~*~*~*~
Marroc's Tale: Part 2: Orphaned
Prologue
By Hippy Hobbit
Dedicated to Niph
(A/N: Welcome back! This chapter is mainly a re-cap of what happens on the night of Tarroc and Maggie's last journey to the time when the first chapter of 'Orphaned', which takes place a few years after 'Childhood', when Marroc is the age of 10. It is mainly bits and pieces of unconnected material, so enjoy and also look for the review replies at the end of the prologue) ~*~*~*~
The child walked along the path, brushing a few rather annoying curls from his eyes as the winter winds blew. His hands and forehead were still bandaged and he still had a pip of a cough, but his aunt and uncle had allowed him to go outside, for the first time in a while.
With a bag of chicken feed, he walked briskly to the Brandyhall coops, snow crunching under his feet, which were wrapped in rabbit skins to keep them warm- Esmeralda had insisted upon it. The boots were big on the boy, and he kept tripping and falling flat on his face. Water, which had only recently been snow, dripped from his curls and his cheeks were tinged with pinkness and cold.
Opening up the coop door, he stuck his head inside, making a soft clucking noise with his tongue and teeth. The chickens were rather quiet today, he noted as he walked in.
He dumped the feed on the ground. Instantly, most of the hens on the top level flew down and began to eat, so he started removing their eggs from the nests and filling up his basket. Once finished with that, he started removing the sleeping hens from the bottom levels and throwing them down to get the eggs and also wake them up.
*CLOPSNUFF*
'Merry?' the little boy peeked his head out the door. Nothing. Slowly, he stepped out. 'Merry?' the noise came again.
*CLOPSNUFF*
He walked along the coop, looking for where the noise was coming from. He was sure it was his cousin, probably playing a trick on him like the nasty fella he could sometimes be. But still, there was nothing, so he decided to go back to the coop and finish collecting the eggs. But before he could make it... *SNORT* he whipped around.
There stood a pure charcoal black horse with gleaming red eyes.
'S-Storm?!'
The beast tossed her head, as if to say 'Yes...it is I. She started to paw at the snow with her massive left hoof, fiery red eyes glaring determinedly at him.
He dropped his basket, breaking all the eggs he'd collected. But it didn't matter. Not even a half a moment later, Storm charged at him. Jumping, he climbed up the side of the coop. Storm was there now. She reared up and kicked out, narrowly missing the lad's head. But she did manage to break a hole in the wall.
'MERRY!' he screamed at the top of his lungs. The horse tried to bite his backside, but he kicked out, hitting her square in the face.
'MERRY! She tried to bite his leg again, but he drew it away. She snapped again, her front half still partially stuck in the coop. She snapped once more, and this time caught his foot in her chops. He screamed a shrill shriek as the horses teeth dug into his flesh, ripping off both the boot, and some of his skin and hair as well.
Red... he could see blood dripping from his foot.
The horse kicked up again and broke another hole higher up in the wall this time, missing her target again.
He screamed for his cousin one final time.
'MERRY!'
Storm gave a sudden whinny, as if in immense pain. The boy could vaguely see Merry, running towards him, bow in hand and quiver on his back. He shot the mare once more and she stumbled, but recovered herself quickly. Turning towards her new foe, she ran. Her previous target could see two arrows sticking out of her hide.
'MERRY! LOOK OUT!' Merry gave one finally shot, just in time. The arrow flew fast and true, straight into the creature's neck. She fell with a *THUD*, jarred a few times, and then moved no more.
Merry dropped his bow and ran over to the coop. Some hens had gotten out and were pecking around in the snow, which was red from blood of some of the more unfortunate chickens that had been crushed. Merry scooped his cousin up in his arms.
'Marroc!' he cried, relieved, hugging him close. Marroc's eyes were wide with fear. He wrapped his arms tightly around Merry's neck, a dazed look on his face,
'Where are my parents?'...
~*~*~*~
No one had seen a single tear fall from Marroc's eyes, but he was not the same little hobbit most residents of Brandyhall had grown to know and love. He clung to Merry constantly and would sulk continuously if he was ever left without him.
After Maggie and Tarroc were found dead, and Storm was killed by Merry, it was time to set the Buckland-Took's affairs in order. Nearly everything was left to their son, although he was too young to do many of the things, such as own a house. The deeds for the house, and also the small fortune that he'd inherited were stored at Brandyhall, according to Tarroc's last will and testimony, which stated that Saradoc Brandybuck would be the holder, if Marroc had not reached proper age. Marroc would be allowed to 'dip into' the inheritance, however, if he ever needed to.
