Tyrion, not wanting to join the army of the dead, says, I can think of no organization less suited to my talents.

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Close Alert Close On Television Game of Thrones Season 8, Episode 3 Recap: The Stab Heard Round the World By Sarah Larso n April 29, 2019 Facebook Twitter Email Print Save Story Save this story for later.

Daenerys Targaryen and Jon Snow battled poor visibility and the army of the dead.

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In the days leading up to the Game of Thrones undead apocalypse at Winterfell, many of us wrestled with which characters we were willing to lose.

He had a rough life, a grim groin situation, redemption, and a tender bowl of soup with Sansa.

Some felt they could sacrifice Grey Worm or Davos Seaworth, as long as they could keep Brienne or Tormund.

But in the end we did O.K.no dead Lannisters or Starks or Briennes of Tarth.

It was a bloodbath ending in ice chips, and we emerged feeling good.

As the episode begins, in the quiet predawn hours at Winterfell, dread is all around: black skies, black hearts, might lose.

Grey Worm dons his creepy helmet, Bran gets rolled out to the godswood, I frantically adjust the lighting in my living room.

The lights are off in Westeros, and theres nothing I can do in New York to improve it.

I turn off everything but a pink L.E.D.

I despise battle episodes, but the panning shot of those swords lighting up in the darkness is glorious.

The firesword maneuver, by my count, is the second acceptable thing Melisandre has done on this show, and I salute her for it.

Suffice it to say that it begins with subtitles that read Unsullied grunt and wights snarling, and my frantically eating clementines, which is all I can contribute to the war effort.

Charge As Dany and Jon rev up the dragons, bringing the dracarys fireballs, great clouds of snow and ash fly around.

Visibility-wise, we go from Mr.

Magoo to Mr. Magoo in a snowstorm.

The episode helpfully cuts between the battlefield, the dragon skies, the cryptwhere mothers, children, the elderly, and able-bodied adults huddle in fear and mild embarrassmentthe godswood, and the ramparts, so we can worry about every battle, everywhere, always, in our mind.

In the crypt, Tyrion swigs from a flask; in the sky, Jon and Dany fly through what appears to be the ash cloud above Eyjafjallajkull.

The soldiers rush into the castle as wights advance, and Melisandre, fire pal, magically lights the trenchesboy, she is great, Ive decided.

The clever conversationalists of Winterfell, inevitably, are of crypt constitution.

Varys, sage and camp as death yowls ever closer, says, At least were already in a crypt.

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