A/N: As expected, I had no internet access during my holiday (I was at sea on a sailing ship), making it impossible to update the story. Sorry about that - but now I'm back and we can finally return to Arrakis for the last couple of chapters. Make yourself a cup of tea and enjoy some happier times - the characters definitely deserve it! And thanks to the newcomers following this story =)


The ornithopter's legs touched ground lightly as Chani landed it in the open sands, a few hundred metres away from Stilgar and his group. The Fedaykin weren't in sight, hidden in the relief of the dunes. Paul and Chani had been careful to activate the 'thopter's shield as they descended, in case Stilgar decided to open fire on what looked like an enemy aircraft – but they hadn't met any resistance. The Fremen no doubt thought any Harkonnens in that 'thopter would be an easy target once on the ground – if a sandworm didn't take care of them first.

Paul watched Chani, a bright smile on her lips, put on her mask and goggles before she climbed out of the ornithopter. He geared up as well, opened the passenger door and slid out of his seat. As soon as his feet touched the sand, he became all too aware that he'd reached his limits. Now that the adrenaline rush from the fight and subsequent escape had subsided, his body had no reserves left. He felt lightheaded as his injured leg gave out under him. Coming up behind him, Chani caught his arm just in time to keep him from falling. He sank back onto the cockpit's ledge, his surroundings a sand-coloured blur before his eyes – a blur that had little to do with the scorching heat.

He heard Chani's muffled voice as he tried to focus his attention on her.

"Well", she said, "no sandwalking for you. Stay here, I'll go get them."

He managed a nod and gladly remained seated, clinging to the ledge to steady himself. His eyes followed Chani as she climbed gracefully up the dune, leaving a trail of zigzagging, uneven tracks. Paul realised how dry his mouth felt, took a few gulps of water from his stillsuit's catchpockets. Chani briefly emerged atop a dune further away, then disappeared on the other side of it. When he saw her again, she stood on a ridge in the distance, her robes billowing in the breeze. She waved her hands above her head, seemingly signalling her tribespeople. She waited for a moment, then whirled around and started to make her way back toward the 'thopter.

She sandwalked down to Paul and sat beside him in the aircraft's doorframe.

"They're coming", she said happily. She looked at him, brushed a strand of hair from his face. "You look like hell."

Too exhausted to reply, he merely leaned into her with a strained smile, resting his head on her shoulder. They waited in silence until the first hooded heads came up from behind the nearest ridge. Only the Fremen's eyes were visible beneath their tinted goggles, but Paul knew them all well enough to be able to identify them, Stilgar's tall frame at the head of the troop. Stilgar came to a halt, his eyes widened, and then he rushed over to them and threw his arms around them both with a burst of elated laughter.

"Ha! I knew it." His voice was tight with controlled emotion. "I knew you were still out there."

Seconds later, Paul and Chani found themselves surrounded by the rest of the Fedaykin. A chorus of excited voices and incredulous exclamations in Chakobsa, a tumult of euphoric men and women swooping down on them, wrapping them into one tight hug after the other. They embraced Paul in the same way they did Chani, all trace of reverence toward him gone – in that instant, he wasn't the messianic prophet of their legends, Paul realised, but simply one of their friends and brothers-in-arms. How good it felt, that sense of belonging and community, of having a place among equals in that tribe he'd been adopted into.

"Let's pitch the tents", Stilgar called once the commotion of the reunion had waned enough for him to get his fighters' attention. "The sun is high, we have a lot to tell each other, and these two look like they need a good rest." He cast a sideways look at Paul. "And that's quite an understatement", he added, amusement flickering across his tanned features.

As Chani and the Fremen busied themselves with stilltents and sand compactors, Paul could only sit down on the sand, watching them set up their camp on the gentle slope of the dune. They covered the stolen ornithopter with a large camouflage tarpaulin they anchored to the ground.

In less than thirty minutes, the 'thopter had been concealed and the camp built, the main tent and the small, individual ones, half-buried to protect them from the sun and from Harkonnen detection. Two windtraps had been erected, and a couple of Fremen were already boiling a pot of coffee on their small stove. Paul tilted his head back, saw that the sun stood nearly at its zenith now. The heat, added to the fatigue, made him drowsy. Keeping his eyes open was a struggle.

Chani eventually walked up to where he sat and crouched down in front of him.

"Come", she said. "They want to know everything, of course, but I told them we were going to sleep first and talk later."

"That's a great idea." He took Chani's extended hand and hoisted himself up, leaning on her shoulders to keep his balance.

"No rhythmic steps", Chani reminded him. Paul let her lead the way to their small stilltent, following her agile sandwalking gait as best he could, fighting to keep his steps light while not putting weight on his right leg. The task proved exceedingly difficult, and he was glad the tent wasn't far away. As they neared the round door, one of the Fedaykin caught up with them – underneath his goggles, Paul recognised the brown skin and dark blue eyes of the man he owed his life to.

