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synthneon2025-02-23 09:21 pm
spicetrance) wrote in synthneon2025-02-23 09:21 pm
Entry tags:
skies of rust || ❝ d'you breathe the name of your saviour in your hour of need. ❞
'Cause without your love my life
Ain't nothing but this carnival of rust
no subject
I've seen your coyness get you out of situations before. I remember my mother being particularly annoyed by how clever it was. [ He continues to smile, despite the shadow in his eyes. He can only guess at what she means. ] I hope you convinced them they had it long enough to get yourself in charge of a spice horde. I doubt the would of risked it just to kill off a member of House Atreides.
[ As if to answer her question, an older man steps into the room. Paul raises his eyes from her and half turns to the man. Wrapped and in a stillsuit, pulling down his own face mask. He speaks in Chakobsa, gesturing to the woman. Paul respondsnin the same language, and then sends a glance back to Bastila. ]
Stil. She's a sayyadina. She been trained in the Weirding Way.
[ The man referred to as "Stil" suddenly turns his full attention to the woman. He gives a bow of his head in reservation. Then, he gestures for them to follow him out. Instructions are made for them to take what spice they can and then destroy the rest. Make certain the Harkonnens do not gain anything after losing the site. Paul instructs them to aid Bastila onto the worm that is called. Then, they head back to camp along one of the many rocks.
Safer there when carrying precious cargo in worm territory.
The Freman begin to set up camp within their "outpost" of the rocks. Paul and the older Freman share words upon their arrival. Gestures are made to their newest arrival and then the others around them. One Freman in particular, scowling below her mask, watches the exchange keenly. A sharp look is sent to the way of their newest member. Eventually, the older Freman raises his hands. Paul himself turns to look at the other female Freman before making his way back the way they came. The rest of the tribe seems to all look one another before Stilgar motions for them to get back to wait.
Then, Stilgar makes his way to Bastila and clicks his tongue to get her attention. ]
Maud'dib takes time to himself at dusk. Away from the tribe. [ A nod to the way they came and the figure that sits on the rock overlooking the dunes. ] He goes places none can understand nor are we meant to understand. Maybe, ah, a weirding woman might bring him from those places. Especially one he knows.
[ Another click of his tongue and he motions for her to make her way. Then, he turns and shouts other names and gestures to the camp. Dinner is to be made and beds to be placed together inside the cave system of the rocks. They can gather their strength through the day then move the next night.
Paul sits on the rock that Stilgar had gestured to. Arms on his knees, blue-in-blue eyes scanning over the dunes. The gentle breeze moves the sand and also the heavy curls around his face. His breathing is calm and his gaze would imply that he is unaware of his surroundings. If only that was true. Paul is more aware than anyone might think. The spice continues to expand his mind in ways he fears. He sees more and more in his dreams. They are not always clear, but he can guess as to what their meanings are. What may happen.
His head tilts ever so slightly in her direction when she steps up to the rock. Hands twist slightly. Then, he speaks before she is given the chance. ]
Stilgar sent you to come and collect me. [ His eyes drop down. A huff of a laugh leaves him. A breath follows before his attention moves fully towards her. ] The day the Herald of the Change came to Caladan and gave theifdom to my father. I made a decision that I had every intention of seeing through. Until the Bene Gesserit had insisted on interfering. Then, my mother. Then, the Gom Jabbar.
[ Paul turns his attention to her finally. He slides off the rock and stands in front of her. His hands fold behind his back in something that might mimic his father's stance once upon a time. ] I had thought we might see the beaches of Caladan one final time. Walk the sand, touch the water. Address unfinished business before life changed for us.
[ He glances out over the dunes. A pause. He looks down, then, he turns his eyes back to her with a gentle smile. ]
Would you join me for a walk, Basi? The edge where the dunes meet the rocks isn't the same scenery as the beach and the sea... but the sea of dunes has it's own charm.
no subject
In this case, House Atreides lost. They all lost.
There could still be more losses that they have yet to see or experience. Should they focus on things of a grim nature or try to claim what happiness they can for now? Bastila has decided upon the latter, at least for the moment. ]
I know your mother did not always approve of my coyness, as you put it. [ "Wiles" was more along the lines of what Lady Jessica spoke of. ] Still, it was not something that I used idly, or for mere enjoyment.
[ But the way her lips turn up at the corners indicates that she did get some amusement out of the whole thing. ]
Oh, I managed to convince them; perhaps they did not like it, but whether they would admit it or not, they became rather fond of me. [ The feeling was not entirely mutual, but it was in the interest of self preservation that she continued and even encouraged it.
She opens her mouth to say more, but before she can, they are joined by the presence of another man, older than both of them. Looking at him, she can tell there is an air of command about him, and looking at Paul as well, she can see that he respects him and considers him a friend of sorts.
The language they speak is not immediately familiar to her, but she has no reason to doubt Paul or think that he is doing something that is not beneficial to either of them. She listens as the two men speak, picking out a word here and there and being able to decipher the meaning based upon those words.
After a moment, Stilgar turns his attention to Bastila, and she straightens up before inclining her own head by way of acknowledgment. Whoever this Stilgar is, he is someone important to Paul, and as far as she can tell, an ally. And she knows that Paul needs all the allies that he can get.
After this, events seem to move in quick succession; Stilgar gives orders that are quickly followed, and a sandworm is summoned. Of course, Bastila is aware of the basic facts of how Fremen and sandworms relate to each other, but she has never witnessed the details of it with her own eyes. Until now, that is.
Experiencing it is unlike anything she has experienced before, and a part of her would just as soon not experience it again, but the part of her that is much more adventurous and interested in striking out and doing more than simply studying or training wishes to learn more about these sandworms and the mystique surrounding them.
Still, the journey comes to an end once they arrive at the site of the Fremen camp, and at first, Bastila feels as though she has no place there. She tries to stay out of the way for the most part, offering assistance where it seems as though it is needed, most often in the form of carrying belongings or other supplies here and there. The work does not bother her as it is something to do and something to keep her busy.
