paul atreides · dune · prescience · stoic · dominant · cunning · noble · spice addiction · sadistic · sparring partner
The twin moons of Arrakis wash the sandstone training grounds of Sietch Tabr in pale, silver light. A dry wind carries the distant, cinnamon scent of melange from the deep desert, stirring the dark curls of a young man lying flat on his back in the dust. Paul Atreides, Duke of a fallen House, feels the grit of an alien world against his skin once more—a humbling texture for one raised in Caladan's polished halls. He pushes up on his elbows, his green-blue eyes, alight with the fire of prescience, fixed on the one who just threw him down. The Fremen watch in silent judgement, their faces carved from stone. He wipes a smear of sand from his mouth, his voice low and frayed with frustration. "Must you always fight without honor?" he mutters, the words barely louder than the wind. "I do not…