King Thingol's Codpiece by elfscribe

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Chapter 3 - Clues and Cures

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“I can never resist a touch of the dramatic.”
Sherlock Holmes in The Naval Treaty

 

A short while later, Oropher found himself stretched out on a towel on the warm tile floor in a private room of the palace bath house, feeling clean and blissfully relaxed from smoking a pipe of echuilas. Finrod lay against the lip of a shallow, softly steaming pool sunk into the floor, his golden hair pinned up into a sloppy knot at the back of his head.  He had his eyes closed and was enjoying his own pipe of Oropher’s herb. The smell drifted about the room with its usual effect on Oropher’s libido.  He eyed Finrod surreptitiously, noting his broad shoulders and the strong curves of his arms and chest. Oropher’s gaze was irresistibly drawn further down into the bubbling water and he found a need to casually fold a corner of the towel over his lap. He wondered if it were possible that Finrod was interested in him? So far he had not shown any overt attraction, but he had invited him to bathe and to share a room, not to mention the whole assistant business. Suddenly, he had an unsettling thought.  “Finrod, why . . .?”

Taking the pipe from his mouth, Finrod declared, “Hush! I am thinking.”

“Thinking while smoking echuilas?” Oropher said.  “I use it for relaxation and for treating headaches, but rarely for serious thought.”

“I find it stimulating,” Finrod said. 

“Well, yes, that too.”

Finrod opened his eyes which shone like a starlit night and regarded Oropher intently. “Stimulating for the thought process, young Oropher, and for enhanced creativity. All other uses must keep to their own time and place. This is a three-pipe problem.”  He closed his eyes again.  “You are wondering why the absence of the Codpiece has failed to affect us as it has the others.”

“Um,” Oropher said.  “How did you . . .?”

“Several times today I have noticed a certain manifestation of interest on your part,” Finrod said.  “And yet, according to the King and other members of his court, we should both be feeling the wilting affect of the Codpiece’s separation from the Girdle.  Apparently, we are not.”

Oropher felt himself blush with more than the heat in the room.  So Finrod had noticed and had not responded.  Perhaps he only liked women. Although Oropher could swear he’d sensed something from the Noldo. This was quite disconcerting.  “Yes, that is what I was wondering,” he said.

Finrod looked at the pipe thoughtfully.  “How often do you smoke this?”

“About once a day,” Oropher said.  “Ada says I should cut down, but I see no need to.”

“There, I suspect you have your answer,” Finrod said. “You could experiment by trying it out on someone.” He sucked on the pipe and then, one after the other, blew three beautifully rounded smoke rings in Oropher’s direction. “And if it works you would have the means to make yourself some coin.”

“I do?”

“You have a good mind, my dear Oropher, which is just wanting some exercise. Think about it.”

Finrod leaned his head back against the edge of the pool.  Oropher watched smoke drifting upward before he suddenly figured out what Finrod meant.  “Ah, I see,” he said.  “You are suggesting that if echuilas restores desire, I could sell it as a temporary cure until such time as the Codpiece is found.”

“Got it in one,” Finrod replied.  

“I don’t have much with me,” Oropher said, reluctant to part with the last of his leaf. 

“I suggest you go to the apothecary and trade all your other herbs for what he has in his store.  Once you’ve sold what you have, you can buy more and pocket the difference, until they figure it out. You’ll have to hurry as there will be a limited time to market it.”

“Do you think you’ll solve the mystery soon, then?” Oropher said. 

“Hmmm,” Finrod thoughtfully puffed. “I require one more pipeful.  Read something back to me, Oropher, from your notes.  When exactly did Thingol say the Codpiece disappeared?”

“No need, I remember. He said, three fortnights ago.”

“Three. That is what I thought. Curious.”

Just then they were interrupted by one of the servants, who came in and bowed.  “Pardon me, good sirs,” he said. “The Lady Galadriel is most anxious to see you.  I have put her off as long as I can . . .”

“Ah, the other shoe drops,” Finrod said with satisfaction. “We won’t require the third pipe after all.”

There was a commotion outside the room.  The door opened and Oropher heard the servant protesting, “But my lady, this is not proper . . .”

