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.
The day passes in a sort of desolate crawl. He sits, tracing her forehead time after time with the icy cloth, muttering comforting nonsense under his breath. It does not do any good. Each time he reaches out with his hand and touches her skin, it seems hotter than before.
She does not wake. Every now and again she murmurs something in her sleep, never clearly enough for him to understand. Other times she cries silently, leaving heated tear trails below her eyes. The rest of the time, she is perfectly still.
There is a certain peace to this semi-solitude, so similar to the watching over his daughters from the shadows. Having grown accustomed, in that way, to such vigils, Aron feels no boredom, no need to find something to occupy his mind.
He marks the time by the periodic mouse-like intrusion of Adelais and other healers, bringing clean cloths, which he changes for the soaking ones in his hands. The food he leaves untouched. He dares not wake her for fear of making her more conscious of her pain, and the nourishment holds no interest for him anyway. In an hour, he tells himself, he will wake her so they can both eat.
However, the time goes by indeterminately, as the world somehow distills to the tiny beads of water that his motions leave on Miranda's forehead.
"Sir?" He hears the voice as if it comes from far away, "Sir?' As he vaguely tries to move his mind back to reality, he feels a harsh hand grab his wrist and pry open his fingers, removing the cloth. "King Aron?" The voice is louder now."
Someone lightly slaps his face "Come on Sir!"
He blinks and starts seeing Adelais, looking completely exasperated.
"Sorry," he mutters, dropping his hand.
"When's the last time you had something to eat?" She asks, a little too gently.
"Technically," he answers, "21 years and some days ago."
"I was afraid of that," she replies dourly, shaking her head and pushing a silver tray toward onto the bedside table. "Take that into the antechamber. You are not to come back until you have finished everything on it. Chew your food. I'll tend her in the interim."
"You're starting to sound like Este." He says, trying to summon up a smile.
As he sits, trying unsuccessfully to get through what seems to be a chicken salad sandwich and assorted side dishes, all he wants to do is to run back into the room and check on Miranda.
Therefore, he is not really paying attention to Este as she walks up the halls to him, carrying a bound book under her arm and looking positively murderous.
He looks up though when Adelais inconveniently comes out of the door, starts at Este's presence, and drops into a low curtsey. "I can explain." She mutters to her foot.
"Explain what?" Asks Este cruelly, "You're young and idiotic. I do not care what you do on your own blasted time. Nevertheless, it is my turn. You're dismissed."
As Adelais curtsies and leaves, Este turns to enter the room. Aron makes to follow her, but she cuts him off with a sharp gesture, "Let it alone."
"Have you found some way to help her?" Aron questions.
"No." Este answers sharply. "But I need to document her injuries."
"Why?" Aron asks puzzled.
"I know you've been a little preoccupied sir." Este deadpans, "But you killed your brother last night. There will be an inquiry. What he did to her is relevant. Not everything has healed yet, and that which has may have left traces I can get by delving."
Este shakes her head in agitation, "There is no record from during her marriage, because that brute Thantos would not let a soul near her least of all a healer. I have seen her precious few times between and always with another problem to be dealt with first." She sort of growls out the words." So help me, when the court asks for them, my books will be in order."
"Alright," he answers diminutively "Please don't hurt her."
Este shakes her head and bits her lip ever so slightly, "I can't promise you that."
It is not long, indeed far less time than he expected, when Este exits again.
She looks at Aron for a moment and, though her eyes are not gleaming with her usual brusque anger, they are not exactly soft either.
"She asked for you." The healer tells him. "I inquired if she wanted to have anyone with her. One of her maids maybe, I suggested, or Ileana, since I heard they were friendly 21 years ago. It is not as if she has been allowed to make any friends since. She refused, said she'd be fine on her own."
The anger is definitely back now, "She would have been better off doing it alone, getting through what she has to the way she always does, but she changed her mind. Asked me, meek as can be, whether I thought it would be any trouble if she asked for you."
Este's voice quiets a little, though loosing none of its intensity "So go to your wife, sir."
He sits on the small chair next to the bed and takes her hand in his, clasping it firmly.
Este removes and folds the blankets. With more gentleness than Aron knew she possessed, the healer adjusts the pillows to allow Miranda to sit up slightly.
"I'm going to have to undo your dressing gown for this, Miranda," Este tells her, with a significant glance at him.
"Aron is the father of my daughters and I love him." Miranda answers. "I'm not afraid of his eyes."
Nonetheless, he keeps those eyes on her face as Este begins her work. As the healer moves cloth, touched skin, and writes down entries in the accursed book, he tries to keep his focus on the lovely blue-grey of her eyes, fearing that if he sees any injury on her it will emblaze itself forever in his mind. He does not need to know what is being seen and done, only how it affects his love.
Miranda's face is dispassionate and calm, whatever Este is doing. The only hint at her vulnerability comes through her hand, which comes near to crushing his. It seems to go on forever, and unsure of what to do, he quietly strokes the back of her hand with his thumb.
"Brace yourself," He hears the healer instruct, and a moment later his wife pulls his hand closer and, turning her head towards him, whispers a barely audible whimper.
Another eternity of time. "Aron?" She whispers.
"Right here love," he answers her, "right here. I'm not going anywhere."
When Este finally draws a blanket back around Miranda's shoulder and closes that infernal book, Aron feels near his breaking point.
"That's done." Este says in a hoarse voice. She gestures out the window at the setting sun, "If you need someone during the night, call that fool Adelais."
"Going to get some sleep?" he asks, trying to keep the irate bitterness from his tone.
"Sir, I can dissociate almost anything, but this is out of my depth. I am going to get very drunk. Excuse me."
She brushes past him out of the room, and he sits down to keep his vigil again.