Author's note: Well, as far as Orodreth's wife is concerned, let's just say that she died in the attack on Minas Tirith. But of course both Curufin and Orodreth are bound in this story.

Intrigue

By Le Chat Noir

Chapter two

One week had passed, and the young Steward had heard nothing of the Lord Curufin. Of course the two sons of Fëanor were still pulling the strings of the Court and City to make it work their way, and every one of their manipulations never went unnoticed by Orodreth, though he was absolutely powerless to prevent it, and was reduced to merely watching and clenching his fists in passive irritation.

He just didn't hear any *more* of Curufin that he usually did. The one of the brothers to actually act was generally Celegorm anyway, so he wasn't surprised when the blonde elf was the one to raise another scandal among the still faithful to the House of Finarfin, by succeding into turning the Lord Guilin to his side. Though the actual people seemed to think absolutely nothing of it. And that usually meant that Curufin was at work in the background, putting the pieces together and handing the final result to his brother to put to use.

Actually, to think of it, the usually friendly-seeming and pointless-sounding-chatter-loving ElfLord had been noticeably silent and made very few appearances at Court. For that Orodreth was thankful, though something in his mind warned him that it probably did not mean anything good for him. It was presumably just a short respite before something else would happen… something he would not look forwards to if he knew what it was.

However, in his current state of ignorance, he could only guess with a kind of morose curiosity and await the events to befall with a gruesome fascination.

With a vengeance, he dipped his quill into the inkwell angrily, splashing a certain amount of definitely permanent black liquid on his fingers, and cursed fluently at it all.

It was hot for the season. Overbearingly hot. Paperwork had never seemed more boring. He had been simply staring at the sheet of calculations -Valar damn economy and trade- for some hours, absolutely incapable of thinking anything of it. Who *cared* about the amount of wheat and rice the Kingdom needed for one month… well, the inhabitants probably did. And he himself probably did, too. After all, one couldn't quite think of going on eating without any wheat or rice, especially that lembas itself was based off those… but why was he the one who needed to think it out…

He smirked. If Celegorm would eventually get the throne, then they would see how well *he* would do at it. Apart from the fact that Celegorm had Curufin for him, and Curufin seemed just like the kind of person who would be able to neatly and perfectly finish this kind of things in mere five minutes.

Argh.

Life was unfair.

Abandoning the patently afore-lost fight with the paper and the quill -oh, letters dancing in front of his eyes- he crossed his arms on the table and rested his head on them with a yawn. He had been getting far too little sleep lately. There was always this to tend to, that to look over, this to take care of and that to finish… Celegorm was the one to have the power, and he himself was left with the official title, understand all the official chores here…

It was never supposed to be like that. If he wanted to, he could just dismiss the two brothers with a word and never see them again -unthinkable bliss!-, until the Eastern Marches launched war on Nargothrond and caught them by total surprise and destroyed them to the last… No, wait, what was he thinking, of course Nargothrond's strength was at least twice greater than that of the March of Maedhros… but was that even true? He could not think. Not think. His eyelids felt heavy. With a sigh, he buried his face deeper into the folds of his arms. Where was Finduilas now, he wondered? Maybe with Gwindor… The young girl had never been worried about anything having to do with politics… He had seen to that… And Gwindor himself was a nice lad, it was after all not his fault if his father had been too susceptible to Curufin's sharp wits and Celegorm's assurance… He hoped they would be happy together…

Happier than he was, anyway, as happy as one could be when one lived in a kingdom where the King was gone, the Steward too young and powerless to do anything and directed like a puppet by the sly machinations of two treacherous sons of Fëanor, happy as could be when you were the daughter of the said Steward and yet too innocent to understand what happens around you, when you were a young man torn between the loyalties to your father or your wife…

Suddenly, the weariness aiding, everything that had happened to him since the onslaught of the Bragollach and the loss of his wife came crashing down like a bullet of lead.

~

There was a small rap at his door. He was not sure if it was the first one or if the person had been knocking for some time already. He felt good. Yes, sleep felt good. Even if it was sleeping with his head rested on his desk. He didn't want to move.

The tapping came again. There was something moist on his cheek. Lazily, he reached up to wipe it away. Also a kind of bitter, salty taste in his mouth. His eyes stung. With a groan, he shut them again. It was not a time to be woken up. He still wanted to sleep. He still needed sleep.

