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 17

“His fever is worsening,” Aragorn murmured, concern evident as he felt the heat of Faramir’s brow with the palm of his hand that rested there. “We must needs get him back to Minas Tirith as quickly as possible.”

“Is that advisable given his condition?” Thranduil asked quietly, stroking his son’s hair.

“We do not have the medicines needed and his condition will only deteriorate out here in the elements,” Aragorn advised gently.

After the morning rations were consumed, the soldiers broke camp and preparations were made for the journey back to the White City. Legolas, who was conscious if very sore, complained bitterly that he was more than capable of sitting on a horse by himself, that was, until Maglor gave him a look that quelled the younger elf instantly and had him looking like an elfling again – all eyes. Gimli chuckled at his friend’s expression, but was quelled equally as effectively by a look from the Seneschal.

“I am still very much vexed with your sire at the moment, Thranduilion. I would suggest that you do not push me,” Maglor responded tartly, turning his gaze once again upon Legolas.

Legolas looked at his ada with a questioning raised eyebrow. Thranduil was mounted and cradling Faramir, who was still either sleeping or unconscious. The elven King simply pretended not to hear his Seneschal’s vexed words or see his elfling’s questioning expression. Legolas chose the wise course of remaining silent and doing as he was bid as Maglor mounted the horse behind him. Gimli, with Misto clinging to his back, rode with Aragorn.

The troop travelled as far as they could as fast as they could before Aragorn called a halt in the early afternoon to rest the horses and check on both Faramir and Legolas. Whilst the soldiers rested and ate, Maglor readied boiling water and healing herbs and salves for the two patients. The twins tended to Legolas while Aragorn and Thranduil tended to Faramir. Gandalf, Gimli and Finrod hovered in the background and Misto settled near his mama. The twins changed the dressings on Legolas’ shoulder wound, pleased to see that it was healing well. Aragorn and Thranduil removed the soiled cloak and blanket from Faramir; and were met with the distressing sight of blood soaked bandages. Despite the healing salve that had been applied, the wounds on the Steward’s back had become infected.

At that moment Faramir awoke to a world of pain. Thranduil took hold of his son’s hand and crooned quiet, soothing words in elvish. Faramir concentrated on his ada’s voice, trying desperately to divorce himself from the pain, wishing that the fogged detachment he had felt earlier would return but it did not.

“Faramir! Stay with me, tithen-pen,” Aragorn called to his Steward, as he removed the bloody bandages, aware that Faramir was on the verge of losing consciousness again. “Something is amiss here. He should not be in such pain. Faramir, Faramir! Open your eyes, stay with me, pen-neth. Were you given anything by the abductors, food, liquid?”

“Potion… so could not… use powers,” Faramir gasped out through gritted teeth as he squeezed his ada’s hand hard as another spasm of pain caused his muscles to contract violently. Thranduil kept up a litany of soothing elvish words as Faramir writhed and arched, his body in agony.

Gandalf groaned, causing Aragorn to look at him sharply with a questioning expression before being distracted by Maglor passing him a brew for pain and fever, which the Mirkwood elf had prepared. Thranduil raised Faramir to a semi sitting position so that Aragorn could feed him Maglor’s brew.

“Drink this,” Aragorn said as he held the tea to Faramir’s lips. “That is it, mellon-nin,” he continued as Faramir swallowed the liquid.

Still writhing as the agonising muscle contractions continued, Faramir drank the foul tasting brew without complaint, in between gasps for breath, so great was his pain. Again the brew did not have as fast an effect on the Steward as in the past. Aragorn waited until Faramir had drifted finally into the blessed oblivion of sleep before seeking clarification from Gandalf on the wizard’s groan earlier and tending the foetid wounds on his young Steward’s back.

“The potion of which Faramir spoke would, in all likelihood, have been a poison of Morgul make,” Gandalf sighed deeply before Aragorn had asked the question. “I know of no other that could strip a wizard of his power. It is altogether evil.”

“Will we never be free of the evil shadow of that fell place and its poisons?” Aragorn exclaimed, as he finished applying clean bandages to Faramir’s wounds. “What can we do for him Gandalf?”

“We must get him to Elrond as fast as possible,” Gandalf replied. “Only Vilya, the elven healing ring, will be able to counter such a vile potion in time.”

“I will ride out now and take Faramir to Minas Tirith, Estel. Maglor, the twins and Finrod can accompany me,” Thranduil added when he could see Aragorn about to object. “We will be much faster and can, with our elven sight, ride throughout the night.”

Aragorn paused for a moment before closing his eyes and nodding once in agreement.

“I can ride too, ada,” Legolas said from his supine position near Faramir.

Thranduil looked at Maglor who nodded agreement for both knew that worry over Faramir could cause a debilitating grief reaction in the younger elf.

“Alright my elfling but only if you ride with Maglor,” Thranduil cautioned.

Legolas screwed his nose in distaste at the condition placed on him but nodded his head in agreement, knowing that it was not the time to argue.

It was not long before the elves set out for Minas Tirith with Faramir held in the safe arms of his ada, Legolas with Maglor and Misto with Finrod at Thranduil’s request, much to the elf’s surprise. Finrod thought it wondrous strange that any elf of Mirkwood would befriend a spider let alone their King. The elves arrived at the White city just on dawn the following morning, having ridden throughout the night as fast as they could allow the horses to travel in the dark. Thranduil had grown ever more concerned for Faramir as they raced towards the White City for his son had yet to regain consciousness, was beginning to have difficulty breathing and his fever had climbed ever higher. Despite the early hour of their arrival, Imrahil, Elrond and Arwen met the elves and Faramir in the courtyard in front of the palace. Elrond had sensed their coming and roused the others.

