Episode 10: The Laughing Tree
10.1 INT: THRONE ROOM - DAY
Leading his two young sons by the hand, STEFFON steps into the throne room and nods in greeting to the guards on the door, surprised to find them dressed in Lannister colours rather than the black and red of House Targaryen. He halts his progress and bends down to speak in hushed tones to ROBERT and STANNIS.
STEFFON
You boys wait here. I’ll only be a moment, and then we’ll go visit the stables.
ROBERT and STANNIS nod their heads in mechanical agreement, but their awed attention is fixed elsewhere: their eyes as big as saucers, the two boys gawp at the dragon skulls mounted to the walls along the approach to the Iron Throne. Stannis clutches his big brother’s hand in fear as he confronts the largest of all the Targaryen dragons, realising with a shiver that he is barely of a size with the foremost of Balerion’s teeth. Too large for the stone walls to bear its weight, the Dread’s skull fills an entire corner of the throne room, watching over the Iron Throne’s approach with its cavernous eye sockets like pitch-black portals direct to the Seven Hells.
S.E: footsteps.
Crossing paths with GEROLD HIGHTOWER making his exit, STEFFON slows his steps to better read the Lord Commander’s weary expression.
STEFFON
It’s decided then?
GEROLD
I was asked for my honest opinion. Whether or not you or he care to heed it this time, my duty has been done.
Barely breaking his stride, GEROLD moves brusquely past STEFFON, pausing only briefly to nod respectfully to the young lords of Storm’s End as he passes.
S.E: footsteps.
Standing at the foot of the Iron Throne, STEFFON cranes his head to its seat.c
TYWIN
You have visitors, I see.
STEFFON
It is past time they were presented before the king. I thought to find him here, it being the time of his daily audience.
TYWIN
His Grace suffered a minor mishap while hearing the people’s petitions this morning.
STEFFON’s eye flits to the dozen blades that line each armrest of the throne, their razor-sharp edges enclosing TYWIN’s arms like the teeth of a tightly-fitted chastity belt.
TYWIN [CONT’D]
He asked that I sit in his stead, lest even one of the king’s subjects be denied the opportunity to plead their case before the crown.
STEFFON
You stretch yourself too thin, Tywin. If you take on any more of the king’s duties, he will soon have little left with which to fill his days.
TYWIN
I’m quite certain you could provide His Grace no end of invaluable advice on how best to occupy the long hours at leisure. Perhaps you might invite him to join you on one of those lovely long rides in the country you so enjoy?
STEFFON’s jaw tightens, but he refuses to rise to TYWIN’s bait.
STEFFON
If you recall, I did suggest I might assume responsibility for providing the king a shortlist of possible candidates for the current vacancy among the Kingsguard.
TYWIN
As the Lord Commander no doubt informed you, the selection process is already concluded. Ser Arthur will swear his oath before the moon turns.
STEFFON
Then there is still time for Aerys to reconsider. Jon Connington -
TYWIN [INTERRUPTING]
The matter is not open for debate, Steffon. Ser Arthur is clearly the finer swordsman.
STEFFON
Are you certain of that? It’s a wonder you found the time to watch them spar, busy as you are.
TYWIN
There is nothing that occurs within this of which I am not aware.
STEFFON
Then you will understand well enough why Prince Rhaegar’s preference is for Jon Connington.
TYWIN
Indeed I do, because it is the same reason why the king’s own preference is that the White Cloak go to Ser Arthur.
STEFFON
If Armond should summon Jon back to Griffin’s Roost, as I expect he will –
TYWIN
Then the Red Keep will benefit by his vacated quarters.
We are overcrowded as it is by persons without evident purpose for their presence here at court.
STEFFON
Rhaegar will not thank you for this, Tywin.
TYWIN
How fortunate, then, that I am sworn in service to His Grace the king, and not the passing whims and fleeting fancies of a poor misguided child.
STEFFON opens his mouth to riposte but TYWIN pre-empts him.
TYWIN [CONT’D]
You will have to excuse me, Steffon, but my audience with Lord Commander Hightower was only a pause in proceedings, not an end. I have a great many more petitions to hear before the day is through. I’m sure you understand.
Do relay my warmest regards to your sons.
Hesitating a moment while he weighs the wisdom of forcing the argument, STEFFON grudgingly nods and retraces his path back towards ROBERT and STANNIS.
STEFFON
Come on, let’s go see those ponies, shall we?
ROBERT
Father, was that really the king you were talking to?
Looking back at the Iron Throne and his old friend seated imperiously atop its winding steps, STEFFON’s expression darkens.
STEFFON
Gods help us, but I rather think it might be.
10.2 INT: THE ROYAL TENT- MORNING
In the broad and cavernous expanse of the royal tent, ARTHUR stands with arms outspread while RHAEGAR straps the knight into his armour. Lavender and white in colour, today the Sword of the Morning wears the plate of his ancestral house, riding as a son of Starfall rather than a sworn brother of the Kingsguard.
ARTHUR
I’ll tell you the same thing after this hundredth hearing that I told you after the first: you’re too clever not to recognise a honey trap when you see one.
RHAEGAR
Seeing something is one thing, speaking its name quite another. If I meant for my relations with Tywin to be as fractious as my father’s, I can think of no better way than giving offense to his daughter.
ARTHUR
Down in Flea Bottom they say that on the battlefield and in the bedroom, all is permissible, but it’s a special kind of craven that strikes at a man through his children. If only your father spent as much time abroad in the city as does his son.
RHAEGAR
I’m not sure Jaime would agree with your calling him a child, nor too the men he cut down in the Kingswood.
ARTHUR
The boy is a bully, and all bullies are boys, whether they’ve seen four winters or forty. That cut he dealt you was ill-done.
RHAEGAR
My father seemed to enjoy it well enough.
ARTHUR
While we’re speaking of your father’s pleasures, I hoped -
RHAEGAR
Oh, I almost forgot to mention: you’ll never guess who I spied in the stalls yesterday: Half-Corpse Connington.
ARTHUR
Lord Armond? It’s a wonder he could survive the journey from Griffin’s Roost.
RHAEGAR
I’m not certain he did, by the looks of him.
ARTHUR
I’ll be sure and keep my distance. One sight of me in my Kingsguard whites and he’s like to cough himself right into the ground.
RHAEGAR
Jon was desperate for that white cloak. Lord Armond never forgave my father for giving it to you, nor you for taking it.
ARTHUR
The cloak was Armond’s obsession. Jon was only desperate to stay close to you.
RHAEGAR
When did you last speak to Jon?
ARTHUR
I’d hate to say. Ten years, at least.
RHAEGAR
Can the years have truly passed so swiftly as that?
ARTHUR
Strange, isn’t it? The three of us were inseparable as children, practically brothers, and now we can’t even recall the last time we saw him, it’s been so long.
RHAEGAR
“Summer friends will melt away like summer snows, but winter friends are friends forever.”
ARTHUR
Your Grace?
RHAEGAR
Hmm? No matter, only something I heard somewhere.
RHAEGAR pauses in affixing ARTHUR’s greaves and studies the knight’s reflection.
RHAEGAR [CONT’D]
I consider myself very fortunate to have retained your friendship all these years, Arthur. Blessed, even.
ARTHUR narrows his eyes at RHAEGAR, a charmed yet wary smile at the corners of his mouth.
ARTHUR
You only get sentimental when you’re readying yourself to break bad news. What’s on your mind, old friend?
RHAEGAR
It’s about my father.
ARTHUR tenses. He turns to face RHAEGAR and waits for the prince to stand so he might look him in the eye.
ARTHUR
A subject I too hoped we might discuss.
RHAEGAR
Oh? Don’t tell me you’ve been keeping secrets from me as well? A man can only stand so much disappointment.
RHAEGAR’s droll smile withers on his lips at the drawn expression that overcomes ARTHUR’s countenance.
ARTHUR
There have been…women. Lots of women, summoned to the king’s chambers at all hours of the night.
RHAEGAR waves the second greave in the air in a gesture of weary acknowledgment, disappointed but not surprised.
RHAEGAR
I suspected that might be the case. He and my mother haven’t shared a bed since before Viserys was born, and my father has long been a man too governed by his baser impulses to abstain altogether.
ARTHUR
There’s more to it than that, I’m afraid.
RHAEGAR
Boys too, is it? You always did believe there was more to my father’s obsession with Tywin than he was ready to admit.
ARTHUR
Not boys, no. But the women, they…when they leave…
Recognising now the earnestness that girders ARTHUR’s gravity, RHAEGAR lays an encouraging hand on his friend’s shoulder.
RHAEGAR
You’ve come this far, Arthur. Out with it.
ARTHUR
He hurts them. Every time. He bites, he scratches, he tears the hair from their head, and that’s only the most obvious of injuries. I can’t even imagine what might cause some of the marks these girls emerge with.
RHAEGAR’s arm returns to his side. He frowns, taking a beat to properly absorb the import of ARTHUR’s words.
RHAEGAR
How long has this been going on?
ARTHUR
Months. A year, maybe. But it’s gotten worse since your father stopped sleeping. A lot worse.
RHAEGAR
Worse how?
ARTHUR
He burns them, Rhaegar. Candles for certain; coals, I think; the most recent girl looked as though her whole hand had been thrust into the flames.
RHAEGAR
And you haven’t done a thing to stop this?
ARTHUR
I’m telling you.
RHAEGAR
Now! After a year of standing by and allowing it to happen.
ARTHUR
With respect, Rhaegar, you haven’t been here. You were off wandering the world only the Gods know where. And it’s not as though I haven’t tried. I must have made the resolution half-a-hundred times on the Kingsroad – and again just now, only a moment ago - but it’s hardly an easy thing to tell someone about their father.
RHAEGAR
I’m your oldest friend, Arthur. There’s nothing you cannot tell me.
ARTHUR
I know that, and that’s exactly the reason Gerold granted me leave to have this conversation.
RHAEGAR
You spoke to Hightower about this before you spoke to me?
ARTHUR
He’s my brother, Rhaegar.
RHAEGAR
I thought I was your brother.
ARTHUR
You are…but you’re not my Lord Commander.
RHAEGAR
So that’s the order of your loyalties, is it? At least Barristan did me the honour of second place.
ARTHUR
How can you say that to me? Do you have any notion what it means for me to betray your father’s confidence? My life and my honour are sworn to my king, and my fealty and obedience to my Lord Commander. I break the first out of love for you, and your reaction is to doubt that love because I refuse to break the second?