One thing that was not said in Tarroc's will was what would happen to his son should both parents die, and since the inevitable had happened, it was now time for the elders of Brandyhall to decide this. Saradoc, mostly convinced by his wife, had chosen to take in the boy for the time being; however, he filled out proper adoption papers for his nephew, should anyone chose to provide him with a good home and family.
Only two days after Merry had killed Storm, it was time to decide where Maggie and Tarroc would be buried. Saradoc, who was originally in charge of this idea, had decided to leave it to his nephew. So, he sought him out one dreary winter day, only to find him in his own study. His nose and hands were pressed against the window, wide, green eyes staring out blankly to the cold, gray snow.
A carriage drawn by two ponies was out there. The ponies coats were so white, so pure, that it made the snow look gray around them. Or, it could've been that Marroc was just so used to seeing Storm in his nightmares, it made them look so...kind... and pure.
'Marroc?' Saradoc peeked his head in.
Marroc didn't turn, but he still spoke, and his tone frightened the Master greatly. It was lifeless...hopeless...cold. Like the snow.
'It's Yuletide today, Uncle. They said they'd be back on Yuletide. And they are.' He pointed dully out the window to the carriage, where two hobbits where carrying a oak casket between them. They set it out on two cinder blocks that were raised in the snow, then went back to get the other.
Saradoc walked in closer, then bent down beside his nephew, putting a hand on his shoulder. Marroc didn't recoil or anything.
'Yes. It is Yuletide. I have a present for you. Father Yule wanted me to give it to you. I met him last night. Said he went to your house, but you weren't there, so he came here instead, knowing how fond you are of your cousin, Merry.'
He took from his pocket a bar, wrapped in green paper. It was about 5 inches long and a half of an inch thick. One look at it and Marroc could already tell what it was. Only Father Yule brought chocolate, and he was only allowed to have it at this time of year, because it made him to hyper.
He gave his uncle a small smile.
'Thank you.'
Saradoc laughed. ' Don't thank me! Father Yule brought it! I still haven't given you the present from me, Aunty Essie, and Merry yet.'
He then took from his pocket a beautiful book with a soft leather cover. The leather was dyed an emerald green, like the color of Marroc's eyes, and across the center read the words 'Marroc's Tale'.
Marroc took the book in his hands, in wonder at the beautiful book. His mouth opened for a moment as he felt the soft material in his hands. He opened the cover and ran his fingers over the soft parchment inside.
The bright look in Marroc's once dull eyes made Saradoc himself smile.
'Your...your mother said you've been learning to write. This is a journal for you... you write about yourself in it. About your life.'
Marroc blinked his big eyes.
'Thank...you...'
'Oh, yeah...' he put his hand back in his pocket and pulled out a bottle of green ink, a reed pen, and a small knife. 'These are for you too. Here, sit down...' he started to show Marroc how to sharpen the reed with the knife and dip it into the ink to write.
They'd been in there for almost an hour, before...
'Master?' the door opened, and Sandy, Saradoc's personal attendant poked his head in, 'Master, they're ready for you.' His eyes fell on Marroc, who was sitting on the desk, his legs dangling over as Saradoc taught him.
'Oh... right. I still haven't asked him yet...' he turned to Marroc, '...you are allowed to choose-'
'Marcho.'
'Huh?'
'Marcho. I want them buried by Marcho...'
(A/N: here's a question for y'all. Should 'will and testimony' be capitalized? I was just wondering that. Sorta tired, yah know... stayed up all night last night watching Fruit's Basket at my friend's father's bar. It was awesome (and no, I didn't drink anything -–'). But I have got that annoyingly cute theme song stuck in my head. That should be Marroc's Song. Just kidding. Marroc has too many songs. Woot... look at me ramble. 'Kay, shutting up now.
Also, I do believe that hobbits ought to have adoption papers, and wills. Its just sort of in their nature, you know? They're very organized. I dunno, I just always imagined they would. Sue me if you think they wouldn't. Goodness... need to get to bed.
Niph- Have a heckuva time in Mexico. I wish you the best of luck and much fun and burritos (I'm so stereotypical). But you should've come to my house instead of Mexico. Oh well. You're forgiven. *does the fwippy hair face* //.^
Elessar*Lover: Oh hush, won't you? Just kidding... You're awesome. My first fan who has absolutely nothing to do with the future of the story (or has nothing to do with one of the people who have to do with the future of the story. Seriously, I promise I'll stop rambling. x.X)
Aredhel: You're so evil. Why wont you review? *prods most vigorously with furry hobbit toe*
Axis: (if you ever read) See? This is why Marroc is so messed up in the head!
Aragorn: Same to you as what I said to Axis. Oh yeah, oy-vey.
