Chapter Text
Two months had passed before Duncan offered to cut his hair.
“It’s a bit unruly. Not like you.”
In truth, Paul hadn’t noticed. There had been too much to do. He’d proven adept at stillsuit repair, and there were always suits that needed mending. The filtration system still baffled him, it was complex and clever and full of small pieces, but the rest of it made sense to him. There were young Fremen who were about to reach the age of maturity, who were bound to travel further east in a few weeks, and all of them had grown several inches since their last fitting. They needed suits that fit them properly. It had been a productive day, and Paul felt good about all that he’d done.
He hadn’t seen much of Duncan lately. There was too much work to be done. Though truthfully, Paul wasn’t sure how to navigate who they were to each other now. Duncan clearly still saw himself as a servant of House Atreides, though Paul was no longer a Duke, not really. It was a title he’d dreamed of as a boy. It felt meaningless now. It hadn’t protected his father, after all.
And there were the worshippers.
Paul was doing all he could to discourage them, to distance himself from whatever legends had been planted on Arrakis. Duncan’s solicitous devotion felt too similar to the murmured prayers that Paul heard trailing him. He didn’t want to be anyone’s lord any more than he wanted to be anyone’s messiah.
But he did need a haircut. And he missed his friend.
So he found himself in a quiet corner of the sietch, seated on the floor in front of Duncan’s cot, eyes closed as the other man ran his fingers through the dark curls.
“You’re lucky all that time you spent on Giedi Prime didn’t make you bald.” Duncan said as he reached for the shears.
That had been vanity. The pollution in the air and water had been dense, and Paul had been converting the poison as it entered his body. A Bene Gesserit skill. A gift from his mother.
A shame it wasn’t effective on safframate.
“Lucky,” Paul said aloud.
“Would you like it as it was before, or shorter?”
He hadn’t thought much about it. Paul hadn’t been asked about his preferences in a long time.
“Shorter,” he decided on a whim.
Duncan made a few quick snips, gently nudging Paul’s head left and right. When he was finished, he produced a small mirror from one of the inner pockets of his stillsuit, handing it to Paul.
It was the first mirror he’d seen since joining the Fremen. The face that gazed back at him seemed… not as he remembered. His cheekbones were prominent, and his eyes seemed deep-set. He was no longer heavy with water, like the offworlders who didn’t have to measure every drop. There was the faintest hint of blue around his irises—the food the Fremen ate was often tinged with spice. It made their routine diet more appealing.
“Do you like it?” Duncan asked.
Paul ran his fingers through his hair. It fell away in a soft swoop.
“Yes,” he turned to Duncan, returning the mirror. “Thank you.”
Duncan grinned.
“You’ll need to keep your hair out of your eyes if you’re going to fight beside the Fremen.”
Paul nodded toward Duncan’s shoulder, where a long braid rested.
“Would you like me to return the favor?”
“And deprive the world of these gorgeous locks? Absolutely not. Besides, I think I’ll be stationed down here.”
Paul stood, taking a seat beside Duncan.
“We’re all here for the time being.” He paused. “Do you mean indefinitely? After the others are sent back up north to fight?”
Duncan nodded.
“It depends on how things go. Every Naib must have his say, and there are still a few stragglers. But I expect I’ll be commanded to stay with your mother. The Sayyadina is important to the Fremen.”
Paul felt cold, despite the ever-present heat.
“And what about what’s important to her?”
Duncan leaned backwards.
“I wasn’t raised Fremen. So I’ll never understand all the things that they believe. But all the talk of prophecies and destiny… it sounds to me like the kind of thing that could be used to explain anything, justify anything.” He shrugged, glancing sideways at Paul. “If you’re asking me if I believe you’re their Mahdi, then no. I keep forgetting you’re not the little kid with scraped knees who trained with me and Gurney.”
Paul felt the corners of his lips turning up.
“I wish that’s what everyone else saw, sometimes. But I’m glad she’ll be safe. Her and Alia.” Even though their strangeness made him feel raw and wrong, Paul still loved them.
Duncan clapped him on the shoulder.
“I’ll watch out for them. You watch out for you. I have a feeling that Queen won’t be leaving you behind when she travels north again.”
