Chapter Text
It was a cold and windy day, befitting of the season as the year neared its end. A soft cooing came from the cradle as the sheets rustled with small movements of its inhabitant. Not yet a week had passed since the young prince had arrived in Oldtown and rumours of his origins had long spread throughout the high tower and beyond its walls. Everything was going according to the plan that had been hatched a long time ago.
Were one version of the rumours to take root, Gwayne’s life and future were surely over. As a young omega, he had so many rules to follow which he had always done so diligently, yet he would risk it all for his nephew’s safety. Father had made him sit down, alongside Alicent, to discuss what he feared may happen in the future. Issues regarding the succession were bound to rise as all who lived in Westeros already knew. If Rhaenyra were to sit the thrown, she would kill her half siblings without remorse. So, even if Gwayne’s two nephews and niece were already doomed, they had to keep at least one child safe.
When little Daeron was born, there were few people in the room. Gwayne had watched with horror as his sister wept and screamed when the babe took his first breath, so small that holding him felt like an impossibly dangerous task. But by the mercy of the seven, it had greatly helped with their plan as he tugged the babe beneath his cloak to sneak him out of the castle along with the dragon egg which had been long chosen to rest by his side.
Gwayne was relieved that he had missed his sister’s devastation upon losing her son the very moment he was born, he could’ve never witnessed such pain and still follow his father’s plan. Had her pain faded since? Had she managed to convince everyone that the dead child in her arms was truly the babe she had carried in her belly for months? He wished he could find answers to such questions, yet he had promised his father he would wait for their letter before sending his own. Perhaps Otto was being overly cautious, yet Gwayne hadn’t had the chance to disobey his father, ever.
The omega stood up from his bed, closing the small distance to lean over the crib. Inside lay the little prince, his eyes wide and the same colour as his Alicent’s. “Hush now, Daeron. Can you not sleep? Must I hold you again to sleep? Do take pity on me,” he whispered, his hands already reaching for the tiny body he had grown all too familiar with now. With the babe carefully secured in his arms, the young man made his way back to bed where he carefully settled beneath the blanket.
Daeron happily seemed to sink into the warmth of his uncle’s arms, his little eyes still wide open as he observed the one adult he had known in his short life. A mixture of adoration and concern welled up in Gwayne’s chest, his fingers tightening their grip on the fine blanket wrapped around the babe. He knew it looked horrible when he had arrived back in Oldtown with a child and no explanation. News of Alicent birthing a dead child had travelled fast, yet people had begun to doubt it when they saw her younger brother return with a babe. Others believed he might’ve stayed in kings landing to hide his own pregnancy, a pregnancy with a bastard, and that he returned now to shield his son from the pain the queen was going through.
Only a handful of people were aware of the truth, all belonging to his family. His father had made the plan, not only sharing it with him and Alicent, but also his brother, Lord Hubert Hightower, his nephew, Ormund Hightower, and his firstborn sons. Gwayne knew that, as the last born son to a second son, he had little in life beside the blood running through his veins, yet he was willing to taint even that if that meant he’d keep his nephew safe from the war that was undeniably doomed to happen sooner or later. If that meant he would never marry a proper Alpha, his entire life forever sullied by the rumour of Daeron being his, so be it.
He leaned down to press a kiss to the soft skin of his cheek, momentarily inhaling the milky scent that wafted from the child. Like all children who were yet to mature and present their second gender, Daeron smelled pleasantly of milk, though his scent had long since mixed with Gwayne’s own after he scented the child nearly daily. He would lie if he said he didn’t feel motherly over his nephew, so dependent on his protection and love. Surely Daeron would appreciate it all in the future, no?
”My sweetling, you truly are the beacon of my life, my perfect prince. Your mother must miss you so terribly, but I cannot help feeling glad you are in my arms tonight,” he whispered as he gently rubbed his nose against the child’s chubby cheek. Daeron giggled delightfully, tiny feet moving within the confinements of his blanket.
Slowly, Gwayne sunk lower beneath his blanket, resting Daeron on his chest. His own eyes felt oh so heavy, exhausted from the day’s long hours. He was glad his uncle had graciously accepted Daeron into his home, as he had when Gwayne himself was still young and abandoned by his own father, yet the busy life in the high tower had always exhausted him, even more so now that he spent his nights soothing a fussy babe. There were enough maids and wet nurses who would be willing to spend their nights with the babe, that was not the issue, but Gwayne refused to be absent from the boy’s life. Despite not being able to feed him and having to rely on a wet nurse, he still liked to take over majority of the tasks that came with raising a child. And then there was the dragon egg that lay in the crib, a secret he had to keep from everyone.
Daeron slept well beside the egg, separating them for an entire night seemed so out of the question for Gwayne. He could miss out on some sleep if that meant the boy could sleep properly with the egg close by. Not that Gwayne understood much about the bond between dragons and the Targaryens, that was still a massive mystery to him in every way.
His gaze rested upon the child’s peaceful face, watching his nephew’s eyes dart around curiously. Perhaps it was Gwayne’s fault that he was yet to sleep, the candle on his bedside table was painfully bright after all. Ever so gently as to not startle Daeron, he got up again, holding the babe with one arm while stepping over to the crib again. This time, he picked the egg up and placed it in his own bed before placing Daeron down beside it. Thanks to his natural instincts, it didn’t take long for him to build a small nest around the egg and babe, ensuring neither could fall from the bed throughout the night. With it not being his nesting time though, he had to give his blanket and pillows for their safety, leaving himself without any real comfort in bed.
With a satisfied nod, he climbed into bed beside the small nest before reaching for the candle to bathe the room in a certain darkness. The only light still filling the room was the little bit that fell through the curtains covering the large windows. He went to lie down, his arm sneaking over the soft pillow wall that kept Daeron safe, his hand settling atop the babe’s soft stomach. His fingertips traced over his side, drawing soothing patterns onto the blanket he had wrapped around the babe before they had attempted to sleep.
His eyes felt heavy, as did every little inch of his body, but he stayed awake until the noises from his nephew quieted down to a soft breathing. Only then did he pull his hand away, curling up in himself with his hands pressed into his chest. Moments like these made him wish his mother was still around to tell him he was doing just fine, that there was nothing wrong with his attempts of raising Daeron. If she was there, he wouldn’t feel all too lonely in the high tower. With his sister at court, his father having bought a home in kings landing to stay close to Alicent and his brothers roaming around Oldtown as the honourable knights they were, he had never truly felt as though he belonged anywhere.
Perhaps now, with a child in his care, he would not feel quite as lonely anymore. Perhaps he would feel needed again, like someone who was born for more than just playing the perfect wife for some Lord, someone who would be confined to his chambers, thick with a child in his belly every few months. No, he has Daeron now, the child who needed him more than anyone. Daeron’s existence had killed his future of a perfect wife and mother, yet he didn’t feel an ounce of resentment for it. Gwayne had never wished to be confined to his bedchambers anyway.