S3E8: The Treasons at Tumbleton
Is anyone else’s heart still in their goddamn throat?
What a finale. What a finale!
You can see why the show’s marketing distracted us all with the pre-season focus on war in the Gullet. It allowed them to emotionally sideswipe us with a beast of a battle at Tumbleton, where the shifting upper hand was eventually seized by a greedy and spiteful drunk who turned it into the most impressive of middle fingers.
Ulf’s double heel turn allowed for one of the most spectacular double deaths in the franchise’s history - Ser Roderick Dustin dispatching Lord Ormund Hightower with his one good arm, then laughing in triumph as Silverwing turned up the flames on them both.
The Winter Wolves leader was apparently known as “Roddy the Ruin”, and no doubt Ormund’s perforated fundament stands as its final, terrible justification.
A quick role call of major characters has Daemon, Corlys, Hugh and Gwayne all shown to survive, alongside I think Ormund’s offsider, Oddjob, who was buried under rubble at one point but seemed to get out.
Less clear is the fate of Ser Oscar Tully, whom I didn’t spot among the shocked and bewildered Rivermen host, nor beloved young Daeron.
In terms of the wider implications for the Blacks versus the Greens, I’d do a winners and losers round-up except …there are no winners.
Despite the effusion of blood and the loss of a roster of key characters, I must applaud the show for giving us a season finale that leaves no one with a clear advantage.
Aegon is ascendant, yes, with a renewed sense of righteous zombie confidence, but he doesn’t yet know the tragedies awaiting him at home, and there’s still the small matter of finding Vhagar.
Rhaenyra is in a more… challenging position, having lost key allies and some personal credibility, but she has discarded the softer elements of her nature and entered full warrior mode. She has rejected her father’s vision for her and claimed one set out by prophecy. We know it’s not hers to claim - but if she is convinced of it, maybe that’s enough.
In mentioning Viserys, I come to what I think is my theme for this episode, which is the generational trauma inflicted on both the perpetrators of these events, and to their own children or children in their orbit.
From unnamed sacrificed babes to the terror of those who might inherit ultimate power, the show reminded us of the cyclical cost of ambition.
Even the brilliant Ser Roderick axed a child in the face after his pathetic attempt to kneecap the Northern warrior. It was a deliberately inserted blot in his copybook to remind us that our sentimental love of the Starks and all things of the North should not blind us to their own willingness to win at all costs.
So let’s take a moment before we begin the recap proper to mourn the gentlest child, Helaena.
For our journey in the Westa-verse has been full of incredible, eye-popping visuals. But perhaps no moment has ever been simply this… beautiful.
The episode uses its one scene with Alicent as a targeted gut punch. We know what she does not: that despite all of her efforts to protect her daughter - including the attempted murder of her own son - she has been unable to fulfil that one goal.
We know the indignities heaped on Helaena, and the hopelessness she feels. We know her final act, and we know the rush of blue butterflies was a sign, a farewell, a release, and a message to Alicent that she is finally free.
We expect devastation from tumultuous battle scenes - and we got it! - but this gentle, ambient encounter in nature proved the most devastating of all. I’m woman enough to admit I may have had a tear in my eye.
With one final series of House of the Dragon to complete this tale, I expect we will see a lot more in 2028. But for now, let’s dive in for an epic finale recap.
HoTD S3E8: The Treasons at Tumbleton
With the bulk of the action in the capital and Tumbleton, let’s tie up Harrenhal first, because the Aegon-iisance is real, and it’s spectacular.
Aemond lies despondent, having survived his mother’s assassination attempt. Rather than sparking anger, this ultimate betrayal seems to have turned Aemond’s eyes (sorry, eye) inward, simultaneously curing him of his Oedipal fantasies but also accepting that your Mum trying to kill you might not be a great reflection on your character.
His conscience is reckoning with his greed, particularly when it comes to what he thinks was the fratricide of his own brother.
Luckily Alys has decided she’s finally ready to spill the witchy beans on her history, revealing she’s the original lady of the castle, Lord Harren the Black’s widow, a survivor of Aegon the Conqueror’s burning of the building more than 100 years earlier.
It turns out she had a wee babe she tried to save from devastating burns. She called on maesters, but nothing worked. She turned to magic and unknowable things, but that didn’t work either. The babe died, and when her attempt to follow it failed, she realised she still had to pay the price.
If we remember the lesson of Mirri Maz Durr, the witch Daenarys burned to crack her dragon eggs open, “only death can pay for life”. Alys is herself cursed with the long life she tried to buy for her baby.
Perhaps Aemond was struck by her sadness. Perhaps some part of him saw the real maternal figure he needed. Perhaps he simply understood her frustration at being physically tied to the fortress; a Riverlands Severus Snape, fannying about with potions while watching every two-bit Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher/jumped-up little lord wreck the place.
