I have a hard time imagining them asking you to take the test to ride the worm when I haven't done it myself. [ A half shrug. ] Stil says it'll be soon. It's a right of passage into the tribe--coming of age. I don't think that's the path they'd have a weirding woman take.
[ Eyebrows raise as if to point to those that are in charge of Arrakis. The Harkonnens disrespect it. The Emperor does. They plan to bleed the planet dry. It's clear their aggression against the Fremen have escalated and not only because of Maud'dib. Bastila most likely has insight into that matter to some degree. Even if the Harkonnens never told her? She must have seen things. Noticed things. ]
I don't dislike my sister. [ Paul says his decision easy and well enough. Eyes seem to unfocus for the briefest of moments as he thinks on his sister. Alia, she said her name would be. ] The south means... so many things. Horror. A holy war. Jihad.
[ He silences himself then. There's far too much to explain, too many pieces for her to garner. She can't handle it all at once. He can barely hold onto the pieces. He sees so many things and none of them are clear. Does he want them to be clearer? No. His dreams have always come true in some way or another. He does not want the visions of the south to become reality.
Paul shakes his head. Now is not the time for those discussions.
He glances up at the mention of learning from his mother. Eyebrows raise. He won't question her on it now, but, he will at another time.
A tired smile plays to his face with an unspoken answer to her questions.
Yes.
Had there truly been any other woman? Bastila at his side felt natural. Complete. There had been a time when they were almost inseparable. Two halves that made a whole in some way--or that was how his mind had perceived them. Now? They are not two halves that make a whole, but more, two pieces together that cause unpredictability. That, he has decided, is what truly made his mother scared of their connection. Unable to control two aspects of a Great House. Control and trust are mutually exclusive.
The water in her eyes catches his notice. Relief fills him. ]
I'm now the Duke of House Atreides. My hand must be left open now more than ever for a marriage. A way forward for our house. [ His hands relax to hold hers as opposed to their tight painful stance he had been with just moments before. ] You deserve better than the status my mother has: concubine. You wouldn't settle for a title such as that.
[ I could never have just any woman I would want. That was never an option for my station. Not unless it was agreeable.
Paul exhales a long breath. So many roads are open for Bastila to take. Roads he could only dream of having. Dreams of her have always been the hardest to understand. Some she walks with him hand-in-hand, showing him things. Then, for a time, it was Chani leading him. Some, Bastila holds the knife and plunges it into him on a crowd of on lookers. A few she stands and simply watches all that might play out with the Holy War.
Why can I never understand the path you'd take? With me... or against me?
The hand bearing the ducal ring raises to her face. The ring that bears the power and might of House Atreides. Command. Ownership. Whoever bears the ducal rings of houses in the Imperium is truly the master of that house. It was a miracle--or careful planning--that it as well did not end up in the hands of the Baron Harkonnen. Thumb brushes along her cheek to remove the loose sand. ]
I've no fiefdom, no wealth, no true station or power. I would need to marry to restore our house. I could not give you my name or the title that you would deserve.
Would you truly give me the honor of courting you?
[ Images flash once more in his mind of dreams--the many paths he has seen her walk. The many lives she could lead. Just flashes. Nothing clear nothing defined. His sight is not open and maybe it should remain that way. ]
no subject
[ Eyebrows raise as if to point to those that are in charge of Arrakis. The Harkonnens disrespect it. The Emperor does. They plan to bleed the planet dry. It's clear their aggression against the Fremen have escalated and not only because of Maud'dib. Bastila most likely has insight into that matter to some degree. Even if the Harkonnens never told her? She must have seen things. Noticed things. ]
I don't dislike my sister. [ Paul says his decision easy and well enough. Eyes seem to unfocus for the briefest of moments as he thinks on his sister. Alia, she said her name would be. ] The south means... so many things. Horror. A holy war. Jihad.
[ He silences himself then. There's far too much to explain, too many pieces for her to garner. She can't handle it all at once. He can barely hold onto the pieces. He sees so many things and none of them are clear. Does he want them to be clearer? No. His dreams have always come true in some way or another. He does not want the visions of the south to become reality.
Paul shakes his head. Now is not the time for those discussions.
He glances up at the mention of learning from his mother. Eyebrows raise. He won't question her on it now, but, he will at another time.
A tired smile plays to his face with an unspoken answer to her questions.
Yes.
Had there truly been any other woman? Bastila at his side felt natural. Complete. There had been a time when they were almost inseparable. Two halves that made a whole in some way--or that was how his mind had perceived them. Now? They are not two halves that make a whole, but more, two pieces together that cause unpredictability. That, he has decided, is what truly made his mother scared of their connection. Unable to control two aspects of a Great House. Control and trust are mutually exclusive.
The water in her eyes catches his notice. Relief fills him. ]
I'm now the Duke of House Atreides. My hand must be left open now more than ever for a marriage. A way forward for our house. [ His hands relax to hold hers as opposed to their tight painful stance he had been with just moments before. ] You deserve better than the status my mother has: concubine. You wouldn't settle for a title such as that.
[ I could never have just any woman I would want. That was never an option for my station. Not unless it was agreeable.
Paul exhales a long breath. So many roads are open for Bastila to take. Roads he could only dream of having. Dreams of her have always been the hardest to understand. Some she walks with him hand-in-hand, showing him things. Then, for a time, it was Chani leading him. Some, Bastila holds the knife and plunges it into him on a crowd of on lookers. A few she stands and simply watches all that might play out with the Holy War.
Why can I never understand the path you'd take? With me... or against me?
The hand bearing the ducal ring raises to her face. The ring that bears the power and might of House Atreides. Command. Ownership. Whoever bears the ducal rings of houses in the Imperium is truly the master of that house. It was a miracle--or careful planning--that it as well did not end up in the hands of the Baron Harkonnen. Thumb brushes along her cheek to remove the loose sand. ]
I've no fiefdom, no wealth, no true station or power. I would need to marry to restore our house. I could not give you my name or the title that you would deserve.
Would you truly give me the honor of courting you?
[ Images flash once more in his mind of dreams--the many paths he has seen her walk. The many lives she could lead. Just flashes. Nothing clear nothing defined. His sight is not open and maybe it should remain that way. ]