Episode 3: The Brothers We Choose
3.1 EXT: TAVERN - NIGHT
STANNIS BARATHEON reins his horse to a stop and dismounts, casting a judgmental eye over the scene. While the rest of the town sleeps, the revelries at the tavern show no sign of winding down. STANNIS makes for the door, but stops at the sight of three bodies sitting slumped against the edifice, their limbs intertwined and writhing in exploration.
STANNIS
Robert.
The middle of three heads lifts up and peers bleary-eyed, shielding their brow against the guttering lantern affixed to crossbeam of the overhanging eave.
ROBERT
Look ladies, it’s my little brother. Now the fun can really begin.
STANNIS is set to scold his brother, but finds himself surprised at a rush of white-brown fur that scuttles across ROBERT’s shoulders.
STANNIS
Is that a ferret?
ROBERT
I would thank you, ser, to address him by his proper title. As my first official act as Lord of the Storm Lands, I have proclaimed this fine young ferret as Lord Slinky, first of his name, protector of the people, and devourer of creepy crawlies.
S.E: women giggling.
ROBERT [CONT’D]
Do you like that? Very well. For my second official act, I shall hire a maester to follow me around and make note of all the clever things I say. “The Wit and Wisdom of Lord Robert Baratheon” we’ll call it. It’ll make us a fortune.
STANNIS
Whores, leave.
Seeing the cast of STANNIS’ jaw and realising he will brook no argument, ROBERT sighs and removes his arms from about the women’s waists.
ROBERT
Sorry, ladies. Lord Stannis has spoken.
The pair stagger past STANNIS and into the tavern, the resentment of the looks shot his way matched only by the contemptuous glare sent theirs in return.
S.E: door opening, door closing.
From somewhere about his person, ROBERT produces a tankard and takes a long drink of ale, spilling more down into his beard and across his soiled leathers than he successfully conveys into his mouth.
ROBERT [CONT’D]
You’ve no reason to insult them like that.
STANNIS
They sell themselves for coin. That makes them whores, as I understand the term.
ROBERT
Their names are Colly and Mariam, and they happen to be fine young…
As he speaks, ROBERT begins patting about his middle with growing disquiet.
ROBERT [CONT’D]
Bollocks, they stole my coin purse.
He shrugs resignedly.
ROBERT [CONT’D]
I suppose I really shall have to write that book now.
ROBERT [CONT’D; LOUDLY]
It’s alright, ladies, you earned every copper.
STANNIS
Is this how you want your people to see their Lord? A drunken lech covered in his own blood and vomit?
ROBERT
Better that than a Lord that doesn’t even know their names. And only the vomit is mine, in point of fact.
ROBERT attempts to rise, but even with the wall providing ballast he somehow conspires to topple back into the mud. A trio of patrons poke their heads through the open window and ogle ROBERT’s failure.
STANNIS
Get back inside, now.
The gawkers ignore his command, but STANNIS takes an ominous step towards the door and the heads quickly retreat from view.
STANNIS [CONT’D]
You clearly have no care for your own dignity, but at the very least you can show some respect for our father’s.
ROBERT
Our father never cared what I did when he was alive, I hardly think he'll make a start now he's dead.
STANNIS
Our father worshipped the ground you walked on, you damned fool.
ROBERT
Funny way of showing it. Packing me off to the Vale when I was barely out of swaddling clothes.
STANNIS
And you thought you'd find our father’s love at the bottom of a tankard, or in the beds of slatterns?
ROBERT
Perhaps not, but I’ve had a bloody good time searching.
STANNIS leans down and snatches the tankard from ROBERT’s hand, tossing it away into the night. ROBERT flails an arm in protest, then drops back in abject defeat, swatting a hand at his chin as Lord Slinky endeavours to nibble at ROBERT’s ale-soaked beard.
STANNIS
Don't come to me with your self-pity, Robert: I have no use for it. You think father sent you away because he didn't love you? He wept every night for a week after you left. I don’t remember a single day going by in the years since without his talking about his son and heir and what great hopes he held for his future. And now look at you.
ROBERT
Just leave me in peace, why don’t you?
STANNIS
I’d like nothing more, but you have visitors. Jon Connington and Emmon Fell have been waiting since midday.
ROBERT
So? Thank them for coming, hear their commiserations, and send them on their way like all the other grasping shits come to lick some lordly arse.
STANNIS’s jaw tightens, as though he resents the words he must utter and means to make their passage across his lips as attritional as possible.
STANNIS
They insist on speaking with you.
S.E: door opening.
The door to the tavern swings open and a man and woman wrapped in a lover’s embrace spill out. STANNIS turns his ire to face them and points a finger back the way they came.
STANNIS [CONT’D]
The next person to step foot outside that door will find themselves roped to the back of my horse and dragged the half-league between here and my dungeons.
S.E: retreating footsteps, door closing.
STANNIS [CONT’D]
House Fell is among the oldest and wealthiest in all the Storm Lands. Jon Connington is heir to Griffin’s Roost and given the state of his father’s health he’ll be its lord before too long.
ROBERT
Jon Connington is a cunt of the highest order.
STANNIS
You haven’t seen him since you were children.
ROBERT
Well he was a cunt then, so I’d wager he’s still a cunt now. Hard habit to break, being a cunt.
STANNIS
People change, Robert. They mature. Or at least most of us do. You’re their Lord, they’re your problem. Now get up and get on your horse, if you can manage that much. Maybe the ride back will sober you up some.
ROBERT juts out his chin like a petulant child forced into some burdensome chore.
ROBERT
Fine. But I’m bringing my ferret.
INTRO.
3.2 INT: STORM’S END – NIGHT
ROBERT stumbles down the corridor, barrelling towards his brother’s door. As he arrives, SELYSE BARATHEON ghosts quietly from RENLY’s chambers and pulls the door closed gently behind her, blocking ROBERT’s path.
SELYSE
Oh no you don’t!
Even though her two hands can barely wrap about ROBERT’s bicep, she grabs him by the arm and endeavours to spin him back the way he came.
ROBERT
Unhand me woman! I want to put my brother to bed.
SELYSE
I’ve just spent an hour putting your brother to bed and I’ll not have you disturbing him now I’ve finally got him settled. Come on, shoo! Shoo!
ROBERT
It’ll only take a minute, if you’ll just –
ROBERT tries to manoeuvre his bulk past SELYSE, but finds her too sprightly and sober to evade.
SELYSE
You made more noise than a lop-sided elephant coming up those steps and somehow I still smelled you before I heard you! You go in there and the candle next to Renly’s bed is like to swallow you up and burn the castle down besides. You can see him in the morning when you’ve washed that stink off.
Finding himself embarrassingly outmatched, ROBERT sniffs haughtily and stands to his full height in an effort to salvage some semblance of face before this woman less than half his size.
ROBERT
I have an appointment with Lords Connington and Fell.
SELYSE
Lords Connington and Fell have retired to their chambers for the night. They can wait until morning, too. Now go, you’re making my eyes water.
SELYSE harries ROBERT away from the door, swatting at his broad back.
SELYSE
Keep going, keep going.
What in all the Gods…Is that a ferret in your pocket?!
3.3 EXT: YARD OF THE RED KEEP - MORNING
Six knights of the Kingsguard wait mounted and ready in the yard of the Red Keep. SERS HARLAN GRANDISON, OSWELL WHENT, JONOTHOR DARRY, BARRISTAN SELMY, and PRINCE LEWYN MARTELL, sit two-abreast, Sword of the Morning SER ARTHUR DAYNE at the head of the column.
S.E: hooves.
OSWELL
Mother’s Mercy, would you look at this.
The rest of the Kingsguard follow OSWELL’s prompting and turn towards the stables. From beneath the eaves rides JAIME LANNISTER, glistening from head to toe in golden plate. His double-quilted cloak drapes across his stallion’s hindquarters, affixed about his shoulders by a pair of rearing lions, the corners of the cloak clamped between their jaws. The ornate scrollwork of his breastplate matches that of his gauntlets, the enamelled steel studded throughout with sparkling gemstones set into the eyes of half-a-hundred cavorting lions. The Lannister motif repeats again on the heavy oak shield he wears on his arm, its outer rim gilded in gold and fringed with hundreds of snarling sigils. Atop his head perches the largest lion of all, rearing back and roaring, the intricate detail of its likeness dancing in the morning sun beneath a plume of yellow standing proud and erect. Most beaming of all, however, is the smile affixed to JAIME’s earnest, excited face.
JAIME
Good day, Sers.
The brothers of the Kingsguard nod their greetings, their efforts to disguise their amusement occupying a spectrum from the gracious comportment of HARLAN to the barely-disguised mockery of LEWYN. OSWELL leans over to JONOTHOR.
OSWELL
Here, Jonothor.
OSWELL directs his friend’s attention to the sword at JAIME’s hip, encased within its sheathe of supple leather died a dark crimson.
OSWELL [CONT’D]
What do you reckon? Ten silvers says “yes”.
JONOTHOR
Go on, then.
OSWELL
Give us a sight of your steel, won’t you lad?
JAIME is only too happy to comply. He draws his sword with a flourish, brandishing it aloft with pride. Seemingly cast of solid gold, the blade positively throbs in the sunlight, it’s brightness like a bolt of petrified lightning.
JONOTHOR reaches into the purse at his belt and begrudgingly passes a handful of coins to a beaming OSWELL. JAIME furrows his brow in bafflement.
ARTHUR
Alright, let’s make a start, shall we?
At ARTHUR’s command, the column files towards the gates of the Red Keep. Despite bringing up the rear, JAIME sits as tall and proud in his saddle as a conquering hero feted by a city of rapturous admirers.
