The Difference

by Leafy

Rating: PG-13 for violence, bad attitudes, and tense situations.

Author's Note: This fanfic is loosely inspired by episodes of the television show "Deep Space Nine", and is much more drawn from the movie of FOTR, than the book, though there are elements of both in here.

I hope you enjoy it!

Disclaimer: I own nothing Tolkien or DS9.

Marissa & Muses: Thanks for the kindly review! :o) Detarmor can't kill people because Frodo won't let him. He's fully physically capable of killing, but he won't directly disobey Frodo. :o) I'm glad you're liking this story, and that I now have the secret to keeping the muses at bay! :o) Thanks again!

Enigma Jade: Thanks for the great review! I'm glad you're liking this. I'm afraid I have no Leggy-torture planned for this story, but there are lots of exciting twists and turns on the way, so it should be interesting. :o) Thanks again for the review!:o)

Crystal Millenium: Thanks for the review! Yeah, I couldn't remember the name of either of those episodes. :o) Yes, you're very correct in your speculations about Norgeth. That's how he feels about Elves, and why he thought Legolas had the Ring. And, uhm, yeah, your suggestion of Lego-dialogue actually sounds a lot simpler than what I had. Permission to use it later in the story? :o) Thanks for the great review! :o)

Europa: Thanks for the reviews! I'm glad you're liking this. Yeah, GO LEGOLAS!! :o) Heh…well, thanks again!

Onward!!!

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Chapter 6

'Remembrance'

Emblethor stole down the dark and empty hallway, making for Norgeth's chamber. He had been lucky enough to fall into a hallway that was chiefly unused, and hadn't seen a guard yet.

Remembering this, Emblethor turned a lit corner, then ran silently to the opposite wall, ducking into the doorway of Norgeth's chamber as he looked down the corridor at the guards who had positioned themselves there. Emblethor let his hand trop to the bronze doorknob, turning it slowly and silently, praying that its cooperation meant that the chamber was unlocked.

It did. The next thing Emblethor knew, the door behind him gave way, and he slipped into the dim room.

The room was rather large, lit by a sizable fire beneath the mantle at the wall opposite the bed, looked like it hadn't been made.

Taking no notice of his surroundings, as he had no time to, Emblethor hurried to a writing desk against the far wall. The desk had only a few blank sheets of parchment on it, but there were four drawers, two on each lower side of the desk, carved and well-blended into the wood, and it was these drawers that had drawn Emblethor to the desk.

Stooping and opening the top right one, Emblethor began searching for the much-needed braid. The first drawer yielded nothing, as did the second, but the third one proved to be the treasure chest. Cast off to the side, in the shadows of the otherwise empty drawer, was the fair braid, laid straight and flawless, except for its sudden end. Emblethor reached down without hesitating, closing his hand around it. As his fingers came into contact with the soft hair, Emblethor's ears came into contact with the one sound he had been absolutely dreading. The door had opened once more, quickly shutting again as Emblethor straightened up, turning to see Norgeth, standing in front of the door, looking, shocked and hateful, at his prisoner-no-more.

"What is he doing back so early?" Emblethor thought desperately, his eyes beginning to go back to the desk as he kicked the drawer shut quickly and imperceptibly, with his foot. As he did, his eyes fell back on Norgeth's bed, which, he could now see, wasn't unmade at all, but was turned down, as if for another sleep. And then, it all came into focus. Though he didn't know why Norgeth had come back so soon, he should have realized that he would be coming. The door was never unlocked, if the chamber was unattended for long, and Norgeth wouldn't have left a fire burning in there, if he didn't mean to come back until night The servants were in charge of keeping the fire lit or unlit, lighting the fire only a short while before Norgeth retired, then extinguishing it shortly after he left. Emblethor knew, if he hadn't been so distracted with is task, he could easily have spotted the signs. In that instant, Emblethor reviled himself for his carelessness.

He could not spend long pondering or reviling, though. With swift flourish, Norgeth drew his flat blade from the sheath at his waist, and lunged at Emblethor, a savage glare on his face. Emblethor dodged, ducking nimbly under Norgeth's arm and running back across the room to the door, as Norgeth's unsuccessful attack sent his blade far into the wood of the wall next to the desk. As Norgeth tried to wrench it out, Emblethor turned, seizing the doorknob and trying to turn it. To his horrified dismay, he found that Norgeth had locked it when he slammed it shut, on finding his wayward prisoner. Desperately, Emblethor turned to let his left side face the door, and rammed his small, lightweight frame against it, in the nonexistent hope of forcing it open.

