#IMPERIUM ALLIANCE

[nnn-lll-nnn]

// spot on //

<25MM :: FIRING>

</>Good kill, good kill.</>

</>Uh we've got a runner here</>

</>You gonna get that persoN$?</>

<40MM :: FIRING>

</>Yeah good kill I see a lot of aerially dispersed remains</>

</>More troops coming from the T shaped building on that piece of elevated terrain to the southeast</>

</>Uh, elevated terrain?</>

</>Yeah it's the hill or like, the ridge directly west of the church</>

</>Roger. Crew, go ahead and smoke em when you can confirm a POSITIVE, EPID</>

[doolallymagpie]

realized I could probably get something out of “orthodox mechanicus sect decides they need an edge on those hereteks from argos cincinnatus, and end up in an alliance with phaeron ashad of the great telosian dynasty” as a plot

so damned loyal to the “true” omnissiah that they go full xenos-loving heretic

[ferrettaur]

this board state is Fucking Abysmal and I'm having so much fun

[farsight-the-char]

You could shift it into satire again by playing up the importance of Tau and other Xenos factions as the actual “good guys” and The Imperium as the decaying Empire (with the Emperor being responsible for the destructions), but that would require GW to actually bite the bullet and admit 40k is Not the “Battle for the Soul of Mankind” between The Imperium and Chaos.

...

I will personally blame the Horus Heresy book series as the root of a lot of 40k’s current problems.

The fundamental tragedy of Warhammer 40K is that it asks "what if Catholicism was fucked up and in space?", then consistently fails to make the theology of Fucked Up Space Catholicism more fucked up than actual Catholicism.

[felassan]

The Art of Dragon Age: The Veilguard preview pages Part One, under a cut due to spoilers. Preview pages come from Google Books.

[Foreword]

[Part Two]

Life in the Tevinter Imperium.

Part One: Post-Inquisition

Top: Returning to Rivain with a precious quest object. Middle: Exploring Par Vollen, the home of the Qunari. Text: Halfway through the development of Dragon Age: Inquisition we created a series of illustrations we called “beat boards” (intended to cover a major moment or “beat”, they are more polished than a storyboard). They proved to be helpful as we brought the game together. As Inquisition was coming to a close, and a sliver of attention was being paid to the next game, we wanted to try doing beat boards right at the start of the game, rather than the middle. With a few general ideas like “We’re going north” and “Maybe there are Titans” and a sense of story momentum, we started creating exploratory beat boards, asking ourselves the simple question: “What would be cool?”

Top: On a secret mission in Tevinter. Bottom: Receiving an assignment from the Inquisitor

The Red Bride's grave.

Top: An old Warden that was avoiding the Calling. Bottom: The first attempt at designing Weisshaupt Fortress. Text: Northern Thedas - Designing the cultures of northern Thedas was like a fun speculative-archaeology project. We were starting with fragments. There were occasional props, characters, or journal entries that hinted at these cultures, and we had to reverse-engineer living, breathing societies from those fragments. The most important aspect was to design them in a way that respected our fans’ engagement with the material but also attempted to exceed their imaginations (or at least do them justice).

Top: In an ancient magical city, some buildings that would have collapsed centuries ago are kept frozen in time. Bottom: Infiltrating the Archon’s throne room.

Middle: One of the first ideas for a player base was a secret lair in Minrathous’s forgotten undercity. Bottom: The very first concept art of Minrathous. Trying to capture the elegance and pride of the Imperium.

Top: The Divine sends out ships to hunt Solas in the hopes that his capture will restore peace to Thedas. Bottom: A Tevinter magister, a Chasind witch, and a Ben-Hassrath commander plot against the player.

Top: A war room in the captain’s quarters. Bottom: We explored making the player base mobile. It would give us water access to most of the regions in northern Thedas.

Top: Early on we explored the return of the griffons – in this case, using them as mounts to hunt dragons. Bottom: Something in the depths has scared the dwarves enough that they’re fleeing to the surface by the thousands.

A coastal town in Rivain.

Top: Elves from all over Thedas answer a mysterious call to Arlathan Forest. Bottom: Exploring a possible endgame scenario where Solas has summoned a Titan in the middle of Minrathous.

Top: Solas returning like a regal figure out of the distant past. Bottom: What if we return to the Fade and rescue whoever was left behind? How would their time in that alien landscape change them, and what insights could they offer into Solas’s plans?

Top: The part runs into their Tevinter counterparts, and they have to work together to survive. Bottom: Solas interrupts your mission, wiping half your team off the board and forcing you to make an unlikely alliance.

Top: Your ship is stolen, and you have to sneak into enemy territory to get it back. Middle: Journey to the heart of darkness to find Colonel Kurts… er, Solas. Bottom: We created piles of sketches and line work to explore story beats. We could iterate quickly and throw things away if necessary.

Top: There are multiple factions in Veilguard. To make sure they were always recognizable, from their buildings to their belt buckles, we began with shape.   Middle: We had explored Tevinter’s shape language in Inquisition, so in their case, it was a matter of expanding on what was established. Some shapes just felt right (like Wardens and the pointed arch). Bottom: A residential Tevinter interior.

Various captions on this page: An upward-pointing triangle for the mages’ college. We explored some sturdy shapes for the dwarves. The Wardens’ pointed arch could be turned upside down into a shield. Rivain has a been a neutral faction, so the circle worked well. The Necropolis factions started with a half-circle “crest”. A downward-pointing triangle for Tevinter. Ben-Hassrath started with an X shape language.

[no captions]

A wealthy Tevinter mansion. To show off, most of the house is built on top of a floating stone slab veined with lyrium. Visitors try not to think about what would happen if the magic was interrupted.

Slice-of-life illustrations like this weren’t prescriptive, but they helped to explore the feel of certain regions we had only ever heard references to.

Rivain is a trade center. It’s one of the places where you’ll see the greatest overlap of cultures.

[no captions]

Tevinter is a complicated place. While there are lofty towers and powerful magisters, we also wanted to explore what the daily life of Tevinter might be.

Top: Peaceful beginnings, gentle giant gardeners, and curious spirits. Middle (1): The spirits saw the dwarves as they tended to the Titans, and they wanted to try making bodies for themselves. Middle (2): The spirits made physical bodies for themselves from the “flesh” of the Titans. The first elves were born, and the first war began. Bottom: A brutal war raged on between the elves and the Titans, only ending when one elf (Solas) rendered the Titans “tranquil”, capturing their souls.

Top: The elves brought a powerful war trophy home. Middle (1): With the Titans rendered tranquil, dwarves lost their connection to magic. They fled into the bodies of their fallen homes. Bottom: With the power that came from the captured Titan souls, the elves built the greatest empire Thedas would ever see.  

Top: Solas fought against the self-proclaimed gods, earning the title “the Dread Wolf”. Middle: The gods drew upon the power of the Titans’ souls to gain more power. The imprisoned souls became twisted with rage. This became the Blight. Bottom: To contain the Blight outbreak, Solas performed a desperate blood-magic ritual. He bound up the magic of the world behind a Veil and powered it with the blood of the evil gods. Text: Black Codex – There was a top-secret document on BioWare’s network that contained the objectively true history of Thedas called the Black Codex. Each culture had its perspective, its own emphasis and style, and over time more was added and taken away. It was decided to reveal a lot of truth in this game, so early on we wanted to illustrate the Black Codex. This would help to act as a visual guide to the events that formed Thedas as we know it.

Top: What remained of the elven empire collapsed. The early human empire of Tevinter discovered it in shambles. Bottom: Eons later, the Blight reached out to power-hungry Tevinter magisters through their dreams. They were lured to the Golden City, but the magisters found it already blackened by the Blight.

Various captions on this page: At this stage, just about anything goes. Writers and artists both have ideas for what kind of characters they’d like to try, so we dump them all out on the table. We created some comics to explore the tone of the story. Some of these characters were designed specifically for that purpose. The Heir of Andraste: Finding the last living descendant of Andraste, a rough-around-the-edges warrior living among the barbarians. The Gladiator: A Tevinter gladiator that has earned her freedom. Her arm’s protected by mail made of keys from all the slaves she has rescued. She wears her former shackles as rmor: a reminder and a threat.

Various captions on this page: The academic and the mage college scholar forced into the field. Initially we work from very simple premises, often only a couple of words, like “happy necromancer” or “Qunari assassin”. An awakened darkspawn mercenary. Text: Early on we thought about creating a new set of advisors for your ship. It’s satisfying to revisit characters from previous games, especially if time has passed. It’s a chance to try and make their story visible. In this case, we see a Morrigan that has embraced her new gift, who can offer insights into the mysteries of magic and the ancient elven world. This version of Dorian is like Mathis from Casino Royale, someone who can advise you through all the ins and outs of Tevinter culture. Smuggler Admiral Isabela can get you into and out of just about any port in Thedas.

[ariadne-mouse]

Still thinking about just how deep in it Liliana Temult is. Like in the eyes of the narrative she went from

absent & possibly dead, very sad -> alive just estranged?? mysterious! -> possibly involved in a cult, tragic, can her daughter reach her? -> uncomfortably high up in said cult -> the cult's goddamn General and striking such terror into the local population of the Ruidus that they are afraid of even her appearance or someone who looks like her

Ordinary people who are trying to resist the dictatorial Imperium/Ruby Vanguard alliance and their iron control of the populace are terrified of her. You don't strike terror just by "being there". Terror happens because of actions. And it leaves us to wonder what exactly Liliana Temult has done during her time on the moon to make the citizens fear her so much.

[novaursa]

Of Gods and Men (exodus)

Introduction

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

- Rating: Mature 16+

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

- Next part: contact

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

Millennia before the reign of the Padishah Emperors, before the Guild navigators learned to bend space, and long before the Bene Gesserit began their breeding program, there was another power, a House whose name was whispered with awe and fear across the stars—House Targaryen of Valyria.

In those ancient days, Valyria was a shining jewel of the universe, a world of towering spires and grand pyramids, whose mighty fleets ruled not one world but twelve. From the skies of Laansarad to the distant colonies of Qohar and Sarnor, their banner—a red three-headed dragon on a field of black—was a symbol of dominion, and their words, "Fire and Blood," were a promise. Their secret to power was not only their advanced technology or their skill in combat, but something far older, something the Imperium would come to call "unnatural." For the Targaryens were bonded to creatures of legend—dragons—whose very existence defied the laws of nature and technology.

But their power, their fire, had not gone unnoticed.

Once they emerged, the Bene Gesserit Sisterhood, ever-seeking control of bloodlines to further their goals, had long coveted House Targaryen's strength. Yet they could not penetrate the Targaryen bloodline, for the House was immune to the Sisterhood's manipulations. Rumors abounded that the dragons themselves had gifted their riders with an ancient magic that made them resistant to the spice and to the Bene Gesserit’s arts. The Targaryens did not bow, did not mingle their blood with the lesser Houses of the Imperium, and did not submit to the Sisterhood’s schemes. This isolation, this defiance, would be their undoing.

It began as whispers in the shadows of the imperial court of House Corrino, whispers that spoke of Valyria’s growing influence and its potential threat to the Emperor's rule. Fearing the power of House Targaryen and the dragons they commanded, House Corrino, in secret alliance with the Bene Gesserit and several other noble houses, set in motion a betrayal that would forever change the galaxy.

Without warning, the skies of Valyria turned dark as Corrino's fleets descended upon the planet like locusts. Great dreadnoughts unleashed their fury, raining nuclear fire upon the unsuspecting cities. The Targaryens, though powerful, were not prepared for such treachery. The star cities of Valyria, with their grand pyramids and towering spires, were reduced to ash in a matter of hours. Their colonies—once strongholds of the Targaryen vassal Houses—were similarly annihilated in the firestorm.

The Bene Gesserit, cold and calculating, had played their part well. They ensured that no Targaryen blood would escape their reach, confident that the ancient dragonlords were now a cautionary tale, a reminder that even the greatest Houses could fall.

But they were wrong.

