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 16

The others followed Legolas as fast as they dared along the rough forest track, careful of tree roots and low hanging branches as they did so. Eventually they came upon the Harad Road. Legolas made straight for where he knew the abductors were hiding in a clearing through the thicket on the other side of the road. The elf freed his bow and nocked an arrow, prompting Thranduil and Maglor to do the same, Aragorn and Gandalf to draw their swords and Gimli to ready his axe.

Legolas made straight for the human figure with gold-red locks he could see, wrapped in a cloak and curled into a ball of misery between two massive boulders. He jumped from his horse and onto one of the boulders as he continued to nock and shoot arrows with lightening speed. Gimli, with Misto still attached and hissing, slid from the horse’s back and ran towards Faramir to protect the human. Misto jumped from the dwarf’s back and scuttled to his mama. Legolas’ heart sank as he saw the first of the second group of orcs swarm into the clearing.

The orcs moved quickly to isolate Legolas and Gimli from the others. Gimli swung viciously as orcs came within range of his axe, hacking off limbs with ease. Arrows exhausted, both Thranduil and Maglor jumped from their mounts, unsheathed their elven knives, sliced and carved their way through the swarming orcs in an intricate and deadly dance. Aragorn remained mounted as he swung his sword with skill born of many years of fighting. Gandalf used both his staff to blind the orcs and his sword to cut them down.

Having exhausted his supply of arrows, Legolas made to jump down from the rock on which he was standing when his eyes widened, his expression one of surprise, as he fell forward off the rock and onto the ground near Faramir, a black orc’s arrow sticking out of his back. Thranduil let out a cry of alarm and rage as he saw his beloved elfling felled. Gimli too yelled in distress, redoubling his efforts to keep the orcs at bay. Sheer rage taking control, Thranduil gave an elven battle cry, twirled and danced as he sliced and stabbed his way through the orcs towards his sons.

Faramir regained consciousness to the sound of Misto’s panicked voice, hissing ‘mama’ repeatedly in his ear. The pain he felt almost sent him back into the blackness but he saw, out of the corner of his eye an elf with an arrow sticking out of his back and knew immediately that the elf was Legolas. The strange detachment that he had been feeling dissipated abruptly bringing agony enough to rob him of senses for several long moments before he managed to struggle to his knees. Feeling a rage such as he had rarely felt before build rapidly within him, Faramir began to crackle and his hair to stand on end. He drew on the power he felt around him, from the rocks, trees, orcs and from within himself. The power built to such a level that Faramir was no longer able to contain it and, raising his ringed hand, let loose blue bolts of energy that took out every orc within forty feet, after which he fell to the ground like a stone, where he remained – unmoving.

Seeing Faramir fall, Thranduil let out another cry of rage as he continued his deadly dance towards his fallen sons, oblivious to everything else. Maglor, recognising the signs of a rage in his friend in which all reason has fled, attempted to remain close to his King and friend. Aragorn, still mounted, also attempted to get to his friends but felt pangs of despair as the orcs continued to swarm cutting off his access. His heart missed several beats when he heard elven battle cries a short distance away and his hope rekindled when Finrod, the twins and the Gondorian Lieutenant rode into the fray.

Thranduil made it to Legolas first and, oblivious to the danger around him, dropped to his knees to check that his son was still alive. He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw that the arrow had penetrated his son’s shoulder and that Legolas was breathing steadily and had a strong heartbeat. The elven King rose to feet once more and ran the short distance to where Faramir had fallen. His heart constricted when he could feel no heartbeat in his son. Thranduil howled with rage and tears streamed down his face. Spying Saruman and three humans he assumed to be the ones who abducted Faramir in the distance, he jumped to his feet and began his deadly dance, killing every orc in his path as he made his way towards the disgraced white wizard. At Thranduil’s howl of rage and pain, Aragorn’s heart sank for he knew that it could only mean that either Legolas or Faramir was dead.

Maglor knew that they would need to make their escape soon as they had no hope of killing all the orcs. Whistling to Finrod who was still mounted, Maglor ran back to Legolas and cut through the shaft of the arrow embedded in the younger elf’s shoulder and passed the unconscious elf to Finrod. Finrod whirled his horse and galloped through the orcs and off into the distance towards the Harad Road. The Mirkwood Seneschal gathered Faramir into his arms and whistled for Elrohir. The younger twin took Faramir from Maglor and followed the path that Finrod had taken. Aragorn collected Gimli and Misto and followed the elves. Maglor whistled for his own mount. Gandalf, Elladan and the Gondorian soldier protected the elven horse, slashing and hewing with their swords, as the elven bred horse made its way to its master. Recognising that Thranduil was in such a rage that he would continue to fight to the death and would not listen to reason, Maglor approached the enraged elf from behind and landed a mighty chop to the back of his friend’s neck catching him before he hit the ground. The Seneschal slung his friend over his horse, jumped up behind him, whistling for Thranduil and Legolas’ horses to follow and galloped off in the same direction as the others with a very surprised wizard, elf and human, following in his wake.

