Human King, Elven King and one Stubborn Steward 
Written by KC05 November 2004 | 20383 words
Feedback: Please let me know what you think of this story at drasnia@optusnet.com.au
Disclaimer: The characters are not mine. They belong to Tolkien.
Series: This is number four in the series that started with ‘Grief’,
‘Elf, Wasps and an Angry
Wizard’ and ‘Stubborn
Stewards and Bright Red Paddles’.
Summary: Faramir and Legolas travel to Mirkwood and meet the Elven King.
Part 1
Two weeks after his collapse from a festering wound and exhaustion, Faramir was still on restricted duties, orders of the King, and was slowly going starkers. The young Steward had always avoided long visits to Minas Tirith preferring the freedom of a ranger’s life in the forests of Ithilien. Visits to Minas Tirith were invariably unpleasant affairs, involving humiliation, indigestion, emotional pain and more often than not, physical pain. So many unpleasant memories were associated with Minas Tirith that Faramir could not enter a room without the little buggers ambushing him. It was one of the reasons he had driven himself past the point of exhaustion - the more active he was the less prone he was to being ambushed by memories.
Feeling confined, useless and unable to find rest - yet again, the young Steward walked to his desk, sat down and checked to see if there was any paperwork he could complete. It was not long before Faramir was immersed in reading, answering and writing memorandums. A knock at the door startled the Steward. Faramir removed the paperwork quickly and shoved it into the top, side drawer of the desk.
“Come,” Faramir said, in what he hoped was a normal tone, as he tried to calm his heartbeat and look less like a startled rabbit. The young Steward sighed in relief, smiling ruefully, as a young servant brought in his evening meal - orders of the King no doubt. Faramir thanked the young woman as she placed the tray of food on his desk and left.
Faramir took the paperwork out of the drawer and placed it back on top of the desk. It was not long before the Steward was again immersed in the paperwork.
“You are restless tonight my love,” Arwen said in her soft lilting tone as she watched Aragorn toss and turn on the bed. “What troubles you?”
Aragorn sighed. “I am not sure, dear-heart.” Aragorn answered. “I think I will go out for some night air,” Aragorn said as he got out of bed. “Rest well, my love.” Aragorn said as he kissed Arwen.
The King pulled on his robe and then went out into the main corridor. As he made his way to the door that led outside and into a private garden, Aragorn passed by Faramir’s rooms and stopped abruptly - seeing a faint light at the bottom of the door. Cursing silently, Aragorn went back to his room to get ‘Faramir’s Bane’ and returned to his Steward’s door. Opening the door as silently as he could, Aragorn crept into the room. Faramir, in testament to how tired he was and how engrossed in work he was, did not hear Aragorn enter the room. The King watched his Steward for a few moments. Aragorn saw how tired Faramir looked and then saw the tray of food on the desk - untouched!
“Gandalf told me that you had the combined stubbornness of Finduilas and Denethor, but I think, my young recalcitrant Steward, you surpass them,” Aragorn growled.
In the silence of the night, Aragorn’s growl sounded like a bark. Faramir started placing a hand on his chest as his heart felt as if it was about to leave his body, it was beating so fast. Seeing the anger in the King’s face and the bright red paddle in his hand, the Steward’s face drained of blood and he whimpered softly. Surrounded by so much damning evidence Faramir could only try to breathe again, something his lungs did not appear to want to do any time soon, and accept what he knew was about to happen.
Aragorn took a deep calming breath as he remembered Legolas’ words “we can but take this one step at a time, one day at a time”, but at this rate Aragorn thought, ‘Faramir’s Bane’ will need a new coat of red paint within the month.
Still holding the paddle, Aragorn grabbed a chair that was in front of the desk, moved it to the middle of the room and sat down. Faramir, knowing that he had been caught red-handed, stood up, sighed resignedly and walked over to Aragorn. Loosening the ties of his leggings, the Steward pushed them down to his knees and lowered himself over his King’s thighs. Aragorn pulled Faramir’s under-tunic up to his waist.
“What is this punishment for?” Aragorn asked his young Steward.
Faramir, as always in this most embarrassing of positions, felt his temper rise but this time was able to get it under control before it made this chastisement more difficult than the young Steward knew it would be.
“For working when on restricted duties and for not eating the meal that was provided,” Faramir answered. “I fully intended to eat the meal but I got side-tracked,” the Steward added, plaintively, in his own defence.
“Side-track aside, my young Steward,” Aragorn said as he struck Faramir’s buttocks with the paddle. “The meal remains uneaten.”
Aragorn proceeded to paddle his Steward’s posterior in earnest. Slap after slap was applied to Faramir’s posterior until it was the same colour as the paddle. Faramir moaned as Aragorn moved the paddle to the young Steward’s thighs. Aragorn continued to land blistering slap after blistering slap until Faramir’s whimpers became sobs.
“Will you tell me young Steward, why you continue to disobey my orders,” Aragorn asked in the hopes that Faramir would give him some insight.
“Hateful…merciless…painful…memories,” Faramir wailed in between gasps for breath and blistering swats.
Aragorn stopped the chastisement, immediately, upon hearing Faramir voice the source of the pain that caused his aberrant behaviour. Faramir slipped from Aragorn’s lap and onto his knees as he pulled up his leggings, hissing in pain as he did so.
“I am sorry….so…sorry,” Faramir apologised in between sobs.
Aragorn rubbed Faramir’s back as his young Steward regained his composure. Aragorn assisted the very tired young man to his feet and guided Faramir into his bedroom. Faramir lay on his stomach as Aragorn moved a chair to the side of the bed and sat down. The King leaned forward and brushed hair away from his Steward’s face as he had done so recently.
“Speak to me Faramir.” Aragorn encouraged in a quiet soothing tone, as he continued to stroke his Steward’s hair.
“I feel the weight of the walls closing in on me,” Faramir answered in a dream-like voice. “In this very room, I feel my father’s judgment and his coldness. I feel his punishments as clear as when they occurred. I feel the emptiness of Boromir’s room matching the emptiness in my heart,” the young Steward continued in the same detached quiet voice.
With tears in this eyes Aragorn moved over to the bed, gathered his young Steward in his arms and rocked him. It was not long before Faramir fell asleep. Aragorn looked up and saw Arwen, also with tears in her eyes, looking down upon his Steward. Aragorn held out a hand to Arwen who grasped it with strength, lending her strength to Aragorn, as he continued to rock his sleeping Steward.
Faramir awoke late the next morning. Memory of the night before returned quickly and he groaned in embarrassment and pain. His arse was on fire and his head felt thick - as it always did after he cried. That thought made him groan again. He had done more crying in the last month than he had in ten years, Faramir thought dismayed and embarrassed.
“And how fare you this morning, my Steward?” Aragorn enquired as he brought a tray of food over to Faramir and laid it on the bed.
“Embarrassed - my arse is on fire and I feel like several small Gimli’s have been let loose in my head and are playing with axes on anvils. But apart from that, Sire, I feel fine,” Faramir whined.
Aragorn laughed making Faramir cringe with pain.
“Sire, for Eru’s sake, take pity on your poor beleaguered Steward,” Faramir begged as he buried his face in his pillow.
“If you had but come to me, my stubborn young Steward, we could have circumvented most of these ill symptoms,” Aragorn chuckled. “Now eat!”
Faramir groaned again but did as he was ordered.
Part 2
The Steward of Gondor, arse still throbbing painfully, made his way to the private garden that was only accessible from the wing that contained the King and Steward’s apartments. Faramir’s mother, Finduilas, had created the garden. It was one of the few places in Minas Tirith where Faramir sought solitude. The tower and library, the Steward’s other haunts, were precluded as both venues involved sitting, something the young Steward did not wish to do any time soon. Faramir walked around the garden, albeit not with his usual almost elven grace, in quietude. The Steward felt closest to his mother in this garden. It was almost as if some of her essence had infused into the very trees and plants. Faramir remembered little of his mother - just scents and touches.
“Mae govannen, mellon-nin,” a musical elven voice greeted. Legolas was sitting cross-legged on a bench under the tallest of the trees that graced the garden. The same tree that Legolas had sought recently, in an attempt to escape an angry Gandalf. “Come, sit,” Legolas invited, indicating the space beside him.
“Ah…I think I would like to stand…” Faramir stammered, blushing to the tips of his ears. Given the young Steward’s fair complexion, this proved rather spectacular. Legolas looked at his friend intently. Under the elf’s unwavering scrutiny, Faramir blushed ever more fiercely.
“Ai, mellon-nin!” Legolas exclaimed as he recognised the young human’s rather pained movement and Faramir’s unwillingness to meet his eyes. “What have you done now?” Legolas queried in a quiet, exasperated tone.
Faramir sighed.
“The King caught me working at my desk last evening and registered his displeasure, most forcefully,” Faramir replied, hoping the old adage about confession being good for the soul was true, as he walked towards the elf and leaned against the trunk of the tree. “I had also forgot to eat, the evidence of which, was still on my desk,” Faramir concluded self-condemning.
Legolas’ eyes took on a distant look for a moment and then he laughed in delighted amusement.
“I am so pleased that my pained situation provides such amusement,” Faramir responded petulantly.
“I am sorry, mellon-nin,” Legolas apologised though still chuckling merrily. “It is just that this tree wants to know why her ‘elfling’ is walking so strangely, Legolas explained whilst trying to contain his mirth.
The young Steward stood stunned. Wide-eyed, Faramir looked at Legolas then up into the tree and back to Legolas again - trying to comprehend what the elf had just said. Comprehension finally dawned and Faramir groaned, chagrined.
“Wonderful, just wonderful,” Faramir said quietly, blushing again and shaking his head. “Even the very trees are party to my embarrassment.”
Legolas laughed heartily.
“You are a rare man, mellon-nin,” the elf said as his laughter calmed to chuckles. “You should feel honoured. It is not often that a human finds favour with a tree and less so again, to be adopted by one. For you are hers, mellon-nin…according to her that is.”
Faramir chuckled in shy embarrassment.
“I suppose she has been my confidante over the years,” Faramir reflected, patting the trunk of the tree affectionately as he remembered the number of times he had cried or fumed beneath this very tree.
