synthneon | skies of rust || ❝ d'you breathe the name of your saviour in your hour of need. ❞

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skies of rust || ❝ d'you breathe the name of your saviour in your hour of need. ❞

SKIES OF RUST

I hope to never fall, where enough is not the same it was before.

Come feed the rain
'Cause without your love my life
Ain't nothing but this carnival of rust CODE BY TESSISAMESS

[ Maud'Dib! Maud'Dib! Maud'Dib!

He walks through the group of Fremen that had accompanied him. Hands and knives in the air. Chanting the name he had chosen to be known as by those who made desert power. People he now walked with, broke bread with, lived with. A family when his had been so utterly decimated by those who took power back of the Spice.

They're more than family.

They're desert power.

A force to be reckoned with. A power. A people. People who saw him as their Mahdi--the savior that would take them to Paradise. The people who had been manipulated by generations to expect a savior. He is no savior. He is a man who wishes revenge on those that took his family. A man who wants better for those who inhabit the planet that he was forced to adopt as home.

They're a force to be weaponized should he chose to do so.

They're not a family as they touch his shoulder and chant his name in victory.

In this instant? They're a reminder of the path his mother and her people demand he walk for their own ends.

His footsteps are heavy and echo through the reclaimed spice hoard. The Harkonnens are thrown down to the ground and slain. None are left standing. No prisoners. They can't be trusted and nor would they ever bend and submit to the Fremen or their insurgent leader Maud'dib.

The Fremen bow and mutter his name as he continues to stride through. He can feel the blue-in-blue eyes on him as he moves. His own eyes changed to that some time ago. The spice is everywhere in the desert. It was bound to change... as was his mind. The mind always changes with Spice, but he knows he is an exception. An exception his mother hails as the key her people want. An exception one who he thought would be a close friend considers nothing more to be spice dreams. ]

Maud'dib! The Harkonnen rat in charge has holed herself inside the main refinery. Should we--

[ Duke Paul Maud'dib Atreides raises his hand.

The Fremen nod and shift to the sides.

Paul pushes the door to the heart of the hoard open.

Blue-in-blue eyes land immediately on the woman in the center of the room. His head and faced are wrapped, only allowing the intense blue-in-blue eyes to be seen. Paul knows who his opponent will be. He has seen her in a dream. Someone who he had thought laid dead in the dunes of Arakeen just as his father and other members of his House. Someone who he knows can plunge her blade into his heart if she fails to realize the identity of Maud'dib. A test for her to truly see if she knows him, or if those memories had been thrown to the wayside in chase of a seat of power and recognition.

Both paths have always been open to her.

Paul comes to stand merely feet away from her. His crysknife rests in his hand. Eyes settle on the woman that had been a childhood friend. The grip on his knife tightens. Even now, he can feel his own physical reaction to her. A mechanical way of describing it, yet, his Mentat training has taken foot in that moment as he possibly stands at an attempt on his life. He feels his heart beat irregularly. His gaze focuses in on nothing but her.

Small--smaller than he remembers--and chestnut brown hair pulled back from her face in a tight bun. Dark suits attributed to House Harkonnen and not the Atreides nor Bene Gesserit. Her brown eyes are as he remembers them to be. Deep and dark, but not without emotion she attempts to hide. The hand around his blade curls as he feels the sudden relief that another member of his House remains. ]

Surrender! [ Paul barks the order at her through the mask of his stillsuit. Not the Voice. Just his own, now filled with command and authority. A leader. ] The people under your command are dead. The Spice belongs to me now. Surrender, and I will make certain you live. You are from House Atreides, not the Harkonnens. The Atreides were friend to the Fremen. Respected.

[ Missed by some. ]

[ Bastila hears the commotion going on outside the room she has attempted to barricade herself in. She can hear the shouts, the name being shouted, but before that, she heard the sound of battle: screams, shouting, weapons clashing upon weapons, and she found herself standing still as though she had been riveted to the floor.

It is hardly becoming for her to be afraid, much less show that she is afraid, but as she remains the only one in the room, she does not try to hide the fear in her eyes. If Muad'Dib is coming, then nothing good comes for her. Of course he will have no reason to not fight her and then strike her down if he is able; and of course he is able, given who he is and the abilities he surely has. She is certain that all he will see is one of the Harkonnens at worst, and at best, a Harkonnen pawn complicit in their doings.

The footsteps approaching seem to grow louder, and Bastila feels her heart pounding faster in response. Either way, her doom seems to be growing closer, and she feels her hand tighten around the knife she holds.