3.4 EXT: YARD OF RIVERRUN – MORNING
From the window of LYSA TULLY’s chambers, PETYR BAELISH watches the scene below with a contemptuous sneer. The youngest Tully girl approaches from behind and wraps her arms about PETYR’s middle, resting her cheek against his back.
PETYR
Don’t you want to see this for yourself?
LYSA
Describe it for me. I prefer the sound of your voice to any sight the Gods may choose to show me.
PETYR
Your sister is playing with her braid in that way she has when she’s nervous.
LYSA
I hate it when she does that.
PETYR
Lord Hoster looks unsure of himself; he wants to lift her up in his arms, but that’s how fathers greet their little girls, and it’s a woman he means to present for the Wild Wolf’s inspection.
LYSA
How does Brandon seem?
PETYR
Awkward. Aloof. He’s standing by his horse, and – oh my…
LYSA
What?
PETYR
Cat moved as though to kiss his cheek but he took her hand instead.
LYSA
Perhaps I do want to see this after all.
LYSA releases her hold on PETYR and steps beside him at the window.
LYSA [CONT’D]
That certainly doesn’t look like the greeting Cat was expecting. How awful for her.
PETYR glowers down at BRANDON, the young lord showing greater interest in unstrapping his pack from the saddle than he is the solicitous attentions of his betrothed.
PETYR
If there’s anything in this world more galling than the good-fortune of the undeserving, it’s the greater fortune of the unappreciative.
LYSA’s mean-spirited smile slowly begins to falter as she watches BRANDON share some words with HOSTER, CATELYN standing awkwardly aside.
LYSA
They’ve been on the road together for days. What can Brandon possibly have left to say now that’s more important than Cat?
BRANDON and HOSTER cross the yard in close conversation and disappear from view, leaving a dejected CATELYN alone with her disappointment. Surprising PETYR with the tenderness of the gesture, LYSA raises a hand to the window as though reaching out to her sister, her fingertips tracing CATELYN’s steps as she traipses dutifully towards the castle.
3.5 EXT: KINGSWOOD – DAY
Arranged in pairs along a dry dirt trail, the knights of the Kingsguard advance their horses at a trot through the winter-wracked trees of the Kingswood, BARRISTAN riding abreast of JAIME at the train’s middle. Turning in his saddle, HARLAN directs JAIME’s attention towards the broad clearing of sparse and sickly grass visible through the trees to their left.
HARLAN
Dragon’s Ditch, they call that.
JAIME
I’m not familiar.
HARLAN
You won’t find it on any map; a name known only to the locals, and only the locals as old as me, at that.
JAIME
I don’t see a ditch…?
HARLAN
The wit of the commonfolk: this is where Aegon the Unworthy “ditched” his mummer’s dragons. Great metal and wood monstrosities built by the king’s pyromancers. They never made it father than this field: the very first trials burned down half the Kingswood. When I was just a boy my father brought my brothers and I to see them. They’d been completely abandoned, just left out here to rust and rot.
OSWELL
Gods, Harlan, how ancient are you? Did the children of the forest still roam these woods when you were a lad?
HARLAN
Old enough to remember when young knights respected the wisdom of their elders, Ser Oswell.
JAIME
What did Aegon intend to do with his dragons?
LEWYN
Invade Dorne, the fat old fool. As if his forebears hadn’t proven the idea folly enough when they had actual dragons made of flesh and fire. Don’t you know your histories, boy?
Neither LEWYN’s tone nor his manner of address pass JAIME’s notice, but today is not the day for childish pique.
JAIME
I never cared much for reading, Ser. It never came naturally to me, to be honest.
BARRISTAN
Unlike your skill with a sword, no doubt.
JAIME
That didn’t come naturally either, Ser Barristan. I suppose nothing worth having ever really does.
S.E: LEWYN snorts.
JAIME [CONT’D]
Did I say something amusing, Ser?
LEWYN
Only the notion that the son and heir of the richest house in all Seven Kingdoms ever found anything hard to come by.
JAIME
While Princes of Dorne are world-renowned for pulling themselves up by their golden bootstraps.
BARRISTAN [LAUGHING]
He has a fair point, Lewyn.
LEWYN
A fool’s tongue and a decided lack of respect is what the boy has, more like.
ARTHUR
Something else the two of you share in common then.
ARTHUR turns in his saddle to face JAIME.
ARTHUR [CONT’D]
A skill mastered through hard-work and dedication is all the more admirable than a skill simply gifted by the gods. You’re right to take pride in that.
LEWYN regards JAIME sourly, rankled by the feeling he’s been outdone and seeking immediate redress.
LEWYN
What does our Lord Hand think about you playing at soldiers like this?
JAIME
My father called me to King’s Landing to learn the ways of court. I’d say a day among the Kingsguard counts as a valuable lesson, wouldn’t you Ser?
LEWYN
That’s a pretty way of saying you didn’t tell him.
JAIME
My uncle Gerion always held that it’s better to beg forgiveness than it is ask permission.
JONOTHOR
If there were ever any doubt you are your father’s son...
JAIME
I’m not sure I take your meaning, Ser Jonothor?
JONOTHOR
Only that when the day finally comes to etch Lord Tywin’s epitaph upon his tomb, I can think of no other words that might serve half so well as those.
JAIME’s frown of incomprehension invites OSWELL to interject on his friend’s behalf.
OSWELL
How much do you know of your father’s rise at court, Lord Jaime?
JAIME
Well enough, what little there is to know. He grew up alongside Steffon Baratheon as page and squire to Prince Aerys; they all three fought in the War of The Ninepenny Kings together; and when Aerys came into his throne he chose my father as his Hand.
LEWYN
Why do boys insist on handling their history the same way they do their women: fumbling over all the most important details in their rush to reach the finish.
The others share a smile, and JAIME feels his cheeks redden. BARRISTAN alone remains unamused, glaring unnoticed at LEWYN’s back.
OSWELL
Just ignore him, Jaime; our prince’s humour has always been as prickly as his Dornish pears.
LEWYN
That may be, but it doesn’t make the sentiment any less true. There’s more to the tale of Tywin Lannister than a ten-second telling.
JONOTHOR recognises JAIME’s expectant expression and sighs, shifting in his saddle like a septon settling himself for an oft-told oration.
JONOTHOR
Your grandfather Tytos was a good, decent man, but ill-made to govern a great house. He emboldened his bannermen through his own forbearance, forever indulging their demands and excusing their liberties. He gave away his only daughter to a second son of Frey simply because Lord Walder asked it of him. Tywin and his brothers grew up watching their father being played for a fool, first by the Tarbecks and the Reyne’s, then later by a succession of commonborn whores that presumed to fill your grandmother’s place at the Rock. It wasn’t until after his exploits in the War of the Ninepenny Kings that Tywin felt sufficiently emboldened to go over your grandfather’s head and correct his negligence with the same steel he blooded on the Stepstones.
I’ve often thought that was the common ground that provided the foundation for your father’s friendship with the king. Jaehaerys was beloved by his people, but the nobility saw him as a weak and pliable ruler. They would mock him for being overly concerned with currying everyone’s favour, even as they took full advantage of his open-handedness to fill their pockets, expand their lands, and run roughshod over the laws of the realm.
JAIME
And which view of Jaehaerys do you tend towards?
JONOTHOR
A man is rarely just one thing, it seems to me. That said, I’ve heard it argued that the war only came about because that twisted whoreson Maelys believed the Seven Kingdoms would prove easy pickings with old king Jaehaerys sat upon the Iron Throne. And he would have taken them, too, if it weren’t for your father’s boldness and the sword Aerys shoved in Maelys’ belly.
The others are too invested in JONOTHOR’s monologue to notice the glob of phlegm BARRISTAN pointedly spits upon the ground at mention of Maelys’ end.
JONOTHOR [CONT’D]
When Jaehaerys died and the Iron Throne passed to his son, Aerys moved quickly to reassert the royal prerogative his father had squandered. That’s when he called upon the two men closest to him.
JAIME
Lord Baratheon and my father.
JONOTHOR
The carrot was wielded by Lord Steffon, a natural-born conciliator renowned for turning enemies into friends. The stick belonged to your father, experienced as he was in handing down discipline to overproud and grasping lords. Steffon didn’t last too much longer at court: after so many years chafing under Jaehaerys’ wavering rule, Aerys was inclined to make far greater use of the stick than the carrot.
In so many ways, the War of the Ninepenny Kings was to the Seven Kingdoms as the Reyne Rebellion was to House Lannister: both exposed the pitiful state to which once fearsome powers had fallen, both birthed from the forbearance of timorous patriarchs, and both the crucible from which a vigorous new generation was forged to supplant the aged and impotent old.
JAIME
An interesting parallel, and eloquently phrased, ser.
OSWELL
Aye, I thought the same when I first read it word for word in Pycelle’s “Observations Upon the Recent Blood-Letting on the Stepstones”.
LEWYN
At least when it was written I could close the book and escape the old stoat’s ramblings.
JAIME
I never imagined you for a scholarly man, Ser Jonothor.
JONOTHOR shares a good-natured grin with the others at the young man’s obliviousness at his unintended insult.
JONOTHOR
We’re more than just knights with expert swordsmanship, or at least we’re supposed to be in the mind of the Lord Commander. Gerold insists on his white cloaks knowing their histories. “A man cannot serve a realm he does not know”, he likes to say.
LEWYN
That’s why Harlan serves so well: he’s lived through so much of the realm’s history he knows it front to back.
