I'm finally getting caught up on my writing, so I hope you all won't mind that I'm posting a little earlier than usual. :-) FYI, this chapter in particular was a complete bear to write; I wanted to follow the book story line fairly closely without just regurgitating it, and that's surprisingly hard to do.

By the way, there have been several new favorites and follows recently, and I wanted to let my new readers in particular know that I really, really appreciate reviews! I find it very helpful to hear what people like - or don't - in my stories.

Thanks for reading, hope you all enjoy it!

Chapter 27

Morloth looked up to see Mithrandir entering the ward, a tall man wearing a deep hood following close behind him. Her breath caught in her throat knowing who it must be.

"We have returned, Morloth," the wizard told her as the tall man stepped forward and pulled the hood back from his face. As she expected it was Aragorn, looking very tired and careworn, but otherwise much as he did when they had met on the banks of the Anduin.

She was about to curtsey, but he anticipated her, clasping her hand and saying, "Nay, Morloth," his tone gently chiding and his gray eyes alight. "That was not necessary when we first met and you thought me a disreputable rogue, and it is not necessary now."

She snorted, amused despite the gravity of the situation. "I never thought that!" she told him indignantly.

"You would not have been the first," Aragorn chuckled. "It is good to see you again, Morloth," he continued. "Boromir and I met on the battlefield earlier, and I would be remiss if I did not give you my thanks for tending him with such care. You repaid my trust many times over; matters in Rohan might have been far worse if we had been long delayed in following the orcs."

Morloth blushed and murmured, "Thank you, I was happy to assist," all the while wondering whether Mithrandir had mentioned to him that her relationship with Boromir was much more than that of a healer and her patient. But if the ranger had been told, he gave no sign of it.

"Gandalf feels there are patients here that would benefit from my skills, Morloth, what can you tell me of them?"

"Yes, indeed…Aragorn," she stumbled a bit over his name, feeling over-familiar but sensing that he would be uncomfortable with 'sire' or 'my lord'. "We have all too much experience with normal battle injuries, but for some, especially those who have had close contact with the Ringwraiths, something else is at work. Even with no other serious injuries, certain patients cannot be roused; eventually they grow cold and just…fade away. There is no other way to describe it!"

Aragorn nodded, his face grim, "The Black Breath, yes, I am familiar with it." He shook his head ruefully, "Would that Elrond was here, his healing skills are unsurpassed."

"He is not," Gandalf rumbled, "so you will have to do." He gave Aragorn a wry glance, "Besides, I certain that you fail to give yourself sufficient credit."

The ranger sighed, "That may be." He turned back to regard Morloth, "Perhaps you could tell which patients are in the most urgent need of aid."

She nodded, "The halfling Merry and Lady Éowyn are the most seriously afflicted with the 'Black Breath', as you call it; hardly surprising since I'm told they had very close contact with the Lord of the Nazgûl. But…" she looked up to meet his eyes, her face troubled, "I am most concerned about Boromir's brother, Faramir. He took an arrow wound in the arm at the beginning of the siege which seems to have healed well, but he has lain fevered and unconscious all the while since then." Her voice fell, "I…I have told not Boromir so, not wanting to alarm him, but I greatly fear that Faramir's strength is failing."

Aragorn nodded, his face grave, "May I see them?"

"Of course!" Morloth responded eagerly. "This way."

As they neared their destination, a small figure appeared in the doorway of Merry's room. "Strider!" Pippin exclaimed, running up to embrace his friend. "I'm so glad to see you again," he said, his face bright. "You know, I was taking a breath of fresh air on the walls when the ships arrived, and even though everyone was crying, 'Corsairs!' and looking upset, I knew it was you."

"How could you possibly have known that, Pippin?" Morloth asked in surprise.

"Well, I knew he was coming and he wasn't here yet, so it had to be him, don't you see?" Pippin explained.

Morloth and Aragorn exchanged an amused glance, but before they could respond, Pippin asked anxiously, "You're going to help Merry, aren't you, Strider? And Faramir? After Gandalf left I remembered how you kept Frodo from dying after he was stabbed on Weathertop, and I was so angry with myself that I hadn't thought of it before."

