The melee was fierce that day. Steel gleamed and dust billowed. Even the guards were impressed at the skillful brutality that was displayed among the field, at least with a few of the more notable last standers. But even the men who were defeated earlier had fought tooth and nail for their winning until they were injured enough to call out, or were thrown out by their opponent. 

Rannon did not have the same eyes he did when Feri first met him, with no true feeling or thought except that of survival. However she could still see that his simmering expression and iron gaze betrayed his determined and dark thoughts as he moved on instinct, sometimes giving off a roar of exertion or a crisp, feral shout as he struck. Rannon's mindset, military training, and large size gave him an edge against most of his opponents, flinging a few of them out personally with his great strength. A few times, as there were many men, it would have seemed to Feri like he was to be back stabbed. Indeed he received a few knocks, but he knocked right back and then some! 

It was when there were only two left in the tournament that a hush fell on the normally boisterous crowd. It was just as Rannon was throwing out the last opponent whom he had grappled into submission, that he realized there was just him and one other. The last man was an older Knight, with a gloriously curled mustache who still held himself well in his now-scuffed armor, a long handled warhammer in his guantleted hands. His hair was streaked with grey, and he had a gleam in his eyes. Feri would remember that he tossed out many other combatants with an experience that even surpassed Rannon's earlier fights.

"My, you're a young one. Seems age is catching up to me," The knight chuckled. 

With a slow advance, measuring one another's stances, they met at the center in a clash of steel. The two traded blows for a what seemed like an hour, though honestly it was merely a few moments. The exchange was a ruse by the older knight however, for he thrust his warhammer forward and yanked it back, hooking Rannon's left leg in the hammer and sending Rannon to the ground. The younger Fereldan had to roll near instantly to dodge the next hammer blow, rising up and blocking the hammer with his heavy sword, only to receive a strong punch to his face. The guantlet nearly knocked Rannon out, and blood was spat on the dirt. But there was an instinct that overrode his senses, and the older Knight was now near the edge of the ring. Rannon surged forward, grappling the man and struggling for many moments before he finally managed to hook his leg around his opponents to get him off balance, and he shoved the knight out of the melee ring, effectively making him the winner. 

It was a victory more from luck than skill, based on the terrain. But it counted.

Rannon then fell to his knees, holding his head. His shoulder and skull ached terribly, as did his leg and lower back. He felt the wet heat of blood around his body, but he was victorious, and moments later he stood to his full height. He was stoic as the crowd suddenly erupted in cheers.
[@MiddleEarthRoze]