Pipinheart: You don't like Tarroc? Aww.. *sniffle*...he was good, deep down. You'll find out more. And the reason Merry is so mean...well, I remember MY elder cousins were always rather mean to me as well... but he'll get nicer ^^ )
(A/N: Welcome back! This chapter is mainly a re-cap of what happens on the night of Tarroc and Maggie's last journey to the time when the first chapter of 'Orphaned', which takes place a few years after 'Childhood', when Marroc is the age of 10. It is mainly bits and pieces of unconnected material, so enjoy and also look for the review replies at the end of the prologue) ~*~*~*~
The child walked along the path, brushing a few rather annoying curls from his eyes as the winter winds blew. His hands and forehead were still bandaged and he still had a pip of a cough, but his aunt and uncle had allowed him to go outside, for the first time in a while.
With a bag of chicken feed, he walked briskly to the Brandyhall coops, snow crunching under his feet, which were wrapped in rabbit skins to keep them warm- Esmeralda had insisted upon it. The boots were big on the boy, and he kept tripping and falling flat on his face. Water, which had only recently been snow, dripped from his curls and his cheeks were tinged with pinkness and cold.
Opening up the coop door, he stuck his head inside, making a soft clucking noise with his tongue and teeth. The chickens were rather quiet today, he noted as he walked in.
He dumped the feed on the ground. Instantly, most of the hens on the top level flew down and began to eat, so he started removing their eggs from the nests and filling up his basket. Once finished with that, he started removing the sleeping hens from the bottom levels and throwing them down to get the eggs and also wake them up.
*CLOPSNUFF*
'Merry?' the little boy peeked his head out the door. Nothing. Slowly, he stepped out. 'Merry?' the noise came again.
*CLOPSNUFF*
He walked along the coop, looking for where the noise was coming from. He was sure it was his cousin, probably playing a trick on him like the nasty fella he could sometimes be. But still, there was nothing, so he decided to go back to the coop and finish collecting the eggs. But before he could make it... *SNORT* he whipped around.
There stood a pure charcoal black horse with gleaming red eyes.
'S-Storm?!'
The beast tossed her head, as if to say 'Yes...it is I. She started to paw at the snow with her massive left hoof, fiery red eyes glaring determinedly at him.
He dropped his basket, breaking all the eggs he'd collected. But it didn't matter. Not even a half a moment later, Storm charged at him. Jumping, he climbed up the side of the coop. Storm was there now. She reared up and kicked out, narrowly missing the lad's head. But she did manage to break a hole in the wall.
'MERRY!' he screamed at the top of his lungs. The horse tried to bite his backside, but he kicked out, hitting her square in the face.
'MERRY! She tried to bite his leg again, but he drew it away. She snapped again, her front half still partially stuck in the coop. She snapped once more, and this time caught his foot in her chops. He screamed a shrill shriek as the horses teeth dug into his flesh, ripping off both the boot, and some of his skin and hair as well.
Red... he could see blood dripping from his foot.
The horse kicked up again and broke another hole higher up in the wall this time, missing her target again.
He screamed for his cousin one final time.
'MERRY!'
Storm gave a sudden whinny, as if in immense pain. The boy could vaguely see Merry, running towards him, bow in hand and quiver on his back. He shot the mare once more and she stumbled, but recovered herself quickly. Turning towards her new foe, she ran. Her previous target could see two arrows sticking out of her hide.
'MERRY! LOOK OUT!' Merry gave one finally shot, just in time. The arrow flew fast and true, straight into the creature's neck. She fell with a *THUD*, jarred a few times, and then moved no more.
Merry dropped his bow and ran over to the coop. Some hens had gotten out and were pecking around in the snow, which was red from blood of some of the more unfortunate chickens that had been crushed. Merry scooped his cousin up in his arms.
'Marroc!' he cried, relieved, hugging him close. Marroc's eyes were wide with fear. He wrapped his arms tightly around Merry's neck, a dazed look on his face,
'Where are my parents?'...
~*~*~*~
No one had seen a single tear fall from Marroc's eyes, but he was not the same little hobbit most residents of Brandyhall had grown to know and love. He clung to Merry constantly and would sulk continuously if he was ever left without him.
After Maggie and Tarroc were found dead, and Storm was killed by Merry, it was time to set the Buckland-Took's affairs in order. Nearly everything was left to their son, although he was too young to do many of the things, such as own a house. The deeds for the house, and also the small fortune that he'd inherited were stored at Brandyhall, according to Tarroc's last will and testimony, which stated that Saradoc Brandybuck would be the holder, if Marroc had not reached proper age. Marroc would be allowed to 'dip into' the inheritance, however, if he ever needed to.
One thing that was not said in Tarroc's will was what would happen to his son should both parents die, and since the inevitable had happened, it was now time for the elders of Brandyhall to decide this. Saradoc, mostly convinced by his wife, had chosen to take in the boy for the time being; however, he filled out proper adoption papers for his nephew, should anyone chose to provide him with a good home and family.
