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 7

Grímacing, Legolas made his way over to his father, loosened the ties on his leggings, pulled them down to his knees and lowered himself over his ada’s lap. Thranduil also wasted no time in beginning the punishment, laying stinging slap after stinging slap to his son’s buttocks. The young elf accepted the chastisement stoically for about the first ten slaps. It was not long thereafter, for the elven King did indeed have a very hard hand, before he was whimpering then sobbing until finally letting out a few heartfelt, or in this case, arse-felt howls. After giving some attention to his elfling’s thighs and ‘sit-spot’, Thranduil ceased the chastisement. Pulling up Legolas’ leggings, the elven King gathered his elfling into his arms and soothed him until the sobs had quieted to hitched breaths.

“I hope, my elfling, that you will think twice before throwing any more humans about or allowing the Elrondion twins to talk their sister into anymore of their mischief,” Thranduil said as he continued to cuddle his son.

“Aye, ada,” Legolas replied as he snuggled into his father’s arms. “I am sorry, ada, to have got Faramir into trouble but I could think of no other way to get Arwen out. So I asked the Sheriff to summon him.”

“Nay, elfling. It was your brother’s temper that got him into trouble,” Thranduil responded.

Legolas continued to snuggle into his father’s embrace, much as he had done as an elfling. The attention of both elven father and son was distracted suddenly by what they could hear coming from the room across the hallway.

“Och there, laddie!” Gimli’s muffled bluster could be heard coming from the other room. “Where in the name of… did you produce that ‘thing’ from… If you think that you are going use that… that… Now, now, laddie, there is no need to elf-handle me… And there is certainly no need for that… I will catch my death, laddie… Ooouuucchhh! By all that’s… laddie! That… that ‘thing’ has the sting of a thousand fire ants. Ouch! Owwww! And you have used it on that poor young human’s scrawny behind. Ouch! For shame laddie! Ouch! Owww! … Aye I should have had more sense but I was outnumbered by flighty elves. Ouch! Owww! Not meaning that all elves are flighty. Just that I seem to know a disproportionate number who are. OUCH! OWWWW! LADDIE!”

Eyes twinkling, Legolas and Thranduil looked at each other and both burst out into fits of the giggles soon followed by hearty laughter.

“I love you, ada,” Legolas said when he finally caught his breath.

“As I love you, my elfling,” the elven King replied tightening his hold on his son.

Looking for all the world to Faramir like a predator eyeing a particularly tempting piece of fresh meat, Aragorn smiled evilly, pinning the young Steward with his most potent ‘heir of Isildur’ stare. Faramir’s eyes narrowed as he met the King’s intense stare warily. It took all of the Steward’s control to keep his eyes from darting about searching for the escape routes that his mind was desperately wanting to identify, categorise and prioritise.

Moving with the power, grace and confidence of a King of beasts as well as men, Aragorn swaggered over to a large seat, designed to seat three comfortably, and sat down as he crooked his finger beckoning his Steward to approach. With great difficulty Faramir got his feet moving and walked over to the King in much the same manner as one would approach the hooded man holding an axe on the execution scaffolding. Reluctantly loosening the ties of his leggings and pushing them down to his knees, Faramir took a deep breath and lowered himself over his King’s lap.

“What is this chastisement for?” Aragorn asked to ensure that he could monitor Faramir’s reactions.

“For losing my temper,” the young Steward replied immediately.

“And?” the King asked, his smile becoming more evil if anything.

“Ah, not telling you about the brawl?” Faramir began tentatively as he was not quite sure as to what Elessar was referring.

“No, no my Steward. I can understand why you did not tell me and I am grateful that you got Arwen out before she was discovered,” Aragorn replied.

“Then what?” Faramir murmured, annoyance again overcoming good sense.

“What? You cannot think of anything else you may have done recently that would cause my ire,” Aragorn asked almost teasingly.

“Surely not! Surely not for the other dousing?” Faramir said incredulously as he twisted and looked up at the King. “That was an accident!” he added indignantly.

