All language subtitles for House.of.the.Dragon.S01E01.1080p.BluRay.x264-BLOODY

As the first century of the
Targaryen dynasty came to a close,

the health of the Old King,
Jaehaerys, was failing.

In those days, House Targaryen
stood at the height of its strength,

with ten adult dragons under its yoke.

No power in the world
could stand against it.

King Jaehaerys reigned over nearly
60 years of peace and prosperity.

But tragedy had claimed both his sons,
leaving his succession in doubt.

So, in the year 101, the Old King called
a Great Council to choose an heir.

Over a thousand lords made
the journey to Harrenhal.

Fourteen succession claims were heard,
but only two were truly considered.

Princess Rhaenys Targaryen,
the King's eldest descendant,

and her younger cousin,
Prince Viserys Targaryen,

the King's eldest male descendant.

It is declared
by all lords paramount

and lords vassal of the Seven Kingdoms,

that Prince Viserys Targaryen...

...be made Prince of Dragonstone.

Rhaenys, a woman,

would not inherit the Iron Throne.

The lords instead chose Viserys,

my father.

Jaehaerys called the Great Council

to prevent a war being
fought over his succession.

For he knew the cold truth.

The only thing that could tear down

the House of the Dragon,

was itself.

Dohaerās, Syrax!

Umbās.

Rybās!

Welcome back, Princess.

I trust your ride was pleasant.

Try not to look too relieved, ser.

I am relieved.

Every time that golden beast
brings you back unspoiled,

it saves my head from a spike.

Syrax is growing quickly.

She'll soon be as large as Caraxes.

That's almost large enough
to saddle two.

I believe I'm quite content
as a spectator, thank you.

Dohaerās.

Naejot!

Ah, Rhaenyra.

You know I don't like you to go flying
while I'm in this condition.

You don't like me to go flying
while you're in any condition.

- Your Grace.
- Good morrow, Alicent.

Did you sleep?

- I slept.
- How long?

I don't need mothering, Rhaenyra.

Well, here you are,
surrounded by attendants,

all focused on the babe.

Someone has to attend to you.

You will lie in this bed
soon enough, Rhaenyra.

This discomfort
is how we serve the realm.

I'd rather serve as a knight
and ride to battle and glory.

We have royal wombs, you and I.

The childbed is our battlefield.

We must learn to face it
with a stiff lip.

Now take a bath.

You stink of dragon.

So, I said to him, "Well, I believe you
might be looking up the wrong end."

My lords.

The growing alliance
among the Free Cities

has taken to styling
itself "the Triarchy."

They have massed on Bloodstone

and are presently ridding the Stepstones
of its pirate infestation.

Well, that sounds suspiciously
like good news, Lord Corlys.

A man called Craghas Drahar

has styled himself the prince-admiral
of this Triarchy.

They call him "the Crabfeeder"

due to his inventive methods
of punishing his enemies.

And are we meant to weep
for dead pirates?

- No, Your Grace.
- Rhaenyra, you're late.

King's cupbearer must not be late.

- Leaves people wanting for cups.
- I was visiting Mother.

On dragonback?

Uh, Your Grace,
at Prince Daemon's urging,

the Crown has invested
significant capital

in the re-training and re-equipping
of his City Watch.

I thought you might urge your brother
to fill his seat on the council

and provide an assessment
of his progress

as commander of the Watch.

Do you think Daemon
is distracted by his present tasks?

And that his thoughts
and energies are occupied?

Well, one would hope so,
considering the associated costs.

Then let us all consider
your gold well-invested, Lord Beesbury.

I would urge that you not allow
this Triarchy much latitude

in the Stepstones, Your Grace.

If those shipping lanes should fall,
it will beggar our ports.

The Crown has heard
your report, Lord Corlys,

and takes it under advisement.

Shall we discuss the Heir's Tournament,
Your Grace?

I would be delighted.

Will the maesters' name day
prediction hold, Mellos?

You must understand that these things
are mere estimations, my King,

but we have all been
poring over the moon charts,

and we feel that our forecast
is as accurate as it can be.

