VARYS: In its time, the Dragonpit was
a marvel of the world. Full-grown Targaryen dragons
nested beneath its massive dome. And even on the darkest nights, the walls seemed to glow with
the fire of the great beasts inside. QYBURN: As had the site's previous
occupant, the Sept of Remembrance. When Maegor the Cruel blasted it with
dragonfire during morning prayers. The screams of the dying men echoed
through King's Landing all day and a pall of ash and smoke
hung over the city for a week. VARYS: But as it dissipated, so too did the rebellion
of the Faith Militant. The Sept of Remembrance
faded from memory and Maegor decided to replace
a monument to the gods with a monument to his family,
the Dragonpit. QYBURN: Labor proved elusive, however. For after the Red Keep was finished,
Maegor had hosted a three-day feast for all the builders, stonemasons and
carpenters who had worked to build it. At its conclusion, he slaughtered them so that only he would know
the castle's secrets. So many men fled
the construction of the Dragonpit that Maegor was forced to employ
the prisoners of the city dungeons supplemented by skilled and ignorant
builders from across the Narrow Sea. VARYS: For more than a century, the Targaryens housed their dragons
in the Dragonpit. But dragons
are not horses to be stabled or hounds to be kenneled. With each generation,
the dragons became less. Less massive, less swift,
less long-lived. QYBURN: And less invulnerable. During the Dance of Dragons, two Targaryen factions killed
a handful of their family's dragons while fighting each other. A frenzied mob
even broke into the Dragonpit and slaughtered
the five dragons chained there. Though the last managed to bring down
the roof of the great dome on its assailants. The dragons never recovered
their former strength or numbers. Perhaps their line
had been too broken. Or perhaps others intervened
to break it further. But the last dragon
grew no larger than a cat. And its death earned Aegon,
third of his name, the epithet "Dragonbane." VARYS: What is a Dragonpit
without dragons? The roof remained where it had fallen. The great bronze doors rusted
and fell off their hinges. Prostitutes cavorted
where fantastic creatures had once fed and slept. Then came Daenerys. Now dragons once again darken the sky. But they will never darken
the Dragonpit again. Daenerys has learned
the folly of chaining her dragons. The Dragonpit is and will remain
a ruin of a bygone age, when kings and queens
flew high above their countrymen. SAM: The Citadel of Oldtown is the greatest center of learning
in the whole world. Not that it has
much competition really. Most lords think of books
the way they think of younger sons, useful to have around
as long as they keep to the corners. Back when House Hightower
still ruled Oldtown as kings, a crippled younger son sought solace
in books and those who wrote them and became the greatest patron
of learning in his day. Scholars of all sorts flocked to
Oldtown to debate and write and debate. After this Prince Peremore's death, his brother granted land
to Peremore's Pets, as the wise men were called. Though now, they're known as maesters. Like the Night's Watch, the Citadel accepts
any boy into its halls, be he a lordling, peasant or bastard. Merit, not birth,
determines advancement. Once a novice proves adept in a field, he forges a chain-link
that signifies his skill. Black iron is for ravenry,
gold for sums and accounts, silver for healing, iron for warfare, Valyrian steel
for the higher mysteries. Magic. Though nobody likes
to say the word in the Citadel. Or explain how dragons fly
or dead men walk. Once an acolyte has forged
enough links to make a chain, he becomes a maester. Should he continue his studies, he might rise to archmaester
and be given a ring, rod and mask forged from the appropriate metal
for his chosen field. The wisest, or most ambitious
of the arch maesters, might even be called to serve as
a grand maester on the Small Council, responsible for steering the king
and the realm, as well as keeping the Citadel
informed of everything. The heart of the Citadel
is the library, which contains tomes
from all over the world on every subject imaginable. From the trivial
to the essential to the restricted. If the world ended tomorrow, we could rebuild it with the knowledge
contained in these books. Theoretically. Let's hope it doesn't come to that. But as every novice learns,
the Citadel is more than a building, more than a library,
more than the order of maesters. It is an idea that we may know
the world, not completely,
not in any one man's lifetime, but piece by piece. With each generation building upon the knowledge of their predecessors
where they can, and preserving it where they can't. And, unfortunately for us all, forgetting it when they shouldn't. JAIME: According to legend,
a huntsman once tracked a lion that was terrorizing his village
all the way to its den. Though armed with only a spear, the man managed to kill both the lion
and its mate, but spared the cubs. This mercy so pleased the Old Gods that they sent a shaft of sunlight
deep into the cave gleaming off golden walls. The hunter became a miner and built a ring fort
to guard his new wealth. Nobody ever asks,
"What happened to the cubs?" Maybe the gods forgot about them
and they starved. Maybe there never were any cubs
or lions or hunter. Doesn't matter. Someone found enough gold in that cave
to buy whatever truth he wanted. Along with a castle
that he'd named after his new family. Casterly Rock. Thanks to that gold, Casterly Rock soon became
the largest, wealthiest and best-defended castle in Westeros. An army that struggled
up the main approach would still have to climb thick,
high and well-defended walls. Should they choose instead
to lay siege, the sea helpfully carved
a massive cave beneath the castle which over time became a private port complete with docks, wharfs
and shipyards. And so, to this day, even with all the gold in Westeros
to tempt invaders, Casterly Rock has never fallen. At least not in battle. The castle is sadly all that remains
of its namesake family, the Casterlys. According to another legend,
my ancestor, Lann the Clever, swindled the castle from them. The most common story is that
he found a hidden cleft in the Rock, and snuck into the castle. At night, he whispered threats
into sleeping ears. Howled in the darkness. Planted one brother's treasures
in the room of another and so forth. By the end of his games, the Casterlys believed a demon
was haunting their home and fled. My brother prefers
a different version. Lann the Clever did find
a secret entrance into the Rock, but used it to have his way
with the Casterly maidens. Eventually, the girls gave birth
to golden-haired bastards. And the Casterlys had no choice but to accept their father
into the family. In gratitude, he changed
the family name to honor himself, and House Lannister was born. The Casterlys used the gold
of the Rock to become lords. The Lannisters became kings. For thousands of years, the kingdom
of the Rock ruled the Westerlands. When the ironborn became a nuisance, my ancestors sailed
to the Iron Islands, and returned with
100 ironborn hostages, promising to hang one from the Rock every time the ironborn dared
raid our shores. The ironborns stayed away. Well, after 20 or so. When the Andals arrived after
sweeping across the rest of Westeros, we invited their sons and daughters into the Rock as squires
and court ladies. I don't think
we ever had to hang any of them. Finally, Aegon the Conqueror
defeated us on the Field of Fire and my ancestor knelt. Still, little changed but titles
and taxes. For when Visenya Targaryen
saw the Rock, she gave thanks that my ancestor
had met Aegon on the field. Even dragon flame would've washed over
the castle like the waves and leftjust as much a mark. But now the mines are dry, and Casterly Rock is just that.