The company fled until midafternoon when they reached a position that was defensible, if the orcs had decided to pursue them, and had water and shelter available. Elladan dismounted and relieved Finrod of Legolas, who was still unconscious, so the Mirkwood elf could dismount. Similarly, Aragorn gathered Faramir into his arms and placed him on his side on a bedroll near where Elladan had placed Legolas. Misto settled next to his mama’s head. Elrohir dismounted and ran to assist his brother to remove Legolas’ tunic and shirt so he could examine his friend’s wound. Maglor allowed Thranduil, who was slowly regaining consciousness, to slip from his horse.

“What hit me?” Thranduil asked attempting to shake the fog from his mind.

“Well, if you must know, I did, mellon-nin,” Maglor replied as he also slipped from his horse. “It is a long time since I have seen you throw such a temper tantrum.”

“Faramir!” the elven King exclaimed, looking about frantically.

“He is alive, Thranduil,” Aragorn called out from where he and Gandalf knelt next to Faramir, “for the moment at least,” he added under his breath.

A powerful wave of relief caused Thranduil’s knees to weaken. Maglor grabbed his friend’s arm, pulled it around his shoulders and hauled the elven King over to where Faramir and Legolas lay. Finrod, Gimli and the Lieutenant went to stand watch for signs of orcs. Maglor busied himself with starting a small fire, collecting water, putting it on to boil and gathering the medical supplies. Aragorn groaned and then swore mightily when he removed the cloak in which Faramir had been wrapped, only to discover that his young Steward was naked from the waist up and had been subjected to a merciless whipping.

“Oh, ion-nin,” Thranduil moaned, tears again welling in his eyes as he stroked Faramir’s hair.

When the water had boiled, Maglor brewed tea for both fever and pain. The twins set about removing the remaining piece of arrow from Legolas’ shoulder whilst their friend was still unconscious, sighing with relief when they discovered that the arrow had not been poisoned. They cleaned and bandaged the wound, confident that his elven healing ability would see Legolas back to full health within a matter of days. Not long after the twins had finished, Legolas regained consciousness groaning as he did so. Thranduil was beside his elfling in an instant.

“Faramir?” Legolas asked, struggling weakly to rise.

“Shhhhh… “ Thranduil soothed in a whisper as he stroked his son’s hair. “He yet lives, my elfling.”

Elrohir fed some of the tea that Maglor had prepared to Legolas and it was not long before the elf slipped into reverie. Thranduil turned his attention back to his human son. Aragorn used warm water and clean cloth to cleanse the vicious looking welts and weals on Faramir’s back. He then applied an ointment containing arnica, comfrey, elm and marigold to assist in healing before dressing the wounds in clean bandages.

“I cannot believe that you did that, little brother,” Boromir admonished as he stroked his brother’s hair.

“Did what?” Faramir asked in a tone that indicated his confusion and disorientation, as he woke yet again in the surreal forest with his head resting on Boromir’s lap.

“Took the energy from within yourself! How many times has Mithrandir warned you not to do so? You have all but killed yourself!” Boromir chided.

“I am sorry but I was angry,” Faramir snapped. “They shot my brother!” he snarled. On realising his words, his angry expression turned sheepish and a little apologetic.

“Never be ashamed of the love you bear for both your brother’s and your ada, little one. I praise the Valar for guiding you to King Thranduil,” Boromir said softly. “I do not think you grasp truly the depth of his love for you, miel-neth. It is as deep as his love for Legolas and my love for you.”

“How are they? Are they safe?” Faramir asked.

“Aye, little brother, they are safe for the moment. Legolas has taken an arrow to his shoulder but the arrow has been removed and he is in a deep healing sleep. Your ada is beside himself with worry for you though,” Boromir replied.

“I should go back then?” Faramir asked in a tone that said that the prospect was daunting to him.

“Nay, little one. Not yet. Rest awhile for if you go back now you will be in seven kinds of hell. Your back!” Boromir exclaimed as he began to gently massage Faramir’s earlobe with his thumb and index finger.

“Not good?” Faramir asked tentatively, in a tiny voice, snuggling into his brother’s thigh.

“_Not good_,” Boromir confirmed in a whoosh of breath as images of his little brother being whipped to within an inch of his life and he powerless to stop it, replayed in his mind. There were many disadvantages to being deceased, he thought.

“He is still with us,” Aragorn sighed as he and Thranduil lifted Faramir carefully and wrapped him in a clean blanket before wrapping him back in the blood-encrusted cloak. “I do not want to risk moving him but we cannot stay here.”

Thranduil closed his eyes in despair but nodded once in agreement.

