Game Of Thrones Saison 8 Episode 6 Récapitulatif de la plongée profonde TROISIÈME PARTIE

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——> CONTINUER DE LA DEUXIÈME PARTIE

Et maintenant, vraisemblablement, nous avons le moment le plus pathétique de tous, même si nous sommes hors écran. Quand Jon s'est approché de la salle du trône, personne n'était près de la forteresse. Seul Drogon, qui s'est envolé de la série pour toujours.

Jon reste sur la flaque de sang pendant un moment et personne ne vient.

Il se dirige vers le bord de la pièce et baisse les yeux sur la passerelle menant au donjon. C'est désert.

Huh. Il pense.

Commencez à formuler un plan.

LA REINE ÉTAIT EXPIRÉE! Il se dit. NO.

UN VENT DE SANG ES O LA REINE EST ATTENDUE! NO.

Quelqu'un reçoit un vrai gras! Il dit. LE DUNNY À L'EXTÉRIEUR DE QUELQUES SANG ET PUIS LE TROUVE SUR HEHR DRAGONCHILD! DOMMAGES, NON!

Nous sommes au sommet de Jon Snow maintenant. Un homme emprisonné dans l’esprit d’une pomme de terre noble comme Edmund Dantes au château d’If.

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<p>Et ses propres mots lui font écho. </p>
<p>"Je ne vais pas prêter serment, je ne peux pas l'assumer. Quand suffisamment de gens font de fausses promesses, les mots cessent de vouloir dire quoi que ce soit. Il n'y a donc plus de réponses, seulement des mensonges de mieux en mieux."</p>
<p>Mais ce n'est pas un homme avec de meilleurs mensonges. Il n'a aucun mensonge. Il ne l'a jamais fait.</p>
<p>N'avait-il pas prêté serment à Dunny?</p>
<p>Dieu le tue. Il lui répétait son serment pendant qu'il la tuait. Toute cette affaire est tellement foutue. Mais il n'avait pas le choix. Il n'avait pas le choix. Le monde l'a transformé en menteur et en serment, mais il ne peut pas laisser Sansa se faire tuer. Il ne peut pas laisser Arya se faire tuer.</p>
<p>Mais sa honte pénètre chaque fibre de son être.</p>
<p>Il ne ressent plus la sensation d'être dans son propre corps. </p>
<p>Autant que j'ai jamais entendu quoi que ce soit, c'est pire. Il sortit de la salle du trône et descendit le long du sentier de la Forteresse Rouge, où il vit Drogon et plus bas.</p>
<p>Les premières personnes qu’il rencontre sont un groupe de Unsullied qui supervise une petite maison. La partie supérieure a été brûlée, mais la partie inférieure de la cave reste intacte.</p>
<p>O EST GREH WERM? Il leur demande.</p>
<p>Un clin d'œil sur lui, pas habitué à être affronté par un sans défaut. Personne ne répond</p>
<p>Est-ce que je sais qui je AHM? Demande Jon.</p>
<p>L'un des signes immaculés. </p>
<p>VOUS AVEZ CONNAISSANCE QUI SER SER DAHVOS ES?</p>
<p>Le Unsullied acquiesce à nouveau.</p>
<p>BIEN! ALORS UN DE VOUS, FONCTIONNE ET TROUVE GREH WERM. Quelqu'un d'autre va GEHT SER DAHVOS. Le reste de vous a été ordonné de regarder MEH ICI. </p>
<p>Les immaculés se regardent, confus. Jon enlève Longclaw. La gaine du côté conçu pour un poignard est visiblement vide.</p>
<p>Jon appuie son épée de Valyrian sur le coffre d'un garde Unsully, qui le prend avec incertitude.</p>
<p>SONT DANS LE SOUS-SOL. JE SUIS VOTRE PRÉCÉDENT. NE LAISSEZ PAS MEH.</p>
<p>Les Immaculés semblent toujours confus.</p>
<p>YEH CAPIRE? Hurle Jon.</p>
<p>Ils acquiescent rapidement. </p>
<p>BIEN! ALORS OBTENIR LE ROONING. Obtenez GREY WERM ICI. J'ai besoin de paix.</p>
<p>Et avec cela, il descend les marches de pierre jusqu'au sous-sol et claque la porte derrière lui.</p>
<p>Grey Worm arrive le premier, ne sachant pas pourquoi il a été convoqué. Il est situé à l'extérieur du sous-sol où Jon a joué, une sensation de froid qui tombe sur son corps. Mais il n'entre pas. Au lieu de cela, il se rend seul à la salle du trône.</p>
<p>Nous le voyons maintenant, dans la salle du trône, observant la tache de sang sur le sol de pierre. La neige est tombée en partie l'obscurcissant, mais c'était une flaque d'eau assez profonde pour transformer la majeure partie de la neige qui était tombée dessus en une pâte de vase rose.</p>
<p>Grey Worm lève les yeux, scrute le ciel à la recherche de Drogon. </p>
<p>Pendant ce temps, Ser Davos est arrivé à la hâte dans le sous-sol avec quatre cents hommes du Nord, armés jusqu'aux dents.</p>
<p>Il s'approche des six Unsullied à la porte, qui ne savent toujours pas ce qui se passe.</p>
<blockquote><p>"Salutations, mon ami." Dit Davos à celui le plus proche de la porte. "Je suis ici pour escorter Jon Snow dans ses quartiers. Voulez-vous le regarder avec bonté, s'il vous plaît?"</p></blockquote>
<p>Le Unsullied acquiesce et se dirige vers la porte.</p>
<p>Davos examine depuis longtemps la région, la situation, les cinq immaculées restantes. Il sourit sévèrement à l'un d'entre eux.</p>
<blockquote><p>"Dis-moi, mec. Où est Grey Worm maintenant?"</p></blockquote>
<p>Le Unsullied fait un signe de tête vers Holdfast. Davos acquiesce. </p>
<p>Le premier retour de Unsullied.</p>
<p><em>"Il ne viendra pas."</em> Il dit.</p>
<blockquote><p>« Puis-je? » Demande-t-il à Davos en haussant les sourcils. </p></blockquote>
<p>Acquiescer de la tête. Davos se retourne et fait à son tour un signe de tête au capitaine du nord derrière lui, un membre de la maison Manderly. Avec ce signal, l'homme commence à tirer les hommes du Nord, lentement, pour prendre des positions défensives dans un cercle autour de la maison où Jon est prisonnier. </p>
<p>Davos entre dans le sous-sol.</p>
<blockquote><p>"Jon!" Elle chuchote. "Nous devons y aller maintenant."</p></blockquote>
<p>AHM N'A PAS ALLÉ PARTOUT.</p>
<p>Davos soupire. </p>
<blockquote><p>"Si ce que j'imagine s'est passé, Grey Worm aura besoin de sang dans une minute, ce qui signifie que nous devrons le tuer pour qu'il parte. Ce sera toute la guerre civile ici en ville."</p></blockquote>
<p>AH KELLED SON DAVOS. AH GAHVE SON MON WERD ET PUIS A KELLED.</p>
<blockquote><p>"Merde mec." Dit Davos, marchant vers la table où Jon est allongé, très semblable à celui qui était revenu à Castle Black et avait presque baisé. Davos le rejoint sous son bras, essayant de l'aider. "Mieux vaut vous emmener quelque part où nous pouvons …"</p></blockquote>
<p><strong>SER DAVOS!</strong> La voix de Grey Worm vient de l'extérieur du sous-sol.</p>
<blockquote><p>« Merde! » Dit Ser Davos. "Je serai là!" Appel.</p></blockquote>
<p>AH VOUS VOULEZ MOURIR. Dit Jon. NOUS VOULONS QUE TOUS ARRÊTENT.</p>
<p>Davos s'approche de Jon.</p>
<blockquote><p>« Jon. Où est le dragon? "</p></blockquote>
<p>GOHNE! GOHNE! Il prit le sien et quitta la mer. CELA VA BRENG SON BAHCK! GOHNE EST SAISONNIÈRE!</p>
<p>Davos hoche la tête en réfléchissant. Quel soulagement. Il soulève Jon en position assise et lui tapote le visage avec une main gantée pour le sortir du funk dans lequel il se trouve.</p>
<blockquote><p>« Jon. Jon! Ecoute-moi. Si vous vous sentez en panne, j'ai besoin que vous vous mettiez au défi. Si tu entends … "</p></blockquote>
<p>La tête de Jon tombe, vaincue.</p>
<p>Davos le prend</p>
<blockquote><p>"Ok. Ok. Jon, écoute-moi. Tu ne vas pas courir, je peux le voir. Mais le monde n'en a pas encore fini avec toi, je peux t'assurer. Je sais que ce que tu as fait était … difficile. Tout homme peut le voir. "Mais c'était la bonne chose. C'était charmant. Tu sais que je m'occupais d'elle, mais quelque chose n'allait pas et tout le monde pouvait le voir. Tu es le bouclier qui protège les royaumes de l'homme. Tu ne l'es! Personne d'autre."</p></blockquote>
<p><strong>SER DAVOS!</strong> La voix de Grey Worm résonne de nouveau, cette fois plus urgente.</p>
<blockquote><p>"Oui! Je serai là! Merci de votre patience!", Répond Davos. Alors il se retourne vers Jon. "Je te garderai en sécurité. Repose-toi maintenant. J'enverrai de la nourriture et du vin. Tu recouvreras la santé et je découvrirai tout cela. Nous avons dépensé tellement d'argent ensemble, et je te promets que ce n'est pas la fin."</p></blockquote>
<p>Regardez profondément dans les yeux de Jon. Jon le regarde, un chien fouetté, complètement affaibli et affaibli, mais quelque chose dans les yeux du Cavaliere della Cipolla lui donne la moindre lueur d'espoir. Davos Seaworth est unique en son genre, toujours capable d’améliorer chaque situation. C'est pourquoi c'est l'oncle du monde. Jon sourit malgré son malheur. C'est minuscule et presque sans espoir, mais c'est toujours un sourire.</p>
<p>Davos le voit et s'allume. "Bien! Bien." Il tend sa main gantée à Jon. Jon le saisit comme s'il allait faire un bras de fer. Ils restent un moment là, un lien comme aucun autre qu’ils n’ont jamais connu. Un lien qui transcende les mots. Davos utilise l'autre main pour caresser la prise.</p>
<p><strong>SER DAVOS!</strong> La voix du Maître de la guerre de Daenerys arrive à nouveau, cette fois avec chaleur.</p>
<blockquote><p>"Oui oui! Vient tout de suite mon brave homme! J'arrive!" Davos se lève et lâche la main de Jon. Il s'approche de la porte du sous-sol et est sur le point de partir, mais il s'arrête et se tourne vers Jon.</p></blockquote>
<p>Jon acquiesce.</p>
<p>Davos acquiesce et quitte le sous-sol.</p>
<p>Dehors, quelque chose est sur le point d'éclater. Davos sort les mains en l'air.</p>
<blockquote><p>"Calmez-vous tout le monde! Calmez-vous!", Déclare Davos en évaluant la situation. Grey Worm est debout en haut des marches et l'attend avec un regard de colère blanche et chaude dans les yeux. En dehors du périmètre de Northmen, plusieurs centaines d'Unsullied et de Dothraki se sont présentés. Dans les endroits où les hommes du Nord n’avaient pas réussi à le faire complètement autour de l’installation, ils ont déjà progressé. Bon sang, pense Davos. "Ok ok! Tout le monde garde la tête ici!"</p></blockquote>
<p>Le ver gris le rencontre.</p>
