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“Loving you is a losing game”
“[...] Nienna, sister of the Fëanturi; she dwells alone. She is acquainted with grief, and mourns for every wound that Arda has suffered in the marring of Melkor. So great was her sorrow, as the Music unfolded, that her song turned to lamentation long before its end, and the sound of mourning was woven into the themes of the World before it began.”
~Silmarillion
J R. R. Tolkien
She watches them from the shadows, careful not to startle the herd resting by the dried up lake. How beautiful and magnificent they are. She almost gasps when the light of Ormal catches on their mighty horns, adorning their colorful skulls and setting them aflame in a kaleidoscope of colorful hues.
She had known them only through the tales of Yavanna and Vána, who spoke of their creation with pride, Triceratops, one of the many animals they brought to life, and she had longed to see them ever since. Now she stands speechless, filled with an emotion for which she has no name, as she watches one of the females—the largest of the herd—lick her small child’s skull in tender affection and gently guide it toward the last remaining droplets of water — the lake due to the current dry season and its close distance to the Lamp dried up. The young one darts beneath her vast bulk in playful delight, and Nienna’s eyes brim with tears at the simple purity of such love. Suddenly, not for the first time, she yearns for the fiery arms and comfort of the Father she had long forgotten since her descent.
One of the young crashes into its sibling with its horn and bellows in triumph, while the other cries out more in surprise than pain, and then in dismay when the mother, wounded in her legs, dark ichor oozing along her flanks, turns a stern glare upon the foolish display.
The victor darts forward beneath the towering bulk of a nearby diplodocus, fleeing from his mother, who roars after him, but cannot follow him due to her pain. To Nienna’s dismay, the young one flees toward her hiding place. She melts swiftly into the shadows, unwilling to startle him. Dinosaurs, as Yavanna named the entire species, are unaccustomed to the presence of Ainur not of Kementári’s house, and Nienna does not wish to earn her friend’s ire by breaking the ban she set on meddling with her children. Eru alone knows how fiercely Yavanna guards her creations, more fiercely, perhaps, than any mother of flesh and blood.
The creature suddenly halts beneath the broad fronds of the ferns and, to Nienna’s shock, looks straight at her. With the most endearing gesture she has ever witnessed, he sniffs the air, follows the faint trail of her presence, and stops only a breath away.
He stamps a foot into the soil and, to her surprise and merriment, growls in an earnest attempt to appear fearsome. Nienna laughs softly, for the creature is anything but dangerous, however, she does not reveal herself and merely watches as he charges at her shadow, rather than her.
“Shoo, little one. Return to your parents.”
But the sound of a physical voice only feeds his curiosity. He knows now that something is there, and all children are blessed and cursed with bottomless, misplaced wonder. He will not abandon this newfound pursuit.
She lifts her mind beyond her physical form and reaches outward, seeking the one she waits for, as she does every millennium. As always, he tarries. With a faint, rueful thought, she decides instead to indulge the little creature.
She abandons her hiding place and slips into the shadows of a nearby tree, but he follows her eagerly. Nienna evades him through shade and leaf, laughter rising unbidden within her, as the young one chases her through the forest with tireless delight, never allowing her escape.
How long it has been since she remembered joy!
Since her descent to Arda, there have been few occasions, if any, when she had been truly jovial. Of course, she could abandon her physical form altogether, but she has grown fond of the creature and their game. Soon she realizes there is no malice in him, only the happiness as he squeals in delight pursuing her ëalar.
Then, as she slips past a nearby tree, the young dinosaur cannot slow himself in time. He crashes into the bark with terrible force and topples back onto his hind legs, crying out in pain. The sound startles dimorphodons hidden among the branches, and spiked fruits rain down, one lodging on his horn and slicing into his scales. Dark blood spills forth from the shallow wound.
He shakes his head frantically, unable to dislodge the thorned burden. Nienna’s heart aches for him, for she is the cause of his hurt. And before she can stop herself, before reason can temper her instinct, she materializes before him.
She takes a form akin to the others of her Order, though she knows it is one the creature cannot comprehend: as it mimics the mammals to come, being he will never otherwise behold. Sadly, Vairë, has woven a brief life for him and all his kin.
