S3E5: Unbowed and Unbent

*Deep inhale*.

Sigh. 

I guess you can’t have nudity two episodes in a row.

It was probably ambitious of me to think that Ser Ormund might want to take a bath - and more importantly, dramatically exit that bath - every week. 

But while we might have been out of butt luck, we must be grateful that we finally saw…

… a whole lot of pussy. 

That’s right - the cats have taken the capital!

King’s Landing is paws-itively overrun with mousing moggies, and honestly, that alone was enough to recommend this episode. My only complaint is that there were no kitties just sitting on the Small Council table, knocking marbles and pens off, demanding scritches and mewing for more treats. 

But inspired by the light-footedness and admittedly jumpy nature of our feline friends, this episode bounded around genre and tone.

It’s like everyone was inspired by the release of The Odyssey and decided to do their own spin on the Christopher Nolan-Emma Thomas milieu.

Now I’m by no means an expert in the Nolan-verse, but that doesn’t seem to stop anybody else on the internet opining, so here’s my half-baked take: 

Rhaenyra has some sort of Oppenheimer internal guilt trip situation going on about whether or not to deploy her greatest nuclear power.

Daemon is plunged into a Jack the Ripper-esque bowel-splitting serial killer nightmare with heavy Heath Ledger’s Joker overtones. 

Aemond is in a bespoke Alys Rivers’ Inception dreamscape, complete with occasional assassins.

Ser Criston “Still an Incel” Cole and Ser Gwayne “I Didn’t Sign Up For This Shit” Hightower are in a war film quagmire, giving echoes of Dunkirk or even The Odyssey itself (but with racial casting the incels would be happy with). 

Aegon and Larys are attempting The Prestige-style illusions to hide their real identities, complete with the twist appearance of a surprise twin.

Hello Tyland Lannister, how did you escape a watery grave in the Dragonstone Pass?!

And Ormund is instructing Daeron in the ways of history and victory, memory and storytelling, so perhaps we can pull some Memento parallels there?

The only one I can’t find a Nolan-Thomas comparison for is Alicent Hightower, who appears to be performing in a farcical comedy called “Oops, Guv’nor, Where’s Me Abortion?” followed by its slapstick sequel “Oops, Guv’nor, Where’s Me Escape Plan?” 

Basically, everything’s going a bit wrong, particularly in King’s Landing. The only plan that’s actually working as described is the cats. 

S3E5: Unbowed and Unbent 

“They say when a Targaryen is born, the gods flip a coin.”

That hoary old chestnut is heavily homaged in this whole shebang, and not just in relation to the competing wings of the Targaryen dynasty. 

It seems everybody is taking chances, choosing sides, flipping bets, and, Donald Trump-style, minting controversial new coinage. 

Let’s start with the do-si-do of competing forces in the Riverlands. A River Dance, if you will. 

Little Lord Oscar Tully and the gruff Winter Wolves boss are dealing with the “deer flies” of the smaller Criston Cole-led Hightower guerilla contingent. Tully is done with Christon Cole’s constant crossing crushing, and he tasks Lord Piper to take 100 riders and head for the Stoney Sept to secure it for the rest of the army’s crossing.

Lord Roderick Dustin, which is the name of the gruff leader of the Northmen, is very keen to be let loose to pursue Criston Cole, but Tully seems to favour the “if you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em” school of tactical efforts. 

But before they have a chance to flesh ideas out further, Criston and crew steal into the camp and start burning the tents. What is that old saying? He who kills the Piper calls the tune? Well, Criston slits poor Lord Piper’s neck from behind, silencing his tune forever.

I’m going to be honest here kittens, I was somewhat confused by the raids and counter-raids of Cole & Co this episode. 

At this first raid, Cole tells Ser Gwayne the Green Knight that the rest of the army will head to Stoney Sept and they can wait to attack them there. But why? Why not just mess up the combined Riverland/Northern contingent there? They got the jump on them, and while they’re a much smaller number, they did seem to set a number of very inconvenient fires.

A hopefully helpful map, kittens.

Of course it does allow us to have the horrific scene of Christon and his men revenged on by the marauding Winter Wolves, who lay traps in the grass for their horses. Criston’s own poor steed cops one through the hoof, forcing Cole to do a Melbourne Cup special. No time for the modesty screen to shield us poor viewers, no, just a sharp sword thrust down into the neck. 

