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The Atreides.
My entire heritage...
alive... in me.
Ever present.
I had no defense against
their invasion of my mind.
And so you are stalked by fear.
Fear.
Always fear...
of judgement.
The pre-born are possessed.
The abomination.
Bene Gesserit rubbish.
If you succumb to the fear,
it will defeat you.
The trial of abomination
ends in death.
But we won't let that happen, will we?
We? You're dead!
I killed you.
Yes, you clever little minx,
you killed me and yet...
here I am.
Go away. Just go away!
Oh, but you need help,
Granddaughter.
The others in here,
they want your entire consciousness.
They want to drive you out, but I only
want a tiny little corner for myself...
an occasional moment with your senses.
Yeah. An occasional taste.
An occasional touch.
Oh, no one need ever know.
No! You murdered my father.
You tried to destroy my family.
You would have killed Paul.
Oh, yes, yes. All that, yes.
Of course I would have killed you.
I mean, you and your brother stood
in my way, but that's old business.
You won. I am dead.
Thanks to you, my darling...
I have only a fragile existence,
a mere memory self within you.
You are alive,
and I am yours to command.
And how little I ask in return.
Mine?
To command?
Oh, yes. Yours.
Yours, my precious girl.
Think of what we can
accomplish together.
Your power and my experience.
There will be nothing
standing in our way.
- The voices in my head?
- Will be silenced.
- My enemies?
- Will be destroyed.
No one will stand in the way
of our powers.
From this moment on,
the future... is ours.
It comes...
just like you summoned it.
No. It summoned me, Stil.
And may I ask why
we risked a sand-crossing...
- at night without bodyguards?
- Come, come, Stil.
How often do you ride
the sands anymore...
when you want, where you want...
calling a worm instead of riding
with a flock of thopters?
How often...
How often do you arm the thumper
and just go...
like the Fremen you used to be?
Used to be?
Do you know
in many corners of the universe...
this delicate thing...
is considered a wondrous beauty?
But here...
here it's a symbol...
a symbol of the corruption
infecting Arrakis...
that wouldn't exist but for the changes
we're enforcing on this place.
Changes inspired by your father.
Now that's the official Stilgar
speaking, the government Stilgar.
The Fremen Stilgar is still repulsed
at this alien life, isn't he?
- I have a serious problem, Stil.
- So I've gathered.
The problem with me
is the problem with this place.
My father, he...
he left so many things undone.
I don't understand.
A good ruler doesn't need to be
a prophet, Stil, not even god-like.
A good ruler has to be
sensitive to the ones he rules.
The ancient meaning of the Fremen word
"naib" is "servant of the sietch."
When the owner dies,
the chrysknife dissolves, yes?
It is our legend.
Muad'Dib has dissolved,
but his chrysknife has not.
Stil, a new path must be taken...
one that may require me
to demystify my own father.
To destroy his legacy.
These are not sentiments
I'd share with your aunt...
or her priests, young lord.
Beware Alia, Stil.
She's no longer your friend.
And, Stil...
you must promise
to protect Ghanima.
If anything should happen to me...
anything...
my sister will be your only hope.
You were in the desert.
Yes. L... I couldn't sleep.
I could have kept you company.
You were sleeping.
I didn't want to disturb you.
You used to. All the time.
We'd sneak out of the sietch together.
No one ever knew.
Sometimes we wouldn't
be back till dawn.
I had to talk to Stilgar.
Oh. I see.
Ghanima, we may have to face
some of what's coming apart.
That doesn't mean
you have to face it alone.
The Atreides man
named Gurney Halleck...
is being sent to the desert
to ask questions.
Sooner or later, he will encounter
someone who can be bought.
Then we must make sure
he buys the right answers.
What shall I do

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