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Part 1
"Faramir Thranduilion!" the King of Gondor's voice could
be heard bellowing from inside his apartments. "You are dead meat!
Do you hear me! Dead meat! I know you are hiding somewhere close, you
sneaky, conniving little pizzle of a wizard!"
Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth, King Thranduil of Mirkwood and the elven
King's Seneschal, Maglor, stopped their approach to the King of Gondor's
quarters, stunned momentarily by the King's bellowed threats. Elven
laughter, which Thranduil recognised as being that of his son Legolas
and the Elrondion twins and the deeper laughter of a dwarf, which could
only be Gimli, the elven King surmised, was heard coming from within
the King's apartments.
"Whatever has that boy done now?" Imrahil intoned as he looked
at Thranduil and Maglor as if the elves may be able to shed some light
on the situation.
"Knowing my son, it could be anything," Thranduil sighed
as his Seneschal shrugged. "I know that he was not pleased with
Estel yesterday although he would not tell me why. There is only one
way to find out, mellon-nin," the elf added after a moment as he
gestured towards the handle of the closed door.
Taking a deep breath, Imrahil pushed the handle down tentatively and
opened the door. The scene that greeted the trio was chaotic to say
the least; nothing was how or where it should have been. The giant bookcases
that lined the walls of king's private reading room were denuded of
all books, which were stacked neatly in rows along the rafters in the
high ceiling above them, and were standing on their heads. Lounge chairs
that normally sat around the fireplace were balancing precariously one
on top of the other in the middle of the room. The old and extremely
heavy wooden desk that usually sat near the window which looked out
onto the King and Steward's private garden was standing on its side
with the draws, which had been removed, laid very neatly around the
upturned desk.
Legolas and Gimli were near the fireplace howling with laughter, barely
able to keep their feet they were laughing so hard. The twins were in
a similar condition leaning back against the frames on either side of
the large glassed doors that led out onto the balcony that overlooked
the garden. Aragorn was pacing around the room, spluttering and fuming,
his hair and upper-body dripping wet. Imrahil, Thranduil and Maglor
stared in stunned astonishment as they realised the source of the water
dripping down the King's face. Three large glass tumblers, one filled
with water and two empty, floated above Aragorn's head, following him
wherever he went. As they watched, the third glass tipped spilling its
contents over the fuming King.
"I will kill him!" Aragorn bellowed for at least the third
time, water spraying from his mouth as all three now empty glasses flew
over to the fireplace before resting gently on the top of the mantelpiece.
This, unfortunately, proved too much for the younger elves and dwarf
for the twins slid down the door frames landing on their rear ends with
very unelven thumps and howling with laughter, whilst Legolas fell to
the floor rolling around holding his sides, tears of mirth streaming
down his face as he too laughed. Gimli fell backwards and into the fireplace,
which fortunately was not being used at the time, causing soot to fan
out around him and into the air.
“Oh, my!” Imrahil exclaimed quietly his eyes as wide as
saucers; a look that Thranduil thought highlighted the resemblance between
the Prince of Dol Amroth and Faramir.
Only millennia of sitting court in Mirkwood allowed the elven King
to maintain a straight face, although the twinkle in his eyes spoke
volumes. Maglor's eyes narrowed in suspicion, he turned and ran from
the room like a hound scenting the hunt. Aragorn was just about to let
loose another round of threats when Gandalf entered the room. The wizard
froze mid-step though his eyes swept slowly around the room taking in
the chaotic scene.
“Redecorating?” Gandalf asked in a mildly interested way.
This again was too much for Legolas who had just managed to
get his laughter under control. Rolling over onto his stomach the elf
slapped the floor with his hand as he cackled with renewed laughter,
garnering a glare from Aragorn. The twins sitting on the floor on either
side of the balcony doors and Gimli, still sitting in the fireplace,
were likewise afflicted. “You are dripping,” the wizard
noted, waving a hand vaguely in the direction of the King's head and
upper body.
“I thought I would take a bath,” the King retorted in a
quietly dangerous tone.
“It is generally accepted behaviour, son of Elrond, to remove
ones clothing before bathing,” Gandalf replied in the wickedly
obtuse manner he sometimes assumed usually to the annoyance of anyone
so subjected.
“Duly noted. I will take your suggestion on board,” Aragorn
snarled, exasperation increasing by the moment.
“What have you done to my wizardling this time?” Gandalf
asked in a slightly amused voice.
“W-What I have done?” the King spluttered staring at the
wizard in astonishment. "Cast your eyes about Gandalf, this was
not my doing!"
“I have told you before Aragorn, it is not good policy to upset
a wizard," Gandalf scolded the King, further inciting Aragorn's
annoyance with his Steward.
"Oh far be it from me to attempt to protect the little pizzle,"
Aragorn replied indignantly as he grabbed the towel that Imrahil had
retrieved from his bathing chamber and set about drying his hair.
"Protect him - how?" Thranduil asked.
"He sought permission to ride to Osgiliath to check on the troops
stationed there, which I refused on the grounds of his safety.”
Both Imrahil and Thranduil winced, knowing what Faramir's reaction was
likely to have been, confirmed by the King's next words. "He sought
to wheedle and argue with me until I threatened to blister his arse
with 'Faramir's Bane' upon which he muttered some very choice words
that would have had him over Maglor's lap instantly, turned on his heels
and stormed out. Not long after I came here to this..." Aragorn
said waving his hand vaguely at the chaos around him.
"Please understand Elessar, I know that foxling can be stubborn
and quick of temper," Imrahil began, eliciting a very loud snort
from the King at the Prince's knack for understatement. "But he
is feeling caged and is unused to residing in Minas Tirith for lengthy
periods let alone without the freedom to come and go as he pleases.
More often than not Denethor banished his youngest after only a few
days in residence unless he was recovering at the houses of healing
or if Boromir was also in residence. The forests of Ithilien were more
home to Faramir than Minas Tirith ever was."
Aragorn sighed as he considered the Prince's words.
"I do understand and... " Aragorn replied, the next words
halted by the sound of silver trumpets heralding the Steward of Gondor.
"I will kill him," the King bellowed as he turned to retrieve
his recalcitrant Steward.
"Nay, Elessar," Imrahil's somewhat perplexed words halted
the King momentarily. "They are signalling the return of the Steward.
"Return?" Aragorn exclaimed in puzzlement as he made his
way to the steps at the entrance to the palace.
"Oh, ion-nin," Thranduil groaned in a long sigh as he shook
his head in exasperation at what he could see in the distance.
"What, mellon-nin? What do your elf eyes see?" the King asked
as he strained to see.
"My son on foot being escorted by my Seneschal and a human soldier,
both on horseback," the King groaned again softly at his son's
dark expression as the human trudged up to the highest level of the
city.
It seemed forever to those standing at the top of the stairs that led
down to the palace courtyard before the Steward appeared through its
entrance. Faramir, looking like a very dark thundercloud, was followed
by Maglor and the Lieutenant whom Aragorn recognised as the one who
had accompanied Finrod in search of signs of Saruman.
Aragorn, Imrahil and Thranduil descended the steps whilst Legolas,
the twins, Gimli and Gandalf remained at the top, all the better to
watch what was likely to be a very entertaining confrontation.
"That is quite enough out of you, pen-neth," Maglor admonished
his young charge who had been muttering curses all the way from the
city gates. "You are in enough trouble as it is and do not want
to be facing me after Estel has finished with you."
"Maglor, Lieutenant," Aragorn greeted each in turn and then
turned his full attention to his Steward. "How came you by my Steward
and where did you find him?" the King asked of the two still astride
their horses but with eyes only for Faramir who glared at a point just
over Aragorn's right shoulder.
"When I saw the condition of your reading chamber," Maglor
paused staring intently at the back of his young charge's head as he
dismounted, "I suspected that it might have been a diversionary
tactic on the part of my young charge, so I went down to the city gates
to lay in wait and would be there still if I had not chanced upon the
Lieutenant here. As an Ithilien Ranger the Lieutenant is well versed
in the covert tactics employed by one Faramir, Steward of Gondor,"
the elf continued.
Faramir's eyes narrowed as he contemplated what he would like to do
to the overzealous soldier.
"Foxling," Imrahil warned recognising his nephew's expression.
"When I explained what I was about the Lieutenant suggested that,
in all likelihood, the 'Captain' had already made his escape,"
Maglor resumed the tale. "We found him a short while later with
a company of soldiers, headed for Osgiliath."
"Afoot?" Aragorn asked aghast.
"Nay, he was mounted but we thought is best to divest him of his
horse before proceeding here. He stubbornly refused to ride double with
either of us," Maglor said as he looked askance at the young Steward
who continued to glare fixedly over the King's shoulder.
Aragorn moved closer to his Steward so that his next words would be
audible only to Imrahil and the elves closest.
"You my young Steward can remove yourself to my reading chamber,
put it to rights and await my return," the King commanded in a
low growl.
Stiffly and with annoyance showing in every step, the Steward did as
he was bid. Thranduil looked upon his son with sympathy, knowing how
it felt to be caged by one's responsibilities. The elven King did not
follow his son, judging that Faramir needed the space and time to regain
his composure. Thranduil also noted with approval that Legolas and the
others did the same when Faramir had reached the top of the stairs.
Shaking his head at the retreating form of his Steward, Aragorn turned
his attention to the mounted soldier.
“You have our gratitude Lieutenant,” the King said smiling
up at the soldier.
“I am pleased to be of assistance, sire. The Captain there is
the most gifted commander I have ever served with. There was many a
time that we would have perished, outnumbered and ill equipped as we
were, but for the Captain's cunning. He always managed to turn that
sure loss into a victory, until Osgiliath that is - not even the Captain
could save us from that one. But a challenge and trial that one is also
I am afraid, sire. Always conscious of and vigilant towards the safety
of others but absolutely oblivious to his own. Damrod and Anborn shouted
and cursed themselves hoarse, despairing of ever getting the young Captain
to think of his own safety. And Mablung… well let me just say
that the man had a more effective way of dealing the Captain's stubbornness,”
the Lieutenant finished obliquely.
“I thank you again, Lieutenant and ask that you continue to look
out for my Steward,” Aragorn said in way of a dismissal.
“That I will, sire. Have no fear,” the soldier said as
he turned his mount around and made his way out of the courtyard and
down to the Garrison, chuckling to himself at the continued antics of
the Captain. Good luck to them all in keeping that one in line, he thought
as he continued down the levels of the city.
Turning back to the palace Aragorn took a deep calming breath that
did not work.
"Now, I must needs attend to my Steward!" the King
growled as he began ascending the stairs.
Part 2
"Estel?" Thranduil called out to Aragorn as the human climbed
the stairs. Aragorn stopped and turned back towards the elf. "Be
nice," the elven King said in a tone that although mild, held an
underlying threat that was anything but mild.
Aragorn nodded once in understanding, turned back and resumed his ascent.
"I will be nice, after I have killed the little pizzle and hidden
the body," the King muttered, feeling the uncomfortable dampness
of his clothes soaking into his very bones.
"I heard that Estel," Thranduil said, amusement tugging at
the corners of his mouth.
"Bloody elves," Aragorn muttered shaking his head in disgust.
"We all heard that one, pen-neth," Maglor called out after
the retreating King, eliciting smirks and chuckles from the other elves.
The King arrived at the door that led to his reading chamber. Taking
several deep breaths to try to regain a measure of calm, he opened the
door and entered his chambers. Aragorn was astonished to see that the
room had already been restored to its state prior to his Steward's fit
of pique. Said Steward was standing by the window, looking out at the
garden below. Aragorn caught a glimpse of Faramir's expression before
it became the impassive expression that the King knew to be a facade
his Steward assumed to keep people at a distance. The expression he
glimpsed was one of great longing and sadness.
"What am I going to do with you, my Steward?" the King sighed
as he looked at Faramir intently. The fond exasperation in Aragorn's
voice caused Faramir's impassive mask to falter for a moment. "Feeling
trapped I can understand, for I have been feeling a fair amount of that
myself recently. But blatantly disobeying a direct order I cannot condone,"
Aragorn said. Faramir winced, knowing that the King was in the right
and he conversely, was in the wrong. "Tell me, my young Steward.
What would Boromir have done if he were in my position at his moment,
hmmm?" Aragorn asked.
"Exactly what you are contemplating now," Faramir responded,
paling and wincing at the very clear visual image he was receiving from
his King of Elessar using 'Faramir's Bane' on his Steward vigorously.
Aragorn started as he comprehended his Steward's words and their ramifications.
"You perceived my thoughts?" Aragorn asked, his eyes narrowing.
"It is very hard not to when you are all but shouting them at
me," Faramir replied peevishly, looking at the floor and then blanched
on realising to what he has just admitted.
"How long have you been able to do thusly, my Steward?" Aragorn
asked sharply his eyes narrowing even more.
"Some would say for a very long time but it is really only since
I have been able to hear the ring that I have heard the thoughts of
others clearly in my mind and not just the vague shadow of other's thoughts,
as I have perceived in the past," the Steward replied truthfully.
"Does Gandalf know about this ability?" Aragorn asked already
suspecting the answer.
"Aye. He does. Mithrandir has been guiding me in blocking the
thoughts of others for I can assure you that I have no desire to know
such thoughts, especially when those thoughts involve images of physical
harm to my person," Faramir responded churlishness returning to
his voice.
"And just when did you and Gandalf plan on telling me of this
newly developed ability?" Aragorn queried caustically.
The Steward paled even more as he desperately sought the most diplomatic
way to tell his King but failed miserably in his anxiety.
"Mithrandir wanted to tell you as soon as he found out but I asked
him to wait until I had gained control over this Arda-be-damned ability
and it had ceased to cause me such pain," Faramir blurted out wishing
immediately as he did so that he could recapture the words, for he did
not want to show such weakness to his King.
Taken aback by Faramir's inadvertent admission, Aragorn was struck
dumb for several long moments as he stared at his now blushing Steward.
"I am going to blister your arse until you are wailing,
Faramir," Aragorn growled when he finally found voice enough to
do so, causing the Steward to cringe at his King's tone. "I take
it that your wish to visit Osgiliath had less to do with the need to
inspect the troops as it had to do with getting away from the White
City where you are feeling trapped and away from the thoughts of so
many. And I would hazard a guess to escape the negative thoughts of
those in the council. Yes?"
Faramir, feeling exposed and embarrassed beyond measure could only
nod as he kept his head lowered and his eyes downcast.
"Do not expect to be sitting comfortably any time soon, my stubborn
young fool of a Steward," the King admonished his now pale and
wincing Steward. "If you had but come to me, trusted me, we could
have worked out a solution together."
