Episode 8: A Dream of Spring
8.1 EXT: KINGSWOOD – DAY
In a sunlit clearing somewhere deep in the Kingswood, Prince AERYS looks down haughtily from atop a fallen tree. JARREL BUCKWELL and CLARENCE CRABB sit either side of AERYS, the young lordlings having already received their leave to enter the prince’s castle.
AERYS
Who is next to come before their king?
MARWYN MOOTON steps forward, bowing low.
MARWYN
Your Grace, I come before you in the hopes you might hear my petition.
AERYS
And who are you, ser?
MARWYN
My name is Wyndham, second son of Lord Manderly.
The others look to AERYS pensively, the prince narrowing his eyes at the supplicant before him.
AERYS
Lord Murwell has two sons, but neither is named Wyndham. You may not come into my castle. Guards! Take him away!
A pair of Targaryen household guard step forward with begrudging obedience and frog-march the imposter to the edge of the clearing, the younger of the two grumbling only for the other’s hearing.
GUARD #1
“Join the household guard”, they said. “It’s a proud and fulfilling line of work”, they said.
The last of the supplicants approaches the fallen tree. STEFFON BARATHEON bows before the prince.
AERYS
Who is next to come before their king?
STEFFON
Your Grace, I come before you in the hopes you might hear my petition.
AERYS
And who are you, ser?
STEFFON
My name is Ronnel, second son to Lord Vance.
CLARENCE
Careful, Aerys, he’s trying to trick you.
STEFFON
Shut up, Clarence!
CLARENCE
You shut up, Steffon! You have to tell us which Lord Vance you mean: is it Lord Vance of Atranta or Lord Vance of Wayfarer’s Rest?
STEFFON
I don’t have to tell you anything! That’s not the rules!
AERYS
It doesn’t matter: Lord Jack Vance has no sons, only daughters. It has to be Lord Hugo…and he has two sons, Rodrik and Ronnel.
Well met, Ser Ronnel. Won’t you please come into my castle?
STEFFON bows once more and clambers up to join the others. AERYS turns to meet him, steadying himself for a blow…but STEFFON confirms the prince’s accuracy and takes a knee.
AERYS
I win again!
JARREL
Well played, Aerys!
STEFFON
But that’s not everybody. What about him?
The boys follow STEFFON’s nod to the young prince’s protection detail for the day. SER DUNCAN THE TALL lies upon a long length of rock, his hands tucked behind his head, basking happily in the summer sun.
AERYS
Who? Dunc the Lunk?
Raising his head at the sound of his name like a faithful hound summoned from the hearth, DUNCAN brushes the sun-streaked shaggy hair from face and raises his eyebrows in question.
STEFFON
Not him. Him!
Comfortable as he is, DUNCAN is only too glad to be overlooked in favour of the golden-haired young boy waiting at attention beside the narrow wooden serving table bearing three jugs of water, half-a-dozen cups, and several plates of fruit and sweet nibbles.
AERYS
He’s just my new cupbearer. He can’t play with us.
STEFFON
Why not? It’s a better game with more people, anyway.
[CALLING OVER TO TYWIN]
Tywin! Come play!
His eyes wide with surprise, TYWIN nevertheless seizes his opportunity, setting aside his prince’s cup and taking up his place before the throne.
AERYS {sighing}
Fine, you can play for one game.
TYWIN
Yes, Your Grace. Thank you, Your Grace.
AERYS
Who is next to come before their king?
TYWIN
Your Grace, I come before you in the hopes you might hear my petition.
AERYS
And who are you, ser?
TYWIN
My name is Olyvar, Your Grace, eighth son to Lord Frey, and I –
CLARENCE
No fair! We said no Freys! No Freys and no bastards!
TYWIN looks to AERYS, and the prince nods in agreement.
AERYS
Clarence is right. If you’re going to play you have to follow the rules. Pick someone else.
TYWIN
Yes, Your Grace. My name is Tygett, second son to Lord Tytos.
CLARENCE and JARRELL both frown, offended at TYWIN’s gambit. STEFFON smiles at TYWIN, impressed.
AERYS
That’s not fair. You can’t pick your own family.
STEFFON [TEASING/MOCKING]
But this must be an easy one for you, cousin. Surely you know your own cupbearer’s family?
His umbrage at TYWIN’s tactics overcome by his fear of looking the fool, AERYS shrugs dismissively.
AERYS
Of course I do!
He turns back to TYWIN.
AERYS [CONT’D]
Well met, Lord Tygett. Won’t you please come into my castle?
Smothering a smile, TYWIN pulls himself atop the tree with a helping hand from STEFFON.
AERYS [CONT’D]
There, I told you I knew! Kneel before your –
TYWIN delivers the prince a short but firm push and AERYS topples backwards, his flailing arm dragging CLARENCE and JARRELL down after him to land in a heap on the grass. AERYS rolls onto his back and glowers up at TYWIN and STEFFON.
AERYS
You can’t do that! I guessed right! You have to bow before your king!
TYWIN
Kevan is my father’s second son; Tygett is his third.
STEFFON
You lost fair and square, Aerys! Well played, Tywin!
TYWIN beams at STEFFON’s praise, but his joy is short-lived as the now upright AERYS points a vengeful finger at the usurper to his throne.
AERYS
You can’t be king, you’re just a stupid cupbearer!
STEFFON
Don’t be such a sore loser, Aerys!
AERYS
I’m going to tell father about this, and he’ll send you back to that stupid rock with your stupid father and his stupid whore that he loves a hundred times more than he ever loved your stupid dead mother!
His face pink with indignant anger, AERYS turns and stomps away across the clearing and into the trees, CLARENCE and JARRELL hurrying dutifully behind. Glancing towards the amused DUNCAN still sitting reposed upon his rock and receiving a jerk of the head in instruction, the two household guard trudge after their prince.
GUARD #1 [deadpan]
Oh joy, the little princeling’s gone off in a huff again and we have to follow. Will these great adventures never end?
Left alone atop the tree, STEFFON places a reassuring hand upon TYWIN’s shoulder.
STEFFON [GENTLY]
Don’t worry. He’s just like this sometimes, but he doesn’t really mean any of it.
MARWYN pads over, freed from the dungeons by AERYS’ exit, his spirits lifted by AERYS’ absence.
MARWYN
Yeah, he threatens to have me sent away two or three times a day…Sometimes I wish he actually would.
The three boys stand in silence, unsure what to with themselves. Finally, MARWYN’s face brightens with inspiration.
MARWYN
Want to play rats and cats?
8.2 EXT: KINGSROAD – MORNING
CERSEI
Father.
East of Antlers, West of the Isle of Faces, the escort conveying TYWIN and CERSEI LANNISTER to Harrenhal busies itself watering the weary horses for the final leg of their journey up the Kingsroad. Waiting out the escort’s labours in the comfort of his daughter’s carriage, TYWIN watches the world beyond the window with unseeing eyes, lost in his memories.
CERSEI [CONT’D]
Father.
TYWIN
Hmm?
CERSEI
Are you ever going to talk to me?
Rousing himself, TYWIN turns cold green eyes upon CERSEI.
TYWIN
You want to talk? Very well: perhaps you might begin by explaining to me what possible madness led you to go running to the queen?
CERSEI
The madness of love. Love for my brother.
TYWIN
Listen to yourself; you sound as much a child as Jaime.
CERSEI
I was woman enough when you summoned me to court to seduce the prince.
TYWIN
Perhaps if you had spent your time doing just that rather than playing mother-daughter with the queen we would need not be having this conversation.
How much did you tell her?
CERSEI
Only a little.
TYWIN
How little? Exactly.
CERSEI
I told her you had designs on Rhaegar, that you meant to install yourself in the prince’s affections.
TYWIN
Me, but not you?
CERSEI
I never said a word about Rhaegar and I, I swear. Only that you’d given up on ever mending your relationship with the king, and hoped to forge a new alliance with the prince.
TYWIN
That pitiful coup my council staged was Rhaella’s doing, I’m certain of it. Aerys would never dare move against me of his own accord.
CERSEI
You’re wrong, father. Rhaella would never do anything like that. She’s a good person. She’s my friend. She -
TYWIN
She’s a Targaryen, Cersei!
TYWIN’s sudden fury sends CERSEI cowering as far as the suddenly-cramped carriage will allow. The guard standing watch at the door peers in, but TYWIN’s scowl instantly deters his interest.
TYWIN [CONT’D]
I knew I should have put a stop to it, but I convinced myself you had more sense than Jaime, that it would take more than a morsel of flattery to make you forget your loyalties. Even when you spent the day with her, I gave you credit for finding a surer path to the son through the mother’s affections.
TYWIN sighs, leaning back against the wooden panelling of the carriage wall.
TYWIN [CONT’D]
I overestimated your readiness for this game; perhaps I would have done better to keep you in useful ignorance, but your brother’s recent show of defiance proves the error in that notion also.
CERSEI opens her mouth to speak but TYWIN raises a hand for silence.
TYWIN [CONT’D]
For the duration of our stay at Harrenhal you may drink, you may dance, you may sit beside me in the royal box and enjoy the games…but you will not so much as glance in Prince Rhaegar’s direction. Am I understood?
CERSEI
Yes, father. But…what about Jaime?
TYWIN
Aerys cannot keep his true nature hidden indefinitely; soon enough your brother will see him for what he truly is and come running back to the Rock. It will be your duty to welcome him home.
Again, CERSEI attempts to interject and again TYWIN pre-empts her.
TYWIN [CONT’D]
Not one word, Cersei. You’ve proven well enough of late that knowing when and what to say is somehow beyond your already narrow skillset. The day this tourney ends, you will return to Casterly Rock and remain there until such times as I am able to conceive of a use for you more conducive to whatever talents you do possess. Given your abject failure with the prince, I imagine you shall have rather a long wait until such inspiration might strike me.
Marginally mollified by his daughter’s obedient silence, TYWIN sits forward as though to share some singular confidence.
TYWIN [CONT’D]
Our enemies believe they have us on our heels, divided amongst ourselves and abandoned by our allies. But none of that will matter for too much longer. Spring is almost upon us, and a whole new world is coming with it. The next few weeks will determine precisely what that new world shall look like, and neither king nor queen nor a thousand treacherous lickspittles will prevent me from securing our place in it before this tourney draws to a close.
CERSEI
And what then?
TYWIN
And then I shall administer to every one of those up-jumped curs that presume to snack at the lion’s heels the very same lesson House Rayne once learned to their terminus: a Lannister always pays his debts.
INTRO.
8.3 EXT: HARRENHAL - MORNING
The sprawling dewy fields of Harrenhal have been refashioned for the occasion into a patchwork of myriad colours, a confusion of tents large and small surrounding the castle as though in service to a besieging army. The grounds are busier than they’ve been in a generation, every spare corner of brown winter-blasted grass occupied by servants of a hundred different houses at various stages of brushing down horses, unloading wagons, and erecting their lords’ temporary lodgings. In whichever direction one might care to look another happening arrests the eye.