Aragorn laid a comforting hand on Pippin's shoulder, "Yes, Pippin, I'm here to help Merry, Faramir, Lady Éowyn and anyone else who might need it. Is Faramir nearby? I would like to examine him first."

A familiar voice rang out, "He is here, Aragorn, thank you for coming." The ranger looked up to see Boromir standing in a doorway not far away. "Do…do you believe you can help Faramir and the others?" he asked, his heart in his eyes. He chuckled ruefully, "It seems a bit unfair to demand that you heal them based on a verse from a thousand year-old piece of parchment."

Aragorn met his gaze steadily, "I will not make any false promises, for it is possible that some of those afflicted may be too far gone bring back; but yes, I believe I can help. I do vow that I will do my utmost to save them."

Boromir turned his face away, tears glinting in his eyes, "Thank you, Aragorn. It has torn my heart to watch him suffer day after day knowing that nothing could be done."

"I understand, my friend," Aragorn said quietly as Boromir led him into his brother's room.

-ooo-

Morloth had stayed behind when Boromir escorted Aragorn to see Lady Éowyn, knowing that Hedron could better answer questions about her condition.

Now the ranger reappeared in her ward doorway, with Boromir close behind. "You were right about Faramir, Morloth, I must see to him with all speed," he told her, his face drawn and grim.

"You must be weary, Aragorn," she asked, suspecting he had little time to rest after the battle, "would you like to eat or sleep a little before beginning?"

He shook his head regretfully, "Would that I could, but time is running out for the three I have just seen." Aragorn met her eyes; one brow raised inquiringly, "What would be most beneficial for me is to learn whether there is any athelas available."

"Oh! Of course!" she exclaimed. "The verse was all about athelas and I foolishly let your coming drive that from my mind." Morloth led Aragorn to a cabinet on one side of the ward; she pulled open a drawer to reveal that it was filled with the herb. "After I saw how you applied it to Boromir's wounds I asked the Warden to arrange for a regular supply. I have been using it, but when the siege cut off shipments from Lossarnach I decided to preserve what was left in case of greater need." She looked up, her face anxious, "It is a few days old, I hope it will still serve."

Aragorn chuckled, his eyes warm, "'Foolish' is not how I would describe someone so sensible and foresightful! Having this may make the difference between life and death for Faramir and the others."

"Really?" she asked in surprise. "How will you use it?"

"For this purpose the scent is most efficacious, and for that I need steaming water. If you would be so good as to provide some and bring it to Faramir's room when it is ready, I would be most grateful."

"I will see to it immediately," Morloth assured him, and disappeared to arrange for the water to be heated. In the meantime, Boromir escorted Aragorn back to Faramir's room. He was as Aragorn left him, pale and covered in sweat, but so still he hardly seemed to breathe.

Boromir's breath caught in is throat on seeing him again, and he turned anguished eyes to the ranger. "Aragorn, what could have caused this?" he asked plaintively. "The arrow wound was small and healed readily; I do not understand why he is still so weak and fevered."

"Morloth removed the arrow?" Aragorn asked.

"Aye," Boromir nodded. "It was a bolt like thousands of others the Haradrim used during the battle with no indication it was poisoned. Morloth said it was challenging to remove, but there was no reason to expect this would happen."

"If he was only affected by the arrow wound he would indeed have recovered by now. I suspect that weariness, grief over your father's treatment of him, and worry over you all had a role to play." Aragorn looked up to meet Boromir's eyes, "To your knowledge did he come in close contact with the Nazgûl?"

"Twice that I know of," Boromir replied, his face grim, "and perhaps on other occasions while he was defending Osgiliath."

The ranger nodded, "His will is strong, but he was fighting against the shadow's influence long before the arrow struck him down. Would that I had come sooner." Seeing Boromir's distress, he hastened to reassure him, "But do not despair, my friend, I think it is not too late."

Aragorn sat next to Faramir and laid a hand on his brow, then closed his eyes and called Faramir's name. As time went on it seemed to Boromir that his friend was engaged in some great struggle to call his brother back to life. His face grew gray with weariness, now and again calling Faramir's name.

Morloth entered quietly and touched Boromir on the shoulder. "The water is heated," she whispered to him. "Should I bring it in now?"

