S3E1: Salt and Sea, Fire and Blood

Wait, what? We’re just out here ripping off Good Queen Bess now? 

Queen Rhaenyra the Black, taking a knife to her court clothes in frustration at being locked in her room by the son she’s been trying to keep alive, then awkwardly dropping a paraphrased grab from Elizabeth I’s speech to the troops at Tilbury? 

Did they think us history nerds wouldn’t immediately spot this and call for historical attribution and recompense? Do you think a spectacular battle we’ve been waiting two years for would distract me from opening my season premiere recap by hyper-focusing on one particular line instead of all the whizz-bangery of an epic naval clash?

Like hell, friends. Like steamy, smoky, sodden, sheep-stealery hell.

I can gruffly admit that at least the show is using the quote in connection with a famous naval battle, so it’s contextually appropriate, if still a little cringey.

I guess Rhaenyra will learn her lesson next episode when she discovers offspring number one has become offed-spring number two: write your own damn zingers.

Oh, Jace, JACE! We barely knew ye. Ye were a STUNNINGLY BEAUTIFUL *checks actor birthdate on Wikipedia* OF LEGAL AGE YOUNG MAN.

And poor Vermax! I barely remember The Never-Ending Story, but I’m sure I wasn’t the only one watching him struggle in the water to flashback to Artax stuck in that damn quicksand swamp thing.

I apologise for re-traumatising you.

A funny thing happened on my way through the Gullet, kittens, and that was the real world self-sacrificing of British Prime Minister Ser, sorry, Sir Keir Starmer. 

I always suspected Burnham would come for Dunce-his-name but I didn’t expect it to happen while I was grappling with Lindsay Lohar’s deadly grasp of grapnels.

Oh yes, Lindsay Lohar. That is the nickname I realised I’d never thought of during S2 recaps, smacked myself on the head about, and resolved to use it henceforth. Well, at least for the five minutes before Lindsay Lohar took a surprise knife to the gullet.

But perhaps the Starmer-rama drama llama can serve as inspiration for our first thematic link of the season. 

As we observe with Robert Baratheon several centuries in the future, there’s a different set of skills required for winning thrones and keeping them.

Starmer rallied his troops to secure a Labour win in 2024 after 13 years of Conservative rule. But his ability to run a strong opposition and solid campaign seemed to count for nothing once in The Red Keep, sorry, Number 10.

It’s perhaps not solely his fault. The rotating cast of Tory PMs before Starmer’s elevation would suggest that everyone seems dissatisfied in a post-Brexit Britain. Of course I’m sure it’s just a coincidence; I am an ignorant outsider after all.

As parents, Rhaenrya and Alicent are in this war supposedly to secure a legacy for their children. They’ve employed different parenting styles along the way - from justified over-protection to justified emotional avoidance - but are now starting to sense that short term gain may lead to long term pain.

Meanwhile Corlys Velaryon, having lost his legitimate heirs in the great game, is perhaps beginning to see the potential of a good hand in the discard pile.

Maybe the true secret to power is figuring out how not to be the Prime Minister, but instead, Larry the Cat.

ALSO SHIT GUYS I FORGOT WHAT IN THE SEVEN HELLS WAS GOING ON WITH OLD MATE ONE-EYE OEDIPUS AEMOND PASHING HIS MUM?!?!

OK, OK, settle down, we’ll cross that weaponised incestuous power play bridge when we get to it.

I’m SO excited to be back with you for another rollercoaster recap ride, kittens. Let’s strap in and go down the gullet together.

HotD S3 E1: Salt and Sea, Fire and Blood

Poor Aegon Targaryen. He’s Westeros’ crispiest-ever monarch, and also, it turns out, it’s jonesing-est. 

Dude is virtually climbing the walls of his Toyota RAV(en) 4 in dire need of milk of the poppy. It’s affecting his overall confidence too. The lack of a penis probably isn’t helping. Inceldom is beckoning.

