5.1 EXT: WALLS OF THE RED KEEP – DAY

CERSEI watches with satisfaction as a craftsman fits an enormous scorpion to the battlements of the Red Keep. The craftsman finished, EURON shoves him aside and eagerly loads a five-foot steel bolt and settles a particularly fearsome looking cloud in his sights. He pulls the trigger and the mechanism slams home; the bolt rockets up and out over King’s Landing and disappears into the distance.

EURON [CACKLING WILDLY]

EURON’s eyes sparkle with childish glee as he collects another bolt. CERSEI holds up a hand to stop him when she spots QYBURN approaching with a scroll in hand.

QYBURN

Your Grace, a raven has just arrived…from our friend in the north.

For a second, CERSEI looks uncertain, as though she isn’t sure she wants to hear what’s about to come. Finally, Cersei takes the scroll and reads its contents. 

CERSEI

Gone? Gone where?

QYBURN

Perhaps we should wait, and trust in the Night King and his army to do our work for us?

CERSEI

No. I paid for four, and I expect my money’s worth. Tell him the other two had better be worth the coin. Someone important. Someone they’ll miss.

QYBURN

Very good, Your Grace.

CERSEI

And?

QYBURN

Very good, Your Grace.

CERSEI

I want to know as soon as it’s done.

QYBURN

Of course, Your Grace.

EURON

You women do enjoy your little intrigues, don’t you?

CERSEI

While you men know nothing but brute force.

QYBURN

And only a Queen appreciates the advantage of utilising both simultaneously.

CERSEI inclines her head in appreciation. QYBURN bows and departs.

EURON

I don’t like that one. He reminds me of the rats you find scurrying about the hold on a long voyage. We should catch him in a sack and throw him in the sea.

CERSEI

He’s loyal. Loyalty is more precious than gold, these days.

EURON

He’s loyal because you’ve given him an easy life: you feed him, you clothe him, you let him play with his dead things down in the dungeons. 

CERSEI

People are, on occasion, motivated by things other than their own immediate self-interest. I know that’s difficult for a mercenary like you to comprehend.

EURON

Mercenary? Not I. Even mercenaries live by a code, and a man is never truly free so long as he is bound by a set of rules, even if they’re his own.  Right before I threw my brother Balon to his death, I told him: “I am the storm”. A storm has no pattern to predict, no consistency to depend upon. A storm can’t be intimidated, can’t be bargained with…

EURON places a hand on CERSEI’s stomach.

EURON [CONT’D]

…can never be tamed.

CERSEI

You needn’t worry: I don’t expect you to answer his cries in the middle of the night or sing him lullabies when he won’t sleep. Robert certainly never did any of that.

EURON

What about the Kingslayer? Was he not a doting…uncle?

CERSEI pretends as though she didn’t hear EURON’s taunt.

CERSEI

I only expect one thing from you: to protect our son’s birthright.

EURON

For our son to be a prince, his father must be a king.

CERSEI

Not the most elaborate proposal of marriage I’ve ever received, though perhaps the most romantic, sad as that is.

EURON

Ah yes, the great Tywin Lannister, master manipulator.

CERSEI

My father accomplished more in one lifetime than most men could in a thousand.

EURON

I meant no disrespect. From everything I’ve heard, I think he and I would have got along splendidly.

CERSEI

What could possibly have given you that idea?

EURON cups CERSEI’s cheek in his hand.

EURON

He understood that all relationships are transactional, and to get what you want in this life you need capital to trade with.

EURON runs his hand down to CERSEI’s breast.

EURON [CONT’D]

And he understood that capital can take many forms.

EURON’s hand keeps going, finally returning to CERSEI’s stomach.

EURON [CONT’D]

I’m father to a prince. Consort to a queen. It’s only right I be made a king.

CERSEI [SPITEFULLY AMUSED]

It really did prick your ego, didn’t it? When that farmer didn’t know you? You act as though you don’t care about anything, but I know the kind of man you really are, and I know it well. The mighty kraken, wounded by the opinion of the sheep.

EURON’s hand shoots up, cupped and ready to wrap around CERSEI’s throat, but he stops himself at the last possible second. His hand hovers in the air, inches from her skin. CERSEI meets his death-stare, defiant. She places her hands on her stomach, leads EURON’s eyes down with her own. EURON considers the sight for a long minute, then steps back.

EURON

When my fleet arrives, I expect to greet your new army with a crown upon my head.

EURON kisses CERSEI’s forehead then walks past her towards the steps of the battlements. He stops, furrows his brow as though a realisation has just dawned.

EURON [CONT’D]

Now I hear myself say it out loud, I wonder if perhaps I am a mercenary after all?

S.E: Euron’s insouciant steps descending the battlements.

INTRO

5.2 EXT: THE SKIES OVER WESTEROS – MORNING

JON rides Rhaegal low over the snow-covered ground somewhere above the Land of Always Winter. Looking to his left, he can just about see DAENERYS on Drogon. DAENERYS surveys the land rushing away beneath Drogon’s wings. The landscape is utterly without feature: mountains upon mountains, a vast white canvas stretching away in every direction. Nothing grows here, nothing lives. DAENERYS pulls her furs tight against the icy air biting at her skin and leans flat against Drogon, welcoming the heat that radiates through his leathery hide.

5.3 INT: WINTERFELL’S GREAT HALL – WATER BARRELS – NIGHT

Every table in the Great Hall is packed with soldiers dressed for battle, excepting only their armour. Food is served from the Lord’s table, diners queuing up with their plates and holding them out for serving girls to pile high with bread and a variety of meats. The food is simple, unadorned fare, but there’s more than enough for every man to fill his belly three times over.

