~*~*~*~
Marrocs Tale
By Hippy Hobbit
Chapter 11: In Plenty of Trouble
Dedicated to Niph
~*~*~*~
The two little hobbits had returned to Brandyhall just as the sun was setting, their mushrooms being toted along in a makeshift basket they'd managed to put together using bark. They had also managed to find some wild herbs to underline the basket with, as to ward off the horrible stench admitted from the dung-filled mushrooms.
Anxious for their prank altogether made the two bored out of their minds. After hiding the mushrooms in Marrocs room, they took to wandering about the hall looking for something to do. The ideas of stealing Old Gaffer Armaraths cane was the first thing that came to their minds, as Marroc, joining up with some of the older lads, had once done this before, not realizing the trouble he'd caused the poor old hobbit.
Pippin rather liked this idea, to say the least. Anything to keep the two of them busy, until the feast.
It took them some time to find Armarath through the entire Hall, but they finally discovered him snoozing and snoring loudly on a sofa in the Masters lounge. Sneaking quietly to his side, they surveyed over him... no cane was to be seen.
Pippin looked up at Marroc, puzzled, "Where is it?"
Marroc shrugged. Just then, laughter came from outside of their room. Merrys laughter. He and several others (not including Frodo... he'd refused to join in such ruckus, thinking it wrong in his heart to cause such tribulations to an older fellow) soon came back into the room, Merry holding the cane.
"Looking for this, aye?" he asked his two younger cousins. Marroc, hardly thinking before he spoke (and also not noticing that the old gaffer had woken up behind him), yelled, "Hey! That's OURS! WE was going to steal it!"
Merry blinked, his eyes widening as they fell over his old uncle, who smiled, "HA! I knew you were the little criminal all these times, MARROC TOOK! You wait until I tell your uncle what you did! You'll not be able to sit for weeks if I have MY way!" He turned to Merry, "Meriadoc, thank you SO much for catching him!" he held out his hand for the cane, as all the younger hobbits in the room blinked dully at each other.
Merry thought hard. Of course, he didn't want to get caught, but the nasty glare that Marroc was now shooting him... the kind of glare that could break glass... almost made him confess. But then a rather selfish thought shot through his head... oh well, he IS just a little squirt... he handed Armarath back the cane, as he said, 'You're most welcome," before leading his friends out of the lounge.
Armarath glanced down at Marroc and Pippin, obviously angry. Marrocs cheeks flushed with both anger and shame at being stupid enough to have an outburst like that. Pippin glanced back and forth between the two of them, as Armarath spoke, "You're no better than your father, Marroc Took. He used to steal things from old gaffers and gammas when he was your age, just to cause inconvenience to them... then he went on to bigger things! I won't be surprised if you're a murderer as well when you're his age!" With that, he stormed out of the room, perhaps off to find Saradoc.
Marrocs ears were bright red now, and his cheeks pink as his glare bore a hole though the door as Armarath shut it behind him, "My da never killed no one!" he growled to himself. Pippin blinked, then, trying to be cheerful, said, "Well... at least we can get Merry back with our mush-SURPRISE," he said, forgetting that they had decided that was what they would call the prank if ever they were to speak about it before it went into action, "...maybe we can even slip one to 'im as well!" he laughed, referring to Armarath. Marroc didn't laugh, though.
Pippin sighed, bored once again, "Well?"
"Well what?"
"Now what we doin'?"
Marroc shrugged, "I got no ideas."
There was silence for another moment, before Pippin spoke, quiet, but not timid, "We could have a swword foight."
"We ain't got no swwords, though,"
Pippin shrugged, "We gots those other things, though. Lets use those."
Marroc shrugged. His mother had told him once that he should NEVER play with knitting needles... but he was bored. Besides, what damage could it do?
Half-hour later, he would have been able to answer this.
He and Pippin had gone back to Pippins room and pulled out the knitting needles.
"'Kay, you can be the Goblin King, an' I'll be uncle Bilbo!" Pippin had said, and Marroc blinked.
"Why'd you get to be Uncle Bilbo?" he asked, a note of anger in his voice. Though he had yet to meet his uncle Bilbo, Merry had gone off to visit him at Bag End a few times and come home telling all the stories of how he'd escaped giant spiders, and fought off goblins and wolves and rode on the backs of eagles to Marroc, who listened eagerly.
"'Cause I said so! Besides, they're MY swwords!" Pippin replied, making Marroc angry.
