CHAPTER 8 : Selfish

*&*

"With your brother gone, you will be expected to perform better, as befits a son of the Steward," Denethor said sternly.

I am already performing my best, Father, I always have, Faramir thought bitterly, but said, "Yes, of course, my lord. I will do my best."

"And your best never seems to be good enough."

Aislin, standing at a corner of the hall, made a sound. When Denethor looked over, she pretended that she had been coughing, and said meekly and politely, "Excuse me, my lord." Denethor nodded sharply and looked back at his son, who (at the moment) would rather have been on a trek through all the dark places of Middle Earth.

"You will take twice the duties that you are currently taking. Perhaps that will teach you to leave your silly books behind and become more like your brother."

Faramir nodded and bowed, then left the hall.

*&*

"Come here, Aislin."

Me? Aislin did not understand. What had she done? Was it that sound she had made? She could not help it, she had almost spoken up. She took a deep breath and walked up to stand before the Steward. She hated admitting it, but she was afraid of him. He was so serious, so stern. No one ever wanted to get into his bad books. Just looking into his piercing eyes was a challenge. "Yes, my lord?"

Denethor looked her up and down. "You are friend to my sons, am I right?"

"Yes, my lord is not mistaken." And what is so important about that?

"I would not have any of my sons marrying a servant girl."

Aislin's eyes widened. What on earth had given him that impression? Had Faramir said anything to him? Or… Boromir? "I do not understand what you mean, my lord. I have no intention to wed any of your sons."

Denethor nodded. "You may continue your friendship with my sons, but I would not have them marry so low beneath them. Since you have relieved me of that worry, I do not see any problems. You are doing well here, it seems. You may go now."

Aislin curtsied, trying not fall over, and then left the hall as quickly as she could without breaking into a run.

*&*

"I'm exhausted. I can't imagine doing double duties until Boromir returns. Perhaps even then!" Faramir dropped to the ground, and Aislin laughed, sitting down next to him.

"Working is always hard. I came to serve to escape my mother's nagging and the house chores, only to find more chores waiting for me, and a frightening man to serve! Yet don't you find some satisfaction, when the day is done?"

"Yes, I suppose I do. But I'm still exhausted." Faramir turned to her. Boromir will be away in Osgiliath for quite a long time, and now it's just Aislin and I… He smiled. "Have you ever regretted coming to work in my father's hall?"

Aislin thought for a moment. "No… I don't suppose I have. But at times I miss my home, miss my parents. Mother has come to see me, of course, and sometimes I bump into Father on the way to the markets, but it's just not the same as seeing them everyday. But I'm already seventeen, I can take care of myself. Marian takes care of me as well." She grinned back at him. "I have to say that it's pretty good working here. Thank you again, Faramir."

I should not be the one you're thanking. A jolt of guilt shot through Faramir. Boromir had never taken credit for Faramir's deeds (not intentionally anyway, he could not help it when their father forced it upon him), and here he was, taking credit for what his brother had done. He really was an ungrateful wretch. And so he kept silent, ashamed of what he was doing.

"You know… your father spoke to me today, after you left the hall for your duties."

That wrenched Faramir right out of his guilt-stricken state and slammed him down to reality. "WHHHHAAAAATTTT?" Denethor spoke to Aislin? Oh Eru that was scary.

"Shh! Don't yell, Faramir!" Aislin giggled. "He seemed to have an absurd idea that I'm after you or Boromir."

That was even more shocking than the fact that his father had actually spoken to Aislin. Faramir thought that he would die of a heart attack, at the age of seventeen. "And what did he say about that?"

Aislin started playing with the frayed edge of his sleeve. "Don't wear this shirt anymore, it's so old," she mumbled before going on. "He just said that he would not let his sons marry so low below them."

"That's so rude!"

Aislin shook her head and smiled at him. "No, it isn't. It's just the truth, and we all know it."

"It never affected anything before."

"Of course it never did. And it won't. Things have gone beyond that for us now. But for your father, he sees it as it is."

Faramir made a vexed sound. "Why would he be concerned about who I marry? He's never cared about anything else I did."

"Maybe because he loves you? I think it is impossible for a father to not have even a little love for his son. He must care about you somehow. I think he wants you to marry someone who is really good enough for you."

Faramir looked straight into Aislin's eyes and held her gaze steadily. "You're good enough for me." But I'm not the one you want…

Aislin smiled, and squeezed his hand. "Thank you."

*&*

She watched as Faramir went on his way to his rooms, then turned and went towards the servants' quarters. I do not deserve his love, I do not deserve his trust. He really should have someone better. Faramir was a good man, he would have no trouble in getting a faithful wife, a woman who could truly devote all her heart to loving him. And then he would see what a fool he was to love her, to trust her.

But she did not want to let him go. With him around her, she would always have someone to talk to, someone to laugh with. If she drove him away, he would hate her forever. And Boromir would never forgive her for breaking his brother's heart. Then she would be left with nothing, no one.

I am so selfish… I love one, but refuse to let go of the other.