Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction, and written only for entertainment purposes. The characters belong to their respective creators: J.R.R. Tolkien, his estate, and possibly New Line Cinema; and Paramount Pictures and their writers.

Author's notes: Thanks so much for the reviews!

Warnings: Please note that I am moving the rating of this story up to a T, for an allusion to an adult situation and the use of a word that could be considered offensive, although there is nothing extremely explicit. There is also a major spoiler for the Enterprise episode "Harbinger."

Chapter 11: On the Doorstep

T'Pol sat stiffly against the tree, her back rigidly straight. As Trip approached her he noticed her hands shaking, a slight tremor she quickly concealed, clasping them around her wrists. He sat down next to her.

"How are you doing?" He could not help noticing that she didn't look well, and it worried him. Dark circles under her eyes and random nervous twitches of her shoulders showed that she was only pretending to be unaffected by whatever was bothering her. He had assumed that the Ring would have no effect on a Vulcan; now he wondered if she reacted in spite of her race and upbringing or if it was related to the strange emotional tendencies she'd been showing lately. Phlox had yet to tell him why she had been acting so out of character, but Trip had caught her in Sick Bay often enough to suspect something.

"I am fine, Commander." Her voice quavered slightly; were he anyone else, he might not have detected it, but they had spent many hours together both at work and during his neuropressure sessions. Not to mention that he had been spending a lot of time noticing her lately.

"Right," he nodded. "Sure you are. I just imagined seeing you go after Frodo."

She didn't respond, but continued to stare ahead, watching the others intently. Hoshi and the two hobbits sat in a semi-circle, where she appeared to be explaining something to them in great detail. Archer rested against another tree not far from Trip and T'Pol, his injured knee propped up on a rock, occasionally casting fleeting glances at the Damandras and the entrance to their mountain.

T'Pol was so obviously not fine that he decided to tackle a different issue, rather than addressing the Ring question. Even if she refused or ignored him, as she always had before, at least he would amuse her -- if Vulcans could be amused. "Look, will you stop calling me Commander? I'm not in uniform right now, if you hadn't noticed. And neither are you. Hell, we're living in the past. Starfleet doesn't exist," he continued as he saw her start to open her mouth. "Even World War III hasn't happened yet. Besides, I think people who've – who've -- " Looking around cautiously, he lowered his voice. "People who've shared what we have get to call each other by their first name, or a nickname. Some people even use endearments. So you could try calling me Trip now. Just so you know."

"Do you refer to people who have engaged in intercourse together?" She made no effort to speak more quietly than usual.

He tried to convince himself he was too old to blush about the topic, but wasn't actually certain he succeeded. "Uh, yeah." He hoped the chance to irk him was making her feel better, because Archer, sitting closest to them, had just turned and cast a curious look at him.

"I informed you that was an exploration. An educational experience."

"Yeah, you did. Still," he rallied, "That doesn't mean that you shouldn't call me Trip. Even if it was… educational, we still shared…something. And it is normal that people who feel comfortable enough together to…do that…should be comfortable enough to use first names. Or nicknames." He turned to face her. "Or do I make you feel uncomfortable?"

She appraised him coolly. "Certainly you do not make me feel uncomfortable."

"Than you should call me Trip."

She pursed her lips. "Very well – Trip."

"There!" He beamed at her with her most encouraging smile. "That wasn't so hard, was it?"

She gave him her you-are-being-so-childish look and he leaned his back against the tree again, pleased with himself. He hoped he looked smug, but it felt like his face might still be red from her earlier comment. He settled against the broad trunk of the tree behind him. The ridges along the bark poked him in the back.

"Now, about your attacking Frodo – "

T'Pol's hands, clutching her wrists as her arms rested on her knees, jerked slightly.

"About that," he repeated, staring ahead, but hardly noticing much else around them as he pretended to ignore her reaction. "Now, I don't know why you would do such a thing, but I can imagine. I think I – "

"We could use it to return to the Enterprise," she said softly.

"What?"

"If I took the Ring I could use its properties to overwhelm the Damandras and return us to the Enterprise," she explained, still not looking at him. "Once we were on the ship, whoever has control of It would easily live long enough to destroy the Xindi, and have the power to do so."

