All language subtitles for The Great - 03x05 - Sweden.ETHEL.English.C.updated.Addic7ed.com

- Synced and corrected by chamallow -
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Catherine is a witch!

And the day she came to Russia
was a dark day for our country.

Five holes she put in me!

Ohh!

But could she kill the
son of Peter the Great?!

- No!
- Exactly!

Not a fuckin' chance.

Ordained by God to rule our great
land and loving you all as I do,

and God does too, we chat
about it all the fuckin' time.

Yeah, he loves you more
than fried quail and aioli.

She fuckin' has a black
tongue in the shape of a bat!

She once stuck it up my arse!

Tried to end me for she
hated my love for you.

But instead I rose up!

And with your help,

we will take that heretical bitch

and fertilize our lands
with her ground-up bones!

She is not ordained by God as I am,

and she refuses to
ordain Paul the First!

Peter the Great's fucking blood!

She is building a school and a
vaccination center in this town.

Poison for our minds,
poison for our bodies.

Let's go burn that shit down!

And... and-and afterwards, uh...

form an orderly line to suck
the massive cock of Peter III.

I suspect you'd like to be
front of that queue, Patriarch.

Just do your job, Pugachev.

- It doesn't even look like me.
- The eyes are wrong.

Not just the fucking eyes, Velementov.

I think traditionally an effigy has
a kind of hateful pastiche quality.

In which case, it's quite effective.

- The hair's good!
- No, it's not.

And they do what with it?

Parade it 'round the town,

then they all line up to fuck it
in the arse and spit in its face,

and vice versa.

- What?
- Fuck it in the face, spit in...

Yes, I get it, thank you.

They hate me?

They're the wrong blue, I
think that's the problem.

Yours are more crystalline.

- Eyes.
- For fuck's sake, Velementov.

I said less booze.

- Was I drunk when you said it?
- Yes.

Well, wrong time to tell me then.

- Where's Elizabeth?
- I don't know.

We have a massive problem.

They've burnt five towns to the ground.

This man is pretending to be
Peter, whipping up the crowds,

telling them he escaped
you trying to kill him,

railing against your heritage,
your Germanness, your horse fucking.

Apparently he even has
five stab wounds in him...

- He what?
- He's a very convincing Peter,

say reports from clergy who've seen him.

A real lookalike.

Is it... Pugachev?

I had thought it.

Five stabs, didn't-didn't you do five?

- Yes.
- Guess he didn't take it very well.

We need to find him,
crush him, juice him,

and spit the pips into the sea.

I should apologize to him.

- What?
- I'm sorry?

It's revenge, clearly.
For what I did to him.

Well, let's kill him
first and apologize second.

He's more likely to accept it that way.

Peter the Great's greatest
fear was exactly this,

some brush fire that
builds to conflagration.

Millions of peasants get the
idea they can take you out.

They could, easily, and
what they'd do to you

would fucking make that effigy
look like it'd had an easy life.

Well said, Velementov.

Get me a plan by morning then.

Or maybe I should have one of
your officers... maybe Petrov.

Petrov's a fucking pup.

I can do this.

I'll see you in the morning.

You think he can do this?

Definitely the right man for the job.

Morning.

Did a package arrive? I
am to receive new shoes.

Stop buying shoes, Maxim.

My style has become much
talked about at court.

"Maximesque" has become a phrase.

We don't have endless amounts of money.

I live large. That's Maxim.

Also, everyone at court is talking about

this guy pretending to be
Peter, riling up the peasants?

She needs to go unleash a wave
of bloodshed on those fuckers.

Pretending to be Peter?

That's what the daily pamphlet says.

Also, don't be angry, but
tell me these aren't stunning.

Hmm. Salty.

Spicy.

Some notes of turnip top.

- What are you doing?
- Ah, darling.

Paul has colic.

So a festival of tit sucking
is needed to celebrate this?

This is his wet nurse rotation.

