Reports suggest that HBO’s romance-and-fire-breathing fantasy epic House of the Dragon Season 2 will be perpetually catching fire next year, with scheming and alliances and, yes, the old quest for power propelled by the shadow of its massive predecessor, Game of Thrones.
The season opens not with a bang, but with a chill: a delicate simmer that turns on the small heartbreaks of the main characters, Rhaenyra, her worthy uncle Daemon, her children, and Alicent, her former friend rival-turned-enemy. Grief and guilt stagger the ‘black’ queen and Targaryen claimant Rhaenyra and the ‘green’ queen Alicent on the brink of war. A few steps away are the more engaging chameleons, such as Daemon, a fierce Lannister who becomes a cunning Targaryen, or King Viserys and his mini-him, his son Aegon.
You would feel it in every frame, which is heavy with the threat of violence heightened by the visual presence of red, from the banners of House Targaryen to the visceral bloodshed that marks their struggle for the Iron Throne. Red signals not just the bloodline of dragons but of all the people whose hearts could beat so hard on the cusp of destruction.
It’s the characters that lie at the centre of House of the Dragon, so ferociously performed that they sometimes overshadow the dragon scales and rhinestone platemail. The astonishingly physical performances of Rhaenyra and Alicent, played by Emma D’Arcy and Olivia Cooke respectively, run the gamut of human emotions, and every scene is a reminder of their proverbial ‘iron will and red-fire hearts’.
Non-dragon fans might be briefly disappointed by its early shortage of winged action, but the word that they’re about to take flight quickens the pulse of anticipation for what is to come. What the dragons represent in Game of Thrones is power – the raw power that the Targaryens have at their command – and also the undisciplined desire to conquer that goes to the very heart of the story.
As the season progresses, the gradual-release structure suggests a plan that we can discern in advance, like a game of chess in which pieces are moved on a board later proven to be all too fluid. The threat of open war looms throughout, a red mist of revolutionary promise and peril. And the question is whether, in the enacted skirmish, a fire and brimstone of Targaryen blowback will erupt on the screen.
What’s striking about episodes three and four is that, with the embers glowing again, a dash into action and strategy loans them a kind of furious momentum: the maps of Westeros remain splattered – in red, which is a colour of death and rebirth both – in the same broad brushstrokes. Here the war is not only for the throne, but to burnish or obliterate the Targaryen legacy, to set it ablaze or snuff it out forever.
Red is not just a colour in House of the Dragon: it is of equal importance a flag. From the flames of dragons to the blood of a king, from the “red of winter” to “the red wedding”, the colour of red appears again and again throughout the tale, and for good reason. It evokes a sense of the passion and power as well as the danger and peril of the Targaryen dynasty. It highlights the costs of power and the price of ambition and it visually links the events and pushes the narrative, creating dramatic intensity by underlining the stakes.
Spectators heading into the season’s home stretch would do well to fix their gaze on the flurry of reds. Each shade is significant; each hue a portent of an upcoming event that could prove to be the turning point of Westerosi history. When it comes to the game of thrones, red is both a threat and a promise, and only time will tell which will come to pass.
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