Original subtitles

- Only one. - That's enough, stand back.

Behold!

The traitor dragon Meleys!

Slain at Rook's Rest by your king!

To Aegon!

- It can't be... - They killed a dragon!

Mark my words, this is a black omen.

Rhaenyra will answer this.

'Tis an abomination.

Don't they realize we won the battle?

Strange victory

if it was one.

Behold!

The traitor dragon Meleys!

I thought the dragons was gods.

Slain at Rook's Rest by your king!

It's just meat.

Is he alive?

His Grace

remains with us, for the moment.

Is my son going to die?

I'm afraid I cannot say.

Now, if you'll excuse me, Your Grace, these next hours are most critical.

Of course.

Easy as you can.

Someone will have to rule in his stead.

- What happened? - We took the castle.

At the cost of some 900 men.

So I've heard.

I left a meager garrison behind to protect it

and the king's dragon.

Sunfyre was long in the dying.

The king, Ser Criston, what befell him?

His Grace fought valiantly.

And Aemond?

What was his part in this?

I could not say.

Our largest dragon has been killed.

Criston Cole marches about the Crownlands unchallenged.

Duskendale and Rook's Rest are gone.

We still have no ground army

but the one we hope that Daemon will raise.

He who has left us, after some marital spat.

Do you take issue with me, Ser Alfred?

My loyalty to you is proven, my queen.

Your loyalty, perhaps,

but your willingness to give me deference in a time of war.

I could never doubt your capability, or your quickness of mind.

It is merely that the gentler sex, heretofore, has not been much privy

to the strategies of battle, or their execution.

There has been peace in our lifetime.

You've seen no more battles than I have.

Send to Maidenpool and to Crackclaw Point.

Let them man their garrisons and give them stores or weapons

if they find them wanting.

If Cole pursues his campaign, our allies must be ready.

We must answer Rook's Rest

- and Duskendale. - They are lost already.

But Vhagar is depleted after such a hard-fought battle.

If Aegon is dead--

We will soon know it.

'Twould be a victory in name only.

They will soon prop up another in his stead.

The time is ripe.

If we can strike King's Landing before their dragon is recovered--

Then I myself must do it.

My queen, you are the crown. It is out of the question.

What would you have me do?

Jace?

Where are you going?

To Harrenhal.

To treat with Daemon.

Rhaenys is fallen.

He must affirm his loyalty to my mother and report his standing.

And you think you will tame him when the queen herself could not?

My mother gladly sends you away to scout, to fight,

whilst I'm here being forced to play the coddled princeling.

It's humiliating, Baela.

She only protects you.

You are the succession.

Then I must be seen to act for her claim and mine.

I can sit still no longer.

I must act.

The Freys.

They control the crossing at the Twins.

Cregan Stark's graybeards are marching south.

If his men had a direct route into the Riverlands,

we would not have to wait for Daemon to act.

I will treat with The Freys to secure it.

She will not like it.

Then don't tell her. Not until I'm away.

The hour is late and my dragon is hungry.

You have no choice but to submit.

Our terms are simple, Lord Bracken.

Renounce the false king Aegon as a usurper and bend the knee to me

or your house burns.

I would sooner be the Lord of Bones and Cinders

than bend my knee before some heathen Blackwood cunt

and his hired dragon.

The Brackens were a people hatched out

of the deepest of the Seven Hells, Your Grace.

It would be a kindness to oblige them

and send them back whence they came.

Did your brother's head keep on its way back to you, Willem?

I heard the maggots got to it.

That is quite the impression, Lord Bracken.

But alas, not an answer.

We choose fire.

I did not think they would be so eager to die.

They made their choice.

- You should've indulged them. - I need them alive.

I came here to raise swords, not corpses.

But now you see what my house has known for generations.

They are pigheaded, intransigent--

They would rather burn than succumb.

Exactly the kind of men I need.

It may yet be possible, I think, for both of us to achieve our ends.

We have fought them for an age and more.

Then perhaps you could try less fighting and more

persuading.

They are unyielding in battle.

But every man has a weakness.

You take my meaning, then.

There are things the crown itself must not been seen to do.

Show them your worst.

I am your servant, Your Grace.

Over the centuries, many and more armies

have broken themselves against my bloody gate.

Are you listening?

My lady.

The Eyrie itself is impregnable.

Unless, of course, we're descended upon from the sky.

You promised the Queen Rhaenyra 15,000 swords--

In return for protection. A dragon.

Then she has exceeded your terms. She sent two.

Both still wet from the egg.

