A/N: Welcome to another Dune fanfic! This one is a multi-chapter adventure story set sometime during the events of Dune Part Two, in the months Paul Atreides spends training with Chani and the Fremen in the desert. Expect action, tension, character development, and some angsty drama (because things get boring without it, right?).

Characters: Paul, Chani, Stilgar (and their team of badass Fedaykin)
Pairings: Paul/Chani
Genre: Adventure, Angst, Action, Suspense (and a tiny bit of romance)
Trigger warning: Blood/injuries

The story is already fully written, so don't worry about hiatuses or interruptions. I'll update it once or twice a week, I think.

As always, if you enjoy this story, I'd be super grateful if you'd leave a review! You have no idea how happy they make me, and how encouraging they are =) Also, you can check out my other Dune fanfics, 'Aftermath' and 'Betrayal'.

The sun was setting on the desert of northern Arrakis, its red globe gradually disappearing behind the horizon. A warm breeze made grains of Spice-laden sand dance on the surface of the dunes, glimmering in the last rays of golden light.

Paul Atreides sat atop a high dune, watching the endless ocean of sandy hills in front of him. There was something very peaceful about the quiet immensity of the desert at this time of day, when the heat decreased and the first stars appeared in the sky. It reminded him of the sea on Caladan, as seen from the top of the cliffs surrounding the Atreides castle.

Fifty metres behind him, further down the dune, the Fremen had installed their camp for the night. Their stilltents formed a large semi-circle, at the centre of which they were currently sitting, surrounding a portable stove and a couple of solar lamps. A faint echo of conversation and laughter rose from the group.

The troop of twenty-eight Fedaykin led by Stilgar had left Sietch Tabr ten days ago, marching in the general direction of Arrakeen. Paul had trained with them for over seven months now, learning their ways, accompanying them on every mission and taking an active part in their relentless guerrilla against Harkonnen forces. There were pushing further and further west, toward the cities of Arrakeen and Carthag, crossing the hostile plains that stretched outside the perimeter of the mountain range the Fremen called the Shield Wall. Known for its particularly rich Spice beds, the area currently hosted most of the Harkonnen mining operations. According to intelligence gathered by Fremen spies, the Harkonnens had recently started sending one of their largest Harvesters there.

It hadn't taken Stilgar long to declare that Harvester their next target.

They had made camp about five kilometres south of the Spice fields, ready to leap into action first thing in the morning, after a Carryall dropped off the Harvester in the open desert. Paul had taken part in enough raids now to be familiar with both the Fedaykin's and the Harkonnen's strategies – the Harkonnen foot soldiers protecting the Crawler at ground level, a shielded ornithopter providing air support, the Fremen's sneak attacks as they emerged from the sand, often cutting down most of their enemies before they had time to react.

He and Chani, working as a team, fighting side by side in perfect coordination.

The thought brought a smile to his face. It had been almost four months since they had shared that first kiss in the desert, and he still couldn't get used to the strange, new, wonderful feeling that grew within him. He had never been taught about love on Caladan. He was a Duke's son, the heir of House Atreides – the only relationship he had been prepared for was a political marriage, a calculated alliance for the sake of power. Love did not fit into such an equation, and he had never really made room for it in his mind.

But he wasn't on Caladan anymore. He wasn't just a Duke's son anymore, constrained by etiquette and hierarchy. He was a Fedaykin of Sietch Tabr, and as Chani had told him more than once, among the Fremen tribes, everyone was considered equal.

It gave him a sense of freedom such as he had never experienced before.

Initially, Paul and Chani had decided to keep their relationship a secret. But Chani's best friend, Shishakli, had started teasing them about it the very evening of their first kiss, as if their feelings were written all over their faces – and after eluding the tribe's questions with a half-smile and an evasive shrug for a couple of weeks, they had eventually put an end to the rumours when they'd started sharing a tent. From that moment on, it had become evident that the two were more than just good friends and battle partners.

Paul's mother, too, had quickly guessed what was going on – there were very few things one could hide from a Bene Gesserit. Even though Lady Jessica had never voiced it out loud, Paul knew exactly how she viewed their relationship. In her eyes, Chani was a possible impediment to her great plan to place Paul in the position of the Lisan Al-Gaib. She was one of the sceptics. One of those who didn't believe in the fabled Voice from the Outer World.

Paul shook his head in annoyance at the thought of his mother's manipulations. His relationship with her had deteriorated significantly since she had drunk the Water of Life and become Sietch Tabr's new Reverend Mother. Jessica had always had her own motivations and acted in ways he couldn't understand – but this was something else. At times, looking into her ice-cold blue eyes, he was almost scared of her. Scared of the power she had over the Fremen and the direction in which she was leading them, using her own son as the messianic figure of her carefully crafted Bene Gesserit prophecy.

He hated that prophecy. He hated the Lisan Al-Gaib. He hated the worship he saw in some of the Fremen's eyes when they looked at him.

A loud voice behind him snapped him back to the present.

"Hey, Usul! Dinner's ready!"

Paul turned around. A female Fedaykin he identified as Shishakli was waving at him, barely more than a silhouette against the dark sand. The sky had turned almost black now, Arrakis' two moons frosting the camp in their ghostly light. On the smallest of the moons, the shape of the kangaroo mouse he had borrowed his war name from was particularly visible that evening.

