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 52

With a wave of his hand in farewell, Finrod and the two Ithilien rangers handpicked by Faramir peeled off from the rest of the combined forces and rode ahead on their mission to rendezvous with Radagast the Brown near Minas Morgul.

Aragorn recognised the warning signs that his brothers were just about ready to bolt after Finrod and the rangers; however, one very quiet “at your peril, elflings” from Maglor was enough to stop them dead in their tracks. Glaring at the Mirkwood elf the twins decided to sulk instead, much to the amusement of their brother, friend and dwarf.

In line with the strategy agreed by the military leaders, the combined army of the West divided into three contingents. Two small contingents, consisting entirely of mounted Ithilien rangers and a mixture of the few Mirkwood and Rivendell elves that had stayed in the White City to assist in the rebuilding efforts, broke away from the main force. One contingent rode to the North and the other to the South. Their objective was to cross the Anduin at points not observable by the enemy, make their way to the top of the cliffs that flanked both sides of the pass that led to Minas Morgul and secure that high ground; sweeping away any enemies located without, hopefully, alerting the enemy at Minas Morgul.

Faramir, with Amrothos riding by his left side, watched his rangers as they disappeared into the distance; wanting desperately to be with them for he knew the danger they faced in the days and weeks ahead. In addition, the Sionnarch of Ithilien was not yet used to the restrictions placed upon him by his office as the Steward of Gondor. He wondered briefly if he ever would be. The Steward knew that if he had a snowball’s chance in the fires of Mordor of escaping his collective nannies, he would have followed his men in a trice.

“Do not fear, Fara,” consoled Amrothos, feeling for his cousin’s longing to go with his men. “Of all our forces, they are the most skilled in the arts of concealment and fighting with stealth and have the added advantage of the support and abilities of the Elves. And I can say with the utmost confidence that neither of us has any chance of escaping the watchful eyes of the King or the Elves”, he added wistfully.

Faramir looked askance at his cousin and chuckled.

“Annoying, is it not?”

“Exceedingly,” Amrothos replied wryly.

Although Minas Tirith was only a relatively short distance, ‘as the crow flies’, from Minas Morgul; being barely twenty leagues away, it would take the combined army, which included both foot and mounted troops, close to four weeks to arrive at its destination as the route devised by the King and his commanders to take the army to Minas Morgul was more circuitous one in an effort to hide numbers and intent from the enemy for as long as possible. Instead of progressing in a straight line to Minas Morgul, the combined forces would turn South, angling towards the Anduin to cross the river near Emyn Arnen using the hills of the region to hide their movements. The army would then make for the Harrad Road and, turning North, follow the road to Minas Morgul. This would enable to the two small contingents of rangers and elves enough time, hopefully, to clear the cliffs on either side of the pass of Minas Morgul of all enemy forces that could raise the alarm, and set their own positions to offer cover to the combined forces from above.

A halt was made at the end of the first days march on a very large clearing near a small stream, allowing enough daylight remaining to set up camp, as setting up camp in the dark was much harder. A lone, tall and very old chestnut tree sat in the middle of the clearing. Support personnel, with the aid of many of the soldiers, started to set up camp and erect small four man tents. As the troops, generally, had had much previous experience in long marches, the process of setting up the camp went very smoothly.

Amrothos and Faramir dismounted and as all good horsemen do, they saw to the needs of their mounts before handing the reins of their horses over to the young squires waiting. Amrothos screwed up his nose in distaste as he saw Éomer dismount as if he had gone for a short ride and had not been, as had been the case, riding for hours. The young knight of Dol Amrothos knew he himself was more suited to ships and sea than riding a mount. He ached and needed to stretch out the kinks a day’s riding had caused.

Eying the old chestnut tree speculatively and knowing his cousin’s sorrowful mood at being forbidden to ride out with his rangers, the young swan knight threw his cousin a look that put Faramir immediately on alert.

“Last one up helps the cook peel vegetables,” said Amrothos as he shrugged out of his armament and heavy clothing down to his leggings and undershirt, sans boots and socks.

Accepting the challenge with a laugh, Faramir followed suit and both fox cubs bounded first to their mounts, which had been tethered with the other horses by the two young squires, grabbed their respective small standards, that is, flags representing their allegiances to their homes that were tied to their horse’s manes and then bounded off towards the tree at full pelt.

“Whatever are they doing?” Aragorn asked looking decidedly bemused as he stood with the three Mirkwood elves, Gimli and Misto. Unbeknownst to all but Misto, Boromir was watching the fox cubs with a look of utmost fondness.

“Something that I have seen the descendents of Adrahil do from the time they could climb, and in the case young Amrothos there before he had truly mastered the art of walking; much to his sire and grand-sire’s horror at the time when they found the young rapscallion sitting on the very edge of the outer wall of the palace, laughing merrily and clapping his hands in delight at the pretty ships in the harbour below,” Gandalf replied with a hearty laugh as he walked over to the bemused King, with Éomer and the twins close behind. “The one who does not make it to the top of whatever they are climbing first, generally volunteers to do some task that neither enjoys”.

Aragorn watched Amrothos reach the tree first, opting to take the easier route by jumping onto the first branch on the right side of the tree trunk, located about seven feet from the ground. This left Faramir with no option but to launch himself at the first branch on the left side of the tree trunk, which was located about ten feet from the ground. The King released a breath he did not realise that he had been holding as Faramir leaped high into the air, grabbed onto the lowest branch, hauled himself up quickly before launching himself onto the next branch above him.

