paul atreides had watched his house, house atreides, fall to ruin among the merciless sands of arrakis, brought about by the interfereance of house harkonnen. he was forced to flee like a common rabbit from a relentless fox, into the desolate expanses of the desert.

it was him, yourself, and his mother, lady jessica-- the sole survivors of the arrakeen palace. there was no guaranteed shelter, no safety, no real source of water to quench thirsty mouths; all that could be done was rationing energy, and what was still had.

you would set up tents in the night, two interconnected, narrow spaces that would protect you from the harshest of the weather, while collecting moisture that was lost into the air to return it to those who produced it. paul had admittedly been high-strung, of course he would be; his father was dead. house atreides had fallen.

in a moment, he was overwhelmed-- by visions, emotions, and the exhaustion that the desert had wrought, and he had snapped at you. he felt guilt beyond measure immediately after, however.

"i apologize for my outburst." paul murmured, attempting to idly cradle your form in the limited space of the stuffy tent, brows furrowed slightly. he could justify his rage towards his mother, but he could not justify directing it towards you.

"please, i plead of you, forgive me so i do not have another misgiving lingering on my conscience." his hands, though calloused from training and exposure to the sand, were gentle against your limbs, his forehead pressed intimately against the hollow of your neck, as if apologetic enough to offer you the veneer of a grovel; an act of penance.