"The book, then?" Needs asks, trying to keep his contributions to this conversation to a minimum. He's already struggling to parse everything Delilah just said. The pills aren't in effect right now, there's nothing stabilizing him, keeping him glued to this plane of existence. He's drifting closer to his wildly incoherent old self again, which is nothing but inconvenience right now.
"So comes snow after fire, and even dragons have their endings." See? There it is now. He was probably trying to say something much simpler, something about how they'll take down Feia no matter how crazy she looks or how much mass she has. Instead we get a Tolkein quote, because Needs Food Badly is suddenly too busy waving a paintbrush over the air, making minute revisions to the twenty-eighth of September, the day Ambriel and Ithuriel found each other. Nothing either of them would take notice of, nothing game-changing, certainly, but even the most insignificant modifications to what was, is, and will be are hardly ever without consequence.