Gwayne suggests they push on to Tumbleton and Ormund, but no. Out go the horsies, and in comes the camouflage face paint. Clearly the Greens have not binged the full 18 hours of the Ken Burns’ Vietnam doco, or the three-and-a-half hour Apocalpse Now Redux or even the much more succinct Hearts of Darkness doco about the making of Apocalypse Now. 

In truth, I haven’t either, but then I haven’t decided to opt for the quagmire option. Literally a few days of guerilla action and Criston goes full Cole-nel Kurtz.

Scene after scene, we watch a resolute Criston, an increasingly upset Gwayne and a diminishing bunch of greencoats squelch their way through the boggy Riverlands. Dudes keel over into the mud, becoming the bogmen of future archeological digs.

“How many more days must I wear these underpants?”

Eventually they turn up in this fantastic landscape, with a sizeable river running through a valley between two mountains. There’s a bunch of stone ruins about, but I’m not sure if that was supposed to be the Stoney Sept itself. Sometimes this world is literal, sometimes not. 

Either way they cast their eyes down and see the bridge crossing the river has been destroyed. It appears the Rivermen/Northmen outwitted the Greens and got there first - not surprising since, durrrrr, they had a boggy homeground advantage - and gave Criston a taste of his own medicine.

And then to add insult to injury, when poor Gwayne, who is absolutely broken by this sandfly-filled f**ery, practically begs Cole to just go to Tumbleton, Cole doubles down. He’s done pretending to have a higher calling to service, to have loyalty to Greens or Blacks. It’s time for Criston Cole to carry out the wishes of Criston Cole alone.

“I am the greatest warrior in the world, and I will die as such. Not in anyone’s service, but in my own.” 

You almost want to maybe give him some potentially appropriate possibly understandable credit, but then he declares songs will be sung about him, and perhaps Queen Alicent will hear them, and UGH. 

Really? A swansong suicide? And taking everyone else with you? This has all just been a nihilistic emotion purge for Criston, leaving him as nothing but a creature of pure ego? 

How I wanted Ser Gwayne to stand up, throw his tea in Cole’s face, declare “My sister said you were a dud root” and flounce off.

But he saves his exit for a bit later, as Cole attempts to inspire his troops with a rousing speech. His call to the gods of the Seven for righteous aid is too much for Ser Gwayne the Not-So-Green-Anymore Knight. We see him turning his back on the Cole Cult and walking away. 

Where’s he off to? Well, hopefully Tumbleton, where his nephew Daeron could do with a guardian who is just a bit of a sap and not a complete psychopath. 

The young lad seems to be recovering well from being forced to pop his murder cherry last week. 

(As an aside, how cool would it be to have Oscar and Daeron team up at some point? I know they’re on opposing sides, but c’mon, a couple of teens, hanging out, maybe getting interesting body piercings or starting a lute band, it’d be great fun.)

Ormund is playing 360-degree chess. That’s not a metaphor, he and Daeron are literally playing a crazy strategy board game with chequered squares and great big intimidating character pieces. 

But he’s also taking the time to test Daeron on his lessons, including the tactics used by the legendary Meria Martell, who repelled Aegon the Conqueror’s attempts to sign Dorne up to his League of Kingdoms, living up to the famous Martell words of “Unbowed. Unbent. Unbroken” from which this episode draws its title, and I’m sure you’ll agree, it’s thematic resonance.

Quick aside - I’m certain we’ve been referencing the “Seven” Kingdoms in this series, but Ormund seems to imply Dorne is still not fully in the tent? So is it more like “Six With Aspirations To Seven” Kingdoms at this point in the timeline? I’m sure a quick search could solve this issue, but I’m wary of spoiling myself and subsequently soiling myself. 

Meria Martell, it turns out, had a really smart military mind, which Ormund has to admire, even though she’s a woman. Of course he then backs up the non-pliment by saying she was fat and ugly, so true to form there. Has Ormund got fan sites on the dark web yet? I fear any incels bored of Criston Cole can pivot here very easily.

Speaking of Cole though, it’s very pointed that his recent character development has been about coming from nothing, being uneducated and putting it all on the line for glory, while here the very educated Ormund instructs his charge Daeron on why guerilla warfare is effective - if you know the terrain. The invading Aegon, his sisters and their dragons couldn’t beat the Dornish and their tricky deserts.