Before the blue and mud-red canvas of the Tully tent, the scene is one of reunion. RICKARD, LYANNA, and BENJEN climb down from their horses, trusting the train to MAESTER WALYS’s handling. BRANDON rises to greet his father, while CATELYN makes a beeline for LYANNA and wraps her up in an unexpected embrace.
CATELYN
Lyanna! Gods, it’s good to see you again! How was your ride?
LYANNA
Long. Tedious. Irritating.
LYANNA swipes a gloved hand at the passing BENJEN. He swerves beyond her reach, sticking out his tongue as he hurries to meet EDMURE, the two young boys immediately lost in the impenetrable chatter of over-excited children.
CATELYN
Thank the Gods they have each other to pester; Edmure’s been clinging to my skirts since the moment we arrived.
CATELYN grabs LYANNA’s hand and begins to pull her away towards the tourney grounds.
CATELYN [CONT’D]
Come, you’re just in time for the opening tilts. They say Prince Rhaegar means to open the games himself!
LYANNA
Let me just say hello to Bran –
CATELYN
There’ll be plenty of time for him later. If we hurry we might even find an open seat in the stalls.
Surrendering to CATELYN’s enthusiasm, LYANNA calls back to her father and brother.
LYANNA
It seems we’re off to watch the tilts!
BRANDON
I hope you’ll watch my own this afternoon?
CATELYN hardly slows her steps, tossing a reply at BRANDON over her shoulder.
CATELYN
I expect I’ll have had my fill of jousting by then.
RICKARD and BRANDON watch the pair depart, EDMURE and BENJEN tagging along discretely at their heels.
RICKARD
Lady Catelyn doesn’t seem best pleased with you.
BRANDON inspects his feet, his face a picture of uncharacteristic contrition.
BRANDON
I think we’d better talk.
RICKARD
Later. I have business with Lord Hoster that cannot wait.
BRANDON
I’d rather put my side of things across before you do.
RICKARD’s brow knits together and he studies BRANDON with an expression of weary apprehension.
RICKARD
What have you done now?
8.4 EXT: HARRENHAL – MORNING
CATELYN
You don’t seem as surprised as I might have hoped.
LYANNA
I wish I could tell you it’s the first time something like this has happened…
CATELYN
He’s cut men near in half before?
LYANNA
At least one that I know of. He’s more fond of telling the tale than Old Nan and her blue-eyed giant named Macumber.
CATELYN
Can I tell you, just between us girls…I actually found it rather –
CATELYN cuts herself off when she and LYANNA realise BENJEN and EDMURE are lurking.
LYANNA
What do you want, Benjen?
BENJEN [DEFIANT]
Father says you have to take me and Edmure with you.
LYANNA
Let’s pretend for a moment that’s true: what’s your price to leave us in peace?
BENJEN
Ten coppers.
EDMURE breaks off licking a honeyed apple he has conjured from some mysterious fold of his cloak to whisper in BENJEN’s ear.
BENJEN [CONT’D]
Each.
LYANNA sighs and searches in her pockets. She hands her little brother his extorted lucre and he and EDMURE race off happily together.
S.E: distant trumpets.
CATELYN
Hurry, it’s starting!
8.5 INT: TULLY TENT – MORNING
RICKARD
You stupid, arrogant, thoughtless child! That boy is a ward of Riverrun!
BRANDON
I know, father, but I –
RICKARD [INTERRUPTING]
Shut your mouth! Do you any notion what you’ve done? What you’ve put at risk?
BRANDON
I’ve already apologised to Lord Hoster half a hundred times.
RICKARD
Oh, of that I have no doubt. Gods know you’ve had plenty occasion to hone that particular talent. I may have raised a bully and a fool, but at least he knows his courtesies.
BRANDON
Bully?!
RICKARD [CONT’D]
Aye, bully! If that boy were the son of some highborn lord, I’d have one of the great houses beating down my door right now demanding your head. But because his father was a lowly hedge-knight you felt emboldened -
BRANDON [CONT’D]
Petyr’s birth never came into it. I can’t believe you’d think that of me.
RICKARD [SARCASTIC]
Of course not, forgive me. You’re far too honourable a man to abuse your lordship like that.
BRANDON
He challenged me. I could have refused him, and I should have, I know, but there was nothing dishonourable about accepting.
RICKARD
He’s smaller than Benjen, and likely never so much as swung a real sword in his life.
BRANDON
Then he should have been more careful with his words. I told him: if you throw around insults with a man’s disregard, then you must accept –
RICKARD [INTERRUPTING]
Don’t you dare presume to throw my own lessons back at me when you so stubbornly refuse to pay them any heed yourself! I could teach a parrot to speak with a great lord’s voice and be surer he understood the meaning of the words he mindlessly prattles better than I could own son and heir.
You have to be smarter, Brandon. You have to control your temper. You have to consider the consequences of your actions before you take them. You have to –
BRANDON [INTERRUPTING]
To be more like Ned. That’s what you really want to say, isn’t it?
RICKARD frowns, taken entirely off-guard.
RICKARD
Where did that come from?
BRANDON
When I first arrived at Riverrun, I asked Lord Hoster to show me your letters. I wanted to see for myself what you expected of me.
RICKARD
Haven’t I made that plain enough?
BRANDON
Aye, and that’s all you’ve done for years now. I thought I’d find a kind word in your letters at least, if you meant to convince Lord Hoster I was worthy of his daughter’s hand. Instead, I read page after page about Ned, and how proud you were of how he’s growing up. So dutiful, so sensible, so unlike his older brother.
RICKARD
I never made that comparison.
BRANDON
But you don’t deny admiring in him all the things you find wanting in me?
RICKARD
Ned is no more perfect that you or I, but he would never put his family’s future at risk over some child’s drunken insults.
BRANDON
Then why not make him your heir instead?
RICKARD [SNAPPING]
Because it scares me to death to think what might become of you if I did!
BRANDON flinches as though struck, and even RICKARD appears surprised at his sudden flare of anger. He turns away, silently cursing himself for allowing his temper to break through the curtain wall that steadfastly shields his innermost thoughts.
BRANDON
If that’s your only reason, then perhaps it’s best I step aside. I appreciate your concern for my well-being, but your responsibilities to the north must come before your responsibilities as a father. The north must always come first.
RICKARD snorts with mirthless amusement.
RICKARD
The first time you ever sound like a real lord of Winterfell, and it comes when you’re trying to renounce your rights.
Taking a deliberate step towards BRANDON, RICKARD points his index finger towards his son’s face.
RICKARD [CONT’D]
Listen to me and listen well because I’m not certain how many more of these talks I have left in me: I’m not trying to make you into something you’re not, and that includes your brother. Winter is coming, and the north will not make it to another summer if it doesn’t have a lord with the stomach for a fight to see it through. That’s not me anymore, and for all his many qualities it’s not Ned either. It’s you, Brandon. Only you.
But you need to be lord of Winterfell every bit as much as Winterfell needs you as its lord. For more years than I care to admit, I tried to convince myself that age and instruction alone would be enough to tame that wolf’s blood of yours. But then I was given cause to remember what I was like at your age…before the war, before my own father’s passing…
It was wrong of me to expect of you something that I couldn’t do myself. I wasn’t ready when my time came, either. It took the duties of a lord, and the responsibilities of a husband and a father to make me ready. It will be the same for you, I know it. That’s why I’ve been doing everything I can to keep you safe until your own time came…but I can’t protect you from yourself, son, and I’m too old and tired to keep trying.
RICKARD turns his back on his son and walks to Hoster Tully’s table to pour himself a cup of wine.
BRANDON
Father…
RICKARD
Go. Let us hope my long friendship with Hoster is enough to carry us through this sorry episode. In the meanwhile, make your amends with Lady Catelyn. And make sure your sister doesn’t get herself into any trouble; I assume I can still trust you with that much, at least.
8.6 EXT: HARRENHAL – DAY
S.E: trumpets.
CRYER
Lords and ladies, men and women, all those native to these shores and those visiting us from afar, on behalf of Lord Walter Whent and his wife Lady Shella, in honour of their daughter Sara’s eighteenth nameday, welcome to Harrenhal!
S.E: cheering, heralds trumpets.
From their place of honour within the royal box, the three Whents stand and wave graciously: to the highborn attendees sat in ranks along the long wooden benches of the tourney bleachers, and across the jousting ground to the smallfolk pressed in a tight pack against the barricade that runs parallel to tilt, the beam wrapped in cloth of black and yellow.
CRYER
Representing His Grace, King Aerys of House Targaryen, second of his name, King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm: Lord Tywin of House Lannister; Lord of Casterly Rock, Warden of the West, and Hand of the King.
TYWIN stands and bows to the crowd. CERSEI sulks in her seat, rolling her eyes at the younger SARA enthusiastic applause.
TYWIN
Let the games begin!
8.7 EXT: HARRENHAL – DAY
In the shadow of the viewing stalls, three brothers stand at the far fringes of the crowd forced by the overspilling spectators to savour the coming tilts from outside the tourney grounds proper. Each brother is smaller than the last, like a trio of nesting-dolls, the grey doublets they wear patterned with the twin castles of House Frey.
AENYS
Well I’ve put my coin on the Dragon Prince.
JARED
It’s your money to lose, Aenys.
AENYS
You don’t know what you’re talking about, Jared. Three years ago he unseated the Storm Lord, the Red Viper of Dorne, and the Sword of the Morning all in a single day.
DANWELL
Aye, but Barristan the Bold took the champion’s purse. That’s who I’m backing.
AENYS
Danwell, you’re an even bigger fool than Jared. Rhaegar beat Selmy at the tourney to mark the birth of Prince Viserys.
JARED
Then lost to Ser Arthur. You’d have to be the biggest fool of all to bet against the finest knight in all Seven Kingdoms.
AENYS
Finest with a sword, I’ll grant you, but the Dragon Prince has the beating of the best of them with a lance in his hand.
Dissatisfied with his brothers’ arguments and unwilling to let the matter lie, JARED’s gaze falls upon a passer-by unfortunate enough to wander within their orbit.
JARED
You there! Yes, you, little man, come settle an argument for us.
Barely reaching five feet in height and as slight of build as a malnourished waif, the boy is dressed in simple, spartan garb yet carries upon his arm a handsome wooden shield almost of a size with his entire torso. Wary as a jackrabbit ready to break for its warren, he reluctantly obeys JARED’s summons.
DANWELL
He’s just a squire, what does he know about anything?
JARED
Squire? Looks more like a pot-washer to me. Where did you get this from?
HOWLAND
This is my shield.
JARED
What does the likes of you need with a shield?
JARED snatches the shield away before the young man has opportunity to object. He inspects the balance, runs a hand along the wood, scratches a fingernail over the immaculate green finish.
JARED
This is good craftmanship. Might be I’ll use this in the melee tomorrow.
AENYS
You’ll need to paint over that stupid otter first.
DANWELL
Whose sigil is that?
JARED
Which lord’s tent did you pilfer this from?
HOWLAND
That’s a lizard-lion, not an otter. And I didn’t steal it; it belonged to my father.
AENYS
I know that coat. You’re one of those bog people, aren’t you?
DANWELL
No wonder he’s so small, only eating moss and frogs all his life.
HOWLAND
If I could just have my shield back, I’ll be on my way.
