A/N: Finally, here is chapter 2. It's still too short, damn it all...Anyway, I hope you enjoy it all the same. I think I picked up the pace a bit – and the plot thickens, hehe...Please R/R!

I finished Ties of Friendship finally, so if you were one of my Ties readers and have not yet ventured to read the ending, go do so!

Also, for any of you who liked the movie Dead Poets Society, I've written a few fics for that too and I'd really appreciate it if you were to go R/R, sine they're so close to my heart...

Once again, thanks and enjoy!

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Chapter 2

How long Legolas had sat alone in Eowyn's room, he did not know. He could hear the lamp flame too clearly to be human, or perhaps it was just because the silence besides was ominous enough to let the flame stand out. The light glinted in his pale eyes, glassy in thought and a blank stare. His fingers coursed over the folded cloth Eowyn had left in his hand. Her grief was leading her to believe that Faramir was beyond hope or healing. He pitied her for a while, before coming to the conclusion that it was up to him to prove her wrong. He absent-mindedly felt the woven flowers but could not escape to any thought. He was tied down in this room, in reality. He looked up when sounds dotted the silence. It had started to rain outside; already, the window was beaded. He had this strange feeling, like Faramir was cold somewhere in the house. He wouldn't know why, considering the fact that it was only autumn in the world. Imladris was breath taking in autumn... If it were not for this epidemic, he would be outside in the trees with Faramir, taking a stroll in the falling leaves. He could picture the woods perfectly – the soft glow of autumn, the way the sun beams were like shafts in a cathedral when they fell through the patches of sky in the foliage, the way the leaves floated down like a quiet snow. It always seemed like they would fall forever. The light made everything seem beautiful and young, like time would stop and never come back for them. Faramir was always so happy, he reminisced. Always so at peace...

Legolas pulled away from his pleasant memories and got to his feet with the slightest trace of reluctance. He felt the handkerchief in between his fingers again and decided. He would go and see to Faramir. He would wake him up and carry him to the woods, where the light would take the fever away like fleeing doves. They would venture to the edge of eternity once more.

By the time the Elf reached the ward, the sun was already disappearing somewhere in the pale sea of clouds. The rain had resigned to mere drizzle, and he felt the air run through his fingers with a faint smile. It was a beautiful day, and Minas Tirth was brought to mind. He thought of Aragorn, not for the first time that day, and wished for his best friend's company. The ward was an agreeable walk away from the Steward's manor, and Legolas strolled through the white streets with a contained smile. A scarce amount of people lingered outside, most being shut away with the sickness or tending to ill loved ones. Some were too frightened to venture out. He knew all too well how bad it was. He knew how many had died and how any more were expected to succumb to the disease. Yet he could not help but feel contented as he traveled toward the healing ward and Faramir. He could not help but turn twinkling eyes toward weary faces as he passed through, the handkerchief tucked away in his pocket. A wind took up the standard of Ithilien above the ward, fluttering audibly. He gazed up at it as he approached the steps leading to the door, and it all felt like a dream.

"Your Majesty," said a healer with a bow. Everything was suddenly much darker with the door shut behind him and the world kept out. He could have pretended night had already fallen, as the Elf in gleaming white led him through the lantern-lit corridors. His eyes wandered over the shadows and the silhouettes as he followed, his mood nearly dissipating with the sound of distant moans. All the doors were closed, the dim glow reflecting in the glass and polished wood. He heard a creaking sound and presumed a door had been opened, missing the uneasy glance the healer gave him. Legolas was slightly surprised when he realized they were heading away from the main chamber, where Faramir had last been kept. He recalled the crowded atmosphere in the vast room when last he had visited the Steward, who had lain amongst all the common people on his own thinning cot. Yet this time, the healer pushed open a new door in the shadows, and Legolas disappeared into the room beyond.

Only a small table lamp burned in the room, set on the bedside table. The drapes were pulled closed at the window to the left, and the air was thick and dank. The healer stood to one side, looking at Legolas encouragingly as he inclined his head toward the bed. Lantern was held in place, both hands wrapped around the handle. The prince of Eryn Lasgalen looked from the healer to the bed, hesitating, his contented mood gone entirely. He approached the grand bed slowly, uncertainty in his steps. As he neared it, the Steward's face became all too distinguishable, gleaming the lamplight with a sheen of sweat. He lay motionless in his fevered sleep, reflected in the Elf's wide eyes. Legolas' expression was one of disbelief, almost fear. Once he his gaze had lingered for a long moment on Faramir, he averted it to the bowl of water that sat undisturbed on the table, next to the lamp. A rag hung over the rim on one side, in still water. Legolas breathed the Steward's name without thinking, before turning back to face the healer, who had remained near the door tentatively.

"We thought it better if he were secluded from the other victims," he explained. "We thought perhaps it might help." Legolas still had unanswered questions wrought in his face. His gaze was unflinching, and the healer grimaced. Elves were unaccustomed to lack of hope, which would be manifested in his unvoiced admittance. "He does not wake," he murmured sadly, nearing Legolas with his softly glowing lantern. His eyes were running from Legolas' cerulean orbs to Faramir's face. "We have tried feeding him broth and every herb imaginable, but it's no good." His voice turned bitter and hopeless. "I fear this sickness cannot be stopped," he muttered to Legolas, in a confidential tone, almost as if he feared Faramir would hear him. The two Elves shared a tense gaze for a moment, doubt and fear moving in the prince's eyes. He looked to Faramir and realized how ill he appeared. How much more ill could he really be?

"That's impossible," he said, more to himself than to the healer. "Have you contacted the King Elessar?" he questioned, turning back the other Elf, who shook his head. He knew they had already inquired Aragorn about the disease, but if Faramir was really failing, word must be sent again. Desperation always had the ability to clear clouded solutions.

"Little are left to venture that far," the healer said darkly. "We don't want to endanger Minas Tirith with this," he added.

"I'll go," the Sylvan Elf provided at once. Their eyes locked again, impending doom thick and shadowed in each gaze. They knew the possibilities this epidemic might lead to...

"We need you here," the healer protested in a low tone, his eyes descending back to Faramir as if the Steward were a Balrog about to be unleashed. "You're the best healer in the city." This was said as a fact, not a compliment.

"But if someone does not ride," Legolas began, feeling as if they were on the brink of being caught in conspiracy by some faceless enemy. "It could slip out our control. Elessar would be too late by then." The healer stared unmoving at the dying Steward for a pregnant moment, holding his lantern of fading light up near his head, before turning his face back to Legolas.

"It's already out of our control."

"Elfaen," someone cried out beyond the door. "Elfaen." The healer moved toward the door, not hesitating for Legolas. He flung it open and a draft flew swiftly in, causing Legolas' head to snap toward him.

"Im bo nin athrad," he shouted in reply. I'm on my way. He looked back to Legolas in apology, before taking off and shutting the door behind him. Again, Legolas was alone.