Part 1
Legolas sat cross-legged on the end of Faramir’s large
four-poster bed. Aragorn was there in the room too, sleeping, rather
uncomfortably by the look of the angle of his head, in a large chair
by the stone fireplace. The young Steward of Gondor was in bed, lying
on his stomach with his face buried in his pillow, deeply asleep. Whether
wine induced or wizard induced, Legolas was not sure.
The poor young human had had a very stressful evening the
night before, having found himself over Gandalf’s lap being well
and truly chastised, a situation with which Legolas could empathise.
Gandalf had entrusted Faramir’s care to Legolas and
Aragorn. Entrusting Faramir’s care to Aragorn, Legolas could understand.
Aragorn could, in some way, fill the void in Faramir’s life left
by the death of Boromir. Boromir had been the foundation stone of Faramir’s
world. Their mother Findulas had died when Faramir was but five. Their
father Denethor had shown his disdain of his youngest son all the young
human’s life. All that Faramir had had in the way of love had
come from Boromir; father, mother and brother Gandalf had said.
What Legolas could not understand was why Gandalf had entrusted
Faramir to his care as well. Whilst he considered Faramir a friend and
would look out for the human, he could not picture himself as disciplinarian;
he was usually in too much trouble himself. That thought led to another
and Legolas blushed and shook his head ruefully as he remembered his
own recent trip over Gandalf’s lap.
Legolas’ quiet reflection was interrupted by a soft
knock at the door. With the instincts of a ranger Aragorn woke instantly
on hearing the knock. He rose from the chair, stretched and rubbed his
neck as he walked to open the door. Arwen, looking concerned, greeted
Aragorn quietly, took hold of his arm and drew him out into the corridor.
Aragorn closed the door behind him.
“How fares Faramir?” Arwen asked in her soft
lilting tone as soon as the door was closed. “Gandalf told me
some of what happened last night, although I think he left out much.
He said that Faramir finally spoke his grief for the loss of Boromir.”
“Rest easy, love. He slept peacefully all night but
I do not know what his condition will be when he wakes. I suspect it
will not be good,” Aragorn replied with a rueful smile. “He
was able to speak of Boromir, although it pained him deeply to do so,”
Aragorn added sadly.
“I am glad that he has been able to acknowledge his
grief. He has lost so much,” Arwen lamented as she looked at the
closed door to Faramir’s room.
Arwen’s keen elven hearing detected sounds indicating
that Faramir was stirring.
“Faramir is waking” Arwen said as she looked
from the door to Aragorn. “You must needs return to him, Estel.
I will talk with you later,” Arwen added as she kissed Aragorn
and turned around to walk back down the long white corridor.
Aragorn turned back to his Steward’s room but then
turned back to Arwen.
“Arwen my love, can you please send a message to the
kitchen to have plain broth and bread brought to Faramir’s room.
I do not think he will be able to stomach anything else for a while,”
Aragorn called out after Arwen.
Arwen acknowledged her love’s request and continued
down the corridor. Aragorn turned back to Faramir’s room.
Faramir came to consciousness slowly and painfully. The
first thing he became aware of was the pounding in his head and the
buzzing in his ears. He felt abysmal. It took the Steward a few moments
to focus his attention away from the pain in his head. He knew he was
in his own bed and could sense that someone was in the room with him.
Memory of the previous night retuned to Faramir suddenly and he groaned
in combined pain and embarrassment. Oh why do I drink, Faramir berated
himself.
“Aur vaer” (Good day) Legolas greeted Faramir
cheerfully as he smiled at the rumpled human who was obviously having
difficulty waking.
“Mitho orch!” (Go kiss an orc) was the quiet,
well accented but muffled reply from Faramir as he pushed his face further
into his pillow in the vain hope that he could smother himself and save
Mithrandir the trouble of doing so.
Legolas laughed. The sound, to Faramir, was decidedly too
cheerful and too loud. Groaning, the Steward turned over onto his back
to glare at the elf but hissed as his very sore posterior came in contact
with the hard surface of the bed. The Steward turned back over onto
to his stomach with as much speed he could muster.
