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Once upon a time Leto Atreides loved a man.
In a first love’s haze he thought of it in terms of “forever”. He thought of love as a thing that only happens once in a lifetime; because how could he ever feel like this again?
At the time he had already had many romantic encounters. His father housed events often, and Leto found plenty of opportunity to pursue the beautiful guests of Castle Caladan.
He had shared enough nights with fair nobility to make peace with the thought of marrying out of convenience; as long as his future wife made for good conversation and wasn’t a blushing violet in bed, he could make do – probably even enjoy it. If there was more to marriage than this, then he truly couldn’t envision what that could be.
Then he met the matador.
*
When Paul turns nineteen, there’s a sudden shift. Not in him, nor in the people around him, but Leto finds himself overcome with unease, keeping a close eye on his son. For a while he’s not even sure what new threat he’s on the lookout for, until he one night wakes up in a cold sweat, the memory of blood and sand so clear in his mind.
He’s sitting up in bed, his back pressed to the headboard, but even as he tries to straighten out and force his breathing to even out, the sharp pain in his chest will not let up. He presses a hand there, over his heart, pulse thundering in his ears, and when Jessica appears at his side, reaching for him to caress his face, he at first flinches from the touch – not having realized that he had stirred her from sleep.
“Leto, what’s wrong?” Her voice is soothing, a cool touch in his feverish panic. He lets out a shaky breath, turning his head enough that he can properly face her, and he finds her looking at him with knowing eyes, like the question is asked as a curtesy.
“I dreamt of him.”
She takes this in with a solemn calm. “It’s been many years, has it not?”
All he can do is nod, because his breathing is finally evening out, and he would rather not risk losing himself again.
“What brought this on?” She tilts her head when she asks the question, and this time it seems like she truly doesn’t know what he will answer. Her hand is on his shoulder now, rubbing circles through his night shirt, knowing exactly what he needs to find his way back to the here and now.
“Paul.”
The only reaction he gets is a raised eyebrow, and she waits patiently for him to offer more than this cryptic reply.
“He’s the age I was then.”
His voice wavers as he speaks, and immediately Jessica’s hand reaches for the nape of his neck, her touch soft and her fingers cool. She will always be the ice to his hot-headed fire, and god – he loves her.
When Jessica speaks it’s clear that she’s mostly concerned with reassuring him, but he can also hear the faint warmth of humor in her voice. “He is safe here. We rarely host banquets, and he won’t go off-world anytime soon. There is little risk that he will fall for a handsome daredevil.”
Leto scoffs, mostly because he’s expected to, but he finds himself smiling somewhat. “I’m afraid we might have handsome daredevils within these walls.”
Jessica simply hums at that, and then she leans forward to press a kiss to the crown of his head, lingering there for but a moment. “Heartbreak is part of becoming an adult.”
“There is heartbreak, and then there’s heartbreak.” Leto closes his eyes for a moment, letting out a deep breath. “I would shield him from it, if I could.”
*
Mathias Ward arrives on Caladan in early spring. He is only here for a few days to perform, having travelled from a distant world to do so.
Even though they do not speak, Leto finds himself immediately paying attention to the man; it’s hard not to when Ward is dressed in a lovingly tailored suit of light; silky cobalt, embroidered with pearls and golden thread. The skin-tight uniform fits him like a second skin, and while the man is slimmer than most of the Atreides soldiers, he is all muscle, and he moves with a mesmerizing self-possessed agility.
Leto’s father has invited Ward to be an opening act as they kick-off this season’s bull fighting. The man steps onto the sands of the arena like he was made for this kind of danger, and Leto watches him dance with death with unwavering attention.
*
They’re only months away from Paul’s twentieth birthday, and while Leto has found himself watchful to a ridiculous extent during this time, he has found nothing worth worrying about.
Paul is a studious young man; he keeps up with his training, he respects his mentors, and when he’s not ordered to work, he’ll take initiative and find things to do.
He will visit the hangar bay and quiz Lanville on how the thopters are modified, and he will seek out Gurney and ask him about finger placements for the baliset.
He will accompany Duncan when new recruits are broken in, and he will seek out Gurney to study ancient ballads.
He will ask his mother about other worlds and their cultures, and he will seek out Gurney in the dining hall, talking to the old soldier for hours, like there’s nothing more rewarding than to coax laughter from him.
God.
How long has this been going on – before Leto’s very eyes – without him noticing? For how many months has he watched Paul follow Gurney around, like being separated from the old soldier actively pains him?
*
Mathias Ward is a great success, and Leto’s father quickly decides to invite the matador back to Caladan.
It’s not an accident that Leto is late for the performance, and decides to sneak into the arena through the servant entrance to keep from drawing attention to himself. It’s not an accident that he walks by the dressing rooms just as Ward steps out of his, dressed for the show.