The person, whoever it was rapped on his door again, this time more insistently. Than, after two seconds of stillness, the door-handle began to turn.

Damn.

It was all a fraction of a second for him to start up from his earlier position, realise that he had been crying, that his eyes probably were still red from it, that his hair was a mess from sleeping, that there were the folds of his sleeve printed on his cheek, that his wits were completely dispersed to all four corners of his mind with no hope of him catching them again in time; and, most definitely, that he was *not* presentable for any kind of visitors that could be showing up.

A dark-haired, dark-eyed head was thrust in from the door ajar, with an inquisitive look.

No. It could not be. It just could not be that Iluvàtar was pitiless enough to allow someone to be that unlucky, even on this Arda Marred.

"Are you alright, my Lord Steward?"

Orodreth did not answer. He remarked that his mouth had been hanging slightly open, and immediately closed it, desperately racking his brain for something possible to say, or any pose he could adopt. Finally, by default, he chose to stay silent, and sat down again, completely dazed but truly unwilling to let it transpire.

He tried his best to smile. That, apparently, seemed to satisfy Curufin, who also smiled in reply and stepped in, closing the door behind him.

He was wearing only his leggings and a light tunic, and looked at Orodreth apologetically.

"I am sorry for this careless bearing. The heat does not suit me."

Orodreth's mind was currently setting itself to work again, and was working fast to register all the information. This was the Lord Curufin. He had been trying to actually *seduce* him, however stupid it all sounded, some days ago. As if by accident, he came in just as he was in an utterly defenceless state. There had been no guards at the door to announce him or anything of that sort. He just happened to be dressed like that -however actually good it looked-, although the explanation he had offered was perfectly believable.

At the end of that train of thoughts, was a big red panel marked: 'Caution'.

Orodreth stopped smiling, and took up his quill in an attempt to look busy.

"Is there something you want from me, my Lord?" he asked as casually as he could.

"Well, you could say that." The dark-haired elf stepped closer. Orodreth blinked.

"And pray, what would that be?"

Curufin moved to stand behind him.

"I think you are just playing innocent…"

Realising that it was all going to happen *again*, and severely unnerved by that fact, Orodreth put the quill down, and turned his chair halfway to face the other elf, sending him the most cynical glare he could muster.

"So suddenly I am not the little dullard child anymore, am I?"

One of Curufin's brow shot up.

"My, did I ever say you were?"

Orodreth's head commenced to hurt. Patently, the moments just after waking up were not the best of times to be having a match of wits with such an opponent, who did not even seem bothered by the fact that a good part of what he was saying was lies and pure lies.

"Now, I wonder which one of us is really playing innocent here…" the blonde elf muttered loudly enough for the other to hear.

Curufin stepped behind him once more.

"You are too tense. You also need to relax sometimes, you know."

Two hands were rested lightly on his shoulders, and began massaging there. Orodreth suppressed a groan.

"That is something I would not wish to do while you remain in the room."

"And why so? Do you consider my presence as threatening as that?"

He tried to shake the hands off, but apparently they had a much stronger grip on him than he had expected.

"Your game frustrates me, my Lord. I would be very grateful if you would leave me alone."

"Well, maybe that is not one thing I wish to accord you."

He found that the older elf's face was hovering somewhere just beside his own, at a much, much closer distance than decency would have allowed; but did his best not to acknowledge the fact. The massage did feel good. Anyway, if it didn't go any further than that… He shut his eyes, and tried to forget who was actually doing the artful rubbing.

It was still a little bit unsettling.

"We are both bound." Stupid, stupid thing to say, his brain told him.

The voice answering seemed soft and distant, though he felt the warm breath just near his ear.

"That we are."

"I still hate you." Even more idiotic.

"You do."

"You don't even care for me." That just broke the record.

"I do not."

He sighed. So Curufin was maybe not so much of liar after all… What exactly *was* happening?

Rather, what were they both trying to prove?

"Then why in Mandos are you doing this?"

Fëanor's son shrugged.

"Because I am bored. I really have nothing better to do, you know."

By the Valar. If the situation hadn't been so ridiculously serious, Orodreth would have laughed out loud. Because he couldn't, he simply resorted to the usual sense of sarcasm.

"You do consider doing this better than some other things? I am honoured."

"It can certainly count as more entertaining."

Just how could he speak with such a distracted, bored voice? It was nerve-wracking. Orodreth reached up one hand to touch his forehead.