Paul flushed, but didn’t argue. To do so would be a betrayal of his heart, which wanted nothing more than to follow Chani into battle.
But there was work to be done, and he was content to focus on it. A few of the windtraps needed maintenance, and it was better to do so during the daytime, when there wasn’t as much moisture in the air for them to harvest. Paul joined a group of Fremen and set to work, cleaning sand from the delicate instruments and repairing minor damage from a recent storm. It was a long, arduous day, and Paul was glad when they returned to the communal dining hall, where a meal was already being served.
Paul was so tired he didn’t realize that Chani was beside him until her hand brushed against his wrist.
He startled, and she laughed, a lovely, silky sound.
“I caught you sleepwalking again,” she said.
“So it seems. I beg your pardon, Lady.”
She wrinkled her nose.
“You know we don’t call each other that, right?”
He had noticed, but the habit was difficult to stop.
“I fear I’m still getting used to it.”
She glanced upward.
“You cut your hair.”
Paul immediately reached for his head, self-conscious.
“Yes. Duncan did it.”
“It suits you.”
Paul felt himself flush.
“Thank you.”
Chani bent her head toward the doorway.
“Will you join me outside? I like to watch the sun as it sets.”
Feeling pulled in her orbit, Paul nodded.
They carried their bowls with them, passing a few other Fremen as they walked through the tall corridors of the sietch. Chani had a kind word to say to all of them, inquiring after the birth of a new child or the first sandworm ride of a near-adult. It struck Paul that Chani seemed to know a little bit about everyone, even though there were thousands upon thousands of Fremen in the sietch. She spoke to them the way a leader might, the way a Naib spoke to those in his or her care.
Of course she did. She was Witch. And while there were some political nuances among the Fremen that Paul didn’t yet understand, it was clear that the Blood knew her for what she was, and they were responding with their own form of allegiance.
Chani led him to a hill some distance away, and he sat beside her when she offered. The air felt electric with the aftermath of the storm.
“Look,” she pointed. “There’s spice rolling across the sand.”
There was. It sparkled, rich and red. Paul watched the sunlight as it glittered across the desert, its ponderous journey past the horizon. They ate in silence for a while, watching the sun’s descent.
“It’s so beautiful at dusk,” Chani whispered, almost to herself. “When the sun is low, and you can see for miles. Everything comes awake at night.” She turned to him, her spice-blue eyes deep and clear. “What is it like on your home planet?”
Paul hadn’t thought about Caladan in a long time. He barely remembered it.
“Cold. Like…” he tried to find a word for it, but there was nothing in Chakobsa, just warm and less hot . “Like a knife to the gut. It’s a sharp feeling. Like the way it is at night, but so much more.”
“I felt the cold once.” Chani smiled. “I rode the Winds to Ebon Eskavi to visit the library. It was cold there. So cold I thought my bones were rattling.”
Paul laughed.
“Yes, it’s like that in the winter. For about a quarter of the year,” he clarified. Arrakis didn’t have seasons, at least not any that were distinguishable on the surface.
“What else?” She said. “You said there was always enough water. Does it really fall from the sky?”
“Oh yes. Sometimes it rains for weeks.”
“Weeks,” her eyes widened. “So much.” Then, “I don’t believe you.”
Paul laughed.
“No, really. Where I grew up, our castle stood on cliffs above the ocean. Water that went further than I could see,” he clarified. “So deep and dark my feet didn’t touch the bottom if I walked more than a few paces from the shore. You see the way the sand flows in the wind?” He pointed. “The water was like that. It would draw out and then back again.”
“And cold ,” Chani murmured. “I can summon a little water with Craft, but only enough for a day. My people have dreamed of a world like that for generations, and it’s already out there.”
Paul watched her face. She had a dreamy expression, but only for a moment, as if even dreaming was an indulgence that the desert didn’t afford one. The light was golden and soft on her warm brown skin. It was easy to forget how powerful she was. Not just because she kept her power so tightly controlled, as if even a momentary lapse could bring the world crashing down around her, but because amidst the vast expanse of the desert, Chani seemed so small. Paul knew that she was a warrior, a Fedaykin, but every cell in his body felt so protective of her.
“What are you thinking of?” She asked him, interrupting his reverie.
