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 36

Both Elrond and Thranduil looked intently at Maglor, eyebrows raised; the elven King’s eyes twinkling with mirth. Maglor sighed, returning a look that said quite distinctly ‘how, pray tell, can I be in two places at once’? It was obvious to the elder elves that Faramir remained Maglor’s primary focus and given what Gandalf had put his wizardling through that morning and the potential consequences of the old Wizard’s certain lack of forbearance with his mercurial but very powerful young pupil; it was the wiser decision.

“I knew the twins were plotting devilment but I did not expect them to act upon it so quickly, especially considering this morning’s distractions,” Maglor replied somewhat peevishly to the unasked question; alluding to Faramir’s temper, the consequence of which would have been seen by most, if not all of the inhabitants in the city below and could easily have proved catastrophic.

The Seneschal fully intended to confront the irascible old wizard and deliver a severe reprimand for playing with fire without due care. He suspected that both Thranduil and Elrond would also be voicing their displeasure.

“Do you know what they were planning?” Aragorn asked.

“Aye,” Maglor responded succinctly.

“Do you perchance wish to enlighten us, mellon-nin?” Thranduil asked, already knowing the answer.

“Nay,” Maglor answered, his expression bland.

“Imrahil is right, mellon-nin,” Elrond admonished mildly, humour just beneath the surface. “You are positively evil at times. You had no intention of stopping the ‘duo horribus’, did you?”

“Nay, I did not. Just to ensure that they were not… over… exuberant… in enacting their retribution against the fox cubs and accomplices,” Maglor replied, looking at Faramir who blushed guiltily and at Gimli and Legolas who both averted their eyes at the same time they attempted to look innocent. “You know as well as I do that if I had stopped the twins, their frustration level would have increased to such a level that they became positive pests. This way they are kept relatively quiet and out of our collective hair,” he added on seeing both Elrond and Thranduil shake their heads.

“I do not think sprog would agree with your ‘not overly exuberant’ assertion,” Imrahil chuckled.

“Did_ you_see what happened, Brom?” Faramir asked his ghostly brother who was still chortling to himself periodically as he sat upon the ground near his brother.

“Oh, aye!” he laughed.

“Well?” Faramir prompted.

“I do not wish to pre-empt the telling. Just sufficit to say that our cousin the Swan Knight, took a swan dive,” Boromir laughed merrily.

“Well?” Legolas asked, his curiosity feeling like an itch.

“The stopout will not say,” Faramir harrumphed. “We will just have to await sprog’s return,” he sighed.

Amrothos did return eventually, looking very much cleaner but no less embarrassed. He sat down beside his father where he sat upon one of the numerous stone benches near Faramir’s tree. The young Swan Knight flushed even more, if that was possible, under the intense regard of four elves, a she-elf, three humans and a dwarf.

“All right, sprog, confess,” Faramir said, eyes alight with humour. “Just how did you get ‘got’ by the ‘duo horribus’.”

Boromir sniggered.

“Why did you not warn me, cousin?” Amrothos asked, affronted.

“How many times have I, or Fara for that matter, brought to your attention this weakness possessed by most, if not all, of the ‘ever chivalrous’ younger Swan Knights of Dol Amroth, involving the disconcerting habit of mind’s disengaging when confronted by the sight of a damsel in distress?” Boromir asked in reply.

“I suppose you would let young maidens fall to their doom,” the Swan Knight retorted petulantly.

“Nay, not necessarily so,” Boromir answered slowly, seemingly to give the observation due consideration, “but I would hope that my mind stayed engaged enough to notice if there seemed to be anything strange regarding the maiden’s circumstances and about the young_ maiden_specifically,” he admonished, emphasising the word maiden.

Amrothos blushed spectacularly again at his cousin’s words, feeling very sheepish by his lapse considering that he was touted as being nearly as devious as his Minas Tirith cousin and his grandfather. Imrahil also looked uncomfortable, as he was well aware of this habit in the young men of his city. He, himself, had fallen victim to the same malaise when he was a young Knight, much to his sire’s amusement at the time. Small consolation to the Prince was the fact that most outgrew the tendency.

“Do not keep us in the dark, laddie,” Gimli remonstrated; wanting to know what Boromir had said to create such a deep scarlet blush that graced the young human’s face.

“You could at least have given me a hint, Boromir,” the Swan Knight said in an aggrieved tone.

“Which, with your mind disengaged as it was, would have gone in one ear and out the other,” Boromir admonished mildly. “Sometimes the only way to learn is to be dropped into the thick of it,” he added smiling from ear to ear.

Amrothos groaned at the memory of how ‘thick’ it was.

Faramir explained what Boromir had said to an impatient dwarf and interested audience, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Well, laddie! Do not keep us in suspense! Out with it!” Gimli prompted again, displaying the normal measure, or lack thereof, of dwarvish patience.

“Oh, all right,” the Swan Knight sighed. “It all began after the morning meal when I decided to go to the commercial district…”

At he conclusion of the morning meal which he had shared with his father, his cousin and his cousin’s family, Amrothos meandered down to the commercial district on the second level of the city in search of a present for his younger sister Lothiriel’s looming birthday. He knew that if he did not purchase and send the gift soon, it would not reach Dol Amroth before the event, the consequence of which would be unpleasant. Whilst his sister, renowned for both her beauty and wit, was generally sweet of nature, when she felt slighted, her tongue, aided by that renowned wit, could tear strips off the hide of oliphant. He pitied secretly the man that was destined to choose her for a wife for his hide would indeed have to be very thick and his ego impervious to the waspish tongue of an intelligent woman vexed. He wondered briefly where they could hope to find such an oaf.

