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 5

“Gothric is with us,” Elrohir said from the other side of the doorway, phrasing his words very carefully so as not to tell an outright untruth.

“Is it not bad enough that I find that you have been incarcerated in my own gaol but that you have also dragged a minor into your misadventures?” Aragorn snarled.

“He is not a minor!” Elladan said adamantly as he looked at the pale human. “You are not a minor are you?” he asked on examining the human closely, realising that he did indeed look very young.

“No, he is not,” Faramir replied as calmly as he could in an effort to direct Elessar’s intense scrutiny away from the hapless youth. “But he is young and should be abed. With your permission, Elessar?”

“Yes…yes,” the King replied absent-mindedly as his thoughts were on larger concerns such as what his brothers and friends had been about and where Arwen was, as he thought her with the twins.

Faramir turned the young man towards the door and ushered him past the King and twins into the next room. Gothric almost broke into a run as he exited the next room and thence the prison, passing King Thranduil and Maglor as he did so. The two elder elves walked down the corridor into the room that bore the greater evidence of the Steward’s latest temper tantrum. Faramir blushed furiously as his father and Maglor surveyed the piles of smouldering cinders and melted metal that had so recently been pieces of furniture. His blush deepened as they turned their attention on him, both shaking their heads at the devastation.

“Alright all, back to the palace where you can explain, in intricate detail, how you came to find yourselves ensconced in this establishment,” Aragorn growled, ushering his brothers and others through the gaol’s entrance.

As they walked back to the palace Faramir thought longingly of his bed as the events of the evening and the consequences of his temper had drained him considerably. On reaching the entrance to the King and Steward’s apartments they were met by mother hen number three, so dubbed by Aragorn.

“Where have you been?” Prince Imrahil asked his nephew as he eyed the group in sleepy bewilderment. “There has been an inordinate amount of ‘tooing’ and ‘froing’ this evening. What, pray tell, is going on?”

“If you would like to join us in my study, Prince Imrahil, I am sure that my brothers and friends will be happy to explain everything,” Aragorn replied with a sardonic smile as he waved his hand inviting the Prince of Dol Amroth to precede him down the corridor and through to the study.

On reaching the entrance to the study, the twins, Legolas, Gimli and Faramir filed into the room followed by Maglor, Thranduil, Imrahil and finally Aragorn. The King pointed at his brothers and then to lounge chairs arranged around the fireplace in a mute order to sit down. He then pointed to Gimli, Legolas and Faramir to do the same. All but Faramir, who was still unable to sit comfortably, did as the King commanded. The Steward chose to stand and found himself flanked by both his uncle and Maglor, whilst Aragorn stoked the fire burning in the fireplace with rather violent movements of a poker.

Just as the King straightened, the other door that led further into the King’s apartment opened revealing Arwen; looking quite upset. The queen entered the room followed by Lord Elrond. A soft curse left Faramir’s mouth before his mind could stop it from springing forth. The soft curse was followed almost instantly by a very vocal yelp of pain from the Steward as Maglor and Imrahil both responded with the same action; a whack applied to the Steward’s posterior, protected only by the thin material of his leggings and shirt as, in his haste to dress earlier, he had not put on his leather overtunic and had removed his cloak upon entering the King’s study. Sparing a mutinous glare at both the Seneschal and his uncle, the Steward sidled over to where his father was standing by the fireside. Faramir relaxed slightly on seeing the elven King look on him with fond tolerance.

“Arwen, ada? What is the meaning of this? What has happened?” Aragorn asked as he looked at Arwen, noting that she had been crying.

“It appears, ion-nin, that my daughter, your wife, has spent the better part of this evening enjoying the delights of your gaol with the ‘trio horribus’ and Master Gimli,” Elrond replied, giving the ‘trio horribus’ and dwarf a look that Faramir thought would have had him running for the hills.

“WHAT!” Aragorn bellowed causing all four younger elves, Gimli and Faramir to wince. “How did you get out of the cell? Gothric!” the King said answering his own question almost immediately.

“Yes, Estel. If it had not been for your devious Steward and his very loyal, if somewhat disgruntled at the moment, staff,” Elrond began as he turned his unwavering gaze upon Faramir, whose eyes darted about immediately searching for boltholes garnering amused looks from his three ‘mother hens’, Thranduil, Maglor and Imrahil, “you would have found your Queen in that gaol cell.”

“YOU!” Aragorn turned to Faramir searching for a target for his considerable anger; the Steward presenting a tempting one given the very wet and cold dousing he had caused hours earlier.

The Steward took two steps back and would have taken a third if he had not backed into his father who had moved into his path and put a comforting hand on his son’s shoulder.

“Be nice, Estel” Thranduil said in a mild voice that nonetheless held a very real threat that stayed further words from Aragorn.

“You almost made that poor man’s heart stop when he heard your voice inside his head asking him to exchange Gothric for Arwen, pen-neth, not to mention dragging that poor child out of his bed and into your scheming,” Elrond admonished the Steward both verbally and mind-to-mind, causing Faramir to both flinch and blanch as he did not know that Lord Elrond could also receive and project thoughts.

“Another ‘gift’ you have failed to inform me about, hmmmmm?” Aragorn snarled as he pinned his Steward with a very kingly glare. Faramir put his fisted hand with thumb extended to his mouth and bit down on his thumbnail.

