Disclaimer: I own nothing recognizable and receive no payment for this writing, other than the feedback of its readers. Any symptoms and treatments described are strictly for entertainment purposes and should not be considered medical information or advice.

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“How's your throat, Pip?” Merry asked as they sat by the White Tree, having a rare moment alone together.

“It still hurts,” replied Pippin, “although those hard candies Faramir gave us help a bit. What about you?'

“Same thing. Pippin, do you think continuing with this is a good idea?” Merry looked at Pippin apprehensively as he spoke.

“Yes, I find it very interesting. We should probably take it a bit more slowly though.” The young hobbits' throats had raised much concern and discussion. Three days earlier, they apparentally came down with a sudden ailment. They now only ate soft, non-acidic food and could no longer smoke the pipeweed they usually enjoyed. Of course, everyone had a theory about what the problem was and tried to help, but there was no improvement, just temporary relief at best.

“Pippin, Merry!” They looked up suddenly when they heard their names and saw Aragorn coming towards them, visibly concerned. “I'm so glad I found you here,” he said. “I would have seen you earlier, but I had to deal matters affecting all of Gondor.”

“We understand, no need to apologize,” Merry told him. “Besides, a sore throat is hardly a life threatening problem.”

“And Captain Faramir gave us some hard candies which seem to be helping,” added Pippin. Both hobbits sounded cheerful but Aragorn, knowing them as he did, could tell they were physically uncomfortable and questioned them closely about it. Finally, they reluctantly admitted that they were feeling worse than they had been three days ago.

“If your throats have been hurting for three days and are getting worse instead of better, you need more than candy,” Aragorn concluded at last. “Come with me.” Pippin looked uncertainly at Merry, who shrugged his shoulders as if to say, What can we do?

Aragorn took them to the House of Healing and, ignoring their objections, placed them on a table. Pippin was about to say something as Aragorn turned to brighten the lamps, but Merry stopped him with a slight shake of his head.

To Aragorn's surprise, his careful inspection of their throats showed no sign of infection and there was no swelling in the glands of their necks. Their respirations and temperatures were normal too. Very confused, he thought about this for minute then took two dark amber bottles from the cabinet above them. “Both of you take five drops of this tincture every three hours,” he told them. “It has willow and popular for the pain and irritation, plus a small amount of athelas, just in case an infection develops.” The hobbits nodded, thinking they could do that without any trouble. “And... ” he added. Their faces fell, somehow they knew there would be an and. “I want you both to stay in your room and rest until I tell you otherwise.”

Pippin and Merry didn't argue, knowing it would be pointless, but as they were about to leave, Pippin couldn't resist asking, “May we have visitors at least?”

“Yes, you may,” Aragorn replied, smiling sympathetically, “but no excitement or excessive talking on your parts. I'll make sure everyone understands that.”

“I think we should tell him, Merry,” said Pippin as they entered the room they were sharing.

“Tell him?” Merry asked incredulously. “He'll probably make us stop, and it's so interesting. You said so yourself.”

“But Merry, if we don't who knows how long we'll be stuck here?” Pippin countered, already feeling like a prisoner.

“Let's just see how long we can last,” Merry suggested.

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“Actually, this isn't bad after all,” Pippin acknowledged at the end of the day. Indeed, he and Merry had lack nothing and had no shortage of company. Faramir kept them well supplied with candy. Gandalf burned pipeweed by their beds so they could enjoy its scent without smoking and Frodo and Sam continued to amazing with stories of their part in the quest, as did Legolas with his stories of the Paths of the Dead and the fleet of Corsair ships. Pippin and Merry could never get enough of those stories, no matter how often they heard them. Things would have been perfect for them, if not for their sore throats, which were helped only marginally by Aragorn's tincture. They were about to get ready for bed when there was a knock at their door.

“Come in,” Pippin called happily. The door opened and Gimli appeared, to their delight.

“Good evening, young Hobbits,” he said. “Am disturbing you by coming this late?”

“Oh no, Gimli, we love visitors,” Merry exclaimed, “and we were hoping to see you tonite.” His voice cracked slightly as he spoke, however and he then remembered it was time for him and Pippin to take their tincture doses.

“Oh, sorry about your throats, young Hobbits,” Gimli said regretfully. “I should have told you, you can break a word down if you find speaking it difficult.”

“Word? “ Merry and Pippin said together, looking at each other with alarm.

“Yes, young Dwarves learn to speak one syllable at a time,” Gimli explained. “Some of them learn to speak the whole word in a few days, but for most it takes about a week.”

“I was going to tell you, Gimli,” Merry said, sounding very guilty, “Pippin and I are speaking three words now.”

“Three words?” Gimli cried, nearly falling off his chair. “No wonder you have throat problems! One word every three days is the most that should ever be attempted by someone not accustomed to our language!”

“I thought we might be over doing it,” said Pippin, looking embarrassed. “Please don't tell Aragorn,” he added, lowering his voice.

“Don't tell Aragorn what?” asked a voice sternly. They looked up and saw Aragorn in the doorway. “Gimli, what are they keeping from me?” he demanded as entered.

Gimli looked at the two nervous Hobbits who nodded, seeing no way to get out this. “I was teaching them to speak Dwarvish,” he said at last, “This is not usually done as our language is guarded like a treasure, but since the Hobbits are my friends and have done so much for Middle Earth, I saw no harm in teaching them a few phrases.”

“We were very persistent too,” Merry admitted, “but when Gimli finally agreed, it made us feel really special. So we got excited and did too much.”

“Dwarvish?” Aragorn repeated, trying not to laugh. “I never would have guess, although it most certainly accounts for the throat problems.

“It was my fault,” Gimli admitted. “I forgot to warn them to take just one syllable at a time.”

“So, do we have to stop learning it?” Pippin asked timidly.

“No, Pippin, you don't have to stop learning it,” Aragorn chuckled, now feeling free to let his amusement show. “And you don't have to stay in your room either. Just keep taking the tincture and take a break from the lessons until your throats are back to normal.”

“We will, we promise,” Merry assured him, greatly relieved.

“And I will make sure they do,” Gimli promised firmly.

Aragorn was still laughing softly when he left their room. “Speaking Dwarvish,” he said to himself. “I should write this down and publish it!”