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 33

The twins were the only ones not to surface the next morning for the morning meal in the King and Queen’s private dining room, apparently yet too fragrant; despite several hard scrubbings. Gimli, still tinged green, laughed uproariously and slapped Faramir on the back so hard that the Steward almost went face first into his bowl of porridge when Aragorn had concluded the story of the mysterious arrows that foiled the twins’ prank, as told to him by his ada when he enquired the previous evening as to the origin of the very powerful floral smell that seemed to have permeated his apartments. Arwen, on hearing the story from their ada, had gone straight to her private chambers to count bottles of perfume and check the contents. Wherever the twins had secured the perfume they had at least shown uncharacteristically good sense in not pilfering from their sister.

Amrothos beamed at his cousin, as did Legolas and Gimli. Gandalf eyed his wizardling with a stern expression but it was evident to all that the wizard’s humour was laying just beneath the surface. Imrahil just shook his head at his foxling’s cunning, thinking that his father would have enjoyed the company of his descendent cubs immensely now that both had grown to adulthood. The conversation that morning was lively and filled with good humour.

At the conclusion of the meal Faramir, with Misto in tow, walked with Lord Elrond out into his mother’s garden to begin their daily meditation and mind strengthening exercises. As they emerged from the palace into the garden, Faramir saw his ada and Maglor under his tree looking from the tree and then ever upward and over towards the palace, obviously trying to work out the trajectory the arrows had taken. Faramir stopped abruptly. He knew the exact moment that his ada and Maglor realised where he must have been standing when he fired the arrows. On seeing the dark expressions on both elves faces, the young Steward backed up a step but was stayed by Elrond’s hand gripping the back of his neck suddenly. Looking askance at the elf he could see Elrond looking at the position the other elves eyes were fixed upon, his expression as thunderous as his ada and Maglor.

“Faramir Thranduilion!” the Elven King growled ominously as he turned dangerous looking eyes upon his son.

Faramir whimpered.

“Mama in trouble?” Misto asked.

“Aye, tithen pen, mama in trouble, big,” Elrond responded, using the grammatically incorrect phrasing that the hatchling had used on another occasion, increasing his grip on the back of Faramir’s neck causing the young human to wince.

“It is not as dangerous as it looks, ada,” Faramir reasoned tremulously, trying to swallow past the lump that had lodged suddenly in his throat. “I have a good head for heights,” he added quietly.

“Not as… not as dangerous… Aieeeeeeeee!” Thranduil spluttered. “That would be a precarious position for an elf in broad daylight, ion-nin! For a human at night, with a longbow, it is all but suicidal!” he bellowed looking back up at the small ornamental platform that protruded from the very edge of the topmost part of the steep palace roof, a sheer drop of many tens of feet on three sides.

In the blink of an eye and with a thunderous expression still gracing his features, Maglor produced Faramir’s Bane and passed it to his friend. Thranduil grabbed the paddle and stalked over to his son, eyes never leaving the nervous, whimpering human who was still being held in place by Elrond’s hand gripping the back of his neck tightly. The Rivendell lord released his grip when Thranduil seized Faramir by an ear, pulling the yelping young man over to a stone bench located in a small stone and wood gazebo several yards away. The elven King released his hold on the ear, which Faramir rubbed furiously to temper the sting, and sat down upon the bench.

“Aaadaaa,” Faramir whined quietly, as he continued to rub his ear and look around to see if anyone passing would be able to see what was about to happen.

“You should have thought of that before risking your fool neck, ion-nin,” Thranduil lectured sternly but knowing that Elrond and Maglor would ensure their privacy. His son was the Steward of Gondor after all and as such, had a reputation to protect.

Faramir muttered and grumbled as he loosened the ties of his leggings at his ada’s urging, pushed them down to his knees and lowered himself over the elf’s lap. Thranduil smirked, his eyes softening slightly at the familiar display of temper from his human son. Fisting Faramir’s tunic at the waist to expose his son’s posterior, the elven King wasted no time in beginning the chastisement, landing an almighty whack to exposed buttocks.