Either way, he had no need to flinch from her anymore. If they’re both cursed and alone, they can be cursed and alone together.
Aemond’s sleep is not restful though, and he stalks the castle barefoot and bare-chested,, because there’s nothing like chilly nipples to ease your anxiety.
His concerns are valid, as suddenly Sunfyre drops through the ceiling like Charlie Sheen’s fighter jet at the end of Hot Shots!
Aemond is stunned at the sight of his brother limping towards him. “It cannot be… I thought you were dead…”
Aegon thwacks Aemond across the face to cement that this is very much not a ghost.
Aegon’s cheerily insane “I’m alive!” is a delight. This is the Aegon convinced of his divine right. He taunts his brother with “You kinslayer. You usurper. You c***!” feeling entirely justified in his abuse.
However, the humbling lessons of his time on the run haven’t disappeared altogether. Despite his inferior physical strength, he’s looking for an excuse to whale on Aemond, but the younger brother won’t give it. Aemond is prostrate before him, an acknowledged sinner who will welcome the sentence of death.
This angers Aegon even more. “I was supposed to enjoy this!” You can almost hear Larys’ voice calling him a terrible man echoing around Aegon’s brain. Revenge is no fun if the other guy doesn’t care.
Alys quietly arrives to observe, and Aegon is slightly put off when Aemond explains she’s his betrothed. But there’s no time for explanations when there’s the pressing matter of Rhaenyra on the Iron Throne and Daeron making a rival claim.
There they stand, two mangled-faced, mangled-brain brothers, with Aemond having no choice but to follow Aegon’s new plan: find Vhagar, fly to Tumbleton to sort out that “shitheel” Ormund, then march on King’s Landing to put Rhaenyra’s head on a spike. “Maybe then I’ll forgive you for trying to fucking kill me,” Aegon declares.
It’s a brilliant reunion that flips the power dynamic between the pair. Of course we discover by episode’s end that they will be too late for Tumbleton, but in the fallout, they may be able to seize an advantage
Let’s turn to King’s Landing, where news of Aegon’s phoenix turn leaves Rhaenyra in puddles of panic.
“He is risen!” she cries, but there’s no Bible-friendly rejoicing about this resurrection.
Rhaenyra is panicking so much she can barely even tell Daemon
How the news got to Aegon’s supporters faster than it got to her is another mystery to rack up to the peculiarities of the raven alert system - sure, Tyland Lannister saw the whole thing but how close was he to a keep with a functioning set of ravens?
However it was done, and ‘twere done quickly, and Rhaenyra is now coughing up a lung in agony. Her subjects are gathering at the Great Sept demanding they decide who the ruler should be, even though she’s the one who’s fought and suffered.
Daemon tries to comfort her, but she curses her father instead. “F***ing Viserys!” Here is a child who is trying to do the right thing by a family legacy, but finding herself extremely annoyed that obstacles keep preventing her from doing so.
Daemon switches to his favoured tactic of speaking in High Valyrian. “This is your real test,” he entreats. The rest was all training for this, babe. The realm recognises strength. Go be strong.
Whether it’s the calming effect of the dragon language, the sight of Daemon’s impressive armour before her, or simply having the unwavering support of a man who’s super ready to kill every motherf***er who stands in her way, Rhaenyra manages to screw her courage to the sticking place.
She gives orders that Hugh and Vermithor be on standby in the dragonpit, and that Daemon lead the attack on Tumbleton, rooting out the Hightowers. Daemon is frankly thrilled.
Critically, she tells Daemon the realm is watching and he mustn’t make her into a monster. It’s an important instruction to ensure no vicious backtalk from the smallfolk.
Rhaenyra also declares that once Daeron and Ormund are dead, “I will sniff out Aegon’s false heart and kill him myself.” I feel like the word “sniff” has been used here very deliberately. Like an animal sniffs prey.
There’s a little scene with Baela that follows, and it seems to occupy the flip side of the coin to Helaena’s story. Baela has repeatedly shown her loyalty and initiative in countless flying missions. They haven’t found Vhagar, but that’s not through lack of effort. But it’s not enough for Rhaenyra.
Baela begs to be allowed to rescue Corlys from Tumbleton, but Rhaenyra makes the fairly practical point that she and Moondancer are needed to guard the city. Frustrated at being penned in right when she wants to head out again, Baela accuses Rhaenyra of discarding people when they are no longer useful to her, and breaking them, like she has Rhaena and Corlys.
Rhaenyra scoffs that she could have discarded Baela after the Gullet and Jace’s death, but Baela snaps back that “you need my dragon”. Rhaenyra calls her an insolent child, and says it runs in her blood. This is dangerous stuff from Rhaenyra; Baela is after all Daemon’s daughter and she surely cannot afford to alienate more allies. Having said that, Daemon is the one telling Rhaenyra that she has to wield her absolute power, so what the hell do I know?
