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 31

The twins were assisted down from their undignified, upended positions by Gandalf and the three elder elves, upon which they disappeared promptly into their bathing chamber, to regain their composure and divest themselves of the very sticky molasses, which had managed to insinuate into every crevice, and feathers. Before disappearing they gave Legolas and Gimli, who were still laughing heartily, looks that promised hours of pain filled retribution, seemingly unaware of the identities of the real culprits behind their embarrassing, not to mention sticky, situation.

The birds and pig were still registering their protests vociferously. Exasperation evident, Imrahil glared at his fox cubs, searching for even a hint of guilt from either cub upon which he could pounce. But neither so much as blinked, returning looks of such innocence and faint hurt that Legolas found that he could not stop himself from cuffing Faramir upside the head hard enough to cause red-gold curls to bounce. A fresh round of snorts and laugher from those gathered ensued and Faramir glared at Legolas and then at Boromir who was still sitting on the rafter above, chortling merrily.

Shaking his head, Imrahil ordered his fox cubs to ‘put the place to rights’ before turning on his heels and exiting the room followed by the elder elves, Gandalf and Aragorn. Aragorn signalled Arwen to stay with the others in the hopes that she would find out how Faramir and Amrothos had achieved such a feat as entrapping their brothers so thoroughly in a prank. Imrahil led the others to one of the smaller, more comfortable meeting rooms and sat down upon one of several lounge chairs arranged around a large fireplace. Morning sunshine was streaming through the large windows that looked out upon a garden beyond.

“I must profess,” Elrond began, sounding uncharacteristically impressed as he sat down on the lounge next to Imrahil, “I have never before seen such an elaborate prank executed with such efficiency and so swiftly.

“Nor have I seen the ‘duo horribus’ so easily and so thoroughly ensnared before,” Thranduil chuckled, eyes twinkling with mirth as were Gandalf’s.

“I would like to know where they obtained that gargantuan of a pig and how they managed to secret it into the twins’ room unseen and unheard,” Aragorn said in a tone that was a mixture of puzzlement and awe.

Imrahil groaned.

“I think you will find that the pig belongs to a thoroughly disreputable drinking establishment located on the second level of the city that sprog and foxling were known to frequent in their younger years before the war,” Imrahil explained, somewhat abashed. “The palace, not to mention Minas Tirith, is riddled with secret passages, most of which are known only to my foxling now, I suspect.”

“I know my son is devious and suspected that young Amrothos is as well, but this…” Thranduil said, waving his hand in a vague manner, awed by the magnitude of what Imrahil’s descendent fox cubs had achieved in such a short space of time.

“The Sionnach¹ of Ithilien strikes again, I am afraid,” Imrahil sighed.

“What did you call him?” Aragorn asked, shocked.

“Sionnach of Ithilien, the name given Faramir by his rangers. Did you not know?” Imrahil asked in turn.

“Nay, I did not know that the infamous Sionnach was my Steward. Although, of course, sionnach; fox,” Aragorn confessed, shaking his head and smiling ruefully. “Boromir told me tales of his younger brother’s war in Ithilien and of his keen strategic mind but never once mentioned that he was the Fox of Ithilien.”

“I did not know either, though I knew he was a captain of the rangers,” Thranduil acknowledged.

“_The_ captain of the rangers,” Imrahil corrected. “There was only foxling and his lieutenants leading the rangers. And given how poorly provisioned they were in terms of arms and food in comparison to every other Gondorian soldier; they wrought miracles, only, in the end, to pay the highest price of all Gondorians. So few survived and not one of them untouched,” he sighed in sadness, his voice trailing off as he remembered the fallen rangers, some of their faces flashing across his mind’s eye.

“Even in Mirkwood we heard tales of the war of wits that Sionnach waged against the Southrons and Easterlings, not to mention the enormous bounty that had been placed on his head, doubled if captured alive,” Thranduil whistled softly.

