His embrace did not waiver. Clinging was met with another fond kiss to his son's brow. Fierce protective love answered Maglor's guilt. Fëanor even started to gently rock his son, just as he had when each of his sons were so very small.

"You are my son and I am proud to call you such. You have my love."

This? This broken self of his child? Was precisely why he wanted to go wherever he needed to so that he could take better care of his sons. Both of them.