Marroc's Tale Part 2
By Hippy Hobbit
Chapter 2:
Dedicated to Niph
(A/N: Hey! Look! An update! And you lot thought I was dead! HA! You silly people! hides all evidence of previous demise using Mary Kay supplies)
The pony trotted briskly along the dirt road, two sets of blondish curls blowing behind in the slow breeze that drifted through and around Bywater.
The two Bucklanders sat on the old, rickety, but faithful cart, with Butch peeking his head over the back gate. One of Marrocs hands was clasped on to his cousins jacket, the other pushed awkwardly into his mouth as a toddler might do instead of a child of nearly ten years. His emerald eyes were dank and not yielding any information on his current moods or feelings as he stared, unblinkingly, at the road ahead.
'MARROC!' Merry had turned around, 'Take it out! Now!'
Sulking a little, the younger hobbit obediently removed his hand from his mouth and dropped it to his side a pouty lip sticking out instead.
'You don't want Bilbo and Frodo to think you're a baby, do you?' Merry asked, sternly.
'Well?!'
Marroc stared at him like a shamed puppy, and then shook his head, curls bouncing up and down.
'Then make sure you don't do that. You're not a baby- I know that,' Merry said. His little cousin was made of sterner stuff then he often portrayed, especially when he sucked on his fingers like that, 'Make sure your cousins know that as well.'
In truth, Merry felt bad that Marroc was leaving them. For the last three years, he'd grown used to hearing the pitter-pattering of Marrocs feet behind him anywhere he went. And though it made him feel like a mother duck, he grew to enjoy the maternal feeling. He was growing used to having Marroc wait at the edge of his bed every morning, waiting for his big cousin to get up, but also not wanting to disrupt his slumber by waking him. At first, he'd enter the Brandybuck's room and wait by the door for his older cousin. But after a while, he got to sitting on the bed next to him, or sitting on the ground, perhaps reading one of Merry's books. But within a few weeks, wee Marroc was snuggling under the covers with his cousin.
Not that Merry minded one bit. He was growing rather close to the little one, and his father -had- told him that he'd better be nice to him, what with not having any family- close family- to rely upon... Merry was the closest he had now, or felt he'd had.
The light-haired Brandybuck remembered the day of the funeral with a bit of heartache, now that he looked back on it as he drove the pony along.
Few hobbits had actually wanted to go into the Old Forest to pay their respects towards the dead couple. But Marroc had asked for his parents to find their final resting place there, and so, his wishes were granted, despite the uproar that had been held in response. Many had disagreed, but
It was a cold winter day when the funeral was held, Merry remembered. Some of the men-folk had been up all night, trying to dig proper graves in the frozen grounds. But in the end, Maggie and Tarroc were buried and proper headstones were placed upon their graves, each reading something that had been wished for by the majority of each of their families/friends.
For Maggie, the inscription read:
"Flower of Brandyhall,
Beautiful,
Generous,
Brave,
Lies here now in this humble grave;
Strong in soul, strong in life,
Wonderful mother, Charming wife."
And for Tarroc, 'twas carved simply his name.
The actual ceremony was short, mostly containing of family members remembering the darling Maggie, so beautiful, even when she was so long out of youth. Not much was said of Tarroc, as none of his immediate family chose to attend, apart from Marroc.
The lad was sitting in the spot right at the end of the two freshly dug graves, rather then standing, but no one chose to comment to the orphan on proper funeral etiquette. Merry had watched him the entire time, instead of the few speakers. The younger boy made no movement at all the entire time, no show of emotion.
He didn't even cry.
After everything was said and done, the coffins were lowered in, and people began to disperse. Merry walked up to the boy, who hadn't moved from his spot.
"Hey, you. How're you feeling?"
"I'm okay." Came the emotionless answer.
"You sure?"
Marrocs eyes darted up to where his cousins face was, pale in the small amount of sunlight. He forced a smile and nodded.
The smile made Merry feel a little weak. He knew Marroc couldn't possible be -happy- about this, could he? No. Marroc actually -HAD- a heart, unlike his father. The boy had to be breaking inside.
"Al-alright. Let's go, then, shall we?" he offered his cousin a hand to pull him up. But Marroc shook his head.
"I'm gonna stay here a bit longer, okay?" Ah. There is was.
"Okay. But not too late. I'm gonna be back in a few hours to get you..."
"Okay. Bye, Merry."
"Bye."
And then, suddenly, they were there. The large door of Bag End stood before them, and Marroc tugged at Merrys sweater.
"Merry..." his small murmur was heard at Merrys elbow.
Merry jumped, startled.
"Well? What are you waiting for?! Go knock, Marroc!"
A/N: Its here! Its here! Yayyy! Alright, so, I don't know if you can tell, but this story is very moody. It only gets written when it wants to be, never before. So, blame it on the story! Not me! cowers
Uhm...I'm not going to answer reviews from last chapter, but I would like to thank everyone who did read and review. You guys ROCK!
In other news, Sarah got her goats... but the silly fecker hasn't named them yet! I will update you when she does, though.
Hippy