“Owwwwww! Aaadaaa!” Faramir yelped in indignation and pain, taken aback by sheer force of the whack to his posterior and at the realisation of just how serious was his ada.

“What is this punishment for, ion-nin?” Thranduil asked as he went about the task of thoroughly chastising every part of his squirming son’s buttocks and thighs.

“For… risking… my… fool neck,” Faramir gasped out through gritted teeth. Thranduil got the impression that his son did not truly believe that he had been reckless, borne out by the next words to usher from him. “It… was not… that dangerous… ada. I have done … things… with more risk… m-many times.”

“We are all well aware of that, ion-nin! How you have managed to stay alive this long is nothing short of a miracle!” Thranduil said, shaking his head, confounded by his son’s continued obliviousness to his own safety.

“I… h-have… a g-good… head for… heights, ada,” Faramir tried to reason again.

“So, you would have allowed one of your rangers to do as you did last evening?” he asked, trying a different tack, one that had worked in the past, as he continued to land heavy swats to the ever reddening buttocks and thighs before him.

Silence, except for gasps, grunts and whimpers, greeted the question.

“I thought as much,” Thranduil said as he continued his painful ministrations to his son’s buttocks.

“He has got you there, little brother,” Boromir chuckled, although looking anything but merry, announcing his presence as he sat down upon the bench opposite Thranduil and Faramir.

“Oh, do… shut… up!” Faramir snarled, gasping for breath. “N-not you, ada!” he exclaimed immediately, sounding very panicked.

Thranduil was taken aback for a moment until he realised that Boromir must have made an appearance.

“Now, tithen pen, are you going to swallow your stubbornness and answer me? I am more than capable of maintaining this pace indefinitely, ion-nin,” Thranduil said as he kept a steady pace with the paddle, moving again to Faramir’s thighs.

“Answer him, miel-neth (kitten), or I will start singing that sailor’s ditty you so enjoyed,” Boromir purred evilly, reminding Faramir of the ditty of which he was searching for the high note up and down the musical scale, at the time he discovered that Faramir was able to see him in the living world.

“That… is… blackmail… sir!” Faramir ground out between gritted teeth as his ada continued to beat out an energetic tattoo upon his crimson posterior.

“Aye. It is. I learned from the best, little brother,” he smirked, alluding to the times his little brother happily resorted to blackmail to wheedle stories out of his big brother, and then opened his mouth as if to start singing.

“Oh… all… r-right! N-nay… w-would… not… allowed… m-men…” Faramir said, becoming incoherent as the mere act of voicing the words made him realise the truth of what his ada and others had been trying to tell him about his reckless disregard for his own safety. Heart-wrenching sobs ensued. “S-sorry, ada. S-so… s-sorry…”

Hearing the change in the tenor of Faramir’s tone and his words of repentance, Thranduil ceased the chastisement immediately and placed ‘Faramir’s Bane’ on the bench beside him. After pulling up Faramir’s leggings he turned his son over and into his embrace, careful of his son’s very sore posterior, crooning to him softly.

“Finally,” Thranduil sighed quietly as he rocked his son soothingly. “I think the words have penetrated that very stubborn mind of yours. All I ask, ion-nin, is that when you are about to do something dangerous, ask yourself if you would have allowed any of your rangers to attempt the same and if the answer is no, please find another way,” Thranduil chided gently, continuing to hold his precious son close, rocking him. “Hannon le, Boromir,” Thranduil said softly, tears welling in his at the thought that Faramir was finally beginning to understand. Not that he thought there would not be lapses… indeed many, many lapses… on the part of his human son but just maybe he will think occasionally, before doing something reckless. He lived in hope.

Thranduil carried his mildly protesting son past Maglor and Elrond over to the nest of blankets and pillows, that were replaced daily, under Faramir’s tree. He placed his son on his stomach, divested him of his leggings, covered his blushing son with two thick blankets and ordered him to rest. Both he and Maglor left with Misto to take the hatchling down to the dungeons to eat.