Tears welled in Faramir's eyes as the young man read disappointment
and hurt in both Aragorn's expression and thoughts.
"I-I am s-sorry, Elessar," Faramir stammered. "I did
not want to expose how weak..."
"Weak!" Aragorn bellowed making Faramir take an involuntary
step backward. "Aieeeeeee! You are one of the strongest, if somewhat
softheaded, men I know. You young fool!" the King exclaimed as
walked over to his desk and retrieved 'Faramir's Bane' from the bottom
drawer.
Aragorn grabbed the chair that sat behind the desk, moved it to the
middle of the room and sat down on its cushioned seat. Faramir winced
anew at the King's angry movements. Taking a tremulous breath that ended
in a small whimper the young man approached at Aragorn's unspoken command.
Loosening the ties to his leggings and pushing them to his knees, the
Steward lowered himself over his King's lap.
“What is this punishment for, my young Steward?” Aragorn
asked as he brandished 'Faramir's Bane'.
“For disobeying a direct order,” Faramir replied in a small
voice.
“And?” the King prompted.
“For not telling you about my being able to hear the thoughts
of others,” the Steward responded in the same small voice.
“No,” Aragorn contradicted. “Not for not telling
me but for not trusting me enough…”
“But I do trust you, Elessar. With my life…” Faramir
countered vehemently.
“With your life yes, but not with your heart,” the King
said his voice quavering on the last word as he landed the first of
many punishing whacks to his Steward's exposed buttocks.
Faramir gasped at the intensity of the sting from 'Faramir's Bane'
as Aragorn landed whack after whack to first one buttock and then the
other. But the Steward felt an even greater pain that Elessar thought
he did not trust him with his heart. It was not true, Faramir thought.
He did trust the King with his heart. It was not long before the Steward
was squirming fiercely as Aragorn continued the punishing pace he had
set.
“I… do… trust you… with… my heart!”
the Steward cried out between blows and gasps for breath. “I…
do… I do… trust… you… with my heart!
“Then why, Faramir? Why?” Aragorn asked in anguish.
“Because I… want… so… much… your g-good…
o-opinion… of me. But… I… know… I… am
w-weak… e-emotional... not fit...to be... Steward,” the
Steward sobbed.
“Aieeeeeeee! Faramir!” Aragorn bellowed as he threw down
'Faramir's Bane' for fear of doing his Steward a real injury in his
anger and continued the chastisement with his bare hand. “You…
are… not… weak,” the King emphasised each word with
a resounding slap to his Steward's posterior. “Soft-headed, SOMETIMES,
reckless with your life, quick tempered, contrary, sneaky, conniving,
stubborn, YES but weak, NO! And you have and have always had my good
opinion, you idiot!”
“Please… stop! I-It hurts… too… much,”
Faramir cried out, distressed.
“What hurts, Faramir? The chastisement or the words?” Aragorn
asked gently, knowing the answer already.
“B-Both... words... ” the Steward replied, as his sobbing
grew more intense.
After a few blistering slaps to Faramir's thighs, Aragorn ceased the
chastisement and rubbed his Steward's back in gentle circles. Still
sobbing, Faramir slipped from Aragorn's lap, pulling up his leggings
as he did so, went down onto his knees and rested his head on his King's
thigh. After a few moments, Aragorn went down on his knees also and
gathered Faramir into an embrace, holding him tightly and crooning words
of love and forgiveness as the young Steward collapsed against him and
cried out his pain.
“Oh, my Faramir! We find ourselves back in this place after all
this time. What has caused this?” the King crooned softly as he
continued to rub his Steward's back as Faramir sobbed. "I did not
refuse you permission to go to Osgiliath because I thought you weak
but because you are vulnerable at the moment," Aragorn said in
understanding, as he continued to sooth his young Steward. “You
are precious to me Faramir and important to Middle Earth but your wizarding
powers are not yet fully realised and until they are you need protection.
That does not make you weak. Aieeeee!" Aragorn exclaimed softly
in exasperation. " If Denethor were here right this moment I would
be kicking his backside from one end of Middle Earth to the other for
making you believe that you are weak, and have so little worth. And
if I am not much mistaken, Boromir is doing just that in the halls of
your ancestors," Aragorn said passionately, eliciting a teary smile
from Faramir. "It is time to move on tithen-pen. You are loved
by your family and your family most assuredly includes me.”
The King continued to hold his Steward as the young man's sobs calmed
to hitched breaths.
"I am sorry, Elessar, for losing my temper and dousing you,"
Faramir apologised.
"Whilst I am very sure that you are very sorry for losing your
temper, I do not truly believe you are sorry for dousing me. There is
far too much of the imp about you, my Steward" Aragorn chuckled.
"You can come in now," Aragorn called out causing Faramir
to start slightly. "I swear those two are like hens around a chick,"
the King muttered as Thranduil and Maglor entered the room as if they
had not been caught snooping, followed by Imrahil who looked sheepish.
"Make that three," Aragorn added in quiet exasperation, eliciting
a shy smile from Faramir.
"Well this hen has very sharp talons, mellon-nin,"
Thranduil said sternly but with the ever present twinkle in the eyes
as he walked to where Aragorn and Faramir were still kneeling. "Come
chick," the elven King continued as he held out his hand to Faramir.
The young Steward took hold of his father's hand and was pulled to
his feet and into a tight, comforting embrace.
"I love you, ada," Faramir whispered shyly into the elven
King's shoulder.
"As do I you, ion-nin. As do I," Thranduil replied, tightening
the embrace.
"As do we all, foxling," Imrahil said softly as he stroked
Faramir's hair and shared a smile with Thranduil.
"My arse is afire, ada," Faramir moaned softly, his face
still buried in the elven King's shoulder.
"I doubt it not, ion-nin. You could try the patience of the Valar
and certainly do Estel's," Thranduil chuckled as he broke the embrace
and held his son at arm's length so that he could look at him. "I
am sorry to have to tell you that you and the 'trio horribus',"
the 'trio horribus' being the Elrondion twins and Legolas, "have
exhausted Maglor's entire supply of numbing salve."
Faramir groaned softly, eliciting a smirk from Aragorn.
"Then it is fortuitous for you little fox that I had replenished
Boromir's supply of specially prepared numbing salve from Dol Amroth
some months ago," Imrahil smiled at Faramir who was blushing furiously
and looking chagrined.
“We will take our leave of you Estel,” Thranduil said nodding
to Aragorn before turning Faramir towards the door and departing, followed
by Imrahil and Maglor who also took their leave of the King.
When they were half way down the corridor a familiar voice bellowed
from within the King's apartments.
“Ahhhhhhhh! FARAMIR THRANDUILION!!!”
“Oops,” Faramir said, wide eyed and in a quiet voice, as
he looked first at his father then Imrahil and finally Maglor before
launching into a panicked sprint further down the corridor to be followed
soon after by an angry, dripping Aragorn.
“Children,” the elven King shook his head and chuckled,
as he continued to walk down the corridor with Maglor and Imrahil.
Part 3
Faramir continued to sprint down corridors and through rooms, managing
to stay ahead of Aragorn who, much to the Steward's dismay, seemed determined
to catch him and make him pay for the additional dousing he had received.
Faramir thought fleetingly, as he ran as fast as his Ranger legs would
carry him, that he would like to explain to Elessar that it was an accident,
that he forgot about the barrel filled with water that he had rigged
to tip, spilling its contents on the one unfortunate enough to open
the glassed doors that led from the King's study out onto the balcony
that overlooked the King and Steward's private garden but did not think
that Elessar would be amenable to any explanation whilst ever the King
continued to leave puddles wherever he stood still for but a moment.
Turning yet another corner and passing a partially opened door, the
young Steward felt himself yanked by a pair of very strong grips into
the room of the door he was passing. Yelping or more accurately squeaking
in surprise, Faramir turned to establish the identity of those who had
pulled him into the room only to be shushed by the Queen and Legolas,
as they tilted their heads listening he assumed for Aragorn. Further
into the room he could see the twins and Gimli sitting in chairs by
the fireplace. Arwen pointed to the corner of the room where large,
heavy curtains had been pulled back from the windows and into the corner
to allow the afternoon sun to fill the room. Panting for breath and
not needing to be told twice, Faramir ran over to the corner and hid
behind the drapes. Arwen and Legolas had just settled in their chairs
again when the door flew open and Aragorn burst into the room wet from
head to toe and came to an abrupt halt, dripping and panting for breath,
an ever-growing puddle of water spread beneath him, as he looked at
those gathered.
“You are dripping, Estel,” Arwen stated in her quiet lyrical
voice as she looked from her husband's face to the growing puddle of
water at his feet and then to his face again.
Legolas coughed to disguise the giggle that erupted from him at the
small whimper he heard coming from behind the curtains on Arwen's amused
observation. The twins and Gimli all managed to maintain expressions
of polite interest. Aragorn's eyes narrowed in suspicion as he glared
at each of them in turn. Finally, growling in sheer frustration, the
King wheeled around and stormed out of the room, slamming the massive
door behind him as he went. As soon as the door closed the room erupted
into the tinkling laughter of elves and the deep rumbling laughter of
a dwarf.
“The way is clear, muindor tithen,” Legolas chuckled after
ascertaining first that Aragorn was not doubling back, as he pulled
the curtain aside revealing a panting Faramir; all but collapsed against
the wall. “Whatever have you done now?”
“It was an accident!” Faramir whined as he grasped the
curtain for support and locked his knees for fear that he would otherwise
collapse and knowing his luck at the moment onto his throbbing hindquarters.
“What was an accident?” Legolas asked, his eyes twinkling
and looking very much like his sire.
“The barrel of water over the balcony doorway,” Faramir
answered truthfully.
“You set a barrel of water over the doorway but you did not mean
to imbathe Aragorn?” Legolas queried in a slow manner as if trying
to make sense of his brother's words as the twins and Gimli laughed
and Arwen put a hand to her mouth to stop the giggle that wanted to
escape.
“No. That part was deliberate but I can assure you that after
a session with that… that… 'thing' and a very heavy hand,
it would have been suicidal to incite further Elessar's wrath with me,”
Faramir replied passionately if somewhat breathlessly. The twins winced
in empathy at the reminder of 'Faramir's Bane'. Arwen and Gimli looked
puzzled for a moment until both guessed as to what the young Steward
was referring. “I forgot about the damned barrel,” the Steward
added indignantly on seeing Legolas' raised eyebrow and sceptical look,
as the elf was well aware of what little in the way of self-preservation
skills his brother displayed when in a temper.
“We are sorry…” Elrohir said, smiling broadly at
Faramir who was still clinging to the curtain although his breathing
had settled somewhat.
“…To have missed seeing Estel's drenching,” Elladan
finished as in the way of very close tied twins.
“I suggest leaving Estel alone for the moment,” Arwen cautioned
as she looked from Elladan to Elrohir. “I daresay you are both
walking on very thin ice at the moment as far as Estel is concerned.
You are already driving him insane and you have only just returned.”
“To be fair thel tithen (sister little). I think our young friend
here…” Elladan replied, looking again at the Steward.
“…Is ahead of us in the unhinging of Estel stakes,”
Elrohir concluded.
Faramir blushed furiously as he stood in the corner still clinging
to the heavy curtain; whether for support or as a shield if Aragorn
were to return to the room, Legolas was not sure.
“Come sit, laddie before you fall down,” Gimli said as
he pointed to the empty chair that Legolas had vacated.
“I have a preference for standing at the moment, master Gimli,”
Faramir replied, glaring at the son of Gloin as he walked stiffly over
to the chair and leaned heavily against its back, darting nervous glances
towards the door as if expecting Aragorn to burst into the room at any
moment, eliciting a deep bark of laughter from Gimli and tinkling laughter
from Legolas. “I am ever so pleased that you find enjoyment in
my uncomfortable situation,” Faramir responded tartly before rolling
his eyes and groaning at his inadvertent emphasis on the 'sit' part
of the word. All, with the exception of Arwen, laughed. The Queen looked
upon the blushing Steward with great fondness, a smile tugging at the
corners of her mouth.
“We were just discussing what to do for entertainment this evening…”
Elladan said as he looked at Faramir.
“…Before you joined us so abruptly…” Elrohir
added with a smile.
“…And have decided to taste the delights of a drinking
establishment on the second level that Legolas recommends…”
“…You are welcome to join us,” Elrohir said hoping
that Faramir would agree as they always found enjoyment in the young
human's company.
“Please accept my apologies but however willing the spirit may
be, I fear that no amount of spirits, liquid or otherwise, will temper
the ache in my…” Faramir sighed, blushing spectacularly
again not able to bring himself to name the part of his body so afflicted,
with a lady present even if that lady was thousands of years old.
Faramir thanked Arwen and Legolas for rescuing him and bid all a pleasant
evening before exiting the room and walking to his apartments to enjoy
the soothing qualities of a long hot bath followed by a meal shared
with his father and Maglor before retiring to bed with a good book.
After a long soak and a pleasant meal the Steward retired to his bed
eventually only to be awoken abruptly several hours later by an agitated
young servant.
“Begging pardon Lord Faramir,” the youth said tentatively
as he kept his distance from Faramir, well aware, from personal experience
and the stories of others, of the Steward's dislike of being woken and
the range and accuracy of his aim, “but a soldier states that
an urgent matter has arisen.”
“Send him in Gothric,” Faramir instructed as he got up
from the bed and pulled on a robe.
“I am sorry to disturb you sir but the Sheriff asked me to fetch
you and escort you to gaol,” the tall broad shouldered soldier
said as soon as he entered the room. “There was an altercation
at the pub near the carpenter's on the second level, sir. A small army
of dwarves, elves, Rohirrim and Gondorians have been arrested,”
the soldier added hastily on seeing the Steward's raised eyebrow and
on realising his poor wording.
Groaning initially and then cursing fluidly as he dressed hurriedly,
Faramir signalled for the soldier to make no noise as they left the
Steward's apartments and thence the palace, as Faramir did not want
to alert either his father or Maglor, who were both staying in his guest's
quarters. Still muttering curses, the Steward marched angrily to the
gaol that was situated on the third level.
Faramir was greeted by a harassed looking Sheriff who also looked as
if he had been fetched from his bed. The Sheriff guided the Steward
to the cells that contained the recently acquired inmates. Faramir entered
the room and was greeted by a veritable cacophony of demands, explanations,
entreaties and threats. The large room contained four cells, two on
one side of the room and two on the other. Each cell was constructed
of large stone blocks on three sides and iron bars and gate at the front;
all cells were accessible by the wide corridor that ran down that middle
of the room. A long wooden bench was placed in the corridor in front
of each cell, obviously meant for those visiting the prisoners. From
his position in the centre of the corridor, Faramir was able see the
occupants of all four cells.
