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 22

“Twinkles?!” Legolas exclaimed, his laughter tinkling in the way that never failed to fascinate Faramir or to bring a smile to his face.

The Steward’s smile broadened as he heard Boromir’s booming laughter. He could see his brother still leaning against the wall near the entrance but looking as if he was in danger of collapsing from laughter. The twins and Aragorn were chortling merrily. Imrahil, Gandalf and Maglor all smiled broadly, enjoying the moment at Thranduil’s expense.

“Your sire and your grand sire,” Thranduil began, his mock glare sweeping over the occupants of the room before looking at Imrahil and then settling on Faramir, “insisted on perpetuating that silly name, knowing full well that it would continue to haunt me long after the fox had gone on to the halls of his ancestors.”

“Although lacking a certain level of dignity, I believe the name strangely suits,” Faramir voiced his opinion, smiling in just that way that reminded Thranduil of Adrahil. Faramir could see his ghostly brother in the distance, no longer in danger of collapsing onto the floor but still chortling merrily to himself.

“You would believe that, ion-nin,” Thranduil grumbled but the origin of his ‘pet’ name evident in his eyes, which were twinkling. “You are so much like him, tithen-pen, in both looks and mannerisms,” he continued, eyes turning melancholy as he remembered his friend of long ago. “I believe that is why I took to you the moment I saw you. It did not take me long to discover that apart from his fox fur, you have the same impish humour, deviousness and needless to say; temper.”

Elrond nodded his head in agreement, looking intently at the young Steward and cataloguing the similarities. Faramir blushed furiously at the intense regard and comparison. Through shyness he went back to examining his hands that rested on top of the blankets covering him.

“I told you so, foxling,” Imrahil said in vindication, looking at his nephew. “Two more who knew your grandsire in his youth say that you are in his image. I know you were ever sceptical when I said so.”

“And given our grandsire’s reputation, in certain sectors, I do not blame you, Fara,” Boromir added, remembering some of the more colourful exploits told to him about their grandfather, who was quite the ladies man apparently.

“When was this, ada?” Elladan asked, his curiosity piqued.

“And how did you come to meet?” Elrohir added, eyebrows raised; questioning.

“It was about one hundred and forty years ago, when Adrahil was in his early twenties and causing his father much consternation by his restlessness and wild ways,” Thranduil replied.

Imrahil chuckled, remembering the stories his grandfather, Angelimar, had told him about his father’s ‘wild ways’ in his youth. His father never truly settled down and always retained an air of restlessness, its likeness seen in Faramir when he was forced to remain within stone walls for any length of time.

“Mithrandir was the cause of our meeting young Adrahil. He had been resident in Dol Amroth during a particularly trying time for Angelimar. It seems Adrahil had become involved in a series of incidents involving wine, women, song and the murderous husband of one of the women,” Elrond elucidated, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. Thranduil’s eyes twinkled merrily.

“And Denethor always wondered where Boromir got it from,” Imrahil chuckled.

Unheard by any present with the exception of Faramir was Boromir’s indignant spluttering retort.

“Oi!! That is defamation that is! And from my own kin no less!” Boromir said as he straightened from leaning against the wall and rose to his full height. “I am sorely wounded, little brother,” he added putting his hand over his heart in a dramatic fashion.

Faramir smirked broadly at his brother’s indignant expression and spluttering, coughing and covering his mouth to disguise both his smirk and his chuckling, garnering a glare from his ghostly brother.

“Mithrandir suggested to Angelimar that Adrahil aid him in a task that he needed done. Needless to say Angelimar jumped at the opportunity to extricate his son from his latest debacle and get him out from under his feet until matters settled down,” Elrond continued the story.

“Mithrandir sent word to Elrond and myself, asking that we meet him at Minas Morgul on a particular date. From there we journeyed to Mordor to check and report on any orc movements. Over the years we repeated this and other missions,” Thranduil concluded the story.

“That is why you kept disappearing…” Elladan began.

“… for months on end,” Elrohir continued.

“… each time telling us that you were…”

“… off to visit Lothlorien or Mirkwood,” Elrohir concluded in an indignant tone, both twins staring at their ada wide-eyed.

“And you told me that you were visiting Rivendell or Lothlorien,” Legolas added his voice, gracing his ada with a stunned look.

“Who kept the borders safe?” Aragorn asked of his ada, not distracted as his brothers were as the incidents occurred before his birth.

“Mithrandir,” Elrond replied calmly.

“And here we thought…” Elrohir began this time.

“… it was to visit us,” Elladan finished, pouting outrageously.

“More like to ensure that Rivendell survived the two of you with no ada around,” Aragorn muttered earning a clip over the ear from Elladan and a glare from Elrohir. “And what of Mirkwood?” he added rubbing his stinging ear and glaring at Elladan.

“Maglor,” Legolas sighed causing Maglor to snort remembering the difficulties he had encountered in keeping the young prince out of mischief at the same time he was attempting to ensure that the internal processes of Mirkwood’s operation ran smoothly in the King’s absence. And by his sigh, Maglor thought, so did Legolas.

“Prince Imrahil?” Elladan asked.

“Yes?” Imrahil replied, somewhat suspiciously.

“You must tell us what you know…” Elladan continued.

“… about the adventures of ‘Twinkles’ and Co.,” Elrohir continued.

“… they must be good.”

“… judging by Faramir’s reaction earlier.”

“Not now, ions-nin,” Elrond interjected for he could see that Faramir was beginning to wilt and was fighting increasing pain as the effects of the pain draught wore off. The young man had become decidedly pale.

