Summary: Post-Dune / Pre-Messiah. Paul ascends to the throne and Irulan must learn to live in this new territory alongside him. Header created by the talented Echo!
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Lisan al Gaib. Off-world prophet. Messiah. Emperor. God. There are many titles given to Paul Muad’Dib Atreides. The moment he rose, bloodied and unmoved, was the moment all our lives rose with him. A golden path in which we all fit into. All for the betterment of our future.
Beginnings of Muad’Dib, by Princess Irulan
She’d stayed silent. Observed the room. The situation. Knowing one will fall and the other had every right to her hand. She’d been told as such by her Reverend Mother. He’d seen that murderous look in his eye when he reapproached. Irulan stepping in with her words.
“The life debt has been paid. Spare my father now and I will be your willing bride. The throne will be yours.”
She felt her duty was to protect her father, even now. Once he kneeled the rest followed. Irulan remained standing, eyes on her husband-to-be. The Great Houses refused to recognize Paul’s ascendancy. Thus starting the beginnings of Muad’Dib’s Jihad.
The room began to move. Irulan remained beside her father. Watching as fremen fluidly shifted amongst themselves, like a river of water. Last thing she remembers as she was leaving the room to take her father somewhere to rest, was the way they chanted for their Lisan al Gaib. A steady tune she found remained in her thoughts long after everything else.
Only once he was asleep, by the miracle of convincing him to take the medication, did she leave his side to seek out Paul. Her escort brought her to his chambers at her request. Fremen posted outside stared her down suspiciously. Irulan squeezed at her hands before nodding to allow them to open the door for her. They moved in alongside her, to oversee she wasn’t there to slay the new emperor before he’s had the chance of one good nights sleep.
She remained standing at the door. Every muscle tense inside her. Had played over how she wanted to approach him, but facing him now and alone was far different. His blue eyes unnatural and cold. “How are your wounds?” She asked cooly, making no move towards him but wanting to put across she wasn’t there to further add insult to injury. She’d seen how it went with his fremen woman. Neither of them were celebrating their betrothal. That much was evident.
“I'm requesting a private audience. I know I shouldn’t be seeing you alone like this before our wedding, but I’d like to be told of my father’s sentencing before it’s broadly announced.” A pause, before adding a reluctant. "Please."
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