"Yeah, It told me I could destroy the Xindi, too," he said, as quietly as she had. "I guess we've got that in common. But what would It do to you? From what Frodo's said, I don't think holding on to It that long would be a very good idea. And what about Frodo? You can't take the Ring from him without hurting him."

"The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few," she responded, her tone unchanged, but with an undercurrent of steel that made him shiver. He knew she was still considering the Ring's promises. He still remembered them himself, from time to time, until his hand sought borrowed comfort in his jacket pocket.

With a start, he realized that she was not simply watching the others move about the area; her eyes were following Frodo. "No, T'Pol, I think you're wrong there. At least in this case. Here, I have something you might like to see." Reaching into his pocket, he held up the small glass bottle that was Frodo's light. It glittered in the fading daylight.

"The Phial of Galadriel?" She frowned, watching the bottle as it glittered slightly under his hand. Probably she was wondering why he would ask her to do something so illogical. It wasn't that dark yet. "I have seen it previously. Frodo said it was given to him to be a light in dark places."

"You're exactly right, that's what he said," Trip agreed, thinking that the words could just as well describe the Ring's influence as a physical darkness. "Just touch it," he suggested, holding it out to her. "I think you'll find it an enlightening experience." He grinned as T'Pol raised an eyebrow at his pun. "Maybe it'll even be a learning one. Go on. I promise it doesn't bite."

"I do not understand why you think it might do so. It is a light, Commander." She looked at it cautiously.

"Trip," he reminded her.

"Trip," she repeated, tentatively reaching out to touch the top of the Phial, just above his hand.

Watching her face closely, Trip waited, watching with relief the moment the Phial brought its light to bear on the Ring's promises. She was a Vulcan, so naturally there was no sudden emotional outburst, merely the relaxation of a few tension lines about her mouth and forehead as her eyes flickered shut. The Phial's light sparkled between their hands.

"You are correct," she said at last, astounding him. He laughed in relief. Never had he expected to hear her say those words to him. "The Ring will corrupt any use to Its own ends. It can serve no good purpose."

"And It belongs to Frodo," added Trip, hoping she might admit he was right again.

She cast him a significant look. "It belongs to Sauron."

He nodded, conceding the point.

The Damandras came for them at night, bearing bowl-shaped lanterns that gave off a warm, amber light. It glistened as it glanced off the tips of their spears. Archer's watch told him it was 1900 hours, but to his body it felt much later, not least his sore knee. Admittedly he probably should not have walked for several hours on it, not that there had seemed much choice at the time. A small contingent of aliens made their way from the entrance doors into the mountain, headed by a Damandras guard whose uniform bore many tassels of various colors. He was clearly someone of importance. As the officer stopped in front of Archer his honor guard fell into what seemed to be a battle-ready stance, their gold-tipped spears gripped firmly in hand.

The grass behind Archer rustled, and Trip and T'Pol joined him. To his right Hoshi and the hobbits were making their way across the clearing.

"Her Majesty the Exalted Queen of the Damandras desires to meet you," came the thought in his head as the guard commander stared at him. "And so meet her you shall. But you are strangers to our world, and metal-friendly, so I must be certain you are worthy to present yourselves to her." This voice in his mind was quieter than those who had spoken to them earlier, and Archer noted that his head did not ache so much as before. The alien medicine they had been given seemed to still be working.

"Tell them we would be honored to meet her," Archer said to T'Pol. She nodded and apparently relayed the message, for the Damandras stepped forward with a gesture of his hand.

He stood in front of Archer, looking him up and down carefully. At one point the large alien shuddered. Eventually he rendered his decision. "You are worthy," came the answer at last. "Little metal do you have left on you to insult our Exalted Queen. You may enter the City."

Archer bowed his head in what he hoped was a respectful manner and following the Damandras's pointing fingers, joined the honor guard. They watched him warily, but made no threatening gestures.

One by one, the Damandras commander examined the members of their group, shuddering slightly as he presumably noticed metal. Trip, T'Pol and Sam passed his inspection, but he hesitated as he reached Frodo.

"He wears a shirt of metal!" The Damandras announced, looking around at Archer, as if this was his fault. The honor guard snapped into formation, raising their weapons, and Sam looked frightened. Archer, however, could see not see how the Damandras had come to his conclusion. Frodo wore, as seemed to be his preference, the hobbit clothes he had on when he and Sam were first found on Enterprise, although they had been cleaned and mended since then. The elder hobbit had never seemed comfortable in the attire Phlox had given them. Yet his shirt clearly was not made of metal; anyone could see that.

