My Caladanian Rain [A Paul Atreides Story]

88 BG

This clear time of seeming ambers-

A gold-bright suns lost in the first dusk.

What frenzy senses, desp'rate musk

Our consort of rememb'ring.

Night's pearl-censored requi-em...

'tis for us!

What joys run, then-

Bright in your eyes-

What flower-spangled amores

Pull at our hearts...what flower-spangled amores

Fill our desires.

Gurney's Evensong

"When daisies pied and violets blue, and lady-smocks all silver-white. And cuckoo-buds of yellow hue, do paint the meadows with delight." Ilvermorny had the habit of reciting poems of Earth.

"Yet nor the lays of birds nor the sweet smell of different flowers in odor and in hue; could make me any summer's story tell, or from their proud lap pluck them where they grew; nor did I wonder at the lily's white, nor praise the deep vermilion in the rose; They were but sweet, but figures of delight, Drawn after you, you pattern of all those." Paul recited a different poem from the same author. Looking up to meet Ilvermorny's gaze. He felt that there was much holding Ilvermorny back, he knew what it was and he couldn't acknowledge it.

"Is this it?" She began. "The goodbyes? Have we lost the moments that were meant for us?" She knew she could say anything to Paul, ask him anything, and he'd have answers.

"I am afraid that the answer you seek is not one pleasant to hear, Ghaitha," He admitted.

"But, Paul, I tried," Tears began to roll down her face. "Paul, can't we just hide? Must you go?" Asking she did, even though they both knew the answer.

"I am grateful for you, Mornie, for what you have done, for trying to get me out of this mess," Paul allowed her to sag into his right arm. "But this is my fate."

"For the first time now, I chose not to believe your oracular abilities." She swallows what's caught in her throat. The tears started to flow steadily.

"Prophecy, the jury of taking it to account—is ours, yet the likeliness of it occurring or not, is not under our verdict." Paul finds himself brushing Ilvermorny's hair with his hand, as he always does whenever the moment gets upsetting. "My gentle Princess, I do not blame you for what must happen," You may blame me for what happens right after. "You may share his last name, but your heart is an Atreides...I wonder when can I go back to you."

"Just the thought of you leaving is unbearable." Ilvermorny had now run down all of the advanced moments of loneliness she'll face without him.

"I cannot bring you to my danger, Ghaitha," Paul said, taking her hand, and stroking the patterns of her knuckle. "As you cannot bring me to your safety."

"You'll be back...soon. Must we give it a year...?" Ilvermorny starts to shake her head in disbelief. "Or a few more?"

"Only the universe knows, but remember, whenever it rains here, I am thinking of you." Reassuringly, he lifts her hand and plants a gentle kiss upon it.

"How will you know when it will rain in Caladan when you are no longer here?" She shifts her head to rest it deeper into him.

"Dreams, my gentle Princess." He replies soundly.

"And how will I know when Caladan rains?" She asks. Something in the way she looked made Paul want to hold her forever. Never let go of this moment, never let go of her.

"When you find yourself alone, and lonely. When you find yourself with acquaintances that bore you, hurt you, and undeniably make you so desperate to be with me—then does Caladan rain." Paul then places another kiss on her hand.

The garden looked astonishing as if a metaphor for everything that is soon to grow after they step outside of Caladan. Bad plants bloom without the right amount of water. The flowers enveloped them, and the colors diverted them for a while. Ilvermorny pointing how beautiful lavender was to anything, and Paul pointed out every lavender in sight. How she'd love something so pastel, but always wore an old mauve. On occasions, she wears an imperial purple, and today she wore a razzmic berry. It was her strongest color, and he hates to see her in anything except that.

"Will we ever do this again, Paul?" she asks. They were, time and again, laying on the field. Under the tree. All while overlooking the rivulet.

"Forgive me, my Ghaitha, my dearest Princess, for I have not dreamt it." Paul began to tear up, yet managed a smile, with his eyes bound skyward.

"Oh, how cruel must life be to us." She places a backhand on her forehead a little above her eyebrow, just as she sighs.

"We were born to suffer, us children of the regency." Paul rolls to the side to face her. Completely unaffected.

"No, we were born to die." She felt him staring, and so she looked back, doe-eyed.

-/-

Night draws nearer and it was time for such partings. An ending they'd never wanted to reach.

Oh, I am fortune's fool! Paul took the young Princess into the corners of her mind and absorbed each and everything he'd known about her, as though scanning to paste images of how she looked right inside his mind. Asking her to stand still, and give her moment to him before the day was over. Just wordlessly and still. And at this opportunity, she'd observed his features. How long will it be until she sees this face again, and this man-child?

"I must not fear," Where else does one go than the Litany of Fear? Ilvermorny thought.

"Fear is the mind-killer," Paul carried on.

"Fear is the little death that brings total obliteration."

"I will face my fear." He joins her. "I will permit it to pass over me and through me. And when it has gone past, I will turn the inner eye to see its path. When the fear has gone, there will be nothing. Only I will remain." They finish off together, hands intertwined as they did.

"Goodbye, Paul Atreides." She whispers.

"Goodbye, Princess Ilvermorny." He replies, pulling her into him for a tight embrace.

She leaves the castle premises, unable to keep herself from waving at Paul. He follows her until he couldn't, and he too waved at her almost unendingly. They had both dried their tears. And finally, Paul couldn't see her now. She was too far enough gone.

Ilvermorny suddenly remembered the Bene Gesserit's maxim: In human affairs, nothing remains enduring; all human affairs revolve in a helix, moving around and out.

-/-

Jessica had a peek inside the garden, a few moments before the announcement of Princess Ilvermorny's departure. She'd discover both children reciting the Litany at once. They've learned too much in our ways. And what must they fear? Had Paul told her? What had Paul seen through his dreams?

"Fetch the princess, her entourage has arrived." Just behind her, Duke Leto stands. His voice was low. They both were let into some secrecy between Paul and the princess. It was magnificent, the sight of two Bene Gesserit products coming together.

Slowly, Jessica walks on the garden platforms. Sensing her mother coming close, Paul breaks off from Ilvermorny's stare to acknowledge the fact that they were no longer alone.

"I'm afraid your time is up," Jessica said in a neutral tone.

"Oh, how dreadful," Ilvermorny mutters under her breath. "Paul, don't go." She pleaded. Arrakis is danger... and death.

Paul puts his eyes back on her, their hands unbrokenly linked. He lets out a faint chuckle. "I apologize. I must go, that is my only choice." He replies, squeezing her hand three times. "The next time I shall see you, I wish you shan't be too spoiled, my dearest Princess."