Baela’s boyf Alyn meanwhile is welcoming Velaryon reinforcements outside the City Walls. They appear to be… Dutch? Am I crazy, or did that main Velaryon soldier have a thick Dutch accent? They seem reticent to provide security services while Lord Corlys is a Hightower hostage, but Alyn reassures them the Sea Snake knew the risks.
They question his authority, and Alyn fronts up with the revelation he’s Corlys’ eldest living heir and “the once and future Lord of the Tides”. How curiously Arthurian.
We see Daemon set out on a brown horse to ride to Caraxes, where he’ll fly to Tumbleton and then get on a black horse. Just keeping you up to date with horse movements. Hugh the Hammer watches him go, but the stern look on his face implies he’s unlikely to follow orders to stay in the city for too long.
As for Rhaenyra, well… the girl wants an immediate appointment with anointment, please and thank you. She tells her sweet maid to prep for a fully accompanied road trip to the High Sept so she can get doused in holy water that day.
Rhaenyra’s newfound sense of purpose seems to require another change of plan.
That’s right, it’s next stop Pentos for the Magical Mysaria Tour.
The Mistress of Whispers is bundled out of her stateroom by some premium Red Keep removalists. Rhaenyra’s too smart to deliver the news herself; she sends the aforementioned maid who blushes red when telling the Mistress of Whispers that she doesn’t understand why.
But Mysaria knows. Her friend Sylvi was right - she’s still just a big ol’ whore. In fact, her actual whorin’ skills might have spelled her doom. It seems Rhaenyra might be suffering from post-shag regret.
She’ll buy her co-operation with a one-way ticket to Pentos and enough gold for a fancy house, but Rhaenyra doesn’t want to keep Mysaria’s counsel of any variety, anymore. Mysaria always told her to follow her father’s philosophies, and in rejecting Viserys, Mysaria must go too.
Mysaria is wise enough to not protest her dismissal.
“Well may we say God save the queen, because nothing will save Rhaenyra Targaryen.”
But she’s still White Worm enough to leave a message that can burrow into a soft and tender mind.
Cue Helaena, who’s back on her hunger strike and desperately sad to be out of her one hour of allocated garden time.
She notices the grey mare and cart waiting in the yard, and realises she’d just dreamed of this scene. Rhaenyra rudely woke her from that reverie; here Mysaria seizes the opportunity to pass on a warning not to trust the Queen. She tells Helaena Aegon and Sunfyre are alive, and Helaena’s unborn child is now a hostage.
Mysaria is shuffled away, but the damage is done. Back in her room, Rhaenyra entreats her half-sister to eat, asking her to think of her babe. But we know Helaena dreamed of having her child removed immediately after birth, which is ever more likely given the renewed threat from Aegon.
Rhaenyra tells Helaena she would never hurt her; but Heleana responds that life is more than not being dead, and that their father would hate her for this treatment. Rhaenyra recoils from the accusation and defends her move away from Viserys’ peaceful approach to life and lordship.
Helaena tells of a beautiful beetle that only exists in King’s Landing, on the cusp of summer, feeding off the capital’s human waste to become something beautiful. By contrast, Rhaenyra’s ambition and thirst for power and legitimacy are ugly.
Rhaenyra’s done. With Helaena resolute in refusing food, she orders the guards to pour a horrible looking concoction down her throat. From the Suffragettes to Irish Republicans, the concept of force-feeding hunger strikers has never sat well, despite any well-meaning arguments for the preservation of life.
Outside, Alyn watches his Velaryon men form up, and informs his brother they’re set to guard the Queen rather than march on Tumbleton.
Now I had always taken Addam as the most loyal of the brothers, but he’s the one here questioning the Queen’s agenda. He reveals she’s confined Baela to the Red Keep, and fears Aegon’s return has set her on a dark path.
Alyn, despite his affection for Baela, is trying to keep a level head, saying it’s not for him to question the Queen’s motives. Addam accuses him of taking advantage of Corlys’ absence to seize his own position. Quite the journey for a bastard, but Alyn maintains his ambition is simply to do his duty.
Out marches Rhaenyura after a bitchin’ makeover, with chainmail beneath her crown, dragonwing epilettes and some curiously placed eye makeup.
We see our first glimpse of her son and heir Joffrey actually awake, as the pair get into their sedan chair to be carried through the city.
Alyn leads the contingent, with Addam watching in apprehension.The brothers have always been pretty tight, and both have prospered by being aligned with Team Black. Addam is a dragonrider, but seeing Baela cast aside might see him more sympathetic with her argument that Rhaenyra uses and discards people.
For Alyn, it’s one thing to say you just want to do your duty, and another when your duty involves obeying orders that don’t sit entirely comfortably with you.
And that test comes almost immediately, for Rhaenyra barges into the Great Sept demanding the High Septon anoint her Queen there and then. He once again refuses, and warns her that she may have six dragons, but he has a seven-faced God.