“She does not like to see you in pain,” Legolas said with the same distant look in his eyes, hearing the tree’s concern.
“Then I feel sorry for her,” Faramir sighed. “For she has seen little else from me. How I wish to be away from this city,” Faramir railed softly. “I have very few fond memories of Minas Tirith, my friend, and my thoughts of late turn ever bleaker. How I long for the forests of Ithilien and freedom.”
Legolas rose from the bench and put a hand on Faramir’s shoulder and tightened his grip in support.
“I can see why she thinks you are an ‘elfling’, mellon-nin,” Legolas said as he smiled at Faramir. The young Steward returned the smile shyly, in thanks.
A short time later Faramir and Legolas were summoned to meet with Aragorn in the King’s private study, adjoining the throne room. Aragorn greeted the pair and invited them both to take a seat in one of the chairs around the fireplace. Faramir glared at the King and Legolas laughed prompting the Steward to turn his glare on the elf, causing Legolas to laugh even harder. Faramir’s eyes turned heavenward for a moment and he sighed in resignation.
“I would prefer to stand, Sire,” Faramir said with as much dignity as he could muster as he leaned against one of the high backed chairs.
“As you wish my Steward,” Aragorn said with just the hint of a smile. “I know the both of you have discussed the creation of a haven in the forests of Ithilien for the elves who wish to remain, for a time, in Middle Earth,” Aragorn began without preamble. “I would like the two of you, representing Gondor, to travel to Mirkwood and negotiate agreement to the creation of the haven with King Thranduil.”
Legolas and Faramir shared a glance and both smiling broadly, silently reached agreement.
“When do we go?” Legolas asked, his enthusiasm showing.
“Within the week,” Aragorn replied, smiling at the twin looks of excitement on the two young Princes. “Prince Imrahil will be arriving in two days to attend the council meeting. I will be asking him to stay a for a few weeks to govern Gondor, as Gandalf and I will be accompanying the two of you as far as Ithilien, to look at the site you have chosen for the haven.”
Preparations were made, horses were made ready, farewells were exchanged and the party of four got underway within the week. Aragorn noted with sadness that Faramir’s spirit lifted further with every additional mile that was put between the young Steward and Minas Tirith. Aragorn realised that the Faramir he was seeing now was one that only Boromir and the Ithilien Rangers ever got to see. Aragorn also realised that he would have to help his Steward heal of his aversion to the White City, as he would like to see this lighter, more carefree Faramir in Minas Tirith.
The four riders reached the proposed site for the haven on the ninth day. Aragorn could see immediately why the site was chosen. The area was beautiful to the sight, undulating hills with trees as far as the eyes could see and a river meandering through the hills. This place would indeed be a haven for the elves, Aragorn thought. The day was very warm so the four decided to stop for lunch beside a pond, under the shade of some trees.
Aragorn settled under a tree and took a few moments to relax. Gandalf had gone back to where they had tied the horses to retrieve his pipe and leaf. Legolas was standing by the pond looking out over the scenery. His Steward, to Aragorn’s astonishment, was stalking Legolas. Faramir, with a look of unbridled mischief, motioned to Aragorn to create a diversion. Aragorn called out to Legolas who turned and was immediately blind-sided by Faramir and knocked into the pond. Legolas came up spluttering, indignant, and to Aragorn, looking like a wet cat. Faramir was laughing, the same light and musical laughter that Aragorn had heard when Legolas recounted the story of the wasps. Retribution was swift and Faramir found himself in the pond as well. Aragorn laughed at the antics of the two princes. Gandalf who had arrived back with his pipe and leaf, looked at the young human and elf wrestling in the pond and raised a questioning eyebrow to Aragorn.
“The children are playing,” was all that Aragorn said as he continued to watch the pair in amusement.
Four days later the company parted. Farewells made, Aragorn and Gandalf turned back to Minas Tirith and Faramir and Legolas continued onto Mirkwood. Aragorn turned again to watch the young princes leave.
“Why do I have such a nervous feeling in the pit of my stomach, as if I have let something loose on Middle Earth for which it is not quite prepared?” The King asked the wizard, shuddering as he continued to watch the two departing figures.
“That is because you just may well have, my friend,” Gandalf said sagely.
Part 3
The journey to the southern most tip of Mirkwood proved pleasant and uneventful. Legolas was amazed by the change in his young human companion. Whilst still quiet, which was Faramir’s nature, and still prone to periods of sombreness, Faramir seemed lighter in spirit and less burdened than in Minas Tirith. Elf and man found pleasure in each other’s company and spent much of the journey sharing stories - both joyous and sad. As the journey progressed, Legolas came to think upon Faramir as a brother, which was rather novel to the elf as he had no siblings. Legolas unbeknownst to him had become more protective of Faramir - more attuned to the young human’s moods. The same was true for Faramir.
On entering Mirkwood Legolas led Faramir along an elven path, accessible by horse, which skirted Dol Goldur, once inhabited by Sauron in the form of a Necromancer and from whence the darkness in Mirkwood had spread. At noon on the second day, Legolas stopped suddenly.
“Orchs!” Legolas exclaimed, unnecessarily as it turned out for Faramir’s heightened ranger sense also detected the presence of orcs up ahead.
Given the narrowness of the path there was no way to take the horses around the orcs, so Legolas and Faramir led their horses off the path and a short distance into the forest. The horse’s reigns were secured to a tree so that they would not bolt. Creeping through the forest growth, the fully armed elf and ranger discovered a band of about a dozen ors ahead in a gully by a stream. Since the war of the ring, dwindling bands of orcs still roamed Middle Earth, becoming more desperate and consequently all the more dangerous. Legolas and Faramir made their way upwards to an outcropping above the band of orcs.
Armed with elven bow and longbow it did not take elf and ranger long to dispense with the orcs below. On returning to their horses, Legolas and Faramir encountered more orcs that they could not escape. Hand to hand combat ensued with Legolas using his knives to great effect and Faramir using his sword. Legolas was impressed with the human’s skills with both bow and sword. Elf and ranger danced, sliced and jabbed their way through orc after orc but still more of the fell creatures came. Elf and ranger found themselves fighting for their lives as more orcs arrived. Legolas could see that Faramir was tiring but the young human continued to fight with a stubbornness that surprised the elf. As soon as the thought entered his head, Legolas corrected it - it was not surprising at all! Unseen by the elf, Faramir took a blow to his side but continued to fight on, doggedly. Twisting and whirling, knives cutting and stabbing, Legolas made his way to Faramir who was beginning to falter.
The situation seemed hopeless when arrows came from everywhere felling orc after orc. A few moments later elf and ranger were surrounded by dead and dying orcs and several wood-elves.
“Finrod!” Legolas exclaimed as one of the wood elves came forward. “Your arrival has been most fortuitous,” Legolas added ruefully as he turned to check on Faramir who waived off the elf’s concern indicating that he was winded only.
Finrod snorted.
“You, my Prince, grow more like your sire as time passes,” Finrod laughed merrily. “We must get away from here before we are set upon by more orcs for they grow more desperate and more bold. We need to tell the King,” Finrod added turning serious.
After gathering their horses, elves and human continued on to the Halls of Mirkwood. The elves, of course, needed little rest but Faramir was past weary and fast on his way to exhausted. Legolas, seeing that the young human was tired but far to stubborn to admit it, called for the others to stop and rest occasionally. It took several days to reach the Halls. Totally exhausted, Faramir followed Legolas, slowly, into the cave that was the elven Prince’s home. The young ranger looked upon the interior of the Halls of Mirkwood in awe, for the rooms were vast and filled with natural light, coming from where - he could not tell.
Legolas led his friend into his father’s throne room. Faramir almost bumped into the elf when he halted - he was so concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other and not falling flat on his face. Legolas looked around for his father but the King was not there as yet. The elven Prince looked back to Faramir and saw the young human pale even more and almost pass out. Legolas grabbed Faramir’s arm and pulling it over his shoulder, assisted Faramir over to a bench. Faramir sat down heavily and could not suppress a wince and a groan of pain as he clutched at his side. Legolas crouched down immediately and pulled at Faramir’s belt to release the young human’s leather outer tunic.
“Why did you not tell me you are hurt?” Legolas demanded as he released Faramir’s belt and started pulling off the over tunic, none too gently.
“Stop fussing,” Faramir said as he tried to swat away the elf’s hands “I am alright.”
Having divested Faramir of his outer tunic, Legolas finally managed to pull up the young human’s under tunic to see what damage had been done.
“Ai, you stubborn…” Legolas could not finish the sentence he was so angry, when he saw the massive bruise that covered the right side of Faramir’s torso. Legolas felt Faramir’s ribs gently, eliciting a pained hiss from the young human. The ribs appeared bruised only. “What do you have to say for yourself, you stubborn human?” Legolas asked as he glared at the young human.
Faramir looked Legolas straight in the eyes.
“Pot. Kettle. Black,” the Steward of Gondor enunciated every word in a harsh whisper, as he glared back at Legolas.
Light elvish laugher stayed any further display of temper on the part of either prince. Both looked immediately to the source of the laughter. A tall, blond elf approached. Faramir could see the resemblance between father and son. As with most elves, Thranduil did not look old enough to have fathered Legolas. It was only the look of the ages in the eyes of the King that marked him as much older than Legolas.
“The human is right ion-nin. It is a case of the pot calling the kettle black,” King Thranduil chuckled as he took in the sight of his son. The King was pleased to see his son looking well, despite the visible bruises and orc blood that seemed to be splattered everywhere. Thranduil was surprised to see his son fussing over the young human and both squabbling like siblings.
“Ada!” Legolas exclaimed as he rose from his crouched position in front of the Steward of Gondor. Faramir tried to rise as well but Legolas kept a heavy hand on the young human’s shoulder, preventing him. King Thranduil gathered his son in a hug, which Legolas returned one armed, as the hand of the other arm was still pressing down on Faramir’s shoulder keeping the human off his feet.
Faramir had a momentary childish impulse to bite the hand on his shoulder but settled on glaring at the elf instead.
“Ada, this is Faramir, Prince of Ithilien, Steward of Gondor and the most stubborn being I have ever met,” Legolas said in way of an introduction, as he continued to hold the human down firmly.
