S3E6: Faceless Men — Natalie Bochenski

He’s dead! He’s dead! The People’s Incel is Dead!

Ser Criston Cole got totally King Harolded after taking the bait from that canny lil’ fisherman Lord Oscar Tully.

Yes, he finally met his William of Normandy in the form of… Alysanne Blackwood?

I mean, sure, get it girl, no shade on the bow skills, the black eyeshadow is fierce and frankly it’s genuinely delightful a lady took out King of the Incels.

But apart from a glimpse of this gal during the big Fish Food karaoke drinking song in episode two, I didn’t know who she was. I had to search for her name, and try to avoid any spoilers.

Is it weird to be glad and sad at the same time about this development?

Part of me wants a slightly more satisfying end to Ser Criston (even though I’ve half-forgotten why I found him such an unpleasant annoyance) by having him taken out by a major enemy - Daemon in an act of revenge, perhaps, or Aemond in an act of betrayal, or even Aegon because he was a bit cranky about his weird head and wanted to blame his Hand.

But then such is life for the professional soldier. You can’t guarantee a good death. Slings and arrows of outrageous fortune and all that. His death was not dishonourable, nor was it ignominious. But it wasn’t on his terms, and that really, is quite satisfying.

Although it does feel like a bit of a thankless season for actor Fabien Frankel: look moody in a dirty shirt for a few weeks, smear some camo paint on the old noggin’, then do his best impression of a shish kebab. He did a spiffing great job of it, and I’ll miss hate-watching him.

There was so much CONTENT in this episode that I’ll admit to you, kittens, I’ve been struggling to figure out a theme beyond “gosh a lot of stuff happened and wow Ormund vomits like a presser washer after a Noro-cruise”.

With Daemon stalking through Fleabottom in disguise, to fake ID assassins, to Hugh’s misplaced attempt at valour, to Alicent’s required act of two-faced treachery, Lady Jeyne’s Will Smith moment and yes, Criston’s enforced turning of the other cheek, my best bet might be simply to explore this episode’s title, “Faceless Men”.

For it was full of figurative examples of acting with subterfuge, and also literal examples of faces being altered by physical acts of slapping, stabbing, slicing, spewing, skewering, strangling and even snogging.

HotD: S3E6 “Faceless Men”

It was a mighty convincing ruse, was it not? Criston and his merry band of forest rangers discover a Tully camp strewn with the corpses of horses and men, complete with bloody wounds and hovering flies.

Nothing moves until the Hightowers spread out among what appears to be camp wreckage, but is in fact a very cleverly staged set. Odysseus himself would be proud.

Corpses burst into life and start attacking the Greens with surprising vigour. One imagines they must have had to assume their fake dead positions for some time before they were found, yet none seemed to be troubled by cramps. Given I groan when simply rising from a chair, I was impressed.

It’s a credit to Criston & Co for regaining the advantage as quickly as they did, turning the men who had until moments earlier been playing corpses into real corpses. Some poetic justice there, and surely that must have been on the minds of those dudes as they lay in wait? “This caper is going to be hilarious, but gosh I’d better survive or I’m going to look like a real idiot.’

Unfortunately, the great wheeze of fake dead soldiers was nothing compared to the greater squeeze of the Northmen/Rivermen army.

There were future echoes here of the Battle of the Bastards, when Jon Snow (sigh!) and his ragtag crew are completely encircled by the Boltons. Except this time I was delighted to see the Black-allies push in on the Greens… and there are no Knights of the Vale coming to Criston’s rescue.

Lord Oscar Tully, possibly the smartest person in this whole show, calls out to Criston to answer for his crimes. Tully’s promised to build a sept out of traitors’ bones and needs some more, some quite emo imagery for a teenager.

Criston suggests he take Tully and his burly old man-partner-in-crime Lord Roderick Dustin on solo, suggesting it could spare the lives of others.

I suspect Roderick would give it a go (“What better way to die than blade in hand?” he roars), but the pair of them know enough about Criston to know that he really is very good at the whole killing business, so why risk it? Particularly when there’s somebody waiting on their mark to make a mark.