But Rhaenyra is past caring, and orders Alyn to dispatch him. It’s her Henry II moment.
Unlike the knights who slew Thomas Beckett in Canterbury Cathedral, however, Alyn shows qualms about it. Rhaenyra has to almost goad him into it by calling on him as an heir to Old Valyria. Whatever boxed he ticked on the Westeros census religion question, killing a priest just feels like bad juju.
That unpleasant task done, Rhaenyra takes Joffrey to the front steps of the Sept for her Evita moment. But her fiery stump speech doesn’t quite get the adoring reaction of the Fleabottom descamisados.
For Rhaenyra has decided the whole world should know about Aegon’s vision, and the prophecy of The Prince Who Was Promised.
I’ve pondered a few times in these recaps about why that prophecy is so guarded, and wondered if knowing of the somewhat nebulous but still concerning threat from the North would be better for the wider Westeros community. I mean, it would have avoided all this competing Targaryens palaver for a start, and at the very least might ensure the Night’s Watch was well staffed at The Wall.
Well, I now know - because you run the risk of looking like a CRAZY person.
Rhaenyra cuts an impressive figure as a war leader. Daemon’s armour obviously inspired her to assume a more masculine presentation, and the eyeshadow takes on the air of war paint.
She is backed up by the impressive sight of Velaryon men in full plate, as well as her small council, although neither Grandmaester Orwyle nor Ser Torrhen Manderly look thrilled, and Alyn looks like he’s trying not to think about what he’s just done.
There’s no doubt she has the pedigree for the job. She spits out her claim with gusto, punctuating the “Only I” declarations with force and conviction.
But claiming you’re not just the rightful queen by your father’s wishes, but by a pre-ordained prophecy that pre-dates Aegon the Conqueror and means only you can defeat an unnamed threat from the north and ensure the survival of the human race?
We’re starting to veer into crazy person territory.
Certainly that’s the vibe we get from Mysaria - who’s slipped away from her guards and back into the folds of the city - and even from little Joffrey, who must be struggling to reconcile this woman with the nice mummy who kissed him goodbye as he was sent off to the Vale.
“I’m glad I wore my paisley silk cloak, it’ll help me blend into the crowd.”
Rhaenyra ends her stump speech with “I am the Prince that was Promised” in High Valyrian, and there’s only silence in the crowd.
From tumbleweeds to Tumbleton.
Final preparations are being made in the town, preparations that Ormund manipulatively tells Daeron are all for him. It’s only appropriate then that with battle looming, the youngest Targaryen is knighted before he becomes king.
Now I don’t remember Aegon or Aemond, or hell even Joffrey or Tommen Baratheon being knighted at all. And Ormund doesn’t use the traditional knightly words, invoking the Father, Mother and Warrior. But then he does have a strategic line about listening to your advisors, so perhaps it’s a further tightening of the leash around Daeron’s neck.
Gwayne looks on with something resembling bitterness as Ormund tells Ser Daeron the Daring to “rise, and light the way”.
Gwayne takes this heaviness with him into a review of the northern forces from the battlements. You suspect not even taking his considerable armour off would relieve the load. “We’re all going to die,” he laments, as the pair watch Ormund lead dozens of small boys to the frontline.
The kids are being used as bait, their presence a bulwark against dragon fire. Ormund is exploiting every trick in the book, and that book is not the Geneva Conventions. “I just want to go home to my Mum!” one of them cries.
It’s Daeron who realises something’s not quite right with Unky Ormund, who’s received some unwanted tidings from Oddjob (that’s right, I got through this whole season and still don’t know the real name of Ormund’s offsider). There’s a hilarious moment as Daeron ponders what secret plot they’ve been cooking up when a frustrated Ormund yells “Get away from me!” at a poor townie just trying to move a barrel.
Ormund really is the platonic ideal of the man who claims women are “too emotional” but cannot handle the slightest amount of stress.
By contrast, sweet Daeron is very stressed about these innocents being forced to fight and die for him, and declares he shall take to the skies on Tessarion. Here Gwayne gets over his self pity long enough to tell Daeron that’s a stupid idea.
Daeron says his choices are to either fight or flee, but at that moment, the call of “Dragon!” is heard, and the Northmen/Rivermen army cheer Caraxes and Daemon’s arrival over the battlefield and the city itself.
Gwayne has another idea, and takes Daeron down to Lord Corlys’ wine cell(ar). To be fair, it might be grain, not wine, but I like the wine cellar gag, so let’s pretend the Sea Snake has been sitting in the dark pondering just how spicy the shiraz is, but unable to taste it.
He tries throwing shade at Gwayne the “squire”, but he responds with a prompt SHUT UP.
