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Chapter Text

He was standing on a cliff, shrouded in large, flowing robes. Distracted, he looked out at the water as a strong sense of melancholy filled his body. He was mourning- for whom was unclear. 

The sound of waves crashing against the rocks below was familiar. 

He was home. 

No, that wasn't right. Caladan wasn't home. Not anymore. 

But he was on Caladan. When Caladan had stopped being home was unclear, but he was certain of the fact his home was elsewhere now. 

A hand gripped his, breaking him from his train of thoughts.

His gaze drifted from the thrashing waters to the deathly pale hand that now encased his own, a pale thumb caressing his. The grip of it was firm, verging on painful and the same, unknown reason, the touch was comforting. Familiarly so. When his eyes moved further upwards, he was met with an equally pale face, scalp protected from the elements with a similar cloak to his own.  

He had seen this face before. Many, many times now- more than he could count. 

The prominent and strangely handsome features were practically burned into his vision after visiting him night after night for years now. Smooth and unblemished skin. Dark piercing eyes. Sharp cheekbones-   

“Are you finished here?” The voice was deep and provided a similar comfort to the touch. 

He found himself speechless, and instead continued to stare at the face- the face that was distinctively Harkonnen.

“Paul?” 

The dream changed. 

Ahead of him was a large hall, and he stood, looking over the vast empty space. His body was tense, nerves alight. The hall in front of him would soon be filled with people waiting for his address. 

He knew this because he’d had this dream before.

Sometimes the hall was empty. Sometimes it was full to the brim with people, listening to him speak, eager faces and bright eyed- as if he were the only important thing listening to. 

When he’d first started dreaming of this space, he was standing beside a girl. The girl with abnormally blue eyes who also frequented his dreams. 

Occasionally he was alone. 

More recently, however, he was with the pale-faced Harkonnen. Paul couldn’t say exactly when the swap had been made, but at this point he was there more often than not. 

This was one of those times. 

Whilst others in these dreams would stand behind him, the Harkonnen stood directly at his side- like they were equals. In this dream they were always standing close together, sleeves brushing against each other as their chests rose and fell in synchrony. Something about the close contact soothed his rising nerves, as if he somehow knew nothing could go wrong when they were close like this. 

“Paul, are you ready?” He turned as a voice sounded from behind him. 

His mother stood on the other side of the platform, body shrouded in loose fabrics, strange and unfamiliar symbols etched onto her face. Appearance aside, something about her was undeniably different. Something in the way she looked at him made him uncomfortable. 

A hand pressed into the small of his back. He looked away from his mother to be met with the gaze of the Harkonnen. The gesture seemed supportive, but he couldn’t be sure. The other's face was blank, aside from his eyes. His eyes burned with something Paul couldn't quite place. 

Paul swallowed roughly. “Yes.” 

The Harkonnen smiled, a toothy, almost unnatural thing. 

“Paul?” 

•       -      -    -  - -

“Paul!” A voice hissed, 

Paul woke to a hand placing itself firmly over his mouth. 

Immediately, his eyes flew open, flinching away from the touch- only to be met with the face of his mother, Jessica. She placed a finger at her lips in a shushing motion, before removing the palm covering his mouth. 

“We need to go. Get up!” Her voice came out as a hushed whisper, face pale and stricken with worry. 

“What's going on?” Paul sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes in an attempt to make himself more alert. 

“We're under attack.” His mother replied hurriedly, grabbing his wrist and pulling him out of bed. In his still half-asleep state he noted how the grip lacked the purpose of comfort like that from his dream. “We need to go, now.” 

As he was led out of his bedroom by his mother, his mind couldn’t help but drift back to his dream. Despite the severity of the situation, he felt unable to focus. It was almost as if he was still half asleep, body naturally calm and lacking the adrenaline response he knew he should be experiencing. 

His dreams had woven themselves through his life for as long as he could remember- his moments of unconsciousness interlaced with his waking ones. They’d only increased in frequency since he’d arrived on Arrakis, the intensity of them following him whatever his state of wake, alongside the unwavering sense of vivid familiarity.

It was what made him sure they weren’t just dreams. 

He didn't always dream of the Harkonnen stranger. Sometimes he was on Arrakis, following the blue-eyed girl through tight walkways, lithe bodies covered in form fitting fabrics and beams of sunlight illuminating glistening particles of orange that permeated the air they breathed. 

Spice.

He could feel it in his every breath, in his blood, the warm hue of it tinting his sight. 

Sometimes there were others. Following him through the sand, bodies contorting in an odd yet graceful stance- movements he now recognised as the sand dance. They moved familiarly around him, communicating through their bodies rather than their voices.

“Paul, focus.” A wave of coldness washed through his body. Jessica used the voice on him, the harshness of it forcing him to snap back to reality. “Now is not the time to get lost in your head.” Her grip remained firm around his wrist as she peered around the corner of the empty corridor they were in. 

“Sorry.” He murmured. With his free hand, he dug his nails into the soft flesh of his palm, the sharp pain of it helping to centre himself in reality. 

The roaring boom of an explosion sounded from somewhere in the distance, the sound of it tearing through the unusually empty halls and causing Paul to flinch. They truly were under attack… 

“Mother, what's going on?” Paul let himself be dragged down the adjoining corridor, their bodies pressed flush against the wall for cover. Their training ensured their steps were silent. “Where's father?” 

Adrenaline had started to take the place of his previous daze, heightening further as the thump of footsteps echoed from around the corner. His mother quickly dragged them behind a nearby pillar as a set of men marched by. 

As the sounds of their footsteps seemed to be getting further away, Paul allowed himself to cautiously peer from behind their hiding spot. The men were dressed in the bulky black armour he recognised as belonging to the Harkonnen, the thick soles of their boots slamming against the floor and making stealth impossible. Not that the Harkonnens utilised stealth- they were a vicious and ruthless house, their fighters favouring a forward offense. 

The moment their backs turned around the corner, notably heading towards where his and his mother’s rooms were situated, Jessica was moving again, leaving Paul able to do little but follow. 

“I don’t know where your father is.” She murmured, voice barely above a whisper, apparently deeming it safe to answer his previous question. “But our current priority must be escape.” 

Paul swallowed roughly. He knew capture by the Harkonnens would be far from good. In fact, out of all the houses known to take prisoners, they were widely considered to be the worst. After all, they were notorious for their cruel and unorthodox ways- indulging in torture and barbaric gladiatorial style death matches. 

Not to mention the Baron’s hatred for Paul’s father. 

If he and his mother were captured- the son and concubine of Lord Atreides, they were sure to be reviving of this treatment. If not worse. 

As he and his mother continued their escape, hurrying through the winding corridors of the Arakeen fortress, the pit of dread grew larger and larger in his stomach until he was fighting to keep his breath level. Occasionally they would duck behind a pillar or behind a corner to hide from their attackers, a surge of adrenaline coursing through his body with each time. The sounds of explosions had become almost constant, replacing the deafening silence of Arakkis’ nights. 

After what felt like hours- but only could have been minutes of heart racing close encounters and hurried walking, the end of the corridor came into sight. There stood a large hanger where their thopters were held- the thopters that were also their only means of escape.

At the sight of their only hope, he and his mother picked up their pace. As they grew closer to the outside, as did the sounds of fighting and explosions- Paul’s breaths coming out in rapid succession.

They’d barely stepped foot into the hanger before a figure draped in heavy armour stepped out from behind one of the crafts. His mothers grip on his wrist tightened as she warily took a step back, Paul mimicking her motions tersely. 

Another figure emerged, before he was followed by another, and then another and then they were surrounded. The soldiers didn’t speak, they didn’t need to. Their bodies were poised, weapons raised and intentions clear.

His mother stepped closer, squeezing his hand once, making her message clear. Be ready to fight. There was no other way out of this. The first fighter began to move forwards, blade drawn at his side. In comparison, Paul and his mother had no blades- but that didn’t make them defenceless. 

“Freeze.” Jessica’s voice came out raspy and the men circling them froze. Without turning away, she dragged him forward. “Paul, grab that knife.” 

Paul did as his mother asked, swiftly moving forward to snatch the weapon out the nearest soldier's hand, before darting back warily. His voice was nowhere near as strong or reliable as his mothers, he was however more than competent with a knife. 

Out of the corner of his eye he could see his mother begin to tremble, barely noticeable to anyone who didn’t know her as he did. There were currently a dozen frozen men surrounding them, and controlling that many was clearly causing her strain. 

Without hesitating any longer, Jessica began to weave through the motionless men and towards the thopter. Paul trailed after her, passing the masked soldiers warily, as if they'd jump and attack him at any moment. 

Just as Jessica was to reach the safety of their escape, a soldier leapt out of hiding, knocking her on the back of the head. Shit, they’d missed one! Paul leapt forward as his mother’s body crumpled limply to the floor but it was too late. The effect was instantaneous. The men around him all leapt back into action, free from their command; all charging towards him at once.

Instinctively, Paul raised the blade in his hand and got into a defensive stance- not that his attempt would be sufficient. He had never killed a man- let alone a dozen highly trained soldiers. Like a cornered animal, he began to step backwards but there was nowhere to go. More soldiers seemed to pour out of nowhere, forming a preventative ring around him. 

One darted forward, catching him off guard. Paul reactively brought his hands to his face, just as an arm swung at his head. The impact of the gloved fists slammed into his braced arms, forcing him to take a step back. Wincing in pain, he prepared for the next time. However, this time he was ready. 

As a second arm flew out towards him, he caught the offending appendage, before yanking it forwards and twisting. The force caused his attacker to fall to his knees with a grunt of pain.

Paul’s hand around the knife tightened and he hesitated for a second, swallowing. He brought the weapon forward, but it was too late. His hesitation had cost him. Whilst he was distracted with indecisiveness, others had crowded in behind him. 

His head snapped round but the blade was knocked from his hands before he could react. A grunt escaped his lips as he was forced to his knees, arms twisted behind his back painfully. 

The last thing Paul saw before a blow was driven to the back of his head was a pale figure walking through the parting crowd. 

•       -       -    -  - -

This time he wasn't in his own body. 

He was spectating his surroundings, almost as if he was a bird, hovering above. Below him was a dimly lit room, light faintly crawling from their source in an attempt to brighten the area. The dullness of the colour in the room made it almost look to be monochrome, the shadowed areas a deep abyss of darkness. 

He did not recognise his surroundings, but they unsettled him. In the centre of the room stood a large basin of oil-like, inky liquid. Shrouded in the shadows stood several figures, their presence unimposing. They looked as if they were cowering away from the dark basin, bodies curled in on themselves defensively. 

Despite not understanding what was going on- nor the scene in front of his eyes giving him any reason to believe so, Paul was hit with the overwhelming sense that something here was changing. 

A door at the end of the room flew upon, and in walked a familiar figure- the Harkonnen he saw in his dream. His face was blank, but his shoulders were tense. Paul doubted anyone else in the room noticed the small tell, but he did. 

Just as the Harkonnen neared the basin, bubbles started to rise and tar-like liquid began to ripple before the top half of a man emerged from within. The liquid ran down his bald head in dark rivulets, the colour a stark comparison to the ghostly flesh underneath. This man however, Paul knew the name of. The Baron. Ruler of house Harkonnen.

He was truly revolting to look at- large, bulbous and misshapen with eyes like dark, beady pits. There was something inhuman about the way his features sagged and swelled, as if his very form repelled the idea of decency. 

The Baron carried an unmistakable air of malice with him. Corruptness and immorality practically radiated from him, in thick, suffocating waves- clear to those even without the abilities of Bene Gesserait. 

Despite never directly meeting the man, Paul despised him.  

“Nephew.” The baron greeted the other. Even his voice had a tone of pure treachery. 

Nephew. Paul had known the man he dreamed of was Harkonnen, likely of importance due to the way he carried himself- but the Baron's nephew? 

It seemed absurd. 

As the Baron’s nephew reached the pit, he kneeled before it. Despite the act of subservience, his body recoiled at the motion, muscles tensing under pale skin as if it pained him to do so. 

“Uncle.” Despite now knowing his allegiance, the Harkonnens’ voice still sounded almost melodic to Paul’s ears- the deep pitch of it causing his stomach to twist with uncomfortable familiarity.  

“I have a job for you.” The Baron’s voice in comparison was a grating thing, the words sounding raspy. “As you are aware, your brother has been sent to Arrakis with the goal of eradicating House Atreides.” 

His nephew nodded, still refusing to look up from where he knelt. Paul had never seen him like this. In his dreams, the Harkonnen always appeared composed and assured- a notable contrast to the man now knelt at his uncle's basin. 

“There has been a change of plans. Your brother is weak and is not to be trusted. I want you to join him on Arrakis and ensure our success. If he fails, kill him.” 

“Yes uncle.” The Harkonnen rose to his feet. “Is that all?” At his uncle’s nod, he turned and moved towards the room's exit. 

“Feyd-Rautha,” The Baron’s nephew halted, “Do not disappoint me.” 

•         -       -    -  - - 

Paul came back to himself gradually, a thumping agony swelling in the back of his head as he did. His eyes remained screwed shut in an attempt to fend off the overwhelming sensations and feign unconsciousness for as long as he could. The familiar humming of a thumper gently jostled his body against the seat he was bound to, confirming his suspicions that he’d been taken hostage. 

Remaining as still as he could, Paul strained to hear what was going on around him but little could be heard over the steady fluttering of the machine's propellers. 

He remained like that for a while- until it became clear that pretending to be unconscious would get him nowhere, and Paul opened his eyes. 

On the seat opposite him, sat his mother. Her hands were bound and a gag had been stuffed into her mouth, preventing her from using the voice. Her face was illuminated in the green light, giving her pallid skin a sickly appearance. A surge of relief filled him as he noted she was conscious and seemingly unharmed. Similarly, a look of reassurance crossed her face when his eyes met hers, as she also deemed him as being unharmed.

Wasting no time, she used her bound hands to begin swiftly signing at him. ‘Use the voice on them.’

Paul swallowed roughly, before finally taking the time to identify his surroundings and his targets. Could he manage it?  

Two pilots in the front and another man a little further away from him. Three soldiers in total- he’d never tried to use his voice on anyone other than his mother before, but surely it couldn’t be that hard?  

From where he was sitting, he could only see the back of the men’s heads. The two up front were evidently pilots but it was the third that piqued his interest. 

He was dressed differently from the other Harkonnens they’d seen, the clothes didn’t look like something an ordinary soldier would wear. 

They still looked suitable for a battle but almost more… aristocratic? And there was also his posture- even the way he sat was different from the two up ahead. He was poised, as if ready to fight at any moment. Maybe he would pose more of a threat. 

As if sensing his gaze, the other turned to face him causing Paul to freeze in horror.  

His eyes widened. It was the Harkonnen from his dreams. No, not the Harkonnen.

Feyd-Rautha. 

Chapter Text

Paul felt like he must have spent longer than was considered acceptable staring at the pale-faced man, mouth agape in a way that likely made him look odd. 

Feyd-Rautha evidently noticed his gaze, as his plump lips twisted into a sharp grin and he shifted in his seat. “Nice of you to join us.” 

The familiarity of his voice awoke something in Paul, causing him to twitch slightly. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the scrutiny of his mother as she closely watched his reaction. 

Despite her trying to regain his attention, Paul felt himself unable to do anything but stare gormlessly. Feyd-Rautha’s brow furrowed slightly. 

“What, not going to greet me?” The long gaps of silence were beginning to grow awkward, a fact that evidently annoyed the Harkonnen.

Talk, you fool! Don’t let them think you're weak. 

Jaw clenching, Paul dug his nails into his palm. He needed to get a hold of himself- his and his mother’s lives depended on it. 

There were bigger concerns than the visions that followed him at night. They were just dreams- his mother’s voice echoed in his head, a point she reminded him of endlessly, they haven’t happened yet. 

The Freyd-Rautha sitting in front of him now wasn't the same man as in his dreams. He was the enemy. The enemy who had captured him and his mother, the enemy who destroyed their home and house, killed his men, separated him from his father. 

“I don’t have anything to say to you.” Despite his newfound revelation, the words still came out slightly shaky. Mentally, Paul kicked himself. He sounded like a scared little child. 

Feyd-Rautha barked out a laugh. The sound was harsh and abrupt- almost animalistic and  lacking in any warmth or humour. He clearly hadn't been expecting Paul’s near dismissal.  “Most men would cuss me out after my family destroyed their entire house.” He leaned closer, Paul shifting back as far as his restraints would allow him. “You're not like most men are you, Paul Atreides?” 

Paul thought to himself then that he would have been able to recognise that face anywhere. It had been ingrained into his dreams for months now, maybe even years. He’d lost track of the time somewhere along the way. Maybe it was a face he’d always known, one always stored in the depths of his mind. 

But there was something about how this Feyd-Rautha he said his name that was lacking. Something was missing in his tone and It helped Paul be reminded of where he was, of who he was talking to. 

Clearly done with aggravating Paul, Feyd-Rautha bared his teeth one last time before turning back to the pilots. “Stop the ship, we’ll throw them out here.” 

“Yes, sir.” 

Paul’s heart dropped at the order, his eyes frantically returning to his mothers. Unlike him, she appeared composed.

Use the voice on him. Jessica signed, hands moving rapidly. 

“It’s a shame you’ll meet your end here, Atreides. You intrigue me- I’m sure you had great great potential.” Feyd-Rautha spoke absentmindedly, gesturing carelessly with his hand, “But orders are orders, and my uncle wants you dead.” 

Swallowing roughly, Paul turned to face the other. “Remove her gag.” 

Feyd-Rautha looked back at him. He stood, moving towards Paul and his heart leapt in his chest. 

But instead of removing any gags, the Harkonnen slapped him, the stinging force of it sending his head snapping sharply to the right. “Shut up.” 

Shit. His pitch must have been off. Paul closed his eyes, attempting to calm the storm that was his rising adrenaline. 

“Why not just kill them with a blade, sir?” The pilot spoke up again, momentarily distracting Feyd. 

“Our esteemed Emperor wanted us to spare them and so, my uncle has generously decided to let the desert make that decision for us. Of course that means-” 

“Remove her gag.” 

Body seizing up, Feyd-Rautha paused mid sentence and his eyes gained a dull sheen to them. Straightening up, he moved towards Jessica and removed the piece of cloth covering her mouth. 

“Kill him.” His mother wasted no time, Feyd-Rautha unsheathing the knife at his side and throwing it across the thopter with skilled precision, digging into the throat of one of the pilots who’d turned around to see what was going on. With a gurgle, he raised his hands to his throat before slumping to the floor like a puppet cut from its string. 

“Set us free.” She spoke again and he cut through the bindings around her feet, before  moving to do the same for Paul. 

However, before she could utter another command, the pilot had leapt from his seat and was covering his mother’s mouth. Instantaneously, Feyd-Rautha regained his agency and he paused joltily in his removal of Paul’s restraints. 

Paul expected to see a look of horror, or disturbance on the other's face. That was the case with most he saw after they had the voice used on them- revolted at the thought of having their will forcefully taken from them. Instead, Feyd-Rautha smiled. It sent a chill down his spine. 

“What clever little witches.” His hands still rested on Paul’s ankle as he gazed up at him, teeth gleaming. “I’ll kill you slowly for that.” 

Paul kicked him in the head, sending him crashing across the floor. 

“Sleep.” 

Feyd-Rautha’s body went limp. 

Paul looked up to see his mother biting the hand of the pilot, freeing her mouth. 

“Stop!” The pilot froze. “Give me the knife.” His mother slit his throat, his body collapsing lifelessly onto the floor next to Feyd-Rautha, the only difference between the two being the slow rise and fall of Feyd’s chest.

His mother immediately moved towards him to finish removing his own restraints before he leapt towards the thopter’s control panel, frantically attempting to bring the ship into a safe landing. 

Once he felt the bump of the landing, his body slumped in the chair, allowing himself a single moment to breathe deeply before he was up and heading back towards his mother. 

She was still at the back of the ship and was pulling something out from beneath one of the chairs. It was a beige bag, seemingly full. 

“A fremkit.” He commented, recognising it from one of his lessons. Fremkit’s were the difference between life and death out here.

Naturally, his eyes slid from his bag to the body on the floor. He took a step forwards, motions cautious as if Feyd-Rautha may suddenly snap awake. Paul couldn’t help but notice how the pale skinned man looked almost human like this. He appeared younger, the muscles in his face relaxed and neutral in his state of unconsciousness. He couldn’t have been much older than Paul himself. 

“What should we do with him?” He asked his mother. 

“Leave him.” 

Head snapping up to meet hers, his eyebrows furrowed, surprised at her answer. “Are you sure we shouldn’t kill him?” He pushed down the part of him that abhorred the idea. He’s not the same man from your dreams.

“Yes. His journey does not end here.”

Paul frowned again at her cryptic tone and the pointed gaze she gave him. But he was used to his mother speaking in strange ways, and was used to always pushing her for answers. 

But before he had time to question her further, Jessica was moving out into the open desert and hastily making her way up a large dune. Paul spared one last look at Feyd-Rautha’s unconscious body, before following her out into the open night. 

He began scrambling after her, the sand providing no purchase as it slipped under his limbs. When he reached the top, he was slightly out of breath but his words paused when he noticed the look on his mother’s face. Her face was palllid as she gazed out at the sight ahead of them. The sight of Arrakeen in ruin. 

The sun was starting to rise over the hills, creating a prominent silhouette of Harkonnen ships, hovering over the remains of the smoking fortress like vultures closing in for the final kill. Fires were spread across the horizon, painting it a soft orange hue. 

Heart dropping, Paul clenched his fists. His father was still in Arrakken, in the centre of the danger. Not that he and his mother were faring much better. He turned to face the desert, dunes seemingly endless. It seemed that any way he turned he was met with hopelessness. 

It was as Feyd-Rautha had. They wouldn’t last out here- they weren’t Fremen, they were alien to this planet and its ways- and there was no way they could help his father.  

Hatred for the other burned low and hot in his stomach. His dreams seemed so far off now, so utterly unrealistic and separate from the nightmarish life he now seemed to be living. Paul would never stand as an equal to that man.

Jessica was the first to break the silence. “We should put up the stilltent.”  

Without words, Paul nodded in agreement. He couldn't stop looking at the wreck that was their former home. He felt strangely numb as he looked at it, detached as if what he was looking at wasn’t his burning home.

When had it started to feel like home? 

In the blink of an eye, an arm was wrapping doewn itself around his neck, and he was yanked backwards. The momentum sent him tumbling down the sand dune, another body tangled with his, digging sharp elbows into his gut. The air flew from his lungs and his eyes screwed shut to protect them from the stinging sand particles that were sent flying around them. 

As soon as his body came to a halt, another was immediately straddling his waist, hands wrapping around his throat. Paul’s eyes flew open and he scratched at the tightening hands. 

Above him was Feyd-Rautha. His eyes were manic, his mouth drawn into a snarl. 

Reflexes kicking in, Paul thrust his hips in the air, effectively dislodging his attacker so he could roll them over. But despite the force he’d put into the motion, Feyd’s hands still remained clenched around his throat, tightening impossibly as Paul straddled him. 

Giving up on dislodging the other, he reached down to throttle Feyd’s own throat in a similar manner, their bodies mirroring one another. Feyd’s lips turned up, his snarl turning into a cruel smile, as if having the life choked out of him was amusing. Paul felt his vision blur, his eyes bulging as his lungs burnt.

They were in a stalemate. A stalemate where the loser was the first one to pass out from lack of oxygen- and with the advantage Feyd-Rautha had, Paul didn’t feel positive about his odds. . 

“Stop.” The familiar voice of his mother sounded from behind them, causing them both to halt in their actions. “Let go of each other.” Paul felt the hands around his neck loosen, as did his own on the pale neck below him. 

Paul rolled to the side, lungs desperately heaving for air and forced himself to stand. The dry desert air burnt his damaged throat, eyes streaming at the burn of it. His throat felt as if it had been crushed and he placed a hand to the tender flesh where his attackers had been. A sharp pain jolted through him and he hunched over slightly. 

Looking up, he saw his mother, panting, clearly having scrambled down the dune after them. How had he not heard Feyd-Rautha approach them- He had thought that Harkonnen weren't talented in stealth. How had Feyd even woken up in the first place? Paul’s command for sleep should have lasted longer. How had he gotten the jump on him like that-

“Freeze.”

Paul frowned at his mother’s command, before realising it hadn’t been directed at him. When he turned to face Feyd-Rautha again, he was posed mere inches away from Paul, knife a hair’s breath away from his neck. His eyes widened and he took a hurried step backwards. 

“Paul, are you okay?” His mother came to stand beside him, drawing his hands away from his throat to examine it herself. 

“M’fine.” He managed to croak out, battering away her probing hands. He realised with a jolt that If it wasn’t for his mother being there tonight, he’d be dead several times over. 

Instead, he turned and looked at his attacker. Feyd-Rautha’s body was poised like that of an animal. The Harkonnen fighting style was so different to his own. It was fast, brutal and aggressive, focusing more on attacking than defending. 

Cautiously, he walked towards the crouched figure and snatched the knife out of his hand. Twirling it around to test its weight, he watched as Feyd-Rautha’s eyes followed his movements. Without thinking, he brought the knife to the other’s throat. 

As he pressed the blade closer, the tip of it causing a drop of blood to bead, Feyd-Rautha’s pupils dilated. Paul held the blade still, body frozen just as the man in front of him was. 

But before he could act further, his Mother interrupted him, “Paul, don’t.” Her hand gently enclosed around his, pulling the knife away. Feyd-Rautha’s eyes were wild and alive. They made him look like a cornered animal- wild, unpredictable. 

“Why not?” He gritted his teeth.

“You know why.” 

“No. I really don’t.” He finally dragged his eyes away from the frozen body, to stare at his mother. His eyes felt as if they were burning, the occurrences of the last few hours finally hitting him. He had had enough of his dreams. 

It wasn’t the first time he’d thought it, but in that moment Paul well and truly wished he was normal. He wished he was unburdened by his family name and heritage- of the uncertainties and threats they had brought him. 

His Mother’s eyes softened when she saw his expression and she placed a hand on his cheek. Paul let his eyes shut and he leaned into the touch. “I’m sure everything will make sense to you soon. That’s how it usually works with these things. Remember, Fear is-” 

“The mindkiller. I know.” Paul couldn’t help but scoff. He couldn’t help but think she was sounding like the Reverend Mother, speaking in endless riddles and mystery. How was he supposed to be calm in a situation like this?  

Sighing softly, she rose to her feet and her hand moved to her stomach. “Day is rising, as will the temperature. We should put up the stilltent.”

•           -       -    -  - - 

In an attempt to curl in on himself, he hugged his knees to his chest- unable to relax with the presence of the enemy so close. His mother had ordered Feyd-Rautha into unconsciousness before they’d started to put up the tent, cautiously binding his legs and arms so as to not make the same mistake as last time.

Paul had suggested they leave him out for the desert to take care of, just as Feyd intended to have done to them. Unfortunately, his mother hadn’t entertained the idea and had demanded he help her bring the unconscious body into the tent. 

The lighting in the tent was dim and the space small. There was no form of entertainment, no escape from the constant nagging of his thoughts, and instead of meditating like his mother was doing, Paul found himself staring at the limp body laying so close to him. 

Feyd-Rautha’s face was unusual looking. His skin appeared more like marble than flesh, pale and unblemished in an unnatural way- the flawlessness of it being especially strange when you took into account the violent ways of the Harkonnens.

However, despite the unusualities of his appearance, Paul couldn’t say Feyd-Rautha was ugly to look at. In fact, once you got past the fact he constantly looked like he was planning murder, he was actually rather handsome. 

The realisation caused his stomach to twist and he snapped his head away from the sleeping figure. Desperate for something to do, he crawled towards the fremkit that lay discarded on the floor and began to rummage through it. Inside was some food rations, water, a small light and some other survivalist items. However, there was one item in the bag that stuck out to him. He didn’t recognise it from his lessons on the content of the fremkit. 

It was a small lump of brown cloth.

Gently, Paul picked it from the bag and unwrapped it. He froze when he saw its contents, reaching gently to run a finger along the smooth metal. It was his fathers ring- the ring of his house, of his duke title. 

His father was dead. 

Paul knew that. Not only was it the only logical answer as to what could have happened to him, but there was also some part of Paul that just knew it to be true. 

And by the look on his mother’s face, she knew it too. She was completely silent in her meditation as she always was, but there was something to her posture, something about the way her brows were drawn downwards in a look of undeniable anguish. 

He rubbed at his burning eyes, trying to stop the trail of tears before they could touch skin. When he slid the ring onto his finger, it fit perfectly. It made him feel sick. They were all that remained of House Atreides. 

In an attempt to distract himself, he reached back into the bag to pull out the small light. 

When he lit it, the air shimmered with movement, tiny specks of gold casting an orange glow through their surroundings. 

“Spice.” He murmured softly. Jessica finally opened her eyes, watching the orange particles with keen eyes. 

A bead of sweat trickled down his temple. He hadn’t been exposed to this much spice before. He wondered if he would feel the effects of it. 

As the sun rose, the temperature of the tent rose with it. Although it wasn’t as drastic as it would have been outside, it was still hotter than he was comfortable with, body still not used to Arakis’ drastically different climate. A part of him would always miss Caladan’s cool winds and rain. 

After a while, Paul lost track of the time. His sweat was starting to soak the roots of his hair, breath coming out slightly heavy. He took a sip of the recycled water in an attempt to clear his head from its persistent throbbing. It didn’t work. 

His vision had narrowed in on the floating orange particles of spice. They looked as if they were dancing through the air, unburdened by the world around them, entering his lungs with every breath. He hyperfocused on each breath, the drag of spice filled air as it filled his bloodstream and permeated every inch of his being. 

Then, he was on a ship, looking down at thousands of soldiers. His soldiers. 

His breath came out in heavy rasps. He tried to focus back on the tent and dug his nails into the palm of the flesh, blood pooling as they broke the skin. 

“Paul?” 

The sharp breeze on his skin was so pleasantly different to that of the stifling heat in the tent. It was cold, refreshing. He felt power. It was an addictive feeling, he felt so unlike his helpless self, like nothing could touch him.

The girl with blue eyes stood behind him, his own eyes mirroring hers. There were others around them, no one he recognised apart from one other. Feyd-Rautha standing at his side, eyes also taking on the unnaturally blue hue. 

A startled gasp escaped him and then he was back in the tent. His cheeks felt wet and his breath came out in strained pants. 

“Paul, what’s going on? You’re scared I can see it. Tell me please- what do you fear?” His mothers’s voice was desperate, overcome by emotion in a way that was so unusual for her.

The sounds of fighting overwhelmed his senses, a knife gripped tight in his hand. His body felt supported by his stillsuit, painted with blood that stuck to his skin and filled his nostrils. 

“Paul!” 

Feyd-Rautha stood before him in the sand, holding out a hand. The hand was coated in blood. Paul took it. Feud’s face blurred in and out of focus. He was looking up at Paul from where he was bound on the floor of the tent, eyes widening in curiosity. 

Bodies piled high, limply flung over one another. He was responsible for this. 

He commanded an army- he commanded these people. 

Tears ran down his face in a steady stream. 

He couldn’t breathe. 

“It's coming. I see a holy war spreading across the universe like unquenchable fire.”

Masses of men, awaiting his order. Responsibility weighed heavy on his shoulders, but it didn’t burden him, Paul liked it. 

“A warrior religion that waves the Atreides banner in my Father’s name. Fanatical legions worshipping at the shrine of my father’s skull.”

His father was dead. The tipping point in his fate. 

“A war in my name.”

He was hungry for it. Hungry for the chants. Hungry for power. 

“Everyones shouting my name-”

“Paul!” A pair of hands gripped his face, shaking him gently. “You are your fathers son, you are the duke. You know who you are!”

“Get off me.” His mother jolted back as if she had been struck. “You did this to me, you Bene Gesserit made me a freak!”

And then, it stopped. 

His vision cleared and he was back in the tent in all entirety. A few moments passed before his breath started to return to him. He looked up at his mother. Tears were streaming down her face as she reached towards him. This time Paul fell into her embrace, his own sobs escaping his chest. 

Out of the corner of his eye he noticed Feyd-Rautha was awake, watching them with silent fascination. Paul turned into his mothers arms, unable to look him in the eye. 

•          -      -    -  - -

Sometime later, Paul fell into a light slumber, still wrapped protectively in his Mother’s arms. 

He hadn’t bothered to pay Feyd-Rautha any more attention. He hadn’t the energy for it- but luckily for them Feyd had remained in silence. He watched them warily from his corner of the tent, eyes never straying from Paul’s form.

It was the sound of ornithopter propellers that later woke him. 

Paul moved away from his mother, who stroked his hair gently as he went. 

“Who do you think it is?” She asked softly. She sounded tired. Paul doubted she had slept at all, likely preoccupied with watching over him. 

“I’m not sure, I’m going to go and check it out though.” He stood, stretching his stiff limbs and pointedly ignoring the man in the corner. “If it’s an enemy, we can try and steal their ornithopter. Do you think you could use the voice again?” 

“I’m sure I can try.” 

That was good enough for Paul. When he opened the zipper at the roof of the tent, he immediately shielded his face as an onslaught of sand slammed into him. Coughing, he wiped at his eyes only to shut them again immediately after as the blinding light of Arrakis’ daytime burned into his retina. 

Eventually, he felt prepared enough to scramble out of their shelter. He shielded his eyes and looked up at the ship that was now lowering itself to the ground. And then, all the tension left his body. A laugh escaped his lips, relief filling his chest. 

“Paul, what is it?” 

He helped his mother out of the tent. “Look!” 

There, in the pilot seat sat Duncan. 

As soon as the sword master exited the ornithopter, he was pulling both Paul and his mother into a bone breaking embrace. 

“You’re alright?” Paul asked, pulling back to examine the taller man.

“Better now I know the two of you made it out.” He noticed Duncan eyeing the thick ring of bruises that had started to form around his neck. “I tried to find you when everything started, but you were already gone.”

Paul looked over at his mother. Her face was still unnaturally pale, the stress of the last few hours clearly having its effect on her and the baby. “We’re still alive. That’s all we could ask for.” 

Duncan nodded. “Alright, you can tell me all about it once we get out of this heat.” The larger man turned, heading back towards the thopter. 

“Duncan, wait.” Paul called. Duncan halted in his tracks, turning back to them with a frown. “There’s something you should know…”

•            -        -    -  - -  

It had taken both him and his mother’s efforts to stop Duncan from murdering Feyd-Rautha. 

Unsurprisingly, Feyd-Rautha had found the whole situation amusing, in his weird, insane way, and had openly laughed at Duncan’s attempts on his life- a motion that only proceeded to infuriate the man further. 

As he sat across from him now, Paul found himself yet again reminded of how different this Feyd-Rautha was compared to the one from his premonitions. 

There were similarities, of course. Like the way he exerted confidence with his every move, and the way he was built, the way he looked made for fighting. But he and Paul hadn’t looked that much older in his dreams, maybe a few years at most. How could so much change in such a short time frame?  

Yes, this Feyd-Rautha carried himself in a similar manner to the one he knew, however there was more tension in his shoulders, making him look as if he was about to strike at any given moment. His smile was lacking any form of genuinity as well, instead appearing as a vessel of mockery. The Feyd-Rautha in his dreams rarely smiled- but when he did it was out of what Paul thought was happiness. 

Feyd-Rautha was smiling at Paul now. It was cold, threatening violence. Paul swallowed roughly, turning away from the intensity of the gaze when a wave of shivers wracked his body. Feyd-Rautha hadn’t stopped staring at him since they got on the ornithopter. 

Paul was rethinking his decision to not kill him. 

“Here.” Dr Kynes passed across a pouch of water from where she was sitting beside him. 

At that moment, Paul was grateful for her presence. If she wasn’t here, it would just be him and Feyd-Rautha sat together, with his mother and Duncan piloting the ship. The intense eye contact he was receiving was already hackling his nerves, having to deal with it alone would be so much worse. 

He took the offered pouch, taking a long sip. His cracked lips stung as he wet them with his lips. Only a few hours in the desert and he already felt like he was drying out. 

“Don’t suppose I could get some of that.” Feyd-Rautha suddenly spoke up, startling him slightly. 

Looking up, Paul met the other’s burning gaze. Suddenly he felt determined not to show how truly rattled he felt and held out the pouch. He couldn’t let himself keep being affected like this- it was making him look foolish. Feyd-Rautha was like a predator, he would pick up on any signs of weakness and strike. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Duncan warily eyeing the exchange. 

“Can’t do much with that with my hands like this.” Feyd-Rautha shrugged his shoulders carelessly. “Care to untie me, Paul?” He was smiling at Paul again, that same, disturbingly empty smile. It made him feel as if he was the one tied up and not the other way round.

Paul glared at him. 

Duncan scoffed, interrupting their staring match. “I don’t suppose you need it. Tell me, do Harkonnen’s need water to survive?” 

“Contrary to what you may want to believe, we are human, so yes. We do need water to survive." Feyd-Rautha drawled, leaning back in his seat with exaggeratingly relaxed posture. “Surely it would have been more efficient to leave me in the desert if you wanted me dead?”

Paul’s eyes burned with rage, as he glared into the other’s “Don’t mistake me sparing your life for wanting you to live.”

“Slightly contradictory of you, Atreides.” 

Overcome with a sudden surge of emotion, Paul rose to his feet and shoved the pouch between smirking lips.

“Drink.” 

For once, his command was effective. Feyd did as he was told and began downing the water. 

“Stop.” He commanded when the other was starting to look desperate for oxygen. He yanked the bag away and watched as the other choked slightly before breaking out in loud, erratic laughter. 

“Well that was wasteful.” Feyd chuckled, words coming out slightly breathless. “I only wanted a sip, witch.” 

Breath coming out heavy, Paul clenched his fists, trying to calm himself. He didn’t usually react so impulsively. Something about Feyd-Rautha truly brought out the worst in him. 

Once he sat down again, he felt his mother’s eyes burning into the side of his head from the other side of the thopter. When he looked at her, she frowned before shaking her head minutely. She clearly didn’t approve of his reactive response. 

“We’re here.” Dr Kynes suddenly spoke up. Paul looked out the window to see a large sandy structure on the side of a mountain. 

•                -        -    -  - -

‘Here’ turned out to be an abandoned terraforming station, surfaces and floors coated with thick layers of sand and dust. Paul couldn’t tell how long it had been since it was last used- what with the way the sand consumed everything at such a rapid pace. 

When they exited the ornithopter, they were greeted by a group of Fremen. Despite their similarity in dress, Paul didn’t recognise any of them as the people he roamed with in his dreams. They did, however, all share the same hauntingly blue eyes. 

Dr Kynes led them inside, clearly familiar with both the people and the layout. The corridors were long and winding, natural light flooding through gaps in the ceiling in bright beams, illuminating the floating particles of dust and sand. 

They had been forced to untie Feyd-Rautha’s legs to allow him to walk, but his hands remained firmly restrained behind his back. Not to mention the fact that both Paul and Duncan were scrutinising his every move, it was pretty much guaranteed he couldn’t get away with anything.  

Kynes led the group down another sand covered corridor, and out into a room. It was large, walls made from a pale yellow stone with dusty bookshelves lining every wall in sight.

Duncan roughly pushed Feyd-Rautha into a chair, before pulling something out of his bag. It looked like a collar, made of a light metal. In his other hand he held a small controller. 

“What’s that?” Paul asked, eyeing the contraption. 

“Something I should have used earlier.” Duncan murmured vaguely, starting to walk towards Feyd-Rautha. The younger man eyed the device warily, but his face remained perfectly unreadable. 

“It’s a Fremen device.” Dr Kynes answered in his stead. “It attaches to the neck and is controlled by a controller. If the button is pressed, it will explode, effectively killing the wearer.”

Duncan snapped the collar around Feyd’s neck. 

Once ensuring the device was secure, he walked over to Paul, handing him the remote. “It can only be deactivated with this controller.” 

Paul’s eyes drifted from Duncan’s to Feyd-Rautha’s. His hand tightened around the controller. Feyd-Rautha stared back, face impressively impassive for someone who had just had a death trap attached to their neck.  

“Now then,” Duncan interrupted the silence, crossing his arms, “you’re gonna tell us all about your uncle's plan.”

Unsurprisingly, Feyd-Rautha remained silent.

“Talk!” 

“Or what? You won’t kill me.” 

“No. You’re right, not unless we have to.” Duncan spat. “Doesn’t mean we can’t hurt you though.” 

