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Game of Thrones s03e04
And Now His Watch is Ended

How many of those fingers

do you think we could
shove up his ass?

Depends if he's
had any practice.

Is that the sort of thing you and
your sister go in for, Kingslayer?

She loosened you up for us?

He's going to fall.

He's going to fall off his horse.
Someone help him.

Water.

Water.

Please, water.

Wa-water.

Water, please.

Please. Please.

If I die,
you won't be getting--

Oh, enough.

Here.

Can't say that I've ever seen a
man drink horse piss that fast.

Stop!

Far enough.

Do that again
and I'll take your other hand.

Come on, you.

Oh, Lord Tyrion.
Come in, come in.

I hope we might speak.

In confidence.

Oh, always in confidence.

About the events
of the Blackwater.

Perhaps this is the wrong time?

Oh, no.
It's a wonderful time.

I thought one
of your little birds

might have knowledge of
my sister's intentions to--

End your life?

I didn't inherit
Littlefinger's spies

along with his position,
I'm afraid.

Which is why I'm coming to you.

- I need proof.
- Proof?

- Will there be a trial?
- I need to know.

I have no proof, only whispers.

Before all this nastiness,

I was going to tell you
the story of how I was cut.

Do you want to hear it still?

I don't know.
Do I?

As a boy, I travelled
with a troupe of actors

through the Free Cities.

One day in Myr,

a certain man
made my master an offer

too tempting to refuse.

I feared the man meant
to use me as I'd heard

some men used small boys.

But what he wanted
was far worse.

He gave me a potion

that made me powerless
to move or speak,

yet did nothing
to dull my senses.

With a hooked blade
he sliced me,

root and stem,
chanting all the while.

He burned my parts
in a brazier.

The flames turned blue

and I heard a voice
answer his call.

I still dream of that night.

Not of the sorcerer,

not of his blade.

I dream of the voice
from the flames.

Was it a god?
A demon?

A conjuror's trick?

I don't know.

But the sorcerer called
and a voice answered.

And ever since that day,

I have hated magic and
all those who practice it.

But you can see
why I was eager to aid

in your fight against
Stannis and his Red Priestess.

A symbolic revenge of sorts.

Yes, ahem. I feel the
need for actual revenge

against the actual person

who tried to have me killed.

Which will require a degree
of influence, which--

You do not possess

at the moment.

But influence is largely

a matter of patience,
I have found.

Once I had served
the sorcerer's purpose,

he threw me out
of his house to die.

I resolved to live

to spite him.

I begged.

I sold what parts
of my body remained to me.

I became an excellent thief

and soon learned that the
contents of a man's letters

are more valuable than the
contents of his purse.

Step by step,

one distasteful task
after another,

I made my way
from the slums of Myr

to the small council chamber.

Influence grows like a weed.

I tended mine patiently

until its tendrils
reached from the Red Keep

all the way across
to the far side of the world

where I managed to wrap
them around something

very special.

The sorcerer.

Hello, my old friend.

It's been a long time.

I have no doubt
the revenge you want

will be yours in time...

if you have the stomach for it.

When people talk about
the Night's Watch,

they never mention
the shoveling.

Or the shit.

They tell you about honor,
pardoning crimes,

and protecting the realm,

but shoveling
really is most of it.

And getting attacked
or killed or worse.

And that. But when you're not
getting attacked or killed,

usually you're shoveling.

Oh, look.

More shit.

I was starting
to wonder what to do

with the rest of my day.

We need to get out of here.

When the Lord Commander
says we go, we go.

The Lord Commander told us to go
to the Fist of the First Men.

- How'd that turn out for us?
- He had no way of knowing.

We do now.

We know what's out there.

Craster's been out here
surviving.

So he's your new protector now?

Our good friend Craster?

We're like the sons
he never had.

Mormont isn't
gonna save you.

This lummox here
isn't gonna save you.

When the walkers come calling,

Craster will serve us up
like so many pigs.

If we want to live...

we'll have to look out
for ourselves.

Shh, shh, shh.