Faramir again felt an impulse to bite but simply sighed in resignation.
Thranduil laughed seeing the play of emotions, from annoyance to resignation, which crossed the young human’s face.
“Mae govannen, Prince Faramir, Steward of Gondor,” Thranduil greeted the young Steward, nodding his head in acknowledgement.
Faramir, still restrained by Legolas, could only nod his head.
“Mae govannen, King Thranduil. I bring you greetings from King Elessar,” Faramir returned the greeting.
“Now pen-neth,” Thranduil said as he crouched down in front of the young Steward. “Let me see what has been done to you.”
“I have simply bruised a couple of ribs. There is not need to concern yourself…” Faramir started to explain.
Thranduil winced in sympathy as he examined the colourful bruise that graced Faramir’s side.
“You need to a healer pen-neth, for I do not like the look of that bruise,” Thranduil concluded as he rose again. “Take him to the spare quarters next to yours, ion-nin,” the elven King instructed as he assisted Faramir to his feet.
Upon standing, Faramir felt a wave of dizziness. To the young man’s utmost mortification, King Thranduil of Mirkwood swept him up into strong elven arms and proceeded to carry him to his intended quarters. Legolas went to get the healer.
Not long after Thranduil had deposited the embarrassed Steward of Gondor on the bed, the healer arrived. On concluding the examination the healer pronounced that Faramir had two bruised ribs - none broken. After applying a soothing cream to the bruise, the healer instructed Faramir to rest in bed for a day or two. Legolas took the healer aside to impress upon him that the only way to keep Faramir in bed and resting was to drug him. The healer prepared a sleeping draft that Legolas made sure his friend drank, much to the young human’s annoyance.
It was not long before Faramir was sound asleep. Legolas sat cross-legged on the end of the human’s bed. Thranduil sat on a chair by the bed.
“You worry for him ion-nin,” Thranduil stated as he watched his son watching the young human.
“Aye, I do ada,” Legolas replied with a sigh.
As father and son sat vigil over the sleeping human, Legolas recounted all that Faramir had faced over the last months. Legolas explained about the fall of Osgiliath and how Denethor had blamed Faramir. Legolas also told of the death of Boromir and the heir’s father like relationship to Faramir. The Prince recounted Denethor’s descent into madness and his attempt to immolate Faramir whilst the young human still lived.
What neither Prince nor King knew during the telling of this tale was that very unfriendly ears were listening.
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.
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.
Part 6
“Speaking of the young Steward of Gondor, have you found out what Amras said to him?” Thranduil asked as he continued to hug his son.
“Nay ada, Faramir is not saying and neither is Amras but whatever was said hurt Faramir deeply,” Legolas sighed.
“Given Faramir’s words I suspect that Amras overheard our conversation the other night,” Thranduil voiced his suspicions.
“Aye ada, spied more likely,” Legolas growled, thinking murderous thoughts towards the elf.
Thranduil shook his son gently on seeing the dark looks.
“Behave elfling,” Thranduil admonished with a twinkle in his eye.
Legolas sighed.
“I worry for Faramir, ada. I cannot seem to get through to him that he is not alone, that many care for him,” Legolas said as he snuggled back into his father’s arms unconsciously.
“He will, ion-nin, it will just take time,” Thranduil replied as he hugged his son tighter. “Faramir is adrift at the moment. In the light of Denethor’s coldness and indifference towards his youngest, his brother was his anchor. He will find safe harbour again but it will take more grieving before he heals.”
“I love you ada,” Legolas whispered as he hugged his father.
“And I you, my elfling, and I you.”
Faramir, well rested, if still somewhat sore around the hindquarters, made his way to the feasting hall as he had promised both Prince and King that he would join them for the evening meal. All the elves that the young human passed on his way to the hall reacted to his presence. Most reacted in awe and respect, a few in mirth and a very few in a mixture of anger and fear. With each reaction Faramir’s embarrassment increased. By the time the young Steward of Gondor reached the feasting hall, his face was a red as ‘Faramir’s Bane’, human or elvish version, and as hot as a furnace.
Swallowing his discomfort and holding his head high, Faramir entered the hall and made his way towards King Thranduil. The elven King was already seated at the main table. Faramir on seeing the twinkle in the King’s eyes, so like his son’s, groaned inwardly. Thranduil waved his hand indicating that Faramir should sit on the chair to his left. Faramir could see that a cushion had been placed on the chair. The young Steward of Gondor, feeling that all eyes in the hall were glued to his flushed face, blushed again and sat upon the cushion on the chair, resigning himself to being flaming hot from constant embarrassment for the entirety of his stay in Mirkwood. No heating would be required in this hall tonight, he thought dejectedly.
Legolas arrived not long after. Faramir saw that something seemed to be amiss with his friend, that the elf was not moving quite with his normal grace. The young Steward saw the same twinkle in the evlen King’s eye as he looked upon his son. Legolas approached the chair to right of his father, looked down and then looked up glaring at his father. The reason for the glare was a very colourful cushion on the Prince’s chair. Faramir caught Legolas’ eye. The elf’s eyes went heavenward for a moment as he shook his head in clear indication that he did not want to talk about it and sat, carefully, upon the cushion.
Embarrassment aside, the evening meal was had and plans were made to travel south to Dol Guldur to deal with troublesome orcs that were gathering there. Judging that he would get no information from Legolas about the elf’s pained condition and knowing he would need sleep this night to keep up with the elves on the morrow, Faramir bid goodnight to all and went to his bed.
The next morning a band of twenty-five fully armed elves and one human made their way by horse, to Dol Guldur. Faramir marvelled at the annoyingly adept recuperative powers of the elves. Legolas showed no sign of the discomfort that he had last evening whist he, the poor human that he was, still felt decidedly tender in the hind region. It took three days of hard riding, unfortunately for the tender young Steward, to reach the outer region of Dol Guldur. On the morning of the third day the horses were tethered and Legolas, Faramir and Finrod scouted a short distance ahead on foot to see what was happening in the ruins of the Dol Gudur stronghold.
A quick reconnoitre by the trio revealed a band of about sixty orc, hungry and desperate by the look of them, gathered within the ruins. Further inspection revealed a lone elf who had obviously been captured recently, as he was still alive if somewhat battered. The trio had to act quickly or they would have a dead elf on their hands. Legolas, Faramir and Finrod ran back to where the others were gathered and explained the situation.
“I have a plan,” Faramir said as he jumped upon his horse. “Take to the trees in the forest at the front of the ruins and wait for my signal.” Before either Prince or King could stop him to ask questions, Faramir was gone.
Sharing a look that promised retribution against the over zealous human, Prince and King did as they were bid.
At the edge of the forest, Faramir stopped and dismounted from his horse. The young Steward proceeded to remove all his protective leather clothing quickly, stripping down to his under tunic, leggings and boots. Taking a small skin filled with wine from his medicinal pack, Faramir poured the contents over his upper torso. Reeking of wine and with only his sword as protection, Faramir remounted his horse and cantered into the open and towards the orcs.
As requested, the elves had taken to the trees and watched the young human in various degrees of astonishment, bewilderment and horror. From the same tree, Legolas and Thranduil were watching the young human.
“What in sweet Eru’s name is he doing?” Legolas growled as he saw his unarmed friend’s horse falter.
Just outside the range of the orc bows, Faramir, swaying as if he was drunk, dismounted from his horse and bent down to grab his horse’s forelock and pulled it up as if to check the hoof for stones. Giving his horse a silent command to run, the horse obeyed, reluctantly it seemed, and galloped off into the forest.
By this stage the orcs had smelled the wine and one of their favourite foods, manflesh.
Legolas realised, suddenly, what Faramir was doing and his heart, which was already beating too fast, jumped up into his mouth.
“Ai! He had better survive this for I want the pleasure of killing the idiot myself!” Legolas stated vehemently.
“You will need to stand in line ion-nin,” Thranduil growled, not able to take his eyes from the young Steward.
The smell of wine and manflesh had the hungry and desperate orcs whipped into a frenzy in next to no time. Almost as a single entity the orcs ran towards the lone, unarmed and tasty looking human. Faramir waited a few moments more then turned tail and ran, as fast as he could, for the cover of the trees that held the waiting elven archers.
Faramir reached the trees and kept on running as he knew the elves would wait until most of the orcs were in the forest before they started to cut down the fell creatures. The elven archers made short work of dispatching the majority of orcs. Breathless, Faramir stopped and turned around to see that only two orcs had escaped the elven archers. Drawing his sword, Faramir entered into combat with both orcs. Dancing, parrying and lunging, Faramir fought for his life, very aware of his lack of anything in the way of armour. Finally the young Steward was able to dispose of one orc but was tiring fast after his earlier mad dash for the woods. The remaining orc managed to hit Faramir in the back with the flat of its sword, in a spot still tender from his last encounter with an orc. Only this time he did not have the protection of his leather over tunic. Faramir doubled over in pain and was just attempting to raise his sword to block a strike when the orc fell dead at his feet, a familiar elven knife sticking out of its neck.
As the battle rush left his body, Faramir’s legs gave way and he sat down heavily upon a fallen log. Head bowed the young Steward tried to get his breathing under control. When he was finally able to look up to thank Legolas the sight that greeted him made him wince and gulp for there standing before him, were three very angry elves.
Part 7
“You doused yourself in wine!?”, Legolas asked in shocked disbelief, “knowing the affect wine on human flesh has on orcs!?”
“Well…yes. Otherwise the orcs would not have chased me,” Faramir replied tentatively in way of explanation, as he could not understand why Legolas, Thranduil and the Seneschal, Maglor, were so angry with him. Unless…
“The elf, the one who was prisoner…he is alright is he not? My plan worked…did it not?” Faramir asked in trepidation, a knot forming in the pit of his stomach at the thought that the elf had been killed.
“Galdor is fine if a little bruised, though he will suffer much jesting for being caught in the first place,” Legolas answered. Faramir sighed with relief. “For such an intelligent man Faramir, you can be decidedly obtuse at times. Do you not know why we are angry with you?”
“I know I did not explain what I was going to do but we had to work quickly and it has worked before…” Faramir’s voice trailed off as he saw all three elven jaws drop.