Finrod, Gimli and the Gondorian Lieutenant were called back from their watch. The company mounted their horses. Thranduil cradled Faramir in his arms and Maglor held Legolas. They risked riding throughout the night along the Harad Road. It was well past midnight when elven hearing detected sounds ahead, sounds that did not belong to nature.

They rode quickly into the cover of the trees to the side of the road. Finrod signalled that he would ride ahead to determine whether the sounds ahead were from human or orc. The Mirkwood elf returned quickly, with a Gondorian soldier in train.

“Soldiers. About one hundred sent by Prince Imrahil,” Finrod advised the company.

“Prince Imrahil got wind of a large band of orcs on the Harad Road, not long after you left, sire. He sent us to assist if we could,” the mounted soldier informed them.

“That man is a wonder and despite what he says, every bit the cunning old fox as was his sire,” Aragorn said with a rueful smile.

The company rode to the soldier’s camp where Faramir and Legolas were made comfortable. Misto again settled beside Faramir. Thranduil sat between his sons with one hand on each as if to reassure himself that both were still living and looking more worried than Aragorn had ever seen the elven King look.

“I cannot lose him, Estel,” Thranduil said as Aragorn approached and sat down on the other side of Faramir, close to Misto.

“My Steward has great stubbornness and all of us on his side, mellon-nin. He will survive,” Aragorn said with more confidence than he actually felt.

“He will be grounded, though,” Thranduil growled.

“What do you mean?” Aragorn asked gently.

“I am going to lock him in that palace of yours where he will remain until he is at least three hundred and sixty!” Thranduil replied adamantly. “My heart cannot take it, Estel,” he complained when Estel smiled at him. “He is so young, not even one hundred.”

“Whilst I understand the sentiment, for I too desire to see him locked away safe from trouble, you are father to a human, who, I will admit, manages to find more trouble than most, if not all, and you will need to adjust,” Aragorn counselled with a rueful smile.

“My respect for Elrond grows daily,” Thranduil said with just that blend of sincerity and sarcasm of which he alone was master.

“How fares, Faramir?” Elrohir asked quietly as he and Elladan sat down on the ground near Aragorn, both eyeing the hatchling with faint disquiet.

“Alive, though I think he would wish it otherwise if he was conscious,” Aragorn replied sadly. “I have been meaning to ask you how you came to be in the vicinity?”

“We found Saruman’s trail in the hills of Emyn Muil… “ Elladan began.

“… we discovered that an old man was seen in the company of orcs… “ Elrohir continued.

“… and that they were headed towards the Dead Marshes … “

“… We travelled to the marshes and … “

“… discovered their trail and followed … “

“… Two days ago we caught up with them … “

“ … We have been trying to discover … “

“ … their intentions … “

“And have you discovered anything?” Aragorn interjected.

“Just pieces … “ Elrohir responded.

“ … An alliance with the Haradrim … “ Elladan added.

“ … something about training wizards … “

“Why do they want my son?” Thranduil interjected.

“We do not know … “ Elladan said.

“ … Just that they see him as a threat.” Elrohir concluded.

“I think we should rest this night. We have a long journey ahead of us, back to Minas Tirith,” Aragorn said as he stood before making for his bedroll.

Thranduil sat vigil over his sons the entire night. Neither son stirred until morning.

“How is Faramir, ada?” Legolas asked as soon as he came back from his healing reverie, stretching and wincing at the pain in his shoulder.

“He is with us yet, my elfling,” Thranduil replied as he looked down at Faramir. “How are you feeling?”

“I have been better I must admit but I will survive,” Legolas smiled ruefully.

“Go eat, tithen-pen,” Thranduil said quietly to Misto, for he knew the hatchling must be very hungry. “I will watch over your mama.”

Misto scuttled off a short distance, turned back as if unsure but continued to scurry into the forest when shooed gently by the elven King.

“Time to go back, little brother,” Boromir said as he smiled down at Faramir.

“I love you, Boromir,” Faramir said as he prepared mentally, to return.

“And I you, miel-neth,” Boromir said. “I am sorry, little one, but you could not stay here any longer,” he added in a whisper.

Faramir awoke and was immediately beset by pain, such as he had never felt before.

“Boromir! You rotten, conniving, son of a… bastard! You could have given me some warning!“ Faramir growled writhing in agony, arm raised in the air, hand opening and closing, seeking his ada. “Oh help, ada! It hurts!”

“Estel! Maglor!” Thranduil called out as he took hold of his son’s hand, allowing Faramir to grip it as hard as necessary.

“What hurts, Faramir?” Aragorn asked his distressed Steward.

“Head… back… stomach… everything!” Faramir replied in gasps, between the spasms.

“Drink this, pen-neth,” Maglor directed, holding a cup to his young charge’s lips.

The pain was so great that Faramir did not fall into sleep as quickly as was his wont when given a strong pain reliever, or, for that matter, given even the mildest of pain relievers. Thranduil held his son’s hand through the spasms of pain until Faramir relaxed finally into sleep.

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