Boromir looked at Aragorn uncertainly, "I…I do not know. Do you think that interrupting might do one or both of them harm?"

At that moment Aragorn sighed and pulled away from Faramir. He turned, obviously having heard them speak, "Thank you, Morloth. Please bring in the water, if you may."

"Is he...?" Boromir asked with his heart in his eyes.

"I believe the worst is over," Aragorn told him, shaking his head. "But it was a near thing." And so it seemed to Boromir that his brother breathed more easily, though he did not awaken.

When Morloth returned with the steaming water, Aragorn took two athelas leaves in his hands, breathed on them and crushed them before dropping them in the water. Immediately the room filled with a scent that caused all their hearts to lift, calling to mind fresh dewy mornings in a spring meadow. Aragorn set the basin of water near the bed, and bathed Faramir's brow with a cloth soaked with the water.

"Call to him, Boromir," Aragorn said quietly.

Boromir sat in a chair near the bed and took Faramir's hand in his. "Faramir! Faramir, come back! Return to those who love you and would not be parted from you."

At first, nothing happened, but then suddenly to Boromir's delight Faramir stirred and took a deep breath and another. "Faramir!" he called again, his heart filling with hope. Faramir's hand tightened on his and he felt his throat close with happiness as Faramir struggled to open his eyes.

"Boromir," his brother rasped, and his eyes focusing on Boromir. His mouth curved into a smile, "It seems that the Bear Brothers will not be parted after all."

Tears streamed down Boromir's face as he pressed Faramir's hand to his chest. "Never again, little brother."

Faramir sobered, "Brother, how long has it been? What has happened?"

"You have been unconscious for two days—since the beginning of the siege," Boromir told him. "But the siege is over now, and we prevailed. What do you recall?"

"It's…it's all a jumble. My last clear memory is the retreat across the Pelennor. I remember something with Father, though I can make little sense of it. And you, of course; I heard your voice speaking to me, calling me. I…I wanted to answer you, go to you, but all was in shadow and I could not find you." He looked up at his brother, his eyes filled with wonder. "Then he came. The King. I knew who he was, though I know not how. He called to me, and the shadows parted."

Boromir noted that Aragorn had slipped from the room, so he smiled at Faramir and said, "Aye, Aragorn was here, and he called you back."

"But how can I lie abed when the King has returned?" Faramir asked plaintively.

"You will meet him soon, I am certain," Morloth told him. She laid a gentle hand on his brow and found that his fever was entirely gone. "It was his wish that you rest in bed for at least two days. I agree it would be wise; you spent your strength fighting the fever—and the shadow of Mordor—for many days."

"Sleep, brother, I will be here when you awaken," Boromir assured him as Faramir's eyes closed in sleep.

-ooo-

Aragorn smiled to himself, warmed by the brothers' reunion as he quietly left Faramir's room. He made his way to Éowyn and found Éomer in close conversation with Gandalf.

The new king of Rohan looked up when he entered, Éomer's expression one of nervous anticipation. The ranger joined him by the bed and gazed down at Éowyn, pale and still. "Her shield arm has been well tended and will heal in due course," Aragorn assured him. "But the chief evil came through the sword arm that struck the Witch-King. Alas, he was a foe far beyond her strength and it is marvel that she still lives." He sighed, "Yet it pains me to speak of her, for I fear I had a role, however unwitting, in setting her feet on the path that led her here. But I also sense that her malady began far earlier than my arrival." His eyes met Éomer's, as if searching for answers there.

"I hold you blameless in this matter, Aragorn," Éomer told him gruffly, tears standing in his eyes, "though it was only when she first looked upon you that I realized she had been touched by frost. She shared much with me over the last year or more; anger over Wormtongue's influence, concern for our uncle's weakness, and finally, grief for our cousin. But how did those cares bring her to this end?"

"Éomer," Gandalf said gently, "you had feats of arms and the freedom to go where and when you wished. Your sister, born with a spirit and courage the match of yours, was doomed to watch with growing fear a man she loved like a father falling, it seemed to her, into a dishonored dotage. Is it any wonder she grew to feel bitter and constrained; little more than a prop to your uncle's faltering steps as the walls closed around her?"