- You woke him.
- I'm sorry.

- He's beautiful.
- Shh!

He's beautiful.

Does he have a name?

- No.
- Are you going to give him one?

Why?

Here.

- Gilly. - You said to hold it for you
until you came back.

- You're back.
- I wanted you to have it.

I don't want
your stupid thimble.

I want to save my baby's life.
Can you do that?

Can you?

I don't have time for you.

I don't have time
for anyone but him

because he doesn't
have much time.

You have to go after him.

How?

You know how.

Brandon.

- Mother.
- How many times have I told you?

- No climbing.
- Mother, I need to find it.

- It's here. It's calling me.
- I want you to promise me.

No more climbing.
Promise me.

Promise me!
Promise me!

- Mother! Mother!
- Promise me! Promise me, Bran!

Promise me!

Is he very large?

No larger than usual,
apparently.

- And yet they said that he was--
- Extraordinary.

The most extraordinary man
they've ever had.

And they've had a lot of men.

We're talking about
the same Podrick?

The quiet boy
in Lord Tyrion's service?

Seems a bit simple?

What did he do to them?

I don't know, my lord.

The girls are usually
quite descriptive.

So what did they say?

They said it was hard
to describe.

Huh.

Prodigies appear
in the oddest of places.

And what did Littlefinger say
about this loss of income?

He was too preoccupied
to notice.

He's leaving
for the Eyrie soon.

I'm helping him prepare
for his journey.

Ah, yes, to pursue
his enduring love

of the Lady Arryn and the
title that comes with her.

Sad, really.

Is that all it takes

to make our friend lose
interest in poor Sansa Stark?

He hasn't spoken to her
since the last time,

as far as I know.

But I don't think
he's lost interest.

What makes you say so?

- His shipboard inventory.
- Ah.

You can read.

Rare for a woman
in your profession.

- Former profession.
- Of course.

I'm missing something obvious
you're about to point out?

Two featherbeds.

He's bringing two
featherbeds for the cabin.

Who is important enough
to Littlefinger

to merit a featherbed
besides Littlefinger?

Could he be bringing
one of his girls?

He's not interested
in them, my lord.

How do you know?

Because I'm one of his girls.

Prodigies in odd places indeed.

Rhaenyra Targaryen
was murdered by her brother,

or rather his dragon.

It ate her
while her son watched.

What's left of her is buried in
the crypts right down there.

The ceremony is traditionally
held in the main sanctum,

which seats 700 comfortably.

There appears to be a
good deal of room elsewhere

on the premises
for everyone else.

There aren't more than 700
people of any importance.

No, the rest are there
to look adoringly

upon the 700 to remind them

how superior they must be
to have the best seats.

Over there in that urn,

the ashes of Aerion Targaryen.

Aerion Brightflame
they called him.

He thought drinking wildfire
would turn him into a dragon.

He was wrong.

And, of course,
there's the Mad King,

killed by my uncle.

Would you like to see where the
last Targaryens are buried?

Are you sure Lady Margaery doesn't
find all this a bit macabre?

Oh, no, it's quite
all right, Your Grace.

I'd love to see
their tombs, really.

It's like taking a walk
through history.

The tomb's just up here.
- This is so exciting.

You were married
here, Your Grace?

- Yes.
- Must seem like only yesterday.

Seems like a lifetime ago.

Your husband, was he
buried here as well?

No, he wanted his remains
returned to Storm's End.

- Such a tragedy.
- A fairly predictable tragedy.

Hunting and drinking don't mix.

I should say not.

My son's a hunter.
It helps him forget

he's never been within
a mile of a real battle.

I seem to recall he laid
siege to Storm's End

for the better part of a year.

All he laid siege to

was the banquet table
in the command tent.

I told him to stay out
of Robert's rebellion.

He had no business
fighting an actual warrior.

We mothers do what we can

to keep our sons
from the grave.

But they do seem
to yearn for it.

We shower them with good sense,

and it slides right off
like rain off a wing.

And yet the world
belongs to them.

A ridiculous
arrangement, to my mind.

