All language subtitles for house.of.the.dragon.s02e04.dv.hdr.2160p.web.h265-successfulcrab_Track03

What?

I can't understand.

Speak plainly.

YOU CREATED ME, DAEMON.

Stop.

YET YOU ARE NOW SET ON DESTROYING ME.

Stop it.

ALL BECAUSE YOUR BROTHER LOVED ME
MORE THAN HE DID YOU.

THIS IS WHAT YOU ALWAYS WANTED, IS IT NOT?

There's been a raven.

Good morrow, Your Grace.

Slept well, I trust?

As I said, there's been a raven.

Aegon's army departed King's Landing
a fortnight ago.

The castles of Rosby and Stokeworth
have both fallen without siege.

They have raised Aegon's banner

and added their levies
to Ser Criston Cole's host.

Both houses cited that

sad business with the usurper's son
in their declarations.

Ser Criston's army,

now tripled in strength,
might have Harrenhal as its destination.

Even if you can raise a host of Rivermen,

they will not be ready
in time to face him.

Let's see what your Lord Paramount
is made of.

My prince-- My Grace.

Your Grace.

Lord Grover is looking
more hale and healthy than I expected.

This is Ser Oscar Tully,
grandson to Grover Tully.

He is heir to Riverrun

and the future Lord Paramount
of the Riverlands.

His Grace, the King Consort,
Daemon Targaryen.

- It is an honor, Your Grace.
- Indeed.

How fares your grandsire?

Sadly, he remains incapacitated.

He lies in a kind of waking sleep,

unable to do much more
than take meager drink.

It is barely enough to sustain him.

So, he's alive?

Yes, gods be good.

Well, my time is short
and I have need of an army.

Perhaps you might place
a feather pillow over his head

and speed along your inheritance?

I love my grandsire, like a father.

My own lord father died suddenly,
himself a young man.

Lord Grover raised me in his stead.

All very touching.

Are you here to speak
with your grandsire's voice?

For House Tully and the Riverlands?

While he still lives?

- That is not our way.
- Then you're of no use to me.

I can see why the Blackwoods
and the Brackens

did not fear to start a war
beneath the nose of their liege lords.

House Tully is a fish with no head.

Remind me which of your countrymen
claim to fight in the name of Aegon?

Was it Bracken or Blackwood?

It was House Bracken
that declared Green, Your Grace.

Who could remember.

Summon the Blackwoods here.

I require men of action
to lead my host of Rivermen.

M'lady.

"Princess," if we're
holding to formalities.

Apologies. Princess.

And you are Alyn.

Yes, Princess.

I'm given to understand
my lord husband owes you his life.

But I was not told
his savior was so comely.

Your mother must've been very beautiful.

Rhaenys.

- Is your work finished?
- No, m'lord.

I just had a word with your captains.

He was the sailor who plucked you
from your watery grave?

Yes.

You did not think to mention it?

I did not think it relevant.

I know who he is, Corlys.

Alyn's past is no fault of his.

He saved his lord's life.

He should be raised up and honored,
not hidden beneath the tides.

Is this why you came?

To subject me to an inquisition?

I came to tell you
that Baela has called me to Dragonstone.

Baela?

That council is going to dine on her
and Jace for supper.

They grow restless in Rhaenyra's absence.

Still, where has that woman gone?

I suspect to try and draw us all back
from the abyss.

- Good morrow, Your Grace.
- Good morrow, Grand Maester.

As requested.

- I brewed it myself.
- Thank you.

I will see it delivered discreetly.

Do report if the recipient
has need of any remedy.

The tea is known to disagree with the gut.

I shall observe the girl closely.

Grand Maester.

You've ever been a practical man,
an honorable servant to the crown.

And you served my lord husband
in his darkest hours.

Such was my duty, Your Grace.

Tell me.

Do you believe Viserys wanted Aegon
to succeed him?

I could not know.

His Grace never raised the matter with me.

Ser Criston Cole's host
has taken to exploiting the tree cover

to conceal its movements.

He now only travels by night
to confound our dragons.

And what is Cole's heading?

It is difficult to say,
but there were signs

of an army moving northwest, I believe.

She believes.

You should've burned them
when you had the chance.

Perhaps you can, Ser Alfred,
when you next sight them on your dragon.

The only reason we know any of this
is because of Baela's efforts.

What do we know, my prince?

If you ask me, it is little and less.

We know that Cole possesses a host
that is growing in strength

and that it is a problem.

Can Daemon hope to meet it
with his own in time?

And if I know the Riverlands,

he has more disentangling ahead of him
than the end of a Lyseni orgy.

Have you heard word from your father?

- No.
- Ravens were sent to Harrenhal

seeking news of Daemon's progress
with the Riverlords.

None have, as yet, returned.

Just so.

An enemy host, growing in constitution,

marches somewhere in the vastness
of the Crownlands.

