Two colourfully dressed stable hands in Mamluk costume hold the
Bashir's horse. Neither looks greatly happy about their proximity to it. The
Bashir is wearing his riding gear and tapping a crop lightly against one of his
knee length booths.
Haroon steps up to the horse, signalling the stable-hands to let go of its
reigns, and swings himself up into the saddle. The horse starts to nicker and
toss its head stepping sideways and looking wary at the weight on its shoulders.
The stable-hands mutter to each other and move to a further distance
Suddenly the horse bellows and rears up onto its hind legs pawing at the
air. The Bashir lets out an angry shout and flails to grab the reigns, falling
off onto his back and landing with a heavy and ominous thud. The stable hands
let out a cry and dither, torn between avoiding the horse and checking the
Bashir.
Everything goes dark...
A change of scenery, instead of the beautiful gardens of the Bajazet
embassy a cliff in the desert, instead of the sounds of work there are cries of
war. The stable boys are no longer there, the horse still stands there, though,
harnessed as a warhorse instead of one for a simple joyride.
Haroon lies on his back and props himself up onto his elbows. He looks down
at himself - desert fatigues, dusty riding boots and a maula belt are attached
to him. The uniform is stained from combat.
"Forgot how to ride a horse?" A tall figure stands near you, looking from
above, the look on the man's face almost laughing, taunting, "Perhaps you need a
lesson? A reminder how to treat one of these animals?"
Haroon raises his hand to shade his eyes from the sun and squints trying to
make out the figure talking to him. He looks over at the horse which shakes its
head up and down and whinnies, and back at you "Kuppershmid?" he asks
groggily.
Assaf turns around to look at the sight below the cliff, an ornithopter
comes crashing down from the skies to what seems to be a distant battlefield,
"Yes, /Lord Bashir/, it is I..." It sounds disdainful, you can only imagine the
face he's wearing.
Haroon isn't going to spend any more time on his back be it dream,
hallucination or death. He picks himself up and makes a show of dusting down his
uniform and straightening his belt. One hand instinctively strays to the butt of
his maula pistol for reassurance. "What are we doing here.. Lord Kuppershmid"
the Bashir asks as he watches the thopter plummet.
"Isn't it clear, what I'm doing here?" The Commandant asks and turns around
abruptly, "That won't help you," he nods towards the pistol, "I'm already too
dead for things like that, don't you know?"
Haroon doesn't look like anything much is clear to him. "And am I too
dead?" the Bashir asks, with a flicker of uncertainty. He looks around "Is this
your afterlife - it is not what we were promised"
Assaf laughs, he does that for several long minutes, it's almost deafening
and the sounds of battle that seemed so real before are just background noises,
additions to that horrid sound, "No... My dear Regent, not at all, you are far
from dead. Perhaps I disappoint you by this, perhaps not. You are merely
reliving."
Haroon shakes his head, trying to clear the deafening sound of laughter out
of his ears.. laughter at what? At him? He looks uncertain and steps forwards to
see the battle-field better. There at least is certainty - of life and of death.
It was a battle well-won.
Almost repeating the noise that came from the Commandant's mouth a moment
ago, a huge cloud appears in the sky, "It comes," Assaf says, "It comes again to
shatter the forces beneath it, it comes again to destroy all hope... I am
already dead, you see. Down there, in the trench," he points down where a small
speck can be seen, it might be a man and it might be something else, hard to
tell at that distance.
Haroon looks up at the sky and shudders. His face is a little paler than
before, despite the years of sun and weathering on it. "You were best to die in
combat than to die in that indiscriminate carnage. There was no care in that for
if you were brave or a coward." He looks back at his old fighting companion
searching his face for a motive in what he is being shown.
Assaf takes a few steps closer, his quickness is almost inhuman, he moves
close to you in a matter of seconds, "You fear..." He says, "How amusing, I've
never seen this in you. What has made you become a coward, do, share."
Haroon snarls, his nostrils flaring at the insult. He raises his hand,
perhaps to cuff the man who faces him, but lowers it, unsure if the blow would
even connect. "You call me a coward?" He snaps, breathing heavily as fear and
uncertainty turn into anger. "I have faced my death countless times. I am not
scared by yours". Somehow though, the last statement does not quite ring
true.
