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Part 21
“How many wizards are there likely to be? How long have they
been training? How much power will they be able to wield? How…”
Faramir fired off questions at a frantic pace, his quiet voice rising
in inflection with each question uttered and his breathing becoming
rapid to the point where a fit of coughing ensued.
“Calm down, my boy,” Gandalf soothed, hands raised in a
placating manner. “Or Elrond will have me thrown out.” Thranduil
moved closer to Faramir and pulled his son gently into a more upright
position being careful not to put pressure on his son’s back.
“As to the number of wizards? I would hazard a guess at no more
than thirty,” Gandalf replied.
“That many?” Aragorn hissed softly as he sat down on the
side of Faramir’s bed, sharing a concerned glance with Imrahil
who was leaning against the right hand post at the end of the bed.
“I am certain that we still have some months to prepare as training
wizards takes time. However I will send Finrod and the Lieutenant to
keep us abreast of the situation as it develops,” the White Wizard
said.
“Why so many? What is their source of power?” Faramir asked,
his face paling at the thought of fighting so many wizards and thinking
himself a poor excuse for one. “I thought all wizards needed a
specialised medium such as this ring, or your staff,” Faramir
said indicating the ring on his finger and looking over to where Gandalf’s
staff was leaning against the end of the fireplace, “through which
to focus their energy.”
“I suspect that Saruman, as bitter and twisted as he has become,
is teaching dark magic. It is an easier, more seductive path and even
weak wizards can become powerful using dark magic but at a cost. The
lives of dark wizards are usually very short in comparison to their
light counterparts, although their lives can be extended by the darkest
of means; using the life-force of innocents,” Gandalf said sombrely
and with great sadness as he looked at his wizardling. “As to
their source of power? There are many stones and gems in Mordor, still
imbued with evil, through which they can focus their energy. Whilst
there are many objects through which energy can be focussed, there are
few humans who have the potential to become wizards.”
“Oh, just wonderful,” Faramir replied, his words dripping
with sarcasm. “Potentially, thirty wizards, albeit ones that may
or may not be long lived, on the side of darkness and what do we have
on the side of light? Two wizards, one of whom needs a familiar to stop
him from falling over cliffs, as he is wont to do when in deep thought,”
Faramir whined, referring to Radagast, “and one unstable wizard-in-training
who is ruled by his emotions and beyond useless at this point in time!
Owwwwww, aaddaa!” Faramir exclaimed as Thranduil pinched the top
of his son’s ear for the want of his usual and, in his opinion,
more tempting target.
“Do I have your attention, ion-nin?” the elven King asked
in a conversational tone that belied the strength of his grip on Faramir’s
ear.
“Owwwww! Aye,” Faramir squeaked, subdued by the sparks
of fire he could see in his ada’s eyes.
“Good,” Thranduil said in a deceptively calm tone, eyes
still sparking, making Faramir swallow hard. “You are a powerful
wizard. You are not useless. You will learn to control
your powers and you will learn to control your temper…
eventually,” he added, turning his attention to Elrond, daring
his friend to so much as smirk.” Faramir winced as the grip on
his ear tightened. “Do… you… hear… me?”
“Ahhhh! Aye, ada,” the Steward replied and then started
at the booming voice of his ghostly brother.
“Ha!! Pot, kettle, black is what I say after witnessing his nib-ship’s
temper tantrum when fighting the orcs,” Boromir boomed, nodding
his head towards Thranduil.
“I take it by your reaction that Boromir is back from his…
haunting?” Thranduil asked, emphasising the last word as he let
go of Faramir’s ear. The Steward put a hand to the abused ear
immediately, rubbing it to temper the sting and nodded.
“What did you tell him?” Boromir asked, his suspicion aroused
at Thranduil’s tone.
At the same time Thranduil said, “What has he got to say?”
“Nothing,” Faramir replied to Boromir’s question,
wincing at the glare his brother was directing his way. “Pot,
kettle, black,” he added a whisper in response to his ada’s
question.
“What do you mean ‘nothing’ and ‘pot, kettle,
black?” Thranduil asked, perplexed.
“’Nothing’ to Boromir’s question and ‘pot,
kettle, black’ to yours,” Faramir replied, feeling besieged
by the glares he was receiving from his brother and ada.
Elrond, holding a cup in his hand, threw back his head and laughed
merrily, an occurrence so unusual from the normally sedate elf that
Aragorn looked at his father in astonishment.
“Remind me later to impart to you the more interesting stories
of your ada’s awe inspiring temper,” Elrond said, his laughter
reducing to chuckles. “I must admit, mellon-nin, that that works
almost as well on human ears as it does on elven,” Elrond addressed
Thranduil, ignoring his friend’s glare as he stood over Faramir
and eased his hand gently behind the young man’s back to raise
him to a more upright position. “I never thought to use it on
Estel.” Aragorn blushed furiously when he realised that he had
put his hands over his ears protectively. Elrond put the cup to Faramir’s
lips. The Steward glared up at the elven Lord. “Drink, pen-neth.
You are in pain and do not, through that famous stubbornness, attempt
to tell me differently,” he added when he saw the denial on his
patient’s lips and heard it in his mind.
Faramir glared at Boromir who was giggling like a loon and then looked
imploringly at his uncle, knowing that he was likely to get no support
from his ada, Aragorn or Gandalf.
“What do you want me to argue, foxling?” Imrahil asked,
eyes a-twinkle with mirth. “That you are not stubborn or that
you are not in pain. I would be telling an untruth either way.”
Faramir spared a glare for each of those gathered, including another
for Boromir who was smirking again, but did as he was bid. It was not
long before the pain he had been feeling eased somewhat and sleep threatened.
He would have dropped into sleep had his attention not been distracted
by the unusually noisy entrance of Legolas, Maglor and Misto. Legolas,
still sans shoes and Misto were both grumbling and muttering at each
other. Maglor followed in their wake, looking thunderous.
“You, bed!” the Mirkwood Seneschal barked, pointing first
at the elf and then at the empty bed. “You, web!” he added,
pointing at Misto and then the hatchling’s web located in the
corner over Faramir’s bed. “Do not even think of using that
word again tithen-pen or you will find yourself minus supper and confined
to your web for the rest of the day and night,” the elf admonished.
“And you, elfling,” he growled turning to Legolas, “watch
your mouth around the hatchling.”
Misto scurried up the wall and into his web. Legolas glared at the
hatchling and sat down, gingerly, upon his bed. The guarded movements
and slight wince did not go unnoticed by Faramir who sighed.
“Misto? Come here, please,” Faramir said as he looked up
at the spider above his bed. The hatchling, knowing that he was about
to receive another lecture, lowered himself, reluctantly, down onto
Faramir’s bed, via a thread.
“This nonsense has gone on long enough, I think,” Faramir
said quietly but sternly. “I believe that you are more than even
for the indignity of the pink bow and drenching incident. It is time
to put this behind you and apologise to Legolas.” Misto looked
ready to argue. “This is not a request, little one.” Again,
seemingly reluctantly, the hatchling jumped off the bed and scuttled
over to where Legolas sat.
“Sssorrry,” the baby spider said as he looked up at Legolas,
although sounding more sincere it still lacked the tenor of forgiveness.
Legolas continued to glare at the spider, remaining silent.
“This is not a request, brother,” Faramir warned as he
looked across at the silent elf. Although he did not expect that this
would cease the hostilities between his familiar and his elven brother,
Faramir hoped it would at least slow its escalation if both were aware
that they were ‘on notice’.
“Accepted,” Legolas replied finally, with a sigh.
“Thank… you… both,” Faramir responded, finally
succumbing to the pain medication and falling into slumber.
It was not long after Faramir fell into sleep that servants arrived
with what appeared to be enough food to feed a small army, followed
by the twins. The food was placed by the servants on a large table that
stood against the wall between the two beds, before they left.
“He needs to eat but should we wake him?” asked Thranduil
quietly, brushing a red-gold lock of hair from Faramir’s face.
The decision on whether to wake Faramir or not was taken out of their
hands when Faramir awoke abruptly, starting severely and looking around
in what appeared to be confusion mingled with panic, having awoken to
Boromir’s booming voice calling him to, “wake up Fara, you
are already late for lessons!”
“Boromir!” Faramir growled glaring at his brother when
he realised what Boromir had done.
“Thank you, Boromir. I think,” Thranduil added, his eyes
twinkling with mirth, directing his comments in the general direction
in which Faramir was glaring.
“They are decidedly too soft with you at times, little brother,”
Boromir said.
“Soft!” Faramir exclaimed quietly. “I think being
on the other side has muffled your senses, brother. And keep that up,”
Faramir growled in reference to the fright given him, “you may
just find me joining you on the other side of life!”
Chuckling at the one sided conversation but having a very good idea
what had been said on the other side, Maglor approached Faramir with
a tray containing some light broth and bread. Thranduil pulled his son
once again into a more upright position, whilst Elrond placed additional
pillows behind Faramir’s back. Maglor placed the tray on his charge’s
lap. Faramir was still glaring at Boromir who was leaning against the
far wall, smiling.
“Eat,” both Maglor and Boromir said in exactly the same
‘will brook no argument’ tone, at exactly the same moment.
Maglor held the bowl of soup so that Faramir, who was weakened to the
point that he was unable to hold the bowl himself, could spoon its contents
into his mouth. Elrohir walked over to the table laden with food and
drink, poured two cups of juice, one for himself and one for Legolas
and offered one to his Mirkwood friend. Legolas eyed the juice suspiciously,
his eyes narrowed as he put two and two together to reach the conclusion
that his reverie the night before did not begin by natural means.
“It is juice only, mellon-nin,” the younger twin smiled.
“You drugged me!” Legolas exclaimed indignantly.
“Which reminds me, ion-nin. I have been meaning to ask you how
you managed such a feat?” Elrond asked.
“Both drinks were drugged,” Elladan replied, his pride
in his brother’s deviousness apparent.
“Last evening I had taken a mild stimulant to counteract the
effects of the sleeping draught, prior to entering this room,”
Elrohir said, smiling broadly.
“So when Legolas insisted on switching cups as I am sure he would
have…” Thranduil mused.
“… he still ingested the sleeping draught,” Elrohir
replied. “Although I was a little concerned when he also drank
the rest of mine.”
