Moving On

[feline_grace]

A continuation from here

Duncan watches Paul rest for some time. The light never truly fades into darkness, merely shifting from something bright into something more subdued. His hand stays in Paul's, thumb brushing slow circles into the back of his hand should he twitch in a nightmare. The shadows creep across features Duncan had long ago committed to memory.

The tug he feels is subtle, just behind his ribs, but it is one Duncan recognizes. The dead have need of him, and when the Atreides call, Duncan will always answer. He will see them to their final rest.

"Paul." Gently he shakes his shoulder. He hates to disturb his rest, but he had promised to stay with him, to not leave him alone. "We have work to do."

Comments

[kwisatzhaderach]

The doors he doesn't think to lock are the ones that contain the worst of his legacy. A tyrannical worm whose reign is a plague upon the galaxy slithers through the hallway of his slumbering mind, idly testing the locks of Duncan's affections which Paul has placed in all the entryways that lead to prophecy. When they come upon each other, face to twisted face, Paul is shocked to see the price the Golden Path has exacted upon the creature.

He calls it by its former name in abject horror and the face buried within the worm smiles as it speaks to him in his own voice: "They call me God now, father."

The creature reaches for him as if to take more than just his voice, but before it can claim his likeness, Paul is awoken.

He has held fast to Duncan's hand and upon waking clutches it tighter before letting out a long, slow breath until the worst of his legacy fades from his mind. Duncan is here. It does not matter what visages of him the Tleilaxu have created, the heart of him is here. With him. Paul smiles, soft and faint, as he leans into the proof of it, turning to press his forehead to the back of Duncan's hand.

"A moment."

Just enough for Paul to savor the warmth of him before he presses a waking kiss to Duncan's knuckles. Indulgence for indulgence sake. The Great Houses would have been in a fit to see such displays.

"There. Tell me what work is in store." The words hold a gentle edge of teasing to them now that the relief of still being here with Duncan has washed away the last of his nightmare. Paul shifts to sit up and is noticeably lighter, unburdened by other memory, but there is brightness in his gaze that's only possible because of the man it's fixed on.

[feline_grace]

As Paul leans forward to collect himself, Duncan allows an indulgence of his own. He rests his hand in Paul's hair, a reminder that he is with him, that he is safe. It is a reminder of something far deeper as well, a warmth in his chest that blooms with the brush of lips across his knuckles. A warmth he recognizes but does not dare name. Not yet.

"There is a small company of Atreides soldiers who fell the night of the attack outside the door. They are ready to move on." It is difficult to explain how he knows this, how he can sense it, but it is the truth of the place. When Atreides are ready to move on, they seek Duncan out as their guide.

"They don't wish to walk that path alone. It was the same with your father. When he was ready, I walked it with him."

A look down at their still clasped hands. "Will you walk it with us?"

[kwisatzhaderach]

Duncan's affection stirs a fondness within Paul that combats all his fears. As if through touch alone his sword master can vanquish the darkness of his thoughts. So too it must be for the soldiers outside their door. Their existence wrenches something inside of him, calling to memory the sight of Arrakeen smoldering in the distance, and he recalls the gruesome stories Gurney had shared of their men butchered and caved in by Harkonnen forces.

That it should be Duncan to deliver them from this place is a balm on the tragedy. Pride warms him as he firms his hand in the man's grip, turning his wrist so that he may be helped up. Did his father also walk with them before he was ready to move on? Paul can't imagine otherwise, but he's grateful that Duncan would let him participate. It is the least he can do to show gratitude for those who paid with their lives to serve his family.

"I would be honored," Paul tells him earnestly, humbled a little by the request when Duncan has already proven to be a leader to their people even in death. "Thank you, Duncan." There is so much to grateful for and Paul wants to tell him, but he tilts his head towards the door instead, not wanting to keep the company outside of it waiting. "I'll follow your lead."

He does not release Duncan's hand, unwilling to separate until the last possible moment when their privacy is theirs no longer.

[feline_grace]

"The honor is mine," he says quietly, helping him stand but not yet letting go of his hand. The tug comes again and he walks them to the door, only releasing Paul's hand as it opens. These soldiers, these men would no doubt be confused to see their swordmaster touching their Duke's son so intimately.

