All language subtitles for Game.of.Thrones.S01E03.720p.BluRay.450MB.ShAaNiG.com

Welcome, Lord Stark.

Grand Maester Pycelle has called
a meeting of the Small Council.

The honor of your presence is requested.

Get the girls settled in.
I'll be back in time for supper.

- And, Jory, you go with them.
- Yes, my lord.

If you'd like to change into something
more appropriate...

Thank the gods you're here, Stark.

About time we had
some stern northern leadership.

Glad to see you're protecting the throne.

Sturdy old thing.

How many kings' arses
have polished it, I wonder?

Um, what's the line?

The king shits and the Hand wipes.

Very handsome armor.

- Not a scratch on it.
- I know.

People have been swinging at me for years,
but they always seem to miss.

You've chosen your opponents wisely then.

I have a knack for it.

It must be strange for you,
coming into this room.

I was standing right here
when it happened.

He was very brave, your brother.

Your father, too.

They didn't deserve to die like that.

Nobody deserves to die like that.

But you just stood there and watched.

500 men just stood there and watched.

All the great knights
of the Seven Kingdoms.

You think anyone said a word, lifted a finger?

No, Lord Stark.

500 men and this room
was silent as a crypt.

Except for the screams, of course,

and the Mad King laughing.

And later...

when I watched the Mad King die,

I remembered him laughing
as your father burned...

It felt like justice.

Is that what you tell yourself at night?

You're a servant of justice?

That you were avenging my father when you
shoved your sword in Aerys Targaryen's back?

Tell me, if I'd stabbed the Mad King in the belly
instead of the back,

would you admire me more?

You served him well...
when serving was safe.

Lord Stark.

Lord Varys.

I was grievously sorry to hear of your troubles
on the Kingsroad.

We are all praying
for Prince Joffrey's full recovery.

A shame you didn't say a prayer
for the butcher's son.

Renly! You're looking well.

And you look tired from the road.

I told them this meeting could wait
another day, but...

But we have a kingdom
to look after.

I've hoped to meet you
for some time, Lord Stark.

- No doubt Lady Catelyn has mentioned me.
- She has, Lord Baelish.

I understand you knew
my brother Brandon as well.

All too well.
I still carry a token of his esteem...

from navel to collarbone.

Perhaps you chose
the wrong man to duel with.

It wasn't the man that I chose, my lord.

It was Catelyn Tully.

A woman worth fighting for,
I'm sure you'll agree.

I humbly beg your pardon, my Lord Stark.

Grand Maester.

How many years has it been?

- You were a young man.
- And you served another king.

Oh, how forgetful of me.

This belongs to you now.

Should we begin?

- Without the king?
- Winter may be coming,

but I'm afraid the same cannot
be said for my brother.

His Grace has many cares.

He entrusts some small matters to us
that we might lighten the load.

We are the lords of small matters here.

My brother instructs us
to stage a tournament

in honor of Lord Stark's appointment
as Hand of the King.

- Mm, how much?
- 40,000 gold dragons to the champion,

20,000 to the runner-up,

20,000 to the winning archer.

Can the treasury bear such expense?

I'll have to borrow it. The Lannisters
will accommodate, I expect.

We already owe Lord Tywin three million gold.
What's another 80,000?

Are you telling me the Crown
is three million in debt?

- I'm telling you the Crown is six million in debt.
- How could you let this happen?

The master of coin finds the money.
The king and the Hand spend it.

I will not believe Jon Arryn
allowed Robert to bankrupt the realm.

Lord Arryn gave wise and prudent advice,

but I fear His Grace doesn't always listen.

"Counting coppers," he calls it.

I'll speak to him tomorrow.

This tournament is an extravagance
we cannot afford.

As you will.
But still, we'd best make our plans.

There will be no plans...
until I speak to Robert.

Forgive me, my lords. I'm...

- I had a long ride.
- You are the King's Hand, Lord Stark.

We serve at your pleasure.

- Ow!
- Please, it's nearly healed.

- It's ugly.
- A king should have scars.

You fought off a direwolf.
You're a warrior like your father.

I'm not like him. I didn't fight off anything.
It bit me and all I did was scream.

And the two Stark girls saw it, both of them.

That's not true. You killed the beast.

You only spared the girl because of the love
your father bears her father.

I didn't, I...

When Aerys Targaryen sat on the iron throne,
your father was a rebel and a traitor.

Someday you'll sit on the throne
and the truth will be what you make it.

