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Chapter Text

Paul had been born into the Atreides family, but on Caladan he had always felt like an outsider. His mother had been Bene Gesserit, who had followed him in whispers he should not have heard. To the court, his mother had bewitched his father. Paul had never felt at home in the imperial high society, not that he had seen much. Instead, Paul had lived as a Fremen for all of his adult life. Even if as the Emperor he had not been to the Sietches as much as he wanted, he still missed the simplicity of living there.

If one asked him why, he would say that his heart belonged to the desert.

On that fateful day, when Jamis invoked the Amtal Rule and challenged his mother’s claim of being the Sayyadina, the Friend of God and Priestess among his people, had been the day of Paul’s rebirth as a Fremen. And Paul, as her son had no choice but to become her champion in his fight, had taken on Jamis in a battle to the death. Clashing in the hot, unforgiving desert sands with the pungent scent of spice in their nostrils and nothing but the crysknife - it should have been an unfair fight. Paul had been watersoft and young, taught to fight shielded opponents and Jamis had been a Fremen warrior hardened by battle.

On this day with his feet in the sand of the desert and his nostrils filled with the cinnamon smell of spice, Paul had spilled his first blood, killed his first man. From the deep red spilled to the ground was Paul-Muad’Dib born. Back then he had thought he had changed what was to come—he had been so very naive. How wrong he had been. Even as the Fremen had chanted his name, they still had worn the colors of House Atreides and fought under its banner in the war that he had sought to prevent, yet ultimately began.

So when the stone burner destroyed his eyes, he first had thought he still could hold on. Muad'Dib, the teacher of the young, was able to overcome this ordeal. He was a messiah, above men and below god, he was not like the others.

But then Chani died and he had not seen the birth of his own son. 

Paul stood on the steps leading from his residence on Arrakis, his heart heavy with the weight of loss and regret. The memories of his true love, Chani, flooded his mind like a relentless wave, reminding him of what he had gained and what he had lost. He had ascended to the throne of the known universe, but at what cost? The spice, that powerful and addictive substance, had consumed him, and he had become a prisoner to its effects.

He had once believed that he could harness the power of the spice to lead humanity towards a better future, but now he realized the folly of his hubris. The path he had chosen had led him away from what truly mattered, and all he had left were the memories of a love that had been torn from him.

Lost and adrift, Paul could still see the path that lay ahead, but he was powerless to change it. He was a mere puppet in a grand play, his every move directed by someone else. And without his sight, he was a useless man, unable to lead humanity towards the golden path he had envisioned.

To become one with the worms, to join the ranks of the god-like beings that had arisen from the spice, would be to give up on humanity. It was a tempting proposition, to become stronger, faster, and to live longer. But Paul knew that there was something beyond mere mortality that lay beyond the veil of reality. The spice had given him glimpses of that higher realm, and he was driven to explore it, to understand it, to become it.

Shai-Hulud, the great sandworm, was but the beginning. It bled and died like any mortal being, but beyond it lay something greater, something that defied comprehension. Paul felt himself drawn inexorably towards that elusive goal, even as he struggled with the weight of his past and the uncertainty of his future. He was blind, but he could still navigate the world around him, seeking the answers that would lead him towards his ultimate destiny.

Paul had felt the call. The throne would be left to his lineage, as Paul would follow the singsong of the desert. The blind must go into the desert so that they dont waste more water. It was the mercy of the tribe that they did not kill the disabled or the old, but it is the duty of the person to think for the greater good of the tribe.

The tribe above the life of the one. The irony was that this action would immortalize him for a long long time in the minds of the Fremen.

So he stood before the shieldwall of Arrakeen, a throng of people at his side. There were always people wherever he went, they swarmed out of the houses into the street, all to see him. He heard them chant ‘Mahdi’ and call out ‘Muad’Dib’ in fanatic screams. Even through his boots he felt the hot sand, still scorching from the day. It was dusk, the sun vanishing on the horizon. He missed the view, missed watching it with Chani. Now it was only the memories that remained. Dawn and Dusk were gone to him, forever was the darkness.

Paul walked with a sure step to the gate, the crowd parting to let him through, their hands reaching for him and touching him. This too, he was used to, embraced it even. He trusted them blindly, the Fremen, and the other folks of the desert planet. Others would lust after his life like bloodhounds on a hunt, but not his people. They believed in him and in turn, he believed in them. And maybe that was what had started the Jihad, the feeling of snakes and betrayal slithering along his flesh, strangling him.

There was something inherently wrong with that, yet he could not stop the feeling until now. He was blinded and was going into the desert to die. What did he have to fear from people who were in a religious reverie, putting him on a pedestal even higher. And what had he to fear from the snakes in the palace? I shall not fear. Fear is the mindkiller. 

He was free for the first time.

He was not above their law and in this, he managed to put himself above them in their mind even more. The Lisan Al Gaib was a man of the tribe. 

The guards let him through, the hum of the shield barely audible as Paul stepped through. With him came the people. They followed him on to the sand of the desert. He knew that many of them were not wearing stillsuits, that they soon would stop following him and walk back to the city. But in the first few patches of the desert they would be safe. The throng of people thinned with each step, the wailing cries getting quieter. They were praying and yet none begged for him to stay. Such is the desert and its laws. 

It takes an hour for Paul to finally be alone, for the last of his escorts in stillsuits to break off and take the way back. Only then he stops, breathes. The dry desert air is like a blanket, but instead of suffocating him he feels like a son coming home to his mother. The cinnamon smell filled his nostrils as Paul closed his unseeing eyes. He lets himself fall into the dream they offer.

Instead of the future, he sees his past. He sees the steps he took and the paths he decided not to walk. He feels fifteen again, shortly after the attack on his House, and feels the fear of the future of the terrible purpose burdened upon him. He remembers that he had been afraid of the jihad, the holy war in his name. Standing in the desert, blinded, he can finally see himself again. He had done what he thought he had to, he had seen the golden path ahead and had not wanted to take it, and so he had emulated it the best he could. Make them one people, the different tribes of the galaxy.

He regrets it now. He regrets the killings and the lives lost after. He regrets so much that it's a throbbing pain in his consciousness. He had made mistakes where he should not have, he had been impulsive where he had trained to be better. He had become more of a computer than a human in the sense that he had forgotten the value of life. 

A tear rolls down his cheek and what a bothersome habit it was that he never got rid of, shedding moisture for the dead.

His legs walk on their own, as he follows the dreams full of melange. He follows the paths he walked even though now they are different. Once he had learned, the desert moved like an ocean. Slowly the dunes were waves that crashed onto the shores of rocks and cities. 

He walked for hours. Then the hours became days and they became months.

His steps were that of the desert, like flowing sand upon the dunes. It had become natural to him, that strange walk of the Fremen. Gliding along the desert without making a different sound. 

Yet, beneath his feet he could feel the telltale vibrations, the low hum in the air a warning. A sandworm was coming, the Maker coming to greet him. And Paul would meet him. Blind and weary from surviving in the desert, he knew there was nowhere he could run. He was a proud man, an emperor. As a boy he ran from the Shai Hulud, now he would come to meet it. He did not bow down to a mere god of the desert. He was the Kwisatz Haderach, end all, be all. He was prophesied, his legacy would not be over.

There is an unwillingness in him, the will to live etched deep into his bones. Paul walked out into the desert so as not to be a burden, but he had never intended to simply die. There was nothing left other than to wait for the worm to draw closer and hope that something else had called the worm. And so he waited, keeping his heart beating steady, standing proud on the desert soil. 

The worm drew closer, the sand becoming looser as his ankles sank deep into the sand from the vibrations of the worm. Paul was ready to be drawn completely underground, to be devoured and to prevail. It stopped. For a second there was no movement until the sandworm broke through the dunes, rising high above the ground. From the thick smell of cinnamon and the errant sand whipping at his face he knows the worm is in front of him. The maker greets him, at least the bone deep cry of it sings through his blood. 

“I am Paul-Muad’Dib and I greet thee, Shai Hulud.”

And how often had he called them, had ridden on their back through the desert. The initial fear he had felt morphing into reverence. There is nothing left of it. Just the clarity of facts. The sandworms had taken the water from Arrakis and had given humanity the spice. They had evolved from sandtrouts and the golden path he saw was attaining immortality through them. Becoming one with them. Even in that, he was unwilling. 