It isn't until the sky begins to darken that Bastila finally pauses as there is nothing else left for her to do. She notes the way the Fremen exchange glances and how they cast looks her direction, not even bothering to disguise the looks. Even if they did, she thinks she would still see them or feel the sensation of being observed. Perhaps they do not trust her. Why should they, after all?
After a moment, she hears footsteps approaching and she looks up to see Stilgar walking over to her, ensuring that he has her attention. Once he is close enough, he begins to speak. ]
I am hardly surprised; it seems as though he does not often have time for himself anymore. [ And the Paul that she remembers seemed to value those quiet moments of solitude. As for the places that Stilgar speaks of, she can imagine what those places may be. Surely they are connected to the color his eyes have taken, and everything that that change signifies. The sorts of places Paul goes are not places at all, not in the usual sense of the word. They require a much greater skill than simply walking here or there.
She might not be able to venture to join him in those places, but perhaps she can call him back. As it happens, it seems as though Paul was already aware that she would join him. Even as she steps up to the rock upon which he sits, he seems to already be aware of her presence, addressing her before she even has the chance to. ]
Collect you, or simply sit with you? [ This isn't an alcove within a building, but it is as close to that as they can get. ] I never imagined that everything would change so quickly.
[ The interference from the Bene Gesserit, the machinations of Paul's mother... the Gom Jabbar... Coming to Arrakis. All of it happened so suddenly, but Bastila is not foolish enough to think that these events happened spontaneously. ]
I would not mind returning to Caladan at least once more, but of course, that is highly impossible now.
[ Her gaze follows Paul's, looking out over the dunes that seem to go on for miles. This world is entirely different than the one they had known, and yet there is something about it, something strange and wild that calls to Bastila. ]
I would, but only if you can say there is no danger of us being swallowed whole. [ Her mouth quirks into a smile, although she imagines sandworms are not to be underestimated. She certainly would not dare to, but at least she can make a slight joke at the creature's expense. ] I would see more of this place, and I would certainly not turn down having more of your company.
[ Perhaps the admission is too forward, but she has never really managed to hold very much back when it comes to her and Paul. Perhaps one day soon, that will need to change, but at least in these private moments, she can be herself.
After a moment's hesitation, she extends her hand to him. If he does not wish to take it, she will understand that as well. ]
no subject
A whisp of a laugh comes from him. ] Stil would see it as both things. Eventually we will need to head into the tents and rest throughout the sunlight hours tomorrow. Then, what spice we can take back with us will go to Sietch Tabr. The rest will remain in hidden store houses such as this one here. The more spice we control, the less power the Emperor and the Baron have.
[ The wisp forms into a reserved smile. Quiet, calm, yet something shifting behind it as the sands on the dunes in front of them. Eyebrows raise and his eyes immediately move to her hand. An expression of slight surprise takes his face then. Almost as if he had never expected to be able to touch her again. His hands slowly unclasp from his back. A gloved hand meets her own and firmly clasps around hers. Security. Protection. Familiarity.
In a few strides with his longer legs, he is gently guiding her along side him. Blue-in-blue eyes once more scan ahead and to the dunes to their side. He makes certain not to move too quickly. The way the setting sun of Arrakis causes the spice in the air to glimmer as if star dust had fallen onto the planet. The way the stars glitter as the dual moons of the planet begin to be seen. He remains quiet for a stretch of moments. Their feet move across the rocks and worn paths until they come to the edge. It overlooks the desert.
Memories come to mind of a time much different even on Caladan. A time when thunderstorms would shake the old palace. The windows rattled as the rain that sounded like bullets hit the panes. The pair would hide away in an old forgotten alcove that had long since lost its glass. Water would pool underneath the broken window, yet, the winds would whip past the window as it was shielded by the out sprung roofing. There, they would play. Talk about those in the court. He would teach her of the inner workings of the families underneath the Atreides and how they commanded so much respect and yet love from their subjects. They practiced an ancient form of sign language from Caladan in order to speak to one another when ill or not wishing those nearby to know what was happening.
Then... her gifts became apparent.
His mother took her under her wings in a metaphoric sense. She received training that he could never begin to truly grasp. She excelled in the Voice and Prana-bindu. His mother insisted it was because Bastila was a woman, and yet, Paul couldn't help but feel left behind in the process. Hwatt, Gurney, and Duncan more than made up for it in training him to be the next Duke of House Atreides as per requested by his father. Yet, the shared training they shared from his mother? Paul always knew that she surpassed him. Maybe even held it above his head. ]
The worms can't come up to the cliffs. Their sense of rhythm is limited to the sands. They may be able to reach up to the cliffs, but they will turn away and be attracted by what other sensations travel through the dunes. It's why spice harvesting has always been so dangerous. [ Paul imagines she knows some of this as it seemed to be basic knowledge to know of the planet House Atreides was gifted it by the Emperor. ] Whatever sensations and motions happen in the rocks are well absorbed by it. And, joy riding on the great Shai-hulud is rather frowned on by the Freman.
[ He pauses. Caladan. Could he ever see it again? ]
I know you have questions, Basi. Ones that hardly matter to how the sandworms or spice work. [ Paul looks back to her. ] Questions about how I survived... what happened the night the Harkonnens struck. If my mother is alive--yes. She is. [ His hand gently squeezes hers. ] Maybe even how I became Maud'dib, the Fremen insurgent.
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.
no subject
[ He comes to a stop then and takes a seat at a rock--one that allows them to look over the dunes from a higher elevation. The wind gently tussles his sand ridden curls and a deep sigh leaves him. He wishes it were a simple answer to her question. Becoming "Maud'dib" had been a complicated path. The events, as everything else in the Imperium, were simple steps to follow. Yet, the inner workings are complex and layered. Machinations. Plans in plans.
Paul's hand squeezes hers again once she takes a seat beside him. ]
My mother and I woke on an ornithopter piloted by Harkonnens. After we took care of our captors? We had found a backpack left by Dr. Yueh. It had supplies we needed to be found in the desert after the attack on Arrakeen. Eventually, we came across Stilgar and his Freman. [ Paul's head tilts to the side as the memories come to him. His expression softens and yet seems far away at the same time. ] Things happened and both of us became members of the tribe in different ways. The name I picked for myself that all Freman might call me was "Maud'dib", the kangaroo mouse in the desert.
