Chapter Text
“Dear Eru,” the girl began, the light of the flickering candle illuminating her face, “Amme just got me a new pet, just like I asked her, and she got me a guinea pig! I know you already know that ‘cause you know everything and you know what the Song’s like and you already know what I’m gonna name him, but I was thinking ‘Cheesecake’. Atya made a really tasty cheesecake for his Amme’s birthday, with strawberries on it, and my guinea pig has orange on top of his head, and Amme calls it red, but it's really orange–” Taryn paused. She knew Eru wouldn’t mind her ramblings, after all, he loved all his creations, but she needed to get to the point, even if he already knew what it was. The light from the Trees had stopped a little while ago, but Taryn made sure to keep up with her prayers.
“But what I wanted to say was that I was hoping you have Cheesecake live as long as I do. Amme told me that guinea pigs don’t live a really long time like we do, but I already love him so much! And he’s just so tiny, and I want him to live a full life, the best life any guinea pig could ever have, so I was hoping that you would make Cheesecake immortal. I know it’s unlikely that you will, but he just means so much to me!” Taryn peeked away from her window from where she was kneeling, praying, and looked to the newly dubbed Cheesecake, fast asleep in his little bed of hay.
“Well, Eru, night-night. And I wanna thank you for making this day so good, and thanks for Cheesecake, and Amme, and Atya, and everybody else.” Taryn moved away from her window, the candlelight casting shadows over her bookcase and the little necklace stand her Uncle Falthos had given her for her 78th begetting day. Taryn felt her eyes droop and she climbed into bed, dreaming of a soft light and a guinea pig-sized chain shirt that she had no name for. After all, this was the West, and why would any of the Quendi need armor?
— — —
Cheesecake was awoken by a sudden crash. He squealed, and Taryn, his new friend—cheesecake loved Taryn! She was so nice, and she had asked Eru Illuvatar for something for him, but Cheesecake didn’t know what it was, and Cheesecake really loved Taryn, like a lot, and his brain was so tiny that the idea of him loving Taryn was the only thing it could fathom—woke up, looking around blearily.
“Cheesecake?” she mumbled. “What’sa matter?”
The door burst open, and Taryn’s mother, who Cheesecake knew only by Amme, rushed inside in her nightrobe, her golden hair still tucked in her night hat. She aggressively tore clothes out of Taryn’s closet, shoving them in a bag.
“Amme, what are you doing?” Taryn shouted, jumping out of bed and grabbing her mother’s arm.
“Pack your things, Taryn, quickly! There’s a fire along the coast, by the ships. We need to leave, now,” Amme said, her voice stern, yet scared. Cheesecake didn’t think he’d ever heard anybody so terrified. But this was Alqualonde, and the beaches were strewn with pearls and Olwe reined, and all was well. So why was Amme so scared?
As Amme left, she was muttering about someone named Melkor, and the fools of Finwe.
Taryn, still confused, slipped on her slippers and finished the packing her mother had started. Gingerly, she pulled Cheesecake out of his container and he squirmed; Cheesecake didn’t like not having something under his feet.
“Calm down, Cheesecake,” Taryn soothed, petting his head. “We’re just going for a walk, that’s all.”
When Cheesecake had just arrived, not even 24 hours ago, he had quite liked that Taryn’s house was right on the docks. But being on the docks made it difficult to get away from the fire, which was what Amme said.
But soon, after Amme had found Atya and he had packed—a few possessions, like his Amme’s golden necklace—they left the house. But soon, their hurried walk became a run, and Taryn slipped in something. Cheesecake smelled iron in the air, and heard screams and shouting; pleas, begging, tears. Cheesecake knew what death was—there was another guinea pig with him at the store, named Ethil, and he had died about a month ago. But it seemed that the elves on the docks had little idea of what that meant.
For Cheescake, death meant total darkness and then song, the Song, and he would be with Eru again, who would love him even more than Taryn and feed him so many apples he would burst. But for the elves, Cheesecake knew they had little knowledge of it. He knew they could die, but not like Cheesecake or his brethren. They didn’t die after a few years; no, they lived, and they lived, and they lived, and they lived.
But when Cheesecake saw the dark red on the wood of the docks, and Taryn’s clean, unblemished hand falling in it, he knew there was death. He looked up at her, still sitting in her free hand, and squeaked.