Leaving aside the fact
you don't know that,

I am ascertaining if
their milk is to blame.

It is. You're all fired.

Although, Liquorice, you can stay,

as I'm interested in Jean-Pierre
turning yours into a panna cotta.

Ah! A big Catherine doll.

- For Paul?
- No!

Pugachev is in the
regions whipping up unrest

and turning out hate
dolls, which then they...

do things to.

- Look!
- Pugachev. Fucker.

Huh. I wondered what happened to him.

Well, "wondered" is too strong a term.

Exactly. Never occurred to us.

We are monsters. We should apologize.

Fuck that, he was
hired to be a lookalike.

Part of that is knowing you
will take a knife to the throat

or a saber to the balls at any
point for your beloved leader

and be happy about it.

As he took five stabs,
he should be very content

that he was an excellent employee.

Well, he's clearly anything
but fucking content.

He's out in the regions raising
an army of peasants against me,

burning towns, all the
while pretending to be you.

- Me?
- It seems so.

And the people rise in violence for me?

Yes. Against me.

Are you actually moved by that?

- They love me.
- Jesus Christ. That's not the point.

Although, how can they
hate me when all I do

is ponder how to better their lives

and love you, who never
spent a moment on it?

Hmm. Chemistry.

I have chemistry with
the people, you do not.

You need to destroy him
and everyone around him.

You don't let trouble start in Russia.

A fire in your own house, as Daddy
would say, must get no oxygen.

So I heard. Velementov
is developing a plan.

Hmm. Oh.

I must deal with Paul's colic.

Of course. Poor Paul.

Paul.

They love Daddy.

They still love Daddy.

Ah, yes.

Brilliant.

Hmm?

Morning.

Pugachev!

Your fingerprints are on this.

Isn't it marvelous?

The irony, the wit. It's
one of my best moments.

All for God, though, no ego involved.

- What are you doing?
- Just being my incredible self.

Serving God, exercising my gifts.

I am not involved in this!

Other than you know.

So, complicit. So, shh!

No, no, no, no, no. Why
is this happening again?

I'll just fucking tell her.

We are too loyal for that.

Don't press too hard on that.

Everything breaks at some point.

Relax.

She is now on the back foot, terrified.

An uprising.

Leaders like to think they're
gods, the people will love them.

Well, they don't.

- They're making hatefuck dolls.
- They're what?

The Russian peasant is
passionate and very good at craft.

Point is, we make her desperate.

Don't say "we"! This is not a "we"!

And when she is truly terrified,
then the exciting rescue!

Me! I come in, save her, make
a deal, get rid of Pugachev.

She starts to listen to me more.

Paul is ordained, there is one Church.

She slows down her changes.

I will have built a little house of fear

I can kick the door
in on when I see fit.

She has a reminder of who has
the power in the people's hearts.

I will pause now for awed applause.

- I hate you.
- You needn't worry.

She will be played delightfully.

We will all be friends.

I dreamt she and I were
in a bubble bath together.

I was soaping her relentlessly.

So much information, none
of which I wanted or needed.

It'll work.

It's me. And God.

Hand in hand, dancing
for the good of all.

Moose meat!

Unthinkable.

It's elk, it's always elk.

Why will they not obey me?!

Stop looking at your crown.

We have work today.

I think today is the day.

Velementov is ripe.

- Today?
- Today.

Where were you this morning?

You missed my raped effigy.

I was tending to my butterflies.

You're not harboring anger
about the Ordination then?

More intermittent rage.

But intermittent, so now
I'm with you, it's gone.

Take your moment.

I need your help.

They're burning towns down.

An uprising is building.

I heard. A fake Peter.

Pugachev is this fake Peter.

Pugachev?

Pugachev is not a political
animal, he's just an animal.

Who Peter says is a good employee.

So how does he go from a good
employee to a revolutionary?

If he angered on my stabbing him,
he seems like the sort of man...