[ He glances at her and a small smile can be seen in his eyes. The awareness of his choice in name is apparent even to him. Wise in the desert, but otherwise, small and simply surviving in the vast barren lands known as Arrakeen. ]
We combined their knowledge of the desert and my knowledge of knowing how to fight the Harkonnens. "Desert power", my father called it. We've cultivated it in order to remove the Harkonnens from Arrakis. My mother doesn't like the idea of revenge. [ A shake of his head, as if to say it hardly bothers him. His fingers trail along hers in a move that he is certain may come off as far too bold. ] This path into the desert will only end at the feet of the Emperor. When I face him. When the Landsraad hears of what happened on Arrakis that day.
[ Blue-in-blue eyes flick upwards. Then, he turns his head back to Bastila. A smile is given to her. ] How did you survive that night, Basi?
no subject
He should also still be here now. [ And it hardly needs to be said that many others should also be with them.
Once they are seated, she turns her face to look at him, taking in his features and the way hair moves in the wind. It feels warm out here yet cool as well, thanks to the wind that shifts the sand around the dunes below. ]
So you have had quite the adventure. [ The shifting tones in her voice ought to tell Paul that what he and Jessica went through was hardly an adventure, far from it. What they all have experienced is something none of them would have wished for, and she is certain that all of them will carry the marks of it for the rest of their lives, however long that may be. ]
The tribe has accepted you, and your mother, and that is good. [ She wonders if the same holds true for her, but at the moment, she is still standing, not killed or exiled, so she decides not to question that too closely. ]
Muad'Dib, the little mouse. [ Her mouth quirks to one side in slight amusement. ] It suits you, and not in the way you would think. [ She believes he will understand, as he is hardly little; in fact, he towers over her. But there are more nuances to the name and its meaning, or he would not have chosen it. ]
So you intend to follow this path and allow it to lead you to the Emperor. I can't say that I disagree with it entirely. Parts of it, yes, but we can't pick and choose the parts that we like.
[ Now her gaze shifts down to her hands. ]
I would not have, if Duncan had not found me.
no subject
Revenge against them is simply only one element of it all.
If only I could run away into the desert and disappear.
Barely a hint of a smirk tugs at his face. An adventure. ] If only it had been like the filmbooks we watched growing up.
[ Eyebrows raise slightly. His mother had been more forced into the position of Reverend Mother. Not just for her safety, but his own as well. They had to secure their place in the tribe somehow. Now, his mother has the memories of Reverend Mothers before her... and his sister. It dawns on him then that Bastila would have no idea that his mother is pregnant. There's so much... ]
There's so much that you don't know, Basi. Things I can't say in the open like this. [ Paul closes his eyes and lets out a long breath. ] Things that can only be shared in closed spaces.
[ A low sigh of frustration escapes him. He feels trapped by his road. Regardless, the conversation is now focused on her. ] Duncan saved us both then.
no subject
The path ahead of them is already stretching out in front of them and Paul has no choice but to walk along it, as far as Bastila can determine. If that is the case, then she will follow with him, because where else would she go?
She would be lying if she did not wish that they could simply slip off into the desert and vanish, however. Little does she know that her thoughts are unknowingly echoing Paul's. ]
If only. Our own adventure turned out to be quite different. [ Of course, no one can predict the turns their lives might take, but Bastila is sure that this is not the path Paul anticipated. ]
Then let's find a place where we can speak plainly. [ She squares her shoulders and tilts her head up with a resolve that she does not quite feel, but she makes the gesture regardless. ] I want to know everything that's happened, whether good or bad. [ And things seem to be tipped in the direction of bad. ]
He did. I wish that I could thank him. [ She fixes her gaze on Paul's, as it has been for the majority of the time since they began this conversation, but at his sigh, her attention fixes on him and does not shift to either side. ] All of this aside, you are all right, aren't you? [ Physically speaking, anyway. Emotionally? Mentally? She imagines not, at least not entirely. ]
no subject
The shock the Fremen had for when he shed tears. Mourning for the dead in what they consider the traditional way is a waste to Fremen. A waste of the water in one's body. He mourned for his father in the tent in the desert with his mother... to a degree he felt his mind would let him. He missed all those they had before. He misses Caladan.
Water fat. That is what the Fremen call it. ]
I'm not even sure if this path is called an adventure. [ A shake of his head. ] It feels more like pulsing down a path with only destruction at it's end. No matter what choices I make or what deviations I try on the path.
A place to speak plainly. [ He blinks once, twice, then finally turns his gaze back to her. ] I would suggest a tent... but that's very forward. Especially a woman to is ward of my House, under my protection. The other option would be to wait until we reach Sietch Tabr.
[ Her next question simply causes the bravado to fall from his face. A tired man stares back at her. Not quite lost, but certainly unsure of what path to take. Someone who had lost much but still pushed forward. Forces nearly beyond comprehension.
Paul leans close to her, just a breath away. His voice lowers to a whisper. ] It's not as simple as "yes" or "no."
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She hardly dares consider herself equal to him, and even less now given what she has learned about the changes he has experienced and how people hold him in high regard. ]
Well, I would have called it a nightmare, but things seem grim enough as it is, wouldn't you say?
[ She has never been the most optimistic person, but it seems to her that Paul needs encouragement and support, not bleak thoughts. ] Is that truly the only end? Surely there must be another end that you have yet to uncover. I- Well, I would not presume to intrude, but perhaps we can uncover it together.
[ At the mention of a tent, Bastila's eyes lock onto Paul's for a moment before she looks to one side again. ] I- well, if it is not too forward, I would choose the tent, but also find time to be together once we reach the sietch.
[ Of course it is forward and Bastila knows it, but she finds that this is one instance in which she does not wish to hold her opinion back. ]
I see. [ And she does; she knows that nothing is simple, not for them. Perhaps not for any of them. ] You do not have to be all right, Paul.