"Aha. I appreciate your refined sense of humour, my Lord."

"I am pleased that you do."

With a grimace, he shook the hands off, and this time, they let go easily.

"Now, if you would please leave me alone in the company of this most interesting piece of paperwork…"

Certainly, most interesting… Damn once more. He had almost succeeded into forgetting about the wheat and the rice.

"I can offer help."

The offer seemed genuine. However, Orodreth was not yet too far gone as to trust anything that seemed genuine from the Lord Curufin. He settled his chair so it would face the supposed direction again.

"I do not think I need any, though I thank you for your generous offer, my Lord. I would not wish to rob you of your most precious time."

"It is not a problem."

He sighed and shook his head. Maybe it was the heat finally getting to him. What kind of a contest of lies and masks… He hated politics. Hated hated. Now it had even got him into lying the most blatant lies ever heard in his whole darn life. 'I do not think I need any help, my Lord, though I thank you for your generous offer' alright. 'Of course I need help, poor old bastard, but I would rather not have it from you.' Yes, that was more like it. Definitely.

Curufin bent over his shoulder, and threw a look at the paper.

"That makes fifteen hundreds forty-nine."

Orodreth grimaced, but noted the number down anyway.

"I could have done it myself."

"Yes, but I'm faster than you are."

"You are making montre of your talents, my Lord."

"Maybe I am."

"Do not bother. There is no one for you to impress here."

Curufin sighed, and bent down to rest both elbows on the desk, resting his chin in his hands.

"Orodreth, Orodreth, child, why did you not go away in tow with your uncle, why did you not offer yourself to assist our dear friend Finrod?"

The quill caught the paper and splattered an amount of ink all over it. Orodreth stared. It was uncanny just how innocent a blank sheet of paper could look, even with meaningless scribbling all over it, and three or four stains of black ink.

"There had to be someone to stay and see to the people."

So he was able to take that kind of a voice too. Well.

"Oh, so always the same excuse, isn't it? And you also say your kin followed my Father into Middle-Earth because you needed to see to the people?"

Orodreth felt something overtaking him. It was rage. It was hatred. It was revulsion and disgust. It was an urgent need to slap him, and not caring whether he would get pierced by a dagger the moment after. It was a lot of things, all mixed together, and it made him turn pale and jump up from his seat, pointing a vengeful finger to the other elf's nose.

"Look here, you," he spat, the spiteful words rolling off his tongue without letting him acknowledge what he was saying first. "I know I am nothing, I know you and your bastard of a brother" Curufin's careless glare suddenly hardened, but only for a moment; however long enough for Orodreth to know he had touched a weak spot. "have usurped my throne, I know you control them all and that my uncle's City sways under your words, I know you do not think of me as higher than a puddle of mud you would tread on with your booted foot, I know you have turned them all against me! I know this! But maybe you should learn that I, at least, will not be bent by your pretty words!"

He inspired deeply, slightly frightened by what he had just dared do.

Curufin had lost his good-humoured attitude. He stayed there, unmoving, staring Orodreth in the eye, with his head tilted sideways. 

"Oh. You would not?"

And Orodreth knew he had made a mistake. He had thought the older elf's voice had been soft before. Well. It was certainly even more the case now. It was like a mix between a purr and a growl, while all the while staying very, very smooth.

Thrice damn.

"No."

Curufin stood up, leaning forwards, so as to force Orodreth into retreating, slowly.

"You are sure?"

Still stepping back, Orodreth's mind worked fast. They were about the same height. About the same built. Maybe Curufin was even thinner than he was. They should be about the same strength, if it eventually came down to that. Instinctively, he reached for his own dagger, and felt the cold metal in his palm with relief.

On the other hand, the Lord Curufin was a very experienced warrior. He did not look like it, but at least rumour said he was. Orodreth had never actually seen him fighting. To think of it, he did not want to.

Better take no risks.

"I will call…"

He realised the wall was coming close up behind him. Curufin's eyelids half-fell over his pupils, giving him an almost cat-like look. Orodreth was not pleased with his current situation.

"No one will come."

Must be jest. Of course his guards would come if he called them. It was just a mean of intimidation, wasn't it?

"Do not think yourself too powerful. There still are those who stay faithful…"

"I sent them away."

What?

"You sent my guards away?" he hissed.

Curufin shrugged.

"Yes. Could not have them barging in, could I now?"

His back touched the wall. A hand was fiddling with the front clasp of his robe.

