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 34

Thranduil continued to hold his precious human son rocking him until all emotion was spent, after which Legolas moved enough to allow Faramir to lay back down in his nest of blankets and rest his head on his ada’s thigh. Legolas fussed over his brother, bringing a smile to Thranduil’s face and a smirk to Aragorn’s and Gimli’s, ensuring that the blankets covered his brother’s dignity at all times as Faramir was still sans leggings. It was not long before the young Steward dropped off to sleep, assisted into slumber by the persistent ‘sleep’ commands projected into his mind by Lord Elrond, who sat upon a stone bench to the right of Thranduil with Aragorn sitting next to him. Gimli sat upon a large three root near Legolas.

“What is that human saying?” Thranduil began softly, smiling wryly at his slumbering son. “Ahh, aye; one step forward and three steps back.”

Imrahil, who sat with Amrothos on a stone bench to the left of Faramir, was about to correct Thranduil but decided three steps back was probably a more accurate description in this situation.

“Well, sprog,” Imrahil sighed, looking down upon his sleeping nephew. “That was quite the lightning bolt you loosed upon your poor cousin.”

“I know, father, but it was something he needed to hear, to allow him to move forward for he is mired in the past,” Amrothos said morosely, prompting Imrahil to put his arm around his son’s shoulders and pull him close.

“When did you become so wise?” Imrahil teased, eliciting a small smile from Amrothos.

“I do not think Elphir would agree…” Amrothos began smiling, the rest of what he as about to say halted by a familiar voice.

“What has happened now?” Maglor exclaimed in a hushed voice having just arrived upon the scene with Misto in tow.

The Seneschal saw immediately, by the fresh tear tracks adorning Faramir’s face, that his young charge had suffered yet another trauma.

“Mama sad,” the hatchling said solemnly. He scuttled over to his mama, peered into his face and touched it lightly on the cheek with a front leg eliciting smiles all around as if checking that his mama was alright, before scurrying up into the tree under which his mama lay and into his web situated between two of the tree’s branches.

Imrahil explained all that had happened in the Seneschal’s absence.

“You have seen Denethor here?” Maglor asked Amrothos, his surprise evident.

“Aye, although he does not have the substance of Boromir. When I reflect upon it, Boromir is the most substantial ghost I have ever seen, more so than Grandfather when he was still upon Arada. My uncle, on the other hand, is very faint and hovers sometimes at the periphery of my vision,” Amrothos explained.

“And you have spoken to him?” Maglor inquired further.

“Nay, he is mute to the living. Boromir has… spoken… with him at length,” Amrothos replied diplomatically, having heard Boromir berate the old Steward, eloquently and at great length in just that way of which his cousin only was master, on more than one occasion.

The pause at the word ‘spoken’ was noted by those gathered and Amrothos found himself the subject of several raised eyebrows and enquiring looks.

“Boromir had not been aware of the full extent of my uncle’s dealings with Fara over the years. He was not… pleased… by uncle’s… confessions,” the young Swan Knight replied hesitantly. He had heard only Boromir’s part of the ‘discussion’ and that had been bad enough. Poor Fara, to have had such a father!

Denethor had seemed to become even less substantial under Boromir’s glare, Amrothos remembered.

“I do hope that Boromir has made plain to the old fool the grievous wounds he has perpetrated upon his second born, unjustly, some of which may never heal fully,” Maglor said with uncharacteristic venom in his tone.

“Aye. I can say with all honesty that Boromir has conveyed and continues to convey his feelings on that subject, most clearly,” Amrothos responded in an exhale of breath, remembering the extent of Boromir’s anger.

“Good! “For he,” Maglor emphasised looking upon Faramir, his anger very close to the surface, “continues to suffer through the repercussions of Denethor’s… attentions…”

“Do I take it from your previous words to Faramir that Denthor will remain on Arda until Faramir forgives him?” Elrond interjected, studying the young Swan Knight shrewdly.

“Aye. Uncle has asked Boromir to intercede with Fara on his behalf. Boromir has agreed to but not for twenty-five years,” Amrothos replied with a smirk.

“Why twenty-five?” Elrond asked, intrigued.

“What can I say? That is Boromir. He reasoned that uncle treated Fara ill from just after Aunt Findulas died until just before uncle died. By my cousin’s calculation that was a period of twenty-five years,” the Swan Knight explained, the corners of his mouth twitching with humour. “I said he should not pursue the subject of forgiveness for three hundred years,” he added his eyes turning cold as he looked into the distance at the shadowy figure hovering on the periphery of his vision, looking dejected and repentant.

“Sprog!” Imrahil exclaimed, taken aback by his son’s uncharacteristically acrimonious response.

Faramir continued to sleep, his head still resting on his ada’s thigh, until just after midday when he was awakened by Maglor who fussed over his young charge, ensuring that he ate enough food given the distress earlier that was sure to have affected Faramir’s appetite. The Steward spent the rest of the day resting beneath the tree in the company of his extended family listening to the lively chatter, each attempting to keep him from brooding,

Still drained emotionally, Faramir, with Misto in tow, retired to bed early that evening and spent a restless night attempting to assimilate what he had been told about the man who had sired him.