The loud thump of a punch echoed around the empty room, followed by a grunt. Paul inadvertently flinched at the sound. 

Blood trickled down Feyd’s nose. “You’re going to have to do better than that.” 

The words barely left his mouth, before Duncan began pummelling him again. “Tell us Harrkonnen, how long have you been planning this?” 

Suddenly, Paul was reminded of his dream. The dream of the Baron ordering Feyd-Rautha to join his brother. The overwhelming sense that he wasn’t supposed to be on Arrakis at that point in time. But something had changed, Feyd’s fate had changed, and as a result so had his. 

“He didn’t have anything to do with the planning, Duncan.” Eyes turned to Paul. “He wasn’t even supposed to be involved.”

“What do you mean?” 

“How do you know that, Paul?” His mother placed a hand on his wrist. Shit. Paul hadn’t meant to say anything about the vision. However, The instinct to defend Feyd had come to him like a reflex. 

“I didn’t-”

Abruptly, His mother cut him off, “You've been having dreams again, haven’t you?” She looked over at Feyd-Rautha’s beaten figure before moving to grip Paul’s chin lightly. Her eyes had widened, a slightly manic look taking a hold of her. “Has he been in them?”

Feyd-rautha silently watched the exchange, his face losing its impassive stare to one of intrigue. Blood dripped from his nose in a steady flow, lip stained crimson. 

“Mother,” Paul spoke through gritted teeth, “Do we have to have this conversation now?” 

With a sigh, she let go of his wrist. “You cannot keep running from this.” 

“You were the one who told me-”

“Even if he wasn't involved in the planning, he still went along with it.” Duncan interrupted them before he could finish. It was rude of him- something he would never normally do, and revealed how rattled the man truly must be. “He’s still as guilty as his bastard uncle and brother- he’s responsible for the death of your father, Paul.” 

Letting out a breath of air, Paul ran a hand through his sweat soaked hair. Most of him agreed with what Duncan was saying- but there was a small part of him, a part he was trying to push down, that felt otherwise. In a way he related to Feyd-Rautha, feeling them both to be a pawn in other people’s games. For Feyd, it was his uncle. For Paul, the Bene Gesserit. 

The association made him feel sick. He hated Feyd-Rautha- he couldn't feel for him. 

But then one of the Fremen rushed into the room, expression panicked, and broke Paul from his self loathing. “The Sardukar’s have found us.” 

Already? They hadn’t even had the chance to breathe without their lives being at risk again. 

Dr Kynes stepped forward, “Defend the Perimeter.” The Fremen nodded once, before running off to join the other’s. She turned towards Paul and Jessica. “We need to get you out of here, now.” 

“I’ll guard the door.” As soon as the words left Duncan’s mouth, Paul’s heart dropped. 

He’s seen this before and knew this didn’t end well. He knew it ended with Duncan’s lifeless body on the ground, surrounded by the enemy and dressed in a Fremen stillsuit- the stillsuit he was currently wearing. 

“Duncan, don’t!” He marched towards the other, intending to stop him- to drag him away if he had too, but it was too late. 

With a small smile in his direction, Duncan disappeared into the hallway, locking the door behind him. With a bitten back yell, Paul slapped the closed door in frustration, before he let his forehead rest against the warm stone. His eyes screwed shut. Maybe he would be okay. Dreams were never definite.

He cursed under his breath. Duncan was too stubborn for his own good sometimes. 

“Paul, come on. We must go!” 

The sounds of fighting sounded from behind the closed door. Paul spared it one last look, before turning his back to it. He couldn’t let himself falter now, not when so much had already been sacrificed in his family name. 

He walked towards Feyd-Rautha, who was still tied to the chair.

“So what’s the plan, Atreides?” Feyd goaded, watching him near. “You can’t think I'll go with you willingly. Especially when my men are just behind that door.” 

Paul strode closer to the other, halting and leaning down until he was standing before the other. Feyd didn’t seem concerned by the close proximity, instead choosing to move closer until their faces were just inches apart in what was a clear attempt at intimidation.

And just like that, Paul’s sadness for Duncan was overcome with anger.  

“I do, actually.” Paul leaned in closer to whisper in the other’s ear. “Because you find me interesting, don’t you?” He moved away, watching as Feyd’s eyes widened, pupils dilated. He spoke louder now. “Plus, I’ll just kill you if you try to stay.” He waved the controller to emphasise his point.  

“I thought you wanted me alive?”

“My mother and Bene Gesserit want you alive, for what reason, I am unsure of- but don’t confuse me for them.” 

“Alright, Paul.” He spat his name as if it was an insult. “You better not disappoint me- be interesting.”

Paul ignored his jest. “I'm untying your ropes. Remember, if you try anything-” 

“You’ll blow my head off with that collar, yes, I know.” Feyd-Rautha held out his bound hands. “Now untie me, I think I'm losing feeling in my hands.” 

Chapter Text

Still suit clenched tightly in his hands, Paul followed Dr Kynes down the dusty passage that was conveniently hidden behind a panel in the wall. They didn’t have to walk for long before they reached a split in the pathway. 

“I leave you here.” She said, turning to face them for what was likely the last time. “There is an Ornithopter in that direction. Follow the path and you’ll find it.” 

Paul nodded back at her, wishing her luck. He hadn’t known Dr Kynes for long- held little sentimentality for her like he had Duncan. But he still hoped she would make it out. 

After their brief goodbyes were exchanged, he, his mother and Feyd-Rautha continued down the adjacent path. Feyd-Rautha had remained silent since Paul had threatened him, although he very much doubted it was out of fear. Someone like Feyd-Rautha didn’t feel fear. More likely, with the way he kept staring at Paul, he was plotting something. Well, it was either that or he was just throwing a temper tantrum.

Paul wouldn’t put it past him.

After a short walk they reached a large opening, the endlessly blue sky yet again visible above them. Reflexively, Paul shielded his eyes, protecting them against the sudden blinding light. Having no time to spare and let their eyes adjust, they ran straight towards the thopter that stood in the centre. 

When they entered the craft, Paul made a beeline straight for the pilot seat, pausing momentarily as Feyd-Rautha headed towards the co-pilot seat. 

“What are you doing?” He asked the other Incuriously.   

“Piloting, what does it look like?” 

Stubbornly, Paul shook his head. “No. I don’t trust you. Get in the back seat.” 

Feyd-Rautha had the audacity to look amused by his reaction. “If it’s my capabilities that you're worried about, I can assure you, I am a very talented pilot. One of the best on Geidi Prime.” 

“No-”

“Paul, we do not have time for this.” His mother interrupted him, the growing worry in her tone evident. “Let him pilot, I’m sure he will be more capable than me.” She moved to sit in the back. “Besides, having him close means you can keep an eye on him. It would be worse to have him sitting in the back in our blindspots.” 

“At least he wouldn't be able to crash the thopter sitting in the back.” Paul murmured.

Feyd scoffed. “What good would that do me?”

“You’d probably get something out of it- you're psychotic.” 

Despite his complaints, Paul reluctantly moved aside to let the other into the seat beside him. Taking his own seat, he took a deep breath and centred himself, trying to stay solely focused on the piloting of the thopter. 

However, the ornithopter seemed to be having other plans. The vehicle stuttered, refusing to even start. 

Cursing under his breath, Paul flipped the ignition switch repeatedly and tried to ignore the dropping of his stomach. “Come on, come on…”

“How old is this thing?” Feyd asked from beside him.

“Clearly very old.” Paul muttered through gritted teeth.

“Paul,” His mother said. “They’re close.” 

Growing frantic, he yanked on the lever again. Finally, with a stuttered start, the propellers began moving- sand sent flying everywhere as they did. Paul let out a sign of relief as the vehicle lifted into the air and they finally began making their way away from the terraforming station and back into the open desert. 

He looked back at it one last time before it disappeared entirely, thinking only of how they were leaving Duncan with it. 

•                   -               -       -     -  - -

Much to Paul’s Charagin, Feyd wasn’t a bad co-pilot. In fact, he was actually rather skilled and they worked together seamlessly, having to exchange very few words- until they ran into a problem. 

They were being followed. 

For a short while, Paul had thought they made it out. But unfortunately for them, he was soon proven wrong. They hadn’t been flying for long before he spotted a trio of Ornithopters heading towards them. 

“What do we do?” He murmured, primarily to his mother. 

But, of course, it was Feyd-Rautha who answered. “I would just hand yourselves over, make it easier for everyone involved.”

Paul ignored him, instead turning to Jessica for guidance. Unfortunately, she didn’t seem to have any ideas either. The Sardaukar were catching up to them, their ships being newer and more efficient in the harsh desert winds. 

All of a sudden, something slammed into the side of their craft, jostling the ship and causing Paul to fly forward and jolt against his harness. He winced slightly at the impact. 

“Shellbursts!” Jessica cried, “they're using a projectile weapon.” 

Teeth gritted, Paul steered them out the way of another attack. 

“You’re not going to outrun them, Atreides. Give yourselves up before they blow us to bits.”

“Shut up!” Paul violently steered the ship, yet again narrowly missing a blow. They all jolted in their seats alongside the movement. “I have a plan.”

Abruptly, he turned the ship, heading directly towards the nearby sandstorm. 

“What the hell are you doing you fool? Do you plan to kill us all!” Feyd-Ruatha yelled from beside him, hands reaching across to try and grab the steering device. 

Paul slapped his hands away. “Stop- I know what I'm doing!”

“I highly doubt that-”

Even his mother sounded worried. “Paul, what are you planning?” 

Focusing solely on his piloting, Paul ignored the panicked voices around him and continued steering them directly into the storm. 

The change in conduits was immediate. Winds violently rattled the thopter, sand cutting off their visibility entirely. The sound of howling winds echoed around the vehicle, alongside the croaking and groaning of the wings as he tried to steer against the extreme conditions. 

When he glanced a look at her, Jessica had her eyes screwed shut and was muttering under her breath. 

Breathing deeply, Paul tried to calm himself. His heart was pounding, adrenaline coursing through his blood. “I think we've lost them…” The words were barely audible over the storm. 

Once he was certain they had avoided their pursuers, he steered the vehicle upwards, against the howling winds and out of the storm. 

The conditions were much calmer the higher they climbed. The sky became clear, their visibility returning and despite the sand pattering against the glass screen and occasional shake of the ornithopter, it was almost peaceful. 

“You’re crazy!” Feyd-Rautha cackled from beside him. Paul ignored him, instead turning in his seat to face his mother. 

“Are you alright?” 

Jessica nodded. She looked slightly green in the face. He remembered how she hadn’t slept earlier either- too preoccupied with watching over him. That and the death of his father was probably taking an added toll on her, just as it was him. 

“Maybe try and get some sleep, you haven’t slept properly in ages.”

“Yes.” She murmured softly. “I think I will…” 

Satisfied with her answer, Paul turned back in his own seat, watching the ferocity of the orange sand whip by. 

•                     -           -           -      -    - -

No one spoke for a while after that- that was until Feyd-Rautha’s voice startled him out of his thoughts. “What did your mother mean back then?” 

“Huh?” Paul rubbed at his eyes, trying to make himself feel more awake. 

“About you having dreams of me.”

“Oh.” Of course the other would have caught on and had questions about that. 

In the course of a few hours, Feyd-Rautha had seen him have what must have looked like a freakish emotional-breakdown where Paul claimed to be seeing the future- and then had heard Paul’s mother say he had been having weird, prophetic dreams about him. 

What a great impression he must have made. 

Not that Paul cared. 

“Did you recognise me? When we first met?” Feyd-Rautha probed. “Because you looked like you did.” 

Hesitant, Paul remained silent for a dragged out moment, before finally making the decision to answer. “Yes. I did.” 

“I see.” Curiosity filled Feyd’s tone. “And you’ve been having these dreams for a long time?”

“My whole life.” He replied, somewhat surprised at his own honesty.

“And what am I doing, in these dreams?” 

“Nothing really.” Paul wasn’t sure why he was telling Feyd-Rautha all this. Whispering to each other like school children, trying not to wake his mother. But it was the first conversation they’d manage to have without screaming insults at one another. “Most of the time you just stand there, next to me. Sometimes we talk, although nothing ever of much importance. I dreamt of when your uncle sent you to Arrakis- of how you hated him.” 

Feyd-Rautha was silent for a moment, clearly thinking over what Paul had said. “Sounds peaceful. When I imagined my future I imagined a lot more death, not just… talking.” 

Without meaning to, Paul barked out a laugh that he awkwardly covered with a cough. Of course the conversation had managed to drift to the topic of death. “There’s some death too. Sometimes we’re covered in blood, though it's mainly you.” 

“That sounds more accurate.” Feyd-Rautha paused, as if he was hesitant to continue. Paul had never seen him look as close to unsure as he did now. “What did you see of my uncle?” 

Paul couldn’t help but think that the passionate hatred in his tone when he spoke of his uncle made him seem more… human. It seemed like genuine hatred- not one born out of pure bloodlust. “Nothing much. It was just the way you carried yourself that gave me the idea you hated him.” he replied softly, as if not trying to startle a cornered animal. “In my dream, your shoulders were tense in a way they’re not normally.” 

“You seem to know me very well considering we've only met a few hours ago.” Feyd-Rautha didn’t sound necessarily bothered by it. He just stated it as if it was nothing more than fact. 

“I feel as if I've known you for a lot longer than that.” Paul felt his guard go back up as soon as the words left his mouth. He mentally shook himself- you’re sound too vulnerable, he’s a Harkonnen, he’ll take that for weakness. 

“Careful,” Sure enough, a toothy grin was forming on the Harkonnen’s face, “I'm starting to think you don't hate me as much as you pretend to.”

The small smile that had formed on Paul’s face was immediately wiped. “Don’t say such things, of course I hate you. You might even be the worst person I've ever met!” 

Despite the harsh words, Feyd-Rautha began to laugh again, a deep, humoured sound, as if he had just heard a funny joke. 

When Paul chanced a glance at the other, he was disturbed to see a glint of humour flickering in his eye. Feyd-Rautha chuckled once more, as if he had thought of something funny. 

“What?” Paul bit sharply, not appreciating the look on his face. 

To his dismay, Feyd-Rautha swivelled his body round until he was facing him. “Did you know you were supposed to be my bride?”

“What?”

“Had you been born a girl, they were going to marry us. And then the Bene Gesserit would have made us have lots of little witch spawn.” 

Paul looked at the other incredulously. “And how do you know this?”

“My brother used to make fun of me for it.” Feyd-Rautha shrugged nonchalantly. “He used to say if I misbehaved they would ship me off to marry you, male or not.” 

“That’s some threat- what a terrible life you would have lived being married to me.”

“I imagine so.It would probably be a difficult life with my own wife trying to kill me at every turn- or then again, maybe I would find entertainment in that.”

Paul scoffed, rolling his eyes at the older male. “I’m not allowed to kill you, remember?” 

In response, Feyd-Rautha bore his teeth at him. “How lucky for me.” 

Swallowing at the intensity of the gaze, Paul looked away. Not wanting to make his discomfort clear, he messed with a piece of fabric that was coming loose from the end of his shirt. Without really thinking, he tore it off and passed it towards the other, who raised an eyebrow at him. 

“For the blood.” He gestured to the crimson stained skin around Feyd’s lower face. “I know it won’t help much since it’s dry, but it’s better than nothing. 

The other hesitated for a moment, before wordlessly taking the offered cloth.

Paul nodded awkwardly, before looking away again and scratching his head. Why had he done that? 

Luckily for him, his mother woke up before he could make a fool of himself any further and also gave Paul a valid excuse to look at something other than the man beside him. 

“Are you feeling better?” He asked, leaping at the chance for a distraction. 

“A bit.” She smiled at him gently. 

“And my sister?”

“She’s doing fine. I don’t think she enjoyed your flying though.”

“Tell her I apologise. I think we should be heading out of the storm now- It’s probably safe to land.” 

“If you think so.” She sounded uncertain, paling slightly at the mention of flying through the storm again. 

Previous awkwardness forgotten, he turned back to face Feyd-Rautha. “What do you think?” 

“Why are you asking me, I thought you were the expert?” Feyd-Rautha scoffed, raising a petulant eyebrow in his direction. 

Mentally, Paul chastised himself for thinking they were starting to reach a stage of talking civilly. He rolled his eyes at the others' antics. “Do you think we should try and land now or not? I’m asking for your opinion.” 

“Go for it.”

How helpful. 

“Fine!” Paul began flipping switches, preparing for their descent. “Get ready for a rough landing.” 

With a rough clang, the ornithopter began making its way back into the heart of the storm, sand immediately slamming against every unshielded crevice. The wings of the ship fluttered furiously, trying to keep up against the rapid winds. 

Despite his previous petulance, Feyd-Rautha jumped into action beside him, assisting in battling the thopter under control. 

Jessica looked calmer than she had when they first entered, but the whiteness of her clenched fists and her repeated muttering suggested she wasn’t entirely calm. In comparison, Feyd-Rautha looked positively giddy. Grinning wider and wider with each violent jostle and stomach-dropping dip. 

As they flew lower and lower, the roar of wind got louder and louder, before a deafening clang sounded from the side of the thopter. Paul cursed loudly and a glance to the side confirmed that one of the propellers had broken off. 

He cussed again as the thopter strained and pitched the left, clearly struggling to keep its weight with one less propeller. 

“Come on, come on. We’re almost there.” He chanted under his breath repeatedly. 

The storm was lessening slightly, the end clearly in sight. Without meaning to, he held his breath, chest clenching as the thopter plundered on and on- 

And then they were out. 

The world, moments ago a thrashing blur of wind and dust, had suddenly opened up into a blaze of warm sunlight, the air around them calm and still and Paul could finally breathe. 

And then another propeller broke off. 

As the ship was sent hurtling to the sandy ground below, his stomach dropped alongside it. “Brace yourselves!” He yelled, desperately trying to steer the thopter with what little control he had left, but it seemed to do little good as the dune’s sands started rapidly growing closer and closer. 

They slammed brutally into the first dune, the air knocking out of Paul’s lungs and yanking his harness. He screwed his eyes shut, as the thopter continued its collision, the world around him tilting and jolting as the sounds of metal creaking and breaking filled the space around them. 

After what felt like far too long, the vehicle finally came to a groaning stop, Paul waiting another moment before finally opening his eyes. 

After confirming they were at a standstill, he let out a sigh of relief, before checking to make sure everyone was unharmed. Jessica looked slightly rumpled, but okay and Feyd-Rautha looked the same as he always did- the freak had probably enjoyed that. Worries placated, Paul unbuckled his harness and tried to calm his racing heart. 

“Come on,” he grunted, rubbing at the whiplash along his chest that he was sure would bruise, “we need to get to those rocks over there before the worms come.”

•                        -               -         -    -  - -

As soon as they reached the safety of the rocks, the adrenaline had begun to wear off and the heat of the day alongside the pains of his battered body became noticeable. Once confirming they were safe for the time being, he pulled the pack from his back and began rummaging through it until he located his stillsuit. 

Whilst Paul had no trouble fitting his own suit, the same could not be said for the other two. However, to his satisfaction, it was Feyd-Rautha who seemed to be having the most trouble. 

Jessica, having lived on Arrakis for a few months now, had seen others try on the suit before. Feyd-Rautha in comparison had never been on the planet before a day ago- let alone encountered such a thing as a stilsuit 

Having successfully fitted his own stilsuit, he cautiously began making his way over to the Harkonnen, observing his anger-filled attempts at pulling on the suit. He had managed to get the suit up past his hips, but was seemingly finding it especially difficult figuring out the straps near the top. 

“You’re doing it wrong.” Paul noted, barely trying to keep the smugness from his voice. 

“I’m aware.” He growled, yanking at a strap in an aggressive manner. 

“You have to untie that strap before you pull the chest piece up. And the way you tucked your boots in is wrong.” 

Grumbling, Feyd-Rautha began yanking the strap harder, still not seeming to have much luck. 

“Careful, you’re going to break it!”

Clearly frustrated, Feyd threw his hands in the air. “Well then why don’t you show me how to do it, since you’re so knowledgeable about this cursed planet!” Noticing Paul’s hesitation, he raised an eyebrow, “Don’t tell me you’re shy now, Atreides.”

Praying the flush on his cheeks could be accused as a result of the heat, Paul took a step forwards and knelt down to begin fasting the others suit correctly. “I’m a duke now- I’m not shy.” He muttered lowly, primarily to himself. “Now watch how I do it, I’m not showing you again, so you’ll be dying of dehydration if you don’t listen closely.”

As he moved up to help adjust the chest plate, he hesitated slightly. The bare chest in front of him was notably defined. The pale flesh almost made him look as if he was carved from stone. Paul’s flush grew slightly, when he noticed Feyd-Rautha grinning at him knowingly. 

Face immediately warping into a deep glare, Paul slapped the older on the shoulder, slightly harder than necessary, signalling to him that he was done and took a big step back. 

He felt deeply angry with himself over his reaction. Pull yourself together. 

Looking for a distraction, he moved to start checking over his mother instead. She had done a better job than Feyd, but still not perfect. 

“I think we should start heading towards those cliffs. That’s where the Fremen are supposed to be, right? Perhaps they can help us.” She said softly. 

Paul looked over to where his mother was gesturing before humming thoughtfully. “It seems that may be our best option.” The distance to the cliffs didn’t look too far, but then again, appearances could often be deceiving in the desert. “We'll have to run though, or the sandworms...” 

The wind tousled his hair, and he frowned slightly, eyes fixating on the cliffs. They would make it right?  But then again, it wasn’t looking like that bad an alternative. They couldn't wait where they were now, It was too open- to both the environment and their enemies. 

“Are you sure she won’t slow us down?” Feyd-Rautha began gesturing towards his mother, breaking Paul of his thoughts and causing his frown to deepen. “She’s pregnant, isn’t she?”

Immediately, he moved to stand in front of her, ferocious glare aimed at the other. “She-“

“I’ll be fine.” His mother said firmly, pushing Paul to the side so she could stare down Feyd-Rautha for herself. “I am a trained fighter as well as a Bene Gesserit. My condition will not act as a hindrance.” 

“Whatever you say, witch.” He sneered. “Remember it won’t just be my head if you’re wrong.”

Hackles rising further, Paul took a step towards him. “Don’t talk to my mother that way.” 

“I’ll talk to whoever I want, however I want, Atreides.” Feyd spat his name like he would an insult. 

“Paul don’t-“

Instead of a reply, Paul simply held up the controller- the controller that decided whether Feyd-Rautha lived or died. 

“You won’t kill me.” An immediate wave of fury washed over Feyd-Rautha’s face, his voice deepening to a dangerous sounding pitch.

“As you keep saying. Would you like to put that certainty to the test?” 

A tense silence washed over them, the pair locking eyes with equally ferocious glares. To Paul’s surprise,  Feyd-Rautha was the first to look away. He raised his hands in defeat, apparently backing down. “Fine, fine. Are we going to get a move on then? Or are you planning on standing here in the open till my men find us?” 

Appeased with the other’s surrender, Paul lowered the hand that held the controller and slipped it back into his stillsuit. “Let’s go then.” 

Just as they were about to move onto the sand, Feyd-Rautha huddled up behind him, Paul poorly hiding his full bodied flinch as he did. “I didn't realise you had a backbone, Paul.” He stared at him blankly, his gaze an unnerving thing, before running into the sand after Jessica. 

Inadvertently, Paul shuddered. It was startling how quietly the Harkonnen moved. Shaking himself slightly, he made his way onto the sand. 

•                  -         -      -  -

Running in sand proved much harder than he’d anticipated. As he dragged himself through the desert’s shifting gold, his feet sank with each step almost as if the planet itself was trying to claim him. Heat shimmered around him in trembling veils, blurring the horizon ahead of them and the sun beaming down on them relentlessly. 

It turned out he had been right about his judgement on the distance of the cliffs- it was further than it looked. 

Paul didn’t think himself to be unfit, quite the opposite in fact, but after several minutes of scrambling up and down sand dunes as fast as his legs would take him, he was becoming proceedingly breathless. Jessica and Feyd-Rautha seemed to be faring a similar fate. 

In fact, the only amusing part of the whole ordeal was the look on Feyd-Rautha's face. The man seemed to be getting increasingly frustrated with the sand, and had taken to muttering furiously to himself. Paul found himself watching with a sick satisfaction, content with the fact he wasn’t alone in his suffering. 

But it wasn’t long before what little amusement he had came to an abrupt end. 

In the horizon, a cloud of sand was forming above the desert and was rapidly heading in their direction. Sandworm. Clearly, he had also been right about them being in worm territory. 

“Come on, we’re nearly there!” He ran towards his mother, who had stopped to stare in horror, grabbing her arm and dragging her along. He pushed Jessica ahead, taking the rear whilst Feyd-Rautha led. Adrenaline and desperation filled his body, as he began sprinting as fast as his legs would take him. 

The cliff face was close, but with the sand still restricting their speed they were barely covering any ground. Paul found himself throwing himself down the dunes, before scrambling up the next one, breath frenzied. All the while, the cloud of sand was growing closer, moving faster than they could run. Chest heaving and legs aching, the sound of his heartbeat thumped in his ears, but he kept going.

They were so close! 

Then the sand around their feet started shifting, readying for the worm to emerge. Up ahead, he saw Jessica and Feyd had made it out of the sand, to the rocky ground. But just as he was about to join them, the sand beneath him gave out and he lost his footing. 

“Paul!” He heard his mother scream. 

Paul scrambled for purchase, trying to stop his body from tumbling into the sandy pit that was growing larger and larger by the second. His desperation grew as his hands were unable to find anything to pull him out, slipping through the rapidly shifting sand. 

But just as he thought he was to be swallowed by the pit, a hand grabbed his, yanking him out. 

Feyd-Rautha grabbed his elbow, pulling them both onto solid ground. Paul landed with a heavy thud, before immediately scrambling back just as the sandworm emerged. 

Eyes wide, he could do nothing but stare up at the beast that loomed over them, gawking at its unnaturally large size. His heart raced in his chest and he remained frozen as the worm seemed to stare down at them- as if deciding whether to attack or not. 

However, just as it seemed to be readying to attack, the steady beat of a thumper sounded in the distance. Immediately, the sandworm swivelled its immense form, before diving back under the dunes and sending a scattering of sand to rain down on them.  

Falling back on his elbows; Paul let out a sigh of relief. He turned to the right where Feyd-Rautha sat, also looking uncharacteristically shell shocked. He was panting rather heavily, a scrape on his cheek from where they’d fallen. A scrape he’d gotten saving Paul’s life. 

“Thank you.” He murmured quietly to the other. 

He had been expecting Feyd to gloat, to make fun of him. But instead, he merely nodded, complexion even paler than usual.  

Brushing the sand off his suit, Paul rose to his feet. He hesitated for a moment, before holding out a hand to Feyd-Rautha, who looked at him for a moment, before taking the offered hand. 

Grunting slightly at the weight of the man, he helped him to his feet. 

“Why did it leave?” Jessica questioned. 

“I think the Fremen put a thumper down.”

“But why would they help us?” 

“I’m not sure…” He shook his head, mind still reeling from the close encounter. “We should keep moving though, maybe find somewhere to camp.”

They’d barely started making their way up through the winding cliffs before Jessica placed a hand on his wrist, halting him in his place. “We’re being watched.” She whispered. 

Head swivelling around, Paul surveyed the area. But he couldn’t see anything amongst the chalky orange stone that surrounded them. Aside from the sounds of their breathing, the area around them was completely silent and there were no signs of movement. 

Just as he was getting ready to walk again, a robed figure appeared, causing his entire body to tense. And then another. And another, until they were surrounded and with no way of escape. 

Fremen.

Paul hadn’t even noticed them approaching. There were about a dozen of them- outnumbering their small trio. Immediately, Paul’s trained response kicked in and he began analysing the scene around them. They didn’t stand a chance in battle, as even with his and Feyd’s fighting skills they were weak, dehydrated and hungry. The Fremen were also known for their incredible fighting abilities. Even had he been at his best, Paul doubted he could have taken down more than three. 

“They’re weakened, take their water.” One of the men called. 

“That one looks like a Harkonnen, he’ll have dirty water.” 

“Let’s just kill them now!”

“But what about the other two, they don’t look like Harkonnen?”

“We can’t be sure. Just because they don’t look like one, doesn't mean they aren't one. Who knows what they’ve been breeding with.”

“What does it matter? Just hurry up and take their water!”

One of the men started inching subtly closer, crouched as if approaching a wild animal. As if following his lead, the others started doing the same, the space between them growing smaller and smaller. 

Despite the odds being heavily against them, Feyd-Rautha looked ready to pounce, arms poised and muscles tensed. Paul had to do something now, before this ended in bloodshed- most likely theirs at that. 

He raised his hands, showing his lack of weapons. “We're not Harkonnen! We are running from the Harkonnen, they took our home from us!” Paul called, trying to think of anything he could to appease them, to prevent them from striking. 

“Then why do you walk with one?” A man called. From his positioning amongst the group, and what Duncan had shown him, Paul thought he might be the leader. Something about the voice seemed similar, but where had he heard it before? “You can’t tell me he isn’t one, not with him looking like that.” His father’s courtroom. 

“Wait! You’re Stigar, are you not?”

“What is it to you, boy?” 

“You must remember me, from my father’s courtroom, My father, Duke Atreides- You lived with my father’s right hand man, Duncan Idaho for months!”

“Maybe I do, maybe I don’t.”

Huffing in frustration, he tried to calm himself. Think, Paul. “My father has been killed by the Harkonnen, we are all that remains of the Atreides. They hunt us. We have nowhere to go.” 

Stilgar seemed to consider what he was saying for a moment, before turning to the man beside him and murmuring something. The man nodded. 

“That does not explain why he is with you.” Accusatorily, Stilgar pointed a finger at Feyd-Rautha who bared his teeth in return. 

“As far as you are concerned, he is no longer a Harkonnen.” Jessica suddenly spoke. “He belongs alongside my son, as declared by the Reverend Mother and Bene Gesserit.” 

Paul frowned at her words, but a sharp glare from her made him keep his opinions to himself. 

Whispers surrounded them and a look of interest briefly flashed Stilgar’s face. He was silent for a moment, clearly thinking over his next words. “The boy can stay with us, learn our ways.” He turned back to his men. “He is the Duke’s son, surely the one Liet commanded we look for. He may be the Lisan-Al-Gaib.” 

Lisan-Al-Gaib? Were they looking for some kind of prophecy? And what did Paul have to do with it?

“How can you be sure Stilgar? We have no time for a test!”

“Did Liet truly command this?”

“What of the Harkonnen?” 

“Quiet!” Stilgar yelled, his voice commanding and that of a leader. Silence fell over the group. “We will take the boy, that is final. He is young and can learn. But as for the woman and the Harkonnen… Well, the strength of Women can be boundless, are you a Reverend Mother, Woman?” 

His mother hesitated. “No.” 

Stilgar tutted. “I’m afraid you can not come with us, it is the law of the tribe. Nor can the Harkonnen.” He looked down at Feyd-Rautha, something akin to distaste on his face. “We can not have his kind among us, whether you claim him to be one of you or not.” 

Heart dropping in his chest, Paul took a step forward. “What do you mean?”

“Unless you have lived among us from childhood, you may bring destruction to us. She hasn’t the strength to survive the desert-”

His mother moved so fast, Paul barely caught it. One moment she was standing, posture slumped with exhaustion, the next she was moving towards Stilgar and firmly kicking him in the stomach. She took advantage of his then crumpled position to flip herself over his body, take his knife and wrapping an arm tightly around his throat. 

Paul took the opportunity whilst he still could, grabbing Feyd-Rautha by the arm and dragging him into the shadowed rock formation. Feyd followed him without complaint, clearly preferring to take his chances with him than the tribe who wanted him dead. 

They swiftly began making their way up a pathway, towards the higher ground and away from the Fremen. As if appearing out of nowhere, a man was in their path, weapon drawn. Before Paul even had time to move, Feyd-Rautha disarmed the man, snatching the gun-like weapon out of his grasp. He then proceeded to trip him over the ledge of the pathway, sending him tumbling to the ground below. 

“Quick.” He gestured for Feyd-Rautha to act. The other nodded, perching on the edge of the walkway, his new weapon aimed at the group. 

“The boy and Harkonnen got away!” Someone yelled. 

“No they didn’t, they're up there!” 

“He’s armed!” 

“Do as my mother says or he’ll blow you all to bits!” Paul yelled, gesturing towards the gun gripped firmly in Feyd-Rautha’s hands. 

“Quiet!” Stilgar yelled again, this time his voice lacked the confidence it previously held. “Do not speak or I fear this woman will break my neck!” 

“Tell them to back away from my son.” His mother spoke firmly but Stilgar still hesitated, eyes darting around to assess the situation. “Do it.” 

“Yes, Yes. Leave them- the Harkonnen may blow you to bits. Now relax, I'm not going to try anything. Why didn’t you tell me you were a fighting woman, eh? Able to defeat a Fremen warrior. A skilled fighter and a user of the voice, a Bene Gesserit?”

Jessica ignored his nervous rambling. “What is this Lisan-Al-Gaib you seek? What do you want with my son?”

“The legends speak of a voice from the outer worlds, yes he fits the description but we cannot know until he is tested. I believe now is not the time to go into the details-” 

“What will become of me then? Announce it loud for everyone to hear!”

“Ow, Ow, careful Woman! You may come with us, we will take both you and your son to the seitch.” 

“And of the Harkonnen?”

“Ah… you see…”

His mother pressed the knife tighter to his throat, a thin line of blood beading. “You say my son is the Lisan-Al-Gaib. He cannot be your Lisan-Al-Gaib without that Harkonnen. He will die, do you understand? Feyd-Rautha is essential to the Kwisatz Haderach.”

“He is still a Harkonnen, woman, they know nothing but destruction.”  

“You saw him, he saved my son from that sandworm. Is that the action of a true Harkonnen? He also currently has a weapon drawn on you.” She gestured upwards to where Feyd-Rautha was standing poised. “I doubt he would take kindly to you trying to take his water.” 

For a moment longer, Stilgar seemed to think over his ultimatum before slumping in defeat. “Fine.”

“What was that?”

“Fine! We will allow all three of you passage. Not that you're giving me much choice.” He muttered the last part under his breath. “Now come down, boys, stop waving that weapon around.” 

A strange sense of relief filled Paul’s chest at the verdict. He really thought they were going to kill Feyd-Rautha. How strange. Just hours ago, he had been set on killing the man himself. But just because he didn’t want him to die at the hands of the Fremen, It didn’t mean he held any fondness towards him. 

“Paul, Feyd-Rautha, come down.” His mother called, and Paul started to move. Just before he could leave, Feyd grabbed his wrist. Turning, Paul raised an eyebrow at him. 

“Are you sure we can trust them?” 

“They’re Fremem.” Paul answered. “Stilgar won’t go back on his word.” 

“You know because of your dreams?” Feyd-Rautha sounded doubtful at the concept, causing Paul to roll his eyes. 

“Yes. Now come on.” 

When they reached the bottom of the pathway, the man they had knocked down was waiting for them. He held out a hand, clearly expecting the return of his weapon. But of course Feyd-Rautha hesitated to hand it over, causing Paul to smack him in the side and glare at him until he begrudgingly did so. 

The dynamic between the two of them had undeniably changed over the events of the day. It wasn’t friendly- not even close, but if he had smacked him like even hours ago, he would have lost his hand. It may have been because Feyd-Rautha saved his life, or it may have been the fact that if it weren’t for him, the Fremen would have killed him. He wasn’t sure, but for now at least, they were now a united front against the unknown threat. 

They made their way towards Stilgar, who Jessica had finally let go. He eyed them closely as they walked forward, as if he was inspecting every inch of them- for what, Paul wasn’t sure. “He truly does look like the textbook Harkonnen.”

“That's because I am one, you-”

Paul slapped Feyd-Rautha on the side again, effectively silencing him.

“Ah, but the woman tells me you are one no longer. Can we trust you, no-longer-Harkonnen?”

“You can.” Jessica answered in his stead, causing Stilgar to tut at her. 

“Ah, but I see that collar he wears on his neck. We reserve those only for our enemies- people we can’t trust.” A terse silence followed the almost accusation, Paul preparing for another fight. 

“You’re right.” Nodded Jessica before turning to them. “Take it off, Paul.” 

Paul froze, trying to keep the affronted look off his face. He may have a newfound camaraderie for Feyd-Rautha, but not to the point where he trusted him enough to remove the collar. Feyd-Rautha turned to look at him, face suddenly smug. 

Unable to face him, Paul turned to his mother. 

Trust the vision. She signed. Take it off.

Hesitantly, Paul reached for the controller. He was being given an ultimatum. Trust Feyd-Rautha and release the collar, or effectively sentence him to death. 

He chose the first. 

With a click of a button, the collar came undone and he lost his largest piece of leverage over Feyd-Rautha. 

“Well then,” Stilgar walked over to Feyd-Rautha and slapped him on the shoulder, the other looking like he wanted to stab him. “Can we trust you not to betray us?”

Paul held his breath. 

“Yes.” It somehow still sounded like a threat, one that Stilgar luckily ignored. 

“Good. Let’s get going then.” And with that, Stilgar turned and began making his way through the crowd of Fremen. 

“Wait!” A man called from amongst the crowd. 

“What is it, Jamis?”

The man, Jamis, pointed at their small group, Paul’s hackles immediately raising. “I do not accept this, Stilgar!”

“Jamis-“

“They will bring us to ruin, I feel it.” The man paused for a moment, before raising his voice. “I challenge them!”

Hushed whispers sounded from the crowd. Stilgar sighed, holding up a hand to ensure silence. He then turned towards Jessica and Feyd-Rautha. “He has challenged you- you cannot turn him down. You have to choose a fighter to represent yourselves .”  

Immediately, Feyd-Rautha stepped forward, “I’ll-“

But before he could finish his sentence, Paul spoke over him. “I’ll fight for them.” 

Seemingly approving, Stilgar nodded. “Jamis, do you accept this?” 

“Yes.” 

“What do you think you’re doing?” Feyd-Rautha hissed, striding towards him, eyes burning with fury. He gripped him by the arm, yanking him closer. Paul winced at the force of his touch, but met his gaze with equal fire. “I fight my own battles!” 

“And I fight for my mother.” 

Feyd-Rautha growled, grip tightening impossibly. Paul tried to yank his arm back, but had no success. 

“It has been decided. You have five minutes to choose your weapons.” Stilgar called, and the crowd broke up. The decision was clearly final. 

Leaning closer in an attempt to tower over him, Feyd-Raurha hissed. “I should have killed you back when we first met, Atreides.” 

“No, you should thank me. I’m fighting In your stead.” Paul felt tempted to hit him. 

“You're depriving me of a good fight.” 

“Well how about we have a match, once this is over?”

“If you survive.” Feyd-Rautha let go of his arm, although he didn’t move to create any space between them. “You better win, or you will bring shame on both me and your mother.” 

“I think you should be worried about more than shame.” 

Scoffing one last time, Feyd-Rautha stepped away. “Just win.” And with that, he turned and left Paul to prepare. 

Now he was alone with his own thoughts, Paul was starting to rethink his decision. Maybe he should have let Feyd-Rautha take the fight, he probably would have stood a better chance. But then again, the thought of his mother’s fate being in the Harkonnen’s hands made his stomach turn uneasily. At least now, the outcome was in his hands alone.

“Hey.”

Swivelling at the voice, his eyes widened minutely. He recognised that voice, that face. This was the girl he had seen in his dreams- the beautiful Fremen girl with the blue eyes. She looked exactly as she had in his mind- uncannily so. 

“Your friend is quite… intimidating.” 

It took a moment before Paul was able to form words again, frowning as he did. “What friend?”

“The Harkonnen. Sorry, the ‘No-Longer-Harkonnen’.” She rolled her eyes slightly as if the title were ridiculous, which it definitely was.  

His frown deepened. “He’s not my friend.”

She raised an eyebrow at him in amusement. “Your mother seemed to think otherwise, with all her ‘he’s important to the Lisan-Al-Gaib’ bullshit.”

“So you think the Lisan-Al-Gaib is bullshit?” 

“Yes.” She scoffed. “I think it’s just a way to control people.” 

Paul nodded understandingly. “Well, Feyd-Rautha is definitely not my friend.”

“He seemed worried for you.” 

This time it was Paul’s time to scoff. “He’s just mad I ‘stole’ a fight from him.”

“That makes sense. He doesn't seem like great friend material.”

“He’s not.” Despite not knowing her, aside from his dreams, the simplicity and lightheartedness of the conversation helped calm his nerves. 

