A/N: One day, while getting ready for one of our random stories, the subject of sequels came up. We both count The Princess Bride among our favorite movies, so it seemed a sequel was a natural for a story theme, and that it would have to be framed as a story within a story. We rolled 18 dice one at a time, making a quick plot point for each chapter. We then worked to fill in the connecting narrative over the following weeks and found that the work expanded the story greatly, even requiring two extra chapters and dice to finish it off. Trust us; these stories are much shorter when we do them verbally. It wasn't until the story was being written fully that the idea occurred to post it on a fan fiction site when completed. To be fair we have not read any fan fiction stories until after this is published. That being said, the odds are great there is SOME duplication of ideas with previously written stories by other authors; there are only so many feasible ways that sequel story lines can go. In cases of duplication we acknowledge that others got the idea first, so congratulations.
We're still getting used to the format changes while uploading content, so you may see an occasional miss on bold or italic type. Sorry about that, we ARE getting better.
Of course there is the usual disclaimer; the characters and settings from the original movie do not in any way belong to us, but have been used as a basis for a sequel strictly for non-commercial entertainment, a story comprising 20 chapters.
Walter White and Craig Shamphan
"I'm here to visit my grandfather in room 212" said the gangling youth with a hint of goatee as he leaned a bit over the counter of the nurses' station. "Is he in his room right now?"
The nurse from the rehabilitation center tapped a few keys on her computer and pulled up a spreadsheet. "He should be. He isn't scheduled for therapy until 3." With a few more taps she pulled up the care notes and frowned slightly. "You might be able to do us a favor" she continued with lowered voice as if plotting a conspiracy. "He seems to be recovering physically from his fall injuries, but he isn't very interested in doing much. He's cordial enough, but he hardly eats and isn't very enthusiastic about getting up and out. It would be great if you could cheer him up and maybe get him interested in getting better again."
"I can try" said the grandson, "but he can be a stubborn man. The last time I saw him was before his accident, but I brought something that might help." He patted a binder under his arm.
The nurse smiled. "That would be good. Photo albums always seem to interest older people. Go on in and say hello" she said as she pointed down the hall to indicate the direction of the room.
He walked to the room and took a step inside and saw that the nearer bed was empty. With the partitioning curtain pulled half-way out he could only see feet lying in the far bed. He knocked on the door frame. "Grandpa?"
There was a pause, followed by "That sounds like my grandson. Come on in kid." He walked to the foot of the bed and quickly surveyed the area. His grandfather was thinner than the last time they talked, and his skin seemed to be a little paler. A tray beside the bed held a lunch that hadn't been eaten, a word search magazine with the wrapper still on, and a book. THE book. Well-worn pages from many turnings, a cover faded from the sun and probably some grime from more than one generation of readers' hands. The visitor bent over and hugged his grandfather, and pulled back. The grandfather reached up to his cheek and he instinctively tensed, but the touch was a gentle pat and not the pinch of his youth. They both smiled and the grandson sat down beside the bed.
They exchanged pleasantries for a few minutes before the grandson decided to spring his surprise. "I've been doing some research at the university and came across this story that I thought you might be interested in." He pulled out the binder whose cover bore the title Humperdinck's Revenge, a story by S. Morgenstern. He held it up while his grandfather found his glasses and put them on.
"There isn't any such story" said the grandfather incredulously, "otherwise I would have read it long ago. That binder is empty, but it was a nice try."
"It isn't empty at all; there's a real story here that I've already read" said the grandson. He opened the cover and flipped through the pages to show proof there was content. "I was going to read it to you, but I can just take it back to the university..."
"Now wait! If you've gone to the trouble of bringing it you might as well read it. Probably doesn't even have anything to do with the book. Just let me get comfortable." The grandfather shifted his pillow to lie against and sighed. "This way when the story bores me I can fall asleep without getting a stiff neck. Okay, let's hear this so-called story."
Both settled in and the grandson began to read...
Vizzini always used that word thought Inigo as he shook his head. But as he looked around at the richly appointed furnishings of his sitting room, he was tempted to use the word to describe his life now six months retired from life as the Dread Pirate Roberts. So much had changed during his three years as the captain of the pirate ship Revenge. Maybe it wasn't inconceivable, but it certainly was unexpected.
He had learned how to swim; a good skill for a pirate who spent his days on the water. One simply couldn't walk to shore if the ship had trouble.
He had become even better with the sword. Using a sword designed for his hand instead of the 6-fingered design of his father, his skill had finally (if somewhat marginally) surpassed Westley's. At least he could take three of five matches; Westley was still very good with a blade.
Out of necessity he had lost his Spanish accent. The Dread Pirate Roberts wasn't supposed to have an accent and he had trained himself to talk without one. Now his voice said he was from nowhere.
He hadn't had a drink in over three years. A drunken pirate was soon a dead pirate.
He had two "Pirate of the Year" plaques on his wall. The one year he came in second was to someone named Billy "Auric" Mann.
He had more wealth than he even knew existed as a poor child growing up. His father had been a great craftsman but never had anything to show for it except his tools.
And he was lonely; the loneliness born of spending too much time being bored with nothing to do and no one to do it with.
Not the loneliness of an empty house though. He employed a few people to assist with the upkeep of his large house overlooking a bay in the kingdom of Guilder. Even it couldn't contain all the treasures both here and abroad that his former profession had gained him. No, these past years had gotten him everything a man needed except for two things.
Family and friends.
It had been nearly two years since he had last seen Westley and Buttercup, and almost that long for Fezzik. The life of a pirate didn't lend itself to long or frequent visits with friends; you couldn't just sail up in a pirate ship and suggest that everyone go see a play. Likewise they certainly couldn't come see him "at work" on the seas. At best he occasionally sent or received notes from them to keep up on news. Other news, like Humperdinck's accent to the throne upon his father's death was picked up from villagers when he or members of his crew visited land.
From outside his home a noise grew steadily, almost like the approaching sound of thunder. Inigo snapped out of his thoughts and rose to walk to a window facing the flat lands behind his house. The sound grew louder, and he identified it as the sound of horses approaching across the ground. A glance out the window showed a large group of soldiers approaching from a forest that lay between his house and the northern lands of Florin. As they got closer the moonlight showed by their uniforms that they were in fact from Florin, and as they crossed the
the racket of the hooves drove the soldiers into quicker action as they galloped toward Inigo's house. He hesitated but a moment as he grabbed his sword and dashed out the back door. Too many to fight, he ran to a set of small stairs hidden in the cliff's side and climbed down to the beach. There, he squeezed into a small cave whose entrance was hidden with roots and underbrush. He waited while his ears took in the sound of the soldiers ransacking his home; much later it was the sound of the crackling flames that burned, melted or scorched whatever the soldiers failed to take. When no sounds remained hours later, Inigo carefully left the cave and climbed up the stairs to find the remains of his house. Stuck in the ground was a stake with note attached:
I have sworn revenge on those who ruined my plans.
Although you survive, I have taken all that you have
gained since my humiliation. When next we meet
I shall take your life.
Inigo reflected on the note. It wasn't nice to take something that didn't belong to you. Then he thought of his career in piracy. Well okay, it still wasn't nice but at least he'd gotten out of the business. But the threat to his life was something else entirely.
Inigo returned to the beach and pulled out a canoe hidden in the cave. I have lived the life seeking revenge, and I have known release from it he thought; but there comes a point when one has to make a stand. He slipped the canoe into the water and looked to the north from where the soldiers had appeared. But I won't do it alone. It's time to look up some old friends.