“The worms,” he stumbled, saying the first thing that came into his head. “Do you think one of them will let me ride one day?”
Chani snorted.
“You? No. Only Fremen ride. They’re choosy.”
“I could become Fremen. Can’t I?”
“Maybe.” She bumped into his shoulder with her own, and even that small touch sent shivers down Paul’s spine. “But not by blood. Your blood comes from Dukes and great Houses,” she said with a wry expression. “We’re not like you. Courts and hierarchies. Living in castles. We can’t all wear dark jewels or we’d starve. And I’ve seen the way you look at me.”
Paul had thought he was concealing it well.
“If I’ve made you uncomfortable—”
“Not like that. I mean the way you look at me like you’re waiting for me to give you orders. Nobody gives orders. We follow a Naib as long as the Naib is wise and strong. Queens don’t dictate what males do, and males don’t hover around Queens like we’re going to break in a strong wind. We’re equals, men and women. What we do, we do for the benefit of all.”
“I would very much like to be equal to you, Chani.”
She pulled back for a moment, examining his face. Paul found himself reciting the litany of his childhood. I must not fear… He looked back at her. Let her look at him and through him, knowing there was no concealing anything from her. He forced himself not to try. He willfully unclenched every muscle, laid down his psychic shields, and let her see everything that he was without a fight. She would know that he was sincere.
She had to know.
“Paul.” She said, with a gentle voice. “You could be lots of things. But if you want, you could be Fremen.” She looked down at his lips, then back up at his eyes. “Maybe I’ll show you the way.”
She leaned forward, and up, and kissed him.
It was, in some ways, like a first kiss. Paul didn’t know what to do with himself. Chani had one hand on his cheek, cupping it, leading him down to her. All he could do was yield. He had thought of the first time they would kiss a thousand times, in the cruelest of nights, at the bottom of the well of loneliness, and he’d embraced those memories so tightly they had become ragged and threadbare. This was nothing like those dogeared visions. This was different, because it was not remembered foresight, and it was not happening the way it would have if he had not turned away all those years ago. He’d been kissed many times in his life, some of those times had even been pleasant, but this kiss seemed to erase all others. Or perhaps the night that he’d walked into the desert, prepared for that to be the end of his life, had been an ending of sorts, and this was the first kiss in his brand-new existence.
Chani leaned away, just a breath away, but even that was too much. Paul felt her lips move as she whispered:
“Paul, is this—”
“Yes,” he replied, leaning down to kiss her again.
This time, he let his body lead, wrapping an arm around her waist. Chani’s thumb was rubbing circles around his jaw, tongue teasing his lips. He parted them, letting out the smallest groan as she entered him.
When they parted, he was panting hard, his entire body aflame with desire. He felt drunk, and looking at her, she seemed much the same.
“Will you come with me?” She asked.
He nodded. Chani stood, and offered him a hand. He grasped it, and immediately imagined what it might feel like to touch her with his bare hands, without the clumsy barrier of their stillsuits between them. Chani led him to an outcropping of rock, around a corner, through the concealed entrance of a hollow cave. With the fading daylight, it was difficult to see, but Chani summoned a small, flower-shaped witchlight, leaving it hovering overhead. It illuminated the cave, which was unadorned, clean, and secluded.
“It will harvest our water, too.” Chani’s eyes were sparkling. “Important rule of the desert. If you’re going to expend energy by using Craft, you make it count.”
“Clever,” Paul said. It was.
Chani summoned a wide cot, large enough for both of them.
She looked at him.
“Are you still…?”
He took a breath.
“Yes.”
She offered him a tender smile.
“Let me help you out of your stillsuit.”
He didn’t need the help, but he needed her hands on him. Wordless, he nodded, and she came closer. She started with the gloves, releasing him from them as if they were shackles long overdue to be removed. She reached for the zipper underneath his chin, dragging it slowly, far too slowly, downward.
“You could help me with mine, too,” she said, faint traces of her laughter peppering her words.
“Oh!” Paul flushed. “Of course.” He reached for her gloves, slipping them off. They fell to the floor with a loud smack . He barely noticed. Because now he could press his palms against hers, and he did. The heat from her skin melded with his. She was so soft.
