The sun was sinking, bleeding red into the sky.
"Hey—hey!"
A small backside jutted out from the rippling sea of grass, wagging left and right as it struggled to wriggle free.
Several guards stood around watching, bemused.
One of them stepped forward to help, only for the child to suddenly pop loose and smack him in the face with a clod of dirt.
"Ow!"
A childish yelp followed, and a tousled head of silver-blond hair emerged from the brush.
Aemon fell back onto the ground, weeds sticking to his hair, muttering in frustration, "That was hard to pull."
His poor little bottom felt like it had split in eight.
"Your Highness, shall we assist?" one of the guards offered, face red with embarrassment.
"No need. I've got it." Aemon waved him off proudly.
Clutched tightly in his hand was a fistful of deep green grass leaves.
[Magic Essence Panel: New Entry]
"You've harvested a clump of Ula Grass imbued with minor magic. +1 Magic Essence."
Aemon beamed with satisfaction and dusted himself off.
Thanks to the power of [Guide Once], this rare herb couldn't go to waste.
Calling a few guards to accompany him, he headed straight for the eastern cliffs.
He knew this would pay off!
"Let's see what you do…"
With a mischievous grin, Aemon rubbed his small hands together.
The glowing panel floated into view once more.
One of the three card slots now sat empty, and the number next to the golden hourglass read:
[Magic Essence: 7]
It cost 10 essence to draw a new card—he was nearly there. This latest Ula Grass added just one point.
Other than that, not much had changed.
"It's just a plant…" Aemon turned the Ula Grass over in his hands, inspecting it like it held untold secrets.
The grass wasn't particularly rare—he remembered it from his past life. Grouped with ginseng and deer antler, it was known as one of the "Three Treasures." Mostly it was used as hay to keep warm in the winter.
But under the system's influence, the little dragon cub gradually began to unlock its full potential.
Weave it into a mat. Sleep on it.
Magical Ula Grass could keep one warm in winter and cool in summer. It calmed the spirit and eased the mind, which meant better sleep—and better sleep meant he'd grow taller faster.
"You're a little miracle, you are," Aemon whispered, violet eyes shining with stars.
The only problem—there wasn't nearly enough. Not even enough for a proper cushion.
Smart as ever, Aemon stroked his chin.
But of course! That was hardly a problem.
He turned a slow circle, eyes scanning the sweeping meadows of grass stretching into the distance.
A single clump had magic… so there must be more out here.
Aemon's mind raced. He was already planning an expedition into the hills.
"One clump equals one point of essence. Ten clumps equals ten essence..."
Zero cost. High reward. This was how fortunes were made!
But just as he was getting excited, a voice interrupted.
"Your Highness!"
A guard approached from the direction of Runestone. "Lady Rhea has returned. She's waiting for you in the main hall."
"Oh?" Aemon snapped back to reality.
He bundled up the Ula Grass in his arms and returned under guard escort to the towering, weathered castle of Runestone.
Despite his short legs, he made it home before night fully fell.
Lady Rhea was waiting in the vast hall, arms crossed, stern as ever.
"Mother! I missed you so much!"
Covered in dust, Aemon threw open his arms and barreled toward her, chubby cheeks beaming with joy.
Lady Rhea didn't react. She stood perfectly still as her son latched onto her thigh—tight and solid like an iron pillar.
"When did you get back? I wanted to greet you!" he chirped, flashing his pearly baby teeth in the most innocent grin he could muster.
No one hits a smiling child—right?
Lady Rhea, regal and composed, was in her prime. With long black hair and piercing eyes, she bore the cool, sharp beauty of the old Vale bloodlines. Her figure was lean, almost austere, her features classically sculpted—narrow eyes, high cheekbones, a straight aristocratic nose.
She didn't need excessive warmth or beauty to command a room. Her presence alone did that.
If she hadn't been beautiful, Queen Alysanne wouldn't have personally chosen her as a future granddaughter-in-law.
"Ah..." she finally sighed, eyes narrowing as she looked him over.
He was absolutely filthy—muddy feet, dirt-crusted sleeves, and his pockets stuffed with bits of grass and weeds. He looked more like a stray goat than a prince.
If she didn't know better, she'd think he'd been off hunting all afternoon.
Aemon, unbothered, looked up at her with a grin. "Mother, how long are you staying this time?"
In this new life, his childish form lent him a certain naïveté—clean eyes, soft voice, an impressionable innocence untouched by the harsh world he remembered.
There was a certain charm in it.
Lady Rhea eventually relented, pulling a chair over and sitting down. "There's another hunt in a few days."
"Oh…" Aemon nodded. That was about what he expected.
"What do you think of this fawn?"
Several hunting trophies had already been brought into the hall. She dragged forward a deer about the size of a large dog. "You're not a fan of venison, I know. But I thought we could roast this one or make stew."
Before Aemon could respond, she produced two fluffy grey rabbits.
"The winters in the Vale are cold. These snow rabbits have soft fur. I'll make you a new pair of gloves."
Lady Rhea became more animated as she spoke, clearly proud of her haul.
"And this black bear—oh, you won't need it. I'll skin it and hang it in my room…"
Aemon, now forgotten, blinked in silence.
He was… touched. But also afraid to move.
As his mother prattled on about her hunts, the little boy—still tired from running around all day and missing sleep—began to doze off right there in the chair.
It wasn't until the old septa gently interrupted with a reminder about dinner that the monologue stopped.
The maids hurried in with plates.
Aemon climbed onto his stool, little legs dangling as he leaned forward to see what was on offer.
White bread, sausages, mashed potatoes—a classic dry meal.
Lady Rhea sat with her plate, eating absentmindedly.
Another figure joined them at the table: a boy clad in burnished bronze armour, eating elegantly with a fork.
Aemon gave him a sideways look. "Why are you wearing that?"
Since the Andals landed on the Fingers centuries ago, iron had become more common. But the Royces clung to their bronze-armour traditions with pride.
Still, wearing it to dinner?
The boy swallowed and flashed what he thought was a charming grin. "Lady Rhea said I could join her on the next hunt."
Aemon blinked and stabbed his sausage with the knife.
So? Big deal.
This lad had only been introduced half a month ago, brought in by Rhea as his companion and bodyguard.
His name was Ser William Royce, a direct cousin.
Technically, Aemon was meant to call him "cousin" as well.
In the original timeline, William had some minor notoriety. He wielded the Royce ancestral blade Sorrow, and fought as one of Rhaenyra's sworn Iron Guards during the Dance.
He famously led a doomed charge during the Dragonpit Riot, where both he and his men perished—and the Valyrian steel sword was lost forever.
"I'm full," Aemon muttered, wolfing down his food. He hopped off the stool, belly round and content.
His feet didn't even touch the floor. He had to jump to get down.
Lady Rhea frowned as she watched her son wobble off like a well-fed squirrel.
There was something she'd meant to say—something important—but in the end, she swallowed it.
Instead, she turned to the old septa. "Change his stool. That one's too tall."