A rock. Our gold has passed into legend just like the merciful huntsman
and Lann the Clever. As will our family
if we lose this war. Unlike the Casterlys however, we won't even have a castle
to remember our name. RANDYLL: The Tyrells claim Highgarden
but they didn't build it. They claim descent
from the first king of the Reach but only through the female line. The truth is that
House Gardener built Highgarden when they ruled the Reach
as kings, not lords. As their name attests, they were
the true heirs of Garth the Gardener, who founded their house
and the kingdom and brought law and order
to the Reach. He built Highgarden as a fortress,
not a pleasure palace. In those dark days, the ironborn
raided up and down the Mander at will. And the Dornish were even more trouble
than they are now. While enduring shame, a Dornish army once sacked Highgarden
and destroyed the Oakenseat, the living throne
of the Gardener kings planted by Garth Greenhand himself. The Gardeners responded wisely, sending armies of their own to pacify
and defend the countryside. My ancestors at Horn Hill joined them as did the other great families
of the Reach. Even House Hightower yielded
without a fight, choosing marriage into House Gardener
over a war that would weaken us
against outsiders. But the outsiders still came. The Andals swept across Westeros, destroying many ancient families
and kingdoms. When the invaders arrived
at the Reach, led by Ser Alester Tyrell, House Gardener chose accommodation
over battle, hoping honors and marriages would sate
the foreigner's ambitions. The Tyrells were welcomed into service
as hereditary stewards of Highgarden. Thousands of years later, they repaid
the Gardeners for their acceptance. When Aegon Targaryen declared
that Westeros was now his, King Mern IX allied with King Loren
Lannister of the Westerlands. Together, they fought to save Westeros
from another foreign barbarian whose family practices
put decent men to shame. But the dragons won. A field of fire claimed Mern and
all his sons, grandsons and brothers. Instead of using the castle
for what it was built to do, Harlen Tyrell surrendered it to Aegon
without a fight. In exchange,
Harlen was given the castle his family had served
for thousands of years, with all its attendant lands
and lords, including my family. Perhaps the Tyrells were great once. But Harlen gave away their honor when he opened gates
that weren't his to open, and to a foreign invader. Ever since,
there hasn't been a Lord Tyrell who wasn't a mockery of the title. Women rule that house. Everybody knows it.
And look what it's wrought. Their proper lord,
heir and queen, dead. Leaving only a shrunken old woman
who forgets her loyalties to the realm either in grief or dotage. But her thorns won't protect her
more than any other rose when the Hand comes to rip them out. JORAH: When I fled Westeros, I washed
up where most disgraced knights do, the Golden Company. The best of
the eastern sellsword companies, for what that's worth. Twenty thousand battle-hardened men,
horses and even elephants, ready to kill
their employer's enemies, no matter the cause,
no matter the result. The Golden Company began as revenge. On his deathbed, a Targaryen king
legitimized all his bastards, either to buy his way
into the seven heavens, or spite the family left behind. As everyone knew would happen, his great bastards weren't satisfied
with their father's name and wanted his throne as well, under the banner of
the new House Blackfyre. Their true-born brothers disagreed. When the Blackfyres
lost the civil war, they fled to Essos
to gather a new army and return for what was theirs. But wars cost money. When Aegor Rivers,
the leader of the Blackfyre forces who now called himself Bittersteel, decided he could sell
his army's services to other lords while waiting to return to Westeros, the Golden Company was born. For their words, they chose,
"Beneath the gold, the bitter steel," to remind themselves
that they weren't just hired killers, but knights of Westeros
who'd one day retake their home. They never tried because they were
too successful as sellswords. When Qohor declined to pay the new
Golden Company for its services, Bittersteel dared
what even the Dothraki failed to do and sacked the city. After filling the Company's coffers,
he declared that unlike all other sellswords, the Golden Company
would never break a contract. So they haven't. But they also don't take contracts unless the odds
are heavily in their favor. Cowardly, perhaps,
but far from foolish. Quite a few wars have ended
with one side learning the Golden Company agreed to fight
on the other. Though it's not just their reputation
that scares off would-be enemies, for some, it only takes one look
at the captain's war tent surrounded by the gilded skulls
of former captains, many splintered with the wounds
that killed them. Any sellswords who'd waste
that much gold must have a lot of it. And nobody pays in defeat. Could the Golden Company
ever take Westeros? They get more practice fighting
than the average knight. And their elephants could make a mess
on a battlefield. But men who fight for gold
will never fight as hard as men who fight for home. I should know. I've done one. Now I do the other. SAMWELL: The maesters don't believe
in prophecy. With good reason. The Children of the Forest supposedly
could see into the future, it was apprised by the First Men
who nearly ended their race, and the Long Night,
which nearly ended us all. Some maesters posited that
the Children's magical sight was invented long after
they vanished from Westeros by singers hoping to thrill
peasant girls. Not that most maesters
have much experience in what does or doesn't do that. When Aegon the Conqueror came
to the Iron Islands, the priest king Lodos
claimed his divine father, the ironborn's drowned god, had shown him krakens pulling
Aegon's ships into the deep. No krakens ever arrived. And even if they had,
they wouldn't have stopped Aegon and his dragon
without wings of their own. Confused, Lodos filled his pockets
with stones and walked into the sea to take counsel with his father. Thousands followed him. But apparently, the drowned god
didn't appreciate the crowd. Their corpses washed upon
the Iron Islands for years. According to legend, House Targaryen survived the
Doom of Valyria, thanks to Daenys the Dreamer,
who foresaw the calamity, and convinced her father to
flee their homeland. It could be true. The Targaryens were always a bit more. But as Maester Yendall points out, in the east, the Targaryens were one
of a thousand minor noble families, and in Westeros, they became kings. Politics, not prophecy
could have drawn them to our shores. Politics can also explain the
prophecies of Daemon Blackfyre ll, a Targaryen bastard rumored
to possess the family gift. While posing as a hedge knight, he told the future Lord Commander
of the King's Guard that he dreamt of a dragon hatching
up Whitewalls' castle, and took it as a sign
that he'd win the Iron Throne. Perhaps if he'd slept a bit longer, he'd have dreamt of the King's Hand
putting down his rebellion a day later before it even began. Most maesters dismiss all Targaryen
claims of prophecy as mystic nonsense. A relic of their Eastern ancestry. To be fair, across the Narrow Sea, there isn't a market without
a warlock from Qarth telling fortunes, or a Shadowbinder from Asshai
