At that moment, Viserys I spoke heavily from the Iron Throne.
"Ser Vaemond," he said, his voice strained, "you stand here accusing the heir to the Iron Throne."
"I do," Vaemond answered without flinching.
"Precisely because she is the heir, Your Majesty. Her conduct is all the more unforgivable."
"If even the named heir may trample upon the blood of her vassals at will—if even House Targaryen may seize the inheritance of other houses through bastards—then where, I ask, is the law of the Seven Kingdoms?"
"Proof!" Viserys shouted, slamming his hand down upon the arm of the throne.
A sharp blade bit into his flesh. Blood welled between his fingers.
"If you make accusations of this gravity, you will present proof!"
"Proof?" Vaemond let out a bitter, scornful laugh, heavy with grief and rage.
He turned, spreading his arms wide.
"My lords. My knights. Open your eyes and look."
"The blood of Valyria is unmistakable—silver hair, pale features, eyes of blue or violet."
He pointed sharply.
"The Princess has silver hair and violet eyes. Her husband, Laenor Velaryon, had silver hair and blue eyes."
He paused, then spat each word like a verdict.
"Brown hair. Brown eyes. Common features."
"I accuse her!" Vaemond's voice thundered through the hall.
"Princess Rhaenyra lay with her sworn shield, Ser Harwin Strong, during her lawful marriage!"
A roar of shocked noise erupted.
Viserys struck the throne again. "Enough! On resemblance alone you dare slander the named heir of the realm?!"
"Then what proof would satisfy Your Majesty?" Vaemond demanded, stepping forward.
"Or must these three bastards stand before you and confess their true names—Jacaerys Strong, Lucerys Strong, and Joffrey Strong?"
Daemon Targaryen moved.
"Say one more word against the royal house," he said coldly, "and I will cut out your tongue."
"Daemon!" Viserys snapped.
Vaemond threw his head back and laughed.
"Do it, Prince!" he cried.
"Strike me down with Dark Sister!"
"Before the king! Before the lords of the Seven Kingdoms—kill an old man who stands for the blood of his House!"
He turned back to the Iron Throne.
"The births of those three boys align perfectly with the years Ser Harwin Strong served as Princess Rhaenyra's personal guard!"
"If you doubt me, summon the servants, the guards, the maesters of Driftmark—let them speak before you!"
"Examine Laenor Velaryon's medical records! Ask anyone who knows the truth!"
His voice grew hoarse, his eyes red, yet he pressed on, roaring through the pain.
"Your Majesty! I stand here today for one reason only—to speak the truth!"
"I know what awaits me for these words. But I would rather die in the Red Keep than live in a realm where Valyrian blood is defiled and the seahorse's legacy is stolen by bastards!"
"So let my sin be paid in blood! Let my own blood stain the stones of this Throne Room!"
"Let all the Seven Kingdoms see the price of speaking truth under Targaryen rule!"
Silence fell.
A long, suffocating silence.
The crackle of torches. The distant echo of footsteps. Someone stifling a cough.
Every small sound grew unbearable.
Viserys swallowed with difficulty.
"Your accusations," he said at last, voice low and shaking,
"are built on rumor and conjecture. They are a grave slander against the heir to the Iron Throne."
His gaze swept warningly across the gathered nobles.
"Withdraw your words. Return to Driftmark. I can end this without further blood."
"Your Majesty—!" Vaemond looked up sharply.
The last glimmer of hope in his eyes guttered out, replaced by blazing fury and despair.
"How long will you remain blind?!"
"Do you truly not see?! Or will you not see?!"
"She is a shameless whore!"
"She defiled her marriage vows!"
"She trampled the dignity of every noble house!"
Such reckless madness—none present had ever witnessed its like.
Helaena turned her head toward Aemond, who had risen to his feet.
At that moment, Aemond's attention was fixed entirely on Daemon.
The prince's hand rested on his sword hilt, his body inclined forward—
the stance of a man on the brink of violence.