Game of thrones: The fire lord

The ship sailed steadily across the vast sea, the rhythmic sound of waves crashing against its hull blending with the creaking of wood. Time passed slowly.

Inside a luxurious cabin, Aemon lay sprawled across a large bed, his limbs splayed out weakly.

His usually sharp eyes were dull, reflecting the exhaustion of someone who had completely surrendered.

He regretted everything.

The sea was nothing like he had imagined. Instead of a grand adventure, it had left him dizzy and nauseous from the constant rocking of the waves.

"There is no such thing as One Piece," Aemon muttered, curling up under a small quilt. "The sea… you have conquered me."

All the excitement he had felt that morning, the eagerness to set sail, had long since vanished. If this continued, he feared he might faint.

Boom!

A knock sounded at the door before it was gently pushed open.

An elderly nun, dressed in black and white robes, entered with a lantern in one hand and a basket full of sewing materials in the other.

"Martha, you're finally here."

Aemon, who had been waiting impatiently, instantly sprang to life. He rolled off the bed, moving like a young dragon eager for action.

Old Martha placed the lantern on a nearby table, her lips curling into a smile of helpless affection. "No need to worry. Fortunately, I brought some needlework along before boarding."

"Come on, I want to sleep well tonight."

With his bare feet touching the cold wooden floor, Aemon pulled out a bundle of urala grass from beside the bed.

There was something magical about urala grass, though it needed to be carefully processed before use.

Old Martha was skilled in sewing, and she could weave the soft, delicate blades into comfortable mats.

"These grasses are too fine and fragile to weave alone," she remarked, shaking her head before patiently beginning her work.

She took a piece of blue fabric from her basket as a base, securing the woven grass mat with precise stitches.

Aemon squatted beside her, his previous indifference toward the Faith of the Seven temporarily set aside as he observed her work with keen interest.

When traveling, one should never underestimate the value of learning new skills.

Unfortunately, after watching for a short while, his eyelids began to droop.

Martha noticed his drowsiness and suggested gently, "Prince, it's still bright outside. Why don't you go out and get some fresh air? You'll sleep better at night."

She was right. If he slept now, he would end up staring at the ceiling all night.

Aemon rubbed his eyes and nodded. "Alright. Be careful not to prick your fingers."

Suppressing a yawn, he turned and stepped out of the cabin.

Martha had been his nanny since childhood. She had taught him the Faith, ensured he was well-fed and clothed, and had cared for him with unwavering devotion.

She was strict when forcing him to recite the Ceremonies of the Seven Gods, but in everyday life, she was a kind and gentle old woman.

Hearing his concern, she chuckled softly and continued her careful weaving, planning to make a pillow for the young prince as well.

On Deck

Under the vast expanse of blue sky and scattered white clouds, Aemon stepped onto the deck, his small figure standing out against the backdrop of the open sea.

"Prince, over here!"

Just as he was about to find a quiet place to breathe in the salty sea air, a voice called out from behind the mast.

Aemon blinked in confusion before heading in that direction.

Passing stacks of cargo crates and a few knights from House Royce, he rounded the mast to find three men sitting in a circle.

"Are you three having a party?"

Among them was William, a young knight, along with Gonsor, the coach from Old Runestone, and Ser Ryan Shet, a knight from Seagull Town.

Scattered before them were half-eaten plates of food and an open bottle of wine.

"Ha tui!"

Gonsor, uninterested in conversation, picked up an unpeeled orange and bit into it directly, the juice dribbling down his chin. Without missing a beat, he stuffed a handful of grapes into his mouth, spitting out the seeds carelessly.

Aemon's eye twitched slightly.

Was this some kind of protest against his presence?

Fortunately, not everyone here was so uncouth.

Ser Ryan quickly stood up, removed his gray cloak, folded it neatly, and placed it on the deck. "Prince, the deck is damp. Please be careful not to catch a cold."

"Thank you." Aemon accepted the seat with a calm nod.

See? Some people still had proper manners.

He glanced at Gonsor again, his brows furrowing slightly.

Weren't knights supposed to be honorable and well-mannered? How had this one slipped through the cracks?

"Forget it. I won't stoop to his level."

Feeling slightly full from his earlier meal, Aemon had no interest in joining their little picnic. He got straight to the point.

"What do you want?"

"We are your personal guards."

William, who always spoke first, blurted out the answer without hesitation.

Aemon blinked, momentarily stunned.

Wait… his personal guard?

Since when?

He had never had a dedicated guard before—just whichever strong warriors happened to be available.

"Who else is in the squad?" He glanced around, expecting to see more knights.

Surely they had assembled a proper force—maybe eight or ten men at least?

After all, there were fifty Vale knights traveling with his mother.

Ser Ryan, ever composed, offered a polite but disappointing answer: "Just the three of us."

"Huh?"

Aemon stared at him.

Three?

Just these three?

When his eyes landed on William, the young knight immediately puffed out his chest and slapped the bronze breastplate over his heart.

Aemon's fingers twitched as he pointed at him.

"Does he count?"

Ser Ryan, still smiling, nodded. "William is very brave. And Gonsor and I will do our best to ensure your safety."

Being brave does not make one useful.

Aemon resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

His gaze shifted to Gonsor, who was still stuffing his face. However, despite his crude behavior, Gonsor was an imposing figure—standing at over seven feet tall with thick, corded muscles that strained against his clothing.

Even if he was a brute, he was as strong as five Williams.

Aemon sighed.

If William counted as half a knight and Gonsor counted as two and a half, then…

"At least I gained two extra Williams," he thought wryly.

The little prince covered his face, resigning himself to his fate.

Three knights were better than none. And at least Gonsor looked formidable.

After a moment, Aemon recalled something important. "Were you assigned by my mother? What did she say?"

Ser Ryan nodded. "Once we reach King's Landing, the situation will be complex. As a prince, you need a personal guard."

That made sense.

King's Landing, the capital of the Seven Kingdoms, was a nest of vipers. With power struggles lurking around every corner, having a few guards was a necessity.

Aemon took a deep breath and studied his new companions.

Ser Ryan was experienced and tactful, but what about the other two?

William scratched his head, blushing slightly. "Lady Rhea ordered me to accompany you."

And Gonsor?

The giant man lifted a bottle of rum, downed a massive gulp, and burped.

William coughed awkwardly. "Old Runestone is well-guarded. Gonsor just wanted a change of scenery."

Aemon raised an eyebrow.

From what he knew, Gonsor was not exactly thriving in Old Runestone.

With peace in the realm, brute strength wasn't needed. And his crude personality made him unpopular among the nobility.

"Did my mother assign him to me just to get rid of him?"

Aemon's eyes sparkled mischievously.

Maybe he had just picked up an unexpected gem.

Before he could say anything, a sharp voice interrupted.

"Aemon, come here!"

His mother's stern voice rang out across the deck.

Aemon immediately turned, swallowing his words.

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