Before he was able to get very far in this, though, Emblethor felt the heavy, muscular hands of Norgeth seize his right arm and jerk him off his feet, knocking him to the floor and slamming his head back against the rug.

Emblethor looked up, truly frightened but momentarily debilitated, as Norgeth was standing over him with his knife poised close, looking ready to kill.

Norgeth met Emblethor's gaze, looking at him as one might look at a mouse that had gotten its tail stuck in a trap. His eyes wandered to Emblethor's right arm, the hand of which was wedged under Emblethor's back. At first glance, it looked like it might have landed that way in the fall, but as Norgeth gazed at it now, it seemed to be there on purpose. It seemed as though Emblethor was hiding something.

Lowering his knife hand a bit, Norgeth reached with his free hand for Emblethor's wrist.

"Tell me, friend," Norgeth said quietly, closing his fingers around the other Elf's wrist and forcefully pulling it out from under him, "why did you come here?"

Emblethor sat up with difficulty, trying to pull his hand out of Norgeth's impossible grip, as Norgeth extracted Legolas' braid from between Emblethor's clamped fingers. Norgeth hissed in aggressive annoyance at this feeble resistance, then stopped short in silent fury, when he saw what Emblethor had been hiding.

"You wish to rob me?" he exclaimed, forgetting himself, and leaping to his feet releasing Emblethor's wrist.

Instantly, Emblethor leaped up and back as well, to put some distance between himself and his enemy.

"You could not even allow me to have this prize?" Norgeth continued, stepping rather than running forward, now. He looked hateful still, but somehow hurt, as well.

Emblethor made no response, but almost imperceptibly, backed up still further. It was in these moments of instability that Emblethor had always been at his most cautious with Norgeth, and he knew that, right now, his own life depended on caution.

Norgeth bared his teeth in vicious hostility at the silence, lunging at Emblethor, his knife raised once more. Emblethor flinched back against the wall, then looked down at his own chest, to see Norgeth's fist against his breast, just above the heart, as he gripped the handle of his weapon, the blade having disappeared into Emblethor.

Emblethor made no sound, save a shuddering gasp of agony, falling to his knees as Norgeth ripped the blade out of him and turned for the still-very much closed door.

Holding a trembling hand over his surging wound, Emblethor struggled to get to his feet as Norgeth turned and stalked to the door, flinging it open and bellowing for the guards. What had become of the braid?

Emblethor did not have time to find out. Instantly, two guards hurried in and hoisted him to his feet, and beginning to drag him, bleeding, from the chamber. Emblethor turned himself around, looking back at Norgeth, as blood streamed down the front of his own ragged robes.

"You can thank Aragorn for that," Norgeth spat out, his hand flitting to his own collarbone, for a reason Emblethor couldn't understand, and didn't even take very much notice of, as what was in his hand was of much more concern to him. The shiny, pale, severed end of Legolas' braid protruded from the top half of Norgeth's fist, up by his collarbone. Emblethor looked full at it without thinking, and Norgeth followed his gaze.

"You will never lay your foul hands on this again!" Norgeth snarled, then bounded to the fireplace and suddenly, wildly flung the braid down, into the fire beneath the mantle.

Emblethor closed his eyes in dismay on the image of the thin braid, dissolving in the orange flames, as he was hauled from the chamber.

**********

"Do you hear something?"

Merry's cautious question strikes fear into me. Of course, I hear something. For the past few minutes, every gust of wind, every rustling of leaves and branches, has sent fear railing through me, like the black-feathered arrows I'm expecting.

Orcs. They're here, I know it. We all know it. Aragorn stops in front of us, looking about, from time to time. He knows that we are being watched. At my side, Sting glows like a torch, screaming a certain warning of oncoming peril. Orcs are tracking us. They're closing in, and we have no hope of escape, in this crowded, expansive forest.

Suddenly, Aragorn and Gandalf stop together in front of us. Aragorn draws his sword, and they both look around, but I know from the trembling ground and the unholy squawks and growls that are now plain, that we will go no further.

"We must fight them," Aragorn murmurs. "It is no longer possible to evade."

