I don't own Fire Emblem Awakening.

Revised on March, 23th 2014. Crack fic but then again, given Henry's odd personality, could be canon fic as well. English isn't my first language so bad grammar and weird sentence structures are to be expected. Criticism and reviews are obviously welcomed.

Post FE13. Oneshot. The war just ends and there's nothing to kill anymore. Henry, Olivia.

danse macabre

The war just ends and there's nothing to kill anymore and that makes Henry very bored. At one time in his life, there had been robbers to kill then soldiers from another nation—from Ylisse, if he remembers right, some years ago when the old Exalt was still alive—and then robbers again and finally, finally Risen.

Oh Risen.

Sweet Risen.

Henry would never forget them. Hell, he couldn't forget them.

They have dry skin and cool blood as dark as the ravens that crowds around him, red eyes that crave for human blood and they growl like animals—except that animals are so, so much cuter than these former human soldiers. Henry likes them the most because they can't feel pain and so he can experience many things on them that he couldn't, ahem, can't on humans because they are too fragile—killing Risen using dark magic is so much different from killing humans using any other kind of magic and that feeling is just fucking awesome.

But he likes them too because they are so more fun to kill for he allows himself no restrictions; when they were confronted with human soldiers, Chrom the o honourable great leader he has to obey if he wants to kill Risen freely (for some reason unknown to him, Risen seemed… quite attracted to him and were always after him) notified him not to kill any of them because, as he told him, they're human and they feel pain unlike some random Risen which is very sad because he really enjoys killing. Well, except animals of course. However, the main reason which he likes them the most is because he can play with them.

They growl and their cries of despair are like sweet melodies to his ears. They don't feel pain either. Just like puppets.

And this is what amuses Henry the most. Oh no, sorry, that's wrong—it was what amused him the most.

But now, Henry feels so bored. The big ugly dragon died and so did the Risen and unfortunately so did Robin but Henry is hopeful and knows he or she or whatever gender he—well, let's just say he's a man—is since no one had ever known what Robin hid under his cloak will surely come back because he deserves to live because he is very nice.

(He is the one that allowed him to kill Risen and play with them and this is mostly why Henry likes him very much.)

So, the war ended and while many people are very happy about it—starting with his own wife, Henry is a little, if not a lot, disappointed by it. Risen just disappeared alongside the ugly dragon and now that he's tasted the flesh of Risen, he knows he can never go back to killing stupid robbers.

He just had too much fun with them.

He sighs deeply. Since the war ended, he is doing utterly nothing and the boredom is slowly eating him alive. So, for the time being, he resides in a small yet lovely house near the border between Ferox and Ylisse since his wife plays the role of a messenger (of course, he follows her wherever she goes) between both countries.

"This is the thirteenth time you sigh," Olivia notes gently, sitting beside him in their dining room, "And it's only morning," in which Henry sighs again, "Is something wrong?"

"No-thing," Henry pouts, stretching out his arms, "I'm just so booored. I've got nothing to do."

Olivia smiles fondly at his childish attitude, "Then, why don't we try hum—" she feels her cheeks redden at the thought of "You-know-what, dear?"

That attracts his attention as he straightens up from his seat and gazes at her with open curiosity, "I-know-what, Olivia?"

His candid question doesn't falter her and she clears her throat, blushing harder than earlier, "You know… well—hm…" she stutters, unable to voice her thoughts and her blushing state makes Henry arches his eyebrows in worry.

"Are you alright, Olivia? You're more tomato-like than usual," he tells her as he puts his hand on her forehead, "You don't seem to have fever but…" he trails off, staring at her face. Her eyes are firmly shut off, her cheeks as red as a tomato—the comparison doesn't really bother Olivia, in fact she finds this very sweet—and she's biting her bottom lip and if Henry is tempted to steal a kiss from her sweet lips, he refrains himself to do so knowing full well that Olivia wouldn't be able to take it well; she'd surely faint from embarrassment.

But you are so wrong, boy, so wrong.

He nips his lip before speaking, "Wait here Oli—" but is cut off miserably by a, "Make babies!" coming from a tomato-Olivia.

It's sudden and unexpected and they both widen their eyes, one surprised by the suggestion and the other one shocked by her own boldness. Olivia hides her face behind her hands in shame—she didn't think she'd actually say it and moreover, shout it and if she's quite shocked of her own boldness, her husband's reply shocks her even more.

(Frankly, she didn't expect to get one either.)

"Okay."

His answer makes her look up from her hands, stunned. Henry only smiles, the one grin that usually blossoms on his lips and takes both hands in his, squeezing them lightly before stroking the back of her hands with his thumbs.

"Okay," he repeats, reassuring her.

And though bashful and very, very embarrassed, Olivia smiles back and boldly pecks him on his cheek which widens his grin before hugging him around his waist, resting her head in the crook of his cold neck, sensing his pulse throbbing in a slow pace against her nose while she can feel hers throbbing as though her heart was about to explode. She hears him mutter something against her hair but she doesn't really pay attention, the coldness of his neck and his rhythmic heartbeat soothing her.

("As long as I'm not bored." he mutters but she fails to catch it.)

She feels one of his hands wrap around her waist as the other one goes through her pink hair, smoothing her long locks and lingering on her neck, sending small shockwaves down her spine and she allows herself to let down a sigh of pleasure—almost a moan—as she tightens her arms around him.

"But," he wonders aloud, his hand still combing her hair and Olivia straightens a little, fearing the worst because she knows to expect the unexpected with her sweet yet odd husband, "How do we make babies?"

Pissed and terribly embarrassed, she pinches his nipple.

Hard.

"Oww!"

"Idiot!"

Hidden behind the wall of the house stand two men peeking into the window. Two young men, or rather two voyeurs.

One is watching them speechless while the other one hides his face behind his hands.

"Well, what a stupid couple." Gerome says in a dull tone when he finally recovers his voice.

"Yeah, I know." Inigo's muffled reply comes in a desperate cry.