Outside there are a cluster of men and Duncan greets them all individually, calling their names and touching them fondly. Each one gets a moment of his time, a few kind words and a smile before he moves on.

"Will you lead us, my lord?" A young man asks Paul. "You and Duncan?" They wish to follow the Atreides one more time.

[kwisatzhaderach]

Some of these faces are known to Paul by virtue of having sat amongst them. He was no stranger in the barracks, having often visited his masters whenever occasion allowed. Friends were in short supply on Caladan while growing up but there were always friendly faces.

He greets them now with one of his own, follows Duncan's lead by shaking their hands and then drawing them into the kinds of embraces he often pulled Thufir and Gurney and Duncan himself into. Thank you, he wants to say, but offers instead, "My father loved you all," because that was the truth of it. That was what had made the Atreides fighting force such a fearsome thing. Love.

It didn't matter if it was enforced through propaganda. It didn't even matter if it had started out as a method of control. Not when the Duke was ready to prove his devotion to his people by risking his life for them. His father could walk into a room and know the names of every single person in it. Just like Duncan. Their House had truly been something special.

Paul relishes in seeing it flourish once more. Even briefly amongst this small scattering of soldiers whom he never got to lead. When they look to him, Paul does not feel the awful weight of destiny like he'd felt amongst the Fremen. This was his birthright in a far more natural way than anything the Missionaria Protectiva had set into motion. He rises to the occasion without hesitation.

"My father was proud to have led you and I'm honored to do the same." Paul's eyes move between those who have gathered. This small band of men whose lives were taken too soon. He speaks in the same decisive tone of the Duke who came before him and it is nothing like the vicious grip he held upon the Imperial Throne. It is warm. It is true. It is exactly as his father would have wanted it. "House Atreides was only a Great House because of the greatness within it. You each made up a piece of something that could not be replicated or replaced. We are House Atreides and though we have no banner or bagpipes to herald our ascent, know that it is enough to simply have each other. To be a Great House once more."

To hear the halls fill with the Atreides name, chanted in defiance of all that was taken from them, is almost enough to bring Paul to tears. He never thought he'd be lucky enough to hear it again.

[feline_grace]

Duke Leto would have been so proud of him. Even as Duncan moves among the troops he can hear Paul's natural charm and leadership bolster the soldiers who sacrificed everything for his House. They are shown care and compassion and recognition, everything that made his Duke so beloved.

He finds himself swept up in the chant, arms around fallen comrades as they find comfort in knowing they still have a voice. They still matter. And as long as he exists, they will always matter.

"Come on lads," he calls boisterously. "We have no pipes but we have our voices! Let us make these halls echo with them as you go on your way."

With a grin he hooks his arm with Paul's, the two of them leading a slowly growing squadron of Atreides, each voice lifting in song.

It should have always been this way. Paul leading them with Duncan at his side, devoted and certain. If only his mother had been.. different. Not one of the Bene Gesserit with their secret agendas and even more secretive ways.

[kwisatzhaderach]

Duncan had always been the best of them but to see it live on, even in death, bolsters the affection Paul has for him. The way his swordmaster has made this a celebration of their lives and allegiances makes Paul want to swear his own to the man. They could have been this, together, leading as one had prophecy not pulled Paul into the desert.

He lets himself get swept up in it, grinning wide and tilting his head back to add to the chorus of song. It was regaled to him that the Atreides pipes had played through the night until the last of them perished. They were not a House that went quietly into the night and so it would be the same of their ascent into the light.

Their elbows jostle as men rattle each other by the shoulders, fists in the air, voices loud, all of them swept up in the glorious reunion that will see them off. If they were ready before, then they're transcendent now. Glowing with purpose. Lives dutifully led and duties loyally fulfilled.

Paul isn't sure how he knows the way but there's a gravity to it, a pull, as they move through the halls. He doesn't need to look for Duncan for reassurance. Somehow in the loop of their arms, he can feel the gentle steering of a man who has done this countless times before.

The door they approach is closed but beneath it there's a soft, radiant light. Somehow he knows better than to try and open it and so he turns instead to face the throng of Atreides soldiers, their numbers greater than what had woken them, refusing to silence their chant but instead adding above it, voice pitched with a purpose of his own: "House Atreides is with you now! House Atreides will be with you always!"