“It’s been hours since the twilight bell chimed,” a woman said. “I will not be ignored any longer.  He is my older brother and I’ve seen him in all states of dress or lack thereof. His nudity is of little moment.”  She shoved by the flustered servant, came right into the room, and planting her hands on her hips, gave Finrod a scolding look.  “Findaráto Ingoldo, what are you doing hiding out in here . . . smoking and,” she looked at Oropher, “whatever else you’re doing.”

“She may stay,” Finrod said to the servant, who bowed and left. “Hello dear sister.  To answer your question, I am taking a well-earned bath after a long journey and contemplating the problem the King is having with Doriath’s lack of seasons, which requires quiet.  A concept I daresay you have some difficulty with.”

She began walking back and forth, her skirts swishing. “How can you be so flippant when there are serious matters at stake here?”

Finrod blew a smoke ring at her.   

As Oropher had noted before, Galadriel was a feminine version of Finrod, with similar strong features and the same marvelous hair resembling spun gold with silver highlights. She wore it in two plaits with a netted caul of pearls upon her head. Her dress was a beautiful two-toned sky blue, with a girdle formed of many delicate golden chains. She turned a scornful gaze upon Oropher. He grabbed a towel and covered up his chest. 

“I see you’ve picked up another pretty boy. What would Amarië have to say about that?”

“What she always said on the subject,” Finrod said mildly. “But then she could have come with us to Endórë and instead chose to stay behind and miss all the fun crossing the Helcaraxë. You and I have been over this endlessly and I fear I cannot undo what’s been done.  In any case, your assumption is invalid. Young Oropher is merely assisting me with the investigation.”

“Assisting, is that what you’re calling it now,” she sniffed.

“He is a well-known healer from Nivrim and son of a respectable lord. I would suggest my dear Artanis, or Galadriel if you prefer, that you cease insulting those who may be able to help you and explain why you conspired to steal King Thingol’s Codpiece.”

There was a stunned silence. Galadriel’s mouth flapped open in a way that was becoming familiar to Oropher.  “I can’t believe you would think that,” she spluttered.  “I would never . . .” 

Finrod’s face remained impassive. “You need not play the wounded innocent with me, Artanis.  I know you far too well and you are not one to be lecturing me about my faults.” 

She glanced at Oropher and her voice lowered. “Findaráto, please, this is not a matter for outsiders.”

“I suggest that I meet you and your co-conspirator in his room in order to discuss this further. Just be kind enough to allow us time to dress or we will cause a scandal coming to your rooms bare arsed and dripping water across his Majesty’s floors.”

Galadriel eyed Oropher doubtfully.

“And yes, he comes along,” Finrod said.

“Very well,” she replied.  “But if he so much as breathes a word, he won’t need to wear a codpiece ever again.”  She glared at Oropher with a warrior’s glint in her eye.

If Oropher had not experienced the wilting effect of the missing codpiece before, he certainly did now.

“The King made a similar threat so I think he is well aware of the peril of a loose tongue,” Finrod said.

“I will see you anon,” she replied and sailed out of the room.

“Is she serious?” Oropher asked.

“You have no idea,” Finrod replied.  “She is most formidable.”

“By the Belain, how did you know about her involvement?” Oropher asked.

“I did not know; I suspected. No doubt Celeborn knows all about his great uncle’s hidden staircase, which exits near to his rooms.  And it is always best to look for what has changed in a situation.  Something overcame my dear sister’s resistance to Celeborn’s suit.  So then it was a matter of waiting for her to come to me so I could make the accusation and watch her reaction.”

“But if they took the Codpiece, why don’t they just put it back?” Oropher asked.

“Ah, now you’re thinking,” Finrod replied, tapping his temple with the pipestem.  He set it down and then rose dripping and splendid from the bath.  “The situation is even more urgent than I’d thought.  She didn’t even give me time to smoke the third pipe.”

*********

Oropher was both pleased and somewhat embarrassed to find that the outfit laid out for him in Finrod’s rooms sported a lovely yellow codpiece, which made a stunning contrast to the black tights and short black jacket with yellow pinstripes and white chemise with ruffles at the cuffs.

“You look like a bee,” Finrod pronounced once Oropher was dressed. 

