#1984 au | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

novaursa · 2 months ago

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Of Gods and Men (contact)

This is Dune/GOT/HOTD/FAB/ASOIAF crossover AU that you've voted for. If you always wanted to see House Targaryen in space, I got you. Please note how some of the lore of both universes is bent to blend in both worlds. This is my original idea that I've been cooking for at least two years. Be gentle with my work, and enjoy the ride.

- Summary: House Targaryen survives their ancient exile after being overthrown by House Corrino and the Bene Gesserit. Fleeing to the unknown planet Albiron, the Targaryens build a hidden civilization powered by drakaon crystals, reviving their dragons and creating advanced technology. Millennia later, whispers of their survival begin to surface as the Bene Gesserit confront a mysterious Red Woman on Arrakis, who warns of a coming Prince That Was Promised destined to challenge their control. The Targaryens secretly prepare to return, ready to reclaim their legacy.

- Paring: reader!Daenys Targaryen/Leto Atredies

- Note: For more details about House Targaryen and their technology, please check out the masterlist.

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: exodus

- Next part: daenys

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround

- A/N: The reader will have much more larger role in the next part as plot is established better.

The transport starship of House Vex shuddered as it emerged from the shimmering folds of space, settling into the cold, dark void at the exact coordinates it always did. This part of the unknown universe was rarely traveled, its stars dim and uncharted, hidden far beyond the grasp of the Imperium’s prying eyes. The black and sleek ship, known as Vassel's Edge, gleamed under the faint light of distant stars, its wing-like solar collectors retracted as it prepared for its next stage of the journey.

Captain Harl Vex, a stout man with sharp green eyes and a graying beard, stood at the helm, his fingers tapping methodically on the command console as he surveyed the coordinates. This route was familiar to him, yet today something felt different. His ship was not carrying its usual crew; today, several guests from House Ix were aboard, their curiosity piqued by the mysterious buyer House Vex delivered to.

Harl glanced over his shoulder to where the members of House Ix were seated—three of them, watching the starfield with a mix of intrigue and impatience. The leader of the group was Serus Ix, a tall, thin man with cold blue eyes and a keen intellect that had earned him a reputation as one of the finest minds in his House. Beside him sat Xyla Ix, his younger sister, who shared her brother’s sharp features but had a more cautious demeanor. Lastly, there was Daric Ix, an engineer known for his fascination with all things technological, his mind always whirring with possibilities.

“Coordinates confirmed,” Harl muttered under his breath as the ship's scanners hummed to life. “Now, we wait.”

As if on cue, the space before them flickered, and a green light began to sweep over the ship. The Ixians exchanged glances as the green light pulsed along the ship’s exterior, scanning it methodically from bow to stern.

“What is that?” Daric asked, his curiosity piqued as he leaned forward. “Some sort of advanced scanning technology?”

Captain Vex glanced at him but continued monitoring the readouts. “Precautionary measure,” he said calmly. “From the station where we’ll be delivering the spice. They’re very particular about security, especially with the type of cargo we’re carrying.”

Serus leaned in, his eyes narrowing. “Station? I thought we were meeting a buyer directly. Why all this secrecy?”

Harl gave a thin smile, knowing better than to reveal too much to his guests. “That’s how things are done out here, Serus. House Hightower controls the sentinel stations in this part of space. They keep watch for intruders. We deliver the spice there, and it’s transported elsewhere. And today…” He turned to face Serus fully. “…the mysterious buyer has agreed to meet with you, as per our arrangement.”

Before Serus could press further, the comms crackled to life.

“Vassel’s Edge, you are cleared for docking,” came the calm, authoritative voice of the station commander. “Proceed to docking bay three. You have passengers aboard from House Ix?”

Harl nodded, toggling the comms. “Confirmed. House Ix representatives are aboard, as agreed.”

There was a brief pause before the commander’s voice returned. “They will be escorted to the meeting hall upon arrival. Follow docking instructions precisely.”

The communication ended abruptly, and Harl guided the ship forward, feeling the slight pull of the station’s gravity field as they neared the massive structure. The sentinel station loomed ahead, a dark silhouette against the backdrop of stars. Its angular design was distinct, built for both defense and secrecy, with long spires extending outward, each armed with powerful weapons and sensors capable of detecting any intruder who dared approach this part of space uninvited.

The docking process was smooth, as it had been many times before for Harl. The massive bay doors of the station slid open, revealing the illuminated interior where several other ships, all smaller and less significant than Vassel’s Edge, were docked. The ship glided in silently, its wings folding back as it gently touched down on the docking platform.

As soon as the docking clamps secured the ship, the bay doors sealed shut behind them, and the interior lights of the station grew brighter. The docking platform was already bustling with activity—station personnel moving about, preparing for the next phase of the spice transfer. But amidst the commotion, a group of armored guards stood waiting by the entrance to the station’s inner corridors.

Captain Vex stood and turned to the Ixians. “This is where we part ways for now. The commander will escort you to the meeting hall. I suggest you tread lightly—our hosts are not known for their patience.”

Serus, Xyla, and Daric rose from their seats, adjusting their formal House Ix attire. “We can handle ourselves,” Serus said coolly, though his eyes betrayed a flicker of uncertainty.

The group exited the ship together, stepping down the ramp onto the station floor. The guards were waiting for them, each clad in dark, matte armor that seemed to absorb the station’s artificial light. Their helmets were faceless, their identities concealed, but their presence alone was enough to signal the station’s seriousness about security.

“Welcome to Sentinel Station,” one of the guards said, his voice distorted slightly by the helmet’s modulator. “Follow us. The meeting will begin shortly.”

Without another word, the guards turned and led the group down a long, sterile corridor that wound through the heart of the station. The walls were smooth and metallic, illuminated by thin strips of white light that cast long shadows as they walked. The air was cool, almost too cool, and there was an unsettling quiet that settled over the group as they moved deeper into the station.

As they walked, Daric couldn’t help but whisper to his sister, “This place feels…off. Like there’s something they’re not telling us.”

Xyla gave a subtle nod but kept her gaze forward. “Keep your thoughts to yourself, Daric. We’re guests here, not investigators.”

