It took more effort than he'd admit to not simply pick Fingon up and carry him to his room. Fingolfin forced himself to settle for simply holding on tight. He pressed a firm kiss to his son's forehead as his heart slowed. He'd lost one son already, he had no desire to lose any others.

It was hard to loosen his hold then, but he managed to keep it to just a hand on Fingon's shoulder, guiding him along deeper, to the warmth of the inner rooms. He squeezed his son's shoulder once they approached the kitchens, then gave him a very small push forward. "You first, my son."