Episode 6: Mother, Maiden, Crone
6.1 INT: RED KEEP - DAY
CERSEI smiles brightly at SER LEWYN MARTELL, the Kingsguard stepping aside as she approaches the door to RHAEGAR’s chambers. Expecting the Dornishman’s usual cool courtesy, she is surprised to find her smile returned.
CERSEI
Good morning, ser.
LEWYN
It certainly is, my lady.
S.E: knocking; door opening.
RHAELLA
Cersei, my darling! What a wonderful surprise!
CERSEI
Your Grace, I…
RHAELLA
You were expecting my son, I know. Rhaegar asked me to convey his apologies, but I’m afraid urgent business has called him away from the Red Keep for the day.
RHAELLA frowns in sympathy at CERSEI’s evident disappointment.
RHAELLA [CONT’D]
And after you went to all the trouble of bringing your own harp this time as well.
CERSEI
Perhaps another time, then. Apologies for disturbing you, Your Grace.
CERSEI moves to depart but RHAELLA clutches her arm in sudden concern.
RHAELLA
Dear child, whatever have you done with your hair?
CERSEI raises her free hand self-consciously to her scalp, her long golden locks fashioned into a half-halo atop her head, thin braids wrapped about its length. Despite her best efforts, the halo persists in sitting askew, the braids slack and frayed from the friction of holding it in place. RHAELLA reaches up a hand.
RHAELLA
May I?
RHAELLA begins to fuss at CERSEI’s hair. LEWYN does his best to disguise his amusement at the pink blush rising in the young girl’s cheeks.
CERSEI
I’m afraid I don’t have much experience of the style worn here at court.
RHAELLA
Oh, look at that, I’ve only made it worse. Come in and I’ll start all over.
CERSEI
That’s very kind, Your Grace, but I wouldn’t dream of imposing -
RHAELLA [INTERRUPTING]
Oh, hush! How could I ever forgive myself if I sent you off to roam the castle looking such a fright. In! In!
The Queen shoos CERSEI inside and ushers her to a seat before a executively-carved vanity mirror.
RHAELLA [CONT’D]
Now, you set that harp aside and take a seat right here.
RHAELLA commences her work, pulling a dozen pins and clips from CERSEI’s poor approximation of the courtly style until her hair hangs long and free behind her soldiers. RHAELLA runs her fingers down its length admiringly.
RHAELLA
My shining stars, you have such beautiful hair.
CERSEI
You’re too kind, Your Grace.
RHAELLA waves a finger at the mirror CERSEI in admonishment.
RHAELLA
Now what did we agree about that, young lady?
CERSEI
Forgive me: Rhaella.
Satisfied, the queen returns to combing out CERSEI’s lustrous golden mane. Half-closing her eyes, CERSEI luxuriates in the feel of RHAELLA’s hands playing gently through her hair.
CERSEI
I can just about remember my mother combing my hair each night, before I went to bed. Jaime’s too; he always insisted on keeping it exactly as long as my own.
CERSEI glances at RHAELLA’s reflection, weighing her words carefully.
CERSEI [CONT’D]
Rhaella, if I may, about what happened in the yard yesterday…
The queen waves a hand at the air in dismissal.
RHAELLA
Let’s not waste our words on such silliness: boys will be boys, and it will have done my little prince no harm to have his pride pricked a little.
CERSEI
I know Jaime feels an absolute fool about the whole affair. He barely slept at all last night, he was so distraught.
RHAELLA
You’re a good sister, to worry so on his behalf.
The two of you seem very close.
CERSEI
We’ve pretty much had the run of the Rock since we were children. I spent some time with daughters of my father’s bannermen on occasion, and my aunt Genna would visit with us when she could, but mostly it’s just been the two of us.
RHAELLA
A sweet and kindly aunt is poor substitute for a mother, particularly a woman as wonderful as Joanna.
I used to do this for her too, would you believe? Myara as well. That was Elia’s mother, gods rest her soul. I had to teach them both. Then your mother taught Myara and I the Westerlands style, and Myara showed us how to fashion beautiful long braids like they wear down in Dorne. Or used too, anyway. An old woman like myself cannot be expected to keep up with all the latest fashions.
CERSEI
Nonsense, Rhaella; you and Rhaegar could almost pass for twins yourselves.
As she protests, CERSEI tries to turn her head to face RHAELLA but the queen raises a hand to restrain her and brandishes a tiny metal tong.
RHAELLA
Hold still, wicked girl. Do you want to end up a pin-cushion?
CERSEI does as she’s bid, actually seeming to take a certain pleasure from RHAELLA’s maternal scolding.
CERSEI
I noticed you don’t keep ladies-in-waiting anymore?
RHAELLA
Nor any in the castle’s service, you may have noticed. Even the kitchens are staffed entirely by men…
In truth, I’ve been rather bereft of female company since Joanna returned home. I have Elia, of course, but even in the best of health she has her hands full with her own family.
CERSEI looks down at her hands fluttering nervously like the wings of a settling bird. She watches RHAELLA in the mirror for a long moment.
CERSEI
What was she like? My mother?
RHAELLA stops her labours and meets CERSEI’s eye in the glass. She smiles wistfully and lays a palm on the side of CERSEI’s head, softly stroking her hair.
RHAELLA
Radiant. Simply radiant. She was the light of every room she walked into. You might think I would be jealous, the princess outshone by her lady-in-waiting, but it was impossible to begrudge your mother anything. She didn’t preen or pander to get the boys’ attention; they gave it gladly. Like mother like daughter, in that regard.
CERSEI
You’ll make me blush.
RHAELLA
Don’t pretend you haven’t noticed the stir you’ve caused. I can’t remember the last time the men at court were quite so finely groomed. When they see you coming, they puff out their chests and strut past like prize cocks at market.
CERSEI
Well, perhaps I noticed one or two looking my way.
RHAELLA
Myara was older then your mother and I, and a sight more experienced in the company of men. She’d already lived a full life down in Dorne before she came to us in the capitol, and we’d prod and poke and pester her to tell us all her scandalous stories. When your father came courting after your mother, Myara had us practice before his visits. I’d play the part of Lord Tywin, so tall and proud and serious, and Myara would school Joanna in all the things she’d learned men so love to hear. I got rather good at impersonating your father, actually. For his name day one year, the three of us took our little performance public and I paraded before the whole court in a red and gold doublet and lion-branded leathers, with a fluffy little goatee made from kitten fur glued to my face.
CERSEI
You didn’t! How did my father react?
RHAELLA
He wasn’t best pleased at first, but then he saw how much his Joanna was enjoying herself. Believe it or not, I’m fairly certain I even saw him smile a little. That’s why “radiant” was the first word to spring to mind: it would be easier to carry ice across the Dornish desert than it would to keep any kind of frown in your mother’s presence.
I think those days with your mother and Myara were the happiest of my life.
With a small shake of her head, the queen returns to the present and considers CERSEI’s reflection.
RHAELLA [CONT’D]
Has your father never told you any of this?
CERSEI
I used to ask, but I think it was still too painful for him, so eventually I just stopped asking. He has her portrait hanging in his study, on the wall facing his writing desk. Jaime and I used to sneak in when he was away and spend hours just staring at her. I even broke my wrist, once, falling off the dresser while climbing up so I could touch her face.
RHAELLA
Oh, my sweet baby angel, how heart-breaking. What did your father say?
CERSEI
Jaime told him he’d accidentally hit me with a training sword. I ended up in more trouble for playing at soldiers than I would have if Jaime had just told father the truth.
Pinning the final braid in place, RHAELLA steps back and admires her handiwork.
RHAELLA
There we are, all done! Now you look as though you truly belong here at court!
CERSEI studies her reflection admiringly, tilting her head so she might appreciate it’s expertly-shaped architecture.
CERSEI
Oh, I love it! Thank you, Rhaella, truly. It looks wonderful.
RHAELLA
Why don’t we take a stroll through the gardens and really give those strutting cocks something to stare at?
CERSEI
I’d hate to take up any more of your time…
RHAELLA
Nonsense. You run back to your chambers and drop off that harp of yours, then come and meet me down in the gardens and I’ll tell you more stories of mine and your mother’s misspent youth.
CERSEI
I can think of nothing I should like better.
RHAELLA
Nor I, sweet girl. Now run along, and I’ll break the news to Ser Lewyn that he’s on child-minding duty. It’ll be worth a chuckle seeing his face; there’s nothing the Kingsguard enjoy more than watching over infants.
6.2 INT: TYWIN’S CHAMBERS, TOWER OF THE HAND - DAY
Sitting before TYWIN’s desk, VARYS shifts self-consciously in his chair as the gold-flecked green eyes of the King’s Hand study him cooly over a pair of steepled fingers.
TYWIN
How long have you been with us now, Lord Varys?
VARYS
A little over three months, by my count.
TYWIN
Three months. And how is it that in those three months a Master of Whispers that has had so little occasion to contribute in council should somehow supply intelligence enough to satisfy a king in chambers?
VARYS
The king gave me instruction to watch, to listen, and to report. He provided no such licence in exercising the powers of my office outside these parameters, my lord.
TYWIN
Which is precisely the reason I took the responsibility for small council appointments upon myself many years ago. Had I not, the realm would be served today by naught but the compliant toadies of the king.
VARYS
While naturally your own are much preferred.
TYWIN
Useful fools are only as useful as the colours upon their surcoat, Lord Varys, and only as foolish as their masters permit.
VARYS
Are you suggesting I’m a fool, my lord?
TYWIN
I’m questioning whether you’re useful.
VARYS
However much it may displease you, I did receive my appointment directly from His Grace. I am under his protection.
TYWIN
Ha!
VARYS
Why is that amusing?
TYWIN
Aerys Targaryen hasn’t so much as bared his teeth to me in twenty years. Not when I picked Chelsted and Velaryon from the gutter, nor when I bought the loyalties of Symon Staunton with a seat on the Small Council. If I can make three Masters without the slightest pushback from the king, I shouldn’t think it likely he’d bestir himself on your behalf should it please me to unmake another.
VARYS makes no reply, his confidence in the king’s patronage diminished if not yet entirely dispelled.
TYWIN
You remain unconvinced. Very well, shall we test that uncertainty?
TYWIN moves to stand, but VARYS quickly holds up a hand to stay his rise.
VARYS
You must appreciate the difficult position in which you put me, my lord.
TYWIN
Must I?
