[ Don't we make our own fates? Why should our fate be decided by others? If I can set my own path, then Paul ought to be able too. He ought to be able to toss off the expectations set on him and set out on his own path. Perhaps there is a way that he can take what is most important about the path in front of him and use it in his own way. Surely he can bring his own decisions and desires together while still somewhat following that other path.
Perhaps all I need to do is get him to see it.
She does not resist when she feels him roll onto his back, pulling her down with him. She would gladly give over control to him, at least in these moments when it is only them in the privacy of a tent or other shelter. She would gladly allow him to lead her as he sees fit, because that is how much she trusts him. ]
Then I love Muad'Dib as much as I love Paul. [ There is a tone of resolve in her words, as well as a tone indicating her feelings for him. ] Whether you are one of the Fremen or whether you are simply yourself, I love you regardless.
The only role that I want is to be someone who stands with you and walks with you and holds your hand if you need someone to do that too.
[ When sleep finally takes them both, Bastila does her best to move even closer to Paul, and even closer into his hold. Perhaps their shared heat is uncomfortable for them both, but all she wants is to be as close to him as she can.
And when morning comes and they both awaken, events seem to unfold rather quickly, and Bastila finds herself in a position of others deciding her fate. If she is worried about it, she does her best to not appear bothered. Of course, she does not wish to appear arrogant nor overconfident, but neither does she want to be perceived as scared.
Even when the Fremen shout at her upon their arrival, she does her best to rein in her own emotions, lest she make an unattractive display of herself. Inwardly, she feels ripples of anger, but shouting back would hardly win her any favors, and so she forces herself to remain silent. Paul might feel her fingers curl and her muscles tensing in her arm, but that is the only reaction she allows.
Eventually, when Paul leads them both to his inherited home and he gives her instructions to take what she needs of his clothes, she raises her eyebrows. It is not that she does not wish to borrow his clothes, but the suggestion still surprises her on some level. Before she moves to do as he has told her, she asks: ]
What happens if these Elders decide I should not be here? [ She doubts that even dressing as one of them will do much for her cause then. ]
no subject
Perhaps all I need to do is get him to see it.
She does not resist when she feels him roll onto his back, pulling her down with him. She would gladly give over control to him, at least in these moments when it is only them in the privacy of a tent or other shelter. She would gladly allow him to lead her as he sees fit, because that is how much she trusts him. ]
Then I love Muad'Dib as much as I love Paul. [ There is a tone of resolve in her words, as well as a tone indicating her feelings for him. ] Whether you are one of the Fremen or whether you are simply yourself, I love you regardless.
The only role that I want is to be someone who stands with you and walks with you and holds your hand if you need someone to do that too.
[ When sleep finally takes them both, Bastila does her best to move even closer to Paul, and even closer into his hold. Perhaps their shared heat is uncomfortable for them both, but all she wants is to be as close to him as she can.
And when morning comes and they both awaken, events seem to unfold rather quickly, and Bastila finds herself in a position of others deciding her fate. If she is worried about it, she does her best to not appear bothered. Of course, she does not wish to appear arrogant nor overconfident, but neither does she want to be perceived as scared.
Even when the Fremen shout at her upon their arrival, she does her best to rein in her own emotions, lest she make an unattractive display of herself. Inwardly, she feels ripples of anger, but shouting back would hardly win her any favors, and so she forces herself to remain silent. Paul might feel her fingers curl and her muscles tensing in her arm, but that is the only reaction she allows.
Eventually, when Paul leads them both to his inherited home and he gives her instructions to take what she needs of his clothes, she raises her eyebrows. It is not that she does not wish to borrow his clothes, but the suggestion still surprises her on some level. Before she moves to do as he has told her, she asks: ]
What happens if these Elders decide I should not be here? [ She doubts that even dressing as one of them will do much for her cause then. ]