All language subtitles for House.of.the.Dragon.S02E04.1080p.MAX.WEB-DL.DDP5.1.x264-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.

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?