The seventh episode of House of the Dragon's second season commences with a pivotal encounter, as Rhaenyra stands before Addam and the majestic Seasmoke, their gazes meeting in a moment fraught with significance. Addam, with a heart ablaze with aspiration, prostrates himself before her, vowing to learn the ancient ways of dragonriding and pledging his allegiance. Seasmoke's choice of him, not the other way around, Addam swiftly notes, interpreting it as a divine omen, further solidifying their bond. Together, they soar skyward, bound for Dragonstone, leaving behind a trail of awe and whispers.
However, not all in the council chambers share this sentiment of harmony. Some fester with discontent, accusing Addam of dragon theft, clamoring for his imprisonment. Yet, Corlys remains a rock of inscrutability, his poker face unbroken. Mysaria, on the other hand, betrays her emotions, voicing her astonishment at the unforeseen turn of events and urging Rhaenyra to embrace this unconventional path, suggesting they cultivate an army of so-called "bastards." Rhaenyra, with a mischievous glint in her eye, responds with a bold pronouncement: "Then let us raise an army of mongrels indeed."
Jace, however, bristles at the idea, his disdain for these "mongrels" palpable. He fears that upon Rhaenyra's passing, the crown will become a contested prize, as his half-siblings, sharing the same father in Strong, stand on equal footing.
Elsewhere, Alicent finds herself empathizing deeply with Aegon's plight, both of them having been relegated to the sidelines. Determined, she sets out for the Kingswood, freshly healed by the skilled hands of our Grand Maester, embarking on this journey alone. Meanwhile, Larys, his ears filled with whispers of Seasmoke and its enigmatic rider, finds himself in a quandary. Unsure of the rider's identity, he elects to let the matter blow over, leaving it to the winds for the time being.
Daemon addressed Lord Oscar Tully with solemnity, pledging his unwavering allegiance—not merely to himself but to Queen Rhaenyra and her esteemed Consort. Yet, beneath the veneer of unity lurked a hidden quagmire: Tully's troops and the Riverlanders held Daemon in utter contempt, a sentiment that threatened to ignite a rebellion if left unchecked. Daemon, however, dismissed such qualms with a dismissive shrug, convinced that their swords alone were what mattered, not their affection.
Outside, amidst the assembled, Oscar demonstrated his bravery and tact, addressing Daemon as a Prince, not a King, subtly yet effectively asserting his place. This subtle maneuver miraculously garnered the respect Daemon had sought, and he swiftly intervened, recognizing the delicate balance of power hanging in the air.
The Brackens and Blackwoods remained somewhat reticent, their discontent lingering, until Oscar's decisive move to imprison Willen Blackwood for heinous war crimes struck a chord. This act served as a pivotal coup, leaving Daemon with no other recourse but to deliver the final, decisive blow.
Elsewhere, Aegon struggled valiantly to reclaim his ability to walk, aided by the diligent Grand Maester. The scars from his fiery ordeal, carving a path across his face, had prematurely aged him, ironically mirroring the later years of Viserys. Larys' sudden appearance served as a reminder of the urgency, urging Aegon to push harder, his every word a testament to the fact that regaining strength was imperative, lest it be too late. It was a startling revelation that even the Grand Maester himself now answered to Larys' command.
Meanwhile, Rhaena's departure from the Eyre echoed with a sense of abandonment, though her dragonic companion remained free, soaring unfettered in the vast wilderness.
Alyn, summoned by fate's whisper, embarks on a quest to prove himself as a dragonrider, his claim bolstered by his kinship with Addam, a name that echoes with potential. A cryptic message from Mysaria lands in his hands, a conduit for whispers that weave their way through networks, ultimately reaching the ears of those in King's Landing. The call resonates, a clarion for those of Targaryen blood to rise and claim their destiny atop a dragon's spine, or at least attempt the daunting feat.
Hugh, a self-proclaimed descendant of royalty, had long sat among the whispers, bragging of his lineage. Yet, as the moment of truth dawned, his bravado faltered, leaving him with icy feet. Undeterred by the Order's disapproval, which deemed the act sacrilegious, aspirants converged upon Dragonstone, Hugh among them, driven by dreams of soaring on dragon's wings.
Rhaenyra, her voice resounding through the chamber, addressed the assembled multitude, her words a balm and a blade. She painted a portrait of a path fraught with peril yet promising salvation, a means to vanquish adversity and tilt the scales of power in their favor, ushering in an era of tranquility.
Vermithor, a beast unparalleled in size after Vhagar, a fury of scales and fire, loomed in the depths of the chamber. High Valyrian incantations echoed, and then, silence. Each contender was left to confront their fate, as flames danced lethally, claiming the lives of many. Rhaenyra, transfixed by the fiery ballet, seemed to succumb to the ancient Targaryen madness, her gaze lost in the inferno's embrace.
Meanwhile, in an unexpected turn, Ulf stumbled upon a dragon's lair. Silverwing, a majestic presence, materialized beside him, yet Ulf did not falter. He proved worthy, and Silverwing, with a bond forged in fate, became his. This astonishing occurrence shifted the tide, granting Rhaenyra's forces a formidable advantage.
Back in the hushed halls of King's Landing, a council meeting was abruptly disrupted by news of a dragon's approach. Aemond, swift to action, seized Vhagar's reins and ventured forth. Upon reaching Dragonstone's skies, he beheld a spectacle of dragons in flight, their numbers daunting. Recognizing the odds stacked against him, Aemond retreated, the specter of defeat too heavy to bear, even for one as formidable as he.