We could, perhaps,
act if only we had a host of our own.

Or someone here to lead us.

Mind your tongue, Ser Alfred.

Does it speak falsely, my prince?

This council is rudderless.

I'm doing my best to steer it, Ser Alfred.

Why should your voice
be any louder than ours, Princess?

The queen did not name you Hand.

It is her voice,
and that of the king consort,

that we need to raise alliances
and command our vassals.

- But they are gone.
- What has come of this council?

My lord.

Our enemy is on the march.

Is there naught to be done
in the absence of the queen

but to grouse and claw for power?

We do not know the queen's doings.

But we must trust that she seeks the same
as each of us at this table.

An end to this conflict.

Men of House Darklyn.

All who bend the knee
to the true king, Aegon, will be spared.

You can earn back your honor
by raising his banner

and fighting in his name
against the Whore of Dragonstone.

All who refuse,

will have their death.

Good morrow, Lord Darklyn.

Is there no honor left
in this world, Cole?

Sacking your queen's own castles
and putting her people to the sword?

"Kingmaker."

You are not fit for the white cloak.

This is a better death
than a traitor deserves.

You should thank me for it.

Yours will come in kind.

Lord Hand.

We'll lead the van northeast,
follow the coastline.

I realize you were neither born nor bred

anywhere near the Crownlands,
my good Lord Hand,

but Harrenhal is to the west.

Indeed it is.

Fuck you. I told you we should've
sent our dragons.

And now look what's happened.

Daemon, of all people,
has taken Harrenhal.

I give you a job,
and now you just sit there.

It's your fucking castle!

Well, that castle is
more crippled than I am, Your Grace.

It's like to drive Daemon to madness
as he attempts to make use of it.

It is beyond his faculties.

It is also penniless,
as I happily control all of its gold.

So, as Harrenhal saps Daemon's resolve,

the false queen remains
trapped on her island,

and Ser Criston continues felling castles
in the Crownlands.

I need to be informed of these things
if I am to make informed rulings.

I will not be made
to look a fool in front of

- my allies and enemies.
- Harrenhal must wait.

Ser Criston is marching on Rook's Rest.

Rook's Re-- A pathetic prize.

- I gave no such command--
- The castle is small,

weakly defended,

and Lord Staunton sits
on Rhaenyra's council.

After Cole smashes it,

we'll have Dragonstone
effectively cut off by land.

This war will not be won
with dragons alone

but with dragons flying
behind armies of men.

No! Have him turn about.
I want Harrenhal back.

Cole is already preparing his attack.

How do you know this?

He sent word to me.

To you?

The two of you have been

plotting without my authority?

YOU HAD MORE PRESSING MATTERS
TO ATTEND TO.

SUCH AS HOLDING COURT,
CHOOSING YOUR SOBRIQUET,

AND NAMING IMBECILIC LICKSPITTLES
TO OUR KINGSGUARD.

DO YOU HAVE A WISER STRATEGY, MY KING?

IF SO, YOU SHOULD VOICE IT
TO YOUR COUNCIL.

WE ALL AWAIT YOUR ANSWER.

I CAN HAVE TO...

MAKE A...

WAR?

Harrenhal is a useful morass.

It will keep Daemon well-occupied
while we strengthen our host

and weaken Rhaenyra's
support on the mainland.

We will deal with it
in the Riverlands in time.

But right now,
Rook's Rest is an easy target

and a worthy effort.

Don't you agree, my king?

Come.

Lord Larys.

I thought I'd look in on you, Your Grace,
after your absence from the small council.

I feared something was amiss.

You're kind to do so, my lord,
but indulgence was my sin.

I ventured into the lamprey pie
at last night's supper.

Too far, I fear.

That is a rich indulgence.

But I believe it is a sin to deny
your appetites.

They are what make us fully alive
as mortal men.

Was anything of note
discussed at the council?

Daemon having seized Harrenhal
and His Grace's resulting displeasure.

I would've thought you would be
the most aggrieved, my lord.

I see it as a loss for our greater good.

Dragonstone's attentions
are greatly divided.

First in the Riverlands and the Gullet,
and now the Crownlands.

Ser Criston wins every challenge
he faces there.

That truth alone is like to incite
Rhaenyra's fury.

He's covered himself in glory, to be sure.

And you must worry for him?

Your sworn sword,

on the march,
ever exposed to dragons?

It is a perilous road.

Ser Criston is the Hand of the King.

We should all pray for his victory
and safe return.

Indeed.

If I may be so bold, my queen,

you have not seemed yourself of late.

Only weeks ago,
my lord husband was alive

and the realm was at peace.

Now, I've barely had the hours to grieve
one tragedy before suffering the next.

I regret if I have not been myself.

I did not know you shared
your lord husband's love

for the histories.

If not his love,
then certainly an abiding interest.

