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 the great reviews, everybody! :o)
Moonfairy2000: I'm glad you like this story! Hope you like this next part! :o)
Shauna: Thanks for the review! Yeah, another cliffhanger. And the cliffhangers aren't over yet…;o) Thanks again, and hope you like this new chapter! :o)
Sorry it took me so long to update!
**********
"Alas! Alas! The tidings that I was sent to bring must now be told." - Legolas, The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring
Chapter 11
'The End'
"What's going on?" Merry demanded, hurrying into the room in the hall, that joined to the prisons, kitchens, and bedchambers. "Where's Lord Frodo?"
"My Lord?" Hetegen rose from his seat quickly, coming over to the angry and alarmed hobbit standing in the doorway. "He is not here?"
"Of course, he's not!" Merry snapped, turning on his heel and quickly making his way back into the empty throne room. "Look!"
"Perhaps he is still in his chamber--," the Elf-guard began.
"No, he's not!" Merry sniffed, turning to face him. "I've already looked there! He's gone."
"My Lord…" Hetegen gestured as respectfully as he could at Frodo's vacant throne, behind Merry. On the seat of it, leaned against the seatback, was a folded piece of paper, with Merry's name written on the front.
Clenching his teeth to conceal his feelings of foolishness at missing this, Merry turned around and snatched up the paper, unfolding it and reading it silently to himself. When he was finished, he lowered the paper, a stunned look, struggling to appear calm, on his face.
"It's alright," Merry said quietly. "He's gone away for a while, but he will return, when he is able to. He has taken the two in the old prison cell with him, he says they are innocent and deserve their freedom. He has also thrown Detarmor into the upper prison."
"I see, my Lord," Hetegen replied softly, nodding his head, unable to be too surprised at the news of Detarmor, for he had suspected a problem there for a long time.
"Very well then," Merry said, as if to himself, folding the paper back up and putting it away inside his robes. "You may go back to--"
"Lord Merry!" Vodelin came charging suddenly through the doorway at the opposite wall.
"What?" Merry turned around, quite startled at the sudden noise.
"It's--Detarmor," Vodelin panted. "He resisted us when we tried to put him in the prison. He has escaped us, and the castle," Vodelin looked up at Merry in mortified distress, and Merry saw that he had a cut on his face, from his brow to his eyelid, and blood was running into his eye as he spoke.
"He's--armed?" Merry gasped, looking with no anger, only pity and dread, on Vodelin's drained form.
"Yes, my Lord," Vodelin replied, seeming more troubled than ever. "He took my sword from me."
Merry's eyes fell with great fear on Vodelin's empty sheath at his side, which looked like it had almost been ripped off his belt, in the attempt to claim the weapon. This was horrible…
Merry's mind immediately went to the words Frodo had written to him about Detarmor, in the brief letter he'd left.
"It has become clear in a most unsavory manner that Detarmor desires the Ring, and will do anything he needs to, to get it. I have removed him from his position, and have him thrown into prison."
Detarmor wanted the Ring…that was why he had never left Frodo alone, even for a second when he w as in command, and that was why he refused to be peacefully put into prison. He wanted the Ring…
"Hetegen," Merry looked up sharply at the Elf at his other side, "wake the other guards. Lord Frodo is in danger."
***
"This is quite a pretty place," Frodo said, looking up as the sun shone through the spaces between the leaves in the branches above his head. "I can't remember the last time I left the palace."
Legolas smiled back, but then turned back around, saying nothing. The whole of the land was a good deal nicer in the Middle-Earth he'd left, than it was in this land, enslaved by the Ring as it was.
"I've wanted to ask you," Frodo continued, driving his and Sam's horse up closer to Legolas's. "I did not entirely grasp what you meant when you claimed to be from 'another realm of Middle-Earth'. And, based at least on your physical appearance, I'd like very much to know exactly where you're from."
"Oh, don't start him off on that!" Sam chuckled behind Frodo. "Unless you're starved for something imaginative!"
Legolas smirked in return at Sam. He'd never known Sam was capable of such forward, lighthearted banter.
"Come now, where are you from?" Frodo repeated, laughing along with Sam.
Legolas paused, taking a deep breath. He supposed there was nothing else to talk about, at the moment…
"I…have come from another realm of Middle-Earth--another dimension of it," he said haltingly, knowing of no more believable way to phrase it.
Frodo's eyes widened, and he leaned forward a bit on his horse, at this statement.
"What do you mean?" he said. "You are another Legolas? From another Middle-Earth?"
"Another version of it," Legolas nodded. "I do not truly understand how it works, myself. I was accidentally brought here by a strange spell."
"A spell?" Frodo said vaguely.
"Yes," Legolas shifted on his horse, gazing back at the trees before them.
"And, what makes this Middle-Earth differ from the one you left? How do you know it is not just part of the same?" Frodo asked, seeming to try to maintain the joking atmosphere Legolas was trying to abandon, for the sake of his argument.
"Because, I know Frodo, in the other one," Legolas responded. "I know all of the fellowship. I am one of them."
