S3E4: Tumbleton — Natalie Bochenski

Listen, kittens, listen.

Do I realise that Ser Ormund Hightower, it turns out, is a sociopathic, misogynistic, crypto-fascistic, occasionally apoplectic religious fanatic?

Yes. Yes, I do. And yet, and yet, and yet.

Do I still want to be cast as Westeros’ Smallest Towel?

Yes. Yes I do.

Do I still want to be lectured about rightful lines of inheritance by a post-bath, buck-naked, supercilious, scent-averse soldier standing to attention?

Yes, one hundred per cent.

I know, I know, and I’m sorry, kittens. I realise in this manosph-era I am giving hard-fought ground to those who would perpetuate the myth that “women love a bad boy”.

Let me reiterate that Ser Ormund Hightower is thoroughly reprehensible. Raising sweet baby angel Daeron to believe in higher principles and values and then being full of the same old bullshit violent power tripping fetishistic nonsense as everyone else was as disappointing as my last bath, because my last bath didn’t have these bubbles:

AWOOGA! AWOOGA! AWOOGA!

That slow emergence of perfectly curved butt cheeks from the water was epic. In scope, I can only compare it to that bit in Titanic when the stern slowly rises to the sky, the terror of the vessel’s death throes briefly suspended while we admired the surreal beauty of the moment.

I am sad to not to be able to lust after Ser Ormund in a non-problematic way, but I’m not going to lie to you. I can hate the asshole and love the ass.

Stripped of armour, clothes and any requirement to act decently in company, we now know exactly why James Norton was chosen to capture Ser Ormund Hightower on screen.

This is an actor I regularly touted as a potential James Bond and THIS IS WHY. A face that could cut a bitch, perched over a roiling heart that could, well, cut a bitch.

Ser Ormund is cracked seventeen ways from Sunday and I am all buckled in for the complicated rollercoaster of emotions I imagine we’ll experience in the back half of this season.

As for this hour in Westeros, the game is afoot, and Ser Ormund isn’t the only one with plots and plans, moves and countermoves. One could say…

…regimes they seem to teem with schemes extreme.

HotD S3E4: Tumbleton

After last week’s Rhaenyra Intensive, House of the Dragon took us EVERYWHERE this episode: King’s Landing (the Red Keep AND Fleabottom); Tumbleton; Harrenhal; Rook’s Rest, plus mentions of Corlys going pirate-fighting, the Rivermen marching south and even excuses from the Baratheons at Storm’s End.

So this recap is likely to be as scattered as my thoughts after seeing… well, you know what.

Poor Aegon. He can’t even mourn his own dead dragon without being hit up for cash by opportunistic forest grifters.

Not that Aegon believes Sunfyre is dead - something deep in his waters tells him his golden boy is still alive. I mean, it’s been months, but what the hell do I know about dormant dragon syndrome? Daenerys’ eggs stayed as rock hard stones for generations before she fire-activated them. Maybe a quick cigarette or marshmallow roast would be enough to get the beast Sun-fyring again.

*Pour our your best wine for a man of the absolute finest crop.*

Larys is not convinced, and urges Aegon to “ix-nay on the ragon-day ugging-hay” before the weird forest grifters shank them senseless.

With Aegon sneaking a souvenir scale to treasure, the pair make their way to Rook’s Rest, which now resembles the set of Deadwood, only with more rotting Meleys flopped over a parapet.

Larys wants them to stay as under the radar as possible while he cooks up a plan to get them on a ship to Essos. He even manages a half decent story that they escaped from Sharp Point, one of the coastal towns Aemond and Vhagar burnt when he got in a huff about Rhaenyra’s recruiting spree, using Aegon’s scarred face as proof.

But Aegon cannot help himself. He immediately earns the ire of the jumped-up little piss-ant in charge, forcing Larys to hand over a full bag of coin in order just to stay. They still have to earn their keep, and Larys’ affinity for herbs and reading doesn’t seem as helpful as he might have thought.

