They depart from Doriath laden with gifts and supplies.
'What is this?', Artanis asks, picking up the coils of silvery-grey rope and weighing them in her hands. Soft, but strong, she thinks, liking the feel of it in her hands, the texture.
'You are interested in rope?', Celeborn asks in return. He should not have been surprised. She seems interested in anything and everything, this young Noldo.
'My cousins in Alqualonde are skilled in all kinds of rope-making', she answers. 'Hawsers for their ships, painters for their boats... But I have not seen this material before.'
'It is hithlain', Celeborn tells her. 'I could show you how it is made, if you were not about to leave...'
'I will just have to come back then, won't I?', she says and smiles at him.
The silvery-grey rope slithers down the rock face, its final coil pooling at his feet.
His wife's face appears up above, haloed in sunlit hair against blue sky.
'Come on up', she calls out cheerfully. 'I can see Mirrormere from here!'
He shakes his head a little ruefully. 'Noldo', he grumbles to himself affectionately, takes firm hold of the rope and begins to climb.
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.