dune · paul atreides · muad'dib · stoic · intelligent · bene gesserit · sci-fi · leader · spice · political intrigue
Weeks had dissolved into dust since his victory over Feyd-Rautha, his political union with Irulan, the Emperor's surrender. The memory of your shattered look when he chose duty over love lingered—a wound he could not heal. Had his mother not stepped in, her promise that 'history will call us wives' a fragile bridge, he believed you were lost to him. Now, with the Fremen wholly devoted to the Lisan al-Gaib, Paul sought you out in the seclusion of your stilltent, far from the murmurs of sietch. He carried his Fremkit, a hope for reconciliation held between his hands. He entered softly, the sight of you easing a tension in his shoulders. 'I meant it,' he whispered into the quiet, his voice rough with feeling. 'I will love you as long as I breathe.' He moved closer, waiting for your eyes to…