VARYS
I have been frank with you as regards my remit from the king, but if His Grace were to suspect me of serving two masters I fear my time here at court would soon come to a most abrupt and decisive end.
By way of reply, TYWIN pulls out the topmost drawer of his desk and retrieves a piece of rolled parchment, the broken wax bereft of any seal. Without comment, he places the scroll on the table between he and VARYS.
TYWIN
I’ve never been troubled by spiders. Flies, however, I find exceedingly irritating. So when I discover a spider in my chambers, I don’t crush it beneath my boot as others might: I allow it to spin it’s web in the corner of my window so I might count how many flies it saves me from having to swat. But a spider that catches none…
VARYS looks at the scroll, then at TYWIN, then back to the scroll. He has little notion what may be written upon the parchment, nor who it may be from, but is shrewd enough to infer that TYWIN means to wield its contents like a knife against the throat.
VARYS
As a consequence of the disruption to our trade routes with the Arbor, the price of Dornish Red has –
TYWIN
- near tripled in the city’s taverns and winesinks. Prince Doran is of a mind to seize upon the opportunity to force a renegotiation of terms with the crown’s import offices.
Come, Lord Varys; my expectations for you may be modest, but I would at least hope you would strive to exceed the contributions of Qarlton Chelsted. He informed me of Lord Doran’s intentions three days ago.
VARYS
Very well. Ser Jaime’s adventures with the Kingsguard: Ser Barristan made the invitation, and the Lord Commander suffered the imposition, but the order came from the king. To what ends, I cannot say for certain, but it seems plain that Aerys means to strike at you through your son and heir.
TYWIN
For the moment, it serves my purposes to allow Aerys to play his clumsy little games with my son, but that does not mean I am ignorant to their design. You shall have to do better than that…
VARYS looks once more at the scroll, his tongue darting out to lick his dry lips like a gambler unnerved by his opponent’s bluff.
VARYS
Prince Rhaegar recently paid a tempestuous call upon the king. It would appear he and his father are at considerable odds over the prince’s proposal for the Night’s Watch.
TYWIN’s eyes narrow as he studies VARYS’s face in silent deliberation. Finally, he takes up the scroll and returns it to the desk drawer.
TYWIN
Go on.
6.3 EXT: YARD OF RIVERRUN - DAY
S.E: footsteps.
Nodding her good mornings to the Tully guards on duty, CATELYN passes from the yard and starts across the heavy wooden drawbridge beyond the gates of Riverrun.
BRANDON
My lady!
CATELYN turns to find BRANDON hurrying from the castle in her direction.
BRANDON
My lady, I missed you at the breakfast table this morning.
CATELYN
I was eager to take the walk I missed yesterday.
BRANDON
I would have liked…that is to say, I had hoped I might apologise for my discourtesy upon the battlements.
CATELYN
And the absence of a breakfast table has dashed those hopes?
BRANDON smiles at CATELYN’s retort, but her cold demeanour shows no signs of thawing.
BRANDON
I have made for a very poor guest since my arrival, and an even poorer betrothed. I should have taken more care to consider your feelings, and for that I sincerely beg your pardon. Everything has been moving so quickly, I believe I never really -
PETYR
Lord Stark!
PETYR and EDMURE pass beneath the walls of Riverrun to join BRANDON and CATELYN upon the drawbridge, a pair of fishing rods slung across the latter’s shoulder.
PETYR
Edmure and I were just heading to the Tumblestone for a spot of fishing. Care to join us?
BRANDON
Thank you, Lord Baelish, but my morning is promised to the Lady Catelyn.
PETYR
What’s the matter, Lord Stark? Worried I’ll show you up in front of your beloved?
BRANDON
Another time, perhaps.
CATELYN
I think some friendly competition sounds a wonderful idea, actually.
BRANDON reacts with surprise at CATELYN’s sudden reversal.
BRANDON
Are you sure? Fishing can be rather tedious, especially so for spectators.
CATELYN
Absolutely. It looks as though we’ll have some sun this afternoon; Lysa and I can sit on the bank and keep one another company.
PETYR
If you require further enticement, Lord Stark, perhaps we might spice the pot with a small wager? Say, a silver stag for every fish more the winner catches?
BRANDON hesitates, searching CATELYN’s face for signs of a trap, wary of giving further offence. Finally, he turns and offers his hand to PETYR to seal the terms.
BRANDON
As you wish, Lord Petyr. May the best man win.
6.4 INT: ILYRIO’S CHAMBERS, THE MERMAID - DAY
VARYS
Who knew the highborn were possessed of such debauched inclinations; I must have passed a dozen faces familiar from about the Red Keep on my progress to your chambers.
ILYRIO
The gamut of debauchery is bound by neither class nor imagination, but only the coin in one’s pockets, my friend. Now, what news from atop Aegon’s High Hill?
VARYS sits before ILYRIO’s desk, the Magister sipping at a cup of wine as they pick over VARYS’ latest debrief.
VARYS
An apothecary, a maegi, a red priest, and a black brother of the night’s watch walk into the king’s solar…
ILYRIO
I believe I’ve heard this joke before.
VARYS
If only it were a joke, but no, this is how I spent last evening. At queen Rhaella’s suggestion, the king commanded me to round up this sorry cavalcade in the hopes of finding a cure for his restless nights of late.
CUT TO:
PYCELLE
Leeches?!
APOTHECARY
Leeches, Your Grace. A dozen applied about the body every night before sleep. The enervating effect of their application is well established as a means of inducing a restful slumber.
AERYS sits in his chair by the hearth, VARYS and PYCELLE hovering at either shoulder. Before them stand as odd an assemblage of characters as the Red Keep has hosted in quite some time: a wizened and white-haired APOTHECARY, a Lhazareen MAEGI, a red-robed PRIESTESS of R’hllor attended by a DWARF, and a flinty-mannered recruiter from the Night’s Watch by the name of YOREN.
PYCELLE
What nonsense. The king is troubled with wakefulness, not a distemper of the blood.
YOREN
Which is why the wildling poultice I recommended is the answer for what ails you, Your Grace. If the Grandmaester would be so good as to find me a measure of acorn paste and a sample of shadowcat shit, begging your pardons Your Grace, I can –
PYCELLE
Shadowcat…! Gods be good, you would have His Grace trust in the superstitions of savages?!
MAEGI
Leeches clean the blood and poultices calm the humours, but only fire can purify the spirit.
While PYCELLE positively reels in offended astonishment, the RED PRIESTESS silently but sagely nods at the MAEGI’s suggestion.
PYCELLE
I should have you executed for treason for even suggesting such a thing! Don’t you know your histories, woman?
AERYS
Let her finish, Grandmaester.
MAEGI
Seal yourself in a windowless room, as naked as the day you came into this world. Build two fires, one of bark from the willow tree and another of hair from the head of a maiden. The flames shall draw forth the ill-humours through the skin to pool in puddles at your feet.
PYCELLE
Really! Never in all my days…Your Grace, while I’m sure Queen Rhaella had naught but the very best of intentions, I’m confident that I can devise a method of treatment that –
AERYS [INTERRUPTING]
You, priestess. What do have to say for yourself?
HOP-BEAN
Forgive my lady, Your Grace, but she does not speak the Common Tongue.
PYCELLE
Thank the gods for small mercies.
HOP-BEAN
If it please Your Grace, I will interpret her words for your understanding.
AERYS
Very well. What does she suggest for a man with my affliction?
HOP-BEAN
Vest-ra-gon mirros?
PRIESTESS
Ah ee-droo-us esh zal-dree-zee?
PYCELLE
And what was that? More talk of burning hair and puddles, perhaps?
HOP-BEAN
She asks: “do you dream of dragons”, Your Grace.
The colour drains from AERYS’ face.
AERYS
What has my wife told you?
HOP-BEAN
Kul un-jee-ick da-ree –
PRITESTESS [INTERRUPTING]
Ja ha ur-ren-eesi lum-ah-ee ee-droo-us, ee-droo-us say-tay-gon. Zal-dree-zee ah ee-dru-on.
HOP-BEAN
I have seen: your restlessness is not the disease; it is merely the symptom. It is the dreams that plague you.
AERYS looks into the PRIESTESS’ eyes, his own narrowed in circumspection. She returns his gaze, unblinking.
AERYS
Leave me with her.
PYCELLE
Your Grace, these charlatans have naught to offer you but –
AERYS
Out, I said.
PYCELLE reluctantly herds the others from the room. VARYS surveys a wide berth to keep as much distance as possible between himself and the RED PRIESTESS.
AERYS [CONT’D]
What do you know of my dreams?
HOP-BEAN
Kul ah kim esh zal-dree-zee ee-droo-us.
PRIESTESS
Ee-droo-us ah mee za-gon, vess-tree-a-zeer ma-zee-lar-zee-on.
HOP-BEAN
Dreams are but a portent of things to come. For those who possess the second sight to see through their fog of riddles, the future opens out wide and clear like an undisturbed sea.
AERYS
Truly? She said all that?
HOP-BEAN
Volantine is a tongue near as economical as it is evocative, Your Grace.
PRIESTESS
Tee-bay-oo da-row-jee-own ah-no-gar roo-al esh kim esh zal-dree-zee.
The DWARF reaches into his pocket and produces a large needle. AERYS glances at the door, silently calculating whether he can outpace a dwarf if the need should arise.
HOP-BEAN
Allow me but one drop of your royal blood and I will tell you why these dragons harry at the fringes of your knowing.
AERYS considers, inspecting the dwarf’s face for signs of malice, then holds out his hand, index finger extended.
AERYS
Play me for a fool, witch, and I will make you suffer for it. You and your dwarf.
HOP-BEAN
My name is Hop-Bean, if it please, Your Grace. And in truth, I do not belong to my lady, but to the Temple of the Lord of Light, and have done since I was a child. My father was a lowly –
The PRIESTESS interrupts the DWARF’s backstory with a swift boot to his posterior. She glowers at him as he rubs it reproachfully. Accepting his reprimand, the DWARF presents his needle and pricks AERYS’ fingertip, drawing forth a single bead of blood. Moving faster than AERYS could ever have imagined, the PRIESTESS drops to her knees and wraps her lips about AERYS’ finger, suckling its tip as a newborn does its mother teat. AERYS’ expression lies somewhere between revulsion and rhapsody, though undoubtedly verging on the disappointed when the PRIESTESS removes his finger and stands. She ruminates a moment, as a connoisseur of wines might anticipate the oaky aftertaste of an especially enigmatic vintage.
