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 13

“Owwwww Arwennnn! Ouuuccchhh! Please have pity on my ear,” Legolas pleaded, bent over sideways as Arwen continued to drag the elf by his now very sore ear down the corridor that led to the King and Queen’s apartments. The wincing, yelping elf was dragged past the occasional guard who, to their credit, showed no reaction to the strange sight until the elves had passed and then smirks and grins appeared. It was never dull with the elves and Steward in residence each thought.

The two elves continued, Arwen pulling and Legolas bent sideways and almost doubled over, until the Queen reached her destination – her drawing room. Releasing the hapless Prince’s ear finally, Arwen pushed him through the doorway that led to her drawing room landing a mighty whack to Legolas’ posterior with the paddle as she did so, eliciting a pained and indignant yelp from the wood-elf.

“I did not mean to give you such a fright, Arwen,” Legolas said with a very un-prince-like whine, rubbing his ear furiously in an attempt to assuage the stinging pain. “Have you not seen a spider before…” the elf began but stopped when Arwen gave him a look that would have curdled milk. “You have not,” Legolas realised, cringing.

“Not a Mirkwood spider, elfling. Why else do you think I jumped out of the bath so quickly and threw a bucket of water over the poor creature,” Arwen said in a tone that managed to convey equal measures of anger and sarcasm; another trait inherited from Elrond no doubt.

Legolas would have mentioned the pink ribbon in his defence but realised belatedly that the ribbon may not have been one of his more intelligent ideas.

“I must admit, that the jump would have made a wood-elf proud,” Legolas said with great admiration but no forethought.

“Aieeeee! Wrong answer, elfling!” Arwen exclaimed in exasperation, pointing at the back of a lounge chair located with others around the fireplace.

Legolas gave Arwen his most contrite expression but the Queen was having none of it. Sighing deeply and mournfully, Legolas leaned over the back of the chair.

“Leggings down elfling,” Arwen ordered in a tone that Legolas thought only Lord Elrond capable of producing.

“Allow me some dignity, please,” Legolas implored.

“As much as I had when leaping from that bath, tithen pen, and the hatchling when doused with the bucket of soapy water,” the Queen retorted.

The grumbling Prince straightened again. Loosened the ties on his leggings and pushed them down to his knees before leaning back over the padded chair.

“Mind your language,” Arwen chided mildly. “You do not normally curse like that. What has got into you?”

“Faramir,” Legolas mumbled petulantly. Aragorn had mentioned previously that Faramir was having a bad influence on his friend’s vocabulary and Legolas only just now realised to what extent.

“Faramir? Surely not sweet, gentle Faramir?” Arwen asked shocked.

Legolas straightened again, turned and graced the Queen with a look of unbridled disbelief.

“Have you gone mad!,” the wood-elf exclaimed, leggings still down around his knees. “I think you have been associating with humans too long. Sweet! Gentle! Have you never seen him in a temper or heard him cursing? He can curse fluidly in many languages and his curses could make an orc blush.”

“He can obviously hold his tongue and temper around a lady, pen-neth, unlike a certain wood-elf,” Arwen retorted, giving Legolas a look that made him swallow hard.

Legolas was just about to make a an ill-advised comment regarding Arwen’s definition of a lady, remembering many a time, in dealing with the twins, when she did not fit within any definition of a lady except maybe the broadest definition of being female as opposed to male, when the commonsense that had deserted the young elf over the past couple of hours reasserted itself in the form of the thought that he should talk about the influence of humans considering how much it seems his human brother had influenced him and not positively. Arwen, as fey as her father on occasions, smiled inwardly at the thoughts she knew were flitting across the wood-elf’s mind. Sighing in resignation, Legolas resumed his position over the back of the chair.

Arwen began the chastisement letting loose with a whack forceful enough to make Legolas gasp and whimper in the knowledge that he was not going to be able sit comfortably for some time. Much to his chagrin, whimpers soon turned to sobs and sobs turned to howls but still Arwen would not relent.

“I… am… sorry!” Legolas cried out between gasps for breath. “I… did… not mean… to frighten… ,” he added in a rush.

