Game of Thrones: The King of Bronze and Fire

The ship sailed across the vast sea, with time flowing by like waves.

Inside the luxurious cabin, Aemon lay sprawled out on the soft bed, face up, utterly defeated.

His vacant gaze betrayed the resignation of a child who had met his match.

He regretted everything.

The sea was not as glorious as he'd imagined. The constant rocking of the ship as waves slapped against it had left him dizzy and nauseous.

"There's no such thing as the King of the Seas," Aemon muttered, clutching a corner of his blanket in despair. "The sea has conquered me."

His earlier excitement about sailing was completely gone. If this continued, he was certain he'd pass out.

Knock, knock.

The door creaked open after a gentle knock.

An elderly septa in a black-and-white gown entered, carrying a basket filled with needles and thread in one hand and a lamp in the other.

"Martha, you're finally here."

At the sight of her, the miserable Aemon sprang to life, rolling off the bed like a little dragonlet finding its strength.

Setting down the lamp, Septa Martha gave him a fond but exasperated smile. "Don't rush, child. Good thing I brought my sewing kit on board."

"Hurry! I need a good night's sleep," Aemon said, barefoot as he dragged a basket of Ura Grass out from under the bed with a thud.

For reasons he didn't fully understand, Ura Grass contained a trace of magic.

But to make the most of it, the grass needed to be carefully crafted.

Septa Martha, with her skilled hands, could weave the soft, delicate grass into a proper mat.

"This grass is too fine and flimsy to weave on its own," she remarked, shaking her head under Aemon's expectant gaze.

Still, she patiently began braiding the grass blades, pulling a piece of blue fabric from her basket to use as a base. She stitched the mat securely onto it with her needle and thread.

Aemon squatted by her side, his usual aversion to the Seven's teachings set aside, his eyes wide with curiosity as he watched.

"Learning more skills can't hurt," he thought.

But after a few minutes, his eyelids began to droop.

Noticing his fatigue, Septa Martha suggested gently, "Prince, it's still daylight. Why don't you go play outside and sleep later tonight?"

She knew children too well—if he napped now, he'd be wide awake and restless at bedtime.

Aemon yawned but nodded, rubbing his eyes. "Okay. Be careful not to prick your fingers, alright?"

With another yawn, he shuffled out the door.

Septa Martha smiled as she resumed her work. She was more than just a religious tutor for Aemon—she also managed his meals, clothing, and other daily needs.

Though strict when teaching the doctrines of the Seven, she was a kind and nurturing woman in her daily interactions with him.

Looking at the abundance of Ura Grass in the basket, she mused, "There's enough here to sew him a pillow, too."

On the Prince Aemon, up on the deck, the silver-haired boy stood out against the blue sky and white clouds.

"Prince! Over here!"

Just as Aemon began searching for fresh air, William waved at him enthusiastically from behind the mast.

Curious, Aemon strode over without hesitation. "Let's see what's going on."

The deck was cluttered with crates and cargo, alongside a group of Vale knights bearing the Royce banner.

Around the mast, three men sat together.

Aemon tilted his head in confusion. "Are you guys having a meeting or something?"

Aside from the youthful William, the group included Gonsor Royce and Ser Laen Shett, the Seagull Knight.

Scattered around them were bottles of wine and half-eaten snacks.

"Bah, tui!"

Gonsor, unfazed by Aemon's presence, stuffed an unpeeled orange into his mouth, juice dripping down his chin as he chewed noisily. Without a pause, he popped a handful of grapes into his mouth, spitting out the seeds with practiced ease.

Aemon's eye twitched slightly.

He couldn't shake the feeling that Gonsor had something against him.

Fortunately, Ser Laen's refined manners balanced things out. He stood up, removed his gray-white cloak, folded it neatly into a cushion, and offered it to Aemon with a smile.

"Prince, the deck is cold and damp. Please take care not to catch a chill."

"Thank you," Aemon replied, accepting the gesture graciously.

At least someone here understood etiquette.

Throwing a glance at the crude Gonsor, Aemon couldn't help but frown.

"Aren't knights supposed to be courteous? How did he even get in?"

He quickly shook off the thought. "Whatever. He's not worth it."

Still uninterested in the food and drink, Aemon got straight to the point. "Why did you call me over?"

"We're your bodyguard squad," William blurted out before anyone else could respond.

Aemon raised an eyebrow, trying to process this unexpected news.

He'd never had a dedicated bodyguard squad before—usually, his protection was handled by randomly selected guards.

"Who's in it?" he asked warily, scanning the group.

Surely a proper squad would consist of at least eight or ten men, especially with the fifty Vale knights accompanying his mother.

Ser Laen maintained his polite demeanor and replied with a faint smile. "Just the three of us."

"Hmm?" Aemon froze.

Surely not. It couldn't possibly be just these three.

William puffed out his chest and thumped his bronze breastplate with his hand, making a loud clanging sound.

"He counts?" Aemon asked incredulously, pointing a trembling finger at William.

Ser Laen nodded and responded calmly, "William is very brave. Gonsor and I will also do our utmost to ensure your safety."

Bravery wasn't the same as competence!

Aemon's confidence deflated as he glanced around, his disappointment palpable.

Still, his gaze lingered on Gonsor, whose towering 2.2-meter frame and rippling muscles at least inspired some hope. Even as he chugged rum and belched loudly, he seemed capable of taking on five Williams in a fight.

After doing some quick mental math, Aemon concluded that Gonsor's strength made up for the squad's deficiencies.

"Three's better than none," he thought, resigning himself to his circumstances.

"What did my mother say?" Aemon asked after regaining his composure. "She's the one who arranged this, right?"

Ser Laen immediately replied, "Once we reach land, the situation in King's Landing will be complicated. As a prince, you'll need personal bodyguards."

Understanding dawned on Aemon.

King's Landing, the capital of the Seven Kingdoms, was a tangled web of power struggles. Having a dedicated team of guards made perfect sense.

He nodded but couldn't help side-eyeing the other two members of his "squad."

William looked sheepish, scratching his head. "I didn't want to be a guard, but Lady Rhea ordered me to."

Gonsor, meanwhile, guzzled more rum before letting out a thunderous belch.

"Symbolic muscle, huh?" Aemon muttered under his breath.

He recalled that Gonsor's reputation at Runestone wasn't exactly stellar.

With no wars to fight in a time of peace, his brute strength had no outlet. His gruff manner and foul language made him unpopular among the nobility.

"Maybe Mother's just using him to fill out the ranks," Aemon mused, feeling like he'd inherited a secondhand squad.

Before he could probe further, a sharp voice rang out.

"Aemon, come here!"

Startled, Aemon turned to see his mother calling him from across the deck.

Swallowing his words, he hurried off to answer her summons.