Fëanor can’t remember last time he was this aware. He feels the deep burns that should have healed, he feels the deep sadness that threatens to drag him down. He notices for the first time in so long how burnt and matted his hair is. He notices his sight is blurry and hazy.

Most of all he misses his sons. He misses his wife. He misses living. He misses not feeling so tired. He misses feeling loved. “What have I done…?” He whispers sadly to himself.