Searching remembered refuges, Faramir found the prince in the third place he looked. The stoney niche concealed a huddle of boy, skinny arms clutching overlong legs.

"I am Man, not peredhel, and yet..." The quavery voice was a child's treble still. He looked away. "My father came early to manhood."

Faramir smothered a grin. There was promise of breadth in the slim shoulders; strength in the graceful, clever hands; wisdom behind the reddened, puffy eyes. This Son of the Elves, maturing slowly.

"It is five years still 'till you are twenty, Eldarion. There is time enough," Faramir assured him.