DAVOS, TORMUND, PODRICK, and ED queue at the barrels of water, their tankards in hand. TORMUND fills his cup, turns up his lip in disgust.

TORMUND

Water?! How’s a man supposed to get drunk on water?

PODRICK

They’d probably prefe you don’t get drunk at all before a battle.

TORMUND

That’s when a man needs to be drunk the most.

ED’s turn arrives, but he sees LYANNA MORMONT and a pair of her guard approach. ED backs away, extends a hand towards the barrels in invitation.

ED

Apologies, m’lady.

LYANNA

Your courtesy is appreciated, but unnecessary. Tonight, I’m just a soldier, like everyone else here.

TORMUND [SNORTS DERISIVELY]

Soldier.

LYANNA

Does the notion of a woman in battle amuse you?

TORMUND

Some of the fiercest warriors I’ve ever known were women. But I have salted beef in my pockets older than you. What do you know about battle?

MORMONT GUARD

You’re addressing Lady Lyanna of House Mormont, daughter of Maege Mormont, Lady of Bear Island.

TORMUND

And that means you have to do whatever this little girl tells you to do? Beyond the Wall, it’s strength we follow.

LYANNA

And how did that work out for you?

PODRICK can’t stop a small chuckle escaping his lips. TORMUND glares at him, but LYANNA actually gives PODRICK an appreciative smile. DAVOS hastily steps in and puts an arm around TORMUND to usher him away.

DAVOS

Forgive him, my Lady. He hasn’t spent much time among the highborn.

DAVOS, TORMUND, and ED are turned to depart, but LYANNA is not finished.

LYANNA

That’s probably for the best. The highborn have everything handed to them, and it makes them soft. As I understand it, there’s nothing soft about life north of the Wall. I’m glad to have the Freefolk fighting beside us.

TORMUND is taken aback, but manages a nod of thanks. As she departs, LYANNA steals a quick glance over her shoulder at PODRICK. He blushes and quickly turns his attention to filling his cup. As DAVOS, TORMUND, and ED walk to their table, a blonde serving girl sidles up to TORMUND.  

DARA

I’ve never met a wildling before.

DAVOS [THINKING FAST]

This isn’t just any wildling. This is Tormund Giantsbane, king of the Wildlings!

A second serving girl appears beside the first.

DANA

King, aye?

TORMUND

That’s right.

TORMUND claps a heavy hand on DAVOS’s shoulder.

TORMUND [CONT’D]

And this is my most trusted advisor.

TORMUND leans in towards DAVOS.

TORMUND [CONT’D]

Do you want the blonde or the brunette?

DAVOS

Oh, no. An old man like me has to keep his rest up. If you’ll excuse me.

DAVOS makes a hurried exit. TORMUND reluctantly turns to ED.

TORMUND

Then how about Ned!

ED

Ed.

TORMUND [WITHOUT SKIPPING A BEAT]

Ed! You’ve never met a Wildling; how about a Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch?

The two serving girls smile. For perhaps the first time in his life, so does ED.

5.4 INT: WINTERFELL’S GREAT HALL – HOUND’S TABLE – NIGHT

The HOUND sits alone eating from a plate piled high with chicken. The soldiers at the other end of his table know him by reputation and have left a precautionary distance between them. SANSA approaches.

HOUND

Fly away, little bird. I’m eating.

SANSA takes a seat. The HOUND sighs and puts down his chicken.

HOUND [CONT’D]

You’re going to talk, aren’t you? Is there nowhere I can escape a Stark chirping in my ear?

SANSA

In Winterfell? Probably not the easiest place.

HOUND

Easier than it used to be, though.

SANSA

Brienne told me about your encounter in the Vale.

HOUND

Did she now? Did she tell you how she smashed my head in with a rock and threw me off a mountain to die?

SANSA

No, but Arya did. More than once, and in great detail.

HOUND

I bet she did. She’s got ice-water in her veins, that one. Hard to believe the little bird and the cold-blooded killer are sisters.

SANSA

Arya and I are more alike than you could ever know.

HOUND

Why, because you both survived terrible men?

SANSA

Because we both buried them.

HOUND [AFTER A PAUSE; UNIMPRESSED]

Your brother broke the Bolton bastard. Your sister slit Littlefinger’s throat. They say you poisoned Joffrey, but I don’t believe it for a second.

The HOUND reaches out and grabs SANSA’s wrists, twisting them to expose the palms of her hands.

HOUND [CONT’D]

You might fool everyone else, little bird, but not me: your hands are too clean to be a real killer’s.

His point made, the HOUND releases SANSA’s wrists, but SANSA shocks him by grabbing hold of his.

SANSA

I’m not as big as you, or as strong as you. I’ve never swung a sword and I won’t be taking to the battlefield when the Night King and his army arrive. But if you tried to harm me right now, right here, what do you think would happen?

The HOUND looks about the room and sees Stark soldiers in every direction. He sees the men at the other end of the table, turned towards them and ready to spring into action. He sees BRIENNE watching him from her table. In short, he sees SANSA’s point.

SANSA [CONT’D]

You told me once that the world was full of killers, do you remember?

HOUND [SNEERING]

Aye, and I told you you’d never be one of them.

SANSA

And you were right. I just command an awful lot of them.

SANSA releases the HOUND’s wrists and calmy stands.

SANSA [CONT’D]

I’ll leave you to your supper.

The HOUND watches SANSA leave, then notices BRIENNE looking at him with a smirk on her face. The HOUND growls to himself and returns to his chicken.

