Quicker than expected - once again from Cersei's POV, which you can also see from the title of the story.
However, it's still quite Faramir-centric for the most part, only from an outside perspective.

TW: PTSD

Disclaiemr: I don't own GOT or LOTR, only my OCs.

Aftermath

Cersei gets married in the Great Sept of Baelor, at seventeen years of age, a flower in full bloom. She is shining in gold and white, a precious jewel just ready to be shown off, and yet, she has the sinking feeling it won't be enough. Sure, the people are cheering, more at the food that they distribute than at her, probably, and it feels great, and still, there is a nagging, bad feeling at the back of her mind.
But she pushes through it because she can't falter now, with all eyes on her and a crown on her head, with her father right there and Jaime finally back from the gods-know-where.
He looks as if he has been through the wringer, scratches over his face and a cut on his arm that might leave a scar. A souvenir from Hightower, he remarks. Jaime fades in the background, like a decoration, and doesn't talk to Robert at all that night. In fact - he makes sure to stay out of his sight.

He probably feels too tired to report everything, Cersei, thinks, why for goodness sake he had to go and look for the Stark girl at all, she has no idea, but she supposes it has to do with putting him in Robert's good graces. Maybe it also had to do with the fact that her father wants control of everything, and a living Lyanna would have probably made her betrothal and wedding fail very quickly. Would Jaime have killed Lyanna for her though? There were times when Cersei would have said yes right away, when she had just assumed her twin would do whatever she said. But - Faramir. Lyanna is - was - Faramir's sister, and if there is one thing between the twins, one weakness her brother has, then it's the affection for that Northern prick.

In fact, Jaime probably went with him just because he asked, not thinking about any political gain at all, Cersei muses grumpily.

Which makes her wonder - where is Faramir? How dare he not show his face on the most important day of her life? She fumes, and only days later understands that he waited it out to avoid having to tell Robert about Lyanna's certain death because they are bringing her bones North.

She supposes she ought to be thankful because the wedding night has been bad enough, Robert had gotten totally drunk beforehand and even called her "Lyanna" in bed. Cersei has no clue what he usually has done to get such a reputation with women because in her book, it was all rather disappointing. But well, maybe they all fake it - after all, many married women say that the wedding bed is more for the men than for the ladies.
Robert rages now and almost slaps Faramir over the face for bringing the bad news, speak about killing the messenger, and the messenger can do nothing but stand there and let him scream, seemingly just as tired as Jaime.
She wonders whether he did the same thing when he heard about Ashara - because there have been rumours, that he fought his way to the royal apartments, that he refused to leave her, that he rode down South to bring home her body. Well, from what Cersei has seen before, she still isn't convinced. The fact is the Mountain and Amory Lorch killed Princess Elia and her children, and Ashara Dayne, too, from what she has heard. Dorne is furious, of course, and has called Lord Arryn South for questioning. Somehow, Cersei thinks Faramir will ride with him again, even though anyone in their right mind can see these two can't stand each other.

It is rather by accident that she finally hears about it, from two gardeners around a corner where they cannot see her sitting on a little porch in the shadow of the keep. She just wants to tell them to go away, when a name makes her pause.

"- Stark is back North," one man comments.
Another hums. "Poor sod. Lost so much, father, brother, sister, now has to bring them all back home and bury them. And with his brother staying here..."
A woman suddenly huffs. "He wasna talkin' bout the quiet wolf. Was talkin' 'bout the gentle wolf."
"Lord Faramir? Ain't nothin' gentle about that one anymore. Not after what he's seen."
There is silence for a moment.
"It's a pity, duh. I reckon I always liked him well enough, ever since he was a lad. Always courteous, always polite"
"He's a strange sort," the first man comments, "not quite wolf, not quite lion."
"I reckon he proved he was quite wolf enough during the war, didn' he?" the second man comments, "raised then banners an' all. Almust cut down the Boltons they say, gave those buggers the spurs."
"People say a lot. People say the Lannisters killed his lover, and he was screaming at Tywin Lannister with her blood all over his body while his brother was arguing with the new king. They say the two most silent wolves were the most frightening ones in their anger. They say the keep almost shook. They also say the younger lord brought the girl home to be buried..." the woman argues.
"Do you think there is some truth in it?"
"Well, I've heard it from Lil in the kitchen who knows it from a man in the stable who plays cards with the guards - so, yeah, maybe. And I reckon I saw him steal roses from the garden for a girl before, so he had a sweetheart for sure. But man, that's tough."

