The Mountain and the Viper

Here we are.

The Rains of Castamere!

You fucking dick! Same wrong guess every fucking time. Listen, ya cunt.

Oh, The Bear and the Maiden Fair!

There's a man with an ear. Too bad you've got a hangnail for a cock. First time I saw you with your britches down, I thought you were a eunuch! You seen it girls. Like a baby snail peekin' out of his shell. *laughs and walks toward Gilly* *to Gilly* Your baby was crying this morning. It waked me up. You hear me?

Yes.

Well, what are you going to say?

I'm sorry it woke you up.

I don't care if you're sorry. Keep that baby quiet, or I will.

Don't you ever touch him.

Hehehe, little Wildling bitch. You should've stayed with your own kind. *an owl hoots in the distance* Are you listening to me?

Shut your mouth.

What? It's just an owl you dumb bitch.

No it's not.

I should never have left her there.

You couldn't have known.

Of course I could've known. They were raiding the villages close by.

And we just cower in here while they slaughter our brothers?

Our brothers had orders to stay at Castle Black.

Oh, so it's alright then?! Black Jack and Kegs and Mully chopped to pieces 'cause they broke the rules?!

I didn't say it was alright! I'm sayin' they shouldn't have been there.

We pledged to guard the realms of men.

She's dead because of me.

We can't even guard Mole's Town.

We can't go after them, you know that. That's what they want.

Little Same. As if I'd cut their throats myself.

Maybe she managed to hide herself. I thought one of you was dead, you went North with Mormont and no one came back. Not for ages. But then you did.

She survived Craster and he was the worst shit I've ever met. She survived the long march to the wall. She survived a white walker for fuck's sake. She might've got out.

She might have.

If they hit Mole's Town, then we're next. Mance's army must be close.

A hundred thousand.

And there's what, 5 of us left.

If you're counting Black Jack, Kegs, and Mully. A hundred and two.

How do a hundred and two men stop a thousand?

Whoever dies last, be a good lad and burn the rest of us. Once I'm done with this world, I don't want to come back.

You think he was spying on you?

No, not spying.

The Dothraki think outsiders are ridiculous taking shame in the naked body. They make love under the stars for the whole Khalasar to see.

Yes your grace.

But you are not Dothraki.

No.

Well, I don't see why it matters. Grey worm isn't interested, none of the unsullied care what's under our clothes.

He was interested.

What?

I believe he was interested.

When the slavers castrate the boys, do they take all of it?

All of it?

The...the pillar an the stones.

I don't know, your grace.

Haven't you ever wondered?

Yes, your grace.

Missandei. *in Valyrian* I have come to apologize.

*in Valyrian* You don't need to apologize.

*in Valyrian* I hope I didn't frighten you.

*in Valyrian* No.

The lessons you give I in Common tongue, these are precious to I.

To me.

To me.

I don't remember teaching you the word precious.

Jorah the Andal, he teaches I...he teaches me this word.

Do you remember the name you were given at birth?

I remember nothing. Only unsullied.

When they cut you, do you remember that?

I'm sorry. I'm sorry they did that to you.

Why? Why sorry?

It's a terrible thing to do to a boy.

*approaches Missandei* If the masters never cut me, I am never unsullied. I never stand in the Plaza of Pride when Daenerys Stormborn orders us to kill the masters. I never am chosen to lead the unsullied. I never meet Missandei from the Island of Naath. I am sorry I...for today. I am sorry.

*in Valyrian* Grey Worm.

*in Valyrian* I'm glad you saw me.

*in Valyrian* So am I.

Bracken. Mmm, strong. As long as they're in the see. But when you take them out of the water, no bones. They collapse under their proud weight and slum into a heap of nothing. You'd think they'd know that. Unfortunately they're not very bright. What do you tell them?

I'm Theon Greyjoy, son of Balon, heir to the Iron Islands.

And what are you really?

I'm Reek.

Are you sure? You do look very much like a lord. Formidable, proud.

I'm Reek.

Until when?

Always. Forever.

That's right. Until you're rotting in the ground. Remember what you are and what you're not. Bring me Lord Kenning.

*to Theon* No closer. Who are you?

I'm Kenning, commander of this garrison. And you say you're Theon Greyjoy?

Yes.

And why should I believe that?

