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! :o)
Daphne: Heh, yeah. I like Pip. :o) Thanks for the review!
DG: Thanks for the review! Yep, Detarmor is not a calm dude. You and Marissa seem to have a like opinion of him, understandably. :o)I'm glad you're enjoying this! :o)
Marissa and the WWP: More bandages, please! Stat! :o) I have a feeling Det's gonna need more, esp. after this chapter. And, uhm ::leans forward, speaking in a whisper:: Starburst hard candy, and Phish Food ice cream! You can have Detarmor and Norgeth when they're through, if you like! ::big grin:: BTW, I will be searching for wolves like those. I love writing too much to be without muses as cool as them! ::Sways to Auld Lang Syne:: I love this song. :o) Hope you had fun at your grandmother's, and hope you like this next chapter!
Ecri: Thanks for the review! Yeah, good point about the hobbits. They'd definitely do a little sampling of the dishes, before they were brought out. :o) I'm glad you liked Pip's scenes, too. He's great! :o)
Europa: Hoom, hroom, how true. :o) Thanks for the review, hope you like the next chapter!
ZonyBone: Thanks for the great review! Nope, Detarmor's not kind at all. (Detarmor: "Kindness?" ::looks around blankly:: :o) ) Thanks for the compliment about Legolas, too. :o)
bOOgie: Yes, you're definitely genius! :o) Thanks for the great review, and I hope you like what's to come (Sam makes a reappearance in this chapter :o) )
Also, I would like to thank Crystal Millenium for some of the ideas I put forth in this chapter. Thanks, dahling!! :o)
**********
Chapter 9
"Trouble and The Truth"
I collapse onto my bed, letting out a choked sigh. I roll over after a pause, pulling the covers back up around me. What has happened here? What's going on?
Who is this stranger, this specter that has appeared before me?
"I believe you know who I am…"
I shut my eyes, clutching the bedclothes in my hands. Legolas…
I don't really miss him, I suppose, as I miss Gandalf, or miss Bilbo, since his death. I really just feel an overwhelming, indescribable sadness whenever I think of him (which is fairly frequently). He didn't deserve to die…it wasn't his time to die…though I suppose I can't really say that for sure. Even having the Ring does not make me that powerful. Though, I wish it did…
Still, it is all in the past, and Detarmor has said, quite truthfully, I believe, that nothing good can come of living in the past, questioning what has already been done. It's useless.
I open my eyes, looking up at the intricate pattern the iron panes on the window at the wall at the foot of my bed reflect in the moonlight, onto the ceiling. It is useless to live in the past, that is true, but what must done for the present, for the future? What must be done about this stranger, this alien "Legolas"? What does he want? Why is he here? Who is he? What is he? He troubles me…he bothers me…what can be done? What must be done about him, for him, with him? What must I do with him? He can't remain here…
***
We trudge forward, mournful, drained, soiled with the blood of our enemies, and the blood of our friend. No one speaks. No one has anything to say.
Aragorn leads the way, looking ahead but seeming just as stuck behind as the rest of us.
The pack has thinned a bit. Boromir and Gimli have been sent back to Rivendell with Legolas' body. They will meet us again at their own pace. Sam walks next to me, Merry and Pippin travel behind us a bit. Tears gather in my eyes as I follow Aragorn, barely breathing, barely moving my feet. Sam is weeping silently, privately, as well, though I believe it is more for my sake than for Legolas'. Sam knows what I'm feeling.
Aragorn halts, as Gandalf comes up to his side.
"Let us stop here for now," the wizard says gently, knowing that, at this point, none of the rest of us would stop on our own.
***
"Sit down--I'll do that," Aragorn says kindly, coming up behind me as I drop a small pile of kindling on the ground. I obey without question or protest, backing out of the way and sitting down heavily on the ground, my side towards Aragorn. He looks up at me as he arranges the wood. "Frodo…"
"What?" I turn my head to him, shutting my mouth tightly, after this word. It's all I can get out.
