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sebastianswallows · 22 hours

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The English Client — Eight

— PAIRING: Tom Riddle x F!Reader

— SYNOPSIS: The year is 1952. Tom is working for Borgin and Burkes. He is sent to Rome to acquire three ancient books of magic by any means necessary. One in particular proves challenging to reach, and the only path forward is through a pretty, young bookseller. A foreigner like him, she lives alone, obsessed with her work... until Tom comes into her life.

— WARNINGS: none

— WORDCOUNT: 2.8k

— TAGLIST: @esolean @localravenclaw @slytherins-heir

It had been several days since she’d introduced Tom to the Baron. Perhaps a full week already passed. In truth, she stopped keeping count.

She had waited outside the Baron’s office for him, and pretended it was just to make sure he didn’t lose his way on his way back to the hotel, but selfishly she was curious to know how their meeting had gone. Did the Baron like the books? Did he like Tom? Did Tom like him? The latter was unlikely. Only special personalities ever did, and her new friend was neither bootlicker nor snob.

But Tom was frustratingly silent on their way back to the station, and no gentle prodding from her would nudge a hint of what had happened. His body was stiff and straight as if in a march, and his gaze was focused on the road ahead. He spared her only a few, rather shy glances now and then, as if he had just taken something from her. There would be no further trade, she understood that much…

She hadn’t seen him since.

The old routine of life that she fell back into suddenly no longer satisfied. She frustrated herself by thinking of him now and then, his face appearing to her for an instant, and then she would start wondering where he was, what he was doing, was he thinking of her, would he ever come back… For all she knew, he had left for England already, and then she would become spontaneously angry and afraid, and her handling of the books would roughen, and her steps would sound quite loud, and nothing would taste good to her anymore.

But all it would take to lift her spirits was the chiming of the bell — was that Tom? — before she saw it was just Sister Silvia or another flock of tourists. Oh. Buongiorno.

She was stocking the shelves at the far end of the shop one morning when the bell ran once again, and through the silence, she heard steady footsteps, firm and prim and strong. She descended and went to them, and when she saw a dark head of hair and a tight lean torso in a plain white shirt, her heart trilled. She smiled as she approached him, faster, faster, and called out a bright ‘hello’. But then the young man turned and broke the spell.

“B-buongiorno,” she mumbled, stopping to a halt. “Posso aiutarla?”

“Oui, er… Si. Cercando un libro di… Torchia?” he said in lightly accented Italian. Was he French? “Quello nella vetrina.”

“Certamente. E come si chiama, signore?”

“Clement Merle,” he said with a smooth rolling of the tongue. “Piacere, signorina.”

Whatever faint smile she had faded. She realised with horror that she would have to tell the Baron about this, and suddenly everything felt quite cold. She forced a grin and nodded, and invited Clement further inside.

Tom did not particularly enjoy the taste of coffee, even after having to inflict it on himself these past few weeks for the sake of fitting in. It was a muggle drink and made him somewhat restless when he drank too much of it.

But now that he had started partaking of it on an almost daily basis, he recognised in it a certain quality. It, unlike tea, did not remind him of Mrs. Cole, nor any of the other ladies at the orphanage. Combined, they must’ve drank the Empire’s supply of the stuff while he was there, and to this day he couldn’t bring himself to touch certain varieties, like the Ceylon they favoured.

But he was here now, just another dark-haired man sipping from a little cup throughout the hour while he sat outside and pretended to read a newspaper…

The whole day, he hadn’t ventured anywhere outside of the hotel. He ordered breakfast in his room and spent most of the morning reading. Later, he had lunch at the restaurant downstairs and let the hours drain away at the bar. He hadn’t brought any books with him, they were too important — especially the ones that screamed when opened.