<p><strong>"Tu sais ce qu'il a fait?" </strong>Requiert le ver gris.</p>
<blockquote><p>Davos baisse la voix en espérant que Grey Worm lui corresponde. "Tout ce que je sais, c'est que la reine et le dragon ont volé de l'est à Essos. Je suggère que nous nous calmions et attendions qu'elle nous envoie de nouveaux ordres."</p></blockquote>
<p><strong>"C’est du sang dans la salle du trône!"</strong> Gray Worm dit, encore trop bruyant pour les goûts de Davos. Assez fort pour faire un murmure à travers la foule environnante.</p>
<blockquote><p>"Oui, et je suis sûr qu'il nous l'expliquera à son retour. Nous ne devrions pas-"</p></blockquote>
<p><strong>"Un des Dothraki a dit que Mhysa était dans la griffe de Drogon et qu'elle était morte, avec une lame qui sortait de son cœur!"</strong></p>
<p>Maintenant, la foule commence à gronder.</p>
<blockquote><p>"Dead?" Dit Davos. "Comment est-ce possible?"</p></blockquote>
<p>Le ver gris attrape la ceinture à épée de Jon où une gaine de poignard est visiblement vide. La foule réagit.</p>
<p>Davos lève les mains.</p>
<blockquote><p>"Attendez, mes amis! Tenez. Vérifiez par vous-même!" Davos se tourne vers Grey Worm. "Mighty Grey Worm, nous nous sommes battus côte à côte avec Jon Snow. Ensemble, nous avons vaincu une armée de morts où nous avons tous deux perdu des milliers d'amis. Est-ce ainsi que nous récompensons leur sacrifice? Nous nous sommes tués?"</p></blockquote>
<p>Gray Worm, cependant, n'est pas un diplomate. C'est un homme qui a égorgé les Lannister dans la rue sans y penser à deux fois. La rationalité de Davos lui est perdue.</p>
<p><strong>"S'il blesse la reine, il est mon ennemi! Et toi aussi!"</strong> Le ver gris crie.</p>
<blockquote><p>"STOP! STOP!" Crie Davos en courant vers l'endroit où les yeux peuvent le voir. "Oui! S'il blesse quelqu'un, il doit être tenu pour responsable, mais une bataille ouverte sur la place ne résoudra rien! STOP!"</p></blockquote>
<p>D'une manière ou d'une autre, les mots de Davos retentissent et il arrête l'impromptu juste avant que les gens ne commencent à lancer des armes. Une seconde de plus et cela aurait été un bain de sang.</p>
<blockquote><p>"Nous avons besoin de réponses, pas de bagarres!" Crie Davos. "Noble Grey Worm, vous laisserez cinq hommes pour le protéger et je ferai de même. Et nous commencerons à essayer de trouver des réponses, et ensemble, comme un seul, nous déciderons quoi faire avec Jon Snow."</p></blockquote>
<p>Grey Worm réfléchit une seconde. La pensée n'est certainement pas sa meilleure compétence, mais il comprend le conflit comme tout le monde et comprend immédiatement que ses cinq soldats peuvent battre cinq Northos que Davos peut appeler. Donc, il peut toujours obtenir ce qu'il veut sans cette bataille, où, honnêtement, il est deux fois moins nombreux que son nombre. </p>
<p><strong>"Deal".</strong> Dit le ver gris. Et ensuite, balayez la foule à la recherche de ses meilleurs hommes. <strong>"Sphincter! Paisley! Thor!"</strong></p>
<p>Trois monstres immaculés traversent la foule et s’arrêtent devant Grey Worm. Continuer la numérisation.</p>
<p><strong>"Joaquin!"</strong> Appelle le ver gris. Un autre Unselied pousse hors de la foule, celui-ci de taille moyenne et construit, mais qui bouge avec une fluidité et une grâce que d'autres n'ont pas. Grey Worm réalise qu'il a choisi uniquement Unsullied et qu'il devrait également choisir un pilleur de sang. Examiner les visages qu'il connaît de Dothraki.</p>
<p><strong>"Kevin!"</strong> Il appelle.</p>
<p>Un énorme Dothraki avec un sourire stupide sort de la foule et s’arrête à côté de Joaquin. Les deux se reconnaissent des conséquences de l'attaque du débarquement du roi. Joaquin lui donne un coup de poing et Kevin le frappe. Les deux font une petite explosion de mains.</p>
<p><em>"C'est craaaaazy."</em> Kevin chuchote.</p>
<p><em>"Sans doute." </em> Dit Joaquin.</p>
<p>Grey Worm fait un signe de tête à Ser Davos, comme <em>battez-le, connard.</em> Davos examine les cinq hommes. Tueurs tout. Quatre des cinq sont des géants. Le cinquième semble pouvoir pirouiller une flèche lancée et se couper la gorge sans jamais s'arrêter pour reprendre son souffle. Davos acquiesce.</p>
<p>Et c'est pourquoi le genre fantastique est incroyable. Parce que Davos a dit à Northmen. Et une fois que Shireen Baratheon lui avait appris à lire, il lisait voracement tous les livres sur lesquels il pouvait mettre la main, y compris ceux de Joe Abercrombie, qui contenait les hommes du Nord les plus difficiles et les plus baisés de tous les temps.</p>
<p>Davos se retourne vers la foule en disant une petite prière aux dieux fantastiques. Il n'est pas passé de la merde de Flea Bottom à un chevalier des Sept Royaumes sans avoir un as dans sa manche.</p>
<blockquote><p>"Logen Ninefingers!" Appelle Davos.</p></blockquote>
<p>Pour une seconde, ce n'est rien. Les hommes regardent autour. Qui?</p>
<p>Et puis, un homme aussi gros qu'un camion quitte la foule. Son visage est marqué par un vieil étage. Il est plié à certains endroits et ressemble à un homme dont les articulations ont subi des milliers d'hivers. Il n'y a pas de confiance dans son visage. En fait, cela semble un peu inquiet. Il prend sa place dans l'escalier du sous-sol, du côté de Davos.</p>
<p>Gray Worm sourit avec un rire. Il n'a jamais lu de livre et ne sait donc pas comment regarder la mort quand il regarde The Bloody Nine.</p>
<blockquote><p>Davos appelle à nouveau. "Rudd Threetrees! Tul Duru Thunderhead! Le Dogman! Black Dow!"</p></blockquote>
<p>La forêt de nordistes malformés part à différents endroits pour laisser passer les hommes. Threetrees parle de la taille de Logen. Tul Duru est comme quatre hommes. La plus grande personne que quiconque ait jamais vue. Tourmentez l'Uncully et Dothraki de la même manière. Il est comme un Hagrid, mais difficile. Le Dogman, avec un arc sur l'épaule et des flèches sur le dos, n'a rien de négatif. Plus que cela, il semble avoir à pisser, et il sent. Black Dow, cependant. Black Dow ressemble au premier véritable tueur du groupe et regarde les cinq hommes devant lui comme un jambon de Pâques. Il a une hache de bataille dans chaque main. Black Dow crache par terre entre eux et leur donne un sourire malicieux.</p>
<p>Davos fait un signe de tête à Grey Worm, qui est soudain moins sûr de ses chances. Mais Grey Worm hoche la tête. Un accord est une bonne affaire.</p>
<blockquote><p>"Ok!" Crie Davos. "Tous les autres, sortons d'ici. Laissons ces hommes à leur travail. Il n'y a aucun besoin de retarder davantage ici aujourd'hui. Allez! Tous! Retournez à votre travail! Chop chop!"</p></blockquote>
<p>Maintenant la foule se disperse. </p>
<p>Merci aux dieux, pense Davos. Merci aux dieux.</p>
<p>Grey Worm se recroqueville avec ses cinq hommes, décidant de la stratégie Davos va à Logen.</p>
<blockquote><p>« Chef. » Dit Davos.</p></blockquote>
<p>« Oui. » Dit Logen.</p>
<blockquote><p>"Jon Snow est dans cette cave. Je veux me permettre une bagarre à tout prix, mais si tu penses que cela signifie le blesser, ce sont des armes."</p></blockquote>
<p>« Oui. » Dit Logen.</p>
<p>"Ou nous pourrions simplement les tuer tous maintenant!" Suggère Black Dow. Rudd Threetrees secoue la tête avec dégoût. </p>
<p>"Ou pourrais-tu fermer ta bouche, y penser?" Tul Duru dit au Dow.</p>
<p>"Tous mignons dans leurs vêtements assortis. Et ils ont des lances. Des lances! Hahaha! Oh non! Je vais jeter mon pantalon faute d'une putain de lance!"</p>
<p>"Dow …" prévient Threetrees.</p>
<p>Black Dow hausse les épaules. "Je peux attendre. Ils doivent dormir de temps en temps."</p>
<p>"Ce n'est pas un meurtre, je dis juste." Logen dit, regardant le Black Dow jusqu'à ce qu'il détourne les yeux. "Bien. On ne parle plus de tuer alors. Et rangez ces putains de haches, vous avez l'air fou. Dogman, allez pisser."</p>
<p>"Oh mon Dieu! Merci, patron!" Avec une expression de soulagement, The Dogman se traîne pour se libérer. Black Dow fronce les sourcils alors qu'il accroche ses haches à sa ceinture de façon rituelle, marmonnant des mots de haine dans son souffle.</p>
<p>Logen regarde avec suspicion Grey Worm. "Je ferai tout mon possible pour maintenir la paix ici", a-t-il déclaré à Ser Davos, "mais s'ils ont un œil à venir vers nous, je ne me retiendrai pas. Vous devez être réaliste à propos de ces choses."</p>
<p>Ser Davos hoche la tête. Bien sûr.</p>
<blockquote><p>Il caresse le Logen sur l'épaule et recule. "Bonne chance, les gars. Je dois envoyer environ un million de corbeaux."</p></blockquote>
<p>Le ver gris fait également un signe de tête à ses hommes et derrière lui. La place extérieure est presque vide. Ensemble, sans un mot, Ser Davos et lui sont les derniers à partir.</p>
<p>Maintenant, il ne reste que les gardes. Cinq d'un côté, quatre de l'autre. Sans aucun doute, alors que The Dogman est hors de son esprit, il cherche un perchoir protégé sur lequel tirer des flèches. Ce n'est pas Harding Grim, mais il fera de son mieux. Sur la place, il n'y a pas de peur dans les yeux de l'Immaculée derrière le visage. Ils ont combattu les morts. Après cela, tous les autres sont des universitaires. Mais ils regardent attentivement les hommes du Nord.</p>
<p>Les hommes du Nord sont beaucoup moins inquiets. Ils ont déjà commencé à préparer la zone et à allumer un petit feu. Les arbres sur trois sont en train de creuser des rayons et des objets qu’il peut couper pour éclairer. Tul Duru traîne une énorme pierre rectangulaire à utiliser comme banc. Dow affûte lentement une hache et regarde Paisley comme un chat regarde un canari. Seul Logen se tient à côté de l'Immaculée, ramassant distraitement quelque chose de sa main. Il a l'air fatigué et surmené. The Unsullied et Kevin remarquent qu'il leur manque un majeur.</p>