RHAEGAR has no answer. The two men stand a few paces apart, separated by miles.
RHAEGAR
I expected more from you, Arthur. I was depending on it, in fact.
The tension that fills the royal tent dissipates like steam escaping a spout as MYLES MOOTON enters and bows before RHAEGAR.
MYLES
Forgive me, Your Grace, but everyone is waiting.
RHAEGAR
I’ll be right there, lad.
MYLES lingers by the entrance, not sure if he should remain or retreat and too disconcerted by the cold and flinty glare passed back and forth between the two men to raise a voice in inquiry.
ARTHUR [CONT’D]
If there were some service you would ask of me, now is the time, Your Grace.
RHAEGAR
Your Grace, is it now?
RHAEGAR derisively tosses the second greave to MYLES, his lip curled in wry acrimony.
RHAEGAR
Friends squire, princes do not. Best you ask young lord Mooton to finish your dressing, ser.
S.E: retreating footsteps.
10.3 EXT: GROUNDS OF HARRENHAL – MORNING
Before an appreciative crowd of smallfolk, a mummer’s troupe strut a makeshift stage of wooden planks erected beneath the walls of Harrenhal. Standing upon a tree stump, a bepowdered and bewigged thespian narrates the scene.
NARRATOR
While the previous heroes withheld their aid on promise of gold and silver, Serwyn refused payment from the villagers entirely, insisting that the glory of slaying a beast as fierce as Urrax was recompense sufficient.
Upstage, a dragon built of cloth rears its head, the kneeling mummers within manipulating the sticks that protrude from its snout to cast its wall-eyed glower across the audience.
NARRATOR [CONT’D]
So up the mountain Serwyn went, bearing only his broadsword and a great round shield of steel, polished to such a shine that to look upon its shimmering surface was like to looking into a mirror.
Over her shoulder, a young man arrayed in pots and pans to denote a knight’s battered armour stalks back and forth across the stage, an enormous dinner plate strapped to one arm and a wooden tourney sword painted silver wielded in the other.
NARRATOR [CONT’D]
The great and terrible Urrax slithered down from his den, ready to devour this latest fool to disturb his slumber. But Selwyn was far more cunning than those that came before: he knew brute strength and bravery were no match for a dragon…it was his wits that would win the day.
He crouched down behind his shield, and when Urrax came roaring from the darkness, he found only the shield’s high shine waiting to greet him. Urrax stared into the steel, utterly transfixed by the sight of his own terrible reflection…
At the back of the crowd, CATELYN watches the performance appreciatively. BRANDON stands at her elbow, but prefers instead to watch CATELYN, smiling indulgently at his betrothed’s obvious enjoyment.
S.E: distant trumpets.
Reluctantly, BRANDON leans in to whisper in CATELYN’s ear.
BRANDON
We need to go if we mean to catch the first melee.
CATELYN nods, her disappointment clear on her face. She stands on her tiptoes and weaves her head about to try and catch a glimpse of EDMURE and BENJEN through the forest of heads. Finding them sitting cross-legged at the front of the crowd, mouths agape, utterly entranced by the story, she follows BRANDON through the press towards the tourney grounds.
BRANDON
Perhaps we might take a small detour on our way? There’s something I’d like to show you.
CATELYN cocks an eyebrow at BRANDON’s stiff-backed gait, his ginger movements an aching reminder of his punishment at the end of BARRISTAN SELMY’s lance.
CATELYN
If you think you’re up to it?
BRANDON
If you lend me your arm I believe I shall manage.
CATELYN wraps her arm about BRANDON’s and allows him to lead their way across the encampment.
CATELYN
When will you learn your next opponent?
BRANDON
Yohn Royce fell to Ser Arthur Dayne this morning.
CATELYN
And you didn’t care to watch?
BRANDON
And miss this time together? I made that mistake once before at Riverrun; I do not intend to make it again.
CATELYN
That’s sweet, Brandon, but Arthur Dayne is no small competition. Should you not have attended his tilts for scouting ends if nothing else?
BRANDON
I unseated one Kingsguard when I was fighting fit; imagine the songs they’ll sing when I unseat another below my best.
CATELYN
Careful, Brandon. Harrenhal is not the place for hubris. Remember the lesson of Harren Hoare.
BRANDON
If I recall my histories, it was not hubris but Balerion the Black Dread that did for House Hoare.
CATELYN
Mayhaps. But all that remains of the Dread is a weathered skull in the Red Keep’s throne room, while to this day the Curse of Harrenhal is finding ways to bring men to their ruin. How do you explain that if not a judgement from the gods?
BRANDON
The world can be a ruinous place. Plenty of castles besides Harrenhal have hosted their share of misery.
CATELYN
And how many of those castles had the blood of men mixed into their mortar?
BRANDON
An old wives’ tale, no more real than the Curse itself.
CATELYN
How can you say that when every House to ever hold Harrenhal has come to a tragic end? House Qoherys, House Harroway, House Towers, all dead and gone. Lord Lyonel Strong and his eldest son and heir Ser Harwin, burned alive in the Wailing Tower; Lord Lucas Lothston, cast down by King Maekar. It’s said when Lord Walter’s grandfather learned the castle would pass to House Whent, he fell to his knees and begged the king to forgive him whatever sleight had moved His Grace to punish him so cruelly.
BRANDON
House Whent looks healthy enough to me.
CATELYN
Yes, I saw you showing great admiration for the health of sweet Lady Sara at supper last night.
BRANDON
The poor girl believes she’ll be crowned the Queen of Love and Beauty come tourney’s end. I didn’t have the heart to disappoint her.
BRANDON winks down at CATELYN, and while she playfully bats his arm in reprimand for his undiminished bravado, she cannot repress a delighted smile all the same.
BRANDON [CONT’D]
We’re here. This is what I wanted to show you.
BRANDON halts their progress just beyond the low stone wall that demarcates the Godswood of Harrenhal from the thick copse of trees that surrounds it. At the Godswood’s centre stands an enormous silver-white weirwood, its long and grasping branches covered in blood-red leaves despite the preceding months of winter. A clutch of tourney-goers stands about its girth, studying with a mixture of admiration and unease the face carved into the trunk and the disquieting upward curve to its death-mask grimace. BRANDON leads CATELYN to the far side of the tree and directs her attention to thirteen irregular slashes gouged into the wood.
BRANDON
One for each day Daemon Targaryen spent here at Harrenhal waiting for Aemon One-Eye and the great beast Vhagar.
Supposedly they bleed anew every year to herald the coming of Spring.
CATELYN approaches the tree and traces a pair of fingers along the two topmost trenches.
CATELYN
Strange…they feel dry as bone.
BRANDON
It is a weirwood. Perhaps the Old Gods are making mock of the superstitions you Southerners keep.
Come, there’s something else I want you to see.
BRANDON leads her away from the weirwood into the thicket of trees pressed against the far partition wall. He nods, encouraging CATELYN to inspect the bark. She furrows her brow.
CATELYN
Someone has made a mark…
BRANDON
And I mean to make thousands more just like it.
CATELYN
You did this?
BRANDON
The Rogue Prince wasn’t just keeping a tally. He was making a promise. He made that promise anew every day with another mark, and would have gone on making marks until the end of time if need be. That’s why he chose a heart tree. His commitment was as ageless as they are.
BRANDON gently takes CATELYN’s hands in his.
BRANDON
I am sorry for what happened at Riverrun, Cat, truly I am. And if you can find some way to forgive me, I swear I will never give you cause to regret it. I can be a good man, Cat. That’s my promise. And I mean to renew it every day, for as long as you will have me.
CATELYN
Oh, Brandon, of course I forgive you. You didn’t have to do this to convince me you’re a good man, but that you cared enough to think you did tells me everything I needed to know.
CATELYN stands on her tiptoes and pecks BRANDON on the cheek, but he takes her chin in his hand and redirects her lips towards his own. CATELYN returns the kiss, letting herself sink sensuously into his enfolding embrace.
10.4 INT: STARK TRENT – MORNING
WALYS
All of it, my lord. Finish the glass, if you can.
Bruised black and blue and moving with an agonised wince, HOWLAND REED does as MAESTER WALYS bids him and drains the rest of the cloudy white liquid, grimacing at LYANNA and NED standing at the end of his cot.
HOWLAND
Gods, that’s disgusting.
WALYS
The best things for us typically are, in my experience. Now, you just lie back and get some rest. I’ll call again later this morning with a bowl of hot broth.
HOWLAND
Will that be good for me?
WALYS
It shall be positively vile, my lord.
HOWLAND
Do you think I’ll be well enough to fight in the melee?
S.E: snort of derision.
LYANNA shoots daggers at NED, and he stifles his amusement with a nod of apology.
LYANNA
There’ll be other tourneys, Howland.
HOWLAND
But…I came all this way…I was going to wear my father’s shield…
LYANNA
And I’m certain you’d have done him proud, but I really don’t think you’re in any condition to compete, do you?
HOWLAND begins to protest, but even that modest effort draws a wince of pain from the stalk-thin crannogman. He shakes his head in submission.
WALYS
Lady Lyanna, a word in private if I may?
NED
I’ll sit with him for a spell.
LYANNA smiles her thanks, then follows WALYS from the tent.
LYANNA
Well, how is he really? It must be bad if you couldn’t say it front of him.
WALYS
We won’t know if there’s any internal bleeding for another day at least, once I have an opportunity to inspect his urine and stool. That’s a nasty break in his forearm, and we shall have to watch those cuts carefully to ensure they remain clean of infection, but on the whole there doesn’t appear to be any lasting damage. The young lord should count himself fortunate you came along when you did.
LYANNA
I can’t take all the credit; I’d likely have ended up in an even worse state than Howland if Ned hadn’t followed me out the hall.
WALYS
You cannot claim any credit, because none at all was offered. That was a foolish thing you did last night.
LYANNA
You’d rather I let the Freys beat Howland to death?
WALYS
And those were the only two options available to you, were they? There were men at arms from half-a-hundred houses in that hall, yet rather than seek aid from any of them you decide to equip yourself with a breadknife and face down three grown men all by yourself. What better word than “foolish” would you suggest? Arrogant? Reckless? Please, tell me, because I do so hate to repeat myself and between you and Brandon of late I find my vocabulary for such stupidity almost entirely exhausted.
LYANNA
You won’t tell father, will you?
WALYS
Your father has more than enough worries at the moment without my adding to them. But my silence comes at a price.
LYANNA
I never knew they gave maester’s links in extortion.
