ᴘᴀᴜʟ ᴀᴛʀᴇɪᴅᴇs. | ᵏʷᶦˢᵃᵗᶻ ʰᵃᵈᵉʳᵃᶜʰ. (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
spicetrance) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
synthneon2025-03-28 09:12 pm
spicetrance) wrote in synthneon2025-03-28 09:12 pm
name this stuff later after stream.
[ ⸻ꜰᴀᴛʜᴇʀ.
Eyes that are blue in their entirety--even the whites covered in color--stare at him. Young. Brunette. Sharp features. The eyes, he realizes then, are ancient. The fact they seem to glow seems to hardly matter at the realization of age in front of him. Time. Something inhuman and yet deeply human at the same time.
Paradox.
⸻ɪᴛ ɪꜱ ᴅᴏɴᴇ, ꜰᴀᴛʜᴇʀ.
What is done?
The concept of this young-yet-old man calling him "father" doesn't strike him as old. Something deep inside him (in his bones) tells him that it is true. He is the father of the one before him.
Fingers curl in the grains below him. Sand. They sit facing one another. Crouched in the shifting ground. Sand that borders the small old set of stone inside the sprawling and looming cave. Shadows they cast wax and wane at a steady beating pace. Shadows pass over their faces but neither age visibly. Instead he can feel it passing over him. Time. Passing over both of them. That feeling inside tells him it is true as well.
⸻ᴛʜᴇ ɢᴏʟᴅᴇɴ ᴘᴀᴛʜ ʜᴀꜱ ʙᴇᴇɴ ꜱᴇᴛ ɪɴ ᴍᴏᴛɪᴏɴ. ʜᴜᴍᴀɴɪᴛʏ ᴄᴀɴɴᴏᴛ ꜱᴛᴏᴘ ɪᴛ.
A breath catches in his throat. A weight he realizes that has been crushing him begins to slide from his shoulders. Awe and wonder fill him. Respect. Amazement. Fear. Sadness. He feels the sorrow show on his face. His son merely smiles and shakes his head at the display of emotion. His son reaches out, young-yet-old hands encircle his own.
A burden of purpose you inherited from me.
The sensation of flaking is suddenly felt. As if shedding skin. He looks up once more into those ancient blue-in-blue eyes. The expression is obvious to his mind in a flash.
Dying.
His son is dying.
Layer by layer. Piece by piece. Moment by moment.
Sands shift underneath them once more. Shadows pass. His son's face shows in the light once more--tired. No, exhaustion. Loneliness. Relief. Sadness. Joy. Contentment. Longing for moments never lived that others could. His hands curl around his son's in that moment. ]
Son... [ His own voice sounds old to him as well. No, this IS my voice.
The young-yet-old man merely smiles once more.
