Season 8 Episode 4 “The Last of the Starks” review – Castle of Glass

 

Last week, I wrote that it was so hard to assess the impact of the larger plot and themes as long as the show hasn’t finished the story yet, and the same still holds true today. For this reason, I’ll start with a disclaimer: I will try to call out the themes and larger developments as I see them unfolding right now, in the clear possibility that some red herrings will lead me astray. So I’ll not judge next week’s episode on the basis of whether it delivered on my readings of this one, as I hope my readers will not judge this review on the clairvoyance of its predictions.

The episode is divided into two distinct parts. The first part takes up around the first two thirds of what would be a “normal” episode, roughly one hour in length. It deals with the fallout from last week’s Battle for Winterfell, and its human cost and possibility. The last half hour or so is devoted to moving the plot along at what might at first seem breakneck speed, but which is in fact par for the course in “Game of Thrones” plotting – it only seems fast because of the relatively serene hour that preceded it.

Let’s deal with the Winterfell segment first. We start off on an incredibly sad note, as the dead of the battle get laid to rest. We get good looks at the fallen, through the eyes of those who were closest to them. Dany says farewell to Jorah. Jon lays Lyanna to rest (how apt). Sam buries Edd. Arya touches Beric one final time. And Sansa, oh, Sansa, she puts a Stark needle on Theon. The whole sequence happens in silence, with only the wind and sobs audible, and takes up almost four minutes until Jon gives a defiant speech, gathering in a few sharp sentences the essence of it: “They died, so that others might live.” This is the Jon people see when they clamor for him being king. Dany sees it two, and it raises conflicting emotions. Everyone sees it, in fact.

And with that, we’re in the Great Hall of Winterfell, where the second part of the burial ceremony is taking place. It’s a good northern burial, with lots of food, drink, laughter and sex. Sansa, Jon and Dany form a kind of sad trifecta, sitting close to each other yet miles apart. People are toasting Jon, and Dany really needs all her strength to appear happy. She asserts herself in an act of politicking and emotion when she makes Gendry lord of Storm’s End – removing a Stark bannerman into her own camp, as Sansa well notes. Ten minutes into the episode, politics, envy and biases reel their ugly heads around.

But for the moment, the titular Game of Thrones still takes a back seat. There are character arcs to resolve, after all. Gendry proposes to Arya, who of course refuses (“I’m no lady”), but so gently that  the fire only slowly goes out of Gendry’s eyes. Sandor gets to talk to Sansa, finally, wistfully reminding her of his offer to take her out of King’s Landing way back in season 2. Sansa reassures him: without her many traumatic experiences (and Littlefinger’s mentoring), she wouldn’t be where she was now, breathing a bit of Bran’s determinism. That hard side of her will come back throughout the episode, and Sandor’s realization of “you changed” is not to be understood as a compliment. Sansa did change, but while her experiences made her much more able to play the Game and survive, she’s also lost a lot in return – just as her sister, just as her younger brother. There’s a symmetry at work here that’s easy to miss.

While Tormund finally has to bury his dreams of winning Brienne, Jaime finally marshals up the courage to profess his feelings and take her to bed. He does it after Tyrion once again fucks up his drinking game of actually knowing people too well, calling her out for being a virgin. Jaime’s breaking the ice – “I never slept with a knight before” – is spot on, and the whole scene is awkward and tender and heartwarming, and finally gives us a look at the Tyrion who actually is smart and able to read people. However, he still doesn’t know when to shut his sassy trap.

The heart of the coming conflict, though, comes when Dany finally faces Jon. She loves him, he loves her, and their feelings are real. She desperately pleads with him to keep his identity secret, to swear Sam and Bran to secrecy and just continue on. “Please Jon, I beg you!” He retorts to family. He can trust them, and he must trust them. And as during the feast, when Tormund loudly proclaimed Jon the hero of the battle because he rode a dragon, as if Dany hadn’t done so and provided him with the beast in the first place, something breaks in Dany. It will not be the last time that shatter will be heard in this episode.