The young man reaches for his property but JARED raises it aloft, beyond the diminutive crannogman’s reach.
JARED
You can leave if you like, but this is my shield now. Unless you’d like to fight me for it?
Quick as a hiccup, a knife appears in JARED’s free hand. He holds it beneath the young man’s chin, forcing him to tilt his head back and away from the upraised blade.
AENYS
Come on, midget, my cousin just made you a challenge. You’re not going to let that go unanswered are you?
DANWELL
Yeah, don’t they teach you about honour where you come from?
LYANNA
I’m sure he knows a damn sight more about honour than you do, Frey.
The Frey brothers turn to discover LYANNA stalking across the grass towards them. CATELYN lingers beside the tent she and LYANNA have just rounded, her giddy excitement of only a moment ago suddenly evaporated.
CATELYN
Lyanna, don’t.
LYANNA
A pack of weasel-faced Freys throwing their weight around, three against one. Where’s the honour in that, tell me?
AENYS and DANWELL take a step back, their belligerence abruptly tempered, first by the confounding intercession of a slight young girl, and second by the unmistakable sigil of the direwolf snarling upon her riding leathers.
JARED
This has got nothing to do with you, Stark. Turn around and walk away.
LYANNA
No? The lizard-lion on that shield there tells me the boy belongs to House Reed, and House Reed is sworn to House Stark. That means my family is bound by oath to defend his from harm.
CATELYN
Please, Lyanna, let’s just go.
LYANNA ignores CATELYN’s entreaty, her eyes locked on JARED as he lowers his knife and returns it to his pocket, the corners of his lips turning up into a smirk near as slimy as fresh-birthed frogspawn. He ambles slowly towards LYANNA, coming so close that only the shield keeps their bodies parted.
JARED
If you really wish to get rough, why don’t you and I head out into the woods together. I’ll find us a nice quiet spot among the bushes. I’ll even take you in the fashion of a wolf, if you’d prefer.
JARED reaches up a hand to stoke at LYANNA’s hair. She slaps it away with her right, her left balling into a fist at her side.
ROBERT
Is that Jared Frey I spy?!
The interweaving trails of revel-makers separate and scatter. The fifty-paces of open ground suddenly clears revealing a small band of riders and their lathered, snorting mounts. ROBERT and NED look down from their horses at the scene playing out beneath the viewing stalls.
ROBERT [CONT’D]
And unless I’m seeing treble again, he’s brought his brothers along.
ROBERT leans over and nudges NED in his middle.
ROBERT [CONT’D]
Ned, am I seeing treble again?
NED
Not unless we both are.
ROBERT
Then that must be Danwell and Aenys! Seven save me, how long has it been, boys?
ROBERT climbs down from his horse and strides towards the eldest FREY. JARED takes several wary steps backward and away from LYANNA. Confronted by the true scale of ROBERT’s broad, muscled frame, AENYS and DANWELL nervously lower their hands to the hilts of the swords they wear at their waist, though neither looks especially confident in their prospects. Silent and unnoticed in ROBERT’s wake, NED pushes back his cloak to free his scabbard.
JARED [WARILY]
Well met, Robert. You’re looking well.
ROBERT
I look like shit, but two weeks in the saddle with no one but that sour-faced Northman for company and you’d look worse for wear too, I’d wager.
Aenys, you still courting that Mallister cousin?
AENYS [flat, cold]
No, not for many months now.
ROBERT
Ah well, all for the best. Word was she’s spread her legs for half the Riverlands
AENYS’ face darkens and to ROBERT’s surprise the youngest FREY spins on his heels and storms away without another word.
ROBERT
Who pissed in his porridge? I thought he said they weren’t courting anymore?
DENWELL
They’re not. Their courtship ended when he took Lady Carin to wife.
DENWELL turns and follows after his brother.
ROBERT
Right. That’s fair enough then.
ROBERT returns his attention to JARED, taking the crannongman’s shield and inspecting it with an amused eye.
ROBERT [CONT’D]
I hope you don’t expect this to keep you safe in the melee tomorrow? Even a glancing blow from my hammer and you’ll find your pretty green broach good for naught but kindling.
JARED
Does that look like a pair of castles to you? The shield belongs to the boy. You’ll find mine own made of far stouter stuff.
ROBERT
Ha! That’s the spirit! I’ll look forward to it! Give your sisters my best, won’t you?
ROBERT pats JARED on the arm jocularly. With a lingering, loaded look at LYANNA, JARED gives a courteous nod then takes departs after his brothers. ROBERT watches him go then turns to LYANNA with a broad, oblivious grin, his arms held.
ROBERT [CONT’D]
Lyanna!
LYANNA repels him with a hearty punch-come-shove to his barrel chest.
LYANNA
Don’t you “Lyanna” me, you fat-headed oaf! Why did you do that?
ROBERT
Well that’s no kind of welcome.
LYANNA
They were going to do awful things to this poor boy, and you smile and joke like they were your oldest friends!
NED
Aye, and things could have taken a nasty turn if he hadn’t.
LYANNA
Hello, little brother. I see you haven’t changed.
NED
What’s that supposed to mean?
S.E: cheering crowd.
CATELYN
We missed it! We missed the Prince!
Now it’s CATELYN’s turn to be dragged by her arm, LYANNA pulling her towards the cheering crowd.
LYANNA
Come on, Cat. For some reason, watching oblivious young lordlings get knocked down a peg or two suddenly sounds just exactly what I need.
Snatching the forgotten shield from ROBERT’s hands, LYANNA returns it to the diminutive stranger.
LYANNA [CONT’D]
You too…
HOWLAND
Howland. Howland Reed.
LYANNA
Good to know you, Howland.
Without a word of leave, LYANNA pulls CATELYN and HOWLAND away into the crowds, the trio quickly disappearing from sight amid the rabble. ROBERT turns with a wounded expression to NED, but his friend has nothing to offer him but a weary shrug.
8.8 INT: ROYAL TENT - MORNING
RHAEGAR strides into the royal tent, his plumed dragon helm tucked beneath one arm. The armour that glittered beneath the midday sun looks red as blood and black as midnight within the canvas enclosure.
S.E: clapping.
BARRISTAN
Well done, Your Grace! A magnificent display!
His lips firmly affixed to a cup from which he gulps water like a hard-ridden stallion, RHAEGAR can only wave a hand in acknowledgment.
BARRISTAN [CONT’D]
You smashed Lord Royce so hard I believe he travelled halfway back to Highgarden before he finally hit the ground.
RHAEGAR
Nonsense, Lord Royce is the easiest target in the tourney, and I’d wager I’m not the first dragon he tangled with today either. Given the way he teetered in his saddle I suspect he broke his fast with several generous cups of the same beast that flamed him last night.
BARRISTAN
Well drunk or no, it makes no bearing on your control of the lance.
RHAEGAR
Perhaps I should have forbidden you from attending lest you learn how to best me.
BARRISTAN
Again, Your Grace. Best you again.
I trust you have given some thought to whom you intend to crown our Queen of Love and Beauty, should you prevail in the tourney?
RHAEGAR
I had not, though the young lady Whent seems the most favourable candidate. Her father is our host, after all.
BARRISTAN
A generous notion, Your Grace, but no less impolitic for it. Ser Lewyn only recently counselled me against affording the smallfolk too much credit, and in this instance at least I’m inclined to concede his point. Highborn intrigue spreads through the people like fire through summer brush.
RHAEGAR
I’m not sure I see your meaning.
BARRISTAN
When a man names a young maiden his Queen, the inference is invariably made that he means to take her into his bed or, to her greater dishonour, that he has already done so. You know how the realm loves a good scandal.
RHAEGAR
I am a married man, Barristan.
BARRISTAN
That’s the kind of scandal they love the most.
RHAEGAR
Lady Sara is little more than a child.
BARRISTAN
All the more reason to tread carefully, Your Grace. At the Lady Sara’s age, any imputation against her maidenhood serves as slight towards her father also, responsible as Lord Whent is for the preservation of his daughter’s chastity, and fathers highborn or low are not commonly known for their even temper towards such matters.
RHAEGAR
Then who do you mean to choose should you prevail in tourney?
BARRISTAN
Lady Shella has seen at least forty summers, happily wed for more than twenty. I can see no controversy in crowning our host’s lady wife.
RHAEGAR
Did you not once proclaim my mother Queen of Love and Beauty at some tourney past when she was still unwed?
BARRISTAN
Which is why it is to your better fortune to be surrounded by men of greater age and broader experience, Your Grace: so that you might learn from their mistakes and by so doing avoid their repeat.
The flaps of the tent part to admit the noonday sun as MYLES MOOTON enters.
MYLES
Congratulations, Your Grace. I’ve never seen a finer victory.
RHAEGAR
Enough! At least when a brother of the Kingsguard praises me I know he’s not just buttering me up for a knighthood.
RHAEGAR’s squire moves to begin divesting the prince of his armour, but RHAEGAR raises a hand to hold him at bay.
RHAEGAR [CONT’D]
Ser Barristan, I wondered if you might do me the honour…
MYLES scowls, but BARRISTAN beams.
BARRISTAN
The honour would be all mine, Your Grace.
RHAEGAR
Thank you, Myles, you may leave us.
MYLES slopes out of the tent, muttering and grumbling beneath his breath as he goes.
BARRISTAN
Your squire seems especially conscientious to his duties.
RHAEGAR
I believe Richard Lonmouth’s knighthood lit something of a fire beneath his feet. He’s been servile as a puppy dog ever since, but he’ll need to brush up on his courtesies before he gets any honours from me.
BARRISTAN
If only men of perfect manners were deserving of a knight’s honours, we’d have two pieces of moth-eaten parchment in place of the White Book.
RHAEGAR moves to stand before a floor-length mirror and BARRISTAN begins his work with the prince’s pauldrons.
RHAEGAR [CONT’D]
Do you remember the day you first dressed me in armour?
BARRISTAN
I do. I told you there was no need for you to learn how to swing a sword, that you had the Kingsguard to fight your battles for you.
RHAEGAR
And I told you it was not a request, it was a command.
BARRISTAN
I believe that was the day I learned you do not argue with a dragon, even when he’s barely old enough to shave.
RHAEGAR
As I learned you do not provoke a man more skilled at arms. That first day of training you left me black and blue from the flat of your training sword.
BARRISTAN
If you were determined to be a fighter, I was determined that you would be the very best you could possibly be. It might just save your life one day.
While BARRISTAN applies himself dutifully to the task at hand, RHAEGAR silently studies the Kingsguard in the mirror.
RHAEGAR
How long have you and I known one another, Barristan?
BARRISTAN
Well…you’ve known me since you were old enough to know anything besides your mother’s voice, and I’ve known you a few moons longer than that.
RHAEGAR
And have you ever known me to behave irrationally? To do something on whim or fancy, without first considering its consequences?
BARRISTAN
No, Your Grace, I can’t say I have.
RHAEGAR raises his arms out to his side and BARRISTAN proceeds to work at the straps tethering RHAEGAR’s breastplate to his backplate.
RHAEGAR
Have you ever known me to abuse my power as prince? Have I ever given you cause to think me vain or overly preoccupied with personal glory?
