Daughter Of Dune (Ursus Peregrinus & darkangel76)

[darkangel76]

(based on Dune by Frank Herbert, SciFi Channel's miniseries ~ Frank Herbert's Dune & Frank Herbert's Children of Dune)

"Arrakis... Dune... wasteland of the Empire, and the most valuable planet in the universe. Because it is here—and only here—where spice is found. The spice. Without it there is no commerce in the Empire, there is no civilization. Arrakis... Dune... home of the spice, greatest treasure in the universe. And he who controls it, controls our destiny."

And it is here where yet another chapter begins, but it is hardly where the saga ends. For the Golden Path of Leto II—Ghanima Atreides beloved twin brother—has only just begun to be forged as his body slowly merges in a way no one else's ever could with the great Shai-Hulud... the great sandworms of Dune...

~~​

"You shouldn't be sitting so close to the open balcony," came a stern, yet gentle voice.

Immediately, there was a faint sound of laughter, a tiny stifled giggle as Hersilia Atreides turned her head to gaze upon the smiling face of Princess Irulan Corrino. The Atreides girl had been with her 'surrogate mother' nearly all of her life, much to her own beloved mother's chagrin... how she missed her own mother. But she understood the why of the separation, the why of... everything.

Golden red curls fell languidly along slender shoulders as Hersilia locked eyes with Irulan. The moment the woman returned the eye contact, she could almost sense her fear. Though she knew her 'surrogate mother' was hardly afraid of her. It was a natural reaction. Most had it whenever they were around a pre-born so she never faulted the Bene Gesserit. Not ever. Besides, Irulan had only shown her the utmost of love and care just as she had her very own mother and beloved uncle.

Ah Uncle Leto... Hersilia wished she knew the man better. Before all the 'changes'...

Hersilia recalled as a young child how her mother and uncle would meet in the evenings at nearly every sunset. He would look so sad and so tired, his body ever changing. Each meeting would leave her mother distraught and in pain. She could see that she wanted to do something. Anything. But she was bound and trapped by a future she did not yet quite understand at the time. Her father would often try to comfort her mother, something she could see her mother appreciated and even loved about him. Yes... she knew the history, the arrangement. And she didn't need historians to remind her either.

Prescience. Pre-born. A curse and a blessing. A dark and beautiful gift of the Atreides bloodline.

"Yes, I know, Irulan. But I couldn't help it. The sunrises over Dune are so beautiful," Hersilia giggled again, her blue-in-blue eyes almost glowing.

Irulan sighed through a smile, a hand reaching up to rake through her thick waves of mousy brown. "I know you have your indulgences, Lia. But the attacks on this Keep have grown steadily worse since your nineteenth birthday and there have been discussions about what to do in regards to safety."

Hersilia slid down off the balcony, her bare feet lightly striking the stone floor beneath her. Her filmy white gown flowed as a breeze suddenly blew through the open window. "I know that mother and father are worried and have been making plans."

Irulan laughed, "Of course you do. Then you also know that both Ghanima and Farad'n have been in touch with the Fremen in the deepest parts of the desert?"

Just then, Hersilia tilted her head, golden red tendrils shifting with her movements. She reached up a hand and tapped her lip and shook her head. "No, I was not. So, the untouched desert then?" she asked, pausing a moment as she dropped her hand back to her side. "The desert is slowly receding..." she mumbled. "My mother knows this... my uncle..." her voice trailed, her expression distant. Suddenly, she bit down on her lip and blinked her eyes several times before giving Irulan a smile.

Irulan just nodded. She was used to Hersilia's occasional odd manner. Having raised both her mother and uncle—both pre-borns, both Atreides—she wasn't unused to dealing with such mannerisms. "Yes. Ghanima and Farad'n will be here by midday."

Hersilia scowled. Her pale cheeks turned a deep shade of scarlet.

"The last attack was believed to be a coordinated attack by more than just the Bene Gesserits and Spacing Guild, Lia," Irulan continued, her voice a bit more stern than before. The concern she had was clear.

Hersilia nodded in understanding, her hands moving to rub at her bare arms. "The other noble houses?"

Irulan nodded causing Hersilia to sigh.

"Come now, we must get you prepared for your parents arrival along with the arrival of our guests."

"Guests?" Hersilia almost squeaked.

Irulan laughed. "Why yes. You didn't think we'd delay in your safety, did you?"

Hersilia's eyes flashed and narrowed. "I... I suppose not," she said.

 

[Ursus Peregrinus]

Sitting in the shadow of a dune, a cloaked sat still. Beside him on the sand lay his pack, a set of maker hooks projecting from the top. As the two moons rose over the distant Shield Wall, he removed a small cage from beneath his jubba cloak and lifted it up to examine the bat hanging within.

Letting it sip a single drop of water from his stillsuit's sip-tube, he opened the cage and drew it out. Murmuring into its ear, he gave a gentle lifting motion and allowed it to fly free. For a moment the bat circled, then it turned southeast, winging its way across the Great Erg.

Rising, Marid of Broken Cliffs shouldered his pack and brushed his cloak carefully over the sand to eliminate the evidence of his passing. It was too close to the villages of the sink and graben to dare calling up a maker, but he had much ground to cover.

Just before the last full moon, a Sayyadina had come to his Sietch, riding a palanquin with a dozen guardsmen. She had spent a day in conference with his father Salah, the Naib. Then, without a word spoken to any other in the Sietch, she had left once more, headed deep into the south.

Salah had come to him that night, and had told him to make a journey. He was to go alone, to Arrakeen, and seek out a man called Kaleff. The former Fedaykin would know him when he gifted him with a baliset, and Marid was to ask for some trifling ghanima in return, a memory of Muad'dib's great Jihad. Once he had taken custody of this spoil of war, he was to return it to Broken Cliffs, where it would be tested by the Amtal rule.

He did not fully understand, but that was unimportant. Too young to take part in the great Jihad, Marid was eager to prove himself. Hunting smugglers and spice hunters in the deep desert was poor meat for a hungry Fremen.

Drawing deeply on the sip tube of his stillsuit, he drained the catchpockets. The best place to store moisture was in the body, and he would need his strength tonight.

~ ~ ~

Moving with the peculiar arrhythmic step of a Fremen from the deep desert, the figure moved through the city of Arrakeen. His dusty jubba cloak was pulled close around him, and the hood obscured his face, but his stance was enough to grant him some measure of space as he forced his way through the crowds in the marketplace.

The Souk was incredibly crowded to a Fremen who had spent his life first in the safe havens of the South Polar region and then in the camps and sietches of the deep desert. Marid's eyes narrowed as he was jostled, but kept his hand from his crysknife.

Pausing in wonder, Marid stood for a long time at the fountain in the midst of the market square. Water running free, and folk walking past it as though it were nothing. Now and then one would dip a cup and sip, but most simply walked by as though such wealth were a common thing.

Shaking his head, the young Fremen turned away and moved towards the house Salah had described. He recognized it by the palm fronds carved into the sandstone of the door frame, but he did not approach immediately.

Instead, he crossed to a coffeehouse and chose a seat where he could watch the doorway surreptitiously. Throwing back the hood of his cloak and slipping off his gloves. He even slipped out of his stillsuit's filters and mask, though not without hesitation.

The air here in Arrakeen had a life to it, though. He remembered the same sense of moisture in the air from his youth at the South Pole. It lacked the oppressive dryness of the Erg, or even the communities clustered about the Shield Wall.

A young woman brought him a cup of coffee without his asking, and smiled at him. Marid thanked her with a gesture, touching lips and forehead before lifting his cup and sipping. He had no reason to wait before approaching his destination, but neither did he see a reason to rush in. No, it might be better to wait a while, and see.

When he finished his coffee, the serving girl approached again and he slipped a few coins across the polished stone of the table.
"Your coffee is excellent. Please, some more? And a meal, if you would." The dark-haired, dark-eyed girl smirked at the excessive formality of his words, but nodded as she tucked the coins into her purse and slipped away through the crowd.

Marid was wondering where his meal was when he sensed a presence behind him. His shoulders tensed and one hand slipped beneath the table but before his fingers touched his knife's hilt, he felt the weight of a hand on his shoulder.
"Is there a reason you are watching my front door, little one? No, there's no need for that knife, boy. You came looking for me as I have come looking for you." The voice was deep and rough, and as Marid turned he saw scarred and callused fingers on his jubba cloak.

Shrugging off the hand, Marid gestured at the seat opposite him.
"Please, sit. I have ordered food, if you will join me I would be most honoured." The tension in his shoulders and the hardness in his eyes didn't fade as he got his first good look at the interloper. He was a big man, broad and stout, not water-fat but lacking the lean and wind-burnt look of those used to the desert. Still, the way he moved and the callus on his nose from a stillsuit's filters showed him to be a Fremen. He was bald, his tanned pate showed a long scar from his right eyebrow back past his ear, and wore a blue and black striped jellaba that covered his bulky form. White teeth showed through a bushy black beard, one crystal tooth filling a gap to the left of his smile. That tooth, a diamond carved to replace one lost in battle, was one of the things his father had told him to watch for.

"I would be pleased to join you," the big man intoned as he sat, his large hands flat on the table. "I think, perhaps, you are the one I have been waiting for, but here is no place to discuss business. Let us talk of more pleasant things, yes? Music, perhaps... I am a fine player of the Baliset. My father taught me, years ago, but I was more eager for battle then. Now, in my dotage, I find it restful to revisit those simpler times."

Marid watchd him suspiciously and then allowed a faint smile to quirk his lips.
"My own interests are more practical. Where music is concerned I have a poor ear and clumsy fingers. My skills, poor as they are, rest in shaping stone." He dipped his hand beneath his cloak and laid a loop of carved stone beads on the table. His pace-counters, that he used to measure distance on the march. One hundred and eight of them, alternating between polished granite and basalt, each carved with the likeness of a different form of desert life. The dark beads were plant life, the creosote bush, saguaro cactus, sand verbena and more. The light beads were animal life, from the biting wasp and scorpion to the sand terrapin and kit fox. The large stranger examined the beads, then passed them back with a nod.
"You underestimate yourself, my young friend. Your sietch is lucky to have one with your skills." That white smile widened as the girl returned with two cups and a carafe of spice coffee. "Thank you, Johara," the serving girl's smile mimicked the large man's, and Marid shook his head and laughed ruefully.
"Curse me for a fool," the young Fremen sighed. "This cafe is yours as well. You are Kaleff of Sietch Tabr."
"It does amuse, does it not? To seek to spy upon me from the comfort of my own coffee house?" Kaleff slapped his palm upon the table and then poured coffee for them both, sipping from his cup to show Marid it was unpoisoned. Marid sipped in turn, bowing his head respectfully to his host.