⸻ᴀ ᴜɴɪᴠᴇʀꜱᴇ ꜰᴜʟʟ ᴏꜰ ꜱᴜʀᴘʀɪꜱᴇꜱ. ᴛʜᴀᴛ ɪꜱ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ɪ ʟᴇᴀᴠᴇ ᴛᴏ ʜᴜᴍᴀɴɪᴛʏ ᴀɴᴅ ʏᴏᴜ, ꜰᴀᴛʜᴇʀ. ʜᴜᴍᴀɴɪᴛʏ ɪꜱ ᴘᴀᴛᴛᴇʀɴꜱ. ᴡʜɪʟᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ɢᴏʟᴅᴇɴ ᴘᴀᴛʜ ᴡɪʟʟ ᴍᴀᴋᴇ ᴛʜᴇᴍ ᴛʜɪɴᴋ ᴛᴡɪᴄᴇ ɪꜰ ᴍʏ ᴘᴇᴀᴄᴇ? ʜᴜᴍᴀɴɪᴛʏ ᴡɪʟʟ ᴄᴏᴍᴇ ᴛᴏɢᴇᴛʜᴇʀ. ᴄᴏɴɢʀᴇɢᴀᴛᴇ. ʙᴜɪʟᴅ. ᴛʜᴇɴ, ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴡɪʟʟ ᴘᴜꜱʜ ꜰᴏʀᴡᴀʀᴅ ᴏɴᴄᴇ ᴀɢᴀɪɴ. ᴏᴜʀ ɢᴇɴᴇᴛɪᴄꜱ ᴀʀᴇ ᴀ ᴘᴀᴛᴛᴇʀɴ, ᴀꜱ ʏᴏᴜ ᴋɴᴏᴡ, ꜰᴀᴛʜᴇʀ. ᴀ ʀᴏᴀᴅᴍᴀᴘ ᴛᴏ ʟᴇᴀᴅᴇʀꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ɪɴꜱᴘɪʀɪɴɢ ᴘᴇᴏᴘʟᴇ. ɪ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴇɴꜱᴜʀᴇᴅ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴏᴜʀ ʙʟᴏᴏᴅʟɪɴᴇ ʟɪᴠᴇꜱ ᴏɴ. ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴀᴛᴛᴇʀɴ ᴏꜰ ᴏᴜʀ ɢᴇɴᴇᴛɪᴄꜱ ᴡɪʟʟ ᴏɴᴄᴇ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ʙʀɪɴɢ ꜰᴏʀᴡᴀʀᴅ ᴘʀᴇꜱɪᴇɴᴄᴇ. ꜱᴘɪᴄᴇ ᴡɪʟʟ ᴇɴꜱᴜʀᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛʀᴀᴅɪᴛɪᴏɴꜱ ᴏꜰ ɢᴇɴᴇᴛɪᴄ ᴍᴇᴍᴏʀʏ. ʏᴏᴜʀ ɢᴇɴᴇᴛɪᴄꜱ ᴡɪʟʟ ʀᴇᴘᴇᴀᴛ ʙᴜᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ᴍᴀʏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴋɴᴏᴡ. ᴀɴᴅ, ꜱʜᴏᴜʟᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ᴋɴᴏᴡ, ɪ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ꜰɪɴᴅ ꜱᴏʟᴀᴄᴇ ɪɴ ᴋɴᴏᴡɪɴɢ ᴀɴᴅ ꜱᴇᴇɪɴɢ. ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴜɴɪᴠᴇʀꜱᴇ ᴏꜰ ꜱᴜʀᴘʀɪꜱᴇꜱ ᴡɪʟʟ ʙʀɪɴɢ ᴀ ʜᴀᴘᴘɪɴᴇꜱꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ᴊᴏʏ ᴡᴇ ᴡᴇʀᴇ ᴅᴇɴɪᴇᴅ ᴀɴᴅ ʀᴇᴠᴏᴋᴇᴅ.
His mind reels at the information and implications.
⸻ꜱʜᴏᴜʟᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ʀᴇᴍᴇᴍʙᴇʀ, ꜰᴀᴛʜᴇʀ, ɪ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ᴡᴇ ᴍɪɢʜᴛ ᴍᴇᴇᴛ ᴘʀᴏᴘᴇʀʟʏ ᴛʜɪꜱ ʟɪꜰᴇ. ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡɪʟʟ ꜰɪɴᴅ ᴍᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴀɴᴅ ᴀ ʟɪꜰᴇ ᴅᴇɴɪᴇᴅ ʙʏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴀᴛᴛᴇʀɴꜱ ᴏꜰ ᴏᴜʀ ɢᴇɴᴇᴛɪᴄ ᴄᴏᴅᴇ ᴡᴏᴠᴇɴ ᴛʜʀᴏᴜɢʜ ᴄᴇɴᴛᴜʀɪᴇꜱ ʙʏ ᴛʜᴏꜱᴇ ᴡʜᴏ ᴄᴏᴜʟᴅ ʙᴀʀᴇʟʏ ꜱᴇᴇ.
