The orc skirmishes had reached a lull, which worried Aragorn and his lieutenants. There had been no large offensive for two whole days, just small sorties.

But still, the two silent riders picked their way across the battlefield cautiously, avoiding the high ground whenever necessary.

They were just topping a rise, when an unearthly screech was heard! As the two instinctively crouched on their saddles at the sound of the speeding Winged Ringwraith about his Master's business, high above them both horses reared and hopped sideways, throwing their riders. Aragorn found himself flung onto the putrefying body of a dead horse and quickly rolled off, retching.

Elrond unfortunately fell off into a pile of battle debris and was pierced through the side by a Gondorian pikestaff. He cried out in pain and slumped on his side.

"Ada! Ada!" Aragorn, still gagging on the smell of the dead horse, stumbled to his father's side.

"I-I do not think it is too serious son. It did not hit any vital organs." Elrond hissed and blanched with pain as he tried to sit up.

"It is serious enough! Lie still Ada. Do not move. Let me look." Taking an Elven knife from his side, he carefully slit the cloth of the healer's robe around the blade.

"At least it is not an orc blade and poisoned." Aragorn, eyes intense, scrutinized the wound. His expression grim, he rolled his father over and then quickly, cleanly he pulled out the broken pikestaff.

Groaning, his father slumped beneath his hands. Aragorn, turning around quickly saw that his horse had not run off completely but stood with lowered head a few yards away. Whistling to the animal, it threw its head up and ambled slowly over, delicately avoiding the detritus scattered about.

Using his knife again, he cut cloth from the edge of his father's robes to use as a makeshift bandage.

Elrond stirred as Aragorn go him to sit up. "Ada, I need you to stand so we can get on my horse and get back to the city. I am afraid your gelding has run off."

Nodding, Elrond stood with a grunt, his face pale and sweating. Aragorn lifted his father as high as he could and Elrond threw his leg over the saddle and then fell forward over the pommel, half-fainting. Aragorn quickly vaulted behind his father and whispering tersely in his father's ear as he eased him back against his chest. "Hang on Ada. I will get you to the White City as fast as I can."

"Than-Thank you Estel."

Grateful his father was still conscious, Aragorn spurred the horse into an immediate gallop, sacrificing comfort for speed.

But Elrond winced as the horse took off and then shortly, with a sigh, passed out in Aragorn's arms.

"Faster Rhana! This is my father you carry!"

A half hour later, Aragorn and his precious burden were racing through the hot streets of Minas Tirith for the Halls of Healing.

There was a great deal of consternation when he showed up and carefully dismounted. Calling for help, he instantly got two orderlies to come and take his father into a private examining room.

Following them in, Aragorn was instantly joined by the healer on call, Master Parnil, who efficiently shooed out the curious as Elrond was laid down on the cloth-covered table and the pillow adjusted under his head.

"Master Parnil is it? I need some antiseptic tinctures and a suturing kit, and-"

"And some water please. Es-my lord." Elrond asked in a whisper, his eyes half-open.

"Of course!" Turning to the linen maid, who hovered nearby, as Master Parnil began to undo the rough bandage Aragorn had made out on the battlefield, Aragorn indicated she needed to bring water, an orderly and syrup of poppy.

"My lord, I will be happy to take over now..."

Aragorn smiled at the healer and said, "Master Dolengil will be my patient this time."

Master Parnil gave him a look of confusion but bowed to his wishes and left to get the supplies Aragorn requested.

Aragorn, brushed back his fathers disheveled hair and whispered. "You don't mind Ada do you? I would rather do this for you than have a stranger touch you. After all this time, I think it is my turn to treat you, instead of the opposite."

"Fine my......my lord." Elrond smiled tiredly. "Mind you remember my lessons, especially when suturing, remember to...."

Aragorn placed his fingers on his father's lips. "Shhh. All will be well, you'll see. I remember everything, after all I had the best teacher in all of Middle Earth."

When the linen maid returned with the items he requested, he had the linen maid and the orderly carefully undress his father while he expertly measured the syrup of poppy, stirring it into the water. Lifting his father's head he brought the goblet to his lips and got him to drink it down.

Elrond made a face and looked at his son frowning. "A little heavy with the syrup, my lord."

"I imagine a good sleep is what you need now.....Master." Aragorn, smiling down as the last of the robes were pulled off his father's slender form, put a hand on the elf's shoulder.

The orderly left with the robes and the linen maid went to get a blanket. While they were alone, Aragorn watched his father slowly succumb to the drug, but before his eyes fluttered closed, he bent and swiftly kissed him on the brow. "Sleep well Ada."

"I....will son. I am in good hands." His head rolled to the side with a small sigh. Turning to see that the linen maid had laid out what he needed on a small table next to him, Aragorn washed his hands in the steaming water provided and got to work.

Finishing the suturing, Aragorn bound his father's side with linen. Making sure Elrond was resting comfortably he told the linen maid Alanath he had business to attend to with the Steward of Gondor.

Retrieving his horse he mounted and quickly made his way up the hill to the Steward's quarters in the palace.

By the time he reached the inner courtyard, the heat had lathered his horse and made sweat trickle down his back.

Throwing his reins to a waiting stable boy, Aragorn strode in the cooler hallways, dodging people as he moved quickly and ignoring for the most part their polite bows.

But when he crossed paths with Master Berem, just outside the doors of the Steward's office, he paused.

"Ah, Master Berem. You save me the trouble of sending for you. Come, I have business with the Steward and it concerns you as well."

"As you will," the officious healer said as he followed Aragorn into the anteroom outside the Steward's inner sanctum.