It is both blessing and permission. A Duke giving his soldiers leave. They are a funeral procession where the highest honor is to simply carry each other to the end. Paul has never known such love before. He feels the swell of it line the doorframe with a light so warm and bright it is like looking at the sun on Caladan after heavy rainfall, eclipsing the door altogether until it is no longer a barrier but an entryway, open and ready.

He holds tighter to Duncan when the first soldier steps through but not before saluting. Heart to head. Paul returns each and every one and knows somehow without having ever seen it, that his father had done the same.

[feline_grace]

Duncan has walked this path countless times, guiding the fallen Atreides towards light, towards peace and whatever comes next. He has done it with raucous song, with quiet contemplation, but this time is unlike any other. Paul inspires the song and the final defiant sounds. He was who they fought and died for and like Duncan, they did not regret it.

He reaches out, hooking his arm with Paul's again. It's a selfish gesture, but he is not ready to be parted from him yet.

There are salutes, warm smiles and tears, all in celebration of their lives and of the House that they loved. Each one is seen off personally and it is a great comfort to Duncan to know that he won't be the only one left behind. Paul will still be with him.

"Rest easy, lads," Duncan calls. "Go to your peace, this is not the end. It is another beginning. We will always call each other home."

The words and song continue until the last passes through. As the light fades, Duncan sags against the wall, trying to will his emotions under control. This has been his duty and his calling and he would never shrink from it.

But he is so tired of doing his duty alone. His only comfort is knowing that Paul is beside him. He is not alone. Paul can help him bear the burden.

[kwisatzhaderach]

For all that Paul is their Duke, it is Duncan who is their leader. He knows these men, fought and trained alongside them, and so when their arms loop together again, Paul does not let him go, solidarity in the gesture. They will be the last of House Atreides and where before Duncan had been a lone pillar, now he has someone to steeple himself against for when the foundation of his strength trembles.

It is an exhilarating and emotional thing to send these men off, but for Duncan... "How long have you been doing this alone?" he asks quietly when they're the only ones left. The hall feels achingly quiet now. Its emptiness acute. What a lonely thing to be the last of something.

The body that crumples beside him is crowded, a shield against all who might pass. Paul sets his hands against the wall beneath Duncan's arms and frames his body with the willowy strength of his own. "You've done more than we can ever repay, Duncan," he acknowledges in a whisper before lifting a hand to cradle Duncan's cheek. There is so much tenderness in the gesture. A love that Paul knows is deeper than duty. "But no longer will you have to do it alone."

[feline_grace]

Watching the others pass into the light is both heartening and heartbreaking. He is glad to watch them find whatever the light and warmth promises, but it has been a terribly lonely affair to watch them go alone.

"Far too long," he admits, his voice cracking as he closes his eyes. "Time feels strangely here, but every time is difficult to bear."

The easy strength of Paul's arms comfort him as he sags into his embrace. For the first time since his passing, he isn't alone. He's safe with his lord, with his Paul beside him. The touch to his cheek pulls tears from his eyes as he settles his hands at Paul's waist, drawing him close.

"It was worth it to know that you were coming,' he rasps. "To know that I would no longer be alone.'

[kwisatzhaderach]

Duncan's strength and skill have always been something to marvel at, but his tenderness and loyalty were what drew Paul in. It was why he'd kept the man as a confidant, entrusting him with the visions that came to him within dreams, and sought him out whenever they didn't have the reliable crutch of duty to keep them together. He could never get enough of Duncan. Not in life and certainly not now in this nexus beyond death.

As Duncan leans into him, trusting him with these vulnerable confessions, Paul gathers him up as closely as their bodies will allow while standing. His thighs frame one of Duncan's thicker ones, a knee pressed to the wall between his swordmaster's legs to help take some of his crumbling weight, while his hands cradle Duncan's face, giving his pained expression somewhere to hide. "Never again. There will be nothing in this life beyond life that you will have to endure alone," Paul assures as he smooths back and pets through Duncan's hair. Tender caresses he's always longed to indulge in that are now given freely and without consequence.

