On The Night of Noire's Conception
"Aris," Tharja mumbled, as she pressed her pale palm against her husband's chest. The broad shouldered man stretched and turned onto his side, his pink locks fluttering over his face like the feathers of a flamingo. The terrifying woman couldn't help but smile at the sight of her husband's peace-filled face. It was the same peaceful look, she'd had fallen in love with one year ago, when she'd walked into his tent in the deepest part of the night. A crooked knife in her right hand and a euphoric filled drool drizzling down her perfectly puckered lips. Obviously, she had not killed Aris that night. Nor has she the following night, or the night after that, and before she knew it Tharja found herself sleeping next to the man she had been ordered to assassinate. "Aris," she mumbled again, this time leaning close enough for her warm breath to massage his inner ear. The sleepy strategist opened his eyes, a groggy grin painted on his face.
"What is it Tharja?" he asked, a sincere concern present in his voice. The dark woman gave a weak smile and pushed several indignant strands of pink hair behind Aris's right ear.
"I'm home," she replied, unsure of what else to say. Earlier that morning, she had told Aris that she would be home late, but when she returned to their home she couldn't help but wake him up; even if it would make her job much more difficult. Aris smiled, reached up and, taking the petite woman in his arms, he promptly pulled her into his chest. The warmth of his body made Tharja's heart flutter, cheeks redden, and lips turn up into a perverse smile, the likes of which, she had never had any luck controlling. "Stop...This isn't…I mean...You can't do this Aris! Heh...heh heh," she pitifully protested, her arms wrapping around her husband's torso like a raven taking a small mouse into its thick talons.
"That so?" Aris replied in a sarcastic tone. The woman buried her face deeper into Aris's chest and nodded, her atramentous hair cascading over his bare body like a pool of black ink on white parchment. "And why is that?" Aris questioned placing his strong chin atop Tharja's head. For several moments she gave no answer, but eventually her lips opened and the words crept up from her throat like a stream of boiling bile.
"Because I have to kill you…" Tharja responded sadly, savoring her husband's sweet scent; of ancient tomes and fresh persimmons, for what she was sure would be the last time.
"Really? And why is that?" Aris responded, his arms showing no intention of releasing her. Tharja's small hands crumpled into fists as she forced herself to look up into Aris's face.
"It's…It's my job," she stuttered confused as to why his glance had not changed from one of love to one of anger, loathing, or even fear.
"Your job?" Aris questioned, lifting his head from his pillow slightly.
"My Job," she repeated a subconscious shame present in her voice. Aris rolled his head around his shoulders and nodded with mild interest.
"And your employer?" he asked. Tharja remained silent, but no longer able to enjoy Aris's sweet embrace, she pushed herself free and stood up.
"I can't say," she replied.
"Is that what produced such a prompt interest in me?" Aris asked, his look of love steadily switching to one of bemusement.
"It is," Tharja responded biting down on her lower lip until a trickle of crimson crept down the center of her chin.
"Alright then," Aris responded, as he propped himself up on his left elbow and scratched his chin lightly.
"Alright what?" Tharja questioned, a steady unease overwhelming her being.
"Alright, you can kill me," he said with a smile.
"What!" Tharja yelled her knees shaking slightly. "Aris what are you..." she began; simultaneously, taking several steps backward.
"You're my wife. I gave you my life the moment I proposed," he interrupted, as he sat up and scooted to the edge of the bed.
"This isn't…I mean," she said, stumbling over her words.
"But I have 2 conditions," Aris added, in a stern voice.
"Conditions?" Tharja questioned, completely overwhelmed by confusion. Aris nodded before speaking.
"One, you have to wait until I'm asleep," he began, holding up his right pointer finger. "And two," he said, as he held up his second finger in a sort of pseudo-peace sign. "I get to hold my wife until then," As he finished spouting his conditions a smug smile appeared on Aris's face. Tharja's mouth hung open in shock as she hobbled back to the nearest table; supporting herself on its edge.
"Your…Your wife? What are you talking about! I just told you…THIS WAS ALL A PLOT TO KILL YOU!" Tharja lied closing her eyes tightly. Aris shook his head and yawned loudly.
"Tharja?" he asked, standing to his feet, for the first time. Tharja looked up to Aris her hand still gripping the table tightly.