Criston, resigned to death in battle, pulls Alicent’s dirty hanky from his sleeve, and wraps it around the hilt of his sword.

But before he has a chance to wield it…

…an arrow pierces his side. Cole is confused. A second arrow strikes, and as Criston reels from the impact, a third goes STRAIGHT INTO HIS MOTHERF***ING CHEEK.

Not since Kevin Costner in Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves (best movie ever made, please no arguments here, the matter is settled) has there been a more satisfying arrow to the face.

The greatest warrior in all of Westeros sinks to the boggy ground, and Lord Roderick Dustin commands the army to charge. As the rest of the Hightowers steal themselves for the death Criston had inspirationally promised them, their former leader is already getting Cole-d, Alicent’s hanky still in his hand, fluttering in the wind and spit of the battle.

The bow responsible? Alysanne Blackwood, a name I searched for and then stopped, because again I’m trying to avoid spoilers. I did enjoy the tit-for-tat nature of Criston’s injuries - three penetrating arrows, mirroring the manner of Prince Jacerys’ murder in the Gullet.

Doing a retrospective assessment, you’ve got to determine that the whole scheme of Ser Criston Cole and Ser Gwayne Hightower riding out to meet Aemond and Vhagar at Harrenhal was a total flop.

We’re talking Stannis Baratheon sacrificing-his-daughter-then-leading-a-decimated-and-straggling-army-against-the-Boltons-at-Winterfell level of flop.

So what have we learned about life, love and duty from Ser Criston Cole?

First - rejection and heartbreak is a bitch, and I don’t think it’s necessarily a bad thing to appreciate that those things shape you. After all, I got rejected at age 16 when I wasn’t cast in my school play, and now I run a small theatre company that costs me a lot of money, so who’s laughing now, huh? (Oh… wait).

Trouble is when you let the rejections and heartbreaks define you. Every decision Criston Cole made after teenaged Rhaenyra deep-sixed his boat proposal was done out of some misguided attempt to be seen and feel worthy.

I’m sure part of him loved Alicent for more than just the hot illicit sex, but it’s telling he chose to love a second woman whom he couldn’t truly be with, someone else who’d loved Rhaenyra.

Obviously there was no Employee Assistance Program in the Kingsguard that would help him process those emotions, and he turned first to garbage online forums before winding up on nihilism dot com.

In the end, Criston’s definition of honour and glory got all mixed up. He was hoping to save face with a noble death in battle, but in the end his goal of honour and glory simply blew up in it.

Another day, another Small Council conference, where Daemon wants justice for Ser Luthor and 24 other dead Gold Cloaks - an impressive kill tally in the short time Rhaenyra’s been running the show from the Red Keep.

He still thinks they should burn Ormund out, but Magical Mysaria Tour is still holding the line on the bigger picture of “not turning everyone against Rhaenyra”. Pish-posh.

Lady Frey, Ser Torrhen and Alyn all agree that dragons cannot be trusted with pinpoint accurate deployment – they’re not Ukrainian lightning drones, after all.

Rhaenyra agrees to send “knives” - aka assassins - instead. Daemon is raring to go, but Rhaenyra rightly tells him he’s too recognisable and the ruse will be rumbled.

*“I promise you’ll get to murder someone else very soon.”*

As if on time, a delegation of Baratheons turn up to apologise for their leader Ser Borros making himself scarce. He’s off fighting a small-time bandit somewhere on the borders with Dorne.

I must say, we haven’t seen Borros Baratheon since Lucerys got murdered flying away from Storm’s End at the end of Season 1, but the man is playing the Game of Thrones very well. We saw Ormund get upset that he hadn’t sent reinforcements to Tumbleton; now he’s sucking up to Rhaenyra but at the same time staying the hell away. He’s just letting the two sides fight it out, and no doubt will be there to join the eventual victor and say he was loyal all along.

The Baratheon delegation offer their apologies to Rhaenyra, who has a great line saying their master is treating a crook as a bigger threat to his interest than she is. The boys in yellow ask if there’s anything else they can do, and after a pause, she demands their belts. Put a pin in that one, we’ll come back to it.

