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 45

“Aye, well…” Erchirion began rather sheepishly before clearing his throat, a blush showing through his seaman’s tan. “I have been banished from Dol Amroth… temporarily,” he finished in a quiet rush, wincing as he did so, knowing what the reaction would be from his father.

“Whatever have you done?” Imrahil asked his expression one of stunned concern.

“I should change out of these travelling clothes and settle the troops that accompanied me…” the Swan Knight said hoping to escape all the eyes that were fixed upon him currently.

“Oh no, my son. Not until you have told me why you were banished from Dol Amroth by your brother,” Imrahil interjected.

“Come sit at the table, Chiri, so that we can at least ply you with wine to make the telling easier,” Faramir said, using his cousin’s pet name and sensing quite the tale behind his normally unflappable cousin’s blush, as he pulled the man to the seat that his ada had vacated.

The Prince was settled and poured a very large goblet of wine by Faramir, who stood beside him. The King asked for the dancing to resume but forwent dancing himself as his curiosity, not to mention that of Arwen, had been aroused. Aragorn sat down on one side of the Knight next to where Faramir stood and Arwen on the other, next to where Amrothos stood, increasing the poor Prince’s embarrassment tenfold. Even Éomer moved to stand within hearing distance, near Gandalf, as eager as the others to hear the Prince’s explanation. With such keen hearing the elves stayed where they were seated.

“Well?” Imrahil prompted as he stood on the other side of the table in front of his son.

“I… I… ah…” Erchirion said clearing this throat again as he tried unsuccessfully to find a diplomatic way of saying what he had to say. How he wished he had his cousin’s gift for words.

“Just spit it out, child,” Imrahil chided gently.

“I… sort of… sank his ship,” Erchirion confessed eventually, wincing and taking several gulps of wine.

“You did what!” both Imrahil and Amrothos exclaimed.

“He loved that old bucket.” Amrothos added, causing his brother to wince again and take another gulp of wine. “And what do you mean sort of? Is that not like a woman saying she is sort of with child?” he asked, eliciting a small involuntary giggle from the Queen, a frown from his father and assorted snorts and chuckles from those within hearing distance.

“You sank the Black Swan and you live still? How?” Faramir asked, his eyes wide, knowing what Elphir’s reaction would have been; very similar, if not identical, to what Boromir’s would have been under similar circumstances.

“I stayed out of arm’s reach,” the Prince replied immediately, taking another gulp of wine remembering his brother’s murderous expression at the time. “Actually, I stayed out of sword’s reach also, and I was never so thankful in the knowledge that he is not so skilled with bow and arrow as you, Fara,” he added upon a moment’s reflection.

Faramir and Amrothos could hear Boroimr’s hearty laughter coming from the rafters above.

“Nay, nay, you dunce!” Faramir chuckled affectionately; hitting the back of his cousin’s head, eliciting more snorts and chuckles from the audience. “How, pray tell, did you sink Elphir’s much beloved, if barely seaworthy, Black Swan?”

“It is no laughing matter, Fara!” Erchirion complained. “He was so angry. The vein in his temple was throbbing, you know, like Boromir’s would when he too was murderously angry. Where did that come from, father? I do not remember ever seeing such a thing in other family members, not even grandfather when he was very angry,” he rambled, remembering vividly his brother’s rather protracted anger.

Any who had known Boromir knew exactly to what the Prince was referring. Legolas, Aragorn, Gandalf and Gimli all remembered such instances on the quest when the vein on Boromir’s temple stood out and appeared to be throbbing. The hobbits – even Pippin – learned very quickly to give the Gondorian a wide berth when that throbbing vein in his temple was evident.

“That was from your great grandfather Angelimar, child, and your grandfather was very well acquainted with the phenomenon, having been the cause of its appearance so often,” Imrahil replied, causing the elder elves to chuckle in remembrance. “Now, back to the issue of concern. How did you sink your brother’s ship?” he asked.