Corlys is all Ned Stark-like in his protestations of not selling out his honour for some Daeron Fun Bucks. All right then, says Gwayne, it’s the hard way.
Having landed and mounted a horse in very intimidating dragon armour, Daemon’s getting a sitrep from Oscar Tully and Ser Roderick Dustin. They blame Criston Cole on their delayed arrival, which Daemon doesn’t care about as much as finding out how Captain Incel died. “Badly,” is Roddy’s easy summation.
The trio are then called to parly with Gwayne, who’s “hard way” turns out to be trying to make a Donald Trump-style deal with Lord Corlys as bait.
Daemon shows off an S-tier level of swagger meeting Gwayne, but it’s Roddy who brings the shade, ridiculing Gwayne’s more slight frame and asking Daemon “Can I kill him?” like a 5-year-old boy asks for a puppy.
Corlys looks somewhat embarrassed in general.
Gwayne explains that Ormund has gone - and I believe this is the technical, medical term - coo-coo bananas, and he wants to sue for peace on Daeron’s behalf.
There’s some back and forth about splitting the Seven Kingdoms and letting Daeron rule from Oldtown. Corlys seems genuine in wanting a peaceful solution, but he’s also buying into the bullshit of the great houses not wanting women rulers, so there’s a slight sense of selling out Rhaenyra. Perhaps both things can be true.
Roddy calls Gwayne a sniveling c*** for good measure, but for a tense negotiation, it’s all being conducted rather politely.
Until Gwayne takes a step too close to Daemon and proceeds to get a one-hand necklocking and an up close monologuing. Daemon makes it very clear that no one will rule but Rhaenyra, and Gwayne can either die right there on the spot or behind the walls like the rodent he is.
As Gwayne flees back inside, Daemon has Corlys led off, and informs the troops that he’s sick of distractions. “The next man to stall on this attack will be tied to the front of my f***ing horse!”
Daemon and his gang convene one of my favourite things in the whole action/adventure/fantasy genre: a battle plan meeting around a large map. I just love thinking about how it’s somebody’s job to set up the table, figure out the schematics, and place all the little battle pieces. Oscar Tully even has a pointing stick, bless him.
God damn, I love an on-screen logistics meeting, and this is no exception. I think it’s because everyone always knows what everyone means, and instructions are clear and concise. I get so easily distracted in meetings I’m forever asking for clarification. I’d like to think I’d be more focused if I was about to put my life on the line, but it depends on how shiny those pieces are.
The battle plan is neatly laid out, with Daemon confident of flying Rhaenyra’s banners over the city by nightfall. He also instructs them to keep civilian casualties to a minimum, to ensure the Queen keeps the moral highground. “Sounds boring,” says Criston-killer Alysanne Blackwood, in what I think is her only actual line of the season.
But then the group is alerted to Ormund’s tactic of underage battlement stacking, which will make it very hard for the Blacks to flambé the Hightower forces and not get the “war criminal” label.
Daemon turns to Ser Roderick and grants him the gift opportunity of a lifetime: scale the walls, kill everybody, open the gate from the inside, then galliantly die.
Roddy is 100 per cent onboard for this new plan. Not for Roddy a nice superannuation nest egg and a beach house; a glorious death is the best retirement plan a Northerner could hope for.
Daemon ends the meeting by declaring “the centre is mine” and slamming down his intricately crafted dragon miniature. Again - does he carry that with him, and bring it out for the meeting?
I feel like every battle plan meeting has to end with one of these declarative gestures I don’t mean to harp on again about Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves being the greatest movie ever (no arguments please), but it plays out almost exactly the same in their version, AND I LOVE IT:
As the time for engagement draws near, Daemon ticks another classic action/adventure/fantasy box with an inspirational hype speech astride a horse.
William Wallace in Braveheart is the peak of this genre, but hell, even Elizabeth: The Golden Age put Cate Blanchett on a horse to deliver her actual speech (the one Rhaenyra ripped off way back in episode one).
Daemon addresses them as lords, knights, savages and cutthroats to howls of laughter from the Northerners. Always good to start with some humour, you know, keep it light.
I did love Daemon’s brilliant twist on inspo oration with his line “I don’t want the best of you, I want the worst!”
Ser Roderick needs no further instruction.Taking the lead in front of his men, he commands “blades out, bellies in.”
Then the Northerners START. STOMPING.
A cacophonous, earth-shaking roar, complete with battle drums and hammers on shields.
There’s an utterly heartbreaking tracking shot of the boys atop the battlements reacting to this terrifying noise as any pre-pubescent kid would, with tears, urine and vomit. Hell, I was a grown woman sitting on a comfy couch and my own body was purging.
The Hightowers ready their siege engines and archers, and townspeople below find places to hide. The first wave of arrows land just in front of Ser Roddy’s position.
“Send your f***ing arrows you boy-touching c***ts!” he dares, and a warrior to his left is immediately shot dead. Give that archer a raise; he knew when to shoot to maximise the punchline effect of that bolt.