"Hoshi – " he began, but she was already speaking quickly to Frodo, her voice sliding among the strange sounds of the hobbit language. Frodo gestured expansively to her as they talked, and Sam, standing in front of Archer, called something back to them.

"Well, sir," said Hoshi eventually. "It seems he's been wearing a mail shirt under his clothing. He promised someone he wouldn't remove it, not unless he was somewhere safe." She glanced over at the Damandras. "And I think I'd have some trouble convincing him this is a safe place."

Archer turned to T'Pol. "Ask them what would happen if he were to wear his mail shirt into the city."

"Only an enemy would bring the sickness of metal among our people," boomed the answer into his head, and he staggered. "You are honored that our Most Noble Queen should even allow you into the city, as tainted as you are. Have we not told you the metal afflicts our minds? As much metal as that little one carries would cause much anguish to our people. It might kill a child, should he walk by one. He may not enter our city so arrayed. And he may not stay outside of the city when our Queen has requested your presence."

Archer sighed. He glanced over at Frodo, who met his eyes for a long moment before finally nodding in acquiescence. "I take shirt down," he said in his awkward English, his voice indicating that he was clearly not happy about it. Abruptly the hobbit turned and walked into the bushes.

Immediately, the Damandras guards strode forward, stopping him. "Where are you going?" called the commander loud enough for Archer to wince. Sam rushed forward to join Frodo, ducking under the grasping arm of a guard as he went.

"Pardon!" exclaimed the hobbit, who had raised his empty hands above his shoulders. "I have said, I take shirt down. There are ladies!" Sam spoke to him questioningly, but Frodo shook his head quickly and disappeared in the brush while his friend stood guard, arms crossed. The guards did not lower their weapons.

"I swear sometimes he reminds me of my grandfather," commented Trip as T'Pol apparently communicated with the Damandras leader regarding Frodo's words. The guards stepped back. "Or maybe my great-grandfather," Trip continued. "Has anyone told the hobbits they have to go through decon before we can go back aboard Enterprise?"

"I'll leave that pleasure to you, Trip," answered Archer with a smile, as the Damandras commander turned to inspect Hoshi before allowing her to join the rest of the group.

"Thanks, Captain."

A few minutes later Frodo returned, carrying something which shone even in the meager light provided by the guard's lanterns. The mail shirt was not made of plain metal links, as Archer had guessed, but of something that shone silver in the light. Here and there a white jewel could be seen between the rings.

"I'll bet you can't wait to get your hands on a tricorder to scan that thing, can you?" said Trip off to the side. "Not that I blame you. I've never seen anything like it." Archer glanced over to see T'Pol regarding the mail shirt intently, her head tilted slightly.

A Damandras guard, who held the sack where the aliens had placed all of their other metal possessions, stepped towards Frodo, bowing gravely to the hobbit before presenting the sack.

"No harm shall come to it," promised the Damandras holding the sack.

Frodo thanked him, and the group finally followed the Damandras to the entrance of the mountain.

Darkness seemed to envelop him as Archer followed the guards down the earthen ramp. He blinked several times, attempting to adjust his vision to the dimness, lit only by the scant light of the guards' lanterns.

Someone bumped into him. "Sorry," mumbled Trip as the guards began to move forward once more.

"Do you think they can turn those lamps of theirs up?" asked the engineer, fumbling for something in his jacket pocket. "I can hardly see."

"T'Pol?" She nodded, and exchanged glances with the Damandras officer.

"Not only are your minds silent, but your eyes are weak as well?" asked the guard captain, the sneer on his alien face clearly recognizable. "No wonder that you must rely on metals." He motioned, and the guard next to Archer slid the paper-like lid of the lantern to the side; more light shot out.

It illuminated the tunnel, and Archer noticed that the walls were not the bare stone walls he expected to see underground. The walls were painted in bright, rich colors, with abstract paintings covering them. As they moved forward he saw what could perhaps be writing and bastardized forms of arrows drawn along the walls. As the group descended further they came into what must pass for a main thoroughfare of the city. This tunnel was several times wider than the one they had entered, lined with open doors and windows displaying wares, and filled with Damandras as well as another similar life form, with a jaundiced look about them. None of the people in this street wore the brown clothes of the guards, but were clad in bright fabrics displaying several different fashions. As they entered music had been playing off to the side, the only sound other than a strange clicking noise, but both faded as their group came to the center of the corridor. The people stared at them.