Do I have to marry her?

Yes.

She's very beautiful and young.

If you don't like her, you only need
to see her on formal occasions

and when the time comes,
to make little princes and princesses.

And if you'd rather fuck painted whores,
you'll fuck painted whores.

And if you'd rather lie with noble virgins,
so be it.

You are my darling boy and the world
will be exactly as you want it to be.

Do something nice for the Stark girl.

- I don't want to.
- No, but you will.

The occasional kindness will spare you
all sorts of trouble down the road.

We allow the northerners too much power.

They consider themselves our equals.

How would you handle them?

I'd double their taxes and command them
to supply 10,000 men to the royal army.

A royal army?

Why should every lord
command his own men?

It's primitive, no better than the hill tribes.

We should have a standing army
of men loyal to the Crown,

trained by experienced soldiers,

instead of a mob of peasants
who've never held pikes in their lives.

And if the northerners rebel?

I'd crush them.

Seize Winterfell and install someone
loyal to the realm as warden of the North.

Uncle Kevan, maybe.

And these 10,000 northern troops,
would they fight for you or their lord?

- For me. I'm their king.
- Mm-hm.

But you've just invaded their homeland,

- asked them to kill their brothers.
- I'm not asking.

The North cannot be held,
not by an outsider.

It's too big and too wild.

And when the winter comes,
the seven gods together

couldn't save you and your royal army.

A good king knows
when to save his strength...

and when to destroy his enemies.

So you agree...

the Starks are enemies?

Everyone who isn't us...
is an enemy.

Enough of that, young lady.
Eat your food.

- I'm practicing.
- Practicing for what?

- The prince.
- Arya, stop!

He's a liar and a coward
and he killed my friend.

The Hound killed your friend.

The Hound does whatever
the prince tells him to do.

- You're an idiot.
- You're a liar, and if you told the truth,

Mycah would be alive.

Enough!

What's happening here?

Arya would rather act
like a beast than a lady.

Go to your room. We'll speak later.

That's for you, love.

The same dollmaker
makes all of Princess Myrcella's toys.

Don't you like it?

I haven't played with dolls since I was eight.

- May I be excused?
- You've barely eaten a thing.

It's all right. Go on.

War was easier than daughters.

Go away!

Arya, open the door.

May I come in?

- Whose sword is that?
- Mine.

Give it to me.

I know this maker's mark.
This is Mikken's work.

Where did you get this?

This is no toy.

- Little ladies shouldn't play with swords.
- I wasn't playing.

And I don't want to be a lady.

Come here.

Now what do you want with this?

It's called Needle.

Oh, a blade with a name.

And who were you hoping
to skewer with Needle?

Your sister?

Do you know the first thing
about sword fighting?

Stick 'em with the pointy end.

That's the essence of it.

I was trying to learn.

I asked Mycah to practice with me.

I asked him. It was my fault.

No, sweet girl.
No, no, you didn't kill the butcher's boy.

I hate them. I hate all of them.

The Hound, the queen and the king

and Joffrey and Sansa.

Sansa was dragged
before the king and queen...

and asked to call the prince a liar.

So was I! He is a liar.

Shh, darling, listen to me.

Sansa will be married
to Joffrey someday.

She cannot betray him.

She must take his side
even when he's wrong.

But how you can let her
marry someone like that?

Well...

Look at me.

You're a Stark of Winterfell.
You know our words.

Winter is coming.

You were born in the long summer.
You've never known anything else.

But now winter is truly coming.

And in the winter,
we must protect ourselves,

look after one another.

Sansa is your sister.

I don't hate her.

Not really.

I don't want to frighten you,
but I won't lie to you either.

We've come to a dangerous place.

We cannot fight a war amongst ourselves.

All right?

Go on. It's yours.

I can keep it?

Try not to stab your sister with it.

If you're going to own a sword,
you'd better know how to use it.

Don't listen to it. Crows are all liars.

- I know a story about a crow.
- I hate your stories.

I know a story about a boy who hated stories.

I could tell you about Ser Duncan the Tall.

Those were always your favorites.

Those weren't my favorites.

My favorites were the scary ones.

Oh, my sweet summer child.
What do you know about fear?

Fear is for the winter,

when the snows fall a hundred feet deep.

Fear is for the long night,
when the sun hides for years

and children are born and live and die,
all in darkness.

That is the time for fear, my little lord,

when the white walkers
move through the woods.

