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 2

“Estel?” Thranduil called out to Aragorn as the human climbed the stairs. Aragorn stopped and turned back towards the elf. “Be nice,” the elven King said in a tone that although mild, held an underlying threat that was anything but mild.

Aragorn nodded once in understanding, turned back and resumed his ascent.

“I will be nice, after I have killed the little pizzle and hidden the body,” the King muttered, feeling the uncomfortable dampness of his clothes soaking into his very bones.

“I heard that Estel,” Thranduil said, amusement tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Bloody elves,” Aragorn muttered shaking his head in disgust.

“We all heard that one, pen-neth,” Maglor called out after the retreating King, eliciting smirks and chuckles from the other elves.

The King arrived at the door that led to his reading chamber. Taking several deep breaths to try to regain a measure of calm, he opened the door and entered his chambers. Aragorn was astonished to see that the room had already been restored to its state prior to his Steward’s fit of pique. Said Steward was standing by the window, looking out at the garden below. Aragorn caught a glimpse of Faramir’s expression before it became the impassive expression that the King knew to be a facade his Steward assumed to keep people at a distance. The expression he glimpsed was one of great longing and sadness.

“What am I going to do with you, my Steward?” the King sighed as he looked at Faramir intently. The fond exasperation in Aragorn’s voice caused Faramir’s impassive mask to falter for a moment. “Feeling trapped I can understand, for I have been feeling a fair amount of that myself recently. But blatantly disobeying a direct order I cannot condone,” Aragorn said. Faramir winced, knowing that the King was in the right and he conversely, was in the wrong. “Tell me, my young Steward. What would Boromir have done if he were in my position at his moment, hmmm?” Aragorn asked.

“Exactly what you are contemplating now,” Faramir responded, paling and wincing at the very clear visual image he was receiving from his King of Elessar using ‘Faramir’s Bane’ on his Steward vigorously.

Aragorn started as he comprehended his Steward’s words and their ramifications.

“You perceived my thoughts?” Aragorn asked, his eyes narrowing.

“It is very hard not to when you are all but shouting them at me,” Faramir replied peevishly, looking at the floor and then blanched on realising to what he has just admitted.

“How long have you been able to do thusly, my Steward?” Aragorn asked sharply his eyes narrowing even more.

“Some would say for a very long time but it is really only since I have been able to hear the ring that I have heard the thoughts of others clearly in my mind and not just the vague shadow of other’s thoughts, as I have perceived in the past,” the Steward replied truthfully.

“Does Gandalf know about this ability?” Aragorn asked already suspecting the answer.

“Aye. He does. Mithrandir has been guiding me in blocking the thoughts of others for I can assure you that I have no desire to know such thoughts, especially when those thoughts involve images of physical harm to my person,” Faramir responded churlishness returning to his voice.

“And just when did you and Gandalf plan on telling me of this newly developed ability?” Aragorn queried caustically.

The Steward paled even more as he desperately sought the most diplomatic way to tell his King but failed miserably in his anxiety.

“Mithrandir wanted to tell you as soon as he found out but I asked him to wait until I had gained control over this Arda-be-damned ability and it had ceased to cause me such pain,” Faramir blurted out wishing immediately as he did so that he could recapture the words, for he did not want to show such weakness to his King.

Taken aback by Faramir’s inadvertent admission, Aragorn was struck dumb for several long moments as he stared at his now blushing Steward.

“I am going to blister your arse until you are wailing, Faramir,” Aragorn growled when he finally found voice enough to do so, causing the Steward to cringe at his King’s tone. “I take it that your wish to visit Osgiliath had less to do with the need to inspect the troops as it had to do with getting away from the White City where you are feeling trapped and away from the thoughts of so many. And I would hazard a guess to escape the negative thoughts of those in the council. Yes?”

Faramir, feeling exposed and embarrassed beyond measure could only nod as he kept his head lowered and his eyes downcast.

“Do not expect to be sitting comfortably any time soon, my stubborn young fool of a Steward,” the King admonished his now pale and wincing Steward. “If you had but come to me, trusted me, we could have worked out a solution together.”

Tears welled in Faramir’s eyes as the young man read disappointment and hurt in both Aragorn’s expression and thoughts.

“I-I am s-sorry, Elessar,” Faramir stammered. “I did not want to expose how weak…”

“Weak!” Aragorn bellowed making Faramir take an involuntary step backward. “Aieeeeeee! You are one of the strongest, if somewhat softheaded, men I know. You young fool!” the King exclaimed as walked over to his desk and retrieved ‘Faramir’s Bane’ from the bottom drawer.

Aragorn grabbed the chair that sat behind the desk, moved it to the middle of the room and sat down on its cushioned seat. Faramir winced anew at the King’s angry movements. Taking a tremulous breath that ended in a small whimper the young man approached at Aragorn’s unspoken command. Loosening the ties to his leggings and pushing them to his knees, the Steward lowered himself over his King’s lap.

“What is this punishment for, my young Steward?” Aragorn asked as he brandished ‘Faramir’s Bane’.

“For disobeying a direct order,” Faramir replied in a small voice.

“And?” the King prompted.

“For not telling you about my being able to hear the thoughts of others,” the Steward responded in the same small voice.

“No,” Aragorn contradicted. “Not for not telling me but for not trusting me enough…”

“But I do trust you, Elessar. With my life…” Faramir countered vehemently.

“With your life yes, but not with your heart,” the King said his voice quavering on the last word as he landed the first of many punishing whacks to his Steward’s exposed buttocks.

