A/N: Inspired by (and with a few scenes taken from) the 2021 movie by Villeneuve. Atreides!
There are many great men in House Atreides. I am not one of them.
Now, don't get me wrong—I'm not craven, merely mediocre. But Atreides is a House of great men, and I would rather be mediocre here than whatever passes for great in any other House. And I've not been the first to think that.
Let me explain. There are two kinds of Atreides men. No—that's not right. Atreides has many kinds of people. What I mean to say, is: there are two kinds of Atreides soldiers. There's the old liege-families who've been Atreides for time out of mind, generations of soldiers serving generations of dukes here on Caladan and wherever they're sent on their duke's business. Oh, there's the occasional branch off the old vine that becomes a cook in the Atreides kitchens, or an archivist in the Atreides libraries; but by and large they're soldiers who marry the daughters of soldiers and teach their offspring to be soldiers—before, I would swear, they even learn to talk. They're good men and top-tier fighters and the core of the great Atreides legions; no one disputes that. No one would want to, as far as I can tell. (No one, at least, in House Atreides, and what other opinion matters?) But—and this may be my bias talking, for as you've probably guessed I'm not one of those—but sometimes they seem complacent. "Things have always been like this; why would we expect them to change?" and "that's my father's father's knife, passed down to me; what do I want with a new one?"—that sort of thing. Nothing terrible, they're not stodgy; but…
But, well, there's another group of Atreides soldiers, and I hope you can forgive my pride at my place among them. You see, Duke Leto is a great man. A great man who somehow managed to invite new blood into the old loyal ranks, and make those loyal ranks not merely accepting, but actually excited. Welcoming. I know, it surprised me, too. You see why my criticism of the Old Guard barely even counted as such? It's almost too good to be true. Oh, there's petty squabbles between the men that the lieutenants deal with, and petty squabbles between the lieutenants that the captains deal with, and so on. But nothing like you'd expect. And they're not like that only with the rare Caladan citizen with enough natural talent to learn the knife and enough humility to know he needs to—but with me, as well!
Oh, but I'm getting ahead of myself again. We of the not-Old Guard are a motley bunch. As I said, there's the occasional jumped-up civvie who dreamed big and actually made it. There's the offspring of old liege-men of other, lesser Houses who grew up already disillusioned with the lords their fathers served—younger sons, mostly, obedient enough to gain their parents' financial assistance in catching a freighter to Caladan but superfluous enough to be allowed to follow their own path. Each of these have something in common with the old soldiers' soldiers; and then there's me.
What's so special about me? Well, nothing. I told you that already. What I am, is a jumped-up petty criminal from a planet no one gave two licks about, not even its rightful lords. If lords they could be called; I didn't give two licks about them either. Their absence was little loss, let me tell you. Lied and stole my way through childhood, I did, then lied and stole my way towards being an adult, too. Never had anyone to show me better. But I was a mean little scrapper with a blade—with a life like that, you got no choice—and I had my own set of lines I'd never cross. They were all wrong, or mostly, as they will be for a young'un who's taught himself the basics of, well, everything, but they were mine, and they counted for something.
Counted for more than I could have thought, actually.
You see, my dusty, no-account home world suddenly became of interest when its petty lords-who-weren't decided it'd be a good idea to take a potshot at House Atreides. Must have been high on spice at the time (though how they'd've afforded it, I don't know). Actually, now that I think about it, they were probably just the paid lackeys of some richer house with blood out for the Atreides. Not that it matters; I didn't care about their reasoning then and I still don't now, except as an academic question. In any case, Atreides annexed my planet in retaliation, and life significantly improved for most of the citizens of the dustball. For me, a proud, stringy, loud-mouthed brat of a kid who'd sooner spit in a duke's eye than accept his handouts? It mostly just meant the people I was stealing from were somehow richer and kinder and less gullible. Don't ask me how that works; a walking contradiction, House Atreides is.
Not that the Duke or anyone of even moderate importance was much on Dustball for me to steal from; but somehow the whole House has taken on the characteristics of its leaders. I don't ask questions; I just accept, and hope some of it has rubbed off on me, too.
Where was I? Right, stealing from Atreides. Now, I didn't know this at the time, but apparently I'd been making a bit of a name for myself. Most Dustball citizens were so happy to have competent rulers—or came around to that mindset quickly, when they saw the benefits—that they quit being criminals. The others were quickly rounded up by the bit of legion stationed on the planet. (Atreides is particularly efficiently at that sort of thing. The lords might be disgruntled when it happens, but most planets are relieved to be annexed by them.) But me? I was young enough that most felt sorry for me, slippery enough that those who didn't had a hard time hanging onto me, and stubborn enough that I refused to change my mind about overlords, no matter how benignant they seemed. This stalemate might have gone on forever—I might still be there, or worse—except for Gurney Halleck.
Why Duke Leto sent Halleck to Dustball, I've never asked. But he was there, staying at the small legion compound, when I snuck in for my usual tricks.
