Archive of Our Own ^beta

It all started when Duke Leto took Lady Jessica as a concubine, thus indirectly sealing Duncan's fate. Although back then, of course, he could not have foreseen it. In fact - as much as he doesn’t like to admit it now - back then he wasn’t too happy about his Duke’s decision to take this strange woman in. The distrust was immediate, visceral, nearly seeping through his skin, although obviously he kept trying to hide it in front of others. But sometimes he heard them say it too. When other men in the Duke’s service thought no one was listening, they talked with fearful voices about the dangerous Bene Gesserit, the infamous female order known to manipulate the events in the whole universe from the shadows. The little lady puppets of theirs, trained into obedience from the earliest years, molded into whatever shapes the order saw fit. Witches, people often called those women. The tone was usually derisive, but somewhere deep underneath that derision lay true fear of what seemed foreign, dark, and most probably evil. Duncan was no exception. He was smart enough to know one thing - you do not ever mess with magic. And you do not ever trust a witch.

But time flies, and with time some of those feelings changed, though Duncan suspected that part of that distrust would probably always be buried deep inside him. It was true, however, that his view of Lady Jessica softened, especially after one event, that one key decision. While the whole thing wasn’t exactly public back then, there’s always gossip among the servants, and through that Duncan learnt about the Bene Gesserit plans for the Atreides family. Apparently the orders for Jessica were clear - to give birth to the daughter of Duke Leto. A simple enough command, that, to everyone’s surprise, the woman did not obey. Paul Atreides, the little boy that the Duke had always wanted, came to be as an act of love, act of strength and defiance. And this, perhaps, was what defined his life from the start. Perhaps this was why, from the moment of his birth, it was clear - this wasn’t going to be an ordinary child.

Duncan felt this very strongly, that first moment when he laid his eyes on baby Paul. He was going to be like her, Duncan thought. A little witch. Except for one difference. Whatever made him fear and distrust the mother, did not, even for a moment, extend to the son. From the second he got to see and hold this tiny body, love was all he could ever feel for the little heir. There could never be any evil there. Not in him, never in Paul.

More time went on, as they watched the little boy go from the stage of infancy to early childhood. Because, in many cases, that was exactly what he was - just a child. Little Paul enjoyed playing, running around and pestering adults with questions. With no other children his age in the castle, they were all he had. Fortunately, the boy didn't seem to mind, as he enjoyed the company of grown ups. The swordmaster of the house, Duncan Idaho, seemed to be his personal favorite. A naturally curious creature, Paul would often ask Duncan about his weapons, experience in fighting, or general rules of the world that he felt particularly puzzled about. Duncan answered all this diligently, discovering that he wasn't really bothered by all the attention, and genuinely liked spending time with the young heir. Paul would shower him with affection, and expect the same in response, jumping into the man's arms or going for a hug. Before he was grown enough to start real training, they'd play mock fights with fake swords. Duncan would fall down, pretending the boy had bested him, and Paul would glow with true pride, running around and boasting to whoever could hear him, that he was a mighty warrior. Yes - their boy was a normal child. That is, maybe, about half the time.

Already in his toddler years, Paul started showing signs of having a sharp mind, as well as being very observant for a child of his age. That worked extremely well for his Bene Gesserit training, which his mother started to subtly introduce since he so much as started to talk. It had no guarantee of success, of course, with the order being all female and the training designed specifically for girls. Still, Jessica put all her work into teaching Paul, believing her son unique enough that the confines of gender would not limit him. And indeed, she couldn’t have been more right. He defied all the categories, their Paul. Any of the strange abilities he observed, practiced, and made his own. He learnt to manipulate other people’s minds with just a word. Control every tiniest muscle in his body with his mind. Fight at an inhuman speed. Some of the other abilities Duncan could not even name, same with various artifacts the boy had in his possession. His chambers full of mysterious objects, like weirdly shaped mirrors that reflected a disfigured version of reality. Pendants with symbols that to Duncan resembled some ancient sigils or runes. Old books written in languages a man like Duncan could not recognize. What sort of spells and incantations did they contain? Were they what Paul sometimes muttered silently to himself while staring at nothing in particular? It never sounded like any words Duncan had ever heard. Was he casting a curse or praying to some ancient gods? It was impossible to tell.

But if all that was alone more or less planned and expected from the start, there were ways in which their boy exceeded even his mother’s wildest expectations. There were moments where that was terrifying. Like when the look in his eyes would shift and without a clear visible change, he would turn from a young boy, into a wise old being, knowing what others didn’t. He would quietly observe the world, as if from a distance, hidden behind a veil. His parents and teachers have quickly learnt that there was no point in lying to the boy, because he could see that. He saw through them. And then there was the most disturbing thing of all. Sometimes it would manifest in rather small ways, like an answer provided too quickly, before having heard the question. Turning his head to face someone, before they entered the room. Yes… Mostly he would just instinctively know what was about to happen. The real prophesying happened quite rarely, and it needed to be said that the dreams and visions wouldn’t not always become real. But the instances where they would happen often enough that they knew it wasn’t a coincidence. Shivers still run down Duncan’s spine when he remembers Paul, at age four, waking up and mumbling something about a sand planet and desert people, and blue eyes. Nobody could know what it meant then. A few years later, they would.

Such was Paul Atreides, their magical little boy. Unusual, but loved deeply by his parents, teachers and most people that came into contact with him. That very much included Duncan, whom the boy never stopped adoring, and the man surely adored the kid back. “My boy”, he’d call him, and that felt adequate. It felt true. He had an important place in Paul’s life, as his teacher, protector, and, when the boy entered his teenage years, his friend. Despite both Duke and Lady Jessica being as loving as they could be, there was a certain level of formality in their contacts with their son, as well as a number of expectations. It was different with Duncan. To his swordmaster Paul could show his more relaxed side, make jokes, or confide in him when he was worried or sad. It made Duncan immensely proud. Just as he did. Because he always felt proud of his boy, no matter what weirdness there was in him. And if he sometimes got scared of the power Paul seemed to possess, manifesting in ways he sometimes wasn't even aware of, he was rather scared for, not of him. How could he ever be afraid of his boy? What did it matter what he was? No, no matter what happened, he was convinced his love for Paul would never change. 

Oh, but was he wrong.

It did not, of course, mean that he stopped loving the boy. Love, however… it has different flavors. Some that do not make us proud. Some, that make us want to hide in shame. But, to be honest, this was entirely well deserved. Because he’d known, he’d always known that getting too close to witches meant playing with fire. But hadn’t that fire been too bright, too enticing? Enough that he’d ignored his own warning and finally got burnt? Yes, in a way it was all his fault. He’d brought this curse upon himself. For that was what he felt like, cursed. Enchanted by a weirding boy, who was now a young adult, fascinating, hypnotizing, beautiful. And this wasn’t a mere human beauty. No, he was ethereal, glowing. Otherworldly. That kind of beauty could only be a gift from a god, or, perhaps more accurately, a demon. It could attract a victim and make them follow that shining glow anywhere. It could make someone lose their mind. Duncan felt like his own mind was already half gone. This young boy, on his mind at all times, under his skin. The longing, the ache to be near him. And always this question - is that you doing it to me, dear Paul? Have I offended you somehow, that you must now take revenge? Will you not release me?