reading fates in blood. Or so I hear from the maesters. But when I was a boy, I overheard the cook whispering to
a maid about a woods witch camping outside Horn Hill,
who was called Maggy the Frog. Now I realize, it was probably
a corruption of the Eastern word for wizards. IIMaegi-II One day, my father rode out hunting,
though no game was in season. And whatever power she had
likely didn't save her. Even the wisest maesters, however,
have no answer for the Red Priest who prophesied about the return
of the Long Night. For thousands of years, they've kept watch for the return
of the prince who was promised, who will be born amid salt and smoke
to drive off the darkness once again. "Prince of what realm,
promised by whom and to whom?" The prophecy doesn't say. But at the very least
it confirmed that not even Essos escaped the Long Night. I imagine the cataclysm must have
confused the East. Unlike Westeros,
they wouldn't have known of the Night King or the White Walkers, or the war waged by the First Men,
and the Children of the Forest. They would have just seen
a terrible winter descend, and linger far too long until spring
magically returned to the world. Yet somehow, maybe from passing merchants,
maybe in their fires, the Red Priests saw the truth. Now the truth is here again
for anyone to see. But the maesters refuse. They debate and question and
doubt not to choose the wisest course, because they're too used to doing
nothing else. Most prophecies might be lies,
but not all of them. The Long Night is coming. If we don't believe that, well, we won't need any prophecy
to tell us our future. LITTLEFINGER: "What the King dreams,
the Hand of the King builds" or so say the Kings, the Hands,
and the Lords who wish to be Hands. The lowborn put it differently, "The King eats
and the Hand takes the shit." The fact is, most kings hate ruling. We shouldn't blame them,
their only qualification is blood. So, naturally, they're weary
of a seat made of blades. Far better to find other men
to rule in their stead. But how should a king select his Hand?
Family? One king chose his brother,
Prince Maegor, a warrior who was proud and arrogant. Maegor agreed to marry
the High Septon's niece to unite the faith and the crown,
but then secretly wed a second wife, a Valyrian ceremony,
artfully combining bigamy and heresy. And when word of it got out,
the King was forced to exile Maegor and choose a Septon as his new Hand. But the damage had been done. The King had trusted in family and his brother
had set off a rebellion that would claim his rule
and his life. Strength? As little more than a boy, Ser Criston Cole replaced
the legendary Ser Ryam Redwyne on the Kingsguard
and soon rose to Lord Commander. But knights only know one way
to settle disputes. When Prince Aegon's father died, Ser Criston slit the throat
of an advisor who objected to Aegon's ascension
over his aunt, the anointed heir. His actions so pleased the new king,
Aegon, the second of his name, that he appointed Ser Criston
as his Hand in the ensuing civil war called "the Dance of Dragons." Neither Ser Criston nor the King nor even the Targaryen dragons
would survive it. Perhaps it's no surprise that the wisest king
in the history of Westeros made the wisest choice for his Hand. The son of a lowly blacksmith, Septon Barth, had few options
for advancement in the world and even fewer after his family
gave him to the Faith as a child. But as Royal Record Keeper,
Barth impressed the King so much that the King, defying
all his high-born advisors, made Septon Barth his Hand. Forty years of prosperity ensued. So much did Barth accomplish that many Lords and commoners
credited him with sorcery. No other explanation
could they accept for a man without blood
or skill at arms, because what Barth had
was rarer than both. A sharp mind. Years later, the realm had no sharper mind
than Lord Tywin Lannister, Hand to King Aerys Targaryen, or as history remembers him
"the Mad King." He saw assassins
and plots in every shadow, heard whispers in silence
and burned men alive. But his greatest madness by far
was driving away Lord Tywin. The Mad King then cycled through every mistake of his ancestors,
soldiers, toadying Lords, and at the end, even an alchemist, perhaps to save the Crown's
growing expenses on wildfire. Unfortunately, it didn't save
his crown or his dynasty. The new King Robert
chose his foster father, Lord Jon Arryn, as his Hand. The wisest decision Robert ever made. Not that it had many rivals. Too bad it proved so fatal. Lord Arryn was a man of honor
from an ancient and proud family. But honor is no shield
against the corruption of the capital. As Lord Arryn's successor, Ned Stark,
learned as well. Perhaps, the Hand of the King
is a flawed idea. Westeros needs a ruler who can rule, who builds what he dreams himself. A king who can't govern his kingdom
is no king. And a Hand who shits
what another mans eats is an arse. JAIME: When disciplining unruly
vassals, most lords send armies. My father, Tywin,
only had to send a singer. There's no faster way
to dull a vassal's ambition or any festive occasion than hearing The Rains Of Castamere. House Reyne of Castamere
was an old and proud house that was slowly sinking back
into the muck. Their mines had run dry. Without gold, they turned to
a more common source of wealth. Daughters. Lady Ellyn Reyne was betrothed
to my great-uncle. But when he fell in battle, Lady Ellyn sought comfort
in his twin brother's bed, beating out the other woman
he promised to marry. Then, the husband
who had shared his twin's wife, shared his twin's death
on a different battlefield. Lady Ellyn flung herself at the new,
and married, heir to the Rock. But my grandfather, Tytos,
was more kitten than lion. He ran away and told his wife
of Lady Ellyn's designs and Lady Ellyn soon found herself
married off to Walderan Tarbeck, lord of another failing house. The Reynes and Tarbecks should have
sunk into obscurity together, and they would have, if not for my grandfather becoming
Lord of Casterly Rock. At first, the Westerlands laughed with
the Laughing Lion, as the jovial Tytos was called. But when men realized this lion
had neither teeth nor claws, they started to laugh at him. None laughed harder than
the Reynes and Tarbecks. Though Lady Ellyn was
no longer welcome at Casterly Rock, Tytos didn't refuse her brothers,
Roger and Reynard Reyne. Not even when they asked for
extravagant loans. Thanks to our family's gold, Lady Ellyn restored Tarbeck Hall
to a splendor she hadn't known since being cast out of her home. When my grandfather
broached the subject of repayment, Roger and Reynard only laughed. And soon enough, my grandfather
was laughing along with them. Then my father, Tywin, returned from
the War of the Ninepenny Kings where he'd seen
how the rest of the realm sniggered at House Lannister. Determined to restore
our proper place, my father demanded the immediate
repayment of all debts to the Rock. Or a hostage
from those who couldn't pay. Reynard Reyne merely laughed
when he received the raven. Lord Walderan Tarbeck
chose to ride to Casterly Rock, sure that he could cow Lord Tytos into
rescinding my father's commands. He could have, except it wasn't Tytos
who met him at the gates, but my father, who had
Lord Walderan thrown into a dungeon. Lady Ellyn protested. The Reynes threatened war,
and finally, my grandfather broke and released Lord Tarbeck