People came and went, and between lunch and dinnertime, he was propositioned on at least four occasions. It was hard to tell with foreign women… They were either too overt, too subtle, or both. But it reminded him, in a manner that made a chill slink down his spine and rise up in his stomach, of the Baron: that same narcissism and pride. As for the attention of the women, that reminded him of England, and his extra-contractual work for Burke. Depravity, fel need, and the loneliness of witches.

Perhaps it was their wealth that he resented, or their looks that he despised, women married for their money with the grit to bear a loveless match… Tom humiliated himself for them, swallowed his own pride, and touched, when it came down to it, their most guarded parts. But no matter what deluded charms they exercised, they never entered through his blood, his eyes, his mouth, to reach him, and Tom could not imagine any of the women he had met so far as able to, through their lips or tender touch, incite his soul to plummet to the level of the body, nor bring his body to the dark heights of his soul.

And of course, how could they? Women who had never worked a day in their lives, women who slept on treasures they neither valued nor truly recognised. Selfish creatures suffering vainly in their little cages, whose ignorance and cowardice enticed him to the brink of murder. No, now that he was away from England and free from Burke and Borgin’s demands, he would not subject himself to any more of that.

“Signor Riddle?”

He nearly jumped from his seat as he heard the clerk call for him from the entrance.

“Si?” he asked, turning around. This was the same prick who recommended that horrible restaurant to him. His eyes narrowed.

“Ah, telephone for you. Cabine two.”

“Grazie,” he muttered.

Tom left the newspaper and his cold coffee behind and walked out to the little chamber on the other side of the hotel where the phone booths were.

“Ahem, yes? Tom Riddle speaking.”

“Tom? Oh, hello! I was afraid you wouldn’t be in…”

It was her.

“Yes, took a break from sight-seeing,” he answered, casually leaning against the booth. “It’s good to hear from you again. Everything alright?”

“Of course, of course it is.”

“Really? You sound a little… nervous.” It was hard to keep the smile from his voice.

“No, everything’s fine,” she said quietly. “I just called because… because…”

Tom held the phone to his ear tightly. She sounded like she was going to cry any minute.

“Because I was wondering whether you’d be able to stop by the shop anytime soon.”

“I’d be glad to,” said Tom, summoning a tone of innocent confusion. “But what’s this about?”

“The… the Baron has reconsidered your offer.”

“He’ll trade the books?”

“I don’t know about that,” she said, the connection wavering. “I just know he wants to talk to you. He’d like to make an offer.”

“Very well. When?”

“When can you come?”

“Today.”

“Oh, that’s… That would be perfect,” she said excitedly.

“Good,” Tom smiled. “You close at half past five, yes? I can come then.”

“Thank you so much, Tom. I’ll be waiting for you inside. Bring the books with you, just in case.”

“I will,” he said. “Goodbye for now.”

“Bye…”

III

He arrived there a little early and waited for a while. He hadn’t expected to see a dark little car parked beside the shop, but at least it confirmed what he already suspected. The Baron was inside.

From the outside, the place seemed closed for the day save for a faint little light coming from a corner of the room. He knocked on the door and, as he waited for somebody to answer, he looked in through the window. There was no sign of Clement anywhere, but that volume of Torchia — the bait they set for him — was gone.

It didn’t matter what happened to Clement, of course, because Tom had been at the hotel all day which all the staff there could attest to. It might have been a little callous, sacrificing him like that, but at least it took suspicion away from him. That, and the monogrammed Swiss knife he’d left under the table. Oh well. Clement had been annoying anyway.

Like a light in the darkness, she came into view.

“Tom!” he heard her say from the other side. She rushed to open the door, her smile shaky and wide. “You came…”

“I said I would, didn’t I?” he grinned cockily as he took his coat off. “So, how have you been?”

Silent as he stepped through, she locked up again behind him, then took his coat and hung it up on the rack behind the door. There was a haunted look in her eyes that wished to say so much.

“Fine, just fine. And how are you?”

