[ Bastila's purpose maybe one of her own design. If he could see, then he would know. Seeing like that means something that he has told himself he will not do. He will continue to push north and fight the Harkonnens. It will keep his mother and the other Fremen who can't fight safe. They'll take the battle to those that deserve it. He would rather suffer from visions that he has at the moment, incomplete as they are, in order to keep the horror he sees from coming true.
Nothing will stop his visions. They had been dreams once. Now? They're both. Dreams when he sleeps, visions when he wakes. A gentle breeze of air with spice could cause them to happen. Certain people, places. Nothing is truly coherent about when and where they happen. Nothing to control them.
⸻ᴋᴡɪꜱᴀᴛᴢ ʜᴀᴅᴇʀᴀᴄʜ.
His eyes close as she settles beside him.
The hand that bears the ducal ring stills against her hair. Then, slowly, each finger starts to move along the strands of the waves. They held hands and hugged one another as children. There had been times they slept beside each other under the large trees in summer days, falling asleep to the studies given to them. Never anything intimate as this. ]
No, [ he finally answers her earlier statement, ] I don't think they can be helped... or stopped. Dr. Yueh thought it was just a sensitivity to spice. That's not true.
[ It's something about ME. Who I am. WHAT I am. What I can become. ]
None of this should have happened. My father knew it was a trap. He walked into it knowing there was nothing that could be done. We simply failed to know when the trap would spring. [ Fingers gently twine into her hair and untwine. His eyes remain closed as his breathing still sounds ragged at times. ] You should be at home on Caladan with us.
[ Her house may be a minor one underneath the Atreides. They may not have had the wealth as the Great House in charge of Caladan. None of that mattered to him. Bastila was a friend. Someone finally near his age that he could talk to and be himself around. Not the ducal heir, not the "young pup" or "lad", not someone to train. Just himself: Paul Atreides. She became family. Then, more than family. Despite the best efforts of his mother.
His eyebrows knit together slightly as memories call to him. Their first meeting in the alcove in the hidden parts of Palace Caladan. It was a harsh storm that night, the worst in a decade. They had secured the palace. Something inside him had told him Bastila was missing. He slipped away from his mentors and went searching. He listened to his instincts and eventually found himself in the older parts of the building. Parts that had been forgotten or only used by the staff when they were not to be seen by visiting parties. She sat underneath an alcove with bared windows, except the glass had long since been destroyed. The overhang kept the wind and most of the rain from soaking the area.
Paul had quietly sat down beside her. He didn't move or speak--not until she spoke first. He told her of his family and his mentors, asked her about her home and her family. The area she found herself in had been explained next. Conversation until she had calmed and he could reach to hold her hand. Secure, gentle, and an unspoken offer to be there if she had needed a friend. Thunder roared and lightning cracked across the sky. She jumped and Paul had pulled her into a gentle embrace to shield her from the palace that seemed to frighten her down to her bones.
They met often in the alcove after that. Taught each other lessons. Learned and became fluent in not only the Atreides battle language, but ancient signed language that he had just used moments ago. Their way of speaking behind the adults.
The arm around her pulls her closer. The other then wraps around her. The same embrace he gave her all those years ago in Caladan. Except now wind gently moves sand and spice around outside. A tent instead of an alcove. Paul presses the side of his head to hers. ]
I thought you were dead. [ A third time he says it, and this time, with nothing to hold back the pain in his voice. No pretenses of being the Duke of House Atreides, Maud'dib of the Fremen. Paul as she has always seen him. ] I asked if you were going to come to Arrakis with us. I wanted you to come. I thought I led you to world that trapped us. That they paraded your body around as they surely have done with my father, then left your bones to the desert. All because I wanted you here with me.
[ The hand at her hair curls into it then. His voice cracks. ] I mourned for my father, and the others, then moved forward. But not you. I kept mourning you and the time I thought we lost. The things I never shared or asked you because of politics and ceremony. I couldn't let it go... let you go.
no subject
Nothing will stop his visions. They had been dreams once. Now? They're both. Dreams when he sleeps, visions when he wakes. A gentle breeze of air with spice could cause them to happen. Certain people, places. Nothing is truly coherent about when and where they happen. Nothing to control them.
⸻ᴋᴡɪꜱᴀᴛᴢ ʜᴀᴅᴇʀᴀᴄʜ.
His eyes close as she settles beside him.
The hand that bears the ducal ring stills against her hair. Then, slowly, each finger starts to move along the strands of the waves. They held hands and hugged one another as children. There had been times they slept beside each other under the large trees in summer days, falling asleep to the studies given to them. Never anything intimate as this. ]
No, [ he finally answers her earlier statement, ] I don't think they can be helped... or stopped. Dr. Yueh thought it was just a sensitivity to spice. That's not true.
[ It's something about ME. Who I am. WHAT I am. What I can become. ]
None of this should have happened. My father knew it was a trap. He walked into it knowing there was nothing that could be done. We simply failed to know when the trap would spring. [ Fingers gently twine into her hair and untwine. His eyes remain closed as his breathing still sounds ragged at times. ] You should be at home on Caladan with us.
[ Her house may be a minor one underneath the Atreides. They may not have had the wealth as the Great House in charge of Caladan. None of that mattered to him. Bastila was a friend. Someone finally near his age that he could talk to and be himself around. Not the ducal heir, not the "young pup" or "lad", not someone to train. Just himself: Paul Atreides. She became family. Then, more than family. Despite the best efforts of his mother.
His eyebrows knit together slightly as memories call to him. Their first meeting in the alcove in the hidden parts of Palace Caladan. It was a harsh storm that night, the worst in a decade. They had secured the palace. Something inside him had told him Bastila was missing. He slipped away from his mentors and went searching. He listened to his instincts and eventually found himself in the older parts of the building. Parts that had been forgotten or only used by the staff when they were not to be seen by visiting parties. She sat underneath an alcove with bared windows, except the glass had long since been destroyed. The overhang kept the wind and most of the rain from soaking the area.
Paul had quietly sat down beside her. He didn't move or speak--not until she spoke first. He told her of his family and his mentors, asked her about her home and her family. The area she found herself in had been explained next. Conversation until she had calmed and he could reach to hold her hand. Secure, gentle, and an unspoken offer to be there if she had needed a friend. Thunder roared and lightning cracked across the sky. She jumped and Paul had pulled her into a gentle embrace to shield her from the palace that seemed to frighten her down to her bones.
They met often in the alcove after that. Taught each other lessons. Learned and became fluent in not only the Atreides battle language, but ancient signed language that he had just used moments ago. Their way of speaking behind the adults.
The arm around her pulls her closer. The other then wraps around her. The same embrace he gave her all those years ago in Caladan. Except now wind gently moves sand and spice around outside. A tent instead of an alcove. Paul presses the side of his head to hers. ]
I thought you were dead. [ A third time he says it, and this time, with nothing to hold back the pain in his voice. No pretenses of being the Duke of House Atreides, Maud'dib of the Fremen. Paul as she has always seen him. ] I asked if you were going to come to Arrakis with us. I wanted you to come. I thought I led you to world that trapped us. That they paraded your body around as they surely have done with my father, then left your bones to the desert. All because I wanted you here with me.
[ The hand at her hair curls into it then. His voice cracks. ] I mourned for my father, and the others, then moved forward. But not you. I kept mourning you and the time I thought we lost. The things I never shared or asked you because of politics and ceremony. I couldn't let it go... let you go.