The ship was sailing on the sea, and time was flowing.
In the luxurious cabin, Aemon lay on his back, lying softly on the big bed.
His eyes were dull, like a broken child.
He regretted it.
The sea was not as beautiful as imagined, and the bumps after the waves made people dizzy.
"There is no such thing as a One Piece." Aemon grabbed a small quilt and was very upset. "The sea, you conquered me."
He was completely different from the high-spirited feeling of going out to sea in the morning.
If this went on, he would vomit.
Dong dong!
The cabin door was knocked, and then gently pushed open.
An old nun in a black and white dress came in with a lantern, and in her other hand held a basket full of needlework and fabrics.
"Martha, you're finally here."
Aemon, who had been waiting for a long time, was instantly resurrected on the spot, and the young dragon rolled over and tumbled off the bed.
Old Martha put away the oil lamp, wearing a helpless yet doting look. "Don't worry. Fortunately, I prepared needles and thread before boarding the ship."
"Come on, I want to have a good sleep."
Aemon, barefoot, took out a backpack full of Ula grass from the bedside.
He didn't know why, but Ula grass contained a trace of magic.
But to make use of it, it needed to be carefully processed.
The old nun had superb sewing skills and could weave the soft and delicate Ula grass into a mat.
"These grasses are too soft and too thin to be woven alone."
Under the burning eyes of the little prince, old Martha shook her head but still patiently began weaving the grass leaves.
She took out a piece of blue cloth from the basket as a base and fixed the woven straw mat with needle and thread.
Aemon squatted beside the old woman's legs, no longer resisting the Seven Gods Ceremony like before, blinking as he studied carefully.
When traveling, it was always better to have more skills.
Unfortunately, after watching for a while, his upper and lower eyelids began to fight.
Old Martha was clever and softly suggested, "Prince, it's still light outside. Go out and play, and sleep at night."
Children loved to play, and if they napped now, they'd be wide awake come nightfall.
Aemon knew this too. He rubbed his eyes and agreed, "Alright. You be careful too, don't prick your hands."
He yawned deeply and turned to walk out of the cabin.
The old nun was his foster mother. She not only taught him the faith of the Seven Gods, but also cared for his meals, clothing, and daily needs.
Although she was very strict when forcing him to memorize the Seven Gods Ceremony, she was very gentle in daily interactions.
She was a very kind old woman.
Old Martha smiled at his concern and carefully wove by the lantern light, her hands never stopping.
There were a lot of grass leaves in the backpack—enough to sew a pillow for the prince as well.
…
Prince Aemon, on the deck.
Aemon stood again under the blue sky and white clouds, his small body quite eye-catching.
"Prince, this way!"
Just as he was about to find a spot for fresh air, William waved from behind the mast.
Aemon looked puzzled, but his feet didn't stop.
Let's go see what's going on!
Besides the cargo boxes piled up on deck, there were also knights of the Vale bearing the Royce family banner.
Rounding the mast, he saw three men sitting together.
Aemon looked suspicious. "Are you three having a party?"
Besides the young William, the other two were Gunthor, the coach from Runestone City, and Ser Ryan Shet, the Seagull Knight.
Wine bottles and food were strewn around the deck, half-eaten.
He tui~
Gunthor was just focused on eating. He picked up an unpeeled orange with his massive hands and bit into it, juice dripping down his face. He didn't even look up, stuffed in a few more grapes, and spat out the seeds.
Aemon's mouth twitched slightly.
That's clearly an expression of dissatisfaction with me, isn't it?
Luckily, not everyone present was a rough man, so it wasn't entirely embarrassing.
Ser Ryan stood up neatly, took off his grey cloak, folded it into a cushion, and smiled. "Prince, the deck is cold and damp. Be careful not to catch a chill."
With that, he placed the cloak under Aemon's bottom and gestured politely.
"Thank you." Aemon accepted the gesture with poise.
See? There are still people with manners.
Glancing at the ever-munching Gunthor, Aemon's little brows twitched.
Aren't knights supposed to be gentle and courteous? Did this guy sneak in through the back door?
"Forget it. I won't argue with him."
Aemon rubbed his still-full belly. He didn't want to picnic with them. "What did you want to ask me?"
"We're the guard team assigned to protect you," William blurted out quickly, stammering.
The little dragon boy immediately frowned and counted on his fingers, but nothing came to mind.
He hadn't had a dedicated guard squad before—just picked a few strong men from the guards at random.
"Who are they?" Aemon asked cautiously, eyes scanning around.
If they were protecting him, there should be at least eight or ten, right?
There were fifty Vale knights accompanying his mother.
Ser Ryan remained calm and courteous, smiling apologetically. "Just the three of us."
"Huh?" Aemon was stunned.
Those three? You mean the three standing right here?
As Aemon's eyes swept over them, William puffed out his chest and slapped his bronze breastplate.
"He counts as one?"
Aemon looked incredulous, his finger trembling as he pointed at the overly visible bulge in William's armor.
Ser Ryan, the only normal one among them, nodded slightly and said gently, "William is very brave. Gunthor and I will do our utmost to ensure your safety."
Bravery doesn't equal usefulness!
Aemon saw the whole picture in an instant and felt thoroughly defeated.
But looking at Gunthor still eating and drinking like nothing mattered, Aemon reluctantly accepted the situation.
Gunthor stood over two meters tall, muscles bulging under his clothes, his arms thick and powerful.
Even if he was just a brute, he was equal to five Williams.
So… William counts as half a knight, and Gunthor counts as two and a half?
Aemon did the math on his fingers—felt like he earned two Williams… what nonsense!
Aemon covered his face in dismay and accepted his fate.
Three means three. Gunthor looked fierce enough. It was better than having no one at all.
After a long pause, Aemon remembered the important part. "My mother assigned you, right? What did she say?"
It couldn't be that maternal love suddenly overflowed without reason.
Ser Ryan replied immediately, "When we arrive ashore, the situation in King's Landing is quite complicated. As a prince, you should have personal guards."
He was a skilled fighter and would serve as one temporarily.
Aemon's expression turned serious.
As the capital of the Seven Kingdoms, King's Landing was a complicated political web—like a rat's nest with winds from all directions.
It made sense to have personal guards for confirmation and security.
Once he thought it through, he looked toward the other two.
The Seagull Knight was reliable and good with people. But what about you?
William blushed and scratched his head.
He didn't want to be a guard either—Lady Rhea had ordered it.
Looking at Gunthor again, he raised a bottle of rum and gulped it down, belched loudly after finishing.
William explained with a look, "Runestone City is already guarded, so Gunthor came along to relax."
Aemon observed and rubbed his chin with his small paw.
As far as he knew, Gunthor hadn't had it easy in Runestone City.
First, the realm was in a time of peace, leaving his martial talents unused.
Second, Gunthor was stubborn and swore constantly, making him unpopular in noble circles.
"Could it be my mother didn't like him either, so she tossed him at me to save face?"
Aemon's eyes sparkled. It felt like he'd picked up a leftover.
Seeing Gunthor's glum expression, he opened his mouth to tease—
"Aemon, come here!"
Just as he was about to speak, his mother's stern voice rang out from behind.
Aemon turned swiftly and swallowed his words.