Disclaimer: As above.

Shy Part 2

Memory

Elrohir relaxed, choosing a spot on the ground to rest. He was surpised to see his teacher doing the same.

Elrohir turned his head to look at his puffing companion. He was lying on his back on the nearby wooden bench, limbs draped over the seat and arm rests, his pale hair splayed out around his head, and his cheeks a faint crimson. Elrohir laughed.

"I thought you were a good dancer?" he taunted. "Yet your strength fails you!"

His friend looked at him and smiled.

"It is good to hear you laugh, my kinsman," he responded. "Even if it is at my expense." He made a face of mock indignation.

"Forgive me, Uncle." But he could not stop smiling.

"Very well, I will forgive you…this time. But in restitution I will ask you to indulge me with your company for a short time longer."

Elrohir nodded and they both rested for a few minutes.

"You have made very pleasing progress over the last few lessons, my young kinsman," his uncle continued. "For someone who insisted that he could not dance, it is outstanding. You are good enough for a performance!"

Elrohir shuddered and stared at him.

"…but I will not insist that you do so," he continued with a smile. "There are plenty of dancers to entertain the citizens of Valinor. Come, sit with me a while and talk. Tell me of Middle Earth and its people. It has been long since I saw it for myself."

Elrohir pulled himself up and wrapped his cloak around him again as his body started to cool. Although it no longer distressed him at all, even to be very cold, he found warmth comforting. His companion also pulled a light cloak around him and sat up making room for him on the bench.

"What is it that you wish to know?" he asked, sifting through his more recent memories of Gondor, Minas Tirith (he expected a degree of interest in a city so named) and Rohan.

"I wish to know about the last time someone tugged your hair."

Elrohir was glad of his cloak as a chill suddenly gripped him. A memory swam to the surface but he quickly submerged it again.

"No!" his uncle exclaimed. "You must stop doing that. Memories must be faced, just like the one of the day your mother was taken. It is part of the healing. Your own soul knows this and the memory will not go away until you face it and defeat it."

Elrohir knew his uncle was right. The memory of his mother's attack was still vivid, but it did not evoke the horror it once did. After that struggle, he had slept for six hours and awoken feeling lighter and cleaner than he had in a long time. But for that experience, his brother had been with him. A shared memory could be faced with another, but he had no one to share this other one.

His uncle leaned slightly closer. "You do not have to do this alone. I will come with you."

Elrohir had not realized that this was possible.

"It is a gift of the senior Eldar," he explained. Elrohir was reminded again of whom he was dealing with. "I have some skill with it. Enough I think." He reached for Elrohir's face, cradling his jaw with both hands. Blue eyes pierced grey ones. "You must not pull away. To interrupt the process will be jarring and could cause us both injury. Are you afraid?"

"Yes."

"Then remember that these events are not happening now. It is in the past. Nothing will harm you. I will not allow it. Are you ready?"

"No."

Uncle smiled. "Let us do it anyway."

He found himself looking through much younger eyes at Caras Galadhon. He felt again the wonder and awe. It was the first time he had been to a city.

He saw his brother nearby and felt his emotions wash over him as well. His mother smiled at him – young and joyful. Then he saw Celeborn and Galadriel – Grandmother and Grandfather as he had called them in his youth. They greeted the party from Rivendell warmly. His mother spoke:

"Elladan and Elrohir are eager to learn with the Marchwardens."

Elrohir noticed a flicker of concern cross Celeborn's face. That should have warned him, but he was still young and fancied that the whole world held nothing that could or would harm him.

"That could be arranged," Celeborn nodded. "I will send Haldir to you on the morrow."

His anticipation hightened. He had long admired the Marchwardens of Lorien. So like the ledgendary Marchwardens of Doriath that he had heard so many tales of. His ancestor, Dior, would be so proud…

Elrohir gasped and tried to disconnect. How could he ever have thought this way? That his brave and honoured Uncle could see this…

Do not pull away! A voice said at his ear.

The scene had shifted. He was dressed and waiting as eagerly as a puppy for the marchwarden who would give him the opportunity to work as a scout and explore the borders of Lorien. He might even see some orcs or trolls. He looked to the direction of the voice.

"The others cannot see me, but I will be here with you," Uncle said. He was standing behind him and a little to one side, able to see everything but not stop anything.

Haldir had arrived and was looking him up and down. Elrohir found himself studying his shifting feet. He glanced at Elladan. He was looking uncomfortable, as if suddenly asked to bathe in public.

"Each patrol only accepts one new recruit at a time – to spread the burden of teaching. Elladan-" he didn't seem to be addressing Elladan, but both of them- "you will come with me. Elrohir you will join Rumil's patrol."

Separately? But they just didn't do things separately. Not ever. He began to explain, but Haldir did not seem to hear him.

"Come this way."

He left the open doorway moving so quickly that the two young recruits had to jog to keep up.

