Well, now what is this? Little Bran is walking? So all that unpleasantness with him climbing a wall and witnessing two blond full-blooded maniacs rutting like common conjoined wombats didn’t actually happen? And the blondest of the two, and also the one filled with increasing crazy-juice, didn’t just toss the boy out a window like a stale mug of ale? Why no, of course this all happened. It’s just a nice little ploy that many a television show uses to get you to wonder if things are really real, or if everything is just some mystical dream. Sorry, though, Game of Thrones; unless Bobby Ewing appears in a shower I’m not falling for that again. No sir.
So Bran is indeed not among the ambulatory, he is instead in his bed and quite surly about his current condition. And when Theon Greyjoy who just barges into Bran’s room, because I assume knocking is like some sort of call upon a dethroned deity, comes calling to tell him that his presence is wanted in the Great Hall, Bran is none too happy. Theon attempts to explain to the boy that this is just the way things are, that Bran’s brother has commanded him to be here, and thusly he’s commanding Bran to follow the order. Greyjoy delivers this news with all the enthusiasm of a salted slug since he’s a ward of the Starks (read: some sort of indentured servant) since his family rebelled against the king years ago.
Games, never light on new and interesting characters, introduces us to some sort of ogre-giant man named Hodor who can only say “Hodor” and who Theon summons to bring the paralyzed Bran to the Great Hall to see Tyrion, “the imp,” who is back from his sabbatical with the NightsWatch. And to this Hodor says “Hodor” and they are on their way. There we find Tyrion entering into some terse conversation with eldest Stark child, Robb, who is giving Tyrion much bitchface for some unknown reason, which basically just means all Lannisters are hated on sight no matter how slight of stature or genuine of heart, and to that point…and to Robb‘s chagrin, Tyrion has produced a generous blueprint for the ailing Bran so that he may ride a horse. Bran delightedly accepts the gift, and Robb has to choke on his former words and offer Tyrion lodging for the night, but still inquires the motives of Tyrion’s generosity. To which Tyrion admits that he takes his role as patron saint to all “cripples, bastards, and other broken things,” seriously.
This isn’t the first time we’ve seen Tyrion’s acts of kindness, forethought, and wisdom. His mutual respect for Jon Snow was one such instance, and his slapping the dogshit out of his spoiled little jerk face of a nephew was another, but aside from his begrudging do-gooding, let’s not forget that Tyrion is a badass pimp. As in “Screw your hospitality, Stark. I’ll find a bed amongst some voracious ladies of the night. Don’t go to any trouble, boy. And save your false sentiments. I know you don’t want me in your cold, dank, little castle. And I’ll be much happier nestled in some random bosom. Tyrion, out.” And with that he exits after momentarily trading a few barbs with Greyjoy wherein he recounts how the “lackey” came to such a station, basically by saying that the Greyjoy’s were stupid in their failed rebellion, and that he must be starting to enjoy being a relative hostage of the Starks. Snicker, snicker. And oh by the way, “Here’s a shiny sixpence for your next ride with Roz, the often recycled whore of Babylon.” Oh, yes, what a pot Tyrion is stirring.
Now it’s time to check in with Jon Snow who’s training up at the Wall to become a celibate, reclusive, army of about seven, set to freeze when the dastardly Winter finally arrives… all things no one wants to actually do, yet it’s billed like winning American Idol or something. The boys are all taken aback when they see the newest recruit Sam. Sam does look like he’s one pudding away from exploding out of his carpet remnant armor bib, and proceeds to scream and cry during the sparring session. And once again Snow gets to show off his superior fighting skills in defending the blubbering git, which gains him a new friend in Sam. And we can tell from the gratitude-filled look in Sam’s eyes that he is willing to be the Samwise Gamgee to Snow’s Frodo. And at that point the whole thing dissolves into an opera of high-school drama where none of Snow’s other friends want to be seen talking to the slobby, sad, defenseless guy who all the other kids will surely pick on because he’d rather eat pie than fight back. “Everyone will think we’re cowards too,” they scream cowardly.
