A/N: The version of Lady Jessica described here is much more vulnerable, more "human" than the one we saw in Dune Part Two. But I think it's still pretty in-character - after all, in both movies (and in the books, of course), we've seen glimpses of Jessica simply being a loving, worried mom, and that's what she is here. Also, there's only one more chapter after this. Enjoy!
The living quarters of the Arrakeen Residency were bathed in a dim white light, the corners of the room plunged into near-complete darkness. Through the narrow, oblong windows, Jessica could see the largest of Arrakis' two moons in the cloudless night sky, the one the Fremen called the Hand of God. The moon was almost full, the fist-shaped formation clearly visible on its surface.
She was sitting on a carved wooden armchair she had ordered to be brought into the room. She had changed out of her heavy layers of ceremonial clothes into a much simpler ochre linen garb, and let her hair loose. In her hand, a half-full cup of Spice coffee was already getting cold; her empty dinner plate sat on the nightstand beside her.
On the bed next to it, her son was sleeping, lying on his back, his eyes darting beneath closed lids as if he were dreaming.
Paul had drifted in and out of consciousness all day, briefly opening his eyes from time to time, but never fully waking up. Jessica had been almost grateful to see him pass out while the old Fremen healer was working. Her son's stifled cries of pain had torn at her heart.
The healer had closed the two stab wounds with a tight row of sutures, then applied some sort of dark green ointment on them, leaving the rest of it on the nightstand to reapply twice a day. According to her, the crysknife to Paul's abdomen hadn't damaged any vital organs – a miracle, she had called it – but had led to severe blood loss. Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen's blade to his upper torso had caused a collapsed lung, which she had treated with the black tube she had inserted – and it seemed to have worked. While still slightly raspy, Paul's breathing was much slower and more relaxed than it had been before. The healer had also stitched up his right palm and bandaged it with a piece of clean grey fabric.
All in all, her son was very, very lucky to be alive, Jessica mused. She knew enough about medicine to be aware that these injuries could easily have been fatal.
It was not a thought she wanted to dwell on.
She had almost dozed off in her chair when Paul started stirring in his sleep. He let out a cough, followed by a soft moan, and his eyes fluttered open. Jessica moved over to him and sat on the edge of the mattress.
"Hello", she said with a small smile. She brushed a lock of curly hair out of his face. He was pale as a ghost, dark rings under the eyes, and his skin was hot to the touch – he had probably developed a fever. The Fremen healer had warned her about it. Somehow, it didn't alarm her. If Paul had managed to fight the highly lethal Water of Life, he could certainly manage to fight a fever, too.
"Hi", he answered groggily, eyes half-closed. "What time is it?"
"Shortly before midnight. You've been out all day. How are you feeling?"
He seemed to ponder the question for a while.
"Been better", he mumbled. His hand reached for his right side, where the plastic tube was still in place, attached to the skin with two stitches and clamped shut for the time being. Jessica took his wrist and cautiously pushed his arm back down.
"Don't", she ordered. "That needs to stay in for now."
He grumbled something through his teeth, but complied.
"Any news from the orbit?" he asked.
"I don't know. I haven't asked." In all honesty, it hadn't been on her list of priorities. "You don't need to concern yourself with that now, Paul."
It wasn't something he should have to concern himself with at all, she thought bitterly. The fate of the universe was literally being decided up there as they spoke, the Fremen fighters trying to cow the Great Houses into submission in the name of their Lisan Al-Gaib – his name. That wasn't a burden she should wish upon anyone to bear.
"I'm sorry", she said, more to herself than to her son.
"Mom, don't." His voice was strained. "Don't start with Chani again. I don't want to talk about it."
"I'm not talking about Chani." She shook her head and made a vague gesture around her. "I'm talking about – this. All of this."
"I'll be fine, Mom." Paul tentatively took in a deep breath. "I'll feel better in a few days."
"I'm not talking about that, either."
She paused. Paul's blue eyes were staring at her inquisitively, as if he were trying to read her mind.
"I mean everything that led to this. And everything that will result from it, too."
There were many things she felt sorry about. Many instances in which she had let her Bene Gesserit convictions and ideology drive her actions, rather than her role as what she should have been – a mother. Subjecting her son to Reverend Mother Mohiam's Gom Jabbar test, back on Caladan. Insisting that he travelled to the southern regions of Arrakis, knowing full well what awaited him there. Persuading him to drink the poisonous Water of Life, at the expense of everything he held dear, and at the risk of losing him forever.
She remembered what Leto had said to her on their last night together, before the Harkonnen's assault on Arrakeen. "Ever since you brought him before your Reverend Mother, Paul hasn't been the same." He had resented her for her influence on their son. She wondered what Leto would think now, watching his young heir become an all-powerful, messianic figure among the Fremen, single-handedly conducting a coup d'état against the Padishah Emperor and starting an interplanetary Holy War in the Atreides' name. She wanted to believe the Duke would have been proud. But if she was being honest, she wasn't too sure. Leto had never been a power-hungry man. That was one of the reasons she had fallen in love with him, all these years ago. His ambition had never been to gain control over the Fremen, much less make a play for the imperial throne.
On that same night of the Harkonnen attack, she had promised him she would protect Paul. But at times, she wasn't convinced she had.
Paul looked like he had followed her exact train of thought. He scoffed mirthlessly.
"So in hindsight, you'd do things differently?"
His tone told her he wasn't fooled.
"I didn't say that", she replied carefully.
"That's what I thought." The sarcasm in his voice was unmistakable. But he didn't sound angry – if anything, he almost sounded amused. He knew her too well.
He lifted his head to glance at the bedside table, on which the healer had left several of her glass vials and a bottle of fresh water.
"Are you thirsty?" Jessica asked. He shook his head.
"No. Wouldn't mind some of this, though." He gestured toward the painkiller potion.
"Of course." She picked up the vial and handed it to him, helping him bring it to his lips. He sipped some of the liquid, but was interrupted by a sudden fit of coughing. He abruptly pushed himself up to a sitting position, an arm around his ribs, struggling to catch his breath. Jessica patted his back as he sat, doubled over, his eyes squeezed shut against the pain.
"Easy. That went down the wrong way, huh?"
He finally managed to take in a shaky breath and nodded.
"Ow, shit", he muttered through clenched teeth. Jessica wrapped her arm around his shoulders and pulled him into her. He buried his head in the fabric of her gown with a groan. She gently stroked his hair as he gradually calmed down, resting her chin on his head. She felt him shuddering.
"You want to lie back down?" she asked.
He shook his head weakly. Jessica couldn't help but smile to herself. He seemed to need that hug just as much as she did. She shifted her position slightly to rest her back against the bed's headboard, making herself more comfortable. Paul leaned into her chest with his full weight. She tightened her embrace, mindful of his injuries, and closed her eyes.
They were both still for so long that she thought Paul had drifted off to sleep, but he ended up breaking the silence.
"Thanks for being here", he said, his voice barely audible.
She couldn't determine whether he referred to the current moment, to the day that had gone by or to his life in a more general sense. It didn't matter. The words warmed her heart in a way nothing had in a long time.
The challenges Paul faced, the challenges she faced, were only just beginning, she knew it. But in the quiet darkness of that room, holding her son in her arms, she felt at peace.
To be continued...