ᴍʏ ɢɪꜰᴛ ᴛᴏ ʏᴏᴜ, ꜰᴀᴛʜᴇʀ.
Another shadow passes over them.
The light returns.
The young-yet-old has disappeared as sand in the wind. All that remains in his place are worms crawling into the sand. Stillness fills the cave. Unbelievable and unbearable sorrow. Cheers fills his mind and senses. Elation. The God is dead!, they cry out. Jubilation. Wonder. Possibilities. Exploration. The coming together. The parting. The whispers of threads beyond the known. All of these pass through him and all that fills him is the sense of loss. The price paid for it all. A price he refused to pay and another paid instead.
Eyes open to stare at the hole above in the cave.
Then, a light. Brighter than the sun comes towards him. Eyes widen in sudden fear. There is no where to run, nowhere to hide. The heavens fall, the sky burns, then light engulfs him. Horror.
The worms are dead.
He gasps, jerks in bed, then stills at the ceiling above him.
Familiar and not familiar.
He stares at the ceiling as it a settles. The storm rages beyond the room. Wind and rain hitting the window. Rain. Water so scarce it was a currency within its own. Deserts. Dunes. His eyes close as memories of one particular person fill him. Brunette hair that tumbled down like water, an assured presence and knowing. Pride on her own talents and capabilities. She stayed by him when none would. His love, the one he cherished more than any other. One of two moons in the desert night sky.
His eyes close.
Our son is dead... and our daughter long before him. They've gone to the stars with you.
Reflection takes hold. Settling of memories. There is no adjustment to lives or reconciliation. He is Paul Maud'dib Atreides, once Paddash Emperor of the Known Universe. His name may be different now, but, it feels as if he has been asleep the entirety of this life. That he has awoken from a deep slumber and everything of this life had been a dream. A long continous dream. Now, he is awake, in a younger body. One that reminds him of when he first went to Arrakis. Yet, the memories are still his own as well.
Paolo Atreides pushes himself to sit up into his bed. He simply sits there with the low amber lights awakening to detect his presence. Moments pass that he has not tracked even with his Mentat capabilities reawakened. The feeling of pointlessness dares to cripple him. He cannot fall to the feeling once more and squander the chance his son had given him. There had been enough disappoints from the man once called Maud'dib. ]
Eyes that are blue in their entirety--even the whites covered in color--stare at him. Young. Brunette. Sharp features. The eyes, he realizes then, are ancient. The fact they seem to glow seems to hardly matter at the realization of age in front of him. Time. Something inhuman and yet deeply human at the same time.
Paradox.
⸻ɪᴛ ɪꜱ ᴅᴏɴᴇ, ꜰᴀᴛʜᴇʀ.
What is done?
The concept of this young-yet-old man calling him "father" doesn't strike him as old. Something deep inside him (in his bones) tells him that it is true. He is the father of the one before him.
Fingers curl in the grains below him. Sand. They sit facing one another. Crouched in the shifting ground. Sand that borders the small old set of stone inside the sprawling and looming cave. Shadows they cast wax and wane at a steady beating pace. Shadows pass over their faces but neither age visibly. Instead he can feel it passing over him. Time. Passing over both of them. That feeling inside tells him it is true as well.
⸻ᴛʜᴇ ɢᴏʟᴅᴇɴ ᴘᴀᴛʜ ʜᴀꜱ ʙᴇᴇɴ ꜱᴇᴛ ɪɴ ᴍᴏᴛɪᴏɴ. ʜᴜᴍᴀɴɪᴛʏ ᴄᴀɴɴᴏᴛ ꜱᴛᴏᴘ ɪᴛ.
A breath catches in his throat. A weight he realizes that has been crushing him begins to slide from his shoulders. Awe and wonder fill him. Respect. Amazement. Fear. Sadness. He feels the sorrow show on his face. His son merely smiles and shakes his head at the display of emotion. His son reaches out, young-yet-old hands encircle his own.