Thousands of years ago there came a night
that lasted a generation.

Kings froze to death in their castles,

same as the shepherds in their huts.

And women smothered their babies
rather than see them starve,

and wept and felt the tears
freeze on their cheeks.

So is this the sort of story that you like?

In that darkness, the white walkers
came for the first time.

They swept through cities and kingdoms,

riding their dead horses,

hunting with their packs of pale spiders
big as hounds...

What are you telling him now?

Only what the little lord wants to hear.

Get your supper. I want some time with him.

One time she told me

the sky is blue
because we live inside the eye

of a blue-eyed giant named Macomber.

Maybe we do.

How do you feel?

You still don't remember anything?

Bran, I've seen you climb
a thousand times.

In the wind, in the rain...

A thousand times.

- You never fall.
- I did though.

It's true, isn't it,

what Maester Luwin says about my legs?

I'd rather be dead.

- Don't ever say that.
- I'd rather be dead.

Fewer eyes back here, my lady.

But still too many.

It's nine years since I've set foot
in the capital.

And no one knew who I was
the last time I came, either.

My lady.

Welcome to King's Landing, Lady Stark.
Would you mind following us?

I would. We've done nothing wrong.

We've been instructed
to escort you into the city.

Instructed?

I don't know who's providing
your instructions, but...

Follow me, Lady Stark.

Cat!

Go on. Go upstairs.

You little worm!

You take me for some back-alley Sally
you can drag into a...

Pssst!

I meant no disrespect,
to you of all people.

How dare you bring me here?
Have you lost your mind?

No one will come looking for you here.
Isn't that what you wanted?

I'm truly sorry... about the locale.

How did you know I was
coming to King's Landing?

A dear friend told me.

- Lady Stark.
- Lord Varys.

To see you again after so many years
is a blessing.

Your poor hands.

How did you know I was coming?

Knowledge is my trade, my lady.

Did you bring the dagger with you,
by any chance?

My little birds are everywhere...

even in the North.

They whisper to me
the strangest stories.

Valyrian steel.

Do you know whose dagger this is?

I must admit I do not.

Well, well, this is an historic day.

Something you don't know that I do.

There's only one dagger like this
in all of the Seven Kingdoms.

- It's mine.
- Yours?

At least it was, until the tournament
on Prince Joffrey's last nameday.

I bet on Ser Jaime in the jousting,

as any sane man would.

When the Knight of the Flowers unseated him,
I lost this dagger.

To whom?

Tyrion Lannister.

The Imp.

Grenn, show him
what you farm boys are made of.

If that were a real sword, you'd be dead.

Lord Snow here grew up in a castle
spitting down on the likes of you.

Pyp.

Do you think Ned Stark's bastard
bleeds like the rest of us?

Next!

Next!

Well, Lord Snow, it appears
you're the least useless person here.

Go clean yourselves up!

There's only so much
I can stomach in a day.

A charming man.

I don't need him to be charming.

I need him to turn this bunch
of thieves and runaways

into men of the Night's Watch.

And how's that going,
Commander Mormont?

Slowly.

A raven came... for Ned Stark's son.

Good news or bad?

Both.

Lord Stark.

I meant...
to give you this earlier.

So forgetful these days.

A raven from Winterfell this morning.

Good news?

Perhaps you'd like to share it with your wife.

- My wife is in Winterfell.
- Is she?

Yes, I'm looking at you.

I thought that she'd be safest in here.

One of several such
establishments I own.

You're a funny man.

Huh? A very funny man.

Ned!

Ah, the Starks...

Quick tempers, slow minds.

You broke my nose, bastard!

It's an improvement.

If we threw you over the Wall,
I wonder how long it would take you to hit.

I wonder if they'd find you
before the wolves did.

What are you looking at, halfman?

I'm looking at you.

Yes. You've got an interesting face.

Hmm, very distinctive faces.

All of you.

And what do you care about our faces?

It's just...

I think they would look marvelous
decorating spikes in King's Landing.

Perhaps I'll write to my sister,
the queen, about it.

We'll talk later, Lord Snow.

Everybody knew what this place was
and no one told me.

No one but you.

My father knew and he left me to rot
at the Wall all the same.

Grenn's father left him too...

outside a farmhouse, when he was three.

Pyp was caught stealing
a wheel of cheese.

His little sister hadn't eaten in three days.

He was given a choice -
his right hand or the Wall.