Serus remained silent, his mind turning over the possibilities of what they might encounter. The technology they had seen so far—advanced scanners, cloaked guards, and now this hidden sentinel station—was far beyond what they had imagined. Whoever this mysterious buyer was, they were clearly operating on a level House Ix had not yet attained. And that intrigued him more than anything.

Finally, they reached a large, reinforced door at the end of the corridor. One of the guards stepped forward and keyed in a code, and with a soft hiss, the door slid open, revealing a dimly lit meeting hall. The room was circular, with a wide table at its center and chairs arranged neatly around it. The air here felt different—charged, as if something unseen was watching them.

As they entered, Serus glanced around, his sharp eyes scanning the room. “Where is our host?”

Before anyone could answer, a new voice echoed from the shadows at the far end of the room.

“Patience, Serus Ix. All will be revealed in time.”

The Ixians turned as a figure emerged from the darkness—a tall, slender man with sharp features and piercing eyes that seemed to glow faintly in the low light. He was dressed in dark robes that shimmered like liquid, and though he moved with grace, there was an unmistakable air of authority about him.

Serus stepped forward, his curiosity now fully piqued. “And who might you be?”

The man smiled, though it did not reach his eyes. “I am simply a representative of the one you seek. And today, we shall discuss matters of great importance. Matters that will shape the future of your House…and perhaps the galaxy itself.”

Serus, Xyla, and Daric exchanged silent, uneasy glances as the figure before them—the one who had introduced himself as their host’s representative—lingered in the shadows. But something else caught Daric’s eye.

In the far corner of the room, barely visible in the low light, a creature crouched silently, watching them with glowing yellow eyes. Its body was massive, covered in thick, jagged plates of rock-like exoskeleton. Its breath was slow, rumbling, almost volcanic in nature. Daric stiffened, recognizing the creature from his brief studies on unknown ecosystems. It was a Volcanic Stalker, one of the creatures rumored to inhabit remote planets in uncharted territories. The beast’s eyes locked onto him, unblinking and watchful.

Xyla noticed it next, her hand reflexively inching toward her belt where a concealed blade rested. But before either of them could act, the man from the shadows spoke again, his voice calm, almost amused.

“Don’t worry,” he said with a hint of a smirk. “It doesn’t bite—unless commanded.” He stepped fully into the light, revealing more of his features: dark, sharp eyes, and long silver hair tied back in a neat braid. His presence was both regal and intimidating, every movement deliberate. “I am Vaegor, Master of Whispers for House Targaryen. You’ve been brought here to discuss matters that transcend your understanding, but first, sit. We have much to discuss.”

As the Ixians sat, the doors to the chamber opened with a soft hiss, and four figures entered the room. Serus, Daric, and Xyla turned to see who approached, and their breath collectively caught in their throats.

Leading them was Dragonlord Aenys Targaryen—a figure of unmistakable authority. He was tall and broad-shouldered, his regal face framed by long silver-blond hair, eyes a deep violet that seemed to glow with the intensity of one who commanded dragons. His presence filled the room with palpable power, his black robes embroidered with a subtle red three-headed dragon, the sigil of his House. His gaze was calm but fierce, the weight of centuries of tradition behind him. He moved with the grace of someone who had nothing to fear.

Behind him were his three children. First, his eldest son Aelor Targaryen, a young man with strong, chiseled features. He shared his father’s silver-blond hair, but his eyes were darker, like polished amethyst. He wore armor under his cloak, displaying his role as both prince and warrior, his expression cold and unreadable.

Next was Maelor, the younger brother. His resemblance to Aenys was striking—almost identical in appearance except for a faint scar that crossed his left brow, a mark of some past battle. His lilac eyes scanned the room with a playful glint, though his presence was no less commanding. His movements were more fluid, almost casual, yet there was an undeniable danger lurking beneath his calm demeanor.

And finally, you, Daenys Targaryen, Maelor's twin. Your pale blonde hair framed a regal face that bore the marks of your father’s lineage, though it was softened by a scattering of freckles across your cheeks. Your eyes were lilac, like your twin brother’s, but there was a depth to them that seemed to flicker with fire, as if the very soul of a dragon rested within. You were dressed in dark, flowing garments embroidered with symbols of your House, and you carried yourself with the grace of someone who spent more time on dragonback than on land.

Vaegor’s voice broke the silence, gesturing toward the newcomers. “May I present Dragonlord Aenys Targaryen, and his children: Aelor, Maelor, and Daenys.”

At the mention of the name Targaryen, the Ixians immediately stiffened. Serus, who had been the most composed, shot up from his chair, his face a mixture of shock and disbelief. His hand instinctively reached for a weapon that wasn’t there.

“House Targaryen?” Serus blurted out, his eyes darting between the four figures. “Impossible. You—you’re supposed to be—”

“Sit,” Aenys commanded, his voice cutting through the air like a blade. It wasn’t a shout, but the sheer authority behind the word was enough to make Serus’s knees buckle. He slumped back into his chair, unable to defy the Dragonlord’s presence. The room fell deathly silent, the tension thick enough to choke on.

Aenys’s violet gaze lingered on Serus for a moment longer before he slowly took his seat at the head of the table, his children standing behind him, their expressions unchanging. He leaned forward, fingers steepled beneath his chin, as he addressed the Ixians.

“I believe you called this meeting to negotiate an exchange,” Aenys said, his voice measured, cold, and powerful. “You seek our technology, and in return, I wish to know—what do you offer?”

Serus, still visibly shaken, struggled to regain his composure. Xyla, quicker to adapt, took over, her voice steady despite the tension. “We… we offer you more spice, the strain your House has required in the past. We can increase the quantity and—”

Aenys waved his hand dismissively. “We have no shortage of spice,” he said. “What you fail to realize, Ixian, is that on this side of the universe, spice is not the driving force behind power. We care little for your melange beyond its limited use. Now…” His voice darkened slightly, “I suggest you rethink your offer.”

Xyla faltered, unsure of how to proceed, but Serus quickly interjected, trying to salvage the negotiation. “Perhaps, then, we could offer something more… lasting. A mutual exchange of knowledge. We control a harvesting field on Arrakis—one with access to the specific strain of spice you seek. We can offer you independent access to it, so your House may harvest the spice for your needs without reliance on intermediaries.”