"You aren't responsible for what happened to Legolas," he says softly. "None of us are. It could not have been prevented."
"Of course, it could have," I respond, almost without my knowledge, as I look away again. "Easily. Without the Ring, none of it would have happened. He wouldn't even have been here."
"Then, the Ring is to blame," Aragorn says. "But you are not. Understand that, Frodo," he leans closer, trying to get me to meet his eye. "Please."
I don't reply right off. I don't even want to. What can I say? I don't understand it. I don't understand why it happened, why Legolas died, and I didn't, none of the rest of us did. But, I feel Aragorn's eyes on me, searching, beseeching. I turn to meet them, though it is no easy task, for me.
"I know," I say quietly. "I know."
***
"Come," I think to myself, with anguish. "Come, go to sleep. Shut your eyes. Stop thinking. Stop thinking about it. Just shut your eyes."
My eyes are shut, though it doesn't seem that way. Frightening images, whether truly emblazoned underneath my eyelids, or merely in my mind's eye, trouble me and keep me from moving away from the pain and sadness, even for this one night.
How can I sleep, with what has happened? He didn't deserve to die. It shouldn't have happened. I could have prevented it, but I didn't.
I roll over onto my back on the cold ground, opening my eyes, gazing helplessly up at the sky, in debilitating grief.
I realize that there will be more, of course. Even if we defeat this Ring, every last one of us will be destroyed, one way or another. But evil will not be destroyed, I know this, I feel it. Evil is unshakeable. It will come back. It will thrive. And there will be nothing I can do about it then, because I will be gone forever, and will have done only as I was told, in life. Legolas had done only what he'd been told was right, and we'd all seen how tragically futile it had been. But what can I do now? What should I do to keep this from happening, ever again? I ponder longer than is necessary, the answer already forming in my mind.
I should keep the Ring. Wield it. Not use it against anyone. Not use it for anyone. Not use it at all, but keep it. Merely possessing the Ring will be enough to keep all other forces at bay. It will put me in control, and if I am in control, I can be sure that nothing like this ever happens again.
I bring my hand up to rest on my chest. I feel the Ring beneath my hand, under my shirt. It feels cold under the fabric, but inviting, somehow. I blink hard as the tears finally come running down the sides of my face, landing in the dirt. I suppose I cry for Legolas, though I feel a strange relief now, too. I roll over onto my side, pulling the Ring out from under my clothes, closing my hand around it on its chain, and bringing my fist up closer to my face, crying in earnest now.
"Frodo," Aragorn calls to me, standing at the edge of the campsite. I roll over to face him, realizing that Sam is awake next to me, sitting up with concern. They must have heard me.
"What are you doing?" Aragorn asks, noticing my hand.
I stand up, releasing the Ring, wiping my face with the back of my other hand. I try to look determined and sure, though I know, to Aragorn, I only look like a little boy.
"I want to tell you something," I say to him. "I want to tell you all something very important."
***
Legolas let out a groan of pain and distress as he heard the cell door being replaced and shut up again, behind him. He rolled over onto his back, then sat up, delicately holding his hand underneath his nose, catching the drops of the blood that were already lessening, though his face was still hot and still ached, where Detarmor had punched him.
"Something more we have in common," a familiar voice spoke up in the darkness. "Apart from imprisonment, of course."
Legolas turned around, smirking as he saw Sam step forward, looking cocksure, though he also looked at least somewhat pleased that Legolas had returned.
"Did you get very far with Frodo?" Sam inquired chidingly. "He doesn't always listen to reason, I've found."
"No, he doesn't," Legolas agreed amiably, wiping his nose as he turned himself around fully. "Neither does Detarmor."
Sam's smile faltered at his name.
"That was him…" he said softly, cocking his head slightly toward the closed door.
"Yes," Legolas said. "And, you were right in everything you said about him. He's evil."