“It never ceases to amaze me,” Thranduil said to Elrond,
“how much the ‘duo horribus’ have inherited from their
grand sire.”
“Are you insinuating that my father-by-law is devious?”
Elrond asked mildly.
“Nay, not insinuating; stating. Although I do believe that Adrahil
was the most devious being with whom I have ever been acquainted, no
offence intended, mellon-nin,” Thranduil said looking at Imrahil,
his eyes twinkling; a look mirrored in Imrahil’s expression. The
twins and Aragorn smiled broadly at the friendly banter. Faramir looked
wide-eyed as he continued to eat the soup.
“None taken. I loved the wily old fox dearly but I was not blind
his deviousness, nor his temper,” Imrahil sighed, remembering
his father affectionately and then looking at Faramir who blushed, knowing
what Imrahil was thinking about traits that bred true. “I knew
that Elrond had met my father and that they had had many adventures
in my father’s younger days, but I was unaware that you also had
met him,” he added, looking at Thranduil.
“In all the stories that Adrahil related to you about me, of
which there appear to be many judging by your reaction, mellon-nin,
did he never mention ‘Twinkles’?” Elrond asked straight-faced.
Soup spraying from his mouth, for even he had heard stories of the
infamous Twinkles; a legendary figure in Dol Amroth, even though the
enigmatic elf had never visited the city, Faramir gasped eventually,
accidentally inhaling a small amount of the soup down his windpipe causing
a severe coughing fit. Maglor grabbed the spoon from Faramir and put
it and the almost empty bowl of soup onto the tray and then moved the
tray over to the table, as Faramir tried to regain his breath.
“Nay, you jest! You do not mean to tell me that Thranduil is
the notorious ‘Twinkles’! But I thought him a Rivendell
elf,” Imrahil replied disbelievingly, as he stared at the blushing
elven King who in turn was glaring at Elrond.
The Prince of Dol Amroth threw back his head and laughed heartily,
remembering snippets of the many antics, as told to him by his father
and others, that his father, Elrond and Twinkles had got up to, in his
father’s youth. The twins, Aragorn and Legolas looked at each
other in puzzlement for they had not known of the link between their
adas and Imrahil’s. Neither Gandalf nor Maglor looked surprised.
Part 22
"Twinkles?!" Legolas exclaimed, his laughter tinkling in
the way that never failed to fascinate Faramir or to bring a smile to
his face.
The Steward’s smile broadened as he heard Boromir’s booming
laughter. He could see his brother still leaning against the wall near
the entrance but looking as if he was in danger of collapsing from laughter.
The twins and Aragorn were chortling merrily. Imrahil, Gandalf and Maglor
all smiled broadly, enjoying the moment at Thranduil's expense.
"Your sire and your grand sire," Thranduil began, his mock
glare sweeping over the occupants of the room before looking at Imrahil
and then settling on Faramir, "insisted on perpetuating that silly
name, knowing full well that it would continue to haunt me long after
the fox had gone on to the halls of his ancestors."
"Although lacking a certain level of dignity, I believe the name
strangely suits," Faramir voiced his opinion, smiling in just that
way that reminded Thranduil of Adrahil. Faramir could see his ghostly
brother in the distance, no longer in danger of collapsing onto the
floor but still chortling merrily to himself.
"You would believe that, ion-nin," Thranduil grumbled but
the origin of his 'pet' name evident in his eyes, which were twinkling.
"You are so much like him, tithen-pen, in both looks and mannerisms,"
he continued, eyes turning melancholy as he remembered his friend of
long ago. "I believe that is why I took to you the moment I saw
you. It did not take me long to discover that apart from his fox fur,
you have the same impish humour, deviousness and needless to say; temper."
Elrond nodded his head in agreement, looking intently at the young
Steward and cataloguing the similarities. Faramir blushed furiously
at the intense regard and comparison. Through shyness he went back to
examining his hands that rested on top of the blankets covering him.
“I told you so, foxling,” Imrahil said in vindication,
looking at his nephew. “Two more who knew your grandsire in his
youth say that you are in his image. I know you were ever sceptical
when I said so.”
“And given our grandsire’s reputation, in certain sectors,
I do not blame you, Fara,” Boromir added, remembering some of
the more colourful exploits told to him about their grandfather, who
was quite the ladies man apparently.
“When was this, ada?” Elladan asked, his curiosity piqued.
“And how did you come to meet?” Elrohir added, eyebrows
raised; questioning.
“It was about one hundred and forty years ago, when Adrahil was
in his early twenties and causing his father much consternation by his
restlessness and wild ways,” Thranduil replied.
Imrahil chuckled, remembering the stories his grandfather, Angelimar,
had told him about his father’s ‘wild ways’ in his
youth. His father never truly settled down and always retained an air
of restlessness, its likeness seen in Faramir when he was forced to
remain within stone walls for any length of time.
“Mithrandir was the cause of our meeting young Adrahil. He had
been resident in Dol Amroth during a particularly trying time for Angelimar.
It seems Adrahil had become involved in a series of incidents involving
wine, women, song and the murderous husband of one of the women,”
Elrond elucidated, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. Thranduil’s
eyes twinkled merrily.
“And Denethor always wondered where Boromir got it from,”
Imrahil chuckled.
Unheard by any present with the exception of Faramir was Boromir’s
indignant spluttering retort.
“Oi!! That is defamation that is! And from my own kin no less!”
Boromir said as he straightened from leaning against the wall and rose
to his full height. “I am sorely wounded, little brother,”
he added putting his hand over his heart in a dramatic fashion.
Faramir smirked broadly at his brother’s indignant expression
and spluttering, coughing and covering his mouth to disguise both his
smirk and his chuckling, garnering a glare from his ghostly brother.
“Mithrandir suggested to Angelimar that Adrahil aid him in a
task that he needed done. Needless to say Angelimar jumped at the opportunity
to extricate his son from his latest debacle and get him out from under
his feet until matters settled down,” Elrond continued the story.
“Mithrandir sent word to Elrond and myself, asking that we meet
him at Minas Morgul on a particular date. From there we journeyed to
Mordor to check and report on any orc movements. Over the years we repeated
this and other missions,” Thranduil concluded the story.
“That is why you kept disappearing…” Elladan began.
“… for months on end,” Elrohir continued.
“… each time telling us that you were…”
“… off to visit Lothlorien or Mirkwood,” Elrohir
concluded in an indignant tone, both twins staring at their ada wide-eyed.
“And you told me that you were visiting Rivendell or Lothlorien,”
Legolas added his voice, gracing his ada with a stunned look.
“Who kept the borders safe?” Aragorn asked of his ada,
not distracted as his brothers were as the incidents occurred before
his birth.
“Mithrandir,” Elrond replied calmly.
“And here we thought…” Elrohir began this time.
“… it was to visit us,” Elladan finished, pouting
outrageously.
“More like to ensure that Rivendell survived the two of you with
no ada around,” Aragorn muttered earning a clip over the ear from
Elladan and a glare from Elrohir. “And what of Mirkwood?”
he added rubbing his stinging ear and glaring at Elladan.
“Maglor,” Legolas sighed causing Maglor to snort remembering
the difficulties he had encountered in keeping the young prince out
of mischief at the same time he was attempting to ensure that the internal
processes of Mirkwood’s operation ran smoothly in the King’s
absence. And by his sigh, Maglor thought, so did Legolas.
“Prince Imrahil?” Elladan asked.
“Yes?” Imrahil replied, somewhat suspiciously.
“You must tell us what you know…” Elladan continued.
“… about the adventures of ‘Twinkles’ and Co.,”
Elrohir continued.
“… they must be good.”
“… judging by Faramir’s reaction earlier.”
“Not now, ions-nin,” Elrond interjected for he could see
that Faramir was beginning to wilt and was fighting increasing pain
as the effects of the pain draught wore off. The young man had become
decidedly pale.
Elrond announced Legolas well enough to leave the houses of healing
and shooed all except Thranduil and Maglor from the room to allow him
to treat his patient. Immediately on hearing the pronouncement that
he was free to leave the houses of healing, Legolas graced Elrohir with
such a look as to cause the Rivendell elf to shudder. The look of a
predator eying a choice piece of prey came to Elrohir’s mind.
Never slow on the uptake; the Rivendell elf turned on his heels and
fled the room, followed closely by Legolas who sprinted out of the room
in pursuit, still sans shoes. Elladan, Aragorn and Boromir also left
quickly to witness the chase. Faramir gave a shudder when he saw Boromir
take a shortcut through the masonry. Misto also made to follow but was
ordered by Maglor to stay in his web. Grumbling and hissing to himself,
the spider obeyed. Faramir looked up at his familiar with a sympathetic
expression.
“Please see that they fight fair and are not overly rough with
Legolas. He has not healed fully yet,” Elrond called out to Gandalf
and Imrahil who had exited at a more sedate pace although no less interested
in watching the young elves at play. Elrond held a cup containing water
and essence of poppy to Faramir’s mouth urging the young man to
drink. Faramir gave Elrond a petulant stare as he drank the contents
of the cup, muttering about elves and their unhealthy habit of drugging
unfortunate victims. It was not long before he relaxed as the pain he
had been feeling lessened and not long after that that he fell into
a doze. “I think another bath and a change of dressings is in
order,” Elrond said, smiling down at his still muttering patient.
Legolas pursued Elrohir through the houses of healing, out into the
garden surrounding the houses, startling many a servant and guard, then
out through the gate, up to the palace, up the stairs, through a labyrinth
of corridors and rooms and out finally into the King and Steward’s
private garden. In fairness to the wood elf, it should be pointed out
that that Legolas would normally have caught the Rivendell elf before
he had made it to the palace steps, being the swifter of the two elves.
Unfortunately, or fortunately for Elrohir, Legolas was still not back
to full strength after the trauma suffered to his shoulder.
“Now, now, mellon-nin,” Elrohir panted as he continued
to evade the half wild wood elf and try to reason with him at the same
time.
It was a little known fact, except within the elvish community, that
Mirkwood elves, although considered gentle if a little suspicious of
others outside the elvish communities, were indeed more wild and feral
than either their Rivendell or Lothlorien elven cousins. As such, it
was never a good idea to incite the wild spirit of a Mirkwood elf. Elrohir
knew that he had taken a chance when he had decided to drug Legolas
but his healer instinct won out over his survival instinct.
