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While everyone gathers in the throne room to hear petitions about the inheritance of Driftmark, Daervon stays behind to meet the King and request Viserys's support on the case.

He is greeted by Sers Arryk and Erryk Cargyll before entering Viserys's apartments. The first thing he notices is the large model of Old Valyria dominating the chambers, covered in dust and cobwebs as if it has been unattended for years.

"Uncle, it is me. Daervon," Daervon announces his arrival.

"Daervon," Viserys's voice comes from inside the bedchambers, a sound that mirrors his evident pain. "My boy, come in."

"The petition for the succession of Driftmark is imminent. Princess Rhaenyra and her heirs require your allegiance," Daervon says as he walks further into the bedchambers, where he finds the King dressed in his royal clothing, wearing a golden half-mask to cover his decayed face. His hair is all but gone, his teeth rotten. "You're ready."

"I am born ready, my boy," Viserys wheezes, a hint of determination in his voice. "Bring me my crown."

Daervon retrieves the crown from the cushioned box and places it gently on the King's head. He then accompanies his uncle through the long corridors, flanked by the Cargyll twins.

"Daemon is overjoyed by your victories," Viserys says, his voice raspy but proud. "I must admit, I never doubted your competence."

"It is an honor to hear that from you, Uncle," Daervon replies with a smile, his respect for the King evident.

As they walk, Viserys's expression grows somber. "Stand by Rhaenyra when the dark times come, Daervon. I am aware of Otto's constant attempts at manipulation over the years. Otto would jeopardize the stability of the realm in his goal to put an heir with Hightower blood on the throne."

"I will, Uncle," Daervon promises, his voice firm with resolve. "I will stand by her."

As they reach the massive double doors of the throne room, the doors open, and all eyes turn to the entrance. The crowd is stunned at the sight of their king. Ser Erryk announces the arrival.

"King Viserys of House Targaryen, the First of His Name, King of the Andals, and the Rhoynar, and the Yulongren, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm."

Flanked by Sers Arryk and Erryk Cargyll, Viserys makes his way to the throne, hunched over and clearly having trouble walking. Daervon throws a triumphant smirk at Otto Hightower before joining his father's side, his hand resting on his sword. Feeling eyes on him, he turns to see Aemond looking at him with an intense, unreadable expression.

Viserys passes a glance to a surprised Rhaenyra and Alicent, then tells Otto that he will sit the throne for the day and takes charge of the proceedings. Otto makes way for Viserys to walk the steps to the throne, but the King is visibly struggling. One of the Cargyll twins moves to help him, but Viserys dismisses him. He stops midway as his crown falls, looking up to see Daemon stepping forward to help his brother to the throne, placing the crown back on his head.

"I must... admit... my confusion. I do not understand why petitions are being heard over a settled succession," Viserys declares as he sits on his throne, his voice strained but authoritative. "The only one present... who might offer keener insight into Lord Corlys's wishes is the Princess Rhaenys."

Rhaenys steps forward as everyone's eyes zero in on her. "Indeed, Your Grace. It was ever my husband's will that Driftmark pass through Ser Laenor to his true-born son... Lucerys Velaryon. His mind never changed. Nor did my support of him. As a matter of fact, the Princess Rhaenyra has just informed me of her desire to marry her sons Jace and Luke to Lord Corlys's granddaughters, Baela and Rhaena. A proposal to which I heartily agree."

"Well... the matter is settled. Again," Viserys wheezes. "I hereby reaffirm Prince Lucerys of House Velaryon as heir to Driftmark, the Driftwood Throne, and the next Lord of the Tides."

"You break law... and centuries of tradition to install your daughter as heir. Yet you dare tell me... who deserves to inherit the name Velaryon," Vaemond spits, his voice rising with fury. "No. I will not allow it."

"Allow it?" Viserys's voice is a dangerous growl. "Do not forget yourself, Vaemond."

Realizing that he has no chance of convincing the King to disinherit his own grandchildren, Vaemond becomes irate and aggressive, shouting and pointing at Lucerys. "That is no true Velaryon, and certainly no nephew of mine."

"Go to your chambers," Rhaenyra commands her second son before turning to Vaemond. "You have said enough."

"Lucerys is my true-born grandson," Viserys asserts, his voice trembling with anger, "and you... are no more than the second son of Driftmark."

"You... may run your house as you see fit... but you will not decide the future of mine. My house survived the Doom and a thousand tribulations besides. And gods be damned... I will not see it ended on the account of this..." Vaemond stops himself, but his rage is palpable.

"Say it," Daemon coldly challenges him.

Vaemond smirks at Daemon before screaming at the top of his lungs, pointing at Princess Rhaenyra, going too far. "Her children... are bastards! And she... is... a whore."

The crowd gasps, a collective intake of breath as the tension peaks.

"I... will have your tongue for that," Viserys threatens, rising from his throne, his Valyrian steel dagger gleaming in his hand.

Before Daemon can act, Daervon steps forward and, with a single, swift slash of his sword, decapitates Vaemond. The lifeless body of Vaemond Velaryon falls to the floor with a thud, the crowd gasping in horror at the sight.

"He can keep his tongue," Daervon says coldly, wiping his sword clean.

"Disarm him!" Otto shouts for the guards, his face twisted with fury.

Daemon steps forward with a menacing glare. "Touch my son, and I'll have your necks rolling around the throne room."

Daervon smirks, sheathing his sword. "No need, Father. The issue is settled."

Aemond watches in silence, his one eye filled with a mixture of amazement and a deep, simmering admiration for the boy who has grown into a ruthless man.

The stress causes Viserys to groan in pain and collapse onto the throne. Despite Rhaenyra and Alicent's frantic pleas for him to take medical assistance, Viserys refuses, insisting that he must make things right.

King Viserys is escorted back to his private chambers, and the crowd begins to disperse from the throne room. Daervon's attention falls back on Jacaerys and Lucerys Velaryon.

"Jace and Luke. A word," Daervon calls, motioning for them to join him. They heartily agree, their expressions eager but cautious.

"Since we are renewing our relationship with each other, I'd like to say something to the two of you," Daervon begins, his voice calm but deadly serious. "Hurt either of my sisters the slightest-whether it be the future King of the bloody Seven Kingdoms or Lord of the Tides- and I shall gut you with the same sword I defended you with and let Gaelithox feast on your remains. Is that clear enough to both of you?"

The two brunette boys nod, not daring to utter a single word.

"Lovely. See you at supper then," Daervon says with a smile, turning to leave the throne room not without giving a last look at the one-eyed prince.

Aemond's gaze lingers on Daervon, a complex blend of emotions swirling in his eye-respect, admiration, and something deeper, more profound.