It feels like he stands there quietly crying against Hythlodaeus for a long time. He commits everything he can to memory: his friend's scent, the warmth of their embrace, their quiet voice. All of it is a stark rebuke against the shade which had found itself wandering his recreated Amaurot. That insubstantial thing could only capture a memory of the man holding him now, and it had been woeful.

Eventually, he starts to calm. He spends a little more time composing himself before pulling back, trying to wipe his face as subtly as he can (not very subtly at all) with his sleeve.

"I'm sorry for that unseemly display..."