They move away, leaving Cersei with a lot of confusing, uncomfortable thoughts.
Sure, Faramir's affairs aren't her business, but if Lannister men killed a Lannister ward's lover, that is something Cersei finds not quite acceptable, so she starts her research. It only takes her a couple of prodding questions to find out Amory Lorch indeed raped and killed Ashara Dayne but was killed by her in return, likely with his own dagger. It seemed as if he didn't take care, and she managed to let him fall on his blade - clumsy but effective. After needling Jaime for a while, she can also piece together that there is indeed some merit to the story of Faramir's argument with Tywin.
Thankfully, for once, her father and herself are on the same page - the Mountain has to go, for everyone's sake.

It's almost too easy, but at least she feels that now her debt to Faramir for not ruining her wedding on purpose has been paid.

Lord Stark leaves, but Faramir is meant to stay in King's Landing, a member of the newly established small council. Robert openly calls him the "second best Stark", and while it is somewhat amusing to see Faramir put in his place, it also feels kind of uncomfortable, especially since she somehow doesn't agree. Sure, Lord Stark distinguished himself, but from what she has heard, his brother no less so.
She isn't quite sure what she thinks about having this man close to her all the time now, because he is a pain in the arse, but he can also be a valuable ally - he is smart, courageous, and he knows what she is capable of. There is an unspoken tension between them, a mix of distrust and unacknowledged respect. He truly seems something in between Lannister and Stark, though now leaning mroe towards the Stark-side, at least in terms of sullenness.

More important however is that Jaime will stay, too, pardoned and Kingsguard once again, her backup whatever will come.
Her father returns to Casterly Rock, but before, he visits her in her solar.

"You're the queen now. Be a good one, give the king sons," he advises her. She almost rolls her eyes because she would have appreciated some more trust in her political abilities and some more helpful advice. He isn't done though. "You need to look out for Faramir - watch him, Cersei. He has become darker. He's on the verge of breaking. We must be vigilant. He has a hand on the money now, and we need him on our side, we can't afford him supporting other policies. But neither can we afford having a weak Master of Coin, not with the Tyrells in the South, hardly touched by war. A crown in debt would be ... appreciated, but he is too prudent. So a sensible one is all we can hope for."

Cersei's expression remains neutral, but inside, her emotions churned. She nods because he is right, though at the same time, she already wonders what to do. How is she supposed to lift him up? That should be Jaime's task. And how is she meant to influence him?
She knows how to manipulate and charm, but Faramir will certainly not be easily swayed by such tactics - he knows her too well, he showed her most of the rules of the game in the first place.

But... but now, he is lost and alone and maybe that might just give her the opening she is looking for. Maybe she can get a foot in the door, and get into his orbit.
However, he seems to disappear as soon as she gets close, in fact, he is quite absent from court overall if his presence is not urgently needed. When they do he is always there, fully prepared and engaged, set on his tasks, but he doesn't show any sign of engagement outside of this. He doesn't join the parties and only the truly necessary dinners, excuses himself after having the appropriate superficial conversation. Cersei wonders whether he disappears to taverns to drown his thoughts in alcohol, or whether he discreetly takes girls to bed to forget about his supposed Dornish lover. He never laughs, hardly ever smiles, and if he does, it's hard and cynical.

The almost dreamy, eager boy she resented so much seems gone, and while she never liked him enough to miss it, it is nevertheless a strong reminder of what war does to a person.

She has grown up, too, quickly, even though the war didn't touch her directly at all - the worries still haunted her, day after day, for Jaime, and even Rhaegar, occasionally, until the thoughts of the latter one slowly turned into disdain. He plunged a kingdom into war, and for what? There is a certain romantic in it, somewhere somehow, she has to admit, and Aerys had to go anyway - but not like that. The whole thing shouldn't have happened like that, even though she can't complain about the outcome.