Faramir gasped at the intensity of the sting from ‘Faramir’s Bane’ as Aragorn landed whack after whack to first one buttock and then the other. But the Steward felt an even greater pain that Elessar thought he did not trust him with his heart. It was not true, Faramir thought. He did trust the King with his heart. It was not long before the Steward was squirming fiercely as Aragorn continued the punishing pace he had set.

“I… do… trust you… with… my heart!” the Steward cried out between blows and gasps for breath. “I… do… I do… trust… you… with my heart!

“Then why, Faramir? Why?” Aragorn asked in anguish.

“Because I… want… so… much… your g-good… o-opinion… of me. But… I… know… I… am w-weak… e-emotional… not fit…to be… Steward,” the Steward sobbed.

“Aieeeeeeee! Faramir!” Aragorn bellowed as he threw down ‘Faramir’s Bane’ for fear of doing his Steward a real injury in his anger and continued the chastisement with his bare hand. “You… are… not… weak,” the King emphasised each word with a resounding slap to his Steward’s posterior. “Soft-headed, SOMETIMES, reckless with your life, quick tempered, contrary, sneaky, conniving, stubborn, YES but weak, NO! And you have and have always had my good opinion, you idiot!”

“Please… stop! I-It hurts… too… much,” Faramir cried out, distressed.

“What hurts, Faramir? The chastisement or the words?” Aragorn asked gently, knowing the answer already.

“B-Both… words… ” the Steward replied, as his sobbing grew more intense.

After a few blistering slaps to Faramir’s thighs, Aragorn ceased the chastisement and rubbed his Steward’s back in gentle circles. Still sobbing, Faramir slipped from Aragorn’s lap, pulling up his leggings as he did so, went down onto his knees and rested his head on his King’s thigh. After a few moments, Aragorn went down on his knees also and gathered Faramir into an embrace, holding him tightly and crooning words of love and forgiveness as the young Steward collapsed against him and cried out his pain.

“Oh, my Faramir! We find ourselves back in this place after all this time. What has caused this?” the King crooned softly as he continued to rub his Steward’s back as Faramir sobbed. “I did not refuse you permission to go to Osgiliath because I thought you weak but because you are vulnerable at the moment,” Aragorn said in understanding, as he continued to sooth his young Steward. “You are precious to me Faramir and important to Middle Earth but your wizarding powers are not yet fully realised and until they are you need protection. That does not make you weak. Aieeeee!” Aragorn exclaimed softly in exasperation. “ If Denethor were here right this moment I would be kicking his backside from one end of Middle Earth to the other for making you believe that you are weak, and have so little worth. And if I am not much mistaken, Boromir is doing just that in the halls of your ancestors,” Aragorn said passionately, eliciting a teary smile from Faramir. “It is time to move on tithen-pen. You are loved by your family and your family most assuredly includes me.”

The King continued to hold his Steward as the young man’s sobs calmed to hitched breaths.

“I am sorry, Elessar, for losing my temper and dousing you,” Faramir apologised.

“Whilst I am very sure that you are very sorry for losing your temper, I do not truly believe you are sorry for dousing me. There is far too much of the imp about you, my Steward” Aragorn chuckled. “You can come in now,” Aragorn called out causing Faramir to start slightly. “I swear those two are like hens around a chick,” the King muttered as Thranduil and Maglor entered the room as if they had not been caught snooping, followed by Imrahil who looked sheepish. “Make that three,” Aragorn added in quiet exasperation, eliciting a shy smile from Faramir.

“Well this hen has very sharp talons, mellon-nin,” Thranduil said sternly but with the ever present twinkle in the eyes as he walked to where Aragorn and Faramir were still kneeling. “Come chick,” the elven King continued as he held out his hand to Faramir.

The young Steward took hold of his father’s hand and was pulled to his feet and into a tight, comforting embrace.

“I love you, ada,” Faramir whispered shyly into the elven King’s shoulder.

“As do I you, ion-nin. As do I,” Thranduil replied, tightening the embrace.

“As do we all, foxling,” Imrahil said softly as he stroked Faramir’s hair and shared a smile with Thranduil.

“My arse is afire, ada,” Faramir moaned softly, his face still buried in the elven King’s shoulder.

“I doubt it not, ion-nin. You could try the patience of the Valar and certainly do Estel’s,” Thranduil chuckled as he broke the embrace and held his son at arm’s length so that he could look at him. “I am sorry to have to tell you that you and the ‘trio horribus’,” the ‘trio horribus’ being the Elrondion twins and Legolas, “have exhausted Maglor’s entire supply of numbing salve.”

Faramir groaned softly, eliciting a smirk from Aragorn.

“Then it is fortuitous for you little fox that I had replenished Boromir’s supply of specially prepared numbing salve from Dol Amroth some months ago,” Imrahil smiled at Faramir who was blushing furiously and looking chagrined.

“We will take our leave of you Estel,” Thranduil said nodding to Aragorn before turning Faramir towards the door and departing, followed by Imrahil and Maglor who also took their leave of the King.

When they were half way down the corridor a familiar voice bellowed from within the King’s apartments.

“Ahhhhhhhh! FARAMIR THRANDUILION!!!”

“Oops,” Faramir said, wide eyed and in a quiet voice, as he looked first at his father then Imrahil and finally Maglor before launching into a panicked sprint further down the corridor to be followed soon after by an angry, dripping Aragorn.

“Children,” the elven King shook his head and chuckled, as he continued to walk down the corridor with Maglor and Imrahil.

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