Hey, did you guys wonder where the hell the Dothraki were going with their like 200 horses and various white people mixed in with the tan people? Well, it looks like they were going to a place that has horse statues and grass huts sort of like the last few stops the Dothraki have made…with the uh, grass huts! Viserys that little petulant, screeching, medieval platinum-haired hipster says some sort of talk-garble about an army to which everyone around him just says, “Whatever, hipster, no one wants to play Dodge Ball with you.” and continues on their Dothraki way. We then land in the tub with the hipster and a pleasure slave who has an uncanny Australian accent. Apparently Dothraki town is north of Sydney. They talk about dragons, killing them, riding them, looking at their bones etc. Somehow though I don’t think Viserys is Sam Worthington and can just mount a dragon and rule over all the clans. No, not when this guy is keen on keeping his black skirts and leggings in pristine condition. And just when he’s enjoying some free sex or whatever, his personality disorder kicks in and he becomes an arrogant prick again, and just like that, we’re back to hoping his hair catches fire from all those bathtub candles just to hear him scream like a girl yet again.
Speaking of girls, real ones, not blond blowhards, we’re back to watching pouty Sansa say all kinds of nonsense about womanly things spoken from a fourteen year-old mouth. She’s worried about giving jerk face Joffrey, the King’s son, (Yeah, right) nothing but girls and no “real” heirs. Oh. The. Humanity. Sansa should never speak. And we find that if there’s anyone that she hates more than Joffrey and his sniveling twit self it’s her father, because she’s a teenager and the mark of a true pubescent teenager is to hate one’s parents, but usually it’s not because, “Hey, my future husband doesn’t like me because my little sister kicked his ass.”
Back at King’s Landing, heavy is the crown that isn’t worn by the king, but by the king’s hand. We find Ned Stark hanging out with the King’s council discussing the big tournament that he never wanted, and mostly serves as yet another reason for the king to get wasted and be entertained, which seems to be about all he ever does. Ned meanwhile is trying to balance a budget and keep expenses down for what appears to be the biggest NASCAR race in recent Seven Kingdoms history… you can tell because “Every inn in the city is full and the whores are walking bowlegged” for whatever that’s worth. I guess that means there’s no room at the HoJos and you’d have to pay for your Continental Breakfast and syphilis.
Enter Grand Maester Pycelle, or as I like to refer to him, Marley’s ghost, Scrooge’s ex-partner. You can tell it’s him by the various chains he wears and rattles around with while he haunts the King’s castle. No really, he’s a scholar and academic who was adviser to various factions of the monarchy over the many, many years. Ned is searching for answers to the death of the last Hand of the King and finds out Arryn was in search of a book that described the lineage of the Seven Kingdoms while Pycelle recounts what he knows while sitting amid his books and various billows of incense. Seriously, it was like a massage parlor with books. We find out that the Hand of the King died while saying “The Seed is Strong” which to us could mean poppy seeds, or sesame seeds, or any seed really, but to Stark it means poison….which also means “A woman’s weapon.” It’s apparent he’s watched several episodes of Snapped.
While Ned contemplates his future he runs into his youngest daughter wherein she tells him to can all that stuff about husbands and babies, because that’s just not her, and with that statement right there, Arya holds her ground as a favorite character on the show because of her independence, and refusal to wear skirts unless made to do so. Rock on, Arya. And as if called upon magically, or just by convenient segue, we‘re back witnessing the dreary life of the second Stark child known for his independence, Jon Snow, who is on guard at the Wall when he encounters a bumbling Sam who was sent to be his watch partner. Fantastic. Unsurprisingly we learn that Sam is pretty useless as a Nights Watchman, he’s afraid of heights, the cold, the color black, stairs, breathing, but we also learn that he’s an outcast just like Jon, and a bit of an embarrassment to his family, so a friendship is formed in shared misery.
And since we’re talking about deadbeat dads, Ned finds that he’s really a politician who needs to watch his back. After a walk with Littlefinger, Ned becomes aware that there are spies everywhere, some for the Queen, some for Littlefinger, (the boy with the eye-patch was just weird) all manner of spies. And Ned of course is becoming increasingly cautious. However, this does not deter his investigation into what caused the death of Jon Arryn, the former King‘s Hand. He is led to a blacksmith whose worker is shown to be King Robert’s bastard son, not by DNA testing, but rather peering deeply into the boy’s eyes. Confirmation? Absolutely. The boy’s mother, however, remains a mystery. Hmm, that’s probably a secret “seed,” right?