The gods have seen fit
to make it so.

My father didn't
want them here.

He was going to have
their bodies burned

and thrown in the Blackwater,

but the High Septon
convinced him otherwise.

I'm glad he did.

I'm sorry, Your Grace.

I know they did terrible
things at the end,

but their ancestors built this.

Sometimes severity

is the price we pay
for greatness.

I couldn't agree more.

Shall we go and see them?

If you give them your love,

they will return it
a thousandfold.

I've spoken with them.

I know how they feel about you.

You led the defense
of King's Landing.

They adore you.

Open the doors.

Joffrey.

Wait.

Lady Margaery!
Lady Margaery!

Bless you, Lady Margaery!

- Lady Margaery!
- Lady Margaery!

- Margaery!
- Long live Lady Margaery!

King Joffrey!

King Joffrey!
King Joffrey!

King Joffrey!

Gods bless King Joffrey!

How far is it
to Deepwood Motte?

Not far, my lord.

Your sister is waiting
for you there.

- She sent you to save me?
- Yes.

I served them, the men
who were torturing you.

I did what they told me and
waited for the right moment.

Why would you risk
your life for me?

I grew up on
Saltcliffe, my lord.

I was only a boy
when they took you away.

My father brought me and my
brothers up to the bluffs

so we could watch the ship
that carried you off.

I remember the look on my
father's face when he told us,

"That's Balon Greyjoy's
last living son."

And those are the words
I heard over and over again

when I saw what
they were doing to you.

Those men,

they said my father knew
what they were doing to me.

Did he?

I-- I don't know,
my lord.

They-- they never
told me much.

My sister's men
are loyal to her.

We don't need
to hide from them.

Not all those
are your sister's men.

Some of them are loyal
to your father.

What is it?

I was just thinking
how jealous I was

when my father told Yara
to take this place.

What did he tell you to do?

Raid fishing villages.

He didn't trust me.

Thought I was a Stark.

Ha. I could never
be a Stark.

Robb Stark always
reminded me of that.

- He lorded it over you?
- Didn't have to.

All he had to do was be.

Be who he was born to be.

His life fit him
better than his clothes.

How could someone like that
ever be a brother to me?

He's the King in the North.

And me...

my father gave me a choice

and I made it.

I could never be a Stark.

But ironborn,

that's what I was born to be.

I paid the iron price
for Winterfell.

I murdered those boys.

The Stark boys?

Never found them.

Just some poor orphans
living with a farmer.

I let Dagmer slit their throats

and I let him
burn the bodies...

so I could keep Winterfell...

and make my father proud.

Maybe it's not too late.

It is.

My real father lost his head
at King's Landing.

I made a choice...

and I chose wrong.

And now I've burned
everything down.

Not everything, my lord.

She's up here.

- Yara.
- Shh.

Wait.

I brought him back.
He killed the others.

What?
No, I didn't.

You can't!

No, please stop!

No!

Put him back where he belongs.

Eat.

What are you doing?

I'm dying.

You can't die.

You need to live

to take revenge.

I don't care about revenge.

You coward.

A little misfortune
and you're giving up.

Misfor--

misfortune?

You lost your hand.

My sword hand.
I was that hand.

You have a taste--

one taste of the real world

where people have important
things taken from them

and you whine and cry and quit.

You sound like a bloody woman.

I know what you did for me.

You told them Tarth
was full of sapphires.

It's called the Sapphire Isle

because of the blue
of its water.

You knew that.

Why did you help me?

You wanted to speak to me?

Yes, about Jaime.

What about him?

I wanted to make sure

we're doing everything
we can to get him back.

When Catelyn Stark
took Tyrion prisoner...

what did I do in response?

- You started a war.
- And if I would start a war

for that lecherous
little stump,

what do you think I am doing
for my oldest son and heir?

Whatever you can.

Whatever I can.

- You're still here.
- Yes.

Why?

Did it ever occur to you

that I might be the one
who deserves your confidence

and your trust, not your sons?

Not Jaime or Tyrion, but me.

