House of the Dragon Deployed Its Strongest Weapon

There are no massive war sequences in the season-two finale of House of the Dragon. Unlike the Battle at Rook’s Rest in the midseason episode “The Red Dragon and the Gold,” the finale, “The Queen Who Ever Was,” does not build up to some climactic, dragon-on-dragon showdown filled with fire breathing and mass casualties. The climax of season two’s final hour is, instead, a nearly ten-minute conversation between Alicent and Rhaenyra, two women often rendered powerless within a patriarchal system that leaves little room for diplomacy but who are actually the two people with the greatest capacity to stop an allegedly inevitable war.

The scene is still a face-off of sorts. But tonally, it’s the opposite of a classic Game of Thrones clash. It is quiet and measured, not loud and chaotic. It centers two women and leaves men out of the frame entirely. It is stripped down to the basic elements of a scene — well-written dialogue volleyed back and forth between two complicated characters played by exceptional actors. And it carries more emotional weight than most of what’s transpired in this somewhat limp season of the George R.R. Martin–inspired prequel.

Conversations like this between Rhaenyra and Alicent, whose disagreement over the rightful heir to King Viserys’s throne lays the foundation for literally everything that happens on this show, are the best parts of House of the Dragon. We only got two this season: in episode three when Rhaenyra goes undercover to speak to Alicent at her church, and in Sunday’s episode, when Alicent arrives unexpectedly at Dragonstone. In the first one, Rhaenyra pleads with Alicent to find a path toward peace and is shocked when Alicent doubles down on her assertion that, in his final moments, Viserys named Aegon, his son with Alicent, the heir to the throne rather than Rhaenyra, as he’d publicly promised. In the second, Alicent has realized her miscalculation and proposes to Rhaenyra that she will help her claim King’s Landing as a “conqueror,” betraying the cause of her son and the Greens.

Neither of these moments appear in the book that inspired the series. But showrunner Ryan Condal and his writers have understood since the beginning of the series that the relationship between Rhaenyra and Alicent is what powers House of the Dragon. Season one invested a lot of time in building the connection between these two characters, both as childhood confidants (then played by Milly Alcock and Emily Carey) and as adults, now Emma D’Arcy and Olivia Cooke, who become stepdaughter and stepmother and must negotiate all the shifting loyalties that come with that role change. House of the Dragon invested that time so that we would become invested in them, and it worked.

With Rhaenyra and Alicent relegated to separate locations throughout season two, it became much more difficult for them to share screen time. But it seems natural, from a character and thematic standpoint, that they would try to connect. The fact that Rhaenyra and Alicent are both willing to put themselves in danger in order to do so speaks to their ability to see a bigger picture than many of their male counterparts. It also speaks to the power of friendships formed in girlhood. From a very young age, they developed a comfort with and faith in each other that is foundational to their identities. That trust may be completely shattered, but it still exists, even in shards. Rhaenyra and Alicent share an instinct to mend things (one my colleague Nate Jones does not agree with) rather than to cause more destruction. At this point in the narrative, every conversation they have comes with the subtext that maybe, just maybe, there’s a way out of all the violence and misery, the glimmer of a thing called hope.

Geeta Vasant Patel directed both of these sequences, and she frames them similarly, with an emphasis on close-ups of the two characters simply speaking and reacting to one another. In the first conversation, the two are supposed to be praying so they look forward most of the time, only occasionally turning to gaze at one another, a filmmaking choice that implies they can’t fully see each other yet. In the second, the two stare straight at each other, the camera lingering on their profiles, a visual suggestion that perhaps they are closer to compromise or at least a willingness to try to understand each other.

Patel pushes the camera tight on Alicent’s face as she wrestles with giving Rhaenyra permission to take her son Aegon’s head if Alicent helps Rhaenyra storm King’s Landing. Rhaenyra has lost a child and is deeply familiar with that heartbreak. She knows the sacrifice she is asking of Alicent when she offers “a son for a son.” She asks it anyway because she understands the often grotesque demands of leadership that Alicent still does not.

For almost a full minute after Rhaenyra makes this request, neither of them speak. Alicent blinks back tears and can’t summon a response. Somehow she is unprepared for this moment. Rhaenyra tries to hold her quivering jaw firm but doesn’t quite succeed. Tears form in her eyes, though she manages to keep them from spilling over. You can sense how much they need to hold each other’s hands but can’t or won’t. The dead air just sits there between them, a lack of sound that makes the viewer lean in closer to see and hear what will happen next. When everything goes quiet, it’s human nature to stop and assess the situation. When everything goes quiet on House of the Dragon, it’s a signal to pay close attention because what’s happening is important.

The emotional stakes could not be more clear, and you feel that in this exchange in a way that, frankly, you don’t always feel things while watching House of the Dragon. (Surely I’m not the only one zoning out during one of Daemon’s hallucinations or the many Green small council meetings.) That’s partly because D’Arcy and Cooke are so dialed in every time they act opposite one another. The way their bodies share space — inching close to each other, but not too close, searching each other’s gaze for solutions and reassurance — speaks to the deep and layered personal history their characters share.

When Rhaenyra, rightfully, blows up at Alicent for suddenly changing her mind only after realizing she has no political capital left — “Still you imagine you can have all you want without paying too high a price” — she stands unwavering in front of Alicent, looking straight into her eyes. Rhaenyra makes sure Alicent knows that she sees all of her: the woman eager to avoid war, particularly without inconveniencing herself too much.

Later, when Alicent tries to wrap up their discussion prematurely — “Let us be done with this, please,” she asks, exhausted — she starts to walk away from Rhaenyra. A wide shot shows a greater distance between them when Alicent declares her vulnerability: “I cast myself on the mercy of a friend who once loved me.” Then, as Alicent describes the freedom she imagines for herself after she somehow disappears post-coup with her daughter and grandchild, she makes Rhaenyra another offer. “Come with me,” she says, and steps forward, reducing the physical gap between them by a small but noticeable margin. This absurd offer is the request of a sheltered little girl who longs for her best friend and cannot see the incongruity of suggesting that Rhaenyra capture the throne, then disappear to chill forever in their version of Barbieland. It is also an honest and heartfelt offer.

Rhaenyra flinches reflexively, then moves a few inches forward as well, an indication that part of her wishes she could join Alicent but is practical enough to know she can’t. “My part is here, whether I will or no,” she says, her eyes breaking from Alicent’s gaze while she briefly envisions a future that can never be. “It was decided for me long ago.” That last comment is a statement of fact and an acknowledgement of the difference between their two situations that Alicent is still failing to see. It’s also a very blunt reminder that being queen has always been her fate, and Alicent is the only one of them who ever doubted it.

That conflict between predestined commitment and free will lies at the heart of House of the Dragon, a show in which people continue walking down dangerous paths and, unlike Alicent, can’t fathom an exit strategy because of prophecies and traditions that dictate their actions. Within the context of this show’s central relationship, we are able to most effectively experience the heartbreak embedded in that discord. As soon as Alicent leaves, Rhaenyra drops her façade. The muscles in her face relax, and worry seeps in for Alicent, herself, and what they’ve tentatively agreed to do. She is simultaneously a woman with enormous power and one who lacks the most basic element of independence: the ability to do whatever you want with your own life.

None of that would resonate if House of the Dragon didn’t slow down and take a moment to let us watch Rhaenyra and Alicent hash out their issues in real time. If Rhaenyra follows through on Alicent’s proposal, which would mark a significant diversion from Martin’s source material, presumably there will be more conversations and interactions between them. There’s nothing on this show I would like to see more. Their connection is what best amplifies the core themes of House of the Dragon. It’s also what gives it its fire.