The stories are never enough.
No matter how famous people are, their skill can be only verified and experienced in a personal encounter.
This was the way of Nos Fëanáro (House of Fëanor), a way to further and refine one's skills day after day, to challenge famous elves in order to witness their abilities, to be challenged and to practice overcoming the limits of body and mind.
Ráolor lowered his hammer, and checked his statue.
For a moment, his thoughts went back, to a country that once had been, full of miracles, bravery and peril. Valariandë...
The stories tell about Daeron of Doriath being the most skilled minstrel... how much truth is behind that? Who stated the facts, who told the stories?
The stories tell about Lúthien Tinúviel being the fairest of all Children of Ilúvatar... how much truth did the Lay of Leithiann really tell?
The stories tell about High King of the Noldor Fingolfin being the strongest of all... who was interested in spreading this claim? What about the thousands of unknown, brave warriors who had performed unbelievable displays of strength and skill?
Even now, during the Third Age of the Sun, skilled elves resided in Rivendell, elves that were famous for their abilities.
Ráolor smiled. He remembered his challenge to Dolthafaer, Lord of the Order of Arrow. The master archer had accepted, and had been tested in many ways. In the end, Ráolor had set a final task for him: to hit a tiny stone thrown high into the air from a distance of more than a hundred feet. Lord Dolthafaer had smiled, and he had split the almost invisible moving target in two halfs with an arrow. Ráolor had named him amongst archery royalties like Beleg Cúthalion and Duilin of Gondolin.
During a feast of the Order of Hammer, Ráolor had challenged Lord Veryacano. Both completed the first part, which demanded both warriors to drink huge kegs full of Red Dorwinion at once. The second part consisted of a sparring match, and both Noldor gave each other a hard battering with their great warhammers.
Although Ráolor was surprised. His performance wasn't bad at all, for he smote down Veryacano. But he felt the strength of the hammer Lord, for Veryacano struck him and completely destroyed one of his massive shoulderpads that had withstood centuries of battle in the far north. The sculptor had only once felt such power, - it had been a fighting exchange between him and Lord Caranthir of Thargelion, several thousand years ago in Beleriand; the son of Fëanor had knocked him down in the end. Veryacano too had executed that final blow with tremendous power. For several days, Ráolor's arm had been useless, and the valuable shoulderpad beyond any hope for repair.
But other elves remained, elves he liked to test. There was Vorongwe, Lord of the Order of Fountain, who had stayed with Turgon son of Fingolfin and had lived and fought alongside Ecthelion of Gondolin. Vorongwë was very famous for his abilities with sword and shield, but would he accept a challenge? The sculptor was not sure. He was an ordinary warrior of the Hammer, why would a Lord like Vorongwë accept? Then again, he just had to wait for the right moment, and challenge him in front of his household. Declining in front of others was difficult, and Ráolor knew how the mind of the Noldor worked... he smiled and stepped back, checking his statue once more.
And there was the Lord Ambassador Parnard, of course. The sculptor grinned. Parnard wasn't really proficient in any art of fighting, but Ráolor knew about this elf's cunning mind. He pondered about challenging the Ambassador to a battle of riddles. He held no illusions about his chances for a win, but he would choose the most difficult riddles of Arda, with the counsel of wise and powerful Eldar like Lady Danel and Lord Lindir.
Whether all this was regarded folly and madness or wisdom and foresight, Ráolor did not care. It was all about being ready, and the sculptor prepared himself for the war that would surely very soon reach fair Imladris.
