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Part 19
Thranduil motioned for Maglor to lay Faramir down upon his bedroll.
Aragorn, the twins and Gandalf came to see how the young man fared.
Shaking his head at the vapour still rising from his wizardling, Gandalf
crouched down beside him to determine his condition, all the while muttering
about his pupil's temper and sheer bloody-minded stubbornness.
"How fares he, Mithrandir?" Thranduil asked quietly as he
looked down at his son's drawn face, streaked with tear tracks and looking
distressed even though unconscious.
"Do not fret, mellon-nin," Gandalf reassured the elven King
as he covered his wizardling with blankets. "He will *wish* he
had never been born upon his awakening in the morning for if he thought
the ache in his head was bad after his last episode…" the
Wizard said as he shook his head at the magnitude of the temper his
wizardling had managed to keep hidden from his mentor all these years.
"But he will recover," Gandalf added as he stood and stepped
back allowing Thranduil to sit down beside his son and Legolas to sit
down on the other side.
"Then I had best prepare a stronger brew," Maglor said as
he turned around and went off in search of the herbs that he would need
to produce the pain-relieving potion.
"Did he wreak much havoc, Legolas?" Aragorn asked quietly
as he looked down at his unconscious Steward.
"Oh aye! There are more than a few traumatised rocks out there
for certain. With but a wave of his hand he managed to split one boulder,
that stood the height of a man, in half," Legolas said in hushed
awe as he remembered Faramir, in anger and distress, blasting a path
of destruction through the forest.
"We will have to work on his temper for his power is too great,"
Gandalf sighed as he sat down upon a large root beside Thranduil. "Which
is why I think the Valar guided him to you, mellon-nin," the Wizard
said as he looked meaningfully at the elven King.
"You are not meaning to chastise him for this day's event. Are
you, Mithrandir?" Elladan asked, ready to defend his friend.
"Save your breath to cool your porridge, son of Elrond,"
the Wizard reprimanded the young elf mildly. "I have no intention
of chastising my wizardling as I am sure his hindquarters cannot take
another session this soon. But he must needs learn to control his temper,
for all our sakes."
Faramir was left in peace by the other members of the group as they
retired to their beds, leaving Thranduil and Legolas to watch over the
young man. Elven father and son talked of many things throughout the
night including ways of helping Faramir, enjoying the quiet time together.
The first thing the Steward of Gondor felt upon awakening in the morning
was an excruciating pain in his head causing him to moan and thrash,
which in turn caused even greater pain.
"Shhh. Lie still, ion-nin," Faramir heard the hushed voice
of his father as he lay on his side and then felt something cool and
moist placed over his eyes.
"Ada?" the young Steward asked in a voice that was barely
a whisper.
"Yes, child?" the elven King replied as he stroked Faramir's
hair and brow.
"Can you put me out of everyone's misery, please? Mine... upper...
most?" Faramir whimpered, hoping that the nausea he was feeling
did not lead to heaving because he was sure that his head would explode
if it did.
"I am sorry, tithen pen," Thranduil said quietly as he gently
raised his son enough so that he could drink the brew that Maglor was
holding. Legolas, sitting on the other side of Faramir, ensured that
his brother's eyes remained covered with the moist cloth, protecting
him from the light and the additional pain it would cause. "But
you will have to deal with the consequences of losing your temper. Here…drink,"
the elven King directed as he held the goblet the Seneschal had handed
him to his son's mouth.
Faramir screwed his nose up at the smell of the vile brew but drank,
knowing that it would give him relief. If he could hold it down he thought
as the nausea flared again.
"Eewww! Maglor!" the young Steward whined quietly between
mouthfuls, certain that the Seneschal was hovering. "This is the
worst batch… you have brewed… yet. Can you not… make
it more… palatable?"
"No," Maglor said succinctly. What Faramir could not see
because of the cloth covering his eyes was the 'Mirkwood' glint of humour
in the Seneschal's eyes. Thranduil and Legolas shared a smile.
"Are you *sure* he likes me, ada?" the Steward groaned as
another wave of nausea passed.
"Keep it down, ion-nin," the elven King crooned as he lowered
Faramir back down onto his side and rubbed his son's back in gentle,
soothing circles.
The Steward nodded as he concentrated on not heaving and keeping the
liquid down. Eventually the nausea passed and the pain in his head lessened
as he dozed throughout the morning. Thranduil, Aragorn and Legolas went
out hunting with a group of the Gondorian Soldiers, leaving Faramir
in the care of Maglor.
The Steward felt as weak as a newborn kitten and still felt nauseous
although the ache in his head had reduced thankfully, to a dull throb.
Maglor had all but spoon fed his bad tempered and complaining charge
clear broth for the midday meal and then left him to rest once more.
The Elrondion twins had decided not to go on the hunting expedition
but to keep their young friend company, thus allowing Thranduil and
Legolas to go in their stead. Mostly they had watched their friend sleep
off the effects of his temper tantrum of the previous evening. By the
afternoon, Faramir was sitting up and taking notice, fortified by the
meal Maglor had, much to the Steward's annoyance, insisted the young
man eat. Although they would never admit it publicly, both twins had
much respect for the Mirkwood Seneschal and especially the strength
of his right arm on exposed posteriors. Whilst feeling sympathy for
their friend's plight they could not help but laugh at the thunderous
look on Faramir's face when the elf produced 'Faramir's Bane' as if
from thin air, to circumvent argument and reinforce his instruction
to eat.
"You look as if you could do with cheering, mellon-nin,"
Elladan said as he approached and sat down beside Faramir.
"And we are sure to have a story that will do just that,"
Elrohir finished his twin's sentence as he sat down on the other side
of the Steward, grinning at the look of keen interest from their friend.
"Who would you like to hear about, Estel? Legolas?" Elladan
asked.
Faramir grinned.
"Legolas. I would like to know of my brother when he was younger,"
the young Steward replied, looking much better already.
"Aye. Legolas then," Elrohir began.
The young Prince of Mirkwood was a teenager by the standards of humans,
beyond the age of an elfling but still some years from adulthood. The
young prince had journeyed with his carer Maglor from Mirkwood, to visit
the realm of Rivendell and see his friends the Elrondion Twins.
"Mae Govannen, Maglor, Legolas," Elrond greeted his guests
as they dismounted from their horses at the bottom of the steps that
led up to the great feasting hall.
Legolas greeted Lord Elrond and looked around.
"The twins are on patrol at the moment and will return in a few
days," Elrond said as he smiled at Legolas, guessing that the young
one was searching for signs of his sons. "Rest awhile after your
long journey. I will see you in the hall for the evening meal."
Disappointed that the twins were not there but looking forward to the
feast, Legolas made his way to the room he used on all his visits to
Rivendell. After the feast, Legolas retired to his bed. Upon awakening
in the morning, the Mirkwood prince met Maglor and walked to the dining
hall to partake of the morning meal with Lord Elrond and Glorfindel.
During the course of the morning meal, Glorfindel invited Legolas to
join with other young elves in the morning archery class. Legolas accepted
the invitation gladly for Glorfindel was renowned as one of the greatest
elven warriors.
The archery class went well for Legolas, as it was obvious that the
young Mirkwood elf had more advanced skills than those of his age mates,
not surprising given the relative dangers posed in Rivendell to the
greater ones in Mirkwood. Glorfindel praised the young Prince for both
his technique and accuracy. Though well deserved and reinforced by nearly
all of the young elves in the class who took turns commenting and patting
the Mirkwood elf on the back, the praise given by Glorfindel rankled
the young elf Haldamir, who had always considered himself the best archer
amongst his age mates.
Several of the young elves called for a contest, so targets were set
up the first round begun. By the third round there were only three elves
remaining in the contest including Legolas and Haldamir. The better
Legolas did the angrier Haldamir got and the worse he performed. To
add insult to injured elven pride, Haldamir did not make it into the
final round that Legolas finally won.
The class disbanded and Legolas joined the young elves in play. Seething
with jealousy Haldamir made some very impolitic statements within Legolas'
hearing about the inferior manners and intelligence of the 'wood elves'
of Mirkwood. To the young Prince's credit he did manage to control his
temper and walk away from the situation and was joined by most of his
classmates who were not at all pleased with their friend's attitude.
This had the effect of making the Rivendell elf even more furious.
After a long day of play the elves went to wash up for the evening
feast. The halls of fire had been decorated in honour of the Mirkwood
visitors. The hall was illuminated by five large and heavy metal chandeliers
which were held aloft by rope secured to metal hooks placed at about
shoulder height in the wooden down supports, so that they could be lowered
and raised when the candles needed to be replaced. Long tables were
dotted around the room so that all who ate in the hall had a clear view
of those sitting at the main table. The tables were laden with food,
wine and bowls of punch, awaiting the arrival of the guests.
Still silently fuming over the comments made by Haldamir, Legolas met
with Maglor on his way to the feast.
"What ails you tithen-pen?" Maglor asked on seeing the look
on his young charge's face as he met with Legolas before proceeding
to the feast.
Before Legolas could answer Elrond approached; also on his way to the
feast. Legolas shook his head in the negative indicating that it was
nothing and walked beside Lord Elrond as all three walked to the feasting
hall. Elrond and Maglor walked to the main table as Legolas stopped
to look at all the beautiful decorations festooning the walls and ceiling.
The Mirkwood Prince was just about to move forward when he was knocked
from behind so fiercely that he ended up on his face on the floor.
"Clumsy as well as stupid, eh wood elf?" Haldamir smirked
as he walked past the sprawled Prince.
