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Gurney didn’t just have his youth stolen from him.
The years in the pits robbed him of everything; his sense of self; his place in the universe; even the passage of time got distorted, days and nights bleeding into torment that eventually simply came to an abrupt end.
There was no finesse to it; no sense that he was moving forward through a grand tale of survival. For years he suffered, and then he didn’t. The pointlessness of it all certainly adds to the confused sense of loss he carries within.
He doesn’t celebrate birthdays, anniversaries – doesn’t know which days to honor those lost. What does he know of the day when he was separated from his sister, except that the skies were grey and the ground caked with mud?
His father drew his last breath, and Gurney held him, and all he knows is that it was raining.
It feels wrong to try and create memory where there is none, and it also feels like defeat to let go of his loved ones; even if he can’t remember when it would be proper to honor them, he can still create space for them now.
Ultimately, he settles for autumn, when the coastline of Caladan shifts in hues of amber and gold; the sun sets early, but its touch is still warm, and the cooling sea grows all the clearer with each passing day. This may not be a proper memorial, but at least he can grant their memory beauty.
For decades, this is the one day he allows himself to remember what was. To invite the memories, rather than trying to keep them at bay. He will walk down to the sea, and sit upon the sharp rocks, overlooking the water.
For hours, he will remain in this spot, and usually he will not return to the castle until late in the evening. Only when the stars shine bright – different stars from the ones he grew up with, from the ones they would know – does he make his way back to his quarters.
His ritual is known to Leto, and the people of Castle Caladan know not to disturb him. For years and years, he’s done this alone, and he doesn’t expect that he’ll invite anyone to this process of grief anytime soon.
Gurney would be lying if he said it wasn’t an act of punishment though. As the sun sets, the evening air sends chilling shivers up his spine and down his arms. He curls in on himself, and the intention is to invite the cold best he can, because somewhere down the line accepting this pain became part of living.
When he hears the steps of someone approaching; dry grass crushed underfoot; the crunch of gravel against rock; Gurney only needs a moment to conclude that it’s Paul. Not by the sound, but by the sheer fact that few others would even think to find him at a time like this – if it was an actual emergency, Leto would have requested his presence over the comms.
Gurney isn’t sure if he’s been crying.
The cold is beneath his skin now, and the world is numb. If there are tears staining his cheeks, he can’t feel them. The last thing he wants to do is to speak and find out just how poorly he’s doing, so he sits in silence, letting Paul do whatever he’s come to do – inviting him close simply by not refusing his company.
Surprisingly enough, Paul doesn’t speak either. He sort of comes into view, coming to a halt at Gurney’s side – probably taking in the state of him – and then he sits down by his side. Without saying a word, without even asking for Gurney’s attention, Paul sets about unfolding a blanket; Gurney knows this because he finds himself stealing glances at the process. The lush, woven fabric, with intricate patterns and deep purple hues; it has to be brought from Paul’s own chambers.
Once the blanket is unfolded, Paul leans in close, his shoulder brushing Gurney’s, and then he wraps the blanket over the both of them. It’s far from elegant, and Gurney has to give up on his apathetic façade to grasp at the edge of the damn thing, just to keep it in place.
Then, well – they just sit there.
The sun has disappeared, swallowed up by the sea, and only it’s angry, red glower remains. Paul Atreides is sitting by his side, huddled close for warmth, and he’s staring straight ahead – apparently finding the sea deeply compelling to look at. Gurney knows this because he’s watching Paul; the glow the last rays of sun bestow on his skin; the dark lashes; the stubborn set of his mouth.
Paul is taking up this spot like this is a day that is his to share, and for the life of him – Gurney can’t think of a good reason to refuse him.
When he eventually turns his gaze back to the sea, the water mirroring the darkening skies above, there’s no abrupt end to his loss. The pain from before isn’t gone, but; he would be lying if he pretended like things hadn’t changed – like there wasn’t something soft nestled in his chest now.
Gurney’s unsure how much time passes like this, but when the skies are truly dark, and he would normally head back to his quarters, Paul rests his head on Gurney’s shoulder. It’s a slow movement, meant for Gurney to refuse if he should wish to do so – but when those soft curls brush his cheek, his throat, and Paul curls in on him like he’s at the centre of the known universe, there’s nothing that could compel him to put space between them.
Instead, feeling brave – feeling untethered in this bizarre moment – Gurney turns his gaze to the ground, where he finds Paul picking at the dry grass with impatient fingers.
The layers of propriety and duty that would normally remind him to keep his distance has been stripped away, and for all the time and effort Gurney usually spends keeping his feelings guarded, he now finds himself laid bare.
With only the stars as their witness, he reaches out to take Paul’s hand in his own. He doesn’t even have to worry that he has overstepped, because Paul let’s out a small sigh, entwining their fingers easily, as if this is something they always do, or maybe; as if this is something he’s often dreamed of.
With Paul by his side, Gurney stays by the sea for much longer than he intended, and when they head back to the Castle, Paul still wears the blanket like a cape.
They walk through the grasslands, Paul’s hand still in his – an anchor in this darkest of nights – and Gurney knows he should be the responsible one; knows that they should keep their distance now, but – all the way back to the Castle they walk in silence, fingers entwined like this is the space in which loved ones are held. Like memory is carried not only in the mind, but echoes through touch; affection learned long ago, carried into a new life.