I was born on Pike to Balon Greyjoy. His third and last-living son. I am your prince. I swear it by the drowned god. What is dead may never die.

What is dead may never die.

And if you were my prince, why are you marching with a Bolton army?

Lord Bolton took me captive after Winterfell. He sent me to treat with you in good faith as your fellow Ironborn.

And what does Lord Bolton want?

You are fading from sickness. You are badly outnumbered and you're hundreds of miles from the sea. Lord Bolton implores you to protect your men and abandon this fortress you can no longer hold. Do this and he will be just and fair with you as he is being with me. The Boltons will give you safe passage to the stony shore.

He wants us to surrender?

My own father, your king, surrendered years ago to Robert Baratheon. I watched him bend the knee. There was no shame there. He fought with honor, as did you.

...shame fought with honor.

I'm sorry, I didn't hear...

No shame fought with honor. Only a whipped dog would speak this way. Or a woman. Are you a woman boy?

*scared* You don't know.

The Ironborn will not surrender.

*whispering* Reek. Reek.

You go tell your master that, Theon Greyjoy. Or whoever the fuck you are. What in the hell are you muttering?

Reek.

If we yield, we live? Is that what it says on this paper here?

Yes. Have your men raise the white flag and open the gates. You're going home.

You didn't really think I'd let them go did you? It's falling out of fashion. Fileting. Sad, but true. Traditions are important. Where are we without our history, eh?

Yes m'lord. Will we go home now?

I believe we will. To our new home.

You have foreign blood, don't you, Baelish?

A great-grandfather from Braavos, yes. I suppose all of our ancestors came from somewhere else originally.

Our forebearers settled the Vale thousands of years ago. We've fought off invaders ever since.

The beauty of the Vale is matched only by the nobility of its great families. Lady Arryn often told me that you were her rock, Lord Royce.

She told me nothing about you, Baelish. But I didn't need to hear from her. Moneylender. Whoremonger. You've been licking Tywin Lannister's boots so long, it's a wonder your tongue's not black.

My lord...

And when Jon Arryn named you Master of Coin, no one cared. Always been a grubby job. Why not let a grubby man do it? But when I heard you were lurking here, fawning over the Lady Arryn...

Lady Arryn invited me. She and I have been close since childhood.

Yes, we all know how close you were. Lady Arryn's predilections were her own affair. Her death is our affair.

Of course. Her suicide shattered us all.

She was an odd fish. Everyone knew that. But suicide? She adored that boy of hers. I don't see her abandoning him. Not by choice.

Strange that within days of your arrival, you've married Lady Arryn and she's fallen through the Moon Door.

She was always prone to melancholy. My lady wasn't meant for a world as brutal as ours.

We were told there was a witness. A girl.

A niece of yours, I believe.

A girl with no learning and scattered wits. I assure you, she would be of no help.

We'd like to speak with her.

Let me fetch her.

No need. We prefer to hear her testimony unadulterated.

Come closer, child. You have nothing to fear from us or him. Lord Baelish here is your uncle? Your name is Alayne? Perhaps you would feel more comfortable if Lord Baelish left the room.

My lady...

I wasn't asking you.

He can stay.

Speak up, girl, you're not a damn kitchen mouse. Tell us what you saw.

*to Petyr* I'm sorry, Lord Baelish. I have to tell the truth. *to the council* I'll tell you everything.

Please, Alayne, leave nothing out.

My name is not Alayne. It's Sansa Stark, eldest daughter of Lord Eddard Stark. Lord Royce, we met when you came to Winterfell. You were escorting your son Ser Waymar to the Wall.

Sansa Stark? You tell lies right to my face, you little worm?

Lord Baelish has told many lies. All to protect me. Since my father was executed, I have been a hostage in King's Landing. A plaything for Joffrey to torture or Queen Cersei to torment. They beat me, they humiliated me, they married me to the Imp. I had no friends in King's Landing...except one. He saved me. Smuggled me away when he had the chance. He knew I'd be safe here in the Eyrie with my own blood, my Aunt Lysa. The Lannisters have friends everywhere. Even the Vale. He made me swear not to tell anyone my true name.

Your secret is safe with us, my lady.

Your father grew up right here in these halls. We hunted together many times. He was a fine man.