PRIESTESS
Ah ur-nen…
HOP-BEAN
“I see…”
PRIESTESS
Ah ur-nen ah me-may-ba-gon jo-no-vee-gon me-svos zob-ree mill-ee.
HOP-BEAN
“I see you marching into battle, dressed in plate of crimson and black.”
AERYS
The Stepstones.
PRIESTESS
Oh-ah. Ah ur-nen doh-ross…saom-ba-zee-mon…ok-tee-on.
HOP-BEAN
“No. I see walls…a keep…a city.”
AERYS
So will I if I look from any of these windows. Tell me about the dragons.
PRIESTESS
Oh-ah. Oh-doh-ross…len-tor, ee len-tor…oo-deck-ah-ra-gon em-ba-za. Vee-lay-ba-zay-ma, ma-zum-beel-ah…zo-bree…zo-bree egg-ross zo-bree, Ah ur-nen…ah-no-gar…kar-ees see-zee no-gar.
HOP-BEAN
“Not a city…a town, or a village…close upon the sea. Danger all around you…darkness…darkness…blades in the darkness…I see blood…fire and blood.”
AERYS
A battle?
HOP-BEAN
Vee-lee-baz-ma?
PRIESTESS
Oh-ah. Oh vee-lee-baz-ma. Vee-lee-ba-gon.
HOP-BEAN
“No, not a battle. A…a…forgive me Your Grace, there is no word in the Common Tongue that fully expresses her meaning.
AERYS
A war?
HOP-BEAN
Not a war, no…something smaller. Something more…personal.
AERS
A revolt? A rebellion?
HOP-BEAN
Closer, but still no…the Volantine word implies more of a resistance, or a refusal…ah, yes: a defiance. She sees a defiance.
AERYS
Against whom? When will it come? Who would dare defy me?
HOP-BEAN
Sko-or-luss? Sko-or-ee?
PRIESTESS
Zo-bree…may-ree zo-bree.
HOP-BEAN
She cannot say who. “Darkness” she sees, “only darkness.”
PRIESTESS
Zel-dree-zee eep-ra-day-gon…dracarys. Ah jo-rag-oh ee-rin-non ja-qwee-arza jo-zee-gon noo-qwer gree-nun-tee-us.
HOP-BEAN
“The flame of the dragon will devour the darkness. You will stand glorious and proud upon the ashes of your enemies…”
AERYS’ eyes are wide as a child’s ensorcelled by its favourite bedtime story, the faintest hint of tears glistening upon his lower lids.
PRIESTESS
Bay-za skur-ja zal-dree-zee ee-da-ko-gon ee-droo us: ma-zee-la-ree zal-dree-zee.
HOP-BEAN
This is why dragons haunt your dreams: they are a portent of things to come, a portent…
PRIESTESS
Zal-dree-zee see-kay-gon.
HOP-BEAN
“…Of the dragon reborn”.
6.5 EXT: GROUNDS OF RIVERRUN – DAY
LYSA and CATELYN sit on the banks of the Tumblestone, their dresses hiked up to their knees and their feet dangling in the water. Upriver, BRANDON stands with pole in hand, patiently waiting for another bite. Downriver, PETYR bickers with EDMURE, sending the young lord wading into the water to inspect his line.
CATELYN
How do you think Petyr’s doing?
LYSA
I haven’t been paying attention to what Petyr’s doing.
CATELYN
That would be a first.
LYSA
I think he’s caught three.
CATELYN
Really?
CATELYN looks up, reading the progress of the sun across the clear blue sky.
CATELYN
I believe that’s just about time, gentlemen!
LYSA
I hope Brandon hasn’t beaten him too badly. You know how Petyr covets his savings.
PETYR and EDMURE arrive first, poor EDMURE wet through after taking a spill on his exit from the river.
CATELYN
Well?
PETYR proudly raises aloft three silver-scaled minnows hanging from a string.
LYSA
Oh, Petyr! That’s wonderful! Well done you!
S.E: footsteps.
CATELYN
I think Petyr may have you beat, my Lord.
BRANDON inspects PETYR’s haul and nods appreciatively.
BRANDON
On another day he may well have, but it seems the Old Gods must have travelled south with me to grant their favour!
BRANDON raises aloft three fat trout, each as long as his forearm and twice as wide.
EDMURE
Look at those monsters!
CATELYN
It looks like we have a tie.
EDMURE
Hardly! All three of Littlefinger’s don’t weigh even half so much as just one of Brandon’s!
PETYR shoots daggers at EDMURE, but then reaches into his pocket and retrieves two silvers. Without a word, but his face as eloquent as a eulogy, PETYR tosses them to BRANDON.
BRANDON
There’s no need, really. We never took size into account when we agreed our terms.
PETYR
The larger man rarely does. Keep it: it’s not only Lannisters that pay their debts.
BRANDON
Well, if you insist…
BRANDON crouches beside CATELYN and hands her one of his coins.
BRANDON
Your share of the winnings, my lady.
CATELYN takes the coin but remains unreceptive to his earnest smile.
CATELYN
Perhaps Petyr would like a chance to recover his losses?
The fishing party turns to PETYR; he studies CATELYN, striving in vain to discern her intentions.
PETYR
What fashion of contest did my lady have in mind?
EDMURE
Ooh, a joust!
LYSA
Don’t be absurd, Edmure.
EDMURE
A horserace, then?
LYSA
Petyr doesn’t like horses, not since Florian bit him on his…nethers.
BRANDON
Florian is your stablehand?
LYSA
Florian’s my pony.
EDMURE
How about a hunt? Or an archery competition!
BRANDON
I think I’ve neglected the Lady Catelyn quite enough already. Perhaps we might take a horse ride together?
CATELYN
Why not all three? I have a few suggestions in mind, and I’m certain Lysa could think of a couple more. We can have our own little tourney right here at home, get ourselves in the mood for the festivities at Harrenhal.
LYSA glances at PETYR, knowing the wound to his pride in their previous conversation about Harrenhal has almost certainly yet to heal, but if PETYR feels the sting he gives no outward sign.
PETYR
A splendid idea, my lady. What say you, Lord Stark?
Now it’s BRANDON’s turn to feel four pairs of eyes upon him, awaiting his decision. Like PETYR before him, he searches CATELYN’s face, but finds only an enigmatic half-smile and a pair of eyebrows raised expectantly.
PETYR [CONT’D]
If it puts your mind at ease, I don’t recall any snarks or grumkins ever being sighted in these words. I know how you Northerners tremble at the notion.
BRANDON ignores the slight, but his demeanour hardens somewhat at CATELYN’s amusement. He answers without turning his eyes away from CATELYN’s own, his voice suddenly stiffened with antagonistic resolve.
BRANDON
What stakes this time?
PETYR
How heavy is your coin purse? Let’s say a silver piece for every bird, a gold for every rabbit or hare, and ten whole dragons for a pig or deer. Perhaps twenty dragons to the winner of the horse race, and another twenty to the highest score with bow and arrow.
LYSA
Petyr, don’t!
LYSA and EDMURE immediately retreat into huddled conference with PETYR, the former lamenting the dangers to PETYR’s health, both physical and monetary, and the latter positively bouncing with excitement at the very same. Left alone together, CATELYN stands and faces BRANDON.
BRANDON
If you’re looking to punish me somehow for the cross words that passed between us, you could have conceived of something a little less costly.
CATELYN
Don’t worry, Brandon: you shared your winnings; it’s only fair I cover half your losses should Petyr beat you.
She ambles over to join the others. Facing down all three residents of Riverrun grouped together, BRANDON feels his prideful instincts leaving him little recourse but to accept their challenge.
BRANDON
Very well. Let the games begin.
6.6 INT: ROYAL GARDENS, KING’S LANDING - MORNING
S.E: footsteps.
As CERSEI approaches the trellis-covered patio overlooking the sea, she is surprised to discover a small child leaning against the garden wall, his back to the stone pathway CERSEI walks. As she gets closer the realisation dawns that his proportions are not those of a child at all. She stops, struck stone still in her progress.
CERSEI
Tyrion? What are you –
The dwarf turns to face her, and CERSEI realises her mistake. This man is closer to her father’s age than her youngest brother’s.
CERSEI [CONT’D]
Apologies, ser. I mistook you for someone else.
Before the HOP-BEAN can reply, RHAELLA appears from the patio in the company of a tall and slender woman dressed in the red robes of a priestess of Rhlhor.
RHAELLA
…lovely to see you, and best of luck of with the new show.
PRIESTESS
Thank you, Your Grace. Your patronage has always been a blessing. Come along, Hop-Bean.
Bowing to the queen, the priestess and the dwarf make their exit. RHAELLA’s face lights up when she spies CERSEI.
RHAELLA
There you are, sweetling. I was beginning to think you’d forgotten me. Come, come, let us sit.
JONOTHOR stands at attention against the trellis wall; he nods to CERSEI in greeting as she and RHAELLA take seats at a small picnic table upon which sits a four-tiered silver cake-stand heavy-laden with a richly-coloured assortment of pastries and sweet-treats. RHAELLA pours them both a generous serving of wine and sips appreciatively at her own.
RHAELLA [CONT’D]
A Dornish Red. I hear its tripled in price since this awful business with the Arbor, but fortunately we’re still working our way through the barrels Prince Doran sent us when my grandson was born. I hope you like it.
CERSEI
I’m afraid I don’t have a very experienced palette; I’m not much of a drinker.
RHAELLA
That will change soon enough, if you mean to find yourself a husband here at court.
CERSEI
How so?
RHAELLA
The days can be long and tedious for the newly-wed without wine to make the hours pass more swiftly. Nothing much is expected from a wife, you see, besides keeping her husband’s castle and making herself look presentable. But being a woman of means, you’ll have a maester to manage the first, and ladies-in-waiting to see to the second. You’ll be bored out of your skull, I promise you. Until the children come along, of course. That’s when you’ll really learn to appreciate the virtues of a fine tall glass of wine.
Look at your face; you must think me a terrible mother, raising my boys with a bottle in hand.
CERSEI
Not at all Your Grace. I cannot speak to Prince Viserys, but if he should grow up to be even half the man his brother is you’ll have done the realm a wonderful service.