Delighted to once again be a party to rather than the butt of the joke, JAIME chuckles along with the Kingsguard as HARLAN twists in his seat to glower at LEWYN in pantomime umbrage.
3.6 INT: RENLY’S CHAMBERS, STORM’S END - DAY
S.E: door opening
RENLY
Robert!
ROBERT
Haha! There’s my little man!
RENLY BARATHEON leaps to his feet, a joyful smile spread across his nine-year-old features, and throws himself into ROBERT’s arms.
ROBERT [CONT’D]
Oof! Gentle now, your big brother’s feeling a little worse for wear this morning.
ROBERT lowers RENLY to the ground and studies him with pride.
ROBERT [CONT’D]
Let me look at you! Gods, you’re a damned aurochs!
RENLY
Stannis says I need to eat my vegetables if I want to grow as big as you, but I hate vegetables.
ROBERT
Let me see those muscles…
RENLY flexes his skinny arms and ROBERT gives the twig-thin appendage a gentle squeeze.
ROBERT [CONT’D]
Stannis must be blind: you’ve got bigger muscles at nine than he’s got at twenty-three! Here, I have a surprise for you.
ROBERT reaches into his shirt and pulls out a length of twisting fur. Lord Slinky dangles from his haunches, blinking at the upside-down sight of a transfixed RENLY.
RENLY
Can I hold him?
ROBERT
Just a moment, I need to make the proper introductions first: Lord Slinky, this is Lord Renly of House Baratheon; Lord Renly, this is Lord Slinky of house…ferret.
Lord Slinky scuttles from ROBERT’s hands into RENLY’s. He squats down to the floor, letting the ferret twist and squirm through his hands with evident delight.
ROBERT [CONT’D]
Careful now, he’s a biter, so you’d better…
ROBERT raises his eyebrows, impressed at the restraint RENLY’s immediate adoration has seemingly exerted upon Lord Slinky’s more nibbly impulses. RENLY buries his face in the ferret’s fur.
ROBERT
It appears you’ve made a new friend!
RENLY
Best friends! Do you think mother will let me keep him?
Suddenly and violently expelled from the excitement of the moment, RENLY’s face drops and his eyes begin to shine with burgeoning tears.
ROBERT
It’s alright, lad. I woke up in my old bed this morning and somehow forgot my last ten years at the Eyrie. It took me until breakfast before I stopped expecting mother to come chase me off to the maester for my lessons.
RENLY wipes at his eyes with the back of his shirtsleeve.
RENLY
Aunt Selyse says drowning is the most peaceful way anyone can die, but I don’t know if that’s true.
ROBERT
She’s a very smart woman, Selyse. If she says a thing to be so, then that’s good enough for me to believe it.
RENLY
But what happens to mother and father now? How will the Stranger find them all the way at the bottom of the sea? Maester Cressen says that’s where the Drowned God lives, but we worship the Seven, don’t we?
ROBERT flounders, feeling the depths of this conversation quickly rising up and over both his experience and his comfort. He pats RENLY’s head, stroking his hair.
ROBERT
Listen, Renly, I’ve got some very important people I need to speak to, but once I’m through, how about you and I take a nice long ride together? We can even take a couple fishing rods with us and try to catch us some supper, if you’d like?
RENLY
Can we take the dogs with us?
ROBERT
Absolutely.
RENLY
And Lord Slinky too?
ROBERT
Whatever makes you happiest, that’s what we’ll do. We can talk about anything you have on your mind; you can ask every question there is, and I’ll try my best to give you answers to all of them. Deal?
RENLY smiles and exaggeratedly nods his head in emphatic accordance, holding out his arm to allow Lord Slinky to disappear down his sleeve. ROBERT rises to his feet.
ROBERT [CONT’D]
There’s a good lad. You and Lord Slinky get yourselves acquainted, and I’ll come find you as soon as I’m done.
S.E: door opening.
3.7 INT: GREAT HALL, STORM’S END – DAY
ROBERT enters the Great Hall of Storm’s End to find LORDS DONAL FELL and JON CONNINGTON sat at table breaking their fasts. DONAL rises to his feet immediately and hurries to greet ROBERT.
DONAL
Robert, my boy, how it gladdens an old man’s heart to see you home at last. If only it were under less regretful circumstances.
ROBERT
My apologies for keeping you waiting, Lord Fell…Lord Connington.
Having finished his piece of bread and honey at leisure, JON rises and ambles over to join ROBERT and DONAL.
JON
Please accept our most heartfelt condolences on the loss of your mother and father. Their absence will be felt throughout the Stormlands.
DONAL
And far beyond, I’m sure.
ROBERT
Thank you, both, for your kind words. Please, stay and finish your meals, or if you’d prefer, Lord Connington, I can have your honeyed bread wrapped in cloth for you to enjoy on your ride back to Griffin’s Roost?
DONAL
Actually, my boy, I was rather hoping I might take up just a few moments of your time. It’s only a minor matter, hardly worth troubling you at all really, but I thought as I’m already here, it might provide you a nice easy judgment in which to get your feet wet, so to speak. In your new capacity as Lord of the Stormlands, I mean.
ROBERT just about succeeds in swallowing a deep sigh and even manages to force a thin smile.
ROBERT
Of course. Perhaps we should retire to the library? I’ll have the servants build a fire and heat some spiced wine.
DONAL
That would be most welcome, my Lord, though given the early hour the wine -
JON [INTERRUPTING]
Would be especially welcome.
ROBERT turn back the way he came, then hesitates and rubs wearily at his pounding head.
ROBERT
Very well. Now I just need to remember where to find the blasted place…
3.8 EXT: KINGSWOOD VILLAGE – DAY
Standing in the doorways of their crude wooden shacks, the commonfolk of the Kingswood watch pensively as the small band of riders enter the village. Mothers corral their barefooted brood and follow the Kingsguard with wary vigilance, while fathers gather across their path to mutter in low tones and cast sidelong glances at the intruding column.
Reining their mounts to a standstill, HARLAN and ARTHUR climb down and approach the welcome party. OSWELL and JONOTHOR pace over to the line of ramshackle dwellings and begin a subtle survey of the area. JAIME follows their progress from horseback, noting with disquiet how their amiable greetings are uniformly rebuffed with silence and suspicion.
BARRISTAN
Don’t worry, lad. They’re not the friendliest when it comes to outsiders, but they mean us no harm. They’re paid by the crown to tend the Kingswood: cut down rotten trees, set the poacher traps, watch for wildfires in the summer months... Could be they have some information for us on the Brotherhood.
JAIME
I thought the smallfolk protected the Brotherhood?
BARRISTAN
They did, and many of them still do. But our Sword of the Morning there is a good friend to these people. This was an especially hard winter for them, so Arthur went before the Council on their behalf and won them a reduction in their taxes.
JAIME
My uncle once said it is a cheap kind of love that can be bought with gold. My father told him that gold and fear are the only currencies worth trading in.
LEWYN MARTELL turns in his saddle to interject with a snide smirk.
LEWYN
It sounds like your father is the brains in the family, then. Ser Arthur is the greatest knight I’ve ever known, but the commoners bear him no love, no matter what sentimental horseshit Barristan might peddle you to the contrary. His kindness on their behalf counts for little and less when measured against their own interests.
BARRISTAN scowls at him, and is not at all pleased to see JAIME giving serious thought to this cynical assessment.
JAIME
So their loyalty is available to the highest bidder? They would rather suffer the shame of abetting a brotherhood of villains than claim the honour of aiding a brotherhood of heroes?
LEWYN
Ha! “A brotherhood of heroes”. I must remember that one.
LEWYN turns his horse about so he can face JAIME, leaning in as though sharing a greatly privileged confidence.
LEWYN [CONT’D]
Allow me to offer you some insight into how the world really works, from one fortunate son to another: honour will not fill these poor wretches’ bellies nor keep them warm when winter comes, while shame is a familiar feeling for those that must do whatever they can simply to survive. These people protected the Brotherhood because they shared the wealth they stole from the highborn, and now they inform on the Brotherhood because Arthur bought them off with kind words and cheaper taxes. Ask any one of those women giving Oswell and Jonothor the evil eye right now and they’ll you that “honour” and “shame” are naught but words, and words are wind, little lion cub.
Again, BARRISTAN appears curiously concerned at the impression LEWYN’s candidness seems to be having upon JAIME.
BARRISTAN
You speak of honour as though it were some small thing. I have lived by my honour, and one day I shall die by it, everything in between recorded in the White Book alongside my brothers living and dead. A man’s honour enables him to live long beyond the days of his own life.
JAIME smiles at this, impressed at BARRISTAN’s high-minded rebuttal. LEWYN snorts derisively and nods over his shoulder at the conference between villagers and Kingsguard, the apparent spokesperson for the residents speaking with some animation to a nodding ARTHUR.
LEWYN
And if that man there should choose to live the same way, who will remember his honourable refusal of the Kingswood Brotherhood? Only his wife and children, who must now beg in the gutters of King’s Landing for the food they no longer have a husband and father to provide for them. Not even the outlaw that throws a noose around his neck and hangs him from the nearest tree will remember him come the dawn.
JAIME remains silent, but almost imperceptibly nods his head in apparent agreement. BARRISTAN’s scowl returns, but LEWYN remains indifferent to the older knight’s displeasure, clearly confident he has successfully swayed this impressionable young jury of one.
HARLAN and ARTHUR return, the former waving his hand at OSMUND and JONOTHOR, beckoning them to curtail their explorations.
HARLAN
They claim the Brotherhood haven’t passed this way in a moon’s turn.
OSWELL
It must be the Children of the Forest that made fresh tracks behind that row of huts, then.