with an apology, no less. As if bathing himself in shame, Tytos further forgave
all the Tarbeck debts to our house. To celebrate the end of hostilities,
Lord Roger feasted Tytos at Castamere and the two lords proclaimed
their friendship for eternity. My father allowed
eternity to last a year. When he summoned the Reynes
and Tarbecks to Casterly Rock to answer for their crimes, they rose in revolt,
exactly as he expected. Their defiance gave him a pretext
to call his banners and ride for Tarbeck Hall
and Castamere with an army behind him. He didn't even bother to inform
my grandfather. My father's army descended on
the Tarbecks so quickly that Lord Walderan had no time
to gather his forces and rode against my father
with only his household knights. Soon, his head, his sons' heads and the heads of any man
with Tarbeck blood adorned the spears
of the Lannister vanguard as it marched to Tarbeck Hall. At their approach,
Lady Ellyn Tarbeck closed the gates and sent ravens
to her brothers at Castamere. She assumed they'd have more than
enough time to muster their armies and break what would be a long siege. My father had trebuchets up in a day and brought down the keep
within hours. Lady Ellyn and her son
were crushed in its fall. When the Tarbeck forces surrendered, my father put their castle
to the torch. Roger Reyne arrived with his army
just in time to see the flames consuming
his sister's home. He charged my father's camp, hoping surprise would win out
over my father's greater numbers. It didn't. With half his men dead on the field
and a crossbolt in his back, Lord Roger fled back to Castamere. The Lannister host arrived
at Castamere three days later. Like Casterly Rock, the seat
of House Reyne had begun as a mine. When the gold gave out, the mineshafts were widened
into halls, galleries and bed chambers
deep beneath the earth. The Reyne brothers didn't have the men
to defend the castle walls and retreated into
their underground stronghold. From this relative safety, they offered terms to my father
to avoid a long siege. My father didn't reply. Instead, he commanded that the mines
be sealed with stone and soil until there was no way in
and no way out. When that was completed, it took less than a day
to dam the stream beside the castle and only two to divert it
to the nearest mine entrance. The Reynes had taken
more than 300 men, women and children into the mines. A few guards reported hearing
faint screams and shouts below them one night. But come dawn,
the earth was silent once again. And now the rain weeps
o'er their halls with no one left to hear. VISERYS: This world wasn't always
so small and petty. Thousands of years ago,
while the rest of men prayed to gods, the Valyrians became them. Through magic or sheer will, they mastered
the greatest creatures in history. A horse grants man dominion over the land,
a ship, over the sea. But dragons gave us the sky,
and everything, and everyone beneath it. At its height,
my ancestors ruled the known world. Whatever parts we didn't
weren't worth knowing. Our capital of Valyria
shamed the magnificent cities of the east, for hammers and chisels were no match
for dragonfire and sorcery. It was a city and an empire
built to last until the end of time. It didn't. Four hundred years ago,
the Doom fell on Valyria. Mountains cracked open like eggs. Lakes and rivers boiled. Fountains of fire, ash and smoke
spewed from the ground, so high and so hot
that even dragons burned in flight. The land splintered,
and the angry sea rushed in. In hours, the greatest city in history
became history. But my ancestors didn't burn or drown
with the rest of their race. Twelve years before the Doom,
despite the sneers of his rivals, Aenar Targaryen
abandoned the capital with his family. Legends claim that his daughter foresaw
the destruction of the city in a dream. More likely, Aenar met with
some mishap at court and chose exile over execution. He and House Targaryen slinked away
to a dreary, remote, godforsaken island. Forsaken no longer. With arts now lost to the world, we transformed a tiny outpost
into Dragonstone, a fortress fit for the last dragonlords. Then Aenar's descendants settled into it
like a tomb for their lost homeland. Until Aegon. When he looked east, he saw the past, old, tired, dead. But when he looked west, he saw the future, gold in the ground, gold in the fields, and no dragons in the sky but his. He and his sisters Rhaenys and Visenya
flew over the great continent, ostensibly visitors to a strange land. But when Aegon returned, he ordered construction of a massive table
carved in the shape of Westeros, with all the notable rivers and mountains
that they had seen. A personal map of the Seven Kingdoms, then ruled by seven squabbling families. House Durrandon held the Stormlands
from their seat at Storm's End, due south of Dragonstone. House Hoare of the Iron Islands had
also conquered and enslaved the Riverlands, and ruled them from Harrenhal, a monstrous castle
rising on the shore of the Gods Eye. House Stark held the frozen
wasteland of the North, the oldest, largest
and emptiest of the kingdoms. House Lannister held the Westerlands, the wealthiest kingdom,
thanks to their gold mines. House Gardener held the Reach, the second wealthiest kingdom,
thanks to their crops. House Arryn held the Vale,
or rather the Vale held them. The mountains were impassable
except through the Bloody Gate, which had never been taken. House Martell held the deserts of Dorne, probably because no one else wanted them. Together, the Seven Kingdoms
made Westeros, a realm that wasn't yet a realm, ruled by great families
who didn't know what greatness was. Aegon would teach them. VARYS: Though House Durrandon
titled themselves "Storm Kings," they were little more than gusts. Their kingdom in the Stormlands
had been doddering to its end for the past few centuries, helped along by other houses, most of all by House Hoare, who were nearly finished
with the monstrous castle of Harrenhal, too large and too costly a seat to rule
only the Riverlands. King Argilac knew
where the ironborn would soon turn. You'd think a king who
wanted to keep his crown would be wary of a man
with fire-breathing monsters, but King Argilac Durrandon
wasn't called "the Arrogant" for nothing. Determined to arrest his family's decline, he sent an envoy to Dragonstone to enlist Aegon Targaryen
and his dragons against his enemies. In exchange,
Argilac offered lands he didn't have and a wife Aegon didn't need, for, as the Valyrians did,
Aegon had wed his elder sister, Visenya. Then, as the Valyrians didn't,
he took the younger Rhaenys as well. Two sisters, two wives. Perhaps that's why he was so keen
to get off Dragonstone. Aegon countered Argilac with courtesy. He sent his own envoy requesting that Princess Durrandon's hand be given
instead to Aegon's closest friend, and rumored half-brother, Orys Baratheon. Argilac answered with a box and a note, "These are the only hands
your bastard shall have of me." Inside the box
were the hands of Aegon's envoy. How long had Aegon been waiting
for such a pretext? As his army prepared to sail, ravens flew to every great lord
of the Seven Kingdoms. All bore the same message. From this day forth,
there would be but one king in Westeros. Those who bent the knee
to Aegon of House Targaryen would keep their lands and titles. Those who took up arms against him would be thrown down,
