Aemond had been tasked with bringing the Crownlanders to the fold and he was determined to do as much, with the prizeless support of his dragon, Vhagar. He donned a black armor, chased in gold, and a three-headed-dragon-crested war helm. The whip cracked in his hand and Vhagar, aroused, took flight, roaring as she did, the leathern wings beating the wind and making the beast soar high above the Red Keep's courtyard. Soon thereafter he was flying over the city, the wingspam of Vhaegar shadowing the streets built and planned by Jaehaerys I. In a few moments he had crossed the walls' perimeter and heading to Stokeworth. The castle laid in close proximity to the capital, so it was bound to be a rather short flight. The fields were a blur, and both birds and animals alike tried to run away from the she-dragon. Before he could even realize the Crownland's keep was at hand and Aemond cracked the whip twice, Vhagar roaring as a salute. The keep's inhabitants would soon have a new guest in the shape of a prince and his dangerous mount, and Aemond ordered Vhagar to descend in circles, to make his approach more fearsome, and indicated with spurs and crack for Vhaegar to land on the curtain wall. The she-dragon seemed excited, almost joyful, maybe, she knew that could have sweet pumply manflesh for supper if Stokeworth failed to obey and bend the knee. The merlons cracked with Vhaegar's landing, who coiled her tail around a watchtower and raised her head, smelling the scent of food in the air. Her colossal weight and size make her tower over the courtyard, covering everything in shadows. Aemond raised his black visor, his surviving eye looking for his host, while the empty socket was covered by a patch.