Assaf seems amused by that last flare of temper, "Then why do you bring us
here? To the abyss of hell," the ship stands in the sky, not moving, as if time
has stopped still, "What is it here that you fear so much?"
Haroon taps the fingers of one gloved hand into the palm of the other. "I
bring us here?" he asks incredulously. "Isn't this your doing Kuppershmid, to
bring me here.. you" he points down at the battlefield "You died a soldiers
death. Do you expect me to make amends for you?" He shakes his head and looks up
at the spaceship "You think that was too high a price for our victory?"
Assaf laughs one more, raising his hands in the air in a motion of triumph,
for a second, time rushes forward, the ship slams into the ground, a sound of
explosion echos through their minds and everything turns white. When you next
see something they are both sitting in Haroon's office, a Kindjal is standing
through Haroon's desk and Assaf is wearing his white burnoose, "Or is it here
that everything started?" An evil grin on his face.
Haroon reaches out and flicks the hilt of the kindjal so it vibrates from
side to side with a buzzing sound, eventually slowing down and coming to a stop.
"This again?" the Bashir asks. He lets out a slow sigh, and looks around. The
familiarity of his own office at least seems to reassure him.
"Quite fitting, don't you agree?" Assaf asks, looking very comfortable in
his chair, "So, answer me, is this were everything started to fall apart? The
simple soldier becoming the mighty regent? Too many choices he can't and don't
know how to make suddenly on his mind?"
Haroon leans his elbows on the desk and looks at Assaf steadily. "Did you
want this seat Kuppershmid? What would you have done with it?" He shakes his
head "Did things fall apart as you say? Look at the house now. Stronger than it
was, some might say.
Hardship leads to strength" He narrows his eyes. "I do
not like your insinuations"
"Come on, you know better than that... This is not about me, I'm dead." The
grin never leaves his face, "Are you that happy with the path you took? Don't
you think someone else would have done better?"
Haroon studies the surface of the desk with its roll of maps.. His eyes
pause on the campaign map of Malarca. "There was a job to do which I did. The
choice was not mine..." He looks up "You know better than this. Would you rather
it were Sha'ara'diin? He died" he says flatly. "Who else would have avenged his
death"
"Vengence, it all comes up to that... Doesn't it. Tell me, if the Harkonnen
weren't the ones that killed your beloved Sultan, would you have been so eager
to go up against them in combat?" The Commandant asks.
Haroon brings his fist down on the death with a slam that shakes the ink
pots on it. "Insult my leadership, my judgement if you will" he snarls "Do not
insult my loyalty to my House." His hands grip the edge of the desk as he leans
forwards "I chose the way that would give this house honour! Not whimpering in
the Landsraad for 'justice' to fat buerocrats who would sell their souls for
CHOAM shares. You saw the effectiveness of /that/" he sneers. "They pushed me
too far.. they invaded our territory. The judgement was simple and only a coward
would have chosen otherwise". On that issue at least, the Regent.. no Bashir..
seems to have no doubt.
"Blood for honour, such a simple exchange, such a pure and benevolent idea,
was it worth it? The amount of people that died under your command? Was the
letters you had to send home explaining why their son died but you didn't made
you feel any better? I'm surprised you can sleep, oh, wait a second, I guess you
can't?" The ghost doesn't seem to be shaken by the fist or the burst of
outrage.
Haroon shakes his head slowly "When their homes were taken from them, and
the Harkonnen marched through their streets and took them into slavery, who
would write them letters then? You think that if we had let them take Malarca
they would have been content? That other enemies wouldn't have seized on our
weakness?" His voice rises incredulously. "We are the Bajazet.. at least /I/
am".
"Are you? Truely? Take a look at your beautiful house... Is it what you
expected, groomed all these years as a regent? Do they even recognize you as
what you once were, or do they see you as a shadow of yourself, a ghost,
perhaps?" Assaf hmms, looking closer and closer at the old Regent.
Haroon breathes out slowly and leans back in his chair "So that is what you
confront me with.." He looks around his office, once the centre of his command.
