Old Blood, New Game

Power is Earned

"You will compete in an honorary coming-of-age ceremony," the Baron ordered, his voice bored and monotone. "Since you weren't raised here, you didn't go through the rights of passage that other rulers have survived. Before you can be granted the right to rule alongside the heir, you must prove you are worthy of it in the arena."

The wife of Feyd Ratha, daughter of Duke Leto Atreides, stood before the Baron, her head held high in defiance. She willed herself to not tremble, wanting to hold it together until she left the room. She failed. The Baron's bemused smirk turned into a Cheshire grin as he watched the girl in front of him begin shaking as unshed tears glazed her eyes.

Feyd knew his wife was a strong warrior. She had trained with him before and after they were wed. Improving her skills and her strength. She had had much to learn, but she had a fighter's spirit and never backed down until he asked her to. But this was a trap. One she couldn't fight her way out of, even with all the luck in the world. The only light in his life would die screaming, and he would be forced to watch.

"Uncle," said Feyd, his voice low and raw, blindsided by this outrageous task, "none of your favorite concubines had to fight for their lives in the arena. I underwent the right. Elina has the right to rule beside me by marriage alone and-."

"And there lies your mistake, my beloved nephew," the Baron nearly laughed. "You became too close. You chose to spend time with her, perhaps too much time. She bewitched you, somehow. She made you soft, and you developed feelings for her. Regardless, there hasn't been a baroness of House Harkonnen in centuries. There was no need for a concubine to show her worth, she has none. The Elder Council and I agreed that the girl needs to prove herself to me and to her people. What better way than with a show of strength?"

"As my wife," Feyd spat, hating that his uncle refused to even acknowledge his Elina by her title or given name, "she has every right to her title as baroness."

"Her title is given, but her power must be earned," the Baron said dryly. "I assume you don't want her confined to your chambers for the rest of her days. You desire for her to have a say in your council. The only reason I agreed to your betrothal to the least of the bloodlines was because it was at the request of the emperor and no doubt coerced by his witch's schemes. She was nothing. Marrying you made her something, but to earn the right to rule, she'll need to give everything in that arena."

Before Feyd could interject again, the Baron turned his gaze back to the Na-Baroness.

"You will be rewarded with more than just your life," he said. "If you survive, you will have your pick of my private kitchen and are welcome to feast to your heart's content, the evening of your victory. Assuming you maintain the ability to swallow, all I ask is that you give us a good show."

"Don't fret, Your Grace," Elina said with a low, graceful bow. "I promise a spectacle they'll never forget."

She held the Baron's gaze defiantly before she turned without sparing a glance at her husband. She carried herself with the regal posture of an empress as she left, not a cowering girl who had just been handed her death sentence. The door shut behind her with a soft, unbothered click.

Feyd waited exactly seven minutes before he got up. He gave a quick bow and departed in the opposite direction that Elina had gone. The Baron knew it was all for show. Acting indifferent. Feyd's comments about her facing the arena said more than enough. His nephew would run to the arms of that wench, and she'd sink her talons into him once more. Still, he appreciated his nephew's attempt to keep up appearances.

Feyd found her easily enough, sitting on the edge of the fountain, one of their favorite spots in the artificial greenhouse. His blood warmed as the many memories of their lovemaking in this lush, lively space came to mind. He didn't love the gardens the same way she did, but he loved her and was thankful that this space made her happy.

He didn't give her enough time to acknowledge his presence. He pulled her to her feet and embraced her, pressing his whole body flush against hers. She clung to him in return.

His arms wrapped around her in a vise grip as one hand cradled the back of her head.

Feyd was viciously possessive of two things: his blades and his bride. At first, he had come across as overprotective, even overbearing. But here on Harkkonen, where anything and everything might be trying to kill you because of your position, your power, Elina had come to appreciate him always watching her back.

And now he was being forced to step away from her. Let her fight, and probably die. This wasn't some bullshit rite of passage. This was his uncle's last attempt at revenge against his wife's family. His Elina would drown in her own blood because of a feud that started so long ago that many had forgotten why they were even fighting.

He couldn't lose her. He wouldn't lose her.

He tightened his grip on her waist to the point that it hurt just a little.

"He can't do this," Feyd growled. "I won't let him hurt you over some old rivalry that no one gives a damn about. I'll kill him. Tonight. And then we- "

"No," Elina said firmly.

"What?" Feyd said. "You know he'll rig the arena. You're not coming out of there alive."

He shifted and raised his hands to cup either side of her face, forcing her to hold his gaze.

"I know you're scared and trying so hard to be brave for me," he said, his voice so sweet it almost sounded unnerving, "but I know you're afraid. You hid it well in the throne room, but you don't need to hide it for my sake. You're still shaking even as I hold you."

"I'm not shaking because I'm scared for myself, my Muharbi Jamil," she said with a worried smile, grateful for his concern, "I don't want anyone to get hurt, even if I am forced to fight only to defend myself. It's wrong. Haven't we lost enough Harkonnen blood because of this feud? Have enough people not died because of your uncle's malicious appetite for this kind of entertainment?"

Spoken like a true baroness. She was more concerned for the lives of the criminals or defectors than her own, simply because they were Harkonnen. His people. Their people. She had just the right softness, the perfect balance against his harsh personality and cruel habits.

"You really want to do this?" Feyd relented, seeing the unwavering determination that spread across her face as she spoke of the injustice.

"If I don't, there will be...consequences," she sighed, fearing the Baron's wrath and the carnage that would occur if she refused to die for his amusement.

"Alright," Feyd said, already sounding tired, "let's get started."

He moved back, trailing his hands gently down her arms as gooseflesh rose on her skin. He quickly stepped towards her, bent forward, and lifted her into his arms, tossing her over his shoulder. He turned and began carrying her out of the garden.

"Started with what?" Elina asked with a goofy grin, amused by her husband's rarely playful nature.

The voice that responded was cold and commanding. Most of the warmth had fallen from his tone. This wasn't her beloved speaking. It was a seasoned warrior, a general. One who had not only conquered bloodshed but had practically befriended it.

"More training. You have one week to learn how to survive in that arena. I don't know what my uncle has planned, but I will do everything I can to make sure you come out alive. That you come home."

As they made their way down the semi-lit, barren halls, only through her mother's intensive training could she hear him mutter almost silently to himself.

"Death will not have you, my Shayim Abadiyya. I will strangle the reaper if he tries."

NOTES:

Muharbi Jamil means "Beautiful Warrior." Elina sees the beauty of his soul, which he doesn't let anyone else see but her. She acknowledges his strength but adds a soft, juxtaposed word like beautiful to encourage him to let himself relax sometimes, reminding him that he doesn't have to be "on" all the time. She is the only person he would ever allow to call him beautiful and live.

Shayim Abadiyya means "Eternal Sun" because she constantly brings warmth and light into his life that he now cannot live without.