The Rose Road

**The Rose Road** is the fifth episode of Season Seven (7.5).

## Summary

Jon parleys with the Lannisters and Greyjoys on Dragonstone; Bran admits to Edd his visions are incomplete; the uneasy Tyrell army waits to link up with the Martells; Varys discovers a valuable artifact; Jaime offers to help Jon; Jorah is reborn; Tyrion gives the Archon of Tyrosh an ultimatum; Arya and the Brotherhood are attacked in the Riverlands; Cersei attempts to ambush the Tyrells in the Kingswood; the Dead infiltrate Castle Black, with grisly consequences.

## Plot

Jon and his fleet sail into Dragonstone and raise the white flag. A parley occurs on the sands, Jon's retinue of Davos, Littlefinger, Glover and Manderly joining him. On the other side are Euron and his brother VICTARION, and Jaime and his captains Ser ADDAM MARBRAND and Ser HARYS SWIFT. The initial reception is frosty to say the least. Jaime and Jon in particular give each other quite the stare. However, the silence is punctuated by Euron, who says the posturing silence is getting on his nerves. “I assume this rabble don't want to sleep on the bottom of the narrow sea tonight.” Jon explains that he has heard of the Targaryen queen’s coming, and her dragons, and army of Dothraki and eunuchs. The last Targaryen monarch murdered his grandfather and uncle, he reminds them, and he has no intention of ceding the North to them. While there is back and forth and clear conflicts between the men – the Northmen despise Euron; the Greyjoys despise the Starks; everybody despises Jaime – there is consensus. Davos notes that he has seen stranger alliances in his time, and that regardless of the threat they fear the most – be it a Targaryen restoration or the army of the dead – it'd be a waste not to seize the potential for unity before them. “We all want it, do we not?” he asks, “Then why would we keep quibbling til the tide drowns us.” The Lannisters, Starks and Greyjoys come to an uneasy truce. Jaime grants Jon and his men the freedom to mine and grounds outside the castle to camp. As they break off uneasily, Jaime and Littlefinger share a long look that Jon spots.

The Wall. Deadlock, even still. The dead keep their line. Not a single one of them has moved, and the snowfall has even begun to bury them where they stand. The communicators continue to shuffle back and forth between the phi and the spiral as if on a loop. Bran sits at the top of the Wall and looks down on them, chin resting on his folded arms. Arron and Donnel are with him, watching too. Other Brothers are present but are clearly more lax than before. “Maybe this is how the world ends,” Donnel says, “everybody just gets bored to death.” Arron suggests that the wait is meant to demoralise them all. He goes to Bran and asks him what the shapes in the snow mean. Donnel says they mean nothing. He saw them at the Fist of the First Men and beyond. “That King who controls them, your puppet master, he just wants us to know what he can do.” Bran nods but isn't convinced. He asks to speak to Edd. Arron and Donnel pick him up. They go down to Edd's command, where he is dispatching riders. They're to comb the North for any house, great or small, or any refugees or bandits or anybody who can hold a sword. “Whatever it costs, whatever they want, we'll make it work later. Hopefully we all get mangled before it comes to that.” The riders depart, and Edd sees Bran approach. He notes that he needs all the men he can get, so can longer afford to let Bran keep Arron and Donnel. Bran thinks about this and asks if a horse can ride the lift. Edd chuckles and says that he doesn't see why not. He asks what Bran needs. Bran tells him that the North and Vale will send hosts to them – but no one else will. Edd bites his lip. He does not understand how he could know that as they have had no ravens. “I know you won't tell me, but I'd love if you did. And hate it.” Bran explains that while he can see some of what will occur, he isn't sure about other things. “Jon told me about wine before, and beer. What it does to you the morning after. Well, it sounds like that. You have some of the pieces of what happened, bit not all of them.” Edd is amused by this explanation, but points out that the crucial point – how he has any pieces at all – is the thing he doesn't understand. Bran asks if there's any way under the Wall that he doesn't know about. Edd says not, and asks why. Bran explains that there's a piece he doesn't understand. Edd asks for more details, but Bran admits it's too hazy. “Crows with their backs turned, under the shadow of the castle, good men dead in the snow. Where's the nearest weirwood tree?” he asks. “Haunted Forest,” Edd replies. “I don't think you want to go back there. You won't be getting carried by my men.” Bran smiles and asks if he speak with a smith. Edd leads him away.