For one last time, everyone comes together to countenance a battle plan. The Northern army will march on King’s Landing, while the Unsullied, surviving Dothraki and the dragons will sail to Dragonstone and land on King’s Landing’s shores. But surely, Sansa interjects with cold sweetness, the dragon queen will allow the army to rest before going to war? Go ahead, dragon queen, we’ll follow. Promise. Another small crack in Dany, visible on her face. Jon tries to knit the cracks, openly professing loyalty to Dany, going along with her plan, forcing everybody into following him with oaths of loyalty as well. But that’s just what it is, forced, and everyone can see it. When Tyrion suggests not to attack King’s Landing as not to kill innocent people, conveniently numbering his sister among them, the next crack becomes visible. Did her Hand go over as well? During the feast, he was awfully friendly with Jaime, Brienne and Pod, who are all serving her allies and not her.

After years and years of hardship and thrive, surviving by her own abilities and decisions and overcoming all odds, sacrificing nearly all dear to her, Dany sacrificed all she ever wanted – to do the right thing, come North, defeat the White Walkers and save humanity. And this is the thanks she gets. Rampant mistrust, her lover showered with all the adoration no one spares for her and getting all the credit, while the sacrifices she and her people made are going unmentioned and spited. She cannot wait another day. The army marches tomorrow. Jon understands, and, presumably one last time, forces the allegiance of Sansa and the others with him.

But of course, the story doesn’t end here. Before we can move into the second part of the episode, we need to resolve Jon’s arc as well. After all, Dany begged him not to tell anyone. Do. Not. Tell. Sansa. It’s a plea Jon knows all too well. Usually, it was Arya who said it to him – another significant woman in his life. And so, when called into a discussion under the heart tree (where else?) by Arya (whom else?) about his parentage (what else?), everything is coming together.

Do not go south, the plead goes, as it never ends well for Stark men. I’m not a Stark, he replies. Direwolves in the snow. A secret capsuled in a code only one person can read. A different time. A different king. But no. You are a Stark, Jon, you are my brother, in truth! And mine! Here, all you ever wanted to hear. Here it is. Too late, alas, too late. We’ll talk when I return. Next time we’ll see each other, we’ll talk about your mother. What if there is no next time? Jon knows that song too well. Before the battle, he told Dany. Not because it was a good moment, but because they might never talk again. Now, he tells them, not because it’s expedient or pragmatic or clever, but because it’s true. “Promise me, Jon…” Blue roses weren’t in evidence, but silverblond hair.

For better or worse, Jon won’t be Ned. What will await him in the South? It’s hard to tell, but it won’t be a retread of a certain Hand’s tenure. When Jon takes his farewells from Winterfell – for the second time – it has a finality to it. He won’t come back. Tormund might assure him that he has the “real” North in him, but Jon leaves it in able hands, making Sansa the Queen in the North in all but name, symbolically rejecting his Stark heritage and the real North by sending Ghost away with Tormund, who talks of leading the Free Folk back beyond the Wall once the winter storms cede, to resume their own way of life and wander. Wandering, though, is not what Jon sets out to do.

And with that heavy load, we march into the last third of the episode, and its second half. Where everything took its time to play out, now the plot is back in the driver’s seat. While Jon goes riding the Kingsroad for the rest of the episode, we focus squarely on Tyrion. He also has to resolve an arc, and it’s only appropriate that he does so now. Way back in season 5, Tyrion was drawn to Dany by her promise to “break the wheel”, by her pitch to actually rescue Westeros. Now, he’s watching her crack in slow-motion. When he bids farewell to Sansa, the resolving of her plot kickstarts his own: she tells him the secret Jon made her swear not to share. What brings her to do this? Is it the coldness she feels and displays, her desire to serve “the North”, whatever that means? Is it true concern for Dany’s motives and stability, as when she proclaims to Jon she doesn’t trust her? Or is it simple envy?

It’s hard to tell, but she plants in Tyrion a nagging doubt. And doubt is the last thing Tyrion wants. He, who has made so many mistakes, cannot stand the idea of having made yet another one so grave. Was he wrong to stand with Dany? Is there a better alternative? He cannot think of it. The monstrous injustice of it hits too close to home. Who could better understand what Dany feels? You rescue the realm, and all you get is revulsion, while the guy who hitched on your train and hijacked all your work gets the credit. The last time, Tyrion solved the contradictions by putting a crossbow bolt into his father.

