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 23

Elrond ordered complete bed rest for Faramir for no less than two weeks. The young Steward had protested vociferously on hearing the Rivendell Lord’s pronouncement, that was, until quelled by glares from both Elrond and Maglor, after which he muttered to himself much in the way Misto mimicked when annoyed. Thranduil chuckled to himself at his son’s dark glare and mutterings. By the beginning of the fourth day of his enforced incarceration, Faramir was able to sit up and feed himself. He felt his strength returning, albeit slowly. Such was his restlessness by this time that he felt himself capable of walking unassisted, something his carers refused outright to allow him to attempt. By the beginning of the sixth day the young Steward thought he would spontaneously combust, such was the heat of the frustration building within him by his captivity. The feeling of frustration was further heightened by the sunlight that was streaming through the window that looked out upon the inviting garden scene below. After ensuring that he had eaten enough to satisfy both of them, Thranduil and Maglor had left giving Faramir some time to himself. Legolas had scarpered as soon a he came back from reverie the morning after Imrahil had carried the exhausted elf back to the Houses of Healing. Even Boromir had departed intent upon gathering further intelligence. Faramir snorted thinking that the only intelligence his brother was likely to gather was of certain ladies of his acquaintance.

Not long after he was left alone, Faramir decided to throw caution to the wind and go out into the sunshine. Casting his mind about, for throwing caution to the wind was one thing but throwing sanity directly after it was quite another, he thought, Faramir checked whether there were any familiar minds within the vicinity of the houses of healing of which he should be cognisant. The only familiar mind he could detect was that of Misto who was happily ensconced in his web above the bed and dreaming of his favourite food, mice. Mentally declaring the vicinity clear, the young Steward took hold of the blankets that covered him and threw them off. Swinging his legs and body around until his legs were dangling over the side of the very tall bed, Faramir slipped onto his feet. He would have collapsed from the powerful wave of vertigo that him if he had not grabbed the post at the head of the bed. Faramir concentrated on taking deep breaths. The dizziness lessened eventually.

Hunched over like an old man for he still felt considerable pain and weakness, Faramir shuffled to the end of the bed on which his folded robe had been placed. He put on the robe and then shuffled over to the opened door. It was at this point, as he leaned heavily against the doorjamb, that the Steward thought that maybe he should have waited another day before venturing out into the garden. He was however, committed to his objective and through sheer stubbornness determined to make it out into the garden to feel the sun on his face and the grass beneath his feet, which he realised, on looking down, were bare. Faramir leaned out into the corridor and looked in both directions, casting his mind out at the same time. Determining that the way was indeed clear, he turned to the left and shuffled along using the wall as support. He had almost made it to the end of the corridor and to the door that led outside when he was startled severely by Misto descending on a thread and dangling in front of him.

“Misto!” Faramir exclaimed in a hushed voice, holding a hand over his heart which he could feel beating an insanely quick tattoo and trying to catch his breath after the severe fright.

“Mama trouble in,” Misto said with conviction.

“That would be ‘mama is in trouble’, tithen-pen,” Faramir heard Elrond’s voice behind him, causing the Steward to cringe and to bang his head against the wall, repeatedly.

“Mama in trouble, big,” Misto declared again with the same conviction.

“Aye, tithen-pen. Mama is in big trouble,” the Lord of Rivendell said with a calmness that made Faramir wince. “Can you make it back to bed on your own, or do you require assistance?” Elrond asked in the same calm voice. Faramir sighed mightily but did not move or to be more precise, could not have moved even if Sauron himself was pursuing him. “I thought as much pen-neth,” Elrond said as he moved to Faramir’s side, gathered his patient into his arms with the ease granted to him by his elven heritage and carried the foiled escapee back towards his room with Misto following along in the rafters above them.

At that moment Thranduil was also walking towards Faramir’s room but from the opposite direction. He saw Elrond with Faramir in his friend’s arms and let out an exasperated breath. Faramir graced his ada with such a look of innocent intent that Elrond snorted.

“This one is truly of Adrahil’s line, mellon-nin,” Elrond said, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I suggest you put that look away, pen-neth, for use on those who knew not your grandsire and are therefore susceptible.”

“Let me guess,” Thranduil said, sounding exasperated, “he was heading out into the garden. How far did he get?” he asked when Elrond nodded in the affirmative.

“Almost to the door,” the Rivendell elf replied as he looked down the long corridor. “Do you wish to do the honours?” he asked in such a light tone that Faramir cringed, understanding only too well the meaning behind the innocuous words.

“Nay, mellon-nin. You are his healer and I would have too much sympathy for his restless spirit and desire to be away from this place of stone and out with the trees,” Thranduil replied. “Although I would ask that it be hand only.”

Elrond nodded his agreement as he had planned on using his hand for he knew his patient was still too weak to endure a session with ‘Faramir’s Bane’. Faramir sighed, scrunching up his nose in distaste at the unfortunate turn of events. He was definitely not looking forward to the next little while.

Thranduil smiled at his scowling son sympathetically. He brushed back the locks of hair that had fallen over his son’s face and bestowed a kiss on his forehead.

“I love you, ion-nin,” he said gently, seeing his love returned in Faramir’s expression, before looking up at the hatchling. “Come Misto. Let us see what tempting morsels we can find for you in the dungeons,” he called to the hatchling before turning and leaving the way he had came.

