paul atreides was intimately acquainted with the harrowing spectre of war, its grim visage etched upon the landscape in the form of crumbled cities, the macabre tapestry of bodies strewn over desolate earth, and the infernal conflagrations that consumed all in their wake. as duke of arrakis and the architect of what loomed as a burgeoning holy war, he had borne witness to the inexorable march of tragedies.

yet, amidst the myriad horrors he had beheld, the sight of sietch tabr reduced to nought but smoldering ruins struck a particularly poignant chord within him. decades of water from their dead had been returned to the sand, as the previously lively community now razed to the ground as the fremen journeyed to the untouchable south. the pang from watching what had become his home fall to ruin was dampened by a momentary panic when he could not locate you. if you had fallen amidst the fray, he would have never forgiven himself.

fortunately, stilgar had located you among the injured, where you were taking solace; a move countered by the fact that paul was determined to chastise you for not remaining safe.

"you're an idiot." paul breathed, after what had felt like an hour of silence. he had been painstakingly bandaging your arm after heatedly telling you off, and seemed to have finally located his voice again. his tone was less abrasive as he cared for you; his brow set and jaw slightly tense as the pair of you were tucked away in a corner of the tent where the fremen were spending the night.

"i was worried you had stayed behind to fend for the sietch." he added after a moment, his grip momentarily tightening on your wrist before relaxing again. "i was worried you would be foolish." he had never openly stated his concern for your wellbeing, but it may as well have been written in stone; with how he would regard you.