TW: domestic violence, alcohol abuse, trauma, bad coping mechanisms
sexual content (but I guess M, not E), non-con implied (but not the main ship), neither safe nor sane but they arebpretty consensual, infidelity

Error of Judgement

It's a mistake, he knows before.

It's a mistake. He knows while it is happening.

It's a mistake, he knows right afterwards.

But - but Cersei. Damn it. Damn her. Damn green sparkling eyes and long golden hair and her vicious tongue and her sharp mind.

Damn Tywin, his order to look after her and the subsequent attention he paid her. Damn their strange relationship as not quite enemies and certainly not friends.

Damn loneliness and frustration and fury. Damn that war and damn the ending and damn what has become of all of them. Damn Robert.

Most of all, damn the alcohol, and himself for drinking too much.
If he is honest with himself, though, he knows he is far too lucid to truly blame it on that.

~ 0 ~

It all starts soon after the prince is born, while Cersei is struggling to juggle her new responsibilities with her existing job. Maybe he pushes her too hard, but he truly means well, has tried to give her an opening to retain her position. She takes it, of course, because Cersei Lannister (he refuses to call her Baratheon in his mind and doesn't want to examine why) never backs down. She is diligent, always busy, sometimes working alongside and sometimes working against him.

Apparently, all of his (marital) advice hasn't quite helped because while Cersei and Robert do not seem to openly loathe each other, they certainly aren't friends either. The man is an idiot, in Faramir's opinion, because there he is, with a queen who knows how to run a kingdom, and all he does is belittle her and give her scraps of power. Maybe Faramir should feel honoured and gratified given the fact that the king is apparently still mourning his sister, but given that said mourning goes along with whoring, the gratefulness is rather restricted.

Sure, the queen is also a difficult annoying chit with many opinions and a fierce temper, but things could go a lot smoother if Robert were to behave differently and aggravate her less - which would then benefit everyone else, including his own nerves. Because truly, each time the couple fights Cersei becomes extra bitchy and that makes their budget discussions a lot more difficult. Money and Lannisters are tricky issues on good days and on bad days - yeah, he knows why he is sometimes still tempted to just drink the trouble away.

Just like right now, when he is caught between pacing her office (it hasn't been a solar in far too long to call it anything else) or slamming a hand onto her desk. This desk is currently the only dividing line between the two of them and their boiling anger. It started with something small, really, and has escalated over the last half an hour. He comes to a stop, and like the cat she is, Cersei, who has been leaning back in her chair until now in a subtle show of arrogance, suddenly snaps forward to lean on her forearms.

She is impeccably dressed and styled, her sort of armour, and yet in that moment, she seems just a tad feral. He notices she has lost all of the extra weight she had gained during the pregnancy again and he thinks it's concerning - it either is a sign for stress or for a deliberate restriction, and both things can't be good, especially while she is still nursing a baby. Truth be told, he probably doesn't look much better, though at least he has dropped the habit of running a hand through his raven-black hair and messing it up. No, instead, he only rubs the bridge of his nose where a headache starts to form - again. That woman is certainly not good for his health, and he needs a drink. Another drink. Because -

"Stark, what in the seven hells is wrong with you?" she hisses.

He blinks, but otherwise doesn't give her a reaction, because what can he say? She should know. Many have been tense these last few days - it just has been four years since Rhaegar abducted Lyanna.

Well, or rather, four years since she ran, a war started, many people died, and his love and most likely mother of his son died in his arms. Overall, there are still so many feelings in him that he doesn't know how to deal with. A lot of rage, with both Lya and Rhaegar, pain, desperation, regrets. Deep, bottomless sadness for everything that came after the initiat bang, locked away tightly most days, but now threatening to drown him. What is he doing here, Master of Coin, for a new king who simply disposed of the former, a man maybe not mad but clearly unwilling to rule?
All this is not what he wanted, despite the power he now holds, the influence, the fact that he has found something he is really, really good at. He feels afloat, without purpose, but also with too much of it to give it up. It's a wheel, spinning and spinning.

