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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.

About glad to see you're
protecting the throne.

Sturdy old thing.

How many kings' asses
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.

- Mmm, 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 3 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-hmm.

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!

Ned:
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's 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 what are 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
Glowers 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?

Woman:
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're you looking at,
Half Man?

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 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
have 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--
10 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's said 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 10-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'd 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 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.
- Hmmm.

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.
- Kash qoy qoyi thira disse.

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.

Annakhas dozgosores.

- 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?

Hash shafka zali nharees,
zhey Khaleesi?

Rakharo ask if you want him dead, Khaleesi.

No.

Ishish chare acharoe
hash me nem éjervae

- nharesoon.
- Rakharo say you should take ear,

- to teach respect.
- Please please, don't hurt him.

Tell him I don't want
my brother harmed.

Khaleesi vos zalo
meme nem azisa.

Huh?

- Shafki.

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 bringing 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.

But 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 wilding'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 the 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... 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.

At Jakar?

Athjahakar.

Ath ja haker.

Athjahakar.

Athjahakar.

Yes, Khaleesi.

Oh, what are you doing?

When was last time
you bleed, Khaleesi?

You change, Khaleesi.

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--

Shori tawakof

the arakh won't get
through the steel.

That's where the broadsword
has the advantage.

Designed for piercing plate.

- Armor.
- Armor.

Armor make a man...

- Vroz?
- Slow.

- Slow.
- It's true,

but it also keeps a man alive.

He still is.

A man of great honor

and I betrayed him.

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.

- 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 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 the King.

Tell her we need help.

When winter does come,

gods help us all
if we're not ready.

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.

This 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 Bravo's 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.

@ sync and correction by JP @

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