I'd never had such a fright in my life.
"Not too good at this thieving business, are you?" he asked in what I was sure at the time was a dreadful mocking growl, though now I doubt was any different from his typical tone. I was too scared to judge accurately at the time, standing there like a nincompoop with a sack of loot in one hand and a blade in the other, looking like any two-bit villain in a cheap flick, except that I was really too young and skinny for such a part. But I'd never been a coward, and I didn't start then. I rushed the man, threw the bag of loot at his face as a distraction, and slipped out into the night.
Or would have, if he hadn't neatly snagged the back of my shirt, thrown me against a wall, and pinned me there with one competent hand.
"Let me go!" I snarled, squirming.
He just looked at me for a bit, unblinking. "You didn't use the knife." It was not a question.
I froze.
"If there was ever a time to use a knife on a burglary," he said, conversationally, "It was now. But you didn't."
"Let me go," I muttered, sullenly.
He stared at me a bit longer, then said, "I will, if you swear you will think, long and hard, about what you're doing with your life."
"You think I've ever had a choice?"
"Let me give you one." He dropped his arm and stepped back. "Work for us, and I'll see to it you get some better training with that knife." He eyed how I held the blade distastefully. "Deal?"
Oh, you think I agreed right then? I'm far too bullheaded for that. We went through the same dance a few times before I began to come around, and I think Halleck had almost given up on me (whyever he thought I was someone worth holding out for) when I showed up at the front door of the compound during the day and demanded to speak to him.
I did get to speak to him. In a jail cell.
Halleck eventually straightened things out, and I started a grunt-work job with training on the side. Oh, I still had no idea this could lead to a place in the legions! I just thought it an unmissable opportunity for some money and top-notch training until I could get off Dustball and strike out on my own again. I did have a vague idea of doing mercenary work for some petty House, as a step upward on the legality ladder. But in Atreides itself?
Gurney Halleck was long gone by the time something more came of my situation. I'd made some friends in the legions—you can't train with men without becoming one of them, just a bit—when apparently the planet's old lords decided that Dustball was theirs and they'd actually spent the money to run infiltrators there on Spacing Guild transports to harass the few important Atreides actually on planet. Soldiers started getting sniped on watch (for all the good it did, since Atreides equips all its soldiers with shields), shipments started disappearing between bases, things started blowing up. By now I'd saved up enough to catch a transport off-planet, and really, if there was ever a time to go, it was then. But for some reason I didn't. Loyalty, I guess, or stupidity; I didn't honestly expect to be affected by the enemy agents.
But, well, what can go wrong will go wrong. I and the bit of legion I was training with had been off for a couple of days in the wilderness, and when we came back the base was in chaos. Fire, yelling, no one to take charge…
Oh, you think I took charge? Not a chance! The lieutenant of the group I'd been with did that. But, well, at the commendation ceremony later when they swore me into the legions, they described it this way: that I "acted with a soldier's duty that was not yet mine." A fancy way of saying I followed orders instead of sneaking off into the alleys while I had the chance. The point was, of course, I wasn't bound to follow those orders, and the higher-ups thought it'd meant something.
It had, honestly. I was an Atreides man already, though I hadn't really known it.
Not much changed, to be honest. I trained more and hauled garbage less, though lowest-tier soldiers still do their fair share of that. My friends were still my friends, I got hazed in the good old-fashioned way, and we were all still stationed on Dustball.
Until we weren't anymore, of course.
I still remember how I felt, leaving the Spacing Guild transport and seeing Caladan for the first time. Oh, you think it was gorgeous? The brilliant sapphire and emerald of a bright summer's day, when the ocean flashes and the palace glows in the sun? Oh, no. It was cold, wet, and miserable. We slogged through pounding rain to the barracks, and our kits got soaked. Then we had to change into the soaked dress uniforms because Duke Leto himself wanted to welcome us back.
Never did a more bedraggled legion eat dinner in the palace's great state room.
I'd never experienced anything more magnificent in my life.
I saw Gurney Halleck again; he shook my hand gravely and gave me a nod that meant more to me than all the words of the commendation ceremony. And then he came back with Duke Leto Atreides himself, and I felt like nothing would be more appropriate than to drop to my knees and kiss his ring, as I had his proxy during my swearing-in. I didn't, of course. That kind of thing is always awkward at dinner. But he thanked me for my actions and welcomed me to the legions, and I stammered back something incoherent.
I think it had finally hit me—I was a true member of the great House Atreides, best in the Imperium. I, a no-account criminal! And there was nowhere I'd rather be, nothing I'd rather do.
It was at this point that I really started to be surprised at the welcome I was given by my fellow legionaries. I expected it from my unit; we'd trained together while I was still a mouthy kid, after all. But now I lived in the general barracks, ate at the general mess hall, and was sent on missions where I could easily have been "the outsider." But I never was.