Elrond announced Legolas well enough to leave the houses of healing and shooed all except Thranduil and Maglor from the room to allow him to treat his patient. Immediately on hearing the pronouncement that he was free to leave the houses of healing, Legolas graced Elrohir with such a look as to cause the Rivendell elf to shudder. The look of a predator eying a choice piece of prey came to Elrohir’s mind. Never slow on the uptake; the Rivendell elf turned on his heels and fled the room, followed closely by Legolas who sprinted out of the room in pursuit, still sans shoes. Elladan, Aragorn and Boromir also left quickly to witness the chase. Faramir gave a shudder when he saw Boromir take a shortcut through the masonry. Misto also made to follow but was ordered by Maglor to stay in his web. Grumbling and hissing to himself, the spider obeyed. Faramir looked up at his familiar with a sympathetic expression.

“Please see that they fight fair and are not overly rough with Legolas. He has not healed fully yet,” Elrond called out to Gandalf and Imrahil who had exited at a more sedate pace although no less interested in watching the young elves at play. Elrond held a cup containing water and essence of poppy to Faramir’s mouth urging the young man to drink. Faramir gave Elrond a petulant stare as he drank the contents of the cup, muttering about elves and their unhealthy habit of drugging unfortunate victims. It was not long before he relaxed as the pain he had been feeling lessened and not long after that that he fell into a doze. “I think another bath and a change of dressings is in order,” Elrond said, smiling down at his still muttering patient.

Legolas pursued Elrohir through the houses of healing, out into the garden surrounding the houses, startling many a servant and guard, then out through the gate, up to the palace, up the stairs, through a labyrinth of corridors and rooms and out finally into the King and Steward’s private garden. In fairness to the wood elf, it should be pointed out that that Legolas would normally have caught the Rivendell elf before he had made it to the palace steps, being the swifter of the two elves. Unfortunately, or fortunately for Elrohir, Legolas was still not back to full strength after the trauma suffered to his shoulder.

“Now, now, mellon-nin,” Elrohir panted as he continued to evade the half wild wood elf and try to reason with him at the same time.

It was a little known fact, except within the elvish community, that Mirkwood elves, although considered gentle if a little suspicious of others outside the elvish communities, were indeed more wild and feral than either their Rivendell or Lothlorien elven cousins. As such, it was never a good idea to incite the wild spirit of a Mirkwood elf. Elrohir knew that he had taken a chance when he had decided to drug Legolas but his healer instinct won out over his survival instinct.

“Will you please… be reasonable? I… did it… for your own… good,” Elrohir pleaded as he continued to dodge and weave out of the wood elf’s range as Legolas continued to chase the Rivendell elf around trees, over benches, water features and hedges. “Will you please… stop looking at me… like that,” he gasped, tiring very quickly. Legolas was looking at him in the intense predator-like way that only a wood elf could manage. “It truly… gives me… the shivers!”

Legolas’ smirk broadened, which only intensified the feral expression and considering the wood-elf had cornered the Rivendell elf finally, it made Elrohir shudder ferociously. Elrohir’s eyes searched for an escape route and then rested, for but a moment, on something behind Legolas before diverting his gaze. Legolas caught the meaning of Elrohir’s expression in that brief moment but was not fast enough to evade being pounced upon by both Elladan and Aragorn. An Elrondion free-for-all ensued with Legolas, held down now by both twins, being tickled mercilessly by Aragorn. Unseen by all, Boromir was laughing merrily as he sat on the bench beneath the largest tree and watched the show.

“Daro! Daro! (Stop, stop)” Legolas gasped, struggling for breath, he was laughing so hard and wriggling in an attempt to escape his tormentors.

“That will be quite enough of that, you Elrondion brats! Ease up or you will feel the business end of my staff,” Gandalf threatened sternly but with his eyes glinting with humour even as he swung his staff at Aragorn’s posterior, eliciting a startled yelp from the human as it connected.

Unbeknownst to Imrahil, who was laughing heartily at the antics of the elves and his King, and to Boromir if truth be known, Boromir was laughing in exactly the same manner as his uncle and with very similar expressions.

Reluctantly, the sons of Elrond released Legolas who remained on the ground for a few moments attempting desperately to regain his breath. When he had done so, a familiar glint returned to his eyes causing Elrohir’s eyebrows seem almost to take flight from his brow and the Rivendell elf to once again take flight followed by an even more determined wood-elf.

Faramir, deep in sleep and ensconced in the large four-poster bed in the houses of healing with blankets pulled up to his chin, had been bathed and his bandages changed. Misto was asleep in his web. The three elder elves were enjoying the peace and quiet as they watched the young Steward sleep peacefully. Their attention was diverted by the arrival of Imrahil cradling Legolas in his arms. The eyes of the young wood-elf were glazed over. Thranduil’s expression turned to one of alarm but was calmed immediately by a smile breaking out over Imrahil’s face.

“If he was a puppy, I would say that the young one has simply tuckered himself out. He chased Elrohir ‘round and ‘round the garden until both collapsed, exhausted. He then just seemed to wilt and fall into reverie,” Imrahil said, his voice hushed as Maglor pulled the covers back on the bed opposite Faramir. “I have not seen anything like it since Faramir was a small child and would fall to sleep in whatever position he was in at the time. I remember once in Dol Amroth seeing him fallen asleep whilst playing with kittens in a basket. His little bottom was in the air and his upper body and head resting in a basket and with kittens asleep around him,” he reminisced as he put Legolas into the bed, pulling the covers over the exhausted elf.

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