5.5 INT: WINTERFELL’S GREAT HALL – BRIENNE’S TABLE – NIGHT

Sharing her amusement with PODRICK, BRIENNE is about to start in on her supper when she spots JAIME walking into the room with his guards. She watches as he joins the line for food.

PODRICK

You should go and talk to him.

BRIENNE

About what?

PODRICK

Anything. You could tell him about the dream you had.

BRIENNE [MORTIFIED]

Podrick! I told you that in confidence.

They return to their supper, but BRIENNE keeps catching PODRICK sneaking quick, amused glances her way.

BRIENNE [CONT’D]

What?

PODRICK

Nothing.

BRIENNE

Podrick. What?!

PODRICK

It’s just…I don’t think I’ve ever seen you scared before.

BRIENNE

Scared of what?

PODRICK

Of Ser Jaime, and your…you know…feelings.

BRIENNE

Don’t be absurd.

PODRICK

I know you too well, my Lady.

BRIENNE

If I am a little on edge – and I’m not saying I am – it’s because we’re about to do battle with an army of the dead, not because of Jaime bloody Lannister.

PODRICK

All the more reason to go and talk to him. If the worst happens, and he rejects you, it won’t matter because you’ll both probably be dead soon anyway.

BRIENNE scoffs and makes a deliberate effort to focus on her food, but her expression gradually changes as she considers the wisdom behind PODRICK’s fatalism. 

Having collected his supper, JAIME searches for a seat. His guards ERIK and ARON have no trouble, a bench full of Stark soldiers obligingly making space to accommodate them at their table.

JAIME spots a free space but when he approaches, a pair of soldiers shuffle down to close the space, shooting JAIME death-stares so there’s no danger of his missing their intent. JAIME shrugs and tries another table, but the same shunning repeats itself. Finally, he reaches the table occupied by the queen’s council and a group of Dothraki. There are two open spaces on the end, one on either side of the table, the first beside GREY WORM and the second beside JORAH. JAIME moves to fill the first but GREY WORM takes his helmet from the table and places it on the bench.

GREY WORM

This seat is taken.

S.E: crowd noise abates.

Until now, the eyes of the room had been surreptitious in their study of JAIME’s search for a seat. After GREY WORM’s snub, all pretence of discretion is abandoned and the room watches eagerly to see how this will play out. JAIME glares at GREY WORM, but then does his best to laugh it off.

JAIME

Very well.

He moves to the space across the table but JORAH swings round and drops a heavy boot on the bench.

JORAH

I think not, Kingslayer.

JAIME [ANGERING]

Kingslayer? I had hoped we could at least keep things civil, but I guess I didn’t realise that eating with me was beneath the dignity of Ser Jorah, the slaver of Bear Island, or Lord Varys the cockless.

VARYS [INDIGNANT]

What did I do?!

JAIME [TO GREY WORM]

And you…you I don’t know.

GREY WORM

I am Unsullied.

JAIME

Unsullied? I’m afraid “Cockless” is already taken.

GREY WORM

My name is Grey Worm.

JAIME [WEIGHING THIS UP]

Yes, that’ll do, I suppose.

BRIENNE

Ser Jaime? You can sit with us.

JAIME looks briefly in BRIENNE’s direction, but immediately returns his attention to GREY WORM and JORAH.

JAIME

It’s alright, Brienne. I seem to have lost my appetite.

S.E: bowl dropping onto the table.

JAIME [CONT’D]

Here, Mormont, you eat it. Maybe it’ll soak up some of that wine you’re guzzling.

JORAH looks shamefacedly down at his cup as JAIME stalks away. ERIC and ARON move to follow.

JAIME [CONT’D]

Don’t get up. I can find my chambers just fine by myself.

JAIME’s exit is stalled by TORMUND and ED passing through the doorway, each with a serving girl on their arm. JAIME impatiently weaves his way past and exits the Great Hall.

5.6 INT: APPROACH TO JAIME’S CHAMBERS – NIGHT

JAIME strides down the corridor and opens the door to his chambers. BRONN sits in a chair against the opposite wall, a loaded crossbow pointed at JAIME’s heart.

BRONN

Shut your mouth, close the door, and keep your hand where I can see it.

5.7 INT: WINTERFELL’S GREAT HALL – NIGHT

PODRICK is tucking into his supper, but BRIENNE is clearly in her own world, pushing her food around the plate but eating nothing. BERIC, plate and cup in hand, sits down beside PODRICK.

BERIC

Good evening, friends!

PODRICK nods and smiles, but BRIENNE gives no sign she’s even aware of BERIC’s presence. BERIC nudges PODRICK in the ribs.

BERIC [CONT’D]

I’m if not very much mistaken, young master Podrick, I do believe you have an admirer.

PODRICK follows BERIC’s eyeline: LYANNA sits several tables away, watching PODRICK with starry eyes. PODRICK quickly returns his eyes to his plate.

PODRICK [APPALLED]

She can’t be more than twelve or thirteen.

BERIC

I’m not suggesting you take her to bed, lad. All the girl wants is a smile.

Reluctantly, PODRICK flashes a quick smile. LYANNA blushes and looks away.

PODRICK

There. That had better be the end of it.

BERIC

Don’t be so quick to step on other people’s dreams, master Podrick. That smile cost you nothing, but if the Lord of Light should decide it necessary to take young Lady Mormont from us tonight, then at least she’ll die with a heart full of romance. We should all be so blessed.

Suddenly, BRIENNE gets to her feet.

BERIC [CONT’D]

Is something amiss, my Lady?

