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[Back across the sea in Vaes Dothrak, we're inside a large communal tent. Daenerys is centered around everyone and eating the heart of a horse. The Dothraki and a priest chant around her. Her husband Khal Drogo looks on in anticipation as she continues eating.]
"That is disgusting" Gendry muttered, voicing the thought of many greenfaced men and women. Sansa puked all over her dress, which quickly cleaned itself, while Arya looked like she was close to throwing up as well.
Daenerys made a face, a hand covering her mouth. She couldn't go through with this, these savages and their savagery, she couldn't live with it. No, she wouldn't marry Khal Drogo. She wasn't a savage.
"She has to eat a whole heart? I hope that wasn't my horse."
"That's all he cares about?!" Rhaegar fumed.
"He's already shown he doesn't care about Daenerys Elia said coldly. Her stomach still churned at the sight of her good sister eating that raw heart.
Rhaegar gripped Daenerys' hand gently.
[She keeps eating the heart, nearing the end. The Dothraki onlookers all chant in unison, getting louder and louder. The priestess is also chanting, louder and louder. Khal Drogo stares more intently at his wife, she stares back. The chanting grows louder, as does the priestess.]
"Tell me what she is saying."
"The prince is riding. I have heard the thunder of the hooves. Swift as the wind he rides. His enemies will cower before him... and their wives will weep tears of blood."
[The eating and chanting intensifies as Viserys looks on in shock.]
"She's going to have a boy."
Robert frowned. A boy...
"He won't be a real Targaryen. He won't be a true dragon."
"Neither are you" Jon Snow muttered lazily.
[As the chanting is at its loudest, Daenerys has finished with the heart. Everyone looks on in anticipation, she wretches forward, on the verge of puking. The chanting suddenly halts. Khal Drogo leans in and looks intensely. Daenerys holds everything in and sobs. Her hands bloody, she slowly sits up, keeping everything in as she gulps the final bite. The priestess begins to speak, and Jorah translates directly for Viserys.]
"The stallion who mounts the world. The stallion is the khal of khals. He shall unite the people into a single khalasar. All the people of the world will be his herd."
[Daenerys rises to her feet, speaking in Dothraki to the room.]
"A prince rides inside me! And he shall be called Rhaego!"
"I learned a new language," Daenerys said in surprise.
"What's so surprising?" Rhaegar questioned with a raised brow. "You've been with them for months, you probably asked one of the slaves to teach you."
"I-I just didn't think I could" Daenerys shrugged with a blush.
[The room begins chanting, "Rhaego! Rhaego!" As the chanting grows louder and louder, Drogo stands up and walks up to Daenerys.]
"They love her."
"Unlike you!" Arya said vindictively.
[The room's chanting gets even louder. Drogo hugs his wife at her thighs and hoists her up, carrying her around the room. Jorah looks to his right towards Viserys, who has now slipped out. We cut to Daenerys' tent. Inside, Viserys opens the container that holds her dragon eggs. He sighs and then puts them into a sack. Jorah walks into the tent behind him, blocking the door.]
"Don't let them see you carrying a sword in Vaes Dothrak. You know the law."
"It's not my law."
"They don't belong to you."
"Whatever is hers is also mine."
"Those are my eggs!" Daenerys seethed before freezing. Why was she so possessive over those eggs all of a sudden?
"Once, perhaps."
"If I sell one egg, I'll have enough to buy a ship. Two eggs - a ship and an army."
"And you have all three."
"I need a large army... I'm the last hope of a dynasty, Mormont. The greatest dynasty this world has ever seen, on my shoulders since I was five years old and no one has ever given me what they gave to her in that tent. Never. Not a piece of it... How can I carry what I need to carry without it? Hmm? Who can rule without wealth, or fear, or love?"
"Love is earned, not something to be given. I see we have failed to teach him that" Rhaegar spat. He was truly disappointed with his little brother. Then again, it was no surprise. His father always kept Viserys close.