"Why you...!" he lunged at his cousin, sinking the needle into his thigh and punching his face in. Pippin screamed out in pain as dark, red blood sank through his trouser leg and also out his nostrils. He swung his arm holding his own needle around blindly, his whole body twitching in pain. The needle connected with Marrocs own arm, going completely through the skin, but narrowly missing the bone. Marroc also screamed, falling over and whimpering in pain as blood gushed from his own arm.
Luckily for the both of them, Eglantine was just entering the antechamber when she heard the screams. Fearing the worse, she flew into her sons room to find him and his cousin on the ground. She let out a gasp of horror and, unable to think of what to do, she picked them up, Pip first and then Marroc, and laid them on the bed.
"What did you two do?!" she asked, pale as she inspected the wound on Pippins leg.
"Swword foight." Marroc said, sniffling and trying his best not to cry.
"Heavens!" his aunt gasped, as she saw the knitting needle sticking out of his arm. Just then, Pimpernel, also having heard the screams but from farther away, came into the room looking worried.
"Pimmy, help!" Eglantine called to her daughter, handing her Marroc, who was lighter in weight, and also not bleeding as badly. Pimpernel, startled a great deal, stood back, staring at the gaping wound and knitting needle still in her little cousins arm, but then her mother, with Pippin at her hip, grabbed her arm and drug her and her burden out of the room. They hurried down to the infirmary, which was nearly at the other end of the Hall, a trail of blood all the way there.
Eglantine pushed open the door quickly, and lay her son down on the patient bed, then took Marroc from her daughters arms and set him down beside him. Healer Fillibold was nowhere to be seen. She pushed open the door into the quarters where he put his other, more sickly patients, "FILLI! I NEED YOU RIGHT NOW!" She screamed, before going back to Marroc and Pippin and wiping the perspiration and tears off both their faces with a handkerchief. Filli, who'd been in the other room, taking care of Marrocs own mother, quickly apologized to her and flew out of the room to see the seen of carnage. Maggie, hearing her sons whimper, followed him out,
"MARROC!" She screamed in terror when she saw him. But dizziness suddenly overtook her and she almost collapsed, but Eglantine had run forward to catch her and helped her to a chair...
~*~*~*~
Half-hour later, after the needle had been extracted from Marrocs arm and both boys had been patched up, they still sat in the healers antechamber, heads hung as Paladin, Saradoc, Maggie and Eglantine all stared down at them, angrily.
The first initial shock was passed for Maggie, and now, relieved that the wound had been patched up and her son was in no immediate danger, she was rightly miffed. She glared down at her son as Paladin ranted. Marroc seemed to shrink under her gaze, unable to look up and meet her eyes. His face was still pale from blood loss, but he was blushing internally.
~*~*~*~
After this, and the whipping they'd received from Paladin, both lads, sullen and ashamed were unsure whether they would still pull off the prank. As another part of their punishment, they were to be put to bed without supper, therefore missing the Harvest Feast. But the anger at Merry still burned in his heart as Marroc lay in his bed. He was still angry for how nasty he'd been to both him and Pippin that morning, but also for blaming him in the stealing of Armaraths' cane, which Marroc had gotten an extra whipping for.
He lay in his bed, trying to think of a way that he could fetch Pippin to help him set up the mushrooms for Merry without getting caught... after all, he was all the way at the end of the Hall. Besides, he'd been given a crutch to aid with his walking. And people would notice a limp-along.
~I'll have to do it myself!~ Marroc thought to himself.
He picked up the basket of mushrooms in his un-injured arm and, as quiet as he could, opened the door and snuck out. The corridors were empty- not a soul could be seen, as all were at the feast. He had no need to creep through crowds of people then, until he got to the Great Hall. With no incident, he managed to make it all the way there, and even pushed open the big doors without anyone who knew he wasn't supposed to be there catching him.
Standing in a far-off corner, he glanced around, looking for his cousin. He spotted him at a table that was fairly close- but also near his mother. Marroc broke out in a sweat, remembering how she'd glared at him earlier. He felt a sudden pit of regret in his stomach, wondering whether this was really a good idea, but looking back to see the smug look on Merrys face as he laughed with some of his friends, perhaps recalling the earlier events, he decided, yes, it was.
The mushrooms still under his arm, he crept, cat-like through the crowds, careful to avoid Saradoc, Paladin, Eglantine, and his mother. He also tried his best not to look suspicious. No one took a second glance at him.
