S07E01 – Dragonstone


The Neck

A flickering fire glimmers in the vast, treacherous wilderness of the Neck. The croaking of bullfrogs and the deeper, foreboding growl of a lizard-lion fail to disturb the gaunt figure hunched by the dancing light. He is bent over a scattered set of rune stones, examining their arcane symbols. Having reached a conclusion, he scoops them back into a worn leather pouch and returns it to his belt, where the flames reveal the black and white sigil of the Faceless Men. Looking out across the bog, he sees the lights of The Twins in the distance. A girl has stolen herself from the Many-Faced God, he thinks. Such a crime cannot be left unpunished.

Within the stones of the ancient seat of House Frey, Lord Walder is hosting a great feast, the second in a fortnight. The vast entourage of his prodigious male offspring stand, cups in hand, as he toasts them for their participation in the infamous Red Wedding. But as he goes on, spiraling into deeper detail the crimes committed against House Stark in this very hall, those celebrating begin to grow uneasy, first in mind, then in body.

"But you didn't kill every Stark, did you?" old Walder smiles as they begin to cough, to bend over gasping for air, to claw at their throats or peer into their empty cup for some manner of explanation. "Leave one wolf alive , and the sheep are never safe."

As the last of the Frey men vomit blood, collapsing in convulsions to the floor, the terrified lady of The Twins looks to her old husband in horror. Walder turns to her with empty eyes as his hands grasp his scalp and pull. Her shock can only grow deeper as the lord's face slides off to reveal a girl she does not know. Arya Stark.

"When people ask you what happened here, tell them the North remembers."


Dragonstone

Three dragons soar above Daenerys Targaryen's fleet of Ironborn and slaver ships, now emblazoned in her own imagery, as they cut swiftly across the water toward the ancient island fortress of Dragonstone. Atop its ramparts, the stark black and red flags of House Targaryen already wave. The dragon queen herself stands at the bow of the leading ship, the spray of the ocean rising up to meet her face. Tyrion Lannister is proudly by her side.

"So it's true," Daenerys sighs wistfully. "My brother always said the people kept our banners waiting, longing for the day we would come home. I don't think I ever believed him then. But there they are."

"Well, I can't promise you a parade in the streets, my queen," Tyrion said. "But it seems your new allies have done good work to make you welcome."

Sure enough, standing at attention as Daenerys and her allies arrive before the great gates of Dragonstone, she finds Lady Olenna Tyrell waiting with an compliment of soldiers from The Reach, alongside Ellaria Sand, flanked by her loyal Sand Snakes. The time for introductions will be later, however, as Daenerys flows past them into the fortress, as if walking on air.

Her home, the birthplace she never truly knew, rises up to meet her. Each new room and hall comes to life from the stories of her childhood - before Drogo, before the dragons and the slavers. Before she was queen.

Tyrion follows her dutifully, wishing he could share just a bit of her wonder. At once, she seems not so much the queen he is sworn to serve, but a girl again, dreaming of a distant land across the sea. Then, they reach the war room and the queen returns. Running her hands over the table map carved by her ancestors, she finally acknowledges her Hand's presence.

"This is where it all began. Aegon's Conquest, three hundred years ago," her eyes stray out through the great window, over Blackwater Bay. "Call in the others. It's time to take back my throne."


King's Landing

In a plaza of the Red Keep, the sun shines softly down on a young painter, bent over on the ground as he fills in meticulously traced lines with vibrant paints from across the Narrow Sea. His brush is bringing to life a great map of all Westeros, spanning the entirety of the plaza floor. The work is almost done, but each stroke grows more tense than the last under the watchful gaze of his queen, who stands mere feet away.

"Cersei!" A voice calls out. The startled painter's brush slips. In terror, he looks up to ensure the queen has not seen, but she has thankfully turned her attention to Ser Jaime Lannister as he strides into the courtyard. Reading the implicit need for his departure, the painter hurriedly gathers his tools and leaves.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" Cersei moves tenderly toward her brother, pointing to the mural. "And now all of it is ours."

"I believe there is no shortage of men who would disagree," Jaime is not here as a lover, much to the queen's disappointment. "The Tyrells and Ellaria Sand have pledged their land to the Dragon Queen. Her fleet has docked at Dragonstone. And…"

"I know all this," Cersei offers a glass of wine, which is declined. She takes it herself. "I am the queen. And you are the leader of my armies. You shall make short work of all traitors."

"No, Cersei. I need to stay here, with you." The queen is caught off guard by her brother's sudden defiance. "You need me. We need each other. We can't afford any more…"

"Any more what, brother?" In an instant, Cersei's mood has changed. All romantic pretense is gone, replaced by an icy glare fueled by a conflict she thought finished.

"Any more rash decisions. You…"

"I did what had to be done to protect our family!"

"Our son is dead! Our last child!" Jaime storms forward, cornering his sister against one of the dark, red pillars of the plaza, burning with an anger he never knew he could hold toward her.

