Unexpectedly turned into a cat, Kat falls into Middle-earth with the mission to prevent a death. In a feline form she can only communicate with the elf Legolas - and that he is such an attractive specimen is certainly not helpful...
A humorous (but...
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"All dwarfs are by nature dutiful, serious, literate, obedient and thoughtful people whose only minor failing is a tendency, after one drink, to rush at enemies screaming "Arrrrrrgh!" and axing their legs off at the knee."
― Terry Pratchett, Guards! Guards!
22. An Old Man, Hooded and Cloaked
Nobody moved. The only sounds were the ever-present murmur of the grass billowing in the wind, the occasional snort and stomp from the horses and clink of the men's chainmail.
Looking at the three, Kat suddenly got furious. Who was this man who dared threaten her friends? Marshal or no (whatever that was), she had had enough of him.
"Meow!" she said sternly, standing in the middle between bow, axe and sword.
Éomer's eyebrows rose in surprise, though he did not lower his sword. Then he spat on the ground as if to avert evil. "You brought the witch's cat with you?"
While Kat hissed in annoyance, Gimli yelled: "Galadriel's a fine Lady! She's not a witch! Get that into your thick head, horseboy!"
"You stay away from the cat!" growled Legolas. "If you spit near her again I shall–"
"Stop!" said Aragorn soothingly. "All of you – calm down."
Easy for you to say, who's not been insulted, Kat muttered. She rubbed herself against Legolas' leg, grateful for his support.
Indeed, he agreed. He had lowered his bow, but kept an arrow nocked.
Everyone relaxed slightly, and a lengthy exchange followed where Aragorn and Éomer made sure the other was not allied with neither Saruman, nor Mordor.
"Who are you then? Who do you serve?" asked Éomer when that was settled.
"I serve no man," Aragorn exclaimed. Always one for drama, he drew his own sword. "Elendil! I am Aragorn, son of Arathorn, called Elessar, the Elfstone. I am Dúnadan, and the heir of Isildur, son of Elendil of Gondor. I carry the sword that was broken. Will you aid me, or be my enemy? Decide fast!"
Éomer blanched visibly and his bold stance faltered. He murmured, almost to himself, about dreams and legends coming to life. Why had Aragorn come here?
Aragorn evaded the question and asked about the orcs they had been chasing. Did Éomer know anything about them? Had he seen their friends?
"The orcs are dead," said Éomer grimly.
"And our friends?" Aragorn measured with his hands to indicate the hobbits' small stature. "They would be small. Only children to your eyes."
The other shook his head sadly. "We found only orcs." He pointed at a trail of smoke in the distance – they had piled and burned the corpses there.