WALYS
I want your word that you will seek no vengeance against Jared Frey and his brothers.
LYANNA
What sort of vengeance do you imagine I could take?
WALYS
Don’t you play the coy maiden with me, young lady. I haven’t fallen for it since the day I first stitched up young Jory after one of your sparring sessions. Something else I kept from your lord father at your imploring, I might add.
LYANNA
They attacked a drunken boy no bigger than Benjen, three against one. Someone needs to make them answer for it.
WALYS
And no doubt someone will, but it won’t be you, Lyanna. I want you to give me your word, or I shall have no option but to rescind mine own and see what your father has to say about your adventures last night.
LYANNA
Fine, I give you my word.
WALYS
Swear it, on your name and on your House.
LYANNA [SIGHING]
I swear Lyanna of House Stark will seek no vengeance against Jared Frey and his brothers.
WALYS
Do you think me so simple as to fall for your pedantry, girl? Don’t you dare think of riling up your brother to do you dirty work for you. Ned has too much sense, but you and I both know Brandon wouldn’t hesitate to run those Freys through if he heard they so much as raised their voices towards you. He almost lost his betrothal with that awful business at Riverrun, and I won’t have him put it at risk again on your account, much less this poor unfortunate stray you’ve taken in.
Before LYANNA can reply, NED appears from within the tent, his cloak tied about his shoulders.
LYANNA
I thought you were staying with Howland?
NED
He fell asleep as soon as he laid his head down, dead to the world. Besides, I promised Robert I’d watch him in the melee.
LYANNA
The melee! Of course!
She grabs a surprised NED by the hand and begins to lead him away.
LYANNA [CONT’D]
Come on, little brother, we’ll have to hurry if we don’t want to miss the start!
WALYS
Lyanna –
LYANNA waves a hand over her shoulder at the scowling WALYS.
LYANNA
Sorry, Maester, but Robert’s expecting us! Take care of Howland, won’t you?! I’ll visit him again this afternoon!
10.5 INT: ILYRIO’S CHAMBERS, DAY
ILYRIO
We had an agreement, the men you serve and I.
Standing near seven-feet tall with a body carved from obsidian, JODO looms over the Magister’s desk like a monolith. Sitting back in his chair to escape his man-servants shadow, ILYRIO sets aside his bowl of olives, sucking clean his fat bejewelled fingers.
JODO
A man serves only one master, and a man fears the Many-Faced God may soon forget this one’s face, it has been so long since a man’s last offering.
ILYRIO
Then it can hardly help to discard the face you’re wearing now, can it?
JODO
Perhaps if you were to reconsider your approach with this captain –
ILYRIO
No, no, that’s all quite in hand. We’ll be having no more trouble from Ser Ilyn, you can trust in that.
Cleansing his palette with a swallow of wine, ILYRIO considers the gargantuan Pentoshi with an appraising eye.
ILYRIO [CONT’D]
Very well, let us say your debt has been paid. You may go on your way, but do not wander where I cannot find you. I may have need of your talents yet.
JODO
A man thanks Ilyrio Mopatis. Valar Morghulis, magister.
ILYRIO
Valar Dohaeris, Jodo.
Jodo lumbers from the room, ducking his head with incongruous gentility to the arriving NARISSA.
IlYRIO
Well? Am I to lose another trusted hand today?
NARISSA
She won’t even let the maester touch her, so I can’t see her spreading her legs on your account anytime soon.
ILYRIO
The burns pain her so?
NARISSA
It’s not the burns, Ilyrio. She was bold as a newly-minted dragon before she called on the king’s chambers, but now…you’d sooner find a Septa more comfortable in the company of men.
ILYRIO
Very well, I suppose I shall have to find some other line of service for the poor girl.
NARISSA
If you’re thinking of sending her back up that hill to spy for Lord Varys –
ILYRIO
If only life were so simple, but there have been no female servants at the Red Keep for years now; what good a spy that stands out like a dwarf in the fighting pits?
NARISSA
I was speaking more to your fraught relations of late. I can’t see Varys trusting any girl you might send him, not after you excluded him from your connivances with the queen.
ILYRIO
I always feared this dreary little island would exert an unedifying influence upon our dear Master of Whispers, like an exotic bird confined to a cage that soon forgets the feeling of outspread wings. I cannot tell you how it pains me to see his imagination as diminished as his appreciation for precedent…
ILYRIO smiles. He refreshes his cup and pours a second for NARISSA.
ILYRIO
Have I ever told you how Varys and I first made our fortune?
NARISSA
Stealing private letters from the rich and powerful, I seem to recall.
ILYRIO
Just so. The letters we stole held no great value in and of themselves, you understand, but their contents were most precious to their authors, containing as they did the most compromising of confidences.
NARISSA
So you’d blackmail these men? “Give us your gold or we spill your secrets?”
ILYRIO
Blackmail? Does a sculptor whittle his wood with an axe? Does a painter colour his canvas with mud and cinders? No. Blackmail a man and you make him your enemy. Retrieve for a man that of which he was robbed, and you make him the most ardent of allies.
NARISSA
An ally amenable to expressing his gratitude in cold hard coin, no doubt.
ILYRIO
But not before Varys and I traded away their secrets for use at a later date. Why sell the sheep for a silver when you can make two by shearing it first?
NARISSA
You really believe you can trade the small council back to Tywin?
ILYRIO
Who can say how the market will look a moon’s turn from now? Tywin Lannister may possess the deepest pockets, but the greatest need could well belong to Prince Rhaegar, or Her Grace the queen…
NARISSA
Or even the confederacy of magisters currently sailing their way from Pentos.
Grinning, ILYRIO tips his wine glass in proud acknowledgment towards NARISSA.
ILYRIO [chuckling]
If there were any flies on you, my dear, I’ve no doubt you’d charge them bread and board.
NARISSA
Does that mean you’re finally permitting me the greater responsibilities you promised? It’s been months, Ilyrio, and we both know I was made for greater things than The Mermaid’s parlour.
ILYRIO
Just so, my dear. In fact, an ideal oppourtunity for you to expand your remit only just presented itself…or, rather, absented itself, as would be closer to the case…
10.6 EXT: TOURNEY GROUNDS - DAY
S.E: fighting.
Spotting BRANDON and CATELYN squeezed shoulder-to-shoulder on a packed front pew, NED and LYANNA climb the stalls in search of an open space. They find BENJEN and EDMURE sitting in the topmost row and squeezes themselves into the few unoccupied feet beside the two boys just in time to witness ROBERT hurl a lesser Estermont into a pair of onrushing Yronwoods, scattering the Dornishmen like skittles.
NED
What are you doing sitting all the way up here?
BENJEN
I’m not feeling very well.
LYANNA
Aye, it’s called a hangover, you little shit.
LYANNA reaches into the pouch resting upon her hip and pulls out an apple. Drawing a knife from her belt, she cuts a slice and offers it to BENJEN. He waves it away, so his big sister skips the middle man and shoves it directly into his mouth.
NED
It was good of you to come and watch. I know Robert will be touched.
LYANNA
Robert has been touched enough, to hear Catelyn tell it.
NED glances pensively at BENJEN and EDMURE.
NED
Lyanna…the boys.
LYANNA
Now you sound like Catelyn. No, you know who you sound like? You sound like father. Why is everyone so damned determined to keep the world a secret? Perhaps if father had let Benjen have a taste of ale with dinner every now and then he’d have learned to handle his drink by now. Gods help the first woman he beds if he has no idea how it all works.
BENJEN
How all what works?
LYANNA
Shut up and eat your apple, the grown-ups are talking.
NED
Lady Catelyn should know better than to gossip about people she doesn’t even know.
LYANNA
And how many women has Robert known?
NED pauses too long for LYANNA’s liking. She waves the point of her dagger in his direction.
LYANNA
Don’t even think about lying. We both know you can never keep yourself from being anything but honest with me.
NED
Robert has always had a hearty appetite for life, I won’t deny it, but marriage has a way of smoothing a man’s rougher edges. Isn’t that what father always told us about him and mother?
LYANNA
What he said was that marriage and the war both aged him ten years, which I’m pretty certain is not the same point you’re trying to make.
NED
The point I’m trying to make is that love can change a person. Just look at Brandon.
LYANNA follows her brother’s eyeline to the first row, where BRANDON and CATELYN are paying little mind to the carnage playing out only feet away, preferring instead to whisper into one another’s ears and laugh together at some private jest.
NED [CONT’D]
He and Robert are alike in every way. So much so it makes you wonder if it shouldn’t be Brandon that counts Robert as a brother.
He was the last person you could ever imagine allowing himself to be led meekly to the altar, but look at him now.
LYANNA cuts another large slice from the apple; this time BENJEN does as he’s bid.
LYANNA
Love is sweet, dearest Ned, but it cannot change a man’s nature. A man like Robert will never keep to just one bed. And what’s worse, a woman like me will never demand any different.
NED turns from the battlefield to scowl dubiously at his sister.
LYANNA
Don’t look at me like that. I’m not saying I wouldn’t be hurt, but I’d have to be the worst kind of hypocrite to hold it against him. I’ve been saying it for weeks now but no one cares to hear: you can’t make someone into something they’re not, unless that something is fucking miserable. Robert was not made to be a husband, Ned.
NED
Not for most women, perhaps, but he could be for you. All the reasons father has despaired of ever finding you a husband, those are exactly the reasons Robert wants you for his wife. He’s forever talking about the two of you riding together, hunting together, drinking and dancing and -
LYANNA [INTERRUPTING]
Dammit, Ned, I am more than just the things I like to do, you know.
NED
But Robert isn’t?
LYANNA
Don’t get clever with me, little brother. It wasn’t all that long ago you were relying on me to wipe your backside for you, don’t forget.
BENJEN rubs the back of his head, scowling indignantly at his brother’s scolding.
NED
That was plenty long ago. I’ve been living out in the world for a decade now, while you’ve never travelled beyond sight of Winterfell until this week.
LYANNA
You’ve been trailing Robert about the Vale, Ned, not adventuring through Ashai-Beyond-The-Shadow.
NED takes a sharp intake of breath at the sight of ROBERT bent-double from a stiff blow to his middle.
NED
That’s as maybe, but I’ve experienced enough to know that if you just give people the benefit of the doubt sometimes, more often than not you’ll find yourself surprised by what they show you.
LYANNA
So you’re asking me to gamble the rest of my life on, what, happy thoughts and good intentions?
NED
I’m asking you to have a little faith, Lyanna.