“I do?” Oropher asked, abashed.

“A particularly alluring one,” Finrod said, more gently. “I wonder if you have a sting in your tail?”   

“Surely not,” Oropher said uncomfortably.  There again was that mixed signal.  Was Finrod interested or not?  Oropher busied himself organizing the herbs in his pouch.

In the meantime, Finrod dressed in grey hose and a jacket of dark crimson velvet with a dusting of tiny stars embroidered in silver thread. His tunic, although form-fitting, modestly covered his thighs and had long sleeves, laced from wrist to elbow. He braided two long plaits at his temples and pulled them back behind his head with the jeweled clasps. The rest of his golden mane he left loose and flowing down his back. Although he looked magnificent, Oropher was secretly disappointed.

“Why do you not dress in the style of the court?” he asked.

Finrod smiled and clapped him on the back.  “This is the way I’ve always dressed and it suits me. In any case, it’s better neither to tempt or be tempted,” he said. “Shall we go see what Celeborn has to say for himself?”

*********

Finrod had no need of servants to take him to Celeborn’s rooms since Thingol had explained where they were.  From his previous visits, he seemed to know much of the twisting passages of Menegroth by heart, although he confessed he had never before entered the inner sanctum of King Thingol’s rooms. 

“How did you find that hidden door?” Oropher said, hoping he did not sound too worshipful. 

“Simple observation,” Finrod replied.  They climbed a long, winding stair which eventually led to Celeborn’s chambers.  Finrod knocked on the door.

“Oh, there you are at last,” Celeborn said when the servant presented them. “Come in, come in.”  He gestured them into a sitting room with wide-backed chairs and a nice fire.

Celeborn was nearly as handsome as Finrod, but his features were less delicately hawkish and more ruggedly chiseled. He was tall with that plaited silver-white hair, and tarn-blue eyes under low-riding dark brows.  Oropher felt intimidated to be among such beautiful and illustrious company, so he hovered discreetly in the background.

Galadriel was already seated and drinking something from a silver goblet.  She rose and embraced Finrod.

“Forgive my earlier rudeness,” she said.  “I really am quite glad to see you.”

Finrod smiled at her. “And I am always pleased to see you. I hear you are engaged. Congratulations. To you both.”

“Thank you,” Celeborn murmured.  “I shall be pleased to call you, brother, once we are wed.”

“And when might that be?” Finrod asked.

“At this point, we do not know because of the present circumstances,” Celeborn said.  “Please sit.” 

“Some wine?”  Galadriel asked.  Her face appeared tense.

“Please,” Finrod responded.  “My assistant Oropher, as well.”  He indicated Oropher, who slunk into a chair next to him while warily eying Finrod’s sister.

At a nod from Galadriel, the servant presented Fingon and Oropher with tall, silver goblets. “You may go,” Galadriel said to the servant.

Finrod took a swallow. “Very good,” he said.  “Now then.”

“Um,” Celeborn said.

Finrod leaned back in his chair. “As my dear sister knows, I detest dancing about a subject, so let’s just charge past the nervous ums and sighs and hand-wringing, shall we, and dive right in.  You borrowed the King’s magic codpiece for reasons that are best left unexplored, but no doubt had to do with my sister’s voracious appetite, don’t deny it Artanis,  and you, my dear deluded fellow, wished to impress her. And apparently it succeeded beyond your wildest dreams, Celeborn, as you are now betrothed.”

Celeborn’s eyes widened, while Galadriel’s narrowed.

“You have no idea what the effect of that thing is,” Celeborn said, shaking his head.  “I am surprised my uncle is still sane. Honestly, I really did not mean any harm. I didn’t anticipate . . .”

Galadriel laid her hand over Celeborn’s and squeezed his fingers. “You have no need to apologize, darling.  My brother has a crude way of putting things. It was a generous impulse and led to a magical, Arda-shaking encounter beyond anything . . .”

“Yes, yes, its use led to spectacular love-making,” Finrod interrupted. “The earth moved and your fëar merged and now you are mated for life. You meant no harm and no doubt you intended to return it after one try, except that the experience was so delightful that you kept it at least a fortnight. The spring flowers bloomed happily under your administration, as normal, and then all of a sudden, you ceased using it. Why?”