Legolas' eyes turned cold. Maglor saw the danger from where he was
sitting at the main table, near the Lord of Rivendell.
"Leg-o-las!" the Seneschal's tone warned the young Prince
not to let his temper take control. Legolas either did not hear or did
not acknowledge Maglor.
Jumping to his feet with elven grace, Legolas lunged forward and tackled
the Rivendell youth. One look at the Prince's eyes informed Haldamir
that he was in trouble. Scrambling backward the Rivendell elf gained
his feet and continued to back away. Legolas went in low and gabbed
the youth around the waist forcing the elf backwards and into a wooden
support. Unfortunately the violent movement caused the rope attached
to a metal hook holding one of the heavy candelabras above to unravel.
The Mirkwood elf saw the danger and grabbed the rope to stop the candelabra
from falling. Unfortunately the candelabra weighed more than the young
elf who was propelled up towards the ceiling. Legolas managed to jump
onto a crossbeam, which gave the unfortunate son of Thranduil a wonderful
view of all that subsequently happened.
The candelabra fell onto the end of the long main table just missing
Glorfindel who had to jump backwards out of its way. Unfortunately the
Rivendell Seneschal did not jump far enough to get out of the way of
the bowl of dessert that followed him. Legolas groaned. Lord Elrond
was also forced to jump out of the way, impressing the young Mirkwood
elf with his agility. To his horror, Legolas saw the large bowl of punch
that was on the opposite end to that which was hit by the candelabra,
propelled far into the air, seem to stop in midair for a moment, before
it descended spilling its entire contents onto… Legolas cringed
and whimpered. He had not known that the wizard was anywhere near Rivendell
or even expected to be.
All went deathly quiet in the feasting hall as all eyes turned as one
to the dripping, spluttering, angry, wizard.
"Legolas Thranduilion! Get down here this minute!" Gandalf
bellowed as he glared up at the Mirkwood Prince.
Legolas, all eyes, shook his head violently, blond hair flying in every
direction.
"Leg-o-las!" Maglor added his warning command to that of
the wizard, as he too glared up at his young charge.
Legolas shook his head again. There was no way that he was going to
give up the high ground. He would rather face a nest full of spiders,
he thought.
"Still his father's son, I see," Glorfindel said in a conversational
tone as he stood beside Maglor and continued his unsuccessful attempts
to wipe the sticky desert from his tunic, whilst looking up at the frightened
young prince, who was looking very much the elfling of old.
"That is true," the Seneschal replied in the same conversational
tone as he continued to glare at the wayward elf.
Seeing the gathering group of elves below all glaring up at him, Legolas'
nerve deserted him and he turned tail and bolted. Gracefully jumping
from one crossbeam to another, Legolas made his way out onto the roof
and then into the relative safety of the trees.
Maglor sighed shaking his head as he realised finding the panicked
elfling may take all night.
Part 20
Haldamir, who had kept to the wall during the entire event, saw Legolas'
fright then flight, and smirked. Turning to leave he caught sight of
Glorfindel who pinned him with a look that made the blood drain from
the young elf's face. The Rivendell Seneschal walked over to the youth
and grabbed him by the point of his elven ear.
"We, pen-neth, are going to have a long… discussion,"
Glorfindel growled as he pulled the pointed ear, the terrified and yelping
elf attached, through a doorway at the end of the feasting hall into
a small room.
Maglor watched Glorfindel march the young one away, confident that
the Rivendell Seneschal would find out what the youth had done to so
incite his Thranduilion's temper.
"Well!" Gandalf exclaimed as he and Elrond walked over to
Maglor. "I think there is more to this night's events than we are
privy to at present."
Maglor nodded slowly and then looked at Gandalf. The Seneschal's eyes
moved from the wizard's drooping hat laden down with liquid, to the
wizard's robes and downwards to the floor, lingering on the growing
puddle of punch forming around Gandalf's feet.
"One smirk out of you, mellon-nin, either of you" Gandalf
corrected as he glared at the Mirkwood Seneschal and then Elrond, "and
you will both find out how much strength there is left in this old wizard
yet!"
Both Elrond and Maglor kept impressively passive faces giving the angry
wizard no ammunition that could be used against them. Glaring again
at one then the other, Gandalf huffed finally and marched out of the
feasting hall and off to his room to divest himself of the uncomfortably
wet clothing and bathe.
Upon the wizard's departure, Lord and Seneschal broke out into sheepish
grins.
"Go find your elfling, mellon-nin," Elrond chuckled as he
looked up to where Legolas had made his escape onto the roof. "I
would offer assistance but I know from past experience that the trees
will not give up the location of their distressed wood elfling. But
they may to another wood elf…" Both elves turned abruptly
to the doors at the end of the hall as the familiar sound of hand spanking
bare flesh, and the cries of a young elf, were heard. "It seems
Glorfindel has got to the *bottom* of the issue," Elrond said with
a certain amount of satisfaction.
The Rivendell Lord had been correct in his belief that the trees would
not give up the location of their wood elfling Maglor thought as he
continued to search for his wayward young charge. It had taken all his
powers of persuasion and patience to pry the information from the trees.
After many hours searching the Seneschal finally found his young charge
high up in an ancient oak, sitting with his knees pulled up to his chest
cradled in a hollow.
"Well, tithen-pen," Maglor said softly as he sat down on
the branch just under the hollow in which the still distressed elfling
was sulking, "your temper has led to some rather spectacular consequences
this evening," he added with a glint of humour in his eyes.
"How does he do it?" Legolas asked with both annoyance and
bewilderment evident in his voice.
"Who, tithen-pen?" Maglor asked in return.
"Every time I lose my temper he is there to bear witness,"
Legolas said sullenly.
Maglor nodded slowly in understanding.
"He did more than bear witness tonight, tithen-pen," the
Seneschal replied with an even more prominent glint in his eye, "he
was fair dripping in it!"
Legolas groaned burying his face in his knees.
"So, Thranduilion. What do you have to say for yourself?"
Maglor asked the groaning elfling.
"I lost my temper," Legolas mumbled into his knees.
"You have your father's talent for understatement, pen-neth,"
the Seneschal chuckled. "Why did you lose your temper?" Legolas
explained about the taunting at the archery lesson and the deliberate
push at the feast. "Come here, elfling," Maglor coaxed, opening
his arms inviting his elfling into a much-needed hug. Legolas moved
out of the hollow, sat beside Maglor and was enveloped in the Seneschal's
arms. "I am proud of you for not losing your temper earlier this
day but wish you could have controlled it at the feast."
"I am sorry, Maglor," Legolas said contritely.
"I know, tithen-pen. You must needs return and face the consequences,
whatever they may be," Maglor replied. Legolas nodded in understanding.
The two Mirkwood elves made their way back to the feasting hall. They
were met at the bottom of the stairs leading up to the hall by Glorfindel
and Haldamir. The Rivendell Seneschal looked ever the warrior as he
stood at the foot of the stairs although he still wore the tunic that
bore the stains sustained from the flying dessert. Haldamir looked both
subdued and as if he had been crying.
"You found him then… finally, mellon-nin," Glorfindel
said, humour evident in his eyes.
"The trees were less than co-operative in divulging his whereabouts,"
Maglor explained.
"And you a wood elf!" the Rivendell Seneschal chuckled. Maglor's
eyes went skyward at Glorfindel's teasing. "On the subject of wood
elves, this young one," Glorfindel said turning serious as he guided
the young elf to stand before the Mirkwood elves "needs to make
an apology to the Prince of Mirkwood. It seems that he has made some
very impolitic comments about wood elves, knowingly within the Prince's
hearing, borne out of jealousy of Legolas' prowess with bow and arrow.
The same jealousy that led him to push Legolas at the feast and thus
biting off more than he could chew by inciting the famous Thranduil
temper, with all the resultant mayhem that normally entails," Glorfindel
added as he looked at Legolas intently causing the young prince to blush
to the very tips of his elven ears and lower his head in embarrassment.
"I am sorry for my actions, Prince Legolas," Haldamir apologised
as he continued to find the ground fascinating.
"I am sorry too," Legolas replied, although the young prince's
wording fooled neither Maglor nor Glorfindel for he was more likely
to be sorry for the other's actions than his own, only the rather startling
consequences of his own actions.
Haldamir looked to Glorfindel for permission to leave. Glorfindel nodded
but then put a hand on the young elf's shoulder, turned him around and
gave the young one a brief hug before sending him on his way. Haldamir
smiled tentatively at the Seneschal before turning and escaping up the
stairs to the hall.
"I apologise Lord Glorfindel," Legolas said, genuinely contrite.
"You came close to being hurt and your… " Legolas finished
the sentence by waving at the dessert stains on the Seneschal's tunic.
"Apology accepted, pen-neth," Glorfindel said as he gathered
the contrite prince into a hug. "As punishment I will expect you
to spend tomorrow mucking out the stables."
"Yes sir," Legolas sighed as he returned the hug. One down,
two to go he thought.
The two Mirkwood elves went in search of Lord Elrond; finding him eventually
in his study. Legolas knocked on the door tentatively.
"Come," Lord Elrond's voice, bid him enter. Legolas looked
at Maglor who made a shooing motion for Legolas to deal with the Lord
of Rivendell by himself. The young Mirkwood prince gave the Seneschal
his best helpless baby rabbit look. Maglor replied with a look that
indicated that he was not buying. Legolas sighed and entered.
"Ah, there you are pen-neth," Elrond said he beckoned the
young prince forward to where he was sitting in a chair by the fireside,
reaching out for both of Legolas' hands. "You have had a busy evening,
hmmmm?"
