Television Review: Fire and Blood (Game of Thrones, S1X10, 2011)
Fire and Blood (S01E10)
Airdate: 19 June 2011
Written by: David Benioff & D.B. Weiss Directed by: Alan Taylor
Running Time: 52 minutes
The ending of Game of Thrones is, to put it mildly, widely considered one of the greatest disappointments in the history of television. The furore over its final season has become a cultural fixture in its own right, a case study in how not to stick the landing. It is, however, an entirely different matter with its beginning. The first season, while not possessing the colossal scale and spectacle of its later counterparts, was enormously successful and effective in establishing George R.R. Martin’s fictional world on screen and building the foundations of a global phenomenon. This could not have been achieved without showrunners David Benioff and D.B. Weiss displaying a high quality of production, deft adaptation, and narrative confidence from the outset. Unsurprisingly, the first of the series’ season finales, Fire and Blood, represents one of the most memorable, most referenced, and, in the end, most effectively constructed instalments of the entire saga. It is a masterclass in managing consequence, setting a new status quo, and delivering a transformative, genre-defining moment that would echo through the next seven years.
In line with the new narrative conventions of television’s so-called ‘Golden Age’, which often favoured sustained tension over episodic resolution, Season 1 reserved its dramatic ‘wham’ moment for the penultimate instalment, @drax/television-review-baelor-game-of-thrones-s1x09-2011" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Baelor. The execution of Eddard Stark was the seismic event; Fire and Blood is the aftershock. Its primary function is not to deliver another shock, but to meticulously depict the fallout and illustrate how the sprawling cast of characters must adapt, recalibrate, and survive in the brutal new reality Ned’s death has created. The episode is thus a tapestry of reactions, a study in political and personal adjustment set against a world suddenly tipped off its axis.
In King’s Landing, the immediate consequences are a lesson in tyranny. The realm’s subjects swiftly learn that the old king Robert, for all his faults, was a preferable alternative to the petulant sadism of Joffrey Baratheon. The boy-king’s cruelty is displayed with chilling casualness: having a singer’s tongue ripped out for a bawdy song and, in a moment of profound psychological torture, forcing Sansa Stark to look upon her father’s severed head mounted on a spike. Sansa’s storyline here is a brutal education in survival. She learns the necessity of docility, of masking her grief and horror with a performance of loyalty. Meanwhile, her sister Arya escapes the capital’s clutches thanks to Yoren of the Night’s Watch. In a clever, practical move, he shears her hair, presents her as a boy named ‘Arry’, and hides her within a caravan of recruits heading north—a caravan that also contains the blacksmith’s apprentice Gendry, Robert’s last surviving bastard. This pairing sets in motion one of the series’ most enduring journeys.
While the Lannisters have executed a successful coup in the capital, their grip on the wider realm is tenuous. In a war council scene of calculated realism, Tywin Lannister reluctantly admits to Tyrion that they are losing the war in the riverlands. With Jaime captured and the threats of Stannis and Renly Baratheon looming, his strategy is one of pragmatic retreat to the formidable fortress of Harrenhal. The dynamic between father and son is fascinatingly mercenary. With his golden heir a prisoner, Tywin is forced to rely on the son he despises. Despite the palpable lack of affection, he dispatches Tyrion to King’s Landing as the family’s representative—a move that places the Imp at the very heart of the coming political storms.
The news of Ned’s death acts as a rallying cry in the North. Catelyn and Robb are plunged into devastating grief, their mourning compounded by the hostage situation of Sansa, which stays their hand from executing Jaime Lannister in retaliation. Yet, from this despair springs a fierce, unifying resolve. Emboldened by their victory at the Whispering Wood, the Stark bannermen, led by the previously sceptical Greatjon Umber, proclaim Robb the King in the North. This is a drastic, irrevocable move—a formal severance from the other six kingdoms—and its unanimous acceptance is a powerful moment of Northern pride and defiance, perfectly capturing the shift from loyalist rebellion to outright secession.