ARTHUR
A hunting party from the city, perhaps?
JONOTHOR
Too many. A score on foot, the same or more on horseback. That pigsty was fuller the last time we came by here, too: seems someone had need of some pork, and a fair old amount it by the look of things.
BARRISTAN
Where did they say the Brotherhood was headed last?
HARLAN and ARTHUR exchange a loaded look, ARTHUR evidently reluctant at having to share an uncomfortable truth and his friend aggrieved at having to insist.
ARTHUR
Southwest, following the Blueburn towards Longtable. It seems Toyne has decided to lay low until the crown’s attentions have eased and it’s safe to come out of his bolthole.
LEWYN
And I suppose our man just so happens to know the location of this bolt-hole.
ARTHUR
And offers to lead us there directly.
LEWYN shakes his head while still permitting himself a thin smile, as though to make clear that he is neither surprised at being proven correct nor taking any satisfaction in ARTHUR’s disappointment.
JAIME
What does this mean?
HARLAN
The Brotherhood never make permanent camp, that’s how they’ve avoided capture for so long. And if they ever did, they certainly wouldn’t be so cavalier in sharing its location.
LEWYN
Arthur has been outbid.
ARTHUR
Harlan? You have command; it’s your call.
HARLAN surveys the scene, weighing his decision.
HARLAN
Alright.
ARTHUR
What are you thinking? Young Lion’s Pride?
Anticipating the direction of their thinking, BARRISTAN moves to cut them off.
BARRISTAN
Harlan, we have to consider Jaime’s safety. Let me escort him back to the city.
HARLAN
If we’re doing this we’ll need you with us, Barristan.
BARRISTAN
Then keep him here, at least, where it’s safe.
ARTHUR
If only we could be sure that were the case.
LEWYN
The boy won’t be in any real danger. All he needs to do is act stupid. You can do that much, can’t you?
JAIME
I can do anything you ask of me, Ser.
HARLAN considers a moment longer, looks from LEWYN’s raised eyebrows of encouragement to BARRISTAN’s shaking head.
HARLAN
Lewyn, you’re up.
LEWYN smiles in victory and gives JAIME a nod to follow.
HARLAN [CONT’D]
Two miles down the path you’ll cross the Wendwater; just beyond, there’s a clearing with an outcropping to the east almost as tall as the trees.
LEWYN
I know it well.
As JAIME passes, ARTHUR takes hold of his horse’s reins.
ARTHUR
The second you see me again, you turn your horse and ride as fast as you can for King’s Landing. Do you understand?
JAIME nods, and after a long moment of studying the younger man’s face, ARTHUR releases the reins and JAIME follows LEWYN to meet the waiting villager nominated as their guide.
JAIME
Ser Lewyn, what was that about the “Young Lion’s Pride?”
LEWYN
You don’t know it? I’d have thought your father would have told it so often you’d know the tale from memory by now.
JAIME
I know it, I just don’t understand how -
HARLAN
Lewyn!
LEWYN and JAIME halt their horses. Every head in the village turns to hear, including and most notably the villager leading LEWYN and JAIME.
HARLAN [CONT’D]
You’re just on reconnaissance, don’t forget. Let this good man show you where the Brotherhood is camped, then return at once to the city. We’ll wait for you there.
LEWYN waves a hand in acknowledgment, then he and JAIME continue, their companion a dozen paces ahead and out of earshot.
JAIME
So we’re the scouts?
LEWYN grins knowingly.
LEWYN
No, young lion. We’re the pride.
3.9 INT: LIBRARY, STORM’S END - DAY
JON CONNINGTON, and DONAL FELL sit in chairs close to the fire, sipping at hot wine. ROBERT sits across from them, his head propped wearily on one fist.
DONAL
Will you be attending the great tourney at Harrenhal, my lord?
ROBERT
I mean to, assuming I can get things squared away here in time. And yourself?
DONAL
I had thought to compete in the melee, until my son Garlan brought me to my senses. Even in my youth, I wasn’t half the warrior I thought I was, and even that was barely a tenth the warrior your father actually was.
ROBERT
You fought beside him in the War of the Ninepenny Kings, if I remember rightly.
DONAL
There were a great many of our generation that were first blooded during the last Blackfyre Rebellion. We forged bonds that lasted the rest of our lives. Lymar Caffren, Harry Grandison and his brother Ser Harlan…we all had the honour of serving alongside Steffon under your grandfather Ormund’s command.
JON
Lord Ormund died in battle, no?
DONAL
To my eternal regret. The events of that day haunt me even now, twenty years later.
I still wake in a cold sweat sometimes at the memory of that malformed beast Maelys charging through our centre like the Stranger himself, seeming every bit as large as the warhorse he sat. Your grandfather fought bravely, Robert, but Maelys was no ordinary man.
JON
He died too, did he not? King Aerys spilled his guts upon the rocks of Bloodstone, which I’m given to understand oft proves fatal…
DONAL
He did, though he was still Prince Aerys at the time, of course; he had yet to succeed his father Jaehaerys, may the Gods grant him a peaceful slumber.
ROBERT
Perhaps me might turn to the matter you wished me to consider.
JON
It’s Lord Fell’s matter, in truth. I’m just here as his second, and only then because my father was too sick to come himself. He sends his sympathies, by the way.
ROBERT
You’ll convey my deepest gratitude, I’m sure, as well as my hopes for his fast and full recovery.
DONAL
As I said, it’s a very simple situation, easily resolved in only a few moments. Now, as you know, Felwood and Bronzegate are separated by several hundred acres of the Kingswood. Although any and all game indigenous to the woods falls naturally under the royal charter, House Fell and House Buckler have always had a degree of clemency from the crown when it comes to deer or hog brought down within sight of our respective seats, for which I at least have expressed my most profound gratitude to His Grace on more than one occasion. Or, rather, his Lord Hand, the king being otherwise engaged.
ROBERT
Where’s that wine gotten to?
DONAL
So far, so satisfactory: but here comes the fault in the fleece, as my dear old mother was wont to say. While the Red Keep lies beyond the view of both Felwood and Bronzegate, the same cannot be said of one another. There has been, as a consequence, a long-standing disagreement between House Fell and House Buckler as to the proper custom for hunting quarry in the woods between our two seats, as both are very much “in sight”, do you see? Perhaps if I could find a map on one of these shelves to better illustrate –
ROBERT [INTERRUPTING]
No, no, that won’t be necessary, I’m following along just fine.
ROBERT has suffered all this from a distance, interred deep down in a miserable pit dug with drowsiness, drink, and acute disinterest, but the prospect of his suffering being prolonged rouses him to life.
DONAL
Are you certain? Because to properly explain the situation as it stands now I am going to have to draw upon some rather arcane points of common land law, so it might be best -
ROBERT [INTERRUPTING]
It seems to me, my Lord, that if we’re going to settle this dispute, then ideally both parties should be present.
DONAL
I was given to understand that Lord Buckler visited Storm’s End yesterday. In fact, I was rather aggrieved at the potentially prejudicial advantage his case may be afforded by his being the first heard.
ROBERT
He was here, I believe, but only to offer his condolences.
JON
I imagine he thought petitioning for gaming rights to a man so recently bereaved might appear rather tactless. Unseemly, even.
DONAL opens his mouth to defend himself, but recognises the agreement writ upon ROBERT’s face and switches to a more agreeable tack.
DONAL
I can see, now, how the moment may not be the most opportune to raise the issue. As I said, I only thought that, as I was already here –
JON [INTERRUPTING]
You thought there was no time like the present to resolve a petty squabble that has dragged on interminably and without incident for the better part of twenty years and about which only you choose to care. I imagine you thought it could only benefit your case if you were to catch the new lord when he’s most distracted with grief. If you were entirely lacking in shame, you could even crowbar into conversation how you fought beside his recently-passed father and witnessed his grandfather fall bravely in battle.
A scandalised DONAL turns to ROBERT.
DONAL
Are you going to just sit there and let him speak to a guest in your home like that?
ROBERT [SIGHING]
I wouldn’t, but he’s a guest here too. I’m sure you see my dilemma.
DONAL
I have never in all my life been met with such egregious disrespect.
ROBERT
That seems unlikely. You must be, what, ninety? *Hiccup*
FELL
Are you drunk, boy?!
ROBERT
Hungover, actually. And I’m your liege lord, not your boy.
DONAL gets to his feet, his face a contortion of anger and insult.
DONAL
Lord Stannis would never show me such appalling disrespect.
ROBERT
Then mustn’t you be feeling foolish for insisting on speaking with me instead.
DONAL
And how do you propose to resolve this situation, my Lord?
ROBERT shrugs the rounded-rock of his shoulders.
ROBERT
I suppose you and Buckler could wrestle for it?
DONAL
This is absurd!
ROBERT
I quite agree. Lord Buckler must have almost as many pounds on you as you have years on him.
DONAL
If my son were here –
ROBERT
Why isn’t he here, now you mention it? Doesn’t he have his own respects to pay?
ROBERT waves a finger at JON.
ROBERT [CONT’D]
Even this one’s father had the good grace to send sympathies from his sickbed.
DONAL
My son has already departed for Harrenhal. He intends to enrol in the lists.
ROBERT
Seriously? The last time I saw him he was too short to pull on a girl’s braid, let alone mount a horse.
DONAL
Much can change in ten years. I assure you that is no longer an issue.
ROBERT
Buy him a donkey, did you?
His face a shade of the deepest, most disconcerting red, LORD DONAL FELL all but stamps his foot in impotent rage. He turns and strides for the door.
DONAL
This is not the last you’ll be hearing from me!
S.E: door opening.