Burdened with the knowledge, unable to resolve the turmoil within, Tyrion purposefully activates the little devil on his shoulder. Varys, who spent a lot of the episode skulking in the shadows that once were his natural habit, is back true to form, leaping at the chance to once again fulfill his own destiny to “serve the realm”, dismissing all of Dany’s accomplishments as the outpouring of a false sense of destiny so common in tyrants, ignoring the hypocrisy of it all. Should Tyrion solve the contradictions again by murdering yet another close relative? The thought is too much to bear.

And so, Tyrion pleads with Dany to talk to Cersei. Bloodshed may be avoided, the people, his conscience and his family rescued. Dany, showing yet another crack, entertains this notion only as PR cover for her levelling of the city. Was Varys right? Is Dany already too far gone, descending into murderous madness? The cordial mask she wears is slipping more and more frequently.

And then, soaring on the dragons accompanied by a soaring score, the elation suddenly gets turned into horror when the Greyjoy fleet suddenly attacks them. Much like the White Walkers for humanity writ large before, Euron Greyjoy slides out from the cliffs like a kraken from the deep, preying on a human army that totally lost its focus and is consumed by petty squabbles within itself. The price, then as now, is the death of a dragon and untold people, as well as the capture of Missandei of Naath.

As Dany is losing not only her lover and her army and feeling increasingly empty, but now also losing another one of her children born out of blood and sacrifice, more cracks are becoming visible. Full of helpless rage and despair, Dany steers Drogon away from the carnage. While she broods on Dragonstone, Tyrion’s conflict comes to a head when Varys all but declares for Jon. The wheel turns and turns, driven on by all the good intentions going on awry.

It all comes to a head when Dany and the Unsullied land before King’s Landing. The city is well-prepared for her. Cersei opened the Red Keep for the masses, of course not chastened by any experience of the last siege when she closed herself off from the people she hates, but to use them as human shields against Dany. For the first time since season 7, Dany and Cersei stand eye to eye. Their respective hands meet in No Man’s Land, scorched earth all around. The eye revels in the natural devastation. Surrender unconditionally, or everyone dies, Tyrion demands. Please do. Think of the children. Yes, the children. Them burning would be most distressing, answers Qyburn, so better surrender unconditionally, or else, Missandei dies.

Tyrion gives up, brushes past Qyburn, and appeals directly to Cersei. She hates the people, the people hate her, but she’s no monster, she’s capable of love! Is he talking about Cersei or himself there? Nevermind. No one needs to die. Please! I beg you. Cersei is fighting for a moment, consciously swallowing whatever humanity is left in her. Her children? They’re all dead. One of them was killed by you, imp. There is nothing there anymore. Any last words, Missandei? Dracarys? That’s sweet.

As Gregor murders Missandei, and with another one of her children dead, an adopted one this time but nonetheless beloved, Dany turns away from the city in pure rage and fury. Fire and blood are coming.

With that, we the ending credits. But what does it mean now? How could Cersei become so powerful, how could the Iron Fleet wipe Dany’s so clearly (again)? Cersei is not a human anymore, not really. She’s a metaphor. Her strength is directly proportional to the weakness of the coalition. If Sansa and Dany, Tyrion and Varys, Jon and everyone else, weren’t so caught up, so instantly back into their own goals and strives, Cersei wouldn’t be such a menace. To try and grasp her with a strategical and tactical analysis, therefore, is a fool’s errand.

What Game of Thrones does is trying to really go beyond “the final battle”, at least in this episode. It has always been the desire of Martin to show what happens after, how a disparate coalition fending off a mutual enemy can dissolve. Think of 1945. How long was it before Soviets and Allies were at each other’s throats after the monster was defeated, plunging the world right back into the looming specter of devastation? This is what we can see here as well. I do not know whether this means that the wheel cannot be broken, that it will chug on for all eternity, that Westeros, much like Tony Soprano, is beyond the capability to change and will always be ensconced in its perpetual misery. It will be up to the final two episodes to answer that question. But as in episode 2, I’m feeling a lot more confident that the answer, and the conclusion to the epic, will be worthwhile.