It could not have been a more splendid day for a tournament.
The sun was high in the clear blue sky by the time Dolthafaer arrived in Delossad – the ruins situated in a glade not far from Imladris, pillars and walls of crumbling grey stone encircling a courtyard overgrown with wildflowers of purple and white and gold.
There gathered some of Vanimar’s great warriors, eagerly awaiting to prove themselves the greatest: Ancalasse, Celephindir, Naergon, Daegond, Eleglas, Turmagor, and, of course, Sargiel. The lady Himwen joined as a spectator, and Anglachelm, Veryacano and Tindir presided over the event, the lords of the Hammer looking mighty and grim in their black hauberks.
There were many black hauberks in that courtyard, in fact, and Dolthafaer could not help but feel intimidated by the presence of so many battle-hardened Hammers. He wondered again what sort of madness had taken him to pit himself against the members of the Order he wished to join, and could only pray that he lasted longer than a moment in the ring today. Sargiel shared his unease, and despite Himwen's kind words of encouragement, it was difficult to shake.
Turmagor and Eleglas were the first to fight, and then Naergon and Sargiel, and then Ancalasse and Celephindir. Dolthafaer soon found himself carried away with the excitement of the moment, distracted from his nerves by the superb skill displayed by the warriors on the field. Eleglas was knocked senseless, Sargiel bested the Hammer – much to Dolthafaer's delight, but not to his surprise – and Ancalasse yielded to Celephindir. Time passed by unnoticed as the sun moved across the sky and the flowers tore under armoured feet.
And then Turmagor and Daegond entered the field.
The Hound fought dirty.
In the weeks leading up to the tournament, Dolthafaer had heard time and time again of Daegond’s past antics – stripping off his armour and fighting with his bare hands, grappling and scratching, kicking and tripping, biting like a true hound should – and now he saw it for himself. The Hound chased his opponent down like a frightened rabbit, and within moments, it seemed, ripped the helmet from his head – revealing, much to everyone’s shock, the face of a boy in Turmagor’s armour.
Dolthafaer had not known what to think of the revelation. He had never known Turmagor, nor even heard tell of him, and it did not make much difference to him whether to boy’s name was Turmagor or Ceuro. But he liked his nerve, and approved of his humour under pressure. He seemed like a good enough lad, if a little misguided, and he hoped to meet him soon in his training under Estarfin.
Now I will match Dolthafaer with the Hound!
The Hound was strong and fast and smart, but so was Dolthafaer, and he had watched him closely during his fight with the false Turmagor. He flushed him from the bushes, chased him across the field of crushed flowers, and slipped past his defense the instant he saw an opening, slamming the hilt of his sword hard against his skull. The match was won quickly after that.
Sargiel then was paired off against Celephindir, but his friend soon fell to the mighty warrior, and Dolthafaer fared no better himself when his turn came to face the lord Tindir’s banner-bearer.
In the end, Celephindir won the day, as well as the purse of gold and the honour to serve as Anglachelm’s bodyguard – or so it had seemed, anyway.
Anglachelm stepped forth the moment the match was won, demanding to put his new bodyguard to the test, and Dolthafaer watched on in wonder as the Lord of Bar-en-Vanimar faced down the champion of the melee and knocked him into the dust with more skill than any had displayed that day. He had never seen his lord fight before, and he could not have been more impressed.
And so ended the melee event of the tournament that day, the Tûr of Vanimar proving once again that he lead their house with sword as well as heart.