“Please mellon-nin, tell me that you have not done this before,” Legolas begged.
“Well…y..y..yes,” Faramir stammered. “Onc…twice,” the young Steward corrected almost forgetting the first time he had used this trick, when he was twenty-one. He really did not want to remember that first time for when Boromir found out his brother blistered his…
“Oh,” Faramir whimpered softly as he realised finally, what might be the cause of the anger directed at him.
“Aieeeeeeee!” Maglor exclaimed as he turned, threw his hands into the air and stormed off in disgust, muttering under his breath about idiot humans with no sense of self-preservation.
“You could have been killed you young fool of a human,” Thranduil growled dangerously.
“I do admit that there was an element of risk…” Faramir began trying to placate King and Prince.
“An element of risk!” Legolas exploded. “You remove all your protective armour, douse yourself in wine whipping several dozen orcs into a frenzy, wait till they are almost upon you before you turn and run for your very life! And you call that an element of risk!! If you had slipped or faltered the orcs would have torn you limb from limb before we could have aided you!”
“I owe you an apology ion-nin,” Thranduil said to Legolas although he continued to glare at the human. “You are not the most stubborn, troublesome being in Middle Earth.”
Thinking again of rabbits, Faramir cringed under the intense glares of King and Prince.
Knowing what was likely to be in his immediate future, Faramir’s fight instincts took over. With highly developed ranger reflexes, Faramir jumped up from his seated position on the fallen log, dodged several elves and fled towards where they had tethered their horses, as fast as his legs would carry him. Sharing a glance of resignation, Thranduil and Legolas were about to give chase when a familiar voice muttering curses followed by a familiar yelp drew their attention.
“You will keep a civil tongue in your head pen-neth,” Maglor commanded as the elf walloped the young human’s posterior hard, with a familiar red paddle. Faramir, still struggling, was slung over the elf’s shoulder like a sack of potatoes.
“Why thank you Maglor,” the elven King said conversationally. “And how far did our young charge get?” he asked curiously.
“To the horses, sire,” Maglor admitted ruefully.
“That far you say. My, my, he is very fast - for a human that is,” Thranduil acknowledged as he continued to glare at the young human dangerously.
Faramir groaned on hearing the tone in the King’s voice. My arse is toast, the frightened young human thought. Maglor put the young man on his feet but continued to hold him by the scruff of the neck. Faramir went very still as he looked anywhere but at the three elves or that bloody paddle. Thranduil sat down upon the fallen log that Faramir had been sitting on not long before.
Maglor passed the bright red elvish paddle to Legolas who then passed it to his father. Faramir could not stop a small whimper at the sight of the paddle in the hands of the King for he knew of what the King was capable in wielding said paddle. Maglor released his hold on the young human and pushed him towards the King, surprisingly gently.
Faramir, who had faced much harsher punishments from his father in absolute silence, could not find that same place within himself now when confronted by the elven King. He knew that he would not be able to take this chastisement in silence even if it proved less harsh and he could not understand why this was so.
Taking a deep breath, although it did not calm him, Faramir loosened the ties of his leggings, pushed them down and lowered himself over the elven King’s knees. Thranduil lifted Faramir’s under tunic gently for he had seen the blow the young man had taken. He hissed at the sight of the extensive, painful looking black bruise, in the shape of a sword, which decorated the young human’s back. Anger growing but judging that he could still proceed with the chastisement, Thranduil landed the first whack with the paddle to the young human’s buttocks.
“What is this punishment for,” the elven King demanded as he landed stinging whack after stinging whack to the human’s posterior.
“I am not entirely sure! Yes, I did put myself at risk but I am a soldier. It is what soldiers do!” Faramir sniped, temper on the rise as the blows to his posterior continued.
Legolas winced as he saw the colour in his father’s face rise to a dangerous shade of magenta.
“Aieeeee!!” Thranduil exclaimed as he continued to land blistering blow after blistering blow to Faramir’s buttocks. “Would you have allowed any of those you have lead to do as you did?” Thranduil demanded as he moved his attention to Faramir’s thighs, as the young man’s posterior was as red as the paddle.
“No!” Faramir yelled defeated.
Thranduil stopped for a moment, put the paddle down beside him and looked at Legolas.
“I think you need to send this message home to him ion-nin,” Thranduil said gently.
Legolas nodded and sat down upon the fallen tree.
“No…no…no,” Faramir repeated as he struggled to get away from Thranduil.
The elven King easily moved the struggling human to his son’s lap as he laid Faramir’s head on his own lap to offer some comfort. Thranduil passed the paddle to his son.
Legolas steeled his heart for what he must do by thinking about what the orcs would have done had Faramir faltered in his run towards the woods.
“What were you thinking, mellon-nin?” Legolas asked as he landed the first swat to Faramir’s already well-paddled posterior.
“An elf was in danger,” Faramir whimpered as Legolas continued to blister his thighs.
“And your life is not worth as much as that of an elf?” Legolas asked already knowing what Faramir felt in his heart.
“No it is not!!” the young Steward sobbed.
“And you would not let anyone under your command do the same as you did for your life is not worth as much as that of your men?” Legolas asked, tears forming in his eyes, as he knew what Faramir would say.
“No…it…is…n-not!” Faramir sobbed out between gasps for breath as Legolas continued to land blistering blows to his buttocks.
“You are wrong, muindor tithen (little brother), you may not value your life but others do and if I have to paddle you every day of your life to show you how much it means, I will!” Legolas promised, tears streaming down his face as he continued to paddle his brother.
Judging that Faramir had had enough for one day, Legolas stopped the paddling, pulled up his brother’s leggings and rubbed back in gentle circles. Faramir continued to sob. After a few moments Legolas and Thranduil sensed a presence for they felt - love. Faramir could also sense the presence and turned his head that was still cradled in the elven King’s lap.
“Boromir!!” Faramir cried as he stretched an arm out towards his brother’s image that stood but a few paces away.
The elves, tied to Arda, could not see what Faramir saw but they could feel the love that emanated from the position that the young human had his eyes fixed upon.
“He is leaving me. He has come to say goodbye,” Faramir whimpered as he sensed his brother’s love and his farewell. “Do not leave me Boromir, please do not leave me alone,” Faramir sobbed out, his heart shattered.
Legolas gathered Faramir into his arms.
“You are not alone, muindor tithen. I will be with you always. Let Boromir go…he has stayed long enough…let him go,” Legolas crooned as Faramir continued to sob. “I will take care of him Boromir,” Legolas said towards the position that Faramir looked upon.
Boromir looked upon his brother with such love and such sad regret. He mouthed the words ‘I will love you always little brother. Until we meet again’. And then he faded away. Faramir wailed and then sobbed harder than he had ever sobbed in his life.
Legolas continued to rock his brother as the young human cried.
“You are not alone, muindor tithen, never alone,” Legolas soothed over and over.
Legolas, tears continuing to stream down his face, looked to his father seeking comfort as he tried to soothe Faramir. Thranduil, moved to tears himself, took Faramir from Legolas and cradled the young man in his arms. Faramir, sensing that it was Thranduil that held him, wrapped his arms around the elven King’s neck like a child would and sobbed out his young heart.
“Let it out ion-nin, let it out,” Thranduil soothed unaware that he had called the young human ‘my son’. After a long time Faramir’s sobs turned to hitched breaths as he remained cradled in the arms of the elven King. Maglor held out a cup to the King.
“Sleeping draft?” Thranduil enquired softly as continued to rock Faramir. “You are a wonder Maglor,” Thranduil complemented, as his Seneschal nodded in the affirmative. Thranduil took the cup from Maglor and held it to Faramir’s mouth. The young Steward drank the brew without complaint, still in a state of shock. It was not long before the young human had fallen asleep.
“I see you have acquired a human brother, ion-nin?” Thranduil asked, eyebrow raised.
“I see you have acquired a human son, ada,” Legolas replied, eyebrow also raised.
“Did I really? A human?” Thranduil asked with a twinkle in his eye.
“Poor Faramir,” Legolas said as he watched his sleeping brother fondly. “An elf for a brother, an elven King for a father and a tree for a mother,” Legolas chuckled. His chuckle turned to a laugh at the look of bewilderment in his father’s eyes.
Part 8
In the company of Legolas, Thranduil carried his newly acquired human son away from the orc carnage to a camp that Maglor had established a fair distance away. The Seneschal had obviously hurried before them and made a bed for the young human in a sheltered section between two enormous roots of a mighty tree. Leaf litter had been gathered and blankets thrown over to make a very comfortable looking bed. On the bed was a pot of healing salve for the bruise on Faramir’s back.
“I do believe my Seneschal has taken to this young one,” the elven King chuckled as he lowered Faramir onto the makeshift bedding and then carefully turning the young man onto his stomach. The King then proceeded to pull up the tunic up to apply salve to the bruise.
“I am not sure that Faramir would agree,” Legolas laughed softly as he covered his human brother with a blanket that had been placed at the end of the makeshift bed, after his father had finished applying the salve and sat down beside him. “You have taken to him too, ada,” Legolas said, looking slyly at his father as the older elf sat down upon a root like a natural stool and with his back braced against the tree, on the other side of Faramir. “I thought you did not like humans.”
“I would have to have the heart of stone, that some believe me to have, not to respond to this young one, human or not, ion-nin. There is so much fire in this one, such strength but also such anguish and hurt. Such depth in a human I have not seen before but for Estel, which I attributed to him being raised by Elrond,” the elven King replied as he looked down upon Faramir thoughtfully.
Legolas sighed as he brushed red-gold locks back from Faramir’s face. “Ada, if Denethor were here, right this moment, I would gut him, for whether the man loved his son or not in the end, he hurt Faramir consciously, maliciously and constantly,” Legolas intoned, deadly serious as he continued to watch the sleeping human.
“Estel wrote that he was worried that the young one had not love for himself. Recent events have proven his concern. We will have much work to do keeping this one out of trouble and teaching him the value of his own life, ion-nin,” Thranduil predicted as he also watched Faramir sleeping.
“That missive Aragorn sent you is sounding more like a book!” Legolas exclaimed softly.