These nights, he even understands Robert and his continuous escapades.

He should talk to Jaime, but Jaime has his own burdens to carry, and he won't add to that - because his golden brother would try to help, despite his calculated or not so calculated arrogance.
So wine it is, even though most days he has rather cut out the drink because unfortunately he had to admit Cersei was right - he had been drinking too much. Most of all, he sometimes sees the bruises on Cersei, and he knows it is not his business, but he simply wants to be better than Robert. Call it misguided pride, but at least it keeps him sober - most days.

Not today, though, but who cares - nobody but Cersei, who had to pick today to have a go at him for one thing or another. Called him into her office, started to berate him - while he knows that she is, in fact, his queen and fully in her right to do so, a small part of him rebels against it. It is a stupid, reckless, proud part, maybe a bit of wolfsblood, maybe a bit of learnt Lannister pride. It makes him snap, made him fight, and yet, suddenly, the thought strikes him again.

What am I doing here?

His shoulders slump a little.

"Not today, Cersei. Just - not today," he tells her.

She seems confused at the retreat, then a little bit shocked, appalled, then insecure. Then, a look of determination crosses over her face. With four steps, she is suddenly out of her chair and in front of him and slaps him across the face. It's hard and well-placed and actually hurts,though thankfully she used her hand without the gaudy tasteless ring. Oberyn's scar is enough he doesn't need another. Which makes him wonder - why do people always slap him in the face?

"Bloody hells! The Others get you, woman!" he calls out, not bothering anymore whether she is his queen or a tavern wench.

She just raises an eyebrow, the image of mocking.

"Are you done?"

"Done with what?"

"Done with pitying yourself. Done with being just a shell of the man you were. You called me furious, and Gods I am, but so are you!"

She is riling him up, deliberately, and he can feel it. Each of her words hit the target, like her knives, but it is almost kathartic. He thought he needed to numb these feelings to get through, but maybe he needed someone to rage against? He has never truly shown his anger after the one time he screamed at Tywin and during the practice fights with Jaime, cloaks it in sternness and and covers it with an icy shield. Maybe he even tells himself sometiems it's gone, but it isn't. If anything, Cersei is the perfect target.

"I am," he tells her slowly, "truly."

He has trained her, and she has become good, but he is still a warrior, and she isn't, so she only realizes he is slowly crowding her against the table when it is already too late. Every escape route is blocked by his body, even though he isn't quite touching her. Yes, he wants to hurt her, and still, he doesn't, truthfully. He's not Robert, and he doesn't know whether she has hidden any marks under her dress and the long billowy sleeves that he could trigger.

Cersei seems vaguely annoyed at the change of position, but her eyes dart around, she is already trying for an escape route. She's determined and certainly not afraid, at least not of him. No, he realizes that woman is betting everything on the card that he won't hurt her, no matter how hard she pushes. It is either a testament to his character or to her confidence as queen. Or both.

When she notices that she is truly stuck, her eyes slowly travel up his body until they stop at his face. They aren't doe-like. They aren't wide and blown - they are rather a bit pinched in the corners, narrowed in slowly expanding fury and thought, most likely a mirror of his own. Then, something shifts. For a moment, it seems almost like satisfaction, which is strange, but then they start to glint with something else.

It's dark, and yet it's bright, like the blade of a dagger in the moonlight. He thinks it's seduction or the beginning of it. After all, he isn't stupid. When she leans back a little, just enough to make her chest push up, he knows that yes, this certainly is. She is trying to change the game, though Faramir isn't quite sure why.

He should simply leave and let her be, let her gape as he retreats, but he is indeed riled up now and he wants to be distracted, and she is right here and offering that. In fact, whatever that is, it has been simmering for far too long, in taunts and fights and looks and japes. No, he wants to beat her at her own game, that queen, knock her down a notch, just a little.

He later, much later, will also admit that he wants her specifically, for several reasons. She's what the Dornish call a forbidden fruit, and allegedly forbidden fruits always taste the sweetest. It's also dangerous and ridiculous and both of these feelings somewhat cut through the coldness that he has surrounded himself with. She's also Robert's and Robert has been mocking him and his distance towards woman for so long that playing with his own wife feels like another way to secretly beat him. And lastly, she's simply stunningly beautiful.