“His reputation was known in Rivendell as well. It explains much,” Elrond confirmed and then smiled, if a little wanly, thinking on Imrahil’s words about the fate of the rangers. “I fear I set not fox cubs on my two unsuspecting fledglings but fully blooded foxes!”

“Nay, my friend, fox cubs still. But the Valar help us all when they develop fully and surpass the old fox, my sire, they so resemble,” Imrahil shuddered.

“On the subject of your fledglings, mellon nin” Thranduil began, eyes twinkling, “when they recover from the shock they are certain to seek revenge.”

“Aye, I know,” Elrond sighed, “although they seem not to have comprehended as yet, whom or what they are up against.”

“Nay, they do not,” Imrahil shuddered yet again at the thought of what his devious cubs were capable.

“I trust the Sionnach of Ithilien’s skill in executing pranks that do not harm the White City or its inhabitants but ada! The twins!” Aragorn exclaimed, eyes widening in alarm at the very thought of the devastation the twins could cause. “They are capable of rocking Minas Tirith to its very foundations, especially as their pranks are ever wont to go awry.”

“Which brings me to the subject of a favour I have been meaning to beg of you,” Elrond said, looking directly at Maglor.

“You wish me to twin-sit,” Maglor replied looking as if he was suffering from indigestion.

“If you would, please, as I need to spend more time with Faramir,” Elrond said, the corners of his mouth twitching; threatening to break out in a smirk.

“I will do so but under sufferance and you will owe me, elfling,” Maglor replied sternly, causing Imrahil’s eyes to widen in surprise at the term ‘elfling’ and the tone.

“Just how old are you?” Imrahil’s question sprang forth before his mind could consider whether the question was indeed politic or not.

“As old as Arda,” both Thranduil and Elrond replied at the same time, the elven King’s eyes twinkling and the Lord of Rivendell smirking. Both laughed on seeing Imrahil’s look of astonishment that highlighted the resemblance between the prince and his fox furred nephew.

Imrahil’s response was allayed by a servant who entered to advise that the morning meal was ready and being served in the King’s private dinning room.

The elder elves, Gandalf, Imrahil and Aragorn repaired to the dinning room. They were not there long before Gimli, Legolas and Arwen arrived. Arwen, whose eyes and face were still alight with mirth, glided over to Aragorn and sat down beside him exchanging a look filled with merriment. Legolas sat beside his ada and Gimli beside him. Faramir and Amrothos entered the room calmly as if nothing the least bit untoward had occurred. Amrothos sat next to Imrahil, who sat opposite Thranduil.

“Where is Misto?” Thranduil asked.

“In the dungeon partaking of his break-of-fast,” Faramir responded, eyes a-twinkle, examining his cousin’s face which was looking a little green, as he moved to sit beside his ada only to stop when he saw Boromir come striding through the wall, a sight that never failed to send a shiver down his spine.

“I would start running if I were you, little brother,” Boromir said conversationally, a smirk very evident on his ghostly face, sending a shiver up Faramir’s spine.

The Steward, eyes searching about him frantically for the source of the danger, made to move towards the glassed doors that led out to a balcony that overlooked the pond and garden beyond, when the twins came bounding into the room, one via the glassed doors and balcony, and the other via the entrance that led out into the hallway. With predatory stares fixed upon their prey, the twins, looking for all the world like two black-furred hunting cats, stalked towards Faramir.

“Methinks they have finally established the identity of the main perpetrator of their embarrassment,” Thranduil murmured, eyes twinkling as he exchanged knowing glances with both Elrond and Imrahil.

Amrothos and Legolas would have risen to Faramir’s aid had they not each been stayed by the heavy hands of their sires on their shoulders. Faramir thought fleetingly of using his wizarding powers but rejected the idea immediately not wanting to incite his ada’s wrath, not to mention that of Gandalf, Elrond, his uncle or Maglor. In the blink of an eye, he grabbed a large metal bowl of fruit from the middle of the table and threw it at Elladan who had entered the room via the hallway entrance. In a reflex action, Elladan caught the heavy bowl minus most of its contents.

