Title: Wandering the Streets of Arrakenn
Topic: Children of Dune (miniseries)
In the crowded streets of Dune's capitol, Arrakeen, it was easy to miss any one person wandering the city, like the boy who now walked past the shops, head down, face shadowed by the hood of a brown cloak. He was a boy of about 17, with a lean face, dark hair, and the blue-within-blue eyes of spice addiction. He moved with the fast pace of one who knew his way around the city, one who had walked this path many times. No one but the boy knew the significance of the path that he walked. No one knew the significance of the boy, his identity hidden by that cloak. He had been wandering the streets for half an hour now retracing a path etched perfectly into his memory, a memory which went back generations. He was following a path his father once walked, many years ago, before he was born. These memories were all that he had of his father and by reliving them it made the boy feel closer to him somehow.
His path finally came to a stop, almost suddenly, in front of a single spot on the ground. A puddle lay before him, and he looked into it, seeing the reflection of a man, a tired man with a bit of stubble on his chin, and wise blue-within-blue eyes that the boy knew well. An open pool of water on Arrakis. The voice of his father echoed in his head as he started at the reflection which was not his own. This was what troubled them both, what was becoming of the desert. A change brought upon by a great man, now to be reflected upon by his son.
The fremen of old would be disgusted by such a waste of water, Leto thought. The desert was dying, and with it any sense of peace or common sense in the empire. "How could we have forgotten?" Leto whispered as he knelt over the puddle. He reahed toward the shimmering reflection of his father in the pool, but as his fingers touched the surface, the image dissolved, and only his own reflection remained. "Father..." Leto choked, his fingers still lingering on the water's surface, as if trying to hold onto the image that was now gone. He desperately clung to the vision, but like the liquid of the puddle, it had slipped though his fingers.
Leto rose to his feet, watching the movements of the city around him. These were his father's people, people that worshipped his father but did not hear his words. Leto knew there were so many things his father had regretted in the end, so many mistakes he had made, but these people could not see the mistakes, they wouldn't. How could they? Muad'dib was their Messiah, their God, and gods did not make mistakes. Pulling his hood further over his face, Leto began making his way down the street back to the palace, the image of his father, looking up at him from the puddle, still sharp in his mind. These people must realize the mistakes of his father, Leto would have to show them the truth, and a part of him hated the thought of it. Their precious Muad'dib must be turned from god to man, only then could the desert be saved.