Aldwulf held back as soon as they spotted the light of the fire through the trees. ‘Those guardsmen have followed us!’ he thought to himself. Heldór was a few steps in front of him, and Aldwulf put a restraining hand on his shoulder, halting him. ‘Stay back!’ he hissed to him, drawing him down behind a thick bush. Keep hidden while we sort this out.’
The four companions moved forward into the flickering firelight. Brytta and Rochil advanced into the light to take a hard look at the man. Liol and Aldwulf hung back in the shadows, also taking his measure.
‘Well met,’ he heard the stranger say.
‘So you say,’ said Aldwulf, stepping up for a closer look at the well cloaked man, his hand resting lightly on the pommel of his blade. ‘And who might it be that we are so well met by? Have you a name that we might know you by? And how come you to be sitting so comfortably in our camp, cooking our just caught fish?’
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‘Many are the strange chances of the world,’ said Mithrandir, ‘and help oft shall come from the hands of the weak when the Wise falter.’
– Gandalf in: The Silmarillion, 'Of the Rings of Power and the Third Age'
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