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 8

Late the next morning Gandalf approached the Steward’s apartments and without knocking entered a large vestibule. There, to his great surprise, sat Maglor in the rightmost of four large lounges situated against the wall; each on either side of three internal doors that led into the Steward’s apartment and the Steward’s guest apartments.

“Mae govannen, Maglor,” Gandalf greeted the Mirkwood Seneschal as he went to walk past the elf and into his wizardling’s apartment. To Gandalf’s utmost surprise, Maglor rose quickly from the lounge and interceded between him and the door preventing him from entering.

“He is not to be disturbed, Mithrandir,” Maglor stated in a tone that brooked no argument.

“Nonsense! He is in need of much training, post haste,” Gandalf argued.

“No, mellon-nin. He is much more in need of sleep at the moment,” the elf countered seriously.

“What has happened now?” Gandalf sighed quietly, his expression both concerned and slightly exasperated.

“Come, sit, mellon-nin and I will explain,” Maglor said as he opened the door that led into the Steward’s sitting room, inviting the wizard to precede him.

Gandalf walked towards the fireplace and sat down in the chair closest to the small cheerful fire. The Mirkwood elf sat down in the chair opposite.

“So tell me, how fares my wizardling?” Gandalf asked quietly.

“Given the upsets of earlier,” the Seneschal began diplomatically, “it took some time for the young one to settle into sleep. His rest was not to prove peaceful and he awoke, screaming, a few hours later.”

“Dream or vision?” Gandalf asked suddenly very alert.

“Dream I hope,” Maglor shuddered slightly. “He dreamt that he lost control of his powers and caused the deaths of all those he holds most dear, you and me included, mellon-nin. It took much persuasion on the part of Thranduil to convince him that it was but a dream and that we were all indeed still to be counted as amongst the living.”

Gandalf gave a sigh of relief and relaxed back into his chair eliciting a raised questioning eyebrow from Maglor.

“Not an uncommon night terror for a wizard,” Gandalf said in way of explanation.

“Are we to expect these dreams often?” Maglor asked eyes wide and eyebrow still raised.

“No, although with my wizardling you just never know,” the wizard replied, shaking his head. “So he sleeps still?”

“And will for as long as Thranduil can get him to remain that way,” the Seneschal said, looking towards the door that led into Faramir’s sleeping chamber.

“Thranduil is with him then?” Gandalf surmised.

“Yes,” Maglor chuckled. “My young charge is clamped to his ada like a limpet, even deep in sleep.”

“That I do not doubt, my friend,” the White Wizard sighed, smiling sadly. “Boromir was Faramir’s foundation stone. In my pupil’s lonely, hard and cold world, shy, studious, shunned and ridiculed by Denethor, Boromir was his light, his comfort and his warmth. The loss of his beloved brother set my wizardling adrift. I praise the Valar that they saw fit to bless him with a cornerstone in the shape of a certain hardheaded and oft times ill tempered in his youth, Mirkwood elf. Having found that cornerstone, my young pupil is not about the let him go, in sleep or not.”

“Thranduil still has his moments, mellon-nin,” Maglor chuckled.

Elf and wizard sat by the fire and spoke at great length of matters enjoyable and inconsequential, until the door leading to the Steward’s sleeping chamber opened and King Thranduil emerged.

“He is awake then finally? Gandalf asked his eyes alight with amusement as he continued to smoke his pipe.

“Aye, he is awake and gone to bathe. Insists that he stinks although I could detect none such,” Thranduil chuckled as he leaned against the side of the mantelpiece.

“Ever has it been with him even as a child. I would say almost elvish in his fastidiousness and aversion to dirt and grime,” Gandalf smiled in amusement, “unlike his brother or Aragorn for they…”

“For they what, mellon-nin?” a sardonic voice said from the open door that led to the vestibule.

“Had a much greater tolerance for dirt and grime if you must know, you grotty ranger,” Gandalf replied without missing a beat.