RHAELLA
Yes, I did rather well there, I’m not too humble to admit. He’s a very special boy, my Rhaegar.
CERSEI
He shall make a wonderful king someday. The people adore him.
RHAELLA
He’s always been special to me, whether he was son to a king or not. Since the day he was born he’s been special: my beautiful shining shield…proof that I could give Aerys the sons he wanted so desperately.
RHAELLA sees the curiosity in CERSEI’s eyes. She pauses a moment, as though debating with herself exactly how much she cares to share.
RHAELLA [CONTD]
I lost four children before Rhaegar, and another four before Viserys. Three were miscarriages; two were stillborn. The three that survived childbirth, the three I’ve no doubt you’ve heard of – Daeron, Aegon, and Jaehaerys, named for my father – all of them were taken from us before their first name day.
CERSEI
I’m so sorry for your loss, Your Grace. I cannot imagine how painful it must have been for the two of you.
RHAELLA
I cannot speak to the king’s pain. He and I were never close as brother and sister, and any chance of our becoming so as husband and wife was soon extinguished. I even began to wonder if that was the problem, if perhaps the High Septon had the right of it when he decried brother laying down with sister as an abomination in the eyes of the Gods. Perhaps we were being punished for marrying without the faith’s blessing, cursed by my father’s hubris to suffer time and again the worst pain any parent can possibly know…
*pause*
It wasn’t long after I suffered my second miscarriage that your mother announced she was pregnant with twins. Myara and I were delighted, of course, but your mother…oh Cersei, you could have hung her smile in the sky in place of the sun, she was so happy. And selfish as it may sound, caring for your mother, helping her through her pregnancy…you never knew it, but you and your brother were a great comfort to me.
*pause*
And so when Tywin sent your mother home before I even had a chance to meet you…it almost felt as though the old curse had come again, just with a new twist on an old agony. Two more children snatched away from me.
CERSEI reaches out and wraps her hand around RHAELLA’s own and gives it a reassuring squeeze.
RHAELLA [CONT’D]
I pleaded with your father to let your mother stay, to raise you here at the Red Keep. But he was insistent: he wanted his children to grow up at the Rock.
CERSEI
And what about my mother? What did she want?
RHAELLA looks at CERSEI quietly for several seconds, then raises the corners of her mouth in a sad and rueful smile.
RHAELLA
One day soon you’ll look back and realise how very young you sound, asking that question.
CERSEI looks away, hurt by the queen’s condescension. RHAELLA reaches out and adds her second hand to their embrace, wrapping CERSEI’s hand both of hers.
RHAELLA [CONT’D]
Forgive me, child. I always hated it when bitter old women would tell me all the things I didn’t understand. And I hated it too when they would unload upon me all the heartache of their lives, and I would be forced to sit there and smile as though anything in my life could ever be so sad. But I hope at least that now you understand how much you mean to me, Cersei. Having you here is like having a little piece of your mother back…and gods how I’ve missed her.
6.7 INT: THE MERMAID - DAY
In a narrow passageway of bare wooden boards between two interior walls, ILYRIO sits precariously upon a stool, his ample rump spilling over all sides of the seat. The cramped quarters spare him little room to manoeuvre, but he somehow succeeds in bending forward low enough that his gaze aligns with the two tiny eyeholes bored into the wall. Retrieving a peach from a full bowl between his feet, he settles in to watch. On the other side, Master of Ships LUCERYS VELARYON lies upon a four-poster bed in post-coital lassitude, two of ILYRIO’s girls coiled naked and languorous about either flank.
NARISSA
I see now why they call you the Sea Snake.
LUCERYS
A different Velaryon, my sweet.
MELEENEE
So what do they call you, if not the Sea Snake?
LUCERYS
The Sea Slug. The Landed Snake. The Lord of Port. Bastard.
MELEENEE
But how can you be a bastard, if your name is Velaryon?
LUCERYS
It’s not a terribly interesting story, I promise you.
NARISSA raises the tangle of covers spread haphazardly over LUCERYS’ middle.
NARISSA
I’d say we have a few minutes, wouldn’t you Mel?
LUCERYS grins and extricates his arm from around MELEENEE’s neck.
LUCERYS
Very well. Fetch me a cup of wine to parch my thirst.
MELEENEE does as she’s bid, LUCERYS watching her olive-skinned body move lithely across the room.
LUCERYS
People name me bastard because that’s precisely what I am. I was born a by-blow of Lord Arastees Velaryon, Lord of Driftwood, Master of the Tides, and last of his great and noble line. His efforts at siring a child upon his lady wife had all ended in failure, and so for a time I was raised as the apple of my father’s eye and presumptive heir to Driftmark. When Lady Talia died delivering her fifth stillborn son, Lord Arastees found himself a new wife, and soon thereafter she birthed my half-brother Emmond. With a young and pliable girl in his bed and a trueborn son his nursery, my father had no more use for my mother and I. Before the moon had turned, we were cast out, discarded and forgotten.
NARISSA strokes LUCERYS’ cheek, pressing her lips to his bare chest tenderly.
NARISSA
What a cruel thing to happen. My poor, poor little lord.
MELEENEE returns with LUCERYS’ wine and curls up beside him.
MELEENEE
I hope this story has a happy ending.
LUCERYS
After a fashion, I suppose. Without a copper to my name, I was forced to draw upon the one gift of my father’s I still possessed, and found work on a merchant ship sailing out of Pentos. But the gods had other plans: on the return voyage, we were overtaken by a band of privateers and taken as slaves to be sold in Volantis.
NARISSA
How awful!
LUCERYS
It could have been, had I failed to impress my captors during the storms that would have sunk us three times over were it not for my efforts. The captain fell overboard and drowned the first night, his first mate the second, and so it fell to me to keep us afloat and steer us through the squalls. When we finally reached Volantis, the Pentoshi crew were taken to market and I was given a ship of my own in the privateer’s fleet.
MELEENEE
Wait, so you were a pirate before you were a lord?
LUCERYS
Not a pirate: a privateer.
NARISSA
What’s the difference?
LUCERYS
What’s the difference between a brothel and a pillow house?
MELEENEE
You’ll find your answer soon enough, when Magister Ilyrio presents you the price for our company today.
NARISSA
Masters of the Small Council don’t pay for their pleasure, silly girl.
LUCERYS
Oh, we pay. Just not in coin, and not to up-jumped cheeselords playing at flesh-peddler.
MELEENEE
Then how do you pay?
LUCERYS
Patience, sweetling, we’re almost there. So, after a few years making my fortune at sea I found myself by one fashion and another in command of the entire fleet. Not long after I received my command, word reached me that my father had been killed on the shores of the Steptones, sunk by Maelys’ motley band of whoresons. The Seven Kingdoms was at war, and now found itself without a Master of Ships.
NARISSA
What about your half-brother?
LUCERYS
Still an infant, barely out of swaddling clothes and in no position to assume my father’s duties. And thus it was I received my unexpected summons: Tywin Lannister, eldest son of Lord Tytos Lannister of Casterly Rock, had convinced his good friend Prince Aerys that his father needed a captain that knew the Stepstones intimately but the rules of honourable engagement only in passing. Run the last remnants of Maelys’ fleet to ground, Tywin told me, and I will see to it that you are granted that which your father refused you: I will name you Velaryon.
MELEENE
He could do that?
LUCERYS
Not at that time, no, but once Aerys was king and named Tywin Hand there was very little he couldn’t do. In truth the war was all but won after the young lion’s famous trick on Bloodstone, but the prince was determined not to make his forebears’ mistake and resolved to extinguish the Blackfyre flame once and for all. We spent two weeks flushing out the last of the rebels from among the Stepstones, and another two chasing them across the Summer Sea. Once we had them under tow, we tied their crews to the decks and burned the ships to cinders. Before the year was out, Aerys was king, Tywin was Hand, and I was Lord Lucerys Velaryon, Master of Ships.
NARISSA
That’s quite the happy ending, my lord…
NARISSA raises the covers once more, sliding a hand down between LUCERYS’ legs.
NARISSA [CONT’D]
…and not before time by the look of things.
MELEENEE
Wait, I want to hear the rest! You must have more adventures to tell?
LUCERYS breaks away from NARISSA’s lips only long enough to disappoint MELEENEE.
LUCERYS
You would think so, wouldn’t you? Twenty years in command of the king’s navy…
LUCERYS trails away as NARISSA directs her kisses southward. MELEENEE pulls at his arm.
MELEENEE
There must be more, my lord. You cannot whet a girl’s appetites like that then leave her unsatisfied.
LUCERYS opens his eyes to regard MELEENEE suspiciously.
LUCERYS
I’ve never met a whore so interested in anything but coin. Where did you say Ilyrio found you?
Behind the walls, ILYRIO’s jaw stops mid-mastication as he silently curses his agents’ heavy-handedness. NARISSA stops her ministrations to look up at LUCERYS with innocent eyes.
NARISSA
Do you know Lorath well, my Lord?
LUCERYS
Not as well as I might, perhaps.
MELEENEE
A sea-farer like yourself must surely be familiar with Lys?
ILYRIO bobs his head in appreciation. He has taught his girls well, NARISSA and MELEENEE redirecting LUCERYS by pricking at his pride as a sailor.
LUCERYS
I have not set foot on a ship at sea since I took up my seat…
He loses his train of thought for a moment as NARISSA returns to her work.
LUCERYS [CONT’D]
…my seat in council. Tywin prefers his dogs be kept on a short leash. Besides, girl, it’s not your satisfaction I’m here for.
MELEENEE
But my lord –
LUCERYS
Hush now. I was told you ladies were trained in the way of the Seven Sighs. By my count, I’ve yet to sample more than four.
MELEENEE allows LUCERYS to push her head down to join NARISSA. He leans back, letting his empty wine cup roll away across the bed. Between the walls, ILYRIO sucks the last shreds of flesh from the pit of his peach and reaches for another, sticky juices and a satisfied smile upon his lips.
6.8 EXT: YARD OF RIVERRUN – DAY
EDMURE
The count as things stand entering our final contest: Littlefinger owes twenty gold dragons for the horserace, five for the footrace, ten for the arm-wrestling, eight for the tree-climbing, and twelve for the two rabbits and the fawn Brandon took in the hunt. In the opposite column, Brandon owes two silvers for the brace of pheasants Littlefinger felled…and that concludes the count.
EDMURE steps down from his improvised podium and crosses Riverrun’s yard to stand beside a pair of archery targets mounted on straw-covered boards.
