Faramir Fiction Archive

Human King, Elven King and one Stubborn Steward

Written by KC

05 November 2004 | 20383 words

Part 4

Through a variety of enticements, threats and sleeping drafts, Legolas was able to keep Faramir abed for two days. Thranduil checked on the young human a time or two. When Faramir was not sleeping he was quietly snapping and snarling at Legolas for not allowing him out of bed, much to the amusement of Thranduil. On the third day Faramir was released and immediately began exploring the Halls of Mirkwood.

The Halls were a series of vast caverns tunnelled into a mountain. The mountain itself was located in the middle of the Forest River that started in the grey mountains to the northwest as a single river, forked around the mountain, converged back into a single river and continued southeast to end in Long Lake Esgaroth. Unlike the dwarven caves, with their emphasis on stonework, the elven caves were lighter with an emphasis on wood, cloth and colour.

After a lengthy exploration of the halls, Legolas and Faramir went to see the King Thranduil to put forward their idea for an elven haven in the forests of Ithilien. There were benefits to both elves and humans. The elves, prior to leaving Middle Earth, would be able to live in peace in a forest that was not tainted by darkness, as was Mirkwood. The elves would be able to build boats as the haven was near a river. This would enable them to sail west easily when they succumbed to the urge to depart from Middle Earth. The benefit for humans would be the restoration of the Ithilien forests to better than their former glory. Thranduil approved of the idea would help with the construction by sending elves and materials.

A feast, in honour of Legolas’ return and Faramir’s arrival, was organised for the evening. News of the human’s offer had quickly spread so there was much joy and celebration. Dressed in light elven leggings and tunic, supplied by Legolas as his were too warm, Faramir met Legolas in the main dinning hall. The food was plentiful and the wine kept flowing. It was not long before Legolas was peppered with questions about the fellowship and the destruction of the ring. It was inevitable that the subject of Boromir would arise. Legolas told about the death of Boromir, leaving out the part about him being tempted by the ring. At the mention of Boromir, Faramir’s sombreness returned full force. To deal with the emotional pain, Faramir consumed more wine than was his wont. The young Steward of Gondor, feeling decidedly hot and thick headed, waited for a lull in the story telling, made his apologies indicating that he needed to step out for a few moments and made his way outside the halls. Faramir, given the amount of wine he had consumed, weaved his way a short distance into the surrounding forest. It had been raining for some days and the bed of the forest was covered in mud puddles. The rain had moved on revealing a bright full moon. Faramir navigated, rather unsteadily, around the puddles of mud towards a bench that was beneath a tree. Sitting down the young human took a deep breath and started listening to the sounds of the forest.

Even intoxicated, Faramir’s ranger heightened senses alerted him to a presence nearby. Looking up he saw an elf. The moonlight was bright enough for Faramir to see the elf’s face and what he saw made him inhale sharply, for he could see malicious glee in the elf’s eyes and it was aimed at him. Of greater concern, the elf also held a knife. Faramir schooled his features to neutrality and waited for the elf to speak.

“Human,” the elf spat out with distaste.

“Do you have an issue with humans in general or me in particular?” Faramir enquired after a few moments of silence, looking every bit the son of Denethor.

“Humans are weak,” the elf continued in a quietly dangerous tone.

“So it is humans in general that you have issues with. You are not telling me anything I have not heard before,” Faramir replied in his normal quiet tone, feeling more annoyed than threatened by the elf.

“You mock me human,” the elf said in the same quiet dangerous tone.

“You are an elf of few words and fewer wits it seems. Of course I am mocking you. You appear before a guest of Mirkwood and insult him,” Faramir said in a conversational tone belying his increasing annoyance. “Your parents are not perchance first cousins are they or perhaps your grand sires? Hmmm?” Faramir continued, seeing the similarity between this situation with what Legolas had faced in Minas Tirith with the idiot Lord Atiel.

“Your father was weak. I understand that he descended into madness after succumbing to the Palantír,” the elf mocked, looking to see the effect of his words on the human. The elf smiled when he saw that his words had hit the target.

For a moment Faramir sat stunned.

“You seem to know much about me,” the young Steward said as he tried to regain his outward composure whilst his mind worked on the mystery of how the elf knew.

“I also know your father tried to kill you twice over, once in sending you to reclaim Osgiliath and again when he tried to burn you on his own pyre. Tell me human what weakness did he see in you that would prompt such extreme acts on his part,” the elf said looking intently to see if his words had the desired effect.

Anyone who knew Faramir would have seen the warning signs, indicating an imminent explosion. Faramir’s eyes went cold as his face flushed. Every muscle in his body tensed.

“Your brother, I understand, was as weak as your father, succumbing to the power of the ring. Perhaps it is better for Middle Earth to be rid of such…”

Before the obnoxious elf could finish the sentence, Faramir, cursing in Sindarin and with a speed that stunned the elf, launched himself from the bench upon which he was seated and barrelled into the elf. The knife the elf held flew out of his hand as Faramir knocked the obnoxious creature onto his back and into a puddle of mud that was situated behind the elf.

Elf and human grappled in the mud and in but a few moments both combatants were covered from head to toe in mud. Faramir, still intent on choking the life out of the elf, did not hear the arrival of others.

“What in Arda’s name is going on here,” Thranduil bellowed as he saw an elf in the mud straddled by a very angry Steward of Gondor, who seemed to be doing his utmost to pummel the elf into unconsciousness. Both elf and human were covered in mud.

Recognising that the young human was in such a rage that he was oblivious to anything else, Thranduil pulled Faramir off the elf and tried to contain the young human. Faramir was cursing fluently in several languages seemingly unaware that he started a curse in one language and finished it in another.