ROBERT
Perhaps I could have handled that…better.
CONNINGTON
I wouldn’t worry. Donal Fell has been a cunt as far back as anyone can remember.
ROBERT
I have it on good authority that calling a fellow lord a cunt is generally frowned upon.
CONNINGTON
Your authority can frown upon it generally or frown upon it specifically, but neither shall make Donal Fell any less of a cunt.
ROBERT
Due respect, Jon, but you’re far less tedious than I remember.
JON
Didn’t you hear our friend? Much can change in ten years. You should see his son now: such a tall, strapping, tree-trunk of a man he may not even find room in your breeches. “Silveraxe” he styles himself these days.
ROBERT
“Silveraxe”?
JON
On account of the solid-silver axe he totes about the place. Our fathers’ war was the last time anyone in these Seven Kingdoms had cause to actually wield a weapon, so the gods only know the purpose of such an absurd affectation. Chopping the top off his boiled egg in the morning, perhaps?
ROBERT
So little Lord Silveraxe had a growth-spurt...What brought about your own change?
JON
I left home. Moved to the big city. Loved someone, lost someone…Forgive me if saying this makes me as indelicate as Fell, but getting out from under a father’s wings can do wonders for a man.
ROBERT
You’ll miss your old man when he’s gone, believe me.
JON
I expect you’re right, though we shan’t be waiting long to see unless he starts taking better care of himself. The stubborn old fool is still insisting on making the long journey to Harrenhal. A matter of some great import demands his attendance, I’m told.
JON leaves this last morsel hanging, waiting to see if ROBERT will bite, and while ROBERT does open his mouth its only to pass a mighty yawn.
JON [CONT’D]
I am sorry for your loss, Robert. I did not know your father well, though I did have the great honour of squiring for him once.
ROBERT
I think I remember him saying as much, now I think on it. Was that before or after Prince Rhaegar?
JON
We squired together, actually. Only the odd tournament or two, before your brother came of age. You and the prince are cousins, I understand?
ROBERT
Second or third, I seem to recall, though I never could keep track of how all that works. My grandmother was Rhaelle Targaryen, sister to old King Jaehaerys.
JON
Still, closer to the throne than most of us.
ROBERT smiles at the notion, but again has naught else to offer.
JON [CONT’D]
He was a good man, your father. He took the time to talk with everyone, from high lords to stable boys, and showed them all the same respect regardless of their standing. I have thought fondly of him ever since.
ROBERT
Jon Arryn has told his war stories so often I can almost summon the scenes to mind as though they were a memory, but in truth I never so much as saw my father compete at tourney. I’d have liked to squire for him, even just the once.
JON
They were close, Jon Arryn and your father?
ROBERT
As I understand it he was closest with King Aerys and Tywin Lannister in those days, but I believe they drifted apart once my father left court. But these last years he and Jon Arryn were thick as thieves.
JON
I don’t suppose a man takes another’s son to ward without there being a great deal of affection between the two. I assume the same is true of Lord Rickard, your friend Ned Stark’s father?
ROBERT
And Hoster Tully, too. “Nothing binds men together like brothers more than the imminent possibility of violent death”, Jon always says.
JON
And those bonds are still forging new links even today. I counted Prince Rhaegar amongst my closest and dearest friends while living in the capital, yet we may never have bonded as squires for your father if he and King Aerys didn’t share the history they do.
ROBERT
True, true. The same could also be said for me and Ned, come to think of it.
JON waits expectantly, closely watching ROBERT’s face, but no further comment is forthcoming.
JON
And now you and Lord Eddard’s sister, soon to be bound in marriage…
ROBERT
How do you know about that?
JON
Your father must have mentioned something to my own, I suppose.
ROBERT
The proposal was only made recently, while my parents have been abroad for months.
JON
A letter, then. My father has been known to write a dozen a day during this latest confinement. I sometimes wonder if it’s the only thing keeping his mind from rotting entirely at the sheer boredom of bedrest.
I apologise if I spoke out of turn; I wasn’t aware it was such a secret…
ROBERT
No, no, no secret, although Jon did encourage Ned and I to keep the news discrete until everything was agreed. It’s not quite official just yet, you understand, given the circumstances...We’re still waiting on confirmation from Winterfell.
JON looks as though he’s about to speak, but after a moment’s hesitation seemingly decides against it. ROBERT turns impatiently towards the doorway.
ROBERT [CONT’D]
You’d think they went to pick the bloody grapes themselves.
JON
Perhaps we might retire to a local hostelry instead? I should very much like to raise a cup to your impending nuptials.
ROBERT
Now there’s an idea! In fact, I know just the place.
They both stand and JON follows ROBERT from the room.
ROBERT [CONT’D]
I warn you, once I start in on the ale, I can really put them away.
CONNINGTON
And I warn you I left my coin purse at the Roost, so the ale is on you.
ROBERT
Ha! Another man too tight-fisted to buy his round! We’ll pick up Ned on our way out the door; you and him will get along like a couple of penny-pinching fishwives haggling over the price of haddock!
As ROBERT and JON pass down the hallway, the door to RENLY’s chambers opens and the boy and his ferret step out. RENLY looks after the retreating pair, the expectation that ROBERT will remember his promise and return still lingering upon RENLY’s face long after his big brother’s voice has receded beyond his hearing.
3.10 EXT: KINGSWOOD – DAY
LEWYN and JAIME follow their guide through the Kingswood, their horses wet to the knees from the Wendwater tributary through which they’ve just waded.
JAIME
Why did the others return to the city? What if the villagers are in league with the Brotherhood? What if this is all a trap?
LEWYN
Oh, it’s definitely a trap. But didn’t you hear what Harlan said?
JAIME
I did.
LEWYN
And so did the villagers, our helpful little guide here included.
LEWYN twists in his saddle and points in the direction from which they’ve come, to a column of grey-black smoke away in the distance.
LEWYN [CONT’D]
See that? That’s a warning that we’re coming. They’ll have started the fire burning the minute we left the village. And up ahead, where the foothills begin?
JAIME’s gaze finds the line of hills a mile down the trail, following the slope down to where it meets the trees. On their current course, they will soon arrive at the worst possible position from which to defend a mounted charge from the higher ground.
LEWYN [CONT’D]
Perfect site for an ambush, wouldn’t you say boy?
JAIME bristles once more at LEWYN’s easy disrespect.
JAIME
If I have done something to offend you, ser, I should appreciate your telling me outright.
LEWYN
You called me “Ser”, for a start. I was a Prince of Dorne long before I was a knight.
They ride in silence for a moment as JAIME considers LEWYN’s meaning.
JAIME
Very well, Your Grace. I apologise for my lapse in proper courtesy, and can only avow that in future -
LEWYN [INTERRUPTING]
Gods be good, I’m just playing with you, lad.
JAIME
You are?
LEWYN
Truth be told, I couldn’t give a septa’s tit about honorifics. If I play at taking offense it’s for one of two reasons: either I’m bored and provoking a row for my own amusement…
JAIME
Or?
LEWYN
Or I’m looking for an excuse to run you through.
JAIME studies LEWYN’s profile, not sure now whether he’s being toyed with or threatened. LEWYN smirks to himself, in no hurry to settle JAIME’s mind.
He draws JAIME’s eye to the beginnings of a rocky outcropping that rises gradually beside the trail until it becomes a sheer face only a few feet shorter than the tallest trees. LEWYN motions for JAIME to halt and slides down from his mount. Ahead, their guide realises he’s walking alone and retraces his steps.
LEWYN [CONT’D]
Apologies, friend, but it seems my horse has turned a joint crossing the river there. We’ll have to stop for a spell, give him a chance to rest that leg.
The guide does not greet this news gladly, and turns to peer anxiously at the foothills ahead. He seems likely to argue, but LEWYN settles the matter by taking a seat upon a conveniently-placed boulder that has detached itself from the rockface. The Prince of Dorne flashes the guide a reassuring smile.
LEWYN [CONT’D]
He’s a stubborn old mule; he won’t move again until he’s good and ready. Nothing to be done but sit and wait, I’d say.
3.11 INT: VARYS’ CHAMBERS - DAY
S.E: knocking, footsteps, door open.
VARYS
Your Grace. What an unexpected honour.
RHAEGAR
I realised you and I have still to be properly introduced since my return to the capitol.
RHAEGAR notices the metal bar in VARYS’ hand, looks past the eunuch into his chambers. An enormous wooden crate sits in the centre of the room.
RHAEGAR [CONT’D]
But If I’m interrupting something…
VARYS
Only the tedious business of the emigree. Come in, come in.
S.E: footsteps, door closing, footsteps.
VARYS [CONT’D]
In my haste to answer your father’s summons, I left the greater share of my belongings to follow after me from Pentos. I hope you don’t mind…
RHAEGAR
I wouldn’t dream of denying a man his home comforts a moment longer. Please, continue.
RHAEGAR perches on the edge of the desk as VARYS returns to the crate, prying at the lid with evident difficulty in an effort to dislodge the strips of steel joined to a large, rusted padlock.
RHAEGAR
Pentos. Is that where your people are from?
VARYS pauses just long enough to offer RHAEGAR a knowing grin.
RHAEGAR [CONT’D]
I’m not the first man to ask that question, am I?
VARYS
Nor the last, I suspect, though given the nature of my office I can hardly begrudge a man the indulgence of curiosity.
RHAEGAR
You’ve inherited quite a notorious lineage, you know. More than one Master of Whispers have writ their name large in the histories of the Seven Kingdoms.
VARYS
Is that so?
RHAEGAR
For instance, did you know there’s actually precedent for a Pentoshi serving as Master of Whispers?
