There were rare times Finwë wanted to shake sense into Fëanor. This was one of them.
The Valar prodded Fëanor until he yielded up the information they wanted, much to his humiliation. Melkor was spreading dissonance throughout the land. Finwë wanted to scream. Fëanor disobeyed him, among the numerous times he had in the past and got away with it. But this slight combined with threatening the life of Fingolfin, it was too much.
So Fëanor was banished. He could not even bring himself to look at Finwë, so at least he felt some shame before his lord. But Finwë felt he himself deserved all the blame. The king stayed in the Ring of Doom and fell on his knees, not sparing a glance at the sadness Estë possessed on her pale face.
"I have caused all this. My failings have manifested in Fëanáro. It is my fault that his soul burns so brightly and is wounded beyond healing in this life. Never did I put restraint on him, never saw how deep his contempt ran. If I had but known…" Finwë wept. "Punish me, great ones, for I deserve to carry the burden."
"You torment yourself enough," Manwë said with pity. "We need not add to the suffering you experience. But Fëanáro must answer to his own actions and will, which is something none can control nor tame."
"When the twelve years have passed, then the pain shall be healed. Endure for a while longer, child," said Námo.
Finwë refused to be comforted. He hoped one too many times for things in his family to improve only for it to be spat back at his face. He was estranged from his wife, Fëanor felt betrayed and misguided, and Fingolfin and Finarfin distant from their father. His own people must despise him now for his selfishness and petty attempts to mend the damage.
He was a disgrace.
A period of grace was given to Fëanor to gather what he willed from his home in the country and from Tirion. The Silmarils were among the treasures, one of the only treasures, he took from there. His sons followed him into exile, as did a fair number of the Noldor in Tirion. Finwë brooded long while this transpired, not hearing the coaxing of his lords and other sons to see and hope for a brighter future. That Fëanor would be forgiven.
Fëanor could be forgiven, but how could Finwë be, to have allowed all this tragedy to befall them? Even if Melkor played a significant role in all this woe?
"I am king no more," Finwë cast the crown of the Ñoldóran to the ground.
"Father," Fingolfin was dismayed.
"Wise Finwë you are rightfully named. You have dealt better and fairer with your brother and our people than I ever could. The sins of the father have passed down to the son, and it would be just that I suffer the same punishment in exile, if not longer than the appointed time." Finwë lowered his eyes. "I am a shame to the Eldar, I do not deserve the titles that have been bestowed. I have erred greatly before the Valar and Eru himself. In pursuit of my selfish desires, I ignored the calamity that would come…All this…" Finwë bit his tongue before he could finish, looking at Fingolfin in the eye.
He could not say this was all a mistake, therefore implying that Fingolfin and Finarfin never should have been born.
They did not deserve that. They deserved so, so much better. And Finwë failed in his second chance to give them better.
Finwë smiled sadly. "Lead our people to greatness, dear one," he said to his secondborn. "You will lead our people to true greatness."
So the former king left Tirion…following the journeying Noldor that were going to Formenos. Finwë spoke little to his grandsons and nothing to Fëanor for most of the journey. Even if he spoke to his son, Fëanor continued to not glance at his father, too ashamed to do so. It was a genuine shame.
When the elves reached their destination in the cold and darker part of Aman, Finwë found Fëanor in a secluded glade with the Silmarils open for the world to see. Finwë hesitated, before mustering the will to approach. He sat next to Fëanor. The son of the former king tensed, and his breath halted. Finwë did nothing, allowing his fëa to tentatively wrap around his child's.
Fëanor did not reject the gesture. "Atar…" he whispered. "You should not be here."
"Why should I not be?" Finwë asked.
"Why? Why should you associate with exiles? I have been shamed, and therefore a weight that ruins your good name. It is not fair to you."
"I am a weight to myself, Alassë." Finwë took a deep breath. "But I will not deny that I am greatly disappointed in you: angry, even, for all that you have done in recent years."
Fëanor shrunk in on himself, and Finwë loathed himself even more. The spirit of fire despised being a disappointment out of fear of being rejected like he thought Míriel to have done. How many opportunities have been missed where Finwë could have expressed his disappointment so Fëanor would straighten up his act? Yet how much more cunning would he have become to do as he willed without being caught.
"But I blame myself, not you," Finwë admitted. "I should have heeded to your wisdom at the time…It was my selfishness that has damaged everyone that was entrusted to me, you most of all." He pulled Fëanor close. "I made a promise to you since you were young that I would not leave you...and you indeed are all that I need. It has taken all this time and loss for me to realize it…but now, I have reached that point where I cannot go back and mend that which I cannot fix. It is better for me to leave them alone so they could heal, instead of trying to be a part of their lives, when I have missed the chance to be."
Fëanor nuzzled against his lord, tears splattering on Finwë's clothes. The father wrapped his soul even closer to Fëanor's, sending strength and love without any resistance being shown.
"You are all I need," Finwë repeated. "You are and will always be my Joy for as long as this world lasts."
They stayed that way for many hours, enjoying one another's presence. For a time it felt as if they had gone to the past: Fëanor as the single child in the house, and Finwë giving his all and more to be a part and firm foundation in his son's life.