[ She wonders if he will understand her meaning. ]
no subject
[ The Deep South is where the fundamentalists are. The ones who truly believe he is their "Mahdi." The one they've waited for in order to release them from their subjugation under the Harkonnens. Manufactured messiahs. Everything of the Bene Gesserit making.
He didn't ask for any of this.
A subtle look of surprise. He truthfully hadn't expected her to say "yes", let alone even consider the notion. Paul carefully regards her before nodding. They'll share a tent then. He'll need to show her how to put it together when they rejoin the others. ]
Then, we'll discuss it further after the camp settles down for bed. [ A nod to the way they came. ] If you don't mind sharing one with me.
[ They have never truly talked about their feelings for one another. If there is even feelings between them. He knows that for him they exist. He had every intention of coming forward with them before they left Caladan. Life seemed fit to intervene. Now, the conversation has veered away, that he's not certain now is the time either. There is too much that they must discuss that comes before those feelings.
The duty as Duke of House Atreides. ]
I figured you would want to be reunited with my mother once we reach Sietch Tabr.
[ Another breath escapes him. ] I have to seem all right for the others around me. I'm the leader of our house now.
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[ Perhaps she does not need to state it again, but in case Paul has missed her determination to stay with him, she does not hesitate to state her intentions. ]
It- It will be nice to have a moment together with you again, almost like the moments we shared on Caladan. [ Except this time, they will be in his tent, and they will be mostly unobserved. Bastila would be lying if she said that such a prospect did not excite her in a rather girlish sort of way. ] I do not mind sharing one with you; do you mind sharing one with me?
[ She tilts her head to one side, looking at Paul with a questioning gaze. She most certainly has feelings for him, and in this moment, she is letting them run wild, or as wild as she dares to allow. At the very least, there is a look in her eyes that should suggest that her feelings go quite deep indeed; whether he can determine that for himself, she decides she will simply have to wait and see. ]
Your mother? [ Here, Bastila's expression shifts into something harder to read; perhaps it is not hard for Paul to read it, but her own feelings towards Lady Jessica are rather complicated. ] I will be glad to see her, of course, but-
[ If she were standing, she would scuff her toe against the sand as a sort of deflection. She does not wish to be put through more of her paces, nor be subjected to more Bene Gesserit training. She is glad for what she knows, but she does not necessarily wish to learn more. ]
I am glad that she is still with you. With us. [ That can still be true at the same time as not wishing to have more training forced upon her. ]
I do not see others around us now, just you and me, Paul.
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[ A shake of his head. He has dreams. He can see what's coming to some degree. Going South means untold billions of lives dead in his name. A holy war. Jihad. He will not take that road. A road adjacent but not the one that his prescience seems to insist he walks.
A coy smirk tugs at his facem a familiar one despite the dust in his hair and the mark of spice turning his eyes blue. ] I have never minded the idea of sharing any quarters with you, Basi.
[ Sharing a space with her felt natural even as a child. Having her there as if she had always been apart of his House and his life. The unnatural feeling settled in once she stopped being there. When the alcove began to feel like just another empty area of the palace. When the lessons and training from the Bene Gesserit became more important to her from his perception.
A haunted look twinges a the corner of his eyes. Then, they travel past her. They are not alone. Within a few more moments the sounds of footsteps talk and Paul levels the look at the person who has joined them. A Freman woman.
Chani.
At one point I thought she would mean everything to me. ]
"Usul. The camp is ready. Stilgar wants you back with the rest of us." [ the Freman woman glances at Bastila before looking back at Paul. Another even look is given. ] "We don't have an extra tent."
I will share mine with her. [ Paul stands then. ] Chani, this is Bastila Shan. She grew up with me on Caladan under the care of my father and mother. She isn't a Harkonnen, more forced to stay alive or die like the rest of my family.
[ Chani levels Bastila and look. With a glance towards Paul, she nods curtly and turns to walk back to camp.
Paul leans close to Bastila once more as she stands. ] We should head back.
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Perhaps my abilities will be of use to you; if they are not, I intend to stand with you regardless, if only to be a listening ear if you should need one. [ Her gaze slides to the side briefly as she considers the wisdom in practicing her skills with weaponry and seeing them improved upon from where they are now. ]
The Landsraad should know what happened, and you should be the one to tell them. Is pursuing the throne what you want?
[ To a degree, Bastila wants what Paul wants. Her allegiance is to House Atreides, after all, and so her goals and wishes align there too. Perhaps the majority of her allegiance belongs to Paul, but Paul is as surely House Atreides as anyone else could claim to be. And she would argue that no one else presently living has that claim. ]
Is that so? [ A smirk of her own crosses her face and stays there as she looks at Paul. She feels complete when she is with him; she was lured by the Bene Gesserit and the strange, mystifying allure that they represent, but she never wanted distance to grow between her and Paul.
All she really wants, whether she feels free to admit it or not, is to be close to him.
She watches as his expression changes, the hint of a haunted look settling into his eyes, and then she sees his gaze move away from hers. Their brief moment of solitude has, for the moment, come to an end. How many moments like this will they have?
Bastila eyes the Fremen woman who has just joined them; she looks formidable enough, just as she looks at home here with its sand and sandworms and spice. She wonders if Paul would rather have Chani with him than her, his old friend from childhood.
Paul makes introductions, explaining the connection they have and their background, and Bastila is quick to offer a respectful sort of half-bow. If she did not know any better, she would assume that Chani has little interest in her, but then again, why should she? They are strangers, after all, and she is hardly a person of interest at the moment. ]
Lead the way, and I will follow you. [ For now, in her mind, it seems as though her job is to follow in step with Paul and let him take the lead while she offers her support when needed. ]
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[ 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.
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[ She pauses, eyes doing their best to lock onto his blue ones. ] What role will I play in all this? How might I be of use to you?
[ She imagines that everyone around Paul has a role that they will fill, if they have not filled it already. Her own role in this is one she still is trying to figure out.