The spice melange was needed, that was the conclusion of many great scientists for space travel. And by now, many thought that to attain that beyond-human cogniance, the hyperprescience that the Bene Gesserit strived for, the spice was needed as well. Paul had given much thought to it and he came to another verdict. Humanity did not need the immortality of the worm. One ruler would never be able to secure the survival of the whole race, not if he was not compassionate, if he could not reach the hearts of every single one of them. 

And Paul found, to reach the state of beyond, it should be possible with time. He had broken the wall and the spice had made that possible. But now beyond the wall in his mind, he could see all the possibilities he could have taken to get there without. If only he had time. 

Yes, time. It was a strange thing. The memory of past events ingrained in genetic markers is one thing. But Paul often thought, what about his ability to see the events yet to come? One could blame it on his mentat training, but the way Paul saw the visions of the future— he would have needed more information from others to see the future in such clarity. 

The maker's roar was a deep vibration born from within its large body. The sound had shaken Paul from his complicated thoughts. There was a sudden clarity in his mind. All these regrets, he wanted to change them. He wanted to go back and save all those he had lost. For a moment he thought of something absurd, those visions, the space time continuum he seemed to break, what if he could move along it. What if he could not project his sight on the different string of reality, but his mind? 

What if…

Shai Hulud roared again, its long body trembling in impatience so unlikely for a beast that old. And then it curved its body and dived down, Paul could feel the shadows of its massive body move across his face. It shielded him from the harsh sun of the planet. He opened his arms, like a long lost friend, ready to embrace death.

He had lost the rest of the fear he held and then he remembered. The Alam al-mithal, the world of imagination, the place between man and god where the physical realm was lost. If he only could move there, if he could abandon himself to become something more. He had feared it, had feared losing himself between time and space. 

What if he could dive in as if it were the familiar waves of Caladan and emerge somewhere back in time. Before everything happened and 60 billion lives were lost in his name. Before Chani died and all the others… Yes, what if ? And Paul let himself go, let the inhibitions in his mind fall.

And Shai Hulud moved to dive down, like an Ornithopter it crashed. Its gigantic maw opened to swallow Paul whole. But before its jaws crashed to the ground, before it could give him eternal respite from that terrible purpose–Paul was gone. 

With the wind he had scattered, speckles of sand blown away. Only the stillsuit and the clothes he had worn beneath had remained. The Sandworm crashed to the ground, diving deep. It soon went on another hunt, trying to find food for his hunger. 

He walked as a blind man into the desert, but desperation had him change fate. He would not become the preacher, he would become what he feared - become god.

Chapter Text

The beyond was darkness and light, it was a pitch black ocean that drowned everything in its wake and the blinding sun burned away at his humanity. He felt pain like never before as his mind expanded beyond what it should be capable of. There was ecstasy like no drug ever induced.

The Fremen spoke of heaven. But this, Paul was sure, was hell as well.

The beyond had no sense of time. At one point Paul stopped burning and drowning, though the echoes of it still reached him. Clarity came to him not a moment too late, dread filled him. Tendrils slithered around him, crushing him with their strength. There were wings and thousands of eyes and everything shifted until there was the face of a lion and then of a dragon. The tendrils were hands and paws and then tentacles. 

And then it opened its mouth, with teeth like Shai-Hulud’s.

“Let him go.“ The voice boomed, its tenor sending shivers across Paul’s soul. The beast let him go, it’s appendages retreating as it softly growled. For a moment, Paul thought of a dog having to let go of something it should not have. The voice belonged to an old man who next was a young woman and then a child of no definable gender. In the end, Paul perceived him with face of his father, his warm eyes looking at him. 

“It is a bit much, little one, isn’t it? You should not be here, your kind was not made for it.“ 

Petulantly Paul thought ‘But I was created for it.’

The voice laughed. „Yes, your kind always loved to play god. It’s delusional though I do give it to them, you are peculiar.“

Before the man with his father’s face could speak further, he halted as if listening to the distance. His eyes which were not like Paul’s fathers looked at him and Paul felt like an insect under a magnifying glass. 

In the next moment the man held a staff of galaxies conjoined and as he stomped it down on the ground of nothing the beyond shook. Paul whispered, feeling like a boy in front of this entity and his pet monster “Who are you?“ 

“You need to go, you are nothing more than prey in this state. The corruption is on it’s way.“ 

And then everything became overwhelming again, the clarity his mind had gained by experiencing everything through human structures was gone. And then he fell through the black, black ocean and flew above the brilliant supernova and everything was gone.

When Paul awoke, he had forgotten about the beyond. He felt oddly disassociated with himself and the world around him. Maybe it was the coldness of the room that made him shiver, maybe it was the fact that in theory he should have died. It was silent except for the sound of waves and the odd cry of a seagull.  The smell of sea and of old stone penetrated his nose, so strangely familiar. There had been no seagulls on Arrakis and dunes moving in waves like water in the ocean. He didn't even need to actively think about calming his mind, it happened naturally. His Bene Gesserit training kicking in. 

‘This is not right’, thought Paul. It was also not right that all the different aches of his body were long gone, that the throbbing in his hand was gone from that ever fateful day that set his destiny in motion. That terrible purpose that burdened him had fallen away.

Yet his thoughts were still broadened, he still could see the way. Although with a throb of pain that made him clutch his head - long black curls, silky strands rustling beneath his fingers - he realized that much of his memories were in disarray. There was too much information in his head and he felt like exploding from it.

With a groan he rose, his lids still closed. Ever since he had been blinded, the urge to open his eyes had  been gone. But now, a strange thought crept up on him. 

He opened his eyes and he saw a room he had nearly forgotten. No, not forgotten. Paul had never forgotten, the memory was just buried so deep in himself. This was his room on Caladan, back before everything happened. His hands were unblemished, thin little things like the rest of him. He was fifteen again, he suddenly realized.

Sudden nausea overwhelmed his senses and Paul bolted to the attached bathroom. Upon his sudden movement the glowglobe activated, following him with a dim light. He bent over the white basin of his sink, throwing up black goo into it. It sizzled and hissed. He retched, hieving up whatever was in his stomachs but all that left him was the same black, putrid slime. His knuckles turned white where his hands grabbed the sink, holding on for life. He struggled to regain his breath, his body rebelling against him as sweat soaked his clothes. He felt like he had dredged up his whole stomach, his muscles spawning and cramping in pain. Paul caught his own pale face in the mirror, blue within blue eyes staring back at him set in a face that barely looked like the fifteen he was. Behind him shifted shadows, dark snakes crawling across his bare skin, twining around his neck and baring their fangs in a hiss.

He recoiled from the sink, his hands flying to his throat grabbing at nothing. With the next flutter of his lashes, his eyes are lime green and the shadows had retreated to the corners of the room where they belong. The sink in front of him was a pristine white.

, I must not fear. Fear is the mindkiller. Fear is the little death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me. And when it has gone I will turn my inner eye to see it’s path. Where the fear has gone there will be nothing. Only I will remain.‘

Opening the sink, Paul splashed water on his face, washing away the remains of his weakness. Where the fear has gone, there was nothing. Paul felt the hollow of emotion, his mind already racing along all the possibilities of what had happened. He was sure that whatever he has seen, had not been just a fabrication of his mind. It must have to do with whatever happened in the desert and him waking up as fifteen again.

He walked back to his bedroom though not to his bed. No, his gaze pierced out of the window of his room to the dark distance of the nightly horizon. 

He was fifteen, everything that happened was yet to come. ‚I can change things‘, Realization dawned on him.

As was often the case, there was no deeper emotion attached. The thought was there like a fact and all the emotions he wanted to feel were just empty. He remembers a day he had felt similar, all emotion drained by all the possibilities ahead. It was the same as the day his father had died or would have died if fate would take the same course. But he was already working through all the possibilities. 

Like this he stared out of his room, stared at the waves of the ocean not seeing. He could alter the course of fate, fight this terrible purpose that is yet to come. There was no euphoria at the thought. He felt empty as he thought of saving his family and friends.

The door creaked open. 