“It is not only the fright you gave me, or the thought of what I could have done to that poor little creature for which I am angered but that my very young human handmaiden was in the next room,” Arwen replied as she continued to apply the paddle to the wood-elf’s ever reddening buttocks. “How much of a fright do you think that poor child would have received if I had yelled and she had responded to my yell only to be met by the sight of that gigantic spider?”

“I… did… not…. know!” Legolas answered, mortified.

“I know, pen-neth, but you do not think things through,” Arwen chided mildly as she ceased the chastisement throwing the paddle on the lounge seat and rubbed the mortified and sobbing elf’s back in soothing circles.

Calming eventually, Legolas straightened, pulling up his leggings as he did so. He stood, head bowed looking at the floor not wanting to meet Arwen’s eyes. The Queen placed a finger under the Prince’s chin lifting it until he looked her in the eyes. On seeing the tears welling in the wood-elf’s eyes Arwen pulled him into a much-needed hug, which Legolas returned after only a moment’s hesitation.

“I only ask that you think things through before indulging in pranks, my elfling,” Arwen said in her lilting tone. “Now off with you and please no more pranks for awhile,” the she-elf added as she broke the embrace and stroked the side of Legolas’ face.

“Come,” said Legolas as he lay on his stomach sans leggings, hastily covering his exposed buttocks with the top covering on his bed when the tentative knock sounded on the other side of the door to his sleeping chambers.

Faramir entered the room followed by the hatchling, which took one look at Legolas and hissed.

“Oh, pipe down you,” the Steward admonished softly, frowning down at the spider. “You are going to have to learn the art of forgiveness, little one.” Faramir almost laughed when the hatchling gave him what he would have sworn was a look of incredulity. “How fare you brother?” Faramir asked gently as he approached the bed and sat down beside his brother. Legolas sighed and pulled back the cover once again exposing his buttocks to the cooling air. “Ouch!” Faramir exclaimed as he took in the extent of the redness decorating his brother’s posterior. I knew the Queen was very angry but I did not realise how angry.”

“Deservedly so, muindor tithen,” Legolas sighed. “I did not realise that her young handmaiden was in the next room to her bathing chamber at the time. I was very fortunate that the young one was not alerted and thus not given a very bad fright.”

“I would hate to think what the condition your behind would have been in if she had, brother,” Faramir whistled softly.

“Exactly,” Legolas replied ruefully.

“I come bearing you a gift,” the Steward said as he produced a small glass jar that he hid behind his back.

“Maglor’s numbing salve?” Legolas asked hopefully.

“No. We unfortunately exhausted his supply,” Faramir replied eliciting a disappointed groan from the elf. “However, my uncle had replenished Boromir’s supply of numbing salve from Dol Amroth,” Faramir added shyly.

Legolas sighed in relief as Faramir applied the lavender scented salve gently to his extremely sore buttocks, easing the throbbing pain.

“Thank you, muindor tithen,” Legolas smiled shyly.

“You are welcome and that is quite enough out of you, Misto!” Faramir chided looking at the hatchling, which had been hissing ‘baaadddd’ quietly and repeatedly throughout his conversation with Legolas.

“You have named it,” Legolas said as he eyed the hatchling suspiciously only to have the same expression returned by the creature as it looked at him as intently.

“Yes, I have named him Misto Flingil (Stray Spider). Come here, Misto,” Faramir called to the spider to join them on the bed. “Legolas. I think you owe our little friend here an apology.”

“I am sorry, tithen-pen,” Legolas said after a few moments. He had not meant to hurt the little creature.

“Well?” Faramir asked after several long moments, looking at the baby spider intently with his eyebrow raised.

“Forrrgivvve,” the hatchling sniffed reluctantly after several more long moments and deliberately not looking at the elf as it did so.

“We will also discuss the art of forgiveness with feeling later, my little friend,” Faramir promised.

“Mama, hungry,” the baby spider said in such a way that Faramir suspected it was a diversionary tactic on the part of the hatchling.

