A much-needed tourney, some fluff, some conversation.

Let me know what you think!

Winterfell

Ellard and Elwing enjoy Winterfell very much, well, especially Ellard does, which probably has to do with the fact that he instantly bonds with Robb Stark. Birdy matches Sansa and another girl called Jeyne in age and seems to thrive in the bigger castle, though Cersei can read between the lines: For her, the other girls are good company, but a little bit childish and dull, the ones she is truly interested in is her brother and Robb, if only since she can outride any of the others. Does Cersei gloat because her own daughter is quicker and smarter - a little, maybe.

On the other hand, Catelyn Tully focuses far more on a lady-like education, something Cersei would surely have started but never really came around to organising. It's quite shameful, she is aware, and she hopes her father will never hear of her shortcomings as mother. Now though, she is smarter, so Bryn and Ari learn needlework and knitting and everything else a lady must know under the careful tutelage of Cerenna. No need to employ a sullen septa if a perfectly educated noble lady who loves teaching "her girls" is right here.
Ari hates all these things though, absolutely, she'd much rather run after her father or the other household knights when they train. How many dresses has she ripped? Cersei doesn't want to know.

Cersei would really like to visit Winterfell, but things always seem to happen: First, she has a baby, then, she's pregnant again and then, Goldy is too young to be left behind, so it's Faramir who rides North to check on the children or the children come South, at least once a year. Winterfell remains just a name, though she is very aware it probably is far less magical than anyone will have her believe.

When Faramir comes back for the first time, back from Winterfell, back to theirownkeep, and back to their bed, he keeps holding her much longer than necessary. She doesn't know what triggered it, but there is almost a kind of desperation to it, and it's unsettling. She tries to make out his face, but it's difficult in the darkness, so she settles for tracing the lines of his cheekbones, his nose, his lips.

"I'm sorry," he tells her, not just a murmur, but proper words, right to her face "for leaving you."

She thinks he doesn't mean the trip to Winterfell. In any case, she nods.

"I forgive you. This time."

Maybe he's smiling, she hopes he is, as she burrows against him.

Nobody is surprised that Ellard becomes good-looking, given the parents. His eyes seem truly purple in evening light now, but they are deep, not laughing like his mother's. Calm, serious, but - at least for now - without his father's dangerous sparkle. Also not icy. Just something that is completely his own. She can't hate him, she has found. He is not her son, but he is part of whatever messy group they are. Therefore, by extension, he is hers to protect.
If one were to ask her, she would have ten reasons why keeping him close is strategically smart, but the truth is also, it is the only thing that feels right. Cersei wouldn't say they are close, but not opposed either. Somehow she dreads the day they will be closer than her and Joffrey, and she doesn't know why. Maybe because it will only prove how much her perfect boy is out of her grasp.

It strikes Cersei how beautiful her oldest daughter has become. Birdy looks like Lyanna Stark, everyone says so, and it makes her beloved and respected without her having to do a thing. She bats her eyelashes and everyone swoons and that girl is very much aware of it. Cersei is jealous of this easy acceptance, of course, but then she sometimes also pities her daughter, because these shoes are impossible to fill. To make matters mroe complicated, there is also a lot of pride in the mix, because look, shemade that child.
Sometimes she wonders what Faramir sees when he looks at his little favourite, but she never asks.

~ o~

Finally, in 294, the whole family rides North since the Starks have decided to host a tournament. It's the perfect timing for the Starks of Moat Cailin to sell some of their horses to the other wealthy families, and it's probably the only reason why Faramir will participate both in the archery competition and in the jousting.
He has very good chances for the first ones, she knows, but the second one worries her. So much can happen, and while she knows he has only improved his riding skills over the years of training young prickly horses, she'd rather he doesn't take risks. But they need the money, so so urgently, it's not as if they have much of a choice. They aren't in debt yet, but there is not much left for a coming winter, despite all good planning. Building a castle isn't cheap, even if you don't hold a huge court.

Elwing doesn't even wait for Faramir to really get off his horse as they finally ride into the courtyard of Winterfell, as soon as his boots touch the ground she is in his arms, suddenly not grown-up at all, but just a little 8-year-old girl who has missed her father. Ellard tries to play it cool, but when Faramir pulls him into a hug as well, he visibly melts.
It is only then that the Lord of Moat Cailin actually acknowledges his brother - his own close family comes first, and he very clearly shows it. The demonstration leaves a strange fuzzy feeling in her belly, that only improves when the two children greet her. They are less effusive, but they actually seem happy to see her, which, well, frankly, not a lot of people are. Generally, people are rather vary of her, but somehow the children never learnt that caution.
The rest of the Starks are courteous and she finds Robb Stark to be impeccably educated and polite, while Sansa is truly delightful. She is sweet, a little dove, maybe a bit naive. Her own daughter is less of an airhead, more of a realist. Not cruel, but less gentle.