These are lessons Cole never got - although maybe I’m giving him too much of an out. He was in the Red Keep for years, there’s a library there, instead of making doe-eyes and maybe read a f***ing book, bro.

Anyway, at one point Daeron spies an opportunity in the game, and moves a very tall king-like piece into what appears to be a winning position. That’s confirmed when Ormund gets THAT LOOK in his eyes and everything goes still.

Daeron tries to make excuses, but Ormund freaks out and flips all the pieces off the table in a spectacular tantrum. He strides around the table, slaps his hands on Daeron’s back and intones “Never apologise for victory.”

So was Ormund angry because he lost, or angry because Daeron tried to apologise? 

Once again, Ormund’s anger passes out to sea like a Queensland summer storm, and his sunny disposition returns (by the way, is that drag name taken? Surely there’s a Sunny Disposition lip synching their way through Happy by Pharrell in a drag bar somewhere). 

Ormund then reveals his newly-minted and indeed quite mint gold currency - the Daeron Fun Buck.

For Daeron is the sign their allies needed. A son of Viserys Targaryen, shining like a beacon from the High Tower. He’s the best of both worlds. 

Daeron might seem to be in two minds about the new plan, but Ormund is feeling very cocky about it, for reasons best left to mysterious notes flying in from King’s Landing. If only they’d shown his cockiness in all of its forms this week…

Let’s check in with the Aegon and Aemond in the same chunk of recap, because have you ever seen a pair of brothers flipping out so much about the perceived better treatment of the other? 

Aegon keeps dragging Larys around the forests north of Rook’s Rest, emphatic that he is going to find his younger brother and kill him. Ooohhhh, that Aemond! Their mother loved him best! All the woes of Aegon’s life are due to him! 

It seems both a pointless exercise and exercise that’s pointless, because Larys of course has a club foot, and Aegon himself seems to awkwardly twist his ankle at one point. As someone with hypermobile ankles and a terrifying propensity to twist, sprain or even break my ankles through complex activity such as “walking”, it made me squirm. 

But my squirming was nothing compared to Aegon’s when Larys decides to let loose and give Aegon the dressing down of a lifetime. By gosh, I’m no fan of Creepy Captain Foot Fetish, but I could have stood and cheered as he summarised all of the gifts and opportunities Aegon received, and all the ways he did f**k-all with them.

“A dragon so beautiful it was named after the sun itself,” he opines, the judgement sharper than the Sunfyre scale Aegon massages with menace. “You were a terrible king, but not only that, you are a terrible man.” OUCH. 

Where’s the lie? WHERE’S THE LIE?

There’s a moment when you think he might be pissed off enough about hearing Larys’ entirely accurate character reading to stab the dude, but even Aegon’s thick head seems to realise Lord Strong is carrying him at this point.

It pays off too, for the pair return to the camp, and after another day presumably wiping out the latrines, Aegon plonks himself down next to Larys and grunts “Fine, just hire the ship.” Larys then passes him a ripe apple, a simple, nourishing foodstuff with all the Biblical associations you want with letting a serpent convince you of a different way forward. 

“What ship is that?” comes a jaunty voice, and here we get the big surprise of the episode - the literal resurfacing of Tyland Lannister. At no point does he explain to us, the suspicious viewer, how his real armour was plot armour, and allowed him to survive being thrown off Lindsay Lohar’s Bitchfist. 

Larys and Tyland fall into quick disagreement about the appropriate next course of action. Larys is still keen to get to Braavos, where he’s arranged for a nice house (and given his slithery qualities, probably some ulterior motives) for Aegon. Tyland reckons they should head to his seat of Casterly Rock where they can regroup for a triumphant return.

There’s a charming moment where Tyland hints at the horrors of the Braavosi people. You can almost see him shudder as he remembers the hospitality Lindsay Lohar showed him.

Larys hilariously tells Tyland off for thinking of his own advancement - coming from the guy who left Daemon the delightful gift of an Ottoman, that is rich indeed. 

But while this is happening Aegon’s bag is being rifled through by the smug git running things at Rook’s Rest, whose name is Janos. Although who cares, because he doesn’t last long once he pulls Aegon’s crown out and questions Aegon’s in-disguise name of “Gregor”. Without missing a beat, Aegon flips Janos to the ground, whips out his dragon scale and nips his reign of bootlicking terror.