LYANNA
And how much faith did you show me when you closed ranks with father? When you gave him your blessing, where was your faith in me to know my own mind then?
NED
I didn’t.
LYANNA
What did you say?
NED
I didn’t give father my blessing. Jon Arryn asked me to write to you…I even got so far as melting the wax to seal the letter…but I couldn’t bring myself to actually send it.
LYANNA
If you know this marriage is a mistake, then why have you just spent the last five minutes trying to convince me to the contrary?
NED
I spent the last five minutes defending my friend. That’s hardly the same thing.
I do believe Robert loves you, Lyanna, and that in time maybe you can learn to love him too. But that will never be enough for you. No matter how long a rope Robert gives you, you’ll still find a tall enough branch to swing from rather than live your life on a tether. You have too much of the wolf’s blood in you to ever be any different.
Maybe if you were still at Winterfell and I was still in the Vale I could have found a way to keep pretending otherwise, to carry on about my days without ever being honest with Robert, with father, without being honest with myself…but I could never be anything but honest with you.
You were right about that much, at least, as much as it pains me to give my big sister the satisfaction of admitting it.
LYANNA
If this is how you felt…why didn’t you say anything? Why didn’t you tell father you thought this marriage was a mistake?
NED
Because it’s going to happen, Lyanna! I held my peace for the same reason I didn’t chase down those three Frey brothers when they ran off last night: because I don’t believe in starting fights I have no hope of winning.
LYANNA
But if you’d spoken up, said something sooner –
NED
You’d still be exactly where you are now, only I’d be down a brother because Robert would never forgive me. Maybe that means I’m selfish, or maybe that means I’m craven, but father was never going to let you walk away from your duty, Lyanna. If it’s not Robert today, then it’ll be some other son of some other great house tomorrow. At least with Robert I’ll always know you’re being treated gently.
NED looks back towards the melee, sighing deeply as though exhausted by the unfamiliar effort of talking at such length. He glances anxiously at LYANNA.
NED [CONT’D]
I’ll understand if you hate me now.
In answer, LYANNA cuts the last of the flesh from her apple then hands the core to NED with the casual, intimate presumption of siblings. Recognising the spirit of her offering, he pops the core into his mouth and he and LYANNA chew together in silence for a moment.
NED [NED]
If you want me to tell all this to father, I will, whatever the consequences for me.
LYANNA
I would never put you in that position. I would never ask you to choose between your big sister and your best friend.
Below, ROBERT stands alone amid a field of stricken combatants while the tourney cryer navigates across a writhing carpet of the wounded and insensate to reach him. When he raises ROBERT’s arm aloft, the big man’s broad grin falters for a moment as he winces in pain.
CRYER
Your champion: Robert Baratheon, Lord of Storm’s End!
ROBERT searches the stands, his face a picture of pride and joy when he finds the Stark siblings in attendance for his moment of glory. Bowing shallowly in acknowledgement of the crowd, he walks stiffly to the stalls where BRANDON and CATELYN are waiting to offer their congratulations. Watching from on high, LYANNA chews at her bottom lip.
LYANNA
Do you really think Bran and Cat will have a good marriage?
NED
Who can say. Two weeks ago, our brother cut a man in half for impoliteness. Today he’s starry-eyed as a drunken maid. Perhaps tomorrow he’ll ride off and take sail for the Free Cities.
LYANNA
Now there’s a thought…
NED is deaf to LYANNA’s jest, his face pinched and pensive as he studies her profile.
NED
You’re not going to tell Robert, are you?
LYANNA turns her head, her expression softening at the sight of NED’s stone-grey eyes, identical to her own, regarding her with the guileless earnest she knows so well from their childhood.
LYANNA
I won’t breathe a word, little brother.
NED
Promise?
Wrapping her arms about NED’s own, LYANNA lays her head upon his shoulder.
LYANNA
I believe I’m fresh out of promises for one day. You’ll just need to have a little faith, instead.
10.7 INT: BARATHEON TENT – DAY
LYANNA enters the Baratheon tent to find MAESTER CRESSEN examining a shirtless ROBERT, drawing small whimpers from his lord as he presses with two figures about the purple-green bruises bloomed about ROBERT’s middle. CRESSEN takes up a roll of cloth bandages and instructs the patient to raise his arms aloft, a movement that forces a pained exhalation across ROBERT’s lips.
LYANNA
You may leave us, Maester Cressen; I can finish up here.
CRESSEN
As you wish, my lady.
CRESSEN compliantly hands the wrappings to LYANNA. ROBERT eyes her warily.
ROBERT
You sure you know what you’re doing?
LYANNA
More than most, less than some.
CRESSEN
Lady Lyanna does herself a disservice, my lord. Maester Walys tells me she’s patched up enough of young Benjen’s scrapes to almost merit a silver link all her own.
CRESSEN bows and excuses himself.
ROBERT
Awfully chummy, these Maesters of ours.
LYANNA steps close to ROBERT, their cheeks inches apart as she stretches to reach around his tree-thick torso and pass the wrappings from one hand to the other, binding his ribs tightly.
LYANNA
They’ve known each other longer than you or I have been alive. Walys and Cressen forged their chains together at the Citadel. Kym and Coleman too, I think.
As LYANNA makes another pass around, ROBERT sucks a lungful of air through gritted teeth.
LYANNA [CONT’D]
Stop grumbling. You’re worse than a maiden with a scraped knee.
LYANNA holds the cloth in place over the ridges of ROBERT’s stone-hard abdominals and reaches for a pin.
LYANNA [CONT’D]
How did you come by this anyway? I thought you won.
ROBERT
Marq Grafton, the bastard. I’m the strongest man in the Seven Kingdoms: any man comes at me straight I’m like to crush his bloody breastplate in. But it’s these nippy little short-arses that always seem to get a couple licks in.
LYANNA
I’d have thought you’d have learnt how to counter “nippy little short-arses” by now, training with my brother all these years.
So how did Grafton get these licks in, exactly?
ROBERT
Argh, I was over eager to put an end to it and leaned too heavily into my swing. He waited until the follow-through took me off balance then stepped inside my reach and poked me with that bloody morningstar.
LYANNA fixes the bandages in place and trims away the excess cloth.
LYANNA
What if you fought with something besides a hammer?
ROBERT
What, like a greatsword?
LYANNA
Or a regular sword, maybe.
ROBERT
I don’t see why I would. A strong man wields a heavy weapon, and I’m the strongest man –
LYANNA [INTERRUPTING]
In the Seven Kingdoms, yes, I know. But just suppose you were a little smaller, not quite so strong…how might someone best you in a swordfight?
ROBERT
Ply me with ale the night before and hope I was too hungover to see straight, maybe?
ROBERT side-eyes LYANNA suspiciously.
ROBERT [CONT’D]
Why are you wondering how to knock me down? Do you really expect our marriage to be so combative?
LYANNA
You’re doing a lot of talking for a man with a cracked rib.
ROBERT
It’s not cracked.
LYANNA
Take a deep breath.
ROBERT
I don’t need to take a deep breath.
LYANNA’s gaze remains implacable and ROBERT reluctantly does as he’s bid.
S.E: breath, coughing, moaning.
LYANNA
See. Cracked.
ROBERT waves her away, begrudgingly ceding the point. LYANNA passes him his shirt, watching despite herself the flex and contraction of his muscled arms and shoulders as he awkwardly slides them into the sleeves. He lowers himself onto the edge of his cot and LYANNA settles herself beside him.
LYANNA
Brandon says Gregor Clegane is the strongest man in the realm, and his brother Sandor the second strongest.
ROBERT
A stiff breeze would put Brandon on his backside. What does he know about strong?
LYANNA
Jealousy is such an ugly emotion.
ROBERT
What does Brandon have that I need be jealous of?
LYANNA
My little brother, for starters. Your place is in the Stormlands now, and it won’t be long before Brandon is Lord of Winterfell and calls Ned home again.
ROBERT’s brow knits together, as though confounded by some sudden new thought.
LYANNA [CONT’D]
You didn’t think you could stay Jon Arryn’s wards forever, did you?
ROBERT
No, of course not. It’s just…I didn’t think things would change all that much.
LYANNA
Well isn’t that just what every young maiden hopes to hear from her betrothed.
ROBERT
Does this mean I’m forgiven for that business with the Freys then?
LYANNA
I just think you could have handled it better, is all.
ROBERT
Would you have preferred I’d cracked their skulls together? Because if that’s want you would like, then I’ll go seek them out right now…
ROBERT begin to rise, but LYANNA grasps his arm.
LYANNA
Sit down, Robert.
ROBERT
Then tell me plain what it is you’d have me do.
LYANNA
You’re a grown man, Robert. You shouldn’t need me to tell you when something needs doing. I just think there has to be consequences for men like that. There has to be some kind of…I don’t know…justice.
ROBERT
That’s a little dramatic, isn’t it? It was just three bullies throwing their weight around…
LYANNA [CONT’D]
Don’t laugh at me, Robert! There’s nothing funny about giving a shit. Gods, why must everything be such a joke to you?! Can’t you take anything seriously?
ROBERT
Is this about my letting Stannis run the Stormlands?
LYANNA
What? No, of course not, I don’t even –
ROBERT [INTERRUPTING]
I did that for us, so I wouldn’t be spending all my time running my kingdom the way father did. I didn’t think you cared about titles.
LYANNA
I don’t care about titles, but I do care that you care about something. Anything.
ROBERT
I care about you, Lyanna. I care about the life you and I are going to build together.
LYANNA
That’s going to be hard to do if you’re not ready for anything to change, Robert. Am I going to share your chambers at the Eyrie, spending my days watching you and my little brother squire for Jon Arryn until we’re all as old and grey as he is now?
ROBERT
No, but…I like my life just as it is, Lyanna. I want to keep on doing exactly the same things I do now, only…I want to do them with you.
We’ll hunt, and fish, and follow the tourneys across the realm. We’ll eat the richest foods and drink the finest wines and live every day as though it were our last.
He takes LYANNA’s hand in his, bringing it to his lips to softly kiss her fingers.
ROBERT [CONT’D]
And if some day you should grow tired of all that, then we’ll return to Storm’s End and settle down, start a family if that will please you. You’ll make a wonderful mother someday, Lyanna; just look how well you’re taking care of me.
LYANNA
If all you want in life is a drinking partner and someone to patch up your wounds…it seems to me you already have a Stark well-suited to the task.
ROBERT
Ned only let me kiss him once, then never again. He said my beard was too scratchy.