Legolas blushed again, bowing his head in embarrassment; seeing again
the image of the Lord of Rivendell seemingly unhampered by his long
flowing robes, jump adroitly out of the way of the falling candelabra.
"I apologise for my behaviour tonight, Lord Elrond… "
the Mirkwood prince began.
"Apology accepted, tithen-pen," Elrond said, forestalling
any further apologies. "Glorfindel explained all that occurred
and although I am disappointed that you lost your temper, I can understand
why you did and I will not add to the punishment I think you can expect
from Mithrandir."
"Thank you, sir," Legolas winced and gulped at the thought
of what Gandalf was likely to do to him. Still holding both of Legolas'
hands, Elrond pulled the young elf into a comforting hug.
When Legolas finally left the study, Maglor put a supporting arm around
the young elf's shoulders as they proceeded to Gandalf's room. Legolas
knocked on the door quietly, hoping that the wizard was asleep.
"It is about time you rapscallion, get in here!" came the
wizard's booming voice from the other side of the door. Legolas rested
his head on the door, steeling himself to enter. Maglor again waited
outside whilst Legolas went in to face Gandalf alone.
Legolas walked over to the wizard who, like Lord Elrond had been, was
sitting on a chair by the fireside, and stopped just outside the wizard's
reach.
"I apologise for my actions this evening, Gandalf," Legolas
said, not able to look the wizard in the eye.
"Come here, Legolas," Mithrandir said gently as he held out
his arms. Legolas accepted the invitation and was soon enveloped in
the wizard's arms and sitting upon his lap.
"You are your father's son, young one. And you more than anyone,
Thranduilion, must needs learn to control your temper, for unlike your
father when you lose your temper, havoc and mayhem *always* follow."
Legolas would like to have argued that that assertion was not necessarily
true, as havoc and mayhem only seemed to follow when the wizard was
also present but wisely kept quiet, thinking that Gandalf would not
appreciate the theory.
"All right, young one. Let us see to your chastisement,"
Gandalf said gently.
Legolas sighed, stood, loosened the ties of his leggings, pushed them
down to his knees and lowered himself back over Gandalf's lap. The wizard
wasted no time in beginning the punishment by landing the first swats
to the elf's exposed buttocks. Legolas gasped at the strength of the
swats but was relieved, if only temporarily, that they were not as hard
as those of Maglor. It was not long though before it no longer mattered
who hit harder and the elf was whimpering and squirming. The whimpers
turned to sobs when Gandalf moved to the elfling's thighs. After a few
more swats to Legolas' 'sit spot', the wizard ended the punishment.
Pulling up the elf's leggings, Gandalf turned him over and gathered
the still sobbing elf into his arms, all the while crooning soothing
words of forgiveness.
After the truly horrendous day the poor young elf had experienced,
exhausted, Legolas' eyes glazed over as he fell into reverie in the
arms of the wizard. After a short while, Maglor entered and smiled at
the sight of his young one being cradled by the crusty old wizard.
"It seems my brother has not changed," Faramir laughed merrily
remembering the tale Legolas had recounted so reluctantly to him and
Elessar about the mayhem caused when, in anger, he shot an arrow into
a wasp's nest. "He can still create the greatest amount mayhem
with amazingly little effort and absolutely no premeditation on his
part."
It was at that moment the hunting party returned. Faramir was surprised
to see Elessar, very wet and seething as he dismounted from his horse
and foist the reins into the hands of a soldier who looked as if he
was attempting, very hard, to subdue a smile that was threatening to
break out across his face. Legolas on the other hand was looking subdued
and decidedly guilty as he dismounted and Thranduil had a definite twinkle
in his eyes as he jumped lightly from his horse. Maglor, who had been
busying himself around the camp, took one look at Estel, Legolas and
Thranduil, and produced 'Faramir's Bane' from what appeared to be thin
air and handed it to Estel. Aragorn accepted the paddle from Maglor
with a nod, turned and stormed off into the forest in a direction very
familiar to Faramir. Legolas whimpered on seeing the paddle, glared
at Maglor for a moment, before reluctantly following Estel when his
friend growled.
"Legolas!!"
Part 21
"Whatever has he done now?" Faramir asked as Thranduil walked
over and sat down beside him and the twins moved to sit on the other
side of the campfire with Gandalf.
"Legolas is still very young for an elf, ion-nin," Thranduil
began in way of explanation, "and still acts like an elfling at
times. I wonder occasionally whether he will ever outgrow the tendency."
"I do not see why he should," Maglor commented as he stirred
a pot of stew that hung over the campfire, "as his sire has not
as yet."
The twins snorted and Faramir let out a strangled sounding giggle.
Thranduil sent a glare in the direction of his Seneschal, softened somewhat
by the twinkle in his eyes.
"Whatever he has done, Estel looked positively thunderous and..."
Elladan began, looking in the direction his brother and friend had taken.
"...very wet," Elrohir concluded with a laugh.
"I will leave the explanation to Legolas. You still look exhausted,
ion-nin. I do not like the look of the dark circles under your eyes,"
the elven King said as he looked at Faramir intently.
"I am fine, ada," Faramir assured his father.
Maglor snorted.
"He is still unable to stand unaided, mellon-nin," Maglor
contradicted his young charge's assertion that he was fine as he continued
to stir the pot.
Faramir glared at the Mirkwood Seneschal.
"That is only to be expected," Gandalf interjected, "given
the strength and lengthy duration of my wizardling's recent display
of ill temper. He channelled a vast amount of energy and will be weakened
for a few days yet," the wizard admonished.
Faramir turned his glare on Gandalf and then on the twins both of whom
were chuckling. Sighing, the young Steward rested his head against his
father's shoulder who put an arm around his son's shoulders and drew
him close.
Aragorn strode into the clearing, pacing up and down in front of the
fallen log that Faramir was acquainted with so intimately, having been
almost nose to bark with it on several occasions. Legolas came into
the clearing tentatively and winced on seeing his friend's pacing -
never a good sign with the human. Elven flight instincts took over and
Legolas found himself half way up the nearest tree before being aware
that he had even moved.
"Come down here this instant!" The King barked as he looked
up into the tree in which the elf had taken shelter.
"I am not coming down until you calm down," Legolas replied
as he moved higher up the tree.
"Do not make me come up there, mellon-nin," Aragorn threatened.
"I am not letting my backside anywhere near that... that... 'thing'
until you have calmed down. Elladan and Elrohir call it a monster and
Faramir whimpers whenever he sets eyes on it and my brother is no coward.
It was an accident," the Mirkwood prince whined as he kept a wary
eye on his friend's movements.
"An accident! An accident my foot! You deliberately pulled that
branch back knowing that I could not dodge it on such a narrow path
whilst on horseback!" Aragorn growled.
"Well... yes... I do concede that that part was deliberate but
I did not mean to unhorse you. That was an accident," Legolas pleaded.
"Did not mean to unhorse me! You sent a bloody great branch flying
at me but you did not mean to unhorse me!" the King of Gondor replied
incredulously.
"No I did not and… well… you landed on a slope at
least. They do say that is easier on the body than falling onto flat
ground," the hapless elf reasoned.
"You mean the slope that I rolled down, head over arse, for three
hundred yards only to end the painful trip in the river raging below?"
Aragorn snarled.
Legolas winced. Aragorn had made quite a spectacular display as he
rolled from the top of the hill all the way down and into the river
below. He was sure to have quite a collection of bruises, the elf thought.
"Well… the water was a soft landing," Legolas argued,
grasping at straws as he tried to reason with the angry human.
"Yes, mellon-nin. The water *was* a soft landing but the fall
the raging river swept me over was not!
"It was not an overly large waterfall," the elf replied in
a small voice.
"It was over thirty feet, you blasted wood elf!" Aragorn
shouted.
"You are not calming down, Aragorn," Legolas said plaintively
as he clung to the trunk of the tree.
"Do not make me call your ada or Maglor," Aragorn warned
as he looked up at Legolas.
"I cannot believe Maglor gave that ... that 'thing' to you!"
the elf exclaimed indignantly.
"Are you or are you not going to come down?" Aragorn asked
as he glared up at his friend. Legolas glared back at Aragorn but climbed
down the tree grumbling curses the whole time. "Faramir is having
a bad influence on your vocabulary, mellon-nin," Aragorn added
as he sat upon the fallen tree and lay 'Faramir's Bane' beside him.
Steeling himself for what was about to happen, the Mirkwood prince
walked over to Aragorn, loosened the ties of his leggings, pushed them
down to his knees and lowered himself over his friend's still damp lap.
The King of Gondor wasted no time in starting the chastisement with
a flurry of stinging whacks to the elf's buttocks that made Legolas
gasp loudly, whimper and then squirm. Although much angered with his
friend, the debacle of Faramir's last chastisement was fresh in his
mind so Aragorn maintained tight control over his temper and kept a
close eye on his friend's reactions. Even so, it was not long before
the wood elf was yelling and squirming trying to avoid the stinging
whacks to his posterior. Aragorn did not stop until Legolas' buttocks
and thighs were as red as the paddle.
"I... am... sorry... sorry... please stop," the elf sobbed.
After a few final well-placed whacks, Aragorn concluded the chastisement,
put the paddle aside and rubbed the contrite elf's back as he lay across
his lap still sobbing out apology after apology. Legolas slipped down
to the ground and pulled up his leggings, hissing as he did so and then
rested his head on his friend's thigh. Aragorn continued to rub the
elf's back crooning comforting words.