But Duncan was a reasonable man, and a man of duty. The part of his mind that was still sane, knew that none of his feelings mattered in the face of reality - Paul’s status, his age, his own role as a servant of the boy’s family. Even him thinking about the heir to the house in the way he did was wholly inappropriate. He clung to that thought with everything he had, and, as hurtful as it was, it did help a little. After all, could a mature man not bear wanting something that could never be his? Surely, it was painful. But it was also something you could get used to, the way you got used to the taste of spice in all that you consumed, the food, the water, the air. Always in the background, after some time it just became another part of you. And if sometimes the mere sight of the person he wanted would cause him pain? If he would ache to hold the slender figure close and bury his face in the messy dark hair? He could live like this, knowing it was all entirely out of reach.

Some months later came the realization. And it happened gradually, since that thought seemed so idiotic at first that Duncan was sure it was purely wishful thinking. His mind going crazy, overanalyzing those little interactions, small gestures Paul would make, the things he’d say, the way he’d smile and look up at him… During their time together, like training or Paul coming to watch him work, was it… different? Did he speak to Duncan in a more intimate manner, did he start to seek out his company more often? As weird as it might’ve sounded, sometimes it seemed like… like they both felt it. Like whenever they were together, something was in the air, something that hadn’t been there before. Closeness, tenderness… longing. Or maybe Duncan had finally gone insane.

But then there was the touching. The physical closeness. This couldn’t have been another trick of Duncan’s imagination. Paul really did touch him quite often. He especially seemed to like Duncan's long hair. Sometimes he would run his fingers through the long strands, and look at Duncan with such warmth, that the man's heart would almost jump from his chest. One time Paul asked him to let him dress his hair before a mission, and it seemed important enough to the boy that Duncan had to agree. He sat down on a richly ornamented wooden chair in one of the old cabinets, and Paul got to work. Slowly, with so much dedication put into every movement of his delicate hands, he took long strands of Duncan’s hair and interweaved them carefully into an elegant braid. To complete the composition, he tied it with a dark satin ribbon. A moment passed, with the boy just standing there, looking at his work, before he leaned down and gently kissed the top of the man’s head. Yes, this was when Duncan knew for sure. He quickly excused himself then, and ran away from the room. His heart was pounding and he felt completely helpless, completely… scared.

Because wanting what you cannot have is passive, it is not a challenge. It is a whole different thing to resist the object of your desires, that, as it appears, is not entirely out of your reach.

Was he strong enough to do it? Knowing that what he dreamt of was at his fingertips? Stop it, you goddamn idiot - he yelled at himself in his mind. What are you even thinking of? That is absolutely, completely…

“...out of the question,” he said to Paul, when it finally came to having this conversation. They’ve been having a lot of these, in the aftermath of all that had happened. Because, of course the boy had to bring it up, the stubborn kid that had apparently set himself the task of torturing Duncan till the end of his days. They ended up talking a lot. It hurt, having to say no to Paul. And yet:

“That is out of the question,” he said again.

And again.

And again.

He was saying it to both Paul and himself.

The night before his departure to the desert, Duncan is walking around his chambers, making a mental list of the things that are left to do. He has already given instructions to a couple of his subordinates for the time of his absence, delegated his typical duties to some of his most trusted people, and reported to the Duke that he’d be leaving the next morning. He estimates it will only take a few days, two weeks at most. Stilgar has called for him, saying that he needed more men due to the latest uneasy situation in the desert. Duncan having sworn his service to the Fremen shortly after his arrival on Arrakis means dual loyalty, and that means that sometimes he has to leave his Duke and the comfort of Arakeen, and head to the desert, where his help is needed. This is one of those moments.

A few suspicious men have lately been seen around Sietch Tabr, which has highly alerted the Fremen living there. It’s been common knowledge that there might still be some enemies on the planet. The Atreides have solidified their strong position since the successful defense against the Harkonnen and Sardaukar attack, but it doesn’t mean everyone has given up on their plans regarding Arrakis. The Emperor, the Harkonnens and other influential families, they’re not gone, and it is entirely possible they’re still sending out their spies. Even so, lately those people have been growing quite bold. Never before did they dare to come so close to the Fremen settlements. Still, at first the Fremen didn’t react. Until a few of their men didn’t come back from a mission, and later they found their bodies in the desert, murdered brutally. A decision had to be made. And so Stilgar decided that he would be sending out groups of his men to patrol the area around the sietch. 

Duncan will be leaving for that mission tomorrow. Right now, since he is ready and has no more duties for the day, he decides to get some fresh air. 

At the highest level of the palace, there is a large balcony which provides anyone who wishes to look with an undisturbed view of the city of Arakeen. It is where Duncan sometimes likes to go when he needs a moment alone, whether to calm his nerves when something particularly bad happens, or simply collect his thoughts, or make plans. Something tells him it will be a good place to visit tonight.

Or… maybe not, he thinks when he reaches the destination and stops abruptly. Through the large glazed door he can see a slender, elegant figure leaning on the railings - dark in the evening light, but impossible not to recognize. Duncan sighs. He really isn’t sure if he wants to see Paul. Or, to put it more precisely, he is sure he wants to see Paul - he always does - but not exactly that it would be wise. Spending some time with him feels tempting, but all the tension that has recently been there makes Duncan fear those moments. Maybe it’s best if he leaves the boy alone. Maybe…

He doesn’t think he can do it. There is always something that pulls him towards Paul, and he’s never been great at resisting it. To be honest, he’s never even been great at wanting to resist it. It’s masochistic behavior, he knows, but that knowledge rarely stops him. It doesn’t stop him now, either. He pushes the heavy door and walks out on the balcony.

The sound of his steps doesn’t make Paul turn his head. He stays in the same position, like he already knows who it is. Of course, Duncan thinks. Of course he does. There is not a word said between them as he comes up to the boy and stands next to him. He too leans against the railings and takes the view in. Arrakeen at night is basked in a gentle, warm light. In the distance, he can see the lights slowly become more rare, until they disappear. Out there, on the horizon, a complete darkness. The desert swallows all the light, and tomorrow, it will swallow him too. The ruthlessness and downright hostility of Arrakis still scares Duncan a little. Looking at it now, however, the light, the darkness, he supposes he can find some beauty in it too. He wonders if Paul feels the same. But Paul is not watching the city or the desert. His gaze is turned upwards, to the stars. It feels only fitting for Duncan to follow the boy’s lead and look in the same direction. So he does lift up his head and for a while they both just stare at the night sky, the planet’s two moons and myriads of stars flickering before their eyes. Despite all that’s happened between them before, he feels at peace. It somehow feels right, sharing this quiet moment together. At some point Paul leans his head gently against Duncan’s shoulder, and the older man allows it. That feels right too. 

Quite unsurprisingly, it is Paul who finally breaks the silence.

“You know,” he whispers, “some ancient human cultures thought that shooting stars were literally falling from the sky. They had a belief that if they saw one, any of your wishes could come true. You just had to think it very hard.”

Ah, yes, Paul’s head is always full of those little facts he keeps learning from his books. History, astronomy, botanics… Everything seems to interest him, and he loves to share it with others. Duncan finds that quite adorable.

“Really?” he can’t help but be skeptical. “That doesn’t seem to make much sense.”

Paul shakes his head, but without much seriousness behind it.

“I know,” he admits. “But you’re not supposed to analyze its logic. It’s just a nice thing to do, you know? Tell the stars about your deepest desires.”

He’s in a nostalgic mood, Duncan realizes. That’s why he came here. Duncan turns his head to look at the boy’s profile, and a surge of affection overwhelms him at the sight of this beautiful, fragile little creature, so lost in his thoughts.

“Maybe you’re right, boy,” he concedes, his voice gentle and soft now. And because something tells him the boy really wants to talk about it, he follows with a question: “So? Did you see any shooting stars tonight? Did you make your wish?”

Paul nods his head. Because he says nothing, Duncan waits a few seconds, then asks.