And now, she can start to play the game, because no matter what her father says, she won't just be a broodmare. There is a dagger in her dressing table, heavy and more practical than pretty, a constant reminder to be vigilant and watch out, to be more. It has been there since Faramir threw it in front of her feet and left.

-0-0-0-

The throne room of the Red Keep feels colder than usual, the great hall's vast emptiness echoing with the recent tumult. Cersei stands by one of the tall, narrow windows, looking out over the sprawling city of King's Landing. The sounds of reconstruction float up from the streets below, mingling with the distant cries of gulls. The rebellion has left the city scarred and battered, but she can see it is beginning to heal, aided by gracious loans from the crown.

She has to fight Faramir for each and every of these pennies. Well, if you can call it arguing... while he was never as explosive as Jaime or Robert, always more controlled and precise, more like a blade than a canon ball, he has become cutting like Northern wind now - an impassive face, hard, steely eyes, dark words that bare no contradictions. She no longer wonders how he earns these ridiculously high amounts of money at the cards table, or how he managed to call the banners. It's unsettling, but she knows him well enough to suspect he is also so, so tired under the surface.
Still, she wants her little projects, mostly to make herself popular, and he certainly knows that. He doesn't give her any leeway, keeps the money together with an iron fist that would be admirable if it wasn't that inconvenient, with no regard for Cersei's advantage - he only supports her if she can convince him that her projects are truly benefitting the people. Then he shuts up and gives her the money. It is annoying, having to play by his rules, but since she has figured out his angle, at least it works.

Sure, she could have simply taken Lannister money, but the only thing she loathes more than arguing with Faramir is depending more on her father.

Robert doesn't care one way or the other, simply happy if things worked out somehow, apparently already overwhelmed by the idea of truly ruling a kingdom. Cersei sighs. Mostly he goes hunting or drinking or bedding whomever he chooses. Cersei's lips tightens at the thought. Her marriage, while a strategic triumph, has quickly become a hollow vessel of unfulfilled expectations.
He keeps shutting her out, in every way possible, punishing her for the simple fact that she isn't Lyanna, the woman he had truly wanted. But how does one compete with a ghost? A living person, that is easy, she could be ridiculed or discredited, but a ghost could be elevated to something like a symbol, eternal and pure, untouchable. And still, a small, maybe girlish part in Cersei's heart wants to make this work, wants him to want her, for herself, to secure her position and ensure the future of her house.
She wants to be happy, she deserves to be happy!

So, after months of dismissal, she finally swallows her pride and waits outside after a small council meeting that she once again is not allowed to attend. As they excit, one after the other, she smiles brightly at her husband who barely gives her a second glance, then quickly corners Faramir before he can disappear. He seems surprised.

"Your Grace," he greets her as she approached.
"Lord Faramir," she replies, a hint of a smile playing on her lips. "Walk with me."

They stroll through the corridors of the Red Keep, the silence between them charged with unspoken questions. It is a rare thing, to not have someone else buggering her with requests and questions. He seems comfortable to wait her out, does so until they reach the gardens and she huffs.

"My husband is more interested in your dead sister and his lovers than in me. How do I change this?" she asks bluntly.

Faramir stopps in his tracks, obviously taken aback. Then he blinks.

"Your Grace, what makes you think I am the one to ask these questions?" he obviously hedges.
"She was your sister. You have your own ghost," Cersei points out dryly.

She is almost expecting him to storm off, but then he only nods courtly. It's probably the first, if only vague, acknowledgement of any involvement with Ashara.

"It's not about you," he starts, though she suspects he still has a lot of thoughts about her, "it's not about your looks, or connections, or money. It's simply that you are not who he wanted - wants. That's not personal. You are beautiful, and he can't see it. And maybe he doesn't want to see it either, because it would feel like betrayal."

Cersei latches on to the fact that the man who always opposes her just openly called her beautiful to her face. Then she considers the fact that most nights she imagines Robert to be Rhaegar, despite everything.
She wonders if Faramir feels that he is betraying Ashara when he takes other girls to bed, whether they have the same dark hair, or whether he chooses others on purpose.

