Summary: Movieverse, post twitches II, Aron/Miranda, angst, continuation.
Disclaimer: I do not own this. If I did, it would not be a kid's movie. This is not a kid's story. I have not read the books and do not intend to because I like messing with the movie characters. The books may well be better than the movies, but since it is the movies' faults and inaccuracies that inspire my subplots… being too correct would destroy my material.
When he wakes, she has already risen. He attempts, vainly, from looking at her neatly made side of the bed, to recall those folded corners she used to have him do. However, his fingers fumble at the delicate task and he quickly gives up.
He wonders where Miranda is. It is early yet, with just the faintest tendrils of pink and orange haze threading their way over the horizon. From the intensity of their last day, both of them should have slept well past sunrise, whatever their usual tendencies. Yet here he is, awake, and she is already gone.
With increasing disquiet, Aron attempts a cursory search of the castle and the grounds, but with no idea of where to expect her, he has no success. Finally, he stops one of the servants, a young man he does not recognize, and asks, "Excuse me, have you seen Miranda?"
The servant jumps, dropping the tray he carries, and Aron mentally reminds himself not to walk behind people. Of course, it had been different as a shadow.
"Umm... Lord Aron! I mean, King Aron! I… I…" The fellow stutters eyes frenetically searching the corridor. "I… I haven't seen her sir."
Silently cursing Aron thanks him and turns to leave. Still unsettled, he paces the halls, somewhat slowed down by what seems to be crowds of staring individuals, confused by the unfamiliarity of the castle he used to know completely.
He cannot say why his feet take him to the parapets, but he imagines the walk up the stairs will be helpful to his legs. As he climbs higher, he feels the ache in his knees and joints again. Yet he keeps going, if only to get away from the masses of gawking humanity gaping at their ruler back from the dead.
Then he feels her presence. Miranda is sitting high on the rampart with her feet dangling over the side. Her hand rests on the castle wall and she leans upon it for support. Her brocade riding dress whips in the gusty air. She is looking outward, into the rising sun, which casts a reddish glow across her face.
Careful not to startle her, Aron approaches, "Since when do you have such a head for heights?" He ventures gingerly, a bit uncertain himself of the indeterminate drop.
"You can see everything from here." She remarks, taking hold of his sleeve and pulling him closer. She gestures with her left hand, "The towers, all of the gates, the courtyard, the gardens, even the path up here. No one can ambush you. Few follow you. Besides, you have the high ground. It is defensible."
"Defensible with a thousand foot fall behind you." He specifies with some trepidation, wondering why he did not notice how the height of these walls as a younger man, when he last had the leisure to observe them.
"You have options." Her answer is detached.
"Miranda, come away from there." Aron says, a little too hurriedly.
"Gladly," She answers, swinging her legs around and stepping back onto reliable stone. "I don't know what I was doing up here anyway, except that I always come here at daybreak. Since you died... I mean almost died…it feels… it felt safe." She smiles and loops her arm through his. "Have you eaten yet? If we're late there'll be nothing left."
They descend the stairs together. At the base, she moves her arm and tightly clasps his hand instead, interlocking her fingers with his. It feels…
Too hot.
"Miranda," Aron questions, "Are you feverish?"
"I overdrew last night," She answers aloofly. It is to be expected." Casually, she keeps walking.
He puts a hand on her forehead, for once careless of the accompanying flinch. Her brow is scorching. "Darkness," He swore, "You're burning up."
"It's normal." She answers patiently, pushing his hand back a little.
"You!" He roars across the garden to a liveried figure, "Call a healer. Now!"
As Aron leads her to sit on the bench Miranda insists, "I'm fine." But her rickety steps belie her firm tone.
"I've seen overdraw fevers, love, and this is too high." He says, trying to comfort her as he realizes his own hand is shaking.
"I can't show them any…" She groans as her eyes close and she slumps against him. "Any weakness."
"It's okay." He whispers, cradling her head. "I've got you… Where is that healer? Healer!"
Aron knows that he shouldn't be surprised by the overdraw fever, especially after seeing the amount the magic Miranda handled last night, after knowing how tired she must have been to begin. He hates how easily he was blindsided by this mess. And he is aghast at the thought of losing her.
Aron feels his heart rip. This will hurt her, and he will have to watch it. The memory of her has been his identity for over 21 years. Abandoning her is unthinkable. As she clings to his chest and shivers, it kills him. And there is nothing he can do.
Just as there had been nothing he could do about Bloody Wednesday, the name people here took to calling his supposed death day.
Just as there had been nothing he could do about his brother devastating his kingdom while he lived as a shadow.
Just as there had been nothing Aron could do to prevent Thantos marrying Miranda, nothing to prevent him from doing any detestable thing he could think of to her.
Just as there had been nothing he could do to so much as see her face for 21 years.
So any small part of Aron that might counsel caution or tell him that creating a scene would improve nothing and likely show just the weakness Miranda tries so hard to hide is quelled.
And he desperately screams for help.
As if it will undo the past.
As if it will heal Miranda's soul.
As if it will heal his soul.
As if someone with more power than him can hear.
"Healer!"
The sun glares in his eyes, reflecting off his tears.
"Healer!"
"Healer!"