Faramir is back and Cersei is being Cersei ... lashing out if she doesn't now what to do.

TW: PTSD, Non-Con

Disclaiemr: I neither own LOTR or GOT

Begin the Game

She certainly does enjoy her influence, her competences, her options - being part of the small council comes with perks. Sure, people talk, because women usually don't serve in that position, but she is the queen, she can do however and whatever she pleases. Her father writes her an angry letter about inappropriate behaviour, to which she only replies that she is doing it all to make her husband happy and keep the realm in order.
Tyrion sends her a letter, too, and while it is mocking, she also reads something like admiration between the lines. After debating it for a week, she actually writes a couple of lines back - in Braavosi, of course. Robert theoretically speaks High Valyrian, but practically he doesn't, in fact, Cersei has found out he isn't the smartest man after all, despite his successes as a battle commander. Apparently, his talents are more in the area of crushing skulls than using his own brain. That wouldn't be so bad, after all, Cersei ahs enough brains for the both of them, if he would just listen to her, but he doesn't. It seems the only person who ahs any kind of sway on him is Arryn, and Arryn is away.

He is careless with money, and truly, so is she, for the most part - a result of a life in which one never had to worry about it. Now that it is her responsibility though, she suddenly finds herself counting the pennies, mroe like Faramir than ever before.

With satisfaction she notices Faramir's orderly book keeping, she has the system figured out in record time - no wonder, since he works exactly the way her father taught him. It is tedious work, especially after the thrill of the newness subsides, and it is easy to see why Robert likes to slink out of the meetings rather than deal with numbers and calculations. But despite everything, Cersei pushes through, changes her daily routine. Less needlework, less empty conversation with some lady or another, instead going over finances and invoices, the occasional letter and not too few reminders to her subjects and other lords to pay their dues in return. If she wants to keep that position later, she needs to show she can work properly and carefully.
Soon, Cersei takes on an assistant to help her and fulfil the most mundane tasks, like prioritising letters and scheduling appointments.
Cerenna is a Lannister, a cousin on her mother's side, and only a girl of twelve years, but she is eager to please, loyal, and certainly not too dumb. If a boy can serve as a squire at that age, why shouldn't that girl serve as her scribe? With a boy, Cersei would probably have to put up with an attitude of knowing-it-alls at some point, but the girl is grateful and docile and doesn't question her and she likes it. It's good if things go as planned - she likes being in control, it gives her a feeling of power, but most of all, of security. The world seems just a little bit more predictable once she is surrounded by numbers. Her father is even less amused now, once Cerenna is involved, but at least he sees the advantage of more lions at court.

There are no news from Dorne, other than a short note that both Jon Arryn and Faramir have arrived at Sunspear. If she had to guess, Cersei would have said Faramir with his experience in Dorne and his easy courtly manners would have the simpler game, but he is a changed, harder man now, and the brother of the woman who somewhat started it all. Prince Oberyn is almost mad on his good days, and now probably mad with grief - rumour has it he slapped Faramir right over the face at Harrenhal, only for Rhaegar's insult. What will he do now?
They hear nothing of them for weeks, and Robert starts to get agitated. He is worried for his Hand, and worry leads to drinking more, which then leads to more brutal encounters in the bedroom. She really has enough, but she needs a son, soon. If she had one, it might cement her position, give her some leverage and continued influence - because she doesn't doubt Faramir will be back, some way or another, despite Oberyn Martell. Then he will want his position back, and despite her bravado, Cersei doesn't yet know whether she is ready for a war at court against him. Having an ally would be preferable. But there is nothing he seems to want - is there?

His absence is the perfect time to go snooping in his rooms, but it's disappointing. Clean, spacious rooms that betray no personality whatsoever, aside from the fact that he certainly still is a scholar. His personal library and office seem to be the only places that are a little bit cluttered and homey, books fill the shelves in a mosaic of patterns and materials. A thick, grey carpet lines most of the floor, and Cersei wonders whether it is meant to ressemble dirty snow. If it is - well done. She frowns. Faramir certainly needs a couple of pointers when it comes to decoration. Or, even better, a wife.
The queen circles the heavy oaken desk, organised with utensils but without any knick-knack, when she suddenly stops. A little bit further apart from the others there is a quill, a little bit bigger and certainly fine, obviously used and yet clearly taken care of - the birthday present she gave to him years ago. She hasn't thought about it in ages, but here it is.
She wonders what he thinks about when he uses it, whether he feels power or some vague affection, or whether he has forgotten it was a gift.

