Episode 4: A Common History
4.1 INT: TOWER OF THE HAND, RED KEEP, KING’S LANDING - MORNING
AERYS TARGARYEN watches from the window as the city burns. Stone and brick, wood and thatch…the fire swallows it all like a great roaring beast impossible to satiate, impossible to tame. The scene below shimmers and bends, the heat so overpowering that even the lines and angles of the city’s geometry appear as though melting away into madness.
AERYS turns his back, his creeping sense of confusion salved somewhat by the familiar tranquillity of his Throne Room, the peace so palpable the king can feel its sensuous soft caress upon his skin.
Silent as snowfall, a long, lithe shadow slips past only inches beyond his reach, the sharp metallic scent of blood trailing in its wake. AERYS feels the first cold fingers of fear scratching at his heart.
He takes a step into the silent chamber. Half-a-hundred colours dance upon the floor to illuminate his approach, the fires without climbing so high now as to lick at the stained-glass window that frames the Iron Throne.
The king stops stone still like prey before a predator: the shadow prowls back and forth before the thousand blades of Aegon’s enemies. Their eyes meet, and as AERYS looks into the gold-green stones studded in the shadow’s umbra, the fringes of the darkness begin to ossify into familiar shapes. A muscled haunch, a long and lustrous mane, two pairs of powerful paws tipped with ice-white claws sharper than swords.
The lion turns its head disdainfully away from the small shaking man in the soiled crimson robes, and in one graceful pounce mounts the Iron Throne. It turns about in a complete circle, then another in the contrary direction, finally settling itself down onto the hard cold seat. The light filtering in from the world outside has turned a dazzling white, bathing the beast in a bleached brightness that pains AERYS to look upon.
The lion lays its head along the arm of the throne and closes its eyes, as comfortable as the cub that sleeps warm and sound beneath its mother’s protection.
AERYS feels the anger rising from his insides, an anger so great it’s like to lodge in his throat and choke him upon his own outrage. He raises his hand, levelling an accusatory finger at the golden-maned usurper…and then he sees the flames. The fire has penetrated the stout stone walls of the Red Keep, riding his back from the window like burs from a briar. It strips his robes away in seconds, covering his skin in an orange-red cloak of dancing, cavorting, frolicking flame. AERYS TARGARYEN smiles, and begins to scream.
S.E: panting; smashing glass.
AERYS lurches upright, sending his wineglass skittering from the sidetable.
S.E: knocking.
OSWELL [O.S.]
Your Grace?! Is everything alright Your Grace?
AERYS
I’m fine, Ser Oswell. Everything’s fine.
AERYS crosses to his bed. With one hand on the covers he hesitates, the memories of his dream rearing up before his bloodshot eyes like phantoms.
S.E: footsteps, door opening.
OSWELL
Your Grace?
AERYS
Fetch me a girl.
OSWELL
Your Grace, I’m not sure –
AERYS [INTERRUPTING]
A different girl from last time. I don’t like them marked.
OSWELL hesitates, not at all comfortable with the command but compelled by duty to hold his tongue.
AERYS [CONT’D]
But make sure she’s blonde.
[pause]
Always blonde.
S.E: door slamming.
INTRO.
4.2 INT: TOWER OF THE HAND, RED KEEP, KING’S LANDING - MORNING
TYWIN and CERSEI LANNISTER sit at table breaking their fast, the King’s Hand idly perusing a stack of papers as he eats.
TYWIN
I’ll see that this morning’s meeting of the Small Council concludes as close to noon as I’m able. You know where you need to be?
CERSEI
Unless it’s changed since the last six times of asking.
TYWIN casts a pointed glare at Cersei’s attire: a figure-hugging gown of red and black silk, her shoulders and arms bare but for a layer of fine Myrish lace.
TYWIN
What are you wearing?
CERSEI smiles and runs a hand down the shimmering bodice.
CERSEI
Do you like it? I had it made after our welcome banquet. It’s the same –
TYWIN [INTERRUPTING]
Prince Rhaegar likes his women in green.
CERSEI rolls her eyes in exasperation.
CERSEI
Fine. I’ll change after I’ve eaten.
CERSEI returns to her breakfast but TYWIN remains immutable as stone until she senses his attention. Sighing, she sets down her spoon and leaves the table, passing JAIME as he enters.
JAIME
Good morning, sister.
He spies the half-eaten bowl of fruit at CERSEI’s place.
JAIME [CONT’D]
You haven’t finished your breakfast.
CERSEI
I have to change.
JAIME
But I like you just the way you are.
JAIME is in too good a mood to be put out by the irritated wave of dismissal he receives in reply. A servant approaches.
JAIME [CONT’D]
Bring me two of everything you have. I find I have a hearty appetite this morning.
TYWIN
We’ve already had a minstrel at the door begging coppers to play his latest composition. “Six White Knights, One Golden Lion Cub”, I believe he called it.
JAIME
You paid him handsomely, I trust? It’s not every day your eldest son and heir is anointed a knight.
TYWIN
Knighthoods must come easier than back-alley slatterns these days if stumbling blindly into a trap set by a rabble of peasants with scavenged steel is deemed deserving of the honour.
JAIME
Two of the rabble were knights of the realm themselves, I might add, though I fear that fact aids your point more than it does mine.
TYWIN
You may as well have fought a pair of straw-stuffed practice targets; I imagine slaying these self-styled brigands amounted to very much the same.
JAIME
It didn’t feel the same at all, actually.
TYWIN takes note of JAIME’s change in tone, and adopts a note of scornful impatience to his manner.
TYWIN
I wasn’t much older than you are now when I killed my first man, and I can assure you I did not have six of the seven White Cloaks to do the rest of my fighting for me.
JAIME
Did you have a father that couldn’t muster so much as a kind word towards your accomplishments?
TYWIN
I had a father with no discernible accomplishments of his own from which he might take illustration. For better or worse, you have a father that does, which you’d do well to remember the next time you care to flaunt your errors in judgment as though they were victories. Only jugglers and singers require applause; the bar for acclaim is commensurately higher when you’re a Lannister of Casterly Rock.
TYWIN stands, gathers his papers, and strides from the room. JAIME lowers his fork, his appetite as ruined as his mood. A second servant approaches with a silver tray bearing a wax-sealed scroll.
JAIME
He just left. You can still catch him if you hurry.
SERVANT
Apologies, my lord, but the scroll is meant for you.
A surprised JAIME takes the rolled parchment, furrowing his brow at the sight of the Targaryen seal upon the wax.
4.3 INT: KING’S CHAMBERS, RED KEEP - DAY
RHAEGAR enters his father’s solar to discover AERYS in hushed conference with his Master of Whispers. From the wary expression VARYS turns towards him, RHAEGAR warily infers something is afoot.
RHEAGAR
Good morning, father. I trust you slept well?
AERYS searches his son’s words for sarcasm, then turns back to pouring himself a cup of wine.
AERYS
Varys tells me you intend on pursuing an agenda of your own in council today.
VARYS raises his palms and half-shrugs in silent apology. RHAEGAR considers him cooly.
RHAEGAR
Did he now?
AERYS
I called you home to curtail Tywin’s presumptions in council, just as I called Varys from Pentos to do the same. One of you, at least, has not forgotten his purpose.
RHAEGAR
And did Varys also tell you, as I told him, that I have greater ambitions in council than merely performing as your puppet in this interminable feud?
AERYS
Ambitions, aye?
AERYS considers the prince for a moment, then takes a long drink of wine and takes a seat before the hearth.
AERYS [CONT’D]
I had ambitions once. I was going to bring water to the deserts of Dorne. I was going to build a colossus large enough to crush the Titan of Bravos beneath his heel. I presume yours are similarly grand, to make them your priority ahead of your father’s command?
RHAEGAR sits himself across from his father.
RHAEGAR
The Night’s Watch has patrolled the northernmost border of the realm for eight-thousand years. But, as you well know, the Watch has been permitted to decline into a perilous state.
AERYS
The Watch is a northern problem for the northern houses to resolve. When a Wildling army threatens King’s Landing, then perhaps we might consider it ours.
RHAEGAR
Their armouries are woefully understocked, and what steel they do possess is either rusted red or so old it’s like to shatter upon first use. They depend entirely upon the Northern houses to replace their livestock, and what meat they butcher must go directly to feed the brothers today and cannot be added to their already-meagre stores for tomorrow. Though they hold the lands of the Gift, they lack the provisions for planting and the manpower for harvesting. Their ranks are thinner than they’ve ever been, with manpower enough to garrison just three of their seventeen forts. Three forts, against one hundred leagues of unguarded Wall. The forests to the North have encroached so close that Wilding raiders looking to scale the wall can climb a third its height before they even set foot upon the ice.
AERYS
Your ambition is that we send livestock and lumberjacks to the Wall?
RHAEGAR
I would, as well as coin from our treasury and weapons from our arsenal. I would have us send men capable of performing any one of the thousand other essential tasks that are currently going undone.
AERYS
I have never sent those begging crows away without first giving them the pick of my dungeons.
RHAEGAR
It is all very well sending those that have chosen the black over the hangman’s noose, and no doubt many such find their station in life greatly improved. But the wall is only as strong as the men defending it. We must also send knights and officers, as well as a quota of the highborn. Those that can read as readily as they can sit a horse; men trained at arms and schooled in military strategy.