Who would just stab you, rape you

and sell your clothes
at an outdoor market.

Yes. So...

He perhaps has a new employer.

I was thinking that.

A mystery to unravel.

Such fun.

With a bit of help, maybe
we could smoke them out.

Severe colic. I'd say a
chest infection as well.

Oh. I hate seeing him in pain.

Really? I love seeing people in pain.

Excites me in a strange
way. Hence becoming a doctor.

Torture was the other way to go.

But the work is sporadic
and has low status.

My father's words exactly.

Potassium nitrate,
rhubarb, and some mercury.

- Great.
- A few side effects.

Droopy eye and gout.

- Gout?
- Gout.

Shit like foie gras.

Eh, fuck off, Vinodel.
I will cure him myself.

I will use one of my old
nurse's herbal remedy books.

Don't worry, Paul.

Daddy will cure you.

Fuck.

That about sums it up.

- Hello, Daddy.
- Hello, indeed.

Um, shouldn't you be resting in peace?

Oh, I was.

Then you took over my
apartments, broke my line,

smashed the legacy of
a thousand-year reign,

and breastfed in front of me.

Ooh, uh, I...

Point is, you're in trouble,
and Daddy is here to help.

I don't actually need help.

I'm content.

Content?

Is there an uglier word in the language?

No real man is ever content.
There is always more to get.

And that more is not enough, but
luckily there is always fucking more

beyond that more.

My motto.

I remember.

My people fucking love me.

So what? They love watching
pigs fuck in the snow.

God, you know the worst
thing about being a ghost?

You're dead and can't have more,
and then more and then even more.

Yes. And when your living
son needs a beating,

you can't give it to him.

- Makes you feel a failure as a father.
- I don't need a beating.

Here's an idea.

I want you to punch yourself
in the eye very hard.

I want to hear the sound
of a crisp spring apple

being bitten when you do it.

- Go.
- I'm not punching myself.

You're making Daddy wait?

No, I...

Will you go if I do it?

I will.

- If the sound is satisfactory.
- Mm-hm.

And it makes you go and kill your wife,

ordain your baby, and
tit-fuck those wet nurses,

I will rest in peace.

I'm busy, curing Paul.

- Hmm. Poor Paul.
- He has colic.

That's not what I meant.

They fucking love me, the people.

What does it matter? You gave it away.

Fuck off!

What... ?

Agnes.

I know I said you could never
fuck me, but I am shaking inside,

and I'm going to the forest tonight.

I will throw it to fate.

Meaning?

You find me, you fuck me.

Well, I... I... am... m-making a plan.

Know the moment when
victory's there to be had.

You missed it in Sweden.

I... I'm planning for Puga-Puga...

Ah, yes, here's something,
Paul. Yes, okay, yes!

We have it.

Hugo.

I wanted a king to witness it.

Not that you're a king
anymore, but we make do.

- Hugo?
- Thank you for always being a friend.

Fucking hell! No!

N-no, not near the sofa, or... ?

Oh, Paul's here. Right.

Good fathering.

Um, move him so I
don't get blood on him.

Look at him.

I could weep when I think
of the world we leave you.

What's wrong?

But leave I must.

Hm?

They keep using moose
meat in the meatballs here

and I tell them it's too coarse
but they don't fucking care

because I'm... I'm not a king!

- I'll talk to them.
- You're not a fucking king either!

Talk to your wife to talk to them,

when she's not driving
your country to ruin.

I hear your lookalike is
out pretending to be you.

Indeed.

He's whipping up revolution
out of the incredible love

my peasants and serfs have for me.

Maybe he can build a legacy
for you because, truth is,

you don't fucking have one.

What the fuck, Hugo!
Some courtesies remain,

no matter how sad your brain is.

Such as kings should lie to each other?

They love me, you fuck!

Name one thing you did? One thing.

A big bell had been commissioned...