Lord Larys Strong, by contrast, is optimistic. ”Brighter days are ahead,” he deadpans amidst the squawking. He’s not a fan of the cloudiness brought on by Dornish dragon rock, so the Rav(en) 4 is playing the dual role of that room Ewan McGregor got locked in to detox in Trainspotting.

Unfortunately the truck is intercepted by Rhaenyra loyalists, who demand Larys and Aegon swear allegiance to the true queen. Larys, ever fluid, lets the treasonous declaration roll off his tongue with the confidence of running water.

Aegon, of course, is deeply offended by this affront to majesty. He cannot spit the words out, but he can spit at a guard.

Pushed to the ground, the soldiers appear ready to kill, forcing Larys to smoothly change tack towards the “intense honesty” approach.

“You got us, it’s the king. Here’s all the stuff that’s happened to him. Yes, his penis WAS burnt off by dragonfire. You want to see it?”

Craven as ever, Aegon immediately backflips off the stand he was taking and tries to deny it all. Larys promptly hands over Aegon’s crown, the guard discovers Aegon’s pretty blond hair, and it all seems over, but Larys keeps calm and carries on. He suggests they’d be more valuable as living hostages, which the hostage-takers grudgingly accept as strategically good advice.

Is it any surprise a dude with a foot fetish is so good at side-stepping inevitable danger?

But I I did feel sorry for the random inconsequential fellow travellers who were put to death for the sheer bad luck of being in the same raven port-a-potty that Aegon was.

Meanwhile, somewhere west of Harrenhal…

THE STARKS ARE HERE! THE STARKS ARE HERE! Sound the alarums, THE STARKS ARE HERE!

How great to see the hardened Stark contingent - which I believe is referred to as the Winter Wolves, because f*** yeah - meet Daemon on a very crunchy-looking battlefield as the Targaryen prince and the forces of the Riverlands polish off what remains of the Lannister army. Daemon’s having a grand time picking off dying soldiers with a series of dramatic sword flourishes.

The young Oscar Tully continues to show maturity and bravery beyond his years as he declares the Lannister vanguard smashed, but Lord Jason Lannister on the run with the scattered rearguard. Caraxes meanwhile is performing the role of Aeroguard, handily destroying potential sources of infection. 

Daemon offers this portable cremation service to the Tullys, but young Oscar insists Rivermen must be returned to the mud. Ye gods, that whole region must be full of bog bodies.

Tollund Man… or Tully Man? Ahhh, anthropology pun.

Daemon declares they must pursue the remains of the Lannister host, but there’s a-rustlin’ in the bushes. The Rivermen all get in formation behind their blond Beyonce, but huzzah! It’s the Starks! 

Everyone breathes out a little as the two sides recognise each other’s banners, and the grizzliest of grizzly old geezers moves to the front of the battlegroup. Seriously, Grizzly Adams and his pet grizzly bear couldn’t produce a more platonic ideal of “grizzly” if they bear-boned for a thousand years.

Grizzly casually tosses a decapitated head at Daemon’s feet and declares “We come to die for the Dragon Queen!” which will herewith replace “hello” every time I greet a stranger.

Daemon looks approvingly at the dead face of Jason Lannister, Lord of Casterly Rock. “We’ve got more lions to hunt” he tells the Northmen, who respond with the kind of joy I reserved for the dessert bar at Sizzler.

“Soft serve!”

I love the way that House of the Dragon gives us a 180 degree spin on the Northmen.

Game of Thrones situated us first and foremost with the Starks of Winterfell. They were our protagonists, and we accepted their ways as honest, decent and righteous. They made mistakes, acted naively, and honestly could have shown their abs more, but they were our normal.

House of the Dragon gives us the chance to see the Northmen through the eyes of the gilded southerners - how strange, insular and seriously hard these dudes are.