Lady Jessica stood behind the Reverend Mother as she opened the door to her son's bedroom. He should have been asleep, sedated for the night, but as both the Reverend Mother and her looked inside, Paul looked at them. His eyes glowed blue within blue for just a moment before they dimmed to their usual green. 

It startled her, but her training made her calm down soon enough. She looked at the profile of the Reverend Mother, watching her expression. It told her nothing, not that she expected much. 

“I remember.”, Paul whispered barely audibly. The castle was silent enough for them to hear it, she watched as he scrunched up his nose for a miniscule moment. “No, I dreamed.”

His words however had taken away whatever the Reverend Mother wanted to say, her gaze studying him like a hawk would study his prey. 

“So you are the boy.”, she spoke, her voice enunciated slowly. She addressed Jessica, the soft tilt of her face indicating it. “He is little for his age.”

“It is in his family, he will fill out later.”Jessica defended, the words coming out of her a bit fast. Paul had always been slim, even as he had picked up training. A lack of food was not the cause, Paul ate like a starving man each day and yet with all the excess energy he burned, he still did stay gangly. Even as he trained with Gurney and Duncan, besides a few lean  and wiry muscles, he never built up. From what Leto had told her, he had been this way too until he was in his mid twenties. It was an inherent family trait. He would fill out sooner or later, the Duke had reassured her. 

The reverend Mother hummed. “You should sleep, boy.”, she said. “You will need to be well rested tomorrow, when..” 

“When I am to meet your Gom Jabbar”, Paul finished, his eyes turning to slits.”I can do the test now, Reverend Mother.”

Silence followed, both the Reverend Mother and Jessica stopped in thought. Under the gaze of her teacher, Jessica betrayed her teachings, her schooled face dropping. How did Paul know about the Gom Jabbar and the test? Yes, she had taught her son in the ways of the Bene Gesserit, but she had never talked about the test. The test to separate the humans from the cattle. 

“Interesting.”, murmured the Reverend Mother. “We will need your rooms, Jessica.” And with that the Reverend Mother turned on her heel. She stopped only for a moment. “Let your pride not be your downfall.” And then she strode down the hall.

Jessica glanced a last time at Paul, before hastily following the Reverend Mother. “Yes, your Reverence. I will have the servants arrange it at once.”

And then they were gone.

The second time walking down the corridor towards his mothers rooms where the test was to be held was a lot easier. The confusion that had plagued him last time was gone. After all he had seen answers to questions even the Reverend Mother would have been confused about. Last time she had given him a terrible purpose only to later stand against him. 

This time, he would change his own destiny, he would shape mankind. He had yet to figure out how he wanted to do it.

If he would walk the golden path this time. 

But this was a problem for later, when he had time to sort his thoughts. He needed the Bene Gesserit on his side, so he would show them that he was the Kwizach Haderach they so desired. 

He just needed some time alone with the Reverend Mother, it would do no good if he spilled too much in front of his mother. After all, he was unsure of how he felt about her. Ever since they had moved to Arrakis their relationship had become complicated. Simply because he became what he was made to be and so much more. He had thought himself a monster and then a god. And then he had become a heretic to this god. 

Still, he loved her deeply and she loved him. They had risked so much for each other, the bond forged in the womb strong. There is the saying that blood of the covenant is thicker than water of the womb, but what bound Paul and his mother together was much more than that. The power that lay within them ran through their ancestry. He could see back both lines and could see ahead in both and as such he knew his mother like he knew himself. 

And with time he had learned that the hollow of emotion, that the hyperactivity of his cognisance, could be escaped. Even just for a few moments, he could feel emotions and compassion. If he allowed himself.

Well that would be his future or was it actually his past ? Paul was confused, but like many emotions he could bury them in cold calculation. It did not matter if it was yet to come or if it had already passed—the knowledge that came with it would shape the now. And now was what mattered.

Some time passed before his mother came back, curled inwards in her posture. She feared the test he would have to go through or the memory of it. Both, probably. Mostly she feared losing him.

“I won’t die.”, he told her, his voice a calm timbre. He may be short for his fifteen years of age, but his voice had already deepened. It could command when needed. “I already dreamed about it. Fear is the mindkiller.”

Lady Jessica straightened at her son's words, scolding herself mentally. ‘I know better’, she thought. Repeating the litany against fear at the prompt of her son. ‘He has grown’

“Come, the Reverend Mother is ready.”, And for a moment she was confused by her own wording. She would have said the Reverend Mother is waiting but it felt so much like her own teacher had more to fear than her son. Only fifteen, but as Jessica watched her son stand up and walk past her into the corridor, she is reminded of a beast stalking its prey. The sheer confidence was astounding. Paul had always held himself with the grace that his upbringing brought, but until now you could make out the undertones of his boyish nature. 

This however, was the walk of an emperor. Of a general weathered by battles and wars. There was no hesitation left in Paul's coltish long legs. 

Jessica followed him hastily, soon they arrived at his mothers rooms.

The room is as cold as last time. Gaius Helen Mohiam looked at her daughter’s son. It was the most well kept secret, though often she could not help herself of having a slight soft spot for the girl. Not that Jessica had ever noticed. The boy entering the room looked different from what the Reverend Mother had expected. She had seen him in his rooms, had seen the bit of disarray he had been in. But now even as he was small for his age, thin with too gangly limbs of a growing, he seemed impossibly tall even. A strange boy. 

“Leave us, Jessica.”, she commanded. Her eyes watched as Jessica nodded, the nervous energy of her radiant. Gaius Helen Mohiam should have reprimanded her, reminded her of her training. She did not, she was silent as she watched the doors close.

The boy stood far from her, his hawkish eyes not leaving her. In the dim light of the room they were lime green. He had the best of his father’s and mother’s genes, it seems. A strong jaw and fine cheek bones. “Come closer, boy.”, she did not ask. She could see the calculating gaze of the boy as he kept standing still. 

Gaius Helen Mohiam tuned her voice, pitching it just right. “Come closer, I said.”

The boy, he did not even move. Not even a muscle twitches in him, leaving her baffled. The atmosphere in the room grew colder as he leveled her a stare. She felt a shiver run across her body.

“Stand up”, he said, his words vibrating in a pitch that has her own muscles vibrating and follow the beckoning of his words. This should be impossible, she thought as she rose to her feat involuntarily. No, she screamed, willing her muscles to stop in a half crouch, not yet risen completely but not seated anymore.

He watched her and she felt like being watched by something far greater than a hawk. His eyes peered into her soul. 

Until today. She had thought that him being the Kwisatz Haderach was just some foolish dreams of Jessica.

“It is nice to meet you, Grandmother.” There is a thin smile on his lips. For the first time in a very long time, Gaius Helen Mohiam feels a kind of fear. She takes a deep breath, steadying her thoughts. It seems, this was a power play and she had lost. Still, this was salvageable.

“Your dreams?”, she asked, sitting down again. She had to consciously relax her muscles. “Jessica told me about them.”

“They are visions,'' he said. “I dreamed about this test, about the gom jabbar and the box. About the pain in the box and the burning, about the verdict of being human. But by being aware of it, I changed it. Some things are inevitable and some are not, some come true by acting without knowledge of them and some come only true by acting with the knowledge of them. There are many possibilities.” Paul explained, walking closer until he stood in front of the Reverend Mother. The box is on her right, it looks incopius if one did not know its contents. Pure pain. 

Gaius Helen Mohiam watched him, contemplating. There was a meaning to it with how he explains it, but his face is blank. It was trained to a neutral facade, more so than any fifteen year old’s should be. And she had worked in the schools, knew even how the best acted. It added to the weirdness about him. He gave her an off putting feeling that she could not shake. An itch that would not leave her.

He fell to his knees in front of her and while his eyes had to stare up at her, it looked like he was looking down on her. There was no fear in him. This was the serenity of a man who had nothing to fear anymore. He held her eyes as he put his hand in the box. The Reverend Mother strikes with her Gom Jabbar only stopping inches before his slender neck. He barely blinked as if he just remembered he should. 

“Let the test begin”. And with those words she activates the box. 