Aenys’s eyes narrowed slightly, and a smile—more predatory than pleased—touched his lips. “Interesting. It seems you understand your position well, Serus Ix. You’re desperate, I see, but clever.”

Vaegor, the Master of Whispers, stepped forward, pulling out a piece of parchment from his robes and placing it before Aenys. The Dragonlord signed it with a flourish and then slid it across the table to the Ixians. Xyla’s breath hitched as her eyes fell on the parchment. In the corner of the document was the unmistakable seal of House Targaryen—a three-headed dragon in red wax, sealing the agreement.

Aenys leaned back in his chair, his gaze still fixed on Serus. “You will deliver this agreement to your Emperor,” Aenys said, his voice soft but laced with an unmistakable threat. “And let it serve as a warning to him. House Targaryen has returned, and the things to come will make even the most powerful Houses of the Imperium tremble.”

Serus, his heart pounding in his chest, nodded stiffly, unable to tear his eyes from Aenys’s cold, violet stare.

As the Ixians gathered their things, preparing to leave, one thought echoed in their minds: House Targaryen, the House thought to be destroyed millennia ago, was not only alive—they were stronger than ever. And they were preparing for something that could change the balance of power in the galaxy forever.

The grand chamber of the Imperial Palace on Kaitain, with its towering columns of polished marble and intricately woven tapestries, was unusually quiet. Normally bustling with courtiers, representatives from the Landsraad, and the Emperor’s various advisors, today it was a scene of growing anticipation. Serus Ix, along with his House delegation, stood before the Emperor himself, flanked by the shadowy figures of the Spacing Guild’s representatives.

Emperor Shaddam Corrino IV sat upon his gilded throne, his expression unreadable as he held the parchment in his hands. His elaborate robes, adorned with the finest silks and jewels, did nothing to soften the cold fury building in his gaze as he scanned the document. The Imperial Court had never been known for warmth, but today annoyance in the room was well felt.

Serus shifted his weight uneasily. He had delivered the parchment just as instructed, but now that it was in the Emperor’s hands, the weight of what he had seen on that distant sentinel station seemed heavier than ever. The Targaryens—an extinct House by all accounts—were not only alive, but they were thriving, powerful enough to conduct negotiations that would change the galaxy. And now, the Emperor was reading their terms.

As Shaddam’s eyes reached the bottom of the parchment, they landed on the seal—the unmistakable sigil of House Targaryen: a red three-headed dragon imprinted in wax. His expression darkened, and the room seemed to grow colder.

Shaddam’s gaze snapped up, fixing Serus with a piercing look that seemed to burn through his very soul. “Is this a joke?” the Emperor asked, his voice low and deadly, laced with disbelief and a simmering rage. “You bring me this? An artifact of some long-dead House? Have you lost your mind, Serus?”

Serus straightened, trying to steady his voice. “It is no joke, Your Majesty. I saw them with my own eyes. I spoke to the Dragonlord himself, Aenys Targaryen, and his children. They are very much alive. They control a strain of spice unlike anything we’ve encountered—”

Shaddam stood abruptly, his robes billowing as he stepped down from the dais, his face mere inches from Serus’s now. “And you claim to have made a bargain with them? With ghosts? With the very House that once tried to challenge the rule of House Corrino?”

Serus swallowed hard, his mind racing. “Yes, Your Majesty. House Targaryen is no ghost. They’ve remained hidden in the unknown regions of space, and they have advanced far beyond what we could have imagined. They agreed to terms—”

“Terms!” Shaddam interrupted, his voice echoing through the chamber. “They have no right to terms.”

The Emperor’s fingers tightened around the parchment before he thrust it toward the nearest representative of the Spacing Guild, a tall, pale figure with a cloak that seemed to shimmer unnaturally in the dim light. The Guild Navigator, whose face was obscured by the folds of his robe, took the document without a word, but the air around him seemed to shift as he examined the seal.

For a long, tense moment, the chamber was silent as the Navigator carefully inspected the parchment. Then, slowly, the Guild representative turned his head slightly, his voice a low rasp. “This sigil…is authentic.”

A murmur rippled through the chamber, but Shaddam silenced it with a single gesture. His fury had turned to cold calculation now, his eyes narrowing as he looked back at Serus.

“You claim to have spoken to this Dragonlord,” Shaddam said, his voice calmer but no less dangerous. “And you saw his…children?”

Serus nodded quickly. “Yes, Your Majesty. They are powerful, and they are not afraid to make their presence known. They have offered House Ix a chance to share in their technology in exchange for exclusive rights to a specific spice field under our jurisdiction on Arrakis.”

Shaddam's eyes darkened further as he processed this. His mind was already calculating the implications of this revelation. House Ix, aligned with a surviving Targaryen faction—this was more than just a political inconvenience. This was a threat to his rule, and to the entire balance of power in the Imperium.

He turned sharply to Serus. “You and your House will not speak of this to anyone,” Shaddam commanded, his voice brokering no argument. “Not to the Landsraad, not to the Spacing Guild, and certainly not to the Bene Gesserit. This stays between us until we confirm the validity of these claims and until this…danger is contained.”

Serus hesitated for a moment but then bowed low, his heart racing. “As you command, Your Majesty.”

But as he straightened, his mind was already working. The Targaryens had offered something far more valuable than the spice itself—knowledge, power, and a chance to align with a force that could potentially rival even House Corrino. If what Serus had seen was real, the balance of the entire galaxy could shift. And he knew one thing for certain: whichever side he chose in this coming storm would determine the future of House Ix.

The Emperor, meanwhile, turned to the Guild representatives. “You will investigate the location of this spice field. I want every detail. If there’s any truth to what Serus claims, we cannot let this go unchecked.”

The Navigator’s cloaked head dipped in acknowledgment, though the inscrutable expression behind the robes remained hidden. “We will investigate, Your Majesty. But be warned… if House Targaryen has indeed returned, they may not be as easy to contain as you think.”

Shaddam’s jaw tightened at the Navigator’s words, but he gave no reply. Instead, he turned back to Serus, his gaze sharp and unyielding. “You are dismissed, Serus Ix. You and your House are now bound to this silence. Fail to obey, and the consequences will be severe.”

Serus bowed once more, backing out of the room as the Emperor’s gaze followed him, cold and threatening. The doors to the chamber shut behind him, but Serus’s mind was already far from the gilded halls of Kaitain.

