Author's note ~ Thank you all for the wonderful reviews!! Please keep them coming!

Plus, I'd like to have your opinions. Should I stop my story at Emyn Muil, or should I write through "The Two Towers" too? Please let me know! I'm not sure yet what I want to do, so some opinions on the subject would really, really help!!!!!!!

To Anna Black, thank you for your comment about "mellon", I'm glad that you noticed my slip. If you go back, you'll see that I fixed it. :) :) :)
Thanks to you all!!!!!!!

Ginger- Hey, you signed in once!!! :) :)

PLEASE REVIEW!!!!!!!!!

Now, without further adieu, I proudly present,

"And the Fellowship of the Ring Shall Be Ten"

Chapter 7~ "Moria, Part 2"

Teneriel shivered slightly as the Fellowship traipsed deeper into the encroaching darkness. To her Elvish eyes, the darkness itself seemed to be alive, with dark fingers tearing at her inner light. She gave an involuntary shudder and tried to ignore the darkness. It was impossible. She was surrounded by it, the only light being Gandalf's staff up ahead.

Her senses pricked up slightly. Normally, if she was in a dark place, it was fairly simple to push away darkness, but here... she just couldn't do it. Her heartbeat quickened slightly, and her breath came out in a rush. Something was wrong. Dreadfully wrong. She could feel it.

Teneriel stopped and turned around, scanning the corridor behind her. Nothing, nothing at all. But the feeling that she had told her otherwise. It was there, and even if she couldn't see it, she could feel it.

A hand clamped onto her shoulder, and Teneriel jumped, a clear sign that something was amiss. Boromir stepped back a pace, his eyebrows raised. "Are you all right?" he asked warily, regarding her with narrowed eyes.

Teneriel sighed, wishing that she could just deny the feeling of dread creeping up on her. Sadly, she could not. "No," she said shortly, trying in vain to repress the fingers of fear that were crawling up her spine. "We are being followed."

His eyes widened. "Are you sure?" Boromir asked, his hand cold against her arm.

She turned to him, an eyebrow raised. "Yes, I am sure. I can hear it, but most importantly, I can feel it."

From behind her, Aragorn's low baritone murmured, "Eriel? What is it?"

She sighed, composing herself before turning to face him. Aragorn could read her like a book, but she wouldn't give him false information. "We are being followed, Dunadan. By what, I know not, but we are definitely being followed!"

He grimaced, running a hand over his forehead. "I had thought as much. How far away is it?"

"Far enough. I think that it seeks not confrontation, at least, not yet," she said slowly. "If it had wanted to do us harm, I think it would have done it before now. The opportunities have been numerous."

Aragorn nodded once, looking deep into her eyes. "Tell me what it is," he said softly.

Teneriel's eyes drifted closed for a moment, then reopened, her blue eyes clouding slightly. "Very well," she said softly. "Keep them all quiet, Dunadan, as you well know the consequences of a single word if I am to do this."

He nodded, squeezing her hand softly. "Wait a moment before you begin," he cautioned. Aragorn walked over to the others. "You must all stay absolutely silent. When you breathe, breathe softly and slowly. Under no circumstances are you to speak, or even whisper."

"What will happen to her if we do make a noise?" Pippin asked quickly, not sure if Aragorn was serious.

Legolas stepped up behind him and gazed at Aragorn, a startled look in his eyes. He gently laid a hand on Pippin's shoulder and said softly, "She will lose her hearing."

The hobbit's eyes widened and he nodded quickly. "I'll be quiet. I won't say a word," he vowed.

"That'll be a first," Merry muttered.

Had it not been for the gravity of the situation, Frodo was quite sure that blows would have fallen.

Aragorn smiled tensely and turned around. "All right, Eriel. Go."

She nodded to him, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly. Teneriel's eyes drifted closed, and as they did, her hearing expanded, taking in sounds that no one could hear normally, not even an Elf. She could hear every breath that the Fellowship drew, each beat of their hearts. It had worked.

Slowly, she began picking up on something else. It was faint, even with her hearing so acute. The occasional stone being dislodged, a scurry here and there, a rapid breath, a soft whisper. "My Precious."

Her eyes flew open, and Teneriel crumpled into Aragorn's waiting arms, her body not used to such treatment. She stayed silent for a few moments, recovering her waning strength. Once she was sure of herself again, Teneriel looked up at Aragorn and whispered, "Gollum."

Aragorn nodded, lifting her to her feet. "Thank you, Eriel. Now we know what to watch for." He raised an eyebrow and said in a voice so soft that only she could hear his words, "Can you walk?"

Her eyes flashed momentarily with anger. "Of course I can walk!"

Gandalf strode over, the crystal embedded into the top of his staff still lit. "We will halt at the top of those stairs," he said, his sharp eyes narrowing slightly. "And there, we will speak of this."

She nodded, and the Fellowship moved on, aiming for the stairwell that Gandalf had indicated. Once at the top, they all enjoyed a much needed rest.

Gandalf was sitting on a large boulder away from the rest, puffing distractedly on his pipe. Teneriel moved over to him, perching lightly on a nearby rock.

"You wanted to speak to me?" she asked quietly, unsure of how to broach the subject that she wished least of all to speak of.

Gandalf glanced her way momentarily, then concentrated on his pipe again. "What you did in the hall is a trait of Silvan elves, and Silvan elves alone."

