The Houses of Healing were a series of spacious
buildings grouped around a forecourt and fountain
court just below the Citadel, and full almost to
bursting with wounded Men.

   A weary nurse showed Arwen, Imrahil and Eomer to
the small chamber where Eowyn, in deference to her
rank and sex, had been laid apart from the rest. Two
Riders stood guard at the door and Aragorn was within,
bending over the unconscious Woman.

   He looked up as they entered. "Arwen, have you
athelas?"

   She shook her head, chagrined. "No. It is better
fresh and I thought there'd be no difficulty finding
it here in the south."

   "There isn't normally, but these are not normal
times. Never mind, dear heart, some has been sent for
but I would save time if I could."

   "How is she?" Arwen asked, looking anxiously at
Eowyn's pale face.

   "The shield arm is broken," her husband answered. "
but it will mend if she has the strength to live. The
chief evil came through the sword arm." a faint smile.
"It seems she and Merry between them slew the Witch
King."

   "Not by the hand of Man." Arwen quoted, and smiled
almost in spite of herself. "And neither of them is a
Man!" then she added with sudden fear: "But what of
Merry?"

   "He has taken some harm, but is in far better case
than she. Hers was the killing blow." Aragorn looked
at the new King of Rohan, stroking his sister's hair
and crooning to her softly in their native tongue.
"Her malady begins long before this day, does it not,
Eomer?"

   The younger Man glanced up him, and then briefly at
Arwen. "I hold you blameless in this, Aragorn," he
said carefully, "but I saw no shadow on my sister
until she looked on you."

   Aragorn sighed "I saw what you saw," he admitted,
"though too late to undo the damage. Yet it was not
that alone which brought her to this pass: Care and
dread and bitter grief have all played their part."

   "All these she shared with me." Eomer protested

   "But you could act," Arwen told him gently, "ride
forth and wield a sword against your enemies. A
woman's part is harder, sometimes all she can do is
wait - and hope." she grimaced a little. "And that is
sometimes bitter to bear - believe me I know!"

   Aragorn gave her a wry look in reply to the veiled
gibe, before turning again to Eomer. "Stay with her,
hold her hand, speak to her. You, if anyone, can bind
her to life. I will return soon."

   The large outer chamber was filled with wounded
Men, as was the passage beyond it. The miasma of the
Black Breath hung heavy over them and Arwen saw some
had already begun the long withdrawal from light and
life.

   "I fear your nephew is in as sore case as the Lady
Eowyn, or worse." Aragorn said to Imrahil. "Tell me,
how did he come by his wounds?"

   "In battle upon the Rammas Echor, or rather whilst
retreating from it. The rear guard was cut down around
him and he alone came to the gates, dragged at his
horse's heels and pierced by two arrows."

   Aragorn opened a door and they entered another
chamber, little larger than Eowyn's, but crowded with
several Men and one Hobbit lying on cots tended by two
or three nurses; the Hobbit Peregrin; Gandalf,
unfamiliar in shining white robes; and a tall Man in
Numenorean armor of ancient design.

   "They seemed but black Orc arrows," Imrahil
continued, "but when he fell into the Dark Sleep we
assumed one must be a Morgul dart. 

   Aragorn shook his head. "Had that been so he would
have died last night. No, he must have fallen under
the Shadow long before he rode to battle on the
out-walls. Slowly the Dark must have crept on him as
he defended Ithilien. He is a Man of staunch will, he
resisted it well until grief and wounds sapped his
strength.

   Arwen shivered. "The Shadow has hung heavy over
this City for far too long." she said. "I have never
seen so much Black Breath, not even during the worst
of the Witch Wars."

   Her husband nodded grimly. "This House is
full of it. Would that I could have come sooner!"

   Arwen could only agree. But they had come as fast
as they could, she reminded herself, and by Lord
Ulmo's grace they had been in time to save the City.
To demand more was ungratful, even presumptuous.

   Aragorn sat down at the bedside of a fair haired
Man bearing a strong family resemblance to Imrahil.
This must be the Lord Faramir and he was indeed in bad
case, his spirit so far gone that Arwen wondered if
even Aragorn, calling on the bond between King and
subject, would be able to draw him back.

   He intended at any rate to try. He took the sick
Man's hand in his and laid the other upon his sweat
dewed brow. That the Man was fevered rather than cold
like Eowyn was a good sign, it meant he was still
fighting. "Faramir!" Aragorn said, softly but with
Power.

