Foster Father of The Heart - part 9
by Larrkin

"But, sir, you told me to – "

"I heard you the first time. Thank you for reminding me. I am now telling you to pick them up and place them on the desk."

When I was of a humor to allow it a stand-off with Faramir could prove entertaining. He could talk rings around the sharpest wit. At the moment, however, he was angry. Strangely, but extremely angry. Yet he was still rational enough to be aware that high passion put one at a disadvantage, leaving Faramir bewildered by his violent fury, and flustered and embarrassed and cross with himself for feeling so out of control. Aye, my poor lad was awash with decidedly dangerous emotion. It filled the room. I sensed that Boromir remained fixed to his seat only by exercising his most tenacious will. But anxiety near shot from him in sparks, inspired by the same in his little brother.

It seemed almost unsporting to take advantage of Faramir when he was so impaired. Almost. His actions bespoke his hunger for a truly sincere spanking, so I would be doing him no favors by going easy on him simply because he was not quite himself. He was himself enough to know just what he wanted and how to go about getting it, and that was good enough to satisfy my conscience.

Of course, my boy had already done more than enough to earn that truly sincere spanking, so it was endearing that he felt the need to make things worse for himself than they already were. In part I longed to tell him, 'Come now, sir. Enough of this nonsense. You have earned a profound spanking ten times over. No need to further press your point.'

However, I would ne'er dream of depriving my deserving lad of what he so clearly desired. In fact, I was most eager to accommodate Faramir's wishes. And this prologue was necessary. All steps in order. So I said, "You shall either clean this mess up now or after I have finished with you. Choose, little boy. I think you wouldst rather do it now."

A slight widening of his eyes – oh, he was considering pushing me further, but being forced to gather up all those pages after receiving a thorough spanking clearly held no appeal for him. Faramir was still fuming and struggling to even form words, though, awful for this boy who used language with the skill of a master swordsman. Rage had slammed into him so intensely that he had no notion of how to make it stop, and he was fast losing the desire to try.

All Faramir needed now was a proper spark, a shove to spur him into action, but we had to get through this first struggle for power before we physically fought. Tussling on a surface of parchment would be treacherous, so if my lad refused to clear it away I would needs scoop him up and haul him directly to the bed and over my knee, foregoing a fight. And we needed that fight.

But now someone else became a distraction. Boromir knew better than to interfere, however, to my surprise he surged up from his seat, no doubt also sensing a looming battle and sharing my concerns about fighting on a slippery surface of parchment. He moved so swiftly he actually managed to snatch a page from the floor ere I stopped him.

"Boromir," I said. He froze and turned to me. "Did I give you permission to leave your chair?"

He blinked and shot a glance around the floor, as though surprised to find himself somewhere other than his seat, then, much as he had when he was six years old, Boromir dropped his gaze and shook his head.

"Excuse me?" I said.

"Nay, sir," he replied in a small voice.

"Return to your seat. And drop that parchment, little boy."

The Steward of Gondor winced and dropped the parchment. We watched it languidly drift on wicked, mischievous currents, float over to the far corner of the room and, finally, land. Clearly miserable, Boromir cast his little brother a rueful glance and slunk back to his seat.

I turned to Faramir, freshly bristling at me for daring to speak to his big brother in such a shamefully disrespectful manner. Nodding at the floor, I said, "Now."

He looked at the papers with reproachful disgust, as though the horrid things had made a mess of themselves purely to make matters more difficult for him, then he snarled and attacked his task, huffing under his breath and snatching up pages with such fierce recklessness that they scattered even more, skittering from his grasping hands like spiteful entities bent on tormenting him. If it wasn't so pathetic a sight it might have been amusing. But none witnessing the scene would have had the coarseness to so much as snicker, for my poor lad was in such a pitiable state.