<p>Kevin l'appelle. <strong>"Hey!"</strong></p>
<p>Logen lève les yeux.</p>
<p><strong>"Nous pourrions être ici pendant un moment."</strong> Dit Kevin. <strong>"Les gars, connaissez-vous de bonnes blagues?"</strong></p>
<p>Le visage marqué de Logen se transforme en un sourire. Cela pourrait se transformer en une mêlée et les choses pourraient devenir laides. Mais la vie est courte. Et dire quelque chose à propos de Logen Ninefingers. Dis qu'il aime une bonne blague.</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>Passons maintenant à l’avenir, où Tyrion Lannister ouvre grand les yeux. Il a des sacs sous eux, ce qui indique qu'il est retenu prisonnier depuis un certain temps. Et ses faux cheveux ont été peignés et peignés, lui donnant l’air de la barbe d’un joueur de hockey: la barbe la plus laide qui soit.</p>
<p>Le ver gris entre dans la pièce, flanqué de deux unsullied. Il est temps d'aller quelque part. Nous le savons parce que, puisque nous n’avons pas vu Tyrion depuis un moment, ce n’était clairement pas le moment de partir.</p>
<p>Mais maintenant c'est.</p>
<p>Nous suivons un diablotin enchaîné au puits de dragon. La dernière fois qu'il était venu ici, il avait passé un accord avec Cersei afin de placer son fils, sa nièce ou son neveu, dans Game of Thrones, étant donné que Daenerys n'avait aucun plan de succession. </p>
<p>Tyrion passa le début de sa vie à être tourmenté par un père qui n'était pas le sien dans des domaines sur lesquels il n'avait aucun contrôle, comme sa taille. Il a été maltraité par une demi-soeur qui le détestait et un demi-frère qui l'aimait, mais il était souvent concentré sur … bien d'autres choses.</p>
<p>Donc, Tyrion est tombé dans les livres comme un refuge, comme beaucoup de gens. Il y a rencontré des histoires de dragons et de promeneurs blancs, d'hommes de pierre et de feux d'artifice. Des choses qui avaient disparu du monde … jusqu'à la magie <em>ils n'étaient pas.</em></p>
<p>Et après des années de raffinement dans l'esprit de son cynique, il s'autorisa à croire en une reine autour de laquelle toute cette magie semblait s'accrocher. Tout, de Dragonfire à Dothraki Screamers. Et puis, il passa la plus grande partie de sa vie adulte à travailler contre elle pour sauver la Maison Lannister, qu’il aurait sûrement rayée de la face du monde. <em>Comme les hommes sont simples,</em> pensait-il. <em>Comme Jon Snow, j'ai tout risqué pour protéger une famille deux fois moins nombreuse. J'ai travaillé contre ma propre reine pendant des années pour sauver une sœur qui a payé pour me faire tuer.</em></p>
<p>Et puis, ils étaient tous les deux partis. </p>
<p>Maintenant, il ne croit plus qu’à une chose: le corbeau à trois yeux. Contrairement à tous les espoirs et rêves de ce bel exilé d'Essos, tout ce que Corialinus lui avait dit s'était passé. Dieu ne peut pas jouer aux dés avec l'univers, mais le magicien noir aime et aime un ensemble chargé. </p>
<p>Tyrion devait être ravi d'être entré dans la fosse de dragon. Si Grey Worm avait appris le jeu du trône de Daenerys pendant tout leur temps ensemble, il aurait su que lui et lui seul étaient le roi des sept royaumes. Il vérifia l'atterrissage du roi et la forteresse rouge. Il pourrait se couronner lui-même et pas une armée sur Westeros qui pourrait l'arrêter.</p>
<p>Mais cela ne s'était pas produit, ni par le ver gris qui manquait à ce type d'initiative, ni par Corialinus qui balayait de telles pensées de l'esprit du seigneur de guerre, car on pouvait échapper à un moucheron ennuyeux. Tyrion ne savait pas lequel, mais un conseil de la Pozza del Drago, comme l'avait prédit le magicien noir, était un bon début.</p>
<p>Il ne lui restait plus qu'à le placer sur le trône.</p>
<p>Je peux sentir l'œil de Bronn sur moi, pensa Tyrion. Rien ne survit vraiment comme une souris ou un homme à qui vous devez quelque chose. Tyrion leva les yeux vers la structure, essayant de trouver un psychopathe avec une arbalète quelque part dans les coins de la pierre. Mais bien sûr, il réalisa que si Bronn ne voulait pas être vu, il y avait de bonnes chances que personne ne le voie. C'était si difficile. Tyrion soupira et se réconforta dans le fait que Bronn avait besoin de lui vivant pour pouvoir appeler son marqueur.</p>
<p>C'est drôle, pensa Tyrion en entrant dans le puits de dragon et il vit la collection variée de vêtements rassemblés à cet endroit. Combien peu avait changé. Tant de personnes étaient mortes, des familles entières anéanties. Des maisons entières, hautes et petites, perdues à jamais.</p>
<p>Maison Martell<br />Maison Tyrell<br />Maison Bolton<br />Maison du Karstark<br />Maison baelaise<br />Maison Ombre</p>
<p>Et puis il pensa, avec pas un peu de tristesse, </p>
<p>Casa Clegane e<br />Maison Mormont.</p>
<p>Le dernier pointait du doigt, sachant de Corialinus ce que cela aurait pu être. Il devait faire payer ce jour-là les Trois Corbeaux.</p>
<p>D'autres maisons étaient suspendues par un fil. Ses deux maisons, Targaryen et Lannister, n'étaient que des ombres de leur passé. Casa Baratheon? Quelles sont les chances que les Stannis aleti guérissent la promotion d'un assistant de forgeron à l'archonte du puissant Stag Sigil? Surtout maintenant que son patron était mort?</p>
<p>Pas bon, pensa-t-il, pas bon. Peut-être que le jeune Gendry pourrait être mieux dans le nord, avec Arya, en espérant que les maisons de Banner comme House Tarth, House Dondarrion et House Selmy ne décident pas que la leur soit une furie et envoient à quelqu'un le soin de retirer sa demande de don. Honnêtement, c'est un miracle que quelqu'un ne l'ait pas déjà fait. Les gens ont une façon amusante de se faire dire ce qu’il faut faire et accepter, une faille dans la condition humaine qui profite souvent à des hommes sournois.</p>
<p>Alors que Tyrion s'est élevé sur la scène devant les anciens, il y voit Gendry, représentant les Terres de la tempête. Peut-être que le chiot le fera après tout.</p>
<p>Tant de morts ont si peu changé. Quand il fallait prendre une décision, c'était toujours le même vieux mécanisme, même si les visages étaient différents. </p>
<p>Tyrion scrute la foule. À sa gauche, Samwell de la maison Tarly, seigneur de la portée, assume-t-il, bien que, techniquement, il est le seul membre vivant du veilleur de nuit, voire le commandant en chef des veilleurs de nuit? Ces deux titres ne peuvent pas coexister, alors de quoi s'agit-il? Et Sam ne voulait pas être un maester?</p>
<p>À côté de lui, il y a beaucoup d'os que Tyrion ne reconnaît pas. Ce Howed Reed? Le père le plus gourmand que le magicien noir lui a dit? Tyrion n'est pas sûr. Probablement pas. Pourquoi les maisons Reed, Bannermen et Stark devraient-elles être invitées? Tyrion ne sait pas qui est cet homme.</p>
<p>Edmure Tully, seigneur de Riverrun, à ses côtés, si vous en avez besoin. Tyrion n'était pas sûr du genre d'homme qu'il était, mais Jaime l'avait considéré comme un fou et un lâche. Tyrion le regarda.</p>
<p>Arya Stark était assis devant lui. Sans titre, mais a tué le roi de la nuit, alors il a pensé qu'il pourrait s'asseoir où elle voudrait. Peut-être était-ce ici que cela représentait l'Ordre des Assassins Braavosi? Douteux. Corialinus qui portait le corps de son demi-frère et Sansa Stark qui le suivait étaient à son insu.</p>
<p>Bon sang Sansa avait l'air bien. Forte. Il avait dit dans la crypte qu'ils ne travailleraient pas parce que ses alliances seraient déchirées et qu'elle avait raison, mais maintenant? Eh bien, il n'aurait certainement pas fermé cette porte s'il avait jamais pensé à la garder ouverte. Elle était devenue une femme de longue pensée et de ruse. Une transformation si impressionnante de la fille terrifiée qu'il a épousée une fois par jour d'été. Et le fait qu'il ait trahi son frère pas une fois mais deux fois? Mmmmmmmmm. C'est définitivement Lannister-ish. Non seulement il a presque réussi à faire tuer Jon lors de la bataille des bâtards, sans lui parler de son alliance avec Littlefinger, le plus pervers du monde, mais il a révélé un secret de sa vie qui a changé sa vie pour des raisons politiques. Quelle femme! Si ce n'est pas l'héritier hérité de l'héritage de Cersei, alors l'héritier spirituel à coup sûr.</p>
<p>Pendant une seconde, Tyrion s'interroge sur Littlefinger. Combien de ses intrigues avaient été influencées par Corialinus? Quelle serait l'efficacité d'un outil si un homme n'avait pas de frontières morales? Tyrion frissonna à cette pensée.</p>
<p>Vient ensuite Brienne de Tarth, qui n'a même pas de titre propre, à part le titre de Chevalier attribué par son frère. Tyrion a commencé. Probablement plus d’un mois s’était écoulé, mais il me semblait que j’ai retiré les briques de son frère décédé hier. Une partie de lui se demandait s'il s'en remettrait un jour. </p>
<p>Est-ce que Brienne doit être ici pour protéger Sansa? Avez-vous deviné? </p>
<p>Puis ce fut Ser Davos, Jon une main du passé et, à la connaissance de Tyrion, ce que ses gardes lui auraient dit, le véritable Protecteur du Royaume. C'était Davos qui avait discuté de ses adversaires depuis une corniche lorsque la Mère Dragon a été tuée. C'était Davos qui avait placé des soldats en dehors de la ville et envoyé des corbeaux dans toutes les maisons nobles. C'est Ser Davos qui a fait que Jon Snow reste en vie et c'est Ser Davos qui a organisé et établi les règles de ce tribunal. </p>
<p>Il n'y avait pas un seul homme sur Westeros qui aurait pu le faire. Grey Worm le respectait et il était la seule personne, homme ou femme, à laquelle Grey Worm avait répondu. Si Davos Seaworth n’avait pas été là pour poser le globe sur ses épaules comme un atlas, des milliers et des milliers de personnes seraient mortes des semaines auparavant et l’avenir aurait semblé infiniment plus sombre.</p>
