Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters or places of Middle-earth, and make no claim to them. Eirien, Echir, Hanion, and Merilien are mine, but you can have them. Especially Merilien. Take her. Please.
Eirien knew exactly where to find her daughter on a cold winter's day like this one. The library was oak-panelled, warm, and most importantly, quiet. She waited for a moment, eyeing the figure curled up in a large chair by the fire, and only spoke when it was clear that she would not be getting Finduilas' attention any time soon.
"Echir was asking after you again."
Predictably, Finduilas looked up at her mother from over the edge of her book, raised an eyebrow, and snorted. "Are you expecting me to be flattered?"
"He is a nice young man." said Eirien, blandly, watching her daughters reaction carefully. "And his family are rather influential in Minas Tirith, as you well know."
"He is the second son, mother, and terribly dull besides." The book was laid aside, the brows furrowed in earnest. "I would end up marooned at some country manor, bored out of my skull."
Her mother laughed. "I can understand you setting your sights higher, daughter, but be careful with him. That is not a family we can afford to offend."
Finduilas smiled, planting a gentle kiss on her mother's forehead. "Easily done. I shall introduce him to Merilien. He will love her, for she, having the intellect of a sow, shall never challenge him. She will love him, for he, being as bland as oatmeal, is perfect for her tastes. His family will love me for setting their son up with the Steward's granddaughter, and her family will love me for finding a husband for a maiden so light of intellect she floats when she giggles."
Eirien laughed. The description was cruel, yet perfect. "You are making many friends and allies among the Steward's friends and kin. Tell me then, if Echir the Dull does not take your fancy, who in Tirith could live up to your standards?"
"Denethor." replied Finduilas, setting the book aside now.
"You set your sights high indeed."
"Not so much. I am the daughter of a Prince, of a line touched with the blood of the Firstborn. Do I not deserve to marry a King?"
"That is dangerous talk, daughter" Eirien said, frowning. "He may be son to the Steward, but he could never claim the throne."
"King in all but name, then." Finduilas replied. "And heir to the Stewardship Denethor may be, but his position has been weakened of late by that upstart Thorongil."
She wrinkled her nose, and Eirien made a noise of distaste. Beloved of the common soldiers and of the Steward Thorongil might be, but many of the high ranking families of Gondor saw him as dangerous. An unknown quantity, a man whose loyalties could not be trusted.
"Thorongil has no patience for politics." pointed out Eirien.
"And Denethor not much skill for them, which is why he needs an ally – or a wife." replied Finduilas.
Nodding, Eirien considered the idea. "It would bring more power to Dol Amroth and Minas Tirith both, to bind our family to that of the Steward." She smiled. "And with you at your most charming, I doubt he'll have much of a chance. If you can take Thorongil down a couple of pegs while you're at it, so much for the better."
Finduilas chuckled. "Indeed. Speaking of more serious matters, have you managed to deal with Hanion? The continued insolence of the man…"
Eirien nodded. "His wife is a simpering idiot, some farmer's daughter out of the fields of Lossanarch, but his sister is a wise woman, and one who would like to see her son rise quickly through the ranks of the Dol Amroth army, not be sunk into obscurity in some dangerous backwoods outpost. There will be no more nonsense about avoiding trading levies."
"As you taught me, mother dearest, there is always more than one way to skin a cat. He'll squeal about it, of course."
"A pig always squeals when it is caught." shrugged Eirien. "When it starts squealing, you know you've won. Now, go get ready. You can't show up to dinner in breeches and with ink on your fingers, not if you're planning to catch yourself a husband."
"Agreed." said Finduilas, grinning. "But I swear to you, Mama, that there is nothing to worry about." She skipped out of the room, pausing at the door. "I will have him squealing for me before the week is out."
"Foul-mouthed brat." mutter Eirien, but she was smiling too, as she returned the books to their appropriate places – the house Adrahil maintained in Minas Tirith had barely enough servants for her liking, and none of them could be trusted to know which way up a book went, let alone maintain them in the meticulous order both her husband and her daughter insisted on. Sneezing, and making a mental note to get one of the maids in to dust this room, she headed off after her daughter, closing the door behind her and plotting an imaginary wedding in her head already.
A/N: Denethor had two older sisters, names unknown (according to Annals of Arda). The hapless Merilien is the daughter of one of these. Her father is no doubt some Lord or other. Adrahil is Finduilas' father, and his title was Prince of Dol Amroth.
Echir, 'spear lord', is a random Gondorian Lordling (TM)
Notes on 'Thorongil', and Finduilas and Eirien's dislike of him: Aragorn was certainly very well liked by the Steward Ecthelion, but his presence threatened Denethor's position, and would have also been considered a nuisance by some of the more influential families, who probably quite liked the status quo.