Only two days after Merry had killed Storm, it was time to decide where Maggie and Tarroc would be buried. Saradoc, who was originally in charge of this idea, had decided to leave it to his nephew. So, he sought him out one dreary winter day, only to find him in his own study. His nose and hands were pressed against the window, wide, green eyes staring out blankly to the cold, gray snow.
A carriage drawn by two ponies was out there. The ponies coats were so white, so pure, that it made the snow look gray around them. Or, it could've been that Marroc was just so used to seeing Storm in his nightmares, it made them look so...kind... and pure.
'Marroc?' Saradoc peeked his head in.
Marroc didn't turn, but he still spoke, and his tone frightened the Master greatly. It was lifeless...hopeless...cold. Like the snow.
'It's Yuletide today, Uncle. They said they'd be back on Yuletide. And they are.' He pointed dully out the window to the carriage, where two hobbits where carrying a oak casket between them. They set it out on two cinder blocks that were raised in the snow, then went back to get the other.
Saradoc walked in closer, then bent down beside his nephew, putting a hand on his shoulder. Marroc didn't recoil or anything.
'Yes. It is Yuletide. I have a present for you. Father Yule wanted me to give it to you. I met him last night. Said he went to your house, but you weren't there, so he came here instead, knowing how fond you are of your cousin, Merry.'
He took from his pocket a bar, wrapped in green paper. It was about 5 inches long and a half of an inch thick. One look at it and Marroc could already tell what it was. Only Father Yule brought chocolate, and he was only allowed to have it at this time of year, because it made him to hyper.
He gave his uncle a small smile.
'Thank you.'
Saradoc laughed. ' Don't thank me! Father Yule brought it! I still haven't given you the present from me, Aunty Essie, and Merry yet.'
He then took from his pocket a beautiful book with a soft leather cover. The leather was dyed an emerald green, like the color of Marroc's eyes, and across the center read the words 'Marroc's Tale'.
Marroc took the book in his hands, in wonder at the beautiful book. His mouth opened for a moment as he felt the soft material in his hands. He opened the cover and ran his fingers over the soft parchment inside.
The bright look in Marroc's once dull eyes made Saradoc himself smile.
'Your...your mother said you've been learning to write. This is a journal for you... you write about yourself in it. About your life.'
Marroc blinked his big eyes.
'Thank...you...'
'Oh, yeah...' he put his hand back in his pocket and pulled out a bottle of green ink, a reed pen, and a small knife. 'These are for you too. Here, sit down...' he started to show Marroc how to sharpen the reed with the knife and dip it into the ink to write.
They'd been in there for almost an hour, before...
'Master?' the door opened, and Sandy, Saradoc's personal attendant poked his head in, 'Master, they're ready for you.' His eyes fell on Marroc, who was sitting on the desk, his legs dangling over as Saradoc taught him.
'Oh... right. I still haven't asked him yet...' he turned to Marroc, '...you are allowed to choose-'
'Marcho.'
'Huh?'
'Marcho. I want them buried by Marcho...'
(A/N: here's a question for y'all. Should 'will and testimony' be capitalized? I was just wondering that. Sorta tired, yah know... stayed up all night last night watching Fruit's Basket at my friend's father's bar. It was awesome (and no, I didn't drink anything -–'). But I have got that annoyingly cute theme song stuck in my head. That should be Marroc's Song. Just kidding. Marroc has too many songs. Woot... look at me ramble. 'Kay, shutting up now.
Also, I do believe that hobbits ought to have adoption papers, and wills. Its just sort of in their nature, you know? They're very organized. I dunno, I just always imagined they would. Sue me if you think they wouldn't. Goodness... need to get to bed.
Niph- Have a heckuva time in Mexico. I wish you the best of luck and much fun and burritos (I'm so stereotypical). But you should've come to my house instead of Mexico. Oh well. You're forgiven. *does the fwippy hair face* //.^
Elessar*Lover: Oh hush, won't you? Just kidding... You're awesome. My first fan who has absolutely nothing to do with the future of the story (or has nothing to do with one of the people who have to do with the future of the story. Seriously, I promise I'll stop rambling. x.X)
Aredhel: You're so evil. Why wont you review? *prods most vigorously with furry hobbit toe*
Axis: (if you ever read) See? This is why Marroc is so messed up in the head!
Aragorn: Same to you as what I said to Axis. Oh yeah, oy-vey.
Pipinheart: You don't like Tarroc? Aww.. *sniffle*...he was good, deep down. You'll find out more. And the reason Merry is so mean...well, I remember MY elder cousins were always rather mean to me as well... but he'll get nicer ^^ )