All language subtitles for House.of.the.Dragon.S02E06.720p.WEB.x265-MiNX

The Golden Tooth

is honored to receive you,
my Lord Lannister.

I have 500 fighting men, armed

- and full of spirit.
- I bring a thousand knights of my own

and seven times as many archers
and men-at-arms.

By the time we are finished
with the Riverland scum,

the Red Fork will have earned its name.

We are ready to march
at your command, my lord.

I suppose you will make
for Harrenhal at once.

I want you to send
a raven to King's Landing.

Tell my brother we are ready to march

as soon as Prince Aemond
is able to join us

on Vhagar.

And until the prince makes his answer,
my lord?

My men have had a long march.

They are most eager
to embrace the hospitality

of your keep.

He dares to summon me!

"With haste"?

Are the Lannisters so diminished
that they cannot march

from the Tooth to Harrenhal
without an escort?

There is a large dragon in the Riverlands,
Your Grace.

My brother's army is strong,
but it does seem...

I am the prince regent,

not a dog to be called to heel.

Tell your brother that if he does not
deliver his host

to Harrenhal, "with haste,"

Daemon's dragon will become
the least of his worries.

Your irritations are justified, Aemond,

- but it does seem...
- I have a task for you

as well, Ser Tyland.

We will make an alliance
with the Triarchy.

I've had enough of this cursed blockade.

My prince, you cannot mean to treat
with the Free Cities.

The captains of their ships
are dangerous mercenaries,

- little more than pirates...
- They are a stone's throw away

across the Narrow Sea.

Lannister and Hightower ships
will take months to arrive.

The Triarchy will delight in the chance
to terrorize the Sea Snake again.

Let them weaken his blockade

while our true allies make
their long journey east.

The Triarchy may play at accepting terms,
but they are not to be trusted.

Your father knew this.

What has come of our letters
to the Greyjoys?

They have been to no avail.

The Red Kraken waits,
seeking his best advantage.

Though we may draw him in with honey,
if it comes to it.

An offer of marriage, perhaps,
to the dowager queen?

Out of the question.

Alas.

The dowager queen
speaks wisely, Your Grace.

Even if the blockade could be broken,

are we to invite these alien raiders
into our waters

so close to King's Landing?

It's time you set out
for Harrenhal, I think.

Your Grace, if Daemon prevails
in the Riverlands,

I no longer have the numbers
to challenge him.

We lost much at Rook's Rest,
as you well know.

The longer we wait,
the more chance he will prevail.

Lannister will march from the west.

Take what strength we have
and force Daemon

and his Riverlords to fight on two fronts.

His Grace speaks wisely.

We would do better to await
the Hightower host

- and set out in good time.
- There is no time.

It's a fortnight's march to Harrenhal.

We must strike before his army is raised.

And you yourself?

I will fly out to meet you
when the time is ripe.

My uncle is a challenge I welcome,

if he dares face me.

I see we're all agreed.

Your Grace.

Mother,

a word.

I caution you, Aemond,
boldness is one thing,

- but overconfidence...
- Remind me of your place

on the small council.

You know very well I represented

your father during the last
years of his life

- and I have been a councilor to Aegon.
- Capably so.

My father's dead

and Aegon is...

You served the realm well

at a time of need.

That need is ended.
You are no longer obliged.

It's not a matter of obligation.

This council has need
of a tempering voice.

We have more than enough of those,
if you ask me.

You have the impetuousness of youth
and its arrogance,

neither of which
is to be desired in a king.

I release you of your seat,

such as it was.

I'm sure you'll be much pleased
to return to more

domestic pursuits.

Have the indignities of your childhood
not yet sufficiently been avenged?

You have the gratitude of the crown.

Your Grace.

Bring him forth.

Ser Steffon Darklyn, Your Grace.

Is aught amiss, Your Grace?

My lords.

I find myself, Ser Steffon,
in an impossible position.

I have lost Princess Rhaenys
and her dragon.

I hold an island seat with no land army.

And I must not go to battle myself,
as I am constantly told,

lest I am slain or captured,

and with me, our hopes of victory.

There is still Daemon and Caraxes,
and the Rivermen.

That remains to be seen.

In any case, I must now proceed
as if I stand alone.

And I see now, that to do that,
I need more dragonriders

for Vermithor and Silverwing,
and for Seasmoke,

who I believe misses his bond.

But there are no more in your family,
Your Grace.

Your younger sons are babes.

There is Princess Rhaena.

She has attempted it, alas,

but the dragons here
would not take her as a rider.

- Then who could do it?
- You.

You are of noble birth.