"I am Marid, of Broken Cliffs, son of Salah our Naib." Marid could not hide his rueful smile at showing himself a fool before this stranger.
"I know your father well, Marid. We fought together, on Muad'dib's great Jihad. On a dozen worlds, we fought, but never more fiercely than we did here, where the great crusade began. So when at last we came home again, we wept for there were no more battles." Kaleff sighed and plucked an olive from the plate, popping it into his mouth.
"No battle but one," Marid replied. "My father never lets us forget that the great battle is not yet won. The desert is still our enemy, even as it is our strength."

"Bi lal kaifa," Kaleff replied. "Just as you say: the divine created Arrakis to train the faithful. It will be a sad day when the desert grows green once more." The conflicting emotions on the old Fedaykin's face mirrored the look Marid's father would show when he spoke of such things. Since the coming of Liet's father the Fremen had cherished the dream of a green Arrakis. Now that it was finally coming within reach, the older Fremen seemed almost afraid of their victory. Marid could understand a wish to preserve the desert, he loved the wide sky and there was no thrill like calling up a maker and setting the first hook between its rings, but for generations his people had worked and fought and striven for the change that was coming. It seemed like cowardice to turn away from it on the eve of victory.

Sipping his coffee, the young Fremen nudged his pack with one foot.
"My father sends a gift, Kaleff. He bade me bring it to you, a nine thumper journey. I came alone, in secret, to meet with you. Will you te-" Kaleff's chopping motion silenced him and Marid sat back.
"We will speak at dinner. Until then, be mindful. There are few on this side of the Shield Wall that can be trusted, and fewer still in Arrakeen. Go now, return to my door at sunset." Without another word, Marid stood, lifting his heavy pack to his shoulder and striding calmly from the cafe. He did not look back. Questions roiled in his mind, but the desert taught patience. He would learn the answers in time. For now, he would walk the streets of the city, and see what Arrakeen had to offer him.

 

[darkangel76]

Hersilia let out a soft sigh as she quietly padded through the corridor leading to her windowless room, carefully tucked away deep inside the fortress that had become her home for the past year. The girl still hadn't grown accustomed to her living quarters, but it was more for lack of wanting to grow attached to her current location. Her entire life had been that of the nomad, moving from place to place, never staying in a single keep for very long and she could scarcely recall the face of her mother... or her father... it had been so long since she'd been able to spend any amount of time with either of them.

The air was hot, though a breeze managed to find its way through one of the many open windows as Hersilia made her way toward her room. The warm air played with the flowing material of her white gown, causing it to billow slightly as she moved. Her golden red curls cascaded over her shoulders and down along her back, bouncing as she walked. She could hear the clicking sound of footsteps behind her—Irulan—and glanced over her shoulder. Her blue eyes locked with those of the Corrino princess and she smiled. The woman had been a second mother to her, much like she'd been to her own mother and uncle in their youth, something she knew her grandfather had always appreciated before his death.

"You have to hurry, Lia," Irulan prodded. "Our visitors will be here shortly and you must be presentable. I'm afraid a nightgown isn't proper attire for greeting guests."