“You will call me “Your Grace”,” says Aegon, and you know what? You’ve earned this one, Aegon. I’m happy for you to notch up a kill on your rope belt.

Meanwhile his younger bro Aemond is flipping in and out of consciousness and in and out of the bed Alys Rivers has him stationed in - the same room in which she played her mind games on Daemon last season. 

He’s having dreams and full body breakdowns over how his big bro treated him. Ooohhh, that Aegon! Their mother loved him best! All the woes of Aemond’s life are due to him! 

Like Aegon, he’s also feeling the loss of his dragon. Vhagar isn’t dead, but she’s definitely disappeared, and Aegon feels emasculated without her. He crouches half-naked in the cold air as Alys explains that King’s Landing has fallen and Rhaenyra is now hunting his best beastie.

Alys can only offer the cold comfort that she’s not sure how much of Rhaenyra’s anti-Aemond propaganda she believes. But she’s a little better on Aemond’s assessment of his mother’s failings.

“Sometimes the child that grieves her is the one a mother loves best,” she soothes.

“Who are you?” Aemond asks, stone eye glinting. “One who has been grieved.”

Oh-ho! So Alys has chillens, then? Is this some sort of revenge fantasy she’s playing out with a son of the realm? Or is she riffing more on Harrenhal being like her child fortress that she keeps getting denied true ownership to? I have no freaking idea what her plan is, but it’s definitely playing on the Aemond-Daemon coin flip. 

As well as her cross-stitch efforts while nursing Aemond, Alys is also a dab hand at some spooky wet work, as she’s fending off Aemond bounty-hunters left, right and centre. The first batch she manages to scare away with some straight-from-Batman’s playbook bat swarms. 

But the second batch scale one of Harrenhal’s imposing walls and wind up at the castle’s weirwood tree garden, the same place Daemon heard whispers last season. These clowns talk shit about our Goth Queen in all her purple finery, and one even suggests his impending acts of sexual violence will be a precursor to her becoming his “salt wife”. 

Salt wife! The clowns must be Ironborn, lured deep inland by Rhaenyra’s promise of the fortress and associated bounty. 

They’re not given much chance to think about the wisdom of their financial strategy, as Aemond jumps to Alys’ rescue by slaying each of them immediately.

“You’ve taken a turn for the better,” Alys observes drily. I am still so fascinated by whatever the hell is going on in her murky goth lair.

Once again, Rhaenyra is wrangling with a restless and recalcitrant rabble - and that’s just her Small Council!

There’s an affray with Lady Frey, who’s steamed off about the Queen promising Harrenhal as a bounty for catching Aemond. The Freys were promised the fortress in return for letting the Northern warriors cross the Twins. 

I shouldn’t judge this Frey by the actions of her descendant (although god knows Walder Frey is so old he could be her son), but I can’t help being deeply suspicious of anyone from that house. Who in their right mind wants Harrenhal? I mean, Alys Rivers does, but clearly she’s not in her right mind, hence my point is proveth? 

As it is, Lady Frey seems to draw back from dishing out heated opprobrium, and resolve to take up the offer of a seat on Rhaenyra’s Council.

What follows is a fantastic double act with Lady Frey sitting in on her first meeting, with Ser Torrhen Manderly giving a running commentary on all the players. You can see Daemon grow ever more frustrated at the not-so-quiet asides about the bastard Velaryons and Magical Mysaria Tour (“Oh yeah, she was totally a whore, yeah, big time, mmmm-hmmm”). 

Daemon and Mysaria are arguing about skirmishes with the City Watch, blaming each other for growing unrest including Gold Cloaks starting to arriving for work dead. 

But Rhaenyra is focused on what Baela and Ser Addam are reporting about recent Vhagar sightings, as well as whatever foxhole Ser Ormund has dug himself into at Tumbleton. 

It’s not quite domestic versus foreign policy, but it certainly shows the competing priorities of a new government. Rhaenyra is right to want to neutralise outside threats, and is keen to send Daemon to replace a tired Baela and Addam in the hunt for Vhagar, particularly once Orwyle reveals Criston Cole’s guerilla tactics have slowed down Lord Tully’s army.

But Daemon is also correct in saying the Gold Cloaks’ loyalty is paramount for Rhaenyra’s nascent rule. He knows they flipped for her because of his association with the group, and if he’s seen to desert them as they’re turning up dead - especially as they’re already not being paid - they could just as easily flip again.

