S07E03 – The Heart Tree
WINTERFELL
Sansa Stark exits the Great Hall with Brienne close by her side, as always. Another tedious meeting of the lords has just ended. This time Lord Glover had objected to the suggestion that the North train their women and girls to fight, but he had been quickly shut down by Lady Lyanna Mormont. The young girl's fierce rebukes of the more obstinate lords had become a common sight in court. Sansa smiled at the thought, Bear Island was proving a valuable ally. The smile fades, however, as Littlefinger catches up with her.
"I must speak your praise, my lady," he says in his smoothest voice, ignoring Brienne's glare. "You have managed the court splendidly in your brother's absence. I must confess, it makes me slightly proud."
"I do not need your flattery, Lord Baelish," Sansa silences him. "You remain here because you have sworn the Knights of the Vale to fight with us in the wars to come. But I do not require your counsel."
Littlefinger is taken aback. "Who then would you rather take words from? Lord Glover? Lord Cerwyn? The Manderlys? Or the Mormont girl? She speaks boldly, but Bear Island is of little consequence in the grand scheme…"
"Enough," Brienne steps between the two.
"I beg your pardon, my lady. You know I only seek the best for you," Lord Baelish bows, and leaves Sansa alone with Brienne, her thoughts and the falling snow.
DRAGONSTONE
Daenerys breathes a sigh of relief as Lord Varys and Missandei carry away two cages of ravens, a gift from Lord Selwyn Tarth. Their deafening chatter slowly fades away. Missandei is fascinated by the birds, which Tyrion claims are used to communicate, but Daenerys herself could only wish the maesters had chosen to breed quieter messengers.
"My queen!" An Unsullied sentinel enters the chamber. "A dozen men have landed on the eastern shore! They claim to answer your summons."
A short matter later, Daenerys sits on the throne, with Jon Snow and Ser Davos Seaworth before her, as Missandei completes the introduction of her ever-growing titles. An uncomfortable pause follows, before Davos realizes what is expected of him.
"This is Jon Snow!" he declares, at a loss for elaboration. "He's the King in the North."
While the stranger's claim to royalty is off-putting to Daenerys, she cannot help but find him and his sincerity endearing, as Jon lays out his petition – to allow his men to mine the dragonglass on the island. She is less captivated, but amused, by his plea that she turn her attention to a fantastical threat in the far north. As she sends him and his strange, old companion away, she finds she has much to dwell upon.
AN INN IN THE RIVERLANDS
The skies hurl down heavy drops of rain as a weary Arya Stark, scraped and burned, clothes torn, at last makes her way back to the inn where she has left her things. Her wounds grow in pain with each step, but she does not let herself dwell upon them. The storm has vanquished last night's fire and driven a crowd of new travelers to the inn. Arya shudders to see the banners of House Frey and Lannister parked outside, her hand instinctively grasping Needle.
Sneaking around the inn, she tries to enter through the back door, only to come crashing into Hot Pie. No longer disguised, Arya is relieved to see her old friend. He happily answers her request for a meat pie, ale and tidbits of what has transpired in Westeros in her absence.
While Arya dines in the back, however, Genna Lannister sits at a table, tearing apart a chicken whilst seeking to ignore her ingratiating host.
"Is it true what they say?" the innkeeper asks. "Is Lord Frey dead?"
"Aye," she takes a swig of ale. "And all his heirs with him."
"All, my lady? That can't be. Black Walder 'imself bought a room in mine own establishment, just last night!" At this, Genna suddenly stands.
"Show me the room!" She follows him up the stairs. Finding the door locked, the innkeeper breaks it down. Genna prowls the room, searching for evidence. At last, under the mattress she finds a bag. Peering within, she recoils at the sight of Arya's collection of faces. Clenching the bag shut with a gasp, she turns and exits wordlessly.
Arya is saying her good-byes to Hot Pie as Genna stomps down the stairs, loudly ordering her men to ride immediately for Riverrun. She can only watch in horror as she recognizes the bag clutched in the Lady Lannister's hands.
"That's mine," she whispers.
