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 42

Faramir’s sobs quieted finally to hitched breaths. Encircled by the strong arms of his ada he fell into a deep sleep eventually, aided by Elrond’s brew, to the sounds of his ada’s lilting voice crooning to him of his how much he deserved love and how much he was loved. Holding on to his precious son, Thranduil pondered anew the set of contradictions that was his human son. A cunning warrior, a natural leader of men, quiet, gentle, compassionate, loved by so many in all walks-of-life, but ever vulnerable to the opinions of those whom he holds in high regard or are in positions of authority and influence over him. The elven King rose to his feet eventually and put his son abed, laying him on his stomach and pulling the covers up over him.

Maglor entered the room accompanied by Misto still carrying his kitten. Thranduil wondered briefly if the kitten was ever going to find it necessary to walk, although it appeared contented enough judging by the loudness of it’s purring. The young spider took one look at his mama and hissed.

“Do not start with me, tithen-pen,” Thranduil chided mildly. “He got exactly what he deserved.”

Grumbling, Misto carried his purring kitten into a corner of the room and began to play with him, using string and a small cloth ball that had been given to him by Arwen but kept several of his eyes on his mama. Thranduil smirked at the incongruous picture. Maglor drew back the blankets that covered Faramir and lifted his nightshirt. He whistled softly at the deep shade of red that covered his charge’s buttocks and thighs and looked at Thranduil, eyebrow raised, before replacing the nightshirt and covers.

“I can say, with all honesty, that on matters pertaining to self-worthiness and preservation of self, he would, without doubt, be the most stubborn being in all of Middle Earth and Valinor, past and present!” Thranduil complained quietly.

“He admitted to his fear finally, I hope?” Maglor asked.

“Aye, he admitted to his fear of not being deserving of love, but only because Boromir was there as well… assisting,” Thranduil replied, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I admit that I was overly harsh with him though. I asked him why he felt that way and he used Denethor’s words…”

“Let me guess. Weak, stupid, emotional, useless, worthless,” Maglor counted off on his fingers angrily. “I hope you are listening you old fool and understand truly what you have wrought on the child that was, unfortunately and through no fault of his, sired by you!” he growled, hoping that the former Steward was present in spirit or that Boromir was and would, hopefully, add his voice in outrage.

“The timing is ill, we march out for Minas Morgul in seven days. I fear the tension between Faramir and the young King of Rohan will make him even more reckless,” Thranduil sighed, grave concern evident in his expression and tone.

“You concentrate on this one and leave me to deal with the King of Rohan,” Maglor replied with what Faramir termed ‘a Mirkwood glint ‘ to the eye, a look that would have had the Steward protecting his behind quite unconsciously.

“Hannon le, mellon-nin,” Thranduil smiled, feeling a pang of sympathy, if only momentarily, for the Rohirrim King.

“Come, tithen-pen,” Maglor called to Misto, leaving Thranduil to sit with Faramir. Misto picked up his kitten and followed the elf happily enough although he did spare a small hiss for Thranduil as he passed. The elven King chuckled shaking his head at the departing spider.

Faramir awoke again just before midday, feeling slightly less delicate head-wise but with a fearful throbbing in his hindquarters. Tentatively, he sent out his awareness. He detected the amused, but thankfully less loud, thoughts of his ada.

“Aur Vaer, ion-nin,” Thranduil teased from his position seated on a chair beside his son’s bed in the same tone and intonation used by Legolas when his brother was in the process of awakening upon the morn or was under-the-weather.

Faramir groaned, grumbling into the pillow beneath his face a reference to the sadistic nature of certain elves of his acquaintance.

“My arse is afire, ada,” he whined into his pillow.

“I am sorry that I was so harsh with you, ion-nin, but I will not have you use the malicious and unjust words of that man who sired you to malign yourself,” Thranduil said leaning forward and pushing back the hair that covered Faramir’s face.

“Even if they are true?” Faramir whispered.

Thranduil took a deep calming breath before opening his mouth to answer when matters were taken out of his hands; somewhat dramatically. The blankets covering him flew off Faramir, seemingly of their own volition, coming to rest at the end of the bed. The young man’s nightshirt gathered at the waist as if an invisible hand was at play, exposing very rosy buttocks, followed in quick order by the unmistakable sound of hand meeting flesh and Faramir’s subsequent yelps of pain.

“Boromir! H-how did you do that!” Faramir yelped in indignation, pain and shock at what he recognised to be definitely a Boromirian wallop and at full strength at that. “And stop bellowing at me!” he snarled, turning onto his side to better protect his vulnerable and much abused posterior.

Thranduil watched the scene unfolding with much amusement and more than a modicum of astonishment. He watched as Faramir flinched as if from a loud sound and then looked sharply towards the door of his sleeping chamber, which was closed. Tentatively, the door opened admitting a reluctant Amrothos who sidled into the room, looking as if he was entering a very large, very dangerous beast’s den. Boromir had found his cousin, chatting with a very pretty young noblewoman, and demanded that he go to Faramir’s room. His ghostly cousin’s expression was very like his brother Elphir’s when on a tear and it did not bode well for Faramir.

“You bellowed, cousin?” he asked, looking beyond the bed at his ghostly cousin.

A strange conversation ensued where Amrothos relayed to Thranduil the words Boromir was bellowing… er… growling… er vocalising.

“We are having it out here and now, little brother!” Boromir growled, causing Faramir’s eyes to widen in astonishment and not a little fear. “You are not weak, nor are you useless, nor are you a burden, nor are you any of the negatives father, in his stupidity and self absorbed grief, called you! You are weak headed at times, I grant. You are very, very, stubborn, I more than grant. You are reckless with your life, I grant but you are not… weak… useless… a fool… nor… a… burden!”