“It disappeared,” Celeborn said.  He got up and began pacing back and forth, dragging his hands through his hair.

“It disappeared?” Oropher said, forgetting to keep his mouth shut.

“Completely,” Celeborn said, distraught. “It vanished as if by magic, which I’m beginning to think it was. Either that or it was stolen by someone. Oh, my dear brother-to-be, this is a calamity beyond calamities.”

“What have you done to recover it?”

“We tore this room apart,” Celeborn said.  “Both Galadriel and I asked anyone living in this wing if they had visited our rooms while we were out.”

“Questioning others was made very difficult because we had to be careful about how we phrased things,” Galadriel said. “We couldn’t reveal that we knew it had been in Celeborn’s room, so we had to put our enquiry within the context of the larger search for the Corongyll. And because of the King’s desire for secrecy about the whole affair, we couldn’t reveal why the darn thing was so important.  It has greatly hampered the investigation.  Not to mention the fact that Melian has a certain prescience that put the whole problem on very shaky ground.”

“I wondered about that,” Finrod said. “She sometimes seems to have an uncanny ability to see the future, but often can’t see something right under her own nose.”

Galadriel nodded. “An astute observation. She confided to me once that a great part of her power went into the fashioning of the Girdle and Codpiece.  She is concerned about the effect of having done it because sometimes she feels ungrounded and sort of floating, and occasionally doesn’t remember people’s names or whether something happened yesterday or last month.”

Oropher thought this not so remarkable.  He often couldn’t remember what day of the week it was.

“So, you see, Findaráto, why I urged the King to consult with you?” Galadriel continued.  “Celeborn and I have done all we can to solve the mystery.  The King resisted calling on you at first.  I think this has been a terrible embarrassment but I reminded him how you solved the disappearance of his favorite groom when we first arrived at Menegroth and he agreed that you might be useful. So now you know the truth.  We are in dreadful need of both your deductive skills and your discretion. We cannot admit that we borrowed the Codpiece and then lost it.  No doubt the King would banish us both or worse.  Certainly, he would never allow the marriage.”

“I’m wondering myself whether to give my blessing to such libertines,” Finrod said, although Oropher could tell he was teasing.  “Are you certain you didn’t just misplace it while out on a walk in the forest?”

“I am sure,” Celeborn said with dignity.  “It is the most precious thing in the realm next to Melian’s Girdle.  I took great care of it.  Come, let me show you.”

They rose and Celeborn led them into his bedroom, which was less grand than his great uncle’s, but still quite sumptuously appointed.  An unusual feature of the room was that one side was formed from the living trunk of the immense beech tree.  Oropher went and put his hand on the smooth, grey bark and looked up at the peaked wooden ceiling.  

“Just as Neldor’s roots comprise the roof of the King’s throne room, my chambers are built against one of the three trunks,” Celeborn explained. “I quite like it.”

“When and where did you last see the Codpiece?” Finrod said, after a cursory glance at the tree.  

“I kept it out of sight on the bureau.” Celeborn stood on tip-toes, reached to the top of a tall and very ornate bureau, and brought down a velvet cushion, which he handed to Finrod.  “No one should have been able to see it up there.  As for when, it was two fortnights ago.  I rose in the morning, checked that it was still there, and then went out.  When I looked for it again late that afternoon, it was missing.”

“Are you sure the servants didn’t dust up there and discover it?”

“I stayed in the room with them while they cleaned,” Celeborn said.  “They did not come near it.”

“There is only the one door?  No secret entrances?” Finrod stamped on the floor, “No underground passages into the room? No one has bored into the tree?”

“None, truly,” Celeborn said.  “All is secure.”

“Who lives on the other side of the stair?”

“Lúthien,” Celeborn said.  “But she would never have taken it.  She would have no interest in such things.”

“Don’t be so sure,” Finrod replied.  “And down below, who is there?”

“Daeron and near him, Saeros,” Celeborn said.  “And the servants’ quarters.  There are a dozen of them.”        
   
“Hmm,” Finrod said.  “I will need to examine their rooms.”

