Game of Thrones is a serious show, and we are serious people. In this series, we recap each new episode with the deep, dark, grim-faced seriousness it deserves. Seriously.
This week: “The Spoils of War,” the fourth episode of season 7. No fooling. Violators will be frowned at.
We open outside Highgarden, where we can all breathe a sigh of relief because House Baby Boomer is finally rich again! It’s such a tragedy when the obscenely wealthy like the Lannisters suffer financial hardship as a result of flagrant overspending.
Despite their recent victory over House Tyrell, Jaime Lannister is very unhappy because the single-sheet toilet paper he’s been using since Cersei downgraded from the 4-ply aloe-treated brand is giving him terrible friction burns on his backside. Bronn has no sympathy, because he has to wipe his ass with his hand like the rest of Westeros.
“I was promised money and a castle and a sexy wife,” says Bronn. “All I’ve got so far is the cash.”
“God damn millennials, nothing’s ever enough for you.”
“Your right hand is made of solid gold, but I get a bag of loose change,” Bronn says, wishing he could knock Jaime into a river and laugh as his heavy prosthetic drags him to the depths.
“Maybe if you spent less money on avocado toast, you’d be able to afford a castle of your own,” says Randyll Tarly, riding up on his thoroughbred stallion.
Bronn, who hates everybody present, is confused. “What’s avocado toast?”
“You forget that my family was almost broke for a while, I’m very sympathetic to the plight of the poor,” Jaime stoically insists. “Now leave me, and bully some farmers into surrendering their livelihoods.”
Meanwhile, in King’s Landing, Cersei Lannister shares the news of her brother’s victory with Tycho Nestoris, who is so happy to hear that wagons of gold are on the way that his sprightly erection nearly upends her table. He tries to flirt with the old, ‘you look just like your dad’ line that usually works so well on the ladies, but Cersei is uninterested in the ‘roll of quarters’ in his pocket. She wants the real thing.
“Finally,” says the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. “My student loans are gone. My mortgage is paid off. I’m debt-free at last!”
She decides to celebrate by accruing more debt.
In Winterfell, Petyr Baelish stops by Bran’s bedroom to gift him with the dagger someone once used to try and kill him, hoping that Bran will accidentally cut himself while shaving and bleed out in silence, thereby ridding Petyr of another troublesome Brandon Stark. The joke’s on him, though. Bran can’t even grow facial hair.
“If you ever need anything from me, just ask and you shall receive. Your mother meant the world to me,” he tells Bran.
“My motherboard?”
“No, your actual mother.”
“IBM?”
“Your human mother,” Petyr clarifies. “I loved her more than anything, and I would do anything for love.”
“Great, you can tell me who owned this dagger.”
“But I won’t do that.”
Bran doesn’t have enough RAM to care about Littlefinger’s weak-ass attempts at subterfuge because he has an apocalypse to prevent, but musters up enough enthusiasm to reveal that he’s been eavesdropping on his conversations from way back when. While Petyr discreetly soils his briefs, they’re interrupted by Meera Reed, who has come to break up with Bran before she travels home to Greywater Watch. She’s anxious to see her father and ask him why in the hell he allowed his two children to travel to the untamed north without supervision, only to sacrifice themselves for an outdated ThinkPad with beautiful eyes.
“It’s not you, it’s me,” she says. That old line.
Bran remembers to blink in the nick of time. Excellent humaning, Brandon!
“I don’t want to leave you,” Meera presses on. “But I have to be with my family when the Night King comes because let’s face it, you’re woefully under-prepared for this, and we’re all going to die.”
Bran tries to respond, but all that comes out is a high-pitched jumble of beeps and static.
“I’ve reconsidered,” says Meera angrily. “It is you.”
Meanwhile, Arya Stark rocks up at Winterfell and comes across two hapless guards who refuse to let her through the front gate, despite the fact that they’ve left it wide open.
“Oh dear,” says Arya dryly. “After killing a kingsguard, a Faceless Man, and the entirety of House Frey, you two will most certainly pose an insurmountable barrier.”
Tweedle Dum, who is only halfway through season 6, informs her that Arya Stark is dead, despite the fact that Brienne is living at the castle and has made Sansa aware of her survival. “Nobody could have survived a stab wound to the abdomen like that,” he says confidently.
Tweedle Dee agrees. “The person who we think is Arya Stark is actually the Waif, wearing her face.”
“Oh really?” says Arya. “Who’s Jon Snow’s real father?”
“Robert Baratheon,” they answer at once.
“And Lord Varys is?”
“A merman.”
“What about Daario Naharis?”
“He leads the Sons of the Harpy,” says Tweedle Dum.
