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

[spicetrance]

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

Comments

[battlemeditation]

[ 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.

[spicetrance]

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?

[battlemeditation]

[ 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.

[spicetrance]

[ 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.

[battlemeditation]

[ 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. ]

[spicetrance]

[ "He sheds tears! Usul gives moisture to the dead!"

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."

[battlemeditation]

[ She can only guess at what thoughts or recollections are running through Paul's mind now, but if they are anything similar to her own... thoughts of mourning and remembrance and wishing that things could go back to the way they were, she can understand what he must be feeling, at least in part. She would not dare to presume she knows everything that he is feeling, or that the depth of her feeling of loss is as great as his.

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. ]

[spicetrance]

Nightmare is a good way to describe it. [ Eyebrows raise gently as if to agree with her statement. ] If there is another way? I can't see it... if what I need to do in order to see is moving South? Then, the option doesn't exist. I refuse to go to the Deep South.

[ 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.

[battlemeditation]

Putting aside the nightmare for the time being... If you do not go South, then what will you do? What will your plans be? Regardless, I intend to go with you, whatever you decide.

[ 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.

[spicetrance]

I intend to rage war against the Harkonnens. Disrupt spice. Force the Emperor to come to Arrakis. Then, tell him and the Landsraad what happened. Maybe even make a play for the throne.

[ 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.

[battlemeditation]

Then you will need- well, perhaps you don't need it, but you will have my help, if you wish to have it. [ She is confident in her abilities, but even she would not presume to tell Paul what he needs and does not need. ]

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. ]

[spicetrance]

No. It's not what I want... but it might be what's needed.

[ 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.

[battlemeditation]

And what else do you need? I imagine you do not lack for followers, assuming that the Fremen have decent numbers, and that others will join your cause on the way.

[ 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.

[spicetrance]

[ "And what else do you need? What role will I play in all this? How might I be of use to you?"

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.

[battlemeditation]

[ She watches him quietly as he very visibly turns her words over in her mind. Well, perhaps it is not truly visible; she only sees it that way because of how well she believes she knows Paul. She knows his expressions and how he looks when he's thinking something over, just as he is now. It is easy enough for her to see that Paul is thinking more than one thing over; several trains of thought must be going through his mind, and so she resolves to simply wait until he's navigated each one and reached a conclusion, or at least the beginnings of one. ]

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.

[spicetrance]

I have a hard time imagining them asking you to take the test to ride the worm when I haven't done it myself. [ A half shrug. ] Stil says it'll be soon. It's a right of passage into the tribe--coming of age. I don't think that's the path they'd have a weirding woman take.

[ Eyebrows raise as if to point to those that are in charge of Arrakis. The Harkonnens disrespect it. The Emperor does. They plan to bleed the planet dry. It's clear their aggression against the Fremen have escalated and not only because of Maud'dib. Bastila most likely has insight into that matter to some degree. Even if the Harkonnens never told her? She must have seen things. Noticed things. ]

I don't dislike my sister. [ Paul says his decision easy and well enough. Eyes seem to unfocus for the briefest of moments as he thinks on his sister. Alia, she said her name would be. ] The south means... so many things. Horror. A holy war. Jihad.

[ He silences himself then. There's far too much to explain, too many pieces for her to garner. She can't handle it all at once. He can barely hold onto the pieces. He sees so many things and none of them are clear. Does he want them to be clearer? No. His dreams have always come true in some way or another. He does not want the visions of the south to become reality.

Paul shakes his head. Now is not the time for those discussions.

He glances up at the mention of learning from his mother. Eyebrows raise. He won't question her on it now, but, he will at another time.

A tired smile plays to his face with an unspoken answer to her questions.

Yes.

Had there truly been any other woman? Bastila at his side felt natural. Complete. There had been a time when they were almost inseparable. Two halves that made a whole in some way--or that was how his mind had perceived them. Now? They are not two halves that make a whole, but more, two pieces together that cause unpredictability. That, he has decided, is what truly made his mother scared of their connection. Unable to control two aspects of a Great House. Control and trust are mutually exclusive.