So, he leans forward on the hands he has placed on the sides of her body, just a little, but enough for her to notice. Her lips quirk a bit as she understands his intentions, and her eyes never leave his face.

"And now you want to hurt me?"

She wants to throw him off foot with that insult. He knows, and truthfully, she does. He leans back, and the only thing that stops him from leaving is the look of victory on her face. So, he gently traces her jaw from her ear to her chin, almost as he did once before. He pretends he doesn't notices how she tenses, though he thinks it's from keeping herself from leaning in.

"No, Kitten," he humms, his voice even, though it costs him a lot of effort, "I told you once, I have no intention of hurting you. But I won't let you hurt me either." He taps her nose once, almost playful, which truly surprises her. "And I don't make idle threats."

"I'm still your queen," she argues.

One of her hands is at the back of his neck and he can feel her nails, somewhat familiar. He just raises an eyebrow and traces her jaw again.

"That is indeed true, my queen."

There is some teasing in the title and she certainly knows, since the pressure on his neck increases.

" - though I believe right now you are rather a cat once again."

Something dark flickers in her eyes, and then her lips are so close to his, lush and enticing and dangerous. He can smell her perfume, something flowery, and feel her body against his, and Gods he so wants to kiss her.

"This can't happen," he tries in a last attempt of sanity.

Cersei humms.

"I do believe it can happen on this desk, in fact."

"Robert -"

She scoffs. "Is at least two floors and probably three wenches away."

They meet in the middle, and it's softer than he had expected, less furious, but it's deep and addicting and she tastes like Arbor Red, just like him. Suddenly, she pulls back.

"Do you think of her when you kiss me?"

For a moment, his mind is reeling until he gets her meaning, and then he has to laugh because just the thought of thinking of Ashara while kissing Cersei is ridiculous. She slaps him again just as he shakes his head, and this is truly getting old, people slapping him, but then she is kissing him again, furiously now. Her hands cradle his cheeks, then wander over his shoulder, over the tunic while he wraps his arms around her. She'll tell him if he hurts her, he's sure of it now. Faramir shifts a bit and now is pushing her against her desk and well, didn't she say something about that?

He lifts her up and sets her down on the edge while he kisses down her neck towards the wide cleavage of her dress. Her chest is heaving, but he takes his time to draw up her skirts so he can pull her closer. While he is quite certain she wants something, he isn't certain what exactly, and he will be damned if he does anything a lady doesn't want. His hands are slowly sweeping all over her body, and he can feel the oh-so-mighty queen is becoming putty in his hands.

"What do you want?" he finally asks, but doesn't get an answer.

He starts to pull away, but she won't have any of it, holds onto him and kisses him with lots of enthusiasm, and he thinks that maybe she simply doesn't know. Faramir is aware of her dallying with Jaime, but he thinks they didn't fuck, and if Robert is all she knows - well, no wonder. Something like determination fills him, another feeling that messes with his brain, and he kisses down her body until he is kneeling in front of her. Truly, he is certain she enjoys the position, but also that she enjoys even more all the things Dorne taught him. When he looks up, he can see she is biting her lip while her head is falling back and the hair is cascading down in a shining golden river and it's almost etheral.

Cersei is wide eyed when he stands up again, certainly taken aback, and yes, he is smug that he made her speechless for once. But she shakes out of it quickly and he can feel her fingers on the lacing of his trousers.

"Just make it good," she tells him, a mixture between order and plea and Faramir loves a good challenge.

He thinks he does, at least he hears no complains, and is incredibly happy Cersei is breastfeeding her baby, lest they really really could get into trouble for that, despite his own caution. She leans against him afterwards, her forhead against his shoulder, just for a moment. It feels strangely peaceful. They kiss once again, deeply, far too softly, almost absentmindedly, before the shutters come down again and they are frenemies once more.

