Faramir Fiction Archive

War of the Wizards (PG)

15 July 2010 | 120215 words | Work in Progress

Title: War of the Wizards
Author: KC
Rating: PG
Pairing(s): Faramir
Warnings: Spanking
Disclaimer: The characters are not mine. They belong to Tolkien.<br>,Please let me know what you think of this story by leaving a comment.

This is number seven in the series that started with Grief, Elf, Wasps and an Angry Wizard and Stubborn Stewards and Bright Red Paddles, Human King, Elven King & One Stubborn Steward, Sweet Revenge or Let Licking Dogs Lie and Elves, Orcs and the Road to Recovery.
Added: Chapter 52

Part 11

“How do we lure the whelp out of the city?” asked conspirator number one, a tall swarthy looking man with the faint trace of an accent, in a hushed coarse whisper.

“He is canny and dangerous. They say that he can read minds,” whispered conspirator number two with the same faint trace of an accent.

“We will not be able to approach directly with his wizard abilities and him being surrounded constantly by elves,” added the third conspirator.

“We must discover his weakness and I think I may know a way,” the first conspirator grinned evilly.

Over the next week Faramir’s general demeanour improved as his workload decreased enabling him to gain much needed sleep. His daily sessions with Gandalf and to a lesser extent Elrond, were becoming ever more gruelling. His conscience was pricked by Beregond’s increasingly haggard look for it seemed that despite having two extra aids and the assistance of both his ada and uncle, the man was finding the going very hard.

“You were shielding him too much ion-nin,” Thranduil admonished, on seeing his son’s look of guilt when his friend yawned for what Faramir thought must have been the thousandth time during the midday meal in the great dining hall. The meal had been called in honour of a detail of elves who had arrived from Mirkwood that morning, bringing news and goods for their elven King.

“Indeed! I am still amazed, foxling, with how much you were doing in addition to your sessions with Mirthrandir and Lord Elrond,” Imrahil added from where he was seated opposite the Steward.

At the conclusion of the meal, Legolas and Faramir made their way to the Steward’s apartments where they entered through the vestibule and thence through to the drawing room. There they were greeted by the sight of a large, elegantly carved, wooden trunk perched on the top of Faramir’s work desk by the glass door that opened onto the balcony that overlooked the King and Steward’s private garden.

“Ada said that he had a gift for you brought from Mirkwood,” Legolas apprised, grinning widely at Faramir’s stunned expression.

Faramir approached the elegant trunk almost reverently and stood still.

“Well open it, muindor tithen,” Legolas laughed, motioning with his hand towards the trunk.

Faramir did so tentatively and then jumped back with a yelp of horror when the largest spider that he had ever seen, scuttled, rather clumsily if truth be known, out of the trunk and onto the desk where it just stood looking at him.

Seemingly unperturbed, Legolas just looked at the spider with an expression of mild disgust.

“I do not think this hatchling is what ada intended to gift you,” Legolas said as he eyed the baby spider.

“Hatchling?” Faramir squeaked incredulously, eyes as wide as saucers as he continued to stare at the spider with a morbid fascination.

“Aye, you can see by the pieces of the egg still in the trunk. I would say it has hatched within the last hour.

“Who would have…?” Faramir began.

“Amras,” both Faramir and Legolas answered at the same time as they looked at each other, Faramir rolling his eyes and Legolas shaking his head.

“I think that elf should seek counselling,” Faramir said as his gaze shifted back to the hatchling.

Faramir started quite violently when he could have sworn he heard a sibilant “Mama?” come from the hatchling.

“They speak?” Faramir asked on a rising inflection that sounded slightly hysterical even to himself.

“Aye,” Legolas replied conversationally. “Although their vocabulary is limited generally to words such as kill, poison, dinner, ‘feed on you’ and suchlike.

“What should we do with it?” Faramir asked, at a complete loss, having never faced this or a similar situation before.

“We should k…i…l…l…it,” Legolas spelled out, not wanting to offend the hatchling.

