The reinforcements arrived on the third day and even Namir, watching in cat form from the edge of the cliff knew that there wasn't as much as they had hoped. The soldiers from Rohan setting up their tents for the night as the sun set. Tomorrow they would ride out to defend Gondor and it was unlikely that they would return. Mordor's army was far greater in number than they were, even with all the aid they had mustered.

His cat eyes watched the flickering of fires begin to be lit down in the town of tents below the mountain path. The sky was clear that night and the sunset was a deep blood red mixed with oranges and purples as the night crept in. Red sky at night, the promise of fair weather the next day. But the bloody colour did nothing for the moral of the men. He could practically smell it on the air. Weak hope, fear, anxiety, grief. It was a desolate scent.

Annoyed by the miseries of men, he stood up and changed, human form lengthening as bones cracked. In a second he was pulling his trousers back on and padding barefoot across the grass. His long hair half tamed by a braid Legolas had tied, but the waves didn't always stay contained for long. On his chest, the triangle Legolas had cut the night before was now a red scar. It would linger for the rest of his life and he was grateful for it. Only if the bond was ever broken would it fade and the bond could only be broken by death or if both people agreed to it.

He was disrupted from his thoughts by Merry appearing from a tent to his left. The hobbit was dressed in old armour and was carrying a short sword, swinging it enthusiastically. Eowyn stepped out behind him, a smile on her face. "To the smithy with you", she shooed. Merry sheathed the sword and looked up.

"Hi Namir", he greeted upon spotting the skin-changer lurking in the rapidly falling gloom. "Look, I'm a proper knight now".

"I see", Namir grinned. "But Eowyn is right. That blade needs to be sharper to cut, like claws". He held out a hand and unsheathed the claws from the tips of his fingers. They were still stained dark by the foul magic of Saruman but the blackness that had painted his hands was almost gone now. The hobbit beamed at him, visibly excited by the prospect of his own sharp blade, before running off.

"You shouldn't encourage him", Eomer grunted to his sister as the hobbit disappeared. The rider of Rohan was sat on a stool by the fire, a bowl of stew in his hands. Looking at the food made Namir hungry. He wondered if Gimli was cooking something.

"You should not doubt him", Eowyn's smile fell. In the moonlight, her hair looked almost as white as Legolas'. Namir wondered on how a human could have that colour. He wasn't the most well versed in humans after all. Much less so than of Elves, Dwarves and Hobbits.

"I do not doubt his heart, only the reach of his arm". The man next to Eomer laughed at the comment.

"Why should Merry be left behind? He has as much cause to go to war as you. Why can he not fight for those he loves?" Eowyn snapped.

"I don't understand", Namir spoke up as he stepped closer to the fire. Eomer and his companion both startled, having forgotten that the cat was there. Only Eowyn didn't flinch, meeting the glowing eyes as the light flickered. "Why do men restrict themselves like this?"

"What do you mean?" Eomer straightened in his seat, still visibly wary of the cat despite having seen the skin-changer quite often in the past week. He wasn't hostile, but he was cautious. Namir had thought that the blonde man witnessing him and Legolas making out drunkenly at the feast had eased that, but it appeared not fully.

Slipping into a crouch by the fire, he shrugged. "Humans. You confuse me. You are physically the weakest race, the ones with the shortest lives too. Yet you are so quick to ignore others and put them into boxes. You don't trust a halfling with a sword, you don't trust the skin-changer without one. Your women don't fight and you place yourselves in classes based on things like gold. I don't understand it".

"Gold is how you barter and women don't fight because it is not their place", the soldier next to Eomer grunted, visibly not pleased by Namir's words.

"There is no skill in bartering with gold. Gold does not feed hungry mouths in famine, nor does it warm beds in snowstorms. If you cannot spend the gold, what is it good for?" Namir plucked a piece of grass and twisted it in his fingers. "Also, a woman has as much place on a battlefield than any man. She bears children, she carries them and brings them into the world. If a woman can bleed regularly and produce a life then why can't she protect that life? You half an army by not giving women swords. In the battle of five armies, the women survivors of lake town, the elderly and the young all took up arms against the orcs to protect their own and their futures. They had been left homeless by dragon fire and yet they didn't cower and wait while their men and children got slaughtered, they did what mothers do. They fought for their children".

Eowyn and Eomer were staring at him in the firelight. Her with a shine of shock and warmth in her eyes and him with confusion and surprise. "Do the women of your race fight?" Eowyn asked hopefully.

Namir had twisted the blade of grass into a ruined shrivel. "There are no one of my race left, save me and my father. But they used to. In our history, women were just as great warriors as men. It is because my mother was clever and strong that I am alive today. She hid my siblings and me when the people of our race rose up and orcs began their massacre. I survived, my siblings and my mother were not so lucky". He rose to his feet and the firelight glinted off the scars around his neck. "I never did thank you", he nodded at Eomer. "For helping Legolas rescue me and allowing me to recover in your lands. I owe your family a debt".

"It was not intentional, my part in your rescue. But I accept your thanks", the blonde man nodded back. Namir smiled, sharp teeth in the firelight and eyes glowing gold, and then he was padding away between the tents in search of his friends and food. Their stares on his back as he went.

Legolas and Gimli were by their fire towards the mountain path away from the edge where Namir had been watching people. The dwarf was grumbling over the remains of some soup while the elf nibbled on some lembas. Namir greeted them slipping out of the dark with a quietness of a cat. "For Durin's sake!" the dwarf complained loudly when the sight of the man made him jump. "I should stick a bell on you".

"You're welcome to try", Namir hissed playfully as Legolas laughed. The elf's collar was half unbuttoned that evening and he could see the scarred bite mark on the junction of his neck. The sight of it pleased the beast in his chest and he buried his face there with a purr. The blonde chuckling as Namir rubbed his nose across the scarred skin in greeting before pulling back.

"Miog", the elf greeted. "What mischief have you been up to?"

"Who? Mischief?" Namir grinned. "Me?" Just before he stuck his finger in the pot of soup to taste it as Gimli let out angry huffs. The cat dodging a wooden spoon as he stuck the finger in his mouth and leaned into the elf's side. Above them, the last rays of sunlight slipped from the sky.

unedited

Namir is my wild child.