“I do admit that Maglor and I did have trouble deciphering some of its content as it was obviously written in haste, and yes, there were several dozen pages in Estel’s tiny scrawl,” Thranduil chuckled. “You would think that a scholar of Elrond’s stature could have taught Estel to write more clearly.”
Faramir began to moan seemingly in the grip of a nightmare.
“Shhh…muindor tithen…sleep…you are not alone…sleep,” Legolas soothed Faramir quietly as he stroked his human brother’s hair. Faramir quieted and fell into a deeper slumber.
The young Steward of Gondor slept all afternoon and well into the next morning.
The first thing that registered with Faramir upon waking was the pain and heat around his hindquarters, nothing new there he thought dejectedly. His head was pounding, also nothing new - blast those damn Gimli’s he thought as a small movement sent painful reverberations through his head. He was outside for he could smell the forest. All the painful events of the last two days came back to Faramir quickly and he groaned.
“One aur vaer (good day) out of you elf and I will strangle you with your own braids,” Faramir groaned knowing that Legolas was sitting beside him and not caring whether anyone else was there or not. Light, musical laughter from more than two elves greeted the surly comment from the dejected piece of humanity lying upon the makeshift bed.
Faramir turned onto his side, carefully, to see the gathered elves. As he suspected, Legolas was sitting beside him, King Thranduil was sitting on the other side and Maglor and Finrod were standing in front of him. All four were grinning from ear to ear. The young Steward of Gondor graced each elf with a son of Denethor glare but to no avail as the silly creatures simply grinned all the more. Faramir sighed in resignation.
“Apart from the obvious, how are you feeling muindor tithen?” Legolas asked in an amused tone but with an underlying seriousness.
Faramir was just about to snap out a sarcastic reply when he registered the two words muindor tithen - little brother. Faramir eyes widened as he looked at Legolas in astonishment. Thranduil laughed heartily at the stunned look on his human son’s face.
“Your brother Boromir loved you so much that he stayed until he was sure that you were placed in safe hands. Those hands are ours, ion-nin,” Thranduil said gently.
At the mention of Boromir, Faramir’s eyes filled with tears. Tear-filled eyes widened further when the words ion-nin, not directed at Legolas but at him, finally registered with Faramir. The young Steward looked at Maglor and Finrod to gauge their reaction to the Prince and King’s pronouncements. Maglor was still grinning but Finrod seemed as stunned as he was.
“Oh muindor tithen, you look like a startled rabbit,” Legolas laughed.
Faramir, still speechless, moved onto his knees and then launched himself at Legolas who caught him into a hug, laughing and almost toppling backwards. After some moments Faramir released Legolas and looked around to the elven King who was now standing. Faramir rose from his kneeling position with as much grace as he could, given the powerful throbbing in his hindquarters and moved towards the King tentatively. Seeing the shyness, Thranduil pulled the young human into a King-sized hug. The elven King could feel Faramir trembling with suppressed emotion. Thranduil held the young Steward of Gondor until the trembling ceased and smiled at his human son.
“We have dallied here long enough I think. We should return home,” Thranduil commanded.
Faramir thought immediately of the prospect of sitting on a horse and groaned.
“Maglor, do you have something that will numb this young one’s posterior for the ride home?” Thranduil asked sensing what his human son was thinking.
Faramir blushed spectacularly, much to the amusement of the elven King.
“Ada!!” Legolas admonished his father. “I am sorry Faramir. You will get used to his sense of humour in a century or three.”
“That would be all well and good if I had three centuries which I might point out now, so that there is no misunderstanding, that I do not!” Faramir complained as the elves were moving to break camp and Finrod clapped him on the back, grinning from ear to ear, as he walked past.
The ride back to the Halls of Mirkwood took five days. Five days too long for Faramir’s liking for even with the salve that lessened the pain in his posterior, if it increased his embarrassment every time it was applied by Legolas or Thranduil, the trip was still painful.
Upon reaching the halls at midday on the fifth day Faramir was able to bathe finally in something warmer than freezing and soak his numerous bumps and bruises. The young Steward of Gondor was still trying to come to terms with seeing his brother one last time and gaining an elven brother and father. After bathing Faramir enjoyed a kip before dinner.
After resting, Faramir dressed for the evening meal and made his way to the feasting hall. Thranduil and Legolas had already arrived and were sitting at the main table. The Steward groaned as he saw the mischievous twinkle in Thranduil’s eyes. Sure enough a pillow graced the chair. Faramir blushed and glaring at Thranduil sat down upon the cushioned chair.
Before the meal began, Thranduil rose and took up his glass of wine.
“I wish to acknowledge publicly, that I have formally taken Faramir, Prince of Ithilien, Steward of Gondor as my son,” the elven King announced to all.
Legolas stood and taking up his glass of wine toasted to his new brother as did all but a few of the elves in the feasting hall. Legolas noted the elves that did not join in the toast, as did Thranduil. Even Faramir who was at once flustered and honoured by the announcement saw that the elf Amras was seething.
After the meal was concluded, Faramir made his way to his room next to Legolas’. As the young Steward turned a corner he came face to face with a very angry Amras. Before the elf could say a word, Faramir grabbed the elf’s wrist, twisting the arm thus forcing the elf to turn around, wrestled Amras to the floor and was straddling him when Legolas came running around the corner having heard the commotion. Legolas laughed.
“You might stop with the frivolity brother and help me with this fool,” Faramir said in his normal quiet, modulated tone as he continued to pin the elf to the floor. “And one more word out of you and I will gag you,” Faramir snapped quietly at the vocal, struggling elf.
Legolas disappeared into an empty room for a few moments and returned with a piece of cord used to tie back curtains and the curtain to which it had been attached. The elven Prince proceeded to tie Amras’ hands behind his back with the cord.
“You do realise that we are both likely to get our arses blistered for this,” Faramir said as he caught onto what Legolas intended to do with the curtain.
“Only if we are caught, muindor tithen,” Legolas said as he wrapped now frantically struggling elf in the curtain.
“And how likely is that given how much this fool likes the sound of his own voice?” Faramir asked quietly as he helped Legolas encase the struggling elf in the curtain with just his face showing so the elf would not suffocate.
“Father is already aware that this one listened in when I told him about your past. He is aware how this one then used that knowledge against you,” Legolas said as he looked at the now very frightened elf.
They dragged the now secured elf into the empty room and waited.
The next morning, Legolas met Faramir and they both walked to the feasting hall for their break of fast. Thranduil was not there as yet so both Princes sat down at the table. Food and drink was placed before them and they began to eat. Thranduil arrived at the table and looked at his elven son and human son intently. Both Princes maintained impressively impassive expressions. Legolas was used to dealing with his father and Faramir had learned at a very early age, under the tutelage of Denethor, to hide in plain sight. Thranduil sat down between the two Princes.
“There was the strangest occurrence this morning,” Thranduil said in a conversational tone as he proceeded to eat the food that had been placed in front of him. “Amras was found naked, tied hand and foot to the highest wooden rafter in the great hall. Frightened the life out of the poor she-elf who went in there to do some cleaning.”
Legolas had been impressed with Faramir’s climbing skills as they climbed to the very top of the wooden support, which was a high as a tree, with Amras between them.
“That is indeed strange, ada,” Legolas replied.
“He will not tell us how he found himself in that predicament…positively quailed when I asked him,” Thranduil said with a twinkle in his eye.
Legolas did not doubt this for when they had waited in the empty room until most of the elves had bedded down for the night, Faramir had spent the time going into graphic detail, in his normal quiet voice, about the various torture methods used by the Harads and Easterlings and how they could be modified for elven physiology. At that point Legolas felt mildly sorry for Amras, for the elf could not see the twinkle of humour in the eyes of the Steward that belied his very grim and graphic words.
“I really should paddle the both of you,” Thranduil said, shaking his head, as he looked at both the Princes in turn, “but given how much trouble Amras has caused and given that I cannot prove the two of you were involved, I cannot bring myself to punish you.”
Both Legolas and Faramir sighed in relief at the reprieve and went back to enjoying their morning meal.
“I have decided to send the two of you back to Minas Tirith,” Thranduil informed the two Princes. The elven King did not miss the wave of sadness that passed over his human son’s features before the impassive mask returned. “I will be accompanying you though for I want to visit Estel, I have much to discuss with him, and I wish see the site the two of you have chosen for the elven haven.” Thranduil almost laughed the alternating expressions of delight and panic that graced Faramir’s features. Thranduil suspected that the look of panic on his young human son’s face stemmed from the possible topic of his conversation with Estel. And well he should worry for Estel will not be pleased.
After finishing his meal, Thranduil left the table leaving the two Princes to talk.
“What is the matter, muindor tithen, you look pale suddenly. I would have thought you would be looking forward to the journey home,” Legolas said, seeing the panicked look.
“Do you think King Thranduil…ada,” Faramir corrected as he saw ‘the look’ from Legolas, “would tell King Elessar about…” Faramir could not bring himself to say ‘the paddlings’.
“I am sorry, muindor tithen, I cannot lie to you as I know ada. Ada knows that Gandalf entrusted you to Aragorn as well as myself. He also agrees with Aragorn that you put yourself in harm’s way without thought. I am afraid he will tell Aragorn everything,” replied gently as he placed a comforting hand on Faramir’s shoulder.
Faramir whimpered softly as he imagined what Aragorn’s reaction would be.
Part 9
A few days later preparations had been completed for their departure for Gondor. Thranduil left his kingdom in the care of a trusted senior advisor and he, Legolas, Maglor, Finrod and Faramir departed for the White City. Faramir sighed with relief at being able to sit on a horse comfortably for the first time since arriving at the Halls of Mirkwood.
The Journey to Minas Tirith began pleasantly enough, allowing Faramir to bond further with his elven father. Growing up in the White City, the young Steward of Gondor had had little in the way of physical affection except from Boromir and Gandalf and his uncle Imrahil on their infrequent visits to the city. When Faramir had arrived at the Halls of Mirkwood he envied the relationship that Legolas enjoyed with his father, tactile and gentle. The elven King was not reluctant to show his obvious affection for his son in public. Faramir now found himself on the receiving end of the elven King’s affection. The young Steward could not stop his tendency to flinch when his elven father raised a hand suddenly, as a raised hand from Denethor never ended in a caress but slap or much, much worse. Every time it happened a look of sadness would cross Thranduil’s features. The King however, would not withdraw but wait patiently for a sheepish look of apology from Faramir, before slowly and gently enveloping his human son in a hug.