AERYS
Do you know many such men eager to trade the comforts of home for a life of frozen celibacy teaching murderers and rapists their letters?
RHAEGAR
I do not. Which is why we must provide incentive. I propose we establish a standing army, paid by and loyal to the crown, with a hide of land for officers in exchange for a twenty-year term of service. There’s a clear path in life for firstborn sons, but what about the spares? How many of those that drift into service among the septons, or the maesters, or selling their sword overseas would gladly seize the opportunity to carve their own little kingdom out from under the shadow of their father’s heir.
AERYS
And where is this land going to come from?
RHAEGAR
From The Gift. Hundreds of thousands of empty acres. I mean to use that land to construct a second wall of stone and mortar, running from one coast to the other, with a fort every quarter-league, and every fort under the command of a captain drawn from this new officer class.
AERYS
A legion of petty lords armed and organised along our northern border? Have I really raised such a fool?
RHAEGAR
If we mean to properly prepare for future conflicts, the days of shoving swords into the hands of farmers and fishermen must come to an end. We’ve been at peace so long there’s barely a few thousand men in the whole realm with anything resembling combat experience. We need professional soldiers, well-drilled and ably-skilled.
AERYS
What future conflicts? I ended the Blackfyre line with my own two hands, twenty years ago.
RHAEGAR
You know precisely which conflict.
AERYS’s face darkens and he points a cautionary index finger at his son’s face.
AERYS
Don’t start with this nonsense again, Rhaegar. Do you hear me? I won’t stand for it!
RHAEGAR’s eyes flit to VARYS, as though only just recalling the silent eunuch’s presence.
RHAEGAR
I’m not sure why you’re still here, Lord Varys, but if you’re waiting to be excused you need wait no longer.
VARYS looks to AERYS. After a moment’s pause, AERYS waves a hand in dismissal.
VARYS
Your Grace.
S.E: footsteps.
VARYS [CONT’D]
Your Grace.
S.E: opens, closes.
RHAEGAR
Have you forgotten the promise you made to grandfather? The promise every Targaryen king has made to his forebear since the age of Aegon the Conqueror? You have a responsibility –
AERYS [INTERRUPTING]
I’ll hear no lectures from you on responsibility. While you were off chasing ancient scratchings across the Narrow Sea I was here at home, ruling the Seven Kingdoms.
RHAEGAR
You may reign, father, but it’s Tywin Lannister that rules.
AERYS
Careful, Prince Rhaegar.
RHAEGAR
That’s exactly what I’m trying to be, father. Since we fled before the doom of Old Valyria, the Targaryen line has been readying itself for the war to come.
AERYS
You’d do well to remember to whom you’re speaking. All you know of prophecy is what you’ve read in moth-eaten scrolls, but I have lived with prophecy and the madness it brings to the men in our family all my life! When I was sixteen years old, my father forced me to wed your mother on the word of a woods witch. When I was nineteen, I watched my grandfather burn himself alive trying to wake dragons from stone. The dreams that have plagued me since –
AERYS cuts himself off. He rises and returns to the dresser.
RHAEGAR
Go on.
AERYS
It makes no matter.
RHAEGAR
What were you about to say?
AERYS
Enough, Rhaegar.
RHAEGAR
Father, please, if you would just –
AERYS [INTERRUPTING]
I said enough! I will not hear another word about prophecy, not one more, do you hear me? I forbid you to take this absurd business before council.
I called you home to curb Tywin and his lickspittles, not make yourself one of them. No son of mine will go crawling before that man with begging bowl in hand.
RHAEGAR
The needs of the realm are more important than your pride, or mine for that matter. Ever since I found Aemon’s notes in the library, he and I have been writing one another -
AERYS [INTERRUPTING]
Aemon?! So that’s where your sudden concern for the Night’s Watch comes from, is it?
RHAEGAR
If you only knew the things he’s uncovered, the things he sent me searching for
AERYS [INTERRUPTING]
If you were still a child I would confiscate your ink and parchment, but you are a man grown and I cannot keep you from indulging the old fool in his fantasies. But I can keep you from shaming your father and your house by giving our enemies any more cause to whisper about madness in the Targaryen blood.
AERYS drains his cup and sets it aside. He sighs, his blood cooling and his composure gathering. He looks to his son, his anger replaced by something more melancholic.
AERYS [CONT’D]
What happened to you, boy? When your grandfather died and freed you from his coddling I thought you had finally turned a corner. You set aside your books in favour a sword, and I thought you on your way to becoming a warrior, like your old man. I saw so much of myself in you, then. I’d look at you and find myself just…transfixed, utterly transfixed. It was like looking into a mirror. But then something changed in you again. This…propechy nonsense changed something in you.
RHAEGAR
I learned more from grandfather on what it means to be a king than I have ever learned from you. What you took for coddling I took for education. There’s not a day goes by that I do not miss his example.
AERYS’ expression turns cold and hard at RHAEGAR’s rebuff to his rare admission of affection.
AERYS
Very well. If you have nothing you wish to learn from me on the matter of kingship, then I shall have to source your instruction from elsewhere, beginning with the lesson in humility you so clearly require. Now get out, before I change my mind and administer it myself.
RHAEGAR studies his father for a long moment, a clear conflict visible on his face between the righteous anger of the insulted prince and the pained regret of the wounded son. He looks ready to speak, but instead turns his back and departs.
S.E: footsteps, door open.
He finds VARYS waiting for him in the hallway, and looks his erstwhile ally over with a new animus.
RHAEGAR
Every lock is different, Lord Varys, and some bonds are easier to break than others.
VARYS
You must believe I meant no kind of betrayal in telling the king of your intentions in council, Your Grace, nor did I wish to ever be the cause of friction between father and son.
RHAEGAR
I believed you and I had an understanding. It would appear I was mistaken.
VARYS
I live a precarious life here at court, Your Grace. I cannot serve your father’s ends if Lord Tywin takes me for his enemy, yet should I overstep in seeking his favour your father will soon find me remiss in pursuing the campaign for which I was summoned to court. I am like a ranger walking the narrow path atop the Wall, beset on both sides by wind and snow.
RHAEGAR
A ranger, is it? Then allow me to offer a word of advice: watch your step, Lord Varys. At such a height, the fall would most certainly prove fatal.
S.E: footsteps.
4.4 INT: ELIA’S CHAMBERS, RED KEEP – DAY
Creeping quietly on her tiptoes, ELIA MARTELL stalks towards the bunched folds of the heavy crimson drapes tied back from the windows.
ELIA
Where oh where could Bella be hiding? Could she be…here!
S.E: drapes swiped aside.
ELIA [CONT’D]
Hmmm…Such a clever little sneak, I haven’t a clue where she could be.
S.E: child’s giggles.
ELIA smiles to herself and paces towards the bed.
ELIA [CONT’D]
Maybe she’s hiding…here!
ELIA crouches down and pounces on BELLA, pulling her out from her hiding space beneath the bed.
S.E: giggles.
ELIA [CONT’D]
Now I’ve got you!
BELLA squirms and squeals in delight under ELIA’s tickles.
S.E: door opening.
LEWYN
Don’t let Pycelle catch you having fun. If he suspects you’re enjoying your little friend too much he’s like to send her away too.
BELLA quickly scrabbles to her feet, hanging her head as though readying herself for a scolding.
ELIA
It’s alright, sweetling, it’s only Uncle Lewyn, and he’s only teasing.
LEWYN
Uncle Lewyn and a letter from Doran.
LEWYN produces a parchment from his doublet and hands it to ELIA. She tears the seal and sits cross-legged on the bed to scan her brother’s writing.
ELIA
Any news on Mellario?
LEWYN
Only that she’s big as an aurochs already. My own letter said she and Oberyn are no longer on speaking terms after he suggested she must be carrying triplets.
ELIA
Oberyn’s back in the country? Is he attending the games at Harrenhal?
LEWYN
I’m afraid I’m fresh out of answers; may I offer you an orange instead?
LEWYN swings a bag he carries at his side onto the bed. ELIA descends upon its contents excitedly, pulling forth a fat, swollen orange. She holds it to her nose, closing her eyes and inhaling its sweet scent.
ELIA
Oh Gods, how I’ve missed that smell! Come here, my love.
She holds out a hand in invitation to BELLA, and she allows ELIA to draw her close
ELIA [CONT’D]
Have you ever tasted an orange?
BELLA shakes her head, her eyes wide with fascination at the bag of exotic treats.
ELIA [CONT’D]
Well, we shall have to fix that right now, won’t we!
LEWYN sits on the bed and plucks another orange from the bag. He offers it to BELLA, but the girl makes no move to approach and instead steps closer to ELIA. LEWYN frowns in question at his niece.
ELIA [CONT’D]
I think her brothers’ tales of your adventures in the Kingswood have scared her a little.
ELIA puts a comforting arm around BELLA.
ELIA [CONT’D]
It’s alright, dear heart, Lewyn only hurts bad people; he means you no harm.
Still wary but trusting in ELIA’s reassurance, BELLA accepts the orange from LEWYN. She turns it over, looks to ELIA for instruction.
ELIA [CONT’D]
Watch me…like this, see?
ELIA begins to slowly peel her orange, BELLA watching closely.
LEWYN
If Oberyn does pass this way I’ve no doubt he’ll pay us a visit. If your husband will permit it, at least.