<p>Même l'impasse à l'extérieur de la prison auto-imposée de Jon Snow était plus brillante que prévu. Tyrion aurait espéré mettre dix assassins si près qu'il exploserait rapidement en meurtre, mais tout indique que les parties ont été courtoises, voire tout à fait amicales, en grande partie grâce à l'arrivée de Davos deux fois par jour pour vérifier avant tout et en fournissant à tous, hommes du Nord et Essosiens, des repas plus succulents qu’ils n’avaient jamais rêvé. Rien de spécial ou trop orné, tout simplement délicieux et copieux. Les types de repas qui remplissent les coins. Avec autant de générosité à attendre chaque jour, juste pour s'asseoir devant une porte et chanter des chansons ensemble? Aucune des deux parties n'était pressée de mettre fin à leurs chances.</p>
<p>Le chevalier de l'oignon, à ce stade, avait sauvé le monde de lui-même. En allant même jusqu'à demander l'aide des Maesters de la Citadelle pour explorer comme un homme défiguré de la manière dont tous les soldats immaculés pouvaient toujours être fils de fils. Il avait engagé des agents pour retrouver les parents survivants de soldats immaculés qui les avaient probablement accompagnés de ce côté-ci de la mer étroite. Il avait prévu de leur offrir la terre la plus fertile de tous les Westeros, Atteindre elle-même, si seulement elle pouvait les faire déposer leurs lances et récolter les crocs.</p>
<p>N'importe quoi pour les sortir de King's Landing.</p>
<p>Il avait également des hommes qui murmuraient des défis dans les rangs des Dothraki, dans le noir, les nuits éclairées par des feux de camp, que s'ils étaient <em>VRAI</em> Les Bloodriders ont ensuite dû se suicider et se rendre dans la vie après la mort avec leur Khaleesi. Elle attendait leur arrivée et se demandait où ils étaient tous.</p>
<p>La propagande n’avait fonctionné que sur des centaines de Dothraki plus vertueux et franchement glacial. Les hommes qui ont choisi les champs chauds de l'au-delà à ceux enneigés de King's Landing. Davos considérait comme une victoire d'avoir encore un raider de moins sur le terrain à Westerosi, dans l'attente d'une sortie immédiate. </p>
<p>Mais le ciel s'était dégagé au cours des deux dernières semaines et la neige s'était arrêtée. Avec le plus grand regret pour Davos, les Bloodriders les plus en vogue ont créé moins de sujettes au suicide.</p>
<p>À côté de Ser Davos se trouve Gendry, et à gauche de Gendry, un cul chaud avec un long manteau et une armure de cuir +2 avec des crampons Axe Body Spray. Nous n'avons aucune idée de qui il est, nous l'appellerons Rando Calrissian. </p>
<p>En tournant Rando à droite, Tyrion voit un autre rando, mais cela semble avoir le goût le plus cool parmi les épaulettes fourrées de Tina Turner dans Thunderdome. Je crois que son nom est Jimmy "The Agret" Phipps. Ses amis l'appellent Phippy. </p>
<p>À côté de lui se trouve également le Kraken. Yara Greyjoy. La dernière souris de la mer. Reine des îles de fer. En tant qu'observateur de spectacles, j'ai baisé Ironborn, mais j'aime Yara. </p>
<p>– Balon déteste Theon, qui a été élevé par Ned parce que Balon a tenté de quitter l'Union européenne.<br />– Urine arrive et lance son frère depuis un pont de corde la nuit sous la pluie.<br />– L'Ironborn noie l'urine.<br />– Il se noie parce que dieu veut tuer Theon et Yara mais ils sont partis avec tous les meilleurs navires et tous les meilleurs marins.<br />– Construisez un million de navires qui hurle!<br />– Il n'y a pas d'arbres, et comme quarante-deux Ironborns laissés sur des rochers de merde dans l'océan.<br />– Personne n'a jamais lu un livre.<br />– Ils construisent un million de navires sans bois et sans constructeurs et sans travail le mercredi.<br />– L'urine provient de l'autre bout du monde avec un million de navires et un milliard de marins et une rampe spéciale Ice Capades. Elle tue tous les autres Ironborns et les trois meilleurs combattants Dornese et capture Yara.<br />– Urina met le doigt dans le cul de la reine des sept royaumes et en parle à tout le monde.<br />– Pendant que Urine dégomme dans la capitale, Theon bat la personne la plus dure du spectacle et libère Yara.<br />– Theon devient mort à Winterfell.<br />– Yara navigue vers les îles de fer, prétendument vides puisque Urine compte un billion de marins et les libère au nom de Daenerys Targaryen, avec qui elle souhaite à juste titre gribouiller.<br />– Yara est maintenant la reine de quelques rochers et ce que j'imagine sont les deux ponts de corde Westeros les plus déchirants.<br />– Urina meurt de rire. Parce qu'il est fou.<br />– Altrove, Yara presumibilmente non è un raider, che è l&#39;unica cosa che i topi del mare sanno fare, o che hanno fatto per 8000 anni, una condizione posta su di lei dalla donna che alla fine sarebbe impazzita in nove minuti per nessuna ragione. (Ma conosciamo la vera ragione).<br />– Jon attacca qualcosa in Daenerys che non è il suo pari.<br />– Yara viene invitata a King&#39;s Landing per un podcast di tutte le persone importanti e alcune delle più belle e alcuni randos.</p>
<p>Penso che riassuma il suo viaggio. </p>
<p>Accanto a lei è seduto il nuovo principe di Dorne, Prince Sleeptytits. Non potrebbe essere più annoiato. Questo è il più lungo che abbia mai avuto per tenere i suoi vestiti. <em>&#39;Vestiti&#39; è così ingiusto,</em> lui piagnucola nella sua mente. <em>Odio la Princing.</em> Lui pensa. <em>Odio questi vestiti</em> Lui pensa. <em>Questo vestito è stupido. Voglio solo che tutte queste persone si zittino e muoiano, così posso andare a casa a guardare The CW. Dio!</em></p>
<p>Da qualche parte nell&#39;etere, la promessa di Ellaria Sand che "nessun uomo debole regnerà mai più Dorne" sta vivendo un periodo molto duro. </p>
<p>Accanto a Sleepytits c&#39;è Robin Arryn, cresciuto e che non mi lascia mai scordare quanto siano assetate di internet. Gli importa che abbia succhiato la tettarella di sua madre fino a quando non avesse compiuto quattordici anni, letteralmente succhiando il pazzo da lei? Non! Si preoccupano che sia evidentemente un piccolo sociopatico squilibrato che diceva cose del tipo: "LANCIAMO L&#39;UOMO SIGNIFICATO FUORI DALLA PORTA LUNA MAMA! TEE HEE HEE HEE HEE! "No! Si preoccupano che il suo vestito sia di velluto blu uovo, i suoi capelli sono di buon inizio David Schwimmer e indossa le tende floreali di Tara sulla schiena? <em>A loro importa?</em> Fidanzato, <em>questo è quello che li sta facendo arrossire tutti!</em> </p>
<p><strong>IMA INVERSA COWGIRL CHE NEVILLE LONGBOTTOM HA COLTIVATO IL BOO DI THINSLICE !!! HE UN SNACK !!!!</strong></p>
<p>Le persone sono fottutamente pazze. E accanto a loro siede Yohn. Motherfuckin. Royce.</p>
<p>George R. R. Martin got many things right in his tome of Westerosi lore, and as a writer, there are simplicities that I can really admire. For example, I’ll sit in front of my computer thinking of character names and I’ll obsess for hours and hours. I’ll roll them around in my mouth and imagine reddit posts about them and think about some day when people name their children that name. And then I’ll just not write and go watch Game of Thrones instead.</p>
<p>But George R. R.? You think he obsesses? Heeeeelllll No! He wrote like what, ten thousand characters? All he does is one letter. He adds one, takes one away or changes one.</p>
<p>Richard becomes Rickard. OOOOOOHHHHH. That’s hot. Very swank. Very Fantasy</p>
<p>Kevin becomes Kevan.</p>
<p>Jamie becomes Jaime.</p>
<p>Alice becomes Alys.</p>
<p>Edward becomes Eddard.</p>
<p>Rob becomes Robb.</p>
<p>Peter becomes Petyr.</p>
<p>Margery becomes Margaery.</p>
<p>Alanna becomes Olenna.</p>
<p>Caitlyn becomes Catelyn.</p>
<p>And so on and so on. Man’s a genius. Much better than my lead character, Xaspercreme.</p>
<p>John Becomes Jon. I always hated that spelling. Won’t miss it. Not gonna lie.</p>
<p>John also becomes, magically, Yohn. </p>
<p>FUCKING <em>YOHN.</em></p>
<p>I don’t know if I’ve ever loathed a name the way I loathe the name Yohn. I don’t know if it’s a clever play on words, but it’s been around forever. And I take it as a personal affront that this insufferable twit made it not only to the end, but to the high council! The fuck? The dude’s mad-as-a-hatter Lord of the Eyrie is sitting right next to him! What is this, bring your general to work day? Was Robin Arryn worried that he’d need someone to call ICE on Torgo Nudho? That name does sound moderately Dominican! Can’t be up to any good! </p>
<p>Yohn Royce. The token favorite character of all white people who voted for Trump solely for the reason that he’d protect their money. No one plays loud music in the gated community when Yohn Royce is around! Women are to be seen and not heard when Yohn Royce is around. You know who tells the greatest stories about the good old days when colored folk knew their place in the back room over a Cuban and a snifter of brandy? You guessed it. Yohn Royce.</p>
<p>As the years go on, and I look back upon this episode, the broad strokes that missed may fade away. The big swings that ended up as strikes may become part of the universal record and blend into the panorama of the whole. But the inclusion of Yohn Royce in the final council will always burn like a hot ember. </p>
<p>But apparently, he has a role to play.</p>
<p>Finally, next to him is another rando. He’s constipated as hell, hot from being in a snuggie, and generally kind of miserable. Dressed in brown from head to toe. He is from House Gastritis, and is commonly known as The Lord of Shits.</p>
<p>And he’s an uncouth pig.</p>
<p><img alt=