"Well, go get it back," Hot Pie quips. Arya hadn't realized he was still there. "I reckon you could take on the whole Lannister army, 'Arry."
Smiling sadly, she gives him a final farewell hug. "Never die, Hot Pie, alright?"
"Of course not, 'Arry. I'm a survivor, just like you." With that, Arya returns to her horse, riding off in pursuit of the departing wagon and knights, turning towards Riverrun. She rides on, unaware that Lady Genna Lannister herself, with only two men to guard her, has continued south, bag in hand, straight on for King's Landing.
WINTERFELL
In the yard, Sansa watches Brienne training an assortment of Northerners, her loyal squire, Podrick Payne, at her side. Nearby, Lord Manderly's troops are throwing their great bronze tridents at a set of wooden targets, their well-crafted armor cutting a stark contrast from the rest of the men.
One member of that House is, at the moment, profusely apologizing for his lord's recent behavior. Mycah Manderly is a dashing lad, with sharp features and thick, dark hair; brushed back like one of the great waves of White Harbor.
"I understand completely, Ser Manderly," Sansa says as the two climb the steps to the ramparts of Winterfell. "Assure your lord I have taken no offense. These are trying years for the North. I myself cannot explain all of our king's choices. I can only execute them on his behalf."
"Wisely spoken, my lady, but I fear you are mistaken on one note. I have not yet made knight. Just call me Mycah," the squire offers a charming smile. In her youth, Sansa thinks, she would have swooned for him. Now, she has other responsibilities and, as they near the front gate, she can only think of Jon, and the rest of the family she has lost. The horns of the gate break her thought. Three riders bearing the banner of the Night's Watch approach, and, behind them, a girl and a boy carefully strapped into saddle.
"Open the gates!" Sansa yells. The riders are some ways off, but what she recognizes, she wills to be true. As the doors slowly swing open, Sansa forgets her graces and runs through the gates, across the snow. Confused, Mycah and Brienne run after her. As the riders draw nearer, their faces become clear.
As Sansa and Bran Stark meet eyes for the first time in years, she falls to the ground, tears flowing down her face.
Sometime later, Sansa waits outside Bran's old room. He rests inside, tended to by Meera Reed. A million thoughts swirl through her head, a million things she must know. But as Bran coldly dismisses the girl who carried him home, and Sansa steps into the room, she realizes that her brother is not at all the boy he once was.
"You've come home," she whispers, treading softly.
"Have I?" Bran somberly turns to peer out the window, his voice chilling and distant.
DRAGONSTONE
In Aegon's Garden, Jon Snow is oblivious to whatever conversation Davos is having with Lord Varys behind him. He is enraptured by the splendor of plants and flowers he could never have imagined, their splendor yet untouched by the chilling hands of winter. All his life, the tales of the Targaryens had inspired nothing but fear and hatred in his heart. But now as he walks the paths of their garden, the image of their final daughter cemented in his brain, he can only be overwhelmed by beauty.
Far above him, on the terrace, Daenerys and Tyrion watch carefully.
"Tell me, Lord Tyrion. Does Jon Snow love me?" The Hand cannot help but loose a slight laugh. A sharp glare from his queen returns his composure. "You spoke truth when you saw that Ser Jorah loved me," she reiterates. "Does Jon Snow feel the same?"
"My queen, love is a complicated thing. I'm afraid it does not just happen, like a stray bolt of lightning or a trip down the stairs."
"I saw something in his eyes when he spoke in the Hall. Few men have ever looked at me that way. Ser Jorah was one of them."
"No doubt, your grace, he was surely taken by your beauty. But that alone is not love."
"I suppose not," she sighs and turns away. "But what do you think of his petition? He will not bend the knee. He speaks of wild fantasies in the far north. But he stands with conviction, and claims the allegiance of all the North."
"I knew him, your grace. Years ago, before I met you. His father was a great man, and Jon Snow carries with him every ounce of his honor."
"His father? His father helped steal my throne."
"That is true. But surely by now you can understand why? While Jon may not yet bend the knee, a King in the North is a powerful ally to have."
"He is a bastard, yet they named him their king," Daenerys muses. "Surely that must speak well of his character."
