Faramir Fiction Archive

Elves, Orcs and the Road to Recovery

Written by KC

06 November 2004 | 58662 words

Part 23

The Steward of Gondor slept for almost three days. On the morning of the third day he awoke feeling the jolt of disorientation one experiences after having fallen asleep in a particular location and awaking in one that was vastly different. In this case falling asleep on a horse in the arms of his father and awaking lying on his stomach in a bed - his bed in Minas Tirith Faramir realised without needing to open his eyes.

Taking the plunge the Steward opened one eye slowly and cautiously in case the light proved too bright and caused him pain; although he was surprised to be feeling an absence of pain at present, just an all over feeling of weakness.

"The laddie stirs at last," came the booming voice of the dwarf to the Steward's right.

The last bit was muffled by the pillow that Faramir had, despite the weakness that he felt, let fly with deadly accuracy at the son of Glóin. Laughing merrily, Legolas was impressed at both his brother's speed and accuracy as Faramir had hit the stunned dwarf squarely in the face. At the sound of the tinkling elven laugher, the young Steward groaned, pulled the covers over his head and buried his face in his mattress.

"Aye, Boromir was not mistaken. Yon laddie has no love of mornings; that be a fact," Gimli chuckled as he pulled the blankets covering the Steward off the bed completely, thus exposing the young human to the coolish air.

Faramir let fly a muffled but particularly foul dwarven curse which turned into a startled yelp of pain on feeling a hard swat to his almost unprotected posterior, covered only by the thin material of his nightshirt. The Steward twisted around to determine the identity of his assailant.

"Ere it has always been with him," Prince Imrahil replied as he looked at Faramir intently with a raised eyebrow.

On seeing his uncle's very elven looking eyebrow, the young Steward groaned.

"They have told you everything," Faramir whined, much to the amusement of Legolas and Gimli who had not been privy to such familial interactions between the Steward of Gondor and his uncle the Prince of Dol Amroth.

"If you had not been chastised so thoroughly foxling, I would take the duty upon myself this instant," Imrahil admonished mildly as he sat down on the bed next to his wayward nephew. "You have outdone yourself this time. Two Kings and a wizard could barely keep you in line!"

"It was not my fault," Faramir muttered mutinously as he sat up, "circumstances just got a little ahead of me."

"I have heard you give that same woeful excuse to Boromir more times than I can count. Let me translate for those here who may not understand foxling speak. You found yourself out in the open, under many keen eyes and have been brought to account for your reckless actions, not being able to lay down false scent or skulk in the shadows as you do normally. What am I to do with you, foxling?" Imrahil laughed as he embraced Faramir.

Legolas chuckled and Gimli let loose a very dwarven snort, evoking a glare from the Steward.

"It is wonderful to see you uncle. But what brings you to Minas Tirith?" Faramir asked as he returned his uncle's embrace.

"You do," Imrahil replied. "Elphir and I were in attendance for a council meeting when Elessar experienced the vision showing you in trouble. So he asked me to stay and see to the needs of Gondor during his absence. I sent Elphir back to do likewise for Dol Amroth whilst I remain in Gondor."

"And how are my cousins and my aunt? All in good health?" Faramir asked hoping to steer his uncle away from another lecture about his nephew's recent trials and tribulations.

"All are well and looking forward to the next family reunion, which will be more expansive than the last one," the prince said as he smiled at Legolas who blushed and returned the smile shyly, warming more and more to Faramir's uncle. "It lightens my heart so to see you gain brother and father, young one. And not to mention an elven nanny, hmmmmm?"

Legolas and Gimli both burst into laughter as Faramir blushed spectacularly and ducked his head in embarrassment.

"Aye. And from what the elf tells me," Gimli chortled indicating the identity of the elf with a nod of his head towards Legolas, "The elf Maglor is in his element and loves the challenge he does."

"That I do master dwarf," the Mirkwood Seneschal replied from the doorway as he carried a tray laden with food into the room. "I must admit though, he was quite a challenge even before the discovery that he is a wizard."

"Maglor, whilst I admit that I am famished, I cannot possibly be expected to eat all that!" Faramir complained as he realised how much food was on the tray the Seneschal placed on the bed beside him.

"You have had no food in the past three days and little food in the past week. You are nothing but skin and bone at the moment and will eat as much as you can," Maglor replied in a tone that brooked no argument.

The young Steward made a silent appeal to his uncle.

"You will get no support from me on this issue, nephew, for you are indeed too thin by far," Imrahil replied to the unspoken appeal as he passed a bowl of porridge to Faramir.

The Steward took the bowl from his uncle muttering about being surrounded by nothing but tyrants.

"You will have to face facts, foxling. You are out in the light and your usual bolt holes have been identified and hopefully sealed," the prince said as he watched his nephew, so like Findulas, eat.