“Of course, Amras!” Legolas growled as he hauled the well-known troublemaker to his feet. “What did you say to him,” Legolas demanded of the muddied elf.

Faramir was still struggling to escape Thranduil’s hold. Seeing his enemy on his feet, Faramir, with renewed vigour, wriggled out of the muddy elven tunic that Thranduil was using to hold him and flew again at the elf. Both human and elf landed in the puddle of mud again. Exasperated, Thranduil attempted to pull the muddied, cursing spitfire of a human off the elf. Faramir was struggling so hard that the elven King slipped and fell into the mud but managed to maintain his hold on the young human, giving Legolas enough time to haul the elf to his feet and send him away.

“I will talk to you later,” Legolas threatened as he glared at the muddy elf.

Faramir on seeing his foe leaving growled in anger, a sound that made the muddied elf move away from the human with alacrity.

“Mithrandir thought my rages were impressive!” Thranduil exclaimed as he maintained his hold on the cursing and struggling human. “He has obviously not seen this young one in full flight!”

Legolas stood dumbfounded as Faramir continued to fight Thranduil’s hold on him. The Prince would never have believed that quiet, gentle Faramir had such a temper. Finally, after several more minutes, Faramir’s struggles eased as he panted for breath.

“Who are you really angry at pen-neth,” Thranduil asked of the young human, as he sat in the mud holding Faramir.

Faramir, turning sullen, remained silent.

“Sire, I think you may have need of this,” Maglor, the King’s Seneschal, said as he offered the item to Thranduil.

“Why thank you Maglor,” Thranduil replied calmly.

Faramir, on seeing the item handed to Thranduil, howled in anger and fear as he tried to scramble away, for in the elven King’s hand was a red paddle, the colour bright enough to be distinguished in the moonlight. Legolas’ keen elven sight detected that his father did not hold ‘Faramir’s Bane’ but a paddle that was more ornate, with elvish carvings and writing. Legolas could not hold back a choked laugh as he saw that the elvish words translated to ‘Faramir’s Bane’.

The paddle’s namesake continued to struggle as King Thranduil, still sitting in the mud, turned the Steward of Gondor over his lap and proceeded to pull down the young human’s elven leggings. Taking up the now muddy paddle, Thranduil proceeded to whack the wet buttocks of the young human with zeal.

“I repeat my question pen-neth,” Thranduil asked as he blistered the young human’s posterior. “With whom are you angry?”

Faramir remained stubbornly silent as the paddling progressed. As the blistering continued, Legolas willed his stubborn friend to say something. Anything!

“Denethor!” Faramir yelled finally as the pain in his arse overcame his anger.

“Why?” Thranduil demanded of the young human.

“For not loving me! For sending Boromir on the quest when it should have been me! For leaving me when I was but five!” Faramir sobbed out between gasps for breath.

“Who else pen-neth?” Thranduil interrogated the young human, sensing another at whom Faramir was angry.

“Boromir!” Faramir wailed after a few moments of stubborn silence.

“Why, pen-neth?” the elven King asked gently.

“For dying! For leaving me alone!” Faramir yelled in a hoarse voice.

Thranduil, on hearing the pained words, stopped the paddling. The King passed the paddle to Maglor and turned Faramir over and held the young human tightly as he sobbed. When the young Steward of Gondor had all but cried himself out, Maglor passed the king a brew.

“Sleeping draft,” Maglor informed the King.

Thranduil held the cup Faramir’s lips and the young human drank the brew without complaint, as he was very thirsty. Not long after Faramir fell asleep still held in the arms of the elven King.

Legolas approached the sleeping Steward, bent down and gathered his young friend in his arms. Thranduil rose from the mud puddle gracefully. Father and son took Faramir to his room. Stripping the young Steward of his muddied clothing, the King and Prince bathed the young human, dressed him in a nightshirt and put him to bed on his stomach.

After bathing to remove all the mud, Legolas took up his now familiar cross-legged position on the end of Faramir’s bed and King Thranduil sat in the chair by the bedside.

“This human is special,” the elven mused as he leaned forward and gently brushed the young human’s red-gold locks back from his face, in a move reminiscent of another King. “He is filled with such spirit and such sadness.”

Legolas smiled as he saw the tenderness in his father’s eyes as the King continued to stroke the young human’s hair.

“Aye, that he is ada,” Legolas agreed as he continued to watch his father watching his friend.

---

Faramir came to consciousness slowly and painfully. He felt abysmal. Oh why, why, why do I drink he admonished. The familiarity of these feelings and thoughts made Faramir’s memory of the previous night return quickly. The young Steward of Gondor groaned in both pain and what he hoped was terminal embarrassment, as it would save him having to make many grovelling apologies.

“Aur Vaer,” (Good day) greeted a familiar and altogether too cheerful elven voice.

“I cannot move, my arse is throbbing so much. I have several thousand small Gimlis wreaking havoc in my head with axes and anvils and I will have to eventually explain all this to King Elessar only to have my arse blistered yet again! So what pray tell is so good about this day!” Faramir grumbled into his pillow.

Twin elven laughter greeted Faramir’s surly comment. Faramir groaned again burying his face into his pillow as he realised the second laugh must belong to King Thranduil. Oh, had Boromir been an only child Faramir bemoaned. Turning onto his side, carefully, Faramir looked at the Prince and then the King.

“If there is any way that I can further embarrass or disgrace myself or my office, I beseech you to let me know for although I think I have mastered the ability, I may yet find room for improvement,” Faramir said in weary earnestness.

“Rest easy Faramir,” Legolas laughed. “Ada cannot say to much.”

Faramir raised a questioning eyebrow.

“In your own words. Pot. Kettle. Black,” Legolas laughed as he saw the stern look from his father.

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