“You two ought to have been drowned at birth,” she says, before immediately giving them the slip. She heads down to the crypts, where Sansa finds her some time later. They have a cuddle and bond over a statue of Ned Stark, who is relieved to find that his daughters are finally getting along. And to think, all he had to do was die horribly.
“On a scale of one to Selyse Baratheon’s petrified foetuses,” says Sansa to Arya. “Just how messed up have we become as a direct result of our individual experiences?”
“About a fifty,” Arya replies. “Which, incidentally, is the number of people I slaughtered on my way here.”
“Oh, how I’ve missed your irreverent jokes.”
“I guess you don’t want your present, then,” says Arya, hiding Meryn Trant’s face behind her back.
Sansa takes her sister to the godswood, which is where Bran spends most of his time because it’s got the best signal strength in Winterfell. Arya is delighted to see her little brother again and gives him a big hug, which he actually bothers to return this time. Sick burn on Sansa, Brandon.
“What have you been up to?” asks Arya.
“Keeping an eye on what you’ve been up to,” says Bran. “Also, wielding ancient magic.”
“Bruh,” says Arya, who has been there, done that and worn the severed face.
“Bruh,” agrees Bran, and gives her The Nod, as well as Littlefinger’s dagger.
Sansa: “Do you guys want me to leave so you can develop a secret handshake or something?”
On Dragonstone, Dany and Missandei are gossiping about Grey Worm’s sexual prowess, an important wartime discussion if ever there was one.
“What happened between the two of you?” asks Daenerys.
“I just laid back and had my needs seen to,” says Missandei. “And I didn’t have to do anything in return!”
Their high five is interrupted by Jon, who invites Daenerys into the cave that he and Davos have claimed as their clubhouse.
“I’m tempted,” says Dany, feeling inspired by Missandei’s tale of one-sided sexual gratification. “Are your parents home?”
“My father is dead, and I never knew my mother,” says Jon miserably.
Daenerys smiles. “Perfect.”
Inside the cave, Jon proudly showcases his artwork, a talent he developed during numerous nights spent sitting alone in his bedroom, listening to Death Cab and searching for ways to express his feelings. “They’re mostly mixed media pieces, though I’m inclined towards charcoal,” he explains. “They brighten the place up, don’t you think?”
“Oh my god!” Dany cries. “Ancient cave drawings! Irrefutable proof of the existence of White Walkers! You were right all along!”
“Well,” says Jon. “That was a freebie.”
When they get outside, they’re greeted by Tyrion and Varys, who explain to Daenerys that Highgarden has been taken by the Lannisters and Casterly Rock is about as valuable an asset as that $85,000,000 you were promised via email by your cousin, the Nigerian prince. Daenerys is furious, particularly since all of Tyrion’s plans have failed so far. “Sometimes,” she snarls, “I suspect that you don’t want every member of your family to die.”
“I’ve mentioned how much I love and trust my brother several times while in conversation with you,” says Tyrion. “But sure, act like this is brand new information.”
“That’s it. I’m attacking King’s Landing. It’ll be a piece of cake, because I have a very large Drogon and–”
“Dragon,” Varys corrects her.
“A very large dragon, and–”
“Three very large dragons,” Missandei interjects.
“Holy shit, I have three?” says Daenerys. “I always forget about the other two.”
“I had a direwolf, once,” says Jon sadly.
Back at Winterfell, Brienne is beating the shit out of Podrick Payne. The amount of punishment he takes is just gratuitous at this point. Who hurt you, Brienne?
“But I’m an intersectional feminist!” Pod cries as he’s knocked to the ground for the eighteenth time that hour. He is rescued from further humiliation by Arya, who ambles along in her Ned Stark cosplay and decides that she wants in on the action. Pod gratefully steps aside to let her fight Brienne in his stead, while an entire Ed Sheeran album’s worth of burgeoning romantic feelings take root in his heart.
The fight is awesome, and culminates in a stalemate, as well as the forging of a lifelong friendship between Brienne and Arya.
“Bruh,” says Arya to Brienne.
“Bruh,” Brienne replies.
“I’m right here,” says Sansa.
“My hero,” says Pod, fluttering his eyelashes and hoping that Gendry drowned in that rowboat.
Arya and Brienne’s bonding continues as they stare murderously at a nearby Petyr Baelish, who promptly soils himself. Again. And he’d just changed into fresh briefs.
Back on Dragonstone, Jon and Davos are hard at work… gossiping about Dany’s boobs? I thought they had a dragonglass excavation to oversee? Why are they just wandering around the island? Have they taken a leisurely lunch? Where are they finding the time?
“Do you fancy her?” asks Davos.
“I’ve seen the Night King, Davos. I’ve looked into his eyes.” Sorry, Jonerys fans. SnowKing 2017 confirmed.