VARYS
Is there, indeed?
RHAEGAR
Tyana of the Towers, was the woman’s name. Supposedly she had a reputation for sorcery, and possessed the ability to control the actions of others, animals included. The “mistress of spiders”, the smallfolk named her.
VARYS
Spiders? I rather like that.
RHAEGAR
That was only until she married the king and became the third of Maegor’s six wives. After that nobody dared name her anything but “Queen”.
VARYS
People do have a tendency towards the reticent when confronted with power.
RHAEGAR
Unfortunately so. How is one to survive in a court beset by division when the liars, schemers, and mummers that populate it learn to disguise themselves behind hollow courtesy?
If RHAEGAR’s question was not meant as rhetorical, VARYS gives no sign of having inferred as much.
RHAEGAR [CONT’D]
Then there’s Larys Hightower. No accounting of the Dance of Dragons could ever consider itself complete without devoting a fair amount of ink to Lord Clubfoot. In living memory, you have Brynden Rivers, of course, the man they named Bloodraven. Like Tyana before him, Brynden too had a reputation for the fantastical. He was a man of eighty when he went missing near thirty years ago, but the more superstitious among the smallfolk will tell you he lingers on still, sustained somehow by dark magics far beyond the Wall.
Seemingly tired of watching VARYS struggle and fail to pry loose the lock, RHAEGAR holds out a hand.
RHAEGAR [CONT’D]
May I?
VARYS hands over the jimmy, but casts a dubious eye over the stubborn steel fixture.
VARYS
I appreciate the offer, Your Grace, but it rather looks as though I’m in need of a blacksmith.
RHAEGAR kneels and inspects the lock.
RHAEGAR
I supposed it’s foolish of me to ask if you have the key?
VARYS
Lost somewhere between Pentos and here, alas.
RHAEGAR
Not to worry. Every lock is different, and some bonds are easier to break than others.
RHAEGAR looks about the room, spying an empty plate and, beside it, a silver knife and fork.
RHAEGAR [CONT’D]
Each can withstand the application of pressure to one degree or another. Some more so, some less.
Swapping the jimmy for the fine silver knife, RHAEGAR begins to pry at the lock’s casing.
RHAEGAR [CONT’D]
But even the strongest and most enduring contains within its moulding a weakness: a crack, a crease, a fine line of fissure, where only the slightest...push...
S.E: lock snapping open, falling to floor.
RHAEGAR
…will cause a permanent separation.
VARYS
You know your way around a padlock, Your Grace. I would never have imagined a crown prince possessed such disreputable talents.
RHAEGAR
A close friend of mine was quite the scurrilous nave before he spoke his vows. It’s remarkable the things you retain from a misbegotten youth.
VARYS
Remarkable indeed. One almost wonders why you didn’t step in sooner.
RHAEGAR
In my experience, you never know what someone is capable of until you give them opportunity to show you. It’s the best way to learn.
VARYS
For them, or for you?
RHAEGAR only smiles enigmatically. He lifts back the lid and peers into the crate. Reaching in, he retrieves a book at random from the dozens that fill the crate. Opening to the title page, RHAEGAR’s smile slowly withers.
RHAEGAR
“The Lineages and Histories of the Great Houses of the Seven Kingdoms” by Grandmaester Malleon.
Regarding VARYS with an expression of dawning realisation, RHAEGAR pulls a stack of books from the crate.
RHAEGAR
“Dragonkin: Being a History of House Targaryen from Exile to Apotheosis” by Maester Thomax, “The Dance of Dragons, A True Telling”, “Observations Upon the Recent Blood-Letting on the Stepstones” by our own Grandmaester Pycelle…
VARYS
I prefer Maester Eon’s telling, personally…
RHAEGAR
And “A Complete History of The Office of King’s Hand” by Archmaester Timotty.
RHAEGAR cannot hide his wry amusement, shaking his head at his own presumption.
RHAEGAR
You let me prattle on, telling you histories you already knew.
VARYS
In my experience, you never know what someone is capable of until you give them opportunity to show you, Your Grace.
RHAEGAR chuckles and returns the books to the crate.
RHAEGAR
It would appear you and I were cut from the same cloth, Lord Varys.
VARYS
I can think of no greater compliment, Your Grace.
RHAEGAR
I look forward to working with you in council. I expect the two of us shall have a most productive partnership.
VARYS
As do I, Your Grace. We do share the same remit from your father, after all.
RHAEGAR
I have greater ambitions in council than merely performing as my father’s puppet, Lord Varys.
VARYS
I fear the king may not be overly pleased to hear that, Your Grace.
RHAEGAR
I fear as much myself, so I cannot tell you how reassuring it is to learn I shall have the support of a man of such similar mind.
3.12 INT: SOLAR, STORM’S END – DUSK
S.E: knocking.
STANNIS
Come.
S.E: footsteps.
NED STARK enters the largest of Storm’s End’s several solars to find STANNIS sitting before the fire with cup in hand.
STANNIS
You’re still here, I see.
NED
Robert asked me to stay for the service. I’ll ride direct for Harrenhal from here.
NED pours himself a cup from the jug sitting on the sideboard and looks to STANNIS quizzically, having expected wine but finding only water.
STANNIS
"And the Father gave unto them the dew of heaven, mixed with gall; and after tasting it, those men of least immodesty would drink not the slightest drop, though their throats were dry and swollen.”
NED
What's that?
STANNIS
Are you some manner of heathen, Stark? It’s the Seven-Pointed Star, clearly.
NED
We keep the old gods in the North.
S.E: NED walking, sitting.
STANNIS
I've never been to Gulltown but I still know better than to lie with dockside whores.
NED
Robert told you about that?
STANNIS
What?
NED
Nothing. I mistook your meaning.
I never imagined you for a godly man.
STANNIS
My wife enjoys books, and likes to read aloud at the supper table. She detests the dogma as much as I, but appreciates its poetry all the same.
NED hesitates, weighing his words carefully.
NED
Have you spoken with Robert?
STANNIS
Once or twice. I believe we even had a whole conversation when I was fifteen or so.
STANNIS [CONT’D]
Tell me, Stark: do you find you’ve developed a talent for this over the years? Following in my brother’s wake, smoothing out his path for him?
NED
Robert’s still out drinking with Jon Connington. He didn’t ask me to speak with you.
STANNIS
He has you well trained then.
Renly came knocking at my door earlier, searching for Robert to take him riding as he promised.
NED
I’m sure it simply slipped Robert’s mind. He adores Renly.
STANNIS [derisive snort]
I’ve been with that boy every day of his life. It was me that taught him to sit a horse, to hunt, to fish. Robert sends a toy or two on name days and visits once every few years. And yet somehow it’s Robert he cries for when I tell him our parents are dead.
It's a cheap kind of love, a child’s: easily earned and carelessly given. It’s the only kind Robert has any patience for.
NED
You do your brother a disservice.
STANNIS
I’m not so cheaply bought, you mean.
There was time, a very long time in fact, when I allowed Robert’s selfishness to hurt me. Then one day, after another of Robert’s unthinking cruelties had sent me raging to my father, he sat me down and explained that I mustn’t blame myself when Robert cast me aside for whatever new distraction had taken his fancy this week. Robert was just too big, father told me, too full of life, and men like that simply took up too much space, sucked up too much of the air around them to ever accommodate another person. The Gods did not build him to think about others. He wasn’t built to be a brother.
I believed that for many years. I even made myself memorise my father’s exact words so I’d have them ready for the day that Renly came to me as I had gone to my father. But I can’t tell my brother that, can I Stark? Because it would be a lie. Robert always did have the capacity to be a brother. He just hadn’t met him yet.
Which really makes no kind of sense at all, when you think about it. You and I have far more in common with each other than either of us have ever had with him.
NED
Robert said something similar himself.
STANNIS
Oh?
NED
He said we were both miserable cu - …he said we shared a similar temperament.
STANNIS
“The Wild Wolf”, isn’t that what they call your brother Brandon? If anyone can understand what it’s like growing up in Robert’s shadow…
NED
You don’t know my brother.
STANNIS
No more than I know my own. But I know you, Eddard Stark. You’re a second son, same as me.
STANNIS takes a long drink of water, draining his cup.
STANNIS [CONT’D]
Ten years I’ve been learning at my father’s side. I’ve followed him over every square foot of the Stormlands, visited with him at every cottage and castle, every holdfast and hovel. I’ve collected his taxes and enforced his rulings. I’ve stood in his stead at more funerals and weddings than I care to count.
NED
You hold Robert’s absence against him. You resent carrying the burdens of his duty.
STANNIS
I resent him coming to take them from me! I am a good lord, Stark, better than I ever imagined I could be. And my father knew it too, though Gods know it took him long enough to see it…
Only once in the twenty years since my parents returned from court did father leave the Stormlands. Can you believe that? Once, in twenty years, and only then because his old friend Aerys ordered him to search the Free Cities for Prince Rhaegar’s bride. Mother begged him to take her along, but he refused. She asked him every year after that, and every year he’d find some reason the kingdom couldn’t spare him, even for a moon’s turn. “A good lord is like a good shepherd”, he’d say, “He never leaves his flock unattended”.
But this year…this year, mother didn’t even need to ask. “Let’s take that tour,” my father said to her one evening over the supper table: “Stannis can take care of things while I’m gone.” I remember …*bitter chuckle*…I remember feeling so proud.
NED
Your father trusted you to serve as Lord of the Stormlands in his stead; you had every right to feel proud.
STANNIS
My father trusted me, aye. But now he and mother are gone, and my big brother has sauntered home to claim it all for himself, everything my father entrusted to my care with the last words he ever spoke to me.