On the Rose Road, outside the Kingswood, the Tyrell army waits for the Dornish to arrive. It’s clear from disquiet among the commanders that they’ve already been waiting days. Bandits – mostly refugees who have fled King’s Landing – scavenge and set upon passers-by in the forest. A few Tyrell soldiers suffer at their hands. The commander says he will not give the Dornish much longer to show up, and remarks on their unreliability.

In the Riverlands, Arya once again dreams of the wolves. This time it is from the alpha's POV that we see them. They attack a small Lannister caravan carrying grain and blocked on the road by fallen trees. The wolf Arya seems through runs down the Lannister leader and bites out his throat. She wakes sharply and is clearly shaken. She and the Brotherhood are in those same woods, camped out in a well-covered position. They eat breakfast and gather their things, ready to move on. Scouts return to inform the two dozen or so men that a nearby Frey patrol has passed. Arya approaches Beric and Thoros. The Hound listens in from nearby. She proposes that, rather than heading north, they stay and help free the Riverlands. The Hound scoffs at this, and suggests that this confirms that Arya is only interested in killing. “These bastards are offering you some dead bodies to bloody and you'd rather chase down pale boys in the woods.” Arya ignores him. Thoros explains that whoever runs the Riverlands is irrelevant compared to the threat they must face at the Wall or beyond. “Doesn't matter who's running Riverrun,” he says. “There won't be a Riverrun.” They pack and mount up and move out of the woods. Arya is not convinced though. She goes with them all the same, but starts at movement in the trees. Something sneaks off.

The Red Temple, Volantis. Slaves stand guard at the door. Nearby, children play and shout and laugh. One throws a stone that strikes the wall of the Temple. Nothing happens. Inside the Temple, Melisandre stands at the pyre. It is filled with ash, though shiny objects can be within it. Jewels worn or carried by Jaq'in and his men. Benerro approaches and concedes to Melisandre that, as far, her vision appears to be true. “Remarkable things,” he says, looking into the ashes. “The word can be spread,” he adds, “by every tongue we have between here and Lorath.” Melisandre tells him it is too soon for that. The balance is delicate. She walks away into the quiet chambers beyond the shadow of the great temple. She enters one such room where robed and masked figures tend to someone in a bed. The wadding and cloths they use are severely bloodied and a groaning voice can be heard in the background. She dismisses the acolytes, who scuttle off. Melisandre approaches the modest bed and looks down at the man lying on. What we see are blackened limbs and blood and oil stained on sheets. It looks like the stench of death. “The flames are kinder to some than others,” she says. “Kind?” the man slurs. “Kind,” Melisandre replies. “If the stories are to be believed, your beloved Queen walked out of the flames without a hair lost. She was kissed by the fire by her Targaryen blood. But Mormont blood, I see, is not so beloved of the flames. The Lord of Light saw much for you to give. Sins and curses to be repaid.” The burnt man sobs and retches. Saliva dribbles down his exposed chin. “Please,” he says. “Please.” “You want death. You already died, Ser Jorah. You might remember or you might not, but you will rise again soon from your own ashes. The flames spared you, and we both know why.” Jorah groans and looks away. “You know why, Ser Jorah,” Melisandre says. “You know why.”

At Illyrio’s mansion in Pentos, Varys meets the magister, greeting him as an old friend. In the background a hooded man can be seen leaving. “I was surprised to hear of your coming,” says Illyrio. “Word was you were sailing with the dragon queen.” “I sail ahead on her behalf,” he says. “You seek allies in Westeros beyond the Queen of Thorns, who they say is half-mad with grief, and those ugly rapers and reavers who serve Yara Greyjoy,” the magister says. “And the Martells,” says Varys, but Illyrio just looks at him. “Oh no. What happened?” Illyrio explains, telling him about the Marches. “Oberyn’s paramour and daughter sail north with Lady Olenna, but they will soon see that the Lannisters hold Dragonstone, and the Yronwoods have sacked and claimed Sunspear. They have nowhere to go.” Varys takes all this in. Illyrio becomes shifty. “I have something else to show you.”

