7.1 EXT: WINTERFELL – MORNING

The survivors of the Longest Night stand sombrely beneath the walls of Winterfell. Before them, the bodies of the fallen have been respectfully arranged upon broad wooden pyres.

MISSANDEI stands transfixed beside SAM, unable to avert her eyes from the collar of his overcoat: some considerate soul has pulled the collar up to disguise SAM’s mortal wound, but MISSANDEI knows it’s there. Feeling her composure slipping, MISSANDEI walks away quickly, pointedly finding a place in the crowd well away from GREY WORM.

JAIME places a consoling hand upon young PODRICK’S shoulder as the squire struggles to restrain his grief over the body of BRIENNE.

SANSA removes the silver brooch of a direwolf’s head from her coat and places it in THEON’s folded hands.

As the mourners return to the crowd assembled beneath Winterfell’s walls, SANSA gives the nod and the pyres are put to the torch. The last snow of winter begins to melt away beneath the blaze.

DAENERYS steps forward, her raw and weeping palms heavily bandaged.

DAENERYS

My friends, the sun rose this morning on a day of mourning for all of us. But that it rose at all is a blessing for which these brave men and women deserve our eternal gratitude. They gave their lives defending this world from the endless night that threatened to consume it, yet even in death their victory knows no end as the memory of their sacrifice will stand forever against the darkness like a thousand beacons burning at once.

DAENERYS looks to SANSA, smiling sadly.

DAENERYS [CONT’D]

Jon Snow once shared with me the traditional words spoken by the Night’s Watch upon a brother’s passing, and I don’t think there’s any better epitaph for our own brothers and sisters here today: “they were the sword in the darkness, the watcher on the walls, the shield that guarded the realms of men, and we shall never see their like again.”

DAENERYS takes a second to compose herself. She looks to MISSANDEI for support, but MISSANDEI quickly averts her eyes. DAENERYS skips her gaze over TYRION and settles on JORAH. He gives her a small nod of encouragement.

DAENERYS [CONT’D]

Jon Snow should be here to deliver those words himself. He was the first to ring the alarm, the first to take up arms, the first to lay down his life in the terrible battle that ended the great war. My one regret is that I’ll never have the chance to thank him, or to repay the debt I owe him…that we all owe him. But while I cannot hope to repay Jon, I can at least honour his memory. Jon died fighting to protect his family and his home. It’s only fitting that he be remembered for that, and remembered not as Jon Snow, but as John Stark. That is my decree, and that is how he will remembered.

DAENERYS walks to SANSA and ARYA. For the second time, she surprises SANSA with an embrace.

DAENERYS

I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.

With every pair of eyes upon them, the Lady of Winterfell gives DAENERYS a perfunctory squeeze. DAENERYS repeats the gesture with an impassive ARYA, then strides by and enters the castle, her council following in her wake. Only MISSANDEI remains with the mourners watching the fires, a curiosity that does not go unnoticed by SANSA. She and ARYA say nothing, but share a look that speaks a thousand words in the secret language of sisters.

INTRO

7.2 EXT: THE WINTEFELL-WHITE HABOUR ROAD – DAY

VARYS cuts a lonely figure on the road from White Harbour. A bitter wind cuts across the fields. VARYS shivers and pulls his furs tighter. Cresting the hill, VARYS reins his horse to a stop and takes in his first sight of Winterfell. His relief at finding the castle still standing is short-lived: he follows the score of grey-black columns rising from the fields to the dense canopy of smoke settled over the scene. A flash of movement draws his gaze to the sky over his head. He watches as Drogon climbs clear of the thin white cover of clouds and continues to rise, the dragon diminishing away to a small black dot as he flies beyond the limits of VARYS’ vision. Spurring his horse to a trot, VARYS continues on towards Winterfell.

7.3 EXT: WINTERFELL BATTLEMENTS – DAY

TYRION watches anxiously as DAENERYS dives Drogon down towards the frozen southern fields, glides him low over the ground, then rises again to circle the castle once more. JORAH approaches.

JORAH

Still? She’s been up there for hours.

TYRION casts a sideways glance at the large skin of wine JORAH carries.

TYRION

I suppose we all grieve in our own way.

Spotting VARYS approaching the gates of Winterfell, TYRION descends to the yard to meet him.

7.4 EXT: WINTERFELL’S STABLES - DAY

VARYS climbs down from his horse and hands the reins to the GROOM. He finds TYRION waiting for him in the yard.

VARYS

          You survived, I see.

TYRION

          I did. Many more weren’t so fortunate.

TYRION’s gaze follows VARYS’ own, away to the north and the thick black plumes of smoke rising from the field of funeral pyres.

TYRION [CONT’D]

Where are the others?

VARYS

Camped halfway to White Harbour, under the watchful eye of Yara Greyjoy and the Ironborn. Her Grace sent word that I was expected back at Winterfell, alone.

VARYS raises his eyebrows at TYRION’s quizzical expression.

VARYS

I see our Queen has progressed from ignoring her Hand’s advice to dispensing with it all together.

TYRION

Why would she keep the women and children away?

VARYS

The Northern women and children. It seems Daenerys does not share your confidence that Jon Snow provides her the North.

TYRION

She wouldn’t do that. She would never make hostages of innocent women and children. 

