The third season of Game of Thrones is here, and we’re chronicling the TV adaptation of George R. R. Martin’s world of Westeros—and how it differs from the books—in a series of letters between Wired writers (and Game of Thrones fanatics) Erik Henriksen and Laura Hudson.
WARNING: The following includes spoilers for A Song of Ice and Fire Books 3-5 which have been redacted for your convenience with black bars. You can toggle spoilers on at your own risk by clicking the button to the left or highlighting. IF YOU CAN SEE THIS SENTENCE, YOU WILL BE ABLE TO SEE THE SPOILERS.[Editor's Note: Our recap of this week's episode, "The Climb," will be shorter than usual this week, as Laura is literally off climbing a large rock formation.]
First, our TV vs. book recap:
Sam: After escaping the mutiny at Craster's Keep, Sam and Gilly make camp on their way back to the Wall. She's surprised at his inability to make fire, a basic skill for anyone in a world where fire is pretty critical source of light and heat—or at least, for anyone who doesn't have people to make fires for them, like the highborn Sam. With the glee of a young nerd who has just returned from a science museum, Sam shows Gilly some sort of spear crafted out of what looks like obsidian and sings "The Song of the Seven," based on the seven gods of the Faith. In the books: Pretty much the same, although Jon gives Sam the spear, as well as numerous obsidian arrowheads, that he found at the Fist. Obsidian, a real-life substance made from cooled lava, is also known as dragonglass and "frozen fire" in the books, something with possible relevance to the core themes of a book series titled "A Song of Ice and Fire."
Bran: Osha and Meera have a tough-girl pissing content over who's better at skinning rabbits, which almost escalates to blows until Bran intercedes and tells them to chill out. Jojen suddenly has a seizure, and Meera immediately attends to him, explaining that "the visions take their toll." When Jojen wakes, he shares his latest vision: Jon Snow, on the wrong side of the Wall, surrounded by enemies. In the books: While Jojen does have disturbing dreams, he doesn't have that one, and he's not prone to epileptic fits. (Though another young character, Lysa's son Robert Arryn, is.) Also, there's no conflict between the wildling woman and Meera, because at this point they've already parted ways—with Osha heading south with Rickon while Jojen and Meera go north with Bran.
Jon: The time has finally come to climb the Wall, and before they begin the 700-foot ascent, Ygritte has something to say to Jon: She's not an idiot. "You didn't stop being a crow the day you walked into Mance Rayder's tent," she says. "But I am your woman now, Jon Snow. And you're going to be loyal to your woman." It's a heartbreaking appeal, not only because we love Ygritte, and Jon, and Jon and Ygritte together (Jogritte?), but because honor and loyalty are pretty much the Cheerios that Jon Snow eats for breakfast every morning. They're his whole thing, but the problem is he already owes them to something else. This one wasn't built to be a spy. A knight, certainly. A king, maybe? But never a spy. When they finally ascend, Jon has a close call due to some falling ice, but the real problem comes when Tormund's Ygritte's axe accidentally sends cracks tearing across the ice, sending massive sheets of the Wall tumbling down. Despite some extremely dubious physics, Tormund is able to catch their falls, but Orell decides to saw the rope off above Jon and Ygritte even though the most practical move would be for Tormund to cut all of them loose, including Orell. Anyway, Jon manages to snag his axe on some nearby ice and (improbably) catch Ygritte after the rope gets cut. After they glare at Orell with murder eyes, they somehow make their way to the top of the Wall, where they collapse, exhausted. As light breaks through the clouds, they look back and forth from their liminal summit: north of the wall, and then south. The dividing line between the way things were, and the way they're going to be. Or: the line between the place where Jon Snow knew nothing, and the place he knows far more than Ygritte—and the world where he belongs. In the books: Ygritte never openly acknowledged doubts about Jon's loyalties, and Magnar and Jarl were the ones who lead the wildings up the Wall, not Tormund. Orell was dead by this point—only his eagle remained to be a jerk to Jon Snow. The sheet of ice falls while Jarl is climbing, killing him and his team, while Jon and Ygritte climb up a rope thrown from the top of the Wall by more successful climbers without any attempts on their lives.
