Prologue: The Healer
Aragorn was relieved when he heard the soft rustle of chain mail moving; she had begun to breathe deeply. Her left hand that lay slack in his felt warm now with life returning. The damage to her shield-arm was terrible to see, deep purple bruising, and the darknesslayupon her heavy and threatening. The Black Breath wrought a frigid shadow on the Shieldmaiden like a weight of black ice. So different from the last that he had tended.
***
In a dark cloak, Aragorn had been led to the Houses of Healing by Ioreth, who spoke to him with a manner that was both urgent and garrulous. He was led to the back chambers, where those who had lain ill had been there longest.
Ioreth murmured, "Alas that Faramir should die, who would be our Lord of the City."
Before Aragorn's eyes came the pale, shivering image of Boromir, whom he had watched die; he remembered the light flying from his ever-vibrant green eyes. But it was merely a moment, and the Dúnedain Ranger focused on the man before him, laid out on the sickbed. Here was the strong profile of the House of Húrin, the fair hair of Finduilas, and two staunched arrow wounds, but he was drenched with sweat—or so it seemed. When he took the sick man's hand and held the other upon his brow, Aragorn realized that Faramir was covered with fire oil. Though his touch was light, Aragorn felt the burning of unabating fever.
After a bit of fuss over obtaining a few leaves of Athelas—" 'tis a common weed, my Lord!"—Aragorn called Faramir back from beneath the wings of shadow; but he said nothing when the younger man's gaze found the leather vambraces that he had watched his brother strap on in Osgiliath. Aragorn knew who needed his skills next.
***
Now Éowyn slowly opened her eyes, lashes lifting wearily. Her fingers tensed on Aragorn's hand. She stared up at him briefly, and he saw that the infatuation had died in her eyes, and left them dark and without hope. He looked at her only a moment longer, and saw that she still harbored despair. Aragorn only whispered, "Awake, Éowyn, Lady of Rohan. The shadow is gone, and all darkness is washed clean." He released her hand and rose with a respectful bow of the head. He then passed silently from the room to tend others, thinking especially of Merry.
"Éowyn, Éowyn!" Éomer sobbed as he knelt closer, taking her good hand and kissing her on the cheek.
With a measure of faint joy, she said, "Éomer! I feared you were slain."