“Will you please… be reasonable? I… did it…
for your own… good,” Elrohir pleaded as he continued to
dodge and weave out of the wood elf’s range as Legolas continued
to chase the Rivendell elf around trees, over benches, water features
and hedges. “Will you please… stop looking at me…
like that,” he gasped, tiring very quickly. Legolas was looking
at him in the intense predator-like way that only a wood elf could manage.
“It truly… gives me… the shivers!”
Legolas’ smirk broadened, which only intensified the feral expression
and considering the wood-elf had cornered the Rivendell elf finally,
it made Elrohir shudder ferociously. Elrohir’s eyes searched for
an escape route and then rested, for but a moment, on something behind
Legolas before diverting his gaze. Legolas caught the meaning of Elrohir’s
expression in that brief moment but was not fast enough to evade being
pounced upon by both Elladan and Aragorn. An Elrondion free-for-all
ensued with Legolas, held down now by both twins, being tickled mercilessly
by Aragorn. Unseen by all, Boromir was laughing merrily as he sat on
the bench beneath the largest tree and watched the show.
“Daro! Daro! (Stop, stop)” Legolas gasped, struggling for
breath, he was laughing so hard and wriggling in an attempt to escape
his tormentors.
“That will be quite enough of that, you Elrondion brats! Ease
up or you will feel the business end of my staff,” Gandalf threatened
sternly but with his eyes glinting with humour even as he swung his
staff at Aragorn’s posterior, eliciting a startled yelp from the
human as it connected.
Unbeknownst to Imrahil, who was laughing heartily at the antics of
the elves and his King, and to Boromir if truth be known, Boromir was
laughing in exactly the same manner as his uncle and with very similar
expressions.
Reluctantly, the sons of Elrond released Legolas who remained on the
ground for a few moments attempting desperately to regain his breath.
When he had done so, a familiar glint returned to his eyes causing Elrohir’s
eyebrows seem almost to take flight from his brow and the Rivendell
elf to once again take flight followed by an even more determined wood-elf.
Faramir, deep in sleep and ensconced in the large four-poster bed
in the houses of healing with blankets pulled up to his chin, had been
bathed and his bandages changed. Misto was asleep in his web. The three
elder elves were enjoying the peace and quiet as they watched the young
Steward sleep peacefully. Their attention was diverted by the arrival
of Imrahil cradling Legolas in his arms. The eyes of the young wood-elf
were glazed over. Thranduil’s expression turned to one of alarm
but was calmed immediately by a smile breaking out over Imrahil’s
face.
“If he was a puppy, I would say that the young one has simply
tuckered himself out. He chased Elrohir ‘round and ‘round
the garden until both collapsed, exhausted. He then just seemed to wilt
and fall into reverie,” Imrahil said, his voice hushed as Maglor
pulled the covers back on the bed opposite Faramir. “I have not
seen anything like it since Faramir was a small child and would fall
to sleep in whatever position he was in at the time. I remember once
in Dol Amroth seeing him fallen asleep whilst playing with kittens in
a basket. His little bottom was in the air and his upper body and head
resting in a basket and with kittens asleep around him,” he reminisced
as he put Legolas into the bed, pulling the covers over the exhausted
elf.
Part 23
Elrond ordered complete bed rest for Faramir for no less than two weeks.
The young Steward had protested vociferously on hearing the Rivendell
Lord’s pronouncement, that was, until quelled by glares from both
Elrond and Maglor, after which he muttered to himself much in the way
Misto mimicked when annoyed. Thranduil chuckled to himself at his son’s
dark glare and mutterings. By the beginning of the fourth day of his
enforced incarceration, Faramir was able to sit up and feed himself.
He felt his strength returning, albeit slowly. Such was his restlessness
by this time that he felt himself capable of walking unassisted, something
his carers refused outright to allow him to attempt. By the beginning
of the sixth day the young Steward thought he would spontaneously combust,
such was the heat of the frustration building within him by his captivity.
The feeling of frustration was further heightened by the sunlight that
was streaming through the window that looked out upon the inviting garden
scene below. After ensuring that he had eaten enough to satisfy both
of them, Thranduil and Maglor had left giving Faramir some time to himself.
Legolas had scarpered as soon a he came back from reverie the morning
after Imrahil had carried the exhausted elf back to the Houses of Healing.
Even Boromir had departed intent upon gathering further intelligence.
Faramir snorted thinking that the only intelligence his brother was
likely to gather was of certain ladies of his acquaintance.
Not long after he was left alone, Faramir decided to throw caution
to the wind and go out into the sunshine. Casting his mind about, for
throwing caution to the wind was one thing but throwing sanity directly
after it was quite another, he thought, Faramir checked whether there
were any familiar minds within the vicinity of the houses of healing
of which he should be cognisant. The only familiar mind he could detect
was that of Misto who was happily ensconced in his web above the bed
and dreaming of his favourite food, mice. Mentally declaring the vicinity
clear, the young Steward took hold of the blankets that covered him
and threw them off. Swinging his legs and body around until his legs
were dangling over the side of the very tall bed, Faramir slipped onto
his feet. He would have collapsed from the powerful wave of vertigo
that him if he had not grabbed the post at the head of the bed. Faramir
concentrated on taking deep breaths. The dizziness lessened eventually.
Hunched over like an old man for he still felt considerable pain and
weakness, Faramir shuffled to the end of the bed on which his folded
robe had been placed. He put on the robe and then shuffled over to the
opened door. It was at this point, as he leaned heavily against the
doorjamb, that the Steward thought that maybe he should have waited
another day before venturing out into the garden. He was however, committed
to his objective and through sheer stubbornness determined to make it
out into the garden to feel the sun on his face and the grass beneath
his feet, which he realised, on looking down, were bare. Faramir leaned
out into the corridor and looked in both directions, casting his mind
out at the same time. Determining that the way was indeed clear, he
turned to the left and shuffled along using the wall as support. He
had almost made it to the end of the corridor and to the door that led
outside when he was startled severely by Misto descending on a thread
and dangling in front of him.
“Misto!” Faramir exclaimed in a hushed voice, holding a
hand over his heart which he could feel beating an insanely quick tattoo
and trying to catch his breath after the severe fright.
“Mama trouble in,” Misto said with conviction.
“That would be ‘mama is in trouble’, tithen-pen,”
Faramir heard Elrond’s voice behind him, causing the Steward to
cringe and to bang his head against the wall, repeatedly.
“Mama in trouble, big,” Misto declared again with the same
conviction.
“Aye, tithen-pen. Mama is in big trouble,” the
Lord of Rivendell said with a calmness that made Faramir wince. “Can
you make it back to bed on your own, or do you require assistance?”
Elrond asked in the same calm voice. Faramir sighed mightily but did
not move or to be more precise, could not have moved even if Sauron
himself was pursuing him. “I thought as much pen-neth,”
Elrond said as he moved to Faramir’s side, gathered his patient
into his arms with the ease granted to him by his elven heritage and
carried the foiled escapee back towards his room with Misto following
along in the rafters above them.
At that moment Thranduil was also walking towards Faramir’s room
but from the opposite direction. He saw Elrond with Faramir in his friend’s
arms and let out an exasperated breath. Faramir graced his ada with
such a look of innocent intent that Elrond snorted.
“This one is truly of Adrahil’s line, mellon-nin,”
Elrond said, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I suggest
you put that look away, pen-neth, for use on those who knew not your
grandsire and are therefore susceptible.”
“Let me guess,” Thranduil said, sounding exasperated, “he
was heading out into the garden. How far did he get?” he asked
when Elrond nodded in the affirmative.
“Almost to the door,” the Rivendell elf replied as he looked
down the long corridor. “Do you wish to do the honours?”
he asked in such a light tone that Faramir cringed, understanding only
too well the meaning behind the innocuous words.
“Nay, mellon-nin. You are his healer and I would have too much
sympathy for his restless spirit and desire to be away from this place
of stone and out with the trees,” Thranduil replied. “Although
I would ask that it be hand only.”
Elrond nodded his agreement as he had planned on using his hand for
he knew his patient was still too weak to endure a session with ‘Faramir’s
Bane’. Faramir sighed, scrunching up his nose in distaste at the
unfortunate turn of events. He was definitely not looking forward to
the next little while.
Thranduil smiled at his scowling son sympathetically. He brushed back
the locks of hair that had fallen over his son’s face and bestowed
a kiss on his forehead.
“I love you, ion-nin,” he said gently, seeing his love
returned in Faramir’s expression, before looking up at the hatchling.
“Come Misto. Let us see what tempting morsels we can find for
you in the dungeons,” he called to the hatchling before turning
and leaving the way he had came.
Elrond entered Faramir’s room, closed the door behind him using
his foot and deposited the young human onto his bed. He relieved Faramir
of his robe and checked the bandages wrapped around his patient’s
back and chest to ensure that he had done no further damage to the healing
wounds. Satisfied that no further damage had been done, Elrond gathered
Faramir in his arms again, sat down upon the bed, well back from the
edge and turned Faramir over his lap easily ensuring that the young
man’s head and feet were well supported by the bed. The elf pulled
Faramir’s leggings down enough to expose the young man’s
buttocks.
“I trust you know what this chastisement is for, pen-neth?”
Elrond asked. Faramir mumbled an affirmative into the blanket in which
his face was buried. Unseen by Faramir, Elrond smiled at the surly response.
“I would rein in that temper of yours, tithen-pen,” the
elf said as he landed the first of a series of hard slaps to the exposed
buttocks.
“What have you done now, little brother?” Faramir heard
the exasperated voice of his ghostly brother ask, causing him to groan
into the blanket beneath him.
“You will not go against my orders when it comes to your health,”
Elrond said, enunciating the important points with extra hard slaps
to Faramir’s buttocks.
“Did you try to escape the houses of healing again? What were
you thinking? You are still unwell, little brother. And what, may I
be so bold as to enquire, made you think that you could get away with
absconding? You are the Steward of Gondor for Eru’s sake. Did
you not think they would notice that the Steward had disappeared? No,
wait, you were not thinking were you? As it has ever been with you,
Fara, when you feel caged you…” Boromir ranted.
