The hammer smashed into the ground with a thunderous bang, sending up a plume of dust and a rumble through the surrounding ground. The man, who had been there moments earlier leapt to the side swiping his sword across the flank of the monstrous Troll that in turn gave a roar of pain sweeping his mace sideways towards Beolrath in anger. Dropping to the ground he narrowly avoided the massive crude hammer as it swirled overhead.
Meanwhile circling behind the Troll came Wil with a swift couple of strokes from his sword, biting deep into the hamstring of the Troll causing it to roar once again in pain as it stumbled backwards. Turning as it did bringing around the hammer into a massive blow to the Herald's shoulder accompanied by a sickening crunch of bone and tearing of flesh. The monstrous creature advanced on the fallen man, dragging it's cut leg on one side and dragging the massive head of the hammer on the other with murderous intent upon it's face.
As Beolrath stepped into the path of the advancing Troll he couldn't help but chuckle at the surprised look upon the creature's face, the blow that followed came far quicker than the man had expected. Whilst he was able to brace himself for it, his body shook fiercely as the force of the hammer strike travelled through his flesh. The Troll gave a confused look at the fact the man was still standing, having raised his sword to parry the blow and braced himself against the ground it had taken every ounce of strength to withstand it. The former Rohirrim was certain he'd heard something break when the blow met his defence, but he was not afforded the time to even consider the source of any pain within his body before the Troll swung the hammer once more in a broad cleaving arc.
Shifting his weight and ducking the Captain was able to avoid the majority of the blow that landed upon his armour but it was still enough to hurl him through the air with a clatter as he landed upon a nearby rock. The Troll meanwhile had resumed its passage towards the fallen Herald, who was now attempting to pull himself to his feet. Waves of dizziness and pain washed over Wil with every attempt to stand, driving him back to the ground once more and threatening to carry him off into the welcoming black of unconsciousness. With a growl of victory the Troll raised the hammer high preparing to squash this annoying little creature that had caused him so much pain. So absorbed in his own victory the Troll did not even register the loud War Cry that came from nearby, he didn't even notice the charging armoured Man with greatsword in hand when he ran up a nearby boulder and leapt towards the Troll. As such there was not even time for shock to register as his vision was obscured by a seemingly flying man, and even less time to register as the large sword cleaved deep into his head. This causing the Troll to tumble away lifelessly to collide with the ground with immense force as the dead weight of a being so massive fell.
Wil however did have time to register the events that unfolded above him, because to him they all happened in a peculiar kind of slow motion each seemingly taking as long as a life age. If this was what dying felt like, Wil didn't like it one little bit, he thought to himself as blackness folded around him and consciousness flickered off like a candle that had run its course. A few feet away meanwhile, Beolrath groaned, lifting himself to a sitting position as blood seeped from beneath his armour on his right side.
'Trolls... my new least favourite creature on this Middle Earth.', he glanced across at Wil expecting a response. His heart immediately sank seeing the state in which his friend and Herald found himself.
The Man of Rohan paid no mind to the fresh rush of blood that trickled down his right leg as he forced himself to stand, his teeth gritted to suppress the pain of movement. It didn't take him long to assess Wil must have more serious internal injuries than the surface suggested, it took even less time for Beolrath to admit it was beyond his skill to heal. He took a few moments to dress the wounds he could, splint and support broken areas and do what little healing he was capable of.
With a whistle the Captain called for his steed, where Wil's horse had gotten to he had no idea; back to the settlement he hoped. With great effort he secured Wil in the saddle in front of him, reaching around the Herald to take the reins he urged the horse into motion. It was apparent rather quickly that the faster he urged the horse to move, the more blood he himself lost but he was also painfully aware that if he couldn't get Wil better healing soon he would perish. The choice was to him, no choice at all, he urged the horse into as fast a pace as could be maintained with two riders without risking harm to the horse which would strand them.