Cersei has never liked Lord Stark, and it's unlikely she ever truly will. He is icy, proud, so rigidly loftily honourable and unpragmatic, but Faramir hasn't lied, he is affectionate with his children and she assumes with her own as well, if only out of propriety. He also is very much in love with his wife and they seem strangely happy. Yes, Winterfell is a happy place, and it feels much like Moat Cailin - which would mean that Moat Cailin has become a somewhat happy place as well, and that is maybe the biggest surprise of all.

Catelyn Tully Stark is not a vain woman, she finds, and she can respect that - Cersei still is, though. Nevertheless, her dresses have become more practical, or she wears breeches if she is dealing with the horses. It struck her as too odd and inappropirate, at first, but then the benefits just outweighted her shame. Tonight for the opening banquet though she has gone all out, she is dressed in Stark-grey with red laces and white fur trim, all of her daughters dressed somewhat matchingly. Grey - white - red: They are the Starks of Moat Cailin, and maybe for the first time she feels like flaunting it a bit.

The hall is full, there is dancing and she can see both Robb and Ellard dance (or rather, try to dance) with a pretty girl who must be Alys Karstark. She can also see a young, dark-haired girl chatter excitedly with Bryn and Ari and thinks to herself that nothing good can come of this.

"Getting into trouble, they will," someone suddenly comments next to her.

It's a woman, she seems rough around the edges, and is wearing what appears to be hunting garb. Not exactly proper attire, but nothing is ever proper in the North.

"Lady Mormont?"
"Lady Stark," she nods, "or Lannister, is it now?"

It's a challenge, and Cersei nods courtly.

"Both are appropriate, I suppose. And that girl is yours, I suppose, too?"
"Girl? Oh yes, my youngest. Lyanna. Around the same age as yours. Well, your husband's," she shrugs, obviously not caring one way or another.
"You are right," Cersei confirms, "and they will get into trouble. You better check your shoes and bags for spiders and frogs later."
"Thank you, I will." She nods to herself. "A bunch of fine lads and lasses you have, Lady Stark."

Cersei thinks that Lady Mormont certainly doesn't know what comments are wise in polite company, or she simply doesn't care one bit. Still, somehow the frank words are appreciated because they seem honest - and after all, she has a bunch of very fine children, if she says so herself.

They keep chatting, mostly about the trouble girls can cause, and she finds herself relax, if only a little bit. Suddenly, Cersei sees her opposite stiffen for a moment. She has been hunting with Faramir often enough to know these things, and when she follows the look, she can just see who must be Maege's oldest daughter disappear around a corner. Nothing unusual, she thinks, but at a second glance, she realises Cerenna is just disappearing through another door. It might be connected or might not, given the reaction, it probably is, though.
She gives a short shrug - if that's what her handmaid feels like doing, who is she to blame. The she-bear huffs.

"I think I'll like you more than I thought. In time."

~ o ~

Faramir asks her for a dance, too, and it's fun, a bigger orchestra than they usually have at home and they spin and spin and she thinks he doesn't want to let go of her. But he does and she dances with Lord Eddard Stark, who is certainly not bad at it but a lot less graceful, while her husband asks Lady Tully Stark. Even though she might not feel like it, Cersei gives her attention to a couple of bannermen, while Faramir is being his courtly charming self among the gathered people. It's almost as if they are back in King's Landing, ruling the council together and managing the crowd, but it feels realer. It feels less dangerous.

There are separate bedrooms for the children, but Faramir and herself share one. They both are already a little bit drunk on agreeable ale and the very good Arbor Red as they stumble into bed in a room that is so nice and cosy and warm and for once in a castle that is not their responsibility. Until tomorrow, nobody will come to them with their issues, the only ones they have to look out for are the children. She feels light, despite their general worries, and giggly and stupid.
This is why her kisses are butterflies and her hands are soft and why he is leaning into her touches and nuzzling her neck. Why everything turns into what feels like sun on leaves instead of cinders and fire. Why she can't seem to stop smiling even though he can't seem to get his lips off hers and still tries to tell her to stop because it makes it hard to kiss her. He doesn't sound serious anyway.
This is why she later pops up her chin on her hand and looks down on him, though her stare must be rather less intimidating given how messed up and flushed she is now.

"Let's make a deal."
"Uhum. What?"

He sounds funny, too, but also careful.