Just look at the obscenity of his double penis belt. One flopped over top of the other like a two-penised Braavosi whore. My god man! Where’s your decorum? This is a meeting of Lords not a Philistine Bath House! Good god, even Yohn Royce himself has the decency to tie off his belt penises thirty degrees to the right like a fucking gentleman! If you need fashion tips from Yohn fucking Royce, how far are you from civility? My goodness.

So now all the players are in place for what feels like the grand Game of Thrones minigame for IOS and Android.

I know we’re supposed to feel something here, like HOLY SHIT LOOK AT ALL THE PLAYERS but all the best players are dead. Davos has the best chance at approaching the Tywins and the Olennas but we’re a tier down in every direction.

For example, I noted immediately that these people are all armed, with the exception of Sam and Tyrion. Even Prince Sleepytits has a sword but he hates it because it makes him list to the side from the extreme weight.

Grey Worm, of course, has a dagger.

OH SHIT! WE GOT A BADASS WITH A DAGGER OVER HERE!

But in the Old Game of Thrones, when there were real players, this shit would have been unthinkable. This is the definition of Guard Down Mode. Tell me what’s stopping Grey Worm from demanding they all take a knee right now and make him the King?

He could have 200 Dothraki ride in and start circling the tribunal, with Unsullied in HUH mode at every gate and what do you think will happen?

If GRRM was still writing this, which I’m quite sure he isn’t, he might have Grey Worm come in pulling Jon and Tyrion in chains behind him and say “you fucking people make me sick. All I see are your fucking games. I am going back to Essos. One of you will be King or Queen of the seven kingdoms. The rest will die here today.” And then he unchains Jon and Tyrion and from around the Dragon Pit, protected in the stands, are hundreds of Unsullied with crossbows.

It’s up to you who lives and who dies. On the hour, every hour, we will kill one of you until one remains. You want games? Here are your fucking games.”

And then he’d drop his arm and they’d fire like six bolts into Jimmy “The Egret” Phipps and he’d fall out of his chair like a sack of speared shit.

Oh Phippy, we haerdly knew ye.

With that, Grey Worm would spit at them and walk out. AND THEN WE’D SEE SOME SHIT, YO.

STAKES, PEOPLE. STAKES. DRAMA! CONSEQUENCES! DESIRES! CONFLICT!

Not just people sitting the fuck around. Holy static nightmare, Batman! I have four kids and we had a family meeting to discuss screens in our home and it took like three weeks and four people went to the hospital. My five year old tried to gank me with an Amazon HD8. But this? This deciding of everything in the seven kingdoms and no one wants to crimp their tea doily?

We talk all the time about how non-caucasian characters are poorly written, or at least unevenly written on this show. I shook my fist at the sky when Missandei didn’t pitch Cersei’s mean ass off the wall. But maybe this is the greatest inconsistency in the show for people of color. The fact that Grey Worm is the King of the Seven Kingdoms and is either too stupid or too poorly written to know it. One of his first lines in this scene is THIS IS OUR CITY. But…yeah.

So Grey Worm walks in with Tyrion.

“Where’s Jon?” Asks Sansa Stark.

OH LIKE, HELLO, HOW ARE YOU, I’M SANSA STARK. Says Grey Worm. THE FUCK LADY? WHERE ARE YOUR MANNERS?

Maybe it’s just me. I remember when Daenerys flew in on Drogon and Cersei didn’t say hello either. She said “We’ve been waiting for some time.” And Daenerys said “My apologies.” Like you do when you’re going mad.

So maybe they just don’t trifle with salutations in affairs of state in Westeros. Frankly, it makes me shudder. My title may just be an honorary one, pour l'instant… but Barbaric, I say! Indeed, if I had to endure a tête-à-tête of this plebeian ilk without proper adherence to conversational heraldry, if you will, I daresay I’d be out the door and into my coach and four with a speed that might rival Mercury himself.

But Grey Worm does not seem the least bit perturbed.

“Where’s Jon” Sansa asks.

“He is our prisoner.” Grey Worm says.

“So is Lord Tyrion. They were both to be brought to this gathering.”

“We will decide what we do with our prisoners.” Grey Worm says. “This is our city now.”

OH SNAP GET FUCKED SANSA STARKKKKK!

So let me get this straight: He brought Tyrion, just because. But he didn’t bring Jon…also just because? Was he worried that something might happen to Jon in “his” city? What’s the reasoning here? The Unsullied control this area completely. Grey Worm could slit Jon’s throat right there and there’s fuck all anyone could do about it. Yet he chooses not to bring him?

I don’t get it.

Sansa doesn’t like it. I mean, there’s a lot not to like. Say, for instance, that she kind of decided never to return to King’s Landing ever again because of all the horrors that she endured, but here she is. Maybe said horrors and said reluctance were more Cersei-based? Maybe another thing not to love is that Grey Worm could end House Stark with a yawn and a casual call for fifty or sixty Unsullied to just come in and poke them all to death.

Since when would the Starks put themselves in a Red Wedding-level position to be wiped out, especially after the Red Wedding? Why would they EVER be here? They’re a bunch of xenophobic Northerners and this dude is a brown skinned foreigner who doesn’t even say hello at meetings. Why would they ever think they’d be given quarter of any kind? They don’t know Essosian parley protocols! Hell, Grey Worm doesn’t know Essosian parley protocols. Dude is making it up as he goes along. He couldn’t even have a basic conversation with Tyrion once upon an elegant room, and now he’s the diplomat holding every House in Westeros hostage?

Also: “we will decide what we do with we’s shit”

Who’s WE? Are they recreating the Athenian forum here in King’s Landing? One man one vote? Who’s we?

“If you look outside the walls of your city, you will see thousands of Northmen who…um, couldn’t stop you from killing us. Fuck.” Says Sansa.

“And I can show you thousands of Unsullied whom your people spit on when we came to save you, so eat a giant dick.” Grey Worm says.

“Hey, hi. Hi! Grey Worm. It’s me, Sam. We met at Winterfell?”

“Yes.” Nods Grey Worm.

“Hi, I just wanted you to know that your pajamas look great. All quilted and that. Real sharp like.” Sam gives Grey Worm a thumbs up and means it.

“The Ironborn are not quick to forgive,” Says Yara Greyjoy. “Queen D and I were vibing pretty hard and not just on one occasion. Like several times. And I sailed around the world to win the Iron Islands back in her name.”

“And she was very grateful.” Tyrion says.

YOU SHUT THE FUCK UP Grey Worm says and kicks Tyrion in the stomach. He falls over coughing. Rando Calrissian laughs his head off.

“I’m just saying that it’s a hell of a gesture to conquer a whole archi- arpa?”

“Archipelago.” Tyrion gasps. “Read a book.”

Grey Worm kicks him again. Rando claps.

“Thank you. Archipelago for someone.” Yara continues. “How many of you can say that? Who has gifted you an island chain and two of the most pants shittingly frightening rope bridges in the known world? Right!”

Pyke45739869369836453948.jpg

“So I kind of expected to sail back here and y’know…tell the queen what I did in person. Maybe a couple of glasses of Carménère, kick back on my tufted flannel duvet cover, throw on a little When Doves Cry and see what the fuck is what, you know?”

“Oh my god! So you’re mad you didn’t get laid?” Sansa coughs

“I just wanted to know, y’know…if she was the Mother of Dragons…everywhere.” Yara shrugs.

“I’m quite certain there’s some Breaker of Chains sexual innuendo ripe for the picking here but I’ll be damned if I can find it!” Sam says.

“I’m quite certain the Queen’s loins were well tended by my brother.” Sansa says.

“He could never tend loins the way I can tend loins.” Yara hisses.

“Say another word about my brother’s loin tending and I’ll cut your fucking throat.” Arya says.

Now Yara begins to rise, because she’s a badass.

In theory.

Urine beat her in like 8 seconds. Arya would likely make a Frey Pie out of her. But still…CONFLICT! Oui! You want to torment a smart audience? Pit two good characters against each other. Forget good versus bad. That’s tired as shit. Pit stained good vs stained good. Who are you gonna root for in an Arya vs Yara deathmatch? Can you imagine how you might have felt if Arya made a point by killing Yara in the tribunal and everyone just watched it happen? Or vice versa, I suppose? (After all, they could just cast FUCKIT and make Yara an amazing fighter.) What if Arya actually used the Faceless Man vanishing trick or use face swapping for once and killed Grey Worm? How come we saw her train for like eleven years just to face swap one time and do the dagger drop one time and run away scared from both the dead and the firebombing of Dresden?

Anyway, it doesn’t matter. Because before the show can escalate to interesting, The World’s Uncle is on his feet, settling everyone down.

“Torgo Nudho, am I saying that properly?” Davos asks.

Grey Worm says nothing.

OH THANKS DUDE! OHOHOHKAY I’LL JUST FUCK UP YOUR NAME YOU HALF IDIOT THROATCUTTER.

“Torgo Nudho, The Unsullied are awesome, have surprisingly good teeth, and we as a country owe you. There is land in the Reach. Start your own house. I have inquired with the maesters of the cit-“

“We do not want payment!” Yells Torgo Nudho, who used to be cool. “WE WANT JUSTICE.”

“Sooooo, you want Jon Snow dead. But you also want our agreement on that instead of just killing him yourself?” Sam asks.

“I cannot kill him myself.” Grey Worm admits. “The men Davos Seaworth has guarding him are too strong. Too scary. My men refuse to fight them.”

Thank fooking god. Davos thinks.

“It’s not for you to decide.” Says Tyrion to Grey Worm.

“YOU SHUT THE FUCK UP!” Grey Worm yells.

“Kick him again!” Yells Rando, getting excited.

“YOU’RE NOT HERE TO SPEAK!” Grey Worm barks at The Imp. “Everyone has heard enough words from you.”

“Yes, they have.” Tyrion winks at the camera.

“AND THEY’RE SICK OF SEEING YOU ON SCREEN. DUMB FUCK THAT YOU ARE.” Grey Worm yells.

“Once again, you’re correct.” Tyrion winks at camera again.

“Here’s the thing, Tordo Nuvo…am I saying that right? It doesn’t matter. Can I get a seltzer over here? Seltzer? So here’s the deal, this is my show. Always has been, always will be. Remember all those GIFs of me dancing at my trial? Oh man. Good times. So I’m not gonna give a Ted Talk here or anything but we need a King to decide on Jon’s fate. Not some halfwit ding dong in PJ’s from across the FAHKIN RIVAH as they say in Boston. Listen, people, you’re the most powerful people in Westeros, though it pains me to say it because I know what a bunch of colossal clods all of you are. Look around you and pick a fucking King.”

Now the noble lords and ladies look around. Who will be king?

Edmure Tully gives it a whirl but is dismissed with scorn by his niece. It’s a crime Lady C can scarcely endure, to see the great Tobias Menzies reduced to a punchline. He takes his seat.

Samwell Tarly suggests democracy and is mocked and derided by everyone. Who leads the opposition to the party of the people? You guessed it! Yohn fucking Royce, followed by the Lord of Shits himself. Edmure Tully is just thrilled that his idea wasn’t the dumbest one of the day. Yara laughs. Prince Sleepytits beams with humor at the jest. Robin Arryn lifts his hand to say WHAT THE FUCK? Bag of bones that isn’t Howland Reed laughs.

“Maybe we should give the dogs a vote as well.” Edmure says.

“I’LL ASK MY HORSE!” Jibes Yohn Royce.

Only Davos does not laugh. That should make him the king automatically. And to her credit, neither does Brienne, though she gives some looks that don’t give a position either way. Brahn is not a human so he says nothing. Sansa and Arya both laugh.

So the two decent people are Sam and Ser Davos. What a shocker.

“I suppose you want it for yourself.” Edmure says to Tyrion.

“Jesus, no.” Tyrion says. “All I’ve done is fuck up for years. Listen, I’ve been sitting in that larder, growing this fake beard for weeks, presumably to give me the affect of some form of sentient rodent. This whole thing, all the Cleganebowl shit and everything is largely fanservice and squirrels do great on Instagram, so.”

