King Thingol's Codpiece by elfscribe

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Chapter 2 - The Missing Codpiece

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“Do not dream of going, Watson, for I very much prefer having a witness if only as a check to my own memory.”
-Sherlock Holmes, in The Adventure of the Noble Bachelor

 

If Oropher had been impressed with the halls of the palace, they were as nothing compared to the throne room, whose ceiling was formed of the vast coiling roots of the beech tree they had glimpsed from the outside. The light from the many golden lamps was reflected by thousands of tiny crystals embedded in the stone pillars.  The walls were hung with immense crimson tapestries depicting scenes, such as Oromë riding his great steed Nahar, and blowing his horn as he led the elves from Cuiviénen. Sitting upon an immense throne hewn from the living rock was King Elu Thingol himself, and next to him, Queen Melian. 

Oropher tried hard to compose himself but he was in awe of the company. The Queen was surpassing fair to look upon with her waist-length hair, black as onyx, and eyes blue as a robin’s egg. She seemed to look right through him as they approached. The King’s hair was a brilliant silver, twined with strings of red gems braided into one thick plait that fell into his lap. Upon his head, he wore a sparkling diadem of many jewels. His raiment was all grey but shimmered as he moved.  The King did not appear in a wholesome mood, but rather sat slumped, resting his chin in his hand, with one foot up on his chair, looking like he had eaten something that had violently disagreed with him.  Even more astonishing, Oropher noted he appeared to be wearing a copper soup tureen strapped where his corongyll ought to be. 

The King and Queen were surrounded by a dozen courtiers, seated on chairs on the dais just below the royal thrones, including a musician with curling black hair, who was playing an enchanting cascade of notes upon a golden harp. That must be the famed Daeron.  Near the Queen sat a woman with long golden hair, identical to Finrod’s, who might be his sister.  And to her right lounged a tall handsome elf with hair as silver-white as the King’s.  That must be his grand-nephew, Celeborn.  They resembled one another, except for the expression.  Celeborn looked rather nervous. 

The wardens escorting them bowed. Limbor, who had gone on ahead, stepped up to the King and whispered something.  The King uncoiled himself from his lackadaisical posture to sit upright. 

“If I were you,” said Finrod as they approached the royal retinue, “I’d squelch the charmingly naive but sometimes thoughtless remarks.” 

Who made you my father?  Oropher thought, but wisely kept it to himself. 

Finrod strode up to the King and Queen and bowed to them, each in turn.  Next to him, Oropher went down on one knee, keeping his gaze on the finely woven wool carpet under him. 

“My Lord, I have answered your summons,” Finrod said, unexpectedly.  “What is your will?”

Oropher glanced up. Summons.  Finrod had not said he’d been summoned.

The King made an impatient gesture. The minstrel ceased playing and all conversation stopped.  “Ah, Finrod, good.  I have need of your, uh, special skills.”

“I shall endeavor to serve as always, my Lord.  But the message the rook brought was quite unspecific.  What seems to be the problem? Aside from the fact that spring is unaccountably late in your realm, orcs have penetrated Milady’s Magic Girdle, something has affected the male libido, and you are wearing a soup tureen in place of your codpiece.”

There was a deep chuckle from the golden-haired woman. “Trust my brother to come to the heart of the matter without mincing words,” she said. 

“Nice to see you too, Artanis,” Finrod said. 

“Here, I am called Galadriel.  I hope you don’t mind keeping to their custom of speech, muindor.”  She turned to the tall, silver-haired elf next to her, who took her hand and kissed it.

Finrod’s eyebrows rose.  “Are congratulations in order?”

“The family reunion and attendant news shall have to wait,” Thingol said impatiently.  “A disaster has befallen us.”

“Let me guess,” Finrod said. “You have among you a spy and saboteur, who I gather from your new bit of groin protection, has stolen the royal codpiece.”

There was a slight gasp among some members of the court.

“Enough,” Thingol intoned darkly. “These are delicate matters. We will retreat somewhere more . . . private to discuss them.”  He looked about and lowered his voice.  “The spy could be anywhere.”  The courtiers all about him blanched.

“I am at your service,” Finrod said, with a bow. 