"It does indeed, my queen."
"So be it. Find Lord Snow, tell him he may have his dragonglass. Have our men offer their assistance in the mines. And while you're there, make it known that while he is on my island, Jon Snow will dine at my table."
KING'S LANDING
The ringing of swords echoes as Ser Jaime Lannister spars with Dickon Tarly. The heir to Horn Hill has shared his life story with Jaime, how his father abused his elder brother, obsessed with molding an heir into his own hardened image. It is not hard for Dickon's tales to remind Jaime of life with his own late father. Dickon, however, has long since accepted his lot in life, including Randyll's continued refusal to knight him. The two fail to notice as the lord himself enters the chamber.
"You dishonor my son by softening your blows, Kingslayer," Randyll Tarly snarls and draws his own sword. "Let me show you how a Tarly trains." He rains down a quick series of brutal blows on his son, Jaime watching in horror, until Dickon's sword is knocked away. "And that, boy, is why you are not a knight. Now, the queen has summoned us. We should not keep her waiting."
The trio make their way to Qyburn's laboratories. A long disused hall in the bowels of the keep has been converted into a vast maze of bizarre experimental science. The busy little 'birds' run about, ignoring their guests, attending to countless potions, creatures and contraptions Jaime could not begin to describe. He swears he can hear muffled screams of pain and horror echoing from somewhere just out of sight.
Overseeing it all is Qyburn himself, the Hand of the Queen, waiting alongside Cersei and Tytos Brax. Bidding them to follow, Qyburn leads the group down a set of stairs into the vaults. Dickon's jaw drops as he witnesses, for the first time, the massive skeletons of the great dragons. And there, sitting before the skull of Balerian the Black Dread, lies what appears to be a massive crossbow.
"Dragons," Qyburn speaks, like a maester lecturing pupils. "The terrors of House Targaryen. On their backs, Aegon the Conqueror took the Seven Kingdoms as his own. But it has been over a century since the last dragon died, and, memory fades, their power only grows in legend."
He climbs onto his great wooden contraption, beckoning the others to draw closer. "Some smallfolk may tell you they were unkillable. But that is quite simply untrue. Many dragons have been killed throughout the annals of time, even fully grown ones. The dragons of our enemy are still young. And this is their worst nightmare. A Dornish scorpion bolt. Lord Tarly, Lord Brax, you are the greatest hunters in the Seven Kingdoms. This is my gift to you."
Lord Brax moves with sudden speed, pulling himself into the seat of the weapon. His bravado falters as he fumbles with the controls. Qyburn is forced to show him which levels to pull, as Jaime and Lord Tarly watch with disdain. At last, the great bow is unleashed with a roar and a deafening crash, a massive bolt pierces the skull of Balerian. At this, Brax begins to laugh with delirious glee, while Cersei grins with pride at a stunned Jaime.
"The only question remaining," Qyburn smiles, "is which of you will be the first man of this age to kill a dragon?"
WINTERFELL
Bran rests in his cart as Sansa pushes him through the Godswood. The snow has begun to fall again. Sansa can barely control her urge to demand answers from her brother, who remains frustratingly silent. Finally, calmly, she asks the most important question.
"Bran… You were gone for so long. They say you were north of the wall! What happened?"
"That's the problem, you see," he replies as they stop before the weirwood tree. "I can't yet say I know, myself."
"What kind of an answer is that? You have to tell me, you're my brother!"
"Am I?"
"Of course you are! Stop talking like this! You can't just disappear for years and come back, talking in riddles, like nothing happened, refusing to tell anyone what's going on!"
Bran leans forward, grasping his head as if in pain.
"Please... just.. leave me be."
Sansa fighting back tears, turns away. She had dreamed of this moment for so long, yet now it seems as if her brother's soul is still somewhere lost behind the wall, leaving only his broken body in a cart.
Bran, alone, a screaming in his brain, leans forward, pressing his skull hard against the cold, white bark of the heart tree.
