All language subtitles for House.of.the.Dragon.S02E03.The.Burning.Mill.UHD.BluRay.2160p.TrueHD.Atmos.7.1.DV.HEVC.REMUX.7xMultiAudio-K4CLUB

Aeron Bracken, worst horseman among us.

Must be my swordsmanship.

Can you even get that thing up?

Well enough for killing Blackwoods.

Bracken!

Put the boundary stones back.

We didn't move them.

Did they move themselves, then?

Just rolled their way over
so Bracken cows can fill their bellies

- on Blackwood grass?
- The assize at Riverrun...

Fuck the assize

and fuck you.

This is our land.

It's Bracken land.

- Babe-killer.
- What did you say?

Your false queen,
Rhaenyra, is a kinslayer.

Your uncle declared for Aegon, did he?

Well then, let me tell you

Aegon Targaryen is no true king

just as you are no true knight.

You're both craven, little cunts!

You wouldn't dare.

He is the basest of villains.

He sullies the grave of his brother.

I cannot fault him for keeping his oath.

And what of those who sent him?

Otto Hightower
would never have allowed this.

Hotter blood has prevailed, I think.

The young men have taken the bit
in their teeth.

They wish to punish, to avenge.

Soon they will not even remember
what it was

that began the war in the first place.

That is easy enough.
They usurped my throne.

That is one answer.

Or was it when the child was beheaded?

Or when Aemond killed Luke

or when Luke took Aemond's eye?

We teeter now at the point
where none of it will matter.

And the desire to kill and burn takes hold

and reason is forgotten.

There may be another way.

Alicent Hightower.

When last we met,
Alicent said I would make a fine queen.

You've seen what has happened since then.

She came to me in the hours
after your lord father's death.

She knows war is coming

and that it'll be savage
beyond all compare.

There is no war so hateful to the gods
as a war between kin.

And no war so bloody
as a war between dragons.

- I do not believe she wants it.
- She sent a raven.

I do not care to read her message.

What she did...

It is not her but the men around her
who seek bloodshed.

She permitted it.

As you permitted the murder
of a little boy in his bed.

Alicent is in King's Landing.
Her son sits my throne.

There is nothing more to be said.

Is all well, lord Hand?

Only they'll be waiting.

there have been tidings in...

Good morrow, Your Grace. My lords.

- Forgive my lateness.
- Important business, no doubt.

You've appointed new knights
to the Kingsguard, Your Grace.

To replace those we lost.

The last one needlessly, some might say.

Ser Arryk was awarded the great duty
of ending Rhaenyra's challenge.

He failed to discharge it.

He failed because the scheme was rash.

Perhaps, Your Grace,
but we cannot all hide in our castles

waiting for war to come to us.

As now it surely will.

As, now, it already has.

House Bracken took it upon themselves
to attack the Blackwoods,

who declared for the pretender.

Lord Samwell Blackwood himself is slain.

Good. First blood in our name.

Both sides took heavy losses, Your Grace.

I'm not entirely certain
we can declare this a victory.

The Blackwoods and the Brackens
have feuded for centuries.

This is nothing more
than an excuse for them to indulge

their ancient grudge. It's no true war.

Call it what you will.

I call it war.

And so will Dragonstone.

The question is,
what are we going to do about it?

We send a raven to Lord Tully.

These houses are his vassals,
are they not?

He must control them.

Lord Grover Tully is a flaccid, old fool

who couldn't control his cock in a cunny.

Begging your pardon, Your Grace.

Do you have any better
suggestions, Lord Jasper?

Your lord uncle Ormund
marches from Oldtown

at the head of a great host, Your Grace.

And your brother Daeron's dragon
nears fighting age.

Call on them to suppress the Riverlands.

Alas, they are months away.

My lord brother Jason
is raising a great army at Casterly Rock.

In a matter of weeks, he will be able
to harass the Blackwoods from the west.

Should we not aim to unite these armies
and then strike as one?

The great military mind of the Citadel.

- I served the realm...
- Do remind me,

which link in your chain
denotes the art of war?

This council must rediscover
the discipline it lately had

if it's to be of any use.

The Riverlands are the key to the war.