The tingling sensation across his skin was the same as last time, his hand does not even twitch at it. He knew that soon the tingling would change to something worse. He watched the Reverend Mother, he could see the steadiness of her arm out of the corner of his eyes. Good, it would be bad to die simply because he managed to crawl under the Reverend Mothers skin. He keeps quiet, looking at her old face under the dark veil. 

The tingling became a burn, like the bright sun glaring mercilessly down on the skin. It was uncomfortable after a while but the bright glare of the sun is not a new sensation to him. He had lived and died on Arrakis. He knows that soon the burn will grow worse and worse, it will become acid eating away at his flesh and muscles. 

His hand will come out unmarked but his mind would be scarred for life. Or would it? Now that he had gone back, the pain in his hand had vanished.

His lips moved into a thin line, his jaw clenching. It was excruciating now, radiating up his arms, making his body sweat. He could not completely suppress it, its intensity too crass for it. But he knew it's only the stress hormones in his body running amok, making him sweat. The pain was real after all, the impulses along his nerves made it real. Pain did not need to be visible, it could sneak up on you. He knew this, he could master this. Only he will remain, him Lisan al-Gaib, Usul, Muad'Dib, the Mahdi and the Kwisatz Haderach. The Padishah Emperor. Paul Atreides. 

It continues, like the time that trickles slowly down the narrow mouth of an hourglass. The pain builds and builds until it feels like nothing of his arm is left but pain. He bites down hard on his teeth, a small grunt escaping him as his eyes burn with fervor and determination. He stares at the Reverend Mother, daring her to continue. Who will give up first? Paul knows it will not be him, he can see it in her eyes that he already passed this trying test. Even if he moved his hand now, she will not see him as an animal, but he keeps it there, keeps it in the box of pain. 

Spice is not the only drug, along the many psychedelics in the universe, stress is another one. And like last time, his brain goes into overdrive, reaching heights beyond consciousness. It is another state and before his mind's eyes, he can already see the shifts in the time-space-quantum, and can see the doubts in the Revenant Mother dissolve. 

He finally speaks, his lips dried by the stress put on his body. He licks them. “I pity you.”, he tells her. “You had not wanted to conjoin with the baron. Yet he took, how he takes them all. And the order, they needed that bloodline. You could have overpowered him, if you had wanted. Yet, you were helpless. That's why you hate Jessica defying the order, you wished you could have done that yourself, did you not ? I know both yours and the baron's memories.” 

And as he speaks, the steady arm of the Revenant Mother begins to tremble. Before the tip of the Gom Jabbar can reach his neck, he frees his hand from the box, grabbing her wrist in an iron grip. “I am Kwisatz Haderach. Come early, and I will change humanity.”, he tells her in the deep rumble of his voice, the pitch just right. He uses the voice to impress on her, to imprint deep into her memory a fear and a reverence so deep, no other will be able to change it. The room darkens with it, the edges of his self fading for just a moment. As he had spoken his sentence, everything had turned normal agin, 

“This is impossible,” whispers the Reverend Mother, her eyes widened beneath the black veil of dark beads. Her pulse goes quicker, he can feel it in the tremble along her wrist. The room is silent, there are only the hard drums of a heartbeat quickened by revelation. Paul’s own was already calming down, his control over his body outstanding. Only the direst situations will make him lose hold of it. 

And then the silence is broken by the clatter of the needle hitting the ground. Gaius Helen Mohiam has let go of the Gom Jabbar, its needle falling to the ground, rolling along the old stone of Caladan’s castle. Paul lets go of her wrist, the Reverend Mother arm falling to her side, hitting the Box. It fell, like the Gom Jabbar. 

He does not stop there, now that he has struck her with the knife of knowledge, he must drive it deeper. So deep that she bleeds out and the shell that is left is a puppet for him to control. “I know that the Harkonnens plan to attack the Atreides on Arrakis and I know that the Emperor is sending his Sardaukar covered in sheep cloth of the Harkonnens to finish us off. I know that you have forsaken my father and that the Baron promised to let my mother and me live. But the Baron will twist it with plans within plans within plans. He will send us into the desert alive, he will say he let us go. But in his mind the desert will have killed us like it killed his men.” As he speaks, he rises. Even as he barely reaches her height when she is seated, Paul feels taller than a Maker poised, reaching for the sky. 

“A holy war will come, Reverend Mother. It will destroy everything in its path and only I can change that. The question is, dear Grandmother, will you be with me or against me? You should contemplate.”

Paul bows down then, taking the Gom Jabbar, twirling the needle in his fingers as if the tiniest prick would not mean his end. “I will await your decision by morning.”

And with that he steps to the great doors, opening them. His mother stood behind them, turning at the movement of the doors. She looks at him with the worried face of a mother, yet she dares not to come over and hold him close like he knows she wants to. She even stops her approach as she sees the needle between his fingers. “A present, mother.”, he tells her, hiding away the needle in his clothes. “I think the Reverend Mother has a lot to tell you.”

And with this he strode away to his own chambers.

Jessica looked at the retreating back of her son, her stomach twisting slightly. Without further ado, she walked into her receiving hall. There sat the Reverend Mother on the chair like a king on a throne. But unlike a king on a throne, she could see a tremble in the bones of her old mentor. And then she saw the box on the ground and questions filled her. She remembered how Paul had twisted the gom jabbar in his fingers as if playing with a simple needle. Her questioning glance must have been visible on her face, her confusion evident. 

The Reverend Mother looked at her. “You were right”, she said breathlessly. Jessica stared at her, the words germinating in her mind for a moment. She talked about the Kwisatz Haderach and she agreed and Jessica could barely believe it. What had happened in this room? She had expected Paul to take the test and she had even feared him failing it. But then it seemed, whatever happened had even left the Reverend Mother shaken and Jessica, remembering her girlhood, had never seen the other like this. 

“Will it change anything?”, Jessica asked. She already knew of the Harkonnen trap and this far into the game, not much could change things. But now they had more power, they had a lever they could pull. Surely, if her son was the Kwisatz Haderach her and her husband's life and the life of her son must not be put to test on Arrakis ? It had been detrimental for the Bene Gesserit plan if the Atreides plan ended. Now that the Reverend Mother was sure that her son was the chosen one, the Bene Gesserit would not dare to lose him. Would they? 

She would not need to pull her ace, tell them about the child growing within her womb. The promised daughter arrived late so that she does not have to marry a Harkonnen heir. 

The Reverend Mother was silent in contemplation. Jessica was sure that like herself she thought of the problem. But where Jessica’s knowledge was limited by what news arrived on Caladan, her mentor had the full knowledge of the emperor's court. “The plan cannot be stopped, no. The bribes have already been paid, but we can prepare failsafe for if the boy manages to change the upcoming challenge.”

Jessica understood. The trap was set, but as much as it birthed danger, it was also an opportunity. After all the Kwisatz Haderach will need his own power, he will need to ascend to the throne of the galaxy. For that they had already planned, the royal concubines only birthed girls. As a mother however, she could not stop herself from worrying.

Paul did not wait long, come early morning he was summoned to his mothers morning room again. His mother, of course, ever dutiful - except that one time,  waited in front of the morning hall with a smile on her face. Paul relaxed at her mood, it seemed the Reverend Mother had made the correct decision. “Good morning, mother,” he greeted her. Lady Jessica moved forward to stand in front of her son, her hand resting on his cheek.

“Good morning, my son,” she leaned forward, pressing her dry lips to his forehead. Paul would have evaded her, if he had not missed this uncomplicated time between them. This was the time when her training had just been the well meaning of a mother, when he had not awakened to something further and forced to mature even faster. Still, his face scrunched in displeasure befitting a son being smothered by his mothers affection. “I think the Reverend Mother will not wait for us.”

And with this he stepped to the side, striding towards the great doors. Entering, Gaius Helen Mohiam sat where she had sat the night before. Her veil was hiding her face though the atmosphere in the room was different from last time. Paul had passed the test, the Reverend Mother had issued and he had revealed some of his cards. This time there were two chairs in the room. A statement. Paul watched her as he sauntered over to the chair, sitting on it in mock leisure. He fell back into the holster.