~ 0 ~

The strange thing is, nothing changes. Nothing happens, they bicker like before, never cross that line again, and overall pretend it didn't happen. He isn't quite sure why, probably because it's too risky, especially since Cersei isn't breastfeeding anymore and an affair in general comes with organisational issues. Then again, he already has a son (supposedly), he has to deal with that somehow, he doesn't need more trouble. Allyria reports about Ellard from time to time, he's now about three and a bit years old, and Faramir finds he regrets not knowing the child. The feeling intensifies when he hears about the birth of Sansa Stark, Ned's daughter, a trueborn daughter of Winterfell, exactly where she should be. Apparently, she has the Tully colouring, just like her brother, which makes Faramir marvel once again about how Ellard will look like when he is older.

Oberyn writes about his paramour, Ellaria, who is also pregnant, and wonders whether it will be a girl to add to the four little vipers he has already claimed. It seems almost hopeful, as if he were to hope for another Sand Snake instead of a boy. He also urges the Master of Coin to figure something out about his own boy - apparently, in his mind, there is no question about the parentage. How he knows about it is a mystery to Faramir, but he supposes as the acting Lord of Sandspear he is well-informed about everything that happens in the South. It is then that he is very glad the man has become a friend of sorts instead of an enemy.

He would love Tyrion at court with Jaime and him, though, but Tywin denies is requests, however they are phrased. It is a pity and a shame and a waste of talent.

~ 0 ~

Then, something alarming happens: The queen starts to pale, almost as if she were wasting away, not unlike her mother when she got sick. Of course, he is concerned, like everyone, but after a violent bout of nausea for a couple of days she seems to be fine again. Well, it's not surprising, they say, after all half of the castle was sick after a couple of barrels of water had gone awry, him included. And yet ...

Finally, after a couple of more months of irritation and exhaustion, the king sends her away to the seaside to "get away from the stench of the city". A sound plan and an option to visit Casterly, in theory, Faramir thinks. He is taken aback when Robert prohibits it, apparently scared she will cosy up too much to her father. So the small keep of a minor lord of the Crownlands it is, maybe also a small dig at her pride. Jaime goes with her, and somehow Faramir is relieved the queen won't be alone, even though he misses him painfully.

They don't hear much for the longest time, which is confusing and still isn't, because she is only supposed to relax and do nothing else. Jaime won't write anyway if there is nothing major to tell, so he assumes everything is going the way it should.

It is only during these months that Faramir notices how much she had been doing, now that he has to do it all himself again, but at least she has left Cerenna with him. The girl is clearly weary of him but actually quite nice, and he has her do the same stuff she did for Cersei. He likes to think they get on in some way, or that at least she doesn't despise him.

They finally receive the news - Cersei is coming back. He comes to greet them in the front of the keep (like everyone else), but she won't even look at him. Not surprising, though what really gives him pause is Jaime's coldness. He has no idea what could have happened, and therefore is utterly unprepared when the golden knight draws him into a quiet corner of the a courtyard and starts to beat the shit out of him. This is serious, Faramir notices, Jaime is out for blood, and he has no idea why. But - but it reminds him of Robert when he went at Rhaegar, or Oberyn when they finally fought in Dorne about their sisters, and since Tyrion is supposedly safe, there is only one person who could make him react like that. This is about Cersei - though what it is, he still doesn't know. So he blocks and hopes he doesn't get butchered before the Lannister son talks.

"You fucked her," he finally hisses, only faint over the sound of leather and leather. "You fucked her even though you already have a son with another woman!"

Oh, yes. That. Well, he can't deny that now, can he. Why on earth Cersei told Jaime though he can't imagine.

"These things had nothing to do with each other."

"And your children? What about them?"

Faramir startles, long enough for Jaime to hit him in the sternum. He tumbles back.

"My what?"

Jaime steps closer so they are only inches apart. Faramir's back hits the wall. He can't escape the fury anymore.

"My sister. My sister was with child, and when it was born, it had grey wintery eyes with just a tinge of green if you look right and wavy ebony hair. In fact, she ressembles a lot another boy I have seen in Dorne, the same longer chin and quite similar lips. Both yours. And I thought you were better than Robert!"