He freezes at the sight of her, then stumbles backward in fright. She raises her palm, striving to still the trembling of her unfamiliar flesh-formed legs, for she is far more accustomed to mist and shadow than to solid fana. In truth, this is the first time she has revealed herself to any beyond her immediate kin, and she marvels, if only for a moment, at the warmth of Ormal’s light on her skin, at the wind threading through her hair, at the feel of grass beneath her feet—
The creature grunts sharply, and she pulls her thoughts back to the present. There will be time enough to ponder such wonders later.
“Do not be afraid. Come—I will help you.”
She beckons gently to the little one, who is little only by the measure of his kind, and vast compared to her fragile current shape. He watches her warily, instincts warring within him. He snorts and stomps, glancing back toward his parents as they rest with the herd. They are too far away, and his voice is not yet strong enough to summon them.
Nienna smiles and steps forward very carefully. Her legs tremble beneath her as she adjusts once more to Varda’s concept she introduced at the beginning — gravity.
“Come, little one. Do not be afraid. I shan’t hurt you, my friend.”
This time she lets her Voice and her Power flow gently into his being, not to command or bind, but to wash him with her love. She is careful, ever careful, for to sway his will would be the gravest sin of all.
For a few long moments he hesitates, measuring her with bright, uncertain eyes. Then she steps closer, slowly with her hands raised and whispering softly. Although her movements are clumsy and seeing that she means no harm, as she stumbles all the way to him, the little one finally yields.
And allows her to touch him.
“Here—let me.”
When the dinosaur finally stills, she reaches for the fruit lodged on his horn. She lights up at the sensation of sticky juice running down her fingers and gently works it free, careful not to hurt him further. With tender care she wipes his skull with her white gown, the fabric clinging softly to her unfamiliar form, and then she allows her tears to fall on the wound. With her whispered prayer, the flesh closes and heals.
With the same wary steps, she retreats, allowing him space. He shakes his head with delighted vigor, clearly pleased.
“Isn’t it much better now, don’t you think?”
He answers with a triumphant roar and bounds around her, nudging her small, delicate body with his horn in gratitude. She tumbles onto her hips and laughs, startled by the strange sensation of falling, just as his rough tongue laps at her face.
“No trouble at all, little one, you’re welcome!”
She marvels at the feel of his skin as he allows her to stroke him. It is strange for her to touch and feel in this form, for unlike her brethren she is more accustomed to abiding in her ëalar rather than clothing herself in fána. His hide is cool beneath her hand, slick with water, smooth and living. It is so unlike communion of spirit—so immediate and so warm.
And suddenly she knows she loves it.
She loves the closeness, the contact, the heartbeat thrumming beneath her touch. Tears well unbidden at the bloom of affection in her chest as she marvels at the simplicity of the miracle of a newly formed bond between them.
“My name is Nienna,” she says softly, dipping into a courtly bow as she once had for her kin in the Timeless Halls. She gives him her smile, one rarely seen, which among her people would be called a blessing and sung of in later ages.
The dinosaur, unimpressed by ceremony, flops onto his back and growls in contentment as she scratches him. And when she stops to watch him more, he goes to nudge her only to stop. She frowns when a large shadow covers them and the entire forest. Her new friend freezes under her hand and the slight tremor escapes his throat.
“Well. So this is the rival I am meant to contest for my lady’s love affection?”
The voice is deep and rich, smooth, and it startles both her and the triceratops, who retreats from her when the shadow coalesces into the icy giant and then into the male body.
“My, my,” he continues lightly, “how am I to defeat such a formidable opponent, one who has accomplished something in a single day that I could not manage since the Breaking of the First Silence?”
“Melkor!”
She jumps, and, flustered and unsteady, rises, only to stumble straight into Melkor’s outstretched arms. He steadies her effortlessly, his strong hands holding her firmly at her sides.
“I had nearly given up hope that you would come,” she says, her voice muffled against his bare chest. She flushes without understanding why, suddenly keenly aware of the warmth beneath her palms, at the feeling of his solid fana, of his pulsing warm flesh under her cold winter-like touch. Embarrassed, she tries to straighten herself, striving for dignity befitting her station, but despite her best attempts, she only manages to fumble again against his broad bulk.
Melkor laughs amused with his rich tenor, and his hands slide to the small of her back to keep her steady, lingering a moment longer than strictly necessary. She ignores it, turning instead to soothe the triceratops, but he is long gone back to his parents and she already misses him. Blinking away tears she rests on Melkor’s form.
