All language subtitles for House.of.the.Dragon.S02E03.1080p.MAX.WEB-DL.DDP5.1.x264-NTb

Aeron Bracken, worst
horseman among us.

Must be my swordsmanship.

Can you even get that thing up?

Well enough
for killing Blackwoods.

Bracken!

Put the boundary
stones back.

We didn't move them.

Oh, did they move
themselves, then?

Just rolled
their way over

so Bracken cows
can fill their bellies

- on Blackwood grass?
- The assize at Riverrun...

Fuck the assize...

and fuck you.

This is our land.

It's Bracken land.

- Babe-killer.
- What did you say?

Your false queen,
Rhaenyra, is a kinslayer.

Your uncle declared
for Aegon, did he?

Well then,
let me tell you

Aegon Targaryen
is no true king...

just as you are
no true knight.

You're both craven,
little cunts!

You wouldn't dare.

He is the basest of villains.

He sullies the grave
of his brother.

I cannot fault him
for keeping his oath.

And what of those
who sent him?

Otto Hightower
would never have allowed this.

Hotter blood has prevailed,
I think.

The young men have taken the bit
in their teeth.

They wish to punish,
to avenge.

Soon they will not even remember
what it was

that began the war
in the first place.

That is easy enough.
They usurped my throne.

That is one answer.

Or was it when the child
was beheaded?

Or when Aemond
killed Luke...

or when Luke took
Aemond's eye?

We teeter now at the point
where none of it will matter.

And the desire
to kill and burn takes hold

and reason
is forgotten.

There may be
another way.

Alicent Hightower.

When last we met,
Alicent said I would make a fine queen.

You've seen what has
happened since then.

She came to me in the hours
after your lord father's death.

She knows war
is coming,

and that it'll be savage beyond
all compare.

There is no war so hateful to the gods
as a war between kin.

And no war so bloody
as a war between dragons.

- I do not believe she wants it.
- She sent a raven.

I do not care
to read her message.

- What she did...
- It is not her but the men around her who seek bloodshed.

She permitted it.

As you permitted
the murder

of a little boy
in his bed.

Alicent is in King's Landing.
Her son sits my throne.

There is nothing
more to be said.

Is all well, lord Hand?

Only they'll
be waiting.

...there have
been tidings in...

Good morrow, Your Grace.
My lords.

- Forgive my lateness.
- Important business, no doubt.

You've appointed
new knights

- to the Kingsguard, Your Grace.
- To replace those we lost.

The last one needlessly,
some might say.

Ser Arryk was awarded
the great duty of ending Rhaenyra's challenge.

He failed
to discharge it.

He failed because
the scheme was rash.

Perhaps, Your Grace,
but we cannot all hide in our castles

waiting for war
to come to us.

As now it surely will.

As, now, it already has.

House Bracken took it upon themselves
to attack the Blackwoods,

who declared
for the pretender.

Lord Samwell Blackwood
himself is slain.

Good.
First blood in our name.

Both sides took heavy losses,
Your Grace.

I-I'm not
entirely certain

we can declare
this a victory.

The Blackwoods
and the Brackens

have feuded
for centuries.

This is nothing more

than an excuse
for them to indulge

their ancient grudge.
It's no true war.

Call it what you will...
I call it war.

And so will Dragonstone.

The question is,
what are we going to do about it?

We send a raven
to Lord Tully.

These houses are his vassals,
are they not?

- He must control them.
- Lord Grover Tully is a flaccid, old fool

who couldn't control
his cock in a cunny.

Begging your pardon,
Your Grace.

Do you have
any better suggestions, Lord Jasper?

Your lord uncle Ormund
marches from Oldtown

at the head of a great host,
Your Grace.

And your brother
Daeron's dragon nears fighting age.

Call on them
to suppress the Riverlands.

Alas, they are months away.

My lord brother Jason

is raising a great army
at Casterly Rock.

In a matter of weeks,
he will be able

to harass the Blackwoods
from the west.

Should we not aim
to unite these armies

and then strike as one?

Ah, the great military mind
of the Citadel.

- I served the realm...
- Do remind me,

which link in your chain
denotes the art of war?

This council must rediscover
the discipline it lately had

if it's to be
of any use.

The Riverlands are
the key to the war.

Harrenhal is the key
to the Riverlands.

I will ride out
with those I can muster here.

Men I know,
men I've trained.

