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Something For Your Mind II — p.a

♕ A/N: Sorry for taking so long to make this, it’s been sitting in my drafts for a while I just wasn’t satisfied with it. I’m still kinda not but I hope y’all like it. Please give me feedback, thanksss.

♕ SUMMARY: Your parents offered a simple explanation- Fremen with the gift of prescience. A secret amongst the sand.

♕ WORD COUNT: 2.5K

♕ WARNING: None

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STILGAR MADE NO ATTEMPT TO CONTINUE THE CONVERSATION OR WAIT FOR YOU. The journey back home was one of silence and brief exchanges. You would occasionally leave your thoughts to look up at your sharp-minded leader. Fools, all of us. You thought to yourself, all of the bickerings with your mother and uncomfortable dinners, for what? Stilgar knew, and you could only wonder who else smiled at you daily, feigning obliviousness.

"(Y/n)," Your mother greets you with a tight hug, her sigh in relief tickling your neck. You say nothing as she pulls away, and your father mimics her actions. Stilgar eyes you carefully, his blank expression masking whatever brews and boils beneath his surface.

"I'm going to lie down," You speak so low that you are confident your parents do not hear you. However, this fact does not stop you from walking away from the watchful eyes. You catch the tail end of your mother asking Stilgar what occurred on your travels. Will he tell them he knows?

He will not, and you know this, but still, the idea plagues your mind with an ever-present curiosity. By nightfall, you lay in the same position, painfully awake in the dead of night. Not a lick of sleep finding you. Stilgar still in your mind. If he knows of your abilities, what more does he know. How far does his knowledge really go, and what does that mean for our people, for my family?

You move from your bed, walking on the tips of your toes, the silence almost sickening. With one misstep, it seems as though your entire community will hear you. When you reach out to the sand, the night sky greets you with a cool breeze. You sit on the ground, the spice of the desert wafting up, tickling your skin. Out in the distance stretches what appears to be an endless desert, but you know out there are all your answers. The pull you feel makes your vision blur before the earth crashes, and the last tangible thing being the itch of the sand on the back of your neck.

When your eyes open again, you frown. Inside an aircraft, Paul sits with his head hanging. His hands bound behind him, cloth gagging him. Behind you, his mother holds her composure as she watches the Harkonnen men. One pilots the aircraft while the other stands idling behind him.

"Paul," You call out, glancing up. His eyes widen at the sight of you. Your eyebrows furrow at the lack of control. You did not intentionally enter this astral plane, yet all of Paul's mind now sits accessible to you. In this haze, only one thing sticks out to you, clear as day—they will die here.

The feeling of your heart in your throat makes your eyes water. Uncertain of what you can do, Paul's mother signs to him—her eyebrows pinched. After a few minutes, the aircraft comes to an idle, one Harkonnen moving to open the back while the other removes the cloth from Paul's mouth.

"You have to do something," Paul says, earning a look from the Harkonnen. He ignores it, looking directly at you. His mother follows his gaze where you stand to find an open space. You look at the Harkonnen, taking a deep breath, a sudden dizziness overtaking you. A cold feeling greets your skin before you move forward, thumb to his forehead and pointer finger to his temple.

"Sleep," You say, watching his eyes shoot open before all his mind contains floods you. A shudder shoots through your body as his crimes rip through you sharper than the edge of a sword. The sticky feeling of blood on your palms burns into your skin as if his memories are your own. A cry leaves your lips as the astral plane crumbles. Your eyes open, a loud scream leaving from the base of your chest and scratching up your windpipe. Thrashing around, you miss how your father holds you and your mother fails to ease your violent cries.

"You're okay! You're home, baby. You're home," Your mother holds a controlled tone as your father keeps your shaking to a minimum. A sob leaves you as your father plays with your hair rocking you back and forth. Grimacing, your eyes burning with a deep ferocity. You catch the slightest glimpse of Stilgar. He watches you wearing the same blank expression as before. The look you share feels like a secret, a joke of sorts that only the two of you understand.

Your mother brings you to bed, and no one dares to ask what happened. The icy moment of clarity sends a shudder rushing down your spine, so intense you flinch. Mother has been right all along. The confines of your room bring little solace, and the hours mesh together into a tireless loop.