“Good,” Tom nodded. He looked down at her figure — fetching as always but closed off, tight, her legs stiff and her hands ruddy as if she’d rubbed them raw in icy water.

“Enough with the pleasantries, I haven’t got all night!” came a familiar voice from the next room.

“Si, signore.”

“Venite qui!”

With an apologetic sigh, she showed him through.

“I’ve been well, by the way,” Tom said to her. “I did so much sightseeing this past week that it was nice to rest for a few days.”

“I honestly thought you’d returned to England by now.”

“Oh, I’m in no hurry to do that.”

“And your employer?”

“Is far away. Just the way I like it,” he winked. He knew she felt the same.

She gave him a knowing smile, then stood aside as she invited him into the last room.

The Baron was there, seated in his bulky wheelchair by the table. He was smoking his pipe, or rather chewing on it, as he levelled a thick scowl at Tom. The dark surrounded them. The only point of light was a faint lamp glowing before the Baron.

“Mr. Riddle,” he said. His expression was unchanged as Tom stepped through as if he were talking to a projection in his mind and not a person right before him. “It seems we were destined to meet again.”

“And I thought you willingly invited me,” he smiled.

“I asked you to come here. I haven’t invited you to anything yet.”

Tom shrugged and looked around, pretending to be less familiar with this room than he really was.

“I must say, Baron, being called on such short notice, so suddenly and rushed… It seems, if I can afford to say so, quite unlike you.”

The old man took another puff and clenched his jaw in thought, the loose teeth creaking in his mouth.

“This place will be of interest to you, I can assure you,” he said.

“So, should I give you the books now, or…?”

The Baron and the girl behind him exchanged a look. She closed the door behind them, then moved to the left. Tom turned his head and followed her shadowed silhouette.

She bent and pulled the carpet neatly by the edge, skirt tightening enticingly around her thighs, then knelt. He couldn’t see just what she was doing, but he could hear the click of a metallic lock, and when she stepped over to the side he could see an entrance where that trapdoor was, a gaping doorway in the floor. The jaundiced light fell over a few wooden steps that descended into darkness.

Tom looked at her. She seemed quite… apprehensive, as if afraid, but proud as well to share a secret part of her with him. Tom considered using Legilimency on her to see if he was in any danger — they had probably killed Clement, after all — but he did not yet know what magical defences this place had, and now that he was so close to penetrating their little group it would have been foolish to gamble.

“Join me downstairs,” the Baron said, and as if summoned she hurried to his side to help roll him forward. “I have something to show you.”

She avoided Tom’s gaze as she walked past, and stopped at the trapdoor. The railings on its side hooked neatly underneath the wheelchair and, carefully held by his clerk, he descended. Tom followed close behind.

The steps went on for quite a while, and soon the light from upstairs vanished. He held on to the same railings as he went down step by step, further into darkness and unknown alike. He smelled wood and dirt, and the dry chill that came with old stonework.

After a while, he heard a shuffling and squeaking of wheels, which meant they’d reached the floor. Someone flipped a switch, and light pooled underneath. Tom squinted for a moment, then continued his descent. He could estimate they were some two stories deep.

A shadow began climbing toward him. He slowed his steps and, once she reached him, touched her arm. She stopped and only then looked into his eyes, their bodies were closer now than ever.

“Where does this lead?” he whispered.

“Just follow the Baron,” she said with a weak smile in an air of surrender. “I’ll be with you shortly. I just need to close the door behind us.”

“Nobody else is coming, the shop is locked up,” he scoffed.

“It’s the rule,” she said, shrugging her arm out of his grasp and climbing onward.

The Baron was waiting at the bottom and began rolling away when Tom arrived. He took a moment to look around him, but there was nothing remarkable to see. Merely an empty corridor of smooth cement, and a few electric fixtures on the walls, small lightbulbs the size of candle flames. There wasn’t even anything on the ground, although judging by the fading on the edges Tom could guess a carpet had been there not long ago.