humbled and destroyed. Poor old Argilac. He couldn't even match Aegon in arrogance. Aegon landed at the mouth
of the Blackwater River and raised a primitive "Aegonfort" in the disputed land between
Harren's and Argilac's kingdoms, so that neither could decide
whose problem he was. Adopting the customs
of the Seven Kingdoms, Aegon unfurled his own banner with a red three-headed dragon
breathing fire upon a black field. Visenya crowned him
with a ruby-studded circlet of Valyrian steel, while Rhaenys hailed him as the first high king the continent had seen
since the Dawn Age. As his lords
and the gathered locals cheered him, Aegon named his loyal friends
to a "Small Council" led by Orys Baratheon,
whom he called, "My strong right hand." The title stuck, and a bastard became
the first Hand of the King. But for now, Aegon's kingdom contained
only a rocky island and a handful of fields. The other kings had larger armies, ships,
castles and thousands of years of rule. But Aegon had dragons. He had chosen for the words of his house,
"Fire and blood." Before he was done,
the rivers, fields and skies would turn red. EURON: Harren of House Hoare
inherited a kingdom that stretched from
the Iron Islands to the Trident, too great a kingdom to rule
from a castle as shitty as Pyke. For 40 years, his ironborn - plundered the Riverlands
- (METAL CLANKING) for stone, timber
and slaves to build a seat worthy of him. Legend has it that masons laid
the final stone in Harrenhal on the very day
that Aegon landed in Westeros. Could've been a divine omen. Could've been the masons wanted to fuck off
before the dragons got there. They weren't the only ones. At Aegon's approach, Harren's riverlords revolted,
led by House Tully. I doubt Harren noticed. Harrenhal could repel
an army of a million men. No ladder could summit its walls, and no ram could shatter them. The castle was as impregnable
as an old maid's cunt. Harren shut his gates around himself,
his sons, and his ironborn, and waited for Aegon's army
to drain back into the muck. When Aegon finally saw the monstrous castle,
he asked for parley. Harren granted it. Valyria had been the greatest empire
the world had ever seen. Harren wanted to piss on its ashes. AEGON: "Yield now, and you may remain
as Lord of the Iron Islands. "Yield now, and your sons will live
to rule after you. "You see my army outside your walls. "You see my dragons." HARREN: "What is outside my walls
is of no concern. "Those walls are strong and thick." AEGON: "Dragons fly." (HARREN LAUGHS DERISIVELY) HARREN: "But stone doesn't burn." AEGON: "When the sun sets,
your line shall end." EURON: Harren spat
and returned to his castle. Once inside, he promised lands,
riches and Tully's daughters to whoever could bring down
Aegon or his dragon. As the sun sank below the horizon, all of Harren's men patrolled the battlements, hearing wings in every gust of wind. But the moon rose, and sank, and no dragon appeared. VISERYS: While the ironborn
were ringing the battlements, Aegon drove his dragon Balerion
higher and higher in the night sky so that even the great castle of Harrenhal
looked like an anthill below them. Then they plunged straight into the castle,
well inside the guarded walls. The five towers of Harrenhal
reached towards Aegon like a hand. Balerion opened his mouth
and bathed all the fingers in flame. EURON: Harren was right, stone doesn't burn,
but men do, even when they're ironborn. (SNIGGERS) The dragon blasted my ancestors into ash that choked the survivors
when they screamed. Harren's soldiers leapt from the battlements
and died. They huddled against the walls and died. They fled across the yard and died. Harren and his sons took shelter
inside the castle. The stone didn't burn, but as Balerion blasted it with fire,
it glowed white-hot. (LAUGHS DERISIVELY) The world's greatest castle
became the world's greatest oven, baking the last of House Hoare within it. VISERYS: Outside the castle walls, the towers of Harrenhal
glowed red against the night and began to twist and melt
like five huge candles with liquid stone
trickling down their sides like wax. The next morning,
Aegon forged a new Riverlands. He named the rebel Edmyn Tully
as his Lord Paramount of the Trident, and had the other riverlords swear
him fealty as their new liege. For centuries, House Hoare
had terrorized the Riverlands. Under House Tully, the Riverlands would at last
return to peace and prosperity. After the castle cooled enough
to allow men inside, Aegon ventured into the ruin
he'd made of Harrenhal. He saw the ashen bodies, the scorched stone and the mangled and melted swords
of his former enemies. To his men's confusion, he ordered these useless swords collected
and sent to his Aegonfort. VARYS: While Aegon marched on Harrenhal
after his coronation, Orys Baratheon had taken most of his forces,
and his Queen Rhaenys with her dragon, south to deal with the excuse for the invasion, Argilac the Arrogant, King of the Stormlands. Argilac had his seat at Storm's End, a castle considered the most impregnable
in Westeros after Harrenhal. Argilac may have been arrogant,
but he wasn't stupid or a coward. His lords advised him to shut his gates
and wait out the siege, but he'd heard
what had happened at Harrenhal and refused to die a suckling pig
cooked in his own castle. He would meet victory or defeat the same way,
with sword in hand. He called his banners and marched
to meet Orys Baratheon in the field. Thanks to Rhaenys' dragon, Meraxes, Orys knew Argilac was coming,
how many men he had, and how fast he marched. So Orys simply seized the high ground
and dug in on the hills to wait for Argilac. As the two armies approached, the wind rose to meet them,
and the rain poured from the sky, a gale which would give the battle
its name, "the Last Storm." King Argilac's lords urged him to wait
for the weather to die down, but the Storm King saw that the rain was blowing into the faces
of the Baratheon men on their hills, and Argilac outnumbered
the Baratheon host two-to-one, with four times as many knights
and heavy horse. Argilac attacked. Three times Argilac led his knights
against the Baratheon line, but the hills were steep
and the rain had beat the earth to mud. - The warhorses foundered and slipped,
- (SWORDS CLANKING) and the charges collapsed. The battle seemed lost until Argilac ordered
his spearmen up the hill. Blinded by the rain, the Baratheons
didn't see them until it was too late. - One hill fell, then another, and another,
- (MEN YELLING AND GRUNTING) until only one remained
in the Baratheon center. If Argilac could break through there, he could split the invading army
and flank both halves. Argilac and his men charged,
and the Baratheon line broke... Revealing Queen Rhaenys and Meraxes. Argilac's vanguard burst into flame,
and his men panicked. - The victory charge fell into chaos,
- (HORSES WHINNYING) and Argilac himself
was thrown from his horse. But he didn't yield. When Orys Baratheon arrived, he found the old king holding off
half a dozen men, another half-dozen dead at his feet. Orys dismounted
to meet the king on equal footing and offered Argilac one final chance to yield. Argilac cursed him instead. As the storm raged around them, the grizzled old warrior
and the bearded upstart fought for life and kingdom. - In the end, Argilac got his wish.