NED
It's not my place to tell you what to do, but when I hear you say you don’t know Robert, I wonder if perhaps you should take some advice from someone that does: talk to your brother, Stannis. You might be surprised at the man you meet.
S.E: retreating footsteps.
3.13 EXT: KINGSWOOD - DUSK
S.E: horses
JAIME leaps to his feet and draws his sword as the three score of mounted brigands descend from the foothills, but LEWYN shows no such alarm. The Kingsguard finishes scratching at a mud stain on the hem of his white cloak before ambling over to stand beside JAIME on the trail. He holds out a calming hand, gestures for the younger man to lower his steel. The riders rein up and the two men at their fore descend to meet the guide.
TOYNE
Only two? I think I may have overdressed.
SER SIMON TOYNE takes a second look at JAIME and his ornate golden armour.
TOYNE [CONT’D]
Then again…
He nods to his companion, a beast of man standing two heads taller than TOYNE, his face seemingly set in a permanent smile. TOYNE tosses the guide a small purse, which the guide receives gratefully, bowing to TOYNE and the SMILING KNIGHT and bolting past JAIME and LEWYN back towards his village.
S.E.: slow footsteps
TOYNE[CONT’D]
A white cloak. A sun and spear upon your breastplate. You must be Lewyn Martell.
LEWYN
Prince Lewyn to you, Toyne.
TOYNE
And it’s Ser Simon to you. I was knighted same as you.
TOYNE turns his attention to JAIME, looking him over from head to foot and back again.
TOYNE[CONT’D]
Well you’re a pretty little thing, aren’t you? You must come from money too, judging by all that fancy armour. Partial to a lion or three, aren’t you?
LEWYN
You’ve got no cause to talk to him, Toyne. Leave the boy be.
TOYNE ignores LEWYN entirely, licking his lips at the prospect of the golden bounty before him.
TOYNE
It’s been a while since I had occasion to rub shoulders with the high and mighty, but it seems to me you must be Tywin Lannister’s boy. I wonder what price your father would pay in ransom?
LEWYN
Are we going to talk, are we going to settle this like knights of the realm?
TOYNE turns to the Brotherhood and nods a command. The brigands dismount and draw their steel. TOYNE turns back to LEWYN, his smile nearly as wide as that of his absurdly large friend.
TOYNE
We have you outnumbered sixty to two. You really fancy your chances?
LEWYN
I’d fancy my chances at twice those odds. But then I’ve never exactly been burdened by an overabundance of humility.
In fact, just to make this foregone conclusion a little more interesting, I promise to pay you a silver for every scratch I find on our shiny white armour.
TOYNE
Our? Speaking in the third person now, are we?
TOYNE grins, but he only has to wait another heartbeat before the implications of LEWYN’s wager reveal themselves.
S.E: horses
The trees fringing the trail to the east suddenly part and HARLAN bursts forth, ARTHUR, JONOTHOR, OSWELL, and BARRISTAN following close behind. Their swords drawn and horses at full gallop, the Kingsguard charge into the flank of the startled Brotherhood, slicing and slashing as they hurtle through their ranks. The Brotherhood’s motley collection of scavenged mounts scatter before the battle-trained heavy horse of the Kingsguard. The remaining brigands rush forward to overwhelm LEWYN and JAIME, but three of the Kingsguard have wheeled about and return for a second pass. The fourth dismounts, and rushes to JAIME’s side.
BARRISTAN
Go! Ride for the city, now!
The words have barely left BARRISTAN’s lips before a pair of onrushing outlaws draw away his attention, and JAIME is left to make the split-second decision between escape and engagement. He freezes, one hand on the reins of his horse and the other clutched about the pommel of his golden sword.
Across the clearing, ARTHUR has surrendered his horse and joined the fray on foot. He cuts down first one, then a second, then a third, carving through the Brotherhood with lethal grace.
JONOTHOR and OSWELL bring their mounts around once more, OSWELL running two of the Brotherhood down to die beneath his horse’s hooves. HARLAN sets his designs on the SMILING KNIGHT, but the monolith stands his ground, converging his twin maces about the muzzle of HARLAN’s stallion. The horse topples over, spilling HARLAN to the ground. Barely has he made it to his feet before the SMILING KNIGHT is on him: the giant strikes HARLAN across the face with the shaft one mace, exploding HARLAN’s eye socket, then readies a swing with the spiked end of the other.
JAIME throws himself in a desperate tackle into the SMILING KNIGHT’s back, barely staggering the behemoth but succeeding in thwarting the killer blow. He scrabbles upright and takes his stance, the SMILING KNIGHT’s constant rictus growing even wider at the sight. He takes a step towards JAIME but OSWELL appears from out the ether to cut him off, wheeling his horse about to block the SMILING KNIGHT’s path.
JAIME’s reprieve is short-lived, as an axe-wielding bandit rushes forward from his right, steel raised to cleave open JAIME’s skull. JAIME absorbs the attack with his shield; the axe lodging itself in the wood and stubbornly resisting the bandit’s efforts to extract it. JAIME steps back and brings the shield with him, yanking the bandit off balance and onto JAIME’s upraised blade. Their faces separated by a matter of inches, JAIME looks into the eyes of the dying man as the shock turns to pain and pain turns to terror, everything he every was and everything he ever might have been draining away with the lifeblood seeping across JAIME’s sword-hand.
JAIME
I didn’t…I never –
With the last burst of strength left in his body the bandit rears up and wraps his hands around JAIME’s neck and begins to squeeze. JAIME drives his forehead into the bridge of the bandit’s nose, exploding bone and cartilage across his cheeks. They part, JAIME’s steel sliding from the bandit’s belly. Without JAIME to support his weight the bandit’s legs immediately fail him and he drops to one knee, planting one arm in the dirt to keep himself from toppling over entirely. This time JAIME does not allow himself a heartbeat of hesitation: he swings his sword in a rising backhand sweep that takes the bandit flush above the shoulders.
S.E: decapitation.
Pressed back to the point of breaking by LEWYN’s superior swordsmanship, SIMON TOYNE gratefully seizes the intercession by two of his men and turns away in search of easier quarry. He spies JAIME standing over the fallen HARLAN, hunched in defensive posture amid the chaos of battle, turning first this way and then twisting that to keep the enemy from his back, but always failing to cover the direction from which TOYNE now approaches.
TOYNE
Silly lion cub. Always cover your flank.
S.E: whistle.
TOYNE turns his head to the right and straight into BARRISTAN’s fist.
BARRISTAN
A fine piece of advice, ser.
TOYNE swings his sword in a wide, wild arc, but BARRISTAN effortlessly leans away beyond its reach and deals TOYNE another fist to the jaw. The fallen knight spits blood and teeth onto the ground. He lunges forward, stabbing at BARRISTAN, but the Kingsguard parries the thrust aside with a flick of the wrist then snaps his hand back in the reverse direction and pokes a hole through TOYNE’s heart faster than a striking snake, retracting his blade so quickly the entire attack from start to finish appears as one fluid motion. TOYNE at first cannot understand the spot of blood quickly expanding across the breast of his surcoat. He looks at BARRISTAN in confusion, then back to the stain with a grimace of realisation. He crumples at the knees, dead before his body hits the ground.
In the sudden calm that settles over the field, the brothers of the Kingsguard survey their handiwork. LEWYN prods a boot at SIMON TOYNE’s lifeless body and gives BARRISTAN a nod of appreciation. He points his blade at two more Brotherhood bodies lying close by their leader’s.
LEWYN
These yours as well?
BARRISTAN
Though I would gladly claim the credit, I believe those belong to our young friend here.
LEWYN looks JAIME over appraisingly, then gives a small grunt of acknowledgement.
LEWYN
Nicely done, boy.
BARRISTAN lays a hand on JAIME’s shoulder, seconding LEWYN’s approval. JAIME forces a thin smile. He waits until BARRISTAN turns his back to inspect his hand, and quickly disguises it within the folds of his blood-stained cloak when he sees just how noticeably it’s shaking.
LEWYN and OSWELL help a semi-conscious HARLAN to his unsteady feet then turn and join their brothers in the semi-circle arranged before the last member of the Brotherhood left standing. Penned in by the wall of rock at his back, the SMILING KNIGHT has nowhere to run. He has somehow lost his twin maces in the midst of battle, but even unarmed he still maintains the eponymous expression that he now turns towards BARRISTAN.
SMILING KNIGHT
I saw you cut down Toyne. Handsome bit of swordsmanship.
BARRISTAN
Toyne was a disgrace. To his order and to his house.
SMILING KNIGHT
Not much a house left after the dragons were through with it.
The SMILING KNIGHT walks over to the boulder upon which LEWYN sat just moments ago and takes a seat. As he speaks, he wipes with his surcoat at the mask of blood sourced from some deep gash above his hairline.
SMILING KNIGHT [CONT’D]
They were as proud as Daynes once, House Toyne, and just as cosy with the Targaryens. Until Aegon the Unworthy caught old Terrence abed with his mistress and the great fat fuck had him torn apart. Made her kiss every piece. Then the Dragonknight did for all his brothers. They don’t do things by halves, the Targaryens.
The SMILING KNIGHT’s eyes pick out JAIME from among his audience.
SMILING KNIGHT [CONT’D]
You’d do well to remember that, boy, next time you’re on your knees to King Scab. Your friends in white here are too far gone, but you’re still young enough to learn better.
BARRISTAN
Enough. We’re taking you back to the city to face the King’s Justice.