"You're good at gambling, aren't you? So, if you win tomorrow - then we'll have another child."

He chortles.

"I think that's not how that works. I think I am supposed to get a trophy, not you."

There are a lot of things she could say about that, but instead she only asks: "You don't want another?"

It's an honest, serious question. A necessary one, after the last pregnancy.
He pushes her hair back from her eyes. His hand remains at the nape of her neck. It's warm and gentle and she can feel his thumb draw small cricles across her skin.

"I told you. I wantyoumore than muchmore."

She pouts and he laughs and maybe they are really a little bit more drunk than they thought. He sighs theatrically. Then he becomes serious once more.

"I will be happy about any child. And if it's what you really want, then yes. But I don't ... I never want you to feel like that is what I married you for because it obviously is not. And there are six already, which means six opportunities for us to disagree. I -"

He rubs the bridge of his nose, like he always does when he is thinking, or exasperated.

"I don't want to lose you. I don't want anything to happen to you. But I also - I don't want to lose you asmy partner. As my wife. And I - it makes me a fool but I am afraid."

Cersei is sure he would have never confessed these things if he wasn't half drunk, but she doesn't doubt he means it. She can also see the logic. She can see a lot of things, and she hopes she will forget most of them once the alcohol is out of her system.

And she knows him well, so the next time she kisses him, she cups his cheek and whispers "please" against his lips, until she can feel the start of a smirk.

"Aren't you a manipulative vixen," he tells her lowly, while his hands trace her shoulders. But he knows her, too, so he knows just what to do to make her gasp and almost forget what she wanted in the first place. Suddenly, he stops. Cersei whines, she can't help it, and he chuckles, just dangerously enough to rile her up further, and fondly enough to make her chest feel tight.
"But since I am indeed a good gambler, let me tell you my assessment - I will probably win archery, so that's a safe bet for you and a loss for me, assuming I don't want another child right now. So, why not make it more exciting:IfI win the jousting, you stop taking moon tea and we see what happens? How does that sound?" he proposes.
"Unfair!"
"Take it or leave it, Kitten!"

He traces her lips, the bridge of her nose, her forhead. She snorts but it's the best she will get, so she agrees.

~ o ~

They awake with the buzzing of the courtyard, not used to being idle, but instead of getting up and leaving, Faramir pulls her back into his arms.

"This is not our problem today," he murmurs against her hair, a little bit drowsy and sweet and sleepy and she cannot help but agree.

After breakfast, she is surprised to receive an invitation by Lady Stark. She suspects it will be a ladies' meeting for all the higher-ranking ladies of the North, but in fact its only the two of them in Lady Stark's red-haired woman rises as Cersei enters, her smile is kind, soft, but guarded.

"Lady Stark," the blondw woman greets.
"Catelyn, please," she answers," it seems odd if we keep addressing each other by the same name."
"No, you're right, Cersei is fine," she answers and suprisingly means it.

They take a seat and Catelyn pours both some warm wine, which Cersei gladly accepts. Somehow she thinks this conversation won't be entirely easy.

"It takes some getting used to, doesn't it?" Catelyn begins, her tone gentle. "Life in the North."

Cersei takes a sip, savoring the warmth of the wine. She hums.

"It does, certainly. Moat Cailin is... different from King's Landing. The air, the people, even the silence. It's almost deafening at times." She huffs. "Also it was primarily a ruin when we came, there is that."

The other lady must hear the bitterness, and she nods sympathetically.

"I am sorry about Moat Cailin. But I have heard impressive things about you and your husband. Generally though, the North has its own rhythm. Very ... Northern."
"I appreciate your kind words. If I may say so, I think Faramir and I have indeed done quite some notable feats in the last couple of years."
"Absolutly. Pray, I have noticed you together last night. I am not someone to give a lot of credit to gossip, and still I feel, they were quite wrong about you."

Ned was wrong about you. Robert was wrong.

"Oh, I bet people have said a lot of things about me," she answers easily, "but pray tell, what exactly do you mean?"
"Your reluctance to come North is well-known and quite understandable, given the situation. But even before, you were known for your very ambivalent relationship with my brother-in-law. It had people think you would work ... less harmoniously once you truly were to marry. People were scared for the girls, of their position in your household. And now you are here, with a newly-built castle, and two children together. The two middle ones run after and look at you as if they were yours as well. Ellard doesn't ... well, he isn't really one to talk," Catelyn smiles, "but he likes life at Moat Cailin. And for Elwing, you are some kind of mythical creature, too perfect to be true. You might understand that this turned some heads, especially given Lord Stark only ever visited Winterfell alone."