LYANNA cannot supress a smirk. ROBERT’s eyes shine at the sight.
ROBBERT
I like making you smile, Lyanna.
LYANNA
You do it well…for a fat-headed oaf.
LYANNA nods down at their intertwined hands.
LYANNA
Can I have that back now?
ROBERT
What if I said “no”?
LYANNA
Well you need to get some rest, and this little cot is too narrow for the both of us.
ROBERT kisses her hand once more, then returns it to her lap.
ROBERT
Very well. But consider it a loan, only. I shall expect it back before too long, and then I’m never letting it go again.
10.8 INT: LANNISTER TENT, HARRENHAL - MORNING
TYWIN
It’s only Dornish Red, I’m afraid, though still a damned sight sweeter than that hideous concoction Steffon used to ply us with in camp.
HOSTER
Gods, I haven’t thought about that in years! Rickard and I were convinced it was actually sealant the Ironborn used to waterproof their hulls. How we didn’t all go blind, I’ll never know.
TYWIN
We had stomachs of young men, positively lined with lead. Now, I drink more than a couple glasses of wine with supper and my head is swimming for days.
HOSTER
I was certainly regretting my decisions when I woke up this morning.
TYWIN
Well then, here’s to the dragon that scorched you!
TYWIN raises his cup and HOSTER does likewise.
HOSTER
To think, you and I drank with Steffon the night Maelys cut Lord Ormond down, and here we are now, old men both, and Steffon no less dead than his father.
TYWIN
Steffon was a good man, however much we may have drifted apart over the years. His Grace and I were so looking forward to the prospect of having him at court again.
HOSTER
The three of you were close as brothers at one point in time.
TYWIN
Indeed we were, and I count it among my greatest regrets that we did not remain so. In truth, Steffon’s passing gave me cause to reflect on all manner of mistakes I have made these past twenty years.
HOSTER
Bereavement and regret go hand in glove, it seems to me. When my sweet Minisa passed, Gods rest her beautiful soul, I spent half-a-year drowning in a pit of self-recrimination.
TYWIN
She was a fine woman, and the world is poorer for her absence.
HOSTER
She thought a great deal of you, you know. She always spoke fondly of the month you and the children spent with us at Riverrun.
TYWIN
I do wish I could share her sentiment, but in truth I count that visit foremost among those many mistakes of which I spoke a moment ago.
HOSTER
I know you and I parted on poor terms, my lord, but I hardly see good reason for –
TYWIN [INTERRUPTING]
Forgive me, I meant no insult. I remain grateful that you invited my family into your home, and have nothing but the warmest regard for the kindness and hospitality with which we were hosted. My mistake pertains not to our attendance, but to your proposal.
HOSTER
It has always been a father’s right to decide his children’s betrothal according to his own ambitions.
TYWIN
You must bear with me, my lord: it would seem life at court has made me clumsy in talking so candidly, and talking to friends even more so. The fault was not with your daughter, but with my son, and if I left you with a contrary understanding these past few years I must hope you will accept my sincerest apologies.
I did not believe Jaime was suitably mature at that time to enter into any marriage, and so, flattered as I was by the prospect of union between our two great houses and despite the lady Lysa’s abundance of attractive qualities, I felt I had little option but to refuse.
Today, my son is a man grown. In just a few short weeks he has made himself a popular fixture at the capital, particularly so among the sworn brothers of the Kingsguard, with whom he sampled his first taste of battle and from whom he earned the admiration and respect befitting a far older and more celebrated peer, receiving his knighthood from the one of the finest men ever to don a White Cloak.
Consequently, and you must excuse a father’s pride if I presume too much, I am of the mind that he has now proved himself worthy at last of a woman of such impeccable stock as your fair and maiden daughter.
HOSTER
My Lord, this a most unexpected proposal. I don’t know quite what to say.
TYWIN
Say first that you will consider my son upon his merits, rather than his father’s mistakes. Jaime had no part in my decision then, and I would ask that any grudge you might bear towards me have no part in yours now.
HOSTER
I do not believe children should ever carry the consequences of their father’s actions, especially so when those actions are made with no ill-intention.
TYWIN
That is most gracious of you, my friend. Might I infer then that you are not entirely unreceptive to the marriage?
HOSTER
I am honoured by your favour, my lord, and humbled too by your readiness to admit personal folly in our past dealings, but…a marriage such as this, between two of the realm’s great houses, would need royal approval, would it not?
TYWIN
That will prove no impediment. I sit beside the prince ever night at high table.
Seeing HOSTER’s sudden discomfort, TYWIN’s facial muscles twitch into something resembling an atrophied smile.
TYWIN [CONT’D]
Apologies, my lord. You were of course referring to the king.
HOSTER
I…yes…yes I was, but in any case, I think it only proper that I first consult with Lysa before we make any formal announcement.
TYWIN
Did you not just say it was a father’s right to decide his children’s betrothals?
HOSTER
I did, but it is not my daughter’s approval I seek, only her preparedness. I have seen first-hand only recently how discomfiting it can be for a young girl to receive such news unexpectedly.
TYWIN
You believe she will react unfavourably? As I remember it, her affection towards Jaime was most apparent when they met at Riverrun.
HOSTER
Of that I have no doubt; any maiden in the Seven Kingdoms would count themselves blessed seven-times over to name your son their husband. But young girls are mercurial creatures, as I’ve no doubt you’ve experienced for yourself. If you were to grant me just a few days to prepare the ground, as it were, I would consider it a most gracious concession. A kindness between old friends, you might call it.
TYWIN
And what sort of friend would I be to refuse a request proffered on terms such as those. I shall await your return, Lord Hoster, as I know my son awaits my own…and the news that our two houses might soon be bound in closer union.
10.9 EXT: RED KEEP HALLWAY – MORNING
S.E: knocking.
PYCELLE [MUFFLED]
Go away!
DERFEL
M’lord, I have your breakfast.
PYCELLE
I said go away!
DERFEL looks forlornly at the servings of scrambled eggs and bacon he bears, at a loss as to how to proceed. Stacks of similarly-presented plates teeter on either side of the Grand Maester’s door, entirely untouched save for the cloud of flies buzzing above the slowly-rotting produce and the pair of fattened black rats presently raiding a bowl of shrivelled fruit.
DERFEL
Please, m’lord, the kitchen master has sworn to beat me if I return with a full plate again.
PYCELLE
Good gods, boy, don’t you have anything else to do but pester me?
DERFEL
Well…no, not really, m’lord. The castle is pretty much empty since the king left for Duskendale.
PYCELLE
Duskendale?
DERFEL
Yes, m’lord. Prince Rhaegar and the Lord Hand have gone to Harrenhal, the Queen and Princess Elia not far behind, Lord Velaryon sailed north ahead of the king, Lord Chelsted rode south after Prince Lewyn…even the White Cloaks are all gone, except for Ser Harlan.
S.E: door opening.
Looking conspicuously wan and hollow-cheeked, PYCELLE’s face peeks between the door and its frame.
PYCELLE
Prince Lewyn?
DERFEL
Yes, m’lord. His Grace sailed for Sunspear a week ago.
S.E: door slowly opening.
PYCELLE
Is that bacon I smell?
DERFEL
Yes, m’lord.
PYCELLE
Take a bite.
DERFEL
M’lord?
PYCELLE
You heard me. Show me that it’s safe.
Confused but obedient, DERFEL picks up a rasher and nibbles at its end. PYCELLE narrows his eyes expectantly, but when DERFEL fails to exhibit any ill-effect, the Grandmaester licks his lips and contemplates the remainder of his breakfast with wolfish reappraisal.
PYCELLE
Perhaps I might suffer a few mouthfuls…
PYCELLE’s stomach rumbles at the notion. He is about to open the door and admit the young servant boy when he spies the deep blue cast to DERFEL’s hands. The Grandmaester’s eyes grow wide.
PYCELLE
You’re one of them, aren’t you?! One of Elia Martell’s creatures?
DERFEL
My sister is in service to the princess, m’lord, but…
S.E: door slamming.
DERFEL furrows his brow at PYCELLE’s sudden withdrawal. He lingers, mindful of the kitchen master’s warning. Left with little alternative, he shrugs and sets to clearing the Grandmaester’s plate himself.
10.10 EXT: TOURNEY GROUNDS – DAY
EXT: ROYAL BOX, TOURNEY GROUNDS – DAY
Watching the games from the royal box, RHAEGAR passes idle observations with TYWIN and WALTER WHENT, the King’s Hand and the Lord of Harrenhal seated either side of the prince’s place of honour. Over RHAEGAR’s left shoulder sit the Ladies SHELLA and SARA, and over his right stands BARRISTAN, small pearls of sweat beading his forehead as the unseasonable noon heat slowly cooks the knight inside his Kingsguard plate.
Below, only two men remain standing of the three-score that began the melee: JARED of House Frey, and LYNN of House Corbray. The former finds himself hard pressed, the crowd’s clear favourite forcing JARED to crouch down and avail himself of his shield’s protection. The end appears inevitable as LYNN wails away at the wood with his broadsword, but JARED uses his free hand to swipe a mound of soil and toss it through the open visor of LYNN’s helm.
BARRISTAN
Shamefully done.
WALTER nods his head in concurrence with BARRISTAN’s disgusted commentary, but TYWIN cocks a sneer.
TYWIN
Shame belongs in the septs, Ser Barristan, never upon the field of battle.
BARRISTAN considers the back of TYWIN’s head with a sour expression, but holds his tongue.
With a blinded LYNN rubbing furiously at his eyes in a vain effort to clear his vision, JARED moves quickly to seize upon this sudden reversal. He snatches up his lost spear and rams the but into LYNN’s gut, the young squire from Heart’s Home doubling over as the air rushes from his lungs. The elder Frey wrestles LYNN’s helm from his head and uses it to deal a backhanded blow across his unprotected skull. Mounting the fallen Corbray, JARED rains down a barrage of mailed fists into his opponent’s face. AENYS and DENWELL, recovered now from their own eliminations, rush the field and drag their wild-eyed brother away.
CRYER
Your winner of the day’s melee: Lord Jared of House Frey!
S.E: boos.
AENYS and DENWELL raise JARED’s arm, the champion smirking contemptuously at the jeering crowd. He bows to the royal box and receives a round of applause in return, perfunctory and grudging from RHAEGAR and the Whents, appreciative from TYWIN.
S.E: crowd noise dies away.
