Ships aflame, Greyjoy fleets shrinking. Fire, hatchets—this reminds me of a new bar in New Jersey that I keep hearing about.
.jpg)Last week at the end of the “Game of Thrones” première, Dany said, “Shall we begin?” This week, the answer was “We shall!” Episode 2 opens on thunder and lightning at Dragonstone. How apropos for our yellow-haired queen of mayhem. “On a night like this, you came into the world,” Tyrion says. He, Varys, Daenerys, Grey Worm, and Missandei are in the Map Room, looking like a bunch of evil geniuses. Dragonstone is quite something: cavelike walls, torch sconces, ghastly, eye-socket-like windows overlooking the dark seas. There’s a map-covered table dotted with chess-type pieces—“not so many lions,” Dany says, meaning the Lannisters. The Queen and her advisers have a bracing chat. Sure, they could take Westeros, with their dragons and whatnot—but to what end? “You’re not here to be queen of the ashes,” Tyrion says. They talk about transparency, trust, and the nature of government. Dany tells Varys to promise that if he wants to criticize her, he should do it to her face, not behind her back. He swears it.
“If you ever betray me, I’ll burn you alive,” she says.
“I would expect nothing less from the Mother of Dragons,” he says. These two! The moment is ruined by the arrival of—ugh!—Melisandre. She tries to butter up Dany with the “I used to be a slave” routine, then starts talking about the Lord of Light’s prophecies about who will bring the dawn (ugh again) and then moves on to Jon Snow. Now you’re talking!
“He sounds like quite a man,” Dany says. Oh, he is.
Tyrion pipes up. “I can’t speak to prophecies or visions in the flames, but I like Jon Snow, and I trusted him. And I’m an excellent judge of character,” he says. They send Jon an invitation raven.
At Winterfell, the courtyard is once again being used for combat practice below and strategizing above. Jon Snow and Sansa are reading letters. Ah, a letter from Tyrion! These Season 7 episodes are moving along briskly, as are the mails.
Meanwhile, at Cersei’s, things are a bit more . . . intense. In her fiery throne room, she’s talking to a crowd, including some bannermen of House Tyrell, about rape, murder, butchering, Lady Olenna, the Mad King, and Dany, in a highly unflattering manner. Spin, one might call it. Jaime is smirking a little. Look how happy she is, he’s thinking. She deserves this. The people listening seem slightly less psyched. In a corridor, Jaime tries to get Samwell Tarly’s dad, Randyll Tarly, to pledge his loyalty to the Lannister side of things, which would include fighting Olenna Tyrell’s people. “I’m a Tarly,” Tarly says. “I swore an oath to House Tyrell. I’ve known Olenna since I was a child.” Jaime isn’t having it. “She brought the Dothraki to our shores!” he says. “Do you fight with us, or with the foreign savages and eunuchs?” I’ve come to love Jaime, but his vision of government has limited appeal. He tries to sweet-talk him: “When the war is won, the Queen will need a new Warden of the South,” he says, practically wiggling his eyebrows.
At the Citadel, Tarly the younger is looking depressed: the man whose horrible Greyscaled arm he discovered last week has only six months to live, Archmaester Jim Broadbent tells him. Sam looks even more flummoxed when the maester pooh-poohs his medical advice—and further still when he discovers the patient’s identity. “Mormont!” Sam says. He might be thinking, This guy’s dad saved me from a wight in Season 3! Now I will save him from the Crud That Cannot Be Scraped Off.
At King’s Landing, Cersei is looking pleased in the Lair of Dragon Skulls. Wait till she sees Dragonstone—if she wins this shebang, perhaps she can use it as a summer house. Her trusty aide Qyburn, who made Jaime’s prosthetic hand, among other medical and murderous innovations, has rigged up what he hopes is a good dragon-shooter: a giant crossbow. Cersei optimistically fires it at a dragon skull, and seems to wound it.
At Dragonstone, the party is really getting off the ground. Guests include the better Greyjoys, Yara and Theon, and the whole Dorne contingent—Ellaria Sand, some Sand Snakes, and dear old Olenna Tyrell. They are in town and fired up! What do they want? War! When do they want it? Now! Our team has got boats and dragons, let’s do this. It will be a cinch! “I am not here to be queen of the ashes,” Dany says, sagely. Tyrion, moving some pieces around the map, says that they won’t appeal to their enemies’ nationalism by having the Unsullied storm the capital: they will have the Greyjoys and the Dornish and Tyrell armies do it. (How convenient, Lady Olenna says.) Tyrion proposes that Grey Worm and the Unsullied capture the Lannisters’ true seat of power, Casterly Rock. Everybody eventually agrees to this. Lady Olenna is still wearing her adorable hat and veil, and dispensing wise, cranky wisdom like there’s no tomorrow. “May I speak with you alone?” Dany asks Olenna. She scoffs at Cersei, at the concept of peace, and at Tyrion. “Clever men—I outlive them all. You know why? I ignore them,” she says. “Are you a sheep? No. You’re a dragon. Be a dragon.” Every show should have a Lady Olenna/Dowager Countess figure. Every life should have one, in fact. I am currently accepting applications.