Elrohir heard his uncle speaking at his ear: "That did not seem overly kindly. Separating twins is unusual, unless it is for specific teaching, but it may be that Haldir felt he had a good reason. Those who train for this kind of service must be hard on their students. Weak or poorly trained scouts get themselves killed."

Elrohir nodded. He understood that now, but as a youth it had seemed cruel.

Rumil was obviously less than pleased to receive an addition to his company. He scowled at the youth, looking him up and down critically. Elrohir was beginning to feel that something about his person displeased these elves.

"Keep quiet, keep behind and keep up," Rumil's words felt like a slap.

Elrohir determined to do his best as he always did. He was sure that it would be more than enough…

Three days later he knew it wasn't. He wished himself back with his mother and brother at least ten times a day. His footsteps were too noisy. His tracking skills were inadequate. His eyesight was too poor for lookout duty, as was his hearing. His sense of balance was poor – he had been unsteady on the river crossing. Even his breathing was too loud. Rumil did not seem to find anything about him favourable. He glanced at the other patrol members, but their faces were turned away from him. He sat alone and munched on a corner of Lembas. Even that seemed to irritate Rumil. Elrohir settled back against the trunk of a tree but did not attempt to sleep. He would take his turn keeping watch no matter what the others thought.

Something challenged the stillness shortly after sunset. It could have been a bird or a fox. He sat up and glanced at the other guard. The elf had his chin to his chest and was breathing deeply. It was probably nothing, anyway.

Then he noticed the smell. Like month old cabbage. That was no forest animal.

He lept to his feet and prodded his nearest neighbour with his boot. The elf stirred with a scowl, until he also noticed the smell.

"Orcs," his neighbour hissed. Then listened. "At least five. A band of escapees from Moria, no doubt." He spat. "They will not see daylight."

Rumil, like the others, was already on his feet and gesturing for the others to fall in behind him. Elrohir took his appointed place at the rear. When Rumil gave the order to spread out so that they could ambush the orcs, he slipped into the shadow of a great oak, but he craned his neck. This was just what he was hoping for – his first sight of an orc. The quarter moonlight made it difficult to see clearly. His companions were little more than grey shadows. They waited as the oblivious orcs scuttled into the trap.

Just as Haldir was about to give the signal, one of the orcs paused. Then it sniffed the air. Its eyes widening in shock it screeched a warning to the others. There was no more time. The elves had lost the advantage, but they attacked savagely, shooting the first two orcs and pursuing the others as they turned to flee. Elrohir was not going to have anyone say of him afterward that he had held back…

A confusion of blurry shapes buffeted him long before he estimated that they had caught up with the orcs – or could he have misjudged it? He hesitated, trying to be sure that he was not in danger of harming his companions. A willow branch slapped his face.

And then it happened.

"Do not falter now, my dear kinsman. This is not happening now. I need you to tell me what happened next."

Pain burned his scalp, like he had just been doused in boiling water, causing him to gasp. His hair was caught on something. But this tree branch had an extraordinarily strong grip. He felt burning heat spread as part of his scalp started to bleed. He failed to keep himself from crying out.

"Silence!" hissed a voice. "Do you want to give us away completely?"

He felt a heavy blow against his lower leg. A crack that he both heard and felt. His leg buckled and he fell in a heap, biting his wrist to keep silent. Complete darkness fell.

"This is the last thing I remember," he gasped. His uncle dropped his hands from his cheeks and the connection was broken. But he remained silent.

"I woke up slung over a horse with Rumil complaining about having to carry my useless hide back to base," Elrohir continued. "When we finally got back to Caras Galadhon I think Celeborn suspected something. He questioned Rumil at some length, but either the elf kept his mind well guarded or he sincerely did not know what happened. I still don't. But I know that if an orc had been close enough to grab my hair I would certainly have smelled him. It took a while for my scalp to heal. I had to go about with a bandage on my head as well as a splint on my leg for weeks. The leg gave me no more trouble, but every time anyone other than my brother tried to touch my hair I imagined that I could still feel it stinging."

His uncle still did not speak for some time. Elrohir studied the arm of he wooden seat they were using. He hoped that whatever discipline his uncle felt appropriate would not be too severe. Elf lords did not fail at simple scouting.

Instead his uncle cupped his chin and lifted his face to meet his gaze. Elrohir was struck by the likeness to Galadriel's gestures it was. Unlce smiled, his blue eyes searching sorrowed grey ones with more undertanding than he had expected. "You are not to blame for your injuries. The shame is for all of us who are fully elven and yet know how to be cruel like the orcs. No wonder you preferred the company of the Dunedain..."

Elrohir felt a great weight lift from him.

Uncle sighed and continued, "...elves have little understanding of the needs of others. It was always our biggest weakness when dealing with other races. It took the half-elven to teach us. Praise the One for bringing you to life."

Uncle became lost in memories of his own, but Elrohir heard no more as sleep overtook him.

…to be continued…