The water in her eyes catches his notice. Relief fills him. ]

I'm now the Duke of House Atreides. My hand must be left open now more than ever for a marriage. A way forward for our house. [ His hands relax to hold hers as opposed to their tight painful stance he had been with just moments before. ] You deserve better than the status my mother has: concubine. You wouldn't settle for a title such as that.

[ I could never have just any woman I would want. That was never an option for my station. Not unless it was agreeable.

Paul exhales a long breath. So many roads are open for Bastila to take. Roads he could only dream of having. Dreams of her have always been the hardest to understand. Some she walks with him hand-in-hand, showing him things. Then, for a time, it was Chani leading him. Some, Bastila holds the knife and plunges it into him on a crowd of on lookers. A few she stands and simply watches all that might play out with the Holy War.

Why can I never understand the path you'd take? With me... or against me?

The hand bearing the ducal ring raises to her face. The ring that bears the power and might of House Atreides. Command. Ownership. Whoever bears the ducal rings of houses in the Imperium is truly the master of that house. It was a miracle--or careful planning--that it as well did not end up in the hands of the Baron Harkonnen. Thumb brushes along her cheek to remove the loose sand. ]

I've no fiefdom, no wealth, no true station or power. I would need to marry to restore our house. I could not give you my name or the title that you would deserve.

Would you truly give me the honor of courting you?

[ Images flash once more in his mind of dreams--the many paths he has seen her walk. The many lives she could lead. Just flashes. Nothing clear nothing defined. His sight is not open and maybe it should remain that way. ]

[battlemeditation]

Then I suppose I'll have to find some other way of showing them I'm not a Harkonnen and I never was. Even though the Harkonnens thought they had me under their control, I wasn't. I couldn't.

[ 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. ]

[spicetrance]

[ He wonders how she might have to prove herself. That path he can't see in his visions. There are too many paths she might pick and none seem to properly converge. They branch out again and again. His eyes close briefly in an attempt to get his mind to still and calm. Other tasks and aspects need to be addressed first. ]

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.

[battlemeditation]

I suppose that must be strange, speaking with someone who you have yet to meet, someone who is not even born yet. From the lessons I learned with your mother, I know that strange things can happen, but that must be more than strange. Unsettling, perhaps. And how do you know that she is not trying to steer you in a direction that might harm you?

[ 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. ]

[spicetrance]

I don't. [ Paul pauses in order to rephrase. ] No. I don't think she would ever want me to hurt... but, I don't think she can understand what life is like. Not yet. Not until she's here with us.

[ 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?

[battlemeditation]

I suppose not, because how could anyone understand that when they have yet to experience it? Still, I suppose meeting her will be an experience.

[ 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.

[spicetrance]

[ The dreadful feeling fills him when he thinks of Alia for too long. Like him, something is otherworldly of his sister. His mother refuses to tell him what could possibly be wrong. Except, he knows, that Alia should not be the way that she has become.

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. ]

[battlemeditation]

[ Maybe that is Bastila's purpose here; if Paul and Alia are otherworldly, perhaps Bastila is meant to help ground him. Even though she has never met Alia, she cannot help but already have a negative feeling towards her, if only because something about Alia unsettles Paul. But Alia aside, if things in Paul's life are threatening to undo him and undo what he wants for himself, maybe she can somehow keep him grounded and remind him that he is still Paul Atreides. He might have titles and status and expectations placed upon him, but in her eyes, he is still the young man she talked with late into the night in hidden alcoves.

The request that Paul stay with her is on the tip of her tongue, but reason tells her that things do not work that way. Paul's visions will most certainly continue, and all she can do is simply sit there and watch and wait, hoping that he will return.

What if he does not return one day? She shakes her head slightly as if trying to reject that thought and not allow it to take root. ]

I do not like these visions of yours, but I imagine they cannot be helped.

[ She gives him a considering look, as if trying to reassure herself that he is, for the moment, alright. And then, without another word, she begins to remove the armor given to her (or thrust upon her, as is more accurate) by the Harkonnens.