I have hunting hounds that are more fearsome.

They are dragons nonetheless.

I do not recall you specifying the size of the beast in your request.

Will you goad me, child?

When your bread and shelter now depend on my pleasure?

The dragons will grow

- in time. - I don't have time.

I mislike feeling powerless.

So do I.

This will be your chamber. I'll expect you at supper this evening?

My sympathies for the death of your grandmother.

The way they spoke at my small council today.

Do they hold you responsible for Rhaenys and her dragon?

I would rather they had.

They speak around me, not to me.

They would make me queen, but they wish to keep me here, confined.

They betray their own smallness.

In truth, I cannot fault them.

I am now the sovereign. I cannot do as I please.

And war has ever been for men to make.

You are your father’s chosen successor.

He did not prepare me to fight.

If I had been a son,

a sword thrust into my hand the moment I could walk.

Instead, I was given my father's cup,

taught the name of every lord and castle between Storm's End and the Twins,

but not the difference between hilt and foible.

And they know it.

And Daemon as well--

Shall your evening meal be served here, Your Grace?

Not now.

Will you send to him?

For too long, I have looked to him for strength.

If I must be supplicant to my own husband, what does that make me?

I do not know my part, Mysaria.

The path I walk has never been trod.

Criston Cole made a mistake.

Parading a dragon's head through the streets like a prize of war,

but the people see an ill omen.

Yes, as do I.

They are afraid, bread is scarce, the king has fallen,

they whisper to each other that when Viserys lived,

there was peace.

But will whispers tear down stone, or break shields?

Do not underestimate your subjects.

They are a thousand-thousand living in the shadow of the Red Keep

and forgotten for too long.

And you think they will turn to me.

To the discontented, rumors are feed.

Your Grace.

What you cannot do, let others do for you.

There is more than one way to fight a war.

The thought of her lying in a field, broken amongst her enemies.

Did your grandmother ever tell you of the night she claimed Meleys?

She snuck into the Dragonpit.

She knew that place better than any Elder.

They say she could see in the dark.

My father was furious.

His own mother's dragon, the fastest beast ever known

and she'd have none of him.

But bent her neck to Rhaenys.

She was fierce

in love and in anger.

She did not always care for me, but

for what she gave me in the end, I'm grateful.

I wished I had known her when she was young.

You are very like her in some ways.

And with her gone, I must rely on you, I think.

Your Grace?

Would you give this to your grandsire?

I do not wish to stand alone.

Daemon.

Daemon.

You were always the strong one.

The finest swordsman.

The fearless dragonrider.

Your brother had great love in his heart

but he lacked your constitution.

Viserys was unsuited for the crown

but you, Daemon, you were made to wear it.

If only you'd been born first.

My favorite son.

Is the duck not to your liking, Your Grace?

There's also goose, if you'd prefer it.

I like the goose, myself.

I'm not hungry.

I was saying, given the rather dire news from Rook's Rest

it appears the winds have shifted and each side has suffered great loss

and will be unsure of what is to follow.

A good time, then, for a show of strength.

I believe Willem Blackwood is bringing House Bracken to heel.

We must ready the castle to receive a great host.

You seem sure of this.

All men may be led, Ser Simon.

Even Rivermen.

'Tis a matter of showing them whom it behooves them to follow.

How does the work here progress?

Oh...

We're drawing water for the kitchens

- and lighting the forges. - Very well.

That is merely the beginning, of course.

The roof alone has needed tending since the reign of Aenys.

And the storerooms. And...

and the Wailing Tower.

The bats have made the corridors almost impassable

with the quantity of their...

Their shit.

I venture there are smiths and armorers to be found near Nutton and Riverbend.

Well, send for them, and levy the farmers from Antlers to High Heart.

Task their huntsmen to bring us meat and wood.

There is, of course, the matter of payment.

After the tragedy that befell his father,

Larys transferred his family's wealth to King's Landing.

Is there any gold left in your coffers?

Enough to keep this small establishment you see fed and warm.

Relatively.

I rather thought, Your Grace, as emissary to the Queen

that perhaps she could provide the necessary coin

- if you could only write to her. - No.

Harrenhal is my command.

I shall guarantee the payment myself.

Up, up.

Very well, Your Grace.

You should address me as "my king."

But you're the prince.

What would you call the husband of the queen?

- Well, the king... - There it is, then.

...consort.

That last bit seems unnecessary, don't you think?

The armor was Valyrian steel

but His Grace suffered grievous burns over much of his body.

He has many broken bones.

I fear there are more injuries within, injuries we cannot see.

