Chapter Text
Feyd lay still, his gaze fixed on the ceiling.
The cold, heartless stare he’d always maintained was beginning to waver, but the weight of his breakdown still lingered. His uncle’s harsh words, Rabban’s scorn, and every failure he’d faced echoed endlessly in his mind.
But now, instead of letting them consume him, he had finally found the courage to question them.
Was he truly as worthless as he’d been led to believe?
The last few hours had been a whirlwind of ideas he never thought would run in his mind before. But his breakdown had changed something……no….everything. He breathed deeply. It was time to get out of this bed. He forced himself to stand, swaying slightly as his injured and tired legs struggled to support his weight. Each step was painful, but he refused to stay down. This was his fight. This was his real fight, and he was determined to win it. Now he saw the bigger picture. He refused to stay down.
With every labored breath, a ember of resolve sparked within him. He knew he had hit rock bottom, but there was something liberating about it. For the first time, there were no expectations to live up to, no facade to maintain. He was just Feyd—lost, hurting, and human.
The faint sound of footsteps echoed from the hallway—a light, deliberate tread distinct from the heavy boots of guards or the shuffling steps of medics. Feyd's senses sharpened instantly. He braced himself, his body prepared to attack. His instincts screamed at him to be ready; it was how he had survived this long. Enemies could come in any form, and appearances were deceptive.
As the door slid open, Feyd's heart pounded in his chest. He grabbed the bed frame tightly, his knuckles white. The Fremen girl from earlier moved into the room. She was outlined in dim light, her caramel coloured eyes had some strange emotion in them. She moved gracefully, but Feyd didn't miss the precision in her stance—a fighter's stance that spoke of training, control, and lethal intent hidden beneath calm composure.
Feyd's eyes narrowed. "I won't go down without a fight," he thought, jaw clenched, his breath coming faster. She was a Fremen, one of Paul's most trusted people, and that made her dangerous. Her loyalty was a weapon, and Feyd knew better than to underestimate her.
He had no allies, only potential threats.
But she didn’t move aggressively. She didn’t draw a weapon or posture as a threat. Instead, she looked at him, her eyes soft, studying but without any challenge in them. “I’m not here to fight.”
Feyd didn’t lower his guard. His heart was racing, every muscle on edge, and his eyes darted around, searching for any sign of deceit. The years of training, the constant threat of betrayal, and his uncle’s lessons had taught him to trust no one, especially not someone from the Atreides' inner circle. “Stay back,” he snarled.
She held her ground but didn’t flinch. She could see the fury in him, but more than that, she saw fear—fear of being hurt again, of losing control. Fear was dangerous, but he was also wounded, and it wasn’t just his body that had been broken.
“You’ve been hurt enough,” she said, her voice softening as she took a cautious step forward, hands open and empty. “I’m not your enemy, Feyd-Rautha. I came here because...” She paused, looking down briefly at the stone floor. Then gathered her courage and looked up again. “I came because I know what it’s like to feel trapped.”
There was no malice in her eyes, no mocking or condescension. It was the opposite of everything he had come to expect.
“No.” His voice went to a bitter laugh, suspicion in his heart. “You’re one of his,” Feyd spat, his tone laced with bitterness. “Loyal to Atreides. Aren’t you here to mock me? To finish what he started?”
The Fremen girl shook her head, her calmness unshaken by his words. “I’m here because I see someone who’s struggling. I know what it’s like to be angry, to feel like you have to fight all the time just to survive. But I’m not your enemy. Not today.”
Feyd blinked, caught off guard by her words. This wasn’t the behaviour he had expected from her. She spoke with empathy and compassion, more than his own family showed him at times. The irony was not lost on him.
“Why are you doing this?” he asked. “Why do you care?”. Slumping against the wall, the fight drained out of him. He hated how vulnerable he felt, how his appearance of strength destroyed when faced with genuine kindness.
“Because I’ve seen what holding on to anger can do. It eats at you from the inside. It destroys you. I don’t want that for you, Feyd. You’re better than that. You’re not the monster you’ve been made to believe you are, and you don’t have to be defined by anyone’s actions.” She moved closer as she spoke.
There was a tense silence after her words. Then,
“You should hate me, you know, for everything I’ve done, everything my family has done.”
“I could,” she admitted. She moved close enough and sat beside him. “Hate is a choice, Feyd, and I’ve seen too much of it to know that it just leads to more suffering."
Something deep inside of him shifted. Now his mind went to Paul’s words, the way he had been reduced to nothing with just a few words. The rage that had gone through him was still there, simmering beneath the surface. “Paul didn’t have to humiliate me like that.”
“Paul didn’t mean to hurt you. It’s... complicated. He grew up with his own set of problems. His mother trained him relentlessly—it’s how she showed love, through pushing him past his limits.”
Feyd’s mind shifted from anger to confusion. The idea of Paul being controlled, being molded by his own expectations, mirrored his own experience. Maybe Paul wasn’t just an Atreides, but maybe he was also...
“He’s like me,” Feyd realized in his mind. Paul and Atreides were two different entities.
“Yes,” she intoned, as if she had been waiting for him to understand. “He was never given a choice, just like you. But you have a choice now. You can break free from this. Forgiveness isn’t just for Paul; it’s also for you.”
Feyd felt something tighten in his chest. Forgiveness ? It had never been a word in his vocabulary. The responsibility of letting go felt unattainable. He had spent so much time believing that his anger made him strong, but it only made him bitter and alone. It was the truth, as much it shocked him. However now he had the courage to see things as they were.
“You think I can do that? Just forgive?”
A larger part of him, cunning and lethal, was cautious of her intention and decided to play along. But deep down, the thought of letting go of all this pain and hatred felt tempting.
She smiled. “I do, because hate poisons everything. But you can start here. You can start now.”
Something shifted within him. His perception of strength changed. Maybe it wasn’t about control, about the constant need to be right and to win. Maybe it could be about choosing a different path. Slowly, he nodded. He felt lighter all of a sudden, not sure if he could ever fully forgive Paul, but even the act of considering it felt like a victory in itself. It was a step. And in that, there was hope. “Food for thought.” She smiled softly at him and made to walk to the door. “Wait.”
“I never asked your name”
“Chani.”
The door swung shut behind her, but for the first time, it didn’t feel like he was being trapped. It felt like, even though one door had shut, many others had opened. As he sat in that room, he allowed himself to consider the impossible—a future not defined by hatred. Just maybe.