Teneriel looked down at the ground, ruing that day so many years ago when she first learned of it. "I know, Mithrandir. You seek an explanation that I cannot give you." Her eyes sparkled slightly with tears. "I am a mystery, Mithrandir. I am a Silvan elf."

Gandalf puffed on his pipe a moment before he answered, clearly thinking about his response. "I see. Your father and mother are both Noldar elves, and you are Silvan. A mystery, indeed." He regarded her fully. "How did you first learn of this?"

A tear slid down her cheek as Teneriel remembered the day. "It was the day my mother left for the West. I remember it well, though I was still young enough to be carried by my father. I saw the sea, heard the cry of gulls, tasted the salt in the air. And a terrible sadness filled me. I longed to go with her, I did not want to return to Imladris, the only home I had ever known. My father knew then, though to this day, he knows not how I am Silvan. Just that I am."

"I know well that you are pure daughter of Elrond and Celebrien," Gandalf mused, tapping his pipe against a rock. "I was there when you were born."

Teneriel swiftly wiped the tears off her cheeks and regarded him suspiciously. "Mithrandir, there is something that you are hiding from me," she said softly.

Gandalf raised a bushy eyebrow, surprise plain on his ancient face. "Curse your Elvish senses," he muttered, absent-mindedly puffing on his now empty pipe.

Teneriel pursed her lips in mild vexation, leaning forward and resting her elbows on her knees. "Mithrandir," she said softly, "what is your secret?"

"I have a good many of them, young one," Gandalf said, skirting her question with an ease born of millennia spent in debate with Elves. "But only one pertaining to you, I fear. You are the daughter of Elrond and Celebrien, that much is obvious. In face, you resemble your mother so that you could easily be mistaken for her. In personality, you are quite plainly your father's child.

"Even before you were born, your mother knew that you were not to be like your siblings. She sensed it in you, and kept it from your father, entrusting this information only to me and Galadriel. Celebrien loved you, Teneriel, but she also feared for you. She saw a great many things in the Mirror of Galadriel that pertained to you and to you alone. She confided few of these to me, she told more to your grandmother. All she said to me was that your life would be difficult, and that many obstacles would bar your path to happiness."

"Cryptic," Teneriel mused thoughtfully. "Then I can only hope that my questions will be answered in Lothlorien. Thank you, Mithrandir, for telling me." She gazed deep into his eyes and read dim worry in them. "Fear not for me as my mother did. My life may be difficult, but I have not yet met an obstacle that I could not overcome."
She left him then and went to join the others.

Frodo slowly stepped up to Gandalf, almost afraid to voice his concern. "Gandalf? What troubles you?"

The aged Istari glanced at him. "I know not, Frodo. But do not let it trouble you." Frodo nodded, unconvinced, but did not walk away. "Is there something else, Frodo?" Gandalf asked.

"What's following us, Gandalf? I can hear it sometimes, but when I turn to find it, the noise disappears!"

"It is Gollum, Frodo. The Ring that you bear calls to him. He had it in his possession for quite some time before Bilbo found it."

Frodo's face blanched with horror at this news. "Gollum had the Ring?"

"Yes. It corrupted him, Frodo. His mind was consumed by it, and only his love for his 'Precious' keeps him alive," Gandalf said, watching the far off cliffs of stone shrouded in blackness. For a moment, he spotted an emaciated figure crawling across one of the outcrops. "And even now, he searches for it."

The Fellowship slept that night or day (as it was impossible to tell which it was) in relative peace, which was only disturbed when the guard was changed.

Aragorn had the last watch before the Fellowship was to rise, and he was not surprised to see the Elves stirring first. Though, if he had not been used to it, to be looking at a sleeping Elf and have the disconcerting feeling that even then he was being watched might have been somewhat distracting. After all, Elves sleep with their eyes open.

Finally, they were all awake, the hobbits all looking bleary-eyed and sleepy, Gimli and Boromir, quite the opposite, completely alert, Gandalf muttering to himself in some ancient language, Legolas looking out over the sea of blackness, and Teneriel watching the hobbits with a half smile on her face.

They traveled far before their next rest, though it wasn't much of a rest. Gandalf peered around an decrepit oak door and a change came over his face. Curious, everyone else followed him in. Quite quickly, it became obvious what had startled him. A stone sarcophagus sat in the middle of the massive room, pure white light shining down onto it from somewhere.

Gandalf brushed the dust off the lid and read the carefully cut Dwarf runes written there, "Here lies Balin, son of Fundin, Lord of Moria."

At this, Gimli let out a howl of agony and knelt before the tomb, his shoulders shaking with sobs. The hobbits all moved toward the end of the room toward a well with a skeleton sitting precariously on its edge.

His curiosity overwhelming him, Pippin moved closer and gently touched the skeleton with a finger. It teetered for a moment on the precipice, then it dropped, banging and clanking as it hit the well walls. And with every crash, Pippin winced more, shrinking away from Gandalf's furious gaze.

"Fool of a Took!" Gandalf snapped, pulling Pippin away from the well. "Throw yourself in next time and save me the trouble!" He strode away, growling to himself about Pippin's questionable lineage and the amount of intelligence that was stored inside his head.

Teneriel would have smiled, but something made her stop and listen intently. Legolas heard it as well and their eyes met. The sound came again, louder this time, and Teneriel felt as though her blood had frozen in her veins as she realized what it was. Drums.

Call me evil if you want, but I've known for a long time that I wanted to have a cliffhanger here. :) :) :)