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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.

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