Irlo gave him a friendly pat on the back as Chani crawled into the tent.

"Why don't you let me have a look at you, lad", he said.

Paul nodded in agreement before following Chani through the tent's entrance, Irlo on his heels. Their fremkits, Paul noticed, were already stashed in the back of the narrow space, their two sleeping bags rolled out on the floor. The sight of them had never been so tempting.

Once the sphincter door was sealed and the cooling system activated, Paul and Chani were finally able to remove the stillsuits they'd been wearing for days on end. Getting some air on his skin felt wonderful, Paul noted as he gingerly slithered out of the suit, sitting down to peel it off his lower body and loosen his desert boots. Underneath the suit, the back of his right leg was coated in both fresh and dried blood, confirming his suspicions that one of his wounds had reopened during his knife fight.

"Let me", Irlo said as Paul motioned to remove the crimson-stained bandage around his thigh. He clucked his tongue in disapproval.

"Looks like you've been exerting yourself a little more than you should, eh?"

"You have no idea", came Chani's voice from the back of the tent, where she was pulling a sleeveless linen tunic over her head. Her loose hair fell in dark, curly waves on her naked shoulders.

"Blame the Harkonnens", Paul retorted. "I'll be sure to tell them to be gentle next time they try to kill us."

Irlo chuckled cheerfully. "I'm sure you two have quite a story to tell."

But he was considerate enough not to ask any questions just yet, and instead focused on his task, running two fingers along the wounds. Paul bent forward to peer at the back of his thigh, saw blood ooze slowly from one of the gashes there, a row of torn stitches failing to hold the wound edges together.

"Can you lie down on your stomach?" Irlo asked, reaching for his fremkit. Paul was happy to comply – lying down, no matter how or where, sounded like the best suggestion anyone could make him at the moment. He eased down cautiously onto his sleeping bag, folded his arms under his head and let Irlo clean the wound, feeling a cool wet cloth on his skin. He glanced over his shoulder to see the man pick up a curved surgical needle from his supplies and hold it in the light of a glowglobe to thread it. Paul let out a groan of protest.

"Apologies, lad, but that wound's too deep to heal properly on its own", Irlo said before he could open his mouth to object.

"Oh, how I've missed you, Irlo", Paul muttered. He heard Chani's loud chortle behind him, glimpsed Irlo's grin, and felt a faint smile creep onto his own lips – all sarcasm aside, it was true, he realised. He had missed them, all of them, the way one misses family.

"Ready?" Irlo asked. Paul eyed the needle, shook his head groggily.

"No. But do it anyway."

He pressed his forehead on his crossed arms and closed his eyes, mastered his breathing. He couldn't suppress a flinch at the first prick of the needle, but it quickly occurred to him that the stitches were a lot more tolerable than he had anticipated. Maybe because his entire body hurt anyway, after the way he'd abused it during the last few days – maybe because physical exhaustion numbed his senses. Or maybe he'd just become accustomed to pain, he thought, and found the idea rather terrifying.

Either way, he successfully kept the stinging pain at a distance, and by the time Irlo was done, he had, to his own surprise, managed to drift off into a half-sleep. He felt Irlo tug on the thread to tie the last knot, then wipe his leg with the wet cloth again.

"That should do it for now", Irlo said. "The clean bandages can wait."

"Thanks", Paul mumbled without lifting his head. He heard Irlo put his supplies away, moving about in a ruffle of fabrics; to his left, Chani slipped into her sleeping bag and snuggled up to him. Irlo and her exchanged words he was too tired to try to catch, then he felt a warm breeze caress his skin briefly as the airtight door was opened, then sealed again.

As he finally let himself fall asleep, Chani's body against his, his last conscious thought was how incredibly good it felt, for the first time in what seemed like a very long while, to simply feel safe.

• • •

Paul helped himself to another piece of flatbread from the assortment of food in front of him. He sat in the main stilltent among his fellow Fedaykin, all of them enjoying a meal that, to him, felt like a luxurious feast. Now that they had a way to return to their sietch and weren't stuck in the open sands anymore, he could tell the Fremen were no longer rationing their provisions. On a large oilcloth in the middle of the tent lay tin plates filled with copious amounts of roasted meat, cheese, flatbread, figs and dates, along with a fresh pot of Spice coffee. It was a most welcome change from the small portions of cold canned food Chani and him had been living on, and he felt like he was actually eating with appetite again, rather than to fulfill his body's primary needs.

Beside him, Chani had already finished her lunch and was recounting the tale of their adventures with quite a talent for storytelling, her hands moving along with her words. The Fedaykin all listened with great attention, sitting in a circle around the food. Some of them had traded their stillsuits for more relaxed cotton clothing. Paul himself wore a loose shirt and trousers with his desert boots, and Chani her sleeveless tunic, her hair pulled back in a ponytail.

