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It’s about freakin’ time, Dany.
It took ten weeks, but in the Game of Thrones season two finale, finally, Daenerys Targaryen’s dragons breathed fire.
There’s a lot to discuss about the recently closed chapter of the epic HBO series. Tyrion’s rise to power (and apparent fall now that Daddy Lannister’s back in charge). Robb’s stalled rebellion. The precarious (and unresolved) fates of the other four Stark children. And Jaqen H’ghar, Arya’s faceless assassin. And white walkers!
But mostly, those dragons.
For all the masterful storytelling and stunning visuals GoT provided each week, I couldn’t help but wonder all season long when Daenerys would let those flying infernos free.
I have a special affinity for dragons. I grew up on Puff (I never did make it to Hannalee, but I did wear that VHS out), and I spent two years in their employ (Bunceton managed to turn the coolest mascot ever into one of the ugliest logos, but I truly enjoyed my two years as the English department there). I even have a dragon tattoo. So it pained me each week to know those living Hindenburgs weren’t being utilized to their fullest potential.
Season one ended with Daenerys walking through fire, unharmed and adorned with three scaley new babies. And for nine episodes in season two, we heard all about them, “My dragons!” a constant refrain as she wandered pathetically through Qarth looking for money, or a ship, or whatever it was she was doing. It got kind of old. Yes. You have dragons. And they don’t do anything.
It wasn’t the emerald blaze that brought the ruination of Stannis’ fleet at Blackwater. But it didn’t need to be. Her dragons’ days of widespread annihilation will come (fingers crossed). All I needed was a taste, a glimpse into what the future could hold, and her three terrier sized fire breathers delivered.
The rest of the finale did, as well. Loose ends were tied and new threads have already begun to unravel. As one who hasn’t yet made it past the first few pages of the first book, I can only surmise what’s in store for Westeros. The season closed with visions of a white walker horde bearing down on the wall, suggesting winter just might be coming after all.
But nothing’s finer on a cold winter night than a nice, warm fire.
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