I could do naught but stand and observe. Boromir was likely wretched beyond measure, yet he remained fixed to his chair, sheer dogged will coming once more to his aid. Such a will that boy had! Still, I glanced at him, curious as to how he was staying seated. Ah. Of course. Boromir was gazing into the fire. He couldn't bear to watch. Another wise move.

At last, his arms laden with slipping, sliding parchment, Faramir half-fell across the desk, laying atop his burden as though to press it there securely, then he slowly withdrew his arms and rose. At once the pages became a mutinous landslide cascading towards the floor. Faramir scrambled about, bracing up here and grabbing there and slamming pages back down on the pile, a problem he could have avoided had he stacked the lot with any kind of patience. By the time he had slapped the last paper down, held the mountain still for a moment, made certain all was secure, then straightened to glower at me my usually gentle boy was near rabid. Perfect.

"Thank you," I said. "Now, sir -" I pointed to a spot on the floor directly in front of me. "Come here."

From the corner of my eye I saw Boromir go so rigid that he seemed to increase his height by several inches. But he remained seated, good lad, despite a quick help-seeking glance from his little brother.

"Faramir," I said, and I clicked my fingers at him. Oh, how my boys hated my finger clicking!

He fumed at me anew, then barked, "Why do I have to go first?"

Ah. More verbal jousting. Of course, this being Faramir. In a similar rage Boromir would have simply put his head down and charged me.

"Because I say so."

"Boromir should go first."

"You would offer up your older brother to be spanked in your place?"

"Not, 'in my place,' as you say, no," he grumbled, refusing to be baited. "But I wouldst respectfully relinquish first place to Boromir. For he is not only my older brother, he is the Steward of Gondor, and he deserves the honor of being first in line regardless of the particulars."

Classic Faramir. I fought a smile.

"Damrod, I could indeed go first."

I was so startled to hear Boromir's murmur that I could do naught but turn to him. He peered back at me, as though once again startled by his own actions. But I reckoned this wasn't so surprising after all. With the exception of one small slip, Boromir had controlled himself admirably thus far. But he had finally, and no doubt briefly, lost his focus. He knew there was only one way to help his little brother. Boromir had to be the bigger brother today, the older brother, the stronger brother. He had to have the courage to be quiet, and to wait and to grant Faramir what he really wanted most. In his fragile temperament Faramir would never have been able to sit still while Boromir was spanked first. And Faramir's need was greater. It was why we were here. A moment later Boromir remembered all that. And he remembered to whom he was speaking.

"I – I . . . forgive me," Boromir quickly said. "I . . . I spoke out of turn. I'm sorry, sir."

I studied him. His gaze held a quiet clarity, an understanding that settled any remaining misgivings I had about his restraint.

"I have never doubted that he's as safe in your arms as he is in mine," Boromir had once told me after witnessing me spank Faramir. "No matter how loudly he yells, I know he is alright."

"This little one can yell quite loudly indeed," I had said gazing down at Faramir asleep in my arms.

"But 'tis never a fear-filled sound, just an unhappy one. A most unhappy one. The same most unhappy sound he makes when I'm spanking him."

Aye, Boromir would be all right no matter what happened. I gave him a nod and said, "Accepted. Thank you. But I shall tolerate no further interruptions, little boy. Behave yourself. And I shall attend to you soon."

As he had since childhood, Boromir had a tendency towards blushing and his face betrayed him now, a rosy hue creeping forth. Satisfied, I turned my attention back to Faramir, who shared his big brother's talent for coloring quickly. But little brother's current flush was due to his emotions running wild, just as they were the last time we fought, high passion making him reckless. This would likely be a short battle.

I had trained my boys and they were superior warriors, but neither had ever won a fight with me. Of course, Boromir had been in his rash teen years when he had last challenged me, but Faramir still occasionally decided he would rather not be spanked and needed some convincing. Fair enough. The outcome of such a skirmish was ever the same, which was surely comforting to my lad, as he knew he was safe to hold nothing back. Aside from more years of experience, I had a larger build than Faramir, similar to Halbarad's, and I was taller than Boromir, who was, in turn, taller than his little brother.