In the chaos, a single fleet—a fraction of the once-mighty armada—managed to escape the inferno. Led by Aenar Targaryen, a visionary dragonlord, and his most loyal vassals, the remnants of House Targaryen fled into the void. Their dragons, too, escaped, fleeing with their riders into the unknown. With the enemy forces closing in, Aenar made the hardest decision of his life. He ordered the abandonment of the civilian starships—hundreds of them—that could not jump through space at the speed needed to escape. Tens of thousands of men, women, and children—innocent lives—were sacrificed to buy time for the chosen few. As the slow ships limped away at sub-light speed, doomed to be caught by their pursuers, the core fleet vanished in the blink of an eye, jumping to coordinates no one in the known galaxy had ever seen.

In their flight, they left behind only death and ruin, convincing the Imperium that House Targaryen was no more. The Bene Gesserit believed the bloodline had been wiped out. House Corrino celebrated their victory, confident that their throne was secure.

But the Targaryens were not dead.

As the surviving ships jumped further and further into uncharted space, their surviving dragons roared in defiance. Aenar Targaryen vowed that his House would rise again. The fire that had consumed Valyria would be reborn, and one day, the red three-headed dragon would fly again over the stars.

Their enemies had only bought themselves time.

In the vast, unknown reaches of space, the last of House Targaryen sought a new home, far from the grasp of the Empire, far from the Bene Gesserit’s eyes. In their hearts burned a single truth: fire and blood. It was all they had left.

And it was all they would need.

Far beyond the reach of the known universe, in the vast and uncharted depths of space, the last of House Targaryen drifted. For weeks, their ships had traveled through the void, their destination unknown, their hopes tethered only to the coordinates embedded in their ancient star charts. Aenar Targaryen, now the sole leader of his House, stood at the helm of his flagship, his mind consumed by thoughts of what was lost and what might yet be found.

Then, the scanners caught sight of something—a planet unlike any they had ever seen. Its atmosphere glowed a rich, deep red, the color of blood under an alien sun. Its oceans shimmered like rubies, and its vast jungles, though strange and wild, thrummed with life. The planet seemed to call to them, a beacon of hope in the darkest night.

"This is it," Aenar said, his voice carrying the weight of a prophecy. "We shall call it Albiron."

As the Targaryen ships descended upon the planet's surface, they found a world brimming with untapped potential. The air was thick but breathable, rich with minerals that nourished the vast jungles below. Towering mountains stretched into the sky, their peaks capped with dormant volcanoes. Aenar made his home there, at the highest point, building a grand pyramid into the volcanic chain that would serve as both fortress and palace. Around it, more pyramids soon rose, connected by a complex nexus of pathways above the dark amber forests. Below, cities began to form, hidden by the jungle canopy, shielded from prying eyes.

Albiron was a world of secrecy, and House Targaryen would see to it that their new home remained unknown to the Imperium and its allies.

As they delved deeper into the planet's surface, they made a discovery that would change the course of their history. In the heart of a vast canyon, buried beneath layers of rock and time, they uncovered a crystal unlike any they had seen before. The crystals, translucent with a faint golden hue, pulsed with an energy that seemed almost alive. Aenar named them drakaon, in honor of the dragons that once ruled Valyria, and the power they held was nothing short of revolutionary.

The drakaon crystals, as they soon learned, could be harnessed as a new energy source. They could be used to fuel their ships, making long-distance space travel possible without the reliance on melange—the spice that had kept the Imperium in control of the stars. For the first time in millennia, the Targaryens were free from the constraints of the galaxy’s economy, free from the Guild's stranglehold on space travel. Their technology advanced rapidly, fueled by the power of the drakaon crystals, and soon, the Targaryens had fleets capable of crossing the stars without detection, fleets that no longer needed to bow to the powers of the known universe.

In secret, they thrived. The cities of Albiron grew more complex and advanced, their pyramids rising higher, their pathways extending further across the planet’s vast jungles. Their ships patrolled the unknown regions, mapping uncharted stars and ensuring that no one would find their new home.

But the greatest secret of all lay within the depths of their new world.

Within hidden caverns, deep beneath the volcanoes of Albiron, Aenar and his descendants built vast hatcheries. Here, using knowledge salvaged from the lost archives of Valyria, they revived their ancient bond with dragons. Clutch by clutch, new dragons were born, their eggs glowing with the same fiery life that had once illuminated the skies of Valyria. The first to hatch was a magnificent beast, its scales a deep, molten red, its eyes like twin suns. They named it Vexarion, a harbinger of the new Targaryen age.

As the hatcheries grew, so too did the dragons, each one bonded to a rider, as had been the tradition for millennia. Once more, the Targaryens flew on dragonback, their fire-breathing companions reclaiming the skies of Albiron. They were stronger, fiercer than ever, their lifespans prolonged by the spice, their health enhanced by the crystals, just as their ancestors had once done. The galaxy believed the last dragons had died millennia ago, but here, on this blood-red planet, they lived—and they thrived.

Under Aenar’s leadership, House Targaryen rebuilt its strength. They did not forget their defeat, nor did they forgive it. But they had learned patience. For now, they would remain hidden, waiting, watching, biding their time in the shadows of the Imperium. They would rise again, but not yet. For now, their future lay in the skies above Albiron, in the bond between dragon and rider, in the power of the drakaon crystals that flowed beneath their feet.

Thousands of years had passed since the fall of Valyria, and the known galaxy had all but forgotten the name Targaryen. House Corrino ruled unchallenged, the Bene Gesserit continued their manipulations, and the spice flowed as the lifeblood of the Imperium. The Targaryens, once feared and powerful, were now little more than a cautionary tale—a story told to remind the galaxy of the dangers of defying the throne.

But in the far reaches of space, beyond the gaze of the Emperor, beyond the Sisterhood’s influence, whispers had begun to circulate. Minor Houses in the fringe systems spoke in hushed tones of strange transactions, of peculiar spice shipments that defied the standard flow of commerce. Most notably, a small, unassuming House known as House Vex had begun to quietly sell a specific brand of spice to select, discreet buyers.

The spice itself was nothing extraordinary at first glance—reddish-brown in color, with the same faint glow that all melange possessed. Yet, when examined closely, it held properties that puzzled even the most skilled refiners. It resisted traditional refinement processes, requiring a unique method of rensfuration to unlock its full potency. And it was always purchased by the same anonymous entity, whose representatives never gave names, never left a trace.

Rumors swirled throughout the Imperium. Some said the spice had properties that could extend life far beyond what even melange could achieve. Others whispered that it had been tailored for use in genetic experimentation, perhaps even to create a superhuman race immune to the Bene Gesserit's influence. The most outlandish rumors claimed it was being used to resurrect a forgotten House, one whose bloodline had been immune to the Sisterhood’s powers millennia ago.

At first, the whispers were dismissed. Minor Houses always had their secrets, after all, and House Vex was hardly influential enough to warrant concern. But as more and more shipments of this peculiar spice quietly disappeared into the unknown universe, suspicions began to grow. The Spacing Guild noticed the irregularities in the spice routes, and the Bene Gesserit began to pay attention. Still, no one dared speak openly of it—House Corrino had no interest in encouraging the notion of a long-lost enemy returning from the shadows.

In truth, the rumors were closer to the truth than anyone realized.

Deep within the jungles of Albiron, the Targaryens had mastered the art of spice refinement—not for their own use, but for their dragons. The spice, in its raw form, had always been a valuable tool to extend human life and grant certain enhancements, but the Targaryens had discovered a very specific strain, a rare and potent variant that, when carefully refined, could do far more. It extended not just the lifespan of their dragons but enhanced their vitality, their strength, their fire. The dragons of Albiron, already magnificent creatures of fire and fury, became more resilient, more powerful than they had ever been in Valyria.

This strain of spice could only be harvested under particular conditions, and it required an even more delicate process of rensfuration, one that took years to perfect. The Targaryens had kept this secret for generations, using it only sparingly to ensure their dragons thrived in exile. And to maintain their anonymity, they allowed House Vex—a small House bound to them in loyalty for centuries—to sell a portion of the raw spice to the wider galaxy, hiding the true purpose of the refined strain.

The transactions were always discreet, the buyers carefully selected to ensure that no one could trace the spice back to Albiron. Yet despite all their precautions, the galaxy had begun to take notice. The mystery surrounding the spice—and the shadowy figures who bought it—grew with each passing year.

The Bene Gesserit, ever watchful, sensed a disturbance in the patterns of the Imperium. Though they could not put their finger on it, the Sisterhood had learned to listen for the subtle currents of power that ran through the universe, and something was shifting. The idea that a House immune to their influence could have survived all these years in secret sent a ripple of unease through their ranks. They began to dig deeper, their agents searching for any clue that might lead them to the source of the rumors.

House Corrino, too, grew wary. The spice trade was the lifeblood of the Empire, and any irregularity in its flow could have disastrous consequences. The Emperor’s spies were dispatched to the farthest corners of the galaxy, though none returned with answers.

Still, the rumors persisted. The spice that had no clear origin. The mysterious buyers from beyond known space. The possibility that a forgotten House might yet live.

In the halls of the Imperium, no one spoke openly of House Targaryen. To do so would invite questions that no one wanted to answer. But in the dark corridors of power, in the quiet whispers between those who dealt in secrets, the name began to surface again.

Targaryen.

Fire and blood.

The galaxy had forgotten them, but House Targaryen had never forgotten the galaxy. And as their dragons grew stronger, as their power in exile continued to build, they waited.

For one day, the whispers would no longer be rumors.

And when that day came, the stars themselves would tremble.

The scorching winds of Arrakis blew fiercely through the narrow streets of Arrakeen, carrying with them the dry scent of spice and the whispers of rebellion. The city, usually shrouded in an oppressive silence broken only by the occasional hum of machinery, now thrummed with tension. A crowd had gathered in the heart of the city, their faces hidden beneath hoods and veils to protect against the harsh sun, their voices rising in fervor as they listened to the woman who stood before them, bathed in the blood-red light of the setting sun.

She was known only as the Red Woman, a stranger from a distant corner of the galaxy, draped in flowing crimson robes that shimmered in the heat. Her eyes burned with an unnatural fire, and her voice, rich and commanding, seemed to cut through the dry air like a blade.

“Brothers, sisters,” she called out, her voice echoing through the square. “You have been deceived! For too long, the Bene Gesserit have whispered their lies into the ears of your leaders, guiding the hand of the Empire toward a future of darkness and death. But the Lord of Light has seen their evil, and He has sent me to show you the truth.”

The crowd murmured in agreement, their eyes locked on the Red Woman as she raised her hands, flames seemingly dancing at her fingertips.

“The night is dark and full of terrors,” she intoned, her voice growing louder. “But there is a light coming, a flame that will burn away the lies of the Bene Gesserit. The false messiah they prepare will lead to the deaths of billions! But the Prince That Was Promised, the true savior, will rise and deliver us from their evil.”

The crowd erupted into shouts of agreement, their fists raised toward the sky as the Red Woman’s message of salvation stirred their hearts. But not everyone in Arrakeen was so moved by her words.

From the shadows of a nearby alley, a figure emerged, flanked by a dozen Bene Gesserit acolytes. The Reverend Mother Gaius Helen Mohiam, her face etched with the lines of age and power, strode forward with the grace of a predator. Her sharp blue eyes took in the scene before her, the riotous crowd, the Red Woman at their center, and the burning passion in their eyes. She had seen such passion before, in other corners of the universe, and she knew well the danger it posed.

The Red Woman turned her gaze toward the Bene Gesserit as they approached, her lips curling into a cold smile. “Ah, the serpents come to silence me,” she said, her voice dripping with mockery. “Do you fear the truth, Mother?”

Mother Mohiam’s expression remained unchanged as she stepped forward, her voice as cold as the sands of Arrakis at night. “You have no place here, woman. You are not of Arrakis, and you bring only chaos to these people. Leave this world, now, or you will face the consequences.”

The Red Woman laughed, the sound high and sharp, cutting through the murmur of the crowd. “I serve only the Lord of Light, not your false Empire or your twisted Sisterhood. You, who claim to see the future, who shape the paths of men to serve your own ends, are the true servants of darkness. You pave the way for a false messiah who will bring nothing but death and destruction to the universe.”