The cost
of the tournament is not negligible.

Perhaps we might delay
until the child is in hand?

Most of the lords
and knights are certainly on their way

to King's Landing already.
To turn them back now...

The tourney will take
the better part of a week.

Before the games are over,
my son will be born,

and the whole realm will celebrate.

We have no way of predicting
the sex of the child.

Of course, no maester's capable
of rendering an opinion

free of conditions, are they now?

There's a boy in the Queen's belly.

I know it.

And my heir will soon
put all of this damnable

hand-wringing to rest himself.

He passed through
the Red Keep's gates at first light.

Does my father know he's here?

- No.
- Good.

Gods be good.

It's all right, ser.

Aye.

I bought you something.

Do you know what it is?

It's Valyrian steel.

Like Dark Sister.

Turn around.

Now,

you and I both own a small piece
of our ancestry.

Did you read it?

Of course, I read it.

When Princess Nymeria
arrived in Dorne,

who did she take to husband?

A man.

What was his name?

Lord Something.

If you answer with
"Lord Something,"

Septa Marlow will be furious.

She's funny when she's furious.

You're always like this
when you're worried.

Like what?

Disagreeable.

You're worried your father
is about to overshadow you

with a son.

I only worry for my mother.

I hope for my father that he gets a son.

As long as I can recall,
it's all he's wanted.

You want him to have a son?

I want to fly with you on dragonback,

see the great wonders
across the Narrow Sea,

and eat only cake.

- I'm being serious.
- I never jest about cake.

You aren't worried about your position?

I like this position.
It's quite comfortable.

- Where are you going?
- Home. The hour has grown late.

Princess Nymeria led her Rhoynar

across the Narrow Sea on 10,000 ships

to flee their Valyrian pursuers.

She took Lord Mors Martell
of Dorne to husband

and burned her own fleet off Sunspear

to show her people
that they were finished running.

- What are you doing?
- So you remember.

- If the Septa sees this book, then...
- Fuck the Septa.

Rhaenyra!

Is it healing?

It has grown slightly,
Your Grace.

Can you say yet what it is?

We've sent inquiries to the Citadel.

They are searching
the texts for similar cases.

It's a small cut
from sitting the throne.

It's nothing.

The King has been under heavy stresses
preparing for the birth.

Bad humors of the mind
can adversely affect the body.

Whatever it is,
it needs to be kept quiet.

We should leech it again,
Maester.

It's a wound that refuses to heal,
Grand Maester.

Might I suggest cauterization?

Cauterization would be a wise
course of treatment, Your Grace.

- It will be painful.
- Fine.

Fine.

You spend more time
in that bath than I do on the throne.

This is the only place
I can find comfort these days.

It's tepid.

It's as warm as the maesters will allow.

- Don't they know dragons prefer heat?
- Hmm.

After this miserable pregnancy,

I wouldn't be surprised
if I hatched an actual dragon.

Then he will be loved
and cherished.

Rhaenyra has already declared
that she is to have a sister.

Really?

- She even named her.
- Dare I ask?

Visenya.

She chose a dragon's egg for the cradle
that she said reminded her of Vhagar.

Gods be good.

This family already has its Visenya.

Has there been any word
from your dear brother?

Not since I named him
Commander of the City Watch.

I'm sure he will reemerge
for the tourney.

He could never stay away from the lists.

The tourney

to celebrate the firstborn son
that we presently do not have.

You do understand nothing
will cause the babe to grow a cock

if it does not already possess one?

This child is a boy, Aemma.

I'm certain of it.

I've never been
more certain of anything.

The dream.

It was clearer than a memory.

Our son was born wearing
Aegon's iron crown.

When I heard the sound
of thundering hooves,

splintering shields, and ringing swords,

and I placed our son
upon the Iron Throne

as the bells of the Grand Sept tolled

and all the dragons roared as one.

Born wearing a crown?

Gods spare me,

birth is unpleasant enough as it is.

This is the last time, Viserys.

I've lost one babe in the cradle,

had two stillbirths, and two pregnancies

ended well before their term.

That's five in twice as many years.