“We will join your endeavor. House Atreides cannot be lost.”, Gaius Helen Mohiams garbled voice echoed through the room. Lady Jessica stood beside her son, angry at the treatment of her. She swallowed the anger, the Bene Gesserit not something she could fight. She would have told her own son off, if it was not for the fact that with how her teacher reacted, it was him she had the chair prepared for. As a mother, Lady Jessica did not know what to think. 

“That is the right decision, Grandmother. Together, we can set humanity on its right path”, he told her, letting his chin rest on his hand. He noticed the hitch in his mothers breath, if he would touch her he would probably notice her quickened heart as well.

Gaius Helen Mohiams attention fell away from him and to his mother. “He is right, Jessica. I am your mother”, she started, her words careful and calm. She had considered the possibility that Paul would let it slip purposefully. “I could not be the mother you needed, so I became your teacher.” 

Lady Jessica was silent besides him, she often became like a sheep in front of the Reverend Mother. Paul knew she had an iron backbone somewhere, after all she had birthed him. Later as the water of life had changed her, it had shined through. The trials to come had sharpened her soft edges. If Paul could change it, he would rather have her stay soft. He would teach her that she could stand up against the order that brought her up. She was the mother of the Kwisatz Haderach, she would be in no servitude to any order.

Chapter Text

Jessica looked at the breakfast table, the food on it plentiful, before she sat down at the end of the table. She waited for Paul to be seated, the curiosity burning in her. Only now that the Reverend Mother was gone she could ask her questions. She watched her son, who reached for the food, a grace to him that was not noticeable before. He had never been sloppy, had learned etiquette as a child, but that subtle boyishness was gone from him. 

“You have told her about your dreams, yes?”, she asked as she filled her own plate. She felt tired but the stimulant in the coffee would wake her up soon enough. The room was bathed in the morning sunlight of the rising sun, its warm colors spreading across the grays of the old castle stone. 

“I told her about the things I saw in tonight's dream.”, he told her casually, his focus was on his food. He seemed hungry. She herself was not able to stomach food the morning after the Gom Jabbar, but it seemed Paul was different. 

“Yes, you made it clear you dreamed about this encounter?”, after all who knew better than Jessica what she had taught him. While she could have mentioned the Gom Jabbar to him, she had not. So if he knew about it, it must have come from his strange dreams. 

He nodded, stopping for a moment. He looked up from his plate, studied her in a deep gaze. “Not only that,'' he expressed before turning back to his food. He placed down the knife to grab the bread now spread with butter and jam. He bit into it, humming in pleasure upon its taste. Her eyebrow rose like the questions on her tongue. 

“Paul.,” she began. He looked caught for a moment. 

“I am sorry, mother. It is just, tonight felt like a lifetime.”

Jessica watched her son's face, looking if it was the only reason. There was nothing there but honesty and the feeling that Paul seemed older. His body had always looked younger than it should, and had never matured fast. But she could see it in the way he held himself, the readiness of his muscles and the posture she had tried to get into him for the longest time. He looked formal even in the simplest clothes. She halted for a moment and then left it at that.

 “I will tell the kitchen that their effort was much appreciated.” 

It did not take long for the first slice of bread to disappear and then the second. He seemed to want to taste each and every food that had been on the table. It was when she wanted to put cinnamon on her sweetened bread that he stopped her. He looked at her and then nodded to the spice. “Soon you will grow too tired of its taste.”

‘Then let me have it while I still like it’, she had wanted to say. But Jessica stayed put, thinking about it for a moment. In their world every word said had its meaning, there were seldom words said that did not have some form of it. She had taught this to Paul and she felt this time he had intended something behind it. She could not quite grasp it. She could make an impromptu lesson out of it, let him test the voice on her. He would need it sooner or later.

“Use the voice if you want me to put the cinnamon away”, she told him, looking at him in anticipation.

His eyes searched her face, bemusement in his eyes.“Put the cinnamon down.” And she watched herself put the cinnamon down, her hand leaving the container. She only came back to herself when she was done with that, having followed his command. It surprised her, but it also brought a smile to her face. His voice had been so perfectly attuned, that if Jessica had not commanded him herself to use the voice, she would not have noticed that the action was against her own will. “Very good.” Knowing he had command over the voice gave her relief.

Their breakfast ended soon after.

Paul stood a bit away from the cliffs of Caladan where the ancestral graveyard was. There, he could see his father and his retinue of guards with his father kneeling before the tombstone of the Old Duke. It was a strange thought now for Paul. Before he had not known much about the Old Duke beyond what his father had told him, but now being the Kwisatz Haderach he had access to all his genetic memories. His grandfather had become a presence in himself. His memories were there up until his father was born. 

He knows how the day of Paulus' death had changed his father, and feels it in the ancestral memories. It was thus strange, being able to empathize with his father now on another level. In a way, it was like standing in front of a facette of himself. He had become a part of him. 

Leto Atreides rose to his feet, muttering ‘I miss him.’ and with an added vigor ‘that damned bull’. With a sigh and a feeling of world weariness he looked at what he had to give up. Here lies his forefathers and their families, the ancestral graveyard of House Atreides. And he had to give it all up, and had to give Caladan up. On a subjective level he knew that Arrakis was worth this and more, but his heart still ached. It ached because he would not know what would happen to it, if the new owner would respect their house. How could he leave the bones of his family unguarded? But he had to for the future of House Atreides. He had to because the Emperor demanded it, afraid of Leto. He knew it was a trap. 

Leto’s gaze landed on his son. In black formal wear, Paul commanded a royal air about him. He had the sort of cultivated air about him that Leto had seen seldomly. The haughtiness of the Bene Gesserit mixed with something else. For a moment he did not see his own son but his own father. The Old Duke had been larger than life to Leto before he had died when he was only fourteen. 

Leto approached his son, coming to a halt before him, assessing him. Looking for any clues that this was not his son. One did not change so fast without reason.

“It is me, father.” Paul spoke as if reading his thoughts. “You can ask Mothers guest, if you have doubts.”

Leto’s lips formed into a smile then, his hand landing on his son's shoulder. “I never doubt you. It is…” 

Solemnly Paul looked at his father, knowing too well where those thoughts came from. He himself had been deceived by facedancers before and Paul knew he himself had changed. That was the rationality in Paul, killing all anger in him. And then, after their gazes met for what felt an eternity, something mended in Paul that had been broken. 

Paul lunged forward, hurling himself into his fathers embrace. The Fremen had said ‘He gives moisture to the dead’ and later Chani had said he should not give moisture to the yet living. But now Paul could not help himself, he felt himself cry in his fathers embrace, a sob wracking through him. He never had been able to rightfully mourn his father and yet here he was. “I understand.”, Paul whispered against his fathers shoulder.

The Duke put his arms around his son, pulling him tight. He felt helpless, not knowing exactly what had happened. He knew it had to do with the Bene Gesserit and while he loved Jessica dearly, he could not help but curse these witches in his mind. 

“You will die, father, on Arrakis.”, Paul whispered with a certainty that shocked Leto. “You think you have enough time to spring the trap but you won't. The Emperor is gonna betray us, we won’t have enough time.” 

Leto knew of his son's visions though the boy had more often spoken with his mother about them. Even if not, he would always listen to his son seriously. Paul had always been wise beyond his years, a clever boy. Every parent wanted their child to be special and even without the added mysticism of the Bene Gesserit that Paul had through his mother’s  teachings he was something else. 

“These are dreams, Paul. They dont always come true, but I will take them into consideration.”

Paul let go of him, watching his face. His tears had stopped and his gaze hardened. “You need to let me go to Arrakis with Duncan. I can bring the Fremen to our side before it's too late. Let me cultivate your desert power.” 

And for a moment Leto just wanted to let him go, let him join Duncan on that mission. Just because Paul said it with such determination and finality. “No, you can't go. It is not safe.”

“Let's make a wager, father. If I defeat Duncan in combat you will let me go.”

Leto wanted to protest further, but he saw his father in Paul. It was the same kind of determination his father had before he went into the ring to face the bull. “Only if you win.”