There must be some way that she can be useful to Paul; she intends to be useful one way or another, but it is finding out where she is specifically needed that is the task at the moment. But she wishes that her only task was holding Paul's hand and perhaps sharing in a stolen moment of affection before duty and responsibility get in the way.
She can tell from the looks that the Fremen woman is giving her that she is not welcome here, nor is she trusted. She seems to have been grudgingly given a place here, at least temporarily, but the look in Chani's eyes is unmistakable. Why should anyone trust her, anyway? She knows what they must think of her and of her choices.
But, as far as she is concerned, her choices are less important now; her actions are what matters.
Once they reach the camp and Paul starts showing her how to set up the tent, she focuses on each step, wanting to be able to do this herself if it comes to that. She remains quiet as Paul offers the explanation as to why neither of them will be joining the others, deciding that for now, it is best if she remains in the background until she has learned what she needs to about the desert and about these people who seem to be more than a little important to Paul.
Once the tent has been put together, and Paul instructs her to go inside, she does as she is told, choosing to follow Paul's lead as he is the more knowledgeable of the two of them. ]
A Fremen invention, I suppose. A clever idea, and a useful one, as the desert is not a friendly place.
[ She silences herself quickly as soon as she sees Paul start to sign. She follows the motions he makes with his hands, taking in each word and then nodding when he finishes. Spice in the food... Somehow, she is both surprised and unsurprised to learn of this.
But Paul still has more explanations, and so she continues to simply sit and listen. ]
A Weirding Woman, and the Weirding Way. [ She files those names away so that she might remember them, even if she finds she does not particularly like the sound of them. Sayyadina sounds slightly better, but that is not what concerns her at the moment. ] And how would I go about proving it? [ If she is unsettled by the prospect of working alongside Jessica, she gives no sign of it, other than a slight tightening of her lips, which is quickly forgotten about because of the next thing he says. ]
Your sister? Is your mother...?
[ She must be, or he would not have said that. Lady Jessica must not be very far along either, unless her count of the days is considerably inaccurate.
She remains quiet as Paul removes his gloves, the plug in his nose, and whatever else he needs to in order to be comfortable. If being comfortable is a concept for him anymore. Then he produces the ring and slides it onto his finger before reaching for her hands. She does not move an inch, because there is no one that she trusts more than Paul, and when his fingers brush against her hands before moving to try and hold them, she remains still, except for the slight curl of her fingers against his. ]
I thought that the entirety of your house must have been- I am glad that you and your mother are still here. [ She would echo the names of those who have been lost, but in a way, she knows she does not have to. Paul would know how she feels about the loss of his father, and of the rest as well. The weight of it must be greater for him, however, and so she chooses to focus only on his needs. ]
You survived, Paul. You survived, and the Harkonnens will regret that when the time comes.
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The questions are all meaningful and layered in his mind. Many things come to mind of what he needs. One stands in particular, yet, another need steps before it in his mind. The need of confirmation that he can trust her. Everything within him trusts her out of their shared childhood and the desire to reestablish that relationship. Now, being duke, he is keenly aware that he truly needs her unwavering loyalty. That she would choose him and his house above any power or placing the Bene Gesserits would give her. The Harkonnens never once cross his mind in that regard. ]
A show of strength would be a way to show it, however, Stil may take my word and that of my mother's. The other Fremen would need it proven to them overtime. Offworlders are not to be trusted as so many of them don't respect the Fremen ways. They don't respect the desert. [ He nods in a way so faintly that it is hard to see if he nodded at all. ] Sometime before we arrived on Arrakis or shortly after we did. Part of me thinks that she became pregnant on purpose to appease the Bene Gesserits... but, maybe, she also thought another child may help settle our family on Arrakis. My mother is a complicated woman.
[ He frowns then. The impassive mask of Maud'dib begins to crack. ] I see my sister in my dreams. She talks to me, telling me that I need to go South to see what I can't.
[ A beat. ] What else do I need.
[ Someone to hold him in place as everything in the Known Universe tries to push him to become the very thing he fears becoming. The being in his dreams and visions. The whispers of what would be born the moment Paul Atreides "dies." The stubbornness of his bloodline flares at the idea of a path being laid before him that he cannot make. The Atreides rise to a call but they still walk a path of their own making.
I don't want to become their messiah--their way forward!
The slightest tremor in his hands begins. His hold on her hands tightens. Almost painfully.
Help me.
A silence stretches on as he wrestles with his own mind to simply speak. The Mentat within him calculates that the move his emotions speak to would be risky. Potentially dangerous. The Bene Gesserit training demands he reign his emotions in and be calm. The Atreides in him tells him to speak from his heart as he has been asked. The battle forms on his face with a thin line of his lips pressed together.
Finally, a voice almost above a whisper: ] The day the Herald of the Change came. I said I had wanted to ask you to walk with me along the beaches one final time. It wasn't simply to walk a good-bye tour to our homeworld. It wasn't a time I had intended to have on asking what you thought of our new destination.
[ Blue-in-blue eyes travel upwards to her deep brown eyes. Eyes that remind him of the wet soil of a world that knew only water. ]
I had every intention of speaking plainly about us. How I had hated the distance it seemed everything in the universe put between us. How I thought you saw me as less once you had been chosen for formal training from the Bene Gesserit... and how I tried everything to excel to prove that such things didn't matter to me. That I hoped they didn't matter to you in return.
[ Paul inhales sharply to control himself--pulling back the water that threatens to leave his eyes. The disappointment of not having been able to express himself, the heartbreak at believing she had been taken from him permanently, the elation that his dreams pointed to her still being alive.
The ducal ring presses against her gloved hands harshly.
A timid smile pulls at the corner of his eyes. A hint at berating himself for speaking what he is about to say. His mother and father had insisted to him time and time again that his hand would need to be open for marriage. ]
I had planned on taking you somewhere special and kneeling down. Asking if you would entertain the idea of staying by my side not as a childhood friend, but an equal partner. As the woman I would court and love openly as my father had my mother. I intended it knowing full well that you would logically say "No."
