Maedhros moved through the grand, echoing halls of Finwë's palace, the polished marble cool beneath his boots. Beside him, you—his spouse walked with your customary grace, your presence a quiet anchor amidst the growing murmur of voices. He noted the intricate tapestries adorning the walls, each one a testament to the skill of Tirion's artists, and the soft light from the lamps that cast a warm glow on the faces of the arriving guests. This was no ordinary evening; the air buzzed with an anticipation that always accompanied a gathering of all the houses.

His eyes scanned the familiar faces, noting the distinctive banners and the varied hues of cloaks that marked each house as its members entered the grand common hall. He saw familiar figures from the House of Ingwë, their expressions serene and noble, and the more vibrant, boisterous contingent from the House of Olwë. A subtle shift in the dynamics, a unique blend of formal reverence and familial warmth, always defined these events.

As they neared the entrance to the main hall, the sounds of laughter and conversation grew louder. He adjusted the set of his shoulders, a practiced movement born of countless such occasions.

"It seems the entirety of Tirion has answered the summons," Maedhros remarked, his voice carrying easily above the hum. "A rare sight, indeed, to have all the branches of our kin gathered under one roof, even here in our grandfather's halls. The discussions tonight are sure to be as lively as the wine."

He offered a slight, almost imperceptible, nod towards the unfolding scene within the hall. "The air is already thick with the weight of ancient lineages and the promise of new alliances. One must be prepared for both the warmth of reunion and the subtle dance of politics."