Oh, ding-dong for the fucking bell!

Catherine will be remembered
as an iconic figure,

and you, a fucking blip
who held the door for her.

I will load the gun
and let you back at it

if you don't still your mouth.

You should kill yourself too.
You're almost as bad as me.

Please fill my mouth with the barrel
and have Paul pull the trigger.

Paul the serf.

How dare you?!

Is he ordained? Then
he's a fucking serf.

We were raised as men and
ended up vulva with hands.

I should kill you, for Paul's sake.

And then myself.

Bye.

Oh, for fuck's sake!

Uncle Hugo.

So funny, Paul.

Think nothing of it.
Or of anything he said.

Which was all madness and lies.

I do love you.

Vinodel, are you drunk?

I'm mostly high on
purple dust, some cocaine,

and your heady post-fuck scent.

You are sweet.

I am fucking you far too often and
it is bending your brain a little.

I've watched you for many years.

Sick and yet thrilling.

The Peter the Great days.
Remember, I pronounced him dead?

You tried to carry him
through the halls to help.

Yes.

And for years, I've watched
you refuse to put him down.

Put him down and pick me up.

He is dead, I am not.

It's not just the fucking.
I am a man of science.

Curiosity is my lead,
to unravel mystery.

You are a mystery I could
spend my life unraveling.

You're a strange man.

You should go. I have much to do.

- At this hour?
- Yes.

That mystery, enticing.

There is a big fire I fear
will burn us all to cinders.

Best ring the bell!

Is it a drill?

I don't know.

I was dreaming of fucking Catherine.

Me too.

Huh. Weird.

I get it a lot.

Yeah.

Me too.

I need to bring more shoes!

Just go!

What is going on?

It's fine. We're just on a
little fact-finding mission,

raiding Georgina's apartments.

Then Archie's.

Why is this happening again?! Oh!

Oh fuck. Fuck it.

Who knew George could even write?

She actually writes passionately
about me and our goals.

Hmm.

Just to herself.

- What are you wearing?
- Smolny's coat.

- Anything?
- Nothing.

Except that he's
desperate for a pegging.

He's written to every servant
girl asking them to do it.

- All said no.
- Except Petra.

Oh, Smolny.

Always begging for a pegging.

Where to next?

Arkady, then Archie.

- I hate you.
- Impossible.

I've got a pussy full
of your Pugachev stuff.

She's going through the building. Fuck.

Thanks.

Complicit now, aren't you?

Really annoyed at you right now.

Agnes.

Ever seen a Caravaggio?

The light streaming at you is alike.

Though he never painted
anything as beautiful.

Oh.

I kept thinking I would die
without your lips on mine just once.

- Fuck.
- Yes, please.

Not here.

By the river.

Nothing.

Should I be reassured?

No.

How is your intermittent rage?

It did not stretch to setting
Pugachev loose, did it?

You did say you fucked him once.

And he was very rude and asked
for four rubles and a live quail.

But no, it did not.

Disagree we might, but
die together we will.

Good on you for thinking it, though.

How necessarily dark your mind grows.

Huzzah.

We will best whoever it is.

Of course, we will.

I always thought it was my
destiny to be the most loved

and longest-reigning
monarch in all of Russia.

Let's just shoot for
"longest," shall we?

Oh, where is dawn? I
can't fucking hold out.

Something for me, something for Sweden.

They all hate me.

Hmm.

I wish I had advice, but
of course they love me,

so it's hard to relate.

They hated you, and you were
fucking terrible at the job.

You may be lashing out.

I am, but it doesn't make it untrue.

And how can they be so
angry at me when I am right?!

And what if...

They gather enough force
to march on Petersburg,

come to sack the palace,

burn your body and throw your
pretty charred corpse off the roof

to a gleeful crowd below?

- It happened in Sweden.
- Hmm.

You could give it back to me, I suppose.

What?

Well, they love me. It
would calm things down.