Frodo fell silent for a moment, looking with shocked curiosity at Legolas.
"Truly?" Frodo whispered. "What are they like?"
"Yes--he didn't tell me this bit," Sam added quietly.
"They are much, I imagine, as you are, without the continual influence of the Ring," Legolas replied amiably. "Though, we were all on a path different from this one."
"You have destroyed the Ring?" Frodo's voice rose in surprise.
"Not yet," Legolas said. "But that is what we were doing. When I was taken. I only hope that that is still what they are doing."
"What else would they be doing?" Sam asked.
Legolas paused, looking at the ground beneath his horse's hooves, then back at the forest in front of him.
"They might try to find me," he said finally. "I was taken by a strange, bright portal, and they might be trying to find a way to reverse its effects. I only hope they are not, because there were two Elves who seemed to be responsible for its creation--a small, fragile-looking one, and another, much greater, more menacing. From what I last saw of the first one, his chances of survival seem slim. And the other is a greatly dangerous being. He intensely covets the Ring."
"Like Detarmor?" Frodo muttered, returning his gaze to the trees aligned with the horizon as well, then suddenly being thrown from his horse as it reared up, shrieking in startling panic.
"Exactly like Detarmor, I imagine," a familiar, dreadful voice jeered from the ground before them.
Legolas leaped from his horse, which quickly, fearfully followed the other into the trees, now that they were rid of their riders. So fast it was almost unobservable, Legolas drew his returned bow, loaded and aimed dangerously, at Detarmor.
"Leave," Legolas said severely. Detarmor responded by reaching forward in annoyance, swatting the tip of the arrow upwards and stalking past Legolas, to Frodo, who had scrambled to his feet, Sam at his side.
"How could you?" Detarmor whispered, leaning down in front of Frodo. "How could you do this? How could you expect this to be for the best? The Ring is all there is for you!"
As he spoke, Legolas approached quickly from behind, but froze as he saw Detarmor, between him and Frodo, pull a long sword, smeared with blood, into view. Frodo looked at it nervously, stumbling back a bit, but remaining silent. Legolas repositioned his bow, but didn't dare to move, for Frodo's sake. Sam took Frodo's arm protectively, though he looked less than sure of himself, too.
"Speak!" Detarmor shouted suddenly, gripping the handle of the sword ever tighter. "Tell me why! I want to know why!"
"The Ring is not for good, Detarmor," Frodo said, fighting to sound stolid. "It was not created for good, and cannot be used for good."
Detarmor's back stiffened at this, and he turned vaguely to Legolas, then back to Frodo, before a move could be made.
"You've listened to him?" Detarmor barked at Frodo, insulted and infuriated. "You believed his lies? Why should you do that? Who is he to tell you how to rule, what to do with the Ring? The Ring does not belong to him!"
"Nor does it belong to you," Frodo replied, becoming more sure of himself, as he became more sure of the truth. "It is not your decision to make. It never was, and it will never be."
"Now, leave him alone!" Sam spoke up angrily, batting the tip of Detarmor's sword away in the same manner in which Detarmor had disarmed Legolas, and walking with Frodo past him, back over to the prince.
Detarmor's mouth was open to speak as he watched them, but he seemed unable to think of what to say. Reason had left him. He turned to the hobbits.
"I will not let you do this!" he cried, as Frodo picked up the pack that had fallen off the horse and began to approach the far edge of the clearing with Sam, away from Detarmor, to prove his point. "I will not allow this to happen!"
Frodo said nothing; he did not even turn around at these challenging words.
"Frodo!" Detarmor ran forward suddenly, but Legolas stepped out in front of him, clutching his ready bow. Detarmor shoved Legolas away forcefully, sending him down onto the forest floor, his bow and arrow flying out of his arms as he hit the ground, landing out of his reach.
Detarmor reached Frodo, digging his nails into the hobbit's shoulder as he tried to turn him around. Frodo cried out in surprise and in pain at this, struggling to free himself from Detarmor, to stop himself from being steered back. Without a word, Sam drew his own sword, slicing into Detarmor's arm. It was Detarmor's turn to cry out now, clutching his bleeding arm, which still held the sword, as Legolas got to his feet a few paces away, drawing his knives, observing it carefully. This was either a very good sign, or a very bad one.
"See what you've done," Detarmor panted, bringing his arm in front of Frodo, who recoiled. "Look what you've done."
Frodo looked up into his face, gravely serious, hateful of the conniving one.
"Go away," he said to Detarmor. "You no longer have a place with me. I will destroy the Ring."
"You w--," Detarmor stammered, releasing his own arm, now fully furious at Frodo's seeming impudence and foolishness. "You won't!" he raised the sword.
"Leave them be!" Legolas bellowed, rushing at him from behind. Instantly, Detarmor spun around with his weapon, thrusting it out blindly. Frodo saw Legolas come within arm's reach of Detarmor, between them, then suddenly halt unclasping his hands around his knives and dropping them, making an odd noise of surprise, perhaps even fright. He looked down, his long hair falling in front of his face, and the form of Detarmor blocking what had happened from Frodo's view, though he sensed with a nauseous dread what it was.