Hersilia stopped and turned on her heels. She tilted her head, a hand moving so that a finger could twist itself about a loose tendril. "Mm... quite so," she agreed, finally nodding. A smile tugged at the corners of her lips and she continued on her way to her all but hidden room.

~~~

The air suddenly felt warmer as Hersilia found herself standing atop the great staircase that led to greeting room. She wondered if her parents would be present or if they'd already greeted their arriving guests and left. Ghanima sometimes had a way of hiding things from her. Of course, she knew it was for her own good, but was this one of those times considering this had to do with her future? As she reached the first step, she peered out and over the railing. In the distance, she could see both her mother and father standing there. Immediately, Ghanima turned and smiled up at her and a wave of love and hope suddenly washed over her.

It was in that moment, that Hersilia suddenly became aware of Irulan. The Corrino princess reached out her hand and took a hold of her own, giving it a tight squeeze. Immediately, she bit down on her lip and turned toward the woman who'd been like another mother to her, her entire life. Smiling, she whispered. "Nervous?"

"I haven't seen your mother in years, Lia. So, perhaps a little," Irulan confided.

Hersilia nodded, her blue eyes shifting down to glance over herself, a bit worried about how she might appear, the impression she might make and not just to her parents but to those who would be coming to the keep.

Her smile broadening, Irulan dropped Hersilia's hand and raised it so that she could cup the girl's cheek. She admired her for a moment, as she looked her over. The girl was the image of Atreides beauty as she stood there, her golden red hair swept up into braids that fell like a waterfall over her left shoulder. Her silvery gown was airy and shimmered as the light danced upon the material. She looked like an angel in the desert, standing out yet somehow fitting in. She knew her parents would be proud of how she'd turned out. How could they not be? She was Atreides, part of a legacy and now about to be torn away from her where she could no longer watch her.

Irulan hid the scowl that tried to make its way to her lips and just smiled. "Your parents are waiting, Lia."

Hersilia nodded and began to slowly walk down the stair leading to where Ghanima and Farad'n stood. Irulan just watched from above, her eyes lingering on her nephew for a moment. It was a pity that she could never be close to him, that he wouldn't allow it. She supposed she couldn't fault him, after all, his own disdain for his mother was more than apparent and, over the years as his love for Ghanima had grown, it had spilled over into his entire House. Pity.

As Hersilia made her way toward her parents, she knew it would only be a matter of time before she met their guests. With each step she took, she could feel her heart rate increasing, her breaths quickening. Suddenly, she heard a click—Irulan—she let out a sigh and glanced over her shoulder. Sure enough, the woman was following.

When Hersilia reached the staircase's end, she crossed the room to where both Ghanima and Farad'n stood, their faces both lit up with smiles. "She has your face, Ghani," Farad'n teased Ghanima, his mate smiling as she looked upon her daughter.

"She does," Ghani agreed, her eyes glowing as she moved to hug her daughter. "How I've missed you, Lia," she whispered as she hugged Hersilia close. Pulling away, she looked at her daughter and then over at Farad'n, the man looking almost coldly at his aunt who slowly approached from behind their daughter. "Irulan," she said, nodding and acknowledging the woman who'd raised her and now her daughter. Looking back at her daughter, she took her by the hand. "Come, Lia, our guests will be here soon," she said, the smile never leaving her lips.

 

[Ursus Peregrinus]

~~Marid~~

It was just after sunset, the sky turning dark, when Marid returned to Kaleff's home. He was admitted almost before he knocked upon the door, ushered in silence inside. Kaleff was waiting, with his half-brother Orlop, and the two gestured for him to join them.
"Be welcome in my home," Kaleff intoned, and Marid joined them, sitting cross-legged on a rug with the two older men.
"You honour me with your hospitality."
"We have little time for pleasantries, my friend," Orlop grunted and removed a device from his robes. It made a low hum as he activated it. "There, now we may speak without fear of spy-beams or devices." Marid raised an eyebrow at the precaution, it was one he had rarely seen before and only at meetings of several Naibs.

"There is a rot in the heart of Arrakis," Kaleff said quietly. "A rot in the heart of the Imperium. In spite of all we did to purge it. Something dark has infected our hope for the future, something we never expected. Our Mahdi has left us in... uncertain hands."
"But we have hope," Orlop added. "And some of our hope rests in an out-freyn young woman. She does not know the Fremen way, but she can be taught. In time she may prove a Sayyadina, perhaps even a prophetess. We hope that-" A motion from Kaleff silenced Orlop, and he stroked his beard thoughtfully.

"All that is the future. We must deal first with tonight." Marid cocked his head to one side as Kaleff continued. "You are to take this young woman to Broken Cliffs. You are to teach her the way of the desert. She will learn quickly. Hide her, from any outsiders, she has many enemies. Keep her secrets, while she learns. Even from your Father. Test her, as you would test any Fremen youth. Even to destruction. This is the final will of Muad'dib. His prophecy to us, passed down to us even before we took up his banner and swept across the known worlds like a fire. This girl may be the hope of all the Fremen people."

His brow furrowing, Marid found his thoughts roiling at this odd request. He had nothing but their word to convince him, but he found he did not doubt. Their faces were plain and there was no lie in them. Marid found that he WANTED to trust them.

Even though this great responsibility frightened him.
"I will do as you ask," he said finally, after a long and tense silence. "But what if she does not survive her lessons?"
"If she dies, then she has failed to pass the test of Arrakis. So be it." Orlop intoned.

Kaleff rose, and motioned for Marid to join him.
"Come, we will go to meet her now. I wish there was not such urgency, but events force our hand." Pulling on a cloak, the older Fremen buckled on a maula pistol to go with his crysknife, and Marid's eyebrows rose. It seemed odd for a city-dwelling Fremen to go about so armed in a time of peace.

Perhaps the time of peace was coming to an end?

~tag~

 

[darkangel76]

The day had been long, though Hersilia was glad that she'd gotten to spend a fair amount of the afternoon with both her mother and her father, her mother most especially. All too often, she'd heard whispers from any one of the servants who accompanied her and the woman she knew to be much like another mother, the very words her father had spoken the moment his eyes had rested upon her earlier that day—that she so very much resembled her mother, Ghanima Atreides. It made her blush to know she bore her mother's face, as she'd always found her to be exquisitely beautiful. Whether is was the bias of a child or something more, she couldn't say and wouldn't, but it didn't change the fact that it made her flutter a little inside each time she heard the compliment.

As the day drew on, Hersilia found herself wondering when the other guests would be arriving. Irulan had mentioned that others would be coming and more than once both Ghanima and Farad'n had given themselves away that they were waiting for others to arrive. Biting down on her lip, she let a hand smooth over her silvery gown, the slit falling slightly to reveal the milky flesh of her leg ever so slightly. A tiny sigh rolled from her mouth and she tilted her head, her expression going distant as her mind began to wander. Golden red braids fell over her shoulder and she turned to look at her mother sitting next to her.

"Mother, they'll be coming soon," Hersilia said calmly, a tone of acceptance in her soft voice.

Ghanima nodded and sighed. "Yes," she answered, a hand reaching out to gently touch her daughter's arm.

Hersilia relaxed into the touch, her muscles loosening as she let her posture slump just a bit. As her eyes locked with those of her mother's she nodded. "It will be my first time into the desert. I fear it, mother."

A tiny chuckle escaped Ghanima just then, "Fear is the mind killer, sweet one," she stated. "Just remember you are Atreides. My daughter and your uncle's niece. You will be able to face your fear..." Her voice trailed slightly as her eyes began to water.

At that, Hersilia removed her small, delicate hand from her lap and extended her index finger. Carefully, gently, she touched the salty liquid that formed around her mother's eyes. As her face softened, she brought her finger to her mouth and let the teardrop fall upon her tongue. It was a gesture she knew would bring her great comfort during this time of worry and apprehension, this time where she found herself more afraid than she'd ever felt before. It made her wonder about her uncle who'd spent many years just running about the desert, the earliest years of his transformation... such a dangerous path, yet one he'd faced and embraced and, now, he ruled the entirety of the Empire.

Was she ready to face an inevitable fate much like her uncle? No, not like her uncle... but a terrifying fate nonetheless...

Hersilia knew she had no choice. She was trapped by all that surrounded her, the attacks, her bloodlines. Everything. It was a curse as much as it was a blessing.

Ghanima smiled at Hersilia, a tiny bubble of laughter erupting from her, which helped to ease the ever-growing tension. "You'll do well, Lia. Farad'n and I have no doubt that you'll be safe and fare as well as any native born. After all, Dune flows through you. This is your home. In your heart, you are a desert creature much like your..."

"Grandmother," Hersilia spoke, her words coming at the same time as her mother said the word. Her lips quirked upward into a smile and she nodded, swallowing hard as she sucked in a sharp breath and slowly let it out. "Right then," she mumbled. "I will face my fears."

"There's a good girl," Ghanima stated proudly.

Suddenly, there was a clicking sound—Irulan—causing both Ghanima and Hersilia to look up. Irulan looked over at both Atreides, her skin flushed as she stared at the two who nearly mirrored each other. She raised a hand to fidget with her mousy hair, her eyes shifting back and forth between the two. "You should both get ready to greet our guests. The sun is setting. It won't be long now," she said, her voice strained. Forever poised, the Corrino princess nodded and then turned on her heels, exiting the room in which Ghanima and Hersilia were conversing.

 

[Ursus Peregrinus]

~~Marid~~

Kaleff led the young Fremen a winding path through the back streets of Arrakeen. Their final destination was a large home, that of a merchant or some other wealthy individual, not far from the Palace. They were met by a trio of armed Fremen, their faces concealed by hoods and scarves. Naked blades in their hands were only lowered when Kaleff spoke to them, first in Chakobsa and then in the clipped phrases of the Atreides battle language. Marid did not know the latter tongue, so he merely stood silently, his empty hands in full view.

They were ushered inside and Kaleff was led away. Marid was left alone in a room with two men in Fremen robes who were most definitely NOT Fremen. The faint ozone scent and the greasy feel to the air told him that these men wore shields, and he remembered his training. Men trained to shield-battle moved differently. They would be slow to strike, quick to parry. They would rely on their shield to guard them, though the Fedaykin had swept away the legions of Sardaukar in spite of their shields. Still, his father told stories of men trained by Gurney Halleck and the Swordmaster, Idaho. Men unused to Arrakis but just as deadly as any Fremen warrior.

So while Marid stood silently and waited, he watched them. Their robes concealed their bodies, but he could watch their eyes and he did so. They had the eyes of Ibad, but so did anyone who lived on his world for long enough. Were they some of the last Atreides soldiers? Some survivors of the Emperor's Sardaukar? Some great house's warriors?

Marid had his suspicions, but he kept his peace. To be Fremen was to be able to watch the same patch of sand for hours, waiting for an enemy to show himself.

---

Kaleff came into Ghanima's presence and bowed deeply.
"Empress, the guardian we have sought for your daughter is here and waiting. My brother confirms that we were not followed to this place, but the longer we tarry, the greater the risk." Though he had lived in the same home as her father, still Kaleff could not face the Empress and daughter of the Mahdi without awe. "He is clever, and he knows only what he needs to know. Your daughter will be safer with him than she would be anywhere else." There was no subtlety in the insult, and it was aimed squarely at Irulan. Kaleff mistrusted any Corrino, even the Empress' consort.

~tag~

 

[darkangel76]

Hersilia could feel her heart pounding as she followed her mother through the corridor that would lead her to a future she feared. She knew it would be fraught with dangers, tests, people she didn't know... people who frightened her in ways she couldn't begin to explain. It was odd feeling that way and she knew it. After all, her grandmother had come from the desert—born and raised. And her mother had been born in the desert as well along with her uncle, her mother's beloved twin, the now Emperor.

For a moment, Hersilia's thoughts drifted and she imagined what it must be like to live such a life—one so secluded and apart from the hustle and bustle of Arakeen. A shiver ran along her spine just then, her blue eyes blinking as she thought on all the bits and pieces she'd learned about her grandmother's people. Irulan didn't speak much of the Fremen, her efforts concentrating on teaching the young Atreides girl the Weirding Way, much like Lady Jessica had done for Muad'dib before their deaths.

All too quickly, the corridor was getting shorter and Hersilia found herself getting closer to the greeting area. Swallowing hard, she recalled one of her dreams. It was one that had made her skin break out into a cold sweat—strange given the heat of Arrakis. At one time, the water produced by a body would've been considered a cherished gift and, to some, it still was. But those numbers were dwindling and it was because of her own family's legacy, the one started by her grandfather, the Mahdi.

Was that what her uncle had meant? Hersilia shook her head. Uncle Leto's affairs were his own, not hers. She had her own future, her own destiny, her own... path... ahead of her now. Suddenly, Ghanima turned to glance behind herself, her eyes all but glowing as she looked upon her daughter.

"They'll be here momentarily, Lia," Ghani stated.

Hersilia nodded and slowly entered the large room, her breaths coming faster as she found her nerves growing raw. Out of the corner of her eyes she could see Irulan watching both she and her mother as they walked toward her father who smiled broadly at them both, his face showing both a relief and eagerness as the sight of them. No doubt he wanted this visit with their soon-to-be arriving guests to go over well and for her to be safe. Ghanima placed a gentle hand upon her shoulder for a moment before pulling back and taking her place by Farad'n's side.

Just as Hersilia thought she wouldn't be able to take much more, the silence was broken, the tension cut. A gruff looking Fremen entered the room, his stride unfaltering as he made his way over toward his mother. Not once did he look away from the woman until he bowed before her. He spoke of a guardian, her guardian, his words curt and to the point. She looked at her mother who smiled and nodded and then over at Irulan whose face looked pained as she remained silent, her muscles tensing and relaxing over and over again as if she were trying to hide her emotions. Clearly her second mother was going through a difficult time.

Irulan had to bite her tongue as she watched their Fremen guest speak. His insult hadn't gone unnoticed by her, though she knew it had by her nephew. The man had been swayed by the Atreides beauty he was bound to, his loyalties lying elsewhere other than to his own blood. Forever exiled, forever shunned, a noble house shattered and destroyed. One day she hoped that House Corrino would shine again as was her sister's hope though her methods of achievement were a bit outlandish.

"Thank you, friend," Ghanima stated, her lips curling into a kind smile. "I humbly thank you for this favor. The risks involved are quite great, though what you will be doing for us all..." her words trailed off as her voice softened to an almost whisper.

Hersilia bit down on her lower lip as her blue eyes shifted back and forth between Ghanima and the Fremen. She wondered when she'd be meeting her guardian, what sort of man he would be. Daring to be bold, she took a few steps forward and bowed. "And, like my mother, I thank you, friend. For I am the one to be guarded and taught." She looked up and into his eyes, her hand moving to play with one of her golden red braids. "I look forward to meeting the one you've chosen to help us."

 

[Ursus Peregrinus]

~~Marid~~

The royal presence was not the sole reason for Kaleff's tension. Conspiring this way was not to his taste and it showed in his manner. The presence of Corrino blood did nothing to add to his comfort. The Fremen had no intention of trusting Irulan, nor even Ghanima's consort Farrad'n.

"I do what I do for your Father," Kaleff said quietly. "My people still remember life beneath the Harkonnen. That water debt is one the Fremen will never repay, but we remember." He moved towards Hersilia and bowed slightly. "You have your grandfather's eyes. I still remember when he first came among us, how angry mother was that he did not take her as his woman. He learned our ways quickly, as though born to them. He shared his own knowledge with us. My brother and I lived in his household, we learned the weirding way of battle at his right hand. There is blood between us, child. But now is the time for parting, there are long miles ahead before dawn."

Taking her hand in his, he bowed again to the Empress and turned to go. They moved through the house in silence, until he paused in an empty room, glanced about and nodded to himself that they were unobserved. Reaching into his robe, he removed a sheathed crysknife.
"This blade is fixed, keep it close to your body. The tip is poisoned, a drop of the sacred water will send any you scratch to their final journey. Keep it hidden, young Atreides, and remember that any who see the blade must be purified... or slain."

Slipping the pack from his shoulders, he removed a pair of items from it, a slick-surfaced bundle and a folded desert robe.
"Your stillsuit. My brother's wife laboured long to fit it to your measurements. Put it on, your guardian will take time to adjust the fit when you are free of Arrakeen. Remind him, if he does not remember." Kaleff unfolded the bundle and held it out for her. "Be mindful, Hersilia, that Marid does not know who you are. He knows only that you are to be protected, and educated. No more than that. He will not be solicitous, so you must be diligent. The law of the desert is unforgiving, but with Marid you will be safe."

* * *

Marid's first glimpse of Hersilia almost fooled him. The grace of her step was almost enough to match the easy way a Fremen moved in their stillsuit, but there was something else to it. A grace and poise that was familiar to his eye, but that he could not place. His brow furrowed slightly as he worked at the problem.

Her red-gold hair was doubly concealed by the cap of her suit and the hood of her cloak, but her eyes, when Kaleff led her closer, were strange. Marid watched her silently, and did not miss the way his guards watched them both. So... she was a figure of authority. Or nobility, but that told him little enough.
"Lady," Kaleff's gruff voice broke his train of thought. "Your guardian. Introductions can wait until you are away. There is cause for haste." Nodding dismissively to the two guards, the older man led them up a staircase to the roof, where a trio of 'Thopters sat on their pads. All three bore Atreides markings, but were obviously of some age. "These will carry you beyond the Shield Wall. Marid, you will fly one. My brother and I will take the other two." Orlop and two other Fremen, young women by their size and step, approached from another rooftop entrance. Either of them could have been taken for Hersilia, garbed as they all were.

Marid's eyes widened slightly at the precautions, but he bowed to his charge and opened the hatch to one of the small, scout 'Thopters.
"My name is Marid, of the Sietch of Broken Cliffs. I am to be your instructor in the Fremen way." His voice was a low baritone, rich and soft, and his blue-on-blue eyes were all that showed past his hood and scarf. "Come, we must go." He added as the sound of engines warming up and the 'thwup, thwop' of wings began to fill the air.

~tag~

 

[darkangel76]

Irulan's eyes narrowed slightly as she watched the Fremen take Hersilia's hand in his own. All too soon, he'd be leading the young Atreides girl deep into the desert, deep into the treacherous sands of planet slowly undergoing great and terrible changes. For a moment, her thoughts drifted to the great worms. In that instant, Ghanima's eerie blue eyes shifted her way, locking directly to her own. A shiver ran along her spine just then and she forced a smile to play upon her lips. It was strained, just as all her muscles were straining as she watched this show before her between the desert people and the Atreides royals.

Hersilia smiled and bowed before leaving her family for yet another extended period of time. Though, for some reason she knew that the next time she saw any of them, great changes would occur for them all. It was a peculiar feeling, a sense of dread and awe, one that left her feeling uneasy. But this was as her mother wished things, as it was meant to be. Her future was set and she had her part to play due to her station as the Empress' daughter.

Looking up at the Fremen who led her away, she gave him a warm smile and nod as she accepted the gift of the crysknife. Something her mother had told her about when she was a small child—one story she'd not forgotten since she cherished every memory and moment with her parents. She then held up the suit that had been hand made just for her.

Once Hersilia had managed to change, she looked up at the Fremen who'd be taking her to the one that would be guarding her for a time. As they made their way to where he would be waiting, her mind drifted and she began to recall her most recent dreams, dreams of desert sand and great storms. She'd seen the great worm and a face in the shadows... But her thoughts were interrupted as she was suddenly halted mid-step, having to recover so as not to falter.

Hersilia looked up at the Fremen who'd escorted her to her guardian and nodded. "Thank you for everything, friend," she said warmly, her blue eyes shifting to look at the man she'd be with for an indefinite amount of time. As she looked at him, she tried to get a good glimpse of his face. But it was shadowed by the hood of his cloak, the only thing visible his eyes. Biting down on her lip, she looked back at her escort. "May Shai-Hulud clear the path before you," she whispered as she slowly backed away toward the one he'd called Marid.

Marid's eyes glowed much like her mother's and Hersilia felt a strange ripple run along her skin. Somehow his voice seemed familiar, yet she'd never heard him speak before yet alone had never even met him. It was strange how she seemed to know it, how it seemed to soothe during this time of tension and fear. But she didn't have time to dwell on such coincidences. The desert heat often played tricks on the mind and fear was often times powerful as well. No doubt they were playing with her senses and the loud sounds of the 'Thopters didn't help matters.

"Hello, Marid," Hersilia answered, giving the Fremen a smile as she moved to his side. "My name is Hersilia. Whether you wish to know more later on we can discuss it then." Her pale cheeks flushed slightly, but she feared saying too much out in the open for fear the wrong someone might overhear who she was, thus spoiling all they were attempting to do. There would be enough for better introductions later. For now, they needed to get to safety at all costs and her life rested in Marid's hands as well as the mercy of the desert itself. She just hoped it proved to be kind, at least this once.

At that, Hersilia moved to get inside the 'Thopter Marid would be flying, her heart pounding as she braced herself for an inevitable future and path that began to unfurl itself before her. She looked outside, her thoughts wondering if the others involved would remain safe. She'd noticed the two females—clearly decoys—readying themselves for the other 'Thopters that would be departing when hers did. She hoped they would be, but she felt a terrible ache as the bile began to rise... It was that feeling she knew all too well when danger was near, one she couldn't ignore no matter how much she longed to, no matter how hard she tried.

 

[Ursus Peregrinus]

~~Marid~~

Hersilia's first words were quiet and calm, but Marid merely nodded in reply. If he were honest, he had nothing to say as yet. There were other matters preying on his mind than courtesy.

Closing the 'Thopter's hatch, Marid kept silent as he ran through the pre-flight routine and blacked out the cockpit's bulbous windows. They would make the first leg of their journey on instruments alone, one more precaution to help hide their path.

As the three aircraft took off, they winged their way up and over Arrakeen, seeking altitude and disappearing into the night sky. Marid leaned back in his seat and reduced the windows' opacity so they could see, but there was little for them to look at but stars.

The path they flew was a complex, intertwining braid. Each 'thopter crossing over the flight paths of the other two again and again to help confuse their flight. Then, at a predetermined attitude, the three craft split, flying in three separate directions towards different points on the shield wall.

Marid cut the jets and cranked the wings inwards, allowing them to freefall. They plummeted for long moments, the little lights of the shield wall communities like stars below them, growing steadily larger.

At the last moment he extended the wings and hauled back on the control yoke. The 'thopter pulled up and skimmed along at dunetop altitude. They only barely cleared the Shield Wall mesa itself, and then they were slipping along the sand, so low that Hersilia could have leapt out onto the dunes without serious injury if she picked her moment well.

Her protector took them out past the sink and graben communities that clustered about the Shield Wall and out into the edges of the great desert itself. The 'Thopter landed, delicately as a feather, on the slipface of a dune and Marid unbuckled himself.
"Come, we must go quickly. There are hours to walk before daybreak." His words were in Galach, Fremen accent lending them a mellifluous quality. Reaching out, he checked her stillsuit's seals, not trusting Kaleff's work entirely. "Breathe in through your mouth, out through the nose filters." His dark eyes took in her face, read the water-rich flesh on her bones and wondered if she had the strength to survive. In a day or two, he might have to carry her. There was a station, two thumpers west. A deathstill there would ensure that her water not be wasted. For the first few days of their journey, he would lead them in that direction. If they reached it and she was still alive, he would plan the next leg of their hajj.

Handing her a pack, Marid shouldered his own and then grasped a large thumper and set it into the sand beside the 'thopter
"A sandworm will clean the evidence of our passing," he told her. "Remember, when you walk the sands, do so without rhythm. Watch me as I go, and do as I do. In the Great Erg, it is well to be of the Fremen."

Moving away, with the characteristic step-slip-step-step arrhythmic motion of the Fremen, he moved along the base of the dune and stopped just below its crest to wait for her to join him. Her pack was heavy, not just with water but with everything else they would need. His own was lighter, carrying only the essentials. He and Kaleff had argued over that, but Marid had won. She would have to prove her strength to him, and carrying the punishing load was the first step in that journey.

~tag~

 

[darkangel76]

Irulan just watched Ghanima and her nephew stand there across the way as they tried to console each other. Their arms wrapped about each other in what appeared to be a loving embrace. Love... what did anyone know of love. But she could plainly see the tears in the Atreides beauty's eyes. In that moment, Ghani was the child she once knew, the girl who'd run through the palace of Arrakeen hand-in-hand with the now Emperor Leto. Such times those had been! They'd been filled with laughter and almost with love, though she'd often times had to remind herself that it was all false. The children of Muad'dib were pre-born, knew things they shouldn't. And she had to remind herself that they weren't like most children though they bore the faces of such. Now, older, things were different, much different. And the times were becoming that much more treacherous.

Ghanima looked deeply into Farad'n's eyes for a moment, her heart breaking as she thought of Hersilia being taken away once more. Only this time, this time she couldn't see any part of the future that would be coming. It was both a blessing and curse and something that must be played out. She knew Leto would want it this way and that he'd be proud of what she'd just done. And that was all that mattered. Just then, she felt a twitch, her blue-on-blue eyes shifting to glance at Irulan who'd already backed herself away toward the staircase. She looked at the woman who'd once been like a mother to her as well as to her own daughter. She looked tense. Pained, perhaps? No. There was something more. Something deeper. But for the first time, she couldn't tell. She couldn't see.

