Many thanks to Wenont for the suggestions.

Haleth breathed a sigh of relief. The interview with King Finarfin had gone far better than she had any right to expect. 

A retainer led her to a room and left her alone there.  She wondered how long she was expected to stay.  Her wait was not likely to be very long; the King would be glad to see the back of her and had probably already ordered someone to make preparations of her trip.  She looked down at her dress.  It had been lovely the first time she had put it on but her most recent adventure had left it stained and bedraggled.  It suited her better now, but she would have been happier to have had her own, worn traveling clothes and, especially her boots.  She wondered if she should ask whoever came for her to bring her old clothing.  They might allow her to fetch it herself, but that would mean facing the Lady Anairë and explaining her actions.  Haleth groaned as she pictured her ancestress’es puzzled, unhappy expression.  No.  That was one encounter she would be happier to avoid.  She would get to Tol Eressea and then ask for her belongings to be sent.  Anaire had never shown any interest in visiting the Lonely Isle.  Haleth would be safe from having to explain her lack of gratitude.

Colourful tapestries hung from the walls.  One depicted a gathering of Elves upon the shores of the Bay of Elvenhome.  A flotilla of small boats were scattered across the waters of the Bay in what looked to be a race.  Haleth examined it more closely.  The faces of twisted threads displayed far more animation than those belonging to the living, breathing folk of Tirion.  The sailors in the individual boats seemed very focused and the people on the shore were cheering. 

She wondered what it would have been like to have been part of the community of Elves while the Trees had still shone, before all of the unhappiness and sorrow wrought by Morgoth’s treachery and Fëanor’s rebellion.  It would have been far more interesting that living among the animate statues of today.  Perhaps she would not have felt so out of place. 

The detail in the tapestry was incredible.  A laughing couple danced on the beach, their hair flying about them in the fresh, salt breeze.  A dark-haired minstrel stood next to them, a flute raised to his lips.  Haleth examined him minutely; it might be Ecthelion.  Of all of the Elves of Tirion, he had seemed the most alive, which was ironic, considering that he had perished in Middle-earth and spent uncounted years in the Halls of Mandos.  She wondered if he would remember what tune he had been playing at this festival.  Maybe he would play it for her.  It seemed merry enough; the little figures surrounding him almost seemed to be clapping and tapping their feet in time.

In fact, if she listened very closely, she could almost hear the music mixed with the shouts and cheers of the crowd as they watched the regatta. 

The light in the room grew brighter.   The world became clearer, as though a veil that she had never been aware of had been pulled aside.  Even the air was cleaned and laden with the unmistakable aroma of salt water. 

Haleth could not drag her eyes from the tapestry.  For an instant it seemed as though she stood upon the beach.  Golden light streamed from the cleft of the Calcayira and danced upon the water.  The boats were streaming across the bay and there was much shouting and laughing.

‘It is a masterful piece, is it not?’

Haleth found herself back in the present, Lady Anairë beside her.  Haleth’s heart sank.  The conversation she had been hoping to avoid was suddenly upon her.  Even under the circumstances she found it difficult to disentangle herself from the spell of the living tapestry.  The ships darted across in the water in a race that had finished over an Age ago.  She had to answer.  She owed the Lady Anairë some sort of explanation.  She wished she had spent less time fretting over what to tell King Finarfin and more time thinking about what she would say to Anairë.

‘Yes,’ was all Haleth could manage.

‘It was woven by the handmaidens of Vairë.  Some say the Valier herself took part in the weaving.  There are many more akin to it, but those webs are hung from the trees of Yavanna’s Courtyard.’ 

Haleth squinted at the tapestry.  The dancing couple of the beach, hands entwined, had spun in a half circle, exchanging positions. The scent of salt air filled Haleth’s nostrils. 

‘Do they all do that?’ she asked.

There was a brief pause.  ‘Does whom do all of what?’ asked Anairë.

‘That couple,’ said Haleth, pointing a trembling finger to the two tiny figures.  ‘I could swear…’ She trailed off, her mouth dry.  The couple had whirled in a circle and exchanged places.  She was absolutely certain of it.  But that was impossible.  It was a crazy notion.  What would Lady Anairë do if she thought that Haleth was losing her mind?  The Elves of Tirion would not send a madwoman to Tol Eressëa. 

Haleth looked sidelong at Lady Anairë, worried that she might have guessed what she had been about to say.  Fortunately for Haleth, Anairë seemed just as drawn in by the tapestry as Haleth had been. 

‘Do you recognize any of the people depicted here?’ Lady Anairë asked.  ‘This is your family.

‘Our family,’ she corrected herself.  ‘Here is Nolofinwë, my husband and your ancestor.’ She pointed a long, slender finger at a tall, dark-haired individual who stood among a group of richly arrayed Elves.