Harrenhal is the key to the Riverlands.

I will ride out with those
I can muster here.

Men I know, men I've trained.

You need time to raise
the numbers to challenge the Rivermen.

Speed is my ally.

I will turn the Crownland houses
who declared for Rhaenyra to our cause.

We will add their numbers to our own
and then turn west.

Where I will enlist the Brackens,
subdue the Riverlands, and take Harrenhal.

So impatient to ride with so few men.

So like to be destroyed
by the first stronghold you meet.

- A bold scheme indeed.
- Well, the gods favor the bold.

They did not favor Ser Arryk.

What say you, my king?

And you'll take Aemond and Vhagar?

Vhagar will remain here

to defend the city.

Good. To war, then.

- I'll come, too, with Sunfyre.
- Aegon.

- Your Grace.
- You'll need a dragon.

My plan is not to draw attention.

And what will you do
if you encounter one or more

of Rhaenyra's dragons?

She'll want to answer for Ser Arryk.

We will be more like to encounter one
if we field one of our own.

That is precisely why
you must remain, brother.

It's a brave thought,
but we cannot risk your loss.

I'm as fearsome as any of them.

I was told you turned back
from your ship to bring warning.

I was not believed at first.

You saved my life.

What is the life of a queen worth
these days?

You wish to be rewarded.

As, I would think,
you would wish to reward me.

What price would you set?

A place at your court.

You said your earnest desire
was to flee Westeros.

And you let me go.

You showed me grace
when you could have withheld it.

I'm not often surprised.

One turn for another, then.

I know the workings of the Red Keep

and the movements
of those who serve there.

That is worth more than gold to you now.

And what is my worth to you?

I would punish the Hightowers
for what they have done.

To me, to those who served me.

But more than that, I know the struggles
of the smallfolk of King's Landing.

They will be ruled either by you
or by the usurper.

And only one of you has shown yourself
to be merciful.

Well, I hope you do not confuse
mercy with pliancy.

Are they always like this?

Seasmoke, my late lord husband's dragon.

He's grown restless of late.

- We cannot know why.
- Maybe he's lonely.

Rhaena.

Your Grace.

I've decided to send Joffrey to ward
with my cousin, Lady Jeyne Arryn.

She has pledged an army
in return for a dragon

so she will have one.

Aegon and Viserys will accompany him until
a place of greater safety can be found.

Tyraxes is but a hatchling.

- And Stormcloud...
- I want you to go with them.

The Red Keep is in disarray.

They have sent one assassin in the night

and their dragons
are ever a short flight away.

You must take the little ones further.
To Pentos, I think.

Where my mother died.

It is safer than anywhere in Westeros.

Write to Prince Reggio.
If he will have you, then go to him.

I am sorry to put this upon you.

It breaks my heart to send my boys away,
not knowing when I will see them again.

But you have seen
what may befall them here.

Rhaena,

I need you to be the mother
to them that I cannot.

Teach them, train them,
guard them as a dragon guards her eggs.

And my sister?

- I need Baela here.
- Because she has a dragon.

I cannot promise to make you happy.

But I ask you: make this sacrifice
willingly, for all of us.

Your Grace.

Dragon!

Halt!

I'm claiming Harrenhal.

Apparently so.

I, Ser Simon Strong,
Castellan of Harrenhal,

pledge fealty to Rhaenyra
of House Targaryen,

First of Her Name.

I swear this by the old gods and the new.

Supper is venison
with black cabbage and peas.

No redcurrant. Sorry about that.

That venison is well aged.

Shame to let it waste.

I've survived many a battle.

I do not mean to be felled
by poisoned peas.

I'll admit that my cook's peas aren't
exactly the stuff of legend, but poison?

Well, it's an easy way
to kill a dragonrider.

If you've not yet surmised,
you are welcome here.

And what of your lord, Larys Strong.

He who sits at the false court of Aegon?

Larys Clubfoot is no lord of mine.

He is a scourge upon this castle
and this family.

Do you not think it's strange
that his father,

my nephew, Lord Lyonel, perished by fire?

And his son, too, here in this damp place?

It was the first fire here since Balerion
ended the line of Harren the Black.