"I do not allow this…"

Wait. What exactly did he not allow? A last remainder of irony flashed through his mind. What power had he left to forbid anything now anyway?

"Are you threatening me?" The older elf asked with a look of amusement.

Curufin's lips sought his, almost playfully. In a last attempt at doing *something*, Orodreth turned his face away and drew the sharp dagger out.

"You know I could be running this through your heart this very moment…"

He felt more than saw the other elf smile.

"And yet you are not."

A pair of firm hands pinned his shoulders to the wall with unexpected strength.

~

Five minutes later, he found himself being propped onto his bed -how did they make it to his bedchambers, he wondered-, his robes and tunic somehow discarded to the other end of the room, the other elf's tongue somewhere on his neck and his fingers roaming his body in a way that should certainly not be allowed…

Then, suddenly, he felt Curufin lean back to sit on his tights, in the same motion abruptly interrupting his earlier ministrations.

"What is it?" Slightly frustrated, he opened his eyes, to find the dark-haired elf staring at him with a quizzical  expression, both eyebrows raised into elegant arches.

"Is this all?"

There was a tinge somewhere in his brain, and, a little suspicious, he propped himself onto his elbows.

"What do you mean?"

"You surrendered yourself to me? Just like that? No fighting? No ultimate resistance, or anything of that sort?"

A little smile began to curve Curufin's lips.

"I do not understand…"

A smile that he definitely did not like.

"You are too good at not understanding, Artaher son of Angaràto, Lord Steward of Nargothrond, my nephew…"

Anger suddenly flaring up, his brows furrowed, and he sat up to stare the other elf in the eye. Curufin was still fully clothed. At least as fully clothed as he had come in as.

"I am not your nephew…"

"Who would not be bent by my pretty words…"

He felt his face flush in a most embarrassing way, though at that moment he thanked Iluvàtar for the control his elven spirit held over the needs of his body, and clenched his teeth.

"Darkness-spawn…"

With a wry smile, Curufin suddenly bent forwards to deposit one light, playful kiss on his lips.

"Does seem like my pretty face works much better on you, huh?"

He had known it. Of course. He had just not known it hard enough.

"So you were just toying with me all along."

What was that bitter tone in his voice…

Curufin stood up lightly, and the next moment was sitting on the bed next to him. He handed him his tunic.

"Oh no. I would not dare do that."

Orodreth bit his lower lip, but was absolutely too ashamed with himself to be angry at the other elf anymore. Very slowly, he put his piece of clothing back on.

"You convince me."

Curufin laughed.

"You see, little elf, my brother and I are both lovers of power." A strange gleam sprang into his eyes. Thanks, thought Orodreth. I didn't know that. "Only in very different ways. My brother longs for power… pure power. He wishes to see everyone obey him at the slightest command, without a question or even a thought." A contemptuous smile curled his mouth. "That is why he wishes for the throne. You have been victim to that thirst. You know it.'"

Orodreth tasted blood, and realised he had bit his lip just a little too hard.

"However, the kind of power I like is very unlike this. If I was offered the throne, I probably would not even take it." Orodreth was shocked. And he was asking him to believe *this*? "Or maybe I would, just to see what it feels like. But I probably have a very good guess already. It would feel boring." He lifted an eyebrow. "You agree with me, don't you?"

He did not answer. Apparently, Curufin had not demanded an answer at all.

"Don't you think it would be boring to be truly all powerful? I mean, I would probably rapidly become a cold-blooded tyrant or something of that kind." He shrugged, and this time, Orodreth believed him entirely. "Or rather, I would wish with all my heart that I could just run away from that place and never return again." He issued a short laugh. "I am however unlucky to have such recognisable physical features." It was true, Orodreth guessed. He personally had never seen Fëanor himself, but nearly every older elf who had were agreed on the fact that the Spirit of Fire's fifth son looked almost exactly like him. "I prefer…" He made a vague gesture with his hand. "…you know…"

He looked at Orodreth pointedly.

No, thought the younger elf, no, I do definitely not know, and maybe I am going to wish that I never did in some minutes…

Curufin sighed.

And then he was gone.

Orodreth stared at the door.

~

Author's note: I am *not* pleased with my Muse. Not at all. The said Muse, though, seems to be ravished with present position, and refuses to budge from my head. Will consider finding a new one, and firing the said little annoying… person. Hm. Not so little, apparently.