~*~*~*~
Marrocs Tale
By Hippy Hobbit
Chapter 14:
Dedicated to Niph
~*~*~*~
Marroc ran until he couldn't see, he was so tired. His chest hurt and wheezed when he tried to breathe, forcing him to slow down, though when he stopped, all that happened was he sunk to his knees instead of staying standing. He coughed and felt a nasty bile taste in the back of his throat. Gagging, he leaned over and threw up. It seemed the wonderful mushroom soup and biscuits he'd had for dinner in Tookland had decided they no longer needed to stay in his stomach.
He lay back, exhausted. Never before had he run that hard and far in his life...he no longer knew where he was, but it was somewhere in the forest- he'd passed his faerie tree eons ago, it seemed. He closed his eyes and moaned. His stomach hurt and so did his head...and his heart. But it wasn't the sort of 'emotional' pain he'd felt back at Brandyhall... his heart was throbbing, but each time it did, it hurt him so very much that he wanted to die, just to stop the pain. He turned on his side and threw up again.
Marroc rubbed his burning chest and wiped sweat from his forehead, gasping for air. He coughed; choking on his own spit, and then turned over on his other side. He lost his stomach for the 3rd and final time.
A light snow suddenly began to fall and Marroc groaned. The chilly air hurt his lungs and teeth when he breathed in, and his heart was still throbbing painfully. It felt as though someone was stabbing him repeatedly in the chest. He moaned and writhed, his fingers digging deep into the muddy soil, letting pain shoot through his body, twitching and moaning furiously.
And then...suddenly...the pain stopped. His eyes glazed over...his body stopped convulsing and he laid there, eyes wide and unfocused, as though his soul had suddenly left his body. But he WAS still alive- he was breathing, shallowly and thinly. Only his mind had left.
He wandered this strange land that lay in the back of his mind for many years, it seemed, but he had no conception of real time. For a while, the thought that he might have died and this place was Heaven passed through his brain... there was no pain anymore, after all... ahh... bliss...
But then there was a SNAP and a most unpleasant thing it was. The pain came back to him and he let out a gasp, his eyes widening. He didn't know how long he lay there, but it had to have been a while- snow was halfway covering his body and he was soaked from it. He sat up, groggily. He knew he had to move...or else he'd die.
~It wouldn't be that bad, though, would it?~ a hauntingly silky voice asked him. Marroc thought about it for a moment... would it really be that bad? He found himself being slowly seduced by the voice... it was right after all... his arms, which he used to prop himself up began to slip a little.
But now a new voice entered his mind... a woman's voice... it was...his mother? No. Couldn't be. His mother's was slightly deeper. It had to be Lastriel's voice...
~NO! DON'T YOU DIE ON ME, MARROC TOOK!~ she scolded him, and her tone frightened him so badly that he snapped from his 'trance' letting out a little squeak as he did so.
Before he knew it, he was standing on his feet, and then a moment later, running again. He didn't know why... but it hurt him so bad and his legs and lungs screamed out in protest, yet he ignored them. Something told him to run. And he decided to obey that something.
The adrenaline that pumped through his veins was radical, to the point where he could no longer feel the pain...in fact, all he could feel was the cold wind on his face and the occasional snowflake.
His legs, however, were growing weaker and after about 10 minutes, they decided they couldn't take any more grief. He collapsed, sprawling forward. His head connected with something hard and cold...a rock?
Red blood spilled down his forehead. He brought a shaking hand to the wound and closed his eyes. The world was spinning so fast and bright lights were shining whenever Marroc opened his eyes. He tried to focus on one of the lights, but when he tried, it darted away, like a bashful faerie. His head hurt, and for the first time after his 'trance', he felt pain. His whole body was tight and sore. His face and hair were muddy and his forehead was bleeding profusely.
After a moment, the lights finally flew away and he was left staring at the cold hard surface...a tombstone.
'MARCHO'
'BRILLENT LEADER; GEM AMOUNG HOBBITS'
Marroc read the words and then traced over them with his fingers.
Covering the 'M' was a big splatter of dark red blood.
'Marcho?' he asked the tombstone, letting blood drip on to his fingers. He'd never heard of a 'Marcho' before in his family history...he thought harder about it...where were the dates?
But then, suddenly, his head started to spin again. He tried to stay focused on March's name, but as he tried, it started changing.
'MARCHO'
'MAGCHO'
'MAGCIO'
'MAGGIO'
'MAGGIE'
'NO, MUMMA!' Marroc cried and began beating the stone with his little fists. He began pounding harder and harder, but the letters did not change any more. His hands began to bruise, but all that he did was hit harder and harder. They started to bleeding, just scratching at first, but he didn't notice. He started to beat his already injured head now and blood splattered all over his white shirt and the snow around him.
He choked, and then cried out his mother's first name. The shout was shrill and loud, so loud that it echoed off the trees and the nearly-frozen Brandywine. So loud that it made him loose his last bit of strength, and he passed out, hitting his head one last time on the tombstone. So loud that the hobbits Tarroc had gathered to help him search for his son heard and went running, quickly loosing their fear of the Old Forest...
(A/N: Poor Marroc. Mental breakdowns... not fun. I had one about a year ago *sighs*
DaneGohan: Storm is going to play a very, very big part in the next few chapters, but I DO like to babble as well #^.^#
How long will Marroc's 'friendships' last? Well, you'll have to see. Also, replying to your review on 'Occupation' I have read about Sir Gawain and the Green Knight. I love all those old poems about King Arthur and his knights. Also, there is a very specific reason I chose to use wolves as the allegory for the hobbits... you'll just have to see why ^^
Niph: Even worse in this chapter, huh? I love torturing hobbits ^^
Thanks you's go to:
Random23; elessar*lover
Marrocs Tale
By Hippy Hobbit
Chapter 14:
Dedicated to Niph
~*~*~*~
Marroc ran until he couldn't see, he was so tired. His chest hurt and wheezed when he tried to breathe, forcing him to slow down, though when he stopped, all that happened was he sunk to his knees instead of staying standing. He coughed and felt a nasty bile taste in the back of his throat. Gagging, he leaned over and threw up. It seemed the wonderful mushroom soup and biscuits he'd had for dinner in Tookland had decided they no longer needed to stay in his stomach.