He finally made it to the table where Merry was standing, along with Frodo and an older hobbit that Marroc didn't know. He crawled under the tablecloth, careful not to be noticed. He then slid the basket on to the table and waited.
"Ooh.." said a voice, "...stuffed mushrooms! I didn't notice these here before... my favorite!"
Marrocs eyes widened. The voice was not Merrys.
It was Frodos.
Marroc felt a sting of guilt and fear, and before he knew it, he leapt out from under the table, "NO! Don't eat those!" he yelled to Frodo, as his feet got tangled in the tablecloth and he fell over causing the table cloth and most of the food to come raining down on him.
. But it was too late for Frodo as well. He'd bitten into the mushroom, chewed for a moment, and a look of both disgust and horror came over his face. Marroc looked up, just in time to see him turn red and start to sweat, then, trying to be polite, took a napkin to his mouth and spit it out.
But all heads were turned towards Marroc, lying in a pile of chairs, with the tablecloth wrapped around his legs, a chair on his back, and various food items strewn about his body. But worst of all... the bowl of dung-filled mushrooms had fallen on his head, his hair mixed with cow muck and mushrooms. His mother and all his cousins were staring at him, their eyes seeming to be both curious, and annoyed.
He went pink.
(A/N: *gringrin* Yum... mushrooms. Poor Frodo. Poor Marroc. Poor Pippin.
Reviews:
Niph: *winkwink* Haha... now she'll be able to understand. Goats rock. And that is... quite frightening... considering how high my voice sounds on the phone. I got bored and re-did my friends answering machine as a joke to her mum, and every time I call and nobodys there, I get to hear myself... talk to... myself... o.O
Call meh. Everytime I try, you're not home, and I'm here all the time. Well, except when I'm at school. And shopping. Oh, just call me!
DaneGohan: You're Niphs sister, right? Yes, I ish a fellow goat lover. Did you know in Finland on Christmas, Santa rides a straw goat into the towns instead of a sleigh? Goats rock. My spell check is retarded. Yeah, I realized how much of an idiot I am for putting those parts in the story. But you gotta remember, I was going through a rough time when I wrote those chapters, so my mind probably wasn't all there. Then again, it never is. Yah, that's a weak excuse, I know. But, I promise, no more CRAP like that *nodnod*
~Hippy
Marrocs Tale
By Hippy Hobbit
Chapter 11: In Plenty of Trouble
Dedicated to Niph
~*~*~*~
The two little hobbits had returned to Brandyhall just as the sun was setting, their mushrooms being toted along in a makeshift basket they'd managed to put together using bark. They had also managed to find some wild herbs to underline the basket with, as to ward off the horrible stench admitted from the dung-filled mushrooms.
Anxious for their prank altogether made the two bored out of their minds. After hiding the mushrooms in Marrocs room, they took to wandering about the hall looking for something to do. The ideas of stealing Old Gaffer Armaraths cane was the first thing that came to their minds, as Marroc, joining up with some of the older lads, had once done this before, not realizing the trouble he'd caused the poor old hobbit.
Pippin rather liked this idea, to say the least. Anything to keep the two of them busy, until the feast.
It took them some time to find Armarath through the entire Hall, but they finally discovered him snoozing and snoring loudly on a sofa in the Masters lounge. Sneaking quietly to his side, they surveyed over him... no cane was to be seen.
Pippin looked up at Marroc, puzzled, "Where is it?"
Marroc shrugged. Just then, laughter came from outside of their room. Merrys laughter. He and several others (not including Frodo... he'd refused to join in such ruckus, thinking it wrong in his heart to cause such tribulations to an older fellow) soon came back into the room, Merry holding the cane.
"Looking for this, aye?" he asked his two younger cousins. Marroc, hardly thinking before he spoke (and also not noticing that the old gaffer had woken up behind him), yelled, "Hey! That's OURS! WE was going to steal it!"
Merry blinked, his eyes widening as they fell over his old uncle, who smiled, "HA! I knew you were the little criminal all these times, MARROC TOOK! You wait until I tell your uncle what you did! You'll not be able to sit for weeks if I have MY way!" He turned to Merry, "Meriadoc, thank you SO much for catching him!" he held out his hand for the cane, as all the younger hobbits in the room blinked dully at each other.
Merry thought hard. Of course, he didn't want to get caught, but the nasty glare that Marroc was now shooting him... the kind of glare that could break glass... almost made him confess. But then a rather selfish thought shot through his head... oh well, he IS just a little squirt... he handed Armarath back the cane, as he said, 'You're most welcome," before leading his friends out of the lounge.