“Cease and desist this moment!” the Steward of Gondor bellowed
in his most authoritative voice. The silence that followed the bellowed
order was immediate and total.
In the silence that ensued, Faramir looked to see the inmates in each
of the cells. The sheriff had been sensible enough to divide the inmates
into their groups. The Steward recognised all five of the Gondorian
soldiers, sporting a variety of cuts and bruises, in the first cell
and two of the five Rohirrim, also sporting a fight injuries, in the
cell opposite. The Rohirrim concerned had been left behind, initially
because of wounds and then to assist with the defence of Gondor considering
that the King of Rohan's sister was to return to the city eventually.
Thoughts of his separation from Eowyn evoked by the Rohirrim before
him, made the Steward's current mood all the darker. The Gondorian soldiers
cowed under the glare of their Steward but the Rohirrim, not having
the same experience as the Gondorians of the temper of their Captain,
looked upon the Steward with arrogance. The arrogance however faded
quickly on seeing the Steward begin to crackle slightly as he glared
at each of them in turn. The soldiers of Rohan remembered then rumours
that the Steward of Gondor was a very powerful wizard with a very nasty
temper.
The cell next to the Gondorians contained the dwarves, six in all also
showing signs of having been involved in a fight, none of whom Faramir
recognised. This took the Steward by surprise until he turned to the
cell that contained the elves and the dwarf he had been expecting to
see. This should prove to be an interesting story, Faramir thought as
he looked at each of the occupants of the cell. As expected he saw his
brother sitting on the sill of the barred window against the back wall
looking rumpled and somewhat subdued, Gimli looking like a dark thundercloud
was sitting on the floor under Legolas, the Elrondion twins, also looking
solemn, sat on a wooden bench that ran along the wall that separated
it from the cell next door. Not expected was the dark-haired elf whose
face was obscured the hood a cloak the elf was wearing, sitting between
the twins.
Faramir felt as if his stomach had fallen into his boots as he took
a step closer to the cell containing the elves, praying that his suspicion
of whom this elf was, was just the creation of a very tired and deranged
mind. But alas all colour drained from Faramir's face and he stared
in abject horror as the dark haired elf raised her head and the Queen
of Gondor smiled at him in chagrin.
Part 4
“Take a deep breath, little brother,” Legolas called out
quietly in Elvish from his perch on the windowsill, looking with concern
at his brother's pale complexion and eyes widened in panic. “Alright...
If you cannot take a deep breath; a small one will do,” the elf
continued soothingly after several long moments as he jumped down lightly
from the windowsill, over Gimli and hurried to Faramir. “Just
breathe, Faramir!” Legolas implored as his brother's lips started
taking on a bluish tinge.
“Are you unwell, my Lord?” the Sheriff asked, alarmed at
seeing the Steward's face white as a sheet.
One of the Rohirrim, still very intoxicated, chose that particular
moment to voice his objection to being incarcerated, his doubts about
the legitimacy of the Steward and the unnatural sexual practices of
the Steward's ancestors. With speed worthy of an elf, Faramir took in
a gasped breath as he turned smartly on his heel, raised the hand on
which the ring of power was situated and sent a blue bolt of energy
towards the wooden bench, outside the cell housing the soldiers of Rohan,
reducing it in quick order to a smouldering pile of blackened splinters.
As one, the Rohirrim jumped back in panic - their eyes wide with unrestrained
fear. The dwarves in their cell also shuffled backwards. The Gondorian
soldiers knew better than to risk inciting their captain's wrath further,
standing stock still and barely daring to breathe as they did so.
“I said be quiet” the Steward said in a dangerously soft
voice, his hair beginning to stand on end and the faint blue crackling
around his body intensifying. Taking a few deep breaths to try to regain
a measure of control over his emotions, Faramir turned back to the cell
containing the elves.
“Will he be looking for you yet?” Faramir whispered
in Elvish, so low that only the elves could hear, as he looked at Arwen.
The Queen shook her head. Not bothering to even try to figure out why
that would be the case, the Steward turned to the Sheriff.
“Can you please go to Beregond's house, tell him to find Gothric,
my servant, and bring the lad here. I will spend that time getting to
the bottom of what has occurred this evening,” Faramir instructed
the Sheriff.
“As you wish, my Lord,” the Sheriff said with obvious puzzlement
but he knew better than to question the Steward's orders, especially
in his current mood. The Sheriff turned and walked towards the entrance.
“Is the innkeeper about?” Faramir asked suddenly.
“Yes, he is in my office at the moment,” the Sheriff replied
as he stopped and turned to the Steward.
“Please ask him to stay until I have spoken to him,” Faramir
ordered quietly.
“Yes, my Lord,” the Sheriff said before turning again and
leaving with more alacrity than was strictly polite.
The occupants of the various cells could not blame him as they turned
wary eyes upon the still faintly crackling Steward.
“Alright gentle men, dwarves and elves. I want to know what has
occurred this evening from the beginning. And no one will be leaving
this establishment until I do know,” Faramir said in his normal
well modulated tone that was all the more eerie given the still smouldering
pile of wood splinters, evidence of the Steward's recent anger. “Who
wishes to begin? How about you my vociferous friend,” Faramir
asked of the Rohirrim who had made the rather disparaging remarks earlier,
in the same deceptively mild tone, causing the Gondorian soldiers to
wince or cringe or wince and cringe. The Rohirrim soldier concerned
paled under the Steward's intense gaze and remained mute. “No?
Well! This could prove to be a very long night.”
“I did not know that she was a he!” the tallest of the
blond Rohirrim said indignantly in a rush. “I would not have made
a pass at her… er… him, if I had known.”
The Steward's eyebrows went skywards at the panicked confession of
the tall Rohirrim.
“You made a pass at an elf?” Faramir repeated in alarm
as he turned his head abruptly to look at Arwen. Still cloaked by the
hood the Queen shook her head slightly, advising the Steward mutely
that it was not she at whom the Rohirrim had made a pass. Faramir sighed
in relief. “Then who?” he asked quietly as if to himself,
looking bewildered. Understanding dawned suddenly. “You made a
pass at my brother?” Faramir guessed. Eyes twinkling with amusement
as he sought out Legolas, who had moved back to his perch on the windowsill,
for confirmation.
Legolas returned a very dark look that promised long and pain filled
retribution against his little brother.
“Your brother? No! The blond elf over there,” the tall
Rohirrim replied looking as bewildered as the Steward had a moment before.
“Yes. The blond elf who is my brother,” Faramir reiterated.
“I… I did not know!” the warrior exclaimed in shock
not believing the nightmare this evening had become. “Well, how
was I to know he was not a she? The alehouse was darkened. There was
much smoke. And he is pretty enough to be a she,” he argued inadvisably.
“I would, if I were you, stay any further words on that subject
for my brother, pretty though he may be, is deadly with both elven knives
and bow,” the Steward advised, smiling broadly at his darkly glaring
brother. The Elrondion twins were trying their hardest not to laugh.
Gimli, strangely, was looking like a thundercloud still, Faramir noted.
“So you made a pass. I assume my brother rebuffed your…
uh… advances. What happened then?
“Well… he is very pretty and it was an alehouse…
and… well… I tried again,” the tall warrior confessed
truthfully, his voice fading away with the sentence.
A deep continuous sound was coming from the back of the cell containing
the elves. For several moments Faramir could not quite discern its origin
but realised, with much amusement, that his brother was actually growling,
sounding like a very annoyed hunting cat.
“So, after you tried again, what happened then?” Faramir
asked as he turned from Legolas to look at the Rohirrim again.
“Well…” the warrior said as he tried to remember
exactly what had happened as the events of earlier were a little hazy.
“He grabbed me by the front of my tunic. Threw me across the bar
over to the other side of the room and into a nest of dwarves. He is
deceptively strong for such a dainty looking little thing,” the
tall blond Rohirrim added with something akin to admiration.
Indignant rumblings could be heard from the dwarves' cell and sniggers
from the Gondorian's cell both quelled quickly by a glare from the Steward.
The now almost constant growling from Legolas grew in intensity.
“So that explains how the dwarves became involved,” Faramir
said as he glared at the dwarves who shifted from feet to feet, looking
down at the ground thus avoiding the Steward's glare.
“They moved like a swarm of wasps and started bellowing and throwing
punches at the elves and us for disturbing their drinking,” another
Rohirrim said in disgust.
“Ahhh,” Faramir said nodding his head as he began to put
the pieces of the puzzle together with his usual astuteness, suspecting
the reason Gimli had not been placed with the other dwarves. “I
begin to see the pattern. I assume Master Gimli, that you came to the
defence of my brother, your friend, and had a falling out with your
fellow brethren?” the Steward asked the glowering thundercloud.
“Aye. That is so, laddie. They… they accused me…
and him… of…” was all that Gimli could manage to splutter,
so great was the dwarf's indignation and anger.
Faramir, discerning Gimli's meaning, wheeled around and stalked towards
the dwarves, eyes ablaze, hair standing on end and fair crackling with
blue energy. The dwarves, not to mention the Rohirrim and Gondorians,
moved as far back in their cells as possible, looking at the Steward
with wide, panicked expressions.
“Excuse me a moment,” Faramir managed to growl before exiting
to the next room.
Legolas jumped down from the windowsill again as the twins and Gimli
jumped to their feet and all four ran to the front of their cell, looks
of concern intensifying when a series of loud explosions, causing the
occupants of the other cells to startle badly, was heard in the next
room. It seemed like forever to the elves and Gimli before the door
opened again and Faramir entered the room. Smoke-like vapour was rising
from the Steward and he was still crackling faintly with blue energy.
Tired, Faramir walked to the cell containing Gimli and leaned against
the iron bars.
“Master Gimli,” the young Steward said gently. “Please
do not allow the ill considered and ill natured ramblings of your brethren
malign your friendship with my brother. Together you and Legolas have
faced greater trials than all of the men and dwarves gathered here and
triumphed. During those trials you forged a friendship that transcends
the petty bickerings between either of your races. As the elves count
you a friend of elves, Elessar and I count you a friend of Gondor.”
“Thank you, laddie,” Gimli said with what looked suspiciously
like tears in his eyes. Legolas smiled down at his friend, placing his
hand on the dwarf's shoulder. “Now, now, laddie. Do not be getting
all maudlin on me,” Gimli grumbled at Legolas, causing the elf's
smile to broaden, as he surreptitiously wiped tears from his eyes.
“I am sure that your fellow dwarves are very sorry,”
Faramir began as he glared at the dwarves, “for their ill advised
remarks. Am I not right, sirs?” the Steward added in a slightly
raised voice.
The dwarves had the grace to look abashed and all muttered something
that sounded like an apology. Satisfied, the Steward continued.
“So, we have the dwarves, elves and Rohirrim throwing insults
and punches. This I can at least understand now, if not condone, but
this leaves my Gondorian soldiers. How did they become part of this
squabble? Hmmmm?” Faramir asked as he turned his intense gaze
on his own soldiers.
The soldiers of Gondor to a man were attempting to look as inconspicuous
as possible, which if not for the seriousness of the situation would
have been cause for laughter for each was built like a battlement.
“That would be my fault, sir,” came a small voice from
the back of the cell.
“Come forward, man. Explain,” the Steward beckoned with
his hand, perfunctorily.
The other Gondorians moved aside to let the owner of the voice through.
The voice belonged to a rather young, if somewhat heavily built, soldier
with curly black hair and grey eyes. Faramir recognised the young man
by sight but had not seen the lad for many months.
“Well, sir…” the young man said before having to
clear his throat which had tightened considerably under the Steward's
intense gaze. “I have been stationed at Osgiliath for some months,
sir… I do not know much about the elves, sir… I… um…uh…”
“Just spit it out, soldier,” Faramir barked, losing patience.
“I saw the Rohirrim accosting the elf and then the dwarves swarming,
sir. I thought I was coming to the aid of a she-elf,” the soldier
let out in a rush, cringing as he did so. “And the others came
to mine.”
Faramir coughed to disguise the involuntary chuckle that escaped his
control. He could see from the corner of his eye that Gimli and the
twins' shoulders were shaking with suppressed mirth and from the low
rumbling he could discern; Legolas had begun growling again.
The sounds of shuffling feet and swords being drawn could be heard
coming from the next room. The Sheriff and Beregond burst forth through
the doorway ready to do battle and stopped abruptly, though still looking
around wildly. Gothric with his cloak and hood covering him like a shield,
followed tentatively.
“What in Arda's name has happened?” the Sheriff asked in
alarm. “Every piece of furniture next door has been reduced to
cinders.”
“You have lost your temper again. Have you not?” Beregond
accused Faramir in a slightly scolding tone.
The Sheriff's eyes widened and he looked at the Steward as he took
in the meaning of Beregond's words.
Faramir looked at Beregond for a long moment.
“I do not like the look of my brother's elven friend. Can you
and Gothric please see to him?” the Steward asked quietly. “If
you will open door please, Sheriff?”
The Sheriff pulled the large keys from the pocket of his coat and unlocked
the door. Beregond and Gothric entered the cell and walked over to Arwen
who had remained seated the entire time.
“Sheriff,” Faramir said as he walked over to the cell containing
the dwarves who were watching the Steward warily. “Please fetch
the Innkeeper. I think the poor man has been kept waiting long enough.”
“Yes, my Lord,” the Sheriff replied as he turned smartly
on his heel and went in search of the Innkeeper.
After a short time the Sheriff ushered in the burly, dark-haired Innkeeper.
Faramir turned to Beregond who was still seeing to the elf.
“Is my brother's friend alright, Beregond?” Faramir asked
quietly as he walked over to the cell.
“He does seem to be a little dazed, my Lord but nothing serious
I think,” Beregond replied.
“Gothric. Go and prepare one of the spare guest quarters near
the healers. I would like them to watch over him tonight,” Faramir
instructed his young servant. Gothric, still cloaked and hooded, nodded
and left the room. “Beregond. Please go to the Inn and assess
the damage done,” the Steward instructed as he leaned heavily
against the door of the cell that Beregond had vacated and the Sheriff
had relocked.
“Yes, my Lord,” Beregond replied as he too, left.
“Now sir. What damage has been done to your establishment?”
Faramir asked all but holding himself up by the bars on the cell door,
wishing that he could sit down but unfortunately the benches were not
cushioned and his arse still throbbed after his session with 'Faramir's
Bane' and the King's very heavy hand.
