i know that the sun is here with me | december catch-all

[terriblepurpose]

Who: Paul Atreides, Ortus Nigenad, and you
What: December catch-all, open and closed prompts
When: December
Where: Various
Content warnings: Grief over loss of a parent, eugenics, psychological horror, child abuse, child death

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[terriblepurpose]

[Count on Falco to bolster Paul's spirits with attentiveness. It's one of the reasons they've formed the sort of bond they have; they know the power of bestowing your full, undivided concentration on anything, and how simultaneous it is with love.]

It is.

[Paul drops his hand to his lap, catching the edge of further curiosity in Falco's question.]

It has to be on most planets people live on. We need salt to live, and any planet with salts in its crust will have them seep into their oceans. Funny that we can't drink sea water, then, don't you think?

[He could keep going, delving sideways into a description of the human filtration system (of no doubt closer pertinence to the young healer than geography alone) and its delicacy, but the sounds of approaching footfalls stops him short. He draws himself up, but makes no move to part from Falco. Watching the place his father will emerge, he says, softly:]

Here we are.

[grice]

[ it would have surely led to a small ramble on falco’s part of what he knew about hemodynamics in its most simplified form, but his focus is drawn elsewhere, to a space that suddenly begins to bubble up that same, expecting cloud of giddy anticipation all the way in his core (despite the figure having yet to emerge). ]

Should— Could I say hello?

[ would he say so back, or would he be a ghost by paul’s side? ]

[terriblepurpose]

That's what you're here for.

[The shy warmth of the request is all that could draw him away from his watch on the woods, so it is that this time Paul has to glance back at the man blinking at the edge of the firelight's circle.

Duke Leto is a little younger than he was the last time Paul saw him in his true, waking life, with a touch less grey in his beard, but he is otherwise exactly as he was. He adjusts the strap of the satchel over his shoulder and smiles gently, even if there's a trace of surprise in it, at the young boy seated next to his son.]

Hello. Where did you come from?

I invited him here, sir. [Paul slides in to answer smoothly, sparing Falco fumbling for a response.] This is Falco Grice. Falco, this is my father. Duke Leto Atreides.

[grice]

[ he not only felt important, he was important, starting with the simple fact that duke leto atreides was paul’s father. sensitivity to being flustered causes silence in falco, not at all having the proper time to really prepare (and he wouldn’t have been able to, anyway). what he could do is buy his gaping lips some time with a curt bow of his head, soon after considering that it might be more respectful to stand.

when he does, he cannot help but to stand upright as a soldier would. he wants to make a good impression, but despite his at-ready posture and too polite wording, ]

It’s— an honor to meet you, sir.

[ coupled with that awfully awkward crack his voice sounds off at it’s and lowers from there, he just looks all the more boyish underneath. ]

[terriblepurpose]

Likewise, I'm sure. [The duke says, kindly and without condescension.] At ease, Falco Grice.

[It's a casually quiet set of words, but given with a voice that knows command well. Leto recognized Falco's stance at once, the way that Paul would have expected him to, and he follows the gentle order by sitting on a log perpendicular to the one Paul and Falco have claimed so as to lead by example.]

How do you feel about fish? We have some fresh caught today.

[As if it's the most natural thing in the world to be joined at a fireside by a strange young teenager, Leto starts to unwrap the packet of fish he brought with him. Paul lets out a soft sigh of relief, and if Falco has found his way back to the log beside him, he'll offer the boy another reassuring nudge and a quietly whispered:]

Good work.

[grice]

[ he's proud of himself! proud that he's gotten such recognition, that paul has thought his efforts worthy enough of praise— falco's chest may have puffed up just and inch, following a retained smile as he finds his way back to the log to sit with his brother. paul? a tiny thumb pokes up from the side of his lap as he bumps the elder boy's arm with his own. yes . . . his mission has been well accomplished. he's made a good first impression on the daddy. 👍. ]

I love fish. [ he could love just about anything that gives him sustenance, but fish, as trench keeping it high on the menu throughout the seasons, was a special dish. ] I can do anything you need to help prepare them.

[terriblepurpose]

They're already clean. All we need to do is keep them over the heat. Paul will show you.

[ Leto's air of authority softens to something more paternal than regimental. Paul knows his father has surely noticed Falco's puff of pride, and that it's the sort of thing his father finds endearing as a reaction.

After all, Paul used to do it all the time.

Leto spears the fish through deftly after he's removed his gloves, his signet ring glinting in the firelight as he does so. He offers the end of a skewer made of silver, strong wire to both boys. When Paul takes his, he does as instructed, rotating the small, nearly whole fish (two to a skewer) over the flames at a modest height. ]

You want them to end up a little darker than golden. That's how I like them, anyway.

[ Paul tells Falco, quietly, and he wonders at how naturally Falco seems to fit here between himself and his father. The woods are filling with the savoury smell of cooking seafood, mingling more pleasantly than might be expected with the damp forest around them. ]

Then we eat them with flatbread and sauce. Fisherman's lunch. It's supposed to make you impervious to the cold.