Faramir flinched as if he has been hit.

"That's not possible."

"That's what Cersei said, too. Denied it almost until the end. Hardly showed, but the stress made her have the baby early."

He swallows. "What happened?"

"She had the child while we were away. Robert's, as far as the midwife knows, a child which then died soon afterwards. Cersei told the woman that as a queen, she didn't want that any story was told, so she paid the midwife to keep quiet about the pregnancy and sent the woman to Essos. She most gratefully accepted."

Faramir swallows again. Everything is spinning, he has no idea how to feel.

"So the child is dead?"

"Did you fuck my sister?

Faramir clenches his jaw - he gets it. Jaime knows, Cersei likely told him, but he needs that confession. He would have beaten it out of Rhaegar, too.

"I did. Once. But she asked me to and I wanted to - there was no force. She... I never would want anything to happen to her."

Jaime frowns, but nods courtly. Apparently that's good enough. Faramir doesn't understand how it can be - until Jaime sets his world on fire.

"The child still lives hidden in the countryside. She is small, looks still quite like a newborm, but chances are she will survive. Cersei wants nothing to do with her though and she certainly can't pass her off as Robert's because she and Robert - well, no chance it's his. She says that mistake should be cast aside to an appropriate but forgettable position and left there. However, I am of a different opinion than my sweet sister, and I have to say, I agree with the Dornish customs, for once. My niece deserves better. So, since the Daynes told you what is going to happen with the Dayne Wolf, representing the Lannisters, I am going to tell you what's going to happen to her." He waits, as if he expects Faramir to complain. When he doesn't, he goes on. "You will claim her and raise her, no matter what my sister says or does. She will have the life of a lady in everything but name, I don't care how, make it happen, and -" he stops, and he can see he has thought long and hard about this, "she will know her brother. Her Dornish brother."

Faramir takes in a big breath - that is not what he expected when he woke up this morning. But he nods. Truly, what else is he going to do? No Stark would ever shrink from the responsibility. He trusts Jaime - he can see Cersei lying about something like this but not Jaime, and that's what's so scary.

"I still need to talk to her, though."

~ 0 ~

It goes as well as predicted, with a lot of hissed barbs and blame and finally the confirmation that yes, the girl is supposedly his daughter. Allegedly - once again - but if she had been with Robert, why would she lie? Cersei needs another child, a spare to her heir, so getting rid of any child needs a very good reason. If she had been with someone else - well, he's the only Stark in her area, so if it looks like a Stark, it's really most likely his.

"Keep her out of my way," Cersei finally hisses. When it is clear there is nothing she can say to dishearten Faramir from claiming the girl.

Of course, she has other options as a queen, but he supposes she isn't that far gone yet. At least he hopes so. Still, he looks at her seriously, because Cersei is Cersei and unpredictable.

"If you ever, ever, only think about hurting her, I will destroy you. And I don't care what I will burn in the way. Are we clear?"

He doesn't even know the girl yet, and yet he knows he will. Cersei seems to understand since she says nothing anymore.

When the child arrives, in the arms of another wet nurse, allegedly the child of a noble woman, a former lover of Faramir's, a lot of things make sense. The girl looks so much like a Stark, it's eerie. No way Cersei could ever pass her off as Robert's child, he thinks.
She seems to be sleeping and when the woman hands him the bundle, far smaller than Ellard, he is so afraid to hurt her he barely dares to hold on. But then, the girl, his daughter, opens her eyes. They lock on his, and suddenly, for the first time in years, he feels at peace. She's his now, he thinks, no matter what, his little gem.

"What's her name?" he asks the nurse, belatedly because he has been so fascinated by that little being.

The woman looks confused.

"She doesn't have one. Nobody gave one to her."

For a moment, Faramir is stunned, then appalled. What mother is so callous not even to give her child a name before throwing her away? It is then that he decides he needs to find something special because no matter what she has done, no child of Cersei will ever be average.