As Aemond soared over the arid desert, his keen eyes caught sight of an army of Unsullied, their formation punctuated by clusters of Dothraki screamers. Or at least, what remained of them. He directed Vhagar towards the largest tent, where slabs of meat lay prepared for the dragon. As Vhagar descended, the camp erupted into chaos; soldiers screamed and scattered, hastily readying themselves for battle.

Aemond dismounted with practiced ease, sending Vhagar away with a command. He strode confidently toward the grand tent, where the woman he sought was said to reside. Her silver hair was styled in a striking braided updo, reminiscent of the Targaryens of old. Aemond inclined his head slightly in acknowledgment, but his purpose remained clear. This was a mission of urgency and duty. The bastard Targaryen had obligations to her kin. The Greens needed her dragons.