Faramir Fiction Archive

Human King, Elven King and one Stubborn Steward

Written by KC

05 November 2004 | 20383 words

Part 5

Figuring that he would get the story behind Legolas’ comments later, Faramir turned his attention to the elven King. The young Steward of Gondor studied the King intently as the pieces of the puzzle he had been working on fell into place suddenly.

“What, pray tell, apart from the instructions for constructing that…that…thing,” Faramir could not bring himself to say paddle, “is in the correspondence you received from King Elessar prior to our arrival?” Faramir demanded quietly with as much assertiveness as he could muster given the throbbing in his arse that competed for dominance over the pounding in his head and his supine position on the bed.

Thanduil laughed heartily, impressed by the young human’s intelligence and spirit. He was right, the King thought, this one is special. The elven King sat down on the end of the bed and Legolas, looking a little confused, sat down on the chair beside the bed.

“Firstly, the King of Gondor apologised profusely for foisting the two of you on me ill-prepared and with such short notice. He did so only because, he knew I knew of what my son was capable,” Thranduil chuckled as he saw the twin looks of indignation pass between the two princes. “But he thought you should present your idea in person and felt that his Steward could do with some time away from his duties at Minas Tirith.”

“But not away from that bloody red torture device,” Faramir snapped quietly, the colour of his face rising spectacularly.

“No, he thought that it would be needed. A wise man is Estel,” Thranduil smiled. “He also left detailed instructions for the care and maintenance of one Steward of Gondor, Prince of Ithilien. Maglor, my seneschal, has studied the instructions and committed them to memory, including the construction of ‘that...thing’, as you call it. Estel was very specific about dimensions and colour but left its decoration to us,” Thranduil concluded with a smirk, noting the look of promised retribution against a certain human King in the young Steward’s eyes. “Now rest, pen-neth for tomorrow we go orc hunting,” Thranduil said to Faramir as he rose from the bed and left.

“Do you think Gondor would notice if its King went missing?” Faramir asked of Legolas, hopefully, after the elven King had left the room.

Legolas chuckled in evilly.

“Gondor may not but Arwen definitely would; however, I am sure we can come up with some form of reprisal that does not involve Aragorn going missing, for long anyway,” Legolas said with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes, the same twinkle that graced Faramir’s eyes.

Faramir sighed as his thoughts turned to the events of last evening.

“What, my friend, is that elf’s problem?” Faramir asked, perplexed.

“Aye, Amras. Tis a sad story, mellon-nin,” Legolas replied. “The love of his life, a she-elf named Tari, fell in love with and married a human; a human of slim build with red-gold hair, not unlike yourself. When the human died in an orc attack the young she-elf faded away from grief. Amras did not fade from grief; his anger against humans maintains him. I am sorry mellon-nin, I thought he was out on patrol otherwise I would have warned him off,” Legolas apologised.

“If I had known, I may have been better able to control my temper,” Faramir conjectured as he felt anew the throbbing in his arse.

Legolas laughed in astonished disbelief at what he had witnessed the night before.

“I did not know that you harboured such a temper, mellon-nin. My father was impressed and that is saying something for his temper is legendary,” Legolas chided gently.

Faramir ducked his head in embarrassment.

“It is something Boromir tried his hardest to paddle out of me, as they say,” Faramir said, shaking his head ruefully.

“And your father?” Legolas asked gently.

“Never saw a display. He almost did though, several times. Once, Boromir dragged me out onto a balcony and threw me physically over the balcony rail and into a pond below, before my father entered the room. On another occasion he clobbered me with the hilt of his sword, rending me unconscious, telling my father, as my father came through the door, that I had been taken ill, suddenly. It took me some time apparently to regain consciousness. Boromir paddled me severely because I scared him, when it was the brute, himself, that used the hilt of his sword to knock me unconscious,” Faramir chuckled as he remembered other occasions when Boromir, through nefarious and usually painful, to his younger brother that is, means, had protected him from their father. “Mostly though, father wanted me out of his sight so it was not a problem,” Faramir added sadly.

“Your father did love you Faramir,” Legolas said as he squeezed his friend’s shoulder.

“My head knows that, my friend, but my heart…” Faramir shrugged, leaving the rest of the sentence hanging as he placed a hand over his sore heart.

