HOUSE OF THE DRAGON – Season 2. How many dragons are needed to win the entire war?

The question is somewhat rhetorical but also symbolic, as it’s not necessarily about claiming the Iron Throne, but about winning over the viewer’s mind. Therefore, many dragons are needed. I have finished the second season of the adventure that is “House of the Dragon,” a series I did not trust after “Game of Thrones,” especially since it ended so… unfairly. I still have reservations about “House of the Dragon,” but I constantly remind myself that my perspective is influenced by the precedent set by “Game of Thrones.” If it didn’t exist, I would be thrilled by “House of the Dragon” as one of the best contemporary fantasy series, mainly because it lacks the genre’s typical fairy-tale childishness. I’m not criticizing it or pointing out flaws, but the absence of fairy-tale elements in Martin‘s universe objectively benefits the genre. So, the tension built up from episode to episode, sometimes even dragging out some storylines like Prince Daemon’s visit to Harrenhal, but the series reached its destination effectively, and I can set off a considerable number of fireworks in my mind and wait for the third season.

Returning to the titular question about the number of dragons, its connection to the plot also influences the production’s quality, still overshadowed by “Game of Thrones.” I now think of the monumental Vermithor, poking his head out from the darkness of the cave under Dragonstone. But also Seasmoke, Vhagar, and others. Their power is genuinely felt, while Drogon, Rhaegal, and Viserion, though powerful, can more accurately be described as remnants of old Valyria’s magic rather than the dragons from “House of the Dragon.” This is how they were described in the series by local priests in a stormy conversation with Rhaenyra, who decided to seek dragon riders among the common people. She found them, and as always, the clergy proved resistant to rational thinking. So many dragons appeared, making the plot more interesting than if it were based solely on political intrigue. The intrigues are complicated enough that even with so many dragons, there were moments of monotony. However, what sets “House of the Dragon” apart from “Game of Thrones” is its skill in presenting complex topics to the viewer with fewer storylines. I didn’t get lost in either the first or second season of “House of the Dragon.” Above all, I didn’t experience a difference in suspense, style, or narrative value. One must understand the script, knowing what is needed and what isn’t, what to highlight, what to omit, and what to subtly accentuate. That’s why I appreciate the philosophical musings in “House of the Dragon,” while the existential pathos in “Game of Thrones” eventually wore me down. One might think that the notion of a “dance of dragons” could be too grandiose and magical.

The number of dragons did not, however, add excessive magic to the series; instead, it gave the world an essential magical perspective, over which people still had to exert control and care with their ordinary, physical hands. Do not think that “House of the Dragon” became loftily grandiose because of this. After deeper reflections on life topics, such as the one in the forest between Gwayne Hightower and Cryston Cole, there is a time for mud wrestling between Tyland Lannister and Admiral Lohar (I wonder if any observant viewers noticed?). Then, an interesting proposal is made. I hope you noticed it. The fairy-tale quality is palpable, especially in the dark Harrenhal. Daemon feels its presence. At first, he goes mad, but eventually, he begins to understand the tragedy of his house. He sees the future, including the eggs of three dragons and the approaching winter beyond the wall. He can read no more than the prophecy of doom from these visions, so he will do nothing to change his actions beyond his current duties, but the viewer can already interpret it. Daemon is part of this story, part of the inevitable fall of the Targaryens, although analyzing the second season, the viewer might suspect something entirely different. Setting aside all these considerations about the series’ narrative structure and its differences from “Game of Thrones,” both productions have a much more important task, one that could be described as global. They aim to rescue the fantasy genre from the perceived naivety critics often accuse it of.

When I mention critics, I don’t mean professional reviewers of films, books, or other cultural goods. I mean people who generally treat fantasy with disdain. “House of the Dragon” has presented mature fairy-tale elements, supported by a solid dramatic layer and character problems that do not revolve around choosing a wand (though that is enjoyable too), but viewers can relate to them through analogy to their own choices and even family situations. It was like that in the past, one could say, but it is also like that today, in a world without dragons, though we often dream of them, building their hyper-intelligent image in our minds. How to maintain harmony between one’s own expectations and the desires of others? How to reconcile with choices that cannot be undone? Do our nations still bear the centuries-old yoke of royal tradition, gradually leading even democracy towards an authoritarian majority dictatorship? Many questions can be formulated, but wouldn’t it be better to listen to the wise final conversation between Rhaenyra and Alicent to pose your own?

There is something final in the second season’s finale, some boundary of reflection, an increase in tension as Alicent leaves, the crippled king flees, and the dragon riders don their noble attire, and armies with banners ready to be bloodied set out to finally put words into action. Nothing is happening yet, but the pieces are set. The possibilities are outlined. And the camera aptly captures two women trapped on their battlefields – Alicent against the endless sky and sea, with nothing on the horizon, and Rhaenyra somewhere at the bottom of the frame, standing behind bars, in one of their gaps. Both cannot move – they can only play their roles, imprisoned by blood, family, and gender. It is very engaging to watch these two strong women in their roles, though both will lose.