And I had always heard,
as you know,

that the Darklyns and the Targaryens
had some common blood.

I looked into the history,
and indeed it is true.

Your grandmother's grandmother, Aeriana,
was born a Targaryen princess.

And I have been thinking,
could it be possible?

To even consider such a thing.

I must protest, Your Grace,
the risk involved in such a venture...

I am but a man.

The dragons are gods.

Your Grace honors me
beyond what I deserve.

You understand your peril, Ser Steffon?

I do not compel you to do this.

It has never been attempted before.

To claim a dragon,
you must also be prepared to die.

I well understand the risk
and I accept it with gladness.

I swore to ward my queen
with all my strength

and to give my blood for hers.

That is my oath, Your Grace.

Then perhaps the gods will favor us.

Brother?

Did you say it?

"The Heir for a Day."

Did you say it?

You can't possibly
still be angry about this.

My family was just destroyed.

You should've been at my side.

But instead you chose to celebrate
your own rise.

Laughing at me.

Laughing with the whores and lickspittles.

No.

You have no allies at court but me.

I have only ever defended you.

And everything I've given you,
you've thrown back in my face!

- I have decided...
- Don't.

...to name a new heir.

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.

No!

Open the door!

Open the door!

Open the door. Please.

Please.

Please.

May I be of assistance, Your Grace?

- What are you playing at, old man?
- I do wonder, Your Grace,

if you're getting enough sleep.

- This old place...
- Are you mocking me?

- No.
- Sit!

Or are you perhaps the culprit who
has been tampering with my peace?

A friend by day and a foe by night.

- To what end?
- To mine, perhaps.

Perhaps you resent my being here.

Perhaps...

you are an agent
of the Hightower rabble.

Or are you still in league
with your club-footed nephew?

- Or is it Rhaenyra herself?!
- I assure you...

I assure you, Your Grace.

Whatever your game is, Strong,

I assure you

- your king is on his guard.
- Yes, Your Grace.

And stop watching me.

You weren't going to bid me farewell?

There's something wrong with me.

Someone poisoned me.

The food, the wine.

Or else it's this swamp air, or...

The ghost of Harren the Black

moaning his curses from Kingspyre Tower.

Drivel! All of it!

The ghosts, the curses,
the blasted weirwood bed!

- I'm done with it!
- Ah, yes. It is your way, is it not?

When something does not please you,
you run.

Dragonstone, the Stepstones,
Pentos, Harrenhal.

I awake and I do not know where I've been.

There are older things in this world
than you or I, or living memory.

You are not the player,
but a piece on the board.

As am I, for that matter.

I'm not like you.

In some ways, no.

You struggle to see there's an anger
that blinds you.

She never even wanted it.

The crown. She spared it no thought.

Well, that's perhaps why your brother
gave the crown to her.

Perhaps those who strive for it
are the least suited to wear it.

Don't lecture me!

Viserys never wanted it himself,
if you recall.

It came to him, and he did his best.

It's not a prize to be won,
but a burden to bear.

If you have any counsel for dealing
with the Riverlords,

I'd be glad of it.

Daemon Targaryen asking for help?

Counsel.

House Tully is not the largest house
in the Riverlands,

nor is it the richest,
but it is the most stable.

The Tullys' wisdom has kept
the river houses in line for centuries.

They would kill each other
to the last man

if it were not for their liege lord.

That dotard is of no use to us.

But Grover Tully is their Lord Paramount.

Without him, they will never raise
their banners as one.

Rivermen are made of mud.

They would rather die stuck in it
than yield one inch to one another.

Then I can do nothing.

You...

no.

I need help, Alys.

Do nothing now.

In three days' time, the winds will shift.

SLOW, SLOW.

CALM.

Gods.

SERVE.

Seasmoke...

Dohaeras.

CALM, SEASMOKE!

CALM!

OBEY!

Do not show fear.

Rybas!

SERVE ME.

I've done it.

SERVE, SEASMOKE!

No.

Mother!

Up, up, up!

Alyn!

M'lord.

I'm pleased with our progress.

This ship will sail in a few days' time.

The blockade is sure to be
challenged,

be it by Lions or Krakens.

Your men will be glad
to have you among 'em.

I wish you to sail with me.

As my first mate.

I'm grateful for the offer, m'lord, but...

We will set course for Sharp Point.

Lord Bar Emmon wishes to send his nephew
aboard as a boatswain.

There are more experienced men
at your service.

I was younger than you
when I took my first command.

You distinguished yourself
in the Stepstones

and you have the respect of the crew.

You are a fine choice for this post.

Is this an order or a request?