“Here.” She held out a knife. “Since you're going to die, may as well do it with honour.” 

Paul took the offered weapon, examining it. It was beautiful. Sharp and deadly. “Thank you.”

“It’s my crysknife. You will be honoured to die with it in your hands.” And with that, she turned and made to leave. 

“Hang on,” he called after her, “what’s your name?”

“Chani.”

And then it was time. 

The five minutes had seemed to fly by, him barely having time to hug his mother before he was ushered into the centre of a ring of people. 

Across from him stood Jamis, face blank and looking entirely unbothered by the fact he was about to either kill someone or be killed.   

Nerves rising, Paul swallowed roughly. Would he even be able to kill a man? It would be his first time and just the thought of it made him feel sick. He had no idea how Feyd-Rautha took lives so casually. 

Likely noticing his nervousness, Jamis let out a deep yell, other Fremen’s repeating the sound back at him. In comparison, Paul had little support. He held the crysknife tight in his hand as if it would grant him luck. 

Jamis was the one to make the first move. He leapt forward, knife swinging in a graceful arch. Paul ducked, before moving in with an attack of his own. 

Despite his previous nerves, his mind was now blank, body moving in the familiar movements of battle. He let himself fall into the routine of it until It was like he was training, like he was back on Caladan with Duncan.

His mind felt right. 

And then, he was holding his knife to Jamis’ throat. It all came rushing back. He wavered. “Yield!”  

Jamis growled, breaking out of his hold and attacking with a newfound aggression. But, after several seconds, Paul bested him again. “Yield!”

Jamis didn’t yield. 

He will only accept death or victory, a voice somewhere in his head told him, but Paul felt reluctant to accept it. 

Finally, Jamis got the jump on him, kicking out his ankles so he tripped backwards. He rolled backwards, just in time for a knife to narrowly miss his jugular. 

Logically, Paul knew that if he didn’t act now, he would die. And so he acted. 

The next time he saw an opening, he took it. The knife slid into Jamis’ gut. 

It was easier than he expected. 

Paul shuddered, taking a step back, as Jamis fell to the ground, dead. Silence filled the crowd before Stilgar stepped forward. 

Despite Paul having just murdered one of his people, there was little on Stilgar’s face that revealed how he felt. “Welcome, Paul Atreides.” 

Inexplicably, he felt his eyes be drawn to Feyd-Rautha’s. However, there was emotion on his usually blank or angry looking face. He looked strangely proud. 

Chapter Text

They had only been walking for an hour before they ran into trouble. 

A Harkonnen patrol. 

Just their luck. 

There were about a dozen of them- outnumbering them by a few. They were also heavily armed in comparison to the Fremen who, from what Paul had seen, only held blades. 

The moment they spotted the approaching enemy, the Fremen all ducked down, pressing themselves flush against the side of the dune so they were hidden. They moved without orders, evidently acting on experience.

In comparison, Paul felt like a sitting duck, unsure on what to do as the Fremen around him expertly got into their unique fighting stances, before dispersing into their surroundings and completely out of sight.  

Stilgar dropped beside him in the sand. “Hide. You’ll just be a hindrance if you try to act.” He hissed, before joining the others in readying for battle. 

Having no other option, Paul grabbed his mother by the arm and dragged her down the sand dune. He noticed Feyd-Rautha hesitate, freezing in his place. He stared at the oncoming patrol, a strange look on his face. 

Was he going to try and run? 

Stomach dropping, he grabbed the other by the wrist and yanked him firmly. Their eyes met and Paul shot him a warning glance, trying to convey his message. 

Don’t you dare. 

With a roll of his eyes, Feyd broke out of his stance and, to Paul’s relief, began to follow them down the dune. 

However, the Harkonnen’s were fast approaching, and they were severely limited in options for hiding. The best they could do in the tight time frame they had was a small cave on the side of the rock structure. Despite it being barely big enough to fit all three of them, they quickly ducked into it, lying as flat as they could against the ground. 

Heart racing in his chest, Paul found himself able to do little but run scenarios through his head, trying to plan for as many possibilities as he could. They had no weapons and were practically defenceless. Their fate now lay in the hands of the Fremen- a fact that bothered him to no end. 

When he glanced over to where Feyd-Rautha lay, the other looked uncharacteristically restless, jumpy even. He looked coiled, as if his every muscle was preparing to move, eyes darting with a skittish edge that didn’t suit him. The tension in the air sharpened, stretching thin between them until suddenly, Feyd lurched forward, body breaking from the stillness with clear intent to run. 

Instinctively, Paul shot out a hand to stop him, fingers digging desperately into the sandy material of his stilsuit. “Don’t!” He hissed, forcibly causing Feyd-Rautha to pause mid movement. “If you try to run, the Fremen will kill you before I even have the chance to!” 

“Not if the Harkonnen kill them first. Why wouldn't I go to my people?” Feyd-Rautha hissed, though he made no move to rise again. 

“Don’t be ridiculous- you’ve seen how the Fremen fight. Your men don’t stand a chance.” He tightened his grip. “And besides, do you truly want to go back? Back to your brother? Your uncle?” 

A flicker of anger cut across Feyd’s face at the mention of his uncle, jaw tightening, but still- he still remained where he was. 

Noting his hesitation, Paul pressed on. “Please. Stay. This is your best chance to get away from him, you must have realised this.” 

“What do you know of my uncle?” Feyd muttered, the words low and guarded. 

“Only what I’ve seen in my dreams. But even without them I know this- It won't end well for you if you go back.”  

A Harkonnen soldier was steadily getting closer to their hiding spot, leaving no room for the conversation to go any further. Paul’s pulse quickened. All he could do was hope, desperately, that Feyd-Rautha would heed his warning. 

He hadn’t been lying. He knew for a fact that If Feyd went back to Geidi Prime, there would only be suffering and death. 

Faint glimpses of dreams- of what ifs plagued his vision. A fight, ending in bloodshed, the blood on his own blade. Burning agony in his stomach. 

Seconds dragged on with agonising slowness, each one marked by the heady thud of his heartbeat hammering against his chest as the enemy drew closer and closer. The dry air seemed to tighten around then, trapping every breath in his throat. Desperately, his eyes scanned the other’s face, searching for any hint of what he was thinking. But Feyd-Rautha remained utterly still, his expression unreadable, as if carved from stone. Not a twitch, not a breath out of place. And that stillness, more than anything, made Paul’s unease grow. 

Then, a body fell from above, causing the approaching enemy to swivel back around. And just like that, the Fremen jumped into action. 

They seemed to emerge from the sand itself, moving in graceful yet deadly arcs. As he continued to watch them, Paul felt exceedingly mesmerised. They truly were some of the best fighters he had ever seen. The clips he’d seen in his film books were hardly comparable to seeing them in person. 

However, he could only watch them for so long before he yet again grew distracted by the man beside him. “If you're going to leave, leave now.” He said slowly, grasp tightening absentmindedly. 

Feyd-Rautha’s gaze flickered rapidly between him and the path ahead, eyes darting as if weighing every possible choice. He had to realise- now more than ever, this was the perfect moment to make a break for it. 

Then Jessica’s voice cut through the growing tension. “I promise you this, Feyd-Rautha. I wasn’t lying when I said you can have a place among us. As an equal.” 

The words hung in the air, thick with possibility, and the silence that followed was almost unbearable. Paul remained poised, ready to pounce if he tried to run. And for a long moment, nothing happened- but then, slowly, Feyd-Rautha nodded, and that was enough for his shoulders to ease slightly. 

But before he could fully relax, Feyd-Rautha lept to his feet and started sprinting straight into the chaos of the fighting. Cursing under his breath, Paul scrambled to his feet and launched himself into the sand after him, heart pounding as the world narrowed in around them. 

“You snake-!”

However, just as the words left his mouth, Feyd-Rautha lept towards one of the Harkonnen soldiers. Mouth gaping open with the pure absurdity of what he was seeing, Paul watched as he attacked the man, stealing his weapon before slicing his jugular. “You…”

With a huff of air, Feyd turned back to face him, a streak of blood now painting his cheek. “Don’t look so shocked Atreides, I would never sit out of a fight.”

“You just killed one of your own men…”

“I thought they weren’t my men anymore? Besides, I care little for them- their weakness disgusts me.”

All of a sudden, he threw the knife. Paul flinched as it flew over his shoulder, only for it to land in the throat of another Harkonnen he hadn’t noticed sneaking behind him. 

Smirk on his face, Feyd tutted at him. “Stop standing there like a gormless fool and show me how you fare in a fight, Atreides.” 

Paul shook himself slightly, trying to recover from the shock of nearly being impaled. “Right.” He muttered, leaning down to retrieve the knife from the body. 

The Harkonnen soldiers were undeniably skilled, there was no denying that. Their movements were vicious and harsh, but despite their talent it was painfully clear they were outmatched by the Fremen. The remainder of the battle was brutal but brief, a storm that swept through them before Paul had time to fully come to grasp what was going on around him. In the chaos, he only managed to take down a single enemy, the weight of the act settling uneasily in his chest. A cold, disquieting realization crept over him. Killing- once unthinkable, had in some strange way become easier after the first time.

He also discovered what it meant when the Fremen had wanted to take their water. They had meant it very literally. 

A look of horror crossed his face as he watched as Chani walked up to the man he had killed and stuck a needle into his exposed flesh. 

“Congratulations, by the way.” 

“Huh?” Paul said, too distracted watching with disturbed fascination as the body in front of him was sucked dry. 

“On your victory, I honestly didn’t think you had it in you. Your scary not-friend? Maybe. But not the skinny little Dukeling.” 

“Thanks?” He wasn’t sure how she had managed to make a compliment sound so backhanded. 

Then, Feyd-Rautha approached, panting slightly. He had another streak of blood on his face that Paul assumed wasn’t his. “You only managed to take down one, Atreides? I managed four in the same amount of time. How disappointing.” 

“Sorry I’m not an expert at murder like you.”

“You’ll get there.” He paused, suddenly noticing Chani’s presence. She was watching him cautiously, an eyebrow raised. “And who is this?” 

“I’m Chani.” 

Silently, Feyd-Rautha stared at her. His gaze was sharp and calculating, as thought he was weighing her up, running some internal analysis Paul couldn’t hope to follow. Uneasy of the other’s unpredictability, he tensed; It always seemed that whenever the Harkonnen first met someone, he ran through a mental debate over whether to kill them or not. 

Paul hoped, for both their sakes, it was the latter. 

“And you are?” Chani probed, tilting her head slightly, either oblivious to- or deliberately ignoring- the barely contained menace in Feyd’s presence. “You haven’t actually been introduced to us. People are calling you Harkonnen-not-Harkonnen. Although I was calling you Paul’s not-friend.” 

Paul cringed slightly at her rambling- thought he couldn’t entirely blame her. Chani didn’t seem the type of person to show fear, but he couldn’t help but think she was rattled by Feyd-Rautha, just as anyone was when meeting him for the first time. Everything about the man was unnerving- the unnaturally pale skin, the unhinged intensity in his eyes, or even just the continuous threats of violence that seemed to spill naturally from his lips. 

“Feyd-Rautha.” The man finally said, his voice low and sharp. Then, he turned to Paul, a sarcastic smirk tugging at his lips. “Are we not friends? I’m hurt.” 

Staring bleakly, Paul didn’t grace him with an answer. The silence stretched, heavy and awkward, yet Feyd seemed entirely unfazed. He simply held the stare, unblinking as if neither the obvious discomfort nor social convention matters.

Paul could only think he truly had no idea about social queues- that or he simply didn’t care…

“Well this has been enlightening, but I’m gonna go now.” Chani spoke up, interrupting their stare off. “We’re leaving now, so… sort yourselves out.” With a wave, she walked away towards a group of Fremen who looked to be their age.

Without a word, the Fremen fell back into motion, reorganizing themselves into a formation similar to the one they had held before. They began their practised trek back across the desert, the sun casting long, wavering shadows behind them. The only evidence they had been there at all was the large pile of bodies all drained of their water- but with its scorching winds and shifting sands, the desert itself would soon take care of that. 

This time, Feyd-Rautha had chosen to walk unusually close to him. So close in fact, the sleeves of their stilsuits brushed against each other with each step, a subtle, almost imperceptible contact that made Paul’s stomach tighten. There was an intimacy to it that felt entirely unwelcome, a nearness that set his nerves on edge. 

They walked in silence at first, the only sounds the crunch of sand beneath their boots and the distant murmurs of the Fremen. But of course that didn’t last long before Feyd was speaking again. “Already making friends?” He asked tonelessly. 

Paul frowned. “Something wrong with that?”

Avoiding the question, Feyd continued. “I still don’t trust them.” 

“And you trust me?”

He didn’t receive an answer. 

Crossing his arms so they no longer touched, Paul sighed. “Why did you stay, Feyd-Rautha? You were so adamant on escaping.”

“That place isn’t home to me.” He muttered noncommittally before falling silent for a moment more. “Remember what you said back in the terraforming station? That I find you interesting.”

“Yes…”

“Well it’s true- I find you interesting. I find this place interesting. I find these people interesting. At the end of the day, Paul, I do what I find interesting.”

“That’s… surprisingly simple.” 

Feyd chuckled sharply. “Yes. I suppose it is.”

For a while, they managed to walk in a surprisingly comfortable silence, until the other spoke again. “I’ve been having dreams whilst I’ve been on Arrakis.”

“You’re surprisingly talkative today.” It was a stark contrast to when they first met, when the only time Feyd-Rautha would speak would be to insult or threaten someone. 

“Be quiet. Do not talk over me.”

Paul was silent. Despite his teasing, he was actually curious on what he had to say. It was almost as if he was opening up to him, although the notion of Feyd-Rautha opening up to anyone was ridiculous. Feyd huffed, but continued despite his interruption. 

“I think it may be due to the spice, similar to you. But these dreams have been different from my usual ones. They’re more vivid… more real.”

Paul frowned. “Real how?” 

“I’m not sure, how can you tell the difference between your dreams and your premonitions?”

“I get a feeling.”

“Yes. It’s the same as that.”

“And what is it that happens in these dreams?” 

“Similar to what you said, nothing much. You're there.” A strange kind of uncertainty filled Feyd’s voice. It seemed unnatural compared to his usual tones of either indifference or confidence. “You’re important, I know that much.” 

“You're not telling me something.” Paul noted, trying to keep his tone as light as possible as to not offend. His curiosity had been well and truly piqued now. 

“I don’t owe you any explanations."

“No, but I might be able to help you.” 

“I don’t need your help.” He scoffed defensively, but continued anyway. “You and I become… reliant on one another. I help you win your war.”

“You know of the holy war?” That came as a shock to Paul. His eyebrows furrowed, mind at work. 

“Not for long. Ive only started having these dreams since we met, it wasn't until I heard you speak of it during your fit in the tent that I really came to notice it.” He turned to face Paul, eyes unusually sincere. “You’re destined for big things, I have known this since I met you, It’s partly why I am still here. I am curious to see how this will play out.” 

“So you truly are living for your own curiosities? Sounds rather self-absorbed.”

Carelessly, Feyd-Rautha shrugged, the motion causing their shoulders to collide. “I don’t believe anyone is truly selfless.”

“How pessimistic.” 

“What can I say, my upbringing sowed such seeds in my mind- one’s childhood and experiences tend to shape your view on the world.” He didn’t sound bothered by the uncharacteristically revealing words, stating them as if they were merely fact. 

Memories that weren’t his came to mind. “I’m sorry.”

“Why?” 

Paul shrugged. “I just am. No one should have to go through what you did.” 

He thought back to his own childhood. He had never wanted for anything- wrapped in the constant warmth of loving and supportive parents. Feyd-Rautha in comparison had no parents. All he had was his brother and his uncle, and neither figure seemed remotely kind or nurturing.

Could Feyd-Rautha really be blamed for turning out the way he did? Could his choices be judged in isolation, when they were so clearly charged by the harsh hands of his upbringing? Were his actions truly inexcusable when he was merely a product of his uncle’s doing? The questions lingered, refusing to settle neatly into any category of right or wrong. 

And why was Feyd-Rautha also having dreams- could it truly just be a response to the spice? 

They walked in silence for a few more steps, before Paul let out a deep sigh. “I need to go speak to my mother for a moment. I'll be back afterwards.” The more he thought about it, the more a suspicion of the origins of Feyd-Rautha’s dream started to grow. 

“I’m not some needy little dog. I can walk on my own.” 

Ignoring the others comment, Paul began to walk backwards towards where his mother was walking alongside Stilgar. “I’ll be back.” He called. 

Feyd-Rautha made a rude gesture with his hand, one Paul also chose to ignore. 

When he reached Jessica, his expression found itself twisting into one of urgency. “Mother, can we talk for a moment?” He asked, trying to keep his voice level. 

Instantly, she broke off her conversation with Stilgar, instead turning to look up at him expectantly. “Of course, what is it?” 

He took her by the elbow, leading her slightly away from the main group until they were out of earshot. He let out a breath, before starting. “Feyd-Rautha has been having dreams.” 

Rapidly, Jessica’s eyes scanned his face as if she was searching for something. “He told you that?”

“Yes.” 

“So he’s opening up to you?” She looks surprisingly pleased by the revelation, only causing Paul’s suspicions to heighten. 

“Why does that matter?” Halting in his tracks, he placed a hand on her arm and stared at her for a moment, desperately searching for any hint of what she was thinking. But as ever, her facial expressions remained blank and unreadable. “Mother, answer me honestly. Did you plant those dreams inside his head?”

“I had to, Paul.” She spoke slowly. 

Inhaling sharply, he took a step away from her. “Why?”

“We need him to stay with us.” Her hand reached forward to cup his cheek, eyes boring into his as if trying to convey her urgency. 

But Paul merely shook his head, adamantly refusing her statement. 

“When I chose to give your father a son, it was a decision made out of love, not strategy. It was selfish of me- I was meant to have a daughter. A daughter who would then go on to wed a Harkonnen, Feyd-Rautha, and have a son. A son who could be the Kwisatz Haderach.” She reached out to him, grabbing his hand. “But the two of you, together, you can still make that happen.” 

“Last time I checked I was lacking the parts for that.” Shaking off her grip, he scoffed. “You’re sounding like a mad woman.”

“Don’t be smart with me, I didn’t mean it like that.” Clearly growing frustrated with his lack of understanding, Jessica shook her head. “With him by your side, you can be the Kwisatz Haderach.”

“I don’t understand-” He pressed the palms of his hands against his eyes, desperately trying to make sense of any of what she was saying. 

“I have seen it, clear as day. Those dreams I showed him weren’t false, Paul. They were from my own premonitions. There is a path where this all works out- a narrow path, but he is necessary for that to happen.”

“As you keep saying...” Murmured Paul, voice barely above a whisper. 

Taking a deep breath, she regained her composure, patting his cheek again with a small smile. “It will make sense to you soon- I still don’t understand it all myself. But know this, we need to keep him on our side. He is prone to his own selfish desires, vulnerable to manipulation, power and seduction.” She looked at him pointedly. 

Frowning, it slowly dawned on him what she meant. He jolted back, brows furrowing and mouth pulling into a deep frown. “No. No. No! If you think I will seduce him like some-“

“Do not undermine the power of seduction, he already thinks of you to be powerful. If you entice him further, he will be firmly loyal to us.”

“No. I’m not doing that.” He repeated again adamantly, appalled by the very thought.

“Very well.” She sighed. “I won’t force you to do anything. Just keep it in mind.”

•                   -             -        -   - -

Not wanting to be around his mother and her scheming, he returned to walk with Feyd-Rautha- not that that option had initially appealed to him much either. 

But, surprisingly, he wasn't in bad company. Feyd had an extremely dry sense of humour, blurting out what Paul thought were jokes- often at the expense of others or on the subject of something extremely dark, but always in a way he found strangely entertaining. 

After spending most of his adolescence surrounded by his parents and his father’s men, it was actually nice to be around someone his own age- even if that someone was a borderline psychopath who he’d undergone mutual kidnapping with and whose family killed his father. 

They walked for hours, sun beaming down on them relentlessly, causing his pale skin to redden and sting. However, Paul didn’t notice it as much as when he’d first entered the desert. Time was moving in strange ways and he almost felt as if he’d been here for months now, rather than days. 

When they finally arrived at what he was told was called the ‘Sietch Tabr,’ he didn’t even realise it until Stilgar turned to face them, grin fixed in place. “Welcome.” He looked proud. Paul, however, wasn’t sure what he was supposed to be looking at. 

Ahead of them was a large rock outcropping, but other than that there was nothing for miles. 

“Are they so high off spice they’ve forgotten where they live?” Snarked Feyd-Rautha. Paul slapped him in the side to silence him before someone heard, but found himself secretly agreeing. However, both of them were soon proven wrong. 

The closer they got, the more apparent it became that there was more to the rock outcrop than it initially seemed. Openings had been carved into the rock face, acting as an entrance to the pathways within. From a strategic point of view, it made sense. For any enemies, the Sietch would be near impossible to spot. It blended in perfectly with the environment, whilst also seemingly being defendable against the environments.

They were led through the largest opening, stepping into a wide, echoing hallway that seemed to stretch endlessly before them. Two guards stationed at the entrance inclined their heads towards Stilgar as they passed, letting their procession through without any fuss. The ceilings were high, small lanterns lighting the darker areas. Everything was sparsely decorated, bare except for the occasional carving or emblem, a testament to the Fremen’s dedication to a minimalistic life. The end of the corridor opened up into another cavernous space. People loitered in clusters amongst the large space, some sitting in circles, whilst others chose to stand and loiter. 

Eyes followed them as they passed, some curious, others suspicious. Feyd-Rautha, with his traditional Harkonnen features, was the receiver of many scathing looks and whispers, although Paul was sure the fact he was scowling at anyone who so much as glanced in his direction wasn’t helping either. 

At some point after entering the Sietch, most of the Fremen they were travelling with had broken off, either disappearing entirely or going to greet others. Now all that remained of their party was just Stilgar and a few stragglers.

It wasn't long before Stilgar turned to Jessica. “I would like to show you something.” He then gestured at Paul and Feyd-Rautha, slapping them both on the shoulder. Feyd looked like he wanted to cut the hand off. “Chani will show you two where you'll be staying.” 

Paul felt like objecting, but the stern look his mother sent him effectively stopped any complaints from leaving his lips. He frowned at her, worry evident on his face, but in return she merely shook her head, a small smile gracing her lips.

And with that, Stilgar led his mother off down an adjacent corridor, leaving them alone with Chani and a few other Fremen he didn’t know the names of. 

“Can they really be trusted to be left without supervision?” One of the Fremen asked. He looked to be a bit older than Paul, although not by much. He had a severe face, the desert life likely not being kind to him. 

“They’re fine, Ghar.” Chani waved a dismissive hand. “They live here now, and besides, I doubt two boys will bring down the entire Sietch overnight.”

“You underestimate us.” Feyd-Rautha muttered under his breath. Paul wanted to hit him.

“What was that, Harkonnen?” Stepping forward, the Fremen, Ghar, clenched his fists as if he was restraining himself from attacking. 

Letting out a deep sigh, Paul stepped between the two, placing a palm against Feyd’s chest and firmly pushing him away. “Chani, if you wouldn’t mind showing us where we’ll be staying. I’m rather exhausted after the last few days and wouldn’t mind some rest.”

He wasn’t lying. Paul felt exhausted. It was a bone deep kind of exhaustion, one that physically weighed him down, mind slowing and limbs dragging the longer he went without rest.  

“Of course.” Moving through the growing crowd of Fremen with practiced ease, Chani grabbed him by the wrist and pulled him after her. She notably didn’t touch Feyd, likely wanting to keep all her limbs. Trailing after them in silence, Feyd continued to glare at everyone and everything. 

Once they had made it out of the busiest part of the Sietch, Chani let go of his wrist and they walked at a more leisurely pace. She didn’t speak and Paul didn’t try to make conversation- too tired for small talk. 

When they reached a long corridor that looked to lead to people’s living quarters, she took them to one of the closest doors. “These will be your rooms for now. We don’t usually have newcomers here so it’s pretty sparse. Find Stilgar if you have any questions. He’s in the room at the end.”

“I’m sure it’ll suffice, thank you.” He tried to smile at her, but he was sure it ended up looking more like a tired grimace. 

She nodded at them once, waved and then disappeared back round the corner. 

Once she had gone, Paul pushed open the door and stepped inside, Feyd-Rautha following closely behind. Inside was a small living space, a few seating cushions thrown around a small table, which was then connected to two rooms. One contained a sleeping mat he assumed was for his mother and the second room held the same times two for him and Feyd. 

Breathing out deeply, Paul fell onto the mat closest to him and his eyes immediately fell shut. He couldn't remember the last time he slept properly. 

“I’m going to sleep now.” He murmured, not bothering to check what Feyd was doing. 

Then, a heavy weight fell on his chest, knocking the air out of his chest. Dumbfounded, his eyes flew open. Feyd-Rautha was kneeling over him, a knife to his throat. “What-“

“I don’t know what game you and your witch mother are playing, but should you attempt to strip me of my free will, I shall kill you.” His voice was low and deadly and he leant in closer until his lips were practically pressed against his ear. “Do you understand?” 

Eyes wide, Paul could do nothing but stare up at the ceiling. Where had he even got a knife from? When he failed to answer, Feyd shook him roughly, knife pressing closer until the coolness of the metal rested against his throat. “Do you understand?!”

Abruptly, he slammed his mouth shut. “Yes.”

“Good.” Feyd got off him, moving towards his own sleeping mat. 

Paul stared at him for a moment, before shaking himself out of his shocked state and raising his hands in bewilderment. “Where did that come from? I don’t want to take your free will, Feyd-Rautha!”

“Since we will be working together, you should know that I don't appreciate it when you or your mother use your witch voice on me.” The other moved to sit crossed legged on his sleeping mat, casually tucking the blade under his pillow. 

“Well you could have just said that- you didn’t have to hold a knife to my throat!”

“Ah.” Feyd-Rautha’s previously snarling mouth turned into a grin, the same wildness lingering in his eyes. “But that’s not as amusing. The look on your face was truly something.” And with that, he turned over and lay down, ready for sleep. 

Paul could do nothing but stare at his back, before shaking himself from his stupor and lying back down on his mat. Feyd-Rautha was truly insane- but at least now he claimed to be on their side. 

•                  -           -        -    - -

Despite his exhaustion, Paul didn’t sleep well. Partly due to being in a new place and partly due to the lingering fear that Feyd-Rautha would pull a knife on him again during the night. He found himself hyperaware of the presence beside him, repeatedly waking and ensuring that the other hadn’t moved. At some point, he woke to see Feyd’s sleeping mat empty, sending his mind off on another tangent of worry. 

After a while of tossing back and forth and what could barely be classed as sleep, he finally decided to get up and head back into the main area where his mother was waiting. 

“Good morning.” 

“I didn’t hear you get in last night.” He said, scanning the room absentmindedly. “Where’s Feyd-Rautha?” 

“I believe he went to explore the exercise area.”

Raising an eyebrow, he moved to sit next to her on one of the cushions. “And you let him?”

“He’s not our prisoner, Paul.”

“He was as of yesterday.” 

“Well he’s not anymore.”

Paul hummed non-committedly as his mother handed him a steaming cup that smelt similar to the tea they had been drinking on Arrakeen. He took a deep sip. It was good. 

“The Fremen have asked me to be their Reverend Mother. I accepted.” 

He choked on his drink. “What?” Out of all the things he’d expected Stilgar to speak to her about last night, it was not that.   

“Their current Reverend Mother is dying and according to them, I’m a suitable enough replacement. There will be a test later today.”

“What sort of test?” He murmured but she didn’t answer him. The look she gave him suggested Paul shouldn’t probe. With a sign, he took another sip of his drink. 

What was she up to? 

•                     -          -     -   - -

The ‘test’ took place shortly after that in a small cavern that was carved separately from the main Sietch. His mother had followed a group of women inside, one of which was the current Reverend Mother. 

She was a withered looking woman that seemed almost too frail for the weight of the desert air. Yet as she hobbled past, the glance she cast towards him sent an unexpected shiver crawling along his spine. Her eyes- deep, milky pools, held a wisdom far more ancient than he could ever hope to grasp. In that brief moment of eye contact, it felt as if she saw straight through him- as if she could read him, like she could see beyond the person he was- could see the shadow of who he might become. 

Paul wasn’t allowed to follow his mother inside, and was instead left pacing in the sand and waiting fretfully for her return. Having finished his ‘exploration,’ Feyd-Rautha stood by his side, body posture significantly more relaxed as he watched Paul’s silent panic grow steadily worse. 

A purposeful distance away, a large group of Fremen waited, clearly having also come to witness the ritual. Of those Paul recognised Stilgar, who was sitting amongst a group of similarly restless men. What they had to be so uneasy about, he wasn’t sure, but it was doing absolutely nothing to calm his already raging nerves. 

There was also Chani who was sitting amongst the group of Fremen who looked to be similar in age to him. In comparison to their elders, they looked as if they were incredibly disinterested in what was going on around them, instead lounging in the sand and cracking jokes. 

Occasionally. they would over at where he and Feyd-Rautha were standing and laugh amongst themselves, before going back to talking about whatever it was they were conversing about. It only

Processed to worsen Paul’s nerves, making him pace even faster than he had before.   

“Stop pacing.” Feyd-Rautha grunted. 

With a deep sigh, Paul finally stopped, instead slumping in the sand beside the other man. “This is taking too long.”

“You could always force your way in there.” 

“No…” he sighed again, looking back at the cave for any signs of movement. There was none. His head fell into his hands. “For whatever reason, she wanted to do this.” 

“She’s planning something.” Feyd noted and Paul hummed in agreement. 

An especially loud bout of laughter sounded from Chani’s group causing Feyd to shoot a sharp glare in their direction. Looking for a distraction, Paul stood, before trudging his way through the sand towards them. 

“What’s so funny?” He called, staring blankly as they all turned to face him. 

The group went silent, as if they were hesitant to speak to him. He watched as they all exchanged strange looks before Chani cleared her throat. 

“This whole ritual, it’s bullshit.” She said, tone drawing increasingly more mocking with each word. “The prophecies are just a way to control us- that’s what’s so funny. That those old men believe in it.” She gestured towards where Stilgar was sitting,  keenly waiting for whatever it was he was expecting. 

“Silence, Chani!” Stilgar yelled, sending the younger group into another fit of laughter. 

“It’s just a shame people have to die for it.” One of the girls said. “This drinking worm piss thing is a total joke.”

“Don’t, Shishakli. He’s going to lose his mother.” Another said. 

A wave of fear washed over him and he felt the sharp prick of his nails digging into his palm. “What do you mean?” He demanded, taking another step forward. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed that Feyd-Rautha had also crept closer, curiosity clearly getting the better of him. He took what had become his usual position at Paul’s side and was watching the exchange with interest- probably hoping for an excuse to fight someone. 

“The trial. It involves drinking a poison that comes from the Sandworm.” Chani began cautiously, her tone noticeably having lost its earlier humour. “It’s supposed to transfer the past Reverend Mothers into the body of the prospective mother. Your mother is trained though, is she not? She should be fine.” 

Despite her attempts at appeasing him, Paul’s worry had only increased tenfold. He couldn’t believe his mother had willingly gone through with this- she must have known the risks, what game was she playing?

“See where believing in the prophecy gets you, offworlder?” One of the Fremen scoffed. Paul recognised him as the one Feyd tried to fight yesterday. 

“Ghar, don’t-“

“I don’t care about the prophecy- whether it’s real or not- I didn’t come here to be your ‘Lisan-Al-Gaib.” Paul snapped, restless panic turning into anger. “I’m just trying to survive- as are you. I want to learn your ways, to fight alongside you. Not to lead.”  

The Fremen were silent for a moment, clearly taking on board his words. “And what about him?” Ghar asked, pointing at Feyd-Rautha. 

Paul thought back to Jessica’s words from that morning. He’s not our prisoner. He shrugged. “That’s up to him.” And with that, he turned and walked back to his previous spot, slumping back onto the sand exhaustedly. 

It wasn’t long before Feyd-Rautha came and sat next to him. “I can kill the one who insulted you if you'd like.” 

Snorting, Paul shook his head, amused by how uncharacteristically niceFeyd-Rautha was being- well, nice by his standards. “Thanks, but I don’t think that’s necessary quite yet.” 

“I personally wouldn’t let anyone question my integrity like that.” Feyd had a certain glint in his eye that worried him. 

With a sigh, Paul lent back in the sand. It was probably only a matter of time until the Harkonnen snapped and tried to kill someone. “I’m aware.”

Then, women draped in layers of cloth started exiting the cave. Paul rose to his feet, eyes searching desperately for his mother. He pushed past the crowds, not caring as someone yelled at him to stop. He continued to make his way forward, forcing his way through thrums of women before he finally got into the cave. 

A few people lingered, kneeling by two fallen bodies. One was that of the old Reverend Mother. She was dead, he could tell immediately just by the paleness of her complexion. The other was his own mother. Hastily, he ran to her side, kneeling and placing a hand to her mouth before slumping in relief. 

She was breathing. 

•                  -           -        -   - -

Paul followed closely as they brought Jessica back to their rooms, placing her on her sleeping mat. He made sure to oversee the whole process, ensuring they were being careful with her. 

After they’d placed her on her bedroll, he sat by her bedside, not planning on moving until she woke. Whether she would make it or not, no one was certain. According to those who believed in the prophecy, it was up to both his mother and the previous Reverend Mothers to decide. 

Feyd-Rautha would go off on his own most of the time, doing who knew what. But sometimes he would come and stand in the doorway, watching them silently. One time he even came and sat next to Paul. 

“What happened to your parents?” Paul asked, not looking away from the steady rise and fall of his mother’s chest. 

“They’re dead.” 

“How did they die?”

“My uncle killed my father for renouncing the Harkonnen name and I killed my mother.” 

Startling slightly, Paul turned to look at him. His face was remarkably blank for someone who just admitted to killing their own mother. “Why?”

“I’m not sure.” Feyd’s brows drew into a frown, as if he was genuinely confused by the matter. “I don’t think I wanted to do it though. From what I remember, my uncle made it seem as if I had no other choice. He said I would be weak not to- that she was a traitor.”

Silence fell over the room once again. Paul’s mind was still reeling. How deep did the Baron’s manipulation run to have a child kill his own mother? Paul’s frown deepened. So the Baron had been responsible for both his and Feyd-Rautha’s parents dying. 

“The next time I see your uncle, I’ll kill him.” Paul swore.

“I won’t stop you if you do.” Feyd said after a moment, face turning thoughtful. “I might even help, if I’m feeling generous.” 

Taking a deep breath, he tried to calm himself. He would avenge his father. He had to. 

After a few moments of silence, Feyd-Rautha got up and left and Paul was left to stare at the unmoving figure of his mother. 

About half an hour later, Jessica woke up. 

With a gasp, her eyes flew open and he immediately moved closer to grasp her clammy hand. 

“Mother?” He asked softly, heart thundering in his chest. 

“Paul.” Her voice was slightly hoarse from disuse. “The water of life, it showed me things.” 

“What things?” His brows furrowed with concern. “Are you feeling well?”

“It’s like I predicted, the prophecy is changing- has changed.” Grip tightening on his hand, she turned her head to the side so she could stare into his eyes. “I spoke to your sister and she agrees, we must convince the sceptics of the prophecy.” 

At some point, Feyd-Rautha had returned to his post in the doorway and was watching the exchange silently. 

“You;re not making any sense.” Paul spoke to her softly, but she ignored him, having now focused her attention on the man in the doorway.

“Feyd-Rautha, come here.” Beckoning him over, Jessica held out her free hand. When he reached them, she took his hand causing him to flinch back, but her grip was strong. “I know part of you plans on fleeing, but you must not. I have seen it- things will work out in your favour if you stay.” She paused for a moment, eyes lingering on his face. “We are family.” 

Staring back at her with widened eyes, Feyd-Rautha looked increasingly uncomfortable with the sudden attention. 

“Mother, what do you mean?” Paul probed.

“Nothing. My family heritage is just not as I suspected.” She turned to look at Paul. “Your sister approves of him, Paul.” 

Paul just stared at her, unsure of what to say. She wasn’t making any sense. 

“I think I will rest now. I am tired.” 

“Okay… that’s probably a good idea.” he said softly, giving her hand one last squeeze before moving to leave. 

Feyd followed him, and the moment the door shut behind them, turned to face Paul. “Your mothers gone mad.” He hissed. 

“Don’t talk about my mother that way.” He replied, but deep down part of him agreed. He felt slightly lost, unsure on what to do. It was as if he couldn’t talk to her anymore. Whatever Jessica had seen had changed her. What he wasn’t sure of, however, was to what extent. 

Chapter Text

He was sitting high up, on a balcony with an extensive view of a large arena that seemed to swallow his entire field of vision. Tier upon tier of seats curved around, packed with hundreds of thousands of spectators. The roar of the crowd rose in waves, so loud he could barely hear himself think. The sheer volume of it vibrated the floors beneath him, the sounds pressing against him from all sounds.

There was something glaringly different about him in this dream. 

His hair was longer for one, so long that he could feel the weight of it on his back. His hands and limbs were smaller, more angular and his usually flat chest was replaced by two small breasts. If the soft swell of his stomach was anything to go by, he was also pregnant. 

He was himself, but he wasn’t. 

He was female. 

It was a truly peculiar sensation. He couldn’t ever remember having a dream like this before. He’d dreamt of alternate paths more times than he could count, but in each one he was always himself, always male. He’d never before experienced a  physically altered version of himself. 

The roaring of the crowd increased, now a mixture of booing and jeering, causing his attention to shift to the pit below. In the centre of the arena there were now three men. He recognised them as men who had worked for his father- he had seen them around Caladan, although he wasn’t sure of their names. There was something off about them. They were sluggish and slow, likely the result of having been drugged with something. 

Before long, a fourth figure stormed onto the pitch. The yells of the crowd got impossibly louder, although this time the cries were supportive, cheering a name over and over. Even without using the small binoculars in his palm, Paul recognised him as Feyd-Rautha. The band on his ring finger felt heavy when he saw him. 

Then, it dawned on him. This was the version of himself where his mother had chosen to have a daughter instead of a son- like she was supposed to. 

He felt a heavy gaze on the side of his head, causing him to look to the right of him. His stomach twisted at the sight that met him. There, in the chair next to him, sat the Baron, his thin lips twisted into a insincere smile. 

On the pitch, Feyd-Rautha had begun fighting his men, slaughtering them and painting the pale sand a deep crimson.

“I hope you’re enjoying the show.” the Baron's voice sent shivers down his spine, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end. “It’s all for you.” 

One by one, the men on the pitch were killed, as if they were nothing more than a toy for Feyd-Rautha’s amusement. When he’d finished, a fourth was brought out. 

It was his father. 

Paul blinked, and then he was standing over his father’s corpse, bloody knife in hand. 

•                                     -                       -               -        -    -  - -

Paul woke with a choked gasp, sweat dripping down his forehead and causing his shirt to stick uncomfortably to his skin. He stood from his bed, wiping a stray tear from his cheek and hurried away from the stuffiness of the room.

Hurriedly, he made his way through the winding hallways of the Sietch, the sound of his footsteps echoing through the deserted caverns. It was that awkward time of the day where the heat made it near impossible to do anything, so the Fremen spent it sleeping. He had soon grown accustomed to doing the same, appreciating the time to himself- something he seemed to have so little of these days. 

He made his way towards the uppermost levels of the base. What with there being nothing up here, it was a part of the complex he had scarcely visited before. But having nothing better to do, he decided to let his curiosity get the better of him and continued following the path. 

Unlike the rest of the corridors, it winded upwards and into the rock cluster. The floors and walls of the pathway were rougher, less smoothed out and cobwebs clung to the darkened corners, barely visible in the scarce light. All in all, this way didn’t look like it got used much. 

Eventually, the narrow passageway opened onto a small ledge. From how high up he was, he had to be close to the top of the rock formation that sheltered the Sietch beneath it. The air felt different here, thinner and freer somehow. 

As he stepped closer to the edge, a dry breeze swept across his face, carrying with it the warm scent of sand and sun-baked stone. Despite its acrid bite, it felt less suffocating than the stale, recycled air of the Sietch- or the cramped confines of his room. For the first time since he woke, he could breathe properly. 

Part of him struggled with being buried underground for so long- too used to the high cliffs and open fields of Caladan. Even if there was something undeniably familiar about this plane, the contrast of the person who he was before made the underground halls feel even more stifling. 

