July 22, 2018
Yara has an encounter. Cersei pays her debts. Qyburn experiments.
INT. THE SILENCE - BRIG - NIGHT
YARA GREYJOY is imprisoned in the brig. Quite thoroughly imprisoned. Her wrists are tied together behind her back. She's chained to the wall by a leather collar around her neck. And there's a guard standing watch above the metal grate that opens up onto the deck of the ship.
She sits on the floor, leaning against the hull, eyes dull. Her split cheek is crusted over with dried blood.
She looks up as she hears noise above the grate. They're changing the guard. She narrows her eyes and cranes her neck, trying to get a look at the NEW GUARD through the bars of the grate. The guard looks down at her, revealing his face for a quick second. Then he turns his back again to stand watch.
Yara gazes up at him. A spark of the Yara we know and love comes back into her eyes, unextinguished as yet by all the drowning and beating and humiliation.
She picks herself off the floor and moves toward the grate. Her chain pulls taut. By design, she can't quite reach it. She leans her back against the steps leading up to the deck, as close to the grate as her chain will allow.
The guard, TRIS BOTLEY, almost looks at her, but suppresses the reaction. He stares straight ahead, ignoring her.
You didn't think I remembered you? I have a good mind for names and faces, among other things.
Tris ignores her.
You're still sore at me, aren't you.
Yes you are. You're sore as bruised balls.
Shut up, whore.
Whore, am I?
I have an immodest thirst for pussy, it's true. Or a good cock, on the right man.
She looks up at him as she says that, but he resists the bait.
But I'm not a whore. That's why you're sore at me, all these years later.
You still think you're better than everyone? I hope Euron drowns you.
He did. Learning to wish for things you can have, are you?
I was better than everyone. I could outfight, outfuck, and outsail any of you. I was captain of my own ship. And you were just another grubby hand, fit only to swab my deck.
I told you to shut up.
I have permission to flog you.
You have permission to flog me. You think that's attractive, do you? "Oh, daddy Euron says I can flog you, stay back!" A true Ironborn doesn't need permission.
So that's what I did wrong?
If you'd tried that, I would have choked you with your own cock.
Why are you talking to me?
Yara jerks against her collar, making her chain clink.
A loaded silence.
I'm not going to free you.
Good. That would be awkward. What could I do, if you freed me? I'm a good swimmer, but not that good. Perhaps I'll seduce a mermaid and she'll swim me back to Westeros.
What do you want, then?
She leans back against the steps.
What any Ironborn wants, when they've been too long at sea.
INT. THE SILENCE - BRIG - DAY
Morning light filters down through the grate into the brig. Yara is curled up in the corner, asleep.
The grate swings open with a metal bang, waking her. Yara squints up as EURON GREYJOY comes clomping down the steps.
(chipper as always)
Good morning, niece.
Yara just deadpans stoically at him. It's keelhaul-o-clock again, is it? Yay.
I've got a very special surprise for you today.
Oh. This sounds worse. Yara tries hard not to let her uncle see her dread.
EXT. THE SILENCE - MAIN DECK - DAY
Euron strides bouncily along the deck of his ship, heading for the stern. He drags Yara along behind him on a leash, as is his wont.
EXT. THE SILENCE - STERN - DAY
Euron walks right up to the taffrail at the stern of the ship. He grabs Yara by the hair on the back of her head, controlling the direction of her gaze. With his other hand, he points at something in the distance.
Look. There it is! Your special surprise.
Yara gazes out and sees a lone ship, trailing far behind the rest of Euron's vast armada. She stares at it, not quite comprehending.
Euron helpfully produces a long spyglass and holds it up to her face.
Here. This will help.
Through the spyglass, Yara sees the ship properly. A look of recognition comes over her face.
It's your beloved brother. Come to save the day! Isn't that exciting?
Yara is unable to fully hide her reaction. Equal parts breathless hope and terrified dread.
Let's go say hello, shall we?
EXT. THEON'S SHIP - BOW - DAY
THEON GREYJOY stands at the bow of his ship, staring through a long spyglass of his own.
Theon's POV: three of Euron's ships are sailing toward us, led by the Silence. And there, lashed to the prow of the Silence--
Yara is tied spread-eagle, naked, adorning the prow of Euron's ship like a living figurehead.
Theon slowly lowers the spyglass. His expression is equal parts disgusted horror and bittersweet relief.
They have her.
His FIRST MATE seizes the spyglass from him and stares through it. He stares a bit too long. Theon snatches the spyglass from the man's hands and glares at him: you sick perv.
We should prepare to board.
Theon stares out at the fast-approaching ships. They're big, mean ships, far bigger and meaner than theirs. Theirs is a small, fast ship. Built for chasing. Or fleeing.
There's too many of them.
They'll sink us before we get within a hundred feet of her.
You afraid, little Theon?
He'll kill her. As soon as he kills us, he'll kill her too.
He turns and shouts down to the rest of the crew.
His IRONBORN stop and stare at him from their various posts.
Sullen, disbelieving looks. It's uncertain whether they will obey him. A tense beat passes, and then they do.
The first mate deadpans at him, unimpressed.
EXT. THE SILENCE - MAIN DECK - DAY
Euron Greyjoy is having the best day of his life. He's walking along the deck, dragging Yara by the hair. She's still naked. Euron's men guffaw and leer at her as she passes.