I know it is my duty
to provide you an heir,

and I'm sorry if I have
failed you in that. I am.

But I've mourned
all the dead children I can.

Commander on the floor!

When I took command of the Watch,
you were stray mongrels,

starving and undisciplined.

Now,

you're a pack of hounds.

You're sated and honed for the hunt.

My brother's city
has fallen into squalor.

Crime of every breed
has been allowed to thrive.

No longer.

Beginning tonight,
King's Landing will learn

to fear the color gold.

Get up!

Raper!

No! No! No! No! No!

Thief!

No!

Murderer!

It was an unprecedented
roundup of criminals of every ilk.

Your brother made a public show of it,

meting out
the summaryjudgments himself.

I'm told they needed a two-horse cart

to haul away
the resulting dismemberments

when it was done.

Gods be good.

The Prince cannot
be allowed to act

with this kind of unchecked impunity.

- Brother.
- Daemon.

Carry on. You were saying
something about my impunity.

You are to explain your doings
with the City Watch.

Your new "Gold Cloaks" made quite
the impression last night, didn't they?

Did they?

The City Watch is not a sword
to be wielded at your whim.

They're an extension of the Crown.

The Watch was enforcing
the Crown's laws.

Wouldn't you agree, Lord Strong?

My Prince, I don't think...

Making a public spectacle
of wanton brutality

is hardly in line with our laws.

Nobles from every corner of the realm

are right now descending
upon King's Landing

for my brother's tourney.

Do you want them
mugged, raped, murdered?

You mightn't know this unless
you left the safety of the Red Keep,

but much of King's Landing
is seen by the smallfolk

as lawless and terrifying.

Our city should be safe
for all its people.

I agree.

I just hope you don't have to maim
half of my city to achieve this.

Time will tell.

We installed Prince Daemon
as commander to promote law and order.

The criminal element
should fear the City Watch.

Thank you for your support, Lord Corlys.

If only the Prince
would show the same devotion

to his lady wife as he does his work,
Your Grace.

You've not been seen in the Vale
or at Runestone for quite some time.

I think my bronze bitch
is happier for my absence.

Lady Rhea is your wife,

a good and honorable lady of the Vale.

In the Vale, men are said to fuck sheep
instead of women.

I can assure you,
the sheep are prettier.

Dear me.

You made a vow before the Seven
to honor your wife in marriage.

Well, I'd gladly give Lady Rhea to you,
Lord Hightower,

if you're in want
of a woman to warm your bed.

Your own lady wife passed recently.

Did she not?

Otto.

Perhaps you aren't ready
to move on just yet.

You know how my brother
makes sport of provoking you.

Must you indulge him?

My apologies, Your Grace.

This council has,
at great expense,

bettered the City Watch
to your exacting standards.

Enforce my laws, but understand,

any further performances
like last night's will be answered.

Understood, Your Grace.

King's Landing has been in decline
since my grandmother passed.

In the end,

this new City Watch
might be a good thing.

What troubles you, my Prince?

I could bring in another.

Perhaps a maiden.

I have several.

I could even arrange one
with silver hair.

You are Daemon Targaryen.

Rider of Caraxes.
Wielder of Dark Sister.

The King cannot replace you.

Be welcome!

I know many of you have
traveled long leagues

to be at these games.

But I promise,
you will not be disappointed.

When I look at
the fine knights in these lists,

I see a group without equal
in our histories.

And this great day
has been made more auspicious

by the news
that I am happy to share:

Queen Aemma has begun her labors!

May the luck of the Seven
shine upon all combatants!

Ah!

A mystery knight?

No, a Cole, of the Stormlands.

I've never heard of House Cole.

Princess Rhaenys Targaryen!

I would humbly ask for the favor

of "The Queen Who Never Was."

Good fortune to you, cousin.

I would gladly take it
if I thought I needed it.

You could have
Baratheon's tongue for that.

Tongues will not change the succession.

Let them wag.

Lord Stokeworth's daughter
is promised to that young Tarly squire.

- Lord Massey's son?
- Mmm-hmm.