“I apologize”, Leto says, having come to a halt with only a few inches separating them. “I almost ran into you.”
Ward is a few inches taller than him, his hair fairly short, but curly enough to add to the height. Up close like this, Leto can see the dust of stubble on his chin – dark, flecked with silver, just like his hair is greying at the temples – and the longer he stares, the wider Ward smiles.
“I’ve had worse things run into me”, Ward quips easily, a knowing twinkle in his eyes, like he is all too aware of Leto’s regard.
“I know”, Leto says, looking up into those dark eyes. “I’ve seen you run them through with your blade.”
The comment is brash enough to have Ward snort a laugh, and Leto is caught off guard by how proud he feels at this accomplishment.
“They’re calling my name”, Ward says, nodding towards the entrance. Instead of hurrying towards the adoring crowd, though, he lingers. There’s a brief moment when he studies Leto, and whatever he’s searching for, he must find it, because then the smile is back on his lips, and his hand lands heavy on the hilt of weapon. “On this day, I wield my blade in your name, Leto Atreides. Watch me closely, will you?”
And Leto knows that he should feel ashamed of how brazen he is, but he cannot for the life of him hide the breathlessness as he replies; “I will.”
*
On the same day that he notices Paul’s infatuation, Leto gets Jessica alone in the library, locking the door behind him. “How long have you known?”
She doesn’t reply immediately, taking the time to study him, eyes narrowed by the time she speaks. “About what?”
“Paul. Gurney.”
“Oh”, and while there’s little surprise there, Jessica does fall silent for a moment, like she’s weighing her options in how to approach this. “Paul’s interest has been clear for quite some time.”
Out of all things, Leto finds distress stirring in his chest, and he surprises even himself when he asks – his voice strained; “It’s not reciprocated?”
“Not that I can tell, no.”
Leto’s hands are clenched at his sides, and he’s pacing by the door, not sure what to do with himself. He’s scratching at his neck, over his arms, like he could physically claw this unease from within.
“Leto, I cannot think of a safer man to catch Paul’s eye. Can you?”
At her question, he comes to a sudden halt, and the second he stops pacing, Jessica moves in close, gathering him in her arms.
She holds him gently, and only when he has leaned in to rest his forehead on her shoulder – the fabric of her dress soft on his skin – only when he is hidden from the world, does he dare speak.
“That’s not what I’m worried about.”
Jessica doesn’t reply, instead letting his words take up all the space they need. Perhaps he should feel ashamed having to exist with his pain up close like this – his anxiety laid bare and echoing in the grand space around them – but ultimately, it feels like a truth he can finally accept.
With Jessica holding him, it is not unbearable to co-exist with this pain.
After their conversation, he does not stop watching Paul, but now he knows that Jessica is watching him in return.
Leto gives himself a few days to regain his composure, and he spends many hours trying to think of how to best approach his son.
Then, one morning, just as they have finished breakfast, he asks Paul to join him for a walk along the cliffside. He doesn’t specify that they will head for the gravesite, and right up until the point when they find themselves heading down that path, he wasn’t actually sure that he would choose this spot for their conversation.
As they stand in front of his father’s grave, Leto clears his throat, his gaze on Paul rather than the tombstone when he starts speaking.
“When I was your age, my father arranged bull fights monthly, if not more often.” Leto thankfully finds his voice steady, and he watches Paul give a quick nod – having heard this story many times before – and it’s all he needs to continue. “For the longest time, I didn’t get the appeal. I saw men brutalized, I saw animals injured and slaughtered.”
Now, without even planning to, Leto finds his gaze drifting back to the gravestone, and the scene inscribed on its surface. “One day I met a matador who made me see beyond all of that. He played with death like it was a dance, and I can’t say it made me understand my father’s fascination with the sport, but… it was certainly a revelation.”
Paul swallows audibly, and there’s a long pause before he finally speaks. “What was his name?”
“Mathias Ward.”
It is a strange feeling to say the name out loud, after all this time. It is a strange thing to share the memory of this man with his son; a meeting of two people that Leto loves boundlessly; a meeting that can only ever happen like this.
“Where is he now?”
The bright curiosity of Paul’s voice should be expected, and yet, it’s like a knife to the chest – the sharp pain of having an almost easy conversation about one of the most difficult things that he has been through.
When Leto finally speaks, he’s thankful that his voice carries at all.
“He was gored to death. I watched him bleed out in the sand.”
*
In the summer, Mathias Ward makes his third visit to Caladan, and after the performance Leto returns to the corridors beneath the arena. He has brought with him a bottle of wine, and he catches Ward before the matador has even reached his dressing room; the suit of light is dirtied with dust and blood; Ward’s skin is glowing, a sheen of sweat and streaks of dirt there, and Leto is unsure that he’s ever met a man who’s looked so alive.