VARYS

I can only conclude that Daenerys has decided now is the moment most opportune to reveal to Jon Snow the truth about his parentage. Should Jon, or his dear sister Sansa, think to push his claim to the throne, they now have several thousand reasons to think again. 

It’s TYRION’s turn to arch his eyebrows. He grimaces, as though VARYS has just committed an embarrassing social faux-pas. 

VARYS [CONT’D]

What is it? Why are you making that face?

TYRION

Remember when you said you felt superfluous? That there was too much these days that you didn’t know?

VARYS

I remember. What of it?

TYRION

I don’t think that feeling’s going away anytime soon, I’m afraid. Come, there’s a lot you need to know. 

TYRION looks south and watched Drogon perform another circuit over the fields.

TYRION [CONT’D]

None of it good, I’m afraid.

7.5 INT: UNSULLIED BARRACKS - DAY

In the largest barracks of the Dothraki encampment, GREY WORM sits on his narrow cot, identical in every way to the several hundred cots of its kind arranged in two long rows along the length of the tent. Less than two score of these several hundred are still in use, the occupants of the others lost in the Longest Night. GREY WORM has his leathers pulled down below his knees, inspecting a line of ragged holes in his upper thigh, each hole over an inch in diameter and heavily encrusted in dried, copper-coloured blood. GREY WORM prods at the topmost hole and flinches in pain. Taking up his knife, GREY WORM holds the blade over a candle positioned beside his cot until he’s satisfied the steel is suitably heated. Gritting his teeth in readiness, he probes into the wound, digging about in his thigh with the point of his knife. Finding what he was looking for, he begins to angle the hilt downwards, using the blade like a crowbar jimmying a loose board. Five more agonising, endless seconds later, and he succeeds in dislodging the foreign body from his flesh. It drops to the trodden grass carpet of the barracks, and GREY WORM gratefully tosses his knife aside and plants a hand over the wound, a fresh flow of blood already staining his coarse woollen blanket. He reaches down and retrieves the piece of shrapnel, bringing it up to the candlelight for inspection: between thumb and foreigner GREY WORM holds the three-inch long, white-grey fore-fang of an adult direwolf. GREY WORM sneers, and places his trophy with bitter satisfaction on the rolled-up tunic he uses for a pillow. Packing a wad of fabric rags on his thigh, trusting in the sticky hot blood there to hold these makeshift bandages in place, GREY WORM pulls up his leathers and stands. Determined not to allow himself a limp, he walks and an affectedly natural pace up the aisle of the cavernous, empty barracks and exits at the far end. Squinting in the morning sun, he spots MISSANDEI crossing the open field towards him. He hurries out to meet her as best his aching leg will allow him, directing her away to a smaller supply tent on the opposite side of the encampment’s central avenue. 

7.6 INT: SUPLLY TENT – DAY

GREY WORM follows MISSANDEI inside, but has barely dropped the flaps of the entrance behind him before MISSANDEI turn to confront him.

MISSANDEI

I’m not going to ask why. I already know. But I need you to tell me how: how could you do something so cruel? So…monstrous?

GREY WORM

I did it for my Queen. For the new world she will build.

MISSANDEI

That’s not what I asked. I need to understand - I need you to explain to me – how you could slit an innocent man’s throat like it was nothing.

GREY WORM has no answer for her.  

MISSANDEI [CONT’D]

Would you have killed Bran Stark too, if I hadn’t been there?

GREY WORM

Bran Stark is dead already.

MISSANDEI

Varys knows. Tyrion knows. Are you going to kill them too?

GREY WORM

They would not betray our Queen.

MISSANDEI

You don’t know that. We never know what people are capable of.

MISSANDEI [CONT’D, AFTER A PAUSE]

What about me? Would you kill me?

GREY WORM [WOUNDED]

Never. I could never hurt you. You know this.

MISSANDEI

I thought I did.

MISSANDEI [AFTER A PAUSE; FEARFULLY]

Did she tell you to do it?

GREY WORM [AFTER A PAUSE]

No.

MISSANDEI

Torgo Nudho, look at me.

MISSANDEI [CONT’D]

Did Daenerys tell you to kill Samwell Tarly?

GREY WORM

No.

MISSANDEI searches GREY WORM’s face for the truth, but finds only a stranger looking back.

GREY WORM [CONT’D]

You know many tongues, and you are a good friend. This is how you serve our Queen. I am a killer. All my life, I am a killer. This is how I serve our Queen. That is how I could do it.

MISSANDEI goes to him, takes his hands in hers.

MISSANDEI

I don’t believe that. That’s what the masters tried to make you. They tried to take away your compassion and your conscience. All the things that make you more than just a killer they tried to train out of you. But I brought you back from that. This brought you back from that.

MISSANDEI strokes his cheek, rests her forehead against his. It appears for a second as though the breech has been repaired. Then GREY WORM speaks.

GREY WORM

One day I will be able to put down my shield and my spear and be something else. I will go wherever Missandei of N’arth goes, and I will be whatever she wants me to be. But not until our Queen has her throne. Until then, I can only be what she needs me to be.

MISSANDEI lets go of GREY WORM’s hand and takes a deliberate step away from him.  

MISSANDEI

I hope when that day comes it will all be worth it. For both of you.

