September 2, 2018
Jaime begins work. Cersei cleans up loose ends. Jon faces his new reality.
EXT. WINTERFELL LANDSCAPE - PRE-DAWN
The sky above Winterfell is a grey pre-dawn color.
EXT. CRYPT ENTRANCEWAY - PRE-DAWN
A flicker of torchlight, and JON SNOW emerges from the darkness of the crypt stairwell.
He comes out and puts the torch back into its wall bracket. Then leans exhaustedly against the wall and rubs at his face. He looks like he hasn't slept at all this past night.
He squints up at the sky, grey with first light. He contemplates the approaching dawn. It's going to be a long day.
He hucks himself away from the wall and starts walking across the Winterfell courtyard.
INT. JAIME'S CHAMBER - PRE-DAWN
JAIME LANNISTER stands at his window, looking out at the lightening sky as he dresses himself, one-handed.
There's a knock on the door. Jaime doesn't visibly react right away. He finishes fastening his clothes, then turns to go answer the door.
INT. HALLWAY OUTSIDE JAIME'S CHAMBER - CONTINUOUS
Jaime opens the door. He looks at Jon and makes a face.
You look terrible. Slept badly?
Jaime comes out and closes his door behind him. They start walking down the hallway together.
What kept you awake?
EXT. WINTERFELL COURTYARD - MORNING
Jon and Jaime walk through the main Winterfell courtyard. They pass by the blacksmith's workshop. The smiths are already busy at their forges. GENDRY is among them and gives Jon a nod as they pass.
I believe this is where we first met. You were having a sword made.
And you were mocking me for joining the Night's Watch.
Jaime casts Jon an amused, mildly incredulous look.
Are you still sore about that?
(quoting from memory)
"Let me thank you ahead of time for guarding us all from White Walkers and whatnot."
Are all our conversations going to involve you quoting my own words back at me?
You didn't think I could tell I was being mocked.
It's not my fault you don't let on. Are you happy to be vindicated?
No, I'm not.
EXT. WINTERFELL BATTLEMENTS - MORNING
Jon and Jaime walk along the top of Winterfell's outer wall. Jaime looks down into the area just outside the walls.
You haven't dug any trenches?
The ground's frozen, now that winter's here.
It would be hard labor, of course. But you said we'll soon be overrun with common people. Might as well give them something useful to do.
They're already useful, as soldiers. We've been training every man and woman aged ten to sixty. Besides, trenches wouldn't help us.
He looks at Jaime.
The dead aren't like ordinary soldiers, Ser Jaime. I've seen them throw themselves from a cliff forty feet high, land in a heap at the bottom, then get right back up. They encounter a trench, they'll just pile themselves in until they've filled it up, and the rest will walk right over.
Jaime absorbs all this.
What about fire? We could form a ring of firewood around the perimeter. Set it alight when the attack comes.
A few of them would burn, aye. But there's so many, they'll just stampede in and smother it.
We can build a palisade out of crossed posts. That should slow them down enough to catch fire. Then while the first wave burns, the next wave would have to climb over them, and they'd catch fire as well.
A short pause as Jon thinks.
That might work.
Of course, the real problem is the Night King's dragon.
Jaime stops in his tracks, looking at Jon in disbelief.
If he reaches Winterfell, (he'll destroy any structure we put up--)
The Night King has a dragon?
Jon stops too. He grimaces regretfully.
That wight we showed you in the Dragonpit... I led a mission north of the Wall to capture it. The Army of the Dead trapped us there, and Queen Daenerys came with her dragons to save us.
The Night King killed one of her dragons?
(off Jon's nod)
He threw an ice spear at him.
He threw a spear at it. With his arm.
(off Jon's nod)
I faced one of her dragons in the field. A hundred arrows flew at it, and a hundred arrows bounced off its scales. Even Qyburn's Scorpion only managed to wound it. How on earth did the Night King kill a dragon with a spear?
I don't know. The dragons are magic. But the Night King has magic of his own.
"Qyburn's Scorpion." What's that?
A ballista that Cersei's Hand designed. Precise enough and powerful enough to kill a dragon. Or so it's meant to be.
Can we make more of them? Here?
I don't have the design.
But you've seen it. If you described it to Tyrion, could he copy it?
He probably could.
They resume walking.
I never imagined the Night King could kill a dragon so easily. If I'd known, I never would have asked her to come for us. You'd think I would have learned to stop underestimating him.
They walk in silence a bit, then Jon stops and puts out a hand to stop Jaime.
Two days ago, it was. When I found out that the Night King had Viserion.
Jon backs up and leans against the outer parapet wall with a thump.
I went beyond the Wall to try to save everyone, and instead I made everything worse.