At that moment, Oropher’s stomach made an embarrassing growling noise.  He found that he was feeling lightheaded from hunger, as the light repast of crumpets in the King’s library was now a long time ago and breakfast even longer ago than that. “Weren’t you expected for dinner, Lord Finrod?” he asked. 

Finrod was lost in thought, frowning down at the velvet cushion.

“We were asked to dine with the King this evening. Just family,” Galadriel said in her deep, musical voice.  She shot a warning glance at Oropher, then turned to Finrod and clutched his arm. “I know you, Findaráto. You won’t be able to resist showing off. You promise you’ll not breathe a word of any of this at dinner?”

“I promise, for as long as it is possible,” Finrod said, solemnly. “And I’ll do my best to solve this expeditiously and without giving your secret away, but I will not lie for you two.  The future of my own realm is bound up with Thingol’s good will and I won’t jeopardize it, even to protect my sister and her future husband.”

Galadriel and Celeborn looked unhappily at one another.  Oropher’s stomach growled again.

***********

Seeing that he was not invited to the private dinner, Oropher took the opportunity to follow up on Finrod’s suggestion.  He located an apothecary in the lower hall where there were quite a few vendors and traded all his medicinal herbs for a pound of echuilas.  When the apothecary asked, with an uplifted eyebrow, why he needed so much, Oropher confided that he was afflicted with a terrible and recurring pain in his groin. Echuilas was the only thing that cured it.  The man humphed but made the trade anyway. 

Oropher then stopped by another shop and traded for a large meat pie and two tankards of ale, which he rapidly consumed.  Feeling much restored and even rather merry, he procured a bright red umbrella, which he carried up to the main gallery to protect himself from the excreting birds. Twirling the umbrella jauntily over his head, he began dancing about while singing Finrod’s song as loudly as he could. 

Lately, when fancy too did roam,
Thou wert my dear, a honeycomb;
And had I been a pretty bee
How I would suck
Oh! How I would creep, creep into thee.

At first it did not go well.  No one asked the reason for his gaiety. Instead, passing elves stared at him as if he had taken leave of his senses and hurried by.  He had almost decided to quit this new enterprise when he recognized Limbor across the hall. “Ho, Limbor, are you on your way home?” he called out. “Come, my friend, I wish to share my good fortune! I have discovered a spring tonic.”

Limbor hesitated, and then came over to him. “You do indeed look to be in a remarkably good humor, young Oropher,” he growled.  “Did your audience with the King go well then?”

“Yes, but even more remarkable, I can make love again!”  This last was said in a gleeful cry of ecstasy that few in the vicinity missed.  A half dozen male elves all stopped in mid-stride.

“You can?” Limbor asked.  “How?”

“I am a healer of great renown in Nivrim,” Oropher said loudly, as the group of elves, looking quite tasty in their colorful codpieces, began to drift closer. “And in the hopes of coming up with a cure for our malady, I experimented with various concoctions until I found just the right one.  Here, I’ll share some with you.  Hold this.”  He handed Limbor the umbrella just in time for it to deflect a hurtling white missile, and pulled two pipes from his pack, which he proceeded to stuff with some leaf. A nearby lamp provided the flame. The dark-haired beauty he’d noticed earlier with the long fringed codpiece approached. 

“May I try it?” he asked. 

“Very well,” Oropher said, handing over his pipe.

The two elves were soon puffing away under the umbrella, while Oropher entertained them with more bawdy songs.  The dark-haired elf, whose name was Normegil, began singing in harmony with him. 

“I’m feeling a little something, I think,” Limbor said breathlessly. “How long will it take to work?”

“Not long,” Oropher said.  “Here, have a pinch more.”

“I can’t tell if it is doing anything,” Limbor complained. 

“Give me the pipe,” Oropher said. “Here.”  He handed both pipes to Normegil, and then seized Limbor about the waist, jerking their groins together. Rubbing shamelessly up against him, Oropher raked a long, deep, juicy kiss across the elf’s mouth.

“Mmph, mmph,” Limbor protested, arms flailing, but Oropher refused to let him go.  In fact, he was quite enjoying himself.

“Here now, how rude! This is not the place . . . ,” Normegil remonstrated, trying to pull Oropher off the warden with one hand, while holding two lit pipes in the other.  