“So, you do want to be king?”

“No no. But I was thinking. What brings men together? Flags?”

OUI

“Gold?”

UH HUH.

“The prospect of a woman president?”

OH YAH YOU BETCHA YAH.

“No. None of those. The most powerful thing in the world is a good story. Nothing can stop it except two showrunners who just plain give up on a property. That’s the only thing.”

OKAY.

“But for our purposes, who has a better story than Bran the…uh…Broken?”

Qui? Everyone looks around. Never heard of him.

“I mean him. That guy. Bran. The Broken. Because he fell from a thing and went to the thing and now he can do the…y’know..whatever it is.”

Even Arya looks surprised. Because of all the people in all the world who tune in even casually to see The Game of Thrones, not a single one would choose Bran as anything but the most boring motherfucker in the world. Hell, they just met the Lord of Shits and he’s more deserving of the throne. If there was one.

“I thought you weren’t going to give a Ted Talk.” Grey Worm says.

“Neither did I but like I said, It’s my show.”

“Bran can’t be King, he has no dick.” Sansa Says.

“Yes I do.” Brahn says.

“You do?”

“Yes. You think your dick falls off when you fall out of a tower?”

“I mean, not right away.”

“I assure you, it does not.”

“That’s why he called you Bran the Broken. Because your dick is broken.”

“That’s not why!”

“Why then?”

“My back is broken, not my dick.”

“Why can’t you walk then? Are your legs broken too?”

“No, just my spine.”

“And your dick.”

“No.”

“But you can’t use it.”

“I mean, I use it.”

“But not to shag any ass.”

“Where is this going Sansa?”

“You can’t father children is all I’m saying. I mean, we could try to get a tart like Yara to bounce up and down on you-“

“Watch it.” Says Yara. Then she winks at Rando.

“-but I don’t think it’ll do any good.”

“Oh yes, because sons of kings have worked out famously for us. More Joffreys please! Amirite?” Says Tyrion.

The group politely laughs.

“I just don’t think he’s an ideal choice, that’s all. It should be someone, I don’t know…prettier.” Says Sansa.

“No, it must be Bran the Broken. He is our history, our memory. He is that dusty photo album that you keep thinking, ‘I should digitize this because the plastic is getting hard and yellow and all the stickum stuff has lost its grip but it’s like what I’m gonna buy a scanner and fucking sit around one by one and scan this shit? Who has time for that? I don’t even know who half the people in these pictures are!’ And so you just put the album back in that Rubbermaid blue plastic storage bin where you found it and never think about it again. THAT’S who Bran the Broken is. "

And this is when we really need to miss Sandor Clegane. The Hound.

Because you could remove all of these assclowns and just have The Hound be King and everything would work out just fine. Grey Worm would drag Tyrion up to the Dragon Pit where King The Hound was working on a bowl of chicken and he’d say.

“WHAT?” Irritated that anyone would interrupt his chicken.

“I wish to execute Jon Snow.”

“The fuck are you telling me for?” Sandor would say.

“I…uh…because there are guards that Davos-“

“Take it up with him then, I’m eating. NEXT!”

“If I may…” Tyrion would say.

“Oh for fucks sake, WHAT?”

“It’s just that we need a different King besides you…and who better than Bran the Broken?”

“Me. That’s who better. A fucking dung farmer, that’s who better. A brain damaged child with a spinny hat and a balloon, that’s who better than Bran the fucking Broken. What a stupid fucking name.”

“But-“

“I swear to god if one more word comes out of your fucking mouth, I’m gonna kill every dwarf in the room.”

Tyrion looks around. Swallows.

“What do I do with him?” Grey Worm asks.

“Fuck if I know. What do you want to do with him?”

“Kill him?”

“Okay by me.”

Grey Worm takes out his dagger.

“NOT HERE FOR FUCKS SAKE. FUCK OFF.”

Grey Worm and Tyrion disappear. Tyrion is looking back at Sandor for help, but he’s already well into his bowl of chicken and Tyrion knows one word means one word.

Now Sam comes in. He is the royal butler.

“Uh, your grace?”

“WHAT?”

“The uh…Iron Bank is here.”

“Tell them to fuck off.”

“Right away.”

Ahhhhh. King Sandor the Brusque. But it was not to be because they had to kill him in fire. The thing he feared most.

The bastards.

And so we have Bran the Broken as the option on the table. Bran. The Broken. Oh Broken you’re so fine, you’re so fine you blow my mind. Hey Broken! Hey Broken!

“Seriously, though, all bullshit aside: If we elect you chief operating officer of Westeros Industries, will you kick ass for us in sickness and in health til death do us part?”

“Why the fuck do you think I wheeled my ass 1500 miles?” Brahn says.

“For real?” Sansa asks.

“What?”

“You want to be king?”

“Want? No.”

“But you came for it.”

“I’m the Three Eyed Raven. I see shit.”

“So you could have been Lord of Winterfell-“

“Pfff.”

“What’s Pfff?”

“Winterfell, bitch pleez.”

“It’s not good enough for you?”

“I never said that.”

“You just said bitch please.” Sansa says.

“It’s a turn of phrase. I’m here. I don’t want it, but I’m here and it’s on the table, okay?”

“So you came for it, even though you don’t want it.”

“I am here, and we are here, at this moment, for something.”

“Stop talking in nonsense. Speak plainly.”

“I am.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Oh my god Sansa just be quiet.”

“Who are you, really? I mean really?”

“I’m Brandon of House Stark.”

“Wait, you told me you weren’t Brandon of House Stark.” Sam says.

“That was then.”

“And now?” Sansa asks.

“Now I am.”

“That’s awfully convenient.” Sansa says.

“Maybe you just wanted me to have to break the news to Jon.” Sam says.

“What news?” Yara asks.

“That Jon was a Targaryen.”

“Wait Jon is a Targaryen? I pledged myself to the Targaryens!” Yara says. “Nobody lay a finger on Jon Targaryen!”

“So hold up, Jon and Daenerys were family?” Grey Worm asks.

“I thought you knew.” Tyrion says.

“No I didn’t know!” Grey Worm says, “that’s fucked up!”

“They were so devastated when they found out, Torgo Nudho, that she asked Jon to kill her.” Davos says, lying.

“Well, I don’t like it, but now I’m not as mad at Jon Snow.” Grey Worm says, a look of ickiness on his face. “Damn.”

“So Bran the Broken is the reason Jon and Daenerys broke up?” Brienne asks.

“Not directly, no.” Tyrion says.

“I wasn’t even going to tell Jon and Bran told me to. I don’t know how much less directly that could be.” Sam says. “But I’m sure he had his reasons.”

“I mean, Sansa always disapproved of the pairing.” Tyrion says.

“Because she would kill him.”

“But he killed her instead, is that better?” Rando asks.

“Better for him, I reckon.” The Lord of Shits muses.

“Still because of Bran.” Brienne points out. “Who I’m not sure is Bran at all.”

“Oh I’m Bran.” Says Corialinus. “Just look at me. I’m Bran alright.”

Arya studies him. She knows a thing or two about faces.

“That is his face…” She admits.

“See?” Not Bran says

“Then I for one am satisfied!” Tyrion says. “And for Brandon of House Stark to be king, I say AYE!”

“What is happen here?” Grey Worm asks, looking around.

“Shhhh.” Tyrion urges. “Just shhh.”

Now Ramin Djawadi’s music kicks in and everyone knows this shit is on. They all sit up a little straighter.

“Aye!” Sam says. Sweet, sweet summer child. He’s just happy to hang with the cool kids.

“Aye.” Nods Tobias Menzies, who could take every actor on that stage, act circles around them, pull out Hamlet’s Yorick skull, dunk on all of them and sit without breaking a sweat. But he gets one word in a fools mouth.

“AYE!” Grunts the bag of bones between he and Sam.

Bingo! someone yells as the lefternmost row all cast their votes in the affirmative.

Now it’s the Lord of Shits turn. Aye! He says off camera and when we pivot to him he’s smiling broadly at Tyrion, like they’re the best of pals. WHAT. A. KNUCKLEHEAD. That was one of the least convincing speeches I’ve ever heard and I have children who lie on the reg. Bran the Broken? You serious fool? Take yo two floppy doubledecker dicks and get the fuck outta here.

“Aye” says Yohn Royce. He’s white and a man. Sold.

Yohn Royce looks at the fop idiot who is Lord of the Eyrie. The fop idiot says Aye.

“I wanna sit on Nevilles face!” tweet like thirty million people who seriously need to get a good book and stop noodlin’ their bean at the sight of every fresh weirdo.

“Aye” Yawns Sleepytits off screen. He just wants to get this scratchy ‘clothes’ off.

“Aye” says Yara Greyjoy, presumably with Corialinus warging into her mind.

“Aye” off screen says Jimmy “The Egret” Phipps.

“Aye” whispers Rando, exuding sex appeal. He is the living manifestation of Drakkar Noir and no one is tweeting about him. They all want Michael Cera in Little Lord Fauntleroy knickers.

“Aye!” Nods Gendry, looking positively lordish.

“I’m not sure I get a vote, but aye.” Davos says.

MARRY ME. SERIOUSLY DAVOS. YOU ARE THE GREATEST AND YOU SHOULD BE KING A MILLION TIMES OVER. I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU’RE GETTING ROBBED LIKE THIS. I HATE EVERYTHING.

TheWorldUncle.png

“Aye.” Says Brienne in her capacity as TALLEST WOMANNNN IN THE LANNNNND!

Now we come to Sansa. She pauses. Whooooole lotta AYES leading up to her.

She turns to Bran.

“I’ll always love you little brother, broken dick or no.”

“It’s not broken.”

“Or whatever. Dick that fell off.”

“It didn’t.”

“The point is you’ll be a good king. But the only way for me to be a queen, which everyone here knows I deserve, is to make sure the North is its own separate thing. So the North will remain independent like it was for thousands of years before the last like 800 years, but back then it was, just not for the last twenty generations or so.”

And as his first official act before he’s even sworn in as king of the seven kingdoms, Bran the Broken gives his sister half the land on the continent.

Everyone nods in agreement. Good. They didn’t need those financial ramifications, security infrastructure or natural resources anyway. Nice.

Tyrion can’t believe his good fortune. He pulled it off. Corialinus was right! Jesus he was right again!

“All Hail Bran the Broken! King of the Six Kingdoms!”

“Bran the Broken!” Everyone yells, standing.

“Oh rub it in why don’t you!” Bran says. “The very first order of business is handicapped ramps on every building-“

“I’m not sure that’s in the budget, your grace.” Says Yohn Royce.

In Florida, millions of Olds nod in approval. If they didn’t want to be handicapped they shouldn’t have been handicapped!

Tyrion bows. Holy shit, he thinks, I’m going to be Hand of the King!

“Lord Tyrion” Bran the Broken says “You will be Hand.”

“Nooooo!” Tyrion sings, as if talking to a baby or a rabbit. “I don’t want it. Honest! I prefer these manacles that are literally cutting into my wrists. Don’t give me access to wine again!”