Arya: We finally learn the mystery destination of Melisandre when the Red Priestess shows up at the camp of the Brothers Without Banners looking for Thoros of Myr, her fellow worshipper of the Lord of Light. She's shocked to learn that Thoros has resurrected Beric six times—and so is Thoros, really. Turns out he used to be a drunken, womanizing priest of the Red God in name only until Beric was slain, at which point he desperately said the only magic words he knew. But unlike Arya—and every other character that has screamed over the body of a loved one—the Lord of Light answered Thoros, and Beric returned to life. As much as people talk about how the dragons marked Game of Thrones' major turning point into fantasy, the Red God is surely one of the most terrifying and real supernatural forces in the series so far. Of course, just because he isn't a false god doesn't mean he's a good one. Case in point: Melisandre hasn't just come to practice her High Valyrian; she's here to collect poor, poor Gendry. Gendry wanted to devote his life to the Brotherhood, but ends up being carted away by Melisandre for a couple sacks of gold because she needs the blood of kings—and he's the bastard of Robert Baratheon. Before they leave, Arya gets in Melisandre's face, and the Red Lady looks right back saying she sees all the eyes that Arya will shut forever, and promises they will meet again. In the books: None of this happened in the book, but the way it weaves together several disparate threads is fantastic. When Melisandre went looking for royal blood, she never had to leave Dragonstone—one of Robert's bastards, Edric Storm, was already there. This is a neat conflation that not only reduces the number of characters the show has to introduce but also brings the two most notable worshippers of R'hllor, Melisandre and Thoros, into the same scene to chat theology in High Valyrian, offering a bit more detail about Thoros than we hear in the book. Poor Gendry is never betrayed by the Brotherhood, but rather knighted by Beric after he stays to smith with them. Also, Melisandre's final comments hints at Arya's future in A Feast for Crows and A Dance with Dragons, where she is inducted into the assassin's guild of Faceless Men in Braavos, and indeed shuts many eyes forever.
Theon: Tied once again to the saltire cross that perpetually reminds me of the time when Wolverine got crucified in X-Men, Theon is awakened by some obnoxious bugling by his anonymous captor, who then pours water on the floor in front of the thirsty man for bonus torment. When Theon promises to tell him everything, the man reminds him that Theon already has. And that's where the games begin, not where they end. In this particular game, Theon wins if he guesses the identity of his tormentor, and the other man wins if Theon begs him to cut off his finger. When Theon asks if he can go free if he wins, his tormentor says something that is as relevant to Game of Thrones fans as it is to Theon: "If you think this has a happy ending, you haven't been paying attention." This isn't happening for a reason, the man says—or rather, the reason it's happening is because he wants it to. After an extended sequence of the man dicking Theon around and slowly mangling his finger, Theon finally begs the man to cut it off. The anonymous tormentor wins. In the books: The show is still holding out on the big reveal, but there's no question now: This is Ramsay Snow. In the books, everything we know about Theon's torture time with Ramsay comes via flashbacks in A Dance with Dragons, but Theon does recollect Ramsay enjoying a game where he flayed people's digits until they begged to have them cut off. His mention of hunting the Stark boy references his love of hunting down humans, much as he hunted down Theon after his escape attempt.
Robb: The Starks and Tullys meet with z representative of Walder Frey, the man whose daughter Robb threw over for Talisa—and the man whose armies Robb needs. Frey will agree to continue their alliance if Robb gives him three things: 1) a formal apology, 2) Harrenhal, and 3) Edmure Tully, who must marry another of his daughters. Edmure is none too keen on the idea of marrying a woman sight unseen, but after Robb suggests that this a chance to make up for the stone mill—where Edmure's foolish tactical blunder cost Robb enormously—Edmure sighs and agrees. In the books: Though not named here, Walder Frey sent his crippled son Lothar and bastard son Walder Rivers to treat with Robb, which was perceived as an insult by Edmure. There's no mention of a law that says no man can force another to marry; as we see repeatedly, people seem to be forced in marriages with great regularity.