“Will you please cease your blasted prattling,”
Faramir interjected with a snarl and a snap even as he squirmed in an
attempt to lessen the impact of Elrond’s hand on his increasingly
sore posterior.
“I… am… not… prattling… pen-neth,”
Elrond replied, indignantly, punctuating each word with several slaps
to the thighs.
“Ouch! Not… owww!… you….That… ouch!…
dunderhead… of a… owwwww! brother… of mine,”
Faramir ground out between gasps for breath.
“I am very impressed. Lord Elrond has an elegant rhythm and strength
about his swings, little brother,” Boromir teased
“Owwww! If you were not already a ghost… brother…
I would happily… strangle you,” Faramir growled in an impressive
fit of temper, considering his upended position. In an attempt to regain
the angry human’s attention, Elrond let loose such a blistering
slap to Faramir’s posterior that Boromir winced in sympathy and
ceased his taunting. “Owwwww!” Faramir yelped.
“Do I have your attention, tithen-pen?” Elrond asked in
a calm manner as he continued to land blistering slap after blistering
slap.
“I am not about to say no, now am I,” Faramir snarled,
his mouth taking over from his mind as it often did when he was being
chastised and he was in a strop. “Owwww! Owwww! Aye… aye…
you have my… attention,” he added in a more contrite manner,
although still gasping for breath, after Elrond increased the strength
of the slaps yet again.
“Your grandsire will never be dead whilst you are alive, pen-neth,”
Elrond said ruefully, continuing to blister the hapless human’s
buttocks and thighs. “Back to the issues to be addressed. What
is this punishment for, again?”
Faramir groaned.
“For… not staying… in bed,” Faramir replied.
“And?”
“For… going against… your orders,” Faramir
added after a moment’s thought.
“Will you do so again?”
“Nay… I will… stay… in bed.”
Elrond ceased the punishment, turned Faramir over and held the teary,
gasping human close, soothing him with soft elvish crooning.
“I never thought the day would come when I would find myself
saying this, tithen-pen, but you make the ‘duo horribus’
seem positively tractable,” Elrond whispered as he rocked the
distressed human, eyes alight with humour.
Faramir blushed furiously and Boromir snorted.
“Oh, do shut up you dunce!” Faramir snapped out at Boromir
who was chortling merrily, thinking that he had not done as badly as
he had thought with his little brother, when it was he alone dealing
with Faramir’s discipline.
The colour drained from Faramir’s face suddenly and he looked
up at Elrond expecting to see a livid expression upon the elf’s
face. He relaxed slightly when he saw that Elrond’s eyes were
crinkled and the corners of his mouth turned up as if he was trying
to suppress his laughter.
“I suspect that that comment was aimed at Boromir and not me,
pen-neth,” Elrond said.
Faramir nodded and then sent a glare at his brother. He sighed on seeing
his glare bounce off his brother’s mumak-thick hide. Feeling drained,
Faramir’s eyelids began to droop. Still cradling his patient,
Elrond slipped off the bed, turned around and placed Faramir under the
covers. The Rivendell elf poured a cup of water from the pitcher of
water that was located on the table against the far wall. He placed
several drops of poppy extract in the water and bade Faramir to drink.
The irony of the situation was not lost on the young Steward. Due to
the emotional turmoil that Faramir had just undergone, his guard was
lowered and his thoughts open to Elrond. The elf chuckled at the rather
irreverent thoughts he sensed from the young human centred on the inconsistency
of elven healers, adding pain to what had been a relatively pain free
area and then giving him a pain-relieving draught.
“When you awake, pen-neth, I will teach you how to remain undetected
when another mind is scanning,” Elrond said, a smile tugging at
the corners of his mouth.
Faramir blushed spectacularly.
“Busted, Fara,” Boromir chortled, growing merrier at the
glare he received from his long-suffering sibling.
The repentant Steward had almost dropped off to sleep when Thranduil
and Misto returned. The elven King approached his son, sat down upon
the bed and gently brushed the hair from Faramir’s face, smiling
sympathetically. Faramir looked at his ada with such love and trust
in his eyes that it took Thranduil’s breath away. A smile still
playing around his mouth, Faramir dropped off into a peaceful sleep.
Thranduil looked up at his life-long friend who returned a rueful expression.
“He is a handful, mellon-nin,” Elrond said, shaking his
head.
“And that from the sire of the ‘duo horribus’,”
Thranduil retorted, chuckling.
Unseen by both elder elves, Boromir stood close to his brother, his
eyes a-twinkle with humour. He had not done so badly after all, he thought.
Part 24
The well-chastened Steward remained in bed for the next two days although
it was obvious to all who attempted to engage him in conversation that
he was anything but happy about the situation. On the third day, Thranduil
took pity on his adopted child and sought to gain Elrond's permission,
for to do what he planned without seeking his friend's permission would
incite not only his friend's wrath but also the wrath of Maglor, to
carry Faramir out into the garden and into the sunshine. Thranduil found
his Rivendell friend breaking his fast in Estel and Arwen's company,
in their private dinning room. Also present were the twins, Legolas
and Gimli.
“He banned me from his room, ada,” Legolas replied, somewhat
indignantly, to his father's unasked question indicated by a raised
eyebrow. “He told me not to bother returning until after midday
when he could better deal with my, and I use his words, 'Arda-be-damned,
unnatural morning chirpiness.” Gimli and Aragorn laughed and Arwen
giggled. "Besides which, Maglor was trying to feed him enough to
satisfy even Pippin. He was not happy.”
“Which brings me to the subject of why I have sought you out,
Elrond,” Thranduil said as he sat down on the vacant seat beside
Gimli and helped himself to a piece of fruit. “I want to take
Faramir out into the garden today, with your permission of course,”
he added after a slight pause, causing a smile to tug at the corners
of Elrond's mouth.
“As I live and breathe, mellon-nin,” Elrond sighed in exasperation,
“that child is turning into a wood-elf.”
“A decidedly grumpy one,” Legolas interjected with a grumble
and an affronted scowl that elicited broad smiles all around.
“I suppose you had best take him to that tree that is intent
upon mothering him and see if she can calm his restlessness,”
Elrond said, shaking his head.
“Aye, he does have distinctive elven traits, although such traits
have always been strong in Adrahil's line,” Thranduil replied,
alluding to Adrahil's elven forbears, the Nimrodel from Lorien, not
all of who sailed from Amroth to Valinor.
“That is true. Just make sure that he does not exert himself
or you may tell him that he and I will have words,” Elrond
called out to Thranduil as he left the room in a tone that made all
the younger elves and dwarf present wince.
Thranduil made his way through the palace, out into the courtyard in
front of the palace and across to the Houses of Healing. There he met
Maglor coming towards him. The Seneschal was heading towards the kitchen
to put in a special request for lunch in order to tempt his sulky young
charge. Thranduil asked Maglor if he could arrange for blankets and
pillows to be placed under the tree and continued on to Faramir's Room.
The scene that greeted the elven King upon his arrival made him smile
inwardly although managing to maintain a stern expression but unable
to dampen the twinkle in his eyes completely.
Misto was floating around the room in midair perched upon a large pillow.
Faramir, enjoying himself for the first time since his enforced incarceration,
had not sensed his ada's approach. The young human was so startled to
see his ada leaning against the door jamb with his arms crossed that
he lost concentration on what he was doing and as a consequence the
pillow, which had been floating midair, dropped like the proverbial
stone as did the cargo it carried much to aforementioned cargo's annoyance
when, having lost the support of the pillow, all eight legs straightened
and he performed an undignified belly flop back onto the pillow which
had landed on the floor below him. Faramir tried a look of innocence
on his ada but realised the ludicrousness of such a look, given that
he was the only wizard, or wizard-in-the-making, in the room. His expression
turned sheepish and he bowed his head in embarrassment, not wanting
to meet his ada's eyes.
“You are very fortunate indeed, ion-nin, that Elrond did not
witness that little display or you and he would be having 'words' now,”
Thranduil admonished, putting the same inflection on the word 'words'
that Elrond had used, causing Faramir to wince. “But as he did
not, we will keep this between us, ion-nin. I have come to tell you
that I have Elrond's permission to take you out into the garden."
Faramir looked up sharply at Thranduil as if discerning the truth of
his words and then broke out into a smile of such brilliance that the
elven King could not help chuckling. Wood elf indeed he thought as he
gathered Faramir into his arms and carried him out into the garden,
Misto following behind them. The elven King lowered his son into the
nest of blankets and pillows that Maglor had placed there. The Seneschal
was seated on a bench under the same tree, also enjoying the morning
sun. As the sun was still on the rise, Faramir felt its warmth on his
face and when the sun but at its highest and hottest, the tree would
shade him. The Steward blushed furiously, smiling shyly, as he heard
the tree admonish the elves for not looking after the elfling, even
though it was clear that he was prone to accidents. Both Thranduil and
Maglor took the scolding good-naturedly.
It was not long after that Elrond arrived with a cup in his hand. Faramir
eyed the cup suspiciously.
“It is not a draught for pain, pen-neth but a potion to assist
in increasing your weight without the need to feed you quite so often,”
Elrond informed his suspicious patient as he handed the cup to the young
human. Faramir sniffed the contents before taking a tentative sip, finding
the potion surprisingly thick but pleasant in taste. He graced Elrond
with a look of surprise before downing the contents quickly. “Are
my usual offerings so unpalatable, pen-neth?” he chuckled.
Faramir blushed furiously when both Maglor and Thranduil gave their
Rivendell friend a look that implied that they thought him quite mad
and both said 'yes' simultaneously. It was not long before Faramir was
curled up on his side asleep and looking truly at peace for the first
time since his return to the White City. Now firmly convinced that there
was indeed wood elves forebears in Faramir through Adrahil, Elrond insisted
that his patient spend each day out in the garden until he recovered.
So each morning, when the weather was clear, Faramir was carried out
into the garden by one of the elves. By the sixteenth day, Faramir was
able to walk outside under his own steam, although with his ada, Elrond
or Maglor hovering closely.