Personally, she would burn the armor, or bury it deep enough that no one will ever find it again. But then, perhaps that would offend the Fremen, given the existence of sandworms in the- well, in the sand. ]

Paul, you should lie down. [ She can see how he moves and hear the sounds he makes, all pointing to the fact that he is not well. He might not be physically injured, but a healthy person does not make sounds like the ones he is making. ] Let me see to readying the tent.

[ But perhaps she did not speak quickly enough, as before too long, Paul has set blankets on the floor and finally settles himself down there as well.

She quickly puts the armor to the side and puts it out of her mind, at least for the moment, and she moves to join Paul on the floor of the tent. When he reaches for her hair and begins to loosen it so that it can flow freely, she smiles. Paul always knows how to make her feel special... appreciated... perhaps even loved. ]

I can't bring your father back, or your old life, although I wish more than anything that I could. You should have that life still. Your father should still be here; your family should still be on Caladan. [ She makes that distinction because House Atreides held Caladan for years; years upon years. She has not been a part of this family for that long, in the grand scheme. ]

As for my path- I have already chosen it. It's right here.

[spicetrance]

[ Bastila's purpose maybe one of her own design. If he could see, then he would know. Seeing like that means something that he has told himself he will not do. He will continue to push north and fight the Harkonnens. It will keep his mother and the other Fremen who can't fight safe. They'll take the battle to those that deserve it. He would rather suffer from visions that he has at the moment, incomplete as they are, in order to keep the horror he sees from coming true.

Nothing will stop his visions. They had been dreams once. Now? They're both. Dreams when he sleeps, visions when he wakes. A gentle breeze of air with spice could cause them to happen. Certain people, places. Nothing is truly coherent about when and where they happen. Nothing to control them.

⸻ᴋᴡɪꜱᴀᴛᴢ ʜᴀᴅᴇʀᴀᴄʜ.

His eyes close as she settles beside him.

The hand that bears the ducal ring stills against her hair. Then, slowly, each finger starts to move along the strands of the waves. They held hands and hugged one another as children. There had been times they slept beside each other under the large trees in summer days, falling asleep to the studies given to them. Never anything intimate as this. ]

No, [ he finally answers her earlier statement, ] I don't think they can be helped... or stopped. Dr. Yueh thought it was just a sensitivity to spice. That's not true.

[ It's something about ME. Who I am. WHAT I am. What I can become. ]

None of this should have happened. My father knew it was a trap. He walked into it knowing there was nothing that could be done. We simply failed to know when the trap would spring. [ Fingers gently twine into her hair and untwine. His eyes remain closed as his breathing still sounds ragged at times. ] You should be at home on Caladan with us.

[ Her house may be a minor one underneath the Atreides. They may not have had the wealth as the Great House in charge of Caladan. None of that mattered to him. Bastila was a friend. Someone finally near his age that he could talk to and be himself around. Not the ducal heir, not the "young pup" or "lad", not someone to train. Just himself: Paul Atreides. She became family. Then, more than family. Despite the best efforts of his mother.

His eyebrows knit together slightly as memories call to him. Their first meeting in the alcove in the hidden parts of Palace Caladan. It was a harsh storm that night, the worst in a decade. They had secured the palace. Something inside him had told him Bastila was missing. He slipped away from his mentors and went searching. He listened to his instincts and eventually found himself in the older parts of the building. Parts that had been forgotten or only used by the staff when they were not to be seen by visiting parties. She sat underneath an alcove with bared windows, except the glass had long since been destroyed. The overhang kept the wind and most of the rain from soaking the area.

Paul had quietly sat down beside her. He didn't move or speak--not until she spoke first. He told her of his family and his mentors, asked her about her home and her family. The area she found herself in had been explained next. Conversation until she had calmed and he could reach to hold her hand. Secure, gentle, and an unspoken offer to be there if she had needed a friend. Thunder roared and lightning cracked across the sky. She jumped and Paul had pulled her into a gentle embrace to shield her from the palace that seemed to frighten her down to her bones.

They met often in the alcove after that. Taught each other lessons. Learned and became fluent in not only the Atreides battle language, but ancient signed language that he had just used moments ago. Their way of speaking behind the adults.