“So… do you want to tell me what it was? Or are we especially mysterious today?” He ends the question on a joking note, so that Paul knows he can back down if he doesn’t wish to confess.

But the boy sighs. Then he speaks.

“Same thing as usual, you know”. He goes silent for a moment, then quietly adds: “That you come back safely to me”.

Silence.

He is stunned.

And not, at the same time.

Of course he’d say something like this. Of course he’d just… kick the ground from under Duncan’s feet. It’s what he does. Just says things, and a guy like Duncan is supposed to simply… live with that.

“Please… don’t say that,” he asks, the tone probably a bit more desperate than he intended it to be.

In his head, he’s still going through Paul’s words. To me, he said. Come back to me, was his phrase of choice, and it makes Duncan’s heart ache.

“Why?” the boy snaps at him, now apparently irritated by the reaction. “You want me to lie, would that make you more comfortable?”

Yes… He knew coming here would probably lead to trouble. He shakes his head.

“I just want you to not make… all this… so difficult.”

That only seems to anger Paul more.

“ I’m making it difficult?” he snorts at Duncan. 

Then he pulls the man by the arms, turning him, so that they stand face to face. 

“Duncan. Look at me,” he asks. “I want what you want. You cannot lie to me about this, I know you too well. You want this, you want… to be with me,” he speaks the last part quietly, shyly almost. He lowers his gaze, as if he began to lose his confidence.

Carefully, Duncan brings his right hand to Paul’s face and gently strokes his cheek. He lifts the boy’s chin, so that he looks at the older man again. The eyes on the youthful face are large, staring at him with an almost unbearable sincerity. Duncan can’t help but adore them, especially in the night, when they seem to reflect thousands of stars. Paul himself is brighter than any of these stars, he thinks. So beautiful. It almost hurts.

He chooses honesty.

"Yes, my boy”, he confesses, moving his finger softly along one of the prominent cheekbones on that sweet, lovely face. “You got me there, I want it. But you know it can never happen. We have to be realistic about this.”

“And why can’t it happen?” Paul insists, stupidly, because he knows all the arguments. They’ve been through this. “Because you’re a bit older and all that stuff?”

“Well, yes, that for a start. And then how about the fact that I’m…” he’s about to go on the same tirade as before, explaining to Paul all the reasons why he would be an absolutely horrible choice for someone like Paul Atreides, the ducal heir. But he stops in the middle, and asks the question that he’s really been wanting to ask for many months. “Paul, why? Can you explain it? Why would you even want… someone like me?”

Paul’s eyes widen in surprise. Then the expression changes into something more complicated, something Duncan isn’t exactly sure he can read.

Now it is the boy who reaches out to him. Softly, he touches the swordmaster’s face, frames it between both his, and stares deeply into the man’s eyes, as he speaks.

“Duncan… My Duncan. You’re so nice to touch,” his eyes stare warmly at the man, and his hands are tenderly stroking his face. “You’re gentle, and wonderful, and kind… and… beautiful. How could I ever not want you?”

This is very sweet, and it touches Duncan deeply, but he can’t help but raise his eyebrows.

“Beautiful? Me?” he asks in an amused voice.

“Yeah,” Paul answers simply.

Oh, Paul, my boy… 

Duncan shakes his head. 

He tries to put on his most reasonable tone, when he puts his hands on Paul’s shoulders and speaks again.

“Look, boy. I’m flattered by what you’re saying. I really am. But you have to understand that you are still very young. Things change rapidly at this age, and many of those feelings…” he looks for the right words”. What I mean is, you will feel like this many times. There will be other people you will be infatuated with, and you will forget about… all this. So don’t worry. There are still so many great experiences waiting for you, so many…”

But Paul cuts him off.

“There will be no other people. Not for me, not for you. I’m sorry, but this is the truth,” he suddenly sounds different, more serious. This catches Duncan off guard.

“What are you…” he begins..

The boy just shakes his head. He takes a loose strand of Duncan's hair and feels it with his fingers, then tucks it behind the swordmaster’s ear.

There is a hint of a smile on his lips, a knowing smile, when he asks:

“Duncan… you still don’t see it, do you?”

The man must seem puzzled, because Paul continues.

“It’s alright,” he says warmly, but it feels as if he was explaining a very basic concept to a naive child. “It’s alright. You don’t see it now, but you will. It doesn’t matter who you are. It doesn’t matter who I am. All that is important is that we’re meant for each other. You and I, Duncan… Together. That’s what has to happen. It will happen. You will see.”

He sounds like he’s preaching, and his eyes feel like they’re looking at Duncan from a distance, even though they’re so close. He is there, but he also seems to be somewhere very far away.

“How…” Duncan whispers, taken aback. “How do you know that?

“I just do,” Paul answers, simply.

Of course. Like he always does. He knows things, because he just does .

Oh, Paul.

Oh, you goddamned impossible boy.

Duncan doesn’t know what to do with the new information. Paul said that with such confidence… Could it really be true? And is it bad that he would like it to be so?

He doesn’t know how it happened, but he now notices that he is holding Paul by his waist. Paul’s hands are resting on Duncan’s own chest. His head angled slightly upwards, so they can see each other’s faces. They’re so close…

Paul looks so gorgeous in the moonlight.

“Magical boy,” Duncan whispers fondly.

They’re standing like this, looking at each other, the tension building. Would it really be so bad if Duncan kissed him? He wants it so badly.

He can feel them getting closer. 

“My Paul,” he whispers in amazement, as he lifts the boy’s chin and he leans to touch this tempting pair of lips with his own ones.

No, wait. What the fuck is he doing?

He straightens himself immediately, shame overwhelming him at the realization of the betrayal of his position and his own principles that he was just about to commit.

“I… I’m sorry,” he mumbles awkwardly. “I shouldn’t have. You aren’t mine.”

But Paul is suddenly leaning in, his lips brushing against Duncan’s face, his lips close to the man’s ear.

“Oh, Duncan…” he whispers. “Why would you say things you don’t believe”?

And with that, and a quick peck on the man’s cheek, Paul Atreides is gone from the balcony, leaving Duncan to his own deeply confused thoughts.

When thinking of his feelings, he often relies on words like enchanted, bewitched or cursed. Under his spell. It all sounds mystical and scary, but some part deep inside him knows that this is exactly the point. It tells him that scariness can offer a sense of comfort, it can offer absolution. If that is some weird force influencing Duncan, then there is no fail of his. But then, there it is, a different, vastly more terrifying option. That maybe Paul did not have to lift a finger, that it was all him, a pathetic old guy that fell miserably for a pretty young boy, one that was absolutely not for him. What a common type of guy, what a tired old story. A depressing thought, that made him feel stupid and even more powerless. A curse can be lifted at will, and if it is ever necessary, Duncan can fall to his knees before Paul and beg him, beg with everything he has, to release him, return him to his senses. He will give whatever the boy wants as payment, fulfill his every whim, if that is the requirement. If it can finally set him free. He refuses to think of the alternative, in which it may never happen, as he isn’t really imprisoned, at least not by anything that isn’t his own weak and utterly pitiful mind.

The heat is almost unbearable, with the sun high up in the sky. He still isn’t quite used to that, not to the overwhelming hotness, not to the thirst, not to the vast emptiness all around him. Under his boots, everywhere he can see, nothing but the gold of the sand. It has a strange effect of calming a man down, yet, at the same time, making him feel as if drowning. It’s not natural, he thinks. Humans don’t belong here, they were never made for this. Yet, like cockroaches, they’ve adapted to this hostile place, and survived. But ever since the desert has been trying to reject them, as a body will fight to reject a malignant tumor. Or maybe Duncan is just overly dramatic. A child of much milder climates of planets like Giedi Prime and Caladan, in a way he grew up spoiled. This is probably why he will never come to understand the desert the way the Fremen do. 