“The last Orc I saw was in no condition to be kissed,”
Legolas replied in a conversational tone whilst smiling at the very
hung over human. “You see; his innards at the time were on the
outer and being fed upon by carrion birds”
This was too much for Faramir, he groaned as he struggled
to get out of his bed. “Oh demon in Elf’s guise…!”
was all that Faramir was able to say before necessity forced him to
clamp his hand over his mouth as he bolted for the wash chamber in the
adjoining room.
“That was not nice,” Aragorn admonished mildly
as he entered the room. Aragorn gave Legolas his ‘displeased’
look as he passed the elf to follow the path that Faramir had taken.
Legolas smiled brightly. “No it was not,” he
admitted. “But better out than in,” he said as Faramir’s
retching could be heard from the other room.
Aragorn shook his head in amused perplexity. How could Gandalf
entrust Faramir to Legolas’ care as well as his own? What was
the Wizard thinking?
The washroom was quite large. It contained a bath, copper
boiler, commode, washbasin and a bucket used to fill the bath with water
from the copper boiler. Faramir was on his knees in one corner of the
room with his head over the bucket, retching. Given how little the Steward
had eaten his retching was mostly dry heaves. Aragorn walked over to
his ailing Steward and pulled Faramir’s hair back from his face
with one hand and supported the young man’s forehead with the
other offering comfort. The dry heaves stopped eventually and Faramir
straightened and sat back onto his heels.
“Bloody Wizard!” Faramir hissed softly as he
straightened abruptly, taking his painful posterior off his heels.
Aragorn, who still held Faramir’s hair back from his
face, chuckled. Faramir closed his eves and groaned. He had not realised
that the King was the one who offered comfort. The Steward had not realised
that the King was in his chambers.
“Sire?” Faramir enquired in a quiet and dejected
tone.
“Yes, my Steward?” Aragorn replied with a smirk.
“Do you perchance have your sword with you?”
Faramir asked hopefully.
“No, I do not.” Aragorn replied.
“Pity,” Faramir said dejectedly.
Aragorn laughed, let go of Faramir’s hair and put a
comforting hand on Faramir’s shoulder.
“Be easy Faramir,” Aragorn soothed, understanding
the embarrassment his Steward was feeling. “I am sure Legolas
will regale you with stories of me in a similar condition.”
“Bloody elf,” Faramir muttered at the mention
of Legolas.
The elf in question laughed drawing the attention of both
Aragorn and Faramir. Legolas was leaning against the doorframe with
a glass of water in one hand, a moistened cloth in the other and a mischievous
twinkle in his blue eyes.
Faramir, on seeing the look in the elf’s eyes, groaned.
“Be gone, pest,” Faramir said as he glared at
the elf and held out a hand to Aragorn in a silent request to be assisted
to his feet. Aragorn hauled Faramir to his feet and held on to Faramir
until the young Steward regained his balance. After a moment the room
stopped spinning on Faramir.
Legolas laughed again and threw the moistened cloth, which
Aragorn caught deftly. Aragorn handed the cloth to Faramir who wiped
his face. Legolas handed the glass of water to Faramir who took it gratefully
and rinsed his mouth out and spat into the washbasin.
“Drink the rest…but slowly,” Legolas commanded
as Faramir was about the scull the water. “Ere it come up again,”
he added with a smirk
The Steward glared at the elf again as he made his way, carefully,
back to his bed.
Never one to back away from a challenge, or a smirking elf,
Faramir stopped in front of Legolas and looked the elf straight in the
eyes. “Just what did you get ‘got’ by Mithrandir for?
Hmmm?” Faramir asked as he remembered what Mithrandir had said
about young Thranduilion having been in the same position. That thought
led Faramir to also remember what ‘that position’ was; upended
over the Wizard’s lap. ‘Hells bells and buckets of blood’
but Mithrandir could pack a wallop Faramir thought as he could feel
his arse throb with his heartbeat.
Legolas blushed furiously and diverted his gaze downward.