But then I remembered, that as terrible as the price may be, that mission bought us peace with Cersei and the aid of her army. I consoled myself that perhaps it wasn't such a poor trade.
Then yesterday you tell me that it hadn't bought us that at all. Instead, it bought us you.
Now that is a poor trade, I'm afraid.
Jon regards him for a moment, still leaning against the wall. Then he hucks himself forward and steps up close to Jaime.
Do what you can to make it less so.
Jon looks Jaime in the eye for a beat, then resumes walking. Jaime lingers a moment. He moves up to the outer parapet wall and stares out into the moors beyond Winterfell, south toward King's Landing and his sister.
EXT. King's Landing - day
A wide aerial of King's Landing, looking out past the Red Keep toward Blackwater Bay.
In the distance, tendrils of smoke rise up from the water.
Ext. Volantene shipwreck - DAY
The morning light reveals the aftermath of the destruction of Bronn's ship by wildfire. The main hull floats low in the water, listing deeply to one side, with a huge hole blown out of it. The tattered black remnants of burnt sails blow mournfully in the breeze.
Charred flotsam and jetsam bob up and down on the waves, some of them still smoldering and smoking. Small, isolated tongues of green flame lick the wreckage. Wooden crates and barrels float about at random.
A few poor souls have survived the attack, albeit with terrible burns. One BURNED SAILOR clings to a piece of shattered rowboat, moaning in pain.
A little ways apart from the main wreckage, another rowboat floats upside down, damaged but mostly intact.
Ext. Under the rowboat - DAY
BRONN is clinging to the inside of the overturned rowboat, his head sticking up into the small pocket of air beneath its hull. Light filters in through a splintery hole in its side.
Bronn looks ragged and exhausted, but he's alive and uninjured. He braces his hands on its submerged center thwart and kicks with his legs, moving the rowboat further from the wreckage.
Something makes him stop -- a sound, or perhaps just an intuition. He stops kicking and peers out through the hole in the hull.
Bronn's POV: a dark grey ship is approaching. Grey sails, grey hull, no insignia...
Ext. Grey ship - contINUOUS
...and on its deck, grey trebuchets. This is the ship that had attacked them in the night.
ext. VolANTENE SHIPWRECK - CONTINUOUS
The injured survivors see the ship approaching. They wave their arms and cry out for help. The ship sails closer.
Help me! Help me! Help--
A crossbow bolt materializes in his face.
He stares up at the grey ship in wide-eyed shock. Then slips from his piece of wreckage into the water. He floats facedown, blood slowly coloring the water around his head.
A few more crossbow bolts materialize in his back, for good measure.
Ext. Under the rOWBOAT - DAY
Bronn watches from his hiding place as the other survivors are systematically slaughtered.
Ext. Red keep dockside - day
The grey ship rests at anchor now.
On shore, CERSEI LANNISTER confers with the GREY SHIP CAPTAIN.
You're certain that nobody survived?
Grey ship captain
We made sure of it, your grace.
Cersei suppresses a smile. Ahh, small pleasures.
Thank you for your loyal service, captain.
The captain bows and departs. Cersei makes her way back to the Red Keep, accompanied by QYBURN and an escort of QUEENSGUARD.
See to it that the captain and his crew receive their reward.
Of course, your grace.
As they draw close to the Red Keep, they see a message crudely scrawled upon the castle's outer wall: The gods shall punish you, in green paint. And below it, a rough depiction of a seven-pointed star.
Cersei eyes the graffiti with distaste.
Take care of that, would you? And have the City Watch take care of whomever wrote it.
By your leave, your grace, perhaps we could capture the perpetrators alive?
Cersei gives Qyburn an inquiring look. Is he going soft?
They could be of use in my research.
Ah. That makes sense. Cersei smiles.
EXT. WINTERFELL - BROKEN TOWER - DAY
RHAEGAL trills affectionately as he hangs his head down for DAENERYS TARGARYEN to stroke. He perches atop the broken tower, as DROGON rests on the ground in front of her.
Jon appears and walks up to Dany. His expression is difficult to read.
There's something I need to tell you.
EXT. GODSWOOD - HEART TREE - DAY
The godswood is a scene of winter beauty, with snow falling softly all around the heart tree.
Jon leads Dany toward it. She gazes up at the weirwood, with its pale branches, blood red leaves, and carved face. She is still getting used to this strange country.
What is this place?
We keep the old gods, in the North.
He leads her right up to the heart tree. There's one trunk that reaches out low to the ground before curving upward, forming something like a bench. He leans against it and motions for her to join him.
He takes her hand in his, stares down at it a moment, then looks into her face. For a second, it looks like he's reconsidering. She looks back at him with curious anticipation.
Jon hesitates, absorbing this one moment of beauty before he goes and ruins everything. Finally, he takes a deep breath and begins.