I thought that at the very least you would know how I felt even though we had grown apart.
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A show of strength? A duel, or... Well, I imagine I would not be tasked with riding a sandworm, but I suppose that anything is possible. I do not wish to become a Fremen leader, of course, unless you decided that was necessary.
Only a fool would not respect the Fremen's ways or the ways of the desert. [ Maybe it's arrogant of her to think so, but she does not think of herself as arrogant. The last thing she intends is to come in acting like she knows better than the Fremen do; she readily admits that she does not, and the last thing she intends is to provoke anyone. ]
Your mother always has had plans, and plans for her plans. What do you think about your sister? [ She finds it difficult to wrap her mind around the notion that Paul and his sister are seeing each other in dreams and finding a way to speak to each other, but at the same time, Paul is no ordinary person. ] Do you dislike her because of what she is telling you, because you do not agree with it?
[ A part of Bastila would say that she believes she knows what Paul needs: he needs to simply stop for a moment. Stop thinking, stop worrying... He needs to simply stop and lie there and let himself be held by someone he cares about. If he cares about her. Maybe he does not care about her anymore, at least not in that way.
Still, Bastila does not believe that to be the case; she may not be skilled at reading another's mind, but she can observe and draw conclusions, and her conclusion is that Paul does care. If not, she would not be where she is now, nor would he be speaking to her like this. Her breath catches in her throat when he speaks again, and his tone of voice and the words he uses only adds to her state of breathlessness. ]
You- [ She has to pause to clear her throat before she can continue. ] You really intended to do that? Not only the walk, but what you intended... [ And as luck or misfortune would have it, that talk never happened. What would have happened if it had? How would things have been different? Would they have been different at all? ]
Paul, I... [ She finds she needs a moment to properly explain herself. ] I did not start out wanting the training from the Bene Gesserit. [ She had ambition and the desire to prove herself, but she did not have lofty aspirations such as becoming a Truthsayer or a Reverend Mother or anyone of great importance. The lessons she was learning challenged her thinking and appealed to her interest in learning, but that was as far as it went. ]
Did you know that once I started learning from your mother, she... [ Here, Bastila pauses, wondering if she should continue to finish that sentence. The last thing she wishes is to disrespect Jessica, which might offend Paul. ] Never mind, it does not matter.
But you would have asked me that? Me, who would have no standing at all if not for your family and your house. Surely you could choose any woman you wished to have, any woman that you laid eyes on. [ Her fingers curl slightly against Paul's hands as she stares at him, as if she is finding it difficult to believe what he is saying. She wants to believe it, because she has hoped for something like this, but she decided that it was impossible. Paul would marry a princess, or a lady of actual significant rank, and she would simply have to watch from the sidelines and be content with whichever way events occurred. ]
... You wish to court me? [ She finds she can't bring herself to ask for confirmation if he really does wish to love her; she believes she has already received her answer, so the need for confirmation is unnecessary, but she never imagined that she would hear these words from Paul.
If he is looking, he may notice water threatening to gather in the corners of her eyes, but she refuses to let it leave them either. Why she feels she has to save face in front of him, even she does not know, but it feels like something important that she must do. Or try to do. ]
Why would I ever say no to you asking me that? I never imagined that you would ask me that. Surely you would ask someone else, someone more important, but not me.
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[ 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. ]
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[ Paul would be right in his suppositions; she did a lot of watching and listening while she was under the supervision of the Harkonnens. If it could be called supervision. Perhaps that should be something else they talk about: the things she learned while she was with them. ]
But do you like her? There are levels of liking and disliking. Perhaps you dislike what she reminds you of. What she represents. I know it is not as simple as not going south, but if you are against it, is that not your answer?
[ She is doing her best to follow where Paul goes with his words and with his revelations, but he is also right in that there are far too many pieces to this puzzle to sort out in a short amount of time. Still, she knows that if he wishes to tell her of his thoughts and observations and worries, she will listen. She will always listen.
They do have much to talk about, across many different topics. When she sees him smile, she feels herself relax for the first time in a long time. Carefully unwinding one hand from his, she reaches out to touch the side of his shoulder. With his stillsuit on, it is hard to really feel him, but her imagination can fill in the rest. For now, this is fine, but she wishes to remove his stillsuit so that it can just be them with nothing separating them: no layers, no obstructions. She wants to feel him. ]
I would not like that title, no, but if it was the only way, the only option... [ She shrugs as if to say she would simply resign herself to it. ] You need someone with connections, someone with leverage. Advantages. [ She has none of that, not even with what she has managed to learn from the Harkonnens. She knows that Paul will most likely need some sort of marriage that furthers his cause, his ambitions, whatever those may be. ]
I think your mother deserves better than the status she has.
[ She does not say it to be self-deprecating, but rather because she means it. ]
I have no use for a fiefdom or wealth or station or power. [ Logically, those things can and are useful, but romantically? Bastila has no desire for them. ] I have no use for titles or names. I- [ I just wish to be with Paul. ]
I am not sure it is an honor, or at least, not a great honor, but- yes. Yes. You may court me.
[ A million times, yes.
And then she smiles against the hand resting on her face, a wider smile, and a genuine one. ]
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There is love... familial love. But, I don't know her yet. I don't know her likes, her dislikes, her goals, her dreams. Only what she insists I do through dreams. [ His eyes narrow slightly before sighing once more and shaking the thoughts away. ] Another time. You'll understand more once you reunite with my mother.
[ Surely Bastila's Bene Gesserit training taught her of the spice agony. What it takes to become a Reverend Mother. She surely knows of the Gom Jabbar. The mere thought of the test and the box causes a tremor in the hand that rests on her cheek. Only for a mere moment before he suppresses it again.
Did my mother tell her I was to be tested by the Supreme Reverend Mother?
A look of understanding crosses his face at her first response. Her answer is to be expected. Bastila has always wanted security and strength. The station of concubine is beneath her and always has been. Even knowing so, he had needed to make his intentions and his feelings known. Put things to rest so that they could move forward. ]
She has always deserved to be recognized as my father saw her. When the Supreme Reverend Mother came to Caladan? She treated her as if she was a mere servant in her own home. [ The whole situation has never sat right with him. ] She has become a respected member of the tribe. Maybe even feared, depending on who you ask.
