Namir's room, cell, was cold. The walls were bare stone and the floor was dirty with streaked mud. The cot was nothing much more than wooden frame covered in threadbare blankets that never did enough to block out the chill. It was a chill that seemed to seep into his very bones and weigh on his limbs. In the summer, the sun barely touched the it and in the winter the chill was drowning. He guessed that it had something to do with the magic of the place. A darkness that had been growing over the years. When he had first arrived, twenty years ago now, the dark shadow of the place had been lurking subtly but now it was suffocating. It drained him.

 Through the window, the soft light of spring fought to enter. The window was small and the gloom of the room stifled any light that made it through. Namir watched the tiny blue patch of sky outside as the beginning of spring sun tried to turn some warmth over the last vestiges of winter. He was half curled on his cot, blankets wound round his legs and hair tanged over his pillow. It was long now. A black tangled mane of waves that reached his waist. Occasionally he was allowed access to a bath and comb when his filthy form became too much. But that was occasionally, less than every few weeks. The trousers that covered his legs were once white but now they were a grubby, black streaked grey. His feet and hands were black and no amount of washing had removed whatever stained them. Blackness stained the skin round his neck too, where the metal of a heavy iron collar rested. That he was sure was due to the dark magic seeping into his skin. It seemed to emanate from the very floor and the cover his hands right up to his wrists, feet up to his calves. So very dark compared to his pale skin. 

A loud clang shook the wooden door as something hit it from the other side. Namir blinked slowly before shifting his feet off the bed and standing. The floor was as cold as ever but he had stopped shivering at the sensation years ago. Even as he lost weight and his skin paled under the lack of sunlight. Another change to his hands, other than the black stained skin, was the claws. He had never had claws in his human form before but now they poked from his skin, just as pitch unnatural black as his skin. They were sharp too, the scars from him clawing at his collar were a testament to that. He scratched another tally mark into the wall alongside the hundreds of others that covered the stone. It was only then that he turned to the door and opened it. 

The creature waiting for him was large and ghastly. Bigger than a orc but just as ugly. The urkhai sniffed and snarled at him. Namir rolled his eyes at the greeting. "Change", the monster snapped in a growling horse voice. Namir didn't bother fighting the order, he had learnt no to years ago, and simply stepped out of his trousers before falling forwards as the skin shifted. The panther landed on his paws and his tail flicked. The urk grunted and the cat padded away, the collar ruffling the fur around his neck. He was a thin slip of a thing, fur bedraggled and dusty. Namir wished that he could bathe more but the collar didn't allow for him to leave the tower. It was enchanted to keep him imprisoned. It was the only reason why he wasn't locked in his cell just as he had been when he had first arrived. He half wished to be chained up again rather than have this magical trap stain his skin with it's foul magic, even if that meant never leaving the room again. 

Voices, distant but echoing made him pause. The corridor's of tower were dark but sound bounced along the stone easily. Namir stopped in the empty corridor and listened. There was the now familiar voice of his captor, the white wizard's arrogant tone something he recognised with feelings of hatred and fear. But there was a second voice that surprised him. It was faint but it sounded familiar. He began walking again, paws silent as he made his way through the maze like corridors towards the room he dreaded the most. The room where the dark magic condensed and where Saruman spent most of his time. The planthir room. 

The voices grew louder as he approached and he sped up, rounding round the open doorway to stop at the entrance. The cat came to a halt in the open doorway at the sight before him. Saruman was seated in his throne at the head of the room. White robes on black stone. The very sight of him made Namir freeze but there was a second figure there too. Gandalf was standing next to the stand were the planthir was placed in the centre of the room. He was just as Namir remembered. Long grey robes and smelling of smoke and pipe weed. For a second there was hope and joy in his chest at seeing a friendly face but it faded as he heard what was passing between the town wizards. "They've reached the shire?" 

Saruman paid Namir no attention, keeping his eyes on Gandalf. "They have reached the shire and will kill the one who carries it". Namir didn't know what they were talking about but he could see from the way that Gandalf's face paled that it was not good. 

"Frodo", the name was a panicked breath and Gandalf turned towards the door. His eyes fell on where Namir was sitting, lighting up in horrified recognition. "Namir", he gasped as he took in the panther and the collar around his neck. Namir watched as his gaze narrowed in anger. Gandalf whirled back to Saruman. "Stop this foolishness". 

He stepped closer to Namir in concern, only to jump as the all the doors to the room clanged shut. The panther was forced to shuffled backwards least he be trapped but the doors. Then the room was cut off with a dreadful finality and he was left waiting outside. Unable to see what was going on inside but knowing with a desolate resignation that it was not good.

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