When your mother returns in her hands, she carries hot tea and a slice of bread. You do not acknowledge her presence, so she settles on the edge of your bed instead. Her eyebrows pull as she contemplates her following words, a frown on her lips that does nothing to curb the terse silence.

"What happened?" She asks. The question's fair, but the line has blurred an unclear distinction between the Harkonnens psyche and your own. You open your mouth to speak, but nothing leaves you. How can one explain the Duke's son, his mother, or the aircraft?

It melts into nothing as the Harkonnen's memories sit in your brain, carrying them as your own. Your mother hovers her hand over your shin, and you stare at it with a downcast gaze. Looking up reveals the full scope of your tears, your head throbbing. Your mothers' eyes close for half a second as your arms wrap around her shoulders. She flinches first, her hands later snaking around you. The light squeeze she offers soothes your trembles.

"I—I have never seen such—malice, such disregard for life. Such brutality outside of self-defense," You sob into her shoulder as her hand moves up the base of your neck, supporting your head as if you were still a babe. Shifting down, you rest your head on her lap, and she rubs her hand across the top of your hair.

"I am so sorry you had to experience that, my love," She says. You do not see the confusion on her face as she tries to soothe you. Resembling the moments you would both share long before puberty arrived at your door.

"I'm sorry I did not listen to you, Mom. I just—" You pause at the crack of your voice, the burning sensation creeping up your throat with the watering of your eyes. Shaking your head, a dry chuckle leaves you in a poor attempt to mask your shakiness, "I really wanted my gift to mean something, but what I saw—Mom, I can't help anyone. Not when people like that are out there."

"Nonsense. You are special, my girl. You are destined for something amazing. No man nor Harkonnen is going to take that. Do you hear me?" She leans down by your ear with a warm tone. The small part of you nagging at your core, even in one of your most profound moments, still hiding a piece of yourself away from your mother. Closing your eyes, the room falls into a dark abyss, and your mind draws blanks for the first time in a long time.

When you wake from your dreamless slumber, silence becomes your companion. You make no attempt to move, the calm bringing a sense of solitude. Training with Chani, you silently thank her for not asking questions. The intense girl focuses solely on not allowing you to beat her. Neither of you yields, furthering the sparring match. Both your muscles ache, and you huff. You catch the faint sight of Stilgars suit. He moves so fast you barely see him. The lack of attention on Chani lands you on your back. She sweeps her leg at the floor before immediately aiming at you on the ground. You sigh before yielding. She has you.

Neither of you says a word as she offers her hand to help you from the ground. Jamis rushes by in the same direction as Stilgar, his stillsuit on—sword ready. Chani glances at you before you both rush to put on your stillsuits. You both move covertly as you find many of your people surrounding the Duke's son and his mother.

"—was there when you came to my father's council," Paul explains. Dirt marks his skin, and his mother wears deep bags beneath her eyes. Stilgar mocks Paul as though he did not immediately recognize him as Jamis grows bored of the conversation.

"Why are we waiting. Let's take their water," Jamis says, but Stilgar announces that no one can touch him. You frown at his words as whatever he refers to, you are not privy to the conversation.

"How can he be the Lisan's al-Gaib?"

"He hasn't proven himself."

"They are weaklings," Jamis unsheathes his sword disregarding the others as his eyes focus on Paul and his mother. You frown as your mother voices how she agrees with Jamis, "We cannot trust them, Stilgar."

"Enough!" Stilgar roars silencing your people before his eyes rest back on the remainder of the Atreides family. "That was a brave crossing they made in the path of Shai-Hulud. He does not speak or act like a weakling. Nor did his father."

"My thumper saved his life," Jamis points out, but Paul frowns before speaking. He keeps his tone level as his eyes scan your people, "My friend saved our lives. She is amongst your people."

"Go back to reason, Stilgar. He speaks of an impossible journey undetected by our people. He's not the one," Jamis says. Unaware of your abilities as your people doubt Paul, it eases everything that has worried your mind. Who is aware, and who is pretending? Paul's mother steps forward, voicing their alliance, if your people help them, they will help your people. A relatively simple transaction, in theory.