Even in the summer,
we struggle to light the hearths.

So, no, you will find no loyalty
to Larys Strong here, my prince.

"Your Grace."

Forgive me. I...

I'd only assumed that as consort...

Then we are reminded of the perilousness
of assumption.

Indeed.

Your Grace.

What then brings you to our corner
of the Riverlands?

Harrenhal is the largest castle
in the Seven Kingdoms.

Or perhaps that has
escaped your attention.

But it is also, not to be argumentative,
in something of a state of disrepair

since your forbear incinerated much of it
with his dragon.

Well, that is precisely why we must
bring it into a state of repair.

Even if we possessed the coin, my prin...

Your Grace, to what possible end?

There are 40,000 swords in the Riverlands,
the largest undeclared host in the realm.

Only Harrenhal is of a size enough
to garrison them.

You should know that a substantial number
of those swords have now declared

and are presently at war.

Houses Bracken and Blackwood
have long detested one another.

- Why?
- Oh, well...

the answer to that is lost in time.

Sin begets sin begets sin.

Summon your lord paramount
so that I may treat with him myself

and turn them to our cause.

That would be Lord Grover Tully,
but he grows frail.

It's said that he can no longer speak

nor seal his bowels.

Begging your pardon for the impression.

His grip on his bannermen is weak.
They feel they can do as they please.

I will speak with him nonetheless.

People should obey their liege lord

whatever his condition.

Perhaps the presence of the crown

and a dragon

will sharpen minds around these parts.

Might I ask, Your Grace,

if you are successful,
well, when you are successful,

what then?

We march on King's Landing
and take the throne.

The throne.

It's a big chair made of swords.

Standard-bearers to the front!

Packhorses to the rear!

Clear way for the mounted knights...

Lord Commander.
Your host is mustered and ready to march.

He enjoys battle.

I'm glad we're together, even briefly.

Ser Criston.

May I present my brother,
Ser Gwayne Hightower,

arrived last night from Oldtown.

Ser Criston.

Or mayhaps I should say, my lord Hand?

Ser Gwayne, welcome to King's Landing.

How exhilarating to arrive at court
after three long months on the road

to find my lord father,
who served three kings faithfully,

unseated as Hand of the King.

And by a man from such modest beginnings.

What a giddying ascent
the gods have bestowed on you.

Ser Gwayne has volunteered
to accompany you into battle.

We have a full complement, Your Grace.

Then you shall have a fuller one.

The march will be hard, Ser.

No one is more delighted than I
to march out to war with a Dornishman.

Sister.

May the Seven guide you, good knight,
and lead you not into shadow and death.

I thank Your Grace for her prayers.

And request that she grant her favor

that her Lord Commander may go into battle
with her blessings

in his heart.

Your Grace.

Still no sightings.

No men, no horses, no ships.

- No dragons.
- Good.

Then we must seize the hour and act
before our enemy does.

They have penetrated our castle walls
and now the Riverlands are aflame

after the Battle at the Burning Mill.

How fares Prince Daemon with our army?

There has been no word from Prince Daemon,
Your Grace.

Then we must press what advantage
we do have.

- And what is that?
- Dragons. Send them all out.

Start turning Green strongholds
to our cause

- and burn those who resist.
- No.

If dragons begin fighting dragons,
we invite our own destruction.

Fear of it is in itself a weapon.

The Greens will make the same calculation.

The value of a sword
is not within its scabbard.

We will secure victory with armies,
not with dragons alone.

The Greens understand that.

The Vale and the North will send men.

We must give Daemon time.

Your Grace, you have witnessed
firsthand just how

vulnerable you are.

Prince Daemon is abroad

and Aegon's factions
are enraged at the death of his son.

You have never been so exposed.

Perhaps it is time for you to think about
secreting yourself somewhere safe

while we remain here
as a source of distraction for the enemy.

You propose to conduct
the war in my absence.

- It would merely be a precaution...
- It would be treason.

You are fortunate you took it no further.

This council would do well to remember

that their queen wears
the crown of my grandsire,

Jaehaerys the Conciliator.

A prudent ruler,
the wisest of Targaryen kings,

whose reign outlasted every other

even Aegon the Conqueror's.