Brienne & Jaime: Freshly washed and dressed, Brienne and Jaime sup with Lord Bolton, who plays a subtle game of "maybe I'll kill you, maybe I won't" with the duo. While Jaime has lost some of his arrogance, he's feeling confident because understands, probably better than ever, how power works—both when he has it, and when he doesn't. And the fact that they're eating a delightful meal with the Lord of the Dreadfort rather than getting flayed in a dungeon means that Jaime has some sort of power and leverage right now, even if he doesn't entirely understand why. Bolton—who, by the way, is still one of Robb's bannermen—agrees to send Jaime back to King's Landing as restitution for the unfortunate dismembering incident, so long as he swears to Tywin that Bolton had nothing to do with the maiming. Jaime's down, and enthused to get back on the road with Brienne, until Bolton announces that she's to stay behind and answer for abetting Catelyn's "treason." Jaime insists that Brienne return with him, but Bolton totally fakes us out on a hand joke with this absolutely real dialogue: "I would have hoped you'd learned your lesson about overplaying your... [long pause] position." Jaime knows, better than ever, when he has power and when he doesn't. And he doesn't. In the books: Bolton also explained the reason that Locke (Vargo Hoat, in the book) cut off Jaime's hand: in part, to diminish his value to Bolton, and make it more difficult to return Jaime to King's Landing. Jaime notes repeatedly how ridiculous Brienne looks in women's clothing, though the same cannot be said of the lovely Gwendoline Christie. And rather than teetotaling, Bolton in the book drinks hippocras (wine mixed with spices) at the meal.
Kings Landing: Sansa makes moon eyes at Loras, the man she believes she'll marry, and despite totally phoning in his heterosexuality by quibbling about brooches and mentioning everything great about weddings except the bride, Sansa doesn't notice. Tyrion and Cersei watch their actual future spouses from a window; Cersei naturally suggests murdering them while Tyrion ponders who's getting the worst arrangement. He concludes Sansa, though he admits that "Loras will also come to know a deep and singular misery." Indeed. They're all going to hell in a little rowboat that Cersei built out of her hate for Margaery, congratulations Cersei. After she tacitly admits that Joffrey was the one who tried to have Tyrion killed, Tyrion goes to tell Sansa the truth about their upcoming betrothal... and finds his mistress Shae standing feet away. "I trust her, even though she tells me not to," Sansa says of her handmaiden. What is it with Starks and not believing people when they literally say not to trust them? Tywin formally proposes the Cersei/Loras match to Lady Olenna, and after they trade the expected barbs about incest and homosexuality, Tywin threatens to appoint Loras to the celibate Kingsguard if she refuses, ending the Tyrell name. Olenna concedes, and seems more than a little impressed with Lord Tywin. Then we get perhaps the best scene yet that has been totally fabricated for the show: Littlefinger gloating to Varys about his defeat of the plot to marry Sansa to Highgarden, and how delicious it was to thwart the Spider and the happy little story he wanted to tell. After all, Littlefinger says, "the Realm" that Varys claims to be serving is a fairytale—not unlike the ones that Sansa likes to tell herself—and what's left after the lie is chaos. "Chaos isn't a pit," says Littlefinger. "It's a ladder." And Littlefinger is a man who knows how to climb. He's also a man who knows how to root out his enemies, which is why he punishes the betrayal of Ros—brilliant, charming Ros—by providing her as a plaything for Joffrey. She ends up tied to a bedpost, riddled with arrows. It's a sad, disappointing end for a character who grew into so much more than she had been, particularly because it means that we won't have a chance to see how far she could have gone. Sorry, Ros. You deserved better.