“An interesting defence, my Steward. You did not mean to suspend the barrel of water over the doorway, hmmmm?”

“No… I mean, yes I did suspend the barrel over the doorway,” Faramir replied reluctantly.

“So then… I was not its intended target?” Aragorn asked perplexedly.

“Yes… and no,” the Steward responded.

“A decidedly clear and concise answer,” the King retorted sarcastically.

“I forgot about the accursed barrel,” Faramir snarled, inadvisably, his temper flaring as it often did when he was bare arsed and upended over a lap about to be blistered.

“The tone of reply of which brings us back to the subject of your considerable temper,” Aragorn said as he landed the first of a series of very hard very fast blistering slaps to his Steward’s buttocks, eliciting pained gasps from the young man as he, like his elven brother, fought to maintain a stoic demeanour.

As had been the case with Legolas this resolve did not last long as the King increased both the pace and intensity of the slaps applied to what had already been a very sore posterior. It was not long before Faramir was squirming in an attempt to lessen the impact of his King’s heavy hand. Whimpers gave way to sobs and the Steward began to apologise profusely for losing his temper in between gasps for breath.

“I hope, my Steward, that you will, in time, although I say this with little confidence based on past behaviour, learn to control your formidable temper, tempering its consequences,” Aragorn lectured punctuating key words with harder slaps. “And now to the issue of that second dousing.”

“It was an accident!” Faramir could hear himself snap out without conscious thought and directly after having apologised for losing his temper.

“Faramir?” the King said the same deceptively mild tone that Lord Elrond had developed into an art form, instilling fear into his children instantly when used on them. The Steward either did not process the question or did not want to process the question for he remained silent except for hitched and heavy breathing interspersed with what Aragorn was sure were muttered curses. “Faramir?” Aragorn repeated in stern tone.

“What!” the Steward snarled in exasperation.

“I would suggest that you release my arm,” Aragorn instructed in the same deceptively calm tone.

It took Faramir a moment to process the demand.

“I am not holding your arm,” Faramir responded in a surly manner, looking at his hands, which were wrapped currently around the calf of his King’s leg for balance.

“Faramir, release my arm. Now!” Aragorn barked loudly.

“And I tell you I am not…” Faramir began twisting as he did so to look up at Aragorn.

The words stopped abruptly, his eyes widened and the blood drained from his flushed face suddenly when he saw the King’s hand held high poised to deliver another slap. From Elessar’s strained look it was clear to the Steward that the King was fighting an invisible force that held his arm fast. Eyes the size of saucers, widened in panic, Faramir scrambled off Aragorn’s lap, pulling his leggings up as he did so. Still scrambling backwards away from the King, the Steward lost his balance and fell onto his behind with a resounding thump but so great was his panic and fear that his mind did not register the pain.

“Faramir… Faramir stay with me… all will be well,” Aragorn soothed, concerned about the strength and rapidity of his Steward’s panicked breathing.

Panic increasing, Faramir gained his feet and backed away from Aragorn whose arm was still held aloft and held fast. The Steward turned and flew towards the door that led into the hallway. At that exact moment, the door opened and Gandalf stormed into the room. The resultant clash of the wizards caused Gandalf to teeter backwards several steps and Faramir to bounce back and fall again onto his rump with an even greater resounding thump that made Aragorn, arm still aloft, wince.

“What have you done now, Aragorn?” exclaimed Gandalf, turning on the King when he saw how pale and frightened his wizardling looked.

“What I have done!” Aragorn bellowed in reply. “I am the one with my arm held in this unnatural position! It is your wizardling’s doing!” Mithrandir waved his hand as he knelt beside his very distressed wizardling. Aragorn’s arm dropped to his side, much to the King’s relief. “Thank you, mellon-nin,” said Aragorn caustically as he rubbed his arm to regain a measure of circulation.

“Mithrandir… I do not know how… I did not mean… I am sorry… so… sorry,” Faramir pleaded, his breathing still so rapid as to make it impossible for him to gain his breath.

