A/N: Please excuse my belated update, but education is very demanding. I've been trying to upload this one for quite some time now, but I kept forgetting because my mind is as full of holes as Swiss cheese. I suggest you don't hold your breath for the next update, but for the nonce here's chapter six. Hope you enjoy! Much thanks to Moro for your following!

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'Please, partake of something! I shall quite easily force you, if you will not do so by your own will.'

Awaiting the return of strength, Legolas rested now against a hard pillow of rock, softened somewhat by Boromir's cloak. A soft smile crept over his face.

'Why do you care so?' he asked the Man of Gondor, regarding him with a speculative fondness. 'You know naught of me, aside from whence I hail and who I am; yet you would walk blindly with me at your own peril, now without question. But look not askance at me, I wish only to know.'

Boromir lowered the waterskin and left the ration of bread aside, sitting back upon his haunches as he considered how best to answer such a question. Indeed, was there even an answer he might deliver that would sate the Elf's curiosity?

'I have had little companionship throughout my life, save that of my brother. The world of one born into the line of the Gondorian Stewards - it is far removed from that to which Men of peasantry are born,' he said slowly, softly, as if it pained him to speak so. 'That moment of deliverance, of birth, when first you open your eyes to the sky, to the faces of your mother and your father, chains are clapped upon you. You are bound, enslaved to the power which you must learn to wield. To feel freedom, to know there are those who reciprocate your - feelings of association towards them ... I have never known or felt such.'

A light chuckle issued from the Elf, and one hand clasped that of the Man. Boromir gave a start, so lost in his thoughts, wandering in times reminiscent, that the living touch of what was real frightened him. 'Then we have more in common than I at first thought - or rather, assumed,' said Legolas gently. 'You must forgive me my past misdemeanours towards you, I did not intend to shirk a willing companion. And do not think I flatter you, but such loyalty in Men I have rarely witnessed.'

A scarlet hue crept unbidden into the cheeks of Boromir, and he abruptly turned away. To pay compliment to one of mortal ilk was to flatter them, regardless of whether or not it was intended. To hear such words from the mouth of an Elf of revered royal blood - it was almost unbelievable.

'Will you at least drink a little,' Boromir said at length, when the blush had subsided and his former composure had returned.

'Will you cease this wretched persistance if I do?' came the weary but good humoured answer. Boromir nodded, and the skin was excepted. Despite his prior arguments, stating that he had no need to assuage his thirst, the Elf drank as though he had never before been bestowed with the gift of the life- giving liquid.

Boromir allowed himself to laugh inwardly at this. The Elf was older, wiser, and more beauteous than he; yet ironically it was the inferior mortal who knew best.

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'Lost. I knew it. We shouldn't have wandered off without the guidance of - someone who knows more of this place than we do.'

'Would you have willingly risked the rage of Gandalf if we had woken him?'

'Well - yes, considering we might not be in this plight if we had.'

'Are you coming with me or not?'

Sulkily, Pippin nodded, trailing absent-mindedly in his cousin's wake. East had become West, North had become South, all directions converged upon a main course that meandered ever away and never towards certainty. If maps would have had any use in such a place of eternal night, and had he paid any attention to maps when he had had the chance, he would have kissed Lord Elrond for his assiduous studying habits. Within the hobbit's pack resided a map the Lord of Imladris had in secrecy bequeathed to him, where the others had politely declined his offer, saying maps would be no use to them.

Although it did not show the outline of Moria, for even the most courageous of folk would not have dared to enter the Mines for the sake of charting geography, Pippin had a feeling it would prove its worth.

'Ah, we've been here before!' cried Merry in despair. The familiarity of this place was disquieting - how many times had they traversed far only to find their feet wandering again to this dismal place?

'How can you be sure? I can barely see my fingers before I poke my eyes,' said Pippin, peering around the Brandybuck's shoulder.

'Then keep your hand away from your face,' Merry advised him moodily. 'Eyes may yet be of use; don't poke them out. For now keep every other sense you about you, if wit is too far beyond you.'

Resent flowed over Pippin. For such loyalty, he was only ever rebuked. Did they not appreciate his company? It was injust that he should be belittled so in the eyes of his eight companions; who now were sundered from one another because of the meagre bite of an insect. It made no sense!

'I say we stop for now. Surely the day or night has now fled by - if there is any way of knowing down here. It was folly to even enter the Gates,' muttered Merry, slinging down his pack and slumping to the ground. Pippin wished to alleviate the burden of Merry's mind; but as all things he said or did somehow went awry he thought it wiser to maintain silence.

