Game of thrones: The fire lord

Aemon waved his hand at the escort team and hurried away.

Lady Rhea Royce glanced at him but said nothing, leading her son into the cabin.

By chance, the sky had begun to darken.

Aemon was full of anticipation, thinking his mother had something important to say.

However, all she did was instruct him to get a good night's rest and not meet the king's family with dark circles under his eyes.

"Oh..."

Aemon was momentarily stunned before returning to his room, unable to hide his disappointment.

Before stepping inside, he lingered by the doorframe, glancing back at the room.

Are you sure this is fine?

Lady Rhea ignored him, pretending not to notice, as she prepared for bed.

"Bye-bye."

Aemon waved his little hand and shut the door tightly behind him.

Turning around, he let out a sigh.

He knew his mother wasn't particularly reliable.

Nor was she full of motherly affection.

"Forget it, children shouldn't hold grudges against adults," he muttered, placing his hands behind his back.

Aemon quickly calmed himself.

After all, it was just a small matter. He had been afraid of nightmares when sleeping alone, but now, with the blessing of his panel, he felt more at ease.

Later, Aemon returned to his room.

"Come and see, I stuffed the extra blades of grass into your pillow," Old Martha said, stretching and patting her waist.

"Okay," Aemon responded cheerfully.

He ran over and saw that the urala grass in the basket had disappeared, replaced by a straw mat and a small pillow.

The mat was about a meter wide and long, while the pillow was round, stuffed with grass leaves.

Kicking off his boots, Aemon rolled onto the blue straw mat, hugging the pillow and sniffing it.

A fresh grassy scent mixed with a faint sweetness, reminiscent of mint.

"Martha, I love it!"

He beamed, rolling back and forth like a mouse that had stolen lamp oil, looking extremely pleased.

Old Martha, tired and slightly dizzy, chuckled before heading to the door. "As long as you're satisfied. Get some rest now."

"Bye~~"

Aemon's childlike voice rang sweetly.

Bang!

The hatch closed, plunging the room into dimness.

"Alright, let's try to have a good dream tonight."

Lying contentedly on the straw mat, with the urala pillow beneath his head, Aemon stretched his arms and legs.

Gradually, sleep took over, his breathing steady and soft snores filling the air.

Two days later.

Prince Aemon rode the waves, passing through the strait and advancing into the throat of Blackwater Bay.

The sea surged violently, waves crashing against the ship. The salty breeze filled the air.

Aemon was wrapped up tightly, lying against the deck railing, gazing at the endless blue.

Compared to two days ago, he looked far more energetic, his fair complexion tinged with a rosy glow.

From time to time, he would shout at the sea, enjoying himself.

"I heard from Martha that you've been sleeping soundly these past two nights?"

Footsteps approached behind him, and Lady Rhea Royce, dressed in leather armor, stood beside him. For once, she showed some concern for her son.

Aemon turned around and nodded obediently. "Yes, I've been sleeping very well."

He patted the backpack slung over his shoulder.

Lady Rhea noticed this and was slightly surprised but didn't ask further.

This boy had developed a strange habit—carrying a backpack with him wherever he went.

She had even asked the old nurse to check its contents, only to find that it contained nothing more than a rolled-up straw mat and pillow.

Noticing his mother's gaze, Aemon looked up at the sky and whistled, turning his back silently.

He wasn't going to explain.

This backpack held his secret to sleeping well.

His dark circles had finally faded—he had to cherish this treasure.

Lady Rhea placed her hands on the railing, gazing at Blackwater Bay. "We're almost in King's Landing. Are you nervous?"

"I'm not nervous." Aemon's answer was simple.

King's Landing was his first home.

He had been born there and spent his first three years growing up safely within its walls.

Why should he be nervous about returning home?

Lady Rhea lowered her head, staring at her son. "You should always remember, in your heart, you are a Targaryen."

Aemon froze.

He looked down at his clothes—black garments, black boots, and the three-headed red dragon sigil of House Targaryen embroidered on his collar.

His silver-gold hair, cut short and tousled, shimmered under the sunlight, his violet eyes reflecting the waves.

There was no denying it—he was a Targaryen through and through.

Lady Rhea's expression was complex, as if something were stuck in her throat.

Aemon lowered his head, suddenly understanding the weight of her words.

When Queen Alysanne had arranged the marriage between her grandson, Daemon, and Lady Rhea, she had unknowingly planted the seeds of an inheritance dispute.

Daemon had married into the Royce family, but as a man, his children would carry the Targaryen name.

However, Rhea was a woman, and by Westerosi tradition, her children would inherit their father's name—meaning that, one day, Runestone might fall under Targaryen rule.

The Royce family wouldn't let that happen without a fight.

Aemon frowned, racking his brain for a solution, but for now, he could think of none.

"So… you arranged for me to be escorted here because you want me to stay in King's Landing, right?" he asked cautiously.

If he stayed away from Old Runestone City, Lady Rhea could select a suitable cousin from House Royce as her heir.

This escort—was it really a farewell in disguise?

Lady Rhea nearly laughed in exasperation. "Don't compare me to the shameless Targaryens," she scoffed. "Like it or not, you are my son."

"Really?"

Aemon's eyes lit up as he clung to his mother's leg.

"You're not just sending me away?"

"I never said that." Lady Rhea shook her head.

Who had been filling this child's head with such nonsense?

Regardless of her mother's cold demeanor, Aemon was overjoyed. "Then… how will you deal with the inheritance issue? Will you stay with me?"

If she had no plans to strip him of his inheritance, that meant he could return to Old Runestone City in the future.

King's Landing was great, but in the end, it wasn't his home.

Old Runestone City—where his mother was—that was his true home.

"There's no plan!" Lady Rhea crossed her arms and snorted. "You were so fragile when you were born. I thought you'd die. It wasn't worth the emotional investment."

"Ah?"

Aemon nearly toppled over.

His mother had distanced herself from him simply because she had assumed he wouldn't survive?

"That's irrelevant now," Rhea coughed, shifting the topic. "What I want to say is that the king will try to persuade you to stay in King's Landing. The choice is yours."

Aemon blinked, thoughts racing.

For now, the royal family was small—only two adult male heirs remained: Uncle Viserys and his father, Daemon.

He was eight years old, healthy, and his chances of survival were high.

It made sense that the royal family would want to recall him.

Feigning hesitation, Aemon said, "Should I stay or not?"

"It's up to you." Lady Rhea's face remained stoic, but her eyes lingered on his round, chubby face.

Aemon caught on immediately.

"No!" He shook his head firmly. "Even if you kill me, I won't stay!"

Lady Rhea smirked.

She had never intended for him to stay in that den of vipers anyway.

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