Morifinwë = Caranthir
Turkafinwë = Celegorm
Arfin = Finarfin
Silpion is a old name for Telperion.
...and this was Aulë's house, and it was filled with magic webs woven of the light of Laurelin and the sheen of Silpion and the glint of stars...
Lost Tales Book 1
Laurelin's light washed golden upon the confines of Aulë's court. There, suspended from the thick branchs of venerable trees, were the webs, the work of Vairë the Weaver. They glistened and gleamed, shimmering like living things as the light of Laurelin waxed to full brightness. Some were set in plain view and were so lovely that the eye must needs be drawn to them. These grand tapestries depicted the Story of Arda, from the time before its making to the present day. Many of the Elves made play of finding their own likenesses upon the webs, or of remembering past events. Other tapestries were hidden so that only a glimmer among the wind-stirred leaves belied of their presence. These, smaller webs were said to hold some tiny fragment of the thoughts of the Illuvatar Himself.
Ammalë, garbed in the simple white robe of the Inwir, sat upon the grass beneath an ash tree, contemplating the web that glistened above her. The threads, warp and weft, were of light and of metal and of some material beyond her ken. High amid the rustling leaves it glistened and glimmered, offering insight just beyond her mind's reach, for who of Illuvatar's Children can comprehend even a fraction of His thought?
"How can it be," Ammalë wondered, awe-struck, "That such a thing can be wrought when the Weaver does understand it?"
She mused upon the wellsprings of creativity and watched the tapestry sway and ripple in the wind. Her thoughts drifted with the breeze. Out of the courtyard they floated, through the streets of Valmar and into memory.
An unpleasant noise emanating from Aulë's halls interrupted her reverie. Half aware of her surroundings, Ammalë stood and drifted towards the disturbance in the somnolent hope that she could make it stop.
Even half asleep, the source of the noise was apparent the instant she stepped from the shelter of the trees. A dark-haired elf, his face flushed blood red, stood before Gilfanon, the Lore-Master. He clutched a scroll with white-knuckled force and waved it beneath Gilfanon's nose.
"And I am telling you that this is useless!" the newcomer shouted, his face twisted into an arrogant sneer. "It is blank! What sort of idiot puts a blank scroll into a library? Is this the best that the vaunted wisdom of the Inwir can produce?"
With her awareness still trapped within the realm of mediation, Ammalë attempted to pull the scroll from the hand of the irate stranger.
He flushed a deeper shade of crimson, scowled and grasped the scroll all the harder. The parchment crackled beneath his fingers.
"Ammalë is of the Inwir, Morifinwë," Gilfanon said sternly.
"Is she?" Morifinwë sneered. "Then perhaps she can explain this."
With a grand flourish he opened the scroll and brandished the blank page before Ammalë's half-open eyes.
She glanced briefly at the blank scroll then spoke in the gentle, far-away voice of a parent speaking to a very young child. "This is meant to be read in silver light."
"What do you mean?" Morifinwë scowled. A quick glance at Gilfanon told him that the Lore Master had grasped the cryptic explanation.
"It was written with ink that can only be seen in the light of Telperion," Ammalë explained absently. "Now, when Laurelin waxes and Telperion wanes, is not the time to read this scroll. The writing will become plain when Telperion waxes bright once more."
Morifinwë's complexion darkened to a most impressive shade of purple as Ammalë, oblivious to his mood and grateful for the quiet, drifted towards the trees.
He was sorely tempted to use Gilfanon as a target for his fury, but the Lore Master had used the distraction to perform a stealthy retreat.
Morifinwë took a deep breath and considered the situation. The infuriatingly superior woman...whatever her name had been...looked too far removed to actually remember the encounter. So long as Gilfanon did not mention the incident, no one need ever know how she had embarrassed him. All he had to do was to hunt Gilfanon and ensure his silence.
A dry cough interrupted his thoughts. His older brother Turkafinwë was leaning against the wall of Aule's home, a small, unpleasant smile upon his face.
Morifinwë's heart sank. Judging from his smug expression, Turkafinwë had witnessed the entire exchange. It would be impossible to keep the matter quiet.
"What do you want?" Morifinwë demanded.
"I was sent to fetch you," he drawled. "Normally I would resent such a lowly duty, but the display I just witnessed made it more than worth my while. She certainly made a fool out of you. I do not believe that she was even awake."
Morifinwë glared at his brother whose smile grew even broader.
"Let us go," Turkafinwë said, correctly guessing his younger brother's intentions. "There will be plenty of opportunities to confront her...providing you are not frightened that she will make a fool of you once more."