I will expect you to report
for your duties on the morrow.

As my lordship commands.

- Bit thin, isn't it?
- It's either that or the fish.

Nothing but fish in this damn city.

An ale here.

Aught to eat with it?

Don't think I can stomach it, lass.

Yeah, you've made the right choice there,
I'll tell you that.

Makes you sick, doesn't it?

Knowing they're banqueting
every night at the castle,

- while we go without.
- That can't be true.

My girls were taken to the Red Keep
a few nights ago.

Feasting and merriment
for the new Prince Regent.

No! And him always acting so correct.

I'll tell you, he's no penny pincher.

They were well-paid, and well-fed too.

On what? Fish with more fish on the side?

Racks of lamb, my love.
Mince pies, honey cakes,

beef and gravy.

And what do you think?

There is to be another revel
on the morrow with dancing.

That ain't right.

Apologies, my good man.

I should not have spoken so free.

The royals would never countenance me

speaking about their bounty,
even if it's true.

King Viserys loved his feasts and his wine

but never while our smallfolk
went without.

Aye. But he's gone now

and his rightful heir denied her seat.

Well, no use wondering
what might have been.

...I am far from alone
among your councilors

in holding this to be a truly
unfortunate result, Your Grace.

Seasmoke has fled Dragonstone
and Ser Steffon was a valiant knight.

Most regrettable
if, perhaps, foreseeable.

I myself, if you recall,
was in favor of treating with Lord Mooton

to march on Rook's Rest.

A more conventional approach,
true, not as sensational.

And his numbers were few,
but we may yet retake...

It is my fault, I think,
that you have forgotten to fear me.

It was worth the risk,
no matter the outcome.

More good men killed?

- That's my fault.
- Ser Steffon went willingly.

It was a reckless thought.

That an ancient Valyrian beast
would suffer a Darklyn to ride it.

Surely he was not the only possibility.

Might there not be others
among the highborn of the Seven Kingdoms?

And who will be so foolish as to try,
after hearing what befell Ser Steffon?

I will look again.

But Darklyn had the most likely claim.

There is good news to be had.

The smallfolk of King's Landing
are listening.

They were ready enough to hear.

The usurpers have abandoned them.

They are hungry
and they need someone to blame.

Will it be enough?

We have laid the kindling only.

Tonight we will light it,
and watch it begin to flare.

And when it does,
Aemond will put it down with force.

That will make it rise the hotter.

He cannot destroy his own city.

Neither can they overthrow him.

Maybe not, but it is harder
to wage war abroad

when you must also keep peace at home.

Then let us see to our plan.

If I may, Your Grace.

This becomes you.

- That's the last one.
- Thank you.

- What? They haven't run out, have they?
- Nothing.

There ain't nothing left.

I've been waiting all day.
I'll take anything. Scraps?

Got enough sheep for your dragons then,
but none for us.

Where's our meat? We want meat!

It seems, Your Grace,
that the smallfolk have become restless.

So?

There is not food enough in the city.

Those with means have bought more
than their share.

All the more reason Ser Tyland
must break the blockade.

In the meantime, the people are hungry,
and their anger is rising.

The enemy without
may be fought with swords.

The enemy within is more insidious.

Why is this anger directed at us?

It is Rhaenyra the Pretender
who ordered the Gullet closed

and left them all to starve.

They still look to you
to ensure their well-being.

That is the burden of authority.

But you should not go it alone.

It does occur to me
that Your Grace has yet to name a Hand.

Ser Criston, of course,
served your brother

but you need one who may
advance your cause

with shrewdness and subtlety.

Do you take me for a fool?

- On the contrary, my prince.
- I've little patience

for the self-important, Lord Larys,

and even less for flatterers
and lickspittles.

But you are, as it happens, correct.

Every king needs a Hand.

I'll make it your responsibility.

My prince, it is an honor
I'd never considered

- for myself.
- No, not to serve as Hand, you toad.

To fetch him.
Send word to Otto Hightower.

My grandsire may be overcautious

but his devotion to his family
has never been in doubt.

You'll see it done.

Your Grace.

You're late.

I am happy to report
that His Grace the king

has regained consciousness this morning,
if only for a few moments.

You said there was little hope.

He is stronger than I thought.

This morning his breath comes easier.

He may yet live, thank the gods.

What happy news.

I'll see my brother.

Alone.

What do you remember?

Nothing.

You challenged Meleys.

It was foolish.

I remember nothing.

My prince?

You're in the most capable hands,
Your Grace.

It seems my brother has a long recovery
ahead of him, Grand Maester.

See that he is made to rest comfortably.