Aragorn laughed. He was impressed at how his Steward; nauseous, nursing
a pounding headache and a very sore arse, could still manage to go on
the offensive.
Faramir continued on his way to his bed. Legolas, still blushing
made the mistake of looking at Aragorn.
“Yes, Legolas.” Aragorn said playfully. “Just
what did you get ‘got’ by the Wizard for, mellon-nin?”
Aragorn asked using Faramir’s strange phrasing. Legolas blushed
again, smiling ruefully as he shook his head.
Part 2
“You know I shall find out, mellon-nin,” Aragorn
teased.
Legolas, still with a rueful smile, remained silent as he
walked back into Faramir’s bedchamber. Faramir, who had got back
into bed, was on top of the bedclothes propped up by pillows half lying,
half sitting, in an obvious attempt to lessen the pressure on his sore
posterior.
Legolas got onto the bed and resumed the cross-legged position
he had been in when sitting vigil over Faramir.
Aragorn, who had followed Legolas, sat in the chair by the
fireplace. He looked at the elf intently with a raised eyebrow reminiscent
of Lord Elrond.
Legolas sighed.
“It is embarrassing,” the elf complained.
Faramir snorted. Legolas smiled shyly at the young Steward
in understanding. If anyone knew the definition of embarrassment it
was Faramir, considering the events of the last hours.
Aragorn continued to look at his friend intently.
“Alright, alright, I will tell you!” Legolas
said in quiet exasperation, conceding defeat. The elf knew that it would
not take much prompting from Aragorn to get the whole sorry tale from
Gandalf. “But upon your honour it goes no further,” he added
adamantly looking at Aragorn and Faramir, both of whom nodded their
agreement to the elf’s terms.
Legolas proceeded to tell the tale…
Faramir had acknowledged Aragorn as the King of Gondor but
the ranger-King had not yet been crowned.
Aragorn was in conference with Faramir and Mithrandir discussing
the Coronation to come. Gimli had invited Legolas to join him and the
hobbits in a drinking game but Legolas was feeling the confines of the
stone walls and so decided to practice his archery and then explore
the White City.
So giving his apologies to his dwarven friend he proceeded
to the practice range. After practicing in the small archery court in
the top circle of the city - reserved mostly for the nobility, Legolas
meandered down through the other levels of the city until he reached
the commercial district in the city’s fourth circle. The woodland
elf had never visited a city of stone before and certainly not one as
large as Minas Tirith. He chuckled to himself as he realised he must
look like an elfling; all eyes and curiosity.
The elf could feel the eyes others on him as he made his
way down to the lower levels of the city. It was only to be expected
as few elves had visited the White City. Most looked at him in curiosity
or in awe. A very few, Legolas was saddened to see, looked at him in
distrust.
His meanderings brought the elf eventually to an old drinking
establishment. A few rows of tables for customers were arranged in the
area in front of the pub. A long, tall pergola with vines growing over
it, provided shade for those drinking at the tables. A few paces to
the side of the tables was a horse trough. Two horses were at the trough.
A man was atop a grey mare and was holding the reigns of a brown gelding.
Across the road from the pub was a busy market square. Shops
lined three sides of the perimeter of and there were vendor stalls dotted
inside the square. Legolas decided to sit down at a table closest to
the road directly opposite the market so that he had a good view of
the comings and goings of shoppers and vendors.
“What will you have master elf,” came a woman’s
shy voice from beside him.
Legolas looked up and smiled at the young, blushing barmaid.
“An ale will be fine, thank you,” he replied
turning his attention back to the square when the barmaid left to get
his order.
Enjoying his ale, Legolas watched the ever-changing scene
on the other side of the road. The elf was ever amazed at the resilience
of the human spirit. Everywhere there were signs of the battle for Minas
Tirith; buildings in need of, and being repaired, warriors sporting
battle wounds and women doing the work men would normally do due to
the loss of so many Gondorian men. Many of its citizens had lost loved
ones; fathers, brothers, uncles and nephews, but here they were going
on about their daily lives. Although eyes would shadow every now and
then, smiles and laughter prevailed.
