‘House of the Dragon’ Season 2 Review: Song of Pain and Guilt

“There is no war so hateful to the gods as a war between relatives,” observes a wise character in the second season of the HBO series. Dragon House. “And there is no war as bloody as a war between dragons.” Unfortunately, by the time these words are spoken, both types of war already seem inevitable. King Viserys I Targaryen (Paddy Considine) is dead, and his bratty son Aegon (Ty Tennant) has usurped an Iron Throne that rightfully belonged to his older half-sister, Rhaenyra (Emma D’Arcy). Season 1 ended with the spilling of first blood, when Aegon’s brother Aemond (Ewan Mitchell) watched his dragon, Vhagar, devour Rhaenyra’s son Lucerys (Elliot Grihault).

It doesn’t matter that Aemond didn’t intend to kill the boy. Lucerys’ death, which occurred shortly after that of her peace-loving grandfather, triggers a wave of violence that spills over into the series’ second season. The Game of Thrones prequel, premiering June 16, moves forward. As Rhaenyra’s Dark Faction and Aegon’s Green Faction slowly slide towards all-out civil war, Dragon House cements its place in George RR Martin’s dark universe, rejecting platitudes about honor and bravery that permeate so many fantasy epics. Instead, this harrowing time exposes the unique forms of sadness and guilt that result when a nation – and the family that leads it – declares war on itself.

In a welcome break from the relentlessly expository first season, which cycled through decades of traumatic births and deaths at a pace that made it difficult to feel immersed in or even invested in the palace intrigue, the first half of season 2 unfolds patiently, in the immediate consequences of Lucerys’ fatal flight. Her older brother, Rhaenyra’s heir, Jacaerys (Harry Collett), is in Winterfell, confirming the Starks’ loyalty. (They would be Starks if they were not loyal?) At the Blacks’ base on Dragonstone, Rhaenyra’s bellicose husband and, er, uncle, Daemon (Matt Smith), burns to invade King’s Landing and exact revenge on Aemond and Vhagar. Meanwhile, the brave Rhaenyra – who suffered a devastating stillbirth shortly before losing Lucerys – traveled to the site of her son’s death to mourn his remains. Daemon is not particularly likable. “The mother suffers while the queen shirks her duties,” he sniffs.

While the Blacks mourn, the Greens split into factions as the implications of what Aemond unwittingly did sink in. Impressionable, insecure, and fiercely competitive with his warrior brother, Aegon rebels against a mother, Alicent Hightower (Olivia Cooke), and a grandfather. , Otto Hightower (Rhys Ifans), who took his obedience for granted after Viserys’ death. Instead of listening to their selfish but politically prudent advice, he allows the more aggressive members of his council – and his own uncontrolled emotions – to push him into war. In between encounters with a new lover, Alicent suffers from the choice she made years earlier to support her father’s ambitions over those of her childhood best friend, Rhaenyra.

In a surprisingly subtle variation on the first season’s obsession with the ravages of reproduction – which lifts the series out of the tiresome territory it previously occupied – generational divides emerge. Elders like Otto and Rhaenyra’s cousin and ally, Rhaenys (Eve Best), preach caution. Although they are eager to prove themselves on the battlefield, young people raised in peacetime continue to ignore the true costs of war. Innocent children become cannon fodder in a conflict they did not choose and are often too young to even understand. In a sane world, parents would sacrifice themselves to save their children, but here that dynamic is reversed. Caught in the middle are Rhaenyra and Alicent, whose reluctance to murder each other’s families seems insufficient to prevent an explosion of violence.

Indeed, the outbreak of civil war is depicted as something both horrific and unstoppable – as simultaneously natural and unnatural as Cain killing Abel. The twin brothers of the Knights Guard, Arryk and Erryk Cargyll (Luke and Elliott Tittensor), end up in opposite palaces. Lucerys’ accidental murder triggers more deadly mistakes and misunderstandings. Far from King’s Landing and Dragonstone, two rival clans use their divided loyalties as an excuse to tear each other apart. We don’t see the battle that arises from the confrontation. What’s most salient is its result: hundreds of lifeless bodies piled up on its adjacent properties.

The Cargylls aren’t the only menacing lookalikes we’ve encountered this season. Rhaenys, a would-be queen passed over by a lesser man, has always been a mirror to Rhaenyra. Aemond resembles a younger version of his equally combative relative, Daemon; Her names are anagrams. Indeed, Aegon and Aemond’s echoes that of Viserys and Daemon: the weak king and the brother who makes up in terror what he lacks in official power. The Targaryens are also, of course, an incestuous family, which helps explain why almost all of the platinum-haired characters’ names sound the same. These multiples reinforce the impression of the civil war as an obscenely intimate tragedy, fought between inbred aristocrats who could not be more alike, for a cause that is largely irrelevant to the armies of commoners who will die fighting. As one character points out: “When princes lose their patience, it is often others who suffer.”

Dragon House stands out, in its much-improved second season, for keeping in mind those anonymous hordes the royals call “little people” while sharpening its focus on the fluctuating relationships between a few key characters. Rhaenyra, stricken with grief but resolute in her decision to defend her claim to the throne, is becoming more than just a strong female protagonist. Alicent’s guilt may not redeem her, but it humanizes a woman who betrayed her dearest friend to ally herself with powerful men. Daemon is impetuous but haunted. Despite all his aggression, Aemond, who spends idle hours curled up in the fetal position on the lap of a favorite prostitute, remains the same isolated and fragile child who lost an eye to gain a dragon.

Showrunner Ryan Condal’s chatty, character-driven approach has its drawbacks. There are still many names and subplots. To allow so much political and personal friction to develop requires slowing the action to a pace that might frustrate anyone who’s here primarily to watch dragons brûlée, people. (For those who might be wondering, riding the dragon still looks as silly as ever.) But by deemphasizing—and deglamorizing—combat, in favor of fleshing out the central characters, closely following each side’s machinations and questioning the very premise of just one war, the series goes back to the first seasons of The Game of Thrones, before the plot was reduced to filler between episode-long battles. Whether set in our contemporary world or fantastical medieval Europe, a solid political thriller is worth a thousand big, stupid, fiery special effects spectacles.