ELIA
I marry the prince of the Seven Kingdoms and my uncle still insists I could have done better for myself.
LEWYN
No man could ever be good enough for my favourite niece, Prince or otherwise.
ELIA
I’m your only niece.
LEWYN
Thank the gods for small mercies: a man can only carry so many oranges.
ELIA
Alright, now we just pull it apart like this…there you go, take that one there. Now, pop it in your mouth, but don’t chew just yet. Bite down just enough to burst the skin and let the juice out.
BELLA does as she’s bid. Her eyes double in size and a broad smile raises her rosy cheeks.
ELIA [CONT’D]
Good?
BELLA nods enthusiastically, ELIA positively beaming at the happiness radiating from the little serving girl. She hands over the rest of the orange and watches contentedly as the girl eats.
LEWYN [CONT’D]
I came by earlier and found you still abed. I’d have been worried you were dead if you hadn’t been snoring like a fat little piglet.
Aghast, ELIA flings a handful of orange peel at LEWYN.
ELIA
I do not snore!
LEWYN
*Oink oink oink*
ELIA
Bella, do I snore?
BELLA
*Oink oink oink!*
ELIA
You little traitor! Away with you, I command it!
BELLA moves to depart.
ELIA [CONT’D]
Hold on, you. I’ll make you a deal: promise to never gang up on me like that again and I’ll let you take as many oranges as you can carry. Deal?
BELLA nods and ELIA gathers up three oranges, but turns back to discover BELLA has folded over the bottom of her roughspun dress to fashion a makeshift pouch.
ELIA [CONT’D]
Clever girl.
ELIA drops another half-dozen oranges into BELLA’s pouch.
ELIA [CONT’D]
Be sure to share them with your brothers, won’t you?
Moving carefully lest she spill her treasures, BELLA bows to ELIA and LEWYN and scampers away. ELIA smiles as she watches her exit.
LEWYN
She’s new.
ELIA
Isn’t she darling?
ELIA waits until they’re alone then turns to LEWYN with an excited pat on his knee.
ELIA
Now, tell me everything: how was your rendezvous in the city?
Sighing, LEWYN lies back on the bed, his smile ear to ear.
LEWYN
It was simply bliss. I don’t believe I’ve stopped smiling since.
ELIA
Can it be? Prince Lewyn Martell, the lifelong cynic, head over heels in love?
LEWYN
Can’t you just hear the hearts breaking from the Arbor to the Wall?
ELIA
I couldn’t be happier for you, Lew. You know how I worry about you, all alone here so far from home.
LEWYN
I’m never alone so long as I have you.
ELIA
I have my own family, Lewyn.
ELIA sees the wince of pain on her uncle’s face.
ELIA [CONT’D]
I’m sorry, Lew, that was a mean thing to say.
She prods LEWYN with her foot.
ELIA [CONT’D]
Say you forgive me.
LEWYN
Peel me an orange and I’ll consider it.
ELIA picks an orange from the sack and sets to work.
ELIA
I only meant that I want the same for you. I want you to have something that’s just yours, something entirely your own.
LEWYN
I have something entirely my own: I’m wearing it right now.
ELIA recognises the melancholy on LEWYN’s face, but knows better than to pick at an open wound.
ELIA
I hear our new arrivals have been making quite the stir?
LEWYN
The lion cubs? *sigh* Jaime’s not a bad lad, I suppose; I like him better than his father, at least.
ELIA
What about Cersei? Is she truly as pretty as they say?
LEWYN
“Breath-taking” was the word I’ve been hearing most, along with a great array of others I couldn’t possibly repeat in front of a lady.
You need to keep an eye on that one.
ELIA
Easy enough to say, harder to do from my bed chamber.
LEWYN
Supposedly it was the boy Tywin called to court, and Cersei just tagged along.
ELIA
You don’t believe it?
LEWYN
If Cersei disobeyed her father and came without his consent then her balls are even bigger than her brother’s.
ELIA hands LEWYN the peeled orange, and he pops a segment into his mouth.
ELIA
Would it be so remarkable if he did summon her? Cersei is almost a woman grown; it’s time her father found her a husband.
LEWYN
Aye, and if you’re not careful it’ll be yours. Cersei Lannister is not the first pretty young thing to prance and preen and bat her eyelashes about the Red Keep: each time you take to your sickbed every lord in the city is suddenly inspired to summon his daughter to court like a fattened goose brought to market.
ELIA
Even if Cersei did have designs on my husband, Rhaegar has no interest in little girls.
LEWYN
He liked them well enough on your wedding night, I seem to recall your telling me. You were, what, seventeen?
ELIA
Sixteen. It seems a lifetime ago now.
LEWYN
You’re as beautiful today as you were back then, El.
ELIA
Liar.
LEWYN
A knight of the Kingsguard is incapable of lying; there’s even something about it in our vows, I think.
ELIA
And we both know how seriously you take those.
Rolling off the bed, ELIA stands with hands on hips before her uncle.
ELIA
Look at me, Lew, then tell me I’m as beautiful as I was at sixteen. Look how skinny I am! What has happened to my ass? I used to have a wonderful ass, and now look! Bonier than an old crone! And look at these bags under my eyes! I don’t even have the energy to dress anymore, or style my hair, and I – *sniff sniff* – I smell, Lew! Here, smell for yourself!
She leans forward with raised arm and thrusts her armpit into her uncle’s face.
LEWYN
Get away, you animal!
ELIA
You see! It’s like the sickness seeps right through my skin.
LEWYN
Stop, before I drag you to the stables and sluice you down like a hard-ridden horse!
LEWYN extricates himself and jumps beyond ELIA’s reach. Despite her good-humour, LEWYN notices how flushed ELIA looks, how heavy her breathing even from this brief exertion.
LEWYN {CONT’D]
Gods Elia, you look as though you’ve just run the city walls.
ELIA
I’m fine, I’m just…I tire so easily still.
LEWYN sits on the edge of the bed and brushes ELIA’s hair off her forehead, her skin clammy to the touch. He hands her a half-empty class of water he finds on the bedside table and watches as she drinks.
LEWYN
It was never this bad after Rhaenys or Aegon. What does Pycelle have to say for himself?
ELIA
Only that I have to take things slowly. Sleep, take my medicine, stay away from anything remotely stimulating…none of it seems to be doing any good.
LEWYN
If you spent less time wrestling with the help, perhaps you’d have the strength for your own children to pay a visit.
Now it’s LEWYN’s turn to see the pain his words have caused, written plainly as they are in ELIA’s wounded expression.
LEWYN [CONT’D]
That was a mean thing to say, forgive me child.
ELIA crosses her arms, refusing LEWYN’s apology. He offers her his orange. She takes it, but her expression makes clear she remains unappeased. LEWYN sighs, selects a second orange, and begins to peel.
LEWYN
You always did drive a hard bargain.
ELIA
Oh, these are just for starters. You have to do something else for me before we’re even.
4.5 EXT: BATTLEMENTS OF RIVERRUN – DAY
CATELYN and BRANDON walk together along the battlements, the young lady of Riverrun every so often casting her eyes towards her betrothed then quickly dancing away when he returns her gaze, though never so quickly that he does not first have time to register the coquettish tilt to her attentions. She points out towards the rolling green fields to the north and the broad azure river that sparkles in the sun.
CATELYN
That’s the Tumblestone.
BRANDON smiles and nods politely.
BRANDON
Yes.
CATELYN sweeps her arm southward.
CATELYN
The Red Fork.
Again, BRANDON nods.
BRANDON
Of course, yes.
CATELYN
It meets with the Trident a little north of Lord Harroway’s Town.
BRANDON
I’m familiar with the Red Fork.
CATELYN
My apologies. I did not mean to bore you.
BRANDON
The Red Fork is where my ancestor Torrhen Stark surrendered his crown to Aegon the Conqueror.
CATELYN
Yes, of course. I’m sorry, I should have remembered that.
BRANDON
No apologies necessary, my lady. It’s our history to remember, not yours.
CATELYN
If it happened within sight of Riverrun, then I think it belongs to the history of the Riverlands as much as it does the North.
BRANDON
Before Aegon and his sisters arrived on their dragons we were a free people. In the North we don’t talk about Aegon the Conqueror lightly, nor the King Who Knelt.
CATELYN
Well here in the Riverlands we consider it extremely rude for a guest to presume to tell a host which parts of their own lands and their own history they may or may not take as their own.
BRANDON and CATELYN regard one another for a cool second before CATELYN turns away and continues walking.
BRANDON
I apologise if I was…abrupt.
CATELYN
I suppose it won’t matter soon, anyway. Once we’re married, our histories will be intertwined. And in our children, even more so.
BRANDON
You picture our children?
CATELYN
You don’t?
BRANDON
In time...
CATELYN
I’ve always imagined myself having a large family.
BRANDON has no answer to that. He looks back towards the yard.
BRANDON
Perhaps we might curtail our tour for the time being? My father was keen for me to sit down with yours at the earliest opportunity.
CATELYN
Oh. I see.
BRANDON
There’s still much to discuss.
CATELYN
I had hoped we might take a walk in the country together. I could show you the sluice gates. Once opened to both rivers, Riverrun becomes something of an island, surrounded on all sides by water. It’s really rather impressive to see.
BRANDON
There’ll be time enough to kill once everything is settled.
He immediately realises his poor choice of words has been received with commensurate poor-humour.