The Bene Gesserit acolytes shifted uneasily behind Mother Mohiam, but she stood firm, her eyes locked on the Red Woman. “You speak of a prophecy you do not understand,” she said. “The future is not for the untrained mind to glimpse. You meddle with forces beyond your comprehension.”

“The future is clear to those who serve the Light,” the Red Woman retorted. “Your Kwisatz Haderach, your so-called savior, will be the harbinger of death. He will lead the universe into a war that will consume entire worlds, killing billions. But the Prince That Was Promised will come, and he will burn away the lies you have sown.”

The crowd began to stir again, their fear and anger rising as the Red Woman’s words took hold. Mother Mohiam could feel the pulse of the mob, the heat of their desperation, and knew that if she did not act soon, this riot would spread like wildfire through the streets of Arrakeen.

“You play with fire,” Mother Mohiam said softly, stepping closer to the Red Woman. “And fire will consume you.”

The Red Woman smiled, her eyes gleaming. “The night is dark and full of terrors, Mother. You would do well to remember that.”

With that, the Red Woman raised her hands, and for a brief moment, flames flared at her fingertips once more before she stepped back into the shadows. Her followers, emboldened by her defiance, began to chant, their voices growing louder as they echoed her words.

“The night is dark and full of terrors. The Prince That Was Promised will come.”

Mother Mohiam watched as the Red Woman disappeared into the crowd, her eyes narrowing in thought. She had faced zealots before, had seen the power of faith wielded as a weapon. But this… this was something different. The Red Woman’s words echoed in her mind, unsettling her in a way few things ever had.

As the crowd began to disperse, the tension lingering in the air like the scent of spice after a storm, Mother Mohiam turned to her acolytes.

“Find her,” she said quietly. “Find her and bring her to me. We must know who she truly serves.”

For a moment, she stood in the empty square, the wind stirring the dust around her feet. She looked up at the burning sky, the twin suns casting long shadows across the desert, and a chill ran down her spine despite the heat.

The night is dark and full of terrors, indeed.

And Mother Mohiam knew that the terrors were only beginning.

- A/N: Let's see how well this does before I post another part.

[fastlikealambo]

holy crowns || paul atreides x black! fem reader

it was supposed to be your sister, your bene gesserit trained sister molded by the great houses, spy for the imperium. with no warning, paul chooses you instead and changes your life forever. some call him messiah, others an abomination, but you will call him husband. 18+only, minors dni note: hello! this takes place after the events of dune part two and Paul is about to become emperor. Irulan and her father are in exile and Chani is gone. i'm so sorry for the wait, I've been writing and rewriting this chapter, and even now I'm not sure if I have Paul's voice right. I hope you like it!

tw: paul has some quick naughty thoughts!

if you wish to see the story continue on beyond this chapter, please comment or reblog!

Chapter One.

Chapter Two.

CHAPTER THREE

THE STEEL IS THE WATER.

Paul Atreides did not dream, he augured.

What great and terrible things existed beneath his eyelids, a pocket world of hope, atrocities, and hopeful atrocities all at the command of the young emperor. 

He was still young, wasn’t he?

There were times when he looked upon his own reflection and saw a thousand Fremen faces, no eyes nor mouth, just Paradise.

 In the corner of his lips, he stole a glimpse of Chani.

At night, in the very edges of his vision, Paul stared at himself and his father stared back.

Yet now, the emperor’s visions turned to you  in bed, still adjusting to the heat, sleeping fitfully, tossing and turning.

He could hold you still to rest if he wanted to, flatten the stress crease between your brows. The sweat between your breasts would not be wasted water for Paul, the tongue of the outer world would lap quick and perhaps venture further south-

No, it was not time.

Paul's sight moved from sleeping you to hundreds of thousands of visions in a single second, your past and futures laid out before your soon to be husband. 

He saw your daughter learning to sandwalk, he heard the laughter of his grandson echoing from Caladan and through his mind’s eye. 

So much love and destruction in between then and now.

  “You give the sister absolute power over the Bene Gesserit, why?” Jessica asked, not bothering to knock before entering Paul’s rooms, ripping him back into the present.

  “So the sisterhood falls in line under me, as you have done, as Alia will do. The sister is the key but I am the door, Mother.”

“Power over the Bene Gesserit is earned, the choice of Mother Superior takes planning yet you give it like a wedding present.”

 “Why does it bother you? You created the prophecy, I led the Fremen through it, the holy war has ended. You have everything you want, and now my bride and her sister are the future of the empire you desired. Is it because you can no longer whisper in my ear?”

Paul loved Lady Jessica.

But long gone were the days of Jessica’s son and he caught the way she looked at him now.

 Reverence, amusement, and just a whiff of fear she believed to be hidden from him but there was nothing anyone, Bene Gesserit or desert mouse, could hide from him, The Water of Life had seen to that.

Lady Jessica had birthed Shai Hulud in human form and yet still wondered why he swallowed the world. 

      “You turned away the most powerful family for an alliance and have given a nameless house two seats at our table. Your new  bride has no training, no rank and you bestow upon your almost assassin the sacred sisterhood.  I’m worried for you, Paul.” Lady Jessica said, kneeling in front of Paul, her son, her product.

   Paul took his mother’s hand gently and looked her in the eye.

THERE IS NO OUR TABLE.

 I AM THE TABLE.

 I AM THE WOOD THAT CARVED IT.

 I AM THE STEEL BENEATH YOUR FEET.

WHEN YOU CRY FOR LETO I AM YOUR WATER.

THERE IS ONLY ME.

“Do we understand each other?”

Jessica was gone before Paul could blink.

He turned his sight back to you, present you, but you were not there.

Lady Jessica had not brought worry to her son, but a distraction.

You had been taken. 

Again, I’m sorry this took so long but I hope it is worth the wait! Thank you for reading!

Tag List

@drunkennunicornn

@fanfiction-addict22

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@qveendiorsworld

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@hoyoooo

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[lya-dustin]

The Last Wolf of Lankiveil

Part 2 of Queen of Light, King of Darkness ft the poll thanks to @jennathearcher @lady-phasma for the idea of the were-feyd fic

Taglist: @avidreader73 @emilykaldwen @cljordan-imperium @beebeechaos @dunefandomhub

Cw: murder, blood, lycanthropy

For all his reputation as a Beast and Count of Lankiveil, Glossu Rabban had not inherited their mother’s true nature thanks to their father’s wretched human blood.

Feyd Rautha had inherited more than just Onir Rautha's name, he had inherited his lycanthropy.

A true Beast, like those who ruled Lankiveil's icy lands before the Harkonnen's hunted them to extinction.

A shame his mother had to die to keep his true nature a mystery from his beloved uncle. As his mother’s son, Feyd will make sure her death wasn’t in vain.

The universe will be ruled by the last Wolf of Lankiveil.

And for that to happen, Paul Atreides and his wife, Feyd’s own sister-in-law had to die. He’d done away with Atreides’ pet and the bastard in her belly, and you deserved a gift as magnificent as the one you gave him that morning in Arrakis.

“We were hoping you could join us for a hunt in my son’s honor.” Feyd gives no indication of what he has planned for the Muad’Dib and the wife he refuses to even touch.

It is not that difficult; his wolf form could not be sensed, and he had received enough training to hone the abilities that would have created the Kwisatz Haderach. He can hide from their visions and escape their control completely.

“I am sure my wife longs to see her sister and our nephew again. We will be there, cousin.” Paul’s eyes hold some suspicion, but their alliance has chipped away at most of it. As far as his cousin knows, Feyd is a simple man with simple pleasures. Give him something to respect in you and a weapon in his hands and he will massacre entire planets in your name.

But the young baron is a father now and his perfect little heir can’t aspire to be his uncle’s heir when his lady mother is far more deserving of the Throne.

You, his Queen of Light, his Nurbanu, deserved the universe.

There is something other about him. Something related to his violent nature and the moon.

You had heard the rumors of the lycanthropy that plagued House Rabban, but one thing was hearing stories about the wolves of Lankiveil and another one was seeing her husband leave for a hunt on a full moon and hear a wolf’s howl unlike aby you’ve ever heard.

Irulan and Paul would be visiting some village across the forest that had myths of the Kwisatz Haderach they wanted to take advantage of.

You weren’t supposed to follow, you were supposed to stay home with Murad who would turn one year old tomorrow. But you wanted to confirm your suspicions.

You arrive at the village to find it in chaos. It had been destroyed as if something ravaged it and its people. Like a one man army.

“The Wolf of Lankiveil!” they shout in fear and adoration. “The Kwisatz Haderach has been destroyed!”

Contrary to popular belief, you didn’t hate your sister. She annoyed you and stood between you and your throne, but you didn’t hate her. And while you knew this day would come, you knew you would feel terrible for murdering her.

Feyd didn’t understand that part, he didn’t have a single positive memory of his brother nor any chance to be a friend to anyone.

You find the wolf at the edge of the village and you smile at the sight of him.

Your guards beg you to keep away, fearing what would happen if the wolf carried you off.

None recognize the blue human eyes in the wolf.

Your Feyd, your husband.

You believed yourself immune to him, that his violence would keep you from ever falling in love with him, but in the end he grew on you. Like mold on rotten fruit.

“So this is where you went off to, dear husband?” you ask the man beast covered in the blood of innocents.

Come with me.

No need to tell you twice. In a fluid movement you’ve gotten on his back and he takes off at breakneck speeds.

It is thrilling, to feel the icy wind around you as you use all your abilities to remain in place. You can hear his laugh echo in yours as you ride through the woods.

Not long after the wolf begins to shift, the fur thinning, the canine body losing its structure in favor of something human like and soon you arrive to his hideout clutching his back. You must look ridiculous piggybacking a bloody and very naked Feyd.

“Did you like your gift, wife?” his black teeth still have blood from where he tore apart his victims and the red staining his snow like skin paints a beautiful picture.

“How could I not, my baron?” you kiss his bloody mouth and show how much you love his gift, how much you love him.

Your daughter ,Asena Rautha, conceived that night, is born a wolf.

Just like her father.

[ship-o-rama]

Name: Narada (alternate) Affiliation: Romulans, None Years: 2387, 2233-2258 Captain: Nero, James T. Kirk, Nyota Uhura

Background: Paths diverged from the original Narada when it the space-time tunnel took it to the mirror universe linked with the universe created by the original Narada time travel. It also arrived in 2233 and also engaged and destroyed the (I.S.S.) Kelvin. The ship and crew became prisoners of the Klingons and spent the next 20+ years at Rura Penthe. The Klingons learned nothing.

In 2258, Commander James T. Kirk, Commander Scott and Dr. McCoy left the Enterprise at the tail end of the Klingon surrender in a pair of shuttlecraft with assault teams and took control of the Narada.

Kirk had already pried the ship's secrets out of the remaining Narada crew and executed Nero himself for the death of his father. Kirk took command of the ship, with Leonard McCoy and Scotty in tow, and intercepted the I.S.S. Enterprise, which had been busy mopping up the war with the Klingons at Qo'noS. There, he reveal the full extent of his betrayal to Spock when Chekov, Sulu and Uhura all beamed to the Narada. As he was boasting to Spock about his Ultimate Plans, Uhura secretly beamed Spock aboard before Narada destroyed the Enterprise.

Kirk contacted Senator Pike and let him know he planned to destroy Vulcan in the name of the Imperium, which was now himself.

Thru the ships databanks Kirk knew that Nero awaited the reopening of the space-time tunnel that brought him there. The Narada made the rendezvous and the anomaly spit out the Jellyfish and another version of Spock Prime.

Scotty cracked the code surrounding Red Matter and it was immediately used on Vulcan. Kirk beamed down to the Katric Ark to gloat to those working there. Then the attack stopped, Uhura having taken control of Narada, killing Scotty. Spock and Spock Prime beamed down to Vulcan to give Kirk a chance to surrender and when he didn't, Spock killed him. Spock was intent on preserving the Terran-Vulcan alliance while Uhura took the ship to Earth to show them a new future.