“Do you have so little faith in me, my dear?”
He reaches out and tucks a stray lock of her hair behind her pointed ear, then promptly wiping her crystal tears and frowning when they form anew. The lightness in his voice sharpens, edged now with accusation. She looks away from the intensity of his gaze, biting her lip, muffing the sob that tries to escape her throat. A soft kiss to the corner of her lips, that was clearly for her lips, makes her knees buckle and not for the first time she is glad that he holds her.
“Well, you did keep me waiting,” she says, the accusation only earns a roll of Melkor’s eyes. Instead of answering, he tugs at her thin, translucent chemise, clearly finding a far more compelling distraction than her palpable displeasure or her endless prattle.
“Melkor!” she gasps when, rather than replying, he bites at her neck with razor-edged teeth. Immediately she regrets that, of all the forms she could have chosen, she had taken the one she knew he would find most enticing and most appraising.
“And who kept whom waiting, I wonder…” he murmurs at last between shallow nips along her collarbone and throat.
For a moment, Nienna feels lightheaded, as she so often does in his presence. The silk chemise catches on his claws; he growls when it obstructs his view. “Did you truly need to materialize with this nuisance?”
He tears the fabric in half, not waiting for her answer. It slips from her body and falls into the grass, and she shivers as the summer breeze—suddenly closer to an autumn gale—caresses her bare form. The goosebumps rise beneath his feather-like kisses that trace the pattern of her many scars, making her shudder in unbidden pleasure, which only spurs him in his conquest.
It is far too cold for this season, she thinks distantly as wind envelops her exposed arms. Yavanna had intended a warmer climate; she should mention it—
She gasps instead, quickly closing her mouth lest Manwë hear her, if he has not already. Her thoughts scatter as his touch leaves her breathless. He sucks and massages one of her breasts to switch to the other so both would be worshipped in equal measure. He tugs at her nipple with his fangs, while looking at her flushed face and when she opens her mouth for a soundless moan he abandons her chest only to thrust his tongue deep into her mouth to drink from her pure essence she offers freely and take more, and more, because his hunger has no bounds.
The warmth blooms, where his hands travel between her legs, and- grasps! A broken moan escapes her lips, which Melkor claims with his skilled mouth. She stiffens, startled by the sudden intensity. He chuckles softly at her unguarded, almost innocent reaction, but does not stop his ministrations and with each passing second she grows flushed, damp and unbearably hot.
Realizing that one more moment would undo her entirely, she pushes at him, but he is as immovable as a mountain. To her horror, and to her excitement, he sinks to his knees, leaving the trail of wet kisses down her neck, between her breast and stomach, and- she blinks away the tears when he kisses her between her tights. He looks up at her with a gaze so full of hunger, such reverence and is that a love? as though she is a goddess and he her humble servant; as though she is a queen and he her devoted knight; as though she is the end and he the cause; as though they were flesh and soul combined. As though she finally is his beloved Varda, and not some mere consolation prize or a secret tryst between his quests. He is gazing at her as the husband is looking at his wife. As though he would be hers and she his and-
Her eyes water with tears, while his hands drags along her hips and— she knows his mind as he knows hers; she has always known where this would lead. He had never been shy about what he would do once she took tangible fana.
With a weary sigh, she relinquishes her form, dissolving into her favored mist. A low groan, laced with shock and contempt escapes him, when she disappears from his arms.
“Melkor,” her voice rustles through the leaves as her essence brushes the branches, trying to sooth his anger lest he turns it on the nearby fauna and flora. “We need to speak.”
He regains his balance with a low growl and turns toward the forest. “Others would be punished for less,” he mutters more to himself than her. He straightens, unashamed, baring his carefully wrought form to the world. “Come now, Nienna—we always speak when we see one another…”
He draws the rest of the sentence.. Shaking his head when he feels the wave of embarrassment coming from her. “I have missed you, my niquis*, and there is nothing I desire more than to end this lonely existence with you in my arms. Surely we are past the coy dances and bashful glances—” he sends her an unimpressed look. ” —-are we not my dear?” he says theatrically, brushing droplets of her essence from his skin.
His gaze searches the vapour with open contempt. She pauses, rethinking it until he with a lightspeed that rival’s Varda’s, he reaches for the mist, attempting to draw her back into substance. She scatters entirely, abandoning even her imprint, before he can resublimate her.