“I knew Faramir was an excellent climber,” Legolas said, remembering how easily his brother had assisted him in hoisting up the trouble-making elf Amras and securing him to the highest beam in the Mirkwood hall, garnering a look from his sire that indicated his sire knew exactly from which memory his elfling was drawing. “But I now realise that the skill comes from his Dol Amroth connection,” he added quietly, blushing and attempting to ignore his sire’s knowing look.

Legolas noted that all movement had stopped within the camp as all eyes watched the progress of the young men to the top of the tree. Amrothos would have reached the top first, having the advantage of having reached the tree first, if he had not been snagged momentarily on a small branch thus allowing Faramir to pass him and reach the top branch first and then tying his standard, being that of Gondor, to the top of the tree.

“The tree cheated!” Amrothos cried foul but with mirth clearly writ in his features as he surveyed the countryside from his vantage point, feeling his muscles and vertebra stretched nicely.

Faramir’s gaze went distant for a moment as it was wont to do when he was listening to sounds that others could not hear.

“The tree says nay cousin,” he laughed, delighting in the feeling of merriment from the tree which had not felt the feet of elves in a very long time. “Men,” Faramir corrected automatically much to the tree’s confusion as it had never seen such behaviour before from the race of men.

The two men descended the tree at a speed that had Maglor and Thranduil frowning and Aragorn unknowingly holding his breath again. Even Éomer looked concerned, although no one else noticed as all attention centred on the fox cubs. Both men jumped lightly to the ground from the lowest limb and then bowed, and in the case of Faramir; shyly and with a mighty blush, to the cheering and laughing crowd that had gathered around the bottom of the tree.

“Well, I am off to peel vegetables then,” Amrothos sighed, morosely.

“We will both peel vegetables,” Faramir replied with a chuckle as he put his arm around his cousin’s shoulders and guided the young knight towards the area where food was being prepared, both still sans boots and socks.

“I am pleased that young Amrothos is with us on this march,” Gandalf smiled as he watched the cousins walk away in the opposite direction. “He has ever been a foil to my wizardling’s more sombre moods”.

“If I had not seen proof with my own eyes and with such frequency at that, I would not have believed that either possesses such lightening quick tempers of such magnitude,” the King of Gondor shook his head as he turned and walked slowly back to the recently prepared campfire followed by the others. “When they are not planning some devilment or in the midst of a temper conniption, they both have such open, comely faces of such innocence, you would not think butter would melt in their mouths,” he added in a tone that was half complaint against the innate unfairness of the forces that be in such circumstances, causing the elves and dwarf to chuckle and Boromir to snort. Éomer, as ever when Faramir was mentioned, just frowned and listened intently.

“As was the case with Adrahil,” Thranduil snorted as he sat upon on a ground sheet that had been set down in front of the King’s campire. “And all of them all the more dangerous for it; as the explosions of temper can take one by surprise no matter how many times one has witnessed them before.”

“What was Adrahil like in his youth?” Elladan asked from his seated position next to Gimli on the other side of the campfire.

Thranduil chucked at the memory of his first meeting with the young Knight of Dol Amroth.

“Faramir favours him most in looks, the same colour eyes and hair, mouth, height and build, although nowhere near as thin as my son is at the moment. His nose though, was more like young Amrothos’,” Thranduil replied, with a distant look of remembrance in his eyes as he pictured his friend.

“Where did you meet? Elrohir asked from his position between his twin and Maglor.

“Now that is a story!” Thranduil laughed at the memory. “Angelimar, Adrahil’s father, had had enough of his son’s youthful antics involving wine, women and the murderous husband of one of the women; when Mithrandir suggested that he could use the services of young Adrahil that would remove him from Dol Amroth for several months. Needless to say, Angelimar fair jumped at the opportunity to see his son safely elsewhere”.

Gandalf, who was sitting on a camp seat that had been provided for the elderly Istari, snorted at the memory. If he had been present and not have gone scuttling after his ‘mama’, only Misto would have seen Boromir’s ghostly blush as he remembered his uncle’s comment about how alike his nephew was to his grandsire where wine and women were concerned.

“Mithrandir had sent word to both Elrond and I that he wanted us to chase down some rumours in Harad about the location of the ‘one ring’. He advised that he would not be able to join us on the mission, but that we were to meet with a young human prince by the name of Adrahil at an inn located in a border town between Gondor and Harad. He advised that the young prince had further information that would assist us and asked that we take the young human under our wings, as he was uncommonly intelligent and devious but warned that did have an issue with his temper…”

“This is the inn,” Thranduil said to Elrond as he opened the door to reveal, pandemonium.

Goblets and tankards sailed through the air, as did pieces of furniture and even some bodies as it seemed that every patron within the establishment was bent upon knocking senseless another patron. Both elves stood against the wall, just inside of the front door, in an attempt to make sense of the scene.

At what appeared to be the centre of the maelstrom, the elves could see a young human with clear blue eyes and fox coloured hair attempting to knock out a man who stood at least twelve inches taller and was twice his weight. The young man appeared to be doing quite well though, as he made up in speed and agility what he lacked in height and volume.

“Let me guess,” Thranduil said shaking his head ruefully as he looked at his long time friend. “Prince Adrahil of Dol Amroth?”

“I suppose we should intervene and assist the young fool,” Elrond sighed just as he saw the young man’s attention divert momentarily, as he looked in their direction, and recognition register in his features, which was just long enough for the giant to land and uppercut to the young man’s jaw that sent him flying backwards and crashing into the wall behind. The young man slipped slowly down the wall as his eyes rolled back and he settled in an unconscious heap upon the floor of the inn.

To Be Continued

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