“It was as you said, father. I was chasing down pirates in the Bay of Belfalas. I received intelligence that a Corsair ship had been met by orcs in South Gondor, near the Isle of Tolfalas, and had yet to set sail for Umbar. I knew that Saruman had been in contact with the Corsair’s and thought to lure the ship into a trap to see what information I could discern. So I set a decoy,” Erchirion said as he made a grab for the goblet of wine again.

“And you used your brother’s ship,” Imrahil surmised, removing the goblet of wine from his son’s reach.

“That ship should have been decommissioned years ago, father,” the Prince complained. “It was barely suitable for training cadets in calm seas. Besides which, it was the closest ship available – as it had been moored in the bay of an isle near Tolfalas by the Master of cadets because the seas had turned from calm to mildly choppy – that could fool the Corsair’s into believing that it was indeed in trouble and easy pickings.”

“Did the decoy work?” Aragorn asked.

“Aye, it did, Sire,” Erchirion replied, feeling light-headed from consuming so much wine so quickly.

“How, then, did you sink the ship?” Amrothos asked perplexed.

“By the time we had removed the cadets and sailed the Black Swan to a suitable location, leaving a few experienced hands and over forty soldiers hidden on board and then ordering the rest of the fleet to hide behind the nearest island, the seas had turned rough. I never expected the idiots to ram the ship. I mean, it was dangerously low in the water as it was. It was nothing short of a miracle that we stayed afloat long enough for us to board the pirate vessel and for the rest of our ships to make their presence known,” the Prince explained, feeling more light-headed and so did not notice his father’s thunderous expression. Amrothos and Faramir; however, noted the familiar expression and both winced.

“You remained on the Black Swan and then boarded the pirate vessel?” Imrahil asked incredulously. “It is little wonder that the vein in your brother’s temple was throbbing.”

“Nay, father,” the seafaring Prince countered in wine induced innocence. “I did not tell him that part. He was angry enough as it was.”

The young man’s expression paled when he realised finally, to what he had just admitted and to whom. Seeing his cousin pale in realisation, Faramir grabbed the goblet of wine and foisted it into his cousin’s hand. Immediately, the young man threw back the rest of the contents of the goblet. Imrahil glared at his nephew who did not appear the least bit contrite.

“We will discuss that part, in detail, later, son,” Imrahil promised in a dangerously quiet tone.

“Aye, father,” Erchirion replied with the air of a man just condemned.

“Was there information of value on the ship?” Aragorn asked, his expression sympathetic.

“Aye, but I think we should discuss that in private later, Sire,” he responded.

“I suggest you go see to the troops, son,” Imrahil commanded.

“Come, Chiri,” Faramir sighed, assisting his tipsy cousin to stand and dragging him from the hall, followed by Amrothos, Misto and kitten, but not before Imrahil embraced his second born, eliciting a small, sheepish smile from his son.

Prince Imrahil walked back to his seat, sat down heavily and let out an exasperated whoosh of breath, thinking on what could have been.

“I must admit, mellon-nin, your collective brood is vastly entertaining,” Thranduil laughed, eliciting a wry look from the Prince of Dol Amroth.

“They are certainly causing me to re-evaluate the ‘trio horribus’,” Elrond said, causing the trio concerned to blush. “Was there ever a time when they were all together including Faramir and Boromir?” he asked out of curiosity.

“Many times in their youth and a few times in their adulthood,” Imrahil replied.

“I assume they got into much mischief?” Elrond asked, already knowing the answer.

“You have no idea,” Imrahil groaned as some of the memories surfaced briefly.

“However did you survive, mellon-nin?” Thranduil asked.

“There were a few times when I was not certain I had in mind and many more times I felt sure my right arm would give out,” Imrahil replied, earnestly.

“How did your daughter, Lothiriel, fare?” Arwen asked, knowing something of her through Amrothos.

“With five doting older brothers and cousins to boss around, my youngest was in her element,” Imrahil replied affectionately.

Arwen suspected that they were not the only ones to dote on the Princess.

