We've just witnessed a captivating 70-minute journey on the small screen, a masterpiece of television that left us electrified. As the episode drew to a climactic close, long-brewing narratives threatened to collide with a palpable sense of destiny, yet they managed to infuse each moment with a thrilling frisson of unexpectedness. It seemed inevitable that this narrative would lead us to this precise juncture, yet the labyrinthine path traversed by 'House of the Dragon' had me questioning whether we'd ever arrive. An emotionally charged coda unexpectedly catapulted a pivotal character back into the spotlight from the fringes of season two, compelling her to confront a heart-wrenching decision between her children—a choice that, I dare say, cannot be easy for Alicent, given that some of her offspring are nothing short of monsters.
Yet, this season finale fell woefully short, feeling both evasive and deflating. In its dying moments, I found myself compulsively checking the dwindling minutes, wondering if they could possibly cram a battle into the remaining 15, nine, or even two minutes. It was as if the series had been building towards this moment all along, yet it refused to grant its audience or characters the catharsis they deserved. War, in the realm of 'House of the Dragon,' resembled a distant horizon, forever retreating, no matter how fervently (or how many times) one approached it. My anticipation for conflict had reached such a fever pitch that I found myself rooting against Alicent's desperate plea for peace. Let the innocents burn! Let the newly rechristened 'Queen Who Never Was' sink!
The show's most persistent flaw lies in its incessant hesitance to forge ahead when it should be charging full steam, hoarding "story" for some imaginary future installment, assuming that we'll remain glued to our screens. Its fear of running out of steam keeps it from ever hitting the gas, which is particularly damning for a series that portrays its protagonists as reckless, jittery, and dangerously unpredictable. We all know that the intricate Targaryen tapestry woven by an invisible hand in the opening credits will ultimately unravel, leaving the family and their dragons to spiral towards a futile dance of extinction. At some point, you must show us the full extent of their downfall.
It's especially disheartening because the season two finale initially dazzled with a charm reminiscent of 'Game of Thrones.' Tyland Lannister, seated awkwardly in a cross-legged position, confronts the heads of the Triarchy. Pack your bags; we've left Westeros behind. The desert paradise shines brighter, feels looser, and exudes more joy. Tyland emerges as an unstoppable negotiator, bartering the Stepstones for ships that will break Rhaenyra's blockade—a deal that, while promising, also condemns King's Landing to years of extortionate tariffs. But let's not dwell on that; it's a problem for future Tyland. To secure the ships of Essos, present-day Tyland must first win over their captain, Lohar, brought to life with whimsical charm by Abigail Thorn. Lohar insists on a mud-wrestling contest before setting sail with a man he can't physically overpower. Why mud wrestling? Why not, indeed? Tyland tumbles into the mire yet rises triumphant. (Could it be that every 'Game of Thrones'-inspired show requires a nested buddy comedy, starring a befuddled Lannister and his unlikely spiritual guide?)
Tyland's anxiety gnaws at him, fearing he's overpaid dearly for Lohar's fleet. Yet, had he stood within the Red Keep's walls, he would have grasped the gravity of the Greens' plight—an existential quagmire that renders tax hikes but a minor squabble. With Aegon's dragon reduced to ashes, Helaena's fragile resolve keeping her from mounting Dreamfyre into battle, and Dareon's dragon barely out of the shell, the Greens' dragon count dwindles to a solitary Vhagar, mighty yet stretched thin.
On the other hand, the Blacks boast a formidable six dragons, with a seventh looming on the horizon should Daemon manage to shake off Alys's poisoned pies and escape the labyrinth of nightmares. Furthermore, unbeknownst to all, Rhaena tirelessly traverses the Eyrie, seeking a dragon to reciprocate her affections.
Alicent's offspring react to Rhaenyra's burgeoning dragon might precisely as anticipated. Aemond's fury unleashes a torrent of fire upon the unsuspecting village of Sharp Point, his rage uncontained as he later turns on his own sister in a fit of physical aggression. He's consumed by panic, every fiber of his being trembling with fear.
Helaena, meanwhile, adopts an aloofness bordering on nihilism, shunning the war's callous demands with an indifference that borders on disregard for her own and her family's very survival.
