Chapter Text
On his first night in Arrakeen, Paul woke up covered in sweat. His new room was dark and quiet, the only sound outside the soft rustling of the moving sand. But all he could hear was his galloping heart. It beat in his chest, in the tips of his fingers. Lower, lower, lower.
The claws of the dream still had a sharp grasp on his skin but this was no nightmare. Neither was it one of his other dreams, the soft glowing visions of a blue-eyed girl. These were the dreams he dared not speak of. He’d had them for as long as he could remember, though they hadn’t become clear until his adolescence. They were always blurry, more feeling than vision, so unlike the clear images of the girl. He often suspected they came to him from somewhere else, some when else other than the future that awaited him in this life but confirmation would require speaking to his mother about them and Paul could not bring himself to do that. Not when he dreamed of pale hands marking his skin, of the feeling of something hard and hot inside him that made him wake up aching with a kind of hunger he could neither understand nor quieten. Lady Jessica might’ve trained him in the Benet Gesserit ways since birth, but Paul very much doubted that included telling his mother about his wet dreams.
He stretched in his bed, his hand finding a way under his clothes before the dream had completely dissipated from his mind. Eyes. As black as the endless depths of space. They looked at him like he wanted to devour him. Paul knew he would let him. Had let him. Will let him. It was all too confusing but there was one thing he knew as he brought himself off under the sheets: no matter what happened, a part of him was already his.
***
The Harkonens came at night. There was no warning, no declaration of war. There was only fire and by the time the sun rose above the desserts of Arrakis, Paul’s family was gone. Only he and his mother remained, locked in a cell in what was supposed to be their home, their futures unknown.
“We must escape,” Lady Jessica had taken to pacing the cell. “They won’t risk leaving any Atraides alive. The only reason why we aren’t dead yet must be because of the Sisterhood. The Harkonens can’t justify the murder of a Truth Sayer and her child.”
Children, Paul thought, looking at the flatness of her stomach. He knew there was no hope for himself. Any child of duke Leto Atreides would always be a threat to his murderers, and if the invaders were to discover his mother’s pregnancy, the death of that child would be more crucial to them than any promise they might have made to the order. He needed to protect her. It would be his last act in this world, the last way to make his father proud.
But there was nothing to be done. Time passed and no one came to see them, feed them, harm them. He could hear people rushing up and down the corridors. Things had been quiet after the battle was over but now some new commotion seemed to be stirring things up. Finally, someone came.
Soldiers. Two of them.
“Come,” one screamed, clearly deafened by some contraption to prevent Lady Jessica from using the Voice on him.
They followed them to one of the great rooms of the palace. Paul steeled himself. He’d studied the Harkonnens for years, had heard tales about the baron’s cruelty and knew he’d need a strong stomach to face him. Begging went against everything he was, but he’d do it if it meant sparing his mother’s life, the continuance of their bloodline through the baby in her womb. His father had hoped he’d find his own way to leadership and this was the only path left for him, one pain and humiliation. He was prepared for that.
What he wasn’t prepared for was coming face to face with the man of his dreams. His face had only come to him in rare flashes, in pieces, but he’d recognized his eyes in any universe. Those eyes that hungered for him as he took off his clothes, fingers slow and smile teasing at his lover’s growing desperation while Paul forbade him to touch. He’d recognize his lips among a raging sandstorm, blind and deaf: the shape of them, the way they felt against his skin, around his cock. He’d recognize his hands even in death. They had brought him pleasure and pain only when he asked for it. They had worshiped his body, drawn him close to another while sweat cooled on his skin. Paul couldn’t tear his gaze away from them now, not when they were holding his father’s severed head.
Na baron Feyd-Rautha (Paul knew the man in front of him could be no one else) threw Leto Atraides’ head at the feet of his only son.
“A gift,” he said.
Next to him, Jessica trembled. Not enough to be noticeable, but enough for Paul to know it was taking every last bit of her training not to crack. Paul couldn’t look at her. He couldn’t look at the remains of his father. He only had eyes for the na baron. His voice was deep and hoarse and Paul knew it was just an effect of having only heard it before in his dreams that his blood rushed south at the sound of it. However, even while fighting his own body, Paul had time to realize Fayd-Rautha sounded sincere.
“Is decapitation of the dead a sign of respect in Giedi Prime?” He spoke like a duke’s son, firm and somber, but still a little disrespectful. Still not quite a duke.
A twisted smile stretched Feyd-Rautha’s lips, black teeth peeking through.
“We generally prefer our decapitations to happen while they are still alive, but beggars can’t be choosers. Your father managed to make quite a mess of things before he died”
Paul was about to speak, although he wasn’t sure what he was going to say, but the door opened behind them, interrupting them. A thin, short man entered and bowed his head in a sign of respect.
“My baron, you called for me.”
Baron. Paul had studied the Harkonnen lineaged his entire life. He knew baron Vladimir Harkonnen was not in that room. Feyd-Rautha stood tall and proud, alone on the dais meant for the ruler of Arrakis. There was no sign of his uncle, no sign of his brother either, which meant…
“I did. Piter, you know the duke and his mother.”