Well, she certainly still occasionally uses the hair pin he gave her, though mostly when she is sure she won't run into him.

Just as she wants to turn away, her eyes fall on a miniature leaned on the side, something personal after all.
It is the image of a baby, drawn in coal - a pretty child, plump, and happy. Robb Stark, she supposes, Eddard Stark's son called after the king, born while the father was still at war. Apparently, Catelyn Tully Stark had no problem conceiving and he got her pregnant in their wedding night - something Robert has still been unable to do to her, depite his ... efforts. She wonders whether Robert will insist on calling their own son Eddard - she hopes not, she doesn't like the name. Oh well, the name isn't too bad, she simply doesn't like the man. Robert, for all his faults, is at least somewhat dashing if you squint, but Eddard Stark? Goodness, no. That long face, the icy eyes and sternness, the roughness - no, thank you. She has to admit, Faramir has turned out to be far more handsome, who would have thought. Different from Brandon, but certainly not bad. She wonders whether it is the newly-acquired sternness she finds attractive, or whether he simply grew into his body and remains attractive despite the hard lines in his face.
But it doesn't matter - for her childen, she wants a Lannister name, as close to 'Jaime' as possible. Jared, perhaps, and Jeyne for a girl.

Her moonblood has always come irregularlaly, so she doesn't notices at first, and with her job and all the business she has no time to worry anyway. Only when Robert one night makes an offhanded remark about her breasts, she starts to wonder - has she really changed that much?
She consults a maester, who sends her to Grandmaester Pycelle, unfortunately, who probs at her with his spidery slippery fingers and then declares her pregnant.
The family is overjoyed, of course, but straight away also tries to remove her from her position. Cersei won't have it though, not until Arryn and Faramir return. After a lot of screaming and arguing, the rest of the council finally relents. She can stay on, for now, as long as she can fulfil her duties.

Great, now she has to squeeze in appointments and calculations between bouts of morning sickness, but that's better than the alternative. Jaime is helpless, can't do anything, despite calling for several different midwifes who give her drinks and powders. Some help, some don't.
Robert doesn't visit her bed anymore, at elast, she doesn't know whether he is afraid to hurt the baby or whether he thinks her pregnancy is unattractive. Cersei can only imagine where he is going and it fills her with no little amount of bitterness. Here she is, growing his heir, multiplying his wealth, and he does - what?
Then, Jon Arryn returns, and she has to grit her teeth even more. The man is conservative to her fault, like her father, and while she ahs to admite he has honour in spades, that doesn't help her at all while he marginalizes her more and more.

Faramir is still in Dorne, he says, apparently at Sunspear, or something like that. While they ahd been extensively questioned by Doran Martell who seems to at least buy the story of Gregor Clegane's and Amory Lorch's singular actions, Oberyn Martell is apparently still fuming, and his anger seems to be directed mainly at Faramir.
Faramir, in return, apparently didn't back down and wouldn't stand for the slander of his family, which led to a couple of ugly confrontations which led to brooding and resentment. At some point, the Ruling Prince of Dorne wouldn't have it anymore, kicked both out and literally sent them into the mountains to sort out their stuff one way or another.
Why Faramir, a Stark of the North, obeyed to Southern commands is a mystery to all of them, but Cersei has a couple of suspicions - he lived in Dorne for a time, he might think it is the smartest way to improve relations, and there is still the matter of Ashara.

When he returns, it is quietly, without any fuss.
When Cerenna knocks at the door to her own private solar which has been somewhat transformed into an office, the girl's eyes are wide. Cersei frowns. While her cousin is still annoyingly skittish for a Lannister, it usually takes a drunk Robert to put that look on her face.

"The - uhm," she stops, "Faramir Stark, my queen."

Cersei pushes herself up a little bit, cursing the backpain that has been crippling her all day. Why now? But he already enters, and Cersei frowns. He walks in as if he owns the place, with more confidence than she ahs ever seen on him. The man is dressed in a green tunic and his boots are full of cracked mud, as if he just arrived. The hair has become longer and he is unshaved, which makes him look older than his twenty years, but also rather rugged. He bows.

