He walks through the group of Fremen that had accompanied him. Hands and knives in the air. Chanting the name he had chosen to be known as by those who made desert power. People he now walked with, broke bread with, lived with. A family when his had been so utterly decimated by those who took power back of the Spice.
They're more than family.
They're desert power.
A force to be reckoned with. A power. A people. People who saw him as their Mahdi--the savior that would take them to Paradise. The people who had been manipulated by generations to expect a savior. He is no savior. He is a man who wishes revenge on those that took his family. A man who wants better for those who inhabit the planet that he was forced to adopt as home.
They're a force to be weaponized should he chose to do so.
They're not a family as they touch his shoulder and chant his name in victory.
In this instant? They're a reminder of the path his mother and her people demand he walk for their own ends.
His footsteps are heavy and echo through the reclaimed spice hoard. The Harkonnens are thrown down to the ground and slain. None are left standing. No prisoners. They can't be trusted and nor would they ever bend and submit to the Fremen or their insurgent leader Maud'dib.
The Fremen bow and mutter his name as he continues to stride through. He can feel the blue-in-blue eyes on him as he moves. His own eyes changed to that some time ago. The spice is everywhere in the desert. It was bound to change... as was his mind. The mind always changes with Spice, but he knows he is an exception. An exception his mother hails as the key her people want. An exception one who he thought would be a close friend considers nothing more to be spice dreams. ]
Maud'dib! The Harkonnen rat in charge has holed herself inside the main refinery. Should we--
[ Duke Paul Maud'dib Atreides raises his hand.
The Fremen nod and shift to the sides.
Paul pushes the door to the heart of the hoard open.
Blue-in-blue eyes land immediately on the woman in the center of the room. His head and faced are wrapped, only allowing the intense blue-in-blue eyes to be seen. Paul knows who his opponent will be. He has seen her in a dream. Someone who he had thought laid dead in the dunes of Arakeen just as his father and other members of his House. Someone who he knows can plunge her blade into his heart if she fails to realize the identity of Maud'dib. A test for her to truly see if she knows him, or if those memories had been thrown to the wayside in chase of a seat of power and recognition.
Both paths have always been open to her.
Paul comes to stand merely feet away from her. His crysknife rests in his hand. Eyes settle on the woman that had been a childhood friend. The grip on his knife tightens. Even now, he can feel his own physical reaction to her. A mechanical way of describing it, yet, his Mentat training has taken foot in that moment as he possibly stands at an attempt on his life. He feels his heart beat irregularly. His gaze focuses in on nothing but her.
Small--smaller than he remembers--and chestnut brown hair pulled back from her face in a tight bun. Dark suits attributed to House Harkonnen and not the Atreides nor Bene Gesserit. Her brown eyes are as he remembers them to be. Deep and dark, but not without emotion she attempts to hide. The hand around his blade curls as he feels the sudden relief that another member of his House remains. ]
Surrender! [ Paul barks the order at her through the mask of his stillsuit. Not the Voice. Just his own, now filled with command and authority. A leader. ] The people under your command are dead. The Spice belongs to me now. Surrender, and I will make certain you live. You are from House Atreides, not the Harkonnens. The Atreides were friend to the Fremen. Respected.
—「 don't walk away when the world is burning. 」
He walks through the group of Fremen that had accompanied him. Hands and knives in the air. Chanting the name he had chosen to be known as by those who made desert power. People he now walked with, broke bread with, lived with. A family when his had been so utterly decimated by those who took power back of the Spice.
They're more than family.
They're desert power.
A force to be reckoned with. A power. A people. People who saw him as their Mahdi--the savior that would take them to Paradise. The people who had been manipulated by generations to expect a savior. He is no savior. He is a man who wishes revenge on those that took his family. A man who wants better for those who inhabit the planet that he was forced to adopt as home.
They're a force to be weaponized should he chose to do so.
They're not a family as they touch his shoulder and chant his name in victory.
In this instant? They're a reminder of the path his mother and her people demand he walk for their own ends.
His footsteps are heavy and echo through the reclaimed spice hoard. The Harkonnens are thrown down to the ground and slain. None are left standing. No prisoners. They can't be trusted and nor would they ever bend and submit to the Fremen or their insurgent leader Maud'dib.
The Fremen bow and mutter his name as he continues to stride through. He can feel the blue-in-blue eyes on him as he moves. His own eyes changed to that some time ago. The spice is everywhere in the desert. It was bound to change... as was his mind. The mind always changes with Spice, but he knows he is an exception. An exception his mother hails as the key her people want. An exception one who he thought would be a close friend considers nothing more to be spice dreams. ]
Maud'dib! The Harkonnen rat in charge has holed herself inside the main refinery. Should we--
[ Duke Paul Maud'dib Atreides raises his hand.
The Fremen nod and shift to the sides.
Paul pushes the door to the heart of the hoard open.
Blue-in-blue eyes land immediately on the woman in the center of the room. His head and faced are wrapped, only allowing the intense blue-in-blue eyes to be seen. Paul knows who his opponent will be. He has seen her in a dream. Someone who he had thought laid dead in the dunes of Arakeen just as his father and other members of his House. Someone who he knows can plunge her blade into his heart if she fails to realize the identity of Maud'dib. A test for her to truly see if she knows him, or if those memories had been thrown to the wayside in chase of a seat of power and recognition.
Both paths have always been open to her.
Paul comes to stand merely feet away from her. His crysknife rests in his hand. Eyes settle on the woman that had been a childhood friend. The grip on his knife tightens. Even now, he can feel his own physical reaction to her. A mechanical way of describing it, yet, his Mentat training has taken foot in that moment as he possibly stands at an attempt on his life. He feels his heart beat irregularly. His gaze focuses in on nothing but her.
Small--smaller than he remembers--and chestnut brown hair pulled back from her face in a tight bun. Dark suits attributed to House Harkonnen and not the Atreides nor Bene Gesserit. Her brown eyes are as he remembers them to be. Deep and dark, but not without emotion she attempts to hide. The hand around his blade curls as he feels the sudden relief that another member of his House remains. ]
Surrender! [ Paul barks the order at her through the mask of his stillsuit. Not the Voice. Just his own, now filled with command and authority. A leader. ] The people under your command are dead. The Spice belongs to me now. Surrender, and I will make certain you live. You are from House Atreides, not the Harkonnens. The Atreides were friend to the Fremen. Respected.
[ Missed by some. ]