It had been a relatively quiet time during Faramir's convalescence,
or so Thranduil thought, with the exception of his son's foiled attempt
to escape from the Houses of Healing and the twins' altercation with
Gandalf. Both were angry at the White Wizard for sending Finrod and
their human friend, known only as 'Lieutenant' as the man hated the
name given to him by his parents, off to rendezvous with the wizard
Radagast and thence to spy on Saruman again without telling them. When
Gandalf told them, point blank, that they could not be trusted not to
get sidetracked when anywhere in the vicinity of orcs, the twins argued
vehemently until Gandalf threatened to turn them both over his knee
after which he would turn them into toads. Their moods were soured further
by the incredulous looks that they not only received from their ada,
Thranduil, Maglor and Imrahil, which was to be expected, but also from
Aragorn, Gimli and Misto, quite the feat for a spider with few expressions,
when!
they argued that they were trustworthy. Only Faramir did not grace them
with such a look and that was because he was asleep beneath a tree.
The elven King had no doubt that the current peacefulness would not
last for the twins were fast becoming bored. So much so, that the strain
was beginning to show with both Elrond and Estel. The elf and his human
son had become so desperate that they took the unprecedented step of
co-opting Legolas and Gimli to keep the twins contained and amused.
Elrond's preference had been for Maglor but the Seneschal had enough
on his hands with Faramir. Aragorn forwent asking Arwen to keep the
twins out of his hair, still smarting over the resultant debacle involving
dwarves, Rohirrim, Gondorians and his wife and brothers being incarcerated
in his own gaol, when last he had asked.
The peacefulness persisted so long that Elrond began to worry, for
the twins were quiet, very quiet - unnaturally quiet. He saw them at
meal times but could discern nothing of what they had been about. He
did not want to question them too closely and thus sour their mood all
the more. The elder elf thought to himself as he stood in the courtyard
with Estel, Arwen and Imrahil, his robes billowing about him for the
wind was very gusty, waiting for the delegates from Dol Amroth who would
be riding into the courtyard any moment, that he was not sure what was
the most worrying, the twins noisy and annoying or the twins unnaturally
quiet and possibly planning some mischief.
“Oi, Fara! Wake up, damn it!” Faramir found himself startled
awake by his brother's bellowing. The caustic retort on his lips died
on seeing his ghostly brother's look of alarm. “Those idiots are
going to kill themselves!” Boromir growled.
“Which idiots?” Faramir asked as he rose to his feet a
little unsteadily, still half-asleep, and then followed his ghostly
brother who was setting a brisk pace.
“The brat twins,” Boromir replied as he ran straight through
a closed door, only to stop abruptly and wince when he heard a resounding
thump on the other side of the door, followed in quick order by a very
inventive curse. He leaned back though the closed door to see his little
brother sitting on the floor with his legs straight out in front of
him, his straightened arms behind him and his palms on the floor supporting
his weight, whilst shaking his head in the hopes of ridding himself
of the stars that were floating before his eyes. “It is wise to
open the door first, Fara…” Boromir began but the rest of
what he was going to say was stayed by the murderous glare he received
from his little brother.
After several moments, Faramir got to his feet, opened the door and
continued to follow his brother. Boromir led his brother out into the
courtyard in front of the palace. Faramir stood transfixed for several
long moments by the scene that was playing out before him. Eight Swan
Knights, discerned by their distinctive dress, were attempting to control
their frightened mounts. Two knights had been unhorsed but had managed
to maintain a hold on their horses' reins. The cause of the fright to
the horses became evident when the Steward followed the direction of
the concerned gazes of Elrond, Aragorn, Arwen and his uncle.
The twins, looking like two frightened bunnies, were holding on for
grim death to ropes attached to what appeared to be a giant black kite
in the shape of a dragon, which explained the frightened horses. The
twins were too high up, even for elves, to risk letting go of the ropes
without risking very serious injury. Faramir also saw the stunned faces
of Legolas and Gimli looking over the edge at the top of the tower,
his panicked elven brother looked as if he was about the loose an arrow
at the kite. Thankfully, Gimli was able to stop him with a clip to the
elf's head.
The kite was caught by another updraft as the wind remained very gusty
and was being pushed to the end of the 'ship's keel' shaped section
at the very edge of the top circle of the city and the abyss that was
beyond and below. Faramir knew what would happen if the kite went over
the edge; a downdraft would cause the kite to plummet to the bottom
of the abyss, killing both twins in the process. Without conscious thought
Faramir raised the hand that had the ring of power upon it and saw a
long blue line of light, as opposed to a bolt of blue light, reach the
black kite. Slowly, inch by agonising inch, Faramir pulled the kite
down towards him and away from the edge of the 'ship's keel'. It turned
into a monumental struggle for the recovering Steward as he fought the
fierce wind. Time after time the wind would carry the kite back towards
the edge and Faramir struggled to pull it back and down. Just when he
thought he could do no more, the twins let go of the ropes and landed
on !
the ground before collapsing into frightened, winded heaps. It was only
then that Faramir's strength failed him and his knees buckled but before
he hit the ground he felt the familiar, strong arms of his ada, who
had appeared from he knew not where, catch him and lower him gently
to the ground, supporting him in a seated position.
From the corner of his eye Faramir saw Lord Elrond, looking like the
famed warrior who fought beside Gil-galad, swooping down upon his sons
like a bird of prey. He pulled first Elrohir and then Elladan to their
feet, gave each a fierce hug, relief evident, and then grabbed each
by the point of an elven ear causing both to squawk in protest, much
to the amusement of the Swan Knights who had mostly regained control
over their skittish mounts. Faramir then saw Maglor to his right, standing
behind a sombre looking Legolas and Gimli. Boromir was also there glaring
at the protesting twins.
Part 25
“Maglor? Would you be so kind as to escort the ‘trio horribus’
and Master Gimli to Estel’s drawing room to await us?” Elrond
asked in a calm tone that belied the pincer-like grip he maintained
on the wincing twins’ ears. “I wish to check on Faramir
first.”
Maglor nodded his head as Elrond released the ears he was gripping.
The twins rubbed their injured ears in a vain attempt to temper the
sting, as they preceded Maglor towards the Palace. Faramir saw Boromir
follow the elves still glaring at the twins, unbeknownst to them.
“I have always been meaning to ask how they acquired that name;
horribus?” Faramir asked as he leaned into his ada’s embrace.
“They were forever tormenting their little sister when she was
a young elfling before she learned to take care of herself but the closest
she could get to the word horrible was horribuses, so they became known
as the ‘duo horribus’,” Thranduil replied, his humour
evident in his eyes. “I cannot wait to hear their explanation
for what has just transpired. It should make for….”
The rest of what Thranduil was about to say was arrested by one of
the Swan Knights who approached them and knelt down beside Faramir.
“That was astounding, Fara,” the young knight greeted as
he removed his helmet, displaying a shock of fox coloured hair.
“Amrothos!” Faramir exclaimed in delight. “Ada, this
…”
“Could only be another of Adrahil’s, judging by that fox
fur,” Thranduil teased, causing the young Knight to blush furiously.
“Amrothos is the youngest of Uncle Imrahil’s three sons,”
Faramir said, introducing his cousin.
“Mae govannen, Prince Amrothos,” Thranduil greeted the
young knight who looked not unlike Faramir.
“Mae govannen, King Thranduil,” Amrothos greeted in turn.
“Father sent word to us that Faramir had been adopted by no less
personage than the King of Mirkwood, so happy was he when he wrote the
letter that the words almost bounced from the parchment,” the
young man added in answer to Thranduil’s raised eyebrow. “I
have seen you look better, cousin; although… I have seen you worse,”
he teased, remembering a few of the mornings after the nights before.
“Aye, I agree,” Elrond said as, he too, knelt beside Faramir.
“Alright, pen-neth, let us see what this latest wizarding display
has done to you, although I thank you sincerely for saving those two
idiot sons of mine.”
“I am looking forward to hearing their explanation, my friend,”
Imrahil chuckled as he stood behind his son, looking down upon his nephew.
Thranduil nodded in agreement, eyes twinkling, as he shared a look with
Imrahil. Elrond sighed, shaking his head.
In the background, Estel and Arwen were seeing to the settlement of
the remainder of the Swan Knights.
“Does your head ache?” Elrond asked as held Faramir’s
wrist to check the speed of his heartbeat.
“Nay, I just feel very… weary,” the Steward replied.
“Do you think you can get to your feet?” Elrond queried.
“Aye,” Faramir answered as he got to his feet, very unsteadily,
supported by his ada.
“Well, this is certainly an improvement, pen-neth,” Elrond
smiled at his patient.
“If this an improvement, cousin, I hate to think what you have
done to yourself previously,” Amrothos said with some consternation.
“You did not draw the energy from within yourself this time,
ion-nin. Mithrandir will be pleased,” Thranduil praised Faramir,
sparing a look for Amrothos that was filled with mirth. The elven King
gathered his human son up into his arms, much to Faramir’s embarrassment.
“I can walk, ada!” Faramir protested in a whisper.
“Humour me, ion-nin,” Thranduil responded, knowing that
there was no way that Faramir would be able to walk all the way back
to the palace.
Thranduil carried Faramir towards the palace in the company of Elrond,
Imrahil and Amrothos. There they were met by Arwen and Aragorn before
entering the King’s drawing room. Imrahil and Amrothos were about
to take their leave, for they both thought this a family matter, when
Elrond ushered them into the room. Faramir saw Boromir sitting on top
of one two tall bookcases standing against one wall, observing, with
what looked like amusement, the discomfiture of the twins, Legolas and
Gimli who were sitting in chairs placed around the fireplace, under
the watchful eye of Maglor.
The twins looked up at their ada and both winced on seeing their father’s
stern expression. It was obvious to both that his anger had not abated
one iota. Thranduil placed Faramir on a three-seater lounge, opposite
the fireplace, near the other chairs, and sat down beside him. Imrahil
and Amrothos sat on the arms of the lounge at either end. Arwen and
Aragorn stood behind the lounge. Legolas blanched and swallowed hard
when he saw all eyes rest on him, the twins and Gimli.
“Well,” Elrond began with a slightly exasperated sigh.
“Which of you would like to begin the explanation for what almost
led to my sons being swept to their deaths?”
“That was… “ Elladan began.
“… an accident… “
“… ada,” they both finished together.