She flees the tent, leaving GREY WORM alone. His mouth forms the shape to speak her name but then he stops himself, and lets the sound die on his lips instead.

7.7 EXT: GATES OF KING’S LANDING – DAY

The line of smallfolk waiting to enter the capitol stretches for more than a mile up the Kingsroad. Those richer in coin travel by horse, all their worldly goods hauled behind them in wooden wagons, but such luxury is rare among the displaced. Most have little choice but to carry what few possessions they have under their own efforts, while many along the road bear nothing at all but the clothes on their back. The gold cloaks of the City Watch do their best to maintain order, walking the line and controlling the slow trickle through the city gates.

7.8 EXT: BATTLEMENTS OF THE RED KEEP – DAY

On the battlements of the Red Keep, CERSEI holds a spyglass to her eye and observes the tide of refugees at her gates. QYBURN and the COMMANDER OF THE CITY GUARD stand by her side, while EURON lounges on the parapet eating a bowl of cherries and spitting the pits over the wall.  

COMMANDER

There’s no work to be had, so most of ‘em end up begging or thieving. My men are making hundreds of arrests every day; the cells are overflowing.

  EURON

Give them the choice: swing a sword for your Queen or pay in full for your crime. Castration for the rapers, both hands for the thieves, death for the murderers.

EURON notices the look of circumspection on CERSEI’s face.

EURON

What?

QYBURN

Given the tensions of the moment, perhaps a more measured response would be best.

EURON [TO CERSEI]

See, the little grey rat agrees with me! These people need a firm hand, but there’s no need to be brutal about it.

As CERSEI watches through the spyglass, a shoving match breaks out between two dirty and dishevelled men. The first man pulls a knife and stabs the second dead. A hundred desperate souls descend like locusts upon the dead man’s cart, picking it clean in seconds. The man with the knife is cut down by one gold cloak, while another gold cloak chases a fleeing scavenger to ground and runs her through with his spear.

QYBURN

They’re coming from every corner of the country, Your Grace. With so many of the great houses in disarray, law and order has broken down throughout the Seven Kingdoms. Dorne has descended into civil war, a dozen factions vying to fill the vacuum of power left by the Martells. Brigands roam the Riverlands, burning and pillaging with impunity. Lyseni pirates have seized control of our trade routes with the Arbor, and if rumour is to be believed a band of Volantine sellswords has seized Griffin’s Roost and plans to march on Storm’s End next.

CERSEI

What could these people possibly expect to find here?

QYBURN

Safety behind our walls. Food from our stores.

CERSEI sighs and hands the spyglass back to QYBURN.

CERSEI [DISMISSIVELY]

If they want food, they can join my army and earn it. If they want to hide behind my walls, they can pay for it. Levee an entry tax at the gates. Twenty silvers should deter the truly desperate.

QYBURN

Very wise, Your Grace.

7.9 INT: GREAT HALL OF WINTERFELL – DAY

TYRION and VARYS sit on the steps leading to the Lord’s table, just as they did the night DAENERYS revealed to them the truth about JON.

VARYS

And she won’t discuss what they found? Or how, precisely, Jon Snow met his end?

TYRION

Only that White Walkers were involved. And that she was helpless to save him.

VARYS sits in quiet contemplation. TYRION tries his best to be patient, but finds his stores quickly exhausted.

TYRION [CONT’D]

You’re not handsome enough to pull off brooding contemplation. Tell me what you’re thinking.

VARYS

You already know.

TYRION

You think she had something to do with Jon Snow’s death.

VARYS

You’re too smart not to have at least considered the possibility.

TYRION

It’s our job to consider all possibilities.

VARYS

Then it won’t have escaped your notice how conveniently his death simplifies our Queen’s path to power. Not only does it reinstate her as Aerys Targaryen’s heir, but a dead Jon Snow provides her a martyr around which she can invigorate northern support for her campaign.

TYRION

Jon Snow’s death benefits her, certainly, but it also cost her. She’s lost the man she loved.

VARYS

What’s a few months of loving a man beside a dynasty that stood for three-hundred-years? One marriage, one engagement, and two paramours, each bringing her another step closer to realising her destiny and reclaiming her father’s throne. Clearly, our Queen views sex and politics as complementary bedfellows. So to speak.

TYRION

She was sold into one marriage and reluctantly accepted the other to keep the peace in Mereen. And taking one man to bed to ensure his loyalty in no way equates with killing another to ensure his.

VARYS

Say for argument’s sake she did kill Jon Snow, or at least bring about his death in some way –

TYRION [INTERRUPTING]

She didn’t.

VARYS

For argument’s sake: if she did, would you continue to follow her?

TYRION [SIGHING]

For argument’s sake…you need only look at the history of Westeros to see what happens when two Targaryens lay claim to the throne. The entire country would burn. So, if one man’s death – however wrong – could prevent the deaths of thousands more –

VARYS [INTERRUPTING]

Please! Don’t forget to whom you’re speaking. I made a career of rationalising and relativising; it’s the only way to survive at court as long as I did. Mad kings, absent kings, cruel and vicious kings…but she was supposed to be different. She was supposed to be better. What good is breaking the wheel if what replaces it is just as awful? What happens to the next good man that stands in the way of what she wants? What if next time it’s not one man, but ten, or a thousand, or an entire city of men? What if it’s you or I?