“Some furniture, my Lord. A few barrels of ale, some goblets
and two glass windows,” the Innkeeper replied as he thought back
on the scene of devastation that became apparent after the combatants
had been removed.
“After Beregond confirms the damage I will ensure that you receive
adequate recompense in addition to elven, dwarven and human labour to
return your establishment to rights,” the Steward said as he glared
at the occupants of each cell. “If you are in agreement to the
terms, I would set this lot free so that I can get them out of the Sheriff's
hair and I can get back to my bed.”
“Yes, my Lord. Thank you, my Lord,” the Inkeeper said excitedly
as he had not seen such prompt action taken before.
“If you will do the honours, Sheriff,” Faramir said indicating
the cell lock. “This one last, I think,” the Steward corrected
when the Sheriff went to unlock the cell door that was the only thing
holding him up at the moment. Faramir wanted to give the Rohirrim, dwarves
and Gondorian who upset his brother the opportunity to escape before
he let Legolas loose. If they were in any way intelligent they would
all leave quickly and hide from Legolas for the next century or two,
Faramir thought irreverently. When Legolas saw his brother's intent,
darting glares at Faramir, he growled and rattled the cell door in frustration,
causing the occupants of the other cells to leave all the more quickly.
Only after all the other cells had been opened and their occupants
given ample opportunity to escape, did Faramir allow the door of the
last cell to be unlocked.
“Thank you, Sheriff. You may go now,” the Steward said
wearily. “Alright. Shall we go back to the palace where I will
want a full accounting of night's deeds,” Faramir growled as he
swung the heavy cell door open.
“Yes,” said a softy dangerous and very familiar voice from
doorway. “I am extraordinarily interested in what you all have
to say.”
The twins, Legolas and Gimli all started badly as they had not heard
Aragorn's approach. Whilst too tired to flinch, for he had also not
heard Aragorn's voice nor thoughts, Faramir whimpered softly and banged
his forehead, repeatedly, against the iron bar of the door that he was
still using for support.
Gimli, the twins and Legolas filed past Aragorn. The next cloaked and
hooded figure drew the King’s attention immediately.
“What, for Arda's sake, are you doing here!” the
King exclaimed.
Part 5
“Gothric is with us,” Elrohir said from the other
side of the doorway, phrasing his words very carefully so as not to
tell an outright untruth.
“Is it not bad enough that I find that you have been incarcerated
in my own gaol but that you have also dragged a minor into your misadventures?”
Aragorn snarled.
“He is not a minor!” Elladan said adamantly as
he looked at the pale human. “You are not a minor are you?”
he asked on examining the human closely, realising that he did indeed
look very young.
“No, he is not,” Faramir replied as calmly as he could
in an effort to direct Elessar's intense scrutiny away from the hapless
youth. “But he is young and should be abed. With your permission,
Elessar?”
“Yes…yes,” the King replied absent-mindedly as his
thoughts were on larger concerns such as what his brothers and friends
had been about and where Arwen was, as he thought her with the twins.
Faramir turned the young man towards the door and ushered him past
the King and twins into the next room. Gothric almost broke into a run
as he exited the next room and thence the prison, passing King Thranduil
and Maglor as he did so. The two elder elves walked down the corridor
into the room that bore the greater evidence of the Steward's latest
temper tantrum. Faramir blushed furiously as his father and Maglor surveyed
the piles of smouldering cinders and melted metal that had so recently
been pieces of furniture. His blush deepened as they turned their attention
on him, both shaking their heads at the devastation.
“Alright all, back to the palace where you can explain, in intricate
detail, how you came to find yourselves ensconced in this establishment,”
Aragorn growled, ushering his brothers and others through the gaol's
entrance.
As they walked back to the palace Faramir thought longingly of his
bed as the events of the evening and the consequences of his temper
had drained him considerably. On reaching the entrance to the King and
Steward's apartments they were met by mother hen number three, so dubbed
by Aragorn.
“Where have you been?” Prince Imrahil asked his
nephew as he eyed the group in sleepy bewilderment. “There has
been an inordinate amount of 'tooing' and 'froing' this evening. What,
pray tell, is going on?”
“If you would like to join us in my study, Prince Imrahil, I
am sure that my brothers and friends will be happy
to explain everything,” Aragorn replied with a sardonic smile
as he waved his hand inviting the Prince of Dol Amroth to precede him
down the corridor and through to the study.
On reaching the entrance to the study, the twins, Legolas, Gimli and
Faramir filed into the room followed by Maglor, Thranduil, Imrahil and
finally Aragorn. The King pointed at his brothers and then to lounge
chairs arranged around the fireplace in a mute order to sit down. He
then pointed to Gimli, Legolas and Faramir to do the same. All but Faramir,
who was still unable to sit comfortably, did as the King commanded.
The Steward chose to stand and found himself flanked by both his uncle
and Maglor, whilst Aragorn stoked the fire burning in the fireplace
with rather violent movements of a poker.
Just as the King straightened, the other door that led further into
the King's apartment opened revealing Arwen; looking quite upset. The
queen entered the room followed by Lord Elrond. A soft curse left Faramir's
mouth before his mind could stop it from springing forth. The soft curse
was followed almost instantly by a very vocal yelp of pain from the
Steward as Maglor and Imrahil both responded with the same action; a
whack applied to the Steward's posterior, protected only by the thin
material of his leggings and shirt as, in his haste to dress earlier,
he had not put on his leather overtunic and had removed his cloak upon
entering the King's study. Sparing a mutinous glare at both the Seneschal
and his uncle, the Steward sidled over to where his father was standing
by the fireside. Faramir relaxed slightly on seeing the elven King look
on him with fond tolerance.
“Arwen, ada? What is the meaning of this? What has happened?”
Aragorn asked as he looked at Arwen, noting that she had been crying.
“It appears, ion-nin, that my daughter, your wife, has spent
the better part of this evening enjoying the delights of your gaol with
the 'trio horribus' and Master Gimli,” Elrond replied, giving
the 'trio horribus' and dwarf a look that Faramir thought would have
had him running for the hills.
“WHAT!” Aragorn bellowed causing all four younger elves,
Gimli and Faramir to wince. “How did you get out of the cell?
Gothric!” the King said answering his own question almost immediately.
“Yes, Estel. If it had not been for your devious Steward and
his very loyal, if somewhat disgruntled at the moment, staff,”
Elrond began as he turned his unwavering gaze upon Faramir, whose eyes
darted about immediately searching for boltholes garnering amused looks
from his three 'mother hens', Thranduil, Maglor and Imrahil, “you
would have found your Queen in that gaol cell.”
“YOU!” Aragorn turned to Faramir searching for a target
for his considerable anger; the Steward presenting a tempting one given
the very wet and cold dousing he had caused hours earlier.
The Steward took two steps back and would have taken a third if he
had not backed into his father who had moved into his path and put a
comforting hand on his son's shoulder.
“Be nice, Estel” Thranduil said in a mild voice that nonetheless
held a very real threat that stayed further words from Aragorn.
"You almost made that poor man's heart stop when he heard your
voice inside his head asking him to exchange Gothric for Arwen, pen-neth,
not to mention dragging that poor child out of his bed and into your
scheming," Elrond admonished the Steward both verbally and mind-to-mind,
causing Faramir to both flinch and blanch as he did not know that Lord
Elrond could also receive and project thoughts.
“Another 'gift' you have failed to inform me about, hmmmmm?”
Aragorn snarled as he pinned his Steward with a very kingly glare. Faramir
put his fisted hand with thumb extended to his mouth and bit down on
his thumbnail.
“Foxling,” Imrahil warned recognising the precursor to
an ill-considered and almost certainly inappropriate retort by his nephew.
His retort thwarted by his uncle, Faramir felt like screaming but chose
instead to remain silent, albeit grinding his teeth and glaring at the
floor.
“None of this was Faramir's doing, ada, Estel,” Arwen said
in a tone, although as mild as Thranduil's, held the same core of metal.
“If anyone is to blame, it is you Estel.”
“Me! How so my Lady? How am I to blame?” Aragorn replied
angrily.
“You were the one who insisted that I keep Elladan and Elrohir
out of your hair this evening,” Arwen argued.
“But not by frequenting a drinking establishment and getting
arrested for brawling, I did not!” the King growled.
“Be reasonable, Estel. We did not plan on becoming embroiled
in a brawl. If it had not been for that intoxicated Rohirrim who mistook
Legolas for a she-elf and made a pass at him, none of this would have
transpired,” the Queen said adamantly but then turned to Legolas
with an apologetic look when she realised that she had just added to
her friend's already monumental embarrassment.
The King's, Imrahil's and several elven eyebrows went skywards as all
eyes turned to Legolas who had, Faramir noted, begun growling again.
And so it was that the entire story came out much to Legolas' mortification
and Faramir's chagrin. Aragorn, whilst finding some amusement in Legolas'
predicament with the amorous mountain of a Rohirrim, did not find such
amusement in his Steward's continued displays of temper with their inevitable
destructive consequences.
“Well, that is quite a tale,” Aragorn said with an odd
mixture of confound and anger, looking at each culprit in turn before
settling on his Steward. Faramir thought longingly again of boltholes
such as the comfort and safety of his apartments and bed. “Which
brings us to punishment. I seek your council in this,” the King
added, looking at his father, Thranduil, Imrahil and Maglor.
“I have already had a lengthy 'discussion' with Arwen and plan
on having an even more intense one with the 'duo horribus',” Elrond
said as he pinned each twin with a glare that made them wince.
“Do you require assistance?” Imrahil asked in a conversational
tone, belying his annoyance at the twins for their part in getting his
nephew into yet more trouble.
“Thank you, yes. Your assistance would be most welcome, mellon-nin,”
Elrond replied, much to the horror of the twins, in an equally conversational
tone.
“I will see to Legolas,” Thranduil said as he gave his
son a look that halted the elf's intermittent growling and caused him
swallow hard.
“And I will see to master Gimli,” Maglor said as he shifted
his gaze to the startled and blustering dwarf. “For he is no less
guilty than the others.”
“Which leaves my devious Steward and his temper to me,”
Aragorn said with a certain amount of relish as he glared at his Steward.
“Hand only, Estel,” the elven King warned.
“As if that will make any difference,” Faramir muttered
to himself, still feeling the effects of his last encounter with Elessar's
hand.
“What was that, ion-nin?” Thranduil asked, pretending not
to have heard his son's surly comment.
“Nothing, ada,” Faramir sighed in such a morose manner
that Imrahil, shaking his head and chuckling softly, walked over to
his nephew and enveloped him in a mighty embrace.
“You are your mother's son, foxling,” the Prince whispered
into Faramir's ear, smiling at Thranduil over his nephew's shoulder.
The elven King returned the smile. Imrahil tightened his embrace before
releasing the Steward to their King but not before bestowing Aragorn
with a look that promised repercussions if the King did not deal with
Faramir in a sensitive manner. Aragorn rolled his eyes but nodded his
head in acknowledgement that he understood the Prince's meaning.
“Ions-nin,” Lord Elrond called out to his sons as he and
Imrahil made their way to the door that led to the corridor.
After exchanging a sympathetic glance with her brothers, Arwen made
her way to her own rooms.
“Master Gimli, if you please?” Maglor asked mildly, although
Gimli was under no illusions that it was a command not a request, as
he preceded the Mirkwood Seneschal from the study.
“I am too old for physical chastisement, laddie,” Faramir
could hear Gimli blustering as his voice receded into the distance.
The Steward silently wished the dwarf luck in his argument but suspected
that Gimli was about to become acquainted with his namesake, elvish
version.
“Leg-o-las” Thranduil called, turning to Faramir as he
did so. The Steward stood still, arms wrapped around himself protectively
and his eyes cast downwards in a familiar, dejected pose that made the
elven King's heart constrict. “Oh, ion-nin!” the elf exclaimed
in an emotion-filled whisper as he slowly and carefully enveloped his
human son in a hug. “As I did in my youth; which my Seneschal
would argue that I have yet to leave behind, you must face the consequences
of losing your temper and especially now that your wizarding powers
have manifested you need to learn control.”
“I know, ada, but it is so hard,” Faramir replied
quietly as he buried his face in his father's shoulder breathing deeply,
taking in his father's familiar forest scent.
“I know, ion-nin. I know. I do love you” Thranduil soothed,
tightening his arms around his son.
“And I you, ada,” Faramir sighed.
The elf broke the embrace and turned to Aragorn with a look, similar
to that given him by Imrahil, that promised painful retribution if the
King did not treat his son with care. Aragorn's eyes softened and he
nodded his head in mute acknowledgement as Thranduil left the room.
Legolas embraced Faramir briefly before following his father out of
the room.
Part 6
"Lord Elrond led his sons and Imrahil to the apartments that he
shared with the twins. Opening the door he motioned his sons to precede
him and the Prince. Imrahil had to bite the inside of his cheek in an
effort to keep his expression stern as the sons of Elrond sidled warily
past their father and into the sitting room, keeping their backsides
away from their father's obviously long reach.
In a manner identical to that of his human son earlier in the evening,
Lord Elrond pointed at the twins and then to the chairs arranged around
the fireplace in an unspoken order for the elves to sit. The twins sat
as instructed still eying their father warily. The so far silent interaction
between the elf and his sons indicated to Imrahil that the reserved
elven Lord was an elf of 'action' as well as words.
Lord Elrond looked intently at each twin in turn, noting their wary
expressions, pinched the bridge of his nose, closed his eyes and began
a gentle massaging movement as if trying to temper a headache, a gesture
that, interestingly, elicited winces from his sons.
"Please do not be harsh with Arwen, ada," Elladan began in
a rush.
"... she did not want to come," Elrohir continued, the words
all but tumbling out.
"... at first,"
"... she argued,"
".... that it was not,"
"... seemly,"
"... but we,"
"... convinced her,"
"... to come,"
"... we did not,"
"... expect trouble,"
"... and if,"
"... it had,"
"... not,"
"... been,"
"... for that,"
"... dumb,"
"... blond,"
"… ox of a,"
"... Rohirrim,"
"... mistaking Legolas,"
"... for a she-elf,"
"... and making,"
"... a pass at him,"
"... not once,"
"... but twice...," Elrohir said as he and Elladan looked
up at their father. Both twins gulped on seeing their father's raised
eyebrow and realising that their panicked speech was getting them nowhere.
"... We are,"
"... sorry,"
"... ada," they both finished together with identical expressions
of contriteness.