No matter, Aegon is recruited to waste management, which entails separating the ones and twos for effective sale to tanners and farmers, respectively. All that work shovelling shit and he doesn’t even get a feed at the end of it. There’s a sweet young lad who says “Buck up! We’ll get some tomorrow!” in such a wide-eyed hopeful way I immediately wanted to embrace him and keep him safe from the death that I assume awaits him in about 45 seconds’ time.

But Aegon once again cannot stand the affront to his (disguised) majesty. He marches up to the piss-ant and demands food and respect, and that he could have his tongue, gods-dang-it. Unfortunately, the piss-ant has a knife, and encourages Aegon to drop to his knees and give his own shit-covered boot a good tonguing instead. It all happens so slowly, I was half-expecting Unchained Melody to start playing.

We were spared Ser Criston last week, but the Existential Crisis Cole is back, alongside a very glum-looking Ser Gwayne Hightower.

They pick through what remains of Daemon’s scorched garrison outside Harrenhal to arrive at the great fortress, virtually empty and dripping with tension and water leaks.

Swords drawn, they expect to meet some kind of armed enemy in its halls, but there is only Alys Rivers, and surely she’s ‘armless?

In the way only Alys can, she takes a good few minutes to spookily tell the latest invading party that everyone else is dead, and that the visitors aren’t the only ones looking for Aemond.

The boys receive word that there are signs of a recently used dragon nest near the fortress, but there’s no hint of Vhagar. Depressed and demoralised, Gwayne resigns himself to sending a raven to his cousin Ser Ormund, indicating they’ll head to Tumbleton to join forces. (As an aside, I don’t know how Harrenhal is maintaining a steady supply of ravens when it seems to be mostly abandoned, but I’ll let smarter minds than mine figure that out.)

“No, don’t,” interjects Cole, because he’s decided to monologue. He regales Ser Gwayne with the differences of their upbringing; that while the Green Knight had money and titles, he had nothing but a Dad who died penniless.

He had to scrap to survive, did young Cole, and he intends to do the same thing now. After all, why be silly monkeys when they could be… guerillas?

“It won’t be clean, but it will be pure,” Cole says of his plan to launch surprise attacks on the Rivermen, Northmen and associated Black allies as they march south. Sure, Christon, you tell yourself that. You’re a regular William Wallace. Go out thinking you’re a smashing Boer, if it distracts you from realising you’re a crashing bore.

I suppose anything that gets them out of the eternally dreary Harrenhal is probably a good thing. Surely Alys Rivers is hiding Aemond in some sort of dreamscape float tank as he recovers from that stab wound on arrival? I wanna see her mess him up mentally! Come on! Let’s inflict some witchy torture on the big blond nutcase!

While we’re further north of the capital, let’s tie off Daemon’s Venmo venture to The Vale, in which he sasses Lady Jeyne out of cash, although not her incredible regal Afghan hound-esque pooch. Seriously, if you compare the hair of the dog to the fringing on Lady Jeyne’s beige cape, they’re practically identical. It’s as if she’s doing one of those “dog/owner lookalike” competitions.

Lady Jeyne made a veiled jibe at Daemon about not having been in the area since his first wife unfortunately and accidentally and tragically and mysteriously died in completely unsuspicious circumstances *cough*. He let it slide over him like slime over grease.

I’m surprised Lady J didn't try to take the wind out of Daemon’s self-satisfied sails by dropping the Rhaena/Sheepstealer truth bomb. I’m sure she would have enjoyed see the smile disappear from his dial.

As it was, the show had a grander reveal in store for that discovery. Caraxes, the dragon both terrifying and impossibly cute with his wriggly thin body and chirpy squeaky cries, senses something’s up. Daemon barely has time to strap Jeyne’s fat sack of cash onto his steed’s back before Caraxes starts fidgeting and fussing like his scaly pants are chafing.

“Steady, Caraxes!” Daemon yells, grabbing onto the reins just in time. Caraxes bunks off at speed, flailing into the air and heading in the wrong direction from home.

It’s ironic that Doctor Daemon is experiencing dragon flight much like the TARDIS in action. It doesn’t necessarily take you where you want to go - but where you need to be.

*Aww, look, he’s wearing a wire. Spoils the whole illusion about the magical flying blue box.*

And that turns out to be a hillside cave in which lurks Rhaena and her dragon Sheepstealer. There’s a fantastic moment when the two dragons get a bit angsty, and both Rhaena and her Dad turn on them, urging calm, virtual mirrors of each other.

