Four-year-old Eldarion scrambled up onto the window seat to peer out the window and wiggled with impatient excitement. "When will Legolas get here, Ada?"

"Soon, ion nin," Aragorn replied, his own anticipation matching his son's.

As soon as he had heard Legolas would be visiting Minas Tirith, Aragorn had known the perfect way to honor his friend. It had involved tutoring his son in Sindarin, and Eldarion was quite proud of his newfound knowledge, although his vocabulary included only a few short phrases.

"He's here!" Eldarion suddenly shrieked, and he flew out of the room. He presented himself to the golden haired elf and announced breathlessly, "Mae govannen, Legolas!"

Delight spread across Legolas's face. "Gi suilon na vedui, mellon nin. Ci maer?"

Eldarion stared at him for a moment, then shot Aragorn a panicked look.

"I greet you at last, my friend. Are you well?" Aragorn mouthed.

"Um…." Eldarion's face scrunched up in concentration, but the words his father had taught him in Sindarin were stubbornly elusive.

"Yes," he finally answered meekly, abandoning any attempt at speaking in Legolas's native tongue.

Legolas grinned and turned to a glum Aragorn. "Do not worry, mellon nin. It is the thought that counts."