He lay back, exhausted. Never before had he run that hard and far in his life...he no longer knew where he was, but it was somewhere in the forest- he'd passed his faerie tree eons ago, it seemed. He closed his eyes and moaned. His stomach hurt and so did his head...and his heart. But it wasn't the sort of 'emotional' pain he'd felt back at Brandyhall... his heart was throbbing, but each time it did, it hurt him so very much that he wanted to die, just to stop the pain. He turned on his side and threw up again.
Marroc rubbed his burning chest and wiped sweat from his forehead, gasping for air. He coughed; choking on his own spit, and then turned over on his other side. He lost his stomach for the 3rd and final time.
A light snow suddenly began to fall and Marroc groaned. The chilly air hurt his lungs and teeth when he breathed in, and his heart was still throbbing painfully. It felt as though someone was stabbing him repeatedly in the chest. He moaned and writhed, his fingers digging deep into the muddy soil, letting pain shoot through his body, twitching and moaning furiously.
And then...suddenly...the pain stopped. His eyes glazed over...his body stopped convulsing and he laid there, eyes wide and unfocused, as though his soul had suddenly left his body. But he WAS still alive- he was breathing, shallowly and thinly. Only his mind had left.
He wandered this strange land that lay in the back of his mind for many years, it seemed, but he had no conception of real time. For a while, the thought that he might have died and this place was Heaven passed through his brain... there was no pain anymore, after all... ahh... bliss...
But then there was a SNAP and a most unpleasant thing it was. The pain came back to him and he let out a gasp, his eyes widening. He didn't know how long he lay there, but it had to have been a while- snow was halfway covering his body and he was soaked from it. He sat up, groggily. He knew he had to move...or else he'd die.
~It wouldn't be that bad, though, would it?~ a hauntingly silky voice asked him. Marroc thought about it for a moment... would it really be that bad? He found himself being slowly seduced by the voice... it was right after all... his arms, which he used to prop himself up began to slip a little.
But now a new voice entered his mind... a woman's voice... it was...his mother? No. Couldn't be. His mother's was slightly deeper. It had to be Lastriel's voice...
~NO! DON'T YOU DIE ON ME, MARROC TOOK!~ she scolded him, and her tone frightened him so badly that he snapped from his 'trance' letting out a little squeak as he did so.
Before he knew it, he was standing on his feet, and then a moment later, running again. He didn't know why... but it hurt him so bad and his legs and lungs screamed out in protest, yet he ignored them. Something told him to run. And he decided to obey that something.
The adrenaline that pumped through his veins was radical, to the point where he could no longer feel the pain...in fact, all he could feel was the cold wind on his face and the occasional snowflake.
His legs, however, were growing weaker and after about 10 minutes, they decided they couldn't take any more grief. He collapsed, sprawling forward. His head connected with something hard and cold...a rock?
Red blood spilled down his forehead. He brought a shaking hand to the wound and closed his eyes. The world was spinning so fast and bright lights were shining whenever Marroc opened his eyes. He tried to focus on one of the lights, but when he tried, it darted away, like a bashful faerie. His head hurt, and for the first time after his 'trance', he felt pain. His whole body was tight and sore. His face and hair were muddy and his forehead was bleeding profusely.
After a moment, the lights finally flew away and he was left staring at the cold hard surface...a tombstone.
'MARCHO'
'BRILLENT LEADER; GEM AMOUNG HOBBITS'
Marroc read the words and then traced over them with his fingers.
Covering the 'M' was a big splatter of dark red blood.
'Marcho?' he asked the tombstone, letting blood drip on to his fingers. He'd never heard of a 'Marcho' before in his family history...he thought harder about it...where were the dates?
But then, suddenly, his head started to spin again. He tried to stay focused on March's name, but as he tried, it started changing.
'MARCHO'
'MAGCHO'
'MAGCIO'
'MAGGIO'
'MAGGIE'
'NO, MUMMA!' Marroc cried and began beating the stone with his little fists. He began pounding harder and harder, but the letters did not change any more. His hands began to bruise, but all that he did was hit harder and harder. They started to bleeding, just scratching at first, but he didn't notice. He started to beat his already injured head now and blood splattered all over his white shirt and the snow around him.
He choked, and then cried out his mother's first name. The shout was shrill and loud, so loud that it echoed off the trees and the nearly-frozen Brandywine. So loud that it made him loose his last bit of strength, and he passed out, hitting his head one last time on the tombstone. So loud that the hobbits Tarroc had gathered to help him search for his son heard and went running, quickly loosing their fear of the Old Forest...
(A/N: Poor Marroc. Mental breakdowns... not fun. I had one about a year ago *sighs*
DaneGohan: Storm is going to play a very, very big part in the next few chapters, but I DO like to babble as well #^.^#
How long will Marroc's 'friendships' last? Well, you'll have to see. Also, replying to your review on 'Occupation' I have read about Sir Gawain and the Green Knight. I love all those old poems about King Arthur and his knights. Also, there is a very specific reason I chose to use wolves as the allegory for the hobbits... you'll just have to see why ^^
Niph: Even worse in this chapter, huh? I love torturing hobbits ^^
Thanks you's go to:
Random23; elessar*lover