Cersei stratles, especially because of the comment about the children. Call her self-absorbed, but she has spent very little time thinking about what they think about her until now, probably mostly because any answer she could have imagined was very unsatisfactory. But maybe that was a misperception ...

When Catelyn sees Cersei's look, she lifts her hands.

"Oh please, don't understand me wrongly! Lord Stark always spoke warmly of you and the children and always took great care to mention your talents as a rider and in organisation, but -"
"- but you didn't know whether it was to be believed," Cersei finishes.

Well, she does have quite a reputation, that is true. Cersei leans back in her chair, her eyes reflecting the dancing flames of the hearth.

"My husband and I... our marriage obviously was not one of love. It was a political necessity, even forced. But he was my father's ward before, I knew him, I knew what I was getting into, and I knew that though I did not particularly like him, he is and ahs always been a good man. Robert was a fool for letting a Master of Coin like him go, though." She shakes her head, despite the brash statement. "The girls are his treasure, but besides that, I am the only mother Berena and Aredhel have ever known. Surprisingly, Faramir seems to thrive here. He is still Southern, though, compared to some of the men I have met."

Catelyn's expression softens. "Ned is much the same. There is much of the Eyrie still in him, just like your Lord Stark he is more Southern than Brandon or Benjen Stark ever were. But the North suits him. It's where he belongs. Sometimes I think the land and the people are intertwined in a way that's hard to explain. I had long expected to come here, but as another one's bride. Ned and I were betrothed during the war, just like you and the king."

"Family, duty honour?"
"Indeed," Catelyn nodds, "but family is the biggest one, isn't it?"
Cersei hums.
"Do you love your husband?"
"I do. Love came later, gradually. We built it like a house, like you built your keep, had to learn to trust each other, to see past the roles we were assigned and recognise the people we truly are. But I believe these kinds of relationships, they might stand stronger and longer than many other."
Catelyn's eyes hold a warmth that Cersei finds strangely comforting.
"Maybe you just need to find out whether you want to be loved." Then she sighs. "But what do I know? Marriage is complicated. Men are complicated, and Starks even more so. Stubborn and proud, the whole lot of them." She rolls her eyes. "I am afraid my son will be, too, if I am not careful." A surprisingly impish glint slides into her eyes. "And that mixed with the famous Lannister pride - the Gods be gracious!"

Cersei rolls her eyes, but indeed that Lannister pride soars when Faramir wins the archery competition later that day.

~ o ~

The last morning of the tourney, a crisp and clear day, she awakes with a churning in her belly. It's dread, clearly, because even though Faramir has been great in the jousting so far, this is the finale, and these are the best fighters of the North. From the window she watches the banners of the houses fluttering between the others in the breeze, their grey wolves and the red and white tree right there between the older houses.

She is wearing crimson today, Lannister crimson, but adorned with silver and grey - Moat Cailin Crimson, she corrects herself mentally. Her own golden hair is pulled back in intricate braids, but she will have to search for the girls and check their hair later, she thinks. Bryn and Ari have been running around with Lyanna Mormont, one of her older sisters, and the Reed- children. Rascals, the whole lot! Elwing is a bit more of a lady already, more like Sansa, though she feels that her girl is a bit torn between the different fractions. She is friends with everyone, but not exactly close or attached to anyone outside their family. She would be the perfect Lady of Winterfell, Cersei thinks to herself, but she doubts either father will agree to betrothing her to Robb.

Her reverie is interrupted by footsteps behind her.
Just like herself, Faramir is dressed for the day, and she can see only the armour is missing for later. He steps up next to her, but his attention is not on the outside but on her.

"Cersei, I need to ask something of you."

She raises an eyebrow, curiosity piqued, especially since he sounds so serious. "Oh? And what might that be, my lord?"

"My lady, I would ask for your favour in the tourney."

Cersei blinks, momentarily taken aback. The request is both traditional and deeply personal, a knight's favour from his lady a symbol of support and affection. For a moment, she is at a loss for words, a rare occurrence for the sharp-tongued Lannister.

"Why?" she asks, her tone softer than she intends. "Why would you ask that of me? Why not one of the girls?"

Faramir's expression softens, too, a hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Because, Cersei, they are lovely and I would beg their favour any day of my life if you weren't here - butyouare my wife. People might think I am a bit of a rake, but in fact,ifI wear a favour I intend it to be the one of the woman I am married to. And because I believe that, in your heart, you want to see me succeed, if only because of our little arrangement."