TYRION

Daenerys is not her father! Astapor, Yunkai, Mereen…every city she has taken she could have burned to ashes, but she didn’t! When I counselled her against a direct assault against King’s Landing, she listened.

VARYS

She listened, it’s true, but against her first instincts, which were to march her armies and ride her dragons and sack the capitol, consequences and casualties be damned!

TYRION

She’s a liberator, not a conqueror! I believe that! I need to believe that!

TYRION [CONT’D; AFTER A LONG PAUSE]

I need to believe that or all of this has been a mistake. Joining her cause in Meereen was a mistake. Following her across the narrow sea was a mistake.

VARYS

Choosing her over Jon Snow was a mistake.

TYRION

We don’t know what happened beyond the Wall and we never will. Jon Snow is dead. Our choice died with him.

7.10 WINTERFELL’S STABLES – DAY

S.E: wolf howling; horses whinnying.

Ghost pads restlessly back and forth through the yard, stopping every few lengths to howl forlornly. The horses in Winterfell’s stables whinny and snort in their corral, unable to settle with an agitated direwolf so close by. ARYA enters the yard and approaches the exasperated GROOM trying in vain to pacify Ghost with a thick cut of chicken.

GROOM

I don’t know what to do, m’lady. He won’t take food, he won’t take water…he’s got the horses spooked good and proper.

ARYA

Ghost!

Ghost stops his pacing and regards ARYA.

ARYA [CONT’D]

Come on, I know what you need.

ARYA begins towards the castle. After a moment’s hesitation, Ghost trots past the relieved GROOM and falls into step beside her.

7.11 EXT: WINTERFELL BATTLEMENTS – DAY

JORAH nurses a skin of wine as he watches DAENERYS ride Drogon high above Winterfell. Just as he’s about to give up hope and return to the castle, DAENERYS finally brings Drogon in to land. JORAH descends from the battlements.

7.12 EXT: BENEATH WINTERFELL’S WALLS – DAY

DAENERYS climbs down from Drogon and meets JORAH before the castle’s gates.  

DAENERYS

Shall we begin?

DAENERYS strides past JORAH without waiting for his reply.

7.13 INT: BRAN’S CHAMBERS - DAY

SANSA sits at BRAN’s bedside, working at a prayer wheel she’s making for her brother. BRAN lies on his back beneath the covers, his eyes closed to the world. Every few seconds SANSA glances up to reassure herself the furs are still rising and falling in steady rhythm.

S.E: door opening.

ARYA holds open the door.

ARYA

In you come.

Ghost lopes into the room and bounds up onto BRAN’s bed. He sniffs about BRAN appraisingly then settles down to snooze across BRAN’s legs. SANSA smiles at the sight. ARYA regards her sister with a cool eye.

ARYA [ALMOST SNEERING]

You really think a prayer wheel will help?

SANSA

No, but I need something to keep me busy.

ARYA

Step outside this room and you’ll find plenty.

SANSA meets ARYA’s stare with one of her own.

SANSA

This is where I need to be. You understood that for Ghost.

ARYA

How can you just sit here?

SANSA

I’m not just sitting here: I’m taking care of our brother.

ARYA

What about our other brother? The one that flew north of the Wall with his Dragon Queen and never came back.

SANSA

What would you have me to do?

ARYA

Something; anything. You know there has to be more to it than she claims: they’re ambushed by wights and somehow she escapes but Jon doesn’t?

SANSA

So what exactly do you believe did happen, if not what she told us?

ARYA

I don’t know, but why is that the first time you’re asking the question? You’re the one that’s always been suspicious of her.

SANSA

Suspicious she would use Jon and turn him against his family, not that she’d murder him. It makes no sense.

ARYA [CAUSTIC]

Why, because she loved him? Don’t tell me you actually fell for that tearful performance of hers this morning?

SANSA

Because she needed him. Whatever her true feelings for Jon, having him by her side was essential in securing Northern support for her cause. What possible reason would she have to throw that away?

S.E: knocking.

The Stark sisters are surprised to find JAIME standing in the doorway, looking apologetically awkward.

JAIME

Forgive me, I can see you’re in the middle of something. I’ll come back.

ARYA

It’s alright: I was just leaving.

JAIME steps aside to let ARYA pass.

SANSA

Arya.

She stops in the doorway and looks back at SANSA.

SANSA [CONT’D]

We’ll talk again later. Don’t do anything stupid before we do.

Without a word of farewell, ARYA departs and leaves SANSA and JAIME alone. Ghost’s ears, pricked up at JAIME’s arrival, flop back down and the direwolf yawns sedately.

JAIME

I’m can’t tell you how sorry I am, for both your brothers.

SANSA

Bran’s strong. He pulled through once. He’ll do it again.

JAIME’s eyes flit to BRAN, but only for the briefest of seconds.

JAIME [TENTATIVE]

I hate to ask this, and I know it must seem rather perverse dwelling on one death among tens of thousands…

SANSA

It’s alright, I understand. I feel so selfish, focusing all my grief on Jon and Theon, and all my hope on Bran.

JAIME

If it helps at all, I do believe there’s more than enough of both to go around this morning.

SANSA

You came to ask about Bronn.

JAIME

Has there been any word from the scouts you sent south?