BARRISTAN stops his work and studies RHAEGAR’s face with a knitted brow.
BARRISTAN
Is something troubling you, Your Grace?
RHAEGAR meets BARRISTAN’s gaze, clearly deliberating some great burden as he looks into the older man’s pale blue eyes and the lines and wrinkles that have begun to creep in about their edges.
RHAEGAR
I must ask something of you, Barristan.
BARRISTAN
Anything, Your Grace, you know that. I am sworn to serve.
RHAEGAR
I will soon have need of that service as I never have before. I will not lie to you: it is no small thing, which is precisely why I want only my oldest and most trusted friends beside me in its undertaking.
BARRISTAN practically flinches as the prince names him “friend”.
BARRISTAN
You honour me, Your Grace, but I -
RHAEGAR [INTERRUPTING]
You and Arthur are the two finest men I’ve ever known. You both taught me so much in my life. Your companionship and your instruction -
BARRISTAN
Please, Your Grace…
RHAEGAR
- have made me a better man, as I know they will surely make me a better king one day. When that day comes I shall -
BARRISTAN [INTERRUPTING]
Your Grace, stop! Please stop. Whatever you were about to tell me…I…I am not deserving of your trust.
RHAEGAR
There’s no one in all the world more deserving, Barristan, or more honourable.
BARRISTAN
Every word of praise you speak is like a barb into my heart, Your Grace. If you only knew…
RHAEGAR
If I only knew what?
BARRISTAN
It’s not something I’m proud to confess, Your Grace.
RHAEGAR
I’d have hoped after all I’ve said you would know there’s no possible way you could lose my esteem. Speak plainly, please.
BARRISTAN runs his hands over the gauntlet he holds, suddenly and curiously preoccupied by the swirls of fire embossed across the coloured steel.
BARRISTAN
When I asked Ser Jaime to ride with the Kingsguard, the invitation was not my own. It came from the king.
Your father approached the Lord Commander first, but Ser Gerold did not feel comfortable with the subterfuge, and so declined on grounds of honour.
I should have known better than to break from his example, but I could not see how my vows permitted me any option but to obey my king.
RHAEGAR
I don’t understand. What deception did my father command of you?
BARRISTAN
No deception as such, Your Grace. He commanded only that I do what I was able to flatter the boy’s youthful vanity, to make plain my admiration for his swordsmanship and speak with enthusiasm on how high he might rise at court.
RHAEGAR
As high as a knight of the realm, in fact.
BARRISTAN
The lad’s bravery is in no way qualified by my falseness, Your Grace. He earned his knighthood, and in more honourable circumstances than some I might name.
BARRISTAN sets the gauntlet aside. He crosses his wrists behind his back, squaring his shoulders at full attention.
BARRISTAN [CONT’D]
I will accept without complaint whatever consequences you consider fit, Your Grace. I would ask only that you do not permit my misdeeds to colour your opinion of Ser Jaime.
RHAEGAR considers the knight for a long moment, then places a hand upon his shoulder.
RHAEGAR
Your pretence with Jaime does not reflect half so much on your honour as does your honesty with me. You are too hard on yourself, ser.
BARRISTAN
You’re not angry with me, Your Grace?
RHAEGAR
No, not angry. Disappointed, perhaps, as our mothers are wont to say.
BARRISTAN
A man should not speak through both sides of his mouth. Nor should a knight, and a white cloak least of all.
RHAEGAR
All three must live by a code, I grant you, but tell me this: when a knight swears his service to his lord, what words does the lord speak back?
BARRISTAN
“I vow that you shall always have a place by my hearth and meat and mead at my table.”
RHAEGAR
“And pledge to ask no service of you that might bring you into dishonour.” Not all vows are made equal, Ser Barristan, but nor too are all kings. The fault does not lie with you.
Blinking away burgeoning tears, BARRISTAN nods gratefully.
BARRISTAN
Thank you, Your Grace. I do not deserve your forgiveness, but I do appreciate your kindness.
RHAEGAR
Let us speak no more about it.
BARRISTAN
As you command, Your Grace.
BARRISTAN reaches for RHAEGAR’s cuisses, but the prince takes a step backward.
RHAEGAR
I think perhaps I did Myles a disservice. He is my squire, after all.
Wounded, BARRISTAN nevertheless make a brave face of his dismissal.
BARRISTAN
Of course, Your Grace. I shall fetch young Lord Myles at once.
BARRISTAN moves to depart, but pauses at the tent’s entrance.
BARRISTAN [CONT’D]
Your Grace? This service you would ask of me…
RHAEGAR glances briefly over his shoulder, opens his mouth as though to speak…then turns back to the mirror.
RHAEGAR [INTERRUPTING]
That will be all for now, Ser Barristan. Thank you.
The old knight nods, wanting to press the issue but unsure how to reach beyond the wall of cool courtesy suddenly appeared between them. He bows low to RHAEGAR’s back, the prince’s attention returned once more to his reflection.
BARRISTAN
As you command, Your Grace.
8.9 INT: THE MERMAID – DAY
S.E: heavy footsteps.
LORD
Put me down, you great lummox! Unhand me, I say!
ILYRIO sets aside his quill and leans back in his chair, sighing wearily.
ILYRIO
Again?
Held three feet above the ground by the scruff of his doublet, the red-faced little lord twists in JODO’s vice-like grip.
LORD
I barely touched her, I swear. I’d only just unbuttened my breeches and she starts screaming like a spearwife!
ILYRIO
Yes, yes, alright. Set him down, Jodo.
JODO does as he’s bid. Once the lordling’s feet are firmly planted on the plushness of IILYRIO’s exquisitely-woven Myrenese rug, he tries his best to muster what little dignity might remain to him, smoothing his hair and casting a supercilious glare toward the Magister, his imperious manner undermined somewhat by the anxious glances he casts towards the Pentoshi behemoth at his back.
LORD
I paid good coin for that girl.
ILYRIO
I can assure you we shall see you well compensated for your inconvenience. Jodo, tell Janice and Kiara to remove themselves from the rotation. I want our friend here to receive their utmost and undivided attention.
LORD
I’m not paying double.
ILYRIO
You’re not paying at all, my good man. And if you can agree to keep this unpleasantness within these four walls, I see no reason why you should ever need pay again.
The lordling considers these terms carefully. He appears inclined to push his luck, but the sound of JODO shifting his weight impatiently soon resolves his mind. He nods in agreement.
ILYRIO
Wonderful. Jodo, if you would be so kind…
The lordling does not wait for the Pentoshi’s escort and scarpers at haste from the room. Lumbering through the open door, JODO steps aside with a deference that belies his stature to admit the arriving VARYS, and departs.
ILYRIO
Well, well, who is this fair stranger that stands upon my humble threshold? Does this mean you and I are friends once more?
VARYS takes a seat across the desk from the magister.
VARYS
That depends entirely on you, and whatever other secrets you might be keeping from me.
ILYRIO
I made no secret of my ambitions, Varys.
VARYS
No, only the means by which you conspired to achieve them, and the part our queen has to play in abetting such.
ILYRIO reaches into a drawer of his desk and produces a bundle of parchment.
ILYRIO
“I pray to whichever gods may be listening that I am mistaken, but I do believe you may just have damned us all.” [chuckle]
He hands it to VARYS, drawing the eunuch’s attention to the three-headed dragon affixed in wax to the topmost page.
ILYRIO [CONT’D]
Come, dear doomsayer, and see what my wicked machinations have wrought us.
S.E: rustling papers.
VARYS
A royal charter?
ILYRIO
Those papers confer upon me the exclusive right to supply House Targaryen all the weapons, armour, and attendant conveyances necessary for the defence and protection of the crown’s lands and holdings.
VARYS
But you haven’t the first idea how to forge weapons.
ILYRIO
None of us is perfect, my friend, but when men are bound together in common cause all our individual shortcomings find their solution in the combined capabilities of the collective: each man giving aid according to his means, each man taking aid according to his needs.
ILYRIO stands and begins to stroll slowly about the room, his hands clasped behind his back.
ILYRIO [CONT’D]
Every town and village in the Seven Kingdoms boasts at least one smith expert in all things steel, but not one among them possesses the requisite capital nor the manpower to produce goods enough to fulfil an order half so large as the crown’s.
With the queen’s authority, I will bring these lonely artisans together within a single operation. Rather than a motley assemblage of equipment varying in both quality and cost, House Targaryen will take delivery of swords, shields, and spears all crafted to identical specifications and supplied at a pace and price made possible only by the efficiencies of mass production.
VARYS looks up from the stack of parchment and levels an expression of wry cynicism at his ambling friend.
VARYS
Why do I sense this utopian ideal of cooperation between competitors shall prove more lucrative for some than it does others?
ILYRIO
My contractors will be compensated appropriately for their labours, you need have no concern on that score. Of course, given the attendant start-up costs, and taking into account the generous discount astutely negotiated by Her Grace, it may be some time before the margin of profit progresses beyond the perilously thin, preventing me from spreading the wealth quite so liberally as I would prefer.
As VARYS sifts through one page after another, incredulous at their content, ILYRIO regards his friend with a satisfied grin.
ILYRIO [CONT’D]
You can admit you’re impressed, you know; you have my word I shan’t think any less of you.
VARYS
Oh, certainly I’m impressed. Impressed at your timing.
ILYRIO
How so?
VARYS
Now a cavernous and gaping void exists in the place of power latterly occupied by Tywin Lannister, a sudden and precipitous rise in the manufacture and supply of weapons of war may well prove more fortuitous than even your most avaricious projections could have anticipated.
ILYRIO
Must we always be so determinedly dramatic? You said yourself: Tywin is diminished, not defeated.
VARYS
Back in Myr, I once had occasion to speak with a priest of the Red God on the doom of Old Valyria. We’ve all heard a thousand different theories as to what caused the catastrophe, of course, but for whatever reason his has lingered most in my mind. He was of the opinion that some terrible fate must have befallen the firemasters charged with tending the fourteen flames. Whether through sorcery or simply a deeper understanding of the elements than we possess today, the masters ruled those fires as a kennelmaster does a pack of hunting dogs. When they were all gone – murdered, exiled, vanished into the ether, who can ever say – the secrets of their order went with them, and before too long the fourteen flames burned so angry they tore the land asunder and sunk beneath the sea the greatest civilization the world has ever known.
If the queen should succeed in whatever ill-ambitions she harbours towards Lord Tywin, then sooner or late this realm will bleed. For all his many faults, Tywin Lannister has proven himself a steadying hand upon the tiller of the Seven Kingdoms for near twenty years of unparalleled peace and prosperity. By the end of the first day without Tywin’s oversight, Aerys had sworn to serve fire and blood to one of House Targaryen’s most stalwart supporters.
ILYRIO
I admit the king’s sudden call to arms came as no little surprise, but it was only to be expected once we loosened his shackles –
VARYS [INTERRUPTING]
Once you and the Queen loosened his shackles. I’ll take no credit for any of this; I prefer to keep my hands clean of the chaos to come.