Tell us what happened to your aunt, Sansa.

You knew her well, my lords, my lady. You knew she was a troubled woman. She always loved Lord Baelish. She told me herself. From the moment he arrived at the gates of Riverrun, a boy of eight carrying everything he owned in a little sack. She confessed to me she never loved Lord Arryn. She did as her father commanded, as so many of us have. When the gods finally allowed her to be with Lord Baelish, she was so happy. For a time. My aunt was a jealous lady. She was terrified that Lord Baelish didn't love her anymore. That he would abandon her for a younger woman. And then...one day she saw him kiss me.

Lady Sansa.

It was a peck on the cheek, Lord Royce, nothing more. Lord Baelish is my uncle now, in truth, by marriage. He's always been so kind to me. I was so happy to be here, to be free. All because of him. But my aunt turned on me. She cursed me. Called me a whore. Promised to throw me through the Moon Door. When Lord Baelish tried to calm her, she struck him. She said she didn't want to live anymore. She stood on the edge of that Moon Door. He tried to reason with her. Promised her she was the only one he had ever loved, but she stepped through those doors and she was...*begins sobbing*

Shh. Shh, it's not your fault, sweet girl. It's not your fault.

You could see it in the way she raised that boy. Feeding him from her own teats when he was 10 years old.

Lord Royce! This is hardly the time.

Apologies, my lady. And to you as well, Baelish. We treated you a bit harshly.

You want justice, Lord Royce. I can hardly complain about that. I want the same.

Not much justice to be meted out in suicide, is there?

For Lysa, no. But for her son? Only 20 years ago, the knights of the Vale rode behind Jon Arryn, Ned Stark, Robert Baratheon. They fought together to overcome the Mad King. And since then, Arryn and Royce, Corbray, Waynwood, all the great houses of the Vale watched from the corner. A timid boy at a tavern brawl.

Are you questioning our courage?

I want to know which side you're on. Do you support the Lannisters, the house that executed your friend Ned Stark?

Of course we don't support the damn Lannisters.

No? Catelyn Stark begged her sister for support and Lysa refused. By staying out of the fray, you've allowed Tywin Lannister to destroy his rivals on every compass point. Who stands against him now?

Who would you have us back, Lord Baelish? Robb Stark is dead.

I'd have you back Robin Arryn, Lord of the Vale.

Robin Arryn is a sickly little boy.

And sickly little boys sometimes become powerful men.

More often they die young.

I adored Lysa with all my heart. But she loved her son so much, she became overprotective. He needs to learn how to swing a sword. How to ride a horse.

Aye, it's time.

Yes, it's time. Time for him to tour the Vale, to visit all the castles in his domain. Time for Robin to leave the nest.

Ser Barristan.

Yes? Who sent you?

Ser Barristan.

Ser Jorah.

Have I forgotten a council meeting?

No.

What's this?

A royal pardon signed by Robert Baratheon. You spied on her.

Who gave you this?

Does it matter?

Have you told her?

I wanted to tell you first, man-to-man rather than go behind your back.

Let me speak with her in private.

You'll never be alone with her again.

Why did the usurper pardon you?

If we could speak alone.

No, speak to me here. Explain it to me.

Who do you think sent this to Meereen? Who profits? This is the work of Tywin Lannister. He wants to divide us. If we're fighting each other, we're not fighting him.

The pardon was signed the year we met. Why were you pardoned? Unless you're saying this document was forged.

It is not forged.

Why, then?

I sent letters to Varys, the spymaster of King's Landing.

What was the content of these letters?

Information.

What information?

When you and Viserys arrived in Pentos. His plan to marry you to Khal Drogo. When you were married. When your brother died.

You told him I was carrying Drogo's child?

I...

Yes or no?

Khaleesi.

Don't call me that. Did you tell him I was carrying Drogo's child?

Yes.

That wine merchant tried to poison me because of your information.

I stopped you from drinking his wine.

Because you knew it was poisoned.

I suspected.

You betrayed me from the first.

Forgive me. I never meant...please, Khaleesi, forgive me.

You sold my secrets to the man who killed my father and stole my brother's throne...

I have protected you. Fought for you. Killed for you.

...and you want me to forgive you?

I have loved you.