Appeared in Star Trek: Ongoing Vol. 4, IDW Comics

[nnn-lll-nnn]

!wipingtears

[user-without-a-cool-acronym]

Not sure if I made this post before or only planned to, if I didn't here it goes:

au where Ras, instead of travelling from the Wyldness to imperium to ally with emperor Levo for the capture of a source dragon, he instead goes to the never realm and manages to form an alliance with the ice emperor and vex

[bubblegumflesh]

AU where after the end of House Atreides, Bene Gesserit had Paul join their cult. His first mission is to create alliances with Na-Baron Feyd-Rautha, the new lord of Arrakis. They shouldn't trust the boy whom they killed his father to do such an important task but Paul still did an incredible job—maybe even more than what they asked him to do, as Feyd doesn’t even hesitate when he marches his army to war with the imperium. With Harkonnen’s and Atreides’s soldiers following his will as one army and Paul by his side as a Truthsayer, soft and round with his heir inside his belly, even the Great Houses wouldn’t want to face that. Alliances created after centuries of being enemies are the most terrifying thing after all.

[avispatr]

𝕰𝖉𝖎𝖈𝖙 𝖔𝖋 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝕬𝖌𝖊 𝖔𝖋 𝕴𝖒𝖕𝖊𝖗𝖎𝖚𝖒

" Many of you are aware of the issues that have transpired as of late. The controversy with my son, and all the fallout that has been birthed of this affair. This situation, despite my reluctance to admit it, have showcased the dire need of reform that is necessary for The Ars Goetia to function. I have discussed with our mutual master, Lucifer Morningstar and we have arrived to a joint conclusion. Before I begin listing the changes to come I will give justification through a brief look into our history.

When the rebellion in Heaven failed Lucifer's lieutenants were given their tasks. The sins were given their control over the hedonistic vice of their choice. Alongside them there was us, the Kings and Queens of the Ars Goetia. Our station was to act as minor nobility not tethered to land and sin but to governance. It was our task to rule in the name of Lucifer and his fellows. Thus was the first age of our kin when we Kings and Queens and a handful of what would becomes Earls began the construction of our power and bloodlines.

For centuries this Age of Harmony would go on, the Ars Goetia governed well and selflessly. I do not know the exact time frame that it ended, but as time went on and bloodlines became more powerful with more history a new age was born. This age was one where the Kings, and Queens competed with one another for resources and power. They made alliances through marriage as a means to keep order and their power secure. Factions came into being and the Ars Goetia became a group of wealthy nobles who hardly did much at all for the sake of Hell. We chose to place ourselves on pedestals, lord over the Hell born and sinners we were meant to treat with support. This is what I have come to view as the second age of the Ars Goetia, the Feudal Age.

As time went on and the endless contests and rivalries played out, I would emerge as the King most loyal to our original cause. I would make powerful allies in my piety and faithful service to our master, Lucifer Morningstar. I have traded alliances, bartered my children to maintain my power, and for many a thousand years of effort I have maintained absolute power over our order in all but name. As time has gone on I have only solidified my strength, my legions have grown to the point that I command nearly four times the legions of my closest rival, King Baal. Aside from military strength I have levied my other resources in such a way where the opinions and thoughts of my peers hardly see the light of day and my wealth overshadows them all combined. To summarize, I have won this contest over the Ars Goetia's soul. The people have spoken, our King has spoken. And I am now prepared to begin the third age of our existence, having bested all those who sought to undue us. The Age of Imperium is here.

Effective immediately the council Kings is dismissed and liquified. All former Kings and Queens of the Ars Goetia aside from myself shall have their titles cast aside, replaced by the title of Patriarch or Matriarch. The Ars Goetia shall be governed by an Imperial Administration with myself as its head. I place the crown upon my own head and proclaim myself THE King of the Ars Goetia, and the Tenth Great King of Hell. The Goetia shall continue to define themselves as the Parliamentary class but we shall now have our own seat at the council of nine, now ten.

I do not make this decision simply to take from the men and women who were once my peers. All Patriarchs are to be granted new authority, rather then being a vague individual in our order lording over you all I shall release you. You may each rule your own families as you see fit, no longer will I come to you seeking your aide and children unannounced for marriage. No longer will you be pressured into following my micro management and autocratic tendencies. My chosen cabinet alongside my Imperial family shall see to the governance of yourselves and all else within our designs, we shall not dictate the actions you perform in your politics and personal affairs so long as they do not contradict our own.

For the Imperial family made up of MY descendants I have this edict for you all specifically. All arranged marriages are hereby annulled and the practice is ended. For those couples wishing to stay together you may do so and I shall approve them once again should you elect to continue them. For all others and those who are yet to be wed, you are free to find your love in any way you wish, and with whomever you wish, from a hell hound in the slums of imp city, the royal family of sins, or perhaps no one at all. Let us heal this gaping wound that has placed us in such an unhappy state."

[novaursa]

Of Gods and Men (dreams)

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: hope

- Next part: horizon

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

The skies of Giedi Prime were always dark, the polluted clouds swirling above casting a shadow over the industrial wasteland below. Inside the fortress of House Harkonnen, the air was thick with the smell of machinery and oil, a sharp contrast to the cold, calculating minds that plotted within its walls.

In a grand chamber adorned with banners bearing the Harkonnen sigil, Baron Vladimir Harkonnen lounged in his suspensor chair, its mechanisms humming softly as they lifted his massive form just above the polished floor. Across from him stood Reverend Mother Gaius Helen Mohiam, her dark robes flowing around her like the shadows themselves, her face half-hidden beneath the hood that shrouded her features.

The Baron studied her with a thin, oily smile, but there was a glint of caution in his eyes. “Ah, Reverend Mother, how generous of you to visit my humble home. To what do I owe the pleasure of this... surprise audience?”

The Reverend Mother did not return his smile. Her eyes, sharp and unyielding, bored into him as if seeking to strip away the layers of deceit that clung to him like a second skin. “The Emperor has decided that the time has come to resolve the Atreides problem once and for all,” she said, her voice cold and precise. “He is preparing to send his Sardaukar to Arrakis to eliminate House Atreides—to crush them utterly. And to cleanse the influence of the Red Faith that has taken root in the desert.”

The Baron’s smile widened at her words, his suspensors shifting as he leaned forward slightly. “Ah, so our illustrious Emperor finally makes his move. And here I thought he was content to let the Atreides pup play in his new sandbox a while longer.” His tone was mocking, but there was an edge of eagerness to it.

The Reverend Mother’s gaze hardened. “Do not mistake this for leniency, Baron. The Emperor's Sardaukar will cleanse Arrakis of the Atreides stain, but there are conditions. Lady Jessica and her son, Paul, must be left unharmed. They are of great interest to the Sisterhood, and our plans for them must not be... disrupted.”

The Baron’s expression twisted into a sneer, but he inclined his head, the smile never leaving his lips. “Of course, Reverend Mother. House Harkonnen lives only to serve the Emperor and the Sisterhood. If it is your wish that the witch and her brat be spared, then it shall be done.”

The Reverend Mother studied him for a moment longer, as if weighing the truth behind his words. “See that it is,” she said finally. “And be aware, Baron—there have been... disturbing reports of Targaryen presence in the deep desert. Their alliance with House Atreides complicates matters, but the Sisterhood has no intention of allowing these... dragons to become a new power in the Imperium.”

At the mention of the Targaryens, the Baron’s eyes narrowed, a flash of genuine unease passing across his face before he quickly masked it with another smile. “I assure you, Reverend Mother, I will deal with any... remnants of the dragonlords that dare show themselves. Arrakis is mine by right, and no long-lost exiles will change that.”

The Reverend Mother inclined her head, accepting his words for now. “See that you do, Baron. The Sisterhood and the Emperor will be watching closely. Do not disappoint us.” With that, she turned, her robes sweeping around her as she departed the chamber, leaving only the faint echo of her footsteps behind.

As soon as the door closed behind her, the Baron’s smile faded, his expression twisting into a mask of contempt. He pressed a button on his suspensor controls, and a side door slid open, revealing Pieter de Vries, his Mentat, who had been lurking in the shadows. The Baron gestured him forward with a flick of his wrist.

“Did you hear that, Pieter?” the Baron growled, his voice low and filled with barely contained rage. “The Reverend Mother thinks she can come here, make demands, and expect me to dance to her tune. But I am no puppet to be manipulated by the Sisterhood or the Emperor.”

Pieter’s lips twisted into a thin smile, his calculating eyes gleaming. “Indeed, my Baron. It seems they underestimate your... ambitions. But surely, we can turn this situation to our advantage.”

The Baron’s expression darkened, his hands clenching into fists. “Oh, we will, Pieter. The Emperor will get his war, and his precious Sardaukar can wipe out House Atreides. But make no mistake—I will ensure that none of the Atreides leave Arrakis alive, not even that witch Jessica or her accursed son.”

Pieter nodded, his mind already racing through the possibilities, analyzing the outcomes and angles. “The Emperor will not care how it is done, so long as House Atreides is removed as a threat. And with the Targaryens involved, there may be... opportunities to sow further chaos.”

The Baron’s smile returned, colder and more vicious than before. “Yes... the dragons. They think they can reclaim their place in the Imperium, but they will learn the price of defying House Harkonnen. Let them come, let them play their games in the desert. It will only make their fall all the more satisfying.”

He leaned back in his suspensor chair, the hum of the machinery filling the chamber as he envisioned the destruction to come. “Prepare our forces, Pieter. And make sure our allies are ready. Arrakis will burn... and with it, House Atreides and any dragons foolish enough to stand with them.”

Pieter bowed slightly, his smile mirroring the cruelty of his master’s. “As you command, my Baron.”

As the Mentat turned to carry out his orders, the Baron’s laughter echoed through the chamber, a sound that held no warmth, only the promise of violence and betrayal. And above the smog-choked skies of Giedi Prime, the shadows deepened, heralding the coming storm that would shake the Imperium to its core.

Duke Leto Atreides stood in his study, overlooking the bustling city of Arrakeen from the high windows of the Atreides stronghold. The desert stretched endlessly beyond the city walls, shimmering under the intense sun, but Leto’s attention was fixed on the reports spread across his desk. The room was cool, the hum of the air processors a faint background noise, but Leto’s thoughts were far from serene.

Thufir Hawat stood beside him, detailing the results of the latest shipment of spice harvested using the two new Targaryen harvesters. Leto’s gaze swept over the holo-projections, showing the precise spice yields, the efficiency rates, and the safety margins that far exceeded anything their Imperial models had managed before.

“It’s... remarkable, Hawat,” Leto said, his voice tinged with genuine admiration. “The harvesters have exceeded all our expectations. They’re faster, quieter, and their ability to operate without attracting sandworms is nothing short of revolutionary. We’re producing more spice with fewer losses, and our carryall deployments have become almost unnecessary.”

Hawat nodded, the faint lines of a smile playing at the edges of his stern expression. “It’s true, my Lord. The Targaryen technology is a game-changer. With the yield from this latest operation, we’ve not only met our quotas but exceeded them. It’s no wonder the Harkonnens are rumored to be... less than pleased.”

Leto allowed himself a small, satisfied smile. The Targaryen alliance had proven its worth, and each successful shipment strengthened their position on Arrakis, securing a foothold in the most valuable territory in the Imperium. It was a triumph that even Jessica’s warnings could not dampen—though he had taken her words to heart, he could not deny the potential that this partnership brought.

As Hawat sifted through the remaining reports, he paused, his expression turning more thoughtful. “There’s another piece of news, my Lord—one that I thought you might find... interesting.”

Leto looked up from the reports, curiosity piqued by the Mentat’s tone. “Go on, Hawat. What is it?”

Hawat adjusted his cloak, casting a sidelong glance at Leto. “Lady Daenys Targaryen will be arriving in Arrakeen within the next few days, along with her brothers, Aelor and Maelor, to oversee the resupply of their harvesters and to coordinate the next phase of operations.”

Leto’s heart gave a sudden, unexpected lurch in his chest, a sensation that he struggled to keep from showing on his face. He felt a flash of anticipation, a thrill that he had not experienced in years. But he quickly schooled his expression, adopting a mask of measured calm. “I see,” he replied, forcing his voice to remain neutral. “That’s... good news. It will be an opportunity to discuss further improvements to our operations.”