Each point was emphasised by the resounding sound of hand meeting buttocks and Faramir appeared to be struggling to turn over onto his back to avoid the invisible swats even as he yelped in pain. Amrothos also yelped but in shock as he had not, in all his years of seeing ghosts, encountered a ghost that could do what Boromir was doing. His ghostly cousin was swinging his hand with all his might at Faramir’s posterior. The hand did not appear to meet flesh but the sound and his cousin’s pained yelps were unmistakeable. Thranduil’s eyes twinkled at the comical look of abject astonishment bordering on horror that graced the young Swan Knight’s face.

“Will you please cease hitting me!” Faramir whined.

“Father has told me that you bore very harsh punishments by him in silence. That is not the sign of a man who is weak,” Boromir argued.

“My s-silence was due to f-fear of bringing more of f-father’s ire d-down upon m-me,” Faramir retorted, falling into the stuttering that had plagued his speech, especially with Denethor, throughout his childhood and youth, eliciting ever greater scorn and derision from the former Steward.

It was then that Amrothos saw his uncle on the periphery of his vision, looking sad, dejected and with an air of guilt that made him look ancient. The Swan Knight also witnessed the glare of towering rage Boromir sent towards Denethor and how it made his uncle seemingly wilt even more and become even less substantial, as he continued to relay to Thranduil what Boromir was saying.

“No sane man is fearless, little brother,” Boromir replied, his expression turning melancholy. “A weak man would not have borne what you have borne over the years. You saved my bacon on any number of occasions including when we reclaimed Osgiliath, for Eru’s sake!”

“And according to f-father, I-I w-was the o-one who l-lost O-Osgiliath,” Faramir countered.

Another sound of hand meeting flesh was followed by another yelp from Faramir.

“Balderdash! Father lost Osgiliath by not supplying you and your Rangers with the food and equipment that would have enabled you to defend the city! Aye, little one, something else father has confessed to me,” Boromir added at Faramir’s startled look for he had never told Boromir of the promised stores that never reached Amon Hen.

“H-he said I was a b-burden on you,” Faramir stuttered again.

Boromir felt his heart shatter anew at the reappearance of his brother’s stutter, indicating the depth of the hurt that he carried within him.

“I know, Fara. You have never been a burden, little brother. You are my pride and joy. You are the only reason that I was able to keep fighting…”

“A-and I-I am the r-reason you are… as y-you are,” Faramir finished lamely, alluding to his brother’s deceased state.

“You are not responsible!” Boromir bellowed, causing Amrothos to cringe and Thranduil to raise an elven eyebrow at the young man’s reaction.

“I-if f-father had t-trusted m-me, it i-is I who w-would have g-gone to R-Rivendell,” Faramir said, his embarrassment over his stutter showing.

“Bunkum, Fara! Regardless of what father ordered, I would have forbidden you to go on the quest, and I would not have been gainsaid on the matter. So get thoughts of responsibility out of that very stubborn head of yours!”

“Nay, it was my fault… owwwwwwch, Boromir!” Faramir yelped as he again felt the full force of his brother’s right hand on his bottom.

“You… are… _not_… listening, Fara!” Boromir yelled, exasperated. Each word was followed by the sound of a slap and a yelp from Faramir.

“I am listening, I am,” Faramir yelped.

“Not with your heart, little brother,” Boromir contradicted, his expression softening. “I know that father hurt you deeply, Fara. He was wrong and is very sorry for what he did to you. Will you try to listen with your heart, miel neth nin? For me.”

Faramir’s eyes welled with tears but they did not fall. Regaining his composure, he nodded his head in affirmation that he would try.

“Aye, for you,” Faramir whispered and then gasped when he felt Boromir’s hand slide down his cheek in an age-old gesture of affection. “What is happening to you, Brom?” Faramir asked tears welling again and then overflowing.

“I do not know, miel neth, just that I yet have a part to play and a more active one than I had envisaged it seems. I will leave you for a while to think on what I have said,” he added before turning and exiting the room through the wall of stone.

Faramir held his hand out to Thranduil in a silent plea for much needed comfort from his ada. Within a heartbeat, Thranduil sat beside his son on the bed and embraced him. Faramir sighed, relaxing into the safe, strong arms of his ada. Looking up he gave his ada a tremulous, watery, smile, eliciting a brilliant smile from the elf in return.

“The coast is clear, you can enter,” Thranduil chuckled having been aware for some time that his Seneschal and elfling were eavesdropping on the other side of the door.

Legolas entered the room first, looking a little sheepish, followed by Maglor who looked not at all sheepish as he carried a tray of food and drink for his young charge. Faramir took one look at the amount of food and sighed. He was definitely not hungry.

“Were my ears deceiving me or did Boromir actually spank Faramir?” Legolas asked Amrothos tentatively, causing Faramir to blush furiously at the ‘s’ word and turn his head towards his ada’s chest to hide his embarrassment.

“Aye, that he did indeed,” Amrothos replied in the vague preoccupied way a person does when still within the grip of a severe shock.

“Is that normal for a ghost?” Legolas questioned.

“Nay, not such in my experience, but then my cousin was an atypical man, so why should I think he would be a typical ghost?” Amrothos reasoned in the same preoccupied manner.

Faramir groaned again at his cousin’s words, eliciting another chuckle from Thranduil.

After Faramir had eaten enough to satisfy Maglor, bathed and dressed, Amrothos, on Boromir’s orders, suggested a visit to the orphanage, as they would be leaving the city soon and should check that all would be well in the absence of the orphanage’s patron. Faramir eyed his cousin suspiciously, receiving a bland expression in return, but acquiesced to the request.

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