Alyn, meanwhile, had suggested recruiting Velaryon men to help patrol the city streets, and Rhaenyra suggested he ask the missing Hand for more.

So Alyn heads out to find his father somewhere near the Kingswood, given the forested surrounds.

Corlys is busy hanging Triarchy pirate bodies from tree branches, a terrifying warning that raiders from the lost barques will not be tolerated.

He’s not keen on coming back, and gets cranky when Alyn mentions the extra men to help guard the city. “She still asks more of me?” he scoffs, but Alyn responds that it’s him who’s asking.

Alyn clearing feels things deeply, but is a cool-headed king. Corlys questions why he’s giving so much, considering she refuses to grant him legitimacy. Alyn, savage as you like, says “Yeah, Pops? And it took you HOW long?”

*Look up the phrase “suitably chastened” in the dictionary and you’ll find this Corlys face.*

Let’s ignore the fact that it was Corlys who told Alyn to sit on Rhaenyra’s council to help his career, so him asking Alyn the question in the first place was a bit silly. It allowed us to get a devastating rejoinder out of Alyn, and a suitable shot of a chastened Sea Snake.

Alyn returns to the castle – and promptly gets it on with Baela.

Was anyone else blinking their eyes in confusion at this point? Not even because of the incest (given Alyn’s mother is unrelated to the Valeryons and Targaryens it basically doesn’t even count), but because it seemed to come out of nowhere? They’d had a nice chat on the beach when Alyn was still searching for Corlys after the Battle of the Gullet, but I hadn’t got a sense of sexual tension at that point, given that, you know, Baela’s fiancé had been dead for perhaps a day.

Grief makes you do strange things, of course, but I thought after last week’s cosy conversation with Addam of Hull it would be that brother in line for some sexual healing/distraction.

*“When I feel some traction/I want sexual distraction”*

Does this mean we’ve potentially got a love triangle between two brothers and their half-niece? This is sounding like the plots you find on #BookTok, where apparently the more taboo the better. Is Baela the face that will launch a thousand ships?

Given that he talks about feeling responsible for everyone as the eldest child, it makes a little more sense. While Baela does not yet know about Rhaena’s disastrous Gullet intervention, we can imagine she’d probably feel even more guilty, given she’s still kicking herself about agreeing to Jace’s request to fly to war in the first place.

Alyn wants her help to get Corlys to understand him more, but Baela’s been there with her own Dad. They can’t stand their flaws, so they go out and hunt and fight and distract themselves to feel big again. There’s nothing she can do to stop that particularly toxic behaviour, and you know what? It’s not her responsibility to either.

I do like the way Baela has a moment where her desire flames on, all the tiredness and guilt drops away. By letting go of any thought that she could bring her uncle and grandfather closer together, she frees herself from that peacemaker role and touches something deeper within herself.

So when she says wouldn’t it be nice to do something just for yourself, she’s not really talking to Alyn. She’s taking a wholly individual action, possibly her first ever, and certainly after her younger sister, whom you could argue broke her family programming by seizing Sheepstealer. Let’s hope Baela’s nibling naughtiness has a better outcome than that. I don’t want to see two Targaryen princesses eating cliff berries (unless “cliff berries” is a euphemism for… actually nevermind).

Speaking of Rhaena, her one-woman Picnic at Hanging Rock immersive theatre production is not thrilling anyone.

Maybe it’s the loneliness, maybe it’s the suspicious cliff berries, but she starts seeing things, such as her sister Baela riding Moondancer through the Vale.

Oh wait! That’s real!

We only find out what Rhaena did next when she’s hauled in front of Lady Jeyne Arryn, who is busy throwing someone through the moon door with the emotional detachment of a cat pushing a cup off a table.

She promptly slaps Rhaena across her dusty face.

*“Hey wouldn’t it be funny if you pushed me through the moon door, but I have a dragon now, and he sweeps in and saves me? Is that some foreshadowing we could do here?”*

It turns out Rhaena chased after Baela on Sheepstealer off screen. Way to go saving on those special effects, HotD production team.