Hawat’s keen eyes studied Leto closely, noting the subtle shift in his demeanor, the way his shoulders seemed to relax just slightly, the faint edge of excitement that crept into his tone despite his best efforts to conceal it. The Mentat hid a knowing smile behind a cough, returning to the reports with meticulous focus.

“Indeed, my Lord,” Hawat said, his voice carefully neutral. “It will also be an opportunity to strengthen our... relations with the Targaryens. Their presence in Arrakeen could be beneficial for both our House and our operations. I trust you will handle the matter with your usual diplomacy.”

Leto nodded absently, his thoughts already drifting to the upcoming arrival of the Targaryen delegation. He could almost picture you—Daenys—stepping off the transport, your silver hair catching the desert sun, your lilac eyes scanning the cityscape with that same keen intelligence that had captivated him on Arctis.

He pushed the thought aside, forcing himself to remain focused on the strategic importance of the visit. This was a chance to discuss the next steps in their alliance, to negotiate further exchanges that could benefit both Houses. But even as he tried to maintain his professional detachment, he couldn’t entirely suppress the flicker of eagerness that warmed his chest.

Hawat cleared his throat, breaking the moment of silence. “Shall I arrange for the delegation’s arrival, my Lord? And perhaps prepare a more... informal reception?”

Leto met Hawat’s gaze, his mask slipping for just a fraction of a second to reveal a faint, genuine smile. “Yes, Hawat. Make the arrangements. And... ensure that they have everything they need while they’re here.”

The Mentat inclined his head, the faint glimmer of amusement never quite fading from his eyes as he gathered the reports and took his leave. Leto watched him go, then turned back to the holo projector, but the data no longer held his full attention.

He found himself thinking of you again—of the conversations they had shared, the understanding that had grown between them, and the sense that perhaps, in a universe filled with enemies and alliances of convenience, he had found something—someone—he could truly trust.

A soft sigh escaped his lips as he leaned back in his chair, the shadows of the study lengthening around him. He knew that he would have to tread carefully, that the Emperor’s gaze and the Sisterhood’s scrutiny were never far from Arrakis. But for the first time in weeks, he allowed himself once more a moment of quiet hope.

After all, there were dragons in the desert now. And with them came the possibility of change—and perhaps, something more.

The evening sun dipped low over Arrakeen, casting the city in a warm, amber glow. The central square was alive with the quiet murmur of expectation, the air filled with a mix of anticipation and curiosity. Duke Leto Atreides stood at the head of his delegation, flanked by Paul, Thufir Hawat, Gurney Halleck, and Duncan Idaho. The banners of House Atreides fluttered in the dry desert breeze, their hawk sigil illuminated by the last light of the day.

Leto’s gaze swept over the cityscape, his hands clasped behind his back, but he couldn’t hide the edge of nervousness that tightened his shoulders. He glanced at Hawat, his tone carefully measured to conceal his unease. “Are we certain this is the time they said they would arrive, Hawat?”

The Mentat nodded, his expression as impassive as ever. “Yes, my Lord. The Targaryens indicated they would arrive at nightfall. It would be... uncharacteristic of them to be late, given their usual precision.”

Leto suppressed a sigh, trying to ignore the way his heart seemed to quicken in his chest. He forced himself to remain calm, though he couldn’t shake the sense that tonight would be unlike any other night on Arrakis.

And then, as if in answer to his silent thoughts, a series of shrieks split the air, echoing over the city with a sound that was both alien and ancient. Leto’s head snapped up, his eyes scanning the darkening sky. Around him, the rest of the Atreides delegation did the same, their expressions shifting from confusion to astonishment as they turned their gaze upward.

High above the city, three massive shapes broke through the shield wall, their silhouettes outlined against the deepening blue of the sky. Wings as wide as ships beat against the air, sending currents of wind down through the city streets. Roars reverberated through the buildings, shaking the very stones of Arrakeen.

It took a moment for Leto to comprehend what he was seeing, his mind struggling to connect the impossible sight before him with the stories he had heard as a boy—tales of creatures from a time long past. And yet, there they were: dragons, their scales glinting in the dim light, their eyes burning like unknown stars.

The largest dragon—a deep red creature with eyes like embers—led the formation, flanked by a sleek black dragon and a silver-scaled beast whose wings shimmered like moonlight. They circled the city five times, a display of power that sent waves of awe and fear rippling through the populace below. People spilled into the streets, staring up in wonder, some bowing, others whispering hurried prayers to gods they had long since forgotten.

Beside Leto, Paul was wide-eyed, his usual composure shattered by the sight of the dragons. Gurney Halleck, ever the soldier, had one hand on the hilt of his dagger, though he made no move to draw it. And Thufir Hawat, for once, seemed at a loss, his analytical mind grappling with this ancient power that had just revealed itself in the skies above Arrakeen.

Only Duncan Idaho seemed unperturbed, a knowing smile playing at the corners of his mouth as he watched the dragons with a kind of unspoken pride. Leto caught the expression and raised an eyebrow at him, but Duncan merely shrugged, his eyes never leaving the descending forms.

The dragons circled one final time before landing in the square with a deafening thud, their massive forms kicking up dust and sand that swirled around their scaled legs. The ground trembled beneath their weight, and for a moment, the air was filled with the sound of cracking stone and flapping wings.

Leto’s heart pounded in his chest as he watched you dismount from the lead dragon, a creature whose very existence defied everything the Imperium believed to be true. The dragon—your Vexiae, he would later learn—lowered its massive head as you slid gracefully to the ground, your silver hair catching the glow of the city’s lights.

You moved with a confidence that Leto recognized as uniquely your own, a grace that spoke of strength tempered by years of discipline. And in that moment, as you stood before the Atreides delegation, Vexiae looming behind you, Leto felt the stories of his childhood come rushing back to him—tales of dragons and the lost kings who rode them, of flame and steel that once bent the world to its will.

You inclined your head toward Leto, a faint smile touching your lips as you addressed him. “Duke Leto,” you said, your voice carrying easily across the square. “It seems we have arrived... perhaps a bit more dramatically than anticipated.”

Leto found his voice after a beat, forcing himself to step forward, though he couldn’t quite mask the wonder in his eyes. “Lady Daenys,” he replied, inclining his head in return. “You certainly know how to make an entrance.”

Your smile widened slightly, a glint of mischief in your eyes as you glanced back at Vexiae, who was eyeing the crowd with a predatory curiosity. “I thought it might be fitting to... remind your people that they are not the only ones with wonders in the desert.”

Leto’s gaze lingered on the dragon behind you, the creature that had once existed only in myths now standing before him. He felt a shiver run through him—fear, perhaps, or awe—but it was tempered by something else, a sense that this moment was the beginning of a new chapter in the story of Arrakis.

“Welcome to Arrakeen, Lady Daenys,” Leto said, his voice steady now, though his eyes never left yours. “It seems we have much to discuss.”

The main hall of the Atreides stronghold in Arrakeen had been transformed into a place of celebration. House Atreides retainers moved swiftly between the tables, carrying trays of food and pitchers of water and spice wine, their movements precise as they served both their own people and the newly arrived Targaryens. The banners of the red hawk and the three-headed dragon hung side by side, the colors of House Atreides and House Targaryen blending in the dim light of the oil lamps that illuminated the grand chamber.

At the head of the room, Duke Leto Atreides sat with Aelor and Maelor Targaryen, the three of them engaged in a strategic discussion. The Targaryen brothers, with their regal bearing and intense gazes, brought an air of ancient power to the hall that had not been felt since the days of the old empires. Leto spoke animatedly, outlining potential military maneuvers to demonstrate their strength on Arrakis—a move that could secure their shared interests and deter any threats that might arise.

“We must show the Imperium and any would-be challengers that our alliance is more than words,” Leto said, his voice low but firm as he leaned closer to the Targaryen heirs. “A joint operation—a demonstration of force—would serve as a deterrent. It would make clear that House Atreides and House Targaryen are prepared to stand together.”

Aelor nodded thoughtfully, his expression as calculating as his words. “Agreed, Duke Leto. The desert is vast, but even here, power must be made visible. We can deploy our dragons in tandem with your forces to strike at strategic points. Let it be known that this is not a land for those who seek to challenge us.”

Maelor, the younger of the two brothers, smirked slightly, his lilac eyes glinting with a touch of pride. “The Harkonnens thought they could claim Arrakis without resistance. We will remind them of their mistake.”

Leto nodded in agreement, sensing the fierce determination in the brothers. He glanced around the room, catching sight of you, standing near one of the large arched windows with Duncan Idaho and Gurney Halleck. A faint smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as he saw the way you seemed at ease among his people, your silver hair catching the light like a halo in the glow of the lamps.

As the conversation continued at the head table, Paul approached you, his steps slow and measured. He waited for a lull in the conversation before speaking, his tone tentative but carrying an underlying urgency. “Lady Daenys,” he said, inclining his head slightly. “It’s... good to see you again.”

You turned toward him, a small smile curving your lips. “Paul Atreides,” you replied with a note of familiarity, a warmth in your voice that Paul found strangely comforting. It was as if you both spoke a language that others could not hear. “The pleasure is mine.”

Paul shifted slightly, glancing around to ensure that Duncan and Gurney were still engaged in their own conversation before he spoke again, his voice lower this time. “I... would like to speak with you—when you have the time. Privately. There are things we need to discuss.”

You studied him for a moment, your lilac eyes meeting his with an intensity that made Paul feel as if you could see straight through him, down to the very core of his being. But there was understanding there as well, a sense that you knew why he sought you out. You nodded, the corners of your mouth lifting in a small smile. “Indeed, Paul, we do have much to discuss. I’ll find you later, and we’ll have that conversation.”

Before the moment could stretch further, Gurney Halleck nudged you lightly with his elbow, his rough-hewn face softened by a teasing grin. “Now, Lady Daenys, you promised me something back on that frozen rock, remember? A song to warm the soul, and here we are with the perfect setting and all these fine folk. How about you indulge us now?”

Duncan raised an eyebrow, chuckling softly. “I’d like to see that myself. We could all use a bit of music after the past few days.”

You laughed softly, glancing between them before inclining your head. “Very well, Gurney. I suppose I do owe you a song. But you’ll have to accompany me, of course.”

Gurney’s smile widened as he reached for his baliset, the well-worn strings gleaming faintly in the dim light. He adjusted the instrument, tuning it with practiced fingers, and then began to pluck a melancholy melody, the notes filling the hall with a haunting beauty that caused the conversations around the room to hush.

You lifted your voice, singing a ballad in the old tongue, your words weaving a story of lost kingdoms and burning skies, of dragons that soared above emerald seas and the exiles who found their way to new lands. The melody was filled with both sorrow and hope, a reminder of the past but also a promise for the future.

Leto, seated with Aelor and Maelor, fell silent as he listened to your voice, the emotion in your song stirring something deep within him. He could see the captivated expressions of his people, the way even the Targaryen brothers seemed drawn in by the ancient tale you wove with your voice. And as he watched you, he realized once more just how dangerous you were—not because of your power, but because of the way you could move hearts with just a few words.

Paul listened as well, but his thoughts were turned inward, to the dreams that had haunted him, the visions of you standing before him with dragons at your back. As he heard the melody, he felt as if he was glimpsing a part of those dreams brought to life, a piece of the puzzle that had yet to reveal its full shape.

And when the last note faded into the air, a silence followed, filled only with the echo of your voice. The hall was quiet, the weight of the moment settling over all who had gathered there.

Gurney set down his baliset, a satisfied smile on his face as he inclined his head toward you. “You’ve got the voice of an angel, Lady Daenys. I’d say that was worth the wait.”

You smiled in return, but your gaze drifted back to Paul, who stood just behind Duncan. And in the shadows of the hall, beneath the banners of hawks and dragons, the seeds of fate continued to take root, their branches stretching into a future that no one could yet fully see.

Lady Jessica, standing near one of the shadowed arches on the opposite side of the hall, found herself feeling a sense of unease that she could not fully shake.

The presence of the Targaryens here, so close to House Atreides, defied the very laws of the Imperium and the natural order as the Sisterhood understood it. These were people who should have been extinct, erased from history by fire and time. Yet here they stood, the last dragons, moving among her consort's court as if they belonged. And it was Leto who had insisted that she be introduced to the three siblings personally, despite her reservations.