We are grateful for your works, Grand Maester.

- Has he woken? - No.

I must admit, I'm not sure he will ever wake.

I have plied my crafts to their fullest extents.

Our king's fate lies with the gods now.

A king cannot rule in his sleep.

The realm will have noticed his absence.

Let them hear of his great deeds at Rook's Rest.

But now we must name a regent to take his place

until he recovers

or does not.

A wise strategy, Your Grace.

A regency will assure the people of the stability of the crown.

Did you have a candidate in mind, Your Grace?

I myself served in this role for my husband.

I am well-prepared to do it again.

You played your part admirably in a time of peace, Your Grace,

but circumstances have changed.

And here I had forgotten.

The king does not lack for heirs.

The obvious choice is his immediate successor, Prince Aemond.

Agreed.

Aemond is young.

And his lack of restraint has already cost us dearly.

It is experience that offers the surest path to security.

Queen Alicent ably shouldered the duties of the realm

when her husband's health failed him.

Experience is valuable, yes, but the dowager queen is a woman.

I am no stranger to rule or to sitting at this council.

Aemond is a fearsome dragonrider.

His skill is best employed in the field

but my experience is needed here, at this table.

No offense was meant, Your Grace, but

- at a time when we must show strength. - Lord Larys?

I agree, Your Grace. It must be Prince Aemond.

What would it say if, in response to Rhaenyra's crowning,

we raised up a woman of our own?

But...

but the Hand speaks for the king's voice. Ser Criston, what say you?

Aemond is the next in line.

It must be him.

It's agreed then.

What is our standing in the Riverlands?

The banners of House Tully are in disarray, Your Grace.

Prince Daemon has little hope of fielding an army of any size, for now.

We would do well to send word to young Oscar Tully.

It's only a matter of time before he inherits his grandsire's mantle.

Tell me, Lord Strong, how I can trust the counsel of a man

who leaves the jewel of the Riverlands to be plucked by our enemy?

Your brother's host can meet Daemon.

He should quicken its pace and check the Rivermen

while their banners are in disarray.

I shall send Lord Jason encouragement.

- What else? - We might turn our attention

to the smallfolk here in King's Landing.

They have grown weary of the Sea Snake's blockade.

So have we all.

Many are fleeing the city, spreading word of their fear and unrest.

Then let the gates be closed.

No one is to leave or enter, save with our consent.

Merchants, so forth.

Go to your tasks.

We shall meet again at first light.

Oh, and someone cut down the fucking ratcatchers.

The city's safe no longer.

There is no food.

Our neighbors are stealing from each other.

We must get out.

And where would you have us go?

North, maybe? South?

For all we know, every road leads into the dragons' teeth.

Like the one they carted through the streets?

You think Rhaenyra will let such an affront go unchallenged?

We should make for Tumbleton.

My brother will have room.

You would have me turn beggar?

Are we not beggars already?

Have you been paid for those machines you were forced to build?

The king has promised payment.

The king has lied!

By all means,

stay and wait for his empty promises, husband.

With them, you can feed the mouths of ghosts.

Presumed you'd be here.

Seeing faithfully to the Prince Regent's commands.

Aemond is the next in line.

It is the order of things.

You know what he is,

what he has somehow become.

Has your loyalty faded? Or does it flourish only at night

and flee the sunrise like a moth?

What I saw at Rook's Rest--

What? What did you see?

Their armor melted.

There were men walking. They were on fire.

We have given the war to the dragons.

A dragonrider should lead us.

And what of justice, of temperance? Or is strength now to be our only god?

So you cast me aside.

Have I not spared you?

What we must do now is terrible.

Will you preside over it?

- Is this who you are, Alicent? - I did not ask to be spared.

And I did not give you leave to speak my name.

Halt!

Stay back!

We've got to get out!

Somebody get him!

Stay back! No!

Holdfast, holdfast!

Stay back! Hold!

Back!

Disperse, disperse!

By order of Aemond Targaryen,

Prince Regent and Protector of the Realm...

- Aemond? - Does he mean the king?

- I don't know. - You cannot keep us here!

- You are ordered to return to your homes! - We want meat!

- Meat! - Meat!

Stay back!

Our Lord Grover Tully has not declared for Rhaenyra.

It means death to bare steel against your liege,

as I'm sure my prince is aware.

And against your queen?

Jason Lannister is marshaling to the west.

We need to check him before he reaches Riverrun.

That requires passage.

And if Stark's army is too slow? The wind's rising.

Winter is nigh upon us.