Faramir used the distraction to dive under the table, coming out on the other side next to Amrothos, sprang to his feet and ran towards the door leading out into the hallway. He would have succeeded too if it had not been for a servant who chose that moment to enter the room carrying a large silver pot containing hot porridge. Faramir avoided the servant but in the process of doing so lost his balance momentarily, allowing enough time for Elrohir to tackle him from behind even as Elladan was attempting still to divest himself of the heavy metal bowl, which he did so by placing it back onto the table.

Aragorn and Legolas winced knowing what it was like to be tackled by either twin. The servant, however, acted as if nothing unusual was happening as he placed the pot of porridge on a side table and then exited the room, stepping over the Rivendell elf who straddled the Steward of Gondor. Elladan approached his twin and Faramir, who had managed during the tussle to turn over onto his back, crouching down beside them.

“Why me?” Faramir whined, feeling somewhat aggrieved that he alone had been set upon by the twins.

“Legolas is mischievous…” Elrohir purred, pinning Faramir’s wrists firmly to the floor.

“… but is not by nature…” Elladan continued in the same purr-like tone.

“… devious… “

“… conniving… ”

“… duplicitous… “

“… cunning…”

“… designing…”

“… crafty… ”

“… scheming… “

“… treacherous… “

“… sneaky… “

“… tricky… “

“… sly… ”

“… as was the perpetrator…”

“… of the prank…”

“… to which we fell…”

“… victim…” Elladan concluded, enunciating each syllable clearly.

“I am not the only one here who has been called devious,” Faramir retorted, petulantly.

“Nay… “ Elladan purred.

“… but we recognise… “

“… who is the leader… “

“… of that fox-furred litter…”

“… foxling… “ Elladan purred menacingly.

“Oh do shut up, you dunce!” Faramir snapped at his chortling ghostly brother, eliciting twins looks of puzzlement.

“Oh, little brother, they have described you perfectly!” Boromir laughed merrily.

“Most humorous!” Faramir replied sarcastically. “Great lot of good you were!” he grouched.

It took a moment for the twins to realise that Faramir was conversing with Boromir.

“I do not believe you truly know who you have there, ions-nin,” Elrond cautioned, mirth very close to the surface.

“Faramir Thranduilion… “ Elrohir began, somewhat bemused at his ada’s enigmatic tone.

“… Steward of Gondor…”

“… Prince of Ithilien… “

“Not only the Prince but the Sionnach of Ithilien,” Elrond added in a conversational tone.

Legolas, Arwen and the twins all gasped, each knowing the name, having heard tales of the illusive human who waged war against the Southrons and Easterlings in the forests of Ithilien.

“You are Sionnach?” the twins asked as one, astonished and deeply impressed.

“This is not exactly a position from which I would want to admit to that, now is it?” Faramir protested, alluding to his currently captive state, flat on his back, under Elrohir. “And if you do not cease your incessant cackling, brother, I swear I will fall on my sword and chase you all the way to the halls of our ancestors! And do not think I will stop there, Sir!” he snarled, which of course only incited his ghostly brother’s sense of the ridiculous, thus his laughter, to ever-greater heights and sniggers and chortles from the others.

“Temper, temper, little one!” Boromir teased, chortling. “What kind of example are you setting for our young cousin here, hmmmm?”

“Oh, no! You leave me out of this argument, Boromir,” Amrothos warned from his seated position at the table, although his eyes were alight with humour, eliciting questioning looks from those seated around the table.

“We are going to have such fun,” Elladan began brightly, regaining Faramir’s wary attention.

“… think of what we can do when we join forces… “ Elrohir continued in the same bright tone, still pinning Faramir firmly to the floor.

“… after we have exacted retribution for the prank of course…” Elladan concluded with a decidedly feral looking grin.

Boromir laughed uproariously, garnering a beaming grin from Amrothos and a menacing glare from Faramir.

[1] Sionnach Irish for fox. Pronunciation: I have no idea. Anyone out there know?

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