“You are Hand. Deal with it.”

“He can’t be!” Says Grey Worm. “He’s a traitor.”

“Not to me.”

“He deserves justice!”

“He just got it. I told him how to fool a stupid ogre with a dagger and he did it. Bravo. Now he gets to run the world while I warg elsewhere.”

“I am a very weak man.” Grey Worm says. “The worst kind of Plot Robot.”

“Yes, I know.” King Broken says.

“You must also kill Jon Snow.” Grey Worm says.”Sorry, if I don’t pretend to care about it, none of this makes any sense.”

“None of it does anyway, friend.” Says Davos.

“So you’ll kill him, yes?” Grey Worm asks.

“Yeah I’m his brother and pretty much everyone here is his best friend, so.”

“Then just whip him to death!”

“No.”

“He must be punished!”

“I’ll send him to the Wall.” King Broken says. “He can’t get into any trouble up there.” Bran winks at Tyrion.

“Why did you just wink?” Grey Worm asks.

“I had something in my eye.”

“Aye!” Sleepytits says, waking up from a quick nap.

“No we already voted.” Yara says.

“You watch Riverdale?” Sleepytits asks.

“I wish I was better at this.” Grey Worm says. “Should I have just killed you all? You guys can tell me now, it’s too late. Should I have?”

“Take your men and sail back to wherever the hell you came from,” King Broken says “with our thanks and our compliments.”

***

Now we cut to Davos as he shows up outside Jon’s cell where the ten killers are sitting at a couple of tables, contentedly listening to Paisley play his harmonica. He finishes his song as Davos walks up with a wineskin in his hand. Every one of them looks like they gained ten pounds.

“Gents, I have one last bag of ale for you.” Davos says.

“That’s it then?” Logen says. “All finished?”

“That’s it.”

“Damned if that wasn’t the greatest job I ever had.” Logen says. All his men, Threetrees, Tul Duru and the Dogman nod in agreement, as do the Unsullied and Kevin. Only Black Dow looks peeved.

“Never even got to kill anyone.” He complains.

“There’ll be killin’ enough to make up for it where we’re going.” Threetrees says.

The Dogman takes the ale and pours it evenly into ten cups and the men all toast and throw back the alcohol.

“I’m going to miss this.” Joaquin admits.

“Fuckin A.” Kevin agrees.

“Hell if that wasn’t fun.” Tul Duru says, offering a hand to the Unsullied named Thor. They shake and man hug. All the others follow suit, friendly hugs, shared jokes and warm claps on the back. It’s nothing short of a miracle that no murder broke out.

But Black Dow doesn’t hug anyone. He doesn’t smile or wish anyone well. He feels that he was owed a fight and if he has to manufacture one, then so be it. He’s watching Paisley and Sphincter as they pick up various pieces of discarded gear. In attesa. Figuring.

“If you’ve a mind to start trouble, understand that I told you not to.” Says a voice behind him.

Black Dow turns to find Logen Ninefingers there, watching him with a hard look.

“I wasn’t-“

“At this point I know your black mind before you do. To be clear, if you choose to hurt those boys, I’m gonna put it on you. And this time I’m not gonna let you walk away. This time I’ll break you piece by piece and leave you begging for death. So you do what you’re gonna do, but you won’t be able to say you didn’t understand my meaning.”

That thing is in the back of Logen’s eye, where The Bloody Nine lives. There is no man on the face of the world that Black Dow fears.

Except for The Bloody Nine.

“I’m not gonna do anything, Chief.” He says.

“Mmmm.” Logen says, working a hand on his own chin and considering. Then he turns and walks away. Black Dow breathes a sigh of relief before cursing under his breath.

“Ser Davos.” Logen says, offering his hand to the smaller man. “Thanks.”

“No, I thank you.” Ser Davos says. “You may have saved the Seven Kingdoms. Or six rather.”

“I don’t know what that is, but if eating delicious food twice a day and drinking a vat of wine saved anything it’s probably not anything they’ll sing songs about. Come, Kevin! Joaquin! We’ll walk you boys to your ship. I want to see make sure you get on your way safely.” Logen says, casting a sidelong glance at Black Dow.

Davos watches the ten killers leave the square. He breathes a deep sigh as Tyrion jogs in from the other direction with a couple of goldcloaks behind him.

“Ser Davos!” Tyrion says. “The uh-“

Tyrion bends over and huffs in deep breaths.

“My god I’m out of shape.”

“We all are.” Davos says.

“Prince Sleepytits has removed all of his vestments and is trying to offer his ‘services’ to The Lady of Winterfell. Would you kindly prevent a war between The North and Dorne please?”

“Fooken hell.” Davos frowns. “If it’s not one thing-“

“I know.” Tyrion agrees. “I know.”

“Have you?” Tyrion asks, pointing to Jon’s basement.

“Not yet.” Davos says. “I was just about to.”

“I’ll tell him.” Tyrion says.

Davos nods and hurries out of the square. Tyrion leans against the stone wall at the top of the basement stairs.

“My goodness.” He says, looking at the two goldcloaks with an embarrassed smile. “Do either of you know what a collapsed lung feels like?”

The shorter of the two Goldcloaks says nothing.

The taller one says “OI BELIEVE IT FEELS LOIK A STABBIN PAIN IN D’CHEST, MY LORD, WHICH WOULD WORSEN WIF DEEP PROLONGED BREFFS.”

Tyrion smiles at him with a small nod and walks down the stairs and into the basement. The shorter goldcloack whacks the biggun with the back of his gauntlet.

“Idiot.” The goldcloak says. “That was rhetorical.”

“Oh!” The biggun says. “Oh.”

***

Now we cut to Jon. He also has a fake beard from his long incarceration.

Tyrion stands near him, in his own fake beard. It’s a fake beard-off!

Jon is slowly donning his Night’s Watch garb, tying laces, threading eyelets, pulling buckles tight as Tyrion chronicles the plan.

“The ruse will be the Night’s Watch. It basically doesn’t exist. But we have two acolytes in Nights Watch gear who should be waiting outside. They will escort you North and explain your mission. Pass through the Wall at Castle Black and head due North until you see the Teeth of the Gods. There you will face the first unbreakable boundary.

WHA ES ET?

“We’re not completely sure, but the first part is an invisible barrier that requires a human sacrifice. We’re sending Yohn Royce with you.”

HE’S THE MAHN I’M TO KELL?

“Yes.”

WHY WOOD HE AGREE TO THES?

“We told him there was oil up there.”

AH.

“Arya will be heading to the Tree of Death in Asshai. She has been fully briefed and is ready to go.”

AH WESH SHE DEDN’T HAVE TO.

“Only the Paladin Elect can fulfill the prophecy.”

THIS SHOW ESN’T EXACTLY GREAT AT DELIVERING ON PROPHECY.

“The next one will.”

GOOD. GOOD.

“Sansa doesn’t know yet…about Corialinus.”

PROBABLY FOR THE BEST RIGHT NOW.

“And there’s reason to believe, from small glimpses, snippets if you will, that the third Paladin Elect will not actually be Sansa.”

HOW ES THA POSSIBLE? ARE THERE ANY OTHER STARKS OOT THERE?

“Not right now, no.”

BUH THERE WELL BEH?

“It appears there might be. Glimpses…of course. Just fleeting glimpses of two children. A boy and a girl. Twins. With red hair.”

Jon thinks for a minute.

TWENS WITH RED HAIR? SUNSA’S CHELDREN?

Tyrion shrugs. But…yeah…probably.

THA WOULD BE YEARS FROM NOW.

“Sorry to say, the road ahead will be fraught with dangers that will not be overcome in weeks.” Tyrion says.

Jon puts his head back and laughs. OF COORSE NOT. THAT’S MA LUCK INNIT.

“There is reason to believe that, at some point, you must go south to go north. Though I can’t say why or when.”

RIGHT. Jon nods, strapping Longclaw around his waist. THA SOONDS ABOOT FOOKIN RAGHT.

“Your sisters will be waiting for you at the pier. And Corialinus too, to keep up appearances. Just be careful not to say anything in front of Sansa. She’s…complicated.”

SOS YER DAHRK WEZZARD. HE’S LOOKEY AH DOONT STICK A KNIFE EN HES FOOKIN EYE.

“Please don’t.”

HE’S A COCKSUCKER. MAHRK MAH WORDS: SOMEDEH I’LL MAKE HEM PAY FOR WHAT HEH TOOK FROM MEH.

“And I’ll be there with you when that day comes. So much of my time is spent reviling him, but until we know more, we’re lucky to have him on our side.”

THERE IS NO OUR SIDE. EVERYTHENG IS JOOST SHADES OF HES SIDE. Jon points out, throwing his fur-mantled cloak over his shoulders.

“Right. True. Of course. I won’t forget it.”

THIS ES IT THEN, AH EXPECT.

“It is.”

OONCLE.

“Nephew.”

LIFE ES FOONY.

“It is that.”

They hug. Tyrion pats him on the back as Jon walks to the door. Before Jon opens it, he turns back to his uncle.

TYRION?

“Yes?”

AH CAN TROOST YOU, RIGHT?

“Always.” Tyrion nods. “Til my dying day. You’re the only family I have.”

NOH THE ONLEH.

“You know what I mean. Not ancient relics. My real family. Real blood. We’ve been friends a long time before we even knew we were family. And we’ll take down this monster together. You have my word. Good luck, Jon Snow. The world is counting on you, once again. Be careful out there.”

Jon nods.

SOOMETHIN TELLS MEH YOOR JOB HERE WILL BE EVERY BET AS PRECARIOUS AS MINE.

“Perhaps.” Tyrion admits. “But at least we’ll be doing what we were meant to do.”

TRU ENOOF.

Jon nods and leaves

***

We cut to Jon walking out to the port in his Night’s Watch mantle. Two Three Eyed Raven Acolytes in Night’s Watch Gear flank Jon. Grey Worm waits to see Jon Snow boarding the boat to his exile.

Jon looks up and sees Grey Worm clocking him. Grey Worm tenses his mandible, but says nothing.

WHY DOONT YOU TAHKE A FOOKIN PECTURE? YOU STANDIN THERE ALL AFTERNOON WAITIN FOHR MEH TO COME BY? DED YOU RUN OUT OF ENNOCENT PEOPLE TO KELL?

“Fuck you, Jon Snow!” Grey Worm yells. “Fuck you!”

NOH FOOK YOU, YUH MURDERIN PIECE OF SHIT.

“Murder? Me?? You kill the Queen! You the murder!”

ONLEH BECAUSE YOU WERE TOO BLIND TEH SEE ET. PEOPLE LIKE YOU KELLED HER LONG BEFORE I EVER DED. FOLLOWIN HER EVERY WESH. KELLIN FOR NO REASON. PEOPLE LIKE YOU TWISTED HER MIND.

“I follow my queens every word! I not apologize for that!”

YAH YOU WERE A GOOD SLAVE.

“Fuck you Jon Snow! I’m a free man! You’re lucky I don’t come down there right now and kill YOU.”

