It was not quite that Godric felt alone, or lonely, but it was not that he felt entirely whole, either. Indeed, he could go days or even weeks where he was not bothered by the absence of his love and his son, or at least where it was not on a conscious level, and such worries were confined to the realm of dreams, and those were concerns he could keep at bay while the work and buzz of daylight hours occupied him. But even as much as he could spend time content, always there would be a sound, a sight, or a smell, that would trigger a memory, and then it came back, and guilt at having not thought of it before would bubble up inside of his chest. This thought he would not share.
"Home is as much a person as it is a place," Godric commented. "There is peace and purpose to be found in both, if you seek it correctly, and if it finds you at the right time." He was not disagreeing, but adding to the statement. Hogwarts had felt like home, and so had Uppsala, and so had the room in Serpent's Glen that he had spent ten years scarcely occupying. Home was a place everywhere and nowhere: The foggy land in the distance on an old wooden ship at dawn, the falling song of mist and wind through jagged mountains, the eerie silence of a world buried blue in ice and snow. The wonder and exaltation of the unknown world. It was nowhere, and it was everywhere, and it was all home to Godric, and it was not here. "And what of your wish for yourself?"
With a non-committal sort of sound, Godric shrugged. "I suppose I shan't deny them that revelry, though I still insist that I'll not add any more years on to my age. I've got quite a few as it is," he said, though it was his eyes that more accurately conveyed his sentiment: 'As if I need anymore!'