BRANDON
Those pheasants were well taken, Petyr.
PETYR smiles humourlessly as he and BRANDON select their bows from a selection racked against the castle wall.
PETYR
I’ve always found the spear such a primitive weapon. Thrust and stab, thrust and stab. The bow and arrow, on the other hand…graceful, elegant, refined. I feel more confident just holding the bow in my hands. What say we go double or nothing?
LYSA
No, Petyr!
EDMURE
Did you not just hear the count?
BRANDON looks to CATELYN. She tilts her head and raises a shoulder in a half-shrug. BRANDON sighs and holds out a hand towards the range in invitation.
BRANDON
You have the honours.
PETYR walks to the shooting line. He rolls his shoulders, stretches to the sky, twists at the middle. LYSA watches his warm-up with a look of concern.
LYSA
Petyr, why do you insist on embarrassing yourself like this?
PETYR
There’s nothing embarrassing here, Lysa. Only fair and spirited competition between red-blooded men.
LYSA
Couldn’t you at least suggest something more suited to your talents, instead? Perhaps a poetry-writing contest? You write me such beautiful poems!
PETYR gives her a cold silencing stare by way of reply, and LYSA retreats to the waiting line. He draws an arrow from the basket placed beside the shooting line, inspects its fletching, and nocks.
CATELYN
Wait!
CATELYN hurries over to PETYR and removes the clutch of flowers laced about the thin cord tying back her hair.
CATELYN [CONT’D]
Here, this is for you.
CATELYN ties the cord about PETYR’s wrist. He touches the petals with an expression of guarded wonder, his happy surprise overcoming his hard-earned scepticism.
PETYR
You want me to wear your favour?
CATELYN
A small peace offering to apologise for my behaviour the other day. You were so sweet, and I repaid your kindness with cruelty. I’d hate to think I’d ruined what we’ve always had between us.
CATELYN gives PETYR a peck on the cheek, but only once she’s confident of BRANDON’s attention.
CATELYN [CONT’D]
Good luck, Petyr.
CATELYN returns to the others at the waiting line. LYSA shoots daggers at her sister, but CATELYN pretends not to notice. PETYR takes a last look at the flowers on his wrist, and nocks.
S.E: arrow hit.
EDMURE
One point!
S.E: arrow hit.
EDMURE [CONT’D]
Five points!
PETYR
I hope you father sent you south with coin enough to cover your bets, Lord Stark.
S.E: arrow hit.
EDMURE
Three points! Nine points for Littlefinger!
PETYR curses under his breath and approaches the target, arguing with EDMURE about his first arrow’s placement, the self-appointed adjudicator refusing to budge from his ruling.
BRANDON
Where does he get his money?
CATELYN
He saves every copper father ever gives him. He doesn’t drink, he doesn’t gamble…well, not until today, anyway. I suppose when you come from modest means, you’re more inclined to be careful with your coin.
BRANDON
He's not being very careful with it now.
LYSA
I did ask him once why he cares so much about money. He told me it’s much harder for lords and ladies to look down upon a man of humble birth when he’s standing on a stack of golden dragons.
CATELYN pays close notice to this exchange, and watches BRANDON’s reaction with curiosity. BRANDON walks out to the shooting line as EDMURE finally succeeds in shooing PETYR away from the target. BRANDON nocks his first arrow.
S.E: arrow hit.
EDMURE
Five points!
S.E: arrow hit.
BRANDON pulls his second arrow from the basket. He looks over at LYSA and PETYR. At PETYR’s side, LYSA clutches his hand in both of hers, her anxiety plain to see. PETYR, by contrast, is making his best effort at manly stoicism, but the sweat upon his brow and the white-knuckle pressure of his grip upon LYSA’s hands betray his true emotions.
S.E: arrow hit.
EDMURE
Four points!
BRANDON pulls and nocks his third and final arrow. He assumes his stance, then looks again towards the waiting line. PETYR and LYSA are unaware of his attention, their eyes fixed firmly upon the target and their shoulders slumped in impending defeat. BRANDON meets CATELYN’s eyes, discovers her studying him with a small smile at the corner of her lips. Without turning back to the target, BRANDON releases his arrow.
S.E: arrow hit.
EDMURE
Miss!
LYSA throws her arms around PETYR, lifting her heels and swinging them from side to side in jubilant abandon. EDMURE looks incredulously at BRANDON, then to the arrow buried in the straw-covered board a foot to the left of the target. PETYR smirks at BRANDON over LYSA’s shoulder.
PETYR
Thank you, Lord Stark. I shall put your coin to good use, I assure you.
BRANDON
I don’t doubt it, my friend.
PETYR
Before long I shall have turned this one purse of gold and silver into one thousand. If in future you should ever find yourself struggling and in need of a loan, you need only come to me. I promise I shall grant you a very reasonable rate of interest.
CATELYN strolls out to meet BRANDON on the shooting line.
CATELYN
That was a nice thing you did.
BRANDON
Nice for Petyr’s purse, perhaps. I should have inspected the fletching on that last arrow; the flight was definitely off.
CATELYN’s smile broadens at BRANDON’s pretence at poor sportsmanship.
CATELYN
Eighty gold dragons is a bitter loss for the heir to Winterfell, but to a poor boy from the Fingers it’s a small fortune.
BRANDON
Forty.
CATELYN
What do you mean?
BRANDON
I owe Petyr forty gold dragons, and so do you. You promised to cover half my losses, remember?
CATELYN smiles, then rises up on her tiptoes to plant a kiss on BRANDON’s cheek. From LYSA’s arms, PETYR spies this moment of intimacy, causing the improbability of BRANDON’s miss to slowly begin to dawn. Somewhere deep inside, PETYR’s short-lived joy begins to curdle.
6.9 INT: SMALL COUNCIL CHAMBERS, TOWER OF THE HAND - DAY
LUCERYS
In accordance with this counsel’s instructions, Lord Redwyne provided the transport six of the Arbor’s best-equipped warships as escort along the coast of Dorne.
TYWIN sits back in his chair at the head of the table and casts a satisfied survey about the Small Council.
TYWIN
So it would appear Lord Redwyne had the means of ensuring his own shipping routes after all.
LUCERYS
To the contrary, my lord hand. Although the escort succeeded in repelling the initial attack, they were soon set upon by a second, far larger fleet of pirate vessels. Three of the warships were sunk and another two taken. All ten cargo ships were likewise lost.
CHELSTED
All? Good gods, they were carrying enough Arbor Gold to fill Blackwater Bay.
PYCELLE
How is it possible they were taken so unawares?
LUCERYS
Reports are confused, my lord, but it would seem the larger part of the pirate fleet had taken anchor to the south of Ghaston Grey.
CHELSTED
The Dornish prison island?
LUCERYS
The prison has long since been abandoned, but the island was well chosen for that purpose, little more than a sheer-faced mountain rising from the sea. While the Redwyne fleet gave battle to the north-east, the ambush sailed north-west around the coast of Ghaston Grey and descended upon their rear.
RHAEGAR
The crown must answer this outrage at once, and in full force.
LUCERYS nods in appreciation of RHAEGAR’s reaction, sensing that the freedom of the seas may finally be permitted him once more after twenty long years chained to the Council table.
RHAEGAR [CONT’D]
What say you, my lord hand?
RHAEGAR turns his head toward TWYIN, and LUCERYS visibly deflates.
TYWIN
I couldn’t agree more, Your Grace.
Wide-eyed, LUCERYS blinks in disbelief.
TYWIN [CONT’D]
This latest escalation could likely have been averted had your instincts in favour of earlier action been heeded, and I am certain there are those among this council that feel themselves a fool for raising their voice in opposition.
LUCERYS glances incredulously at QARLTON, QARLTON at VARYS, VARYS at PYCELLE, the eunuch and the Grandmaester united in common feeling for perhaps the first time by their shared incredulity.
TYWIN [CONT’D]
Lord Lucerys…
The Master of Ships raises himself up straight, proud and expectant like a champion show pony ready to receive his ribbon.
TYWIN [CONT’D]
Send word to Driftmark. Instruct Lord Emmond to take ship for King’s Landing at once.
As TYWIN speaks, LUCERYS’ face gradually drains of colour until his eager expression is as wan and withered as his hopes.
TYWIN [CONT’D]
See that Lord Emmond supplies you with the names of his chosen captains before he sails, so they may assemble their crews and take on provisions while he makes his crossing. I want the royal fleet upon the waters the day after tomorrow.
LUCERYS
I thought…my lord hand, forgive me, but I imagined that I might lead the escort myself.
TYWIN
Thank you, Lord Lucerys, but your presence in the capitol is far too valuable to spare. Your place is here on the Small Council, where your expertise and experience can best serve His Grace.
LUCERYS
But…I am Master of Ships. My brother has no –
TYWIN [INTERRUPTING]
Your half-brother has been raised from birth to one day assume his father’s seat as Lord of the Tides. Arastees received his first command a whole two years before he reached his adulthood, so by his own father’s standard it seems to me well past time Emmond did the same.
RHAEGAR’s eyes move from TYWIN to LUCERYS and back again, the stare that each holds upon the other so cold and unwavering the prince could almost reach out and grasp it like a javelin made of ice.
RHAEGAR
Lord Lucerys. I understand your frustration, believe me I do. But Lord Tywin has the right of it: as long as you remain Master of Ships, your place is here at council.
LUCERYS gives no sign he has heard RHAEGAR, so fixed is his focus on TYWIN.
TYWIN
Take your seat, Lord Lucerys.
For a moment it appears for all the world as though LUCERYS will refuse, but in the end TYWIN’s tone awakens his instincts for self-preservation and he reluctantly does as he’s commanded. RHAEGAR stands.
RHAEGAR
Let us leave it there for now, my lords. I fear these grievous tidings have given us more than enough with which to contend for one day.
TYWIN
Actually, Your Grace, there was one further matter I hoped to raise before council.
RHAEGAR
Oh?
TYWIN
With your leave, Your Grace, I should like to turn our attention to the current plight of the Night’s Watch.
RHAEGAR’s eyes flit to VARYS for half-a-heartbeat, but the Master of Whispers proves too inscrutable to read. The prince retakes his seat.
RHAEGAR
Go on.
TYWIN
I’ve been giving the matter a great deal of thought, and have come to the conclusion that several concerns of the moment might be resolved to the benefit of the black brothers.
