the Fëanorians HATE Beleriand, not its peoples but the land itself. It's too cold and too wet.
Maedhros misses being warm, he misses not being in pain, he misses the quiet steady drama of the court in Valinor, he'd trade anything to deal with pettiness again over the cruelty and death he encounters now.
Maglor misses his language, he's grown to despise Sindran, it feels blunt and obvious, it provides no subtlety, no place to hide poetry in the corners of the words. he can't remember how long has it been since he's heard his real name.
Celegorm misses Orome, it's as simple as that he misses the wild safety of knowing your god loves you, he misses hunting as a form of worship rather than just to survive.
Curufin misses his father father's forge how the fires never went out, he misses the collection of knowledge that had been available to him at home, he misses the ability to be a craftsman, not a sword smith.
Caranthir misses quiet, the peace to read book, to work out a math problem or a technical issue in silence, without it being an emergency or someone breathing down his neck for it.
The Ambrussar miss their mother, they miss her work shop, they miss the safety of her arms, the closest thing they have seen to her face in centuries is their own, they should have listen when she entreated them to stay behind.
But the Nolofinweans oh they love Beleriand. from the moment they saw the first sunrise out on the ice of the Helcaraxë they loved it.
Fingon can feel in his bones he's become who he was always meant to be, he holds his head higher than ever, the cold stinging his nose and the tips of his fingers merely reminds him he is alive and that the sun will always rise again.
Aredhel has more space to roam, to ride to explore than she could ever imagine, the deep forests are hers, the coasts are hers the sky is hers, she is freer than ever before and twice as wild.
Turgon has done more good than he ever thought, with his secret white city, a hidden jewel tucked away in the mountains. He has seen crafts perfected, he has seen healers save lives. He lives in ardent worship of the gift of life.
For the line of Fingolfin is ever destined to rise to occasions where the line of Fëanor falls and fails. They are indomitable even in death, they are hopeful when hope is gone.
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