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Daervon enters Aemond's bedchamber, finding him absorbed in a book, seated on his settee. The room is dimly lit, the flickering candlelight casting long shadows on the walls.

"Oh, I thought I might find you in here," Daervon remarks softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

Without looking up, Aemond responds, "I am found."

Daervon chuckles, as he moves closer to Aemond. He sits beside the one-eyed prince on the settee, their thighs almost touching. "Was it necessary?"

Aemond's eye flash with annoyance as he looks up, the intensity of his gaze piercing. "That bastard owes me a debt."

"For the love of the old gods and the new, it was an accident, Aemond. He didn't mean to maim you that night," Daervon says, his voice filled with empathy and a hint of desperation.

"You weren't there," Aemond snaps, slamming his book shut and placing it on the side table. "They used to tease me, you know? Because I was different."

Daervon sighs, his hand reaching out to gently touch Aemond's arm. "It was the past. Sometimes forgetting the past is the best decision to make."

Aemond's eye soften for a moment, but then the bitterness returns. "It's hard to forget your past when it's written all over your body."

"If you insist on an eye for an eye as the debt payment..." Daervon pulls out a dagger and places it firmly in Aemond's hand. "...take one of mine in exchange for Luke's and be done with it. You can choose which eye you want."

Aemond dryly chuckles, his grip tightening around the blade. He stands, towering over Daervon, who remains seated. Aemond's presence is overwhelming, his body close enough that Daervon can feel the heat radiating from him. Aemond cages Daervon in with his arms, their faces inches apart.

"Think I won't, my dear bastard?" Aemond's voice is a low murmur, filled with a dark promise.

"Go on then. Carve one out," Daervon challenges, his eyes unwavering, filled with defiance.

Aemond presses the blade against Daervon's skin, his hand trembling slightly. He draws a few drops of Targaryen blood, the crimson liquid stark against Daervon's pale skin. Aemond's eye is locked on Daervon's, a mixture of anger and something deeper, more primal.

"You're really not afraid of death," Aemond whispers, his voice thick with emotion.

"It depends on whose hands I'm dying by," Daervon replies, swiping a drop of blood off his brow.

"Why are you defending them?" Aemond's voice carries a hint of desperation, his breath warm against Daervon's face.

"They are my brothers now," Daervon responds, his tone gentle but firm, his eyes never leaving Aemond's.

"And what am I then?" Aemond demands, his voice cracking with raw emotion. He roughly grabs Daervon's face, pulling him closer. Daervon's breath hitches as he stares at Aemond's lips before meeting his lilac eye. "What am I to you?"

"What do you want us to be, my prince?" Daervon breathes, his heart pounding in his chest. In that moment, he realizes how deeply being around the silver-haired prince stirs something within him, something that had long lain dormant.

Just then, Vidor enters after several unanswered knocks. He freezes at the sight of the two young Targaryens in an intimate, charged position, a blade against Daervon's face, their lips inches apart, breaths mingling.

Daervon is the first to notice his sworn protector. He pulls away from Aemond, breathless. "Uncle."

Aemond steps back, resuming his seat beside Daervon as if nothing happened, the blade still twirling in his hand.

Vidor looks between the two Targaryens, concern etched on his face. "Is everything alright? What is going on?"

"Daervon, tell Ser Vidor what we were doing," Aemond says with a sly smirk.

"We're... I was teaching him some poetry," Daervon explains, his voice unsteady, signaling for Vidor to leave them.

"I'll leave you to your poetry then, young master," Vidor says, glaring at his nephew before exiting.

"Poetry, huh?" Aemond quips.

Daervon hums with a smile, pouring wine into two goblets. "I'm doing you the honor of drinking all your wine to celebrate our old but gold friendship. And you could return the honor by drinking with me."

"We're not friends," Aemond states, taking the goblet and raising it. "To us."

"To us," Daervon echoes, and they both drink.

They talk and drink, their conversations filled with a mix of nostalgia and unspoken emotions. It's clear how much they've missed each other. Daervon is the first to get drunk, his face flushed, words slurring as he eventually falls asleep on the settee. Aemond, with his higher alcohol tolerance, remains relatively sober.

Aemond watches Daervon for a moment, his expression softening. He moves to his bed and retrieves a pillow and a blanket, carefully taking off Daervon's shoes and arranging him more comfortably on the settee. As he drapes the blanket over Daervon, he hears his cousin's soft whimpers, his face twisted in a troubled expression.

Puzzled, Aemond leans in, trying to make out Daervon's muttered words. "What are you dreaming about?" Aemond whispers, his thumb tracing Daervon's lower lip. The urge to taste those lips, something he's dreamed about for years, is almost overwhelming. But he holds back. He waited ten years; he can wait a little longer.

At Aemond's touch, Daervon's whimpering quiets, and he sighs contentedly in his sleep, bringing a rare smile to Aemond's face. Daervon makes Aemond feel a part of something larger, more alive. It's clear to Aemond that he wants his dear bastard in his life, and he will go through seven hells and more to keep Daervon by his side this time.

As he watches over Daervon, Aemond's thoughts are filled with the possibilities of what they could be, the life they could share. He leans down, pressing a gentle kiss to Daervon's forehead, a silent promise of his unwavering devotion. The warmth of Daervon's skin lingers on his lips as he steps back, his heart heavy with unspoken words.

Aemond settles in a chair beside the settee, unable to tear his gaze away from Daervon. The flickering candlelight casts a soft glow over Daervon's sleeping form, highlighting the delicate features that Aemond has come to cherish. As the night wears on, Aemond keeps his silent vigil, his mind filled with dreams of a future where they can be together, free from the burdens of their pasts.