“Shhhh, my wizardling,” Gandalf soothed his panicked pupil. “I keep finding myself short-footed with you,” he chuckled, stroking Faramir’s hair in an effort to sooth the young man. “You keep doing things of which you should not be capable as yet and quite unintentionally at that. What you did was akin to levitation but generally requires much knowledge and practice. I am afraid my wizardling that this means that you will need to devote more time to your training.”

“I cannot remain as Steward, Mithrandir,” Faramir whispered, tears filling his eyes. “I must leave this city. I am a danger. I could have… hurt… “

“Nonsense!” Gandalf and Aragorn replied as one.

“You did not hurt Aragorn, nor could you,” Gandalf scoffed. “It is well past midnight yet there is much movement about. What has happened?” the Wizard asked in an exasperated voice.

Aragorn explained all that had happened as he assisted Faramir to his feet, guiding the still visibly distressed young Steward over to the large lounge, sat down pulling Faramir down with him and gathered him into a comforting embrace.

“Well, quite a full evening has been had by all it appears!” Mithrandir exclaimed when Aragorn had finished the tale. “And so, my young pupil, you were being justly chastised for losing your temper – yet again and perhaps not so justly, in your convoluted logic, for dousing Aragorn with the barrel of water.”

The door through which Gandalf had entered opened again as Thranduil and Legolas walked into the room. The elven King took one look at Faramir, pale and wide-eyed and knew that something was very amiss.

“What have you done, Estel?” asked Thranduil, causing Aragorn to roll his eyes, as the elven King knelt in front of Faramir.

“Another unanticipated ability has manifested itself. It seems that whilst he was able to accept the chastisement for losing his temper, he objected strongly to being held accountable for dousing me with a barrel of water earlier and literally stayed my hand from proceeding with the chastisement,” Aragorn explained as he rose, allowing Thranduil to comfort Faramir.

“That was an accident, Aragorn,” Legolas growled, jumping to his brother’s defence.

“And it frightened you that you could affect the King so, ion-nin,” Thranduil surmised, tightening his arms around his trembling son.

The attention of all was diverted to the door opening a third time as Elrond entered followed by the twins, Imrahil, Maglor and a somewhat sheepish looking Gimli.

“What has happened, Estel?” Elrond asked, noting presence of Mithrandir and Faramir’s distressed state.

“I will explain later, ada” Aragorn replied. “You two,” Aragorn growled, turning to his brothers, “are hereby banished from Minas Tirith. Temporarily that is,” he added quickly when he saw his father’s raised eyebrow. “I have decided to put your overabundance of energy to more productive use. I want you to go forth from the city and search for signs of Saruman, where he currently and what he is about. Oh, no! Do not think you will be going alone my dear brothers,” Aragorn added on seeing the looks of delight on the twins’ faces.

“Who?” the twins asked warily.

“With Thranduil’s permission, I would like Finrod to accompany you to ensure that you do not get diverted, in your usual fashion, from the task given,” Aragorn said, smirking as the twins’ expressions turned slightly sour. “By the way, where is Finrod?” the King asked, realising that he had not seen the elf around for some days.

“The Lieutenant that accompanied him on the last search for Saruman has been showing him the delights of Minas Tirith,” Legolas replied with a very Thranduil-like twinkle to his eyes, eliciting a snort of laughter from Gimli.

“In other words they have been drinking and carousing with the young maidens on the lower levels,” Faramir smirked, the tremors from his earlier trauma easing as he gained comfort from his father’s embrace and concern.

“At least they have not been incarcerated due to brawling in public,” Aragorn said, looking sternly at the culprits gathered.

“Well it would not have happened to us…” Elladan began.

“… if it had not been for Legolas…” Elrohir continued indignantly.

“… being mistaken for a she-elf,” they both ended together.

A growl erupted from Legolas as he launched himself at the startled twins. Elven reflexes enabled the twins to reach, open the door and exit to the hallway, followed closely by an angry, growling, Mirkwood elf.

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