Sometime in Galtrev
The whole clan was gathered under the big gazebo-like structure in the middle of Galtrev to hear the newcomer sing his songs, mostly out of curiosity as not many folk with musical instruments pass by their town. A semi-circle was formed around a tall, middle aged man whose light brown hair had caused him trouble at first, since the clansmen thought he was coming from Rohan. But the Ox and Falcon clans are a little more tolerant than others it seems, so they were convinced. The man stood high, his clean shaven face was pleasant behind his wide smile and he held his lute with pride. He kept his sword in its scabbard, hanging on the left side of his belt as he prepared to play, plucking some strings slowly, listening to them as they rung, to make sure they were tuned. The men looked at the sword as it was t he first thing to draw the attention on him, its silver hilt making it clear that it wasn't a sword used for fighting. But it fitted nicely with his red shirt, which is partly covered by a silken purple jacket, in contrast but quite suiting his brown trousers, the colour of which blended nicely with black down at the boots.
-I will sing to you about a fair maiden, one whom many a man lost their minds for. he said and plucked the strings again, all of them but the last.
-A maiden for whom two wars broke out. and plucked again, this time the three first.
-A maiden which died in exile by her father. and plucked the strings again, this time from the fourth to the first. That captured everyone's attention and some even shook.
His thin and agile fingers started playing a fast melody that after a while started slowing down, creating the scene, along with the fire that burnt behind the minstrel. The man opened his mouth to sing.
-Shove off! came a harsh voice from somewhere in the back of the crowd and a man was pushed forward, he staggered and fell on his knees, but he did not dare say anything, he kept his head low. Another man appeared behind him, tall and muscular, with a dark hide covering his shoulders. He was significantly older and it was evident even under the red paint with three white stripes covered his face. The minstrel froze, the fingers of his right hand stuck in the position of the chord he was about to play.
-You! said the old warrior, pointing at the minstrel with his left hand. Then turned to the crowd and spoke in a loud voice, full of anger.
-This man has bedded my daughter and ran away like a coward! He brought shame to me! The leader of the Stag Clan and on the Stag clan!
When he finished his sentence four more men appeared behind and right and left of him, two of them held swords sand shields, the ones between them and the old man held spears. The minsrel swallowed hard and looked around, planning a quick exit.
-The shame of the Stag Clan is yours and yours alone, this man will entertain us tonight, tomorrow do as you wish with him. said another old man, the leader of the Ox Clan knew the minstrel. His words made someone make a comment from the back, about the old warrior's daughter and her scarce modesty, making the first warrior grimace in anger and grunt. He prepared to say something but someone in the crowd punched the shieldbearer to his right, the one with the spear replied with a stab and a fight begun! Everyone was fighting everyone and the minstrel saw the chance, he crawled under the table next to the fire behind him and continued on, almost, all fours towards the Northereast part of the settlement, where the stables were, his lute safe between his body and right hand. From behind him be could hear that the fight was still going on, he grabbed a good looking cloak made of bear hide, got on his horse and galloped as fast as he could.
Somewhere in the Shire.
The Hobbits of Bywater were about their business as per usual when they saw the caravan, four carts heading East, on each were two Dwarves, armed to the teeth, the driver and his companion and the carts were covered with black tarps. They were decorated with runes and other Dwarven symbols right and left of the wheels, the parts that were visible right where the tarp was ending. At the head of the caravan was a Dwarf known to the Shire, a trader that had passed through many many times and some Hobbits greeted him, he replied with inclining his head respectfully to them, his long red beard with patches of grey was braided in two, held by two golden locks that gleamed in the sun. He held the reins in his left hand and in his right he had his pipe which he was raising to the bystanders every now and then.
Tordrek pulled the reins to a halt and stood up upon seeing a young Hobbit standing by the road and watching them.
-Brogo my son! he shouted happily and jumped off the cart.
-Mr Tordrek! said Brogo and ran striaght into the Dwarf's arms, embracign each other warmly.
-It's time then?
-Yes, we are going to Eregion to set up our trading post. That is where I will find my friend and once I get it I will send you it. said the Dwarf merrily and winked at the Hobbit, cheering Brogo up.
-Yes! Thank you! With that ring I can marry Prissila and I will be forever indebted to you.
-No, you will be intebted to her and to make her happy. said the Dwarf calmly in his wise voice and returned to the cart, his companion gestured to the others that it was time to move on and Tordrek urged the horses on.
-Have a safe journey Mr Tordrek! shouted Brogo as the carts rode out and ran towards Hobbiton with a smile from one ear to the other.