“A- Amme?” Taryn called, tears in her eyes. Cheesecake squeaked again, trying to comfort her.
“It’s alright, Cheesecake, I just scratched my hand,” Taryn said, and Cheesecake could hear the lie through her teeth.
Amme returned, gruffly grabbing Taryn by the elbow and hauling her up. “Quickly!” she yelled, “Run!” She held a fire poker in her hand.
Taryn ran, and she kept running until she reached Atya, who grabbed her in a hug when he saw her. “Don’t fall behind, mel, keep up. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
Taryn nodded and Atya spared a little pat on Cheesecake’s head and he squeaked, happy for the attention.
But eventually, Atya’s lantern dimmed and flickered out, and they were left in darkness. The light about was the stars and the fire in the distance. Finally, Atya found a palm tree nestled in a patch of soil and sand and said, “Come, let’s sit. We will wait for Amme.”
But they waited, and waited, and waited, but Amme did not return. Cheesecake remembered Amme’s poker, brandished towards something behind them. Amme was dead. Cheesecake knew it.
Cheesecake snuggled into Taryn’s chest, looking up at her pleadingly. Taryn sighed, somewhat tearily. “Atya?” she asked. “What if… what if Amme doesn’t come back?”
Atya was appalled. “Taryn! Don’t talk like that! Your Amme is the bravest woman I know, and I know she’ll come back. If she doesn’t, well, I’ll… I’ll…”
“Swear off cookies for a whole month!” Taryn decided adamantly.
“That’s what I’ll do!” Atya agreed heartily. He wrapped his arm around Taryn and Cheesecake, planting a kiss on Taryn’s head. He pointed up at the stars and said, “Look there, mel. Do you know who made the stars?”
“Varda," Taryn answered, relishing her father’s presence. She was uncertain if Amme was going to return and the thought scared her.
“Yes, our Lady Varda. She is married to Lord Manwe, the lord over Arda, and I believe that she is the fairest of the Valar.” He paused. “Well, after your Amme, of course.”
Taryn giggled, and Atya continued pointing out various stars and constellations; Cheesecake fell asleep, and so too did Taryn.
— — —
The ground was rocking. Cheesecake did not remember the ground rocking when he fell asleep. And he heard crying; great, heaving sobs from somewhere nearby.
Then, he heard a dull clatter, like something metal hitting the floor.
“Why, why, why?” Cheesecake heard a voice say, stuttered and shaken by sobs. “Why would he do it? I told him, Haru told him, but he just wouldn’t listen!”
Cheesecake, overwhelmed by a sense of pity for this weeping boy, squeaked. The boy jumped, grabbed whatever it was on the floor he had dropped, and pointed it in Cheesecake’s direction. “W- who’s there?” he asked, voice trembling. He wiped his nose with the back of his hand, still sniffling.
Cheesecake squeaked again and the boy put down his object, realizing that the threat was nonexistent.
“Are you… a guinea pig?” the boy asked, and Cheesecake squeaked again, this time in affirmation.
The boy came forward and picked him up; his hands were calloused and he had a burn scar on his left wrist. Taryn’s hands were soft, Cheesecake noted at the comparison.
“Hello. I'm Telperinquar, but my uncles all call me Tyelpe. What’s your name?”
Cheesecake squeaked. Tyelpë hmmed. “I’m going to take you to my Uncle Tyelko. He’ll probably know what you’re saying.”
Leaving his little room on the ship, Telperinquar made his way to the deck of the ship, where his Uncle Tyelko was shouting orders. He looked strange without the light of trees around him, or without his friend Oromë, Teplerinquar had to admit.
“Uncle Tyelko?” Telperinquar asked, tugging at Tyelkormo’s sleeve.
Tyelkormo turned around and his scowled softened at the sight of his nephew. “Hello, Tyelpë! What brings you up here?”
“I found this guinea pig, and I need to know his name,” Tyelpë explained, holding out Cheesecake to his uncle.
Tyelkormo took Cheesecake and Cheesecake squeaked, Hello. Where am I?
Tyelkormo squeaked back, You are on a ship, heading east. What is your name?
My friend Taryn calls me Cheesecake.
Tyelkormo smiled, and Cheesecake squeaked, Do you know where she is? Taryn?
