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 21

“How many wizards are there likely to be? How long have they been training? How much power will they be able to wield? How…” Faramir fired off questions at a frantic pace, his quiet voice rising in inflection with each question uttered and his breathing becoming rapid to the point where a fit of coughing ensued.

“Calm down, my boy,” Gandalf soothed, hands raised in a placating manner. “Or Elrond will have me thrown out.” Thranduil moved closer to Faramir and pulled his son gently into a more upright position being careful not to put pressure on his son’s back. “As to the number of wizards? I would hazard a guess at no more than thirty,” Gandalf replied.

“That many?” Aragorn hissed softly as he sat down on the side of Faramir’s bed, sharing a concerned glance with Imrahil who was leaning against the right hand post at the end of the bed.

“I am certain that we still have some months to prepare as training wizards takes time. However I will send Finrod and the Lieutenant to keep us abreast of the situation as it develops,” the White Wizard said.

“Why so many? What is their source of power?” Faramir asked, his face paling at the thought of fighting so many wizards and thinking himself a poor excuse for one. “I thought all wizards needed a specialised medium such as this ring, or your staff,” Faramir said indicating the ring on his finger and looking over to where Gandalf’s staff was leaning against the end of the fireplace, “through which to focus their energy.”

“I suspect that Saruman, as bitter and twisted as he has become, is teaching dark magic. It is an easier, more seductive path and even weak wizards can become powerful using dark magic but at a cost. The lives of dark wizards are usually very short in comparison to their light counterparts, although their lives can be extended by the darkest of means; using the life-force of innocents,” Gandalf said sombrely and with great sadness as he looked at his wizardling. “As to their source of power? There are many stones and gems in Mordor, still imbued with evil, through which they can focus their energy. Whilst there are many objects through which energy can be focussed, there are few humans who have the potential to become wizards.”

“Oh, just wonderful,” Faramir replied, his words dripping with sarcasm. “Potentially, thirty wizards, albeit ones that may or may not be long lived, on the side of darkness and what do we have on the side of light? Two wizards, one of whom needs a familiar to stop him from falling over cliffs, as he is wont to do when in deep thought,” Faramir whined, referring to Radagast, “and one unstable wizard-in-training who is ruled by his emotions and beyond useless at this point in time! Owwwwww, aaddaa!” Faramir exclaimed as Thranduil pinched the top of his son’s ear for the want of his usual and, in his opinion, more tempting target.

“Do I have your attention, ion-nin?” the elven King asked in a conversational tone that belied the strength of his grip on Faramir’s ear.

“Owwwww! Aye,” Faramir squeaked, subdued by the sparks of fire he could see in his ada’s eyes.

“Good,” Thranduil said in a deceptively calm tone, eyes still sparking, making Faramir swallow hard. “You are a powerful wizard. You are not useless. You will learn to control your powers and you will learn to control your temper… eventually,” he added, turning his attention to Elrond, daring his friend to so much as smirk.” Faramir winced as the grip on his ear tightened. “Do… you… hear… me?”

“Ahhhh! Aye, ada,” the Steward replied and then started at the booming voice of his ghostly brother.

“Ha!! Pot, kettle, black is what I say after witnessing his nib-ship’s temper tantrum when fighting the orcs,” Boromir boomed, nodding his head towards Thranduil.

“I take it by your reaction that Boromir is back from his… haunting?” Thranduil asked, emphasising the last word as he let go of Faramir’s ear. The Steward put a hand to the abused ear immediately, rubbing it to temper the sting and nodded.

“What did you tell him?” Boromir asked, his suspicion aroused at Thranduil’s tone.

At the same time Thranduil said, “What has he got to say?”

“Nothing,” Faramir replied to Boromir’s question, wincing at the glare his brother was directing his way. “Pot, kettle, black,” he added a whisper in response to his ada’s question.

“What do you mean ‘nothing’ and ‘pot, kettle, black?” Thranduil asked, perplexed.

“’Nothing’ to Boromir’s question and ‘pot, kettle, black’ to yours,” Faramir replied, feeling besieged by the glares he was receiving from his brother and ada.