Thingol rose with a swish of his great cloak.

Oropher stood as well, not knowing quite what to do.  “And who are you?” the King asked, noticing him for the first time.

Back down on his knees looking at the carpet.  “I’m Oropher, son of Lord Doronul of Nivrim,” he said, quavering a little.  “My father sent me to inquire what has happened to Spring, my Lord.”

“Well, you may tell your father that we are working on the problem,” Thingol replied. “Do not forget to stop by the wardens to be searched again on your way out. Now then Finrod, let us repair to my study.”

Finrod said, “My Lord, I have engaged young Oropher here as my . . . assistant. I’ll need him to attend me in order to take notes.”

Oropher stood in confusion.  “I beg pardon, Lord Finrod?”

Thingol frowned.  “Do you vouch for his loyalty and ability to keep secrets.”

“Do I?” Finrod growled at Oropher.

“Oh yes, unquestionably,” Oropher squeaked. “My Lord.” 

“I know your father, young one, and he is a worthy subject, even if he answered the last call to arms a little sluggishly,” Thingol said. “So I shall be specific. You are about to hear state secrets that you may not reveal on pain of death.  Understand?”

Oropher swallowed and nodded.

“Very well then.”

As Oropher trailed after the King, Finrod, and two servants sporting red codpieces, he wondered about this sudden development.  Why in Arda would Finrod think him useful as an assistant?  To say that he was flattered was an understatement. Not to mention that for the son of a lord of a lesser fief to be taken so quickly into the privy counsels of the King, well, it was a great honor and a surprising turn of events.  He had to control himself to keep from leaping about in glee. His father would be most impressed and might even forgive him his last dalliance with the cook’s daughter.  

They climbed a flight of stairs and entered a library with reading desks and shelves full of scrolls. Thingol led them to a smaller room off the side that had a circle of stuffed leather chairs around a hearth on which a fire burned merrily.

“Have a seat, nephew,” Thingol invited, with a sweep of his hand. He turned to the servants who had accompanied them and said, “Tea.”  They were off in a flash.  

“So, my Lord, you wish my help in finding the spy in your realm,” Finrod pronounced.

“You have divined it, Finrod,” Thingol said. 

“Well then, I have a few questions that must be answered before I can begin my investigation.”

Oropher cleared his throat.  “Sire, if I am to take notes, would it not help to have a quill and paper?”

The King looked at him as if he saw a bug.  “He is poorly equipped to serve as an assistant, Finrod.”

“Perhaps you should allow me to be the judge of his attributes,” Finrod replied mildly. 

Thingol gestured vaguely off behind his head. “Supplies may be found in the next room, in the secretaire.”

Oropher went around the corner to find a study with a writing desk strewn with papers, ledger books, and half-burned candles.  He searched around the cubbyholes and finally found a sheaf of paper, a sharpened quill, an ink pot, and sand.  He carefully brought the items back with him and spread the paper out on a low table.  In the meantime the servant had appeared with a steaming pot of tea, a bottle of liqueur, and some crumpets and blackberry jam. After decorously waiting for the King and Finrod, Oropher eagerly helped himself as it had been a long time since breakfast.  His fingers were soon inconveniently sticky with jam. Licking them off as genteelly as he could, and then surreptitiously wiping them on his tunic, he picked up the pen and loaded it with ink.  He attempted to set it to the paper to write, Notes for Lord Finrod at the top.  The ink made a splotch.  He glanced up and found Thingol regarding him with distaste over the rim of his teacup. 

“Are you sure you’ve made a good employment choice?” he asked Finrod. 

“Certain. Have I ever made an error in judgement?” Finrod replied with a smile.

“Perhaps in leaving your sister here in my household,” Thingol said.  “She does have a tongue on her, at times.”

“I suppose you’ll need to get used to it, Thingol, now that she and young Celeborn have become engaged.” 

The King looked astonished.  “How did you know?  They have not announced it as yet.”

“It was obvious. They are both wearing new, identical mithril rings and Celeborn looked singularly uncomfortable when I came into the room. I suppose you would like my blessing, since I am the senior male of my family present?”  Finrod uncorked the amber liqueur bottle and poured himself a glass of the pale pink liquid. 

