Namir met Legolas a few more times over the next hundred years. Each meeting with almost a year between them, not that made much difference to the elf and Skin-changer. Years to a human was more like months to them. Elves and their immortality and Skin changers aged so slowly that their lives had been compared to that of the immortal elves, rather than of the humans they appeared to be when not in animal form. So to them it was little more than months until they met again. Each meeting under the full moon with Namir as a panther and Legolas breaking away from his guard squad to follow the signs he had left in the trees. Claw marks, paw prints. Namir waiting at the end to greet Legolas with a gentle headbut to the legs. 

Sometimes Legolas brought dried fish or, as he found out once when Namir had poked his head into the bag where the elf carried his food, pieces of cheese. The panther would reward him with enthusiastic purring. The elf never spoke much during these moments. 'Radag' and 'Miog', being the two words he used to greet Namir, but occasionally he would sigh out sentences in elvish. Namir doing nothing but sitting there and listening despite his lack of understanding. (Beorn didn't speak elvish and Gandalf never visited enough to teach him). But as their meetings grew to frequent for them to be simple coincidences, Namir began to feel the weight of guilt in his stomach. 

He had never entered the forest of Mirkwood in human form. As a panther his instincts were in control and he was stronger. The woods held a strong fog that confused the minds of travellers, all apart from the elves that lived within the trees. Some part of him was concerned that if he entered the forest as a man, it too would drag him under it's thrall. That was also an excuse to justify the fact that he didn't want to see the elf with human eyes. They barely knew each other but Namir had spied on the blonde when he was with the rest of his soldiers. There was a stiffness to his shoulders and a weight on his head that he did not see when the elf was giving him ear scratches. So maybe he was selfish to want to keep their simple meetings as they were. 

Beorn knew about them after the third time. He had taken one deep sniff as Namir entered the cottage the morning after and frowned. "Elf?" he asked with one massive eyebrow raised. Namir shrugged and snatched up a piece of bacon from the fire and leapt up into the low hanging rafters in one smooth movement. He reclined on the wood in a fashion not unlike how he would sprawl across the branches in Mirkwood. 

"Yeah. He gives me pets and fish". His tone was deliberately nonchalant. 

Beorn grunted at the significantly younger skin-changer in disapproval. Namir wondered if it was for stealing the bacon, or for the thing with Legolas. "The elves of Mirkwood are not like their cousins. They are greedier, more prone to the sins of men and their king values drink as much as a swindler values coin. You should not trust them". The bear man stoked the fire as Namir swung his legs from the beam. 

"According to you, I should not trust anyone other than you and Gandalf", he huffed. "Father, I cannot stay here forever. I want to roam"- 

"Cats are free creatures. You have said many times before. Just because you don't hibernate or need a den like a bear does not mean that you need to travel middle earth. There is evil out there and beyond our borders roam orc packs on there wargs. Men who would slaughter you for your fur. Dwarves and elves who will turn blind eyes as you are shackled for game". His voice turned into a deep growl and he glared up at Namir with fierce eyes. "You are still too young". 

"I am almost three thousand years old!" Namir cried, sitting up and barring his teeth. Other than his cat eyes and the slight points to his ears, the unnatural sharpness of his canines were the only things that spoke of his race. Unlike Beorn, who was covered in more hair than any other human. Namir's lack of stupid amounts of body hair, other than the mane of black hanging over his shoulders, were one of the traits that they guess came from his father. His biological father unknown but Beorn and Gandalf guessed that he had been either man or an elf. Not that it mattered, Namir took after his mother in every other way. 

"And I am almost seven", Beorn replied coldly. "When you are over three thousand then we can talk". 

Namir sulked and swatted at one of the fat bumblebees that was flying lazily past his head. He snarled at it and the poor creature buzzed off. Beorn sighed with all the exhaustion of a parent. "Stop attacking the poor bees. Remember last time". Namir scowled and settled into a comfortable position on the rafters to sulk. He reasoned that it could have been worse. He would be turning three thousand in thirty years anyway. 

He sighed and stared out at the morning sun through the small window set near the roof. The sky was suspiciously dark. Black clouds churning over the sky, suspicious for there was no scent of approaching storm. The black was rising up over the hills and he froze, nose twitching. He sat up in a sudden movement and leapt down from the rafter, bare feet hitting the floor with a soft sound. Beorn turned as he threw open the door and took off running out of their little garden and into the open plains. "Namir?" He called after him. 

"There is smoke from Dale!"

Beorn dropped what he was doing and ran out to join him. Namir was standing and looking out over the distant shadow that was the Mirkwood and the black smoke that was rising above it. For a while, the two of them stared out and watched as the smoke continued to paint the sky black. "What do you think happened?" Namir asked, eyes wide. He had never seen so much smoke before. It spoke of untold devastation. 

Bern's face was grim. "I don't know". 

unedited

felling pretty inspired so I'm trying to get out as many chapters before I loose it. which is basically my update schedule for everyone of my books.