- (SWORDS CLANKING) He died, sword in hand. As word of Argilac's death spread, his lords and knights
threw down their swords and fled. Orys and his vanguard rode to Storm's End
to claim Argilac's castle for Aegon only to find the gates barred
and the walls manned. Argilac's daughter had assumed his crown, and the new Storm Queen
was as fond of yielding as her father. She declared that Orys would win
only bones, blood and ashes here. But her men were weaker than her, and that night Orys found
Argilac's daughter delivered, gagged, chained and naked to his camp. Argilac had refused to give Orys her hand. Now, Orys could have
any part of her he wished. But Orys unchained the girl, wrapped his cloak around her
and poured her a glass of wine. He told her he would take the arms,
banner and words of House Durrandon, to honor her father's courage
in the Last Storm. Conveniently, Orys had none of his own
to discard first. The crowned stag
became the sigil of House Baratheon, and Storm's End their seat. Argilac's daughter
would even remain in her home, though as a lady instead of a princess. The Stormlands were now Aegon's, and as tribute, Aegon demanded
the swords of the men Orys had defeated. For what purpose, Orys didn't know. JAIME: Aegon now ruled
two of the Seven Kingdoms, but he would no longer
be able to take the rest piecemeal. For the first time in thousands of years, the kings put aside their squabbles
and joined forces against a common enemy. My ancestor, King Loren of House Lannister, was head of the wealthiest family
in the Seven Kingdoms. When King Loren joined his forces to
Mern of House Gardener, King of the Reach, they had the mightiest army in history, a so-called "iron fist"
to break the would-be conqueror. But while an iron fist
can smash a man's face in battle, you'd look silly hunting birds
or beasts with it, and Aegon had a creature that was both. The kings had never even seen a dragon,
let alone fought one. They had fought each other
for thousands of years, and victory always went to the larger army. Surely a force five times that of Aegon's
could manage one dragon... But Aegon arrived with three. Still, the Lannisters and Gardeners
hoped for victory. The battlefield they chose was a wide plain
with firm ground and clear skies. Perfect for archers and mounted cavalry. But neither of the kings spared a thought
for why the ground was firm. There had been no rain for a fortnight, which meant all the wheat and grass on it
were bone-dry. - Perfect for dragons.
- (HOOVES THUDDING) At first, the kings looked like - they would emerge victorious.
- (HORN BLOWS) When the horn blew for battle,
their armies swept around Aegon's flanks and their iron fist of mounted knights
smashed through his center before the dragons could even enter the fray. But then Aegon and his sisters took flight
and unleashed their dragons not on the soldiers,
but on the dry fields all around them. - The iron fist unclenched
- (MEN SCREAMING) - and became a hand outstretched for mercy.
- (HORSE WHINNIES) As Aegon promised, he had none. More than 4,000 men died in the fires,
another 1,000 escaping them. Tens of thousands
returned home as monsters, burned and scarred beyond recognition. House Gardener never returned at all. The "Field of Fire," as the singers call it,
claimed the last of the Gardener line, and House Tyrell rose in their stead as Lords of the Reach
and Wardens of the South. As for my illustrious ancestor, when King Loren saw the battle was lost, he rode through a wall of flame
and smoke to safety... Or at least to a heroic capture a day later, where he laid his sword
before Aegon and knelt. Aegon, true to his word, spared him
and confirmed House Lannister as Lords of Casterly Rock
and Wardens of the West. Why wouldn't he? A Lannister always pays his debts,
and now we owed our lives to the crown. That was worth centuries of subservience,
at least. Besides, Aegon had a fetish
for collecting swords, not heads. He added Loren's to the pile
his men had retrieved from the Field of Fire and sent them back to the Aegonfort. SANSA: With most of the South
in Aegon's hands, the best chance to throw back
the Conqueror now lay with the North, if we cared enough to try. Unlike our southern rivals, the Stark Kings of Winter
didn't forge the North into one kingdom for glory or gold, there is little of either here, but to survive. Alone in Westeros, the North remembered when
worse than dragons laid waste to armies. Thousands of years ago, the sun set on the realms of men
and the Long Night began. A new race emerged
from the ice and snow, the White Walkers. They demanded no crown,
offered no terms, spared no life, and the dead marched with them. With humanity facing extinction,
a Stark sought out the Children of the Forest, the most ancient beings in Westeros, and convinced them to ally
with the men they'd once fought. Together the two races pushed the Walkers
back into the Land of Always Winter and sealed it off from
the Seven Kingdoms with the Wall, 300 miles of ice, stone and earth
rising nearly 700 feet tall. To guard it,
they established the Night's Watch, a brotherhood sworn to defend
the living from the dead, whose vows erase both titles and crimes. VISERYS: After the Long Night, the North
tried to forget it belonged to the continent, perhaps through pride,
perhaps through sheer ignorance. You never can tell with the North. But as news of Aegon's dragons spread, Torrhen Stark, the King of Winter,
knew he couldn't forget Westeros any longer and summoned his lords to Winterfell. Many fools shrugged off the threat while the rest placed wagers on
how long the South would take to burn. Torrhen silenced them
with a command to assemble their armies and descend from the North in force. SANSA: As the kings of the Rock
and the Reach burned on the Field of Fire, the greatest Northern force
since the Long Night crossed the Neck into the Riverlands. But when King Torrhen arrived at the Trident, he saw on the opposing riverbank the combined strength of
all Aegon's conquered kingdoms. A force larger than Torrhen's own by half,
and with three dragons. VISERYS: That night, King Torrhen
called a conference of all his lords and advisers. Some wanted to fight,
and trust Northern valor to carry the day, and burn on the Trident. The wisest of them
wanted to withdraw to Moat Cailin, the fortress which had thrown back
every southern invasion, and burn there. One suicidal lord even wanted to
ambush Aegon's camp in the dark and kill the dragons as they slept,
or at the very least their riders. Hard to tell what would've been his fate. Burning, beheading, dismemberment? Perhaps all three. SANSA: My ancestor listened to their counsel, - and in the morning crossed the Trident
- (HOOVES THUDDING) under a flag of parley. Then King Torrhen of House Stark
laid his ancient crown at Aegon's feet, and was named Lord of Winterfell
and Warden of the North... VISERYS: And the King Who Knelt. SANSA: He had no choice, and thanks to him our soldiers returned
to their homes whole and unharmed. The swords that Aegon took from them
were not twisted, burnt or mangled. VISERYS: Yet. LITTLEFINGER: The Vale of Arryn
was the last of the great kingdoms left. Old and proud, House Arryn did
what they always did in times of strife. They shut the Bloody Gate,
sealing off the Vale. Then the Queen-Regent Sharra
of House Arryn retreated with her son, the boy king Ronnel, into the Eyrie,
their family's impregnable fortress. From the top of their mountain,
they could look down on Westeros far below, its problems hidden beneath the clouds. But one day Queen Sharra
entered the outer courtyard to find her young son sitting on the knee
of Visenya Targaryen, - and ogling her dragon, Vhagar, beside her.