"He's weak," Sam said dismissively, walking over to the wall and sitting down. "He can't control himself, for the Ring."
They paused then, as Legolas considered all that had happened, all that he had seen since last he had been in this cell. What could he do, now?
"Are you going to try again?" Sam asked finally, looking up wearily in the direction of the cell ceiling.
"Perhaps," Legolas replied. He didn't see what else he could do, at this point.
***
"Lord Frodo, you sent for me?" Detarmor stood in the doorway of Frodo's room.
"Please come in. Shut the door," Frodo said, sitting up straighter on the edge of his bed as Detarmor came and sat down beside him.
"What is it, my Lord?" Detarmor said softly, looking down at him with devotion.
"It's this stranger," Frodo replied. "He troubles me greatly. And, how he speaks, what he says…" Frodo paused, thinking of how to articulate what he wanted to communicate, "I feel as if he is, perhaps--"
"--dangerous?" Detarmor interrupted.
Frodo looked up at him with slight surprise.
"Forgive me, my Lord," said Detarmor, "but it is what I feel."
"Truly?" Frodo asked.
"Yes, my Lord," Detarmor replied ardently. "I would never tell you anything but the truth."
Frodo looked down at the floor.
'Dangerous'? He didn't know about that. Curious, yes, unsettling, absolutely, but 'dangerous'? It seemed a bit of a stretch. Frodo couldn't say that he'd been really afraid of this stranger. He looked back up at Detarmor.
"I don't think he's a threat," he said. "I think--"
"Forgive me, my Lord, but he is," Detarmor interrupted, his eyes wide and insistent. "He resisted most frighteningly when we tried to put him back in his cell. Just ask Vodelin, or Denil. They were there. He attacked them."
Again, Frodo looked at him in alarmed surprise.
"He didn't--?" he began in disbelief.
"I'm afraid it is true, my Lord," Detarmor said disconsolately. "He desires the Ring. He desires it fiercely. That is why he is here."
Frodo looked away again, in tumultuous thought.
"That is why he is here," Frodo thought, his hand almost straying up to his nightshirt again. "That is why he appears the way he does. He is not truly Legolas, in any form. He is evil."
"Lord Frodo?" Detarmor leaned over slightly, still speaking mellifluously. "What did you wish to consult me about?"
Frodo turned his head back to the Elf.
"Nothing," he said solidly, standing up. "Go and fetch him. I shall be in the throne room."
***
"Now what?" Sam exclaimed in muffled anguish as the cell door was whipped open once more. "I haven't had this much indoors light in years."
"Silence, halfling," Denil snarled, climbing in and seizing Legolas' arm. "Come with me."
"Why?" Legolas asked agitatedly, noting the grim gleam in the guard's eye.
"An audience with Lord Frodo," Denil replied, dragging him out of the cell and setting off with him down the hall, leaving Vodelin to clean things up. "You should be very pleased."
***
It was no mere audience that awaited Legolas, he could easily see as he was thrust into the throne room. Frodo stood before his throne, looking treacherous and betrayed. Just behind him stood Detarmor, his hands joined down by his waist, whatever he held in them, blocked from view by Frodo. Detarmor wore a look much like Frodo's, though his held a tint of triumph. Legolas froze as Dentil entered swiftly behind him.
"What--" he said.
"Silence," Dentil snapped, coming around to face Frodo and Detarmor.
"Leave us, Dentil," Frodo said firmly.
Dentil looked sore to miss what was going to happen, as it was obvious to him as well that this was more than just an audience, but he departed, as he was told.
Legolas looked after him uneasily, then faced Detarmor and Frodo again.
"What's going on?" he asked softly.
Detarmor stepped forward, drawing a large, razor-sharp sword into view.
"You have reached the end of your journey," he said simply.