They're to be married
as soon as he wins his knighthood.

Best get on with it.

I heard that Lady Elinor is hiding
a swollen belly beneath her dress.

What do you know about
this Ser Criston Cole, Ser Harrold?

I'm told Ser Criston
is common-born,

son of Lord Dondarrion's steward.

But other than that,
and the fact that he's just unhorsed

both of the Baratheon lads,

I really couldn't say.

Prince Daemon of House Targaryen,

Prince of the City,

will now choose his first opponent!

For his first challenge,

Prince Daemon Targaryen chooses

Ser Gwayne Hightower of Oldtown,

eldest son of the Hand of the King.

Five dragons on Daemon.

Ha!

- Nicely done, Uncle.
- Thank you, Princess.

Now, I'm fairly certain
I can win these games, Lady Alicent.

Having your favor
would all but assure it.

Good luck, my Prince.

- What's happening?
- The infant is in breech, Your Grace.

All attempts to turn the babe
have failed.

- Do something for her!
- We've given her as much

milk of the poppy as we can
without risking the child.

Your Queen is a strong woman.

She's fighting with all her might,
but it may not be enough.

No!

Aemma.

Aemma, I'm here.

I'm here.

I'm here.
It's all right.

- It's all right.
- I can't do this.

You're going to be all right.

You're going to be all right.

Ah!

Kill him!

And the day grows ugly.

I wonder if this is how we should
celebrate the birth of our future king.

- Hmm.
- With wanton violence.

It's been 70 years
since King Maegor's end.

These knights are as green
as summer grass.

None have known real war.

Their lords sent them
to the tourney field

with fists full of steel
and balls full of seed,

and we expect them
to act with honor and grace.

It's a marvel that war
didn't break out at first blood.

Mellos.

Your Grace.

If you would.

During a difficult birth,

it sometimes becomes necessary
for the father

to make an impossible choice.

Well, speak it.

To sacrifice one or to lose them both.

There is a chance
that we can save the child.

A technique is taught at the Citadel,

which involves cutting
directly into the womb

to free the infant.

- But the resulting blood loss...
- Seven hells, Mellos.

You can save the child?

We must either act now
or leave it with the gods.

Ser Criston Cole will now tilt against

Ser Daemon Targaryen,
Prince of the City!

Ha!

- Viserys.
- Yes?

They're going to bring the babe out now.

I love you.

Oh!

- What is happening?
- No, it's all right.

What is happening?

- Viserys, what...
- No, it's all right.

- What are you doing?
- They're going to bring the babe out.

How are they...

- It's all right.
- Viserys, please.

- It's all right.
- No, I'm scared.

- Don't be scared.
- What is happening?

Don't be scared.
They're going to bring the babe out.

- No.
- It's all right.

They're going to bring the babe out.

No! No! No!

- I'm making the first incision.
- No, no, no!

Viserys, no! Please!

- No, no, no!
- Don't be scared.

Sword!

Prince Daemon Targaryen

wishes to continue in a contest of arms!

Ah!

Yield.

Yield.

Gods. He's Dornish.

I was hoping to ask
for the Princess' favor.

I wish you luck, Ser Criston.

Princess.

Congratulations, Your Grace.

You have a son.

It's a boy?

A new heir, Your Grace.

Had you and the Queen chosen a name?

Baelon.

They're waiting for you.

Dracarys.

- Where's Rhaenyra?
- Your Grace.

This is the last thing any of us
wish to discuss at this dark hour,

but I consider the matter urgent.

What matter?

That of your succession.

These recent tragedies
have left you without an obvious heir.

The King has an heir, my Lord Hand.

Despite how difficult
this time is, Your Grace,

I feel it important
the succession be firmly in place

for the stability of the realm.

The succession is already set

by precedent and by law.

Shall we say his name?

Daemon Targaryen.

If Daemon were to remain
the uncontested heir,

it could destabilize the realm.

The realm? Or this council?

No one here can know
what Daemon would do were he king,

but no one can doubt his ambition.

Look at what he did
with the Gold Cloaks.

The City Watch is fiercely loyal to him.