- (VHAGAR GROWLING SOFTLY) Just as he'd ask for another cake at dinner, little King Ronnel asked his mother if
he could go flying on the nice lady's dragon. Visenya smiled at Sharra. So, Sharra imagined, did Vhagar. Remembering her manners, Sharra asked if she could have Visenya
brought some wine or food, she must be tired after such a long flight. But Visenya demurred. Bored with his mother's pleasantries,
Ronnel demanded an answer. Poor boy. He didn't even understand the question. Sharra hesitated for a moment,
then asked Visenya, as a mother, if it were safe for the boy. Visenya assured her it was. What choice did Sharra have? Whilst her son circled the castle, she collected his little ringlet,
her own regent's coronet, and the ancient Falcon Crown
of Mountain and Vale, which the Arryns had worn
for thousands of years. Ronnel had taken to the sky as a king,
but he landed as a lordling. Perhaps he considered his ancient rights a fair trade for a few minutes of flight,
as a little boy would. More likely he didn't even notice
the three crowns at Visenya's feet, or recognize the swords
of his garrison beside them. VISERYS: The heads of Westeros
had bowed to Aegon, but its heart still beat free. Oldtown, the center of the
Faith of the Seven. There dwelt the High Septon,
the Father of the Faithful, who commanded the obedience
of all Westeros, save the savages of the North
and their Old Gods. When Aegon had landed in Westeros, the High Septon had locked himself
in the Starry Sept and fasted for seven days and seven nights, one for each of his gods. All he received for his trouble
was the divine wisdom that if Oldtown took up arms
against the Dragon, the city would burn, faithful and faithless alike. After the submission of House Stark, Aegon marched towards Oldtown,
steeling himself for another battle. But he found the gates open,
with the High Septon welcoming him. The pious fool even had the arrogance
to grant what Aegon had already won, and anointed the last Valyrian
as "Aegon of House Targaryen, "First of His Name,
King of the Andals and the First Men, "Lord of the Seven Kingdoms
and Protector of the Realm." As if titles meant anything to a man
before whom time itself now bowed. The maesters would hence divide all history
into "Before" and "After Conquest." Most expected Aegon to stay
and make Oldtown his seat, but soon after his coronation, Aegon
returned to the mouth of the Blackwater River where he had first set foot on Westeros. A small town had since sprouted
around his primitive fort. To honor their new master,
the locals dubbed it King's Landing, though it looked more fit for a hedge knight, with wooden palisades, muddy streets and piles of mangled swords
carted in from every corner of the conquest. But when Aegon made it his court,
wood became stone. Black mud was buried beneath a Red Keep. And the collected swords of Aegon's foes
were blasted by dragonfire, and became a seat fit for the Conqueror and the greatest dynasty
this world has ever known. House Targaryen. My family. My throne. Or so it should've been. VARYS: But while Aegon titled himself
"Lord of the Seven Kingdoms," in reality he held only six. The seventh, Dorne, had never knelt. Visenya had flown into the Vale
and returned with its crown. Mimicking her sister, Rhaenys had flown over the enemy force
holding the passes into Dorne, and landed in the castle of its ruling lady,
Princess Meria of House Martell. Meria was 80 years old, fat, bald and blind. Behind her back, many sniggered at her
as the "Yellow Toad of Dorne." The beautiful Rhaenys probably
thought as much when they met. She demanded Princess Meria
kneel to her brother Aegon, though she allowed that on account of
Meria's age and health, a simple vow of submission would do. But the Princess told the Queen
that the Targaryens weren't wanted in Dorne, and no Martell would ever bow, bend or break
no matter how badly they burned. Rhaenys could have mounted her dragon
right then and roasted Meria in the castle
as her brother had done at Harrenhal. But whatever she saw in Meria's eyes scared her right back to King's Landing, with her dragon's tail between its legs. After Aegon's coronation, Rhaenys returned to Dorne
with Aegon and Visenya and their dragons. But no armies met them in the field,
and no lords defied them in their castles. As the dragons approached,
Dorne simply emptied. House Martell had learned
from Harrenhal and the Field of Fire. The dragons were unbeatable in battle, but wars were more than battles. Unopposed, Aegon claimed Dorne
for his own. But as soon as he returned to King's Landing, his castellans were hurled off towers,
and his royal garrison vanished in the desert, never to be seen again. Except, perhaps, when the winds change
and the sands cough up old bones and armor. Rhaenys returned on Meraxes, intent on revenging herself
against Meria Martell. But Dorne was no longer empty. The Dornish kept Meria's promise, and fought even while
burning under dragonflame. And they won. One day a bolt pierced the eye of Meraxes
and knocked the dragon out of the sky. House Martell remained unbroken,
unlike the unfortunate Rhaenys. In their wrath, Aegon and Visenya set flame
to every castle and city but Sunspear, trying to turn the people
against House Martell. But the Dornish stayed loyal, and when Aegon returned to King's Landing, he found assassins waiting for him
in the streets of his own capital. If not for Visenya, the Conqueror would
not have enjoyed his Conquest for very long. From then on,
the king and his family would be guarded by the seven greatest knights in the realm,
the Kingsguard. When Meria died in her sleep,
her weak and tired son sued for peace. But old Meria had exhausted Aegon as well,
and he granted the request. The Targaryens still wanted Dorne,
and eventually they would have it, but not at the point of a sword. They would buy it the same way
great lords buy anything... With a daughter. VISERYS: After the Conquest,
when men looked up, they saw dragons. Nobles learned to keep their eyes down, but the gods weren't used to
sharing the heavens. When Aegon died, the High Septon
led the Faith and its army in revolt, claiming that the Valyrian tradition
of wedding brother to sister was an abomination in the eyes of the Seven. Though no one could explain where
the divine Mother and Father had come from. My ancestor Maegor the Wise,
or Maegor the Cruel, as men slander him, put a bounty on the head