ILYRIO
Then at very least have the graciousness to apportion Rhaella her fit and proper share. The history books are meticulous in recounting every facile utterance our kings have ever spewed forth, but when a queen foreswears her own happiness to prevent the realm being torn asunder the maesters cannot spare the ink for so much as a footnote. If Joanna Lannister had remained at court, it would have been only a matter of time before Aerys took his pleasure of her, as he had done every other lady to pass through court since he discovered the worm between his legs had other uses besides passing water. You talk with such trepidation of some conjectural conflict to come, yet were it not for Rhaella’s selflessness all those years ago, you and I would now be standing amid the ash and bone of a country decimated by dragon and lion both.
VARYS
Rhaella’s selflessness strikes me as passingly similar to your own as regards this mercantile revolution you’re so determined to propagate, which is to say entirely in service to her own ambition. I can only hope that unlike your own, those ambitions are in no way made more profitable by greater bloodshed.
ILYRIO
You’re looking at this from entirely the wrong perspective, my friend. Rhaella has not created a void; she has created a vacancy. If you prove yourself as useful to the queen in Tywin’s absence as you did in his humbling, there’s no reason why you too should not benefit from her largesse. Do you really think you happened upon Rhaella and I by happenstance? Where else could I be more certain of meeting you than the quarters of the King’s Hand? Tell me, did you summon the courage to sit in Tywin’s chair, or was simply picturing the sight sufficient to satisfy your ambitions?
VARYS
I have no designs upon Tywin’s seat.
ILYRIO
Let us indulge for a moment in the pretence that you truly believe as such: it strikes me that your ambitions matter far less than your obligations.
VARYS
The mind positively quivers at the mental contortions to come.
ILYRIO
Whether you would accept the credit or not, you were instrumental in upsetting the balance of power that has steadied this kingdom since Aerys’ ascension. While I do not share in your bleak auguries for what’s to come, if you are so certain that the king will bring Westeros to wrack and ruin if left unchecked, then it seems to me you have a responsibility – nay, a duty – to assume for yourself the burden of enacting those checks and balances that was so unceremoniously stripped from Tywin Lannister.
Alas, such influence far exceeds the remit of a mere Master of Whispers…
VARYS
But not that of the King’s Hand, is that your meaning?
ILYRIO
Gracious, no! You’re far too principled a man to serve a king towards whose character and competency you hold such little regard.
ILYRIO lowers himself back into his chair, steepling his hands over the enormous hump of his belly.
ILYRIO [CONT’D]
Then again, who’s to say it need be Aerys you serve…
VARYS
What are you suggesting, Ilyrio? I thought you and I were done with secrets.
ILYRIO
I claim possession of no privileged insight nor private confidences, only a robust appreciation for a fellow player of singular talents. I shall say only this, my friend: you underestimated Queen Rhaella once, and whether this side of the Narrow Sea or the other, those gods to whom you so recently appealed oft make mockery of the man that insists upon making the same mistake twice.
8.10 INT: SER HARLAN’S CHAMBER - DAY
GEROLD
If only you’d been there to see the look on face, Harlan. The great Tywin Lannister, his mouth hanging open like the village simpleton as all his years of scheming come circling about to shaft him in his pompous golden backside. It was glorious.
I had hoped that would be an end to the Lord Hand’s grasp on our king, but it seems a lifetime of whispers echo long in the ear…This march on Duskendale is beyond foolhardy, and I have to believe Aerys would never have indulged its exercise were he not determined to prove himself free of Lannister fetters.
Three times I have called at his chambers requesting an audience, and three times he has sent me away unheard. It won’t be the first time he has ignored my counsel, but let us hope at least it will be the last upon which Tywin bears any influence. Perhaps if I can just hold him steady through this coming storm, he will pass on to peaceful seas and learn to stand on his own two feet as the man he was always meant to be…
As to your care, I mean to head down into the city to search down a maester before I depart. With Pycelle sequestering himself to quarters, I thought to send to the Citadel for a temporary replacement, but as yet have received no word in reply. I can only hope that before long –
EON
Speak the Strangers name…
GEROLD
Only a fool would speak that name in this company. What is your business here?
EON
Oh, sorry, I didn’t mean…
He fumbles at his riding cloak, jerking it up and over his head to reveal the chain of rings beyond count that hangs heavily about his neck.
EON [CONT’D]
That is to say, I am the Maester you sent for. An Archmaester, actually.
GEROLD’s wroth abates, but the regard with which he appraises this man of the Citadel remains cool.
GEROLD
Then you should know better than most. A man’s sick bed is no place for invoking that name, not least to style yourself as such.
EON
Forgive me, Lord Commander. I may wear many links, but bedside manner is accolade still to allude me, I fear.
Mollified somewhat by the Archmaester’s unassuming air, GEROLD nods and gestures to the seat on the opposing side of Harlan’s cot from his own.
GEROLD
The Conclave is not known for their expeditiousness. I thank you for coming in such short order, Archmaester.
EON
The legend of Barristan The Bold is such that even the deep dark depths of the Citadel are not beyond its reach, my lord. Once word went out, I was merely the fastest of a long and venerable line assembled to volunteer their services.
GEROLD frowns.
GEROLD
Ser Barristan?
EON gestures with a shrug towards HARLAN.
EON
A curious case of miscommunication, it would seem. It was not your summons I answered, but the Queen’s.
GEROLD permits himself a slight smile, his confusion resolved.
GEROLD
Reports that preceded our return from the Kingswood were confused. I must remember to thank Her Grace for her concern, misplaced thought it was.
EON
May I?
GEROLD nods his ascent, and the Archmaester leans over to inspect the patient.
GEROLD
You knew Ser Harlan by sight; you and he have met before?
EON
We have: some twenty years ago, when you and he were the age I am now and I was age when twenty years seemed like a lifetime.
GEROLD
Forgive me, I fear the intervening years have not been kind to my memory.
EON
No kinder than I, it shames me to say. My name is Eon, Lord Commander.
GEROLD
Archmaester Eon? He who authored “An Account of the War of the Ninepenny Kings”?
EON
The very same, though for brevity’s sake I typically prefer simply “Eon”, if it please my lord.
GEROLD
You were with us on Bloodstone.
EON [WARILY]
You have ready my history, then?
GEROLD
It has long been prescribed reading for my White Cloaks. Far more…even-handed…than Pycelle’s telling.
EON
You are gracious now as you were dutiful then, my lord, but I am unworthy of your generosity. I should never have permitted myself to be influenced by the politics of court.
Taken off-guard by the Archmaester’s unexpected earnestness, GEROLD shakes his head in sympathy.
GEROLD
You were a novice, still, all your prospects in life still to be decided. To criticise your crown prince and his moment of greatest glory…
EON
History deserved better, my lord. And so did you. My accounting was an insult to your character and to your service, and not a day has passed since the Stepstones that I have not regretted ever committing it to parchment.
GEROLD
You did what you could, Archmaester, and history is not so cruel as to demand any better…nor too a man bound by oath and honour to the very same self-censorship.
EON
You bear your burden better than I, my lord. Twenty years is a long time to spend in service to a lie, and there are times I feel its weighing on me greater than even this chain of metals I wear about my neck.
GEROLD
And there have been times this White Cloak has felt every bit as onerous, I promise you that. It is no easy thing to stand by in silence as a man climbs high in this world upon the rubble of your own reputation…
EON
To think something so simple as a single book could condemn a man to suffer such indignities…especially so a book that no one has ever read.
EON
Perhaps one day I will have an opportunity to set things aright and show the world my true account of what occurred that day, before Pycelle’s intervened on his master’s behalf.
GEROLD
If it brings you any comfort, Archmaester, your ledger is writ in black with me.
EON
Thank you, Lord Commander.
EON
At least now you understand why I was so eager to come in haste and offer my expertise.
EON returns his attention to HARLAN.
EON
I must say, it feels wonderful to relieve oneself of a debt so long-outstanding. I can only hope I might find some way to settle up with Ser Barristan to similar satisfaction.
GEROLD blinks at EON, his confusion plain.
GEROLD
I’m not sure I even recall you mentioning him by name in your history.
EON
Yes, exactly that.
The colour slowly drains from EON’s face as he registers GEROLD’s quizzical expression.
EON
I assumed, after so many years…has Ser Barristan truly kept his own counsel all this time?
GEROLD’s congenital distaste for the garrulous transforms his look of querulousness to one of impatience. EON’s eyes flit towards the door with a jackrabbit’s fancy, but rather than indulge his first and fiercest instinct, the Archmaester instead sighs and slumps his shoulders in resignation.
EON
I think perhaps we’d best be seated…
8.11 INT: ROYAL CHAMBERS, RED KEEP – DAY
While a pair of squires busy themselves affixing the red and black plate of a younger man’s armour, the king of the Seven Kingdoms studies his reflection in the floor-length mirror with a proud and haughty eye. He tilts his head to admire the line of his jaw, but when his lips part in appreciation his smile falters and AERYS all but flinches at the stack of wrinkles that pile up at the corner of his eyes. Conscious now of the twin furrows of bare skin carved like excavated rock either side of his brow, he raises a hand to redistribute a length of silver-grey strands over his hairline’s retreat.
S.E.: knocking.
Aerys all but jumps free of his armour, startled from the depths of memory’s echo. He makes a visible effort to comport himself, then turns a welcoming smile towards Jaime.
JAIME
You wanted to see me, Your Grace?
AERYS
I did.
Out, the pair of you! I’m quite certain Ser Jaime is capable of performing a squire’s duty.
AERYS shoos away his squires, the first to pass JAIME resentfully shoving the king’s vambrace into his hands. AERYS watches in the mirror as JAIME bends to his task.
S.E: door closing.
AERYS [CONT’D]
I trust I did not overstate your talents?
JAIME
I believe I can just about remember how it’s done, Your Grace; I squired for Lord Sumner at Crakehall on more than one occasion.
AERYS
An important rite of passage for every young man of noble birth, squiring. It teaches you discipline, humility…
JAIME
Stable-mucking, boot shining…
AERYS
Ha! Yes, there are those knights that take a curious sort of pleasure in seeing their soft little lordlings put to work.
JAIME
You squired for King Jaehaerys during the war, did you not?
AERYS
By that time my father was too weak to sit a horse, let alone ride one into battle. I’d have squired for your father, but he had your uncles and no need for another pair of hands. Steffon would have been the most likely candidate, but circumstances conspired against that arrangement also.
Has your father spoken of Steffon to you before?
JAIME
Very little, Your Grace. I know the three of you were very close as children here in the capital.
AERYS
He was my first choice, you know, to serve as my Hand. For a time at least.
JAIME
Do you regret your decision?
AERYS studies JAIME closely.
AERYS
Do you?
JAIME meets the king’s eyes in the mirror.
JAIME
I do not regret remaining here at court, Your Grace. But I do regret the way my father left.
AERYS
Tell me, do you imagine Tywin regrets putting House Reyne to the sword when they defied his father’s rule?
JAIME
No, Your Grace.
AERYS
And do you imagine I regret taking up my father’s command and finally putting an end to the Blackfyre line?
JAIME
Of course not, Your Grace.
AERYS
Of course not, because the end of the war was the beginning of my reign, no matter what dates the maesters insist upon.