~~~

As the 'Thopter flew over Arrakeen, Hersilia gripped tightly to the armrests of her seat, her muscles tense as more than once her eyes fluttered shut. She felt her tummy drop as Marid piloted the thing over the wall and then over the sandy dunes outsides. Despite her tension, she found herself trusting his skill, however that didn't mean she wasn't frightened. No matter how much reason and logic her mind seemed to bear, her body reacted of its own free will. She wished she could hide the reactions she was having, worried they'd come off as weakness when already she knew she'd been seen as the one at a disadvantage... and she was. She knew that and refused to think otherwise. This whole idea of her mother's was a great risk. Who knew if she'd even succeed!

When the 'Thopter finally landed, Hersilia smiled inwardly, happy to finally be landing so that she could gain her bearings. Normally she did better with flying, though her fear of the situation was getting the better of her. Trying to clear her mind, she remembered the incantation her mother and Irulan used to recite and then said it to herself a few times. A she did, she began to feel a bit more at ease.

Once Marid had checked her over and handed her the pack she was to carry, he told her to follow and do as he did. Hersilia could only nod, knowing she had no choice if she was to even remotely survive the harsh cruelties that the desert could choose to dole out at any time she chose. They were at its mercy and no doubt the desert was angry with all the changes that were slowly occurring to it, altering it, forcing it to recede.

"Oooff..." Hersilia grunted as she hoisted on her pack. It was quite heavy and she wondered how she was to carry it through such harsh lands. But she kept silent, putting her faith in Marid that his intention wasn't to kill her on her first night out in this dry wasteland.

Hersilia followed Marid's steps along the base of the dune. She then looked up into the sky. The stars were plentiful and so much brighter outside the walls of the city. Looking back down, she continued to follow her new protector and guardian, watching him closely as she did so. With each step, she could feel the weight of the pack, knowing it would become quite a burden as the day wore on especially once the sun rose up over the horizon and bore down on them all of its heat. But she wouldn't complain. She couldn't. No, she had to hold onto the thought that there was a purpose to everything that was done out in the desert.

As the sun rose up overhead, the heat began to take its toll, the weight of the pack becoming heavier and heavier. Hersilia found it becoming harder to take each step, but she refused to let on how difficult things were becoming, fearful of what it might mean that she was having troubles so early on in their journey. But she needed a rest, if even a short one. Something. Perhaps there was something she could do that would make it more bearable for herself, something she was unaware of and needed to learn. Biting down on her lip, she wondered if she'd dare ask and risk ridicule or... risk worse, the possibility of fainting.

"Marid," Hersila spoke up, her voice only as loud as it needed to be. "I need a moment. Hopefully, not too long of a moment, but... a moment." Her cheeks already reddened from the exertion and the heat reddened further from embarrassment.

 

[Ursus Peregrinus]

~~Marid~~

His sharp eyes had watched his charge over the journey in the 'thopter, and Marid had been impressed at how she bore her fear in silence and stillness. In some ways she reminded him of the young women who trained under the Sayyadina. Quiet and watchful and carefully controlled.

That was for the best. She would need her faculties in the days ahead.

Hersilia took the pack and Marid saw her struggle with it, but she did not complain. They walked through to sunrise, the pace he set was slow but the brutally wearing as they made their way through the soft, fine sand. Each step engulfed their feet to the ankles, adding to the weight of each step. The robes they wore were weighted at the hem, to drag behind their steps and sweep away their tracks, leaving little trace to be followed. A proper band would have had two or three walking behind to blur their tracks properly, but alone they would have to make do.

The sun rose and with it came a punishing heat. Moving during the day was something no Fremen did without need. The Sun was an enemy, the moons were a friend and the cool of darkness was a safer time to travel.

But Marid was testing his charge. Forcing her to press on to the edge of exhaustion. There was an honesty in suffering, he told himself, it stripped away masks and laid the inner self bare for inspection.

Still, Hersilia's voice stopped him and he turned and nodded.
"This way, down the slip face of the dune, there's a patch of pea sand there. We'll make camp for the day, continue tonight." He took the pack from her, felt her forehead and frowned. "Drain your catchpockets. Your body is water-fat, not used to the desert."

