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.
"You look just like a bride." Aron whispers, standing over her shoulder.
"What?" Miranda asks, jumping a little.
"You're dressed as a bride." He repeats, gesturing to her attire. The effect of the cream-colored dress, with its light colors and the diaphanous train, is distinctly bridal and reminds him of the dress Miranda wore to her own wedding. His wife, he reflected, probably looked more more like the bride than Ileana did. Though he enjoyed their vivacious friend's presence, her taste in clothing would not have been his.
"Oh," Miranda deadpans, looking away. "I didn't have time to order a new dress." She seemed unaware of how beautiful she was.
"You didn't wear that with… him…" He stutters, his stomach turning at the thought of his treacherous brother.
"What?" She asks, sounding offended. Then, she shakes her head. "No. I just choose something random for that. It wasn't white."
As she speaks the last word, she begins to walk to their appointed place. Her steps swing lightly, as they prepare to officiate the wedding, a confidence born of years in the public eye. Officiating a wedding is easy for Miranda.
Aron is almost in a daze as he speaks the words to the ceremony, caught in a wave of nostalgia. He remembers his own wedding, and the pure joy he felt seeing Miranda standing across from him, looking as beautiful as the sun that rose behind her. They'd both been so young, and the memory was an old one, but the mere thought brought a wistful smile to the monarch's face.
Aron had been something of an awkward teenager, uncertain of his own limbs and words. His earliest memory had been hearing his father tell his mother that he wished Thantos had been born first. That sentiment had been all too common in his early years. As a young child, Aron had lacked in the decisiveness, the sense of adventure that his patriarch had determined to be worthy of a king.
True, Aron's father had never understood the sense of quiet responsibility that his older son had possessed, preferring Thantos' louder charisma. Aron had become accustomed to the discrepancy, knowing that only the accident of biology put him first in line for the throne. In his weaker moments, he had even considered abdicating.
If his father had never understood Aron, women were even worse. Thantos had a way of charming every young lady who crossed his path. However, Thantos had no problem using them as well. Aron had known that he would be expected to make a political marriage, and felt uncomfortable leading women on. Their father made no secret of his contempt for his scruples. Aron never did find out what his mother thought. The queen had died when he was only seven years of age.
Then, Miranda came along, beautiful, vivacious, and completely charming. Aron had been smitten from the first glance across the bustling ballroom. The shock had been her reaction to him.
Knowing only about her semi-legendary powers, Aron had expected Miranda to be more taken with Thantos. That she preferred Aron, even to the point of ignoring or slighting his brother, had come as a complete shock.
Aron had wanted children and a happy family or as long as he could remember. His dreams formed a stark contrast to his childhood reality, which had been anything but happy. However, Aron was a realist. He had never expected his marriage to be a love match.
The surprise had been the best thing imaginable. It had given him the confidence to step from his brother's shadow, to begin to rule in his own right. A few months later, it had been Miranda's confidence and poise that had saved his authority upon the violent death of his father. On some level, Aron knows that Miranda's choice of a husband had given him the courage to accept the throne.
His wedding had been the second happiest moment of his life, just behind the day when Miranda had told him she was carrying his children.
And so, Aron loves weddings.
The party is breaking up, and he circulates lazily, making goodbyes and shaking hands. He can hear laughter from the garden, where his daughters have initiated some sort of game.
The evening has gone reasonably well. Aron does not think any of the politicians, who watched every moment of the masque, eager to see a mistake, had anything to work with. The happiness in the palace that day is so prevalent as to be almost oppressive.
More importantly, his daughters seem happy. Cameron has fallen easily into her role as the royal socialite, charming friend and potential enemy alike with an easy charm that has Aron wondering if even she knows how she is doing it.
Alex is far more quiet, reserved, and controlled. However, she is smiling, a little upward turn at the corner of her mouth, a surge of joy that cannot be helped.
It does Aron's heart good to see his family happy and relaxing. Especially Miranda.
However, it is late and they are all tired. Therefore, he is looking around for his wife.
Miranda is standing at the edge of the garden, watching the last of the guests with a pensive look across her features.
"Why so quiet?" Aron asks her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.
"It's just…" She says hesitantly. "You know… weddings."
Aron feels confused "What about weddings?"
"I don't know." She muses. "They just… they make me nervous." His wife smiles as if to diffuse her statement.
She looks nervous too, Aron notices. Miranda's face is pale, and her smile, so reassuring to him earlier that day, looks painted on, gilded and somehow off.
"You could try to remember ours," He suggests with a warm smile, a flicker of the pride from earlier in the day reasserting himself.
"I was frightened for ours…" Miranda says. "Weren't you?"
His chest constricts. Aron hadn't been nervous, self-conscious, or afraid on his wedding day. He had been elated.