After a few moments of walking in silence, the Baron spoke again.

“I have something for you to evaluate tonight.”

“Something?”

“A few books,” he said. “What exactly is your profession in England?”

“I serve my employer as both sales clerk and purchasing agent.”

“For how long?”

“Seven years, sir.”

“That’s not a lot,” said the old man, “for them to trust you with an international assignment like this.”

“It seems they are satisfied with my work so far.”

The Baron hummed, and Tom could tell he was trying to seem less impressed than he was. Typical of men like that, to downplay the achievements of others. A bully’s attitude. Tom could not — and indeed refused to — say that he knew muggles well, but he knew arrogance, and pride, and stuck up aristocracy.

With a prim clipping of the heels, they were joined again by his assistant. Her hands went immediately to the handles of the wheelchair and she began to help the Baron forward.

“Where’s halfway there,” she said, a little out of breath.

“Hurry up, then, before he leaves.”

Tom cocked a brow, wondering who they were referring to.

“So, how do you feel?” she asked him in a quieter voice.

“I should be asking you that,” said Tom.

“Oh, I’m fine…”

It sounded like the sort of ‘fine’ that women often gave when they had something else to say. Her large eyes, her tight closed lips, the whole nervous energy of her that night disturbed him. He liked her better up a ladder, picking dusty volumes off high shelves, her body held up in the air just by one little foot and a few fingers. Or poured over a hot desk, her breath suspended as she wrote, ink pen poised between her fingers much like a witch’s wand. Not… this. This servitude. It made bile rise up in Tom’s throat. For a moment, he imagined their places switched, then realised it would have made no difference — he was the same with Burke as she was with the Baron. He put aside this notion before it made him angry too.

They were finally approaching something different than grey walls and naked lightbulbs. Tom could see thick red drapery and lamps, and the hint of doorways further on. A single blade of light cut across the floor, shivering with hints of a figure moving on the inside.

“Now, Mr. Riddle,” said the Baron, “we’ll see if you’re worthy of carrying those books with you, and of carrying yet more.”

Tom’s left hand secured the strap of the messenger bag around his shoulder, and his left hovered at his pocket, near his wand. That had sounded an awful lot like a threat.

#Tom Riddle #Tom Riddle x reader #Tom Riddle x OC #Tom Riddle fanfiction #harry potter #harry potter fanfiction #sswallow;fanfics #sswallow;made a thing #fanfic;englishclient

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sebastianswallows · 1 day

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My favorite hc about Sebastian Sallow is that he's a rebel but in the dorkiest way possible. Like, boy is literally out here getting detentions because he was at THE LIBRARY PAST CURFEW.

he was in the forbidden section studying dark magic but, pish posh, he tryin' to learn.

#so true #it's not even a HC it's actually canon #Sebastian Sallow #Hogwarts Legacy

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sebastianswallows · 2 days

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Rhapsody

#so beautiful #Astarion #Cazador #Vellioth #BG3

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sebastianswallows · 2 days

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Happy Harkonnens 🖤

#LOOK AT THEM BEING HAPPY #these silly little goofballs #on brand though cause the Harkonnens were the only fun part of the books too #Feyd #Dune

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sebastianswallows · 2 days

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😭 Thank you, my dear @witchyafterdark! Timeliness is definitely not one of my qualities. Mad respect for you again for evading the jaws of death so consistently, wow 😳 You must be meant for great things, and have strong feline energy.

I'm bad at talking about my qualities, but I guess that's the point of the exercise lol

I read a lot, or used to read a lot, of everything. From Marcus Aurelius to the Marquis de Sade, medieval texts on demonology, postmodernist literature, some of the classics and some of the most obscure stuff ever, I used to dip my fingers into EVERY kind of book. I'm trying to get back into that, now that I'm in a place where I can collect books again. I hate some of the stuff I've read, but in retrospect, it gives me a fair perspective of all that's out there. Comes in handy when researching for fics.