Carrying her pack down to the gravelly patch of sand between two dunes, he quickly staked down a small stilltent and set up its sandsnork before laying a camouflage tarp over it to blur its outlines further.

Marid gestured for her to crawl inside, then joined her after passing in their packs. As he did, Hersilia could feel that his weighed perhaps half as much as the pack she carried.
"Let me check the doorseals and we may relax stillsuit discipline." He told her, closing the tent and lighting a small glowglobe hanging from the roof.

Satisfied that their tent was sealed and secure, Marid finally flipped his hood back and then slipped his cloak and robes off, sitting cross-legged in his stillsuit. Hersilia saw his form, broad shoulders and narrow hips, a lean build of whipcord muscle. Several inches beneath six feet in height, but he filled the space around him and seemed to loom in the small tent.

As he slipped the cap and mask of his stillsuit off, she saw the hawklike features and deep tan of his skin. His hair was black and reached to his shoulders, held back by a cord. Dark blue-on-blue eyes looked out from eyepits stained with ink to fight the sun's glare. His nose was strong and his prominent cheekbones bore small black tattoos, little glyphs of the Bhotani Jib, lines of a poem or song:
'These are the Four that are never content, that have never been filled since the Dews began — Jacala’s mouth, and the glut of the Kite, and the hands of the Ape, and the Eyes of Man.'

Pulling off his stillsuit's gloves, Hersilia saw hands roughened by labour, bearing scars and calluses that told a story of the hard life he was born to. Opening his pack he removed several objects and nodded to her. Passing her a small flask of cold spice coffee and a pair of large white pills, Marid spoke. His deep voice was like rough silk.
"Drink this, and then suck on these. Slowly. They are salt, your body needs to replenish itself or you will be too weak to continue tonight." The pills were almost pure salt, incredibly bitter.

"Take off your filters and let me examine them. If your suit is uncomfortable, tell me. That's the sign of a poor fit. The suit is your second skin now, it is your life. Without it you would be dead in three days, four at most. With it you'll lose no more than a few drops of the body's water each day." Marid fell silent again, folding his robe and laying it on the floor of the tent. Laying down, he closed his eyes, one hand on the hilt of his crysknife.

"Sleep while you can. Tonight will be longer. Broken Cliffs is a long journey from here." He smiled faintly, a ghost of a smirk touching his lips for a moment. "Our route was almost directly away from Broken Cliffs. One of the other 'thopters will have gone towards it, then rendezvoused with a band of Fremen who will conceal the craft. It would take a lucky mentat to guess at our location, since not even Kaleff knows the route I planned."

~tag~

 

[darkangel76]

With reddened cheeks, Hersilia was glad when she suddenly found herself coming to an ever-welcomed halt. The sun was vicious in both its heat and its brightness and the pack she wore was only becoming heavier with each step she took. The last thing she wanted was to stumble and fall. More than anything, she feared if her body struck the sand, she'd have an even harder time getting up not to mention she'd have an even harder time looking Marid in the face the moment she was able to stand once again. For some reason, she wanted to show this Fremen she had it within herself that she could be taught. Perhaps it had to do with her bloodline. After all, being the granddaughter to Muad'dib, the great Mahdi and legend of Arrakis, daughter to the pre-born Empress Ghanima Atreides...

Her blood sung to her, almost demanding to her that she prove her worth. She owed it to them all, to her grandmother who'd died bringing her beloved mother and uncle into the world.

Swallowing hard, Hersilia gave up her pack and followed Marid's directions. Before long, she was crawling inside the stilltent he'd erected, a small smile playing on her lips at the thought of actually resting, of sleep. Her body was so very tired, unused to moving through sand and heat. As she waited for her protector to join her, she shifted to sit in semi-kneeling position. Just then, he handed her each pack. She recognized her own and his... it was... lighter. Much lighter. She arched a brow as she set both packs aside and then bit down on her lip. No doubt the Fremen had given her the heavier load on purpose. Was he testing her? Perhaps it was one of many tests she should come to expect now that she was in the desert. Life would be harder now, different than it had been under Irulan's care.

Irulan. Hersilia wondered what her 'second mother' was up to at that very moment as she pondered the weights of the packs. Her last interactions with the woman had been strange to say the least. Then again, it was the second time she'd had anyone who was like a child to her taken away. It always seemed like destiny or the Fremen were intervening. Funny how closely the two intertwined where the Atreides family was concerned.

Biting down on her lower lip, Hersilia watched Marid as he took off his cloak and situated himself. She took in his features, her blue eyes averting for a moment before returning to his face. "My suit fits well," she said softly as she removed her gloves followed by her cloak. "I commend and praise the person who made this for me. They truly did a remarkable job of it." She smiled as she shifted a little.

Hersilia looked at the coffee she held along with the salt pills. She brought the drink to her lips and took a small sip, not wanting to drink the contents too quickly. Instead, she savored both the drink for what it was along with the coolness and the wetness that it provided her body. After taking a few restrained sips, she placed one of the pills in her mouth. She had to fight the wince that longed to take over her facial expressions. So, she cleared her throat softly and tried to think on her uncle, Leto. He loved the desert and had ever since he was a small child. Now he was practically becoming a part of it and it a part of him as it changed and receded, the two becoming one.

Leaning down on her side though not yet closing her eyes, Hersilia set down the container that had held her coffee. "So, we're taking the longer route to Broken Cliffs?" she stated more than asked, her eyes fixed upon Marid. "Did you grow up there?" she then asked him, her body nestling itself upon the ground, her eyes growing heavy as fatigue and weariness started to take over and consume.

Hersilia opened her mouth to speak again, but she was unsure if more words came. As soon as she tried to speak, the blackness of sleep came and with it... so did the dreams...

 

[Ursus Peregrinus]

~~Marid~~

"No Fremen trusts a stillsuit made by anyone but a Fremen." He said softly as she praised the fit of her suit. Removing a couple of meal-bars from his pack, he unwrapped one and bit into it, chewing slowly at the mix of dried meat and vegetable matter, heavily spiced with melange and with the little shoug peppers that held so much heat. The other he set before Hersilia, for when she wanted it.

For an out-freyn girl she was certainly strong. Courageous as well, to push herself so hard, but in that courage there was also foolishness. It would be worth it to mention to her.
"You moved well last night, but you pushed yourself dangerously hard. If you collapse, I would have to choose between carrying you and leaving you to the desert." He took another bite, then a sip from his drinking tube. The rations were, unfortunately, quite dry. "In future tell me when you grow tired, and," he smiled faintly, "never let me push you past dawn without speaking. If there is reason for it, I will tell you. The day holds too many dangers."

Watching her suck the salt pills, he finished his mealbar in silence. His charge was lost in thought but Marid seemed simply to be at peace. Her question, as she lay down, caught him off guard, but he replied after a long moment's thought.
"The long road is the safer one," he said, "away from prying eyes."

Her second question surprised him, and while he was watching her fall asleep he gave her the answer.
"I grew up in the South Polar regions. The safe haven for the Fremen people. The home of our future." As she fell asleep, her meal uneaten, Marid sighed. Whatever she had wanted to say could wait. Laying down, left hand on his maula pistol, his head pillowed on his right forearm, the Fremen closed his eyes and let his breathing slow and deepen.

They would both need all their strength for the road ahead. The first leg of their journey would be the hardest for them both. Teaching Hersilia to survive in the desert, travelling the open bled without resort to calling up a worm. There was a balance to be struck, between testing the girl and trying to break her. Any tool would fail if used too roughly, and the girl would need her temper.

The girl... who was she? Marid thought he saw something familiar in her. She lacked the colouring of a Fremen, but still there was something he had seen somewhere. A hint in the cheekbones and in the brow of someone he knew.

Who was she?

~tag~

 

[darkangel76]

Hersilia tried to keep her blue eyes open as she heard her new guardian begin to speak. Words did not seem to be his forte and more than anything, she wished to know what was on his mind, the sort of thoughts that ran through his head. But she could sense he wasn't the sort for idle prattle. That words only came when he truly had something of worth to say. Honestly, she had to admire the quality in Marid. Far too many did indeed ramble on about nothing of worth, expending time and energy in useless and wasteful ways. She supposed his picking and choosing said something about his character, though time would reveal all in the end.

'Funny,' Hersilia thought to herself. Here, more than likely, she was the one being tested by this Fremen, yet in her own way she was testing him. As her eyes grew heavier, sleep becoming more and more imminent, she couldn't help but smile just a little as the thought made its way into her mind.

Unfortunately, Hersilia didn't hear much of whatever it was Marid was telling her about his life, his past. Try as she might, sleep wanted to take its hold. Unable to resist it, she gave up the fight, succumbing to the fatigue of body, mind and soul and allowed herself to fall into deep slumber until darkness fell once more over the sands of Dune.

In the shadows a face looked down upon her. It smiled wickedly, a vicious glint in her eyes as they flashed. Hersilia tried to make out her features, but it was impossible. She was too quick as she bolted around the corner, clearly able to manipulate space and time. Frustrated, she tried in vain to follow the shadowed woman, but she heard her mother's voice, which caused her to halt mid-stride... "Lia... Lia... don't be afraid, Lia. You are Atreides. Your blood is strong... your uncle and I are with you, Lia..."

Hersilia glanced about the void, a coldness washing about her, engulfing her as the air suddenly went still. "Uncle Leto?" she tried to shout out, but her words were lost. In the distance, she saw the great sandworms crying out as if in pain or anger, she couldn't be sure. But the sounds were loud and terrifying, causing her blue eyes to go wide as she cowered and covered her ears. Just then, the coldness began to ebb, slowly being replaced by heat... intense heat.

Heart thumping loudly, Hersilia looked up into the bright sky overhead, the treacherous heat of day bearing down on her in relentless mercy. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of a silhouetted figure. Turning to see who he was, he was gone. "Come back!" she cried. "Don't leave!" Again, her words were lost, unheard by anyone and everyone.

Tears streamed down Hersilia's cheeks, salty rivulets that no one cherished or would ever cherish... would they? She reached up and dabbed her finger against the watery stream upon her face, her heart sinking at the thought. "Follow your path, Lia..." It was her mother again. "He will lead you to it."

Swallowing hard, fear in heart, Hersilia suddenly saw the oncoming storm in the distance. The great sandworm cried out, ready to face its fate, no fear... the one thing that did not fear the sand storms of Arrakis. Shivering, breaths coming quickly, she let out a shrill cry.

Sitting upright and gasping for breath, Hersilia felt her heart racing beneath her breasts. She looked about herself trying to gain her bearings as the dreams she'd just had slipped away from her mind, the images so real, so vivid. Rubbing at her eyes, she tried to hide the fact that she was trembling, knowing that the fear would pass after a few moments. This wasn't the first time she'd had these dreams, but now, here in the desert of Arrakis as she stayed under Marid's protection... she had to admit that having such dreams was disconcerting. Though what it all meant? She wasn't sure. At least, not yet.