The voices of history guided Viserys.

He knew that his wisdom alone
could only reach so far.

Do you think that is why
he changed his mind

in the end?

No matter how suited he thought
Rhaenyra for the crown,

the voices of history, as you say,

would have told him how the realm
would react to her succession.

It was impossible to know
what steered his thoughts

in those final hours.

Do you now doubt his intentions?

Rhaenyra's supporters will believe
what they wish.

And so will Aegon's.

The war will be fought, many will die

and the victor will eventually
ascend the throne.

The significance of Viserys's intentions
died with him.

Yes, it did.

It's a touch late to be stalkin' about
a strange castle,

putting its people to the sword.

You.

I'm called Alys.

Strong?

Rivers.

A bastard.

Once you get to know me,
you'll find I'm not so bad.

So what are you then?
Some kind of maester?

In a manner of speaking.

I inherited the duties after the last one
fled in the night.

- Fled? Why?
- Just never settled in.

How are you settling in?

I've come to know the face
of tortured rest well enough.

Sleep can be thin in this place.

What would you know of my sleep?

Harrenhal's been cursed
since its first stone was laid.

Black Harren felled
the grove of weirwood trees

that grew on these lands.

Heart trees, imbued with the spirits
of those who lived long before he came.

It's said their whispers
can still be heard sometimes.

A midwife's tale.

The very bed you sleep in was made
from such a heart tree.

Have you experienced anything of note?

You are a strange kind of woman.

I'm no woman at all. I'm a barn owl.

Cursed to live in human form.

So you've come here
after quarreling with your wife?

What?

You arrive here alone to claim the castle
and yet, send no ravens.

Do you now plan to make your own claim?

- Perhaps to prove yourself to her.
- Do not try me

with your insolence, witch.

It's a hard thing, I imagine, to give
obeisance to one who replaced you as heir.

And a woman too. A...

girl child you bounced on your knee.

Does it please you
that her legitimacy is contested?

As you stand here,
with a castle and a dragon

attempting to draw an army of men.

Here. Drink this.

You'll need your sleep if you're to win
this place to your side.

I now rule my house as regent
until my nephew Benjicot comes of age.

The Brackens are venal cravens

and they must pay for their treachery
against the laws of gods and men.

And against the crown.

Who are you?

Ser Willem Blackwood
of House Blackwood,

Your Grace, as I said.

Well met.

What might I do for you?

It was you who summoned me,
Your Grace.

I was given to understand
that you wanted an army.

Well, who doesn't these days?

You Blackwoods certainly
never miss a chance

to bloody your swords, do you?

Some 20 years ago,
my lord bent the knee to King Viserys

and acknowledged the Princess Rhaenyra
as his rightful heir.

So you fight for this old oath?

Not, of course, for your thousand-year-old
feud with the Brackens.

I once vied for Queen Rhaenyra's hand

before she wed Ser Laenor.

I always liked her spirit.

She had the true blood of the dragon.

And you're prepared to march without
the leave of your lord...

Your Grace?

And once you and your dragon

bring the queen's justice
to the Brackens

our armies will be yours.

Our lords in the Crownlands are grousing.

Their herds of livestock
struggle to keep pace

with the dragons' relentless appetites.

- Vhagar's in particular.
- They can either provide

the crown what it needs,
or we can claim their holdings.

Oh, that would be a relief,

as we have no more coin
to lend to the effort.

Resources are certainly
growing no more plentiful

in the face of the blockade.

The demand on the blacksmiths,
armorers and tanners for equipment

has only grown apace
with Ser Criston's army.

Well, Cole's done splendidly,
at the least,

turning every castle and army he's faced,
including Duskendale, gods bless him.

The Kingmaker, they're calling him.

And with Aemond and Vhagar
also at the ready,

we are a formidable opponent.

You bore me.

You all bore me.

Perhaps Ser Criston
will be able to procure

more livestock through his campaign.

Any coin we can save will be
a welcome bounty.

What are you doing here?

Where are your father's books?

I ordered them removed.

With no thought to the centuries
of knowledge in those pages.

Your Grace.

I removed them, I didn't burn them.

What is it?

They don't care what I think.

- Who, Aegon?
- My council.

Cole. Aemond.
They pursue their campaign

without seeking my aid,
or even my thoughts.

What thoughts would you have?

I'm the king.

Do you think simply wearing the crown
imbues you with wisdom?

Those men at your council table

earned their seats.

It was my hope that
once enthroned,

you would honor the burden
of your new duties,

be silent,

and strive to learn from
the more studied minds around you.

In the hope that you
might be half the king your father was.

- Tread carefully.
- Or what?

You'll hang me,
as you did your ratcatchers?

Or have me banished, as you did your Hand?

I ruled

in your father's absence
throughout his long illness,

and Otto Hightower was
as cunning a statesman as ever lived.

