Author's Note: We'll actually get to Caladan in the next chapter I swear. If you're wondering, this story does use a lot of canon from the Prelude to Dune novels (so spoilers), which is where I get the Paulus Atreides quotes and all the Dune backstory that doesn't have to do with Rhiannon or Planet Iro. You don't have to read the books to understand this story but maybe check out the Dune wiki page if you get confused.
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Chapter Three: Impressions
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The two ornithopters circled the icy ridge, metal hulls glinting in the late afternoon sun. The Black Heron Hall estate sat squarely at the bottom of the valley, surrounded by a maze of walled gardens, well-tended waterways, and a scattering of ancillary buildings designed to blend in with the natural mountain rock.
Rhiannon stood on the walkway leading to the landing pad, her chiffon cape snapping in the wind stirred up by the landing aircraft. Elsbeth stood just off her right elbow, only having just returned from her trip to the nearest town, where she'd placed an order for several new uniform coats and travel dresses for those of Rhiannon's staff that were moving with her to Caladan.
To Rhiannon's left loomed Trevil Pennon, the Captain of her Personal Guard. Trevil was in his mid fifties, a dour man of a military disposition, complete with close-cropped gray hair, craggy face, and terminal scowl. Like Mariona, Rhiannon's lady-in-waiting, Trevil had been a part of Bence Varvara's staff — a hired mercenary turned soldier — that had chosen to stay with her after the Count's death.
He glared fixedly at the settling ornithopters, face a mask of poorly-concealed disdain, silently daring the occupants to bring harm to his Lady. It didn't help that Trevil was already sour about having to share the responsibility of Rhiannon's safety with Duncan Idaho, who, as one of the Duke's men, he had deemed untrustworthy.
The three of them were joined on the walkway by the Chief of Staff, several guards, as well as Hawat and Idaho. If the Master of Assassins had been put off by whatever he found in Elsbeth's private rooms, he gave no outward sign of it. Idaho had yet to say anything, but Rhiannon still hoped for details to laugh over later. Especially when Elsbeth found out.
The crew of the ornithopter disembarked, and Rhiannon was treated to her first sight of her husband-to-be. She'd seen holophotos of him before and had already agreed with Elsbeth's statement that he was pleasing to the eye. Seeing him in person now, she was able to add that assessment.
Duke Leto Atreides cut a handsome figure, dressed in the same work uniform as the rest of his men — black with the red Atreides emblem on the chest and two gold hawk pins to either side of his collar. He wasn't particularly tall, only a few inches taller than Rhiannon, with a lean, athletic build. She cataloged his angular, hawklike features quickly: olive skin, heavy eyebrows, sharp gray eyes. His hair was black and curly, but had been slicked back with a holding gel to keep it out of his face. He sported a thick, well-groomed beard that was only just starting to gray at the corners of his jaw.
When Duke Leto and his guards reached the welcoming party, Rhiannon bowed gracefully and said, "My Lord Duke, welcome to Black Heron Hall."
"Lady Rhiannon." He took her hand in the half-handshake of the Imperium, then brought it to his lips to brush a kiss across her knuckles. "It's a pleasure to meet you at last."
"Likewise, m'Lord." Temporarily mollified by the gesture, Rhiannon was able to set aside the previous slights enough for her soft smile to be genuine. "I've followed your pursuits on Iro with great interest. It's good to be able to attach a face with the progress." She indicated Elsbeth, who had a knowing gleam in her eye that Rhiannon chose to ignore. "May I introduce my aunt, Lady Elsbeth Levin. And Trevil Pennon, the Captain of my Personal Guard."
"Charmed, my Lord," Elsbeth said in her sweet voice, dipping into a perfect curtsy.
Trevil fixed the Duke with a stony scowl. Looking downright murderous, but under direct orders to be respectful. He dipped his head once, said, "M'Lord."
The Captain of the Guard was very opposed to the impending wedding, and already hated the Duke on principle. Having served Bence Varvara during his marriage to Rhiannon, Trevil understood just how much power a nobleman had over his wife — how much pain he could inflict. Trevil was uniquely aware of Rhiannon's past marital experiences, and would gladly give his life to keep her from having to go through it all again.