Back at the castle, the King is sowing his royal oats in the flesh of various women who come running out of the King’s chambers like a defiled harem. Jaime, incestuous possessive weirdo, stands guard and is all broody and dismayed by the King’s recreation, which had us yelling, “But yet you bump uglies with your twin! That’s worse, dude!” And then when confronted from a message from Ned Stark, Jaime gets all haughty and tells the messenger that he doesn’t serve Lord Stark. We think there was trouble in a playground sandbox years ago between those two.
Back at the Wall, Frodo and Samwise are getting along famously. Frodo has stopped all the other carpet-covered hobbits from beating up Samwise, but after his little plan is noticed, he’s sent to clean tables and not allowed to get any nookie with the other guys. And we learn that old Jonny Frodo is celibate because he just can’t bring himself to father another bastard, and after that revelation, the Prince of Darkness of Night Watch Training busts in on the boy’s bonding session to be a downer and tell tales about the winter, the cold, eating horses, and other acts of cannibalism, looking pointedly at Sam’s obese girth. Well, this guy shouldn’t come to parties. Not unless it’s a cannibal party. But really, I’m thinking baby showers are out.
And now we’re back with the platinum blond hipster and his bipolar disorder. He comes barging into Daenerys’ Dothraki hut, again because knocking would sacrifice a goat or something, and he’s all hot and bothered by some perceived slight his sister made. Is it just me or is this guy like a pissed off diva? He doesn’t want the leather chaps Daeny made, or the dung belt, and refuses to braid his hair. He just wants to parade around in his David Bowie emo gear and shout from the heavens about his imaginary army. And finally Daeny fights back and tells that hipster dude to eat some rice cakes from Whole Foods and STFU. She also realizes that her brother wouldn’t know what to do with an army if it fell on him and dragged him back to King’s Landing by his undergarments. Sobering. So that means your brother forged your marriage to a monosyballic horselord and has absolutely no control or power. We get the impression that if anyone is going to ride a dragon it just may be Daeny.
We return to NASCAR, or the King Hand’s tournament to watch a joust. Yay! Sleazy Littlefinger sidles up to Sansa and in the tradition of “episode of creepy stories” regales Sansa of one that involves their manservant The Hound and the way he gets burned by his brother The Mountain which as yet hasn’t resulted in The Restraining Order. The tale is a sad and gruesome one wherein Littlefinger admonishes Sansa not to retell it for fear of her very life. Okay, so this isn’t a bit of a strange exchange by the good friend of Lady Stark, especially after the girls watched Jon Arryn’s knight get staked and blow blood from his mouth like Mt. Vesuvius? I think so. I think Littlefinger has a dark side, and is biding his time until he can throw down his trump card, and my suspicion is that it has something to do with his friendship with Lady Stark.
The final scenes are about the ladies of Kings Landing and Winterfell. The queen comes to tell a troubled Ned Stark that she’s on to him, doesn’t want the Starks there, and would very much like it if he fucked off forever. To which Ned says, “Hey, I’m on to you too, and I’ll kill anyone who gets in my way” and the Queen says, “Right back at ‘cha.”
Lastly, Tyrion still in search of that brothel, ends up in an inn, where he encounters Lady Stark, and proceeds to blow her cover to an awed crowd. Lady Stark then goes about saying how she went to high-school with half the town in attendance at the inn and how they went tipping cows, and drinking Bud Light in the parking lot of the Piggly Wiggly. Tyrion doesn’t see the purpose of this little jaunt down memory lane, until Lady Stark lowers the boom that Tyrion was responsible for the assassination attempt on her son. And just like that, the entire graduating class of 1972 whips out their swords and draws them down on Tyrion.
And so that is where we are. Next week looks like more intrigue and revelations…but of course. So tune in. Let us know in the comments how you’re finding the show so far.
The Game of Thrones airs Sunday nights at 9pm on HBO.
