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 20

After carrying Faramir back to the healing room, Elrond had put the slumbering Steward abed, propped up by pillows, and had rubbed aromatic oils onto his chest to ease his breathing. Misto had scurried back into his web suspended in the corner above Faramir’s bed, took one look to check that his mama was breathing and went promptly to sleep.

Knowing that Thranduil would still be somewhat distressed when he returned, the Rivendell Lord had also shooed Aragorn, the twins and Imrahil back to the palace with the instructions to eat, rest and not to return before morning. Legolas, who was almost completely healed, was deep in reverie with his bare feet hanging off the end of the bed, having been given a sleeping potion by Elrohir to ensure that the elf, contrary to normal behaviour when at this advanced point in his healing, rested.

Elrond smiled down upon the peaceful wood-elf, suspecting that Legolas would be annoyed in the morning when he discovered Elrohir’s deception. The Rivendell elf made a mental note to ask his son how he managed to fool Legolas into ingesting the sleeping potion, for future reference of course. He checked Faramir’s breathing, relieved to find that it had eased somewhat, although dismayed to find that the fever had returned. Elrond sat down on the chair beside Faramir’s bed and awaited Thranduil and Maglor’s return.

And return they did eventually. Thranduil entered the room looking unusually dishevelled and flushed, followed closely by Maglor and was relieved to find that, apart from his slumbering sons, Elrond was the only one present. Elrond rose gracefully and approached Thranduil opening his arms and pulling his long-time friend into an embrace, which the elven King returned.

“I will exact retribution. You do realise that do you not, mellon-nin,” Thranduil grumbled into his friend’s shoulder.

“I look forward to the attempt,” Elrond retorted mildly as he released his friend, smiling at Maglor who stood behind Thranduil.

Thranduil looked at his elfling deep in reverie and quirked an eyebrow.

“Elrohir,” Elrond replied to the unspoken question.

“I would like to know how he managed that considering how suspicious my elfling is normally of the twins bearing gifts, especially food and drink,” Thranduil mused.

“So would I… “ Elrond began but was interrupted by a snuffling noise and murmur from Faramir. He walked over to the young Steward, placing a hand on the man’s brow and the other around his wrist.

“His fever has returned?” Maglor asked, seeing the tell tale signs.

“Aye, it has,” the Rivendell elf sighed. “Although not unexpected, it is still disappointing.”

Thranduil sat on the bed beside his son, hissing and wincing as he did so. He glared at Elrond, daring the elf to so much as smirk before taking Faramir’s limp hand into his own. He remembered what Imrahil had said about Faramir being very tactile by nature. The three elder elves sat vigil over Faramir the entire night; Thranduil bathing Faramir’s face and arms with cool compresses and Elrond applying oils to the human’s chest to ease his breathing. All were relieved when Faramir’s latest fever broke just before dawn and he had relaxed into a more natural sleep.

“Faarrrraaa, wakey, wakey,” Faramir heard the familiar voice above him chant. His eyes flew open and he started violently on seeing his brother’s ghostly face, inches above him, smirking.

“You are going to give me a complex if you keep jumping like that every time you lay eyes on me, little brother,” the ghost said, grinning from ear to ear.

“Faramir! What is wrong?” Thranduil asked. Faramir’s face had paled even further, if that was possible.

“You are seeing Boromir again?” Maglor surmised.

Faramir winced and nodded.

“I just wanted to know if you could still see and hear me, little brother. I will leave you alone for a while so that you can gather your obviously sleep addled wits,” Boromir advised, smirking again. “There are places I want to haunt for a while,” he added, grinning widely at his little brother’s whimper before turning on his heels and exiting the room through the closed door.

“Ada? Why can I see him? Why can I hear him?” Faramir asked, sounding so young and so bewildered.

“You are asking an elf, ion-nin. I have no experience of such human things,” Thranduil replied gently. “Why do you not ask him?”

“He is no longer here. Said he was going haunting,” Faramir replied, matter-of-factly, as if detached somewhat from the bizarreness of the situation.

Thranduil bit the inside of his cheek to stop from chuckling, thinking that he would really liked to have met Boromir.

“Are you in pain, tithen pen?” Elrond asked, looking at Faramir intently and recognising the signs of intense pain.

“My back… and my head,” Faramir replied as he catalogued what pained him.

“Drink this, pen-neth. It will help,” Elrond instructed as he held a cup to the Steward’s lips. It was not long before the pain eased and Faramir drifted off into slumber again. “I added but three drops of elixir to the water,” he said in amazement. “I think next time I will just wave the vial over the cup.”

Thranduil and Maglor chuckled at their friend’s discomfiture.

It was later that morning that Faramir awoke again. He opened his eyes slowly and started violently for the second time in a matter of hours, but this time not due to his ghostly brother but to his familiar. Misto was hanging down on a thread a few inches from his face and was staring at him intently with all his eyes.

“Mama,” the hatchling greeted.

Thranduil laughed at the spider’s antics and his son’s startled reaction.

“Good morning Misto,” Faramir sighed. “Between you and Boromir I may just find myself frightened into my brother’s ‘betwixt and between’!” he exclaimed quietly.

Misto dropped from the thread onto the bed and then jumped off and scuttled over to the bed in which Legolas was still deep in reverie.

“Is Legolas alright, ada? I have never seen him so long in reverie,” Faramir asked, concerned, looking over at his slumbering brother.