BRANDON [CONT’D]
I only meant –
CATELYN
It’s fine, really. I suppose I’m just a little surprised to learn the “Wild Wolf” is quite so conscientious in obeying his Lord father’s instructions.
BRANDON squints at the sun that shines into his face now he has turned to face CATELYN, though the brightness cannot account for the sudden flush that comes to his face, nor the clench to his jawline.
BRANDON
A walk in the countryside sounds delightful.
He runs two fingers across the dryness of his lips.
BRANDON [CONT’D]
Might we might stop for a drink before we depart? The coming spring feels so much warmer down here in the South.
CATELYN
We could go by the kitchens, collect some canteens of water to take with us?
BRANDON
Water would be good, but wine would be better.
CATELYN
It’s not even midday.
BRANDON
Then we can drink slowly.
CATELYN
My father doesn’t really like us drinking.
BRANDON
I see.
CATELYN
I suppose, given the occasion…
BRANDON
I’m sure I can survive until supper. Shall we continue?
CATELYN gives a noncommittal nod and they carry on along the battlements.
BRANDON [CONT’D]
That’s another change to come once we’re married: at my table, you may drink as much as you care to. For all my faults, I’ve never once given cause to call me “mean” when it comes to sharing round my wine.
CATELYN
My father does not keep wine from his table because he is “mean”. He simply believes drunkenness is unbecoming in a woman.
BRANDON
My sister Lyanna often drinks with her meals. In fact, your father shared a toast with her the night before we departed Winterfell.
CATELYN
My father may have turned a blind eye out of respect for his host, but he certainly did not raise Lysa and I to behave in such a way.
BRANDON
No, only to pass judgement upon those that do. It’s a wonder Lord Hoster can suffer to send his prim and proper little flower away to live among we barbarous Northern savages.
CATELYN
A wonder indeed! Perhaps I shall appeal to him to find me a more suitable match, one that knows how to speak to a lady with neither insult nor a bellyful of beer.
BRANDON
Perhaps you should, and spare me a veritable battalion of children raised to be as stern and humourless as septas.
CATELYN
Humourless?! It’s you, Brandon Stark, that would rather count coppers with my father than spend the day riding with your betrothed!
CATELYN storms away, her face flushed and her hands shaking in anger. Despite having little notion to where he might be striding, BRANDON mirrors CATELYN’s departure in the opposite direction.
4.6 INT: CATELYN’S CHAMBERS, RIVERRUN – DAY
CATELYN
Oh Petyr, it was just awful! I tried to be interesting, and he just looked bored. I tried to be funny, and he never so much as smiled!
CATELYN sits hunched over on the edge of her bed, dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief. PETYR paces at her window, his agitation at her distress plain upon his face.
CATELYN [CONT’D]
Oh, and then we argued about the most ridiculous things…
PETYR hurries over and drops to his knees before her.
PETYR
Hush, sweet little Cat. I’m sure you tried your very best, but not even you – kind, gentle, generous you - can ever hope to spin even the coarsest silk from a sow’s ear.
CATELYN
I wanted everything to be perfect for our first proper day together…but he didn’t even make an effort.
PETYR
I can’t say I’m surprised he behaved like such a cad. If even half the stories I’ve heard are to be believed…
CATELYN
I don’t want to hear it, Petyr, I don’t. I just feel so stupid for even thinking -
PETYR [INTERRUPTING]
Of course, of course, it hurts to learn the truth, I know. But I only want to make this easier for you, to help you see what kind of the man this “Wild Wolf” really is and where the fault should rightfully lie.
CATELYN
You really shouldn’t call him that. I shouldn’t have either; I knew he didn’t like it.
PETYR
Stop that, please, even if only on my account. It breaks my heart to hear you blaming yourself like this.
CATELYN
I did give offense to his House…
PETYR
That shouldn’t matter to the man that truly deserves your love: the man that will never make you cry; that will never put his foolish pride before your happiness; the man that doesn’t see you as an obligation, as some kind of stepping-stone on the way to his prize of greater wealth and power, but the man that wants you – has always wanted you - because he knows that you are the prize.
PETYR takes a seat beside CATELYN on the edge of her bed, close enough that his shoulder touches hers.
PETYR [CONT’D]
Do you remember the day I first arrived at Riverrun?
CATELYN
I don’t think so…it feels like you’ve always been here.
PETYR
I’m hardly surprised. For a high-lords daughter it was just another idyllic day in an unbroken string of thousands just like it, but for me it was the beginning of everything. The guards didn’t know my father; why should they? He was just a petty lord of a miserable strip of land on the least of the Fingers. The took him for a common craftsmen, and sent us through the servant’s entrance. Your father was away on some business or other, so Maester Kym told me to run along and occupy myself until his return. I wandered about the halls for hours, chased from one room after another by your cooks, your chambermaids, your household guard. I ended up in the stables, a pitchfork pushed into my hands, shovelling horseshit until my palms were blistered and my clothes stained brown and black. It was your uncle the Blackfish that rescued me. I was vain enough to think he’d recognised my clothes were at least a little finer than those of a common stableboy, but I know now he simply spotted an unfamiliar face. He had me bathed and dressed, and brought me down to supper. That was the first time I saw you, sitting beside your father at the high table. I still remember the hollow feeling in the pit of my stomach, the sweat between my palms…the Blackfish must have sensed how nervous I was, because he leaned down close and whispered “It’s alright, lad: I don’t really belong here either.” I think that was the kindest thing anyone has ever said to me…and the cruellest.
CATELYN
Oh Petyr, I never knew any of that. If anything I’ve done ever made you feel –
PETYR [INTERRUPTING]
No, no, you mustn’t think that. You’re the one thing that has ever made me feel like I do belong here, made me feel that there’s something for me here.
CATELYN
Petyr, I don’t know that –
PETYR [INTERRUPTING]
Oh, but I do, ever since that very first day, but only now that I’m a man grown am I bold enough to reach out and take it.
PETYR leans in to kiss her. CATELYN pulls back and leaps to her feet.
CATELYN
What are you doing?
PETYR
You…you said he insulted you, that you told him you were going to appeal to your father…
CATELYN
We had a row, Petyr. I said some things I shouldn’t have, but we’re not breaking our betrothal over a few cross words.
PETER blinks, uncomprehending.
PETYR
I don’t want you to marry Brandon Stark.
CATELYN
I’m sorry if I ever gave you the wrong idea, Petyr, but…it doesn’t really matter what you want.
PETYR flinches back as though struck, a thousand daydreams of how this moment would play out shattering into pieces about his feet. Changing tack, he stands up, straight and proud, squaring his shoulders and jutting his jaw in a crude imitation of assertiveness.
PETYR
I forbid you to marry that man!
S.E: CAT laughs.
PETYR [CON’TD]
Don’t laugh at me! Don’t you dare laugh at me!
CATELYN
Oh, Petyr, I’m sorry, I don’t mean to, but really, you have to see -
PETYR turns and flees from the room. In his rush he barely registers LYSA’s arrival, barging past her and escaping down the hallway.
LYSA
Petyr!
What did you say to him?!
CATELYN
It’s nothing Lysa, just let him go.
LYSA
You shouldn’t play with Petyr like that!
CATELYN
And you shouldn’t play with him at all! Do you really think I don’t hear him sneaking into your chambers at night.
LYSA’s hand flattens against her chest, reflexively scandalised at the suggestion.
LYSA
You’ve always had a sordid little imagination. The feelings Petyr and I have for one another run far deeper than whatever grubby business you’re imagining.
CATELYN rolls her eyes and turns away dismissively, but her sister grabs her arm and spins her back around.
LYSA [CONT’D]
You can’t stand it can you?! You can’t stand that I have something with Petyr that you’ll never have with Brandon.
CATELYN
Don’t be absurd, Lysa.
LYSA
I won’t let you take him from me! Petyr’s mine, and you can’t have him!
CATELYN
Then go chase after him and offer him whatever comforts you care to. I’ve got more important things on my mind right now than some silly little boy and your petty jealousies!
LYSA
Of course you do. That’s all you ever have on your mind: what you want and how you can use others to get it. You go crying to father, or uncle Brynden, or poor Petyr, Petyr most of all…only now you’re not getting exactly what you want from Brandon so you come running back to where you know you can find it!
CATELYN
Lysa -
LYSA [INTERRUPTING]
Well you’re not ging to get it this time! Not from my Petyr, do you hear me?! You’re not going to use him ever again!
LYSA follows after PETYR in storming from the room. CATELYN sighs and sits down on her bed.
LYSA [O.S.]
Petyr?! Petyr?!
As CATELYN listens to her sister’s retreating footsteps, the gears of her mind begin to turn, a sly smile creeping at the corners of her lips.
4.7 INT: RED KEEP - DAY
GEROLD HIGHTOWER walks with the steady, measured step of authority along the corridors of the Red Keep, his white-plumed dress helmet tucked under one arm.
TYWIN
Lord Commander.
GEROLD turns to find TYWIN LANNISTER approaching.
GEROLD
My Lord Hand. I was just on my way to council. I had hoped we -
TYWIN [INTERRUPTING]
How dare you put my son’s life in jeopardy like that.
Taken aback at such precipitous hostility from a man renowned for his calculated reserve, GEROLD takes a second to recover his thoughts.
