Faramir laughs, even as Tybolt's claws dig briefly, stingingly, against his thigh. How can he not laugh? Though he is not sure, on reflection, whether he is laughing for amusement or for joy. There is something undeniably charming in the cat's affection, and equally, in Cersei's surprise and distraction at finding him there. There is also, of course, a readier charm still in the fact that she wanted to put her hand there in the first place.

Still chuckling, he leans in, bringing his other hand to her cheek as well, to answer her first kiss with a second, chaste but lingering, his fingertips tracing against the edges of her hairline.

"If it counts for anything," he says, when at last he pulls away, "the feeling is entirely mutual."