“Foxling,” Imrahil warned recognising the precursor to an ill-considered and almost certainly inappropriate retort by his nephew.

His retort thwarted by his uncle, Faramir felt like screaming but chose instead to remain silent, albeit grinding his teeth and glaring at the floor.

“None of this was Faramir’s doing, ada, Estel,” Arwen said in a tone, although as mild as Thranduil’s, held the same core of metal. “If anyone is to blame, it is you Estel.”

“Me! How so my Lady? How am I to blame?” Aragorn replied angrily.

“You were the one who insisted that I keep Elladan and Elrohir out of your hair this evening,” Arwen argued.

“But not by frequenting a drinking establishment and getting arrested for brawling, I did not!” the King growled.

“Be reasonable, Estel. We did not plan on becoming embroiled in a brawl. If it had not been for that intoxicated Rohirrim who mistook Legolas for a she-elf and made a pass at him, none of this would have transpired,” the Queen said adamantly but then turned to Legolas with an apologetic look when she realised that she had just added to her friend’s already monumental embarrassment.

The King’s, Imrahil’s and several elven eyebrows went skywards as all eyes turned to Legolas who had, Faramir noted, begun growling again.

And so it was that the entire story came out much to Legolas’ mortification and Faramir’s chagrin. Aragorn, whilst finding some amusement in Legolas’ predicament with the amorous mountain of a Rohirrim, did not find such amusement in his Steward’s continued displays of temper with their inevitable destructive consequences.

“Well, that is quite a tale,” Aragorn said with an odd mixture of confound and anger, looking at each culprit in turn before settling on his Steward. Faramir thought longingly again of boltholes such as the comfort and safety of his apartments and bed. “Which brings us to punishment. I seek your council in this,” the King added, looking at his father, Thranduil, Imrahil and Maglor.

“I have already had a lengthy ‘discussion’ with Arwen and plan on having an even more intense one with the ‘duo horribus’,” Elrond said as he pinned each twin with a glare that made them wince.

“Do you require assistance?” Imrahil asked in a conversational tone, belying his annoyance at the twins for their part in getting his nephew into yet more trouble.

“Thank you, yes. Your assistance would be most welcome, mellon-nin,” Elrond replied, much to the horror of the twins, in an equally conversational tone.

“I will see to Legolas,” Thranduil said as he gave his son a look that halted the elf’s intermittent growling and caused him swallow hard.

“And I will see to master Gimli,” Maglor said as he shifted his gaze to the startled and blustering dwarf. “For he is no less guilty than the others.”

“Which leaves my devious Steward and his temper to me,” Aragorn said with a certain amount of relish as he glared at his Steward.

“Hand only, Estel,” the elven King warned.

“As if that will make any difference,” Faramir muttered to himself, still feeling the effects of his last encounter with Elessar’s hand.

“What was that, ion-nin?” Thranduil asked, pretending not to have heard his son’s surly comment.

“Nothing, ada,” Faramir sighed in such a morose manner that Imrahil, shaking his head and chuckling softly, walked over to his nephew and enveloped him in a mighty embrace.

“You are your mother’s son, foxling,” the Prince whispered into Faramir’s ear, smiling at Thranduil over his nephew’s shoulder. The elven King returned the smile. Imrahil tightened his embrace before releasing the Steward to their King but not before bestowing Aragorn with a look that promised repercussions if the King did not deal with Faramir in a sensitive manner. Aragorn rolled his eyes but nodded his head in acknowledgement that he understood the Prince’s meaning.

“Ions-nin,” Lord Elrond called out to his sons as he and Imrahil made their way to the door that led to the corridor.

After exchanging a sympathetic glance with her brothers, Arwen made her way to her own rooms.

“Master Gimli, if you please?” Maglor asked mildly, although Gimli was under no illusions that it was a command not a request, as he preceded the Mirkwood Seneschal from the study.

“I am too old for physical chastisement, laddie,” Faramir could hear Gimli blustering as his voice receded into the distance. The Steward silently wished the dwarf luck in his argument but suspected that Gimli was about to become acquainted with his namesake, elvish version.

“Leg-o-las” Thranduil called, turning to Faramir as he did so. The Steward stood still, arms wrapped around himself protectively and his eyes cast downwards in a familiar, dejected pose that made the elven King’s heart constrict. “Oh, ion-nin!” the elf exclaimed in an emotion-filled whisper as he slowly and carefully enveloped his human son in a hug. “As I did in my youth; which my Seneschal would argue that I have yet to leave behind, you must face the consequences of losing your temper and especially now that your wizarding powers have manifested you need to learn control.”

“I know, ada, but it is so hard,” Faramir replied quietly as he buried his face in his father’s shoulder breathing deeply, taking in his father’s familiar forest scent.

“I know, ion-nin. I know. I do love you” Thranduil soothed, tightening his arms around his son.

“And I you, ada,” Faramir sighed.

The elf broke the embrace and turned to Aragorn with a look, similar to that given him by Imrahil, that promised painful retribution if the King did not treat his son with care. Aragorn’s eyes softened and he nodded his head in mute acknowledgement as Thranduil left the room. Legolas embraced Faramir briefly before following his father out of the room.

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