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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...

Mm.

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.
- Mm.

Mm, 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. Please.

Please.

Please. Ah!

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.

Ah!

Perhaps...
you resent my being here.

Perhaps...

you are an agent

of the Hightower rabble.

Ha. 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.

Gods.

Seasmoke...

Dohaeras.

Do not show fear.

Rybas!

I've done it.

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.
- Hm.

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.

Mm, 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, uh, his...
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.

Mm, 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, hm?

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.

Hm, 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 nine 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.
- Mm.

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.

Mm...

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, n... 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.

Uhh... 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.
- Mm-hmm.

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!