“I did not think it deliberate, ions-nin, for though you display
the opposite on many… nay most, occasions, neither of you possesses
an actual death wish,” Elrond retorted, his comments fair dripping
with sarcasm that was not lost on the twins who winced. “Whose
idea was it to build the kite?”
“Legolas,” the twins and Gimli replied without hesitation.
Legolas blanched, yet again, as all eyes in the room, with the exception
of Elrond’s, fixed upon him.
“Och, I had no hand in the idea…” Gimli responded
to Elrond’s intense look and questioning eyebrow, “…
so to speak,” he added, wondering if you could indeed have a hand
in or put a hand on, an idea. “I am a Dwarf who lives in a cave.
What know I of kites and wind?”
Faramir snorted and eyed his brother with much amusement on hearing
clearly in his mind Legolas’ thought; ‘volumes about the
latter after you have eaten beans, Dwarf’! Legolas spared a glare
for Faramir, realising that his brother had read his thought, before
turning his eyes skywards and his expression to one of innocence when
Gimli eyed him suspiciously.
“They were bored. I thought it would keep them amused”
Legolas muttered, annoyed.
“So, it started out innocently enough or so it seems,”
Elrond mused.
“I think there is more interest to be had in the materials from
which the kite was made, mellon-nin,” Maglor interjected meaningfully,
handing a piece of black material to the Rivendell elf.
“This is silk and by the look and feel, very expensive silk.
Where did you get so much of such an expensive material?” Elrond
asked, suspiciously.
“Just hope that Gondor has no need for State funerals in the
foreseeable future, little brother,” Boromir called down from
his perch, causing Faramir to chuckle and Amrothos to look at his cousin
sharply.
“I think you will find that it is from a stock of silk always
kept on hand for the purposes of State funerals,” Faramir responded
to the plethora of questioning looks aimed at him.
“You took this without permission?” Elrond asked, his anger,
as was his inflection, rising.
“It was in a cupboard… “ Elladan reasoned.
“… gathering dust, ada” Elrohir concluded.
“That would be because the Lords of Gondor keep finding ways
of offing themselves that precludes the necessity of its use,”
Boromir expostulated, eliciting a look of astonishment from Faramir
at the matter-of-factness of the remark about his death.
“Did Legolas and Gimli know that the material had been purloined?”
Elrond asked imbuing the word purloin with a measure of just how he
felt about the twins’ propensity for ‘acquiring’.
“Nay, ada,” the twins answered truthfully if a little reluctantly.
“So, with the purloined material you built a kite in the shape
of a dragon. Why a dragon?” Elrond asked, already suspecting the
answer.
“For a prank, ada,” Elrohir confessed in a whisper.
“And this prank was aimed at the Swan Knights, mounted
on their horses,” Elrond conjectured.
Amrothos looked as if he thought the prank a good one and was filing
it away mentally for future use. His look turned to chagrin when he
saw both Faramir and his father give him a look that indicated that
both knew exactly what he was thinking.
“Aye, ada,” Elladan confirmed, head bowed.
“And were all a party to this prank?” Elrond questioned.
“Nay, ada,” Erohir sighed morosely, knowing that their
backsides were about to pay a high price for the prank gone wrong.
“Let me guess. The ‘trio horribus’?” Elrond
sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose; never, ever, a good sign with
the Lord of Rivendell.
“Aye,” the twins and Legolas responded quietly in unison,
wincing as they did so and all looking at the floor.
Gimli looked stunned and slightly affronted to have been so duped by
the trio of elflings.
“I would hazard another guess that not one of you anticipated
the consequences of such a strong wind as is had upon the top of Minas
Tirith?” Elrond surmised pinning each of the younger elves with
an intense, stern look.
“Nay,” came the quiet response from the trio of luckless
elflings.
“If it had not been for Faramir… “ Elrond began but
could not continue, so great was his anger. “Maglor?” Elrond
asked, taking a deep calming breath.
“Aye, mellon-nin?” the Seneschal replied calmly.
“Can I impose upon you again to take these three to my quarters
and wait with them until I have calmed down enough to deal with them?”
Elrond asked.
“Certainly,” Maglor replied in the same calm tone. “Alright
elflings, follow me,” he said not bothering to look back to see
if they were indeed following as he exited the room.
Faramir and Amrothos looked upon the hapless trio of elves as they
followed Maglor, with similar expressions of empathy.
“I love those three dearly, mellon-nin, but they are going to
drive me insane!” Elrond exclaimed looking at Thranduil whose
eyes were twinkling.
“I seem to remember Maglor telling me a time or thousand, of
Oropher and Gil-galad saying exactly the same thing about you and I,
mellon-nin,” Thranduil chuckled.
“I certainly have no memory of being quite that bad,” Elrond
sighed. “Do you think it is the Valar’s way of getting back
at us?”
“It does have a certain elegant symmetry to it, mellon-nin,”
Thranduil reasoned.
“I suppose we should… “ Elrond began but was interrupted
by a cry of alarm.
“Ahhhhhh!” Amrothos yelped; putting a hand to his racing
heart, as he jumped back from where he had been sitting on the arm of
the lounge, when the largest spider he had ever seen in his life appeared
before him suddenly, dangling on a thread.
“Mama” Misto said cheerily. “Not mama,” he
added on seeing that it was not Faramir.
“Eru’s balls! What are you feeding your spiders?”
Amrothos exclaimed before the higher functions of his brain engaged,
causing Aragorn, Faramir and Gimli to laugh and Arwen to put a hand
to her mouth to hide a giggle.
“You watch your mouth, son,” Imrahil admonished quietly.
“Sorry, father,” Amrothos said contritely, blushing furiously
when he saw Arwen, still standing beside a chuckling Aragorn.
“It is a long story, the short version of which is that Misto
is a hatchling from Mirkwood and my familiar,” Faramir explained.
“You mean like that bird of Radagast’s that keeps pecking
at his ear to keep him from falling down stairs and wandering off paths?”
the young Swan Knight asked. “And what do you mean hatchling?
He is the size of a dog!” he added; eyes as wide as saucers, not
able to take them off Misto who was now sitting beside Faramir. “How
big will he grow?”
“About the size of a pony,” Faramir sighed.
“Do not even attempt to tell me what you are going to feed him,
Fara,” Amrothos said, looking a little squeamish at the thought.
“I judge our elflings have waited long enough, mellon-nin,”
Elrond said, looking at Thranduil and taking another deep, calming breath
before exiting the room.
“Aye, we had best put them out of our misery,” the elven
King replied, following his friend from the room.
“Is what I suspect is going to happen, going to happen, Fara?”
Amrothos asked in a hushed voice.
“Aye, it is,” Faramir replied solemnly.
“Ouch,” the young Swan Knight whispered.
Part 26
Elrond and Thranduil made their way to the Rivendell elf’s quarters,
the elven King looking askance at his friend every now and then as they
walked. He saw that his friend’s anger was rising the closer they
got to their destination. Putting a hand to Elrond’s arm, he halted
and turned towards his friend.
“I think it would be in the twins’ best interests if Maglor
and I see to their punishment and you to Legolas’, mellon-nin,”
Thranduil cautioned softly.
Elrond looked as if he was about to argue but thought better of it
and bowed his head conceding to his friend’s advice.
“They just never think things through!” Elrond railed quietly
at his friend in exasperation.
“None of them do, mellon-nin and neither did we… oh, all
right, I, at the same age,” Thranduil amended in reaction to Elrond’s
raised eyebrow. “I am sure you noticed that it was my elfling,
in a blind panic, that was just about to shoot an arrow at the kite,”
Thranduil exhaled, shaking his head.
“I must admit that I have not seen young greenleaf quite so panicked
in a very long time. It is a good thing that Gimli had the presence
of mind to cuff him upside the head. Although, it may just have worked,”
the Rivendell elf conceded with a small smile that faded quickly on
considering the possible consequences.
Gently, Thranduil pulled his distressed friend into an alcove opposite
where they had stopped and into his embrace.
“I felt your fright and despair when you witnessed the plight
of your sons and Faramir’s struggle, mellon-nin. Let it go,”
the elven King crooned softly.
“Elros is lost to me,” Elrond let out in a quiet almost-sob,
remembering his ages gone twin who chose mortality whilst he chose the
elven path. “Arwen and Estel will be lost to me also all-too-soon.
I cannot lose the twins as well, I cannot!”
“Arwen chose mortality and she and Estel will reunite with Elros
in the halls of your human ancestors eventually, the existence beyond
human death of which we have daily proof,” Thranduil said, alluding
to the very real although unseen presence of Boromir, eliciting the
hint of a smile from Elrond. “Faramir, on the other hand, has
had immortality foisted on him and will be much grieved to learn that
should he die, he will not reunite with his ancestors or his human descendents
but will go to the Halls of Mandos instead. Such is the way of the Valar
and choices made, mellon-nin, and there is nothing you or I can do to
alter the course set. All we can do is to enjoy each day given us and
be there for one another and our children.”
Elrond returned the embrace and Thranduil held his friend until he
felt that Elrond had regained control over his emotions.
“Hannon-le, mellon-nin. You are right!” Elrond whispered
as he took a deep, calming breath and looked at his friend with an expression
that was a mixture of gratitude and surprise.
“Do not look so surprised! Even Maglor would grant that I do
have my moments,” Thranduil teased gently. “I really do
think our elflings have waited long enough,” Thranduil said, as
he turned towards Elrond’s quarters.
The scene that greeted them on entering Elrond’s drawing room
caused the two elder elves to look heavenward before sharing a rueful
glance. Legolas, looking as dejected and nervous as Thranduil had ever
seen him, sitting on a three-seater lounge, was flanked by twin, equally
dejected and nervous looking dark-haired bookends. Maglor was perched
upon the desk in the corner of the room watching the trio solemnly,
although Thranduil detected a smile tugging at the corner of his Seneschal’s
mouth.
“With but a little reflection do you understand the trouble that
you are in, elflings,” Thranduil lectured sternly. “All
we ask is that you spend a modicum of time considering the consequences,
before launching into ill-conceived and ill-thought out actions.”
The trio kept their gazes averted and continued to look at the floor.