He lowered himself onto the ledge, letting his legs dangle freely over the top. The desert stretched out before him in an endless expanse of gold and rust, shifting and glistening with the soft breeze. For a moment, he just sat there, letting his mind drift back to his dream. 

The sound of footsteps behind him caused his head to swivel, immediately on high alert. But it was only Feyd-Rautha, standing a few feet back, shrouded in the shadows. 

“You scared me.” He murmured, turning back to face the desert. 

“You should have heard me coming.” Moving closer, Feyd came to sit beside him. “I’ve been following you the entire way.”

“I was distracted.”

“By your dream?” 

Paul looked at him inquisitively, “how’d you know?”

“You’re a restless sleeper. You also talk in your sleep.”

“And you look like a dead man in yours- you’re creepily still.” 

Feyd huffed slightly before they lapsed into a comfortable silence. 

Now that the haze of drowsiness had finally lifted, Paul felt his worries start to creep back in and settle heavily in his gut. The quiet of the ledge did nothing to silence them. Their enemies still lurking somewhere out in the desert, his mother’s behaviour, the strange things she saw and spoke of, the vastly different environment they were being forced to adapt to, the people they now lived alongside, with their different ways of living and their distrust for them. 

He knew the Fremen still didn’t trust them- and that meant he couldn’t trust them either.  

“Feyd-Rautha, I need to ask something of you.” Paul said quietly, voice barely audible over the russell of wind. 

Looking up from the dunes below, Feyd turned to look at him, his silence encouraging Paul to continue. 

“I know a few days ago we were enemies, and only now do we stand on more neutral ground- but… can I ask that we trust one another?” 

The other man was silent for a moment and when he did speak, he did so slowly. “What do you mean?”

“The both of us are alone out here, with no one we can fully trust. It seems logical that we have each other’s backs.”

“What about your mother? Do you not trust her?”

Paul looked down at his hands, at the semicircular wounds on his palm where he’d dug his nails into the flesh. “Ever since we arrived on Arrakis, she’s been different, but after drinking the water of life- it’s gotten worse.” He sighed, rubbing his brow wearily. “I don’t think she has ill intentions for us, I just think she sometimes prioritises being a Bene Gesserit over being my mother.”

“She wants you to be the Kwisatz Haderach, but you just want to, what? Live as a Fremen? Run around in the sand as a free man?” 

“Right now, yes. That may change in a few years, but I want to live unburdened for as long as I can.”

The other nodded, seemingly understanding. “What do you want with me then?”

“I don’t want anything from you, Feyd-Rautha. Just for you to have my back.”

“As you said, the simple life, yes?” Feyd huffed, as if the concept was amusing to him. 

“Isn’t that what you also want? To stay here, to fight alongside the Fremen. You said part of the reason you’re staying is because you see me becoming this great figure- but what if that doesn’t happen? Will you still stay?” 

Feyd looked at him for a moment, clearly thinking over his words. “Yes. I suppose this simple, selfish life doesn’t sound too bad. Living to fight with no real significance.”

“Good. So we’ll trust each other?” He held out a hand, which, after a moment of hesitation, the other took, shaking it firmly. 

“We’ll trust each other.” Releasing his hand, Feyd’s brow furrowed slightly. “Just so you know, my trust isn’t earned easily. Should you betray me, I shall ensure you suffer a painful death. 

“Noted.” 

And with that, they returned to their comfortable silence, watching as the wind shaped the sand across the desert, the amber hint of spice in its midst. 

In a strange way, it felt as if a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. 

Logically, it made sense for him to not trust Feyd-Rautha. He was a Harkonnen, an enemy of his house. But there was something in him, maybe a result of his dreams, that felt the opposite. Whether he wanted to accept it or not, he was inexplicably drawn to the other.

•                       -              -         -     -   - -

They were only given a few more days to settle before their training began. Stilgar claimed he wanted to ensure they would be ready for raids as soon as possible- and that meant intensive training in order to quickly learn the ways of the Fremen. 

Much to Feyd’s delight, that involved a lot of sparring. 

The first time he and Feyd sparred had been thrilling, even by Paul’s standards- who didn’t usually gain much pleasure from meaningless fighting. They were both evenly matched, which in turn made the outcomes of their fights unpredictable, a fact that had them trying their hardest to beat the other. 

It was also exciting to fight someone with such a dramatically different fighting technique than his own. Paul was used to fighting Duncan and sometimes Gurney, and as everything he learnt about sparring had come from them, he found his style was very similar to theirs. Fighting Feyd-Rautha and combating his unfamiliar technique meant he was actively having to think about the other's next moves- a process that left him battered and bruised, but also picking up more and more skills with each time they fought.

Over the next few days, the Fremen way of fighting was relentlessly stamped into them, a vastly different technique from both his own and Feyd-Rautha’s. The movements of it were fluid, prioritising efficiency and precision. They were also taught to fight in the sand, having to learn to redistribute their weight so as to not lose speed and momentum. To his surprise, Paul found himself excelling at everything he was taught. 

He had seen examples of Fremen fighting in his film books, but hadn’t really picked up anything from it due to the vagueness of the information. However, contrary to his lack of prior knowledge, he found that the movements and techniques he was now being shown still felt strangely familiar. His Fremen teachers were shocked at his rapid improvement, stating that no outsider had ever picked up the style that fast before. 

Even Feyd-Rautha had seemed impressed by his abilities, going as far as to slap him on the back and tell him, “when we first met, I thought you were too scrawny to be a decent fighter. Good job for not being a useless fighter- I can’t stand a useless fighter.” 

Despite the slight back handedness of the compliment, Paul took it in stride. In fact, it might have been the kindest words he’d ever heard come out of the other's mouth. 

Another thing the Fremen taught them was the Sand walk. Paul had seen this more clearly in his film books, so had already been familiar with the movements. Yet again, he picked it up quickly, although not as quick as he had with the fighting. 

Although not quite as fast as him, Feyd-Rautha was also picking up the Fremen skills with relative ease- although Paul thought that had something to do with his Harkonnen upbringing, learning how to fight was deeply ingrained in their culture after all.

In fact, they’d taken to the fighting so well, Jessica had started showing them bits of the Bene Gesserit fighting style- the weirding way. She’d show Paul the odd movement or two throughout his childhood, although he’d never learnt consistently the way he had with Duncan. 

If he’d had to describe the opposite of the Harkonnen fighting style, the weirding way would’ve been an appropriate example. Whilst the Harkonnen style was brash and forceful, the weirding way focused on moving so fast and precisely, it was barely visible to the opponents eye. 

It was safe to say Feyd-Rautha didn’t take as well to the weirding way as he did the other styles- something that seemed to frustrate him to no end. 

As more time passed, days spent in a similar blur of sparring and adjusting to their new lives, an odd companionship seemed to be forming between Jessica and Feyd-Rautha, something Paul had been entirely surprised to see. 

Feyd-Rautha seemed to dislike everyone. 

He was just about tolerant of Paul- thought that was likely only because they were forced to spend almost every waking hour together. Anyone else was met with nothing but scorn and the occasional threat of violence. 

That was, however, with the surprising exception of Jessica, who he treated with an uncharacteristic amount of respect. He listened to her lessons with a quiet sort of fascination, snide comments being kept to himself for once.

All in all, Paul thought they were settling into the Sietch life rather well. They were improving with each day, the skill of the Fremen coming more and more naturally- much to the delight of Stilgar, who seemed to believe his rapid progress was a sure sign of him being the Lisan-Al-Gaib. 

Settling easily into her new position of Reverend Mother, Jessica was entirely supportive of this belief and began spreading whispers of his rapid development. Paul doubted it was out of genuine belief like it was Stilgar- more likely it was something to do with her plans that he wanted absolutely nothing to do with. 

Stilgar, however, seemed fully on board with getting he and Feyd-Rautha as ingrained into the Fremen culture as possible, and it wasn’t long before he announced them ready for testing- a process that would be split into three separate trials.  

The first involved being sent into the desert for a few days, the second included going on a raid with the Fremen, and the third was attempting to ride a sandworm. All of these were a test of survival, but also to see if they would make good Fedaykin.

As word of this spread amongst the Sietch, Jessica started warping the rumours in order to fit her narrative, claiming Paul’s success would be sure proof of his being the Lisan-Al-Gaib. Taking matters further, she’d furthered her tale, and now spoke of the Haris Lisan-Al-Gaib, guardian of the Lisan-Al-Gaib, said to protect and lead by his side to liberate the Fremen. The most ridiculous part was she claimed this to be Feyd-Rautha. 

Paul had thought her to be joking when she first told him. The notion seemed ridiculous. Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen, nephew of his fathers killer, his house's natural enemy, a man who had tried to kill him and threatened bodily harm on multiple occasions- his sworn protector? 

He could have laughed had she not been so insistent on the whole thing. 

Feyd-Rautha, however, had no trouble holding back his laughter and seemed to find the whole situation amusing. But despite his dismissal, Jessica’s manipulation did seem to be working in Feyd’s favour and the more religiously devout Fremen had taken to treating him with respect- the whispers that followed him more often being that of curiosity rather than fear. 

Jessica hadn’t even been Reverend Mother for long, but she’d already begun to gain significant control, converting the people- starting with the weak and fearful. 

Paul tried to not involve himself, instead keeping busy with his training and upcoming tests. 

•                                -                    -              -          -      -  - -

On the day they were to be sent into the desert, Jessica pulled him aside. 

“Try and make the trip in three days if you can. The sooner the finish, the better it looks.” She brushed back his curls before cupping his face. 

There was something undeniably different about her since she drank the water- it was in the way she spoke, the way she carried herself, the drive in her eyes. Sometimes he thought he hardly recognised her anymore.  

“Why?” Leaning away from the touch, Paul took a step back. “So you can have more lies to fuel your followers with?”

She sighed as if he were the one being difficult. “Paul-”

“Why are you doing this?” He snapped, patience growing thin. “I can’t stand anymore of your riddles. Be honest with me.”

“I’m doing this for you- for us.” She insisted, placing a hand on the curve of her stomach. “You can lead the Fremen, I know it. I just need to convince them of your capabilities."

“I’m not the Lisan-Al-Gaib!” 

“Whether the Lisan-Al-Gaib is real or not doesn’t matter. What matters is what they believe you to be. If they think you're their saviour, you can be their saviour. You can help these people, Paul.”

His frustration simmered beneath his skin, threatening to burst the more he had to listen to her ridiculous words. With one last look at her hauntingly changed face, he turned away. “I have to go now, Feyd’s waiting for me outside.”

“Good luck.” 

He attempted a smile in her direction, but knew it probably appeared to be more of a grimace. The moment he fully turned his back to her, his smile dropped, the sensation of her eyes burning into the back of his head as he went. 

When he finally made it to the outside of the Sietch, Feyd-Rautha and Stilgar were already waiting for him. 

“You’re late.” Feyd said in lieu of a greeting. 

“Sorry, my Mother wanted a word.”

“Ah, no worries boy! I’m sure you’ll make up for any time lost.” Stilgar slapped him on the shoulder, seemingly in a good mood. Paul reckoned he was just excited to have more material for his ‘Paul is the Lisan-Al-Gaib’ group. “Well then, you best be off. I'll see you in three days!”

“I thought we had four days?” Raising an eyebrow, Feyd watched the retreating man.  

“Apparently we are to do it in three.”

Feyd-Rautha scoffed. “Let me guess, the prophecy demands it?”

“Indeed.” He hoisted his fremkit up on his shoulder. “Are you ready to go?”

“Yes.” 

Eager to get this challenge over and done with, they began making their way across the first sand dune. 

The route they’d been given to follow was rather vague, the map only containing the bare minimum of details. The land they would be covering was also said to be especially challenging, with it being prime worm territory and the resulting sandwalking slowing them down considerably. 

“What did your mother want?” 

They were a few miles into the desert when Feyd finally broke the concentrative silence. The Sietch had long since disappeared behind them, swallowed by the heat haze until it was nothing more than a smudge on the wavering horizon. 

“She wants me to lead the Fremen.” Paul grimaced. “That’s why she’s indoctrinating them-  trying to convince them I'm their Lisan-Al-Gaib.” 

Feyd let out a low hum, half thoughtful, half skeptical. “I supposed being the Lisan-Al-Gaib doesn’t exactly fit with this ‘simple life’ you keep talking about.” 

“Yeah.” 

For a moment, only the crunch of sand under their boots filled the space between them. “Do you think you could lead the Fremen?”

Brows furrowing, Paul hesitated. “I’m not sure.” Could he lead? Just because it was in his blood, it didn’t mean he was capable. He found himself reminded of the Duke title he now held. “Probably, should the situation require it. I want to avenge my father and I’ll need to make powerful allies in order to achieve that.”

“The Fremen are very skilled fighters, you’d be able to take down House Harkonnen if all Fremen came together. Then you could live your simple life.” 

With a wide eyed blink, Paul looked to the man beside him. “You really think so?”

“Yes.” Feyd scoffed. “I was the best fighter the Harkonnens had. My uncle is probably falling apart without me.” 

Paul’s mouth twitched into a smile. “Yes, I'm sure they are.” 

•                       -                 -             -          -      -    -   - -

On their first night in the desert, Paul slept like the dead. 

They had been forced to sandwalk for almost the entirety of the day, a task that proved to be surprisingly exhausting. Practising in a real environment was more stressful than he’d anticipated and he’d found himself often overthinking his movements- the reminder that if he messed up, he’d be eaten by a giant worm doing nothing to lighten his conscience. 

The second day was slightly better, with them passing through some rock formations they were safe to walk on without fear of sandworms. However, there were other downsides to this. Sand cats roamed these parts- animals that were nothing like the domesticated cats he was used to on Caladan, instead resembled a lion that would only stop stalking them once Feyd-Rautha had thrown a few knives in its direction. 

Paul humoured himself by thinking of the similarities between the cat and Feyd. For one, they were both overly aggressive creatures. But there was also something about its stance, the way it prowled after them and how its body coiled before it struck. They both moved like predators. 

He’d told Feyd of this, but the other seemingly took it as a compliment. 

“I like the way they eat their prey alive.” He’d said with a shrug. 

Further along the trail, they’d run straight into a nest of biting wasps. This time however, Feyd wasn’t able to solve the problem by stabbing it. They’d both suffered a combination of nasty bites and stings which had turned the walk into even more of a misery. 

Despite these minor setbacks, they were still maintaining a decent pace and making good progress- which was all Paul really cared about. Sure enough, it was looking likely that they would make the trip in the requested three days.

When they set up camp on the second night, Paul collapsed onto his bed roll with a groan, his whole body aching and stinging. The same as the night before, he was out like a light. 

He woke a short while later, surfacing from the fading edges of a dream he couldn’t quite grasp. A dull ache of tiredness pressed behind his eyes, telling him he hadn’t been asleep for long enough. The remnants of his dream clung to the edge of his mind- he remembered his mother’s voice cutting through the haze, shouting something he couldn’t quite make out. 

A warning, maybe. Or a command. He wasn’t sure. 

With a deep exhale, he rolled over and let his eyes drift shut again, the comforts of sleep immediately starting to pull him back under. 

That's when he heard it- a soft rustling sounding like it was coming from just outside the tent. 

Instantly, Paul sat up, heart thudding and ears straining for any hint of movement. The night pressed in around him, still and heavy, but nothing stirred. A quick glance beside him showed Feyd-Rautha was still fast asleep, body perfectly in that creepy way of his. 

Paul eased himself back down and tried to calm his racing mind. It was probably nothing. Just the leftover tension of his dream prying at his nerves. 

But then it sounded again- clearer this time, closer. 

This time he couldn’t ignore it. 

Crawling out of his sleeping mat, he grabbed his dagger from where it was lying beside him and unzipped the tent, crawling into the open night. 

The air outside was cooler than he expected, a chill that caused goosebumps to rise to the surface of his skin. He stepped a few metres from the tent and scanned the darkness, waiting for his eyes to adjust. Nothing moved. Nothing breathed. There was nothing but the endless, rolling dunes of orange sand, their curves illuminated in the moonlight. 

Pinching the bridge of his brow, his eyes drifted shut for a moment. Maybe he was just imagining things- still caught between sleep and waking, his mind still tangled from his nothing dream. 

He opened his eyes again, giving the empty desert one last look. 

That was when the rustling sounded again- this time directly behind him. 

Paul spun around just in time to see a figure in a stillsuit erupt from the sand, rising like a shadow made solid before hurling itself at him. A spray of sand exploded around them as the weight of the stranger crashed into him. He had no time to react- no breath, no thought, before he was driven to the ground and the air knocked from his lungs. A gloved hand clamped over his mouth, crushing any sound he attempted to make. 

In the scramble, his dagger was torn from his grip and lost somewhere in the sand, leaving him entirely defenseless beneath the other’s weight. Panic surged through him in a hot, blinding wave and he began thrashing, clawing at the man’s arms. 

If he could just get the hand off his mouth, he could use his voice and-

The attacker reached into his suit and pulled a knife, the sharp edge of it glinting beneath the moonlight before it was pressed firmly against his throat. He yelled as loud as he could, but the sound died against the palm smothering his mouth. The stranger shushed him as cool metal pressed deeper into his skin. 

Then, just as the man shifted to cut, his body jerked backwards. An arm locked around his throat, yanking him away from Paul with brutal force. Paul scrambled back, breathless and shaking, just in time to see Feyd-Rautha behind the man, arms braced and jaw clenched. The struggle only lasted a moment longer before Feyd-Rautha snapped the other’s neck with a sharp jerk of his arms. With a thud, the body fell to the floor. 

For a moment, the only sounds were those of heavy breathing, Paul staring up at Feyd, eyes blown wide with shock.

Then, Feyd dropped to the sand and delivered a heavy blow to the man’s face. And then again. And again. And again.

“Feyd-”

Another hit. 

Instinctively, Paul lurched forward, grabbing Feyd by the arms before he could deliver another blow. “Stop, he’s dead!” 

Feyd froze in his arms, before falling back on his haunches with heavy and uneven breaths. 

For a moment, Paul could only stare at him, mind racing and incapable of a coherent thought. His eyes fell to the other’s blood soaked knuckles and his grip on his arms tightened considerably. 

“We need to identify the body, so don’t...” He murmured, voice notably shaky. 

When he finally released Feyd’s arms, there were crescent shaped dents in the pale flesh. Letting out a deep breath, Paul absentmindedly traced one with his fingertip. The touch caused Feyd to flinch slightly before seemingly snapping out of whatever trance-like state he’d been in.   

Letting out another breath, Paul ran a hand through his mused hair. “Sorry… I-” He winced at the hoarseness of his voice. “Thank you.”

When he looked up again, Feyd had a perfectly blank expression on his face and shrugged his shoulders. He then leant back towards the body, pulling away the mask until the face beneath was revealed to the moon’s light. 

“Do you recognise him? He’s dressed like a Fremen.”

Moving kneel by Feyd’s side, Paul glanced at the body. The first thing that caught his attention was how the neck was now contorted at an unnatural angle. He swallowed roughly before taking a closer look. “He’s familiar. I think I've seen him around the Sietch before- but we should probably take him back with us to be sure.”

“Okay.” Rising to his feet with a grunt, Feyd stretched slightly. “We’ll deal with the body later. I want to go back to sleep.” 

Paul joined him in standing, silently agreeing with the idea. His initial adrenaline was steadily being replaced by exhaustion, a yawn forcing itself from his throat. 

But just as he was about to head back into the tent, Feyd stepped closer towards him. And when his pale hand reached out towards Paul’s face, he instinctively flinched, tensing when the pad of a thumb gently brushed across his cheek. 

“You have blood on your cheek.” Feyd-Rautha said, before turning and making his way towards his bed roll.

Brows furrowed, Paul stared after him, standing in the open tent flap before bringing his own hand to his cheek, only now noticing the slight stinging. He must have cut it when he was knocked to the ground. 

As he watched the other lie back down, he thought he saw Feyd putting the bloody digit in his mouth. Paul waited a moment before finally following him into the tent. 

•                         -                    -              -            -       -    -  - -

Despite his exhaustion, Paul failed to fall back asleep that night.

Feyd-Rautha, however, didn't seem to share the same issue and seemingly went straight back to sleep- the fact he killed a man minutes prior evidently not phasing him.

After tossing and turning with his thoughts for what felt like hours, the sun finally rose and they packed up their camp, wrapping the body in a makeshift net so they’d be able to drag it across the sands. 

Fortunately for him, the rest of the trip proved to be remarkably uneventful. 

They ended up finishing the trip in just over three days- which in his opinion was a pretty decent feat, especially considering the circumstances. After all, dragging a dead body through the sand was more than guaranteed to slow them down.

When they did eventually reach the Sietch, a small group of people were waiting outside. Paul didn’t want to think about how long they had been there, eagerly awaiting their arrival. It was to neither of their surprises that his mother and Stilgar were at the front of the group. 

“What is this?” She asked as they neared, gesturing to the wrapped body. 

In lieu of an answer, Feyd-Rautha moved to the body, removing the covering and revealing its face. “Do you know him?” 

Stilgar moved closer, taking a long glance at the face. “Shiayr.” He frowned, head tilting as he turned to look at Feyd-Rautha. “And why is he dead?”

A brief, tense silence settled over the group before Feyd simply shrugged. “He tried to kill Paul. I killed him before he could.”

Murmurs sounded from the small crowd behind them. Paul sighing internally at the sound of them. He met his mothers eyes, the look confirming she was already whirring some scheme into place. 

“It’s true.” Paul spoke reluctantly. “I’d be dead if it weren’t for him.”

Eyes widening, Stilgar threw his hands in the air. “It’s as the prophecy and our Reverend Mother foretold! The Haris Lisan-Al-Gaib has protected our Lisan-Al-Gaib!” Yells sounded from the crowd. 

Of course they take a man trying to kill him as proof of the prophecy. 

Pointedly ignoring the rising chants echoing around him, Paul strode toward Jessica. The Fremen’s voices blurred into a dull roar behind him, but he kept his gaze fixed on her, jaw tight.  “I see things are going your way.” He said, unable to keep the bite out of his voice.

She offered a small, indifferent nod. “Indeed.” 

“Why did that man try to kill me?” 

Her expression remained blank. “Not all are satisfied with us. Some do not consider you the Lisan-Al-Gaib- they think you to be an offworlder trying for power.” 

“I didn't want any of this.” He snapped. “Feyd-Rautha killed that man because of me.”

“He saved your life, Paul. You should be thankful to Feyd-Rautha.” 

“I don't want people to kill for me.” His voice broke into something halfway between anger and exhaustion. 

With a tired sounding sigh, she placed a hand on his cheek, a mock gesture compared to that of Feyd earlier. “We don’t always like the path fate has planned for us. However, we must do the best with what we’ve been given.” 

And with that, she turned and headed back into the Sietch, her group of holy women trailing closely behind her. 

•                        -               -         -     - -

Despite Stilgar’s joy at their return, it was clear that there were others who did not share his view. 

Even when Stilgar had publicly denounced Shiayr, it was too late, the damage had already been done. Despite it being in self defense, people blamed Feyd-Rautha for his death. They were angry- wanted them gone. Their arrival had split the Fremen into factions- one of which believed in the Lisan-Al-Gaib and the other believing it to be a sham. 

But despite the rising tensions, he and Feyd-Rautha were still allowed to go on the raid- a fact that brought Paul little comfort. 

It wouldn’t be a lie to say he had miles more trust for Feyd-Rautha than he had when they’d initially met, but that trust seemed pitiful when he thought about Feyd fighting on the Fremen’s side instead of the Harkonnens. Could he really be expected to go against the Harkonnen in such a direct way? 

Paul had seen him kill a Harkonnen in front of his own eyes, but that had been different. Maybe Feyd had realised that the Harkonnen’s hadn’t stood a chance, that the Fremen had the clear advantage, or maybe he had wanted to see where the Fremen would lead him? But what if he had grown sick of them, grown sick of Paul, and would instead choose to go back to his people?

The raid would be the perfect chance to do so. 

But how could a life under the heel of the Baron be a better option over this- spending their days fighting, training and learning, exploring the new people and world around them?

It turned out Paul had no time to ask the other, as only a day later they were being sent on their first raid. A raid that would be the first of many if they were to become fedaykin like Stilgar wanted. 

Paul felt as if he’d barely had time to rest after their days in the desert, before they were back out in the sands again, life yet again under threat. One of the small bonuses of their trial was that the sand walk came easier to him now, or at least he had thought so until he was told otherwise. 

“You’re too stiff.” Chani called from somewhere behind him.

Paul ignored her and continued to walk, this time loosening his limbs as she’d advised. 

“No, still wrong.”

Patience already thin, he snapped round. “Well I haven’t been eaten by a worm yet so I must be doing something right.” 

Laughing slightly, she moved to stand in front of him. “Just because your movements are right, doesn’t mean they’re good- here, watch me.”

Brows creased, he watched as she started walking again, the movements appearing familiar to him, but whilst her poses were the same, he had to admit the way she moved between each one was a lot more fluent than his.

After watching her a few times, he tried to recreate what he saw, focusing more on his transition between movements. 

“What are you doing?”

Paul looked up, to see that Feyd-Rautha had lagged behind the main group to join them. “Practising. Apparently my sand walk wasn’t up to standard.”  

“Well, it’s looking a bit less shit now.” Chani replied.

Attention turning to Chani, Feyd eyed her. The look on his face was one of trouble, and made Paul shift uncomfortably.  “You seem to hang around a lot. Do you have an obsession with the Lisan-Al-Gaib- or is it just Paul?”

Immediately, Paul sputtered. “Feyd-“

“I don’t give a shit about him being the Lisan-Al-Gaib!” Chani snapped, face flushing with anger and taking a threatening step forward. Her brows furrowed darkly, a cruel smirk crossing her lips. “Besides, that sounds ridiculous coming from you- you’re always following him around like a little lost puppy.” With one final glare, she swivelled around and began stalking away towards the others. 

“Insolent, little bitch-“ Paul lurched forwards as Feyd pulled his knife out his suit, attempting to go after her. 

“Stop!” He grabbed the other roughly by the shoulder, pulling him back until their bodies crashed together roughly. “What is wrong with you? You can’t just kill someone because they make you mad!” 

“It’s what I did on Giedi Prime, so it’s what I’ll do here.”  

“Well I don’t want you to kill her, she’s my friend-” Paul cried. “Besides, you insulted her first!”  

“I was just commenting on what I saw, she was the one who acted irrationally.” Feyd had the audacity to huff. 

Frustrated beyond belief, Paul threw his hands in the air. “I can’t believe you sometimes.” And with that, he stormed off to catch up with the group. 

Chapter Text

6 JUDGEMENT

After his disagreement with Feyd, Paul chose to keep his distance and walk a few metres behind the other. The raid already had him tense and he needed to stay focussed, not get distracted with his feelings of anger. 

Feyd-Raytheon was just so infuriating. 

When it was just the two of them, Feyd was considerably more bearable- with barely any threats or insults being exchanged, except for maybe the occasional dig or two. But Paul could handle it. He was becoming used to the other’s odd mannerisms and blunt words- and in return, Feyd seemed to be closer to reasonable. 

That was, however, until they were in the presence of anyone else. With the recent exception of Jessica, who he had toned down the insults for, Feyd-Rautha was insufferable as ever- constantly spewing threats, trying to pick fights, or just straight up attempting murder. 

His behaviour reminded Paul of when they first met- when he had thought the Harkonnen to be a complete psychopath. Well, he was still a psychopath. But sometimes Paul thought that wasn’t all there was to the man. Sometimes, he thought he caught a glimpse of something else, something human. 

But the thing was, Paul felt responsible for him. It was him and Jessica who brought Feyd to the Fremen, a man who hailed from the house of their attempted oppressors, and only proceeded to threaten and belittle them. 

Frustrated, he shook his head and tried to clear his thoughts. The spice harvester they were set to attack would be here soon, and with its arrival came the start of the ambush. 

When they’d arrived in the spot they harvester was due to stop in, Stilgar had called over he and Feyd-Rautha to run over the plan one last time. 

The plan followed a simple routine the Fremen had already tested a few times, a routine Paul had now had explained to him multiple times, Stilgar evidently wanting to ensure his Lisan-Al-Gaib’s success. But as the plan was explained to him for what had to be the fourth time, he found his focus slipping, attention being drawn to Feyd who was taken to staring at him intensely. 

Paul refused to meet the other’s eyes, not wanting to give him the satisfactions, a fact that visibly seemed to infuriate Feyd further. In what had to be some game of petulance, the man had proceeded to stare at him, up until the point they’d taking their positions and the ambush was mere moments away from starting. 

Patience wearing thin, he finally turned around to where the man was laying in the sand beside him. 

“What?” He snapped. 

To Paul’s frustration, Feyd-Rautha merely shrugged, tongue darting out to wet his lips. He very persistently still didn't break eye contact. 

With a roll of his eyes, Paul tried to refocus on the mission, covering himself in the sand like the Fremen had shown him and taking a deep breath. A quick glance to his right confirmed that Feyd was doing the same. Good. He wasn’t insane enough to throw the mission over a stupid disagreement. 

It was only a few minutes later that the Harkonnens arrived. 

The spice harvester was being held by carryalls in the same fashion they had under his father’s control and dropped to the ground with a deafening thud, before it began slowly rolling along, the steady whirring of the machinery causing the sand beneath them to vibrate and scatter. 

A group of Harkonnen troopers dropped from the vehicle and began scouring the area, likely for signs of worm movement. However, there was one glaring difference compared to what Stilgar had told him. There were more of them than there were supposed to be. 

According to him, there would normally only be around six men on the ground, acting solely as spotters. This time there were thirty. The extra men were clearly there as an extra defence measure, which in turn meant the Harkonnen had begun to adapt to Fremen attacks. 

A quick look around confirmed that the Fremen were still in position, suggesting the attack was still on. Despite the odds now being slightly out of their favour and the Harkonnen outnumbering them, he found that he wasn’t too worried. One Fremen was easily worth three Harkonnen troopers in skill. And they had Feyd-Rautha with them, who knew their fighting styles better than anyone. As long as he didn’t betray them…

The spice harvester was nearly on top of them now, and Paul found his anticipation growing, waiting tense yet eager for the signal. 

A whistle sounded. There. Shield activated, He leapt from the sand, running straight to the Harkonnen closest to him and bringing him down with his blade. He didn’t even wait for the corpse to fall to the ground before he was moving to his next target with practised efficiency. 

Then bullets were hailing all around him, whipping up the sand in a fury as they met their marks. Bodies fell around him, but this time they were that of the Fremen. As he ducked for cover behind one of the harvester’s legs, he chanced a glance at the sky. 

Two ornithopters flew above them- one of which was equipped with guns. 

When a second round of bullets started flying, Paul sprinted to the second leg, narrowly missing being hit. They weren’t equipped to handle this, they’d been expecting an unprotected and unexpecting spice harvester. But what had changed?

“Retreat!” A yell came from somewhere, followed by more shouts relaying the message. 

The remaining Fremen scattered, instinctively spreading out to make themselves a harder target to hit. Just as Paul himself was about to break into a sprint, he noticed one Fremen who hadn’t moved at all, rooted to the spot and staring up at the circling Ornithopter. 

Even with the mask obscuring his face, Paul recognised the familiar silhouette instantly- the frame, the height, the way he held himself. Feyd-Rautha.

A jolt of disbelief shot through him. What the hell was he doing? 

A fresh burst of gunfire tore through the air as the ornithopter finished reloading, the staccato crack of ammunition sending plumes of sand and spice into the air. Paul’s heart hammered in his chest as he began thoughtlessly sprinting towards the other. He collided with him hard, tackling him to the ground just as a line of bullets ripped through the space they’d occupied just seconds before.  

As the sand settled around them, Paul found his eyes darting to the body beneath him, absentmindedly scanning for any signs of injuries. A growl escaped through Feyd-Rautha’s lips, and he was harshly pushed away. 

“What are you doing?” Feyd roared, standing and raising his hands as if he were tempted to hit him. 

Paul stared at him in disbelief. “What am I doing?” He scoffed, rising to his feet. “What are you doing- you lunatic! Standing there like an idiot waiting to be shot!” 

“Look!” Furiously, he pointed upwards at the craft. 

Wincing against the sun, Paul’s eyes strained to follow the direction the finger was pointing in. But when he did, when he examined the thopter closer- he understood what had made Feyd so fanatical. 

There in this ship, overseeing the attack, was Feyd-Rautha’s brother. Glossu Rabban. 

“Shit.” 

A flare of rage ignited low in his stomach, but he forced it down. He didn’t have time to indulge such emotions- not when the entirety of his mind demanded he focus on preventing Feyd-Rautha from doing something catastrophically stupid and irrational. 

Posture ridged and eyes blazing with fury, the other had already started storming across the sand. He reached up, and to Paul’s dismay, pulled down his mask. 

“Shit. Shit. Put your mask back on- they’re going to see you!” Voice cracking with panic, Paul could do nothing but run after the other. 

“Good.” Feyd kept walking. “My face will be the last thing that bastard sees when I kill him.”

“How are you going to do that when they’re in an ornithopter? You’re being unreasonable!” Paul grabbed him by the shoulder, attempting to haul him back. “We’re retreating- now isn’t the time, Feyd. If they see your face, your cover will be blown!” 

Without warning, Feyd’s hand shot up towards the hand on his arm. He clamped onto Paul’s wrist in a brutal grip and yanked, dragging him forward and twisting his arm in a sudden, viscous movement. Pain tore through the length of Paul’s arm and a cry escaped his lips as his knees buckled, hitting the sand hard. 

Dazed, he lifted his head- and froze. 

Feyd-Rautha’s eyes bore him with a ferocity Paul had never seen before. There was something unhinged in them, something feral that screamed of danger. His expression was twisted, wild, consumed by a blistering rage reminiscent of that of when they’d first met. 

“Don’t try to get in my way.” He spat, finally releasing Paul’s arm. Then he turned, starting to walk back into the open. 

“Stop.” 

Feyd could do nothing but freeze as Paul slowly rose to his feet, arm held tight to his chest. He swayed slightly, a wave of guilt washing over him at the wild panic that had crossed Feyd’s face. He looked like a wild animal, trapped and cornered. 

“You said you wouldn’t use that wretched voice on me again.” Feyd-Rautha hissed through gritted teeth. 

“I had to.” Paul murmured. “You're going to get yourself killed.” 

A Fremen ran up to them, breaking them from their stand off. “What are you doing? We're supposed to be retreating.”

“I thought you already had.” Paul called back. 

“Stilgar sent us after you. We need-” However, the Fremen never got to finish his sentence, as he was shot down with another round of fire. Paul leapt backwards just in time, instinctively dragging Feyd-Rautha with him. He stared down at the body of the nameless Fremen. 

“We need to go, Feyd-Rautha.” Paul snapped, breath coming out unsteadily. “Or do you want to stand around and get more men killed?”

“I don’t care if they die.” Feyd’s voice was flat, but despite the harshness of his words, he didn’t resist when Paul grabbed him with his good arm and tugged him along. The fury that had moments ago burned so violently seemed to have drained away, leaving something heavy and unreadable in its place. 

The Ornithopter circled once more, drifting further across the sky in search of stragglers. The moment it veered away, Paul seized the opportunity, and they both broke into a sprint, feet pounding across the sand. 

The open stretch offered no protection, and adrenaline surged through him in dizzying waves. He stumbled, his injured arm throwing him off balance and unable to catch himself. When he threw out a hand to steady himself, hot agony shot through the limb causing it to buckle uselessly, giving out beneath his weight. 

Paul pitched forward, tumbling down the side of a dune. Sand flew around him in a blur as he rolled, a started yelp ripping from his throat before he managed to dig his boots into the slop and grind himself to a stop. 

Cursing through clenched teeth, his eyes screwed shut. The damage was immediate- the pain increasing tenfold, hanging limp and unresponsive at his side. He took slow, deliberate breaths through his nose, trying to steady himself, trying to get control- but the pain was relentless, a deep, punishing ache that refused to ease.

An arm wrapped itself around his waist and pulled him to his feet. “Come on.” Feyd muttered.

With no time to hang around, they started sprinting again, not stopping until they reached the rock outcropping where they had stored their fremkits. 

“What the fuck was that!” The moment they reached safety he shoved Feyd with his good arm, causing the other to glare back at him. 

“My brother needs to die.”

“Yes, but now is not the time- how were you even planning on getting to him when he was fifty feet in the air? You can’t keep letting your temper get the better of you!” 

“You used the voice on me.” Feyd spat in lieu of an answer, tone accusatory. 

“You gave me no choice- you were going to get yourself killed, you got a man killed!” Paul’s voice cracked as he gestured wildly, causing a bolt of agony to shoot up his arm. Hissing through clenched teeth, he gripped the wounded limb.

Feyd watched him with a strange caution. “What’s wrong with your arm?”

Bewildered, Paul’s mouth fell agape. “What- Feyd, you were the one who attacked me.”

Feyd blinked. “I did?” 

His confusion seemed genuine, a fact that caused Paul to falter mid-breath.

“Yes.” Paul said slowly. “You did. Do you not remember?” 

Gaze drifting downwards, Feyd scuffed the sand with the toe of his boot and shrugged. “Sometimes I lose control of my emotions.” He muttered. For a moment, he looked… guilty. Or at least as close to guilt as Paul had ever seen him manage. He wasn’t even sure Feyd felt things the way other people did, whether he was capable of such an emotion. 

Paul sighed, rage abating. How could one person be so complex? He couldn’t help but wonder if Feyd-Rautha had always been like this, or whether it was a result of his uncle’s conditioning. “Come on, let’s go find the others.”

•                                        -                       -               -        -      -   - -

It hadn’t taken them long to find the rest of the Fremen, or, what was left of them. Luckily for them, those who had managed to escape the gun's rapid fire had clearly had the same idea as them and returned to the place where they stashed their gear. 

The journey back was a sombre affair. Of the twenty Fremen that left the Sietch, nine returned- half of which had suffered some form of injury. Paul was glad to see that Chani was one of those unharmed, as was Stilgar. He hadn’t known any of the other Fremen by name but nonetheless, he still mourned for them.  

The Fremen were a tight knit group of people, all having grown up in the unitary space the Seitch provided, knowing one another like family. It was so different to the upbringing he was used to, but he saw how they were stronger for it- their teamwork and unity unlike anything he’d ever seen before. 

Halfway through the journey, Paul had enough of his jostling arm, and asked Chani to bandage it for him. She agreed to do so, although silently. If it had been any other day, he knew she would have made some sort of  joke at his expense. But after what had just occurred, It was clear she was also feeling the heavy loss. 

Throughout the whole exchange, he felt Feyd-Rautha’s eyes burning into the back of his head. 

When they finally made it back to the Sietch, his mother was waiting outside. For once, he let himself take comfort from her embrace, eyes falling shut as he pressed his face against her neck. It was nice to forget about the tension between them- to pretend things hadn’t changed. After that, she guided him to their room and put him to bed as if he was a small boy again. She sat with him, gently stroking his hair until he fell asleep. 

•                                  -                         -                    -              -         -      -   - -

When he woke a few hours later, Feyd-Rautha was sitting on his own sleep mat, staring blankly at the wall. 

“Your mother checked your arm whilst you were asleep. She says it’s broken.” 

Looking down at his arm, Paul noticed that it had been rebandaged. He must have been truly exhausted if he slept through Jessica changing it. 

“It’s not a very bad break. She says it should be fine in a few weeks.” 

"Well I would have preferred it to not be broken at all.” he murmured bitterly. “This will affect my training.” 

“Yes. Stilgar postponed your sandworm ride by a month.”

Huffing loudly, Paul fell back against his pillows. “You couldn’t have given something superficial like a black eye?”

“Be grateful you still have an arm after using that voice on me.” Feyd grunted. 

A part of Paul understood. After having his agency taken from him throughout his whole life, at the hands of his uncle, Feyd was bound to have issues surrounding the voice. He himself hated having it used on him, and for Feyd-Rautha, that hatred was bound to be even worse. 

“I’m sorry for using the voice on you.” Paul turned to the other, taking a small amount of glee in the startled expression on his face. He wouldn’t be surprised if Feyd had never been apologised to before. “I just didn’t want you to get yourself killed for something so foolish.”

“As you've said.” Sliding down into his own bed mat, Feyd appeared to be going to sleep. Just as Paul was about to drift off, he heard a murmur from the other. “I don’t often show mercy, consider yourself lucky. Try it  again, and I won’t hesitate to kill you. 