As he stepped into the shadowed corridors of the palace, Serus felt the weight of his decision pressing down on him. On one hand, obedience to the Emperor. On the other, the potential alliance with the most powerful House the galaxy had never forgotten—House Targaryen, reborn in exile.

For the first time, Serus truly understood the danger that lay ahead. But his mind, ever pragmatic, began to turn toward the future. The Emperor could issue his orders, and the Guild could investigate all they liked. But once dragons returned to the stars, no command from Kaitain would be able to stop them.

And Serus Ix would need to decide—whether to stand with the crumbling Empire of Shaddam Corrino or to pledge his allegiance to the rising flame of House Targaryen.

For in the coming war, neutrality was not an option.

The icy winds of Arctis howled across the desolate expanse of the frozen planet, biting through even the most advanced thermal suits of the Atreides forces as they huddled in the shelter of a hastily constructed outpost. The sky above was a constant swirling gray, the heavy clouds thick with snow, casting an eternal twilight over the ice-covered landscape. This world was a brutal, inhospitable place—its temperatures always well below freezing—but it was also strategically vital. Positioned at the very fringe of Atreides territory, it served as a critical point of control in the ongoing struggle between House Atreides and their bitter rivals, the Harkonnens.

Duke Leto Atreides stood at the edge of the outpost’s overlook, his cloak flapping in the wind as he stared out across the snowy plains. His breath formed faint clouds of vapor in the frozen air, but his gaze was steady, focused. This was not the first time the Harkonnens had made a move in contested space, but something about this situation felt different. Strange. And it concerned him.

Duncan Idaho, his most trusted swordmaster, approached from behind, his footsteps crunching in the snow. “My Lord,” Duncan said, his tone quiet but urgent. “Our scouts have confirmed Harkonnen forces are moving deeper into the eastern sector. We’ve also detected strange activity near their base. It’s… divided their attention.”

Leto turned, his expression darkening. “What kind of activity?”

Duncan glanced toward the tactical console set up inside the shelter. “Unknown, my Lord. But it’s enough to pull Harkonnen resources away from their main defense. They’re not focused entirely on us.”

The Duke’s brow furrowed as he considered this. “They’re being distracted?”

“More than that,” came a gruff voice from behind them. Gurney Halleck, Leto’s loyal warmaster, approached, his scarred face creased with concern. “We’ve picked up starship signatures entering and leaving Arctis’s orbit—unknown ships. Our sensors can’t get a clear reading, almost as if they’re cloaked by some kind of technology or interference. The planet’s extreme conditions are messing with our equipment, but it’s more than just the cold.”

Leto’s eyes narrowed. “Cloaked ships?”

“Or something close to it,” Gurney replied grimly. “Hawat is already analyzing what we’ve got, but he says whatever’s happening here is beyond what either the Harkonnens or we have access to. This is something… different.”

Thufir Hawat, Leto’s master of assassins and the greatest Mentat in the Imperium, stood nearby, watching the exchange with his cold, calculating eyes. His mind worked faster than most, and he had already drawn several conclusions before any of them had finished speaking.

“We don’t have much data,” Hawat said, his voice clipped, efficient. “But we know this: someone else is playing in this frozen field, and they don’t want to be found. They’ve drawn the Harkonnens’ attention, but we’re not immune to the consequences of whatever game they’re playing. The unknown activity is concentrated near the Harkonnen base, but it’s close enough to our location that it could interfere with our operations.”

Leto’s expression hardened. The cold winds of Arctis might have frozen the planet, but the battle for control here was heating up. The Harkonnens had escalated their presence on Arctis, no doubt hoping to force a confrontation, and now it seemed they weren’t alone in their schemes. The unknown starship signatures added another layer of complexity to an already volatile situation.

“If the Harkonnens are distracted,” Leto said, “this might be our best chance to strike before they consolidate their forces. But we can’t ignore this other activity.”

He looked to Duncan and Gurney. “We’ll investigate both—whatever the Harkonnens are doing, and this unknown presence. I want answers before we engage in a full-scale confrontation.”

Duncan nodded. “We have a tactical advantage if they’re divided, my Lord. If we move quickly, we can investigate the source of these unknown ships and the activity near their base without drawing their full attention.”

“I agree,” Gurney added, his hand resting on the hilt of his blade. “But we need to be careful. Whoever’s out there isn’t playing by the same rules. They’ve got technology that’s far beyond what we’ve seen, and if they’re operating here, it means they’re invested in this conflict. We don’t know what they want yet.”

Leto paced for a moment, weighing the risks. The cold bite of the wind and the ever-present tension between the Atreides and Harkonnen forces swirled in his mind, but there was something deeper gnawing at him—this unknown factor. The possibility that a third party was manipulating the situation couldn’t be ignored.

He stopped and turned to face his men. “We can’t wait for the Harkonnens to make the first move. Duncan, Gurney, prepare the men. We’ll send strike teams—one to probe the Harkonnen base and watch for retaliation and the other to investigate the unknown activity. We’ll hit both targets simultaneously and find out what’s happening here.”

Hawat stepped forward, his voice calm but firm. “I’ll oversee the scouting of the unknown presence. If there’s a larger plot at work, I’ll find it.”

Leto nodded, his decision made. “We move at dawn. Prepare the forces. We’ll take control of this planet, but we’ll do it on our terms.”

Duncan, Gurney, and Hawat all gave sharp nods before turning to leave, their tasks clear. As they walked away, Leto stood alone for a moment, staring out at the endless white expanse of Arctis. The wind howled louder, and in the distance, he could see the faint glimmers of movement—Harkonnen forces, just on the horizon.

But beyond them, there was something else. Something hidden. Something dangerous.

As Duke Leto turned back toward the outpost, preparing for the battle ahead, one thought kept echoing in his mind: the Harkonnens weren’t the only threat on this frozen world.

And whatever this unknown presence was, it could change the balance of power in the galaxy.

He only hoped they were ready for what they would find.

The winds of Arctis were relentless the next morning, cutting through the layers of thermal gear worn by Duke Leto and his elite soldiers as they pressed forward into the endless snowfields. The cold was so biting it seemed to seep into their bones, but the Atreides were disciplined, their determination unwavering despite the planet's hostile environment. The icy terrain crunched underfoot as they made their way deeper into the region where the strange activity had been detected.