Daemon is floored by his daughter’s appearance. Her blond Targaryen braids have gone, chopped into stubs and turned grey with ash and dirt. But that’s nothing compared to his reaction when the penny starts to drop, and Rhaena awkwardly confesses that she “just wanted to help” at the Battle of the Gullet.

Oh NOOOOO.

Daemon is now torn between his wife/niece and his daughter/step-niece - as Rhaena is Rhaenyra’s niece, that of course makes her the step-niece of her uncle by marriage, who is also her father.

Rhaenyra is convinced Sheepstealer and its mystery rider killed her beloved firstborn, Jace. She is on the hunt, and unlikely to be forgiving of Rhaena despite their blood ties. Daemon knows this, and starts thinking of options for her to escape, but she’s not interested in leaving her newfound friend behind.

For her part, Rhaena claps back about her frustration at being a bodyguard for Rhaenyra and Daemon’s “more valuable” children, and how living without a dragon made her an outsider despite being surrounded by other Targaryens. Even the narcissistic Daemon can look up from the reflecting pool for long enough to see she’s got him there.

Desperately, he urges her to return to King’s Landing with him, to beg the Queen’s forgiveness. Rhaena stands firm, suggesting instead he claim she was lost at sea.

“You ask me to deceive her, that is betrayal,” he cries. Rhaena spits that she’s never asked anything else of him, then retreats into the darkness and her steed. Caraxes delicately moves aside, then Daemon leaps aside, so Sheepstealer can make an ungainly exit, flapping off into the clouds.

As he watches his daughter fly away, not knowing if their paths will cross again, Daemon hilariously shushes a chirping Caraxes, then realises there’s sounds coming from the rocky ground below. He spies a shepherd or farmer or some other poor unsuspecting sap, and after a few moments of experiencing genuine care and concern for another human, slowly reverts to type. Which is to say cunning spreads back out all over his self-satisfied face.

We’ll touch base with what got into Daemon’s head later, but for now let’s head to Tumbleton, a market town never before seen in the Game of Thrones-verse.

I love that the opening shot of the episode was a little CGI bunny rabbit hopping in the grass across the river from the town. They’re an innocent people, these Tumbletowners: weak, defenceless, with cute bobble tails to boot.

Soldiers are being billeted throughout the town, we see Hugh the Hammer’s wife Kat try to keep her breakfast down when confronted with a particularly slimy green man. Her brother says their house is already full, but he’s told they should be grateful they only have to host three soldiers.

We all know nothing good will come of this, it’s only a question of when.

Meanwhile Ser Ormund is stepping on the toes of the Footlys, the noble couple running the market town (and one assumes, a local chain of high-quality affordable shoe stores). They’re unimpressed by his need to commandeer their house for himself, and muck up the good bedsheets. “But I need to be well-rested to do my job,” he says, and look, we stan a self-care king, even if his exit from the bath is shot in such a way as to conceal Ser Ormund’s, well, Lowtower.

Lady Footly explains they supported Rhaenyra because she is the Queen, to which Ser Ormund offers a rejoinder while nude: “Is she? Or is she just a bitch with a dragon?”

I mean, fair, but also, yes? That’s precisely why she’s Queen? But it’s a hint to Ser Ormund’s red-pillaging that he is unimpressed with a female ruler; no doubt schooled in thought by his under Ser Otto, who was the big proponent of “the realm won’t accept a woman” doctrine.

The Footlys are ushered out, Lord Footly having been rather too interested in a different kind of foot during their audience with Ser Ormund. But no doubt they were keen to get back on top of spring kitten heel flip-flop season.

We finally get confirmation that the out-of-focus young fella from episode one is, in fact, Prince Daeron. And kudos to the casting director - with his soft face, big eyes and auburn-hair, they’ve made him a spot-on dupe for his mother Alicent. Later in the episode she talks about wanting her final child to be a Hightower and not a Targaryen, and you can see why. Not a pointy feature in sight!

