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: Yeah, Legolas' luck may actually be changing…or so it seems. ;o) Thanks for the review!

Europa: Heh, thanks. Yeah, Det sure has caused far more than his fair share of trouble. Thanks for the review, hope this next part's to your liking! :o)

bOOgie: First, let me just say, your English is very impressive. Secondly, I'm sorry, but cliffhangers are far too much fun to write. :o) They're one of the reasons I got into fanfic writing. :o) Don't worry, though, it'll all come out in the end. And yes, Detarmor is definitely NOT a quitter, you've got that right. Thanks for the great review, hope you like the next part. :o)

**********

Chapter 10

'The Beginning'

Aragorn flinched in alarm as he saw the pouch fall before his eyes.

The Elf-guard gathered the cord back up, closing his hand around the pouch again and lowering it to his side.

"Go on," he smiled. "I said, come and get it."

Aragorn, keenly aware of the fact that he, himself was defenseless, let his eyes fall on the gleaming sword, in its sheath at the guard's side. Attacking him would be dangerous, to say the least. Still, what could he do? Their secret passage had been found out, the apparently-only key to Legolas' passage back home had been captured by the enemy. He had to do something…

"No?" the guard said complacently. "Are you sure?" he held up the pouch once more, widening the opening with his fingertips and slowly tilting it, preparing to pour the contents out onto the floor.

Desperate to retrieve the filched pouch and so incredibly fed up with being harassed and bullied that he felt that his face was on fire, Aragorn leaped forward, roaring in rage, bowling the Elf over, grabbing and clawing for the pouch of ashes. He felt his hand close around the soft surface of the pouch, as the Elf struggled, rolling out from under the ranger and scrambling close to the wall, a look of surprised panic on his face. His hands now empty, the guard yanked his sword out of the sheath, thrusting it out at Aragorn, who had frantically shoved the pouch away and out of sight, inside his own cloak. Fending off the new attack, Aragorn extended his hand, grabbing the side of the blade, jerking it and whisking it away from the guard while protecting his own hands. Rising to his feet, he turned the weapon around, aiming it at the guard's neck. The guard, momentarily stunned at losing his sword, got to his feet slowly, in surrender. Aragorn looked at him with acrimony, staying exactly where and as he was. Though he felt nothing but animosity for this Elf, he did not want to kill him. However, he did not know what else to do now. If he released him, the guard surely would not allow Aragorn to proceed back to his own cell, without trouble of some kind.

***

Norgeth frowned to himself, sweating in his sleep. He turned over suddenly, his hair whipping across his face, waking him up from his dozing. He sat up on the bed, looking out his open window at the oncoming dusk. He had it now! How could he have been so ignorant?

That halfling servant who'd seen fit to disturb him just before he took his much-needed rest had been no servant, at all. He was one of the prisoners, he had to be. His clothes had been all ragged and ripped, and he'd looked as if he'd recently lost a fight. And he'd come in through the window! He'd left it ajar, most probably in the hopes of making a quick escape, which had obviously been foiled with Norgeth's own presence.

"But, why?" Norgeth thought agitatedly. If the hobbit, a prisoner, had found a way out of his cell and out to the surrounding forest, why had he not just run off? Why had he come, dangerously jeopardizing his liberty, to Norgeth's private chamber, into the lion's very den? What was he after?

Norgeth looked back into the room, remembering spitefully. The fire…

That hobbit hadn't been able to keep his little fingers out of the ashes of the extinguished fire. He'd looked like he wanted something from them--or of them. He'd been looking for the braid, or whatever was left of it, Norgeth realized with slightly paranoid consternation. Why? Why was everyone after that wretched braid? This hobbit had tried to steal it, Emblethor had tried to steal it…

And then, he knew. Norgeth remembered the many times he'd seen his colleague practice the healing portal, the type of portal he'd made for Legolas, against Norgeth's commands. Norgeth remembered asking him once, after seeing a little opossum vanish into the light, how one might reverse the effects of the portal.

"Well," Emblethor had said, in his constantly, maddeningly ambivalent tone, "you'd need something of the claimed one, to do that."

They'd all been after the braid because they were after Legolas! They were going to bring that Ringbearing Elf back, then use his power to defeat Norgeth!

Norgeth sprang from the bed, hurrying to the door of his room, flinging it open, and running down the hall, leaving the guards of the outer hall staring blankly after him, though Norgeth did not care, or even notice. He had to see the fellowship again, find out what was going on, what they were doing.

***

"Give it back," the Elf guard said unsteadily, extending his hand for the sword. "You can do nothing without the result of even more trouble, now."

"Silence," Aragorn snarled, swiping at his hand with the sword. The Elf quickly withdrew the hand, not wishing to have his palm sliced open. "Don't move."

"What do you think you can do?" the guard persisted softly. "I cannot remain your prisoner forever. Eventually, someone else will come through there," he indicated the closed but unlocked door behind Aragorn.

