House of the Dragon leaves no room for theories: they are all doomed

The season 2 premiere of House of the Dragon does viewers a kindness. Rather than following up on almost every thread from the Season 1 finale, “A Son for a Son” is mainly concerned with one: the shocking deaths of young Lucerys and his dragon Arrax at the hands of his uncle Aemond. Perhaps it’s strange to call this grim opening “kind of,” but doing so allows the show to lead with feelings, not knowledge or politics, although there’s plenty of that too. Mostly it’s a story about everyone realizing they started a war, and feeling a little sorry about it.

This despite Dragon‘s opening moments on the wall, hundreds of miles away from King’s Landing, where most of the episode takes place. In this first scene, Jacaerys “Jace” Velaryon (Harry Collett) meets with Cregan Stark (Tom Taylor) to see which men of the Night’s Watch will join his mother Rhaenyra’s cause in the coming civil war. Cregan agrees, but not before thinking a bit about the Wall and its purpose. The Night Watch in this show is not a dead end, as it is Game of Thronesbut a noble calling, and its members remember what the Wall is for, at least symbolically: to keep Death itself at bay, with a line that even dragons dare not cross.

With this recall House of the Dragon reminds viewers of its mission and how it differs Game of Thrones: This isn’t a show about existential threats. This is a more private story, about the small and often insignificant grievances, misunderstandings and ambitions of a small group of people painfully aware of the weight of history, or desperately trying to break its bonds.

Photo: Ollie Upton/HBO

To that end, “A Son for a Son’s Sake” is about the many players in King’s Landing and beyond, feebly pondering how to avert, or advocate for, open war. Young Aegon, the new king, wants to be a kind and magnanimous ruler, but is stopped by his Hand, Otto Hightower, who reminds him that his every word sets a precedent. His brother Aemond knows that no amount of goodwill the young king can muster will deter those who support Rhaenyra’s claim to the throne, and longs for action. Rhaenyra herself has sadly retreated, searching for the remains of her son and his dragon, while those in her circle – such as her husband/uncle Daemon – impatiently prowl their chambers, eager to deliver the justice of their cause to the inhabitants of the to assert itself in the world. rich.

But scale is not the only way House of the Dragon distinguishes itself from its predecessor. What makes it such a fascinating spinoff series is the source material and the way the showrunners have chosen to adapt it. Fire & Blood is not a novel; it’s an in-universe historical record, complete with different perspectives on pivotal events. Showrunner Ryan Condal and House of the Dragon‘s writers decided to use this aspect of Martin’s work as a source of dramatic irony. If Game of Thrones and A Song of Ice and Fire used the vast distance and time that separated characters to create tragic arcs, House of the Dragon finds moments of inaccuracy or chaos to lean on character flaws and introduce uncertainty. Do two characters Actually understand eachother? Why would they? Why wouldn’t they?

Young King Aegon sits on the Iron Throne, nearly engulfed by the swords surrounding it in the season 2 premiere of House of the Dragon.

Photo: Ollie Upton/HBO

The final act of ‘A Son for a Son’ revolves around such a moment of uncertainty, in which Daemon (Matt Smith), unwilling to leave Lucerys’ death unanswered, hires a Pied Piper to kill Aemond in his bed. But he is careless, arrogant, simply interested in paying a blood debt, and his brief instructions reflect that. As a result, someone else dies, and the course of history shifts again.

It’s all so human, like that trivialthe errors of judgment or thoughtless actions that set the power in motion and engulf countless lives in their wake. House of the Dragon feels built to reflect on these moments, to leave the viewer bitterly wondering how easily things could have gone differently, if not better. Game of Thrones, in its adaptation of an unfinished work and larger storytelling priorities, rarely felt reminiscent of Greek tragedy from top to bottom. But in House of the Dragon, fate itself lurks in the halls of King’s Landing. The Iron Throne will rust. People will make terrible choices that will tear apart the lives of innocent people. But we will also see with terrible clarity the moments when those people almost chose differently.