   The armored Man on the other side of the cot
flinched at the strength of the Call. Arwen looked at
him with interest, and then disbelief. *Another* of
them! It seemed the Line of Anarion was far from
extinct in Gondor.

   Intent on his Calling Aragorn did not stir when the
door burst open, and a young boy ran in, clutching a
linen cloth in his hands. "I have it - athelas!" he
panted to the Anarioni. "Mother says it's
not fresh, two weeks old or more, but she hopes it
will serve."

   "It will do very well." Arwen assured him, taking
the cloth and opening it. There were six long leaves
of athelas inside, neither brown nor broken. "Now
bring me some of that hot water if you will." She told
the staring boy, then took two of the leaves and
breathed on them, then closed her hand and crushed
them.

   The familiar scent filled the air, growing stronger
as she cast the fragments into the steaming water the
boy brought. She took the bowl from his hands and
turned to her husband.

  "Well now!" An old Woman standing nearby exclaimed.
"Who would have believed it? That weed is better than
I thought. No King could ask for better!"

   Aragorn opened his eyes to smile up at her as she
held the bowl so both he and his patient could breath
the steam. Arwen was concerned to see the scent of the
athelas did not fully restore her husband, he still
seemed somewhat weary. This healing and demanded much
of him - almost more than he could safely give.

   She stood back and the Man on the bed stirred and
opened his eyes. They fastened at once upon Aragorn's
face with wondering recognition, and with love. "My
Lord, you called me. I come." he whispered weakly.
"What does the King command?"

   "That you rest, and take food, and be ready when I
call." Aragorn answered him gently. He rose pulling
his hand from Faramir's grasp. "Now I must go to
others
that need me, but I will return, my Steward."

   Arwen followed him across the room with the bowl of
athelas, but it was immediately clear it would not be
needed. Merry lay, bright eyed and alert on his cot,
with little Pippin sitting cross-legged at his feet
and the wizard standing over them.

   "Well, Merry," her husband asked, "how are you
feeling?"

   "Hungry." was the prompt answer. Aragorn and
Gandalf both laughed.

   "Hobbits!" said the latter, shaking his head.

   "I am sure we can find some supper somewhere for a
Nazgul bane." Aragorn smiled. 

   "Nazgul." the Hobbit's face clouded in sudden
alarm. "Eowyn! how is she? Is she all right?"

   "I am going to her now." Aragorn said reassuringly.
"Don't worry Merry." he turned towards the door.
"Gandalf, Arwen, come with me if you will." 

   She put down the bowl on a convenient table and
picked up the linen cloth with the remaining four
leaves in it.

   As she started to follow her husband and the wizard
out of the room she heard Merry say: "Here now, Pip,
what are you got up as?"

   And closed the door on Pippin's reply: "I'll have
you know I'm a guard of the Citadel. And you're a fine
one to be talking, where'd you get that fancy armor?"

   Gandalf heard it too and chuckled. "Hobbits!
They'll follow you through fire and battle and then
when all's done demand their tea and a pipe to smoke!"

   "Hobbits," said Aragorn, "have a very good grasp of
what's really important in life."

   "They do indeed." Arwen agreed, thinking of Bilbo.
****

   Eowyn was no better, but at least she was no worse.
Her brother lifted his head from his hands as they
enetered with a look of unabashed relief.

   Gandalf shook his head grimly. "I bear some fault
in this." he said. Both Aragorn and Eomer stared at
him in surprise. "Did you think Wormtongue had poison
only for Theoden's ears? He wanted Eowyn and exerted
all the power Saruman had lent him to draw her to him.
She resisted his arts but not without cost. who knows
what bitter thoughts he planted in her heart? And I,
fool that I am, assumed that as she was young and
strong she could throw off his influence without
help!"

   "I fear none of us has given Eowyn what she needs."
Aragorn said quietly. "Perhaps because it is not in us
to give." he looked at Eomer across his sister's bed.
"I can recall her from the dark valley, but whether
she will awake to hope, or forgetfulness, or despair I
do not know. If it is to despair she will die unless
other healing comes that I cannot give.

   "You may have the power to save her, Eomer, for she
loves you more truly than me. You she both loves and
knows; me she knows not."

   Yet for all that it was the bond of love that he
used to Call her back, having no other. He kissed her
brow and called softly. "Awake Eowyn! Your enemy has
passed away and the sun shines." then he took the hot
water seeped in athelas from Arwen's hands and brushed
a few drops upon the sick Woman's brow then laved the
cold and nerveless sword arm from shoulder to finger
tips.