Elrond, holding a cup in his hand, threw back his head and laughed merrily, an occurrence so unusual from the normally sedate elf that Aragorn looked at his father in astonishment.

“Remind me later to impart to you the more interesting stories of your ada’s awe inspiring temper,” Elrond said, his laughter reducing to chuckles. “I must admit, mellon-nin, that that works almost as well on human ears as it does on elven,” Elrond addressed Thranduil, ignoring his friend’s glare as he stood over Faramir and eased his hand gently behind the young man’s back to raise him to a more upright position. “I never thought to use it on Estel.” Aragorn blushed furiously when he realised that he had put his hands over his ears protectively. Elrond put the cup to Faramir’s lips. The Steward glared up at the elven Lord. “Drink, pen-neth. You are in pain and do not, through that famous stubbornness, attempt to tell me differently,” he added when he saw the denial on his patient’s lips and heard it in his mind.

Faramir glared at Boromir who was giggling like a loon and then looked imploringly at his uncle, knowing that he was likely to get no support from his ada, Aragorn or Gandalf.

“What do you want me to argue, foxling?” Imrahil asked, eyes a-twinkle with mirth. “That you are not stubborn or that you are not in pain. I would be telling an untruth either way.”

Faramir spared a glare for each of those gathered, including another for Boromir who was smirking again, but did as he was bid. It was not long before the pain he had been feeling eased somewhat and sleep threatened. He would have dropped into sleep had his attention not been distracted by the unusually noisy entrance of Legolas, Maglor and Misto. Legolas, still sans shoes and Misto were both grumbling and muttering at each other. Maglor followed in their wake, looking thunderous.

“You, bed!” the Mirkwood Seneschal barked, pointing first at the elf and then at the empty bed. “You, web!” he added, pointing at Misto and then the hatchling’s web located in the corner over Faramir’s bed. “Do not even think of using that word again tithen-pen or you will find yourself minus supper and confined to your web for the rest of the day and night,” the elf admonished. “And you, elfling,” he growled turning to Legolas, “watch your mouth around the hatchling.”

Misto scurried up the wall and into his web. Legolas glared at the hatchling and sat down, gingerly, upon his bed. The guarded movements and slight wince did not go unnoticed by Faramir who sighed.

“Misto? Come here, please,” Faramir said as he looked up at the spider above his bed. The hatchling, knowing that he was about to receive another lecture, lowered himself, reluctantly, down onto Faramir’s bed, via a thread.

“This nonsense has gone on long enough, I think,” Faramir said quietly but sternly. “I believe that you are more than even for the indignity of the pink bow and drenching incident. It is time to put this behind you and apologise to Legolas.” Misto looked ready to argue. “This is not a request, little one.” Again, seemingly reluctantly, the hatchling jumped off the bed and scuttled over to where Legolas sat.

“Sssorrry,” the baby spider said as he looked up at Legolas, although sounding more sincere it still lacked the tenor of forgiveness.

Legolas continued to glare at the spider, remaining silent.

“This is not a request, brother,” Faramir warned as he looked across at the silent elf. Although he did not expect that this would cease the hostilities between his familiar and his elven brother, Faramir hoped it would at least slow its escalation if both were aware that they were ‘on notice’.

“Accepted,” Legolas replied finally, with a sigh.

“Thank… you… both,” Faramir responded, finally succumbing to the pain medication and falling into slumber.

It was not long after Faramir fell into sleep that servants arrived with what appeared to be enough food to feed a small army, followed by the twins. The food was placed by the servants on a large table that stood against the wall between the two beds, before they left.

“He needs to eat but should we wake him?” asked Thranduil quietly, brushing a red-gold lock of hair from Faramir’s face.

The decision on whether to wake Faramir or not was taken out of their hands when Faramir awoke abruptly, starting severely and looking around in what appeared to be confusion mingled with panic, having awoken to Boromir’s booming voice calling him to, “wake up Fara, you are already late for lessons!”

“Boromir!” Faramir growled glaring at his brother when he realised what Boromir had done.