The closer the Steward of Gondor got to Minas Tirith, the more subdued he became. All four elves noted the change in their human travelling companion but were at a loss as to what to do about the situation. Thranduil and Legolas suspected the causes of Faramir’s sombreness but could do nothing to alleviate them, except to offer comfort where they could.
One week from the White City the travellers came to a small town and decided to stay at an inn for the night. The unusual sight of so many elves created much excitement in the otherwise quiet town. The inn chosen was a very old wooden and stone structure that had seen better days. Surprisingly though, when the travellers entered the inn, it proved to be warm, inviting and most importantly for the fastidious elves, clean. The bar was a wooden, three sided, oblong shaped structure with an empty centre that allowed the bartender to serve drinks on three sides by walking up and down the centre. The ‘fourth’ side of the bar led into the kitchen. Long wooden tables with bench seats surrounded the three sides of the bar. The inn contained two fireplaces against the walls on opposite sides of the longer sections of the bar. As it was chilly this night both fires were alight.
It was still early so there were very few locals in the establishment as yet. The five travellers sat at one of the tables near the fireplace on the side opposite to the entrance of the inn. Legolas sat down beside Faramir. It was not long before a young barmaid approached them to take their order. The elves and human enjoyed a fine meal with good wine as the inn’s cook turned out to be very good indeed. As the travellers ate, the inn began to fill with locals. It seemed that word had spread quickly about the presence of elves. Encouraged by the locals the elves sang songs and told stories, providing entertainment for all.
Quite late into the night the three older elves, Thranduil, Maglor and Finrod bid Legolas and Faramir a goodnight and went to their beds. Before leaving, an unspoken command passed from Thranduil to Legolas to look after Faramir or else, for it was obvious that his human son had imbibed too much wine.
Dreading both the memories that would resurface in Minas Tirith and the inevitable confrontation with the King, well confrontation on Aragorn’s part for he, the Steward of Gondor, could offer no defence, Faramir decided that the most appropriate thing he could do right now was to get blind drunk, in a word - to get legless with Legolas. That thought gave Faramir the giggles and he put a hand over his mouth in attempt to stop them or at least muffle the undignified little beasties. Shaking his head, Legolas looked askance at his obviously drunk, giggling human brother in amusement.
“I think you have had enough, muindor tithen. I suggest we go for a walk to clear your head,” Legolas instructed as he took the goblet of wine away from Faramir.
Faramir made a movement to grab the goblet back but thought better of it as the room began to spin. Seeing the familiar green tinge to Faramir’s face, Legolas practically carried him out of the inn and into the chill night air. The young Steward took a few deep breaths as he attempted to regain some control over his stomach’s insistence that it wanted to divest itself of all content therein. Legolas helped Faramir to sit down on one of the benches that were dotted about for guests of the inn for use during the day.
After some time, Faramir overcame the urge to be sick and decided that Legolas’ suggestion of a walk was not a bad idea, so they set out down the road that led in the opposite direction from whence they had come. A group of ten young men walked towards them. Still very much under the influence of the wine he had consumed, Faramir stumbled and would have fallen if Legolas had not caught him around the waist and held his human brother until he regained his balance.
“What do we have here? An elf and his lover,” came the snide remark from the leader and by far the largest member of the pack, as the ten young men circled Legolas and Faramir. The other’s laughed as they eyed Legolas in particular. Faramir, not feeling so drunk suddenly, bristled at the lustful looks that were being directed at his elven brother.
“Pretty enough,” the youth with the long scraggly hair and bad acne, standing to the right of the leader, leered. “I wonder if he is a good lay? Maybe we should try…”
Before the youth could finish the sentence Faramir exploded into action. Taking out the young man with the bad acne with an uppercut to the jaw, Faramir set his sights on the leader of the pack. Taken by surprise it took a few moments for the youths to gather wits enough to fight, by that time Faramir had taken out another young man with a combination punch to the midriff followed by an uppercut to the jaw and Legolas had laid out another with a double handed chop to the back of the youth’s neck. Faramir took a few blows in the exchanges but not enough to slow him down as he took out another youth with a right-left combination.
The young Steward of Gondor just about had his hands on the leader of the pack when all of sudden, they were surrounded by members of the constabulary. The young men still conscious ran in every direction chased after by constables. Legolas and Faramir remained to face the consequences. Both were marched off the local gaol.
Faramir made his way over to one of two cots in their cell and sat down heavily and Legolas crouched down in front of him.
“What damage has been done to you, muindor tithen,” Legolas said as he cupped Faramir’s chin to raise his human brother’s head.
“I am sorry Legolas, I have got you in trouble,” Faramir apologised.
“Do not apologise, muindor tithen,” Legolas said as he tore a piece of his under-tunic and used it to stop the bleeding of a cut above Faramir’s left eye and wipe away the blood that had tricked down his dejected brother’s face. “You were defending my honour,” Legolas chuckled, getting a small smile from Faramir in return.
Before long the bleeding from the gash above Faramir’s left eye abated and Legolas moved to sit on the other cot. All they could do now was wait. Neither felt like talking. It was not long before King Thranduil came in answer to the summons made by the sheriff of the town. From the other side of the cell door, the elven King looked down upon his wayward sons. The sheriff stood to his right and Maglor to his left. Both sons looked up at their father and winced at the thunderous expression on his face.
“I have but one question to ask the both of you, who threw the first punch?” Thranduil asked as he noted the condition of Faramir’s clothing, rumpled and torn and the nasty gash above his left eye. Faramir winced again and swallowed trying to moisten his suddenly dry mouth.
“I did sir…ada,” Faramir corrected shyly, ducking his head, on receiving ‘the look’ from his elven father.
“Ada. Faramir was defending me…” Legolas’ voice trailed away as he received a quelling look from his father.
“Faramir!! As in the Steward of Gondor and Prince of Ithilien?” the sheriff, wide-eyed and face draining of blood, asked as he looked from Thranduil to Faramir and back again.
“Thranduil, Sire. I think we need to get these two out of here and resume this discussion in a more appropriate location,” Maglor, ever the voice of reason, advised his King.
“Thranduil!! As in King Thranduil of Mirkwood?” the sheriff all but squeaked in distress.
“The sheriff here has been kind enough to release you both into my custody, given that the young human’s you fought are known to the law,” Thranduil explained as the panic-stricken sheriff fumbled with cell keys and cell doors in an effort to release its occupants as quickly as possible.
Finally the panicked sheriff was able to open the door. Legolas walked out of the cell and past his father. Faramir followed head bowed. The elven King stopped his human son and put a finger under Faramir’s chin to lift his human son’s head, so that he could examine the gash. Satisfied that it would not need stiches, Thranduil looked at Faramir critically.
“You are in trouble Faramir Thranduilion,” the elven King whispered into his human son’s ear as the young Steward passed by.
Faramir, both frightened and reassured by the words, let out a trembling sigh as he made his way back to the inn with his elven father close behind him. On reaching the inn the young Steward made his way to the room he and Legolas were sharing for the night and sat down upon the bed. Legolas had been directed to another room. Thranduil looked in on Faramir a few moments later.
“I am going to deal with Legolas first, ion-nin. I will be…”
“Please…a-ada,” Faramir interrupted, stammering over the word. “It was my fault, not Legolas’. He should not be punished,” the young Steward added, voice thick with remorse.
Feeling the raw emotion emanating from his human son, Thranduil sat down beside him and in slow and gentle movements gathered the distressed young man in his arms.
“Legolas will be punished for not calling to us for assistance. My elfling and I have had this conversation before and will, no doubt, have this conversation again,” Thranduil explained. “I am afraid he received too much from me in the way of pride,” the elven King added with a chuckle eliciting a small smile from Faramir. “And you ion-nin, do you know what you are being punished for?” Thranduil asked as he continued to hug his human son.
“For losing my temper and throwing the first punch,” Faramir replied dejectedly.
“Ion-nin, I could never punish you for losing your temper for that would indeed be pot, kettle, black, for I have lost my temper more times than I care to remember and have suffered the consequences, for I had no brother to keep me in line,” Thranduil confided. “You are to be punished for attacking first and not using your considerable intelligence and diplomatic skills to find a solution. You really should not drink ion-nin, for you do not have the head for it.”
Faramir groaned for Boromir and Gandalf, not to mention most of his Ithilien rangers, had told him the same thing in virtually the same words.
“I must see to Legolas, ion-nin,” Thranduil said as he released Faramir, rose and left the room.
Thranduil walked into the room across the hall and looked at his elven son who was standing by the only window in the room. Legolas looked at his father in concern.
“How is Faramir, ada?” Legolas asked as soon as he saw his father.
“Upset at having got you into trouble, elfling,” Thranduil replied as he walked over to the bed and sat down.
“Ai! He is so stubborn! I have tried to explain to him that I am more than capable of getting myself into trouble. I do not need his help…” Legolas blushed and bowed his head as he realised that not asking for help was the reason he was in trouble now.
“You are right ion-nin, you are exceptionally skilled at getting into trouble. Come elfling,” Thranduil said as he patted his lap. Legolas walked over to his father, pushed down his leggings and lowered himself over his father’s knees. “And what is this punishment for, elfling?” Thranduil asked as he landed the first blows to Legolas’ buttocks.
“For not calling for assistance,” Legolas gasped as his father continued to spank him.
Faramir was the picture of abandoned dejection when Finrod entered the young human’s room with water, salve and bandages to treat the young one’s wound. Faramir was sitting on the edge of the bed, with his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. Startled, Faramir looked up and sighed in relief when he saw that it was Finrod.
“Greetings Finrod,” Faramir greeted the elf morosely.
“I have come to see to the gash above your eye, pen-neth,” Finrod explained as he set about cleaning and bandaging the wound.
Finrod tried to divert Faramir’s attention away from the sounds emanating from the room across the hall but could see by the young human’s flinches that his hearing was acute.