When Duncan Idaho joined the mess hall, it was already loud and boisterous. The men were happy to be home and the anxiety of a mission had fallen off to jolly camaraderie. That and he could already hear the strumming of Gurney’s Baliset and his voice singing one of his ballads. Duncan got his meal and drink from the lunch lady, flashing her one of his charming smiles. It always got him an extra portion or the best looking steak. Not that House Atreides was cheap on its soldiers. As much as the Duke said about exploiting the workforce and winning the trust of the people, he was bullshitting. Life as a soldier in House Atreides was good. The food was good and they got good quarters and armor. The Duke inspired his people and he stood by his promises. 

It's the opposite from what a lot of other Houses do, Duncan knows best. He slid onto the bench beside Gurney, stabbing his mashed potatoes with a fork. When Gurney finished his song, he greeted him with a half hug, easy camaraderie. “Finally back, you missed so much.”

“Aye, I heard. We’re moving to Arrakis”, Duncan answered. He did not like the fact, and had a bad feeling about it. Arrakis reeked of death. But well, a mission was a mission and an order from the emperor could not be ignored. That's why Duncan had already been briefed that he has to lead the second expedition to Arrakis, to contact the people of the planet and buy them over. It would be hard yet easy. Hard, because from what he heard these people would not give their trust lightly. And easy because after the Harkonnen reign anything would be better. House Atreides is heaven in comparison. Yes, the Duke wanted them for his own gain, but at least he raised the ones that followed him up as well. Duncan knows that Leto doesn't leave anyone behind. He inspired loyalty in his men by being loyal to them.

“That's not even the newest bit.”, added Gurney, his fingers playing along one of the strings of his instrument, not plucking. Duncan shoved another mouth full with food, looking expectantly at the warmaster. “The young lad challenged you. He wants to come with you on your mission and the Duke allows it if he beats you in a fight.”

And that has Duncan choking. He needs to beat his fist against his chest until it stops. “Well that would be no problem. The boy is good, but he is still fifteen. He is, what, 60kg wet? I can take him.” He loved the Duke’s son, and was a mentor to him since the boy could barely walk. And Paul was good, for his age. Duncan however was a swordmaster of the Ginaz, fought on battlefields and had killed since before the boy was born. He was several weight classes above him.

But Gurney gave him a meaningful glance. “Something’s changed with Paul.” Gurney the old jester did not tell Duncan how different the boy was or how he knew.

Chapter Text

Doctor Yueh was nervous, flipping through the Orange Catholic Bible. It was small in size but made up for it in thickness. He had his sessions with Paul today, though his own mind was wandering. Wanna, his dear wife, oh Wanna. He must do this for her, he must keep strong. And while facing Lady Jessica would be worse, her son could be perceptive as well. The only difference was that Paul trusted more easily, and why not? Doctor Yueh had been working for House Atreides ever since the boy had been small. 

He had taught him so much over the years, it would not fall easily to Paul to question him. But the boy's mother. Like Lady Jessica, Wanna had been a Bene Gesserit and often when he met her he was reminded of the peril he was in. It was not good to remember those moments. His thoughts could be read on his face. And then he would have to deflect the questions.

Why was he giving Paul religion? 

After all, the Bene Gesserit were instigators of religion but held themself only to the hard truth. Of course the rules of the Orange Catholic Bible and its religion were edged into the laws of the empire, the foundation to its constitution. 

Dr. Yueh was selfish, he simply wanted to make amends for himself even if he knew he deserved none. He would surely land in hell and he only wished for the boy to ascend to the heavens. In his musings he did not notice Paul walking into the room. Only when he turned around, he could see lime green eyes watching him. Paul’s gaze was knife sharp, it reminded Yueh of the Lady. 

___

Duncan waited in the arena, his nerves taught. Gurney's last words when they talked gave him some thought. He did not have the ability to talk to Paul since then, but he had heard others comment on it. Now he waited for the young Heir to the House Atreides to arrive. At the side already stood the Duke and his Concubine. With him were Thufir Hawat and Gurney Halleck as well as a dozen guards. All of them looked a mix of grim and concerned, unhappy about the upcoming duel. There was the lingering fear that Paul might win, that Duncan might make that fatal mistake today and then have to travel with Paul to Arrakis. The lion's den or even worse, a snake's cavern.

But neither the Duke or Lady Jessica had put a stop to young Paul. So Duncan was left to wait for the young na-Duke to appear. He twirled his blades and checked his shield. The mud beneath his feet was mostly undisturbed. After all, the arena was mostly unused. It had been built back in the day of the old Duke. It was intended as a bullfighting ring, but ever since the old Duke’s death, no one had fought a bull here. 

It was silent except for Gurney's Baliset.

“So we stand and we will fight, 

let us pray for lady Victory’s might, 

In honor our swords shall cross,

and betrayal shall be our loss”

At the end of the verse the gates on the other side of the arena opened. Paul stepped into the ring not having bothered with formal attire. He wore the blacks he always wore to training, and a white linen shirt. Duncan noted, however, that he wore no shield belt. A single blade was at his hip. With the wind going through the arena, the wind blowing through the arena swept at his hair.

He wanted to hug the boy and greet him properly, but it was not the time. “You forgot your shield boy,” Duncan commented.

“I did not forget, Duncan. The Fremen fight without shields and without armor, so we shall do so today too.” Paul explained. 

“We are not Fremen”, the boy's mother intervened. Both her and Leto were gazing at their son with disapproval. Duncan understood them, fighting without a shield was dangerous. But in a sense he could see Paul’s reasoning. The boy wanted to prove to his father that he could be an asset in gaining the Fremens’ trust. Yet he underestimated how much he was worth to his parents.

“We want to cultivate their desert power, so we must become/grow accustomed to it.”Paul grinned, drawing his sword. “Don’t you trust me, Duncan, not to  kill you?” It was like a taunt, dangling before Duncan. He could see now what Gurney had meant. Paul could be arrogant at times, like any fifteen year old could when they were good at something. But now, this was not the boyish brashness. Duncan had the feeling that Paul was sure that he would be able to kill him.

“I trust you with my life.”, Duncan answered, going on one knee. He took off his shield belt as well. “If it is acceptable to  the Duke and the Lady.” He could see Thufir’s calculating gaze, could see the mentat leaning over and whispering something to his Duke.

Lady Jessica was about to say something, but the Duke held her back. It was as clear a sign as any. Duncan nodded, looking at Paul, “And I certainly won’t be killing you either.”

“I know.” And with this Paul took position. It was in the strange weirding way of his mother, where the muscles are relaxed and yet ready to coil at a moment's notice. It would make it harder to see the tells of his movement, but Duncan had trained with Paul often enough  to know him and his fighting in and out. Duncan assumed his stance as well.

“We are here for the duel of Duncan Idaho and Paul Atreides”, began Leto. “The first to yield loses. One has to yield if a weapon is pointed at a vital region and one does not see any options to escape. Maiming or killing is not allowed. I am certain that is perfectly clear.  The duel shall begin. ”

Duncan took one deep breath, his muscles tense as he watched Paul, the calm of an upcoming fight entering him. Paul seemed patient as well, no brashness in his movement. They circled each other, like hunters watching their prey. But they were both predators. The way Paul held himself was almost smug, and it edged Duncan on. But he had been in enough fights by then not to be tempted. 

Then from one second to another, Paul lunged, his blade gleaming in the low light of the afternoon. 

Duncan parried, their blades clashing together. With his superior strength he pushed against the interlocking blades, forcing Paul into an opening. But the boy was fast, stepping away with minimal movement. The next strike was similarly precise and fast, even with Paul's lack of strength, Duncan was forced to use all his strength. Each of Duncans counters was sidestepped and their flurry of blades only clashed when Paul controlled the amount of force Duncan could put behind his blows. 

This was not at all how Duncan remembered Paul fighting. The roots were there, yes, right where Duncan himself had laid the foundations in teaching the boy, but over that Paul’s skill had risen, had transformed into something that should not be possible in just a few weeks since he last saw him. 

It was like fighting a man who could read each of Duncans moves, and in a way Paul had been trained to. The Weirding Way of the Bene Gesserit was deadly due to many factors, one of them being their perfect control of themselves and their opponents. Know thyself and know thy enemy. Yet, in the fast pace of an actual duel Paul had not yet been able to realize that full potential. 

Until now it seemed. 

Duncan was miserably unprepared. It angered him, he was a Ginaz Swordmaster, a man who was said to be as dangerous as the Emperor’s Sardaukar. All throughout the galaxy people knew of Duncan Idaho, knew how dangerous he could be. 

