The Difference
by Leafy
Rating: PG-13 for violence, bad attitudes, and tense situations.
Author's Note: This fanfic is loosely based on 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 all enjoy it!
Disclaimer: I own nothing Tolkien or DS9.
Thank you for all the great reviews, everybody! And hope your holidays were fun! :o)
ZonyBone: Thanks for the great review! Yeah, I had some trouble getting to Chap. 7 at first too. I guess FF.net has sorted itself out, though. I'm glad you're liking the story. Thanks again! :o)
Marissa and the WWP: Hope your email's under control now! :o) Thanks for the fab review! And unfortunately, I can't let Lord Frodo be killed, 'cause he's got too much more to do before this story is over. (Trust me, he's got quite a few hurdles before him. :o) ) And besides, I used up all the duct tape and super glue on Detarmor again. Thanks for the holiday wishes! I celebrate Christmas, btw, so you had it right. :o) Namarie! ::looks at the singing wolves:: Where might I find some of them?
Daphne: Yeah…and it's not over yet. Thanks for the review! :o)
Rei.K: Thanks for the review! I'm glad you're liking this! To my knowledge, a Mary Sue is a story where the heroine (it's usually a heroine) is a made-up character that is flawless in every way, and that gets to "lock lips" with the hero that of the material that the fanfic is based on, before the story is finished. Hope that helps! Thanks again for the nice review! :o)
Europa: Thanks for the review! Emblethor got wounded near the end of his part in Chapter Six. :o) I'm glad you like the ashes thing. I wasn't sure if that was too convenient…anyway, thanks again for the review!
Ecri: Thanks for the review! Yeah, Frodo isn't coming around anytime soon…I'm glad you liked the mist thing. We'll hear from Sam again in the next chapter. Hope you like this one! :o)
Onward!!
**********
"Yet such is oft the course of deeds that move the wheels of the world: small hands do them because they must, while the eyes of the great are elsewhere." - Elrond, Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring
Chapter 8
'"Concerning Hobbits"'
"Can you fit?" Aragorn asked anxiously, watching Pippin turn his head to the side, hoisting himself slowly through the slim opening.
"Just," Pippin said with difficulty, collapsing onto the frozen ground, level with the high window. He turned around, bringing his face back down to the opening. "Where do I go?"
"Norgeth's chamber is just above this room," Emblethor spoke up from where he sat on the cell floor. "There is a window, but the shutters will most likely be closed and locked. Lift one of them up as far as you can, on its hinges, and try to slip the lock open. It's not a very complicated hindrance."
"Thank you," Pippin smiled awkwardly over at Emblethor, then refocused on Aragorn. "And I'm to get the ashes in the fireplace?"
"Yes," said Aragorn, drawing a small, emptied pouch from inside his cloak and handing it out to Pippin. "Just try to get some of the ashes," Aragorn continued, reading Pippin's look as he accepted the pouch.
"The ashes we are looking for may be near the top," Emblethor suggested. "But go now, the day grows old."
***
Pippin silently blessed the name of Emblethor as he gently nudged the tall right shutter once more, and he felt it give, opening easily under his pressure.
Knowing he hadn't a moment to lose, Pippin glanced around, quickly finding the fireplace, just as Emblethor had described it, though it was now filled with gray ashes, where the fire had been. He knelt down, touching his fingertips to the mass. They all looked the same. He couldn't take them all, he knew. Which ones should he take? Emblethor said they might be near the top…
Just then, Pippin heard the bedroom door snap open behind him. He turned his head to the noise immediately, toppling off-balance and onto the floor. Just a few paces away, standing in the doorframe, was Norgeth, bearing the same disdainful expression Pippin had seen on his face when they had first been brought before him.
Norgeth looked at Pippin with slight surprise, then walked past him, over to his bed. He sat down on the edge of it, taking his foot in his hands.
"Stop playing with those ashes, if you're not going to light a fire," Norgeth said, pulling his boots off.
Pippin remained where he was, staring at Norgeth in fearful amazement. What was he doing? Why had he not sent for the guards? Was he mocking Pippin for his foolishness, in trying to infiltrate the chamber?