You need time to raise
the numbers to challenge the Rivermen.

Speed is my ally.

I will turn
the Crownland houses

who declared
for Rhaenyra to our cause.

We will add their numbers to our own
and then turn west.

Where I will enlist
the Brackens,

subdue the Riverlands,
and take Harrenhal.

So impatient to ride
with so few men.

So like to be destroyed
by the first stronghold you meet.

- A bold scheme indeed.
- Well, the gods favor the bold.

They did not favor Ser Arryk.

What say you, my king?

And you'll take
Aemond and Vhagar?

Vhagar will remain here...

to defend the city.

Good.
To war, then.

Hm.

- I'll come, too, with Sunfyre.
- Aegon.

- Your Grace.
- You'll need a dragon.

My plan is not
to draw attention.

And-And what will you do
if you encounter one or more

of Rhaenyra's
dragons?

She'll want to answer
for Ser Arryk.

We will be more like
to encounter one

if we field one
of our own.

That is precisely
why you must remain, brother.

It's a brave thought,
but we cannot risk your loss.

I'm as fearsome
as any of them.

Oh.

I was told you turned back
from your ship to bring warning.

I was not
believed at first.

You saved
my life.

What is the life
of a queen worth these days?

Hm, you wish
to be rewarded.

As, I would think,
you would wish to reward me.

What price
would you set?

A place
at your court.

You said your earnest desire
was to flee Westeros.

And you
let me go.

You showed me grace
when you could have withheld it.

I'm not often
surprised.

One turn
for another, then.

I know the workings
of the Red Keep,

and the movements
of those who serve there.

That is worth more
than gold to you now.

And what is
my worth to you?

I would punish
the Hightowers

for what they
have done.

To me...
to those who served me.

But more than that,
I know the struggles

of the smallfolk
of King's Landing.

They will be ruled either by you
or by the usurper.

And only one of you
has shown yourself to be merciful.

Well, I hope you
do not confuse mercy with pliancy.

Are they
always like this?

Seasmoke, my late
lord husband's dragon.

He's grown
restless of late.

- We cannot know why.
- Maybe he's lonely.

Rhaena.

Your Grace.

I've decided to send
Joffrey to ward

with my cousin,
Lady Jeyne Arryn.

She has pledged an army
in return for a dragon,

so she will have one.

Aegon and Viserys
will accompany him

until a place of greater safety
can be found.

Tyraxes is
but a hatchling.

- And Stormcloud...
- I want you to go with them.

The Red Keep
is in disarray.

They have sent one assassin
in the night

and their dragons
are ever a short flight away.

You must take the little ones further.
To Pentos, I think.

Where my mother died.

It is safer than anywhere
in Westeros.

Write to Prince Reggio.

If he will have you,
then go to him.

I am sorry to put
this upon you.

It breaks my heart
to send my boys away,

not knowing when I
will see them again.

But you have seen
what may befall them here.

Rhaena...

I need you to be the mother
to them that I cannot.

Teach them,
train them,

guard them as a dragon
guards her eggs.

And my sister?

- I need Baela here.
- Because she has a dragon.

I cannot promise
to make you happy.

But I ask you:

make this sacrifice willingly,

for all of us.

Your Grace.

Dragon!

Halt!

I'm claiming Harrenhal.

Apparently so.

I, Ser Simon Strong,
Castellan of Harrenhal,

pledge fealty to Rhaenyra
of House Targaryen,

First of Her Name.

I swear this by the old gods
and the new.

Supper is venison
with black cabbage and peas.

No redcurrant.
Sorry about that.

That venison
is well aged.

Shame to let it waste.

I've survived
many a battle.

I do not mean to be felled
by poisoned peas.

I'll admit that
my cook's peas

aren't exactly the stuff of legend,
but poison?

Well, it's an easy way
to kill a dragonrider.

If you've not yet surmised,
you are welcome here.

And what of your lord,
Larys Strong, hm?

He who sits
at the false court of Aegon?

Larys Clubfoot
is no lord of mine.

He is a scourge upon this castle
and this family.

Do you not think it's strange
that his father...

my nephew, Lord Lyonel,
perished by fire?

And his son, too,
here in this damp place?

It was the first fire here
since Balerion ended

the line of Harren the Black.

Even in the summer,
we struggle to light the hearths.

So, no, you will find no loyalty
to Larys Strong here, my prince.

"Your Grace."

Forgive me.
I-I, um...