Relieving his shoulders of his travelling provisions, he lay down near Merry's side and slept fitfully, as one only could when cold drafts of chill air prickled the skin, and water dripped in the unknown deeps, resounding eerily as the hollow beat of a drum

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'Phantoms!' Legolas gasped in horror. Boromir started beside him, glancing upwards fervently, trying to descry these phantoms Legolas spoke of.

'There is naught there,' he whispered assuringly.

'No!' breathed Legolas, struggling to speak, writhing in his agony of mind and body. 'There are - there are - they are coming!'

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Water. A pool of it lay before his bleeding feet, mirroring upon the mirky surface his ruined reflection. Dropping hastily to his knees, Aragorn desperately dipped into the icy puddle his cupped hands, bringing them to his lips and drinking like one deprived for years on end. It tasted unclean, tainted by impure substance, but it slaked the burning ferocity his thirst had wreaked within his pain-wracked body.

Blessed be the saving graces of nature, he thought. The being within him seemed to sleep, and had lain dormant for hours now, leaving him without direction, without companionship, no matter how unpleasant. He wished only to return to his friends, to find himself safely within the security of their company.

Legolas will be worried, his mind told him dismally. When he is worried he acts rashly - what if now he has searched and fallen to his death in some deep shaft? Oh, do not let it be so! 'Silence these pitiful musings of yours.' The other had awoken.

Aragorn trembled as the parasitic life energy ignited within him again. 'What use have you for me?' he stammered, glancing uneasily into the surrounding darkness. 'What purpose can I serve? And who are you? How came you to be inside me?'

'Who am I? You would dare ask such a question?' the parasite spat angrily, and then calmed. 'Yet I am amused that you would dare. Very well, I shall tell you. I am called Shenlar, be satisifed and ask no more. As for how I came to be within you - recall you how a little boy gazed deep into something he should never have?'

Aragorn froze. Memory came flooding back.

A young boy, no more than five years, approached with unrestrained curiosity the carven pedestal, upon which rested a cloth covered thing of spherical proportions. Reaching up, a tentative hand tugged gently on the concealing cloak, which spilt like liquid into his little hands. His eyes saw. His mind yielded.

He understood.

'The palantir!' he cried, and doubled over as if in pain, sobbing raggedly and beating his brow with one fist. 'Yes, at last you have caught on,' hissed Shenlar in malcious glee. 'Your mind was revealed to me that day - shown in its entirity; your strengths ... and your weaknesses. 'You were a foolish child Estel, to do that which had been forbade. Truthfully only my will is within you, not I in person. Had you not tampered with that which was beyond your immature mind, you should not have become like this.

'As for how my being came to bide within you, place your hand upon your neck. Now is your memory roused?'

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'Those fools!'

Gandalf paced restlessly, waving his staff, his wrath great.

'Those utter idiots! What did they think to do? Legolas I've no doubt has gone searching for Aragorn; I should guess Boromir went with him, and then those Shire rapscalions after them. And what of Gimli? To where has he gone? Hoping to discover some long lost relation, I suppose.

'The Fellowship is sundered! Already our cause waxes hopeless - we are truly broken.' 'You don't think they got - taken away in the night?' Sam ventured to say, from the corner in which he and Frodo were 'not getting underfoot'. 'Can you see Legolas, Boromir and Gimli being taken away without our knowing?' Frodo said softly. Frowning, Sam shook his head.

'Well, there is now nothing for it,' said Gandalf, heaving a heavy sigh, shaking his head dismally as he clasped his staff once again. Now it appeared nothing more than support for an elderly man, for he leaned on it as he walked - something deeper then trouble was working devilry here. 'We shall have to chance the Mines, and see if any may be found. If not, we shall have to make our own way - we cannot risk you, Frodo, becoming lost here.'

Frodo felt faint. With his absent companions went hope, and faith in their cause. How could he possibly bear the weight of his burden without the strength of their number to aid him?

But Gandalf, oblivious to the thoughts of the troubled Ringbearer, had already strode to the door and was peering cautiously out. 'It is safe to leave,' he observed, turning back to the small forms of his remaining followers. 'Let us away.'

Trembling, Frodo clutched desperately to Sam, as if he had fallen into a deep well and only his servant could buoy him up, save him from enduring final rest in a watery grave. Together, the three crept into the dark.

And then, with a sudden gasp and a chorus of shrieking, the light of Gandalf's staff was extinguished.

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'Och, those mindless lads, where do they think they'll be getting in this?'

Gimli idly scuffed a toe against a dripping stalagmite that reared its jagged head from the depths of the black ground. One born to the inner sanctums of the mountains and underground, he felt perfectly at home, even if a strange discomfiture continually crept up on him.