Éomer turned away, pain etched on his face.

Aragorn laid a hand on his shoulder, "Take heart, Éomer, she lives still and I believe it is within my power to lift the shadow from her. But if she is to be completely healed she must be well in body and mind. Whether she will wake to hope or despair I cannot say, but know that is you she loves truly, and you will she need in days to come."

He bent near her face and placed a hand on her brow, pale and cold. "Éowyn, Éomund's daughter, awake!" he called. "The shadow has passed away and a new day dawns!"

Éomer could see that Éowyn was breathing more deeply, and watched as Aragorn crushed two athelas leaves and dropped them into a bowl of steaming water. Once again the clean, warm scent of the herb filled the air. Aragorn bathed her brow and her right arm, lying lifeless on the coverlet, with the scented water. "Awake!" he called again. "Éowyn, Lady of Rohan!" Her put her hand in Éomer's, and said him, "Call her!" before slipping silently from the chamber.

"Éowyn, Éowyn!" her brother called before lifting her hand, now warm to the touch, to his lips.

Her eyes fluttered open and she gazed at Éomer in surprise and joy, "Éomer! It is you, alive! I…I was told you were slain! Wait…no…" she continued, "that was only the voices in the darkness. But what of our uncle? I saw him fall; surely that was no dream."

"No," Éomer told her, "you remember that truly. But he died bravely and now lies in honor here in the Citadel."

She was silent for a moment, tears coursing down her cheeks. "I…I grieve for him, and know you must as well. At least he died as he would have wished to, which is more than I had hoped for when his mind was in the thrall of Wormtongue." She paused for a moment, "Brother, what of Meriadoc the halfling? Please tell me him lives, for he fought valiantly."

"He lies nearby," Gandalf explained, "and I go to him now. But you must heal, so rest, and dwell not on darkness and grief. Éomer will stay with you."

"Very well," she sighed, "though I do not know what life awaits me now that the king is gone."

-ooo-

Pippin's anxious face turned toward Aragorn as soon as he entered Merry's room. It seemed to him that his cousin had grown more gray and still in just the short time since Aragorn had arrived and he worried he might not survive. "Boromir says that Faramir is awake now, Strider; do you think you can help poor old Merry as well?"

Aragorn smiled reassuringly, "He has taken a hurt like that of the Lady Éowyn, daring to strike such an evil creature. But though he is weary and cold now, I am certain he will recover. His spirit is too strong and joyful to be weighed down long by grief."

For a third time Aragorn breathed on the athelas leaves he had brought with him, and crushed them, dropping them into a bowl of steaming water at Merry's bedside. As the scent filled the room Aragorn laid his hand on Merry's head and called his name.

Merry stirred and stretched in response, then his eyes fluttered open and the cried, "Strider, how good it is to see you! Oh, am I hungry! What time is it?"

"Merry!" Pippin exclaimed, his eyes bright. "It's well past suppertime, I think, but I can bring you something from the kitchen if you like."

Aragorn smiled, "I'm sure they will be happy to oblige such a valiant and honored Rider of Rohan."

"Really?" Merry asked in surprise. "Well, then, a meal and a smoke will do nicely."

Gandalf had just entered the room, and he snorted in amusement. "Trust a hobbit to desire food and a pipe above all else!"

Pippin noticed that Merry face's had fallen, "What's wrong, Merry?"

"I just remembered that he wanted to learn about pipeweed—the king—and now I won't have a chance to speak to him again," Merry said, tears standing in his eyes.

Gandalf smiled gently, "Théoden King was a good man with a kind heart who kept his oaths. Smoke then, and think of him."

Aragorn excused himself, and when he entered the hallway, found Boromir and Morloth standing near Faramir's door. They both tensed when they saw him, and an uneasy look passed between them.

Before he could inquire if something was amiss, a figure appeared in Faramir's doorway, and a voice long unheard but well remembered said, "So finally I meet the man who has stolen the love of both my sons."

He looked up to meet Denethor's gaze; the other man's face was outwardly calm but his eyes were filled with barely concealed fury. After a long moment he spoke again, the venom in his voice unmistakable, "But it is not the first time we have met, is it, Thorongil?"