A ward of Ser Ormund since he was a babe, Daeron now gets to hang out putting plush velvet robes on his uncle’s naked body like it’s no weird thing.

“When dealing with those beneath you, you must be fair but firm,” Ormy entreats his young charge, who had tried to be polite to Lady Footly as she departed but had been stomped on.

Ser Ormund’s bowl-cut bearded bat man brings a bulletin from Boris Baratheon that he better not bank on backup, despite Aemond being betrothed to his Bucephalus-faced baby.

There’s also been no word from Aemond and Vhagar, although Ormy moves to assure Daeron that his big bro will arrive eventually.

Things go from bad to worse for Kat, when she’s inevitably attacked by the pock-marked pervy soldier. The surprise here is that it happens in front of everyone else in the family, and the two other billeted soldiers. Kat’s sister-in-law bravely pushes the attacker off Kat, and has her arm smashed in two by this absolute f***head. That sparks Kat’s brother to rush to her defence, only to be grabbed by the two other soldiers, held and whipped by the perv.

We cut away before seeing exactly how that scene ended - I’m honestly surprised the soldiers didn’t kill Kat’s brother there and then. Perhaps other soldiers heard the affray and broke it up.

Either way, thanks to Lady Footly stepping in, both parties are brought before Ser Ormund to tell their sides of the story. Kat’s brother is bruised, while his wife’s arm is in a sling. She cannot weave with the injury, thus limiting the family’s income.

Ser Ormund, resplendent in a deep forest green tunic complete with velvet shoulder drape, appears to give them a fair hearing.

The cocky pervy assaulter tries to claim Kat’s brother didn’t want the soldiers billeted with the family, which must mean they’re anti-Hightower. Thank goodness nobody spills the beans about Kat’s husband being one of Rhaenyra’s new dragonriders (it’s unclear whether the message Rhaenyra urged Hugh to send last episode made it through before the town was annexed).

*“Never fear! Lady Footly will toe-tally sort this out!”*

Garrick, the assaulter, tries to bald-faced lie his way out of it, but Ser Ormund can see the genuine despair of Kat’s family.

In a boss move that, I’m not going to lie, had me fanning my face like a corseted southern belle in summer, Ser Ormund declares Garrick to have violated guest rites, and sentences him to a fitting punishment for assault of both the physical and sexual varieties: having his own arm broken AND his balls snicked off.

Garrick is suitably horrified, and pleads on behalf of his wife. Mate, maybe you should have thought of your missus before getting aggressive with other ladies. I suspect her not being able to bear you children due to your lack of cojone cordial is no big loss for her or society.

Daeron watches this lesson in civics in silence. As Ser Ormund takes him by the arm, he tells the lad they “must keep a firm grip - lawlessness and disorder claw at our gates.”

At this point I was still prepared to think of Ser Ormund as embodying real “We Light the Way” Hightower energy. He’s a little odd, and he has

Daeron looks slightly puzzled, but surely that’s nothing.

Unfortunately we’re not long for this fantasy land.

When pressed for information on her cousin from Rhaenyra, Alicent describes him as considering himself a scholar, a man of faith, who despises the uncouth and ignorant.

But she also says Gwayne thought him cruel when they were all children. And he has an aversion to strong odours.

It was Alicent who sent Daeron away to ward at Oldtown, wanting her fourth and final child to be raised a Hightower. She thought it was the best maternal gift she could give him, particularly given how the other three turned out. But Alicent

While enjoying what appears to be making his own pot-pourri, Ser Ormund receives a letter from Harrenhal bearing the Hightower seal.

*A different, yet supremely superior, seal.*

Ormy reads it, absorbs it, then stares very intensely into the middle distance.

“Get out,” Daeron whispers to another young lad serving the table. “Out, now!” he urges through pursed lips, with the authority of somebody who knows Something Very Bad Is About To Happen.

Ser Ormund flips his chair backward, draws his sword, and curses Aemond One-Eye with a vitriol I don’t think I’ve seen in this series before. “Useless craven coward c***!” he screams, repeating the c-bomb as he bashes the table with his sword.

He stops, breathes, returns his sword to its scabbard, wipes a curl away from his forehead, sits, and then cheerfully tells Daeron his brother is not coming after all.