- An army 2,000 strong.
- An army you gave him, Otto.

I named Daemon Master of Laws,
but you said he was a tyrant.

As Master of Coin,
you said he was a spendthrift

that would beggar the realm.

Putting Daemon in command
of the City Watch

was your solution!

A half-measure, Your Grace.

The truth is, Daemon should be
far away from this court.

Daemon is my brother.

My blood.

And he will have his place at my court.

Let him keep his place
at court, Your Grace,

but if the gods should visit
some further tragedy on you,

- either by design or by accident.
- "Design"?

What are you saying?

My brother would murder me,
take my crown?

Are you?

Please.

Daemon has ambition, yes,
but not for the throne.

He lacks the patience for it.

The gods have yet to make a man

who lacks the patience
for absolute power, Your Grace.

Under such circumstances,
it would not be an aberration

for the King to name a successor.

Well, who else would have a claim?

The King's firstborn child.

Rhaenyra? A girl?

No queen has ever sat the Iron Throne.

That is only by tradition
and precedent, Lord Strong.

If order and stability
so concerns this council,

then perhaps we shouldn't break
100 years of it by naming a girl heir.

Daemon would be a second Maegor,
or worse.

He is impulsive and violent.

It is the duty of this council

to protect the King
and the realm from him.

I'm sorry, Your Grace,
but that is the truth as I see it,

and I know that others here agree.

I will not be made to choose
between my brother and my daughter.

You wouldn't have to,
Your Grace.

There are others who would have a claim.

Such as your wife, Lord Corlys?

- "The Queen Who Never Was"?
- Rhaenys was the only child

of Jaehaerys' eldest son.

She had a strong claim
at the Great Council,

and she already has a male heir.

Just moments ago,
you announced your support for Daemon!

If we cannot agree on an heir,
then how can we expect...

My wife and son are dead!

I will not sit here and suffer crows
that come to feast on their corpses!

Send a raven to Oldtown.

Straight away.

My lady.

My darling.

How's Rhaenyra?

She lost her mother.

The Queen was well-loved by all.

I found myself thinking
of your own mother today.

- How is His Grace?
- Very low.

Which is why I sent for you.

I thought you might go to him,

offer him comfort.

In his chambers?

I wouldn't know what to say.

Stop that.

He'll be glad of a visitor.

You might wear
one of your mother's dresses.

The Lady Alicent Hightower, Your Grace.

What is it, Alicent?

I thought I might come
and look in on you, Your Grace.

I brought a book.

That's very kind, thank you.

It's a favorite of mine.

I do know how passionate
you are for the histories.

Yes, I am.

When my mother died,

people only ever spoke to me in riddles.

All I wanted was for someone
to say that they were sorry

for what happened to me.

I'm very sorry, Your Grace.

Thank you.

The King's sole heir once again.

Might we drink to our future?

Quiet!

Your Prince will speak!

Silence!

Before we begin, Your Grace,

I have a report
I feel compelled to share.

Last night,

Prince Daemon bought out
one of the pleasure houses

on the Street of Silk,

to entertain officers of the City Watch

and other friends of his.

King and Council
have long rued my position

as next in line for the throne.

But dream and pray
as they all might,

it seems I'm not so easily replaced.

The gods give
just as the gods take away.

He toasted Prince Baelon.

To the King's son.

Styling him

"The Heir for a Day."

I corroborated this report
with three separate witnesses.

The evening was,
by all accounts, a celebration.

You cut the image
of the conqueror, brother.

Did you say it?

I don't know what you mean.

You will address me
as "Your Grace,"

or I will have my Kingsguard
cut out your tongue.

"The Heir for a Day." Did you say it?

We must all mourn
in our own way, Your Grace.

My family has just been destroyed.

But instead of being
by my side, or Rhaenyra's,

you chose to celebrate your own rise!

Laughing with your whores
and your lickspittles!

You have no allies at court but me!

I have only ever defended you!

Yet everything I've given you,
you've thrown back in my face.

You've only ever tried to send me away.

To the Vale, to the City Watch,

anywhere but by your side.