“Is it always like this?” Lady Frey asks, to a non-committal “mmm” from sassy Ser Torrhen. Is he in danger of becoming a new favourite? Does that up the risk Daemon will just stab him across the table one day? I hope not.

I’ve got to admit, Daemon kinda has Rhaenyra’s number when she confronts him outside the meeting about making her look like an idiot by not obeying her orders to fly to the Riverlands. He argues quite convincingly that her Rhaegar fascination is about revenge, and while he doesn’t begrudge her that, it can wait until the capital is secure.

He also calls her out on ordering the Gold Cloaks to round up the graffiti artists, saying it’s beneath her to worry about stripes painted on tavern walls. Ouch. The thing is, I get why it hurts Rhaenyra. Her own foolhardy youth and offspring of questionable parentage is a weak spot for her. She feels guilty about it, and what Daemon is trying to tell her is that it’s only a weak spot because she believes it to be so. 

“You are the Queen of Dragons. Your strength is your legitimacy.”

It reminds me of Cersei Lannister’s boss bitch move against Littlefinger, when he smugly tells her “knowledge is power” and she responds by having one of her guards hold a knife to his throat and tells him “power is power”. 

Of course, the problem is they’re BOTH right. Rhaenyra does need to secure legitimacy for her next-in-line son Joffrey, who even now is arriving back in King’s Landing. But Daemon, while cocky, can see the clear and present danger of not enough coin in the Gold Cloaks’ pockets.

Rhaenyra and Daemon, niece and uncle, wife and husband, Queen and King (Consort). They really are opposites of the same coin, but the problem with that is sometimes it stops you seeing the other one’s side.

Daemon heads down to Fleabottom to remonstrate with Ser Luthor about the heavy-handed approach he took to anti-graffiti measures. It’s all a bit too Rudy Giuliani as New York Mayor in the 90s, even if Luthor points out that’s kind of how Daemon ran the City Watch 20 years earlier. 

Luthor says his men are unhappy about not being paid, and Daemon’s first thought is a rousing speech will cheer them up. He immediately volunteers himself for this task, even though Ser Luthor points out most of the soldiers were toddlers when Daemon last strode around as the Rogue Prince of Fleabottom. It’s like me as an elder Millenial attempting to get Gen Zs to respect me. I was a young adult during 9/11, you bastards! I lived through the bumster jeans trend! I remember poking on Facebook! 

It’s then murmurs start becoming yelps start becoming shouts, and Daemon and Luthor hurry around a corner to find another two Gold Cloaks totally Jack-the-Rippered in the alley. Like, an actual alley, not a euphemistic alley. Although maybe, who knows, they didn’t go in on a close-up.

All this is enough to rattle the men enough that perhaps a rousing speech IS needed, and Daemon delivers it in the bowels (ooh, poor choice of words) of the City Watch HQ. 

I’ve got to say, for a bunch of hungry and overly aggressive thuggy narcs, most of those Gold Cloaks are some dang fine looking fellas, and they’re not even nude this time. Obviously there’s enough soap provided at HQ because they all look quite clean and presentable - certainly compared to the creepy ones we saw in flashback in A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms. 

Daemon’s speech is another insight into his vision for Targaryen expansionism

He talks about Rhaenyra’s empire growing, Dorne bending the knee (see what I mean about Dorne?), and the Seven Kingdoms becoming Nine, then Twelve, and then the New Valyria. 

And at the centre of it all are the Gold Cloaks, the first and last line of defence, the force that allows Rhaenyra’s reign to flourish. All they have to do is hold the line, and he’ll make sure to pay them double for their troubles.

It’s a masterclass in flattery AND bribery, delivered as only Daemon can. 

And Daemon gets a delivery back - a suspect has been caught!

He and Luthor discuss a cautious, intricate plan to coax information from the potential traitor I’M JUST KIDDING YOU GUYS DAEMON IMMEDIATELY TEARS THE DUDE’S EYE OUT. 

It’s a simple but effective way to get this guy to spill his guts on who’s been out there… spilling guts.

The dude claims to have acted alone, and signals that a clue to his master lies in his boot. Daemon rummages around in his R.M. Williams and, a-ha! It’s the Daeron Fun Buck.

