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: Chapter seven. Mush, mush, mush, and a revelation.

Disclaimer: As always, I do not own most of the characters.

The dizziness began to ebb, and Faramir slowly opened his eyes. It was late: the tallow candle next to his bed was burning low. Or perhaps the candle has been used many times... There seemed so many things that Faramir could not remember. Where was he? And he remembered: the Houses of Healing. There were the more sick than Faramir had remembered.

Faramir sat up in his bed. His shirt was drenched in sweat, and it had soaked through the material, onto the bed. It made a dark patch and little freckles on the sheets. His hair felt like he had just jumped into a bath. Speaking of baths, he felt like he could use one right now. There was sweat upon his brow.

He remembered something.

"Éowyn?" he whispered, and found that his tongue felt like a large block of lead. Faramir's voice cracked from lack of use. His throat felt dry. There was a pitcher of water next to the candle, and a mug. Hands trembling, Faramir poured himself water. He lifted it to his dry lips and drank deeply.

"Faramir?"

He put the mug of water down and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. And his eyes widened. Perhaps his head was suffering from the effects of a fever, or perhaps she was really there. It was Éowyn. Her eyes were wide, her hair tangled. She rushed to him.

"Éowyn," he repeated.

With tears in her eyes, she nodded. Éowyn lifted her hand and gently caressed Faramir's cheek. She is really there, thought Faramir as he felt the cool, dry touch of Éowyn's hand on his damp, flushed cheek. Éowyn's hand moved down to his neck; then down to his shoulders. He is really there, thought Éowyn as she felt the tensed muscles.

Éowyn spoke. "I was so afraid that I would lose you forever. I was so afraid that I would never feel you again, like this, with you looking back at me." Éowyn sank onto the bed. She leaned against him, feeling his damp skin on her cheek. She said, "I missed you."

Faramir nodded, a lump in his throat. "I saw you in all my dreams," he said.

"How did you see me?"

"Sometimes," said Faramir, recalling old fragments of feverish hallucinations, "you were right next to me, like now. Sometimes, you were torn away from me, and I could do nothing but watch you go. And sometimes, you were like a phantom. I could grasp you, could not feel you." Faramir kissed her cheek. "I cannot imagine anything worse than that."

Éowyn smiled.

"Did the king really allow you to come to Minas Tirith?" Faramir asked.

"No," she replied. "I came by myself aboard the messenger's ship. I disguised myself as a sailor."

Faramir laughed. "And the masquerade continues," he teased. "What name did you adopt this time, my love?"

Éowyn giggled. "None, lord," she said. "I hid in the ship's hold, though two sailors discovered me. They are good men, and they gave me food throughout the entire journey."

"Where are they now?" asked Faramir. "I want to thank them properly."

Éowyn's face darkened, and she turned away. "One of them is ill," she said softly. "The other, I do not know." Faramir felt her tremble.

"Oh lord!" It was Ioreth. "I know you want to speak to your wife," she said, rushing over, "but you must rest. Your body is still weak, and we cannot risk you falling ill again, can we?"

Though Faramir was annoyed, he showed no sign of it. He took Éowyn's hand in his, and he gently kissed it. "I will see you tomorrow," he whispered. Éowyn nodded, and she turned and left.

-

He had managed to escape Ioreth's tyranny. Éowyn and Faramir sat on the gardens. She was leaning against him, and he had his arms around her shoulders. Faramir thought to himself, She feels thin. Had she really been so worried that she had lost her appetite?

Lazily, Faramir cast his eyes down the length of the Anduin. It was just like he remembered: silvery-grey with tiny dots down either sides of the banks. There were thin spirals of smoke rising from the dots, a silent reminder that winter was coming.

Suddenly, something occured to Faramir.

"Éowyn," said Faramir, "all of Minas Tirith's drains lead to the River, right?"

Éowyn, puzzled at the fact that even the youngest Minas Tirithian child would know the answer, replied, "Yes."

"And the people in the camps use the water for drinking and eating, right?"

"I suppose so..." said Éowyn. And suddenly, Éowyn knew what Faramir meant. Her mouth formed a silent O.

Faramir rose, and without another word, ran to the Aragorn's study. When he arrived there, he leaned against the door, panting, his chest heaving. Prince Imrahil and the King Elessar looked at him in surprise.

"Faramir!" said Imrahil. "You should be resting."

But Faramir was not listening. He cried out:

"I know! I know how the Plague is spreading!"

A/N: I appreciate your review, steelelf. See? I followed your advice! (lifts hands to block a possible blow)