“Elladan... Elrohir?” Elrond called upon the twins and
waited for them to look up at him. “So that I do not cause you
damage for my anger is great, ions-nin,” he said, his anger very
much in evidence in his eyes and the set of his mouth, “Thranduil
and Maglor will see to your punishment for the offences of acquiring
without permission and for the prank that came very close to costing
you your lives. I will see to Legolas’ for aiding and abetting
you in your folly.”
At first the twins looked horrified but on seeing their father’s
anger came to the conclusion very quickly that they would much
rather face Thranduil and Maglor or the Dark Lord himself, had he still
been alive. Legolas looked no less horrified at the thought of Lord
Elrond taking his wrath out on the posterior of the elf who had not
only failed to keep the twins out of trouble but had aided them in the
prank that had gone so wrong. Maglor and Thranduil saw the warning signs
of a fully-fledged Thranduilion panicked bolt about to happen. With
elven reflexes and speed both Mirkwood elves caught Legolas just as
he launched himself from the lounge upon which he had been seated a
moment earlier, towards the door. Maglor let go allowing Thranduil to
calm his panicked elfling. The elven King held his son tightly crooning
soft, soothing words in the shaking younger elf’s ear even as
he offered Elrond a rueful look.
“Leg-o-las,” Elrond crooned softly as he approached the
distressed wood-elf and stroked his hair, rhythmically. “I do
not blame you for what almost happened. I know you did not suggest the
kite with mischief in mind. I do not think I am wrong in saying that
it was Elladan or Elrohir who suggested the prank when they discovered
that Knights from Dol Amroth were expected. Am I?” Legolas shook
his head once in the negative. “But you did go along with the
idea, did you not?” Legolas nodded once still holding onto his
ada, fiercely. “Then that is what you are to be punished for,
greenleaf. Hand only, I promise.”
Legolas sighed and let go of his ada. Elrond smiled gently and with
his arm extended around the young elf’s shoulders, guided Legolas
into the next room. The twins were still seated on the lounge looking
up at Maglor and Thranduil warily. Their looks turned to one of alarm
when Maglor produced both human and elven versions of ‘Faramir’s
Bane’ from what appeared to be thin air.
“How…?” Thranduil began in bewilderment. “Never
mind,” he added, shaking his head in bemusement at his Seneschal’s
rather unique abilities.
Maglor placed two straight-backed desk chairs located at the desk in
the corner into the centre of the room, spaced far enough apart to allow
both twins to be chastised at the same time. Maglor sat down upon one
chair and Thranduil the other.
“All right, elflings. Let us proceed,” Thranduil called
out to the twins.
Elrohir rose immediately and walked over to King Thranduil, leaving
his tardy and now annoyed twin to stand beside Maglor. It had been agreed
upon by both the Elrondions and the Thranduilions that Maglor had the
heaviest swing, be it with hand or paddle. Elladan gave his brother
a look that promised retribution. Elrohir smirked. The elven King rolled
his eyes and then coughed, meaningfully. The twins became subdued immediately
and fumbled at the ties to their leggings before pushing them down to
their knees. They lowered themselves over the elder elves thighs. Thranduil
and Maglor pulled the younger elves’ tunics up to their waists
and held them there, exposing the twins’ buttocks.
“What is this punishment for, tithen-pens?” Maglor asked,
beginning the time honoured ritual.
“For acquiring without permission… “ Elladan began.
“… and the prank,” Elrohir finished.
Thranduil laid the first of a series of hard strokes to Elrohir’s
exposed buttocks, causing the younger elf to gasp at the intensity.
Maglor allowed Thranduil to set the pace, matching the King swing for
swing on Elladan’s buttocks, although later Elladan would swear
blind that Maglor gave him more swats with 'that thing'. Every time
the paddles were used upon their posteriors the twins respect for Faramir
intensified, especially as the human did not have the same recuperative
abilities that elves possessed. It was not long before the twins were
whimpering and squirming as their bottoms were heated by the constant
swats that were landed to each of their buttocks.
“We will not dally on the subject of your habit of acquiring
things that are not yours, for you know my feelings about stealing.
On the subject of your propensity for forging headlong into disasters
of your own making, I have told you before and I will repeat this tattoo
upon your bottoms until it penetrates your elfling skulls, tithen-pens,
...your... ada... has... lost... enough!” Thranduil bellowed,
emphasising each word with heavy swats to the top of Elrohir’s
thighs, matched by Maglor on Elladan’s. “You... will...
not... break... your... ada’s... heart... by... dying... when...
a... little… forethought... can... prevent... such... an... occurrence...
happening!”
By this stage the twins were howling from both the pain in their posteriors
and remorse at their lack of forethought. Thranduil judged the punishment
enough and ceased the chastisement. He pulled up Elrohir’s leggings,
causing the younger elf to hiss with pain, turned him around, embraced
the sobbing elf, crooning soft words of forgiveness and allowing the
elf to cry out his pain and his remorse. Maglor did the same with an
equally remorseful Elladan.
In the next room it had taken Elrond quite some time to calm Legolas
enough to enable him to proceed with the chastisement. It was obvious
that the young wood-elf was still in shock at having witnessed the twins
in peril. The Rivendell elf managed to get Legolas over his knees finally
and began the punishment.
“What is this chastisement for, pen-neth?” Elrond asked,
as he landed the first of a series of barehanded swats to the wood-elf’s
exposed buttocks.
“F-for assisting the twins in a b-bad p-prank,” Legolas
stuttered uncharacteristically, which told Elrond of the state of mind
of the elf over his lap more clearly than any explanation by the distressed
elf could have.
“What distresses you so?” Elrond asked gently in direct
contrast to the force of the slaps he was administering to Legolas’
buttocks and thighs.
Ill-advisedly taking a leaf out of Faramir’s book, Legolas remained
stubbornly silent.
“Tell me!” Elrond said more forcefully, matched by the
increased intensity of slaps to the wood-elf’s already extremely
tender ‘sit spot’.
“I could have killed them!” Legolas wailed, finally.
“Nay. How so, tithen-pen?” Elrond asked, reducing the intensity
and frequency of the slaps.
“I had my arrow nocked... and... was about... to shoot, if Gimli
had not stopped me...” Legolas sobbed, unable to finish, visualising
the possible consequences.
“Whilst the prank was a very bad idea and you should not have
assisted the twins, your idea was not an ill-conceived one, tithen-pen,”
Elrond explained, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth even as
he continued to land slap after slap on the wriggling and sobbing elf’s
posterior. “Had Faramir not have been there or had he faltered,
it may have been the twins’ only hope. Your only fault lay in
not waiting to see if Faramir faltered first,” Elrond added wryly
and ceased the chastisement, pulling up the elf’s leggings and
rubbing his back in a gentle circular motion.
“I... am... s-sorry, so... s-sorry,” Legolas sobbed as
he lay over Elrond’s lap.
“Shhhh, tithen-pen,” Elrond crooned, turning the distressed
wood-elf over and gathering him into an embrace.
Seeing Legolas’ remorse and guilt, Elrond was able to come to
grips with his own anger and fear over what might have happened. The
twins were alive and that was all that mattered, he thought as he continued
to rock and croon words of forgiveness to the sobbing elfling in his
arms and by the sounds of the howling next door, the lesson may have
been learned. Then again, he thought sighing deeply, as humans were
fond of saying; pigs might fly.
Part 27
After comforting and cosseting their repentant elflings for a time
the three elder elves left them to ponder their pained states, emerging
eventually from Elrond’s quarters into the hallway. There they
were met by a sheepish looking Faramir and Amrothos. Thranduil eyed
his son intently.
“You should be abed, ion-nin,” he admonished, seeing the
dark circles under Faramir’s eyes.
“I will rest after I have seen Legolas, ada. I promise,”
Faramir replied.
“They are in the twins’ room,” Thranduil sighed,
understanding his human son’s needs. “You do not have any
of that numbing salve hidden about your persons, I hope?” he asked,
his suspicion aroused.
“Nay, ada,” “Nay, sir,” Faramir and Amrothos
answered immediately, both blushing, hoping that none of the elves looked
up.
Thranduil looked at both fox-furred young humans intently causing them
to blush even more, which, given their fair complexions, was quite an
endearing sight he thought.
“Alright ion-nin, your brother could use some sibling comfort
right now and I am sure the twins would appreciate some as well. Be
off with you!” the elven King said, taking pity on them.
The elves continued down the corridor. Faramir and Amrothos both let
out in whooshes, breaths that they had not realised they had been holding
and entered Elrond’s quarters. Faramir led the way the twins’
room and knocked on the door softly. Receiving permission to ‘come’,
he opened the door and entered, followed by Amrothos.
The room contained two large four-poster beds parallel to one another
and several feet apart, one occupied currently by Legolas and the other
by the twins, all of whom lay on their stomachs covered by blankets.
The cousins looked upon the still miserable trio with great empathy.
Legolas twisted around, half on his side, careful of his posterior and
graced his brother with a rueful if somewhat forlorn look. Faramir walked
straight over to Legolas, sat down on the bed beside him and gathered
his brother into a much-needed hug. Amrothos stood at the end of the
bed, marvelling at the close bond between his cousin and the elf.
“You should be abed, muindor tithen. You look terrible. I am
so sorry,” Legolas whispered on the verge of tears.
“Oh, pish. I will be fine after some rest later,” Faramir
replied in a whisper. “I have not had the… opportunity to
introduce you to my cousin, Amrothos, youngest son of Uncle Imrahil,”
Faramir said, his eyes alight with mirth.
The twins and Legolas moaned at their recent folly and their damnably
bad luck.
“Is your uncle very upset with us?” Legolas asked forlornly.
“Nay, nay, my father is not upset at all,” Amrothos assured
the upset elves. “I thought it a good prank if gone a little
askew.”
“As it does inevitably, with these three involved,” Faramir
chucked wryly as he continued to hold his brother.
“Do you perchance have some numbing salve stashed about you?”
Legolas asked hopefully, wincing at the pain in his posterior.
“Nay,” Faramir replied. The elven faces dropped. “However,…”
he added, looking up.
The elves looked up and saw Misto sitting on a rafter holding a very
large jar of numbing salve with two of his eight legs. The hatchling
chose that moment to drop down on a silken thread but unfortunately
misjudged the affect of the heavy jar he was holding and subsequently
landed heavily on Legolas’ already much abused posterior, causing
the elf to howl in pain. Faramir and Amrothos winced in sympathy but
the twins did not as they were dealing with the abominable throbbing
in their own posteriors.