I've been asking the Lord Commander
about them. Fascinating stories.

They hate me because
I'm better than they are.

It's a lucky thing none of them were trained
by a master-at-arms like your Ser Rodrik.

I don't imagine any of them
had ever held a real sword

before they came here.

Oh...

Your brother Bran.

He's woken up.

The mere suggestion that the queen's brother
tried to kill your boy

would be considered treason.

We have proof. We have the blade.

Which Lord Tyrion will say
was stolen from him.

The only man who could say otherwise
has no throat,

thanks to your boy's wolf.

Petyr has promised
to help us find the truth.

He's like a little brother to me, Ned.
He would never betray my trust.

I'll try to keep you alive, for her sake.

A fool's task, admittedly,

but I've never been able
to refuse your wife anything.

I won't forget this.

You're a true friend.

Don't tell anyone.
I have a reputation to maintain.

- How could you be so stupid?
- Calm down.

He's a child. Ten years old.

- What were you thinking?
- I was thinking of us.

You're a bit late to start
complaining about it now.

- What has the boy told them?
- Nothing. He remembers nothing.

Then what are you raving about?

What if it comes back to him?
If he tells his father what he saw...

We'll say he was lying.
We'll say he was dreaming.

We'll say whatever we like.
I think we can outfox a ten-year-old.

- And my husband?
- I'll go to war with him if I have to.

They can write a ballad about us -

"The War For Cersei's Cunt. "

- Let me go.
- Never.

- Let me go.
- The boy won't talk.

And if he does, I'll kill him.

Him, Ned Stark, the king -
the whole bloody lot of them,

until you and I are the only people
left in this world.

I wish I could see the girls.

- It's too dangerous.
- Just for a moment.

Until we know who our enemies are.

I know they did it, Ned.
The Lannisters.

In my bones, I know it.

Littlefinger's right.

I can't do anything without proof.

And if you find the proof?

Then I bring it to Robert...

and hope he's still the man I once knew.

You watch yourself on the road, huh?

That temper of yours
is a dangerous thing.

My temper?

Gods be good, you nearly killed
poor Littlefinger yesterday.

He still loves you.

Does he?

Off with you.

Yes, it's been a long time.

But I still remember every face.

You remember your first?

Of course, Your Grace.

Who was it?

A Tyroshi.

- Never learned the name.
- Hmm.

How did you do it?

Lance through the heart.

Quick one.

Lucky for you.

Mine was some Tarly boy
at the Battle of Summerhall.

My horse took an arrow so I was on foot,
slogging through the mud.

He came running at me,
this dumb high-born lad,

thinking he could end the rebellion
with a single swing of his sword.

I knocked him down with the hammer.

Gods, I was strong then.

Caved in his breastplate.

Probably shattered every rib he had.

Stood over him, hammer in the air.

Right before I brought it down
he shouted, "Wait! Wait. "

They never tell you
how they all shit themselves.

They don't put that part in the songs.

Stupid boy.

Now the Tarlys bend the knee
like everyone else.

He could have lingered on the edge
of the battle with the smart boys,

and today his wife would
be making him miserable,

his sons would be ingrates,

and he'd be waking three times in the night
to piss into a bowl.

Wine!

Lancel.
Gods, what a stupid name.

Lancel Lannister.

Who named you?
Some halfwit with a stutter?

What are you doing?

- It's empty, Your Grace.
- What do you mean, it's empty?

- There's no more wine.
- Is that what empty means?!

So get more.

Tell your cousin to get in here.

Kingslayer! Get in here.

Surrounded by Lannisters.

Every time I close my eyes
I see their blond hair

and their smug, satisfied faces.

It must wound your pride, huh?

Standing out there like a glorified sentry.

Jaime Lannister,
son of the mighty Tywin...

forced to mind the door while your king
eats and drinks and shits and fucks.

So come on.

We're telling war stories.

Who was your first kill,
not counting old men?

One of the outlaws
in the brotherhood.

I was there that day.

You were only a squire, 16 years old.

You killed Simon Toyne
with a counter riposte.

Best move I ever saw.

A good fighter, Toyne,
but he lacked stamina.

Your outlaw...

any last words?

- I cut his head off, so no.
- Hmm.

What about Aerys Targaryen?

What did the Mad King say
when you stabbed him in the back?

I never asked.

Did he call you a traitor?

Did he plead for a reprieve?

He said the same thing
he'd been saying for hours...

"Burn them all. "

If that's all, Your Grace...