It is the closest they've ever been but Paul brings them closer still, tilting his face down to kiss the tears that have slipped free upon Duncan's cheeks. Lips feather light and chaste despite the want that tugs at him to seek out more. However he wants only to comfort the man and so Paul settles for a tenderness that dabs away the wetness with the brush of his patient lips, kissing one cheek then the other before setting his mouth to Duncan's forehead where he whispers, "I'm here. I will always be here. It's your turn to rest."

[feline_grace]

Before the attack, Duncan had been content to spend his life as swordmaster to the Atreides, their protector and guardian. Any intimate feelings he may have harbored for Paul were buried deep, hidden away from the rest of the world. There were small moments, tiny and bright that he kept close, things he would privately treasure. Paul's laughter, his fierce hugs, the way he always sought him out.

He no longer has to hide those feelings away. Duncan is not sure it would be even be possible, not when Paul is touching him with such tenderness and care. His hands move from Paul's waist to fold completely around him, to press their bodies even closer together.

"Paul," his name is a prayer, a whisper of his devotion and his love.

He whispers a promise into his skin and Duncan believes him. Even guardians need space to rest, to be held and Paul is offering that freely. When he moves again, pulling back, Duncan follows him, needing him near, needing the strength that Paul is offering him.

[kwisatzhaderach]

When Duncan says his name with such reverence, Paul wants to chase the sound of it with his mouth. The urge is fierce and difficult to deny but he keeps his lips sealed to Duncan's forehead before finding the strength to ease back. They never get far from each other. Paul won't let them. He keeps an arm around Duncan's waist and tucks himself against his side for the journey through the halls.

The space they had moved through in such a boisterous flurry is now quiet again. A reminder that not everyone is ready to pass on with such fanfare. He guides them to the private quarters they had previously shared and once behind their door, he urges Duncan to the bed.

Rest, he signs but Paul cannot bring himself to separate. Instead, with nerves that make his heart still feel like it's beating and his body is still alive, Paul reaches to begin gently undoing the fasteners of Duncan's clothing. His hands move slowly enough so he can be stopped at any point but he attends to Duncan with methodical care. Tenderness in the way he parts fabric to better help his swordmaster get comfortable.

I will take care of you, Paul signs when the first flash of skin is revealed to him. His eyes are on Duncan's when he motions the words and in that promise is another one. Always.

The Binding

[kwisatzhaderach]

Despite urging Duncan to rest, Paul cannot bring himself to slumber. There is too much warmth and skin to luxuriate in. His fingers tour the length of long limbs, comb through dark hair, and touch the edges of jawline and cheekbone. Duncan's peaceful respite makes him look less like a fearsome warrior and more like a large jungle cat. Paul pets accordingly.

The peace it brings is twofold. A comfort for Duncan and a touchstone for Paul. He uses the feeling of the body next to him to ground himself. To keep from shifting into something born of prophecy, wretched and ruined. He'd come so close to confessing the darkness inside of him. The promise of forever felt like enough to excise the Harkonnen blood from his veins, but Paul knows better. It is half of who he is.

Duncan deserves to know the truth of such things. To know what he's fallen into bed with and to whom he's pledged himself to. But Paul cannot help but fall for the serenity those dark eyes bring when they open up onto him next. "I didn't wish to wake you," he murmurs with a kiss to Duncan's broad, bare shoulder.

But now that he's awake, Paul tucks a few stray strands of dark hair from Duncan's face. "How do you feel?" His next kiss is pressed into Duncan's hair where Paul lingers. "Any aches that need kissing better?" It wasn't a practice they indulged in as a noble house, but Paul can't help the smile it inspires, impish and hungry.

He takes the opportunity to spoil Duncan with his mouth. An eager student even in this, especially with Duncan, there is little that deters his tongue from driving itself deep where it can and teasing Duncan for the sheer thrill it brings to reduce his swordmaster to noise and need.

When he's done and his hand is once again wet with Duncan's seed, Paul marvels at the mess and says fondly, "An eternity of this." He wipes his hands clean and urges them to wash up, lingering close throughout. A trend that continues as they search out anyone in the never-ending corridors who might know about the ritual they seek. The description of it varies but those who speak of it are never alone. Twin souls with marks that mirror one another on their skin. They speak from experience but not with the elation Paul might have expected.

When they're next alone, continuing their journey through the halls, Paul slips his arm through Duncan's while trying to wrestle down the guilt of not being forthcoming about his past. Will they wind up like that last couple? Driftwood tangled up in a net and unable to separate as the waves rock them? Paul's expression darkens, a Caladan storm behind his eyes. "Duncan..."

