Iseult had never quite understood why her father was so fond of fishing.
He was, by any objective measure, terrible at it: she could count on the fingers of one hand the number of times he’d caught something, and that included the famous Boot Incident her mother never let anybody forget about (every year on the same day she’d serve her father the same marinated boot for supper with an assortment of bootlaces. It was ridiculously cheesy, but he laughed every time). She’d grown to appreciate the trips to the lake, though. Before Tiberius was born, it was just the two of them in that dingy old boat gorging on the candy that Mom pretended not to know he was hiding above the cupboards. Naboo wasn’t the most exciting place in the world, but it was very pretty and when she got older she understood that that was kind of the point.
-
The first time Iseult met Aunt Seras, she was seven.
Just before supper a dishevelled-looking Miraluka came knocking at the front door, and when Mom opened the door the stranger asked if this was the house of Tristan Grey. Her mother had looked like she wanted nothing more than to close the door in the woman’s face, but her father had come out of the kitchen and raised a sardonic eyebrow as he wiped his hands on his apron.
“Now this is a surprise,” he said, sounding not at all surprised.
Mom glared at him.
“Tris?” she prompted.
“An old friend, love,” he replied.
“Old friends can come back tomorrow, and call ahead when they show up,” Mom stated firmly.
“But look at her, she’s so skinny,” Dad mourned. “I bet she hasn’t eaten a decent meal in weeks.”
The Miraluka’s cheeks flushed in embarrassment and she looked like she was trying to speak up, but they went on speaking right over her. Iseult could sympathize: when they started bickering about things it was like the rest of the world just stopped existing until one of them had won.
“Do we need to have a discussion about taking in strays again?” Mom asked.
“It wasn’t a stray, that she-wolf of Marin’s apprentice had a litter and she was looking for a good home,” Dad replied primly. “And I have no objection, given how that particular discussion ended.”
Iseult pretended not to see the both of them glance at her, because just ew.
“Fine,” her mother muttered. “But that’s the last one this year, promise me.”
Her father smiled innocently, doing no such thing, and invited the Miraluka in. Aunt Seras ate only vegetables, it turned out, and she became Iseult’s favorite the moment she allowed her to slip her broccoli onto her plate while her parents weren’t looking. She slept in the guest room and the following morning Dad announced the two of them were going for a camping trip in the mountains.
“Most women would not be so understanding about their husband going on a week-long trip with a beautiful younger woman,” Mom replied peevishly.
“It’s a good thing I’ve married a creature superior in every regard then, isn’t it?” he father replied shamelessly.
Aunt Seras started visiting every few months after that. She was like a holovid princess, Iseult found out, with the shiny hair and the way all the animals flocked to her when she was meditating. (She was also kind of a wimp but that was okay, Iseult was tough and she would make sure the other Jedi didn’t bully her when she got older. Besides, her father said the galaxy would be a better place if more people were like her). Dad kept teasing her about some guy called Xion and wedding bells, and sometimes they had long elaborate conversations about how someone named Buttons could be made to have heart attacks. Mom started liking her when she realized she could guilt-trip her into taking care of household chores when she was visiting, which Iseult supposed was her mother’s way of befriending people.