of every militant priest, and miraculously the Faith
soon returned to the septs. With Dorne in the fold,
and the Faith put in its place, none in Westeros were left
to oppose my family, so we started opposing each other. In the Dance of Dragons, a Targaryen Princess
tried to steal her brother's throne. Thanks to her stupidity,
most of our dragons died, though one thankfully ate her before it did. But even without our dragons,
we were still the blood of Old Valyria, which proved just as dangerous. One of my foolish ancestors didn't see what separated his bastards
from our family proper, and legitimized them all on his deathbed. Adopting the name Blackfyre, the bastards proved their nature
and tried to seize their father's kingdom. When they failed, their sons tried. When the sons failed, their grandsons tried. Until finally Ser Barristan the Bold,
knight of the Kingsguard, slew Maelys the Monstrous
in the War of the Ninepenny Kings, ending the last of the Blackfyre line. Ultimately, without our dragons
and with our blood diluted by commoners, we failed to see the greatest threat
growing under our noses. JAIME: As the saying goes, "Every time a Targaryen is born,
the gods flip a coin." They must've dropped the one for King Aerys, for at first he seemed to have
dodged the family madness. But as he grew older,
he began to see conspirators everywhere, and where there were none,
he worked to create them. As one of his Kingsguard, I saw firsthand that a king who couldn't rule his own mind
couldn't rule seven kingdoms. We endured his reign because we hoped his son Rhaegar
would right the realm when he ascended to the throne. But then Rhaegar proved as mad as his father and snatched Lyanna Stark,
daughter of the Warden of the North, and betrothed to Robert Baratheon,
Lord of the Stormlands. When Lyanna's father and eldest brother
demanded justice, - the Mad King obliged,
- (AERYS LAUGHING INSIDIOUSLY) laughing as he dispensed it. VARYS: Unsatisfied with only two murders, the Mad King then ordered
Jon Arryn, Lord of the Vale, to execute his two wards,
Robert Baratheon and Eddard Stark. Instead, Jon Arryn raised the Vale in revolt. Ned Stark slipped past royalist sentries
and raised the North, and Robert won three battles in a single day
to unite the Stormlands behind him, only to be defeated by a royalist army
and forced to flee, leaving his home of Storm's End besieged. SANSA: The Hand of the King
finally cornered Robert in the town of the Stoney Sept and sent his soldiers door-to-door - searching for the rebel leader.
- (KNOCKING) But the villagers hated the Mad King
and loved Robert, and kept him one step ahead of the soldiers. Until only one refuge remained. As the soldiers closed in,
all the town bells rang out. - (BELLS TOLLING)
- Hearing of Robert's plight, our father and Jon Arryn
had rushed to the Riverlands and enlisted our grandfather, Hoster Tully,
to help them. Together they routed the Hand's army
and rescued Robert. To celebrate and cement the Tully alliance, our father wed our mother, Catelyn,
and Jon Arryn took our Aunt Lysa. Only a fortnight later,
both men rushed back into the field, for the dragon had finally woken. VISERYS: While my father's servants
were losing my father's kingdoms, my brother Rhaegar
had been cooped up with his... Mistress? Whore? Whatever else, I'd call her a distraction. But now Rhaegar came to his senses
and returned to King's Landing. He persuaded our father
to summon his estranged friend, Lord Tywin Lannister, the richest
and most powerful lord in the realm. - Rhaegar himself would lead the royal army
- (HOOVES THUDDING) against the usurper, Robert. - (SWORD SWISHES)
- On the banks of the Trident, my brother fought the man
whose wife he'd stolen, and who fought to steal
his birthright in return. In the end, Robert wanted it more. His hammer shattered my brother's armor and its rubies fell into the river like raindrops, vanishing in the current. VARYS: With Rhaegar's defeat, nothing stood
between Robert and King's Landing. Imagine the King's surprise a fortnight later when he saw not stags,
but lions outside his gates. His former Hand, Tywin Lannister, had come to the capital with a force
even Robert couldn't match, claiming to be loyal to the king. Trusting what he wanted to believe,
Aerys ordered the gates opened, and the Lannister forces dutifully began to rape, pillage and murder
the king's actual loyal subjects. When Eddard Stark finally arrived
at the capital with Robert's army, he found Lannister banners
hanging over the sacked city, Targaryen corpses littering its streets, and Ser Jaime Lannister
sitting on the Iron Throne. Below him, the Mad King Aerys, whom Ser Jaime had sworn to guard,
lay in a pool of his own blood from a sword thrust through his back. Lord Eddard might've thanked Ser Jaime
for doing the realm a favor, but honorable as he was, Lord Eddard condemned Ser Jaime
as a Kingslayer, a name he would never escape. JAIME: Unlike Lord Eddard, Robert appreciated my contribution
to his glorious victory. He pardoned me for my crime,
and even kept me on his Kingsguard beside Ser Barristan Selmy, who'd been wounded at the Trident
fighting for Rhaegar. True, both of us had failed to protect
our Targaryen charges, but perhaps that's what
Robert liked most about us. When my father presented Robert with the bodies of Rhaegar's wife
and two children, Ned Stark hiked up his skirts and demanded Robert send their killer to Dorne,
and me to the Wall. But I saw what Ned couldn't. Robert was ashamed of the bodies, and more ashamed of his relief. He knew that Rhaegar's heirs had to die
or his throne would never be safe, but glorious heroes didn't kill children. They simply didn't punish their murderers. VISERYS: No doubt I would've
suffered a similar fate, but my father had wisely sent me
and my pregnant mother to Dragonstone. When the usurper heroically sent men
to kill me and my newborn sister to protect his stolen throne, a loyal knight smuggled us
across the Narrow Sea to Essos. And so the last dragons of Valyria, heirs to the greatest dynasty from the greatest civilization
this world has ever known, slept in sewers
and foraged for scraps in alleyways, one step ahead of the usurper's knives and one step behind the whispers
of his spymaster Varys. But we won't run forever. One day I'll return to my kingdoms
with an army, take back my throne, and repay all traitors
with the only coin my family knows. Fire and blood.