"I am beginning to believe that wood elves are kin to cats,"
the King of Gondor began as he gathered the Mirkwood prince into his
arms, careful of his well chastised bottom, "and like their feline
brethren their eyes go wide occasionally, the imp in their nature takes
possession and they cause any manner of strange mischief and but a moment
later act as if nothing unusual or untoward has occurred."
"I am sorry, Aragorn," the elf sniffled.
"I know you are, my half-wild elf," the human said soothingly.
"I sometimes forget how young you are still for an elf and especially
now that you have taken on the role of older brother to Faramir. I pity
your poor ada and Maglor over the coming centuries, what with both you
and Faramir to contend with; they will be busy. You are good for my
Steward though, mellon-nin and will in time grow to fill the gap in
his heart left by the loss of Boromir."
"He is easy to love although he still does not realise it,"
Legolas sighed.
"You, your ada and Maglor have more than enough love and will
teach him in time," Aragorn replied.
"I cannot believe that he handed that... that 'thing' over to
you without so much as a by-your-leave!" the Mirkwood elf huffed
in indignation, still smarting over the Seneschal's actions.
"He knows his elfling well and you had guilt written all over
your face, mellon-nin," Aragorn chuckled. "Go wash your face
in the stream and let us return to the others."
After the elven prince had done what Aragorn suggested, both returned
to the camp.
Thranduil disentangled himself from Faramir and jumped gracefully
to his feet on seeing Legolas and Aragorn return and moved to envelop
his elfling in a warm embrace. Legolas returned his father's embrace
accepting the comfort offered.
The prince of Mirkwood's heart was warmed by the look of concern on
his brother's face as Faramir looked at him.
The elf walked over to the Steward who moved along to the end of his
bedroll, somewhat stiltedly, inviting Legolas to stretch out on the
bedding and rest his head on Faramir's lap. Legolas smiled and did just
that. Thranduil gave his sons some privacy by moving to where Aragorn
sat near the wizard and the twins.
"How fare you, muindor tithen?" the prince asked, twisting
slightly to look up at Faramir. "I do not like the look of those
dark circles under your eyes and you still seem exhausted."
"I am fine," Faramir replied. Maglor snorted again causing
Faramir to roll his eyes. "My strength is returning... slowly,"
the young Steward sighed and then examined his brother closely.
"Are *you* all right," Faramir whispered as Legolas lowered
his head back onto his brother's lap, settling on his side.
"That... 'thing' has the sting of a swarm of bees, muindor tithen!"
the elf complained in a harsh whisper.
"Remember that the next time you wield it and my backside is its
intended target, brother," Faramir whispered, smiling down at Legolas
who blushed to the tips of his elven ears remembering the time he had
used it on his brother.
"What did you do to Elessar?" Faramir asked in a hushed voice.
"I will tell you when the flame in my backside dissipates,"
Legolas promised, wincing as he did so from a flare of pain from his
rear.
Absentmindedly Faramir took Legolas' earlobe between thumb and finger
and began to massage the lobe in a rhythmic motion.
"What are you doing, muindor tithen?" Legolas asked.
"I am sorry..." the young Steward began, stopping the motion
immediately and blushing as fiercely as Legolas had moments before.
"No! Do not stop. It is soothing," the elf replied.
"It is a habit I formed with Boromir when I was very young, whenever
he was upset or on the very rare occasion that he was fevered. It always
seemed to calm him," Faramir replied in a distant voice as he remembered
his fallen brother.
Legolas patted Faramir's knee, a gesture the young Steward recognised
as his elven brother's way of showing support and comfort.
The brothers remained that way, Faramir gently massaging Legolas' earlobe
drawing the elf's attention away from his throbbing hindquarters, until
Legolas' head shot up and he turned his head in a way that Faramir recognised
was his brother listening. Looking around the young Steward saw that
all the elves were listening.
"Horses approach," Legolas said as he rolled to his knees
and stood, taking care not to further incite the throbbing in his rear.
Faramir also attempted to stand but fell back on his behind with a
thump, eliciting a wince from the Steward for his behind was still somewhat
sore from his recent spate of chastisements.
"No, stay, muindor tithen," Legolas instructed his younger
brother.
"I do not seem to have a choice," Faramir growled as Legolas
joined the others.
"It is Finrod and the soldiers," Elladan called down from
the tree that he had climbed to get a view of those who approached.
Finrod and the company of weary and grubby Gondorian soldiers arrived
and dismounted. The Mirkwood elf and the company's senior officer approached
Aragorn, whilst the rest of the company stayed back.
"Mae govannen, Finrod. Well met, Lieutenant," Aragorn greeted
each in turn.
"Mae govannen, Estel," Finrod replied.
"What news?" the King of Gondor asked.
"We tracked the wizard as far as the mountains near Emyn Muil
in Northern Ithilien, Sire, before losing his trail," the Gondorian
answered, grimacing as he did so as they had wanted to catch the rogue
wizard.
"You and your men look weary and hungry, Lieutenant," Aragorn
said as he eyed the soldiers.
"It was my first time travelling with an elf, Sire," the
Lieutenant said as he looked askance at Finrod. "I hope not to
repeat the experience any time soon."
Finrod grinned from ear to ear as he looked at the Lieutenant. The
King's eyebrow went skyward in a gesture reminiscent of Lord Elrond
or so Finrod thought.
"Do they never tire or get dirty, Sire?" the man asked plaintively.
Aragorn grinned widely as he looked from the human who looked weary
beyond measure and was covered in dust and grime to the blond elf who
did not look in the least bit tired and had not a hair on his head out
of place.
"Rarely and it can be very disheartening. I know," Aragorn
replied, smiling as he looked at his brothers and Legolas. "Take
rest and food at the soldier's camp. Elrohir will show you the way."
Elrohir turned and was moving towards the other soldiers when the Lieutenant
spoke again.
"What have you done to the Captain, Sire? He looks bloody awful,"
the Lieutenant blurted out and then paled and swallowed as he realised
his words were less than diplomatic. Sniggering could be heard from
the soldiers behind him.
"I think you have been around Finrod too long, friend, or is your
speech always this forthright?" Legolas asked the embarrassed soldier.
"I think it is an indication of his weariness," Faramir chuckled
at his Ithilien ranger's discomposure, from his still seated position,
"he is usually able to hold his tongue even if what he is itching
to say is still written clearly in his features."
"Most of what has happened to my Steward has been self inflicted.
I am sure my brother will be more than happy to tell you of my Steward's
latest exploits," Aragorn replied as he smirked at his Steward.
Faramir groaned.
Part 22
Laughing merrily, Elrohir put a hand on the Lieutenant's shoulder and
guided him towards the other soldiers standing in the distance.
"It all started…" the elf began, stealing a glance
at Faramir who returned a look that promised retribution. Elrohir's
smile brightened even more as he turned his attention back to guiding
the soldiers towards their camp, resuming the tale.
Legolas walked back to where Faramir sat and assumed his supine position
again, resting his head on his brother's lap. The young Steward smiled
at Legolas' unspoken request for him to continue the comfort that had
been interrupted by the arrival of Finrod, amazed at how similar Legolas
was to Boromir at times as he resumed gently massaging the elven ear.
Legolas sighed and snuggled further into Faramir's thigh, eliciting
a broader smile from the Steward.
Aragorn signalled for Thranduil and Gandalf to join him, leading them
away from the sons of the elven King before sitting on the ground and
inviting the old wizard to sit on the root of a tree in the shape of
a natural seat. Maglor continued to tend the pot of stew cooking over
the fire and foil the attempts of Elladan and Finrod to sample the tempting
repast before it was ready to be served.
"Saruman is hiding in the mountains near Emyn Muil. It would take
more soldiers than are available currently to flush him out. I would
have us all return to Minas Tirith. What think you?" asked Aragorn
as he looked from Gandalf to Thranduil.
"First and foremost we need to protect my stubborn and oft times
thick-headed wizardling," replied the wizard, looking down upon
the human and elven kings. "Faramir is the first truly human wizard
of any age and is displaying abilities far stronger and well in advance
of what he should be capable. But he is vulnerable and also unstable…of
which we have had recent and somewhat spectacular proof," Gandalf
added, bringing forth chuckles from both kings. "It is a measure
of the strength of his character that he has been able to so far weather
the harrowing and unnerving changes in his life over the past year,
with but a few tantrums."
"Tell that to the rocks, Gandalf!" Aragorn exclaimed, eyebrows
raised and shaking his head. The wizard and elven King chuckled.
"My son is strong, Mithrandir," Thranduil said turning serious
suddenly as he looked over to where Faramir sat with Legolas' head still
resting on his thigh, "but he is on the edge of the abyss and but
one more revelation, the likes of which he has suffered recently, I
fear could find him fallen into that chasm."
"All the more reason to get him back to the White City where he
can be protected and more importantly trained," Gandalf reasoned.
"The sooner the better in my opinion," he huffed remembering
his pupil's temper tantrum.
"He cannot stand unaided still," the elven King mused as
he looked at his human son. "I find myself torn between wanting
him to rest here a few days more to regain his strength and getting
him back to Minas Tirith as quickly as possible. A darkness threatening
my son draws near. I can feel it."
"It is agreed then. We make for the White City on the morrow,"
said Aragorn decidedly. "I will let the others know," he added
as he stood and walked towards where the others were gathered.
Faramir found the next morning that he was still very weak but could
stand, albeit barely and on mutinously shaking legs. Much to the young
Steward's embarrassment his father insisted that he not attempt to ride
alone. An argument would have ensued had Maglor not produced 'Faramir's
Bane' from the Steward knew not where but wished the Seneschal would
not. Smiling at his son's thunderous expression, Thranduil assisted
the young human onto his horse and jumped lightly onto the animal behind
Faramir.