A burden of purpose you inherited from me.
The sensation of flaking is suddenly felt. As if shedding skin. He looks up once more into those ancient blue-in-blue eyes. The expression is obvious to his mind in a flash.
Dying.
His son is dying.
Layer by layer. Piece by piece. Moment by moment.
Sands shift underneath them once more. Shadows pass. His son's face shows in the light once more--tired. No, exhaustion. Loneliness. Relief. Sadness. Joy. Contentment. Longing for moments never lived that others could. His hands curl around his son's in that moment. ]
Son... [ His own voice sounds old to him as well. No, this IS my voice.
The young-yet-old man merely smiles once more.
⸻ᴀ ᴜɴɪᴠᴇʀꜱᴇ ꜰᴜʟʟ ᴏꜰ ꜱᴜʀᴘʀɪꜱᴇꜱ. ᴛʜᴀᴛ ɪꜱ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ɪ ʟᴇᴀᴠᴇ ᴛᴏ ʜᴜᴍᴀɴɪᴛʏ ᴀɴᴅ ʏᴏᴜ, ꜰᴀᴛʜᴇʀ. ʜᴜᴍᴀɴɪᴛʏ ɪꜱ ᴘᴀᴛᴛᴇʀɴꜱ. ᴡʜɪʟᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ɢᴏʟᴅᴇɴ ᴘᴀᴛʜ ᴡɪʟʟ ᴍᴀᴋᴇ ᴛʜᴇᴍ ᴛʜɪɴᴋ ᴛᴡɪᴄᴇ ɪꜰ ᴍʏ ᴘᴇᴀᴄᴇ? ʜᴜᴍᴀɴɪᴛʏ ᴡɪʟʟ ᴄᴏᴍᴇ ᴛᴏɢᴇᴛʜᴇʀ. ᴄᴏɴɢʀᴇɢᴀᴛᴇ. ʙᴜɪʟᴅ. ᴛʜᴇɴ, ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴡɪʟʟ ᴘᴜꜱʜ ꜰᴏʀᴡᴀʀᴅ ᴏɴᴄᴇ ᴀɢᴀɪɴ. ᴏᴜʀ ɢᴇɴᴇᴛɪᴄꜱ ᴀʀᴇ ᴀ ᴘᴀᴛᴛᴇʀɴ, ᴀꜱ ʏᴏᴜ ᴋɴᴏᴡ, ꜰᴀᴛʜᴇʀ. ᴀ ʀᴏᴀᴅᴍᴀᴘ ᴛᴏ ʟᴇᴀᴅᴇʀꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ɪɴꜱᴘɪʀɪɴɢ ᴘᴇᴏᴘʟᴇ. ɪ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴇɴꜱᴜʀᴇᴅ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴏᴜʀ ʙʟᴏᴏᴅʟɪɴᴇ ʟɪᴠᴇꜱ ᴏɴ. ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴀᴛᴛᴇʀɴ ᴏꜰ ᴏᴜʀ ɢᴇɴᴇᴛɪᴄꜱ ᴡɪʟʟ ᴏɴᴄᴇ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ʙʀɪɴɢ ꜰᴏʀᴡᴀʀᴅ ᴘʀᴇꜱɪᴇɴᴄᴇ. ꜱᴘɪᴄᴇ ᴡɪʟʟ ᴇɴꜱᴜʀᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛʀᴀᴅɪᴛɪᴏɴꜱ ᴏꜰ ɢᴇɴᴇᴛɪᴄ ᴍᴇᴍᴏʀʏ. ʏᴏᴜʀ ɢᴇɴᴇᴛɪᴄꜱ ᴡɪʟʟ ʀᴇᴘᴇᴀᴛ ʙᴜᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ᴍᴀʏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴋɴᴏᴡ. ᴀɴᴅ, ꜱʜᴏᴜʟᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ᴋɴᴏᴡ, ɪ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ꜰɪɴᴅ ꜱᴏʟᴀᴄᴇ ɪɴ ᴋɴᴏᴡɪɴɢ ᴀɴᴅ ꜱᴇᴇɪɴɢ. ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴜɴɪᴠᴇʀꜱᴇ ᴏꜰ ꜱᴜʀᴘʀɪꜱᴇꜱ ᴡɪʟʟ ʙʀɪɴɢ ᴀ ʜᴀᴘᴘɪɴᴇꜱꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ᴊᴏʏ ᴡᴇ ᴡᴇʀᴇ ᴅᴇɴɪᴇᴅ ᴀɴᴅ ʀᴇᴠᴏᴋᴇᴅ.