Now Rhaena didn’t get to see her sister, but did manage to freak the hell out of a nearby town, and that’s a no-no for Lady Jeyne. She agreed to semi-tolerate Rhaena and Sheepstealer, on the proviso that Rhaena stayed off the radar as much as possible.

“The Queen thinks Sheepstealer’s rider is dead,” she says. I did wonder how she knew that, but I realise King’s Landing must have sent out ravens with the update.

The problem is if Rhaenyra finds out Jeyne knew about Rhaena and didn’t dob her in, she’ll bring a world of hurt down on the Vale.

Lady Arryn gives Rhaena one more chance to stay quiet, but makes it clear that it must be the last.

*Sometimes the Blackadder references are just for me.*

Question about this scene - how did Lady Jeyne’s well-coiffed guards manage to find Rhaena and bring her to the castle? As a wild dragon it makes sense that Sheepstealer could be mercurial, but why would Rhaena allow herself to be captured and forced in front of the weirwood throne?

Maybe they grabbed Rhaena by surprise while the dragon was out sheep stealing? Or maybe she was sick of the twigs and berries she was living on?

Back in the capital, Rhaenyra is not doing well on the Iron Throne. The damn thing is starting to cut her up physically, but she doesn’t seem at all cut up about teenage novice Septas being rape-napped from the local convent.

“I’ll light a candle for her when I’m next at the Sept,” is not the compassionate leadership flex you think it is, Rhae-Rhae.

Of course, the candles are an issue too, given the ongoing tallow shortage. She tries blaming her new Master of Coin, but the good cop/bad cop routine is not playing well.

I did love the impassioned plea of “We cannot light our sconces!” I know, I know, a sconce in ye olde times wasn’t necessarily fancy, but it did conjure a mental picture for me of an interior designer being disgusted his new install from Lighting Illusions wasn’t working.

Another local who introduces himself as Godric has been sent in with the killer question “Who’s keeping us safe?”

Rhaenyra immediately blames the Hightowers for the rising crime rate in the city, a deflection that impresses nobody, least of all the observing Mysaria. And the assembled city folk don’t seem to love the idea of roaming Velaryon swords acting as de facto police.

“Sure, it’s not your fault, we get it,” pleads Godric. “But isn’t it your job now to fix it?”

Boom. Rhaenyra can’t much stand the truth in this bomb. She’s stuck with a shit chair, a shit job and the endless bullshit of government.

Again, I want to stress this is not all Rhae-Rhae’s fault. She has got the pointy end of the sword in many ways - a depleted treasury, an insurgency and Daemon throwing a tantrum every seven minutes.

There’s also the curly matter of Alicent and Helaena, who sadly were found trapped in that secret tunnel early in this episode. Ye gods, I know they have to do plot and stuff, but I wish they’d been brave enough to have the mother and daughter spend the whole episode stranded in the back passage (oo-er).

How funny would it have been to check back in every ten minutes or so, to see Alicent looking embarrassed and Helaena maybe staring intently at an ant. Such a missed opportunity for comedy gold.

Freed to face the music, Alicent is confronted by Rhaenyra from a horse so high it probably has hidden Greeks in it.

Alicent blabs about Helaena’s up-the-duff status so fast that it almost lets Mysaria off the hook for not telling Rhaenyra about it. Oh yeah, we SAW you acting all Sergeant Schulz, White Worm.

Rhaenyra is incensed, but also I think quite rightly offended by Alicent’s claim she would have to torch the kid. “Still you misunderstand me,” she pouts, as Alicent explains that it is rather risky for another potential challenger to Rhaenyra’s claim to turn up.

Unfortunately, Rhaenyra chooses to mitigate that risk by putting them under more severe house arrest, something that Alicent knows will adversely affect her poor, spooky daughter, who’s already refusing food. Rhaenyra realises Helaena’s like Daenys the Dreamer, who predicted the Doom of Valyria and consequently saved the Targaryens and their dragons from that cataclysm. How does one solve a problem like Helaena?

Let’s take a Daemon detour.