Of course it’s not enough to stop Luthor from immediately finishing the poor bugger off, as Daemon stalks back to the Red Keep to throw the offending coin right in front of Rhaenyra.

“The price of our humilation,” he spits. Rhae-Rhae is confused, but Daemon lights the way: Ormund has declared Daeron king, and rallied his army - and potentially the smallfolk - around that promise. “You should have burned them when you had the chance.”

Shots of surrepticious raven-sending from the capital and Ormund receiving said notes as he called for Tumbleton’s defences to be strengthened start to make sense.

His Daeron Fun Bucks are not just about ego - his own or his young charge’s. It’s not just about rewarding a shadowy band of loyalists for taking out Gold Cloaks.

It’s a marketing strategy.

“Don’t like Rhaenyra, but Aegon/Aemond not doing it for you either?

“Hi, I’m Ser Ormund Hightower, and I’d like to tell YOU how you can order your shiny new not-insane MALE king today.”

A few different characters all converge at the end of this episode, so let’s take a detour and cover the comedic antics of Dowager Queen Alicent Hightower.

Desperate to not just cover up Helaena’s pregnancy but hopefully end it altogether, she somehow manages to get a pot of the ever-convenient moon tea out of Grandmaester Orwyle. 

She attempts to sweet talk him into continuing being loyal, but he makes it clear his bread is buttered on a different side now. She has the grace to be grateful for his assistance - if only she’d thought to ask for some milk of the poppy as well, because Helaena has no intention of drinking her abortion tea. 

Alicent makes a number of very good points about why having another baby Aegon is foolhardy. It (and she even uses that neutralising pronoun) will be killed, or used as a hostage, or a pawn, or stuffed full of grenades and catapulted directly at Vhagar. 

“But it’s mine!” Helaena snarls, almost feral. Alicent insists that it’s a magic medicine that has saved her before and a young Rhaenyra too, and so many other women, and even tries to force the liquid down her daughter’s throat, but she’s not having it.

Mysaria, who was probably trying to flag Orwyle’s mystery pharmacy trip to Rhaenyra when she was rebuffed at the Small Council meeting, turns up to quiz Alicent on the potion.

Alicent, busted, chooses to take the fall. “Oh yeah, I took a lover, you know the drill, we’re both women, we know about needs, you know what happens, so yeah I’ll just drink this now, no biggie, very happy to do it.”

Cut to the next scene where Alicent is sitting with hot towels on her stomach, regretting life. 

It doesn’t stop her from coming up with another madcap plan. She removes her seven-pointed star necklace, the symbol of her faith, and uses it to buy the help of a handmaid to launch an escape bid.

She attempts to convince Helaena - who is more interested in teaching Jaehaera about cool bugs eating dangerous plants - to flee with her that night while their guard is relaxed. Their exit will be the same secret passage used by the assassins who murdered Helaena’s son, a fun fact she doesn’t find appealing.

Moreover, she isn’t keen to leave Jaeheara behind. The little girl is being closely monitored, and Helaena wants to know how they’d take her with them.

“Well, you know, she’s a kid, and she might cry, and that’ll be bad, and hey maybe she’s better off here because, you know, Rhaenyra wouldn’t hurt a young girl, and maybe later we can send for her to come join us.”

Helaena tells her mother she looks away when she lies and storms off. But she seems to be onboard with the plan, because later that night the pair dress in maid uniforms and attempt to get the hell out of dodge. 

Once again hilarity ensues. They get all of ten metres down a hallway when Mysaria stops them and threatens to tell the Queen.

Ever more desperate, Alicent decides to gamble on Mysaria’s ego and history. She flatters the White Worm’s spy credentials, and questions whether her loyalty to Rhaenyra will be guaranteed.

All she wants is Mysaria to shut up about their little Shawshank Redemption role-play, and in return, she’ll have a favour owed to her by House Hightower… when the time comes. 

Alicent’s playing a dangerous game as this is treasonous talk. All Mysaria has to do is relay the conversation and Alicent’s head is on a spike. But the scene ends ambiguously, and one imagines for plot reasons having one up on Alicent is a reasonable risk/reward decision for Mysaria. She could always blub to Rhaenyra that she was working to ensnare Alicent in a complex web, a la Francis Walsingham and Mary, Queen of Scots.

For now, Alicent seems stuck. If only there was some canny castle creature able to light the way for her.

