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There was a time when he slept a lot.
Paul had many dreams, and nightmares too.
Some of them felt too real to be just a dream but too horrible to be considered a reality, others were almost comforting in the ir certainty, others were pure fantasy. Sometimes he just slept, too, the blissful unconsciouness of sleep taking the weight off his shoulders for a bit.
It was nice, sleeping, getting away from it all. No matter where, Paul had always had some weight to carry, an inescapable destiny. When he was younger he just thought it was that of being a duke, of continuing the legacy of house Atreides and everything that came with being a member of such a house.
But even then, he knew that there would be more. The way his mother had trained him... it was Bene gesserit, and why would he be trained in their ways if he was a man? But he passed their test. There was so much in store for him.
Too much, if you asked him.
Paul had never asked for the name Atreides and he had certainly never asked for Dune, for the destruction of his father and friends, for the fight, for the powers and the sight of the Kwisatz Haderach. He h ad wanted none of those things.
Until the last of his breaths he strived to just be Muad'Dib, another fremen warrior, not more and not less than any of the fedaykin. He wanted to b e with Chani, he wanted to be a helpful warrior, one of them
- not above them.
Not a messiah.
Muad'Dib, not the Lisan Al-Gaib.
But the it seemed that the force of his destiny was large than that of his will.
He'd stopped breathing, started seeing, and with that sight a lot of the things of what Paul had been disappeared. It wasn't about what he wanted any more, wasn't about him, the scope of reality and the changes on the world were too big for a few people to consider.
His lives and the lives of the fremen that needed to be sacrificed were nothing compared to what could and would be done. The old Paul, that child, knew so little of the world and of history that he was laughable. So were his childhood dreams, his peaceful sleep.
Now he rarely slept, if ever.
Every moment was worth being awake for, every moment was a chance to spek with someone, spread some symbols, further his ginormous agenda. And so he didn't sleep, and for a while, nothing changed.
His body had changed thanks to the water of life and didn't require the nourishment and rest as any other regular human but he was still testing out the limits of what he could endure. He wasn't resistant to wear and tear, he was still made of flesh.
And the lack of sleep was having funky effects. like seeing things that weren't there.
Because Paul could see all the present, past and future and some things were impossible in any and all of those three planes. Which meant it wasn't possible, which meant it wasn't real.
Like seeing the shadow of his father's face on the reflection of a window.
Leto looked at him with deep, pained eyes and asked him:
"What have you done with my son? I cannot see him anymore, I fear he's been devoured."
Leto's fears were mostly true, Paul kne, although his appearance on that reflection made it seem that there were some traces of the boy still left inside of the messiah.
"Will you bring him back to me?" Leto said, too clearly. "I miss my boy. He had such a good heart. Can you bring him back?"
And... some part of Paul, seeing the image of his fahter, hearing his voice so clearly.. even if he'd seen the future and knew there was no place to "be a son" or "have a good heart", not anymore. And still, some of his old emotions were stirred seeing that image.
That man. Those eyes. He'd meant so much...
Perhaps the sleep deprivation had awakened a more human side of him. Made sentiment overflow him. He knew he couldn't succumb to it, and yet a part of him longed for that, for sentiment, but the peace a nd the belonging Paul once found in his father.
But it couldn't be. Not anymore.
He decided to try and avoid windows in important moments. Didn't need the distraction.
Still, a new face started following a new voice, this time in the reflection on the mirror.
His cousin, the late Feyd-Rautha.
"I'm the only part that's left of you."The white shadow said on the mirror. "I am in charge now. How does it feel?"
Paul refused to pay attention to that familiar and so very unique voice.
He wasn't right, anyway. Paul was so much more than what his young cousin would ever have been, wasn't he? Sue they both shared now a big destiny, a great family name, the energy of youth and the determination of being able to get things right.... a self-importance bigger than all the outdoors...
There was little his younger self and Feyd-Rautha shared, but a lot that the Lisan Al-Gaib and this bald madman shared, even if their personalities were... in different degrees of intensity.
"Do you miss me?" Feyd-Rautha said, in the mirror "Do you miss what we could have been, together?"
A force like no other, for sure.Wild. Massive. Wrong in so many levels. Destructive in so many levels.
Their union would have been, among many other things, very amusing, entertaining even. Paul can imagine the laughs, the blood, the madness and the bloodshed. No stopping, no qualms, zero limitations, red on white under a darkened sky.
And some part of Paul longed for that as well to have a companion that was more unhinged than the bookish and contained Irulan or even Chanin who, as much as he loved dearly, was limited by her strict moral compass. If only she could she what he did, she would know that her morality meant nothing in the greater scheme of things.
But there was no time to think of her, no time to long for her or what being with his lost cousin might have meant. No time to mourn the Paul his father had loved, no time to long for a softer, smaller, gentler Paul. All of those Pauls were gone.
And if he had to sleep to get rid of remnants of t hem then he would. As much as he needed.
Until the Lisan Al-Gaib was the only one triumphant.
As it was written.