“I found, perverse as it may seem, that when travelling long distances through rough terrain, pests and vermin have an aversion to ‘dirt and grime’, as you so eloquently put it, and thus would leave me alone” Aragorn retorted as he came, followed by Lord Elrond and sat beside the White Wizard. Lord Elrond sat beside Maglor. “I am glad that you are here, Gandalf, for I wish to discuss with you my Steward’s schedule as you will be claiming more of his hours for wizard training and ada wants to claim some of his hours to hone his mental abilities.”

Thranduil looked at Aragorn shrewdly for several long moments.

“All right, Estel, hand it over,” the elven King said holding out his hand.

“Hand over what exactly?” Aragorn replied eyes wide with innocence.

“The schedule that you have devised for my son, tithen pen, and you could learn a thing or two about more convincing looks of innocence from Faramir,” the elven King said, smirking at the King of Gondor who had the grace to blush as he took a scroll from a pocket inside his robes and handed it to Thranduil.

“It is but a draft,” Aragorn muttered, looking anywhere but at the elven King. Thranduil perused the schedule, his right eyebrow going skyward as his expression became more incredulous.

“Shame on you, Estel!” Thranduil remonstrated, passing the parchment to Maglor.

It was not long before Maglor’s expression became as incredulous as his King’s had been a moment before and slightly annoyed, much to Aragorn’s uneasiness.

“Two men would be hard-pressed to adhere to this schedule, pen-neth,” Maglor scolded as he passed the scroll to Lord Elrond.

“I need my Steward,” Aragorn said plaintively. “There is so much yet to do and Faramir is so good at organising and ploughing through the mountain of administrative tasks.”

“Which will do you absolutely no good, ion-nin, if through exhaustion he loses his temper and accidentally blows up the council chambers with incumbent councillors,” Elrond admonished, still reading the ‘schedule’ with an expression of disbelief before handing it back to his son.

“And that would be a bad thing,” Aragorn said slowly as he took hold of the schedule, thinking that there were several councillors that he would like to see disappear in a puff of smoke.

“Behave, Estel!” Thranduil reprimanded although the ever present twinkle in his eye intensified. “I suggest that you get rid of that piece of parchment before Faramir arrives or I fear we will all bear witness to another formidable display of temper.”

“I had best get some food for him,” Maglor deliberated. “I swear I force enough food down that young human to keep a hobbit satisfied but he has still to gain sufficient weight and a missed meal or two sees him go backwards very quickly,” the Seneschal added sounding slightly affronted.

“That is to be expected, mellon-nin, and is something which we will all need to watch for and guard against. It has to do with the amount of energy my wizardling is drawing upon and channelling during his very lengthy bouts of ill temper,” the wizard explained.

Taking note of the wizard’s words of warning, Maglor exited the sitting room through the doorway that led to the vestibule to find food from the kitchens to tempt his young charge.

“You can enter, pen-neth,” Elrond called out trying to contain a smile as he sensed Faramir’s wary but still sleepy thoughts on the other side of the closed door that led to the young man’s sleeping chamber.

The door opened seemingly tentatively and Faramir’s head and shoulder’s appeared around the door as he surveyed warily those gathered in his sitting room with sleepy, narrowed eyes.

“Oh come here, ion-nin,” Thranduil laughed, waving his son over to him. “I am sure they have all eaten this morning and are not about to devour you.”

Aragorn smirked, Elrond smiled and Gandalf chuckled as Faramir, looking none too convinced by his ada’s words, sidled over to the elven King and was immediately enveloped in a king-sized embrace. The Steward tried unsuccessfully to contain a wide yawn.

“I think after eating the oliphant I suspect Maglor will bring you for your break-of-fast you should return to you bed, ion-nin,” Thranduil said softly, eliciting a smile from Faramir as the elven King continued to comfort his still shaken son.

“I cannot, ada, for I have far too much to do. My schedule…” Faramir replied but stopped abruptly on sensing a spike of guilt emanating from Aragorn at the mention of the word schedule. Eyes narrowing in suspicion, the Steward caught the King of Gondor attempting to hide a scroll that he held in his hand. Faramir waved his hand and the parchment flew out of Aragorn’s grasp and into his own. With a soft distressed gasp the King attempted to catch the scroll but was not quite fast enough. Before the Steward could read its contents though, the parchment flew out of his own hand and into Gandalf’s.