Just this touch was dizzying. Could he survive the rest of her?
“I said I could show you,” she murmured as she leaned in for another kiss.
“Is this the way you spoke of?” He smiled as she kissed him. His hand wandered down to the small of her back, and he pressed her body against his. She fit against him perfectly. As if he were made for her. He had dreamed a thousand lifetimes with her, and all of them paled in comparison to this. She was solid and graceful in his arms. Even the smallest movement sent shockwaves through his nerves.
She pulled back, leaving him gasping.
“This is a way,” she smiled, tilting her head toward the cot. “Join me?”
They slipped out of their stillsuits, and underneath them they both wore only pale linen. Once again, Paul felt Chani’s eyes on him. Assessing him. He knew what he looked like. Pale, angular, with the muscle of a fighter, but no bulk. He was nothing like Duncan.
Chani placed a hand on his chest.
“Look at me, Paul.”
He did. The linen hung loose from her shoulders, hugged her hips, and left little to the imagination. She was made up of soft curves and sharp planes. The witchlight cast enticing shadows underneath her round breasts. She stood tall, unashamed, one hand on her hip.
“You’re lovely,” Paul said, his voice husky.
“I know.” She smirked.
Then she took his hand in hers, and led him down to the cot.
With kisses on each inch of exposed skin, Chani dragged away the linen covering him. She could have banished it away. But it was clear she wanted to take her time. Chani brought his hands up to her own body, showing him where he should undress her. He dragged his palms across her newly freed skin, marveling at how smooth and soft she was. The desert wasn’t delicate, but Chani was, at least in this.
He found himself crying, for the first time in a long time, perhaps his whole life. It was a terrible waste of water, and it was the best use of water, because Chani merely wiped his cheeks with her thumbs, kissed his tear-dampened lips, and thanked him with her body, treating his tears like a gift he had given her.
They lay down side by side, as equals, and it remade him.
Paul used none of what he knew about how to pleasure someone. He let go of all of it, letting his instincts guide him. He cupped her breasts and felt her nipples harden at his touch. She sighed when he stroked them, and made a deeper, content sound when he took one in his mouth. She nuzzled his neck, kissing him, sucking, teasing him with a hint of her teeth. He wanted her marks on him, wanted to be able to see the evidence of her on his body for the rest of his life.
She brought his hand between her legs, where she was wet and sensitive. He stroked her, setting his pace by how her eyelids fluttered, her breath caught, her thighs, tangled with his, tensed and shifted.
Chani reached for his co*ck, and it twitched in her hand. She made a delighted noise at that, and squeezed the base, just a little, teasing him. He pressed against her, his hips working without his permission. Chani responded by settling one of her legs around his waist. With her hand, she led him to her opening.
The feeling of entering someone, without the will or wish to own them. The feeling of being touched, not to be used, but to be comforted, and adored. It was overwhelming and glorious and it made Paul shiver deep inside.
Chani gasped as he slid inside her. Her hand was in his hair, and she dragged him forward for a deep, intoxicating kiss. She began to move, rocking her hips against him. Paul timed his thrusts to meet her. It was a strange position, neither one of them able to accelerate too much, thrust too hard. But it didn’t matter. The slowness, the easiness with which they were joined, cast a spell upon them both. Paul reached between them to rub his thumb against her soft bud. She moaned and bore down against him. Nothing in the universe was more compelling to Paul than learning the ways her body responded. He found that slow circles enticed her, but a series of swift upward movements brought her to the edge.
He kissed her as she climaxed, swallowing the sounds she made. Her psychic barriers were open to him, and his to her. Paul felt her presence all around him, like a shroud, like a shield.
“Please,” she said against his mouth. “I want you inside me.”
He knew what she meant. He wanted it, too. Chani was still rocking against him, urging him deeper. Paul, ruled by his body and hers, spent himself inside her.
He pressed his forehead to hers, eyes closed, waiting for his breath to return.
When he opened his eyes again Chani nuzzled him, eyes bright with a gentle smile.
“Well?” She whispered. “Am I all that you dreamed?”
Paul shook his head.
“I never had any dream so sweet.”
They lay together for a long time. When Paul slept, it was as if he were awake still, for all he dreamed of was being in Chani’s arms, and her in his.
