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.

Jaid Skywalker: Thanks for the great review! I'm glad you like the story so far. Hang on, 'cause we've got quite a bit happening, next. :o)

Europa: Thanks for the review! Yeah, they're definitely in a pickle now. :o) Wait'll you see the solution. :o)

Marissa and the Wild Wolf Pack: Thanks for the review! Yeah, I did have to spend quite a little bit of time gluing Detarmor back together, so if he seems to be in a bad mood, we'll know why. :o) Thanks again! :o)

Crystal Millenium: Thanks for the review! I'm glad you liked the vignette. I thought I should clear that up. :o) Thanks for letting me use your dialogue. :o)

Daphne: Thanks for the review! I'm happy you like the AU. I like writing it, so we should both be happy. Hope you like what's to come!

Thanks for the reviews, everyone, and hope you all like this chapter!

Onward!!

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"Thank goodness I did not realize the horrible danger!" --Frodo.

The Lord of the Rings:

The Fellowship of the Ring.

Chapter 7

'Effect'

Aragorn crawled through the cramped tunnel, gazing fixedly at the faint gray circle of light at the other end. He could make nothing but the light out, though it seemed to reflect the confined state of his present surroundings.

As he drew closer to the light, Aragorn could see a dusty stone wall, at the end of the lit area. Dropping down into the area, Aragorn found himself in a cell much like the one he and the rest of the fellowship had been imprisoned in, except for the slight illumination in this one. Gazing at the surrounding walls, Aragorn saw a heavy stone door, closed shut. Somewhat doubtfully, he walked over to it, looking down for a handle that he might turn, and finding none.

"Aragorn."

Aragorn jumped at the husky sound of his name, wheeling around. He could see something stirring by the wall, in the shadows that now obstructed the hole from view as well. Aragorn made no move of defense as the being struggled to its feet, as he had a fair, grim idea of who it must be.

Emblethor stepped into the vague light, ghostly pale, a reddened hand held over his breast. He halted as soon as he became visible to Aragorn, and stood, a bit unsteady, looking at him with utter misery. Aragorn came over to him quickly, removing the Elf's damp hand from his chest, revealing a horrible wound, still dripping with blood.

"I was caught," Emblethor whispered.

"I must bring you back," Aragorn replied, barely letting Emblethor get his statement out. "Your wound is great."

"You have more serious problems," Emblethor continued, resisting as best he could, as Aragorn tried to lead him to the hole through which he'd come. "Norgeth destroyed the braid."

Aragorn turned.

"'Destroyed'?" he breathed.

"He burned it," Emblethor replied. "Forgive me, please. I fear I've lost your friend forever."

"You aren't to blame," Aragorn said abstractly, turning his head as he thought the new conditions through. Hope was not necessarily destroyed with the braid. Norgeth had burned it, yes. He had burned it away to nothing, to ashes. Ashes!

Aragorn looked back at Emblethor.

"Where did Norgeth burn the braid?" he asked urgently.

Emblethor gazed at the floor, then back up at Aragorn, slowly, in weary remembrance.

"His chamber," he replied softly. "In the fireplace."

"Might--we still have a chance to get Legolas back, if we used the ashes of the hair?" Aragorn asked hesitantly.

Emblethor looked as if he was considering this, masking his discomfort as he sank back to the ground.

"Perhaps," he said. "Of course, there would then be the obstacle of getting the ashes. They're still in the fireplace, in the chamber. Also, they'll be disposed of by this evening, so whatever we'd do, we'd have to do it--," Emblethor broked of then, shivering, touching his fingertips briefly to his wound.

Aragorn bent down quickly, looking closer at Emblethor's wound, but not daring to touch it, as it was still bleeding, quite badly now.

"We must do something about your wound first," Aragorn said. "It can't wait."

Emblethor made a small noise in his throat, though Aragorn couldn't tell whether it was one of agreement or contradiction, as he moved the Elf's hand away, unfolding the bunched robes around the broken skin. The fabric was sticky with blood, which glistened on Aragorn's hands, in the faint light.

Suddenly, Aragorn's eyes shot upward, with fast enlightenment. Where was this light coming from? Why was this cell different from theirs?

The difference wasn't easy to find. It was a small, slittish window, perhaps three-quarters of a foot high, placed close to the ceiling. There were four thick, rusty bars spaced evenly along it.

Aragorn stood up, quickly making his way over to the light source. Reaching up, extending himself as much as he could, he just managed to close his hand around one of the bars, turning it, prying it, and finally wrenching it off, with a creak and a snap that he feared would bring the guards.

"There's no one out on that side," Emblethor said quietly, noting his fear. "I suppose they've forgotten that they ever put that window in, it's so small...what are you doing, anyway? Even I can't fit through there."

"But there is someone who can," Aragorn began, then darted back across the room and into the tunnel as he heard the cell door unlock and swing open.

"Luncheon," said a voice, so surprisingly pleasant that Aragorn couldn't resist the urge to peer back into the cell, from the shadows.

He saw a short figure, clearly a hobbit, come over to Emblethor, bearing a wooden plate with some crumbly-looking bread resting on it. Aragorn found himself close to smiling as he watched Emblethor accept the dish. The almost laughably-genial manner with which the servant bestowed the meal on the prisoner strongly reminded Aragorn of Nob, one of the kindly hobbits employed at the Prancing Pony. At least, he had been employed there the last time Aragorn was there. It had been so long…

Aragorn was stirred from his thoughts as the Elf-guard who'd been in the doorway, watching every move made, ushered the hobbit out of the cell, slamming the door shut behind him.

