Marroc's Tale
By
Hippy :) Hobbit
~*~*~*~
Those that lived near the Old Forest were always said to be a bit 'odd', but the small
family of Tooks' that lived right on the boarder of the wood, were ranked among the oddest.
Tarroc Took had taken his new wife there to a small hobbit hole right on the beginning of the Withywindle path shortly after they had wed. Being rather much of a loner from the rest of the Took clan, Tarroc and his wife kept to themselves most of the time- well, at least away from the other hobbits.
Elves, Men and sometimes Dwarves came along the roads of the Old Forest once and a while, and Tarroc found himself enjoying the company of the wide travelers more then that of his kin. His (rather eccentric) son, Marroc adopted the same traits from his father.
Marroc Took was always a good lad.
In his parents' eyes.
He never saw much of his cousins, except for the Brandybucks, but few of them ever assorted themselves with him. He had never even met his Took cousins till he was about the age of 6, nor did most of the Shire know that Mr. Tarroc Took and Ms. Maggie Brandybuck had wed and started a family.
His father had disappeared from the Took household for a while, and everyone thought he had gone off on some adventure, like his great uncle Hildibrant, and would never return. Little did they know that Tarroc had been sent away by the Thain, in order to restore piece to Tookland, so, he had gone to Brandyhall to stay with his favorite cousin, Saradoc. Then, after falling in love with and marrying Maggie, went to live on the boarders as a bounder. And then, along came Marroc.
But Marroc was never lonely though. Like his father, he found his friendships with the taller folk. The Elves had given him the lovely nickname of "Phreinnith raa" (little lion) and the Men just called him 'Sparkplug'.
And quite the sparkplug Marroc was.
Quite.
Sugar did unbelievable things to the lad's energy. Yep. Unbelievable. And his older friends (and sometimes cousins) were always giving it to him (his cousins only did it to make their aunt Maggie angry).
It was very rare that his mother would be able to get him under control. These times only consisted of when he was sleeping, studying or...
...well, there was really no other time, unless you counted when she rubbed his back, which always calmed him, no matter what; however, the whole point was catching him in order to do this.
~*~*~*~
And so, anyway, our story takes us to a few weeks before the lad's 6th birthday. Marroc was heading to Tookland, for the first time, all by himself. His father had fallen out of a tree the day before, and couldn't make the journey to purchase a goat from his dear cousin, Paladin, with the 'dear' stressed, of course.
Tarroc and Paladin had never gotten over a senseless feud they had had when they were tweenagers. In fact, they probably couldn't even remember what it was about, but if you asked Paladin, he would say it was Tarroc's fault, and if you asked Tarroc, he would say it was all Paladin's evil doing. Paladin did many evil things, according to Tarroc. If the cows didn't give milk, Tarroc would scorn and curse his cousin's name to the heavens. If Marroc-Lad (as he was always called by his da) caught a wee head cold, or so much as the sniffles, Tarroc was determined that Paladin was to blame. Even if he stubbed his toe, Maggie would cover her mouth and silently giggle, covering her son's ears, as her husband stumbled around their hobbit-hole, screaming
'PALADIN YOU DUNG-EATER!! I'M GOING TO GET YOU BACK WHEN YOU LEAST EXPECT IT! YOU'LL NEVER KNOW WHAT HIT YOU!'
Then, Marroc-Lad would look up at his mother, and ask in a timid whisper:
'Da's gone mad, hasn't 'ee?'
Anyway, as aforementioned, Marroc was off on his way to buy a goat from his Uncle Paladin. This may seem odd, seeing as how his father hated Paladin so much; however, Marroc-Lad was a goat fanatic. He loved goats so much that his old Ruby had run off in fear of the lad. Yes, Ruby the goat hated Marroc's constant hugging, cuddling and raw obsession SO MUCH, that HE had run off to a fate unknown, leaving the little hobbit's heart in pieces.
Now, money was not something that was rare in this family, so Tarroc could have gone out and bought Marroc-Lad a new goat in no time; however, Tarroc was a good father, who believed that everything his son had, he had to earn it.
"Marroc-Lad," Tarroc said, in his deep voice, as though giving orders to an army, "Oi know yewr Ruby ran off, and yew want another playmate, but oi'm gonna 'ave ta make yew work for it. Yew'll get no where in this world if yew don't learn to earn things for yewrself."