With a start, Paul realized Feyd-Rautha (baron Harkonnen now apparently) was talking about him. It was probably a mockery, to confer him the title when he wouldn’t live long enough to wear it, but somehow it didn’t feel like it. The man, Piter de Vries, the mentat of House Harkonnen, passed by them on his way to the baron’s side and threw them a look of disgust.
“I don’t mean to be disrespectful, but I am confused as to why they are still alive. The plan was to give them to the desert.”
“Ah, yes, the plan. That’s exactly why you are here. Did you or did you not conspire with my uncle and the Emperor and that brute I have the misfortune to call a brother to attack House Atreides and murder duke Leto and his family?”
“Excuse me, my lord. I don’t understand…”
Feyd-Rautha cut the air with a gesture of impatience.
“That has been made abundantly clear. Answer the question.”
Instead of cowering in fear, Piter’s spine shot up like an arrow, indignant. He watched Feyd-Rautha as if he were a child daring to chastise his elders. Stupid , thought Paul.
“I did. And despite the late baron’s unfortunate death, Arrakis is now ours as planned.” Piter seemed baffled he had to say this out loud but Feyd-Rautha just nodded, satisfied. “I must insist that the boy and his mother be disposed of immediately, my lord. Every second they are alive…”
He didn’t get to finish the thought. One of Feyd-Rautha’s blades slit his throat in a movement so fluid Paul’s brain had a hard time registering it. He did register the blood, hot and thick, spraying him in the face. He didn’t flinch. He could feel Feyd-Rautha watching him even as the mentat fell down to his knees. His gaze was a laser, a sun. It burned his skin where it landed but he found himself craving it at the same time. He was watching his mouth. Paul liked his lips before he could realize what he was doing and he saw those familiar black eyes darken with desire. His own hunger answered in kind. As if he knew, as if his body knew what only his mind had witnessed.
“Girls, dinner,” said Feyd-Rautha, still looking at him.
Three figures emerged from some dark corner, they pounced on the twitching body. Paul heard the sound of teeth ripping into flesh. The gaze upon him turned steely, as if challenging him to be disgusted.
“Is this another offering?” he asked, indifferent to the carnage. It was no less than the mentat deserved. Feyd didn’t show his pleasure, but Paul could somehow read it on every line of his body.
His mind was working overtime. His father was dead. It was now up to him to make sure House Atreides survived and to protect his mother and sister. He turned the pieces of information he had learnt in the last few minutes over in his mind. Baron Vladimir Harkonnen was dead. Feyd-Rautha was the one in control and he either hadn’t known about or disagreed with what his uncle had done to their family. Maybe some peace could be negotiated. Maybe they could arrange their return to Caladan. Forget Arrakis. Forget the spice. Forget the girl in his dreams.
A part of him, the dark and twisted part that he’d learnt to keep hidden from his father’s disgust and his mother’s sinister approval, clamored for vengeance, for blood. However, it was having a hard time attaching those feelings to the man in front of him. He wondered if it was just his dreams that were swaying him. Was he really that weak? Were the stolen glances of carnal pleasure and the even rarer visions of something more enough to change his feelings about one of his father’s murderers?
He was so engrossed in his own thoughts he almost didn’t hear Feyd-Rautha’s answer.
“Not an offering, a gift. A wedding gift. For my bride.”
Now Paul tensed, his focus returned to the present moment like a rubber band snapping back. Something twisted inside him, a rejection so strong he had to struggle not to react. This was not how it was supposed to go. Feyd wasn’t supposed to… He was the one…
“She is not yours to take.” His voice was firm, but he knew it still betrayed his emotions.
To his utter surprise, Feyd-Rautha started laughing. A whole-body laugh, cruel and sharp like everything in him, but it reminded Paul of the sound of waves breaking against the rocks at the bottom of a cliff. Deathly. Beautiful.
“I am not interested in the used-up hag.” Paul felt his mother bristle beside him. It surprised him. She wasn’t usually one to be offended at such insults. Then he understood. It wasn’t rage, it was fear. “I am here for you.”
“Me?” His mouth was slower than the rest of him, because just as he said it he understood.
He felt the blood rush to his cheeks and only his Benet Gesserit training helped prevent him from blushing. Feyd-Rautha took a step towards him and his mother moved in the same breath. She made to stand between them, but Paul stopped her with a hand on her arm. If they were to survive this, and their odds seemed higher with every passing minute, he couldn’t afford to appear weak. Besides, he kinda wanted to see where this was going.
He took a step forward, meeting his maybe-future-husband in the middle.
They were now close enough for the possibility of a physical altercation to hang in the air. Paul was painfully aware of the blades Feyd-Rautha was carrying and of his own disarmed state. It wouldn’t be a fair fight. Certainly not a long one. Still, he felt no fear. With him so close, it felt like they were the only people in the world.
“My uncle is dead.”
“I figured as much, baron Harkonnen,” replied Paul. He bowed his head in the obligatory sign of respect but did not lower his eyes.
“Your father killed him. He is dead too.”
Now he closed his eyes. Leto’s head was still on the floor, now next to him instead of in front. He was trying so hard not to think about it. He nodded.