The journey back to Minas Tirith took four days. The end of each day's
ride found Faramir's energy depleted to the point where Maglor had to
all but spoon feed his young charge, who invariably fell asleep before
finishing the repast. Thranduil worried for his son, lessened only slightly
by Gandalf's assurances that his wizardling would regain his strength
after a few days of uninterrupted sleep in a comfortable bed away from
the cold hard ground.
In the afternoon of the fourth day the company reached the White City.
The sounding of silver trumpets and bells heralded the return of King
and the Steward of Gondor, although the Steward was not in a condition
to hear them as he was fast asleep, swaddled in a cloak, cradled side
saddle in the arms of his father. The soldiers left the travellers in
the first level of the city moving in the direction of the garrison.
The remainder of the company made their way to the top level. People
came from everywhere to greet the King and Steward. Joyous expressions
turned to concern as they saw the Steward of Gondor, unconscious in
the arms of an elf, looking pale and wan. Aragorn found himself having
to reassure people that the Steward was indeed alive - just exhausted,
as the company made their way up to the palace.
The travellers finally rode into the courtyard located in front of
the palace where they were met by a radiant Arwen, Lord Elrond, Gimli
and Prince Imrahil. Their expressions of joy also turned to alarm as
they saw the unconscious Steward.
"What has happened? Is he all right? What ails... " Prince
Imrahil asked as he strode to where the elven King's horse had halted.
"Be assured, he is alive and simply exhausted," Aragorn arrested
the barrage of questions from the panicked Imrahil. "Although there
is much of which you will need to be apprised, my friend."
Legolas, who had already dismounted, smiled reassuringly at the prince
as he relieved his father of Faramir, thus allowing the elven King to
dismount.
Concern evident still, Imrahil placed a hand on Faramir's brow to assure
himself that his sister's son could indeed be counted as amongst those
still living.
"My son is in need of his bed, mellon-nin," said Thranduil
quietly, comforted by the genuine concern shown by the human.
Startled by the elf's reference to Faramir as 'his son', Imrahil looked
intently at him.
"You are King Thranduil?" the prince surmised, then saw the
nod of confirmation from the King of Mirkwood. "Arwen has spoken
of you and the position you now hold in my sister son's life,"
Imrahil said as he continued his scrutiny of the elf. "I thank
you. It is a role I would have liked to have assumed in his life but
alas I was too far away and it was not meant to be," the Prince
of Dol Amroth added, regret and sadness evident in his voice.
"I think we should get the laddie to his bed," Gimli interceded
in an effort to get them moving and the young Steward out of the weather.
Legolas carried Faramir to the young Steward's apartments accompanied
by Thranduil, Elrond, Gandalf, Gimli and Aragorn. Kissing her husband
thoroughly before he followed Legolas, Arwen directed her brothers,
Maglor and Finrod to her favourite family room so that she could find
out all that had happened since they had been gone.
The Mirkwood prince laid Faramir down gently upon the young man's bed,
left his brother to the care of his father and Imrahil and sat cross-legged
at the end of the large four poster bed. Lord Elrond leaned against
the windowsill and Gandalf sat down on a chair located against the wall
near the Rivendell elf. Aragorn and Gimli chose to hover. Thranduil
and Imrahil divested the sleeping Steward of his travelling clothes
and dressed him in a nightshirt found by Gimli. Not once did Faramir
stir, renewing his uncle's concern and agitation.
Lord Elrond approached the Steward and examined the young man to assure
himself that it was just exhaustion and that Faramir would be all right.
"Tell me please. What has happened?" Imrahil asked in a choked
voice as he sat on the bed beside Faramir when Elrond finished his examination
and laid a hand on the young man's brow.
Thranduil sat down on the other side of Faramir and with gentleness
and compassion explained what had transpired from the moment Faramir
had entered Mirkwood with Legolas. The Prince of Dol Amroth's eyes expressed
alarm and concern when told of the trouble Legolas and Faramir had faced
when confronted by orcs on their way to the Halls of Mirkwood. He laughed
at the elven King's retelling of Faramir's altercation with the bitter
elf Amras and of the consequences to the young human of losing his temper.
"I am afraid that Faramir inherited that particular trait from
my sister, Findulas," Imrahil admitted sheepishly. "I myself
have a permanent reminder of that temper, from when we were young,"
he added as he pulled up the sleeve of his tunic revealing a small scar
in the shape of a bite mark on the inside of his forearm.
"She bit you?!" Aragorn exclaimed with an expression somewhere
between astonishment and amusement.
"That she most certainly did," Imrahil replied with a smile
of remembrance, "and I might add that, in hindsight, I probably
thoroughly deserved it at the time," he added eliciting chuckles
from all present with the exception of the sleeping Steward.
Thranduil continued recounting all that had happened to Faramir. He
told Imrahil of the incident at Dol Guldur involving his human son,
orcs and wine eliciting a thunderous look from the Prince of Dol Amroth
- a look that highlighted the resemblance between him and Faramir. Imrahil
laughed again when told of the incident involving the King, honey and
exuberant sweet-toothed hunting dogs.
Aragorn then took up the story, telling the prince of Faramir's lapse
back into old habits of working excessive hours, withdrawing from those
around him and losing weight when left behind in the White City whilst
he and the elves took care of orcs causing problems.
Imrahil sighed, whilst understanding the reason's behind his sister
son's behaviour agreed with the disciplinary measures taken by Thranduil,
Maglor and Aragorn.
"It is no less than what I have done when the occasion warranted
and Boromir had, times beyond counting," Imrahil confirmed with
a wistful smile.
Thranduil took up the story once again as he recounted the incidents
at the elven haven where Faramir received a poisoned wound, Minas Morgul
where he found the ring of power and later when Faramir saved the twins
using the ring and his wizarding powers.
"A wizard you say! And a ring bearer!" exclaimed Imrahil,
his eyes as wide a saucers. "Oh, my," the prince said in a
tone that indicated that he could already see the ramifications for
Faramir.
"Oh my, is right, my friend," Gandalf confirmed. "His
current depleted state is due to a temper tantrum following his discovery
that he will live for millennia. What we have managed to keep from him
is that he will, in all likelihood, live as long as any elf."
"Oh, my!!" Imrahil reiterated, his eyes ever widening in
increasing alarm.
"Oh yes, my friend. Thus our haste to get him back to Minas Tirith
where I can begin my wizardling's training and we can work on the temper
of which I had been hitherto unawares. How he managed to keep that from
me… " Gandalf said shaking his head in bemusement and glaring
at his oblivious wizardling.
Aragorn related the debacle of Faramir's last chastisement and his
young Steward's retreat into himself. Legolas lowered his head in distress
and shame.
"It was my fault," Legolas said in quiet anguish.
"Nay young one. T'was Denethor's legacy," Imrahil replied,
bitterness in his tone as Gimli moved over to Legolas and put a hand
to the elf's shoulder and squeezing it in support. "Do not mistake
me. Denethor was once a good man. He loved my sister dearly. When Boromir
was born, the Steward thought his life complete. Five years later Faramir
was born. The birth had not gone well for my sister and she never recovered.
With ill health came a longing for home, for the sounds of the ocean
and the cries of the gulls. In ill health and in this city of stone
she withered away and died, shattering her husband's heart. Unjustly
he blamed Faramir for his mother's untimely death. To make matters worse,
Faramir is the image of his mother. Instead of thanking the Valar for
their mercy in keeping Findulas alive in her son, Denethor found that
he could not look upon his youngest and closed his heart to him. In
Denethor's mind, he had but one son - Boromir. But Boromir loved and
championed Faramir, further estranging their father from his second
born. I argued at length with Denethor to allow me to foster Faramir
but he would not agree. And so Faramir suffered throughout the years
from the Steward's distance, disdain and his heavy hand. And I could
do naught but correspond when ere I could, visit when ere I could and
from a distance, watch my sister's son die inside little by little,"
Imrahil concluded, his voice thick with emotion and eyes filled with
tears.
"I assure you, mellon-nin," Thranduil said quietly as he
caught and held Imrahil's gaze from the where he sat on the other side
of his sleeping son, "he has and will always have this father's
love."
"And this brother's love," Legolas added.
"I thank you both, sincerely. For myself, Findulas and my sister's
foxling," Imrahil said as he stroked Faramir's red gold locks,
eliciting smiles from all gathered around the young Steward.
Part 23
The Steward of Gondor slept for almost three days. On the morning of
the third day he awoke feeling the jolt of disorientation one experiences
after having fallen asleep in a particular location and awaking in one
that was vastly different. In this case falling asleep on a horse in
the arms of his father and awaking lying on his stomach in a bed - his
bed in Minas Tirith Faramir realised without needing to open his eyes.
Taking the plunge the Steward opened one eye slowly and cautiously
in case the light proved too bright and caused him pain; although he
was surprised to be feeling an absence of pain at present, just an all
over feeling of weakness.
"The laddie stirs at last," came the booming voice of the
dwarf to the Steward's right.
The last bit was muffled by the pillow that Faramir had, despite the
weakness that he felt, let fly with deadly accuracy at the son of Glóin.
Laughing merrily, Legolas was impressed at both his brother's speed
and accuracy as Faramir had hit the stunned dwarf squarely in the face.
At the sound of the tinkling elven laugher, the young Steward groaned,
pulled the covers over his head and buried his face in his mattress.