The rich essence of cherry blossoms caused Oropher’s nose to twitch in appreciation.  He busily scribbled.

Thingol nodded. “You would be wise to give it. My grand nephew is a fine catch and he is quite smitten. I understand your sister took a deal of convincing.”

Finrod tapped his lip with his finger. “I believe that you are the one getting the bargain in my sister.  She has a good head on her shoulders and rarely makes rash decisions.”

“Well, she’s come around apparently and seems as pleased about it as he.  And of course Melian is quite happy for them both. She adores your sister.”

“Hmm.  I suppose I should have a long talk with Celeborn,” Finrod said, “as much for his good as for mine. And now for the matter at hand . . .”

“Yes,” Thingol sighed.  “The spy.  Well, it began when it was stolen. Stolen right out of my bedroom, mind you, and since we have had no strangers here and no one departs the magic gates of Menegroth without my leave, that indicates that the thief must be either a very clever spy or someone near and dear who had access to my chambers.”

“When it was stolen.  I presume you are referring to the codpiece.” 

“Yes, but you must realize this is not just any article of fashion. This is the Enchanted Codpiece.”

Oropher choked and a blot appeared under his quill.  Quickly, he blew on it.

“My dear Thingol,” Finrod said, “you must be more specific. I have noticed quite a few codpieces in your court.  I daresay some of them appeared quite enchantingly enormous, but . . .”

Thingol sat back in his chair.  The leather squeaked.  He cleared his throat. “Everyone, of course, knows about Melian’s Girdle that surrounds Doriath in protective magic.  What is less well known is that the Girdle is not merely a term to describe an encircling border but resides in an actual jeweled belt. Its counterpart is the royal codpiece. The two must remain within close proximity for the protective barrier to function.”

“How close?”

“Within one hundred feet. The further away they are separated, the more the enchantment around the borders dissipates, much like the rising sun burns off the morning mist.”
 
“I see,” Finrod said. “And apparently you use it in some manner to quicken Spring. Why must you do that when spring begins quite happily on its own outside Doriath?

Thingol sighed. “Melian’s magic is very strong and when she first put the Girdle in place, we discovered that it had a dampening effect on fertility for all plants and animals within the boundaries. So to stimulate nature, she had to create a counter-magic with the Codpiece. I make the Kingdom fruitful by putting it on for the spring rites.  I wear it for half the year, only taking it off after the deer complete the autumn rut.”

“Ah, then it’s a rutting codpiece,” Finrod proclaimed. 

A rutting codpiece, Oropher wrote.  A giggle began to swell within.

“So Spring does not come to Doriath . . .”

“Without my wearing the codpiece and enacting my kingly duties.”

“I should think that your kingly duties might be hampered by such a garment,” Finrod said. 

“Its magic continues within my person for a full four hours after I remove it,” Thingol said, thoughtfully stroking his chin. “Which is sufficient time. Unfortunately, after that there is a definite wilting effect.  Without it, I cannot rise to the occasion, as it were.  And neither can any member of this court.”

A wilting effect on the court’s members, Oropher wrote and the threat of mirth increased.

“So it’s sympathetic magic, is it?” said Finrod.  “No wonder I sensed a certain frustration when I came into Menegroth.”

“Well, soon it will be more than frustration of that base sort,” Thingol said.  “Without the codpiece there will be no fruits, no crops, no baby animals.  In short, we will soon run out of food and be forced to leave this region for a less magically regulated, less fortified, and therefore far more dangerous country.”

“A host of displaced elves wandering about in the wild displaying colorful codpieces might well attract unwanted attention,” Finrod agreed.

“That cannot happen! It is out of the question to leave our realm. We must retrieve the Codpiece, find the spy, and make him pay dearly. I’ve been waiting for years for Morgoth to make such a despicable move. He’s taking revenge for my trouncing him in his last assault. Perhaps I should mount a counter attack. Catch him off guard.”

“Well I should not make such a potentially costly move until we’ve exhausted all other possibilities,” Finrod said, with fingertips steepled together against his lips. “When did you notice it was missing?”

“About three fortnights ago.  I had been using it for several weeks, time enough to begin the spring rites.  Then, one evening, when I went to retrieve it, it was gone.”