I... I'd only assumed
that as consort...

Then we are reminded
of the perilousness of assumption.

Indeed.

Your Grace.

What then brings you
to our corner of the Riverlands?

Harrenhal is the largest castle
in the Seven Kingdoms.

Or perhaps that has
escaped your attention.

But it is also,
not to be argumentative,

in something
of a state of disrepair

since your forbear incinerated much of it
with his dragon.

Well, that is precisely why we must bring it
into a state of repair.

Even if we possessed
the coin, my prin...

Your Grace,
to what possible end?

There are 40,000 swords
in the Riverlands,

the largest undeclared
host in the realm.

Only Harrenhal is of a size enough
to garrison them.

You should know that
a substantial number

of those swords
have now declared

and are
presently at war.

Houses Bracken and Blackwood have long
detested one another.

- Why?
- Oh, well...

the answer to that is...
lost in time.

Sin begets sin begets sin.

Summon your lord paramount

so that I may treat
with him myself

and turn them to our cause.

That would be Lord Grover Tully,
but he grows frail.

It's said that he can
no longer speak...

nor seal his bowels.

Begging your pardon
for the impression.

His grip on his
bannermen is weak.

They feel they can
do as they please.

I will speak
with him nonetheless.

People should obey
their liege lord...

whatever his condition.

Perhaps the presence
of the crown

and a dragon

will sharpen minds
around these parts.

Might I ask,
Your Grace...

if you are
successful,

w-well, when you
are successful...

what then?

We march on King's Landing
and take the throne.

The throne.

It's a big chair
made of swords.

Standard-bearers to the front!

Packhorses to the rear!

Clear way for
the mounted knights...

Lord Commander.
Your host is mustered and ready to march.

He enjoys battle.

I'm glad we're together,
even briefly.

Ser Criston.

May I present my brother,
Ser Gwayne Hightower,

arrived last night
from Oldtown.

Ser Criston.

Or mayhaps I should say,
my lord Hand?

Ser Gwayne,
welcome to King's Landing.

How exhilarating
to arrive at court after

three long months
on the road

to find my lord father,

who served
three kings faithfully,

unseated as
Hand of the King.

And by a man from such
modest beginnings.

Hm.

What a giddying ascent
the gods have bestowed on you.

Ser Gwayne has volunteered
to accompany you into battle.

We have a full
complement, Your Grace.

Then you shall
have a fuller one.

The march will
be hard, Ser.

No one is more
delighted than I

to march out to war
with a Dornishman.

Sister.

May the Seven guide you,
good knight...

and lead you not into shadow
and death.

I thank Your Grace
for her prayers.

And request that
she grant her favor...

that her Lord Commander
may go into battle with her blessings

in his heart.

Your Grace.

Hyah!

Still no sightings.

No men, no horses,
no ships.

- No dragons.
- Good.

Then we must seize the hour and act
before our enemy does.

They have penetrated
our castle walls,

and now
the Riverlands are aflame

after the Battle
at the Burning Mill.

How fares
Prince Daemon with our army?

There has been no word
from Prince Daemon, Your Grace.

Then we must press
what advantage we do have.

- And what is that?
- Dragons. Send them all out.

Start turning
Green strongholds to our cause

- and burn those who resist.
- No.

If dragons begin
fighting dragons,

we invite our
own destruction.

Fear of it is
in itself a weapon.

The Greens will make the same calculation.

The value of a sword
is not within its scabbard.

We will secure
victory with armies,

not with dragons alone.

The Greens understand that.

The Vale
and the North will send men.

We must give Daemon time.

Ah, Your Grace, you have
witnessed firsthand just how

vulnerable you are.

Prince Daemon
is abroad,

and Aegon's factions
are enraged at the death of his son.

You have never
been so exposed.

Perhaps it is time
for you to think about

secreting
yourself somewhere safe,

while we remain here

as a source of distraction
for the enemy.

You propose to conduct
the war in my absence.

- It would merely be a precaution...
- It would be treason.

You are fortunate
you took it no further.

This council would
do well to remember

that their queen wears
the crown of my grandsire,

Jaehaerys the Conciliator.

A prudent ruler,
the wisest of Targaryen kings,

whose reign outlasted
every other...

even Aegon the Conqueror's.

So, how do they fare?

The ditherers of Dragonstone?

Rhaenyra's council is wayward.
She has a hard task.