Somewhere to the south of Harrenhal, Criston Cole is in his Chai-and-Circumspection Chillzone, doing some arts and crafts on his shield. 

Ser Gwayne Hightower, paragon of virtue, comes in to report a local rape. It’s not very honourable, and he believes a message needs to be sent to show the men that “we are not beasts, but knights”.

Criston, in his loose shirt, paintbrush in hand, has gone so deep into existential despair, he’s come out the other side a nihilist. He points out that nothing matters, ruin is everywhere, life is meaningless, and all men will turn to beasts before the end.

Of course one of the reasons the men are restless is that they’re waiting for Aemond and Vhagar to show up to provide air cover to their ground invasion of Harrenhal.

And they’re not the only ones.

Directly south of the burnt fortress, on the Isle of Faces, Ulf, Hugh Hammer, and the hotter Velaryon bastard brother Addam are workshopping a new Samuel Beckett play… 

…Waiting for God(’s-eye-)ot.

That English major pays off again.

The three dragonseed were sent to the island in the middle of the God’s Eye lake to kill Aemond and Vhaegar when they turned up. 

But they haven’t turned up, and much like Vladimir and Estragon - and to be honest, me if I’m made to watch a production of Waiting for Godot* - Ulf is so depressed he probably would consider hanging himself from a tree.

“So what, he just never shows up? And that’s the point? And this is a highly-regarded play?”

The other two sit uncomfortably on the ground as Ulf tells sad stories, not of the death of kings, but the perversion of priests.

Flippancy about the intensely awful subject matter aside, it is nice after A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms to keep a touchstone with the smallfolk of Westeros. 

This trio may have the sang royal, but that’s only become relevant in the last few weeks. Their bastardy has dictated their lives, and they must know in their hearts that even with a dragon they are still expendable.

Ulf grapples with this as the trio discuss the perks of their new job. He is in it for a castle, secure against the worst kind of dirty vicars. It’s a shock when he realises he’s only been promised a knighthood, which comes with only a horse and a title.

Later, when proving whether a dope shits in the woods, Ulf is freaked out by weird noises not emanating from his Fleabottom. Addam and Hugh also spy a funny-looking antlered dude spying on them. The whole atmos is getting heavy, man, a little bit Midsommar. Someone’s getting stitched into a disembowelled bear.

Ulf wants to go. Addam wants to stay. Hugh is torn. 

Then Alys Rivers appears out of nowhere to freak everyone out. “The Queen needs you at Dragonstone, off you shoot.”

Hugh brandishes a comically small knife and demands to know who Alys is.

“I’m a witch.” 

There’s a delicious beat before Ulf grabs his rucksack, says “Right, look after yourselves,” and nopes out of there. Perhaps not such a dope after all.

So why is it that Aemond and Vhagar have kept everyone waiting?

Mostly because Aemond suspects something is up, and Alicent, as usual, has slightly f***ed up. 

She’s rolled back into the Red Keep after her secret Dragonstone mission to find the plans she’d relayed to Rhaenyra have slightly changed. 

To extend Alicent some sympathy, she wasn’t to know Larys was going to abduct Aegon-His-Face and inspire Aemond to declare a coup.

His brother has vanished, and with Lord Ormund Hightower’s 15,000 men marching towards them and the Triarchy fleet sailing in with Tyland Lannister to break the Sea Snake’s blockade, he’s much better off hanging out in the capital rather than risking everything with Cole at Harrenhal.

Helaena knows the score. Alicent’s kooky daughter has always had Aemond’s measure, and she informs her mother that the appearance of Rhaenyra’s extra dragons has made One-Eye remember what it feels like to be scared.

Alicent is scared too - she’s promised Rhaenyra Aegon will be in the city and available for a handy public beheading as part of a Team Black conquest. A son for a son, remember. Her ego’s written cheques her body now seems unlikely to be able to cash. 

Helaena picks up on this, but Alicent puts her trembling down to concern for her cousin Lord Ormund Hightower, her sometime lover Christon Cole, and their gallant knights.

