He waved at the escort team and left happily.
Lady Rhea took one look and pulled her son into the cabin without saying a word.
Coincidentally, the sky had begun to darken.
Aemon was full of expectation, thinking his mother had some special instructions.
Unexpectedly, she just told him to get a good rest—he mustn't meet the royal family with dark circles under his eyes.
"Oh..."
Aemon was stunned for a moment, then returned to his room, disappointed.
Before closing the door, he leaned against the frame and glanced into the room.
Was everything really fine?
Lady Rhea pretended not to see him and went on making the bed.
"Good night."
Aemon waved his little hand and shut the door firmly.
Turning around, he was speechless.
He knew his mother wasn't exactly reliable.
She didn't have much maternal affection.
"Forget it, children shouldn't hold grudges against adults."
With his hands behind his back, Aemon comforted himself quickly.
So what if he still had nightmares when sleeping alone? He was now a child blessed by the panel.
...
Later, Aemon returned to the room.
"Come see—I stuffed a pillow for you with the leftover grass leaves."
Old Martha let out a breath, stood up, and patted her lower back.
"Okay!" Aemon responded cheerfully.
He ran to the bed and saw that the Ula grass in the backpack was gone, replaced with a straw mat and a small pillow.
The mat was a meter wide and a meter and two long; the pillow was round and stuffed with grass leaves.
Aemon kicked off his little boots, rolled around on the blue straw mat, then hugged the pillow and took a deep sniff.
It smelled like fresh grass, with a sweet minty scent.
"Martha, you're really good at this!"
Aemon smiled brightly, rolling back and forth like a mouse that just stole lamp oil, thoroughly satisfied.
Old Martha was dizzy with fatigue. Seeing this, she stood up and left: "As long as you're happy. Go to sleep now."
"Bye-bye!"
Aemon waved sweetly, not trying to make her stay.
Bang!
The cabin door closed, dimming the light.
"Hehe... let's see if I can have a good dream tonight."
Aemon lay down contentedly, resting his head on the Ula grass pillow, his arms and legs sprawled across the mat.
Gradually, sleepiness crept in.
He closed his eyes and drifted off, snoring lightly and breathing steadily.
...
Time flew by—two days later.
Prince Aemon, riding wind and waves, passed through the strait and approached the narrow mouth of Blackwater Bay.
Splash!
Waves surged and slapped the ship's hull, as the sea breeze blew fishy and salty.
Aemon was bundled up tightly and leaned against the railing, gazing at the sea.
Compared to two days ago, he looked much more energetic and had rosy cheeks.
From time to time, he shouted at the sea and laughed.
"I heard from Martha that you didn't wake up from your dreams these past two nights?"
Footsteps approached, and Lady Rhea, clad in leather armor, walked over, showing rare concern for her son.
Aemon turned his head and replied obediently, "Yeah, I slept really well."
He reached back and patted the backpack behind him.
Seeing this, Rhea raised her eyebrows but didn't ask more.
This kid had developed a habit of carrying that oversized pack everywhere.
She'd had the old nun check it. Inside were only a rolled-up straw mat and a pillow—nothing heavy, nothing suspicious.
Noticing his mother's gaze, Aemon looked up at the sky and whistled, then silently turned his back.
That backpack carried everything he needed to sleep well—it was his treasure.
His dark circles were gone, so he had to take good care of it.
Lady Rhea leaned against the railing, gazing out over Blackwater Bay, and asked, "We're almost at King's Landing. Are you nervous?"
"Not at all," Aemon answered confidently.
King's Landing was his first home, where he was born and lived safely for three years.
Why would he be nervous about going home?
Lady Rhea looked down at her son and said seriously, "In your heart, you should be a Targaryen."
Aemon froze at the question.
Looking at his clothes—black tunic, little boots, the red three-headed dragon on his collar.
Not to mention the silver-gold hair and those purple eyes.
He looked like a Targaryen at first glance!
Lady Rhea's expression was strange, like something was stuck in her throat.
Aemon lowered his head and understood what was bothering her.
When Queen Alysanne arranged the engagement between her grandson Daemon and Lady Rhea, it planted the seeds of a future inheritance dispute.
Daemon was marrying a wife, not joining her house. Naturally, the child would bear the Targaryen name.
But Rhea was a woman, and the child she bore would take her husband's name. Runestone City would eventually fly a different banner.
What would the Royce family do then?
Aemon racked his brains but couldn't think of a solution. He asked softly, "So, the guards you arranged… are they meant to leave me in King's Landing?"
As long as he stayed away from Runestone, she could choose a proper cousin from House Royce to inherit.
The escort might very well be a farewell gift.
Lady Rhea nearly laughed in exasperation. She said coldly, "Don't think I'm as shameless as a Targaryen. Like it or not, you're my son."
"Really?!"
Aemon's eyes lit up. He flung himself at her legs, hugging them tightly. "You're not going to leave me behind?"
"I never said that," Rhea replied flatly.
Who had scared this child with such rumors?
Whatever his mother really thought, Aemon was delighted: "Then what about my inheritance? Will you still ignore me like before?"
If his mother didn't want to revoke his inheritance, then he could stay in Runestone in the future.
King's Landing was nice, but it belonged to someone else.
Runestone was home.
"No plan."
Lady Rhea crossed her arms and said bluntly, "You were so weak when you were born—I thought you'd die young. Would've been a waste of emotion to get attached."
"Huh?" Aemon blinked, almost unable to process it.
So she kept her distance because she assumed he wouldn't make it?
"It's irrelevant now, let's not talk about that."
Lady Rhea cleared her throat and changed the subject: "The king will surely try to persuade you to stay in King's Landing. The choice is yours."
Aemon fell silent, weighing his options.
Right now, the royal family had only two adult male heirs—Uncle Viserys and Father Daemon.
He was eight years old and no longer fragile. Recalling him to the capital made sense.
After thinking it through, Aemon asked, "Then... should I stay or not?"
"That's up to you."
Lady Rhea's tone remained calm, but her eyes were locked on her son's fair little face.
Aemon instantly understood. "No! I won't stay even if you beat me to death."
It was said that a man with golden horns and silver trim had a grass belly. If you wanted to do big things, you had to lie low.
King's Landing was a pit. His little body couldn't fill it.
"Hmph!"
Lady Rhea snorted and said sternly, "Even if you stayed, there'd be no place for you—just like that bastard who got driven out."
Despite her words, the corners of her mouth curled upward.
"We're just here to hunt, and maybe visit a few friends."
Aemon hugged her thigh and nodded rapidly like a pecking chicken.
No need to guess—"that bastard" was Daemon.
As the king's younger brother, he had been driven away during the struggle for succession. The twists and turns were endless.
Now he was still catching crabs in the Stepstones.
Lady Rhea glanced down at her son, surprised by his cleverness—and secretly proud.
The one born from her belly was smarter than that bastard.
It was fine for her son to visit King's Landing, but if he stayed, he'd become an eyesore.
In terms of bloodline, Aemon—grandson of Brave Baelon and great-grandson of the centenarian King Jaehaerys I—had a more legitimate claim to the throne than Princess Rhaenyra.
After Queen's death, Daemon was cast out for the "heir for a day" incident, and King Viserys declared his daughter Rhaenyra heir to the throne.
But they hadn't even notified mother and son at Runestone about Queen Aemma's funeral.
Now that Rhaenyra had secured her position, and Queen Alicent had given birth to little Prince Aegon and Princess Helaena, they suddenly remembered their forgotten nephew?
That didn't seem like fairness—it felt like something else entirely.
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