And I've decided there is nothing
to be gained with fretfulness.

Not all of us, I suppose,
are called to great deeds.

Some of us must serve in smaller ways

even if they are not what we would
choose for ourselves.

Meaning no offense.

None of this is your fault.

I want Mother.

Yes, well...

I know it's difficult, but...

I bring good news, Rhaena.

Prince Reggio has answered your letter.

He'll be most pleased
to shelter Rhaenyra's

youngest sons in Pentos.

And their half-sister.

Thought you'd be happy.

Or at least less morose.

You hate it here.

You misled me, my lady.

I did what?

There is a large dragon in the Vale.

Rumor of it began shortly after the war.

Ranging more broadly for food...

my maesters surmise.

It is large and formidable,
but alas, wild.

Alas.

A merchant cog, the Gay Abandon,
will take you to Pentos.

I'll send six good men
to protect you on the crossing.

You know you're not fooling anyone.

Lord Corlys has chosen to raise you up
to serve alongside him

and yet, you still continue
this subterfuge.

Don't want my men to get the wrong idea.

About what?

You're just like him.

Oh, you make an art of provoking me.

You saved his life, brother.

Do you never think about what
could be ours?

Or yours, anyway.

The riches, servants,

the Driftwood Throne.

We spent the whole of our lives

in the shadow of
the Sea Snake's great castle.

I do not wish to dwell in it any longer.

And so you belittle
your great opportunity.

While me he ignores

as he always has.

The Sea Snake would sooner have High Tide
claimed by the sea than call us his sons.

Stop wasting your life
waiting for something that'll never come.

It was a bold attempt.

I admire you for it.

They say you struck Lord Bartimos today

in view of the staff and guard.

The household is abuzz with it.

He's lucky I did not have his tongue.

And what did he say that was so

deserving?

I have tired of being protected,

Jace.

I bring to mind too much their mothers

or their daughters.

They must see in me a ruler.

And the symbols of authority
are not jewels and gowns

but the shield and the sword.

My ruler is my mother.

And I do not wish it otherwise.

Will you lead us to war yourself?

Well, for a certainty
I cannot remain here,

pacing the floors, waiting for defeat
and despair to visit me.

- Oh, don't be ridiculous.
- I'm doing all I can.

I have directed Lord Mooton to march
on Rook's Rest

and sent another raven
to the Vale to persuade...

We may marshal the strength of the Vale,
Maidenpool, and all our allies besides.

We will still never match the strength
of the Green armies.

We need Daemon and his dragon.

May I be free for even one hour

of the constant refrain of Daemon,
Daemon, Daemon...

Your Grace.

The lady Mysaria.

My queen, our gift is sent.

What gift?

Let us hope for clouds over
the Blackwater tonight.

You said he'd improved.

His Grace sleeps 9 hours of every 10

but he did open his eyes and speak,
however briefly.

His mending may be long and painful

but it is my sincere hope
that His Grace will be spared.

And what will he be if he lives?

My letters to my father.

I have sent ravens, again,
to Highgarden and to Oldtown.

And now, to all the great houses
in the Reach.

There has been no word from Ser Otto

as of yet.

There is war in the Reach now, Your Grace.

House Beesbury has raised arms
against the Hightower host.

Retribution for their lord's demise.

I'm sorry.

I'm sorry.

Sister.

Gwayne.

'Tis well that I found you.

I wish to give you my blessing.

Well...

my thanks to the queen dowager.

I wondered if you've heard from father?

I've sent ravens to Highgarden and Oldtown
but have had no reply.

I've heard nothing

but neither have I sent any message.

If he wrote letters, it would be to you.
You were always his favorite.

Strange there has been no word.

Otto Hightower is ever-resourceful.

He will send news
when there is news to send.

I often wonder what life could've been
if he had brought you to court instead.

I'm the eldest son.

It was right that I was raised at Oldtown.

But you were eight years of age
and motherless.

It must've been difficult.

You get on with it, don't you?

When there isn't any choice.

My son, Daeron.

What's he like?

- Does he not write to you?
- Less and less these days.

Ten-and-six now.

Letters, perhaps,
hold less of his interest.

He's stalwart.

Clever.

As adept with his lute
as he is with his sword.

And a feature in the fancies of many
a young lady, I'll wager.

He's kind.

That's good.

Kindness is a quality
I've found lacking in his brothers.

You did well to send him to ward.

Yes, it seems the Red Keep,
for all its privileges,

may, in fact, be a less
than salubrious environment

for the forming of young men.

Was it the court or was it their mother?

I'm sure you did your best.

I must join Ser Criston.