Years and years
of lectures on family

and legacy--

the same lecture, really,

just with tiny,
tedious variations--

did it ever occur to you
that your daughter

might be the only one listening to them?
Living by them?

That she might have the most
to contribute to your legacy

that you love so much more
than your actual children?

All right.
Contribute.

The Tyrells are a problem.

The Tyrells helped us
defeat Stannis Baratheon.

The Tyrells saved your life,
your children's lives.

Margaery has her claws
in Joffrey.

She knows how
to manipulate him.

Good.

I wish you knew
how to manipulate him.

I don't distrust you
because you're a woman.

I distrust you because you're not
as smart as you think you are.

You've allowed that boy
to ride roughshod over you

and everyone else in this city.

Perhaps...

you should try stopping him
from doing what he likes.

I will.

Do you like it, Nana?

Another golden rose.
How original.

I eat from plates
stamped with roses.

I sleep in sheets
embroidered with roses.

I have a golden rose
painted on my chamber pot,

as if that makes it
smell any better.

Roses are boring, dear.

"Growing strong."

Ha! The dullest words
of any house.

"Winter is coming!"

Now that's memorable.

"We do not sow."
Strong. Strong.

Those are houses
you watch out for.

Direwolves and krakens,
fierce beasts.

But a golden rose
growing strong--

ha, that strikes fear
in the heart.

Look, little loves.

A spider in the garden.

Run along now.

Grow strong.

My lady.

I wanted to personally
welcome you to King's Landing.

The city has been made
brighter by your presence.

The city is made brighter
by my presence?

Is that your usual line,
Lord Varys?

Are you here to seduce me?

A little obvious, perhaps.

Oh, no, please.

Seduce away.
It's been so long.

Though I rather think
it's all for naught.

What happens when the nonexistent
bumps against the decrepit?

A question for
the philosophers.

But you've come mincing
all this way for something.

- So?
- Might I sit?

No.

Come, I've heard
you're such a clever man.

I'm curious why
you've sought me out.

You've taken an interest
in Sansa Stark.

Have I?

Because I spoke to her
once in this garden

and one of your little spies
came running to tell you?

Why shouldn't I take
an interest?

- She's an interesting girl.
- Is she?

No, not particularly.

But she's had
an interesting childhood.

She has, sadly.

Well, forgive me for wasting
your time, then.

I thought we shared certain
hopes for her well-being.

Come, come.

You surrender rather easily.

Walk with me.

I know the walls have ears,

but apparently
the shrubbery does, too.

I choose my allies carefully

and my enemies
more carefully still.

Which is Sansa Stark?

Neither.
A babe in the woods.

- I admired her father.
- Yes.

Ned Stark had many admirers,

and how many stepped forward

when the executioner
came for his head?

I could not help Lord Stark.

- Perhaps I can help his daughter.
- How?

You're not the only one who
has taken an interest in her.

That's hardly surprising.

She's a beautiful girl
with a famous name.

Indeed. She'd make a lovely
match for the right suitor.

It almost feels as if you're
about to arrive at the point.

Littlefinger is not long
for the capital.

A confidant of mine has told me

that when he goes,
Sansa Stark goes with him.

And why have you come
to me with this matter?

Littlefinger was born with no
lands, no wealth, no armies.

He has acquired the first two.

How long before
he has the army?

Perhaps you'll laugh,

but I know him better than most

and this is the truth.

Littlefinger is one of the most
dangerous men in Westeros.

If Robb Stark falls,

Sansa Stark is the key
to the North.

And if Littlefinger marries her,
he'll have the key in his pocket.

Which seems such a shame.

Why should a man
with such a low reputation

steal away such a lovely bride?

You must despise him.

You're working so hard
to undermine him.

Actually, I rather enjoy him.

But he would see
this country burn

if he could be
king of the ashes.

You are a clever man,
Lord Varys.

You are too kind.

I believe I have
a possible solution.

One doesn't need
to be clever for that.

It's all rather obvious,
isn't it?

Ahem.

I didn't mean to disturb you.

