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: Ok, I confess. This chapter did not turn out as long as I wanted it to be. I apologize.
Disclaimer: Only some characters belong to me. The rest I am merely borrowing.
Éowyn stood alone in the gardens, her arms wrapped around her body. Subconciously, Éowyn stroked the rough material of her cloak. The first of the evening stars were out; and all along the banks of the Anduin, Éowyn could see the dim firelight of the camps. She breathed a sigh, and her breath became a curling mist in the cold air before disappearing. Down, down at the port, she could see Albarod's ship. Two sailors had become ill with the sickness that plagued (How appropriate, thought Éowyn) her husband.
It has been nearly seven days since she arrived. Nothing has changed. More sick are being brought in from the camps. The City is still as empty and dreary as before.
Faramir, despite awakening when he heard her voice, had once again lasped into his unconcious, dreamy state. The fever was not completely gone, and Éowyn knew that Aragorn was feeling worried, too. It made Éowyn smile to think that before the Plague had begun Aragorn and Faramir had merely been king and steward. Now, they were close friends. How strange that in such times like these, the present circumstances brought people closer to each other.
A breeze blew from the South. It made Éowyn think of Elboron. Has he been asking for her? Perhaps not: he scarcely noticed her when Eldarion was around him. Eldarion... he was such a sweet boy. Intelligent and wise, too, despite his age. He would make a good king. Of that Éowyn had no doubt. Perhaps it's a good thing that he and her son were playing with each other so often.
A voice from behind her pierced her troubled thoughts. "When will you ever learn to listen, Éowyn?" The voice was tired. It sounded old, and worried, and troubled. Even though she knew who it was, Éowyn turned around.
"When horses learn to fly, Aragorn," said Éowyn. There stood Aragorn, holding a lamp. The glow from the lamp dimly illuminated his face, making him appear stern. It amused Éowyn to see that he had a sword hanging from his belt. The phrase Old habits die hard rang in Éowyn's mind.
Aragorn laughed and stood next to Éowyn. She turned back and leaned against the cold stone wall. The sight of the gardens brought wonderful memories to her. Oh Faramir! she thought. How terrible it is for us to meet again in this place with you in this state. Éowyn felt her nose tingle with emotion, but she rubbed her eyes. The desire to cry went away.
"How is Arwen?" asked Aragorn.
"She is fine," said Éowyn. "She enjoys being by the Sea very much, I think. Everyday, she and I will take Eldarion and Elboron down to the beach."
"I've heard."
Silence. What was there to say? There was enough darkness in the present times, and all memory of joy and hope seemed lost. Éowyn squinted into the void below her. She could hear soldiers walking around in the City, quietly, silently. Éowyn wondered if once, years ago, before he became a captain, Faramir had once patroled the streets like them.
Éowyn knows that Faramir loves Minas Tirith, and he will do all he could to defend her. But to stay and protect her people 'til the point of death? That was a kind of love Éowyn never knew, except from Faramir. She turned around to speak to Aragorn, but found that he was not standing there anymore.
It frightened her, being alone so suddenly. She realized, at that moment, that people could leave so quietly, without a word, leaving her alone. One word flashed through her mind: Faramir. She breathed his name into the breeze and rushed down to the Houses of Healing.