OLDTOWN
The setting sun falls over the Isle of Ravens, on the lazy Honeywine River. A lovely orchard surrounds the old, ivy-covered walls and towers of the Ravenry. Here the maester's ravens are trained and bred. They enjoy resting in the branches of the weirwood tree that holds root in the center of the yard. Some stories hold it is the largest of its kind left, south of the Isle of Faces.
The island is also a popular spot for recreation and reflection amongst those living at the Citadel. Thus, Sam and Alleras find themselves here on this fine evening. Alleras, clad in a loose green tunic, shoots arrows at a makeshift target he has set up. The acolyte has pristine aim, hitting true again and again, until his final arrow falls short. Smiling as always, he turns to see Sam slumped on the ground, despondent in his tattered brown robes.
"Cheer up, Tarly," Alleras plucks a golden apple from a tree and tosses it to his friend. "You didn't even know the man last week. And if he is as noble as he seems, he will fall on his blade before the Seneschal can send him away to rot."
Sam lets the apple fall to the ground. "Jon sent me here to learn how to stop the Night King," he bemoans. "How can I do that when the Seneschal won't even try to cure greyscale?"
"Archmaester Marwyn would have helped," Alleras sits, looking up at the ravens in the branches and, beyond, the earliest stars begin to appear. "He brought me here himself, I'd never have been admitted otherwise. They say he's the only archmaester left that still believes in magic."
"Where is he now?"
"Gone. They say he packed his things and sailed off to meet the Targaryen girl everyone's wringing their hands about these days. Best not to fret, Tarly," Alleras rises again and gathers his arrows. "Get a good night's sleep, a clearer head will prevail."
As Alleras walks away, Sam presses himself tight up against the white bark of the weirwood. His mind traces back to the day, so long ago, that he and Jon had taken their vows in a grove of trees just like this. How he had hoped then that the mysterious old gods would smile on him in the way the gods of his father never had. His mind drifts until, with a start, he hears a voice, like a whisper in the wind.
"Have hope, Samwell Tarly," it calls. Sam looks frantically, but there is no one there. Turning, he stares back at the face of the tree, the red sap of its carved eyes staring back. "You are here for a reason..."
"Who are you? Do you know Jon?" Sam stares at the tree for what seems like hours, but only the ravens answer him...
In his darkened cell, Ser Jorah Mormont holds his greatsword in hand, praying to the gods of the north that a miracle may still return him to his beloved. But it is said the old gods have no power in the south…
At that moment, he hears hushed footsteps. A rolling cart stops at his door. The flickering lights of a torch shine through the window, onto his face.
"I swear, Tarly, if this gets me expelled," one voice mutters as the door creaks open, revealing Sam, Alleras and a cart of operating tools. Alleras holds the torch high as Sam approaches Jorah, rag in one hand, knife in the other.
"If you'd be so kind, sir," Sam extends the rag. Jorah, bracing himself, takes it and bites down. Sam, hands tightly sealed in stolen gloves, holds the knife to the knight's cracked, grey skin. "I'm afraid this will hurt a bit."
SUNSPEAR
The Black Wind leads Yara Greyjoy's fleet into the harbor of the historic seat of House Martell. Yara herself stands at the bow, Theon Greyjoy and Ellaria Sand at her side. As they dock, they are met by a force of soldiers in the yellow and black Martell uniform. Standing at their helm, however, is someone strikingly different – a shockingly handsome knight with pure white hair, a single stripe of black parting one side. At the sight of him, Ellaria and the Sand Snakes are unnerved.
The knight nods, and the landing party reaches for weapons as the soldiers surround them. As they spread out, however, they reveal a beautiful young woman, dark-skinned and dark-eyed, in a flowing red gown.
"Yara Greyjoy! It is an honor to welcome you to Dorne, I am Princess Arianne Martell. I believe we have much to discuss." Calmed, Yara and Theon follow her, but the soldiers cut off the Sand Snakes. "Oh, and Gerald?" Arianne turns to the brooding knight. "Be a dear and escort my father's killers to the dungeons."
CREDITS
New Cast Including: Camryn Manheim as Genna Lannister, Rick Hoffman as Tytos Brax, Alex Högh Anderson as Mycah Manderly