They go deeper into Illyrio's mansion. He explains that all those years ago, when he provided sanctuary to Viserys and Daenerys Targaryen all those years ago, there was no time to decide what to do with the children’s meagre possessions before they rode off with Drogo’s khalasar. “The beggar king, they called him. What little they had, I never thought to look through it, when I had so much. I left it to gather dust in a darkened room somewhere.” When he heard of Dany’s coming west, he chanced across the possessions and thought to look through them. They arrived at Illyrio's library. He discovered something in Viserys’ old effects: the diary of Rhaegar Targaryen, written in High Valyrian. Viserys could never read, nor speak, High Valyrian well, unlike Dany who was more studious as a child. Therefore, Viserys never understood its value. The diary claims Rhaegar wedded Lyanna Stark rather than raped her – that he loved her, and sought to keep her safe with child in Dorne, protected by the Kingsguard, including Ser Arthur Dayne. When Varys doubts its authenticity, Illyrio simply shows him the diary by candlelight. “It’s Rhaegar hand: you can see it as well as I,” says Illyrio. Varys intuits what Illyrio already suspects: Eddard Stark killed Dayne the day he found his sister dead in the Broken Tower. The boy Eddard Stark home after Robert’s Rebellion was no bastard. “That boy now rules in the North, they say, with a direwolf the size of a horse,” says Illyrio. “They say he was resurrected from the dead.” “And now you think *he* should rule?” asks Varys. “He’s Rhaegar’s trueborn son – we have proof!” Illyrio says. “Lord Eddard was made Protector of the Realm at the stroke of a pen, but it did him no favours,” says Varys dismissively, “but by the accounts I heard before sailing east, this Jon Snow lacks his father’s honour. He deserted the Night’s Watch and marched on Winterfell with wildlings, where this King-Beyond-The-Wall tore the Warden of the North apart with his own hounds. If he is truly a Targaryen, he is the wrong sort.” “You may find out soon enough,” says Illyrio. “Rumour has it he too sails for Dragonstone – with your old friend Petyr Baelish advising him.”

The Brotherhood come to a village and stop off for a break. Thoros and Beric talk to the villagers, and their men drop off food and weapons. In exchange one of them hands the Hound a keg of wine. Arya watches them, rather unimpressed. Thoros tells Arya that King Jon has set sail from Eastwatch, destination unknown. He suspects it'll be Eastwatch he's bound for. “You'll be wanting to come with us now, I'd have thought.” Arya doesn't seem to like this. She goes to Beric, who has taken a walk alone into the trees. He now sits looking off into the undergrowth. Arya approaches and asks what he's doing. “Remembering,” Beric tells her. “It's much easier to see their faces against the birdsong, and the wind in the leaves. I believe I held land like this once.” Arya is confused, so Beric explains that he struggles to recall his wife and children, and the holdfast he once held, “before your father dispatched me in the name of justice.” Arya says that he hasn't delivered justice. He says that she doesn't want to go north, she wants to stay and free the Riverlands, so that they might still remove Cersei from the throne. She has a plan but needs their help. Beric is unmoved. “I’m not fighting so some man or woman I barely know can sit on a throne made of swords,” he says. Arya asks what he is fighting for. “Life,” he replies. “Death is the enemy. The first enemy and the last, and the enemy always wins. We still need to fight him. That’s all I know. You and I won’t find much joy while we’re here, but we can keep others alive. We can defend those who can’t defend themselves. But who to defend? These people, this country? Or all the countries, all the people? Would you not rather save them then bring death to their door?” Arya has no response to this. They go back to the village. Some of the local lads have joined the cause, much to Beric's pleasure. Word comes through that there are Lannisters nearby, so the Brotherhood clear off. Arya continues with them.