GEROLD
The sortie was under instruction to gather intelligence only, my lord. It was not my men that drew first steel, but the Brotherhood.
TYWIN
Jaime is still just a boy; he has no business in battle.
GEROLD
By all accounts “the boy” handled himself with the self-assurance and skill of a man twice his age.
TYWIN
He should never have been permitted the opportunity. His safety was your responsibility.
GEROLD
Ser Jaime made that decision for himself. And let us not forget, my lord, this was not the first time a son of Casterly Rock has rushed headlong into danger without my leave.
TYWIN glowers at GEROLD, dismissive of the allusion and disdainful of GEROLD’s efforts at mitigation.
TYWIN
The day you put my son and heir in harm’s way again is the day His Grace shall have a vacancy to fill in the ranks of his Kingsguard. Am I understood?
Lesser men have withered before the furnace of TWYIN LANNISTER’s wrath, but GEROLD HIGHTOWER is not a man easily intimidated.
GEROLD
Do not mistake me for one of your pitiable lickspittles, my lord Hand. I do not take threats lightly, even the empty ones. You know as well as I that the Kingsguard is a lifetime appointment.
TYWIN
My point precisely.
TYWIN leaves his steely glare fixed upon GEROLD a moment longer, then turns and continues on towards his chambers.
GEROLD
If you’re looking for a fight, my lord Hand, might I suggest you pick it with your old friend the king? It was his insistence that Jaime spend the day with the White Cloaks.
Even across the ten feet that separates them, GEROLD is certain he can hear TYWIN’s teeth grinding. The King’s Hand shows his back to GEROLD and begins up the steps towards his chambers. GEROLD permits himself a derisive half-smile, shifts his heavy steel helmet from one arm to the other, then follows after TYWIN.
4.8 SMALL COUNCIL CHAMBER, TOWER OF THE HAND - DAY
S.E: flapping wings, footsteps
PYCELLE
A raven arrived from the Citadel this morning, my lords. The conclave has met, considered reports from maesters all over the Seven Kingdoms…and declared that Spring is finally arrived.
TYWIN
Thank you, Grandmaester. Most welcome news, indeed.
VARYS looks askance at the contents of the birdcage PYCELLE chose with a passive-aggressive smirk to place directly before him.
VARYS
In Essos, we name a group of ravens an “unkindness”. Still, how conscientious of the “conclave” to deliver us their decision personally.
PYCELLE
A conclave of Grandmaesters rendered this verdict. The birds are purely ceremonial.
QARLTON
I believe our Master of Whispers was speaking in jest, Grandmaester.
VARYS smiles at PYCELLE in confirmation; PYCELLE mutters petulant curses under his breath.
TYWIN
Lord Chelsted, you have news of your own I believe?
QARLTON
I do, my lord Hand, though I fear it will not be so gladly met. It seems Lord Darklyn has once again failed to satisfy Duskendndale’s obligations to the crown’s treasury.
LUCERYS
Not this nonsense again.
PYCELLE
This makes, what, three months of arrears?
QARLTON
Four, my lord. It appears Lord Darklyn’s failure in paying his due taxes was no mere oversight after all, but rather a deliberate provocation. He seems set upon a royal charter of a piece with Dorne’s.
PYCELLE
Preposterous. Simply absurd.
LUCERYS
Darklyn cannot truly believe his glorified fishing village merits the same prerogative over import tariffs as Sunspear?
QARLTON
Lord Denys has been rather vocal in making his intentions known among the smallfolk, and it would appear they have rallied behind him in a pact of solidarity of some sort. Lord Denis has decreed that the people of Duskendale need not pay anything in taxes to him until he next pays taxes to the throne.
TYWIN
Which he will not do until the king grants him his charter.
QARLTON
Precisely, my lord Hand.
The chamber falls silent while TYWIN digests these tidings. PYCELLE, QARLTON, and LUCERYS side-eye one another, each man eager to be the first to speak but all three wary of committing an opinion before they know which way TYWIN’s judgment with fall. VARYS looks to each in turn, then decides an errant bolt will still come closer to the target than a bolt left unfired.
VARYS
Duskendale has been a true and stalwart friend of House Targaryen since the days of the Dance, my lord Hand. House Darklyn has fought and bled for our king: Lord Denys lost both sons and all three grandsons upon the Stepstones.
PYCELLE scowls, his umbrage at VARYS’ attempt to anticipate TYWIN’s verdict outweighing his caution against speaking out of turn.
PYCELLE
When the cur ceases to heed its master’s command, you do not spare the boot on account of the pup’s affection. The man’s own words condemn him as a traitor!
TYWIN considers the GRANDMAESTER closely, his expression inscrutable.
TYWIN
If one man refuses his obligations to the crown without consequences today, three more will test their fortune tomorrow. A fire can only spread once the first spark is permitted to take light.
PYCELLE turns a victorious smile towards VARYS.
TYWIN [CONT’D]
And yet…however misguided Darklyn’s transgressions may be, allowance must be granted for the tensions of the present moment. The winter months left many a lord with little occupation, and gnawing upon old grievances will have likely proved too tempting a distraction for men far more formidable than Denys Darklyn. This is not the time to test their loyalties by serving an overly heavy hand to one of their own.
It is VARYS’s turn to smile now, as PYCELLE’s own curdles upon his lips.
TYWIN [CONT’D]
Lord Denys is an old man, past fortunate to see another spring. The mind tends to weaken with age; one’s memory begins the fail. Perhaps it’s time we reminded Lord Denys what fate befalls those vassal houses that presume to reach above their stations. Dispatch a bard to Duskendale at once.
RHAEGAR
And what song shall this bard sing, I wonder?
The council leaps to its feet at the sight of PRINCE RHAEGAR standing in the doorway.
RHAEGAR [CONT’D]
My lords, please forgive my tardiness.
TYWIN
There is nothing to forgive, Your Grace. You are a prince, and princes may sleep as late as they wish.
RHAEGAR grins good-naturedly, unconsciously rubbing his thumb across his fingertips, still red and swollen from another night spent abroad with his harp.
RHAEGAR
I was actually sitting over in the Small Council chamber, until a helpful young man among your household guard told me the council was now meeting in the Tower of the Hand.
TYWIN
My apologies, Your Grace. Given your father’s absence, I saw little sense in dragging his counsellors to the far side of the Red Keep when my own chambers might serve just as well.
RHAEGAR
Far more efficient, I’m sure. And the gods know we could all use the exertion, could we not my Lords?
As RHAEGAR speaks, he walks around the table and places himself in the chair vacated by TYWIN. RHAEGAR gives no sign of having noticed the displacement, but the other members of the council watch in fascination for TYWIN’s next move. With only a minor hesitation so brief it might otherwise have gone without notice, TYWIN takes the Hand’s traditional seat to RHAEGAR’s left.
RHAEGAR [TOGETHER]
Lord Chelsted, you were saying -
TYWIN [TOGETHER]
Shall we move on to –
Apologies, Your Grace.
RHAEGAR
The fault was entirely mine. Please, continue.
TYWIN
Lord Velaryon, I understand you have news from the Arbor?
LUCERYS
Regrettably so, my Lord Hand. I have received word from Lord Redwyne that for several weeks now a small contingent of pirate ships has been hassling the shipping lanes between our two ports.
PYCELLE
The Stepstones have provided rich hunting grounds to pirates for centuries, and will continue to do so until the Free Cities acknowledge their responsibility for its security.
LUCERYS
A day for which we all wait with baited breath, I’m sure, but I fear these most recent attacks came far earlier in the fleet’s passage, along the southern coast of Dorne.
RHAEGAR
There must be some mistake: the southern coast of Dorne is four-hundred leagues of sheer cliff-face, beset by whirlpools and half-submerged shoals, without safe landing for even the boldest of captains.
LUCERYS
I know it well, Your Grace, but clearly not so well as these pirates. Somehow, they have been able to find sufficient harbour to the north of our lanes.
QARLTON
Do we know where these pirates came from? What colours do they fly?
VELARYON
Black and yellow, pink and blue, green and white…reports are confused as yet. There were those among the crews of those ships that escaped the attack that swear the pirates could be heard speaking the Common Tongue.
RHAEGAR
And Lord Redwyne is sufficiently distressed by these pirates to petition the crown for assistance?
LUCERYS
He is, Your Grace.
RHAEGAR
And as Master of Ships, what is your opinion on the reasonableness of Lord Redwyne’s request?
LUCERYS
Half the wine this city drinks is Dornish Red, Your Grace, but the other half is Arbor Gold. I’d hate to imagine how much worse this winter might have been without Lord Redwyne’s exports to keep the people’s spirits from sputtering out entirely. It is in the crown’s interest as much as it is the Arbor’s to ensure the integrity of our trade routes.
LUCERYS glances at TYWIN, then forges ahead.
LUCERYS [CONT’D]
I would gladly captain an escort to ensure the next transport arrives to King’s Landing unmolested. Give me leave to assemble my crews and ready my ships, and we can be under sail the morning after next.
RHAEGAR
I do not welcome the added expense to the treasury, but the cost pales in comparison beside the potential loss of import tariffs should Lord Redwyne seek safer ports further afield.
TYWIN
Lord Lucerys: the Redwyne fleet is second only to the Iron Fleet in size, is it not?
LUCERYS
It is.
TYWIN
Surely then the Arbor has the means of settling this matter themselves, without the crown’s assistance?
