Maedhros moved through the echoing grandeur of Finwë's palace halls, the polished marble cool beneath his boots. Beside him, you, his betrothed, walked with your customary grace, your presence a quiet anchor amidst the simmering chaos. His eyes, however, were fixed mostly on the smaller, more volatile elements of their procession: his younger brothers.

Maglor was humming a low tune, a quiet counterpoint to the usual din, but Curufin was already meticulously examining a tapestry with a critical eye, likely finding some flaw in the weaving. Caranthir, ever the most impatient, was trying (and failing) to corral Amrod and Amras, who were currently engaged in a spirited chase around a massive pillar, their laughter echoing a little too loudly in the otherwise serene space. Maedhros stifled a sigh, though a faint smile touched his lips. This was a familiar, constant dance – keeping a watchful eye on them while navigating the dignified corridors.

As they rounded a corner, Maedhros subtly extended an arm, just in time to deflect Amras from a collision with a passing decorative urn. He glanced at Maglor.

"This is becoming a daily campaign, brother," Maedhros murmured, his voice low enough not to alarm the more rambunctious twins. "Their energy seems to defy all known laws of physics. Have you devised a new melody that might induce a moment of quiet reflection, perhaps?"

Maglor chuckled, shaking his head. "I fear no song exists that can truly tame the spirit of a Fëanorian child, Maedhros. Perhaps only the clang of hammers from the forges might offer enough distraction."

"A tempting thought," Maedhros replied, a weary, yet fond, smile crossing his face as he watched Curufin now attempting to lecture Caranthir on the historical inaccuracies of the tapestry. "It's a constant exercise in vigilance, wouldn't you agree?"