“We were just discussing,” the wizard attempted to dissemble as the parchment he was holding burst into flames, reducing to ashes very quickly, “the need to sit with you to discuss the competing demands on your time and how best to accommodate the training you need in your newly discovered abilities by Lord Elrond and myself, your duties as Steward…”

“And ample time for leisure and relaxation,” Thranduil interjected with a pointed look at Aragorn, who squirmed under the elven King’s intense glare.

Eyes narrowing again at the King’s guilty demeanour, the Steward was just about to challenge him when the attention of all was diverted by a knock at the door that led into the vestibule. Thankful for the diversion, Aragorn rose to his feet and walked quickly to the door and opened it allowing Maglor, who was laden with a tray that held enough food to feed several men or two moderately hungry hobbits, to enter.

“That is for everyone is it not?” Faramir asked, looking at the veritable feast that the Mirkwood elf put on a side between two lounge chairs. “I seem to continue to have difficulty getting you to recognise that a man stands before you, not a hobbit,” he added exasperatedly when silence from Maglor greeted his question.

“What is standing before me, my young charge, is an overly thin wizard-in-training. Eat!” the Seneschal said in a tone that dared Faramir, to his peril, to argue further.

“I am not that thin,” the Steward grumbled as he complied with the elf’s instruction by sitting in the empty chair next to the tray of food.

“I beg to differ with you pen-neth. Stand sideways and I doubt you would cast a shadow. You have yet to gain a single notch on that belt you wear, let alone the two I would see you gain, which means you have yet to gain the weight you lost before the One Ring was destroyed,” Maglor scolded.

Recognising when a battle could not be won, the Steward sighed and began to eat. As Faramir ate, Aragorn, Gandalf and Lord Elrond discussed his training and duties as Steward. Thranduil interjected occasionally to ensure that Faramir was given ample time to relax and recuperate. It was agreed that Beregond would continue in his role in assisting the Steward and the King in the Steward’s absence. It was also recognised that Beregond would require assistance, so it was decided to train two more high level administrators in addition to the current ancillary staff.

When Faramir had eaten as much as he could and to the satisfaction of a certain, in his view, tyrannical elven ‘nanny’ he was shepherded by Thranduil back to his bed, where he spent the rest of the day and night.

Early the next morning, after breaking his fast with Thranduil and Legolas, having much food foisted upon him, Faramir and the two elves made their way to the courtyard in the front of the palace to bid the twins and Finrod farewell and a successful hunt. Faramir noted that four horses were being held by stable hands towards the back of the courtyard. The twins and Finrod were there as were the King, Queen, Lord Elrond, Gandalf, Gimli and Maglor. Faramir was surprised to find the Lieutenant who had searched for signs of Saurman with Finrod before was there and kitted out for travel.

“The King asked me to accompany Finrod and Lords Elladan and Elrohir to assist in keeping his brothers out of mischief,” the soldier whispered in reply to the Steward’s silent question obviously aware that the twins would be able to hear him, evidenced by the not so well hidden smirk on the soldier’s face at the twin scowls he was receiving.

Farewells and good wishes were exchanged. Both Aragorn and Elrond explained in great detail what would befall the twins if they so much as put a toe out of line in their search for signs of Saruman. The three elves and the Lieutenant mounted and were just about to leave when Maglor stopped Finrod and produced a very red paddle out of what appeared to be thin air and passed it to Finrod. Blushing furiously regardless, Faramir could see that the paddle was not his ‘namesake’, human or elvish version, but nonetheless a lethal looking paddle. The Steward felt a twinge of sympathy at the twin expressions of horror as they stared at the paddle as if transfixed.

“I thought it best not to send you out ‘unarmed’, mellon-nin. They are not known as the ‘duo horribus’ for nothing and they are the sons of Elrond,” Maglor said matter-of-factly as if that explained everything. Lord Elrond’s eyebrow went skyward as he looked at the Mirkwood elf and Thranduil’s eyes twinkled delightedly.

Finrod exchanged a look of amusement with the Lieutenant before securing the paddle in his saddlebags. The elves and human turned their horses towards the exit and made their way down the levels of the city and out onto the plains.

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