Well, Diary. That was quite a day.
Losgael was proud -- proud of her man, who is my only known living kin; proud in every possible way. That is the way of the Hammer. And because Meluilindele loves her, though -- I did not know this until the day of the contest -- he had forsworn fighting at the request of his father and brother many yéni hence, he arrived at the appointed time, bearing a sword.
Daegond was certain that, ere the contest was over, Meluilindele's insides would be all over the Bridge of Rivendell, and I would be cross with him for doing what Tûr ordered him to do. Once again he all but begged Losgael, and tried frightening Melui himself, in order to stop the fight. (I found it slightly amusing that he called him "boy." All of the Gondolindrim who were born at that city -- Norliriel and my own Themodir among them -- are younger than I. Melui has told no one his actual begetting-day, and is the son of a cousin who was older than me by some decades, so may very well be older than Daegond. No one has stopped to work the sums yet, so no one knows.)
Elvealin came. My dear friend! It would have been good to have a second healer on hand, in case -- well, in case of anything -- I would have been grieved by the injury of either fighter, but the idea of losing my last kinsman within a year of losing Themodir... anyway, she was a welcome sight. Caun Danel was there too, of course.
Before he arrived, Lieutenant Ancalasse pulled Melui aside and told him he had information that would save his life. I heard mumbles only, as they walked a small distance apart, and we were of course standing next to the river. Afterward, Melui seemed quite satisfied. I was less sanguine about the whole thing, of course. Daegond has mellowed since Themodir's death, going into company more often, showing off his swan, dancing at the Yule Ball... but he is still the ruthless fighter who has used a giant, beaked warhammer to slay his way to a position of rank.
So for my part, I gave Melui a packet of kitchen spices that are delicious when properly used in food, but would sting like wildfire if thrown in the eyes. I also advised him to punch the Sergeant in the mouth, as his replacement tooth has not grown in yet, and the whole side of his bite would remain weaker as a consequence. I saw Losgael slip something into Melui's boot before Lord Tindir signaled the combatants to start, and I doubt not it was a secondary weapon of some sort. He was as prepared as he could be.
Both combatants raised their blades, and the Caun dropped a handkerchief. The battle for love was on. Very briefly. For Melui held his position as Daegond charged for him, yelling and running at full speed... right off the bridge. He plunged into the water below, yelling all the way, and was fished out by his comrades -- the Hammerites had parked a small boat beneath the Bridge, in case of just this sort of thing. Lady Himwen admired the distance from bridge to water, and how Daegond had had the breath to keep yelling as he fell like a meteor into the Bruinen.
Lord Tindir conferred with Lieutenant Ancalasse, these being the ranking members of Hammer present in Tûr's absence, and declared it a solid win for Melui. He had, after all, showed up bearing a blade, presented it for inspection, and set himself to receive whatever blows the Sergeant dealt out. It was held by these two warriors that no trickery on Melui's part, but the Sergeant's own overconfidence, had toppled the other fighter. In the absence of any rule-breaking by Melui, who was present and ready to fight, Lord Tindir ruled that he was the winner and might make ready to marry Losgael at such time as she deemed fitting.
Daegond acted upset. I say "acted" -- bear with me, Diary. He stalked off, dripping and growling, exactly as one would expect. He did not stay to complain -- after all, he was sent along on the trip westward to trade for metals with the Naugrim of the Ered Luin, and must have had to prepare for that. Certainly. Those of us remaining adjourned to the Hall of Fire to toast the couple.
Losgael, however, was inconsolable. Every thing was a new worry. The Sergeant would despise her and Melui, she said. Tongues would wag up and down the Vale. People would say this, people would say that. She wanted blood. She wanted a fair fight, and a real one, with blows struck and blood drawn so that no one could say Melui was not worthy of a lady of the Hammer -- indeed, she would fight Melui herself to achieve this. I am afraid, Diary, I grew a little impatient with her. I asked if she wished me to go and retrieve the rock that Daegond apparently stepped on, for his blood was certainly on that, and asked her would she please, kindly, as a favour to me, allow herself and Melui the joy that I was denied. This abashed her, and she begged my forgiveness. I merely put my arms around her and told her that every thing would be in order, and I would see to any wagging tongues myself. But no one who had witnessed the Sergeant's overconfidence and the outcome ruled on by Tindir himself would speak of anything but a full victory on Melui's part.
But something stirred within me, and I pretended to be drunker than I was, in order to escape the Hall -- for I wished to examine something before night fell. Returning to the Bridge, and walking it from side to side several times, I found... well, a perfectly clean bridge with but a single rock upon it. This apparently was the rock that had tripped Daegond. Or was it guilty of any such thing? I picked it up, and again crossed the Bridge a few times. Diary, it was not the same colour as the rocks that lie in the soil on the mountain side of the river, nor were there any similar rocks on the path side. Nor did any drop of Noldo blood mar this rock.
One of two things, in other words, happened that day, and I know which I suspect the more.
-- Either: it was just as the Hammer lords said, and Daegond was carried off the side of the bridge by his overweening pride... or....
-- Daegond placed the rock there himself prior to the gathering, that it might be a scape-goat for his planned fall into the river.
Yes, planned. For he was between that rock and the proverbial hard place. If he gutted Melui like a fish, his own soldier Losgael, and certainly I, would forever be wroth with him. He would gain a reputation worse than that which he now wears, this time as a ruthless killer of healers and poets. If he did not fight, however, he would be disobeying direct orders from Tûr. There was simply no happy outcome, from his point of view, and he had been begging Losgael and I for weeks beforehand to get Melui to stand down.
O my brother! To do such a thing -- to make himself a public laughing-stock -- in order that he should disobey his instincts as a warrior, and leave no one a new burden of grief! I shall have to cook for him when he returns. Something with a lot of meat.
No one's joy is yet certain. The couple shall marry, assuming Losgael is not the victim of her profession before the betrothal-period is fulfilled. And then what? She will not bear his children at first, for that would force her retirement from the Order she trained so hard to get into. (O Ràolor, where ever you are... she misses you yet. And Sàranassë does. But that is another story.) And she may be deployed to fight.
But the first hurdle is cleared... by a leap, one might say. Do not worry, Diary. We will tell no one.