“Well, well, well, what to we have here – an
elf,” came the slurred voice of a man from behind Legolas.
‘Elf’ had been spoken as if the man was trying
to get rid of a bad taste in his mouth. Legolas turned around slowly
to look at the owner of the voice. The human was leaning, with his arms
crossed in front of him, against one of the pergola’s supports
directly behind the elf. Legolas could see by his clothing that the
human was of the nobility. The man was tall, dark haired, broad of shoulder,
not at all good looking, with an unmistakably nasty disposition and
very obviously drunk. A potentially dangerous combination, Legolas thought.
“I am given to understand that the King is to marry
an elf,” the man said in distaste. Again ‘elf’ sounded
like an obscene curse.
The man was starting to grate on Legolas’ nerves for
the ‘elf’ in question was Arwen Undómiel, doomed to a mortal
life to marry the man she loves. The elf knew now that the man was also
a fool - to voice such prejudices in a pubic place. Wine alone could
not account for the man’s stupidity he thought - a very dangerous
combination indeed.
“You seem to have a grudge against elven folk, sir.
What has been done to cause you such annoyance?” Legolas asked
blandly.
“Elves do not belong in Minas Tirith. An elf does not
deserve to be Queen of Gondor,” the human continued to rant, ignoring
Legolas’ question.
Every time the man said ‘elf’, Legolas could
feel his temper rise.
“We have elves, dwarves and halflings, all sorts of
unnatural creatures, welcomed into the city…”
Each word from the man’s mouth sounded like an obscenity.
Legolas thought of the fellowship and the sacrifices they
had all made and the understandings they had reached. Legolas thought
fondly of Gimli, gruff on the exterior but soft on the inside, who had
befriended an elf and protected his friend’s back.
Legolas thought then of the hobbits and the terrible sacrifices
they had made, especially Frodo and Pippin. Frodo would never see true
health again in Middle Earth and Pippin, a tweenager, had lost his innocence.
All had seen more death and despair than any that resided in the Shire.
Legolas, feeling a familiar cold rage building in him, decided
it would be in the human’s best interest if he left - now. The
elf rose, turned his back on the human and started walking away.
“Do not turn your back on me elf…” the
man yelled but stopped abruptly as he was faced with an angry elf, bow
in hand, pointing an arrow at his head.
Before Legolas thought about the possible consequences of
his actions, he loosed the arrow and hit his intended target, a wasp’s
nest attached to the pergola above the man’s head. Legolas watched
as the wasps, angered by the attack on their nest, swarmed and attacked
the human.
Screaming obscenities the man ran blindly waving his hands
about his head in an attempt to escape the angry, stinging wasps. Unfortunately
for the hapless human, he ran directly into the horse’s trough
and, overbalancing, fell in.
The waving of arms, fall and subsequent thrashing of the
human in the horse’s trough spooked the two horses; the grey threw
off her rider and bolted to the right and the brown gelding bolted to
the left.
The grey galloped across the road into the market and straight
into a Pieman who was taking an armful of pies to a customer on the
other side of the market. The Pieman flew in one direction and his pies
in the opposite direction. The Pieman landed in an apple stall, sending
apples in every direction and the pies landed on various bystanders.
Several men tried to catch the reigns of the grey, spooking
the poor creature even more. The grey, on seeing the men, backed up
into a vegetable stall. The vegetables went the same way as the apples.
One young man was finally able to catch the grey’s
reigns and sooth the horse, stopping any further devastation.
The brown gelding, that thankfully had no rider to throw,
also galloped into the square but into the opposite corner. The brown
galloped straight through the palm-reader’s tent taking the tent
with him. Both palm-reader and client were still sitting on their stools,
stunned by the unexpected events and their sudden exposure to the elements.
The brown gelding continued on, knocking over crates and
other assorted items, finally disappearing, tent in tow, through an
alleyway at the back of the market square.
The man whose horse had thrown him was still on the ground
dazed and the other human was still in the horse’s trough and
still yelling obscenities.
Legolas stood stunned to immobility in the centre of the
maelstrom, looking very much like an elfling - all eyes.