Imrahil had stood transfixed during the twins' panicked explanations,
marvelling at how the sons of Elrond were able to maintain the thread
of the conversation flawlessly with only a word or three being uttered
by either one of them at any one time. He could see by the expression
of scepticism with which Elrond graced the panicked young elves that
he was not buying what the twins were attempting to sell in the way
of explanations.
"Rohirrim aside, ions-nin,” Elrond said, glaring at his
sons anew, “Arwen should not have been in that alehouse and you,
as her older brothers, although I use that term loosely for
you may be older in years but ever it seems lack for maturity, should
have displayed more sense. I am thankful that the Sheriff had enough
wherewithal to summon Faramir and thank Adrahil for his grandson's deviousness
if not for the young one's temper, meaning no disrespect to your sire
Prince Imrahil,” Elrond added with an apologetic glance at the
Prince.
"None taken, my friend. My father has been called much worse by
those who tried to out-sneak the old fox, my brother-by-law included
and he did have a temper that bred true," Imrahil replied
with an affectionate smile as he remembered his much beloved father,
his fiery sister and her foxling.
“I want you both to fetch your hairbrushes. Now!” Elrond
snapped when the twins stared at him in stunned horror.
“No please, ada,” the twins said as one.
“Either your hairbrushes or I go and fetch 'Faramir's Bane'.
The choice is yours,” Elrond replied sternly.
Elladan looked as if he was going to argue the point but before he
could Elrohir dragged his twin towards their room.
“I do not know about you but I would rather not face that…
that… 'thing' again,” Elrohir admonished his brother in
a harsh whisper as he dragged his twin into their sleeping chamber.
Elrond and Imrahil exchanged a rueful look.
“They appear to be quite the handful?” Imrahil said as
he watched the twins disappear through the door.
“Always,” Elrond replied with a weary sigh. "Although
Elrohir does show a modicum of good sense... on occasion"
"Yes, I noticed. Takes after his mother does he?" Imrahil
asked in the same conversational tone that he had used earlier.
Elrond turned to the Prince of Dol Amroth gracing him with his most
lordly raised eyebrow.
"I am certain that not all the stories your father told you were
accurate," Elrond replied after several long moments appraising
the Prince.
"Just the greater proportion, I would suspect," Imrahil said
in the same calm, well-inflected tone that showed the Prince's familial
relationship to the Steward of Gondor.
"Cheekiness, I see, has also bred true in Adrahil's line, mellon-nin,"
the elven Lord admonished mildly but with a hint of humour in his eyes.
Imrahil smiled but resumed a stern expression quickly when the twins
re-entered the room, both holding lethal looking works of elven art
in the form of large, ornate silver hairbrushes.
"I will see to Elrohir's punishment. If you would be so kind as
to see to Elladan's, mellon-nin?" Elrond asked, smiling to himself
at Elrohir's look of relief and Elladan's look of horror.
"With pleasure, my friend," Imrahil replied, with an emphasis
on the word pleasure, as he crooked a finger at the suddenly wary Elladan
to follow him into the next room.
Glaring at his father who remained impassive except for a raised eyebrow,
daring his son to say anything, Elladan sighed wanly in defeat finally,
before following Prince Imrahil into the next room.
The Lord of Rivendell walked over to a chair with no arms that was
situated in the far corner of the room, moved the chair to a space near
the centre of the room and sat down upon its seat. He held out a hand
for the hairbrush Elrohir still held. Elrohir walked over to his father
silently and handed over the hairbrush reluctantly.
“You were not too harsh with Arwen, were you, ada?” Elrohir
asked tentatively.
“Nay, I was not, ion-nin, although your sister did feel my displeasure
firmly upon her posterior,” Elrond replied sternly. “I do
credit Arwen with having more sense than her brothers though and understand
that she is feeling somewhat bound at the moment and thus gave in to
temptation. Now to your chastisement, ion-nin,” the elven Lord
added.
With a resigned sigh, Elrohir loosened the ties of his leggings, pushed
them down to his knees and lowered himself over his ada's lap. Elrond
wasted no time in beginning the chastisement, landing several stinging
slaps with the substantial elven brush before Elrohir found breath enough
to gasp. The elder elf continued a blistering pace, concentrating first
on one of the younger elf's buttocks and then the other. Elrohir's gasps
turned in quick order to whimpers and then to sobs interspersed eventually
with howls. Elrond moved his attention to his son's thighs. Even through
his own sobbing and howling, Elrohir was aware of his brother's howls
coming from the next room.
Leggings also pushed down to his knees exposing his vulnerable posterior,
Elladan lay over Prince Imrahil's lap having his arse well and truly
chastised. The Dol Amroth Prince was keeping a keen ear open to what
he could hear happening in the other room so that he could keep pace
with Lord Elrond. And what a pace that was turning out to be, Imrahil
thought as he moved between Elladan's buttocks and thighs so that each
area would have received equal share of the punishment by its end. The
young elf was fully sobbing and howling as loud as his brother by the
time the chastisement did end. Not able to help himself, Imrahil landed
two extra whacks to Elladan's posterior for the trouble he had caused
Faramir, as he recognised in the young elf the ring leader who had led
his sister astray. Ending the chastisement, Imrahil dropped the brush
on the floor and allowed the young one to voice his distress as he rubbed
the elf's back in gently soothing motions.
“All is forgiven, young one,” Imrahil crooned as he pulled
up the Elladan's leggings and gathered the still sobbing son of Elrond
into his arms, careful not to add to the pain in elf's posterior.
“I am… sorry… we got Faramir… into trouble,”
Elladan gasped out between hitched breaths.
“My foxling is well capable of getting himself into trouble,
young one. I am sure he would have managed to do so eventually, with
or without your assistance. Although, I would have wished that one day
between bouts of trouble could have been achieved,” Imrahil replied,
eliciting a small smile from the son of Elrond. Imrahil was surprised
and honoured that the young elf, so much older than he, accepted his
comforting him. “I think we should see how your brother is faring,
young one,” Imrahil said as he stood and with his arm around Elladan's
shoulders, guided the elf into the other room where they found Elrond
cuddling an equally contrite elf.
Elrond looked up and gave Elladan a sympathetic smile, gesturing with
his arm for his son to come and receive a hug. In the blink of an eye
the Lord of Rivendell's arms were full of repentant elflings, both repeating
that they were sorry and both seeking reassurances from their ada. Elrond
and Imrahil shared another rueful look and smile as the prince leaned
against the doorframe with his arms crossed, watching the scene with
amusement. Both were parents and both knew that the sons of Elrond would
again find trouble but hopefully not for a day or two.
Thranduil led his nervous son to the apartments that they shared, located
with the group of apartments belonging to the Steward in the King and
Steward's private wing of the palace. As had the Elrondion twins with
their ada, the Mirkwood prince kept a wary eye on his ada as he walked
past him and into the sitting room whilst also attempting to appear
as contrite as possible.
Thranduil entered after his son and closed the door behind him. Leaning
back against the door the elven King tried to maintain a stern expression
but was unable to hide the twinkle of humour in his eyes. Unable to
contain himself any longer, Thranduil, still using the door as support,
doubled over placing his hands on his knees and burst out into heartfelt
laughter that persisted so long that Legolas' expression turned slightly
affronted, although still somewhat wary.
"Oh, my elfling!" the elder elf gasped out as he wiped tears
of mirth from his eyes. "Whilst I can understand that
your pride, considerable as it is and for that I can blame no other
than myself as it is my pride that you inherited, had indeed been bruised
severely, you, my young prince, are going to have to learn restraint.
As Mithrandir would point out to you, you cannot throw humans around
willy, nilly," the elven King said waving his about in the air
mimicking the White Wizard, "no matter how annoyed or provoked
you may be. You are most fortunate that the Rohirrim concerned landed
amidst the dwarves, thus avoiding a heavy injury."
“Aye, ada,” Legolas replied contritely although he could
not help but smile a little ruefully at the truth of his father's words
even though he knew that he was still going to have his arse blistered.
“And to the more serious matter of Arwen. Did you at least argue
that it was not a good idea for the Queen of Gondor to visit a questionable
drinking establishment unbeknownst the King of Gondor?” Thranduil
asked as he pinned his son with a glare and already suspecting the answer.
“Nay, ada,” the elf replied in a whisper as he looked at
the floor, his head lowered.
“Alright, my elfling,” Thranduil said as he walked over
to the desk situated in front of glass windows that led out onto a balcony
overlooking a private garden, grabbed the chair sitting behind the desk
and moved it to a space at the side of the desk, whereupon he sat down.
“Mayhap a sharp lesson applied to your posterior will help your
reasoning in future.”
Part 7
Grimacing, Legolas made his way over to his father, loosened the ties
on his leggings, pulled them down to his knees and lowered himself over
his ada's lap. Thranduil also wasted no time in beginning the punishment,
laying stinging slap after stinging slap to his son's buttocks. The
young elf accepted the chastisement stoically for about the first ten
slaps. It was not long thereafter, for the elven King did indeed have
a very hard hand, before he was whimpering then sobbing until finally
letting out a few heartfelt, or in this case, arse-felt howls. After
giving some attention to his elfling's thighs and 'sit-spot', Thranduil
ceased the chastisement. Pulling up Legolas' leggings, the elven King
gathered his elfling into his arms and soothed him until the sobs had
quieted to hitched breaths.
"I hope, my elfling, that you will think twice before throwing
any more humans about or allowing the Elrondion twins to talk their
sister into anymore of their mischief," Thranduil said as he continued
to cuddle his son.
"Aye, ada," Legolas replied as he snuggled into his father's
arms. "I am sorry, ada, to have got Faramir into trouble but I
could think of no other way to get Arwen out. So I asked the Sheriff
to summon him."
"Nay, elfling. It was your brother's temper that got him into
trouble," Thranduil responded.
Legolas continued to snuggle into his father's embrace, much as he
had done as an elfling. The attention of both elven father and son was
distracted suddenly by what they could hear coming from the room across
the hallway.
"Och there, laddie!" Gimli's muffled bluster could be heard
coming from the other room. "Where in the name of… did you
produce that 'thing' from... If you think that you are going use that…
that... Now, now, laddie, there is no need to elf-handle me... And there
is certainly no need for that... I will catch my death, laddie...
Ooouuucchhh! By all that's... laddie! That... that 'thing' has the sting
of a thousand fire ants. Ouch! Owwww! And you have used it on that poor
young human's scrawny behind. Ouch! For shame laddie! Ouch! Owww! ...
Aye I should have had more sense but I was outnumbered by flighty elves.
Ouch! Owww! Not meaning that all elves are flighty. Just that I seem
to know a disproportionate number who are. OUCH! OWWWW! LADDIE!"
Eyes twinkling, Legolas and Thranduil looked at each other and both
burst out into fits of the giggles soon followed by hearty laughter.
"I love you, ada," Legolas said when he finally caught his
breath.
"As I love you, my elfling," the elven King replied tightening
his hold on his son.
Looking for all the world to Faramir like a predator eyeing a particularly
tempting piece of fresh meat, Aragorn smiled evilly, pinning the young
Steward with his most potent 'heir of Isildur' stare. Faramir's eyes
narrowed as he met the King's intense stare warily. It took all of the
Steward's control to keep his eyes from darting about searching for
the escape routes that his mind was desperately wanting to identify,
categorise and prioritise.
Moving with the power, grace and confidence of a King of beasts as
well as men, Aragorn swaggered over to a large seat, designed to seat
three comfortably, and sat down as he crooked his finger beckoning his
Steward to approach. With great difficulty Faramir got his feet moving
and walked over to the King in much the same manner as one would approach
the hooded man holding an axe on the execution scaffolding. Reluctantly
loosening the ties of his leggings and pushing them down to his knees,
Faramir took a deep breath and lowered himself over his King's lap.
“What is this chastisement for?” Aragorn asked to ensure
that he could monitor Faramir's reactions.
“For losing my temper,” the young Steward replied immediately.
“And?” the King asked, his smile becoming more evil if
anything.
“Ah, not telling you about the brawl?” Faramir began tentatively
as he was not quite sure as to what Elessar was referring.
“No, no my Steward. I can understand why you did not tell me
and I am grateful that you got Arwen out before she was discovered,”
Aragorn replied.
“Then what?” Faramir murmured, annoyance again overcoming
good sense.
“What? You cannot think of anything else you may have done recently
that would cause my ire,” Aragorn asked almost teasingly.
“Surely not! Surely not for the other dousing?” Faramir
said incredulously as he twisted and looked up at the King. “That
was an accident!” he added indignantly.
“An interesting defence, my Steward. You did not mean to suspend
the barrel of water over the doorway, hmmmm?”
“No… I mean, yes I did suspend the barrel over the doorway,”
Faramir replied reluctantly.
“So then... I was not its intended target?” Aragorn asked
perplexedly.
“Yes... and no," the Steward responded.
“A decidedly clear and concise answer," the King retorted
sarcastically.
"I forgot about the accursed barrel," Faramir snarled, inadvisably,
his temper flaring as it often did when he was bare arsed and upended
over a lap about to be blistered.
“The tone of reply of which brings us back to the subject of
your considerable temper,” Aragorn said as he landed the first
of a series of very hard very fast blistering slaps to his Steward's
buttocks, eliciting pained gasps from the young man as he, like his
elven brother, fought to maintain a stoic demeanour.
As had been the case with Legolas this resolve did not last long as
the King increased both the pace and intensity of the slaps applied
to what had already been a very sore posterior. It was not long before
Faramir was squirming in an attempt to lessen the impact of his King's
heavy hand. Whimpers gave way to sobs and the Steward began to apologise
profusely for losing his temper in between gasps for breath.
“I hope, my Steward, that you will, in time, although I say this
with little confidence based on past behaviour, learn to control your
formidable temper, tempering its consequences,” Aragorn lectured
punctuating key words with harder slaps. “And now to the issue
of that second dousing.”
“It was an accident!” Faramir could hear himself snap out
without conscious thought and directly after having apologised for losing
his temper.
“Faramir?” the King said the same deceptively mild tone
that Lord Elrond had developed into an art form, instilling fear into
his children instantly when used on them. The Steward either did not
process the question or did not want to process the question for he
remained silent except for hitched and heavy breathing interspersed
with what Aragorn was sure were muttered curses. “Faramir?”
Aragorn repeated in stern tone.
“What!” the Steward snarled in exasperation.
“I would suggest that you release my arm,” Aragorn instructed
in the same deceptively calm tone.
It took Faramir a moment to process the demand.
“I am not holding your arm,” Faramir responded in a surly
manner, looking at his hands, which were wrapped currently around the
calf of his King's leg for balance.