Paul was a Duke's son and fifteen . He was a prodigy but lacked true experiences. 

Before Duncan crouched Paul, his face full of youth and too small for his age, with big eyes and gangly limbs. Beneath all that, however,laid in wait a warrior, deadlier than any foe Duncan had faced before, and it was deeply unsettling.  

With more fervor, Duncan put more force behind each blow, though each of Duncan’s hits is matched with Paul’s own. The edge of Paul’s blade hit Duncan’s blade at the right spot to disperse the energy behind it and the rest was taken by Paul with an ease Duncan did not know where Paul’s steadiness came from. This could not go on like this, it would come down to a game of perseverance and Paul seemed barely exhausted. His body under control in the weirding way of his mothers.

In a split second Duncan had decided. The next time their blades interlocked Duncan went to grab Paul's blade, forcing Paul to let go of it as he tugged it away. Paul was decisive in letting go, unfazed even as he was without a weapon. The sword clattered to the ground. 

“Do you yield?”, Duncan asked, holding his own sword up. Paul had the audacity to grin at him with mirth playing at the edges of his smile. A fracture of a second later and they shared a breath, Paul having closed the gap in the moments it had taken to blink. His weird weirding way had allowed him to escape Duncans blade, contorting his body in ways that should not be possible. As Duncan swung his sword, Paul had dodged to the right of the oncoming blade that was just a hair's breadth between him and the sharp edge of it. Paul used the momentum to jab at Duncan with the tips of his fingers at Duncan's wrist. This small touch did not hurt at all, but here was Duncan letting go of his own sword, his hand dropping the blade. Paul caught it before it could land on the ground.

And then Paul was out of reach again and behind Duncan. His eyes following the boy's movement, Duncan was prepared for the swipe of Paul's blade. But the deadly arc ended before he could try to meet it. Paul feinted, dropping to the ground and hacking the pommel of the sword into the hollow of Duncan's knee. 

Before he knew it Duncan was on the ground, straddled by Paul.It was over. The tip of Duncans own blade touched Duncans neck. “Do you yield,” growled the boy he had watched grow up in a deep commanding voice. For a second they glared at each other.

“Yes.”, answered Duncan, his lips dry and his chest heaving from the exercise and the bouts of adrenaline at the deadly situation. 

And then it was over, Paul was rising to his feet and holding out a hand for Duncan. Duncan took it in good sport, though he got to his own feet on his own mostly. 

It was silent from the audience ranks. Paul would be coming with him to Arrakis.

And shit, Gurney had been right. He could not take Paul in a fight anymore. Just what had happened to the boy to become like this?

Chapter Text

Space travel has always been a novel experience. The prices to be paid so that one could travel abroad as a guild freighter were always high. Paul stood on the landing ramp beside Duncan. The ship had already docked and the steel groaned to open up the ramp. Paul could feel the nervousness coming off of Duncan even if no one else probably could. It is a mix of knowing the man for years and the Bene Gesserit training in watching the minutiae of another being.

Paul also knew why Duncan was nervous. It was because of him that Paul decided to come to Arrakis with him on this dangerous mission. And if it would have been Paul's father he would be less worried. Paul was but a fifteen-year-old boy.

Even if that was not true anymore. Or it was. Paul could not tell, he had the memories of his older self or vision of him and those had shaped his decisions and his abilities in the now. It had shifted his personality and Paul knew everyone would notice. He had too many close relationships to effectively hide the fact that somehow he had become different.

He had experienced the water of life and gained its wisdom, yet this body he was using had not. His mind had become more than the physical realm could hold and it was a strange feeling. The future was already shifting, a grand picture with some dark spots.

After all, anyone who knew of the future could shift it, giving it endless possibilities to consider.

Paul knew how to overcome this, how to defeat these dark blotches in his prescient sight. After all, by controlling their origin of them, he could shift them on a path that he wanted. The golden path. He was sure there was another way, a way where humanity did not have to evolve in endless cycles of Ragnarok at the behest of the worms and impending jihads.

Paul's golden path would be different.

Behind them, rows of soldiers stood at attention, not daring to act differently. Paul was the Duke’s son and as such he deserved the respect. Especially since word went around that he defeated Duncan, Swordmaster of the Ginaz.

And then the warm air of Arrakis was blowing in their faces, the little bit of sand brushing at Paul's cheeks and the dry air feeling like home. In that other time when Paul had come to Arrakis with his family, he had felt uncomfortable. His water-thick skin is not used to the rough environment of the desert.

It was still uncomfortable, but in a sense that Paul embraced it. Like the Fremen had said, he was one of them at heart, just displaced at birth. He was a son of the sands, Muad’Dip who had ridden the worms.

With a loud clank, the bridge fell to the ground. Paul looked behind himself and at the faces of the Atreides soldiers. Just a brief moment he also looked at Duncan and nodded and then he began marching down the ramp into the arms of the sandy ground of Arrakeen.

Behind him, Duncan followed with the soldiers, the rhythmic footsteps of the men as they marched thundered behind him. To Paul's ears, it sounded wrong, too loud. He said nothing.

At the end of the ramp awaited Thufir Hawat, who had led the first charge to Arrakis. Now they were the third and in two weeks to come his father would join them with the rest. Such a short time to gain the Fremen's trust.

A smile edged onto Paul's face and he opened his arms to embrace Thufir Hawat. It was not Paul's fault for hugging the old mentat a little harder than usual. Their last embrace in Paul's recent memory had been Thufir’s self-sacrifice with the needle that he should have killed Muad’Dip with. Paul never blamed him and now held the man he had missed his counsel.
Thufir was a mentat after all and while Paul was something more he was a man who would understand Paul’s problems.

He let go of him. Thufir smiled at him, his lips red from sapho juice. “Welcome, Paul, to your new home.”

And Paul smiled back. “Home is always where your family is.”, he answered with the Fremen wisdom. They lived in sietches, yes, but these tight-knit communities often had to move, becoming nomads. And as such, Paul had learned that it did not matter where one lived as long as one's loved ones were there.

___

The woman who was Liet-Kynes stood in front of the hooded windows of the now Atreides mansion in the meeting room. The room was spare besides the long table and some chairs. No extra comfort or extravagance was seen in the room. The young Heir to Duke Leto had called her and as the Heir’s father had decreed that Paul Atreides would act fully in his stead, Kynes had followed the call.

In a sense, she was kind of curious about the boy who was not a man yet. Not many Dukes would send their children to Arrakis as the vanguard. Even Baron Harkonnen had not sent his na-Baron. What would a child bring to the table? That was the question Kynes had.

She also was not fooled as easily. One might think that the Emperor's command to lead small infractions on the Baron's side slide would be easier to follow under the nose of a fifteen-year-old, but then Liet knew Fremen children. And even Fremen children were taught under the desert and knew of things that normal people did not.

Much room to contemplate that Kynes did not have. Paul Atreides entered the room in stride, behind him the man Kynes recognized as Duncan Idaho. Behind them were a few other soldiers holding a tray with an assortment of things. Kynes turned around, mustering first the boy and then the swordmaster at his side. Duncan’s reputation was preceding him, he looked dangerous up close. But Kynes' interest lay with the boy. Black curls under which lime green eyes watched carefully and a straight aquiline nose set on a pale face. He was water soft, the mark of offworlders, yet he carried himself almost familiar.

Kynes had heard rumors. Some said he could be the Lisan al Gaib, but none spoke out loudly. After all, the Lisan al Gaib would be accompanied by a Bene Gesserit mother. Paul’s mother was one, but she was not here. Kynes knew Lady Jessica would arrive only two weeks later with her husband. And while Kynes did not believe in the stories, she had her ears everywhere. Paul came to a halt at the end of the table from where he looked over.

Without hesitation he offered up his body's moisture, spitting on the ground. It shocked Kynes for a bit, but then she did the same. A smile bloomed on her face. Kynes had always been a lover of information, learning, and studying. The heir to Duke Leto seemed to be well-informed and at least Kynes could respect that.

The evening sun was slowly moving behind the horizon, the room partly in darkness. With a movement of his hand, Paul had signaled the soldiers to leave the tray on the table and then go.