A journey which seemed normally to take relatively little time seemed at this moment to drag on, with the constant wearing of pain grinding away at his senses and blood trickling from his body to bring with it blurry confusion and robbing time of its meaning. Whether it was minutes or hours or even if they were heading in the correct direction Beolrath couldn't be entirely certain of but one thing he felt he could be certain of was his horse. Being raised in Rohan meant he knew how to get the best from a horse, he had retrained this horse to the Rohan method of horse handling as soon as he had purchased it and so he had every confidence that the horse would get them to Ost Guruth. The only question he had, was would they still be alive when they got there.
The relief that swept through his senses when the ruined fortress came into sight was tangible, like that first ale at the end of a hard day. The lookouts recognised the pair on horseback as they approached and could immediately tell something was wrong and so sent people to meet them and render assistance. Before the Eglain reached them, the Captain found himself lapse into unconsciousness.
He awoke a short while later laid out on a fold out bed, his armour lying on the floor beside him with bandages around his ribs. Pushing himself up to sit he saw Wil lying in the bed beside him, alive, he sighed with relief as the woman who was nursing them came over.
'You're very lucky, you know that right?', he chuckled in response, wincing as he did.
'I know, blessings are raining down upon me.', the woman frowned.
'I expect you realise in that riding so fast to get here, you risked making your injuries worse and nearly killed yourself don't you? You'd got a broken rib, if it had of slipped and impaled your internal organs. Neither of you would have made it here.', she gave him a disapproving look.
'My horse would have gotten us here dead or alive.’, he glanced towards the entrance of the building questioningly.
'The men took care of your horse and stabled it. Apparently your friend's horse arrived a short while before you two did.', Beolrath nodded and turned the questioning gaze upon Wil.
'He'll be fine, between the aid you gave him in the field and what our healers did here. He should make a full recovery soon enough, he's out of danger and just needs to rest.', Beolrath nodded again, pushing himself to his feet with a wince.
'We've healed you, but you shouldn't move! You're still badly bruised and weak from blood loss.', he waved a dismissive hand.
'I am fine. Wil is your priority, save your fussing for him.', before she could argue he picked up his things and moved towards the door, dressing as he went.
~The following morning~
Pipe smoke swirled from the top of the ruined wall as the former Rohirrim gazed out across the barren landscape that made up the Lone-Lands, footfalls marked the approach of someone behind him and a brief glance brought a smile to his face.
'Should you not be in bed?', Wil smirked as he stepped up to stand beside Beolrath.
'I'm sure that pretty nurse would ask you the same.', they both chuckled.
'Probably so.', the silence held sway for a few moments as Beolrath took a long draw on his pipe.
'So that, was a Troll then?', the Captain nodded wordlessly.
'Well thanks for that, I'd always wondered if they were like all the stories say.', Beolrath grinned.
'And are they?', Wil shook his head.
'Far worse.', the blonde haired man laughed.
'Well do not worry, I will not blame you for it.', Wil looked at the man beside him with a curious expression.
'Blame me? It's -you- who chooses where we go!', a smirk greeted the Herald in response.
'But my friend, I was quite content wasting away in Bree-Land hiding my good deeds behind the veil of a mercenary lifestyle. It was you whom kept insisting I had a conscience and that I should follow my heart and attempt to make a greater difference in the world. We would not have been here to face the Troll had you not kept going on about it.', Wil opened and closed his mouth several times attempting to retort but finding nothing and eventually grumbled.
'Okay, I can't argue with that.', Beolrath blew a stream of smoke into the breeze and grinned.
'Well I'm heading back to bed, before I get dizzy again and fall off this wall.', Beolrath smiled and nodded.
'Good, because if the Lady tending you finds you out of bed, it will be me who gets it in the neck.', Wil laughed.
'Well she is quite pretty, so I doubt you'd complain overmuch at having that much attention from her.', the Man of Rohan chuckled.
'True enough my friend, true enough.', Beolrath glanced after his friend as he descended the wall before turning his attention back to the landscape. His eyes following the pipe smoke as it danced off into the breeze, forming intricate and vibrant patterns as it swirled and spiralled away; as if two lovers having long since been separated had found joy in their reunion.
