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 24

The well-chastened Steward remained in bed for the next two days although it was obvious to all who attempted to engage him in conversation that he was anything but happy about the situation. On the third day, Thranduil took pity on his adopted child and sought to gain Elrond’s permission, for to do what he planned without seeking his friend’s permission would incite not only his friend’s wrath but also the wrath of Maglor, to carry Faramir out into the garden and into the sunshine. Thranduil found his Rivendell friend breaking his fast in Estel and Arwen’s company, in their private dinning room. Also present were the twins, Legolas and Gimli.

“He banned me from his room, ada,” Legolas replied, somewhat indignantly, to his father’s unasked question indicated by a raised eyebrow. “He told me not to bother returning until after midday when he could better deal with my, and I use his words, ‘Arda-be-damned, unnatural morning chirpiness.” Gimli and Aragorn laughed and Arwen giggled. “Besides which, Maglor was trying to feed him enough to satisfy even Pippin. He was not happy.”

“Which brings me to the subject of why I have sought you out, Elrond,” Thranduil said as he sat down on the vacant seat beside Gimli and helped himself to a piece of fruit. “I want to take Faramir out into the garden today, with your permission of course,” he added after a slight pause, causing a smile to tug at the corners of Elrond’s mouth.

“As I live and breathe, mellon-nin,” Elrond sighed in exasperation, “that child is turning into a wood-elf.”

“A decidedly grumpy one,” Legolas interjected with a grumble and an affronted scowl that elicited broad smiles all around.

“I suppose you had best take him to that tree that is intent upon mothering him and see if she can calm his restlessness,” Elrond said, shaking his head.

“Aye, he does have distinctive elven traits, although such traits have always been strong in Adrahil’s line,” Thranduil replied, alluding to Adrahil’s elven forbears, the Nimrodel from Lórien, not all of who sailed from Amroth to Valinor.

“That is true. Just make sure that he does not exert himself or you may tell him that he and I will have words,” Elrond called out to Thranduil as he left the room in a tone that made all the younger elves and dwarf present wince.

Thranduil made his way through the palace, out into the courtyard in front of the palace and across to the Houses of Healing. There he met Maglor coming towards him. The Seneschal was heading towards the kitchen to put in a special request for lunch in order to tempt his sulky young charge. Thranduil asked Maglor if he could arrange for blankets and pillows to be placed under the tree and continued on to Faramir’s Room. The scene that greeted the elven King upon his arrival made him smile inwardly although managing to maintain a stern expression but unable to dampen the twinkle in his eyes completely.

Misto was floating around the room in midair perched upon a large pillow. Faramir, enjoying himself for the first time since his enforced incarceration, had not sensed his ada’s approach. The young human was so startled to see his ada leaning against the door jamb with his arms crossed that he lost concentration on what he was doing and as a consequence the pillow, which had been floating midair, dropped like the proverbial stone as did the cargo it carried much to aforementioned cargo’s annoyance when, having lost the support of the pillow, all eight legs straightened and he performed an undignified belly flop back onto the pillow which had landed on the floor below him. Faramir tried a look of innocence on his ada but realised the ludicrousness of such a look, given that he was the only wizard, or wizard-in-the-making, in the room. His expression turned sheepish and he bowed his head in embarrassment, not wanting to meet his ada’s eyes.

“You are very fortunate indeed, ion-nin, that Elrond did not witness that little display or you and he would be having ‘words’ now,” Thranduil admonished, putting the same inflection on the word ‘words’ that Elrond had used, causing Faramir to wince. “But as he did not, we will keep this between us, ion-nin. I have come to tell you that I have Elrond’s permission to take you out into the garden.”

Faramir looked up sharply at Thranduil as if discerning the truth of his words and then broke out into a smile of such brilliance that the elven King could not help chuckling. Wood elf indeed he thought as he gathered Faramir into his arms and carried him out into the garden, Misto following behind them. The elven King lowered his son into the nest of blankets and pillows that Maglor had placed there. The Seneschal was seated on a bench under the same tree, also enjoying the morning sun. As the sun was still on the rise, Faramir felt its warmth on his face and when the sun but at its highest and hottest, the tree would shade him. The Steward blushed furiously, smiling shyly, as he heard the tree admonish the elves for not looking after the elfling, even though it was clear that he was prone to accidents. Both Thranduil and Maglor took the scolding good-naturedly.

It was not long after that Elrond arrived with a cup in his hand. Faramir eyed the cup suspiciously.

“It is not a draught for pain, pen-neth but a potion to assist in increasing your weight without the need to feed you quite so often,” Elrond informed his suspicious patient as he handed the cup to the young human. Faramir sniffed the contents before taking a tentative sip, finding the potion surprisingly thick but pleasant in taste. He graced Elrond with a look of surprise before downing the contents quickly. “Are my usual offerings so unpalatable, pen-neth?” he chuckled.

Faramir blushed furiously when both Maglor and Thranduil gave their Rivendell friend a look that implied that they thought him quite mad and both said ‘yes’ simultaneously. It was not long before Faramir was curled up on his side asleep and looking truly at peace for the first time since his return to the White City. Now firmly convinced that there was indeed wood elves forebears in Faramir through Adrahil, Elrond insisted that his patient spend each day out in the garden until he recovered. So each morning, when the weather was clear, Faramir was carried out into the garden by one of the elves. By the sixteenth day, Faramir was able to walk outside under his own steam, although with his ada, Elrond or Maglor hovering closely.