Without a word, BRIENNE turns and strides from the Great Hall. BERIC looks at PODRICK, his brow furrowed in confusion, but PODRICK just smiles to himself and returns to his supper.

5.8 INT: JAIME’S CHAMBERS – NIGHT

JAIME

I assume my sister sent you?

BRONN

Queen Cersei sends her regards.

JAIME [FEARFULLY; AFTER A PAUSE]

Tyrion?

BRONN

Not yet. Thought I’d put age before beauty for a change.

JAIME

Is that…?

BRONN

The crossbow Tyrion used to kill your father? Bit over the top for my liking, but your sister insisted.

JAIME nods to a flagon on a nearby table.

JAIME

May I?

BRONN reveals a cup in his spare hand. He turns it upside down to demonstrate its emptiness.

JAIME [CONT’D]

Aren’t you worried about your aim?

BRONN

If I had anything left to learn about holding my drink, I learnt it keeping your brother company in his cups.

JAIME

Everything he did for you, and still you betray him.

BRONN [SPITEFULLY]

I remember this one night in particular, right before that first scrap with the Starks when you were off getting captured. We were playing a drinking game, and your brother ended up telling us the story of his first wife and what your father had done to her. What you let your father have done to her.

JAIME

That was a long time ago. My father –

BRONN [INTERRUPTING]

Your father was a cunt. So’s your sister, and so are you. That little shit next door’s the only Lannister worth a damn, and he had to pay a total fucking stranger to keep him safe because he didn’t have anyone else.

JAIME

As you were so quick to remind me, I was Robb Stark’s prisoner. I couldn’t be there for him.

BRONN

And you won’t be there this time, either. Jaime fucking Lannister: a cunt to the very end.

JAIME

Whatever Cersei’s paying you, we’ll beat it.

BRONN

I don’t make deals with dead men, and the way I see it, everyone in this place is dead already. A few hours won’t make much difference to you and your brother, but it’ll make a hell of difference to me and my purse.

JAIME

You’ve seen first-hand what a dragon can do. We have two of them. We’ve got ten-thousand Dothraki screamers. Eight-thousand Unsullied. We’ve got -

BRONN [INTERRUPTING]

You’ve got a sliver of a chance, aye, I’ll grant you that. But all my life I’ve been a betting man, backing one side or the other, and I learned a long time ago that only fools and rich men lay it all on a longshot.

JAIME

And what happens next, when the dead come marching down to King’s Landing? All the gold in Westeros won’t save you then.

BRONN

But it will buy me passage across the Narrow Sea.

JAIME

And when all Seven Kingdoms have fallen to the Night King and he decides to turn his armies east?

BRONN [OUT OF PATIENCE]

Then I’ll find someplace else. I know you Lannisters go your whole lives believing you’re something special, but the world’s full of lords and ladies with too much money and too many enemies. It’s a dependable line of work, killing people.

JAMIE

Sellsword, bodyguard, Commander of the City Watch, anointed knight, and now assassin for hire. I can certainly see the through line.

BRONN

Then you know it’s nothing personal.

JAIME slowly lowers his hand.

JAIME

Only once before…once in my entire life did I beg anyone…for anything.

JAIME gets down onto his knees. BRONN looks equal parts impressed and annoyed.

JAIME [CONT’D]

But I’m begging you now: spare my brother. Take my head back to Cersei on a serving tray if you must, but let Tyrion live. Please. Let him live.

BRONN and JAIME stare at one another. Almost imperceptibly, BRONN begins to lower his crossbow.

S.E: knocking.

BRONN’s eyes snap towards the door. JAIME begins to rise but the door is already swinging open.

BRIENNE

Ser Jaime, I –

JAIME

Brienne, no!

BRIENNE looks down in confusion at the arrow lodged in her heart. Her gaze slides towards JAIME’s face, as though hoping to find an explanation there.

BRIENNE

Jaime?

BRIENNE crumples to the floor as BRONN leaps to his feet and rushes through the open door. He shoves his dirk into the ribs of an oncoming guard and sprints down the corridor. Bursting from the room across the hall, the blonde serving girl joins BRONN’s escape, leaving her bloody handiwork in her wake. In the doorway, ED thrashes wildly in a pool of his own blood. He clutches at his throat with both hands, but the slash is too wide and the gush of blood too heavy. Another door opens and TORMUND staggers into the corridor holding the side of his head, blood spurting between his fingers.

TORMUND

She cut my fucking ear off!

Behind TORMUND, just inside the room, the second serving girl lies sprawled on her back, a bloodied knife in her hand, her neck bent at an impossible angle.

JAIME cradles BRIENNE’s head in his arms, his eyes filling with tears.

JAIME

Brienne? Brienne, look at me. Brienne!

For a few brief seconds, BRIENNE is able to focus on JAIME’s face. She raises a hand and pushes it through his hair. She smiles weakly…and then she’s gone. JAIME pulls her lifeless body tight to his chest.

5.9 INT: TOWER OF THE HAND – NIGHT

CERSEI sits at the desk once occupied by her father in the chambers of the King’s Hand. The White Book of the Kingsguard lies open before her, turned to JAIME’s page. CERSEI traces the last line with her finger. She lifts a quill and dips it in the inkpot, but her hand hesitates over the parchment.

S.E: knocking.

CERSEI

Come.

CERSEI lays down the quill and closes the White Book.

QYBURN

Forgive me, Your Grace, but you have a visitor.

CERSEI

Is there some reason why you cannot handle the matter yourself?

QYBURN

He was rather insistent. He has travelled a long way to see you. From the Citadel, in fact.