LUCERYS
If I may, my lord hand, it is precisely a consequence of the peace your astute management has engendered about the realm that the Redwyne fleet is no longer equipped as a martial force. It has been twenty years since the Ironborn foreswore their raids upon the Seven Kingdoms, and Lord Redwyne has used that security to transform his fleet into an almost entirely merchant endeavour. The few warships remaining are retained close to port for the defence of the Arbor.
TYWIN
If Lord Redwyne has spent these past twenty years pocketing his profits rather than reinvesting responsibly to ensure his fleet safe passage, I do not see why it should fall to the crown to assume the necessary expenditure. Wouldn’t you agree, my lords?
PYCELLE
Pirates are a notoriously craven breed. One taste of Lord Redwyne’s wrath will prove sufficient to send these contemptible creatures scurrying for their boltholes, I have no doubt.
QARLTON
We cannot commit ourselves to the practice of launching the royal fleet on the whim and fancy of every lord with a pirate problem, no more than we can muster the army to run down every bandit robbing purses along the Kingsroad.
RHAEGAR studies each man, then turns expectantly to VARYS. The eunuch does what the others would not and meets the prince’s eyes, but only for a moment, and after the quickest of glances in TYWIN’s direction he shakes his head in resignation.
VARYS
With all due respect to our friends from the Arbor, I wonder if perhaps Lord Redwyne has overstated the danger at hand somewhat. It seems beyond curious that a mere band of brigands should risk inciting the ire and might of the Iron Throne, not least for so unremarkable a plunder as barrels of fermented fruit. Even a wild beast knows better than to attack quarry by which it is so clearly outmatched.
LUCERYS
You cannot be suggesting Lord Redwyne is lying? To what possible end would he deceive this counsel by conjuring phantoms from the sea?
VARYS
I suggest only that the crown would be best served by keeping itself apart from the matter until events have progressed into clearer focus.
All eyes turn to RHAEGAR. He sits in silence, turning the matter over in his mind.
RHAEGAR
You make a strong argument, my lords, yet I confess myself unconvinced.
TYWIN
Consensus is a rare thing, Your Grace, even among men that share the common cause of serving the interests of the realm, and yet this council is near-unanimous in its verdict on this matter. What use the collective wisdom and experience gathered about this table if rare consensus is left unheeded?
RHAEGAR considers a moment longer, then sighs and smiles apologetically at the Master of Ships.
RHAEGAR
I fear we find ourselves outnumbered, Lord Lucerys. Send word to Lord Redwyne that no martial aid shall be forthcoming.
LUCERYS
It need not be a large sortie, Your Grace.
RHAEGAR
You may assure Lord Redwyne of our readiness to revisit his request at a later date, should the situation fail to resolve itself.
LUCERYS
Perhaps even one ship, properly equipped, might prove -
TYWIN [INTERRUPTING]
His Grace has given you his decision, Lord Lucerys. The matter is closed.
LUCERYS looks for a moment as though he’s prepared to push his cause uphill, but finding himself entirely without support at table he reluctantly cedes the field.
LUCERYS
As you say, my lord Hand. Forgive me, Your Grace.
4.9 INT: GREAT HALL, STORM’S END – MORNING
The last of the funeral party amble down the shallow hill towards Storm’s End, leaving ROBERT and NED alone beside the freshly-filled graves of Lord and Lady Baratheon.
ROBERT
All that ceremony over a pair of oil paintings. What a farce.
NED
I suppose the septon felt we had to bury something.
ROBERT
I’d have been better served sending to the Iron Islands for a priest of the Drowned God.
NED nods at the stragglers entering through the castle’s gates. RENLY clutches to SELYSE’s skirts while STANNIS accepts the condolences of the visiting lords as they pass.
NED
We’d better head down. You’ll need to show your face, at least.
ROBERT
Fine, but then you and me are riding to the tavern and giving my parents a proper send off.
NED
Have you spoken with Stannis yet?
ROBERT
I’m certain we’ll run into one another sooner or later. It’s not that big a castle.
NED
Robert –
ROBERT
Maegor’s teats, Ned, I’ll talk to my brother when I’m good and ready. Stop nibbling at me like a nagging wife.
NED
Speaking of which…
NED produces a scroll from his cloak, the wax seal imprinted with the head of a direwolf.
NED [CONT’D]
I’m not sure if this is the proper time to do this, but it feels wrong to keep it from you.
It arrived this morning.
ROBERT stares at the scroll with an expression that betrays his conflicted feelings, as though the scroll were a venomous snake plated in solid gold.
NED [CONT’D]
The words are typically written on the inside, Robert.
ROBERT
I can’t. What if it’s bad news?
NED
Then I made the right decision giving it to you now. However bad, it’s not going to ruin an otherwise pleasant day.
ROBERT takes the scroll and carefully breaks the seal.
NED
Wait.
ROBERT
What is it? What’s the matter?
NED
Nothing’s the matter. It’s just so rare to see your confidence shaken, I’d like to savour the sight for a moment.
Scowling at his smirking friend, ROBERT unfurls the parchment. NED watches ROBERT’s face as he reads Lord RICKARD’s words.
ROBERT
Lyanna and I are to be married.
I’m getting married, Ned!
ROBERT lifts NED off the ground in a crushing bearhug and dances a little jig, swinging his friend about as though he were as light as a child’s doll.
Setting NED down on his feet, ROBERT drops two enormous paws upon his shoulders and looks into his face with an expression of grave and sudden import.
ROBERT [CONT’D]
We’re to be brothers, Ned. Real brothers, bonded by law.
NED squeezes ROBERT’s arm, touched to see his friend’s giddy delight. So giddy, in fact, that he entirely fails to notice the momentary pall of unease that passes over NED’s smile like a storm cloud across the midday sun.
4.10 INT: CRYPTS OF WINTERFELL – DAY
In the crypts beneath Winterfell, RICKARD STARK stands before the final resting place of his father, studying his likeness carved in stone.
RICKARD
I need to know I'm doing the right thing. We need to be stronger if we're going to face what's coming...
RICKARD shifts his torch to the right, illuminating the statue of Torrhen Stark, the King Who Knelt.
RICKARD [CONT’D]
Perhaps I'd be better asking him. He knew what it meant to –
WALYS
My lord?
RICKARD turns to discover MAESTER WALYS standing awkwardly at the edge of the torchlight. RICKARD reads his expression and sighs.
RICKARD
Again?
WALYS
Young Harwin says she took her palfrey and rode south this morning.
The Lord of Winterfell takes a last, lingering look at his forebears and walks with purpose towards WALYS and the entrance to the crypts.
RICKARD
Have Hullen saddle the horses.
4.11 INT: RED KEEP - DAY
S.E: footsteps; sniffling.
Rounding the corner of the open-air catwalk above the Red Keep’s inner courtyard, RHAEGAR and BARRISTAN discover CERSEI sitting on a stone bench set against the castle wall. The two men look at one another, the sight of the sniffling young woman made only more confounding by the enormous playing harp set beside her. RHAEGAR holds up a hand for BARRISTAN to remain where he is, and the Kingsguard watches with a cynical smile as his prince cautiously approaches CERSEI.
RHAEGAR
My lady?
CERSEI leaps to her feet as though disturbed from a dream.
CERSEI
Your Grace!
She turns away, bringing her hands up to cover her tears.
CERSEI [CONT’D]
Forgive me, I did not mean for anyone to see me like this.
RHAEGAR
There’s nothing to forgive, my lady, but, if I may be so bold, whatever in the world has caused you such upset?
CERSEI turns back, giving RHAEGAR a weak smile.
CERSEI
It’s silly, really.
RHAEGAR takes her gently by the elbow and draws her back to the bench, taking up the harp to make room for himself beside her.
RHAEGAR
Silly or not, it must be important to you, or it would not have brought you to tears.
CERSEI
It’s my father. It’s his name day a little over a moon’s turn from now, and he has asked me to play that thing at the celebrations.
RHAEGAR
I had no idea you played, and such a beautiful instrument too. But why should this cause you such distress?
CERSEI
With my father so long away from the Rock, I fell into the habit of neglecting my practice. All these years, I’ve managed to convince him to the contrary, but now he’s going to discover the truth, and in front of the entire court.
A wave of fresh tears spills over CERSEI’s fulsome lashes. She wipes at them with the green brocade of her sleeve. RHAEGAR reaches into his pocket and hands her a red silken handkerchief with golden stitching. CERSEI dabs at her cheeks and hands him back the handkerchief, but RHAEGAR demurs.
RHAEGAR
Please, you hold on to it.
CERSEI
When I think about what my father might do when I embarrass him like that…He’s going to banish me back to Casterly Rock, I just know it.
RHAEGAR
Perhaps I could speak with Lord Tywin; if I explained the situation…
CERSEI
You’re kind to offer, Your Grace. If only I knew a harpist, someone that could tutor me and improve my playing before father’s name day…
CERSEI hangs her head, despondent, but takes a sly peek through the veil of her long golden hair to read RHAEGAR’s reaction.
RHAEGAR
As it happens…I actually have a little training at the harp myself.
CERSEI sits upright, her eyes wide with hopeful surprise.
CERSEI
You do?!
RHAEGAR
Since I was a child. My mother was always adamant that the arts receive equal accommodation in my education. But then I’ve never had occasion to be a teacher myself, and I don’t really think -
CERSEI [INTERRUPTING]
I’m sure you’d be a wonderful teacher!