He came up to Legolas and seized a fistful of his flaxen hair, pulling his head back. Detarmor lifted the sword, bringing it up to Legolas' pale throat. Legolas gasped in disbelief as he felt the cold blade, realizing what was going to be done. His eyes fell on Frodo, standing back, looking down in embarrassed pain, in fear. Frodo looked up, seemingly in spite of himself, at Legolas' exclamation. Taking in Legolas' face, his look changed from shame to grave curiosity.
"What happened to you?" he asked, stepping forward, "to your nose?"
Detarmor staggered back in surprise at the sound of Frodo's voice, unintentionally removing the sword from Legolas' throat. He turned back to Frodo, looking shocked and disappointed.
"My Lord--?" he said, glancing at Legolas' nose, which Legolas realized then, had started bleeding ever so slightly again. Instinctively, the prince reached up and wiped it with his fingers, opening his mouth to reply to Frodo.
"My Lord," Detarmor continued, not giving Legolas a chance. "A side effect of his resistance. A product of our self-defense, in trying to get him back into the cell."
"What?" Legolas snapped, gazing with matching shock at Detarmor. "That's not true! You know what happened. You hit--"
"Silence!" Detarmor bellowed. "We have no more time or patience for your lies," he looked ready to raise the sword again.
"Wait," Frodo grasped the hilt of sword lightly, drawing it away from Detarmor, who surrendered it helplessly. Frodo looked up at Legolas. "What happened to your face?"
"A slight act," Legolas responded. "Though I can tell you truthfully, that I did not provoke it as self-defense."
"Will you believe him?" Detarmor burst out next to Frodo. "He would not tell you the truth, when death is so near because of it!"
"And he would not tell you the truth, with the Ring so near!" Legolas maintained his gaze at Frodo, glancing away once only, to indicate Detarmor in his statement.
"Oh, how clever!" Detarmor countered, sounding very nearly affronted. "Turn around the crimes and accusations, the very things that plague your character."
"What?" Legolas refocused on Detarmor. "You say I covet the Ring? I have already told you, I don't!"
"Then, why are you here?" Frodo cried out in sudden suffering, bounding in between them, the sword in his hand. "Why have you come here?"
Legolas looked down at Frodo, sadness, turmoil, frustration, desperation to help and convince, pooled into his eyes.
"I got lost," he responded slowly, softly, truthfully.
Frodo shut his mouth, lowering the sword. Detarmor did not seem to like what was happening.
"He is lying," Detarmor insisted. "He is not here by chance! If he did not want the Ring, then why would he even have spoken to you about it, tried to convince you to give it up?"
Frodo looked at Detarmor with childlike diligence as he spoke, then turned back to Legolas, his features hardened a bit, in consideration of Detarmor's seemingly-valid point.
"Yes," he said softly. "If you speak only the truth, explain that."
"I only said it because the Ring is treacherous," Legolas replied, his tone unchanging. "I have been told why you kept it, and I know it is for the wrong reasons. Without him," Legolas again indicated Detarmor, with his eyes, "you would have been able to see that, long ago."
"Detarmor is nothing but a blessing," Frodo said, surprised and defensive, at this last statement. "He only means to help me."
"Only as long as it takes him to get the Ring from you," Legolas said instantly.
"How dare you!" Detarmor stumbled, restraining himself from lunging at Legolas, in front of Frodo.
"That--that isn't true," Frodo said, ignoring Detarmor, for once. "He is my friend."
"Sam was your friend," Legolas responded. "He only wanted to help you. But you had him locked away, and on whose bidding?"
Frodo lowered his eyes in shame, knowing the answer, full well.
"And, what of your subjects, your men and women?" Legolas continued, seizing his chance. "They do not care what you command; they only fear Detarmor!"
"I--I can't--" Frodo mumbled.
"If you can't believe me, go see for yourself," Legolas said. "Those who work in your kitchens, the hobbits--your very kind--live in fear of his aggressive ways."
"Do not speak!" Detarmor interrupted in fury.