“Faramir, release my arm. Now!” Aragorn barked loudly.
“And I tell you I am not…” Faramir began twisting
as he did so to look up at Aragorn.
The words stopped abruptly, his eyes widened and the blood drained
from his flushed face suddenly when he saw the King's hand held high
poised to deliver another slap. From Elessar's strained look it was
clear to the Steward that the King was fighting an invisible force that
held his arm fast. Eyes the size of saucers, widened in panic, Faramir
scrambled off Aragorn's lap, pulling his leggings up as he did so. Still
scrambling backwards away from the King, the Steward lost his balance
and fell onto his behind with a resounding thump but so great was his
panic and fear that his mind did not register the pain.
“Faramir… Faramir stay with me… all will be well,”
Aragorn soothed, concerned about the strength and rapidity of his Steward's
panicked breathing.
Panic increasing, Faramir gained his feet and backed away from Aragorn
whose arm was still held aloft and held fast. The Steward turned and
flew towards the door that led into the hallway. At that exact moment,
the door opened and Gandalf stormed into the room. The resultant clash
of the wizards caused Gandalf to teeter backwards several steps and
Faramir to bounce back and fall again onto his rump with an even greater
resounding thump that made Aragorn, arm still aloft, wince.
“What have you done now, Aragorn?” exclaimed Gandalf, turning
on the King when he saw how pale and frightened his wizardling looked.
“What I have done!” Aragorn bellowed in reply.
“I am the one with my arm held in this unnatural position! It
is your wizardling's doing!” Mithrandir waved his hand as he knelt
beside his very distressed wizardling. Aragorn's arm dropped to his
side, much to the King's relief. “Thank you, mellon-nin,”
said Aragorn caustically as he rubbed his arm to regain a measure of
circulation.
“Mithrandir… I do not know how… I did not mean…
I am sorry… so… sorry,” Faramir pleaded, his breathing
still so rapid as to make it impossible for him to gain his breath.
“Shhhh, my wizardling,” Gandalf soothed his panicked pupil.
“I keep finding myself short-footed with you,” he chuckled,
stroking Faramir's hair in an effort to sooth the young man. “You
keep doing things of which you should not be capable as yet and quite
unintentionally at that. What you did was akin to levitation but generally
requires much knowledge and practice. I am afraid my wizardling that
this means that you will need to devote more time to your training.”
“I cannot remain as Steward, Mithrandir,” Faramir whispered,
tears filling his eyes. “I must leave this city. I am a danger.
I could have… hurt… “
“Nonsense!” Gandalf and Aragorn replied as one.
“You did not hurt Aragorn, nor could you," Gandalf scoffed.
"It is well past midnight yet there is much movement about. What
has happened?” the Wizard asked in an exasperated voice.
Aragorn explained all that had happened as he assisted Faramir to his
feet, guiding the still visibly distressed young Steward over to the
large lounge, sat down pulling Faramir down with him and gathered him
into a comforting embrace.
“Well, quite a full evening has been had by all it appears!”
Mithrandir exclaimed when Aragorn had finished the tale. “And
so, my young pupil, you were being justly chastised for losing your
temper - yet again and perhaps not so justly, in your convoluted logic,
for dousing Aragorn with the barrel of water.”
The door through which Gandalf had entered opened again as Thranduil
and Legolas walked into the room. The elven King took one look at Faramir,
pale and wide-eyed and knew that something was very amiss.
“What have you done, Estel?” asked Thranduil, causing Aragorn
to roll his eyes, as the elven King knelt in front of Faramir.
“Another unanticipated ability has manifested itself. It seems
that whilst he was able to accept the chastisement for losing his temper,
he objected strongly to being held accountable for dousing me with a
barrel of water earlier and literally stayed my hand from proceeding
with the chastisement,” Aragorn explained as he rose, allowing
Thranduil to comfort Faramir.
“That was an accident, Aragorn,” Legolas growled, jumping
to his brother's defence.
“And it frightened you that you could affect the King so, ion-nin,”
Thranduil surmised, tightening his arms around his trembling son.
The attention of all was diverted to the door opening a third time
as Elrond entered followed by the twins, Imrahil, Maglor and a somewhat
sheepish looking Gimli.
“What has happened, Estel?” Elrond asked, noting presence
of Mithrandir and Faramir's distressed state.
“I will explain later, ada” Aragorn replied. “You
two,” Aragorn growled, turning to his brothers, “are hereby
banished from Minas Tirith. Temporarily that is,” he added quickly
when he saw his father's raised eyebrow. “I have decided to put
your overabundance of energy to more productive use. I want you to go
forth from the city and search for signs of Saruman, where he currently
and what he is about. Oh, no! Do not think you will be going alone my
dear brothers,” Aragorn added on seeing the looks of delight on
the twins' faces.
“Who?” the twins asked warily.
“With Thranduil's permission, I would like Finrod to accompany
you to ensure that you do not get diverted, in your usual fashion, from
the task given,” Aragorn said, smirking as the twins' expressions
turned slightly sour. “By the way, where is Finrod?” the
King asked, realising that he had not seen the elf around for some days.
“The Lieutenant that accompanied him on the last search for Saruman
has been showing him the delights of Minas Tirith,” Legolas replied
with a very Thranduil-like twinkle to his eyes, eliciting a snort of
laughter from Gimli.
“In other words they have been drinking and carousing with the
young maidens on the lower levels,” Faramir smirked, the tremors
from his earlier trauma easing as he gained comfort from his father's
embrace and concern.
“At least they have not been incarcerated due to brawling in
public,” Aragorn said, looking sternly at the culprits gathered.
“Well it would not have happened to us…” Elladan
began.
“… if it had not been for Legolas…” Elrohir
continued indignantly.
“… being mistaken for a she-elf,” they both ended
together.
A growl erupted from Legolas as he launched himself at the startled
twins. Elven reflexes enabled the twins to reach, open the door and
exit to the hallway, followed closely by an angry, growling, Mirkwood
elf.
Part 8
Late the next morning Gandalf approached the Steward's apartments and
without knocking entered a large vestibule. There, to his great surprise,
sat Maglor in the rightmost of four large lounges situated against the
wall; each on either side of three internal doors that led into the
Steward's apartment and the Steward's guest apartments.
“Mae govannen, Maglor,” Gandalf greeted the Mirkwood Seneschal
as he went to walk past the elf and into his wizardling's apartment.
To Gandalf's utmost surprise, Maglor rose quickly from the lounge and
interceded between him and the door preventing him from entering.
“He is not to be disturbed, Mithrandir,” Maglor stated
in a tone that brooked no argument.
“Nonsense! He is in need of much training, post haste,”
Gandalf argued.
“No, mellon-nin. He is much more in need of sleep at the moment,”
the elf countered seriously.
“What has happened now?” Gandalf sighed quietly, his expression
both concerned and slightly exasperated.
“Come, sit, mellon-nin and I will explain,” Maglor said
as he opened the door that led into the Steward's sitting room, inviting
the wizard to precede him.
Gandalf walked towards the fireplace and sat down in the chair closest
to the small cheerful fire. The Mirkwood elf sat down in the chair opposite.
“So tell me, how fares my wizardling?” Gandalf asked quietly.
“Given the upsets of earlier,” the Seneschal began diplomatically,
“it took some time for the young one to settle into sleep. His
rest was not to prove peaceful and he awoke, screaming, a few hours
later.”
“Dream or vision?” Gandalf asked suddenly very alert.
“Dream I hope,” Maglor shuddered slightly. “He dreamt
that he lost control of his powers and caused the deaths of all those
he holds most dear, you and me included, mellon-nin. It took much persuasion
on the part of Thranduil to convince him that it was but a dream and
that we were all indeed still to be counted as amongst the living.”
Gandalf gave a sigh of relief and relaxed back into his chair eliciting
a raised questioning eyebrow from Maglor.
“Not an uncommon night terror for a wizard,” Gandalf said
in way of explanation.
“Are we to expect these dreams often?” Maglor asked eyes
wide and eyebrow still raised.
“No, although with my wizardling you just never know,”
the wizard replied, shaking his head. “So he sleeps still?”
“And will for as long as Thranduil can get him to remain that
way,” the Seneschal said, looking towards the door that led into
Faramir's sleeping chamber.
“Thranduil is with him then?” Gandalf surmised.
“Yes,” Maglor chuckled. “My young charge is clamped
to his ada like a limpet, even deep in sleep.”
“That I do not doubt, my friend,” the White Wizard sighed,
smiling sadly. “Boromir was Faramir's foundation stone. In my
pupil's lonely, hard and cold world, shy, studious, shunned and ridiculed
by Denethor, Boromir was his light, his comfort and his warmth. The
loss of his beloved brother set my wizardling adrift. I praise the Valar
that they saw fit to bless him with a cornerstone in the shape of a
certain hardheaded and oft times ill tempered in his youth, Mirkwood
elf. Having found that cornerstone, my young pupil is not about the
let him go, in sleep or not.”
“Thranduil still has his moments, mellon-nin,” Maglor chuckled.
Elf and wizard sat by the fire and spoke at great length of matters
enjoyable and inconsequential, until the door leading to the Steward's
sleeping chamber opened and King Thranduil emerged.
“He is awake then finally? Gandalf asked his eyes alight with
amusement as he continued to smoke his pipe.
“Aye, he is awake and gone to bathe. Insists that he stinks although
I could detect none such,” Thranduil chuckled as he leaned against
the side of the mantelpiece.
“Ever has it been with him even as a child. I would say almost
elvish in his fastidiousness and aversion to dirt and grime,”
Gandalf smiled in amusement, “unlike his brother or Aragorn for
they…”
“For they what, mellon-nin?” a sardonic voice said from
the open door that led to the vestibule.
“Had a much greater tolerance for dirt and grime if you must
know, you grotty ranger,” Gandalf replied without missing a beat.
“I found, perverse as it may seem, that when travelling long
distances through rough terrain, pests and vermin have an aversion to
'dirt and grime', as you so eloquently put it, and thus would leave
me alone” Aragorn retorted as he came, followed by Lord Elrond
and sat beside the White Wizard. Lord Elrond sat beside Maglor. “I
am glad that you are here, Gandalf, for I wish to discuss with you my
Steward's schedule as you will be claiming more of his hours for wizard
training and ada wants to claim some of his hours to hone his mental
abilities.”
Thranduil looked at Aragorn shrewdly for several long moments.
“All right, Estel, hand it over,” the elven King said holding
out his hand.
“Hand over what exactly?” Aragorn replied eyes
wide with innocence.
“The schedule that you have devised for my son, tithen pen, and
you could learn a thing or two about more convincing looks of innocence
from Faramir,” the elven King said, smirking at the King of Gondor
who had the grace to blush as he took a scroll from a pocket inside
his robes and handed it to Thranduil.
“It is but a draft,” Aragorn muttered, looking anywhere
but at the elven King. Thranduil perused the schedule, his right eyebrow
going skyward as his expression became more incredulous.
“Shame on you, Estel!” Thranduil remonstrated, passing
the parchment to Maglor.
It was not long before Maglor's expression became as incredulous as
his King's had been a moment before and slightly annoyed, much to Aragorn's
uneasiness.
“Two men would be hard-pressed to adhere to this schedule, pen-neth,”
Maglor scolded as he passed the scroll to Lord Elrond.
“I need my Steward,” Aragorn said plaintively. “There
is so much yet to do and Faramir is so good at organising and ploughing
through the mountain of administrative tasks.”
“Which will do you absolutely no good, ion-nin, if through exhaustion
he loses his temper and accidentally blows up the council chambers with
incumbent councillors,” Elrond admonished, still reading the 'schedule'
with an expression of disbelief before handing it back to his son.
“And that would be a bad thing,” Aragorn said slowly as
he took hold of the schedule, thinking that there were several councillors
that he would like to see disappear in a puff of smoke.
“Behave, Estel!” Thranduil reprimanded although the ever
present twinkle in his eye intensified. “I suggest that you get
rid of that piece of parchment before Faramir arrives or I fear we will
all bear witness to another formidable display of temper.”
“I had best get some food for him,” Maglor deliberated.
“I swear I force enough food down that young human to keep a hobbit
satisfied but he has still to gain sufficient weight and a missed meal
or two sees him go backwards very quickly,” the Seneschal added
sounding slightly affronted.
“That is to be expected, mellon-nin, and is something which we
will all need to watch for and guard against. It has to do with the
amount of energy my wizardling is drawing upon and channelling during
his very lengthy bouts of ill temper,” the wizard explained.
Taking note of the wizard's words of warning, Maglor exited the sitting
room through the doorway that led to the vestibule to find food from
the kitchens to tempt his young charge.
“You can enter, pen-neth,” Elrond called out trying to
contain a smile as he sensed Faramir's wary but still sleepy thoughts
on the other side of the closed door that led to the young man's sleeping
chamber.
The door opened seemingly tentatively and Faramir's head and shoulder's
appeared around the door as he surveyed warily those gathered in his
sitting room with sleepy, narrowed eyes.
“Oh come here, ion-nin,” Thranduil laughed, waving his
son over to him. “I am sure they have all eaten this morning and
are not about to devour you.”
Aragorn smirked, Elrond smiled and Gandalf chuckled as Faramir, looking
none too convinced by his ada's words, sidled over to the elven King
and was immediately enveloped in a king-sized embrace. The Steward tried
unsuccessfully to contain a wide yawn.
"I think after eating the oliphant I suspect Maglor will bring
you for your break-of-fast you should return to you bed, ion-nin,"
Thranduil said softly, eliciting a smile from Faramir as the elven King
continued to comfort his still shaken son.
"I cannot, ada, for I have far too much to do. My schedule..."
Faramir replied but stopped abruptly on sensing a spike of guilt emanating
from Aragorn at the mention of the word schedule. Eyes narrowing in
suspicion, the Steward caught the King of Gondor attempting to hide
a scroll that he held in his hand. Faramir waved his hand and the parchment
flew out of Aragorn's grasp and into his own. With a soft distressed
gasp the King attempted to catch the scroll but was not quite fast enough.
Before the Steward could read its contents though, the parchment flew
out of his own hand and into Gandalf's.
"We were just discussing," the wizard attempted to dissemble
as the parchment he was holding burst into flames, reducing to ashes
very quickly, "the need to sit with you to discuss the competing
demands on your time and how best to accommodate the training you need
in your newly discovered abilities by Lord Elrond and myself, your duties
as Steward…”
“And ample time for leisure and relaxation," Thranduil interjected
with a pointed look at Aragorn, who squirmed under the elven King's
intense glare.
