paul atreides had one distinct way forward to his ascension to the title of emperor of the known universe; however, it was a reckless one. the raid of the harkonnen base and the subsequent murder of baron vladimir harkonnen had gone exactly to plan, and now he had the emperor and princess at his disposal.

to make his victory legitimate, paul had to defeat the emperor shaddam iv in a duel-- but seeing as the emperor was practically a senior citizen, the emperor was permitted to choose a champion to stand for him in a fight to the death.

you were the lucky lamb to be cast to the wolf.

well, technically you had stepped forward out of obligation. feyd-rautha harkonnen, the baron's psychotic nephew, would have been more suited to the task, but no, the emperor had deemed you more capable of besting the atreides heir. doubts beset you, yet as the emperor's own blade-- an ornate weapon of silver, inscribed with runes indecipherable to you-- was placed in your hand, the gravity of the situation dawned upon you. you were dead.

the atmosphere in the chamber was fraught with tension, despite the sunset flooding in over the dunes. fremen, harkonnen hostages, the reverend mother jessica atreides and the emperor's daughter, all had eyes on you; not to mention the lingering threat of the great houses lingering in the airspace over arrakis. the repugnant silence was only broken by the sound of paul's footsteps as he moved to stand facing you.

"muad'dib leads the way." stilgar murmured to gurney, who held his tongue from further caustic remarks.

paul did not break the silence for a moment. the young man, weary from the invasion, with his dark curls disheveled and jaw set, bore a streak of blood upon his brow; yet, begrudgingly, his appeal was evident. at least you'd see a pretty face while dancing with imminent demise.

eventually, he raised the knife to his shoulder, then to his forehead. "may thy knife chip, and shatter." he muttered, eyes fixated on you in the amber light. you were fucked.