You should humbly be seeking
our opinions and counsel.

You have no idea the sacrifices
that were made

to put you on that throne.

Wha--

What would you have me do, Mother?

Do simply what is needed of you:

nothing.

On your feet!

To Rook's Rest!

To battle!

It's broad daylight.

We must hold here and ready ourselves
to lay siege at nightfall.

We shall move now and strike by day.
They will not expect it.

They will not expect it
because it is fucking madness.

Did you forget the little encounter
we had on the road to Rosby?

I did not.

Dragonstone and their dragons
are just across the bay.

What? Grown tired of living, have you?

Are you afraid, Ser?

Worse. I'm rational.

We advance.

I see no other choice.

- We need to send a dragon.
- Where?

To support the war that your vassals
have been fighting in your absence,

Your Grace.

Cole's host has grown since riding abroad.

He raised the levies of both
Rosby and Stokeworth

and, with their combined strength,
sacked Duskendale.

Duskendale?

The city has fallen.

Many Darklyn men declared for Aegon.

Those who refused were put to the sword.

What of my father?

He kept his oath.

Cole took his head for it.

Where have you been, these last days?

You vanished without so much as a word.

Well, I apologize for my absence
and the secrecy,

but such was necessary.

I went to King's Landing.

To what possible end?

To meet Queen Alicent and sue for peace.

- You saw Alicent?
- Yes, I did.

You could've been taken or slain!

I inherited 80 years of peace
from my father.

Before I was to end it,

I needed to know
that there was no other path.

And now I do.

Only one choice remains to me:

either I win my claim or die.

We stand at the ready.

Cole's victories have only emboldened him.

He marches on Rook's Rest.

His host was just hours away
when Lord Staunton's ravens took wing.

Why Rook's Rest?
After Duskendale?

It is but a small coastal keep.

'Cause Lord Staunton is
a member of this council.

And because his castle is small
and vulnerable and there for the taking.

Cole knows we have no army
on the mainland.

- He is brazen.
- He is daring us to act.

We need to send a dragon.

There are those who have mistaken
my caution for weakness.

Let that be their undoing.

- I will go.
- My queen--

- You cannot.
- I will not lose dragons to war

whilst I hide here in my castle.

Our allies raise their banners
for you, Mother.

Yes, they do.

If you die, all is lost.

- Send me.
- No.

I will burn Cole's lines
and withdraw before King's Landing

- could even raise the alarm.
- You lack the experience.

You must send me, Your Grace.

Meleys is your largest dragon
and no stranger to battle.

I will meet Cole.

I wish only to fight for you,
for your claim and mine.

I--

There's something
I need to tell you, Jace.

Something I should've told you
when you first became heir to the throne.

It's a secret that Viserys told me
when he named me his successor.

And it has passed from king to heir

since Aegon the Conqueror's time.

I never told you because I was unsure
that I believed it myself.

The Targaryen who sits the Iron Throne

is not just a king or a queen.

They are a Protector.

Ordained to lead the Seven Kingdoms,
to strengthen them,

and to unite them against a common foe.

Viserys chose me to succeed him.

He held to this the whole of his life.

My father believed that I, alone,
was meant to be this Protector.

They're 1,400-, 1,500-strong
at least, my lord.

But to unite the realm,
I had to send the dragons to war.

The horrors I have just loosed
cannot be for a crown alone.

That is why I must believe

what Viserys told me
when he named me his heir.

What Jaehaerys had told him.

And what I will now tell you.

What is it?

Aegon the Conqueror's Dream.

He called it "The Song of Ice and Fire."

Loose! New rank!

Loose! New rank!

Loose! New rank!

Push it!

Dragon!

Dragon!

To the Seven Hells with you, Cole!

You may as well have sounded horns
to announce our coming!

Order the Darklyn levies
to break off and move ahead.

We must keep the dragon's
attention divided.

- Make the signal.
- What signal?

All is going to plan.

IDIOT.

WAIT, VHAGAR.

NOT YET.

Forward, Sunfyre!

Faster!

Dragon!

Whose dragon is that?

His Grace, the king's.

This was your secret plot, Cole?

For the king himself to lay ambush

- and mayhaps die in the attempt?
- No!

Loose more signal arrows!

Stalwart men of House Targaryen,

your king has joined you!

Hold to your courage! Hold to your wits!

For the Seven have blessed and shielded
this host with divine purpose!

For the one true king, Aegon!

Advance!

Where are you, Aemond?

ATTACK, MELEYS!

Dracarys!

Another one there!

Send a volley to those Rosby men!

Give them no quarter!

We'd best get you to cover, my lord.

Thank the gods!

Dracarys!

No! No!

Your Grace!

ATTACK, MELEYS.

Fall in behind me!

Into the breach!

The king has fallen. We must find him.

Aemond!

Where's His Grace?