"Ada! Catch me!" the youngling's voice called down from above.
Aragorn sent an exasperated glare toward Legolas, dutifully rose from the picnic table, and went to the base of the nearest tree. His seven-year-old son dropped from the branch overhead, after swinging for the last several minutes like a little monkey. Once he was caught, his son hugged and kissed him, and then scrambled out of his arms to climb the tree again.
Aragorn watched his ascent, and then went back to the table, where his very pregnant wife and best friend sat smiling, hands clapped over their mouths, trying hard not to laugh too much. He sat down on the bench and waited patiently for them to calm themselves. He had just enough time to pile a second helping on his plate.
Then, "Did you have to teach him that?" he asked his best friend. "It's all he does now. I've had to keep him out of the White Tree."
Legolas shrugged, and sent an I-told-you-so look to Arwen. Aragorn turned an indignant gaze on his wife. "You taught him?"
"I saw no harm in it, dear," she answered with a tiny shrug and an amused, placating grin. "After all, my brothers taught you the very same thing when you were but a youngling yourself. No doubt they will enjoy seeing Eldarion taking after his father in such a manner."
"I think they'll be especially delighted when they see a daughter, or two, copying their older brother," Legolas added mischievously. That comment sent his wife and best friend into great peals of laughter. Again.
Aragorn had no sufficient answer for any of it, and no time to think of one. For once again, he heard the call that summoned him to the base of the tree:
"Ada! Catch me!"