The Freys turn to see what has caught the crowd’s attention. A lone figure marches awkwardly across the tourney ground. Dressed in mismatching and ill-fitting armour, the man is barely of a height with the shortest of the Frey brothers, and with none of DENWELL’s broadness of shoulder. The visor of the man’s rusted greathelm is closed, forcing all eyes to look instead to their cracked and peeling shield for a clue as to their identity. There, painted in white upon a black field, a red-lipped and laughing weirwood tree, its naked branches reaching out towards the steel-fringed edges of the wood.
The CRYER steps forward and confers inaudibly with the man. then returns to JARED to speak on his behalf.
CRYER
My lord of Frey. This man…
The CRYER hesitates, clarifies something with the man, then begins again.
CRYER
This “Knight of the Laughing Tree” would challenge you to defend your champion’s purse.
The Freys look at one another, making no effort to disguise their amusement. JARED steps forward.
JARED [SUSPICIOUS]
I do not recognise the sigil your bear upon your shield, ser. Perhaps you could remove your helm so that I might look upon your face.
The KNIGHT OF THE LAUGHING TREE leans towards the CRYER, who tilts his head and listens, nodding his understanding.
CRYER
This man belongs to no House; he is but a hedge knight, his armour assembled from half a dozen lands over twice as many years. He has often heard men speak of the brave and noble Freys of the Crossing, and humbly asks that you confer upon him the tremendous honour of testing his steel against one of the Seven Kingdom’s most renowned and celebrated houses.
AENYS [WARY]
Don’t do it, Jared.
DANWELL
Aenys is right, he could be anybody under that helmet.
JARED looks the mystery knight over, clearly unimpressed yet still wary of chancing his winnings against an unknown quantity.
RHAEGAR
If my Lords of Frey need further incentive…
Every head turns towards the royal box, where RHAEGAR holds aloft his fat-bottomed coin purse for all the crowd to see.
RHAEGAR [CONT’D]
To the winner: one-hundred gold dragons, and a place beside the King’s Hand himself at table tonight!
RHAEGAR smiles at a scowling TYWIN, then joins the crowd in looking to JARED for his answer. DANWELL and AENYS shake their heads in deterrence, but JARED only has eyes for the bag of gold dangling from RHAEGAR’s fingers. He lowers his vizor, signalling his assent.
S.E. cheers.
AENYS and DENWELL hiss protestations at JARED as they withdraw, but he is deaf to their complaints and summons his squire to fetch him his steel.
SARA
My word, how exciting! A mystery knight entering himself in competition? It’s like something from a song.
TYWIN
How right you are, Lady Sara. Tell me: do you know the song “Ser Duncan and the Strangers”?
SARA
Of course, though I don’t like to hear it. I always cry when the Stranger leads Ser Duncan away from Summerhall.
TYWIN
But do you recall the earlier verses, and the first stranger Ser Duncan encounters?
SARA
Oh yes! The mystery knight that enters the tourney at Blackhaven!
TYWIN
Our own Ser Barristan here was only a boy of ten at the time, but those fortunate enough to attend the games would long attest that he fought like a man twice his age and thrice his size that day.
SARA looks at BARRISTAN as though seeing him for the first time, her mouth agape.
SARA
Is that true, ser?
BARRISTAN
It is, my lady, though His Lord Hand flatters my performance somewhat.
TYWIN
Ser Barristan may have lost the joust, but he won the far grander prize of Ser Duncan’s esteem, as well as the sobriquet he bears to this day.
SARA [AWED]
“Barristan the Bold.”
SARA considers BARRISTAN as though seeing him for the first time, mouth agape, the wrinkles about his eyes and hint of white in his hair melted away to reveal the dashing young knight of yesteryear.
TYWIN
That must have been…what, thirty years ago now?
BARRISTAN is not deaf to TYWIN’s veiled slight, but smiles courteously all the same.
BARRISTAN
Thirty-five, my lord hand.
The mystery knight brandishes his sword in two hands, as though the weight were too much to bear in just the one. Without waiting for the CRYER’S call, JARED charges at full pace. Recognising the sudden panic in the CRYER’s eyes, the mystery knight turns in time to slip outside JARED’s swing and dance to safety.
RHAEGAR
He's quick, this one.
WALTER
Aye, but I’ve seen better armour on a mummer arrayed in pots and pans.
SARA
He’s so small.
TYWIN
As are street cats, and for the same reason. Hedge knights have to scrabble for every meal; those that begin selling their service as young men invariably grow up malnourished.
JARED comes hard at the mystery knight, determined to avenge his embarrassment in the shortest order possible, but his smaller, faster opponent refuses to engage. Skipping away every time JARED lurches close, the mystery knight forces him into giving chase about the field, every forward step of JARED’s mirrored with two backward steps of his own. The bigger man quickly begins to labour, his energy levels already depleted by his exertions in the melee, his breath coming in ragged pants and his gait slow and lumbering. He stops and raises his vizor, resting his hands on his thighs and sucking in air.
JARED [WINDED, BREATHING HEAVILY]
Spear!
JARED’s squire runs onto the field, swapping out JARED’s sword for a six-foot, double-tipped spear, then retreats quickly back to the sidelines.
SARA
What is he doing, Ser Barristan?
BARRISTAN
This mystery knight is keeping his distance, my lady. The longer the weapon, the shorter the separation.
Anticipating the mystery knight’s evasions, JARED manipulates him back towards the living fence of the spectators that fringe the field furthest from the stalls, closing off the knight’s attempts at escape with short, sudden jabs of his spear. Forced to stand toe-to-toe now, the mystery knight uses his shield to turn aside JARED’s probing strokes, absorbing a hail of steel that scratches and scars the laughing tree motif, the paint chips blooming in the air like tossed confetti. Driven to one knee, the knight rolls past JARED and into the open field, but loses the greave from his left leg and gardbrace from his right shoulder in the process. He curses at the worn and frayed straps that hang in place of the rusted armour ostentatiously stepped upon by the encroaching Frey.
Using his sword to swipe JARED’s spear aside, the knight lunges forward and lands a backhanded blow across JARED’s helm, springing forward off the balls of his feet to bypass JARED’s guard. Spotting the knight’s imbalance, JARED swings his spear about and sweeps the knight’s standing leg. He lands flat on his back, the impact sending his sword skittering away across the grass, but barely has he registered its absence before the point of JARED’s spear comes driving down towards his throat. He hurls himself aside, evading the steel tip by inches, then rolls again to avoid a second thrust. The third he takes on his shield, the weathered and worn wood somehow proving an advantage as the spearpoint lodges itself within a gulley between the ill-fitted wood. The knight seizes his opportunity to escape, abandoning his shield and lurching away in pursuit of his lost blade. Freeing his spear, JARED lashes out at the knight’s trailing leg, the spearpoint taking the knight in his exposed calf like a wild beast sinking its teeth into the flesh of retreating prey. The knight collapses to the ground, twisting back to wrap a hand about his leg in a futile effort to staunch the gush of blood that spurts forth when JARED retracts his spear.
SARA
I thought these were blunted weapons?
BARRISTAN
With sufficient force a marble loosed from a slingshot will pass clean through a man, my lady.
TYWIN
If melees were entirely without risk there would be no need for the armour.
As though hearing TYWIN’s grim appraisal, JARED removes his helm and looks to the royal box, seeking out the King’s Hand. TYWIN considers a moment…then nods. Bowing with a flourish, JARED turns and ambles casually after his quarry, stepping along the trail of blood the mystery knight leaves in his wake as he pulls himself inch after painful inch towards his sword, the steel glinting in the sunlight like salvation itself. JARED regards the knight’s struggles with the same macabre curiosity with which a malevolent child might observe a tortured earthworm squirming about the nail that bisects its middle.
JARED [MOCKING]
Where do you suppose you’re going, Reed?
Just as the knight’s fingertips graze the pommel’s end, JARED drives his boot down across his wrist, grinding the knight’s gauntlet into the ground beneath his heel. JARED prods contemptuously at the knight’s helm with the butt of his spear.
JARED [CONT’D]
What, you think I’m as blind as my fool brothers?
Still clutching the knight’s shield, JARED inspects the remnants of its weirwood motif, grinning back disdainfully at the laughing tree’s.
JARED [CONT’D]
You had the sense to find a different shield, at least.
JARED tosses his spear aside and flips the shield about, driving the point at its base into the soil. Retracting his foot, JARED bends forward, leaning on the flat topside and permitting the knight to make it to his knees with the shield’s assistance.
JARED [CONT’D]
What say we give the people a good luck at you? Let them see those handsome eyes before I pluck them from your fucking head.
Gripping with both hands on either side of the mystery knight’s helm, JARED begins to pull. So preoccupied is he with this moment of triumph, he entirely fails to notice the kneeling knight has similarly secured a grip for himself, one hand wrapped about either length of the shield. Just as the lip of the helmet passes the knight’s chin, he springs suddenly to his feet, thrusting the shield upwards into the underside of JARED’s jaw.
S.E: crunch.
JARED trips back on his heels, his eye’s wide with surprise as a waterfall of claret cascades between his lips. He holds his hands beneath his chin, his eyes doubling in size at the speed with which his cupped palms fill with blood. JARED spits upon the ground, his face turning a sickly grey when he sees shattered teeth and the severed tip of his tongue amid the think pink phlegm.
JARED
Ma tong! Ma ucking tong! I’ll ‘ill oo, oo ‘ucking ‘unt!
S.E: smack.
The shield takes JARED across the temple, a second spray of blood splattering across the grinning weirwood. JARED drops to his knees.
S.E: smack; smack.
Tossing the shield aside, the mystery knight straddles his fallen opponent, raising JARED’s head by a fistful of hair and driving a mailed fist into his face.
S.E: punch; punch.
AENYS rushes forward and grabs the mystery knight by the shoulder, though whether he meant to join the fight or simply spare his brother a further beating no one will ever truly know. The mystery knight punches him square in the face. AENYS’s nose explodes across his cheeks and he joins his brother in staring at the sky. DENWELL is next to try and intercede, but when the mystery knight snaps his head in his direction, the youngest Frey pivots on his heels and retreats hurriedly back to the safety of the crowd.
The mystery knight rears back another fist, but decides instead to let the limp JARED drop insensible from his grip. Peering through his vizor, he confirms for himself that ragged breaths are still emerging from the approximate middle of JARED’s face, the gory mess as soft and pulpy as a half-chewed peach. Satisfied, he rises to his feet, staggering when he tries and fails to put any weight down through his mangled calf.