"I'm coming, Yara! I'm coming to save you! What's that? Oh no, my uncle! Run away!"
He cackles delightedly.
Euron and Yara pass Tris Botley on the deck and Yara shoots Tris a look, which Euron doesn't see. Tris and Yara share a significant gaze for a moment. Tris can't help but ogle her naked body as she walks away.
What a twat!
INT. THE SILENCE - BRIG - DAY
Euron throws Yara back down into the brig, still naked. He hands a wooden bucket to MARON VOLMARK, who's on guard duty.
Maron, throw a bucket of water on her every hour or so.
Yara is chained again by her collar, and her wrists are bound behind her back by a length of rope. Maron comes down into the brig and throws a bucket of seawater on her, drenching her. He laughs and kicks her in the ribs. Above him, the other Ironborn see this and laugh. Then Maron exits and locks the grate above her, leaving Yara alone in the dimness.
Yara sits huddled in the corner of the brig -- bruised, naked, wet, and shivering.
EXT. VOLANTENE SHIP - STERN - NIGHT
The sun has set, but Bronn is too restless to sleep. He paces back and forth across the stern of the ship, as he had before.
Bronn's POV: King's Landing is still just barely visible -- a glimmer of distant torchlight on the horizon.
Bronn stops pacing, puts his hands on the taffrail, and stares intently at the disappearing city. He stands there, holding his breath. Finally, he takes a deep breath and permits himself a small sigh of relief. He starts to turn away from the railing--
An unidentified noise makes Bronn nearly jump out of his skin. He scans all around, trying to find the source of the noise.
A wooden rolling sound draws his eye to a barrel on the main deck, rolling back and forth to the sway of the ship. Bronn eyes it warily, then seems embarrassed at his own alarm. Just a barrel of ship's goods that had slipped loose from its lashings. Right?
...what was that?
He scans all around, spooked. And that's when he sees--
Another barrel, sailing implausibly through the air from some random point on the water. It lands on the deck with a THUNK much like the first one. But this one cracks slightly from the impact, and some kind of liquid starts trickling out of it. Bronn stares at it. It's hard to tell what it is by the light of the thin crescent moon. But he's got a bad feeling...
The Volantene captain comes hurrying onto deck, half-dressed. He looks at the rolling barrels in confused consternation, then looks up at Bronn.
What is this--
More barrels now, a volley of them, pummeling the ship like a heavy wooden hailstorm. A few miss and splash into the water around them. The captain rushes to the side of his ship, searching frantically for the source of this strange onslaught.
A dark ship cruises silently alongside them some distance away. Its sails and hull are a murky grey that causes it to blend almost perfectly into the dark waters of Blackwater Bay. No lights shine from its portholes or deck. Despite the distance, the distinctive swinging motion of trebuchets is visible on its deck under the moonlight.
Bronn is staring at the liquid pooling from multiple cracked barrels. There's enough of it now to see what it is: a bright, sulfurous, acid-green liquid. Ser Bronn of the Blackwater has seen it before.
Without a word, he turns and sprints for the railing.
(shouting at the ship)
Ay! AY! What are you doing?! What--
He trails off and stares up as a different set of projectiles comes arcing toward his ship. A volley of fire arrows.
Bronn leaps from the ship.
The Volantene captain is consumed in an explosion of bright green flame, along with his ship and crew.
EXT. CERSEI'S BALCONY - NIGHT
Cersei watches the explosion. From her perspective, it is a tiny, bright flash of green on the distant horizon. She takes a sip of wine.
She's not smiling. This isn't triumphant, the way the Sept of Baelor had been. This is: I warned you not to betray me, motherfucker.
QYBURN appears and joins her at the balcony, looking out toward the explosion.
Such a pity.
I can't say I'm surprised. The man had no loyalty to anyone but himself.
They watch the wildfire flickering on the horizon.
I'll ask the pyromancer to replenish our stores.
Cersei takes another sip of wine.
INT. Qyburn's LABORATORY - LATER
Alone in his laboratory, Qyburn removes a rat from a cage. It squeaks and wriggles as he carries it across the room.
Nearby, the wight from the Dragonpit lies spread-eagled on a large examining table. Its skin is peeled back, its rotted flesh pulled apart and held in place with pins and hooks, exposing its organs like a meticulously dissected frog.
Qyburn walks past the dead wight, carrying the rat, and takes a seat at a workbench on the far side of the room. A row of stoppered glass flasks sits lined up across the back of the workbench. They contain unpleasant-looking purplish liquids in varying hues, each neatly labeled with a number.
Qyburn unstoppers one of the flasks, one-handed, still holding the rat in his other hand. He draws some of the liquid into a medieval pipette and injects it into the rat's mouth, forcing the concoction down its throat.
He carries the rat to a different workbench. This one is made of stone and bears a small wire cage with a solid metal pan for a floor. He locks the rat inside the cage.
He fetches an earthen jar from a shelf and pours a bright green liquid into the pan of the cage floor. The rat squeaks and moves to the far edge of the cage to avoid the liquid, but it pools out and soon covers the entire cage floor.
Qyburn puts the jar away. He returns to the caged rat and strikes a flint into the wildfire.
We don't see the rat burn, but we hear its shrieks and see the fire's green light illuminate Qyburn's face, rapt with curiosity. He picks up a notebook and quill and begins taking notes as the rat's shrieks escalate in volume and pitch.