“Legolas Thraduilion!!” came the familiar sound
of an angry Wizard, a very angry Wizard.
Legolas started, then groaned as he closed his eyes and cringed.
From the anger in Gandalf’s voice it was obvious that the Wizard
had seen everything. How does the Wizard do it? Legolas thought. Every
time he loses his temper, Gandalf is there to bear witness.
Legolas turned to see Gandalf bearing down upon him. The
wizard looked furious.
Legolas had faced any number of fierce creatures bravely
and fearlessly; orcs, goblins, spiders, wargs and cave-trolls. But when
confronted by a very angry Wizard, Legolas did what any normal wood-elf
would do - he turned tail and bolted.
“Legolas Thranduilion, come back here this instant!”
Legolas heard the Wizard yell as he ran as fast as his elven legs could
carry him.
Part 3
Elven flight instincts pushed Legolas to seek higher ground
and the cover of trees. There was only one slight problem - although
there was higher ground, Minas Tirith did not boast much in the way
of ‘cover of trees’. It did not take the elf long to reach
the highest level of the city. A tree, sensing the distress of a wood-elf,
called to him. Legolas followed the call and found a small private garden
that had a few trees. The oldest and tallest was the one that had called
to the elf. Legolas made his way quickly to the top of that tree.
Once in the safety of its limbs, thoughts other than escape
were able to make their presence known. Legolas realised suddenly what
he had just done. He had run away from Gandalf. I am in such trouble
the miserable elf thought as he looked down into the city to see if
he could see the Wizard.
The tree, again sensing the elf’s distress, whispered
to him drawing the elf into its story. Legolas listened as the tree
spoke of its fondness for two humans. One was a woman with elven blood
and the other was her son, also with elven blood. The woman had created
the garden around the few trees that were already there. The woman had
overseen the placement of every garden bed and every piece of garden
furniture, including the stone bench directly below. But alas, longing
for her home near the sea, the woman wasted away and died. Her son often
sought comfort in the garden of his mother. It was the young man who
kept had the garden alive although he was away much of the time.
Legolas’ communion with the tree was broken abruptly
by a familiar voice.
“Aha!” Gandalf said as he spied his quarry at
the top of the tree. “There you are you half-wild wood-elfling!”
Legolas moaned softly at the tone in Gandalf’s voice.
Gandalf sounded like Legolas was sure a cat would sound, if given voice,
when having caught the mouse’s tail with his paw - could play
with said mouse at his leisure, all the while knowing that the mouse
could not escape. He was in such trouble!
“Well elfling, are you going to come down?” Gandalf
asked in quiet, almost playful tone as he looked up at the recalcitrant
elf.
“No!” Legolas replied petulantly, knowing that
he was digging himself in even deeper.
“And why not?” Gandalf asked in that same quiet,
almost playful tone.
“Because I know what is going to happen and it is not
fair!” Legolas railed, realising that he was sounding like an
elfling.
“Well, it seems we have much to discuss Thraduilion.
We have until Aragorn’s coronation to do so,” Gandalf said
as he sat down on the stone bench beneath the tree and made himself
comfortable. Legolas groaned, Aragorn’s coronation was still some
days away.
Gandalf took out his pipe, filled it with tobacco and set
it alight with the pointing of a finger. The Wizard leaned back and
looked out on the garden. Gandalf sat in quiet contemplation for, what
seemed to the elf, an eternity.
Gandalf’s silence finally got to the elf.
“The human deserved it!” Legolas said, indignant.
“Ah yes…the human,” Gandalf mumbled around
his pipe. “I spoke to some of the townsfolk who had heard your
argument with the human. All confirm that you had reason to be angry.
It may interest you to know that I dealt with the human. I sent him
to Faramir to explain his words.”
Gandalf could almost feel the question Legolas wanted to
ask.
“I did not send him to Aragorn because I thought he
would show mercy. Faramir, son of Denethor, will not. Faramir will think
of a suitable punishment,” Gandalf replied to the unspoken question.