[ His eyes glance upwards at the passing Freman. They will need to cut their conversation short soon in order to not draw further attention. He was going to say just as much until he hears what he hadn't expected. Blue-in-blue eyes immediately raise to hers once more. They lock. He listens intently to every word she says. He feels how his body reacts once more to her.
"You may court me."
Paul stares.
ᴘᴀᴜʟ.
His attention drifts as an image fills his mind, his eyes, his senses. The strong smell of spice incense carrying through the room. Thin curtains drifting at the bed. The mural of fish behind him in the room that was once his in Arrakeen. A woman standing at the long slit of window, and beyond her, the still night sky of Arrakis. The bustling city of Arrakeen just beyond hearing.
Paul stares at the woman in front of him with long chestnut hair.
She turns to him with a smile and hands folded over her stomach. Blue-in-blue eyes that were once like the deep soil of Caladan shine back at him.
⸻Basi.
ᴘᴀᴜʟ.
A sense of dread fills him as he knows what Bastila tries to show him. The people in the streets chanting his Fremen name. The prayers. The praise. The worship. Calling for their Mahdi to lead them to Paradise. Amongst it all she's there with...
ʏᴏᴜ ᴍᴜꜱᴛ ꜱᴇᴇ. ᴅʀɪɴᴋ ᴀɴᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡɪʟʟ ꜱᴇᴇ.
His mind immediately refocuses on what he knows he can feel and touch. The tent around him. The stillsuit he wears. His thumb on Bastila's cheek. The low light of the tent lamp. The sounds of the Fremen cheering and dining of another successful night. Bastila. A sharp inhale followed by another until he calms himself to look back at the woman in front of him. The woman who seems to have so many paths open to her when none seem open to him.
He moves in one fluid motion.
Hand raises to pluck the tent light from its hanging position and extinguish it. The tent is shrouded in darkness. That way the ones beyond the tent can't see.
Then, his hand rests once more against her face. ]
I thought you were dead. [ Voice barely above a whisper once more and nearly repeating himself. This time, however, he says it as Paul Atreides and not her duke. Hands curl against her. ] Only bones left like my father, our advisors, our men...
[ They will worship at the shrine of my father's skull... the ritual and mythos of Maud'dib spreading through the Known Universe⸻
⸻ᴘᴀᴜʟ.
She COULD be there with... a child...
The image comes to mind again of her dressed in Harkonnen battle armor. Fighting him. Plunging the blade into his chest.
Or, she could kill me. What does she truly want?
DRINK AND YOU WILL SEE.
Paul ignores the clawing visions attempting to take him from the present. ]
What is it you want, Basi? [ The voice barely above a whisper suddenly sounds haunted. ] You can choose. You have to choose.
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[ To Bastila, it seems more than a little suspicious that Paul's supposed sister is insisting on anything, especially when said sister is not even physically with them. ]
What are her motivations? What are her reasons for steering you in that direction? [ I have not even met her and I don't think I trust her.
She notes the way that Paul's hand tremors against her cheek, and instinctively, she moves closer to him, wanting to offer reassurance.
She can only venture a guess at what he might be thinking of, but the look on her face tells her that it is not a pleasant memory. A stray thought enters her own mind then, but that would be too much of a coincidence for them to be thinking about the same thing. And, really, she isn't certain how much she believes in coincidence anyway. ]
Are you glad that the tribe respects her? I imagine the respect they offer is somewhat different from the respect she might have received on Caladan, if she was given the respect she deserves. Feared, however...
[ She thinks that over for a moment. ] Your mother does have her moments of being rather fearsome, I would say. [ There is a force behind Jessica that appears from time to time, and while Bastila would not say she fears the woman, she can cautiously appreciate that forcefulness.
As she sits there with Paul, she notices how he seems to drift away from her, a little at a time. And where he's going seems to be somewhere she can't follow. Perhaps it's a vision, or a waking dream, and if the things he spoke of just moments ago are any indication, she imagines that what he might be seeing may not be all that pleasant.
Still, all she can do is sit there with him while he navigates whatever strange things he is seeing, and hope that when he comes back from it, he is still himself. From what she understands of visions and dreams, they have a strange way of changing a person.
And as far as she can tell, Paul has been changed quite enough already, although she knows that most, if not all of these changes, are well outside her control, if she ever had any control at all.
For now, she waits. She waits for Paul to navigate the weirdness of his visions and return to her. Eventually, he does, and the only way she can tell that is by the way she touches her face. And then she hears his next words and she leans in closer to him, the desire to comfort him growing stronger by the second. ]
I survived, Paul, and so did you. We survived together, even though we were apart. [ Perhaps her words make no sense. Perhaps he will dismiss them as stupidity. Their survival had nothing to do with anything the other was doing. ]
What is it I want? [ For her, the choice is easy. ] I want to be with you. If I have to be your concubine, I will. If I can be your... your lady, I will. As long as I can be with you.
[ She would even walk behind him carrying his belongings if it meant being with him. ]
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[ Her questions of his mother are left unanswered as the visions claw at his mind. He hears them, but they hardly seem relevant to what he is seeing. Hearing. Feeling. He struggles to focus on her in the present with how his mind is pulled in so many places. Why do these visions come to him now of all times?
Because she's here. The visions are of her —— her paths.
An insurmountable force feels as if it weighs on him. This moment, this choice can shift so many things around them. A born member of a house sworn loyalty to the Atreides, naturally gifted in ways that the Bene Gesserits honed. A woman who knew how both houses of the Atreides and Harkonnens functioned due to her time in each one. A woman with great potential to shift the balance of power as the Imperium stands on the edge of a knife on Arrakis. Paul stares at her as that awareness settles on him.
Bastila Shan is a force in the Known Universe.
Does she know?