They have positioned themselves on a rock formation that Stilgar has shown them on a map. The leader decided that it would be best to send out his men in pairs, each two to their own designated area, provided with portable transmitters in case they see something and need to alert the rest. The person Duncan got paired with was a young man he doesn’t know very well, named Malik. Rather serious and quiet, the man doesn’t talk much - perhaps because that is his nature, perhaps because he knows better than to unnecessarily dry his throat. Those small decisions count out here, in the murderous heat. No matter the reason though, they ended up sitting on the rocks quietly, each thinking his own thoughts. Approximately an hour has passed, then a second, with nothing happening. Then a third. Then a…

Has that black dot on the horizon been there before?

“Malik,” Duncan whispers to the other man. “Do you see that?”

He points to the dark shape. It is either his imagination or it is… moving.

“Men,” the Fremen confirms Duncans suspicion. “Get ready”.

Nothing more needs to be said. Duncan draws out his sword, and the other man does the same with his crysknife, both blades glistening in the sun, both lethal meant as a threat to anyone who would dare even think of attacking. The shape on the horizon is getting larger, but they still have some time before whoever is coming gets near them. They hide behind the rocks, weapons ready, and wait. Neither has a particular wish to fight, and potentially kill, but if this is an enemy nearing them, they will be prepared. 

Soon Duncan no longer sees a vague moving shape, but three distinct silhouettes.

They keep waiting.

When the group gets close enough that he can hear them talking and laughing, he shouts:

“Don’t move! Introduce yourselves!”

The men continue walking in their direction, as if they haven’t heard Duncan. The swordmaster turns his head to Malik, who silently nods, and raises his weapon, the understanding between them clear. 

“Answer the question!” Duncan shouts once again. “Who are you?! What are you here for?!”

The response that comes is an ugly laugh, followed by the words:

“Well, I don’t know where your manners are, my friend, if you’re asking us questions, shouldn’t you introduce yourself first? I would prefer to know who I’m talking to, if that's alright”.

Oh, Duncan doesn’t like that one bit. Not the words that were spoken, not the tone in which they were spoken, and most definitely not the accent in which they were spoken. He will always recognize a man from Giedi Prime. The Harkonnen planet.

Could that be who sent them? The planet itself, of course, doesn’t have to mean anything. But it makes Duncan get really, really suspicious. And it also makes him want to get a closer look at the group. Although it might be risky, Duncan decides it is time for a face-to-face confrontation. Slowly, he walks from behind the rocks, into the men’s sight. He feels their gazes upon himself, as he also observes them in return.

All three seem clothed rather randomly, mostly in blacks and browns, with scarfs tied loosely around their heads. Quite poor outfits for the desert, so they are either not Harkonnen men at all, or ones who don’t want to be seen as such. Interesting. Duncan notices also that one of the men seems to be older than the other two and has an impossible to miss scar on one of his cheeks, that makes him look quite intimidating. That one must be the leader, Duncan decides. The younger ones seem to follow him.

He stares right into the leaders eyes, when he says:

“It is not alright. You are the ones invading our terrain. So you will be the ones explaining yourselves.”

“Go fuck yourself, desert scum!” one of the younger men shouts out. That one has a slightly lighter complexion and leaner figure than his leader. He might actually still be a young boy.

“My, my, why so aggressive, Tomas?” exclaims the older man with feigned indignation.

“Umm… Sorry, Hain…” the younger one mumbles, embarrassed. Duncan notes both of the names in his mind.

“Forgive my comrade, the young boy still has poor manners” the leader named Hain says to Duncan in an overly dramatic voice. “We mean no disrespect, after all, we’re all friends here… aren’t we?” He lowers his voice while saying the last words, a thread implicit, as he stares right into Duncan’s eyes. They are standing face to face now, neither making a move, daring each other.

The staring match get interrupted by a voice coming in from behind Duncan:

“No one threatens a desert man on his own soil. Reveal your intentions, and you have a chance to come out of this alive. But this is your last warning.”

Malik has apparently also decided to abandon his hiding place and come to Duncan’s aid. He quickly approaches the three men. He’s holding his knife in front of himself, making it clear that he isn’t joking. He’s ready to attack.

It appears to make an impression on the two younger men, who seem to barely noticeably back away, but Hain doesn’t even flinch.

“Oh”? There is a hint of amusement in his voice. “And what makes you think I should be afraid of two guys like you?”

“Not just two,” the Fremen clarifies. He shows the man his portable transmitter and continues. “I have called for the rest of our men. They’re on their way.”

Unfortunately, rather than scaring Hain into compliance, it seems to make him furious.

In a fit of rage, he rips the transmitter from Malik’s hand, and casts it angrily into the sand.

And this is what does it.

It is chaos, as they all seem to attack at the same time.

Duncan reacts quickly, parrying the blows that seem to come from all sides. He ducks from Hains sword, only to almost receive a cut on the face from another man, the one whose name he doesn’t know. The guy is quite good, but not nearly as fast as Duncan. The swordmaster moves quickly, anticipating every move from both opponents, waiting for a moment of distraction from one of them. Finally, when a particularly hard thrust from him causes the younger man to stumble, he uses the opportunity to stab him in the chest. With his sword being immobilized for a moment, this, in turn, gives Hain the occasion to attack, but Duncan quickly pulls his sword out, and ducks again. That other man’s body falls onto the sand. He’s finished. Two to go.

They continue fighting two on two now, thrusting and cutting, waiting to tire their opponents. Duncan sees in the corner of his eye that Malik is doing quite well against the young… what was it, Tomas? Well, his name isn’t important anymore, since his throat is just getting slashed by the Fremen’s crysknife. One to… FUCK! NO! Despite choking on his own blood, Tomas falls on top of Malik, and, using the last amount of energy left, stabs the man repeatedly, in his heart, stomach… 

It’s over. They will both be dead within seconds.

That sends Duncan into a flaming rage. His Fremen comrade was dead. Those pieces of human trash have killed him. No more mercy. He attacks the last opponent with deadly strength and speed. Hain does not stand a chance. The man hurries to block all the attacks, but he is getting visibly tired and distracted. Duncan pushes him back, deeper into the open desert. One mistake and… Duncan pushes the man onto the sand and traps him under his body. He gets ready to land the final blow…

Somehow the opponent manages to slip away from under the swordmaster’s body, get up and… run…

“Get back here, fucking coward!” Duncan screams.

No way, he thinks. You’re not getting away like this. He runs after the man, runs further into the desert, in the direction that Hain and the other two have previously come from. He is fast and his determination helps him quickly shorten his distance between himself and his enemy. When he is close enough, he makes a jump to catch his enemy, and the impact makes them both fall down. They tumble on the sand together, Duncan on top of the man, then pinned under him, then rolling on top again. He pins the man under him again, and then…

Ahhhh!!! He screams, as he feels piercing pain run through his body. For a second, he has no idea what is happening, he loses his grip on reality, and the only thing there is is this, this pain, as if he’s being ripped apart… He looks down and sees a sword buried deep into his stomach, blood already starting to leak out of the wound. That son of a bitch, he managed to fucking stab him… A sharp tug comes, as Hain pulls out his sword from his body, and it sends Duncan into another wave of terrible pain. For a moment, he just sees darkness. He’s sure he is starting to lose consciousness, as it feels like everything around him is shaking.

Except maybe that’s not it.

Maybe the ground really did start to…

Shake…

Because Hain turns his head, as if he’s feeling it too.