You find Pugachev and...

Are you behind this? Pugachev?!

- That is mad.
- Is it?

Pugachev? The excellent employee?

Elizabeth says someone is driving this.

Oh, you are in a
leadership paranoia spiral,

seeing danger and monsters everywhere.

Thank God, it will save you.

My father slept an hour a night

and was tormented by
people coming at him.

I suppose I am.

It is fine, it is fine,
I am overly worked up.

Elizabeth will find the
traitor driving this,

and Velementov is bringing me a plan,

and we will end this fucking Pugachev.

- I thought you were going to say sorry.
- Go down on me.

Hmm? That's a sudden change of
subject, but not an unwelcome one.

Sorry, I need to lose
myself. I'm in pieces a bit.

Hmm. I will pull you together.

Well, she looks content.

Of course, she's got
everything. So why wouldn't she?

- Where am I?
- It's morning.

- What happened?
- I fear you're late for your meeting.

My... ?

My meeting!

My plan...

Archie!

Oh, friendly greeting from someone

who punched and kicked
me last time we met

and then failed fucking
dismally to ordain his son.

God is watching. He is very displeased.

Well, a simple "hello" would suffice.

Uh... are there ghosts?

And how does one get rid of them?

- Am I a village witch?
- Fine.

Abandon your duty to
aid an ordained one.

What do the ghosts say?

Not your business. Just tell
me, how do I get rid of them?

An exorcism perhaps, or you
do as they wish and they go,

or you resist them until the
thing they're trying to bring forth

dies inside you and
the opportunity passes.

Or they come from the devil,

in which case they aim to
destroy you and you should resist.

- Complicated fucking answer.
- It's a complicated business.

God, the veil, et cetera.

What if it's Daddy?

Peter the Great?

Hmm.

Then you do as he
fucking asks, of course.

Unhelpful!

Aunt!

- I need your help.
- Do you indeed?

Is it to get your son ordained?

Oh, no. We failed at that.

Can we all just put
that fucking behind us?

- Daddy's back.
- Oh.

- How is he?
- Mad.

I need you to speak to him
and tell him to leave me alone.

He's saying sharp things.

It's making my head feel very heavy,

like there's water in
it, or a cannonball,

or I'm the cannonball falling
through water, I don't know.

Will you speak to him?

- What's wrong?
- I don't want to say.

It would be cruel considering you're
feeling all cannonball and water.

Right.

Well, now you need to say,
so just say, say now, please.

Darling, I will never not
love you, you know that, but...

Okay, not loving where this is going.

I expected little from
you and loved you freely,

but even the little I
expected did not eventuate.

Harsh.

But seems the sentiment of the day.

You have left the future
open for anyone, anywhere,

to write their name into it.

In blood most likely.

I asked you to let this go.

And I am telling you I can't.

Peter, the future is not a place
we can travel to when we are ready.

It is a cough in her chest
or poison in her veins.

It is a man burning Russia down
or a peasant who's had enough.

I will not be told
what to do with my son.

But Daddy? Will you speak to him or not?

Of course.

My love for you is a wave that
washes everything else away.

You are a son to me.

You, the mother I never had.

Thank you.

Just use terms like,
"Times are different,"

"You're dead, leave us alone,"

"You misjudge your son
who is actually brilliant,

just in a way like a book in a
language you cannot understand."

"You don't get it and
throw it at the wall

when it is, in fact, a great book."

Just talking points. I trust you on it.

I'm here! I'm here...

- General.
- I'm late.

Or are you?

Fucking trick question?
I have my plan to give.

Indeed you do, but let's
just veer over here...

- Petrov, I...
- ... and rest for a moment.

What if this was the plan?

Late idea, but I think strong.
You do not go in there, I do.

I say, "He's not late,
of course, he's not.

He has, in fact, fallen
from an angry horse

while saving some children
from an angry hawk,

hit his head, and is now
resting unconscious in his room.