Tyelkormo frowned and shook his head. I am sorry, my friend, but I do not know anyone by the name of Taryn. But you can stay with Tyelpë for now. He certainly needs a friend, right now.
Cheesecake squeaked again, this time with proud acceptance of his new task. And a valiant friend I shall be!
Tyelkormo handed Cheesecake back to Tyelpë and said, “His name is Cheesecake. He’s looking for his previous master, someone named Taryn, but I think she might be from Alqualondë. He must have wandered aboard during the chaos.”
Tyelpë stopped for a moment, and Cheesecake bonked into Tyelpë's chest with his head. Cheesecake looked up at his new friend with loving eyes and Tyelpë sighed, his crazed thoughts slithering away. “Thanks, Uncle Tyelko. I’ll leave you to it.”
Tyelkormo waved them goodbye and Cheesecake was brought back to the dark room with Tyelperinquar, who held him and petted his head until he fell asleep.
— — —
Tyelpë was crying again, but this time, someone was holding him. The ner had dark hair and glowing eyes, just like Tyelpë, and was holding him as he wept. The ner’s eyes shone with tears as well, but he did cry.
“Your Uncle Maitimo is to take the thrown, now that Fëanor has died,” the ner said, trying his best to sound stable but Cheesecake could hear the waver in his voice from a whole ocean away.
“Why did we even come here, Atto?” Tyelpë asked, holding onto his father for dear life.
Curufinwë began to wonder the exact same question. Why would all of this be worth it if his father and grandfather were dead, and his son was weeping?
— — —
“Uncle Makalaurë is regent,” Tyelpë said glumly to Cheesecake, pointing to a letter. Tyelpë had started to teach Cheesecake letters so that Cheesecake could spell out words for him so they could communicate better.
Cheesecake pointed out the letters for good and a question mark. Tyelpë shook his head. “Uncle Maitimo went missing, Cheesecake. The soldiers he took with him are dead, and there’s no sign of him. He was captured by Melkor.”
Cheesecake spelled out help?
Tyelpë sighed and looked to Cheesecake hopefully. “I hope, Cheesecake, I hope.”
— — —
Cheesecake sat on Makalaurë’s makeshift desk, gnawing on a stubby carrot; in these wretched times in Beleriand, it was a lovely snack.
Makalaurë was working on a ledger—or was it an inventory paper?—when Celebrimbor dropped Cheesecake on his desk, telling Makalaurë that Curufin had called him to do some task or another. Makalaurë, ever lenient with small beings, gave Cheesecake a carrot and continued working. Cheesecake, given his limited mental capacity as a guinea pig, did not notice that Makalaurë was in distress. He knew what Taryn’s Ammë looked like in distress, but that was because he saw her often; Cheesecake saw Makalaurë infrequently.
Makalaurë sighed deeply and leaned back in his chair; his eyes were red-rimmed and had dark circles under them. His voice was hoarse and scratchy, and whether it was from misuse or exhaustion, Cheesecake could not tell.
“Cheesecake,” Makalaurë said, almost as if he were contemplating the name instead of calling for its owner. Cheesecake looked up from his carrot. “You need a Quenya name, Cheesecake.”
If Cheesecake could shrug, he would have done so; however, it is difficult for guinea pigs to shrug with their skeletal and muscular structures.
“Hmm,” Makalaurë pondered, and even that simple syllable had a musical tone. “How about ‘small, wise warrior’? You haven’t been in any battles, of course, but you seem brave nonetheless.”
And so, Cheesecake of the Blessed Land was dubbed Incë Saira Ohtatimearo ; small, wise warrior.
From that day forward, Makalaurë took great pleasure in giving Cheesecake many other names. Cheesecake hoped he enjoyed it; anything to draw the regent away from his mind-destroying tasks.
— — —
Thirty years. When Cheesecake saw the bedraggled, dark-haired ner stomp up the throne where the exhausted Makalaurë sat, he pitied him. The ner was thinner than a toothpick and looked like he had been through Mandos’s Halls and back. And he looked angry.
Uncle Makalaurë, in his seat of despair and sadness, leaned forward at the sudden appearance of the ner.
“Makalaurë, where is your father?” the ner demanded, and Cheesecake knew that this person had to be Ñolofinwë, the (half-)uncle that Tyelpë had spoken of.
