All language subtitles for House.Of.The.Dragon.S02E04.720p.AMZN.WEB-DL.DDP5.1.H.264-NTb

What?

I can't understand.

Speak plainly.

Stop.

Stop it.

There's been a raven.

Good morrow, Your Grace.

Slept well, I trust?

As I said, there's been a raven.

Aegon's army departed King's
Landing a fortnight ago.

The castles of
Rosby and Stokeworth

have both fallen without siege.

They have raised Aegon's banner

and added their levies to
Ser Criston Cole's host.

Both houses cited that

sad business with the usurper's
son in their declarations.

Ser Criston's army,

now tripled in strength,

might have Harrenhal
as its destination.

Even if you can raise
a host of Rivermen,

they will not be ready
in time to face him.

Let's see what your Lord
Paramount is made of.

My prince... Uh, My-My Grace.

Your Grace.

Lord Grover is looking more hale
and healthy than I expected.

Uh, this is Ser Oscar Tully,

grandson to Grover Tully.

He is heir to Riverrun

and the future Lord
Paramount of the Riverlands.

His Grace, the King
Consort, Daemon Targaryen.

- It is an honor, Your Grace.
- Indeed.

How fares your grandsire?

Sadly, he remains incapacitated.

He lies in a kind
of waking sleep,

unable to do much more
than take meager drink.

It is barely enough
to sustain him.

So, he's alive?

Yes, gods be good.

Well, my time is short and
I have need of an army.

Perhaps you might place a
feather pillow over his head

and speed along
your inheritance?

I-I love my grandsire,
like a father.

My own lord father died
suddenly, himself a young man.

Lord Grover raised
me in his stead.

All very touching.

Are you here to speak with
your grandsire's voice?

For House Tully
and the Riverlands?

While he still lives?

- That is not our way.
- Then you're of no use to me.

I can see why the
Blackwoods and the Brackens

did not fear to start a war

beneath the nose of
their liege lords.

House Tully is a
fish with no head.

Remind me which
of your countrymen

claim to fight in
the name of Aegon?

Was it, was it
Bracken or Blackwood?

It was House Bracken that
declared Green, Your Grace.

Who could remember.

Summon the Blackwoods here.

I require men of action

to lead my host of Rivermen.

M'lady.

"Princess," if we're
holding to formalities.

Apologies. Princess.

And you are Alyn.

Yes, Princess.

I'm given to understand
my lord husband

owes you his life.

But I was not told his
savior was so comely.

Your mother must've
been very beautiful.

Rhaenys.

- Is your work finished?
- No, m'lord.

I just had a word
with your captains.

He was the sailor who plucked
you from your watery grave?

Yes.

You did not think to mention it?

I did not think it relevant.

I know who he is, Corlys.

Alyn's past is no fault of his.

He saved his lord's life.

He should be raised
up and honored,

not hidden beneath the tides.

Is this why you came?

To subject me to an inquisition?

I came to tell you that Baela
has called me to Dragonstone.

Baela?

That council is going to dine
on her and Jace for supper.

They grow restless in
Rhaenyra's absence.

Still... Where has
that woman gone?

I suspect to try and draw
us all back from the abyss.

- Good morrow, Your Grace.
- Good morrow, Grand Maester.

As requested.

- I brewed it myself.
- Thank you.

I will see it
delivered discreetly.

Do report if the recipient
has need of any remedy.

The tea is known to
disagree with the gut.

I shall observe
the girl closely.

Grand Maester.

You've ever been
a practical man,

an honorable servant
to the crown.

And you served my lord
husband in his darkest hours.

Such was my duty, Your Grace.

Tell me.

Do you believe Viserys
wanted Aegon to succeed him?

I could not know.

His Grace never raised
the matter with me.

Ser Criston Cole's host

has taken to exploiting
the tree cover

to conceal its movements.

He now only travels by night

to confound our dragons.

And what is Cole's heading?

It is difficult to say,
but there were signs

of an army moving
northwest, I believe.

She believes.

You should've burned them
when you had the chance.

Perhaps you can, Ser Alfred,

when you next sight
them on your dragon.

The only reason we
know any of this

is because of Baela's efforts.

What do we know, my prince?

If you ask me, it
is little and less.

We know that Cole possesses a
host that is growing in strength

and that it is a problem.

Can Daemon hope to meet it

with his own in time?

And if I know the Riverlands,

he has more disentangling
ahead of him

than the end of a Lyseni orgy.

Have you heard word
from your father?

- No.
- Ravens were sent to Harrenhal

seeking news of Daemon's
progress with the Riverlords.

None have, as yet, returned.

Just so.

An enemy host, growing
in constitution,

marches somewhere in the
vastness of the Crownlands.

We could, perhaps, act if
only we had a host of our own.