His mind reels at the information and implications.
⸻ꜱʜᴏᴜʟᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ʀᴇᴍᴇᴍʙᴇʀ, ꜰᴀᴛʜᴇʀ, ɪ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ᴡᴇ ᴍɪɢʜᴛ ᴍᴇᴇᴛ ᴘʀᴏᴘᴇʀʟʏ ᴛʜɪꜱ ʟɪꜰᴇ. ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡɪʟʟ ꜰɪɴᴅ ᴍᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴀɴᴅ ᴀ ʟɪꜰᴇ ᴅᴇɴɪᴇᴅ ʙʏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴀᴛᴛᴇʀɴꜱ ᴏꜰ ᴏᴜʀ ɢᴇɴᴇᴛɪᴄ ᴄᴏᴅᴇ ᴡᴏᴠᴇɴ ᴛʜʀᴏᴜɢʜ ᴄᴇɴᴛᴜʀɪᴇꜱ ʙʏ ᴛʜᴏꜱᴇ ᴡʜᴏ ᴄᴏᴜʟᴅ ʙᴀʀᴇʟʏ ꜱᴇᴇ.
ᴍʏ ɢɪꜰᴛ ᴛᴏ ʏᴏᴜ, ꜰᴀᴛʜᴇʀ.
Another shadow passes over them.
The light returns.
The young-yet-old has disappeared as sand in the wind. All that remains in his place are worms crawling into the sand. Stillness fills the cave. Unbelievable and unbearable sorrow. Cheers fills his mind and senses. Elation. The God is dead!, they cry out. Jubilation. Wonder. Possibilities. Exploration. The coming together. The parting. The whispers of threads beyond the known. All of these pass through him and all that fills him is the sense of loss. The price paid for it all. A price he refused to pay and another paid instead.
Eyes open to stare at the hole above in the cave.
Then, a light. Brighter than the sun comes towards him. Eyes widen in sudden fear. There is no where to run, nowhere to hide. The heavens fall, the sky burns, then light engulfs him. Horror.
The worms are dead.
He gasps, jerks in bed, then stills at the ceiling above him.
Familiar and not familiar.
He stares at the ceiling as it a settles. The storm rages beyond the room. Wind and rain hitting the window. Rain. Water so scarce it was a currency within its own. Deserts. Dunes. His eyes close as memories of one particular person fill him. Brunette hair that tumbled down like water, an assured presence and knowing. Pride on her own talents and capabilities. She stayed by him when none would. His love, the one he cherished more than any other. One of two moons in the desert night sky.
His eyes close.
Our son is dead... and our daughter long before him. They've gone to the stars with you.
Reflection takes hold. Settling of memories. There is no adjustment to lives or reconciliation. He is Paul Maud'dib Atreides, once Paddash Emperor of the Known Universe. His name may be different now, but, it feels as if he has been asleep the entirety of this life. That he has awoken from a deep slumber and everything of this life had been a dream. A long continous dream. Now, he is awake, in a younger body. One that reminds him of when he first went to Arrakis. Yet, the memories are still his own as well.