But before he can share his reservations, an old woman emerges, her eyes the familiar blue within blue. She doesn't address him by his fighter name nor his sietch name. He is not the Messiah to her either. Paul feels a prickle of unease. Is she one of his sister's priestesses? Or was she simply born before his reign?

"I know what you seek," she says in a voice brittle with age. "And I will show you, as I have shown others, how to seek it within yourselves. I will show you how to unite the twin pillars of the soul into a single foundation upon which all other lives shall be built."

[feline_grace]

Warm and wrung out from their pleasure, Duncan notes into the warmth of Paul's neck before drifting off into sleep. He can feel hands on him, touching him with affection and warmth and it helps him finally rest since the moment he'd woken alone.

Naturally there's a second romp in bed and Duncan is more than happy to oblige his Paul, murmuring promises that next time he'll be the one loving him until he's boneless and sated.

There is no hurry to clean themselves and dress. After so many years of wanting, there's a freedom in indulging in warm caresses, hungry kisses, teeth skimming across skin.

Finding the old crone takes longer than he'd expected, slowing his pace as he senses Paul's reluctance. What had he missed after his sacrifice?

But there is no doubt in his mind as she steps forward. "I wish to bind myself to him. What must we do?"

[kwisatzhaderach]

Beneath the withered gaze of the old crone, Paul suddenly wishes they were back in the seclusion of the room they've made their own. He's sure the private quarters belong to no one, that they're communal in some fashion, but the space feels like theirs for all the ways they've kissed and touched and unraveled within it. There's a safety to the room that he doesn't feel here beneath the too-knowing stare that levels itself from him to Duncan. Acknowledging. Assessing. Appraising.

"You must do it together. The first step of many in which you will walk as one," she says evenly. It's an invitation and Paul steps forward to greet it.

"Go on then," he instructs, regality in his posture and a command in his voice borne of his ducal privilege. His hand clasps Duncan's as they stand side by side and Paul only flinches back when he sees what they must do.

The vial is small but even a dram would be enough to kill a man.

"Fear not. The worm's poison won't kill you. You are already dead," she assures as if familiar with Paul's reservations. That is not what he's afraid of.

"You will each drink a vial," she says while handing them both to Duncan. "It will unlock the mind and allow you each to walk the halls of the other's memory. You will know each other as you know yourself. You must love each other more than you love yourself. It is the only way to survive such intimacy. Are you prepared for that?"

He's only just locked the doors of other-memory and liberated himself from their waters. The idea of diving back in again drains the color from his face but Paul grips Duncan's hand more fiercely to give himself the courage to face what he's tried to bury. "I'll go first. You deserve the chance to walk away from what you see."

The woman tuts. "There is no first. You must both take the worm's poison together. It will open the doorway to your past so that you can walk through together into the doorway of the future. This is the door that will always bring you together."

[feline_grace]

Paul's reaction doesn't go unnoticed. The shift in his breathing, the way that he pales. A story written in his reactions, every brick a new trial, a new pain.

His life was a simpler one, and Duncan loved Paul more than he loved himself in life. It was what fueled his sacrifice. So he takes up the vial and turns to Paul. In life and in death, he would always be his.

"Atreides," he says softly, saluting him with the dream before drinking it in a single swallow.

There is little Duncan needs to hide of his own life. Rescued from Geidi Prime after saving the old Duke from a sniper, dragging his only friend from the streets along with him. Duncan and Gurney only had one another and it was a bond that grew on Caladan.

Now that the doors of his memory are thrown open, Paul can see the orgies in the barracks on holidays, the way the men would tangle together in love and hunger as they celebrated their loyalty.

There were also those quiet moments, Duncan observing Paul, aching with want.

It is easy to offer up everything that he was to his lord, to his love. Whatever Paul has to offer, he will accept and love as fiercely as he does now.

[kwisatzhaderach]

The salute wrenches something inside of Paul. An awful deja vu that comes with slammed doors and trying to bloody his fists to open them. He pursues Duncan with the same ferocity as he had just before his swordmaster sacrificed himself and when Paul chases Duncan's name with the worm's poison, it's those very doors he barrels through.