AERYS turns from his reflection to bring the two men face to face.
AERYS [CONT’D]
There comes a time for every man when he must stand up and seize his place in this world. If that place should still be occupied then he has no option but to clear a path…or remain a boy forever.
JAIME has no reply, and holds his attention to the leather straps of the king’s pauldron.
AERYS [CONT’D]
But if it provides you any comfort, know that you had no hand in your father’s humbling. That had been a long time coming, longer even than you have been alive. That you chose to rise up off your knees the same day Tywin was forced to his…that was coincidence, not cause.
No, your time to truly take a stand is still to come, though I have no doubt it shall be glorious when it does. I only hope I am there to bear witness.
Again, JAIME offers no comment, but it is clear from his fumbling that the king’s words have buried deep. AERYS is content in the silence, knowing well enough the seed left room to sprout bears surer fruit than the seed overcrowded.
JAIME
There we are, Your Grace.
The last strap buckled, JAIME takes a step aside to admit AERYS a full view of himself. AERYS shrugs his shoulders, shifting in the armour. He nods as though in confirmation.
AERYS
Fits as well as the first day I wore it.
He turns about, seeming to swell with surety as though drawing confidence directly from the dragons that adorn his plate.
AERYS [CONT’D]
It’s been too long since I felt cool steel against my skin. Excepting that damned throne, of course.
JAIME
Word about the keep is that you march on Duskendale within the week?
AERYS
We, Ser Jaime. We march on Duskendale within the week.
JAIME
Your Grace?
AERYS
You’re going to serve in my personal detail.
(pause)
Unless you’d rather remain here?
JAIME blinks, mouth agape.
JAIME
I don’t know what to say, Your Grace.
AERYS
Don’t act as though I’m the one doing you the kindness. Any man capable of walking upright can find a place in the rank and file of my army, but when it comes to my own protection, I want nothing but the bravest and most skilled swordsmen at my side.
AERYS faces JAIME, raises a hand to rest upon his shoulder.
AERYS [CONT’D]
Your father was my second choice then. You are my first choice now.
JAIME visibly swells with pride.
JAIME
It would be my honour, Your Grace.
AERYS
Wonderful. Lord Commander Hightower commands the main body of my forces, but you shall join my escort. Come, I have something to show you.
AERYS moves to the large table that dominates the room, laying his hands upon the long case of polished wood set aside from the general clutter. Elaborate carvings of dragons in flight decorate the lid, the golden clasp that closes the case crafted in the form of another pair of dragons, their long bodies coiled around one another like mating serpents.
S.E: case opening.
Inside the case, laid upon a bed of velvet, rests a castle-forged broadsword. AERYS removes the blade and holds it out for JAIME’s inspection.
AERYS [CONT’D]
This is the sword I carried into battle upon the Stepstones. I slew Maelys the Monstrous in single combat and ended the War of the Ninepenny Kings with one stroke of this sword.
JAIME
It’s not Valyrian steel.
AERYS smiles like the proud tutor of a precocious student.
AERYS
No, this is a fine blade, castle-forged and true, but common steel all the same.
JAIME
In the stories its always said that Aegon the Conqueror wielded a sword forged in the Valyrian fashion?
AERYS
Blackfyre, it was called. Aegon’s sister-wife Visenya wielded another, named Dark Sister. The first was lost in Essos, the second beyond the Wall, both carried off by bastards. A shame, no doubt, yet I have always been of the mind that a weapon’s worth is determined by its usage, not by its origins.
JAIME
A fine blade, Your Grace.
AERYS
I’m glad you approve; it would make a poor gift if you didn’t.
Once again, JAIME is struck dumb. As he realises the king’s meaning, his eyes grow wide in surprise.
JAIME
Your Grace, I don’t know what to say. You honour me, truly, but I cannot possibly accept –
AERYS [INTERRUPTING]
You can and you will. Your king commands it.
JAIME looks at the blade appreciatively, but the ghost of a frown haunts his expression.
AERYS
Is ought amiss, Ser Jaime?
JAIME
Not at all, Your Grace, forgive me, it’s only…the sword I carry now, it was a gift from my father.
AERYS
Ah yes, that gold-gilded absurdity he had fashioned for your twelfth name-day. He had the swordsmith shipped over from Bravos if I recall correctly.
JAIME
I’m surprised you remember, Your Grace.
AERYS
How could I not? The Red Keep was abuzz for weeks with the tale of your father’s extravagance. A golden sword for the little golden lion cub: how wonderfully self-aggrandising.
A shadow of faint pique flits across JAIME’s face, there one second and gone the next, but lingering long enough for AERYS to catch it.
AERYS [CONT’D]
You cannot believe Tywin ever meant for his gift to be swung in anger, surely? It was made to be admired and envied at tourneys and tilts and ceremonial occasions, not carried onto an actual battlefield.
JAIME
You don’t really expect Lord Darklyn to take up arms against the throne, do you Your Grace?
AERYS
I’m offering you my sword not because I believe you’ll need it, but because I believe you’ve earned it. Children play with shiny toys; men fight with naked steel. You proved yourself once when you fought alongside the white brothers in the Kingswood. A knighthood was your reward. You proved yourself a second time when you defied your father’s orders and refused to return to the Rock. And this…
AERYS reaches down and gently fingers the end of the sword he holds at his waist.
AERYS [CONT’D]
This is your reward.
JAIME’s eyes run along it’s rigid length with a look almost sensual in its slowness, his gaze coming to rest at its tip where he finds the king’s own watching him with no less covetousness. He accepts AERY’S offering, then lowers himself to one knee and bows his head
JAIME
It would be my honour to bear your sword, Your Grace.
Grinning broadly, AERYS draws JAIME upright and claps him on the shoulders.
AERYS
You’ve made an old man very happy, Ser. Now, go and make whatever preparations you must. We ride for Duskendale two days hence.
JAIME
Yes, Your Grace. Thank you, Your Grace.
JAIME bows once more and exits, practically floating over the polished stone floor. AERYS watches him go, then turns back to the mirror. He raises his hand and inspects the tiny red dot left by the sword’s soft kiss.
8.12 INT: HALL OF A HUNDRED HEARTHS, HARRENHAL – NIGHT
The Hall of a Hundred Hearths is at capacity for the first time in living memory, the warmth generated by the pack of bodies so formidable that barely a third of the eponymous fireplaces have been called upon to ward off the night’s bracing chill. Every long table is spoken for, its attendants jammed shoulder-to-shoulder on either side of a sumptuous spread of meats, breads, and all manner of cakes and sweet treats. Any pretence of courses has been abandoned from the off, the overpiled trays serving as a continuous buffet at which the revellers pick between turns upon the makeshift dancefloor organised at the Hall’s farthest end. A band of musicians play with redoubtable energy upon a raised dais beneath a line of hanging banners bearing the nine bats of House Whent, the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen, and, in deference to TYWIN’s service as the king’s emissary for the tourney’s duration, the gold and rearing lion of House Lannister. The man himself, recently-arrived and hastily redressed in time for the feast, sits at the high table’s seat of honour, flanked on one side by Lord WALTER and his lady wife SHELLA, and on the other by a downcast CERSEI and radiant SARA. SER OSWELL, brother to Lord WALTER and uncle to SARA, stands at TYWIN’s shoulder, eyeing enviously the choicest cuts of venison and fowl that TYWIN politely waves away.
At the table occupied by the STARK and TULLY households sit LYANNA, CATELYN, EDMURE and BENJEN, while NED and HOWLAND REED chat amiably across from them, RICKARD and HOSTER standing apart in idle conference.
CATELYN
Is he looking?
LYANNA sighs and searches out her brother BRANDON, finding him locked in bawdy conversation with Kyle Royce, Ethan Glover, Jeffory Mallister, and Elbert Arryn, nephew and heir to Lord Jon.
LYANNA
He’s talking with the Lads.
CATELYN
The Lads?
CATELYN
It’s what my brother and his stupid friends call themselves. It would be funny if it weren’t so tragic.
CATELYN scowls. She gathers her long silken hair in both hands and bunches it atop her crown. Tossing her head with a coquettish flourish, she frees the auburn mane to cascade down about her shoulders.
CATELYN
What about now?
LYANNA
Now he’s arm-wrestling Ethan Glover.
CATELYN
Damn you Brandon Stark, what sort of game are you playing?
LYANNA
If you want his attention so badly, why didn’t you attend his joust this afternoon? Perhaps that’s why he doesn’t care to look at you.
CATELYN
Because I’m still angry with him for what he did to poor Petyr.
LYANNA
The thing you told me you actually found –
CATELYN
Lyanna!
CATELYN gestures at BENJEN and EDMURE trying and failing to appear as though they aren’t eavesdropping. LYANNA shakes her head despairingly.
LYANNA
They’re ten, Catelyn. You could describe your wedding night from aisle to afterglow and they’d still be none the wiser.
EDMURE
That’s not true. I know what moonblood is.
CATELYN
Edmure!
BENJEN [PROUD OF HIMSELF]
Oh, I know what that is! Brandon says that’s what makes you both act foolish.
LYANNA
That’s wolf’s blood, Benjen.
BENJEN
Then what’s moonblood?
EDMURE leans over and whispers in BENJEN’s ear, the colour slowly draining from the youngest Stark’s face.
Dismissing the boys from mind with a roll of her eyes, CATELYN leans in closer to LYANNA to ensure her confidences remain as such.
CATELYN
Do you ever picture it? Your wedding night, I mean?
LYANNA searches out ROBERT, finding him five tables away holding court among the Hightowers, endeavouring with stubborn gaiety to lead the young men of Old Town in a chorus of “The Bear and the Maiden Fair.” LYANNA watches as her betrothed raises his arms aloft and growls in ursine imitation, sloshing his ale as though this particular bear were haphazardly and inefficiently watering a collection of flowerboxes.
LYANNA
It’s almost too magical to contemplate.
CATELYN
I do. I picture the whole ceremony: the dress I’ll wear, how I’ll style my hair, the flowers I’ll carry…it’s all I’ve dreamed of since I was a little girl.
LYANNA
I feel truly terrible for that little girl if my brother was the extent of her imagination.
CATELYN
Oh, I never thought I’d marry a Northerner. You have such queer traditions up there. Will I really have to say my vows to a tree, do you think?
LYANNA
You say your vows before a heart tree, to each other. The Weirwood is just a witness.
CATELYN
Will you insist upon a Northern wedding, or will you have a Stormlands ceremony to please Robert?
LYANNA [MUTTERING]
The sword or the axe, asked the executioner.
CATELYN
What?
LYANNA [QUICKLY]
Northern, I expect. My father has yet to inform me of the details.
CUT TO:
With the charitable heart of a man well on his way to merry, HOSTER sweeps an expansive arm about the room, his face flushed and beaming.
HOSTER
Look about you, my friend. Can you recall the last time you saw the realm gathered together like this?
RICKARD
Aye. The last night of the war.
HOSTER
Is it possible we were ever so young? As young as our own heirs are now?
They look upon the faces of their families, for all their personal preoccupations still positively resplendent with all the brightness and beauty of vigorous youth as yet undiminished by the traumas and truths of bitter experience.