Duncan Idaho had split off with a squadron to the east, tasked with probing the Harkonnen base and the surrounding areas, while Gurney Halleck led another group to the west, scouting for potential ambushes. Leto had remained with Thufir Hawat, the Mentat whose abilities made him invaluable for solving the riddles of this mysterious situation. Their own squad of Atreides soldiers—veterans of countless engagements—moved like shadows in the frozen landscape, their black and green armor stark against the white snow.

As they pressed on, one of Leto’s men, Sergeant Kellor, held up his hand, signaling for a halt. His visor was scanning the horizon, his breath clouding in the freezing air.

"Sir," Kellor said, his voice crackling over the comms. "We’ve picked up a strange communication frequency. It's intermittent, but definitely coming from somewhere nearby. We can’t make heads or tails of the language used, though. The computer’s unable to translate it."

Leto's brow furrowed as he glanced at Hawat, who had moved closer, his analytical mind already at work. "Play it," Leto ordered, his voice calm but with an edge of curiosity.

Kellor nodded and tapped a few commands into his handheld device. The crackling static of the transmission cleared for a moment, and then a strange, melodic language filled the airwaves, harsh yet flowing, each word clipped yet carrying an odd rhythm. The sound was like nothing Leto had heard before—alien, otherworldly.

The Duke exchanged a glance with Hawat, who remained silent as he listened carefully, his sharp eyes narrowing as he absorbed the unfamiliar cadence. The rest of the soldiers stood quietly, their faces tense with confusion as they waited for Hawat’s assessment.

After a moment, Hawat shook his head, still staring at the ground as if deep in thought. "This… this is unlike anything I've encountered," he said, his voice quiet, as though admitting the strangeness was something unnatural for a Mentat. "I've processed hundreds of languages, dialects, and communication codes—this doesn’t match any known language or communication in the Imperial database."

Leto frowned, feeling the weight of the moment. "Are you saying the language is alien in nature, Thufir?"

Hawat looked up, the cold wind making his aged features appear even more severe. "I can’t say for sure, my Lord," he replied carefully. "But this language isn’t recorded in any of the archives I’ve accessed, not even in obscure historical records. If it's from the known universe, it has evaded detection for centuries. It could be something ancient… or it could be something entirely unknown."

Leto's eyes flickered with unease. "Could it be something the Harkonnens are involved with? Perhaps they’ve found some way to mask their communications."

Hawat's lips pressed into a thin line, calculating. "Possible, but unlikely. Even the Harkonnens don’t have the capability to create an entirely new language that doesn’t register in the databases. They might be brutal, but they’re not that subtle."

Leto folded his arms across his chest, looking out over the icy landscape as the strange transmission continued to play softly in the background. The language—though unrecognizable—held a sense of power, a kind of ancient authority that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. What was happening on Arctis? Who—or what—was behind this?

Before Leto could respond, the communication channel crackled again, this time shifting to a frequency they recognized all too well: the harsh, guttural tones of Harkonnen comms.

A voice came through, cold and authoritative, instantly recognizable. It was Feyd-Rautha, the sadistic nephew of Baron Vladimir Harkonnen and heir to the Harkonnen dynasty.

"All units, this is Feyd-Rautha," his voice came through the comms, clear despite the interference. "We’ve detected Atreides forces in the region. Press forward and engage them if they approach. Do not let them interfere with the operation. Prepare artillery in the ravine and set an ambush. I want her captured alive. No mistakes."

Leto’s head snapped toward the comm device. "Her?" he repeated under his breath, exchanging a puzzled glance with Hawat.

Hawat’s keen mind was already racing, analyzing the situation. "Whoever this 'her' is, it seems important enough for Feyd-Rautha to mention specifically. And they’re setting an ambush, expecting her to fall into it."

Leto's face hardened. "Who could they be after? We haven't received any reports of an allied presence here, and no one outside House Atreides should be involved in this sector."

Hawat nodded thoughtfully. "It’s possible the unknown presence we've been detecting is their target. They could be focusing on this other entity—whoever or whatever it is—and they’re trying to capture it alive. This would explain why their attention has been divided between us and this unknown activity."

Leto ran a hand through his hair, his mind racing. Between the mysterious language, cloaked starships, and now a Harkonnen ambush set for an unidentified target, things were growing more complex by the minute. This was no longer just a skirmish for control of Arctis—it was a web of intrigues with more than two players. The unknown ships that had evaded detection, the strange communications in an unrecognizable language, and now the Harkonnen pursuit of someone—or something—they wanted alive.

Leto turned to his men, his voice steady and commanding. "We proceed as planned. We’ll investigate the source of the unknown activity first and gather more intel before engaging the Harkonnen forces. Be prepared for anything—we don’t know who or what we’re dealing with, and we need to avoid getting caught in Feyd-Rautha’s trap."

The men nodded, tightening their grips on their rifles and checking their equipment. Kellor and the other soldiers moved quickly, their faces hard with focus as they prepared to head into the cold unknown.

Leto glanced at Hawat. "Stay sharp, Thufir. If this is something beyond what we understand, we’ll need every ounce of your expertise."

Hawat’s face remained impassive, though his eyes gleamed with the intensity of a man whose mind was already unraveling the strands of a complicated puzzle. "I’ll do what I can, my Lord. But this situation is like nothing I’ve encountered before."

The wind howled as the squadron of Atreides soldiers began their march across the frozen terrain, their black silhouettes cutting through the snow. Somewhere ahead, in the icy ravines and under the gray skies, lay answers to the mysteries that had plagued this mission from the beginning. The Harkonnens were closing in on a target they desperately wanted captured, but Duke Leto knew there was more to this than just a battle over territory.

There were new players in the game—players who wielded unknown languages and technology that defied Imperial understanding.

And whatever forces were converging on Arctis, Leto was determined to uncover the truth.

The cold air bit into his face as they pressed forward, the distant hum of unknown ships hidden in the clouds above, while Feyd-Rautha’s voice still echoed in the back of his mind.

"I want her captured alive."

Who was she?

And what secrets did she hold that could sway the balance of power in this frozen war?

