Finwë loved Fëanáro deeply, to the point of an aching heart as he knew the harsh reality.

Not one aspect of Fëanáro was imperfect. But perhaps one would argue for he lacked a maternal figure.

Never did Finwë think that his son would question—no, he knew that his son was curious. But Finwë simply did not want the reality to come true so quickly. He chose his son's happiness over the truth, and he always dreaded the day that Fëanáro would come to the cognizance that it was not natural. Day by day, there was no sign of curiosity of the lady in the paintings who looked so much like her son, of the embroidery and clothes that were woven, hung in the wardrobes, and Finwë nearly intended to hide it from Fëanáro as long as he could. But Fëanáro was of an astute mind and would eventually venture upon the topic, and he would not be restrained.

"Atar, why do I not have a mother?"