Hersilia took a deep breath and noticed her food had been sitting out untouched. Biting down on her lip, she reached for it, slowly nibbling on it as she tried to clear her mind and relax her body as well as her nerves.

 

[Ursus Peregrinus]

~~Marid~~

Marid slept peacefully. The young warrior had enough experience to be able to sleep when the chance came. His only dreams were of the deep desert, the dunes near the southern pole where the Fremen had been at work for four generations now. Of days spent planting hardy grasses on the slipface of dunes, growing the dunes higher and higher into mountains of sand and then in the shade of them setting other chosen plants to grow.

The task was one of the first forays into the desert of a young Fremen, coming with lessons in survival, navigation, recognition of the hazards of their environment and moving always in stealth. Those memories were some of the young man's fondest.

It was from such pleasant memories that he woke at Hersilia's movement and laboured breathing. Marid came awake and sat up, his dart pistol rising as his hand half-drew his blade. By the time his eyes opened, he had divined that there was no threat and begun to relax.

Looking over at Hersilia, Marid drew a slow, deep breath. He said nothing, allowed her to master herself and the fear that was poorly hidden in her expression. The meaning of her fear was not obvious, though being hunted by unnamed foes and hounded into the depths of the desert were reason enough. Marid sensed it was more than that, though. Her manner had been calm enough even during their hair-raising flight. Why now, then?

Sitting as she ate, Marid moved to examine the stilltent's seals. He had no reason not to trust them but water discipline was ingrained in Fremen children from before they could speak.
"Drink some while you eat," he suggested, sliding over a small flask from his pack. "They'll dry you out else, and you've not walked the desert long enough for your body to have grown used to the lack of moisture."

The advice was dispensed quietly but not without kindness. Marid's duty to protect and teach Hersilia did not forbid his being solicitous of her comfort.

At least, not so long as it did not allow her to grow soft. The noble-born was soft enough already. A few weeks desert trek would be sufficient to toughen her up until there was no longer a spare ounce of fat or dram of water on her sleek form.

Shaking his head to drive away THAT thought before it could finish forming, Marid removed a small filmbook of maps and desert charts and began plotting their night's march. If they made good time, they could reach the testing station at Fanged Ridge. It had been abandoned since the end of the War against the Harkonnen and Muad'Dib's ascension.
"When you have eaten, try to sleep once more. The coming night will be a long one." His voice was soft as he set the maps aside and composed himself once more to sleep. If she had need to speak of what worried her, she could do so but it would be at a time of her choosing.

~tag~

 

[darkangel76]

To say that Hersilia's nerves had been rattled was an understatement. She'd been shaken by the dreams that had woken her from her slumber—a very much needed slumber at that given the road that lied in wait for them both. As she swallowed down the tiny bit she'd taken of her food, her blue eyes focused on Marid and she nodded. She knew he was right, that his words were sound and meant to both comfort and aid, to teach her what she needed to know. She was glad of that and didn't miss the subtle undertones and inflections in his voice. The Bene Gesserit teachings Irulan had so painstakingly taken the time to teach her also let her know that he noticed her fear as well, but that he was keeping that part to himself... for now. For that part, she was grateful. Besides, her mouth had in fact gone dry and the idea of his suggesting a drink sounded so very good that she immediately reached for her spiced coffee.

The drink was still cold and delicious, though whether the taste was due to her body needing the liquid contents or because she genuinely enjoyed the drink, she wasn't certain. Either way, it did the job and for that, Hersilia was both glad and grateful. With each swallow she took—be it of food or of drink—she found herself feeling better, more at ease, the fear ebbing away. And it helped that Marid was awake with her, busying himself by checking to make sure that their tent was secure and sealed.

"Thank you," Hersilia then said, breaking the silence a bit, needing to hear a little something before she allowed herself to try and attempt sleep once more. Though she didn't want to admit it, she feared the return of the dreams, just as she feared traveling through the deserts of Arrakis—Dune—desert planet.

The only home she knew, yet she knew so little of the place in which she'd been born.

"I will adapt," Hersilia then added, trying to reassure both herself as well as Marid. "Just..." she continued, a bit hesitant. "Being so far away from Arrakeen." She looked down at her lap. "It seems to make my dreams a bit more vivid, I suppose."

A smile played on Hersilia's lips just then, though it was more to comfort herself than anything else, another ploy to cover up her apprehensions on falling back asleep and allowing the dreams to return once again. Tilting her head a bit, she eyed the maps and bit down on her lower lip. A curiosity began to burn within and she wondered where exactly they would be heading next on the long journey toward their final destination. Wherever it was, the journey would be another long trek through sands her body wasn't used to traversing through. Thank goodness for the cover of night when the air was cooler.

As Marid set the maps aside, Hersilia continued to nibble on her food and sip her drink. Her body had stopped shaking, but the images of the dreams were ever present within her mind—a muddled mess of pictures that she couldn't even begin to understand. For the most part, they'd been the same for quite some time now and it was something she found quite unnerving. At first, she just dismissed them as dreams mixed with nightmares, the overactive imagination of a girl with very little to do and a longing to see the outside world. But now? Now she was beginning to wonder. Their recurrence was more than disconcerting and troublesome and the vividness and clarity was only seeming to grow. What did that mean? She didn't know nor had she spoken of it. Often times she'd suspected Irulan had wished for her to speak of her dreams, but... something had always held her back from discussing them with the woman she knew to be as a second mother. And though she'd have felt no fear in talking to her own mother, time never permitted. Sitting there with Marid, she wondered if she should dare speak to him. A taciturn man she barely knew, yet the one she'd be with for who knew how long. He was her protector, her guardian, her teacher. He was Fremen. A man of the desert. Could someone like him understand?

Hersilia took another bite of food. It seemed even drier than the last. Sipping down more of her drink, her eyes looked over Marid as she warred with herself over whether she should divulge the dreams to him or not. She feared they'd return or... worsen. They could become an enemy while they traversed the desert, a burden, and that would do neither of them any good.

"I tend to dream a fair bit," Hersilia said softly, her blue eyes focusing on her lap. "I don't always understand them and I don't understand this one and it's been haunting me for quite some time." Her grip on her drink tightened as the fear threatened to return. "I saw two shadows—a man and a woman. I saw a great sandworm and a sandstorm. The sadness, the fear... the cold..." She shook her head trying to make sense of all the images, but all it did was bring back the fear. As she began to tremble once again, her eyes welled up slightly. Trying to hold back the tears she brought the drink to her lips and sipped.

 

[Ursus Peregrinus]

~~Marid~~

That his charge was shaken was obvious, but Marid reflected on her calm moments and determination. He was confident that she would pass the desert's test. Trusted that this was a momentary weakness.

Marid realized, in that moment, that he wished her to prove herself. With that realization came a determination to be harder on her. The thing must prove itself, he told himself. No good would come of coddling her.

Grunting softly, the Fremen gritted his teeth and listened, eyes still closed.
"There is no need for thanks," he said simply. "You have my countenance, while you face the desert. I am to teach you all that you can learn. As the cup, I shall pour out my knowledge for you. Drink deep of it, for there are drops of wisdom to be found therein." A smile touched his lip. "One or two, at least."

Hersilia's troubled tones as she described her dream made him wish for his brother's counsel, his Father's wisdom. Was he an umma, to understand dreams and interpret prophecy? Instead, he sat up and looked at her. One hand reached out and grasped her shoulder.
"Dreams have power, but not all dreams are true." His fingers tightened, slightly. "To dream of Shai-Hulud is no bad omen. Bless the Maker, and his water. Bless his coming, and his going. May his passage cleanse the world. May he keep the world for his people."

Marid's grip grew gentle and he withdrew his hand.
"You come among us to learn our way. If you are to become Fremen, you will learn to call Shai-Hulud. You will learn to ride the Grandfather of the Desert, if you live." He smiled. "But not tonight. Tonight, we make our way to Fanged Ridge. There was a Desert Botanical Testing station there, but when Muad'dib's war against the Harkonnen reached its height our people took all we could into the deep south where the Harkonnen dared not go. In its caves we will begin your training."

In its caves, he would make the first choice: to lead her out across the desert alone, or to summon a band of his people to speed their journey. But that was a choice for another day. Once he had determined her strength, and learned from her who it was who sought her.

~tag~

 

[darkangel76]

Hersilia felt a sudden surge of adrenalin course through her body when Marid touched her and spoke of Shai-Hulud... the great sandworms of Arrakis. For a brief moment, her eyes shifted to glance at her shoulder where his hand had gone. But, they didn't linger. As he spoke, she turned to look back into his blue-on-blue eyes, those Fremen eyes that seemed to hold a mysteriously deep knowledge that she felt as though she could never understand, but knew that she must. Her life depended on it and her mother believed in her, as did others.

She had Fremen blood after all, even if only a fraction! Hersilia just hoped the line that connected her was strong enough. And how it made her wish she'd gotten the chance to know her grandmother. Her own mother—Ghanima—hadn't had the chance to know the fierce Fremen either, but from what she'd been able to learn and deduce, Chani daughter of Liet, had quite the legacy of her own much like the Atreides family did.

If only she'd been allowed to learn more. Perhaps now she'd be given that chance. Now that she was in the desert.

Hersilia nodded at Marid's words, doing her best to let the tension go, her body relax. The thought of calling and riding a great worm... it was both exciting and terrifying and it made her thoughts drift to her uncle for a moment. Blinking the thoughts away, she took in a breath and let it out. Feeling a bit better, she tilted her head and tried to focus on the present, pushing aside the dreams for the time being yet knowing they'd return once more once given the chance. They always did.

Perking up at the mention of Muad'dib, Hersila shifted a bit and moved a bit closer to Marid as if trying to read his face, his eyes. "Muad'dib..." she whispered. "I have heard tale of his war against the Harkonnen." She paused, swallowing hard. "Of his... prophecies." Her eyes stared hard into Marid's, searching, reading. "The legacy..." Her voice trailed, going soft. She bit down on her lip, shifting once more where she sat. "Tell me, as a Fremen, what are your thoughts on what has happened here on Arrakis? What is happening?"

Hersilia could see the results of her grandfather's rule, the religion he'd strived to create—the desert was receding, times were changing. And with those changes, the attacks on her family, especially on her, had grown. It was why her mother knew the birth of a girl had to be hidden—at least attempted to be hidden—and she'd known Irulan to be like another mother. It was why she had never been allowed to go anywhere or see anything, not even her brothers or the streets of Arrakeen. It was why she sat where she was in that very moment... her life in the hands of a Fremen who would guard and protect her, teach her the ways of this desert planet that was home.

Looking into Marid's blue-on-blue eyes, Hersilia hoped to gain a better understanding. Irulan was always tight-lipped, never wanting to dwell on the matter. Though, she supposed it was for good reason. But she wasn't a child any longer and her life had never been normal. And now that she was on the run... what now? She couldn't hide forever. Eventually, a time would come when she'd have to return. What then? Would she be ready? After all, she didn't want to hide forever. She was Atreides. Daughter of Ghanima, granddaughter of Muad'dib. Niece of Emperor Leto II!