“To celebrate your victory”, he says, holding up the bottle of wine in question, and the invitation is met with a wide smile.
“Shouldn’t I clean up, first?” Ward asks, nodding to the sorry state of his uniform.
“It’ll be easier to leave unnoticed if we go now”, Leto says quickly, and when the reply is met with a raised eyebrow, he gives a wry smile. “Besides, I enjoy this look on you.”
Apparently, it is the right thing to say, because Mathias allows Leto to lead him through the grassland and into the rolling hills. He chats happily along the way, clearly energized from the fight he’s just emerged victorious from, and Leto is enraptured by that adrenaline – thoughts wandering to all of the ways this energy could be spent.
Once they are far enough from the castle grounds, Leto choses a spot for them to sit, overlooking the sea.
The sun is already setting, painting them in a soft, golden light, and Leto puts the bottle of wine to his lips, drinking deeply, before offering it to Mathias, watching with breathless anticipation as he puts his lips to the glass.
“I will never tire of drinking the wine of different worlds, I can taste the sun and the rain and the earth itself”, Mathias says, licking his lips, handing Leto the bottle.
“And what does Caladan taste like?”
Leto doesn’t know how long Mathias holds his gaze, but he sits perfectly still as the matador leans in and presses a gentle kiss to his lips. God, it’s soft, with a slight rasp of stubble, and a sting of salt, and when Leto surges forward and curls his fingers beneath Mathias’ chin, those lips part for him on an elated gasp.
In this moment, Leto knows, with absolute clarity, that he could never marry for political gain. For years he has thought that the casual encounters he has had at various courts has been all that life had to offer. How could he ever expect that something like this was possible?
*
Sooner than he expects, Paul seeks him out.
Maybe he has caught Leto watching him one time too many (or maybe Leto has put enough work into being the kind of father who is safe to talk to) but no matter what drives Paul to have this conversation, he resolutely gets Leto alone.
Then, with his hands clenched at his sides – fingers tangled with the hem of his shirt like he’s moments from tearing the fabric apart – but his head held high and his gaze steady, does Paul tell him.
He loves Gurney. They are being discreet, but gossip travels fast, and Paul is serious about this, so he wanted Leto to know.
He’s not asking for Leto’s blessing, but if there are any objections to this, Paul requests to receive the punishment. He insists that, as the heir of House Atreides, he holds all the power in this relationship, and that because of this, he is the only one who should be held accountable.
Leto listens to him talk, determined to hear him out, and he wonders if Gurney even knows that Paul has taken this initiative.
When his son falls silent and watches him with wide eyes, desperately trying – and failing – to hide his anxiety, Leto can finally clear his throat, and speak without fear that he’s interrupting.
“Even if you’re not asking for my blessing, you will have it”, he starts, and Paul just stares at him, blinking a few times like he’s certain that he must have misheard his father.
“I have known for a while, son.”
For a brief moment, there’s a gleam in Paul’s eyes like he’s close to breaking, but he bites at his bottom lip, and seemingly keeps from crying out of sheer stubbornness. “How?”
Leto cannot help but to smile, and even if it’s barely-there, he’s certain that Paul notices, because those green eyes widen even further.
“I see a lot of myself in you. I think that is why I noticed.”
“You cannot claim that this is anything like how you met mom?”
“No, I cannot”, Leto says, and at any other time he would probably laugh, because no – this certainly has very little in common with how he met Jessica. “You know the matador I told you about.”
Paul nods, eyebrows scrunched together, and when he speaks it’s a question, but judging from the look on his face, Leto is certain that Paul already knows what he’s alluding to. In fact, he’s quite certain that Paul knew since before he made the decision to seek Leto out.
“Yeah. Mathias?”
The fact that Paul has memorized the name has something bright stir in Leto’s chest, and if he didn’t want for them to have this conversation face to face, he already would have gathered his son in his arms and held him tight.
“I loved him, very much – and I lost him. I was your age when it happened, and not a day goes by when I don’t worry for you, but… ultimately, I want to see you happy.” He falls silent for a moment, needing to steady himself before he continues. “And, son – I have watched you close enough to know how brightly Gurney makes you smile.”
*
Leto’s father hires Mathias to work closely with Thufir. There are great plans in the making for House Atreides; a whole generation of bull fighters will be trained, and Leto’s father will hold the most impressive performances in the known universe.
Most nights, Mathias will come to his room late in the night, and Leto awaits him with bated breath. For months, he loses himself to this wonderful, fluttering, all-consuming love. They do everything together, and Leto never knew that everything could feel like this; that the things he has happily done with other people could be so earth-shatteringly good once shared with someone he cares for so deeply.