This time when he beats at them, they open.

What greets him is Harkonnen horror and Atreides compassion in such a dizzying braid of memory that he has to pick through the threads of them carefully. Where Giedi Prime is awash in black and white, Caladan has color. So much of it that the lack is easy to sift through and sort. Harkonnen black, Fremen red, and the lush tapestry of Caladan's landscapes.

Paul sees the bond between Duncan and Gurney and loves his father twice and fiercely for recognizing it and keeping the two of them together. He's heard the stories of Duncan's rescue but to see it firsthand is something else. He's so in awe over the outpouring of love and loyalty that make up Duncan's life that he almost misses when those two evolve into something else when Duncan looks at him.

It's a twin longing that Paul's own memory adds to. Nights where he seeks Duncan out for no other reason than to have his company. The nightmares of Duncan's body in a hallway on Arrakis and how they inspire him to sit outside Duncan's door despite knowing that he's not in. Looking for Duncan beyond the barricade of soldiers who insist he mustn't mingle with them during celebrations. Now he knows why. It's beautiful. All those bodies tangled in adoration.

His own body count is far more gruesome. When Duncan looks through the memory of Paul trying to smash through the door that separates them from the Sardaukar, he'll glimpse the horror that lies beyond it. The first life Paul takes and the guilt that follows. The desperate gambit to join the Fremen instead of lead them. The way prophecy cuts him off from friendship until only followers and foe remain. Chani's kindness and tutelage dot themselves through the bloodshed, little fragments of peace, until he is backed into a corner with only one place left to go: Across the belt to the Southern tribes.

It is there that Paul performs his gallows walk. It is the place that holds the death of his true self, and the rise of the hideous legacy that takes over his corpse. The Kwisatz Haderach, the Lisan al Gaib, the Emperor, the Tyrant. All names for a creature who glimpses all possible futures just as Duncan must be forced to witness them now. Billions dying in so many different ways that when the Holy War comes, it almost looks like a blessing compared to the other possible ways it could have happened.

He gains a throne, suffers the renewed heartache of seeing Duncan again except it isn't Duncan, and then he loses his sight. His sister to other memory. His mother to her schemes. He sees everything and still manages to lose it all anyway. And when the desert refuses to claim him, he lets his sister's acolytes do it instead.

He dies a wastrel, preaching the dangers of the legacy he could not outrun. If Duncan tries to escape it all, he wouldn't blame him. Paul had tried to do the very same in death.

[feline_grace]

Where Paul goes, Duncan will always follow. As the doors are battered down he stands at his side, ever faithful, ever watchful. Harkonnen and Atreides, forever tangled and he hates the Bene Gesserit a little more for what they had done to his Duke, for what the had forced Paul into accepting.

Death. Loss. Loneliness.

Duncan takes it all in, unflinching until he sees Hayt. An echo of himself, a betrayal of his death and sacrifice and his fist slowly opens and closes in silent, helpless rage. They had tried to turn him into a weapon, they had tried to use him to kill Paul and he only breathes easier when his memories return, when he protects Paul. A promise etched into his bones.

Always.

The good and the bad, Duncan takes it all in and he does not waver. Had he been there, at Paul's side, their lives could have been different. Gurney wouldn't have lost himself to rage and revenge. Paul's rule could have been more tempered.

But he does not dwell on the possibilities that could have been their lives.

"My boy. My love." Finally he turns from the other memories and draws Paul into his arms.

He will not fail him now.

[kwisatzhaderach]

To see the entirety of his life with Duncan there to bear witness is agony of the acutest kind. Duncan, whose loyalty was absolute and who had always looked at him with tenderness, should not have to see the atrocities that were committed across the galaxy. That burden should belong to Paul and Paul alone.

But he isn't alone and the arms that sweep him up are a reminder of that. That through all of the horror, he is still permitted love. Paul sinks into the embrace with a helpless sob. A lifetime of sorrow climbs up out of his throat as he howls with an entire Imperium's worth of pain, finally safe enough to let the grief out now that he has Duncan to hold him through it.

Paul clutches at him. A desperate, almost violent ferocity in the way his arms wrap tight around him. When his sobs begin to ebb and the echoes of his past recede, there is only the two of them entwined, standing in the dust of time.