"What wealth can you offer beyond the water in your flesh?" Stilgar challenges, but you watch how Paul cannot remove his gaze from your father. You resemble him most while taking your mother's personality. "The boy is young. He may learn our ways. He may have sanctuary, but the woman is untrained and too old to learn."

Stilgar's words are clear, and your chest aches at the reality before you. Paul will not allow your people to kill his mother without a fight, and your people will give him that fight. Jamis goes for Lady Jessica; first, she maneuvers his arm away from her as she turns and reaches Stilgar, kicking out his back leg and bringing your leader to his knees. A knife at Stilgars throat, watching as Paul runs to the top of the split rock and aims down at your people. Closing your eyes, you focus on Paul before they open once more.

In the astral plane, you stand behind him as he aims down. Placing your hands on his shoulder, he flinches as you whisper, freeze.

Paul's eyes bounce frantically as he tries to catch sight of what constricts every muscle in his body at once. When you finally move into his view, he can only see your eyes as cloth hides most of your face.

"I am sorry, but my people come first," You whisper, looking down at Lady Jessica, who still holds your leader. Stilgar appears unfazed. He looks up at you without care. He eyes the blank space where no one but Paul can see. Yet Stilgar still finds a way to assert his awareness of your presence. You cannot hear what's said, but you release your hold as Stilgar cuts the top of his wrist, granting them countenance.

"(Y/n)," Paul whispers. Sheathing your knife, you stand, offering him a hand, which he takes. On his feet, Paul's hand lingers in your a second too long. You both freeze before swiftly pulling away.

"Only Stilgar and my parents know of my abilities. If you are to join my people, do know the secret of my capabilities keeps us all alive," You say, walking down the split rock without waiting for a response. Stilgar greets you both at the bottom of the rock. He commends your fast action before he turns to Paul.

"A gift. Give it to me. You will have your own maula pistol when you've earned it. Give it to me," Stilgar says as he places Chani in charge of Paul and Lady Jessica's entry of journeying with your people. You frown but say nothing as your mother joins your side. Jamis grimaces, his gaze unchanging. You take a cautious step toward him.

"Don't." You speak barely above a whisper. Your pointed stare only garners a chillingly calm glare.

Jamis speaks only for your ears. He stands rigid, "The boy clouds your judgment."

"Your anger clouds yours," You stand your ground, the air dry and thin as the attention shifts to the two of you.

"I will not have them," Jamis looks past you with a cold glare. One could mistake his stare for stoicism if not for the disdain that outlines his tone. He wants blood.

"Jamis, I have spoken. Be still," Stilgar's slow and gruff tone carries an authority you never dare to question. You look from Stilgar to Paul, uncertainty binding you both—bound by a nature beyond you.

"You talk like a leader. But the strongest leads, she bested you," Jamis speaks with a confidence you have only known Stilgar carry. You take a cautious step away from your mentor, your eyes locked on Stilgar. Stilgar does not move, his calm demeanor blanketing him, his ease clashing against the tension of Jamis's defiance. You can never grasp it, the pull that lingers around Stilgar, compelling all around him to listen. It's far more than his strength. You all know it, "I invoke the amtal."

Your eyes grow wide. Looking at Jamis, you open your mouth, but nothing leaves you. Stilgar's words do not reach you, the thumping in your chest ringing in your ears. Shifting your weight between your feet, you frown, the light trembling in your hand drawing your attention. None of it makes sense. Someone dies here today. You look down at your hand to find it still, yet a tremble still plagues you. Crossing your arms, you stand straight, wincing at the radiating pinch up your side as your body tenses.

You maintain a neutral stare, a glaze covering your eyes. A wall between your emotions and the others around you. The next few seconds blend in a disorienting haze. Paul shall be his mother's champion. You step back as he stares down at your mentor. The tremble of your hand still prevalent though your hand remains stagnant, heart beating in your ears at the speed of a sandworm though your chest reveals a steady rhythm.

"Poor thing, he looks terrified," Your father mutters, placing a hand on your shoulder. Your mother speaks with Jamis, insisting he revoke his challenge. A useless act, the challenge has been set—someone must die.

"Why do you say that?" You ask, looking at Paul, and your father speaks casually, "His eyes are glassy and cold while he keeps bouncing on the balls of his feet, heart probably racing. Then look at his hand. It's trembling."

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