The bodies may have been taken away, but the cleaners have yet to get into the Fleabottom house where that twisted Gold Cloak Last Supper installation was debuted last episode. “A Feast for Traitors” remains scrawled over the wall in blood, and that stuff is devilish to get out. Someone has definitely lost their bond.

To my mind, it would make sense for this Gold Cloaks mass resignation scene to take place in their HQ. How did they know to find Daemon lingering at the scene of their brother officers’ hideous murder? But I accept it helped make Daemon’s opening gambit of “We will be avenged!” more visceral, and the fear of the remaining Gold Cloaks more palpable.

Daemon has a fine time insulting the testicular fortitude of the men he feels he fashioned into a proper operational force, but it’s of no use. The Gold Cloaks aren’t rebelling, they’re self-expelling. It’s one thing to work without pay; entirely another to die without it.

The Rogue Prince does appeal to their protective family instincts by suggesting they’ll be sorry when the Hightowers return a-reavin’ and a-rapin’, but it’s no use. Turns out if you see enough of your mates wearing their bowels as a decorative breast plate you’re willing to take that risk.

FINE! If Daemon wants to avenge Ser Luthor and the 24 other dead officers, plus keep tabs on the Hightower insurrection, HE’S GOING TO HAVE TO DO IT HIMSELF.

And so we see the fabulous sight of Daemon in a Gold Cloak uniform, highly recognisable blonde mane mostly tucked up into his helmet, wandering the lanes of Fleabottom like an erotically-charged lure.

It isn’t long before he senses danger, and turns into an alley. Nobody is surprised when Daemon’s lurking would-be assassin is promptly shoved up against a wall with a knife pressed to his ear.

Faceless assassin (well perhaps we should say “nameless” as we all saw his face) already has bigger balls than the recently retired Gold Cloaks, but they’re even more impressive for someone pushed up against a wall by a threatening Daemon Targaryen.

He delights in taunting the Rogue Prince about how well the King’s Landing chapter of Anonymous (Remember them? What have they been up to? I would have thought there’d be a lot for them to work with at the moment, you know, globally) is doing, and is stronger than the goon last week who gave up the new royal coin. He happily submits to extreme ear piercing as Daemon finishes off their conversation with a blade to the brain.

Did you notice the would-be assassin gave the alternate Hightower monarch a fun new sobriquet? “King Daeron the Daring”. Was that the best option? Not “Defiant”, “Diligent”, “Dependable” or “Dapper”?

If they weren’t before, Ormund and Daeron have been cemented as fast favourites, but for entirely different reasons.

Ormund is a delightful psychopath, while DAERON IS A PRECIOUS BOY WHO MUST BE PROTECTED AT ALL COSTS.

I’m glad Ser Gwayne the Green Knight escaped a tragic end with Criston Cole, and I empathise with his world-weariness and desire only for a bath and a feather bed (he says it’s been “a week” since he’s seen a feather bed, but come on, Rhaenyra surely has been in power for a month or so by now, and he was gone before she rocked up).

Ormund is puzzled as to his cousin’s appearance at Tumbleton, but Gwayne rightly says fighting on is madness.

“Do you think me mad, Your Grace?” he asks Daeron. “No, sire, of course not, you’re a model of complete sanity and your plan will definitely work because you’re not mad, in fact did you hear you’ve won the Inaugural FIFA Not Mad Prize? Look, it’s made of shiny gold.”

Gwayne is aghast at his cousin’s resolute determination to bat on, despite the many Targaryen dragons a few cartwheels away from Tumbleton. According to Ormund, they have the best position at Tumbleton, and will be able to fight and win against Rhaenyra on their own terms.

Gwayne mentions the many dragons ready to dracarys all over them, but Ormund reaches for the misogyny card again, saying Rhaenyra is a woman, and women are squeamish, and therefore she will not burn loyal subjects.

It’s hilarious that he’s right about this, but for the wrong reasons. Rhaenyra’s immediate response on hearing that the Greens took Tumbleton was to light the match and watch it burn. But at this point she’s still listening to her advisers who know indiscriminate toasting doesn’t play well in the sticks. One imagines Ormund isn’t quite as gracious.