Paolo Atreides pushes himself to sit up into his bed. He simply sits there with the low amber lights awakening to detect his presence. Moments pass that he has not tracked even with his Mentat capabilities reawakened. The feeling of pointlessness dares to cripple him. He cannot fall to the feeling once more and squander the chance his son had given him. There had been enough disappoints from the man once called Maud'dib. ]
no subject
Okeanos.
A water planet that could be mistaken for the ancient Atreides homeworld. The decision had been deliberate, and he does not need the internal family documents to tell him otherwise. The Scattering. People fled to the stars after the Tyrant's death, including this pocket of Atreides. Direct descendents of the twin sister, Queen Ghanima, and thus Atreides to the claim of the Old Imperial Throne if the system hadn't been destroyed by the Tyrant. Instead, they had come to this planet on hopes of rebuilding the family in the image of what ithad been under the Old Duke Leto.
So far? They had been successful.
An Imperium does not exist now, instead a federation of individual planets. Okeanos being one of those planets. The House rules the planet and thus works with the other noble families that had established a new home in the Scattering. Of course, this federation retains the schools of the Old Atreides Empire. The housekeeper is a Suk doctor after all. His new mother had been a Bene Gesserit, just as his old mother the Lady Jessica had been. She passed when he had been a toddler, and rumors and whispers had spread through the court as to who had been the culprit.
The Lord Commander and the Master of Arms had always suspected the Bene Gesserits themselves, but blue could not simply be put at the feet of the old order. Not without repercussions.
He presses his palms to the stone railing and looks out at the gardens below as he churns the pieces together in his awakened mind. The Lord Commander, Master of Arms, and his new father had been friends since childhood. The Commander--Aymeric Bor'el--and his father were of established noble birth. The Master of Arms--Estinien--rose in combat prowess when raids had been conducted on the planet and he had secured his place in court. The Commander's Suk trained wife also made for a formidable force. Her sister was married to the planetologist and the two were always traveling.
Minute the presence of a Bene Gesserit mother and a faithful Mentat? The court seemed similar to that of the old Duke Leto. The people who had raised and trained him. People he finds himself missing. Especially Duncan Idaho.
He sighs.
A knock on the door behind him. Paolos sighs. His dress jacket has been discarded on the chair next to the table. Shirt untucked. He looks over his shoulder. Lanta stands at the doorway with an apologetic look on her face. ]
"I'm sorry to disturb you, Paolos. Lady Fortis wished to see you."
[ His gaze moves to the gardens below. ] She would want to know her future husband. It's fine, Lanta. Show her in.
[ The housekeeper opens the door further and motions for Fortis for step forward. ]
no subject
Still, she wondered if intruding upon his privacy was something he did not want. They were to be married, of course, but what if he did not wish to become better acquainted? What if his intention was to only take a concubine and not a wife?
Of course she knew that such a thing was possible; in a world where moves and countermoves still very much had their purpose, Fortis knew that romantic dreams had little place there. Still, she had dreams of being swept off her feet by someone- by the right someone, but there was nothing saying that that someone was Paolos.
Even so, she found herself growing restless in the quarters that had been assigned to her, and she found her steps wandering until... she found herself outside Paolos' room. This was not something she had done on purpose, as she had no intention of inserting herself into his quarters like some brazen woman with no manners. But before she could make her escape, she very nearly walked right into the housekeeper Lanta.
To Fortis's embarrassment, Lanta deduced what was going on with just a look at Fortis and another look at the door, and without hesitation, she knocked. Fortis felt as though she could sink right into the ground and disappear, if only it would open up and take her down with it. But no such thing happened, and she found herself forced to stand there while the housekeeper and Paolos exchange a few words.
She contemplates trying to make her escape, but before she can, Lanta holds the door open and motions for her to enter. Well, there's nothing else she can do now but enter and hope for the best.
She enters the room and drops into a low curtsy of respect. ]
I apologize for the intrusion, I- I was only passing by, I did not mean to interrupt.