I never got any tattoos, and I'm so grateful, because I get OBSESSIVE over stuff and then I just move on to the next thing that grabs my attention. So whatever I would've gotten scribbled on me would've been cringe eventually 😂

I'm not dependent on pretty much anything. I set out a goal pretty early on in life that I don't want my mood to rely on anything, so I avoid coffee, never smoked, etc. If I'm addicted to anything, it's cat videos.

Because I'm chronically online, I'm familiar with a lot of media, so I can have conversations with anyone about anything even if the thing they like isn't exactly my style.

I have a mostly functional relationship with food, so I can eat and drink stuff I don't really like just because it's healthier. Other people can't get themselves to do it and it sort of baffles me, cause while I enjoy tasty things too, I can put my personal tastes aside pretty easily.

Tagging: @esolean @cosmicswan @ars-slytherin @ominisss @metal-mouse @cyan1decandy @slytherins-heir

Once you get this, you have to say five things you like about yourself, publicly. Then you have to send this to ten of your favourite followers (non-negotiable, positivity is cool) 💜💜

😭😭😭😭 the fact that I’m anyone’s favorite follower is insane to me but thank you dear! ❤️

Okay five things that I like about myself!

1. I’m a supportive friend. I always go to bat for my friends and I’m always willing to lend an ear whenever they need support.

2. I’m a strong person. I’ve been through a lot in my life and I’ve done a great job at pulling myself out of some dark places and remaining resilient.

3. I’m a friendly person who loves talking to and getting to know people, even though I can be a little awkward about it at first.

4. I’m cute as heck! I have a cute face and I love my hair lmao 😂

5. I’m versatile and adapt to new things quickly and eagerly

Gonna tag my favorite followers instead of sending cause I’m pretty sure a bunch of my followers have already gotten one of these so I don’t want to make them do it again (plus tagging is easier anyway!)

@ellivenollivander @damn-it-a-hogwarts-legacy-blog @margottheviking @little-emerald-snake @skittish1807 @applinsandoranges @rgbbutnoy @eternalremorse @cuffmeinblack @slytherin-paramour 💚

#tag game #this literally took me weeks to do #number five was a stretch lol I don't particularly like that about myself it's just a thing

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sebastianswallows · 2 days

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I miss your Sebastian POV's so much. 😭🩷

If you ever have the time, I have a vague little prompt that's befitting of your interpretation of him.

Aaaah I feel bad 😭 I've been getting a few more anon prompts lately, for Omi and Seb too, but I just can't work on that as well, at least not now.

I do love a sad and quiet Seb though. I'm sure I'd love to write this 🥺 But it's unlikely.

#sswallow;answers #localravenclaw #sebastian sallow #hogwarts legacy

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sebastianswallows · 3 days

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i love you my crazy crazy husband

#yes #Feyd #Dune

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sebastianswallows · 3 days

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Commissison

For Spainst8ofmind on twitter

#cleaning the tips of his earsssss #Astarion #BG3

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sebastianswallows · 3 days

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AUSTIN BUTLER A New Set of Threads - Dune: Part Two Behind The Scenes

#the hint of cock is very nice but THOSE THIGHS #I have a thing for smooth skin ok #Feyd #Dune

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sebastianswallows · 4 days

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Feyd x reader who is betrothed to another but he likes her. She is nearly killed and her so called fiancee fails to protect her. She is left heavily scarred and feyd is done. He challenges the fiancee and leaves him wounded in the dirt so he has to watch reader x feyd live happily for the rest of his miserable life.

👁️👄👁️

OMG yes I fucking love this 🙏🏼

She’s worried Feyd won’t want her anymore because of the scars but he says they’re the marks of a warrior

#this is such a good idea 😭#I know my boy is loving I just know it #Feyd #Dune

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sebastianswallows · 4 days

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That last headcannon about Feyd's sadness, was that about him dreaming about seeing his daughter, Marie , from his one night with Lady Margot? Cause if it is, it got me gooood!!

