He's shed tears, in the last seven years, every now and then. On the last day of his life he did so a few times.

He hasn't properly sobbed since that day in their house, when Evandrin fully faded away and there was nothing left to hold. Even when the ritual failed he had felt too drained to cry, too empty to do anything but plead for that failure to be stricken from his memory.

There's a soft, token noise of protest before the dam breaks, and he's shaking with the force of it, jarring all of the wounds that aren't really there.