You haven't.

We'd like some privacy, please.

If you wouldn't mind
waiting back inside the keep.

Or if you'd be kind enough
to give me your names,

I'll ask the king
to speak with you himself.

What did you pray for?

- I can't tell you.
- Why not?

I'll tell you what I prayed
for in the sept this morning.

Let's see, for my family's
health and happiness,

for an end to the war,
for a short winter.

Boring and traditional,
I'm afraid.

- And you?
- I'm sorry, I just can't.

My cousin Alanna

was the most beautiful
girl I'd ever seen.

When I was 12, I was
all elbows and knees

and Alanna looked like a
goddess sent to torture me.

Pig-face, she called me.

Pig-face?
That's ridiculous.

I think it had something
to do with my nose.

Whenever she passed me
in the halls, she'd oink.

So I prayed that she'd catch
a horrible skin disease.

A week after that, she came
down with porridge plague.

- Porridge plague?
- You don't have it in the North?

Your skin starts
to look like boiled oats

and eventually your face slides
off and you die in agony.

But that's awful.

You're--

I believed you!

Porridge plague.
I'm an idiot.

Don't say that.
No, you're not.

So what happened to Alanna?

Oh, she grew up to be
the most beautiful woman

and married a handsome lord
and they have darling children

and live in a castle
by the sea.

It's all terribly frustrating.

I'm sure she's jealous
of you now.

You'll be married
here in the capital

and she'll have to come watch and
pretend to be happy that you're queen.

I want us to be friends,
good friends.

That would make me very happy.

You must see Highgarden.

You'd love it there.
I know you would.

We have a great masquerade the
night of the harvest moon.

You should see the costumes.

People work on them for months.

I-- I don't think
the queen

would let me leave
King's Landing.

The Queen Regent, you mean.

Once I marry Joffrey,
I'll be queen.

And if you were
to marry Loras...

Oh, your place would be at
Highgarden, wouldn't it?

We would be sisters, you and I.

Would you like that?

His name was Bannen.

He was a good man,

a good ranger.

He came to us from--

where did he come from?

Down White Harbor way.

He came to us
from White Harbor.

Never failed in his duty.

He kept his vows
the best he could.

He rode far, fought fiercely.

We shall never see
his like again.

And now his
watch has ended.

And now his watch has ended.

Didn't think a broke foot
could kill a man.

It wasn't his foot
that killed him.

That bastard Craster
starved him to death.

Craster's got
his daughters to feed.

You on his side?

We can't just show up
and steal all his food.

We're brothers of the
Night's Watch, not thieves.

The day we leave,

Craster will tap
a barrel of our wine

and sit down to a feast
of ham and potatoes

and laugh at us

starving in the snow.

He's a bloody wildling
is all he is.

Never knew Bannen
could smell so good.

You have one son,
don't you, Mormont?

I had my 99th.

You ever meet a man
with 99 sons?

And more daughters
than I can count.

- I'm glad for you.
- Are you now?

Me, I'll be glad when you
and yours have gone.

As soon as our wounded
are strong enough.

Ah.

They're as strong
as they're gonna get.

Them that's dying,

why don't you cut their
throats and be done with it?

Hmm?

Or leave them
if you've not the stomach

and I'll sort them myself.

Whose throat you
gonna cut, old man?

Wait outside.

It's cold outside and
there's nothing to eat.

My wives gave you bread.

There's sawdust in the bread.

You don't like it,

you go out there
and eat the snow.

I'd rather eat what
you've got hidden away.

I told you to wait outside.

He's sitting there
drinking our wine,

eating his fill while we die.

I gave you crows enough.

I've got to feed my women!

So you admit you've got
a hidden larder, then?

How else'd you make it
through winter?

Enough!
Out!

I am a godly man.

You're a stingy bastard!

Bastard?

Out with you, you little thief.

And you!
And you!

Go sleep in the cold
on empty bellies.

I'll chop the hands
off the next man

who calls me bastard.

You are a bastard.

A daughter-fucking,
wildling bastard.

The gods will
curse us for this.