 

[Ursus Peregrinus]

~~Marid~~

The Fremen listened to Hersilia's words and considered them. Thinking back to his childhood in the sietch, of growing up under discipline more militarized than any great house of the Landsraad. Of knowing that when he was older, he would kill Harkonnens.

But then in a scant handful of years, the war was over. Muad'dib ascended to the throne and the madness of the Jihad swept across the galaxy. Marid had been training to join the Fedaykin when that war too petered to its end, and of a sudden he was left without purpose.

It was then that his Father had come to him, spoken to him at length and sent him deep into the desert. For four years now his life had been one of hard labour, quartering the deep desert and collecting data. He and those like him had banded the globe, speaking with Fremen of many sietches, learning about the change that was finally beginning.

The change bought by the water of his parents and grandparents. The change brought with the water of Harkonnen and Sardaukar dead. Every drop of it scraped and fought for over more than a century and finally enabled by Paul Muad'dib's imperial largesse.

"Pardot Kynes came among us in the time of my grandfather." Marid said, his voice singsong, eyes closing as he recalled the tale. "He travelled the pan and graben, sink and erg. He studied and he saw with eyes like no other before him." There was emotion in Marid's voice,, faint but there. Straining against his self control. "When he saved the life of three Fremen youths fool enough to be caught by Harkonnens, they brought him among us. It was... a delicate time. Many argued that he should be killed and his water claimed for the people. He could not be allowed to leave, for he had now seen how the Ichwan Bedwine lived in sietch."

Marid looked down at hands dried by creosote leaves, roughened with labour and scarred in many fights.
"Then he began to speak to us. As though to children. Explaining that this world once had been a paradise. That it could be once more. That WE could make it so, with time and toil." He looked up, those dark azure orbs burning into Hersilia's face. "At first he was thought mad. He WAS mad, to expect the Fremen to adopt his dream. At length it was decided that he was to die. Uliet was sent, with two watermen, to do the deed." His voice grew harsher for a moment and he swallowed, sipped at his stillsuit's catchpocket.

"Kynes the elder was lecturing, and when he saw Uliet and the crysknife he did not understand. His mind was on more important matters than the time of his death. He ordered Uliet to remove himself." Marid smiled and touched his brow and then his lips with the first two fingers of his left hand, then touched the hilt of his crysknife. "Uliet fell upon his own blade. From that day, Kynes was an Umma among us, and his dream spread from sietch to sietch and from mouth to mouth until it infected us all."

Gesturing about him, Marid smiled.
"His son carried on his work, Liet wore two faces - the Emperor's planetologist, and the Naib of Naibs. Every Fremen worked now, one people united by more than hatred of Harkonnens. United by hope." He held up an open palm and then closed it into a fist. "Hope is transformative, Hersilia. It was the weave that bound the Fremen people together through war and death and hardship."

"Muad'dib came, appearing just as Liet was murdered by the Harkonnen butchers. One who hated Harkonnens even more than us. We called him the Lisan-al-Gaib, and we followed him to war. He gave us victory." Marid looked down now, the fire was leaving his voice. "But he also brought us the Jihad. While so many Fremen joined his banner to unite the Empire, crushing every foe who raised a hand against him, the rest remained here and the change began. Water now flows free in parts of Arrakis. At the poles, gardens grow in the open. The worms retreat deeper into the equatorial belt. This is what those Fremen who fought in the Jihad returned to find. The miracle they would have worked themselves proceeding apace on its own."

The Fremen youth watched her carefully, he couldn't be more than a few years older than her, still young for a people so heavily dosed with the anagathic melange from birth.
"Muad'dib gave us our miracle, but in so doing he stole hope from us. The unrest is from the death of our dream. It dies slowly, even as it grows around us, because it was a gift to us. A reward for the blood we shed in Muad'dib's crusade." Marid's jaw clenched. "The change moves too fast for those who did not see it begin. The elders find themselves lost in a world they no longer know. Even in sietch they walk the sands, with no foundation beneath their feet."

"Paul Muad'dib was not our saviour, he was the thief of our dream. The change we should have brought about ourselves. Earned ourselves, through labour and toil, not through bloody war." Finally he shook his head. "Bah. There is no changing what is. Liet once said: face the facts, then act upon them. There is no use mewling like a babe for what is lost. There is still desert, there will always be desert. There must always be desert. God created Arrakis to train the faithful, and the Fremen people are in sore need of that hardship now."

Marid stopped, angry at himself for speaking so freely. He felt foolish, and with that embarrassment came a determination to teach her a lesson about distracting her teacher. Checking his timepiece he considered and then rose.
"Enough talk. See to your suit, sunset is coming soon enough. If you cannot sleep you must not be tired. I can rectify that, outlander." The light in his eyes was cold and there was a cruelty in his smile as he tightened the seals on his suit and began to pack up their meagre belongings. Tonight he would take the heavier pack. Tonight they would reach Fanged Ridge and take shelter at the testing station there.

Tonight she would be sorry she had not slept when given the chance. By morning she would know better than to waste time and moisture in idle talk.

~tag~

 

[darkangel76]

Hersilia listened with furious intent and concentration as Marid spoke, telling of a past she'd never been privy to truly learn. She'd heard whispers from her mother before she'd been sent away from both her and Farad'n and being fully entrusted to Irulan's care. Whispers she was certain were between her and her uncle—empress and emperor. Whispers she was certain she was not meant to hear. All too often those conversations ended with her mother crying, shedding tears that her uncle would lovingly try to quell and quash.

But somehow Hersilia knew that Uncle Leto couldn't do anything to comfort her mother despite any sweet and tender words he could even attempt to try and utter. Fact was fact. And both pre-born twins knew that full well, both couldn't escape it... her uncle especially. They were Atreides, bound to prescience, bound to fate. Unable to escape or evade it. She lowered her blue eyes as she listened to Marid's rich voice as it filled the stilltent that surrounded them both, resonating in her ears as he spoke of a bloody past that brought not just a miracle, but death and devastation in its wake.

What was the price to be paid for such legacy? Was that why her uncle kept to himself, spoke only to her mother? Was that why she was to be hidden, an attempt to make... change?

Hersilia truly didn't know. Her own dreams were so muddled and she couldn't make sense of most of them. Not having her mother around to speak to about them made it difficult and Irulan thought it best she never speak of dreams unless asked to divulge and only by those she approved. As it was, she was breaking that precious rule by talking to Marid as she was. But something about him, something told her she needed to speak to him, to trust him... something.

As Hersilia listened to Marid's tones waver and change, the barest hints of emotion rising and then waning as if never having been present, a sudden chill engulfed her body. She looked into his Fremen eyes and swallowed hard. Gone was all softness, any traces of emotion. Did he know who she was? Did her ties to Muad'dib upset him? She couldn't fault him if it did. After all, her family had done much to change Arrakis. Making what had once been pure into something else. Her family needed to right that error somehow and it was probably a price that could never be paid except for in blood and tears. It would be sweet justice to the planet and its people, giving them the source of their life for what they'd taken away. Even if it hadn't been intended...

Looking up at Marid, he suddenly seemed to loom like an ominous shadow—large, frightening, oddly cold despite the heat. Hersilia nodded and did as he requested, noting how he called her 'outlander' despite the fact that she'd been born on Arrakis, never even left the planet. Something about his tone struck a chord, made her muscles tense as a shiver ran along her spine and a vision of Shai-Hulud swirled in her mind.

Biting down on her lower lip, doing her best to tamp down this new surge of emotion she was suddenly feeling, Hersilia checked the seals of her stillsuit. She made sure everything regarding it was in proper order and fitting the way it should. She would need it once they got moving out in the open. For out in the open, they were at the mercy of Dune—Arrakis—desert planet.

"I..." Hersilia suddenly found herself stammering, cursing herself inwardly as she looked downward. "I apologize for my prattle." She tried to force a smile. "But, my suit is ready. I... I am ready. I'll face my tests. My grandmother would have wanted that." She paused for a moment. "So would my grandfather... and my mother."

 

[Ursus Peregrinus]

~~Marid~~

Angry with himself, but doing his best to conceal it, Marid finished shifting the heaviest items into his pack. Bundling his maker hooks, he collapsed them and added those as well.
"May the ancestors walk with you this night, then." He said grudgingly as he fastened his hood, nose and mouth filters. Opening the stilltent, he removed their gear and began to collapse it, rolling it as soon as Hersilia stepped out.

Handing her the lighter pack, lightened further now that he had moved some of the heavier essentials to his own heavy load, he shouldered his burden and nodded for her to follow. The concentration of moving across the desert helped to distract him from his weakness and Marid began to relax as they moved, the setting sun soon leaving them in twilight. Everywhere about them tonight were subtle signs of the changing desert. Small scrubby creosote bushes or low, twisted smoke trees clung here and there to rockier patches where their roots could find anchor. Once, the two of them passed by a half dozen low saguaro and he turned to watch her.
"Be mindful of your robe as you move," he advised in a whisper. "Brush against a rock or plant and you might leave a thread to mark our passage."

The pace he set for them was not as brutal as the previous night, but it was exhausting all the same. Crossing a field of gravel and pea sand was a kindness, granting a firmer step than the softer sand and dust they had been trudging through. They paused to rest beneath a rocky promontory that looked out across rolling grey dunes and Marid set about continuing her education.
"That patch there," he pointed. "Drum sand. Know it by the subtle striations in its surface, it forms most often in the hollows of dunes, where there is bedrock not more than ten or fifteen meters beneath. Step upon it and the compaction of the sand will call a Maker as surely as a thumper."

Stretching to loosen muscles grown tight from the march, Marid looked up and touched Hersilia's shoulder.
"There, do you hear?" He fell silent again, and the faint sounds of movement came to their ears. "Shh, you are the stones, the sand." A moment later, a large eared fennec fox came into sight, carrying something in its mouth. A kangaroo mouse, slower than its fellows, dangled from the little fox's jaws.

The fox watched them warily for a long moment, then picked its way down the rock slope, worming its way into a narrow crack in the rock with its dinner.
"A rare sight, even now. The fox lives as the Fremen once did, hidden beneath the earth and emerging only to hunt. I'll wager that mother has a litter of cubs to feed."

Standing, Marid checked his robe and pointed out across the dunes.
"There, in the distance, you see ridge that is shaped like broken teeth? Our destination this night. We make good time." He looked at her. "You are ready to continue?" The dry air was growing faintly heavy with static, and Marid could feel a storm coming on. It was distant now, but it might arrive by morning. He wished he had thought to bring weather poles that he could pole the sand to predict the coming weather. Taking the oil-lens binoculars from their case on his pack, he adjusted their focus and raised them to his eyes, scanning the far horizon slowly in all directions.