She feels warm, a flicker, quite like the dizzyness that has befallen her in the last two nights. She feels girlish for a moment, and it's stupid to be flustered like that, just because a handsome man has asked her for her favour. A man she is married to, mind you. But it makes her feel special and desired and that's nice. Cersei unfastens one of the ribbons from her hair - crimson and grey. She holds it out to him, her fingers brushing against his chest.

"Take this, then, Lord Stark" she says, her voice steady. "And may it bring you luck in the tourney."

He actually bows, and he carefully accepts the ribbon. She thinks he might kiss her, but he doesn't, he remains gallant and formal, as if he were truly courting her. As he turns to leave, Cersei feels another pang of something she can't quite name—a mixture of hope and fear, of longing and uncertainty.

That's what it would have been like had you not been simply thrown together.

She remains at the window and finally watches him go, his figure cutting a path through the busy courtyard below.

~ o ~

When she finds her place in the stalls together with the children and the other Starks, the tourney grounds are already a riot of noise and colour, filled with the excited shouts of spectators and the clashing of weapons. The crowd cheers and gasps with every strike and fall of the knight, but Cersei mostly watches the horses. It's her business: What are they like, what does a knight need? Who has the best one? How are they trained?

Only her own lord catches her true attention. The one time he rides, her green eyes follow Faramir as he expertly maneuvers his horse. His skill is undeniable, each movement precise and calculated. But Morag, his black cruiser, keeps almost dancing at the end of the tilting lane. He is a good horse, exceptionally fast, but nervous. They would have to change that with the new ones, she thinks, maybe cross in a heavier and calmer destrier. This young fellow is great for hunting, but right now he is stressing himself into a frenzy. This can't go right, Faramir will certainly lose the next tilt, if only because the horse won't hold still!

"Lady Stark, where do you think he is going?" Birdy asks from next to her.
"Well, he has to wait until it is his time again," she answers distractedly.
"He changes the horse!" Ari suddenly declares loudly.

Cersei just hopes she is right - at least Ellard is nowhere to be seen, which might mean that he has been warming up Faramir's second horse. When the fighter emerges for the final tilt, this time on a dapple grey mare, the lady feels a swell of pride, if only for his common sense. If she were less of a lady, she would now bite her fingernails, and indeed, she can see that Bryn very much does. She can't even make herself swat after the girl. The men charge and lances break. People cheer and they charge again.
At the end, it's not that spectacular - Faramir wins, by a narrow margin, by points, and the crowd erupts into applause. The children jump up and so does she, with Goldy on her arm.

The lord pushes up his visor in salute, his gaze sweeping over the spectators until it lands on Cersei. Their eyes meet, and for a moment, the world seems to fade away. She can see he is smiling brightly, firstly at their family in the stands, then even at his brother and lord, but also at his son who is leaning across the arena with the other squires. Faramir dismounts and removes his helmet, she can see his hair has become damp with sweat. As the herald announced Faramir's victory, the crowd's cheers grow louder. They love him, he is Stark, he is attractive, he is charming. He approaches the dais to take a wreath of winter roses from Catelyn. While they would use winter roses is a mystery to Cersei, but probably because they are the only fancy flowers up here.

"Lord Stark, I congratulate you," his brother tells him, seemingly oddly pleased, "now, please crown the Queen of Love and Beauty."

Faramir smiles as if this was all a big private joke, and for a moment Cersei is afraid this will be Harrenhal again. She is not expecting that crown, but please let him not crown any other woman in public! They have four beautiful daughters, each of them would be a perfect queen.

Indeed, he approaches the dais where the Starks sit. Cersei's breath catches as he takes a detour and climbs the steps as quickly as possible, and she notices that his intense gaze is never leaving hers. Only when his children totally disrespect propriety and start to barge on him he looks away to group hug the three youngest, before stroking Birdy affectionately over her hair and focussing back on Cersei. His eyes are soft and cloudy when he looks at their youngest daughter on her arm, but turn dark when he looks straight back at her.

Then he kneels in front of her and presents the wreath with a flourish.

"My Cersei," he starts, his voice carrying over the hushed crowd. He smiles when he notices how much he has messed up the address. "It is my honor to crown you the Queen of Love and Beauty."

Address notwithstanding, this is the first time he has ever knelt in front of her, and it will probably the last one, too. The act is unexpected, a public display of affection and honor that probably few have anticipated. As Catelyn has told her, as far as most people were concerned, the two of them were closer to murder rather than to... whatever this is. With slightly shaking fingers, she passes Goldy to Bryn and takes the crown, but as she does, Faramir stands and, without hesitation, cups her face in his hands and kisses her deeply.