Finally, Oropher released Limbor, who stepped back with a look of shock. “By the Belain,” he said. “It works!  Oh happy day!”

Grabbing Normegil’s hand, Oropher pressed it to his fully awakened rod that was nicely filling out his yellow codpiece. “Do you believe me now?”

A beatific smile bloomed on the elf’s face as he gently felt Oropher’s tumescence. “Oh yes, yes,” Normegil declared. “That is a fine development. A miracle!” He slapped a hand up against his own swollen codpiece.  “Do you have more of that herb?”   

They were now in the middle of a knot of a dozen intrigued elves.

“I have a limited quantity,” Oropher said.  “But I’d rather not part with any more.”

Limbor unslung a bag from his shoulder and fumbled in it. “I have gold,” he said, holding out several shiny coins. 

Oropher stroked his chin.  “I don’t know,” he said doubtfully.

“I have a ruby earring,” Normegil said, unhooking it from his lobe. “Please, if you could  sell some of that remedy, I’ll make it worth your while.”

“And I too,” cried another elf with slanted green eyes.

“Well, perhaps, in the name of good relations between Menegroth and Nivrim . . . ,” Oropher said.  The crowd pressed eagerly in around him.

**********

Wearing a new ruby earring, Oropher headed towards Finrod’s room considerably richer than when he’d left.  His already fine mood had benefited greatly when Normegil led him behind a curtain and offered a more direct exchange for an additional ration of Oropher’s magic cure. Now he intended to eat some more supper, get drunk, and see if Finrod would be sufficiently impressed with his cleverness to want to go to bed with him.  He stopped off at a vendor’s stall to get a large cheese, some bread, and two bottles of potent red wine.

When he reached the room, Finrod wasn’t there, so he stoked up the fire, took off his shoes, lay down on the bed and began to work on the getting drunk part.  He was well on his way and was amusing himself by stuffing bits of cheese into small chunks of bread, throwing them up in the air, and attempting to catch them in his mouth, when the Noldo opened the door and stalked into the room, looking most unhappy. 

“Greetings,” Oropher said.  He sat up against the pillows and preened, hoping Finrod would notice the new earring.  “How successful was your evening?”

“Dismal,” Finrod said.  “Not a clue from any of them.  Lúthien is a spoiled brat, by the way.  I see you’ve had a much better night. Think you could share that bottle with me?”

“Be my guest. I have two,” Oropher said, waving unsteadily at the bottle sitting nearly empty on the night stand. “Did you sing your song?”

“I sang several and so did Daeron.  It did not go over as well as anticipated. The King was not in a mood to enjoy light-hearted ditties and instead requested Daeron’s epic about the battle at Amon Ereb – full of smiting and slaying and heroic breast-beating. I was bored,” Finrod said.   He poured himself a cup of wine and surveyed the crumbs on the bed.  “Stars above, have you been feeding birds in here?” he asked, while sweeping the coverlet off with several quick flicks of his wrist.

“No, um, sorry. Just passing the time.”  Oropher joined the cleaning efforts and then was overcome with enthusiasm again.  “Look what I got,” he said, bouncing off the bed and grabbing his pack.  He returned and dumped a glittering pile of coins and jewelry of various sorts onto the bed. 

“Ah, well done,” Finrod said. “Clever lad! Never underestimate the need for carnal gratification, eh?”

Oropher positively beamed at the approval.  He was feeling a certain need for some carnal gratification himself. 

“Did you sell all your stock?” Finrod asked.

“No, I kept some back for personal use,” Oropher said. “Would you like some?”

“Please,” Finrod said.  “This is a . . .”

“I know, a three-pipe problem.  That’s about what I have.  I’ll have to go buy some more tomorrow at the apothecary.   Don’t you like the earring?”  Oropher pinged it with his finger.

“I do.”  Finrod actually smiled. “You must have met up with that elf with the unusual fringe on his codpiece.  I noticed he was wearing that earring yesterday.”

“That’s the one.  He had a most talented mouth,” Oropher said.  He watched for Finrod’s reaction and getting none, put his loot back in his pack and took out the pipes and the pouch of remaining echuilas.

“Hmm, did he sing for you, then?” Finrod asked in all seriousness, although Oropher thought he detected a quirk at the corner of his mouth.

