“You will follow in your father’s footsteps as lord of this tower, holding it against the coming of our enemy or his armies. Will you prepare for this?”
“Yes I will,” the youth responded. “I swear to be the loyal defender of this, your Tower.”
“Good!” Finrod replied and knelt with his arms extended. Artanaro, already called Gil-galad, ran into his uncle’s hug as Orodreath, his father looked on proudly.
“Brother, my son will hold this citadel as I have held it, come what may.”
Finrod hid his face in Gil-galad’s hair so that his fear, born of foresight, would not show.