Imrahil groaned when he saw his nephew, unconscious and obviously seriously hurt, cradled in Thranduil’s arms. Elrond, understanding the severity of Faramir’s condition immediately, moved quickly to take the young human from Thranduil, who released his precious burden reluctantly, and walked quickly towards the Houses of Healing with Thranduil, the twins and Misto close on his heels. Maglor assisted Legolas, who was in danger of slipping into reverie at any moment, to dismount. He then swept the exhausted elf off his feet and took him to the Houses of Healing with Imrahil and Arwen in tow. Finrod stayed to see to the horses.

“What happened?” Imrahil asked as he walked beside Maglor.

“This one took an arrow to the shoulder trying to protect his brother but should be back to his normal irritating self in a few days,” Maglor said affectionately, eliciting a sleepy grumble from Legolas.

“And Faramir?” Arwen asked as she walked on the other side of the Mirkwood Seneschal.

“I am aggrieved to say that he has been whipped to within an inch of his life by his abductors and has been fed an evil brew of Morgul make,” Maglor replied, eliciting gasps from both Arwen and Imrahil.

Maglor, Arwen and Imrahil arrived at the Houses of Healing and entered the room in which Faramir had been placed. Maglor was thankful to see that the room contained two beds. Faramir had been placed on the bed closest to the widow, which overlooked a garden. Maglor placed Legolas on the other bed, against the wall opposite the window. The young Prince had slipped into reverie.

Elrond and Thranduil had already removed the cloak and blanket in which Faramir had been wrapped for the journey to the White City and were just removing the bloodied bandages. Elrohir and Elladan had gone to fetch Elrond’s healing supplies and boiling water. Misto was busy spinning a web in the corner of the room above Faramir’s bed, all the better to keep an eye, or in this case, many eyes on his mama. Arwen and Imrahil stood back out of the way; ready to do anything that was requested of them. Elrond, aware that Faramir had been given, in all likelihood, a potion of Morgul origin for Thranduil had to him so, gasped on seeing the state of Faramir’s back.

The twins arrived with their father’s healing supplies, bandages, cloths and boiling water in a large kettle that they put on a stand near the fire that was alight in the fireplace. Elrond placed his ringed hand upon Faramir’s forehead, closed his eyes and sought out the poison.

“It is of Morgul,” Elrond sighed.

“You can help him, can you not?” Thranduil asked in a breathless whisper, pale at the thought of losing Faramir.

“I can neutralise the poison but it will not be easy. It will be extremely painful for him and will tax him sorely,” Elrond sighed. “I cannot give him anything for pain until after the poison has been neutralised. His condition is not good and he is having trouble breathing. He may not survive, mellon-nin,” Elrond said gently.

“My son is stubborn and he will survive,” Thranduil countered adamantly, though tears welled in his eyes.

Elrond bathed Faramir’s back with warm water containing herbs and potions designed to kill infection and promote healing. He then applied healing salve and clean bandages. Sitting down on the bed beside Faramir, he waved Thranduil to sit on the other side of his ailing son. Thranduil held Faramir’s hand as Elrond placed his ringed hand over the young human’s face and began chanting in Elvish. Vilya began to glow. Even unconscious, Faramir moaned and then writhed in agony as Elrond continued. The Steward woke abruptly and began screaming from the sheer agony. He felt as if he was being consumed by fire from the inside. The screaming and writhing did not abate. Agitated, Misto started hissing but remained in his web.

“Oh … Valar, help me, ada! Hurts! Boromir! … help me! … Ada!” Faramir screamed, writhing in agony.

Tears streaming down his face, Thranduil held Faramir’s hand through the entire ordeal as Faramir arched in pain, again and again. Imrahil began pacing like a caged lion as he watched his sister’s son’s agony. Arwen wept gently, arms wrapped around herself protectively, flanked by the twins. Both twins placed their arms around their sister. Legolas, awoken from his reverie by his brother’s screams, was held and comforted by Maglor both with tears in their eyes. Still the screaming did not abate.

“Please… stop… hurts… stop, ada!” the young Steward cried out, his voice becoming hoarse from the damage done to his vocal cords.

To all present, it was obvious that Elrond was struggling. The normally regal and calm elf was looking distressed and pained. Just when Thranduil could take no more of his son’s agony and screams and was about to ask Elrond to cease the torture, Faramir’s screams ceased and he fell back on the bed, limp. Elrond collapsed over his patient.

Elladan ran to pull his father off Faramir and Elrohir moved quickly to check Faramir. Thranduil felt his heart shatter at the thought that his beloved son was dead. Arwen hurried over to her father’s supplies and pulled out a small vial. Taking the top off the vial she moved to her father and waved the vial under his nose. Elrond shook his head from side to side to escape the pungent fumes but it still took him several long moments before he regained consciousness.

“Faramir still lives, King Thranduil,” Elrohir said, eliciting a trembling sigh of relief from the elven King.

“The poison is neutralised, mellon-nin,” Elrond said wearily, looking more tired than Thranduil had ever seen the Rivendell elf, “but the battle is yet to be won. He is weak and fevered.”

“Yet he lives and where there is life there is hope,” Thranduil replied in a horse whisper, filled with emotion.

“Go rest ada… “ Elrohir said.
“ … we will look after Faramir… ” Elladan continued.
“ … and Legolas.”

“Hannon le, ions-nin,” Elrond said with great weariness as he made to stand.

Imrahil walked over to his nephew, bent and kissed him on the brow before assisting Elrond to his feet and out of the room. Arwen squeezed Thranduil’s shoulder, eliciting a small smile from him, before turning and following her father out of the room. Maglor still rocked Legolas who had slipped back into reverie. Elladan and Elrohir bathed sweat from Faramir’s face and arms and made sure that the young human was made comfortable before sitting in vigil on two chairs near the fireplace. It was going to be a long, long day.

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