Original subtitles

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 10 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.

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Dohaeras, Syrax!

Umbas.

Rybas!

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.

Dohaeras.

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?

Hey, 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?

Ugh, 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.

_

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Aye...

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Mm...

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_

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-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 enquiries 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? - Hm.

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.

And 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 summary judgments 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 small folk

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!

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? - Mm-hm.

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.

Ya!

- 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. - Help me, please...

I'm here. It's all right.

- It's all right. - I don't wanna do this.

You're going to be all right.

You're going to be all right.

Kill him!

And the day grows ugly.

I wonder if this is how we should

celebrate the birth of our future king.

- Hm. - 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!

- Viserys. - Yes?

They're going to bring the babe out now.

Mm.

I love you.

Ooh.

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

No... what is happening?

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

- Wh-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. Not in...

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

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

- Oh 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!

Yield.

Yield.

Gods. He's Dornish.

I was hoping to ask for the Princess's 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.

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D...

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,

and 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.

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