“Thank you, Boromir. I think,” Thranduil added, his eyes twinkling with mirth, directing his comments in the general direction in which Faramir was glaring.

“They are decidedly too soft with you at times, little brother,” Boromir said.

“Soft!” Faramir exclaimed quietly. “I think being on the other side has muffled your senses, brother. And keep that up,” Faramir growled in reference to the fright given him, “you may just find me joining you on the other side of life!”

Chuckling at the one sided conversation but having a very good idea what had been said on the other side, Maglor approached Faramir with a tray containing some light broth and bread. Thranduil pulled his son once again into a more upright position, whilst Elrond placed additional pillows behind Faramir’s back. Maglor placed the tray on his charge’s lap. Faramir was still glaring at Boromir who was leaning against the far wall, smiling.

“Eat,” both Maglor and Boromir said in exactly the same ‘will brook no argument’ tone, at exactly the same moment.

Maglor held the bowl of soup so that Faramir, who was weakened to the point that he was unable to hold the bowl himself, could spoon its contents into his mouth. Elrohir walked over to the table laden with food and drink, poured two cups of juice, one for himself and one for Legolas and offered one to his Mirkwood friend. Legolas eyed the juice suspiciously, his eyes narrowed as he put two and two together to reach the conclusion that his reverie the night before did not begin by natural means.

“It is juice only, mellon-nin,” the younger twin smiled.

“You drugged me!” Legolas exclaimed indignantly.

“Which reminds me, ion-nin. I have been meaning to ask you how you managed such a feat?” Elrond asked.

“Both drinks were drugged,” Elladan replied, his pride in his brother’s deviousness apparent.

“Last evening I had taken a mild stimulant to counteract the effects of the sleeping draught, prior to entering this room,” Elrohir said, smiling broadly.

“So when Legolas insisted on switching cups as I am sure he would have…” Thranduil mused.

“… he still ingested the sleeping draught,” Elrohir replied. “Although I was a little concerned when he also drank the rest of mine.”

“It never ceases to amaze me,” Thranduil said to Elrond, “how much the ‘duo horribus’ have inherited from their grand sire.”

“Are you insinuating that my father-by-law is devious?” Elrond asked mildly.

“Nay, not insinuating; stating. Although I do believe that Adrahil was the most devious being with whom I have ever been acquainted, no offence intended, mellon-nin,” Thranduil said looking at Imrahil, his eyes twinkling; a look mirrored in Imrahil’s expression. The twins and Aragorn smiled broadly at the friendly banter. Faramir looked wide-eyed as he continued to eat the soup.

“None taken. I loved the wily old fox dearly but I was not blind his deviousness, nor his temper,” Imrahil sighed, remembering his father affectionately and then looking at Faramir who blushed, knowing what Imrahil was thinking about traits that bred true. “I knew that Elrond had met my father and that they had had many adventures in my father’s younger days, but I was unaware that you also had met him,” he added, looking at Thranduil.

“In all the stories that Adrahil related to you about me, of which there appear to be many judging by your reaction, mellon-nin, did he never mention ‘Twinkles’?” Elrond asked straight-faced.

Soup spraying from his mouth, for even he had heard stories of the infamous Twinkles; a legendary figure in Dol Amroth, even though the enigmatic elf had never visited the city, Faramir gasped eventually, accidentally inhaling a small amount of the soup down his windpipe causing a severe coughing fit. Maglor grabbed the spoon from Faramir and put it and the almost empty bowl of soup onto the tray and then moved the tray over to the table, as Faramir tried to regain his breath.

“Nay, you jest! You do not mean to tell me that Thranduil is the notorious ‘Twinkles’! But I thought him a Rivendell elf,” Imrahil replied disbelievingly, as he stared at the blushing elven King who in turn was glaring at Elrond.

The Prince of Dol Amroth threw back his head and laughed heartily, remembering snippets of the many antics, as told to him by his father and others, that his father, Elrond and Twinkles had got up to, in his father’s youth. The twins, Aragorn and Legolas looked at each other in puzzlement for they had not known of the link between their adas and Imrahil’s. Neither Gandalf nor Maglor looked surprised.

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