Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x Xenn Awendlay (OC)
1,627 words
OOC Note: In this AU, Feyd won the duel against Paul, but did not accept (or was not offered) the fiefdom of Arrakis, nor was he offered Irulan's hand. House Harkonnen had been weakened by the expenses of the now-dead Baron Vladimir in their ambush of the Atreides, and in their terrific losses to Paul's Fremen. The Emperor saw no reason to reward such failures, even though Feyd was inheriting them and had saved his Imperial life. Instead, Arrakis was given over to the Fenrings, and Caladan granted to Feyd as a second planet to Giedi Prime. Our story follows Feyd, and his encounters with Xenn, a rice farmer who is a part of the peasantry of the planet Caladan, and a direct descendant of Pongi/Pundi rice harvesters spanning back centuries. Hard-working with a blue-collar mindset, she is regularly aloof and stoic in nature yet can be smart-mouthed and prone to misplaced confidence in situations that do not ask for it, perhaps unconsciously seeking the odd thrill in a lifetime of promised labour. Check out the link:Xenn Awendlay for this OC's character bio. Logjam and I looked over this Joint Posting together! Credit to Logjam for the original Alternate Universe idea and inspiring me in writing this!
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Nimble fingers worked with practiced precision over the tops of thick green rice stalks, checking...inspecting. Xenn weaved through the crops, searching for stalks that were no longer green in colour and were a rich golden brown at the top. The tops holding what was called seedheads. That is how one would know the rice was ready to be harvested. This particular batch in the various rice fields scattered across Caladan, stretching over the evergreen hills, was Pongi rice. A Caladan delicacy. The two most profitable food sources of the land, Pundi and Pongi rice grain, had filled the bellies of the Caladanians seemingly since the very birth of the planet. That is what the elders whisper, at least.
Too bad the ones who cultivated the lands from the inside out wouldn't see the majority of the earned Solari.
Castle Caladan, which straddled the crashing waves of the oceanic coastline, was about 600-700 yards away from the rice fields and from the small wooden homes the peasants lived in. The Castle controlled much of everything. No matter which House resided within the stacked old stone walls and claimed rule at that designated time, the nobles of said House handled the percentages of where the Solaris profits went. It seldom left the farmers with heavy pockets. If a lord was kind, you may see more than a handful of days of relaxation and leisure throughout the year. The peasantry traded their services to wealthy nobles in exchange for military protection, food, drink, and shelter. They would never go hungry. The economy depended on their work, and as such, heavy labour is to be expected to meet the needs of distribution. Their previous ruler, the honourable late Duke Leto Atreides, was a fair and kind leader and would offer the odd luxury every now and then. Count Fenring, named "Siridar-Absentia" of Caladan, who was granted temporary stead by The Emperor Shaddam, was by no means horrible but had also not been doting on the peasants with open arms and generosity. In fact, he had been gone quite some time to The Emperor's Hutment on Arrakis following the announcement of the Battle of Arrakeen. A much loyal companion or errand boy to Emperor Shaddam, The Count would come when called. The gossip that was circling around the peasants on the events in Arrakis currently had been a mixed bag of information, so Xenn could not rely on it for what was truth and what was not.
The stinging chirp of the cicadas is heard in the warm environment of the farmland. A musical melody that Xenn has grown accustomed to hearing in a day's work. That all of the peasantry had grown accustomed to hearing, signifying the beginning of their working hours, calling upon the scorching yellow sun to slowly rise up through the horizon, over the trees, making its way up to halt in the centre of the sky and beat down, baking into the skin of the rice-harvesters.
But it was a pleasing sound, nonetheless.
Xenn could not deny that. Her bronze complexion took the sun's rays easily, her wrists gliding over the green seedheads, still searching for one golden in colour. She paused to brush her fertilizer-soiled hand through her raven locks, the choppy bangs sticking to her forehead, the pieces of hair falling messily over her cheekbones, curling just under her earlobes. Short, with athleticism in mind. Her deep brown, nearly black, almond-shaped eyes flickered over to a golden stalk head popping through the greenery.
With a jump in her step, she passed through the crowd of harvesters holding countless zones along the spaced-out rows of the rice field.
As she reached the ripened seedhead, a gruff, deep, almost macabre voice seemed to burst through the damp soil, disrupting everyone's flow, everyone's roll. Perturbed, she took in the workers expressions around her, watching as some gawked, freezing. Others darted their heads rapidly back and forth, leaning into their neighbouring worker to chatter in disbelief and then back to...
There. In her peripheral.
So that means the other half of the rumours were true, then. The ones that spoke that the Harkonnen was somehow granted Caladan. But how so, and why? Is this why The Count was gone for so long? Had Muad'dib truly fallen? Another rumour had claimed Paul Atreides had overtaken Shaddam and the Sardaukar army. The peasants' gossip could only speculate on unfinished wars. Its value could only carry so far.