There was no wall of sand visible downwind. They should have time to reach Fanged Ridge before the weather turned.

~tag~

 

[darkangel76]

A strange sort of hushed silence seemed to rise as they began to pack up their things and ready themselves for another long trek through the harsh deserts of Dune. Hersilia felt her insides flutter with nerves as she glanced over at Marid, his hands going to work as he carefully moved things from one pack to the other. She bit down on her lower lip as she watched, noticing that he seemed to be rearranging the way of their things, altering the load from how it had been the night before. A rush of emotion swelled through her briefly, though she did her best to not show too much of a reaction to what he was doing. However, the gratitude she felt inside coursed over and through her, prickling across her skin.

Once they were on their way, Hersilia quickly checked her stillsuit the way she'd been taught and then took her pack. Adjusted her robe, she followed Marid—keeping pace, doing as he did. The pace was fast, though not as brutal as the night prior, something for which she was thankful, and the heat of the night didn't seem nearly as offensive either. Glancing upward for a moment, she found herself smiling, feeling as if fortune and fate were somehow on their side—at least for a time. She looked in awe and wonder at the great vastness of the lands around her. Never had she ventured outside of Arrakeen and now that she was out in the deep desert, she felt truly small. It made her wonder what she'd feel if she ever saw the great sandworm with her own eyes and not just in the swirling color of dreams.

For a moment, Hersilia could hear the echoing roar from her dream... the sound nearly as real as the sight of the impending storm that had approached and engulfed the great creature.

Hersilia continued to trek through the sands, her ankles twisting and trying to learn how to move with efficiency as she followed her protector and guardian. Her blue eyes fixed upon his form as she followed, her ears listening to all he had to tell to help her learn. Her lungs burned as she moved to keep up, her muscles tiring slightly. Just when she felt the urge to rest, they slowed, Marid gesturing that she still and that she quiet herself. She listened to him as he spoke of the fox—an animal like the Fremen of old—her blue eyes blinking as she watched it move with quick and fluid grace. She saw the tiny mouse it held, ironic that it was the very mouse in which her grandfather had taken his Fremen name. Perhaps there was a reason she saw that now, the legacy of Muad'dib coming to its end as a new era was about to embark. As she continued to watch, she tilted her head and smiled.

Looking over at Marid, Hersilia watched him point out their final destination in the distance. It still looked so very far. Licking her lips, she narrowed her eyes slightly trying to gauge how far away it truly was. It seemed like distance was distorted out in the desert. Setting her jaw, she nodded.

"I... I'm ready," Hersilia stated. There was a slight hesitance in her tone, but there was determination as well. She knew she'd make it. Somehow. She had to. Her family was depending on her—her mother especially—and she wasn't ready to give up nor did she want to let Marid down or be a burden to him. Plus there was still so much to learn, that she wanted to learn. She truly felt as though her education was truly just beginning now that she'd begun this journey into the desert.

Hersilia's eyes found those of Marid's and she smiled. Adjusting her pack, she swallowed hard and gave him a nod. Her expression showed willingness to continue, the want to press forward. She was unsure of what lied ahead, but as she looked over at her guardian, she knew she could trust him. Out in the desert as they were, she knew that was imperative.

"How far away is that ridge?" Hersilia then asked, though after doing so, she had to wonder if it was better not to know.

 

[Ursus Peregrinus]

~~Marid~~

Marid heard Hersilia announce herself ready but he was still contemplating. The basin between them and Fanged Ridge was a goodly distance, and they had no transport. Replacing the binoculars in their case, he examined the rills and ripples of the dunes that separated them from their destination. When last he had come to this place he had ridden a maker, left it kilometers away on the far side of the ridge to sulk and rest after its long journey.
"Perhaps ten thousand meters," he replied at last. "A fair walk, for two afoot on the dunes."

The shift of the wind brought a scent to his nose, faint but unmistakable. Cinnamon and acid and life.
"Ahh, scent that?" Marid turned his head and nodded. "There is melange in the basin. Hidden from our eyes by the shadow of a dune, belike. Where there's spice, there'll be a maker. Not close, perhaps, but near enough to catch us if we put a foot wrong."

For a moment Marid considered calling it up, he had his hooks, it would be a simple journey to their destination tonight. He rejected the idea though, he had only the one set of maker hooks, and Hersilia had no training as a sandrider yet. Tonight would be a test for her in truth, he thought. A misstep and they'd be caught on the open bled by Shai-Hulud. There was at least the chance that he could save himself, mount the worm and ride it until it tired enough to let him dismount. Without a skilled second or beaters to goad it on by pounding on its tail Marid disliked his chances. It could be done, he had done it, but it was a foolish risk and he had left that sort of youthful recklessness behind.

Not far behind, the Fremen admitted to himself with a sour smile, but behind all the same.
"We've need to be sure of our passage." Marid told her, shucking his pack and opening it, removing a pair of thumpers and winding the spring mechanisms. "Wait here, and ready yourself for the march. I'll set two thumpers, one further out and with a longer delay. The first will call the worm, the second will point him away, reduce the chance it will notice our passing." He paused as he readied the two thumpers and watched Hersilia closely. "Keep your pack on and be ready. When I return we'll skirt this basin, it will lengthen our journey but move us away from the thumpers."

Without waiting for her to reply he set his pack down at her feet and then moved away, the thumpers in one hand, gathering his robe about him and moving onto the sand in that curious, rhythmless stride of the desert folk. In minutes he was out of sight, leaving Hersilia alone beneath the stars.

The only sounds were the faint natural sounds of the desert. A touch of wind that brought a stronger scent of melange also set a spill of sand down the rock's face, the hissing accompanied by a pebble tapping on stone.

While she was alone, the fox returned, slipping out from its den and picking its way in silence down the rocks. It moved towards her, wary but seemingly unafraid. Large ears and small body, its fur the colour of the sand and its bushy tail flicking behind it as it approached.

Looking up, Hersilia saw that it too had the blue-on-blue eyes of a spice-rich diet. As the moons above lit them, those blue eyes seemed to glow, and the slender faced hunter yipped once as it gazed into her face, crouching and baring small, white fangs at her.

Then it was gone, slipping past her and scampering onto the dunes. As it passed, its tail brushed her fingertips, soft as the finest whale-fur. Hersilia saw it pad across the sand, its large paws making no sound as it moved, crouching low down, hunting for prey.

It stopped at the crest of a dune, looked back at her and that tail flicked again. The fennec fox picked its path down the dune and then it stopped part way down. Crouching even lower, one paw reached out and tapped the sand.

Only her Bene Gesserit training allowed her to perceive what happened next. A circle of sand moved and a spider leapt out, mistaking the fox for prey. Jaws snapped and soon the Fennec was padding back, tail flirting in satisfaction, the trapdoor spider still twitching faintly in its teeth.

As it disappeared once more into its den, the hunter stopped to glance one last time at Hersilia. Ears flicked and it nodded its long, narrow face at her as though in approval. Then it vanished into its narrow crack in the rock face with a saucy flip of that furred tail, leaving her to consider what she had seen, the meaning of the creature's actions.

Marid returned some ten minutes later, reclaiming his pack and touching Hersilia on the shoulder.
"It is time to move. The first thumper will activate in an hour, the next twenty minutes after that. We have that time to move out into the basin and find a spot to hide ourselves from Shai-Hulud's passage."

~tag~

 

[darkangel76]

Hersilia closed her eyes for a moment after Marid mentioned the scent of mélange... of Spice. With sight no longer clouding things, she could let the distraction of her surroundings melt away and focus on the subtleties of the desert. She breathed in deeply through her nose, allowing the dry desert air to fill her nostrils and then her lungs. The air filled her body, permeating ever pore as she breathed in deeply and then... Her blue eyes snapped open and the tiniest of gasps passed over her lips. Yes, she could smell it. It was indeed faint, but it was there just as Marid had said it was. It was hardly a trick of the desert as the aroma swirled about the air surrounding her body.

The Spice. Its scent was much stronger than Hersilia had expected. And as she'd heard the last of Marid's movements before his sounds were lost to her ears, she half expect to hear the mournful cry of Shai-Hulud as it made its way so elegantly through the sands like only it could. Such beauty was only seen in her dreams though as the storms of Arrakis tried its best to claim it, only for it to pass over the great beast leaving it unscathed in all its glorious splendor.

A shiver ran along Hersilia's spine, snapping her out of her small reverie. She was being watched by strange eyes. Those blue-on-blue eyes by those that could somehow 'see' things others could not, eyes that were truly one with the desert. Sucking in a sharp breath, she narrowed her blue eyes and met the gaze of the little fox she'd seen earlier, the very one Marid had pointed out not long ago. He was watching. Perhaps waiting? She wondered just what it was he was seeking. As she looked into his eyes, she felt a strange pull. It was as if he were beckoning her to wait, to watch, to learn. Licking her lips, her mouth suddenly dry, she watched the tiny creature intensely, her temples pulsing as her gaze fixed upon him trying to anticipate his next move. He then dashed up the crest of a nearby sand dune, his steps so light that she felt a pang of envy course through her. She was in awe of how easily he traveled through the sands, was able to see through the darkness.

Just then, Hersilia caught a glimpse of movement. It was subtle, barely noticeable to the trained eye. She knew the only reason she'd noticed was due to the intense and incessant training she'd received from Irulan—something her mother and father alike had wished for her. Remaining still, a picture of calm, she held her breath for but a moment, her eyes watching the fox bound forward toward the shadow only to catch a spider. The hunter had been successful, its prey its just reward—patience and caution had truly served him well. Swallowing hard, she shifted her eyes to look directly into those of the fox. He stared back for several long moments causing her to shudder ever so slightly as his gaze almost seemed to look through her, past that of face and body and into the mind and soul.

"Thank you," Hersilia whispered, her words lost to the wind, audible only to the small animal who gave her a nod before disappearing just as quickly as he'd appeared.

As soon as the fox had gone, Hersilia looked up toward the moons in the dark starlit sky. It was amazing at how many more stars one could see outside the shield wall of Arrakeen. Looking back down once again, Marid returned, his hand light as he touched her shoulder and gestured that they leave the area before the great sandworm made its presence known.

"I'm ready," Hersilia said quietly as she stood upright, her eyes turning to glance back to where the fox had disappeared. She wondered why he'd chosen to 'visit' or if it had merely been coincidence. Again, she breathed in deeply, that now familiar scent so heavy in the air. She would never forget it just as she would never forget the encounter she'd just had with the little fox. "We have much ground to cover before sunrise." She then paused a moment, the cry of Shai-Hulud ringing in her ears as she recalled her dreams. "And even less time before we are no longer alone."

Hersilia glanced in another direction of the desert, her body trembling ever so slightly. She took a deep breath, the cinnamony scent of Spice lingering within her nostrils. Looking back at Marid, she adjusted her pack and gave him a warm smile, her expression eager as she readied herself to follow him, to do as he did.