The lump in his throat is another thing that has become familiar. It came upon him often in these past few days, when the ceremony he attended once more brought him into contact with those who had known his brother; the grief is less raw, but the sense of injustice is not. He has never said it so bluntly as his father did, but in his heart he knows, too, that Boromir's loss was a grave and sorry one for all; in his heart, he knows that it should have been he who fell.

"Your brother was not alone in that." His eyes fall from hers first, turning downwards to his hands where they wrap around his coffee cup. "Boromir was a man much admired, and perhaps I am biased, but I would say that it was well-deserved." The smile that touches his lips is a melancholy one, but fond, too. He was one of those who admired Boromir, after all - an admiration not tempered, but rather heightened, by the knowledge of his elder brother's flaws and foibles. Now that his name is in the air, Faramir cannot help but think again of how Boromir might take this meeting: with what teasing and fond delight he might answer the news of his little brother's flirtations, and how he would laugh, and say that it had come later than anyone should have guessed.

He closes his eyes, and clears his throat, settling himself before he looks back up at Cersei. There is something almost apologetic in his smile. "Sociable may not be the word I meant. This is a different kind of thing, speaking to you this way. But parties and such affairs have always been more of a trial than a pleasure. Hence my lack of enthusiasm about this last weekend."