IV
DRAGONSTONE – 79 years after the Doom of Valyria
The common room of Dragonstone was ideal for my evening avocation, twisted idols graven in the image of atrocities and all. The hearth was cold and stately in its appearance, itself a masterfully carved stone imitation of a dragon's open maw. A low fire was burning within its gaping jaws, tinting the room a faint ocherous hue. Rhaenys was perched onto Daenora's lap, chubby little hands holding onto a fistful of berries while the older girl ran her fingers through her silver hair mindlessly. Aegon sat beside her, legs folded neatly over a satin pillow and eyes fluttering as he fought off sleep the best he could. Aethan sat reclined against the front skirt of the sofa, nursing a cup of warm milk while Orys looked down from on top of the couch, a heavy woollen blanket draped over his head
"Where did we leave off?" I asked, holding the candle under my chin for effect even if the light from the hearth was doing its best at ruining my 'amping up of the creepiness' factor.
"Squire Luke has left the Neck to save his companions in the… Vale?", Aethan offered.
"The Eyrie to be precise," I corrected.
"Lord Darth Vader has captured Princess Leia, Han the Smuggler and Chewbacca the Giant," Daenora recounted.
"Indeed," I confirmed with a slight smile, "And?"
"Han has been turned into a statue," Orys offered dutifully, "Lord Darth Vader used carbo… carbo…"
"Carbonite," I interjected, "And he's encased Han into the carbonite, not turned him into a statue. There's a distinction, you see."
"Stachew?" Rhaenys' lilac eyes widened as her lips worked in vain to repeat the word.
"Suspended animation really," I confessed sheepishly, "He's still alive inside the statue."
"How?" Aegon asked, puzzled.
"Magic," I grinned, "But enough of that. Ser Boba Fett the Sellsword has taken him back to Princess Meria Martell in Dorne to claim his bounty."
"Also known as Jabba the Huttress," Orys said solemnly, "And the yellow toad of Dorne."
Aethan took a swig of his milk, leaving behind the faint outline of a moustache over his upper lip. His eyebrows were knitted together.
"What happened to Leia and Chewbacca?" he quizzed.
"And the dwarf Artoo and Scholar Threepio?" Daenora pressed on with a frown. I could not help but laugh.
"Lord Lando helps them escape on the Millenium Falcon."
"Our ship!" Aethan said proudly. Daenora flicked two fingers onto his forehead.
"Not our ship, silly," she murmured disapprovingly, "Han the Smuggler's dragon. Did they get Han out of the statue?"
"Nope," I said, popping the 'p', "Sellsword Ser Boba Fett has already left for Dorne."
Daenora's mouth dropped at the confirmation. "I hope he does not die. Especially not to the Dornish."
"Mghm," Rhaenys grunted, mouth close to bursting with blueberries. Even Orys looked pretty aghast at the prospect of Han meeting a dreadful end in the sandy deserts of Dorne.
An ironic nod to their canon fates if ever there was one.
"You're derailing the thread."
"What?" they harmonised, all plainly confused. Even Rhaenys despite her having a mouth full of blueberries, though at this point, I think she was just repeating what everyone else was doing instead of actually having a proper opinion of her own. Oh well...
"The story," I pointed out, "Back to the story. Leia, Chewbacca, Artoo and Threepio are all on the Millenium Falcon thanks to Lord Lando Arryn."
"Isn't he the traitor?" Orys inquired. I shook my head.
"Lord Darth Vader forced him to give them up," I refuted, "And he's cool."
"He's cold?" Aethan looked comically confused.
"He is a nice man," I corrected, mentally berating myself. I was slipping up far too much nowadays. Must be all that time spent alone with Driftmark's accounts. "Lord Darth Vader is just that scary. But again, derail. So, Luke goes in to save his friends and lo and behold, our villain comes to meet him." I paused for effect. "In front of the Moon Door."
"The Moon Door?!" they all said in unison.
God bless these kids, they were adorable. The excitement in their eyes was enough to make me grin at the impending crushing disappointment they would feel.
Heh.
"Yes, the Moon Door," I said, both looking and sounding perhaps somewhat complacent. Hey, I had somehow turned an epic space opera into a medieval children's tale. That deserved some credit at least. And points for diversity in the cast and the pretty unprejudiced lessons I was imparting. Not all stories have a dwarfand a giant. Sure, my mental image of Billy Dee Williams was not the most accurate of castings, what with the Arryns being as aryan as they come but if Corlys Velaryon can be black in that Dance tb show, why can't the Arryns? After all, Summer Islanders were a pretty foxy race (spoken from my experience from visiting the small port of Dragonstone). And well, certain creative liberties were taken for this adaptation.
"Do they fight?!" Orys said, scooting closer as he kicked off the blanket.
"They do," I confirmed solemnly, making both my brothers gawk at each other in surprise. Aethan was practically vibrating out of joy while our sisters watched on excitedly.
"With their Valyrian Steel swords?" Aegon asked, leaning forward.