Our hesitance does not lie in Rhaenyra as Queen,

nor in the ruminations of Lord Tully, the oaf.

Our fear lies in Vhagar.

You fear a dragon leagues away when mine own sits outside your walls?

- Do you offer us your protection? - I do.

And the protection of my uncle.

And Daemon, I'm sure, has consented to this?

He will do as his queen commands.

That does lend us some comfort.

Though it occurs to me that dragons cannot be in two places at once.

Or three.

What do you want?

Larys Strong has been relieved of his castle.

Does the queen intend to raise up a new lord?

You want Harrenhal.

For that, my mother will want more than your crossing.

What does Her Grace desire?

Bent knees.

Up.

You were born to wield a sword, but not so much an axe, perhaps.

There are others who would sit idle

and wait for their claims to be brought to them.

That is not my way.

Does splitting firewood justify what's followed you here?

Let it not be said that Daemon Targaryen failed to dirty his hands in this war.

Let me see them.

Sit.

Sit!

I hear strange things from Bracken land, from Stone Hedge and Lambswold and Mory.

There's news, then?

News?

No.

What I hear, I hear in the wind.

Cries of anguish.

Children being taken from their mothers,

men coming home to find their doors unlatched,

their wives carried away.

War is a terrible thing.

This is not war.

These are crimes against the innocent, that any upright man would repudiate.

Surely you haven't mistaken me for an upright man.

The Brackens had their chance to do as I required.

They will perhaps think better of their decision

if their children's lives are staked on it.

Is that the kind of army you would raise?

Men who hate you,

who serve you under duress?

Well, once they agree to serve me, I'll treat them fairly.

Set an example for the rest of the Riverlands to follow.

And once again, in the name of power,

it's the weak and the women who must endure.

That fool, Aegon, is unlike to survive.

The realm will suffer if Aemond One-Eye rules.

You should pray you never meet him.

He will cut you down soon as wish you good-day.

I'd heard the same thing about you. But I'll cross you no further.

I'm sure your tactics are, after all, approved by the queen.

She cannot succeed, Alys.

Even if I willed it to be so.

The people who support her will not be led by her.

They look to a man for strength.

Who's better suited to it? The Hightowers with their scheming?

Or Viserys's first true heir?

When I take King's Landing,

Rhaenyra is welcome to join me there and take her place by my side.

King and queen, ruling together.

- And if you lose? - Then I'll be dead,

and none of this will be my problem.

It's a pity, don't you think, that you never knew your mother?

A message, Your Grace.

Fresh news from Stone Hedge.

The Blackwoods have overwhelmed the Brackens

and Lord Amos has pledged his banner to you.

House Bracken is yours.

Call Ser Willem here so that I might congratulate him.

The Blackwoods will be feted in these halls.

I sought you at High Tide.

I was surprised when they said you were here.

My castle is a tomb.

Empty. Haunted.

I am sad to have missed its highest days.

I imagine your Hall of Nine filled with lords and kings,

all eager to treat with the legendary Lord of the Tides.

The wealth you brought back from Yi Ti and Asshai,

inspiring awe and envy.

I wonder if any of them knew it was all for her.

Queen Rhaenyra wishes to name you Hand.

Even the death of my wife does not content her.

Has she not asked enough of my house?

It is a sign of her great esteem.

Or does she think the position will compensate me for my loss?

Pledge your peace to King's Landing, then.

They will accept it most gleefully.

Rather I would sail into the West and be lost.

You have done so before,

at great cost to yourself and those who loved you.

Rhaenys was not only your wife, not a thing to be taken from you.

She was a Targaryen princess.

The Queen Who Never Was.

And she flew to Rook's Rest of her own will.

- In defense of her kin. - And she died.

She died as she would have wished to die,

with honor, in dragonfire.

The way my mother chose

and the way I myself wish to meet my end.

I grieve my grandmother who loved me but I carry her on with me.

I will see Rhaenyra ascend the Iron Throne, as Rhaenys wished.

As Rhaenys herself should have.

You yourself may do as you see fit.

Granddaughter.

I would make you my heir.

I am blood and fire.

Driftmark must pass to salt and sea.

Your Grace.

You were correct

in saying our best hope of an army is with Daemon.

And I have, perhaps, erred in waiting for him to prove himself.

I wish you to go to Harrenhal.

Are you removing me from your council?

Ser Alfred,

I will not deny you have tried my patience of late,

or that I would prefer a council more inclined to champion their queen

but...

you and your house served my father well

and I know you will never accept the Hightower claim.