So, how do they fare?

The ditherers of Dragonstone?

Rhaenyra's council is wayward.
She has a hard task.

I must hope she will rise to it

but I fear she'll need you by her side
sooner than late.

This bread, still warm.

There's broth too. I made sure of it.

I am no longer an invalid.

I bade farewell to Rhaena
before I returned.

I wish her well.

I would fight a hundred battles
before I went into exile

with none but prattling babes.

One of those babes is your heir.

Joffrey.

A boy of six who knows nothing of the sea
and yet somehow...

It would displease neither Rhaenyra
nor the gods

if Rhaena were named heir to Driftmark.

Rhaena? Lord of the Tides?

The girl knows nothing of ships,
nor even of dragons.

There is Rhaena or there is Joffrey.

Both soon to be far from
the creak of ships and the ocean's roar.

Then we must hope to

see our way forward, in time.

And if there is no time?

We are at war, Corlys.

- If something were to befall you...
- Then it is well

that I am a good sailor.

I have much to attend to.

Corlys, Corl...

I cannot spare a fighting dragon,
but I send what I can.

Stormcloud and Tyraxes are small,
but they will grow.

It is for you to remind Lady Jeyne
of her pledge

and persuade her of the urgency
of our need.

Go safely, sister.

I will be safe enough.

Far away from any danger,
with only babes to nursemaid.

You do a great service

and may yet find yourself glad to be
out of harm's way.

Do not coddle me, Baela.

- Grant me at least that dignity.
- I meant no insult.

We each do what we can.

And here, I think, is some consolation.

Tyraxes and Stormcloud
are young and vulnerable.

These eggs are even more fragile.

But should all come to ruin here

you will bear our hope for the future.

Your Grace.

Mommy.

My Queen.

I feel sad about Jaehaerys.

But I ought not to, I think.

People die all the time, especially babes.

They're so little,
so they're taken so easily.

Sadness is a condition of motherhood.

There's naught to be gained from it.

That horrid procession where the smallfolk
all stared at me.

I warrant they thought I had no more right
to grief than they do.

Surely they lose their babes
more than highborn ladies.

The Stranger comes for us all,

queen and commoner.

You have as much claim to grief as anyone.

And you?

I loved Jaehaerys, but my concern has been

more for you and what you have endured.

- Helaena, I...
- I forgive you.

What?

I said that I forgive you.

Suits you, Your Grace.

Valyrian steel.
Worth more than a castle.

A sight to stir the passions.

Aegon the Conqueror reborn.

Just get on with it.

At once, Your Grace.

What is your business?

There are rumors that the King
readies himself to fly to war.

And what is it to you?

Only that I think
it would benefit all of us

to prevent our king from being
brutally slain by our enemies

and his body parts scattered to beasts
and his court come to ruin.

Would you not agree?

What exquisite armor.

I was given the Conqueror's name
and his crown

so I shall wear his armor to war.

I fly to meet Ser Criston.

Small imposition before you depart then,
Your Grace.

There are diverse rumors
whispered on the streets of your city.

One such is that Your Grace sends
his forces to battle

and, in his courage and wisdom,
flies with them.

Another is that His Grace
was outwitted by his counselors

and persuaded to fly to war
with Ser Criston

so that Queen Alicent
may reign in his absence

with Prince Aemond at her side.

Absurd, of course.

Who spreads these lies?

It matters little.

Tales take on a life of their own

like weeds.

Unless they are tended.

Well, tend to them then.

Lord Larys.

My father always said he had no use
for a master of whisperers.

And yet I find myself wanting for one.

I should be glad of your talents.

You honor me, Your Grace.

Shall we escort you to the Dragonpit,
Your Grace?

I think, mayhaps, I shall fly another day.

Yeah, it does seem wise on reflection.

You could come out with us, my king.

Ser Martyn has a new squire
that wants bedding in.

He's never fucked a woman.

But you are sworn to chastity now.

Of course, Your Grace.

Yes, Your Grace.

No, no, no, no, no, no.
Don't tell me you're going.

- I'm not going yet.
- I've only just got here.

There he is!

Ulf, Ulf, come on, son!

It turns out, it was her sister.
Probably should've told me.