Across the hall, Aelor, Maelor, and Daenys stood together, their presence like a ripple in the air that Jessica could feel on a level beyond the physical. She knew that the Targaryens had recognized her presence long before any formal introduction—their training, honed even in exile, had sharpened their ability to sense a Bene Gesserit. It was a skill that unnerved her, for it placed them beyond the usual manipulations of her order that had no effect on their House.

As the siblings approached, Leto gestured to them with a warm, if slightly forced, smile. "Jessica, allow me to introduce Aelor, Maelor, and Daenys Targaryen," he said, his voice carrying a note of formality that he reserved for such occasions. “I thought it best that we meet in person, given our... alliance.”

Jessica nodded, offering a measured smile, though her eyes were watchful. She sensed the anomasity in the air, the unspoken knowledge that passed between them as she met the gazes of the Targaryens one by one. Aelor’s look was polite but guarded, Maelor's was edged with a faint smirk, while you, Daenys, studied her with a curious intensity that made Jessica’s skin prickle. It was a challenge, one that Jessica was not accustomed to facing outside the halls of the Sisterhood.

She tried to maintain her usual composure, but Hawat, standing nearby, observed the exchange with sharp eyes. He saw how Jessica's cool demeanor slipped, if only slightly, beneath the pressure of the Targaryens’ gaze. To most, it would have been imperceptible, but Hawat had trained himself to notice the smallest of shifts, and this one intrigued him. He had never seen Lady Jessica so unnerved, so clearly on the back foot.

The Mentat tucked this observation away in his mind, recognizing the potential advantage. He had never fully trusted Jessica, not since she had arrived in Leto’s life with the Sisterhood’s agenda hidden beneath her charm. Now, seeing her disturbed in the presence of the Targaryens, he felt a sense of vindication. Perhaps the dragons—for all their unknowns—were more worthy of trust than the shadowy Bene Gesserit. At the very least, they seemed more transparent in their intentions.

Jessica, meanwhile, turned her gaze toward you, noting the way Leto glanced at you with a mixture of admiration and something deeper. It wasn’t just your striking appearance, though your silver hair and lilac eyes were impossible to ignore. It was the way you carried yourself, the strength and self-possession that seemed to draw people to you—Leto included. She understood, now, why her consort’s thoughts had been so preoccupied since Arctis.

She knew what obsession looked like—she had seen it in the Emperor, in the Baron, in those who sought power and control. But this was different, tinged with a hopefulness she had not seen in Leto for years. And that, more than anything, made her wary.

The exchange between Jessica and the Targaryens remained polite, but the tension was visible, threading through each carefully chosen word. It was Aelor who finally broke the stalemate, inclining his head toward Jessica and Leto with a faint, courteous smile. “It has been a pleasure, Lady Jessica. But I think perhaps my sister and brother might wish to explore the hall a bit more, meet some of your... other guests.”

He glanced meaningfully at you and Maelor, and after a moment, you nodded in agreement. With a final, respectful bow to Leto and Jessica, you and Maelor turned away, making your way across the hall toward Duncan and Paul. As you left, Leto’s gaze followed you, his expression betraying a flicker of disappointment that did not go unnoticed by Jessica.

With the two of you out of earshot, Aelor turned back to Leto, adopting a more businesslike tone. “I wanted to thank you, Duke Leto, for the generous gift of water that you have provided for our operations,” he said, his voice as smooth as the desert winds. “It is a precious resource here on Arrakis, more valuable than spice in many ways. But I’ve been wondering... have you considered implementing a more advanced hydroponic system for your people? Perhaps even building aqueducts to maximize your water reserves?”

Leto blinked, momentarily stunned by the scope of Aelor’s suggestion. It was a bold idea, one that went beyond the typical imperial technologies used on Arrakis. “That’s... a significant undertaking,” he replied, choosing his words carefully. “Our resources are substantial, but what you propose would require a scale of technology and infrastructure that even House Atreides would struggle to muster.”

Aelor’s smile widened, a hint of amusement in his eyes. “You might find that House Targaryen has access to certain... innovations that could make such an endeavor feasible, Duke. If we are to thrive here, we must adapt. Our alliance could make many things possible—things that the Imperium has deemed impossible for far too long.”

Leto considered this, feeling a spark of excitement at the possibilities. But he also sensed the implications of Aelor’s words—the subtle hint that House Targaryen might hold knowledge that even the Emperor did not possess. He glanced toward Jessica, whose expression had turned pensive as she observed the exchange.

“We will speak more of this later,” Leto said finally, offering a polite nod. “For now, let us enjoy the evening. We have time to discuss the future when we are not surrounded by so many... curious ears.”

Aelor inclined his head, accepting the Duke’s response with a hint of a smile. “Of course, Duke Leto. Until then, I hope you will consider the potential of what we can build together.”

As Aelor turned to rejoin his siblings, Leto felt a faint shiver run through him, a sense that he was standing on the precipice of something far larger than himself. And in the shadows, Hawat watched it all unfold, his mind turning over the calculations, weighing the risks and rewards that each new alliance might bring.

You and Maelor made your way across the grand hall, the murmurs of conversation fading as you approached Duncan Idaho and Paul Atreides, who were standing near a corner where the noise of the banquet softened to a low hum. Duncan glanced up as you approached, a smile spreading across his face as he took in the sight of you.

“Well now, Lady Daenys,” Duncan said with a warm chuckle, “I have a message for you. Stilgar and his people wanted me to express their gratitude for the water filtration units and spice-resistant cloth you provided them. It’s made a real difference in their siege operations. But if you keep sending them supplies like that, you’ll spoil them. They’ll start thinking they’re nobles.”

You returned his jest with a light laugh, your expression softening. “Tell Stilgar he is most welcome. But I doubt he’ll be content to play the part of a noble for long. His pride is too fierce for that.”

Duncan chuckled again, a twinkle in his eye. “True enough. I’ll make sure he hears it just like that.”

You offered Duncan a final smile before turning your attention to Paul, who had been watching the exchange with an intensity that you recognized from your own reflections. “Paul,” you said, your voice quieting as you addressed him, “would you care to join me for a walk? I think there are... things we should speak about.”

Paul’s gaze held yours for a moment, searching, before he nodded. “Yes, I think you’re right. Lead the way.”

You and Paul stepped away from the bustle of the hall, moving through a side corridor that led to a balcony overlooking the night-shrouded sands of Arrakis. The air was cool, a breeze carrying the scent of spice and distant desert blooms. You leaned against the stone railing, the distant dunes stretching out beneath a sky full of stars. Paul stood beside you, his shoulders tense with the weight of the questions he had carried since your first meeting.

For a moment, you both stood in silence, the expanse of the desert a quiet witness to your thoughts. Finally, you broke the stillness, your voice as soft as the wind that swept across the sands. “You have questions, Paul. I can see them in your eyes.”

Paul turned to face you fully, his brow furrowed, the lines of his face drawn tight with uncertainty. “I do,” he admitted. “From the moment we met, I felt like I knew you, like you were someone I’d met before, even though I knew that wasn’t possible. But it’s more than that. It’s... dreams. I’ve seen you in my dreams, Daenys. Before I ever set foot on Arrakis.”

You inclined your head slightly, acknowledging his words, the starlight reflecting in your lilac eyes. “You’re right, Paul. We knew each other before we met. Our paths crossed long before they converged in this place, on this night.”

Paul’s gaze grew sharper, his mind racing through possibilities, questions forming on his lips before he finally asked the one that mattered most. “The dreams... what do they mean? Why do I see you in them?”

You paused, considering how best to explain the nature of your visions and the bonds they created. “My dreams are not like yours,” you began slowly, your voice tinged with a mysterious certainty. “I am a Targaryen, and we have what my people call dragon dreams—visions that show us glimpses of what might be and what is yet to come. They are a part of our blood, a legacy of the dragons.”

Paul frowned, his mind turning over your words, but you continued before he could interrupt. “Your dreams, Paul, are not the same. They are the product of Bene Gesserit designs, the result of centuries of selective breeding and genetic manipulation. They tried to replicate something ancient, something they could never truly possess, no matter how hard they tried. Something born of Targaryen blood they can't intermingle with.”

Paul’s expression darkened, his lips pressing into a thin line as he absorbed the implications of your words. “You mean... the Kwisatz Haderach? That’s what they’ve called me. But they never said anything about this—about being connected to you.”

You nodded slowly, the wind catching strands of your silver hair, carrying them like threads into the night. “They wouldn’t. It’s not something they could have planned for. But I did dream of you, Paul, just as you dreamed of me. Our fates are woven together, by threads that go beyond bloodlines and prophecies.”

Paul’s mind swirled with the weight of your revelation, the foundations of his understanding shifting beneath him. He turned his gaze back to the desert, his voice barely more than a whisper. “If our dreams are different, then what do yours show you, Daenys? What do you see when you dream?”

You closed your eyes for a moment, the memories of your dragon dreams stirring beneath your eyelids like coals in the dark. “I see... fire and shadow, dragons that rise from the ashes of ancient worlds, and a storm that sweeps across the Imperium. I see choices—choices that will shape the future of Arrakis, of your House and mine. And I see you, Paul, standing at the heart of it all.”

Paul shivered despite the warmth of the desert night, feeling the weight of your words settle over him like a cloak. For the first time, he felt that the visions that had haunted him were not a burden he carried alone. You shared a connection that defied the logic of the Imperium, a bond that neither the Sisterhood nor the Emperor could control.

He turned to look at you again, and in that moment, he knew that the answers he sought lay not only in the teachings of the Bene Gesserit but in the wisdom of those who walked beside dragons. 

Leto Atreides stood in the shadowed corner of the grand hall, his eyes following your form as you walked away with Paul, your figures disappearing through one of the arched doors leading to the balcony. He felt a pang of unease—not because he feared for Paul’s safety but because he knew how Jessica would react. And sure enough, she was already striding toward him, her expression tight with barely concealed irritation.

“Leto,” Jessica said, her voice sharp as a blade as she gestured toward the doorway where you and Paul had disappeared. “You shouldn’t have let her go off with him. Daenys is dangerous, and Paul is not safe with her. Who knows what she’ll put into his head?”

Leto turned to face her fully, his own frustration bubbling to the surface as he met her fierce gaze. “Enough, Jessica,” he snapped, keeping his voice low but firm. “Daenys is no threat to Paul. She has given us no reason to mistrust her. And if you haven’t noticed, Hawat’s men are everywhere. Paul is in no danger.”

Jessica’s eyes flashed, a sign that her Bene Gesserit training was warring with her personal feelings. “You don’t understand, Leto. She’s not like us—she’s not like anyone we’ve dealt with before. She’s... other, and her presence here upsets the balance. I’ve seen the way you look at her, and I know it clouds your judgment. She could be putting ideas into Paul’s mind, manipulating him—”

Leto raised a hand, cutting her off, his expression hardening. “That’s enough, Jessica. I’ve trusted your advice for years, but this time, I’ll trust my own instincts. Daenys means no harm to our son. And frankly, your suspicions of her have more to do with the Sisterhood’s fears than with reality.”

Jessica stiffened at the accusation, a flash of hurt crossing her features before she masked it behind her usual composure. She took a breath, then leaned closer, her voice barely more than a whisper. “This is your last warning, Leto. Don’t let your... feelings for her blind you to the threats she might pose. Paul is more important than... than whatever you think she represents.”

With that, she turned on her heel, her robes swirling around her as she retreated into the crowd, leaving Leto standing alone. He watched her go, a muscle ticking in his jaw as he struggled to control the mix of emotions that churned inside him—anger, frustration, and something deeper that he could not easily name.

As the tension from the encounter lingered in the air, Gurney Halleck approached, his footsteps light despite the weight of the baliset slung over his back. He had caught the heated exchange, and now he studied Leto with a knowing look. “Ah, my Lord, I couldn’t help but overhear some of that... discussion with Lady Jessica.”

Leto sighed, running a hand through his hair as he turned to face Gurney. “I suppose it’s no secret that we don’t see eye to eye on this. She’s convinced that Daenys is a danger to Paul. I know she means well, but... she doesn’t understand.”

