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 35

“You, my young wizardling, I suggest gain control over that acerbic mouth of yours,” Gandalf growled, wagging a finger at Faramir. “I do not think you want to undergo another chastisement prior to what I promise will be a very gruelling training session.”

The wizard’s expression turned to one that was decidedly predatory. Faramir groaned, feeling unaccountably like a mouse that had fallen prey to an overfed, arrogant, spiteful, nasty tempered, ornery, old, wizard’s cat. Gandalf began the session by ordering Faramir to levitate heavy stone benches that dotted the courtyard on top of the tower and moving them from one end of the courtyard to the other. The task was made manifestly more difficult as Gandalf exerted his own will on the benches in order to keep them in place. The tug-of-war continued for what seemed like forever to the panting, sweating wizardling. His legs feeling like water, Faramir sank to his knees eventually, panting heavily. Unfortunately for the young human, this was only the beginning. Gandalf meant to push his wizardling to his very limits and possibly over.

“Up, up, I say! We have only just begun!” the wizard ordered perfunctorily. “I want you to create an illusion good enough to fool the enemy.”

Faramir groaned but managed to get back onto his feet, albeit on rebellious, shaking legs. The first illusion that he created was one of a warg. Gandalf complained that it looked more like a mangy dog upon which the wizardling, his temper on the rise, gave the warg an exceptionally accurate rendition of the face of a certain wizard. Said wizard used his staff on his wizardling’s posterior, thusly registering his annoyance effectively. Growling, Faramir created the illusion of a dragon, excellently proportioned and menacing looking. Gandalf however, criticised the illusion and forced Faramir to make what seemed to be many pointless changes to the illusion. Gandalf also criticised his wizardling’s dedication to the training and his focus to the point where Faramir’s face flushed furiously.

Without allowing the exhausted young human a break, Gandalf ordered Faramir to create a whirlwind. Barely able to stand upright, angrier than he had been in a very long time and harbouring the desire to throw the harping old buzzard off the tower, Faramir tried to create the whirlwind. Needless to say the attempt resulted in little more than a ‘willy-willy’² and a veritable barrage of criticism from the wizard. Gandalf complained about the human’s lack of focus, his dedication and his abilities. Faramir’s rage reached critical point and he snapped. His hair began to stand on end and tiny blue lightning bolts crackled around his body.

Drawing energy from around him, Faramir created not a small whirlwind but a fully fledged tornado, complete with dark clouds and bolts of lightening shooting out from its core and hitting the ground around him and at times, alarmingly close to Gandalf. The impressive tornado hovered in the air above the angry, maniacal looking wizardling. As Faramir’s temper increased the tornado gained in both power and size, threatening to dislodge everything on top of the tower. Pebbles and leaves swirled around the courtyard and the heavy stone benches quivered. Gandalf’s robes billowed around him and the old wizard had to lean into the wind to retain his footing. Faramir seemed to be unaffected by the tempest around him as if he was the eye of the storm.

“Alright, young one, you can stop now!” Gandalf yelled over the noise of the wind but Faramir did not appear to be listening.

Still gaining in strength and size, the tornado threatened to touch down and sweep everything from the top of the tower.

“Cease and desist now!” Gandalf bellowed, deciding not to use his own powers on the tornado as yet.

Faramir’s anger spiked again. The resultant claps of thunder and bolts of lightening made Gandalf look skyward and wince at the sheer ferocity of the tornado hovering menacingly above. The effort of controlling the tornado resulted in Faramir’s mental shields dropping suddenly. With his shields gone he felt the thoughts of others, all of whom seemed to be very close. All were concerned for him and for the people in the city below should the tornado be loosed upon the city. Further a-field he could sense the panicked thoughts of citizens in the lower levels of the city as they watched the hovering tornado in horror.

With a supreme effort, Faramir regained control over his anger, swaying on his feet and breathing heavily with the effort. Ever so slowly the tornado dissipated until all that was left was a panting, crackling wizardling, who sank to his knees and then onto all fours, his legs no longer able to support him.

“Good, boy! Well done!” Gandalf praised, his expression rueful having realised just how close they had came to disaster.