Aegon, bedridden and emasculated, clings to the flimsiest of dreams of power. Larys, ever the schemer, coaxes him into an all-expenses-paid escape to Essos, where they can bide their time until the stronger contenders for the throne have fallen. Aegon's concern over being rejected as a dragonless king echoes through his feeble voice, a world yet to embrace the convenience of urine catheters making the prospect all the more daunting. Yet, the truth is stark: Aegon possesses no allies, even among his own blood.
On Dragonstone's shores, the veil of familial reliance is slowly lifting, revealing a harsh truth. Rather than forging a bond through their shared dragon's blood, Jace, Ulf, Hugh, and Addam find themselves adrift. Jace, with his pouty stride, circles the castle's corridors, guarding against any speck of dust that might dare sully its finery. Meanwhile, Ulf, endearingly oafish, stands out as the odd one out, his heart lacking the finesse or the will to blend seamlessly into his adopted kin's fold. Hugh, the perpetual peacemaker, endeavors to mend the cracks, his endeavors unending. Jace, the narcissistic golden child, insists his mother's table be graced by none but the utmost perfection, not realizing his own fears whisper that he too falls short. Addam, a lost soul in familiar guise, chews on his lip at dinner, hovering in the shadows, yearning for anonymity.
Their dynamics, a timeless tapestry of familial archetypes, are further intricated by a mutual dependency on dragons that transcends their own ties. As Tolstoy famously penned, "All happy families are alike; each unhappy family is unhappy in its own way." Yet, here, the equation is further complicated by the presence of leviathans.
What this makeshift family truly yearns for is a purpose beyond wandering corridors and grinding against each other's nerves. Yet, Rhaenyra remains hesitant, her resolve challenged by the Hand of the Queen's words—that seven dragons' threat holds no greater sway over Aemond than did three. But proof lies in the devastation Aemond has already wrought upon House Bar Emmon's stronghold in the Crownlands, a testament to his relentless resolve. While the quest for peaceful victory is admirable, the Iron Throne demands a reckoning with war's harsh realities.
In contrast, Harrenhal hums with a vibrant energy. Daemon's gloom lifted by the arrival of a formidable host, he now darts about, strategizing with the zeal of a Westerosian political maestro. Ser Alred Broome's offer to betray Rhaenyra in favor of Daemon's claim elicits a grin that splits Matt Smith's face, his eyes sparkling with mischief. In this role, he is a joy to behold, every gesture a testament to Daemon's ascendancy. At last, the king consort's fortunes are on the rise.
For a fleeting moment, Daemon's fate lay dormant, suspended in time. Yet, Alys's return, her episodic journeys now concluded, marked the dawn of revelation for him. She guided him into the sacred godswood, where visions unfolded, resonating deeply with any soul who has wandered the realm of 'Game of Thrones': the haunting specters of deceased dragons, the chilling presence of White Walkers, the inescapable embrace of doom, yet whispers of a future yet unborn. A fleeting glimpse of dragon eggs, clustered together, promising rebirth. A nude form, bathed in divine golden light, encircled by three newborn dragons, a testament to life transcending death's grasp. Daemon beheld Rhaenyra enthroned, a woman, a queen, her ascendancy towering over him in this tapestry of destruction and redemption, where his own role seemed fleeting.
All season long, Daemon teetered on the brink of rebellion, only to retreat into the shadows. But as Rhaenyra soared towards Harrenhal, seeking answers amidst whispers of betrayal, Daemon's loyalty blazed forth in a rousing oath, the most heartfelt he had ever uttered. Amidst the Riverlords, he declared his allegiance in High Valyrian, a language foreign to their ears, yet his passion echoed loudly.
The air crackled with the imminence of change, yet Rhaenyra's strategy felt cautious, almost hesitant. The Blacks commanded seven dragons and two formidable armies, and their targets—Oldtown's Hightower and Lannisport, distant shores from King's Landing—seemed strategic yet puzzling. Even Baela, loyal to the core, struggled to comprehend the logic behind weakening the capital without striking the final blow. For Rhaenyra, victory lay on a knife's edge, either through a series of skirmishes culminating in a grand battle or a bold strike at King's Landing itself. Aemond, unyielding in the face of adversity, would demand nothing less than a cataclysmic confrontation.