'That Elf, I'll bet it was that Elf,' he growled in rather prejudiced conclusion. 'There is nought but a prancing pointy-ears who would be so stupid as to wander out here without thought - even if Boromir went with him.'

Having woken to the steady and uncomforting drip of black water upon his brow, he had immediately noted the Elf's lack of presence, having acquired acuity of sense that alerted him when the Elf was nearby and where he was. So far, this newfound ability to discover and distinguish Legolas, even in a thick fog on a light-bereft night, had remained inanimate.

And somewhere, in the deepest and unreachable recesses of the stalwart dwarf's mind - an unfamiliar feeling had risen. Gimli was worried.

'Pah! Block-brained pointy-eared numbskull,' spat Gimli, though his stream of insults were empty. He knew it, but he could not possibly admit he was concerned for the welfare of the abhorrent, fair-featured and light- footed rival. He did not want to confess he was concerned about the auburn- haired, well-raised and selfish Boromir either.

'Looking for someone?'

Gimli jumped, and leapt around, brandishing his axe. 'Come any closer and your head will be parting company with your body,' he threatened, and then paused. Before him stood a comely entity, radiating an ethereal glow, glaring at him with limpid eyes of sapphire. Realization struck Gimli: he knew his confronter.

'Legolas!' the dwarf cried, forgetting in his surprise to mask relief. 'You've had us all worrit, you idiot Elf!'

Legolas merely cocked his head to one side, his eyes still narrowed and bestowing upon Gimli the disquieting, unremitting stare.

'Legolas?' Gimli hastily took a step away. Within those eyes smouldered the embers of a perilous fire. It was apparent that Legolas' mood was far from pleased.

The bow was raised. The arrow was notched. The eye sought its mark.

'What are ye doing?' shouted Gimli in terror, stumbling backwards as fast as his dwarven form would allow. His foot caught against the dangerous edge of a roughly hewn boulder, and he fell with a heavy thud. Scrambling away, he held up an imploring hand. 'Wait, laddie!' he gasped dismally. 'What are - ?'

His voice was cut abruptly short. The Elven finger had slipped from the string. With a piercing whistle the arrow leapt forth like a wild creature from its bonds.

'Legolas!'

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Merry glanced upwards, his eyes searching the cavernous mine shaft. 'That sounded like Gimli,' he murmured, idly placing a hand on Pippin's downy curls.

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'Aragorn?' cried Frodo, leaping forward. 'Oh, thank Elbereth you are safe! You had us worried nigh to death! Sam and Gandalf and I came searching for you, but we were separated. We were assailed by a group of unknown creatures, and I managed to flee but - how glad I am to see you!'

The Ranger inclined his head. 'Come with me Frodo,' he murmured, a barely tangible edge of coldness to his voice. 'I have seen the others, though it is not a pleasing sight.'

'What do you mean?'

'Frodo - our companions have abandoned sanity.'

The Ringbearer looked up through grieved eyes. 'And - ?' he whispered expectantly, both dreading and longing for the answer.

'They are beginning to turn upon one another. Frodo, I fear many of our number already lie dead.'

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'Boromir?' murmured Pippin incredulously, as the figure of the Man, bathed in a faint unnatural iridescence, which appeared to emanate from his very being, emerged from the shadows. Merry slept on, worn from their fruitless venturing.

The Steward's Son smiled grimly, his acerbic countenance unable to be descried. His sword flashed in his hand, once. A choked cry escaped Pippin's throat, abruptly silenced.

Kneeling, Boromir gazed intently at Merry's peaceful face. 'May your slumber be blessed,' he muttered darkly, and with a sweep of his cloak vanished.

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'Alas! Frodo is in the company of the other!' hissed Gandalf, binding his profusely bleeding wound with material torn from his cloak. Having been unexpectedly set upon outside the entrance of the guardroom, he had been violently thrust aside and had fallen a fair distance, tumbling down the rock-strewn slope that climbed upwards to reach the bridge they had traversed earlier - before all of this had come to pass. He was bereft of his staff and the hobbits, thus without companion and the empowerment of the Istari stave.

Having staunched his injury, he hastened away. Those of the broken Fellowship were in dire peril.

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What are these phantoms of which Legolas spoke? Who is dead, who is friend, who is foe? As I said, don't hold your breath for the next instalment of Dementia. I would also like to take this time to apologise to those authors who already have stories with such a title; I was oblivious to that fact until I decided to search for it. Humblest apologies *bows low* Please don't sue me.