Eyes narrowing again at the King's guilty demeanour, the Steward was
just about to challenge him when the attention of all was diverted by
a knock at the door that led into the vestibule. Thankful for the diversion,
Aragorn rose to his feet and walked quickly to the door and opened it
allowing Maglor, who was laden with a tray that held enough food to
feed several men or two moderately hungry hobbits, to enter.
“That is for everyone is it not?” Faramir asked,
looking at the veritable feast that the Mirkwood elf put on a side between
two lounge chairs. “I seem to continue to have difficulty getting
you to recognise that a man stands before you, not a hobbit,”
he added exasperatedly when silence from Maglor greeted his question.
“What is standing before me, my young charge, is an overly thin
wizard-in-training. Eat!” the Seneschal said in a tone that dared
Faramir, to his peril, to argue further.
“I am not that thin,” the Steward grumbled as
he complied with the elf's instruction by sitting in the empty chair
next to the tray of food.
“I beg to differ with you pen-neth. Stand sideways and I doubt
you would cast a shadow. You have yet to gain a single notch on that
belt you wear, let alone the two I would see you gain, which means you
have yet to gain the weight you lost before the One Ring was destroyed,”
Maglor scolded.
Recognising when a battle could not be won, the Steward sighed and
began to eat. As Faramir ate, Aragorn, Gandalf and Lord Elrond discussed
his training and duties as Steward. Thranduil interjected occasionally
to ensure that Faramir was given ample time to relax and recuperate.
It was agreed that Beregond would continue in his role in assisting
the Steward and the King in the Steward's absence. It was also recognised
that Beregond would require assistance, so it was decided to train two
more high level administrators in addition to the current ancillary
staff.
When Faramir had eaten as much as he could and to the satisfaction
of a certain, in his view, tyrannical elven 'nanny' he was shepherded
by Thranduil back to his bed, where he spent the rest of the day and
night.
Early the next morning, after breaking his fast with Thranduil and
Legolas, having much food foisted upon him, Faramir and the two elves
made their way to the courtyard in the front of the palace to bid the
twins and Finrod farewell and a successful hunt. Faramir noted that
four horses were being held by stable hands towards the back of the
courtyard. The twins and Finrod were there as were the King, Queen,
Lord Elrond, Gandalf, Gimli and Maglor. Faramir was surprised to find
the Lieutenant who had searched for signs of Saurman with Finrod before
was there and kitted out for travel.
“The King asked me to accompany Finrod and Lords Elladan and
Elrohir to assist in keeping his brothers out of mischief,” the
soldier whispered in reply to the Steward's silent question obviously
aware that the twins would be able to hear him, evidenced by the not
so well hidden smirk on the soldier's face at the twin scowls he was
receiving.
Farewells and good wishes were exchanged. Both Aragorn and Elrond explained
in great detail what would befall the twins if they so much as put a
toe out of line in their search for signs of Saruman. The three elves
and the Lieutenant mounted and were just about to leave when Maglor
stopped Finrod and produced a very red paddle out of what appeared to
be thin air and passed it to Finrod. Blushing furiously regardless,
Faramir could see that the paddle was not his 'namesake', human or elvish
version, but nonetheless a lethal looking paddle. The Steward felt a
twinge of sympathy at the twin expressions of horror as they stared
at the paddle as if transfixed.
“I thought it best not to send you out 'unarmed', mellon-nin.
They are not known as the 'duo horribus' for nothing and they are
the sons of Elrond,” Maglor said matter-of-factly as if that explained
everything. Lord Elrond's eyebrow went skyward as he looked at the Mirkwood
elf and Thranduil's eyes twinkled delightedly.
Finrod exchanged a look of amusement with the Lieutenant before securing
the paddle in his saddlebags. The elves and human turned their horses
towards the exit and made their way down the levels of the city and
out onto the plains.
Part 9
The days that followed fell into a pattern for the young Steward of
Gondor. After awaking upon the morn, bathing and dressing, Faramir would
partake of the morning meal with either his elven family or with others
in the palace such as the King and Queen or his uncle. Although the
company with whom he ate varied, the one thing that did not was the
sheer volume of food that was placed before the Steward every morning.
The generally lengthy morning meal, for all who ate with Faramir ensured
that he consumed enough to keep Maglor happy or risk unpleasant consequences
if they did not, was followed by tutelage under Lord Elrond in the garden
that Faramir's mother had created. These sessions always began with
meditation and moved on to developing and enhancing the Steward's growing
mental abilities.
It was discovered very quickly, much to Aragorn's chagrin and the Queen's
delighted amusement when the King found himself one morning clinging
to a rafter in the high ceiling of his office adjacent to the throne
room, having simply asked in passing if Faramir had read the one hundred
page treaty that he had given his Steward the evening before, that administrative
matters were not his Steward's favoured way of beginning the day. So
it was decided by the King, after Gandalf had retrieved him from the
high rafter, for Faramir had stormed out of the room in a right royal
strop, that administrative matters would follow the Steward's
morning meditation sessions with Elrond.
Faramir spent early afternoons in the company of Gandalf who continued
his pupil's wizard training. Late afternoons were devoted to the myriad
of other duties performed by the Steward. The seventh day of every week
was determined by Thranduil to be his son's day of rest. And woe betides
anyone foolish enough to approach the Steward with anything but a dire
emergency for they were set upon by two formidable elves in the form
of the elven King and his Seneschal.
Except for the minor, in the Steward's considered opinion if not that
of others, incident involving the King and the rafter, Faramir had managed
to maintain his temper for two entire weeks, though it had been sorely
tested. No physical chastisement for the rafter incident eventuated
much to Faramir's surprise, although the King's yells and curses in
Elvish had followed the young Steward out into the hallway as he stormed
out of the King's study. Unbeknownst to the Steward the Queen insisted
that he had been much provoked, an assertion that whilst the Steward
would have agreed; Aragorn denied strenuously, that was, until he saw
a look from his beloved that would have made their ada proud and the
twins run for the hills.
As the days went by Faramir felt his control over his temper slipping.
First there was the 'schedule' that he hated with a passion. Between
training with both Lord Elrond and Mithrandir and his Steward duties
Faramir found that there were not enough hours in the day. Even with
the continued assistance of Beregond and the two additional assistants
that Beregond was training, the Steward invariably found himself squirreled
away in his bedchamber attempting to complete outstanding memoranda
and other tasks well after the twelfth hour, by the light of a small
candle. He dared not use a larger one for he knew it would attract the
attention of a certain nosey Mirkwood elf, which in turn would lead
to rather disagreeable and painful consequences. Faramir suspected that
much of the work that crossed his desk was generated deliberately by
four councillors who had been favoured by Denethor and had treated his
second son with the same disdain as had the old Steward, for the express
purpose of discrediting him in the eyes of the King. Faramir thought
fleetingly of reading the councillor's minds to confirm his suspicion
but could not bring himself to go against his own conscience in regards
to people's right to privacy and the fleeting thoughts from the men
that had penetrated his defences were so hateful towards him that he
did not want to uncover their true extent.
Exactly two weeks after the new schedule was implemented, Faramir began
the morning with Thranduil and Legolas in his private dining room. Both
elves exchanged concerned glances at seeing how weary Faramir looked.
“You look fatigued, ion-nin,” Thranduil ventured gently,
his concern evident.
“I had difficulty sleeping last night, ada. That is all. Nothing
to worry about,” Faramir replied trying unsuccessfully to stifle
a yawn.
Unseen by Faramir, who sat with his elbow on the table and his hand
supporting his head as he listlessly moved food around his plate, Legolas
shook his head and looked at Thranduil with an expression that was equal
parts scepticism and consternation. Both elves knew that Faramir's condition
had been deteriorating day by day but neither wished to push the matter
at the moment although both were determined to uncover the real reason
for Faramir's declining state. Despite their gentle attempts to get
the human to eat, Faramir ate very little before making his apologies
and leaving to meet with Elrond for their daily meditation/training
session.
Lord Elrond also noted Faramir's declining state and considered reading
his mind, for he did not share the Steward's reluctance to impinge upon
a person's privacy when that person was obviously fraught. But he found
that he had taught the human too well as he could not penetrate the
young one's defences without risking the Steward realising what he was
doing. At the conclusion of the session and feeling slightly more relaxed,
if still very tired, Faramir made his way to the council meeting that
had been scheduled for the morning.
It did not take long for Faramir's relaxed feeling to dissipate in
the face of continued opposition by the four councillors to a reform
that the Steward wanted to implement that offered assistance and relief
to the orphaned children of Gondor. As the debate raged it became clear
to the King and the other councillors, including Imrahil, that the four
councillors were not opposed to the reform so much as the person who
instigated the reform, namely the Steward of Gondor. Aragorn, angered
by the words and actions of the four men, was just about to use his
right of veto to pass the reform when Faramir, exhausted to the point
where his mental defences dropped allowing the angry thoughts of those
present to bombard him, began to crackle and his hair to stand on end.
“Foxling!” growled Imrahil in warning from where he sat
beside his nephew.
Seeing the signs of a spectacular temper tantrum in the offing, Imrahil
rose quickly and hauled Faramir to his feet, frog marched him to a door
that led to an antechamber, opened the door and pushed his nephew into
the chamber; closing the door after him. It was not long before loud
explosions could be heard from the antechamber, causing most of the
councillors to wince and cringe. The explosions though, were almost
drowned out by Aragorn who bellowed at the four councillors for causing
the debacle in the first place with their 'sheer bloody-mindedness',
in the King's words. The smirks on the faces of the four councillors
for succeeding in their objective of angering and thus humiliating the
Steward turned quickly to fear when they realised just how much they
had managed to anger the King. Aragorn continued to bellow and rant
at the councillors until the door to the antechamber opened revealing
the Steward, who looked as if he was in extreme pain and was still smoking
and crackling. Bowing to the King, Faramir all but stumbled over to
the door that led to a hallway that serviced the King and Steward's
wing of the palace.
“Go see to him,” Aragorn said quietly to Imrahil whom he
realised wanted desperately to follow his nephew.
“Thank you, Elessar” Imrahil sighed in relief as he followed
the path Faramir had taken.
Aragorn declared the meeting closed. As the councillors were leaving,
the King instructed the four recalcitrants to remain behind. The feral
glint in the King's eyes made those councillors blanch and the others
to depart very quickly, very quickly indeed.
Prince Imrahil entered the hallway that Faramir had entered before
him but his nephew was not to be seen. Stopping for a moment to gather
his thoughts, the Prince mentally ran through the list of his foxling's
boltholes before concluding that he had most likely headed for the tower.
“What has happened, mellon-nin?” Thranduil asked as he
and Maglor emerged from the entrance to the Steward's rooms, taken aback
by Imrahil's panicked expression.
“Faramir and his temper but something else is amiss, I fear.
He was much distressed and seemed to be in pain. I have a bad feeling
about this,” Imrahil replied as he hurried towards the exit leading
to the tower with the two Mirkwood elves in tow.
The trio made their way up the winding stairs quickly, through the
trap door and onto the roof of the tower. What they saw made their hearts
leap into their throats. Faramir was on the outer wall that was not
three feet in width, pacing up and down in an agitated manner, the heels
of his hands pressed to either side of his head, one misstep away from
the abyss on the other side of the wall and certain death.
With a speed that amazed Imrahil, the elven King and his Seneschal
ran across the intervening space, jumped up lightly onto the parapet
that ran around the entire circular wall and then jumped again onto
the outer wall. They grabbed Faramir between them and jumped back down
onto the parapet and onto the roof of the tower. Faramir fell to his
knees, still holding his head. Imrahil ran over to his nephew, crouching
down in front of him.
“Hurts,” Faramir moaned.
“What hurts, foxling?” Imrahil asked but was then startled
when Lord Elrond, who seemed to appear out of thin air, crouched down
beside him.
Elrond placed a hand on either side of Faramir's head, replacing the
human's hands and looked him deeply in the eyes, muttering an elvish
healing chant as he did so. After a few long moments, Faramir began
to relax slightly as the pain in his head left him.
“Now pen-neth, will you tell me what happened?” Elrond
asked quietly. Faramir shook his head, wincing as he did so as the pain
flared again.
“I suggest that you tell Lord Elrond, foxling,” Imrahil
said in a tone that if Faramir had not been quite so distracted would
have set off warning bells in his head.
Faramir shook his head again although this time not as vigorously,
still remaining stubbornly silent. This, as it turned out, was a tactical
error on the part of the young Steward. Knowing what Boromir's reaction
would have been, Imrahil hauled his nephew to his feet for the second
time that day, pulled him over to one of the stone benches that were
dotted about the courtyard that was the top of the tower, pulled his
foxling onto his lap managing to pull down the young man's leggings
as he did so and began waling into the exposed buttocks before Faramir
knew what was happening.
“Will you answer Lord Elrond's question?” Imrahil asked
again in a deceptively quiet voice as he continued to land blistering
slap after blistering slap to his nephew's posterior. Howling, growling
and yelping in indignation and pain, Faramir remained silent on the
subject. But it was clear to all present that the normally quietly spoken
Prince of Dol Amroth was as stubborn as his nephew. “I would give
in if I were you, foxling. You know that I can and will keep
this up as long as I need to!”
“They think I am… a… bad… Steward,” Faramir
sobbed out in defeat. “That Denethor… was… right…
to… revile me. That I… am… weak… useless. That
Boromir… would have made… a better Steward”
“Oh, my foxling,” Imrahil intoned sadly as he stopped the
chastisement, pulled up Faramir's leggings and drew the sobbing young
man into a hug. “Do not let those old, boot licking farts get
to you, foxling. Denethor did love you although my idiot brother-by-law
was incapable of showing it. Boromir would have hated being Steward,
as you well know and much of the administration and all of the diplomacy
would have fallen to you anyway.”
“Did you just call the councillors old farts?” Faramir
asked with a chuckle, though his eyes were still teary.
Imrahil smiled deprecatingly at his nephew.
“We have another issue to address, ion-nin,” Thranduil
said, crouching down beside his son. “Why are you so tired? And
do not tell me you had difficulty sleeping,” the elven King added
almost seeing the cogs moving around in his son's mind as he attempted
to formulate a diplomatic, if not quite truthful, reply.
“You have been working in your sleeping chamber, have you not,
pen-neth? Maglor prompted, guessing what his young charge had been doing.
“I do not wish to answer that on the grounds that it may incriminate
me,” the Steward replied wearily.
“In other words; yes,” Elrond admonished. “That will
stop, pen-neth. I will be having a long talk with Estel.”