Tyrion's ship arrives at Tyrosh, a strong and well-built city with numerous towers, walls and fortifications. He and Missandei are greeted by a small and garish delegation who lead him from the harbour. A modest detachment of Unsullied soldiers follow them. The flamboyant Tyroshi ambassador remarks that he has seen Unsullied troops in the field, and that they're fine soldiers. It interests him that the Dragon Queen has found good use for slaves. Missandei returns that they are freedmen who have chosen to serve her. The ambassador shrugs and says that he doesn't see any obvious difference. They arrive at the government building where the Archon awaits them in a meeting chamber. He is an absurd specimen, draped in a loose and jewelled robe and with long hair and a beard died red and blue. Tyrion double-takes slightly, but Missandei keeps her composure. They slouch on rich and low couches, which Tyrion is more comfortable with. He thanks the Archon for his hospitality and kindness. The Archon admits that it was an idle curiosity. It's not often one gets to meet the dwarf who rides dragons. Tyrion admits that he doesn't ride dragons. “I suspect I'd even struggle side-saddle.” The Archon is amused and calls Tyrion funny. He cites the mess he made of his country as perhaps his finest comedy. “I believe there are still men in our city who would take your head for Queen Cersei's bounty. It is Queen Cersei, isn't it? Your sister? Yet you sail with Queen Daenerys? How many Queens does Westeros have? More than the bricks of gold your father had before you killed him.” Tyrion sees this is going nowhere and so cuts to the chase. Daenerys will seize Westeros, so Tyrosh would be wise to join her. They'll be rewarded with all sorts of riches and trade deals in response, and becomes the wealthiest of the Free Cities. The Archon laughs. Westeros is a broken nation subsidised by Essosi banks and on the brink of total collapse. Now a self-imposed monarch wishes to add to the madness, because her insane father once ruled with fear and intimidation. “Tyrosh appoints its leader,” he says. “Everybody here has the opportunity to rise to the top, and the best do. The best chose me as they chose by predecessor and they'll chose my successor. I speak for the best of my people. Your people belong in the dirt and ash you make. I don't need the paltry riches your slaves make any more than I need the protection of your eunuchs. But please, tell me a joke. I understand you have many more.” Tyrion excuses himself and walks out in a fury.

Dragonstone. The three forces have set up their camps and fortifications quite well. As well as the battlements being manned and supplied, a series of palisades and obstructions have been built around the walkways and staircases. We see Ironborn scattering small spikes on to the beaches and Northmen digging traps in the grass and dirt around the rock. Jaime inspects the lines. He walks down to the main jetty at the edge of the water and looks up at an incredibly imposing defence of an already brutally strong castle. He looks pleased, but as he begins to go back he spots a Northern boat down by the bottom of a cliff along the side of the island. A quick glance confirms the Northern navy is on the other side. He double-takes and frowns. Jaime heads back up and along the way encounters Euron, who is standing on a rock above looking out to the south. Euron asks Jaime if he knows how many men he's killed, and Jaime says he doesn't count. Euron counters that he should at least know how many leagues. He then admonishes Jaime for being so serious. Jaime ignores him and continues on. He approaches the Northern forces. The men eye him darkly, spitefully. Some muttering and curses. He keeps his chin up and makes eye contact but is hardly bullish. He makes his way through until he reaches Jon at the command tent. He's spotted, and Jon dismisses his chiefs. Glover makes a point of staring down Jaime before he does, and gets close before asking “were you expecting a hand, kinslayer?” Many of the Northmen laugh. Jon does not. He invites Jaime into his tent.

Jon apologises for the conduct of his men. Jaime says it's alright, that he understands their resentment. He looks to continue, but cuts himself short. “They have every right to hate me,” he says instead, “and so do you. If you're anything like your father, and I suspect you are, I seriously doubt we'll ever be friends. It's a miracle we're allies.” Jon shrugs at this and simply says that it's necessity. Jaime interrogates this. “You came all the way here to this spot, when it was teeming with two of your worst enemies, and a third still to come. There's brave and there's foolish, and then there's this.” Jon bristles and turns on him. “We've met before, you know,” he says. “I was a boy then. And aye, I'm sure you think I'm a boy still. I was off to join the Night's Watch and you just had to belittle that, to make me feel like a fool for doing that duty. I didn't want honour, I didn't want glory. But still, I'm foolish. Aye. I was foolish doing what you'd never do in places you'd never go, so you can fight over your precious realm and learn nothing from it.” He motions towards Jaime's hand. “I was foolish when they chose me as Lord Commander and I was foolish when they named me King in the North and I was foolish when they followed me here, with turncloaks and kingslayers to bed with. Maybe they wouldn't hate you so much if you were a little more foolish.” He sits down and breathes deeply. Jaime stands with his head inclined. “I should have held my tongue,” Jon says. “It was honest,” Jaime replies, “and not entirely inaccurate. But you're still in a very dangerous place and the North has no mines. You might not know this, but the Westerlands have quite bountiful gold mines. I have many men with me who have experienced those mines, some of them even had command roles in those pits. You can have them, advisers to improve your works. I doubt you'll want to be here as long as it looks you'll be.” Jon is startled by this. “You're giving me eyes to watch me,” he says. “Yes,” Jaime replies, “but then I don't know you. I did admire your father, in a way. He was honest too, he told me to my face how little he thought of me. He had every reason, even if he was wrong as often as he was right. We can work together. Our interests are shared and the common goal is a good one. But tell me, Snow. The risk you took coming here for this dragonglass. That's real, isn't it? There is no trick?” “I don't do tricks,” Jon says. Jaime ponders this. “I'm glad to hear it. It means I won't have to send you the way of your father.”