Love? Love? How can you say that to me? Any other man, and I would have you executed. But you, I do not want you in my city dead or alive. Go back to your masters in King's Landing. Collect your pardon if you can.

Daenerys, please.

Don't ever presume to touch me again or speak my name. You have until dusk to collect your things and leave this city. If you're found in Meereen past break of day, I'll have your head thrown into Slaver's Bay. Go. Now.

Moat Cailin is yours, Father.

Walk with me. Has there been any word from Locke?

No.

Unimportant. A cripple, a young boy. None of the northern lords have seen them. Dead most likely. Most of the Ironborn have fled the North. Now more will follow, thanks to you. Tell me what you see.

Moors, fields, hills.

Tell me what you see.

Nothing.

Not nothing. The North. Ride 700 miles that way, you're still in the North. 400 miles that way. 300 miles that way. The North is larger than the other six kingdoms combined. And I am the Warden of the North. The North is mine. Now tell me, what is your name?

Ramsay Snow.

No, not Ramsay Snow. *hands Ramsay a scroll* Open it. From this day until your last day, you are Ramsay Bolton, son of Roose Bolton, Warden of the North.

You honor me. I swear I will uphold your name and your tradition. I will be worthy of you, Father, I promise.

Come, Reek, I'll be needing a bath.

Yes?

First time I saw you, you were just a child. A girl from the North come to the capital for the first time. Not a child any longer. Why did you help me?

They would have thrown you through the Moon Door if they found you guilty.

That's not an answer.

If they'd have executed you, what would they have done with me?

I don't know.

Neither do I.

Better to gamble on the man you know than the strangers you don't? And you think you know me?

I know what you want.

Do you?

I thought it'd make me happy, but it doesn't. Not really. Nothing makes you happy.

Lots of things make me happy.

Like what?

Killing Polliver, killing Rorge.

So you're sad because you didn't get to kill Joffrey yourself. Is that it?

At least I could have been there to watch. I wanted to see the look in his eyes when he knew it was over.

Aye, nothing in the world beats that look.

You protected him for most of his life. You think you could have saved him?

I wasn't the damn wine taster. Little shit deserved to die, but poison...poison's a woman's weapon. Men kill with steel.

That's your stupid pride talking. It's why you'll never be a great killer. I'd have killed Joffrey with a chicken bone if I had to.

*laughs* I'd pay good money to see that. *grunts and rubs his neck*

You should have let me burn it.

It's a fleabite.

That fleabite's got you walking a lot slower than you used to.

Well, we won't have to walk too much further.

You really think my aunt will pay for me?

Aye, she'll pay.

I've never even met her.

Doesn't matter. You're her blood. Family, honor, all that horseshit. It's all you lords and ladies ever talk about.

I'm not a lady.

Who would pass the Bloody Gate?

The bloody Hound, Sandor Clegane. And his...traveling companion Arya Stark, niece of your lady Lysa Arryn.

Then I offer my condolences. Lady Arryn died. Three days ago.

I've never left home before, Uncle Petyr. I'm afraid to leave.

You shouldn't be.

The Lord of the Vale belongs in the Eyrie, Mother said. She said it's not safe outside.

It wasn't safe for her inside. People die at their dinner tables. They die in their beds. They die squatting over their chamber pots. Everybody dies sooner or later. Don't worry about your death. Worry about your life. Take charge of your life for as long as it lasts. That is what it means to be Lord of the Vale.

Shall we go?

Wine always helps. I thank you for it. Trial by combat. Deciding a man's guilt or innocence in the eyes of the gods by having two other men hack each other to pieces. Tells you something about the gods. How much longer?

Soon.

Do you think Oberyn has a chance? The Red Viper of Dorne. You don't get a name like that unless you're deadly, right?

I've never seen him fight.

Oh, he's going to die. I'm going to die.

Oberyn believes in himself.

That's putting it mildly. What's the punishment for regicide? Drawing and quartering? Hanging? Breaking at the wheel?

Beheading.

Seems rather ordinary. And he was my nephew as well, so what is that? Fratricide is brothers. Filicide is sons. Nepoticide. That's the one. Matricide, patricide, infanticide, suicide. There's no kind of killing that doesn't have its own word.

Cousins.

Cousins, you're right. There is no word for cousin killing. Well done. Do you remember cousin Orson? Orson Lannister?