The biting wind of Arctis clawed at Duke Leto’s face as he and his men pressed forward, the ice beneath their feet cracking with each step. The cold felt more oppressive now, not only because of the temperature but because of the growing tension. The mysterious communication, the Harkonnen ambush, and now the unknown forces—it was all a dangerous puzzle, and Leto knew they were walking into something far bigger than a mere territorial skirmish.

They rounded a bend in the frozen terrain when Sergeant Kellor, moving ahead of the group, stopped abruptly and signaled the others to halt. His visor focused on something embedded in the ice just ahead, partially hidden by the snow. Leto stepped forward, his eyes narrowing as he approached.

There, carved into the rock face and faintly illuminated by the low light of Arctis’s sun, was a sigil. A three-headed dragon, carved with precision, its wings stretched wide in a majestic, powerful pose. It was unlike any emblem Leto had seen in his years as Duke, and as he studied it, he felt a strange chill run down his spine—something beyond the cold of the planet.

“I don’t recognize it,” Leto said quietly, running his gloved fingers over the smooth carving.

One of the more experienced soldiers who had been trailing behind with the rest of the men, stepped forward to examine the sigil. “Nor do I, my Lord,” he said, his voice thick with caution. “It’s nothing like any House sigil we’ve encountered in the Imperium.”

Thufir Hawat, ever calculating, approached last, his eyes scanning the sigil with intense focus. “It’s not in any of our records,” he confirmed after a moment. “No known House or faction uses this symbol. This is… ancient, perhaps. Or new—something we’ve never encountered before.”

Leto stared at the three-headed dragon for a moment longer, his mind racing. Something about the design felt intentional, as if it held a deeper meaning. He didn’t know what it was, but he could feel its significance like a weight pressing on his chest. The unknown forces they were dealing with—whoever they were—had marked their presence here, and it was clear now that the Harkonnens were aware of them too.

“We press on,” Leto ordered. “Whatever this is, we need to know who or what we’re dealing with.”

As they continued deeper into the icy landscape, the faint sound of distant gunfire reached them. It was intermittent at first, but quickly grew louder as they approached. The sounds of a skirmish—blaster fire, the roar of engines, and the unmistakable clamor of combat—echoed through the frozen ravines.

Before Leto could issue new orders, the comms crackled to life, and Duncan Idaho’s voice came through, tense but composed as ever. “My Lord, we’ve just engaged Harkonnen forces. They’re not willing to negotiate—they’re attacking on sight. They’ve set up an unauthorized military base in this region and appear to be mining something.”

“Mining?” Leto repeated, his eyes narrowing. “Any sign of the unknown presence?”

“None yet,” Duncan replied, his voice carrying a hint of frustration. “So far, it’s just angry Harkonnens. But whatever they’re mining, they’re guarding it fiercely.”

Before Leto could respond, the sound of engines roaring overhead made the entire squad stop and look up. Through the swirling snow, they saw Harkonnen ornithopters streaking across the sky, their dark, beetle-like bodies weaving through the clouds.

But they weren’t alone.

Leto’s eyes widened as he spotted other ornithopters engaged in a furious dogfight with the Harkonnen craft. These new ornithopters were unlike anything he had ever seen before. Their design was sleek, almost organic, with dragon-like wings that flapped in a rhythmic motion, propelling them through the air with an uncanny fluidity. Their hulls were dark, shimmering with strange patterns that shifted in the light, making them difficult to track as they maneuvered with extraordinary agility.

“Those aren’t Harkonnen,” Kellor said, his voice laced with astonishment. “Or any craft from the Imperium. I’ve never seen designs like that—not even from Ix.”

Leto’s mind raced as he watched the alien ornithopters engage the Harkonnen forces with brutal efficiency, their strange, draconic forms weaving through the air as if they were living creatures rather than machines. Blaster fire lit up the sky as the Harkonnen ornithopters desperately tried to keep pace with their attackers, but it was clear the unknown craft were superior in every way.

“What in the name of the Emperor…” Leto muttered under his breath.

Suddenly, the ground beneath them trembled, and the sounds of combat intensified from the ravine ahead. Without wasting a second, Leto signaled for his men to follow him as they moved to a nearby vantage point overlooking the ravine. What they saw below sent a ripple of shock through the Atreides forces.

The ravine was a chaotic battlefield. Harkonnen soldiers, their black-and-yellow armor standing out against the snow, were locked in brutal combat with unknown forces. These new combatants moved with an elegance and ferocity that was both terrifying and awe-inspiring. Clad in dark armor that shimmered with the same shifting patterns as the alien ornithopters, these warriors fought with a combination of energy weapons and what appeared to be swords—sleek, deadly blades that carved through Harkonnen soldiers with ease.

Leto scanned the battlefield, his heart pounding. The unknown forces were smaller in number, but they fought with a precision and intensity that was overwhelming the Harkonnens. And above all, there was something… regal about them, something that reminded him of ancient stories of noble warriors, legends of long-lost Houses.

“What are we seeing?” Kellor whispered, his voice filled with disbelief.

Leto didn’t answer immediately, his eyes locked on the chaos below. He could see the Harkonnen forces were struggling, and the sounds of artillery preparing in the distance confirmed that Feyd-Rautha’s plan was already in motion. They were trying to capture someone—whoever these unknown forces were, they were the target.

“We need to make a decision,” Hawat said, his voice low and urgent. “Do we engage the Harkonnens now, or wait?”

Leto’s mind raced. The Harkonnens were setting up an ambush, preparing to take one of the unknown fighters alive. The mystery of who these new players were gnawed at him, but one thing was clear—they were not Harkonnen allies. And in this frozen war, an enemy of the Harkonnens might just be an ally worth risking.

Leto made his decision, his voice firm and steady. “We aid the unknown forces.”

Kellor nodded, already moving into position. The Atreides soldiers, disciplined and battle-hardened, began their advance, preparing to enter the fray below.

Leto glanced at Hawat, who simply gave a small, knowing nod. Whatever was happening here, the Atreides were about to gamble on a new piece in the deadly game of Houses.