"Yes Da."
"So, oi need to go away for a week. There 'ave been reports of wolves 'round Sackville, and the Theein wants meh ta check it all out."
"Yes Da."
" Oi want yew to help your mum in the garden, since it be almost time ta harvest the taters, an' oi want yew ta milk the cows every morn."
"Yes Da."
"If Oi come back an' yer mum says yew been good an' you did everything Oi told you to, Oi'll buy yew another goat friend."
"Yes Da!"
This made Marroc understandably happy, and, indeed, he held up his end of the deal very well. Or as well as a 5 year old could, which meant of course he needed more then a little help from his mother when milking the cows, though he was very eager to get up in the morning and do it, and that's what Tarroc was looking for- a proper work ethic
And so, Tarroc had gone to his cousin Saradoc for help in finding a 'fwiend' for his boy. The Master was no help at all (being rather drunk at the time), and to make matters worse, the next week, he had told Paladin (over a spot of tea), that a dear friend of his was looking for a goat for his lad. He didn't mention any names.
Now, it just so happened that Paladin had a ram that he was hankering to get rid of. And so, Tarroc agreed that Marroc could buy Paladin's goat. But HE, Tarroc would be the one to go to Tookland and HE would be the one to check out the goat and HE would be the one bringing it home.
But most unfortunately for Tarroc's plans, gravity attacked (which, OF COURSE he blamed on Paladin), and so Marroc would be setting off alone to Tookland, much against his father's wishes. Very much against them.
He had wanted Saradoc's son, Meriadoc, to go with Marroc to Tookland, but Merry (as he was commonly called) refused to do anything with Marroc unless he could put a leash on him. Tarroc said that would be fine, but Maggie (understandably) put her foot down on it.
It wasn't a problem for Marroc though- being alone didn't bother him at all. He was the only company he needed sometimes (no really. The lad could talk himself to sleep).
He set out early on the morning of Wedmath 1, in the year 1396 (by Shire reckoning), about three weeks before his birthday. The sun was shining its brightest, though not hot enough to burn Marroc-Lad's neck as he skipped happily upon the beaten path towards...well, wherever he was going. It wasn't like he really knew where exactly it was, but that didn't dampen his spirits. He was getting a goat, and as far as it concerned him, that was the best thing in the world!
It wasn't long before he came upon a scene. About 10-hobbit lads were crowded around something- or someone. They were jeering and laughing in a way that made Marroc feel rather uncomfortable. His un-natural and at sometimes stupid Tookish curiosity told him firmly to check it out.
So he did.
He skipped jovially over to the group. Some looked at him, but most were still focused upon the center of attention. The biggest of all of them was up front, his fists balled up. He was probably about 4 years older then Marroc. Black curls framed a pudgy, red face, and squinted beetle black eyes peered out- at another lad, who was sprawled out in front, shivering with fright. Blood spewed from the smaller lad's nose, onto a scarf that was green and way too big. The elder hobbit-lad laughed, a menacing evil laugh that pierced through the nice summer day like a hot knife through butter. The smaller lad gave a whimper.
"Wot's wrong, Poopy Pippy?" the ebony-haired lad asked in a taunting laugh, "are you scared of me?" the rest of the hobbits (save Marroc) burst into laughter.
"N-n-no! Oi'm nor-rra scared of...yew! Moi daddy's gon-gonna be the Theein!" said 'Poopy Pippy'. "A-an-and someday, Oi'll be the Theein too, and Oi'll-oi'll get yew for-for this!"
This only caused them to laugh harder.
"Your daddy ain't your REAL daddy you know?!" jeered the bigger boy.
"'ee isn't?"
"NO!" said a near by hobbit with sandy brown hair "'ee's not! Your uncle said that your daddy could be the Thain if 'ee had a son, so your daddy went and bought you off some tramp, just so 'ee could be the Thain!" all the others burst out into laughter again and timid sobs could be heard from the younger lad.
Marroc didn't like these hobbits. The sound of their laughter was sending chills up his spine and making him feel sick in the stomach. He pushed his way through the crowd going to help the one they enjoyed tormenting so much. The other lads were so enveloped in their laughter that they didn't realize him kneeling down next their Poopy Pippy.