Before I tell you this thing... I promise you, I didn't know. Bran told me last night.
He hesitates another long moment.
Told you what.
I'm not who I thought I was. I'm not Ned Stark's bastard.
This is incredibly difficult for Jon. He forces himself to spit it out.
I'm the son of his sister, Lyanna Stark.
And Rhaegar Targaryen.
A long, understated reaction as Dany absorbs this statement.
What makes you think that?
Bran saw it in his visions.
You trust in visions?
You've seen his power yourself. He's seen things -- true things -- that nobody could have told him.
Dany is completely still, her face closed off and unreadable.
Also, my friend Sam found a record of their marriage. At the Citadel, in the High Septon's private diary. He annulled Rhaegar's marriage to Elia Martell and (married him to Lyanna--)
Dany stands up suddenly, agitated.
Why are you telling me this?
...it seemed important?
She rounds on him.
You mean to take the Iron Throne for yourself?
Dany says nothing. Her expression is fear masked with stone.
(standing up too)
No! Why would I do that?
You name yourself the trueborn son of Rhaegar Targaryen. Children traditionally precede siblings in the succession.
I don't care about the succession!
That's not why your people follow you. It's not why mine follow me. It doesn't matter.
Even if it doesn't matter to you, it matters to others. Your mere existence will undermine my claim!
How could it not?!
Because I support your claim.
This finally takes some of the fight out of her. Her expression is still guarded but becomes more vulnerable: hope mixed with caution.
When I was in the Night's Watch, do you know who served as maester of Castle Black?
(off her silence)
Aemon Targaryen. Son of Maekar. Aemon could have been king. But he chose to refuse the throne, and let it pass to his younger brother Aegon. Your grandfather.
And you're saying you'll "refuse the throne."
I don't think Cersei will be offering it to me (anytime soon--)
But you will refuse it.
Jon looks her in the face. He looks a little hurt.
I'm telling you the truth about who I am, because I trust you. Can't you trust me?
A beat. Dany looks uncertain, afraid.
You don't want the Iron Throne?
Jon shakes his head.
Not even a little?
The only thing I want is to win this war. It seems like bad luck for me to want anything else.
Dany still looks unsettled.
If I survive this war, my place is in the North. This is my home. It's always been my home.
He sits back down and stares out into the trees.
I don't know how to rule a place like King's Landing. My father tried, and failed.
(looking up at her)
You've been preparing your whole life for that throne. It should go to you.
Don't you believe me?
Dany stares down at him, wanting so badly to believe him, to trust him. He looks up at her plaintively. Her guard finally starts to come down.
I want to.
She sits back down next to him, staring off pensively.
It just seems too easy. That we could just... carry on. And everything will be as it was.
Dany turns her head to look at him. There's a faint look of dread in her eyes.
We can't... be together... that way.
A short silence.
Do you feel differently about me now?
Jon stares into her face. He looks tortured, at war with himself.
I don't think so.
But you wish that you did.
Dany, I'm your own blood.
Targaryens have been marrying other Targaryens for centuries.
That doesn't make it right.
This is about right and wrong now?
Cersei lay with her brother and produced Joffrey, (do you want--)
I can't have children!
Dany stares back tensely, then wrenches her eyes away.
He starts to reach for her hand. She shifts away, and he stops.
There's a long, tense, miserable silence. Dany is staring resolutely at an invisible point in the distance. She's heartbroken, and fighting to control it.
She closes her eyes, and opens them again.
You're right. We should stop.
Jon chuckles sadly. Dany finally looks at him again.
All my life I wanted so badly to know who my mother was.
(looks at her)
Right now I want nothing more than to be Ned Stark's bastard again.
The tension softens. Dany smiles sadly at him.
Life is full of these little ironies, Tyrion would say.
I'm so sorry.
It's not your fault.
There's a long pause. Then Dany tries to change the subject, lighten the mood:
Do you have a Targaryen name?
(makes a face)
The Conqueror. Dany sighs defeatedly.
I don't like it.
No offense to your family, but so far being a Targaryen brings me no benefit at all.
There's a pause. Then suddenly a look of huge realization overtakes Dany's face. She turns her head and stares at him like she's seeing him for the first time.
Dany strides briskly through the trees. Jon hurries to catch up.
I don't think this is a good idea.
You have to try.
They're dragons! They only listen to you because you're their mother.
Dany stops and rounds on him.
The Night King has Viserion. The only way to defeat a dragon is with other dragons.
If Rhaegal flies into battle without a rider to guide him, he will die. I won't allow it. You are blood of the dragon. You are the only other living Targaryen. It has to be you.
Dany wheels around and continues walking.
Jon watches her walk away. He looks truly scared.
Finally he gathers himself and follows her.