Now she hears voices outside the door, as Muad'Dib gives orders, and she sees the door begin to move as it is pushed open from outside. She stands in the middle of the room, as still as before, but her gaze slowly travels to the figure striding towards her. If she dies here, she will join the rest of House Atreides, who have since perished. A fitting end, perhaps, as she is- was the ward of that house.

Muad'Dib is now standing in front of her, a few feet away. She sees the blue eyes staring at her from beneath the wrapping around his head and face. This is the prophesied figure, the one who brings change with him... change, war, chaos... So many things. He could bring about her death, but before that comes, she has already resolved to fight.

She snaps further to attention the moment that he barks out a command. Of course she recognizes it; it is a form of force, of attempting to bend the will of another into compliance. It is not the form of force that leaves no options, but it is still a forceful command. ]

Surrender? [ It is a risk, speaking back to this figure, this person who has begun to take the world by storm. Bastila straightens up to her full height, which is hardly anything at all, and yet she does so because she will not cower in fear. ] You will make certain that I live, and for what? To-

[ The pronouncement that she is from House Atreides gives her pause; she had not expected that, but she supposes it would not be difficult for someone to learn she is not one of the Harkonnens. She repeats his words again: ]

You will make certain that I live, to be a servant or a concubine.

[ Distaste is plain on her face, although the fear still remains in her eyes. She raises the knife in her hand, doing her best to steel her nerves and not appear afraid. ]

You speak of House Atreides, and you say fine words, but this could be a snare for the unsuspecting.

[ She doesn't lower her knife, because the last thing she intends to do is walk blindly into a trap. Never mind that she is already in one, as there is no escape from this room but the door Muad'Dib walked through.

Still, she surveys him, eyes taking in every inch that she can see. Something about him is familiar, but she can't quite determine what it is. Perhaps if he keeps talking, and begins to move... It is a fool's hope, in the end. The Atreides are dead. ]

Edited 2025-02-24 08:14 (UTC)

[ The corners of his eyes narrow to betray his amusement. No, Bastila would never bend to become someone's servant or concubine. Her independence is too strong for such a position. Her demand to be noticed, seen, appreciated. Such a call would require her to humble and realize a great many things of their place in the universe and how the attention she seeks could come from but a few instead of all. ]

And you are suspecting. [ The amusement leaks from his voice. ] An Atreides should not die in service to Harkonnens nor their commands.

[ His blue-in-blue eyes drop down to the knife in her hands. A crude boorish blade of Harkonnen make. The only thing they would most likely trust her with. A pathetic weapon to a pathetic woman in their minds, no doubt, as they would truly have no concept of the damage she could wield with it. Bastila Shan--trained by Bene Gesserit and to some degree the late Duncan Idaho.

Battle it is.

Paul exhales, and yet the notion is more of a sigh. A look to the side, a shake of his head. Then, he bends down into his fighting stance. The Weirding Way. He waits till she takes her stance. A lunge. His crysknife presses against her blade. A near unstoppable force pressing down against her. Paul knows that she can fight against him. She has done so before so many times. Until they were separated by order of his mentors and their lives began to grow in separate ways.

How much of Paul Atreides did she truly know as they grew into young adults? Adults, by the standards of their world and their reality.

He presses further. ]

Surrender!

[ He hopes that she sees with all that training that she has received. The Bene Gesserit can control the minute abilities of their bodies. They can see patterns and behaviors. Body language. Surely, if she remembers anything of their childhood, then she will know him. Paul Atreides, the son of Duke Leto Atreides and concubine Lady Jessica. ]

Edited 2025-02-24 10:30 (UTC)

[ She watches him closely, looking to see how he moves and how his expressions may change, or not. She has always been good at studying people, and that skill has proven useful more than once. The way his eyes narrow in the corners confuses her, but it also brings to mind a memory... a memory of a younger man, looking at her with a smile and the corners of his eyes crinkled slightly, just as they are now. Is it really...?

She had her suspicions the moment he walked through the door, but they were drowned out slightly by the fear that she was about to meet her end. ]

Can you blame me for being suspecting? I have been under their thumb, doing what I could to play the part and go along with what I was told, or else I would not be standing here now.

[ And I do not wish to be under anyone's thumb again.

She sees where his gaze travels, and she can all but see the decision in his mind, reluctantly resigning himself to a fight. It has to be him. It is him, I am sure of it. He never did like the idea of fighting. Training, but fighting?

She shakes her head once as if to answer her own internal thoughts. Still, she watched Muad'Dib- Paul. All of his movements are so familiar as if there has been no time at all lost between them. The stance, the ease with which he falls into it, how he moves when he makes his strike...

His knife presses against hers, and she can feel the shoddy work of the Harkonnen knife protest against the superior crysknife. Still, even as the force of his knife presses down against hers, she pushes back, leaning in to add her weight to it, but not expending all of her strength in the process. This was how they trained, after all: tactical movements, tactical thoughts, learning to read each other's movements.