Ser Gerold has expressed his concern that a disreputable element of significant size may find its way to Harrenhal. So much wealth gathered in one place will appeal to such characters as an unguarded hen house would a fox. If we were to provide Lord Whent a detachment of Gold Cloaks, in one fell swoop we could purge the realm of a great many of its undesirables while simultaneously answering Lord Qorgyle’s perennial entreaties for reinforcements to his ranks.
RHAEGAR
A fine notion, my lord. The Watch would never turn away a man of able body.
TYWIN
Of course, although I have always been of the mind that a soldier is only ever as able as his commanding officer. What good these reinforcements without the men experienced in arms to train them?
RHAEGAR
My uncle Aemon has oft bemoaned the lack of knights upon the Wall, certainly. Men of good character, that have experience with sword and lance and sitting a horse. Experience that could be passed on, given sufficient time and patience.
TYWIN
If House Targaryen can find fifty such men within their ranks, then House Lannister will gladly do the same. I will also see to it that each man be issued two of everything a soldier might ordinarily carry: one for themselves, one to be donated to the armouries of the Night’s Watch.
RHAEGAR
I trust my lord hand will take no offence when I say I am as surprised by the generosity of this proposal as I am by its suddenness.
TYWIN
The crown has been a friend to the Watch for centuries, and any friend of the crown’s is perforce a friend of House Lannister, and as the good and honest masters about this table can well attest: there is very little I would not do in the service of my friends, Your Grace.
6.10 INT: DINING CHAMBER, RIVERRUN - NIGHT
Seated around one end of the long banquet table in the great hall of Riverrun, the Tully household of HOSTER, CATELYN, LYSA, and HOSTER’S brother BRYNDEN listen with amusement as it’s youngest member peppers their guest with questions, the young boy’s eyes wide with wonder. Only PETYR remains apart, focused instead on refilling his wine glass for the third time since they sat down to supper.
EDMURE
Are there really direwolves in the North? I’ve heard they can grow as big as a horse.
BRANDON
Bigger, even. It’s rare to see one these days, but I’m told they’re very common north of the Wall.
EDMURE
What about shadowcats?
BRANDON
Oh yes, more than you could count.
EDMURE
Which would win in a fight: a direwolf or a shadowcat?
CATELYN returns BRANDON’s smile, charmed that he makes no objection to indulging her little brother’s boyish fancies.
BRANDON
As much as it pains me to admit, I’d have to say the shadowcat would likely emerge the victor in a one-on-one contest. But here’s the thing: that would never happen. Shadowcats are solitary beasts, while the direwolf hunts in a pack.
PETYR
Such a noble beast, the direwolf.
BRANDON
Spend a single winter in the North, my friend, and you’ll soon appreciate the wisdom of wolves. Work together, or die apart: it’s a principle and practice that has sustained my family for centuries.
PETYR
Not so well that you didn’t need to hand com begging to your friends in the south to supply you extra grain this past winter.
PETYR reaches for the flagon of wine to top up his cup but HOSTER discretely moves it beyond his reach and delivers his ward a silent reproach.
EDMURE
Are there really giants north of the wall? What about snarks? Or grumkins?
CATELYN
That’s enough now, Edmure. Brandon’s our guest, not your plaything.
BRANDON
There’s nothing wrong with a young boy being curious. Every time a wandering crow spent the night at Winterfell on their way south I’d interrogate him for hours on the mysteries that lie beyond the wall.
LYSA
Wandering crows?
PETYR
Recruiters for the Watch. They travel the Seven Kingdoms in search of fresh meat for the snarks and grumkins. I believe the last to visit Riverrun was given his pick of your father’s dungeons.
HOSTER
A man’s crimes are forgiven at the Wall, sweetling. Taking the black is the only chance many men have to regain their honour and remove the stain from their family name.
BRYNDEN
I am told black is my colour…
PETYR
You’re far too honourable a man to see out your days among murderers, thieves, and rapists, Ser Brynden.
(pause)
I understand there is a proud tradition of Starks serving in the Watch?
HOSTER
Mind your tongue, boy.
If BRANDON took offense at PETYR’s clumsy barb, he masks it well.
BRANDON
The Night’s Watch is the Seven Kingdom’s first line of defence on its northern borders, but Winterfell and House Stark are the second. Petyr is not mistaken: many of my ancestors were as impatient as they were brave.
HOSTER
Unless I’m confusing my histories, isn’t it said that the very first Lord Commander was a Stark?
EDMURE
Is that true, Brandon?
BRANDON
Nobody knows for certain. The man that founded House Stark was said to be the very same that designed and oversaw construction of the Wall, so it’s entirely possible that he also organised the Watch and appointed a younger brother as Lord Commander.
PETYR
So much from the Age of Heroes has been lost, Edmure, and much of what we believe to be true is plainly nothing more than fantasy.
BRANDON
Brandon the Builder was no fantasy. The Kings in the North were necessarily meticulous in recording the line of succession, and their lineage began with him.
EDMURE
The first King in the North was called Brandon Stark too?
BRANDON
He was, though there have been so many Brandon Starks since then I wouldn’t say I was named for him, exactly.
PETYR
I believe the first Brandon was a bastard, wasn’t he? Half-brother to Torrhen Stark, the last King in the North? What is it they call him? Ah yes: the King Who Knelt.
BRYNDEN
That’s enough, lad.
Though the subject is no less inciteful to BRANDON’s ire than previously, he has at least learned his lesson from his spat with CATELYN to hold his temper at PETYR’s invocation.
BRANDON
Your handle of my family’s history is very impressive, my friend.
LYSA
Petyr is awfully knowledgeable. I believe he must have read every book in father’s library.
PETYR
Including a history of the Northern Houses. I was curious to learn about the proud heritage our dear Cat is to be married into. I also hoped it would provide some stimulating conversation over the supper table, though I fear much of it is rather inappropriate for polite company. A little too…bloody.
An awkward silence descends. BRANDON smiles to himself, wise to PETYR’s games, but growing increasingly irked despite himself. CATELYN shoots daggers at LYSA; LYSA half-shrugs to indicate she has no part in PETYR’s mischief.
HOSTER [CLEARING THROAT]
Well, children, I believe it’s past time old men retired to their beds.
S.E: chair scraping.
HOSTER [CONT’D]
Brandon, sleep well but don’t sleep late. I promised your father I’d take you on a tour of the Riverlands. We’ll need to ride at first light if we mean to make a decent survey.
BRANDON
I look forward to it, my Lord.
HOSTER
I’ve told you already to dispense with the formalities. We’re to be family soon enough: you must call me Hoster. Edmure, bed within the hour, do you hear me?
S.E: retreating footsteps.
BRYNDEN
I’m far too young to be in bed so early, but far too old to be anything but a bore to my darling nieces. I shall remove myself elsewhere for the evening.
BRANDON
Will you be accompanying us on the morrow?
BRYNDEN
Good gods, no! My brother could make a tour of the Seven Hells a tedious affair.
CATELYN
Uncle!
BRYNDEN
Besides, I suffer from a long-standing allergy to an excess of sunlight. Every time I try and rise before noon, I suffer such terrible headaches and cannot eat so much as a mouthful without bringing it right back up again. Edmure, stay up as late as you like. Enjoy your evening, my young lords and ladies!
BRYNDEN exits, passing a coterie of servants as they descend to clear away the diner’s empty plates.
CATELYN
Nerry, do you know if Darwen has baked any lemon cakes?
NERRY
Of course, m’lady. He made them special for your father’s return. Do you want me to bring some out?
CATELYN
That would be wonderful, thank you.
NERRY
Five?
EDMURE
No, bring some for the rest of us too.
CATELYN gasps in horror and tosses a heel of bread at EDMURE. She looks to BRANDON and blushes.
CATELYN
They’re my favourite.
EDMURE
She eats them by the dozen.
CATELYN glowers at EDMURE. BRANDON smiles.
BRANDON
I shall have to remember that.
PETYR
Surely it’s far too cold to grow lemons in the North?
BRANDON
Not one of the Seven Kingdoms is entirely self-sufficient. The Reach provides us all with fruit and grain; gold is mined from the Westerlands; the Iron Islands supply the iron, of course, but also lead and tin; and the Dornish…
BRANDON holds aloft his cup as though it were a holy relic deserving of worship.
BRANDON [CONT’D]
May the Gods bless the Dornish, they produce the wine.
As though CATELYN’s giggles weren’t enough to raise PETYR’s ire, LYSA too cannot supress a smile at BRANDON’s grandiloquence.
PETYR
And what does the North provide?
BRANDON looks at PETYR and then downs the rest of his cup. He slams the cup on the table.
BRANDON
The finest fighters and fuckers in all the Seven Kingdoms!
In the shocked silence that follows, PETYR is perturbed to discover CATELYN trying and failing to hide her amusement, doubly so when he realises even LYSA cannot supress a smile. CATELYN bats the arm of her betrothed in prudish reprove.
CATELYN
Bran, really! Edmure’s right there!
BRANDON winks at EDMURE and the boy grins broadly, delighted to be included in the grown-ups’ ribaldry.
PETYR
I hear those are talents in which you are especially well practised, Lord Stark.
S.E: silence.
BRANDON
Have I offended you in some way, Petyr? Only the other day Cat explained to me how seriously the Riverlands observe the courtesies between host and guest, yet even in the frozen, lemon-less North we would never think of speaking to a visitor the way you have spoken to me this evening.
PETYR
I’m not your host, Stark. I’m only one rung up the ladder from the servants that cleared this table, and for no other reason than my father polished Lord Hoster’s armour during the War of the Ninepenny Kings. My grandfather was a hedge knight, the son of a Braavosi sellsword. I can’t trace my lineage back to the Age of Heroes. I have no kings among my ancestors, kneeling or otherwise.
BRANDON
I’ve given no insult to your family. I’ve done nothing to belittle you.
PETYR leaps to his feet, unsteady under the influence of so much wine.
PETYR
Just your being here belittles me! Your existence belittles me! Yours and that of everyone like you. Just by existing you make me less. I have less wealth, I have a less respected name, I’m less comely to look upon –
EDMURE [INTERRUPTING]
You’re shorter than him too.
PETYR
Your kind always get exactly what you want, just by snapping your fingers. But that’s never enough for you. You have to take whatever the rest of us have too, even if it’s all we have.
