Chapter Text
Gurney is roused from sleep by a voice he recognizes well, but the words spoken are lost to him as be blinks awake. The room is dark and empty, the castle quiet. He doesn’t know the time, but it has to be closer to midnight than dusk. His mind is still muddled, and as he tries to make sense of who or what woke him up, he’s distracted by fragments of his dreams; voices of the past bleeding into the waking world, leaving him dazed.
For a moment, he almost manages to convince himself that he’s slipped back into nightmares of old – that the recent disorder in the imperium have brought unwanted memories to the forefront of his mind – but then there’s the static of his comm, Lanville’s voice coming through, frantic.
“Gurney. The Duke requests your presence.”
As he sits up, he feels lightheaded, and the quiet night suddenly seems ominous rather than blissfully calm. Still, the lack of alarms, the lack of movement in the castle halls – whatever’s happening, it’s not an outright assault. “What is going on?”
There’s a pause, and Gurney’s holding his breath, his mind racing ahead, as he finds himself envisioning dozens of scenarios as he waits for a status report.
“I can’t say.”
The secrecy in itself gives him pause, and while Gurney knows better than to pry, he also needs an indication of how severe the situation might be. He cannot simply leave his room if they’re all under threat. “Lanville…”
“It’s Paul.”
Lanville doesn’t offer anything else, knowing full well that he doesn’t have to.
Gurney doesn’t even get dressed; he puts on a pair of boots, leaving his quarters still in his sleep wear, pulling on a jacket as he goes.
It only takes him a few minutes to get to Leto’s quarters, and by the time he gets there, the weary guard stationed at the door lets him pass with a long look – it doesn’t give away much, but by the time Gurney comes face to face with Leto, he at least knows to expect that infamous Atreides temper.
They’re not alone in the duke’s quarters.
Gurney finds the room crowded, with Jessica sat by a large desk in the corner of the room, Thufir Hawat at her side. Lanville is right by the door, giving Gurney a nod as he enters, and stood by one of the large windows, overlooking the moonlit castle grounds, is Leto himself.
“Sire”, Gurney starts, the honorific a question, but softened with worry. If it was just the two of them, he might have immediately crossed the room to offer friendship rather than restrained professionalism, but he has yet to find out what has happened.
With his pulse ringing in his ears and a thousand questions on the tip of his tongue, he stays quiet, watching Leto with a forced calm; the tense shoulders, the way he holds both hands in closed fists at his sides. When Leto turns and Gurney finally finds that dark gaze upon him, there’s nothing there but an empty rage.
“Their ship went down”, Leto says, his voice tight, jaw clenched, and when he pauses, the room seems much too small to contain his pain. “There were reports of melee on the surface. That’s the last we heard of them.”
While Leto speaks, Gurney bites at the inside of his bottom lip, hoping to cover his shock somewhat – hoping that too much of it doesn’t show.
Paul was supposed to return from this diplomatic mission in the morning. He has been gone for a few days, and only yesterday, Leto was laughing over how the heir seemed bored out of his mind to such a degree that he might never want to go off-world again.
“Do we have their location?” Gurney asks the question simply because Leto has gone uncharacteristically silent, and well, unless there is more info that he isn’t privy to, time is of the essence.
“We do”, Leto says, exchanging a quick glance with Thufir. “I want you, Idaho and Lanville on the ground. I will deal with the Houses, and Jessica…”
Gurney is familiar enough with the dealings of the Bene Gesserit to know when it’s best not to ask for details. He gives a curt nod, trying to be efficient and not let his worry get the best of him.
Only when he’s got the door open, ready to head for the armory, does he pause, throwing a glance over his shoulder. “We will find him, my lord.”
Leto holds his gaze, and for a moment, Gurney is caught in the anguish of a father who already thinks his son dead.
“If you do, it will be a testament to your training.”
Gurney takes note of the if. He takes note of the fact that them not being able to recover Paul will also be a testament to his mentorship. He bows to Leto, exiting the room, and while the words sting, Gurney would never hold words spoken in desperation, against a grieving parent.
He himself has experienced enough loss in his life to know intimately how deeply this fear festers – how visceral the pain is.
While he walks, Gurney pages Lanville on the comms, asking for detailed intel, eventually involving Duncan in the discussion to decide how they can best utilize the troops, and which soldiers should go with which team. As he’s suiting up, the only thoughts he allows to enter his mind are those of strategy; he has slept four hours – most of the men will also be running on very little sleep. While transit should be spent planning their next move, they should take turns resting, because lord knows when they’ll get another chance.
Lanville and Gurney will head for the crash site, while Duncan and his crew will sweep the surrounding area. As long as they’re focused and coordinated, they should be able to cover any area that would be accessible to Paul, his guards and the enemy within the first day. At least any area that they could reach by foot. They will have to figure out if anyone involved in the skirmish might’ve had access to any type of vehicles – if so, the plans will change drastically.
Gurney’s still running through scenarios in his mind by the time he reaches the hangar bay. It has been a while since this place was so full of life; dozens upon dozens of soldiers heading for their assigned ships, shouted orders barely heard over the roar of engines.
As he’s walking down the row of ships, he finds Duncan Idaho pacing by one of the boarding ramps. His shoulders are hunched, his jaw clenched, and he looks like any sudden noise could startle him into violence. When Gurney steps in close, he ensures that he’s in Duncan’s line of sight, and while Duncan doesn’t seem particularly appreciative of being brought out of his furious focus, he does come to a halt.
“I’m not really in need of poetry right now”, Duncan’s voice is strained, rough from having spent the past hour barking orders. “I just need to get moving.”
Gurney nods, putting a hand on Duncan’s shoulder, squeezing. “Just don’t lose your head out there.”
Duncan scoffs, but it’s closer to laughter than anything else, and he mirrors Gurney, one of those large hands coming to rest on his shoulder – heavy, the grip tight. “I could say the same to you, old friend.”
Gurney attempts a smile, but he’s unsure if he actually manages it.