I know, I know, I know!

Take that one. You'll get your pound
of flesh, don't worry.

Sit yourself down, mate.

Hello.

I've been tellin' this fella
all about you.

Oh, lads.

- I've had quite a day of it.
- Yeah?

Not sure I'm much for talkin'.

Although, you know,
a wet whistle works wonders.

Come on, Ulf, give us a flagon over there, yeah?

Here, my darling, one for the flagon,
one for yourself.

There's a good girl, eh?

No sense of fun, some of 'em.

- For you, man of Dorne.
- Dornish, are ya?

Yes, I am.

The part of Westeros
my house never settled.

Although, it's said even Dorne

mourned the passing of my grandsire.
Is that so?

Who was your grandsire?

They call him the Conciliator.

King Jaehaerys?

Thousand apologies. Please, continue.

Look, I really shouldn't be
telling you this.

You'll cost me my head.

You are saying you're a Targaryen?

I'm the son of Baelon the Brave.

Bastard brother to Prince Daemon
and the late King Viserys.

Uncle to the one true queen,
Rhaenyra Targaryen.

The blood of the dragon
runs through these veins.

And, yes, men would take my head for it.

A Dragonseed must watch his own neck

when he has no white-cloaked guardsmen
to do it for him.

You do not look very
much like King Viserys

or Prince Daemon.

How do you know what they look like?

He speaks truth, right enough.
Look, you can tell by his hair.

Yeah, 'cause I'm their
half-brother, you fuckwit.

Yeah, I'll tell you who else
doesn't have silver hair.

The rightful heir to the Iron Throne,
my nephew, Prince Jacaerys Velaryon.

Here's your other nephew.

- All hail the King!
- All hail the King!

Drinks for all!
At the pleasure of the crown!

At the pleasure of the crown!

Sit down. Sit yourself down.

- Sit!
- Drink the wine, boy.

- Come on, then!
- Drink up, little piggy!

This night is for you.

You!

Did I tell you I came here as a lad?

It's a little tame,
but a good a place as any to get it wet.

I know just the tutor for you, my boy.

No.

She's worth three times the price.

Oh, gods be good.

That's you!

Her name is Sylvi, or Selyse or,
I don't know, something like that.

Aemond, the fierce!

You have come so far

and yet you still
lie with your very first.

What a fine, sweet thing.

Did you fuck her like a hound?

You see, I do not exaggerate.

Such is the madam's prowess,

that even now my brother
will not sample another.

Hard luck for your squire, though.

As you can see, she...
she's now very much occupied.

Your squire is welcome to her.

One whore is as good as another.

Ser Gwayne! Halt!

Ser Gwayne,
our company is camped back yonder.

On the cold, hard ground.

Which is why we make for the Bull,
a tavern with an excellent reputation

on the Rosby Road, not two miles away

- if memory serves.
- We march to make the first strike

in the name of His Grace.

I assure you, my nephew
will not begrudge me a night of comfort.

If it soothes your brow, Cole, we will
rendezvous with your army at first light.

Or, if their wine is good,
perhaps a little after first light.

- We're exposed.
- What?

- Cole?
- Get to the trees!

A good showing, Ser Criston.

I am in your debt.

They know we're abroad.
They'll be hunting.

And we must move under the trees
and by cover of dark, starting tonight.

And no fucking inns.

Ser Criston Cole

with some half-dozen other knights,
I'm sure of it.

Perhaps a scout party for a greater army.

The ravens confirm it, Your Grace.

Lord Farring has reported a larger force
moving northeast towards Rosby.

Could you be certain it was Cole
from such a great height?

It was not such a great height,
Your Grace.

You said not to engage,
so I didn't, exactly.

Your Grace, we commend the Lady Baela
for her sharp eyes

but we can tarry no longer.

The time for action is surely now.

Your Grace, I must agree
and request your permission

to return to Rook's Rest
and fortify my lands.

I shouldn't fret, Lord Simon.
They'll be making for Harrenhal.

'Tis Prince Daemon who ought to worry.

Prince Daemon has Caraxes.

Cole will look to increase his numbers
and he may call upon a dragon of his own.