SANSA

Nothing yet. There’s a lot of inns and lodging houses between here and Moat Cailin; it will take time to visit them all. I circulated Bronn’s description among the men clearing the fields in case he and his companion somehow became caught up in the battle, but…

JAIME

But finding two bodies among so many is almost as absurd as dwelling on one death among tens of thousands. I appreciate the effort nonetheless, my Lady.

SANSA

I’m so sorry about Brienne. She never shared the details, but I know there was something real between the two of you.

JAIME’s attention shifts to the table, on which BRIENNE’s sword rests in its scabbard.

JAIME [CONT’D]

You know I gave her that sword. Oathkeeper, she called it.

SANSA

A good name. It’s yours to take; I’m sure Brienne would have wanted you to have it.

JAIME

Actually, I came to offer you my own.

SANSA

You want to enter my service?

JAIME

I think I’ve had my fill of service for one lifetime. I was speaking literally.

JAIME draws his sword and holds it out before him.

JAIME [CONT’D]

Both these blades were forged from your father’s greatsword. After my father had it melted down, he gave that one to me. I passed it on to Brienne before she left King’s Landing in search of you and your sister. He gave this one to Joffrey.

SANSA reaches out, runs her fingers lightly along the blade. She has to hold back tears: this is the closest she’s been to her father since that day before the Great Sept of Baelor.

JAIME [CONT’D]

Your father and I were never friends, but I never doubted his determination when it came to protecting the people he loved. I respected him for that, and I was proud to wield his sword defending Winterfell. I hoped perhaps it might go some way towards atoning for the wrong my family did to yours. Now you have both blades; you can have your father’s sword reforged.

SANSA begins the reach for Ice but stops, her hand hovering over the hilt. She searches JAIME’s face for a moment, then lowers her hand. SANSA takes one last look at Ice, then turns away and returns to BRAN’s bedside.

SANSA

Wherever Bronn is, I’ll see to it that he pays for what he did, you have my word. But if it’s vengeance you’re looking for, why waste time searching for the marionette when the person that pulled the strings is still exactly where you left her.

JAIME

You know, I was thinking it’s about time I went back to King’s Landing.

SANSA

You’re going to kill Cersei?

JAIME [AFTER A LONG PAUSE]

I think perhaps I am.

SANSA

Then you’re going to need your sword a while longer. Just bring it home when you’re done, Ser Jaime.

SANSA takes up her prayer wheel. JAIME, a wry smile at the corners of his lips, returns the sword to its scabbard on his hip.

JAIME

As you wish, my Lady.

JAIME turns to depart.

SANSA

Ser Jaime, one last thing…

SANSA retrieves Oathkeeper from the table.

7.14 INT: GREAT HALL – DAY

DAENERYS’ and the members of her council stand around the table bearing the map of the battlefield. DAENERYS watches as TYRION sweeps his arm across the map, pushing all the markers denoting the NIGHT KING’s army into a wooden box.

S.E: wooden markers clattering into a wooden box.

TYRION

Now for the difficult part.

DAENERYS

What were our losses?

GREY WORM [AFTER A PAUSE]

Sixty-thousand Dothraki dead, fifteen thousand wounded, my queen.

S.E: wooden markers clattering into a wooden crate.

GREY WORM [CONT’D]

Three-thousand Unsullied dead, twelve-hundred wounded.

S.E: wooden markers clattering into a wooden crate.

GREY WORM [CONT’D]

Ten-thousand Knights of the Vale dead, sixteen-hundred wounded.

S.E: wooden markers clattering into a wooden crate.

GREY WORM [CONT’D]

Six-thousand Northern dead. Two-thousand wounded.

S.E: wooden markers clattering into a wooden crate.

DAENERYS

What does that leave us?

GREY WORM

Twenty-thousand Dothraki, thirty-eight hundred Unsullied.

VARYS

And the Northmen? The Free Folk?

JORAH

Perhaps two thousand Northmen remain of the ten-thousand that took the field. The Freefolk…too few to make a count worthwhile.

VARYS

Gods. It will take the North generations to recover.

DAENERYS

The North has no monopoly on grief, Lord Varys. We have all experienced great loss of late.

VARYS

As you say, Your Grace.

DAENERYS

How quickly can we reach King’s Landing?

TYRION and VARYS exchange a look of concern.

JORAH

Two weeks by land, two days by sea.

DAENERYS

There’s no choice to be made, then.

TYRION

Your Grace, we’ve spoken about this: if you would have the people love you, then they must know you as a liberator, not a conqueror.

DAENERYS

I would have them know me as their queen, and that cannot happen so long as Cersei sits on my throne.

                           TYRION

Let’s give our wounded time to heal, at least. If, after a few weeks, you’re still determined to strike King’s Landing then we -

DAENERYS [INTERRUPTING]

Those strong enough to march come with us to White Harbour; those that aren’t we leave behind. I mean to be on the road by sunrise.

TYRION

Your Grace, please, I beg you to reconsider. The country is almost starving; wait just a little longer and the people will rise up and overthrow Cersei for you. As your Hand, I simply cannot –

DAENERYS [INTERRUPTING]

ENOUGH, Tyrion! I have had enough! When I arrived in Westeros, I had three dragons. I heeded your counsel and turned away from King’s Landing, and now I only have one. I had an army, now I have this!