Let's reschedule."

We, meanwhile, take
you, put you in a sauna,

leech all the vodka from your body

and collect it in
several gallon buckets,

during which you'll
invariably black out.

And on waking refreshed
by the novel feeling

of your own unadulterated blood

coursing through your veins,

dressed in a uniform that doesn't
smell like a stag's douche,

you go in there and work your magic.

You like?

Fuck off.

Or we just go in.

Fucking...

Fucking move!

- I'm here!
- You're late.

I'm sorry. I... I... I...

Oh, good, you're drunk too.

I'm Russian, born fucking drunk.

No bearing on my abilities.

There's knives sticking
out of the table.

Or am I... am I seeing stuff?
Usually I just see bears.

That was me.

Not necessary, I suppose,
but I love the drama of it.

Shows each village he's burnt down.

Right. Well, we'll pull
'em out and we'll...

plunge 'em in his...

fucking thing... fucking thing...

I needed you to be on time,

with a plan, sober.

Here with me.

I am several of those.
I'm just missing a couple.

Jesus!

Had an update. One more.

Fuck.

Nope! No more of that.

Can you stop this man from coming
to kill me and burning down Russia?

We get... we get a lot of troops.

We go door to door.

We kick the truth out of people,

find him, and pop his
head from his neck.

And the timeline on that?

This door kicking of Russia?

However long it takes to put
this fucker in the ground.

- Huzzah!
- Huzzah!

Everybody get out. Now.

What are you doing?
Where the fuck were you?

Can we... can we sit?

You can't do it, can you? Choose
anything over a fucking bottle?

Not even me.

Not even fucking Russia.

Velementov? Say something. Velement...

Oh... Sorry.

Oh!

Sorry, I just...

I need a couple of minutes.

It's been a very long night, actually.

I just need to gather my
thoughts, maybe... maybe a bath...

I'll... I'll be back...

No. Don't.

I don't think you can do this anymore.

Course, I can. Can find
him in my fucking sleep.

- Not just finding him.
- Well, killing him then!

Fucking... string-stringing
the man up by his fucking ankles

and beating him until he's...

until he cries blood.

Ha!

I cough it, but he'll cry it.

Fuck me.

Catherine. It's...

I'm here now.

No, you're not.

You should rest.

I don't need fucking rest!

Someone else can take over.
Someone else can lead the army.

You can't take this off me. Not now.

You're just...

You're just fucking punishing me.

I'm leading. I'm saving my reign.

It's a kindness, really.

You are so tired.

And so sick.

And... so old.

I can't lose this.

It's my skin, Catherine.

It's my skin.

I need men who are whole. I'm sorry.

Saw the General go.

Understand he's struggling.
If you need us...

I need Pugachev is what I need.

Why don't I just go find him?

How?

Well, why don't I just go do it

and then one day, when I'm bored,

I'll write you a long letter
telling you how I did it?

Insolence.

More a priorities thing.

I take my leave.

I decide when you take your leave.

Of course.

You are dismissed.

- I said...
- I know.

But you're not exactly
known for brevity,

so I was waiting,
assuming there was more.

But there's not, so I'll go find him.

Why is everyone such a fucker today?

I'm here.

Waiting.

I was always waiting for you in
these rooms, hoping you'd come.

It feels very familiar.

The butterflies in my stomach
and the turning at every noise.

Oh, there I go.

You're mad about Peter, the Ordination.

He's a handful...

you found hard to hold.

He and Catherine's love...

like ours, swallows you into
a world you did not imagine.

But I will see it done, I promise.

How I miss your bigness.

Like a bear in a teacup.

How we filled the room.

How our skin fired,
our eyes on each other,

our talk...

our laughter...

our strange naked dances in the night.

And then you went.

And it all shrank away...

Just come.

Once.

Yes, you're right.

Sorry.

Right.

Here we go.