Haleth obediently looked at the depiction of Nolofinwë.  His long, dark hair stirred in the long-ago breeze.  She blinked, shook her head and examined the nearby figures instead.  ‘Where are you?’ she asked, after being unable to find Anairë.

‘I am nearer the water.  Here,’ answered Anairë, indicating a stately, unmistakable figure.  Two women, one with the silver hair of Círdan’s folk and another with coppery red hair, stood with her at the edge of the water.  ‘That is the Queen, Eärwen, and that is the Lady Nerdanel.’  Anairë smiled and shook her head.  ‘Our children took part in the race.  Arafinwë’s children were natural sailors.  Mine and Nerdanel’s children were not so gifted in that way.  It never stopped them from competing.  What they lacked in skill they tried to make up for in daring.  They took ridiculous chances.  Findekáno was nearly drowned on more than one occasion and Turkáno was little better.’ 

There were only a few dark heads among the racers.  Haleth thought she recognized Fingon and Turgon from the tapestries that hung in Lady Anairë’s home. 

‘And there is little Irissë,’ said Anairë fondly.  Haleth followed the line of her gaze.  A small, dark-haired girl clad in white stood apart from the others.   Even in miniature the figure radiated displeasure, her arms crossed and her brow lowered.

‘She doesn’t look happy,’ Haleth blurted.

‘She was not.  I would not allow her to take part in the race,’ said Anairë. 

‘I imagine it would not have been ladylike,’ said Haleth.

‘Irissël had little time for the business of being ladylike,’ snorted Anairë.  ‘She was never one to sit quietly with spindle and loom. She ever believed herself to be the equal of her brothers.  In some ways, she over-reached their ability.  She could outride all three of them.’

‘Three?’ asked Haleth.  The tales she remembered had only mentioned Anairë and Fingolfin having two sons. 

‘There were three’ she said, answering Haleth’s unspoken question. ‘Findekáno, Turkáno and Arkáno, although you may not have heard of Arkano.  He was my youngest child.  Here he is.’  She pointed to a half-grown elf child who stood at the front of the royal family.  ‘He was perhaps twenty summers here.’

‘Truly?’ asked Haleth, who had estimated his age at closer to ten.

‘Yes, he was tall for his age,’ Anairë explained.  ‘I was told he fell in battle when my people first set foot in Middle-earth.’

That would explain why Haleth had never heard mention of him. ‘Oh,’ she said. Some response was needed and it seemed the safest thing to say. 

A pair of smaller, red-haired elves stood beside Arkáno. 

‘Those are Ambarussa,’ said Anairë.  She sighed and looked away.  ‘I seldom look at this web.’

Haleth looked at her questioningly. 

‘There are too many memories,’ said Anairë.  ‘And too many reminders of what has been lost.’  She ran gently ran her forefinger over the depiction of Aredhel’s hair.  ‘I only wanted her to be safe but she would have none of it.  I often wonder, if only I had kept her closer, if I had tried harder to protect her, if she would still be with me today.’  

‘If there is one thing I have learned, it is that people do as they will,’ said Haleth.

‘Even if they know it is wrong?’ whispered Anairë.

‘Especially if they know it is wrong,’ said Haleth.  ‘Think of my countrymen.’

Anairë bowed her head and turned to Haleth.  Tears glittered at the corners of her grey eyes.  ‘I must beg your forgiveness, Silmariën.  I mourn for my children, yet here you are and you have lost your entire country.’

Haleth blinked, at a loss.  Here she had been expecting to apologize to Lady Anairë and now Lady Anairë was asking her forgiveness.  She would never, ever understand how conversations with Elves went in the opposite direction from what she expected, even if she did live forever.

‘I believe it is only fair to point out that my countrymen almost killed me,’ she said.

‘Be that as it may, certainly not all of them were evil,’ Anairë insisted.  ‘And the land itself was lost.’

The reminder hit Haleth like a sucker punch to the gut and the homesickness that always hovered at the edges of her conscious, overtook her awareness. The East called to her and every fiber of the being yearned to answer.   

‘Yes,’ she heard herself whisper.

Anairë appeared to collect herself.  ‘His Majesty says that you have asked to travel to Tol Eressëa.’

‘Yes,’ Haleth said again, shaking off the tide of grief.  ‘Why don’t you come with me? You could watch over me and Master Elrond would be overjoyed to meet you.  His blood is far closer to yours.’

‘Not yet,’ said Lady Anairë.

‘Master Elrond would make you proud,’ Haleth persisted. ‘He is wise and kind and well-learned and respected. In fact, he’s nothing like me at all.’

Anairë frowned and then sighed. ‘I am sorry, Silmariën.  There is much you do not understand, but the time is not yet right.’