He presses further and she feels herself slide back an inch against the sandy ground, but she does not stop pressing back. Again he barks out a command, and again she sees the younger man she trained with. The wrappings that obscure his face seem to fall away in her eyes and she knows (maybe she's always known) that this is Paul Atreides. ]

You think I will surrender simply because you order me to?

[ Now it's her turn for her eyes to crinkle in amusement, and the corners of her mouth turn up into the barest hint of a smile. Perhaps he will remember a time when she said something similar to him during one of their early training sessions together. ]

Why play the part? Simply survival or something more?

[ Blue-in-blue eyes stare down into her brown. Piercing, demanding answers, because he cannot yet simply see them. He never wants to see them. The more on this path he walks the less human he feels.

No, that is not the only reason why.

There had been questions he had hoped to ask her the day the Herald of Change had come to Caladan. Confessions to give. Secrets to share. Things to know so that he might put his own mind at ease and, if nothing else, learn to control and temper his emotions. The Bene Gesserit interfered as they always seem to do in his life. Now, those questions may surface, depending on her answers and actions.

His eyes narrow further in amusement. The way the blade pushes against hers. The defiance in her entire body despite the way a tremendous force presses against her. Yes, this is most certainly his childhood friend.

Paul leans in closer to her. His voice lowers. ]I was hoping you might surrender if I had asked. Not simply because your Duke demands it.

[ Many admissions are made in that one simple statement. The confirmation of his identity. The fate of his father and their House. Amusement made way for the somber note that, whether he likes it or not, that he is now House Atreides. Duke of Arrakis. The people on this planet are his theifdom and the Harkonnens are invaders. ]

Do you yield, Basi?

Why? If I did not play the part, I would have a very different story to tell. Oh, of course the Harkonnens did not dare kill me, but they had their ways of making it clear I did not possess leverage. It was survival, nothing more.

[ She stares back at him, brown eyes fixed on his blue ones. In a way, she misses when his eyes looked more like hers. There is a part of her that wants to reach for the wrapping obscuring his face and pull it away, because by now, she is more than aware that this "fight" they have begun is more of a farce than anything else.

Perhaps he does not wish to be exposed. But wrappings can be replaced...

He leans in closer and a quick exhale of breath leaves her in a rush as if she is reacting to his sudden closeness. It takes more willpower than she expected to keep the knife where it is and not drop it so that she can pull him into a hug, throwing rules and expectations to the winds.

Her mouth shifts into a crooked sort of amused smile. ] Oh, was that you asking? Beneath the demands, was there a request?

[ She plays coy, but she can also determine the admissions contained in his words. ]

Are you still Paul, or do I have to bow and call you Muad'Dib?

[ He asks if she yields, and finally, by way of her answer, she allows her blade to fall away from his. ]

[ Her answer seems to satisfy his curiosity. He had thought as much. He had never thought Bastila one to strive for power out of sheer hunger for it. Power means security--to some degree--in their world. A recognized talent meant that others valued her. Of course, to him, none of that mattered when it came to her. Bastila had been a friend when he had no other. His mentors far succeed his age, and there were no siblings to keep him company. Being a ward of his House meant someone near him in age and a friend. Someone to hide away in alcoves with during the thunderstorms that would ravage the face of Caladan. ]

Maybe you forgot how I ask to get your attention. [ The humor is clear in his tone then. ] You haven't forgotten how to play coy.

[ He flicks his crysknife in his hand, circling her blade, and causing it to sail away. A flourish to make it seem more as if he has disarmed her than simply her giving up. In one brish motion, his other hand raises and pulls down the wrap and mask that obscures the bottom of his face. The plug into his nose for the stillsuit still remains. A curling smile shows with no restraints.

He's missed when they could toy with words at one another. It wasn't simply the time that had passed since the fall of House Atreides that they had been able to speak in such a way to one another. ]

The only bow I would accept from you is to pledge fealty to the Duke of House Atreides. [ A pause, and the smile somehow curls further. ] You'd only call me Maud'Dib if you were Freman.

[ His curiosity might be satisfied, but hers is far from settled. No, she never chased after power, or the type of power that the Harkonnens represented. It wasn't the sort of power she wanted, if she wanted anything at all. Grasping for position and power wasn't who she was. She wanted to be recognized to an extent, as most people do, but she never asked to be thrust into the public eye. Her abilities proved useful, and the Bene Gesserit wished to harness those abilities, and the Harkonnens... Well, they would have seen her dead if not for the Bene Gesserit.