“We must alter our scheme,” he tells his knowing bat man.

It’s a masterclass in both camp and terror.

I watched this outburst holding my breath, remembering some very intense moments in my brief time working for politicians and those around them.

I drew a conclusion that politicians and sometimes their senior staff have to develop a way to be angry, to express rage and frustration and disappointment and all the negative emotions that can come with a job where you are constantly required to compromise, and to deal with things not going your way.

They have to find a way to do this in private, because to do it in public would be catastrophic to their image. We demand our politicians exhibit superhuman levels of emotional regulation - and for good reason. We need to know they’re capable of calm, reasoned leadership.

But they’re also human, and sometimes that kettle comes to a boil. The only people they can expose that vulnerability to are their staffers, the employees paid to support them.

Pressure released, I found most were able to regain composure as quickly as Ser Ormund. A different piece of news, a different input, could see them cheered up immensely, like nothing ever happened.

I don’t want you thinking I spent three years in government circles getting yelled at. More that they are incredibly high-speed, high-stakes, high-stress environments, and sometimes humans are humans. It required learning the hard lesson - which I never quite did - that generally it wasn’t personal. If you’re going to dump and burn (and many don’t get to that point), you need to do it in record time, or you’ll never get anything done.

Stu often said my unsuitability to a political environment was not a poor reflection on me, and in fact, probably the opposite. I miss that guy.

Down in King’s Landing, Rhaenyra is puzzled by Ormund’s Tumbleton takeover but frustrated at its effectiveness of wedging her ability to respond.

The town is loyal to her; go in all dragons blazing and she loses the PR war.

Orwyle, still tensely tiptoeing around the small council chambers, suggests diverting the Tully/Stark allies to counter the Hightower host.

Magical Mysaria Tour agrees it’s a less bloodthirsty option, and Rhae-Rhae affirms it as a “good scheme”. She even agrees to let Orwyle retain his position at Council and Grandmaester title if he continues to serve in good faith.

Speaking of council positions, Mysaria suggests recruiting a Master of Coin so he can take the blame for the capital’s economic woes instead of her. “Investigate Ser Torrhen Manderly, he intrigued me,” she declares, and boom, I knew Tim Curry was destined for greater things.

You can take Ulf out of Fleabottom, but you… actually, you can’t take Ulf out of Fleabottom.

Rhaenyra’s most recalcitrant new dragonrider didn’t get the Targaryen signature he wanted, but he did get a hefty purse of coin and a desire to show off to his mates.

He is appropriately hailed for his sudden change in circumstance on arrival back to the tavern, where his money is surrendered in service of a shout.

But like anyone who wins a Lotto mega-jackpot, he’s soon beset with so-called friends calling in so-called favours, which doesn’t go down well with Rhaenyra.

Ulf is discovering that Silverwing comes not just with reins, but strings attached. The main one of course is if something happens to Ulf, that dragon is out of action, severely weakening Rhaenyra’s offensive and defensive options.

She bans Ulf from leaving the Red Keep, insisting he stick to rotating patrols of Tumbleton with Hugh the Hammer, who is much keener for the job. He says he’s better suited than Ulf to guard a town containing a loved one – but if he found out how she was being treated he might not be so magnanimous.

I’m intrigued by Ulf’s motivations in telling Rhaenyra about the rogue Banksy graffiting “Queen of Bastards” around the city. I think he’s genuinely happy to be in service to the Queen and wants to help, but the way he delivers the information has a whiff of “just so you know” tit-for-tat about it.

Rhaenyra spends a fair amount of time this episode trying to learn more about Ser Ormund and the Hightowers in general. She entreats Alicent to give up personality traits of her cousin; she also recruits Orwyle into tracking down correspondence between the former Hand Otto to his nephew in Oldtown. It turns out Otto sent regular ravens, but Ormund was not much for replying.

She starts to wonder about how closely the Hightowers are connected with The Faith, which was headquartered in the Starry Sept in Oldtown before relocating to the Sept of Baelor in the capital.