The arm around her pulls her closer. The other then wraps around her. The same embrace he gave her all those years ago in Caladan. Except now wind gently moves sand and spice around outside. A tent instead of an alcove. Paul presses the side of his head to hers. ]

I thought you were dead. [ A third time he says it, and this time, with nothing to hold back the pain in his voice. No pretenses of being the Duke of House Atreides, Maud'dib of the Fremen. Paul as she has always seen him. ] I asked if you were going to come to Arrakis with us. I wanted you to come. I thought I led you to world that trapped us. That they paraded your body around as they surely have done with my father, then left your bones to the desert. All because I wanted you here with me.

[ The hand at her hair curls into it then. His voice cracks. ] I mourned for my father, and the others, then moved forward. But not you. I kept mourning you and the time I thought we lost. The things I never shared or asked you because of politics and ceremony. I couldn't let it go... let you go.

[battlemeditation]

[ Can two paths belonging to two people intersect and intertwine? Could destiny or fate or any similar idea be bringing Bastila and Paul together? Perhaps it is a silly romantic idea that Bastila feels deep inside herself, but perhaps it really is the outcome that she wants. Will it happen? Maybe, and maybe not.

She wonders if Paul sees them on that path in his visions, or if all he sees is the path leading both of them further apart. Her hands clench into fists for a moment as a sudden urge to curse that path arises; she wants to reject that path while reaching out to grab hold of the path that brings them closer together. It's the path she wants.

A contented sigh escapes her as Paul begins to move his fingers through her hair. This feels right and comforting and it feels like something they have done for years. Perhaps when he tires of touching her hair, she will return the favor and begin tending to his own hair. She never dared be so forthright in front of Jessica or Leto, but in the moments that were just her and Paul, she found the urge rising to just touch him, if he allowed her to and if she was bold enough to go through with the action.

Sometimes she was and sometimes she was not, and the times that she was not, she wished that she could just act without worrying about what people thought about her. What does Paul think about me? She would ask herself and be unable to come up with an answer. ]

Well, whether they can be stopped or not, I will be right here if you need someone to hold your hand.

[ Even if he does not reach back, I will not leave him to deal with this alone. ]

What if your father had not gone to Arrakis? What if he had refused the charge and stayed where he was? I- As much as I agree with you, and as much as I wish that your father were still with us... [ What if one of us had died instead of him? Not Paul, and not Lady Jessica. Absolutely not the Lord Duke.

Bastila knows that she is hardly a replacement for Leto, and her death in his stead would mean next to nothing in the grand scheme. But a part of her wishes she could have taken his place so that he could be here with Paul instead.

She senses and sees Paul slip back into visions or memories or both, and she simply waits, lying beside him waiting for him to return from whatever it is that he is seeing. Perhaps this is simply how it will be between them: Paul will have visions and dreams and Bastila will sit with him and hold his hand and wait for the visions to recede once more.

At least this time, whatever memories Paul is seeing seem to be less harrowing than the visions he had had before. That is a small relief and Bastila finds herself releasing a breath she had not known she was holding in.

After a moment, Paul seems to leave the memories behind, returning to the present and this moment with her. She moves to squeeze his hand but he finds she beats her to it: he pulls her in closer and wraps an arm around her, upon which she settles into his hold as if she belongs there. Fits there. This is where they belong: together, if not exactly in this specific place. ]

I should have been. I do not know why I was allowed to live, when so many others did not. But Paul, I will not have you thinking that any of this was your fault. Even if I had not survived, it would not have been your doing, nor would I allow you to blame yourself.

I would follow you to the ends of the earth if I had to, and I would do it again without a second's thought. How could I not be here with you, with your family? If Arrakis was to be our end, I would rather be here with you than living safely on Caladan or elsewhere.

[ Still, she greatly feels the losses that have happened; Paul's father, his teachers, so many people who meant something to both of them. They should all still be here. They should all still be alive. ]

I would have mourned for all of you, and I did, in my own way, but- the Harkonnens were watching. I did mourn, but I could not let you go, not even once. Not even for a second. They said that you were dead, that your parents were dead. Parents, servants, teachers... anyone who had ever even come close to the Atreides was dead. And I would be too, if I did not do exactly as I was told.

But they could not stop me from thinking.