Yet, war might not be the only path. Reunions and reconciliations graced Rhaenyra's journey: first with her uncle-husband, then with her stepmother-turned-confidante, Alicent. Arriving at Dragonstone with , forged perhaps amidst the tranquility of nature, Alicent revealed Aemond's plans to engage in battle within three days. A path to peace was offered, contingent on Rhaenyra's presence at the Red Keep, where the merciful Queen Helaena would grant her entry. History may brand Alicent a villain, but she was willing to bear that stigma for a life free from intrigue. The cost? The lives of her eldest sons, a sacrifice she deemed necessary.
The confrontation between these two formidable women was charged with tension, a testament to the prowess of the actors entrusted with these weighty roles. Alicent yearned for peace, a desire that transcended mere kingdomly interests, for her own sanity and solace were at stake. Yet, as the conversation unfolded, it became clear that peace for Alicent was intertwined with the fate of the realm.
The scene between them intensifies into a heart-pounding montage, where the pieces on the chessboard not merely reside but violently collide, their trajectories converging. Hugh, Ulf, and Addam, armored and cloaked, are lured into the fray by Rhaenyra's alluring promise of knighthood, should death spare them its embrace. Meanwhile, Corlys and Alyn, the latter still burdened by his resentment towards his long-estranged father, embark on a parallel voyage. Their sights are set on a confrontation with the Greyjoy navy within the treacherous Gullet, yet Tyland and Lohar steer their course towards the same tempestuous stretch of the inky sea, unaware of the impending convergence.
Criston, weighed down by despair, accepts his impending doom as a liberation from the oppressive shadow of dragons, trudging alongside Gwayne towards Harrenhal, where his lifelong endeavors seem to crumble into insignificance. "The dragons twirl and twine, rendering men but mere specks beneath their majestic tread," he laments. Jason Lannister locks his pet lions away in their theatrical cages, transforming from a man of spectacle into one bound for Harrenhal, his entourage devoid of the circus's former grandeur.
There, amidst the looming shadows of Harrenhal, they may cross paths with Daemon, unless he has already winged his way towards King's Landing. Or perhaps, they'll encounter the Stark clan's grizzled veterans, finally glimpsed as they traverse the Green Fork, their footsteps echoing through the Riverlands.
Aegon and Larys embark on a journey towards the Free Cities, where, if Tyland's tales hold true, they are destined for a whirlwind of adventures and the making of new alliances, each encounter a vibrant tapestry in their ever-evolving narrative.
Otto's plight of confinement in some obscure locale is revealed, yet truthfully, I momentarily overlooked his disappearance amidst the fray. And Rhaena, oh, how she persevered, finally cornering a dragon in a triumphant moment. This masterpiece of storytelling compresses a vast, fantastical realm into a taut, combustible space where one misstep could unravel everything. Perhaps, in a year or two's time, when Season Three graces our screens, the climax may unfold, but the intricately woven tension that now thrums through every frame will have dissipated, leaving no cliffhanger per se. The series never quite dares us to peer over the precipice's edge, tantalizingly keeping us at a safe distance.
Yet, buried within the finale's heart lies a captivating revelation—a testament to the series' electric charge when its pacing is spot on. When Daemon connects to the godswood's answer to Hometree, it's Helaena's voice that echoes through his dreamscape, assigning him his fateful role. Later, she boldly confronts Aemond, confessing she knows he felled their brother from the skies, for she "saw" it all.
Is Helaena a dreamwalker, or has she been warging this entire time, weaving her will into the fabric of reality? Should we trust her prophecy, where she warns the prince regent of his demise by the lake at God's Eye and her husband's inevitable return to the throne? Her words are a spoiler's delight, revealing a queen more complex and formidable than meets the casual eye.
I recall, from a previous episode, her scrutinizing insects trapped in jars, a peculiarity that now seems prescient, had I only paid closer heed. She was the first to sound the alarm about the rats, frail yet resolute. Earlier, faced with a choice reminiscent of Rhaenyra's dilemma with Alicent, she swiftly chose her daughter's life over her son's. Is Helaena weak, or is she simply the lone member of her clan unburdened by the obsession to project strength? The show masterfully posed a question and planted a mystery in a fleeting yet profound sequence.
I yearn to witness Helaena's visions unfold, even if only a glimpse, to behold the spectacle of a dragon consumed by a lake. Yet, at this series' deliberate pace, I may very well take her word as gospel.