The Northerners push forward, a mass of grey and black. They are hit with waves of arrows and clouds of rocks flung from trebuchets. As they draw closer to the wall, down come more rocks and amphorae of boiling oil. Northern men fall off ladders (also where did the ladders come from?!), their heads smashed in or sizzling.
Down in the town itself, Gwayne searches frantically for Daeron, while Ormund searches for his own problem child - Ulf the White.
Yes, the turncoat himself has failed to turn up.
We saw him earlier in the episode having a rollicking good time in a Tumbleton tavern, and honestly, you can’t fault the man for being true to his character. Ulf just wants to drink, tell a few tall tales, crank out American Pie or Bohemian Rhapsody on the karaoke machine and maybe grab a willing bottom or two.
I’m not saying he’s right to do so, but you can’t judge him for not being a complex, layered character with shifting motivations.
Like the best of dissolute men, he’s disappeared when it counts, and Ormund is incandescent with rage.
He has no time for a messenger who informs him the battle has started. “You don’t say,” he says drily as battle sounds rage around them.
There’s an old saying about “don’t shoot the messenger”, but this messenger clearly hasn’t heard it, as he plows right ahead in explaining to Ormund that Daemon Targaryen rejected King Daeron’s peace terms and released the Sea Snake.
This is how Ormund learns of his precious nephew’s treachery, and he cannot speak. All the honours he has bestowed upon Daeron, and this is how he’s repaid? It’s hard to feel a modicum of sympathy for Ormund, but if there was a time too, this would be it.
Outside, signals are exchanged and Oscar Tully advances his troops towards the south wall, which seems to be enough of a distraction to allow more of the Northerners to successfully climb their bit of the battlement.
Roderick moves like an untouchable avending angel, scurrying up a ladder like a circus acrobat, and dispatching two dudes in about as many seconds. This is where he kills the poor lad who was just trying to do his bit for the home team. I’d like to think Roddy was briefly shaken, but there’s no time for self-recrimination when some Hightower arsehole is about to cause mischief.
With all the set up shots of Tumbleton being prepped for a battle, I knew there would be some sort of trap laying in wait for the attacking army. Roddy hears the call to “Light the trenches!” but kills the archer slightly after he looses his bolt. A ring of fire erupts around the base of the walls, catching dozens of Northmen in the flames.
The episode starts to take on a farcical edge at this point because Daemon also discovers Ulf isn’t in position on Silverwing as expected.
“What do you mean, you can’t find him?” he asks a very nervous-looking runner. “He has a very large dragon.”
Daemon, never a fan of Ulf’s, is immediately suspicious. Then a dragon does turn up - but it’s Vermithor. Hugh the Hammer is supposed to be guarding King’s Landing, so why has he arrived?
Daemon eyeballs the large wooden gate he’s expecting Roddy to open (Roddy’s been caught up with some mates getting stuck into Oddjob and others) and starts to calculate his options.
He plumps for the Daemon Special - charge in, full dragon blasting. “Form on me!” he yells to the troops. “Caraxes!”
The Blood Worm stalks forward like the 90s supermodel he is.
The transition of Daemon from his horse onto Caraxes’ back happened in the blink of an eye. All of a sudden the Rogue Prince is in the saddle, as his steed roasts the battlements on approach to the gates.
Then, amidst the smoke, Daemon spies a bunch of kids, who’ve been shoved out to stand in front.
To his eternal credit, Daemon yells and gestures at them to move. To the kids’ credit, most of them skedaddle. A couple of terrified youngsters remain, and you can see the real look of frustration on Daemon’s face as he realises he has no choice. “Dracarys!”
Caraxes unleashes, weakening the door enough to allow him to then thrust his big noodle-y neck through the busted beams.
We see Daemon rush back to his horse as Hugh joins the running troops behind him. Daemon leads riders into the square, where they’re immediately set upon. Daemon is unhorsed and begins fighting on foot; Rivermen storm another door and start pouring in.
Meanwhile Roddy and his crew finish dispatching a bunch of Hightowers and realise the gate has been opened without them - and they’re still alive. He commands his men to find Daeron, while he sets his sights on Lord Hightower.
Ormund has finally found what he’s been looking for, in the most revolting place possible.
Yes, Ulf got pissed at a party and passed out on the potty.
Ormund may have a particularly sensitive olefactory system, but anyone would retch as he did in that situation.
He has his guards tear Ulf off the dunny, and throw him to the ground, pants still around his ankles. He then thrashes the dragonrider, insulting his low birth and screaming that he might have cost them everything. Finally he orders Ulf to get on his dragon and do as he’s been told.
You know what I’ve discovered about Ulf? He’s not the biggest fan of public beat downs in the street. At least Daemon let him keep his pants on.