And it’s not only the shaking. There is also a sound.

Low rumble.

They forget all about the rage that was there only a second ago. Hain could very well use this moment to kill Duncan. Instead, he stands up and looks around. 

“Right there,” he points into the direction they’ve both been previously running to. “The sand… it’s moving.”

Of course. The Shai-hulud is attracted to the sound vibrations.

It’s coming.

Hain turns around and starts running. The only chance is to get back to the rock formation. Duncan knows if he wants to live, he must do the same. As wounded as he is, it feels nearly impossible to stand but he forces himself to do it, helping himself with his hands. It hurts like hell, but he needs to run. The rumble behind him is growing louder.

Only now does Duncan see how far away they’ve gotten from the rock formation. Cursing his stupidity, clutching to his bleeding abdomen, he runs as fast as he can. 

It might not be fast enough. 

He feels himself losing breath, his sight getting hazy, every move painful, and Hain is now far ahead of him, he’s almost climbing onto the rocks. The shaking grows more violent, and the sound becomes even louder, and Duncan is painfully aware that he is very, very weak. But the destination seems so close now, almost within reach if he just… He forces himself to keep running, despite the energy having almost completely left his body. Only a little longer. Stumbling.

Just…

Keep…

Going…

But he falls down.

His body crushes to the ground, and Duncan has neither time, nor strength, to stand back up. He feels the blood pulsing in his veins, head spinning. His body is giving up. And, finally, he does the same. 

Well then, this is it. This is the final moment of his life, here, on this desert, bleeding out and awaiting that giant monster to come for him and end it. Not quite how he’s ever imagined his death, but then, can anyone ever foresee how they will go? At least, he thinks as he sees the rising sands part, maybe it won’t be the worst. Maybe at least it will be quick.

Through his cloudy vision, he sees it emerge, enormous, unstoppable force of nature, devouring all that stands in its way. He is overwhelmed by the rich, cinnamon-like smell of spice that fills his nostrils, and the static energy in the air. The giant mouth is growing and growing, and finally it overshadows everything else. A black hole sucking in all the light, all the celestial bodies. The Fremen see the Shai-Hulud as the manifestation of the One God, the creator of the universe. In this moment, eye to eye with that raw power, that all-encompassing alien force, for the first time in his life Duncan understands it.

The part of him that still clings to lucidity can do nothing more than just lie there and watch. He doesn’t fear anymore. What’s the point? As the sandworm gets close enough to swallow him, Duncan knows this is the end. Lying there, bleeding out onto the sand, waiting to disappear in that nothingness, he accepts it.

And the attack… doesn’t immediately come. Duncan doesn’t understand what is happening. All he can see is that the worm has slowed down and stopped. He is now laying right under the colossal mouth, bristling with hundreds, thousands of sharp teeth, waiting to disappear between them. And it’s not happening. Seconds, or maybe minutes pass. Duncan still awaits his death, staring into this vast, dark void. The void is staring back. They seem to be the two only beings that exist in the universe. Him and this incomprehensible, this monstrous… thing. More time passes. Neither moves.

After a while the ground starts to shake again. Slowly, the worm begins to back away. It is returning to the sand.

That is the last thing Duncan sees.

His consciousness comes back slowly, first with sounds, then the awareness of his body. Every part of him that awakens seems to be aching, head throbbing as if hit with something heavy, piercing pain somewhere down in the stomach area… Thoughts and memories don’t come immediately. The vague feeling of his physicality - that’s all there is, for a while. Eventually, his brain begins to wake up as well, and he starts to remember some of the events of the past - what, hours, days? - he doesn’t know. The pain, it’s… Didn’t he get stabbed? Yes… Yes, that must be it. But after that, wasn’t he running away from someth… Oh, right. The sandworm. But then how is he alive? Is he even alive?

He figures opening his eyes might be a good way to check it, so he decides to try. With what seems like great effort, he slowly forces them open and tries to make out his surroundings. It’s a blur, at first, but there is a dim, warm light, and there are some silhouettes around him…

“He’s waking up!” he hears a female voice.

And then another, male one.

“Idaho? You’re awake?”

It’s Stilgar. He must be back in the sietch.

Which means he must also be alive. He shouldn’t be.

Duncan’s voice comes out hoarse, when he tries to answer.

“Whhh… whhhat… hhhh… hhhapp…”

“It’s okay, don’t force it,” the Fremen leader answers. “You’ve been badly hurt. Our men found you unconscious in the desert. Right in time. You were barely alive when they carried you in here.”

Duncan looks around. He is back in the same small yali he always stays in, whenever he’s in the sietch. Something else he notices is another person beside him and Stilgar - a young woman, with dark face and long, dark hair framing her gentle and quite pretty face. Duncan doesn’t think he knows her. She is approaching him with a glass vessel in her hands.

“Drink this,” she commands, as she puts the glass to his mouth.

Water? Should he really…?

“You have to drink to recover,” Stilgar speaks out, evidently noticing Duncan’s hesitation. “It is very precious. But so are our comrades”. And then, as Duncan obediently takes a drink, he adds, more quietly: “We have already lost one today”.

Oh. Right. Another memory comes back, and it hits him.

“Malik… That guy killed him…”

“Yes,” the Fremen confirms.

They’re silent for a moment. What is there to say? Duncan didn’t know the man well, but there, in the desert, that man saved his life by calling for help through the transmitter. Otherwise no one would’ve come looking for them and found Duncan laying there unconscious. For that, he would always be grateful. He wonders now, if Malik had some family, someone who must now be devastated.

“Inaya was Malik’s wife,” Stilgar points to the woman who gave Duncan water, as if reading his mind. Duncan takes another look at the woman. Her eyes meet his, and she nods her head with evident sadness. “It was her who dressed your wounds,” the Fremen adds.

Awkwardly, Duncan’s right hand travels to his abdomen, where he has been stabbed. It is all cleanly bandaged. He looks the woman, Inaya, as Stilgar called her, in the eyes again and feels the need to say something, to express gratitude, to comfort her.

“I’m sorry about your husband” he says, simply but sincerely. “He fought bravely. He saved my life,” he adds, because something tells him that it will count.

“Thank you,” she whispers, and even though she still looks sad, Duncan thinks he can see gratitude, and even a hint of a smile on her face. So it does count. It does count.

“Thank you,” Duncan answers. “For taking care of me. You’ve done a great job.”

And that’s that. The Fremen are a tough bunch. It’s something Duncan has always admired about these people. It might be difficult for Inaya at the beginning, but she will manage. She will not have a choice but to move forward.

There is one more thing Duncan must ask about. He has to know… 

“The guy, he escaped. The one that stabbed me and killed-”

“Ah” Stilgar waves his hand. “Don’t worry about it, man. We caught him. Too bad I didn’t get the chance to ask him anything, but the idiot Korba killed him right away. Incompetent fools… Anyway, I’ve heard that guy was talking with an accent from-”

“Giedi Prime” Duncan finishes. “You think they were sent by our favorite baron and his lovely family?”

Stilgar shrugs. 

“Quite possibly. Although if the Harkonnens are sending morons like these ones, then that family has really gone downhill. Anyway…”

The man stands up.

“You don’t have to think about it anymore. What’s done is done, and these guys are dead, and maybe that’s the end to the whole story. If it’s not, we’ll need to make a plan. But right now it’s not important. You were very close to death today. I will leave you to sleep and rest instead of worrying about what happened.”

Right. Worrying.

Something isn’t right. Theoretically, he knows there is no reason for him to think this. He is in the sietch right now, safe. And yet, there is this overwhelming sense of… dread. He’s… terrified. He can feel it in his whole body. No, something isn’t right. He knows it.

