When Gandalf had mentioned Dunadain, we were lead immediately to the prancing pony. There in a shadowed corner was a man, tall and sturdy. His dress was simple and his eyes were sharp upon all in sight. Dark hair hung about his face. I watched from loo the door as Gandalf approached him, speaking shortly before Gandalf returned and the stranger came with.
"Solreen, Dagbarad here is one of the dunadain from the far north." I nodded, his face was worn with battles, but his eyes, while still sharp, had softened. When he spoke his voice was deep and strong, but roughened with age.
"I shall care for this one, Gandalf. I give you my word." Was this the man that I was going with? Would this mean that I would part with Gandalf now? We went back to the corner with Dagbarad and as they spoke I listened and watched, the thought of parting from Gandalf was sobering.
But when Dagbarad laid a firm yet gentle hand on my shoulder, I relaxed. It was a familiar action, even if the person was unfamiliar.
It was comforting.