Faramir felt the urge to bark like a dog. ‘Good boy indeed’, he thought. ‘So help me if the old crow goes to pet my hair, his ankle is fair game for my teeth!’

Still panting heavily, Faramir looked up at his mentor blankly for several long moments before the meaning behind the words registered.

“You… did that… on… purpose!” he panted indignantly. “How… could you… do that… to… me!” he snapped out in gasps, straightening and sitting back on his heels, placing his hands on his thighs and breathing heavily.

“I needed to know if you could maintain control even when your temper was tested sorely,” Gandalf explained.

“You…you…” Faramir growled but could not continue as he was at a complete loss for words.

“I suggest the next time you wish to test such a theory, Gandalf,” Aragorn chided as he walked out from the shadows and approached the wizards, “you do so away from Minas Tirith… far away from the city,” he added awed by the sheer power of what he had just witnessed.

“I second that motion, pen-neth” Thranduil added as he too walked out from the shadows accompanied by Elrond, Imrahil and Maglor, with Misto following the Seneschal.

“I cannot believe… you did that to me!” Faramir found words enough to complain again, still crackling faintly.

“I am proud of you, my boy,” Gandalf praised, ignoring his wizardling’s ill-tempered retorts. “Not only were you able to control your temper but you have also not exhausted all your strength.”

“When I regain enough feeling in my limbs to move, you old crebain, we will see if I have enough strength to throw you off this tower and see how well you fly,” Faramir muttered softly but loudly enough to be heard by the elves and Imrahil, eliciting smirks and chuckles.

“Now, now, little brother. That is no way to speak about the old reprobate,” Boromir chortled as he approached his brother.

“And where, pray tell, were you, you dunderhead! And why did you not warn me!” Faramir snapped at his brother.

“I was elsewhere engaged if you must know, Fara,” Boromir replied vaguely. “I arrived in time to see you gain control over that temper of yours. Well done, little brother!” he added knowing the praise would not be well received and he was right.

“Elsewhere engaged! I know just where you would have been ‘elsewhere engaged’, brother!” Faramir retorted with a knowing look that caused Boromir to blush faintly.

“Well, he is the descendent of my sire, foxling,” Imrahil chuckled discerning what Boromir had said from Faramir’s snarly reply.

“You all knew!” Faramir exclaimed comprehending suddenly, feeling somewhat betrayed, the faint crackling around his body growing in intensity again as he looked from one to another, each expression betraying their complicity.

“Aye, we did, ion-nin,” Thranduil responded in a soothing manner, crouching down beside his annoyed son. “We advised Mithrandir against doing so but he chose to ignore the advice,” he added, staring at the wizard intently who in turn looked discomfited and not a little, sheepish.

Anger spiking again, Faramir pointed a finger at Gandalf’s feet. A tiny bolt of blue energy hit the wizard’s feet causing him to yelp in surprise as much as in pain and jump backwards.

“FARAMIR THRANDUILION!” the wizard bellowed.

Faramir heard Boromir fair howling with laughter.

“It is no less than you deserve, mellon-nin, for what you did to the child.” Elrond cautioned the wizard.

“Come, foxling,” Imrahil said, holding a hand out to his nephew.

Faramir grabbed the proffered hand and was hauled to his feet. Imrahil held him until he was sure that his nephew could stand unaided.

“I think food, one of Elrond’s potions and a nap are in order, ion-nin,” Thranduil said as he stood, looking at his bedraggled son.

“The nest has been prepared,” Maglor added with a faint smirk at the long suffering look he received from his young charge.

Misto cackled, having comprehended the humour, garnering looks of astonishment from all gathered.

“He is growing up, ion-nin,” Thranduil laughed.

Faramir ate what was given to him by Maglor with little complaint, causing the elf to look at him with concern and feel his brow for fever, eliciting a glare from his young charge, drank Elrond’s potion and fell to sleep almost immediately beneath the tree in his mother’s garden. Misto, as ever, was in his web above. Thranduil sat beside his slumbering son and passed the afternoon pleasantly in the company of Elrond, Imrahil, Maglor and Aragorn. Just before Faramir awoke, the elves, Aragorn and Imrahil were joined by Legolas, Arwen and Gimli, all of who wanted to know about the tornado, which was the talk of the palace and the city beyond. Aragorn explained all that had happened on the tower to a rapt audience.