It is! Nothing is made of Marie Fenring in the books, and it upsets me so much.

I love thinking of Feyd as a father. He'd be perhaps the most unusual and unlikely girl dad ever 😂

#Feyd #Dune #sswallow;answers #infinitememory12345

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sebastianswallows · 4 days

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"You fought well, Atreides"

AUSTIN BUTLER as FEYD-RAUTHA DUNE: PART TWO (2024) dir. Denis Villeneuve

#when will I find someone who looks at me the way this space prince looks at his latest murder victim #Feyd #Dune

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sebastianswallows · 4 days

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astarion!

#Astarion #😭#BG3

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sebastianswallows · 4 days

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The Little Death — 5. Patterned behaviour

— PAIRING: Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x Bene Gesserit!Reader

— SYNOPSIS: A Bene Gesserit gets left behind in the Arrakeen palace. When Feyd becomes the Planetary Governor, he finds her there in hiding. The Harkonnens don't traditionally keep them as truthsayers or concubines like other Houses do, but Feyd might have a use for her. After all, he's never had a Bene Gesserit of his own before.

— WARNINGS: none

— WORDCOUNT: 2.1k

— TAGLIST: @elf-punk @lowlyloved @pomtherine @slytherins-heir @babyofneptune @localravenclaw

Give me the judgment of balanced minds in preference to laws every time. Codes and manuals create patterned behaviour. All patterned behaviour tends to go unquestioned, gathering destructive momentum. — Darwi Odrade

It was easy to fall to the bed afterwards, as if she belonged there. Because she did now. Feyd was still catching his breath when she curled up beside him, her knees brushing against his hip, their sweat soaking into the bedsheets. A Fremen would’ve been outraged at the sight.

“Cruel witch,” he rasped.

“What was so cruel?” she asked, trailing a finger through the inky mess on his stomach. “You enjoyed it, didn’t you?”

He slapped her hand out of the way — but there was not so much aggression in the move as there was a certain vulnerability, like an animal slapping at his master’s hand. Feyd heaved himself upward to get out of the bed, but she placed her hand on his chest and pushed him down again.

“Where are you going?”

“To wash myself.”

“Why?” she said, her touch softening into a gentle caress across the muscles on his chest. “I like you this way…”

“Filthy woman,” he laughed, eyes crinkling at the corners.

She couldn’t help herself and smiled. Even with his frightful black teeth — which in Harkonnen culture, she had read, was supposed to be quite attractive — his boyish nature came through to show something sweet and vulnerable. What a brilliant plan it had been to give him governorship over Arrakis… After Rabban, Feyd must have appeared to the natives like a heavenly angel. She reached up and caressed his soft cheek, his hard jawline, tracing the edge of his generous lips.

“Sleep, my na-Baron,” she said, laying down beside him, holding his gaze. “You will dream of pleasant things tonight.”

“Is that a promise?” he grinned.

She knew he was making light of his nightmares, and in a way dismissing them entirely. There might come a time when they would have to address them directly — if he was serious about wanting her to serve him as his Bene Gesserit, and if she didn’t escape first — but clearly it was not tonight.

Under her soft caresses, Feyd fell asleep quite fast. She followed, slipping first into a meditation, and then into the land of dreams. And even in her sleep, the only thing she felt, and saw, and tasted, was his body.

When she woke up the next morning, she noticed she’d been moved. She was higher on the bed now, laying against the multitude of pillows, and all covered up. Feyd was sitting on the edge, getting ready.

“You were cold,” he said without even turning. His hearing was better than she thought… “And, for that matter, so was I.”

“You tucked me in?” she smiled. “How sweet of you…”

“None of that,” he said roughly, turning to level a cold stare at her. “You did a very naughty thing last night. We’re going to have to… discuss it. But not right now.”