The battle was chaos, pure and unrelenting. Leto and his men charged down into the ravine, their rifles and blasters cutting through the freezing air as they joined the fray alongside the unknown forces. The sound of energy weapons echoed across the icy terrain, mixing with the clatter of steel and the guttural shouts of Harkonnen soldiers. The Atreides elite moved with precision, each strike calculated, their disciplined tactics overwhelming the scattered Harkonnen forces caught in the heat of battle.

But as the skirmish raged on, the sky above began to darken further, the winds of Arctis growing fiercer. A blizzard was rolling in fast, the snow whipping around them in thick, swirling clouds that obscured vision and muted sound. The temperature plummeted, the icy wind slicing through their gear with cruel efficiency.

Leto ducked behind a rocky outcrop, scanning the battlefield. The unknown warriors fought like a well-trained phalanx, their movements fluid, graceful even. They fought hand-to-hand with swords that shimmered with a strange energy, their forms difficult to track in the blizzard, while Harkonnen forces struggled to hold their ground.

Just then, a sudden rumble beneath the ground signaled the arrival of more Harkonnen artillery. Leto’s comms crackled to life as one of his soldiers shouted over the noise, “Heavy Harkonnen reinforcements inbound, my Lord! Artillery moving into position!”

The ground trembled as Harkonnen tanks and artillery rolled into the ravine, their massive cannons swiveling toward the embattled forces. Explosions rocked the frozen ground as heavy artillery shells began to fall, sending plumes of snow and ice into the air. The battlefield had descended into a brutal slugfest, and the freezing winds only made it harder to see, hear, or strategize.

“Push forward!” Leto shouted, his voice barely carrying over the storm. “We can’t let them surround us!”

The Atreides forces continued their advance, but as the blizzard intensified, something strange cut through the howling wind. It was a sound, sharp and high-pitched—a shriek that seemed to come from above, distant at first but growing louder with each passing second.

Leto looked up, straining to see through the swirling snow. His heart pounded in his chest as the shriek pierced the air again, this time closer. He could make out flashes of something—dark shapes moving through the storm, circling overhead. He tried to focus, to make sense of what he was seeing, but the blizzard was too thick.

Then, suddenly, fire exploded from the sky.

Two Harkonnen ornithopters, their engines roaring as they maneuvered through the storm, were struck by something unseen. They burst into flames, spiraling down from the sky, crashing into the icy ground below in fiery explosions. The shockwave knocked several Harkonnen soldiers off their feet, while the remaining ornithopters struggled to evade whatever had attacked them.

Another shriek cut through the storm, followed by the faint whistle of something large slicing through the air. Another Harkonnen ornithopter was struck, its hull exploding in a brilliant flash of fire as it fell in a blazing arc toward the ground. The heat from the explosions briefly warmed the frigid air, casting flickering shadows through the blizzard.

Leto’s eyes narrowed as he tried to discern the source of the attack, but the storm obscured everything. All he could hear were the shrieks and whistles, and then more explosions as Harkonnen forces began to retreat, their voices echoing in panic through the comms.

“They’re retreating!” Gurney’s voice came through, his tone both surprised and urgent. “The Harkonnens are pulling back, my Lord!”

Leto crouched behind the cover of a large boulder, his breath coming out in heavy clouds as the explosions gradually subsided. The sounds of battle were fading, replaced by the howling wind and the eerie quiet that followed. Whatever had attacked the Harkonnens had forced them into retreat.

Suddenly, through the snow, Leto saw a figure approaching, emerging from the storm like a ghost. The figure wore sleek, dark armor that shimmered in the dim light of the fading explosions. As the figure drew closer, Leto could make out the faint glow of a symbol on the armor’s chest—the same three-headed dragon sigil they had seen carved into the ice earlier.

The figure stopped a few paces from Leto and his men, lifting the visor of his helmet to reveal a young man’s face, though most of his features were still obscured by the armor.

“I am Aelor,” the young man said in a calm, confident voice, his eyes sharp and piercing beneath the helmet. “And I believe I owe you thanks for your assistance, Duke Leto of House Atreides.”

Leto blinked in surprise, his breath catching for a moment. The man had spoken his name with certainty, as though he had known exactly who they were all along. “You know who we are?” Leto asked, his voice steady but filled with curiosity.

Aelor smiled faintly beneath his helmet. “Of course. We have been watching your House for some time, though you may not have been aware of it.”

Leto’s eyes narrowed. “And who are you exactly? This planet is under Atreides jurisdiction.”

Aelor’s expression became more amused, the cold wind whipping around him as he crossed his arms. “This planet,” he said slowly, “and all the others you call your domain, once belonged to us. Long ago.”

The cryptic response only deepened Leto’s unease, but before he could press for more answers, Aelor gestured toward the stormy landscape. “This is no place for conversation. There is much to discuss, but not out here in the cold. Our base is not far from here. Follow me, and I will explain everything.”

Aelor spoke a few quick words in the same unknown language Leto and his men had overheard earlier, and moments later, several alien-looking vehicles rolled up through the snow. Their design was unlike anything Leto had seen in the Imperium—sleek and organic, as though they were crafted from living metal. The transport vehicles stopped beside Aelor, their hatches sliding open with a hiss.

Leto hesitated for a moment, his instincts warning him against walking into an unknown situation, but there was no denying that Aelor and his forces had saved them from being overwhelmed by the Harkonnens. Whoever they were, they had power—power that Leto needed to understand.

He turned to his men, his decision made. “We’ll follow them. But stay alert.”

As Leto and his men began to climb into the alien transport vehicles, he activated his comms, reaching out to Duncan and Gurney. “Duncan, Gurney, report.”

Duncan’s voice came through, steady despite the wind. “My Lord, we’ve just secured the area. The Harkonnens have retreated, but they’ve left behind traces of their mining operation. Whatever they were after, they were pulling resources fast.”

“Did you encounter the unknown forces?” Leto asked, his eyes scanning the strange interior of the transport vehicle.

“Negative,” Duncan replied. “We’ve only dealt with Harkonnens so far. No sign of anything else.”

Leto paused, glancing at Aelor, who was giving orders in his own tongue to the other soldiers. “We’ve made contact with an unknown force. I’m following their leader now—he’s taking us to their base. Keep an eye on the Harkonnens and secure our position, but be ready for anything.”

“Understood, my Lord,” Gurney chimed in. “Be careful. Whatever this is, it’s not something we’ve seen before.”