Hoping the Duke and his men would overlook Trevil's distemper and write it off as his usual moody nature, Rhiannon allowed herself to be introduced to Gurney Halleck, a muscular, rough looking man that had shadowed the Duke from the ornithopter. He was middle aged, but the scars that littered his face and hands indicated that he had survived many lifetimes worth of violence. The most notable was an ugly red scar curling across his cheek and jaw, most likely from an inkvine, a sort of natural whip with thorns containing a potent — and excruciatingly painful — neurotoxin.
Introductions finished, Rhiannon inclined her head incrementally toward the house. "Now, it's a long journey from Dering House Hall. I'm sure you and your men would appreciate the opportunity to refresh yourselves. Dinner is to be served in half an hour, but if you'd like something before then, it can be arranged. If you'd accompany me?"
The Duke smiled politely and offered her his arm. She took it gladly, her delicate fingers curling around his bicep. "Dinner would be much appreciated, my Lady. Lead on."
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The banquet hall was just as elegantly rustic as the rest of the estate — smooth marble floors, fresh flowers in ornate vases, and roaring fireplaces. One of the walls was made entirely of glass, filling the room with natural light and tinting everything a cozy shade of orange as the evening sun drifted behind the mountains.
Leto sat at a well-polished oak table, enjoying a meal of roasted sugar-salmon with vegetables and a venison stew. He drank from his mug of pepper-sap ale, listening to the easy conversation flitting about the table. Lady Rhiannon was an excellent hostess, quick to set a relaxed tone for the meal and pulling the threads of conversation like a master marionettist — keeping them away from potentially unpleasant subjects like the recent Ironian House War and traumatic life events, and shepherding them into discussions about planetary ecology and personal anecdotes.
"As I was the smallest, it was my job to climb the trees and set the snares," Rhiannon explained, deep in a story about the hunting trips when she would go on with her father as a child. "I don't know what they would've done if I had gotten stuck."
"How high would you have to climb?" Gurney asked, helping himself to another piece of fish as a server refilled his mug of ale.
"Oh… sixty feet or so, generally. Cravenbirds hunt for bark weasels in the treetops, so the bait had to be set as high as it could go."
Rhiannon was markedly lovely in her portrait, but paintings and holophotos could never hope to truly capture her beauty — the way her dark eyes gleamed with lethal intelligence or the flash of her roguish smile. She commanded the room in an easy, deceptively off-handed sort of way, and yet her movements were intentional. Confident. Like fire in a dark room, she blazed; full of a magnetic intensity that she used to grab her guests' attention and hold it in a vice grip.
As Rhiannon encouraged Leto to tell stories of his life on Caladan, she smiled at him, and he was startled to hear himself think: I could love her.
It was a strange revelation, given how worried he had been that they wouldn't like each other at all. When the conversation drifted away from him and down the table to Lady Elsbeth, Leto found himself thinking about his own parents. The Old Duke Paulus Atreides and his wife Lady Helena had despised each other. While they feigned the perfect marriage in public, their thundering arguments were frequent and could last for hours at a time.
"I married for politics in the first place, lad," the Old Duke had said. "Never should have tried to make it otherwise. At our station, marriage is a tool. Don't muck everything up by trying to throw love into the mix."
Lady Helena was stern, inflexible, and a religious zealot — and although the Old Duke had admitted to loving her in the early years of their marriage, his lack of personal investment in the relationship had made him a poor husband. Leto acknowledged the martial failings of his father, and wanted to avoid the Old Duke's mistakes.
While Leto's impending marriage to Lady Rhiannon was purely political, he hoped that in time they could grow to care for each other — or at least avoid the enmity that led to his father's death and his mother's subsequent banishment.
But of course, whether or not he found Lady Rhiannon likable was only one obstacle. Leto's life was complicated by a concubine that he loved deeply and the son they'd had together. Adhering to both the promises he had made to them and to his duties as a husband would be a delicate balancing act, one that he was not wholly sure he could maintain. Despite his determination to ensure that his relationship to them did not change, he knew Jessica was deeply hurt; he feared that the engagement had already driven a wedge between them, and that the distance between them would only grow.
Leto's eight year old son Paul posed a much more tangible issue — one that had the potential to become very serious in the future. As the son of the Duke's bound concubine, Paul was technically illegitimate. Even though Leto had officially recognized him as his son and named the boy as his heir, another son by his wife would have greater claim to the ducal title.