It had been a relatively quiet time during Faramir’s convalescence, or so Thranduil thought, with the exception of his son’s foiled attempt to escape from the Houses of Healing and the twins’ altercation with Gandalf. Both were angry at the White Wizard for sending Finrod and their human friend, known only as ‘Lieutenant’ as the man hated the name given to him by his parents, off to rendezvous with the wizard Radagast and thence to spy on Saruman again without telling them. When Gandalf told them, point blank, that they could not be trusted not to get sidetracked when anywhere in the vicinity of orcs, the twins argued vehemently until Gandalf threatened to turn them both over his knee after which he would turn them into toads. Their moods were soured further by the incredulous looks that they not only received from their ada, Thranduil, Maglor and Imrahil, which was to be expected, but also from Aragorn, Gimli and Misto, quite the feat for a spider with few expressions, when they argued that they were trustworthy. Only Faramir did not grace them with such a look and that was because he was asleep beneath a tree.

The elven King had no doubt that the current peacefulness would not last for the twins were fast becoming bored. So much so, that the strain was beginning to show with both Elrond and Estel. The elf and his human son had become so desperate that they took the unprecedented step of co-opting Legolas and Gimli to keep the twins contained and amused. Elrond’s preference had been for Maglor but the Seneschal had enough on his hands with Faramir. Aragorn forwent asking Arwen to keep the twins out of his hair, still smarting over the resultant debacle involving dwarves, Rohirrim, Gondorians and his wife and brothers being incarcerated in his own gaol, when last he had asked.

The peacefulness persisted so long that Elrond began to worry, for the twins were quiet, very quiet – unnaturally quiet. He saw them at meal times but could discern nothing of what they had been about. He did not want to question them too closely and thus sour their mood all the more. The elder elf thought to himself as he stood in the courtyard with Estel, Arwen and Imrahil, his robes billowing about him for the wind was very gusty, waiting for the delegates from Dol Amroth who would be riding into the courtyard any moment, that he was not sure what was the most worrying, the twins noisy and annoying or the twins unnaturally quiet and possibly planning some mischief.

“Oi, Fara! Wake up, damn it!” Faramir found himself startled awake by his brother’s bellowing. The caustic retort on his lips died on seeing his ghostly brother’s look of alarm. “Those idiots are going to kill themselves!” Boromir growled.

“Which idiots?” Faramir asked as he rose to his feet a little unsteadily, still half-asleep, and then followed his ghostly brother who was setting a brisk pace.

“The brat twins,” Boromir replied as he ran straight through a closed door, only to stop abruptly and wince when he heard a resounding thump on the other side of the door, followed in quick order by a very inventive curse. He leaned back though the closed door to see his little brother sitting on the floor with his legs straight out in front of him, his straightened arms behind him and his palms on the floor supporting his weight, whilst shaking his head in the hopes of ridding himself of the stars that were floating before his eyes. “It is wise to open the door first, Fara…” Boromir began but the rest of what he was going to say was stayed by the murderous glare he received from his little brother.

After several moments, Faramir got to his feet, opened the door and continued to follow his brother. Boromir led his brother out into the courtyard in front of the palace. Faramir stood transfixed for several long moments by the scene that was playing out before him. Eight Swan Knights, discerned by their distinctive dress, were attempting to control their frightened mounts. Two knights had been unhorsed but had managed to maintain a hold on their horses’ reins. The cause of the fright to the horses became evident when the Steward followed the direction of the concerned gazes of Elrond, Aragorn, Arwen and his uncle.

The twins, looking like two frightened bunnies, were holding on for grim death to ropes attached to what appeared to be a giant black kite in the shape of a dragon, which explained the frightened horses. The twins were too high up, even for elves, to risk letting go of the ropes without risking very serious injury. Faramir also saw the stunned faces of Legolas and Gimli looking over the edge at the top of the tower, his panicked elven brother looked as if he was about the loose an arrow at the kite. Thankfully, Gimli was able to stop him with a clip to the elf’s head.

The kite was caught by another updraft as the wind remained very gusty and was being pushed to the end of the ‘ship’s keel’ shaped section at the very edge of the top circle of the city and the abyss that was beyond and below. Faramir knew what would happen if the kite went over the edge; a downdraft would cause the kite to plummet to the bottom of the abyss, killing both twins in the process. Without conscious thought Faramir raised the hand that had the ring of power upon it and saw a long blue line of light, as opposed to a bolt of blue light, reach the black kite. Slowly, inch by agonising inch, Faramir pulled the kite down towards him and away from the edge of the ‘ship’s keel’. It turned into a monumental struggle for the recovering Steward as he fought the fierce wind. Time after time the wind would carry the kite back towards the edge and Faramir struggled to pull it back and down. Just when he thought he could do no more, the twins let go of the ropes and landed on !
the ground before collapsing into frightened, winded heaps. It was only then that Faramir’s strength failed him and his knees buckled but before he hit the ground he felt the familiar, strong arms of his ada, who had appeared from he knew not where, catch him and lower him gently to the ground, supporting him in a seated position.

From the corner of his eye Faramir saw Lord Elrond, looking like the famed warrior who fought beside Gil-galad, swooping down upon his sons like a bird of prey. He pulled first Elrohir and then Elladan to their feet, gave each a fierce hug, relief evident, and then grabbed each by the point of an elven ear causing both to squawk in protest, much to the amusement of the Swan Knights who had mostly regained control over their skittish mounts. Faramir then saw Maglor to his right, standing behind a sombre looking Legolas and Gimli. Boromir was also there glaring at the protesting twins.

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