Back at the Wall, Bran sits in the blacksmith's while the smith constructs something. The smith, one-armed DONAL NOYE, gives him glances as he works and takes a break from the project to ask the question everybody has on their mind. “Is it true you see the future?” Bran smiles slightly before saying “there is no future, only the here and now.” Noye is amused by this answer and continues to work. A horn is blown. There is only one blast. Noye looks up at Bran with wide eyes. “Did you know that was going to happen?” Bran frowns and says quietly “No.” Outside, the gate under the Wall open. Edd rushes down the stairs to the courtyard. Brothers come forward with weapons readied. Bran enters the yard carried by Noye and they stand and watch. A figure on horseback slowly clops into the yard and comes to a halt. A crow in black cloak and tall on his large palfrey. The Brothers look stunned. Edd comes forward. Bran frowns. It's Benjen, his face passive. A long silence follows. “Does nobody remember how to help a Brother from his horse?” Benjen asks. Several Brothers laugh, including Noye. Edd helps him down and claps his back but stares at his pale and scarred face. “I've seen better days,” Benjen says.

In the dining hall, Edd and a group of his chiefs sit and stare at Benjen, who sits and eats a broth slowly and carefully. Bran is with them, though apart as usual. “We just took you for dead,” Edd says, “All of us did. How many years has it been? I didn't think you'd have the patience to stick it out.” Noye jokes that there aren't as many whores North of the Wall as there once were, and Benjen smiles. He barely speaks, and isn't drawn on what happens to him. “You don't want to see where I've been.” Edd remarks that he's come in a strange time. Men rise from the dead and the corpses that don't march against them. Fire priests do magic. He tells Benjen about his nephew Jon, about his resurrection and his new kingship. Benjen chuckles. “He's a good lad, and means well.” Edd asks if Benjen died, and Benjen doesn't reply. “You could have forgotten your vows then,” Edd says. “I can never forget my vows,” Benjen says. He shows the glimmer of emotion, a wet eyed and shaky conviction. “I came back to die with my brothers, to end my watch the right way.” He's asked how he got back for the dead, and Benjen admits that they just let him. He doesn't understand why. A Brother confirms this. He saw the chain of dead break for him. Some of the Brothers, particularly the younger ones, view Benjen suspiciously. Bran is confused. He says that Benjen saved him from the White Walkers previously, and can be trusted. Benjen looks at him and smiles. “Listen to him, Brothers,” he says. “My nephew is special. You might think Jon was a God, and maybe he is. But Bran is an even greater man though he's a boy still. And so kind.” He asks if he can be allowed to rest, so Edd agrees to give him a bed.

Throne Room, King's Landing. Cersei sits in her throne with Qyburn on one side and Ser Gregor on the other. Her advisers and generals stand in front of her. Ser Lucion lays out Cersei’s situation to her. One advantage of House Martell’s fall, he says, is the Dornish are no longer marching on them. But now the Tyrells are finally ready to march north to King’s Landing through the Kingswood. Cersei orders Lord Lucion to send his “best riders” to surprise them with an ambush in the forest. He tells her they don’t have the numbers. The Queen insists. They can use the cover of the forest to take them unaware, kill as many as they can, then ride back to the capital. “When a lion hunts a stag, it does not try to kill them all at once. It whittles them down to nothing but a feast.” Qyburn appears baffled by her point, but Lucion is only troubled. He makes to object again, but is interrupted. “I assure you, Ser Lucion. There are many men who would happily have your place alongside me. There are very few who would step away.” Lucion glances at Ser Gregor and then nods.

