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.
"Miranda, I want to talk to you." He leads her towards a bench, under bright white cherry blossoms. The fiery sunset casts a red inferno across the pure petals.
She sees his face. "Aron, what's wrong. Are you alright?" It breaks his heart, as always, that her mind always jumps to distaster. Then again, his heart is shattered into so many pieces that he can't say another few cracks make a difference any more.
Shaking his head, Aron returns to his wife's question. His knees hurt and his head spins, but these things are not relevant. "I'm fine Miranda." That's not entirely true
Miranda breaths a hasty sigh of relief, placing a hand on his shoulder. He hates himself for putting his love through even this moment of distress, but he needs to know.
"It's just… what did you mean when you said you were afraid for our wedding?" Aron questions, dreading the answer. He had never meant to be a source of her fear.
"Well I…" Miranda spread her hands in a gesture of confusion. "Really, Aron what did you expect, I'd known you for a week." She acts as though this isn't tearing his heart open.
"I…" The monarch stuttered, trying to explain his feelings. However, he can't seem to word what he barely understands himself.
"Oh…" Miranda realized. "Love at first sight. I understand." She looks down at the ground, awkwardly, as though unsettled by the revelation.
This evening is just getting worse. Aron would give anything to go back and forget about this entire conversation.
"Aron, love." She puts her hand on his shoulder and leans forward towards him. "These things take time."
"Not for me…" Aron mutters. This was probably why his father had expected a king to be hard and cold. Naivette had always been Aron's problem. He trusted everyone, believed everything.
"Look." Miranda begins, getting angry now. "I'd seen you three times. You did not propose. My sister shook me awake and said 'wake up; it's your wedding day.' I had to get up and ask her who the groom was."
His mouth drops open, "Miranda, I didn't know." He really wants to throttle that sister of hers and his father for good measure, and that's quite the achievement because he never thinks that way about his father. His father, even from the grave, demanded respect.
"What did you think would happen when you had your father approach my sister?" His wife prompts, as if talking to a child.
It had been the proper thing to do. He remembered after the winter festival, when his angry father had explained to him what a mistake his gift of a star had been. Proper women did not accept gifts from random men, even princes, at balls. That had left Aron determined to follow the proper forms, especially in his proposal. He would have hated to have Miranda think he was insulting her honor by asking himself.
"I thought your sister would get your answer." He tries to explain. "I didn't want to put pressure on you."
"You were afraid I'd say no!" She snaps, turning her hips away angrily.
"…" It hits him… "You never said yes?" The room spins and his stomach turns. He has basically forced his wife to marry him, without even realizing it. For all his good intentions, he's no better than his brother.
"I could have refused…" She considers. "Technically. Honestly I was just glad that it wasn't your brother. He terrified me." She snorted, "And people think I'm a bad judge of character. I should have trusted my first instincts, and avoided that snake at all costs."
Aron grins at that. He can't help the sudden delight, despite his distress. He thinks to himself that his sibling and he were entirely too competitive, if he's getting shortsighted now over something like that.
Miranda smirks. "Are you starting to see why I was nervous now?" She demands, and maybe he can, if only theoretically grasp her point.
Aron bites his lip for a moment. "Did you like me?"
Her eyes sparkle, and she gestures widely. "You were like a dream. Charming and handsome. I thought you were" Light glints off her teeth, "Incredibly attractive." She leans in and pecks him on the lips.
"But you weren't in love with me…" He concludes miserably, his heart sinking.
"I didn't know anything about you." Miranda explains vainly, throwing her hands up in exasperation.
A horrible realization comes to him. "Do you know anything about me now?"
Miranda looks up at him, perhaps searching for a displomatic answer.
"Do you know my favorite color? My childhood hero? My favorite dance even?"
"I… I want to."
He blinks back tears, "Do you know anything about me at all?"
"I know you're a good man." Miranda answers fervently.
He stands up and walks away. "Yellow, my father, the waltz." He calls over his shoulder. "If you really want to know."