 . . . three fortnights ago Codpiece disappeared, Oropher scratched.

“And then what did you do?”

“I issued orders that no one was to leave Menegroth, closed the gates, and initiated an immediate search.  We checked everywhere in the vicinity and then exhaustively went through every room throughout the caves, all one thousand of them. It had vanished completely and utterly.  Since then, anyone wishing to leave or enter the palace must undergo a thorough search of his person.”

“A most wise precaution. And are there no other routes in or out of the city? Not even a secret passage?”

“None except the front gate and the backdoor.  There are guards at both.”

No passage except the front and back door, Oropher wrote.

“I see.  So in that case the codpiece might still be within Menegroth.”

“So, we think, unless someone has managed to burrow out of here or sneak it out in some manner.”

“I did not see any of the Naugrim when we entered,” Finrod said.  “And they were plentiful enough last time I was here.”

“I suspected them at once and imprisoned them in their workshops deep underground,” Thingol growled.

“That is unlikely to endear you to them,” Finrod said.  “I have a dwarf workforce myself.  Remarkable folk, but they do carry a grudge.”

“They are well enough cared for, just restricted until such time as we solve this mystery,” Thingol replied.

“Well, we had better do so forthwith or we’ll add rioting dwarves to your troubles. The question is why would anyone steal your codpiece?” Finrod mused.

“Well, that’s easy enough.  Look at the havoc its theft has thrown my country into.” 

“Let us first eliminate other possibilities, shall we?  Let us say the culprit was one of your courtiers and the object was not the overthrow of Doriath but some other motive, what might it be?”

“To embarrass me?”

“It’s possible.  Tell me, if you wear it half the year, why is your nursery not overrun with children?  You still have just the one daughter? Correct?”

Thingol nodded.  “Of course.  In order to produce our daughter Melian had to will the magic to quicken her. Normally, her girdle deflects the magic of the codpiece away from her womb where it spills out to fertilize the rest of the land.”

“What effect would the Codpiece have if another elf were to put it on?” Finrod asked. He sipped the liqueur.

“It would enhance the procreative act.”

“It would?”

“Oh yes, stamina, drive, and even size are greatly improved.”  Thingol’s mouth twitched into a bemused smile.

Good for a hot roll in the hay, Oropher wrote.

“I see,” said Finrod.  “And you don’t think that might be sufficient incentive for someone to take it?  In fact, I’m amazed you’ve held onto it this long!”

Thingol set down his cup with a clatter. “No one in my court would dare!  Besides if anyone had been using it in that manner, the magic would be working.  We’d have spring.  Granted, not as glorious a spring as if I, a practiced wielder of the magic, were to be using it.  But some semblance of spring we would have.  There is none, not so much as a bud.  So, that cannot be the explanation.”

Abruptly, Finrod turned to Oropher. “Have you taken that all down, assistant?”  

Oropher nodded.  

“I have to ask, then, my Lord. And this may be a delicate question,” Finrod said. “Why are you wearing a soup tureen? Surely, there is another substitute that would be more, um, I mean, less . . . ”

“Odd?” Thingol growled.  He leaned forward.  “You Noldor do not understand anything, do you?  Why my niece Eärwen chose to marry one is beyond me.”

“Perhaps it is because we Noldor do not require magic to stuff our hose,” Finrod remarked. 

Oropher could not avoid making a blot this time.  He bit his lip.

Thingol’s eyes flashed. “Are you insulting me?”

“Not at all.” Finrod waved a hand languidly at him. “Please forgive my flippancy. You were explaining . . .”

“Your tongue is as well honed as your sister’s,” Thingol humphed. “If it weren’t for your investigative talents I would toss you out on your ear.  Very well. Here is the reason. I worry that Morgoth may try to attack me with some other sorcery. My senior adviser, Saeros, informed me the Belain are repulsed by copper.  Therefore, this is protection for the royal package. Um, also it was the first thing that I grabbed off the luncheon tray when we discovered my codpiece was missing.  I couldn’t very well prance about the halls waving it about now, could I?”