•                                    -                          -                 -            -          -       -  - -

Due to his injury, Paul was forced to sit out the next few sessions of physical training. That didn’t stop him from showing up, though. Instead, he sat by the edge of the training ring, arm wrapped and resting stiffly at his side, watching Feyd-Rautha spar against a rotating lineup of various Fremen.  

He was watching Feyd finish another fight when a cluster of Fremen who looked to be around their age approached them. He recognised the one at the forefront of the group as Ghar, and a few paces back followed Chani, shouting something illegible. 

“What do they want?” Feyd muttered, drifting over to where Paul was sitting. 

Paul only offered a noncommittal shrug, not particularly invested in whatever it was they wanted. But as the group grew closer, his attention was drawn to the expression twisting Ghar’s face- a tight, simmering fury he made no effort to contain. The way he carried himself was just as telling: shoulders squared, jaw set and radiating with a kind of confrontational energy that promised trouble. 

Walking a few paces behind him, Chani’s brows were drawn together in clear exasperation that appeared to be directed squarely at Ghar. She’d evidently already tried, and failed, to talk him out of whatever he was marching over to start. 

“Ghar, don’t. Just leave it!” She called after him, tugging at his arm but he roughly shook her off. 

“You fucking offworlder snakes!” Ghar yelled, spittle flying everywhere as he pointed threateningly in his and Feyd’s direction. “Chani told me what you did- you ratted us out, you’re Harkonnen spies!”

“I didn’t, Paul.” She looked at him guiltily. “I was talking to Shishakli and he overheard us. He came to his own conclusions.” 

“Well how did the Harkonnen know we were going to attack? They were far too prepared!”

“You’re full of shit, Ghar. Knock it off.” Scoffed Shishakli. Paul was surprised at her defense- he had thought she would have been on Ghar’s side with this. 

“Well how is it the first time we take these two on a raid with us, the Harkonnen have triple the troops and a fucking armed Ornithopter?”

“Maybe because they’re adapting to your attacks?” Paul spoke up from his spot on the floor. 

“You slimy little Cunt,” it only seemed to enrage the other more and he began storming towards Paul, raising clenched fists, but just as he was about to reach him, Feyd-Rautha barged in front of him. 

“You must be weaker than I thought if you attack the wounded man first.” The Fremen he was sparring with had run off, likely to tell Stilgar. “Coward.”

“Of course, the Haris Lisan-Al-Gaib comes to the rescue.” He spat the name like it was an insult, proceeding to step closer in a clear attempt at intimidation. “I’m not scared of you, Harkonnen.” 

It came as no surprise when Feyd-Rautha struck first. His fist shot forward without hesitation, connecting with a loud crack that had Paul wincing. Ghar retaliated immediately, attempting to swing back with equal force, and within seconds the two of them were on each other, blows landing hard and fast. 

This wasn’t sparring- nowhere near it. There was no restraint, none of the controlled precision. They were fighting to injure, to win, each strike raw and messy, fueled by anger.  

Sighing slightly, Paul watched as Feyd delivered a brutal kick to the back of his opponent's knee, causing him to grunt in pain. When it came to fighting dirty, no one stood a chance against a Harkonnen, let alone the Baron’s youngest nephew who dominated the fighting pits of Geidi Prime. 

A small part of him found some sick satisfaction in watching Feyd-Rautha beat a man in their honour, but as the fighting dragged on and on, it started to become uncomfortable to watch. It wasn’t a fair fight- Feyd clearly had the upperhand and was toying with Ghar, dragging the fight out for his own amusement. 

“Shouldn't we stop them?” He turned to ask Chani, who was watching with a strained face. 

She shook her head. “Ghar knew what he was getting into challenging Feyd-Rautha.” 

Frowning, Paul’s attention drew back to the fight. Ghar was clearly starting to realise he wasn't being taken seriously, his rage growing with each blow he attempted to land. But he didn’t stand a chance- too unprepared against Feyd’s unique and brutal fighting style. 

A look around confirmed that the rest of Chani’s friends were also just standing there, clearly not planning on intervening. 

Eventually, Feyd got Ghar in a chokehold he couldn’t seem to escape. It began to look as if the other was about to pass out, choked noises escaping him and his face turning slightly purple. 

However, just before he could decide to intervene, their Fremen teacher returned, Stilgar in tow. 

“You kids knock it off!” He bellowed. “We don’t have the numbers right now for you to go around killing each other.”

Reluctantly, Feyd let Ghar go, the Fremen falling to the floor in a heap and desperately gasping for breath. 

Feyd watched for a moment before kneeled down beside him. “Disrespect either of us again and I will finish the job.” 

Then he stood, swaggering over to Paul with a smirk on his face. A quick scan confirmed he was unhurt, at most a little bruised. 

“Proud of yourself?” Paul asked, despite the other’s smug expression making the fact evident. 

“It was a simple victory. Although that was to be expected.” 

The group of Fremen were watching them, although not with anger at their friend being beaten, they looked like they respected Feyd. 

Huh.

It seemed the way to the Fremen’s heart was with fighting. How convenient for Feyd-Rautha. 

Stilgar walked up to them, clapping Feyd on the shoulder. He allowed the contact, although he didn’t look pleased. “I don’t appreciate the nearly killing one of our fighters, but good job on your victory. You fight well.”

Subtly moving away from the other, Feyd rolled his eyes as if his talents were obvious. 

“Now, you two are wanted back at the Sietch.”

“What for?” Paul questioned.

“We’re having a meeting to discuss our failures in our last raid. Chani, you come too, you were there.”

Groaning, Chani trudged over to them. “Must I? These things are so boring.”

“Yes.” Leaving no room for argument, he began walking away. 

The trio fell into step behind Stilgar, leaving the others to escort Ghar to the Sietch healer. Paul, noticing the lingering tension simmering between Feyd and Chani, deliberately slipped into the space between them, creating a small buffer. Fortunately, it wasn’t long before they reached the meeting room. The brief walk left little room for an argument to flare, and any potential clash between the two was prevented- at least for the moment.

The room they entered was as simple as the rest of the Sietch. It was a plain, sandy colour, with natural light streaming through parts of the ceiling. The only furniture in the room was a long but low table. Instead of chairs, there were cushions on the floor, one of which his Mother was sitting on. She nodded at them when they walked in, a gesture which he returned. 

Yet again, he sat himself between Chani and Feyd, hoping to avoid them even having to look at each other. 

Stilgar took a seat at the head of the table, opposite his mother. The others who had been on the raid were also in attendance, alongside a few Fremen who must have been high ranking fighters or tacticians. 

“Now we are all here, we shall begin.” Clearing his throat, Stilgar rested his hands on the table. “The Harkonnen are clearly figuring out our approach. They’ve tightened security which means we must change our tactics.”

“Why are they onto us though?” A man asked. “Why the sudden change in defensive measures?”

“They’re under new management.” Feyd suddenly spoke up, all heads turning to face him. 

The man scoffed, crossing his arms defensively. “Ah, the Harkonnen himself. Please, lend us your expertise.” 

Stilgar held up a hand in the other’s direction, wordlessly ordering him to stop talking. “We are here to be constructive, remember. Speak with respect.”

“Feyd-Rautha, what do you know of this?” Jessica spoke, face hardly visible under her heavy robes. 

“The reason I was sent to Arrakis was because my uncle wasn’t pleased with the way my brother was handling things- and for good reason. My brother is useless, there’s no way he would have been able to predict your attack.” He hesitated for a moment. “It is likely that due to my disappearance, my uncle has sent someone else to be his replacement." 

“Do you know who this could be?” 

“There are a few. The most likely is my Brother’s second in command, Orham. My uncle has always preferred him to my brother. He’s much more capable, despite him being an insufferable little weasel.” 

Stilgar leant forward on his hands, brows furrowed. “So he’s talented?”

Feyd-Rautha scoffed. “Objectively. He’s sneaky. Knows how to use his brain.” Coming from him, that was a huge compliment and most at the table seemed to realise this. 

“What about the other Sietches on Arrakis? Have they also had similar experiences?” Jessica asked. 

“I’m not sure- we will have to ask our neighbours. We should suggest a meeting on the matter during our visit to the Sietch Alraab, Revered Mother.” Stilgar nodded towards her. 

Ignoring the fact they were in the middle of a meeting, Paul turned to his mother, eyebrow raised questioningly. “You’re visiting another Sietch?”

“Yes. In a few weeks time I shall be announcing myself to our neighbouring Sietch.” 

“You’ll be coming too of course.” Stilgar perked up. “We need to introduce them to our Lisan Al-Gaib.”

“Great.” He muttered unenthusiastically, causing Jessica to shoot him a glare. 

But Stilgar didn’t seem to notice his sarcasm, leaning back in his chair with a stretch. “It’s been decided then. We will discuss the subject further with our neighbouring Sietch.”

“Well what do we do until then?” Questioned Chani. 

“Observation. We need to learn our new enemy.”

Groaning, Chani slouched in her chair. She turned to Paul, rolling her eyes and mouthed the word boring! 

Paul chuckled softly. 

•                                         -                            -                   -              -       -      -   -  - -

A few weeks later, the Sietch’s healer cleared him for training. Whilst he was extremely grateful for his returned freedom, it also meant he would have to have his go at worm riding. 

He wouldn’t say he was nervous per-say, just slightly apprehensive. The sandworms were huge, and it still seemed physically impossible to him that people could ride them- not to mention extremely dangerous. 

Feyd-Rautha on the other hand was nothing but thrilled- not that Paul was surprised. In fact, it might have been the most animated he had ever seen the man. 

When he’d found out that Paul’s wormride had been postponed, he had been disappointed- mopey, even. Paul had been sure to point out that the postponement was Feyd’s own fault for breaking his arm, and told him not to postpone his own ride.

Feyd-Rautha of course had entirely ignored Paul blaming him, and instead insisted on postponing his ride. He claimed he wanted to wait until they could do it together, to make it a competition- who could call the larger sandworm.  

And that just raised the stakes even further. Paul knew that if he lost, he would be hearing of the other’s victory until the end of time. Feyd-Rautha was many things but humble was not one of them.

On the day of the wormride, they were brought into the centre of worm territory, not a rock to be seen for miles. It seemed to him that almost the entire Sietch had come to watch, if not to support their ‘Lisan Al-Gaib,’ then to laugh at him if he failed. 

“So, who wants to go first?” Feyd-Rautha sauntered over to him, his usual mocking grin fixed in place. 

“I will.” 

“How brave of you. Don’t die now, Lisan Al-Gaib.” He patted him on the cheek. Despite the gesture being condescending, the hand lingered for longer than necessarily, fingers slightly caressing. Paul felt a slight blush form on his cheeks, causing Feyd to grin at him again. 

“Go away.” He battered the hand away, embarrassed. “You’re distracting me.”

Eyebrows raising mockingly, the older eyed him. “Am I?” 

Someone behind them cleared their throat, causing Paul to jump minutely. It was Stilgar. “Boy, you’re going first?”

“Yes.” No backing out now. 

“Good, good- of course you are. Now come with me, I’ll show you the gear.”

Paul knew the technicalities behind worm riding. However, having a concept explained to you a few times was very different from attempting it in person- especially when said concept could cost you your life if done incorrectly.

“Now remember, don’t try to impress anyone” Stilgar paused in the sand, gesturing to where Feyd-Rautha was standing, arms crossed expectantly. He waved when he noticed them staring, Paul in turn shooing him a sharp glare. “You are brave, we know that. Be simple, yes? Nothing fancy.”

“Nothing fancy, got it.”

“Shai-Hulud decides today whether you become Fremen. Or you die.”

“Right…”

And with that, Stilgar slapped him on the shoulder supportively and sent him on his way. 

With his heart racing in his chest and his equipment held firmly in his clammy hands, he made his way up to the nearby dune. 

“Call a big one!” He heard Shishakli call from behind him, followed by a round of laughter. 

He ignored them, instead focusing on placing his thumper in the sand. He hesitated for a moment. The depth didn't feel right, he was too high on the dune. He pulled it out again, before placing it a bit further down the dune and, with a deep breath, set it off. 

Taking a few steps to the side, he pulled his face covering down and waited. The rhythmic beating of the thumper sounded alongside the pounding of his heart. He took another deep breath in and breathed out slowly. In and out. 

And then he saw it, a large cloud of sand forming in the distance. Shit. That was bigger than he’d expected it to be- easily bigger than any he’d seen before. He cursed again- this was just his luck. But It was too late to turn back now. 

Readying the hooks at his side, he got into position. As the worm neared, as did the overwhelming scent of cinnamon and spice, filling his nostrils and overwhelming his senses. His pulse hammered against his eardrums, quick and uneven, and his his hands started to tremble with adrenaline. 

When he looked down, the sand and spice particles had started to move with a restless energy, their vibrations increasing in speed as the worm drew nearer. The sand around the thumper had started to shift too, his eyes fixating on the growing pit rapidly forming in the dune beneath it. The sound of a deep rumbling grew closer and closer, the sand starting to give out from beneath his feet. 

Now- he had to move now!

Mind purposefully blank, he started sprinting towards the quaking pit, and with a running jump, leapt into the heart of it.

The seconds he spent free falling were overwhelmingly terrifying. 

Immediately, his vision was taken from him, his senses overtaken by the deafening rumbling and the sharp bite of Sam whipping against his skin. His stomach lurched, arms flailing, until he slammed into something solid and the air was knocked out of him. He immediately grappled for whatever surface his hands could find, climbing on desperately as he felt the worm shift beneath him. 

After a few more deep breaths, he attempted to sit up, a feat that proved to be a lot harder than he’d expected. The wind resistance pushed at him with a physical blow, attempting to flatten him against the shifting surface beneath him. His muscles strained as he dug his legs in firmer, this time managing to push himself to his knees.  

Not sure how much longer he could remain unsupported, he threw his first maker hook, watching as it caught under the intended scale. 

However, when he threw the second, a sudden gust of wind hit and the hook was sent flying back to him, his own body reeling back a few feet, barely managing to catch himself before he was sent flying into the storm. Taking a deep breath in, he tried calming himself and tried again. This time, the maker hook found purchase and his body relaxed, muscles no longer having to strain to keep himself upright. 

After taking a few more breaths he began to wobbly rise to his feet, bursts of wind resistance threatening to knock him down. But he dug his feet in firmer, grip tightening and widening his stance until he was relatively well supported. A few moments passed, and then the realisation hit him. He was doing it- he was riding the sand worm. 

A breathy laugh escaped him as his rush of adrenaline peaked. 

It was loud, but at the same time his mind was quiet. It was as if he lost himself in the sensations around him. The sand flew past him in rapid plumes, the spice emitting an orange glow of movement as it went. The wind brushed against his face, no longer hurting and instead providing a cool caress. 

He felt the worm heave under him, almost as if it was breathing in unison with him. He laughed again, his whole body thrumming with energy. 

•                   -                -        -    - 

Dismounting from the worm turned out to be another complex process- Paul having to unhook the maker hooks and manage to jump off the worm before it submerged itself back into the sand. 

His exit ended up being entirely clumsy, with him falling onto the sand in an undignified pile, but luckily for him no one was around to see it. Even if they had been, he doubted he would have cared, not after a rush like that. The giddy smile remained plastered on his face the entire way back to the Fremen. 

When he arrived, he was greeted with loud yells and cheers. In the background he could hear Stilgar yelling something about the prophecy but he ignored it, too pleased with himself to really be bothered. 

“Paul, that was insane!” Chani ran up to him, eyes wide. 

Shishakli nodded in agreement. “Yeah, that sandworm was huge! In fact, I think it was the biggest I've seen.” 

But then the air shifted, lively warmth replaced by a strange hush. The Fremen around him began falling to their knees, knelt over in the sand and chanting something illegible as if they were praying to their god. The smile dropped from Chani’s face in an instance, instead replaced with one of disgust. 

“What are they doing?” He asked, brows furrowed in confusion. 

“They think they’ve found their Lisan Al-Gaib.” Feyd-Rautha came to stand beside him, watching the affair with apparent interest. He slapped Paul on the back, the hand remaining. “Congratulations Atreides, you’re a god.”

Paul whipped around to face him, “What do you mean?” 

“Turns out that was some sort of ancient worm, they’re very impressed you managed to call it.” Feyd replied, tutting lightly to himself. “In my opinion, you just got lucky.”

“That sounds like you’re already admitting defeat.” The words came out less teasing than he intended, still rattled at the sight of the Fremen kneeling around him. It was uncanny- the resemblance to his dreams of power. 

Was this where it all started? 

Another hand clamping down on his shoulder broke him from his thoughts. He turned to see Stilgar, the man grinning at him with an almost frantic glee. “Your mother’s trust in you was well placed, my boy.” He then paused, taking a deep breath and clearly intending to go off on a tangent about the Lisan-Al-Gaib. Paul groaned internally. 

“Is it my go now?” Interrupted Feyd-Rautha impatiently, saving them from Stilgar’s speech. 

Despite his initial cockiness, the sandworm Feyd-Rautha rode was not bigger than Paul’s. 

“The only reason you called a bigger one was because you're the Lisan-Al-Gaib.” He’d complained on the walk back. To no one’s surprise, he was an incredibly sore loser. 

“Earlier you said it was down to luck- so which is it?” Paul scoffed. “Did I call a big sand worm out of luck, or because I’m the Lisan-Al-Gaib.” 

For a moment, Feyd fell completely silent. The shift in mood was so subtle Paul almost missed it, but when he finally turned to glance at him, he paused. His faintly teasing grin had slipped away, replaced by a thoughtful stillness that eventually settled to be contemplative. 

“But you could be.” Feyd eventually said, brows drawing into a frow. “You could be the Lisan-Al-Gaib.” 

Paul felt his own smile drop. “What do you mean?” He asked slowly, cautiously. 

“I mean you could be the Lisan-Al-Gaib.” He repeated, trying to emphasise his point. “You don’t have to believe in it to take advantage of the opportunity- you have enough religious freaks to do the believing for you.”

Lips curling slightly at the phrasing, Paul slowed to a stop in the sand. Immediately, Feyd mirrored his position, coming to stand beside him as the rest of the Fremen got further and further away.

“Yes. I could.” Paul said quietly, the words sounding like more of an admittance than he’d expected. 

The pair of them fell silent again, both deep in thought about the implications of what Feyd was suggesting. 

The sun was beginning to set now, melting into the horizon and its orange warmth beginning to fade into that of moonlight, promising a new beginning. 

Clearly having had enough contemplation, Feyd cleared his throat, his teasing smirk returning. “I don’t get why I have to be the Haris Lisan-Al-Gaib though. I’d make a better leader than you- you’re too scrawny.”

A small laugh escaped Paul’s lips. “Ah, but that’s why you're the Haris- to save my scrawny self from danger.” 

Feyd nodded along humorously. “Yes, you do seem to need saving quite a lot.” 

Paul reached out to slap him on the arm, Feyd dodging the false attack with ease. 

“We’re Fremen now- focus on that instead.” 

“Yes, yes. Well done for surviving the trials. I didn’t think you had it in you.”

Chuckling softly, Paul looked into the other’s eyes. He hadn’t noticed before, having spent too much time around the other to notice what must have been a gradual change, but Feyd-Rautha’s eyes had turned blue. 

When did that happen? 

He wondered if his had too. 

Chapter Text

A week later, they began their journey to the Alraab Sietch. 

Whilst he knew the real purpose of the trip was for Jessica to spread word of the Lisan Al-Gaib, he couldn’t help but feel positively about the whole thing. There would be a meeting, a real meeting, where they could discuss the Harkonnen problem as a united front. If they fought together, the Fremen would be an unstoppable force against the Harkonnen- he just had to make them realise it. 

They travelled to the Alraab Sietch by sandworm, a process he enjoyed a lot less when he wasn’t the one driving. Without the distraction of steering, he found It to be loud and uncomfortable, the sand feeling like it was continuously grating against his skin. 

There weren’t many of them making the journey. Of course there was himself, Feyd-Rautha, Jessica and Stilgar, but also Chani and a few others his age. They had introduced themselves, now seeing him and Feyd as more Fremen than before. There was Shishalki and Ghar, who he already knew, but also two others who were named Shosq and Nirmi. 

All in all, most going to the Alraab Sietch were on the younger side. Although there were a few older Fremen, both his mother’s holy women and more experienced Fremen fedaykin, Stilgar had said it would be a good experience for the younger, ‘less believing’ Fremen. Paul thought he and Jessica just wanted to kill two birds with one stone, converting both the Alraab and the non-believers of the Tabr to their ways of the prophecy. 

When they finally arrived at the Alraab Tabr, they were greeted by the neighbouring Reverend mother and Sietch leader. 

“I am Tirokab.” He stepped forward, moving to directly greet Stilgar. “And this is our revered mother, Fararh.” 

The Reverend mother was considerably older than his mother and was dressed in similar robes. When she spoke, it surprised him. Her voice didn’t match her frail body, it was strong, commanding. “Bring forth the one you call Lisan Al-Gaib.”

Feeling all eyes now on him, Paul took a small step forward. 

“Come closer, boy.”

He stepped forward, deciding to play along for now. The Reverend mother lifted her bony hands and placed them on his face, closing her eyes. They were unnaturally cold. 

“Hmm.” She mumbled. “So he fits the prophecy?”

“Yes. He is of another world and arrived with his mother, our current Reverend Mother.” Stilgar spoke up. “He also arrived with our Haris and has further called upon a grandfather worm. He is a natural in our ways and a skilled fighter.” 

“I see.” She finally released his face before turning to Tirokab. “I believe they speak the truth, he is the one.” 

Paul felt his heart drop in his chest. If even the North were falling for the lie, he knew then that his plans of rationality would never come to play. Jessica had won. 

He saw it now. The only way to unite the Fremen would be as their messiah. 

•                 -            -          -     -    -  -

When they entered the cave system the Alraab Fremen lived in, they were greeted with a large feast, well, large for Fremen standards. It was probably the most food he’d seen in one place during his time with the Fremen- an uncharacteristic display of indulgence. 

The hall was bustling with people. It seemed the entirety of the Sietch were taking part in welcoming them. The room had a similar setup to that of the Tabr Sietch, with a long table and many cushions for seating. It also had smaller seating areas where people sat talking. 

All eyes turned to him when he stepped into the room. 

“This is all for you, Paul.” Jessica moved to stand at his side, her headdress jingling slightly as she moved. Her startlingly blue eyes peered into his, as if she was trying to gauge his reaction. 

He ignored her, instead going to grab Feyd-Rautha by the elbow. “Come on, let’s go eat. It would be rude not to.” 

“Over here!” A voice called, Paul turning to the sound. Shishakli was waving at them exaggeratedly, Chani sat beside her, looking embarrassed and trying to drag her hand down. They sat with the other Fremen their age at a small table adjacent to the main one. 

When they made their way over, she gestured to the two available cushions dramatically. “We saved you a seat, our beloved messiah and Haris messiah.” 

“Shishakli, shut up.” Chani muttered, elbowing her in the side. 

“I’m just kidding, no harm right Paul?”

“It’s fine.” He took the seat next to Chani, Feyd taking the one next to him. Yet again, he was stuck in the middle of them. “Thanks for saving us a seat.”

“You really didn’t have to.” Feyd muttered, sending a sharp glare in Ghar’s direction. Paul slapped his leg under the table, shooting him a warning look. Behave. He signed, glad he and Jessica had taken the time to teach him Bene Gesserit sign. 

Only if he does. Feyd-Rautha gestured back. 

Despite his initial concerns, the meal turned out to be a rather relaxed affair. The food was good, better than anything he’d had in a while, and full of strong and new flavours- some of which he found pleasant, some strange. The others found his newness to Fremen food amusing and kept giving him random bits and combinations to try. 

But things got even more amusing when they brought out the Fremen alcohol. The alcohol on Caladan had been relatively weak, primarily for the purpose of having something to drink during social events. Here on Arrakis, where liquid was limited, it was as concentrated as they could make it without killing a man. Although after his first sip, Paul wasn’t so sure of that. It tasted lethal. He coughed and sputtered at the immediate burn in his throat, causing the whole table to erupt in a fit laughter. In comparison, the Fremen drank it with ease, clearly used to the taste. 

“You try it then!” He said, shoving a glass at Feyd-Rautha, not appreciating the look on his face. 

Not one to let Paul outdo him, Feyd took the glass and downed half of it in one go, much to the amusement of those around him. Immediately, Feyd’s face soured, eyes watering slightly as he strained and tried not to cough. A chuckle escaped Paul’s lips before it fell into full blown laughter, causing Feyd to pout. 

“Shut up.” He grunted. 

Nirmi came up to their table with an Alraab girl, the laughter dying down somewhat so they could hear what she had to say. “Now that the food is finished, some people are having a bonfire outside. It sounds fun, we should go.” 

“Good idea.” Shishakli leant over to smack Paul on the shoulder, the bottle in her hand swishing dangerously. “Sounds like a good opportunity to properly celebrate our new Fremen brothers!”

Paul looked over to where Jessica and Stilgar were sitting amongst the Alraab Fremen. They all looked serious, deep in thought and clearly talking about some sort of political issues, or worse- the prophecy. 

Not much liking the alternative, he nodded at her. “Sure.” 

The others around the table all agreed, so they finished up their food and moved to follow the girl who introduced herself as Sharile. Paul noticed Shishakli swipe the remaining bottles of alcohol, but chose not to comment. They were teenagers after all- it was nice to see them act like one for once. 

As they passed his mother’s table she shot him a warning look as if to say, behave, but thankfully didn’t stop them beyond that- It would have been incredibly embarrassing if she had started lecturing him in front of everyone. 

As they made their way out the group he found himself falling behind until he came to walk alongside Feyd-Rautha. Despite his proclaimed hatred for other people and casual socialisation, he didn’t look too angered- although that might have just been a result of the alcohol. Either way, no one was being threatened, so Paul wasn’t complaining. 

“Are you okay with this, we can leave if you want?” He asked. “I know you don’t like… socialising.”

Shrugging indifferently, Feyd kept walking. “I’ve never tried to socialise with people my own age. Actually-” He paused to think for a moment. “I've never been around people my own age.” 

A short burst of laughter escaped Paul’s lips. “No, I haven’t either- what recluses we are.” 

“Hm, it seems we have more similarities than I thought.” 

“Yeah, we’re practically the same person.” Paul joked, causing the other to shove him lightly in return. 

Paul had begun to notice it more and more recently- the casual touching. He’d come to expect it from people like Stilgar, who would smack him on the shoulder as a teacher would his student, or his mother, who would stroke his hair or his cheek. But Feyd-Rautha wasn’t like that. He wasn’t the type to offer thoughtless gestures of comfort and affection. Every touch of his was deliberate, measured- never just a casual pat on the back or an absent-minded hug. 

Paul had wracked his brain over it what felt like a million times- but he still felt clueless as to what had changed. In the end, he’d just decided to ignore it- things were already complicated enough as it was. 

When they reached the outside of the Sietch, the glow of the bonfire greeted them. It was large and lively, its flames twisting skywards as if trying to ward off the heavy blanket of night. Its warmth spilled across the clearing, colouring faces with its orange glow and casting winding shadows that danced with every flicker. Fremen clustered in loose groups around it, dancing and singing whilst others played all sorts of instruments he couldn’t name. 

“Is the fire a good idea? What if an enemy sees it?” He asked curiously. 

“We’re more isolated here than you are- further away from any civilization.”  Sharile shrugged. “Now come, I'll introduce you to the others.” 

The others turned out to be another group of Fremen teens who were surprisingly welcoming. Paul had never felt included as a Fremen up until this point, but he had to admit, the sense of camaraderie that came with the title was a pleasant one.

Another bottle of the alcohol was passed around, each sip becoming easier than the last and it wasn’t long before the burn no longer bothered him. He felt relaxed, the noises of laughter and chatter numbing his mind. 

“Feyd-Rautha!” Ghar suddenly stood, swaying slightly as he did. “Let’s have a rematch!” 

Paul raised an eyebrow at that, remembering the way Feyd had ruthlessly beaten him last time. A chorus of whooping sounded from around them. Of course the Fremen would be encouraging this, he’d never met a group of people who enjoyed a casual fight as much as they did.

Chani smacked Ghar in the side, giving him a warning glare and clearing her throat pointedly. 

“A friendly match, of course…” Ghar added. 

“Well, I'm never one to turn down a fight.” Feyd-Rautha rose to his own feet, brushing sand from his legs. The cheering increased considerably, the crowd drawing closer in order to get a good view.

A circle was drawn in the sand by Chani. “First one to get pushed out the circle loses” She called, before stepping aside to let Feyd and Ghar take her place. More people had started crowding around them, all watching eagerly as the two fighters readied their stances. 

When Chani came to stand beside him, he nudged her in the side playfully. “I bet you Feyd-Rautha wins.”

“Alright. I bet you Ghar wins.” She challenged, clearly loyal to her friend. “Whoever loses takes the others watch duty for a week.” 

“Deal.”

“Hear that guys?” Shisakli shouted, throwing an arm around each of their shoulders. “Chani and Paul are making bets on who wins. Trying to leave us out? I’m placing my bet on Feyd-Rautha.” Soon bets were being placed all around then, even by those who didn’t know the two men. 

“Alright, can we start now?” Ghar called from the makeshift ring, clearly growing inpatient. He was rocking on the balls of his feet, fists held ready. Feyd in comparison stood still as a statue, composed as ever. 

“Yes, yes.” Chani moved to stand by the side before raising her arm. She brought it down in a swift arc and the fight began. 

Feyd fought cleaner this time, his time in the fighting pits clearly teaching him how to give an entertaining fight. He was going heavy on the defence, elegantly ducking the other’s attempts at an attack, until one blow knocked him squarely on the jaw. A look of surprise crossed his face, which was soon replaced by a sinister grin. Paul watched as his eyes regained their focus, having enough of toying with his opponent.

Abruptly, Feyd began pummelling Ghar with his own flurry of attacks, most hitting his target with precision. Then, he moved back, prowling around the other like a sand cat. It was clear he was toying with Ghar, having his fun. The cheers of the crowd grew wilder, enjoying what had become his show. 

With a yell, Ghar ran at Feyd and attempted a tackle, only for Feyd to sweep his leg under the other, sending him tumbling to the ground. It was clear from both of their movements that they were both intoxicated, although it was less apparent in Feyd. Paul noticed though- the small sways after he shifted his weight giving him away. 

Ghar lay on the ground for a moment, a groan escaping his lips. Feyd-Rautha merely watched him, waiting for him to get back up and not furthering his attack. 

When the other did finally manage to get to his feet, he swayed dangerously, face turning green as if he were about to be sick. 

“Go on Ghar, you’ve nearly beat him!” Someone yelled, causing a round of laughter to sound from the crowd. Ghar made a rude gesture at whoever it was. 

“End it Feyd-Rautha!” Someone else yelled, followed by an increase of cheering. Soon a chant started, chanting Feyd’s name over and over. Paul found himself joining in- the electric energy of the fight catching hold of him. 

Just before Feyd tripped Ghar out of the circle and onto his back, he looked up at Paul and their eyes met. His expression was slightly manic, but also spoke of pride. Paul couldn’t help but smile back, a small but genuine thing- and then, the fight was over. 

Immediately, Shosq and Shisakli ran at Feyd, clapping him on the back and yelling their own victory chants. From beside him, Chani cursed under her breath, clearly annoyed at losing the bet, though the smile on her face suggested she wasn’t too upset.

“It’s a good job you won,” Paul walked up the Feyd who raised an eyebrow at him in response. “I bet my Guard duty on it, so be glad you won't have to face my wrath.”

“How scary.” The other said teasingly, slinging an arm over his shoulder. Absent-mindedly, Paul smiled at the touch and moved a little closer.  

Someone shoved another bottle into Feyd’s hands.

Feyd looked at the bottle, before looking back at Paul with a grin. Before Paul had time to react, Feyd had shoved the bottle between his lips and tilted it backwards, forcing him to drink. 

Laughter sounded around them as Paul made a disgusted face at the taste, kicking the older in the shins. “You asshole!” He moved to kick him again, but Feyd dodged. 

With a drunken yell, he began chasing Feyd through the sand, attempting to kick him as he did. The moment Feyd stumbled over his feet slightly due to his inebriated state, Paul pounced on him, knocking them both into the sand in a heap and began his attack. 

Hysterical laughter escaped his lips as they began wrestling in the sand, punches pulled and kicks light. After a while of tumbling around, Paul rolled onto his back, breathing heavily. He couldn’t help but notice how beautiful the stars were tonight. 

After taking a long swig from the bottle, Feyd passed it to him and he did the same. 

“I've never had alcohol like this before.” He murmured, examining the bottle. 

“Let me guess, on Caladan you all just drank wine?”

“Yes? Is that not normal?”

“No.” 

Pushing himself onto his elbows, Paul glared down at the other. “Well what do you drink on Geidi Prime? Animal piss?” 

“Don’t be stupid. We have wine too, but also spirits.” 

“Spirits?” 

“What you’re drinking now.” He nodded at the bottle in Paul’s hands.

Paul stared down at it with a frown. “Oh.”

A low chuckle escaped the other’s lips. “You seem so naive sometimes.”

“Shut up. You’re barely even older than me.” A sudden realisation hit him. “How old even are you?” 

“Nineteen.” 

“I’m Seventeen.” 

Tutting at him lightly, Feyd tried to snatch the bottle from his hands. “Then you shouldn’t really be drinking that.”

Scoffing, Paul held the bottle out of reach before taking another long drink. “If I can kill men, I can drink this.”

“Hm, I doubt they have such a thing as a drinking age here anyway. It’s a very pretentious-planet concept, one Geidi-Prime doesn’t implement.”

“Of course they don’t.” He fell back into the sand with a grunt, causing Feyd to take the bottle back and pinch his cheek. Paul batted the hand away. 

“What is it? You look as if you’re thinking over some great mystery.”

“Maybe I am.” He deadpanned, causing Feyd to pinch his cheek again. “Stop that.” He hesitated, unsure on whether to share his train of thoughts. “I was just thinking how we barely know anything about each other, despite being with each other every single day.”

“How sentimental.”

Groaning, Paul covered his eyes with his palms. “I knew you would just tease me!” 

“No, no. I’m not teasing you.” Paul moved his hands away from his eyes, but put them straight back when he noticed Feyd laughing at him. “Don't be like that.” The other dragged the offending hands away, so Paul was forced to look at him. “Ask me something about myself.” 

Paul remained silent for a moment, thinking over in his head what to ask. 

“Don’t strain yourself.” Feyd muttered.

“Shut up, I'm thinking.” Paul battered his arm. “What’s your favourite colour?” 

“Seriously? You could have asked anything.”

“Yes.”

“Fine, it’s red.”

“Naturally- I’m guessing red as in the blood of your enemies?” 

“Exactly. Now it’s my turn.” 

“Go ahead, do better than my favourite colour then.” 

A dangerous smirk formed on Feyd-Rautha’s face- a thing that unnerved Paul deeply. “Have you ever slept with someone?”

“Really?” Paul gaped at him. “I forget how perverse you are sometimes.” He groaned, falling back in the sand. Feyd merely laughed at his display. 

“Well, have you?”

“No.” Paul admitted. He turned to look at the other. “Have you?”

“Yes. We have slaves for that sort of thing on Geidi Prime.”

“That's disgusting.” 

The other hummed. “To some. Some enjoy it as an alternative career, there are bonuses that come with it of course.” 

“Life on Geidi Prime sounds so… primal.”

“In some ways it is, I suppose. But so is life on Arrakis. People fight each other to the death over minor disputes. They live in caves.” 

“With each day that passes, I’m learning just how sheltered I was living on Caladan.” With a wistful sigh, Paul stared back up at the stars. Caladan was up there, somewhere. He missed it. 

Abruptly, Feyd-Rautha sat up, brows furrowed. “What are they doing?” He was staring at the Fremen in the distance who were dancing around the fire.

“Dancing?” Paul raised a questioning brow. 

“That’s dancing?”

“Yes. Have you not seen Fremen dancing?” It was something his mother had shown him before they left for Arrakis, in case they were required to attend any Fremen political events.  

“We don’t tend to dance on Geidi Prime.” Feyd’s eyes lit up with something, the same minute expressions he made when he was planning something. “Show me how?”

“Now?” Paul asked doubtfully. How much had he drunk?

“Yes.” Feyd rose to his feet, holding out a hand for Paul to take. Paul did so and was hoisted to his feet effortlessly. “I want to learn.”

“Why?”

“Stop with the questions.” Growled Feyd. “Show me!” 

Rolling his eyes at the other’s lack of patience, Paul took a step back. “Fine. Look at what they are doing.” He gestured towards the groups dancing around the fire. “Fremen dancing is similar to how they fight. However the physical contact between the pair aims to guide instead of harm.” 

“Interesting.” 

“Yes.” He placed his hands on Feyd’s shoulders, enjoying the way he flinched slightly. It was nice to be the one pushing the other for once- instead of the one being pushed. “Put your hands on my waist and we will copy that pair.” He pointed to the couple closest to them. 

From where they stood, the Fremen were little more than silhouettes- distance and darkness conspiring to blur their movements, yet the challenge made it even more enjoyable. Feyd wasn’t bad at it either, picking up the basic moves relatively quickly and even attempting some of the more complex ones. Paul couldn’t say he was surprised- Fremen dancing was very similar to fighting, and Feyd excelled at fighting. 

He laughed as Feyd attempted a complex sweep of his legs, but instead ended up stumbling. Not appreciating being laughed at, Feyd stuck his leg out, causing Paul to trip over it with a yelp. 

“Bastard.” He glared, picking himself off the ground as Feyd laughed at him. 

They returned to dancing, but it wasn’t long before Paul returned the favour and tripped Feyd, unable to resist his easy revenge. Quick to anger as ever, Feyd growled and tackled him to the floor. Then, they were back to grappling in the sand. 

Paul yelped in pain as Feyd delivered a particularly painful blow to his stomach. “Can’t you go five minutes without fighting someone!” He exclaimed, sitting upwards and breathing heavily. 

“No.” The older replied, although he did offer Paul a hand up again. He looked mournfully down at the bottle that had spilt in their scuffle. “The drink’s gone.”

“Well let’s just go find more.” Paul said with a roll of his eyes. “We should head back now anyway, they’re probably wondering where we are.”

“I don’t care if they wonder where we are.” Feyd muttered, although he did follow after Paul. 

After a few steps he threw his arm back over Paul’s shoulders, causing a small smile to form on his face. He looked up at Feyd, whose face was casually blank. 

“What?”

Paul shook his head. “Nothing.”

They separated when they made it back to the fire, Feyd going off to find more drinks. 

“Paul!” Chani called, waving him over to where she was sitting in the sand, a full cup in hand. 

“Hey.” He dropped down next to her. His head was slightly spinning, grin still fixed in place. He felt light. And happy. 

“Where have you been?” 

“With Feyd-Rautha.”

“Natually- he’s rather obsessed with you.” She said jokingly. 

Paul scoffed. “Sure.” 

“Where is he now? I’m surprised he hasn’t figured out a way to glue himself to your side.” She snorted. Seemingly, alcohol made her even more fond of teasing him.

“He’s over there, went to get another drink.” He pointed to where Feyd was scrounging through a large pile of bottles, probably looking for the strongest one. However he paused in his search when the girl from earlier, Sharile, wandered over to him. She said something to him before giggling loudly. Paul frowned. 

“They’ve been talking about him all night.” Chani muttered, noticing his gaze. 

“Who?”

“The Alraab girls. They find his unusual appearance attractive.” She scoffed. “Or they just want to sleep with him for the thrill of fucking a Harkonnen.” 

Paul couldn’t look away. 

He understood that Feyd-Rautha was attractive. Even he had been aware of the fact. It’s just that he’d never expected anyone to act on it- people were normally too busy fearing for their lives to flirt. But these were Fremen girls, they were braver than most. 

He turned back to Chani, face purposefully blank. “Do you think he’s attractive?”

“Feyd-Rautha?” She asked incredulously. He nodded, causing her to wrinkle her nose. “No way- he’s insane.” Leaning closer conspiritually, she paused. “And hairless.” 

A startled laugh was drawn from his lips. When he looked up to see Feyd and Sharile now conversing, the laughter died as quick as it’d come. Something hot was burning in his stomach and it forced him to look away. He found himself reminded of their earlier conversation, where Feyd had admitted to sleeping with many people. This was probably just common practice to him. 

“Girls are like predators.” Commented Chani, gesturing to the other Alraab girls on the sidelines who were eyeing Feyd with obvious intent. “They’re acting like he's an exotic animal and they are the poachers.”

