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Gwayne stands shoulder to shoulder with Ormund, watching Daeron parry with and strike against the other boys down below. The sound of blades clashing and feet shuffling carries to the upper floor.
“He’d make a good king. Not that that matters to you.” Gwayne challenges Ormund.
“You think me so callous?” Ormund questions, invading his space.
“I think you’d sacrifice lives to save your own pride. But I know you’d never sacrifice your own. So tell me, what is your plan here?”
Ormund does not satisfy him with an answer that makes sense, instead he speaks of God’s will and that is when Gwayne knows he can’t return to Oldtown. Not after the assassination attempt and not when Ormund refuses to answer him directly about his plans.
Daeron’s earnest words stir in his mind, “Don’t leave me again, please.”
He hears them now for what they are, a genuine and desperate plea for a devolving situation. Gwayne, in his grief and exhaustion, had responded abysmally. He allowed hurt and jealousy to guide his words and cut into Daeron.
“You’re his little treasure now, you’ll be fine.”
For in that moment he had felt replaced, first by Daeron who had fawned over Ormund and seemed to care little of jesting at his expense. Secondly, by the fact that Gwayne had once been Ormund’s treasure in his youth. He knows deep down, it is no great reward to be in Ormund’s thrall. He also recognizes that Daeron sincerely believes that his fawning has been his only means of persevering. He can’t begrudge his nephew that, as much as his gut reaction had been harsh. He owes him an apology.
Ormund has imposed his will upon the boy and remains relentless in his pursuit of the throne. Gwayne must remedy the situation now as best he can.
Under the cover of night, when the stars shine amidst the half crescent moon, Gwayne makes his journey to Daeron’s chamber.
“Gwayne.” Daeron utters his surprise while his features reveal an open vulnerability, like he can’t believe Gwayne is standing here in the flesh. It makes Gwayne’s heart ache.
“How are you faring after today’s events?” Gwayne queries keeping his tone light.
Daeron holds the door open wider and beckons him inside with the gesture of his hand.
Gwayne takes in his surroundings. The space does not reflect his nephew, though he supposes an appropriated castle would not. The only thing that tells him this room is Daeron’s is the lute on the table.
He seats himself on the red cushions of a large sofa and watches as Daeron paces before sitting across from Gwayne in the chair.
“I’ve fared better. I have… concerns.” Daeron answers his question at last, “I don’t trust uncle to keep me safe.” Daeron tells him, a furrow in his brows.
The term ‘uncle’ is not lost on Gwayne and it stings. Ormund is a cousin to Daeron afterall. Gwayne swallows down his feelings of being replaced. As much as Ormund may try to supplant him, Daeron is taking him into his confidence and sharing genuine trepidations.
“If you hadn’t been there, we would not have survived.” Daeron tells him earnestly, his eyes sincere.
“Was that your first brush with the Stranger?” Gwayne queries, he suspects that since their time apart Daeron has not had many, if any at all, near encounters with death.
“For my part, yes, I have not come so close to losing my own life. But…” He trails off, looking away, his hands clasping together in his lap.
Gwayne waits, watching as Daerons hands fidget and start picking at his nails.
“I took a life… an innocent life at uncle's behest.” Daeron is ripping at the skin around his nail now, blood pooling on the surface. Gwayne feels momentarily perplexed, Daeron’s words not quite making sense.
He watches as Daeron brings his thumb to his lips to quell the bleeding, still not meeting Gwayne’s eyes.
“Daeron?” Gwayne directs his nephew's attention back to him, “Ormund asked you to kill an innocent man and you went through with it?” He can’t contain the implicit accusation.
“I refuted him!” Daerons voice rises, “I told him the man was only protecting his family, that our guard was out of line. I defended the man's actions. I didn’t have a choice Gwayne, you have to understand, I know the cost of defying him.” Daeron is desperate, his features strained.
Gwayne wants to hold onto his righteous anger, to tell Daeron that he should have defied him despite the outcome. His words of reprehension die on his tongue as he takes in Daeron’s countenance. He sees before him now a boy who has been cornered into submission, a frightened hare with its leg in a trap. A trap he left him in.
Gwayne reminds himself of why he came to Daeron’s chambers to begin with.
“I understand, Daeron.” Gwayne finally says slowly. Daeron’s posture deflates and he sinks back into his chair. He looks at Gwayne with misty and imploring eyes.
“Part of why I came here tonight was to apologize.” Gwayne continues on, knowing this is important.
Daeron says nothing but his brows knit together in quiet confusion.
“I was dismissive of your suffering, Daeron. I see the extent of Ormund’s influence, his will over yours. I know you don’t want it imposed on you.” Gwayne wants to say more but isn’t sure how.
Daeron’s expression is open again, he’s nodding.
“When Ormund told me you were coming here, I could hardly stomach the hope I felt. Hoping is painful.” Daeron’s sitting forward again, his forearms resting on his thighs, trying to convey his sincerity.