Of course. Wet-nurse dropped him on his head. Left him simple.

Simple? Used to sit all day in the garden. Crushing beetles with a rock.

Khuu! Khuu! Khuu!

Nothing made him happier.

Nothing made you happier. You'd think being tormented from birth would have given you some affinity for the afflicted.

On the contrary. Laughing at another person's misery was the only thing that made me feel like everyone else.

The joke wore thin, though.

For you. You drifted away.

I had other interests.

Yes, other interests. But I stayed with Orson.

Why?

I was curious. Why was he smashing all those beetles? What did he get out of it? First thing I did was ask him. "Orson, why are you smashing all those beetles?" He gave me an answer. "Smash the beetles. Smash 'em. Khuu! Khuu! Khuu!" I wasn't deterred. I was the smartest person I knew. Certainly I had the wherewithal to unravel the mysteries that lay at the heart of a moron. So I went to Maester Volarik's library.

Volarik. Tried to touch me once.

Turns out, far too much has been written about great men and not nearly enough about morons. Doesn't seem right. In any case, I found nothing that illuminated the nature of Orson's affliction or the reason behind his relentless beetle slaughter. So I went back to the source. I may not have been able to speak with Orson, but I could observe him, watch him the way men watch animals to come to a deeper understanding of their behavior. *picks up a beetle* And as I watched, I became more and more sure of it. There was something happening there. His face was like the page of a book written in a language I didn't understand. But he wasn't mindless. He had his reasons. And I became possessed with knowing what they were. I began to spend inordinate amounts of time watching him. I would eat my lunch in the garden, chewing my mutton to the music of "khuu, khuu, khuu". And when I wasn't watching him, I was thinking about him. Father droned on about the family legacy and I thought about Orson's beetles. I read the histories of Targaryen conquests. Did I hear dragon wings? No. I heard "khuu, khuu, khuu" and I still couldn't figure out why he was doing it. And I had to know, because it was horrible that all these beetles should be dying for no reason.

Every day around the world, men, women, and children are murdered by the score. Who gives a dusty fuck about a bunch of beetles?

I know, I know. But still, it filled me with dread. Piles and piles of them, years and years of them. How many countless living crawling things smashed and dried out and returned to the dirt? In my dreams I found myself standing on a beach made of beetle husks stretching as far as the eye could see. I woke up crying, weeping for their shattered little bodies. I tried to stop Orson once.

He was twice your size.

He just pushed me aside with a "khuu" and kept on smashing. Every day until that mule kicked him in the chest and killed him. *puts the beetle back on the ground* So what do you think? Why did he do it? What was it all about?

I don't know.

Good luck today.

Looks like very light armor.

I like to move around.

You could at least wear a helmet. You shouldn't drink before a fight.

You learn this during your years in the fighting pits? I always drink before a fight.

It could get you killed. It could get me killed.

Today is not the day I die.

You're going to fight that?

I'm going to kill that.

He is the biggest man I've ever seen.

Size does not matter when you are flat on your back.

Thank the gods.

In the sight of gods and men, we gather to ascertain the guilt or innocence of this, eh, man Tyrion Lannister. May the Mother grant them mercy. May the Father give them such justice as they deserve. And may the Warrior guide the hand of our champion...

Don't leave me alone in this world.

Never.

Have they told you who I am?

Some dead man.

I am the brother of Elia Martell. Do you know why I have come all the way to this stinking shit-pile of a city? For you.

I'm going to hear you confess before you die. You raped my sister. You murdered her. You killed her children. Say it now and we can make this quick.

Say it. You raped her. You murdered her. You killed her children.

You raped her! You murdered her! You killed her children!

You raped her! You murdered her!

You killed her children!

Wait. Are you dying? No, no, no. You can't die yet. You haven't confessed. Say it. Say her name. Elia Martell. You raped her. You killed her children. Elia Martell. Who gave you the order? Who gave you the order?! Say her name! You raped her! You murdered her! You killed her children. Say it. Say her name. Say it!

Elia Martell. I killed her children. Then I raped her. Then I smashed her head in like this!

*standing up* The gods have made their will known. Tyrion Lannister, in the name of King Tommen of the House Baratheon, First of His Name, you are hereby sentenced to death.