Dany was exhausted. She had never stopped struggling, not once. Not when she was captured in the gardens of Illyrio Mopatis' manse, not when she was tied up and gagged and thrown over the back of a horse. Not when she was thrown on this ship and left in the bunk of a tiny, cramped cabin. She had snarled, had tried to bite through her gag, work her small hands through her bindings. Blood made her fingers sticky now, from where the ropes had bit into her wrists. And she was tired, so tired, and so frightened. It thrummed through her, made her shiver as though from cold, made her throat tight and her head feel as though someone had stuffed cotton inside her very skull.
Just when she thought there was no possible way she could stand it anymore, when the lull of the ship had made her half drowsy and more than a little seasick, the door opened and a tall, slender, middle-aged man wearing white armour stepped inside the cabin. "Princess," he greeted her, inclining his head in respect.
Dany blinked, and tried to place the man. She had never seen him before, was not sure what to make of him at all. There was a bat on his helm. But this could not possibly be Oswell Whent, could it? The Kingsguard had abandoned them, had not even cared to answer Viserys'
missives. She swallowed, did not react otherwise. She could not have, even had she wanted to. Her bonds and gag prevented her.
With a sigh, her captor stepped forth and freed her from the gag. "I apologise for all this," he said. "The cheesemonger had his own plans for you, and they were not pretty. Nor would they have led you anywhere productive, unless you like the Dothraki Sea this time of the year. We had to remove you from his care." He paused a moment, grimaced. "I apologise again, My Princess. My years of exile have stolen some of my manners, I am afraid. I am Ser Oswell Whent, of the Kingsguard."
Dany narrowed his eyes, tried to stare him down the way she had seen Viserys stare down Lords unworthy of their attention and unwilling to give them their due. Of course, Viserys' stare was rarely effective, but for right now, it was all Dany had. "I thought you had forsaken the Kingsguard."
Ser Oswell had the temerity to laugh at that. At long last, he shook his head. "Never," he said. "I have served the true king since he was a squalling, ugly newborn with exceptionally pretty curls, and I shall do so until my last breath."
Dany blinked. "You ignored my brother entirely," she said.
"Your brother has no pretty curls that I have seen," he said, a slight grin on his face now. "Viserys is a second son, and not the useful kind of Second Son either. He must have forgotten what that means, but I hoped you were smarter than that. Your priss of a brother will sit no throne while a trueborn son of Rhaegar's lives."
Dany thought she actually felt her heart skip a beat at those words. The thought that Rhaegar's son still lived, that she might have family beyond Viserys, it frightened and excited her almost equally. Maybe Aegon would be kind, would be everything she had always wished and dreamed Viserys could be, but had known in the cruel light of the day he did not have within him. "Aegon survived?" she breathed.
"Rhaegar's son lives," Ser Oswell repeated, lips quirking. "His Lady Wife is at most a moon's turn away from birthing his first child. You have more family than you could possibly imagine." For a moment, his smile seemed almost kind. "And an old friend of mine informed me that he needs his family as well. He is lost and confused right now, and for all that he loves his wife and the people closest to him... A Targaryen alone in the world is a terrible thing, or so I have been told."
Dany nodded, swallowed down another lump in her throat. How often had she felt just that? The crippling, biting loneliness, the cold fear and bleak isolation? How much had it dominated her life, even with Viserys in it? "May I meet him?" she asked.
Ser Oswell inclined his head. "If you swear fealty to your nephew, if you vow to never betray him and to follow him always, as any good princess should do for their king, I will take you to him."
For a moment, Dany's thoughts went to Viserys. Their mother had crowned him, she knew, before she had even been born. All her life, she had been told that Viserys was the rightful
king, the true heir to the Targaryen name. Would leaving him for their nephew be yet another betrayal for her brother to bear? Or would he understand? He should. If Aegon still lived, he was the true king. Even Viserys would have no choice but to admit as much. And if so... was not going to him her privilege as much as her duty? And a babe. Something within her sang at the notion. A babe of her own blood, even if it was not hers. She would hold her and love her, and she would call her Aunt Dany, as her nephew might think himself too old to use that title. She would teach her Old Valyrian, and how to avoid her father's temper, if it were like Viserys'. Suddenly, that was all she wanted. "Is he a good man?" she asked. "My nephew?"
"The best my friend says he has ever known," Ser Oswell assured her. "The honour of an Arryn, the ferocity of a Stark and the heart of a Targaryen. The true kind, like your grandfather, and his father before him."
Dany was not entirely certain what any of that meant, but she hoped it was as good as it sounded. She let out a harsh breath. Felt a smile stretch her face. It was the first one that had really felt true in longer than she cared to remember. "I will swear fealty to my nephew," she promised. "He is the one true king." She swallowed again, more noisily than she might have wished. "And I wish to hold my great nephew or niece, and get to know my goodniece.
Please, Ser Whent. All I ever wanted was family. To know so many of my kin still exist is the happiest thing I have heard for as long as I can remember."
He smiled, reached out and squeezed her shoulder. "Good girl," he told her. "You are the very image of your mother," he added then. "I pray to the Seven you have her kindness and wisdom. Your nephew needs women in his life who are not Tyrells. Gods know the queen dominates her husband already."
Somehow, despite herself, despite the fact that she knew he was warning her of a weakness in her own House, the words brought a smile to Dany's lips. A king who would let his queen's words matter, have weight, would have to be a kind, gentle man, would he not? Maybe, even if he loved this supposed Tyrell bride of his, he would have something left for her as well, for his own aunt. Maybe, one day, he would love her too, as she did not think Viserys had since she had killed their mother to come into the world.
It was only after Ser Oswell left that she realised the only young Tyrell woman from the main line she had heard talk of was the one wed to the Usurper Stark of Dragonstone. She shook her head. No, obviously there had to be another sister. Or a cousin, even. Her nephew must be hidden or exiled somewhere. Considering his circumstances, the cousin to a Great House was still a more than decent match. And she would make friends regardless. She had had enough of being alone, now that she knew that more of her blood existed out there in the world.