"My sister was a fantasy. There is no point trying to be or beat that fantasy because you can't. But you can try and show him you have the same characteristics he liked about her. You're a good rider, go hunting with him. Try being his friend first, because that's something she never was. That spot's still free and Ned's not here. He distrusts your father, he distrusts Jaime, show him he can trust you. Get Arryn on your side, if you can. Dilute the wine."

So he has seen the bruises on her neck, even though she has tried to hide them - or it was just a good guess. In any case, she hates what Robert does to her, and the excuse that he doesn't remember any of it once the rush of the wine has subsided. He simply should drink less, then, because she is his wife, his queen, not a common whore!

"Is that all, your Grace?" Faramir asks, his voice tight.
"For now." He has indeed given her food for thought. He turns to go. "Faramir, what would a woman have to do to beat your fantasy? Do you think you've betrayed her?" she wants to know, almost cruelly, but well, she is curious.
She is dropping his title and she is sure he notices. The man stops in his tracks and turns around, though only briefly.
"She wasn't a fantasy. And I never do."

- 0 - 0 - 0 -

Cersei tries to follow his recommendation, though since she has never really tried to be anyone's friend, it doesn't come easily.
Robert seems surprised when she agrees to go hunting with him, and while she doesn't particularly enjoy all the culture around it, she truly likes the extended riding that goes with it. He isn't an attentive husband per se and he still strays from her bed, but things get better, at least with him. It's not good, but it's acceptable.

Her relationship with Faramir has obviously cooled further, though she didn't know that was possible. He remains polite but that's all, clearly distanced. He seems to hold a grudge against her and well - apparently he truly takes nobody to bed.
At least if she believes Robert, who keeps joking that Faramir is as celibate as the Kingsguard and conveniently forgets that the two of them should be more alike than they actually are. The Northerner seems to ignore all of it, and if he fumes, he does so in private. The only time Cersei notices at least a spark of agitation is when he practices with Jaime - the way he goes at her brother sometimes boarders on savage. It doesn't take her long to figure out these are the days after small council meetings.

It feels as if a year has passed already and now they launch an assault on Dragonstone after a storm has destroyed most of the Targaryen fleet anyway. The former queen has given birth to another child, they say, another dragon spawn, but then the unthinkable happens: The queen dies, but both children escape, to Braavos, supposedly, and Stannis doesn't manage to capture them. Robert is furious, of course, and for once, Cersei has to agree. That shouldn't have happened, it's another unnecessary risk.

There are rumours Jon Arryn will leave for Dorne soon, but of course, nobody tells Cersei any particulars. Therefore, it is quite surprising when Jaime approaches her one morning.

"Cersei," he rips her out of her musings. She watches as he approaches with the confident ease of a man who has never known doubt or fear about his own abilities or position. "The council is convening soon. You are supposed to attend."

"I - what?"

He shrugs. "I have no idea. Come now."

She nods, smoothing the fabric of her gown. "Of course, Jaime. Where are the others?"

As they make their way to the council chamber, Cersei can't help but wonder why Robert could order her presence, after all, he usually doesn't give a thing about her opinion. Maybe they want to blame her for not providing an heir yet, though that would be just as much her husband's as her fault.
Entering the council chamber, Cersei's eyes sweep over the gathered lords and advisors. Varys, the spymaster, hovers like a shadow in the corner, while Grand Maester Pycelle eagerly shuffles his parchments. Stannis Baratheon, ever stern and uncompromising, sits at the table with a scowl etched into his features, though notably slightly turned away from Robert who for once thrones in the middle with Arryn next to him.

But it is Faramir who catches her attention. He stands tall and composed behind the chair next to Arryn, slightly leaning forward against it. It looks effortless, as if he is just dropping by, but Cersei is sure the position is carefully chosen: The Hand has to look up at him if he doesn't want to stand up and leave the king sitting alone. He looks up when she enters and she can see he is wearing his hair open so that the dark looks are framing his face. He is clad in a cool grey tunic once again, even though he mostly sees him in greens and browns nowadays. He never makes an effort to fully fit in, never hides who he is, while Cersei ahs certainly adapted a very central-Southern way of dressing.

"Your Grace," Jon Arryn's voice breaks through her reverie.

She gives him a nod and looks at Robert.

"You requested my presence?"