“I have never met her, nor seen a likeness of her. Do you perchance carry one?” Arwen asked innocently.

The three elder elves looked at her intently recognising the ‘innocent’ tone; Arwen Undomiel was scheming.

“Aye, I do, most certainly,” Imrahil replied, pulling a thin silver case of what appeared to be elven design and about the size of his hand from a pocket in his outer robe.

Imrahil opened the case to reveal on one side a painted portrait of his four children, and on the other, a portrait of Boromir and Faramir.

“She is very beautiful indeed,” Arwen said in genuine admiration for the girl was indeed stunning to look upon, with long wavy raven black hair and beautiful grey-blue coloured eyes. “What think you Éomer?” she said, passing the portrait to the Rohirrim.

Éomer looked upon the portrait and seemed transfixed for several long moments before he replied, his face flushed.

“Princess Lothiriel is indeed very beautiful.”

The Rohirrim did not see the small smirk tugging at the corners of the Queen’s mouth. Elrond did however and rolled his eyes. Éomer parted with the portrait seemingly a little reluctantly, handing it back to Imrahil.

“Aye, she resembles her mother,” Imrahil replied wistfully, his expression turning sombre at the thought of his beloved wife who had died not three years prior of a wasting disease. How he had loved her and was ever thankful that a part of her lived on through their wonderful children.

Faramir, Amrothos and Erchirion returned to the Great Hall eventually. Misto had taken his kitten and retired to his web. Erchirion looked much refreshed, having bathed and changed into more formal attire after he had seen to arrangements for the newly arrived detachments from Dol Amroth to be billeted. Faramir noted that Lord Dragor had disappeared, indicating that the man did possess a smidgen of commonsense.

The feast concluded not long after their arrival. Aragorn invited his family and friends back to his private drawing room, where they settled in chairs and lounges arranged around a large fireplace.

“Now tell us, mellon-nin. What have you discovered?” Aragorn asked Erchirion.

“As you are aware already, a way has been found by the Haradrim and Orcs through Ephel Duath (Mts of Shadow). What you may yet be unaware of is that Saruman has amassed an army of some twenty thousand, consisting of Orcs, Haradrim and Easterlings and lay in wait near the pass that leads to Minas Morgul,” the Prince responded, looking at Aragorn to see if it was indeed news to the King.

“It is more than we hoped but not outside the realm of our planning,” Aragorn sighed; thinking the loss of life was likely to be so much greater than they hoped.

“On board the Corsair ship was a missive from the leader of the Corsair’s to Saruman,” Erchirion began, a familiar predatory glint to his eyes. “The missive indicated that the requested supplies would be shipped within the month, with further shipments to be made. We know what supplies are being gathered, when and how they will be shipped and the destination point. There is only one river that is suitable for ships bearing so much cargo…”

“We can cut off their major supply line,” Faramir reasoned with a similar predatory glint to his eyes.

“Elphir has sent our best spies to keep watch on the situation,” Erchirion advised.

“This is welcome news indeed,” Aragorn said, smiling broadly. “Although, will Saruman not become suspicious when he receives no response to his request?”

“Ships sink at sea all the time. The Corsair pirates are cooling their heels currently in our dungeon, and will continue to do so until the current hostilities have ceased,” Erchirion smirked.

The discussion turned to more mundane subjects for a time. Eventually, Imrahil stood and taking his leave of the King and Queen, walked over to Maglor and held out his hand. In the blink of an eye, Maglor produced ‘Faramir’s Bane from Erchirion knew not where and handed it to Imrahil. The seafaring Prince paled when he saw the familiar, yet not, implement of past torture. His wide-eyed and somewhat panicked gaze darted to Faramir as if seeking an explanation. Faramir simply shrugged apologetically, with a look of sympathy.

“Come, Chiri. We still have much to discuss,” Imrahil said as he walked out of the room.

Like a man condemned he followed his father. Many sympathetic younger eyes watched him leave.

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