It's clumsy with his armour but his lips taste the same, still, for a moment, her mind is too stunned to react. Thankfully, her body has had quite a bit of practice and knows very well how to kiss him. Gasps and murmurs ripple through the crowd as she leans into him. Lords and ladies exchange shocked glances, whispers spreading like wildfire. She is pretty sure their children are probably gagging at the public display of affection. When Faramir pulls back, his eyes are searching hers for a reaction.
Well, she thinks, people are scandalised anyway, so what?

"I thank you, my lord," she tells him, her voice steady despite the tumult of feelings inside her. "But I believe this honour should go to someone else."

She looks at their daughter who has been watching the scene with wide, astonished eyes. She is truly a young Lyanna in looks, a Northern princess.
But Faramir did not crown her, even though she is his favourite. Faramir is not Rhaegar, even though she sees the parallels: The charisma, the intelligence, the ambition. The antipathy to Robert. Still, he isn't the silver prince she wanted to marry once upon a time, he's a better shot and still a worse jouster, more family, less realm, more gritty reality, less prophecy.
This girl, her own daughter, embodies everything she resents and fights with, and only because of two men who more than ten years ago thought they could have a woman as if she were a property.

Cersei places the crown on Elwing's head, her smile never wavering. "Lady Elwing," she says, "you are the Queen of Love and Beauty."

The crowd erupts into raucious applause once more as the tension of the previous moment dissolves into celebration. Elwing's face lights up with shy delight, and she curtsies deeply to Cersei and Faramir.
The blue roses shine on the black hair, but when she looks up, there is the Lannister green in her eyes again. No, maybe they are all wrong, she's not Lyanna, not truly, she Cersei's own, and maybe for the first time she truly acknowledges it. As the attention of the crowd shifts to Elwing, Cersei turns to Faramir, her expression softening.

"That was quite the display," she murmurs, her voice just loud enough for him to hear.
Faramir chuckles, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "And as usual, you needed to get one over me."

As the festivities continue around them, she gives him a smile, small but honest.

~ o ~

The day has left more of an impression on her than she would gave liked to think, Cersei finds, for she feels restless as the other bannermen leave. The Starks are meant to stay for a couple of days and then depart for Moat Cailin, and while she still truly enjoys the luxuries of Winterfell (who would have thought she'd ever consider Winterfell luxurious), something tells her she should return. Soon.
Maybe that's the call of responsibility.
To find a bit of quietness, she decides to stroll through the godswood - while these Old Gods are still not hers, she sometimes thinks she can feel their presence. It's not totally unpleasant.

As she approaches the trees, she hears familiar voices. Curiosity piqued, she moves closer, careful to stay hidden behind a large tree. It's Faramir and Eddard Stark, deep in conversation.

"... you're done with politics?"

Faramir huffs.
"I'm never done, Ned. Because politics is never done. But I am tired of fighting, just as you are. There is a different kind of politics for me up here, and it has helped me. You know - I was strangely happy at the Rock, I was strangely happy at King's Landing. I still love Dorne, I loved my time at the Free Cities. But most days, I am not ... I am ... I don't think I can really be happy again, not like before. Not like - you know how it is, Ned. Coming abck from the war, with all what we have seen and done. There is no way back. But I think some days I get as close to being happy as I still can."

She can see Eddard is placing a hand on Faramir's shoulder, a rare gesture of affection from the stoic lord.
"You've done well, Faramir. More than anyone could have asked. And you never stop meddling - I used to hate that, but maybe you are just doing what I can't. And it was what I was hoping, when you came back - that you would eventually start to like the North."

"Well, if only to ease your conscience, right?"

Stark throws up his hands. "Ray, Robert forced my hand! What was I supposed to do? He -"

"He is your best friend, I know. He is the king, and you have sworn to obey him. Moat Cailin needed repairs anyway. Jon Arryn talked you into this as well. Oh, and Robert offered you a match between the prince and Sansa, didn't he?"

Cersei freezes. He has never shared that suspicion with her, so she doesn't know whether it is just a spontaneous good guess, or whether it has been on his mind for longer. It's obvious, though. When Stark doesn't answer, he shrugs, from what she can see.

"Well, I thought so. Do her a favour and don't make her marry Joffrey. Take Loras Tyrell, for all I care, but not Joffrey."

Well, that is an interesting development! Anger boils in her, how can he slander her son like that! Eddard seems to be just as surprised about the callousness.

"You are very - decisive."
"Oh, it's not about the prince," Faramir explains, though Cersei thinks it might as well be, "I don't know him enough. It's all about politics. Your daughter is kind and sweet and innocent. She aims to please and King's Landing will eat her up. It will only leave her two choices: Either she will break, or she will change, until the bone. Anyhow, you won't recognise your daughter anymore."
"And you know that how?"