“I am sorry, ada,” Legolas pleaded as his father continued to blister his thighs and buttocks. A few more stinging slaps and Thranduil ceased the chastisement, pulling his elfling’s leggings up and gathering his son into his arms.
“I love you elfling,” Thranduil reassured his repentant son. “I need to see to Faramir now pen-neth. I think he has been stewing long enough,” the elven King added as he released Legolas and moved gracefully to the room where Finrod was seeing to Faramir. In the hallway between the two rooms, Maglor stopped Thranduil.
“Do you wish me to get ‘Faramir’s Bane’?” Maglor asked hesitantly.
“No, mellon-nin. I think a hand spanking is in order for his offence,” Thranduil replied.
Maglor sighed in relief. Thranduil chuckled at his Seneschal’s obvious affection for his human son.
“Thank you, Finrod,” Thranduil said as he entered the room. Finrod rose, gave Faramir a comforting pat on the shoulder and left. Faramir, head bowed would not look at Thranduil. “Oh ion-nin, you do take the world’s troubles onto your own shoulders,” Thranduil said as he again sat beside Faramir and gathered his dejected young human son into a comforting hug.
Releasing Faramir after several long moments, the elven King patted his lap. Faramir, taking his elven father’s cue, stood, loosened the ties to his leggings, pushed them down to his knees and lowered himself over the elven King’s lap.
“A hand spanking only today ion-nin,” Thranduil said as he landed the first stinging slaps to Faramir’s posterior.
“Well that is a relief,” Faramir replied sarcastically before his mind could stop the words coming forth from his mouth.
“Oh, ion-nin,” Thranduil chuckled even as he continued to blister Faramir’s buttocks and thighs, “you will be a challenge.”
Faramir berated himself severely and at great length.
Thranduil continued a blistering pace until Faramir’s whimpers became sobs and he judged the chastisement enough. The elven King pulled up his human son’s leggings, gathered him in his arms and soothed the young man as he cried out his remorse and guilt.
“Sorry…a-ada,” Faramir sobbed, again stammering over the elven word for father.
Thranduil smiled in gentle understanding of his human son’s hesitance over the word for it must have been heartbreaking to say the word father in love and receive none in return.
Legolas, knowing that Faramir’s chastisement had concluded, entered the room just as his father released Faramir from his lap. Faramir looked at Legolas in such dejected repentance that the elf walked over to his human brother and gave him a much-needed hug, which Faramir returned apologising, yet again, over getting Legolas into trouble. Legolas accepted the words in silence, knowing that words would not allay Faramir’s feelings of guilt, hoping that his actions would speak for him.
“I think you two should get to bed for we have a long ride ahead of us on the morrow,” Thranduil stated as he rose from the bed upon which he was sitting.
Faramir groaned.
“Maglor do you…” Thranduil began with a familiar twinkle in his eyes but before he could finish the sentence, Maglor was there with a large pot of healing salve.
Faramir blushed furiously but sent a shy smile of gratitude to the Seneschal as he took hold of the salve.
“I packed extra,” Maglor stated succinctly.
Thranduil laughed heartily and giving his human son another comforting hug and his elven son a hug bid them a goodnight.
Part 10
Early on the morrow Maglor came to the room of the inn occupied by Legolas and Faramir to wake the sleeping Princes. The elven Prince, as was his way, came back from his reverie quickly at the Seneschal's light touch and greeted the morning with a smile, despite the ache he could still feel in his hind region. Faramir on the other hand, was not a morning person. At the Seneschal's light touch, Faramir ignored the summons and buried his face further into his pillow. Legolas, who was now sitting on the edge of the bed in which he had slept, smiled brightly at Maglor's bemused look, as it was obvious the Seneschal was used to being obeyed immediately. Maglor pulled the bed covers off the young human. Still with his face in his pillow, Faramir groped behind him to retrieve the covers at the same time he muttered a very inventive elvish curse.
"Owww! Owwwwww! I naegrant (that hurt)!" Faramir yelped, waking suddenly at the very hard swats to his exposed posterior and turning over to glare at the perpetrator, then groaning at the pain his sudden movement caused in his head.
"I have warned you before, pen-neth, to keep a civil tongue in your head," Maglor admonished the young human. "Now get you ready - for we ride out soon," Maglor instructed as he left the room.
`Oh why, why, why, why, do I drink', Faramir berated silently as he buried his face yet again in his pillow. Legolas laughed merrily at his brother's current difficulties.
"You do realise brother," Faramir grumbled into his pillow emphasising the word `brother', "that you have a very unelvish - almost orchish steak that is as wide as the Anduin!"
"Aur Vaer (good day)," Legolas greeted in his most musical tone as he ran for the doorway, laughing, thus narrowly avoiding the pillow that followed him out the door.
King Thranduil had planned to visit the site of the elven haven and then Minas Tirith but given the change in his human son's demeanour, decided to visit Minas Tirith first so that Faramir could put the meeting with Estel behind him, so to speak.
The remainder of the journey to Minas Tirith was without further incident. On reaching the White City the bells of the city rang out clearly, heralding the return of the Steward of Gondor. Faramir was at once embarrassed and touched by the people and cheers that greeted him as he and the Mirkwood elves wove their way through the city to its highest level. In the courtyard at the front of the palace, it seemed to the young Steward of Gondor that all it’s current occupants were there to greet them. Faramir could see The King and Queen, Lord Elrond and his sons, Elladan and Elrohir, Gandalf and the remaining members of the fellowship.
Dismounting and giving the reigns of his horse over the waiting stable boy, Faramir strode over to where the King and Queen were standing and went down on bended knee before his King.
"Greetings my King and Queen," Faramir said, rising from his kneeling position.
Shaking his head and smiling at Faramir's formality, Aragorn embraced his Steward.
"I am glad you are back, my Steward. You have been sorely missed," Aragorn greeted as he maintained his grip on Faramir's shoulders but pushed the Steward away slightly so that he could look at him. "You look well and you have gained some weight, though still not enough I judge."
Faramir blushed and ducked his head in shyness at his King's comments.
"We have done our best Estel but it would have taken more food than was available in Mirkwood to put weight on him. Your Steward can put more away than a hobbit when the mood takes him, can you not, ion-nin" Thranduil teased, looking at his human son.
"Ada!" Faramir whispered chagrined. Legolas smiled from ear to ear.
Elven, human and wizard jaws dropped, eyes widened and eyebrows went skywards. The elven King and the other Mirkwood elves laughed and Faramir blushed spectacularly.
"Mae Govannen, King Thranduil," Aragorn was finally able to get out when he had recovered from the shock. "It seems we have much to discuss," Aragorn added as he released Faramir.
Arwen took the opportunity to embrace Faramir and kiss him on the cheek. The young Steward found himself, all of a sudden, surrounded by elves, hobbits and a dwarf, all greeting him. Legolas greeted Gimli and introduced his friend to his father. Both he and Faramir had worked on Thranduil arguing that if the elven King could accept a human for son, then he could accept a dwarf as a friend of his sons. Both elven King and dwarf eyed each other with something akin to suspicion but were at least civil to each other. Legolas and Faramir - who kept as sly eye on the exchange, shared a knowing glance and sighed in relief. Thranduil smiling at his human son's discomfiture at being surrounded took the opportunity to greet Elrond and Gandalf. Aragorn invited all to join them for refreshments in the King and Queen's private rooms.
The room chosen by Aragorn was one of his favourites. Whilst large enough to accommodate all, it was still quite homey. It contained a large fireplace at either end had enough lounges and comfortable chairs for everyone to have a seat if they so chose. A very excited Pippin led Faramir to one of the lounges and the rest of the group gathered around them. Legolas sat beside Faramir. Aragorn invited King Thranduil, Lord Elrond and Gandalf into a smaller room adjacent, accessible by a connecting door. The smaller room contained a few comfortable chairs around a small table. The departure of the two Kings, elven Lord and wizard did not go unnoticed by Faramir and Legolas. Legolas patted his brother's knee in a gesture of comfort and both returned to the conversation at hand.
"Aye. I have adopted Faramir formally," Thranduil answered Aragorn's unasked question. "The missive you sent about Faramir intrigued me, although it did take a while for Maglor and I to realise it actually contained writing and not the random prints of a hopping bird. Really Elrond! How could you let him get away with such an untidy scrawl?" Thranduil chided as he turned to look at Elrond who was sitting on the chair to his right. Aragorn blushed to the tip of his ears.
"I did try mellon-nin but I could never get him to sit still long enough," Elrond replied as he looked at his foster son intently.
"I thought you did not like humans," Aragorn said as he studied Thranduil.
"Not all humans, I have always liked you Estel," Thranduil replied with a twinkle in his eyes. The smile turned melancholy as Thranduil remembered first seeing Faramir. "When I first saw him, exhausted, thin and nursing a wound…"
"Nursing a wound!?" Aragorn exclaimed.
"Yes, on their way to the Halls of Mirkwood, he and Legolas encountered orcs gathering at Dol Guldur. The stubborn young fool had been hit by the flat of an orc's sword enough to bruise his ribs severely and did not tell anyone until he almost collapsed upon arrival at the Halls," Thranduil said shaking his head at the memory. "When I first saw him, something in me stirred and I felt immediately protective of him."
"He has that affect on many, although he does not realise it," Aragorn said.
"Such fire and such sadness war within him," Thranduil mused.
"You have seen the fire?" Aragorn asked remembering Beregond blanching at the mere thought of doing something that would stir Faramir's temper.
"Aye! And it is sight to see!" the elven King exclaimed.
"Stubborn I grant but a fiery temper? Gentle Faramir?" Gandalf questioned incredulous.
"Aieeee Mithrandir! I thought you must not have seen your young pupil in full flight. His temper rival's mine!" Thranduil stated as he looked at Mithrandir's incredulous expression.
Thranduil recounted the fight between the young Steward of Gondor and the elf Amras. Aragorn, Elrond and Gandalf could not keep from laughing at the image of Thranduil, covered in mud, trying to maintain his hold on an enraged, mud encased and therefore very slippery Faramir, as the young Steward tried to reach the elf he wanted desperately to throttle. They also laughed at the imaginative revenge taken by Faramir and Legolas in tying a naked Amras to the highest rafter in the great hall. The elven King then recounted the incident a week ago with the youths, Faramir and Legolas' stint in gaol and the panicked Sheriff when he realised who it was that graced his cell. By the end of the telling, human King, elven Lord and wizard were wiping tears of mirth from their eyes.