   A keen wind blew in the open window, fresh and
clean and young, as if it had never been breathed by
any living thing but came new-made from snowy
mountains beneath the stars. Arwen's eyes filled with
tears; Eowyn's spirit had returned to them. She was
not yet out of danger, as Aragorn had said, but at
least now there was hope.

   "Awake Eowyn!" Aragorn repeated, then put her now
warm right hand into her brother's. "Call her!"

   He took Arwen's arm and led her quickly out lest
Eowyn see them when her eyes opened. Once safely
outside though they lingered, ears to the half open
door, and listened.

   "Eowyn, Eowyn!" Eomer called through his tears.

   And she answered weakly. "Eomer? But they said you
were slain! Was it just a dream?"

   Aragorn and Arwen exchanged smiles of relief and he
gently closed the door.
***

   In the passage beyond the outer chamber they found
a portly, greying Man, remarkably like a somewhat
taller Barliman Butterbur in bearing and feature,
confronting a Woman with classic Dunedain looks.

   "I don't know what you're talking about, Hiril." he
said sounding both weary and irritable. "I am Warden
here and I tell you I know nothing of a Lord Aragorn,
much less a call for kingsfoil of all things!"

   The Woman's eyes, green rather than the usual grey,
went over the Warden's shoulder to Aragorn and lit
with recognition. Brushing past the Man she came to
them and made a curtsey. "My Lord I have brought all
the athelas I have in my shop, I hope it will be
enough."

   "We will make it serve, thank you Mistress Hiril."
Aragorn answered, turned to Arwen: "Come, there is
still much for us to do here."

   Almost all in the House were suffering from the
Black Breath to some degree. But fortunately none of
those far gone enough to need Calling home had
wandered as deeply into the Shadow as Faramir. For
most the smell of athelas alone was enough to banish
the clinging darkness.

   Arwen had immediately recognized yet another remote
kinswoman in Hiril. She was no longer surprised by all
these Anarioni underfoot but she was intensely
curious. Why with the royal line apparently
flourishing was there no King in Gondor? She finally
put the question to Hiril as the Woman saw them to the
doors of the Houses once their labors were done.

   "We are but bastard Anarioni, my family and my
husband's and even the Lady Idril." she explained.
"Our blood is not pure."

   "What?" Arwen asked, bewildered.

   "The Law of Hyarmendacil II forbids the mixing of
the blood royal with that of the Men of Middle Earth,
or even Dunedain of common birth." Aragorn said
quietly. "Mistress Hiril and the others are descended
from princes disinherited for making such marriages."

   His wife stared at him, appalled. "That's
outrageous!"

   He smiled faintly. "I am inclined to agree. But
such is the law in Gondor."
   
   They passed through the forecourt of the Houses and
out the gates and found themselves confronted by a
great crowd of Gondorim, Women chiefly with a few
older Men, orderly enough but all demanding entrance.
The Warden was holding them at bay with the aid of few
servants in the green and grey of the Houses and a
pair of Northern Rangers. 

   Aragorn and Arwen stopped in their tracks in the
gateway and the Warden, looking more harried than
ever, exclaimed: "I am glad you are come, my Lord."
adding to the crowd. "This is the Lord Aragorn."

   King and people stared at each other in mutual
consternation; the Gondorim's faces reflecting all too
clearly their shock and disbelief, Arwen bristled.
Then she looked at her husband, shabby and unkempt and
looking grim and forbidding as only a startled Ranger
can, and ruefully conceeded that the Gondorim perhaps
had some right to feel disillusioned.

   She saw a Woman in the crowd give the Man next to
her a sharp nudge and he reluctantly stepped forward
to make Aragorn a nervous bow. "My Lord, 'the hands of
the King are the hands of a healer' or so the old
saying goes and we have heard you healed the Lord
Faramir and others in the Houses so we would ask -
that is to say - " he faltered to an uncertain halt,
intimidated by Aragorn's bright, unblinking gaze.

   The Woman, no doubt his wife, cut in: "M'lord,
there are many sick of the Black Shadow in the City.
Women and children as well as Men. If you cannot help
them they will die - " and it was her turn to break
off, swallowing tears.

   Aragorn's stern expression melted into something
gentler and more kindly, he reached out to take the
Woman by the hand. "My Lady and I will do all we can."
he promised. Then to the nearer Ranger: "Menelgil,
find my brothers and the Lady Arwen's. We will need
more than our two pairs of hands."