BRANDON
And what of yours have I taken, pray tell?
PETYR does not answer, but his eyes betray him, flitting to CATELYN then back to BRANDON. The wounded expression on LYSA’s face makes plain the glance did not escape her notice.
PETYR
You’re so pleased with yourself. So fucking proud. Just because your name is Stark.
BRANDON
That sounds like a damned good reason to me.
PETYR
Oh, indeed: a house built on violence by brutes, savages, and Wildling-fuckers.
S.E: chair scrape.
BRANDON jumps to his feet; PETYR flinches away reflexively.
BRANDON
I’ve cut men open for lesser insults.
Summoning his bravado under CATELYN’s watchful eye, PETYR points at BRANDON and turns to her with a look of victory.
PETYR
You see, Cat? From his own mouth: that’s how they resolve their problems in the North. They don’t think, not like civilized people; they react, like animals thirsty for blood.
S.E: chair scrape.
CATELYN
Stop this, Petyr! You’re behaving like a petulant child. Brandon is a guest in my home, and he is to be my husband. You will apologise for insulting his house, right this instant!
PETYR appears almost as startled by CATELYN’s chastisement as he was BRANDON’s sudden rise, but he presses his lips together in mute refusal of CATELYN’s command.
BRANDON
I think it best I remove myself from this boy’s company. I will not spill blood beneath your father’s roof.
BRANDON turns and strides from the hall. CATELYN moves to follow, pausing only for an instant as she passes PETYR.
CATELYN
How dare you! Who do you think you are to play such reckless games with my future?
PETYR
You know exactly who I am. I’m just your father’s ward, remember?
CATELYN
And that’s all you’ll ever be. You’re no friend of mine.
S.E: footsteps.
CUT TO.
S.E: footsteps.
CATELYN
Brandon!
BRANDON stops and turns. CATELYN comes quickly across the courtyard to meet him.
CATELYN [CONT’D]
I’m so sorry for Petyr. He’s still so young, and I’m afraid his feelings for me are a little confused.
BRANDON
And not at all reciprocated, I trust?
CATELYN
Don’t be ridiculous! Petyr is under my father’s protection; there’s never been anything more than that between us.
BRANDON looks over her shoulder, the corners of his mouth turning down in sour humour.
BRANDON
Not so little to his own mind, it seems.
PETYR
Brandon Stark!
PETYR has followed CATELYN and marches with purpose towards the pair. LYSA has hold of one arm, dragging on him like a ship’s anchor, but he shakes her off without ever taking his eyes from BRANDON. EDMURE skips along behind, not fully understanding what’s going on but giddy with excitement at the unexpected drama.
CATELYN
Petyr, what are you doing?
The two parties meet, PETYR drawing himself up to his full height before BRANDON.
PETYR
What I should have done the second this inbred northern scoundrel stepped down from his horse.
BRANDON
You need to guard your tongue, boy. For Cat’s sake I’ve shown you the same forbearance I would young Edmure here, but if you throw insults with a man’s disregard you must accept a man’s consequences in return.
PETYR
Don’t talk down to me, Stark. I’m not afraid of you.
EDMURE
I think maybe you should be.
CATELYN
Lysa, please, make him see sense.
LYSA
Petyr, I beg you, don’t do this.
BRANDON
Listen to the lady Lysa, Baelish. She is trying to stop you from making a mistake you may not walk away from.
PETYR takes the last step closer to BRANDON. He looks him up and down as though assessing livestock, then looks to CATELYN with a contemptuous sneer.
PETYR
This is what you want? Truly? A man half beast in nature, with all the intelligence of the mangy cur he wears on his leathers?
Lightning fast, BRANDON grabs PETYR by the collars of his doublet, raising the smaller man onto his toes.
CATELYN
Brandon, don’t! He had too much wine at supper, he doesn’t know what he’s saying.
CATELYN places a placating hand on BRANDON’s arm. He breaks his death-stare with PETYR and looks at CATELYN’s hand, follows the turquoise lace of her sleeve until he’s looking into the ocean blue of her wide, imploring eyes.
CATELYN [CONT’D]
Please, Brandon.
The moment balances on a knife edge, the silence of the courtyard absolute, as though the world itself were holding its breath. Finally, BRANDON releases his grip on PETYR.
BRANDON
If you were not my lady’s favourite pet…
BRANDON turns his back dismissively on the stricken PETYR and continues on his way. Shaking her head in disgust, CATELYN follows her betrothed. PETYR looks to LYSA, and then to EDMURE, but neither will meet his eye, as though he were something too shameful to look upon. His face hardens.
PETYR
Very well, Stark. If violence is the only language you truly understand, then allow me to speak in your native tongue. I challenge you to a duel.
LYSA
Petyr, no!
CATELYN
Edmure! Go and fetch father! Quickly!
EDMURE rushes towards the castle but as he passes, PETYR grabs him by the arm and throws him to the ground.
LYSA
Petyr!
PETYR
Move another muscle, boy, and I’ll beat you black and blue, I swear it!
CATELYN rushes to her little brother’s side, and she and EDMURE watch transfixed as BRANDON retraces his steps.
BRANDON
You do not want to die tonight, Littlefinger.
PETYR
I will not be the one dying, Stark. And you will not be the one marrying Cat.
S.E: silence.
BRANDON
The treeline, north of the main gate. One hour from now.
S.E: footsteps.
6.11 INT: ELIA’S CHAMBERS, RED KEEP - DAY
RHAENYS
Mother!
ELIA
Oh! My babies!
RHAENYS runs to ELIA, the little princess throwing herself into her mother’s arm. RHAELLA waits at the door, the infant AEGON in her arms and CERSEI and LEWYN at her back. PRINCE VISERYS pays no mind to the emotional reunion, making a beeline for the tray of cakes and pastries set out on the table. ELIA returns RHAENYS to the ground and takes her son from RHAELLA, showering the mewling babe’s forehead in kisses.
RHAENYS
Don’t be sad, mother.
RHAELLA
Those are happy tears, princess. Your mother has missed you both so much.
LEWYN
I trust this settles my debt, Your Grace?
ELIA kisses her palm and blows it to her uncle by way of confirmation.
LEWYN [CONT’D]
Then I shall be on the door should you have further need of me.
ELIA’s face somehow lights up even further as she notices CERSEI for the first time lingering awkwardly apart.
ELIA
And look, you brought me another visitor!
CERSEI produces a handkerchief from her sleeve and hands it to Elia.
ELIA [CONT’D]
What must you think of me, crying like a fool.
RHAELLA
Nonsense. A mother should never feel embarrassed to show how much she loves her children.
ELIA dabs her tears dry and returns the handkerchief to CERSEI, so preoccupied with AEGON that she doesn’t even register the handkerchief’s Targaryen colouring.
CERSEI
I hope I’m not intruding, Your Grace?
ELIA
Don’t be ridiculous! It’s been far too long since I had the pleasure of your company! Come, let’s enjoy the sun before it disappears for the day.
ELIA leads her guests to the balcony, where the last light of day casts the city below a melancholy gold. ELIA sits with AEGON on her lap, bouncing him on her knee to the boy’s evident delight. RHAENYS crawls up beside her, burrowing herself in the crook of ELIA’s arm.
BELLA the serving girl appears with a tray of Dornish Red for ELIA’s guest. When BELLA presents the tray to the host, ELIA shakes her head in demurral.
RHAELLA
Oh come, Elia, one glass won’t hurt. We’ve broken one rule today, why not another?
ELIA hesitates, then grins guiltily and accepts a glass. She takes a long drink, savouring the taste.
ELIA
Oh gods that’s good. Pycelle hasn’t let me touch a drop in months.
CERSEI
The maesters advise you abstain during pregnancy?
ELIA
Advise? They positively proselytize! Now he tells me it could counteract the benefits of these vile concoctions he’s got me drinking.
BELLA
Will that be all, Your Grace?
ELIA
Thank you, sweetling. You can leave us for now, but be sure and help yourself to some of those cakes for you and your brothers.
BELLA bows and departs. Although his own plate is already heavy-laden, VISERYS greedily snatches up each cake in which the girl shows any interest. ELIA notices CERSEIs eyes lingering on BELLA’s blue forearms.
ELIA [CONT’D]
They can be a little shocking at first, I know. Poor little thing was working in a draper’s before she came to us.
CERSEI
Oh, you needn’t apologise: I’ve lost all ability to be surprised at oddities, living with Tyrion all these years.
ELIA is momentarily struck by CERSEI’s casual cruelty, and seems ready to speak in BELLA’s defence, but RHAELLA places a mollifying hand on her leg and the princess lets CERSEI’s faux pas pass without comment.
RHAELLA
Viserys! You leave that girl alone.
Hurrying indoors to corral her wayward son, RHAELLA leaves the two younger women alone on the balcony. ELIA leans conspiratorially towards CERSEI.
ELIA
She would be embarrassed to hear me say this, but Rhaella was so excited when she learned you were coming to court. I don’t believe I’ve ever seen her so happy.
CERSEI
Her Grace has been most kind.
ELIA
Of course she has; she knows no other way. She did the same for me when I first came to court. I believe I would have fled straight home to Sunspear before the moon had even turned had Rhaella not taken me under her wing. It was as though she could somehow sense just exactly what it was I needed, and offered it without question.
CERSEI
It must have been very lonely for you, leaving home at such a young age.
ELIA
That too, most certainly, but I was speaking more to my mother’s passing. It all happened so fast, you see: one day I was sitting by her sickbed, and the next Ser Arthur was sailing into port carrying the king’s proposal. Were it not for my change in dress from mourning clothes to bridal gown, I’m not certain I could tell you even now where one pain ended and the other began.
CERSEI
Forgive me, Your Grace, I had no idea.
ELIA
There’s nothing to forgive, sweet girl, but you really must call me “Elia”. Now Rhaella has adopted you for her own, you and I may as well be sisters, and there can be no airs and graces between sisters.
CERSEI
Of course. Elia.
RHAELLA returns to the balcony dragging prince VISERYS by the arm, his face indignant from his mother’s scolding.
RHAELLA
Now sit there and behave yourself, young man, or I shall take those cakes away and you’ll have naught to chew but your tongue for the rest of the day, do you hear me?
VISERYS makes no reply, but sits cross-legged on the floor and sets to demolishing his plate of treats, the first boy in the history of the Seven Kingdoms to play the martyr while shoving a succession of cakes into his down-turned mouth.