DAENERYS waves a disdainful hand at the miserly collection of markers still on the table. 

DAENERYS [CONT’D]

I try my best to recall the reasons I appointed you my Hand, I really do, and of the very few that I can still remember, your keen mind for military strategy must surely be the most misguided. I will not hear another word from you on what is and is not becoming of a queen: I will take my crown now, and both you and the people can make of my methods whatever you care to! Am I understood?

TYRION hangs his head like a scolded schoolboy. DAENERYS takes his silence as agreement, and allows herself a composing breath.

DAENERYS [CONT’D]

Lord Varys, please convey to Sansa my intentions. Tell her to have her men ready to depart at first light.

                 TYRION

You stay. I shall have to find some way of making myself useful; I just hope “errand boy” doesn’t prove too complicated.

TYRION shares a quick, loaded look with VARYS and departs for SANSA’s chambers.

DAENERYS

Ser Jorah, you shall have command.

JORAH

Thank you, Your Grace. I’m afraid my first report is not one you’ll like.

DAENERYS

Go on.

JORAH

Euron Greyjoy’s surprise attack hurt us badly. Our fleet is barely a quarter the size it once was.

VARYS

So’s our army, so that’s worked out nicely.

DAENERYS shoots him a glare cold enough to freeze the Summer Sea. VARYS lowers his head in apology.

VARYS

          A poor joke, Your Grace; forgive me.

JORAH

Even accounting for our diminished numbers, if we mean to sail to King’s Landing, we’re going to need more ships.

DAVOS

I had a couple thoughts on that.

The Queen and her council turn to discover DAVOS standing solicitously in the doorway.

7.15 EXT: NARROW SEA – DAY

The flagship of the Golden Company leads two-hundred ships of the Iron Fleet through the waters of the Narrow Sea. Every ship is at full sail, every deck packed with soldiers. Six ships hold fewer than the others, the extra room required to accommodate the adult elephant each carries.

In the cabin of the flagship, HARRY STRICKLAND sits behind his desk. Feet up, hands behind his head, HARRY is completely at ease with the world and his place in it. His paymaster, GORYS EDORYEN, sits across from him, glasses at the end of his nose, making marks in an enormous ledger open before him.

HARRY

Do you know, Gorys, what they say about the Lannisters? They say the Lannisters sit on as much gold at Casterly Rock as exists in the whole rest of the world.

GORYS [SNORTS DERISIVELY]

HARRY

You don’t believe it?

GORYS

You served ten years as paymaster before me. Have you ever known a rich man to have as much as he boasted, or a begging man as little as he claimed? Gylo Rhegan of the Long Lances had it from Brown Ben Plumm that our contract with Cersei Lannister is paid for with borrowed coin. Plumm’s men on the Bravos docks spied an agent of the Iron Bank boarding a ship bound for King’s Landing.

HARRY

Ben Plumm is a twice-damned liar. If you listen to Plumm, he has the blood of Targaryen kings in him.

GORYS

Which one?

HARRY

What?

GORYS

Which Targaryen king?

HARRY [EXASPERATED]

I don’t know, Gorys, one of the “a” ones. Annus or Anus or maybe one of the Aerys’s. Who can keep all those sister-fuckers straight? You’ve grown cynical in your old age, that’s your problem. No wonder left in you. The world’s full of extraordinary things, Gorys, and once we’ve settled Cersei Lannister’s little war for her, I plan on buying myself more than a few of them.

S.E: aggressive knocking.

HARRY [CONT’D]

Come!

WATKYN

Sir, there’s…something you should see.

HARRY gets to his feet, grabs his sword belt from its peg and follows his first mate from the cabin. GORYS trails behind, his ledger tucked protectively under one arm.

7.16 EXT: DECK OF HARRY STRICKLAND’S SHIP - DAY

HARRY strides to the bow of the ship, synching his sword belt about his waist. He follows WATKYN’s unnecessary point to a rocky outcrop poking above the waves.

HARRY [SCORNFULLY]

You disturbed me for this?

As the flagship sails closer, HARRY realises there’s a lone figure standing atop the rocks. YARA GREYJOY waits patiently for HARRY to come within hailing distance.

YARA

Ahoy!

HARRY looks at his companions, confounded.

HARRY

Are you in distress?

YARA

Not particularly.

HARRY

Was your ship sunk, perhaps?

YARA

No, no ship.

HARRY

Then how did you get here?

YARA

A friend gave me a ride.

HARRY [OUT OF PATIENCE]

Would you mind telling me what exactly it is you’re doing?

YARA

Waiting for you.

HARRY’s brow knits together and he looks to his paymaster and first mate in exasperation, gets only shrugs in answer.

HARRY

What business could you and I possibly have with one another?

YARA

You’re going to give me your ships. Your men too. You can come along as well, or you can swim back to Pentos. You have a say in that last part.

HARRY [AFTER A LONG PAUSE; LAUGHING]

GORYS and WATKYN [LAUGHING]

EVERY MAN ON DECK [LAUGHING]

HARRY

I have two-hundred ships carrying twelve-thousand infantry, six-thousand cavalry and their horses, three-thousand archers, and six fully-grown elephants.

YARA

Thanks for reminding me: I almost forgot the elephants. I’ll be taking those too.