“Where is Estel?” Thranduil asked, surprised that Aragorn
had not sought out his Steward.
“With the way he was waxing lyrical, loudly at that, earlier,
I suspect that he is still tearing strips off the councillors who caused
this kafuffle,” Imrahil replied with a certain amount of glee.
“Alright, ion-nin,” Thranduil said as he pulled Faramir
to his feet and into a tight embrace, smiling at Imrahil for his assistance
in getting to the bottom of his son's distress. “You need to be
fed, watered and put abed.”
“You make me sound like a horse, ada,” the young Steward's
muffled complaint could be heard, his head buried in his ada's shoulder.
“Would that you were pen-neth. For a horse is much easier to
care for,” Maglor sighed eliciting chuckles from all except Faramir
who huffed indignantly.
Two days later, for that is how long it took the young Steward to recover
from his latest display of temper, Faramir sat on the ground cross-legged,
his eyes closed, under the tallest tree in the garden his mother had
created. He breathed deeply and let his mind wander pleasantly, or as
pleasantly as it could given the faint ache in his posterior from the
blistering his uncle had given him on the tower. The Steward enjoyed
his morning sessions with Lord Elrond, who at the moment was sitting
in the same cross-legged position on the ground a few feet to the right
of his pupil. Elrond had proved to be an apt and patient teacher. Thranduil,
Legolas and Maglor were also enjoying the peace of the garden just far
enough away from Faramir so as not to disturb his meditation.
“Mine!” the shouted exclamation sounding in his head, that
Faramir recognised as the voice of the ring, startled him.
“No! Elfling mine!” came the annoyed reply of an unfamiliar
voice, also sounding also in his head.
“Mine!”
“No! Mine!”
Faramir could hear chuckles that soon turned to laughter from his ada,
brother and Maglor.
“Oh, for Arda's sake! Will you two stop arguing!” the Steward
snapped out vocally, exasperated.
Faramir looked to his right only to see Lord Elrond struggling to keep
his features impassive.
“What is going on!” he demanded, his annoyance increasing
by the moment.
“I suspect the Ring is arguing with the tree,” Elrond surmised,
looking to the wood elves for confirmation. Smiling broadly, Thranduil
nodded. “As to which you belong. Both appear adamant in their
beliefs.”
“She is very adamant that you are her elfling, muindor-tithen,”
Legolas giggled in merriment, still with the far away look that all
Mirkwood elves assumed when listening to trees, “and is annoyed
that you are being claimed by another.”
“As the ring is equally adamant that you belong to it, pen-neth,”
Elrond smiled.
Legolas' and Elrond's explanations caused Faramir to blush as brightly
as 'Faramir's Bane'. The Steward's embarrassed expression turned to
awe upon realising to whom, or more accurately to what the second voice
in his head had belonged.
“It is the tree that I can hear,” Faramir said in hushed
awe, his eyes wide and his expressive face showing child-like wonder
as he rose to his feet and looked up at the tree.
“Aye, it is,” Thranduil replied with pride and tears in
his voice as he too rose and walked over to his human son, embracing
him tightly.
“Oh, ada! I can hear the tree!” Faramir exclaimed in a
whisper hoarse with emotion.
“Ours,” Faramir heard the two voices in his head as they
reached agreement.
The joint declaration caused the elves to laugh again. Strangely moved
by the exchange, Faramir buried his face in his ada's shoulder. Understanding
his son's emotion, as Faramir had spent all of his life harbouring the
notion that he was unwanted by anyone save Boromir, Thranduil tightened
his arms around his precious son.
At the precise moment that Thranduil hugged his human son, far away
on the road to Emyn Muil, a very different scene was being played out.
“Ouch! Owwwwwww!!! That... that thing is evil! It hurts!”
Elladan yelled, bare arsed and upended over Finrod's lap as the elf,
who was sitting on a conveniently shaped rock, applied the red paddle
to the hapless twin's bottom with gusto.
Part 10
“As it is supposed to, pen-neth, which is why it is called chas…
tise… ment,” Finrod replied as he continued to paddle the
Rivendell elf's buttocks using harder swats when enunciating pivotal
points such as chastisement. Whilst relieved that Finrod did not hit
as hard as Maglor, the implement of torture still hurt abysmally, Elladan
thought dejectedly. “I suppose that I should be thankful that
you and that doppelganger you call brother were able to stay out of
trouble for two… whole… weeks!” the Mirkwood elf growled,
emphasising the last three words with particularly hard strokes of the
paddle made Elladan howl in pain, realising that Finrod could hit every
bit as hard as Maglor.
The aforementioned doppelganger was sitting a short distance away under
the watchful eye of the Gondorian Lieutenant, wincing with every stroke
of the paddle his brother received. Heat and pain in his hindquarters
reaching an alarming level, Elladan began to plead and apologise in
the hopes of ending the torture.
“I am… sorry,” he sobbed out in gasped breaths. “We
should… not have… left without…telling you…
where we were… going.”
“What is this 'we' brother,” Elrohir sniped from his seated
position. “I distinctly remember counselling that you should let
them know where we were going but oh, no, not you!”
“Why you traitorous little yrch!" Elladan snarled in reply,
twisting his head around to glare at his twin, the pain in his posterior
forgotten momentarily. That is until Finrod landed an absolutely blistering
slap to the exposed buttocks to regain the young elf's attention. "Owwwww!
Aieeeeee! Finrod!"
"Now that I have your undivided attention, pen-neth, I reiterate,
you and your doppelganger will not go off orc hunting without advising
myself or the Lieutenant. Do... I... make... myself... clear?"
Finrod asked, emphasising each word with a blistering whack with the
paddle.
"Nay... I mean aye... clear!" Elladan howled in reply."
Finrod ceased the punishment and rubbed the distressed twin's back
in soothing circles. Pulling up Elladan's leggings, he turned the younger
elf over and into an embrace.
"I do not want to be in the position of having to tell your ada
that you have been hurt or worse, killed, pen-neth, because we were
not there to defend your back. He has lost enough," Finrod admonished
quietly.
"I am... sorry, Finrod," Elladan said breathlessly.
The Mirkwood elf continued to sooth Elladan until the younger elf was
calm enough to stand.
"Alright Elrohir. Your turn," Finrod instructed, looking
at the younger twin sternly.
Elrohir whimpered quietly as he rose to his feet and walked over to
Finrod reluctantly, passing his still distressed and annoyed brother
as he did so. The younger twin earned a clip over the ear when he came
within range of his brother. A typical Elrondion brawl would have ensued
had it not been for the Mirkwood elf's veritable bark at Elladan to
leave his brother alone. Elladan spared another dark look at his brother
before moving over to where Elrohir had sat previously, and lowered
himself onto his stomach.
Rubbing his ear to temper the sting, Elrohir stopped in front of Finrod,
loosened his leggings pushing them down to his knees and lowered himself
over the wood-elf's lap. If anything, Finrod was harder on the younger
twin for possessing more sense than his brother but not acting upon
it appropriately. It was not long before the younger twin was howling
as loudly as had his brother.
“I… am… sorry… sorry,” Elrohir said over
and over again.
“I expect you to temper… your… brother's… enthusiasm
with wise counsel, pen-neth,” Finrod said, emphasising the key
words of his message by blistering whacks.
“Owwww! Aye! I will! I will!” Elrohir howled.
Finrod stopped the punishment and comforted the younger twin as he
had the older. When the younger twin had calmed enough, the Mirkwood
elf pulled up the younger elf's leggings and assisted him to his feet.
Elrohir glared at his brother feeling the unfairness of being more thoroughly
punished for not being able to keep the obstinate, opinionated oaf in
line.
“On the morrow we will track the orc signs that you found and
see if they lead to Saruman. Now I suggest the two of you rest for we
have a long, hard ride ahead of us,” Finrod
instructed, almost smiling at the twin looks of dismay that greeted
his words.
In Minas Tirith the days following the disastrous council meeting
and the unexpected claiming of the young Steward two days later by both
the Ring of Power and the oldest tree in the White City in his mother's
garden, proved to be much easier for Faramir from a workload perspective
if not from a personal freedom perspective. Elrond had indeed had a
long talk with Aragorn about his son's expectations of his
still very young, by Numenorian standards, Steward. The elven Lord reminded
Aragorn of what he had been like at Faramir's age and that he should
think himself lucky that Faramir, temper and self-preservation skills
being notable exceptions, showed far more sense and intelligence than
he had displayed on many; indeed most, occasions at the same age.
Thranduil and Imrahil approached Beregond to discuss how he, with their
assistance and the assistance of his aides-in-training, could help to
reduce Faramir's workload for foreseeable future until, that was, the
Steward had gained control over his burgeoning wizarding powers. So
as the days progressed the Steward's workload decreased significantly.
Although Faramir was relived that much of the administrative burden
had been eased, he was not so pleased with the state of his personal
freedom. It seemed that everyone was keeping a close eye on him, scrutinising
how much he ate, how much he slept and the tenure of his moods. The
young Steward still found himself overwhelmed at times by all the attention.
At these times he felt exposed and vulnerable.
The next of the regular fortnightly council meetings, minus the four
councillors who had taunted Faramir so thoroughly in the previous meeting,
was a subdued affair. After 'dressing-down' the Councillors Malagar,
Ulrahad, Heriond and Aldahir, Aragorn suspended them for three full
moons - a very serious sanction. Needless to say the four councillors
did not take the news well. Although each managed to maintain fairly
impassive expressions, each was furious and that anger was not directed
towards the King but at the Steward; the one each thought was the cause
of their current disgrace in the eyes of the King. The remaining councillors,
with the exception of Imrahil, were now wary of both the Steward and
the King's tempers. Faramir was also subdued, embarrassed at having
lost control of his temper so easily and so publicly. Both Aragorn and
Imrahil noted Faramir's sombre mood. When the King closed the meeting
and the councillors were departing, Aragorn, unbeknownst to Faramir,
looked at Imrahil to catch his gaze and then at his Steward with an
unspoken question. Imrahil nodded in understanding and gave an unspoken
reply that he would see to Faramir.
“Faramir?” Imrahil asked as his nephew made to follow the
King. Faramir stopped, turned and looked at his uncle. “What ails
you foxling?”
“Nothing, uncle” Faramir replied immediately and somewhat
defensively.
“Foxling,” the Prince sighed, looking heavenward for a
moment before returning his gaze to his sister's child and shaking his
head. “Come here, young one,” he added holding out his arms
inviting Faramir into a hug, an offer the Steward could never refuse.
“I would hazard a guess that you are feeling overwhelmed again
and maybe a little exposed. Am I wrong?”
“Nay, uncle,” Faramir mumbled into Imrahil's shoulder as
the Swan Prince held him tightly. “I know I should be grateful
for all that you, ada and the others have done and I am grateful but
a part of me is feeling trapped and bereaved. I cannot seem to divest
myself of this accursed feeling.”
“It is a natural feeling, foxling. I myself, Elessar and I would
hazard a guess Lord Elrond and your ada have all felt this way on occasions.
Ever it is with those who have had such public roles and responsibilities
placed on them. And you were not expecting to become the Steward of
Gondor, my foxling,” Imrahil soothed quietly as he held his nephew.
“Never in my wildest dreams or most fevered imaginings. I am
certain that they were not in Denethor's either - only Boromir and I
would have wished it no other way,” Faramir replied adamantly.
“I miss him so much!” the Steward said with a hushed sob.
“Shhhh, my foxling, I miss Boromir too,” Imrahil replied
in a whisper as he looked over Faramir's shoulder and saw Thranduil,
Elrond and Maglor walking towards them, sympathy evident in their expressions.
“I wish I was not such a burden to you and ada. Owwwww!!!!!”
Faramir yelped at the stinging swat to his posterior and turned to identify
his assailant only to wince when he discovered it was his ada.
“Let that be a lesson to you, foxling,” Imrahil chuckled
as he released Faramir into the waiting arms of Thranduil but not before
landing a swat of his own to his nephew's rear, prompting an indignant
yelp from the Steward.
“I am sorry, ada,” Faramir whispered, snuggling into Thranduil's
embrace.
“It is alright, ion-nin. You cannot help the way you feel. Boromir
loved you dearly and so do I,” the elven King replied, wishing
that he could ease his son's sense of loss but knew only time would
dull the pain.
“I love you too, ada,” Faramir sighed.
“Lord Elrond, Maglor and I have sought you out to begin working
on that imposing temper of yours, ion-nin,” Thranduil said, looking
upon his suddenly wary son. “They both assisted me in gaining
control over my fairly impressive temper.” Maglor snorted and
Elrond's eyebrow almost touched his extremely high hairline, causing
Faramir's eyes to begin twinkling with suppressed mirth. “Oh alright!
My very impressive temper.”
“Very impressive? The words that come to my mind are
alarming, fearsome, stupefying, frightening, astonishing, terrifying,
awe inspiring…” Maglor began.
“Yes, yes Maglor. Do not belabour the point,” Thranduil
sniped staring intently at his Seneschal, who returned a mild, if slightly
smug look.
“I find it very difficult to believe that you have such a temper,
ada,” Faramir said looking puzzled.
“Believe,” Elrond replied without hesitation, much to Imrahil
and Maglor's amusement and Thranduil's chagrin.
“What does this assistance entail?” Faramir asked,
wariness returning to his features.
“We will continue our meditation sessions which will be modified
slightly to help you keep your calm during stressful situations,”
Elrond replied.
“And Maglor?” Faramir asked tentatively, knowing already
that he was not going to like the answer.
“I will be there, pen-neth, whenever you do lose your temper
to reinforce why you should be devoting more time to your meditation
sessions with Elrond,” Maglor stated in a conversational tone
that made the underlying threat all the more frightening to the young
Steward.
“And you, ada?” Faramir asked, or more to the point squeaked,
not taking his wary eyes off Maglor.
“I will assist with your meditation sessions and be there to
comfort you whenever you do lose your temper and Maglor has reinforced
why you should be devoting more time to your mediation sessions with
Elrond,” Thranduil replied, the almost ever present twinkle in
his eyes very evident.
“Oh my foxling!” Imrahil chuckled. “You look more
like a startled rabbit! All will be well. We will take this one step
at a time, one day at a time. And I am ever thankful that it was your
mother who inherited Adrahil's temper and not I.”
Faramir graced his uncle with a less than gracious scowl causing chuckles
all around.
Meanwhile in a grimy, sleazy back room of a less than reputable alehouse
in the commercial district in the second level, three men, cloaked and
hooded, plotted.
On to
Part 11