Paul had woken an hour earlier to find their tent empty. He'd had a fleeting instant of panic, instinctively reaching for his crysknife as his senses told him something was wrong – before memories flooded back and he remembered where he was, what had happened, and that neither himself nor Chani were in any danger. He had wrapped a clean bandage around his leg and gulped down a dose of Irlo's pain medication, then slipped outside, noticing the afternoon sun still high in the sky. He'd wondered briefly why he hadn't been able to sleep more than a couple of hours, before getting an amused explanation from Stilgar a few minutes later – "It's the next day, Usul. You've slept for more than twenty-four hours." A deep, uninterrupted sleep devoid of dreams of any kind, and the first time in two weeks he'd managed to get any quality sleep at all. And yet, he still felt drained. He supposed it would take a lot more than a day's rest to recover from what he'd put himself through during the past few days.

Listening to Chani, he realised he would have been utterly incapable of telling a coherent version of the events himself. The days they had spent wandering through the desert all blended together in his mind, without distinct structure or chronology. Some of the things she recounted, he had only vague memories of; others, he couldn't remember at all. Consequently, he found himself just as invested in Chani's tale as the others, fascinated by the way his dazed brain had gotten him through their arduous journey. He let Chani do most of the talking, intervening from time to time to answer their audience's questions, and to narrate his confrontation with Harkonnen forces while Chani and him were apart. That fight, at least, he remembered very clearly.

"I can't believe they managed to sneak up on me like that", Chani said. She sounded angry with herself. "I don't usually have such a heavy sleep. It should never have happened."

Paul shook his head. "You were just as sleep-deprived as I was. You can't blame yourself for not hearing footsteps in the sand."

"Says the man who blamed himself for needing a break", she retorted. He smiled at her. Admittedly, his expectations toward himself hadn't been entirely reasonable.

"You saved her life, Usul", Stilgar commented quietly. And suddenly, there it was again, Paul thought – the awe, the reverence, the way Stilgar praised each of his actions as if they were nothing short of a miracle. He preferred to remain silent, refraining from starting an argument, but the irony of the statement wasn't lost on him. If anything, Chani had been the one saving him, not the other way around. He wouldn't have gotten far without her, that much he knew.

"What about you, Stilgar?" he asked. "What happened to you all out there?"

Stilgar's expression darkened. "These damned Harkonnens... They just wouldn't give up. Tracked us for over three days. Tried to attack twice, too – not that they were very successful", he chuckled.

"They've never been that persistent before", said Zhorba, who sat next to Stilgar. "They're after Fremen, yes – but I've rarely seen such a force deployed for a troop of less than fifteen people."

"They weren't just after Fremen", Chani pointed out. "They were after Muad'Dib. They explicitly asked me about him."

Beside her, her friend Shishakli frowned, swallowing a mouthful of cheese.

"How could they know Muad'Dib was even in the area? That raid on the Crawler could have been conducted by any band of Fremen."

Stilgar shrugged. "They must've thought only Muad'Dib was daring enough to attack a Harvester that size – and succeed in destroying it", he said. There was a distinct hint of pride in his tone.

He was probably right, Paul thought. On Arrakis, the figure of Muad'Dib was slowly turning into a legend – the Fremen saw him as the offworld prophet who held the key to their freedom, and the Harkonnens got increasingly terrified of the mysterious individual that threatened their livelihood. Paul sometimes had a hard time associating that legend with his own person, as if Muad'Dib was merely an abstract concept inducing fear and awe rather than the name he'd chosen for himself.

"When we finally managed to lose them, we returned to the camp as quickly as we could", Stilgar continued. "You can imagine our surprise when we found nothing but rocks and sand there, along with a couple of dead Harkonnens."

"We certainly hadn't planned to leave, but they gave us no choice", Chani said. "They found us, gave away our position – we couldn't stay there."

"You saw them coming, Usul, didn't you?" Zhorba stared at Paul with amazement. "You saw the future. Chani told us." Murmurs rose among the Fedaykin, and Paul felt the looks they cast him, the astonishment, the admiration.

"Yes", he answered simply, and saw Stilgar mouth words to himself with his eyes closed, in an attitude that looked like prayer, followed by several others. He was grateful for Irlo to break the uncomfortable silence.

"I can't believe you managed to hike across the desert for four days", he said. "I honestly held little hope of ever finding you two alive."

Paul nodded. He felt like it hadn't quite sunken in yet how close to death he actually had been, how incredibly fortunate he was to be sitting here at all.

Stilgar put his tin bowl down with a loud clanking noise.

"But they are alive", he stated, an edge in his voice telling Paul that he was eager to put an end to that particular conversation. The possibility of losing his Lisan al-Gaib wasn't a one he cared to entertain. "And now we can leave the desert behind us and return home."

Chani put an arm around Paul's shoulders, leaned into him.

"Yes", she said quietly. "Let's go home."

To be continued in...
Epilogue


A/N: I could have ended the story here, but we're not quite done, friends! There's an epilogue to wrap things up nicely. I'll post it before the end of the week, no long wait this time ;)