Chapter 7
Title: The Price
Author: Anemone Frost
Email: Weepingwillow987@aol.com
Pairing: P/OC; P/M
Rating: PG-13
Summary: 7/? The battle begins....
Feedback: Yes please.
Warnings: Violence.
Archive: Ask first.
Marroc growled as he traveled through the hallway, mumbling about the pathetic help he had hired. He had specifically ordered that the guards remained quiet unless there was an emergency. Marroc smiled as he entered the main room, finding two hobbits in wait for him. A smirk formed when he recognized Frodo and Sam.
"Well, if it isn't Frodo Baggins and his faithful servant Samwise Gamgee. Oh, wait, I guess he really isn't your servant anymore, is he? More like a `fuck buddy'?" He laughed as the two hobbits blushed furiously. "No, there's no denying it. I remember spotting the two of you out in the garden of Bag End, humping like bunnies. I must admit, it was quite an enticing sight. Frodo, you so pale and sweaty, but your cheeks were flushed a deep crimson. You were moaning so loudly, and begging for Sam to go faster and harder. My, almost gets me hard just thinking about it. I've often wondered what noises I could entice from you."
Sam snarled. "Mind yourself, Marroc. Mr. Frodo and I were properly hidden. One would have to be snooping around to find us."
Marroc snorted. "Please, am I supposed to be frightened of you? I must say Frodo, it's a shame you're spreading your legs for this commoner. How many times has he mounted you, whore?" Frodo shook, obviously fighting to contain his rage. Sam was the same. "Well, you are a small, frail hobbit, and I guess you still could be nice and tight." He moved to the mantel, running his hand over a gleaming blade. "Tell me, where is that bothersome Brandybuck?"
"Where's Pippin?" Frodo inquired, raising an eyebrow.
Marroc chuckled darkly. "I'm sure you already know. I suppose you led me out here to divert my attention while Merry sneaks into the bedroom? I don't know how he could possibly know where it is, unless you told him Frodo. As I recall, I almost led you in there once."
"As I recall, you were drunk and trying to force me inside during one of your parties," Frodo growled.
"Yes, and I remember your dear Sam coming to your rescue," Marroc snickered. "You left a nasty scar on my shoulder where you struck, you filthy Gamgee."
Frodo held Sam back. "What of Pippin? Have you harmed him?"
"Well, let's just say he's not a virgin anymore," Marroc laughed.
Both hobbits went pale, and lowered their heads in shame. They had arrived too late to save the young hobbit.
"Where are my guards, hm?" Marroc asked. "Have you killed them? Why, that's a very serious offense. You've broken into my home, and have murdered the hired help, and are obviously threatening my life. I could have you thrown away in the cells for life. Hm, but I wouldn't want to do that to you, Frodo. You're much too pretty to be placed in jail. I could have you stay with me, and you'd forget about that Gamgee soon enough. Yes, and I bet all my other comrades would enjoy the use of you, my little whore."
Sam snarled, his temper reaching a boiling point, and he drew out his weapon, lunging for Marroc. The other hobbit grabbed the sword from the mantle, and whipped to the side, narrowly missing Sam's swiping blade. Marroc brought the handle up, and slammed it into the back of Sam's head. The hobbit grunted and fell forward into motionless heap on the floor.
"Pity," Marroc sighed. "He certainly isn't much of a fighter. I could have killed him, but I'd rather see him rot in the cell along with Merry. I suppose I can wait to deal with him. After all, he's probably in the room weeping over his battered love. Now, I get to deal with you. Let's see how well you fight, Mr. Baggins."
Frodo unsheathed his sword and prepared for the assault.
*
Merry snarled as he forced open the shudders to the bedroom window. Frustrated, he drew out his blade, and began to hack until splinters flew in every direction. He was determined to get through and save Pippin. Once the shudders had been dealt with, he smashed the glass and bundled his arms with the cape, pushing the sharp stray pieces aside. He crawled through and shoved the drape out of the way. The dimly lit room was illuminated by the sun, and his attention drew to the bed. Tears sprung to his eyes at the sight, and he wobbled over, sobbing audibly.
Pippin's wrists were bound to the bed, and he was face down in the pillow, naked and barely breathing. There were finger marks on this hips, and his legs were still spread apart. A pool of blood stained the dark sheets beneath. Merry could still make out the liquid trickling down the young hobbit's bottom. Disgust. Shame. Guilt. It ran through Merry's mind at full force. This was his fault. He had arrived too late to save his cousin from the misery Marroc had inflicted.
Shaking violently, he undid the bounds, and gently turned Pippin over, shuddering as the young hobbit winced when his bottom touched the fabric. Pippin gradually opened his eyes, puffy and red. His face was flushed, and his curls were matted down from sweat. Merry could detect a scent on Pippin; Marroc's scent. It nearly drove Merry over the edge with the urge to replace it with his own. The hobbit brushed a curl aside, and a faint smile formed on Pippin's trembling lips.
"Merry? Is that you?" Pippin whimpered.
Relief washed over his mind at the sight. Finally, he would be saved from this hell.
"Yes, love, it is me," Merry choked, placing a soft kiss on the hobbit's bruised wrist.
"I'm glad you've come," Pippin cried. "Please, get me out of here Merry."
"Sh, in due time," Merry replied, "but I must finish this business with Marroc." He glanced around the room, finding the younger hobbit's clothes. "Let's get you dressed."
Pippin broke down then. "I– I'm so sorry Merry! I tried to fight him off, honest! But he had me tied, and he was so much stronger! I couldn't stop him! I– couldn't stop— Now I'm ruined!"
"Don't say that!" Merry sobbed, tears sliding down his cheeks. "It wasn't your fault! It's my doing! If I had been quicker, then none of this would have happened! You're not ruined! I love you, Pip! Remember that!"
Pippin buried his face into Merry's shoulders. "I love you too, but how could you want me after what he did?"
Merry drew back Pippin's head and placed a gentle kiss on his lips. "I will always want you, love, no matter what." He wanted to comfort the hobbit more, but now was not the time. Marroc was in the other room, and he could hear the argument and ensuing clash of steel. "We must hurry. Frodo and Sam are with Marroc. I will help you dress and walk."
Pippin grimaced as he was helped from the bed, hissing when he began to walk. His bottom still felt raw, and it burned fiercely. He forced himself on, though. He wanted out of this place. Merry shook horribly. He knew the final battle was drawing near, and he honestly didn't know if he could defeat Marroc. There had always been tales of his mastery of the blade. What if he failed? No, he couldn't allow that, for Pippin's sake. If he was to die, he would make certain that Marroc would go down with him.
~To be continued~
Chapter 6
Chapter 8
Story Page
Slash Page
Fanfics Page
Main Page