It doesn't go unnoticed that while he has, there is still no chair for her. She is standing there like someone with a plea or request, and she hates the dynamic. Robert huffs.

"Jon Arryn and Stark will be leaving for Dorne in a fortnight. Stannis will be the temporary hand, despite the failure at Dragonstone," he scoffs. "Still, the position of Master of Coin is vacant. I wanted to keep it vacant and for once spend money like I see fit while this nitpicker is away," he shakes his head, "but Stark here keeps insisting it should be filled. Why on earth I do not know. Anyway, he proposed you, since apparently, you have been his biggest hassle so far and therefore are allegedly rather well-informed about the books."

Cersei's mind is reeling, firstly about this strange unexpected twist of event, then about the implications.

"So, you'll get the position, until Stark is back or you annoy me too much. Truly, I am not convinced a woman should hold any position here at all, but rather a person I know controlling the purse strings than someone I don't."

She is quiet for a moment.

"Do you have any thoughts on the matter?"

Cersei blinks, refocusing on the discussion. "It sounds like a sound plan, Lord Arryn," she replies smoothly, though she has missed most of what has been said.

Robert just waves his hand, as if he wants to get rid of a fly, and for a moment, she doesn't know what to do. Then she suddenly notices how Faramir moves back, just a couple of inches, and she takes the chance, strutting around the table with more confidence than she feels.

"Your Grace."

He pulls out the chair for her and she slides in as the meeting continues, discussions of trade, defense, and the ever-present threat of unrest. But Cersei's mind wanders, her thoughts returning to Faramir. He hasn't moved from behind her, at the same time support but also a subtle threat - this is his seat, he has put her here, he can remove her just as quickly.
What does he truly want? Does he harbor ambitions beyond what he claims? Beyond the loyalty towards his brother and his king? Where does he stand in respect to herself? She needs to find out, for the sake of her family and her future.

When the meeting finally adjourns, Faramir doesn't linger, and she is surprised about it. Indeed, she is very, very suprised about how well things go the next weeks until he is set to leave - with an additional chair at the council meetings, and not much to say, but enough opportunity to observe.
I can do this, she thinks, my training is enough.

Then, one evening, there is a knock on the door. She frowns, her maids usually attend to her much later, and Robert never wants anything of her at that time.

"Enter."

It's Jaime, and he looks halfway amused and halfway apologetic. She understands quite soon why because Faramir walks past him and Jaime leaves the two of them alone. Cersei gets up because no way she will be in the same position as Jon Arryn with him looming over her.

"A surprise. Private or professional?"
"Professional, I suppose."

His eyes meet hers across the room.

"About the council?"
"Indeed."
"Any threats?"
"I would never threaten my queen, your Grace," he answers, but it is cold, telling her he very much would, in a heartbeat, "no, rather a recommendation."

She crosses her arms in front of her body.

"So?"
"Don't do anything stupid while I am away. Like giving in to all of Robert's whims, or starting an intrigue."

He warned her once, almost like that, about not starting a war - and someone else did it anyway. She wonders whether he remembers it.

"If you fail, we both crumble."

So he has truly pushed for her to get the position, she only wonders why. What does he gain? Still, there is an unspoken understanding between them, a recognition of their shared burdens and ambitions. She will protect her position, whatever the cost.

"Maybe I'll be better than you," she argues, and almost jumps as he suddenly stands in front of her.

His eyes bear into hers as he holds onto her chin, but only with two fingers. The touch burns even though it doesn't hurt, it is not meant to hurt, her mind supplies.

"Try to undermine my position, try to take my position, try to weaken my position, and I will make sure you will never be included in any decision ever again," he tells her lowly, "and Kitten - that's indeed a threat."

He steps back, almost nonchalantly, seemingly more alive than she has him seen him in months. Her mind is still reeling, and she should call for her guards, but damn it - that's Jaime tonight, Faramir knows that, and her brother will probably just laugh. At the door, he turns around again.

"You've got a blade in your hair - you were too slow," he comments.

This change, from clear opposition to an almost friendly reminder to train gives her utter whiplash. As he leaves, she notices she has forgotten her father's advice - she has been so concentrated on pushing her own agenda against Faramir that she has disregarded the idea of cooperation.