- By all the laws--
- There are no laws beyond the Wall.

Now show us where
he hides the food

or you'll get
the same as he did.

Unhand her.

I shall have your head for this.

- Quickly. Quickly.
- What's happening?

- I'm not going out there.
- No, we have to go. Now!

Follow me.
I know the best way.

Come on.

Run fast, Piggy,

and sleep well!

I'll be cutting your throat
one of these nights.

Can I take
this hood off yet?

I do apologize, little lady,

but it's better for you if you
don't see where we're going.

Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa.

Halt!

- What is it?
- Blackstrap rum.

Ugh!

Not easy finding
molasses in wartime.

I'd have some.

Let's go home.

What is this place?

Somewhere neither wolves
nor lions come prowling.

You look like
a bunch of swineherds.

Some of us
were swineherds.

And some of us tanners
and masons.

That was before.

You're still swineherds

and tanners and masons.

You think carrying a crooked
spear makes you a soldier?

No.

Fighting in a war
makes you a soldier.

Beric Dondarrion?

You've seen better days.

And I won't see them again.

Stark deserters.

Baratheon deserters.

You lot aren't
fighting in a war.

You're running from it.

Last I heard, you were
King Joffrey's guard dog.

But here you are
1,000 miles from home.

Which of us is running?

Untie these ropes
and we'll find out.

What are you doing
leading a mob of peasants?

Ned Stark ordered me
to execute your brother

in King Robert's name.

Ned Stark is dead.

King Robert is dead.

My brother's alive.

You're fighting for ghosts.

That's what we are--

ghosts waiting for you
in the dark.

You can't see us,

but we see you.

No matter whose cloak
you wear--

Lannister, Stark,
Baratheon--

you prey on the weak,

the Brotherhood without
Banners will hunt you down.

You found god?
Is that it?

Aye.
I've been reborn

in the light
of the one true god.

As have we all.

As would any man who's seen
the things we've seen.

If you mean to murder me, then
bloody well get on with it.

You'll die soon enough, dog.

But it won't be murder,
only justice.

And a kinder
fate than you deserve.

Lions you call yourselves.

At the Mummer's Ford, girls
of seven years were raped

and babes still on the breast

were cut in two while
their mothers watched.

I wasn't at the Mummer's Ford.

Dump your dead children
at some other door.

House Clegane was built
upon dead children.

I saw them lay Prince Aegon
and Princess Rhaenys

before the Iron Throne.

Do you take me for my brother?

Is being born Clegane a crime?

- Murder is a crime.
- I never touched the Targaryen babes.

I never saw them,
never smelled them,

never heard them bawling.

You want to cut my throat,
get on with it!

But don't call me murderer

and pretend that you're not.

You murdered Mycah.

The butcher's boy.

My friend.

He was 12 years old.
He was unarmed.

And you rode him down.

You slung him over your horse
like he was some deer.

Aye, he was a bleeder.

You don't deny
killing this boy?

I was Joffrey's sworn shield.

- The boy attacked the prince.
- That's a lie!

I hit Joffrey.
Mycah just ran away.

Then I should have killed you.

Not my place
to question princes.

You stand accused of murder.

But no one here knows
the truth of the charge,

so it is not for us
to judge you.

Only the Lord of Light
may do that now.

I sentence you
to trial by combat.

So, who will it be?

Should we find out
if your fire god

really loves you, priest?

Or you, archer? What are you
worth with a sword in your hand?

Or is the little girl
the bravest one here?

Aye.

She might be.

But it's me you'll fight.

The master says
they are untested.

He says you would be wise
to blood them early.

There are many small cities
between here and there,

cities ripe for sacking.

Should you take captives,

the masters will buy the healthy
ones and for a good price.

And who knows?

In 10 years, some of
the boys you send them

may be Unsullied in their turn.

Thus all shall prosper.

Is it done, then?
They belong to me?

It is done.

You hold the whip.

Dracarys.

Sync and corrections by honeybunny
Resync for WEB-DL by ost0ne, addic7ed.com

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