When the bull’s horn tears straight through Mathias abdomen, when that suit of light is darkened with blood and guts, and when he lies there, already beyond saving, twisting his head just enough that their eyes meet – Leto has to sit silently as his tears fall.
Once he manages to make an excuse to leave the arena, he can only keep the nausea down until he’s out of sight, and then he falls to his knees, heaving until his stomach is empty. Until there’s nothing left, and all he can do is weep.
*
Once upon a time Leto Atreides loved a man, and once upon a time he watched that man die. He learned many things from his first love – including that love is a thing that he is capable of. Beyond the devastation, he left his heart open to the possibility of loving again, and when he met Jessica, he knew that he would give everything for her to be his forever.
Heartbreak is a part of growing up, and Paul is certainly already an adult, but god; if Leto wouldn’t want to spare him this pain if he could.
For months, he watches from afar as his son falls head over heels for his best friend. He watches infatuation deepen into something that can barely be contained – Paul wearing his heart on his sleeve with every smile, every lingering glance.
He watches Gurney return every glance, every smile; watches the old soldier drift to Paul’s side in crowded rooms, always carrying himself with utmost care and professionalism, and yet; nothing could hide the fond gleam in his eyes.
Leto observes the both of them until he can trust himself not to speak out of turn, and then he picks an especially fine wine from the cellar, before he goes to find Gurney, knowing that at this time of day, he’ll most likely be out in the garden with his baliset.
Thankfully, Gurney is by himself by the time Leto reaches him – because he has no doubt that Paul must have spent most of the evening out here, by Gurney’s side – and when Leto comes to a halt by the bench where he’s sat, he quickly scoots over, making room.
These summer days seem to last forever, the sun never truly setting, the sky merely shifting from a pale blue to deep purples and pinks. Leto catches his breath, opening the bottle of wine, and only when he feels like he’s truly grounded, does he speak.
“What is it they say about love?”
He asks the question with an air of nonchalance, and Gurney throws him a glance, studying him, before the corner of his mouth curves with a smile.
“That it is a fruit in season at all times, and within reach of every hand.”
Leto hums, nodding sagely, taking a sip from the bottle, finding the wine heady and bitter. “Do you find that to be true?”
“I guess.”
Normally Gurney isn’t this taciturn, and Leto cannot help but wonder if the old soldier knows where this conversation is heading.
“How long have you been in love with my son, Gurney Halleck?”
Gurney goes perfectly still at his side, and Leto studies him intently; his hands on his knees, the set of his mouth, the icy focus of his eyes. Even like this, rigid with worry, he looks kind.
“Well?”
Gurney clears his throat, not meeting Leto’s gaze, looking down at the ground instead. “I did not intend for it to happen, sire.”
Leto sighs, taking another swig from the bottle, and finding that he is much too old to drink wine this way; apparently, this experienced is reserved for youthful stupidity. “One rarely does.”
“I would never hurt him. You must know that.”
“I know. But you will”, and even though Leto’s voice is soft when he says it, Gurney still flinches at the words. “He is young, and he will lose you, one way or another.”
Gurney nods, taking in the explanation, his mouth set in a thin line.
“I’m not saying I want you to put an end to this. For all I know, this is the happiest I have seen him in years”, Leto continues, and now he leans in, bumping his shoulder with Gurney’s. Perhaps it’s a much too friendly thing to do considering the situation, but he has had plenty of time to think this through, and he would rather not allow Gurney to torture himself. “Still. I am his father, and I do worry. I always will.”
Now, Gurney looks at him, that hazel gaze steady on Leto, something soft at the corner of his eyes. “I wish I could soothe that worry, my lord.”
Leto can do nothing but smile at that, and in this moment, he is grateful that he has allowed himself time for introspection, before he decided to speak openly about his feelings. “You can’t. But you can promise that you will be gentle with him. You can try and offer him the kind of heartbreak that he will survive.”
“Aye”, Gurney agrees, immediately, his voice deeper now, unsteady with the emotions he’s so clearly trying to contain. “That I can promise.”
“You’re a good man, Gurney Halleck.” It’s only when Leto says it out loud that he realizes that he well and truly means it. While he knows that good men and bad men are just as capable of heartbreak, he holds Gurney’s gaze, and he chooses to have hope.
Leto takes another sip from the bottle, immediately regretting it, and then he hands it to Gurney.
“What do you think of our wine?”
Gurney stares at him for a moment, bewildered. Then he puts the bottle to his lips, taking a swig.
“To me, it tastes of nostalgia”, he says, finally, and Leto can imagine that it does – for reasons very different from his own.
“Yeah”, he agrees, letting out a deep breath, tilting his head back to watch the darkening skies. “It truly does.”