"Move," commanded their guard captain curtly, surveying the crowd as if anticipating a threat. As they were about to turn into another, smaller, tunnel, a Damandras woman came running up to them. Or so Archer assumed, since this Damandras was noticeably smaller than the guards and wore what appeared to be a dress, made of a green fabric, with matching slippers on her feet. A leather belt was around her waist and a pin of some kind, glittering with jewels, sat on the shoulder of her dress. Her hair was piled in braids on her head.

"I am Analara, from the Queen's Department of Public Relations," she introduced herself, spreading her arms wide. "I am sent to be a guide and friend to you. Can you all sense me?" Her voice was a gentle whisper in Archer's mind. She glanced around at human, Vulcan, and Hobbit, nodding at Archer as she caught his eyes. Abruptly she beamed. "Good! You do not have deaf minds." Analara moved backward, motioning that they follow. "Come; let's get out of the public's view, shall we? Everyone is very excited to see you." They entered a tunnel much smaller than that of the market. Archer began to have the feeling that this was a younger Damandras, not least because of the feeling of cheerfulness that seemed to accompany her words. In spite of himself, he felt his spirits rise. "Now, I was told there is one among you who is a speaker." She regarded T'Pol happily, still with a large smile on her face. "That is you, yes?"

T'Pol nodded slowly.

"You must all have many questions, and I will answer as I can. You must be very confused. So. What do you wish to know?"

Archer spoke first. "Why have you taken us captive?"

"Oh, but you must understand!" came the answer following the pause as T'Pol transmitted the question. Analara's voice seemed worried. "These are soldiers who found you. Their duty is to protect the people. We intend you no harm. Never have we heard of people who can fly up to the sky. Our Queen is most interested in you."

"Why don't they like metal?" asked Trip. "The guards have spears with gold."

"Those are weapons," explained Analara, looking at T'Pol, and then glancing at Trip. "Only the soldiers may use them. They have many hours of training before they are given spears. Metal makes us…ill." She shivered.

"Is there any chance they might give us our communicators back? There really isn't that much metal in them." Hoshi stepped forward. "And who were those other people in the street? The ones with the yellow skin?"

"Those were the Ulellimandras, the Silent People. Like you, their minds do not speak, and they must make noises with their mouths. Unlike you, I do not believe they could ever ride in the skies. They serve us, and we are grateful to have them, but they are not great thinkers. As for your request, I shall pass it along to the Queen. Perhaps we may come to an understanding." Analara frowned. "Your mind tires. No, you are not!" She glared at T'Pol, then glanced at the rest of the group sheepishly. "I apologize. I am unused to speaking to so many silent minds at once. That was rude of me. So. I shall tell you of this place. This is our city. Behind you was a market. There are many in the city. Now we enter the residential area."

Archer glanced at T'Pol as they began to walk. "Where is she taking us?"

"To a chamber that has been prepared for you, in an outer tunnel of the Palace," said Analara. "We hope you will be comfortable there. I am afraid you must wait once more for the Queen. She desired to meet you directly, but there has been some unrest in the city recently, and it is necessary that she deal with this first. She has expressed sorrow at not being able to come sooner."

"I understand." Archer looked around in interest as they passed what must be the Damandras versions of houses. Curtains made of reeds or stones hung in long strands past stone doors and windows, and often the edges were painted in great swirls of color. Occasionally a window was left open and he caught sight of rooms decorated in bright colors, once noticing children playing, who paused to stare out the window at them incredulously. Analara led them down several corridors, and Archer counted at least seven turns down tunnels that looked very similar to each other. After they had been walking for quite some time, he observed that the entrances were more often decorated by shining gems than paintings. Behind him he heard the hobbits discussing something excitedly in their own language.

"We come now to the homes of courtiers and those who work in the Palace," explained their guide. "We have nearly arrived now." Soon she stopped them, taking a turn down another tunnel and a ramp. After another turn down a long hallway they stopped in front of a room guarded by more Damandras soldiers.