No matter what, Leto was determined to ensure that Paul would not be displaced. From the beginning of the complex negotiations between House Atreides and House Dering, Leto had been very clear about Paul's place in the Atreides household. He had expected resistance to the idea; producing an heir from the bloodline of the wife's family was generally regarded as important.
Surprisingly, the Dering bureaucrats… didn't seem to care. At all.
Being amenable or accommodating was one thing, but total indifference was another. Viscount Dering just seemed to want whatever would make his sister happy, while his council unanimously dismissed the subject as one of Duke Leto's 'private affairs' and promptly steered on to other matters.
Confused and a tad bit suspicious, Leto had directly put the question to Odon, the Dering Master of Finances who was also acting as facilitator between Atreides and Dering. At first, Odon was elusive, but once Leto was clear that he was not in the mood for word games, he answered honestly.
"The Lady Varvara is… extraordinarily independent," Odon had explained, taking off his spectacles and polishing them nervously on his sleeve. "She will likely have strong opinions about matters concerning children. The councilmen know, as I do, that a statement on that particular subject reached within the Council Room walls won't matter if the Countess does not also agree to it."
He placed his spectacles back on his nose and looked Leto in the eye.
"I give you my word that House Dering will not object to your son maintaining his title as heir apparent," Odon went on, sounding serious, "but I strongly recommend discussing it with Lady Varvara."
Leto had walked away from the conversation feeling mildly alarmed. Odon had made it clear that House Dering had little to no control over its wayward sister, but what did that mean for House Atreides? What did that mean for Leto? House Dering hadn't made any effort to arrange for the Dowager Countess to meet him, and Leto had been struck by the notion that there was something wrong with Lady Varvara — insanity, perhaps — that they were trying to keep hidden until it was too late for House Atreides to back out on the deal.
He had wanted to speak with Jessica to get her insight, but she was still on Caladan and he wouldn't see her for several more weeks, so he'd gone over the conversation with Hawat, Gurney, and Duncan instead.
Hawat had shared his concern, thinking of Lady Helena and Lady Kailea, as Leto did, and the irreparable damage they had caused.
It was Gurney that pointed out: "We've heard from several sources that Lady Varvara was one of the most trusted of House Dering's advisors. It's possible that it is a sign of respect for her, not a deception."
Leto hoped Gurney was right, but decided that he needed to take matters into his own hands. As per Odon's advice, Leto had sent an emissary to Black Heron Hall to negotiate the so-called 'private affairs'. Leto wished he could do it himself — especially since many of the topics at hand would be the concerns Jessica had expressed to him — but since the discussion was no longer political, it was of lower priority than the other things that required Leto's attention.
Still concerned about the implications of what Odon had possibly sugar-coated as 'independence', Hawat had suggested using the interaction as an early means of establishing control — just in case the future Lady of Caladan turned out to be as ungovernable as he feared. Thus, Leto was heavy handed in the stances he'd had presented to her, with the assumption that she'd dispute them and then he'd be able to develop a sense of her 'independence' and go from there.
Surprisingly, like the Dering bureaucrats, Lady Varvara… didn't seem to care.
She'd acknowledged her betrothed's statements with grace and indifference, leaving Leto both confused and hopeful; a lack of desire for children secured Paul's position as heir, and no expectation of intimacy would allow Leto to prioritize his love for Jessica in a way he wouldn't have been able to otherwise.
But was Lady Varvara's indifference genuine, or was she simply agreeing with him to avoid pre-nuptial conflict?
He needed to find out for sure.
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After dinner, Leto asked his bride-to-be to accompany him for a walk around the estate's extensive sprawl of gardens. Night had fallen, but the path was lit by the warm light of glowglobes bobbing unobtrusively between sculpted trees and around alabaster statues. The air was crisp and cold, but Leto's uniform had been lined with an adaptive thermal layer in preparation for the snowy planet; similarly, Rhiannon had donned a thick whalefur cloak, though she was well-accustomed to the chill.
"I've had the pleasure of spending a significant amount of time getting to know Viscount Dering," Leto remarked as they walked. They were alone, much to the mutual chagrin of Hawat and the surly-looking Captain of Rhiannon's Guard, but they needed the space to get to know each other, and Rhiannon had assured him that the estate grounds were quite safe. "Your brother speaks highly of you."
