Television Review: A Man Without Honor (Game of Thrones, S1X17, 2012)

A Man Without Honor (S02E07)

Airdate: 13 May 2012

Written by: David Benioff & D. B. Weiss
Directed by: David Nutter

Running Time: 57 minutes

The second season of Game of Thrones is often remembered for its ambitious scale, successfully expanding the intricate, multi-continental tapestry of George R.R. Martin’s fictional universe. Its first half managed the formidable task of balancing a proliferating number of storylines within the parameters of one-hour episodes with notable deftness. It is inevitable, however, in a narrative of such breadth, that certain instalments will function more as connective tissue than as standout moments, and one such example is the seventh episode, A Man Without Honour. Written by showrunners David Benioff and D.B. Weiss and directed by the steady hand of David Nutter, the episode lacks truly momentous events and tries to compensate with a formula that would become increasingly familiar: exposition-heavy banter punctuated by sudden, often counterproductive acts of brutal violence. While it displays many of the series’ enduring strengths—superb casting and consistently high production values—it also crystallises some of the nascent weaknesses, particularly a tendency to stray from its literary source for the sake of televisual convenience, a habit that would accumulate with greater consequence as the series neared its controversial end.

A prime illustration of this uneasy blend is the Harrenhal sequence. The cursed fortress, realised with even grander, more imposing scale than in its prior appearances, becomes the site of a mass hanging of Lannister soldiers. Ordered by Tywin Lannister as a drastic, indiscriminate solution to stamp out a suspected assassin—correctly believed to be hiding in Lannister uniform, but incorrectly assumed to have Tywin as a target—the violence is stark and utilitarian. Yet, in the very shadow of the gallows, Tywin remains preternaturally relaxed in the presence of his cupbearer, Arya Stark. Apparently oblivious to her true identity and her murderous thoughts, he engages her in almost friendly, intellectually probing banter, suspecting her noble birth while discussing legacy and history. The scene is a delightful, semi-suspenseful interplay, showcasing the superb chemistry between Charles Dance and Maisie Williams. However, the juxtaposition feels tonally disjointed; the casual genocide outside the window is rendered mere backdrop to a character moment, diluting the horror and reducing complex military tyranny to a plot device that enables witty dialogue.

Elsewhere, the episode continues its focus on the psychological torment of its younger characters. In King’s Landing, Sansa Stark endures the terrifying onset of her first menstruation, a biological milestone that transforms in her world into a prison sentence. The prospect means she can now be forcibly married to Joffrey and bear his children, a realisation that fills her with palpable dread. It is a quiet, poignant moment that effectively underscores the show’s recurring theme of the violation of innocence, though it serves largely as static character exposition within a narrative that is otherwise marking time for the capital.

The narrative inertia is more pronounced in the Stark army camp. Robb Stark, after a discussion with Talisa Maegyr about dire shortages of medical supplies, decides to personally raid the nearby Crag, a Lannister stronghold on the verge of surrender. His absence creates a vacuum exploited by his prized captive, Jaime Lannister. Here, the episode introduces one of its most cynical and problematic deviations from the source material. Jaime’s escape attempt involves the invented character of his cousin, Ser Alton Lannister (Karl Davies). Alton is crafted solely to be portrayed as honourable, sharing nostalgic, friendly banter with his idol Jaime, only to be brutally killed by him. Jaime uses Alton’s corpse as a tool to lure his jailer, Torrhen Karstark (Tyrone McElhennon), whom he also murders. This act makes television-Jaime significantly more vile than his literary counterpart at this juncture. While the series would later invest enormous effort in rehabilitating Jaime into a multifaceted, sympathetic figure, this early, gratuitous act of kinslaying creates a chasm of audience antipathy that the subsequent ‘redemption’ arc struggles to bridge. The aftermath, with Catelyn Stark desperately trying to prevent Lord Rickard Karstark (John Stahl) from murdering Jaime in revenge—her motive being to trade him for her daughters—leads to a powerful confrontation. Catelyn, accompanied by the newly sworn Brienne of Tarth, visits Jaime’s pen, where he responds with defiant, cruel taunts about her late husband, provoking her to seize Brienne’s sword. It is a charged scene, but one that feels rooted in a characterisation of Jaime that the writers have artificially darkened beyond Martin’s original design.

North of the Wall, the episode offers one of its genuine highlights. Jon Snow, still separated from Qhorin Halfhand’s band, remains a captive of his own prisoner, the wildling Ygritte. Having survived a freezing night by huddling together for warmth, their dynamic shifts into a delightful, almost screwball comedy. Ygritte mocks Jon’s obvious physical attraction and his apparent lack of sexual experience with relentless, teasing verve. Against the stunning, austere backdrop of Icelandic landscapes, their dialogue crackles with humour and nascent tension. This charming interplay, however, is merely the prelude to Ygritte’s cunning; she successfully leads the smitten Jon into an ambush where he is captured by her fellow wildlings. It is a well-executed sequence that balances character development with plot progression, demonstrating the show’s strength when it allows relationships to breathe within the epic framework.

In Qarth, Daenerys Targaryen’s storyline finally lurches into gear after a season of ornamental stagnation. Desperate to recover her stolen dragons, even with the returned Jorah Mormont at her side, she finds herself outmanoeuvred. The episode’s final act reveals her patron, Xaro Xhoan Daxos, to have an agenda of his own. In a swift coup, he declares himself King of Qarth and is revealed to be in cahoots with the warlock Pyat Pree, who murders the other eleven members of the ruling Thirteen. Daenerys and Jorah witness the brutality and are forced to flee, as Pyat Pree extends a sinister invitation to the House of the Undying. While this provides a much-needed injection of stakes, it feels somewhat rushed, compressing political intrigue into a sudden betrayal that serves primarily to propel Daenerys towards her next mystical set-piece.

The episode’s most defining and controversial thread, however, unfolds in Winterfell. Theon Greyjoy, personally humiliated by the escape of Bran, Rickon, Osha, and Hodor, struggles to maintain authority over his disaffected Ironborn men. His pursuit with Maester Luwin fails when bloodhounds lose the scent, but not before they discover traces at a nearby farm, where Bran had recently sent two orphaned boys to work. Confronted with his own failure and crumbling command, Theon conceives a plan so grim that he sends Luwin back to the castle. The episode concludes with its most potent cliffhanger: in the courtyard of Winterfell, Theon presents two charred, unrecognisable corpses to the horrified populace, claiming them to be Bran and Rickon Stark. While this brutal moment is taken directly from Martin’s A Clash of Kings, its execution here feels manipulative. For the more perceptive viewer, the reveal is telegraphed by the earlier discovery of the orphans, making the ensuing shock somewhat hollow. It functions less as a genuine narrative twist and more as a convenient, if grim, punctuation mark to an episode in need of a dramatic finale.

A Man Without Honour is a solid but fundamentally flawed hour of television. Directed competently by David Nutter, it boasts the series’ trademark production polish and several exceptional performances—particularly the burgeoning chemistry between Jon Snow and Ygritte, and the masterful scenes between Arya and Tywin. Yet, it also exemplifies the writers’ growing propensity to sacrifice nuanced character logic for immediate shock or simplified conflict, as evidenced by the gratuitous handling of Jaime Lannister. It is an episode of table-setting and character manoeuvring, where the banter is often sharper than the blade, and where the sudden eruptions of violence frequently feel less like organic story beats and more like compensations for a lingering narrative inertia. As such, it stands as a telling microcosm of Game of Thrones’ broader trajectory: capable of brilliance, but increasingly willing to take narrative shortcuts that would, in time, lead to far rockier ground.

RATING: 6/10 (++)

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