for nearamir.

[reignfall]

Traditionally, the Lannisters may hail from Britain, attend the British wizarding school, and buy out the British wizarding government, but they tend to prefer living somewhere warm, reasonably sunny, and french. Cersei herself does not think she is built for the Scottish winter, or autumn, or spring. She is built to do precisely what her cat, Tybolt, does right now: curl up in her warm four-poster bed.

Instead, she is headed towards the library.

On a Saturday morning.

Yes, a morning. Before noon.

It's wholly Faramir's fault, by the way - no one told him to be so handsome, with dreamy, storm-grey eyes, and long, soft hair. It's a problem that has lead her to make several bewildering choices - like picking Care of Magical Creatures as a elective, and now this. But she is a witch on a mission, and she shan't be derailed by simpler pleasures. If she doesn't get what she wants today, she might have to start hexing her rivals to feel better.

Thankfully, he is extremely reliable, and she can already see him at his usual spot by the window, behind which an uncomfortable (for Cersei) amount of snow is falling. She ignores the librarian ("I have seen you more often in the library this year than in all the previous terms combined, Miss Lannister") and pretends to look at some of the books in a nearby shelf, before 'noticing' him.

"Oh, good morning. You are up early."

Comments

[reignfall]

She cannot have her blouse more unbuttoned than this if she doesn't want to risk an owl home - what more could she have done? She read several books this year, and it is wholly his fault. She stays awake in History of Magic on a regular basis because it is one of the few classes they share! She is doing something for potions - not right now, but inevitably over the course of the morning - and it has nothing at all to do with poisons, one of the few areas she is genuinely interested in.

"Had I known you would gladly agree, I might have." It would have spared her a lot of yearning. But then, he says something about her eyes set higher, and the confusion on her face isn't just momentarily. Does he mean Jaime? Surely he must know he is smarter than her brother, never even mind the whole matter of incest. Besides he's a prefect, so in terms of rank, this is about as good as it gets, and he's sure to make head boy next year. Who is higher up?

"... Professor Grey?" Also called Gandalf the Grey, the headmaster? She laughs, and happily takes his hand in hers. "I am not sure whom you could mean, to be honest."

[nearamir]

It is strange, to realise that she truly does not know what he is talking about. Strange, and decidedly pleasant, for a boy who has spent all his life in his brother's shadow. (And the truth is, even in a different House, he is in his brother's shadow: it is not only that Boromir is popular among Gryffindors, but he is popular with the professors, too, and with younger schoolmates, and certainly with girls; he is Head Boy, and Quidditch Captain, and altogether the image of a successful young wizard. Faramir has never particularly tried to compete with that, only accepted it as the natural way of things, and been glad for his brother's success. But it is still pleasant, to find that he has something that appeals to her where Boromir, apparently, does not.)

He looks down at their linked hands, and then up at her, and he laughs, too. "Perhaps not that high. I was thinking more of Gryffindor Tower than of the Headmaster's." And he means to say no more of it. It is enough that, apparently, this is not some strange error on her part, or some scheme to get to Boromir through him - that it is, in fact, he that she was waiting to ask. "And I would have asked sooner, myself; but if you were not interested, then I was afraid to embarrass us both."

[reignfall]

Jaime?! No, unreasonable - and then it does finally occur to her that he thinks of Boromir, and the pieces fall into place. Boromir is handsome, a talented quidditch player, appropriately popular. The older brother. And for a while, she had considered the possibility - they would look great in photographs, admired or envied by all. It would be excellent, on paper, and that is what matters. More than the spark should.

Except she feels the spark with Faramir, who is slightly more handsome, definitely more clever, and distinctly more mysterious, and deep. "I am very confident in my taste."

She smiles, and yes, that's less calculation and more the giddy happiness of a teenage girl who has scored a date with the boy she has had a crush on for ages. "I was beginning to worry that you weren't interested," not that that's possible, but she has moments of weakness, "and I couldn't think about it any longer."

[nearamir]

There is an honesty in that smile which, if he was not already attracted to her, would be enough on its own to assure it. She is, it strikes him, the most beautiful girl he has ever seen; and all he wants, for this moment, is to see her smile in such thoughtless joy more often, to be the cause of such delight.

He smiles at her, his eyes a little softer than they were, and leans over the desk to brush a kiss against her cheek. "Then I am glad you happened upon me here." As though he isn't well aware, in hindsight, that there was nothing coincidental about it. "I think it saved us both some time."