No. It's not what I want... but it might be what's needed.
[ He remembers posing the idea to Liet Kynes. The idea may have seemed like a desperate play, but Paul had been serious about the barebones. Make a play for the throne. Marry the crown princess. Destroy House Harkonnen once and for all. So many ideas that require delicate and almost near perfection in order to succeed.
Except, now, Bastila is alive. She is here with him. A powerful member on the chessboard that none expect.
As if to answer her question that he should not know? Paul reaches back for her hand as they stand. He leads her back to camp behind Chani. The Fremen woman looks back to them once, twice, then simply keeps moving. Paul can tell she distrust Bastila. A fair reaction, as she had worked with the Harkonnens. The honor of their people would rather see them die than serve under their oppressors. They would believe that Bastila should have taken her life and spilt her water.
At camp, he shows her how to set up their tent. A shake of his head is given at the question if they will be joining the party for dinner. An explanation is given that he needs to inform her of their ways and what she needs to expect. After all, Bastila is a guest, and she should know their customs. She is a member of his House, but not of the tribe, and hs respects that. It falls to him to teach her whatever their film books have not. The Harkonnens would not have taught her how to survive in the Deep Desert.
With the tent up, Paul motions for her to slip inside first. Him next. He seals the tent shut then squats down to sit in front of her. He holds up the light sticks, and show her how to place them up. While the tent holds seemingly a few? He only places one up. ]
The tent collects moisture as we're inside it. Most likely we will stay here throughout tomorrow then move during the night. Safer that way after a big attack. [ Paul pauses as Fremen pass by. Eyes follow the silhouettes against the skin of the tent. Once they've gone, the blue-in-blue eyes fall back to Bastila.
His hands raise.
Then, he begins to sign by their knees. A way the others won't see the shadows. An old sign language that only the members of House Atreides know. Ancient dialect that works to convey things when others should not know. ] 'There is spice in the food. More than back home at Caladan or in Arrakeen.'
[ A pause, then: ] 'It has the chance to get you to SEE. Be ready for breakfast.'
[ Bastila has the training from his mother. Her mind is sharp and capable for the spice to open her to many things. He'd rather her be prepared then caught off guard how he had been. Not just the food, but the spice in the air itself. That may not effect hee as it has him. Even more for them to talk about. ]
Stil will call you a Weirding Woman--someone who knows the Weirding Way. Bene Gesserit trained. Women like that usually become Sayyadinas. [ A glance at the curtains of the tent again. ] You may need to prove it... but it will secure you a place in the tribe as it did my mother. You'd be at her side and working with her again. [ A glance to her, knowing she may not want to work with his mother so closely again. ] Working along side her and my sister.
[ And, now she knows that.
There is so much to tell her. So much... and it feels there is so little time.
Paul removes the gloves of his stillsuit off, and then the plug that connects to the nose. Bare hands flex. Reaching out to her without being covered feels oddly significant and vulnerable. They held hands often enough as children--before the rift was formed by mingling parties. He knows now that he is far from that boy on Caladan. Even far from the young man that arrived on Arrakis those moons ago.
I've killed with my bare hands.
She may find the person he has become too far from the image of Heir Apparent Paul Atreides. Maud'dib is a Fremen name, and in many ways, he has had to become one to survive. He has had to cultivate desert power directly instead of hand-in-hand as his father had hoped to achieve. He is far from the man his father was, even the sort of man his father had hoped he would become.
He reaches into his pocket at his breast and produces the thick dark ducal ring of House Atreides. His father's ring--now his own. He slips it onto his finger. Then, after flexing his hands, he reaches out to take her still gloved hands. Fingers brush against her palms before attemping to circle around them to hold them.
He's certain she will understand the significance of the gesture made in its entirety.
