Nessa the Fleet-footed, they call her, Nessa the Dancer. She who laughs.
Tears are only for Nienna, for ever-cheerful Nessa never needs them. She dances lightly through the woods of Valinor, and even the Eldar smile indulgently at her, as if she is a child. Not at Vána, the Ever-young, Valië of youth and beauty and love, not at Yavanna mother of the Earth, not at Tulkas or Oromë. Only ever at Nessa the Joyful.
She is an amusement to them, a diversion from heavier matters, and she minds, but she will not show it. Happiness is her burden, and sometimes she thinks it is a harder task than those of even the Weeper or the Weaver, a heavier burden than the burdens of Súlimo or Vaiaro or even of the Fëanturi.
But she is the Dancer, and she dances.
And the world still spins and there is still mirth.