They sometimes looked to be the same height, for, when standing beside his brother Faramir would stiffen his back, stretch himself up and try to stand extra tall, whilst Boromir, aware of what his little brother was doing, would lean his weight back on one leg and purposely slouch a bit, diminishing his height to the degree that Faramir sometimes actually looked taller than Boromir. It was delightful. But, despite his smaller size, Faramir gave a good account of himself, and I was proud of his efforts to lay me out.

"I know you're trying to be nice," Faramir had once muttered whilst laying in my arms during a fragile post-spanking moment. "But 'tis vexing to hear you say things like, 'good boy,' and 'I am proud of you, my little bairn,' when I am trying to pummel you into the ground."

"Is it?" I said, grinning at his directness.

"Uh-huh. I don't like it."

"I see. Well, I am sorry to hear that it upsets y–"

"No! It-It doesn't really, reeeally 'upset' me . . . I-I guess." He frowned up at me in puzzled innocence. "But, well, why do you do it?"

"Because you are being a good boy, and I am proud of you."

"Come," I now said, watching him seethe at me. "Enough of this, my little bairn."

Faramir flinched at the sound of the special name I had given him as a child, the name my beloved, ancient grandfather had bestowed upon me. I had not called Faramir 'little bairn' since that day in the woods. And now he paused and stared at me, spellbound, as though from some far distant place, his gaze so vacant and distracted that I wondered if he might choose to submit without a fight. Such was not what I preferred. I waited.

But, though shaken, Faramir quickly recovered. He blinked back a sheen of tears and my trapped warg returned, scowl firmly intact. Ahh, this was better.

"You have until the count of five to come here." And I clicked my fingers again and pointed to a spot right before me. Counting was another indignity my boys found insufferable. I briefly wondered if Halbarad counted. Or Aragorn. Or Legolas. Or Garrick. I was fond of counting as it rarely failed to initiate an instant response. Indeed, a small garbled sound from Faramir warned of an impending explosion.

"NO! You shall not count to five, sir!" he exclaimed. "I forbid it!" And he punched his clenched fist straight down towards the floor for emphasis. He had perfected that move at the age of four and it now challenged my composure. A most unsuitable place to burst out laughing, this.

"Aye. You are right," I said. "A count of three is sufficient. One . . . ."

Faramir clenched both fists this time and punched them towards the floor. "Stop!" he bellowed. "Stop that counting at once, lieutenant! That is an order!"

He was in such a state I considered putting him out of his misery and skipping straight to three. Boromir made a small indefinable noise, but that was all. I felt a surge of pride in him.

"Two."

Speechless at last Faramir stared at me, eyes huge, mouth slightly open as though he hoped something brilliant would burst forth. Impossible, of course, for him to come stand on that spot before me. And so I had been merciful when reducing my count to:

"Three."

I was across the room before Faramir could draw his next breath. He gasped and flinched and flew into action, able at last to have at me. I usually grappled with him long enough to let him expel some of his wild fury whilst leaving him enough stamina for his spanking. But sometimes I permitted him to fight only long enough to be able to tell himself that he did not go quietly. I wanted that wild fury intact when I held him down over my knee. So Faramir's needs determined the length of our tussle, and I decided what he needed most. He oft disagreed with my decision of course. More than once he had roared at me when I picked him up and carried him kicking and squirming from our field of battle to where I was about to spank him.

"Nooooo!" he would bellow. "Nooo! Sto – don't – Damr – put me down! I'm not done fighting! I-I'm not ready to be spanked!"

"Thank you for informing me of that, little one. Allow me to inform you in return that what you are and are not ready for bears no weight. I am done fighting, and so are you, and there's an end to it."

Today I wanted to match our experience in the woods as closely as possible. Thankfully, that had been a short fight. Concerned for Faramir's healing state, I did not want this to go on for long.

