Hero's Revision

Once upon a time, in a land far away, there ruled a super-cute Lord of the Realm named Rolphie. Rolphie—though abnormally short—was large in wit and intellect, garnering the adoration of his people.

One day, Rolphie found himself scaling a jagged mountain to rescue a maiden stolen by Vyraxus. The ancient dragon had terrorized the villagers for millennia. He stole their wealth, their prime livestock, and occasionally, their virgins.

Rolphie, clinging precariously to the bare rock, had finally reached the dragon’s cave, hollowed out from the side of the mountain. He pulled himself into the cave and lay on the floor, trying to catch his breath as he studied his bloodied hands.

“Oh, Lord R-r-rolphie, s-s-save me!” cried a terrified voice.

Rolphie scrambled to his feet, withdrew his short sword from its scabbard on his hip and jumped into action. He spotted the kidnapped maiden, bound to the cave wall with thick strands of seaweed.

“Have no fear, my dear… what was your name?”

“Ethel.”

“...my dear Ethel. I, Rolphie, have come to rescue you!” He raised his short sword defiantly. Seeing no dragon, or other imminent threat, he took a moment to survey the situation. His sword would easily sever the squelchy seaweed bonds of the woman, but good grief was she a vision. Aged, decrepit, and completely flat-chested, Ethel sported thick glasses sitting askew on her crooked nose.

“P-p-please hurry, my lord, b-b-before the dragon returns!” she wailed.

“Yes, yes, of course.” Rolphie drew himself up to his complete four feet of height and began to march across the cave.

Just then, from a hidden passage to the side, the great and mighty Vyraxus came thundering out. He stomped his feet, shaking the cave, and roared as he threw his head from side to side. The powerful dragon took a deep breath, his nostrils sizzling, and aimed a river of fire from his mouth directly at the stunned Rolphie.

“Stop! Halt! No more! CUT!” Rolphie hollered.

Everything froze, including the flaming dragon breath—midair.

What’s wrong?

“What’s wrong?” Rolphie seethed. “Everything is wrong! Have you ever written a fairy tale before?” His breath pumped in and out of his lungs.

Well, no. But I've read them before.

“Did you happen to notice that the hero always survives and saves the day?”

Sure. So do your thing.

“Do my thing?" Rolphie began to pace around the cave. “You’ve sent me into a cave to fight a fire-breathing dragon, wearing my velvet doublet, silken hose, and highly flammable, padded codpiece.” He walked over and tapped the frozen flame suspended in the air. “One needs armor to fight shooting flames,” he growled.

Ah, armor…like a knight would wear?

“Precisely.”

Fine, I'll make you a knight.

“No! That would be a demotion and an unreasonable pay cut.”

So what do you suggest?

“Just have the dragon cower at the sight of me and beg for leniency.”

At the sight of you? Snort. Have you seen you? You're four feet tall!

“And whose fault is that?” Rolphie vibrated with fury. “And that…no more of that!”

What?

“‘Rolphie vibrated with fury,’ crap. And, what writer worth their salt names the hero Rolphie? The dragon gets a majestic name, and I get one for a pet dog. Give me a stalwart name to be proud of.”

Would you prefer just Rolph?

“Yes.”

I thought ‘Rolphie’ went better with ‘super-cute' in the intro.

Rolphie rolled his eyes. “Could we, perhaps, try something more dignified than ‘super-cute’?”

I'll mull it over.

“And while I have your attention…Ethel? Seriously? She’s an emaciated, stuttering, near-sighted old hag!”

She’s a virgin.

“She's a spinster! And for good reason.”

That’s very judgy of you.

Rolphie sighed and shook his head. “Do you know anything about writing tropes?”

What do you mean?

"It's a common or recurring theme in a genre—a recognizable pattern that readers expect."

Why would I want to write like that?

"Because that's how genres work. It's an unwritten literary contract.If you write a fairy tale, readers expect a damsel in distress who is the loveliest maiden in the land with pert breasts."

Is that a fact?

“It is.”

Anything else?

“Seaweed binding her? Where, pray tell, is the nearest ocean?”

I see your point. I’ll try again.

“That’s super-big of you.” Rolphie stormed back to the mouth of the cave.

