Work Text:
“What are you doing?”
Gurney glances up from his handiwork: a cross of colorful marbles neatly arranged on the smooth stone floor, encompassed by a meticulously drawn circle of chalk. Two larger marbles sit tucked away from their fellows, one a swirling blue-gray reminiscent of the roiling sea down the hill from this very room, the other the dusky orange of the sunset outside the open window. His mouth quirks in a welcoming smile, and he prompts his hovering audience, “Guess.”
Paul traipses through the doorway in slippered feet, his nearly noiseless gait impressive for a lad of only seven.
My instruction, Gurney realizes, fierce pride suffusing his chest; brilliant, clever little lord.
“A game,” Paul decides after a moment, curious hazel eyes perusing the setup. “Are we truly going to play, Gurney?”
He folds tiny arms imperiously, so akin to his father Gurney nearly laughs. Instead Gurney swallows his chuckle into a huff, pressing a hand over his own heart as if wounded. “You act as though all we do is work, young master.”
A small, frustrated frown creases Paul’s face. He’s not yet fully grasped sarcasm, or even teasing—though Duncan has been quite the teacher—but he Senses deeper nuance in others’ words, in the unnerving way of his mother.
Gurney is always helpless when Paul’s frown is turned upon him. He is helpless against the undeniable truth: Caladan is not Geidi Prime. He is helpless to deny that amid centuries-old legacies, and lessons from introductory self-defense to interstellar diplomacy to Thufir’s Mentat training, Paul is still a child. Paul is loved and protected and safe within these walls, and an easy evening of simple joy will not cause harm.
“There can be strategies to learn,” Gurney allows, plucking the large marbles from the floor and holding them one to a hand, proffering them for Paul to choose. An understatement from his original intention—spatial reasoning, mathematics, physics—and he doesn’t regret it for a moment. “But you may develop your own, if you like. Either way, I promise you, we will have all the fun you want.”
Paul immediately grabs the orange marble, grasping it tightly in his fist before kneeling next to Gurney and looking up at him expectantly. Light reflects off the little spheres of glass, a kaleidoscope of colors shining through the room and across both their faces—but it’s incomparable to Paul’s giddy, gap-toothed grin, beaming like the sun.