Legolas looked down in silence, at the sword's blade buried in the front of his tunic. It had gone in quite far, even coming out the other side. Legolas could feel his own blood running like water down his back, as it began to flow from the wound in front as well. He looked back up at Detarmor in incredulity, not at Detarmor's capability of doing something like this, but at his own capability of simply letting it happen, however accidentally.
"No!" Frodo cried, meaning to run to Legolas' side, but stopping himself clumsily as he saw Legolas raise his knives once more. Breathing heavily, the prince gripped the handles of the knives, swinging them through the air and letting them bite into Detarmor's flesh, that was within reach. Detarmor gave an agonized yell, erratically heaving the sword out of Legolas as he, himself, fell back onto the ground, his blood seeping through his tunic and the holes that had been torn through it, in the successful knife attack. Detarmor raised his head with difficulty, looking at Frodo, who had now reached Legolas, and way eye-level with the prince's wound. Feeling the dying Detarmor's gaze, he turned his head, albeit unwillingly.
"It had to be done," Detarmor croaked, indicating the tremulous Legolas standing next to Frodo. "But this did not," Detarmor's hand made a tearing clutch for his own death-dealing wounds, then his whole form slumped back flat on the ground, all life in him, gone.
Legolas wordlessly collapsed to his knees now, falling onto his side, on the cold, frosted ground. Frodo dropped down next to Legolas, and Sam dropped down next to Frodo.
"No…" Frodo whispered, grasping Legolas' shoulder as Legolas turned over onto his back, groaning in pain, trying to cup his hand over his wound.
In reaction, Frodo moved his own hand over the wound as if to examine it, but halted in midair, realizing that he would only be plunging his hand into the pool of blood gathered and spilling off of Legolas' chest. He instead reached down and took Legolas' clean hand in both of his, unable to speak, for grief.
"Legolas," he breathed, "Legolas, please…" he couldn't speak more. His own head was growing light, his breath coming short. He couldn't believe it. It was happening again…again. It was happening again--and it was his own fault…again. Frodo bowed his head as the tears ran more liberally down his face.
Legolas turned his face to Frodo, blinking hazily as he observed the hobbit in misery. Though he, himself was in such pain that breath did not come easily, he knew he had to speak now. He knew this was not an injury from which he could recover, and he couldn't let Frodo make the same mistake twice, especially for the same reason.
"I'm sorry," Frodo said unevenly, looking dazedly down at the wound, then fearfully and sorrowfully at Legolas. "I'm sorry."
"It's not your fault," Legolas managed, straining to speak, and to cover the wound with the hand that was already over top of it.. Frodo looked back down at it, weeping.
"Frodo," he said softly. Frodo's wet eyes moved back to his. "What did he say?" Legolas asked him. "What did Legolas say to you after he was hurt, while he was dying?"
"N-nothing," Frodo murmured. "He couldn't speak."
"What do you think he'd have said, if he could have spoken?" Legolas persisted, trying to keep himself from shivering as he felt the warmth of his own blood running away onto the leaves. "Do you think he'd have blamed you? Do you think he'd have been angry? What would he have said?"
Frodo opened his mouth a bit, his face growing distressed as he halted in speaking, considering what Legolas had said.
"This wasn't your fault," Legolas continued. "Neither was your Legolas' death. He did not die because of you. By his own choice, did he come with you. He died for you, for all of you. That's the difference," Legolas let out a sigh. "I'm sorry that I cannot continue on with you. But, destroy the Ring, Frodo. You must. You know it is the only way. You can still do it," his thinning voice grew encouraging with these words. "You still have Sam. You can find the way."
Sam took hold of Frodo's arm again, out of compassion, and his own need for companionship, as the two of them looked down at Legolas. Frodo clenched his jaw shut as he nodded in silent promise to Legolas. Legolas smiled, looking back up through the trees, through the leaves that Frodo had found so pleasant.
Frodo got up from his kneeling posture, approaching the center of the clearing and stooping shakily to retrieve Legolas' bow from where it had inadvertently been flung when Detarmor had knocked him to the ground. Straightening up, Frodo turned back to Legolas, coming over and laying the slim weapon in the prince's hand that was not covering his wound. Sam, catching on fast, gathered Legolas' knives from where they'd landed on the ground behind them, sliding them back into the sheaths for him.
Though Legolas could feel his weapons being returned to him, he made no reaction, verbal or physical. He felt so weak, so tired…he couldn't move. And now, he felt that he didn't have to. His eyes drifted shut. The sun seemed suddenly to have become too bright to look at. Unseeing, unmoving, Legolas allowed himself to surrender to his injury.
"Legolas--," Frodo leaned forward a bit as the prince shut his eyes. Frodo's own eyes grew wider in alarmed distress as he found that he could feel no breath, however faint, issuing from between Legolas' parted lips. "Legolas!"
***End of Part 11
Author's Note: Despite the name of this chapter, it's not over yet! We have one chapter to go! :o) See you then!