Wish us luck, sister.

I shall pray to the Warrior
for your safe return.

Farewell.

Your Grace.

This one stopped singing.

Isn't that strange?

I thought we might light a candle.

For Aegon

and all our lost souls.

You, where'd you get that food?

- Rhaenyra's ships.
- Ships?

They came ashore in the middle
of the night with gifts from the queen.

She thinks of us, even now!

Give me that!

Give it to me!

Get out of the way!

Your Graces, we must leave, now.

Get the queens to the wheelhouse!

Mind your flanks. Protect your corners.

Keep moving. This way, Your Grace.

'Tis the Queen of Fishes!

Keep moving!

Long live Queen Rhaenyra!

Get to the wheelhouse!

Long live Queen Rhaenyra!

Helaena!

Your Grace!

- My queen!
- Get off!

No! No!

Sheathe your swords!

Sheathe your swords!

You heard the queen!

Sheathe those swords!

No!

- Get back!
- Go, Helaena, go!

Out of my way! Out of my way!

Estermont!

My Queens! This way, inside!

Long live Queen Rhaenyra!

Long live Queen Rhaenyra!

Run them down if you must.

Ride! Ride!

No more.

My lord. Only the Grand Maester
instructed me to.

The king will be most eager
for his draught, in an hour.

The drink takes the pain away,
but it dulls your mind.

Oh, take heart, Your Grace,

you've already written
yourself into legend.

You survived dragonfire.

But I'm afraid you will never be whole.

Orwyle has exhausted his abilities.

He's bound your leg

but you will never run again.

Your mind

is all that remains to you.

I do not say that gladly.

I came screaming into the world

in the bowels of one
of Harren's great towers.

My lungs were strong,
but my foot so twisted that

my father named it sorcery.

Accusing a member of our household
of casting maligned spells.

Well.

People will pity you

either behind your back

or in your presence.

And they will stare

at you, at you...

or turn away.

And they will underestimate you.

And this will be your advantage.

No, no.

Your brother rules in your place now

which means that your life is in danger.

But I think you know that.

Help me.

Brother.

Daemon, she's gone.

I'm sorry.

You needed me.

I'm here now.

I'm here now.

Your Grace.

Sorrowful news from Riverrun, my king.

Lord Grover is dead.

The old man.

Indeed.

Young Oscar Tully is now Lord Paramount
of the Riverlands.

What was the manner
of Lord Grover's passing?

Well, he'd been ill, of course.

Riverrun's maesters
have been at their wits' end.

Our own healer, Alys Rivers,
volunteered her renowned skills.

She plied her craft but

there was naught more to be done.

Hey, look!

Get inside! Hurry!

Your banners were carried
from the ship into the city.

They went as far as the gates
of the Red Keep

before they were turned away.

It is, as we hoped,
a warning to the usurpers

that you have strength
beyond what they accredited.

I thought you'd be pleased.

I do not think I can win this war.

I think you are tired.

My own son questions my capabilities.

He thinks I need Daemon at my side.

- And Daemon himself.
- He has ever done what suits Daemon.

He was everything I wanted to be.

Carefree.

And dangerous.

A man.

And I was what he wanted.

Cherished by my father,
and made my father's heir.

We were halves of a whole.

He's never been at peace.

He wished to possess me,
but not to be possessed

and to see me take hold, finally,
of what he always believed to be his.

I fear what he may now do.

I fear he may have turned against me.

It is more his way to disappear.

In either case, I have lost him

and Caraxes with him.

Rhaenys and her dragon are dead.

I have Syrax and two young beasts.

We cannot take on Vhagar alone.

And I have no army.

You have the Velaryon fleet
and the men who fight in it.

It's not enough.

And even if we somehow prevailed

how will I rule a kingdom
when my own son doubts me?

You have me.

You have my thanks. Truly.

It was my father.

I was still a child.

He had his pleasure with me.

And when, after many months of this,

it became evident
that his seed had taken root.

There is a scar here as well.

I cannot bear children.

He left me for dead

but I lived.

I'm so sorry.

Swore to myself
I would never trust another.

And that oath has stood me well.

This world is cold and cruel,
and there are few in it who are steadfast.

You, I think, are steadfast.

You have seen me as worthy,
as an equal, even.

Because of that, I will serve you.

I believe you are meant to be queen.

Begging your pardon, Your Grace.

The dragon Seasmoke has been sighted
flying over Spicetown.

Yes, he does that.

From what we have heard,

he has a rider.

- Who?
- Impossible to tell from the ground.

- The Greens?
- I don't know who else it could be.

Shall I summon your counsel?

Mother!