"The hobbits are alright," Frodo spoke up over Detarmor, his tone now innocent, naïvely indignant and surprised, as he looked back up at Legolas. "Lissie takes care of them. She's in charge of them."
"Lissie?" Legolas replied incredulously, then realized that Frodo must have been talking about the ubiquitous human woman he had met, from the kitchens. "Lissie does not take care of the hobbits, unless it is under Detarmor's bidding. He lords over them. They live in terror of--"
"Silence!" Detarmor bellowed again, snatching the sword away from Frodo and swiping it at Legolas' face, which the prince drew out of range, stumbling back, startled. Legolas looked down at Frodo at this, who, by his appearance, looked just as startled as Legolas, if not more so. He looked slowly away from Legolas, to gaze, hurt and disbelieving, at Detarmor. Detarmor turned back to him with hesitation, knowing that his actions would not be explained away so easily, now. He breathed in slowly, exhaling as he handed the sword back to Frodo.
"Forgive me, I beg you," he said to Frodo. "But--this stranger's words--his accusations against me--"
"Denil!" Frodo turned his head to the stone awning in the wall a few paces away. Instantly, the guard reappeared, looking puzzled. Frodo gestured to Legolas, with the hand that held the sword. "Escort him back, please. I need a moment alone with…" he trailed off.
"Yes, my Lord," Dentil replied dutifully. He walked over to Legolas, grabbing him roughly by the arm again, and forcefully pushing him back the way he had come.
"No!" Frodo blurted at this, holding up his free hand. "Don't--" he faltered again, lowering his hand. "Just escort him back to the cell, please."
Nodding with compliance, Dentil let go of Legolas' arm, walking just behind him out of the throne room and down the hall, letting out a sigh of incomprehension as soon as he was out of Frodo's earshot.
**********
Aragorn pulled Pippin through the window, setting him down gingerly on the stone floor.
"I've got them," Pippin said, reaching into his cloak and pulling out the pouch, dented at the bottom with ashes, handing it to Aragorn.
"Wonderful, thank you," Aragorn responded hurriedly, accepting the ashes, then turning back to Emblethor. "Now, we must get you back to our cell."
"And, what if Norgeth, or one of the guards comes to check on me?" Emblethor mumbled, looking in no way ready to cooperate. "It's too dangerous. I can cast the spell here."
"What--" Aragorn began, but was silenced as Emblethor held out his hand.
"Just let me do this," Emblethor said softly. "With Legolas back, we may stand a chance against Norgeth and his men."
"Are you strong enough?" Pippin asked, softly incredulous, eyeing the Elf's worsening wound with concern.
"I'm getting no stronger, doing nothing," Emblethor replied.
"Which is why we must tend to you first," Aragorn said firmly, coming over and leaning down, preparing to lift Emblethor up.
"No!" Emblethor said in a startlingly sharp tone, ducking out of the way. "Let me bring back Legolas, before we do anything else. This may be our only chance. Norgeth--"
"Alright," Aragorn interrupted him, holding his hands up slightly, for silence. He wished to hear nothing more about Norgeth, at least for the moment, and it seemed to him that Emblethor's guilt over the trouble he felt he'd caused was causing the Elf great anguish, especially in his present, weakened state. "Go on," Aragorn backed up slowly, glancing at Pippin, directing him to do the same.
Emblethor opened the pouch, pouring a small amount of the ashes into his open hand. He closed his hand around them, and closed his eyes as well, appearing now to be in deep thought. Aragorn looked on with growing unease as Emblethor appeared to grow more and more strained, but otherwise, nothing else happened to anything. Emblethor bowed his head, groaning in slight frustration, his hands shaking. Suddenly, his closed hand sprang open, scattering the pinch of ashes on his robes and onto the floor in front of him.
"You're right," he said hoarsely. "I'm too weak. I need Gandalf, again."
"Then, come," said Aragorn, coming back over and helping Emblethor up, supporting him as he stood. "As you've said, time is of the essence. Pippin, you go first."
