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Daervon enters the Hall of Nine with his sworn protector, finding everyone already gathered. The hall is dimly lit, shadows dancing wildly from the harsh flickering of the fire. The grand space feels suffocating, filled with tension and raw emotion.

Daervon's body tenses as his gaze lands on Aemond, seated near the roaring furnace. The harsh light accentuates the cruel stitches and raw redness of Aemond's left eye, a stark contrast to the swollen, tear-rimmed exhaustion in his remaining eye. Daervon's heart aches at the sight, each detail of Aemond's pain cutting into him deeply, his own sorrow mirrored in the boy, a desperate urge to share that burden surging within him.

He learns from the murmurs that an altercation had broken out between Rhaenyra's, Daemon's, and Alicent's children. Luke had slashed at Aemond with a knife, severing his left eye. The scene is chaotic, emotions running high, and blame being cast in every direction.

Rhaenyra rushes to her sons, her face a mask of worry and fury. Luke is crying, trying to explain himself amidst the cacophony of voices. The children argue vehemently over who started the fight, their shouts blending into a discordant symphony until Viserys roars for silence, his voice echoing through the hall.

"Aemond," Viserys demands, his voice stern and weary, "I will have the truth of what happened. Now."

Alicent steps forward, her eyes wild with grief and fury. "What else is there to hear? Your son has been maimed. Her son is responsible."

"It was a regrettable accident," Rhaenyra interjects, her voice strained but controlled.

"Accident?" Alicent scoffs, her voice dripping with venom. "The Prince Lucerys brought a blade to the ambush. He meant to kill my son."

"It was my sons who were attacked and forced to defend themselves," Rhaenyra retorts, her voice rising. "Vile insults were levied against them."

"What insults?" Viserys demands, his face a mask of confusion and anger.

"The legitimacy of my sons' birth was loudly put into question," Rhaenyra explains, her voice trembling with rage.

"What?" Viserys turns to Jace, seeking confirmation.

"He called us bastards," Jace states firmly, his young face twisted with indignation.

"My sons are in line to inherit the Iron Throne, Your Grace. This is the highest of treasons," Rhaenyra declares, her eyes blazing. "Prince Aemond must be sharply questioned so we might learn where he heard such slanders."

"Over an insult? My son has lost an eye," Alicent says, her voice breaking with grief.

"You tell me, boy. Where did you hear this lie?" Viserys asks Aemond, his voice softer now, tinged with desperation.

"The insult was training yard bluster. The lot of boys. It was nothing," Alicent interjects, trying to deflect the blame.

"Aemond... I asked you a question," Viserys insists, his voice growing colder.

Alicent steps forward again, her voice biting. "Where is Ser Laenor, I wonder? The boys' father? Perhaps he might have something to say in the matter."

"Yes. Where is Ser Laenor?" Viserys echoes, looking around the room.

"I do not know, Your Grace," Rhaenyra admits, her voice shaking. "I... could not find sleep. I had gone out to walk."

"Entertaining his young squires, I would venture," Alicent remarks snidely, her eyes gleaming with malice.

Lord Corlys grits his teeth, while Cole smirks amused. Daervon looks at the Queen with disdain, his heart aching for Aemond.

"Aemond... look at me. Your king demands an answer," Viserys says, his voice firm. "Who spoke these lies to you?"

Aemond momentarily looks at Alicent, who appears worried, before saying, "It was Aegon."

Aegon looks flabbergasted. "Me?"

"And you, boy? Where did you hear such calumnies?" Viserys demands, approaching his eldest son and yelling, "Aegon! Tell me the truth of it!"

"We know, Father. Everyone knows. Just look at them," Aegon claims, his voice bitter.

Viserys meets his daughter's gaze and then looks around the room, his face a mask of weary resignation. "This interminable infighting must cease! All of you! We are family!" He slams his cane down on the stone ground. "Now make your apologies and show goodwill to one another. Your father, your grandsire, your king demands it!"

Alicent's face twists with disgust. "That is insufficient. Aemond has been damaged, permanently, my King. 'Goodwill' cannot make him whole."

"I know, Alicent, but I cannot restore his eye," Viserys says, his voice weary.

"No, because it's been taken," Alicent snaps, her voice rising.

"What would you have me do?" Viserys asks, his frustration palpable.

"There is a debt to be paid. I shall have one of her son's eyes in return," Alicent declares, her voice cold and determined.

Everyone looks at the Queen in shock, murmuring amongst themselves.

"My dear wife," Viserys begins, his voice pleading.

"He is your son, Viserys. Your blood," Alicent says, her voice breaking.

"Do not... allow your temper to guide your judgment," Viserys cautions.

"If the King will not seek justice, the Queen will. Ser Criston... bring me the eye of Lucerys Velaryon," Alicent orders, her voice trembling with rage. Lucaerys gasps in horror, calling out for his mother. "He can choose which eye to keep, a privilege he did not grant my son."

"You will do no such thing," Rhaenyra says, stepping protectively in front of her sons.

"Stay your hand," Viserys commands.

"No, you are sworn to me!" Alicent insists.

"As your protector, my Queen," the knight refuses, his voice firm. He is sworn to her as her protector, not her assassin.

"Alicent, this matter... is finished," Viserys announces, his voice final. "Do you understand? And let it be known: anyone whose tongue dares to question the birth of Princess Rhaenyra's sons should have it removed."

"Thank you, Father," Rhaenyra says, her voice shaking with relief.

Shaking with rage and grief, Alicent advances on her king. She grabs around his waist and pulls out his Valyrian Steel dagger from Viserys's belt. She then whirls around with the dagger raised, marching towards the princess and her sons to take Luke's eye herself.