HARRY

I wasn’t providing you an inventory! I was making it plain that there’s no godly reason why a man so equipped would hand everything over to a single mad woman stranded all alone on a pile of rocks in the middle of the Narrow Sea.

YARA

Opinions differ on whether or not I’m mad, but alone I certainly am not.

S.E: dragon roar.

From high in the sky, a black mark against the sun begins to grow until its identity becomes undeniable even to HARRY STRICKLAND’s disbelieving eyes. Those eyes, shaded with a hand against the sun’s glare, grow large as apples at what he sees.

HARRY [SCREAMING]

Dragon!

Drogon dive-bombs towards the flag ship. The terrified crew scurry every which way, those with the coolest heads throwing themselves overboard into the liquid sanctuary of the sea. DAENERYS glowers down from Drogon’s back.

DAENERYS

Dracarys!

S.E: dragon fire; explosion.

HARRY manages to dive clear of the ship barely a second before it explodes in a ball of dragonfire, but WATKYN and GODRIS have no such luck.

Spotting one of the elephants, Drogon swoops down, sinks in his talons, and heaves the great pachyderm into the air. The elephant trumpets in terror. Drogon tries his best to toss it up into the air before him, readying it for a blast of dragonfire, but fails each time, only just catching it again after each miss. Finally, he gives up and petulantly tosses the elephant back in the vague direction of where he found it.

S.E: trumpeting elephant crashing through the ship’s deck.

S.E: Harry hauling himself from the water and collapsing onto the rocks.

HARRY opens his eyes to discover YARA leaning over him, a patient smile on her face. She points a finger in the direction from which the fleet was sailing.

YARA

Pentos is that way, if it helps.

7.17 INT: GREAT HALL OF WINTERFELL – NIGHT

The survivors of the Longest Night sit at supper. Despite their number, the room is almost silent, the funereal mood unbroken since the morning’s grim service. SANSA and TYRION enter together and take their places at the Lord’s table. SANSA remains standing, and waits until she has the room’s attention. 

SANSA

I know how strange this feels, sitting together here in the warm, eating good food and drinking good wine, when there are so many empty seats.

PODRICK looks to the empty place across from him, DAVOS at the bench so recently occupied by SAM and ED.

SANSA [CONT’D]

But our friends did not lay down their lives for us to squander our own. Instead of dwelling on what we have lost, let us celebrate what we have gained. Every moment we’re alive is a gift from them to us, and the greatest honour we can pay them is to fill those moments with all the happiness and joy and love we can find. So please: eat, drink, and most of all, live!

SANSA raises her cup.

SANSA [CONT’D]

To the fallen!

The room drinks its silent toast. SANSA gives the nod and a troupe of musicians enter the Great Hall, a team of servants following behind with a dozen huge casks of ale.

S.E: music and singing.

TYRION

A lovely sentiment gracefully delivered, my Lady.

SANSA

If you’ll excuse me, it’s past time I got back to my brother.

TYRION

Of course. I’ll have some supper sent up to his chambers for you.

TYRION stands respectfully, and SANSA makes a stealthy departure for BRAN’s bedside, sidling close to the wall to stay apart from the merry-marking.

Passing through the doors and into the corridor beyond, she finds her path blocked by the arriving DAENERYS and a pair of her guard. DAENERYS looks past SANSA into the Great Hall.

DAENERYS [TERSE]

What is this?

SANSA

Nobody here thought they’d live through the night. They deserve some kind of relief, however bittersweet.

DAENERYS

I sent Tyrion to speak with you hours ago. Did he not inform you of my instructions?

SANSA [DELIBERATELY ALLUSIVE]

He informed me about a great many things…

DAENERYS

Then you know fine well that we leave for White Harbour at dawn. How do you expect them to march when they’re too drunk to stand?

SANSA

Every man in the Northern army is exhausted, injured, or dead. They aren’t marching anywhere.

DAENERYS

We had an agreement –

SANSA [INTERRUPTING]

You and Jon had an agreement.

DAENERYS

We had an agreement: once the Night King and his army were defeated, we turn our combined strength against Cersei.

SANSA

We may have defeated his army, but the Night King is still out there somewhere. My men cannot defend their homes if they’re down south fighting in your war.

DAENERYS

I am your Queen. All men are my men. Have always been my men. And I will march them where and when I please.

SANSA

These were Jon’s men. They fought for you because so did Jon. Now they’re my men. And they fight for the North - and the North alone - because so do I.

DAENERYS and SANSA glare at one another for what seems an eternity. Finally, DAENERYS reaches a decision. She marches past Sansa and into the great hall.

S.E: crowd noise and music abating.

All eyes turn to DAENERYS as she takes in the room. She walks slowly and deliberately between the tables.

DAENERYS

Ser Davos Seaworth.

DAVOS

Your Grace.

DAENERYS

You have a gift for speaking plainly. An admirable quality in a man, even more so in an advisor.

DAVOS

I hope Lord Tyrion never hears you say as much, Your Grace.

TYRION raises his cup to DAVOS in acknowledgement of this good-natured slight at his expense.  

DAENERYS

Lord Tyrion has a great many other qualities, but I do not want a dozen Tyrions advising me any more than I want none at all. A ruler needs all kinds of service, and a good ruler knows that the same holds true for different perspectives on life. I would very much like to have yours as my Master of Ships.