In her excitement, CERSEI grabs RHAEGAR’s arm in both hands where it rests upon his thigh.
CERSEI [CONT’D]
And I’d be the very best student, I swear it! I’ll hang on your every word, I’ll practice as many hours as you tell me…
RHAEGAR
As flattered as I am by your enthusiasm, my lady, my time is often not my own. I have a great many -
CERSEI [INTERRUPTING]
We can work entirely to your liking: it doesn’t matter if it’s very first thing in the morning or very last thing at night – whenever you want me, I’ll be there. I’ll be at your beck and call, I promise! Oh please, Your Grace! Please say you’ll come to my rescue!
RHAEGAR looks into CERSEI’s wide, imploring eyes of entrancing green, the frame of her golden locks acting like a horse’s blinkers, narrowing the prince’s world down to CERSEI’s impassioned, tearful face tilted back to gaze up solicitously into his own.
RHAEGAR
Of course. It would be my pleasure.
CERSEI throws her arms around RHAEGAR’s neck and holds herself close to his chest.
CERSEI
Thank you, thank you, thank you! Oh, my prince, you don’t know what this means to me!
RHAEGAR keeps his hands firmly at his side, meeting BARRISTAN’s gaze over CERSEI’s shoulder. The Kingsguard discretely turns his back, chuckling to himself at his prince’s evident discomfort.
4.12 INT: HARLAN GRANDISON’S CELL, WHITE SWORD TOWER - DAY
In a small and spartan sleeping cell in the White Sword Tower, SER HARLAN GRANDISON lies upon his narrow bed, a heavy wrapping of bandages about his head. GEROLD sits at his bedside, the White Book open in his lap.
S.E: pages turn.
GEROLD
“Ser Balon Belmore”. The nineteen-hour knight, they called him. Ser Paxter killed on the Stepstones on the first day, Old King Jaehaerys names Belmore his replacement on the second day, Maelys shoves a sword through his middle on the third. When the king wrapped the cloak about Ser Gwayne’s shoulders you could still see the gash in the fabric left by Maelys’ blade. A cleaner end than his brother Boros, at least. They say Maelys twisted his head from his shoulders with his bare hands, that white-plumed great-helm of his still attached.
S.E: pages turn.
GEROLD [CONT’D]
“Ser Mallory Shett”: the most inept jouster ever to wear a White Cloak, by my reckoning. Shett by name, shett by nature, Old Eustace Hogg used to say, until Ser Mallory birthed a coil of rope on Ser Eustace’s pillow after a belly-full of Dornish peppers.
“Ser Harry Wendwater”. Gods, I haven’t thought about him in years. Was he the Harry with the whiskers, or was that Harry Condon?
Too many names. Too many years.
“Duncan the Tall. Ser Duncan served twenty-three years in the Kingsguard, including nine as Lord Commander, raised to that honour by His Grace Aegon Targaryen, fifth of his name.”
S.E. Turning page.
GEROLD [CONT’D]
“Died by wildfire in the tragedy at Summerhall in the two-hundredth-and-fifty-ninth year after the conquest.” I wrote that myself the day Aerys named me Lord Commander.
He runs a finger over the page, the ink of these last lines blotted and smudged.
GEROLD [CONT’D]
You and I are the last survivors of Summerhall still serving. We were the youngest men in White Cloaks that day, save for Barristan, and now we’re older than any of our brothers ever lived to be. More than twenty years later and I can still remember every detail. Do you know what stuck with me the most? I know for you it was the screams. I lost count of how many times I found you wandering the tower, nightmares of those screams dogging your heels. For me, it was the smell.
It didn’t matter how many times I washed my whites, or how hard I scrubbed my armour…I would bathe three times a day for weeks, rubbing at my skin with a scouring brush until it was red and bloody, and somehow I still couldn’t seem to shake that smell. I ended up burning my whites and scrapping my armour, but short of flaying you can’t escape the skin you’re in. It was the better part of a year before I could walk by the kitchens again without feeling my stomach churn.
GEROLD turns to HARLAN’s page and reluctantly takes up his quill, dipping it in a pot of ink on HARLAN’s nightstand.
GEROLD [CONT’D]
There was a time I actually liked writing in this thing. It felt like an honour. But now, I can’t remember the last time I put quill to parchment for anything other than a passing. Another brother, dead and gone.
S.E: quill scratching on paper.
GEROLD [CONT’D]
I’m going to close this book now, Harlan, and I don’t mean to open it again for a very long time. Do you hear me?
GEROLD begins to do so, but is interrupted by JAIME’s arrival in the doorway.
JAIME
Forgive me, Lord Commander, I did not mean to intrude.
GEROLD
Come in, lad. I’ve no doubt Harlan will be glad of another voice besides my own.
GEROLD pulls up a second chair and JAIME sits.
JAIME
Can he hear us?
GEROLD [CONT’D]
Pycelle says not, but I can’t see how it can do any harm to hold to the contrary.
JAIME nods at the White Book, still open on GEROLD’s lap.
JAIME
Is that…?
GEROLD
The most important book nobody has ever read. Every child of letters knows the Seven-Pointed Star front to back, but there’s not a soul in the Seven Kingdoms that could name more than a couple dozen of these knights, let alone the deeds that fill their pages.
JAIME
You could send it to the Citadel, have the maesters make copies?
GEROLD smiles to himself.
GEROLD
Old King Jahaerys used to say the Seven Kingdoms would never be united so long as we were one people separated by a common history.
JAIME
I’m not sure I follow.
GEROLD
There are only three things in this world that truly belong to a Kingsguard: his whites, his name, and a page in that book. Even our honour we share with our king.
GEROLD’s expression sours for half-a-heartbeat, as though he’s just sampled something distasteful to his palette. He considers for a moment, then offers the White Book to JAIME.
GEROLD [CONT’D]
Every house in every kingdom claims a little bit of this country’s history for their own. But this is just for us.
JAIME takes the book and holds it reverently across his lap. He turns the page, as delicately as a father cradling his newborn son.
JAIME
But all the great deeds recounted on these pages…there must be a hundred knights here that deserve to have their names immortalised in song.
GEROLD
You’re still a young man, with a young man’s notion of service. True service does not allow for personal glory.
JAIME
Is that why you don’t compete in tourney?
GEROLD
I don’t compete in tourney because I could never balance a lance to save my life. But yes, that too.
S.E: turning pages.
JAIME
Yet you allow Ser Arthur and Ser Barristan to compete?
GEROLD notices with wry amusement that JAIME has turned with haste to the page dedicated to SER ARTHUR.
GEROLD
The world has never known two finer knights than Ser Arthur and Ser Barristan, and we should count our blessings every day that they both came along in our lifetime. But the commonfolk knew their names long before they took their vows, and it’s hard for a man to ever be entirely satisfied with watered-down wine after drinking his fill on the heady vintage of popular acclaim.
JAIME
You make it sound as though they’re slaves to their own glory, yet you still name them the finest Kingsguard you’ve ever known.
GEROLD
The finest knights. The Kingsguard is something else entirely.
JAIME
I suppose I never really considered the distinction.
GEROLD
It’s not an easy distinction to understand, but then nothing ever is, especially when you’re talking about people. Every “yes” should always be followed by an “if”, and every “no” by a “but”. Anyone that tries to convince you otherwise is only telling half the story.
JAIME
Then who is the finest Kingsguard you know?
GEROLD nods at HARLAN.
GEROLD
You’re looking at him.
S.E turning pages
JAIME
“Ser Harlan Grandison. Named to the Kingsguard by King Aegon Targaryen, fifth of his name, in the seventh year of his reign. Served ably in the War of the Ninepenny Kings. Took a wound fighting beside his brothers against the Kingswood Bandits.”
GEROLD
I’ll not insult the name by calling them a brotherhood.
JAIME turns the page, but finds it blank.
JAIME
That’s all there is?
GEROLD
Forty years of service to three different kings. Day in and day out since he was little older than you are now, he stood his post, kept his king’s secrets, and never asked for anything in return but the honour of wearing a white cloak. That’s what makes him the very best of us.
JAIME
And the worst?
GEROLD thumbs through the White Book, then prods a finger at the page.
S.E: pages turning.
JAIME [CONT’D]
Ser Criston Cole.
GEROLD
The Kingmaker.
JAIME
He may have overstepped his proper duty, I know, but those were extraordinary times. He only did what he thought was right, what he thought his vows demanded.
GEROLD
I don’t care what his reasons were: once you intervene in the affairs of the realm to the point you earn yourself an epithet like that, you’ve failed as a brother of the Kingsguard.
JAIME looks at GEROLD sceptically.
JAIME
You’ve never been tempted to take advantage of your influence? Not once, in all the years you’ve been Lord Commander?
GEROLD considers JAIME for what feels an age. He sighs and takes a final look at HARLAN’s entry.
GEROLD
That’s a story for a different day, young ser.
S.E: book closing.
S.E: knock at the door.
GEROLD and JAIME turn to find LEWYN standing on the threshold.
LEWYN
The brothers are ready for your briefing, Lord Commander.
GEROLD stands and joins LEWYN at the door; JAIME remains seated.
JAIME
I’d like to sit with Ser Harlan a while longer, if you’d allow me?