"Please know," Paul hitches as he presses his face to Duncan's chest, burying it there with a shake of his head as he hitches in a ragged breath, "that I tried to do my best." Another broken sob is choked out as Paul fails to suppress it. He shudders against Duncan, weeping in the aftermath of his tyrannical reign and contrast of Duncan's beautiful life of loyalty that had been cut short.

The tears are hot in his eyes, reminding him of the stoneburner's work. Of how the death of his first son and Chani had pulled the water from his body despite the Fremen tradition not to cry for the dead. He cries for them now. For all of them. The billions of lives his reign had cut short so that billions more could live. A terrible destiny no one should have to take part in. That Duncan stood witness to it and can find it in his heart to still hold him? Paul is overcome with love and a twin fealty that is etched into his soul.

"I have loved you all my life. I will love you through whatever comes after it," he whispers with a voice raw with torment and adoration. Able now to finally comprehend the true depths of Duncan's love for him, not just because he's seen it for himself, but because Duncan is still here. With him. At the end of all things even after everything he'd seen. "Always."

[feline_grace]

"It is done." The old crone's voice rings out clear as a bell, cutting through the memories even as Duncan keeps Paul wrapped up close in his arms, heavy fingers in his hair. "You are bound to one another. Soul to soul."

She ties a length of red cord around Duncan's wrist and then Paul's. The cord melds into their skin, becoming an indelible mark of their bond.

Duncan murmurs his thanks to the woman, keeping Paul safe in the shelter of his arms before they can find privacy in a room again. They had both witnessed a great deal and needed time to process.

"Breathe. I'm here. You're safe."

[kwisatzhaderach]

The mark is kept close to his chest, a hand that he keeps tucked between their bodies as the shield of Duncan's own absconds them to privacy. It's harder to close the doors to other memory when all of it is still so fresh, but he takes the opportunity to do as instructed and breathe, locking away the past one atrocity and heartbreak at a time.

When Paul finally straightens from his shrunken posture, it's to look down at his wrist. He reaches for Duncan's and lets their palms join, fingers aligned. Their joined hands with their twin marks soothe him, compelling him to finally breathe out a slow, even breath.

"I'm here," he echoes in turn so that Duncan knows he hasn't been lost to grief even if it will take a bit to shake himself free of it. "You're not alone. Neither of us are." Because after all that Duncan witnessed, he cannot allow him to think he's lost his Duke a second time and Paul too needs the assurance that comes with all of Duncan's tenderness.

When another tear spills hotly down his cheek, Paul turns his face down into Duncan's large hand, trusting him with his most vulnerable parts. All of him belongs to the man and so there's no sense in trying to hide it away.

[feline_grace]

The heartbreak and the loss Paul had endured leaves a hollow ache in Duncan's chest as he walks them towards privacy and time to regroup. They had used him against Paul, taken his body and..

No. He won't allow himself to think about that. His anger has no target.

When he feels Paul turn into his cheek, the dampness of a tear, he turns his attention to his love. His soul mate. Duncan dips his head to kiss away the next tear, and then the next. "Nothing can separate us now."

[kwisatzhaderach]

There is an entire ocean of grief within him that Paul has learned to sail so that he does not sink into their depths. Having Duncan witness the entirety of him, atrocity and all, was like being held under the tide until his lungs filled up. The salt water spills and spills and spills. An endless river of them it seems until the promise of forever helps them to ebb.

He cannot allow himself to drown in the past. Duncan has helped to free him of other-memory, pulled him from the deep where the worst of his sins swam, and now they are finally free to chart their own course. Start their own lives. Paul lets out a slow, shuddering breath as he lets Duncan kiss away the last of his grief and then, with all the gusto of lost youth, he throws his arms around Duncan's broad shoulders, clinging to the safe harbor of his body.

"I will love you for eternity, Duncan Idaho," he vows with the tender ferocity that made the Atreides great.

[feline_grace]

"And I will love you for as long, my love," Duncan promises. He dips his head to kiss Paul, a lingering and slow kiss. As he raises his head, there's a spark of mischief in his eyes.

"You know what we need to do now? We need to escape this transport. We can build a life for ourselves outside of this house of the dead." His knuckles graze lightly against his jaw. "Let's escape. Build a new life that no one can control."