RICKARD
The second-to-last night of the war, most likely. We only spent a few hours on Bloodstone, but every one of us was aged like leather by the time we left that bastard rock.
HOSTER
I’d be there still if it weren’t for you. A pile of bones picked clean by the carrion birds.
RICKARD
Enough of that.
Against HOSTER’s protests, RICKARD confiscates his cup.
RICKARD [CONT’D]
And of this, I think. We need to keep our wits about us, tonight of all nights.
RICKARD searches for somewhere to dispose of the cup, and finds a convenient solution in the passing ROBERT. ROBERT accepts the drink without question, pouring it into his own cup and tossing the empty aside without breaking his staggering yet bullish stride towards the Dornish table.
HOSTER
Steffon was glorious that day. Old Lord Ormund would have been proud to see it.
RICKARD
No doubt he would. But given the choice, I’d wager he’d rather Steffon never stepped within a hundred leagues of a battlefield.
HOSTER follows RICKARD’s eyeline to BRANDON, and then to Ned, the latter chuckling as he helps HOWLAND to his feet, the young crannogman teetering drunkenly while mopping at his latest cup spilled across his woollen doublet.
HOSTER
Such was ever the way between fathers and sons. But we cannot protect our children forever, however hard you’re determined to try.
RICKARD
You name them children; I name them the Knights of Summer: green as grass and savvy as fresh-birthed foals. They’re not ready, Hoster.
HOSTER
No, they’re not. But then neither were we, and look at everything we’ve built.
Feeling himself begrudgingly sobered by the maudlin turn the conversation has taken, HOSTER summons a half-hearted smile of encouragement.
HOSTER [CONT’D]
When their time comes we’ll be handing off a better world than our father’s left to us, of that much you and Jon have made certain. And they won’t have to fight a war to keep it, either.
RICKARD makes no reply at first, the brooding disquiet characteristic of all Stark men his only response. HOSTER is set to press his point when an unlikely hand claps him on the back.
TYWIN
Hoster Tully, you old knave you! It’s been far too long, old friend!
HOSTER and RICKARD exchange a look of startled befuddlement at TYWIN’s cheery greeting.
HOSTER
Well met, Lord Tywin.
TYWIN
And if it isn’t Shagger Stark! How’s the cold white North been treating you?
RICKARD
Like I carried off its maiden daughter.
TYWIN
Ha! There’s the old gallows humour I remember from the frontlines.
RICKARD and HOSTER glance at one another, no less perplexed than had a string of sausages sidled up and begun reciting Old Valyrian rhyming couplets in immaculate meter.
HOSTER
We…we were just talking about the war, funnily enough.
TYWIN
My ears must have been burning from across the Hall. I’d wager the warrior himself would delight to hear the stories we could tell.
HOSTER
Indeed, my lord. You and I shall have to find the time to reminisce someday.
TYWIN
A splendid idea! Shall we say my tent, noon tomorrow?
TYWIN does not wait for an answer.
TYWIN [CONT’D]
Marvellous, I’m overcome with anticipation already!
He nods his farewell to RICKARD, delivers HOSTER another pat upon the back, and departs for the high table, smiling all the while. Lords Stark and Tully look to one another, no less befuddled than when the conversation began.
RICKARD
What the fuck was that?
RICKARD catches the eye of NED, his middle son eyeing him with raised eyebrows.
NED
Did he just call you “Shagger”?
RICKARD
“Shaggy”. Shaggy Stark, he called me. I wore my hair long and wild in my youth.
NED’s further probing is interrupted by the arrival of BRANDON back to table. He sits himself beside his little brother, and NED moves to refill his cup. To NED’s surprise, BRANDON turns the cup on its head, preventing the pour.
BRANDON
Two is plenty.
NED
You sure? It’s not every day you unseat a brother of the Kingsguard.
BRANDON
I have to be on my best behaviour in front of the old guard.
NED follows BRANDON’s eyes to RICKARD and HOSTER. Surreptitiously pulling a small drinking flask just beyond the top of his breeches pocket, BRANDON winks mischievously.
BRANDON
Well, almost my best.
ROBERT
Ned! There’s someone I’d like you to meet.
Turning on their bench, NED and BRANDON find ROBERT standing over them. He steps aside, revealing behind his prodigious frame a tall, willowy young woman dressed in the silver and purple of House Dayne. Her long hair falls free about her shoulders to frame her porcelain-fragile features in striking contrast, like the wild black streak of a raven’s wings against a sun-bleached sky. A pair of haunting violet eyes drift languidly over the stricken Stark brothers, her pillowy pink lips parting in a smile conjured by some jest known only to herself.
ASHARA
For shame, Robert: you didn’t tell me your friend was half so dashing as this.
ROBERT frowns, moving quickly to dispel the confusion.
ROBERT
Him? Brandon’s near old enough to be a grandfather, and nothing special to look at anyhow, you ask me. No, this is Ned. Ned, this is Lady Ashara, daughter to the late Lord Aymore Dayne.
NED rises clumsily to his feet, immediately and painfully aware of the several inches he surrenders in height to ASHARA.
ASHARA
And sister to Ser Arthur, who watches us from across the Hall while endeavouring in vain to pretend otherwise.
They follow ASHARA’s nod and sure enough spy the Sword of the Morning peering over from the raised platform upon which the high table stands.
ROBERT
On your feet, Brandon. What say you and I make ourselves known to Ser Arthur?
BRANDON waves ROBERT away, motivated in equal parts by his own bewitchment and the prospect of watching his little brother’s awkward, fumbling charm.
BRANDON
I’m alright here, I reckon.
Without so much as a cursory courtship, ROBERT grabs BRANDON beneath the armpits and lifts him up off the bench and onto his feet. Before BRANDON can protest, ROBERT wraps an arm about his shoulders and squeezes him close.
ROBERT
Well you’re up now, anyway. Let’s leave these two to get acquainted, shall we?
Frogmarching BRANDON away, ROBERT looks back over his shoulder and winks at NED with all the subtlety of a naked tumbler.
ASHARA
You must forgive me for my mistake, Lord Stark.
NED
“Ned”’s fine, my lady, and there’s no need to apologise; I only knew you because I was watching you before. I mean, I saw you earlier. Earlier, I watched you. Dancing, that is. I saw you dancing.
Putting himself out of his own misery, NED jams his cup to his lips to halt his flustered tongue. ASHARA smiles, NED’s charm no less inelegant than BRANDON expected, but all the more endearing for it.
ASHARA
And yet you chose not to cut in?
NED
I didn’t think it right to deprive another man of your company, my lady.
ASHARA
How very considerate of you. I had no idea they bred them so courteous in the North.
NED
Courteous, aye, but with two-left feet as well. I haven’t had much occasion to improve, I’m afraid.
ASHARA
All the more reason to seize this one. May I?
ASHARA holds out her hand but is left without an answer as a sudden quiet spreads through the hall, the realisation passing from front to back that WALTER has risen to his feet and awaits everyone’s attention.
WALTER
My friends, it is my very great honour to introduce a late addition to our program this evening. Thanks in no small part to the persistent badgering of my lady wife and daughter -
WALTER smiles indulgently towards SHELLA and SARA, the former beaming back and the latter ducking beneath the table in embarrassment.
WALTER
- His Grace, Prince Rhaegar, has graciously agreed to play us a piece of his own composition. My prince?
RHAEGAR enters the Hall via a disguised door set into the wood panelling behind the high table. With his harp clutched beneath his arm, he makes his way to the musicians’ dais, nodding greetings to familiar faces in the crowd as he passes.
CATELYN
Lyanna! It’s the prince! Prince Rhaegar is going to play!
Craning her neck as best she can, LYANNA still cannot see beyond her brothers, let alone the quickly-assembled body of spectators gathered upon the dancefloor. CATELYN grabs LYANNA’s hand and for the second time that day pulls her away in pursuit out the prince.
CATELYN
Come on, let’s find a way to the front.
The pair plunge into the crowd, weaving in and out and between the press, snaking into gaps as soon as they open and ducking into channels before they close.
RHAEGAR mounts the dais, raising a hand in acknowledgement of his audience. A tremor of excitement ripples through the crowd, and in the clamour CATELYN loses her grip on LYANNA’s wrist.
RHAEGAR
Thank you, Lord Whent. I hope I don’t make Lady Shella and young Sara regret their invitation, though no matter how bad you all might think my music, I would remind you I will one day sit on the Iron Throne, and there’s plenty of room in the Red Keep’s dungeons for those that don’t sufficiently support the arts.
S.E: laughter, applause.
Using the prince’s voice as her compass, LYANNA squirms and wriggles and slinks and writhes her way through what she trusts must be CATELYN’s wake. She feels elbows pointedly poking her as she moves, the human forest growing dangerously dense the deeper she advances. Just as she’s ready to admit defeat and retreat back to her table, she spies inspiration rising tall and stiff to the ceiling overhead: a pillar, its rounded column set into a square stone base. LYANNA wraps her arms about its girth much as a storm-wracked sailor might grasp a sturdy mast, and pulls herself atop the stone block. She scans about for CATELYN, hoping from her new vantage point to spy the head of auburn hair with which she was so recently and so ostentatiously made familiar.
Her search comes to an abrupt end when her gaze falls upon the object of the crowd’s attention. As though struck by a bolt from the heavens, LYANNA watches in wide-eyed wonder as RHAEGAR begins to play.
*THE BALLAD OF BAEL AND THE WINTER ROSE*
The night is cold o’er winter's halls
Ice and snow and Maiden blush,
The songs he sings tomorrow calls,
Sadness and sorrow and Maiden hush.
Climbing the blue,
From stem to flower,
Raven call and raven coo,
Broken word and broken tower.
Away, away, the bell of winter cries,
Towards his promised 'morrow,
Away, away, the Bell of winter sighs,
Where only shadows dare to follow.
S.E: applause.
Standing mesmerized atop her stone plinth, LYANNA may as well be a statue herself for all the notice she pays the eruption of applause that fills the Hall. When she blinks, the film of tears that turned her world soft and shimmering spills over her lashes and trace twin trails down the flushed pink of her freckled cheeks. She takes a breath, and realises with an astonished second that for some time past she has entirely forgotten to breathe.
BENJEN [AMUSED]
Are you crying?
LYANNA looks down at the smirking BENJEN, emboldened by the half-cup of wine he has pilfered from a neighbouring table, EDMURE hovering at his side. She waves him away and looks back towards RHAEGAR, frowning at the score of young maidens darting like fish through an overlarge net in their haste to reach the prince. She clambers hastily down from the pillar.
BENJEN [CON’T, TEASING LYANNA]
Edmure, look: Lyanna’s crying! Are you on your moonblood?
BENJEN and EDMURE watch confounded as LYANNA brushes past without comment, moving through the dispersing crowd as though drawn by some undeniable vortex. They follow at her heel, shadowing the steps that carry her closer and closer to the circle of silk and lace that shields RHAEGAR from view. Just as LYANNA comes within touching distance of its outer ring, a sudden figure, lithe and golden, intercedes across her path.
CERSEI
Hello.