Faramir laughs, it sounds almost bitter.
"Because I lived there, and you didn't. Because I was raised by people who thrive in this surrounding, while Jon Arryn is only holding on. Badly, if I may say so. And I am married to a queen, remember? I have known that queen since we were barely more than children, I saw her fight her way through the messes and masses with teeth and claws. I saw what ruling, what a kingdidto her. And believe me Ned, she never ever had any of Sansa's kindness to begin with."

Tears start flowing over Cersei's face, partly due to the callous assessment, partly due to the truth in his words. Partly also because he still calls her a queen.

"Is it truly that bad with her?"

There is silence.

"No." More silence. "No, it's not. It's nothing like that."

"I have to admit," the Lord of Winterfell argues, "it was quite a show you put on, when you were crowning Lady Stark as the Queen of Love and Beauty."
Faramir sighs, she can imagine how a wry smile is tugging at the corners of his mouth. "I was wearing her favour, wasn't I? Anything else would have been rude," he replies. "Besides, I stand by the claim that my wife is the most beautiful woman. I won't be called a liar because I don't pay my wife the decent respect."
"Decent respect?"
"Stop being so difficult, Ned! You've got eyes, you can see that she is beautiful. And I wanted her to have that crown so I gave her the crown."
"Yes, true, but you didn't have to kiss her in front of the whole North! And I mean, you were not just pecking her on the lips, you looked like you wanted to ravish her right around the next corner."

The younger man chuckles.

"Who says I didn't?"
"You truly have no shame, do you?"
"Oh, I have indeed impeccable manners. Ask my wife. But some things require certain gestures."
"You certainly made a point. Truth be told, when you kissed her, I thought you were mocking her at first, but then I saw the way she kissed you back - that was real, Ray. She doesn't hate you either."
"I would never humiliate my wife!"

Hidden behind the tree, she cannot see his face, but she thinks he is frowning.

I'm not the Dragon Knight.

"You've got four illegitimate children," his brother argues back.

Cersei thinks her husband must be grinding his teeth by now.

"We weren't married when they were born. They are of no true concern to the validity or honour in our marriage. You know there have been others, other women, in my life, more than you are certainly comfortable with, but less than you think, probably less than Brandon had. Certainly less than Robert had, believe me. And I swear, I have always been turthful to her. There was never someone else, I have never betrayed my marriage, never even thought of it!"

Cersei has known, of course, but hearing it like that is still a relief.

"Before you start with it again - yes, I know what Ashara and I did at Harrenhal wasn't honourable and no I don't regret it because she gave me a wonderful son. And if you askyourson, I believe he will tell you he doesn't regret his cousin either."
"I suspected your older children were all partly Dornish," Lord Stark admits.
"You mean Allyria's? By the Gods, no! None is."

Lord Stark nodds slowly.
"I've heard the whispers. They call the girls especially the 'Water Wolfs,' a mix of Stark and... something else."
"Crownlands, obviously. Therefore the Water. I do believe Oberyn Martell had something to do with the nickname, it's catchy, like his 'Sand Snakes'."
"You are still talking to that scoundrel?"
"That scoundrel, Ned, is my friend. Our issues start and end with our sisters, and both are dead, both due to Rhaegar. His sister was killed in the same attack as the woman I loved, so no,I don'thave a problem with him."

Faramir sounds truly annoyed, but Cersei as to agree with Eddard Stark - she doesn't really understand the appeal of Oberyn Martell either.

"And you never felt anything for any of the other women?"
"It was a difficult time -after Ashara. Alcohol, bad decisions. Accidents - you can imagine."

She thinks that maybe it's the first time the brothers are actually honestly talking about this. Given how things have truly gone, her husband is actually rather truthful.

"Their mothers were willing to give them up?"
"I suppose it was clear I could offer the girls the better life, all things considered. But I won't talk about them - that's between us, and us alone."
"And your youngest?"
"You are awfully curious, you know."
"Well, you are my brother. Besides, you are the one who told me a Lord needs to be informed." The younger man scoffs. "And what about the Lannisters?"
"I will have you informed Tywin Lannister has utter trust in my abilities and my integrity."
"How do you know?"

Stark sounds skeptical, but when she peeks around the tree, she sees Faramir only looks at him as if he were stupid.

"Ned, if he didn't, do you really think he had agreed to that marriage? Robert is more naive than I thought when he truly still believes Tywin doesn't care enough about Cersei to stop it. There are more players involved than you could ever imagine. If you look at the children, it's absolutely obvious Tuor and Artanis are half Lannister."