Norgeth gazed questioningly back at Pippin for an instant, then moved back and lay down on the bed, sighing as if he hadn't done this in years.
"Don't forget the dishes," Norgeth muttered, raising his hand vaguely toward his desk, as he shut his eyes.
Much confused, and still rather frightened, Pippin redirected his attention to the desk. As he looked upon it, he suddenly realized what was going on.
On the near corner of the desk was a small, thin dish with a ring of clear gravy on it, and a fork balanced on its edge. Next to the dish was an empty teacup. These were "the dishes". They needed to be cleaned up, a job for a servant--which was just who and what Norgeth must have thought Pippin was.
"The fool probably can't tell one hobbit from another," Pippin realized resentfully, straightening up and walking over to the desk, relieving it of the luncheon things.
He chanced a look in Norgeth's direction as he turned around. The Elf was still lying back on the bed, his eyes still shut. Without more hesitation, Pippin hurried back over to the fireplace, seizing a handful of ashes as he got there, off the top of the pile. Putting the dishes down on the floor, Pippin whipped Aragorn's opened pouch out from inside his cloak, dropped the ashes inside, and quickly pulled the drawstring at the top of the pouch, pulling it shut.
Norgeth opened his eyes then, a delayed reaction to the slight noise of the plate being set down on the floor. He sat up a bit, turning his head toward Pippin in suspicious annoyance.
Pippin hastily slipped the pouch back out of sight, brushing the residue off his hand, onto the outside of his robes. He looked back at Norgeth, gesturing nervously at the fireplace.
"Shall I--" he faltered.
"Scat!" Norgeth interrupted him with irritated anger, a glare lighting in his eyes.
Without another word, Pippin snatched up the dishes and ducked out of the room, into the dim hallway.
***
Pippin looked the new space up and down quickly. He had no idea what to do now, which way to turn. Even if he found his way back to Emblethor's cell, through the castle, the prison door would be locked. He had to find his way back outside, back to the little window.
"A window," Pippin thought, vaguely hopeful. That's what's he needed to look for. Or, perhaps a door. He just needed to get out of this accursed place…
"You," a voice behind him barked suddenly.
Pippin turned apprehensively, clutching the dishes in his hands, and looked up, into the eyes of a tall, harsh-looking Elf guard.
"What are you doing here? Get back to the kitchens!" he snarled down at Pippin, stepping to the side, to reveal the other end of the hall, lit by the distant doorway of what Pippin supposed were "the kitchens". He glared down as Pippin walked helplessly up to and past him, doing as he was told.
Pippin entered the well-lit kitchen with his head down, trying to avoid being looked at by the other hobbit servants, who seemed much too busy with their own tasks to notice, anyway. Trembling with nerves, Pippin set the wobbling dishes down next to the filled wash basin, then ducked out the back door as another hobbit came through it with a pail, filled with clean water. He looked over his shoulder at Pippin as he dumped the pail's contents into the wash basin.
"You might've put them in," the servant called after Pippin, vaguely annoyed, scooping the dishes up off the floor and transferring them to the washing water.
"Sorry," Pippin chanced, stopping briefly in the doorway without turning around, then scurrying out of the kitchen and out of the castle, running around the side wall.
Despite the fact that it gone unnoticed by most for a long time, Pippin had no trouble finding his way back to the small prison ventilator, dropping to his knees on the tough ground as he reached it.
"Aragorn--" he breathed, bringing his face closer to the opening.
**********
"That's unnecessary," Legolas muttered, suddenly feeling the tip of Detarmor's sword poke his lower back, prodding him forward.
"I'll be the judge of that," Detarmor growled behind him, quickening the pace, "as I'll also be the judge of your character."
"What do you mean?" Legolas asked, trying to turn his head, but realizing this would be folly, as Detarmor needed very little provocation at this point.
"I don't truly know who you are or why you upset Lord Frodo so," Detarmor answered icily. "But I've a fair idea of the answer to at least one of those questions, and I intend to test my theories."
"How?" Legolas stopped then, despite the blade at his back. He turned to face Detarmor, who looked back with quiet contempt.
