Strife did not like the listless look in his lover's eyes.
Aerith, at times, could indeed be a contemplative soul, but this was too much.
Aerith was gentle, regal but lively and bright – always waiting with a patient, understanding hand to rest on his arm when he felt his demons rise. She was eternally his rock, his home – but now her engaging, intelligent green eyes were dull.
She was sitting on the edge of their bed with her colorful embroidery resting in her lap, a spread of delicate red pomegranates sweeping across a naked swathe of crème-colored silk.
He approached her carefully, not wanting to startle her at all. He cleared his throat and saw her head go up, strands of thick auburn brown hair that refused to be tamed sweeping across her cheeks.
"It is only me," he reassured her, stepping further into the room and shutting the door behind him. Aerith smiled softly, lifting her embroidery hoop off her lap and setting it to the side to receive him.
"Cloud," she said, looking up at him and folding her hands in her lap. Only she was allowed to speak this name of his, the name given to him to be a cruel reminder that he would never sit among the Clouds. She frowned taking in his appearance. "You look tired."
"I was going to say the same of you." He teased good-naturedly, getting close enough that he could reach out and set his hand on her shoulder, giving it a little squeeze. "You look as though you could use some rest."
"I slept in late." She sighed, rubbing her face and grinding her fingers into the corners of her weary eyes. "I am not really tired, I suppose."
"You look tense." His hand slid up her neck and stroked her soft skin lightly. She leaned into his touch, taking comfort in his large, warm hands.
"I was thinking about…" a hot flush swept across her already rosy cheeks and they burned as she found herself unable to look up and meet his gaze. She could feel it, nonetheless.
"About…?" He prompted gently.
She chewed on the corner of her bottom lip, fingers bunching up in her skirt as she tried to keep her composure in the face of her kingly husband.
"It's just that…well, you know. Children." Her voice tapered off into a whisper as if simply speaking the word was forbidden. "I can't get them off my mind, Cloud. I try but...I have done everything I can to try and talk myself out of wanting them. I am trying to be practical, you know. I know it isn't possible. After all, I…with you…" her words tapered off again. She certainly did not want to hurt him by implying that he was in any way lacking ability to procreate, and she did not want to hurt him by implying that he was at all responsible for her current unhappy state.
She knew that everything he did was for her benefit. There was nothing Strife would not give her if he had the ability. If it were possible the very stars would be hers if she had only asked for them.
"You are the God of the Underworld." She spread her hands, looking up at him plaintively. "You are the Lord who reigns over Hell. It is your domain, and I am your queen. I want so badly to give you a child and I know how impossible it is for us.
I know I've been in this room for days on end. I am ready for it to come to a stop as much as you," she put her head back down, her brown locks falling forward to obscure her face. She did not want to appear so weak in front of him, she never wanted to appear weak to anyone. But in this moment, in the dark of their own bedroom where the door was shut and they were alone – she allowed herself to be completely vulnerable to her husband. He understood, and she could sense that even though he was quiet. She wondered what he was thinking – if he might be regretting every moment since their controversial wedding.
Strife did not say anything in response. He only leaned in closer, pressing his cool lips against her forehead and resting a hand on the back of her head. Her hair was soft – he liked to weave his fingers through it and get them tangled in the mass of tight curls that were at the base of her skull. She looked up at him again, regained her regal composure. Though she had not been born a goddess or even a queen in any right; just a daughter of a Cetran healer from a cold little mountain village - she could still hold herself high with the best.
It was as if she were destined to be his better half. He wouldn't trade her for any other. She had as many moods as there were seasons – but she was consistently brave, consistently kind. He adored her above all others.
And he was going to find a way to give her what she wanted. He wasn't sure how he was going to accomplish such a thing. But for his true and only love, he was willing to bend the very laws of nature, even if that meant asking unsavory things of the gods he despised. He was not going to sacrifice his pride, but he would come close. He would come so, so very close.
She needed him. She loved him. He leaned on her, always, and she never asked for anything in return. In fact, she brought this matter up so rarely that he kept forgetting about it until the subject came around again.
He was going to make her world perfect and be the king that she deserved. He vowed that much.
Author's Rambling: Reviews are a blessing!