“You’re a girl.” Paul commented, still distracted by the burning in his stomach. 

“So?”

“Are you a predator then?”

She was silent for a moment, the wind rustling her hair. She looked up at him, her dark skin warm against the firelight. “Maybe.” 

His heart raced, nerves rising as her eyes flickered down to his lips. Chani was pretty. He knew that. So why did he feel so odd as she pressed her lips against his. After a few moments she broke away, looking back up at him. 

“I’ve never kissed anyone before.” He admitted. The alcohol was rushing to his head, making his vision slightly blurry. 

“That’s okay.” Her voice was surprisingly soft. 

“Can I-?” He asked, leaning back in slightly. 

“Yeah.” She closed the distance again and kissed him. Just as her lips touched his, thoughts of Feyd-Rautha filled his head. Stop. He pushed them to the back of his mind, trying to focus on the perfectly attractive girl in front of him. 

He broke away from the kiss, panting slightly. His stomach turned, causing him to abrubtly rise to his feet. 

“I have to go.” He muttered, face paling. 

“Paul?” Chani frowned but he merely shook his head and walked away. 

A wave of disorientation washed over him, mingling uncomfortably with the hazy, unsteady feeling of being drunk. His mind whirled, refusing to settle on anything coherent. Blinking against the blur, he lifted a hand and rubbed his eyes, hoping the simple gesture might clear his vision- or at least steady the spinning of the world. 

Why could he not get Feyd-Rautha out of his head? The way he’d put his arm around his shoulders. The way he’d held onto his waist as they danced. His voice. His body. His face. 

Somehow, he made his way back into the Sietch, stumbling around the corridors like a lost child. 

“Paul?” A voice called, snapping him out of his daze. When he looked up, Jessica was standing in an open doorway, looking at him with a concerned expression. “What’s wrong?”

“Where am I sleeping tonight? He asked, avoiding her question entirely. He just wanted to go to bed and forget about the night entirely. 

Cautiously, she walked up to him before placing a palm on his cheek. “You’re in the room next to me with Feyd-Rautha.” When she saw how his face scrunched up at the name, her gaze softened. “Paul, what happened?” 

“I don’t know.” He admitted. “I’m confused.”

And he was. Images of Chani swarmed through his mind, all of which were soon replaced by Feyd-Rautha. Why wouldn’t he get out of his head? It filled him with a primal sense of urgency, of want. But also fear. Why was he feeling this way? 

Deep down, he knew why.

“About what?”

“Chani kissed me.” He breathed in deeply, a slight burning forming in his eyes. “And I wished it was someone else instead of her.” He choked. 

“Oh, Paul…” she stroked his hair gently, before bringing him close to him. “I already know how you feel about Feyd-Rautha. You don’t have to be scared, I love you no matter what.”

He shook his head, burrowing it into her neck as if it would help him disappear from his stresses. “Well I am scared- he scares me.” 

Tightening the embrace, she shushed him gently. “Why don’t you come and sleep in my room tonight? You've spent a lot of time together recently, some space would probably do you good.” 

With a sniff, he nodded and followed her into the room. Making a beeline straight for the spare bed roll, he clambered in immediately and pulled the covers up over his head. He heard his mother shuffling around the room before the light went out and he was shrouded in darkness. Despite the tiredness in his body, his brain was wired, thoughts overwhelmingly loud. It took him a long time before he was able to fall into a restless slumber. 

•                                        -                        -              -      -    -  - -

He was by the fire again with Chani. This time he knew what to expect when she moved closer, lips brushing against his. 

However, when she moved away, Feyd-Rautha was in her place. Paul’s heart beat faster as his large hand moved to cup his cheek. He was the one to move in this time, his lips meeting the other’s with a surprising ferocity. 

Feyd returned the kiss with an equalled fever, lips moving in synchrony with his. He broke of the kiss, to begin pressing sucking kisses into Paul’s jaw, and then into his neck and then-

•          -  

Paul jolted awake to a pounding head and an overwhelming sense that he was about to be sick. He rushed to the bin that had been strategically placed next to his bed roll and heaved into it. 

When he lifted his head, Jessica was sitting beside him and handed him a glass of water. “The meeting about the Harkonnen raids will be in an hour.”

Groaning, Paul collapsed backwards. “Great.” He muttered, taking a sip of his water to remove the taste of bile from his mouth. 

“You can be excused if you’re not feeling up for it.” 

“No.” He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “It’s important I be there.”

“I’m proud of you, Paul.” She murmured softly, surprisingly considerate of his pounding head. 

“You’re proud of me because you know I'll go along with your scheming.” He muttered in return. 

“No, I’m proud of your motivation. We both are.” Sighing, she placed a hand on her stomach. “You fight to save the Fremen, to avenge your father. That is very honourable.” 

She then stood, leaving him alone in the room with his head held over the bin and his eyes screwed shut. 

•                                            -                           -               -         -     -  - - 

When he finally reached the meeting room, he realised he was the last to arrive. As he walked through the door, everyone's eyes shifted to him and made him acutely aware of how dishevelled he must look. 

The only free seat left was next to his mother, and he slumped into it with a sigh, caring very little for his abysmal posture. Chani noticeably sat on the other side of the table and he desperately avoided her gaze. 

Once he had settled, Stilgar cleared his throat. “Now the last of us is here, let us begin. As you may know,” he looked around the table as he spoke. “We have seen an increase in Harkonnen attacks and improved defensive measures”

Tirokab nodded in agreement. “We have also seen a similar pattern- we've lost many men to this.” 

“Yes. As have we.” Stilgar nodded solemnly. “We have reason to believe we face a new enemy. As you may know, we are fortunate to have the help of our new Fremen brother and Haris Lisan Al-Gaib- he has reason to believe these changes are a result of new leadership, a man called Orham.” 

“So what’s the plan?” Asked one of the Alraab men. “We kill this Orham and then, what, the attacks stop?”

“They won’t stop.” Feyd-Rautha replied. “My uncle won’t allow it. Orham will just be replaced.”   

“Then what do you propose?”

“We destroy House Harkonnen.” A stilled silence filled the room. 

“That is… rather ambitious.”

“It’s ridiculous!” Another spoke, slamming his fist on the table. “We don’t have anywhere near enough man power for such a plan.” 

“We will if we unite with the south.” Jessica said softly, the faintest hint of calculation glinting in her eye, already weaving her web of persuasion.  

“And how do you suggest we do that?”

“With the Lisan Al-Gaib.”

Tirokab scoffed. “I mean no disrespect to you, Reverend Mother, but we can not base the entirety of our plan on one boy, Lisan-Al-Gaib or not.” He looked at Paul pointedly, causing him to slide further down in his chair. “I propose we change our method of raids. With the use of laser guns, we can take down their shields and Ornithopters.”

“That doesn’t do anything to tackle the real problem at hand!” Feyd-Rautha slammed a fist onto the table. He looked furious, mouth drawn into a snarl. “We need to kill my Uncle and my Brother!” 

“If your brother is as weak as you say, then why waste resources on him?”

“Because he needs to die.” 

“You prioritise your own desires, boy.” Tirokab tutted. “We will try my plan first, yes?” 

The loud sound of a chair scraping against the floor sounded as Feyd-Rautha stood. He glared at Tirokab, before storming out of the meeting room. 

Without thinking, Paul stood and started after him. He ignored the long look Jessica gave him as he passed her. 

“Feyd-Rautha!” He called, jogging slightly to catch up to the other’s long strides. Anger was evident as his every step thundered against the ground. When the other ignored his yell, he shouted again, this time louder. “Feyd!” 

“What?” The other snapped, whipping round to face him. They were outside now, standing near the remains of yesterday’s fire.

“What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing!” 

“Well it seems like-”

“Where were you last night?” Feyd asked accusatorily, the pitch of his voice causing Paul to wince slightly. Despite his sickness leaving, the pounding in his head hadn’t abated.

“I felt ill so my mother looked after me.” 

Feyd snorted. The sound was cold, lacking any real humour. “You really can’t handle your liquor, can you?” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Where were you actually last night?”

Paul cast him a questioning look. “With my mother?”

“So you weren’t with that girl?”

“What girl?” 

“The one you kissed last night.”

Oh. 

He hadn’t realised that Feyd had seen. “I didn’t sleep with Chani.” He said defensively. “And she was the one to kiss me.”

“Whatever. I don’t care.” Feyd moved to sit in the sand, staring out at the open desert with an unreadable expression on his face. Cautious as if he were approaching a wild animal, Paul moved to sit beside him.

“Seriously, what’s wrong? Why did you storm out of that meeting?” 

“I need to kill my brother. They are getting in my way.” Feyd muttered angrily. 

Hesitantly, Paul shifted a little closer until their knees brushed. “Why do you hate him so much? Your uncle- I understand. But what did your brother do?” 

Sure, Paul hated Rabban, but that was different- They weren’t brothers. Siblings were supposed to care for each other- and Rabban and Feyd-Rautha evidently didn’t.

“He hated me when we were younger.” Feyd began, anger fading and was instead replaced with something akin to contemplation. “Not that I care- He was jealous of me. Despite being younger I was always the better fighter, the better strategist. He used to beat me until I grew too strong for him to do so.”

“That's horrible-”

Feyd shook his head. ”I don't care that he beat me. It was when I started gaining my Uncle's attention that our relationship changed. He no longer hated me, he felt sorry for me. “ His fists clenched. “But he was never sorry enough to do anything apart from cower. He didn't defend me- suddenly he was grateful for me. Because I meant he didn’t receive my uncle’s attention. He is a coward and I hate him for it.”

Paul felt a heavy sorrow unfurl in his chest- sorrow for the man sitting beside him. He reached out a hand, unclenching Feyd’s fist and taking it in his own. “I’m sorry.”

“You've said that before.’’

“I am, though. I wish I could take your pain away.”

The other shrugged. “It’s what motivates me to move forward. I wouldn’t be who I am without it.” 

“That's true.” He looked up at Feyd, holding his hand a bit tighter. “I don’t want you to change.” 

Heart racing in his chest, he moved closer and rested his head on Feyd’s shoulder. Feyd froze for a moment, clearly not expecting the touch before he relaxed into it. 

“Are you with Chani now?” Feyd asked, sounding surprisingly vulnerable. 

“No.” 

“Okay. Good.” 

They sat in silence after that, Feyd-Rautha’s hand still clutched in his own. 

He knew then that something between them had changed again. 

Chapter Text

The rest of the day was spent in relative peace. 

He and Feyd-Rautha avoided everyone and everything, instead choosing to bar themselves in an empty room and spar until their bodies were exhausted and their minds blank. When evening came, Paul slept in his assigned room with Feyd. 

Unfortunately for them, the next day offered no such luck.

Stilgar came knocking on their door early in the morning, rudely rousing Paul from his slumber. 

“Boy. Where were you yesterday?” Stilgar frowned at him, Paul blinking blearily in return. 

“Around.”

“Hm. I don’t really care as long as you aren't doing anything stupid.” He peered around the door to look at Feyd-Rautha. “Good morning, other boy.”

Feyd-Rautha grunted in response.

“Did you need something?” Paul asked, wanting nothing more than to return to the comfort of his mat. 

“Yes.” Great. “I tried to tell you yesterday, but since you both disappeared I had a hard time doing that. Harkonnen spice harvesters have been spotted in the area, you will both attend the raid as we trial our new plan.”

“When do we leave?”

“Now.”  

Paul sighed. So much for going back to sleep. 

It didn’t take him long to get ready, now used to the routine and the rush that came with a raid. Feyd-Rautha seemed similarly grogish, quietly cursing Stilgar under his breath as he went- it seemed even the thrill of an upcoming fight couldn’t get him to enjoy early mornings. 

Before long, they were standing outside the Alraab Sietch, sun only just beginning to rise over the sand dunes. 

Stifling a yawn, Paul watched as the last of the group made their way over to them.

In total there were twelve of them. Six Alraab Fremen and the six of the younger Tabr Fremen. The rest of the Tabr had stayed behind, including his mother and Stilgar who were too busy engineering their new attack plan. Paul was more than happy to miss out on that- especially considering yesterday's drama. 

Their assigned objective for the raid was to trial the usage of laser guns- a task that had been primarily assigned to the Alraab Fremen, as instructed by Tirokab. The six Tabr were primarily there for backup- what with Jessica and Stilgar still being firm believers that the Lisan-Al-Gaib was the true answer to their problems. 

But, despite walking into the attack with initial doubts, to Paul’s surprise it ended up being a major success. 

The guns managed to successfully bring down the ornithopter before there were any casualties, and as a result, the spice harvested was left completely defenceless. Taking down the grounded Harkonnen troopers had been light work and Paul had to admit, it was rather satisfying to watch the machine be blown up. It felt like he was enacting a small part of his father’s revenge plan. 

However, simplicity was something they were never afforded, and soon enough the situation proceeded to twist into something far more complicated. Just as the group was about to leave, Nirmi had stopped them, pointing to the air. 

“Look.”

Their eyes followed her finger. There, shifting around the smoke, was another ornithopter. Similar to the last raid, this one was merely acting as an observer. 

“It’s Orham.” Feyd-Rautha said. “Rabben isn’t with them this time.”

From where they stood, they could vaguely see a figure in the ornithopter- a shadow framed by the window, watching them with unwavering focus. Paul didn’t recognise him as he had when it had been Rabban. But Feyd-Rautha certainly did; the hard glare he levelled at the aircraft made that much obvious. He found a small sense of relief in the fact they’d chosen to wear their face coverings, the obscured features hopefully would be enough to keep them from being recognised. 

The ornithopter circled them a few times, although it didn’t move to attack. Maybe it didn’t have the resources- or maybe it was something else entirely. Either way, Paul was deeply relieved when it started flying away. 

However, that relief was soon lost when Feyd-Rautha started marching after it. 

“What the fuck is he doing?” Shisalki asked incredulously. 

Groaning to himself, Paul started to chase the other down the dune. “Feyd, what are you doing?” He ran up to him, grabbing his shoulder and pulling him back. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the others beginning to follow, which only proceeded to stress him further. 

Just as he was growing concerned that Feyd would lash out and hurt one of them, their eyes met and Paul paused. Feyd-Rautha appeared to be perfectly calm. 

“Well?” He probed.

“The ornithopter is heading East, which means he’s likely heading back to the Eastern Harkonnen base.”

Paul scoffed. “And you’re planning on going after him?”

Feyd-Rautha rolled his eyes as if were the most obvious thing in the world. “My brother might be there- and If not, I still get to take down Orham.”

With a low groan, Paul pressed the palm of his hand over his face. “You can’t attack a Harkonnen base all by yourself.” He spoke slowly, trying to emphasise his point but Feyd was having none of it. 

“I don’t see anyone else doing anything! The Fremen are set on continuing their fruitless, insignificant raids- but in the grand scheme of things, they’re merely a minor inconvenience to the Harkonnen. There will always be more spice harvesters, more men, more resources- It’s pitiful!” 

“I hate to admit it, but he has a point.” Ghar murmured. 

A heavy pause fell over the group. Paul felt his shoulders tense, mentally preparing himself for an argument and mind whirring with increased vigour as the silence grew longer. Surely they couldn’t be considering what Feyd-Rautha was saying… 

Surprisingly, it was Shishalki who was the first to step forward.  “You’re a mad man,  Feyd-Rautha- but I do agree with what you're saying. I’ll come. You coming too, Ghar?”

The other shrugged. “Sure. Could be fun.” 

“Stop encouraging him!” Paul exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air in frustration. 

“I agree with Paul.” Nodded Chani. “It’s too reckless to go off on our own like this. Especially into unfamiliar enemy territory.” 

Feyd-Rautha scoffed at her. “Of course you’d agree with Paul.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Chani glared.

“I’m serious,” Paul stepped between the two before things could escalate. “This isn’t a good idea.” 

“Stop trying to order us around, Paul.” Shisakli rolled her eyes at him. “I thought you said you weren’t the Lisan Al-Gaib and you weren’t here to try and lead us.” 

“That’s not what I’m trying to do!” 

“Stop arguing.” Nirmi glared at them both. “You can’t stop them from going, Paul.” Paul scoffed, crossing his arms, but listened as she continued. “Either go with them and make sure they don’t get hurt, or go back to the Sietch. I for one don’t agree with this plan- but if something were to happen and I wasn't there, I would feel terrible.” She nodded. “I’ll go with you.”

“Yeah- I guess I will too.” Shosq agreed. 

Now it was just Paul and Chani. When he turned to her, she merely raised an eyebrow at him questioningly. 

“Don’t be a coward, Atreides.” Feyd taunted, effectively snapping the final threat of Paul’s resolve. 

“Fine.” He huffed. “I’ll come.”  

Everyone turned to Chani. “I still think it’s a bad idea.”

“But you’re coming?”

She sighed. “Yeah…” 

•                                      -                      -              -           -         -      -   - -

According to Feyd-Rautha, the journey to the base was about a day's travel on foot. Nirmi had gotten a paracompass out of her bag, and then they were off, heading in the rough direction of East. 

“Have you been there before?” Paul asked, increasing his pace until he was walking alongside Feyd.

“No. But it’s where I was to be stationed.” He replied. “It seems Orham has well and truly replaced me.”

“Well, I’m sure he’s nowhere near as cometent as you in combat.”

Ever the egoist when it came to his fighting capabilities, his comment seemed to please Feyd, a small smirk forming on his face. “No, he's not. He’s nothing but a weak, insignificant little weasel.”

Paul raised an eyebrow at him. “You seem quite passionate in your hatred for him.”

“I’ve found that I hate most people- Orham is especially insufferable though.”

“Why?”

“It’s like I said,” Feyd said with a casual shrug. “I hate people who are weak.”

“That’s not a valid reason to hate someone.” 

Evidently thinking his words to be ridiculous, Feyd stared at him incredulously. “Well it’s not like the feeling isn’t mutual- he hates me as much as i hate him.” 

“And why is that?”

Feyd shrugged again. “When I was younger, his son Faal was my peer. One day he made fun of me for having a traitor for a father. We fought, and I killed him- and despite what Orham thought, it was an accident.” He spoke casually, as if the memory brought him no trouble. “I would have admitted it had I intended to kill him- I have no shame when it comes to such acts.”

“So he thought you purposefully murdered his son out of cold blood?”

“Yes.” 

Paul couldn’t help but imagine Feyd, just a young boy when he was forced to kill his mother, then going on to accidentally killing his peer. He’d been so young. The Harkonnens wouldn’t have been sympathetic towards him. They would have encouraged him to kill- The baron would have encouraged him to kill. It was sick. 

“You should try to avoid immediately killing him- if you can.” He began carefully. 

“Why?” Feyd-Rautha asked defensively, as if Paul was asking something entirely unreasonable.  

“We need to question him. He might know where your brother is so we can go after him next.” 

Instantly, the frown on the other’s face widened into a dangerous grin “So you’ll help me kill my brother?” 

“Feyd, I want him dead as much as you do. If the time is right, then yes. I'll help you”.” He shook his head. “But I still think this is a bad idea- we should go back to the Sietch and regroup.” But the look on the other’s face made him realise he would be getting nowhere with his suggestions. 

“Orham may be gone by then.” Feyd snapped. “He will be moving between fortresses frequently.”

“Well if he’s gone, we'll just have to try again another time- we’re severely undermanned right now, what we're doing is extremely risky.” 

“I didn’t force any of you to come with me.” He scoffed. 

“I wasn’t about to let you run off and get yourself killed, you know I wouldn’t.” It seemed most of his time was spent trying to keep Feyd-Rautha out of trouble- and despite his change in feelings for the other, it was still beyond draining. 

“Then stop complaining.” 

“All I’m saying is I have a bad feeling about this. So be careful.” 

“Aren’t I always?” 

“No.” Paul shook his head wearily. He knew when to accept defeat- especially when it came to Feyd-Rautha and his stubbornness.. 

“Hey, Lisan Al-Gaib!” Shisakli called. Since realising how annoying he found the name- she’d taken to calling him it at every given opportunity. “Can we stop for a break?” 

“Ask Haris Lisan Al-Gaib,” he shouted back, “he’s the one in charge!” 

“I fucking hate that name.” Feyd grumbled.

“Can we stop?” 

“Fine.”

They sat in a nearby cave that was just big enough to fit them all, sheltering them from the day's sun. Once they set their bags down, Shosq started serving them all coffee as they finally relaxed against the cool stone. 

“What’s he doing?” Ghar pointed to where Feyd-Rautha stood a few metres away, staring into the desert. 

“Why don’t you go and ask him Ghar?” Shisakli shoved at him, causing his coffee to spill. 

“Shut up!”

“What?” Paul raised an eyebrow at the two. He couldn’t help but feel like he was missing the joke. 

“Ghar has a new hero- he thinks Feyd-Rautha’s cool.” She snorted

“I do not.”

“He’s not cool.” Chani interrupted. “He’s just moping like usual.”

Frowning, Paul watched Feyd’s back as he stood, staring out into the open desert. He hadn’t rested since they first set out. Standing, Paul grabbed another cup of coffee before leaving the cave and walking over to the other. 

“Here.” He held out the drink, which Feyd then took, eyeing it warily. “It’s not poisoned.”

“The girl is mad at you.” 

Paul hummed. He’d also noticed the change in Chani- it was hard not to with the way she was avoiding him, sitting as far away as possible and refusing eye contact. He’d meant to talk to her about it, but just hadn’t had the time. “Well I did run away after she kissed me.”

“You’re all too sensitive to things that matter so little in life.” 

“Having feelings doesn’t mean you're sensitive.” He shook his head. “It’s fair enough that she’s mad at me- wouldn’t you be upset if it were you?” 

“No. On Geidi Prime, If someone dared to disrespect me like that I would have them executed.” 

“Seriously?” Paul asked, aghast. 

“Why do you not wish to enter a courtship with the girl?” Feyd asked, ignoring his shock. “Despite her being rather insufferable, she isn’t a terrible fighter and is clearly interested in you.”

It took him a while to think of a suitable answer. It’s not like he could just revea that he rejected Chani due to some fucked up repressed feelings he was having for him. He dreaded to think of the reaction he’d receive if he did- Feyd had always had a weird obsession with him, but that didn’t mean he would be reciprocal. Did he even like men? Paul himself hadn’t even known he liked men until yesterday. When did everything get so confusing…

“I’m just not interested in her like that.” Was his reply, thinking it best to remain vague. 

“Good.” 

“Good?”

“Yes. Don’t enter a courtship with anyone.” 

“What?” Paul gaped at him, dumbfounded. “Who are you to decide that?” 

“Don’t.” 

“Well it’s not your choice to make!” And just like that, he yet again found himself annoyed at the other. He was growing sick of Feyd-Rautha’s games. One minute he was trying to kill him, the next telling him he couldn’t date anyone. It didn’t make sense. 

“I have something I wish to show you.” Noticing Paul’s anger, he tried taking a softer tone. “Please.” 

Paul scoffed. “The audacity of you- you’re impossible.” He crossed his arms. “What is it you want to show me?”

Mockingly Feyd mimicked his pose, infuriating Paul further. “It’s a surprise.” He said vaguely. 

“Of course it is.” 

Despite his outward annoyance, Paul felt his heart rate increase and cursed the slight blush that he knew was forming on his cheeks. Rolling his eyes in order to mask his confusion, Paul began walking back to the others. “You should come and rest for a bit, you’ll want to be in top form for Orham.” He called over his shoulder. 

•                                       -                        -                -          -      -    -  - -

They made it to the Harkonnen base just as the sun was beginning to set. 

The building wasn’t too heavily guarded, likely due to the anonymity of the location and the assumption the Fremen didn’t know it was there. They were right of course- the Fremen didn’t know where their base was. But Feyd-Rautha did, and he was now Fremen. 

“What’s the plan then, Haris?” Ghar hissed at Feyd.

They were crouched low in the sand, the oncoming nighttime aiding in making them undetectable. Feyd looked away from where he was analysing the building through a pair of binoculars. “We should be able to get in through the west entrance. It’s the smallest so will be the least guarded.”

“Do you know where we need to go from there?”

He nodded. “I've memorised the layouts of all the Harkonnen fortresses on Arakkis.” 

“Let’s go then.” Paul rose to a crouch, keeping as low to the ground as he could manage. “We should try and avoid making a scene. Stealth seems like the best approach until we fully know what we're facing.” 

As the small group began making their way through the sand, Paul felt his body grow tenser. Despite Feyd’s confidence- he still had a bad feeling about what they were doing. 

They managed to make it to the western entrance undetected, only coming across one guard on the way. Like Feyd had said, the entrance was a small one, likely unnoticeable to anyone who didn’t know the layout of the base. It was nestled next to a large pile of boulders, two guards lounging around carelessly. 

You take the one on the left. Feyd-Rautha signed to him, Paul nodding in acknowledgement.

Silently, he crept around the boulders before grabbing the guard nearest to him and dragging him backwards, hand pressed firmly over his mouth. Before the other guard could notice his co-workers disappearance, Feyd jumped at him, snapping his neck. Paul disabled the shield of the guard he held before slicing his throat, the struggling body going limp at once. 

Waving the rest of them over, Feyd picked the key card off the dead guards belt and opened the door. With the Western entrance being slightly further than the rest, they had to walk down a long, narrow corridor in order to reach the main building. Adrenaline pounded through Paul’s veins as they crept along, footsteps carefully silenced against the tile beneath them. 

Once they reached the end of the corridor, he peaked around the corner, only to see another completely empty hallway. 

“Where the fuck is everyone?” Chani whispered, voicing his exact thoughts. 

“We should keep going.” Feyd muttered. “The main meeting room is just down there, that’s where Orham should be.” 

A niggling whisper in the back of his mind kept insisting something was right. His own breathing sounded overly loud in his ears, an uncomfortable contrast to the deafening silence around them.

“It’s too quiet. We should split up.” whispered Shishakli. “Half take the meeting room, the other half sweep the area.”

Paul nodded “Me, Feyd and Chani will take the meeting room. The rest of you clear the area.”

The other four nodded, and separated from their group. Once their backs had disappeared into an adjacent room, Feyd made a gesture with his hand and signalled for him and Chani to move forward. 

Silently, they began creeping in the opposite direction until they reached a large lobby-like area that connected to the main entrance. Yet again, it was empty. It seemed like they could have just walked through the front door and nobody would have stopped them. 

“Meeting rooms just through there.” Feyd pointed at a large set of double doors.

“Right.” 

Tension growing, Paul slowly pushed open the door, the loud creak of it echoing through the silent corridors. He halted when he saw what was in the room.

Aside from the centrepiece, a large stone table, the room was relatively bare. At the end, there was a raised stone platform with a singular chair. There was a man sitting in the chair- staring back at him. 

Whilst he had all the features of a Harkonnen, with his pale skin and lack of hair, there was something different about him. He was small, his presence unimposing. Unlike most Harkonnen Paul had seen, he wasn’t very muscular, being more on the lean side. But there was something in his eyes, a certain glint, that unnerved Paul more than it should have. It was like those eyes were analysing him, seeing right through him. 

He was alone, aside from a few women gathered around him, likely pleasure slaves. 

“Ah, Feyd-Rautha you're here!” The man greeted, rising to his feet. “That is you, right? It’s hard to tell under all those dusty garbs.” 

“Orham.” Feyd replied. He stepped past Paul and dragged down his mask to reveal his face. 

“My, look at those eyes.” Gaze analytical, Orham stood and began making his way down the platform. “You make a good Fremen.” 

Paul felt his hackles rise as the other’s gaze shifted to him. “And who do we have here? Your newfound Fremen friends?” He chuckled to himself, the sound lacking any real humour. “I'm surprised- you always struggled to make friends. Any would-be contender tended to meet an unfortunate end.” 

“How did you know it was me?” Feyd was beginning to prowl the room now, as if ready to pounce at a given moment.

The other rested his chin on his fist. “When you disappeared, everyone assumed you were dead. But not me- I knew it would take more than the desert to kill a cockroach like you.” 

“How clever you are.” Feyd replied dryly. 

“Yes, well my suspicions weren’t confirmed until I saw you with the Fremen. You were masked- but the way you stared up at my ship, at your brother- it was nothing but familiar. I knew that if it really was you, you wouldn’t be able to resist following me back a second time. After all, you’re the only one who knows where this base is. So, thank you for confirming my suspicions.” 

The door at the other end of the room slammed open with a bang, and in walked a set of guards, a limp body dragged between them. 

“We found one of them sneaking around.” One said, throwing the body to the ground. It was Shishakli. Paul felt his heart drop when he saw the wound in the centre of her head. Fist clenching, his nails dug into his palms as Chani let out a poorly restrained sob from beside him.

“I told you not to kill any of them!” Orham frowned.

“She was putting up too much of a fight.” 

“Was that all of them?”

“We couldn’t find any more.” 

The others were still alive then- for the time being at least. 

More guards spilled into the room from behind, closing in until they were fully surrounded. Paul knew it had been too easy to sneak in, though he gained no satisfaction from being right. The Harkonnens had known they were here from the start. Without knowing, they had been circled like prey, waiting patiently until the trap was sealed. 

They had walked straight into an ambush, and now Shishakli was dead. 

Feyd still stood in the centre of the room, the guards not approaching him as if wary. They didn’t share the same qualms for Paul and Chani, grabbing them roughly and forcing them to their knees. 

Tutting condescending, Orham grew closer, not sharing the same qualms as his men. “You truly are predictable, Feyd-Rautha. Always too quick to anger- too susceptible to your emotions. And now, this girl has died because of you.”  

“You're a coward!” Paul suddenly shouted, unable to contain the rage within him. He thrashed in the Harkonnen’s grip, in a desperate attempt at breaking free. However, all it earnt him was a firm backhand to the face. 

“Paul, don’t-” Chani lurched towards him, but the guard grabbed her hair and held her back.

“You sit on your chair, scheming away, but that is all you're capable of. Without your brains, you’re nothing but a weak coward-” The guards kicked him harder this time, causing him to fold in on himself with a grunt. 

“Paul, is it?” Orham moved across the room, noticeably avoiding Feyd-Rautha’s path. “That's not a Fremen name, is it? It is familiar though.” He motioned to the guards holding him. “Remove his mask.” 

Silently cursing Chani for using his name, his struggling increasing with a newfound fervour. But his attempts were futile, as they knocked roughly on the back of his head and grabbed at his face coverings. He immediately flowered his head, trying to hide his face, but before he knew it, Orham was yanking him upwards by the root of his hair. His mind raced as the other began analysing him, Paul praying over and over that he didn’t recognise him.

“Put a gag in his mouth- now!”

“Don’t-” Before Paul could finish his command, a piece of rag was roughly stuffed into his mouth, causing him to choke slightly. 

“Paul Atreides, hm? Now that’s an interesting turn of events.” He released his grip on Paul’s hair and moved away to address his men. “Be careful, his mother is Bene-Gesserit- although I doubt he is as proficient as her, he may still be deadly.” 

“You should unhand them now.” Feyd said, his voice threaded with unmistakable threat. 

Orham, however, paid the warning no mind. “What happened to killing him, Feyd-Rautha? Did he bewitch you with his curse of a voice?” 

“I would never fall for such simple tricks.”

“No?” He turned back to the Harkonnen guards. “Make sure not to rough him up too much. You know what our Baron is like, he’ll want him alive and pretty.”

A chill ran down Paul’s spine at the implication. 

“You won’t be leaving this place alive, Orham.” Feyd said slowly through gritted teeth. 

Despite the threat, Orham merely laughed. “I’m sure your uncle will be glad to see you return home safe and sound as well, Feyd-Rautha.” He turned back to the guards. “Bind the boy and bring him to the ship. He’s sneaky, we need to move him now.”

“What about the girl?”

“We have what we want.” Orham waved a hand in Chani's general direction. “Kill her.” 

The guards began to edge closer to Feyd-Rautha, creeping in with deliberate slowness and exploiting his momentary distraction. Focus obviously clouded, rage rolled off him in palpable waves- his jaw locked tight, firsts curled so hard his knuckles started turning white. 

Across the room, the soldiers surrounding Paul started moving in closer, tightening the circle until they were nearly on top of him. One of them held a coil of rope, already preparing to bind his legs. Panic surged through him. He whipped his head towards Chani, finding her staring back with the same wide-eyed terror. He had to act- now. If he didn’t, they were going to kill her.  

“I’m serious, Orham.” Feyd-Rautha snarled, starting to  march towards the other, but the guards moved to act as a physical blockade. They still didn’t touch him. “Let them go. Now.” 

“Hm.” Orham regarded Feyd for a long moment, his eyes narrowed in thought. It was as if he were searching his expression for some hidden answer, studying every reaction and flicker of emotion like it was a puzzle to solve. When a slow, knowing smile finally curved his lips, Paul felt his hackles rise- Orham had obviously found whatever he’d been looking for. 

With a sharp click of his tongue, Orham turned and strolled back toward Paul, who remained kneeling on the stone floor. Paul glared up at him, fury burning hot behind his eyes. He hated this man. He hated the smug certainty in his eyes, as if he knew everything-

Orham kicked him across the face. 

As his train of thought was forcibly knocked from mind, a muffled grunt escaped his lips and he was thrown to the side. He could do nothing as another kick was aimed at his stomach, knocking the air from his lungs.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Feyd-Rautha lunge forward, beginning to attack the Harkonnen guards who were in his path. However, there were too many of them and he was soon overwhelmed and pinned to the ground, writhing in a furious frenzy. 

“Ill fucking kill you!” Feyd yelled hoarsely, struggling futilely against the guards. 

“Just like you killed my son?”

“Yes, but I'll make it ten times more painful, you spineless- !” His words were cut off as a boot slammed into the side of his face, blood spraying from his lips.

“You’ve always had such a rage in you. My poor boy didn’t stand a chance.”

“Your boy hid behind his words, just as you do.” Feyd-Rautha looked up, blood dripping down his chin. “He was weak, just like his coward for a father.”

Another kick was sent to Paul’s stomach, even harder than the last. This only seemed to enrage Feyd further as he struggled on the floor, shouting endless insults and threats.

“It’s interesting. It seems this boy did bewitch you, just not in the way I thought.” Orham chuckled dryly. “Youve always have had… peculiar tastes, haven’t you? Just like your uncle.” 

Feyd-Rautha went still, his struggles ceasing all at once. Slowly, he lifted his fixed the other with a stare of such unmitigated hatred that it sent a shiver crawling across Paul’s skin. 

Even Orham faltered for a moment, a flicker of unease passing across his face. But it wasn’t enough to stop him. Feyd’s words seemed to fester in his mind, stoking his temper. Paul could see the shift- Orham was slipping into his own rising fury, visibly rattled by Feyd’s uncontrollable defiance. 

Then, an explosion sounded from the hallway, blowing the doors clean off their hinges and slamming into a group of Harkonnen. At the same time, something was thrown from the air vents and the room exploded into a cloud of smoke. Just before the smoke consumed his vision, Paul saw a figure drop from the ceiling and the sounds of fighting erupted from all around them. 

Taking advantage of the momentary confusion, Chani headbutted the guard behind her, stealing his weapon and stabbing him in the gut. With a cry she took out the guard behind Paul before kneeling to undo his restraints. 

The moment his hands were free he yanked the gag from his mouth. 

“Chani, are you-”

But she silenced him before he even had time to finish his sentence. “We don’t have time for emotions, Paul. You have to fight.” She passed him the knife from the other guard before plunging into the smoke, soon followed by the sounds of screams and the bodies dropping. 

Ignoring the pain in his ribs and face, Paul rose to his feet just in time to defend himself against an incoming attacker. With great effort, he pushed his overflowing emotions to the back of his mind, focusing on the fight ahead of him. 

The smoke still hung thick in the air, curling around the space like a living thing. For the Harkonnen- unaccustomed to fighting with stealth or relying on anything other than sight, it proved to be a crippling disadvantage. But for the Fremen, it came as second nature- they were in their natural environment. Having to rely solely on his other senses made Paul realise just how loud they were. In the way they moved-  their breathing, their footsteps. They were clumsy. Sloppy. Exposed. 

He slipped into a crouch where the smoke was heaviest, keeping low to the ground as he crept forward. One by one, he took his opponents down, swift and silent. For a moment, it felt almost easy. But then the haze started to thin, the swirling cover dissipating into the air- and as their visibility returned, so did the brutal truth. They were still badly outnumbered. 

As his sight improved, he noticed a familiar figure a few metres away. It was Ghar. Paul hadn’t even heard him approach. 

“Hey.” He hissed at the other, beckoning him over. They both darted under the nearby table as the last tendrils of smoke thinned. “Was this you?”

“Yeah.” Ghar replied. He was panting heavily. “We hid in the vents so they couldn’t find us and used a couple of bombs I had left over from the raid.”

“Smart.”

Ghar shook his head. “Not smart enough to save Shishakli.” 

“Stop chatting, we’re in the middle of a battle and are at a severe disadvantage!” Nirmi dove under the table next to them, slapping Ghar on the back of the head before crawling out of the other side and stabbing the man closest. 

She had a point. 

Paul crawled out beside her, scanning the room. Now the smoke had cleared, he could see Feyd-Rautha. He was ferociously battling four men at once and despite being outnumbered, he seemed to be doing alright. 

However, a strangled noise sounded from behind him, causing him to rapidly swivel around. Ghar was standing behind him, a knife stuck through his throat. Paul’s eyes widened as the weapon slid from the wound and he fell at his feet, dead. A Harkonnen trooper stood behind his fallen body. 

Paul didn’t even think, he ran straight at him. The Harkonnen managed to dodge his first hit, but with the second coming as fast as it did, there was no repeat. Paul tackled him to the ground, blade piercing through his shield and into his heart. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Orham dart from the room, Feyd-Rautha hot on his trail. What the fuck was he doing? They were already severely outnumbered- they didn’t have time to go chasing after a single man. 

When he went to go and help Nirmi, who was battling six men on her own, he tripped. When he looked down he was met with the lifeless eyes of Shosq. Paul hadn’t even seen him die. 

His lip started to tremble. He bit down on it harshly, the pain centering him once more and he ran back into the fight. He killed the man closest to him. One turned to two. Two to four. He lost count after that, the constant buzz of adrenaline pounding in his head, his body moving as if it were on auto-pilot. 

Then there were only three left standing, surrounded by countless piles of bodies. The sounds of heavy panting filled the room and he wiped at his brow where sweat had started to drip down it. He looked up at Nirmi and Chani. They looked beaten. Both physically and mentally. 

Then Feyd-Rautha stormed back into the room, dragging a screaming and kicking Orham with him. He threw the man at Paul’s feet where he made no attempt to stand, instead choosing to cower by Paul’s boots. 

“Where’s my brother, Orham?”

“Please, spare me!” He cried. “Feyd-Rautha, you can return to Geidi Prime- I won’t tell anyone of your betrayal.” He swivelled to grovel at the other, whose face remained impassively blank. “You can bring Paul Atreides with you- you can protect him. He will be safer from your uncle if he thinks you're on his side. I won’t tell him the truth, I swear!”

“Where is my brother?” Feyd repeated slowly, eyes glinting. 

“Rabban? Rabban! He’s at the Northern base, I can take you to him. He won’t know any better, you know what he’s like-“

Feyd-Rautha brought down his blade, slicing the other's throat so deeply his head nearly detached from his shoulders. Paul watched as the body crumpled to the floor in a pile of blood. 

Breathing heavily, Feyd didn’t look away from it. 

Slowly, Paul approached him and hesitantly placed a hand on his pale cheek, wiping away a stray streak of blood.

 “Are you okay?” He asked cautiously. 

Blue eyes met blue and after a moment, Feyd nodded. “We need to take care of the witnesses.” He gestured to the group of pleasure slaves huddled in the corner. “There are others around the base as well. Family members. Workers. Witnesses.”

Paul frowned. “Must we? They had no role in this.”

“They won’t hesitate to run back to my uncle and tell him everything they've seen.”

“But-“

“Paul.” The emphasis on his name paused him in his tracks. “They’ve seen us. Our cover will be blown.”

Swallowing roughly and heart heavy, Paul nodded. “Yeah.”

And so, he did as Feyd-Rauth asked.

He made his way through his half of the base, killing anyone he came across. Somewhere along the way, he stopped flinching every time a body fell to the ground. He realised now the lengths he would go to protect Feyd-Rautha, and it scared him more than any feeling. 

It reminded him of his spice fueled dream in the tent, bodies piled high, a knife clutched in a blood stained hand. He knew now that hand was his own. 

The caretaker, the drivers, the list went on. 

He felt bile at the back of his throat. 