Or someone here to lead us.

Mind your tongue, Ser Alfred.

Does it speak
falsely, my prince?

This council is rudderless.

I'm doing my best to
steer it, Ser Alfred.

Why should your voice be any
louder than ours, Princess?

The queen did not name you Hand.

It is her voice, and
that of the king consort,

that we need to raise alliances
and command our vassals.

- But they are gone.
- What has come of this council?

My lord.

Our enemy is on the march.

Is there naught to be done
in the absence of the queen,

but to grouse and
claw for power?

We do not know the
queen's doings.

But we must trust that
she seeks the same

as each of us at this table.

An end to this conflict.

Men of House Darklyn.

All who bend the knee to the
true king, Aegon, will be spared.

You can earn back your
honor by raising his banner

and fighting in his name

against the Whore
of Dragonstone.

All who refuse...

will have their death.

Good morrow, Lord Darklyn.

Is there no honor left
in this world, Cole?

Sacking your queen's own castles

and putting her
people to the sword?

"Kingmaker."

You are not fit for
the white cloak.

This is a better death
than a traitor deserves.

You should thank me for it.

Yours will come in kind.

Lord Hand.

We'll lead the van northeast,

follow the coastline.

I realize you were
neither born nor bred

anywhere near the Crownlands,
my good Lord Hand,

but Harrenhal is to the west.

Indeed it is.

Fuck you. I told you we
should've sent our dragons.

And now look what's happened.

Daemon, of all people,
has taken Harrenhal.

I give you a job, and
now you just sit there.

It's your fucking castle!

Well, that castle is more
crippled than I am, Your Grace.

It's like to drive
Daemon to madness

as he attempts to
make use of it.

It is beyond his faculties.

It is also penniless, as I
happily control all of its gold.

So, as Harrenhal saps
Daemon's resolve,

the false queen remains
trapped on her island,

and Ser Criston continues felling
castles in the Crownlands.

Wh...

I need to be informed
of these things

if I am to make
informed rulings.

I will not be made to
look a fool in front of

- my allies and enemies.
- Harrenhal must wait.

Ser Criston is marching
on Rook's Rest.

Rook's Re... A pathetic prize.

- I gave no such command...
- The castle is small,

weakly defended,

and Lord Staunton sits
on Rhaenyra's council.

After Cole smashes it,

we'll have Dragonstone
effectively cut off by land.

This war will not be
won with dragons alone,

but with dragons flying
behind armies of men.

No! Have him turn about.
I want Harrenhal back.

Cole is already
preparing his attack.

Uh, how-how do you know this?

He sent word to me.

To you?

The two of you have been

plotting... without
my authority?

Mm.

Mm.

Harrenhal is a useful morass.

It will keep Daemon well-occupied
while we strengthen our host

and weaken Rhaenyra's
support on the mainland.

We will deal with it in
the Riverlands in time.

But right now. Rook's
Rest is an easy target

and a worthy effort.

Don't you agree, my king?

Come.

Lord Larys.

I thought I'd look in
on you, Your Grace,

after your absence
from the small council.

I feared something was amiss.

You're kind to do so, my lord,

but indulgence was my sin.

I... ventured into the lamprey
pie at last night's supper.

Too far, I fear.

Mm.

That is a rich indulgence.

But I believe it is a sin
to deny your appetites.

They are what make us
fully alive as mortal men.

Was anything of note
discussed at the council?

Daemon having seized Harrenhal

and His Grace's
resulting displeasure.

I would've thought you would
be the most aggrieved, my lord.

I see it as a loss
for our greater good.

Dragonstone's attentions
are greatly divided.

First in the Riverlands and the
Gullet, and now the Crownlands.

Ser Criston wins every
challenge he faces there.

That truth alone is like
to incite Rhaenyra's fury.

He's covered himself
in glory, to be sure.

And you must worry for him?

Your sworn sword...

on the march,

ever exposed to dragons?

It is a perilous road.

Ser Criston is the
Hand of the King.

We should all pray for his
victory and safe return.

Indeed.

If I may be so bold, my queen...

you have not seemed
yourself of late.

Only weeks ago, my
lord husband was alive

and the realm was at peace.

Now, I've... barely had the
hours to grieve one tragedy

before suffering the next.

I regret if I have
not been myself.

Hm.

I did not know you shared
your lord husband's love...

for the histories.

If not his love, then certainly
an... an abiding interest.

The voices of history
guided Viserys.

He knew that his wisdom alone

could only reach so far.

Do you think that is why
he changed his mind...

in the end?

No matter how suited he
thought Rhaenyra for the crown,

the, uh, voices of
history, as you say,

would have told him how
the realm would react

- to her succession.
- It was impossible to know what steered his thoughts

in those final hours.