Turning serious, Thranduil told them of what happened at Dol Guldur, how his young human son doused himself with wine, whipping several dozen orcs into a frenzy, waited until they were almost upon him before turning and running for his very life into the forest whilst the elves waiting in the trees, could only watch in horror.
The young Steward of Gondor was trying to concentrate on what was being said around him and to listen for questions asked of him but his attention kept wandering to the room that Aragorn and his elven father had gone into.
"Faramir?" Arwen asked gently upon seeing the distant look in Faramir's eyes. It took a moment for Faramir to respond to his name. "Are you alright you look pale," Arwen continued when she saw that she had finally gained the Steward's attention.
Faramir was just about to make a polite, if somewhat vague response in the affirmative when…
"HE DID WHAT!!!?
Aragorn, Elrond and Gandalf's voices could be heard shouting the exact same words at the exact same time so that every word was clear as crystal. The room went deathly quiet as all conversation stopped abruptly and all eyes turned as one, in the direction from whence the shouted words had come. Faramir whimpered softly. The silence continued for several long moments when Lord Elrond appeared in the doorway.
"Faramir, can you please join us?" Elrond asked in a deceptively quiet voice that made Arwen and the twins, Elladan and Elrohir, cringe.
Faramir, turning even paler, winced.
"Do you want me to come with you muindor tithen?" Legolas asked in a hushed whisper.
"No, thank you anyway brother. I think there will be enough witnesses to my demise," Faramir replied in a tiny voice as he stood slowly and like a man condemned to the gallows, walked towards Lord Elrond.
Part 10b
Sighing heavily Faramir walked past Lord Elrond and into the warg’s den. The elven Lord followed the young Steward of Gondor, closing the door behind him. The sight that greeted Faramir made him sidle as far away from the angry trio as possible towards the opposite door that led into a hallway. Aragorn was pacing he was so angry. The thunderous glares from human King, wizard and elven Lord incited the young Ranger’s flight instincts. With no thought as to what he was doing, let alone the ramifications thereof, Faramir made for the other door, opened the door moving into hallway quickly, closed the door behind him, grabbed a pike that was mounted on the wall and jammed the pike into the doorway so that the door could not be opened from the other side. The young Steward then flew down the hallway.
Aragorn growled as he made his way to the door.
“He has barred the door! I cannot open it!!” Aragorn roared in frustration as he rattled the door.
Thranduil, very calm and with a twinkle in his eye, held up a hand to stay Aragorn.
“Leban (5)…canad (4)…neled (3)…tad (2)…min (1)…” Thranduil counted backwards.
Looking very confused, Aragorn was just about to ask the elven King what he was doing when a familiar sound followed by a familiar yelp could be heard from the other side of the barred door.
“That language is not as dead as you think it is, pen-neth and you will learn to keep a civil tongue in your head,” the elven King’s Seneschal’s booming voice could be heard followed by another whack and another yelp.
After much rattling the door was finally opened. Maglor, holding a familiar red paddle, walked into the room with Faramir strung over his shoulder like a very unhappy stack of laundry. The Seneschal dropped the Steward onto his feet but continued to hold the young human by the scruff of his neck.
To Thranduil, Faramir looked like a very frightened rabbit. Taking pity on his human son the elven King rose from his chair, walked over to the frightened young human and gathered Faramir into his arms.
“Ion-nin. You need to accept the punishment that is coming. You need to understand how deeply you affect others when you place your life at risk, needlessly,” Thranduil explained to his human son in a quiet voice filled with gentleness and affection. Faramir calmed somewhat in the arms of his elven father and nodded his head once in understanding. Taking a deep, deep breath, Faramir turned around to face the others.
Aragorn was moved by the scene between the elven King and his Steward, amazed by the depth of feeling that had developed between the elf and human in such a short period of time. Aragorn was thankful that his Steward finally had a loving father in his life.
Maglor gave the elven paddle to King Thranduil quietly and moved out into the hallway, closing the door behind him, to ensure that privacy was maintained.
Aragorn moved to stand in front of his Steward and gathered Faramir into his arms.
“I do not want to lose my Steward nor see him hurt. It would wound my heart,” Aragorn explained quietly. “I cannot believe you did what you did and you had done so before, not once but twice!” Aragorn exclaimed in a harsh whisper as he continued to embrace his young Steward. Faramir winced, as Aragorn’s embrace was getting a little tight. My arse is toast the hapless young Steward thought. “Alright my young Steward, leggings down and bend over the back of that chair,” Aragorn commanded, indicating the plush lounge chair that he had been sitting in, situated closest to the window.
With a tremulous sigh, Faramir made his way over to the chair, loosened his leggings, pushed them down and leaned over the back of the lounge chair as directed.
“Estel,” Thranduil said to draw Aragorn’s attention and handed the human King the red paddle.
Aragorn examined the paddle, impressed by the workmanship. Faramir saw the paddle and groaned.
“I warn you my young Steward. I do not want to hear of you doing anything remotely akin to the madness you pulled in Dol Guldur. This punishment, I hope, will be truly memorable, to ensure that you think very wisely and very long before you jeopardise your life in such a manner again,” Aragorn said sternly. “You will receive twenty swats from Lord Elrond, then from Gandalf and then from myself,” Aragorn said looking to Thranduil for confirmation. Thranduil nodded his head in affirmation.
“Twenty!! But sire…” Faramir exclaimed, temper flaring as he straightened in indignation.
“Twenty-five if you argue,” Aragorn declared with a raised eyebrow reminiscent of Lord Elrond.
Knowing a lost battle when confronted with one, Faramir attempted to swallow his anger and resumed his position over the back of the lounge chair. Aragorn gave the paddle to Elrond.
“What is this punishment for pen-neth,” Lord Elrond asked as he landed the first stinging swat.
“For outrunning the bloody orcs!!” Faramir snapped, his temper taking control of his mouth yet again.
“I suggest you reign in that temper of yours pen-neth,” Lord Elrond replied as he continued to land stinging swat after stinging swat to Faramir’s hindquarters.
Legolas winced again, for like the other elves he could hear what was happening in the other room. He knew that his young human brother had mouthed off again. The hobbits and Gimli could not, thankfully, hear what was going on although Legolas knew they suspected. The elven Prince was forced to explain what Faramir had done at Dol Guldur, as the hobbits, being the intensely curious creatures that they were, would not accept evasive or vague responses to their numerous questions.
By the time Lord Elrond had reached twenty, Faramir’s buttocks were as red as the paddle. The Elven Lord had shown no mercy. Faramir was whimpering softly as Gandalf took the paddle from Lord Elrond.
“I have loved you as a grandson, my young pupil and I will not see you lost to us,” Gandalf growled as he too showed the young Steward no mercy in the hopes that the lesson would be learned. Gandalf continued to paddle Faramir until the young man was sobbing. After the designated twenty swats, Gandalf stopped and passed the paddle to Aragorn.
Thranduil moved to sit on the arm of the lounge chair that Faramir was bent over; as he knew the next twenty swats would be the hardest for his son to take. Thranduil stroked Faramir’s hair as he crooned a litany of elvish words to his young human son.
“You have spoken of the emptiness in your life with the death of Boromir. What you do not realise is that you would leave an emptiness in the lives of so many if you were to die,” Aragorn said as he landed the first blow to Faramir’s already abused bottom. “I will not see that happen!! Aragorn growled as he continued to paddle Faramir hard.
The young Steward by this stage was sobbing openly. After a count of twenty, Aragorn ceased the punishment. Thranduil pulled his young human son’s leggings up causing Faramir to hiss in pain. The elven King gathered Faramir in his arms, sat down in the chair as he continued to rock his distraught son.
With tears in his eyes, Aragorn bent down and kissed Faramir on the forehead and saw that Thranduil also had tears in his eyes. Seeing Aragorn’s distress, Lord Elrond gathered his human son into a hug. Aragorn, Elrond and Gandalf left elven father and human son alone, leaving by the door that led into the hallway.
Not long after, Legolas entered the room and closed the door behind him. Kneeling down beside the chair, Legolas stoked his brother’s hair in a comforting motion. Maglor entered from the hallway carrying a goblet filled with a sleeping draft. Thranduil took the goblet, smiling his thanks to Maglor and held the cup to Faramir’s mouth.
“You have got some very unsavoury habits Maglor” Faramir grumbled as he drank the draft. “You are always in places you should not be, you make that bloody red ‘thing’ appear out of thin air and you are always trying to dr…ug ...m…” Faramir fell asleep mid word.
The Seneschal looked down upon the young human and smiled, surreptitiously wiping a tear from his eye.
Faramir awoke slowly and in stages. The first thing he was aware of was the throbbing pain in his rear end and that he was lying on his stomach. Oh joy he thought. Then he remembered why. Oh crap he thought. The young Steward then realised he was outside. Opening an eye he saw that he was lying on several blankets under his tree in the private garden his mother had established.
“Do not even think of saying it, or I swear I will hang you by your elven ears from the top of the tower,” Faramir grumbled into the pillow someone was kind enough to have provided.
Elven and human laughter greeted the surly comment.
Faramir rolled onto his side to see who was gathered. Legolas was there of course, as was his elven father, Aragorn, Mithrandir, Elrond, Finrod and Maglor.
The eyes of the Mirkwood elves grew distant for a moment. Faramir knew that they were communing with the tree. All four elves burst out laughing.
“She is scolding us for not looking after her elfling,” Legolas giggled.
“Who is?” Aragorn asked
Faramir groaned in embarrassment covering his face with his hands.
“Who is? Aragorn demanded looking bewildered.
The elves laughed louder.
The End
On to Sweet Revenge or Let Licking Dogs Lie
Please let me know what you think of this story at drasnia@optusnet.com.au
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“…started a curse in one language and finished it in another.” I wish I could do that.
— Anna Thursday 4 November 2010, 0:22 #Faramir kicks ass!