A/N: Well, after watching the absolute masterpiece that is Dune Part Two several times in theatres, I needed to write some good ol' fanfiction. It's been a while! This 5-chapter story basically picks up where the movie left off, and is written from various points of view. A good opportunity to dive into the characters' psyche (one of my favourite things as a writer), and to develop character interactions! [Spoilers for Dune Part Two]

Characters: Paul, Jessica, Gurney Halleck, Feyd-Rautha
Genre: Angst, Drama, Family
Trigger warning: Blood/injuries (nothing too graphic)

Note to the book readers: I've chosen to stick to the accelerated timeline of the movie, with Jessica still being pregnant with Alia at the time of Paul's ascension to power. Also, it's been at least 15 years since I read the Dune books, so I apologise for any potential inconsistencies. Feel free to mention them in the comments! I'm always happy about constructive criticism =)

Note (2): English isn't my native language. Any corrections or suggestions to improve the text are also welcome!

Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen looked down at Paul Atreides, slowly circling him like a predator ready for the kill, the Emperor's dagger in hand. The boy was lying on the stone floor, a few steps before Emperor Shaddam's feet, right where Feyd-Rautha's kick in the ribs had sent him. He wasn't moving, his blue-within-blue eyes filled with cold hatred and determination – and perhaps a small hint of shock. Perhaps he was only just now realising that he'd asked for a fight he was going to lose. And judging by the audible gasp that had escaped the crowd as he went down, his followers seemed to share his incredulity. Their blind faith in the man they called Lisan Al-Gaib had just been shaken.

Feyd-Rautha knew he could finish this game right now, if he wanted to. One lunge forward, one quick stroke and the boy was dead. But he was enjoying himself way too much to put an end to the fight this quickly. Paul was proving to be a much more worthy and interesting opponent than any of the Atreides prisoners he had faced in the arena on Giedi Prime. He was good – remarkable, even. His moves were as swift, precise and deadly as his own, and he sure was brave, challenging the Padishah Emperor of the Known Universe himself to a duel to the death. Feyd respected that.

Paul's eyes briefly shifted away from him to somewhere over his shoulder. Feyd followed his gaze to a young Fremen woman standing amongst the warriors behind him, wearing an armour covered in dirt and blood, a piece of blue fabric tied around her arm. He could clearly see anguish in the woman's eyes. When he turned back to Paul, his expression had changed just enough to let Feyd guess what was going on between these two.

"She's your pet?" he asked with a smirk. Well, this was getting more and more entertaining.

Atreides and his girl exchanged another look, then Paul slowly pushed himself up from the ground and locked eyes with him again.

"Any special attention for the pet?"

She really was a pretty thing, he thought as Paul got back on his feet. His rage was almost palpable. But he didn't respond to Feyd's taunting, instead taking a slow step forward, firmly holding his Fremen crysknife. As he had before, he pounded his chest twice with his fist in what appeared to be a ritualistic move preceding an attack. Feyd-Rautha readied himself. The short respite he'd given the boy was over.

The clanking of blades filled the air again as the two men resumed their duel, slashing and parrying, lunging and deflecting, their moves fluid and perfectly controlled. The boy's skills were admirable. The absence of Feyd's defensive body shield forced him to adapt his fighting technique, countering every single one of Paul's blows, quick blows that wouldn't have risked harming him had he been protected by the familiar force-field.

But not quite quick enough.

Paul lunged forward again, his knife aimed at Feyd's torso. Feyd promptly twisted his arm to block his attack and took hold of his opponent's right hand, deviating the tip of the crysknife toward Paul's stomach. Caught by surprise, Paul didn't have time to react – the double-edged blade of his own weapon dug into his side. He let out a strangled cry.

Around them, the crowd gasped in dismay, panicked murmurs rising among them. From the corner of his eye, Feyd-Rautha saw the boy's mother rise from her armchair, her eyes wide with horror.

Got you, Atreides.

With a savage yell, he threw himself at Paul with his full weight and pushed him back into the audience surrounding them. Paul had let go of his knife, allowing Feyd to tighten his grip around the leather-bound handle. He seized the boy with his free hand, pulled him close and thrust the blade deeper into his stomach.

The crowd of Muad'Dib's disciples went utterly silent as Feyd then violently pushed his adversary back to the centre of the room, allowing them all to take a good look at their leader. Atreides staggered backwards with a groan of pain, the hilt of the knife sticking out of his abdomen.

This time, the boy wouldn't get a respite. It was time to end this.

Feyd walked up to him, his weapon lifted for the fatal blow. As Paul recoiled instinctively, he grabbed him by the back of the neck and pointed his dagger at his throat.

Despite his injury, Paul's reflexes had remained intact – he intercepted the blade with his gloved right hand, struggling to divert its course. His face was so close to Feyd's now he could feel the boy's ragged breaths on his skin, see the panic in his blue eyes, smell the sweat and the blood. It was over, and he could sense it.

Paul's breathing quickened as the blade gradually slipped through his hand with a sickening grating sound, edging closer and closer to its intended destination. He looked Feyd in the eye, his jaw clenched, his stare both scared and defiant.

It all happened too quickly for Feyd-Rautha to comprehend.

Paul finally lost his grip on the blade, enabling Feyd to drive the knife into his shoulder. Almost at the exact same time, Feyd felt a sharp pain shooting up his ribcage.

Time froze for a few seconds. Gasping for air, he slowly fell to his knees, dragging his opponent down with him. He glanced at his torso in disbelief.

The crysknife he had stabbed Atreides with was now embedded to the hilt in his own chest.

He let out a soft breath as he felt the life drain out of him, warm blood oozing from the wound into the black leather of his suit. He looked back at Paul Atreides, who was still staring intently at him, his whole body shaking, but a glint of fierce triumph in the eyes.

Feyd had to give it to the boy – he was thoroughly impressed.

"You fought well, Atreides", he managed to whisper, a small smile of appreciation on his bloody lips.

Then Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen collapsed to the cold stone floor.

To be continued...