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: Whew! Short chapter, this time. I promise - and I hope - that the next chapter will be longer.

Disclaimer: I don't own a lot of the characters, but the ones I do I hope you appreciate.

The fever would not abate. Faramir, though his eyes were closed, would toss and turn, his head burning and pounding. For a long time, he only knew two things: dreams and darkness. He always dreamed that terrible dream: the dark waves climbing over and higher. Over the hills, crashing upon him, sweeping him away in the murky, oily water. He would gag and cough, tasting a terrible, bitter taste in his mouth. Then, the darkness would come back.

Once, he had awoken. He saw Ioreth's moonface hovering over his. She smiled at him and said, "Sleep, my lord. Sleep." Ioreth lifted Faramir's head. The bitter liquid would rush into his mouth and the darkness returned.

Aragorn watched his friend in distress. Meanwhile, outside, a storm churned up the Anduin. Aragorn was worried for the messenger he had sent. Albarod was shocked to hear that the Prince Faramir was ill - with the Plague. Aragorn sent him to Éowyn, to tell her of the terrible news.

Would Éowyn - for once - follow his instructions? Aragorn daren't think of what would happen if Éowyn came to Minas Tirith.

Six days passed before Albarod's company reached Minas Tirith. Albarod had grim news: two men on his ship had contacted the Plague, despite them not making contact with any of the refugee camps. This vexed Aragorn further. So many months had passed from the first case, and they still had not found the cause of the spread of the Plague.

The Houses of the Healing was not a pleasent place to be. There was the sour smell of urine and vomit the air. Ever was there the sound of moans coming from the ill. The sound of the moans made Ioreth's skin crawl as she carried a basin to the Prince Faramir's bed. It was at the end of the long hall, next to the window.

He still had not awoken. A ray of light had fallen through the curtains and created a patch of sunlight on Faramir's chest. Ioreth sat next to Faramir.

Ioreth sighed as she sponged Faramir's forehead. "I swear," she said to the unconcious man, "that I could poach an egg for your morning meal on your brow, lord." Faramir did not answer, but he uttered a moan. It was the moan of a tortured man. Ioreth sighed again. Suddenly, Faramir leaned over the side of the bed and retched onto the floor.

Ioreth sighed for the third time as she rose for a rag. A cloaked figure swept past her on her way out. The person smelled faintly of salt. Perhaps it was one of the sailors from Albarod's company, home from giving the news to the Lady Éowyn. "That poor lady," said Ioreth. "Her husband is ill and she is all the way at the bottom of the Anduin."

-

Faramir's head was pounding. The effects of the bitter liquid was wearing off. There was no remedy, though, for the ache in his joints; and most of all, for the ache in his heart. Suddenly, there was a cool, wet feeling on his forehead. A distant voice spoke to him, but he could not understand what the speaker was saying. His stomach churned. There was a smell that made him nauseous. Without thinking, he turned over and retched onto the floor.

A dream came to him: He was on one side of a river. Through the mist, he saw Éowyn standing opposite him. There were tears on Éowyn's face, and in her arms she cradled a sleeping Elboron. Watching them made his heart ache for ever leaving them. He called her name, and she turned. He stepped into the cold river. Éowyn reached out and their hands met. But then, they were torn apart. Faramir could still see them standing on the river bank. Éowyn was calling, calling his name. Weeping, weeping his name.

"Éowyn!" he cried out.

That was when he opened his eyes. And it was then that he realized Éowyn was really calling his name. Not in a dream, but there. She was really there. Next to him. Her arms around his shoulders, her face in his chest. Weeping, calling his name.

She was really there.

In disbelief, Faramir breathed a sigh of relief and fell back into a dreamless slumber.

A/N: That must have been the hardest chapter to write so far. Please review!