This is why you must act now, Your Grace.

Loose the dragons.
Root Cole out and burn him.

I have heard your arguments.

And will consider them.

Always coming and going, aren't you?

And I have to clean up afterwards.

You will die in this place.

my youngest brother,
Emmon, would stand at guard

with the soldiers when
he was three years old.

Father has sent him to the Citadel.

- Now, if you ask me...
- Thank you, Elinda.

Your Grace.

What do you know of the movements
of Alicent Hightower?

Would you take her hostage?

Or kill her outright?

I would speak with her, myself.

Killing her would be easier.

If war can be averted,
it is my duty to avert it.

I have reason to believe she may be
of the same opinion.

She sent a raven.
She has expressed her remorse.

I can have a message brought to her,
in secret.

She would not agree to it.

She would suspect some subterfuge,
as would I, if I received such a message.

I must see her face to face.

She is the queen dowager.

She goes nowhere without many eyes
watching her.

Unless...

- 'Tis fraught.
- Speak it.

There are fishing boats
aplenty in the bay.

The city depends on them.

Daemon made the journey unhindered.

- But if I'm recognized...
- You may be surprised to learn it,

but most folk pay no mind
to a woman who has not dressed as a queen

or allured herself for the eyes of men.

So, I make my way to the Red Keep,
I presume,

and ring the bell.

Or do I scale the wall
and enter at her window?

There is one place Alicent goes
outside the castle walls

where you may yet find her alone.

Stop. Search the carts.

What's your business here?

Move 'em on through, move 'em on through.

No, no.

What...

- What...
- I must speak with you.

If I cry out?

Your knights would find me.

I would be taken or slain,
though not before I killed you.

And then what?

I have begun badly.

We watched the tourney
together, you and I,

the day my brother was born.

We knew, even then,
that men trained up for battle

are eager to fight,
to seek blood and glory.

But you are...

I know you do not have
that desire within you.

Rhaenys has counseled me.

She said she saw in you a wish to avert
the worst of what may now come.

So you've come to surrender then?

I have come to see if we may uncover
some path towards peace.

My dragons are restless.
They smell battle.

But if you and I may come to terms...

There are no terms now.

You have no army,

your allies turn from you
when they hear of your depravity,

your hands are bloodied in a crime
I could never have

- imagined you...
- The trespass was not mine.

Think what you will.

I am a mother too and you have yet
to answer for the murder of my son.

- I repudiate that act with all my heart.
- Of course, you do.

And the usurping of
my rightful inheritance?

Have you now stooped so low

that you will countenance the suffering
and death of thousands

in order that your feckless son...

Your father changed his mind.

Oh, so you say.

And so your father
has proclaimed to the realm.

I saw the king that night.

Mere hours before I left him,
he had affirmed my right to the throne,

a right he upheld steadfastly,

every day of his life
after my mother died.

And yet, you will maintain that
his mind was changed

- in an instant?
- I will.

You lie.

No, Rhaenyra.

My father loved me, Alicent.

And I believe he loved you, too.

Did you betray him at the very last?

When was your plan first laid?

- Was your ambition so keen...
- He changed his mind, Rhaenyra.

He changed his mind.

I swear this to you
on the memory of my mother.

I have been at times unkind
but never untrue.

I pronounced before all
gathered in that room

that you would make a fine queen.

Do you think me capable
of such naked deceit?

What did he say, at the end?

Did he speak my name?

He was weary.

It was hard, at times, to understand.

But he spoke Aegon's name.

He said he was the prince
that was promised to unite the realm.

- What?
- I desire peace as you do but if...

Did my father use those words?

The Prince That Was Promised?

Did he?

Yes, he did.

He spoke to you
of the Song of Ice and Fire?

It's a story he once told

about Aegon the Conqueror.

The Conqueror.

You must go before you are discovered.

- There's been a mistake.
- There's been no mistake.

Please.

You can prevent this, Alicent.

A terrible war is looming

and even victory may be so bloody
as to be counted a loss.

- Do not let your pride blind...
- There's been no mistake.

My father is gone from court.

Cole is on the march, Aemond...

you know what Aemond is.

- It's too late, Rhaenyra.
- Alicent.