Tyelpë and Cheesecake were sitting on the floor in a far corner of the room, having a conversation over the different types of cheeses. Carnistir, who stood by Makalaurë’s side, answered, “He is dead.”
Ñolofinwë almost stumbled at the notion. “What do you mean, dead?”
Makalaurë stood abruptly, the thin circlet over his head askew. “Dead, Uncle! Dead! Killed by balrogs! Burst into flame! What part don’t you understand?”
Ñolofinwë was shocked by his nephew’s wording. Makalaurë had always been one to twist and dance around his language, saying something but never agreeing to anything. But his bluntness shocked Ñolofinwë. From his corner, Cheesecake could hear Ñolofinwë whisper in a mournful tone, “Dead? Fëanáro? Dead?”
“And what of Maitimo?” Findekáno appeared behind his father, worried. Maitimo was his best friend after all, and it should have been him who was on the throne, not Makalaurë.
Makalaurë slumped onto his throne, slouching in utter resignation and exhaustion. “I don’t know.”
“What do you mean–”
Makalaurë slammed his fist into the throne and shouted, “Damn it, Findekáno, I don’t know! Went to treat with Melkor and now he’s missing, the damned fool!”
Makalaurë suddenly stood and Carnistir realized that his brother was about to make a fool of himself because he tried to usher him elsewhere.
“That damned oath!” Makalaurëshouted, at nothing and at everything. “Those accursed gems! If not for them we wouldn’t be here!”
Ñolofinwë’s voice cut through his nephew’s like butter. “Makalaurë. Calm yourself. Prepare for us a place to meet and we will talk.”
Findekáno and the rest of his siblings wandered off, all except for Turukáno and his daughter, Itarillë.
“Itarillë looks different,” Tyelpë noted. “Look at her feet.”
Indeed, Itarillë’s feet seemed to be made from silver.
Silver, Cheesecake spelled, and Tyelpë nodded. “I wonder why?”
But then, Itarillë went toward them, in their little corner of solitude, and her father followed her, asking her to stop.
When she stopped in front of them, she looked angry, more angry than any person Cheesecake had ever seen. Tyelpë stood, ready to face her. “Itarillë–”
Itarillë threw a mean punch; after that day, Cheesecake had no doubt about it. Tyelpë even stumbled backward at her attack.
“Ow!” he said, aghast. “What was that for?”
“My feet! ” Itarillë shouted, lifting her tattered cloak to reveal her silver feet. They were crude and unpolished, but functional.
Tyelpë leaned down, examining the craftsmanship. “Fascinating. You must have–”
“Not fascinating, Tyelpe! It hurts!” Itarillë screamed, shoving him.
Cheesecake cringed when Tyelpë said, “Why?”
“Because they had to be cut off! I fell in the water, Tyelpë!” Itarillë screamed, shoving him again. Her eyes shone with tears and Cheesecake had a thought that more had been lost than just Itarillë's feet.
“What do you–?”
“The Helcaraxë, Tyelpë! We crossed it,” Itarillë explained, her shining eyes even brighter with rage.
Finally, Tyelpë knew what she meant. “Itarillë–”
Itarillë crossed her arms and turned away from him. “Don’t apologize. I don’t want to hear it, I don’t want to hear anything from you.”
“Then I won’t. But you can hold onto Cheesecake for a while,” Tyelpë said, bending down and picking up Cheesecake from his perch on the floor. “He can point to letters to speak.”
Itarillë was drawn from her anger to stare at Cheesecake, the literate guinea pig. “Really?”
“We were just talking about cheese when you came in.”
“Cheese?” Itarillë raised a brow. “Of all things, you were talking about cheese?”
Tyelpë shrugged. “It’s a fascinating subject. But I have a new project that I’m going to be working on, so you can hold onto him for me in the meantime.”
It seemed that Itarillë did not expect such kindness after her onslaught of repressed, thirty-year-old rage. “Really? Why?”
“Well, I’m going to be in the forge, and he likes a lot of attention, and he needs a friend other than me,” Tyelpë explained, shrugging.
Then, just as Itarillë was about to leave with her father, a ner burst into the throne room, shouting, “Findekáno! He’s gone!”
