Summary: The Great Plague attacks Middle earth again. In a desperate attempt to save Éowyn and Elboron, Faramir sends them away. But things do not go so well as Faramir falls ill himself.

A/N: Finally updated! Third time lucky, as they say. Sorry I took so long to update the story. Here it is... Right before your eyes.

Disclaimer: The characters I own are obvious. The rest I am merely borrowing. By the way, the Albarod in this story is not affiliated to the Albarod in my earlier story Much Ado About Nothing.

Faramir rubbed his temples. The day had been long. Five more men had died, and three people - a woman, a man, and a boy - had arrived in Minas Tiriths from the refugee camps that the banks of the Anduin in South Ithilien. "If South Ithilien has the Plague," the king had said, "it would not take too long for it to reach our southern neighbors."

"May the Valar protect us," Faramir had replied.

He has been having headaches these past few days. They have become more frequent, and much stronger. He did not want to tell the King Elessar: he has enough troubles on his hands. Today, though,he hadnearly exposed his secret: When Faramir was helping a healer oversee a sick boy, an attack came. He placed his hands on his temples and swooned in pain. The healer had said, "Lord?" Faramir waved his hand and merely said, "I am weary. Make sure this boy is comfortable. I do not think he would live to see the morning."

I could dismiss it as weariness, thought Faramir. He lied to himself: Yes, 'tis nothing but weariness. It'll pass once I get a good night's rest and some wine. But deep, deep down, Faramir knew it was actually more than that.

The Sun was shining on the gardens as Aragorn and Faramir walked. They needed a moment alone. Being in the garden brought back the a lovely image and memory: Éowyn. How he missed her! How he missed Elboron! How he missed Elboron's gurgling, childish laugher. How he missed the cool touch of Éowyn's fingers upon his skin... the taste of her lips...

Faramir brushed away all thoughts of Éowyn's lips.

"This plague is vexing me," said the king. "It cannot be carried by the wind: all the refugees were pronounced fit by the healers the day before they fled the City. It must be something else... but what?" Aragorn heaved a sigh. He stopped to observe a flower.

The world spun. Faramir took a deep breath and steadied himself. His feet felt like rubber. Usually, the smell of the flowers made him relax. Today, the scent thick and heavy, like an evil fog. It stuck in his throat and clouded his vision. Everything had a whitish tint to it, and everything seemed hazy.

Steady, Faramir, he reminded himself.

Someone cleared his throat. Aragorn and Faramir turned. A soldier, a young one, was standing there. He saluted, looking most uncomfortable in the suit of armor he was wearing. Or perhaps he was ill too...? The soldier cleared his throat again and said, "Prince Faramir." He held out something. "This just came from you. From Tolfolas."

Faramir's heart lept. Éowyn!

Aragorn smiled knowingly and said, "Perhaps we should leave the prince alone."

Alone in the garden, Faramir broke the seal. Eagerly, he read its contents. Éowyn, oh my Éowyn, he thought lovingly as he read the letter.

Dear Faramir:

I cannot stand it anymore. I miss you so much. Elboron is always asking for his father. I expect that that is a good sign, that he still remembers his father even though you left us so many weeks ago. He has grown much. Elboron had a touch of the flu a fortnight ago, but 'tis passed. His fever broke abruptly.

Come to Tolfolas, my dear! Come and stay in Tolfolas with me and Elboron, where there is Sun and water and waves. I miss you so much. There is this empty aching in my chest. Where my heart once was, there is an empty cavity. You said the king feels that you are needed most with your family - us. Come to us, my dear! He said he shall not force you to stay! Leave Minas Tirith, away from the death and the suffering. We could run away with Elboron. As far as we could go, we can run. To Buckland and live with Merry, perhaps. Or maybe to the high mountains Ered Nimrais.

Perhaps I sound selfish. I know I should be the steadfast, stalwart wife who is there to support her husband when he needs it most - like Arwen. But I cannot help myself, my dear. The barrier I have set up to keep my emotions back has broken, and my emotions are being spilled onto this piece of parchment. I miss you terribly, and I know you miss me terribly, too. Each time I open your letter, 'tis all about death and illness and suffering. Come away from all that, Faramir! You have seen to much of it in your life already. Why torment yourself more?

Éowyn

Faramir felt torn. He folded the letter. He had hoped that Éowyn's letter would contain some comforting talk about Elboron, about Eldarion, about the Queen. He had hoped that it would make him feel better both physically and mentally. Instead, it weighed him down. Faramir felt as if Éowyn had chained two blocks on lead to both his legs, dragging him down.

He rubbed his temples again.

He must write a letter to Éowyn. Yes, he must write to her and tell her truthfully about why exactly he is in Minas Tirith, and not in Tolfolas with her and their son. She would understand. Yes, she would. Éowyn has understood for him in their three years of marriage. Faramir felt a rush of love and tears for his family.

Faramir walked briskly to his room. He passed one of the Houses. A woman was pouring vomit from a copper basin down the drain. There, it would pass into Minas Tirith's sewage system and eventually would be swept out to the Sea. He passed another room. The king was speaking to the Prince Imrahil.

"Do you notice something strange?" asked the Prince. Faramir stopped to listen.

"Speak," said the king.

"All refugee camps in Anorien have no cases of the Plague, whereas those in South Ithilien..." The Prince let his sentence hang in the air.