She inks a letter to Ormund, carefully seals it with green wax and instructs a guard to have it delivered to Ormund.

Its arrival at the Hightower camp heralds the hard launch of my new crush, James Norton. To be fair, I’ve been struck down by the Norton virus for a long time, but this is a new level.

Ormund Hightower is half man, half clenched jaw, and 100 per cent petty bitch. Look at this:

If opposites attract, well, I’m a dirty, dirty girl - and this man is a neat freak. 

Go back and look at the Hightower encampment. Tents are laid out in a grid pattern, there’s no hint of rubbish or wreckage, the soldiers’ armour sparkles in the sunlight. Even Tessarion the blue dragon seems happy enough in his port-a-pen, lest he accidentally damage the impeccable camp set-up.

Ormund’s stride out of his tent to meet the messenger from King’s Landing is precise, authoritative and deeply erotic.

His lieutenant - the fantastically named “Bold Jon” - gives him a heads up about the whiff coming from the messenger, but Ormund still physically recoils and has to take a moment to smell some fine perfume or perhaps coffee beans to clear his sinuses.

He’s my Clean Green Daddy Machine.

Ormund is rather tickled to hear of Aemond’s assent to the throne, and nonplussed about the potential loss of Aegon. “One king is as good as another,” he chuckles.

Meanwhile, standing right behind him - although weirdly out of focus for most of the scene - appears to be young Daeron Targaryen, Alicent’s youngest child, the one given over to Oldtown living. Interestingly he’s got the same auburn locks as his mother, as opposed to the typical Targaryen silver.

Perhaps Ormund’s unfazed response to the written order to make camp for three more days was because there was some code in the message that he knew came from his cousin Alicent. Perhaps he’s quite happy for the extra time to really give the campsite another vigorous Spray & Wipe. Or perhaps it’s because he knows he has the most valuable Targaryen asset with him - a prince wholly instructed in Hightower ways.

Either way, I cannot wait to see more of Mr Clean. I hope we get him without armour at some point. If his tents are so well laid out, imagine what his abs look like?

Let’s head out into the Gullet, where Corlys Velaryon is trying to make nice with his stern-faced bastard son Alyn by making him drink rotgut “dragon water”. He explains he tried to give Alyn and Adddam a life, but Alyn shoots back with “but never a name”. Clearly a touchy subject. 

But there’s no time to heal the breach now, as they have to once more into it.

It’s time for battle.

Friends, I write before as a proud yet sheepish member of a nautical family that goes back at least four generations. Unfortunately the seaman gene must be on the Y chromosome because I did not inherit sea legs.

Despite my Dad’s genuinely heartwarming and frankly quite feminist encouragement of nautical pursuits - including making me get my boat licence at 16 - I found myself bamboozled by all the salty sea battle talk.

It was all “penetrate the northern pass” this, and “one-over-four this-six-yards-and-closing” that.

Thankfully the visual language keeps you in the loop - there’s flaming sails, soaring arrows, and on-deck cracks of weapons and heads.

There’s a slight discrepancy between what Tyland Lannister thinks the Triarchy fleet is going to do (aka crush the blockade) and what pirate queen Lindsay Lohar is actually going to do (send a small contingent to sack Corlys’ home on Driftmark).

What I DID understand is that Lohar’s ship is called the BITCHFIST and ye gods, has there ever been a better name for a boat? 

Then - dragons! 

Jace on Vermax and Baela on Moondancer enter the fray, with Jace having tidily convinced a Queensguard to keep Rhaenyra locked in her own room because she was a danger to herself. 

Jace convinced Baela to join him even though she was against him making war with his own mother, but the whippersnapper could not stand being molly-coddled. He yearned to make a contribution to the war, and yeah, in hindsight, his insistence that he and Baela could win a victory for Rhaenyra was a clue things were possibly not going to work out. 