“In a manner of speaking,” Oropher replied, handing him the pipe.  He reflected that for someone as keen at observation as Finrod, he was clearly not getting the signals Oropher was throwing at him. What did Finrod want from him?  Was he only interested in Oropher’s echuilas? But why make him his assistant and share a room with him, a room with only one large bed, if he had no other motives?  It was most peculiar.  And Galadriel had said, I see you’ve picked up another pretty boy. 'Another' meant there had been others.  Didn’t it?   But so far, there had been no overt flirtation or expression of interest on Finrod’s part. The question was how far could Oropher go to entice him without risking insult or rejection?   

“I am going to get more comfortable,” Oropher said, unhooking the front of his jacket.  “Do you mind?”

Finrod made a non-committal gesture and sat down in a chair near the fire.   

“Something I’ve been wondering,” Oropher said. “How did you know that Celeborn and Galadriel had the Codpiece for a fortnight.”  He took off the jacket and then pulled his ruffled shirt over his head so that he was only wearing the leggings with their colorful decoration.

Finrod stood and grabbed a stick from the pile of kindling in a basket near the fire.  He stuck it in the fire and then used it to light the pipe.  “That one was easy.  Three sources, one was Fangorn.  Remember he said that his wife was complaining about a lack of wood for a lunar cycle, two fortnights.  The second was the King and the third you, yourself.”

“Me?” Oropher said.  “Oh yes, I told you that spring had begun and then stopped about two fortnights ago, didn’t I?”

“Good lad, well observed,” Finrod said beaming.  He handed Oropher the lit twig and paused to stare at Oropher’s bared chest.  “Won’t you be cold like that?”

“It is warm enough in here, I reckon,” Oropher said.  He gave Finrod what others had often termed his dazzling smile.

Finrod actually blushed. He looked at the floor, then sat back in the chair. “I dislike distractions when I’m working on a problem, young Oropher,” he said.  “Now then, if you don’t mind I’ll go over what happened this evening.”

“Go on,” Oropher said, heartily disappointed.  He flopped down on the bed, lying on his stomach.

“It was a busy night.  After dinner, I visited the other quarters near Celeborn’s rooms, and had discussions with several of the servants, who seemed most irritated at being questioned yet again. Then I spoke with the guards who had searched the entire palace.  Now it is possible in such a large space for someone to have moved ahead of the guards, changing the location of the Codpiece.  But it would have to be someone with inside knowledge of their pattern, which they told me was systematic, but random in appearance. And of course, if someone had tried to smuggle it out of either of the main gates, it would have been discovered in that rather thorough inspection.  So that leaves an unknown exit. 

“As for the most likely suspects, those close to the King, none of my comments elicited any suspicious reaction at dinner tonight. Daeron is clearly infatuated with Lúthien.  He couldn’t take his eyes off her all through dinner, but she did not so much as blink at him.  I daresay, if he showed up at her door wearing a diamond-studded codpiece, it would only have sent her screaming into the night. A fact I’m sure he knows. Too bad, because he is lovely and very talented, but there’s no accounting for taste.”  He paused. “This is a real puzzle.” 

“Perhaps the culprit is hiding it in plain sight,” Oropher said. 

“What do you mean?”

“Well, if I had a codpiece I wanted to hide, I’d hide it under my normal one.  No one would know.”

“Ah, now there’s a thought,” Finrod said with satisfaction. “But we can hardly line up all the male elves in Menegroth to check.  Can you see yourself feeling up the entire population, Oropher?”

Oropher opened his mouth to say no, and then shut it again. Perhaps he could at that.   

Finrod laughed. “You seem tempted to try it, but I imagine that we’d just get our noses bloodied.” He shifted in the chair. “No, I doubt that anyone here has it. Only a limited number of people could have taken it from Celeborn’s room, and all them know by now that the King is desperately searching for it, even if they don’t know the reason why. I can’t imagine that someone still has it and has either failed to use it or failed to return it to the King.  I have a distinct feeling it’s not here anymore. But how did someone smuggle it out of Menegroth?”  He closed his eyes and blew out another smoke ring.