Gandalf arrived in the garden at the scheduled time and place and found his pupil asleep under the tree. He was just about to prod his wizardling when a familiar voice sounded in his head.

“I would not do that, mellon-nin.”

“Whatever has my wizardling done now?” Gandalf asked, sounding exasperated, noticing the dried tear tracks on Faramir’s face.

“Received a lecture on his propensity towards being reckless with his own life,” Elrond voiced quietly as he emerged from a small copse of high bushes that hid a clearing containing a bench, perfect for reading and contemplating. “That,” he added in answer to the wizard’s silent question, turning around and pointing to the tiny ornamental platform that protruded from the roof of the palace, “is where the Steward of Gondor was standing when he loosed the arrows that resulted in my sons being bathed in perfumed oil, of which they still reek,” he concluded with what looked suspiciously like a smirk.

“Stubborn… fool… young… idiot…” Gandalf growled, so annoyed that he was unable to form a sentence, as he raised his staff as if to whack his wizardling’s posterior.

“Thranduil was quite thorough, mellon-nin. I am sure our young charge here will be feeling it for some time, as no numbing salve has been provided and I doubt sincerely whether any will be,” Elrond said.

“I will work him twice as hard on the morrow, be assured!” Gandalf huffed as he turned and stormed out of the garden, grumbling about young human fools, his robes billowing about him.

“I suggest you be on your best behaviour tomorrow, pen-neth,” Elrond said to Faramir whom he realised had been playing fox, not wanting to deal with a huffy wizard.

“Aye,” Faramir sighed. “Thank you, Lord Elrond.”

Legolas, Gimli and Amrothos arrived at that moment, all three looking somewhat perplexed.

“We just saw Gandalf. He is looking furious and muttering about young fools not having the sense the Valar gave cave trolls,” said Amrothos, looking down at his cousin, who winced.

“What have you done now?” Legolas asked suspiciously as he crouched down beside Faramir.

Elrond explained where Faramir had been standing when he loosed the arrows that had pre-empted the twins’ prank. Elf, dwarf and human eyes widened and jaws dropped when they saw the tiny platform high up in the distance. As one, they turned disbelieving and dark looks upon Faramir.

“H-how did you manage the climb, let alone with a long bow? Aieeeeeeeeeeeee!! Faramir!!” Legolas yelled, causing Faramir to wince anew.

The furious elf pulled at the blankets covering Faramir until the human’s very red posterior was exposed and landed several hard whacks of his own shocking both Faramir and himself, not to mention Elrond, Amrothos and Gimli, the latter of whom recovered quickly enough to yell…

“And one for me, laddie!”

“And one for, Boromir,” Amrothos said without thinking, just following the stern command from Boromir who was standing beside him, looking down upon his little brother, his anger evident in his expression.

“Owwwwww!! Owwwwww!! Ouuuuch!! Owwwwww!!” Faramir cried out. “Have pity on my poor behind, brother. Ada has made known already his feelings on the subject, most clearly.”

“I hope my feelings on the subject are equally clear, muindor tithen?” Legolas growled as he covered his brother’s posterior with the blankets.

“Aye, as crystal!” Faramir sniffed mutinously into the pillow beneath him.

The attention of the Steward and those gathered around him was diverted by bellowing from Aragorn who had arrived upon the scene accompanied by Imrahil, both looking angrier than Faramir had ever seen either of them look.

“AIEEEEEEEE! FARAMIR THRANDUILION! ARE YOU INSANE!” he bellowed looking up at the tiny platform.

“Nay, nay, nay,” Faramir whimpered, pulling the pillow that was beneath his head, over his head.

“Gandalf just told us from whence you loosed the arrows. He was so angry he could barely get the words out. I cannot believe… you… I should blister your arse until you are wailing!” Aragorn continued to shout as he advanced on his Steward, crouching down beside Legolas and pulling away the pillow under which Faramir was attempting to hide.

