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[20 Apr 2008|04:36pm] |
Aragorn put down the letter and rubbed at his face. The plague had spread to the second circle on Minas Tirith, and isolated patches of the third, forcing him to quarantine both off. The acrid smell and smoke from burning bodies drifted up from the fields below and stung at his nose. From missives received, the plague had slowed in Pelargir and Dol Amroth, helped in part at least by the treatment provided by Lady Ilsa.
But he wasn't about to celebrate just yet. It could flare up again, as plagues were wont to do, and the Haradrim were prodding their defenses looking for weaknesses.
His only comfort was that Arwen hadn't taken a turn for the worse.
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