The next scene, unexpectedly, begins as a tender, wounded goodbye between Grey Worm, who’s off to capture the true seat of power, and Missandei—“You are my weakness,” he says—and abruptly turns into perhaps the hottest eunuch sex scene of all time. They kiss; she boldly disrobes; he is worried about his pants area; she isn’t; they move to the bed, toned and lit by torchlight; and the scene takes a satisfyingly Jane Campion-ish direction, in which women’s rights are fully respected. Just before the apex of things, the scene cuts to a library bookshelf, and a hand unshelving a book. Oh, yeah.
That book means that Sam Tarly is at it again. He goes to Jorah Mormont’s room with a cart of secret potions, introduces himself properly, and announces that he’ll be trying out an experimental Greyscale procedure few else would attempt. “Please try not to scream,” he says kindly, giving Jorah something to bite on and getting out his knives and pastes. Dr. Tarly is in!
Arya continues to eat her way across Westeros, heading to King’s Landing. At a pub, she runs into her old friend Hot Pie, and they compare crust-making techniques. “You’ve been making pies,” he says.
“One or two,” she says. He gossips: he’s seen Brienne of Tarth, looking to defend Starks; the great Sept went “boom”; Jon Snow is King in the North; Winterfell is back, baby, and the Boltons are dead. Arya nearly chokes on her buttered crust and gets up. Plans have changed! “You’re pretty,” Hot Pie says. Aw, Hot Pie.
“Take care of yourself, Hot Pie,” she says. “Try not to get killed.”
Jon Snow gets a letter from the Citadel. Why, it’s from Samwell Tarly! Back at the hall of guys, he excitedly hollers the news: Dragonstone is full of dragonglass! He also says that Tyrion is at Dragonstone with Dany, and that they’ve just invited him for a visit, and that they’ve got dragons. He wants to go; nobody else wants him to. “We need to mine it and turn it into weapons!” he says. So far, he’s yelled about mining in two consecutive episodes, and I’m not sure I’m on board for a big mining story line. They also need allies, Jon says. The plan is controversial. Sansa protests that the Mad King roasted their grandfather alive. The hoary old guys are freaking out; even wise little Lyanna Mormont is not on board. Too bad, Jon says. I’m out of here, and Sansa’s in charge. With this she cannot argue. Afterward, Jon Snow and Littlefinger have a whisper fight in front of a statue of Ned Stark, in which Littlefinger tries to ingratiate himself. “I love Sansa and I loved her mother,” Littlefinger whispers.
Jon whips around and thrusts him against the wall. “Touch Sansa and I’ll kill you myself,” he says. Brothers don’t like that kind of talk, Littlefinger, you clown.
Soon, we see him departing on horseback, exchanging a little Jaime-and-Brienne-style wave with Sansa as he trots away.
Arya is in the woods at a fire, alone with her horse, no Ed Sheerans in sight. Perhaps in her head she’s singing that little tune he sang last week. Her horse is freaking out—kind of dancing around—and suddenly there’s an intense wolf-pack situation happening. And then: a giant dog appears, apparently Arya’s long-lost direwolf, who has gone off and started a whole new life in the woods. “Nymeria?” she says. “Nymeria, it’s me.” Nymeria plays it cool. “I’m heading north, girl, back to Winterfell. I’m finally heading home. Come with me.” Nymeria turns away, wanting to stay wild. “It’s not you,” Arya says, echoing a line she’d once said about her own nature. I’m hoping Nymeria is taking mental notes and returns to rip some bad guys’ faces off at some later opportune moment.
In the belly of the Greyjoys’ ship, Theon is looking grim, like he wishes he didn’t have to listen to his sister and Ellaria Sand flirt. Well, he doesn’t for long—there’s an attack! Who should it be but their demented Uncle Euron. The camera cuts to a huge Eeevil thing that approaches with the vibe and ominous music of the ghost ship in “Pirates of the Caribbean,” and Euron, continuing to be an evil madcap, ta-da!s his way on deck via viper-faced drawbridge, hacking his way around in a barrage of grunting, eyeliner, facial hair, and excitement. He laughs; Theon looks more stressed out, and may be morphing back into Reek. Fight fight fight fight fight.
Ships aflame, Greyjoy fleets shrinking. Fire, hatchets—this reminds me of a new bar in New Jersey that I keep hearing about. Euron kills one of the Sand Snakes; it’s what we call an exciting lesser battle, in which characters you don’t particularly like kill characters you don’t care much about, and threaten ones you do. Euron, to his credit, smiles when he fights. I don’t like fighting, but I do like smiling. Yara holds her own with Uncle Euron, jumping on him from a height and getting in some good rage thwacking, but he bests her. As Euron seems poised to kill Yara in front of Theon, Theon, rather than doing anything swashbuckling, trembles, looks pained, and jumps overboard. Euron laughs—O.K., Euron, I’ve changed my mind. Enough laughing! He disappears with Yara, and he’s got her by the throat.
Theon has rediscovered his inner Reek, all right, and Reek is in the water. What’s his plan? I’m not sure he’s sure, either. But he’s in a pickle. Yes, he seems to be panicking, and he could drown. He’s surrounded by flaming ships and hanging corpses. But he’s sensitive, so don’t rule him out. Sometimes the sensitive types can surprise you. He could join the ranks of the Mysteriously Offscreen. Or he could drown. One thing is clear: when word gets back to Dragonstone, Tyrion is going to have to rearrange some chess pieces in the Map Room.!
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