After completing the meal, Faramir bathed, dressed and went with his uncle in search of his father. Legolas, Gimli and Maglor went to attend to other matters. Uncle and nephew found Thranduil with Aragorn, Mithrandir and Lord Elrond, sitting in comfortable lounge chairs arranged around a fireplace in the King's private study, which was accessible through the throne room.

"Finally!" the elven King exclaimed as he rose from the chair with elven gracefulness and enfolded his son in an embrace.

"Good morning, ada," Faramir sighed softly as he melted into his father's safe arms.

"We have just been discussing you, ion-nin," Thrandul said, gesturing for Imrahil to sit on the only other chair available and Faramir to sit on the floor beside his own chair.

"Remember little fox, well and truly out in the open," Imrahil chuckled at Faramir's stormy look.

"And just what has been the essence of this discussion?" the Steward asked sullenly.

"The demands on you as Steward of Gondor versus the need for your wizard training with Gandalf," Aragorn replied, smiling sweetly at his fuming Steward.

"And just how is my *schedule* looking?" Faramir asked with an ever-darkening expression. Elessar explained to Faramir that it was decided that he should spend most of his time with Gandalf receiving training but would be required to oversee or perform a list of duties expected of him as the Steward of Gondor. "Just when, pray tell, am I to be allowed time to myself?" the young Steward all but growled.

"On seven day, between noon and mid-afternoon," Aragorn replied immediately, smirking.

"Behave Estel," Thranduil admonished as he held a hand over his son's mouth before Faramir could growl out a waspish rejoinder. "It will not be as bad as you are anticipating, ion-nin. You are not alone and will have assistance."

Only slightly mollified, Faramir made his escape but not before he was given strict instructions that he was to begin his lessons with Gandalf on the morrow and attend a council meeting in the afternoon. Feeling annoyed, exposed and caged the ranger made his way down, stealthily, to the commercial district of the second level and into a tavern, where he proceeded towards his objective of getting as drunk as possible as quickly as possible.

The Steward of Gondor was well advanced towards this objective when Legolas and Gimli discovered him. On seeing his brother and dwarf, although he actually saw two brothers and two dwarves, Faramir beckoned them all over with a wave of his hand.

"Ai! Muindor tithen. You have half the palace out looking for you," Legolas admonished, shaking his head at his brother's inebriated state.

"Hound me you faave. Ssave a heat," the Steward slurred as he threw back the rest of his drink.

"What?" Legolas asked not understanding one word of what his brother had just uttered.

"What I think the laddie was attempting to say," Gimli replied, more skilled in the inarticulate mutterings of drunks, "found me you have. Have a seat."

Faramir nodded his head in agreement but thought better of it when the room continued to spin after he stopped nodding.

Legolas saw the telltale green tinge to his brother's features, pulled him to his feet putting one of Faramir's arms over his own shoulder and half carried him from the drinking establishment. As soon they were outside, Faramir fell to his knees and heaved, expelling the contents of his stomach. He seemed then to be bent on expelling his stomach as he continued to dry heave. Legolas held the hair back from his brother's face with one hand and cupped the human's brow with the other.

"Well, pen-neth. You are going to be very sorry for yourself in the morning," Maglor said as he walked out of the shadows and stood before his young charge.

"The lad looks a sorry sight now," Gimli replied, amusement tugging at the corners of his mouth.

When Faramir had finished with the attempt to divest himself of his stomach, Legolas and Maglor pulled the Steward to his feet and between them carried the ailing man back to his apartments. Thranduil was there to greet them. He took one look at his barely conscious son, shook his head in consternation and sighed.

"Get him to bed," the elven King instructed as he stroked the side of Faramir's face gently with the back of his hand. "I will allay the fears of the others and have a long talk with Estel over his questionable sense of humour in dealing with this one," he added with a determined look.

---

The next morning the Steward of Gondor awoke and promptly wished he had not. His head felt as if it was about to explode, his tongue felt like it was coated with a noxious, slimy substance and the birds in the trees outside his window were unnaturally loud. Opening an eye he found that the light was thankfully subdued for the curtains had been pulled across the windows. In the dim light, he could see his father sitting in a chair next to him, shaking his head and smiling at him. Faramir returned a look he hoped pathetic enough to stay any intended reprimand.

"Do you think you can eat anything this morning, ion-nin?" Thranduil asked in a whispered voice.

"Nay, ada," the Steward replied as he paled at the mere thought of food.

"All right, ion-nin. I will hold Maglor at bay this morning but we will be discussing your unfortunate tendency towards finding solace at the bottom of a tankard of ale later," Thranduil promised as he stroked his son's hair.

"Yes, ada," Faramir sighed, relieved at the stay of execution.

Just then a loud knocking was heard at the door followed immediately by the booming entrance of Gandalf. With a wave of his staff the wizard drew the curtains back, exposing the miserable Steward to the dual agony of loud sound and bright light.

