Disclaimer: I am not J.R.R. Tolkien and I make no money from this.
When All the World was an Oyster
“Those hairpins? The Dwarves made them for us long ago.”
... before Doriath’s fall or Thingol’s death, before the Sun’s flaming birth and the fiery day, before the sculpting of Menegroth’s stone forests beyond the Esgalduin. An island washed by warm, shallow waters had harboured the ships of the Falathrim. They had chased starlight through the glassy waves and dried themselves, salt-glittering and singing, on twilit beaches. Returning to the Sindar, they carried with them Círdan’s gift, a treasure-chest to pay for Thingol’s subterranean city. Their own pockets had been crammed with pearls, a wealth of beauty stolen from the sea.