CERSEI’s interest is piqued. She nods and QYBURN opens the door for her visitor. ARCHMAESTER EBROSE enters and bows.

EBROSE

Your Grace, thank you for agreeing to see me.

EBROSE realises QYBURN lingers at the door.

EBROSE (CONT’D)

I would speak with the Queen in private.

QYBURN is more amused than offended by EBROSE’s clear disdain. He looks to CERSEI.

CERSEI

You may leave us, Maester Qyburn. But don’t wander too far. The Archmaester won’t be staying long.

QYBURN bows, shoots EBROSE a wry smirk, and departs. Without waiting to be invited, Ebrose takes a seat before the desk. His presumption does not go unnoticed. 

EBROSE

I did wonder why the Citadel had yet to receive the crown’s application for a new Grandmaester. You do know that man was stripped of his chain?

CERSEI

Qyburn has proved himself more useful in the short time he’s been at court than Pycelle managed in forty years.

EBROSE

We were all very sad to hear of the Grandmaester’s passing. Such a tragic end, stabbed to death over a purse full of coppers. Did the gold cloaks ever apprehend his killer?

CERSEI

I’m afraid not.

EBROSE

And to think the Grandmaester should meet his ignominious end on the very same day as the tragedy of the Great Sept. In fact, had he missed his ill-fated meeting with the cutpurses’ blade, he would likely have been in attendance when the explosion occurred and so met his end anyway.

CERSEI

The Gods certainly have a morbid sense of humour.

EBROSE

Imagine: a cache of wildfire sits undisturbed beneath the Great Sept for almost twenty years. How many thousands – millions, perhaps – must have walked those floors in all that time, never knowing they were a matter of feet from certain destruction? That disaster should strike on the very day – the very hour – when so many men and women of influence were in attendance…well, it’s almost too terrible a coincidence to believe.

CERSEI

What exactly is it you want, Archmaester?

EBROSE

I seek the Queen’s justice. The Citadel was recently robbed of several priceless artefacts, and I would ask the crown to see that they are retrieved.

CERSEI

What kind of artefacts, precisely?

EBROSE

Books.

CERSEI

Books. You’re come all this way to complain about a couple of overdue library books?

EBROSE

The Citadel does not run a lending service, Your Grace, and if we did, these particular books would be unavailable for loan, I assure you. They are available only to those of Grandmaester rank and above, and are kept under lock and key in our most restricted section.

CERSEI

Not that restricted, clearly. Who took them?

EBROSE

A young novice by the name of Samwell Tarly, son of Randyll Tarly, who, I believe, is sworn to House Lannister.

CERSEI

He was. Until Daenerys Targaryen had her dragon burn him alive.

EBROSE

I see. Well perhaps his heir, a boy named Dickon.

CERSEI

Him too, I’m afraid.

EBROSE

Well perhaps under the circumstance a more direct approach is in order. I understand Tarly is a close friend and confidant of the self-styled “King in the North”. Wherever this Jon Snow may be, it’s stands to reason that’s where you’ll find our thief.

CERSEI

Jon Snow has bent the knee to Daenerys Targaryen. They’re camped together at Winterfell, I believe.

EBROSE

Is that a fact? My my my. Not many know this, but I actually preceded the late Grandmaester in service to House Targaryen. I’m not too proud to admit that my somewhat expedited rise through the ranks and election to Archmaester was down in no small part to the personal interest and generous patronage of His Grace.

CERSEI

How fascinating.

EBROSE

And now the daughter has returned to reclaim the father’s throne, has she?

CERSEI

The Targaryen dynasty ended twenty years ago when my husband caved in the Dragon Prince’s chest on the Ruby Ford.

EBROSE

We all know that was the end of the Targaryen story. Except, it seems, for Daenerys.

CERSEI

Perhaps you should visit Winterfell and ask Daenerys if she will run your errands for you. Best be quick about it, though.

EBROSE

I met your father a few times over the years, you know, in the course of our respective duties. Can’t say I ever liked the man very much, but he at least comported himself with the dignity of his office, and always demonstrated appreciation of my own. What has become of the world when showing proper respect is too much to expect even of a queen?

CERSEI

Respect is a trap the old and vulnerable set to keep the young and ambitious from devouring them. The world is full of self-important old men and their clandestine little clubs. The names may change but nothing else ever does. They covet their secrets like magpies. They fool their followers into believing they’re in possession of some higher knowledge. They desperately cling to the illusion of power long after age and impotency have overcome them. I’ve been surrounded by men like this my entire life, and never, not even once, have I been remotely impressed.

EBROSE [AFTER A PAUSE]

Well, it appears you are your father’s daughter after all.

CERSEI

Yes, that’s usually the sort of thing they say. I do hope you’re not going to quote from the Seven-Pointed Star next?

EBROSE studies CERSEI, then gets to his feet and takes a step closer to her desk.

EBROSE

I thought perhaps your man in the North? If he’s at Winterfell anyway, could he not kill two birds with one stone and –

CERSEI [INTERRUPTING]

How do you know about that?

EBROSE

The Iron Bank is in the money business. The Faceless Men are in the assassination business. The Citadel is in the information business. And with the fate of the world balanced on a knife’s edge as it is right now, business is – if you’ll pardon the cliche – booming.

CERSEI

You already knew fine well Daenerys has allied herself with Jon Snow.

EBROSE raises his eyebrows in confirmation, the spectre of a smug smile on his lips.

EBROSE

You’d be astonished at the things we know.

Though she betrays no outward emotion, it’s clear CERSEI’s mind is reappraising the situation at a furious rate.