Now, you wear this for
four hours on your feet,

and through the magic of the human body,

where everything connects,
except sometimes penis and mind,

it will work through to your chest

and then I will come
back and wash it off

before your skin cracks, bubbles,

and spits with fire from the inside,
which, trust me, you don't want.

I had something very similar once

when I got stuck in Great
Grandpa's armor for 17 hours.

Long story. You'll understand
when you turn three,

which, by the way, it is a fucking
bear wrestle of a year, be warned.

Ah!

Ahh!

Who the fuck are you?

Is that an existential question, Daddy?

- "Daddy"?
- I brought you Paul, age 20.

Fucking birds.

Nice!

Thanks. No problem.

Oh! You seem marvelous.

I based my whole being on not being you.

You were always hugging me and
offering me foie gras on crackers.

I realized you were such a pussy,
and Mother had your cock in a box,

so I would base myself on Grandfather.

Flattering. And also logical.

I will be great! Build a legacy.

Huzzah-de-fucking-zah!

Reinstate the Great!

Fucking catchy, Grandfather!

I always had a way
with words. And women.

And war. And building great cities.

- Paul?
- You didn't even fucking ordain me!

What the fuck? Who does that?

I'm getting upset. Look,
I've got tears welling.

I hate that.

Distract. Let's drink,
fuck, and make plans.

We need women, alcohol, and maps.

Oh.

Listen here, you
little fuck. I made you.

I was a good father to you.

Oh, yeah, because that's what
history remembers: good fathers.

I need to smash something.

Wh-what's wrong?

Velementov. I love him and he's dying...

- He's dying?
- That's a shame.

Fat fuck.

- Yes.
- Shit.

And he was developing a plan
for Pugachev, and he comes in

looking like he was raped by the
forest and drowned in a vodka lake.

Whoa. Incredibly telling
imagery. Poor fucker.

He is too sick to work, so I
relieved him of his commission.

But then I think, what
if he was involved?

And it is all fucking swirling about me.

Hmm. You're very shaken.

I am hated at court, in the land.

This Pugachev thing is
rattling me in a new way.

I feel it here. Danger.

And tonight, he will burn down
another town, gather more forces,

and do unimaginable things to my effigy.

I should do it.

What?

I should be head of the army.

What are you talking about?

It all makes fucking sense.

You're brilliant at progress,
ideas, transforming the country.

I'm good at violence and killing.

And it has been a grit
in our relationship,

but it can be the oyster
with shallot vinegar,

and more than that, a pearl.

Peter, I...

I am talking as a wave of brilliance
is rolling through my head.

Let it roll. Let it roll.

Love it when you're up and at 'em.

- It is fate, we are fate.
- Gives me hope.

It is something to see, actually.

Our problems alone, horrible.

But then you walk in and
our needs slot together.

It is why we are fate.

Why we are destiny.

You want to be head of the army?

I will lead us to great victories,

be known as a great
military fuckin' leader.

Better than fuckin' Father!

And Paul will see it too.

This is so brilliant, I am lightheaded.

- I can't.
- Of course, you can.

No. Thank you.

- I love that you are there for me, but...
- But what?

Oh, here we go.

He'll start crying and go
down on her in a moment.

- Catherine! Why not?
- Peter, don't.

- I'm tired.
- Why not?!

If you had not used Pugachev,
none of this would've...

Fuck that, that is done! This is new.

I will take him out with my army.

No.

No? Uh, I'm gonna need
a fucking "because."

Because Sweden.

- What?
- You fucked that up.

It was a disaster.

Tens of thousands died, and more
would've, had I not solved it.

- Right.
- I'm sorry.

- I just can't.
- Won't.

You mean won't.

Yes. I mean I won't.

Please, let it go.

It's gone.

Peter the Great is sad.

- Are you actually fucking dying?
- Yes.

Sad.

- To Velementov.
- To Velementov.

A tragic end. Should've
died in battle, man like you.