Oropher bit the inside of his cheek in a last ditch effort to suppress the giggle. “Um, excuse me, my Lord, I must step outside for some air, just for a moment. If you please.”

Finrod gave him a furious look that quelled the laughter. “Forgive my assistant, my Lord. He’s young and impressionable. Well then, as I see it, the next step is to examine your room.”  He leapt from his chair.  “Shall we?”

Slowly the King rose, brushing crumbs from his brocade vest.  “Yes, of course.  I knew you would be just the help we needed.”

“I’ll be along in a moment, after I’ve dried the notes,” Oropher choked out, as he sprinkled sand on the inked pages.  When he heard the door bang, he could not hold it in any longer. The laughter escaped with a loud whoosh and a cackle. Then, he whooped and howled, and held his sides. 

When he finally got himself under control, he folded his notes and stashed them in his pack.  He knew he must take this situation more seriously.  His father would give him a box on the ear and tell him he was muffing a marvelous opportunity.  Curse it, he felt his sides trembling again.  He reminded himself that this could be a dastardly plot right out of Angband and, if so, there could be a dangerous spy among them who might succeed in destroying his home. He wondered what it would be like to be cast out on the windy plain looking for roots to eat while orcs hunted them.  Not good at all.  And with that sobering thought, he quickly followed the King and his clever new Noldorin friend. 

******

Oropher caught up with Finrod, King Thingol and a half dozen servants on their way to the King’s rooms.  Finrod said under his breath, “Did you manage to contain yourself?”  Oropher nodded, feeling chastened.  He soon found himself treading through a winding torchlit passageway that lead ever deeper into the mountainside.  

Finally Thingol halted the march in front of a large set of double doors upon which was carved  an immense flowering tree. “This is the entrance to the royal suite,” Thingol said. “including my private chambers and those of the Queen.”

“I just need you to show me where you keep the royal codpiece,” Finrod said.

“Follow me,” the King replied.  They entered another long hallway with multiple doors and finally paused outside one of them.  Thingol cleared his throat.  “It is best if all of you wait outside until I open the cabinet.  No need for all secrets to be revealed. The rest of you clear off.”  He waved at the servants, who bowed and left.

The King disappeared behind the door for a few moments, then poked out his head. “You may come in now,” he said, stepping aside and flinging the door open.

What Oropher saw positively dazzled him.  The room was immense with a large fireplace on one end and a  huge canopied bed on the other.  The ceiling, soaring at least twenty feet above them, was inlaid with crystals formed like the spring constellations at dusk. The stone floor was covered with finely woven carpets patterned like small white flowers and on the walls hung   marvelous tapestries filled with stags and does and capering elves playing musical instruments under magnificent flowering trees.  When he looked more closely, Oropher could see that hidden under bushes and cavorting in the fields were couples exuberantly celebrating spring in all sorts of amorous poses. He blushed to think of Melian and her maidens weaving these things and he wondered how he might commission one to cheer his own rooms at home.  

“They are marvelous, don’t you think?” Thingol said, waving at the tapestries. “Melian is a true artist.”

Oropher nodded, dumb-struck, as he reflected that this was the very room where the King and Queen quickened the land into Spring.  The thought was, well, most inspiring.

“Mouth,” Finrod warned, coming up behind him and Oropher shut it with a snap.

Finrod went straight to the wall on the far side of the room, which was lined with ornately carved wooden cabinets about eight feet in height.  Two of the cabinet doors were flung wide revealing a  life-sized and exquisitely wrought stone sculpture of a naked elf that sported breasts and male genitalia.  It stood with one hand on its hip and the other raised pointing heavenward. About its waist was fastened the most magnificent girdle Oropher had ever seen, with a long tail that hung down to the statue’s knees. It was made of linked gold filigree medallions decorated with sapphire and diamond cabochons and white pearls and was so stunning that, for a moment, Oropher forgot to stare at the statue’s other attributes, or at the tapestries, or anything else suggesting the function of this room.

“Magnificent,” Oropher said. 

Thingol strode forward and reverently lifted the end of the chain in one hand.  “She was wearing this when I first saw her, the loveliest creature I’d ever laid eyes upon,” he said softly. “I am still captivated by her, after all these years, and I shall ever be so.  But you see here,” he gestured needlessly at the statue’s groin, “this is where the Codpiece should be housed when I am not wearing it. And it is clearly . . . missing.”

