Fic: Reality is what we tell each other it is (PG)
Title:Reality is what we tell each other it is
Author: Angel, Nov 2004
E-mail: valarltd@yahoo.com
URL: http://www.oocities.org/lady_aethelynde
Rating: PG for violence of the movies
Summary: After the Battle of Endor, our heroes live to tell the tale.
Type: Vignette
Archive: sure
Disclaimer:These fine folk belong to Lucasfilm. Do I look at all like the Great Flanneled One
Warnings: Subtext
Feedback: It makes the plotbunnies breed.



Once upon a time. That’s how the story always starts, isn’t it? Once upon a time there was a king
and a queen and they had a baby princess they both loved dearly.

One day, when the princess was a child, the queen died. The king doted on his daughter, raised her
to power and never married again. The princess grew up on stories of her beautiful mother, who had
been queen of another world in her own youth. Her mother had once been courted by a great knight,
who left her and broke her heart. She had married the king and been fond of him, but never loved the
good man with the passion of her lost love.

It came to pass that the princess spoke out against the unjust Empire, and was taken prisoner by the Black
Knight. He tortured her to learn the secrets of the Alliance, but she said nothing. He devastated her world
with a mighty weapon, and she said nothing. He sentenced her to death, but she said nothing.

A young squire and his sidekicks rescued the princess. The great old knight who trained him died, and the
squire eventually ascended to full knighthood. The princess fell in love first with the squire, then the roguish
sidekick. Together, they ended the unjust empire and lived happily ever after.

That’s how the story goes. Except that it isn’t.



Once there was and once there was not. That’s the way proper stories start. But this ain’t a proper story,
and I ain’t a proper story teller.

Once there was a boy who lived on the streets of Corellia. He was a beggar, a thief and pretty much owned
by a crime-lord. He grew up, got away and clawed his way into the Academy. He fought the courses, the
discipline and the bigger boys.

He got a good commission, a pretty girl and threw it all away in a second of conscience. His commanding officer
committed perjury, and the only witness didn’t speak Basic.

A piece of human flotsam, he got tangled up with another crime lord. A ship, a partner and a little money came his
way. But one day, he had to dump a load of spice because he’d been boarded by the authorities. The Hutt wanted
his money or his spice, and he didn’t have either.

So he took a charter. A nice easy cake job that the passengers were willing to pay way too much for. He got roped
into rescuing a princess, conned into rescuing a kid, tortured, frozen alive, and almost killed a dozen times. But somewhere
along the line, he and the princess fell in love. And if this was a proper story, they would get married and live happily ever
after. But this ain’t a proper story.


Heed this tale. It tells of things that were not, but should have been. Aunt Beru always started stories that way. But this
is not my aunt’s story.

There was once a farmboy who hated the farm. He dreamed of flying, like his father. But his feet were chained to the sand.
One day while he was out searching for a lost droid, he met an old wizard.

The wizard told him tales of his father, and gave him his father’s sword. A secret message from a captive princess sent them
hurtling into adventure, with new companions. They rescued her, the old wizard dying in the escape. The farmboy covered
himself with glory by destroying the Imperial Weapon.

He traveled in realms of myth: a world of ice, a world of water, and to the edge of the Floating City of Heaven itself, which
turned out to be Hell, for his friend was killed there. The Princess brought him back to life with a kiss, and they fell in love.

He learned of the knighthood and the truth of his father. When he had saved his father from Darkness, he returned to his friends,
with knowledge.

He would use the knowledge to create more knights throughout the galaxy, and live busily ever after.

That’s how Aunt Beru would end the story. But this isn’t my aunt’s story.


The cubs all sit, telling themselves their stories and trying to make them come out like every tale they have ever heard. They cannot
do so, and I know why.

I know all the tales. Of the thief who reformed. Of the farmboy who became a knight. Of the rescued princess. But there can be no
happy ending for these charges of mine. They know it.

This is why they sit: the young one on the log near where he burned his father, my Hankho on the edge of a catwalk, the she-cub
alone in the bed they have lately shared.

That will come to naught. Although they accomplished a coupling, there are none of the smells of true bonding on the air tonight. She is
in love with what she thinks he is. He is unsure of everything.

Time will tell, as I will tell the true story.

Time out of mind, there was a wookiee. He had been rescued from death by a human. He and his LifeOathFriend had many adventures.
The Great Wheel turned them up and down, fortune and famine, but always amusing.

They were on a downturn, things looking worse than before, when an old wizard and a cub walked into the bar. It is the beginning of every
bad joke, and every quest, for humor and myth run ever together.

And in this case it was no different.

A brief brawl, in which the wizard established his ownership of the cub and his right to be there, and then negotiation for passage. The
partners listened and took the reprieve the Universe offered them from their troubles.

But the gifts of fate are ambiguous, and while she offered deliverance with one hand in the form of money, she hid the danger behind
her with the other hand.

The snowmen pursued the wizard and then the partners. Capture and escape, and a suicide mission. They eluded the snowmen and the
Black One both. Through fiery battle and icy waste, from barren asteroid to lavish city, the man remained with the cub and the she-cub,
uncertain to which he was truly devoted.

At the time and place of execution, the Black One announced the man would stand in for the cub. He did, taking only a last kiss for
comfort. He did not die, but remained enclosed in iron until true love should free him.

But whose? Was it the cub who laid the plans and directed them, or the she-cub who carried out the thawing? More confused than
ever, the man withdrew into himself, not consulting Wookiee wisdom as he knew he should.

More wars, and a final battle. And tonight, he sits on the catwalk and broods, while I smell them all and know the truth. The touch and
love that so disturb the cub. The missing element that disturbs the she-cub. And the scents the night brings me, telling me the real story.

There is no clean ending, for this is not a cub’s tale. All the man does, he does for the cub. I know this.

I scent movement. My Hankho stirs. But into the hut or down to the ground? Does he know or is he still trying to make it come out “right?”