House of the Dragon Season 2: A slow but intriguing ‘dance’

The long night has officially begun, and two bleak winters will now pass before we are gifted season three of this magnificent show.

Season one of House of the Dragon, HBO’s more intimate Game of Thrones prequel, was a grandiose and decade-spanning display of politicking – the prelude to the Targaryen civil war known as ‘The Dance of the Dragons’ which is recounted in George R. R. Martin’s in-world history novel Fire and Blood.

Season two picks up where the first one ended, as the opposing green and black factions of House Targaryen (led by King Aegon II and Queen Rhaenyra respectively) vie for the allegiance of the lords and ladies of Westeros and control of the Iron Throne we know so well. The war of succession is now afoot, only not at the breakneck speed many anticipated. 

After season one’s rapid time-jumping tendencies, the contrast here as we settle into anxious who-blinks-first wartime is perhaps jarring

This shorter sophomore season, consisting of eight episodes, has elicited frustrating reactions from Martin’s fanbase, many of whom have lamented its meandering pace and repetitive nature. After season one’s rapid time-jumping tendencies, the contrast here as we settle into anxious who-blinks-first wartime is perhaps jarring.

Much of the fury directed at Game of Thrones’ show-runners when its final season aired to disastrous results in 2019, surrounded the noticeably rushed pacing together with the focus on cinematic action, which ignored and rendered pointless several character arcs built up over the best part of a decade.

House of the Dragon’s second season attempts to remedy those mistakes with its constant emphasis on character-building dialogue – an approach with mixed results, one must admit. After eight episodes of tactical manoeuvring, the series’ old and new players have moved onto the board and adopted their positions, whilst the groundwork has been laid for their trajectories in the great game which now lies (distantly) ahead. 

season two’s hesitant habits are not without purpose

Such detailed preparation is key for reconjuring the catharsis which made early Game of Thrones such a television monolith, yet here, its diluting and slow-paced side-effects begin to take their toll. The final episode’s title, ‘The Queen Who Ever Was’, has been aptly dubbed by cynics ‘the finale that never was’, due to how it functions as a drawn-out tease for what is to come. The episode itself plays out as season two in microcosm; deprived of its own substance by premonitions of future greatness.

Even so, season two’s hesitant habits are not without purpose. The mere fact that we are already pining for our next serving of fire and blood testifies to the heavy lifting achieved by this show up until now. It may be a waiting game, but its bloody dividends will eventually reveal themselves – as a reader of the books, I can assure you of that. For now, we can appreciate other aspects of this still-praiseworthy show.

Martin’s grimly nuanced fantasy world is on full display here. House Velaryon’s naval blockade is causing starvation and grumblings in King’s Landing, in turn, providing a window into the sufferings of the smallfolk living under the Red Keep’s shadow, so often forgotten in Thrones. Meanwhile, ventures as far north as the Wall itself remind us of this internecine conflict’s context within the realm at large, broadening the scope of season one’s more contained affair. 

the small council debates are especially enjoyable as the show’s political pivot

As expected, the troupe of actors are as good as ever, with several standouts on ‘team green’ in particular. Olivia Cooke’s Queen Alicent is a spent force, wearying of the masculine political maelstrom around her, while Tom Glynn-Carney’s pitiful King Aegon is the tragic figurehead of his family, inexperienced yet desperate to overturn the weak opinion of him shared by his subjects. On Aegon’s chaotic small council sit, amongst others, ambitious Kingsguard-turned-advisor Ser Criston Cole, and the conniving and manipulative Larys Strong, the Machiavellian sociopath burdened with a clubfoot.

Both unlikeable men are humanised, however, in line with the ambiguous morality of Martin’s world. They are astutely aware of what they must do to stay afloat in a desolate Westeros which corrupts all. Cole, warring in the Riverlands, comes to terms with the everyman’s inevitable mortality on the ground in the midst of this war between dragons. In Shakespearean fashion, he reflects that ‘the dragons dance and men are like dust under their feet, and all our fine thoughts, all our endeavours, are as nothing.’ Cue mic drop.

Such poetic dialogue is found elsewhere in the season too, always leaving us with something to chew on and ponder; the small council debates are especially enjoyable as the show’s political pivot. Also linguistically charged, however, is Ramin Djawadi’s regal and portentous music and the show’s murky cinematography, isolating characters behind dreary castle walls and sweeping across the detritus of war when we occasionally see sites of carnage. All seem alone and without hope of salvation in Martin’s world. 

‘Filler’ may just be the word for some parts of season two

Indeed, that is an aspect of the show which does become heavy on the viewer after a while. Absent is the witty comic relief so endearing to Thrones viewers, but perhaps that is only to be expected. The tone here is always one of seed-sowing tension, leaving little breathing room for Tyrion-esque one-liners. This series is action-intrigue, not action-adventure – and that’s equally gripping.

And yet, the aforementioned drawbacks of this tiresome dialogue-heavy approach are regrettably clear. ‘Filler’ may just be the word for some parts of season two. The task of stretching out source material originally presented as a maester’s collation of several dubious perspectives will always necessitate creative license in spades. Some character interactions, particularly those between the show’s opposing queens, are resultingly feel contrived and questionable, whilst sub-plots can often (long) outstay their welcome.

Matt Smith’s previously badass Daemon became the Internet’s weekly laughingstock, spending much of his screentime wandering around the haunted castle of Harrenhal and hallucinating former cast members. Elsewhere, we saw the same dull exterior set with a ship being repaired almost every time Lord Corlys Velaryon appeared on screen. It’s definitely not quite as well-oiled as the early seasons of Thrones were, but all things considered, showrunner Ryan Condal does an admirable job of extending Martin’s challenging fiction for the screen. 

Next year, we will see the debut of A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms

The season-ending montage suggests that the epic battles many assumed they would see this time around are now imminent, if 2026 can be called that. It is, truth be told, an elegant summary of the character journeys which season two has quietly taken us on, albeit patient and unhurried ones. Next year, we will see the debut of A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms, adapting the first of George R.R. Martin’s light-hearted spin-off novellas collected under the same name. It may not be the exact Westerosi fix we desired after House of the Dragon’s colossal cliffhanger, but I’m sure it will keep us going while a blood-soaked season three soars into production.

House of the Dragon’s return may have been a ponderous one, but it is still levels above the host of shows we typically see. We were promised a war was coming, and the same promise remains to be fulfilled. Yet, if the dizzying heights of this show so far are anything to go by, we can expect nothing short of a spectacle when the dragons roar back onto our screens. In the meantime, we can all wait out that long night.