At the sound, Aragorn turned and began making his way back down the tunnel, toward his own cell, as fast as he could move.

***

The rest of the fellowship looked up, startled to see Aragorn fall from the hole in the wall to the floor of the cell, in an obvious hurry.

He straightened up, looking about at them, conveying wordlessly that there wasn't time to explain, now.

"Pippin," Aragorn uttered, his eyes falling on the slight hobbit.

**********

"You're a lot more trouble than you're worth," Merry stated, rising from his throne and walking up to Legolas, restrained before him by two guards. Merry looked up at one of them.

"Send for Lord Frodo."

"We already have, sir," the guard responded instantly.

Merry pursed his lips in annoyance.

"Very well," he said shortly. "Leave us, then."

The guards complied, though they did not look happy to. Merry looked back up at Legolas.

"You just stay right here," he hissed, distrust in his eyes. "Don't move from that spot, you understand?"

Before Legolas could respond, he heard soft footfalls issuing from a side doorway behind Merry, up closer to the thrones.

A small figure emerged first, followed by a taller, Elven one, that Legolas recognized as belonging to the third Elf-guard (the one who'd stayed outside) from his discovery on the roof of the castle. This Elf, he knew, must be Detarmor.

He didn't look very evil. His build was about the same as Legolas', and he had light brown hair, sept bach behind his shoulders and out of his clear eyes. There was humoring, sympathetic smile on his lips as he followed the smaller figure up to where Legolas and Merry stood, and it was only this smile that gave the appearance of there being anything devious about him.

As they drew closer, Legolas redirected his attention to the smaller figure, having an easy idea of who it was, though his face was obstructed by his small hand, as he rubbed sleep from his eyes blearily.

Frodo drew his hand away and looked into the eyes of Legolas, who gazed back as calmly as he could, in the present situation.

Instantly, Frodo gasped as if choking, and stumbled backwards, knocking into Detarmor, who instantly helped him back to his feet.

"Why does this insignificant soul trouble you, my Lord?" he asked softly, glancing up at Legolas briefly.

"It's--he's--," Frodo mumbled, straightening up and separating himself from Detarmor. He slowly approached Legolas, looking slightly fearful, and very much confused.

"Who are you?" he asked softly.

Legolas did not move to respond verbally, but looked up at Detarmor and then Merry, then back down at Frodo, who understood his expression.

"Leave us," Frodo said to Detarmor, then met the other hobbit's gaze. "You too, Merry."

"Frodo, will--" Merry began, unwilling to merely accept this command.

"Go, please," Frodo interrupted him softly. "I'll be fine."

Merry narrowed his eyes, but walked past Frodo all the same, leading Detarmor out with him as Frodo followed their route with his eyes. As the two departed, Frodo turned back to Legolas.

"Well?" he said, gazing guardedly into Legolas' eyes.

Legolas looked Frodo up and down. What should he say to him?

"I am--" he began, "I am--" he paused, closing his mouth. He looked down at Frodo with slight sadness. "I believe you know who I am."

Frodo's mouth dropped open, his eyes unmoving from Legolas'. He opened his mouth to reply, but seemed unable to.

"Why--" he said finally. "Who…you're…" he closed his own mouth, tightly. Tears came, almost imperceptibly, into his eyes. He shook his head.

"No," he said. "No, you're not. You're lying, you're not--"

"I am not Legolas," said Legolas, "as he is known to you. I am Legolas, where I come from."

Frodo furrowed his brow in vague understanding.

"Where do you come from?"

"Another realm of Middle-Earth," said Legolas, after a pause. He supposed he would be able to make even less headway with Frodo, than he had with Sam, on the subject of his place of origin.

Frodo lowered his eyes, turning his head away.

"How did you come to this place?" he asked softly.

"I got lost," said Legolas. "As you seem to have become."

Frodo turned back, vague hostility showing suddenly in his face.

"What do you mean?"

"Why have you kept the Ring?" said Legolas.

Frodo's eyes widened in surprise at this, and some of his anger seemed to dissolve into defensiveness.

"How is that do with you?"

"The Ring effects everyone!" Legolas responded. "Some, more than others."

Frodo's hand shot to the collar of his nightshirt, apparently instinctively.

"You won't have It," he said. "I am the ruler."

"But, you do not rule," Legolas continued, undaunted. "You remain here, letting others command, or tell you what to command."

"That's not true!" Frodo cried. "How would you know, anyway? I've never seen you before, in my life."

"That's not true!" Legolas replied. "You know me. You know Legolas. You knew him. And, it's because of him, that you've been brought to this."

"He isn't to blame for anything!" Frodo countered desperately. "He was never to blame!"

"But, if he hadn't died, you wouldn't be doing this," said Legolas. "If he had lived, you would still have destroyed the Ring. You had no change of heart."

"No!" Frodo jerked backwards again, stumbling and falling to the floor. "Stop it!"

Instantly, Legolas bent down to help him up, but Frodo twisted away, trying to get up on his own.

"I'm sorry," Legolas said softly, knowing he had moved too fast. "I'm sorry."

Suddenly, most probably provoked by Frodo's outburst, Merry and Detarmor reappeared, through the same door they'd exited by.

"Get away!" Merry bellowed at Legolas, running over and pulling Frodo away from from him, helping his friend to his feet.

Merry had only to look at Detarmor, before Legolas felt himself being hauled to his feet, by his arm.

"Lord Frodo," said Detarmor, looking down at Frodo with hardened features, still holding onto Legolas. "What shall I do with him?"

Frodo looked up at Legolas with burning eyes.

"Get him out of my sight," he whispered. "Take him away."

~~End of Part 7