As Long As I Breathe || Paul Atreides

The Water of Life

At least I didn't have to be myself tonight.

I could just be a random Freman in the corner who blended in and didn't talk to anyone because nobody would want to talk to them.

So I was still myself anyway.

A day ago I wouldn't be wallowing in this much self pity, but a day ago I also didn't get punched in the face by Chani because I pointed out her mother dying. Oh well, people will forget one day. I hope.

I wore my mask and hood as if that would change the fact that nobody was approaching me. Good. I didn't want to talk to anyone tonight. it was a stupid night anyway. We were extracting the water from Jamis' flesh since we had finally arrived at sietch Tabr. It's so sacred that I'm not allowed to be in the room, instead assigned the task of making food to nourish these Freman the day before the harvester attack. A bunch of Harkonenns stealing our spice. I didn't plan on sneaking in, for once.

Passing it around, I looked at the white boy in the corner who seems to have never had spice a day in his life. Paul fiddled with the corners of his pants, sitting criss-crossed and mumbling to himself. Praying? Or is he reassuring himself of something?

"There's a lot of spice," I warned as I slid it over in front of his lap, "Don't eat it all at once. You'll feel sick."

How would I know this if I had lived here my whole life? Other people? If I can find inconsistencies in my own identity, then he definitely would. Or maybe I could just say it enough with the confidence required and he'd find himself doubting his doubts. A gentle smile creeps onto my face when I realize I have a mask on, this way he can't tell who I am.

Or I could just confess I'm a fraud.

"Thanks, Sarelle."

But my fedaykin name, at least the name I've dreamed of for years, sounded so pleasant on his tongue.

Crouching down, I took off my mask, it being useless and uncomfortable now."How'd you know it was me?"

He looked up, his green eyes shining into mine, but not in a menacing, insulting way. They were alluring. "I know your voice."

He could recognize my voice, even when muffled through the mask. Damn it.

The next few seconds were followed by an awkward silence. I felt the need to clear up a lie I told earlier. Not all of it, because that would eliminate my whole identity, but some of it.

"I want to ride a sandworm." I clarify, "I've been properly taught. Stilgar is just overprotective and doesn't want me to ride it."

The last part was a lie. I was properly taught, but Stilgar didn't want me to ride because he cared, it's a lot less heartwarming than that. But it's not I'm popular enough in the slightest to have everyone be able to tell Paul my real reasons versus my lies. I'm respected because of these lies, and the only few who know the truth don't respect me.

"I mean, aren't all fathers?" He joked with a tinge of sadness. Did he lose his dad?

"Well, Stilgar isn't my dad."

He was visibly confused. He's obviously very perceptive and naturally assumed that me calling Stilgar "father" earlier made him my actual dad. Not today, Paul!

"It's a story for another day," I deflect, not ready to quite tell him that I was found practically dead in the sand and this was the only way to secure a home. "He's just not my dad."

"Noted," his lips formed into a line, "not your father."

Chatter arose from a group of Freman kids in a language I knew he couldn't understand. I chuckled in response to the kid's words.