Didn't stop me from gloating when I took down one of the Old Guard with some of my self-taught knife skills I'd never quite gotten rid of despite all the formal training. Complacent, remember?
Well, years passed—the best years of my life. I never went back to Dustball, but I saw a fair few planets that were almost interchangeable with it. Missions were excitement and boredom, training pain and comradery, and any time spent on Caladan was splendid. I soon learned that Duke Leto visited his legions regularly, and when he couldn't he sent Gurney Halleck or Duncan Idaho to make the rounds. Eventually the Duke fathered a son, and then, once he was old enough, young Paul accompanied him. We all got used to the skinny boy in black with the shock of dark hair trailing along at the Duke's side; occasionally we returned him there after he ran off as boys are bound to do.
But—well—good times can't last, can they? I learned that as a kid, when my streak of good weather and easy food would end in miserable days and near starvation. But not every Atreides soldier did. Don't get me wrong—they'd all slogged through long, bitter missions, and taken painful injuries, and had comrades die; but, in the end, everything was for the good of House Atreides, and House Atreides, they knew, was immutable.
So the shock of the Emperor's order? Almost unimaginable.
Oh, yes, it was an order—not a request, however it was framed. Even I, as un-politically savvy as I am, knew that. But if it had truly been a request, that would have changed nothing. "There is no call we do not answer," and all that. So we stood in parade-straight lines for all the pageantry of the Imperial Herald, shouted "Atreides!" on cue, and then packed ourselves up onto a Heighliner headed for Arrakis.
Arrakis was…hot. And abrasive. And rather a hell-hole, to be honest. The city-wide shields kept out the sandworms but not the sand; water, so abundant on Caladan, became the most exquisite commodity. Of course, for us legionaries, many things really didn't change. True, no other planet we'd been to quite compared to Arrakis, but we still ate and slept, trained and stood guard, cleaned our weapons and sang songs. In some ways, it was no different from any other mission.
In other ways, it was.
We rank-and-file soldiers aren't told much, but news trickles down anyway. A careless officer, or one who thinks his men should know more, gossip through the ranks, even mere speculation—however it happened, we all knew the Harkonnens were up to something, and it'd be up to us to stop them. Rumors of assassination attempts and possible traitors somehow came to our ears, though their sources were never traced. Our routines were undercut by a constant alertness, the sense of a threat always hanging over us.
But we were the Atreides legions, and constant low-level dread couldn't disrupt us.
Harkonnen battle-ships, though? Those could.
We were roused in the dead of night by shouting. Everything was sand and smoke and confusion. My feet slipped in my carelessly-donned shoes, my half-tucked sleep-shirt whipped around me, and my knife was bare and bloody in my hand.
"The Duke is dead!" someone screamed, and the words washed over me. Did I believe them, or disbelieve them? Neither, I think. Instead I focused on my knife-work. There were Harkonnen men everywhere; for each I dispatched, two more seemed to spring up. At my side, my fellow soldiers battled grimly on. Some fell and didn't rise again.
But Harkonnens? Harkonnens we could have dealt with—were, in fact, dealing with, slowly but surely. The Atreides legions were unmatched among all the great Houses. Many of us might die, even most, but we would not be overrun, not by Harkonnens.
And to fall at your brothers' side, with your blade in your hand dripping with the blood of your enemies, spilled in the service of Duke Leto Atreides? There were worse ways to die.
I didn't die like that. I envy those who did.
Because it was then that we learned just how pathetically insignificant our barracks' rumors were when compared to the truth—the Emperor hadn't given us a choice, coming to Arrakis? House Harkonnen sought our ruin?
Oh, it was much worse than that. No; at some point, someone realized he wasn't fighting Harkonnen lackeys anymore. The name "Sardaukar," once spoken, spread like the fires blazing throughout the city, and we knew.
The Emperor himself had betrayed our Duke—the best of them, sent to Dune to die.
It was at that point, I think, that I would have wept, had the tears not dried before they left my eyes.
But we are Atreides, come what may. And come it did. My lieutenant, yelling unintelligible orders, was struck down by falling, burning debris. Many more fell to Sardaukar blades—we gave as good as we got, but we were exhausted already, and they were never-ending. And I, unlucky sod that I am, was one of those wrestled to the ground, my knife struck from my hand, bound and dragged to my knees in a line of my fellow soldiers.
So we kneel, in the choking sand, amid the blazing ruins of our House. I'm somewhere in the middle of the line. From one end, they've begun—ritually and mercilessly—to strike off our heads. I no longer doubt that Duke Leto is dead. I wish for my knife—not to take a final strike at the bastards, but to one last time bring it across my chest and to my forehead: a final salute for my brothers, and the Duke, and House Atreides itself.
The man with the sword is coming closer. It's nearly my turn.
But, well—is it really such a horrible thing, dying with honor undeserved?
I'm not a great man—but I have never been a coward. I raise my head, stare death in the face, and smile.
(There were once many great men in House Atreides.)