Regardless, their early efforts were fantastic, sizzling the Triarchy ships one by one. 

Unfortunately Lohar is a dab hand with a “grapnel”, which I’m not sure is an actual weapon or a prototype of the Scorpion bolts we later saw in Game of Thrones.

Either way she hits Vermax with one, the bolt linked to rope that keeps the beast from flying out of the danger zone. Moondancer is able to help slice the rope and set Vermax free, but it’s clear this fight is not all weighted on the dragons’ side.

When Corlys realises Lindsay Lohar’s involved, he decides to draw her out by making his own ship more visible. It works and Lohar starts a pursuit, much to the chagrin of Tyland Lannister.

“Do you think I sailed across the Narrow Sea to win your king’s war for you?”

Tyland realises he’s been had, and there’s nothing he can do about it. This is Lindsay Lohar’s revenge; Corlys is the biggest bitch in the Burn Book. All Tyland can do in his heavy armour is stay out of the water.

But things aren’t looking so great there, as the Sea Snake lures the Bitchfist into the perilous Dragonstone pass.

“Do you ever feel like you’re in a Pirates of the Caribbean movie?”

There are big pointy rocks in the water, a disappearing tide, and a near 100% risk of being dashed to pieces.

I noticed Corlys using the term “larboard” while giving instructions to the bloke steering the big wheel (First mate? Second mate? Damn, Dad was right, I really didn’t pay attention to him). I thought perhaps I’d misheard “starboard”, but they used it too many times, and then they used “starboard” as well. 

It turns out “larboard” is the historic term for the left side of the ship (as you face forward). It was replaced by “port” in the 1800s because it was TOO similar to starboard and everyone kept having accidents. I never knew that! 

Corlys takes the wheel to make the final squeeze through the pass, and by jove, they make it. I guess his reputation as Westeros’ most efficient seaman is warranted, oo-er.

But Lindsay Lohar is a woman possessed. She watches her two accompanying vessels break apart on the rocks, but still pursues her quarry.

One bit of nautical nous I will claim - as Corlys tried to raise his draft, I pondered aloud about all the soldiers in heavy armour. As Lohar followed, she enacted that - and poor Tyland was among the casualties. He’d desperately wanted to avoid “the drink”, but was tossed overboard in the service of Lohar’s revenge quest. It’s not so much on Wednesdays we wear pink, but in battle we wear light, flexible garments.

Lohar successfully navigates the Bitchfist out of the pass and speeds up towards the Sea Snake’s ship.

And boy did she have Corlys’ number on his hold at High Tide. Seeing the sight of his house on fire broke something in the Sea Snake as memories of his life with Rhaenys, Leanor and Leana went up in smoke. 

All of a sudden he’s Maverick in Top Gun, losing his mojo mid-flight. 

As he stares, lost, Alyn steps up, and prepares the crew for a broadside assault. The Bitchfist rams the Queen Who Never Was and Lohar leads a vicious attack.

Eventually Corlys comes to his senses and throws down against men much younger than him. There’s a great glimpse of a bloody stump of a shoulder, and the deck runs slippery with blood.

Alyn ends up in the water stabbing dudes and trying to stay alive, eventually discarding his armour and climbing back onboard to stab again.

Corlys and Lohar finally go at it, titans of the sea, jumping and smashing and sparring and stabbing as the ships creak beneath them. Eventually a surge throws Corlys off the cracked deck into the water, prompting a terrified Alyn to yell “Father!”. Nawww. There’s nothing like impending death to make you value those family ties.

Enraged, Alyn jumps across the decks and wrestles Lohar into the shallow water. Lohar fights against Alyn’s attempts to drown her, but cannot stop him pulling a secret knife out of somewhere and putting an abrupt end to the Triarchy captain.

Things were looking up for the Blacks… until a newcomer entered the chat.