I must hope
she will rise to it,

but I fear she'll need you
by her side sooner than late.

This bread,
still warm.

There's broth too.
I made sure of it.

I am no longer
an invalid.

I bade farewell
to Rhaena before I returned.

I wish
her well.

I would fight a hundred battles
before I went into exile

with none
but prattling babes.

One of those babes
is your heir.

Joffrey.

A boy of six
who knows nothing of the sea

and yet
somehow...

It would displease
neither Rhaenyra nor the gods

if Rhaena were named
heir to Driftmark.

Rhaena?
Lord of the Tides?

The girl knows nothing of ships,
nor even of dragons.

There is Rhaena
or there is Joffrey.

Both soon to be far from the creak of ships
and the ocean's roar.

Then we must
hope to...

see our way forward,
in time.

And if there
is no time?

We are at war, Corlys.

- If something were to befall you...
- Then... it is well

that I am
a good sailor.

I have much
to attend to.

Corlys, Corl...

I cannot spare
a fighting dragon,

but I send
what I can.

Stormcloud
and Tyraxes are small,

but they will grow.

It is for you
to remind Lady Jeyne of her pledge

and persuade her
of the urgency of our need.

Go safely, sister.

I will be
safe enough.

Far away
from any danger,

with only babes
to nursemaid.

You do a great service,

and may yet find yourself glad to be
out of harm's way.

Do not coddle me, Baela.

- Grant me at least that dignity.
- I meant no insult.

We each do what we can.

And here, I think,
is some consolation.

Tyraxes and Stormcloud
are young and vulnerable.

These eggs are
even more fragile.

But should all come
to ruin here...

you will bear our hope
for the future.

Your Grace.

Mommy.

My Queen.

I feel sad
about Jaehaerys.

Mm, but I ought
not to, I think.

People die
all the time,

especially babes.

They're so little,
s-so they're taken so easily.

Sadness is
a condition of motherhood.

There's naught
to be gained from it.

That horrid procession
where the smallfolk all stared at me.

I warrant they thought
I had no more right to grief than they do.

Surely they lose
their babes more than highborn ladies.

The Stranger
comes for us all...

queen and commoner.

You have as much claim
to grief as anyone.

And you?

I loved Jaehaerys,
but my concern has been

more for you
and what you have endured.

- Uh, Helaena, I...
- I forgive you.

What?

I said that
I forgive you.

Suits you, Your Grace.

Valyrian steel.
Worth more than a castle.

A sight
to stir the passions.

Aegon the Conqueror reborn.

Just get on with it.

At once, Your Grace.

What is your business?

There are rumors that the King
readies himself to fly to war.

And what is it to you?

Only that I think
it would benefit all of us

to prevent our king
from being brutally slain by our enemies,

and his body parts
scattered to beasts,

and his court
come to ruin.

Would you not agree?

What exquisite armor.

I was given the Conqueror's name
and his crown,

so I shall wear
his armor to war.

I fly to meet
Ser Criston.

Small imposition before you depart then,
Your Grace.

There are diverse rumors
whispered on the streets of your city.

One such is that
Your Grace sends his forces to battle,

and, in his courage
and wisdom,

flies with them.

Another is that His Grace
was outwitted by his counselors

and persuaded to fly to war
with Ser Criston,

so that
Queen Alicent

may reign
in his absence

with Prince Aemond
at her side.

Absurd, of course.

Who spreads these lies?

It matters little.

Tales take on
a life of their own...

like weeds.

Unless they
are tended.

Well, tend to them then.

Lord Larys.

My father always
said he had no use

for a master
of whisperers.

And yet...
I find myself wanting for one.

I should be glad
of your talents.

You honor me,
Your Grace.

Shall we escort you
to the Dragonpit, Your Grace?

Uh...

I think, mayhaps,
I shall fly another day.

Yeah, it-it does seem wise on reflection.

You could come out
with us, my king.

Ser Martyn has a new squire
that wants bedding in.

He's never
fucked a woman.

But you are sworn to chastity now.

Of course,
Your Grace.

Yes, Your Grace.

Hm.

No, no, no, no, no, no.
Don't tell me you're going.

- I'm not going yet.
- I've only just got here.

There he is!

Ulf, Ulf, come on, son!

It turns out,
it was her sister.

Probably should've told me.

I know, I know, I know!

Take that one.
You'll get your pound of flesh, don't worry.

Sit yourself down, mate.

