[ At first, the Harkonnens found Bastila anything but useful. They contemplated killing her outright, but after some consideration, it was determined that killing her would be a waste. Perhaps they could use her as leverage or a pawn, and if nothing else, well, there was always forced servitude. Servitude was the option they settled on, as they had no real idea who she was connected to, if anyone. House Atreides, of course, but most of said house was dead, and as Paul surmised, they had not yet made the connection between Paul and Muad'Dib. ]
I suppose I should ask, who is this "Stil"? A friend of yours, I suppose, but also someone with some degree of control over these people. [ She would like to know more about them, but something tells her that they might not appreciate her approaching them with questions. For now, she intends to observe, and ask Paul when questions arise.
She listens to Paul explaining the plan, and as he does so, a smile begins to grow until it resembles more of an amused grin. As far as she is concerned, if the Fremen take what spice they can, the tables begin to tip, hopefully in their favor. While the Fremen's motivations might not be known to her at this moment, the overarching goal is siphoning power from the Emperor and the Baron, and so she has no objections.
She watches then as Paul moves slowly, his expressions changing with equal slowness but still a sense of purpose behind them. Purpose, intention, deliberation. Finally, his hands unclasp and one hand meets with hers until he clasps it around her own.
The grin she wore moments ago softens into a fond smile, and as he guides her along, she follows without resistance. She knows she can often be stubborn, planting herself firmly in place and refusing to be moved if she does not wish to be moved, but Paul could lead her anywhere and she would follow after him. To her, it is not simply following blindly, but rather trusting his path. Even if the path led into danger, she would be right there with him.
But now, there is no danger here, unless they agitate the sandworms, but that is clearly not the intention. As they walk, Bastila alternates between taking in the stark but still mystifying allure of the dunes around them and the equally mystifying allure of the man guiding her along. She has always done her best to not stare too much or too long at Paul, believing that she is hardly fit to stand next to him, but the attraction was always there whether she admitted to it or not.
She too remembers their younger years on Caladan: the nights when storms shook the palace disrupting their sleep and driving both of them to a hidden alcove that they had decided was theirs. They would talk or play or Paul would teach her about things he knew; sometimes they would simply sit and hold each other's hands.
She misses those moments, before time and circumstance slowly began pulling them in opposite directions. The waking up of her gifts is not something she regrets, but she does regret the distance that grew between them, the distance that she never wanted. ]
I can imagine that even if they wished to climb the cliffs, the attempt would be quite difficult. [ Her lips turn up into a smile. ] Could you imagine a worm attempting to navigate the cliff face? Still, the worms are necessary even if they represent a danger.
[ She pauses to consider and think upon what Paul has said. She does know some of it, but what she is less familiar with is the relation between the Fremen and Shai-hulud. ] I imagine they take offenses of that nature quite seriously, as they should. [ She may not understand the intricacies of all of it, but she can understand holding respect for something. ]
I- Well, yes, but... I did not ask them as I imagined you would not wish to remember those events. Still, I did wonder who had survived, if anyone. At least you and your mother are still with us. [ Her expression sobers as she thinks of all who are not with them any longer. ]
Then perhaps that is where you should start: with how you became Muad'Dib.
no subject
I suppose I should ask, who is this "Stil"? A friend of yours, I suppose, but also someone with some degree of control over these people. [ She would like to know more about them, but something tells her that they might not appreciate her approaching them with questions. For now, she intends to observe, and ask Paul when questions arise.
She listens to Paul explaining the plan, and as he does so, a smile begins to grow until it resembles more of an amused grin. As far as she is concerned, if the Fremen take what spice they can, the tables begin to tip, hopefully in their favor. While the Fremen's motivations might not be known to her at this moment, the overarching goal is siphoning power from the Emperor and the Baron, and so she has no objections.
She watches then as Paul moves slowly, his expressions changing with equal slowness but still a sense of purpose behind them. Purpose, intention, deliberation. Finally, his hands unclasp and one hand meets with hers until he clasps it around her own.
The grin she wore moments ago softens into a fond smile, and as he guides her along, she follows without resistance. She knows she can often be stubborn, planting herself firmly in place and refusing to be moved if she does not wish to be moved, but Paul could lead her anywhere and she would follow after him. To her, it is not simply following blindly, but rather trusting his path. Even if the path led into danger, she would be right there with him.
But now, there is no danger here, unless they agitate the sandworms, but that is clearly not the intention. As they walk, Bastila alternates between taking in the stark but still mystifying allure of the dunes around them and the equally mystifying allure of the man guiding her along. She has always done her best to not stare too much or too long at Paul, believing that she is hardly fit to stand next to him, but the attraction was always there whether she admitted to it or not.
She too remembers their younger years on Caladan: the nights when storms shook the palace disrupting their sleep and driving both of them to a hidden alcove that they had decided was theirs. They would talk or play or Paul would teach her about things he knew; sometimes they would simply sit and hold each other's hands.
She misses those moments, before time and circumstance slowly began pulling them in opposite directions. The waking up of her gifts is not something she regrets, but she does regret the distance that grew between them, the distance that she never wanted. ]
I can imagine that even if they wished to climb the cliffs, the attempt would be quite difficult. [ Her lips turn up into a smile. ] Could you imagine a worm attempting to navigate the cliff face? Still, the worms are necessary even if they represent a danger.
[ She pauses to consider and think upon what Paul has said. She does know some of it, but what she is less familiar with is the relation between the Fremen and Shai-hulud. ] I imagine they take offenses of that nature quite seriously, as they should. [ She may not understand the intricacies of all of it, but she can understand holding respect for something. ]
I- Well, yes, but... I did not ask them as I imagined you would not wish to remember those events. Still, I did wonder who had survived, if anyone. At least you and your mother are still with us. [ Her expression sobers as she thinks of all who are not with them any longer. ]
Then perhaps that is where you should start: with how you became Muad'Dib.