Ten years you've been king,

and yet not once have you
asked me to be your Hand!

- Why would I do that?
- Because I'm your brother.

And the blood of the dragon runs thick.

Then why do you cut me so deeply?

I've only ever spoken the truth.
I see Otto Hightower for what he is.

An unwavering
and loyal Hand?

A cunt.

A second son
who stands to inherit nothing

he doesn't seize for himself.

Otto Hightower is a more honorable man

- than you could ever be.
- He doesn't protect you.

- I would.
- From what?

Yourself.

You're weak, Viserys.

And that council of leeches knows it.

They all prey on you
for their own ends.

I have decided to name a new heir.

- I'm your heir.
- Not anymore.

You are to return to Runestone
and your lady wife at once,

and you are to do so without quarrel

by order of your King.

Your Grace.

Father.

Balerion was the last living creature

to have seen Old Valyria
before the Doom.

Its greatness and its flaws.

When you look at the dragons,
what do you see?

What?

You haven't spoken a word to me
since mother's funeral,

- and now you send your Kingsguard down.
- Answer me.

It's important.

What do you see?

- I suppose I see us.
- Tell me.

Everyone says Targaryens
are closer to gods than to men,

but they say that
because of our dragons.

Without them,
we're just like everyone else.

The idea that we control the dragons

is an illusion.

They're a power man should
never have trifled with.

One that brought Valyria its doom.

If we don't mind our own histories,
it will do the same to us.

Targaryen must understand
this to be King

or Queen.

I'm sorry, Rhaenyra.

I have wasted the years
since you were born

wanting for a son.

You are the very best of your mother.

And I believe it, I know she did,

that you could be a great ruling queen.

Daemon is your heir.

Daemon was not made
to wear the crown.

But I believe that you were.

Corlys of House Velaryon,

Lord of the Tides
and Master of Driftmark.

I, Corlys Velaryon,

Lord of the Tides
and Master of Driftmark,

promise to be faithful
to King Viserys

and his named heir,
the Princess Rhaenyra.

I pledge fealty to them

and shall defend them
against all enemies

in good faith and without deceit.

I swear this
by the old gods and the new.

This is no trivial gesture,
Rhaenyra.

A dragon's saddle is one thing,

but the Iron Throne is the most
dangerous seat in the realm.

I, Lord Hobert Hightower,

Beacon of the South,
Defender of the Citadel,

and Voice of Oldtown,

promise to be faithful to King Viserys

and his named heir,
the Princess Rhaenyra.

I pledge fealty to them

and shall defend them
against all enemies

in good faith and without deceit.

I swear this
by the old gods and the new.

Give me your hand.

I, Boremund Baratheon,

promise to be faithful to King Viserys.

There's something else
that I need to tell you.

It might be difficult
for you to understand,

but you must hear it.

Our histories,

they tell us that Aegon looked across
the Blackwater from Dragonstone,

saw a rich land ripe for the capture.

But ambition alone is not
what drove him to conquest.

It was a dream.

And just as Daenys foresaw
the end of Valyria,

Aegon foresaw
the end of the world of men.

'Tis to begin with a terrible winter

gusting out of the distant North.

I, Rickon Stark,

Lord of Winterfell...

Aegon saw absolute darkness
riding on those winds.

And whatever dwells within
will destroy the world of the living.

When this Great Winter comes, Rhaenyra,

all of Westeros must stand against it.

And if the world of men is to survive,

a Targaryen must be seated
on the Iron Throne.

A king or queen,
strong enough to unite the realm

against the cold and the dark.

Aegon called his dream
"The Song of Ice and Fire."

This secret,

it's been passed from king to heir
since Aegon's time.

Now you must promise to carry it

and protect it.

Promise me this, Rhaenyra.

Promise me.

I, Viserys Targaryen,
first of his name...

...King of the Andals,
and the Rhoynar,

and the First Men,

Lord of the Seven Kingdoms,

and Protector of the Realm,

do hereby name

Rhaenyra Targaryen,

Princess of Dragonstone

and heir to the Iron Throne.