Do the Dothraki buy their slaves?

The Dothraki don't believe in money.

Most of their slaves were
given to them as gifts.

From whom?

If you rule a city and you see the horde
approaching, you have two choices -

pay tribute or fight.

An easy choice for most.

Of course, sometimes it's not enough.

Sometimes a khal feels insulted
by the number of slaves he's given.

He might think the men too weak
or the women too ugly.

Sometimes a khal decides
his riders haven't had a good fight in months

and need the practice.

Tell them all to stop.

You want the entire horde to stop?
For how long?

Until I command them otherwise.

You're learning to talk like a queen.

Not a queen.

A khaleesi.

You dare!

You give commands to me? To me?

You do not command the dragon.
I am Lord of the Seven Kingdoms.

I don't take orders from savages
or their sluts. Do you hear me?

Rakharo ask if you want him dead, Khaleesi.

No.

Rakharo say you should take ear,
to teach respect.

Please. Please, don't hurt him.

Tell him I don't want my brother harmed.

Huh?

Mormont! Kill these Dothraki dogs!

I am your king!

Shall we return to the khalasar, Khaleesi?

Uh uh uh uh uh.

You... walk.

I wanted to be here
when you saw it for the first time.

- I'm leaving this morning.
- You're leaving?

I'm the First Ranger.

My job is out there.

- There have been disturbing reports.
- What kind of reports?

The kind I don't want to believe.

I'm ready. I won't let you down.

You're not going.

You're no ranger, Jon.

- But I'm better than every...
- Better than no one!

Here...

a man gets what he earns,

when he earns it.

We'll speak when I return.

- A bear's balls.
- Oh, you're joking?

And his brains and his guts,
his lungs and his heart,

all fried in his own fat.

When you're a hundred miles
north of the Wall

and you ate your last meal a week ago,
you leave nothing for the wolves.

And how do a bear's balls taste?

A bit chewy.

And what about you, my lord?
What's the strangest thing you've eaten?

Do Dornish girls count?

So... you roam the Seven Kingdoms,
collaring pickpockets and horse thieves

and bring them here as eager recruits?

Aye.

But it's not all of 'em's done bad things.

Some of 'em's just poor lads
looking for steady feed.

Some of 'em's high-born lads
looking for glory.

They have a better chance finding feed
than glory.

The Night's Watch is a joke to you, is it?

Is that what we are, Lannister?
An army of jesters in black?

You don't have enough men
to be an army

and, aside from Yoren here,
none of you are particularly funny.

I hope we've provided you
with some good stories to tell

when you're back in King's Landing.

It's something to think about
while you're drinking your wine down there,

enjoying your brothels.

Half the boys you've seen training
will die north of the Wall.

Might be a wildling's axe that gets them,

might be sickness,

might just be the cold.

They die in pain.

And they do it...

so plump little lords like you can enjoy their
summer afternoons in peace and comfort.

Do you think I'm plump?

- Listen, Benjen... May I call you Benjen?
- Call me what you like.

I'm not sure what I've done to offend you.

I have great admiration for the Night's Watch.

I've great admiration
for you as First Ranger.

You know, my brother once told me...

that nothing someone says
before the word "but" really counts.

But...

I don't believe that giants and ghouls
and white walkers

are lurking beyond the Wall.

I believe that the only difference
between us and the wildlings

is that when that wall went up,
our ancestors happened

to live on the right side of it.

You're right.

The wildlings are no different from us.

A little rougher maybe.

But they're made of meat and bone.

I know how to track them
and I know how to kill them.

It's not the wildlings
giving me sleepless nights.

You've never been north of the Wall,
so don't tell me what's out there.

Are you going below?

- Keep well, keep warm.
- Enjoy the capital, brother.

Oh, I always do.

I think he's starting to like me.

- "Going below"?
- Aye.

Into the tunnel and out the other side.

He'll be north of the Wall
for a month or two.

So... you're heading down
to King's Landing too.

Aye, day after tomorrow.

I get about half of my recruits
from their dungeons.

Let's share the road.
I could use some decent company.

I, er...

I travel a bit on the grubby side, my lord.

Not this time. We'll be staying
at the finest castles and inns.

No one turns away a Lannister.

Yes, Khaleesi.

Oh, what are you doing?

When was last time you bleed, Khaleesi?

You change, Khaleesi.

It's a blessing from the Great Stallion

For a man on horseback,
the curved blade is a good thing,

easier to handle.