- Hello.
- I've been tellin' this fella all about you.

Oh, lads.

- I've had quite a day of it.
- Yeah?

Not sure
I'm much for talkin'.

Although, you know,
a wet whistle works wonders.

Hm.

Come on, Ulf, give us
a flagon over there, yeah?

Yeah, my darling,
one for the flagon, one for yourself.

There's a good girl, eh?

No sense of fun,
some of 'em.

- For you, man of Dorne.
- Dornish, are ya?

- Yes, I am.
- The part of Westeros my house never settled.

Although,
it's said even Dorne

mourned the passing
of my grandsire. Is that so?

Who was your grandsire?

They call him
the Conciliator.

- King Jaehaerys?
- Shh!

Thousand apologies.
Please, continue.

Look, I-I really shouldn't be
telling you this.

You'll cost me
my head.

- You are saying you're a Targaryen?
- Shh-shh-shh.

I'm the son
of Baelon the Brave.

Bastard brother
to Prince Daemon

and the late King Viserys.

Uncle to the one true queen,
Rhaenyra Targaryen.

The blood of the dragon
runs through these veins.

And, yes...
men would take my head for it.

A Dragonseed must
watch his own neck

when he has no
white-cloaked guardsmen to do it for him.

You do not look very
much like King Viserys

or Prince Daemon.

How do you know
what they look like?

He speaks truth,
right enough.

Look, you can tell...
by his hair.

Yeah, 'cause I'm their half-brother, you fuckwit.

Yeah, I'll tell you
who else doesn't have silver hair.

The rightful heir
to the Iron Throne,

my nephew,
Prince Jacaerys Velaryon.

Here's your other nephew.

- All hail the King!
- All hail the King!

Drinks for all!
At the pleasure of the crown!

Woo! At the pleasure of the crown!

Sit down.
Sit yourself down.

- Sit!
- Drink the wine, boy.

- Come on, then!
- Drink up, little piggy!

This night is for you.

You!

Did I, did I tell you
I came here as a lad?

It's, mm,
a little tame,

but a good a place
as any to get it wet.

I know just the tutor
for you, my boy.

No.

She's worth three
times the price.

- Oh, gods be good.
- That's you!

Her name is, uh, Sylvi

or Selyse or, I don't know,
something like that.

Aemond, the fierce!

You have come so far,

and, and yet you still
lie with your very first.

What a fine,
sweet thing.

Did you fuck her
like a hound?

You see,
I do not exaggerate.

Such is
the madam's prowess,

that even now
my brother will not sample another.

Hard luck for your
squire, though.

As you can see,
she...

she's now
very much occupied.

Your squire is
welcome to her.

One whore is
as good as another.

Ah...

Ser Gwayne! Halt!

- Ser Gwayne, our company is camped back yonder.
- Mm.

On the cold,
hard ground.

Which is
why we make for the Bull,

a tavern with
an excellent reputation

on the Rosby Road,
not two miles away,

- if memory serves.
- We march to make the first strike

in the name
of His Grace.

I assure you, my nephew
will not begrudge me a night of comfort.

If it soothes
your brow, Cole,

we will rendezvous
with your army at first light.

Or, if their wine is good,

perhaps a little
after first light.

- We're exposed.
- What?

- Cole?
- Get to the trees!

Hyah! Hyah!

Hah! Hyah!

A good showing,
Ser Criston.

- I am in your debt.
- They know we're abroad. They'll be hunting.

And we must move
under the trees

and by cover of dark,
starting tonight.

And no fucking inns.

Ser Criston Cole...

with some half-dozen other knights,
I'm sure of it.

Perhaps a scout party
for a greater army.

The ravens confirm it,
Your Grace.

Lord Farring has reported
a larger force

moving northeast
towards Rosby.

Could you be certain
it was Cole from such a great height?

It was not such
a great height, Your Grace.

You said not to engage,
so I didn't, exactly.

Your Grace, we commend
the Lady Baela for her sharp eyes,

but we can tarry
no longer.

The time for action
is surely now.

Your Grace,
I must agree

and request
your permission

to return to Rook's Rest
and fortify my lands.

I shouldn't fret,
Lord Simon.

They'll be making
for Harrenhal.

'Tis Prince Daemon
who ought to worry.

Prince Daemon
has Caraxes.

Cole will look
to increase his numbers,

and he may call upon
a dragon of his own.

This is why you must act now,
Your Grace.