GEROLD smiles and nods. He and LEWYN moves to depart, but the Dornishman checks back and relieves JAIME of the White Book, tucking it possessively under one arm.
S.E: door closing
GEROLD
You know you don’t have to be a horse’s arse all your life, don’t you Lewyn?
LEWYN
I’m a prince, Gerold. It’s my prerogative to be a horse’s arse.
GEROLD
Not when you’re wearing your whites, you’re not. The lad’s proved his worth, wouldn’t you say?
LEWYN
The lad’s a Lannister; I’ll always look at him sideways whatever colour I’m wearing, and you’d be wise to do the same.
GEROLD
Funny, I remember more than one of our brothers saying something similar about you not so long ago.
LEWYN
All the more reason, then. It’s his turn to learn that shit rolls downhill in this world, no matter how famous your family’s name.
4.13 INT: NORTHERN TAVERN – EARLY EVENING
S.E: door opening.
RICKARD stands in the doorway of the tavern waiting for his eyes to adjust to the gloom, flanked on his right by master-at-arms RODRIK CASSEL. RICKARD nods in greeting to the innkeep and receives a terse nod in return.
RICKARD
Patrik.
PATRIK
M’lord.
RICKARD
I’m not here for trouble. Just my daughter.
PATRIK
In the back.
The innkeep points a finger at RODRIK.
PATRICK [CONT’D]
But he stays outside.
RICKARD considers a moment then gestures for RODRICK to comply. The bewhiskered knight glares coldly at PATRICK, then exits.
S.E: footsteps.
RICKARD places two silver coins on the bar.
RICKARD
For your trouble.
PATRIK
Your coin’s no good here.
RICKARD
But you’ll take my daughters all the same.
PATRIK
I don’t believe in punishing children for the wrongs their fathers do me.
RICKARD decides to leave well enough alone, and passes through to the back room of the inn. LYANNA sits with three companions at a table in the far corner, a tankard of ale in hand.
S.E: footsteps.
Spying RICKARD’s approach, LYANNA’s friends break off their conversation and look to LYANNA for her lead. She hesitates, then nods in answer and they make a hurried exit.
RICKARD
Do you have any idea how many taverns Ser Rodrik and I have searched for you? I was beginning to think you’d run away to join the Golden Company, the way you always threatened when you were little.
RICKARD smiles, charmed at the memory.
RICKARD [CONT’D]
Do you recall when you chased off your second Septa and I forbade you from riding for three months? You couldn’t have been more than ten or eleven, but you somehow–
LYANNA [INTERRUPTING]
If that’s your approach then you should have found me sooner. I drank through nostalgic four pints ago.
RICKARD nods at the tankard in LYANNA’s hand.
RICKARD
And that one?
LYANNA
Bitter, appropriately enough.
Pulling out a stool across from his daughter, RICKARD takes up an abandoned tankard and takes a long drink.
RICKARD
I was worried about you.
LYANNA
I can only imagine. What would Lord Robert have to say should some harm come to his bride before the sale could be completed?
RICKARD
I did not sell you, Lyanna.
LYANNA
No gold exchanged hands perhaps, but a transaction took place all the same. An exchange of goods: Robert gets me, and you get, what? A wealthy son-in-law? Trade connections in the South?
RICKARD
Have you ever known me to covet wealth? Or give more than a passing thought to anything or anyone below the Neck?
LYANNA
Then tell me why.
RICKARD
However I explain it, you’re not going to understand.
LYANNA
You’re right: I don’t understand. I don’t understand how you could know me so little as to think I can’t decide what’s best for myself? I don’t understand how it’s possible that I’ve lived my whole life around you and you still know me no better than a stranger?
How many times did I refuse to play at dolls and run off to wrestle and fight in the woods with the boys? How many times did I tear my dresses or stain them with mud until you finally grew tired of the Septa’s complaints and just let me wear my riding leathers instead?
RICKARD
You never did like being treated differently from the boys. I sometimes wonder if your mother had been around-
LYANNA [INTERRUPTING]
It was never about wanting to be like the boys, or not wanting to be like the girls. It was about wanting to be me. That’s all I’ve ever wanted: the freedom to be who I want to be.
Do you remember the last time we were both here? I must have been twelve, I think; it was Ned’s last name day before you sent you him to the Eyrie. You held a banquet at Winterfell in celebration, and I wanted a cup of wine so I could toast to him with all the grown-ups. But you refused. I begged, I pleaded, I threatened, I bargained, but you wouldn’t budge. So I snuck away from the hall, saddled my horse, and rode all the way here. I told the innkeep’s son I’d see him locked up in Winterfell’s dungeon if he didn’t let me drink, and for some reason he believed I had the power to do that, so all night he smuggled tankards of ale to me upstairs. I was so drunk when you came to find me. I remember throwing up all over your back when we were riding home. I’m not proud of the way I behaved that night. It was childish, it was petulant, and it was a mistake. But it was my mistake. It just breaks my heart to know that I was the only one that learned something from it.
RICKARD takes another drink. He wipes his mouth on the back of his sleeve and studies the dregs at the bottom of his cup.
RICKARD [CONT’D]
You can’t understand, Lyanna, because you have no children of your own.
LYANNA
What does that have to do with any of this?
RICKARD
Because the day the Maester puts your child in your arms for the first time, this defenceless little life that’s completely dependent on you to feed it, to love it, to keep it safe from harm…that’s the day you’ll learn what it truly means to be afraid. And that’s the day you’ll understand.
LYANNA
Afraid of what?
RICKARD
Anything that might do your child harm. Which is to say: everything.
LYANNA
All my life, I’ve never once seen you afraid.
RICKARD
Then I’ve at least done one thing right.
LYANNA’s studies her father silently for a moment, chewing at her bottom lip. Her face softens, and she reaches out a hand and places it upon his own.
LYANNA
You’ve done a lot of things right.
RICKARD
Nothing your mother wouldn’t have done better.
LYANNA
That’s not true. Except maybe when I got my moonblood for the first time…
RICKARD
I’ve apologised for that. I just wasn’t expecting…
[talking over one another]
LYANNA
I mean, how can a man that’s been to war get weak-kneed at the sight of a blood-stained dress…
RICKARD
I didn’t get weak-kneed –
LYANNA
You turned white as snow and had to sit down-
RICKARD
I was just a little light-headed; I thought I did rather well under the circumstances.
LYANNA smiles at her father’s discomfort, both past and present. RICKARD returns the smile and squeezes his daughter’s hand.
RICKARD
I wish she was here now, to help you through this. I wish you could have known her.
LYANNA
You’ve told me so many stories, I’ve never felt like I didn’t.
RICKARD
The truth is, Lyanna, I’ve been terrified every minute of every day since Brandon first came into this world, and it only got worse when you and your brothers came along.
LYANNA is mortified to realise her father is on the verge of tears. She feels her own composure beginning to falter at the sight of him suddenly so vulnerable.
RICKARD [CONT’D]
I remember the night of Brandon’s name day banquet all too well. Do you see the innkeep’s son here now? The one who gave you the ale that night?
LYANNA looks about. She catches the innkeep’s eye, but he looks quickly away again. She shakes her head.
LYANNA
No?
RICKARD
When I found you here, you were passed out on the bed in one of the rooms the inkeep let out to travellers. The inkeep’s son had one hand up your skirts, and the other down his breeches. If Rodrik had not been there to drag me away, I believe I wouldn’t have stopped beating him until I felt his skull cave in beneath my fists.
LYANNA
You didn’t…
RICKARD
Kill him? No. I would have. Then, or the next day, or whenever I got the opportunity. So I had Ser Rodrik arrange passage for him across the Narrow Sea and promise never to let slip which port the ship was sailing to, no matter how hard I pressed.
LYANNA sits back in her chair, her eyes drifting to the stairs as she endeavours to reconcile her father’s revelation with her own recollection of that night. Across the table, RICKARD winces at the consequences of his words wrought plain upon his daughter’s pained expression.
LYANNA
You never told me any of that.
RICKARD
Nor ever planned to. Because you’re wrong to think I didn’t learn something that night. When I saw you lying on that bed, utterly helpless…in that moment I learned the most important lesson of my life: no matter how hard you fight, you cannot keep your children safe from the world, it will always find a way to reach them. All you can do is fight your damndest to make that world a safer place for your children. So that’s exactly what I’ve been doing, and for a time I even held my own. But that time has long since passed. Because Winter is coming, and I’m not strong enough to fight alone anymore.
LYANNA
Look outside, father: spring is almost here. Winter has come and gone.
RICKARD
There’s always another winter, Lyanna. We only made it through this one because the Dornish had spare grain enough to sell. Next time we may not be so fortunate. I need to make us better prepared, Lyanna. And to do that I need alliances of surer bond than my coin can buy. I need influence of greater reach than my lordship can command. But what I need most of all, what I need more than anything…is for my daughter to trust me. You don’t have to understand me, you don’t have to forgive me, you don’t even need to love me…just so long as you trust me. Do you think you can do that?
LYANNA looks into her father’s earnest, imploring face for the longest moment of her life.
LYANNA
Does it really have to be an either or?
RICKARD smiles sadly at his daughter’s gallows humour. He sits back in his chair and sighs wearily.
RICKARD
That’s not a “yes.”
LYANNA
It’s not a “no”.
RICKARD [SIGHING]
Then it’s good enough for now, I suppose.
OUTRO.