Do you now doubt his intentions?

Rhaenyra's supporters will
believe what they wish.

And so will Aegon's.

The war will be fought,
many will die...

and the victor will
eventually ascend the throne.

The significance of Viserys's
intentions died with him.

Yes, it did.

It's a touch late to be
stalkin' about a strange castle,

putting its people to the sword.

You.

I'm called Alys.

Strong?

Rivers.

A bastard.

Once you get to know me,
you'll find I'm not so bad.

- So what are you then? Some kind of maester?
- In a manner of speaking.

I inherited the duties after
the last one fled in the night.

- Fled? Why?
- Just never settled in.

How are you settling in?

I've come to know the face
of tortured rest well enough.

Sleep can be...
thin in this place.

What would you know of my sleep?

Harrenhal's been cursed since
its first stone was laid.

Black Harren felled the
grove of weirwood trees

that grew on these lands.

Heart trees, imbued with
the spirits of those

who lived long before he came.

- It's said their whispers can still be heard sometimes.
- A midwife's tale.

Mm, the very bed you sleep in
was made from such a heart tree.

Have you experienced
anything... of note?

You are a strange kind of woman.

I'm no woman at
all. I'm a barn owl.

Cursed to live in human form.

So, you've come here after
quarreling with your wife?

What?

You arrive here alone
to claim the castle

and yet, send no ravens.

Do you now plan to
make your own claim?

- Perhaps to prove yourself to her.
- Do not try me

with your insolence, witch.

It's a hard thing,
I imagine, to give

obeisance to one who
replaced you as heir.

And a woman too. A...

girl child you
bounced on your knee.

I mean, does it please you that
her legitimacy is contested?

As you stand here...

with a castle and a dragon...

attempting to draw
an army of men.

Here. Drink this.

You'll need your sleep if you're
to win this place to your side.

Willem Blackwood: I now
rule my house as regent

until my nephew
Benjicot comes of age.

The Brackens are venal cravens,

and they must pay
for their treachery

against the laws
of gods and men.

And against the crown.

Who are you?

Ser Willem Blackwood
of House Blackwood,

Your Grace, as I said.

Well met.

What might I do for you?

It was you who summoned
me, Your Grace.

I was given to understand

that you wanted an army.

Well, who doesn't these days?

You Blackwoods certainly
never miss a chance

to bloody your
swords... do you?

Some 20 years ago,

my lord bent the
knee to King Viserys

and acknowledged the Princess
Rhaenyra as his rightful heir.

So you fight for this old oath?

Not, of course, for your
thousand-year-old feud with the Brackens.

I once vied for Queen
Rhaenyra's hand...

before she wed Ser Laenor.

I always liked her spirit.

She had the true
blood of the dragon.

And you're prepared to march
without the leave of your lord...

Your Grace?

And once you and your dragon

bring the queen's justice
to the Brackens...

our armies will be yours.

Our lords in the
Crownlands are grousing.

Their herds of livestock
struggle to keep pace

with the dragons'
relentless appetites.

- Vhagar's in particular.
- They can either provide

the crown what it needs, or
we can claim their holdings.

Oh, that would be a relief,

as we have no more coin
to lend to the effort.

Resources are certainly
growing no more plentiful

in the face of the blockade.

The demand on the blacksmiths,
armorers and tanners

for equipment has
only grown apace

with Ser Criston's army.

Well, Cole's done
splendidly, at the least,

turning every castle
and army he's faced,

including Duskendale,
gods bless him.

The Kingmaker,
they're calling him.

And with Aemond and
Vhagar also at the ready,

we are a formidable opponent.

You bore me.

You all bore me.

Perhaps Ser Criston
will be able to procure

more livestock
through his campaign.

Any coin we can save
will be a welcome bounty.

What are you doing here?

Where are your father's books?

I ordered them removed.

With no thought to the centuries

of knowledge in those pages.

Your Grace.

I removed them, I
didn't burn them.

What is it?

They don't care what I think.

- Who, Aegon?
- My council.

Cole. Aemond. They
pursue their campaign

without seeking my aid,
or even my thoughts.

What thoughts would you have?

Wh... I'm the king.

Do you think simply wearing the
crown imbues you with wisdom?

Those men at your
council table...

earned their seats.

It was my hope that
once enthroned,

you would honor the
burden of your new duties,

be silent,

and strive to learn from the
more studied minds around you.

In the hope that you might be
half the king your father was.

- Tread carefully.
- Or what?

You'll hang me, as you
did your ratcatchers?

Or have me banished,
as you did your Hand?

I ruled

in your father's absence
throughout his long illness,

and Otto Hightower was as cunning
a statesman as ever lived.

You should humbly be seeking
our opinions and counsel.