“I thought I would find you brooding, little brother,” Boromir’s quiet statement seemed to shatter the pervading silence of Faramir’s sleeping chamber, startling the young Steward who lay in his bed on his stomach, his posterior still very sore as Maglor had confiscated his stash of numbing salve.

“Father is not with you, is he?” Faramir asked, the pace of his breathing increasing to an alarming rate at the thought.

“Nay, nay, little one. Rest easy,” Boromir soothed, wishing that he could touch his brother, who had always been a tactile little creature, calming best when held in the arms of someone whom he loved. “I will not allow it until you are ready,” he assured.

“Is he sorry, truly?” Faramir asked, the crack in his voice betraying his distress, as he turned on his side to better see his brother.

“Aye, miel-neth nin (my kitten),” Boromir replied, sitting down on the bed next to his little brother.

“Why could he not love me, Brom?” Faramir asked, using his childhood name for Boromir, in such a lost, plaintive voice that Boromir thought his heart would shatter. “What is so lacking in me that he could not love me?”

“You lack nothing, little brother. The ‘lack’ was with our sire,” Boromir responded immediately and firmly. “You are so like mamma. You have her eyes, her willowy frame and her compassion for others,” he added wistfully. “Father loved mamma very much and when she died I think a part of him died as well. He could not look at you for seeing her and feeling anew the pain of her loss. I think he thought that if he closed his heart to you, belittled you, saw nothing but weakness in you, he would somehow feel less pain. He saw in you also his gift for looking into the hearts of men and beasts. Where you seek only the good in others and feel sadness at their flaws, he looked not for the good, nor pitied the flaws but sought only ways of using such knowledge to his advantage.”

“I could never see into father’s heart,” Faramir said, tears flowing down his cheeks unnoticed.

“As father could not see into yours. Neither of you wanted the other to know the truth. He did not want you to know that he loved you and you did not want him to know how much he hurt you. If you could have seen into his heart, little brother, you would have found that love shinning brightly.”

“Then we were both fools,” Faramir sighed.

“Nay, little one. Father was the fool. For if he had been opened his heart to you; you would not have hidden your heart from him. He sees the strength of the love and concern you engender from those around you whose lives you have touched, however briefly and understands what he forfeited through his own callous actions,” Boromir said softly.

“He hurt me…” Faramir said in a hushed whisper, having great difficulty in verbalising the words.

“I know, little brother. I know,” Boromir soothed. “And I wish truly I had known at the time. I am sorry, little one. I let you down.”

“Not your fault, Brom,” Faramir replied distractedly, his mind lost on the tide of memories. “I do not know if I can forgive him,” he added in barely a whisper and after a long pause.

“Nay, nay, little brother, do not think upon it now. There is all the time in Arda for you to address the issue of forgiveness and if it takes that long then so be it,” Boromir said in almost the exact words and tone Amrothos had used but knowing that Faramir was incapable of maintaining a grudge for any length of time.

Overwhelmed by Boromir’s words and thoughts of what might have been, Faramir curled into a ball on his side; his arms wrapped around his pillow.

“He_ hurt_me,” Faramir repeated plaintively and began sobbing quietly.

Boromir ached to hold his little brother, tears flowing down his own cheeks unchecked. The door of Faramir’s chamber opened silently admitting Thranduil who had been listening to the one sided conversation before entering. He had a fair idea of what had been said on the other side. The elven King moved quickly to his human son’s side; sat down upon the bed and pulled the tightly curled and distressed young human into his arms with an ease that fascinated Boromir. Feeling safe in the arms of his ada, Faramir’s sobs, although quiet still, had gained greater volume. Thranduil cradled his distraught son, rocking him until he fell into slumber finally and then continued to hold him into the early hours of the morning.

Faramir awoke in the morning alone, feeling tired and emotionally drained but smiled in the knowledge that his ada had stayed with him most of the night. Yawning widely he greeted his familiar who was still in his web above and entered his wash chamber to throw some cold water on his face in hopes of shocking himself into wakefulness. His sleep fogged mind turned to his schedule for the day causing him to groan and think fleetingly of escaping to Rohan, when he thought about his upcoming session with Mithrandir, who he was sure, would still be in a snit about the ‘incident’ the day before. The Wizard had never given him any quarter when he felt that Faramir had put himself at risk without good reason. After dressing, Faramir made his way to his private dining room where he was due to share the morning meal with his ada, uncle, cousin, Legolas, Gimli and Maglor.

After the morning meal and his meditation session with Elrond, Faramir made his way to the top of the tower where Mithrandir was expecting him. It was as he feared, Mithrandir was indeed still in a snit.

“Shall I just throw myself off the top of this tower now and save us both the time and angst,” Faramir, in his tiredness, verbalised his thought unknowingly.

‘Oh crap’ the young Steward thought ‘did I just say that out loud?’ One look at the thunderous expression on the face of his mentor answered his question. Faramir berated himself silently and a great length, cringing as he watched Mithrandir’s approach.

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