*****

Lord Rolph leapt from the side of the mountain into the dragon’s lair, landing in a crouch. Seeing no threat, he rose to his full seven feet in height and approached the tearful maiden.

“My lovely Rosalyn, I am here to rescue you!”

“Oh, my Lord Rolph, you are my hero!” Her bosom heaved, and her brilliant smile sparkled in relief.

Just then, from a hidden passage to the side, the great and mighty Vyraxus came thundering out. He stomped his feet, shaking the cave, and roared as he threw his head from side to side. Spotting Lord Rolph, he came to a sudden stop.

Vyraxus began to tremble as he eyed the proud lord brandishing a long sword in his direction. His lordly challenger stood tall, with a broad chest of solid muscle. His hose strained to encase his powerful thighs. No padding was required in his codpiece; the lord sported a magnificent bulge of manhood.

Rolph noticed the lowered direction of the dragon’s gaze. “Ahh, I see you have noticed what a manly man I am. I fondly refer to it as the Destroyer of Villages!”

Rolph brandished his longsword—

“WAIT…CUT!”

The scene froze.

What’s wrong now?

“What’s wrong?” Rolph threw the sword to the ground with a clatter. “What’s WRONG?”

I’ve made you a drool-worthy hero.

“You’ve made me a 70s cartoon porn star!” Rolph stalked over to a nearby boulder and sat. He removed his helmet and scrubbed his hands through his hair. Sighing, he looked up. “Look, I want to be the hero. That’s what fairy tales are about. But I’d like some complexity. Someone readers can admire and actually believe in. You’ve made me seven feet tall and—” Rolph turned sideways. He was flat. “And about one inch deep.”

You want me to make you fat?

“No, I want you to make me human. I want to overcome struggles realistically, not in a single bound. I want to wrestle with issues and ideas, not just dragons. I want to grow and develop as a character.”

This is supposed to be a fairy tale, but you want Lit Fic?

“It wasn’t even a fairy tale when you started! I was four feet tall, the rescuee was a spinster, the dragon was going to eat me. What exactly are you trying for?”

I think fairy tales are…already done. I wanted to write a subverted fairy tale.

“I think that’s an excellent idea.” Rolph stood, smiling. “I could be a hero that stands out among centuries of heroes. The hero’s hero! But—” He spun and pointed vaguely up toward the author. “Subversion isn’t just about randomly tripping up the trope—an ugly maiden and a troll-like hero. Or just as bad: an overly sexualized set of characters. Both create caricatures, not characters.” He began to pace back and forth, tapping his chin. “True subversion is asking the questions a fairy tale never would, while still maintaining the appearance of a fairy tale. Questions like ‘What if the rescue isn’t what the maiden needs?’ ‘What will this rescue cost the hero?’ ‘What if the dragon—’” Rolphie motioned to the frozen Vyraxus cowering. “‘—isn’t the bad guy here?’ Likely he is. But we could at least explore that idea. That would be subversion. This—” he motioned to his codpiece. “—this isn’t subversion, it’s slapstick. I should be reasonably well endowed of course, but it shouldn’t be what saves the maiden.”

I see what you’re saying. I’m just not sure how to—

A crack rang out through the cavern. Vyraxus arched and stretched to break out of his frozen state. He shook himself from head to tail. “Can I just say something here?” Tendrils of smoke curled up from his nostrils.

Rolph dropped to the floor, blindly searching for his dropped sword as he kept his eyes glued to the dragon. “You aren’t allowed to hurt me right now. We’re off script!” He found the sword and grabbed it—by the wrong end. “Ouch.”

Vyraxus rolled his eyes. “I’m not going to hurt you. I wanted to support you.” He sat back on his haunches, sphinx-like, and wrapped his tail around his body. “I just want to be heard.”

Rolph, wrap your hand. It’s bleeding. Go ahead, Vyraxus. What’s on your mind?

“It’s about what Rolph said. What if I’m not as evil as everyone assumes? Generations of children have been terrified of dragons based on stories written by dragon-slayers. Did anyone think to ask our side?”

“Ha!” Rolph burst out.