— — —
The day that Nelyafinwë Maitimo Russandol returned to his people started off strange for Cheesecake. First, Itarillë, who was thinking about going by Idril now that she was learning about the other language of the East, gave Cheesecake a grape. Of course, Cheesecake ate it happily, delighted to have a snack.
Then, Tyelpeë arrived, carrying a box. Turukáno almost sent him away, demanding to know why the son of Curufinwë wanted to see his daughter. Even Irissë was drawn by the commotion.
“I- I have a gift,” Tyelpë finally said, holding out the box.
Idril went to him and took the box, not deigning to speak to him.
Inside were two silver, prosthetic feet, engraved with beautiful swirls and designs and more than one healing spell. Itarillë was speechless, and so was Turukáno.
“Well, you said I couldn’t say sorry, so I wanted… to… you know, try to make up for it,” Tyelpë said. “I know nothing ever will, but I’m so–”
Idril lightly put the box on her bed and ran to hug her cousin. Tyelpë was surprised at the sudden affection but returned the hug happily. “I’m sorry about everything.”
Idril pulled away. “I don’t forgive you, or your Atto, or his Atto, but I might after a while.”
Cheesecake watched as Irissë drifted towards the new pair of feet, and picked one up, examining it closer. “Well that’s pretty nice, Tyelpë!” She said. Irissë might have been more of a hunter than a crafter, but she could still appreciate art. “Where’d you get the silver?”
Tyelpë rubbed his neck. “I had a few bracelets I’d brought with me–”
“Tyelpë!” Finally, Turukáno spoke up. If there was one thing he hated, it was ruining good jewelry. “Did you melt down your bracelets? From Tirion?”
Tyelpë shrugged. “They’re being put to a better use now.”
Then, there was a great squawk and Irissë ran out of room, looking to the sky. Idril grabbed Cheesecake and then looked around the camp, trying to find the commotion.
Then, a huge eagle landed right beside their tent, two familiar figure upon it’s back.
“Help!” Findekáno cried, struggling to pull the red-haired wraith from the eagle. A bloody rag was tied around Maitimo’s arm, and Cheesecake had an idea as to why; he might have been a guinea pig, but he could still deduct information from basic context clues.
“Get a healer!” Turukáno ordered, and finally, people ran into action. “Nelyafinwë is hurt!”
— — —
When Cheesecake finally got a good look at Nelyafinwë Maitimo Russandol, the ner looked horrible. He was littered with scars, old and new, and his right shoulder was fixed in a stiff brace. His right hand was completely gone. His hair was shorn and looked as if it had been done with a jagged, rusted blade.
Curufinwë entered the tent, with Tyelpë behind him holding Cheesecake. Curufinwë knocked on the tent post and said, “Brother? Tyelpë wants to show you something.”
Tyelpë stepped forward and Nelyafinwë opened his eyes. Cheesecake had heard Curufinwë tell Tyelpë that Nelyafinwē did not want to be called “Maitimo” anymore. Maitimo practically meant beautiful, and Cheesecake supposed that Nelyafinwë did not think he was still fair. Cheesecake thought he looked rather nice, in a roguish sort of way.
“Uncle Nelyo?” Tyelpë asked, stepping forward, almost hiding Cheesecake in his hands.
“Hello, Tyelpë," Nelyafinwë answered. His voice was jagged and rough, and Cheesecake had wondered how it had gone from soft and pleading to beg his father not to burn the boats to sharp and crooked in only thirty years.
“I wanted to show you something,” Tyelpë said and opened his hands to reveal Cheesecake. Tyelpë had not shown Nelyafinwë Cheesecake since they had landed, so to Nelyafinwë, Cheesecake was an entirely foreign entity.
Nelyafinwë raised a brow. “Where did you find him?”
“On one of the boats. His name is Cheesecake.”
Finally, Nelyafinwë cracked a smile. “May I hold him?”
Tyelpë handed his uncle the little red-topped guinea pig and Nelyafinwë held Cheesecake with a trembling hand. Cheesecake squeaked at him, as was his greeting.
“I’m thinking about making him some armor,” Tyelpë said animatedly. “Probably something made of chains. He’s really small, so it would be easier that way.”
“He will be a mighty warrior,” Nelyafinwë declared, holding Cheesecake high in the air with his one, shaking hand. “Cheesecake the Honorable.”
“And I taught him to read, too,” Tyelpë said, still excited to share with his uncle his findings. “He’ll point to letters to spell things out, and that’s how we talk.”