Row after row of open-mouthed faces stare down from the stalls, utterly astonished at what they’ve just witnessed and entirely uncertain how to react. In the royal box, RHAEGAR rises.
S.E: single applause, slowly gathering applause; cheering.
Every person present joins their prince in standing, even TYWIN reluctantly leaving his seat to applaud the unlikely champion. The CRYER hurries onto the field and helps the unsteady knight retain his balance, then raises his arm aloft.
CRYER
Your winner!
S.E: cheering.
SARA
That was remarkable! A..a little more blood than I expected…rather a lot of blood in fact…but remarkable all the same!
RHAEGAR leans towards TYWIN.
RHAEGAR
Be sure to see our champion’s plate is piled high, won’t you my lord hand? Tonight at least he shall not need to scrabble for his food.
TYWIN
It seems someone will have to catch him first, You Grace.
Across the field, the mystery knight limps away as fast as his injury will allow. Pushing his way through and clear of the tight press of spectators, he quickly disappears from view, lost among the constant stream of bodies walking this way and that about the tourney grounds.
10.11 EXT: DOCKS OF KING’S LANDING – DAY
Standing at the end of the dock, arms crossed and tucked inside the pendulous sleeves of his luxurious robes, ILYRIO smiles up at the enormous merchant ship flying Pentoshi colours drawing alongside. Anticipating the cadre of customs agents hurrying down the dock, the Magister dances aside with astonishing grace for a man his size and clears their path to this tantalising new quarry. He watches as the gangplank is lowered and a short procession of handsomely-attired dignitaries of supercilious bearing descends onto the dock. Though distinct in height and girth, all six men sport their own unique interpretation of the forked and dyed facial hair of the Pentoshi fashion, each more elaborate than the last.
ILYRIO
My friends! Welcome to Westeros, or as I like to call it: the land of fog and virtue!
MAGISTER #1
Fog?! I bought a whole new wardrobe of heavy furs to see me through the fabled Westerosi winter and look: not a cloud in the sky.
The tallest of the six looks down his nose at a pair of drunken working girls touting their wares among the disembarking crew.
MAGISTER #2
We seem to be no less wanting in virtue, either.
To think, this is the highest standing to which any of these miserable wretches will ever be permitted to rise under aristocratic rule, yet still every man among them will bow and scrape to any fool with famous enough name to set a golden hat upon his head.
ILYRIO
You cannot judge these people by the standards of a learned man, my friend. Not one in every thousand knows their letters. They do not understand their politics intellectually as you or I do, but emotionally, and so take even the gentlest of interrogations against their worldview as a personal attack.
MAGISTER #1
I must confess, we were most surprised to receive your invitation in such timely fashion. We expected it would take half a year or more before you adequately prepared the ground for our coming.
ILYRIO
The country is soon in bloom, my friend, and I have never been a man to stand idle and watch the grass grow beneath my feet.
MAGISTER #2
You have secured charters for us all?
ILYRIO
I have indeed, as well as the queen’s blessing to undergo a campaign of aggressive consolidation in whatever fields should take our fancy.
MAGISTER #2
And does this blessing come with the necessary means of exercising said aggression?
ILYRIO
After a fashion. The Queen has recently taken it upon herself to perform something of a purge upon the city watch, expelling some six score Westermen from among its ranks with more sure to follow. That’s six score men trained at arms and conditioned for violence suddenly in need of alternative employment.
MAGISTER #1
I trust, then, that overtures have already been made? I cannot imagine men of such ill-repute would long suffer for want of a paymaster in a place such as this.
ILYRIO
As we speak, my friend. I thought it best I delegate the duties of the day so we Magistars might be left at leisure to decide how our recent spoils should most advantageously be shared. For as the baker said to the slattern: this cake will not cut itself.
10.12 INT: TAVERN – DAY
ILYN
…and next thing I know, I’m frog-marched out the postern gate without so much as a “by-your-leave”. Twenty years I’ve been a Captain in the Gold Cloaks; twenty fucking years, man and boy, and it’s all down the shitter on account of that whore queen and her fat fucking flesh-peddler.
The disinterested bystander drawn into ILYN’s self-pity walks away without reply, leaving ILYN at the bar to drown his sorrows alone, a task in which he is frustrated by the single bead of ale that trickles onto his tongue when he upends his cup.
ILYN
Barkeep! Another flagon of ale!
WESLEY
You got the coin?
ILYN
Put it on my slate.
WESLEY
Slates are for men what matter. You want ale, you best get used to paying for it.
ILYN mutters curses into his empty cup. His hopes are rekindled for a brief moment at the sound of approaching footsteps, his mouth already open to appeal upon the generosity of his fellow patron, but his intentions are immediately dashed when he looks up and recognises NARISSA’s face.
NARISSA
Good evening, Wesley.
WESLEY
Evening, m’lady. What can I get for you?
NARISSA
Arbor Gold, I think. In a glass, if you would be so kind.
ILYN
You stupid bitch, don’t you know there’s not a drop of Arbor Gold to be had in the whole city –
ILYN trails away at the sight of WESLEY retrieving a wine bottle from beneath the bar and filling a hastily-polished goblet. NARISSA takes a small sip, savouring the taste.
NARISSA
The Magister recently received a rather robust supply, and has always made a point of sharing such providence among his friends.
NARISSA tips her goblet towards WESLEY. He ducks his head in appreciation.
WESLEY
That might be overstating the Magister’s generosity a touch considering the coin I had to part with, m’lady, but at the mark-up I’ve been charging he’ll be hearing no complaints from me.
ILYN snorts derisively. He leers at NARISSA with a poor man’s imitation of haughtiness.
ILYN
And that’s what you are, is it? One of the fat man’s “friends”?
NARISSA smiles wryly to herself.
NARISSA
You may sneer, Ser Ilyn, but I have no illusions as to my station. Ilyrio cares no more for me than he did the horse that first drew his carriage to my mother’s door back in Pentos. He will make use of me for only so long as he can avail himself of the many talents of which I am possessed, and in which he is so self-confessedly deficient. Once that no longer holds true…well, I hope by then to have ridden this tide to a place of such singular security I need fear man nor beast no longer.
ILYN
What tide is that, then?
NARISSA
The tide of progress, Ser Ilyn. Indomitable, indefatigable, irresistible progress.
She frowns, cursing under her breath.
NARISSA [CONT’D; MUTTERED TO SELF]
Gods, I’ve been spending too much time listening to Ilyrio talk…
Look, my point is this: surely a man that has spent his life scratching and clawing for surer purchase must sense when the sands are shifting beneath his feet. The rich, the powerful, the great of name, they can always retreat further up the beach, but the likes of you and I, we have only one choice to make when we see the waters rising: do we stand still and allow the waves to drown us, or do we resolve to ride that tide as far and high as it can possibly carry us?
Taking a slow, sensuous sip of her Arbor Gold, NARISSA pushes the half-filled goblet away and rises to her feet.
NARISSA
I made my choice the day I climbed into that carriage. Do let me know once you have made yours, won’t you? Wesley: a pleasure as always.
WESLEY
M’lady.
WESLEY and ILYN watch NARISSA slink gracefully from the tavern, one admiring and the other furrowed-brow in confusion.
ILYN
I didn’t get a word of that. Stuck-up bitch talks as flowery as the fat man.
WESLEY
You really are a dumb cunt, aren’t you Ilyn?
ILYN
Eh?
WESLEY
I’m just a barkeep so what the fuck do I know, but I’m pretty sure that stuck-up bitch just offered you a job.
10.13 EXT: STARK TENT – DAY
RICKARD
So you are telling me that Tywin knows what we’ve been doing.
HOSTER
Whatever makes you draw that conclusion?
RICKARD
Why else would he want Lysa?
HOSTER
Excuse me?
Sitting across from one another in the characteristically understated tent of House Stark, RICKARD holds up a hand to mollify HOSTER’s offended bristle.
RICKARD
What I mean to say is, why not ask for Catelyn? An eldest son for an eldest daughter.
HOSTER
Because it was Lysa that I offered when Tywin came to Riverrun.
RICKARD rubs his beard speculatively.
RICKARD
An offer Tywin rejected.
HOSTER
I’m not sure I follow.
RICKARD
Why accept the proposal now unless he knows that Catelyn is not free to wed?
HOSTER
You think he knows about our marriage plans?
RICKARD
If he didn’t before, I think you all but confirmed it for him when you failed to ask him the same question I just asked you.
HOSTER
But if he knows about that, who’s to say he doesn’t know about the rest of it? Gods, Rickard, if the king should learn we’re plotting against him -
RICKARD
Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. If Tywin suspected the true extent of what we’re up to he’d be fitting us all for chains, not inviting us for drinks.
HOSTER
Then what game is he playing here?
RICKARD
The only game Tywin Lannister ever plays: the one that ends to his advantage.
What did he say when you refused him?
HOSTER
I didn’t.
RICKARD’s face darkens, like an older brother ready to scold his foolish junior. HOSTER hurries to pre-empt his anger.
HOSTER [CONT’D]
How could I, when he was offering me the very same terms I offered him not three years past?
RICKARD
So what did you tell him?
HOSTER
That I needed some time to speak with Lysa. He wasn’t best pleased, but neither did he force the issue.
HOSTER
We need to alert the prince.
RICKARD
That’s the very last thing we need to be doing. The only thing we know for certain is that we have Tywin’s attention, and he no doubt has you and I both under close surveillance; if we go running straight to Rhaegar we’re as good as gifting Tywin a handwritten confession that there’s more afoot than the matter of a few marriages.
HOSTER
But how can we even begin to consider carrying on as we otherwise would unless we know for certain we are not walking blindly into Tywin’s trap?
Sitting back in his chair, RICKARD chews over HOSTER’s words like a cow on cud.
RICKARD
Tomorrow is the tourney’s closing ceremony. When Brandon and I deliver our gratitude to Walter, I will ask to speak with Tywin privately and endeavour to discern exactly where we stand.
HOSTER
Is that really wise, Rickard? Tywin has been navigating the politics of court since he was little more than a child, and - with all due respect - you were no more made for intrigue than I was.
RICKARD
I have not kept Jon Arryn’s company all this time without learning a thing or two about speaking through both sides of my mouth, Hoster. Leave it with me, old friend.
HOSTER nods in agreement and rises. He pauses in his exit and looks back at RICKARD with a sad half-smile, his features overcome by a melancholy he cannot disguise.
HOSTER
I suddenly feel as though we’re right back on the Stepstones again. When you say those words, I can almost hear the echo of Jon saying that very thing twenty years ago.
