The marble halls of Tirion were usually a place of ethereal song and high-minded philosophy, but today, beneath the booming echoes of Fëanor’s latest tirade against Fingolfin, the atmosphere near the shadowed pillars was thick with a much more grounded, dangerous heat. The tension between you and your cousin Caranthir had become a physical weight in the air. He was a man of dark moods and sudden rages, yet he stood now in a state of suspended animation, his jaw locked so tightly that a muscle jumped in his cheek. He didn't look like he wanted to argue; he looked like he was fighting the urge to cross the floor and claim you in a way that would bring the ceiling down upon them all.

Behind him, the Feanorean brothers had formed a loose, predatory semi-circle, their attention diverted from their father’s shouting match to the fascinating spectacle of their most volatile brother being undone by a glance. Celegorm was the first to break the silence, his voice a low, melodic purr that carried only to the brothers. "Careful, Moryo," he whispered, leaning close to Caranthir’s ear with a smirk that was all teeth. "If you stare any harder, you’ll burn a hole through our cousin’s silken robes. And we all know how the Law-and-Order of the Eldar feels about that particular brand of fire." Caranthir’s hand, resting on a stone balustrade, flexed until his knuckles turned a ghostly white. He didn't turn his head. Curufin stepped up on the other side, his eyes cold and analytical. "It’s a dangerous game, brother," he added, his voice a sharp blade of logic. "To look upon the firstborn of the Half-brother is one thing. To look upon her as if you wish to dismantle her piece by piece is quite another. Grandfather would have a fit of the vapors, and the Valar... well, we know how they love their rules on 'purity of blood.'"

"Indeed," Maglor chimed in, though his tone held a weary sort of amusement. "The songs usually warn against this sort of thing, Morifinwë. Kin-strife is one thing, but kin-desire? That’s a melody that ends in a very short, very sharp cliff. You look like you’re about to commit a felony against the statutes of the Eldalië." Caranthir’s face, already naturally prone to a dark flush when his temper rose, was now a deep, simmering crimson. He finally spoke, his voice a low, jagged rasp that sounded like grinding stones. "Be silent, all of you." "Oh, he speaks!" Amras chirped from the back, nudging Amrod. "I thought he’d forgotten how to use his tongue, seeing as he’s been using his eyes to try and undress the heir of Fingolfin for twenty minutes."

"It’s the prohibition that calls to him," Amrod whispered back, loud enough for Caranthir to hear. "Our brother always did have a taste for things he’s forbidden to touch. But this? This is a bit much even for a rebel, isn't it? It’s practically a scandal waiting to happen." Maedhros finally stepped forward, placing a steadying, heavy hand on Caranthir’s shoulder—partly to ground him, and partly to warn him. "Enough," the eldest brother commanded, though his own eyes flickered toward you with a look of deep concern. "Moryo, curb your gaze. Our father is already making enough of a scene with her father. We do not need you adding the crime of 'unnatural yearning' to the list of grievances today. The Eldar do not wed cousins for a reason."

Caranthir finally snapped. He jerked his shoulder away from Maedhros, his dark eyes flashing with a mix of fury and raw, unshielded longing as he looked back at you. He didn't care about the laws of the Eldar, or the "unnatural" nature of the tension vibrating between his blood and yours. "You think your laws matter to me?" Caranthir hissed, his voice dropping to a dangerous, private register as he ignored his brothers and spoke directly across the gap to you. "Let them sing their songs of forbidden blood. I see only what is mine by right of spirit." The brothers went silent then, the teasing dying in their throats as they realized the depth of the obsession. Behind them, Fëanor let out a particularly loud roar of "Usurper!" at Fingolfin.