"These will be your chambers," announced Analara. She stepped forward and slid the stone door to the side, leading them into a large round room. Several tall lamps stood around the room, as well as a long low table already set with several platters of food, bowls, and six thick cushions on the carpeted floor around it. Situated around the room were several pieces of furniture that seemed to be lounges, and at the back of the room was a large assortment of pillows of varying sizes and shapes. "Please, refresh yourselves here," insisted Analara. She indicated a room off to the side, the door already having been opened. "That is a bathing room. There you will find water and soapsand for your use. Everything here is for your use. Should you need anything more, a guard will be stationed at the outer door for your convenience."

"Or to make sure we don't leave," added Trip quietly.

Archer nodded.

"I will leave you now," stated their guide as she stepped to the door. "And bring word of your arrival to her Majesty. It may be that she will ask me to assist you again. If not, it has been a pleasure to converse with you." She nodded at T'Pol. "May your paths be straight." She smiled at them one last time, and left.

Sam was awoken from his sleep by a low rumbling noise. He blinked, for a moment unsure of where he was. Then he recalled having washed and eaten some of the strange Damandras food. A great weariness had fallen on them all then, and he had wondered at it. He and Frodo had settled themselves among the pile of cushions at the back of the room. Looking up from where he rested on the floor surrounded by a mountain of stuffed fabric, he saw two tall shapes entering the room, outlined by the bright light of the corridor behind them. They made their way through the shapes of the slumbering Enterprise crewmembers, pausing to stoop over one of them. Sam became alarmed when he noticed them paw at one of the sleeping men. Something was not right here. Why would the aliens be doing such a thing, and why had no one else stirred?

He turned to Frodo, resting next to him. Perhaps the many pillows might block the strange folk's view and give him a chance to wake his master. He shook Frodo's shoulder, but the other hobbit seemed unresponsive. Worried now, Sam shook his shoulder harder, wary of calling his name aloud lest he alert the aliens.

"Wh—" began Frodo, but Sam already had covered his mouth with a hand. He met Frodo's eyes with his own and indicated the scene with a glance. Frodo followed it, his eyes widening once he saw the taller folk moving among the Enterprise crewmembers. Sharing a worried look with Sam, he watched silently as the dark shapes passed through the darkened room, pausing over the body of each person.

Sam could not make out what the creatures intended. As the Damandras guards had done earlier, they spoke no sounds, merely looking at each other from time to time. He wondered again why their presence had not awakened anyone else. Suddenly, one of the Damandras stood, looking over into the corner where he and Frodo had ensconced themselves. The creature motioned to his companion, and they stepped over either Hoshi or T'Pol – he could not be sure in the dimness – and approached the hobbits.

Sam looked over at Frodo, wondering what should be done. His master met his eyes, and with a slight shrug, simply closed his eyes and settled back amongst the pillows. Sam followed his example and pretended to sleep and breathe evenly, even while hearing the Damandras stop just in front of him.

A hand touched his hair, and he shivered.

Do you dream of ships, of flying metal ships? The words sounded inside his head, just as the Damandras had spoken to them earlier. Sam had no idea how he was to respond; he could hardly talk if he was supposed to be asleep. The Damandras repeated the question, and Sam realized he would have to answer somehow. The question had been asked more insistently.

No, I don't dream of ships! He tried to think the words back at the strange creature. It seemed to work, for the next question was slightly different.

Of what do you dream?

I dream of…of…Sam tried to think of anything that would have as little to do with ships as possible. Asking him questions in his head was unnerving. What should he say? Abruptly he recalled a memory of an afternoon at work at Bag End when he was still a tween, his Gaffer beside him. I dream of gardens, and flowers, and farming. And food! He thought back at the strange being, as the memory of a serene afternoon came to him. I dream of that picnic in the Party Field, when Halfred was down from the Northfarthing and Mari made everyone necklaces of dandelions. The Gaffer wouldn't wear his, and Daisy put hers in her hair as if she were a bride.

The voice and hand left, and Sam heard him straighten, his shoes scraping slightly on the hard floor.

As soon as the stone door rumbled shut, Sam jumped to his feet, scattering pillows in every direction as he made his way over to where the Enterprise crew slept. Frodo reached them only a moment ahead of him.