You have no idea the
sacrifices that were made

to put you on that throne.

Wha...

What would you
have me do, Mother?

Do simply what is needed of you:

nothing.

On your feet!

To Rook's Rest!

To battle!

It's broad daylight.

We must hold here and ready
ourselves to lay siege at nightfall.

We shall move now
and strike by day.

They will not expect it.

They will not expect it

because it is fucking madness.

Did you forget the
little encounter

we had on the road to Rosby?

I did not.

Dragonstone and their dragons
are just across the bay.

What? Grown tired
of living, have you?

Are you afraid, Ser?

Worse. I'm rational.

We advance.

I see no other choice.

- We need to send a dragon.
- Where?

To support the war

that your vassals have been
fighting in your absence...

Your Grace.

Cole's host has grown
since riding abroad.

He raised the levies of
both Rosby and Stokeworth

and, with their combined
strength, sacked Duskendale.

Duskendale?

The city has fallen.

Many Darklyn men
declared for Aegon.

Those who refused
were put to the sword.

What of my father?

He kept his oath.

Cole took his head for it.

Where have you been,
these last days?

You vanished without
so much as a word.

Well, I apologize for my
absence and the secrecy,

but such was necessary.

I went to King's Landing.

To what possible end?

To meet Queen Alicent
and sue for peace.

- You saw Alicent?
- Yes, I did.

You could've been
taken or slain!

I inherited 80 years of
peace from my father.

Before I was to end it,

I needed to know that
there was no other path.

And now I do.

Only one choice remains to me:

either I win my claim or die.

We stand at the ready.

Cole's victories have
only emboldened him.

He marches on Rook's Rest.

His host was just hours away

- when Lord Staunton's ravens took wing.
- Why Rook's Rest?

After Duskendale?

It is but a small coastal keep.

'Cause Lord Staunton is
a member of this council.

And because his castle is small and
vulnerable and there for the taking.

Cole knows we have no
army on the mainland.

- He is brazen.
- He is daring us to act.

We need to send a dragon.

There are those who have
mistaken my caution for weakness.

Let that be their undoing.

- I will go.
- My queen...

- You cannot.
- I will not lose dragons to war

whilst I hide here in my castle.

Our allies raise their
banners for you, Mother.

Yes, they do.

If you die, all is lost.

- Send me.
- No.

I will burn Cole's lines and
withdraw before King's Landing

- could even raise the alarm.
- You lack the experience.

You must send me, Your Grace.

Meleys is your largest dragon

and no stranger to battle.

I will meet Cole.

I wish only to fight for you,

for your claim and mine.

I...

There's something I
need to tell you, Jace.

Something... I
should've told you

when you first became
heir to the throne.

It's a secret that
Viserys told me

when he named me his successor.

And it has passed
from king to heir...

since Aegon the
Conqueror's time.

I never told you
because I was unsure

that I believed it myself.

The Targaryen who
sits the Iron Throne

is not just a king or a queen.

They are a Protector.

Ordained to lead
the Seven Kingdoms,

to strengthen them...

and to unite them
against a common foe.

Viserys chose me to succeed him.

He held to this the
whole of his life.

My father believed
that I, alone,

was meant to be this Protector.

They're 1,400-, 1,500-strong
at least, my lord.

But to unite the realm,

I had to send the
dragons to war.

The horrors I have just loosed
cannot be for a crown alone.

That is why I must believe

what Viserys told me when
he named me his heir.

What Jaehaerys had told him.

And what I will now tell you.

What is it?

Aegon the Conqueror's Dream.

He called it "The
Song of Ice and Fire."

Loose! New rank!

Loose! New rank!

Loose! New rank!

Push it!

Dragon!

Dragon!

To the Seven Hells
with you, Cole!

You may as well have sounded
horns to announce our coming!

Order the Darklyn levies to
break off and move ahead.

We must keep the dragon's
attention divided.

- Make the signal.
- What signal?

All is going to plan.

Forward, Sunfyre!

Faster!

Dragon!

Whose dragon is that?

His Grace, the king's.

This was your secret plot, Cole?

For the king himself
to lay ambush

- and mayhaps die in the attempt?!
- No!

Loose more signal arrows!

Stalwart men of House Targaryen,

your king has joined you!

Hold to your courage!
Hold to your wits!

For the Seven have
blessed and shielded

this host with divine purpose!

For the one true king, Aegon!

Advance!

Where are you, Aemond?

Dracarys!

Another one there!

Send a volley to
those Rosby men!

Give them no quarter!

We'd best get you
to cover, my lord.

Thank the gods!

Dracarys!

Ah!

No!

Your Grace!

Fall in behind me!

Into the breach!

The king has fallen.
We must find him.

Aemond!

Where's His Grace?