Elrond entered Faramir’s room, closed the door behind him using his foot and deposited the young human onto his bed. He relieved Faramir of his robe and checked the bandages wrapped around his patient’s back and chest to ensure that he had done no further damage to the healing wounds. Satisfied that no further damage had been done, Elrond gathered Faramir in his arms again, sat down upon the bed, well back from the edge and turned Faramir over his lap easily ensuring that the young man’s head and feet were well supported by the bed. The elf pulled Faramir’s leggings down enough to expose the young man’s buttocks.

“I trust you know what this chastisement is for, pen-neth?” Elrond asked. Faramir mumbled an affirmative into the blanket in which his face was buried. Unseen by Faramir, Elrond smiled at the surly response. “I would rein in that temper of yours, tithen-pen,” the elf said as he landed the first of a series of hard slaps to the exposed buttocks.

“What have you done now, little brother?” Faramir heard the exasperated voice of his ghostly brother ask, causing him to groan into the blanket beneath him.

“You will not go against my orders when it comes to your health,” Elrond said, enunciating the important points with extra hard slaps to Faramir’s buttocks.

“Did you try to escape the houses of healing again? What were you thinking? You are still unwell, little brother. And what, may I be so bold as to enquire, made you think that you could get away with absconding? You are the Steward of Gondor for Eru’s sake. Did you not think they would notice that the Steward had disappeared? No, wait, you were not thinking were you? As it has ever been with you, Fara, when you feel caged you…” Boromir ranted.

“Will you please cease your blasted prattling,” Faramir interjected with a snarl and a snap even as he squirmed in an attempt to lessen the impact of Elrond’s hand on his increasingly sore posterior.

“I… am… not… prattling… pen-neth,” Elrond replied, indignantly, punctuating each word with several slaps to the thighs.

“Ouch! Not… owww!… you….That… ouch!… dunderhead… of a… owwwww! brother… of mine,” Faramir ground out between gasps for breath.

“I am very impressed. Lord Elrond has an elegant rhythm and strength about his swings, little brother,” Boromir teased

“Owwww! If you were not already a ghost… brother… I would happily… strangle you,” Faramir growled in an impressive fit of temper, considering his upended position. In an attempt to regain the angry human’s attention, Elrond let loose such a blistering slap to Faramir’s posterior that Boromir winced in sympathy and ceased his taunting. “Owwwww!” Faramir yelped.

“Do I have your attention, tithen-pen?” Elrond asked in a calm manner as he continued to land blistering slap after blistering slap.

“I am not about to say no, now am I,” Faramir snarled, his mouth taking over from his mind as it often did when he was being chastised and he was in a strop. “Owwww! Owwww! Aye… aye… you have my… attention,” he added in a more contrite manner, although still gasping for breath, after Elrond increased the strength of the slaps yet again.

“Your grandsire will never be dead whilst you are alive, pen-neth,” Elrond said ruefully, continuing to blister the hapless human’s buttocks and thighs. “Back to the issues to be addressed. What is this punishment for, again?”

Faramir groaned.

“For… not staying… in bed,” Faramir replied.

“And?”

“For… going against… your orders,” Faramir added after a moment’s thought.

“Will you do so again?”

“Nay… I will… stay… in bed.”

Elrond ceased the punishment, turned Faramir over and held the teary, gasping human close, soothing him with soft elvish crooning.

“I never thought the day would come when I would find myself saying this, tithen-pen, but you make the ‘duo horribus’ seem positively tractable,” Elrond whispered as he rocked the distressed human, eyes alight with humour.

Faramir blushed furiously and Boromir snorted.

“Oh, do shut up you dunce!” Faramir snapped out at Boromir who was chortling merrily, thinking that he had not done as badly as he had thought with his little brother, when it was he alone dealing with Faramir’s discipline.

The colour drained from Faramir’s face suddenly and he looked up at Elrond expecting to see a livid expression upon the elf’s face. He relaxed slightly when he saw that Elrond’s eyes were crinkled and the corners of his mouth turned up as if he was trying to suppress his laughter.

“I suspect that that comment was aimed at Boromir and not me, pen-neth,” Elrond said.

Faramir nodded and then sent a glare at his brother. He sighed on seeing his glare bounce off his brother’s mumak-thick hide. Feeling drained, Faramir’s eyelids began to droop. Still cradling his patient, Elrond slipped off the bed, turned around and placed Faramir under the covers. The Rivendell elf poured a cup of water from the pitcher of water that was located on the table against the far wall. He placed several drops of poppy extract in the water and bade Faramir to drink. The irony of the situation was not lost on the young Steward. Due to the emotional turmoil that Faramir had just undergone, his guard was lowered and his thoughts open to Elrond. The elf chuckled at the rather irreverent thoughts he sensed from the young human centred on the inconsistency of elven healers, adding pain to what had been a relatively pain free area and then giving him a pain-relieving draught.

“When you awake, pen-neth, I will teach you how to remain undetected when another mind is scanning,” Elrond said, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Faramir blushed spectacularly.

“Busted, Fara,” Boromir chortled, growing merrier at the glare he received from his long-suffering sibling.

The repentant Steward had almost dropped off to sleep when Thranduil and Misto returned. The elven King approached his son, sat down upon the bed and gently brushed the hair from Faramir’s face, smiling sympathetically. Faramir looked at his ada with such love and trust in his eyes that it took Thranduil’s breath away. A smile still playing around his mouth, Faramir dropped off into a peaceful sleep. Thranduil looked up at his life-long friend who returned a rueful expression.

“He is a handful, mellon-nin,” Elrond said, shaking his head.

“And that from the sire of the ‘duo horribus’,” Thranduil retorted, chuckling.

Unseen by both elder elves, Boromir stood close to his brother, his eyes a-twinkle with humour. He had not done so badly after all, he thought.

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