Leto cut the comms and settled into the transport as it hummed to life, gliding smoothly over the snow and ice. As the vehicle moved through the storm, he couldn’t shake the feeling that they had just stumbled upon something far greater than they had ever anticipated.

The transport vehicle hummed steadily as it glided through the blizzard, cutting a path through the thick snow that swirled around them. Inside, the atmosphere was stifling. Duke Leto Atreides sat near the front of the transport, observing the man seated across from him—Aelor, the leader of these unknown forces. Beside Leto, Thufir Hawat sat in silence, his sharp mind undoubtedly racing to process the implications of everything they’d witnessed. A few of Leto’s most trusted men, who had managed to fit into the vehicle, remained quiet but alert, their eyes darting around the strange alien interior.

Leto, his curiosity piqued but tempered by caution, turned his gaze to Aelor. The young man sat with his helmet still on, but through the visor, Leto could see the faint glimmer of his eyes, steady and watchful.

“What are your people doing here?” Leto asked, his voice measured, though his instincts told him there was far more to this situation than a mere skirmish with the Harkonnens.

Aelor leaned back slightly, his armored form relaxed yet commanding. His voice was calm when he replied, though there was an edge to it. “House Harkonnen became aware of our presence some time ago. They’ve been trying to dig out what remains of our underground structures—structures that have been buried for centuries. They seek to take what does not belong to them.”

Leto raised an eyebrow, intrigued but wary. “And what exactly were these underground structures used for? They must be important to draw the Harkonnens’ attention.”

For the first time, Leto saw Aelor hesitate, his eyes briefly widening behind his visor, though he quickly composed himself. There was something deeper here, something that Aelor wasn’t revealing.

“They can’t use what’s inside,” Aelor said after a brief pause, his tone more guarded now. “But it is not theirs to collect. The Harkonnens are digging for something they don’t understand.”

Leto studied Aelor carefully, but before he could press further, Hawat leaned forward, his cold, analytical voice breaking the silence. “We intercepted Harkonnen communications before we engaged them. Feyd-Rautha mentioned they were after someone—her specifically. Who is this person they’re so desperate to capture?”

Aelor’s gaze shifted to Hawat, and this time, there was no hesitation. “They’re after my sister,” he said plainly, his voice carrying a note of protectiveness. “She was the one who disrupted their operations. The Harkonnens know they can’t use what’s in the structures, but they believe capturing her will give them leverage.”

Leto exchanged a glance with Hawat, their minds both running through the implications. The Harkonnens were desperate—enough to launch an all-out assault to capture one person. Whatever was buried in those ancient structures, it was important enough for them to risk everything.

Before Leto could ask more, the transport began to slow, and Aelor’s voice cut through the silence. “We’ve arrived.”

The vehicle came to a stop, and as the doors slid open, a blast of cold air greeted them. Leto and his men stepped out into a base unlike anything they had ever seen. The structures were sleek, dark, and seamless, built with a design far more advanced than anything in the Imperium. But what struck Leto most was the banners that hung from the tall spires around the base—banners bearing the three-headed dragon symbol he had seen carved into the ice earlier.

“This way,” Aelor said, gesturing for them to follow.

As they moved deeper into the base, Leto couldn’t help but notice how the design felt both familiar and alien. There was an elegance to the architecture, a flowing, organic quality that reminded him of ancient stories from his studies as a boy.

They entered the central structure, and Aelor led them into a large command center. Inside, a team of soldiers worked at strange, holographic consoles, their faces hidden by sleek helmets. A massive map of the surrounding area was projected above them, showing the positions of both Harkonnen and unknown forces.

Aelor turned to face Leto and his men, and with a quiet hiss, he removed his helmet. The sight of his features caught Leto off guard. Aelor was young—his face regal, with high cheekbones and silver-blond hair that fell in soft waves around his shoulders. His eyes, the same piercing violet that Leto had only seen in old records, glowed faintly in the dim light of the command center.

For a brief moment, Leto took a step back, his heart racing as a flood of recognition washed over him. The sight of Aelor’s face—his silver hair, his violet eyes, the unmistakable grace of his movements—triggered a memory long buried in the depths of Leto’s mind.

“Welcome, Duke Leto,” Aelor said, his voice now softer, more formal. “To House Targaryen’s command center.”

The words struck Leto like a blow. House Targaryen. The name sent a shockwave through his thoughts, dragging him back to his youth, to the old histories he had studied in the Atreides archives. He had read of House Targaryen—once a powerful dynasty, one of the most feared and revered Houses in the galaxy, known for their dragons and their near-mythical strength. But they had been eradicated—wiped out thousands of years ago in a war that had shaped the balance of power in the galaxy for millennia.

Yet here they were. Alive. And not just alive, but powerful—strong enough to face off against the Harkonnens with technology far beyond anything Leto had ever seen.

Leto felt a surge of disbelief as the implications of what he was witnessing set in. He opened his mouth to speak, but before he could form words, a sharp voice cut through his thoughts.

“Duke Leto,” Hawat said, stepping forward, his voice a warning. “Stay focused.”

Leto blinked, his mind snapping back to the present. He glanced at Hawat, who was watching the situation with the same sharpness as ever, though Leto could see the tension in the Mentat’s eyes. This was no ordinary encounter. Whatever House Targaryen had been in the past, they were a force to be reckoned with now.

Aelor, watching Leto carefully, smiled faintly. “I see you recognize the name. Good. It saves us some time. There is much to discuss, Duke Leto, and many answers I’m sure you seek. But for now, we must prepare. The Harkonnens won’t stop their pursuit of my sister. And if they succeed, they may uncover things that should remain buried.”

Leto, still processing the magnitude of what was happening, nodded slowly. His thoughts raced, but there was one question at the forefront of his mind.

“What do you intend to do?” Leto asked.

Aelor’s violet eyes gleamed with determination. “What we have always done, Duke. Protect what is ours. And in the process, perhaps we can show you that this galaxy is not as small as you once believed.”

The warning in his words hung heavy in the air, and Leto realized with certainty: whatever lay ahead, the fate of House Atreides—and perhaps the entire galaxy—was about to change.

- A/N: The timeline of these events will be made clear as the story expands. Everything written here has a purpose for future events that will happen.

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