Loose the dragons.
Root Cole out and burn him.

I have heard
your arguments.

And will
consider them.

Always coming and going,
aren't you?

And I have
to clean up afterwards.

You will die
in this place.

...my youngest brother,
Emmon, would stand at guard

with the soldiers when
he was three years old.

Father has sent him
to the Citadel.

- Now, if you ask me...
- Thank you, Elinda.

Your Grace.

What do you know of the movements
of Alicent Hightower?

W-Would you take
her hostage?

Or kill her
outright?

I would speak
with her, myself.

Killing her
would be easier.

If war can be averted,
it is my duty to avert it.

I have reason to believe
she may be of the same opinion.

She sent a raven.
She has expressed her remorse.

I can have a message
brought to her,

- in secret.
- She would not agree to it.

She would suspect
some subterfuge,

as would I,
if I received such a message.

I must see her
face to face.

She is the queen dowager.

She goes nowhere
without many eyes watching her.

Unless...

- 'Tis fraught.
- Speak it.

There are fishing boats
aplenty in the bay.

The city
depends on them.

Daemon
made the journey unhindered.

- But if I'm recognized...
- You may be surprised to learn it,

but most folk pay no mind to a woman
who has not dressed as a queen,

or allured herself
for the eyes of men.

So, I make my way
to the Red Keep, I presume,

and ring the bell.

Or do I scale the wall
and enter at her window?

There is one place
Alicent goes

outside
the castle walls...

where you may yet
find her alone.

Stop.
Search the carts.

What's your business here?

Move 'em on through,
move 'em on through.

No, no. Shh.

- What...
- Shh.

- What... H...
- I must speak with you.

If I c-cry out?

Your knights
would find me.

I would be
taken or slain,

though not before
I killed you.

And then what?

W...

I have begun badly.

We watched the tourney
together, you and I...

the day my brother
was born.

We knew, even then,
that men trained up for battle

are eager to fight,
to seek blood and glory.

But you are...

I know you do not have
that desire within you.

Rhaenys has
counseled me.

She said she saw in you a wish to avert
the worst of what may now come.

So, you've come
to surrender then?

I have come to see if we may uncover
some path towards peace.

My dragons are restless.
They smell battle.

But if you and I
may come to terms...

There are
no terms now.

You have no army,

your allies turn from you
when they hear of your depravity,

your hands are bloodied in a crime
I could never have

- imagined you...
- The trespass was not mine.

Ah, think what
you will.

I am a mother too and you have yet
to answer for the murder of my son.

- I repudiate that act with all my heart.
- Of course, you do.

And the usurping of my rightful inheritance?

Have you now
stooped so low

that you will countenance
the suffering

and death
of thousands,

in order that
your feckless son...

Your father
changed his mind.

Oh, so you say.

And so your father
has proclaimed to the realm.

I saw the king
that night.

Mere hours before
I left him,

he had affirmed
my right to the throne,

a right he upheld
steadfastly,

every day of his life
after my mother died.

And yet, you will maintain that
his mind was changed

- in an instant?
- I will.

You lie.

No, Rhaenyra.

My father loved me,
Alicent.

And I believe
he loved you, too.

Did you betray him
at the very last?

When was your
plan first laid?

- Was your ambition so keen-
- He changed his mind, Rhaenyra.

He changed his mind.

I swear this to you
on the memory of my mother.

I have been, at times,
unkind, but never untrue.

I pronounced before all
gathered in that room

that you would make
a fine queen.

Do you think me capable
of such naked deceit?

What did he say,
at the end?

Did he speak my name?

He was weary.

It was hard,
at times, to understand.

But he spoke
Aegon's name.

He said he was
the prince that was promised

to unite the realm.

- What?
- I desire peace as you do,

- but if...
- Did my father use those words?

The Prince That Was Promised?

Did he?

Yes, he did.

He... spoke to you
of the Song of Ice and Fire?

It's a story
he once told...

about Aegon the Conqueror.

The C... The Conqueror.

You must go before
you are discovered.

- There's been a mistake.
- There's been no mistake.

Please.

You can prevent
this, Alicent.

A terrible war
is looming,

and even victory
may be so bloody

as to be counted
a loss.

- Do not let your pride blind...
- There's been no mistake.

My father is
gone from court.

Cole is on the march,
Aemond...

you know what Aemond is.

- It's too late, Rhaenyra.
- Alicent.