Throughout this whole episode, we see glimpses of Rhaena’s desperate attempt to befriend the mangy stray dragon Sheepstealer in the hills around the Eyrie.

I think the dragons generally prompt similar reactions in viewers to dogs - I know I’ve cheered “good boy” a few times during this series, particularly with Seasmoke and Addddam last season.

But I really think their behaviour is a split between dogs and cats, and Sheepstealer is most definitely on the cat side.

As many of you know I work with Best Friends Felines cat rescue in Brisbane (it’s how I became the Mother of Kittens), and I can tell you the cajoling required with recalcitrant cats is very similar to what Rhaena does here with the manky-faced beast. “Calm! Listen! Please! Don’t hurt me! Ow!” etc.

Ironically one of the things we use to try to tempt scaredy cats out of hiding is hot roasted meats. Here, we see Sheepstealer leave Rhaena all alone on a rocky crag, only to return sometime later with chunks of charred ovine for the starving girl. Rhaena chows down appreciatively. It’s a lovely moment. 

“When did YOU last buy ME chicken, Yara Greyjoy?”

I have so much love for Rhaena. I really empathise with her terrible sense of failure at not living up to her potential. I feel on a deep level the need to prove herself, to play a role in the wars to come.

Problem is the wars to come are only about half an hour away and the girl is NOT. READY. 

Her excitement at spotting Dragonstone quickly evaporates as she spots terror on the high seas. “To help!” she cries, hitting overdrive on the Ford Pinto that is Sheepstealer. 

Initially it seems to go… OK. Sheepstealer is clearly quite happy to do some seaborn spit-roasting of the non-sexual kind. 

But then it all starts going pear-shaped. Sheepstealer isn’t trained in banner recognition, and starts burning friendly vessels. 

Moondancer tries to give chase, but ends up being pursued. We hear Rhaena gasping for breath, and for command but the pleas of “That’s my sister!” fall on deaf dragon ears. 

Jace heads down to help Moondancer, but it puts him in sight of the grapnel hooks again, and the poor guy is struck once more. Still weakened from his first injury, he is pulled down into the water before Moondancer can assist. Baela and Rhaena are both left to watch helplessly as poor Vermax sinks into the sea - and Sheepstealer flies up and away into the distance.

It’s heartbreaking to watch Vermax go, but Jace is able to release himself from his harness and swims away as the great beast falls to the ocean floor.

For a moment we breathe a sigh of relief as the young prince breaks the surface and grabs onto some nearby flotsam for buoyancy. 

But then, pfffftt. An arrow hits him in the back. As he turns, a second strikes his neck, and then  a third, for good measure, in his chest. 

Prince Jacaerys is no more.

As Alyn stands in the wreckage of two ships and many bodies, and Moondancer circles a floating fiery graveyard, it seems difficult to discern who won.

But the answer is really quite easy.

No one.

And so what of Sheepstealer, and Rhaena? By trying to help, the young princess made everything so much worse.

The only way to alleviate the pain - if only by making it seem better by comparison - is with, you guessed it, a parody song. 

And once again we’re reworking another banger by Ms Taylor Swift, which I highly recommend you watch and/or listen to before enjoying “The Fate of Sheepsteal-ee-er”:

I heard you calling
In a helpless tone
You want to get to Dragonstone
As legend has it I
Am quite the pyro
You want some sheep I’ll char it, bro

And if you’d never come for me
They might have drowned much less burned and bloody
I swore my loyalty to me, myself and I
But thanks to you I lit the sky up

All that time
I flew alone in that valley
You got your spirit to rally
Now I can see it all (see it all)
Late one day
You tried to become my mate and
Therefore altered the fate of
Sheep-steal-ee-er

Keep it well-plundered
On the land, the sea, the sky
I’ll hunt down any clan, or team, or tribes
Don’t care where they’ve been
‘Cause now they’re fried
You’re ‘bout to have biggest fight
You’ve been dreaming of
The fate of Sheepsteal-ee-er