The SMILING KNIGHT sighs and pushes himself to his feet. He steps over to the body of the nearest brigand and claims the dead man’s sword for his own.
SMILING KNIGHT
I might be a soiled knight, but I’m a knight all the same. I think I’d rather go out fighting, if it’s all the same to you.
LEWYN is all too eager to volunteer himself, taking a step towards the SMILING KNIGHT
LEWYN
Very well.
SMILING KNIGHT
Not you. I want the Sword of the Morning. Always wondered how I’d fare against the finest swordsman that ever lived; what better time to find out than when I’ve got nothing left to lose.
LEWYN seems unconvinced, but when ARTHUR steps forward he reluctantly cedes his ground.
Despite the SMILING KNIGHT’s advantage in size and strength, ARTHUR’s brothers are so convinced of his inevitable victory that they turn away to gather about HARLAN and inspect the ruin of his eye-socket. Only JAIME affords the duel his total attention, his eyes tracking every movement ARTHUR DAYNE makes, utterly entranced.
The SMILING KNIGHT charges, looking to overwhelm the smaller man with a barrage of blows, swinging wildly time and again only to find naught but empty air where ARTHUR stood only a split-second earlier. The Sword of the Morning parries a backstroke, sidesteps a downward slash, then swoops forward in the hiccup of time before the SMILING KNIGHT’s third movement and stabs three inches of steel into the monster’s unguarded gut. A fourth attack comes without pause, the SMILING KNIGHT seemingly unphased by the blood soaking his middle the darkest shade of claret. On the fifth swing, ARTHUR blocks the sword high on its blade, and the old and inferior steel takes a deep notch from Dawn. ARTHUR immediately breaks off, skipping beyond his opponent’s reach and lowering his sword. To the SMILING KNIGHT’s confoundment, ARTHUR walks calmy towards his brothers.
ARTHUR
Oswell. Give him your sword.
OSWELL
You what?
ARTHUR
His has taken a notch; he has need of fresh steel.
The SMILING KNIGHT gawps open-mouthed in disbelief at his improbable reprieve and SER ARTHUR DAYNE’s impossible chivalry.
OSWELL
Fuck off, Arthur. He would have caved in Harlan’s skull if the boy hadn’t intervened. Just finish it.
ARTHUR’s implacable glare remains set as though cast in stone, and seeing he’ll be receiving no backing from his brothers, OSWELL sighs and trudges forward to resentfully hand over his sword. The SMILING KNIGHT weighs the steel, the blade looking more a short-sword against his gargantuan proportions.
SMILING KNIGHT
Very noble of you, Arthur…
The SMILING KNIGHT casts a long, almost lascivious leer at the star-forged steel sword in ARTHUR’s hand.
SMILING KNIGHT [CONT’D]
…but I’d prefer to have yours.
ARTHUR
Then you shall have it, Ser.
ARTHUR strides forward and strikes. The SMILING KNIGHT parries and blocks, but his congenital immobility is only compounded by the blood-loss through his belly and his movement begins to slow as ARTHUR maintains his unremitting attack.
S.E: fighting.
The SMILING KNIGHT swipes away a downward stroke but takes a beat too long to regain his defence and ARTHUR steps inside the open guard and with a two-handed grip thrusts Dawn through the SMILING KNIGHT’s throat. Only now, at the very last, does his grin finally falter, dissolving into a puckered oval of surprise.
ARTHUR retracts his blade and the SMILING KNIGHT topples forward like a felled tree. True to his word, LEWYN counts up the damage done to HARLAN’s armour and tosses a handful of silver coins onto the SMILING KNIGHT’s corpse.
Retrieving OSWELL’s sword, ARTHUR hands it back to its owner then lifts the corner of his brother’s cloak and runs it along the length of House Dayne’s ancestral blade. OSWELL inspects the dark red smear Dawn leaves upon the white fabric.
OSWELL
Was that really necessary, Arthur?
ARTHUR
Aye. It’s bad luck to do this with a bloodied blade.
ARTHUR turns to JAIME.
ARTHUR
Take a knee, son.
JAIME blinks, uncomprehending, but does as he’s bid. Understanding passes through the Kingsguard, and they form a circle about the pair, HARLAN leaning heavily upon his brothers to keep himself upright. ARTHUR raises Dawn, and as he speaks he alternately lowers its edge against JAIME’s left and right shoulder.
ARTHUR [CONT’D]
Jaime of House Lannister. In recognition of your bravery in battle, and in gratitude for the life of our sworn brother that you saved this day, I, Ser Arthur of House Dayne, Sword of the Morning and sworn brother of the Kingsguard, hereby proclaim you an anointed knight of these Seven Kingdoms. In the name of the Warrior, I charge you to be brave. In the name of the Father, I charge you to be just. In the name of the Mother I charge you to defend the young and innocent. In the name of the Maid, I charge you to protect all women. From this moment, I hold you to a standard of duty, honour, and integrity commensurate with the traditions of this sacred order. You kneeled as a boy. Now rise as a man…and as a knight.
JAIME stands, his trembling hand enwrapped by both of ARTHUR’s in a heartfelt shake, and allows himself to be turned about and presented.
ARTHUR [CONT’D]
Brothers? Ser Jaime of House Lannister.
The Kingsguard close around the new knight, shaking his hand and patting his back in congratulation. Throughout, JAIME’s legs are weak with exhaustion, his chest swelled with pride, and his face fixed in a grin so wide it puts the SMILING KNIGHT to shame.
S.e FOOTSTEPS
BARRISTAN trudges wearily towards the King’s chambers, flakes of crimson-black fluttering in his wake as the topmost coat of dried blood that stains his formerly-white cloak crumbles free and twists upon the drafts that whistle constantly through the castle’s cavernous corridors. He nods perfunctorily to the Targaryen household guard stand sentry at the king’s door.
S.e. HURRIED FOOTSTEPS.
RHAELLA
Barristan, I –
RHAELLA halts her hurried steps, her expression of pain and panic quickly contorting into the impassive mask of the taciturn sovereign at the sight of her husband’s guard.
RHAELLA [CON’TD]
Forgive me, ser. I have only just received these ill-tidings from the Kingswood. I was afraid that…I feared perhaps -
BARRISTAN [INTERRUPTING]
Your Grace is kind to worry so…
BARRISTAN glances back at the two guardsmen.
…for the welfare of we White Cloaks, but I assure you no lives were lost. Ser Harlan took a grievous blow to the head, and Ser Arthur –
RHAELLA [INTERRUPTING]
And you? You…bear no wounds I trust?
BARRISTAN
None, Your Grace. All my wounds are long-since scarred over.
The Queen and the Kingsguard regard one another for a long moment, both appearing as though they have more to say, neither appearing at all likely to speak another word. The pair of household guard side-eye one another sceptically.
BARRISTAN
If there is nothing more, Your Grace, the king will be expecting my debrief.
RHAELLA
Of course. Please convey my best wishes to Ser Harlan. I will be sure to remember him in my prayers this evening.
BARRISTAN bows, and RHAELLA returns back down the corridor. The bolder of the two men on door-duty half-grins at BARRISTAN, his eyebrows raised suggestively, but the briefest of glances at the old knight’s eyes, hard and bright as sapphires set in a blood-smeared and sweat-stained firmament, convinces him to immediately abandon any effort at bonhomie.
S.E: fire.
AERYS [V.O.]
I’m assuming our Lord Commander did not have a change of heart?
BARRISTAN
That much is true, Your Grace. Lord Commander Hightower felt honour bound to assign himself elsewhere. He did not feel he could partake in this...deception.
AERYS turns away from the hearth to consider the Kingsguard standing stiffly in the shadows by the door.
AERYS
“Deception” he calls it, does he? If a little flattery counted as deception then the mummers farce we men must suffer in pandering to the vanities of women would count against our honour rather than in its favour, would it not?
BARRISTAN
As you say, Your Grace.
AERYS
And what do you say, Ser Barristan?
BARRISTAN
I swore my honour and my sword to the king, Your Grace. I am duty bound to obey your command.
AERYS
Even when it offends you, is that it?
BARRISTAN
Yes, Your Grace. Even then.
AERYS
Then take solace in serving your king, and serving well, though the knighthood was a bit much.
BARRISTAN
Ser Harlan collapsed soon after we returned, and has yet to wake despite the Grandmaester’s attentions. Were it not for Ser Jaime’s intervention he would likely have never left the Kingswood. The boy came by his knighthood honestly, Your Grace, which is more than I can say of some.
AERYS
Your forget yourself, Ser.
BARRISTAN
I forget very little, Your Grace.
AERYS narrows his eyes at BARRISTAN, then waves a hand in dismissal as though shooing an irksome lapdog.
AERYS
Your part is done for now, Ser Barristan. You may go.
BARRISTAN bows and turns to depart, but his conscience halts his steps.
BARRISTAN
May I ask, Your Grace…what exactly is your intention towards Ser Jaime?
AERYS denies BARRISTAN the courtesy of turning to face him, and peers instead into the well-fed fire, the flames dancing across the king’s eyes bright with malevolent inspiration.
AERYS
My intention, Ser, is to show our young lord of Lannister a glimpse of life beyond that great grim rock Tywin has buried him beneath for all these years. My intention is to make him understand just how brightly gold can glimmer once it’s finally permitted to shine in the sun. My intention is to inspire him to ambitions beyond the idle comforts of fortuitous birth. And greatest of all my intentions, and the proposition by which these others become possible, is to provide the boy that which the sons of the rich spend their whole life pursuing.
BARRISTAN
Which is what, Your Grace?
AERYS
The one thing that every rich and powerful father I’ve ever known was incapable of giving.
OUTRO.