"Well then you young fool of a human," Gandalf bellowed, "time to be about and learning your lessons."

"Save me, ada!" Faramir's muffled, plaintive cry could be heard as he pulled his pillow over his head to dim the abusive noise and light.

"Be nice, Mithrandir," Thranduil said as he looked upon his son with unconcealed amusement.

"Nonsense! Was I ever with you in your folly, mellon-nin?" the wizard replied in a voice Faramir found excessively loud even dimmed as it was by the pillow over his head.

"Nay…nay. I cannot say that you ever were," the elven King responded after thinking on the issue for several moments.

"And so I will not with this young idiot. Arise!" Gandalf roared as he used his staff to divest the Steward of the blankets covering him. "Up, up I say! The morning is a-wasting."

"Ohhhhh! Just throw me off the tower and be done with it," Faramir muttered as he rose to his feet unsteadily and removed himself to the relative safety of his bathing chamber.

---

The morning lesson with Gandalf had not reduced the Steward's headache nor had it improved his mood. The wizard, well aware that his wizardling was very adept at blowing things up, decided to find out if Faramir was as adept as lifting. So, after having the fundamentals of levitation explained to him, the wizardling spent the morning moving objects. Starting with small objects like quills, spoons and paper and moving rapidly on to larger and larger items. By the time Faramir made his escape from the sadistic, in his opinion that was, wizard, he was exhausted, faintly nauseous and still had a pounding headache. The Steward harboured the suspicion that Mithrandir had done it purposely, to teach 'his wizardling' a lesson.

---

Sore and sorry for himself, in addition to harbouring a darkening mood, Faramir made his way to the council meeting which was due to commence. The Steward could see his uncle waiting for him.

"Someone got up on the wrong side of their bed this day, foxling," Imrahil noted quietly as he looked at his nephew's glowering demeanour and state of obvious exhaustion as the Steward approached.

"That someone did not 'get up' so much as was evicted from their bed by a bellowing wizard!" Faramir growled in response.

Imrahil escorted his nephew into the chamber, trying but failing to hide his amusement. The King was at the head of the table and Gandalf was at the other end. The chairs to the right and left of the King, meant for the Steward of Gondor and the Prince of Dol Amroth, were vacant; awaiting the two who walked through the door. Ten councillors were already seated around the table.

---

The meeting did not go well. The Steward of Gondor continued to suffer the subtle barbs and jibes of two councillors who had been close advisors of Denethor and who had treated him with the same disdain, as did the old Steward. Aragorn had supported his Steward publicly many times, however had never succeeded in constraining the two councillors seated to his left. He was simply waiting for their terms of office to end, after which they would not be reinstated. Generally, Faramir was able deflect the barbs easily and without loosing his temper. Unfortunately the young Steward, angry, in pain and feeling faintly nauseous, had reached the end of his tether.

"ENOUGH!" the Steward of Gondor shouted as he banged his hand on the table causing most of those sitting at the table to flinch and stood, rising to his full height. Aragorn felt as if he was seeing the ghost of Ecthelion, Faramir's grandsire. "I have had my fill of your petty, witless and offensive observations. I am *not* Denethor. Nor would I ever wish to be and if…"

Unfortunately one of the councillors, although it never became clear which one, chose that moment to mutter a derogatory comment about Faramir's inability to ever reach the stature of his sire. Aragorn was about to sanction the councillors when he noticed that the smirks they were displaying turned quickly to fear. The King looked back at Faramir only to see that his Steward's hair was starting to stand on end and he was beginning to… crackle. Both councillors jumped up from their seats and started to back away from the Steward who was looking menacing as he stalked towards them.

"Faramir," both Gandalf and Imrahil said warningly, seeing the danger immediately.

With but a wave of his hand the Steward of Gondor levitated both Lords off the floor, his eyes blazing, giving him an almost maniacal air. The two levitating Lords of Gondor were pale, wide-eyed and all but frozen with fear.

"Faramir! Put them down! Now!" Aragorn barked as he too stood.

"Oh, if you insist," the young Steward replied peevishly as he let the councillors drop to the floor with a decided thump and returned to take his seat at the table, not bothering to look back at the two Lords who had ended up sprawled on the floor in a tangled heap.

"This meeting is adjourned," the King said as he glared at his Steward, ignoring the other councillors who assisted the two still sprawled on the floor to their feet. All left with alacrity and in silence, stealing fear-filled glances at the Steward. Only Aragorn, Mithrandir, Imrahil and Faramir remained. The Steward stood and made to bow to the King…

"Oh no you do not my Steward. Stay!" Aragorn commanded as he signalled the two guards at the door to leave the room and close the door behind them.

"Woof," Faramir responded, anger once again overcoming good sense.

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