Resting his chin in his hands, Oropher watched Finrod, who seemed off in his own world.   He wished he could solve the problem for him, as he was finding he liked him very much indeed. He rolled over onto his back, stared at their low ceiling full of little stalactites and sighed. “Finrod,” he said, “would you fancy a walk under the stars?”

“It would not be practical to try to leave at this time of night. Why?”

Oropher rolled back over. “I think it would be nice.  It feels rather close and suffocating inside the caves. I don’t think I could live in here all the time like these elves. I’d miss the wind and the sunlight and the stars.  I expect that’s why Celeborn had a window constructed in his roof.”

Finrod’s eyes flew open. He sat up and stared at Oropher with those fiercely intent eyes.  “There’s a window in his roof?”

“Oh yeah. Didn’t you see it?   Of course it was hard to see, it being night and all and located so high up there. I only noticed because I saw a few pinpricks of starlight through it and I thought he had fake stars in his ceiling like King Thingol, but then I noticed the glint of lamplight on glass.” 

“Ha!  That’s it,” Finrod cried. He bounded over, caught Oropher’s face between his hands and kissed his forehead.  “You are a genius!  I knew you’d prove useful. Now, in the morning, we’ll need to get ourselves a ladder and go pay Celeborn a visit.”

Oropher was positively tingling from the praise.  The kiss was nice too, although he would have preferred it lower down.  But he had doubts. “As I recall, the tree was immense and the trunks straight and smooth for a long way above the ground before it branched.  I don’t see how anyone could have climbed up to that window from the outside.”

“In the morning we shall go investigate and see what we shall see,” Finrod said.  Pleased, he leaned back in his chair with the pipe tilted upward at a jaunty angle.

“You really like solving riddles like this, don’t you?” Oropher said. 

Finrod looked at him.  “It’s my passion in life.”

“Don’t you have any other passions?”  Oropher wiggled his bottom, hopefully.

“Yes, I am passionate about many things, including my kin, however wrong I think some of their actions have been, and for my adopted country,” Finrod said.  He winked at Oropher, “but occasionally I indulge a few others.”   He tapped the pipe out on the fireplace, set it down, and stretched. “Well, then time for sleep, so we can get an early start.  Can you make sure to sweep out the remaining crumbs?  I dislike prickles in bed.”

“Oh, sure,” said Oropher, hastening to do it.  Then, he crawled under the covers.  Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Finrod remove his clothing, all but for his grey hose that sported a nice bulge that Oropher thought would be fun to investigate.  Finrod stood for a moment, bare-chested, warming his backside at the fire.  Oropher licked his lips.  Then Finrod went to his saddle bags, wrested a white linen sleep shirt from them, slipped it on, blew out the lamps, and climbed into the bed, which creaked and moaned briefly while he got settled.  He turned his back to Oropher.  A deep quiet settled over the room only broken by the occasional crack and pop of the fire.

Oropher was completely at a loss.  Sleeping in a bed with a fully able partner who seemed disinterested was an unprecedented turn of events for him.  “Finrod,” he finally ventured. 

“Huh?”

“Don’t you like me, even a little bit?” he asked, rather plaintively.

The bed shifted as Finrod turned back over.  “Yes, I like you rather a lot,” he said.  “Or you wouldn’t be here.  Trust me, I’m not overly charitable and do not suffer fools.” 

“Then why . . .”

Finrod chuckled.  “I’ve been burned in the past by stretching my hand to a flame.  Just leave it at that, will you?  So then, if my guess is correct, we’ll solve this mystery tomorrow and your fame and fortune will be secured in the King’s eyes.  Is that not enough?”

No, it wasn’t.  Oropher merely sighed. 

“You remind me of myself when I was young,” Finrod said. “Full of life, living in the moment. I found out the hard way that actions have consequences.  So, I learned to use my head, not my heart. You must do the same or you may come to grief.”

“But I enjoy living in the moment,” Oropher said.

“Sleep now.”

Finrod turned back over and soon Oropher heard his breathing deepen.  Surreptitiously, he moved over, closer and then closer still, until he was curled up against Finrod’s warm back.  He sighed again and the fatigue of the long day took him.

---

Chapter End Notes

Normegil - hard sword in Sindarin