"They've taken Trip!" his master exclaimed, pausing in the circle of sleeping bodies. He bent to shake the arm of the nearest person.

Sam hurried to turn the light on the nearest stone lantern higher, pushing aside the parchment lid as the Damandras had shown them. The growing light proved Frodo was right; only Archer, Hoshi, and T'Pol still slept there. "Well, they seemed to be looking for someone as could tell them about metal ships. Leastways, that was what that one asked me."

"I was asked much the same thing." Frodo stood up after having tried to awaken each of the others, and glanced at the door.

"You mean to go after them." It was not a question; Sam himself had been wondering if they should.

Frodo nodded, striding over to the door and pausing with a hand on it. "We are the only ones awake, after all. I don't think they intended to take him for some good purpose, or why should they have come when we all slept?" He nodded abruptly, as if coming to a decision, and slid the door open slowly, looking beyond it to the left and right. There was no guard.

"You're not going without me!" Sam hurried over to the door, stopping Frodo's hand on the door with his own.

"I can't take you with me, Sam." He pushed Sam's hand away from the door handle gently. "I don't mean for them to see me." He had already drawn the chain out from underneath his tunic.

"No!" He watched, transfixed in a kind of horror as Frodo removed the Ring from the chain. "You can't! It's too dangerous!"

"We are very far away from Mordor now, lad," said Frodo calmly. "How many times did Bilbo use the Ring to hide from unwanted visitors?" He rested his other hand on Sam's shoulder, cradling the Ring in his right hand. "My dear Sam, I promise you I shan't go looking for trouble. In any case, I don't mean to be gone for long. I shall follow them and see where they take Trip."

"No! Mr. Frodo, he hurt you!" Sam couldn't keep the anger from his voice. Mindful of the open door, he lowered his voice, whispering fiercely. "He tried to kill you! Let them take him! Or let the Big Folk deal with it. Why should you help him? He don't deserve it!"

Frodo stepped back, dropping his hand from Sam's shoulder and giving him a long look.

Sam blushed at the reproval in the other hobbit's eyes. He had disappointed Frodo with his words. "I - I'm sorry, sir. I just don't want you to go somewhere you ought not to. Why must it be you that helps him? Why not just wait until the others wake up?"

"We must help him because there is no one else who can," answered Frodo, turning away from him. "There is no time for arguing now. The longer I linger here, the further away Trip becomes." He drew his hands together, the Ring glinting as it caught the dim light of the chamber.

Sam stepped forward, blocking the way and turned to face Frodo. "You ought to know by now I'd never let you go into danger alone, master. We go after him together, or we stay here together. I'll not let you face this strange place without me."

"Sam, someone must wake them. Shall we leave them here unable to defend themselves, with no knowledge of what has happened to their friend? It would be neither kind nor honorable to do so."

"They'll wake on their own. We did, after all." He watched as Frodo placed the Ring once more on Its chain, and breathed a sigh of relief.

"Very well. You're right, we've been through too much together to separate now." Frodo pulled the hood of his elven-cloak over his head, glancing behind him one last time even as one hand rested on the door. "It is a shame there's no way to let them know why we have left them. But we have neither parchment nor pen."

Sam echoed his action, drawing his cloak close about him. "They seem to be right smart folk. I reckon they'll make out what's gone on, near enough. What are you doing?"

Frodo had dashed over to the low table, now filled with the detritus of their last meal. Sam followed him, leaping over the legs of Captain Jonathan. His master had upended a small bowl, now nearly empty of its thick brown sauce, letting the dregs of the sauce pool on the light wood of the table. His fingers quickly dabbed into the sauce, the drying streaks forming into words. 'Trip taken. We follow after.'

"Will Hoshi understand it?" wondered Sam aloud. "Perhaps you'd better write it in their language."

"Of course. I had quite forgotten." Frodo frowned, hesitating for a moment before finally writing some of the strange English characters on the table. "I'm certain that's not right, but I know so very little of their language. And we must go; too long have we tarried here."

They hurried to the threshold, tugging the heavy stone door shut behind them as quietly as they could. As they sped silently away, Sam looked back once at the closed door, his last memory of the Enterprise crewmembers, before following Frodo down the corridor and away from their companions.

Author's notes: Don't forget to leave a review! Let me know what I'm doing right or wrong!