“Ssssorrryyy, mama,” the hatchling apologised sheepishly.
“It was an accident, little one,” Faramir soothed.
“I am not so certain, muindor tithen,” Legolas muttered
into Faramir’s shoulder through gritted teeth.
“Let us see what has been done to you, brother,” Faramir
said, sliding from beside Legolas and on to his feet. The Steward pulled
back the blanket that was covering his brother, exposing Legolas’
posterior as the elf was sans leggings. “Painful I grant but not
as bad as I thought it would be,” he judged.
“Speak for yourself, muindor thithen,” Legolas grumbled.
“I speak from experience, brother,” Faramir replied quietly.
The Steward walked over to the twins in the other bed.
“Do you mind if I…?” Faramir asked, seeking permission
before proceeding.
“Aye, go ahead,” they responded dejectedly, in unison.
Faramir pulled back the blankets that covered them. Like Legolas, they
were both also sans leggings. Faramir winced.
“The last time I saw that particular shade of red was when Boromir…”
Amrothos whistled softly as he approached the bed. “You do not
mean to tell me that that… ‘thing’ still exists, Fara?”
Amrothos asked on seeing Faramir’s reaction.
“Aye, human… “ Elladan grumbled.
“… and elvish versions,” Elrohir spat out disgustedly.
“Long story, cousin,” Faramir replied in answer to Amrothos’
look of puzzlement.
“Help me, sprog,” Faramir requested, using Amrothos’
pet name, as he applied the soothing salve to Elladan’s buttocks,
whilst Amrothos applied some to Elrohir’s. The elf blushed at
exposing such an embarrassing injury to a relative stranger, even though
he was a relative of Faramir. “Be at ease, Elrohir” the
Steward soothed. “Amrothos has also fallen victim to that ‘thing’
on a number of occasions and has been in exactly the same position as
you are now.”
“Is nothing sacred to you Hurins?” Amrothos whined, sending
a mock glare at his cousin that caused Elrohir to smile. “All
done,” he smiled, pulling the blanket back over the elf as Faramir
did his twin.
“Hannon-le, mellon-nin,” Elrohir responded.
Faramir returned to Legolas and applied the salve to his brother’s
buttocks before pulling the blanket back over the elf who was sighing
in relief.
“We will leave you in peace now,” Faramir said as he put
the lid back on the jar of salve and placed it under the covers of the
bed in which Legolas lay. “You will be going to the feast tonight
will you not?”
“Aye,” the unhappy trio groaned.
“We will see you then,” Faramir said before he, Amrothos
and Misto departed.
Most of the guests had arrived by the time Legolas, Elladan and Elrohir
arrived. They, as other guests had been, were greeted by Aragorn, Arwen
and Faramir in their official capacities of King, Queen and Steward
of Gondor. A group of musicians were playing lively music in the far
corner of the Great Hall. The twins and Legolas moved further into the
hall, tentatively, not knowing what kind of reception they were likely
to receive from the Swan Knights of Dol Amroth. They tensed when several
knights descended upon them. Their tension turned to relief when the
knights, in all their finery, greeted them warmly, laughing at the antics
of the elves.
Unbeknownst to them, Amrothos and Faramir had explained the prank gone
wrong and asked the knights to forgive if not forget. All but two of
the knights agreed readily as they could see the humour of the situation.
The two who were reluctant to forgive were reminded by Amrothos, somewhat
forcefully if truth be told, of some of their past indiscretions
on which he had remained silent. Faramir had to hold on to his angry
cousin by the back of the young man’s tunic to stop him from throttling
the denser of the two knights, when the man made a disparaging remark
about the elves concerned. The Steward resolved the situation, still
holding onto his struggling cousin, by advising the two knights, in
his normal, quiet, well-modulated tone, that it was not good policy
to upset a wizard. His assertion was reinforced by a display of crackling
and hair standing on end, which, upon witnessing, the two knights blanched
and seemed quite suddenly to see reason.
Legolas and the twins made their way to where their adas and Maglor
were already seated at the main table. Two other tables were placed
at right angles to the main table, creating a three-sided square. The
main table was reserved for King, Queen and their family and friends
and the Steward of Gondor and Prince of Dol Amroth. The table to the
right of the main table was reserved for the Swan Knights of Dol Amroth
and as many young maidens of Gondor, to partner the nights in the dancing
planned for later in the evening. The table to the left was reserved
for some of the Lords and Ladies of Gondor.
Gimli, who was sitting next to Gandalf near prince Imrahil, graced
his wayward elfling friend with a look that promised the matter that
lay between them remained to be settled. Legolas winced and then sighed
in resignation. He looked down at his chair and then looked up attempting
to catch Faramir’s eye. Upon succeeding, he dipped his head slightly
and smiled his thanks. A soft pillow, the same colour as the chair,
had been placed upon its seat. Legolas knew without a doubt that it
had been Faramir who had done this for if it had been his ada, the cushions
would have been almost as large as the chair and very brightly coloured.
Faramir acknowledged his brother’s thanks with a smile of his
own, before returning to the task of greeting guests.
When the last of the guests had arrived and been greeted, Aragorn,
Arwen and Faramir sat down at the main table at which time the first
courses were carried in on large ornate silver and gold trays and served
to the guests by servants. Faramir was pleased to see that Boromir was
also in attendance, enjoying the music and festive atmosphere.
“A finer flock of peacocks you are never likely to see, little
brother” Boromir jested, looking around at the guests, causing
Faramir to chortle at but one of their ongoing jests about the colourful
formal uniforms of the Swan Knights.
Boromir was just about to make another comment when he stopped abruptly,
his expression turning to one that Faramir knew well, that of a hunter
scenting prey. As he could not ask his ghostly brother what alerted
him without most of those present the room thinking him mad, Faramir
turned back to his meal; all the while keeping an eye on his brother
who seemed to be concentrated on the Swan Knights seated at the table
at which Amrothos, as their captain, was also seated.
At the conclusion of the main meal and well before dessert was due
to be served, Amrothos rose from his chair and walked around the table
until he was in front of his father, who was sitting at the main table
next to Faramir. All went silent as the guests watched the young knight
go down on bended knee.
“Whatever are you doing, Amrothos?” Imrahil exclaimed disconcerted
by his youngest son’s odd behaviour.
“Bear with me, father.” Amrothos replied in a ‘put
upon’ manner. “I am acting under very strict instructions
from your heir.”
“What has Elphir got to do with this… ?“ Imrahil
was at a loss at to describe what ‘this’ was.
“Please father, I beg you,” Amrothos spoke as if he was
reading aloud, very badly at that, from a script. “Please return
to Dol Amroth. The kingdom will fall to ruin if you do not come home
soon. Please come home!”
Faramir, who could contain himself no longer, broke out into musical
laughter at his cousin’s speech. Faramir’s laughter proved
infectious and it was not long before all those gathered in the hall,
including the King, Queen and elves, were laughing merrily.
“Enough, sprog,” Imrahil chuckled, throwing a bread roll
at his son, hitting him on the head. Amrothos rose to his feet gracefully
and bowed to his father and then the King and Queen. “I am sure
that my eldest did not intend for you to deliver his speech in front
of an audience,” Imrahil said, not quite able to bring himself
to make it sound like an admonishment.
“I reasoned that if he saw fit to force me to deliver such an
embarrassing speech, I could choose the time and place, neither of which
was specified in his orders,” Amrothos retorted.
“Am I given to understand then that your brother is struggling
with a few matters?” Imrahil asked.
“A few, father, but he is coping at the moment,” the young
knight replied.
“Then it is your judgement that I do not need to return to Dol
Amroth forthwith?”
“Nay, father. My brother’s tone did not contain quite the
tenor of sheer desperation that would necessitate a return
to Dol Amroth at this time,” Amrothos said with a straight face.
“You do realise what your reception is likely to be on returning
home, when he finds out about this? Do you not?” Imrahil asked.
“I was rather hoping that I could stay here in Minas
Tirith for foreseeable future as I have several furloughs long overdue,”
the young knight responded, clearing his throat before doing so.
“We will see, sprog,” Imrahil said with a mock glare.
Orders carried out, Amrothos returned to his seat just as dessert was
being served. Faramir had almost completed his dessert when he realised
that in all the commotion created by his cousin, he had lost sight of
Boromir. Scanning for his brother, he spied him crawling under the table
at which the Swan Knights and young ladies were seated. He stopped at
where Amrothos was seated and then rose to his haunches abruptly, which
pushed his head up through the table and the plate from which Amrothos
was eating.
“Boo!” Boromir bellowed.
“Ahhhhhh!” Amrothos yelped as his dessert went one way,
his chair the other and he scrambled back from the image of his cousin’s
head, sitting on the table.
“I knew so! You can see me! You can hear me you sneaky young…
Why did you not tell me?” Boromir continued to bellow at his cousin
as he rose to his feet, walked through the table and stalked towards
his cousin like a predator. Amrothos continued to back away, wincing
at the volume of his ghostly cousin’s bellowing.
“Whatever is the matter with that boy? He looks like he has seen
a ghost. Oh… “ Imrahil said, eyes widening, seeing his youngest
right the chair that had toppled and wince as he is wont to do when
in receipt of a very severe tongue-lashing.
“He can see Boromir,” Faramir whispered harshly.
“Oh my! Where is Boromir?” Imrahil asked, still
a little confused by the scene playing out before him.
“About a hand span from sprog’s face, bellowing at him.
It is a wonder that no one else can hear him. He is hurting my eardrums
from over there.”
Faramir gave Aragorn, who was looking upon the scene in bemusement,
a ranger signal requesting that he create a diversion. Ever the ranger,
Aragorn announced immediately that he wished to dance with his Queen
and invited anyone who wanted to join them to do so. The King held out
his arm to Arwen who took it and walked with him onto the dance floor.
As Aragorn distracted the guests, Faramir hurried to his cousin and
pulled the pale young man from the room, followed by Boromir who was
bellowing ever more elaborate and painful admonishments at the top of
his ghostly lungs.
TBC