CERSEI

Perhaps I failed to appreciate the true import of the wrong perpetrated against you. The Citadel has served as the memory of Westeros for generations; to steal from The Citadel is to steal from the very country itself.

EBROSE

A beautiful sentiment, wonderfully phrased, Your Grace. I’m so glad we could come to an understanding.

CERSEI

As am I. Qyburn will show you out.

As though summoned by the mere mention of his name, QYBURN slithers into the room. EBROSE looks at QYBURN as though he were something foul he’d stepped in.

EBROSE

I can find my own way to the stables, thank you.

CERSEI

Stables? Oh, no, you can’t leave so soon. You must leave the Citadel so rarely, why don’t you stay awhile and enjoy the many sights the capital has to offer? Qyburn can serve as your guide.

EBROSE’s confidence finally starts to crack as he recognises the truth behind CERSEI’s pleasant tone. The perilousness of his situation begins to dawn.

EBROSE

If only I had the time, Your Grace, but I really must be getting back, I’m afraid. You understand: heavy is the head, and what-have-you.

S.E: heavy footsteps.

EBROSE turns pale as snow at the sight of the MOUNTAIN filling the doorway behind QYBURN.

CERSEI

I’m afraid I must insist.

A shaking, terrified EBROSE is escorted from the room by QYBURN and the MOUNTAIN. CERSEI takes a sip of wine, a satisfied smile at the corners of her mouth.

5.10 EXT: SOMEWHERE ABOVE THE LAND OF ALWAYS WINTER – NIGHT

JON and DAENERYS continue their reconnaissance, following the coastline northward. The mountainous terrain suddenly falls away beneath them and is replaced by a vast plain of ice. JON points across the plain in triumph: rising into the sky, its tallest turrets lost in the clouds, the ice palace of the White Walkers looms against a dark horizon.

Drogon and Rhaegal land on the plateau five-hundred yards from the palace and JON and DAENERYS descend to the ice. JON draws Longclaw and they begin towards the palace. As they approach the steps, DAENERYS reaches out and gives JON’s hand a quick squeeze. He returns the pressure and flashes a reassuring though not terribly convincing smile. At the top of the steps, JON suddenly stops in his tracks.

JON

Do you hear something?

DAENERYS listens. In the distance, where the plateau meets the base of the mountains, a small rockslide of ice raises a thin powder of snow, but all else is still and silent. DAENERYS shakes her head. JON shrugs it off as a trick of his imagination, but has barely taken another step before stopping again.

JON

There! You don’t hear that?

Again, they look out across the plateau, listening.

DAENERYS

I don’t hear anything but the wind.

JON is not convinced, but not hearing another sound he turns and walks with DAENERYS through the enormous doorway and enters the palace. They discover to their surprise that the palace appears to be composed of a single, cavernous chamber. The ceiling, hundreds of feet above them, is open to the sky at the far end, providing them just enough light by which to navigate. The walls are covered in countless openings, like the tunnels of an ant’s nest or the chambers of a beehive. The apparent depths of these pitch-black tunnels, as well as the vast open space all around them, seems utterly incompatible with the dimensions of the palace as seen from the outside.

DAENERYS [CONT’D]

This…isn’t possible.

S.E: heavy doors closing.

Regarding the closed doors with grim disquiet, JON and DAENERYS silently reach the same decision: nowhere to go but onwards. Tentatively, they begin to walk forward and to their left. Suddenly, the ground before them breaks up into a series of columns, each column rising at an independent rate. JON pulls DAENERYS back just in time and watches as the columns keeping rising to meet the ceiling high above their heads. Now facing a solid wall of ice, JON and DAENERYS turn and walk towards the opposite wall, but again the ground breaks into columns that rush up to block their path. In this reordered space, JON and DAENERYS find themselves standing at the beginning of one long corridor stretching away towards the far end of the chamber. They look at one another for encouragement, then begin their long walk.

After several minutes of continuous walking, the walls composed of columns fall away on either side into a yawning pit of darkness, rendering the corridor a catwalk, leading out over the abyss to a circular island of ice. The island is bare save for a semi-circle of black candles mounted in spires of ice. As JON and DAENERYS approach, the candles roar to life, the blue flames gradually resolving into two moving images: on the left, Drogon; on the right, Rhaegal. JON and DAENERYS watch the flickering images, mesmerized. JON looks at DAENERYS, then back to the flames.

JON

I don’t understand. What does this mean?

DAENERYS

I don’t know.

JON [HALF-ACCUSINGLY]

Dany…

DAENERYS [DEFENSIVELY]

I don’t know, Jon! You’re looking at me like I should, but I don’t!

As JON and DAENERYS watch on in macabre fascination, the flames between the two images begin to contort, finally resolving into the face of the NIGHT KING. The eye of the flame zooms out to become a panorama, revealing the NIGHT KING to be riding atop Viserion. DAENERYS looks physically sick. She steps forward, holds out a hand to the flame, to her zombified child. DAENERYS is just inches from the candles when suddenly the NIGHT KING’s face seems to take on a third-dimension and a White Walker lunges through the flames. DAENERYS reels backward. JON just barely manages to bring up Longclaw and block the downward stroke of the Walker’s blade. The White Walker strikes JON across the face with its free hand and JON crumples to the ground. He rolls over, expecting the attack to continue, but to his surprise and confusion the White Walker has turned away: its focus is trained exclusively upon DAENERYS. She backs away as fast as she can, while the White Walker calmy stalks towards her, each measured step bringing him closer to his quarry. The Walker raises its sword, but at the last possible second JON charges into it from behind, sending it careering off the side of the platform and into the black void surrounding the island of ice. JON rushes to DAENERYS, but her attention is focused on the flames.