“Is it not a pleasant change,” he calls after her, stalking through the trees, “to act for once? Do not play coy, now. What do you wish for? Poem? Psalm? Prayer? Or perhaps an ode to your name? I can even compose a song, but afterwards.”
Her sigh seems to echo across the universe, and at last he relents.
“You cannot expect me to abandon urges you have long known,” he says, frustration marring his flawless face. “Not after granting a taste! Would you deny a starving creature after a single bite? Or water to the parched?” He presses a hand to his chest in exaggerated offense. “And they dare call me cruel!”
Silence answers him, to his great chagrin. Were she still embodied, she would be massaging her brow.
“That is a poor comparison,” she finally replies. “These are not the same situations. I ask only that you hear me. Afterward we may indulge in whatever you wish." She sends a pulse of warmth through the air, and Melkor shudders in delight.
“And they have a gall to call me a manipulator.” he grasps his neck and in a sensual move drags his claws down his chest as his breath catches when her essence brushes his fana. A sound escapes him that would have made even Lady Vána, who is a patron of marriage, squirm like a maiden.
He scoffs, but at last yields.
“Very well.” He sits on a fallen trunk, unapologetically exposing all he has so masterfully shaped in a blatant attempt to sway her mind. “Speak, then, but be swift, or I may yet draw you back from the immaterial myself. I have not seen you for an age. ” he oh so faithfully reminds her again.
The words are meant to be playful and teasing, but the threat beneath them is real, and she is not foolish to ignore it. She knows his power, and his restraint. Only his affection and promise of later has stopped his hand thus far.
“And do not linger it in immaterial,” he adds, flashing a fanged smile at a nearby cycad. “Or would you have me join you?”
And when she hesitates, he purrs: “Nienna, I said we will speak and we shall, do you not trust me, my sweet one?”
Because she always had a soft spot for him as he did for her, she relents and assumes her form, but this time she clothes herself with an overlarge mantle that is without a flesh. Merely covering her with shadows, much to his visible displeasure.
The words: You did not specify my form. Makes his black eyes twitch, when she sends them directly into his core, much to her laughter. Until he sends his own words and thoughts to her mind, making her rather choke on her laughter. Her form must shudder, for this time he throws his head and laughs, when his spirit caresses hers in a threatening promise.
“Alright, alright." he says at last, sobering when he feels her ëalar tremble on the edge of tears, realizing that indeed there is the matter of great importance in whatever she wishes to tell him. There are many things that Melkor delights in, but her tears are not among them. Moreover if he is the reason for her grief. He retreats into the shadows, away from the Lamps’ light that would reveal the gray pallor of his skin.
“What is it, snowflake?”
She regards him for a long moment. There are more of those disharmonious strains clinging to him now than when she last saw him. Each time she senses them, they have multiplied, she has the feeling that if he continues along this path, they will soon begin to gnaw at his strength, his power, and even his ëalar, causing damage that no hand, not even hers, could be able to undo.
She tries to feel if there is any pain as Valier of Souls, but he is stronger and more knowledgeable. He blocks her effortlessly. She is not his wife, and therefore she cannot use their marriage bond as others claim to do. Fear of what will happen to him breaks her hesitation, and when Ormal’s light caresses her dark hood, she manages to find her voice.
“Val— we—” She begins insisting to include him, because she is not like the others, and he is still her kin, regardless of what the world believes, regardless of what he believes. She knows her own heart, and she dares to hope that somewhere, however buried, a tiny part of his, even if it is the smallest one thinks that too. He had helped shape Almaren, after all, even if his hand had more often hindered than aided.. “—have finished Almaren. Manwë—”
Melkor perfectly masks any emotion on his face. Instead, he plucks a handful of flowers and watches them wither in his grasp. But she feels the Music tremble when he hears his brother’s name.
“—has decreed a feast for us to celebrate our work,” she continues carefully. “Moreover, Tulkas is to wed Nessa there, and this ceremony is meant to mark the Spring of Arda,” she says. “A new beginning for a new age.” She presses on, meeting his gaze. “For us all.”
For you, too.
“And?” His voice is flat. He understands her intent; she feels it when his form stiffens. The sky darkens and shadows thicken until his edges blur. The grass at his feet blackens and curls into ash. All trace of levity vanishes as he looks at her with the same distant indifference he once wore when she first sought him out, before she fought for his friendship, which later bloomed into… whatever they currently shared, because neither of them or especially Melkor, refused to name it or commit to it.