DAVOS

Your Grace, I don’t know what to say…

DAENERYS

Speak as is your custom and plainly say “yes, Your Grace.”

In JON’s absence, DAVOS looks to SANSA, but unless she intends on making a very public scene, SANSA has little option but to simply watch along with everyone else.

DAVOS

Yes, Your Grace. Thank you.

DAENERYS strolls on down the aisle, taking the measure of the faces around her.

DAENERYS

Tormund, the bane of giants, leader of the Free Folk. I hear you have almost as many titles as I do. No Lordship, though.

TORMUND

We don’t have much time for Lords and Ladies, north of the wall.

DAENERYS

Well, you’re in the Seven Kingdoms now, and you’ve served them well, and so have your people. You deserve a reward. Have you heard of Brandon’s Gift?

TORMUND

No.

DAENERYS

The first fifty leagues south of the Wall was given to the Night’s Watch in perpetuity by Bran the Builder. It’s good land, I’m told, but entirely uncultivated. It could be a home to the Free Folk. A future for your children.

TORMUND

We don’t farm, and we don’t kneel.

DAENERYS

You’ll find farming a lot more dependable than hunting or foraging for food, especially in the winter months. And if you can learn that, I’m sure, in time, you can learn the other.

TORMUND holds DAENERYS’s gaze. Finally, his face softens and he raises his cup to DAENERYS.

TORMUND

To warm beds and full bellies!

DAENERYS nods, and continues on. She rounds the end of one row of tables and walks on down the next.

DAENERYS

Gendry, isn’t it?

GENDRY

Yes, Your Grace.

DAENERYS

Robert Baratheon’s bastard?

GENDRY

One of them, Your Grace.

DAENERYS

Are any of the others here now?

GENDRY

Not that I’m aware of, Your Grace. Although I wouldn’t like to swear to it.

DAENERYS

How fortunate for you, then. My advisors reliably inform me that several of my kingdoms are currently without a Lord, the Stormlands among them. Given that Robert and both his brothers are dead, and left behind no legitimate heirs, and none of the illegitimate are here to object, it seems to me your claim stands unchallenged.

GENDRY

I didn’t make a claim. I’m a bastard, not a Baratheon.

DAENERYS

You were a bastard. Now you’re Gendry Baratheon, Lord of Storm’s End and Lord Paramount of the Stormlands.

GENDRY doesn’t know what to say. BERIC stands and raises his cup.

BERIC

To Gendry Baratheon!

DAENERYS crosses to the Lord’s table and takes up SANSA’s wine cup from its place. She raises it aloft.

DAENERYS

To Gendry Baratheon, Lord of the Stormlands! To Davos Seaworth, Master of Ships! To Tormund Giantsbane, Lord of the Gift!

S.E: cheers.

DAENERYS drinks, never breaking eye-contact with SANSA.

S.E. music and lively chatter.

DAENERYS strolls back SANSA at the doors, speaks only for her hearing.

DAENERYS [CONT’D]

Perhaps I spoke too hastily: I’m rather enjoying the festivities after all.

SANSA strides from the hall. DAENERYS follows after her, holds up a hand to prevent her guards from following.

7.18 INT: WINTERFELL CORRIDOR - NIGHT

S.E: Sansa’s retreating footsteps.

DAENERYS

How dare you turn you walk away from me! Yara Greyjoy sails for White Harbour with my new fleet.

DAENERYS [CONT’D; AFTER A PAUSE]

We march to meet her at dawn. The North will march with us.

DAENERYS [CONT’D; AFTER A PAUSE]

If your soldiers won’t fight for me, I will see to it that your women and children do!

DAENERYS [CONT’D; AFTER A PAUSE; ALMOST MOCKING]

They’re already half-way to White Harbour, after all.

SANSA turns back, the momentary shock on her face dissolving into a look of grim satisfaction at having all her suspicions confirmed.

S.E: Sansa’s approaching footsteps.

SANSA

There she is. Tell me: did Jon get to see the real Daenerys Targaryen before he died, or did you send him to his grave still believing you were something better?

DAENERYS [REELING]

I…I didn’t…

SANSA [INTERRUPTING]

Didn’t what? Didn’t kill him? I wasn’t sure of that myself at first. After all, what could you possibly stand to gain from Jon’s death? And then I learned the truth.

DAENERYS

I loved Jon!

SANSA

Perhaps there’s some truth in that, so far as someone like you can ever care about anything as much as their own ambition.

SANSA takes a step closer, her face just inches from DAENERYS’ own.

SANSA [CONT’D]

I don’t care who his real father was, Jon was too good a man to ever bear the name “Targaryen”.

DAENERYS flinches as though struck: SANSA knows.

SANSA [CONT’D; BRUSQUE, BUSINESS-LIKE]

Deliver our women and children safely back to Winterfell, and the North will sail to King’s Landing with you. But it will remember what you did. The North always remembers.

S.E: Sansa’s retreating footsteps.

DAENERYS’ jaw tightens and she starts after SANSA. Silent as moonlight, ARYA emerges from the shadows and blocks her path. Hands clasped behind her back, ARYA glares at DAENERYS, daring her silently.

DAENERYS retreats back to the Great Hall.

OUTRO