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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!

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