"My queen."
"Stark."

She dismisses Cerenna with a flick of her hand.

"I was wondering whetehr you were still alive, or whether Martell killed you in the meantime."
"Truly, I am sorry to disappoint you. He didn't. Tried a couple of times. I believe we are friends now."

Faramir seems utterly serious.

"You look as if you just came from the road."
"My queen is most astute," he answers, "I did. But I shall make myself presentable before meeting the king."
"And your queen wasn't worth the effort?"

He raises an eyebrow.

"I assumed my queen would appreciate being informed before the rest of the council, given her position."

He certainly isn't wrong, but she won't tell him that.

"I would have thought you'd search for my brother first."
"As I said, my queen is most astute. Indeed, I've already seen Jaime."

The way he says his name... maybe loving this stupid man is the only thing the two of them will ever agree on.

"I also give you and the king my sincere congratulations," Faramir goes on, "how are you doing?"

Cersei frowns.

"I am very much able to do my duties. And I am sure I will bear the king a healthy heir."
"That's not what I asked. How are you feeling?"

His eyes soften slightly, and she thinks he really might just be wondering about her state of health.

"Why would you bother?"

She notices they are not really on a queen-subject level anymore. Instead, they are bickering like the foster siblings they once were. She should stop that, but Faramir sighs and rubs the bridge of his nose, he suddenly looks so tired.

"Because I care about it, for many different reasons. Is it so strange to care about someone one shared a home with for a time? But pick another reason. The realm, you brother, even your father."

It is strange to hear him call Casterly his home, but she supposes he is right. She only nods courtly.

"It's alright."

He obviously doesn't believe her, but also doesn't push.

"Well, I will pay my respects to the king, then. I'll see you tomorrow."

He cuts her off before she can say anything else and leaves the room. Damn it, now she needs a plan, and quickly.
As it turns out, all of her ideas are futile, since he finds her after breakfast, before the small council can meet, insisting to go over the accounts. He seems impressed by her structure and work and she is just a little bit smug - until Arryn and Robert straight up remove her from her position two hours later. They don't seem much happier with Faramir, but his return forces their hand if they do not want to insult the North.
Now, in bright day light, she can see his skin has bronzed again, while his hair has bleached in the Dornish sun, the black now a sort of chestnut. He taps his chin, now cleanly shaven. He almost looks like his true age again, only his eyes till don't.

"After her excellent work, I would suggest to have the queen remain as part of the council, as a representative for King's Landing. There are too many issues, petty but important things, that simply take to much of my time. And to revive the city to all its splendour, it might need a ... feminine touch."

There is murmuring, but Robert finally agrees, probably just so that the meeting can end. In his mind, the city runs itself, and Cersei doesn't really show yet, so he usually forgets she's pregnant anyway.
But Cersei doesn't, so when she barges into Faramir's room later, it is not as impressive as it usually would be - still he looks up from his writing, but doesn't get up. His eyes flicker to the dagger on her belt though and whatever liveliness was in them totally shuts down.

"My queen?"
"What do you want?"

He doesn't toy with her, for once.

"For you to stay out of my rooms when I am not here. That would be a start. Your cooperation. Honesty. Preferably not to have to sleep with a dagger under my pillow in fear of your wrath."

She sighs, then pulls the dagger from her belt. When she throws it, it lands in the table, right where she wants it, in front of his face. He doesn't flinch, if anything, he might even look a little bit appreciative.

"You told me to play the game. Now I am playing the game. Play it with me."

He finally gets up from his chair and casually pulls the dagger from the wood. Cersei can see his muscles flex where he has rolled up his sleeves, tanned and full of cuts and scars and other sorts of marks - a bowman. When he stalks towards her, suddenly she doesn't feel like a lioness but rather like the prey. His eyes hold her captive, and suddenly she is reminded that this is a man who spent a considerable time in Dorne and -
Almost casually he twirls a strand of her hair around his fingers, not enough to pull, more a tease. She wonders whether she imagines the dark twinkle in his eyes, because it's a far cry from both his tenderness and the icyness she has gotten used to. But he already steps back and holds out her dagger - his dagger - towards her.

"Kitten, I thought you'd never ask."

A little bit shorter - but there will be another chapter to wrap up the whole thing.