After these words, I barely have time to yank the phosphorescent Sting from the sheath, before what seems to me like hundreds and hundreds of Orcs come charging through the trees.

A hellish hailstorm of bloody blades and crudely-hewn arrows erupts all around me. I am enveloped by the Orcs and separated from Merry, from Sam, from everybody's sight, except the Orcs, closing in from all sides.

"Frodo!" I hear someone yell, though I do not know who.

I stab outward helplessly with my sword, puncturing black and toughened skin all around, and spilling their foul blood, but seeming to make no headway, as my claustrophobic space grows ever smaller. I am alone, but surrounded.

Before me, a great, tall Orc with a gored dagger raised high, springs up in front of me, snarling with menace. I cannot even raise my own sword, before I see his blade coming down, to end my life.

Suddenly, his back arches, and he throws his head back, as if in pain, and he falls, face first, toward me. I scramble back without thinking, ramming into the trunk of a tree that seems to have managed to become enveloped with me, as the Orcs' wobbly group moves. My assailant falls, his blade landing harmlessly beside my foot, an arrow sticking out between his shoulderblades. Legolas stands just behind him, his bow raised and loaded once more. He sees me and steps forward, lowering his bow in a quick instant, holding out his hand, to help me over the foul dead one's body. I take his hand, stepping quickly over the Orc and back onto level ground.

Prepared to show my gratitude, I look up at Legolas, only to have a shadow fall across my eyes. Another Orc, wielding a terrible, deadly spear, looms up at my right side, drawing his arm back to kill me.

Legolas pushes me down and away from the Orc, and tries to evade as well, falling to the ground beside me as the spear comes down.

I open my eyes to meet those of the Orc, who isn't about to give up so easily. He roars in frustrated fury and wrenches his spear up, ready to try again. Suddenly, the tip of a sword surfaces in his chest, and he roars again, in pain this time, as he falls to the ground at my feet, revealing Aragorn, standing, his bloody sword in his hand.

I smile vaguely with relief at this, realizing that the action has stopped, the Orcs are defeated. Judging by the bodies strewn about, unless most have fled, there were not many Orcs to begin with, perhaps thirty, at most.

My eyes wander to the last enemy I saw fall, lying on his face on the ground, his spear beside him, the sharp, bloodied end pointed out from under him, toward me. He's definitely dead, now.

Suddenly, my mouth drops open as I recall one of my last images of that spearhead, as Legolas stood beside me. It looked large and formidable, but I remember that it was not bloody yet, at all. It was as if he had been saving it for me. Only, he hadn't gotten me.

I turned my head quickly to Legolas. Aragorn was already at his side, turning him over onto his back, revealing a great wound in his lower chest, torn from the spear's having entered at a rough angle. I look at Legolas' face. He is looking back at me, in pain, but mostly with surprised sadness. He opens his mouth, as if to speak, but he seems unable to, struggling with his breath. I look at him helplessly, my own mouth forming silent words of pleading, of sorrow and regret. Legolas closes his mouth now, and his eyes as well, his head dropping just a bit closer to the ground.

Aragorn removes his hand from the wound, opening his own mouth to speak the words I already know.

"He's dead."

"No!"

Suddenly, there is a great thump, and I wake up on the floor, with a sting of pain in my head. I look around, gathering my thoughts and realizing where I am and hat has happened. I'm in my chamber. I've fallen out of bed.

Before I get further than this, there is a knock at the inner door, leading into this room.

"C-come in," I stammer hazily.

The door opens, and Detarmor's tall frame appears there.

"My Lord," he begins without hesitation. "I do apologize, but your presence is needed--"

He stops short, looking, as the light from the outer chamber illuminates this dark one, at me, surveying the position I'm in. I'm on the floor, swaddled in bedclothes, half-under the bed, itself.

"Lord Frodo," he begins again, a bit more sympathetic. "Nightmares, sir?"

"No," I say, extricating myself from the blankets and standing up.

And, it's the truth. Nightmares are unreal, illusions, they're things that never happened.

This happened.

~~End of Part 6

Author's Note: I'm sorry!! I promise Legolas and Lord Frodo will confront each other in the next chapter. Really! I promise! :o) This was just a perfect breaking off point, since it ends Frodo's vignette. I promise, though, Lego and Frodo will meet in the next chapter! See you then! :o)