"What is it?" she questioned.
"Did you say yes to my proposal?" he asked.
"I did."
"And did you say I do?"
"I did," she mumbled hanging her head in shame.
"And did you participate in the consummation of our marriage," Aris asked with a smile that caused Tharja's face to burn red. "Several times," he added in an amused voice.
"I don't have to answer that moron!" Tharja yelled as she placed her hands on Aris's chest and pushed him back, her perverse smile momentarily returning. He laughed heartily and permitted her to do so.
"Well then, it looks like you're my wife," he said with a reassuring nod. Tharja remained silent and Aris walked back to bed before lying on his side and holding his arm up. "So if your intention was to finish this before the sun rises, I suggest you come to bed."
"You would invite your killer into your bed?" Tharja mumbled her feet forcing her towards her husband's euphoric embrace.
"I would invite my wife into our bed," he responded, just as she reached the edge of the bed. Tharja slowly removed her cape, set her golden headdress on the nightstand and kicked off her sandals before laying in the bed right of Aris. The pink haired man turned over onto his side and pulled his woman deep into his embrace.
"You are much too trusting Aris," Tharja muttered clamping her eyes shut before she buried her face into his body once more. Aris let out a hearty laugh that shook the bed slightly.
"Must be spending too much time with Chrom," he joked. Tharja smiled weakly, several moments of silence passed, and just when Tharja was sure Aris had fallen asleep, he spoke again. "I'd like to have kids someday. If that is alright with you?" he asked in a hushed, yet sincere voice. Unable to speak, Tharja simply nodded into Aris's chest.
"I'd like that."
Time proceeded quicker than Tharja would have liked and mentally she cursed her husband for being so quick to fall asleep. Carefully, she sat up and rolled her husband onto his back. She walked out of the room and soon returned with a small shimmering blade, red and blue beads adorning the handle. Tharja's sweaty palms shook, knees ached, and heart begged her to stop what she was doing and instead crawl back into her warm Aris-filled bed. Unfortunately, her brain was telling her otherwise. Telling her that she had a mission to complete, that she had lost sight of what was important and, most of all, that when she returned to her kingdom she would be rewarded with much more than any poor military strategist could ever hope to provide for her.
Sighing, Tharja climbed into the bed, threw her right leg over Aris and mounted him, knife still in hand. She swallowed hard and slowly lowered the knife until it was within inches of her husband's neck. "I'm sorry Aris," she said, her eyes producing streams of saltwater that stained her cheeks and stung her eyes. How long Tharja remained in that position, silently sobbing, the steel shaking above Aris's throat she could not tell, but just as Tharja felt she had steeled herself, her pillow fell off the bed and produced a loud thud. The already on-edge woman jumped in shock and the glistening blade slipped from her pale fingers, leaving a small slit on Aris's right cheek. Tharja's eyes widened in horror as a slim crimson line drizzled down the side of Aris's strong cheek and sullied the pure white sheets beneath him. "Aris!" she cried in horror, as she quickly grabbed a blanket and shoved the corner of it against the puny cut.
"Huh?" Aris mumbled, a slumberous stupor overwhelming him.
"You fool!" Tharja yelled, tears soaking the sheets more thoroughly than the minute amount of blood ever could.
"What's wrong!?" Aris mumbled. "Are you alright? What happened sweetheart?" As Aris pelted Tharja with questions, the strength of her sobbing simply exacerbated.
"I'm sorry Aris! I'm so sorry!" she cried, holding the blanket to his cheek with more and more force. Aris steadily regained his senses and, after realizing what was going on, let out a long sigh.
"Tharja," he said slowly placing his hands on either side of his wife's face. She continued to cry and once more he called out to her. "Tharja," he mumbled in a hushed voice. Tharja released the sheet in her right hand but did not stop. Aris let out a small sigh. His words were obviously not reaching her and so, like any good strategist, he devised a secondary plan. He simply took her lips. Deeply, passionately, and with enough resolve to show her that he was not harmed in the slightest. Tharja clenched her eyes shut and pushed her mouth so firmly against his that his dry lips were revitalized by the softness of hers. Their oral caress ended when the two were thoroughly breathless, but an intense feeling of unsatisfaction lingered in the air. And so the physical intimacy began.