"Only polite," he echoed lightly, fond amusement in his eyes. Fingolfin knew the difference between the red of cold and that of emotions. He reached out to gently tug on a gold-entwined braid.

"With my blessing." The condition didn't need to be said- he knew his son wouldn't leave if he was needed. "It is best he does so, but if you can be spared I hope you can help him." And hopefully ease some of the pain each of them felt at their separation.