Legolas sighed. Maybe he would get out of this with his posterior
intact, he thought.
“You had reason to be angry for sure...” Gandalf
confirmed. Legolas tensed as he felt once again like the mouse with
its tail under the cats paw.
Gandalf pounced.
“I ask you Thraduilion. Was it anger or blind rage
that had hold of you when you loosed the arrow? Hmmm?” Gandalf
asked as he turned to look up at Legolas.
Legolas, head bowed, looked everywhere but at the Wizard.
“Rage,” Legolas finally answered in a voice barely
above a whisper.
“We have had this conversation before, my young elf.”
Gandalf said, not without understanding. It was not Legolas’ fault
that he had inherited Thranduil’s temper the Wizard conceded but
he would help the young elf master it – even if it killed the
young elf. “Anger is acceptable because, although angry, you are
still able to think about the consequences of your actions. You choose
whether you want to ignore the ramifications of those consequences or
not. But when you allow blind rage to take over you have no thought
but your rage, let alone thought about consequences.”
Legolas sighed, conceding defeat. Again he had let blind
rage take over and had been lucky not to have hurt others severely as
a consequence.
“What did I tell you last time we had this conversation
my Princeling?” Gandalf asked.
Legolas blushed furiously.
“If you could not get the message through one end…you
would try the other.” Legolas mumbled in reply.
“Exactly. Now, will you come down from that tree and
face the consequences of your actions?” Gandalf asked the unhappy
elf.
Legolas climbed down from the tree slowly wanting to delay
the inevitable. On reaching the ground he stood beside the seated Wizard.
Gandalf could not help but smile when Legolas scanned the surroundings
to ensure that none would witness him chastised.
Having confirmed that they were indeed alone, Legolas loosed
his leggings, pulled them down to his knees and lowered himself over
the Wizard’s lap.
As soon as Legolas was settled Gandalf landed the first slap.
Legolas gasped at the suddenness and force of the slap and its stinging
aftermath. Slap after slap landed on Legolas buttocks. It was not long
before Legolas could feel heat and pain building in his bottom.
As the spanking progressed Legolas began to squirm and whimper.
And still the Wizard continued. Gandalf having concentrated on the elf’s
butt cheeks moved his attention to his thighs. Gandalf increased both
the intensity and frequency of the slaps until Legolas’ whimpers
became hitched breathing and hitched breathing became quiet sobs.
Gandalf wanted Legolas to learn to control his temper. Legolas’
father had had a cursed life at times due to his blind rages and their
consequences. Unlike his son, Thranduil had not been receptive to Gandalf’s
attempts to aid him with his temper. Gandalf had a fondness for Legolas
and he did not want the young elf to suffer as the elf’s father
had.
Legolas’ quiet sobs became louder and the squirming
more violent but still Gandalf continued to spank the elf’s thighs
and buttocks.
“I am sorry…sorry…sorry,” Legolas
stammered between gasps for breath. It never ceased to amaze Legolas
how much stamina the Wizard had or how hard he could hit. He wondered
if the Wizard was ever going to stop.
“Take heed elfling,” Gandalf said as he continued
to land blistering slaps to Legolas’ posterior. “If you
allow blind rage to overtake you again, you will face my wrath, or when
I have gone West, Aragorn’s wrath.”
Gandalf ended the session with a quick succession of truly
memorable slaps to the juncture of the elf’s legs to bottom. Legolas
howled at this new pain. Gandalf stopped the spanking and rubbed the
elf’s back whilst Legolas regained as much composure as was possible
under the circumstances.
With none of his usual grace, Legolas removed himself from
Gandalf’s lap and pulled up his leggings, hissing as they came
into contact with his very sore posterior.
Gandalf looked at the forlorn elf and opened his arms inviting
Legolas into a hug. In the blink of an eye the Wizard’s arms were
full of elf. Gandalf rocked Legolas and stroked his hair until both
had regained their composure. Gandalf hated disciplining his favourite
elf.
Legolas looked at Gandalf and smiled his thanks. Although
the punishment was painful it was done out of love and Legolas truly
did not want to suffer as his father had done.
