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 3

Faramir continued to sprint down corridors and through rooms, managing to stay ahead of Aragorn who, much to the Steward’s dismay, seemed determined to catch him and make him pay for the additional dousing he had received. Faramir thought fleetingly, as he ran as fast as his Ranger legs would carry him, that he would like to explain to Elessar that it was an accident, that he forgot about the barrel filled with water that he had rigged to tip, spilling its contents on the one unfortunate enough to open the glassed doors that led from the King’s study out onto the balcony that overlooked the King and Steward’s private garden but did not think that Elessar would be amenable to any explanation whilst ever the King continued to leave puddles wherever he stood still for but a moment.

Turning yet another corner and passing a partially opened door, the young Steward felt himself yanked by a pair of very strong grips into the room of the door he was passing. Yelping or more accurately squeaking in surprise, Faramir turned to establish the identity of those who had pulled him into the room only to be shushed by the Queen and Legolas, as they tilted their heads listening he assumed for Aragorn. Further into the room he could see the twins and Gimli sitting in chairs by the fireplace. Arwen pointed to the corner of the room where large, heavy curtains had been pulled back from the windows and into the corner to allow the afternoon sun to fill the room. Panting for breath and not needing to be told twice, Faramir ran over to the corner and hid behind the drapes. Arwen and Legolas had just settled in their chairs again when the door flew open and Aragorn burst into the room wet from head to toe and came to an abrupt halt, dripping and panting for breath, an ever-growing puddle of water spread beneath him, as he looked at those gathered.

“You are dripping, Estel,” Arwen stated in her quiet lyrical voice as she looked from her husband’s face to the growing puddle of water at his feet and then to his face again.

Legolas coughed to disguise the giggle that erupted from him at the small whimper he heard coming from behind the curtains on Arwen’s amused observation. The twins and Gimli all managed to maintain expressions of polite interest. Aragorn’s eyes narrowed in suspicion as he glared at each of them in turn. Finally, growling in sheer frustration, the King wheeled around and stormed out of the room, slamming the massive door behind him as he went. As soon as the door closed the room erupted into the tinkling laughter of elves and the deep rumbling laughter of a dwarf.

“The way is clear, muindor tithen,” Legolas chuckled after ascertaining first that Aragorn was not doubling back, as he pulled the curtain aside revealing a panting Faramir; all but collapsed against the wall. “Whatever have you done now?”

“It was an accident!” Faramir whined as he grasped the curtain for support and locked his knees for fear that he would otherwise collapse and knowing his luck at the moment onto his throbbing hindquarters.

“What was an accident?” Legolas asked, his eyes twinkling and looking very much like his sire.

“The barrel of water over the balcony doorway,” Faramir answered truthfully.

“You set a barrel of water over the doorway but you did not mean to imbathe Aragorn?” Legolas queried in a slow manner as if trying to make sense of his brother’s words as the twins and Gimli laughed and Arwen put a hand to her mouth to stop the giggle that wanted to escape.

“No. That part was deliberate but I can assure you that after a session with that… that… ‘thing’ and a very heavy hand, it would have been suicidal to incite further Elessar’s wrath with me,” Faramir replied passionately if somewhat breathlessly. The twins winced in empathy at the reminder of ‘Faramir’s Bane’. Arwen and Gimli looked puzzled for a moment until both guessed as to what the young Steward was referring. “I forgot about the damned barrel,” the Steward added indignantly on seeing Legolas’ raised eyebrow and sceptical look, as the elf was well aware of what little in the way of self-preservation skills his brother displayed when in a temper.

“We are sorry…” Elrohir said, smiling broadly at Faramir who was still clinging to the curtain although his breathing had settled somewhat.

“…To have missed seeing Estel’s drenching,” Elladan finished as in the way of very close tied twins.

“I suggest leaving Estel alone for the moment,” Arwen cautioned as she looked from Elladan to Elrohir. “I daresay you are both walking on very thin ice at the moment as far as Estel is concerned. You are already driving him insane and you have only just returned.”

“To be fair thel tithen (sister little). I think our young friend here…” Elladan replied, looking again at the Steward.

“…Is ahead of us in the unhinging of Estel stakes,” Elrohir concluded.

Faramir blushed furiously as he stood in the corner still clinging to the heavy curtain; whether for support or as a shield if Aragorn were to return to the room, Legolas was not sure.

“Come sit, laddie before you fall down,” Gimli said as he pointed to the empty chair that Legolas had vacated.

“I have a preference for standing at the moment, master Gimli,” Faramir replied, glaring at the son of Gloin as he walked stiffly over to the chair and leaned heavily against its back, darting nervous glances towards the door as if expecting Aragorn to burst into the room at any moment, eliciting a deep bark of laughter from Gimli and tinkling laughter from Legolas. “I am ever so pleased that you find enjoyment in my uncomfortable situation,” Faramir responded tartly before rolling his eyes and groaning at his inadvertent emphasis on the ‘sit’ part of the word. All, with the exception of Arwen, laughed. The Queen looked upon the blushing Steward with great fondness, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

“We were just discussing what to do for entertainment this evening…” Elladan said as he looked at Faramir.