“Mama,” the baby spider repeated looking up at Faramir. This time the word sounded like a statement not a question, making Legolas giggle and Faramir to glare at his brother.

“I have heard that you can see into the hearts of men and beasts and thus charm them,” Legolas teased. “But I did not know that it included arachnids.”

“Do you sense any evil from it?” Faramir asked his initial horror and distaste turning to curiosity. “I cannot.”

“Nay. I do not either,” Legolas replied, perplexed.

“Is that not unusual?” Faramir asked, equally perplexed.

“Aye. That it is, muindor tithen. That it is,” Legolas answered.

“Mayhap now that Sauron is no more, the spiders are just that; spiders,” Faramir surmised.

“Nay, the ones in Mirkwood still reek of evil,” Legolas countered

“I must confess that it is kind of cute, in an ugly, ghastly sort of way,” Faramir said as he walked around the spider to the other side of the desk. The spider scuttled around, losing its balance at one stage as all eight legs skated outwards at the same time, thus causing the creature to flop onto its belly. Getting its legs back under it, it continued to scurry around making strange scuttling noises that reverberated on the wooden surface of the desk.

“I know that look, muindor tithen. You cannot keep it!” Legolas admonished.

“But I am loathe to destroy it when I can detect no evil,” Faramir replied. “When are your compatriots returning to the halls of Mirkwood?”

“Within two weeks,” Legolas acknowledged suspiciously. “You cannot be thinking of asking them to take it back to Mirkwood. They will kill it as soon as they are out of sight of Minas Tirith!”

“Not if we explain to ada our suspicions about Amras and suggest that it should be returned to him with the decree that he is charged with its upbringing until the elves leave Mirkwood. And that the decree is to be overseen by the King’s representative in Mirkwood,” Faramir proposed with a decidedly demonic glint in his eye.

“You are pure evil, muindor tithen,” Legolas retorted with more than a little admiration. “That should play beautifully to ada’s wicked sense of humour.”

“Why thank you, brother,” Faramir replied, acknowledging the comment with a bow of his head and a very wide smirk.

“Before we tell ada, I would love to play a prank on a certain dwarf,” Legolas said, his eyes afire with impishness.

“Are you out of your mind?! Do you have a death wish?!” Faramir asked incredulously. “Ada would blister your arse and Gimli would dismember you and not necessarily in that particular order!”

“Oh I suppose you are right. It was just a thought,” Legolas replied petulantly.

“Not a very good one…,” Faramir began.

“Mama… hungry,” the hatchling piped up, quelling the rest of Faramir’s admonition.

“On what do they feed?” the young Steward asked.

“At this age, generally insects, mice, small birds,” Legolas answered.

“Well there are plenty of mice in the disused dungeons where wheat is being stored and we can keep him contained, under lock and key. Come my little friend,” the Steward said as he pulled a throwover from the couch beside the fireplace and wrapped it around the spider.

The princes made their way to the dungeons stealthily, taking care not to be seen with their bundle. Faramir deposited the spider into a cell that contained sacks of wheat, having ascertained first that there were mice around. The Steward closed the door and looked at the spider through as small, bared window in the topmost section of the cell door, designed to allow guards to look in on prisoners. They stayed until they heard a resounding burp from the satiated spider.

“Efficient little bugger,” Faramir whispered, impressed by the neat efficiency with which the spider went about securing and devouring dinner. “We will tell ada after the trade meeting later this afternoon.”

The trade meeting, to be attended by representatives from Gondor, Dol Amroth, Mirkwood, Rivendell and the dwarves to discuss the needs of each and who could supply what, had been organised by Aragorn. As Steward, Faramir had no choice but to attend the meeting. Legolas on the other hand was free to attend if he so chose. He chose not to, begging off saying that he had other important things to do. Faramir turned to the elf, about to question him as to what these ‘other duties’ were but his brother had disappeared. Shaking his head and with a feeling of disquiet, the Steward made his way to the large meeting hall. There he was met by his father. Also in attendance were of course Aragorn, Maglor, Elrond, Gimli, Imrahil and a few other representatives from both Gondor and Dol Amroth, including Beregond.