Orwyle seems confident that while close, The Faith are too pompous and proud to be dictated to by any noble family. They follow a higher law, of course. But I don’t know. I suspect we might see scenes of Rhaenyra confronting the High Septon, or seizing communiques between the two groups in next week’s episode, and finding smoke if not outright fire.

Back in Tumbleton, the swooping arrival of Hugh on Vermithor sees the Hightowers start prepping for a change of plan.

Daeron is spending a bit of one-on-one time with his best girl Tessarion, the beautiful blue dragon who’s somehow able to fit indoors. It’s a reasonably-sized room, but still, how is the furniture still in place?

Much like Aegon mourning Sunfyre, and Daemon’s hilariously jostled ride on Caraxes, it was touching to see another demonstration of the bond between Targaryen and dragon.

The young prince caresses Tessarion’s face with a soothing “My girl, don’t worry, we’ll soon be free to fly”.

*Daeron has true “Cat Dad” energy, and no higher compliment can be paid to a man.*

But Ormund has other ideas. He’s warned Daeron not to get too invested in “that”. Daeron defends his dragon, but it seems clear Ormund is in step with the High Septon, who said last week that dragons were conceived in pride and lust and all the good sins.

If anything, the Targaryen name and dragon bond is a hindrance, not a help. It’s a corruption of the moral authority Ser Ormund believes the Hightowers to possess. And their axing from the throne in favour of a – shudder – woman, is another insult not to be born.

No, with Aegon and Aemond dead or missing or who cares, it’s time to get Daeron ready to be king. He may have the Targaryen name, but he is a Hightower. Look Alicent! You got exactly what you wanted! No wonder the stress of whether she made the right call has seen Alicent pick up her old habit of finger picking.

He may have been nude at the start of this episode, but it’s here Ormund is at his coldest.

He brings in Kat’s brother, the smith, and demands Daeron mete out punishment. “But you let him and his family go!” the boy protests. Oh sure, you do that in public, when people are watching. But he punched a Hightower soldier. He still has to pay for that. And it has to be more severe than just a punched face in return.

It is heartbreaking to see young Daeron forced into plunging Ormund’s sword into the smith’s chest, as the man begs for mercy. But Daeron is surrounded by green Hightowers. He’s just realised he’s in a cult, and there’s no way out but through. I didn’t get the sense he wanted to do it – he screams as he sticks him with the pointy end, like you scream when you step into a cold shower (or indeed, bath).

The questions remains whether he’ll acclimatise to the temperature.

Certainly Tessarion seems eager enough to make the most of the situation, flambéing the corpse to create a new brand of Smiths crisps.

Ormund has come clean with his scheme, and it remains to be seen if it’s a dream… or a nightmare (ok, the rhyming options ran out at that point).

I’ve prepared a parody song for you for this week, and given Alicent’s comments that Ser Ormund sees himself as a scholar who writes poems and composes ballads, I’ve reworked a classic Prince number from ‘94.

Could you be
The most beautiful ass in the world?
It’s plain to see
There’s a reason my fancy’s been twirled
Mmmmm

When you rose
from the tub I just froze you’re sublime
Heaven knows
If your brain is as perfectly fine
And when the towel dabs off drips on your chest I will cry
I will cry
Tears of sad, ‘cause I suspect you might not be my guy, oh

Could you be
The most beautiful boy in the world? (could you be)
It’s plain to see
Your jaw clench alone makes my toes curl
Oh yes, it does

How can I give you praise, when you’re poor with your power?
Oh I try, but I fade, please invade, Eisenhower (oh yes)
Who’d allow, who’d allow, a sweet lad like Daeron be soured
I guess now I will vow no more faith in Hightower
Oh, oh, no, oh

Could you be, could you be
The most psychotic boy in the world? (could you be)
It's plain to see
You're the swine that God put before pearl
Oh, yes, you are

And if your guards ever, well, acted like the bad guys
I know their nards would not be, uh, left long aligned
But Ormy, this kind of duty
Has got no reason to be your best plan
‘Cause Ormy, this kind of duty
Is not the way to make Daeron a man

Could you be (could you be)
The most chilling villain in the world?
It's plain to see, plain to see
It’s a treason that bod makes me hurl
Oh, yeah, oh, yeah! (Oh, yes, you are)

Yay! Best Moments

I’ve got to give Corlys Velaryon credit for seeming to take a chill pill after his bastard outburst at Rhaenyra last week. He decides he’s better off fighting Triarchy pirates along the coastline than wasting his seamen as Hand, oo-er.