“…Before you joined us so abruptly…” Elrohir added with a smile.

“…And have decided to taste the delights of a drinking establishment on the second level that Legolas recommends…”

“…You are welcome to join us,” Elrohir said hoping that Faramir would agree as they always found enjoyment in the young human’s company.

“Please accept my apologies but however willing the spirit may be, I fear that no amount of spirits, liquid or otherwise, will temper the ache in my…” Faramir sighed, blushing spectacularly again not able to bring himself to name the part of his body so afflicted, with a lady present even if that lady was thousands of years old.

Faramir thanked Arwen and Legolas for rescuing him and bid all a pleasant evening before exiting the room and walking to his apartments to enjoy the soothing qualities of a long hot bath followed by a meal shared with his father and Maglor before retiring to bed with a good book. After a long soak and a pleasant meal the Steward retired to his bed eventually only to be awoken abruptly several hours later by an agitated young servant.

“Begging pardon Lord Faramir,” the youth said tentatively as he kept his distance from Faramir, well aware, from personal experience and the stories of others, of the Steward’s dislike of being woken and the range and accuracy of his aim, “but a soldier states that an urgent matter has arisen.”

“Send him in Gothric,” Faramir instructed as he got up from the bed and pulled on a robe.

“I am sorry to disturb you sir but the Sheriff asked me to fetch you and escort you to gaol,” the tall broad shouldered soldier said as soon as he entered the room. “There was an altercation at the pub near the carpenter’s on the second level, sir. A small army of dwarves, elves, Rohirrim and Gondorians have been arrested,” the soldier added hastily on seeing the Steward’s raised eyebrow and on realising his poor wording.

Groaning initially and then cursing fluidly as he dressed hurriedly, Faramir signalled for the soldier to make no noise as they left the Steward’s apartments and thence the palace, as Faramir did not want to alert either his father or Maglor, who were both staying in his guest’s quarters. Still muttering curses, the Steward marched angrily to the gaol that was situated on the third level.

Faramir was greeted by a harassed looking Sheriff who also looked as if he had been fetched from his bed. The Sheriff guided the Steward to the cells that contained the recently acquired inmates. Faramir entered the room and was greeted by a veritable cacophony of demands, explanations, entreaties and threats. The large room contained four cells, two on one side of the room and two on the other. Each cell was constructed of large stone blocks on three sides and iron bars and gate at the front; all cells were accessible by the wide corridor that ran down that middle of the room. A long wooden bench was placed in the corridor in front of each cell, obviously meant for those visiting the prisoners. From his position in the centre of the corridor, Faramir was able see the occupants of all four cells.

“Cease and desist this moment!” the Steward of Gondor bellowed in his most authoritative voice. The silence that followed the bellowed order was immediate and total.

In the silence that ensued, Faramir looked to see the inmates in each of the cells. The sheriff had been sensible enough to divide the inmates into their groups. The Steward recognised all five of the Gondorian soldiers, sporting a variety of cuts and bruises, in the first cell and two of the five Rohirrim, also sporting a fight injuries, in the cell opposite. The Rohirrim concerned had been left behind, initially because of wounds and then to assist with the defence of Gondor considering that the King of Rohan’s sister was to return to the city eventually. Thoughts of his separation from Éowyn evoked by the Rohirrim before him, made the Steward’s current mood all the darker. The Gondorian soldiers cowed under the glare of their Steward but the Rohirrim, not having the same experience as the Gondorians of the temper of their Captain, looked upon the Steward with arrogance. The arrogance however faded quickly on seeing the Steward begin to crackle slightly as he glared at each of them in turn. The soldiers of Rohan remembered then rumours that the Steward of Gondor was a very powerful wizard with a very nasty temper.

The cell next to the Gondorians contained the dwarves, six in all also showing signs of having been involved in a fight, none of whom Faramir recognised. This took the Steward by surprise until he turned to the cell that contained the elves and the dwarf he had been expecting to see. This should prove to be an interesting story, Faramir thought as he looked at each of the occupants of the cell. As expected he saw his brother sitting on the sill of the barred window against the back wall looking rumpled and somewhat subdued, Gimli looking like a dark thundercloud was sitting on the floor under Legolas, the Elrondion twins, also looking solemn, sat on a wooden bench that ran along the wall that separated it from the cell next door. Not expected was the dark-haired elf whose face was obscured the hood a cloak the elf was wearing, sitting between the twins.

Faramir felt as if his stomach had fallen into his boots as he took a step closer to the cell containing the elves, praying that his suspicion of whom this elf was, was just the creation of a very tired and deranged mind. But alas all colour drained from Faramir’s face and he stared in abject horror as the dark haired elf raised her head and the Queen of Gondor smiled at him in chagrin.

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