Well into the evening, the meeting, which had been most fruitful, had almost concluded when the biggest spider the men gathered, with the exception Aragorn, had ever seen descended quickly, and clumsily, on a thread and landed with a thump on the middle of the table around which the delegates were seated. There were various shouts and yelps of horror and distress as the humans jumped up and back from the table. As the only one armed, for Gimli was never found without his axe, the dwarf raised it aloft and struck at the spider but missed as it scuttled towards Faramir. Such was the force with which he struck, Gimli could not secure enough leverage to remove the axe that was well and truly embedded in the wooden table top. Oblivious to the growing cacophony of angry and distressed voices, Faramir looked at the spider, which he noted, in a detached kind of way, had a pink ribbon around its neck and was dripping with water. He then looked up from whence the spider had descended only to see his brother, pale-faced and looking absolutely mortified, looking down at the chaotic scene.

“Mama, mama, mama,” the hatching repeated in its strange sibilant voice as it scurried towards Faramir, who was sitting, unmoving, as if carved in stone.

“Calm yourselves gentlemen,” Faramir heard Aragorn command from his still seated position at the head of the table. “It is but a hatchling. Although what it is doing in Minas Tirith I would very much like to know,” he added. glaring at his Steward.

“A hatchling? A hatchling! How big do the bloody things grow?” Faramir heard Beregond ask in an incredulous tone, as he continued to stare at the spider.

‘I wondered that myself’ Faramir thought as the spider started pouncing on the feathered quill that he was holding in his hand, occasionally losing control over one or more of its legs which seemed to skate out from under it.

“About ten times the size,” the Steward heard his King reply.

That big thought Faramir with the same strange calm detachment, his mind latching on to any thought that did not involve the amount of trouble in which he was likely to be.

“Come down from there, my elfling. You have much to explain,” Thranduil growled dangerously not taking his eyes from the spider, which was still ‘playing’ with the feathered quill Faramir was holding.

“I think that concludes the meeting for today. If you will excuse us gentlemen,” Aragorn commanded. “If you will stay please, Imrahil, Gimli?” the King added quietly to the Prince and dwarf.

Aragorn waited until all the men, with the exception of his Steward and Prince Imrahil, had departed.

Legolas climbed down from the rafter and walked over to Faramir and sat down beside his brother in the seat his father vacated. The spider took one look at the subdued elf and said in what was an amazingly humanlike indignant tone “Baaaaadddd!” before scuttling closer to its mama, who was still sitting as if carved in stone, as all eight legs again skated out from under it, so smooth and slippery was the surface of the table, causing the hatchling to complete a very undignified belly flop. The ends of the pink bow fell over the hapless hatchling’s eyes as the poor thing had difficulty in getting its legs back under control.

Aragorn, Thranduil, Elrond, Imrahil and Gimli looked upon the hatchling in astonishment. Maglor snorted in amusement. Legolas blushed furiously, having just been admonished by a baby spider and Faramir finally arose from his calm detachment.

“Whatever did you do to it, brother?” Faramir asked in a harsh whisper.

“I did not hurt it, muindor tithen. And if it had been more co-operative…” the elf began.

“Baaaddd, baaaddd, baaaddd,” the hatchling kept repeating in the same very human sounding indignant tone, despite the sibilant delivery.

“Just what have you been up to?” Faramir asked, annoyance and therefore temper on the rise.

“Aye, my elfling. Just what have you been about? Hmmmm?” Thranduil asked in the same calm tone, sounding all the more dangerous for its soft delivery, that sent shivers up Legolas’ spine as it did Faramir and Aragorn’s.

The hatchling scurried over to Legolas.

“Baaaddd!” it hissed before scuttling back to Faramir, almost slipping over the end of the pink bow around its neck that was unravelling.

With all eyes, including the spider’s, fixed upon him, Legolas gulped.

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