Trascrizione (en)

Divide the realm. Let the Queen rule over the Crownlands, the North of Aeol, all the lands watered by the Trident, and let Daeron rule from Altan. Oh, please. Let me kill this milk-sock Sutherland country. The realm was once seven kingdoms. Before the Conqueror, when we were divided but at peace. Stop! My good Lord Han, I thought the Hightowers might have cut off your tongue as well. Hightower is not wrong. There are great houses who still hold to the precedent set by the Great Council. That a woman cannot rule. It was your wife who was passed over, Corlys. Rhaenyra seized the throne with a horde of dragons. Her rule is now unassailable. The Queen has many dragons, yes. But the great houses hesitate. Her subjects do not feel safe, nor should they. Aemond and Vhagar remain at large. Give Prince Daeron Ultan. Name him Lord Paramount of the Reach. Daeron will never be king. But he and his dragon can be wardens of the south. That wasn't what I was offering. Wed Daeron to Rayna. Seal the breach between your houses. With the combined will of King's Landing, the Reach, the North, the Riverlands, and the Vale, Rhaenyra can quickly bring the West and the Stormlands to heal. And what will the usurper Aegon say when he hears of this pact He now scuttles about somewhere on his crippled dragon Half cooked but still fit to rule Or so he thinks Was that news It is so tragic to see brother set against brother. Aegon and Aemond would be common enemies of this new alliance. Alliance? I never took you for a traitor, Corlys, and worse, a craven. What price has the boy king offered for your fealty? Peace. Two paths diverge before you, Daemon, but both lead to the same end. Rhaenyra sitting the Iron Throne, ruling the Seven Kingdoms. All that remains for you to decide is what you want from this war. Victory? Or a mountain of dead high towers? What do you think? You would callously cast away the lives of thousands of... No one will rule but Veneer, the ordained queen of the Andalus, of the first men, of beggars and thieves and cowards like you. And you, Valyria, will rise from the ashes of her usurp half-brothers and of the high towers of Old Town. Now, you came to me under the banner of peace, so I will give you the choice. Die here or behind those walls, like the rodent you are. Lord Corlys is my prisoner. Hightower may return to alert his cousin to our imminent coming. Get up, get up! Bring the ladders in the rams and form up to march. The next man to stall on this attack will be tied to the front of my fucking horse.