In a way, she wishes that they could return to those times when all they had to worry about was hiding in alcoves during storms and during moments of calm and laughing together when they could not be discovered quickly. ]

Maybe I thought that I would never hear you ask again. [ Her tone is light and her expression calm, but a storm of sorts is brewing in her eyes. ] Whether you believe it or not, Lord Duke, knowing how to play coy has benefited me more than once. [ A humorous tone returns to her voice, countering the slight turn into heaviness from just moments ago.

When Paul sends her blade sailing away, she does not move nor flinch, as it was only a blade, and after all, this is Paul: older now, and with more titles than before, not to mention more responsibility, but as far as she is concerned, neither of them need to put on airs around each other.

Once the wrap and the mask are pulled down revealing his face in its entirety, a slow smile spreads across Bastila's own face. The plug in his nose is something she could do without, but she understands the need for it, and so she pays it no mind. ]

My fealty to the Duke of House Atreides has never been in question. The Harkonnens never had it, nor would I have given it to them. [ Her smile remains as she tilts her head back slightly to get a better look at him, eyes surveying what she can see of him through the suit and the other layers that he wears. It is not at all in her imagination that he looks very much like his father. Not that she is ready to speak about that just yet. ] Now you have reclaimed the spice and this facility. What will you do next? And what will you do with this "Harkonnen rat"?

[ The words were barely audible as she stood inside the room, but she managed to decipher enough of what she heard to determine that much. ]

[ Questions will need to be asked for both of them. He feels the need to resolve what he had intended to do on Caladan. There may never be another chance. The battle may sway too quickly. She could die. He could die. The Harkonnens could kill them all. A worm may destroy them. Anything could happen. ]

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.

Edited 2025-02-26 03:23 (UTC)

[ Questions, and recounting harder topics as well, such as how the Lord Duke, Paul's father, did not survive. That particular detail still feels far too close for comfort, as she has yet to really process the notion that House Atreides was betrayed. Yes, Bastila sees it as a betrayal. Perhaps in the grand scheme of things, it was simply another example of moves and counter moves, a deadly dance that the houses carry out with each other.

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. ]

[ Paul cannot conceive any idea or moment in which the Harkonnens would find an Atreides agreeable, let alone useful. Unless they had planned a trap by using her. That, of course, would require the Harkonnens to believe that Maud'dib was Paul Atreides. He's certain that they have no idea who is truly behind the name of Maud'dib. The Harkonnens are intelligent, bullish, crude, cunning, and cruel. That hardly means they can see all the pieces on a board that they cannot control.

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.

Edited 2025-02-26 11:00 (UTC)

[ At first, the Harkonnens found Bastila anything but useful. They contemplated killing her outright, but after some consideration, it was determined that killing her would be a waste. Perhaps they could use her as leverage or a pawn, and if nothing else, well, there was always forced servitude. Servitude was the option they settled on, as they had no real idea who she was connected to, if anyone. House Atreides, of course, but most of said house was dead, and as Paul surmised, they had not yet made the connection between Paul and Muad'Dib. ]

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.

Edited 2025-02-27 20:21 (UTC)

Stilgar, the naib of the tribe of Freman. [ He glances back behind them as if to make sure that no one had followed them. ] He was the one that Duncan had encountered when my father first sent him to Arrakis. We had a meeting with Stilgar and my father tried negotiations with him. I imagine that is in part of why my mother and I were allowed into his sietch and tribe.

[ 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?

[ She makes note of this, filing it away with information that may be useful or needed later. Parts of this, she knew from her lessons and subjects she has studied and been instructed in. Some details, she may not be as familiar with, but she imagines that with time, she will learn. ] Duncan. [ Her expression shifts slightly at the mention of Duncan's name; he, like so many others, must surely be gone now, and that is something she knows will never sit well with her, nor should it. ]

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.

[ Duncan. Gurney. Hawat. His father. Countless soldiers. So many people that should be present but are no longer with them. More to follow should he continue the path he walks. Paul stares out at the deserts as the sun begins to fade more and more. Is there no other path to walk? Living on Arrakis among the Fremen will still present the issue of fighting the Harkonnens. Knowing the Harkonnens, they will squeeze and squeeze. They will find a way to destroy the Freman as they did his house. No one will be safe.

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.

[ They should stop to mourn the ones they have lost, but Bastila is not foolish enough to suggest such a thing at the present time; from what she has gathered from listening to Paul, as well as from listening to what he has left unsaid, time is of the essence and actions need to be taken rather quickly. It is unfortunate and regrettable, and part of her rebels against the idea, but the dead would understand. At least, that is what she tells herself.

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. ]

SKIES OF RUST

— chapter one.

—「 don't walk away when the world is burning. 」

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