"I wish for flowers that do not die."
He does not understand, and he looks at her inquiringly - though, truth to tell, if 'twere not inquiring, he would but find some other way to look at her, for such are his feelings.
"Even these die," she says, stroking one with the tip of a forefinger. "Even these - even here. They last long, but they wilt and fall."
"Then what would you have?" he asks. "In Arda Unmarred perhaps they would not, but Arda Marred this is, and all things must come to an end, be it wholly foreign to our natures."
She shrugs, and she looks again at the bloom. Its white petals are already beginning to droop.
"If I had the skill to make such as this, but more lasting," she mutters, "But alas, I have not! Shapes of my own thought I can fashion, but the delicacy, the perfection - see! I cannot match it."
He is silent now, lost in thought, and they do not speak again.
But later, after the light of the Trees has mingled thrice, on entering her father's forge she finds there flowers wrought of a silvery metal, light and strong and brilliant all at once, and the blossoms themselves graceful, clean-lined and realistic.
And when she sees him again, they are in her hands. She says no words, because none are needed, but then and there a decision is made.
This is a work of fan fiction, written because the author has an abiding love for the works of J R R Tolkien. The characters, settings, places, and languages used in this work are the property of the Tolkien Estate, Tolkien Enterprises, and possibly New Line Cinema, except for certain original characters who belong to the author of the said work. The author will not receive any money or other remuneration for presenting the work on this archive site. The work is the intellectual property of the author, is available solely for the enjoyment of Henneth Annûn Story Archive readers, and may not be copied or redistributed by any means without the explicit written consent of the author.