“Too late, ada has beaten you to it,” Faramir replied sullenly, holding on tightly to the blankets that covered him.

“As well he should have! To risk your life so!” Aragorn replied angrily.

Temper on the rise, Faramir turned onto his side, put a fisted hand, with thumb extended, to his mouth biting down on his thumb nail in a gesture recognised by Imrahil as a precursor to angry and usually ill-considered retort.

“Be very mindful of the words that next usher from your mouth, foxling,” Imrahil warned in a tone, though quiet, held a very real threat.

His original retort thwarted by his uncle, his temper rising by the moment, feeling exposed and vulnerable, unknowingly, as the words tumbled out without thought, Faramir bespoke of what was in his heart and the source of his disregard for his personal safety.

“Do you not understand? Denethor was right! I should have died in Boromir’s stead and failing that I should have died in Osgiliath!” Faramir howled.

Stunned silence greeted the Steward’s outburst. Surprisingly, it was Amrothos who responded first. The Swan Knight sat down beside his cousin and embraced him.

“Oh, Fara,” he said in a hushed voice. “Denethor was wrong. Wrong to distance himself from you emotionally because he could not cope with Aunt Findulas’ death. Wrong to chastise you physically when he could not connect with you emotionally. Wrong to humiliate and belittle you for no reason other than his preconceived notions of what constituted strength and to justify, in his own mind, his treatment of you. Wrong to second-guess constantly the command decisions that you made that were never in error. Wrong to invest all his love and affection in Boromir, leaving nothing for you. Wrong in so many, many ways.”

Amrothos looked up at Boromir, seeking permission to continue.

“Tell him, sprog” Boromir whispered, nodding solemnly, his eyes holding such a depth of sadness.

“And there is not a day goes by that he does not repent of his actions and through his actions, repent of what he lost,” Amrothos continued.

“Eru! He is not… here… now… please… nay!” Faramir gasped in panic, beginning to tremble causing Amrothos to tighten his embrace.

“Nay. Be easy. He cannot reveal himself, Fara. Not until you are ready and if that takes three hundred years then so be it,” Amrothos replied, his tone turning uncharacteristically hard. “He sees the depth and purity of the love you bear King Thranduil and Legolas and the depth and purity of their love for you,” the Swan Knight continued, oblivious to the tears that streamed down his face, smiling up at the elven King who also had tears in his eyes as he looked upon his human son, standing beside his father, having heard everything; including Faramir’s initial heart-wrenching outburst, “and realises what he could have had but threw away so dispassionately and callously. He sees your pure heart, your compassion and your strength of character and wonders how he could ever have mistaken such qualities for weakness. He sees you struggle constantly with the consequences of the pain and damage he caused you and can do nothing but stand by and watch, mute, invisible and impotent.”

Faramir began sobbing into his cousin’s shoulder, the same eerily silent sobs that Aragorn and Legolas recognised from all those months ago on the top of the tower, when Faramir had sought solitude to grieve for all he had lost. Thranduil approached his human son, sitting down beside him. Amrothos relinquished his hold on his cousin to Thranduil, held out a hand to his father who pulled his visibly distressed son to his feet and into his comforting embrace. Imrahil whispered words of praise and love into the ear of his much loved youngest son.

Faramir, sensing that it was Thranduil who held him for he could not see through the tears in his eyes, wound his arms around his ada’s neck and gave voice to his grief as his sobbing gained sound. Thranduil rocked his son and crooned a litany of elvish words of love and comfort. Legolas, tears streaming down his face, sat down on ground on the other side of Faramir, offering silent support for his brother. Gimli in turn, placed a comforting hand on Legolas’ shoulder.

“You did well, sprog,” Boromir quietly praised his cousin.

“Well I feel bloody awful,” Amrothos replied in a harsh whisper, eliciting a chuckle from Boromir who was thinking how much alike his cousin was to his little brother.

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