Quickly, Aragorn approached it, jamming the sword into the space between the door and the wall, as a temporary means of locking it, to correct the guard's threat. As he did this, he suddenly felt the Elf guard's arms grab him at his flanks, pulling him off his feet and allowing him to fall hard onto his side on the stone floor. Aragorn rolled over, opening his eyes to see the guard reach forward, yanking the sword back out from the wall and opening the door, preparing to call out for help. Aragorn kicked the door shut again with his foot, reaching up and snatching the sword's blade, ripping it out of the guard's hands once more. He put it back in place as a temporary lock with one bleeding hand, as the door's slam was attracting more guards, he knew. With his other hand, he punched the guard behind him in the face, knocking him onto his back and giving himself a chance to get to his feet again. The guard scrambled back up as well, striking Aragorn in return and shoving him backward, then lurching for the sword again. Aragorn lunged forward with more force than he'd gauged, due to his almost falling over backwards from the shove. He knocked into the Elf, getting him away from the sword-lock and slamming him back down onto the floor with equal, if not more, force. The Elf's mouth dropped open silently as Aragorn got up, looking down at his closed eyes. He delicately touched the incapacitated one, checking to see how much damage had been done. It quickly became clear to him that the guard was only unconscious, not dead. Now was his chance…

Suddenly, Aragorn heard a crash, and looked up to see the door shift on its hinges, the sword wobbling in weak obstruction. Outside, Aragorn could hear many voices, all speaking urgently to one another in Elvish, as more blows were delivered to the door. The other guards were now trying to get in, and were much alarmed to find that they couldn't.

Aragorn turned and threw himself back into the hole, his hand clutching at the pouch of ashes under his cloak. Now was his only chance…

***

"I've found them," Aragorn said swiftly, climbing through the hole and regaining his feet. "Only, we haven't a moment to lose--"

He stopped speaking as he was confronted with a very grave-looking Sam, standing just in front of him, separate from the rest of the prisoners, who were clustered a few paces behind the hobbit, in a far corner of the cell.

"It's Emblethor," the hobbit choked out, gesturing to the group as Aragorn hurried past him. "He's--"

As Aragorn came forward the assemblage parted, revealing Emblethor, slumped against the wall, his eyes closed, his head bowed. His complexion was so sallow now, that it looked almost yellow.

"He went like this just after you left," Pippin said fearfully at Aragorn's side, dropping the Elf's limp hand back into his lap. "Nothing we've done seems to have any effect. We don't know if he's just fainted, or--" he faltered, unable to speak more.

"It's true," Gandalf said hoarsely, backing away.

"Can you help him?" Frodo asked Aragorn, moving away for the ranger as well.

Aragorn kneeled down in front of Emblethor's motionless body, looking at his eyelids, willing them to lift. He looked more closely at the wound, the surface area of which, due to the blood flow, covered quite a large space, now.

"Emblethor," he said softly, urgently, the sound of the splintering door and the thunderous shouts of the guards at the other end of the tunnel reaching his ears. He placed his hand on the Elf's collarbone, which he found to be like ice. He couldn't be dead, he couldn't die now…"Wake up, Emblethor…please."

**********

"Well, hello again," Sam said as Legolas climbed into the cell, the light disappearing behind him. "That was a quick audience."

"That was no audience," Legolas said shakily, sitting against the wall and dropping his head into his hands briefly.

"Oh? What happened?" Sam asked, covert concern leaking into his voice as he leaned forward.

"Quite a bit," Legolas responded. "Detarmor convinced Frodo that I should die. He told him that I was aggressive, after the Ring."

"And you corrected him?" Sam replied apprehensively.

"As soon as I was able to," Legolas sighed, leaning back against the wall. "Much to Detarmor's chagrin. I believe Frodo will not be keeping him under his service very much longer."

"Really?" Sam said quietly. "You did it?"

"At least a portion of it. I don't know what he'll do with the Ring. And, I did put in a good word for you," he smiled over at the hobbit, who might have been blushing, or just grinning bashfully in the hazy light of the cell.

"Well, that was kind," Sam replied.

***

"Wake up."

Legolas started, feeling a hand wrap around his arm and drag him out of his sleep-state, and toward the hallway.

"What--what is it?" Legolas whispered in surprise.

"An audience with Lord Frodo," Dentil's familiar voice registered again. "A real one, this time."

Legolas opened his eyes, squinting into the still-dim (but lighter than his cell) hallway as he was drawn out into the hall, bending over at the waist and stepping unsteadily under the low threshold and back into an area with a reasonable ceiling. Dentil stepped back, taking a silent cue and making his way back down the hall, towards the throne room. Legolas turned his head to look after him in confusion, and found himself confronted with Frodo, looking very unhappy.