“You will be hearing the ‘h’ word a lot, mama,” Legolas said with a smirk. “Spawn, Fluffy, Charlotte, Ariadne, Bo Bo, Webster, Sweetums, Daisy… “

“Spawn… Daisy? What, in Arda’s name, are you prattling on about?” Faramir asked, looking at his brother as if he thought him a few leaves short of a tree.

“Just thinking up other names in case Mithrandir did not jest and the Valar do send an army of spiders to protect you,” Legolas snickered, then laughed when Faramir repeatedly hit him about the head with a pillow before taking his leave of his brother; spider in tow.

Faramir walked the hatchling down to the dungeon, giving several guards a fright as there had been a change of the guards and not one guard on the previous watch had mentioned the spider. Leaving the baby spider to munch away on dinner, under lock and key for the hatchling’s protection until all became accustomed to its presence, Faramir returned to his apartments where, to his surprise, he was met by a very distressed young servant.

“What is it, little one? What has happened?” Faramir asked as he crouched down in front of the boy.

“Me sister, milord,” the young boy replied in a tremulous voice as he handed a note to Faramir.

Faramir looked at the note. He did not recognise the writing.

_Come to the old stables
on the first level. Tell no
one or the child dies._

“Who gave you this note, child?” Faramir asked gently.

“A tall man what had dark hair and dark skin and talks different,” the boy answered. “Please help me sister, milord.”

“Stay here until I return,” Faramir instructed as he rose to his feet and exited his apartments.

The Steward made his way quickly down to the first level where the old stables were situated. The part of the city in which the old stables were located had taken substantial damage in the Ring War and required extensive structural work. As it was non-residential the reconstruction work was scheduled to be completed at later date.

It was not until Faramir had reached the old deserted stables that the thought that he should have advised someone of what he was about entered his mind. Although, truth be known, this was an improvement for Faramir usually left thinking until after the event. He tried hard to contact Elrond mind-to-mind but drew a blank; obviously too far away he thought. Mentally scanning the immediate area in an attempt to locate the thoughts of the assailant or assailants the Steward picked up immediately upon the terrified thoughts of a child. The overwhelming distress of the child’s thoughts battered Faramir’s mind and blocked his attempts to pick up on the assailant’s thoughts. Steeling himself, Faramir entered the stable.

“Throw down your weapons,” Faramir heard upon his entrance.

The Steward then caught sight of the terrified child, for she could have been no more than five he thought, being held by a tall, swarthy man who held a knife to her throat. Faramir could see that the poor child was shaking violently and had tears of terror streaming down her tiny face.

Berating himself silently for being all kinds of a fool, Faramir divested himself slowly of his weapons. He was unable to use his powers as there was every possibility that he would seriously hurt the child.

“Drink,” the man ordered, nodding in the direction of a goblet that was on the floor in front of him.

“What is in it?” Faramir asked, eyeing the goblet suspiciously.

“Nothing that will kill, just make you more amenable,” the man smirked.

“I will do nothing until you release the child,” Faramir said with deadly calm.

Surprisingly, the assailant did let the child go. Faramir encouraged her to run and so she did. Immediately, Faramir lunged for the assailant in an effort to give the child as much time as possible to make her escape.

“No! Leave the girl…. help…. me!” the assailant said as he struggled with Faramir.

At that moment that Faramir caught the thoughts of two others. He was just about to raise his hand when he was king-hit from behind. The blow sent him sprawling but did not knock him out completely. Dazed, Faramir attempted to fight but the three men were upon him, holding him tight as one forced the liquid in the goblet down his throat. The liquid was viscous, foul tasting and burned his mouth. Faramir tried to expel the fell liquid but his nose was held tight until he was forced to swallow the liquid or suffocate. Gagging, he had but a moment to think that if he survived this his ada and Elessar were going to kill him, when excruciating burning pain throughout his body robbed him of all thought and then consciousness.

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

Enjoyed this story? Then be sure to let the author know by posting a comment at https://www.faramirfiction.com/fiction/war-of-the-wizards. Positive feedback is what keeps authors writing more stories!