“Your Cheesecake has many interesting qualities,” Nelyafinwë said, returning Cheesecake to his friend. Cheesecake was glad; with how hard the nér’s hand was shaking, Cheesecake was scared that he would fall at any minute.
Tyelpë shifted on his feet, suddenly nervous. “Uncle, I wanted to ask you something. But it’s going to come with a story, first.”
“Alright then,” Nelyafinwë said, “but I would like to hold Cheesecake while you do.”
This time, Cheesecake sat in Nelyafinwë's lap, and enjoyed like pats to his head from time to time.
“Well, you know how Ñolofinwë crossed the ice? Well, Idril, or Itarillë, she wants to be called Idril now, had to have her feet amputated. So I made her these new feet–”
“They’re gorgeous, Nelyo,” Curufinwë said from the back of the tent. “Not even I could have gotten so detailed.”
Nelyafinwë raised a brow and he turned to Cheesecake. “Is this true, my friend?”
Cheesecake squeaked and nodded. Apparently, Nelyafinwë had not expected an answer, but he was content with it nonetheless.
“The point is," Tyelpë said, “is that I want to make you a hand. You can tell me if you don’t want one, of course, but whenever I make a gift, I usually let Cheesecake stay with whoever I’m giving it to until I finish.”
“Hmm,” Nelyafinwë pondered. “Alright. But what does a guinea pig even eat?”
— — —
Tyelpë was up late again; Cheesecake could tell. A little candle was flickering by the window and the occasional sound of a click or tink could be heard. Cheesecake, now learning how to open his cage by himself, padded outside onto the table and tried his best to make a safe way to Tyelpë’s side at the other end of the room.
Himlad was cold; it was not as cold as Himring—thank Eru—but it was still brisk. Tyelpë was an adult now, working alongside his father in the forges to create new weapons and anything else he could get his hands on. Cheesecake usually watched from the edge of the forge, entranced by the rapturous dance of fire and will. Tyelpë, unlike his father, preferred to create peaceful things; the tight springs of a clock, small chains that would make the most gifted jewelry-maker weep, and the finest rings that Cheesecake had ever seen. Cheesecake had not seen many rings in his strangely long lifetime, but he knew that Tyelpë’s were the best.
Cheesecake scrambled up onto Tyelpë’s table, trying to see what he was doing. Tyelpë noticed, and with a fondly exasperated smile, he helped Cheesecake up.
“Shouldn’t you be sleeping, Incë? ”
Cheesecake pointed to the words on a sheet of paper nailed to Tyelpë's desk. So should you.
Tyelpë sighed, clearly discontent. “But I have an idea, Cheesecake, and I don’t know to put it into place.”
Tell.
Tyelpë sighed, resting his chin in his hand and gazing wistfully out the window. “Since I’ve known you, you have grown exponentially in intelligence, strength, and livelihood. The average guinea pig lives about five to seven years, but you have surpassed nearly fifty! Almost ten times your expected lifespan! And since you began to read and spell, you have only gained a more advanced vocabulary! Your progress is astonishing, but I cannot help but imagine as to why or how. How is your mental capacity increasing further than that of a generic guinea pig? What spurred this result? Why were you even able to be able to form conscious thought in the first place? And if you can form knowledgeable thoughts and ideas, who’s to say that other animals can’t? Does that mean that we are eradicating beings who–”
Cheesecake jumped on the desk, drawing Tyelpë from his thoughts. Cheesecake spelled out on the paper, I was blessed by Illúvatar.
Tyelpë looked confused. “What?”
Cheesecake sighed inwardly. My first owner prayed for my immortality, for me to live as long as her. Should she die, I would be soon to follow.
“How did you come to that conclusion?” Tyelpë wondered, tapping his fingers on his desk.
Taryn prayed the night before I lost her.
“‘Lost her’ as in she died, because if so, that would make very little sense–”
As in I don’t know where she is.
“Ah.” Tyelpë nodded. “I see.”
Cheesecake lay down on the desk in silence for a moment before Tyelpë sighed and said, “Cheesecake, we need to get you a better mode of communication. Spelling things out takes too long.”
Go to bed, Cheesecake spelled, and Tyelpë sighed, picking up his friend and putting him back in his enclosure.