“Dr. Kynes, I am honored to meet you.”, the boy greeted with an honest smile. Kynes gave him one of her own. “Likewise, young Lord.” She had been briefed to keep it formal, Thufir Hawat a constant nag about proper etiquette. She could not see the mentat with the boy which had her curious. Paul nodded and then offered her to sit down in a gesture. She did so, not far from the head of the table where he sat, the tablet in front of him.

Under closer inspection, Kynes finds a tea service, together with a teapot and burner to heat the water. In one of the bowls was spice, the other held the Shay Aswad, a dry herb from which tea is made here on Arrakis. The teapot was porcelain with Fremen art on it, it looked authentic.

“I want to talk to you about the planet. You are a planetologist, correct?”It's rhetorical, Kynes noticed, but she was pleased nonetheless for him to use the proper term she allocated for her work. He started up the stove with firestones expertly, the spark lighting up the alcohol in the burner. He scrunched a bit up his nose at the smell so close to the source. “I heard back a few millennia when wood was not as rare as it is now here, it was used to fire these.”

‘They must have a lot of forests on Caladan’, thought Kynes but she kept smiling. “Yes. After this planet turned to desert there were still singular trees left in the close areas around the pole.”

Paul heated the water inside a tin can, waiting for it to boil. Then after he filled it into the porcelain pot, taking it by the handle and slowly swaying it. He pours the water out, putting it aside. She watched him then add the Shay Aswad and another bit of the water. A typical Fremen tea ceremony, she notes. Well practiced as well with the way he did not hesitate at each step. “My father wants to know if it is possible to make this planet more habitable. After all, this fief is now our responsibility and the reports on water scarcity are frightening. Especially for the common people.”

Kynes bit back the retort that the Duke's household would never lack any water simply because it was true for the Harkonnen and would be true for the Atreides. But Paul had not talked about the noble houses but the common people and Kynes were intimate with the problems of the common people. “Of course. I have provided many reports on how to transform the planet, but all of them have been denied simply for the attached cost.”

And yes there was frustration in Kynes' voice because this had not only been her dream but also her father's dream.

“Yes, the cost. But a noble House should not only take but give back to its people. It is in the essence of things, the taking and giving. If only one side takes without giving anything in return, there is an imbalance.” It seemed the tea was now brewed to Paul’s satisfaction as he poured the spirit of the tea into a cup. He opened the pot again, filling it up with spice and naenae herb, and then poured the spirit of the tea back into the cup. He let it steep again.

“That is a noble speech.”, commented Kynes, keeping herself from saying more. She was not able to get a read on him yet and did not know if his words were empty or due to his youth or true. Time would tell, surely. But for now, she would keep the information she had close to her heart rather than open on her tongue.

He hummed for a moment. “I talked to Thufir Hawat, he is informing the minor houses right now of our decision to change some customs. The imperial customs are rather wasteful of water, it is better to preserve it or give it out to those in need without such a humiliating act.”

It is as if Paul read her mind, and knew she wanted proof. And yes this would be only a small act, but it was a small act of mercy. Paul stood up, pouring the tea from high. His fingers are skilled, there is not even an errand muscle twitch. None of the tea is wasted as it perfectly falls into the first, the second, and then the third cup. He offered the first to her and the second to his companion. Both of them took it.

“Bitter as life.”, Paul said, smiling. He held his cup with a bit of reverence, before taking a sip from it. The swordmaster did the same and so did Kynes. The tea was perfectly brewed, it irked her. “So if we stop the wastefulness of water, we could use the excess to start terraforming the planet, right?”

Kynes nodded, watching him. Duncan who had been silent the whole time finally spoke up. “We would need the right areas to start.”

Paul nodded, looking from his trusted swordmaster to Kynes. “That is why I invited you, Dr. Kynes. Well, that and I wanted to get to know you.” They emptied their cups, in another sip.

Kynes looked at her cup, still half full. “First we would need to change the desert. Find places where the Sandworms don’t reach but also where it is easier to accumulate water. “
They had already found such places, her and the Fremen. They had also started the planting process. She did not yet trust this noble. This could all be an act though the whole meeting spoke of his respect for her culture. Liet was still wary, but Kynes was already warming up to Paul. She emptied her cup, placing it on the plate.

The young Heir skillfully filled their cups again. “Strong as love.” He was silent then, contemplative. Kynes took the cup offered to her. It would be rude to decline this peace offering. He shook himself out of the contemplation, the far-away look lost. “You have the Fremen blue in your eyes. Your father married a Fremen woman, right?”

Kynes' hand stilled. Yes, her father had married a Fremen and yes, Kynes had the blue within-blue eyes of the Fremen. Though before him, no off-worlder had guessed her origin so plainly. Even the mentat of the baron had seemed not to know. Or, they had ignored it. Then again Paul seemed knowledgeable, he probably was familiar with her father's work. “Yes, that is right. You are familiar with my father's work.”

“Yes. Perdot Kynes was an interesting man, brilliant I would say. Sadly, he was limited by money. Kind of funny, a society is limited in its growth by its most limiting factor. Here on Arrakis it is water, but that is in the capability of humanity to change, ”Paul started to rant, Kynes listening to him. It is nothing new what he is saying, she had heard it all already, yet something is comforting about it. “The planet shows signs that there was a lot of water, right? So in the end, money is the limiting factor. And is it not kind of ironic that the limiting factor to better people's life is imaginary?”

Kynes looked at her teacup, the tea clear inside. She raised it to wet her lips. “Yes, it is.” She had her gripe with the empire. But she needed it, needed her position to better the chances for the Fremen. “With enough funding, many would not have to die because of water scarcity. Especially in the slums of the cities.” The hidden truth was the Sietches had enough water to survive, they were not the worst off. She did not say that like a lot of other things.

“We can change that.”, the Ginaz Swordmaster at Paul's side promised. Kynes looked at him, at the mountain of a warrior. She could see the strong muscles even beneath his clothes, yet he almost seemed gentle right now. She drank the rest of the cup of tea. The bitterness of the first cup had faded, leaving the overpowering taste of spice and naenae. A third cup was soon prepared for her, and the last of the tea was emptied into the three cups. The pot is now empty.

“Yes, we will. In our fief, no one shall die of thirst because the water was not accessible. It will take time, but we will make it possible.”, proclaimed Paul as he handed her the last cup. “I have heard there are Botanical Testing Stations. Their locations are unknown and they belong to the Emperor, as such I can not visit him without permission. Doctor Kynes, would you allow me to accompany you to one of these? I would like to see the work done there myself.” He smiled, not touching his cup at the moment.

Kynes would have hesitated, but Duncan Idaho was drinking his. And it would do no good for the young heir to poison her. She noted, however, that there was no poison snooper around.

“Yes, the Botanical Testing Stations”, she mumbled, her mind racing. Fremen were working there and as perceptive as young Paul was he would surely recognize that there was more behind it all.

Paul leaned forward, and he smiled. “I belong to the Ishwan Bedwine, you can trust me.” And as absurd as his words at this moment was the thing that happened next quickened Kynes' heartbeat like nothing else. There, the room seemed to shift and for a moment Kynes thought it was poison. There was Paul, but he looked older, his eyes the Fremen blue within blue. The room had darkened and the glow globe made the rays of light stand out like a halo behind Paul's head. ‘Lisan Al Gaib’, Kynes murmured. She was a non-believer but at this moment...

It was over just as fast. The room stilled, and the shadows crept back leaving the soft glow of the glow globe to illuminate the room. Paul was fifteen again, his eyes green as they stared at her. He whispered; “Gentle as death.”

Kynes drank up the last cup, her hands shaking. “We will go tomorrow. Bring only the most trusted.” He did not ask why she made it such a secret. He just calmly sipped his tea. Kynes barely noticed that even Duncan Idaho was looking at Paul estranged, questioning, and shocked.

But then again Idaho was new to this world, new to their culture, and did not know about the legends. He would just find it strange and not like her, she who had never believed in feeling a kind of religious ecstasy. Kynes stood up, putting the empty cup down with a clink. “I have to go. At the landing pad, tomorrow. There will be stillsuits in the morning, so wear them.”

And with that, she was gone.