The cultural borrowings and interminglings which have brought us to this moment cover vast distances and an enormous span of time. Presented with such an awesome panoply, we can only derive a sense of great movement and powerful currents.

— PRINCESS IRULAN CORRINO, IN MY FATHER’S HOUSE

The return of the Atreides heroes to their homeworld marked the start of a joyous, weeklong festival. In the courtyard of Castle Caladan and along the docks and narrow streets of the old town, vendors served the finest seafoods and pundi rice delights. On the beaches at the base of the sea cliffs, bonfires burned night and day, surrounded by drinking, dancing, and merrymaking. Tavern owners brought out the most expensive local wines from their private cellars and served enough spice beer to float a fleet of coracles.

It was a time of new legends in the making, with stories of Leto the Red Duke, the cyborg Prince Rhombur, the troubadour-warrior Gurney Halleck, the Swordmaster Duncan Idaho, and the Mentat Thufir Hawat. Thufir’s key deception against the unmarked ships that had approached Caladan got so many cheers that the stern old Mentat seemed quite embarrassed.

Fresh from battle and a victory well earned, the embellishments to Leto’s biography grew, with Gurney as the catalyst. On his first evening back home, filled with alcohol and good cheer, the scarred man took a place beside the largest bonfire with his baliset and broke into song, in the tradition of a Jongleur.

Who can forget the stirring tale

Of Duke Leto the Just and his gal-lant men!

Broke the blockade of Beakkal and the Sardaukar there,

Led his forces to Ix and righted a wrong.

Now I say to you and listen well,

Let no one doubt his words or his vow:

Free-dom… and jus-tice… for all!

As Gurney continued to drink his wine, he added verses to the song, paying more attention to the music than to the facts.

* * *

On the day of his son’s naming ceremony, a throng of well-wishers gathered in the Castle gardens adjacent to an arbor draped with aromatic silver wisteria and pink calaroses. On a stage inside the enclosure, Leto wore simple clothing to show his people that he was one of them: dungarees and a blue-and-white striped shirt with a navy blue fisherman’s cap.

Beside him, Lady Jessica cradled their son in her arms. The infant was dressed in a tiny Atreides uniform, while Jessica had donned the clothes of a common village woman— a brown-and-green linen skirt and simple white blouse, with short, gathered sleeves. Her bronze hair was secured with a clasp made of driftwood and shells.

Taking his son in his strong hands, Duke Leto lifted the baby high. “Citizens of Caladan, meet your next ruler— Paul Orestes Atreides!” The name had been chosen to honor Leto’s father Paulus, while the middle name, Orestes, commemorated the son of Agamemnon in the House of Atreus, thought to be the forerunner of House Atreides. Jessica looked at him with love and acceptance, smiling at her son and glad he was safe.

To the sound of the cheering crowd, Leto and Jessica crossed the stage and stepped down into the gardens, where they mingled with the gathered well-wishers.

Visiting only briefly from Ix, Rhombur stood on a grassy mound with his wife Tessia. Slamming his cyborg hands together, he applauded louder than anyone else. He had left Ambassador Pilru in the underground city to oversee the restoration and reconstruction work, so that the new Ixian Earl and his Bene Gesserit Lady could attend this special event.

Listening to Duke Leto describe his hopes for his newborn son, Rhombur remembered something his father Dominic had once told him. “No great victory is won without cost.”

Tessia nuzzled against him. He put his arm around her, but felt very little of her body warmth. It was one of the deficiencies of his cyborg body. He was still growing accustomed to his new hand.

On the surface, he was cheerful and upbeat, with his old optimistic personality returning. But in his heart he grieved for everything his family had lost. Now, even though he had cleared the name of his ancestors and reoccupied the Grand Palais, Rhombur knew he would be the last in the Vernius line. He was resigned to the fact, but this naming ceremony was especially difficult for him.

He looked at Tessia, and a gentle smile formed on her mouth, though her sepia eyes revealed uncertainty, and faint lines of concern etched her face. He waited, and finally she said, “I don’t know how to broach a certain subject with you, my husband. I hope you will consider it good news.”

Rhombur gave her a game smile. “Well, I certainly can’t stand any more bad news.”

She squeezed his new artificial hand. “Think back to when Ambassador Pilru brought news of your half brother, Tyros Reffa. He performed every sort of genetic test to prove his case, and he took great care with the evidence.”

Rhombur looked at her blankly.

“I… preserved the cellular samples, my love. The sperm is genetically viable.”

Caught off-balance, he said, “You are saying that we could use it, that it would be possible to—”

“Out of my love for you I am willing to bear the child of your half brother. Your mother’s blood would run through the baby’s veins. A distaff surrogate child. Perhaps not a true Vernius, but—”

“Vermilion hells, close enough, by the gods! I could formally adopt him and designate him my official heir. No man in the Landsraad would dare challenge me.” With his powerful arms, he swept her into a firm, loving embrace.

Tessia gave him a coy smile. “I am available for whatever you wish, my Prince.”

He chuckled. “I am no longer merely a Prince, my love— I am the Earl of House Vernius. And House Vernius is not going to become extinct! You will bear many children. The Grand Palais will be filled with their laughter.”