A/N: They never belonged to me and never will, though you might recognize a few of these characters better if you've already read some of the previous Den/Fin Files such as "Like the Heathen Kings of Old" for Denethor's eldest sister, "Sisterly Love" off LJ or "Aim" here for a quick reference to their middle sib, "Boots" for the Princess of Dol Amroth's background, and "Weakness" for the governess and the time setting.
I have to dedicate this one to all the LotR "OFCs" with inexplicably twenty-first-century values in the 3010's, (TA,) the stodgy, snooty two-dimensional Alpha Bitches they love to hate on, my brothers and sisters, and poor Phanax Leminer, whose FMA/Silent Hill fusion* beta took entirely too long when the bunnies stole me away from the suspenseful horror for the horror of the Hurin interpretation of "sweet and fluffy."
(*Hint hint nudge nudge go check it out if you like the manga/anime/games/mindscrews associated with Sean Bean and Ohio, if only due to the beta reader. ;) Yeah, I give you a fic with a reading list, because I sure don't publish quickly.)
"You must do something about this, Little Brother." Denethor did not raise his head from his work immediately; to do so would only encourage Emeriel, and his sister could be insufferable enough without any assistance on his part. "I offered the girl the names of some perfectly competent nursemaids - you know I examined several options before even suggesting a selection for your boys - and she had the gall to address at me as if I were mad. The girl said she planned to 'raise her son herself,' though I hardly see how she intends to do so when she already oversteps herself in her husband's sphere."
Though Denethor regarded the woman in question as an annoyance himself, he could not find it within himself to thoroughly blame her for this particular fallout. What Emeriel saw as offering her expert assistance could just as easily be construed as unwanted interference - his wife had not been in any particular need of her advice when it came to choosing a governess for Boromir and Faramir, either, so it had been up to Denethor to rebuff his older sister then. He had mollified Emeriel by listening to whatever suggestions she and their eldest sister Thaliwen might have when it came time to select a tutor, secretly but honestly grateful to have them winnowing through arms-masters that he had little time for and Finduilas feared to talk to, and Emeriel still seemed to think he owed her for the advice. While the steward had no particular reason to defend this particular woman from his sister, he had little reason to try to convince her to listen, either. Sisters, in Denethor's experience, were a headache best left alone, for they could catch a man in their crossfire without any effort on his part.
"It does reflect poorly upon Gondor's future if the heir apparent of Dol Amroth is raised with all the education of a tradesman's son," Thaliwen added from behind Emeriel, trenchant as ever.
Emeriel shook her head in disapproval. In another woman, Denethor might have considered the gesture one of hopelessness or defeat, but he knew his sister too well to maintain that comforting fiction. "While it's precious of the young man to have followed his heart, Prince Imrahil truly has married far below his station. As his sociopolitical equals, it is up to us to attempt to correct for any misconceptions his wife might have about her position."
Though their middle sibling had turned her eyes to the western ceiling as if pleading with the Valar as much as her brother, probably accomplishing the same amount of good, Thaliwen had locked stares with Denethor, refusing to blink before him. An icy steel gaze that could make men tremble at the smallest look had to be developed somewhere, and the years of practice had left the Steward's eldest sister maddeningly immune. "It might be more effective to approach the girl through him. You never seem to have any issue with that."
"Now is not the time. Approach Imrahil yourselves after Ainaelin has run herself ragged and they shall both be grateful to you. I have no intention of overstepping my bounds in a woman's sphere." While not so naïve as to consider the matter settled on that note, it was worth breaking his silence to use Emeriel's words to his own purpose.
Emeriel took a pair of strides closer to his desk before pulling herself short, turning around to make sure Thaliwen had the door tightly shut behind her. "This time makes it all the more imperative for her to find someone, Little Brother. If not for Camithiel, who would be watching your children? Ainaelin herself?" If not any gentler than he expected, Emeriel had at least made an effort to moderate her volume. "There is less of an age difference between my Neril or Thaliwen's Rancil and your Boromir than between your own two boys, yet you visit Lamedon and Lebennin combined less than half as often as you take your sons to Dol Amroth."
"I had sufficient reason to travel to Dol Amroth." And damn his sisters for reminding him that much of that reason was past tense. "Your providences are away from the dangers of coastal raids and the direct threat of Mordor, so forgive me if I, as Steward of Gondor, must apportion my time where it is most useful."
"All the more reason to send your sons west to northern Lebennin." Thaliwen fielded their sister's muted glower of betrayal with the same aplomb as she did the Steward's visibly rising annoyance. "They will be safe there, close enough to Anorien to regularly visit the capitol, and my three sons will provide proper role models in addition to the presence of a strong maternal figure."
Denethor allowed his sisters certain privileges and informalities; even when they disagreed with him, as they had frequently done for as long as he could remember, it was generally worth hearing their perspectives. His oldest sister was blunt, but she was ever punctilious about what she might say in public and what she might tell her family members in private.
She had gone too far.
"Thaliwen," Denethor cut her off. "Leave." Thaliwen did not so much as twitch a jaw muscle, but she curtseyed and opened the door, closing it gently behind her.
This silenced Emeriel for a record five minutes, as Denethor reckoned it. "My Lord Steward…" she started with formal uncertainty. After living fifty-eight years, marrying, succeeding their father, raising two sons of his own, and even... this, he had always been her "Little Brother" first and her "Lord" only as an afterthought, as a means to getting her whatever she desired. "Finduilas was not the only one to miss her birth family. We would only fain see you more often." Emeriel's retreat was a bit less graceful than her elder's, if also slightly less hostile.
Denethor supposed that this would be the point at which he was to run out to embrace his sisters and settle their differences with joyful tears, were this Imrahil's family. He stood from his desk, walked to the door, and secured the locks. Later, perhaps, he would send Ainaelin a very pointed letter about the educational capabilities of an unassisted guild-master's only daughter deeply involved in maintaining the domestic resources of a coastal princedom and supply a gratuity for his sons' governess, but there was other work to be accomplished this minute. Besides, there was no need for grander gestures than what drama Emeriel and Thaliwen had already stirred up. He knew, they knew, and what else needed to be said?