It's rather late in the evening, and Fëanor is getting Maglor ready for bed. The little blind boy is lying in his bed, half-awake, clutching his stuffed animal tightly with a pacifier in his mouth, whilst Fëanor gently undoes the small boy's braids, as he hums a lullaby. Maglor is almost asleep, but he reaches out with his hands, trying to find where Fëanor is.

Fëanor: "Hey, sweetie, I'm here, it's ok... What's the matter, Laurë?"

Maglor: "Mmm... Not feel good, Adar... Feel icky again..."

Fëanor: "Oh, darling... Do you think you're going to be sick? Or will it be worse?"

Maglor just grabs at his father's robes and doesn't let go. Fëanor is starting to get worried about him now...