LYANNA frowns, shrugging her incomprehension at this abrupt and ill-timed introduction.
LYANNA
Hi?
CERSEI
You’re Lyanna Stark. I saw you from across the Hall.
CERSEI narrows her eyes at LYANNA much as a lepidopterist might inspect an unexpectedly colourful curio.
CERSEI [CONT’D]
You’re prettier up close. It’s the eyes, I think.
CERSEI glances over her shoulder at the scrum of admirers screening the prince, then leans in as though she and LYANNA were old friends sharing secrets.
CERSEI [CONT’D]
Such a pity. I can’t see how you’ll ever get close enough for him to notice.
BENJEN
I know you. You’re Cersei Lannister, the Hand’s daughter.
CERSEI looks down at BENJEN, receiving his interjection with a look that could curdle milk fresh from the udder.
LYANNA
That’s my little brother.
CERSEI
I see. You’re even shorter than they say.
BENJEN [OFFENDED]
I’m not short! I’m ten!
EDMURE
You should meet Howland; he’s twice our age but he’s even shorter than Benjen.
BENJEN
I’m taller than you!
At the mention of the name, LYANNA realises BENJEN and EDMURE are absent their charge.
LYANNA
Benjen, where’s Howland? I told you to stay close to him.
BENJEN
He drank too much wine and wanted to lie down. I think he went back to the tent.
LYANNA scans about the room frantically, her worst fears confirmed when she notices three brothers conspicuous by their absence from the table occupied by House Frey.
CERSEI
Who’s Howland?
LYANNA casts a last, forlorn glance over CERSEI’S shoulder at the giggling coterie assembled about RHAEGAR and turns to depart, pausing just long enough to snatch the cup from BENJEN’s hand and pour its contents over his head.
LYANNA
How’s that for moonblood?! You had one job, Benjen. One!
LYANNA thrusts the empty cup into EDMURE’s arms and hurries with purpose towards the Hall’s double-doored exit, snatching up a knife from the nearest table as she passes.
8.13 INT: SALON, STORM’S END – NIGHT
STANNIS
Can I not have one meal in piece without your hectoring, woman.
STANNIS and SELYSE sit at supper in the solar of their apartments. The hour is late, RENLY long since despatched to bed. Robert the dog lays his head in SELYSE’s lap, looking up at her with imploring eyes with every forkful she navigates to her mouth.
SELYSE
I am not criticising your judgment, husband, I only wish you’d consulted me before agreeing to stay on.
STANNIS
I thought you would be pleased. Everything will remain exactly as it was.
SELYSE
Meaning Robert will retain all the lands and titles, while you do all the work.
STANNIS
He’s entrusting me with his affairs, just as father did before him. I consider it an honour.
SELYSE
He’s not trying to honour you, Stannis. He’s trying to get you to run the Stormlands while he eats, drinks, and whores his way into an early grave.
But…that is no bad thing for small beginnings.
SELYSE raises a hand to draw the attention of EDMUND, her head of house. Robert raises his snout expectantly, his tail scything the air beneath the table.
SELYSE
Edmund, what was Lord Robert drinking while he was here?
EDMUND
The Arbor Gold to begin with, my lady, though our stores were soon exhausted. After that, the Dornish Red seemed the most amenable to Lord Robert’s palette.
SELYSE
A flagon of the Red, then, if you would.
EDMUND
Yes, my lady.
STANNIS
Should you be drinking in your condition?
SELYSE holds a hand to her belly.
SELYSE
The condition of which you made no mention to your brother, I noticed.
STANNIS
Would you have preferred I shared the happy news before or after we buried two pine boxes in place of our parents?
SELYSE frowns but says nothing, conceding the argument if not the point.
SELYSE
The wine isn’t for me. It’s for you.
STANNIS
I don’t drink wine either.
SELYSE
You’re going to start. And you’re going to begin hunting again. And you’re going to learn all the most ribald songs and how to sing them.
STANNIS
Am I being punished for something?
SELYSE takes the chicken from her plate and begins tearing off small chunks.
SELYSE
Robert. Sit.
Robert does as he’s instructed, and SELYSE rewards him with a juicy piece of whitemeat.
SELYSE
Quite the opposite. You did well with him, you know. I’m sorry if I haven’t said that enough. I know it wasn’t easy for you.
STANNIS
I’m gratified that you’re so easily impressed, but I hardly think a single conversation with my brother especially worthy of praise.
SELYSE
But look what came of that single conversation. Just a few kind words was all it took for Robert to hand you his kingdom.
SELYSE gives ROBERT another piece of chicken. STANNIS scowls in disapproval at them both.
STANNIS
I’ve asked you not to feed the dog at table. Your bad habit should not encourage his.
SELYSE
Do you know why Robert is such a perfect name for the dog?
As she speaks, SELYSE holds a chicken leg high over ROBERT’s head. He watches it transfixed, drool dripping from his jaws.
SELYSE [CONT’D]
Because dogs are simple creatures: the only thing they want in this world is to know you love them.
SELYSE moves her hand back and forth and Robert’s head strafes with it.
SELYSE [CONT’D]
They’ll beg, they’ll pant, they’ll fetch and carry and chase down game for you…anything to earn a little affection.
Finally, SELYSE tosses the chicken in the air and ROBERT snatches it in his jaws, settling down contentedly to gnaw at his prize.
SELYSE [CONT’D]
Grant them that, and there’s nothing they won’t do for you.
STANNIS
My brother has already given us everything he has. What more could you possibly want?
Sighing, SELYSE shakes her head in exasperation at her husband’s lack of foresight. She reaches out and curls her fingers over his hand.
SELYSE
Robert needs to be adored, but that makes him fickle. His loyalty will extend most to whomever rubbed his belly last.
STANNIS
Are we still discussing the dog?
SELYSE
Stannis.
STANNIS
I do not need to pander to Robert’s vanity, Selyse. I am his brother.
SELYSE
And perhaps that’s enough for now. But does a brother trump a wife? Does a brother trump a son?
Beneath the table, SELYSE strokes her stomach once again.
SELYSE [CONT’D]
Have you forgotten already how Renly bawled when he realised Robert had forgotten him to go drinking with Jon Connington? And Robert doesn’t even count Jon a friend, let alone his oldest and dearest.
STANNIS
I have nothing to fear from Ned Stark.
SELYSE
What was it you called him? Oh yes: “The brother Robert chose.”
EDMUND returns to the solar and SELYSE beckons him over.
SELYSE [CONT’D]
Robert was just a boy when he left for the Eyrie; he has spent more of his life with Ned Stark than he has the two of you.
They’ve grown up together; hunted together, gotten drunk together, sung all the most ribald songs together…
EDMUND stands at STANNIS’ elbow, a flagon of Dornish Red in his hand. STANNIS considers his wife for a long moment, then looks down to find Robrt’s head in his lap, the dog’s muzzle smearing chicken grease along the thigh of his master’s breeches.
STANNIS
Pour the damned wine.
EDMUND does as he’s bid. SELYSE pats her husband’s arm, smiling in encouragement.
STANNIS [CONT’D]
And fetch Donal Noye. Tell him to bring those plans my father had drawn up for Robert’s name day.
8.14 INT: HARRENHAL KITCHENS - NIGHT
While the castle sleeps above, servants of House Whent scuttle like rats below, fetching and carrying from the castle’s overstuffed stores that betray no evident sign of deepest Winter’s want. If any should pause in their industry to make note of the unfamiliar presence briefly spied descending the twisting stone staircase, none care to pass comment: only a few short hours remain before the sun rises on another day of tourney, and busy hands make for idle tongues.
Four turns of the steps further and the hooded figure takes up the trail of an intermittent line of burning torches mounted in sconces along stone walls blackened by ancient dragonfire. The rough-hewn corridor slopes down into the darkness, the incline increasing as the stone gives way to rock, and rock to compacted soil. Turning right, then left, then right again, the tunnels wind like wormholes through the chalky brown dirt two-hundred feet beneath the fields of Harrenhal.
Passing through the last pool of torchlight, the figure navigates carefully across a floor of brittle roots reaching up like grasping hands to claw at the cold stale air. Ahead, a small blossom of flame burns to one side of an oaken door set into the tunnel’s end, and to the other stands a shadowed statue, the fire fingering at the edges of his armour, a film of yellow and orange dancing over the burnished steel. The statue shifts, a hand falling to the hilt of the sword belted at its waist.
OSWELL
Who goes there?!
RICKARD
Forgive me, I must have lost my way. I meant only to take a stroll about the gardens.
OSWELL relaxes his sword hand and moves it to the door’s wrought iron handle. Pushing back his hood, RICKARD steps forward so the Kingsguard might see his face.
OSWELL [RELAXED, FRIENDLY]
Well met, Lord Stark. Did you have any trouble finding us? I know this place can seem like a rabbit warren.
RICKARD
No trouble. Your brother gave good directions.
OSWELL
I suggested we hang some signs along the tunnels to keep anyone from getting lost. “Turn Right for the Secret Meeting” and so forth. Walter thought they might be a bit of give away.
RICKARD does not share the knight’s good humour and lets the jape pass without comment.
RICKARD
Am I the last to arrive?
S.E: door creaks open.
OSWELL
By my count you’re the last that we’re expecting, so I certainly hope so, my lord.
RICKARD follows OSWELL into the gloom of the chamber beyond, the low ceiling forcing both men to stoop a little to save from scraping their heads. Enormous casks stack two high and three deep on either side of the space, the wood of those pressed against the weeping rock walls damp and rotting after centuries of neglect, leaking their contents to settle in rancid pools upon the bare stone floor. RICKARD rubs a gloved finger at his irritated eyes then holds it beneath his nostrils as the abrasive stink of vinegar assaults his senses.
OSWELL leads RICKARD to the last cask on the right, and RICKARD realises his initial impression that the cask stood flush against the back wall of the chamber was mistaken. A second door is set into the rock, draped in shadow and disguised by geometry until a man is only two steps from standing beneath its frame.
OSWELL
No doubt you can see yourself the rest of the way, my lord.
RICKARD nods his thanks and waits while OSWELL walks the floor and returns to his post on the outer door, then pushes open the inner and steps within.
The room beyond is less a chamber than it is a cave, an empty and irregular space carved into the naked rock as though some steel-toothed giant had taken a bite from a grey granite apple. Five men stand waiting, arranged in a crescent with their backs to the door. At the sound of its creaking hinges, they turn to meet RICKARD’s gaze as it passes from one familiar face to the next: HOSTER TULLY, Lord of Riverrun and Lord Paramount of the Trident; QUELLON GREYJOY, Lord Reaper of Pyke and Lord of the Iron Islands; WALTER WHENT, Lord of Harrenhal; DORAN MARTELL, Crown Prince of Dorne and Lord of Sunspear; and LEYTON HIGHTOWER, Lord of Old Town and Beacon in the South.
RICKARD
My friends, please forgive my tardiness.
The line of high lords parts in the middle to reveal a sixth man, standing as though to address the audience curved in a semi-circle before him.
RHAEGAR
No forgiveness necessary, Lord Stark. Now we are all here…let us begin, shall we?
OUTRO.