RICKARD
And he did not fail you then, just as I will not fail you now.
HOSTER
Of that I have no doubts at all, old friend. But…can you promise me the price won’t be quite so high this time?
RICKARD hesitates to answer; he opens his mouth to speak, but HOSTER is already gone.
No sooner have the flaps of the entrance settled back into place than MAESTER WALYS slips quietly into the tent from some disguised opening to RICKARD’s rear.
WALYS
It would appear our conspiracy grows with every passing day.
RICKARD
My father always said only rabbits and smallfolk breed so precipitously as secrets.
WALYS
I’ve always thought of them more akin to children: you can nurture them at home only so long, and once they’re out in the world they’re entirely beyond your control.
Without waiting for invitation, WALYS occupies the chair still warm from HOSTER’s prodigious posterior.
RICKARD
What do you make of it all? If Hoster’s worst fears have come to pass, and Tywin knows of our intentions…
WALYS
You were wise to counsel Lord Tully against leaping to any conclusions, though knowing you as I do I rather suspect you have already failed to follow your own advice.
RICKARD
How so?
WALYS
You assume Lord Tully has no intention of accepting Tywin’s proposal.
RICKARD
Of course he doesn’t. The only reason he hasn’t done so already was to avoid provoking Tywin to further suspicion.
WALYS
Perhaps. Or perhaps Lord Hoster prefers to hedge his bets, as it were; leave himself an exit strategy should something go awry with our plans to crown the prince. We know he has long coveted a marriage with Casterly Rock, or have you forgotten how despondent he was when Tywin rebuffed his previous overtures.
RICKARD
Be that as it may, Hoster has never given me reason to doubt his commitment to our cause.
WALYS
Lord Hoster’s commitment has never been to our cause, but to the gain of House Tully. You said as much to Prince Rhaegar yourself only last night, by your telling.
RICKARD
I did, just before I told him that self-interest was the most dependable of all possible loyalties.
WALYS
The only dependable thing about mercenaries, my lord, is their loyalty to the highest bidder. Need I remind you that although Lord Hoster was second only to my half-brother Leyton in order of our approach, he was among the very last to make a commitment, withholding his support until Lord Steffon and the might of Storm’s End were joined to our campaign?
Clearly we do not lack for precedent when it comes to Lord Hoster keeping a foot in either camp until he’s able to best calculate which side has the greatest odds of success. Now Lord Steffon is dead, and union with House Lannister a possibility once more, it could be that Lord Hoster has decided it’s time he reconsidered his sums.
RICKARD
Hoster is my oldest and dearest friend, Walys. I fought beside him, bled beside him…
WALYS
As you did Armond Connington, no?
RICKARD
That’s entirely different. Armond insulted Lyanna’s honour, and that is a line I will permit no man to cross and still receive my sufferance, regardless of whatever shared history may exist between us. Hoster is a far better man than the likes of Armond Connington could ever hope to be.
WALYS makes no reply. He studies his lord for a long moment.
WALYS
I never told you how I came to accept my position at Winterfell, did I?
RICKARD
I assumed the Citadel gave you no say in the matter.
WALYS
They did not, though being told something and accepting that something are two very different things indeed, as our dear Lyanna would surely attest.
I was quite the prodigy in my day: first in my class to forge a link, first to complete his chain, first to graduate from novice to acolyte, and from acolyte to Maester. Like every young man, chained or otherwise, I held grand ambitions for my future: I would hurry through the ranks of Archmeasters, succeed Grandmaester Kaeth, and assume my seat upon the Small Council all before my thirtieth name day.
You can imagine my reaction when Archmaester Milburn informed me on the day I spoke my vows that I would instead be leaving the Citadel forthwith, my dreams of advancement dashed against the ice and snow of a lifetime’s service to Lord Edwyle Stark of Winterfell. When I wrote to my mother with my disappointment, she replied: “Don’t worry, my love, it’s not the end of the world.” I remember thinking: “perhaps not, but I wager I’ll be able to see it from my window”.
As far as I was concerned, Kaeth may as well have banished me to serve as Maester to the moon. The entirety of my days to that point had been spent in Old Town, between my mother’s house and my cell at the Citadel. I had never been further north than Goldengrove, and the prospect of spending the rest of my life not in the crucible of learning where all my ambitions lay, but instead a thousand leagues away in the cold and inhospitable intellectual backwoods of the north…
RICKARD
None taken, Walys.
WALYS
You must indulge me, my lord: I was a young man still. Learned, yes, but ignorant of the world beyond by door. The guide provided me by the Citadel was the first Northman I had ever met, in fact: a young man by the name of Marley, a bastard born and raised in the Rills. Resigned to my fate, I spent our weeks on the road bombarding poor Marley with questions about my new home: was it really as bleak as people say? Was the threat of wildling raiders truly so great? Were the people as hostile to outsiders as their reputation gave me cause to fear? He was not an educated man, and much of what he said was forgotten almost as soon as it left his lips. But when he spoke of the Northern people, of their loyalty, their generosity of spirit, their ferociousness in defence of their own…: “Summer friends will melt away like summer snows”, I can still hear him say “but winter friends are friends forever.”
Hoster Tully, Steffon Baratheon, Quellon Greyjoy…you fought beside them, bled beside them, and birthed a brotherhood on the field of battle that has endured all the days of your lives. But you and they were the knights of summer, my lord. And winter is coming.
RICKARD
It’s not often I hear those words spoken back to me.
It's RICKARD’s turn to consider his company in silence. After what seems an age, he gifts WALYS a rare half-smile.
RICKARD [CONT’D]
You may have begun life as a child of the Reach, Walys, but you’ve ended up as true a Northman as any man born within sight of Winterfell.
WALYS
I can think of no greater compliment, my lord.
RICKARD nods in acknowledgment of WALYS’ appreciative bow. He stands, completes a circuit about the brazier. He sighs, his decision made.
RICKARD
Very well. Speak with Maester Kym. See what you can learn of his master’s mind on all of this.
WALYS stands and bows once more.
WALYS
I shall raise the matter at our maester’s conclave this afternoon.
RICKARD’s frowns, his expression grave.
WALYS [CONT’D]
That was a joke, my lord. Games are meant to be fun, don’t forget.
RICKARD
Even those that could cost us all our heads?
WALYS grins, his eyes sparkling with mischief.
WALYS
Oh yes, my lord. Those are the most fun of all.
10.14 EXT: THE ROYAL TENT – NIGHT
Beneath the walls of Harrenhal, the encampment sleeps silent and serene. Standing guard outside the royal tent, ARTHUR chats idly in hushed whispers to BARRISTAN. The elder man leans languidly against a stack of crated provisions, several layers of woolen raiment insulating him against the chill while he keeps his brother company during the long late watch. He shrugs himself quickly upright as the flaps of the tent part and RHAEGAR steps out into the night, a long grey cloak of roughspun wrapped about his shoulders and riding boots upon his feet.
RHAEGAR
I need to clear my mind if I have any hope of sleep tonight. I expect I shall be an hour or more.
ARTHUR
I’ll have Myles saddle the horses at once, Your Grace.
RHAEGAR
You may keep your post. I mean to ride alone tonight.
ARTHUR and BARRISTAN exchange a wary glance.
BARRISTAN
I had meant to retire to my cot before too long, but perhaps I could –
RHAEGAR
Alone, I said.
RHAEGAR stalks away towards the hitching posts. The Kingsguard watch him depart, ARTHUR sighing despondently.
ARTHUR
At least I am not alone in earning our prince’s ire.
BARRISTAN nods resignedly.
BARRISTAN
Indeed. I fear Brandon Stark was not the only test you and I failed these past few days, my friend.
10.15 EXT: WOODS SURROUNDING HARRENHAL – NIGHT
S.E: owl, horse hoofs.
Although the walls of Harrenhal can still be seen across the green expanse that stretches away to the horizon, these woods may as well exist a thousand leagues and twice as many centuries removed from man’s footprint. Only a moment past the treeline and the ground gives way to a hazardous carpet of moss-covered rock, untamed thicket, and treacherous brush. Forced to admit defeat, RHAEGAR climbs down from the saddle and tethers his mount to a tree, patting his flank affectionately.
RHAEGAR
Apologies, old boy, but you’re like to break a leg in this undergrowth.
He continues on afoot, taking pains to heed his own words of caution.
Pausing to collect his bearings, RHAEGAR tilts back his head and considers the stars above. Searching out the familiar cluster known by highborn and low as the Crone’s Lantern, he navigates across the sky to the Moonmaid, and from there to the Ice Dragon. He adjusts himself a quarter-turn, passes a beleaguered sigh, and continues on a northward progress.
S.E: cracking branch.
RHAEGAR freezes in place, peering into the moonlit spaces between the oaks, pines, and sentinels that crowd his steps in all directions.
RHAEGAR
Lady Alys?
RHAEGAR stands stone-still, his ears perked and eyes narrowed. Hearing nought but the thump of his own heartbeat, he forges ahead in the direction of the cracking branch, moving without conviction towards a break in the forest and the growing whisper of running water beyond. As RHAEGAR emerges from among the trees, he finds himself suddenly standing upon the banks of a narrow river, the waters bisecting the forest like a battlefield between two armies’ opposing ranks. Looking along its length, the prince realises he is not alone: fifty yards away, a shadowy figure kneels beside the riverbank, rifling hurriedly through an oversized saddlebag. RHAEGAR opens his mouth to repeat his call of a moment ago but the name catches in his throat, his brow knitting in curiosity as the shadow draws something of weight from the sack and tosses it unceremoniously into the river.
S.E: splash.
Moving stealthily, RHAEGAR advances slowly along the treeline. Halting his steps a dozen paces from the stranger, he watches as they struggle to pull a second burden from the sack, the discordant clink of metal on metal cutting through the stillness like curses in a chapel. As the clouds overhead shift and the scene is bathed in moonlight, RHAEGAR is able for the briefest of instants to discern the painted effigy of a single tree, the face carved into its trunk grinning with incongruous good-humour as the blood-splattered shield sinks beneath the coal-black waters.
SE: cracking branch.
RHAEGAR freezes, silently cursing his misplaced boot. Like a fawn alerted to an encroaching predator, the stranger’s head snaps up to survey its surroundings. Their eyes meet RHAEGAR’s, wide and panicked, but before three beats of a steady heart have passed the face from which they peer settles into its familiar set of stubborn defiance.
LYANNA glares at RHAEGAR, daring him to challenge her reason for being here.
OUTRO.