Davos then sees Missandei, who is staring wistfully at the ocean. Everyone on this island has far too much free time on their hands. Ser Seaworth turns on the charm, but Missandei resists his debonair attempts at seduction and instead asks Jon why he doesn’t bear the Stark surname. It is explained to her that Jon is a bastard.
“What’s a bastard?” says the woman who can speak 19 languages.
Their conversation is halted by the arrival of Theon Greyjoy and the rest of the survivors from Euron’s attack, who come racing ashore with their rowboat.
“Gendry?” says Davos hopefully, but alas, no.
Jon is furious to see that Theon won’t just give up and die, and immediately sets upon him.
“U betray Robb, u hurt family, yet u save Sansy,” he says, his sad baby browns filled with pain. “Y u do dis?”
“Are you going to kill me?” says Theon.
“No,” says Jon regretfully. “Sansy says I’m not allowed.”
Just outside King’s Landing, Jaime and his army are bringing the food and supplies they looted from Highgarden into the capitol. As they chat with the permanently confused Dickon Tarly, they’re interrupted by the arrival of the Dothraki, who have crossed the sea in their entirety to attack the Lannister army despite the fact that most of Dany’s ships have been destroyed. With them is Daenerys herself, riding Drogon into battle. Not Drogon #1 and Not Drogon #2 are not there, presumably because Dany has once again forgotten that they exist. They’re waiting patiently on the front steps of Dragonstone, their backpacks by their sides.
Dany immediately sets Drogon on course to burn all of the supply wagons because who needs grain and barley when you’ve roasted enough men to feed an entire colony of hungry cannibals?
“No!” Jaime bellows. “The gold!”
“All of the gold made it to King’s Landing,” Bronn reminds him. “These wagons contain only food for the smallfolk.”
“What a relief! I thought we’d lost something important,” says Jaime. “Now leave me, and risk your life to get to that scorpion.”
While Bronn reaches the scorpion and punctures a marauding Dothraki soldier like he’s the film cover on a microwavable meal, Jaime fights bravely from atop his horse. Though he’s wearing fireproof plot armor, he’s less well-protected from Dothraki arakhs, but is saved from a bloody death by Dickon Tarly.
“Run, Rickon!” says Jaime to his rescuer. “Zig-zag away from the flames!”
Up in the air, Drogon is hit in the shoulder by Bronn, who is having the time of his life on that scorpion. “Mommy!” Drogon wails. “I’ve got a splinter!” What a baby. Rhaegal and Viserion don’t cry over splinters. They cry because their mother has abandoned them.
Daenerys immediately dismounts to tend to her dragon’s wound and sing him a soothing lullaby despite the fact that she’s still surrounded by a good deal of enemy soldiers, which gives Jaime an opportunity to solidify his reputation as the biggest mug in the Seven Kingdoms. Picking up a spear, he charges full pelt at the Mad King’s daughter. Unfortunately, Drogon notices the attack and jumps to his mother’s defense, intending to make avocado toast from Jaime’s charred hide. He’ll be disappointed later, when he learns that all of the avocados have been burned to ash.
Just when it looks as if all hope is lost, Bronn appears on the scene. “RKO out of nowhere!” he cries, knocking Jaime off his horse and into the deepest riverbank known to man. Weighed down by his armor and his gold hand, Jaime sinks to the bottom like a stone, hoping in vain that Gal Gadot is taking a walk in the area.
Taking the Iron Throne
This week, I award the Iron Throne to …
Bronn of the Blackwater
Dragons are weapons of mass destruction, and I’ve got a particular beef with Drogon. He thinks he’s so great, strutting around on his scaly legs, intimidating people by swooping down on them while they’re trying to take a stroll, burning young children to a crisp and laughing as his brothers are punished in his place, running away from home whenever he fancies it and, most unforgivable of all, taking precious funds away from the direwolf CGI budget. In short, Drogon’s an asshole, and anyone who injures him is A-OK in my book. Four for you, Bronn. You go, Bronn…
Honorable mentions: Arya and Brienne, Jaime Lannister
Chilling in Fleabottom
This week’s bottom-dwelling, bowl o’ brown-guzzling loser is …
Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum
Somebody, somewhere, wrote this scene and thought that these two were funny. They were wrong. I would have rather watched another three minutes of Podrick Payne having his ass handed to him than listen to these two idiots attempt to exert their superiority over my fictional daughter. Here’s hoping Sansa gives them new positions as Arya’s next sparring partners. Watching them get beat up would be funny.
Honorable mentions: Randyll Tarly, Petyr Baelish
Next week, we’ll be taking a look at “Eastwatch,” and praying for the return of Gendry. We don’t want Podrick getting any ideas.
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