Hold on, Rolph. Even by your words, we could subvert the fairy tale by delving deeper into the dragon’s character and motivation. Vyraxus, do you have a different story to tell than being a stealer of maidens?

“Did it ever occur to anyone in the history of the world that being a dragon can be…lonely? We wouldn’t eat the young women we borrowed—not that you’d ever know, since you always rescue them and kill us without asking first. We just wanted someone to talk to for a little while, and then we would have returned them.”

Rolph snorted. “And I suppose buxom maidens are better conversationalists?”

Rolph, need I remind you that you requested the buxom maiden. Vyraxus didn’t complain about the spinster.

Vyraxus puffed out some nostril smoke. “I’d actually like the spinster Ethel back. Did you know she is a librarian?”

Rolph looked down at the floor. “No, I didn’t know.”

“She is very knowledgeable and a fantastic storyteller.”

Wait. I think Vyraxus just wrote himself into being three-dimensional. Surely, that is a worthy subversion of a fairy tale?

Rolph thought for a moment. “Yes, it is. Maybe not as worthy as fixing my codpiece, the maiden, or the seaweed, but yes, you’re right.” Rolph stood up straighter. “The dragon wanting to discuss literature with a librarian is interesting!”

Let’s do it! From the top?

“From the top!”

******

Once upon a time, in a land far away, there lived a Lord of the Realm named Rolph. He was a multi-layered ruler of complex character known for his cleverness, fairness, and certain physical endowments.

Upon receiving word that the dragon Vyraxus had stolen a maiden from the village, Rolph dedicated himself to assessing the situation and mediating a release, if necessary. The villagers were terrified she would be eaten alive, but Lord Rolph wisely understood that there could be mitigating circumstances to the alleged involuntary removal.

He navigated the mountain belonging to Vyraxus brilliantly and entered the cave. There he discovered Ethel, the village spinster librarian, seated comfortably on a pile of golden coins, sipping tea while eating seaweed biscuits, deep in conversation with the dragon about the symbolism in—

"Wait, this isn't right either.” He patted the leather satchel at his hip. “Where is my sword? Why do I have a satchel of legal contracts and consent forms?"

Because you still don't know how to write a fairy tale!

Lord Rolph dropped the satchel and hit the floor. “Who the hell is that?” He screamed like a little girl.

I believe that would be the author.

“I thought you were the author!”

I am the author of your story, but we are part of a bigger story.

What do you guys think you are doing? You are way off script.

“We’ve improved upon the fairy tale through thoughtful subversion to create interest and novelty.” Rolph dusted himself as he stood up.

Thoughtful subversion? You've been so busy being META you forgot to tell an actual story! Legal contracts? "Allegedly borrowed"? This isn't subversion, it's the ugly marriage of corporate bureaucracy and political correctness. And frankly, it's boring.

That’s a bit harsh. I was exploring—"

And has anyone noticed that Rosalyn is still tied to the wall? You've spent all this time discussing complexity and three-dimensional characters, and the woman you're supposedly rescuing hasn't said a single word. She's been frozen with her bosom heaving for the entire conversation! And Ethel, who was also never asked her opinion, is consigned to eating seaweed biscuits with a fire-breathing reptile. Would you care to explain why you and Vyraxus could have nuance and dimensionality, but the women are interchangeable stereotypes?

Rolph glanced over at the forgotten maiden, still bound to the cave wall, still mid-heave. "Oh. Right."

I was going to get to her next, I just thought—

You thought being clever was more important than being good. That's every amateur writer's mistake. Subversion without story is just showing off. You didn’t subvert a fairy tale; you suffocated it.

"So what do we do?" Rolph asked quietly.

You tell the story. Simply. Honestly. Give everyone agency, including Rosalyn and Ethel. Make it—

“Excuse me," Rosalyn said. "I would actually like to untie myself.”

STOP! CUT!

All of them froze.

What now?

I can't believe you're lecturing them about being too meta when you yourself are—

The voice didn’t finish. It was drowned out by a larger silence. The cavern, the dragon, the hero—everything felt suspended as if someone far away had set the story down.

*****

Somewhere, buried under all these voices, there was a tale of heroism and courage and honor. It was a good story, and they might have lived happily ever after. Maybe someday someone will write it.

The End