Armarath glanced down at Marroc and Pippin, obviously angry. Marrocs cheeks flushed with both anger and shame at being stupid enough to have an outburst like that. Pippin glanced back and forth between the two of them, as Armarath spoke, "You're no better than your father, Marroc Took. He used to steal things from old gaffers and gammas when he was your age, just to cause inconvenience to them... then he went on to bigger things! I won't be surprised if you're a murderer as well when you're his age!" With that, he stormed out of the room, perhaps off to find Saradoc.
Marrocs ears were bright red now, and his cheeks pink as his glare bore a hole though the door as Armarath shut it behind him, "My da never killed no one!" he growled to himself. Pippin blinked, then, trying to be cheerful, said, "Well... at least we can get Merry back with our mush-SURPRISE," he said, forgetting that they had decided that was what they would call the prank if ever they were to speak about it before it went into action, "...maybe we can even slip one to 'im as well!" he laughed, referring to Armarath. Marroc didn't laugh, though.
Pippin sighed, bored once again, "Well?"
"Well what?"
"Now what we doin'?"
Marroc shrugged, "I got no ideas."
There was silence for another moment, before Pippin spoke, quiet, but not timid, "We could have a swword foight."
"We ain't got no swwords, though,"
Pippin shrugged, "We gots those other things, though. Lets use those."
Marroc shrugged. His mother had told him once that he should NEVER play with knitting needles... but he was bored. Besides, what damage could it do?
Half-hour later, he would have been able to answer this.
He and Pippin had gone back to Pippins room and pulled out the knitting needles.
"'Kay, you can be the Goblin King, an' I'll be uncle Bilbo!" Pippin had said, and Marroc blinked.
"Why'd you get to be Uncle Bilbo?" he asked, a note of anger in his voice. Though he had yet to meet his uncle Bilbo, Merry had gone off to visit him at Bag End a few times and come home telling all the stories of how he'd escaped giant spiders, and fought off goblins and wolves and rode on the backs of eagles to Marroc, who listened eagerly.
"'Cause I said so! Besides, they're MY swwords!" Pippin replied, making Marroc angry.
"Why you...!" he lunged at his cousin, sinking the needle into his thigh and punching his face in. Pippin screamed out in pain as dark, red blood sank through his trouser leg and also out his nostrils. He swung his arm holding his own needle around blindly, his whole body twitching in pain. The needle connected with Marrocs own arm, going completely through the skin, but narrowly missing the bone. Marroc also screamed, falling over and whimpering in pain as blood gushed from his own arm.
Luckily for the both of them, Eglantine was just entering the antechamber when she heard the screams. Fearing the worse, she flew into her sons room to find him and his cousin on the ground. She let out a gasp of horror and, unable to think of what to do, she picked them up, Pip first and then Marroc, and laid them on the bed.
"What did you two do?!" she asked, pale as she inspected the wound on Pippins leg.
"Swword foight." Marroc said, sniffling and trying his best not to cry.
"Heavens!" his aunt gasped, as she saw the knitting needle sticking out of his arm. Just then, Pimpernel, also having heard the screams but from farther away, came into the room looking worried.
"Pimmy, help!" Eglantine called to her daughter, handing her Marroc, who was lighter in weight, and also not bleeding as badly. Pimpernel, startled a great deal, stood back, staring at the gaping wound and knitting needle still in her little cousins arm, but then her mother, with Pippin at her hip, grabbed her arm and drug her and her burden out of the room. They hurried down to the infirmary, which was nearly at the other end of the Hall, a trail of blood all the way there.
Eglantine pushed open the door quickly, and lay her son down on the patient bed, then took Marroc from her daughters arms and set him down beside him. Healer Fillibold was nowhere to be seen. She pushed open the door into the quarters where he put his other, more sickly patients, "FILLI! I NEED YOU RIGHT NOW!" She screamed, before going back to Marroc and Pippin and wiping the perspiration and tears off both their faces with a handkerchief. Filli, who'd been in the other room, taking care of Marrocs own mother, quickly apologized to her and flew out of the room to see the seen of carnage. Maggie, hearing her sons whimper, followed him out,
"MARROC!" She screamed in terror when she saw him. But dizziness suddenly overtook her and she almost collapsed, but Eglantine had run forward to catch her and helped her to a chair...
