[ Paul cannot conceive any idea or moment in which the Harkonnens would find an Atreides agreeable, let alone useful. Unless they had planned a trap by using her. That, of course, would require the Harkonnens to believe that Maud'dib was Paul Atreides. He's certain that they have no idea who is truly behind the name of Maud'dib. The Harkonnens are intelligent, bullish, crude, cunning, and cruel. That hardly means they can see all the pieces on a board that they cannot control.
A whisp of a laugh comes from him. ] Stil would see it as both things. Eventually we will need to head into the tents and rest throughout the sunlight hours tomorrow. Then, what spice we can take back with us will go to Sietch Tabr. The rest will remain in hidden store houses such as this one here. The more spice we control, the less power the Emperor and the Baron have.
[ The wisp forms into a reserved smile. Quiet, calm, yet something shifting behind it as the sands on the dunes in front of them. Eyebrows raise and his eyes immediately move to her hand. An expression of slight surprise takes his face then. Almost as if he had never expected to be able to touch her again. His hands slowly unclasp from his back. A gloved hand meets her own and firmly clasps around hers. Security. Protection. Familiarity.
In a few strides with his longer legs, he is gently guiding her along side him. Blue-in-blue eyes once more scan ahead and to the dunes to their side. He makes certain not to move too quickly. The way the setting sun of Arrakis causes the spice in the air to glimmer as if star dust had fallen onto the planet. The way the stars glitter as the dual moons of the planet begin to be seen. He remains quiet for a stretch of moments. Their feet move across the rocks and worn paths until they come to the edge. It overlooks the desert.
Memories come to mind of a time much different even on Caladan. A time when thunderstorms would shake the old palace. The windows rattled as the rain that sounded like bullets hit the panes. The pair would hide away in an old forgotten alcove that had long since lost its glass. Water would pool underneath the broken window, yet, the winds would whip past the window as it was shielded by the out sprung roofing. There, they would play. Talk about those in the court. He would teach her of the inner workings of the families underneath the Atreides and how they commanded so much respect and yet love from their subjects. They practiced an ancient form of sign language from Caladan in order to speak to one another when ill or not wishing those nearby to know what was happening.
Then... her gifts became apparent.
His mother took her under her wings in a metaphoric sense. She received training that he could never begin to truly grasp. She excelled in the Voice and Prana-bindu. His mother insisted it was because Bastila was a woman, and yet, Paul couldn't help but feel left behind in the process. Hwatt, Gurney, and Duncan more than made up for it in training him to be the next Duke of House Atreides as per requested by his father. Yet, the shared training they shared from his mother? Paul always knew that she surpassed him. Maybe even held it above his head. ]
The worms can't come up to the cliffs. Their sense of rhythm is limited to the sands. They may be able to reach up to the cliffs, but they will turn away and be attracted by what other sensations travel through the dunes. It's why spice harvesting has always been so dangerous. [ Paul imagines she knows some of this as it seemed to be basic knowledge to know of the planet House Atreides was gifted it by the Emperor. ] Whatever sensations and motions happen in the rocks are well absorbed by it. And, joy riding on the great Shai-hulud is rather frowned on by the Freman.
[ He pauses. Caladan. Could he ever see it again? ]
I know you have questions, Basi. Ones that hardly matter to how the sandworms or spice work. [ Paul looks back to her. ] Questions about how I survived... what happened the night the Harkonnens struck. If my mother is alive--yes. She is. [ His hand gently squeezes hers. ] Maybe even how I became Maud'dib, the Fremen insurgent.
no subject
A whisp of a laugh comes from him. ] Stil would see it as both things. Eventually we will need to head into the tents and rest throughout the sunlight hours tomorrow. Then, what spice we can take back with us will go to Sietch Tabr. The rest will remain in hidden store houses such as this one here. The more spice we control, the less power the Emperor and the Baron have.
[ The wisp forms into a reserved smile. Quiet, calm, yet something shifting behind it as the sands on the dunes in front of them. Eyebrows raise and his eyes immediately move to her hand. An expression of slight surprise takes his face then. Almost as if he had never expected to be able to touch her again. His hands slowly unclasp from his back. A gloved hand meets her own and firmly clasps around hers. Security. Protection. Familiarity.
In a few strides with his longer legs, he is gently guiding her along side him. Blue-in-blue eyes once more scan ahead and to the dunes to their side. He makes certain not to move too quickly. The way the setting sun of Arrakis causes the spice in the air to glimmer as if star dust had fallen onto the planet. The way the stars glitter as the dual moons of the planet begin to be seen. He remains quiet for a stretch of moments. Their feet move across the rocks and worn paths until they come to the edge. It overlooks the desert.
Memories come to mind of a time much different even on Caladan. A time when thunderstorms would shake the old palace. The windows rattled as the rain that sounded like bullets hit the panes. The pair would hide away in an old forgotten alcove that had long since lost its glass. Water would pool underneath the broken window, yet, the winds would whip past the window as it was shielded by the out sprung roofing. There, they would play. Talk about those in the court. He would teach her of the inner workings of the families underneath the Atreides and how they commanded so much respect and yet love from their subjects. They practiced an ancient form of sign language from Caladan in order to speak to one another when ill or not wishing those nearby to know what was happening.
Then... her gifts became apparent.
His mother took her under her wings in a metaphoric sense. She received training that he could never begin to truly grasp. She excelled in the Voice and Prana-bindu. His mother insisted it was because Bastila was a woman, and yet, Paul couldn't help but feel left behind in the process. Hwatt, Gurney, and Duncan more than made up for it in training him to be the next Duke of House Atreides as per requested by his father. Yet, the shared training they shared from his mother? Paul always knew that she surpassed him. Maybe even held it above his head. ]
The worms can't come up to the cliffs. Their sense of rhythm is limited to the sands. They may be able to reach up to the cliffs, but they will turn away and be attracted by what other sensations travel through the dunes. It's why spice harvesting has always been so dangerous. [ Paul imagines she knows some of this as it seemed to be basic knowledge to know of the planet House Atreides was gifted it by the Emperor. ] Whatever sensations and motions happen in the rocks are well absorbed by it. And, joy riding on the great Shai-hulud is rather frowned on by the Freman.
[ He pauses. Caladan. Could he ever see it again? ]
I know you have questions, Basi. Ones that hardly matter to how the sandworms or spice work. [ Paul looks back to her. ] Questions about how I survived... what happened the night the Harkonnens struck. If my mother is alive--yes. She is. [ His hand gently squeezes hers. ] Maybe even how I became Maud'dib, the Fremen insurgent.