“We— others… mostly Tulkas, but we all… are in high spirits.” she says, faltering. He turns away, refusing to look at her as she draws closer, her spirit brushing the edges of his ëalar. “For we all worked long and hard, and finally, after all this time and all our labour, we have accomplished what we have sung, and this formless world has taken substance as it was foretold. This is a joyous occasion, and—”
“You thought I could join you and your merry band,” he interrupts her as she struggles to find the best words to soothe him and… well, indeed to propose that he join them. ”did you not?”
“Yes.” The word is echoed by the leaves, by the water, by every living thing that dares to listen.
For a moment he is silent, and there is a spark of hope that perhaps he is thinking it through, but then—
“Was this your idea,” he asks softly, “or my brother’s?”
“Does that matter?” she replies, earning an unimpressed look “There is enough place for all of us in Almaren. Surely you would find a place for your dwelling. You could work with Aulë; he and his Maiar have become quite masterful in their profession, if you could see—”
She steps closer and, reluctantly, resumes her earlier flesh beneath the cloak. She takes his hand. Melkor arches a brow, the corner of his mouth lifting in a patronizing, almost amused smile.
“I am certain they would be delighted to help you,” she continues, “or if you prefer not—my Halls are spacious, and we could—”
“Do they even know about your bright idea?” She goes silent when his question cuts her short.
She falls silent at that.
“Nienna.” Her name sounds more like a threat now. “You wanted to speak, so let us speak, hmm? Did you consult with the others? Did you think it through?” He straightens, looming above her, thunder gathering in his eyes. The Music warps around him and Ormal’s light that gives her courage is swallowed by fog. He tightens his grip on her hand until it hurts. “How is it supposed to be? That I shall march into that one-celled brute’s wedding and what? Bow and beg for forgiveness? Lick his boots and wish him joy? Please, brother dear, forgive me, for I have erred? Can we now play one big happy family and forget everything that was? Is this your plan? Have I guessed it right?”
She bows her head when he practically shouts the last words at her, so he would not see her tears. He shoves her away and turns aside.
“All I want is for you not to dwell alone,” she says once his fury ebbs, however, her voice still trembles more than she would like. “I do not doubt that more time must pass for us all — both you and the others, and me — to accept certain differences between us, but are we not the same kin? Were we not all united at the very beginning, before we sang apart? Melkor, I do not say for you to change entirely, for I would not lo—” She stops herself just in time. “That is not my wish. Only that perhaps both parties could find a compromise and live, if not in friendship, then in peace. We— they— enemies we are not.”
“I told you once what would be required for that peace,” he replies coldly. “And not until my brother steps down will I believe it is possible. I will never bow to him willingly. Not until I am chained will I kneel and kiss his foot, nor call him king or liege.” He spits the words, and for an instant his face twists into something terrible and inhuman.
“I do not say for you to live under his rule,” She reaches for his hand, but he shakes her off.. “You could stand beside him, not beneath him. He said as much. And you know no one’s will is immutable. Father chose Manwë as regent, yes—but that does not mean he would not listen to your ideas. You still know him, Melkor. He loves you.”
“You accepted him.” His gaze pins her, and she flinches, realizing he speaks not of her kin, but of her.
She did accept him, because Manwe is a good king. When Iluvatar approached her, she understood His reasoning, even as it wounded the one she loved.
“I did,” she admits quietly. “But that does not mean that I think of you less. Melkor—”
“Arda was my birthright! ” He roars at her. “Do you not see that everything was taken from me?”
“You still have me” She whispers, but he does not listen to her when he spirals more in his anger.
“He was the one I loved most once. The one I thought I would build this world together. The one I shared everything I learnt alone and passed onto him. The one I would scoundrel the Void and remade it so he would be happy and he and he—he stabbed me in the back in the moment I needed him most! Basking in the glory of my defeat! He took from me the crown and the one I love—!”
At that Nienna stumbles back.
She knew. She had always known that his hunger for dominion had never truly faded, nor that his love for Varda burned out as he played, hiding beneath all his bitterness, despite her harsh and loud public rejection when she shamed him in front of all, when he proposed to her. But that does not mean that she deluded herself that perhaps… that perhaps… he loved her or cared for her in some small part. That perhaps in his heart there was a special place just for her.