Gurney’s expression softened as he nodded, his gaze drifting toward the doorway where you and Paul had disappeared. “Aye, the lass is a strange one, no doubt about it. But dangerous? Not to Paul, not from what I’ve seen. She has a... gentleness about her when she speaks with him. It’s not the kind of thing that threatens—more like the kind of thing that... guides.”

Leto’s shoulders relaxed slightly at Gurney’s reassurance, the tension easing just enough for him to breathe. “I know, Gurney. I feel it too. But Jessica...” He shook his head, as if trying to dispel the lingering unease. “She sees something different. And it’s... difficult, balancing all of this—House Atreides, Paul, this alliance with the Targaryens. Sometimes it feels like there’s no right path, just... less dangerous ones.”

Gurney chuckled softly, clapping a hand on Leto’s shoulder. “My Lord, if I might speak plainly... you’ve always had a way of thinking too much. Sometimes it’s better to follow your heart, even if it leads you into unknown places. I’ve seen the way you look at the Targaryen lass, and I think you’d do well to have a real conversation with her, without all these... formalities hanging over you. Unburden yourself, as it were.”

Leto glanced at Gurney, surprised by the directness of the advice, but there was a certain wisdom in his old friend’s words. He turned his gaze back to the door, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he imagined the possibility. “You might be right, Gurney. Perhaps it’s time I had a... different kind of conversation with Daenys.”

Gurney grinned, giving Leto a gentle push in the direction of the balcony. “Go on, then. I’ll keep Lady Jessica occupied, if she decides to come back for round two. And don’t worry about Paul—he’s tougher than he looks.”

Leto took a deep breath, then nodded. As he moved toward the balcony, he could feel his heartbeat quicken, a sense of anticipation building inside him. He had faced enemies in battle and navigated the treacherous currents of politics, but there was something different about this—something that felt like stepping into a new world, one filled with possibility.

You and Paul stood on the balcony, overlooking the vast desert that stretched beyond the city of Arrakeen. The last whispers of your conversation lingered in the air, the words shared between you turning from the weight of prophecy to a more personal warmth. For the first time since he had arrived on Arrakis, Paul felt a sense of clarity, a feeling that his dreams and visions were not a burden he had to carry alone.

He offered you a smile—genuine, even if touched by the uncertainties that still lay ahead. “Thank you, Daenys,” he said, his voice quiet but sincere. “I think... I understand a little better now. Whatever happens, I know I’m not alone in this.”

You returned the smile, a warmth in your gaze as you nodded. “You are not, Paul. We both have a role to play in the unfolding story of this world. But remember, you have the strength to shape your own path, just as your father does. Trust that.”

Paul glanced back over his shoulder, where the three dragons loomed in the distance, their massive forms dark silhouettes against the starlit sky. He knew that the presence of these creatures—these beasts of myth—would be spoken of for generations, their arrival marking a new era on Arrakis. He took a deep breath and turned back toward the door, catching sight of a shadow standing in the threshold.

It was Leto, his father, watching them with a quiet resolve in his eyes. Paul’s lips curved into a small, knowing smile as he passed by Leto, offering a simple, “Goodnight, Father,” before disappearing back into the warmth of the stronghold.

Leto nodded, acknowledging Paul’s departure, though his attention remained fixed on you, standing there with the desert wind playing through your silver hair. He stepped forward, crossing the threshold to join you on the balcony, his presence bringing a different kind of warmth—one that felt more personal, more unspoken.

You turned as he approached, offering a nod of greeting, and he came to stand beside you, leaning against the stone railing that overlooked the sands below. For a moment, the two of you stood in companionable silence, the howl of the wind filling the space between words. Leto’s gaze drifted to the dragons far beyond the city’s edge, then back to you, as if trying to find the right way to begin.

“The first time I saw Vexiae today, your dragon,” he said finally, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “It felt like... something out of a dream, or a story I used to hear as a child. A thing that wasn’t supposed to be real. And yet... there you were. Standing with a creature that I thought had vanished from the world.”

You tilted your head slightly, a soft laugh escaping your lips. “Many things that are forgotten linger in the shadows, Duke Leto. Not everything that disappears is truly gone. Sometimes, it just... waits for the right moment to return.”

Leto glanced sideways at you, his expression growing more serious, though there was a warmth in his eyes that softened the lines of his face. “I think I’ve come to understand that. Ever since Arctis, I’ve been trying to find the right words to... express how I felt when I saw you there. And then again, here, in the heart of Arrakis.”

He paused, struggling with the words that sat heavy in his chest, a weight that he had carried for too long. He turned to face you more fully, his voice low and earnest. “This alliance between our Houses—it’s more than just military strategy and economic ties. At least, it is for me. I think... I think it’s become something personal. Something that I’m not sure I have the right words for.”

Your gaze softened, your expression shifting into something that Leto had seen only glimpses of before—something unguarded and honest. You stepped closer to him, your eyes searching his face, as if reading the emotions that he struggled to articulate.

“Not everything needs words, Leto,” you replied gently. “Sometimes, it’s enough to simply feel. To let those feelings guide us, even if we don’t understand them fully.”

Leto let out a soft breath, his shoulders relaxing as he took in the truth of your words. He nodded, a faint smile playing at his lips. “You have a way of making things sound... simple, even when they’re not. I suppose that’s one of the things that drew me to you in the first place.”

The silence that settled between you was different now—no longer filled with unspoken tension, but with the quiet understanding that something had shifted between you. Leto glanced down at the desert sands, the light of Arrakeen casting long shadows across the dunes, and then back at you, standing beside him like a figure from a legend.

“I don’t know what the future holds,” he admitted, his voice barely more than a murmur. “But I’d like to think that... maybe there’s a place for something more than just alliance between us. If you’re open to the possibility.”

You studied him for a long moment, your lilac eyes holding his gaze, and then you offered him a smile that was as warm as the desert sun. “I think, Duke Leto, that we both have a great deal to discover. About Arrakis, about each other... and about the things that linger just beyond what we can see.”

Leto felt a warmth bloom in his chest at your words, a sense that he had found a kindred spirit in a place where trust was often a rare commodity. He reached out, his fingers brushing lightly against yours in a gesture that was more promise than anything spoken aloud.

And as the stars above Arrakeen shone brighter against the desert night, the future seemed a little less uncertain, shaped by the presence of a dragon’s shadow and the dreams of those willing to change the world.

The incident with the Hunter-Seeker had left a shadow over the Atredies stronghold, a sense of paranoia that clung to every corridor and corner. The hidden Harkonnen assassin who had been uncovered in the aftermath was now being interrogated deep within the dungeons, but the implications of his presence ran deeper than any single conspiracy.

In his study, Duke Leto Atreides paced back and forth, his mind racing with worry and anger. He glanced up as Thufir Hawat entered, the Mentat’s face drawn and pale, his usual confidence replaced by a grim determination. Hawat’s shoulders were slumped, the weight of his perceived failure pressing down on him.

“My Lord, I should have anticipated this,” Hawat began, his voice tight with frustration. “I should have known that the Harkonnens would try to strike at us even after we’d taken Arrakis. This Hunter-Seeker nearly reached Paul—if it hadn’t been for your son’s quick reflexes, it could have—”

Leto raised a hand, cutting him off. He could see the turmoil in Hawat’s eyes, the way the Mentat struggled with his own sense of guilt. “We cannot change what has already happened, Thufir,” he said, his tone gentler than the anger that burned inside him. “What we need now is to focus on understanding how this assassin managed to remain hidden among us for so long.”

Hawat’s jaw tightened, and he nodded reluctantly, though the tension in his posture remained. “I’ve been investigating the possibility of a mole within our own ranks, but... there are rumors, my Lord. Whispers that this may have been the work of the Sisterhood—that Lady Jessica might have had a hand in it, or that... perhaps I myself might be the traitor.”

Leto’s expression darkened at the mention of Jessica. The strains in their relationship had only deepened since their last confrontation, but he refused to believe she would put Paul at risk, even if her loyalties were divided. And yet, the rumors had already begun to spread through the stronghold, poisoning the trust within House Atreides.

“I’ll not entertain baseless accusations against Jessica or you, Thufir,” Leto said, his voice firm. “But the fact remains—we need help. And I believe our allies may have the resources we lack to uncover how this assassin remained hidden here for so long.”

Hawat looked up, surprise flickering across his features. “You mean the Targaryens?”

Leto nodded, turning to gaze out the window, where the distant desert dunes rolled like waves beneath the morning sun. “Yes. Aelor, Daenys, and Maelor have made it clear that they have access to surveillance technologies beyond what the Imperium understands. And they have a vested interest in keeping Arrakeen secure from Harkonnen interference.”

He turned back to Hawat, his expression hardening with a renewed sense of determination. “Send a message to House Targaryen. Inform them of what has happened and request their assistance in investigating this security breach. If they can help us uncover how this assassin managed to infiltrate our stronghold, it will help us put to rest any suspicions among our own ranks.”

Hawat bowed his head, though a shadow of relief crossed his face. “Yes, my Lord. I will see it done immediately. And... thank you, for your trust. I will not fail you again.”

As Hawat turned to leave, Leto’s mind was already spinning with the implications of this request. He knew that relying on Targaryen aid would be seen as a dangerous gamble by some, especially those who still viewed the dragons as outsiders with their own agenda. But he also knew that the poison of paranoia was a greater threat than anything the Harkonnens could muster.

He watched as Hawat disappeared down the corridor, the sound of his footsteps fading into the distance. Alone in his study, Leto let out a long breath, running a hand through his hair as he tried to shake off the weariness that had settled over him like a cloak. 

And as he turned back to the window, he allowed himself a fleeting thought of Daenys, wondering if you would understand the trust he was placing in your family—if you would see it as an olive branch, a chance to build something lasting amid the shifting sands of Arrakis.

For better or worse, the dragons had become a part of his world, and Leto could only hope that they would stand with him when the storm finally broke.

...

The medical chamber was quiet, filled only with the steady hum of the machines and the occasional rustle of Dr. Yueh’s robes as he carefully examined Paul Atreides. The incident with the Hunter-Seeker had shaken the household, but Jessica had insisted that Yueh perform a thorough examination to ensure that no lingering effects or injuries had gone unnoticed. Paul sat on the edge of the examination table, his expression calm, but there was a tension in his shoulders that Jessica recognized well.

Jessica stood nearby, her arms folded tightly across her chest, her gaze fixed on her son with an intensity that held more than just motherly concern. The events of the past week had left her unsettled, and her mind was plagued by thoughts of the Targaryens, particularly the growing influence they seemed to hold over both Leto and Paul.

Dr. Yueh’s hands moved with the precision of a skilled physician as he passed a scanner over Paul’s torso, his expression thoughtful. “There are no signs of lingering damage, young master,” he said softly. “The Hunter-Seeker was detected in time, and your reflexes served you well. You’ve come through this incident unscathed.”

Paul nodded absently, his gaze drifting to the window where the sunlight of Arrakis streamed through. But before he could respond, Jessica took the opportunity to speak, her tone sharp with the frustration she had been holding back for days.

“Paul,” she said, drawing his attention away from Yueh. “We need to discuss your... relationship with Lady Daenys Targaryen. It’s dangerous for you to become so close to her, especially given what we know about her family and their... unpredictability.”

Paul’s head snapped around, a frown creasing his features. “Why is it dangerous, Mother?” he shot back, a note of defensiveness in his voice that Jessica had rarely heard from him. “Daenys has done nothing to harm us. She’s been... honest with me. More than most in this court.”

Jessica took a step closer, her eyes narrowing as she met her son’s defiant gaze. “Honesty is not the same as loyalty, Paul. The Targaryens are uncontrolled elements—dangerous because they do not bend to the will of the Bene Gesserit or the Imperium. Should they turn against us, they could threaten everything we’ve worked for. And you... you are too important to be swayed by their charm.”

Paul’s frown deepened, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. “I’m not being swayed, Mother. I can make my own judgments. Daenys has shown me respect and a kind of understanding that... that I don’t often find here. She’s not like the Sisterhood you belong to, with all its secrets and manipulations.”