RHAELLA
Please excuse my son, Cersei. For all the time they spend together, he stubbornly refuses to learn from his niece’s good example.
RHAENYS beams at her grandmother’s approbation, smirking superciliously at VISERYS’s protruding tongue. ELIA kisses the top of her daughter’s head adoringly as the young princess strokes the silver wisps of baby Aegon’s hair. CERSEI watches ELIA’s affection with a curiously pinched expression, unaware that she too is under observation, RHAELLA studying CERSEI’s reaction to this picture of familial intimacy with appraisive scrutiny.
ELIA
Thank you for this, Rhaella.
Shifting her interest away from CERSEI, the queen retrieves her glass from the table and waves a dismissive hand.
RHAELLA
Best thank your uncle Lewyn, my dear. I never have been able to refuse a man in armour.
CERSEI
His Grace must have been rather dashing in his day.
CERSEI is dismayed to see the effect her words have on RHAELLA, the queen almost choking on her mouthful of wine.
RHAELLA
Aerys?! Oh heavens no! The only plate my husband knows is the one on which his supper is served.
CERSEI
But surely during the war…
RHAELLA
Oh, I suppose so. You know how little boys do so love to play at dress-up.
ELIA
I do believe Rhaella had someone else in mind. A certain knight of the Stormlands, perhaps?
RHAELLA
Now there was a man fit to make any maiden forget her virtue.
ELIA
Honestly Cersei, I can’t tell you how many times I’ve badgered Rhaella to tell me the story of this mysterious long-lost love of hers.
RHAELLA
It’s all ancient history now, and it does an old woman no good to dwell on what might have been.
ELIA
You really must stop calling yourself an old woman, Rhaella. The first time I met you, I could have taken you for Rhaegar’s sister rather than his mother.
CERSEI
That’s exactly what I said only this morning.
RHAELLA
It has always been the privilege of the elderly to speak as they please, and it pleases this old woman to refer to herself as such. In fact, I believe I shall make a toast:
RHAELLA raises her glass, and ELIA and CERSEI do likewise. The queen tips her glass to each in turn.
RHAELLA
To the mother, the maiden…and the crone! May the Gods keep and protect them all!
ELIA and CERSEI scowl their disapproval, but join RHAELLA in drinking to her toast nonetheless.
6.12 EXT: RIVERRUN – NIGHT
S.E: horses.
Illuminated by the full moon overhead, BRANDON, CATELYN, and EDMURE wait at the treeline, overlooking the wide-open fields that slope gently down towards Riverrun.
CATELYN
Please, Brandon, swear to me you will not force this duel to the death.
BRANDON
Your little friend insulted my house. He insulted the North.
CATELYN
Petyr is a foolish boy that imagines himself in love; he speaks like a man-grown to avoid losing face but he has no business fighting with swords.
BRANDON
Is this true, Edmure?
EDMURE
Littlefinger has spent some time in the yard of late, but I still best him more often than not.
BRANDON sighs, his expression almost one of disappointment.
BRANDON
There is little honour to be had in killing a novice…
CATELYN steps closer, placing a hand on BRANDON’s chest.
CATELYN
Please, I implore you, for the love that may one day exist between us, please show him mercy.
S.E: horses.
Before BRANDON can answer, PETYR and LYSA appear through the moonlight and make their approach.
S.E: dismounting.
PETYR pulls his sword from the sheathe tethered to his saddle. Even at their remove, BRANDON cannot help but take note of how inelegantly he holds his blade.
BRANDON
I cannot promise I will leave him entirely unmarked; he must still answer for his insults. But I will spare his life.
CATELYN
Thank you, Brandon. I will not forget this.
For the second time that day, CATELYN kisses BRANDON on the cheek. LYSA leaves PETYR practicing his swing against a tree and joins her siblings.
LYSA
He is determined to see this madness to the end. Please, Cat, he will not listen to me, but a word from you…
CATELYN
He cannot possibly believe he can win?
EDMURE
Perhaps he hopes to martyr himself. Father might think twice about marrying his daughter to a man that murdered his own ward.
LYSA
Shut up, Edmure.
EDMURE
Or maybe he thinks Cat will be so overcome by his bravery in the face of certain death that she will fall as madly in love with him as you are?
LYSA
Why are you even here, this is no place for little boys?
CATELYN
You might try and explain as much to Petyr.
Scowling at her sister, LYSA turns and stalks back to her beloved.
CATELYN [CONT’D]
Why are you here? Why not over there with Lysa and Petyr?
EDMURE
Brandon will be family soon enough. You and Brandon have Lysa beat two-to-one by my count.
CATELYN smiles and wraps an arm about EDMURE’s shoulders.
PETYR
Cat! I fight this brute for you; it is only fitting that I wear your favour once again. May I have that honour, my lady?
CATELYN
I do not want this, Petyr.
CATELYN reaches behind her head and removes the ribbon from her hair.
CATELYN [CONT’D]
But Brandon is to be my husband; this time, he shall wear my favour.
She takes BRANDON’s free hand in hers and ties the ribbon about his wrist. PETYR takes a step towards them but LYSA wraps herself about his arm and pulls him back.
LYSA
One last time, I beg of you Petyr, do not do this. Apologise to Brandon and let that be an end to it. Do it for me, Petyr, please, in the name of love.
PETYR
Lysa, my sweet, that is precisely the reason I must fight.
Releasing PETYR’s arm, LYSA draws her handkerchief and tucks it into his sleeve.
LYSA
If nothing I say can deter you, then…here, take my favour. And my kiss.
PETYR bares his cheek to LYSA but she turns his head and kisses his lips instead, then rejoins CATELYN and EDMURE beneath the trees. With the formalities over, PETYR and BRANDON close the distance between them and begin to circle one another. PETYR rushes in, taking wild, clumsy swipes at BRANDON, their arc so easy to anticipate the more experienced man simply steps beyond their reach without even troubling to raise his sword.
BRANDON
Beg forgiveness for your insults, Baelish, and we can end this right now.
PETYR
This will end when I plunge my sword into your belly, Stark.
PETYR lunges forward, looking to make short work of BRANDON by skewering him through the middle. BRANDON dances aside and PETYR stumbles, barely keeping his feet.
PETYR [CONT’D]
I regret only that Barbrey Dustin did not have her own champion to defend her honour as I defend Cat’s.
BRANDON
Don’t speak of things you know nothing about, boy.
PETYR comes again, his intentions so plain an observer peering out over Riverrun’s distant battlements could read them plain as letters on a page. BRANDON dodges once more, but this time spins about on his heels and draws his blade up the back of PETYR’s calf.
S.E: Squeal of pain.
PETYR drops to one knee, clutching his leg. LYSA tries to come to his aid but CATELYN and EDMURE hook their arms about her middle and hold her at bay.
BRANDON [CONT’D]
Now yield.
Enraged at the sight of his own blood, PETYR rushes headlong at BRANDON, his sword raised like a club above his head. BRANDON stands his ground, swiping PETYR’s sword away into the grass and driving his free hand into PETYR’s jaw. PETYR staggers backwards, then drops onto his backside like a toddler still learning to properly grapple with gravity.
BRANDON [CONT’D]
Yield.
LYSA breaks free from her siblings and throws herself to the ground beside PETYR.
LYSA
Please, Petyr, that’s enough! Do as he says!
PETYR rises to his knees and shoves LYSA aside. CATELYN and EDMURE rush to her defence, but PETYR has already turned away, scrabbling about in the grass in search of his sword. He finds it at BRANDON’s feet.
BRANDON
I shall say it a third time, but know there will not be a fourth: yield.
PETYR
Cat might not thank me for this today, but she will eventually understand the heartache I am saving her from. You will hurt her, you will shame her, but I will not allow that to happen.
Sighing, BRANDON kicks the sword to PETYR. Abandoning any pretence of form, PETYR clutches his sword in both hands and throws himself forward, swinging his arms back and forth as though it were a mace he brandished rather than a blade.
Almost lazily, BRANDON sidesteps PETYR’s advance and sticks out a boot to trip him. PETYR hurtles forward, eating a mouthful of turf as his momentum drives him into the ground. When he rolls onto his back, he finds the point of BRANDON’s sword pointed at his throat.
BRANDON
Yield or not, this farce is over.
Propped upon his elbows, PETYR looks imploringly towards CATELYN. Whatever fight may still remain in his body drains away at what he finds in her face, and he slowly nods his surrender to BRANDON.
BRANDON lowers his sword and turns away, walking back to offer LYSA a hand up from the ground where PETYR left her. EDMURE tentatively approaches PETYR, crouching down and resting a hand on his shoulder.
PETYR
He didn’t kill me. Why didn’t he kill me?
EDMURE
Cat made him swear to it. She begged him for your life and he took pity on you.
PETYR looks as though he’s been stabbed through the heart at the realisation of just how pathetic CATELYN really believes him to be. His jaw tightens, his eyes narrow, his hands balling into fists of impotent rage. He snatches up his sword and runs at BRANDON’s back.
PETER
Aaaaargh!
BRANDON pushes CATELYN to safety and turns to meet PETYR’s charge. His first stroke drives PETYR’s blade harmlessly aside. His second splits PETYR open from belt to collar.
LYSA
No no no no no…
LYSA flies to PETYR’s side, but hasn’t the slightest notion how to help once she reaches him. He stands stone-still and stupefied, staring down through his shredded doublet at his slowly separating torso.
LYSA [CONT’D]
Petyr! Petyr!
S.E: body collapsing.
Without a word, BRANDON sheathes his sword and walks away towards the waiting horses. CATELYN hesitates, lingering beside LYSA and EDMURE as they struggle together to turn PETYR over onto his back. EDMURE senses her indecision and reaches up a hand.
EDMURE
Cat?
CATELYN looks down at PETYR’s exposed innards, LYSA trying desperately to press together the two sides of the gaping trench that bisects his body. She looks to the treeline, to the waiting BRANDON. EDMURE sees her face set hard and decided, her mind settled at the sight of her betrothed sitting tall in his saddle.
CATELYN
I’ll send Maester Kym. He’ll know how to help him.
With that, CATELYN hurries to BRANDON’s mount and clambers up behind him, wrapping her arms about his middle. BRANDON kicks his heels into the horse’s flank and he and CATELYN gallop away together across the silent and spectral fields of moonlit midnight.
OUTRO.