“You and I, we are the heads of House Atreides and House Harkonnen. The Emperor seduced my uncle and the idiot of my brother by promising them Arrakis after he’d just taken it away. Neither of them bothered to question what would happen next.”
Paul had heard the rumors about Feyd-Rautha. All muscle, no brain. Like his beastly brother but deadlier. They were clearly mistaken. He couldn’t help but think of the kind of intelligence it took to convince others that you were stupid.
“And what do you think will happen now?”
“We are loose ends. The Great Houses won’t stand for what happened here if they were to learn about the imperial intervention. It could be anything, but the Emperor will find a reason to get rid of the Harkonnens as he intended to rid the universe of the Atreides.”
“And you want me to help you avoid that?” Paul sneered.
“I want you to help yourself.” He leaned forward and for a crazy second Paul was convinced he was going to kiss him. Instead, he said, “Marry me, little dukeling, and the Emperor won’t be able to hold anything against us. We will rule over Caladan, Giedi Prime and Arrakis together.” There was a fervor in his eyes now. “We will be unstoppable.”
Paul didn’t just see it. He Saw it. It rarely happened when he was awake, but the visions came to him in a rush, and they spread further than their home planets and Arrakis.
“You want to be Emperor.” When he spoke, the fervor was tainting his voice too.
“I want us to be Emperors.” He was searching his face. “What do you see?”
He had to close his eyes against the images. He recognized some from his dreams, but there was so much more .
“I see two thrones. I see you by my side.”
I see the world kneeling before us. I see you kneeling before me . This he kept for himself.
Feyd-Rautha’s eyes were two pieces of coal, incensed with live ambers.
“Paul Atreides, Duke of Arrakis and Caladan, will you marry me?”
Paul opened his mouth. He knew he was going to say yes. What was worse, he wanted to say yes.
“You are insane,” he said, instead.
Feyd-Rautha laughed again. Paul wondered if he did it often. Somehow, he doubted it.
“You sound surprised. I thought that was public knowledge.”
Paul shrugged. He was right.
“And if I refuse?”
It was almost imperceptible. A subtle change in posture, a tension in his muscles. Without moving at all, the man in front of him went from an imposing presence to the deadly machine Paul had heard so much about. For the first time since he’d walked in the room and saw him, Paul felt truly afraid. Feyd-Rautha was offering him an out, but he could just as easily take it away. Still, he couldn’t help but push.
“Then the desert will be a kindness you won’t receive from me.”
Paul nodded. It was what he expected.
“Ask me again.”
Feyd-Rautha tilted his head, appraisingly.
“Will you have me kneel as well, bride?” His tone was mocking, but Paul could hear what hid behind the humor.
“All in good time,” he murmured, almost to himself, and something came alive in Feyd-Rautha’s gaze in response. He straightened his spine, every inch the duke he was meant to be now. He raised an eyebrow at Feyd-Rautha. “Well?”
Feyd-Rautha didn’t kneel, but he did bow his head.
“Oh, my great lord, will you do me the greatest honor of becoming my husband?”
Paul opened his mouth to say yes.
“NO!” His mother spoke for the first time. Also for the first time, Paul looked at her.
She looked so small, so afraid, even more now that when they thought their death was imminent. Panic had taken over her usually stony face, her blue eyes wide and her mouth parted after her scream. Paul met her gaze, trying to will her into silence. He was doing this for her. He looked back at Feyd-Rautha.
“I will, but I have one condition.” Both Feyd-Rautha and his mother stiffened, but Paul kept going. “My mother’s safety will be ensured. She will travel to Caladan and stay there until the end of her pregnancy. Then, my sister will inherit the planet.” He saw the shock take over Feyd-Rautha’s expression, heard the gasp that escaped his mother. He was taking a risk. They were at his mercy, Paul knew it. If he was to gain anything from this union, he would have to enter it on equal footing. His visions told him he could trust Feyd-Rautha. This test would confirm if they were right about that. “You will appoint a representative to govern Giedi Prime in your name. And you and I will rule over Arrakis together. We will control the spice.”
Feyd-Rautha looked like he was about to protest. His nostrils twitched in fury and his shoulder hunched as if to attack. And then… Understanding lighted his face like a sunrise over the dunes.
“He who controls the spice, controls the universe,” he murmured.
“Do we have a deal?” Paul stretched a hand.
Feyd-Rautha took it, but instead of shaking it, he brought it up to his lips. Paul thought he’d kiss his finger. The middle one where the ducal seal of his father now belonged. Or the one next to it, where his wedding band would soon lay. Instead, he turned his hand around and touched his lips to the inside of his wrist. Paul’s breath caught in his throat, his pulse following its lead. Feyd-Rautha must have felt it, because he smirked against the delicate skin and Paul could feel the edge of his teeth. It was such an intimate gesture. The skin of his lips was as soft as he dreamed. The proximity of his teeth a promise of violence unfulfilled. He wasn’t sure which one thrilled him more. He struggled not to react under Feyd-Rautha’s scrutiny. When he pulled away, he didn’t let go of his hand.
“I think we have a wedding to prepare.”