The Red Temple. Jorah lies on his bed. The burnt skin has dried and calcified so that he is a black shell of incinerated flesh. Balms are applied to this flesh, but he no longer groans or gasps at the touch. He stares at the ceiling. Shadows dance in it from the torch in the corner. They form the shape of a man stabbing a smaller figure in the heart. Both figures dissolve into nothing. Melisandre walks in. She tells her that it's time. “I cannot move,” he says. “You will soon enough,” Melisandre replies. The slaves pick him up and carry him on a stretcher. They leave the chamber, but Jorah's gaze lingers on the flames. They go outside the temple and down to the sea. The tide is again wild. Benerro and the other priests are there, holding torches. There are a series of braziers along a sea wall. Melisandre leads the stretcher team to the edge of the water. He is set down and lies there. Melisandre takes a torch and stands over Jorah. “The flames have given to you what was lost. Now show the Lord what you are to Him.” Jorah blinks up at her. “I cannot,” he wheezes. “Your house words,” Melisandre replies. “Here I *lie*?” Jorah tries to respond by his throat is dry and lips black. “Again, Ser Jorah,” she says. He looks down. His toe twitches. Then his fingers. He looks at Melisandre and she looks back, sultry. Jorah grimaces and then gasps and his arm moves. The black skin creaks and then cracks. He shouts in pain. “What are the words, Ser Jorah?” Melisandre shouts. Jorah jerks upwards, and his burnt skin breaks and slivers and crumbles off him to reveal dark red skin. His eyes are wide and teeth bared. He roars but comes to his feet. Then he stumbles forward, a naked and stricken form, and runs into the sea. He falls into the tide and disappears under. There is silence and darkness, and then hands seize him and pull him up and out. The priests have pulled him out. He turns to Melisandre. His skin is pink and all hair is gone, but his burns and greyscale have gone. He limps over to her uncertainly, as close as he can get, then looks down at her strongly. “Here I stand,” he says. Melisandre grins before she can stop herself.

Castle Black. Bran sits in chambers staring into the fire. His eyes water and his face contorts. Frustration, fear, pain. We see snippets of dead crows in the snow and blood on the steaming on the wall and the shadow of Castle Black. Brothers with their backs turned at the top. A flaming sword falling. He makes to stand and falls to the floor. He pulls himself around and sniffs and shouts for a guard. Nobody comes. He grabs a log from beside the fire and throws it at the door. He shouts again. Nothing still. Bran pulls himself back into his chair and wipes his face. He looks out the window and sees nothing but white. Another quick snippet. Bodies butchered in the snow. There's a knock at the door and it swings open. It's Arron, who asks if everything is alright. Bran says he needs a lift.

They go to Benjen's chambers. Benjen sits on his bed with his hands together, looking into the fireplace. He doesn't move as the door opens and Arron and Donnel let him in. He doesn't look round as he greets his nephew. Arron and Donnel leave Bran on a chair. They talk about how Benjen was able to get past the wall, how he hadn't tried before, and how he made it back to Castle Black unmolested. Benjen stares into space still. He tells Bran that he hadn't even been born when Benjen took the Black. Robert's Rebellion had only just ended, and House Stark comprised Eddard, Robb and the bastard Jon. Bran tells him that Jon isn't a bastard, that he's Aegon Targaryen. Benjen knows. “He has ice and fire in his veins, where we only have ice. It's all we know. It's all we'll ever know, and it's why we die like flies and fight all the same.” Bran asks why he joined the Night's Watch. Benjen says that all the Starks can see, even just a little. Some resist it, some don't. Brandon and Eddard did. Bran and Jon do not. Brandon saw himself in black and that's why he took it. Bran asks why he is the way he is, how he can see what others can't. Benjen's eyes fill with tears. “Somebody has to. Somebody always has to. You answered the call, Bran. You can't stop now, any more than I can. You can't stop.” “I don't know how,” Bran says tearfully, “I can't walk, I don't know where the trees are, I can't see enough to know what to do.” “Then do what Bran Stark does until you do.” Bran nods and dries his eyes. He asks Benjen to tell him about father and Brandon. Benjen smiles warmly and looks at his nephew.