All in all, he had to kill twelve extra people. All defenceless, all untrained. 

All Harkonnen. 

When the guilt in his stomach threatened to push its way up, he reminded himself of Shishalki’s dead body. Of Ghar’s. Of Shosq’s. 

When he returned to the hall, Feyd was already there, waiting for him. He’d likely taken care of his killings faster than Paul had, lacking his hesitance. As soon as he noticed Paul enter,  he made his way over to him. 

“You did well.” He murmured, voice uncharacteristically soft and took his hand, thumb gently caressing his. 

Paul nodded numbly, the day's exhaustion weighing down on him. At that moment, he wanted nothing more than to return home. But he wasn’t entirely sure where that was anymore. 

Then, Feyd let go of his hand and started walking away. 

“Where are you going?” 

“To find my brother.”

Paul froze for a moment, before the words finally processed. He gaped at the other. “What- you can’t go after him.”

“Well I am. Are you coming?” Feyd-Rautha swivelled round, pausing to look at him expectantly. 

What the hell was he thinking? Paul shook his head as if that would clear the fog that was readily growing. “What the fu-“

“Paul!” Nirmi suddenly called. 

The desperation in her voice startled him, causing him to move to her immediately. Her and Chani were no longer standing in the corner as they had been a minute ago. Chani had fallen to the floor, Nirmi crouched over her, hands frantically hovering over her torso. 

“What’s wrong with her?” Paul cried, running over to them. 

“I was stabbed.” Chani muttered through gritted teeth. 

“Why didn’t you say anything, you idiot!” Nirmi yelled, her eyes filling with tears. Rapidly, she ripped the fabric away from Chani’s stomach, revealing the wound.

“Shit.” She grunted when she saw it. “Didn’t think it was that bad.” 

“Chani? Chani! Don’t shut your eyes!” 

“We need to stop the bleeding.” Paul collapsed at her side, ripping a piece of fabric off her cloak and binding the wound as tightly as he could. She gasped in pain, trying to batter his hand away. 

“Come on, we’re going to get you out of here. We’re going home.” Nirmi was muttering to her senselessly, clutching her friend's hand tightly. 

When Paul looked back up, Feyd-Rautha was staring at them blankly.

 “Feyd, what are you doing? Get over here!” He cried, urgency lacing his tone. 

Feyd-Rautha only gave a slow shake of his head. “I’m leaving.” 

“Don’t be ridiculous- now is not the time for your stubbornness-" 

“Are you coming with me or not?” The other cut in, his tone flat, unwavering. 

Expression dumbfounded, Paul stared at him wordlessly. He couldn’t be serious, could he? His face morphed into a look of desperation and he stood, making his way back over to the other and gripped his arm, trying to drag him. “Feyd, come on.”

“No.”

Paul felt something in him snap. “We need to go back- our friends are dead, Chani is bleeding out!” 

“Your friends. Not mine.”

“You got us into this mess, now help get us out of it.” Desperately, he tugged at the others shoulder again, but Feyd didn’t budge. 

“I’ve stood around doing nothing for too long.” He shook his head. “House Harkonnen needs to fall.”

“And I said I’d help you! But now is not the time.” Paul tugged at the other hand one last time, energy dissipating. He felt the burning of tears in his eyes, the events of the day all crashing down at once. “Please.” 

But Feyd-Rautha merely shook his head. He looked disappointed- as if Paul had let him down. 

And then, he turned and walked out the door. 

This time, Paul didn’t follow him. 

Chapter Text

Paul woke before the sun that morning. There were some faint remnants of a dream lingering in the back of his mind, one he wasn’t overly eager to remember. He knew Feyd-Rautha had been in it- and that alone was enough to make him want to forget. 

Purposefully ignoring the empty bed roll in the corner, he quickly got ready and made his way to the front of the Sietch where Nirmi was waiting for him. 

“Couldn’t sleep either?” She asked when he reached her, poking the prominent bags under his eyes.

He batted her hand away. “No- I was dreaming again."

“Sometimes I wish I could stop dreaming.” She said with a sad smile. 

Over the last month, Paul had become increasingly closer to Nirmi. She was a quiet, kind girl- one he hadn’t paid much attention to before Orham. It was only afterwards that he learnt she and Shosq had been in a relationship. She’d opened up to him after that day- grief evident as she told him how they had been childhood lovers. 

It made him feel slightly guilty for his moping about Feyd-Rautha, he was still alive after all, and they hadn’t even known each other that long. When he’d admitted as much to her, she had smacked him on the shoulder and told him to stop being ridiculous. That was another thing he liked about Nirmi, there was no false pretense when he spoke to her. 

She was the first person he’s properly opened up to about his strange relationship with Feyd. And in return she would tell him about Shosq, about life growing up in a Fremen Sietch, and about Arrakis in general. Paul found he enjoyed listening to her speak. It provided a good distraction. 

Since returning to the Sietch, he would often join her on her morning hunt. She was incredibly knowledgeable, teaching him all sorts of things about the native animals and plants that he would have never considered before- too focused on learning to fight. She also taught him how to hunt, which turned out to be an extremely tedious job- not that he minded. It yet again acted as a distraction. 

Today was one of those mornings, where they woke before the rest of the Sietch and set off into the desert. It was peaceful, being awake at this time- not that he was able to sleep much at the moment anyway. 

“Ready to go?” She asked.

“Yeah.” He slung his bag over his shoulder and they set off towards the nearby rock cropping. 

He’d also been travelling around with the Fremen Fedaykin for the last month, a welcome change after months of relentless training. In that short time, he felt he had learnt more than he ever had during his period of study- experience proving far more valuable than theory. 

Nirmi led the way through the rocks, occasionally stopping to show him some sort of plant or animal tracking. “This is camel sage.” She lifted the small bush to show him. “We smoke it during funerals. It’s poisonous to eat though.” 

“Got it.” He watched as she carefully placed the plant into her bag before they started moving again. 

“What happened in your dream?” She asked a few moments later, bending down to examine another plant he didn’t recognise. 

“I can’t really remember.” He admitted honestly. 

“But it was about Feyd-Rautha?”

“Always seems to be.” He laughed humorlessly. “There isn't a plant to stop dreams, is there?” 

Smiling sadly, she shook her head. “If there was, I'd let you know.”

“I know.”

“Why don’t you talk to your mother about it?”

“No thanks.” He hadn’t spent much time around Jessica in the last month. In fact, he’d been trying to avoid her and all things prophecy related. For once, he just wanted to pretend he was a normal Fremen, living by the ways of the desert. 

“As she’s our Reverend Mother, I’ve spoken to her about my dreams and she was actually very helpful. She told me about your father, and how she copes” She paused for a moment, hesitant. “I didn’t know, Paul. I’m sorry for your loss.” 

His heart panged at the mention of his father. “He was a good man.” Yet another bitter reminder of what the Harkonnen had taken from him.

Suddenly, she beckoned him over, breaking him from his thoughts. “Look!” She whispered. 

He crept over, dropping to a crouch and looking to where she was pointing. A few metres away stood a sand cat, the creature not having noticed them yet- judging from the way they hadn’t been viciously attacked yet.

“Should we kill it?” He whispered, weapon poised. 

“No!” She smacked him lightly on the leg. “It’s a qit’taraml- it’s sacred.” 

“Last time I saw one it attacked me.” 

“They’re very rare. You’re lucky to have seen one at all.” 

They watched the sand cat in silence. Paul had to admit, when it wasn’t intent on killing him, it was a rather magnificent creature. There was something almost regal in the way it carried itself- every movement precise, deliberate and effortless. It radiated the quiet confidence of a capable predator, commanding respect from its presence alone. After a while of them watching, it slinked away, vanishing as if it had never been there at all. 

They sat there for a while longer, a comfortable silence falling over them. Once they were sure it had gone, they stood again. 

“They are one of the top predators on Arrakis, asides from the shai-hulud. We worship them for being strong, the warriors and protectors of god. They’re very capable.” Nirmi said, her respect for the animal clear in her words. 

“I didn't think you believed in that stuff.” 

“I don’t.” She shook her head. “I can still appreciate a life for what it’s worth though.” 

“You have an interesting outlook on life.” 

She laughed at that, but Paul was being serious. It would make a lot more sense for someone like Nirmi to be the Reverend Mother, someone who was actually Fremen. 

“We should go back now. You have a patrol with Chani today, right?” 

“Yeah. It’s her first time being allowed out since she was hurt.” 

After they got Chani back to the Sietch, she had been in critical condition and had lost an incredibly dangerous amount of blood. It had been hit and go for a while, but she had eventually pulled through. However, when she finally woke she’d been extremely mad at the fact that she was put on bed rest. 

Paul hadn’t been to see her after dropping her off at the med bay. Partly because of how busy he’d been, but partly because of the guilt. Feyd-Rautha was primarily responsible for not only her getting hurt, but aslo her best friend dying- by association, he felt that blame fell onto him. They also still hadn’t discussed their kiss, something he was not looking forward to doing. 

When they made it back to the Sietch, he and Nirmi went their separate ways, Paul going to find something to eat before going to collect Chani. 

When he reached her room, he lingered outside the door for longer than necessary, hand resting lightly against the frame as uncertainty gnawed at him. After a moment, muttering a quiet curse under his breath, he knocked. A few seconds later, she opened the door. 

“Hey.”

“Hey?” 

He cleared his throat. “Ready to go?”

“Yeah.”

An awkward silence fell over the pair. Paul swallowed roughly, mind racing, trying to come up with anything to say- any topic of conversation to make the air between them less strained. 

“Apparently there’s been an increase in activity in the northern sector.” He began slowly, “We’re supposed to check it out.”

“Okay.” She replied simply. 

They mostly walked in silence after that, only speaking occasionally in order to discuss the logistics of their patrol. Yet Paul’s mind was far from quiet. He found himself scrutinizing every movement Chani made, trying to gauge the depth of her anger, to figure out of the damage between them was irreparable. 

The area they were monitoring was a small cliff, the edge of it offering a clear view of an abandoned Harkonnen base- one that had seen use long before his father had taken over. 

They set up behind a boulder, leaning over it to look at the building below. Paul took out his binoculars, searching for any sign of life. There was none. Sighing, he sat back. This was going to be a long watch. 

“How have you been?” He finally caved, unable to take the awkward silence anymore. A few moments of tension passed before she responded, the sound of her voice already relieving him somewhat. 

“I've been…” she swallowed, chewing her lip. “Coping.”

Paul nodded. “I’m sorry about Shishalki.” Despite not knowing her for long, he also mourned for the girl. She had been brave and surprisingly funny at times. He missed her witty remarks, the way she’d teased Feyd-Rautha without fear. 

“There was nothing you could have done. She wanted to go, you tried to stop her.”

“I know but-“

“Paul, seriously.” She turned and looked him dead in the eyes, the intensity of her gaze pausing his speech. “There was nothing you could have done- the same way there was nothing I could have done. I’ve had a lot of time to think about it, and the only ones to blame are the Harkonnens.”

“Yeah.” He nodded in reluctant agreement, still feeling the urge to place some of the blame on his shoulders- but how could he when she’d clearly come to terms with the situation?

“I’m sorry, by the way.”

“Why?” He asked incredulously. 

She looked down at her hands. “Back in the hall I called you by your name. That’s the only reason Orham was able to figure out who you were- why he used you against Feyd-Rautha like that.” 

Memories of brutal kicks came to mind. The pain. The furious look on Feyd’s face. The smirk on Orham’s. He shook his head. “I don’t blame you for that. Honestly. It didn’t even cross my mind as something to be mad about.”

“Then why have you avoided me all month?” 

“Because I thought you were mad at me.” 

“Me? Why?”

“Because I ran away after you kissed me!” He blurted out, face turning slightly pink. 

Her mouth formed an oh shape. Much to his surprise, she laughed. “I’m not mad about that.”

“Really?”

“Well, I was at first. But I got over it. I wasn’t really that into you anyway, it was mainly the alcohol.” 

“Oh.” He replied dumbly before a wave of relief fell over him. “I thought you hated me.”

Chani laughed again. “Why would I hate you for not returning my feelings? That would be stupid.”

Sheepishly, Paul rubbed the back of his head. “Yeah, well it’s not like I have much experience with that sort of thing.”

“Aw, you are so naive sometimes- It's sweet. Sweet little stupid boy.” She teased, causing Paul to smack her arm. 

Chani was his first friend on Arrakis. To know that she didn’t hate him and still considered him her friend came as a huge relief. Much like Nirmi, he genuinely enjoyed her presence, and would be much worse off without it.

“I can’t believe you thought I’d be broken hearted over you.” She snorted, causing him to grimace slightly. 

“Okay, okay. No need to rub it in.”

She laughed again. “I think Feyd-Rautha would murder me if I tried to go after you properly.”

He flinched almost unconsciously at the name, the wound still rawer than he cared to admit, even after all this time. 

“Sorry I didn’t mean to…” Chani began, clearly realising her mistake. 

Shaking his head, Paul smiled sadly. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Still no word on him then?” She asked carefully. 

“No.”

With a sigh, she crossed her arms. “I don’t get why he’d run off like that. He seemed serious about being a Fremen. Well-” she hesitated. “Serious about staying with you anyway.”

Paul shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine- he said we’d go after the Harkonnen together. But then again, he’s very unpredictable.”

“That’s an understatement.” 

“Yeah. He’s insane.”

“Totally. He’s a fucking asshole as well. To be honest, I couldn’t stand the guy.”

That caused a laugh to spill from his lips. “Trust me, I know.” 

“I don’t think he was all that fond of me either.”

“He wasn’t.”

“Good.” She rolled her eyes. “What a bastard.” 

“Yeah- he’s awful. Fuck him.”

“Bet you wished you could fuck him.” She cackled.

Paul sputtered, before shoving her roughly. He felt the pink flush return to his face. “Shut up!” 

It took a while for her laughter to die down, but it wasn’t long before it was replaced by a mischievous grin. “Do you remember what I said to you by the fire? That I didn’t find him attractive?”

“Yes…” he said cautiously. 

“I lied.”

Immediately, his face soured. “Seriously?” 

Chani was sent into another fit of laughter at his reaction. 

“Just because I hate his guts, doesn’t mean I can't appreciate his face.” She cackled, body physically shaking with the force of it. 

Fondly, Paul shook his head at her, leaning over to poke at her sides. However, her laughter came to a sudden halt and she sat up. 

“What?” Paul asked.

“Over there.” She grabbed her own binoculars, looking at something by the building. 

Paul grabbed his own, copying her movements. “Harkonnen troopers.”

He zoomed in, watching as the men marched across the courtyard and back into the previously thought to be abandoned building. 

“Hang on, it’s not just Harkonnens.” Squinting, he focused on the last few men, appearances and movements distinctly different from the rest. “There are also Sardaukars.”

“Who?” 

“The emperor's personal army. They helped house Harkonnen destroy house Atreides.” He muttered through gritted teeth, discarding the binoculars in a rage. “It seems the emperor is working with the Baron again.”

“Why would he do that? I thought he hated the Harkonnen?” 

Genuinely perplexed, Paul shook his head. “I have no idea.” 

•              -

When they got back from their patrol they split up, Chani going to tell Stilgar the news whilst Paul went to find his mother. 

When he walked into her new rooms- the ones designated to the Reverend Mother, he found her sitting surrounded by her followers, muttering something they all listened to with devoted fervour. There were definitely more of them than there had been last time, a fact that filled him with disdain. 

“Mother.” She looked up at him as he entered. “I hope I’m not interrupting.” 

“Paul, No. We’re just finishing if you’d like to wait- take a seat in the corner.”

She gestured to a mat adjacent from the group, which he moved to sit on with a sigh and  immediately spaced out of the conversation. He knew if he paid it much mind he’d grow angry, patience already worn thin with the recent turn of events. Despite his best efforts to not listen, he did occasionally catch the mention of the  ‘Lisan Al-Gaib,’ or the repeated reference to travelling South. 

To an outsider, It must have looked like Jessica was talking to herself. However, her followers still listened carefully, clinging onto every word as if she was saying something of the utmost importance. But Paul knew it wasn’t them she was speaking to- It was his sister. 

The gathering went on for about ten more minutes until she dismissed the group, sending them on their way in a flurry of beige robes and whispers. 

“Paul.” She patted the space next to her once the last of her followers had left the room. “Come sit with me. It’s been so long since I’ve seen you in person.” 

Paul settled down beside her, mirroring her cross-legged posture. He frowned slightly at her wording- not seeing him in person implied she’d been seeing him elsewhere. Likely in her dreams. 

“How are you feeling?” Jessica asked.

“Fine.” He replied vaguely. 

“Any dreams?”

He shook his head. From the long look he received, Paul could tell she didn’t believe him. 

She placed a hand on top of his own. “You miss him?”

“I didn’t come here to talk about Feyd-Rautha.” He said dismissively. 

Jessica was almost as desperate as he was to find Feyd- albeit for different reasons. She needed him to play a key role in her narrative, Paul needed him for something more… personal. He pushed thoughts of the other from mind, instead focusing back on the intended purpose of him visiting her.  

“The emperor is collaborating with the Harkonnen again, there were Sardaukar men at the Harkonnen base. Do you know anything of this?”

A frown formed on Jessica’s face, crumpling the symbols etched onto her skin. A long moment passed before she spoke. “It seems the Bene Gesserit are making their move.” 

“What do you mean?” Paul frowned. 

“The Reverend Mother will be encouraging the Emperor to work alongside the Harkonnen.”

“I thought it was well known that the Emperor hates the Baron?” 

“Yes, he does. But the Bene Gesserit still need the Harkonnen for their breeding programme.” She paused. “It seems they are bringing the Harkonnen and Emperor together to combat a new enemy.”

Paul thought over her words for a moment before the realisation struck. “The Fremen.”

Jessica nodded, veils shifting silkily as she did. “For the Bene Gesserit, turning the houses against the Fremen forces them to work together- as a result their breeding programme is protected and they remain in control of the emperor." She looked up, all knowing eyes boring into his. “Which is why it’s crucial we enact our Lisan Al-Gaib plan soon. We need to unite the Fremen and create a strong defence against them.”

Despite her not explicitly stating it, he knew by now what she was hinting at. He sighed. “Do we need Feyd-Rautha for that?” 

“Yes, we do. It is crucial that we appear as a united front- now more than ever.”

Paul snorted but the sound lacked any real humour “He chose a bad time to run off on his own.”

Humming in reply, Jessica patted him on the leg. “Let us meditate. Maybe a clue about his whereabouts will come to you.”

Paul’s eyes fell to his lap, fidgeting with his hands in a way he hadn’t done since he was small. “Do we truly need him?” He murmured quietly. 

“Yes.” Jessica replied simply.

Reluctant, Paul nodded. He hated the reliance his mothers scheming had placed upon Feyd-Rautha. It took agency away from them both- entwining their fates whether they liked it or not. 

“I’m sorry Paul. I know this isn’t what you wanted, but the prophecy is the only way.” 

Exhaling deeply, he attempted to relax his body and mind. “Let’s meditate.” 

•               -  

The roars of the crowd filled his ears, chanting one name over and over again. He somehow knew the name belonged to him, but it wasn’t the one he recognised. When he turned his head, Feyd-Rautha was there, taking his usual place at his side as he always seemed to do in these dreams.

“Bring forth the prisoner!” Feyd yelled, beckoning to the men behind them. 

A Harkonnen man was brought forward, his arms wrapped in chains and tears streaming down his face. He looked terrified. 

Two Fremen men forced him to his knees before their audience, the yells of the crowd increasing in fervour, desperate for his blood. 

A knife was handed to Feyd-Rautha who examined it, carefully feeling along the edge to ensure its sharpness. He strolled towards the prisoner casually before holding the knife to his throat. The man trembled harder, face losing all colour. 

The yells increased, reaching impossible levels of noise as they watched the stage with eager eyes. It was like Feyd-Rautha was making a show of it, teasing the crowd with his knife. Eventually, he gave them what they wanted, bringing the weapon down in a smooth arc. The body fell to the ground, blood pooling beneath it. 

After the job was done, Feyd sauntered over to him, blood dripping from the knife. 

“Must it always be such a performance?” He heard himself say as they both walked away from the platform. 

An arm snuck its way round his waist, before he was spun into the firm chest of the other. 

“I aim to impress.” Feyd’s voice was low, his eyes falling to Paul’s lips. 

“You do a good job of it.” He murmured in return before their lips met.

•                           -                   -            -            -           -       -    -   - -

When he opened his eyes, his Mother was staring at him with spice-blue eyes. Not long ago they would have brought him comfort, now they only acted as a reminder of how much had changed. 

“Did you see anything?” She asked. 

“Nothing of use.” He said, keeping his answer purposefully vague. He stood, aiming to leave the room as soon as he could.

His dreams were changing. Whilst before Feyd-Rautha had been a possibility, he was now a permanent fixture. The nature of their relationship in these dreams had also changed- the certainty of these things unnerving him. 

“We will try again tomorrow.” Jessica called after him. 

Paul didn’t bother with a reply. 

•                                     -                   -            -            -           -       -    -   - -

Fortunately for him, Stilgar saved him from having to visit his mother again, knocking on his door in the early hours of the next morning and asking him to join them on a raid. 

Paul agreed immediately, already growing sick of the Sietch’s walled confinements. He’d grown used to the routine over the previous weeks- coming to enjoy venturing deep into the desert, camping underneath the stars and experiencing the thrill of taking down spice harvesters.

He’d become rather good at it as well. 

He no longer required direction when they got into position, expertly burying himself under the sand and preparing for the Harkonnens to make their appearance. 

When they did, it was the same as usual. A spice harvester, carryalls and two ornithopters- one acting as a spotter and the other as a defensive measure. On top of that, there were about twenty Harkonnen troopers, a number that had risen significantly since his first raid. 

A month ago this would have been a challenge for the Fremen, now however, they were prepared. The attack went flawlessly. 

Now they had the weapons they had borrowed from the Alraab, taking down the ornithopters was a simple job. And with that being their main concern, all that was left was disposing of the Harkonnen troops- a task that came easily. 

The sounds and movements of battle were a familiarity by now- strangely comforting, even. They reminded him of the days when he struggled to understand how Feyd-Rautha took a life. However, he no longer had such qualms. 

And that slightly worried him. 

Gurney once warned him that there was a fragile line separating killing out of necessity from killing out of selfishness. It was a thin boundary, he had said- one that could be crossed without ever noticing. And as Paul thought back on the choices he’d made, the people he’d cut down, he felt certain he had already stepped well beyond it.

When he struck down a Harkonnen, it no longer felt as if he was doing it for the greater good of the Fremen, or out of revenge for his father. He did it because he hated them. 

In a way they also represented Feyd-Rautha- but only the cruel parts Paul desperately wished he could remove. The parts that made him leave. 

With a cry of anger, Paul brought down another man. When he did, he pictured the Baron’s face. These men were merely an extension of him and his evil. For the next he struck down, he pictured Rabban.

It was Chani who broke him from his rage, grabbing him by his sleeve and dragging him away. “Paul, come on. They’re all dead. We need to go before they blow the spice harvester up!” 

It was good she grabbed him when she did, because a few moments later the machine groaned loudly, before erupting into a ball of flame. Paul paused, his breathing heavy, and watched as the flames danced across the sky. 

They celebrated that night. It was one of their most successful attacks yet, with not one casualty. 

But despite the joyous atmosphere, Paul wasn’t in much of a mood for celebrating- and his two friends didn’t seem happy to just let him sit in a corner quietly. 

“Paul, come on. Lighten up a bit.” Chani yanked him from his isolation, forcing him to sit between her and Nirmi. Now they had gotten over their ‘fight,’ she was back to bossing him around. Not that he minded- he was just glad they were speaking again.

Nirmi turned to him immediately, the expression on her face one of concern. “What’s wrong?” She murmured quietly, ever respectful of his privacy.

“He’s probably moping about Feyd-Rautha dumping him- nothing new.” Chani interrupted loudly. Evidently, she did not hold the same respect. 

“Chani, don’t be so insensitive!” Exclaimed Nirmi, slapping her friend harshly on the shoulder. She turned back to Paul and smiled supportively at him. “You fought amazingly today, you should be happy.” 

“He killed the most men out of us all!” Stilgar called from across the tent. He seemed slightly inebriated, swaying in his seat and raising a bottle Paul assumed to contain alcohol. But then he then proceeded to start one of his ‘Lisan-Al-Gaib” speeches, so Paul turned him out. 

“Who taught you to fight like that?” Chani asked, a well-meaning attempt at distracting him from Stilgar’s comments, but only proceeded to worsen his mood. 

A pang of longing filled him when he thought back to his lessons with Duncan and Gurney. It seemed so long ago now- his time on Caladan nothing but a memory. 

“My old masters.” He murmured. Yet again, he was bitterly reminded of the atrocities of the Harkonnen. “They were massacred alongside my father.”

The two girls stared at him, silent. 

“I’m sorry.” Chani said eventually, as the atmosphere thickened into a pensive one. “I just don’t understand- how can you not hate Feyd-Rautha after all that? After what his family did to yours.”

Paul sighed, tiredly rubbing at his forehead. “I did at first- I despised him. Then I came to realise that he’s more than his family name. He’s a victim of it, of what they made him.” He paused, brows furrowing. “But don’t get me wrong- I want nothing more than to eradicate house Harkonnen.”

He looked up, this time addressing Stilgar and the rest of the Feydaykin- all of which had taken to silently watching. “You've been fighting the Harkonnens for decades, my family has been fighting them for centuries. I know that together, we can stop them.” He spoke sincerely, passion fuelling each word. 

A hum of agreements sounded from those around him- a few even going as far as to cheer. 

“He deserves to be Fedaykin.” Chani suddenly spoke up.

“Yes.” Stilgar nodded. “It must be made official.” He beckoned Paul over to him, clapping him on the shoulder when he neared. “He needs names. I see strength in you- like Usul, the base of the pillar. You shall be known among us as Usul.”

Paul nodded, a warm feeling settling in his chest. He hadn’t realised how good it would feel to finally be accepted like this- to belong. As he looked around at the Fremen surrounding him, the pain lessened somewhat. 

Stilgar slapped his shoulder again. “And now a Fedaykin is a fighter, you must choose a war name.” 

A small smile came to his face, as an idea came to mind. “How do you call the desert mouse?”

“Muad’dib?”

“Muad’dib.”

A few chuckles of laughter came from around him but Stilgar quickly shushed them.

“No no no. Muad’dib is wise in the ways of the desert. Muad’dib creates his own water. The constellation that points to the north, we call Muad’dib. The one who points the way. It's a powerful name.” He licked his thumbs, before brushing them over Paul’s eyes “Paul Muad’dib Usul.” 

•                                     -                        -             -          -     -   - 

The liveliness of the night only increased in fervour after that, now additionally celebrating his becoming a Fedaykin- but despite the party being in his honour, Paul still found himself retiring to his tent early. His mood was lighter than it had been initially, but that didn’t ward off the bone-deep tiredness that had settled over him. He’d been so busy lately, with little time to relax. It was taking a physical toll on his body- alongside the mental one that had been tormenting him since Orham. 

When he finally settled into his sleep mat, exhaustion pulled him under immediately. Sleep claimed him quickly- too quickly. And, as always, with sleep came his dreams. 

This time he was looking at a group of men. From their clothes, it was clear they were neither Fremen nor Harkonnen- perhaps bandits or spice sellers. They were crouched behind a rock, watching a robed man resting against a cliff face a bit further ahead. He could tell that their intentions towards him weren’t good ones. 

“How much do you think we’ll get for him?” One whispered. 

“I’m not sure. I say our best bet is to kill him and see what he’s got on him.” 

“He looks like a Fremen. Might not have much on him.”

“No. I got a look of his face earlier. He’s definitely a Harkonnen.”

Paul’s heart dropped at that. A Harkonnen dressed as a Fremen. There was only one man that description fit. 

The man scoffed, “Why would a Harkonnen be roaming through the desert alone and in Fremen gear?” 

“Who cares- let’s just see what he has on him. We can always drain his water and sell it if he has nothing good.”

Clearly familiar to the routine, the group of ten men split and began to slowly circle the Harkonnen-Fremen like vultures. Once they had him surrounded, one of the men stepped out. 

“Who are you?” That voice. The familiarity struck a chord in him. It was definitely Feyd-Rautha.

“I’m lost. You wouldn’t happen to know where the nearest civilization is, would you?” The bandit was clearly trying to distract the other, whilst the rest of his gang closed in. 

“You’re a long way out to be lost.”

“I was on my spice harvester. It got attacked.”

“That’s a shame.”

“You don’t sound very sorry for me.”

Silent fell over the two as Feyd-Rautha looked up, eyes blazing with a warning.

“You’re a Harkonnen but you have the eyes and dress of a Fremen.” The man noted, evening the other warily. “Strange.”

Then, the ambush began. The men came out of their hiding spots, rushing at Feyd all at once. 

•            -   

Paul woke with a gasp, pulse racing. His head knocked against his knees as he slowly calmed his racing heart. With his panic, followed an overwhelming sense of worry- worry for Feyd-Rautha.

What if he was dead? What if the men had succeeded in killing him like they intended? 

But maybe Paul was just being irrational- maybe he would be fine. He was an excellent fighter after all. But then again, one man versus ten? Could Feyd manage that? 

Once his breathing had calmed, he lay back down and closed his eyes in a futile attempt to fall back asleep. But his mind was racing. Possibilities of what could have happened to the other filled his thoughts. What if he was dead? 

What would Paul do if he died? He felt undeniably disturbed by the thought- the thought of Feyd-Rautha’s body abandoned in a ditch somewhere. It filled him with a sense of wrongness. 

Unable to sit and drown in his worries any more, Paul climbed out of his bedroll. Before leaving, he grabbed his bag.

On his way out of the camp, he heard someone following him. Hand brushing over his weapon, he spun around only to be faced with Chani who merely met him with a roll of her eyes.

Paul threw his hands in the air exasperatedly. “What are you doing? You scared the shit out of me!”

“I couldn’t sleep. What are you doing? Creeping about in the dark- I think you’re taking your desert mouse name a bit too literally.”

Hesitantly, Paul wracked his brain for an excuse, something she clearly noticed. “I also couldn’t sleep.” He said vaguely. 

Cocking an eyebrow, she eyed his attire. “So you decided to go on a walk with all your bags fully packed?”

“I had a dream-” He trailed off, unsure on how to answer. But it turns out he didn’t have to. 

She rolled her eyes at him again. “Must you always run after him? It’s going to get you killed one of these days.”

When he failed to reply, she sighed but nodded. 

“I’ll tell Stilgar you had one of your dreams and had to leave. If he thinks it’s Lisan-Al-Gaib related, he definitely won’t mind you running off on us.”

“Thanks, Chani.” He paused, before over at her with a genuine smile. “I’m glad we’re friends.”

She waved him off but the small grin on her face betrayed her. “Don’t worry about it.”

After she left, and he was sure no one else was following him, Paul set off into the desert to find Feyd-Rautha. 

Chapter Text

When Paul first set off in search of Feyd-Rautha, he didn’t really know where he was going or what he was looking for. He mainly wandered around the desert, looking for any sign the other man had been there. It was mind numbing- he hated the lack of progress he was making, and it became clear soon enough that he needed to switch up his tactics.. 

So instead, he turned to his Bene Gesserit training and spent many more hours meditating under the sun. As the first few days came and went, his dreams were of little significance. But as more and more time passed, he found himself entering what felt like a flow state, and the dreams started becoming more specific. He began to dream of a woman. 

She was old, with deeply wrinkled, sun damaged skin and gnarled hands. For most of his dreams, she was just sitting in what looked to be a cave, cross-legged and eyes closed. As the dreams progressed, his vision started expanding and he got a wider view of her surroundings and the drapings on the walls, covered in writing and symbols he didn’t recognise. 

One day, she opened her eyes. Instead of the spice blue eyes most on Arrakis had, her eyes were completely white and unseeing. 

In these dreams she didn’t say anything. She just sat there, staring. Paul couldn't help but get the feeling that, despite her lack of sight, she was staring at him. 

Then, just as he was beginning to feel as if he was getting nowhere, she spoke.

 “Go East.” Her voice was croaky, likely from disuse. 

“Why?” He had asked.

“You will find the answers you seek.”

It was vague, and gave him no confirmation that Feyd-Rautha was alive. In fact, it gave him no confirmation of Feyd at all. But Paul felt as if he had no over choice. He had no other clues as to where the other could be and this was his only lead- not that it was much of a lead to begin with.

When Paul opened his eyes, he immediately packed his bags and began moving East, despite it being the dead of night. 

You will find the answers you seek. 

With his paracompass clenched tightly in hand, his pace was fast, driven by a swelling sense of anticipation. He knew it was risky- wandering alone into the desert, chasing after a woman he barely understood, but the risk barely registered. Something pulled him forward, stronger than caution, stronger than fear- something he rarely felt anymore. 

He found that during his journey, he had a lot of free time to let his mind wander. 

Under the relentless beaming of the sun, his thoughts drifted back to a few months ago- when he had despised the mere sight of Feyd-Rautha. And here he was, trekking across the desert on the slight chance he could find the other- to think he had once believed Feyd to be the one obsessed with him. The irony of the situation wasn’t lost on him.  

After a while he lost track of how long he’d been wandering the desert, too disorientated in his retrospective state to be entirely present in his own body. His dreams continued, the hours between waking and sleeping blurring together until he could no longer tell them apart. His mind was plagued by visions of the woman- who, despite not talking again, made him think he was getting closer.

She would sometimes show him a landmark, like an oddly shaped rock or plant- or sometimes, she would just show him a landscape, and sure enough, the next day he would stumble across said landmark. 

Then, the vision changed entirely and became a lot clearer- showing him an odd looking rock formation, a cave nestled in its crevices. This place felt different than all the others. Despite it only being an image in his mind, It held a certain sense of significance- one that made him know he was close. 

And sure enough, it wasn’t long after that that he arrived. 

The smell of incense burned strongly from the small opening, flooding his sense of smell as he stepped inside. The entrance to the cave was dark, and he blindly followed the narrow passageway until he stepped into a dimly lit room. 

“Paul Atreides. Welcome.” 

The woman from his dreams sat cross legged in the centre of a worn carpet. Despite the fact she couldn’t see him, Paul knew he was being meticulously studied. Eyes flickering around the room, his body tensed in preparation. 

“How did you know it was me?”

“When I lost my sight, I wandered into the desert. I learnt to rely on my other senses.”

“You showed me things.” He noted, curiosity having been gnawing at him for days now. “Are you Bene Gesserit?”

“Of a sort.” She smiled wryly. The sight unnerved him. 

“Why did you call me here?”

“I have what you're searching for.”

“Which is?” Paul asked bluntly, growing tired of her vagueness. 

“I know where Feyd-Rautha is.”

Immediately, his eyes widened and he took an eager step towards her. “Where is he? He’s alive?”

she nodded. “Yes. He should be returning shortly.”

Chest loosening, He exhaled slowly. He was alive. “He’s been here?” 

“Yes.”

Without another word, Paul left the woman and rushed back out the cave and back into the desert. He shielded his eyes against the glaring sun, gazing into the horizon. True enough, there was the silhouette of a figure gradually growing closer. Paul let out a breath of relief. 

Feyd was alive. 

Yet even through the rush of relief, a knot of conflict twisted in his chest- tainting his thoughts and feelings. He was grateful- overwhelmingly so- that he was alive- but that didn’t erase the fact that Feyd had chosen to run- to leave the Fremen, to leave him. 

As the distant figure drew nearer, his familiar figure sharpening against the desert light, Paul felt a heaviness settle over his shoulders. He was certain now it was Feyd-Rautha, causing his patience to finally fray. Unable to wait a second longer, he broke into a jog. 

“Paul?” 

When Paul finally closed the distance between them, stopping a few metres away, the shock on Feyd-Rautha’s face was almost comical. A flicker of satisfaction rose at the sight- he hadn’t expected not in the slightest. For once, he had been the one to catch Feyd off guard. 

Before he could think better of it, impulse surged through him and he stepped forward- punching Feyd in the face with all the anger and misery of the last few months. The other hit the ground hard, a sharp grunt escaping his lips as he went. The sight filled him with nothing but resentment. 

“Fuck you!” He spat, face splitting into a deep glare. 

Feyd raised an eyebrow at him in return. “Good to see you too.”

Paul clenched his fists, his breathing coming out heavy. “You left.”

“You didn’t come with me.” 

Shaking his head in lieu of an answer, Paul turned away and began walking back into the desert- anger simmered low in his gut and his nails digging into the flesh of his palms. He hadn’t really known what to expect when seeing the other- hadn't known how he’d react. But it didn’t really matter. He had his answer. Feyd-Rautha was alive. 

“Where are you going?” He heard a voice call from behind him, but he ignored it. 

Now the hard part of finding Feyd was done, he could return to the Sietch and let his mother know he was alive. If he was truly as important as she claimed, she could send the Fremen after him and force him to return. Paul had played his part. He was done. 

When a hand firmly grabbed his arm and spun him around, he had to hold back the overwhelming urge to punch him again. Lips drawn into a thin grimace and fist clenched into a tight fist, he looked up at Feyd-Rautha.

“You come all this way to what- punch me and leave?”

“Yes.” 

A bark of laughter spilled from his lips, causing Paul’s frown to deepen. He himself found this situation anything but amusing- but of course Feyd would find humour in it, the gesture only proceeding to anger him further. 

“Will you not bless me with your presence for a little longer, Atreides? Do you truly have nothing else to say?” Feyd asked, eyes scanning his face. 

“I don’t owe you anything.” He bit back and yanked his arm from the other’s grip. 

“No?”

A heavy silence fell over the pair. 

“Why did you leave like that?” He blurted out, unable to contain his resentment. “I thought you were staying. We were to be Fremen together, to fight together. We were to destroy house Harkonnen.”

Whatever signs of amusement had lingered on Feyd’s face immediately vanished. 

“We still are-” Feyd murmured, suddenly sounding unsure.

“Really? Then why did you run off on your own?”

Eyes falling to the ground, Feyd sighed. “I don’t know.” He admitted. 

The words shocked Paul into a momentary silence, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “What do you mean, you don’t know?” What kind of excuse was that?

Taking a step back, Feyd’s expression shifted-  softening into something rare for him, something almost vulnerable. The previous steadiness in his eyes faltered, a crack in the armour he so carefully maintained.  

“It was like before- when I hurt your arm. Sometimes… I lose myself.” 

Paul felt the memory resurface; the hollow, vacant look in the other’s eyes as he twisted his arm as if acting on reflex. And now he thought about it, Feyd had worn the same expression the day he left. 

“I don’t know why it happens,“ Feyd went on, voice tightening. “It just does. It’s been that way my whole life. In that moment, I felt this pull- like I had to leave, had to go after my brother right there and then. I couldn’t think about anything else.”

For a moment, Paul thought over his words. His unflattering glare had softened somewhat, but uncertainty still clung to him. “Did you find him?” He asked carefully. 

“No.” The older shook his head, looking remarkably unbothered by the fact. “I realised it wasn’t worth my life.”

“Then where were you all this time- why not come back?”

“I needed some time.” Feyd replied vaguely. 

“To do what? Live in a cave with some old woman for company?”

Feyd snorted. “Don’t be foolish. I wandered the desert on my own for some time. The spice… affected me in some way. It made me see things. Hirithi found me during one of these times and helped me understand- I understand now, Paul.” 

“You’re not making much sense…” Paul startled slightly, shocked by the sudden intensity of the other’s gaze. He tried not to flinch as a hand rose to his face- not touching, just hovering above skin, heat radiating off the flesh. 

“I know now that we are stronger together than apart.” 

Paul couldn’t help but feel slightly bewildered at the switch in mood and words- what had changed? “If that witch has you convinced of some prophecy-”

“No.” Shaking his head, Feyd lowered his hand. “I will not be told what path to follow by some witch- that includes your mother.”  

“So you’re coming back?” He tried not to let any emotion into his voice, trying to remain indifferent- but despite it, a small flame of hope started creeping in his chest. 

“Not yet.” 

Paul’s heart sank. “Right.”

But Feyd shook his head- as if Paul were misunderstanding him. “Do you remember how I said I had something to show you, back in the desert.” 

“Which is?” He snapped. 

The other merely tutted at him. “You should learn some patience.” 

“Well, I'll just leave then-” Paul turned to leave, but was firmly grabbed by the shoulder.

“Must you be so difficult all the time?” 

“You’re one to talk.”