"Our son died the day that whore gave him over to the sparrows." The response is stern and factual, but Cersei turns away to hide a single tear, wishing she could blink away any deeply buried regrets so easily as the salty drop. "The only thing that matters now is us."

"Which is why you need allies." Jaime, quickly regaining his composure, regrets the outburst at once. Gently, he pulls his sister back to him in an embrace.

"Half the kingdoms are ruled by traitors or dead men," she says. "I will be appointing new Great Houses in the Reach and the Stormlands. I have assurances from Ser Gerald Dayne that Dorne will soon be returned to loyal hands. The Small Council will be reassembled. Anyone still uneased shall soon be placated. Then all the seven kingdoms will see that none dare challenge us."

At this, Cersei leans back to accept Jaime's kiss, with all of Westeros freshly painted at their feet.


Winterfell

Jon Snow looks down at the summons, signed by the Great Houses of Dorne and The Reach. Placing it on the table before him, he looks up at his sister, Sansa, with tired eyes.

"You can't mean you're thinking of going?" she protests.

"Maester Wolkan says Dragonstone holds the largest known deposit of dragon glass. We need the glass. And we need her support."

"Jon!" Sansa tries to stop her half-brother as he moves to leave. "Your place is here! You are the King in the North! The lords will not understand…"

"Then you must stay to make them understand," Jon stares back at her with eyes as cold and serious as winter. "But I must go. It's the only way." At this, the Lord of Winterfell and King in the North walks out, leaving his sister with more questions than she can begin to speak to words.


Somewhere in the Riverlands

When the Brotherhood Without Banners had reached the small hovel they were now encamped at, The Hound had recognized it immediately. He remembered the man and his child who lived there as clear as day, and the scorn of young Arya Stark after he robbed them once again burned into him. Inside the hovel, his worst fears had been realized. At night, while the others rested, he and Thoros of Myr poured out a drink on the freshly dug grave for those who had once offered him shelter.

Now, as he ducks his head to return to the hovel, he finds himself in a fouler mood than usual. Seeing that Ser Beric has built a blazing fire, he moves to lurk in the shadow. Thoros calls him over instead.

"Sit with us, Clegane," the old priest takes a swig of his flask. "Perhaps the flames have a vision for you tonight."

"It's my damned luck I end up with a band of fire worshippers," the Hound grumbles. But, at Thoros and Beric's urging, he crosses to them and reluctantly gazes into the light to appease them. At first, he sees nothing but burning logs and the haunting memories of his childhood. But then, dark shapes begin to form. The shadow and the light twist together. His eyes grow wide in awe.

Beric takes notice of the change, leaning in intently. "What do you see?"

"Ice," the Hound replies in a trance, his mind no longer producing his own words. "A wall of ice. Where the wall meets the sea. There's a castle there, and mountains. The dead march past. Thousands of them." He shudders as the vision fades back into the fire.

"Do you believe me now, Clegane?" Beric rises, speaking softly. "Do you believe we're here for a reason?"


Oldtown

In the great harbor of Oldtown, with the eternal flame of the mysterious Hightower looking down like an ever-watching foreman's eye, scores of men toil away in the shipyards, at work on a vast fleet. The sounds of their labor ring out over the legendary city in its ancient splendor. Oldtown appears glorious beyond the wildest legends told of King's Landing. But here, they are all true.

None of this beauty or mystery can resonate with Samwell Tarly, however. His days as a novice within the walls of the Citadel are an endless string of emptying filth from bedpans, cleaning those same bedpans and eating all too familiar looking gruel from an all too familiar looking pan, alone in the mess hall. But during one of these miserable meals, as he stared forlornly at a brownish stew, someone finally spoke to him.

"It does get better, you know. Eventually they let you cart around the archmaesters' books instead of their shit." The voice was soft, Sam almost thought it to be a woman's. Looking up, he sees a young man, hair shaved close to his head, with smooth, precise features and deep bronze skin. He wears the metal collar of an acolyte, none of whom had yet to speak anything but harsh commands in Sam's direction.

"I'm Alleras," the young man smiles and takes a seat across the table, his own meal a far cry better than that allotted to Sam. "But most here call me The Sphinx."

"Like the riddle?"

"You could say that."

"Well, I'm Samwell Tarly," Sam eagerly extends his hand in greeting. For all his life, he had dreamed of reaching the Citadel. The reality until this moment had proved crushing. But if he could make just one friend, he thought, perhaps it would all work out in the end.


King's Landing

Queen Cersei strides confidently through the halls of the Red Keep, Jaime at her side in full Lannister armor, discussing matters of the realm.

"You've made Ser Steffon Master of Law?" he asks incredulously. "House Swyft's vaults are empty and his father is a coward."

"That is all true," Cersei concedes. "But their house is highly respected in the West and Ser Steffon's sudden promotion has made him conveniently forget that his sister and brother-in-law were in the Sept of Baelor when it was so tragically destroyed."