The Brotherhood come to a farm which has been recently abandoned. Smoke still rises from the chimney of the house and no dust has gathered inside. However, the animals have been slaughtered, not by men but by predators. “A wolf did that,” the Hound says. “A big one at that.” Arya looks at the bodies while the Brotherhood take what they can and move on. They continue to ride. Thoros tells Arya about what awaits them in the North, based on the stories that have come to him. “The shadows of Westerosi legend are drawing in,” he says, “and they wait at the gates, waiting for more enemies. It's a holy war, child. Your God of Death against our Lord of Light.” Their troop comes to the next village. Though untouched by war, it is empty. Nobody comes to them as they arrive. Beric, Arya and the Hound are immediately on edge, even while the younger volunteers joke and call out. There's movement in a window, and a horse whinnies. Beric draws his sword and signals a retreat. It's too late. Lannister soldiers burst from doorways and their cavalry flank the buildings. Many of the Brotherhood are caught in the ambush, and others panic. Everybody goes in their own direction, some fighting and some fleeing. Arya gallops clear adroitly, moving through the ambush and village. The Captain of the Lannister soldiers spots her. It's Ser Arys Oakheart. He chases Arya and corners her before the river. Her horse throws her clear as she tries to jump across. It runs clear. Ser Arys rides down towards Arya. She tries to raise needle to defend herself.

At a plush apartment in Tyrosh, Tyrion stands on a balcony with Missandei. They overlook the harbour and the distant shape of Westeros. He is particularly drawn to the sight of the latter. He finishes a cup of wine and then fills another for himself and drinks from it heartily. Missandei rebukes him for this, but he shrugs it off. “Wine loosens one's anxieties. A lifetime of japes and snubs have left me with more anxieties than most. They threw that particular tremulous feeling over me like a shawl. The wine strips it off so I can be my best self.” Missandei is confused by this motion. How can a poison make you more like yourself? “Because it's all poison!” Tyrion declares. “The wine is poison, the food is poison, the dark looks are poison, the harsh words are poison. Even our beloved Queen's quest for home is poison, it all has to kill something or it'll stop being what it is.” Missandei says that Tyrion makes no sense and he concedes he perhaps doesn't. He looks back at Westeros. “We have more in common than I realised, our Queen and I. The sins of others mean we cannot go back there without an army at our back. It's victory or death, with no middle ground. The difference is that I added to those sins when I shot a rich cunt on a privy.” He looks around the city. “I do wish I had a crossbow now.” He pauses and looks at Missandei. “What is the best way to defeat an enemy? Surprise. To attack without warning and utterly destroy them. So what is it to give away that surprise? Stupidity. Vanity. Weakness. Charity. Mercy. *Kindness*. Kindness is what our Queen would give the world. To have the chance to have it all, but to stop and let others have some for themselves.”

Tyrion goes back to the Archon's Palace at a stride, and alone. The Archon is at first disinterested. “A persistent, stubborn dwarf,” he says. “You're much like your sister; you do not know when your time is up. The difference is, she has power.” “She sits the throne, but she is not in power,” Tyrion remarks, smiling. “When Queen Daenerys disappeared from Meereen on the back of her dragon, the city tearing itself apart, you might have said she did not even sit her throne in the Great Pyramid, let alone have her power. And when the Slavers came, with their great armada of ships, you might have said, she has no throne, no power, and soon, no city. Just as once, she had no dragons, no Unsullied, no Dothraki, no ships. Do you know what happened to the slavers? The Queen’s dragons breathed fire on a Slaver ship. Just one. But it was all the slave soldiers needed to see, despite their numbers. A great war galley, blown apart like twigs. They could have razed the entire fleet faster than drinking a flagon, but the Queen wanted their ships.” “We do not deal with the slavers,” the Archon answers. Tyrion laughs. “Oh, of course. I thought I was the jester here. This is land of fair chance for all. Except for all the soldiers who took to your walls so they wouldn't starve in the gutter. And maybe besides the beggars I saw at your docks. Or the urchins who scrub your palace walls. They'll have just as fair a chance of taking this office as you did. If they live that long. I might believe you were one of your people if I saw even an ounce of the concern for their safety that I have. Perhaps that's my weakness, my Queen's weakness. You might punish that by defending your interests. Perhaps you can rebuild your alliances with Myr and Lys and stand against us. At least until your pathetic squabbles tear it apart again. You miss the point of the slaver ship, Archon. They saw with one burst of flame what the future held. A choice. And now it's your choice. If you won’t give us what we need, we’ll just take it. With my queen's fire and your blood. But wouldn't it be kinder to the people who chose you that you just make friends with a funny dwarf?”

