Chapter 8
Title: The Price
Author: Anemone Frost
Email: Weepingwillow987@aol.com
Pairing: P/OC; P/M
Rating: PG-13
Summary: 8/? Merry and Marroc have their ‘final’ battle.
Feedback: Yes please.
Warnings: Violence
Archive: Ask first.
Disclaimer: Characters belong to Tolkien.
Frodo grunted in pain as his back struck the wall. Marroc was a tougher opponent than he had expected. The other hobbit had him pinned, and he forced the blade out of Frodo's hand by bending his hand back to the point of pain. The hobbit gave a startled cry as Marroc shoved him to the floor. He scrambled to get up, but the other hobbit pressed the sword into his neck, threatening to pierce his flesh if he moved. Marroc knelt down, slowly pushing Frodo's cloak aside to run a hand over the velvety material of his trousers. Frodo jerked when he felt the hand caressing his rear, making him gag in disgust.
"Well, I suppose I get to find out how tight you really are," Marroc snickered.
Frodo's eyes widened in fright. He couldn't believe that the hobbit was serious, but all doubts were pushed away once he felt Marroc fumbling with his breeches. He tried to crawl away but Marroc applied more pressure to the blade, making Frodo wince as it nicked his skin. Marroc wrapped his free arm under Frodo's waist, keeping him on his hands and knees.
"You get off him!" Sam's voice roared.
The overbearing weight was soon gone, and a loud yelp echoed in the room. Frodo spun around, finding Sam pummeling his fists into Marroc's face. The sword had been knocked away, and Sam was not carrying his. Frodo bolted to grab it before Marroc could recover, but the hobbit was strong and resilient. In one fierce punch Sam was tumbling back, blood gushing from his nose. Marroc spotted Frodo, and shot after him, shoving him roughly away from the weapon. Marroc griped the sword and stood, gloating over the two fallen hobbits. Frodo tried to creep toward Sam, but Marroc stepped between them.
"How sweet," Marroc sneered. "The lowly servant coming to his master's aid. Well, you won't be able to help him where you'll end up, Samwise. Hm, perhaps I'll drop by with Frodo when the whole mess is over. I'll take him right in front of you, and there won't be a damn thing you can do about it."
Sam spat a curse, and shot up from the floor. Frodo cried out in an attempt to dissuade him, but the hobbit didn't seem to hear him. Marroc raised his sword and brought it down hard over Sam's shoulder. The hobbit screamed as the steel cut into his flesh, and he fell to the floor, griping at his spurting arm. Marroc was grinning ear to ear at the sight. He raised the blade over Sam's foot.
"Stop!" cried another voice.
Marroc gazed up, smirking when he saw Merry and Pippin. "Well, good evening to you Merry. I see you brought Pippin out to join the delightful party."
"Get away from Sam and Frodo," Merry snarled. "Your fight is with me, not with them."
"Aw, but I so wanted to amputate Sam's foot and then claim Frodo as mine," Marroc pouted. "I suppose I could deal with them later. We really do have unfinished business."
"That we do," Merry agreed. "I have a proposition for you. Let's fight one on one. If I win, you give property of Pippin to me. If you win, you can have him and do with me as you will."
Marroc rubbed his chin. "Interesting offer." He shrugged. "Why not? I already know that I'm going to win. My father taught me well in the way of the sword."
Pippin trembled and tightened his hold on Merry's arm. "Please, don't fight him. He'll cheat somehow."
"I know, Pip, but there's no other choice," Merry whispered. "I know it'll have to be to the death, and if he dies, you'll belong to Paladin and Eglantine once more. If everything goes to plan Paladin will have no choice but to sign you over to me."
Pippin nodded. Merry was the richest hobbit in the Shire next to Marroc. With Marroc gone, Paladin wouldn't hesitate to take the next best offer. Merry gently helped Pippin to one of the seats, grimacing as the younger hobbit moaned in pain. He placed a soft kiss on Pippin's brow, drew out his sword, and spun around to face Marroc.
"May the best hobbit win," Marroc leered.
The fight began in a violent clang as the two sets of steel collided. Merry growled in rage and frustration, swinging madly, trying to shove his blade through Marroc's throat or chest. The other hobbit remained calm, blocking each of Merry's thrusts. Sweat had started to form, though, and his lip was trembling from the effort it took to keep from being hit. Both seemed equally matched, and the other three hobbits in the room could tell it was going to be a long fight.
Frodo had taken the opportunity to reach Sam and was now holding the hobbit in his arms while using his cloak to bandage the seeping wound. Pippin had limped from the chair, crouching next to Frodo and Sam. The two held him close, giving what comfort they could to the young hobbit. All were tense and praying for Merry's victory. Pippin eyed Sam's sword on the floor and then gazed back at Merry and Marroc.
Marroc and Merry were locked together, each pushing at their raised swords, each trying to bring it down on the other's head. They were becoming exhausted, and both were panting heavily. Marroc grinned menacingly.
"How does it feel, knowing that I had your sweet Pippin?" Marroc inquired. Merry growled, clenching his eyes shut. "Oh, and he was sweet. So nice, and tight, and hot. His screams of misery were so erotic as I took him. I'm going to do it again. Once I kill you, I'll take him right in front of your other cousin, and his pathetic servant. I must admit that your family members are quite pretty. I'll be certain to take care of Pippin and Frodo for you, for a while at least. Who knows, once I tire of Pippin, I might cut his throat for the hell of it."
"You wretched scum!" Merry hissed. "I’ll make you pay!"
Marroc's eyes widened in surprise as Merry kneed him in the stomach. With a grunt, he released the sword and stumbled back. Merry stood over him, pressing the tip into Marroc's chest.
"Please, don't kill me," Marroc begged. "You can have Pippin! I give you full custody! You have my word!"
"Your word means nothing to me," Merry grumbled. "Scum like you doesn't deserve life, but I won't take it. I'm not as cold-hearted as you are."
Merry turned, smiling down at Pippin. The grin on Pippin faded when he noticed that Marroc had risen. He held a dagger and was descending on Merry's back. Pippin screamed a warning, and Merry spun around. It was too late to react, and the dagger sank into his shoulder. Merry howled in agony, collapsing to the floor with Marroc hovering over him. The other hobbit picked up his blade from the floor, and faced away from Pippin, looming over Merry's belly.
"Well, it seems the better hobbit has won," Marroc laughed. "Goodbye, Merry."
Merry closed his eyes, expecting to feel pain, but it never came. His eyes reopened, and he gasped in shock. Marroc was still above him, dangling the sword, but his mouth was wide open. He wobbled around and jerked in surprise at who he saw. His hands extended, trying to wrap them around the other hobbit's neck, but whoever it was backed out of his reach.
"I'll be damned," Marroc muttered. "You clever imp."
He fell to the ground in a tangled heap and moved no more. Merry gazed up and tears of joy slid down his cheeks. There was Pippin, holding the blade triumphantly. He was solemn and only smiled when he met Merry's gaze. Pippin dropped the sword, hobbled to Merry's side, and kissed him fiercely.
"Are you all right Merry?" Pippin inquired.
"Nothing a doctor can't fix," Merry chuckled. "The wound looks worse than it is. That was a brave thing you did Pip."
"It was nothing," Pippin answered. "I couldn't let him kill you."
"Well, looks like we're finally going to be together," Merry replied. Pippin grinned at the statement. "Everything is going to be fine from now on."
Pippin eased him up, while Frodo did the same with Sam.
To be continued
Chapter 7
Chapter 9
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