"I am an exile.. exiled to that god forsaken planet that the Harkonnen
destroyed." He looks levelly at the Field Marshall "I would have chosen your
death I think"
"The planet you destroyed, Regent, you and no one else..." Assaf starts to
laughs again, and the scenery changes once more, the first image is the same
office they were sitting in, only black and white reversed, almost a negative.
Then things start to blur and twirl until they find themselves sitting on top of
one of the boxes in the Kaitain arena, it is full to capacity.
Haroon kneads his hands together "Yes. Fitting I suppose.. I'm sure our new
Sultan was pleased with the irony" He looks around "What now ghost?"
Assaf looks around, he is now dressed in a fancy riding suit, "Don't you
remember this day? Lord Bashir? The day of our triumph against the bulls. Look,
we are just about to enter the arena floor." And as he says it, the two mounted
figures ride into the arena and the crowd cheers.
Haroon looks down "I remember it" he says with a note of sadness in his
voice "We pleased the crowd did we not? You and I old friend.." He looks over
his shoulder at you "Or are you going to show me weakness even in this?"
"Only that of the bull, didn't really have a chance against you and I." The
crowd almost drown the man's words but for some reason you hear his like he's
talking inside your mind.
Haroon allows a little smirk to play over his lips "If you go to face a
bull you do so in the knowledge you can win.. If you go to war you do not always
have that luxury." He shrugs his shoulders, and seems to grow tired of this
talk. "What is the afterlife like? Tell me, is it worth the wait? Do you relive
the glories of your life there?"
Assaf laughs again but this time it's a soft laughter, "What glories? My
wedding to Ornia? The countless battles I waged and won? The battle I waged and
lost? No there were no glories in my life, I am like that bull, in the end I
have seen my end and so shall you, old friend."
Assaf laughs again but this time it's a soft laughter, "What glories? My
wedding to Ornia? The countless battles I waged and won? The battle I waged and
lost? No there were no glories in my life, I am like that bull, I have seen my
end and so shall you, old friend."
Haroon rests his elbows on one knee and watches himself dramatically throw
a lance across to the Field Marshall who neatly skewers his bull with it. The
crowd cheer in the background. "I took my glories where I could for you don't
always get the option" He shrugs his shoulders "I am close to the end now. I
don't think there will be any more moments for me to shine" The Haroon in the
arena bows from the saddle and roses fall around him. His shoulders slump a
little. "I served the House and led the House as I saw best. What more could I
have done?"
Assaf nods and smiles, "The best you can do now is be sorry for what you
did, truely sorry, for it is arrogance that leads us to waste, be sorry and love
the world for it. Even if there was no other option, even if you truely believe
that what you did was best, be sorry for the road not taken for you have no
roads left to take and you can savor the long way you have done and when the end
comes, be happy because there is nothing to be sorry about left in the world."
And with that last sentance things garble again, a huge vortex appears beneath
the two, images from places and meetings slowly run down it.
Haroon looks down into the void, watching images of his life flash past.
"Be sorry for all I have done? I am sorry for the route I had to take.." he lets
out a sigh, and the noise whips down into the vortex as well. "I have to have my
pride Field Marshall.. that I did the best of a bad job, even if no-one else
believes it" He looks at you with a questioning expression "I wish you hadn't
died Field Marshall... you would have taken my seat one day - and with my
blessing too, not with machinations"
"The sin of pride is always the hardest one to get rid of, it what took
many great men down, be sure you do not tread in the same path they did." Assaf
says and with every word he becomes less visible, until you can see only a trace
of him, slowly the outlines of his body flow down the vortex, "Goodbye, My Lord
Bashir, have a nice life, what's left from them at least." A voice that sounds
like the Commandant's is heard and with that the vision of the vortex
vanishes.
Haroon opens his eyes and finds himself nose to nose with a stable hand who
is studying him. The Bashir yelps in suprise, the stable-hand looking even more
so. He lies on his back on the grass studying the clouds for a moment.
Haroon waves the stable-hands away and folds one e leg over the other,
watching the sky and looking for familiar faces in the
clouds.