"Yew alright?" Marroc asked in his squeaky voice.
"Nooooo..." he moaned in reply then said, more to himself then anyone else, "Where's Merry when yew need 'im?!"
"Merry Brandywuck?" Marroc asked.
"No... Brandybuck..."
"Dat's wot I meant!"
Marroc's indignant squeak attracted the attention of the older hobbits again. They began talking loudly amongst themselves.
"Is he still hanging around with that Brandybuck?!"
"I heard all those who lived in Buckland were queer, and all those that associated with them were just as queer!"
"Oi'm from Buckland, an' Oi'm not queer!" piped up Marroc. The black-haired hobbit looked around.
"Oh and who are you then?"
"Oi'm Marroc, son of Tarroc!"
"Tarroc?! Never heard of such a person and my da knows everyone in the Shire. You're makin' up lies!"
"Oi am NOT!" Marroc growled, "Oi'm a Took, and moi da says that Tooks don't lie!"
A smirk came over the bigger hobbit's fat face. Marroc heard the lad behind him crawl away, but no one seemed to notice. All their attention was on him.
"A Took, eh? Do you know what I do to Tooks?" he was asked in a menacing hiss
Marroc shook his head bravely.
A sharp blow came across his face, knocking him flat unto his back. All the other hobbits except for the one behind him started laughing.
"That'll teach ye!" shouted the black-haired lad "not to mess with Roy Bracegirdle!" he doubled over with laughter.
Marroc stood up. The punch didn't hurt THAT bad. He wiped blood coming down from his nose on his white sleeve, knowing the scarlet stain would be there for a long time. But that wasn't important.
"Boy, he didn't see it commin', did he?" snorted the black-haired hobbit, "stupid little-" he was cut short, as Marroc's fist collided with his own face.
"NOT SO HOT, NOW ARE YEW, SLICK?!" Marroc yelled, pulling his body into a defensive position, fists out in front, knees bent and a glare that could make an orc shudder. This was how his father had taught him to fight.
Complete silence.
Roy Bracegirdle put his hand to his nose. Blood was flowing as freely from it as from Marroc's. He glared down at little Marroc.
Within moments, he was on top of Marroc, who (mind you) put up a pretty good fight for a lad his age and size, though it was nothing matched with his opposer's brute strength. Roy punched and shook Marroc, grabbing his shoulders and twisted his neck around to push his face into the dirt. With every hit, Marroc let out a heart wrenching 'YIP'.
"BRACEGIRDLE!" a shout rang out. Everyone looked up, including Roy; however, Marroc didn't- as soon as Roy let go of his shoulders, he just closed his eyes and lay there, twitching.
"ROY BRACEGIRDLE! YOU GET OFFA HIM RIGHT THIS INSTANT!" Merry Brandybuck came storming over. Pippin scurried over to Marroc, who sat up as Roy Bracegirdle stood up, releasing the weight from his abdomen.
"I'll have your head for beating my kin!" he snarled. Neither Pippin nor Marroc had seen their older cousin so angry, nor did they know that THEY were cousins; however, the ' I-am-a-Took-and-my-da-says-Tooks-don't-lie' thing HAD been a pretty big clue, the Fools of Tooks.
All the other lads scattered like cockroaches under a hot lamp, so that it was only Pippin, Merry, Marroc and Roy left and Merry was glaring Roy down. They all knew what would happen. Merry removed his gaze from the bully for a moment to look at his cousins.
"Pip, why don't you take Marroc to your house, hmm?" Pippin blinked.
"But Merry..."
"No Pip. Go. Now."
Pippin obeyed and helped Marroc to his feet, and then led him away, not looking back.
~*~*~*~
A/N: Okay, that took a very long time to get up (Sorry Niph!)
Had a bit of a wee problem with Pippin. Oh course, you know that the one who Roy was beating up WAS he when you hear about the green scarf, but it would sound stupid for the author to put his name up, so I used 'the little lad' which sounded really dumb, didn't it? Yeah, well, I'm a stupid person
Oh yes, and if you DIDN'T like it...
Kick me
Pinch me
Steal my lunch money
Send spam to my email account
Pillage my hometown
I DON'T CARE! (but uh... don't send me spam please!)