“Rest, mellon-nin,” Legolas instructed as he watched his friend’s eyelids droop.

---

As Faramir rested, Legolas went in search of the troublesome elf, Amras. On sighting the elf, alone, in his father’s throne room, the Prince of Mirkwood stalked the elf and grabbed him from behind, forestalling any attempt by the elf to escape.

Looking very much the son of Thranduil, Legolas warned Amras to leave Faramir alone. The elf in a fit of false bravado, as he had truly been frightened by the intensity of the human’s anger, stated that he would do what he pleased. Amras turned and walked towards the exit. As he reached the archway he stopped, suddenly, as he felt something pass by his ear. The elf looked to his left and his eyes widened as he saw a knife, still quivering, in the wood of the archway not a fingerspan away from his ear. The elf, having taken the warning, left quickly.

Legolas went to collect his knife, the one that he kept in his boot, from the archway.

“Leg-o-las!!” came a familiar angry growl.

Legolas cringed and scrunched up his face in dismay at the sound of anger in his father’s voice. The elven Prince removed the knife from the archway and returned it to his boot. Taking a deep breath and returning his features to a more neutral look, he hoped, Legolas turned around to face his father.

“What have I told you about throwing knives within the hall and especially at anyone?” Thranduil asked sternly as he stopped in front of Legolas.

“Not to,” Legolas answered succinctly, eyes lowered to the floor.

“Come elfling,” Thranduil commanded as he walked into his private study that was adjoined to the throne room.

The study was quite small. It contained a desk, with one chair behind and two in front. Four large, comfortable looking chairs arranged around the fireplace to the side of the desk. Thranduil grabbed one of the chairs in front of the desk, turned it around. Legolas was still hovering around the doorway, debating on whether he would run or not.

“Come here my elfling,” Thranduil said gently as he looked at his son, hovering by the doorway. “What am I going to do with you pen-neth?” the elven King said as he pulled his son into his arms and into a hug. “I saw that you were trying to help your friend, ion-nin, although from what I saw last evening of the Steward of Gondor’s temper, Amras will think twice about causing any more trouble,” Thranduil chuckled and Legolas smiled. “I will break you of this habit of throwing knives indoors,” Thranduil said seriously as he opened his arms allowing Legolas to stand. The King sat down on the chair.

Having done this on more occasions than he wished to remember let alone try to count, Legolas loosened his leggings and pushed them down to his knees. The elven prince lowered himself over his father’s lap. The first slap from his father’s hand always made Legolas gasp, this time was no exception. His father’s hand rivalled that of Gandalf. Slap after stinging slap landed on the young Prince’s buttocks. It was not long before Legolas was whimpering and wriggling, trying to get away from the stinging, burning swats. Yet the chastisement continued. Whimpers turned to sobs as Legolas gasped for breath between slaps.

“I am sorry ada, please…please I am sorry…sorry,” Legolas cried out in pain and shame.

Thranduil hated disciplining his son but hardened his heart and landed a serious of very hard swats before concluding the punishment.

Thranduil pulled up his son’s leggings, as he knew how embarrassing it was for Legolas to remain over his father’s knees with his leggings down. Legolas had yet to regain his composure and was sobbing softly. Thranduil rubbed his son’s back until the sobbing eased. With elven strength, Thranduil lifted his son, turned him over and wrapped his arms around his elfling and hugged him tightly. Legolas snuggled into his father’s arms and sighed.

“That hurt,” Legolas complained, miffed.

“As it is supposed to ion-nin,” Thranduil chuckled. “Be thankful I did not use ‘Faramir’s Bane’ on you, my elfling.”

Legolas’ eyes widened making him look all the more like an elfling.

“You would not, would you ada?” Legolas pleaded. “That thing looks diabolical!”

“To which, I am sure, the young Prince of Ithilien can attest,” Thranduil laughed.

NB: Please do not distribute (by any means, including email) or repost this story (including translations) without the author's prior permission. [ more ]

Enjoyed this story? Then be sure to let the author know by posting a comment at https://www.faramirfiction.com/fiction/human-king-elven-king-and-one-stubborn-steward. Positive feedback is what keeps authors writing more stories!