“Come on then.” Sighing, Feyd released his grip. “I’ll show you- but not here.” He looked up, Paul following his gaze to the entrance to the cave where the old lady- Hirithi, was standing. She was facing their direction, her eyes shut and a smile on her face. He hadn’t even noticed her approach. How long had she been listening?

“Creepy.” Paul muttered under his breath.

“She can hear you.”

“From this distance?” 

Shrugging, Feyd-Rautha turned away. “Come.” He said over his shoulder. “I’ll take you somewhere more private.” 

‘Somewhere’ turned out to be a narrow cliff edge- notably in the opposite direction of Hilgar. They were high up- high enough that the wind tugged at Paul’s hair, carrying the chill of an open sky with it. The endless desert sprawled below them, the vastness of it stretching in every direction, quiet and still. 

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. Then, Feyd broke the silence. 

“Why are you here, Paul?” He asked simply. 

Paul’s attention didn’t fail to be drawn to the use of his first name. After all, Feyd so rarely used it. 

“I had a dream,” He began slowly- cautiously. “You were in danger- a group of bandits found you and were planning on killing you. I woke up before I could see how it ended.”  

“I defeated them, of course.” A cocky smirk spread over his face. “You were worried for me?” Tone light, Feyd was seemingly joking. But Paul didn’t see light in the joke. 

“Obviously- you idiot!” Paul cried. 

The smirk was wiped from Feyd-Rautha’s face. He looked shocked- well, as close to shocked as he ever looked. Paul felt a small tug of satisfaction at being capable of drawing such emotion from the other. 

“Why do you think I keep on running after you?” He added after a moment of terse silence. 

“I don’t know.” Feyd-Rautha admitted. “I didn’t think about it.”

“You don’t seem to think of much beyond fighting.” 

“I should kill you for the way you speak to me.”  

“But you haven’t.” 

“No. And I would have by now- had it been anyone else.” 

Paul hadn’t expected such an outright admittance. “Why?” He sighed, growing frustrated with the endless circles they were running around one another- nothing but vague words and accusations. 

In lieu of an answer, Feyd began rummaging through his bag, before pulling out a slightly crumpled plant. It was small, with delicate pink flowers spread throughout. He held it out to him in offering. 

“What is it?” Paul hesitated to take it- wary of the other’s tricks. 

“What I've been wanting to show you.” Feyd-Rautha looked like he was struggling to keep his face blank, a slight turn of the lips giving him away. “An offer of courtship.”

Dumbfounded, Paul’s mouth fell open. He gaped at the other, momentarily wordless. “What?” An overwhelming mixture of shock and confusion took over him, his racing mine making him incapable of forming a coherent sentence. 

“I wish to court you. These are the Fremen plant of courtship, a swan lotus”

“Yes, yes. I get that- but … why?” 

Paul had always known, somewhere deep down, that Feyd-Rautha felt something towards him. But he had never imagined it ran deeper than fixation- never expected it to reach past the line of obsession into something real. The idea felt strangely out of character for him- as though genuine emotion wasn’t something he was meant to possess. 

“Are you shocked because we’re both men?” Feyd frowned, causing a startled laugh escaping Paul’s lips. 

“No.” He laughed again, the absurdity of the situation not failing to reach him. “ I’m shocked because it's you.”

“I don’t understand why.” Feyd scoffed- looking as if he was growing frustrated. “I did tell you to not accept anyone else’s advances.” 

And he had. It had entirely flown over Paul’s head- like so many other things that were only now coming back to him. It was all starting to make sense to him, Feyd’s behaviour. Whilst it had been initially out of interest turned obsession, it had developed into something more genuine. He let out a slightly hysterical chuckle, bringing his palm to his forehead. 

The protective mannerisms, the casual touches- all of it. 

Still, Paul had never expected they would end up here. 

“Okay… okay.” He muttered to himself, trying to draw his racing thoughts together. Letting out a deep breath, he looked up at the other. “Why do you wish to court me?”

Feyd’s eyebrows raised minutely and he cleared his throat. “You’re strong- a good fighter, and you’re… special. I have known that since we met.” He paused. “ I also find you rather appealing.” 

Then, much to the other’s obvious confusion, Paul started laughing again. He couldn’t stop himself- the whole situation was simply too absurd. The laughter came in sharp, uncontrollable bursts, spilling out even when he tried to smother them behind his hand. 

Nose wrinkling in displeasure, Feyd watched him silently, a perturbed look on his face. 

“Sorry, I'm not laughing at you.” Breathing deeply, he tried to calm himself. “This whole situation is just so insane to me.”

“Does that mean you-”

Before Feyd could finish his sentence, Paul leant upwards and firmly kissed him. It only lasted for a moment before he pulled away, watching as the other’s eyes widened minutely. Paul grinned at him- smile slightly teasing. 

Not one to be outdone, Feyd’s moved back in, capturing his lips in another kiss, this one longer and more passionate. 

It was so different from his kiss with Chani, where they had both been slightly hesitant. Feyd, however, lacked no qualms and gripped his face so hard he feared he would bruise. There was no hesitation here. It felt right. 

Gasping for breath, Paul pulled back. “I accept.” 

“Good.” Feyd murmured, almost growling the words. 

“What would you have done if I declined?” He huffed out a laugh at the sour expression that formed on the other’s face. 

“You wouldn’t have.”

“Yes, but what if I did?” 

Having enough of his teasing, Feyd drew him in for yet another kiss. 

•                                -                               -                      -            -          -        -   - -

“What have you been doing in my absence?” Feyd asked. 

They were sitting on the edge of the cliff face, side by side, the lines of their bodies pressed firmly against one another. 

“Oh you know, the usual. Sleeping with Chani-“

Feyd growled, lunging at him. 

“I’m joking!” Feyd halted his attack, Paul placing a hand on his chest. “Gods. You are so intense.” 

Clearly in a slight huff, the other rolled his eyes. “Don’t joke about that.”

“Well, now I know it’s a sore spot for you…”

“It’s not a sore spot.” 

“If you’re sure.” Having spent so long around Feyd- watching and learning his mannerisms, Paul had come to realise that this was his way of joking. “Nirmi’s been teaching me about the desert. I’ve been going on raids. Oh, I also became Feydakin, I have Fremen names now.” 

“Fremen names?”

“Yes. Paul Muab’dib Usul. Maub’dib meaning desert mouse and Usul meaning pillar- Stilgar came up with that one.”

“Ever your biggest fan.”

“Yes.” Paul snorted. “But he was very heartbroken when his beloved Haris Lisan Al-Gaib left- that was until Jessica told him it was all part of the prophecy and you would return stronger than ever.”

“Of course she did.” Feyd paused. “It suits you.”

“What does?”

“The name.” 

“Oh. Thanks.” He grinned at the other. “We should think of a name for you. You’re sure to be made Fedaykin when you return to the Sietch.”

Feyd’s nose wrinkled slightly. “No.”

“You were the one who said he wanted to fight alongside the Fremen- this is part of it.”

“Hm.”

“How about the desert cat? Qit’taraml?”

“The one that almost killed us?”

“Well there's one similarity- you both tried to kill me.” Paul grinned teasingly, but Feyd seemed to be genuinely considering it. 

“It’s not bad.” He hummed thoughtfully. “You’re the mouse, and I'm the cat.”

With a sigh, Paul slumped slightly.  “Of course you’d draw that comparison.”

The other merely smirked at him, before staring back at the horizon. “How did you find me?”

“I dreamt of the Witch, she called me.”

“Meddling bitch.” Feyd muttered under his breath. 

Curiously, Paul raised a brow at him. “Why do you speak so harshly of her? You’ve been willingly living with her?”

“I haven’t been here for long, but her endless riddles have grown rather tiresome.” He hesitated for a moment. “She’s not too terrible- she was the one who showed me the swan lotus.”

“Was it hard to find?”

“I had to climb a mountain.” 

“Seriously?” Paul’s eyes widened. 

Feyd-Rautha nodded. “She sensed my turmoil surrounding you. She helped me come to a greater understanding.”

“That’s good. It’s unlike you to open up to anyone.” He noted absentmindedly. 

A frown crossed Feyd’s face. “She drugged me first. I was under the influence of  psychedelics when I told her.”

“Of course you were.”

•                                       -                     -              -          -    -  - - 

After a while of simply sitting and talking, the sun began to set and they began making their way back down the cliff. Feyd had been adamant about not going back to Hirithi’s cave, but Paul had insisted- stating it would be rude to simply disappear without a goodbye or thanks to the woman who had housed him. Not that he was overly keen on seeing the woman again- a view primarily based on his first impressions. 

When they got back to the cave, she had returned to her usual place on her mat. 

“You’re back.” She smiled at them. “Please. Join me for some tea.”

Feyd shot him a pleading look, Paul having to nudge him harshly in the side to get him to move again- clearly, etiquette was not on the Geidi-prime curriculum. 

“Say thank you.” He hissed in the other’s ear, praying the elderly woman couldn’t hear him. 

“Thank you, Hirithi. For housing me.” Feyd muttered, the tone of his voice notably lacking any genuine gratitude. 

Despite Feyd’s reluctance, they both took the tea she offered. 

“Ah, it’s been a pleasure, my boy.” She bowed slightly. “And it was truly an honour to meet the one they call Lisan Al-Gaib.”

Paul sighed inwardly. Of course she was a believer of the prophecy- he should’ve guessed from the start. There was something about her, what he thought might be a southern air, a quiet spirituality that clung to her like a second skin. 

She reached out across the tea set and placed a hand on Paul’s, causing him to jump slightly. The touch was icy cold, like that of a dead person’s. He instinctively moved away, but the grip on his hand was surprisingly strong for someone so frail looking. 

“Be careful of the power you yield.” She said slowly, lips curled in an all-knowing smile. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Snapped Feyd-Rautha as Paul firmly drew his hand back. 

A chill ran through his body at the expression in the woman’s cloudy eyes, her voice turning deep and forceful. “Uncertainty lies in your future, but once you go South, your fate will start to take one path- the Haris will trigger the path- the path of power.”

“Alright.” Paul abruptly stood, unnerved and unable to stand her babbling for a moment longer. “Thank you for the tea and your hospitality but we best be off now. Feyd-Rautha?”

Moving to his side, The look that was developing on Feyd’s face concerned him- it was the face he made when he was contemplating whether to kill someone or not. Before he could act on his thoughts, Paul grabbed him by the arm, muttered a quick goodbye followed by a short bow and dragged the other out the cave. 

“She’s fucking crazy.” Paul breathed the moment they exited. He briskly began walking away from the cave, trying to put as much distance between him and the woman as he could. 

Frowning slightly, Feyd walked alongside him. “From the moment I met her, she’s been saying crazy things- but something was different that time…” 

“I don’t want to think about it.” Paul shook his head. “Let’s just get out of here.”

“And go where- back to the Sietch?” He didn’t sound overly keen on the idea. 

“We don’t have to go back yet.”

“You don’t want to?”

With a small smile teasing the corner of his lips, Paul turned to face the other. “I could do with a break.” 

•        -    -

Wandering through the desert with no real destination was, to his surprise, almost relaxing. With each step over the orange sand, the tension he carried seemed to loosen, his thoughts drifting away from the usual tangle of burdens and worries. For the first time in what felt like ages, he allowed himself to simply exist- no plans, no pressure, just the quiet rhythm of the dunes around him. 

Like this, he could forget the responsibilities the prophecy brought- forget that he meant something to people, that he was a symbol to them. 

Feyd-Rautha, from what Paul could tell, had fallen into a similar state. He wasn’t as quick to flare up, his usual edge softened from the open expanse. And he was smiling- actually smiling- an unseen, genuine expression that took the place of his typical snarl or harsh smirk. 

During the day, they would wander through the deserts, Arrakis having more to explore than he expected. During the nights they would lie under the stars and simply be. Paul found himself recounting random pieces of knowledge he had learnt about the stars, Feyd sometimes interrupting with his own input. 

It was repetitive. Paul found he didn’t mind that. 

He’d learnt more about Feyd-Rautha in the last few days than he had since they first met- It wasn’t necessarily anything deep or meaningful, just simple things. For example, he had the strange ability to sleep with his eyes open, (a sight that deeply disturbed Paul,) or the fact he was strangely ticklish around his stomach. Paul had a bit too much fun with that piece of information, and nearly ended up losing an eye as a result. 

He also learnt that Feyd-Rautha tended to get bored- very quickly. 

Paul wasn’t surprised to learn of the other’s shockingly short attention span- in fact, it was likely where his impulsiveness stemmed from, and was also the reason why, when they later stumbled across a Harkonnen patrol, they ended up following them. 

For once, Paul wasn’t averse to the idea- in fact, he himself was itching for some form of action. Maybe he had been spending too much time around Feyd-Rautha and the Fremen, or maybe it was just his deeply rooted hatred for the Harkonnen. Either way, there was no disagreement on the matter. 

Once they noticed the ornithopters descending, they held back, watching as the propellers kicked up waves of sand. They waited for the troops to disembark- around a dozen of them, all armed and moving with a focused, coordinated purpose. Not wanting to draw any attention to their own presence, Paul and Feyd-Rautha fell in step a cautious distance behind them. The silent pursuit stretched on for nearly a mile across the uneven terrain before the Harkonnen finally reached their destination- the two of them, still unnoticed, arriving closely behind. 

Their destination ended up being a small Fremen settlement- one Paul hadn't even known existed, let alone the name of. It was nestled between a grouping of rocks, sheltering it from the openness of the desert and the eye of any wanderer. Whilst most of it seemed to be underground, the Fremen had built a few shelters on the surface, tucked under roofs of orange canvas. 

“What are they doing?” Paul whispered. It didn’t make sense. Why would the Harkonnen attack such a small Sietch? It seemed like a waste of resources- these people barely even posed a threat with how few there were.

“They’re looking for me.” Feyd muttered from where he was crouched beside him. “I’ve been watching their movements for a while now- It’s why they haven’t been bombing settlements. They must suspect me of hiding amongst the Fremen and want to take me alive. ”

“Do you think Orham got message to them before you-”

The other shook his head. “I couldn’t say- but they could just be acting on suspicion.”

“You think your uncle would go that far?” 

“He’s very possessive of what he deems his.” Feyd said simply, Paul’s brows creasing at the casualness of his tone- as if what he were saying was merely a fact. 

“You’re not an object.” Paul said adamantly. 

Feyd chuckled darkly, the sound lacking any real humour. “To him, I am no more than a tool in his collection.”

“He’s depraved.”

“Yes.” He straightened up, regaining his composure. “To think they would wipe out the entity of the Fremen though…”

“It’s not just your uncle.” Paul thought back to his watch with Chani a few weeks ago and his talk with his mother. “The emperor’s collaborating with the Harkonnen again. He fears the Fremen- he wants them gone for disrupting the spice harvest.”

“Great.” Muttered Feyd, his tone laced with sarcasm. He stretched, cracking his neck slightly. “I will take pleasure in making their lives more difficult when I kill these bastards.”

“How equitable of you.” 

“Don’t mistake me- I’m not doing this for the people.” snorted Feyd. “I’ve been without a fight for too long.”

“We've been sparring every day?”

“Yes, but I can’t kill you, can I?” And with that, he leapt over the rock and ran straight towards the Harkonnen troopers. So much for stealth… Sighing, Paul pulled his face mask up and went after him. 

The Harkonnen hadn’t managed to get far with their attack, only burning down a few of the shelters. The Fremen had started fighting back, but it was clear they didn’t stand a chance against the Harkonnen’s fire weapons. Being further out from where the raids mainly took place, they likely hadn’t seen such tactics before and had little way of combating it. 

Feyd-Rautha had leapt straight into the heart of the fight, slicing down any man in his path with a frenetic vigor. Paul chose to take a more tactical approach, targeting the troopers who strayed from the heart of the group, and picking them off one at a time. 

Due to the enemies relying on long-range weapons, it became essential to get as close to them as possible before attacking. Fortunately, close-quarters combat was where Paul excelled. As soon as he broke into a sprint, he slipped into a familiar rhythm of battle, every movement precise and instinctive. 

There was even a strange sense of ease settling over him- something he wouldn't normally associate with being in the middle of a fight. With Feyd-Rautha covering his flank, Paul felt protected, more steady, as if the chaos around them were just another drill they’d run a hundred times before. 

It was then that he came to realise how much he’d missed fighting alongside the other. The raids he went on with the Fremen hadn’t been the same with Feyd absent- It lacked the lightness that came with fighting alongside him, the way it always became a competition of who could take down the most enemies. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he notices a group of Harkonnen closing in on a few Fremen who seemed to be injured. They stood ready to fight back, but it was evident that they wouldn’t stand much of a chance in their weakened state.

Paul lurched forwards, taking down the first trooper with practised ease. Having lost the element of surprise, the second posed more of a threat. Unable to dodge the swing of the other’s blade, a sting of pain flashed across his cheek. Instinctively, Paul ducked into a roll and attacked from below. He sliced into his opponent's legs before delivering the finishing blow. 

The third was easier, Paul quickly disarming him and slicing into his jugular. When the final body slumped to the ground, he quickly scanned his surroundings. Feyd was just finishing off the last Harkonnen, meaning their attack was a success. 

Paul let out a small sigh of relief at the sight of the other seemingly unharmed. 

“Are you okay?” He strolled over to the other, eyes searching his body for any sign of injury. 

“I’m fine- that was barely a challenge.” Feyd took a step closer, looking to be examining him in return. When he noticed the cut on his cheek, he raised a thumb to it, pressing on the wound gently and causing Paul to hiss slightly. “It’s not too deep. It won’t need stitches.” Once he had finished his assessment, he brought his bloodied fingers to his lips. 

“You are so strange.” Paul murmured, eyes tracking the movements. 

“Who are you?” A voice called, reminding Paul of the fact they were standing amongst a pile of bodies. 

“Are you Fremen?” The man spoke again when they failed to answer. 

“That one is clearly Harkonnen.” A woman said. Mutters came from the crowd.

Hands raised appeasingly, Paul stepped forward before things could get too out of control. “We’re Fremen.” 

“You don’t look Fremen.”

“He is the one from the rumours!” Another hissed. “The one from another world who travels with a Harkonnen. The Lisan Al-Gaib!”

Paul tried to speak again, but was cut off by a chorus of frenzied words and shouts from the Fremen.

“Lisan Al-Gaib?”

“The Lisan Al-Gaib has saved us!”

“It’s as the prophecy said-” 

“You are the Lisan Al-Gaib?”

Before Paul had a chance to speak, Feyd moved to stand at his side. He took his hand in his and raised it in the air. “Yes. This is the Lisan Al-Gaib, and he has come to free you from your oppressors.”

“What are you doing?” Paul hissed, snatching his hand back.

“Ensuring their support.” Feyd hissed back. 

“Lisan Al-Gaib!” Before long, they had the entire Sietch as an audience. They called at him, chanting the name over and over again. Some fell to their knees, bowing down to him. 

Paul could do nothing but watch as the whole group was overtaken by a prophecy-based frenzy.  

Chapter Text

A week later, they decided to return to the Sietch- their encounter with the Fremen leaving him shaken. 

It had only taken a few whispers before an entire group of people were convinced of the legitimacy of the prophecy and of his being the Lisan Al-Gaib. It seemed wrong, that people would simply believe something like that- but maybe it came from them wanting to. It was like his mother had once said to him- that people needed the Lisan-Al-Gaib. Could it really be that simple? 

There was something undeniably uncomfortable about it, an entire crowd lowering themselves at his feet as though he was some kind of messiah- which he supposed, to them, he was. The sight alone should have unsettled him, but that wasn’t what truly caught him off guard. What shocked him was the surge that rose in his chest, a rush so sharp and intoxicating it took his breath. 

That swell of power- raw and immediate, impossible to ignore, and for a moment he hadn’t known what to do- whether to recoil away or lean into it. 

But once he’d come to his senses, he’d walked away as fast as his legs would carry him- unable to stay and look at their worship for a moment longer. 

“You shouldn’t have done that.” He’d said to Feyd-Rautha once they’d put a comfortable distance between them and the village. 

“I was doing you a favour.” The other had replied. “You should accept the power you've been given.”

“It’s bullshit.”

“Maybe.” Feyd shrugged. “But it’s still power- no matter where it comes from. What you’re being offered is a chance to make a difference. That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?”

Paul hadn’t replied. After that, they’d wandered the desert aimlessly, before the sense of responsibility had crept back in and Paul suggested they return to Sietch Tabr. Feyd had agreed, surprisingly easy, and they had begun their journey home. 

When they finally made it back, it was Jessica who greeted them. 

“Paul, Feyd-Rautha. It’s about time you returned.”

“You knew we were coming?”

“Of course.” 

Shaking his head, Paul tried to move past her but she put out an arm to block him.

“What? I’m tired.” He bit sharply, not having the energy to deal with her. 

“Just so you are aware, you will find that the Tabr Sietch are a lot more… accommodating to us now.” 

Paul sighed, eyes drifting closed for a singular moment. “What’s that supposed to mean?” He asked slowly, not entirely sure he wanted to hear her answer. 

“It means she’s got them to believe in her prophecy.” Interrupted Feyd. He sounded almost impressed.

“Yes.” Jessica agreed. “We will be moving South soon, and I want you both to come with me.” 

“No.” Forcibly pushing away the arm that blocked him, Paul barged past her. He couldn’t be bothered to deal with his mothers antics at the moment, too tired from their long journey. “I’m going to sleep. I assume our chambers are still in the same place? You haven’t upgraded us to a golden temple?”

“I assure you they are the same.” She replied wryly. 

He didn’t turn to look at her, instead storming into the Sietch and following the familiar route that led to their rooms. Immediately, he took note of the fact that Feyd wasn’t following him. Whatever- they’d spent nearly a month solely in each other's presence, he probably just wanted to be alone for a bit. 

On his way to his room, he couldn’t help but notice Fremen stopping in their tracks, staring at him. Whispers followed him as he went, eyes burning into the back of his head reminiscent of when he first arrived at the Sietch. He ignored them, instead choosing to pick up his pace and hurry to the comforts of his privacy. 

When he finally pushed the door to his room open, he let out a loud sigh of relief and collapsed onto his bed roll. 

•                                      -                              -                    -           -    -      -  - -

A few hours later, Feyd-Rautha returned. 

“Where have you been?” Paul asked him. 

In lieu of an answer, Feyd walked over him, pushing him down onto his bed roll and kissing him ferociously. Paul reciprocated for a moment, before pulling away. His eyebrows furrowed as he looked up at the other who was grinning maniacally. 

“What-?”

“I spoke to Stilgar. The Fremen have agreed to attack the Harkonnen.”

That exclaimed the good mood. “Oh. That’s great.” 

“We will have backup this time, as you requested.”

“Do you know when it will be?”

“Soon- we already have a plan in place.”

Paul raised an eyebrow at him doubtfully. “That was quick…”

Feyd shrugged. “I've been thinking about it for a while.” 

“Evidently.” He brought a hand up to the other’s face, tracing his wide smile. It was strange- the way other’s joy now provided him his own. “What’s the plan then?”

“I doubt my brother will be coping well without Orham. He was the entire brains of his operation, meaning now is the perfect time to strike.”

“Strike whilst they’re weak.”

“Yes. We will aim to infiltrate the main Harkonnen stronghold- but this time, instead of using stealth, we’ll be doing it my way.”

Immediately, Paul didn’t like the sound of this plan. “What do you mean?” 

“You and I will be going in first, you pretending to be my prisoner and me the escaped captive of the Fremen. We will then take down all security measures and the shields, rendering them vulnerable to an attack from the Fremen.”

Paul hesitated for a moment, before nodding consideringly. “Seems like it could work.” 

And it did. It was so unlike any of the Fremen approaches, but it may be just the thing they needed. There was one problem though. 

“What if Rabban’s there?” He pressed. “What if he figures us out?” 

“I doubt he will be.” Feyd scoffed, hatred returning to his eyes at the very mention of his brother. “For his recent failures, my uncle has likely had him returned to Geidi Prime.”

“And if he is? Will you be able to keep it together?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.” Paul nodded, moving upwards to peck the other on the lips. “It's a good plan.”

Feyd smirked at him. “Of course it is. I came up with it.”

Rolling his eyes, he shoved at the other teasingly. “Yes, yes. You’re very clever.” 

Shoving him back, Feyd rolled off him to lie at his side instead. “Your mother was right, you know. The Sietch does seem to worship us now.” 

“I could tell by the stares I received on my way here.” Paul said dryly, the thought filling his mouth with a bad taste. 

Feyd hummed. “It’s not a bad thing.”

“Maybe.”

•                                           -                           -                -           -     -   -  - -

Before they set out on their mission, Chani came to find him.

“What have you done?” She hissed at him.

“Hello to you too.” He said wryly, causing her to smack him on the arm, hardly. “Ow!”

“Tell me why there are rumours of the Lisan Al-Gaib saving a Fremen Sietch?”

Immediately, all humour left his body. He looked away from her. “What would you have had me do- leave them to die? It’s not my fault every action I take adds fire to this forsaken prophecy.” 

“No. I suppose not.” She took a step back, rubbing her eyes. Her frustration was evident. “I’m sorry-I know you aren't at blame. I've just been finding it difficult recently.”

“It’s okay.” A pang of worry hit him at the look of her downtrodden face. “What’s happened?”

“Your mother has been hard at work. In your absence, she's seemed to transform the entire Sietch- and I’m not sure it is for the better.”  

“I’m sorry, Chani.” 

Shaking her head, she dismissed his worry. “Don’t.”

Paul wasn’t convinced, but she changed the subject before he had time to push the matter further. 

“So you found Feyd-Rautha.”

“Yes.” He said simply. 

But despite his answer lacking anything of substance, her face transformed into a smug grin. “Was it everything you dreamt of?” She batted her eyelashes, clutching her hands to her chest and causing an indignified snort to escape his lips. 

“Shut up.”

“No, tell me the details! You left me for a month- it’s the least you could do.”

Fortunately for him, they were interrupted before she could press him for any more answers.

Feyd-Rautha strode over to them, face purposefully blank. “We’re leaving.” 

“Feyd-Rautha.” Chani greeted. “You look miserable as ever. Are you sure you’re done with your prolonged temper tantrum? Maybe you should run away for another month, see if that makes a difference.”

Paul sighed. 

“Girl.” Feyd eyed her slowly. “I’m surprised you survived- especially considering how weak you are.”

Something dangerous flashed in Chani’s eyes, causing Paul to tense, prepared to intervene as she took a step closer to the other. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten- Their deaths were your fault.” And with that, she turned and stormed away.

“Must you always antagonise her?” He crossed his arms over his chest and fixed the other with an accusatory glare. 

Feyd ignored him, wrapping an arm around his shoulder.

“I’m serious, Feyd.” Paul pushed the arm away. “Cut her some slack. She just lost her friends.”

“You’re very bossy today.” 

“Feyd-Rautha.”

“Fine.” He waved a dismissive hand. “I’ll keep my distance.”

Paul’s glare remained sharp- but he knew they didn't have time for such discussions and decided to drop the matter. For now. “Let’s go meet up with the others.”

Out the front of the Sietch, all the Fremen Fedaykin had already gathered, Stilgar at the head of them. As soon as the man noticed their arrival, he strolled over, a wide grin on his face. 

“Are you boys ready?”

Paul nodded firmly. 

“Good. Good.” Stilgar turned back to address the Feydaykin. “Our attack on the Harkonnen fortress will now begin-”

-

When they were about a mile away from the base, Feyd and Paul split off from the rest of the group. 

Before they left, Stilgar had pulled them aside and patted them both on the shoulder. Despite their disagreements surrounding the prophecy, Paul found himself increasingly fond of the older man- it was hard not to be. He was deeply honourable, a genuinely capable leader- who at times reminded him almost of a father figure. The thought struck a tender place; a sharp pain bloomed in his chest, the loss of his own father still painfully raw despite all the time that had passed. 

In order to play along to his role as a prisoner, Paul was put in a pair of handcuffs, a fact that left his movement uncomfortable and restricted. His weapons had also been taken- he had become accustomed to the weight of a blade at his side and in its absence he felt naked. Feyd-Rautha, in comparison, was fully armed- something he’d been rather smug about- he seemed to be enjoying this whole prisoner thing a bit too much for Paul’s liking. 

“Just so you are aware,” Feyd said to him as they neared the base. “I will speak cruely to you in there.”

“I know. It wouldn’t be believable if you didn’t.” He smiled up at the other, as if to reassure him. 

“We’ll be fine.”

“Of course we will.” 

After the final touch was added- a gag stuffed into mouth, they resumed walking. It was as if a switch had been flipped, postures losing their causality, faces blank, the two of them now entirely focused on what was to come. Paul breathed deeply, calming his heart rate and tried to appear a scared Duke’s son, lost to the desert- It was ironic to think that just a few months ago, he had been. 

The Harkonnen fortress was considerably larger than the other had been, an imposing structure that immediately made its role as their central stronghold unmistakable. With a place this important, tight security was inevitable. They hadn’t made more than a few steps towards the entrance before they were intercepted, a guard bringing them to a standstill. 

“Who are you?” He called gruffly, pointing his weapon in their direction. 

“Feyd-Rautha.” Feyd replied. His body language shifted slightly- he’d straightened up, posturing with a sense of authority that dared anyone to question him. 

“Feyd-Rautha?” There was a tremble in the guard's voice and he sounded slightly dumbfounded. “You’re supposed to be dead…”

“Well evidently I’m not. Now let me pass.”

“Um- It’s good to see you alive Na-Baron, but who is that with you?” 

“Paul Atreides. He is my prisoner- don’t concern yourself with him.” Feyd tugged at his arm for emphasis. “Now go let whoever’s in charge of this place of my arrival.” 

“Yes, Sir.” He turned to his colleague. “Please lead our Na-baron to a waiting room.” 

Paul felt a slight annoyance as it became apparent things were already straying from the plan- they were supposed to be allowed free reign to shut down the shields, not confined to a room.

What do we do? He signed at Feyd once they started being led away, keeping his hands low and subtle. 

It’s fine. Feyd signed back. We will just kill whoever’s been put in charge in my stead. 

Somehow, Paul had known that would be his answer. 

They were led down numerous winding corridors and into a small waiting room. The base was sparsely decorated, but unlike the Sietch which had an almost homely feel to it, it felt sterile and cold. The waiting room was the same. A bench was pushed into a corner alongside a low table, but there were no decorations or attempts at making it comfortable other than that. 

On Caladan, rooms like these would have been plushly decorated with paintings and cushions and the guests would have been offered drinks and snacks. The Harkonnens clearly held no such tradition, and they were shut inside the room as soon as they entered. 

Feyd pulled the door handle. “Locked.” He muttered before walking over to the bench and practically throwing himself onto it, posture slouched and relaxed. He patted the space next to him for Paul to sit. 

“It’s strange, having you unable to speak.” Feyd grinned at him. “Can’t say I miss your smug remarks.”

Just as Paul rolled his eyes, the door slammed open, making him jump. Head swivelling round, The sight that he was met with made his heart plummet. 

There, in the doorway, stood Glossu Rabban. 

“Brother. You’re alive.” Rabban greeted. He had a strange look on his face, and it was notably not one of joy. 

Slowly, Feyd rose from where he’d been slouched on the bench. Despite his posture remaining composed, Paul noticed the slight twitch of his finger tips, as if he was desperate for his knife. 

“I don’t know why everyone seems so shocked at the fact. Surely you should have known it would take more than a spoiled Duke’s boy to kill me.”

“You were gone for so long, our uncle was starting to grow… worried.” Feyd’s fingers twitched again. “We sent out search parties looking for you. Some didn’t return.” 

“Well that’s not surprising. This desert is full of savages.” Feyd prowled closer to the other, eyes flashing dangerously. “If you don’t mind me asking, brother, what are you doing here? I expected you to be back on Geidi Prime.”

“It’s my job to be here.” Rabban clearly recognised his brother’s taunt at his incompetence- and did not appreciate it. “Uncle has been considering making me his successor.”

Although minutely, Feyd’s eyebrows raised at that. “Really? Well, it’s no matter. I’m sure that will change now I’m back.”

Rabban's face darkened dangerously. “You underestimate me. It has always been one of your greatest flaws.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I have no flaws.”

His brother scoffed at that, although didn’t move to challenge him any further. Instead, his gaze shifted to where Paul was still sitting. “What’s this?” 

Feyd took a step towards Paul, yanking his hair so Rabban could get a clearer look at his face. “I was captured by this boy and his witch mother so I killed her and took him hostage.” His grip tightened, Paul flinching in response. “I believe our uncle will be pleased with the offering- consider it an apology for my untimely disappearance.”

A heavy silence settled between the two men, thick enough that Paul felt it pressing against his skin- he could only stand there and watch, unable to interfere, every second stretching the tension tighter. He wished he could go back to being unnoticed by Rabban, not enjoying the long look the other was giving him. 

“I see.” Rabban moved out of the room, clearly expecting them to follow. “Come with me, Brother.”

Feyd went after him, yanking Paul along with him. Despite the grip appearing threatening to an outsider, Paul found a small amount of comfort in the contact- it reminded him that Feyd was there, and was on his side. 

There were definitely more troops in this base than there had been at Orham’s, with at least two guards for every hallway. However, it wasn’t just Harkonnen troopers. Paul also spotted a group of Sardaukar, marching down a corridor. 

“The Emperor has agreed to work with us again?” Feyd-Rautha asked, thankfully verbalising Paul’s thoughts. 

“Yes. With all the trouble they’ve been causing, He’s agreed to help us get rid of the Fremen.”

“How generous of him.”

“Indeed.” Rabban looked over his shoulder, eyeing Feyd warily. “Although you could pass for Fremen with the way you look now- you even have the same eyes.” 

Feyd returned the gaze, eyes unwavering. “You have to wear a stillsuit to survive on Arrakis. Not that I’d expect you to know since you spend all your time hiding behind walls.”

Rabban didn’t respond. They continued in a tense silence after that, until they reached another room, two guards stationed outside. It made Paul nervous. This plan was turning out to be more complex than they had thought. 

The guards moved to let them pass revealing a large room with a control panel in the centre. A few diagrams lit up, showcasing images of Arrakis and various other numbers and signals. Rabban walked up one and began tapping.

“What are you doing?” Feyd asked but he didn’t receive a reply. “Rabban!” He walked up to the other, grabbing him on the shoulder roughly. 

Just as it seemed that the two were about to begin a confrontation, a large picture lit up behind them, showcasing a large image of the Baron’s face. 

“Rabban. What do you want?” He drawled, face crawling with disdain towards his nephew. 

The voice sent chills down Paul’s spine, hairs rising at the back of his neck. Things really weren’t going to plan.

“Uncle, we have found Feyd-Rautha. He is here with me now.”

Paul looked towards Feyd, the other going carefully still as his uncle’s face gleamed in interest. 

Feyd was silent for a moment, before he moved forward and into view. When he did speak, his voice came out scratchy. “Uncle.”

“Feyd-Rautha. Wherever have you been? Not a single word from you in months, we were starting to think you were dead.” The baron tutted, tone like he was lecturing a disobedient child. 

“I’ve captured the Atreides boy.” Feyd replied in lieu of an answer. His voice had returned to its monotone stability, his posture forcibly relaxed. “He is with us now.” 

Paul was roughly gripped on the shoulder and pushed into frame. Despite him not being there in the flesh, being under the scrutiny of the Baron’s gaze made the hairs on the back of his skin break out into goosebumps.

“Ah. I see.” The Baron stared at him for a moment longer. “Well done Feyd-Rautha, bring him to Geidi Prime immediately. You’ll come along as well, of course- you can explain to me why this task took so long.” And with that, the picture went blank, leaving the room in silence. 

“Well, If that’s all, I will go find a carrier to take us back to Geidi Prime.” Feyd excused, clearly trying to make their escape and get Rabban off their backs. Paul willingly let the other grab him by the arm and begin dragging him to the exit. 

“Just a moment…” Rabban called, causing the pair to freeze. 

“What? Our uncle is waiting.” Feyd said impatiently. 

“Are you aware that Orham is dead?”

Turning back to face his brother with a neutral face, Feyd feigned ignorance. “No.” 

“Yes. the base he was residing in was attacked. It was a complete massacre, not a single person was left alive.” 

“How unfortunate for him.” 

“Not for you though.” Rabban said slowly. 

A chill ran down Paul’s spine at the change in Rabban’s tone. Could he know? Surely it was impossible. 

“What are you insinuating?” Growled Feyd, voice carrying a clear warning. 

“Orham told me something before he died. Something peculiar.” Rabban met the other’s gaze head on. “He always believed you were still alive. In fact, he thought you had run off to join the Fremen. I of course thought the notion to be ridiculous.” He shook his head. “But he warned me, should something happen to him, to not be so dismissive of the idea. And here you are, before my very eyes, returned from the desert unharmed and looking like a Fremen.” 

“Don’t be stupid.” Feyd spun back around, grip tightening around Paul’s arm. “I’ve had enough of your tales, I’m leaving.” 

The door slid shut when Feyd tried to exit. 

“Your arrogance has always blinded you, Feyd-Rautha.” 

Paul could see Feyd reach for his weapon from beside him. “And your brutishness you.”

“Orham was always the clever one. It was a shame he died the way he did. Did you know the autopsy revealed the execution strike was one typically used by us Harkonnen? Not one of the Fremen.” 

Shit. Rabban was onto them. By the way Feyd tensed, it was clear he had come to the same realisation. The other didn’t hesitate. He ran at his brother, landing a solid punch to the corner of his jaw. Rabban crashed into the control panel behind him, sending papers flying everywhere. 

When he rose to his feet, he immediately met his brother’s attack, launching at him with a knife. Hands and mouth still bound, Paul darted backwards to avoid getting caught in the confrontation. 

“You always underestimated me, Feyd-Rautha. Did you really think I wouldn’t figure you out?” Hissed Rabban between swipes.

“You didn’t figure out anything you imbecile, it was all Orham. You are nothing without each other- him too weak and you too stupid!”

Rabban growled. The flurry of attacks grew in brutality as it became clear to Paul that they were aiming to kill, not to injure. Desperately, he began to yank at his wrists, attempting to free them from their binds.

Having no success, he ran towards the broken control panel, slicing the rope on one of the sharp pieces of metal. Rabban turned to lunge at him, clearly noticing what he was doing, but was tackled to the ground by Feyd before he could get far. 

Finally, the rope gave and his hands were free to yank the gag from his mouth. 

“Freeze!” He yelled, causing Rabban to pause in his movements. “Drop the weapon.” The knife fell from his hands, mouth drawn into an open snarl. 

Wiping a stray trail of blood from his nose, Feyd rose to his feet to stand over his brother. “It seems even your brutish strength isn’t enough- your imbecilic nature will always be your downfall.” 

“You should have stayed in the desert, Feyd-Rautha.” Rabban spat. “When our uncle discovers your treachery, you’re going to wish you were dead.” He turned his gaze to Paul, eyes cold and mouth sneering. “You and your betrothed can die side by side. How sweet.”

Feyd kicked him, his body pitching to the side with a loud grunt.. 

“What are you going to do with him?” Paul asked, warily eyeing the other. 

Feyd knelt by his brother’s head, a harsh smirk on his lips. “Kill him of course.”

Suddenly, Rabban lunged upwards, knocking Feyd to the ground with a slash at his abdomen. He’d clearly been faking his injured state as before Paul had time to react, a knife was being held to his neck, hand over his mouth. 

“You are such an insufferable cunt.” Feyd grunted from the ground, hand pressed to his stomach. Blood spilled through his fingers, staining his hands red.

“Don’t be so harsh- you enjoy pain, do you not?”

“Not the disabling kind.” 

Rabban slowly backed towards the exit, knife still pressed firmly to Paul’s neck. “It’s been a pleasure as always, brother. I'm afraid I can’t leave the Atreides boy alive, despite your newfound camaraderie."

However, before the other had time to react, Paul brought a hand up to the knife, dragging it away before it could slice into his neck. The blade cut into his palm, a sharp flare of pain piercing his flesh, but he ignored it in favour of elbowing the other in the gut. 

Grunting in pain, Rabban kicked the back of his knees, sending Paul flying to the floor. Pain blossomed in his head as it cracked against the floor and a yelp of pain left his lips. By the time he turned away, the other was already fleeing from the room and sprinting down the corridor. A few moments later, an alarm sounded. 

“Fuck.” Paul grunted, lying back on the floor for a moment. This mission was going to absolute shit. 

“Come on.” When he opened his eyes, Feyd was holding a hand out to him. “We still have to turn off the shields.”

“You’re okay?”