Chaos ensues as everyone exclaims and tries to stop the Queen. Luke screams, terrified. Ser Harrold tries to intervene but fails. Daervon feels utterly useless, watching the scene unfold with a sinking heart.

Rhaenyra, who was knelt in front of her youngest son, stands and whirls around, catching Alicent's arm. "You have gone too far now," she says, her voice cold and determined.

Daervon peers through the chaos, his eyes locking onto his father. Daemon forcefully shoves Criston Cole back, ensuring the knight cannot reach them. The sight of his father's fierce protection offers Daervon a fleeting moment of reassurance amidst the turmoil.

"Stay your hand, Cole!" Ser Harrold orders, keeping the others at bay.

"I? What have I done but what was expected of me?" Alicent unleashes all of the feelings she has bottled up for years. "Forever upholding the kingdom, the family, the law. While you flout all to do as you please."

"Alicent, let her go!" Viserys commands.

"Where is duty? Where is sacrifice? It's trampled under your pretty foot again," Alicent shouts, her voice breaking with the weight of her frustration. Even as Viserys and Otto demand she put down the blade, she remains defiant.

"Exhausting, wasn't it? Hiding beneath the cloak of your own righteousness," Rhaenyra whispers coldly. "But now they see you as you are."

In a desperate attempt to break free of Rhaenyra's grip, Alicent ends up slashing the princess's left arm. Rhaenyra grunts, pushing herself back. Lord Corlys holds onto the princess, his face pale with shock.

The hall falls silent, save for the dripping sounds of blood. Everyone stares, horrified, at the tableau before them. Alicent's eyes widen as she realizes the extent of her actions, the dagger slipping from her grasp and clattering to the ground.

Slowly, Aemond steps towards his mother, hoping to bring some semblance of calm. Everyone turns to him as he speaks. "Do not mourn me, Mother. It was a fair exchange. I may have lost an eye... but I gained a dragon."

"This proceeding is at an end," Viserys states, his voice tired and final. He turns to his wife before leaving, his heart heavy with disappointment and weariness.

Cole grunts, pushing the guards off him as he approaches the Queen. He retrieves the dagger from the floor, his face set in a grim mask.

Aemond moves past the guards and presses himself into his mother's side, hugging her tightly. The gesture is both a comfort and a plea for peace.

After everyone returns to their chambers, Daervon quietly makes his way to Aemond's room. The tension from the earlier confrontation still lingers in the air. Daervon hesitates at the doorway, his heart heavy with the sight of his cousin's suffering. He gently knocks and enters, seeing Aemond sitting on his bed, his back against the headboard, his face a mask of pain and exhaustion.

"Can I sit?" Daervon asks softly.

Aemond hesitates for a second, then nods softly. Daervon takes a seat next to him, leaving enough of a gap so they aren't touching, the space between them filled with unspoken words and shared anguish.

"Here. If it hurts badly, you can..." Daervon starts, offering his hand. Aemond doesn't waste a second, entwining his fingers with Daervon's before he can even finish his sentence. "...hold my hand."

Daervon is taken by surprise when Aemond moves closer, leaning his head on Daervon's shoulder. At first, Daervon tenses up at the unfamiliar feeling, but then he softens into the touch, a sense of protectiveness washing over him.

Aemond's silver hair cascades down his shoulder, the strands catching the light and tempting Daervon to twirl them in his fingers. He resists, focusing instead on the boy beside him, feeling the weight of his pain and the need for comfort.

"I'm here," Daervon whispers into the silence. "You can talk to me or not talk to me, but I'm here."

"I want you to hold me," Aemond murmurs, his voice fragile and broken.

Daervon shifts, wrapping his arms around Aemond, holding him close. Aemond sighs, relishing the comfort. "How do you feel?" Daervon asks, his voice barely audible.

"Better," Aemond replies sleepily, his eyes fluttering shut. "Can you stay until I fall asleep?"

"I can do that," Daervon reassures him, his heart aching with the weight of his cousin's suffering.

"You asked me if I feel, and I do," Aemond mumbles, his voice trailing off. "But only when I'm with you."

Daervon opens his mouth to say something, but the words fail him. He snaps it shut again, unable to find the right words. He holds Aemond tighter, offering silent comfort as the boy drifts off to sleep. For the first time in his life, Aemond feels relaxed, the chaos of the day fading into the background.

The next day, the royal family prepares to return to King's Landing. Aemond arrives at the dragon pit, Daervon by his side to bid him farewell. Viserys and Alicent's ship is already departing, followed by Sunfyre and Dreamfyre with their respective riders.

The sea wind grazes their skin, carrying the scent of salt and freedom. Sea birds squeal overhead, their cries blending with the rhythmic lapping of the waves. The sunlight glints off the water, casting a golden hue over everything.

"It's been my greatest fortune to have met you, cousin," Daervon says, his voice thick with emotion.

"Maybe one day, I could hate you properly," Aemond replies, a small smile tugging at his lips.

"One day," Daervon whispers, leaning in to gently peck Aemond on the lips.

Aemond's eyes widen in shock, but the surprise quickly melts into a smile that traces his face. "Until that day, my dear bastard," Aemond murmurs with a tender smile. The word 'bastard' carries a warmth that feels like an unspoken fondness.

Aemond climbs onto Vhagar, glancing back at Daervon one more time before he commands his dragon to take him back to King's Landing. As Vhagar ascends, Aemond leaves a part of his heart with the raven-haired boy he both adores and hates.

In the distance, Daemon Targaryen watches the exchange, a sour scowl etched onto his face. The wind ruffles his hair, but it does nothing to quell the storm brewing within him.