"Oh, you stand there, all nobility and honor. You don't think I see you looking at my little sister, hmm? Don't think I know what you want? I don't care. You can have her. She can be queen of the savages and dine on the finest bloody horse parts, and you can dine on whichever parts of her you like. But let me go"
"You can go, but you can't have the eggs."
"You swore an oath to me. Does loyalty mean nothing to you?"
"It means everything to me."
Ned snorted.
"And yet here you stand?"
"And here I stand."
[Viserys and Jorah stare at each other for a moment, before Viserys drops the sack containing the dragon eggs to the floor. Jorah steps aside, unblocking the exit. Viserys leaves.]
"He's going to do something stupid," Daenerys said plainly. She'd seen that expression on her brother's face before. And every time he does something stupid because of it. He was too emotional for his own good, she had heard Illyrio say it once.
[Back at the skycell below the Eyrie. Tyrion is again shouting for Mord.]
"Mord! Mord! Mord! Mord! Mord!"
"Noise again!"
"Have you ever heard the phrase "Rich as a Lannister"? Of course you have. You're a smart man. You know who the Lannisters are. I am a Lannister. Tyrion, son of Tywin! And of course, you have also heard the phrase, "a Lannister always pays his debts." If you deliver a message from me to Lady Arryn, I will be in your debt. I will owe you gold."
"What are you trying to do?" Joanna eyed her youngest.
"Trying to free myself I suppose Tyrion shrugged.
"What message?"
"Tell her I wish to confess my crimes."
[We cut to the throne room, where Lady Arryn and her son Robin are sitting on the throne, at the helm of the room. Catelyn is standing next to them, as Robin is tapping a knife against the throne itself very annoyingly.]
"You wish to confess your crimes?"
"Yes, my lady. I do, my lady."
"Skycells always break them. Speak, Imp. Meet your gods as an honest man."
"Where do I begin, my lords and ladies? I'm a vile man, I confess it. My crimes and sins are beyond counting. I have lied and cheated, gambled and whored. I'm not particularly good at violence, but I'm good at convincing others to do violence for me. You want specifics, I suppose. When I was seven, I saw a servant girl bathing in the river. I stole her robe."
Tyrion blushed, then winced at the slap from his mother, who now sat between the two brothers.
"Mother-"
"It's happened already, no?" Joanna said sternly, her hand still raised.
Tyrion kept his mouth shut.
"She was forced to return to the castle, naked and in tears. I close my eyes, I can still see her tits bouncing. When I was ten, I stuffed my uncle's boots with goatshit. When confronted with my crime, I blamed a squire. The poor boy was flogged and... I escaped justice."
Tyrion was slapped again.
"When I was twelve, I milked my eel into a pot of turtle stew. I flogged the one-eyed snake. I skinned my sausage. I made the bald man cry into the turtle stew, which I do believe my sister ate. At least I hope she did."
Tyrion was slapped again.
"I once brought a jackass and a honeycomb into a brothel -"
Tyrion was slapped again.
"I didn't even finish the story!" the former Imp complained.
"Sins are sins and you must be punished for it. Sadly a slap is all I can manage" Joanna said coldly.
Tyrion rubbed his red cheek with a scowl.
"Am I the only one who thinks he was slapped around as karma for slapping Joffrey all that time back?" Oberyn whispered to his sister.
"That hasn't happened yet" Elia said with an amused roll of her eyes.
"Silence!"
"What happened next?!"
"I'd like to know too," Bran said excitedly.
"Later," Tyrion told the boy with a scowl still on his face and his hand on his cheek.
"No, you will not," Catelyn said sternly looking at Bran. "That is not a story for your ears."
Now it was Bran scowling.
"What do you think you're doing?"
"Confessing my crimes."
"Lord Tyrion, you are accused of hiring a man to slay my son Bran his bed, and of conspiring to murder my sister's husband; Lord Jon Arryn, the Hand of the King."