A manky dragon in a hinterland
Sheepstealer lived quite solitary
But Rhaena had big dreams and a plan you see
To prove herself to family

And if you’d never come for me
I might have lingered out near the Eyrie
I’ll slap you on my back, we’ll fly, to help your guys
You don’t know you’re playing with fire

All that time
I bounced around in the Vale
There was a much better tale
Now I can see it all (see it all)
Late one day
You flew me into the strait and
Therefore altered the fate of
Sheepsteal-ee-er

Now watch me thunder
Round the ships, the waves, the sky
See your sister diving down
To help her guy
Don’t care who the hell they are
In this whole fight
It’s ‘bout to be the nighty night
You’ve been dreaming of
The fate of Sheepsteal-ee-er

‘Tis not the time for reverie
As I spit flames into the sea
And colours burn all orange-y
All because you came for me
How mad will your sister be
Her boy got shot by arrows three
You thought that you could conquer me
But I think I’ve got rabies

All that time 
You wandered lonely and cussin’
Now babe together we’re bussin’
Yes we can burn it all (burn it all)
Late one day
You tried to fly with L-plates and
Therefore altered the fate of
Sheepsteal-ee-er

And so you blundered
With the prince, that handsome guy
What’s gonna happen when his Mum
Hears how he died?
Will you risk it all again
So we can fly? 
You’re ‘bout to have the sleepless night
No one’s dreaming of

You flipped the chart and the fate of Sheepsteal-e-er

Yay! Best Moments

For sheer scale, energy and spectacle, I’d feel bad if I didn’t give it to the Battle of the Gullet. An element that I thought worked particularly well was the music: deep, resonant, ominous tones that kept the heart pounding.

Zing! Best Lines

I’m declaring this one for Ulf.

Ulf: What do I need with a f***ing horse? I’ve got a dragon.
Addam: You’d be Ser Ulf and men would have to show you respect.
Ulf: Men would have to show me respect because of the big f***ing dragon. I can’t live in a title. Or drink it. 
Hugh: I imagine there’d be eager women
Ulf: Get more women with a castle.

What can I say, the guy understands the housing crisis.

Ew, gross

Yeah well clearly it’s this:

Poor Alicent Targaryen. I mean, she’s brought all of this on herself, but I still have to give her props for attempting problem-solving with her most problematic child.

Unfortunately when it comes to Incest Chicken, Aemond is the GOAT. 

How much he actually believed her doe-eyed pleading to fly Vhagar to Harrenhal to save the family’s fortunes, I’m not sure. He’s no fool, but he also seems to have a weak spot when it comes to wanting Mummy’s love.

As is typical when I’m head down in recap land, I avoid other reviews or recaps of the episode, so I assume this is the WTF moment for everyone from this episode, which is impressive given the scale of the Battle of the Gullet. 

And sure, I had the same expression on my face as Alicent - wide-eyed and slightly panicked - but I also found it rather hilarious. It was another example of Alicent’s inability to outweird her kids. She simply does not understand them, and cannot predict what they might do.

Boo, sucks

As happy as I am that Alyn managed to stick Lohar with the pointy end, it is sad to lose that character. Lohar was bizarre, funny, and incredibly energetic, proving once again you don’t need huge swathes of screen time to make your mark in Westeros.

The loss of Jace will clearly be huge for the Blacks, but on a personal level, how will Rhaenyra feel knowing her last words to her son were “If I die, then at least you’ll finally be king”? There’s also the question of how she’ll treat the Queensguard who was logicked into locking her in by Jace himself, Baela who agreed to fly with him, and Rhaena whose misguided good intentions made everything so much worse.

One prediction I will make - Rhaenyra will never wear courtly gowns again. If she’d had been ready to go in her riding leathers when Baela arrived with the news of war in the Gullet, she would have been on that bird in minutes, whatever Jace had to say.

Until next week, kittens!

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