Also - it’s the height of hypocrisy for Ormund to call Rhaenyra squeamish when he can’t go two minutes without smelling his fancy anti-stink unctions! The dude can’t even handle a rogue fart, how’s he going to manage amidst blood and gore and battlefield trouser-soiling?

It’s not surprising then, that Ormund should add a dash of casual homophobia to his misogyny, telling Gwayne that he must have found solace with his brothers-in-arms, and instructing Daeron to mind himself while showing his uncle to the ablution block. “Backs against the wall!” he japes, and Gwayne must be wondering which god he angered to go from Criston the regular incel to Ormund the foid-hating looksmaxxer.

Finally we see Daeron have an interaction away from Ormund’s gaze (Tessarion aside), and it’s confirmed the young prince does have a brain and uses it to identify his cousin as madder than a box of honey badgers. He’s angry Gwayne left him alone with Ormund; but Gwayne is equally cranky at Daeron for indulging Ormund’s worst tendencies.

Oh! The poor boy. It’s a brief but devastating insight into abuse and coping mechanisms. We know Gwayne told Alicent Ormund was cruel; we’re now seeing how Gwayne and Daeron had formed a bond to get through the worst of his indulgences, and how it pains Daeron to have to be on his guard all the time, and put a smile on his face just to convince Ormund he’s onboard with his decision-making.

I’m suddenly feeling very protective towards these green men. If Ormund can be eliminated, I’ve half a mind to throw myself behind these two for a new power king and hand.

Speaking of elimination, the genius assassination attempt, foiled by the even more genius Gwayne’s spidey sense, was possibly my favourite scene in the episode.

The Hightowers are having a nice meal when the “Baratheon delegation” arrives. Ormund is delighted - Gwayne had questioned whether the noble houses of Westeros would show up for the Hightower claim, and this seems to be the drip that will turn into a flood.

In the same way Harrenhal hums and drones with an almost otherworldly pulse, here the foley department uses blurred and muted sound effects to show Ormund’s immediate disgust and distraction at the new arrivals’ olfactory offensiveness.

It’s that - say it with me - SQUEAMISHNESS - that allows Ormund to take the guests at face value. He even introduces Daeron as the new king after the “Baratheons” ask his whereabouts in order that they may bend the knee.

It’s Gwayne - tired, heartsick Gwayne - who sees past the dirt to smell the rat.

He grabs a table knife to slit the throat of the first predator, then tears that mans’ own sword from its scabbard and - along with Ormund’s ever-observant bowlcut-headed batman - dispatches the entire group of would-be killers. The batman (although he’s giving me Oddjob vibes; perhaps that would be a better nickname) even splits a man in half, shoving his sword into his belly then pulling downwards, sending a gush of blood and viscera to the floor.

So what if Gwayne is gwaye? Perhaps it was his superpower that allowed him to remember the true appearance of Arrion Baratheon, the man the assassin was pretending to be. The real guy had lighter hair, was taller, and “far more comely”.

Ormund - having previously referred to Rhaenyra as an “overweening c***” now doubles down on the c-bomb, threatening to cleave her from crown to c***, before pressure washing the dining table with his upchuck.

Poor Daeron - assassins, vomit and he doesn’t even have the chance to defend himself. We later see him training quite handily, but he is still a young lad. A confrontation like that would make anyone seize up. Hopefully he can serve face enough to deserve the “Daeron the Daring” label.

For his part, Ormund offers Gwayne a begrudging apology, citing the strain of the campaign for his rude behaviour. But Gwayne remains suspicious. He thinks Ormund will sacrifice anybody to win - except himself. So what is his plan?

Hugh and Ulf are both facing up to their new realities, but in very different ways.

Hugh flies in on Vermithor to take his turn on Tumble-watch, and it’s adorable to see the Bronze Fury nuzzle up to Silverwing. Apparently these two are a bonded pair, partners across an age. Awww.

