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The cat appeared on the doorstep one morning shortly after Melkor’s unchaining, tail flicking smugly in Laurelin’s waxing light. Curufinwë walked straight past it on his way to the forge, not even sparing a glance. Tyelperinquar did not.
“Oh what a lovely kitty!” he exclaimed, kneeling immediately to let the cat sniff at his hand. The cat did no such thing, and gave his outstretched fingers the most imperiously unimpressed stare. Tyelperinquar decided to try his luck anyway, and gently stroked the top of its head.
The cat bore this with good grace. It was enormous, with long silvery fur that felt silky soft against Tyelperinquar’s fingers. He attempted to scratch beneath the cat’s chin, and it instantly melted, looking surprised at itself somehow.
“Does that feel good?” Tyelperinquar asked. “You look starving! I’ll see what’s in Uncle Turco’s pantry for hungry animals.”
The cat didn’t really look starving, it looked very well fed and cared for. But there was no collar, so Tyelperinquar felt no concerns about taking the cat inside for some treats.
-
Curufinwë wasn’t sure when his household had acquired a fluffy silver beast, but he wasn’t going to sit idly by. His son had even named it, so it was unlikely to be leaving any time soon.
“You and I,” he said, addressing the cat, “must have an arrangement.”
The cat, which was sat bold as brass on the anvil, yawned and began cleaning itself with no concern to Curufinwë’s words.
Curufinwë continued anyway. “My son likes you for reasons unknown to myself. So I will tolerate your presence so long as he continues to enjoy having you.”
The cat looked at him properly, and Curufinwë refused to be unsettled by its glowing yellow eyes.
“You’re clearly some sort of Maia-cat,” said Curufinwë, having enough experience with Huan to tell such things. “If you stay out of my way, I shall stay out of yours.”
The cat tilted its head slightly, which Curufinwë chose to interpret as agreement.
“Now,” he said, “shoo. Off the anvil!”
The cat retreated to a high shelf to observe, its feet tucked beneath it and tail twitching.
-
Tyelperinquar was less blasé about the cat being in the forge than his father seemed to be.
“Þindë!” he cried, as the cat wandered across a hot surface, and there was a smell of singed hair. “Oh no, are you alright?”
Þindë bore his concerned grabbing with no more irritation than a grumpy meow, and Tyelperinquar lifted a paw to find that the tender footpad beneath was perfectly unharmed, aside from a few blackened bits of fur. Þindë seemed more annoyed that that had happened, than anything else.
“You scared me!” admonished Tyelperinquar. Þindë looked almost surprised at this, and Tyelperinquar relented, and petted him behind his ears as he knew he liked. “Why look so surprised?” he asked, knowing that Þindë was a sort of Maia like Huan, and knew more than he let on. “Have you never had someone that didn’t want you to get hurt before?
-
‘Þindë’ (it was not his name, but he liked it well enough) had never had someone who cared about him so much before.
As a maia of Aulë, it was not so much that he was not cared about, but that his compatriots were aware of his resistance to heat, a resistance they all shared, so there was never any concern in the forge about injury.
As Melkor’s lieutenant, well. Melkor was many things but caring and nurturing was not one of them. Þindë had heard whispers even across the Sundering Sea that his master was being unchained, and he had forced his form into something unfamiliar to wing his way across to the dangerous lands of Valinor to see him.
Melkor was far from pleased that Þindë had left his post despite his protestations that he had left it running smoothly in his absence, and as punishment ordered him to infiltrate the House of Fëanáro in any way he could. Which had led to this.
He was concerned about how much he was slipping into this life. His ambitions were one thing, but a Maia’s spirit and form were one, and spending so much time as a cat was beginning to influence him. Curufinwë’s home was warm and comfortable, with a forge to loaf in, and there was a small elf with gentle hands that snuck him treats and sang songs to him and told him childish secrets.
It was a good life, and he found himself quite forgetting his initial purpose.
-
In the aftermath of the darkening, Þindë seethed. His master had forgotten him! Ridden off on some creature of the Void without even thinking to collect his loyal lieutenant!
He had clawed his way into Tyelperinquar’s pack, and sat there in a sulk. The boy had probably not intended to take him with them, but Þindë absolutely refused to be left behind in this land, and he made his feelings clear by drawing claws on anyone who tried to remove him from the bag.
In the end they sent Tyelkormo, the hunter, and his damnable Maia dog to attempt to extract him, but Þindë batted a paw lined with sharp claws at Huan’s eyes, and refused to speak even in cat-tongue to Tyelkormo until he was allowed to stay.
“Point it at the orcs,” laughed one of Tyelperinquar’s other uncles (Þindë could never get them all straight, there were just too many) as Tyelperinquar fed Þindë treats in his lap and the purloined ship rocked with Ulmo’s wrath. “Perhaps it will be an aid to us against the forces of Moringotto.”
If the arms around him were a little too tight, Þindë did not make an indication of it. Tears soaked into his fur as the boy cried for his great-grandfather, for his home left behind, and his uncertain future.
Þindë had no doubt that Tyelperinquar’s father and ocean of uncles would descend to comfort him if he let his sadness be known, but for now the child was attempting to keep his sorrow quiet.
-
Celegorm was very suspicious of Curufin’s cat, not least because Huan was suspicious of it.
Curufin himself had an interesting approach to it. He mostly pretended he didn’t have a cat.
“What cat?” Curufin said absently, when Celegorm pressed him on it.