Gwayne has to look down, the guilt is rife within him once more. He knows now that his apology cannot undo the hurt caused by his absence.
While he had professed that he didn’t have a choice and it was the truth, he knows now he can’t fall back on that old adage again. This time he does have a choice. He can stay and mend their relationship.
“I feel safe with you.” Daeron nearly whispers it like a confession. It’s in stark contrast with his earlier assessment of Ormund.
Gwayne is pulled from his thoughts and drawn once more to Daeron’s open expression.
It is but one sentence, yet it beats with the heart of conviction and leaves no doubts. It draws on the distance between them and narrows it. It takes the shape of love.
“I won’t leave you this time. I promise I'll stay.” Gwayne shares with him, letting the words hang in the air between them.
Daeron smiles and his bottom lip trembles. Eagerly he reaches for Gwayne’s hands with his own and squeezes them. Gwayne raises an eyebrow at the display of affection. Daeron releases him just as quickly, his body settling further back into his own chair, creating space between them once more. Gwayne is momentarily stunned by this. He feels as if he’s just reprimanded his nephew but all he did was sit there.
“Forgive me, I am immensely relieved to hear you will stay.” Daeron explains.
“It’s alright, Daeron.” Gwayne assures him. Physical touch had been limited between them, but since being in Tumbleton Gwayne has observed how Ormund bestows it on Daeron and how he seems starved for it. Gwayne remembers in his youth, being on the receiving end of that praise and reassuring hand.
If Ormund can fashion himself as an uncle, then Gwayne reasons he can learn to employ this physical tactic. Afterall he is in a battle with Ormund, each of them vying for who will influence Daeron, who will protect him.
With his mind resolved, Gwayne closes the distance and reaches for Daeron’s hands, cradling them within his own.
“You are allowed to express yourself in my company.” Gwayne tells him, meeting Daeron’s eyes. Daeron nods, an unexpected blush tinting his cheeks. Gwayne looks down to see the blood is dripping anew from Daeron’s thumb.
“You’re bleeding again. Come.” Gwayne instructs, pulling them both up and leading Daeron over to the dresser by his hands.
“It's a bad habit, I know. Ormund has tried to rid me of it.” Daeron is admonishing himself.
Gwayne finds a small piece of cloth and wraps it diligently around Daeron’s thumb.
“Your mother had the same propensity in her youth, picking her nail beds raw.” Gwayne tells him lightly, “We all cope as we must.”
He looks up to see Daeron is looking at him with fondness and disbelief.
“You’ll really stay?” Daeron asks him, still afraid to hope. He looks years younger at this moment.
“I will.” Gwayne promises once more, smiling.
Daeron pulls him into a hug and holds on tightly. Gwayne can’t help but chuckle, it feels nice to be wanted and to have the faith that it is no farce. Daeron still holds him in high regard. Despite the years and the distance, and however much Ormund tried to expunge out of him, Daeron’s heart and nature remain stalwart.
When Daeron releases him Gwayne misses the warmth. He thinks again of Ormund, his hands on Daeron. Gwayne reaches cautiously forward to place his palm against Daeron’s cheek in a pantomime of what he’s seen Ormund do.
Gwayne assesses the reaction, how Daeron closes his eyes and nuzzles against Gwayne’s palm. He’s open and pliant, having now been granted permission to be unguarded. Gwayne finds himself awe-struck by the raw vulnerability. Layers of Daeron have been peeled back and Gwayne suspects he’s seeing more than he should be.
“I missed you.” Daeron breathes, his eyes finally fluttering open.
Daeron’s yearning is tangible, it’s suffusing the space between them and around them. Gwayne thinks that he understands the weight and depth of it. It both terrifies him and warms him.
“I’ve missed you too.” Gwayne returns the sentiment and allows himself to indulge in rubbing his thumb not once, but twice along the soft skin of Daeron’s cheek before dropping his hand and walking to the door.
“The hour is late and you have had a long day.” Gwayne tells him, diffusing the moment and reminding himself that this is his nephew and Alicents child, that he deserves protection and guidance, not confusion.
When he turns back, Daeron is still standing, looking lost.
“Yes, it is late.” Daeron acknowledges, his hands fidgeting once more.
“Chin up, Daeron.” Gwayne tells him with a smile.
Daeron nods and smiles too. Gwayne closes the door on their shared moment and takes a deep breath.
As he makes his way to his own quarters he reflects on his many months at battle. The toiling and the grief. A war for which its prerogative has grown ever challenging to discern. The meaning of it all has shifted, and Gwayne has changed along with it. It’s not about the seat on the throne that Ormund covets for Daeron. In fact It’s not about the throne at all or the strife between their houses. Gwayne realizes now, he’s not fighting for an idea but for a person. It's a beautiful thing to have someone worth fighting for.
He will do anything to save Daeron.