And there is another thing. How is it possible that he isn’t dead?

Inaya has already gone, and Stilgar is also about to leave the yali. Duncan makes a quick decision and stops the man before he disappears at the entrance.

“Hey, Stil? Wait a second. There is something I need to know.”

The Fremen turns to Duncan once again.

“How well do you know… magic? Witchcraft? I’m wondering about some things.”

The man raises his eyebrows.

“Do you really need to know about that stuff right now? Wait till you’re better, you can learn all about it later.”

But Duncan is insistent. He needs to ask the questions. He needs to know right now.

“It is rather important.”

Stilgar looks like he’s thinking about something. Then he asks in a serious tone:

“Really important?”

When Duncan simply nods, the man sighs.

“You see, my friend, I don’t know all that much about those things. But I might just know who does.”

Duncan has only ever seen the old woman from afar. After meeting the Fremen for the first time, genuinely fascinated by their culture, he wanted to know everything there was to know about the customs of the desert people. He quickly learnt that, similar to the Bene Gesserit, Fremen tribes tend to have something akin to a religious leader called a Reverend Mother. In fact, the Fremen Reverend Mothers seem to have branched out from the Bene Gesserit ones somewhere in the past. The one that fulfills that role is always female, and it is her that performs spiritual rituals in a sietch, as well as possesses knowledge inaccessible to a regular human. It is said that Reverend Mothers pass on their knowledge to their successors, making them access the memories of the entire female line that came before. One mind, containing many others. A concept that Duncan considers quite terrifying. Few can live like this and not go insane. But then, maybe this is why these women are so respected.

It was Stillgar that called for her. Initially, Duncan protested, arguing not to trouble the undoubtedly very old and probably busy woman. In truth, he was a bit scared of a potential interaction with her. Besides, he reasoned, as much as he respects the Fremen spirituality and religion, he doesn’t necessarily share their whole faith, and doubts it can give him the answers he wants. But in answer Stilgar only looked at him as one looks at a child, and asked if he didn’t think that witchcraft and faith went hand in hand. To that, Duncan didn’t know what to say, so he didn’t argue further.

Now that the elderly woman has come to the yali, Duncan takes a proper look at her. Wrapped in various colorful shawls and scarves, long, beaded necklaces hanging around her neck, face partly covered by a veil, she looks festive and it is clear she is not just an ordinary Fremen woman. She is small and wrinkled, and old, but everything about her pose, movements, and face commands respect. Duncan doesn’t think anyone would like to have her as an enemy. Ramallo, he thinks she was called. Well, then. He decides it would be wise to wait until the woman speaks first. He nods his head to her in silence.

“Ah. So you are the brave and honorable Idaho, of whom I have been told so much. Let me take a look at you.”

Slowly, like an elderly person does, but not without a lot of grace, she approaches Duncan’s bedding. A pair of intense blue eyes pierces him, like it’s looking through him and straight into his soul. He can’t help but feel as if this is a kind of test. Like it’s supposed to reveal his worthiness… or it’s lack.

It lasts a few seconds, and then she gives her verdict.

“Yes. Yes, I can see it”.

Duncan cannot know exactly what she means, but still feels a vague sense of approval.

“Well then, child,” she begins again, this time in a more gentle tone. “Tell me about your problem.”

Child, huh? Funny. No one has called Duncan that in many, many years. In a way, though, he supposes it makes sense. Most people must seem children to someone like her.

Now, this will be a challenge. What is it exactly that he needs to know so badly? It’s not a question that is formed clearly in his head. It’s… a feeling. How to explain the confusion, the inkling that there is something unnatural. That is was hanging in the air, there, in the desert, that it is probably… still…

“Back there… in the desert…” he hears himself begin. “I shouldn’t have survived. And I don’t think I just got lucky, not this time. I’ve gotten lucky in the past, and this wasn’t like that. This was… It felt like a person or a force intervened. Is there… magic like that? Is there a spell that can command a san… a Shai-hulud? Can you make it obey?”

The Reverend Mother doesn’t immediately speak. Instead she turns to look at Duncan’s face with curiosity. She seems to be examining the man again, while thinking intensely about something.

“No, my child. It isn’t as simple as pointing a wooden stick at the Shai-hulud and whispering some magical formula. The universe doesn’t work like a fairytale. But I think there must be something about you, Duncan Idaho. I think you must be important. Loved and cared for by someone… something… Some truly powerful spirit.”

Truly powerful spirit...

It takes a moment before those words sink in.

Then he hides his face in his hands.

And he remains like that for a while. Overwhelmed by the gravity of her words, he is speechless.

It it… it is…

“I…” he finally chokes out. “I think I know someone like that.”

“You do?” She clearly wants him to say more. But what can he even say? What words can Duncan use to describe… him?

“He, he is… wonderful. He’s unlike anyone I’ve ever met. Unlike anyone that exists.” Just saying that, he feels on the verge of tears.

“Ahh, I see…” the old woman smiles. “And… is he your man?”

This launches Duncan into a mild panic state. As quickly as possible, he denies:

“Oh! Oh, no! This cannot ever… We cannot ever… He cannot be, it is a bit complicated, but no, it is impossible, he cannot…”,

He rambles awkwardly, but the old lady only raises her eyebrow, as if amused.

“Cannot?”

“No!”, he confirms.

“And does he care?”

Well, she hit the nail on the head, didn’t she? Despite the seriousness of the conversations, Duncan cannot help but chuckle a little while he shakes his head.

“Yes,” she confirms, still in visible amusement. “These ones tend to be stubborn, don’t they?”

She fixes herself on her pouf and resumes speaking.

“You see, my child, most of us humans, even the sayyadinas, and the Reverend Mothers, we live day by day within the universe and its rules. We bend to the powers larger than us. From time to time, though… A mind will come, a will strong enough that it can make the universe bend to it. That is why…”

“I’m alive…” Duncan whispers, still in disbelief.

“That, at least, is my guess,” she clarifies. “No one can know such a thing for certain.”

Duncan finds it hard to process what he has heard. The revelation is strange, awe-inspiring, as well as - to say the truth - quite terrifying. Can a force like this really just exist? Should he believe this? It all seems so outlandish, so impossible. Yet… in a way, isn’t it something that he has always felt about Paul? Even though he lacked a proper way to describe it… didn’t he know ? Didn’t Paul always seem to emanate something unexplainable, but powerful. As if he attracted it from all around and concentrated it within himself. Wasn’t it part of what made him so special, what fascinated Duncan so much? Hasn’t he always adored this weird, magical boy for that?

He sighs.

“I… I have to admit… I think it makes some sense. But now what…” he begins helplessly. “What… should I do?”

The Reverend Mother looks him straight in the eyes and says the exact thing he didn’t want to hear.

“My dear. How should anyone but you know that?”

Of course. No one will tell him what to do about all the new information. If only he didn’t feel so confused by it all. If only he didn’t feel so scared…

Oh! Right…

“There is one more thing I need to know,” Duncan starts. The woman looks at him curiously. “I’ve been feeling… unease. Since I woke up. I have no idea why, but I think this might be related to what happened. I have survived. But something is wrong. I know it is. I’m just… not sure what...”

Unfortunately, to that she has no real answer.

“Young man, there are no mysterious forces involved in you being stressed after all that fighting and bleeding.” She smiles at him lightly, reassuringly. “A lot has happened today. And you still need more rest. It will help you feel better.”

The old lady stands up.

“I will go now” she says on her way out. “But I will have one of the women bring you some of my tea for good sleep. Goodnight, my child. And… good luck with your mysterious, powerful man”.