~*~*~*~
Half-hour later, after the needle had been extracted from Marrocs arm and both boys had been patched up, they still sat in the healers antechamber, heads hung as Paladin, Saradoc, Maggie and Eglantine all stared down at them, angrily.
The first initial shock was passed for Maggie, and now, relieved that the wound had been patched up and her son was in no immediate danger, she was rightly miffed. She glared down at her son as Paladin ranted. Marroc seemed to shrink under her gaze, unable to look up and meet her eyes. His face was still pale from blood loss, but he was blushing internally.
~*~*~*~
After this, and the whipping they'd received from Paladin, both lads, sullen and ashamed were unsure whether they would still pull off the prank. As another part of their punishment, they were to be put to bed without supper, therefore missing the Harvest Feast. But the anger at Merry still burned in his heart as Marroc lay in his bed. He was still angry for how nasty he'd been to both him and Pippin that morning, but also for blaming him in the stealing of Armaraths' cane, which Marroc had gotten an extra whipping for.
He lay in his bed, trying to think of a way that he could fetch Pippin to help him set up the mushrooms for Merry without getting caught... after all, he was all the way at the end of the Hall. Besides, he'd been given a crutch to aid with his walking. And people would notice a limp-along.
~I'll have to do it myself!~ Marroc thought to himself.
He picked up the basket of mushrooms in his un-injured arm and, as quiet as he could, opened the door and snuck out. The corridors were empty- not a soul could be seen, as all were at the feast. He had no need to creep through crowds of people then, until he got to the Great Hall. With no incident, he managed to make it all the way there, and even pushed open the big doors without anyone who knew he wasn't supposed to be there catching him.
Standing in a far-off corner, he glanced around, looking for his cousin. He spotted him at a table that was fairly close- but also near his mother. Marroc broke out in a sweat, remembering how she'd glared at him earlier. He felt a sudden pit of regret in his stomach, wondering whether this was really a good idea, but looking back to see the smug look on Merrys face as he laughed with some of his friends, perhaps recalling the earlier events, he decided, yes, it was.
The mushrooms still under his arm, he crept, cat-like through the crowds, careful to avoid Saradoc, Paladin, Eglantine, and his mother. He also tried his best not to look suspicious. No one took a second glance at him.
He finally made it to the table where Merry was standing, along with Frodo and an older hobbit that Marroc didn't know. He crawled under the tablecloth, careful not to be noticed. He then slid the basket on to the table and waited.
"Ooh.." said a voice, "...stuffed mushrooms! I didn't notice these here before... my favorite!"
Marrocs eyes widened. The voice was not Merrys.
It was Frodos.
Marroc felt a sting of guilt and fear, and before he knew it, he leapt out from under the table, "NO! Don't eat those!" he yelled to Frodo, as his feet got tangled in the tablecloth and he fell over causing the table cloth and most of the food to come raining down on him.
. But it was too late for Frodo as well. He'd bitten into the mushroom, chewed for a moment, and a look of both disgust and horror came over his face. Marroc looked up, just in time to see him turn red and start to sweat, then, trying to be polite, took a napkin to his mouth and spit it out.
But all heads were turned towards Marroc, lying in a pile of chairs, with the tablecloth wrapped around his legs, a chair on his back, and various food items strewn about his body. But worst of all... the bowl of dung-filled mushrooms had fallen on his head, his hair mixed with cow muck and mushrooms. His mother and all his cousins were staring at him, their eyes seeming to be both curious, and annoyed.
He went pink.
(A/N: *gringrin* Yum... mushrooms. Poor Frodo. Poor Marroc. Poor Pippin.
Reviews:
Niph: *winkwink* Haha... now she'll be able to understand. Goats rock. And that is... quite frightening... considering how high my voice sounds on the phone. I got bored and re-did my friends answering machine as a joke to her mum, and every time I call and nobodys there, I get to hear myself... talk to... myself... o.O
Call meh. Everytime I try, you're not home, and I'm here all the time. Well, except when I'm at school. And shopping. Oh, just call me!
DaneGohan: You're Niphs sister, right? Yes, I ish a fellow goat lover. Did you know in Finland on Christmas, Santa rides a straw goat into the towns instead of a sleigh? Goats rock. My spell check is retarded. Yeah, I realized how much of an idiot I am for putting those parts in the story. But you gotta remember, I was going through a rough time when I wrote those chapters, so my mind probably wasn't all there. Then again, it never is. Yah, that's a weak excuse, I know. But, I promise, no more CRAP like that *nodnod*
~Hippy