~Hippy Hobbit
By
Hippy :) Hobbit
~*~*~*~
Those that lived near the Old Forest were always said to be a bit 'odd', but the small
family of Tooks' that lived right on the boarder of the wood, were ranked among the oddest.
Tarroc Took had taken his new wife there to a small hobbit hole right on the beginning of the Withywindle path shortly after they had wed. Being rather much of a loner from the rest of the Took clan, Tarroc and his wife kept to themselves most of the time- well, at least away from the other hobbits.
Elves, Men and sometimes Dwarves came along the roads of the Old Forest once and a while, and Tarroc found himself enjoying the company of the wide travelers more then that of his kin. His (rather eccentric) son, Marroc adopted the same traits from his father.
Marroc Took was always a good lad.
In his parents' eyes.
He never saw much of his cousins, except for the Brandybucks, but few of them ever assorted themselves with him. He had never even met his Took cousins till he was about the age of 6, nor did most of the Shire know that Mr. Tarroc Took and Ms. Maggie Brandybuck had wed and started a family.
His father had disappeared from the Took household for a while, and everyone thought he had gone off on some adventure, like his great uncle Hildibrant, and would never return. Little did they know that Tarroc had been sent away by the Thain, in order to restore piece to Tookland, so, he had gone to Brandyhall to stay with his favorite cousin, Saradoc. Then, after falling in love with and marrying Maggie, went to live on the boarders as a bounder. And then, along came Marroc.
But Marroc was never lonely though. Like his father, he found his friendships with the taller folk. The Elves had given him the lovely nickname of "Phreinnith raa" (little lion) and the Men just called him 'Sparkplug'.
And quite the sparkplug Marroc was.
Quite.
Sugar did unbelievable things to the lad's energy. Yep. Unbelievable. And his older friends (and sometimes cousins) were always giving it to him (his cousins only did it to make their aunt Maggie angry).
It was very rare that his mother would be able to get him under control. These times only consisted of when he was sleeping, studying or...
...well, there was really no other time, unless you counted when she rubbed his back, which always calmed him, no matter what; however, the whole point was catching him in order to do this.
~*~*~*~
And so, anyway, our story takes us to a few weeks before the lad's 6th birthday. Marroc was heading to Tookland, for the first time, all by himself. His father had fallen out of a tree the day before, and couldn't make the journey to purchase a goat from his dear cousin, Paladin, with the 'dear' stressed, of course.
Tarroc and Paladin had never gotten over a senseless feud they had had when they were tweenagers. In fact, they probably couldn't even remember what it was about, but if you asked Paladin, he would say it was Tarroc's fault, and if you asked Tarroc, he would say it was all Paladin's evil doing. Paladin did many evil things, according to Tarroc. If the cows didn't give milk, Tarroc would scorn and curse his cousin's name to the heavens. If Marroc-Lad (as he was always called by his da) caught a wee head cold, or so much as the sniffles, Tarroc was determined that Paladin was to blame. Even if he stubbed his toe, Maggie would cover her mouth and silently giggle, covering her son's ears, as her husband stumbled around their hobbit-hole, screaming
'PALADIN YOU DUNG-EATER!! I'M GOING TO GET YOU BACK WHEN YOU LEAST EXPECT IT! YOU'LL NEVER KNOW WHAT HIT YOU!'
Then, Marroc-Lad would look up at his mother, and ask in a timid whisper:
'Da's gone mad, hasn't 'ee?'
Anyway, as aforementioned, Marroc was off on his way to buy a goat from his Uncle Paladin. This may seem odd, seeing as how his father hated Paladin so much; however, Marroc-Lad was a goat fanatic. He loved goats so much that his old Ruby had run off in fear of the lad. Yes, Ruby the goat hated Marroc's constant hugging, cuddling and raw obsession SO MUCH, that HE had run off to a fate unknown, leaving the little hobbit's heart in pieces.
Now, money was not something that was rare in this family, so Tarroc could have gone out and bought Marroc-Lad a new goat in no time; however, Tarroc was a good father, who believed that everything his son had, he had to earn it.
"Marroc-Lad," Tarroc said, in his deep voice, as though giving orders to an army, "Oi know yewr Ruby ran off, and yew want another playmate, but oi'm gonna 'ave ta make yew work for it. Yew'll get no where in this world if yew don't learn to earn things for yewrself."
