All language subtitles for Game.of.Thrones.S01E03.1080p.BluRay.x265-RARBG

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.

-Jory, 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' asses
have polished it, I wonder?

And 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.

Must be strange for you,
coming into this room.

I was standing right here
when it happened.

He was very brave, your brother.
And your father, too.

They didn't deserve to die like that.

Nobody deserves to die like that.

But you just stood there and watched.

Five hundred 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.

Five hundred 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 were 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.

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.

How much?

Forty thousand Gold Dragons
to the champion,

twenty thousand to the runner up,
twenty thousand 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 thousand?

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 had a long ride.

You are the King's Hand, Lord Stark.
We serve at your pleasure.

Please. It's nearly healed.

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

You fought off a dire wolf.
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--
-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.

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

and when the time comes,
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
ten thousand 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 ten thousand Northern troops,
would they fight for you or their lord?

For me, I'm their king.

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 Stark!

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.

What do you want with this?

It's called Needle.

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 them 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!
-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?

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 among 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 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 their 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 Macumber.

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 to a…

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.

-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?

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!

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'd 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.

Very distinctive faces. All of you.

-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 farm house 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.

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 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 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.

-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 highborn lad,

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

I knocked him down with a 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 their 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 half-wit 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. Sixteen years old.

You killed Simon Toyne
with a counter riposte.

Best move I ever saw.

Good fighter, Toyne,
but he lacked stamina.

Your outlaw…

-any last words?
-I cut his head off, so no.

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."

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.

Mormont! Kill these Dothraki dogs!

I am your king!

Shall we return to the Khalasar, Khaleesi?

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.

Bear's balls.

-You're joking.
-And his brains,

and his guts, his lungs and his heart,
all fried in his own fat.

Well, 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 ever 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 them's done
bad things.

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

Some of them's highborn 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 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.

For 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.

You going below?

Keep well, keep warm.

-Enjoy the capital, brother.
-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, milord.

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

No one turns away a Lannister.

-At Jakar.
-Atjahakar.

Ath Ja Haker.

-Atjahakar.
-Atjahakar?

Yes, Khaleesi.

-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 Dothrakhan.

But a man in full plate…

the arakh won't get through the steel.

That's where the broad sword
has the advantage.

-Yeah.
-Designed for piercing plate.

Dothraki don't wear steel dresses.

-Armor.
-Armor.

Armor make a man…

-Slow.
-Slow.

That's true. 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.

-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 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 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.

-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.

This is not the way, boy.

It is not a great sword 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 side face.

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.

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.

Up!

Up! Dead!

Dead!

Up!

Very dead!

Come!

Again, faster.