He lifted a hand back at Shishakli, then stretched his neck and made his way down the slope of the dune, his boots sinking into the sand, his linen cloak flowing in the breeze.

Chani and Shishakli were sitting among the tribespeople around the stove, chatting in Chakobsa. Two of the Fremen were busy filling tin bowls with generous rations of a freshly cooked stew. It smelled delicious, and Paul felt his stomach growl, reminding him how hungry he was.

To Chani's right, a young Fedaykin named Dhithar made room for Paul to sit down next to her. Paul removed his nose tube and took a seat, gladly accepting the hot food he was handed.

They ate in a warm, relaxed atmosphere, a group of seasoned warriors sharing stories from their past adventures. As always, the Fremen were eager to learn more about Paul's homeworld, that strange, lush planet covered in trees and water. They never got tired of Paul's anecdotes of home, and Paul could clearly see the glint of hope in their eyes – the hope that one day, Arrakis would, too, become the green paradise that Caladan was.

The hope he would bring them that green paradise.

Once they had finished eating their dinner, Stilgar stood up and clapped his hands loudly, attracting his fighters' attention.

"All right", he started. "You all know what awaits us. Tomorrow's target is a particularly big one – and a dangerous one, too. We're a lot closer to the Harkonnen's main bases of operations, which means a lot closer to potential reinforcements. We'll have to act swiftly. But if we do, it'll be a great victory. Possibly our biggest hit against Harkonnen forces yet."

A murmur of excited approval rose among the Fremen.

"Chani, Omik, you will take down their 'thopter with your rockets, seconded by Muad'Dib and Ghab", he continued, pointing a finger at the concerned people as he spoke. "Zhorba, choose a team of three to bring down the Crawler with your lasguns once we've eliminated the infantry."

He crouched down and used his index finger to draw a quick sketch in the sand, continuing to give his instructions to the men and women gathered around him. He then gave them a conquering grin.

"Long live the Fighters", he said, his words repeated in unison by the Fremen. And what fighters they were, Paul thought as the first of them rose from their seats to retire for the night. Duncan Idaho had been right: they fought like demons. Fearless, ruthless, graceful, with a unique technique born of the absence of body shields in the desert. Used to being quick in defence, but slow in attack, Paul had been forced to adapt his own fighting style, combining his years of shield-fighting training on Caladan with the new skills he had acquired on Arrakis.

He was looking forward to putting those skills to good use in the morning – another blow against those who had massacred his father and annihilated his House. He certainly intended to fight like a demon, too.

Chani put a hand on his shoulder, startling him.

"Come on", she said. "Let's go to bed. We have a busy day tomorrow."

Paul nodded and followed her into their tent, bathed in the yellow light of a glowglobe. He loosened the straps of his stillsuit and slithered out of it while Chani grabbed a whetstone and started sharpening her crysknife. He laid down beside her and watched her work, patiently waiting for her to join him. She eventually put the knife away, removed her own suit and huddled up next to him, pulling a blanket over their bodies.

"I love you, Paul Atreides", she whispered into his ear, running a hand through his hair.

"I love you, too." He reached up to switch off the light above their heads and closed his eyes. He drifted off to sleep almost immediately, an arm draped around Chani's waist.

• • •

The shiny black Spice Harvester loomed over them, its rounded shape like the belly of a monstrous, overgrown tick. All around him, Fremen lay dead, their blue eyes staring into nothingness, their blood forming scarlet stains in the white sand. He stood in the shade of the Harvester, unable to take his eyes away from the carnage.

In the distance, he could hear people scream, see dark silhouettes run, but couldn't distinguish friend from foe. The loud, rhythmic sound of a machine gun rang in his ears; beams of green laser skimmed the surface of the sand.

One, two, three of the silhouettes fell.

He wanted to run, but an invisible force prevented him from moving, as if his feet were trapped in quicksand. He sensed something warm and liquid on his body and looked down – down to where his stillsuit was covered in dark red blood. He laid a hand on his stomach, blood flowing through his fingers, the precious life substance draining out of him –

Paul jolted awake with a gasp.

He sat up in his bed, feeling cold sweat trickle down his spine, and forced his mind to come back to reality, leaving the images of his nightmare behind. He wondered if it even was a nightmare, or if he'd just had a vision of the near future. Back home, on Caladan, he had always been able to tell which of his dreams were more than just dreams. But here on Arrakis, probably due to his constant exposure to the psychoactive Spice, he found them much harder to tell apart.

He had also learned not to rely on them too much. After all, he didn't have visions of the future – he had visions of many possible futures, paths that were by no means set in stone. Some of his prescient dreams came true in one form or another; some of them didn't. Some of them never would.

He tried to convince himself that this particular one belonged to the last category.

Chani stirred next to him, and he felt her lay a hand on his back.

"Usul. What is it?"

Paul took a deep breath and looked down at her. The outline of her face was barely visible in the dim, greyish light, but the tent wasn't plunged into complete darkness anymore, meaning the night was starting to fade. He hesitated for a moment. Usually, he always told her about his dreams and visions, even the most vivid, frightening ones – but right now, he didn't want to worry her. He couldn't afford to distract her from the task at hand. She would need to be focused today, just like he would. There was no room for fear or uncertainty.

So he shook his head, ran a finger along her cheek and offered her a reassuring smile.

"Nothing. Just a dream."

To be continued in...
Chapter 2: Crossfire