Not while I live, Your Grace.

We cannot challenge King's Landing without the Riverlands

but I will not send a message by raven for Daemon to disregard.

I ask you to reason with him.

Find out his state of mind and his intentions.

Intentions?

Whether he means to raise a host for me or for himself.

He would not dare.

Have you known Daemon to lack in daring?

Go now with haste. I'll send good men to see to your safety.

Have you any message for him?

Tell him I would much like to finish our last conversation.

Your Grace.

Your Grace.

What is it, Ser Simon? Is the pudding now served?

The Riverlords have come, Your Grace.

- They wish an audience. - Now?

- What godless hour is it? - The wolf.

They are demanding to speak presently.

I see I must begin here with a lesson in etiquette.

Or failing that, in proper fear of your Targaryen master.

Is there some reason you feel free to wake a king in his bed?

Or shall I now begin your education?

House Bracken have been brought to heel at the hands of Willem Blackwood.

- That news is stale. - Yes.

There have been complications.

The sacred septs on Bracken lands were looted and burned.

As were the fields and farms.

The livestock was stolen and our peasants put to the sword.

They pursued the women and the children.

There were works of barbarity.

Punishing Bracken for his own treasons is one thing, aye.

- But these other acts. - The Brackens were given their chance.

- They would not see reason. - The Blackwoods have exploited

the war for the crown to visit atrocities

- upon their old rivals. - I have seen my fair share of

their quarrels, and I tell you, there is no honor in a fight

- such as this. - Honor? What of common decency?

These beasts proudly carried the banner of House Targaryen.

Red dragon on black.

A terrible war is being fought in these lands.

Have you looked after our girls?

We should've expected nothing more from a man

who ordered the slaughter of a child in his mother's arms.

That is a lie. And I will have the man who told it brought before me.

Well, your man is half the kingdom, my prince.

Know this, interloper:

the Riverlands are an ancient place,

watched closely by the eyes of old gods and new.

And dragon or no,

we shall not raise our banners for a tyrant.

- Move along, lass. - I have an errand for the lady Mysaria.

I thought she was dead.

Would she die without collecting her due?

I must see an old friend.

Most people want out these days.

Elinda.

Was it worth the price?

Mummy.

Prince Jacaerys, Your Grace.

Visenya.

Vhagar's first rider, and the first wielder of Dark Sister.

I hope you do not mean to use her as an example.

Why shouldn't I?

It was a long time ago.

What is the mood at the Twins?

Did his lordship quibble?

He wishes for the Freys to be granted Harrenhal.

At war's end. Assuming.

I'm proud of you, Jace. You have done our cause a great service.

Then, why do you look angry?

You chafed at being prevented from action.

Imagine my lot. I'm a dragonrider as well, with a war being fought over my ascension.

And yet, I must wait here,

always prudent,

sending others to fight and be felled in my name.

Even you have managed to do your part.

You are the queen,

the tie that binds us.

- No harm can come to you. - And you are my son,

and I did not give you leave to go.

You do not give me leave to go to anything.

But who else is there? Rhaenys is dead, and Baela cannot bear the burden alone.

And when Aemond comes hunting for you?

Your dragon is young.

Will you fly before Vhagar as Luke did?

Perhaps Daemon could--

Daemon is not here.

And Aemond now rules in King's Landing.

Is Aegon dead?

Dead or alive, we have no answer for Vhagar.

Aemond will not wait long to press his advantage. And then what?

I have done all I can from here, sent my messages, invoked my alliances.

But if all else fails, it is I who must fight.

Vhagar is big, but Syrax is quicker.

So was Meleys.

Meleys fought two dragons and one of them is slain.

Shall I fight for my birthright?

Or shall I wait here until we are all destroyed?

I need dragons.

We have no dearth of dragons.

We have two large enough to stand against Vhagar.

They are called Vermithor and Silverwing and they sleep just beneath our feet.

Yes, and if only they had riders, none could stand against me.

I would go forth in strength and not from necessity.

There is Rhaena.

Who nearly lost her life in her last attempt.

I would not risk it again.

There are those of our line who never ruled.

Those who married into other noble houses, their children born with other names.

A generation ago, or more. Their blood would be thin.

And yet...

A dragon will only accept a dragonlord to ride it.

- Or so say the histories. - Valyrian histories.

Written to gild us in glory.

Are you suggesting we put a Mallister on a dragon?

- A Tarly? - It's better than death and defeat.

There are records here, surely, of our line

and of those who fell out of it.

There could be scores of them.

It's a mad thought.