Ulf is less excited to see Hugh - he’s bored out of his mind and very cranky about the leash Rhaenyra has him on. “What’s the point of having a dragon if you can’t show it to the lads?” He’s very homo-social, is old Ulf. He doesn’t seem to want riches or bitches from his dragon, just bragging rights to the boyzzzzz.

Hugh asks the obvious question - would you go back? And Ulf, grifter to the core, has to be honest and say no. But that doesn’t mean he won’t keep pushing boundaries.

In fact, on his return to the city, Ulf is immediately body slammed into the ground by Daemon when he’s caught sneaking out to the tavern.

The man just wants to get shit-faced, but Daemon isn’t having it. Having just dispensed of the assassin through the ear-hole, Daemon now threatens to put out Ulf’s eyes if he catches him again. He really is the King of Orifice Damage.

Meanwhile Hugh has a plan of his own. He robs a merchant of his carriage, gets himself let into the walls of Tumbleton (rapidly disappearing behind Hightower-enforced defence building), and goes in search of his wife, Kat.

She’s overwhelmed to see him, assuming he would have been done for during the dragon-seeding project. But no! He rides Vermithor now, and the Queen has promised them a house and food.

But instead of finding gratitude in his wife, Hugh finds only horror. She makes it clear what he has become is nothing compared to what she needed him to be after their daughter died and King’s Landing strained under the blockade.

She also flat out states she was assaulted several times during her trip on foot to Tumbleton, and now her brother is dead. Hearing of this trauma, Hugh understandably wants to make it better, but his gruff and indelicate insistence that she leave with him now is not welcome. Kat feels a responsibility to the family she has left, the ones who took her in, not the husband who abandoned her.

It’s a slap in the face for Hugh, who rather fancied himself a homecoming hero. We don’t see him get out of Tumbleton, but is it possible his side quest distracted him from his main surveillance job enough to allow certain Hightower agents to sneak out?

Let’s quickly try to cover what in tarnation’s going on with Alys Rivers and Aemond Targaryen. After being injured defending her from bounty hunters, Aemond is offered both salve for his face and salvation for his body.

Our goth witch queen of Harrenhal is VERY keen to Aemond to stay and rest with her a while, ignore the call of duty and revenge, just stay here with your shirt off and I’ll rub you up and down a little.

Aemond seems hell bent on finding his dragon, despite Alys’ prurient advice about bandits scouring local forests for him, and that perhaps Vhagar’s abandonment was done to save him. After all, you can’t hide with a giant f***-off dragon trundling along beside you.

Nevertheless Aemond steals away to steal a horse and get back on the road. A poor, cherubic stablehand walks in, and before he can even attempt to run from Aemond’s sword, Alys stabs him in the back.

Once again, the sweet innocents do not last long in this world.

Alys takes Aemond back to the castle to show him her secret stash of dragon eggs, laid by Dreamfyre one hundred years ago when the dragon’s then-rider hung out at Harrenhal.

Aemond seems to think himself all cursed and what not, and Alys adds that she is also sick of her “desolate existence”. Huh? I thought you just wanted to be left alone at Harrenhal, like a moth to a goth flame?

But no, apparently her new plan is to figure out how to hatch the dormant eggs, become “The Lady of the Water” and make Aemond her personal sex slave/dragonrider.

She seals the deal with a pash, and while they’re two characters unrelated by DNA I think I found their sucking face the most gross. Just stop it.

Alicent has been failing to get Helaena to eat. The spooky girl has also taken to piercing her fingers with her cross stitch needles, an eerie echo of Alicent’s own habit of picking at her nails.

Worried, Alicent decides to bargain with Rhaenyra. Helaena has seen Aemond at Harrenhal in her visions, important information to the new Queen. Initially Rhaenyra refuses to believe it given a lack of Vhagar sightings in that general area. “I didn’t say we knew where Vhagar was,” Alicent fumes.

The thought of the pair being separated had not occurred to Rhaenyra, and fair enough. Vhagar is wisely regarded as an unassailable weapon. Rhaenyra seems perkier than she has for ages as she realises a Vhagar-less, on foot Aemond is a much easier target.

“All right then, I’m off to bed, I’ll leave you to discuss how you’re going to kill my son,” Alicent humpfs.