DAENERYS

Jon, look!

The images of Drogon and Rhaegael have both zoomed out to reveal their surroundings: the two dragons in the flames stand exactly where JON and DAENERYS just left their physical counterparts moments ago. These images are showing DAENERYS and JON their dragons in real time, which makes the sight of a horde of wights thundering across the plateau towards the dragons all the more terrifying.

JON

Go!

JON and DAENERYS turn and sprint back the way they came. As they run, the walls of ice on either side plummet downwards, the columns of which each wall is composed descending at different rates to create a chessboard of irregular platforms. JON and DAENERYS are too preoccupied to notice the openings in the palace walls begin to fill with White Walkers, their malevolent gaze tracking the fleeing intruders. As JON and DAENERYS near the end of the catwalk and the entrance to the palace, the catwalk itself breaks into individual columns. JON finds himself thrust upwards, DAENERYS reaching up a hand despairingly as he rises up and away from her towards the ceiling.

DAENERYS

Jon!

JON

Keep going!

DAENERYS runs for the entryway but two Walkers arrive on rising platforms to block her path. DAENERYS jumps across a gaping chasm onto the next column. Far above, JON leaps from column to column, every one of them in the process of ascending or descending at a dizzying rate, until he is close enough to hurl himself down onto the White Walkers stalking DAENERYS. As JON gets to his feet, the column on which he and the White Walkers stand plummets downward and they disappear into the darkness below.

S.E.: Scream.

DAENERYS shrieks in surprise as an ice javelin pierces the ground not two feet from where she stands. She looks up to see another pair of Walkers approaching from above, the columns before them arranging themselves into a convenient staircase leading directly down towards DAENERYS. She turns and runs as best she can across the irregular platforms of ice.

Far below, JON blocks and parries and succeeds in skewering one of the White Walkers, but the resultant explosion of ice momentarily impairs his vision. He swings Longclaw blindly, striking nothing but air. When he is able to see clearly again, he is shocked to discover the remaining White Walker already several columns away, navigating its way towards DAENERYS. JON gives chase.

DAENERYS is almost at the great doors of ice when the ground upon which she stands drops one-hundred feet in a matter of seconds. DAENERYS desperately looks around for a means of ascent, but finds none. The column immediately next to her own is in the process of descending, a White Walker glowering down at her from its top. The Walker hurls another ice javelin at her, but again DAENERYS throws herself out of its way and the lance buries itself in the ice.

JON leaps from column to column but is still losing ground on his Walker. Seeing his path will soon be closed by a rising wall of ice, JON launches himself across open space and onto the column the Walker has just left. He lands with the sickening crack of breaking ribs. The White Walker pauses long enough to cast a backward glance in JON’s direction. Even though JON is in no position to defend himself, the Walker turns away and continues on its beeline towards DAENERYS.

As the column descends to DAENERYS’ level, the White Walker it bears steps casually onto DAENERYS’s own. It swipes at her with its sword. DAENERYS stumbles backwards out of reach but finds herself on the precipice, a bottomless blackness below and the nearest column fifty feet away. In desperation, she looks to arm herself and grabs the handle of the ice spear jutting from the ground.

S.E: sizzling of burning flesh.

DAENERYS screams in agony and snatches back her hands. Her palms are red and raw, the top layers of skin ripped away and stuck to the frozen handle. Recognising she has nowhere left to run, the White Walker closes in for the killing blow. It grips its sword with both hands and attempts to skewer DAENERYS, stabbing at the air only a fraction of a second after she snakes away. On the Walker’s next lunge, DAENERYS dodges aside and the sword buries itself into the side of the column that rushes up to fill the space beside their own. DAENERYS kicks out at the White Walker. It releases the hilt of the sword and stumbles backwards, giving DAENERYS just enough time to grab the hilt in both hands as the column in which it’s embedded continues to rise.

S.E: screaming.

DAENERYS is lifted up and away from the recovered White Walker. As soon as the column delivers her before the palace doors, DAENERYS lets go of the naked ice, whimpering at the pain in her palms. She barely has time to find her feet before the White Walker that JON was pursuing is upon her. A second Walker arrives a heartbeat later.

JON hurls himself from his column, plummets fifty feet through the air, and barrels the first White Walker to the ground. JON hauls himself up and he and the second White Walker duel, JON quickly beaten back to the edge of the platform. Looking past his own White Walker, he sees the other has returned its attention to DAENERYS. JON slips and only just manages to block the Walker’s swing. In the same motion, he reaches up and grabs a knife of ice from the White Walker’s belt and plunges it into the Walker’s stomach.

S.E: screech of ice on ice.

The Walker looks at the knife without reaction, then at JON with a look that could almost pass for derision. With a roar of effort, JON drops Longclaw, grabs the knife’s handle in both hands, and uses all his weight to pull the White Walker forward at the exact moment a column rushes upwards, smashing the White Walker’s head into a million fine shards, its body following half-a-second later. JON grabs Longclaw and hurries to DAENERYS’ aide.

The White Walker scythes its sword in a great horizontal arc intended to cut JON in two through his middle. JON slides on his knees, arching his back so his face passes under the oncoming blade by mere inches, and in one smooth motion stands, turns, and swings Longclaw in a two-handed slash.

S.E: shattering White Walker.

JON helps DAENERYS to her feet. She points behind him, into the palace. Dozens of columns rise simultaneously from the depths, every one of them bearing a pack of screaming, snarling wights. Over and again, JON and DAENERYS throw themselves against the slabs of opaque ice, and closer and closer come the horde of undead at their backs. DAENERYS suddenly stops, her head tilted as though listening to something at the very limit of her hearing. She holds out a hand to halt JON in his efforts.