"Yes Da."
"So, oi need to go away for a week. There 'ave been reports of wolves 'round Sackville, and the Theein wants meh ta check it all out."
"Yes Da."
" Oi want yew to help your mum in the garden, since it be almost time ta harvest the taters, an' oi want yew ta milk the cows every morn."
"Yes Da."
"If Oi come back an' yer mum says yew been good an' you did everything Oi told you to, Oi'll buy yew another goat friend."
"Yes Da!"
This made Marroc understandably happy, and, indeed, he held up his end of the deal very well. Or as well as a 5 year old could, which meant of course he needed more then a little help from his mother when milking the cows, though he was very eager to get up in the morning and do it, and that's what Tarroc was looking for- a proper work ethic
And so, Tarroc had gone to his cousin Saradoc for help in finding a 'fwiend' for his boy. The Master was no help at all (being rather drunk at the time), and to make matters worse, the next week, he had told Paladin (over a spot of tea), that a dear friend of his was looking for a goat for his lad. He didn't mention any names.
Now, it just so happened that Paladin had a ram that he was hankering to get rid of. And so, Tarroc agreed that Marroc could buy Paladin's goat. But HE, Tarroc would be the one to go to Tookland and HE would be the one to check out the goat and HE would be the one bringing it home.
But most unfortunately for Tarroc's plans, gravity attacked (which, OF COURSE he blamed on Paladin), and so Marroc would be setting off alone to Tookland, much against his father's wishes. Very much against them.
He had wanted Saradoc's son, Meriadoc, to go with Marroc to Tookland, but Merry (as he was commonly called) refused to do anything with Marroc unless he could put a leash on him. Tarroc said that would be fine, but Maggie (understandably) put her foot down on it.
It wasn't a problem for Marroc though- being alone didn't bother him at all. He was the only company he needed sometimes (no really. The lad could talk himself to sleep).
He set out early on the morning of Wedmath 1, in the year 1396 (by Shire reckoning), about three weeks before his birthday. The sun was shining its brightest, though not hot enough to burn Marroc-Lad's neck as he skipped happily upon the beaten path towards...well, wherever he was going. It wasn't like he really knew where exactly it was, but that didn't dampen his spirits. He was getting a goat, and as far as it concerned him, that was the best thing in the world!
It wasn't long before he came upon a scene. About 10-hobbit lads were crowded around something- or someone. They were jeering and laughing in a way that made Marroc feel rather uncomfortable. His un-natural and at sometimes stupid Tookish curiosity told him firmly to check it out.
So he did.
He skipped jovially over to the group. Some looked at him, but most were still focused upon the center of attention. The biggest of all of them was up front, his fists balled up. He was probably about 4 years older then Marroc. Black curls framed a pudgy, red face, and squinted beetle black eyes peered out- at another lad, who was sprawled out in front, shivering with fright. Blood spewed from the smaller lad's nose, onto a scarf that was green and way too big. The elder hobbit-lad laughed, a menacing evil laugh that pierced through the nice summer day like a hot knife through butter. The smaller lad gave a whimper.
"Wot's wrong, Poopy Pippy?" the ebony-haired lad asked in a taunting laugh, "are you scared of me?" the rest of the hobbits (save Marroc) burst into laughter.
"N-n-no! Oi'm nor-rra scared of...yew! Moi daddy's gon-gonna be the Theein!" said 'Poopy Pippy'. "A-an-and someday, Oi'll be the Theein too, and Oi'll-oi'll get yew for-for this!"
This only caused them to laugh harder.
"Your daddy ain't your REAL daddy you know?!" jeered the bigger boy.
"'ee isn't?"
"NO!" said a near by hobbit with sandy brown hair "'ee's not! Your uncle said that your daddy could be the Thain if 'ee had a son, so your daddy went and bought you off some tramp, just so 'ee could be the Thain!" all the others burst out into laughter again and timid sobs could be heard from the younger lad.
Marroc didn't like these hobbits. The sound of their laughter was sending chills up his spine and making him feel sick in the stomach. He pushed his way through the crowd going to help the one they enjoyed tormenting so much. The other lads were so enveloped in their laughter that they didn't realize him kneeling down next their Poopy Pippy.