"Ha! He'd better," Rhiannon laughed, her arm warm in his. "Has he invited you to go hunting yet?"
"Several times," he admitted. "He is a… very hospitable man."
Her grin widened. "Driving you mad, is he?"
He gave her a look of mock offense. "I didn't say that!"
"You don't need to, m'Lord." She bumped him lightly with her shoulder. "Larion is a charming host and excellent at delivering speeches, but after the death of our father, most of the House administrative duties fell to me. For good reason."
"I understand that the population of Iro has you to thank for the structural development that's happened over the past few years." They had reached the fish ponds, which were lit from within. Leto stopped to watch the shadowy fish flitting beneath the surface, pretending not to admire the way the light from the water played in patterns across Rhiannon's lovely face. "The construction of heated roadways across the Great Ranges seems especially generous."
"A costly, but worthy endeavor." Leto noted how she seemed to brighten at the mention of her work. "There are many settlements throughout the Ranges that are completely isolated for most of the year due to the heavy snows. It'll be good for them to be able to continue trading with other villages throughout the winter."
"It will be," Leto agreed. "I hope you'll find ways to benefit the people of Caladan, as you have on Iro."
Rhiannon's expression remained mild. "Perhaps. Fortunately, Caladan hasn't been shaped by centuries of House warfare. Iro is quite primitive, in comparison. It will take several lifetimes to repair the damage — I imagine there is less that needs to be done on Caladan."
"Less, perhaps," he reassured, "but there are still plenty of important administrative projects that I'm confident will benefit from your insight."
"I will gladly give whatever I can offer, my Lord."
Sensing a window for change in conversation topics, Leto opened his mouth to ask the questions that had been on his mind for weeks, but hesitated. It was harder now to say what he needed to say; she was lovely and brilliant, and it almost pained Leto to try and re-emphasize the lines he had already drawn between them — especially now that he'd realized that she was someone he could grow to love.
"It's Leto," he started carefully. "If we are to be married, I'd like you to call me by my name."
She nodded her assent. "Rhia."
"Rhia," he repeated, relishing the permission to use the more intimate form of her name. "Ours isn't a silly romance. We both know why we are to be married. I know that it… may not be what you expected for your life."
Rhiannon actually snorted. "A silly romance, he says." She shook her head in mild amusement. "If you'll recall, Leto, this isn't my first political marriage. I won't go into it under any false pretenses."
Leto took the gentle tease with a small, wistful smile. "All the same… I know that the conditions I've asked of you are even more restrictive than the average arrangement."
"You want your son and your concubine to be happy," she said lightly. "I respect that."
"I do want them to be happy." Jessica's hidden pain and young Paul's confusion haunted him night and day. "But at the same time, you are to be Lady Atreides. I don't want you to feel neglected either."
Rhiannon shrugged. "It isn't my place to challenge the conditions of marriage. An agreement has been made — my duty is to simply abide by it."
Leto felt a surge of frustration. He recognized a deflection when he heard one, but didn't know Rhiannon well enough to tell if the deflection was to cover a lie, or if she was truly honest and simply being polite.
"Rhia," Leto pleaded, "be open with me on this, please. I'd much rather know if you're bothered now, rather than have you resent me later."
Rhiannon scoffed, her face morphed into a scowl of aggravated disbelief.
"Oh, it's honesty you want? That's interesting." She unhooked her arm from his and turned to face him. Rhiannon looked him dead in the eye, her pleasant demeanor had melted away, replaced by something much more intense that Leto couldn't name. "Very well. Honestly, I don't give a fuck. The thought of having another baby makes me nauseous and I couldn't care less about who keeps your bed warm. If you decide to never lay with me because it keeps Jessica happy, then that's between you and her. I've been a widow for a long time, and am not at all ashamed about ensuring that my sexual needs are met elsewhere."
Leto, startled by the sudden brashness, opened his mouth to reply. Rhiannon lifted a finger to silence him.
"Managing the politics that take place between the various Houses of the Landstraad is difficult," she continued with a dismissive gesture, "but maintaining the politics within a household is both exhausting and a massive waste of time. Do whatever you deem necessary to ensure stability, Leto. It makes little difference to me."