As he did that day, Faramir dodged my attack and came at me, and within moments I realized that I need not have feared for any of the breakables. There had been no breakables in the woods of Ithilien, and, to my astonishment, Faramir was, by memory, duplicating his every move to our last fight. I could scarce believe it. As he initiated each move I remembered it, too. What made it even more astounding was that I was certain Faramir had no awareness of what he was doing. He looked removed, dazed, as though listening to a distant, familiar tune, something quite beyond himself spurring him on.

Incredible. I felt oddly exhilarated by the strangeness of this. I felt like turning to Boromir and saying, 'do you know what your brilliant little brother is doing?'

Faramir reproduced his previous performance near to the heartbeat, meaning that he was just as ineffective. Mine had been a defensive role, so I simply responded as I had that day. I changed only the force involved, trying to keep within the framework of memory, yet softening the impact of the fighting to allow for his yet healing injuries, catching him in my arms ere he hit the floor.

He even left the openings for me to slip in those comforting rituals I forced upon him to slow him down, letting me utter the praises he could scarce allow himself to enjoy as much as he did and claimed were aggravating. So, as before, in the proper moments, I grabbed him, or held him down tightly, murmuring, "I am proud of you, little bairn," or, "Good boy," even, "You are growing too frantic, sir. Settle down. Think." And he struggled in the same way, muttering exasperated growls and whimpers until I released him at the right moment and let him scramble up and come at me again.

Once, when I was holding him and murmuring to him, Boromir was in my direct line of vision and I glanced up – a quick check on my other good boy. He was staring at us, mesmerized, as though he knew he was witnessing something quite beyond understanding. But he was as calm as could be expected whilst watching his little brother getting on so poorly.

Suddenly all was quiet and Faramir was simply standing there, panting slightly, watching me with an expectant look – we were done. We had reached the point wherein I'd had enough fighting that day and ended it. Ah. At last. I thought for a moment, then I stalked his way repeating my former statement, word for word. "Enough of this, little bairn. We have serious matters to discuss."

I scooped Faramir up, getting a good grip on him as he had a gift for writhing he now fully employed, and carried him to the bed where I sat and carefully turned him over my knee, clamping one arm over his back and the other just beneath his bottom. I held him secured for a long moment, letting him feel his place. Delightful that I had done this that day in Ithilien to calm him after our fight! The feel of his weight over my lap once again warmed my heart beyond all reason. Faramir gasped and huffed, but stayed amazingly motionless. I held him, waiting, and when he stopped panting I began pulling up his shirt. The moment Faramir could move he exploded into frenetic writhing, so I gave him several hard swats over his breeches to get his immediate attention.

A pause, then he became even wilder, actually trying to push himself up off my lap. And suddenly I knew what had set him off. Inwardly cursing my memory, I pulled down his breeches, bared his rounded backside then repeated my solid swats. They cracked through the silent room, that distinctive smack, skin striking skin, a shocking echo when in an enclosed place. And now, as I had recalled and followed the proper order, Faramir calmed enough for me to lift his shirt, pull his breeches further down past his knees, close his legs under my right one and tuck him firmly against me, my arm pressing down over his back. And from here on we would begin anew. Our day in the woods would end, and Faramir would not be allowed to determine our heading.

I hadn't known exactly what to expect today, but I planned to keep things as normal as they had ever been when I was spanking Faramir, staying close to the familiar rituals I had established over time – start out with some strong swats to get things going, then ease off into whatever pace and strength was necessary to make certain that he could last until all matters had been resolved and he was thoroughly attended to. I knew just how much spanking both my boys could withstand. Faramir would need to tolerate quite a bit today. He would remain stretched out over my lap until this rift between us was completely mended.

I rested my hand on his sweet bottom, feeling the surprisingly soft skin quiver and a shudder course through him. Warmth surged throughout me. Perfect. I lifted my hand.

End part 9
Foster Father of the Heart to be continued