And so the Reverend Mother goes, leaving Duncan still full of doubts.

In the dream he can’t really see anything, as if there is nothing but some thick, grey fog. And it might just be true. The place doesn’t seem like anywhere. In fact, it doesn’t even feel like a place at all. He walks through that foggy nothingness, despite it all. Why? Because he feels like he should. There is something that calls him. He is needed - it is unclear even to him, how he can know it, but he does.

And there is no doubt in Duncan’s mind that this is a dream. Still, it doesn’t matter. Or maybe it matters more than anything. He pushes onward.

That feeling of dread is still there, stronger than before, almost tangible.

Some weird instinct is telling him which direction to choose, so he listens to it. He keeps walking.

When he first hears something, he initially thinks it’s all his imagination. But then - again. And now it’s back to being quiet. Duncan really hopes he’s not going crazy.

He keeps walking.

He hears it again, clearer now.

A muffled sound, as if someone’s… sobbing?

What is this, some dumb… embodiment of his subconscious, or another bullshit? His mind “trying to tell him something” type of thing? Clever, really, he thinks ironically, though he doesn’t slow down. Couldn’t come up with something better than… a child crying deep inside him? Truly, this is embarrassing.

But as he gets closer to the source of the voice he thinks… he thinks… he starts to… recog…

He runs.

Oh, of course, he thinks, of course it’s you, it always is, it always, always ends up being you, doesn’t it? Has it ever been otherwise?

“Duncan!” the voice calls. His voice.

Paul! , he wants to cry out in answer, but no sound comes out. Why isn’t it coming out?!

Doesn’t matter, he thinks. I have to get to him.

He keeps running through the fog, following the voice that is calling out to him.

When he hears it again, it’s more clear.

“Duncan! Answer me, tell me…” the words out through sobs. “Tell me that you… That you’re safe.”

Yes, I’m safe, Paul! I’m here! , he wants to shout back, but again, he cannot.

Where is he, where?!

“I can’t lose you…” the voice continues. “Please answer me!”

You won’t lose me, I promise you, boy, I’m here! , and again. Nothing.

Duncan thinks he sees a moving shape. He’s there. If Duncan can reach him, if he can just–

He gets jolted out of the dream, back into reality, into the yali where he is lying in bed, sweating as if he was really running that whole time.

No, no! Paul! Go back, go back! 

Go back, he urges himself. You have to get to him, you need to… 

But he is awake now. He didn’t make it in time.

Paul…

He’s worried. He’s there, crying, scared… for him, for Duncan.

Despite his injuries being still fresh, Duncan forces himself to sit. The rapid movement sends waves of pain through his body, alerting him to be careful. Alright then. Slowly, supporting himself with his arms, he tries to stand up. He feels his head spinning, as he gets up on his shaky legs, but after a moment, it passes. It still hurts, as he limps forward to exit the yali, but it doesn’t matter. He knows what he has to do. 

He stumbles as he leaves the yali. He limps through the sietch corridors in the dark. It must be the middle of the night. He doesn’t care.

“Stilgar!” he shouts, when he gets the entrance to the yali where he remembers the leader usually sleeps. “Wake up!”

He repeats that a couple times. Finally, he hears someone moving inside.

The man leans out, looking irritated, evidently just awakened.

“What’s the matt– what are you doing out of bed?!” he shouts out, shocked by the sight of Duncan.

“I wanted to say thank you, for your care. And… I’m sorry. But I need to leave. Now.”

“Wha… Idaho, are you out of your mind?!” Stilgar looks at Duncan as if the man has gone completely crazy. “You are injured, get back to your yali before I have my men drag you there.”

“Listen, I…” Duncan begins, unsure what to say, but deciding honesty will be the best path. He tries to speak calmly and rationally, as he starts to explain himself. “I know you think this is insane. And I know you think it is dangerous. But there is someone… very important.” he calls back to their earlier talk. “Someone I need to get to. This is…”

“Let me guess,” the other man interrupts him sarcastically. “Very important?”

“Well… yes,” Duncan confirms with full conviction. “Yes, it really is”.

And it looks as if the man is beginning to give up, because for a moment, he doesn’t answer, only shakes his head, as if Duncan is a difficult child he doesn’t know how to deal with.

“How would you even get there?” he asks.

“I just need to get to the rocks where I left my ‘thopter, and then…”

Stilgar stops him.

“This is a goddamn suicide mission, you know you can’t pilot. I mean, for fucks sake, man, you can barely walk…”

“I know,” Duncan agrees. “But I won’t die. And I can do this. I really… really have to.”

Finally, he gets his leader to nod his head in resignation.

“Thank you,” Duncan answers simply, before heading back to gather a few of his things.

Hang in there, boy, he thinks. I’m coming to you.

As he approaches Arakeen and prepares for landing, it is morning, and Paul is already there, apparently awaiting him. At this point, this doesn’t even surprise Duncan. He doesn’t bother being surprised by anything Paul does anymore.

Piloting was a mess, as was to be expected. He was still weak, and a few times he thought he was about to pass out and crash into something. It would be a well deserved punishment, for this stupid decision, he knew that. But the determination kept him awake, and it kept him going, despite everything. Pain came back in waves, but it didn’t matter. He was convinced he could handle it. And he was right.

Landing and getting out of the ‘thopter is another challenge, but Duncan succeeds. He climbs out, stumbles, and nearly falls to the ground, but somehow manages to keep his balance at the last moment.

And there is his boy, already running to him, like they’ve done many times before, only it seems like it has been ages since those other times, like everything is different now, like they are both wiser and more desperate for this, for that reunion.

“Duncan…” Paul whispers with relief as he falls into the man’s arms, and it sends another wave of pain through Duncan’s body, but he doesn’t care. It’s worth it, if it means he can finally hold Paul.

And oh, doesn’t it feel good, wrapping his arms around this tiny, slender body, burying his head in these unruly curls, and taking in the scent, oh heavens, doesn’t he smell amazing… Only now does Duncan realize how much he’s missed him, even though it’s only been a few days. Something clicks while they’re holding each each other, as if a missing part of a jigsaw puzzle finally jumped into place. The picture is now whole, and it is clear. Duncan feels so… at peace.

“Duncan…” Paul’s voice is shaking. He looks up at the man, bringing a hand to his face, touching, as if to make sure he really is there. “I’ve been so worried…”

Duncan hugs him even tighter and runs his hand through the messy hair, comfortingly, soothingly.

“Shhh…” he whispers. “I know, my boy. It's alright. I am here now”

Gently, he strokes the boy’s back. Paul hides his face in the crook of his neck. They stand like this for a moment.

“I’m really quite fine,” Duncan continues. “Just stabbed, but it doesn’t even hurt that–”

“What?!” Paul jumps away instantly, looking down at the mentioned area. He looks like he’s just now realizing what this means. “And you flew here by yourself?! You know that you have to take care of yourself, you can’t–”

“Calm down, Paul, I’m fine–” he begins defensively.

“You’re fine!” Paul exclaims in a mocking tone, clearly angry. “Have you thought about–”

“Hello, Duncan,” a loud, female voice from behind interrupts their argument. “You’ve decided to return early?”

They both stop and turn to the source of the sound.

“Mom?” Paul raises his eyebrows, surprised. “What are you doing here?”

“I followed you” lady Jessica explains, looking at her son with an expression Duncan isn’t quite sure he can place. “Did you forget that the tailor was supposed to be taking your measurements today for that ball robe we’ve spoken about?”