I tossed him a smirk before nodding. The cacophony that followed was unrivalled. Rhaenys was cheering while Orys, Aegon and Aethan fantasized over the epic clash of swords around the lethal one-way ticket to hell that was the Moon Door, one with rippling red flame dancing along its blade, the other rippling with swirls of light blue. Only Daenora kept her composure, something that no longer was a surprise to me. The girl had a thing for subversion of tropes.
"What happens next?" Aethan asked, "Does Squire Luke win? Does Grandmaster Yoda the Crannogman knight him?"
"Of course, he wins," Orys interjected, "He's a Jedi Knight. He has the force."
"So does Lord Darth," Daenora pointed out, "And he's stronger."
"We don't know that," Aethan countered stubbornly.
"He killed all the Jedi, didn't he?" Daenora retorted with a soupcon of sass.
"Yes but-"
"Derail!"
They all quieted down again.
"Where was I? Yes, they are fighting," I grinned, "Darth Vader is using the force to toss suits of armour and swords at Squire Luke! It's a one-sided massacre. Squire Luke is getting beaten."
"WHAT?!" all three boys screeched.
All three of them looked like I had pulled a rug right under them which, metaphorically speaking, was kind of true though I wasn't going to go there. I had enough on my plate already.
"I knew it," Daenora said smugly.
Only Rhaenys remained calm although I was of the mind it was because of her mouth full of berries rather than her own lack of initiative. Not that I minded. My eardrums were being assaulted left and right enough. Her toddler-ish rambling wasn't exactly constructive criticism lost.
"Yes," I continued, pausing briefly for effect. "And Luke loses his right hand."
Queue the chaos. Aegon looked like I'd just slapped our mother in front of him, Orys had the look of someone questioning his existence while Aethan just had this whole deer caught in the headlights look.
"But he's special!" Aegon protested, clutching his right hand tightly, "Yoda said so. He's the Chosen One, Viserys! He can't lose a hand!"
"Well, he did," I continued calmly, "And that's not all."
A second pause for dramatic effect ensued, the steady tempo I had been building finally rising to its crescendo. The twist to beat all twists.
"Lord Vader is Squire Luke's father."
Floored. They were absolutely floored. Aethan was calling Ser Vader a kinslayer and sending milk all over the carpet, Orys had fallen off the sofa in shock, while Aegon's jaw dropped open mid-yawn. Even Daenora had a startled look to her face, all while little Rhaenys continued gnawing on her berries. I gave her a little pat on the head. Truly, she was growing to be my favourite sibling, foster and blood-related. Given I was set to marry her, I did not know what that says about me.
"How!?" Orys demanded, sitting upright, "Ser Ben said Squire Luke's father was killed by Lord Darth!"
"Well, he lied, Orys," I shrugged, "But for the third time, derail."
"But he can't be!" Aethan protested, "Lord Darth was a Jedi knight! He can't turn evil! It's chivalry. Everyone knows that."
Orys and Aegon both nodded in agreement while Daenora had her lips pursed.
"We'll get to that once we reach Episode Three, Aethan," I continued, "This story focuses on Luke, not Lord Vader."
"But it makes no sense," Aethan decried.
"It does," I insisted indignantly. "And it's my story! Take it or leave it!"
Aethan sulked at that and I saw Orys and Aegon weren't the happiest too but I was not going to change the events of one of the best trilogies ever made just to please some idiots who thought their dads didn't have an iota of evil with them (all medieval dads were bad after a fashion after all, what with the forced marriage and incest they impose of you).
"Fine," Aethan finally relented with a huff. "What happens then?"
"Luke is distraught," I relayed, "Completely stumped. How can the man who killed his mentor be his father? So, he does the next best thing."
"They reconcile?" Orys proposed warily.
"He jumps out of the Moon Door," I said jollily.
"WHAT!?"
Even Daenora didn't see that coming. Truly, their minds were probably going into overdrive to justify this. They'd been force fed so much chivalry and innocence they probably even shit it. Given they would be participating in the murder of thousands for my vanity in the future, I would rather get that into their head early on.
Brother and cousin of the year, aren't I?
"He dies?!" Daenora yelled out.
"Peace," I called out, "He doesn't die. Leia finds him with the force and saves him with the Millenium Falcon."
"Leia has the force?" Aethan sounded offended, "But she's a girl. She can't fight!"
"Girls can fight," Daenora argued, a prominent scowl on her face, "She saved Luke and Han in the first entry of the story!"
"Indeed," I agreed, "And to cut this story short, Luke gets a hand made of Valyrian Steel before they set out for Dorne to find Han. The end!"
"That can't be all," Orys looked lost, "What happens to Ser Yoda? What about Lord Vader? Emperor Sheev!?"
"Next time, Orys," I said, smiling slightly. "I will be leaving you lot hanging for the next year or so. After all, I can't let you knowall my best stories in one go."
Their continued protests for more almost made up for the racket they made for the next two days. Almost.
All mildly good things must end however, even my short visit back home. But oh well, more uplift on the horizon for me. At least I got a "Someone I love went to _ and bought me this t-shirt" t-shirt. Well, if you can count my fairly good attempt at sewing something of the sort on my tunic with my mother. And boy did it add some pizazz to my rendition of 'Stairway to Heaven' on the harp.