"You mentioned your second son will inherit Moat Cailin - I suppose to appease the Lannsiters? I never asked, I trusted your judgement."

Faramir scoffs. "You know the one thing I had to promise Cersei was that Moat Cailin will go toourchildren, even though Ellard is theoretically first in line. So, for now, it's Tuor and then Artanis, then Ellard and the girls. Still, Ellard remains at his assigned place in the general Stark-line."

"So he would be after you in line for WInterfell," Lord Stark states.

"Exactly. Though neither of us would want it. So please stay alive, brother mine."

"I will try my best. Who knows, maybe there will be more children at Winterfell."

"Are you and Catelyn -?"

"Not yet. But we will see. What about you?"

She can hear Faramir sigh.
"It's a delicate balance, Ned. Cersei wants another child, I must say I am not particularly happy about it, but I see the idea."
"What idea?"
"She wants another boy for the Moat, obviously. But also -"
"Also, what?"
"Tywin hasn't declared his heir," Faramir answers blankly, And why wouldn't he choose one of his grandchildren just to spite Tyrion? It's a shame, but in the realm of possibility."
"So, you don't want it?"

There is a suspicion in Lord Stark's voice. Faramir huffs.

"Want it? Want my son in the middle of all of this mess? In the bloody South, where I cannot help him? We both know I am very very good at these games, and so is my wife, but that doesn't mean I want my children in it. It would mean plotting my child against my friend, ripping my family apart, it would mean fostering my children elsewhere. Cersei has lost two sons, remember, and had to leave her oldest behind. I am not sending her children, especially Tuor, elsewhere without her approval. And she willneverapprove of that. So we would be stuck in a horrible situation. She would get herself in such a situation."

"You truly care for her, don't you?"

Faramir sighs. "I do. Far too much. It's a problem."

"Why is it a problem?"
"Because that kind of trust tends to make a man stupid. To forget why I shouldn't trust her. Underestimate danger."
"Well, at least I don't have to tell you about that, it seems you know already," Stark answers, "she is still a Lannister, despite everything."
"And there is nothing wrong with that," Faramir bites back, sounding annoyed.

Lord Stark lifts his hands.

"Alright, I didn't want to argue. So, what do you think about doing?"
"Bringing my oldest two back with me to the Moat so that the children form a pack. Keep them connected to yours. Have another child and pray everyone turns out alright. Send the middle ones to the Reeds for a while, maybe, so it's less stressful for us at home. And they would love that, I think, running through swamps and rolling in mud. And then see what happens. What they become. Try and keep my sanity."

Faramir huffs and she can see he sits down on his cloak under the tree while his older brother leaves. When Cersei steps out from behind her tree he immediately notices her. His eyes widen slightly in surprise, but he quickly masks it with a warm smile. Cersei looks away for a moment, gathering her thoughts.

"I overheard what you said. About me, and us, and the children," she cuts to the chase.

He humpfs, but pats on the ground next to him. She eyes the ground, definitely too wet for her dress. Her husband humpfs again and reaches up and suddenly her legs are swept from under her body and she his falling, right into his lap. His eyes are scanning her face, and Cersei is certain he must see the teartracks.

"Good. Because I meant it."

She swallows, then she swallows again. He suddenly grins a bit wryly.

"Are you trying to figure out whether you are happy I want to keep the children safe or whether you should resent me for not striving for power anymore?"

Well, yes, maybe that's the question. Suddenly, there is a pressure under her chin, his hand forcing her head up, but taking pains not to touch her throat. His lips hover over hers, a mixture between seduction and threat.

"I will tell you, Kitten, that I certainly am not planning to stop meddling. As I told my brother, it will always be necessary. And I know you won't stop either, especially once your son is on that ugly throne. Given what Jaime tells me about Robert's drinking, it's probably sooner rather than later. The only thing I need to know is whether you will meddle together with me or against me."

She forces herself to remain still, to neither rip her head away nor lean in further. "So we are still doing these games? And I thought we were already working together."

He his smirking now, with a tinge of chagrin, she thinks.

"Don't come at me like that. You heard what I said. You matter to me, whether I want to or not. But trust has never been my strong suit. And neither is it yours."

He is moving back a bit, so that she can see him clearly.

"Where does that leave us?"

"Where do you want us to be?"

She considers the question. Let's herself, for once, imagine a world with someone truly in her corner. A world where she doesn't have to doubt his motives. She realises she doesn't, most days, in everyday life, but what about the big decisions?

"In another world, we could be happy together. Without the distrust."

In a better world I could love you.

He nods, thoughtfully.

"Nowhere, then."