The hobbit nodded, quickly obeying him, jumping into the small hole nearby and traveling as rapidly as he could (on all fours) down the tunnel, to ensure enough room for Aragorn and Emblethor.
Aragorn moved forward with Emblethor. He hoisted the Elf into the tunnel, looking back at the door as he heard one of the guards pass by again.
"Are you alright?" he asked in a whisper, turning back to Emblethor, who had already started crawling.
"Yes," Emblethor said wearily, his arms giving out as he crashed down onto his elbows.
Aragorn hastily climbed in, a few paces behind him.
"It's alright," Aragorn said, looking on at him with anxiety, as the Elf struggled to right himself. This was bad…"It's not far--you'll be alright."
Emblethor made another indiscernible noise, straightening up and pulling himself forward.
***
"What did he need you for?" Sam asked, helping Pippin down as he reached the opposite end of the tunnel.
"It's a lot to tell," Pippin responded, turning around to look for his companions, and quickly spotting Emblethor's form, moving towards them. "He's hurt," Pippin cautioned them, stepping back, again to provide room.
"Who?" many voices asked at once, but in an instant, it became apparent who was injured. Boromir rushed forward, grasping Emblethor by the shoulders and slowly lowering him out of the hole, comfortably onto the ground. Emblethor looked up at him gratefully, moving out of the way as he heard Aragorn approach, from behind.
"Now," Aragorn said, dropping to the ground, on his feet next to Emblethor, "we--"
"--must still bring Legolas back first," Emblethor cut him off. "I'm almost certain the guards heard something then. We can't wait. I'd have done it myself, if I was able to."
Aragorn looked down in weary frustration, but stepped to the side, knowing that, for Emblethor's physical sake, he couldn't waste more time arguing the same point. He turned to Pippin, standing in front of him.
"Pippin, the ashes," he said softly, holding out his hand.
Pippin looked briefly at the man's hand, then up at his face, his eyes slightly wide with alarm.
"I gave them to you," he whispered.
Aragorn lowered his hand, thinking back.
"Yes, you did," he said vaguely, his hand now searching under his own cloak for the pouch. "And then, Emb--," Aragorn looked down at Emblethor, who now wore the same look he did. Emblethor looked down at his own filthy robes, parting the wrinkled fabric, searching as well. After a moment, he looked back up at Aragorn, now with a look more like Pippin's.
"I--must have dropped them," he said, defeated and wracked with misery.
"It's alright--" Aragorn said hurriedly, though his mind was privately swept into a panic, at these words. "I'll go get them."
Before another word could be spoken, Aragorn climbed back up into the hole, and down the tunnel.
"They'll be here…they can't have vanished…they'll be there," Aragorn thought breathlessly, crawling through the long, confined space. "They'll be there."
Aragorn practically fell to the ground of the cell, in his thoughts forgetting the tunnel's sudden end. As he lifted his head, he heard the creak and click of armor and saw an indistinct, tall figure standing in the shadows, by the opposite wall, turning at the noise of Aragorn falling. Aragorn scrambled to his feet. An Elf-guard stepped forward, sweeping the shadows away from himself.
"Hello," he said softly to Aragorn, smirking at the ranger's obvious distress at finding another being in the cell. "Come to visit Emblethor? I'm afraid you've missed him," the Elf's eyes drifted to the hole in the wall, now in plain sight, from where he stood. "Now, where is he?"
Aragorn frowned, stepping back, eyeing the Elf's sword at his side. He was prepared only to keep silent, for this Elf. He allowed his eyes to drop to the floor, surreptitiously scanning it for the lost pouch as the guard stepped forward again.
"What are you looking for?" the guard said, raising his right hand, which was closed in a loose fist, as Aragorn looked up. He opened it without flourish, releasing the pouch of ashes, the string of which was looped around his finger. He dangled the pouch before Aragorn, like a pendulum. "This? You want this? Come and get it."
***End of Part 9***