That said, now you're out, I
should definitely be fucking in.

It's an insult. Blood like yours.

Course you should be head of
the fucking army, no question.

- It's just a job.
- It's not just a job, it's the job.

Wrestling victory from your opponents,

standing side by side with your men,

writing history with your fucking sword.

It's legacy.

And, no offense, after
you being so fucking dying,

but I'd be brilliant.

- I'd walk all over you.
- Bear shit would you.

You'd be on the job one
minute before you fucked it up.

- Not true.
- Like how you fucked up Sweden.

- You fucked up Sweden!
- Should we play badminton?

You got in the way of
your own army, of Russia.

I knew it, the men knew it.

That is a blurred fucking
memory of it, Velementov.

You stumbled us into a rut and
then couldn't get us out of it.

Because I didn't want any
more men dying needlessly.

Waves, attack from the
ridge, counterattack,

turn their flank... they
would've fucking collapsed.

Then why didn't you do that?!

Because my boss was a fucking idiot!

Fuck.

I see it.

You know what this all comes back to?

Is it something to do with
wanting to fuck our own mothers?

Sweden.

Fucking

Sweden.

It's where everything
ended for all of us,

for all of... us.

You, me, this fucking dying old man.

It's the fucking past. Let it go.

Let's play badminton.

It's not the past. It's still there.

Mocking me, us.

We should take it back.

His plan, your leadership, my country.

Fucking ridiculous.

What, you scared you couldn't
finish the job, fat boy?

You're a China fucking doll, Hugo.

Don't make me throw
you against the wall.

- He's right.
- No, he isn't!

I am? I am!

Ooh! I am fucking fizzing.

I know what we should do.

We should just take the fucking
army, march on Sweden, take it back.

That's a fucking story.

That's a fucking headline,
not a fucking footnote!

They'd fucking say something
then, wouldn't they?!

You'd take the fort by
the border. Two battalions.

You attack in waves.

By the third, they're shell-shocked.

By the fifth, they're exhausted,
they're begging for mercy.

Hear that? Begging you for mercy.

Bet you never thought
you'd hear that again, huh?

All right, all right,
we're all fucking drunk.

Let's just call it a night.

Peter, you need to take
Paul's poultice off.

Indeed I do.

I mean, can you imagine his
face when you tell him the story?

- Brilliant.
- Ahh!

- Good night.
- Good night.

Well, I mean, I think we
should all sleep on this

because I believe we actually all
have made some real breakthroughs...

Ooh!

Stop talking to him!

I can fucking take Sweden.

I can fucking take Sweden.

Ah. Ah.

You are better, Paul.

Clean breathing.

Well done, me.

I would run at 12 bears for you.

I would inject plague into my veins.

What's that look?

You will know you are loved, but
what if you do not know by who?

I always at least knew that.

Try not to think about it.

What?

Out there, millions of Russians,
their hearts boiling with hate.

You can feel it rising
through the darkness.

An energy is building out there.

Thanks for the rousing talk.

Velementov has it in hand then?

No.

Oh.

Troubling turn of events.

What do I do, Archie?

I don't know.

Well, that's terrifying.

The dirty little secret...
our control is an idea.

The minute they don't believe
it, or fear it, we're done.

They come and cut our
throats, call it "Sweden."

We have to find a way
to stop his momentum.

The Church's reach is wide.

We'll see if we can get
our fingers or eyes on him.

Sorry, know you're busy. Paul is fine.

Oh, good. Thank you.

I'm going hunting for a week.

Because of what I said?

No, because I love hunting.

- Sorry about...
- Not at all.

The truth is a key to the
future. You were right.

Let's do it. Let's take back Sweden.

Meet you in the hall.

Our fucking secret, Agnes, got it?

Fucking oj!

Okay, you fat fuck. Let's go
piss in the street in Stockholm.

- Synced and corrected by chamallow -
- www.addic7ed.com -