Jessica’s breath caught in her chest, the passion in Paul’s voice startling her. It was a tone she had heard only a few times before—when he spoke about things that mattered deeply to him, like his father’s honor or the legacy of House Atreides. But what worried her most was the realization that she had seen this same intensity in Leto whenever he spoke of the Targaryen woman.

Jessica took a breath, forcing herself to keep her tone even as she continued. “You’re forgetting your purpose, Paul. You are more than just a young man—you are the product of centuries of planning and breeding, the hope of the Sisterhood’s grand design. You cannot afford to become... distracted by Daenys or her family’s promises.”

Paul’s eyes flashed, and he shook his head, frustration boiling over. “I haven’t forgotten, Mother. I know exactly what you and the Sisterhood expect of me. But maybe... maybe I don’t want my life to be dictated by a plan that I never asked for. Maybe I want to be something more than just a tool for your order.”

Jessica stiffened at his words, the rebuke cutting deeper than she had anticipated. She opened her mouth to respond, but the anger and hurt in Paul’s eyes stopped her. For a moment, she saw not just the son she had trained but the young man who was searching for a path that belonged to him alone.

Dr. Yueh, who had remained silent throughout the exchange, cleared his throat softly, breaking the tension that had thickened the air. “If I may, Lady Jessica, young master Paul, the examination is complete. And... I believe the Duke would want us all to focus on the threats that remain. The Harkonnens are still out there, and the future of Arrakis is uncertain.”

Paul turned away from his mother, his shoulders tense as he nodded to Yueh, his anger still simmering beneath the surface. “Thank you, Doctor. I appreciate your help.”

Jessica remained silent as Paul left the room, her mind racing with the implications of their conversation. As the door closed behind him, she pressed a hand to her chest, trying to steady her breathing. She couldn’t shake the sense that she was losing control—not just of Paul but of Leto as well. And the realization that they might both be willing to trust Daenys Targaryen over the Sisterhood was a disturbing thought indeed.

When she turned to face Dr. Yueh, she found the physician studying her with a curious expression. He inclined his head slightly, his tone respectful but firm. “If I may, my lady, I have seen worry in many forms. It seems to me that young master Paul is... finding his own way. Perhaps that is something to be nurtured, rather than... feared.”

Jessica offered him a tight smile, though it didn’t reach her eyes. “Thank you for your insight, Dr. Yueh. But there are... things at play here that you do not fully understand.”

With that, she turned on her heel and swept from the room.

...

Jessica moved through the stone corridors of the Atreides stronghold with a brisk pace, her robes swirling around her as she made her way deeper into the halls. Her mind was clouded with worry and anger, her thoughts turning over the confrontation with Paul and the widening gap between her and Leto. She could sense that the balance of power and influence within their household was shifting—and that the presence of the Targaryens was at the heart of it.

As she approached one of the side courtyards, she caught sight of Thufir Hawat standing near a Fremen messenger, his expression intent as he passed a sealed message into the messenger’s hands. The Fremen nodded curtly, tucking the message into his robes before turning and disappearing into the shadows of the courtyard, heading in the direction of the desert.

Jessica stepped forward, her voice sharp as she addressed the Mentat. “Thufir, what are you doing? Sending messages to the Targaryens behind my back?”

Hawat turned to face her, his expression hardening as he squared his shoulders. “The Duke ordered me to reach out to House Targaryen for assistance in rooting out the Harkonnen threat, my lady. It’s a matter of security for Arrakeen—something I believe you would support, given the circumstances.”

Jessica’s eyes narrowed, and she took a step closer, her tone icy. “Do not think for a moment that I am unaware of what you are doing, Mentat. You have allowed Leto to draw too close to these outsiders. He risks everything we have worked for by aligning himself with them.”

Hawat’s jaw tightened, but he met her gaze steadily. “The Duke is acting in the best interests of House Atreides, as he always has. Daenys, Aelor, and Maelor Targaryen have proven themselves valuable allies, capable of providing resources and technologies that could strengthen our position on Arrakis. The Harkonnens are a greater threat than you realize, and we need every advantage we can muster.”

Jessica’s expression grew more severe, her frustration boiling over as she pressed her point. “And in doing so, you risk endangering House Atreides from within! Leto’s judgment has been compromised—I have seen the way he looks at Daenys, how he speaks of her. He is letting his feelings cloud his decisions, and you... you are enabling him.”

Hawat’s eyes flashed with defiance, and he took a step forward, closing the distance between them. “You underestimate the Duke, my lady. He has made difficult choices before, and he will do so again if it is what is best for Arrakis. If that means aligning with House Targaryen, then so be it.”

Jessica’s lips thinned, and she lowered her voice, her words carrying a sharper edge. “Do you truly believe that this alliance will end with military aid and economic exchange, Thufir? Leto has kept himself unmarried for years, maintaining his freedom for political maneuvering. But now, I fear he is prepared to break that unspoken promise, even if it means betraying those who have stood beside him all these years. Betraying... me.”

Hawat’s expression shifted, and for a moment, a flicker of sympathy crossed his features. But his voice remained firm, unyielding. “If Leto chooses to pursue a different path, it is because he believes it is the right one. And if that path includes Daenys Targaryen, then perhaps it is time to consider what new possibilities that could bring to House Atreides.”

Jessica’s eyes flashed with anger and hurt, but she held herself tall, unwilling to show any weakness before the Mentat. “You overstep, Hawat. You have always overstepped, but this time... you go too far. You would cast aside loyalty for a new alliance, one that could break us.”

Hawat inclined his head slightly, though his expression remained cool. “I serve the Duke, my lady. As do you. And I will continue to do so, no matter what choices he makes.”

Without waiting for her response, Hawat turned and walked away, his footsteps echoing in the stone corridor, leaving Jessica standing alone in the courtyard, the shadows deepening around her.

She pressed a hand to her chest, feeling the weight of her fury and fear pressing down like a stone. Leto’s intentions were becoming clearer with each passing day, and the thought of him offering his hand—and House Atreides—to the Targaryens filled her with a cold dread.

But more than that, it was the realization that she might be losing her place in Leto’s life, a place that she had fought so hard to maintain, that cut the deepest. And as she stood there, her mind raced with the possibilities, the plots, and the shadowed futures that loomed before them all.

She knew that Arrakis was a battleground—but it was not just the desert that would be fought over. 

[sallymander40k]

Why The Tau Were Never 'Too Good' For 40k

The Tau were added midway through Warhammer 40,000's 3rd edition, though according to some records the idea had been floating around since Laserburn. In the twenty years since their introduction to the 41st millennium, the Tau have remained one of the most consistently reviled and hated aspect of 40k lore, with all complaints around them boiling down to one core issue: they're too good for 40k. By that, people mean that they are too morally good to fit within the grimdark narrative of the 41st millennium. This has always been the primary complaint levied at them, since they were first introduced in 2001. And GW has seemingly agreed with them, and spent the last 20 years trying to inject grimdarkness into the Tau Empire.

The first attempt to grimdarkify the Tau came very early on, with the Tau campaign in Dawn of War: Dark Crusade

It's explained how in the decade following Tau victory on Kronus the remaining human population was subjugated, oppressed, forced to give up their culture, and eventually simply sterilized and allowed to die off naturally to create a Tau and Kroot ethnostate on Kronus. It explains this over images of prisoners of war being fed to Krootox in prison camps and humans huddling together in slums.

This is obviously a departure from the image of the Tau as it was established in Codex: Tau (3rd Edition), as that codex makes explicit mention of the Tau trading and making alliances with frontier human colonies. This is also a departure from... common sense. Why exactly would the Tau accept Kroot, Vespid, Nicassar, Demiurg, Tarellians and many others into their ranks but then arbitrarily draw the line at humans?

This would become a pattern that I like to call "The Grimderp Tau Cycle." It's not exactly a stretch to say that the Tau are easily the most morally good society in the 41st millennium. Their tolerance toward other species alone makes them head and shoulders above almost any other species in the galaxy. So to remind people that there are no good guys in the 41st millennium and that this is a very serious and grimdark setting that you need to take seriously because there are no good guys or whatever, GW will occasionally have the Tau commit a completely out of character, random, and nonsensical atrocity. This was also seen at the end of In Harmony Restored, the short story that came out alongside 8th edition's Psychic Awakening: The Greater Good.

For context, In Harmony Restored is a short story about a group of Gue'vesa soldiers (human auxiliary troops fighting in the Tau military) performing a desperate defensive rearguard action to halt an Imperial advance long enough for Tau reinforcements to come and smash the delayed invasion force. The Gue'vesa are able to do this, though at great sacrifice to themselves, and then when the reinforcing army does arrive and makes quick work of the Imperial army they then continue on to butcher the Gue'vesa soldiers who performed this valiant holding action for... Seemingly no reason? Assuming the Tau forces thought they were more Astra Militarum soldiers, the Gue'vesa step out of cover pleading for mercy, only to be gunned down. With one of the Gue'vesa at the end noting that the language one of the Battlesuit pilots is using is very reminiscent of the way the Imperium talks about those they've labeled undesirables.

The message here is clear: these humans betrayed the Imperium in order to escape from the Imperium's genocidal regime... Only to end up in the equally merciless clutches of an equally ruthless oppressor. But, from a lore standpoint, that defeats the entire purpose of the Tau. It makes them wholly indistinct and, frankly, boring. But that doesn't even scratch the surface of how stupid this is, because it has clearly been stated in the past that the Tau do not hold bigotries toward client species on the basis of their faiths. And that makes sense.

Not only does this contradict previous lore, not only does it render the Tau a boring palette swapped version of the Imperium, it also just defies practical sense. If you're a race like the Tau, who expand primarily through ingratiating yourself with other races and convincing them to join your collective, you'd naturally want as few barriers between potential client races and joining as possible. No human colony is going to voluntarily join the Greater Good if the Tau's version of the Greater Good happens to require that the human population of that planet lose all sense of their heritage and culture through forced reeducation and the abandonment of their faith, and in the long term for that human population to slowly go extinct through gradual forced sterilization and confinement to ghettos and slums.

It's deeply stupid, lazy writing on the part of GW to repair the image of the Tau in the eyes of a fandom who accused the faction of being "too good." Except, uhm, here's the thing: the Tau were never too good to begin with. Lets rewind back to 3rd Edition's Tau Codex, our first introduction to the Tau in the 40k universe. From the very beginning it was very clear that the Utopian idealism of the Tau Empire held beneath the surface a significantly more sinister and malevolent nature, and it all roots from the mysterious and enigmatic fifth caste of Tau Society: the Ethereals.

In 3rd Edition, the Ethereals are spoken of more like mythological beings than the slightly mundane way they exist in modern 40k. All we know about them out of this book is that they are the autocratic leaders of the Tau Empire who inspire radical devotion among the Tau, though are rarely seen or heard from. They reorganized Tau society with pursuit of the Greater Good in mind first. But the specifics of what that means matters a lot. Tau are born into a caste that roughly determines, from birth, what role in society that person will fulfill. Those born into a caste are not allowed to have children with members of other castes, are not allowed to take up any job or position that contradicts the societal purpose of their caste, and generally lack self-determination in regards to things like career choice.

so, bam, the setup for Tau as a flawed and morally ambiguous faction are already present. They're a faction who fight for a better future, for a galaxy where all can exist in harmony with one another, so long as that harmony is kosher by the standards of the Ethereal caste. In that sense they're somewhat similar to the Dominion from Star Trek: Deep Space Nine. A multispecies interstellar collective who seek to create a galaxy harmoniously unified... in service to the Founders. Just taken from this vision of the Tau Empire, they're already an autocratic dictatorship who fight in the name of an ideology that declares itself to be for the greater good of all who ascribe to it while also relying on the assumption that the tyrannical power of the Ethereals must inherently be for the Greater Good. I reject the idea that the Tau were ever "too good" for 40k. Rather that they were written with a realistic level of nuance, with an understanding that dictatorships are built upon cognitive dissonance, not on perfectly consistent virtues.

TL;DR THEY'RE NOT FUCKING COMMUNISTS, THEY LITERALLY HAVE A CASTE SYSTEM, WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?!