“Now be off with you elfling,” Gandalf shooed
Legolas as he rose from the bench. “And I beseech you, please
stay out of trouble. I do not think either of us could handle another
session like this soon.”
“Never!” Legolas promised as he walked, rather
ungainly for an elf, out of the garden. Gandalf laughed, shaking his
head at the young elf’s confidence, for he knew that trouble would
find Legolas again and that trouble would lead the elf to another trip
over his knees.
Aragorn was laughing so hard that he was sliding out of the chair
in which he was seated and tears of mirth rolled down his face.
“Only you mellon-nin, could cause such devastation
with but one arrow. And how, pray tell, did you think you would escape
the Istari?” Aragorn managed to say between gasps for breath,
as he continued to howl with laugher.
“I was not exactly thinking at the time, was I,”
Legolas grumbled petulantly, glaring at his friend for laughing at his
discomfort.
Legolas heard a strange choking sound coming from the Steward
in front of him. He leaned forward and looked at Faramir with concern.
The Steward was on his side curled into a ball. At first Legolas thought
that the young man was in pain but on closer inspection could see that
Faramir was attempting not to laugh. Legolas raised his eyebrow as he
continued to look at Faramir. Faramir looked at the elf apologetically
but on seeing the raised eyebrow lost all control. The Steward broke
out into hales of laughter interspersed with winces because of the pain
his laugher generated in his head.
Legolas thought he should be annoyed but the sound coming
from Faramir was so light and so musical that he could only smile in
astonishment. The elf realised that this was the first time that he
had heard the young Steward truly laugh and from the look of delighted
astonishment in Aragorn’s face - the same was true for him.
Faramir was finally able to find voice as he wiped tears
of mirth from his eyes.
“I am sorry, my friend,” Faramir apologised,
as he tried vainly to gain control over his laughter. “Mithrandir
did indeed send the fool to me. Lord Atiel is said fool’s name.
I know the Lord well as we are of age. He is testament as to why first
cousins should not marry through successive generations. And he is a
bully,” Faramir added, laugher ebbing from his voice.
On seeing the question in the elf’s eyes the Steward
continued.
“I was always small for my age and Atiel, being a favourite
of my father’s, felt he had leeway to make my life miserable.
When Boromir found out what had been happening in his absence, my brother
sorted the idiot out until I was big enough to defend myself.
He tried to lie about what had occurred between you and him
but I got the truth, although he seems to have left out much. I would
assume he was too busy playing in the horse’s trough to see what
else occurred. He was a sight to see upon reaching me, still soaked
from the dunking and his face covered with swellings from wasp stings,”
Faramir chuckled at the memory.
Legolas covered his own laugh with a cough.
“What did you do to him?” Legolas asked with
a little trepidation considering what Faramir had just told him about
his own history with the human.
“Do not worry Legolas, Atiel and I came to an agreement
the first time I broke the idiot’s nose and sent him flat on his
arse, many years ago. For his crimes against you and for what he said
against elves, dwarves, hobbits and especially the Queen, he is now
a private in the Gondorian army and is currently part of the detail
looking to re-establish Osgiliath,” Faramir said with a certain
amount of relish.
Legolas made a mental note not to get on the wrong side of
Faramir.
A knock was heard at the door and Aragorn rose to answer.
A kitchen maid brought in a tray with broth and bread. Aragorn thanked
the young woman as she left.
“Your break fast, Faramir,” Aragorn said as he
brought the tray over to Faramir and lay it down on the bed beside his
Steward.
“I am sorry Aragorn but I am not hungry,” Faramir
said as he paled at the sight of the food.
“You will eat my young Steward,” the King commanded
as he stood over the Steward, handing him a spoon for the broth.
“I am sorry…” Faramir began but was cut
of by Aragorn.
“You will eat or suffer the consequences,” Aragorn
said with a swing of his open palm at about arse height.
Legolas broke into laugher. Faramir looked very much like
an elfling – all eyes, as the young Steward put his spoon into
the broth.
On to Stubborn
Stewards and Bright Red Paddles