Faramir did not dwell long on this. He walked briskly to his room. The world was spinning faster and faster, but Faramir did not bother to stop. He wanted to write that letter as soon as possible, so that Éowyn could know as soon as possible. But this attack was more painful, more extreme than those he had experienced before. His fingers went weak; Éowyn's letter fluttered onto the floor. Faramir's knees became weak, and the world tilted. He saw a healer running toward him, and that was the last thing he saw.

-

Worry. Yes, worry was the number one thing in Éowyn's life right now. Worry, and joy. Worry for her husband in Minas Tirith; joy at watching her son growing tall and strong. His skin took on a dull tinge of bronze from playing in the Sun day after day. Eldarion was not as fortunate though: his shoulders and nose have blistered from a bad case of sunburn.

Éowyn was regretting sending that letter to Faramir. I need to be more supportive, she told herself. His reply had not come, and Éowyn was worrying that he was feeling angry. But Faramir was not that kind of person. He would write her a letter, explaining his actions. And he would tell her how much he loved her, how much he wanted to be with her...

Someone knocked on the door of her apartment. Éowyn's heart jumped. She put down the pillowcase she had been embroidering for Faramir. In the bottom left corner, she had stitched two blackbirds, singing at each other. Although Éowyn's fingers were smarting from being stabbed so many times, she felt that the pain was worth it.

"Come in," Éowyn said, trying to keep her emotions under control. Her heart sank when she saw that it was only Beinna.

"Good afternoon, lady," said Beinna, curtsying.

"Good afternoon," replied Éowyn. "Has Elboron done something that requires my attention?"

"Nay, lady," said Beinna, curstying again. "Goodness, no! He has been fine all this afternoon. Right now, Eldarion is reading a story to him in the library. 'Tis just--" Beinna hesitated.

"Yes?" said Éowyn.

"'Tis just a man from Minas Tirith," said Beinna slowly. "He said he has some important news for you. 'Very urgent,' says he. 'Only for the Lady Éowyn's ears.'"

Éowyn laughed lightheartedly. "'Tis probably just a letter from Faramir, my dear Beinna." Éowyn rose and followed Beinna down the staircase. However, Beinna's words echoed in her head.

'Only for the Lady Éowyn's ears,' the man had said. If it were a letter from Faramir, why did he not just pass the letter to Beinna, as always? And if it were a letter from Faramir, he would have said, "Only for the Lady Éowyn's eyes." One does not read with their ears...

Éowyn's mouth went dry.

Beinna opened the door to the Great Hall. A man was pacing back and forth, stopping to admire an embroidered banner once in a while. Éowyn knew, however, that his calm was all a pretense. A pretense, perhaps, to keep the servants from suspecting something and gossiping about it. Servants gossip among themselves so much that a piece of news can spread through the house in less than an hour.

The man did not notice Éowyn or Beinna. Éowyn cleared her throat. The man turned so sharply that Éowyn's heart stopped for a few seconds. The man placed a hand on his breast and bowed his head. Éowyn gave him a deep nod.

"Lady," said the man. "I bring urgent news from Minas Tirith. However..." The man looked over Éowyn's shoulder, at Beinna. Éowyn understood his meaning. She nodded to Beinna. Beinna ducked her head and exited the Great Hall, closing the doors behind her - but not totally. Of course, neither Éowyn nor the man noticed that.

"Speak," said Éowyn.

"As I said, lady, I bring urgent news from Minas Tirith," said the man. He paused.

"What is it?" asked Éowyn, feeling impatient for some kind of news. "Has the Plague finally died?"

"Nay, lady," said the man softly. "I bring bad news, lady."

Silence.

"Yes?" asked Éowyn. She tasted copper and her breathing became shallow. The man must have noticed, for he drew up a chair for her. Éowyn sat down, and the man drew up another chair. He took a deep breath before he began.

"My name is Albarod, lady," he said slowly. "'Tis been five nights since I rode down the Anduin to bring this piece of news to you. The King Elessar had ordered I bring it as soon as I could. He lent me his fastest boat, for the River is the fastest means of transport to Tolfolas--"

Éowyn waved her hand. "Please, tell me what you are here to tell me."

Obviously, the man Albarod had been dreading this moment. He took another deep breath before saying in a big, rush of words, "The Prince Faramir has fallen ill. Ill of the Plague. His condition is serious. Obviously, he has been concealing this for a long while. The Prince Faramir is unconscious. He had not woken when I left the City."

Éowyn felt numb. Cold sweat broke out on her forehead. She gathered her sense and stood up, saying, "I will leave for the City immedietly."

Albarod rose. "Nay, milady," said he. "The King has ordered you to stay in Tolfolas. Minas Tirith is not a safe place, for all the sick in the camps have been sent there. Death is in that City, lady."

Éowyn's fury rose. "But 'tis my husband who is lying dying within those walls, my good man!" she cried. "I want to see him, to be next to him, to nurse him back to health." She spun away, but Albarod grabbed her wrist. He had a strong grip.

"Please, lady," he begged. "The King commands it."

Éowyn sank back down into the chair. She placed her hands over her face and sobbed. Albarod stood there, unsure on what to do. Éowyn wiped her eyes with her knuckles and said to Albarod, "When does your boat leave Tolfolas?"

"As long as it takes us to restock our supplies," answered Albarod. The man bowed. "If you do not need me, I shall leave," he said. "The Valar be with you, lady."

"And with you," replied Éowyn.

That night, a dark figure slipped out to the port and climbed unnoticed onto Albarod's boat.