“I fear Elrohir was a bit overzealous in ensuring that Legolas rested to regain his full strength,” Thranduil replied, smiling gently at his elven son.

“What? Elrohir drugged him?” Faramir asked incredulously.

“Aye, ion-nin. My elfling is well known for overexerting himself when almost healed. Elrohir just wanted to ensure that Legolas rested and did not re-injure his healing back,” Thranduil responded with a shake of his head, remembering instances when Legolas had done just that. “How is the pain, ion-nin?” he asked, turning his attention back to Faramir.

“Manageable. I do not wish to sleep anymore at the moment,” Faramir answered slightly disgruntled. “I feel so weak, ada. I cannot seem to move.”

“And you will not be able to for a few days yet, pen-neth,” Elrond said as he approached Faramir. “You almost killed yourself when fighting the orcs and I came close to completing the task when trying to cure you of the Morgul poisoning.”

“Morgul poisoning!” Faramir exclaimed, whistling softly in a whoosh of breath that ended in a coughing fit.

“Aye, you are indeed fortunate to be alive, tithen-pen” Elrond said as he pulled Faramir into a sitting position, allowing him to breath easier.

The coughing fit subsided finally and the Rivendell Lord eased Faramir back onto the mounds of pillows behind him.

“Mama, hungry,” Misto said from Legolas’ bed.

“I will take him to the dungeons,” Maglor said as he re-entered the healing room having departed earlier to instruct the kitchen staff to bring food enough to feed several elves and one oversized hobbit, to Faramir’s room. The elf beckoned Misto to follow, turned and exited the room. Misto followed Maglor out of the room, making a very strange noise, for a spider that is, as he left.

“Is it my deranged mind, or did I just hear him cackle?” Faramir asked in astonishment as he looked at the doorway through which the hatchling had departed.

“It did indeed sound very much like a cackle…” Thranduil began but was stopped suddenly by a thump and a startled sounding curse coming from the direction of Legolas’ bed.

Elves and human turned as one to look at the source of the thump and curse only to see an angry elf on the floor, struggling to unbind his ankles. Apparently, unbeknownst to Legolas and everyone else present, Misto had managed to spin webbing around the elf’s ankles effectively binding them together. Legolas had awoken and tried to get out of bed only to find himself falling onto the floor.

Thranduil laughed heartily, Faramir sniggered and Elrond smiled broadly at the struggling elf.

“This is not funny!” Legolas ground out between gritted teeth as he tried to remove the very strong webbing without the benefit of a sharp implement. Elrond handed the annoyed elf a knife, which he used to cut the webbing all the while muttering about what he was going to do with the nasty little creature. Jumping to his bare feet, Legolas bounded out of the door in hot pursuit of the arachnid.

Aragorn, Imrahil and Gandalf passed the angry elf just before entering Faramir’s room. All three entered the room with identical looks of astonishment that the sight of the bare-footed angry elf flying down the corridor had caused.

“Should we ask?” Imrahil questioned, smiling at the sight of his conscious, sniggering nephew.

Thranduil explained what Misto had been about and the consequences for Legolas, causing the humans and wizard to laugh.

“I am sorry to have missed the fun,” Aragorn laughed as he looked down upon his smiling Steward. “I do believe that that little hatchling is going to prove very entertaining in the future.”

“How fare you, my wizardling?” Gandalf asked, as he sat down upon the chair beside Faramir’s bed.

“I am fine,” came Faramir’s standard response, given even on occasions when one foot was firmly planted in the next realm and the other threatening to follow quickly.

Gandalf stared at his wizardling intently. Elves and humans rolled their eyes. Faramir ducked his head in acute embarrassment, blushing furiously.

“I understand from Aragorn that you have seen Boromir?” the White Wizard asked, taking pity on Faramir by changing the subject.

Faramir nodded.

“Is he here now?” Gandalf asked, looking about.

“Nay. He left earlier saying that he had places to haunt,” Faramir replied, blushing even more at the thought of the places Boromir was likely to haunt. His brother had been well known as an admirer of the female form.

Aragorn snorted, his thoughts going in the same general direction as his Steward’s.

“Shame on you both,” Imrahil admonished but with his eyes a-twinkle. “He is probably out gathering intelligence, now that he knows that Faramir can see and hear him.”

Both King and Steward ducked their heads in embarrassment, causing Imrahil’s eyes to twinkle even more.

“We know that Saruman has made an alliance with the Haradrim and that he is also training wizards,” Gandalf began so as to focus the minds of present on the issues at hand. “We also know that they wanted Faramir because they saw my wizardling as a threat. But they wanted him alive… relatively,” Gandalf corrected on hearing Aragorn and Thranduil’s snorts. “I assume that Saruman had the antidote to the poison in his possession. They needed to keep Faramir from accessing his wizarding powers during his journey to Harad.”

“We need to determine what the Haradrim are planning. How they plan to use the wizards and orcs. I can only assume that they plan to invade Gondor,” Imrahil mused.

“With your approval Thranduil, Aragorn,” Gandalf said as he looked from one to the other. “I want to send Finrod and that Gondorian Lieutenant, whose company he seems to frequent, to meet with Radagast and then venture to Harad to see if they can discover Saruman’s plans.”

Both Thranduil and Aragorn nodded their approval.

“I will stay here to further this one’s training,” Gandalf said looking intently at his wizardling. “I fear we will need to prepare for a war of the wizards.”

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