Denethor looked up from a scroll unrolled before him, a hand to his forehead. Aragorn noted he looked tired and drawn if not getting enough sleep.

"My lord Denethor." Aragorn bowed, as did Berem. "I have an important issue to discuss with you."

"If it concerns the lull in battle Lord Aragorn, my sources say Sauron is just regrouping for a large offensive and---"

"Though that is a great concern, it is not why I am here."

Denethor frowned and leaned back in his chair. "Then what is it, Lord Aragorn?"

"It is my opinion, and several of the healers in the Halls of Healing that there is an epidemic on the rise here in the city and it needs to be dealt with right away before it begins to decimate the population."

Master Berem stepped from around Aragorn and smiled. "I on the other hand, do not agree with his lordship's diagnosis of the situation. I believe this is just congestion brought on by the unusual warm weather we are having."

Aragorn looked at Master Berem. "The other healers believe it is an epidemic and needs to be dealt with immediately. They see these patients come in and perhaps, are more a bit more close to the situation than you are Master Berem. After all, are your offices not across the courtyard from the treatment rooms?"

Master Berem waved away Aragorn's comments. "Are you insinuating that mere distance keeps me uninformed....my lord?"

He went and looked Aragorn straight in the face. "I am still Head of the Houses you upstart hedgerow---"

Aragorn merely looked at Berem calmly.

The Steward stood up and said tiredly, "That will be quite enough Master Berem, Lord Aragorn. Give me a moment."

The two men stepped a way with a bow and went out, pointedly ignoring each other. As Master Berem stepped into the stuffy stone hallway, he coughed dryly a few times, turning from Aragorn. The dust! He went down the hall from the Dunadan, and stepped into an alcove where he allowed himself to cough harder.

Aragorn shook his head at the hidden healer.

In a few minutes, as Aragorn leaned against the cool stone wall, thinking of his father, Denethor indicated the two could return. Aragorn waited to allow the older healer entry first and noticed the thin sheen of sweat on his forehead. Frowning slightly, he followed Berem into the office.

Once before Denethor's desk, the Steward looked up at them resignedly. "The last thing I need gentlemen, on top of dealing with a population already nervous and on edge with the war, is the added burden of an epidemic. Even if Lord Aragorn is incorrect---and I am not saying he is-the appearance of doing something positive would raise morale in the city."

He leaned back against the high carved back of his chair. "And beside, may well prevent an actual epidemic."

Master Berem had strolled away from Denethor and was looking out the window into the slightly desiccated garden where a fountain trickled half- heartedly and a few pigeons splashed in the tepid water.

Aragorn leaned silently on the Steward's desk, eyes closed.

The older man stood. "My lord, Master Berem. I agree with Lord Aragorn and the other healers. It behooves us to make an effort to stop this disease whatever its source. My lord, what do you require?"

" I have discussed this with Master Dolengil---"

"The "foreign" healer, not a native Gondorian, my lord."

"An excellent healer Lord Denethor and well-versed in battlefield conditions." Aragorn snapped back, wearying of Berem's entrenched pig- headedness.

"And what wars would those be Lord Argaorn? We haven't had any wars of any duration for hundreds of years."

Aragorn quickly swallowed his smile. "Wars in the far east, m'lord. He has proved his abilities to me beyond a shadow of a doubt. But it was not only his expert opinion, but others in the Halls of Healing."

"Fine, I concur. What do you need form me?"

"We need to separate the ill form the wounded and I think the formal ballroom in the palace would provide an excellent place. It is large enough, it has a perfect outside egress through the garden outside the southern windows."

Denethor looked up with a slight frown. "You would use the palace for such a purpose?"

"Can you think of any better use for the palace at the moment. It stands empty."

Denethor, about to come forth with several reasons to say no, looked up in consternation, for in the doorway stood Dolengil, leaning with one hand against the door jam and looking a little pale.

Aragorn leapt to his father's side, almost calling him by name. "Master Dolengil! You should be in bed! That pikestaff went right through your side!"

"I shall heal fine Lord Aragorn. I owe my ability to rise from bed to your fine healing skills."

Aragorn couldn't help grinning. "I had a very good teacher!"

Dolengil's eyes glowed with humor in return. He came in carefully and stood before the Steward, weaving only slightly. Aragorn stood closely at his back, while Master Berem just gaped at the healer.

"This illness is on the rise. There were 20 new patients this morning. We have only a few empty pallets. I and the other healers have been working extra shifts making medicines to keep up with the demand. And we are afraid it will not be enough without better preventative measures."

Master Dolengil took a deep breath, bringing a hand to his side, a motion Aragorn did not miss.

"My lord Denethor, I wanted to add my voice to Lord Aragorn's plea. It is very critical. The formal ballroom would be a vast help."

Feeling more anxious about his father, Aragorn had had enough. Wanting to carry him back to his bed, he knew it was not possible.

"My lord Steward," Aragorn bowed and took his father by the elbow. "I will see my-Master Dolengil to his bed, from which he should not have risen! I would appreciate it if you would put my request in writing to the Master of the House. We will also need fresh supplies and more pallets."

Aragorn carefully took his father to the door, passing Master Berem who turned away to cover another cough. Aragorn allowed himself a small smile. "Master Berem." He bowed to the slightly aggrieved healer, who bowed curtly in return. "I hope I have your support in this."

"As you will Lord Aragorn." The healer turned without another word and stalked out of the room, coughing not caring if he was heard or not. He planned to write a formal complaint, this upstart healer and this wet behind the ears...kingling!