Tharja held the tiny quivering child in her arms, and stared with a look that a stranger would define as indifferent. But nothing was farther from the truth. She was enraptured; the tiny smile tugging at her lips was proof of it. Gaius had seen it once or twice, but never as strong as this. Taking his leave, figuring she needed a break, he walked a short distance before turning around. He was wary to leave her defenseless but knew that even in this state, Tharja could tackle anything that managed to disturb her. Risen, beast, or otherwise. She said nothing as he left, noting it only by leaning back further into the pillow that propped against her back, her violet eyes still fixated on the infant in her arms.

The camp was deathly silent and Tharja let out a low giggle, both amused and pleased to know that she had the power to make the entire camp hush. It wouldn't be a surprise if Chrom had ordered the whole of the camp to make not a single sound, likely to the chagrin of Gaius, her dear husband. She could still see the pallor on Gaius' face when she had woken the entire camp up with screams that could only be described as the last pained bellows before an agonozing death.

But Tharja had survived. It was in her blood and she was sure that it was also in the blood of the child that she had carried for nine devastating months and who was finally born on this chilling fall morning. She ran a finger along the thin and fragile forehead of her child. Still pink and fuzzy, Tharja could see a few sprouts of red locks digging through her fine scalp. A pocket of freckles dotted her child's body and round cheeks. She squeezed the baby ever closer to her chest, desperate to feel the warmth radiating from inside her and to match it in her own chest.

Tharja had never dreamed she would be a mother. She didn't have the matronly glow or feminine kindness that poems and ballads spoke of. Even now, she wasn't sure she was ready. Scowling, she thought of her own miserable childhood. Black magic, lashes and cruel words, all distant memories yet still steeled in the dark confines of her past. She could make things different for this child.

Then the realization hit her; No, she couldn't. To do so would mean to sacrifice herself, and quite possibly, the future of her child. Leave the other mothers to tender embraces and affectionate tones. Her child would be raised with the same disregard for benevolence and clemency that she had been. No, her child would be strong, stronger than even herself. The last thing this crumbling world needed was another weak and submissive girl. Oh no, Tharja would be sure that her child knew the darkness and knew how to contort it to her wishes. It was essential to her survival. This child would do great things.

She gripped her child's miniscule hand with tense fingers. Resolutely, she stared into the slowly opening eyes of the child.

"...Noire."

Noire's sticky caramel eyes gazed in gentle recognition of her mother. Her tiny lips curved into the same tiny smile that was roughly etched onto Tharja's pale face. Tharja took this as a sign that she understood and accepted the burden of this name. Something akin to pride swelled in her heart at this cognizance. Whether or not Noire understood her mother's words was not clear, but the very resonance of her mother's voice brought up bleak images of that which she could not yet imagine, which she greeted with a tearful entreat.

Tharja peaked harder into the tearful pools of her daughter, wiping each tear away, and slowly saw the black future, plain and clear. Death, destruction, blackness all-reaching. Such visions would shake any other, but Tharja laughed at them, kissing each cheek and each tear away.