He deputises Alyn to take his place, which he’s rightfully nervous about. But if he can’t give him his name, Corlys can at least make sure Alyn can be in the room where it happens.

That room turns out to be Viserys’ old Lego room, where Rhaenyra has dusted off the covers of her Dad’s old model Valyria set. Alyn seems keen to impress, and they share a nice moment about the ways fathers can be inspiring and frustrating.

Like everything else, Valyria has been overrun with rats, with Rhaenyra explaining Aegon had the rat-catchers killed.

“On ships we just had cats,” Alyn offers, cementing himself as practical, solutions-focused, and deserving of a big Mother of Kittens kiss.

Also, this is just a flight of fancy for me, but remember how in series 1 of Game of Thrones, Arya was sent off chasing cats by Syrio Forel? She had to learn to be quick and quiet, and that was the best way. Imagine if there’d been no cats in King’s Landing before this, and it’s thanks to Alyn’s stroke of genius that they were introduced , so that future Arya could have something to chase?

Zing! Best Lines

It wasn’t particularly zingy, but jeez I loved Alicent’s simple yet ominous “Helaena”.

The Dowager Queen had just been visited once again by Rhaenyra, who informed her that good men had been sent to return Otto Hightower’s remains to Oldtown, and passed on his signet ring.

She’s feeling somewhat resigned to her current circumstances - until she tries to help Helaena fit her robe on. Her daughter’s bust seems suspiciously rounder, and her belly a little fuller.

Ohhhh noooo. It turns out Aegon left a little piece of himself behind before his sausage got sizzled at Rook’s Rest. The timeline makes sense - all this action appears to have only taken place over a few months, so

The issue now is how to deal with this new threat to Rhaenyra - do they ‘fess up and beg for protection? Or try to hide it in the hope of smuggling a potential new male heir out of the capital?

Rhaenyra is a mother, after all, but she’s also a Queen very set upon straightening the line of inheritance. More Green babies will not be looked on without suspicion.

Eww, gross

You really can’t beat Daemon for a dramatic entrance. Returning to King’s Landing after his trip north, he slams two things on the small council table - the fat sack of cash, and a bloody head.

“Here he is, love,” he declares to a shocked Rhaenyra. “The bloke who rode Sheepstealer, signed, sealed and decapitated.”

Rhaenyra is outraged and disbelieving. This whole story seems suspicious. Who is this random bloke, now body-less in her boardroom? Daemon tries to encourage her to accept the outcome and move on - but of course that’s because he beheaded a poor Vale shepherd and is laundering Rhaena’s crimes through his bonce.

Rhaenyra is bereft. She wanted to face the person she believed killed Jace. She wanted to know why. She wanted to have that moment of righteous anger, unsullied by questions or skulls of blurry provenance.

But he has sown a seditious thread into their relationship. All their faults aside, I believe Daemon and Rhaenyra have always been truthful with each other.

Meanwhile our new small council fave Ser Torrhen Manderly looks like he might regret saying yes to career advancement, as Daemon’s bounty is not enough to guarantee the realm’s financial security for more than a few weeks.

It’s a shame they don’t have quantitative easing in Westeros… although I guess they do, it’s just instead of printing money, they just ease the quantity of people in the realm. I’m sure Daemon would volunteer to do it.

Boo, sucks

Look, Rhae-Rhae, I get it. You don’t want “Queen of Bastards” graffiti displayed around town any more than I want to open my phone camera in front-facing selfie mode.

But you should know better than to give the rather nebulous instruction of “please make it stop” to the Gold Cloaks. You know their middle name is “overreach”. They also haven’t been paid yet, as we establish with Daemon’s cash being spent on hunger relief rather than City Watch wages. They’re working for nothing so have little patience and a lot of crankiness they’re willing to work through by working over potentially innocent townies.

If you want a surefire way to annoy the proles, beating them up on suspicion of being Banksy will do it.

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