At the Wall, Jon Snow’s reaction is one of impulsive, familial loyalty. Upon learning of his father’s fate, he decides to desert the Night’s Watch to join Robb’s war, fully aware the penalty is death. His attempted flight is thwarted not by authority, but by fellowship. Samwell Tarly, Grenn (Mark Grenn), and Pyp (Josef Altin) intercept him, and in a touching scene, they remind him that he has sworn a new vow and found a new family. Their intervention is a testament to the bonds forged in this frozen outpost, convincing Jon to honour his duty. His reward, of a sort, is to be included in Lord Commander Jeor Mormont’s expedition beyond the Wall—a mission that will finally confront the supernatural dangers gathering in the far north.
Yet, the most consequential change of all occurs an entire continent away, and it has little to do with Eddard Stark. In Essos, Daenerys Targaryen awakens to a cascade of tragedies. Her son, Rhaego, is dead, a blood magic sacrifice demanded by the maegi Mirri Maz Duur to save Khal Drogo’s life. The ‘salvation’ is a cruel mockery: Drogo is left a catatonic shell, his mind utterly gone. Mirri reveals this as deliberate vengeance for the Dothraki’s destruction of her people. With their khal broken, the Dothraki horde, which values only strength, abandons Daenerys, leaving her with a handful of slaves and the loyal Ser Jorah Mormont. In a act of mercy and decisive leadership, Daenerys smothers the vegetative Drogo. She then builds a colossal funeral pyre, ties Mirri to it, and places her three dragon eggs upon her husband’s body. In an act of staggering, faith-driven bravery, she walks into the inferno. The next morning, from the ashes, she rises, naked and unharmed, with three newly hatched dragons clinging to her. The moment is transcendent. As Jorah and her remaining khalasar fall to their knees, the series makes its definitive pivot: the myths are true, and a new power has entered the world.
Season 1 is arguably the most authentic, if not the outright best, season of Game of Thrones. This is partly because it hews so closely to Martin’s source material, A Game of Thrones, and partly because it most perfectly captures his vision of epic fantasy as a cynical, realistic antithesis to the simpler heroic archetypes of Tolkien. For nine episodes, fantasy elements were mere hints—whispers of White Walkers and legends of dragons—while the plot remained firmly focused on the political intrigue, betrayal, and warfare that would not feel out of place in a history of the Wars of the Roses. “Fire and Blood” functions superbly within this framework. It is an episode about sensible, often cold-blooded calculation. Sansa learns to perform submission to survive. In a brilliant, spider-like conversation, Varys and Littlefinger dissect their precarious positions under the new regime. Even Grand Maester Pycelle, in a small but revealing scene following a carnal encounter with the prostitute Ros, drops his façade of frail senility, revealing the shrewd political operator beneath. This attention to character-based realism is the season’s great strength.
The episode does not, however, shy away from the series’ trademark ‘spicy’ content. The fan service here is notably balanced: the female nudity of Ros and Daenerys is matched by the male nudity of Lancel Lannister (played by Eugene Simon), Robert’s former squire, whose post-coital scene with Cersei reveals him as her latest lover and pawn. While such moments could feel gratuitous, here they are woven into the fabric of the world—illustrations of power, vulnerability, and transactional relationships.
Ultimately, with Daenerys’s fiery rebirth and the emergence of her dragons, Game of Thrones finally and unambiguously announces itself as a fantasy series. The entrance of these mythical creatures—destined to become formidable, unstoppable engines of conquest—is staged with a potent blend of melodrama and raw power. It is a scene that is both intimately human and cosmically significant, a perfect encapsulation of the series’ core appeal: the interplay between personal struggle and world-altering destiny. By balancing this breathtaking magical climax with the grounded, consequentialist politics unfolding in Westeros, Fire and Blood achieves a remarkable synthesis. It provides a satisfying conclusion to the season’s narrative arcs while explosively opening the door to the wars and wonders to come. In doing so, it secures its place not merely as a successful season finale, but as one of the most effective and iconic in television history—a promise of greatness that, for a time, the series thrillingly fulfilled.
RATING: 9/10 (++++)
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