In the books: Cersei was originally intended to wed Willas Tyrell, Loras' older brother, who lived at Highgarden and had not met her. (Loras was already in the Kingsguard and thus unable to marry.) Tyrion never came to tell Sansa that they were engaged; Sansa's wedding to Tyrion was sprung on her with with no advance warning. Despite initially seeming open to the match between Cersei and Willas, Mace Tyrell ultimately refused Tywin's offer because of objections by Lady Olenna, though she never spoke directly to Tywin. Littlefinger is far less openly mean in the books, and doesn't leave Sansa behind (presumably to punish her for choosing Loras) when he sails for the Eyrie, but rather takes her with him in secret after Joffrey's wedding. This means that either there will be a second trip to the Eyrie later in the season or a major departure from the novels. Also, while Tyrion always believed Cersei ordered a member of the Kingsguard to kill him, it was never confirmed, and fan theories have speculated that Joffrey might be the true culprit—much as Tyrion realized Joffrey was behind the assassin sent to kill Bran at Winterfell. And poor, poor Ros never transformed into such an amazing woman, nor did she die so cruelly and too soon.
-Laura
I think we can agree there's one thing Game of Thrones does well: brutal, sickening violence! No, wait. There are two things Game of Thrones does well: brutal, sickening violence and showing ladies' boobs. No, wait! Three! The three things Game of Thrones does well are (1) brutal, sickening violence, (2) showing ladies' boobs, and (3) instilling in its viewers a dreadful sense of ominous foreboding that fills them with the knowledge that life is empty and lonely and full of pointless suffering. Welcome to the theme of this week's episode!
Granted, we haven't yet gotten to see any of that pointless suffering—well, except for with Theon—but this episode was all about the building up to it: that ominous sense of foreboding that lets us know that wherever things are headed, they aren't going anywhere good. This is actually my prediction for the final, as-yet-unwritten novels in "A Song of Ice and Fire" as well: If we get to book seven and George R.R. Martin hasn't completely decimated his more optimistic and gullible readers' faith in everything and everyone they hold dear, I'll be surprised.
But let's take a moment and look at this season: Aside from Daenerys' asskicking moment a few episodes back, season three is starting to feel more and more like a big prelude to disaster. For those of us who've read the books, we know what's coming (has everybody gotten their save-the-date cards for the Red Wedding?), but I have to imagine anyone who's even casually watching knows something bad is coming. It's like Robb said in this episode's nasty bit of foreshadowing: "I've won every battle, but I'm losing this war." Or, as you mentioned, Laura, leave it to Theon's creepy torture buddy to put an even finer point on it: "If you think this has a happy ending, you haven't been paying attention."
Still, for an episode that ended with the not-even-remotely-subtle imagery of dark storm clouds massing over Westeros, there were a few moments of levity that balanced things out, like seeing the battle of wits between Lady Olenna and Lord Tywin (especially hearing Olenna refer to Loras as "a sword-swallower," shortly before she downplayed the political repercussions of "a discreet bit of buggery"), or embracing the awkwardness of Tyrion preparing to tell Sansa that they're about to get hitched while Tyrion's secret hooker girlfriend stands two feet away.
Aside from Daenerys' fireworks back in Astapor, we also got my favorite moment of spectacle so far this season: The sight of Tormund Giantsbane, Jon Snow, Ygritte, and that creepy guy from The Office climbing the Wall, with Jon and Ygritte literally holding onto each other for dear life. Oh! And Loras getting all excited to talk about weddings and dresses with Sansa! That was adorable. I kept waiting for Loras to ask if it'd be okay if Bette Midler played the reception.
I don't envy the Game of Thrones writers, having to work so carefully around a pre-established story; even if they're bending the narrative to fit their needs, they're still left with episodes like this one, which set things up but don't do much else. (It's a good thing they know how to instill that sense of doom, and show violence, and boobs.) Much like they did with Daenerys—whose slow burn was, I think, too slow—they're currently stuck leading up to doing things, not actually doing those things. And since there's so much to set up, they don't have much time to spend with each of the characters: Is there anyone who wouldn't want more of Jaime and Brienne? Or more of the Blackfish?
I enjoy the anticipation as much as anyone, but now I'm starting to look forward to what Game of Thrones' writers can start doing once this season is over. I'm sure the grim sense of doom will continue (without it, it just wouldn't be Game of Thrones—or, you know, life), but now that the show's gained its own distinct identity from the books, I want to see them take advantage of that freedom. Or at least see what they can do when they don't have the ending of this season always hanging over their characters' heads.
-Erik