We cut to Tyrion and Missandei sailing back into the Stepstones, a modest flotilla of goods-bearing Tyroshi vessels in their wake. There are also half a dozen military ships, half of them bearing troops. To the south and west, Salladhor Saan’s fleet has joined Yara’s, with the pirates’ plunder being taken across the islands to be distributed among Dany’s armada. Missandei tells him that he has done well, that Daenerys will be pleased. Tyrion examines a flagon of wine as he ponders this. “Perhaps it was kind,” he murmurs. It's a weak utterance. Within days, we see Daenerys' navy leave the Stepstones bound north, back on course on the Narrow Sea, with a fair wind behind her. They will be in Dragonstone by week’s end, he guesses.

Back at the Kingswood, the Tyrell army is marching through. They see bandits scurrying away through the trees in their wake. They discover a Tyrell scout dead, stripped and looted, even missing a leg. Then the Lannister cavalry arrive, stunning the Tyrell train and killing many. Their vanguard briefly scatters into the forest, but regroups to fight back. Lord Lucion quickly realises he is losing too many and urges his men to fall back to the capital. A bandit knocks him off his horse with a rock to the head. Like vultures, the hungry smallfolk set upon the vulnerable links on both sides of the battle. The Tyrell numbers begin to tell, and their host breaks through the forest clearing, pursuing the retreating Lannisters. The final shot is back in the Kingswood, with the bandits finishing off and stripping bare the victims of the battle, on both sides, including Lord Lucion. A fine day’s loot.

Castle Black. Bran sleeps in his chambers. We see his dream. He glides through a Forest, skirting between the trees. He is not a raven, he is something with legs that runs. The trees are black and the leaves red. The ground is wet and muddy. Then they're into another plantation, the trees a familiar white wood. The sky above is black and red still. Smoke chokes it. Bran gallops to one of the weirwood trees and looks into its crying face. Blood runs from its eyes. A paw reaches forward and touches the bark. A flash. Bran is the canopy of the weirwood forest. Flames rage around, every other tree of the grand forest burning. Grey snow falls around them. Two blood moons hang in the air. Bran turns. Meera clings to the branches of the tree, terror in her face. A dark and flying shape appears on the horizon and shrieks like Drogon. There are human screams and the clashing of metal.

Bran awakens. The sounds of battle do not fade away. It is morning. Bran looks about him and listens to the cries and the distant and muffled crashing of steel on steel. He shouts for Arron, and then for Donnel, and finally for the Lord Commander. We see Bran crawling out of his chambers and along a stone corridor. A cold wind has picked up and whistles down at him. The cries and screams have ceased, but there is a commotion still. Bran crawls around a corner to the walkway overlooking the yard. Here, Donnel sits looking down. His face is ashen and he shakes. Bran asks what is wrong, and grabs him. Donnel doesn't react. There are shouts in the distance. Bran clambers past Donnel and looks down into the yard. It is filled with body parts. Torsos, arms, legs, heads. Some are familiar. One of them belongs to Arron. They form a large spiral that reaches from wall to wall. In amongst them stands Benjen. Bloodied black cloaks are piled nearby. He turns to see his nephew, and still clutches a bloody sword. Tears stream down his face. “Do you see now, Bran?” he asks. “Do you understand? It's what we owe. It's what we both owe. It'll happen again, it has to. There is no future.” Bran begins to cry. Brothers appear armed and readied and retch and gasp at the sight before them. Edd gets there and pulls out his sword. “Night gathers,” Benjen says. “And now my watch begins. It shall not end until my death. I shall take no wife, hold no lands, father no children. I shall wear no crowns and win no glory. I shall live and die at my post. I am the sword in the darkness. I am the watcher on the walls. I am the fire that burns against the cold, the light that brings the dawn, the horn that wakes the sleepers, the shield that guards the realms of men.” The men of the Night's Watch rush down the steps into the yard and attack Benjen. They stab him and slash him with their swords and he just stands and weeps. The wounds have no effect. The Brothers stop and step away from Benjen. Bone exposed, flesh scoured from bone. He stands all the same. “Flames!” Edd shouts, “bring flames!” The rangers do and approach with oil. They toss it on Benjen. He closes his eyes. “I pledge my life and honor to the Night’s Watch,” he says, “for this night and all the nights to come.” Edd takes a flaming torch and approaches Benjen. He shakes his head and sticks out his jaw, then tosses the fire. Benjen is immolated. He stands for a while, then collapses into the snow and burns there in the middle of his bloody mural. Above, the men on the Wall look out beyond. We see their terror. Below them, the full army of the dead is filing out of the forests and up the hills. The line of the dead becomes a sea without an edge.