"You've nothing to worry about," he said patronizingly, a trace of the same scheming smile Legolas had seen him wearing in the throne room appearing on his lips once more. "You have very little information to provide me with at this point."
Legolas narrowed his eyes.
"Leave Frodo alone," he said. "Your tormenting of him is beyond evil."
"Who are you to say that?" Detarmor said, lowering his sword. "Should I leave him to you? Let you lie and deceive your way to the Ring?"
"I do not desire it," Legolas responded.
"Everyone desires it," Detarmor snapped.
"Not everyone," said Legolas. "For, all know that the Ring brings nothing but evil. Only those who do not wish to face this fact desire It."
"Like Lord Frodo?" Detarmor raised an eyebrow, smirking a bit.
"Like you," Legolas replied. "One so cowardly and low that they would try to destroy an otherwise-innocent halfling for possession of the Ring."
Detarmor sucked in his breath in anger at this insult.
"Keep your mouth shut," he hissed. "You know nothing about my dealings with Lord Frodo. You are nothing but ignorant, meddlesome--," he stopped himself, breathing in more evenly, regaining composure, then looking back up at Legolas.
Gritting his teeth, Detarmor turned Legolas back around by his shoulder, shoving him in the familiar direction of the cell.
"Don't think you're very clever," Detarmor cautioned him. "Move!"
***
"Open the cell," Detarmor commanded the two guards standing by the opposite wall. They hastily complied, despite the shield of Legolas between themselves and the head of their position.
Detarmor moved up next to Legolas as they reached the small door, still gripping the prince's shoulder, his sword drawn once more.
"Stay where you're put, this time," he said softly to Legolas, looking down as the guards began to unlock the many restraints on the door.
Just then, a wet crash sounded from the direction of the kitchen. Detarmor and Legolas looked up in unison, to see the now-quite familiar human woman, standing before the same female halfling Legolas had seen when he was first imprisoned, in the doorway of the kitchen a few paces ahead. Between the two in the kitchen was a puddle of sudsy water, obviously originating from an upset cooking pot on the floor at the puddle's edge, the back end of which faced the hallway. The hobbit girl looked down at the accident, looking ready to cry with shame.
"Again!" Detarmor exclaimed without warning, taking off from Legolas' side and dashing up to the unpleasant scene.
The human woman, who'd looked prepared to do a bit of scolding on her own for the hobbit's mistake, stood down nervously, backing away as Detarmor approached. It seemed to Legolas that nearly everyone in this place feared Detarmor more than the death he apparently threatened them with.
"You awkward fool!" Detarmor bellowed down at the girl, who shrank back in fright. "Do you believe those around you can afford to follow you around always, cleaning up what you upset? Do you think your labor is even worth that?"
"N-no," the girl was crying now, looking at the floor in misery. Legolas felt his jaw tighten in anger at this cruel spectacle.
"This has happened far too often!" Detarmor seized the girl's chin, tilting her head back up. "You ought to be fired!" Detarmor kicked the empty pail at his feet at the girl, sending it crashing into her small legs. She fell backward onto the floor.
"Leave her alone!" Legolas cried (again, intervening before he gave it much thought). He ran to the doorway, stopping and helping the girl up. "She did nothing that warrants this."
"Stay out of this!" Detarmor jerked Legolas away from the girl, who scurried, terrified, back to the far end of the kitchen. "You cannot have control over everything."
Detarmor pushed Legolas back into the hall, to the now-open cell door.
"One more thing," Detarmor spun Legolas around to face him. "Merry was right about you. You're more trouble than you're worth. Far more trouble."
With that, Detarmor drew his fist back, and Legolas found himself propelled suddenly back the short distance between himself and the wall. He hit the hard surface, his face throbbing and burning with the pain of the unanticipated, savage punch Detarmor had delivered to him, full in the face. Legolas opened his eyes dizzily, bringing his hand to his face, feeling a thin trail of blood running out of his nose. Before Legolas could collect himself further, Detarmor turned him around once more, and down to the opening.
"Now, stay in there!" Detarmor continued, shoving Legolas back into the darkness. "If you don't, you may not even live to regret it, next time."
****End of Part 8****