gondolin motioned him aside from the company. They walked away, onto a small path. Gondolin sat down on a small rock, looking out over the plains of Rohan. "Friend, I think that we may have more trouble down there than our company will expect. I have had a strange feeling lately, one of a foreboding evil. We must be careful, and have weapons at hand during the remainder of our journey."
The ranger tested his blade on his hand. "Well, if it comes to fighting, I will be ready for it."
Gondolin stood then, and looked him in the eye. "Aye, and so will I. But remember, we are not going down there to fight a war. Our mission is to find the flowers. It is also our duty, friend, to protect the hobbits. They can fight, but they are farmers; not warriors."
Marsillion nodded. "Yes, but I hope that it will never come to that; a true battle against orcs or dunlendings."
As they returned to camp, Gondolin murmered to himself; "So do I, friend. So do I."
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