“Ye do not say! The laddie did that to the wizard and lives still?” Gimli asked in astonishment.

Legolas’ eyes were as big as saucers as he looked down upon his sleeping brother.

Faramir began to stir and awoke slowly; yawning widely and stretching like a cat, eliciting smiles from those gathered.

“Good sleep?” Thranduil asked.

Faramir made a mewling sound in the affirmative before opening his eyes and starting slightly at the number of his friends and relatives that were present.

Before embarrassment could register, a very strange sight distracted Faramir’s attention. Two guards were escorting a man between them. The identity of the man could not be discerned as he was covered from head to toe in mud. Faramir could see Boromir walking beside them, chortling merrily. It was not until the strange party was almost upon them that both Imrahil and Faramir recognised the woebegone young man.

“Sprog?” they both asked as one, Faramir rising to a sitting position.

“Sorry to disturb you, your majesty,” one of the dutiful guards informed Aragorn as they came to a halt in front of the bemused King. “This man says that he is a prince of Dol Amroth, but we could not be sure so we escorted him here,” he added, both guards looking as if they were having great difficulty in keeping their expressions neutral.

The guards were not the only ones having difficulty in keeping straight faces. Elrond’s eyebrow looked as if it was about to take flight, Thranduil and Legolas’ shoulders were shaking with suppressed mirth, Arwen had a fit of the giggles she was attempting to hide behind a raised hand, Gimli kept trying to hide his chortles behind a series of coughs and the other’s just looked upon the scene with eyes widened in astonishment.

“As much as I am loath to admit it, this is indeed my son, Prince Amrothos of Dol Amroth,” Prince Imrahil sighed.

“We will leave him in your care then, your highness,” the same guard said turning on his heels when he received a nod from the King. The other guard followed suit. Chortles could be heard from the guards as they left in haste.

“What on Arda happened to you, cousin?” Faramir asked; his eyes alight with mirth.

“They have absolutely_ no shame_” Amrothos said as he pulled at muddy clothing that was sticking to places he would rather be left alone.

“Who, sprog?” Imrahil asked, suspecting the answer.

“Those twin fu… libbertigibbets,” the young Swan Knight amended quickly on seeing the Queen sitting next to the King and the look of warning on his father’s face.

Elrond sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, shaking his head. Aragorn and Arwen looked askance at their ada and both winced.

“What did they do, sprog?” Faramir asked, intrigued.

“They saw a weakness and exploited it to its fullest extent,” Amrothos growled, annoyed with himself as much as with the twins.

“The only real weakness you have, cousin, which applies to most of the Knights of Dol Amroth, involves a damsel in dis… “ Faramir began before bursting forth into such musical laughter at the look of utter disgust on his cousin’s face, evident even through the layer of mud, confirming his suspicions, that the others, with the exception of Amrothos, could not help but smile. “You mean to tell me they… say it is not true…” he asked in gasped breaths between bouts of laughter.

“One of them most certainly did!” Amrothos exclaimed indignantly. “And will you stop that hyena impersonation, cousin,” the last annoyed comment was aimed at Boromir who was laughing so hard that tears were streaming down his ghostly face. Imrahil shook his head, chuckling at both his mud-encrusted son and Faramir, the latter of which was laughing so hard that he was wheezing.

“Will someone please enlighten the rest of us?” Aragorn asked, bemused.

“I will, sire, as soon as I have, with your permission, divested myself of this mucilage before it dries and I have to use chisel and hammer to remove it and I have found what is left of my dignity, which is somewhere between here and the third level, possibly never to be seen or heard from again,” Amrothos said in his normal conversational tone that sent Arwen into another fit of the giggles.

At a nod from Aragorn, back ramrod straight, Amrothos turned smartly on his heel and marched towards the palace, pulling occasionally at the clinging clothing, leaving both his cousins and father in hysterics.

[2] Small Aussie twister known for lifting clay tiles from roofs.

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