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!
Push it!
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?