"Aye, Boromir was not mistaken. Yon laddie has no love of mornings;
that be a fact," Gimli chuckled as he pulled the blankets covering
the Steward off the bed completely, thus exposing the young human to
the coolish air.
Faramir let fly a muffled but particularly foul dwarven curse which
turned into a startled yelp of pain on feeling a hard swat to his almost
unprotected posterior, covered only by the thin material of his nightshirt.
The Steward twisted around to determine the identity of his assailant.
"Ere it has always been with him," Prince Imrahil replied
as he looked at Faramir intently with a raised eyebrow.
On seeing his uncle's very elven looking eyebrow, the young Steward
groaned.
"They have told you everything," Faramir whined, much to
the amusement of Legolas and Gimli who had not been privy to such familial
interactions between the Steward of Gondor and his uncle the Prince
of Dol Amroth.
"If you had not been chastised so thoroughly foxling, I would
take the duty upon myself this instant," Imrahil admonished mildly
as he sat down on the bed next to his wayward nephew. "You have
outdone yourself this time. Two Kings and a wizard could barely keep
you in line!"
"It was not my fault," Faramir muttered mutinously as he
sat up, "circumstances just got a little ahead of me."
"I have heard you give that same woeful excuse to Boromir more
times than I can count. Let me translate for those here who may not
understand foxling speak. You found yourself out in the open, under
many keen eyes and have been brought to account for your reckless actions,
not being able to lay down false scent or skulk in the shadows as you
do normally. What am I to do with you, foxling?" Imrahil laughed
as he embraced Faramir.
Legolas chuckled and Gimli let loose a very dwarven snort, evoking
a glare from the Steward.
"It is wonderful to see you uncle. But what brings you to Minas
Tirith?" Faramir asked as he returned his uncle's embrace.
"You do," Imrahil replied. "Elphir and I were in attendance
for a council meeting when Elessar experienced the vision showing you
in trouble. So he asked me to stay and see to the needs of Gondor during
his absence. I sent Elphir back to do likewise for Dol Amroth whilst
I remain in Gondor."
"And how are my cousins and my aunt? All in good health?"
Faramir asked hoping to steer his uncle away from another lecture about
his nephew's recent trials and tribulations.
"All are well and looking forward to the next family reunion,
which will be more expansive than the last one," the prince said
as he smiled at Legolas who blushed and returned the smile shyly, warming
more and more to Faramir's uncle. "It lightens my heart so to see
you gain brother and father, young one. And not to mention an elven
nanny, hmmmmm?"
Legolas and Gimli both burst into laughter as Faramir blushed spectacularly
and ducked his head in embarrassment.
"Aye. And from what the elf tells me," Gimli chortled indicating
the identity of the elf with a nod of his head towards Legolas, "The
elf Maglor is in his element and loves the challenge he does."
"That I do master dwarf," the Mirkwood Seneschal replied
from the doorway as he carried a tray laden with food into the room.
"I must admit though, he was quite a challenge even before the
discovery that he is a wizard."
"Maglor, whilst I admit that I am famished, I cannot possibly
be expected to eat all that!" Faramir complained as he realised
how much food was on the tray the Seneschal placed on the bed beside
him.
"You have had no food in the past three days and little food in
the past week. You are nothing but skin and bone at the moment and will
eat as much as you can," Maglor replied in a tone that brooked
no argument.
The young Steward made a silent appeal to his uncle.
"You will get no support from me on this issue, nephew, for you
are indeed too thin by far," Imrahil replied to the unspoken appeal
as he passed a bowl of porridge to Faramir.
The Steward took the bowl from his uncle muttering about being surrounded
by nothing but tyrants.
"You will have to face facts, foxling. You are out in the light
and your usual bolt holes have been identified and hopefully sealed,"
the prince said as he watched his nephew, so like Findulas, eat.
After completing the meal, Faramir bathed, dressed and went with his
uncle in search of his father. Legolas, Gimli and Maglor went to attend
to other matters. Uncle and nephew found Thranduil with Aragorn, Mithrandir
and Lord Elrond, sitting in comfortable lounge chairs arranged around
a fireplace in the King's private study, which was accessible through
the throne room.
"Finally!" the elven King exclaimed as he rose from the chair
with elven gracefulness and enfolded his son in an embrace.
"Good morning, ada," Faramir sighed softly as he melted into
his father's safe arms.
"We have just been discussing you, ion-nin," Thrandul said,
gesturing for Imrahil to sit on the only other chair available and Faramir
to sit on the floor beside his own chair.
"Remember little fox, well and truly out in the open," Imrahil
chuckled at Faramir's stormy look.
"And just what has been the essence of this discussion?"
the Steward asked sullenly.
"The demands on you as Steward of Gondor versus the need for your
wizard training with Gandalf," Aragorn replied, smiling sweetly
at his fuming Steward.
"And just how is my *schedule* looking?" Faramir asked with
an ever-darkening expression. Elessar explained to Faramir that it was
decided that he should spend most of his time with Gandalf receiving
training but would be required to oversee or perform a list of duties
expected of him as the Steward of Gondor. "Just when, pray tell,
am I to be allowed time to myself?" the young Steward all but growled.
"On seven day, between noon and mid-afternoon," Aragorn replied
immediately, smirking.
"Behave Estel," Thranduil admonished as he held a hand over
his son's mouth before Faramir could growl out a waspish rejoinder.
"It will not be as bad as you are anticipating, ion-nin. You are
not alone and will have assistance."
Only slightly mollified, Faramir made his escape but not before he
was given strict instructions that he was to begin his lessons with
Gandalf on the morrow and attend a council meeting in the afternoon.
Feeling annoyed, exposed and caged the ranger made his way down, stealthily,
to the commercial district of the second level and into a tavern, where
he proceeded towards his objective of getting as drunk as possible as
quickly as possible.
The Steward of Gondor was well advanced towards this objective when
Legolas and Gimli discovered him. On seeing his brother and dwarf, although
he actually saw two brothers and two dwarves, Faramir beckoned them
all over with a wave of his hand.
"Ai! Muindor tithen. You have half the palace out looking for
you," Legolas admonished, shaking his head at his brother's inebriated
state.
"Hound me you faave. Ssave a heat," the Steward slurred as
he threw back the rest of his drink.
"What?" Legolas asked not understanding one word of what
his brother had just uttered.
"What I think the laddie was attempting to say," Gimli replied,
more skilled in the inarticulate mutterings of drunks, "found me
you have. Have a seat."
Faramir nodded his head in agreement but thought better of it when
the room continued to spin after he stopped nodding.
Legolas saw the telltale green tinge to his brother's features, pulled
him to his feet putting one of Faramir's arms over his own shoulder
and half carried him from the drinking establishment. As soon they were
outside, Faramir fell to his knees and heaved, expelling the contents
of his stomach. He seemed then to be bent on expelling his stomach as
he continued to dry heave. Legolas held the hair back from his brother's
face with one hand and cupped the human's brow with the other.
"Well, pen-neth. You are going to be very sorry for yourself in
the morning," Maglor said as he walked out of the shadows and stood
before his young charge.
"The lad looks a sorry sight now," Gimli replied, amusement
tugging at the corners of his mouth.
When Faramir had finished with the attempt to divest himself of his
stomach, Legolas and Maglor pulled the Steward to his feet and between
them carried the ailing man back to his apartments. Thranduil was there
to greet them. He took one look at his barely conscious son, shook his
head in consternation and sighed.
"Get him to bed," the elven King instructed as he stroked
the side of Faramir's face gently with the back of his hand. "I
will allay the fears of the others and have a long talk with Estel over
his questionable sense of humour in dealing with this one," he
added with a determined look.
The next morning the Steward of Gondor awoke and promptly wished he
had not. His head felt as if it was about to explode, his tongue felt
like it was coated with a noxious, slimy substance and the birds in
the trees outside his window were unnaturally loud. Opening an eye he
found that the light was thankfully subdued for the curtains had been
pulled across the windows. In the dim light, he could see his father
sitting in a chair next to him, shaking his head and smiling at him.
Faramir returned a look he hoped pathetic enough to stay any intended
reprimand.
"Do you think you can eat anything this morning, ion-nin?"
Thranduil asked in a whispered voice.
"Nay, ada," the Steward replied as he paled at the mere thought
of food.
"All right, ion-nin. I will hold Maglor at bay this morning but
we will be discussing your unfortunate tendency towards finding solace
at the bottom of a tankard of ale later," Thranduil promised as
he stroked his son's hair.
"Yes, ada," Faramir sighed, relieved at the stay of execution.
Just then a loud knocking was heard at the door followed immediately
by the booming entrance of Gandalf. With a wave of his staff the wizard
drew the curtains back, exposing the miserable Steward to the dual agony
of loud sound and bright light.
"Well then you young fool of a human," Gandalf bellowed,
"time to be about and learning your lessons."
"Save me, ada!" Faramir's muffled, plaintive cry could be
heard as he pulled his pillow over his head to dim the abusive noise
and light.
"Be nice, Mithrandir," Thranduil said as he looked upon his
son with unconcealed amusement.
"Nonsense! Was I ever with you in your folly, mellon-nin?"
the wizard replied in a voice Faramir found excessively loud even dimmed
as it was by the pillow over his head.
"Nay…nay. I cannot say that you ever were," the elven
King responded after thinking on the issue for several moments.
"And so I will not with this young idiot. Arise!" Gandalf
roared as he used his staff to divest the Steward of the blankets covering
him. "Up, up I say! The morning is a-wasting."