She swallowed the knot in her throat and nodded, but deep down she was already preparing for how to turn things to her favour next. He loves pain, she told herself. That is his lever. Use it.

As he continued to get dressed, she watched him. He wasn’t very good at it — probably was used to servants helping him, and they weren’t here right now — but he knew well enough how to put his armour on. She was almost tempted to help him, but then she remembered that she was supposed to have a different purpose.

“I suppose I should get dressed as well,” she said as she slinked off the bed.

“Why is that?”

“I serve you now. I should be there with you. To advise you.”

“Advise me?” he chuckled. “What do you know of military strategy?”

More than you, she thought, but she wasn’t even sure that was completely true. It was a mystery to her, what Harkonnens taught their young.

“I know Arrakis,” she said, coming to sit beside him. They cut a striking picture, him in his black armour and her in her naked skin, both looking equally confident. “And perhaps, my lord na-Baron, you can learn more about what a Bene Gesserit can do.”

“Or what she can’t do,” he muttered. But there was already a surrender in his gaze. He had decided to bring her along, now he only had to decide how to admit it. “No talking about me,” he pointed out. “To anyone.”

“Of course.”

“And no bragging about… about —”

“I wouldn’t dare.”

He chuckled. “I’ve heard that one before. I didn’t believe it back then, either.”

She didn’t miss the strange glances the other servants gave as she passed by, close behind Feyd-Rautha. They had breakfast together in a lavish dining hall, one with a long, black table and lights suspended high above. She’d never seen this room before…

His brother, Rabban, wasn’t there, and neither was the Baron.

“Do you always eat alone, my lord?” she asked him, sitting somewhere in the centre of the table, a respectable number of seats away, while Feyd sat at the head.

“Depends on what I’m eating,” he answered with a grin. “Besides, I’m not alone today, am I?”

“No,” she smiled. “You are not.”

He didn’t speak for the rest of the meal. He ate, in fact, in a hurry, eyeing her critically every now and then, judging her for how slowly she was chewing. And when he finished, he got up without even considering her presence. He paused in the doorway as he heard her scrambling to get up and follow, and bowed his head — he was suddenly regretful. Another habit of eating alone was, perhaps, his lack of consideration for others. He’d completely forgotten her by the time he finished breakfast…

She joined at his side without complaint, happy to already be doing her service: teaching him healthy new habits. Feyd looked at her quietly for a moment, and then they left together.

The day was spent in a strategy meeting, which he started without giving the time to any of his generals to question why she was there. The sight of a Bene Gesserit among the Harkonnen must’ve been rare indeed — or even that of a woman who wasn’t a slave or a serving girl.

They spoke their jagged language, and in phrases that were blissfully short. It was easy enough for her to understand even without a full vocabulary.

“Push them to the edge,” said Feyd as he stood above the map, fiddling with a neat little blade in his hands, a shiny thing of white silver. “The worms will finish what the storms do not.”

“Yes, sir, na-Baron.”

“Search scouting parties up ahead before you send in more harvesters. And I want a map of the richest spice fields by tomorrow morning.”

“Er, yes, yes sir.”

She eyed all the proceedings in silence, and in the mist of fear and anxiety, the other men completely forgot her. Their minds were so easy to read, their emotions so clear on their faces, on their hands, in the way they held themselves… And in their centre, Feyd, speaking to them as if they were Ixian automatons without any thought or feeling.

She waited for the meeting to be over before she finally joined his side and spoke.

“That was productive.”

“Was it?” he sighed, bracing his arms against the table. The door closed with finality behind his frightened generals. “I didn’t know you spoke our language,” he noted with a cocked brow.

“I am learning,” she smiled.

“Rabban left me a complete mess. It will take months to undo it.”

“Years. And you don’t have as much time as you think.”

“Really? Well, speak plainly, now.”

She turned, leaning lightly against the table so that she could better look at him. He was less sure of himself now than he had been around his men…

“If you push the Fremen too hard, they could go south. It is out of reach for us, out of control.”