For a few moments, Leto could only blink at her in baffled admiration. If this was what Odon had meant by 'independence', then he found that he liked it. In his mind, he lamented: I could love you.
"Alright," he said finally. "Thank you for being honest with me."
Rhiannon snorted. Her expression softened. "The look on your face is stupid," she said, amused. "I like it. Perhaps you should ask women for honesty more often."
Leto immediately schooled his expression, covering up whatever emotion her tirade had shocked out of him with a mock scowl. "As my wife, that duty shall fall to you, m'Lady."
"Hah! Be careful what you wish for, m'Lord. Few men have survived my unwavering honesty with their egos intact."
"Nevertheless, I expect you to accomplish it with unwavering dedication." Leto drew himself up and squared his shoulders. "I am the Duke of House Atreides, and am perfectly capable of managing my own ego."
Rhiannon flourished and bowed gallantly. "As my Lord Duke commands."
He gave a curt nod, then broke out into a grin as he offered her his arm again, greatly pleased to discover that she had a sense of humor. "Now that we've reached an understanding, we should probably go back to the house before Hawat sends a search party."
"I get the sense that your Hawat and my Pennon are just as overprotective as the other." Rhiannon commented as she linked her arm with his, walking closer to him than she had earlier; Leto could feel her warmth pressing all the way up his side. "I wouldn't be surprised to learn that they had us followed."
"Nor would I. Pennon is coming with you to Caladan, isn't he? Perhaps they will find friendship in their mutual paranoia."
"Or perhaps they will compete." Rhiannon shuddered. "Or even join forces."
Leto barked a laugh. "You and I will never have been safer, m'Lady."
Rhiannon made a noise like a dying animal, which made Leto laugh again. He made a point of walking slowly, stopping to ask about every statue and ornamentation they came across, just drawing out their time together as long as he could.
The stars shone brightly over Black Heron Hall, and the snow on the mountain peaks was luminous in the moonlight. Leto tried to soak in the peaceful atmosphere, listening to Rhiannon talk about various figureheads and why each memorial had been erected in their honor, but he couldn't ignore the guilt. He had told Jessica that he did not love Rhiannon, and while he still did not, he now knew that he could.
Yes, I could love her, he thought to himself. But I've already given my heart to someone else. I will not break my promises to Jessica or Paul.
It was unlikely that Rhiannon would care anyway.
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Rhiannon stood with Elsbeth on the walkway leading to the landing pad, waving off the three ornithopters as they unfolded their wings and lifted into the starry sky, bearing Duke Leto, Thufir Hawat, Gurney Halleck, and a number of Atreides soldiers back south.
After their walk, Rhiannon and Leto had returned inside for a cup of spice coffee and sweetcakes. For all his intimidating looks, Gurney Halleck turned out to be quite the troubadour — entertaining the occupants of Black Heron Hall by playing his nine-stringed baliset and singing songs that he had written himself.
Rhiannon had offered them rooms to stay the night, but House Atreides still had a lot to do in the next few days before the Duke left for Caladan, and there wasn't a moment to waste. Leto had thanked her for the pleasant evening and kissed her hand before they parted. They wouldn't see each other again until Rhiannon arrived on Caladan with the wedding party in several weeks.
Having met her husband-to-be, Rhiannon wasn't sure how to feel. She felt the echoes of her past self stirring; Rhiannon Dering: the bright young woman she had been before she married Bence Varvara — when she had been whole enough to love unconditionally. Back then, she would have instantly fallen head-over-heels in love with the charming Duke Leto. She would've made him a gentle and loving wife, and he would've made her a kind husband.
Except Rhiannon Dering had been dead for well over a decade now, and there was no bringing her back — but for the first time in all those years, Rhiannon found that she missed her. Why couldn't this be her first marriage? It wasn't fair — but life rarely was.
When the sound of the thrumming ornithopter wings faded, Elsbeth remarked, "That's a relief."
Rhiannon drew herself out of her own thoughts. "What is?"
"To see that Bence didn't completely crush that romantic heart of yours."
Rhiannon didn't dignify the comment with an answer. Elsbeth didn't need one. She gave her niece a gentle smile that was both knowing and sad before turning and leaving Rhiannon alone to wrestle with her emotions.
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