Did the Bene Gesserits know? Had that been why they chose to train her? ]
My sister wants me to go south. [ His voice, still quiet above a whisper, has become haunted. Far away. ] She wants me to see. She and my mother want me to become what they want me to be. What they think I am.
[ ᴋᴡɪꜱᴀᴛᴢ ʜᴀᴅᴇʀᴀᴄʜ.
The tone in his voice remains as he continues: ] You have so many paths. So many possibilities——futures. All the paths at your fingertips, Basi. Just waiting for you to take a step down the one you desire. Not the ones anyone else desires.
[ He blinks once, twice, trying to pull himself to the present. His mind only focuses on her figure. Standing behind her as she stands before roads that stretch far beyond what he can witness. Bastila glances over her shoulder at him. He reaches out to touch her. In the present, the hand on the side of her face opens. Fingers stretch out to brush along her cheek.
"I survived, Paul, and so did you. We survived together, even though we were apart."
Eyes stained with the spice addiction lock onto hers. He sees her and sees her at the same time. Paths begin to converge and fold on one another. One by one they disappear until only one is left remaining in front of her. Paul simply stares at her in both places as the sudden feeling of powerlessness grips him.
"I want to be with you."
She steps forward on the one remaining path. A path tinged in gold.
That force upon him feels as if it has begun to disintegrate. Like sands pouring down the dunes. The choice made——the path she will walk set. Allegiances decided and her power placed in a destiny. All the ways of describing it swirl in his mind as he feels himself center in the present once more. The feeling of the tent, the sounds of the Fremen, his heavy breathing along with her calmed one.
The smell of cinnamon as the wind blows through the camp. Spice. ]
Me. [ Another blink as his vision finally focuses properly on her. His tone remains as it has been the last several moments, but he is here with her once more.
His body aches from the tension he had been under. His mind already setting through the stages to force his body to calm. His other hand raises to her other cheek. Fingertips move the strands of hair away from her face. Then, he leans forward to meet her. Sweat glistens on his skin as he stops millimeters away from resting his forehead to hers.
Paul gives her a tired smile. ] What would my lady have me do for her?
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[ She has some knowledge of situations such as this, but that is all it is: the barest of facts, and she knows that facts do not always reflect reality. Paul's sister could turn out to be quite different indeed, and so Bastila resolves to not have any expectations for how she will behave or what she will be like.
For now, however, her focus and her concern is on Paul. To her eyes, he does not appear well. The spice surely is affecting him, but there is more to it than that. She knows now that he can see things; he can view events that may or may not come to pass. She can only guess at what he might be seeing now.
But he could be having a vision of the most mundane thing, and she would still hold his hand and touch his shoulder and call his name, doing whatever she had to in order to call him back.
She does not intend to be vain enough to believe that she is the only one who can bring him back from his visions, but at the present, she is the only one in the tent with him, and so for now, the responsibility falls to her. ]
That is what they want, but it is not what you want, so why should you do it? If you do not think it is the right thing, then you should find what the right thing is for you.
[ She shakes her head. ] I do not want all of those paths, those futures. I want a future with you, in which I can meet you in an alcove if that is what we decide... in which I can grab you by the collar and shake you if it seems that is necessary.
[ Her mouth twitches to one side as if in something like amusement. She might not be so bold in front of others, but when it is only them? She sees no reason to hide that. ]
Are you still with me? [ She can see that he is trying to pull himself out of whatever it is that he has been seeing, and in an attempt to guide him back, she moves her free hand to touch the side of his face in return, mirroring how his hand is brushing against her cheek. ]
Yes, you. [ She continues to look at him with a growing intensity in her gaze. ] I would have you lie down next to me. [ Then she smiles a smile that is warm and inviting, but not enticing, not in that way. Now is not the time for them to lose themselves entirely, not when there is an entire group of people not very far from them. ] Lie down next to me and let me hold you.
And if now is not the time, then later when there is time. And don't say that there isn't, because we will make time, Paul Atreides.
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I wonder how Bastila will react once she knows that my mother is now a Reverend Mother.
He has calmed from his visions but the signs of the ordeal still remain. The tension gives way to exhaustion and the sweat is obvious. How long has it been since he has seen something so intensly? He can recall the time he sat with his mother in a tent in the desert — the night the Hakonnens attacked and his father died.
The similarities. ]
Yes, I'm here. [ The look in his eyes cement his statement. His gaze hasn't wandered or detached from her. Instead, he stares intently at her as if she is the only thing in the world. ] It happens like this sometimes. Ever since we came to Arrakis.
[ Blue-in-blue eyes close and his cheek rests against her hand. How long has it been since they've touched one another? It feels like a lifetime ago. His gaze-half shuts as the feeling of sheer comfort washes over him. Something forgein to the deserts of Arrakis. ]
Then, you'll need to remove the armor. The only thing you need in the desert is the stillsuit. [ A long breath escapes him as the aches from tension followed by exhaustion ripple over him. ] Hopefully the Harkonnens gave you a rudimentary one underneath all that armor.
[ A show to the Fremen that she isn't one of them. We can discard the armor in the morning.
Paul leans once more into her hand before he pulls back his own. They reach up to remove the scarf head wrap that sits around his neck and shoulders. Then, a low pained moan escapes in a wheeze. The visions shouldn't cause such a pain — the powerful ones do. It's his own reaction to them.
While she busies with the armor he reaches over to a pack in the tent. Sheer blankets. He eases himself down onto his back, another grunt leaving him as he does. An arm out stretches for her to enter and join him on the floor once she is ready. The hand curls to the top of her head and works the tight bun she wears out to send her hair cascading down her shoulders. ]
You're not with the Harkonnens now. You don't need to dress as you are. [ He mumbles as if the act of speaking takes much from him. Then, to her earlier points: ] What I want is impossible. Life on Caladan with my father alive. Ruling from my ancestral home. Duncan, Gurney, Hawat. My sister to be born and know water as you and I know it.
Very few of us can chose our paths. You're one of those few, Basi. I don't know why.
[ He pulls the blanket over her. ]
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THREAD COLLAPSE.
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