“Curvo, we share this fortress. Tyelpë’s always carrying it around. You own a cat,” Celegorm sighed.
“No I don’t,” replied Curufin, and wandered off before Celegorm could respond.
The cat in question was found lurking in the forge, warming itself on the lid of a cauldron of molten iron.
“Alright,” said Celegorm, confident with Huan to back him up. “I know what you are.”
The cat didn’t respond, not even in cat-tongue, but animal language was mostly body-language, and its glowing yellow gaze said something like “Say it.”
Celegorm produced the very odd poster that an orc-gang had had with them, laid it on the table next to the cauldron and watched as the cat leapt over to see it. Its eyes widened as it read it.
‘Lost, One Lieutenant. Answers to the name Mairon or sometimes Thû. Last seen in Valinor in Cat Form. No Reward But Life.’
The drawing on it was clearly done by someone with painful burnt hands. The cat defecated on it.
“Wow,” said Celegorm. “Don’t want to return to your master?”
For the first time, the cat spoke, and it was in Quenya rather than the cat-tongue.
“This is a terrible likeness, and I won’t have it in my sight,” it hissed, fur standing up and back arched in rage. “And he left me! Millennia of service to be left behind!”
“Tell me why I shouldn’t let Huan eat you,” said Celegorm, gratified when Huan growled menacingly on cue behind him.
The cat didn’t look impressed. “If I was going to betray you, don’t you think I would have done it by now? My report was due centuries ago, all that would await me if I slunk back after so long would be pain. Melkor does not forgive well.” It had an almost chagrined expression as it continued, “And I like it here. There is a forge, there is food I had not thought to taste it before I was given it by-“ It cut off, but Celegorm knew exactly what it was about to say.
“Face it, you got attached to Tyelpë,” he said, relieved. Tyelpë was an adult now, but he loved the cat and neither Curufin nor Celegorm ever wanted him sad.
“Fine,” said the cat. “I became attached. Now, are you going to do anything, or will you leave me? It is time for my afternoon nap.”
“Alright,” said Celegorm, “but I’m watching you.” The cat responded by hopping down from the table and stalking off, fluffy tail held haughtily over its back like a banner.
-
Celebrimbor was cold and miserable. His uncle was nursing a cut from an orc skirmish, and the fire they had managed to build only had a small rabbit spitted over it.
As he warmed his hands on the fire, something was dropped at his feet. It was another rabbit, half dead.
“Þindë!” he cried in horror. The cat had clearly been playing with its food. The poor bunny was frozen in fear. Uncle Turco stepped in as the cat made his smug way into Celebrimbor’s lap.
“I’ll take care of that,” he said, expertly snapping the rabbit’s neck quickly, ending its pain. “Thanks, cat.”
The cat ignored him, and batted at Celebrimbor’s hand until Celebrimbor sighed and began petting him.
-
Celebrimbor stared at the tableau in front of him. Finrod stood with one arm out, while a very determined Þindë hung from it. By his teeth. Claw marks wound their way up his forearm
“Are you alright?” Celebrimbor ventured.
“This appears to be my life now,” replied Finrod dryly. “I don’t want to hurt him by shaking him off! It was my fault in the first place.”
Celebrimbor held out his arms, and Þindë immediately let go to leap up into them, getting comfortable while he smugly licked the blood from his claws.
“What did you do?” Celebrimbor asked, marvelling.
“This cat does not want to be called a ‘lovely fluffy puss-puss’,” said Finrod, “and he doesn’t want to be petted by people he doesn’t know apparently. Sorry, kitty!”
Þindë hissed back at Finrod addressing him, and Celebrimbor thought it best to quickly vacate the the room with him before any more injuries occurred.
-
Þindë had hated Lúthien on sight. Celegorm had laughed at first as the cat puffed up in sheer hatred, but became very worried about him somehow injuring her. He went looking for him in concern after he saw Lúthien with a scratch marring her arm.
“What happened?” he asked a despondent seeming Þindë, who was sprawled on Celebrimbor’s bed.
“My greatest foe has discovered my greatest weakness,” replied Þindë dramatically.
“What, that you like being scratched under your chin? That’s an easy one for anyone who’s met a cat before.”
Þindë sighed. “Leave me here to die, Melian’s daughter has vanquished me.”
Celegorm snorted. “Actually I had a question for you.”
Þindë turned his head to regard him with his yellow eyes. “Speak.”
“You know about Angband’s defences from... before. What would you say Finrod’s chances are?”
An ear twitched. “Minuscule,” said Þindë. “Without me there, they rise by approximately ten percent. If you let that witch leave, they rise by eighty seven point five percent.”
Celegorm pondered that a moment. “Thanks, good intel. But I’m still going to marry her.”
The cat sneezed in disgust. “I doubt that,” it said.
As Celegorm turned to leave, Þindë called out to him.
“Watch out for Huan, he’s looking mutinous.”
-
In the cacophony and terror of Nargothrond’s fall, Celebrimbor lost track of Þindë. He mourned him as a friend and beloved pet and confidant, but his grief was soon overshadowed by the reported deaths of his father and uncles. He never forgot his cat though, even into the Second Age.
Then, a silver haired Maia turned up at the gates of Ost-In-Edhil. He felt familiar to Celebrimbor somehow, and the look in his yellow eyes was fond.
“Call me Þindë,” he said, smiling, and Celebrimbor did not hesitate before throwing himself at him in a hug.