“What does it look like?” Oropher asked.

“Diamond-studded black leather,” Thingol said.  “You remember it, Finrod?”

“Yes, a sight never to be forgotten,” Finrod said. “I could hardly take my eyes from it. Well, let’s get to work, shall we?” He snapped his fingers in front of Oropher’s face.  “Assistant?”

“Oh, yes,” Oropher said, scrambling to take out his paper and quill.

“Is this the only entrance to this room?” Finrod asked. 

Thingol nodded.  Oropher made a note.

Finrod proceeded to look around the room, peering at everything from different angles, even climbing on top of some chairs, while both Oropher and Thingol watched, mystified. Finrod approached the statue, pulled a large glass from a pocket on his tunic and held it up to his eye to examine the figure, who continued smiling benignly.  He leaned closer, then carefully lifted something from one of the filigree medallions on the Girdle. It looked to be a bit of gossamer. Finrod picked it up between thumb and forefinger, then attempted to shake it off.  When it wouldn't come free, he wiped it off on the statue's bum, and then looked at the ceiling of the closet. He stood for a moment, then bent suddenly and looked at the floor of the closet, took out the glass and examined it. Then he knocked on the panel behind the statue. It sounded rather hollow. 

“No need . . . ,” Thingol called.

But Finrod had already stepped into the closet, squeezing past the statue. He ran his hands along the juncture of the two back panels, then turned and looked at the King with that amused quirk of the mouth. “Are you sure there is no other entrance to this room?” he asked and the back panel slid open revealing a shadowy hallway with cobwebs at the top of the doorframe.  Ah, the gossamer.

“Well, um,” Thingol said.

“You were saying?” Finrod replied.

“It’s a secret exit, in case of attack,” Thingol said.

“No one else knows about this?”

“Except for Melian, to my knowledge, no one who still lives here,” Thingol said, twisting a piece of his tunic nervously. “I sent the elves who delved it to Ossiriand.”

“A fitting reward,” Finrod said. “Where does it go?”

“It comes out in the rock garden in the upper halls.”
 
“Who resides near the rock garden?” Finrod asked.

“Some members of the family enjoy living closer to the surface. Across the rock garden and up the flight of stairs under the boughs of Neldor, the beech tree, Lúthien resides and so does Celeborn.  And nearby are some of my counselors, Saeros and Daeron, among others.  There are quarters too for servants.”
                                   
“And those rooms have been searched?”

“Yes, most thoroughly.  I may say it caused much friction within the family.  They all thought I was accusing them of the monstrous theft.  Both Lúthien and Celeborn, in particular, whinged dreadfully about it.  You can imagine what dinners have been like.”  Thingol sighed.

“I shall wish to see the rooms myself,” Finrod said. 

“Very well,” Thingol replied. “When do you think you’ll know the answer?”

“As soon as I have gathered enough information and formulated a reasonable conclusion,” Finrod snapped.

“Patience, my husband,” came a softly melodious voice.  Oropher turned and saw the Queen standing gracefully in the open doorway, regarding him with those blue, blue eyes. His heart made a soft fluttering somersault.   He could well see why Thingol had remained enthralled all these years.  He found himself going down on one knee, his scribbled notes lying forgotten on the floor.

“Nay, rise, young Oropher,” she said, coming over to him and putting cool fingers under his chin. For a moment she stared blankly into the distance and then she said.  “You must learn patience too, my friend, for charging into the unknown is never wise.”

“So, my father says,” Oropher stammered, completely awed.   

“You are well advised to listen to him.  Now then, husband, in your own haste to solve our problem, which is indeed pressing, but not imminent, have you forgotten how to fittingly welcome guests who have journeyed far to visit us?”

“Oh, er, no of course not, my dear,” Thingol said.  “Perhaps we can resume the investigation, nephew, when you are washed and rested?”

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Chapter End Notes

On Celeborn:  There are several canon versions of Celeborn’s history.  For the purpose of this story, I’ve chosen the one in which he is Thingol’s grand nephew, living in Doriath.