"Ohhhhh! Just throw me off the tower and be done with it,"
Faramir muttered as he rose to his feet unsteadily and removed himself
to the relative safety of his bathing chamber.
The morning lesson with Gandalf had not reduced the Steward's headache
nor had it improved his mood. The wizard, well aware that his wizardling
was very adept at blowing things up, decided to find out if Faramir
was as adept as lifting. So, after having the fundamentals of levitation
explained to him, the wizardling spent the morning moving objects. Starting
with small objects like quills, spoons and paper and moving rapidly
on to larger and larger items. By the time Faramir made his escape from
the sadistic, in his opinion that was, wizard, he was exhausted, faintly
nauseous and still had a pounding headache. The Steward harboured the
suspicion that Mithrandir had done it purposely, to teach 'his wizardling'
a lesson.
Sore and sorry for himself, in addition to harbouring a darkening
mood, Faramir made his way to the council meeting which was due to commence.
The Steward could see his uncle waiting for him.
"Someone got up on the wrong side of their bed this day, foxling,"
Imrahil noted quietly as he looked at his nephew's glowering demeanour
and state of obvious exhaustion as the Steward approached.
"That someone did not 'get up' so much as was evicted from their
bed by a bellowing wizard!" Faramir growled in response.
Imrahil escorted his nephew into the chamber, trying but failing to
hide his amusement. The King was at the head of the table and Gandalf
was at the other end. The chairs to the right and left of the King,
meant for the Steward of Gondor and the Prince of Dol Amroth, were vacant;
awaiting the two who walked through the door. Ten councillors were already
seated around the table.
The meeting did not go well. The Steward of Gondor continued to suffer
the subtle barbs and jibes of two councillors who had been close advisors
of Denethor and who had treated him with the same disdain, as did the
old Steward. Aragorn had supported his Steward publicly many times,
however had never succeeded in constraining the two councillors seated
to his left. He was simply waiting for their terms of office to end,
after which they would not be reinstated. Generally, Faramir was able
deflect the barbs easily and without loosing his temper. Unfortunately
the young Steward, angry, in pain and feeling faintly nauseous, had
reached the end of his tether.
"ENOUGH!" the Steward of Gondor shouted as he banged his
hand on the table causing most of those sitting at the table to flinch
and stood, rising to his full height. Aragorn felt as if he was seeing
the ghost of Ecthelion, Faramir's grandsire. "I have had my fill
of your petty, witless and offensive observations. I am *not* Denethor.
Nor would I ever wish to be and if…"
Unfortunately one of the councillors, although it never became clear
which one, chose that moment to mutter a derogatory comment about Faramir's
inability to ever reach the stature of his sire. Aragorn was about to
sanction the councillors when he noticed that the smirks they were displaying
turned quickly to fear. The King looked back at Faramir only to see
that his Steward's hair was starting to stand on end and he was beginning
to… crackle. Both councillors jumped up from their seats and started
to back away from the Steward who was looking menacing as he stalked
towards them.
"Faramir," both Gandalf and Imrahil said warningly, seeing
the danger immediately.
With but a wave of his hand the Steward of Gondor levitated both Lords
off the floor, his eyes blazing, giving him an almost maniacal air.
The two levitating Lords of Gondor were pale, wide-eyed and all but
frozen with fear.
"Faramir! Put them down! Now!" Aragorn barked as he too stood.
"Oh, if you insist," the young Steward replied peevishly
as he let the councillors drop to the floor with a decided thump and
returned to take his seat at the table, not bothering to look back at
the two Lords who had ended up sprawled on the floor in a tangled heap.
"This meeting is adjourned," the King said as he glared at
his Steward, ignoring the other councillors who assisted the two still
sprawled on the floor to their feet. All left with alacrity and in silence,
stealing fear-filled glances at the Steward. Only Aragorn, Mithrandir,
Imrahil and Faramir remained. The Steward stood and made to bow to the
King…
"Oh no you do not my Steward. Stay!" Aragorn commanded as
he signalled the two guards at the door to leave the room and close
the door behind them.
"Woof," Faramir responded, anger once again overcoming good
sense.
Part 24
"Faramir!!" the Prince of Dol Amroth admonished his nephew
as he stood forcing the heavy chair upon which he was sitting to scrape
along the floor behind him as he rose to his not inconsiderable height.
The young Steward took a step back reflexively on seeing the annoyance
in his uncle's face, put a fisted hand with his thumb extended to his
mouth and bit down on the tip of his thumbnail. "Do not make this
situation any the worse, foxling," Imrahil warned, shaking a finger
at his nephew as he recognised the age-old gesture of Faramir's, one
that always preceded an ill considered and oft times extremely inappropriate
comment.
Removing his thumb nail and clamping his mouth shut, the Steward of
Gondor backed away from his uncle and glaring King, eyes darting about
for an escape route. Unfortunately he moved to within reach of Gandalf
who swung his staff at the Steward's ankles and brought the young man
down on this rump with a resounding thump. Wincing from both the pain
of the fall and the pain of defeat the Steward brought his knees up
to his chest, wrapped his arms around them keeping his eyes lowered
and awaited his doom.
"Well, foxling!" Imrahil exclaimed quietly as he walked slowly
over to Faramir having made a silent request of the King to allow him
to handle the situation and receiving a nod of approval in return from
Aragorn. "That was quite a display of temper," the prince
added in a deceptively light tone that made Faramir wince as Imrahil
removed a chair from the table and placed it before his sister's son.
"We have a *number* of issues to address. Do we not?" the
Prince asked in the same light tone that did not fool the Steward one
wit. "Do we not, foxling?" Imrahil asked again in the same
calm manner.
"Aye, sir," Faramir squeaked, swallowing hard in an attempt
to rid his throat of the Arda be-damned mouse that was intent on lodging
there.
Aragorn moved back to his seat at the head of the table and sat down,
enthralled by the interaction between his two princes. Apart from the
first reprimand, Imrahil had not raised his voice; however, Faramir
was positively subdued and more importantly was actually listening to
his uncle. The King thought fleetingly of asking the Prince of Dol Amroth
later how he managed such a feat when his attention was drawn back to
the scene before him by the prince's next words.
"Now, foxling. Let me see if I can decipher what has occurred
here today, hmmm? Please correct me if I am wrong in any of my conjectures,"
Imrahil said as he looked down upon his dejected nephew, a sympathetic
smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Faramir hated it when his
uncle did this to him, for the man was invariably correct in all that
he said and made any misbehaviour sound all the worse for its calm recounting.
"You came to this meeting still suffering the ill-effects of your
indulgences at the tavern yesterday. I have no doubt that you had a
particularly gruelling session with Mithrandir," Imrahil added
as he pinned the wizard with a look that made the wizard clear his throat
and slide his gaze away. "You became angry at the councillor's
words and lost your temper leading to the astonishing visual display
to which we were all witness. Feeling ill, angry and trapped, foxling,
you then lashed out at the King when he attempted to stop you and again
in keeping you here," the prince concluded calmly, evoking a whimper
from Faramir. "Do you disagree with anything that I have said?"
"Nay," the Steward replied in a small, whispered voice as
he buried his face further into his drawn knees.
"So, foxling. That brings us to the issue of punishment,"
Imrahil said as he leaned forward, stroked Faramir's hair and brought
his hand around to cup his nephew's chin thus raising the young man's
head gently so that their eyes met. Faramir looked at his uncle's gentle
expression and nodded his head once in acceptance. "Now let us
address your temper tantrum and inappropriate use of your wizard powers.
I am sure that Mithrandir will be able to conjure up an appropriate
punishment that does not involve direct chastisement of your rear end,"
the prince said as he again pinned Gandalf with a 'look', receiving
a slightly 'put out' look from the wizard in return. Faramir relaxed
imperceptibly at the thought that his posterior may be spared double
the amount of pain, although this thought was followed by the rather
disheartening thought that the King was more than capable of making
up for the wizard. "Unfortunately your posterior will not be spared
for the disrespect you showed the King. But I am sure, given the King's
forgiving nature, he will forego the use of 'Faramir's Bane' on this
occasion and settle for a thorough hand-spanking instead," Imrahil
concluded as he pinned Aragorn with a similar 'look' to the had one
he had used on the wizard.
Aragorn had always suspected that Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth would
prove to be a powerful advocate or conversely, a dangerous adversary.
He was just beginning to realise how dangerous he was and why Faramir
was so formidable in intellect, with notable exceptions, and cunning,
with the glimpses he himself had seen and if half the tales Boromir
had regaled the fellowship with about the war of wits his brother had
raged against the Haradrim in Ithilien were true, he thought. Intellect
was strong in both Adrahil and Ecthelion, Faramir's grandsires. Sneakiness,
though, had obviously bred true on Adrahil's side for both Imrahil and
Faramir possessed that particular trait in buckets, Aragorn thought
as he reappraised the two princes.
"Come, foxling," Imrahil sighed as he held out a hand to
his nephew. "Time to see this incident concluded."
Faramir took hold of his uncle's hand and was pulled to his feet. Imrahil
pushed the young Steward gently towards the King who had moved his chair
further back from the table. Taking a deep breath as he stood beside
the King, Faramir loosened the ties of his leggings, pushed them down
to his knees and lowered himself over Aragorn's lap. The King pulled
up his Steward's over-tunic and held it bunched at the young man's waist,
exposing the intended target.
"What is this punishment for my young Steward?" Aragorn asked
and awaited Faramir's response before beginning the punishment.
"For being disrespectful to you and your office," the Steward
replied in a voice just above a whisper.