His voice becomes thick with an emotion that all his mental training seems to be unable to help contain. ] I thought you were dead. Just like Duncan, Gurney, Hawat, Yueh... my father.
no subject
[ He remembers posing the idea to Liet Kynes. The idea may have seemed like a desperate play, but Paul had been serious about the barebones. Make a play for the throne. Marry the crown princess. Destroy House Harkonnen once and for all. So many ideas that require delicate and almost near perfection in order to succeed.
Except, now, Bastila is alive. She is here with him. A powerful member on the chessboard that none expect.
As if to answer her question that he should not know? Paul reaches back for her hand as they stand. He leads her back to camp behind Chani. The Fremen woman looks back to them once, twice, then simply keeps moving. Paul can tell she distrust Bastila. A fair reaction, as she had worked with the Harkonnens. The honor of their people would rather see them die than serve under their oppressors. They would believe that Bastila should have taken her life and spilt her water.
At camp, he shows her how to set up their tent. A shake of his head is given at the question if they will be joining the party for dinner. An explanation is given that he needs to inform her of their ways and what she needs to expect. After all, Bastila is a guest, and she should know their customs. She is a member of his House, but not of the tribe, and hs respects that. It falls to him to teach her whatever their film books have not. The Harkonnens would not have taught her how to survive in the Deep Desert.
With the tent up, Paul motions for her to slip inside first. Him next. He seals the tent shut then squats down to sit in front of her. He holds up the light sticks, and show her how to place them up. While the tent holds seemingly a few? He only places one up. ]
The tent collects moisture as we're inside it. Most likely we will stay here throughout tomorrow then move during the night. Safer that way after a big attack. [ Paul pauses as Fremen pass by. Eyes follow the silhouettes against the skin of the tent. Once they've gone, the blue-in-blue eyes fall back to Bastila.
His hands raise.
Then, he begins to sign by their knees. A way the others won't see the shadows. An old sign language that only the members of House Atreides know. Ancient dialect that works to convey things when others should not know. ] 'There is spice in the food. More than back home at Caladan or in Arrakeen.'
[ A pause, then: ] 'It has the chance to get you to SEE. Be ready for breakfast.'
[ Bastila has the training from his mother. Her mind is sharp and capable for the spice to open her to many things. He'd rather her be prepared then caught off guard how he had been. Not just the food, but the spice in the air itself. That may not effect hee as it has him. Even more for them to talk about. ]
Stil will call you a Weirding Woman--someone who knows the Weirding Way. Bene Gesserit trained. Women like that usually become Sayyadinas. [ A glance at the curtains of the tent again. ] You may need to prove it... but it will secure you a place in the tribe as it did my mother. You'd be at her side and working with her again. [ A glance to her, knowing she may not want to work with his mother so closely again. ] Working along side her and my sister.
[ And, now she knows that.
There is so much to tell her. So much... and it feels there is so little time.
Paul removes the gloves of his stillsuit off, and then the plug that connects to the nose. Bare hands flex. Reaching out to her without being covered feels oddly significant and vulnerable. They held hands often enough as children--before the rift was formed by mingling parties. He knows now that he is far from that boy on Caladan. Even far from the young man that arrived on Arrakis those moons ago.
I've killed with my bare hands.
She may find the person he has become too far from the image of Heir Apparent Paul Atreides. Maud'dib is a Fremen name, and in many ways, he has had to become one to survive. He has had to cultivate desert power directly instead of hand-in-hand as his father had hoped to achieve. He is far from the man his father was, even the sort of man his father had hoped he would become.
He reaches into his pocket at his breast and produces the thick dark ducal ring of House Atreides. His father's ring--now his own. He slips it onto his finger. Then, after flexing his hands, he reaches out to take her still gloved hands. Fingers brush against her palms before attemping to circle around them to hold them.
He's certain she will understand the significance of the gesture made in its entirety.
His voice becomes thick with an emotion that all his mental training seems to be unable to help contain. ] I thought you were dead. Just like Duncan, Gurney, Hawat, Yueh... my father.