Speaking of Daemon, he’s been stabbing his way through the streets looking for Ormund, but instead sees Hugh the Hammer running around looking for Kat.
He’s then confronted by Oddjob and the pair start brawling, and this seems to be enough time for Ulf to somehow slip out a side exit and get all the way across the battlefield to Silverwing.
There, the very nervous-runner repeats his instructions from Daemon, but not for long, as Ulf’s Hightower accomplices slit his throat.
And now the stage is set for the most monstrous treachery of all.
Ulf takes to the skies, his stupid helmet plume flopping in the wind, and steers Silverwing over the Black allies. They cheer, and Corlys emerges from his hostage tent to smile at their apparent saviour.
But as Ulf sweeps in low, he cries havoc! and lets slip the dragon of war.
The Rivermen have nowhere to go as fire cuts a swathe through their forces. Corlys scoops up his chains and seeks shelter, his face full of understanding as he watches Ulf’s terrible decision.
Daemon has a similar moment of realisation, as Oddjob sees Silverwing in the sky and mutters “there you are” before pushing a thumb into Daemon’s left eye (another parallel with Aemond, perhaps?)
Gwayne and Daeron race to the battlements and realise Silverwing was Ormund’s piece on the board. Gwayne looks happy for the first time this whole season, saying they might just save the day.
Ormund finally has something to be positive about, and makes for the battlements to watch Silverwing’s merciless attack.
Unfortunately Ser Roddy is on his tail, and the pair take aim at each other.
Roddy smashes several teeth out of Ormund’s face in with his shield, before Ormund retaliates with a stab to the torso and then a spectacular literal disarming.
We remember Game of Thrones once paid tribute to Monty Python and the Holy Grail, with a translated version of the “your father smelled of elderberries” speech. Here it’s the Black Knight writ large, because for the hardened man of the North, this really was a flesh wound.
Things happen quickly:
Roddy roars in pain, and blood sprays from his stump onto Ormund’s face.
Ormund is suitably revolted and begins retching.
Before he can vomit, Roddy grabs a dagger with his remaining hand and bum rushes Ormund’s… well, backside.
Finding the gap in between his armour, he plunges the blade home, leaving Ormund screaming. I didn’t think it was possible to growl with glee, but that’s the best description I can come up with for Roddy’s instantly legendary bon mot of “That’s a proper f***ing from the North.”
Above them, Silverwing drops towards them, her mouth opening. We realise what’s happening just as Ulf declares “F***. YOU. TOO.”
As Ormund screams, Roddy releases his grip and extends his arm and a half outwards, welcoming the extreme cauterisation of his wound - and death.
He said he came to die for the Dragon Queen, and Ser Roddy the Ruin did it in style.
Gwayne and Daeron rush to find cover as Silverwing begins smoking up the city.
The timing helps Daemon, who’s been sent to the ground by Oddjob, but is saved by walls falling down around his foe, cutting him off.
Daemon then experiences something all his years of professional warfare have never shown him - the effect of this kind of chaos on the innocent.
Townsfolk scoop up relatives and friends, children cling to their fleeing mothers, the wounded lie helpless, the dead are many.
At the exact moment Rhaenyra is stepping away from having a conscience, Daemon sees its value for the first time.
In shock, he does the only thing he can do - pick up his sword and continue to stab every Hightower he comes across.
It’s Corlys who stops him, telling him Ulf has turned, the town is lost, and “we’re leaving”. It’s an act of grace on the Sea Snake’s part to even intervene to help Daemon.
The music that accompanies the aftermath of the battle is extraordinarily disquieting, a mix of slow, languid strings and a repetitive, almost yearning sharper string tone.
We see Gwayne cough himself back to life, covered in ash, calling for Daeron. We don’t see the boy king.
We see Oddjob find Ormund’s shattered corpse.
And we see Hugh the Hammer discover Kat’s body in the little home she shared with her family, the victim not of fire, but of crossfire. He screams in agony, his efforts to help her coming to naught.
Outside, we see the wreckalge of the River army. The camera pans back to reveal shocked faces and stumbling injured, Maesters and Septons, and the rearguard riding away. There is no sign of Oscar Tully or Alysanne Blackwood, but then, they were in the thick of the action, Alysanne taking out archers on horseback with her own arrows.
We also see three dragons flying over the scorched battlefield: Caraxes nips at Silverwing’s heels, while Vermithor chases the pair of them. Ulf is still on Silverwing, but the other two are riderless. We know Vermithor and Silverwing are a bonded pair, and while they’re intelligent, it’s unlikely the beasts will really have any idea what’s going on. Let’s hope they don’t turn on each other.
Back at the ranch, the kids aren’t all right, and by kids I mean Helaena. We see her put down the tapestry she’s been stitching this whole season, and walk towards her open window.
As Rhaenyra arrives back in the Red Keep, her sweet maid cries out to her. Still in her coronation battle dress, she finds an empty room.