Amrothos arrived finally at the market square where, unbeknownst to the young Swan Knight, a certain elf had had, over twelve months prior, an altercation with a Gondorian nobleman of limited sense or reason involving a wasp’s nest and a very angry wizard. Going from stall to stall in the market square, examining the various wares on display; clothing, jewellery, perfumes and suchlike, he settled on a pair of golden combs of what looked like elven design and make judging by the intricate filigree and placement of semi precious stones. The combs, he felt, would look stunning in his sister’s long dark hair. Happy with his purchase he walked over to the alehouse that sat opposite the square to have a much-earned ale.

Halfway through drinking the ale he noticed that people were looking up towards the palace with expressions of consternation and… fear. Jumping to his feet quickly he looked up towards the palace and saw a mighty tornado, twisting ferociously, surrounded by clouds and with bolts of lightning shooting out from its core. It took but a few moments for Amrothos to discern correctly the tornado’s origin, his wizard cousin’s impressive temper. The young Swan Knight made for the palace in haste to determine if his assumption was correct and to see if there was anything he could do.

It was whilst he was progressing through the third level of the city up towards the palace, his thoughts concentrated on his cousin, that he heard high-pitched cries for assistance. Seeing no other citizens in the vicinity he ran towards the cries. What he saw made his heart leap into his mouth. A dark-haired elf clothed in a dress he recognised as belonging to the queen, was dangling high off the ground over a large vat. The elf was hanging on desperately to an overhanging hoist, affixed to the wall of a warehouse, used for putting material in and taking material out of the vat.

Without hesitation or for that matter, thought, Amrothos climbed up some boxes that were stacked along the wall of the warehouse and onto the hoist. He saw then that the vat was filled with mud for making bricks needed for the continuing work on restoration of the city. With an agility that was almost elven, he heaved himself up onto the top of the hoist, which was a large wooden beam, walked to the end of the beam and bent over so that he could grab Arwen’s hand. The dark-haired elf looked up at him and smirked evilly. Amrothos had but a moment to register that it was not Arwen and that he had fallen into a trap when he was pushed from behind and went headfirst towards the vat of mud. He did manage though to grab onto the dress the elf was wearing, but alas, it tore and he fell into the thick, oozing and slimy mud.

By the conclusion of the story, Faramir was rolling around on the ground and laughing so hard that he had to hold his ribs to stop them from hurting so much. Boromir, also laughing heartily, looked upon his brother fondly, delighting, as he always did, in his brother’s beautiful, musical laughter. Gimli, Legolas and Aragorn were also laughing hard. Arwen was a little more subdued in her laughter out of consideration of the young Knight’s ‘put-upon’ expression and obvious embarrassment. The elder elves were smiling broadly, Thranduil’s eyes twinkling and Elrond’s a little rueful at sons’ antics. Imrahil also laughed but softened the sting by embracing his brightly blushing youngest son. Although embarrassed beyond measure, Amrothos could not help delighting in Faramir’s laughter even if it was at his expense. From the corner of his eye he could see Denethor looking wanly upon the scene. He also saw Boromir looking at his father with sympathy in his eyes before they returned to Faramir and sparkled.

The laughter abated… eventually. Men, elves and dwarf wiped tears of mirth from their eyes. Faramir caught sight of the twins in the distance. Lowering his mental shields he scanned for the twins’ thoughts, sensing their smugness. The fact that he was able to sense them surprised him, as he was not able to sense their thoughts usually, which he had always supposed resulted from practice over the millennia in hiding their misdeeds from their ada.

Sitting up and keeping his mental shields lowered, Faramir caught his cousin’s eye. Amrothos looked perplexed for a moment by the look of unfettered mischief that graced Faramir’s features. The same look that in the past had his older brother Elphir and Boromir yelling for someone to ‘batten down the hatches’ and yelling ‘thar she blows’ when the object of the mischievous expression had been ‘got’ eventually by his cousin.

“What dress was the twin wearing?” Faramir asked in an innocent, innocuous tone, sensing both his cousin’s momentary confusion at the question and the twins’ discomfiture, their keen elven hearing having allowed them to hear the question.

As a true descendent of the old fox, Adrahil, Amrothos discerned Faramir’s intent a few moments later.

“Alas, it was that lovely blue gown worn by the Queen at the feast held for my fellow Knights. The one that was commented upon so favourably by the women at the table that evening,” Amrothos replied with just the right amount of innocence and regret.

Faramir felt a spike of terror emanating from the twins.

“Aieeeeee!” Arwen shrieked, setting eyes upon her brothers. With the speed only an elf could manage, Arwen jumped to her feet staying only long enough to grab ‘Faramir’s Bane’ from Maglor who had produced it from thin air as usual, before chasing after the twins, wielding the paddle aloft like an elven warrior and shrieking in elvish like a banshee, which surprised the humans, with the exception of Aragorn, and the dwarf. The elder elves just shook their heads at the twins’ stupidity in purloining from their sister. Legolas smirked.

“You are dead meat!!…”

“… Faramir Thranduilion!!…”

“… Do you hear us!!…”

“… Dead meat!!” the twins yelled, glaring at Faramir before turning tail and bolting from the elven warrior who was bearing down upon them with astonishing speed.

Thranduil looked askance at his Seneschal, wondering, yet again, where he managed to hide the paddle upon his person.

“You are evil, muindor tithen,” Legolas laughed, impressed, as always, by his brother’s deviousness and quick wit. “Very good… but evil.”

Just then, cackling could be heard coming from above. Misto, who had remained silent in the tree above content to watch the show, found the entire ‘goings on’ very funny.

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