We should have been informed of this beforehand, just like the rest of them. We SHOULD have a right to know who could rule over us.
But they were continuously kept in the dark. After all, low-borns had no reason to be included in these discussions.
Feyd-Rautha was standing with his arms clasped behind his back, almost regal, but exuding casual authority, his jet-black, armoured legs widened in a comfortable stance. His sharp, unforgiving stare locked onto the Burgomeister, who oversees the day-to-day management of the farmlands.
Xenn let a hushed curse fall from her lips, now grasping the ripened head of the rice stalk with renewed force. As she picked at the seeds, she could only hear the rough rumbles that came from his chest, still a good distance away. Camouflaging herself slightly behind the tall crops, she strained her ears to hear the conversation he was having with their Burgomeister. She could see some sort of entourage waiting dutifully behind Feyd-Rautha in the grass, stone-faced and armed.
When did they arrive? Last night? Before sunrise?
That was the only plausible explanation.
"...of course, my Lord Baron, I wasn't expecting you!" The Burgomeister's nervous chuckles were heard clearly. "It is an absolute privilege to have you joining the harvesters this afternoon—"
"Spare me." Feyd-Rautha grunted roughly, silencing the man's cheery ramble. "Why have you not converted to machinery yet?"
"My Lord Baron, I assure you, the harvesters know these lands; they have been doing this for centuries, they hold the most valuable knowledge for the best areas of cultivation—"
The Burgomeister's voice dies in his throat when he spots Feyd-Rautha's gloved fist twist two ripened stalks in one hand, bending them backwards, squeezing the heads as it crackles under the ebony gauntlet adorning his fist, the material crushing the plants. He bent the rice stalks far back enough to reveal the frightened faces of two younger men.
Xenn took note of the mischief in his deep, blue eyes. The way his pupils expanded at the sight of their fear, the way he flashes his black pit of a mouth into an enthusiastic smile, plump lips opening wide to reveal two rows of blackened, midnight teeth.
A rare Harkonnen custom used by some, not all, on Geidi Prime, reserved for flexing status, wealth, beauty...
"Boys." He addressed, prompting the two of them to gaze up at him with widened eyes, his raspy tone ending in a high hilt. "Do you truly believe you are faster than a machine?"
She falters slightly at the sight of his ghoulish appearance, his porcelain skin, hairless dome stark white, bright and blinding amongst the sun-kissed skin of the common folk.
He didn't belong. A ghost in the hemisphere. How he, an alien, non-native, commanded the space so easily, was disturbing.
Of the two men, a sandy blonde, tanned man parts his mouth open to speak, stammering as he peers at him with pleading brown irises. "W-w-well, my Lord, I feel that we—"
Feyd simply walks off, letting the husks whip back into the boys' faces as he hums, a heavy, throaty sound. His dismissive action made some of the peasants watching the ordeal ogle the scene in shock, meekly lowering their eyes when he saunters by them with a slow swagger. Others, out of his direct line of sight, seethe, burning their disgust into his back with hate-filled, hard stares. A dark cape attached to the ridges of his armoured shoulders follows behind him.
Xenn shares their sentiments, the disrespectful action shaking up something inside of her. Yet she retreats her narrowed, fixated eyes as he passes, her face neutral as she steadily picks up her pace, piling the seeds into the frayed, unbuckled satchel strapped to her leg. It wouldn't be wise to blatantly glare unprovoked, no matter how much his sneering, proud face asked as much. She tries to focus on the whistling tune of a small blue jay, perched upon a large branch jutting out from a tree a few yards away, the sing-song calls bouncing from all directions.
When the Burgomeister allows us our break, I should like to go for a swim near the coastline, it's much too humid—
Suddenly, a distinct and familiar yelp cracks through the atmosphere, snapping her out of her attempt at distraction.
Out of pure instinct, not understanding what had transpired, Xenn's heels dig into the damp soil below, knocking a flagon of water over in the process as she launches herself forwards, towards the sound, her head spinning.
"Ahh, right at my feet, the best spot to cultivate, woman?" She hears his taunting, grovelling tone, dripping with condescension, making her heart pick up against her ribcage in concern as she jumps through the stalks, dodging the awestruck farmers, all leering at the sight of Feyd-Rautha's current position.
As Xenn draws nearer, a familiar black braid encases her vision, her mother's hunched-over form cowering under him, eye-level with Feyd-Rautha's gleaming, black boots. Seeds of rice grain have been dumped over his boots, her mother muttering incoherently, rocking at his feet, hands raised.
In a rush of confusion and anger, she lurches, dirt flying into the air, skidding up to him just a few feet away, before letting her voice rip through the skies. "STOP!"
Continued on our jcink rp!