COME ON DOWN! I’M IN NO RUSH. HOP OFF YER LETTLE POOPDECK THERE AND LETS HAVE SOME FOOKIN PAJAMA TIME! I GOT MEH A CRYSTAL BALL SAYS I’M COOMIN OUTTA THIS ONE OKAY.

“You’re not worth it. I’m a free man. I choose to take my people away from this pisshole.”

GOOD. BON VOYAGE, YEH PIECE OF FELTH. WHEREVER YAH GO. WHEREVER YEH ARE, YOU’LL ALWAYS BE A MURDERIN SHIT WHO CUT MEN’S THROATS IN THE TOWN SQUARE AFTER THEY SURRENDERED. YEH CAN’T WASH THAT OFF. AND THAT’S JUST WHET I SAW YEH DO. I CAN ONLY IMAGINE WHAT A REAL PIECE OF SHET YEH ACTUALLY ARE.

“At least I no fuck my aunt and kill her.”

FUCK OFF AND DIE.

“No you fuck off! You fuck off forever! You kill your own family! All hope in the world die because of you! All hope in the whole world because you fuck your family and kill your family! You are a murderer! You are a murderer Jon Snow!”

Jon walks away from him. On the boat, Grey Worm is fuming. He looks at Jon Snow’s back to him as he walks away and then at his spear leaning on the side of the gunwale. He reaches for the spear.

Before he can get it, a hand stops him. Grey Worm spins, furious.

Joaquin stands there.

“Torgo, man. It is so not worth it. Let’s get going. Let’s start the next thing. Enough of this. I love Myhsa too, but we’ve fought her battles long enough.”

Grey Worm softens.

“You are right. Thanks, Joaquin. Set sail for the isle of Naath!”

“Naath?” Asks the Dothraki Kevin. “Isn’t that the place where everyone who isn’t from Naath dies of Butterfly Flu or some shit?”

Grey Worm stares at Kevin coldly.

“I mean, Naath! Cool!” Says Kevin as Joaquin steers him away. “Naath it is!”

Once they’re out of view of Grey Worm they both laugh.

“I don’t want to die of fuckin’ Butterflies man!” Kevin says. “Can you imagine? After all the shit we been through?”

“Don’t worry, we’ll drop them off and go somewhere else.”

“Where we gonna go? I told my mom I was coming home.” Kevin says.

“Well, let’s go see your mom first and then we’ll do my thing.”

“Oh man, you’re gonna love her. She’s a great cook and she has this little Welsh Corgi. He’s the coolest dog ever.”

“Wait, your mom has a Welsh Corgi?” Joaquin asks.

“Yeah! Giuseppe! He’s awesome! What’s your thing again?”

Joaquin can barely control his excitement. He sort of recites the mission from rote, but all he can think of is Giuseppe. “Um…On the slope where the Bone Mountains meet the Poison Sea, is said to grow a flower that when turned to perfume, can give the wearer the ability to turn invisible.”

flowermissionessos239869236.png

“Oh yeah.”

“It’s a dangerous place.” Joaquin says, recovering from his excitement a little. “It’d be nice to have a big, stupid horsefucking idiot with a hand sickle to help me get there.”

“I’m down.” Says Kevin. “I got nothin’ to do and all the time in the world to do it.”

They bump fists.

“You and me both, brother. You and me both.”

The ship begins to move away from the pier. Further down and away, on another pier, Jon rounds a corner to see the living members of House Stark waiting for him.

Not a single solitary guard anywhere to be seen. Total Guard Down mode. Just naked to the world and any Mos Eisley Spice Fiend or Bioshock Plasmid Splicer who deigns to happen by with a steak knife. I’ll never understand it. A dude with a decent bow eye could end House Stark from up on the hill above. Nuts.

But House Stark. House Stark now.

Ned would never have believed, when he dropped his head onto the chopping block, that in less than a decade House Stark would take over the whole world. Westeros, split in two, with a Stark on the throne of both. A third Stark taking Mance Rayder’s job as King Beyond the Wall, and a fourth Stark setting sail to conquer parts unknown.

Even if that were all it was, it would be a hell of a story.

And now Jon approaches Sansa, who really thinks that’s all it is. Sansa, who betrayed him at least twice, perhaps for his own safety or possibly for her own ambition. Which side you tend to believe will fall across various party lines.

It’s the first time she’s seen him since the betrayal.

Ned carried the secret for more than 18 years. Sansa didn’t carry it 18 hours.

But she had her reasons. A potato alone in the world is a terrible thing.

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She requests immediate forgiveness, but Jon hugs her instead. Not just yet. Not just yet.

Now Arya springs it on Sansa that she, too, is not coming home. Instead she will just sail away. We know, thankfully, that she has a mission and a destination in mind that isn’t just some nebulous Lady Crane horseshit where she sails off the edge of the map, never to be heard from again.

When I first watched this scene, I was destroyed thinking of Jon’s forced exile, even though people said HE’D WANT TO GO THERE! And thinking of Arya’s self imposed exile even though people said IT’S BETTER THAN BEING A LADY OR A KILLER FOR HIRE! I hated the choice of Brahn as king before I knew he was really a six thousand year old dark wizard Lannister running for his life from a bunch of Starks representing the Law. And I hated most that we had suffered for years to get the Stark kiddos back together, only to now have them thrown asunder and shaken into the breeze and for what? To mollify a character who was never more than half a character at best?

But now we know that there’s much, much more to the story. We know that Ser Pod is knighted on a sunny day. We know that Ser Brienne is Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, and that at some point in the future, the most noble person in the Seven Kingdoms will realize that she’s guarding the most evil. And for a woman who is the ultimate Oathkeeper? We wonder how that conundrum will play out.

We know that a power unlike any other is rising in the East and that Red Women are spreading across the land like a plague. We know that something stirs in the South and it isn’t just Prince Sleepytits’ dingaling on a Dornish beach.

We see Queen Sansa crowned in the North. It’s meant to be happy, but she’s alone, and it feels…somber. As a strong woman, she doesn’t need people, autres, to prop her up. She can prop herself up, thank you very much. But soon she will miss the closeness of family, and set about making her own. The pitter patter of tiny feet that will grow into Starks who will shape the world.

And yes, we see Arya headed West, but not on a flight of fancy. She is wearing a pin of House Clegane on her belt, to remember a man who was forgotten by so many. She waterdances across the deck of her ship, flawless and sharp, hearing The Hound’s mockery in her head. But drill she must, because everything to this point will have been a pillow fight compared to the nightmares that await her in the Shadowlands. She will be tested like never before, and she sets her gaze on the horizon, where her destiny awaits.

Let others rest.

She will prepare.

We are not going to see Tyrion re-arranging chairs another time. We’re not going to have a casual small council meeting that will make us feel like no wheel was broken and that the entire arc of Daenerys Stormborn was as much of a null set as the Night King.

Instead we are going to find Jon already in the North, sleeping soundly in a tent with Ghost next to him. They are both sound asleep and dreaming. Jon is getting used to the idea of being the Law. It’s why policing the crypt in Winterfell felt so right.

And now he brings an ancient law to the True North. A place as strange and lawless as any in the world. But the Law of the Paladins Elect is coming, and Jon Snoo is coming with it. Good Law. Noble Law. Potato Law.

But now we join Jon’s dream, already in progress. We are somewhere far away. It feels more real than a regular dream. More like an ethereal dream state.

We have the distinct sense that this isn’t imaginary. This is REALLY HAPPENING SOMEWHERE.

We see a body in a shroud. Blood Red on a stone altar.

Wisps of smoke flash past. Or are they dragonflies?

We push into the face of the body, where layers of red gauze are being peeled back to reveal Daenerys Stormborn. Eyes closed. At peace. Flawless and beautiful.

We hear the sound of drums.

And then the room is dark.

In the dark, a pair of FIERY EYES flash open and we hear Daenerys’ voice.

JON!

A BLAST OF FIRE FROM DROGON FILLS THE SCREEN.

Jon sits up in a hurry. Ghost is already on his feet, hackles up. Jon runs outside where the first light of dawn is cresting the mountains in the distance. In the treeline, something is stirring and kicking up the snow into patchy clouds.

Tormund rushes out of his tent. Ghost is growling at something in the distance.

“What is it?” Tormund asks.

In the distance, a huge ICE SPIDER as big as an elephant comes skittering out of the forest and at the encampment.

“ARCHERS!” Jon yells and behind him, a hundred bows are drawn.

Yohn Royce walks between them, sipping tea from an ornate delicate cup. “I say! Is that a spider? Really! If it’s not one thing it’s another, isn’t it. I remember the last time I played the Old Course at St Andrews! There was a spot of weather as it happens from time to time and one of the chaps had this spider on his bag! Well! His caddy-“

Jon and Tormund share a look.

“Lord Royce, I beg your pardon, but we should probably handle this.”

“Ah yes! Quite so! Quite so. Such an inhospitable region, this. But exclusive oil claims will make it all worth it. Sorry I can’t share them with you lads. Fossil fuels, gentlemen! Mark me!” He says, walking away and sipping his tea.

“Soon.” Tormund smiles.

Jon and Tormund turn their attention back to the spider, heading at them at a furious clip.

“God I love the North!” Tormund yells.

Jon smiles and pulls Longclaw. A frozen potato in all his starchy glory. The Mightiest warrior of House Starch.

LET’S FOOKEN DO THIS!

SMASH TO BLACK.

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***

Roll end credits for Game of Thrones

Roll end credits for the Pajiba Game of Thrones Deep Dive Recaps

***

Fellow lovers of All Things Westeros,

I’ve endeavored to put a fresh face on an ending that honestly left me saddened and disappointed. A selfish undertaking, no doubt, but I didn’t want to bid my favorite show goodbye without some brightness of the future, even if it was conjured out of thin air.

Obviously, there’s no way to fill all the head-scratching gaps in a few weeks, but I hope my feeble attempts to bring meaning (or at least comedy) to many of them didn’t rub die hards the wrong way. I’m sure I have slighted canon all over the place, but as a show watcher and not a book reader, I did the best I could with the scaffolding I knew about. I love Game of Thrones so much and I’ll never quite wrap my head around the places where it seemed to go so pear shaped, so quickly.

But what a show it was. The moments it shone brightest will never be forgotten. What a stunning tour de force for all parties involved. There is true beauty in imagination, which is every bit as important as air and water.

So, it is with a heavy heart that I say goodbye to Game of Thrones, to these deep dives and to a period of our lives where fantasy reigned supreme.

I meant to leave you with the biggest fix of them all, which was to write a punchline — a real punchline — for the Honeycomb and the Jackass joke that Tyrion mentioned. But alas, some Gordian Knots are never meant to be hacked in two.

To those of you who made it through to the end, I thank you for your loyalty, your self-hatred and your kind words. I hope the reading was as much fun as the writing.

Thanks for walking this winding road with me. May it lead us all home safely.

As always, I wish you good fortune in the wars to come.

Your friend,
Lord Castleton

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Lord Castleton is a staff contributor. You can follow him on pépiement.




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Image sources (in order of posting): HBO, Lord Castleton