"I've been to the kitchens," the hobbit said, looking past Legolas, at the now-relatively inactive kitchen area, shut down until breakfast. "Without Detarmor. You were right. Around me, they were kind and courteous, very polite and accommodating. But, I could sense how they really live, how they act and are treated when I'm not around. Lissie only commands when she is told or unencumbered, as you said. I could feel a terrible fear about them all, a secret dread about what--or whom--I might bring. It was dreadful. No one should live that way," he looked back up at Legolas with deeply sorrowful eyes. "I want to destroy It. I want to destroy It more than anything…I believe I always have, it was just--all of this…" he bowed his head again.

"What about Detarmor?" Legolas asked softly, not allowing himself to become too hopeful yet.

"I've fired him," Frodo said without looking up. "And imprisoned him elsewhere."

Legolas felt himself smile in admiration at Frodo's apparent courage.

"So--you will destroy the Ring, now?" he asked at length.

"Yes," Frodo replied, meeting his eye again. "But I have one more request to make of you."

"What?" Legolas said.

"You must come with me," Frodo said softly, looking at him with the same scared, wide-eyed attention Legolas had seen him bestow on Detarmor.

***

"This has certainly been the most eventful night I've seen in a while," Sam said softly, gazing out the intricate front window at the rising sun outside, as he was led into the throne room. He turned to look at the thrones, and stopped dead in his tracks, as he found himself confronted with Frodo and Legolas as the guards turned and left. He gasped a bit in surprise as he gazed at Frodo, who looked back at him, with a mixture of sadness, shame, and fright.

"Sam…" he said quietly.

"F-frodo?" Sam whispered, unmoving from his spot on the floor, his eyes moving from Frodo's face, to the neckline of his shirt, then back to his face, whose look Sam had now unintentionally adopted.

"I'm--sorry," Frodo said, the incredible inadequacy of this statement searing his pitiful tone. "I'm so sorry…"

Sam came forward timidly as Frodo spoke, and Legolas could see a look of faint possibility in his eyes, the slightest familiar shred of the openness and sanguinity that had appeared briefly on first seeing Legolas, reappearing weakly in his gaze. He maintained this look at Frodo, seeming lost for words, or a sufficient reaction. He stepped a bit closer as he looked into Frodo's face and found that he really saw Frodo looking back now, for the first time in so long a time, Sam couldn't remember. He did not see the Ring there, or any of the aggression and hate that came with it, or anything of Detarmor, or the suspicion and debility that came with him; he saw only Frodo, as he now was.

"It's alright," he replied hoarsely, all of the lonely time spent in the windowless cell, being oppressed by the guards and by the Ring, forgotten. Without another word, he pulled Frodo into a hug, which Frodo weakly returned, his body now quaking with silent, much-retained until now weeping. "It's alright."

Legolas watched in silence as the two stood unmoving for a moment, in their long-overdue embrace.

"Sam," Frodo said after a moment, pulling back to look into his face. "I have something I want to tell you…and something I want to ask of you."

"Yes?" Sam whispered, the smile on his face showing Legolas that he clearly knew both of the things Frodo wanted to say.

"I am going to destroy the Ring," Frodo said quietly. "Legolas is going to help me, but I want, more than anything, for you to come, too."

Sam's smile broadened, not entirely happily, but more peacefully at Frodo's words.

"Of course, I'll come," he replied softly.

***

"I suppose it's wise to do this in so secretive a manner," Legolas said softly, giving Frodo a leg-up onto his horse, then helping Sam up behind him.

"Definitely," Frodo replied as Legolas climbed onto the second horse, beside Frodo and Sam's. "Merry's going to have a bit of a surprise when he wakes up. Still, I think he's always wanted to try his hand at ruling," Frodo looked down at the ground in thought, then back up at Legolas. "Though not so greatly as Detarmor has wished it, obviously."

"What are you going to do with him?" Sam questioned quietly behind Frodo, as the horse set off, away from the castle and into the forest.

"I don't know," Frodo said without turning around. He still seemed slightly troubled at the mention of his former advisor. "I suppose I should have him banished or--executed," Frodo seemed like he barely wanted to contemplate the last option, for anyone. "But, I feel that in giving up the Ring, I'm giving up my power, and I really don't have the right to…"

"But, if you don't, then who does?" Sam replied, moving his head around, next to Frodo. "Who will lead? I remember what Detarmor did to you. Without him and without the Ring, perhaps you can be an even better leader."

"Perhaps I can be a leader," Frodo mumbled, smiling bashfully at Sam, then redirecting his attention to Legolas, a few paces in front of them, on his own horse. "Do you know where we're going?"

"Don't worry," Legolas turned back, smiling as if he hadn't heard a word the hobbits had said (mostly for the hobbits' benefit). "I know these lands well. I shall be able to lead us to Mordor from where we are now, by the easiest route possible, though even that won't be too easy."

"Well, that's fine," Frodo replied, looking around at the trees around them, of the forest that widely surrounded the castle. "Just so long as you can lead us. Because I'm already lost."

***End of Part 10