“Nothing survives out there.”

“How do you know, if nobody’s ever been there but Fremen?”

He bit his lip and frowned, but didn’t disagree. “And you would do, what?”

“Relax the attacks. Give them a false sense of security. Bait them into —”

“Into exposing themselves…”

“Exactly.”

“But these savages won’t do that. They know we’ve got superior firepower. Their strength lies in their secret tactics.”

She shrugged. “You have a point…”

“But if… if we had to approach this like a fight between a stronger man and a weaker man…” he said, thinking out loud as he began to pace.

She looked at him and said nothing, letting the ideas germinate in his head.

“It’s late, it’s hot,” he sighed. “I’ll think about it more tomorrow.”

“Yes, my lord na-Baron. You still haven’t even had lunch.”

“I’ll have dinner. We’ll have dinner.”

“Another thing though… That map you requested.”

“What about it?”

“The spice fields on Arrakis are highly changeable and depend on many variables. It can take days for someone to calculate their frequency. Less if you had a Mentat. Or a thinking machine…”

Feyd chuckled. “Worried? Since when do you care about the fate of my men?”

“I don’t care about his fate. I care about whether he provides you with false information just to save his neck.”

“Hm… I’ll see what he brings me tomorrow,” he smirked, looking pointedly at her, “and maybe have you look at it.”

She paused, already unhappy with the charge she was given. Mathematical calculations were not her strong suit, but she understood she needed to submit to Feyd’s testing if she expected to be kept around.

“Yes, my lord,” she said with a light bow.

“Now, then. Let’s eat.”

She could already tell that his habits were changing. He watched her more closely and was clearly thinking about her, considering her from every angle. Although Feyd-Rautha made no effort to hide what he was feeling, she found it hard to pinpoint just what was going through his head that evening.

She met his gaze with more confidence than she felt but allowed him to watch her openly too, letting him enjoy the moments of peace between them. He seemed to only like speaking to her when the servants left the room.

“You like to watch, don’t you?” he asked, leaning back against his tall, elegant seat.

“I believe you’ve been doing the watching, my na-Baron,” she smirked.

“No, no, you know what I mean… I mean throughout the day. Us. All of us. You’re learning our language now? You’re studying our strategies. You think, you don’t speak…” he listed, his cold eyes set on her as their meals waited untouched before them. “Until my generals have gone…”

“Of course. I would not have them think your orders can be questioned.”

“Even though you question them.”

“That’s only for you to know,” she smiled.

Feyd smiled back. He suspected her of many things — both past and future betrayals — but in that moment, he appreciated her.

“Are you trying to learn more about me, my na-Baron?”

“Why not? You’re learning about us.”

“I think you’ll find me less inscrutable. If you wish to know something, simply ask.”

Feyd nodded and turned his attention to his plate at last. He cut into the meat, he moved the garnishings around, but before he could bring it to his lips he set the fork down loudly and looked up at her again.

“Why did you do that to me last night?” he quickly asked.

“Because you liked it.”

“Don’t play dumb with me. You’re not as good at it as you think. How did you know I would like it?”

She set her knife and fork down too, and let her wrists rest upon the table. He was pulling her into something she wasn’t sure she wanted to confess, and she knew she couldn’t get him to forget it without using those Bene Gesserit tricks he hated so much. Perhaps there was a way to still turn this around in her favour…

“I merely recognised what I knew so well,” she answered quietly, her voice floating through the penumbra toward him.

“And where did you recognise it from?”

“From myself.”

Feyd leaned back again, his lips pulled into a grin. There was doubt in his eyes, but the rest of him seemed so intrigued, so glad about this new development, that she could almost guess what he was going to say next.

He’ll want to see it, she thought. He’ll want to see me like that. Exposed. Vulnerable before him.

“Show me,” he said, confirming everything.

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