DAENERYS

Wait.

JON

What is it?

DAENERYS hooks her arm though JON’s and drags him away from the door and towards the oncoming wights.

JON

Are you mad?!

The words are barely past his lips when the doors of the palace explode. JON and DAENERYS drop to the ground barely a heartbeat before the air is filled with a lethal barrage of ice. Chunks of shattered door fizz through the gloom. The bigger blocks send wights careening like skittles into the abyss, the smaller shards shredding their rotten bodies likes shrapnel.

S.E: dragon roars.

DAENERYS

Jon! Jon! Get Up! We need to move! Get up!

Drogon and Rhaegal fill the doorway, the walls of the palace seeming to rattle with the force of the dragons’ triumphant roars. JON and DAENERYS mount up and Drogon and Rhaegal launch themselves from the top of the steps.

As they climb, JON and DAENERYS look back to see the horde of wights they saw in the candleflames racing across the ice towards the palace. There they meet a score of White Walkers emerging into the light. The Walkers turn their heads skyward.

S.E: thunder.

In an instant, a cover of thick black storm clouds converges over the plateau and envelopes JON and DAENERYS. They try to protect their faces behind their shielding arms, flinching away from the evil winds whipping razor-sharp blades of ice. A second later and visibility is gone completely, any sense of direction lost absolutely. The two dragons collide in the air. Drogon manages to flap his great wings and regain his equilibrium, but his smaller brother drops like a rock.

DAENERYS

Jon!

Try as she might, DAENERYS cannot reorient herself, let alone find JON and Rhaegal in the depths of the black cloudbank.

JON flattens himself to Rhaegal as the dragon careens downwards. He barely has time to blink between their breaking below the clouds and the unforgiving ground rushing up to meet them. JON’s world turns black.

The enormous plume of snow and ice raised by the crash hangs in the still air for an eternity. When it finally begins to fall, the fine crystals of ice settle on a broken Rhaegal. The dragon lies flat on his stomach, one wing twisted sickeningly beneath his body.

S.E: pathetic dragon trills.

Rhaegal tries to stand, but his back is broken, and he can only barely raise his head. Twenty yards away, JON bursts from a snowbank and claws himself free. He too tries to stand.

S.E: cry of pain.

Looking down, he sees snapped bone jutting through the exposed skin of his right shin. JON limps to Rhaegal, the dragon following him pitifully with its eyes, and places a hand on Rhaegal’s snout. It only takes a quick glance for JON to understand the dragon is beyond his help. Across the plateau, the White Walkers watch on as the battalion of wights spot their quarry and begin to run straight for Rhaegal and JON.

JON turns to face the impending undead. He removes his bulky and restrictive coat, draws Longclaw, and takes his stance as best he can on one leg. The first of the wights reaches him, and JON bursts into action.

S.E: Jon cutting down arriving wights.

He is soon surrounded by a pile of dispatched undead. He sucks at the air greedily, but another group is soon upon him. Again, he hacks and slashes his way through and again he emerges safely on the other side. He bends at the waist, almost too weak to stand, and stumbles off balance. He vomits into the snow, the pain in his leg blinding. He cannot keep this up forever, and now another crowd of wights, twice the size of the last, is almost here.

Just as they arrive, Rhaegal manages with the very last ounce of strength in his body to lurch forward on his one working wing and crush the wave of undead beneath his bulk. JON watches helplessly as the next wights to arrive swarm like ants over Rhaegal, hacking and clawing and biting at the dragon’s hide.

S.E: dragon shrieks of anger and pain.

Despite his defiance, Rhaegal is quickly lost beneath the mass of bodies. JON turns and half-limps, half-lumbers away. He manages to put some distance between himself and the wights, reaching a natural elevation and gratefully seizing the higher ground. He turns to find the chasing pack has swelled in number: another wave of wights pours from unseen cracks and hidden crevices in the mountainside and joins their number to the first.

JON sighs, a strange calm coming over him. He wipes the sweat from his brow, reaffirms his grip on Longlcaw’s hilt, and takes the last stance he will ever take.

S.E: dragon roar.

Drogon bursts through the clouds and slams down onto the ice between JON and the onrushing army of wights. JON lowers Longclaw, relief washing over his face at the undead advance halted in its tracks.

DAENERYS glowers down imperiously at the wights, but then her features falter and crack as she looks beyond them to the bloodied and broken body of Rhaegal. Shock, confusion, anger, and sorrow chase one another across her face. She turns and locks eyes with JON: her lover, her nephew, the rightful heir to her throne. He looks back, expectant, waiting for DAENERYS to say the word and Drogon to burn the undead to ash and bones. But one second slowly, agonisingly becomes two…then becomes three…becomes four…time stretches, dilates…The world and everything in it falls away; all that exists is JON and DAENERYS, DAENERYS and JON, and a great white frozen distance between them. Finally, DAENERYS’ jaw sets, her face hardens, and she gives Drogon her command.

DAENERYS

Valahd!

Drogon obeys: he takes three long steps and launches himself up into the sky. JON watches in horror as the woman he loves flies away, abandoning him to certain death. The crowd of wights resume their charge. JON raises Longclaw with grim resignation. He manages to fight off the first few to reach him, but the next take him off his feet and he too is soon lost beneath the swarming undead.

DAENERYS cannot keep the emotion back any longer and she breaks down into great wracking sobs, but will not – cannot – permit herself even the briefest of backwards glances.

OUTRO