Somewhere near Harrenhal, Alicent watches butterflies take flight.
And below Helaena’s window we see the princess herself, impaled on an iron spike, her eyes turned to the heavens.
A terrible death she committed to in her art.
Rhaenyra picks up her tapestry, and finds the final panel featuring Helaena falling backwards towards the earth, her eyes full of tears, her gown mimicking the wings of the butterfly.
Is there any comfort in knowing the last thing Helaena’s eyes saw was the sky, and the freedom that eluded her throughout her life?
Rhaenyra’s eyes are drawn to the preceding panel, which shows her on the Iron Throne, wearing her father’s crown, wielding a sword. Streams of red thread flow through her likeness, not fire like the dragonflame behind her, but blood.
Is it her own blood, spilled by the pointy chair itself? Or is it the blood of others, her past, present and future victims?
Maybe it doesn’t matter. Maybe for Rhaenyra, the fact that Helaena the Dreamer put her on the throne as her last act of artistic premonition is enough. Rhaenyra is Queen. She can close the chapter - and the windows - on the tragedy of Helaena and her role in it. She doesn’t need to be anointed Rhaenyra the Chosen. She chose herself.
Yay! Best Moments
Rhaenyra’s stump speech, Roddy’s triumph over Ormund and death by dragonfire, and Alicent’s butterfly encounter all are up there.
But there was another incredibly tender moment I haven’t yet mentioned between Gwayne and Daeron. The boy king wanted to fly Tessarion into battle to help, but Gwayne was desperate for him not to die for Ormund’s vanity. The nervous dragon buckled at Gwayne getting too close, and but Gwayne was determined not to let Daeron sacrifice himself, to the point where he would sacrifice himself to dragonfire. Hearing Gwayne plead “my boy, my boy” to Daeron was a touching moment that showed at least somebody in this damn world genuinely cared about another person.
Zing! Best Lines
It’s a Ser Roddy round-up.
Daemon: Still willing to die for your Queen?
Roderick: Can’t f***ing wait.
Daemon: Do not die before you open the gate.
Roderick: Aye. Gate open, then die.
Ew, gross
The terror of those poor wee bairns propped up against the battlements was palpable, and cemented Ormund’s necessary demise.
Ormund’s disgust at Ulf’s pantless toilet nap was hilarious, as was his retching at Roddy’s bloody arm spray. Couldn’t have happened to a nicer chap.
Boo, sucks
After watching this episode, I was immediately struck with a song parody idea for Ulf the White, and it poured out of me as one of the fastest I’ve ever done (if only the bloody recap would work like that!).
Consequences are coming for Ulf, and it’s just a question of who can get their hands on him first.
But I won’t lie, part of me cheered when Ulf double-crossed Ormund Hightower. It was almost a glorious proletariat revolution, where the stood-upon workers finally get their back on the masters who would control even their simplest pleasures (aka the pub).
So for this we go back to Lily Allen’s classic 2008 banger “F*** You”, and see it all from Ulf’s point of view.
Look inside, look inside my tiny mind, you’ll see I’m much smarter
‘Cause you say I’m required
But you are desired as much as that David Harbour
So you say it’s not okay to be sloshed, well, how’s this for upheaval
You fancy Your Graces, you don’t know my ace is
About to turn real medieval
Fuck you (fuck you), fuck you very, very much
‘Cause I hate what you do
And I hate the Black crew
So, please don’t stay in touch
Fuck you (fuck you), fuck you very, very much
'Cause you think I’m lightweight
But I’ll show you checkmate
So, please don't stay in touch
Do you think, do you think I’m showing off, that I’m Ulf the White-Knighted?
But it’s my dragon you’re after so the Queen you can shaft her
Ain’t that the way you have lighted?
Did you, did you really enjoy insulting me on the toilet?
Yes I’m a prole with a goal you see
And you’re an arsehole to me, why’d you have to go spoil it?
Fuck you (fuck you), fuck you very, very much
'Cause I hate what you do
And I hate the Green crew
So, please don't stay in touch
Fuck you (fuck you), fuck you very, very much
You put kids on the wall but
fuck it, burn them all
So, please don't stay in touch
Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you
Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you
Fuck you
(Silverwing roar break)
You two, you’re think you’re both in a war and you’ll establish dominion
And I guess I just knew that it’s me you would screw
Ha! I’m not just your minion
Fuck you (fuck you), fuck you very, very much
'Cause I hate what you do
So pass me a fresh brew
And please don't stay in touch
Fuck you (fuck you), fuck you very, very much
Let’s assume that I’m boned
Cause it is Game of Thrones
So, please don't stay in touch
Fuck you, fuck you
Fuck you, fuck you
Fuck you, fuck you
Fuck you, fuck you
Fuck you, fuck you
Fuck you, fuck you
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