It's a good weapon for a Dothrakan.

But a man in full plate...

...the arakh won't get through the steel.

That's where the broadsword
has the advantage.

Designed for piercing plate.

Dothraki don't wear steel dresses.

Armor.
Armor.

Armor make a man, erm...

Slow.

- Slow.
- It's true, but it also keeps a man alive.

My father taught me how to fight.

He taught me that speed defeats size.

I've heard that
your father was a famous warrior.

He was bloodrider to Khal Bharbo.

And your father, Jorah the Andal?
He was a warrior also?

He still is.

A man of great honor

and I betrayed him.

The Khaleesi wants
to eat something different tonight.

Kill some rabbits.

There are no rabbits.

Find some ducks, she likes ducks.

Have you seen any ducks, woman?
No rabbits, no ducks.

Do you have eyes in your head?
Do you?

Dog then.
I have seen many dogs.

I don't think she wants to eat dog.

The khaleesi have baby inside her.

It is true. She does not bleed
for two moons.

Her belly start to swell.

A blessing from the Great Stallion.

She does not want to eat horse.

I'll have the boys
butcher a goat for supper.

I need to ride to Qohor.

Uh, we ride for Vaes Dothrak.

Don't worry. I'll catch you.

The horde's easy to find.

Don't stand so still.
It's harder to hit a moving target.

Except for you. You move too much.

I could just hold my sword out
and let you do the work for me.

How many winters
have you seen, Lord Tyrion?

Eight. No, nine.

All of them brief?

They say the winter of my birth
was three years long, Maester Aemon.

This summer has lasted nine.

But reports from the citadel
tell us the days grow shorter.

The Starks are always right eventually -

winter is coming.

This one will be long...

and dark things will come with it.

We've been capturing wildlings,
more every month.

They're fleeing south.

The ones who flee...
say they've seen the white walkers.

Yes, and the fishermen
of Lannisport say they see mermaids.

One of our own rangers swore he saw them
kill his companions.

He swore it right up to the moment
Ned Stark chopped his head off.

The Night's Watch is the only thing
standing between the realm

and what lies beyond.

And it has become an army
of undisciplined boys and tired old men.

There are less than a thousand of us now.

We can't man the other castles on the Wall.

We can't properly patrol the wilderness.

We've barely enough resources
to keep our lads armed and fed.

Your sister sits by the side of the king.

Tell her... we need help.

When winter does come,
gods help us all if we're not ready.

It's a boy.

How do you know?

I know.

I'm sorry to see you leave, Lannister.

It's either me or this cold,

and it doesn't appear
to be going anywhere.

Will you stop at Winterfell
on your way south?

I expect I will.

Gods know there aren't many feather beds
between here and King's Landing.

If you see my brother Bran,

tell him I miss him.

Tell him I'd visit if I could.

Of course.

He'll never walk again.

If you're going to be a cripple,
it's better to be a rich cripple.

You take care, Snow.

Farewell, my lord.

You are late, boy.

Tomorrow you will be here at midday.

Who are you?

Your dancing master, Syrio Forel.

Tomorrow you will catch it.

Now pick it up.

That is not the way, boy.

It is not a greatsword that is needing
two hands to swing it.

- It's too heavy.
- It is heavy as it needs to be

to make you strong.

Just so.

One hand is all that is needed.

Now you are standing all wrong.

Turn your body sideface.

Yes.

So.

You are skinny. That is good.

The target is smaller.

Now the grip - let me see.

Yes.

The grip must be delicate.

What if I drop it?

The steel must be part of your arm.

Can you drop part of your arm? No.

Nine years Syrio Forel was first sword
to the Sealord of Braavos.

He knows these things.
You must listen to me, boy.

I'm a girl.

Boy, girl... You are a sword, that is all.

That is the grip.

You are not holding a battle-axe.
You are holding...

A needle.

Ahhh.

Just so.

Now we will begin the dance.

Remember, child,

this is not the dance of the Westeros
we are learning...

The knight's dance,
hacking and hammering.

This is the Braavos dance...

the water dance.

It is swift...

and sudden.

All men are made of water.

Do you know this?

If you pierce them,

the water leaks out and they die.

Now you will try to strike me.

Ha!

Up!

Ha!

Ah.

Dead.

Oh!

Dead.

Hup!

Very dead.

Come.

Ah ah ah!

Hup!

Again, faster.

Ah.