Jaime grimaces at this. He knows that no one believes Cersei's claims that the wildfire explosion was an accident. And in truth, he thinks his sister wants the people to know it was her.

As they reach the Small Council chamber, their progress is brought to a halt by the sudden appearance of Lord Tytos Brax. A small weasel of a man with squinting eyes, he is dressed in a gaudily luxuriant purple and silver doublet, pinned together by an oversized amethyst unicorn, the sigil of his house.

"My queen, I am so grateful to have just run into you like this," he speaks with nasal flattering. "You see, I had heard a rumor that you had made Wylis Manderly the new Master of Coin."

Cersei smiles, forcibly polite. "Perhaps I should have made you Master of Whisperers, Lord Tytos, you speak correctly."

Tytos sputters at the realization and the Lannisters turn away. Regaining his composure, however, he once more steps into their path.

"My queen, with all due respect, House Manderly is, along with the whole of the North, in open rebellion against the crown! Whereas House Brax as made considerable donations to…"

"How long do you think Wyman Manderly will kneel to Ned Stark's bastard while his own son is here in King's Landing?" Cersei has had enough of the petty lord. "Now leave us be, Tytos. You must learn to see the bigger picture, you'll last longer that way."

With that, the queen and her brother enter the chamber, letting the door slam in Tytos' face. Jaime, for the first time since returning to King's Landing, feels a rush of pride as he steps in remembering how, when he was still Lord Commander of the King's Guard, he was denied a seat at the table. None here now would dare deny him access.

Standing at attention upon their queen's arrival are Ser Balon Swann, the broad-chested, modest hero of the Stormlands, first Lord Commander of the new Queensguard. Ser Steffon Swyft, with a hooked nose and shock of yellow hair rivalling the rooster of his sigil, now the Master of Laws. Arthur Waters, still but a small lad, the eldest of the little birds now sworn to Qyburn. Cleaned to seem presentable, perhaps for the first time in his life, he seems almost highborn as Master of Whisperers.

Across the table is Lord Randyll Tarly, a hard man with harder features and a face devoid of emotion, befitting the Master of War. Beside him, a more shocking contrast seemingly impossible, sits the rotund, heavily mustached figure of Ser Wylis Manderly, Master of Coin. Qyburn, Hand to the Queen, bows to Cersei as she takes her seat. At her approval, the counsel sits and the meeting begins in earnest.

"Daenerys Targaryen has landed at Dragonstone," Lord Tarly bluntly asserts the thought on everyone's mind. "She brings with her a vast fleet and uncounted hordes of the Unsullied and Dothraki. She stands allied with House Martell and Ellaria Sand."

"And three dragons!" Ser Wylis Manderly spouts, clearly terrified at the thought.

"The queen knows all of this, my lords," Qyburn smiles. "We have all been aware of her threat for some time now. She is not a surprise arrival on our doorstep."

"Lord Tarly mentioned her fleet," Ser Steffon interjects. "I see we are missing a Master of Ships. What are we to do if she blockades the harbor?"

Qyburn looks to Cersei, unsure of how much information to share.

"We need not fear her fleet, Ser Steffon," Cersei smiles. "As my Hand said, we have had years to await the girl's arrival. There is no threat approaching King's Landing that we have not prepared for."


The Twins

In the Great Hall of the Twins, the men of House Frey lie cold, their bodies frozen in their final twists of agony. The doors of the hall swing open, letting the stench of death wash over the latest arrivals, here to witness the aftermath of Lord Walder's final feast.

The soldiers, miserable little men in the floppy hats distinctive of Frey forces, are brought to a swift halt, gagging at the stench. It does not faze the woman who leads them, however. She is old and fat, but not in a way that speaks weakness, as with so many of the dead men at her feet. Her frame suggests that, if so inclined, she could have personally hurled each member of the house from the ramparts of its highest towers.

Stopping by two of the bodies, she examines the faces of her husband and eldest son, caught in a grimace of eternal misery. She does not mourn long, however, quickly locating the bag of coin on her husband's waist and moving it to her own.

"My lady!" the soldiers call. She turns to see more guards have arrived, and with them Kitty Frey, the slain lord's child bride. "We found Lord Edmure roaming the lower levels. I don't think he quite knows what's happened."

"Take him to the wagon," the woman orders, before turning her attention to the girl.

"Can you tell me what happened here, Kitty?" Her voice is suddenly calming, opening the young lady's mouth for the first time since the massacre.

"It.. it was a girl. She was wearing my lord's face, like a mask." The woman is visibly taken aback by the claim, but Kitty persists. "I swear, my lady, by the Seven, it is true! She told me to tell anyone who asked that….. that the North remembers."

Deep in thought, the woman stands back upright. Stepping out of the chamber, she motions to a guard.

"Return the girl safely to her family. And find the maester, if he's still alive. I need to send a message to King's Landing."

"What should I have him say, Lady Frey?"

"No," the woman swiftly turns. "House Frey is dead. I am Lady Genna Lannister, and I want the queen to know I am coming to visit. We have… much to discuss."

Credits