"Yew alright?" Marroc asked in his squeaky voice.
"Nooooo..." he moaned in reply then said, more to himself then anyone else, "Where's Merry when yew need 'im?!"
"Merry Brandywuck?" Marroc asked.
"No... Brandybuck..."
"Dat's wot I meant!"
Marroc's indignant squeak attracted the attention of the older hobbits again. They began talking loudly amongst themselves.
"Is he still hanging around with that Brandybuck?!"
"I heard all those who lived in Buckland were queer, and all those that associated with them were just as queer!"
"Oi'm from Buckland, an' Oi'm not queer!" piped up Marroc. The black-haired hobbit looked around.
"Oh and who are you then?"
"Oi'm Marroc, son of Tarroc!"
"Tarroc?! Never heard of such a person and my da knows everyone in the Shire. You're makin' up lies!"
"Oi am NOT!" Marroc growled, "Oi'm a Took, and moi da says that Tooks don't lie!"
A smirk came over the bigger hobbit's fat face. Marroc heard the lad behind him crawl away, but no one seemed to notice. All their attention was on him.
"A Took, eh? Do you know what I do to Tooks?" he was asked in a menacing hiss
Marroc shook his head bravely.
A sharp blow came across his face, knocking him flat unto his back. All the other hobbits except for the one behind him started laughing.
"That'll teach ye!" shouted the black-haired lad "not to mess with Roy Bracegirdle!" he doubled over with laughter.
Marroc stood up. The punch didn't hurt THAT bad. He wiped blood coming down from his nose on his white sleeve, knowing the scarlet stain would be there for a long time. But that wasn't important.
"Boy, he didn't see it commin', did he?" snorted the black-haired hobbit, "stupid little-" he was cut short, as Marroc's fist collided with his own face.
"NOT SO HOT, NOW ARE YEW, SLICK?!" Marroc yelled, pulling his body into a defensive position, fists out in front, knees bent and a glare that could make an orc shudder. This was how his father had taught him to fight.
Complete silence.
Roy Bracegirdle put his hand to his nose. Blood was flowing as freely from it as from Marroc's. He glared down at little Marroc.
Within moments, he was on top of Marroc, who (mind you) put up a pretty good fight for a lad his age and size, though it was nothing matched with his opposer's brute strength. Roy punched and shook Marroc, grabbing his shoulders and twisted his neck around to push his face into the dirt. With every hit, Marroc let out a heart wrenching 'YIP'.
"BRACEGIRDLE!" a shout rang out. Everyone looked up, including Roy; however, Marroc didn't- as soon as Roy let go of his shoulders, he just closed his eyes and lay there, twitching.
"ROY BRACEGIRDLE! YOU GET OFFA HIM RIGHT THIS INSTANT!" Merry Brandybuck came storming over. Pippin scurried over to Marroc, who sat up as Roy Bracegirdle stood up, releasing the weight from his abdomen.
"I'll have your head for beating my kin!" he snarled. Neither Pippin nor Marroc had seen their older cousin so angry, nor did they know that THEY were cousins; however, the ' I-am-a-Took-and-my-da-says-Tooks-don't-lie' thing HAD been a pretty big clue, the Fools of Tooks.
All the other lads scattered like cockroaches under a hot lamp, so that it was only Pippin, Merry, Marroc and Roy left and Merry was glaring Roy down. They all knew what would happen. Merry removed his gaze from the bully for a moment to look at his cousins.
"Pip, why don't you take Marroc to your house, hmm?" Pippin blinked.
"But Merry..."
"No Pip. Go. Now."
Pippin obeyed and helped Marroc to his feet, and then led him away, not looking back.
~*~*~*~
A/N: Okay, that took a very long time to get up (Sorry Niph!)
Had a bit of a wee problem with Pippin. Oh course, you know that the one who Roy was beating up WAS he when you hear about the green scarf, but it would sound stupid for the author to put his name up, so I used 'the little lad' which sounded really dumb, didn't it? Yeah, well, I'm a stupid person
Oh yes, and if you DIDN'T like it...
Kick me
Pinch me
Steal my lunch money
Send spam to my email account
Pillage my hometown
I DON'T CARE! (but uh... don't send me spam please!)
~Hippy Hobbit