“Oh,” Paul appears hit by the realization, and, embarrassed, he begins his explanation. “Yes, of course, I’m sorry to have forgotten, I’m going to see her right away. I was just welcoming Duncan back–

“You will have plenty of time to talk to Duncan later.” Jessica tells him in a calm, but firm voice. “Go, now, don’t make that poor woman wait.”

Paul and Duncan exchange looks that they both understand to mean “we’ll talk later”. The boy nods his head and walks away, towards the entrance to the palace.

“Welcome back,” Jessica turns to Duncan again. “We haven’t expected you so soon,” she adds, in a tone that indicates a question. Duncan knows that she is silently studying him.

“Yes, well…” he pauses, not quite sure how much he can tell her about everything. It is better to play safe, he decides, and uses the first vague explanation that comes to his mind. “I wouldn’t be of much use to Stilgar while injured, and I didn't think it appropriate to abuse his hospitality”. This doesn’t make very much sense. He is now technically one of the Fremen, and not some troublesome guest in the sietch. But he hopes the lady doesn’t notice that, or question him further.

“That is very thoughtful of you,” she nods with approval as she answers, but Duncan isn’t sure she fully believes him. They’re always hard to read, ones like her. “You should let doctor Yueh check on you,” she adds politely.

“I will,” he agrees.

For a moment, they walk in silence. There is an earnestness Jessica’s voice that wasn’t there before, a hint of worry, when she speaks up again:

“Paul, he…he just went crazy yesterday. Kept saying that something happened to you. He said he knew you weren’t dead, but that you’ve been hurt. We had to stop him… He wanted to fly out to the desert, argued that he must save you… We had to physically stop him. Duncan, I’ve never seen him like that before…”

The mask is now slightly cracking, though she is still trying to keep up her normal calm and collected appearance. But Duncan can see and hear that she feels helpless. Scared of the way she doesn’t fully understand her son.

He cannot really blame her. She was very well prepared for was raising another witch like her. Nobody could have prepared her for what she would really raise. Something more, so much more than that.

“Paul, he…” he begins, though he isn’t really sure what to say. Anything he could tell her seems insufficient. Anything he feels cannot be put into words. “He is a very unique boy”, is what he lands on.

“Yes,” Jessica agrees with sadness. “He really is. A very, very unique boy. Even...”

 Even for one of your kind, Duncan adds to himself.

They continue their walk in silence, each buried deeply in their thoughts.

Duncan wakes up in his chambers, feeling a bit better. The medicine doctor Yueh gave him after he’d checked his wounds instantly let him relax, and within a few minutes he was sound asleep. He doesn’t think that this time there were any weird dreams. Good. That’s a good sign.

He lies in his bed, now awake, thinking about what to do next.

This is when he begins to feel it.

A light tug, not so much physical, more as something pulling on his mind.

Something urging him gently to leave the bed and follow it.

Paul. He’s calling for him.

So he obeys that call, leaves the bed and then his chambers, and then follows it through the palace corridors, letting it guide him. Surrounded, overwhelmed by this feeling, but it’s not forceful or unpleasant. It feels like the most natural thing in the universe.

He walks, or, rather, practically floats, a familiar path that leads, of course, to a door. Duncan knocks a few times, but then presses the handle and walks in without waiting for an answer. He knows he doesn’t need to.

Paul is sitting on his bed with another one of his ancient books in his lap. He closes it and looks up at Duncan with a welcoming smile, not surprised by his arrival. Of course not.

Duncan slowly walks up to the bed, where the boy is waiting for him, wearing a white dressing gown that makes him look even more heavenly and ethereal than usual. The halo of perfect, messy curls, and his pale, porcelain-like skin complete the work. He is glowing. Divine.

Duncan reaches out to touch the face he adores so much, place his thumb under the sharp but delicate chin and lift it up slightly to allow him a better look.

They both take in each other’s view.

“I think you’ve saved me,” Duncan finally whispers.

Paul sits still for a second, like he’s considering what he’s just heard. Then he simply nods his head. It seems that he understands.

Duncan sits on the bed next to him. He reaches out for the boy, pulls him into his arms. Paul is eager to lean in, sink into the embrace. They stay like this for a while. Enjoying the closeness of one another, not really needing to say anything. Together, at last. It all seems to make sense now. The jigsaw puzzle has finally come together and for the first time Duncan can look at the whole picture. It is…breathtaking.

“Paul…” Duncan whispers again, kissing the dark crown of hair on the boy’s head. “I think you were right. About everything. About us.”

Paul pulls away a bit, enough to look at Duncan’s face.

“You see it now?” he asks, studying the man closely, making sure he understands correctly..

“Yeah,” Duncan simply says, and as confirmation, he reaches for the boy’s hand, holds it, and squeezes it tightly in his own. “Yeah, boy, I see it. I’ve been stupid. I’m sorry.”

Paul’s serious expression slowly grows into a small smile, and then a bigger one, and then he looks like he is about to burst with happiness.

“Come here,” he urges Duncan excitedly, pulling him closer, wrapping his arms around the man’s neck, not caring to wait any longer to kiss the man he’s wanted all this time.

Duncan does as he’s told. He doesn’t worry anymore. He knows it is right.

Paul feels so soft and so good, and he smells wonderfully, and again Duncan can feel the curly hair that he adores so much brush lightly against his face, and he loves this moment, loves every second of it. He can feel Paul smiling into the kiss, and he knows he is smiling too. Hell, he can barely stop himself from grinning like an idiot! He can’t remember ever being this happy. The boy of his dreams is here, and he is so close, and Duncan gets to taste his perfect, warm and eager lips. He allows himself to sink into the sensation. He doesn’t know how much time passes. Time doesn’t matter now.

They find themselves lying down on the bed, facing each other, still kissing and exchanging small, gentle caresses.

“My Duncan,” Paul whispers in between kisses. “My love.”

He is running his fingers through the man’s hair, touching his face, feeling the scratching of his beard with his hands.

It feels ridiculous and unbelievable that someone like him would be on the receiving end of such passionate feelings of a young, beautiful and highly-situated heir like Paul, but this also doesn’t matter anymore. He still doesn’t fully understand how and why, but he knows it is true. Paul is honest with him… and it’s about time he got honest too.

“Yes… I love you too, Paul,” he whispers in answer, because now he can finally admit it. It’s a relief to be able to say it. “My little witchling,” he calls the boy fondly, before they kiss again. “My powerful spirit”. And again.

“I didn’t know. I didn’t know, but I do now,” he tells Paul when they take a break from the kissing, and just lie next to each other. His head is resting on Paul’s chest. A warm, slender hand is stroking his hair, gently, carefully. “You… your power…”

“It’s ours now,” Paul corrects him.

Duncan supposes he’s right.

“Yes,” he agrees. “Yes. Ours.”

“You and me,” Paul tells him. “Together.”

“Yes,” he agrees once again. “Together.”

He takes Paul’s hand in his again and entwines their fingers. No matter what happens now, nothing will separate them, he knows, because there is no other way. Surely, there will be hardships. Do they hide their relationship, or do they disclose them to the Duke and the lady? What will be their reaction? What if they condemn Duncan, what if they try to stop it? What if it destroys his reputation and everywhere he will be known as a traitor without honor and principles? What if… But there is no point in speculating now. Whatever happens, they will have to face it together. And because they will have each other, that will be enough to get through it.

“Don’t worry, my love,” Paul tells him, as if knowing his exact thoughts. “I will always protect you. I am here, and I have chosen you. So nothing bad will happen.”

“Chosen me…” Duncan repeats. “I like the sound of that.”

“It’s true,” Paul smiles lightly. “I have”.

He kisses the top of Duncan’s head, and adds:

“Because, you know, Duncan? I have always been under your spell.”