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CHAPTER 8

Prayers

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Late in the evening Aragorn returned to Éowyn's chamber, finding the handmaiden and Queen in much the same way as he had left them that morning. Arwen had called a servant to bring them meals, but she had eaten little, and Mithlomi had taken nothing at all to eat. The handmaiden had only taken wine when Arwen insisted upon it.

"How does she fare?" asked the King, laying a hand on Arwen's shoulder.

"Not as well as I would like," she replied. "She has not yet woken, nor has her fever diminished."

Aragorn touched Éowyn's hand, then turned to the handmaiden. "Mithlomi, would you fetch more blankets for your mistress?"

She frowned. "There are no blankets left in this room."

"Then go to the laundress," said Arwen, "and ask her to send up more."

"Aye, my lady," Mithlomi replied, standing and curtseying before hurrying away.

Arwen looked up at her husband. "Is this beyond your skill?"

He took a seat in a chair by the bed and brushed a few strands of hair from Éowyn's brow. "The only cure for this is time," said he. "There is little any of us could do, save pray to the Valar for her protection."

"They have spared her before," Arwen replied. Her husband nodded, and she knew that he too was thinking of the year before, when Éowyn had lain in the Houses of Healing, near death after losing the child she carried. Arwen touched the lady's hand; it was still cold. "'Tis strange that this fever should take such strong hold in so short a time."

"What mean you?" the King asked. "She has been ill for some time."

"This fever is quite new, stemming perhaps from contact with a child in the Houses of Healing on her last visit," said Arwen. "Yet Mithlomi has related to me the symptoms of the last several weeks, and they cannot be associated with this malady."

"What do you suspect, Arwen?"

Arwen gazed at the woman's face. "She may be with child, and has not yet told anyone, or perhaps does not know it."

She glanced up to see a frown on her husband's face. "Her maid assured me that was not the case."

"Mithlomi is a sweet, intelligent girl and very observant, yet she is young, and tells me that her mother died when she was born," said the Queen. "She had no older lady to teach her all these things concerning childbearing." Arwen sighed. "If she carries a child, that would explain why the illness took hold so suddenly. Her body would be tending to matters of the child, not to illness."

The door opened again, revealing Mithlomi with her arms full of blankets, and Arwen ceased to speak on that subject. As she and Aragorn helped the maid to spread more blankets over the patient, Arwen said, "Whatever the case may be, I feel we must send for her husband immediately."

Aragorn nodded. "See to it, Arwen," said he. "I will see to the lady."

*~*~*~*

"Where to this morning, milord?"

Faramir stood with his horse, with seven other men and their steeds around him. Daily this group rode away from camp, into the woods of Ithilien to find out another location for the settling of their new city. Every morning one of them would ask the steward whence they would go, and every morning he would look to Zabathân and laugh. "How many days must we ride out before you learn that the master of construction makes those decisions?" he asked.

"Forgive me, my lord," said Dethekan. "I fear I am used to seeing you as my Captain, and giving orders as such."

Faramir mounted Nâlo and smiled. "Aye, Dethekan, but we must remember that we are at peace now!" said he. "A Ranger of Ithilien you may yet be, but I am one no longer." He turned to Zabathân. "Where do we ride?"

"Southeast, milord," said he, "roughly to where that rider comes hence."

Faramir turned sharply to see a man on horseback in the distance, speeding toward the camp. Furrowing his brow, he turned his horse toward that path. "Let us meet him ere he reaches our encampment," said he, and they rode off.

Within a short time, they were withing a few hundred yards of the man, and Faramir called out, "What news from the city?"

The rider continued hard, but stopped as he recognized the steward. "My lord, I bring urgent news from Minas Tirith," said he.

"Aye, it must be urgent indeed, if the King sends an extra messenger," Faramir replied. "We did not look for another until nightfall."

"I have ridden since the night before last, with only a short stop to rest and sup," said the rider. "I have a message most urgent for you, Lord Faramir."

Faramir gave a small, puzzled smile. "Then let us hear it, instead of hearing of it."

The rider withdrew a message from his small pack and handed it to the steward, who opened it immediately. The hand was one he did not recognize, but since the messenger had said he had come from the King, he could only assume that it was drafted by Queen Arwen. Yet why?

The steward shook his head and read the note.

Lord Faramir,

I write to you to implore you to return as early as you can. Lady Éowyn has grown exceedingly worse these last few days. The Warden of the Houses of Healing has visited her here, and he says that while she is afflicted with a malady of childhood here in Gondor, it has taken stronger hold of her than he has ever seen. She collapsed this morning after breakfast, and has not woken since.

My lord the King and I beg you to come here with haste.

Arwen Undómiel, of Gondor Queen

Faramir stared at the note long after he had finished reading it, wondering at the message that his wife had fallen so ill after his departure. Why had he so willingly left her behind, knowing she was not in full health? There were other men the King could have sent, and yet Faramir left without question. The King would have regarded Éowyn's well-being important enough to allow him to stay behind to tend her. Yet she had not been so unwell when he had left, or he would have stayed back.

It was Zabathân's voice that broke his reverie. "My lord? Why so pale?"

He found his throat suddenly dry and his voice hoarse as he answered and said, "My wife—"

He glanced around at the men, who were waiting apprehensively. "My lord?" said Beregond.

Faramir looked back at the note briefly. "Get this man food and drink, and a place to rest," he ordered. "I must away to Minas Tirith; I cannot wait a moment."

With that the steward spurred his horse ahead, and he did not stop to take rest until well into the night.