Not so fast. Rhaenyra demands Alicent go to Harrenhal, to be the assassin that dispatches Rhaenyra’s mortal enemy.

Alicent is shocked, and cries that she cannot leave Helaena. Rhaenyra insists she’ll watch her, but is resolute. Despite Alicent’s own schemes and plots, she cannot help reminding Rhaenyra of an earlier warning:

“Did I not warn you that you would come to this?”

Poor Helaena. There’s a moment when she asks her mother why she’s in this place in her life - where there no other options for her hand in marriage? It’s sad to think Rhaenyra had wanted Helaena to marry Jace, in an attempt to bind the families closer. But Otto had wanted Aegon and Helaena to get hitched to keep the Hightower claim greater, and Alicent didn’t object. She wanted to keep her most fragile offspring near her.

Alicent tells Helaena she has to go, and must know she is eating, or what is it all for? Helaena finally takes some soup, the nourishment hopefully enough to keep her going.

Alicent will certainly need spiritual nourishment if she is to carry out Rhaenyra’s wishes and kill her own son. She leaves in the night, on horseback, destined for a face off at Harrenhal.

Finally, we see Corlys come to some sort of acceptance that perhaps his therapeutic purging via Triarchy pirate purging has been accomplished. He tells his men that they are needed back in the city, and makes plans to return.

But later quiet descends on the camp, and while searching for signs of life, a rope is swung around Corlys’ neck. His eyes bulge in surprise as he’s dragged off by Hightower men, overseen by bowlcut-headed batman Oddjob.

Now leaving aside how far they seem to be able to have travelled, and how the hell did they know how to find Corlys anyway - do we think they got out because Hugh abandoned his post to play the hero?

And what is to become of Corlys? Hostage at Tumbleton? Corpse dumped outside the gates of King’s Landing? Either way, it’ll wipe the smile off Rhaenyra’s face.

Yay! Best Moments

The Tyland-Larys-Aegon trio cracked me up. Aegon, a now half-faced man, is trying to decide if they should go to Braavos, home of the Faceless Men.

Larys remains keen, but Tyland Lannister, pressed into shallow grave-digging service so they can hide Janos’s body (although HOW they got it out Rook’s Rest undetected is conveniently not mentioned) says Casterly Rock would be safer.

Larys tells Tyland to dig deeper, or the corpse will be uncovered too quickly. Tyland suggests he take the shovel, and faced with the prospect of honest work, Larys tips Janos’ corpse into the ditchlet. Done and dusted.

Clearly Larys’ dressing down has stuck with Aegon, who’s turning over its implications in his mind like he’s turning over something (a stone or a coin? I couldn’t quite tell) in his hands.

“Do you think I’m a good man?” Aegon asks the sweating Tyland, who hilariously has to improvise an answer that will keep him alive, but not seem excessively grovelly.

Tyland’s garbled response about how we’re all a mix of good and evil is a delight, beautifully delivered, and finished with a soul-weary sigh worthy of some kind of award in itself. All right, Tyland Lannister, you have justified your very convenient survival.

The speech seems to settle something in Aegon’s mind, and he plumps for the Braavos option. Whether this is because he’s lost face or is trying to regain it remains to be seen.

Zing! Best Lines

Daemon, so thoroughly done with the catty commentary from the Stadler/Waldorf combo of Lady Frey and Ser Torrhen, hurls a cup at them before declaring:

“I’ll hear no more from those whose greatest battle has been with their own indigestion.”

Eww, gross

There was a lot of mace to the face in the trap battle sprung on Ser Criston. Cole definitely got some effective swings in, lodging that sucker in cheeks and temples and having to wrench it out again.

Maces and arrows may have been going into faces this episode, but the volume of vomit that Ormund produced almost balanced the scales in favour of things coming out of faces.

Boo, sucks

Yet another scene of Rhaenyra unable to speak to her son Joffrey, whom she once again visits when he’s already fast asleep. At least Rhaenyra sits on the bed this time, so maybe next week she’ll be brave enough to talk to her latest heir face to face.

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