On ensuring that Faramir was indeed 'with' him Aragorn began the chastisement,
monitoring his Steward's reactions closely. The King landed stinging
slap after stinging slap to his Steward's buttocks. It was not long
before Faramir was whimpering and squirming, attempting to reduce the
severity of the slaps to his rear. Whimpers eventually turned to sobs
as the King continued the punishing and painful pace.
"I am s-sorry... Sorry...s-so s-sorry," Faramir cried out
between gasps for breath.
Taking pity on his Steward who was still obviously feeling the effects
of his inebriation of the night before, landed a few more punishing
whacks before ending the chastisement. It took Faramir a few moments
to realise that the punishment had concluded and that the King was rubbing
his back in soothing circles, crooning softly. Slipping from Aragorn's
lap, the Steward dropped to his knees as he pulled up his leggings.
Aragorn slid to his knees and enveloped his Steward in a comforting
hug.
"All is forgiven, my Steward," Aragorn crooned as he continued
to hold Faramir. "I do admit fault in this situation as well. I
know that you are feeling overwhelmed at the moment and my behaviour
yesterday was not helpful, something your father brought to my attention
- rather forcefully I might add," an admission that elicited a
small smile from Faramir
After several long moments the King got to his feet pulling the Steward
up with him. Prince Imrahil approached, turned his nephew around and
surrounded him with his long arms and pulled Faramir into a tight embrace.
The Steward melted into his uncle's embrace.
"I think it is time to leave, foxling, to get something for that
ache in your head, not to mention the other end," Imrahil said
as he smiled and guided his embarrassed nephew out of the room via a
private hallway that led to the King and Steward's apartments. On opening
the door, Imrahil and Faramir were met by Thranduil and Maglor. It was
obvious to Imrahil that the elves had been 'snooping' and had in all
likelihood heard everything. Smiling, Imrahil released Faramir to the
arms of King Thranduil who hugged his son tightly.
"Ion-nin," Thranduil said affectionately as hugged his son,
"we will *have* to work on that temper of yours." The elven
King gave his son another hug before releasing him to the care of Maglor
who shepherded his young charge towards the Steward's apartments.
"You heard everything that transpired I trust?" Imrahil asked
impishly as he looked at the elf intently.
"Aye. We did. Maglor has not had his charge out of his sight all
day and was worried about my son's condition on entering the meeting.
I must admit that you handled the situation - impressively. I assume
through much practice?" Thranduil asked in an equally impish tone.
"Aye. The stories I could tell you about my sister's foxling.
It was all Boromir could do to keep him in line," Imrahil smiled
as they walked to Faramir's apartments. "Many thought Faramir the
weaker of my two nephews but they were wrong. Faramir, in his way, is
every bit as strong as Boromir was, even more stubborn and far more
cunning. I do hope you know what you have taken on in fostering the
little fox?"
"I have a fair idea, mellon-nin," Thranduil said as they
reached the entrance to Faramir's apartments, "which is why I have
assigned Maglor to care for my son also."
"I am given to understand that Prince Legolas can also be quite
a handful," Imrahil said as he and Thranduil stood outside the
entrance to Faramir's apartments.
"Aye, that is true but my elfling has grown since acquiring a
younger sibling to look out for. Although I expect my elfling will behave
as such from time to time still," Thranduil chuckled as he gestured
for Imrahil to enter the Steward's apartment before him.
Faramir had been ushered into bed by Maglor and given a brew to reduce
his still considerable headache. Sleeping brew or brew for pain both
had the same effect on the Steward with the exception that a brew for
pain took a little longer to send the young man into the realm of dreams.
He was just dropping off to sleep when his father and uncle arrived
to bid him good rest.
Thranduil and Imrahil spoke long into the night, forming the foundation
of an extremely strong friendship built on the love that both held for
the slumbering Steward of Gondor.
The next morning Gandalf, denied access to his normal means of disciplining
his pupil by, in his learned opinion, a very devious Imrahil, decided
on a punishment that would meet two purposes, that is, to ensure that
his pupil rued his temper tantrum of the previous day and allow the
wizard to achieve something that he had hitherto not had the time to
achieve.
The White Wizard took his rather nervous wizarding up to the roof of
the tower whereupon he had Faramir remove his overtunic, causing momentary
panic on the Steward's part before telling him to levitate stone benches,
moving them from one location to another. This task he made more difficult
by Galdalf exerting his own will on the benches making them far harder
to move. It was not long before the Steward had worked up quite a sweat
and was trembling with exhaustion. Still Gandalf would not relent.
"I... am... sorry... for... losing... my... bloody... temper,
Mithrandir," Faramir wheezed gasping for breath as he wiped sweat
from his brow, barely able to stand.
"Not sorry enough by the sounds of it, my wizardling," Gandalf
replied. "Keep going."
Faramir groaned and continued until he could take no more and fell
to his knees, placing his forehead on the ground. Feeling that his wizardling
was just about ready, that is, barely able to string two rational thoughts
together, Gandalf relented and allowed the exhausted Steward to sit
cross-legged on the ground. The White Wizard coached Faramir through
breathing and mental exercises designed to free his wizardling's mind
and focussing it ever inwards, seeking his calm centre and a voice.
Faramir made contact finally with the voice, which responded with joy
that its young one could finally hear.
"That, my wizardling," Gandalf said with a certain amount
smugness at the puzzled look on Faramir's face, "is the voice of
the ring. I am still at a loss as to explain how you have managed to
focus through the ring without being aware of that voice."
The days that followed fell into a pattern for Faramir. A portion
of the mornings under the tutelage of Gandalf was devoted to meditation,
breathing and listening to the teaching songs of the ring. Afternoons
were spent seeing to the myriad of duties assigned to the Steward. Faramir
had the continued assistance of Beregond, who had finally warmed to
his new role having suspected for the longest time that he was being
punished by the Steward for alerting the King to the existence of 'Faramir's
Bane'. So the duties were not as overwhelming as Faramir had anticipated.
Over the weeks Faramir grew more confident in both his wizard powers
and his role as Steward. Much to his relief, Faramir found that he still
had time to be with his family and friends. The extended visit of his
uncle added to his growing happiness.
It was at an informal dinner hosted by the King and Queen for family
and friends that Imrahil realised that his foxling was indeed on the
road to recovery. Present at the dinner was of course Aragorn and Arwen,
Lord Elrond, the twins, Gandalf, King Thranduil, Legolas, Maglor, Finrod,
Gimli, Prince Imrahil and Faramir. Stories, laughter and wine abounded,
not necessarily in that order. Faramir enjoyed himself thoroughly, laughing
musically as only a few had heard before and Imrahil had not heard for
a long, long time and despaired ever hearing again.
At the conclusion of the meal the party gathered around an enormous
fireplace to continue the revelry. The elves and dwarf sang songs. At
one point having just ended a song, Gimli looked at Faramir speculatively
as he remembered comments he had heard from the Ithilien rangers he
had met whilst assisting with rebuilding the White City.
"I understand from your Rangers that you have a fine voice yourself,
laddie," Gimli said as he looked at the startled Steward. "Will
you not sing for us?"
Blushing in embarrassment, Faramir declined the invitation mumbling
that the rangers were wrong, that they were probably very drunk at the
time and that he had it on good authority that his voice was indeed
woeful. The elves present took up the cause and began to badger the
flustered young human. In the end it was Arwen who finally coaxed the
Steward into at least trying - for the honour of men. Clearing his throat
nervously Faramir began to sing, at first tentatively and then with
greater confidence. The song he sang was one of love, joy and peace.
All around mouths dropped open and eyes widened in astonishment as the
resonant and clear tones of a tenor gave life and feeling to the song.
When Faramir finished singing he ducked his head in embarrassment as
the silence continued, giving him the impression that his voice was
indeed pitiful.
"You have a beautiful voice, Faramir," Arwen said in awe,
the first to break the silence. Soon other voices affirmed Arwen's words
causing the Steward further embarrassment.
Thranduil and Aragorn noticed tears running down Imrahil's face as
the Prince watched his nephew.
"What is wrong, mellon-nin?" the elven King asked in a hushed
whisper as he moved to shield the distraught prince from the others
in the room. Aragorn also moved to shield the prince.
It took Imrahil a moment to regain control over his emotions.
"When he was a child, before his voice changed into that of a
man," the prince began haltingly, "Faramir had the most astounding,
crystal clear voice, a voice that sounded so much like Findulas' when
she was alive. In those days my sister's foxling sang constantly for
the sheer joy of it. I suspected that it hurt Denethor to hear a voice
so like that of his departed wife. Instead of explaining to Faramir
why it hurt him to hear him sing, that his singing reminded him of his
mother and he missed her dearly, he told his youngest that he had a
woeful voice, a voice that should not be heard in public. He told his
son who loved reading and singing above all other pursuits that he should
be more like his brother and turn his attention to more useful pursuits
such practicing with a sword. If Boromir had been there that day it
may have been different but he was not and on that day my foxling ceased
singing. I tried to tell him that Denethor was mistaken but my foxling
in his utter dejection would not or could not hear my words or Boromir's
when he returned and discovered what had taken place. My foxling never
sang again in the Steward's presence or my own. I thought never to hear
it again nor his wonderful unguarded laughter. My little one *is* truly
on the road to recovery and my heart sings in gladness," Imrahil
said smiling through his tears.
The two Kings and Prince sat in silence as Faramir was coaxed into
singing another song, his face beaming and his eyes shining brightly.
The End
Please let me know what you think of this story at drasnia@optusnet.com.au
Next in the Series - War
of the Wizards