How foolish she had been.
Melkor does not notice her withdrawal. He continues to shout, scream and curse his brother and them—for there is no us in his world, only they and I. Nor she and him, and never she shall be his.
She steels herself, forcing the tears back. She does not want him to see her cry. She must be strong, but—
“The road before you, my child, will be paved with obstacles. Your work will be among the most difficult of all. Many will never understand your place in Arda, nor trust it. But you must not lose your faith. Nor your love. Your works will be one of the most important ones and shall directly pave the way for Arda Remade.” Iluvatar once told her when He approached her when she debated her descent, but Eru—how it hurts.
“—their order and precious harmony! ” Melkor snarls. “Who are they to claim theirs is right and mine is wrong? Am I not the greatest? Who decided that I—” He stops midsentence, when he turns to see her face smeared with tears. “Nienna—”
She closes her eyes, letting her emotion calm down. She will not quarrel with him. Nor will she accept hollow apologies or false comforts. Before he can touch her, she raises her palm.
“No, I should not have said that, “ she says softly. “I should not have hoped—I thought that- no… no one is ready for that.”
When he tries to embrace her, she slips free from his arms, giving him a cold shoulder. The ice that radiates from her makes him flinch.
“I did not mean those words, snowflake.” he says, quieter now. “You startled me, that’s all. You know that I have a short temper and even shorter when you bring your kin” His hand ghosts near her shoulder, but she draws her cloak tighter around herself. “There are many creatures that I… you are the last being I long to hurt.”
“On the contrary, Melkor—” she grits her teeth and Eru only knows how it costs her to keep her voice steady and her tears in check. “—you have always been skilled in words and how to use them.”
The tension between them could be cut with a knife. Slowly, his mask he created starts to fall down.
“I never swore anything to you,” he is blunt, stripped of all his famous rhetoric. “We never made promises. We never committed. You never asked for more.”
“I knew,” she answers. “But love—” He stiffens at the word, and many emotions pass on his face that Nienna cannot name. “—is a strange, uncontrollable, vicious thing. It comes when we least expect it. After all, the heart wants what it wants.”
He exhales at the sight of her tears and steps slowly closer, like a predator stalking its prey, he does not wish to spook her. “Do not speak of them again and it all will be alright," he murmurs. “We can forget this conversation, can’t we? Let it be as it was and I will forgive you and forget. Come now, Nienna-” He lifts her hand toward his mouth in the obvious attempt of seduction. Maybe before that would have swept her off her legs, but that was before he burnt an already fragile bridge between them.
Not now.
“Surely,” he adds in his low tone, “you would not destroy everything we have built.”
“Destroy?” she breathes. “I have destroyed everything?”
And never, in all her long existence, had awakening from the dream hurt so deeply as it did in that precise moment.
She wrenches her hand free. Harsh words rise to her tongue, to say who exactly destroyed everything, but she swallows them.
“I think that I shall return now,” she says instead, at which Melkor tenses.
“Nienna, think it through—”
She does not answer and turns away from him. Ormal’s light is much weaker than it was before. Melkor clenches his fists so tightly that his bones crack beneath the force.
“Then—” He draws a breath, and whatever warmth he once held for her is extinguished. Nienna feels the temperature drop quickly. His voice is level, polished, bone chilling and utterly devoid of any feelings. Despite the words there is no comfort nor warmth in them, only pure hatred. “Say my deepest and sincerest apologies to my brethren. Tell them I shall not join them on this glorious and joyous day. And if you will, pass my best wishes to Lord Tulkas Astaldo on his wedding day, but I have errands to run and cannot be present.”
Darkness gathers at the edges of her sight. She feels his anger, his hatred, and beneath it, his wounded pride.
“Farewell, Valier.”
As suddenly as he came, he disappears.
The moment he vanishes, Nienna collapses to her knees. Her sobs shake the earth, and her tears spill without end, filling the hollow of the land until a lake is refilled. From it, a river carves its way to the sea and many shall drink from her grief and be empowered.
The triceratops comes to her once the darkness abandons her, pressing his great bulk gently against her form. He is much older than he was, She offers him a sad smile.
“How fortunate you are, my reptile friend,” she whispers, “that you shall never weep.”
For she will never cease her weeping for the world that is, and for all that it might have been.