Thankfully - cats! 

One of the moggies keeps meowing at a wall, convincing Helaena she can hear things. A breeze from the join of the wall sends her candle fluttering, indicating another secret passage. What luck!

With no time to lose, Alicent punches the concealed door open, and the pair grab coats and a lantern and head into the void.

All this is happening while Ser Criston Cole delivers his religious pep talk to his remaining friends, and while Daemon goes looking for Ser Luthor in the suspiciously quiet streets of Fleabottom. 

Disaster comes quickly for Alicent and Helaena, when they realise the passage is blocked up. As an aside - do we think this is the passage Rhaenyra used to sneak out of when she was a teen to go and experiment at orgies and whatnot? And it got blocked up for her own good? Such bitter irony if so. 

Helaena says they should go back, but Alicent says the door closed behind them and they can’t. In the panic the lantern is dropped and the pair are plunged into darkness. 

Unfortunately for Daemon, there is still enough light for him to see the gift that’s been left for him.

Someone’s done a twisted take on Leonardo da Vinci’s The Last Supper, posing the mutilated corpses of Ser Luthor and a handful of other Gold Cloaks in a ritualistic f*** you to the new authority.

A Feast For Traitors (approx 100 AC)  is an immersive three-dimensional sculptural work which explores the nature of human degradation and humiliation. Materials used include wood, steel, wax, blood, human flesh and flies. 

I started this recap with a joke about Lord Piper, and once again that adage is relevant. With such an implaccable-seeming enemy willing to shed blood for a righteous cause, it’s going to be harder now for Rhaenyra and Daemon to call the tune if they can’t pay the pipers.

Can they flip some coin before the new coin flips them? 

Yay! Best Moments

I just adored Rhaneyra and Daemon (how come I haven’t invented the nickname Rhae-Dae yet, massive oversight) meeting in the High Sept of Baelor.

Daemon is deeply tickled by Rhaenyra’s attempt at religious politicking/pandering to The Faith.

Their conversations in High Valyrian are always where the truth outs, where they can cajole and coerce each other. 

There’s even a delightfully smug facial expression from Daemon as Rhaenyra tries to humiliate him, indicating he knows this is her insecurity playing out, not his.

“You are more than this!” he tosses over his shoulder at her as he bugs out. Once again, he’s not wrong. But will she realise it?

Zing! Best Lines

I’m kinda loving the nibling relationship growing between Baela and Ser Addam of Hull, her newfound uncle (but also, am I getting a weird flirtation vibe here? Is this another love scenario a la Rhae-Dae?) 

Poor Baela is developing quite a complex about making the rash decision to join her fiance/husband (I never quite figured out if they were formally married) in the Battle of the Gullet. She feels Rhaenyra is icing her out, and is going without food or sleep to hunt for Vhagar and prove her worth to her family.

She had a path set for her, but all that has gone. Addam charmingly suggests it’s been replaced by adventure, which is all very cute. He grows frustrated with her at one point and yells “Baela!” before hurriedly correcting himself with a “My lady”. 

Baela is worried she’ll be sold off to some horrible lord with a bunch of coin Rhaenyra needs.

“I’ll come find you, and we’ll fly away to exile …but only after you eat,” says cheeky Addam.

We stan a man who wants to make sure his gal pal is fed, watered and rested. 

Ewww, gross

Take your pic this episode - Criston Cole slitting the Piper’s throat, Criston Cole stabbing his horse’s throat, Criston Cole in poorly-applied warpaint.

Daemon plucking out that underground agent’s eye was hella graphic - nice job from the makeup team there. Unless they really got a dude minus an eye and bloodied up the hole. That would be cool. 

And of course the Feast for Traitors installation was morbidly delightful.

Boo, sucks

I am being inexorably drawn to the horrible conclusion that Rhaenyra may sabotage her own reign, and I use as another piece of evidence the deeply sad moment when she goes to visit Prince Joffrey, who’s fallen asleep waiting for her.

She could have gone in, roused him, or even sat with him for a while. Maybe stroked his hair or given him a kiss. But she can’t bring herself to go into his room. She is, I think, terrified that her presence, her drive for legitimacy and authority, is a disease that has already taken two of her sons. If she gets too close to Joffrey, might she lose him too? How many sons is enough? How many tokens does she have left to gamble?

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