The House of the Dragon brothers are having a smoke outside their hotel, looking like the most famous British rockers who never existed. There’s Ewan Mitchell, twenty-seven, whose six-foot frame is hidden by a baggy black hoodie and sweatpants. At his side is Tom Glynn-Carney, twenty-nine, slightly shorter, looking proper as heck: newsboy cap, cords, the works. They’re so perfectly, lazily, and hilariously draped against the Soho Grand’s brick exterior that I expect someone to ask for an autograph thinking they’re Cambridge Asylum (my name for their fictional band), not Aemond and Aegon Targaryen.
We meet up inside the hotel’s restaurant and order drinks—beers for Tom and me, just a Coke for Ewan. Before we get to their hit Game of Thrones prequel (season 2 debuts June 16), we address the latest sign of the apocalypse: the magnitude 4.8 earthquake that hit the New York City area earlier that day. “We did not feel that,” says Mitchell with genuine FOMO. “We were getting dressed. Maybe because we were on one leg putting on trousers.” “Maybe we were hovering for a moment,” adds Glynn-Carney. “High on life, baby.”
In this alt-reality-Oasis thing the two have going on, Mitchell is the shy, sensitive one. (“I’ve heard online that I’ve got a pussycat face or something. I do something with my lips. I pout.”) And Glynn-Carney—who until recently was actually the lead singer of an indie folk band called Sleep Walking Animals—is the guy who’ll match you Guinness for Guinness. (When the server hands me a beer: “Oh, here we go. Here we go. This is what you need. Come on. Hey!”)
The two onscreen siblings are in town from England for a weekend of early House of the Dragon promotion. They’re taking over leading-men duties for the HBO series, which is a Succession-esque tale focused on the Targaryen family, told nearly two hundred years before the events of Game of Thrones. (Glynn-Carney: “Not that it needs any advertising at all, but Game of Thrones is fucking amazing.”) Season 1 of House of the Dragon largely followed younger versions of their characters (played by different actors), the never-not-bickering brothers Aegon and Aemond. The final three episodes reintroduced the siblings at ages 21 and 18, respectively: Aegon (Glynn-Carney), the reluctant misfit chosen to sit on the Iron Throne, and Aemond (Mitchell), the cunning younger brother who wants to usurp him.
“In the last three episodes of season 1, I presented a character that was entirely black,” says Mitchell. “In season 2, I can’t wait to turn him gray.” And Aegon? “He comes into his own as an unpredictable live wire,” says Glynn-Carney. “He’s intensely ambitious and incapable of pursuing the things he sets for himself.”
Keep in mind: House of the Dragon is based on George R. R. Martin’s Fire & Blood, so die-hards already know what happens to Aegon and Aemond. Or do they? “The books are the foundation of where we’re going narratively, but things are tweaked,” says Glynn-Carney. “It’s the bible, but it’s also not. The writers of our show are brilliant and should be given credit for their creation. George R. R. Martin should be given credit for his creation. But they’re not the same thing.”
So how long should fans expect Mitchell and Glynn-Carney to don their Targaryen locks? “We’ve been told at least twenty-five years,” Glynn-Carney says drolly. “No, fuck. It’s all up in the air, mate.” Says Mitchell: “I’m speaking from an angle of not knowing anything about the plan, but I highly doubt they’ll do what they did with Game of Thrones and carry on after the book finishes.” He adds, “I think our story will run its course and everyone will move on.”
You get the sense that these two—as happy as they are to beef with each other in Westeros—don’t want to do it forever. There should be no shortage of projects to choose from post-Dragon. Glynn-Carney’s breakout role was in a little film called Dunkirk, and we know that Christopher Nolan loves repeat collaborators. Mitchell is no stranger to working with auteurs himself; the man is such a chameleon that you probably didn’t even realize he was in Emerald Fennell’s Saltburn, screaming, “FUCKIN’ ASK ME A SUM THEN!” at Barry Keoghan.
“I loved you in this knitwear in that film,” Glynn-Carney quips. “You can pull off a chunky knit.”
“I need to buy more of it. I just wear lots of Adidas, whatever that says.”
“Satan. That’s what that says. He’s a satanist.”
This’ll sound like bullshit, but it rings true with these two: They’re simply happy to be here and grateful for the success that’s come their way so far. Mitchell thinks of it in terms of how he measures many things in life: by Great (but Slightly Cheesy) American Movie Moments. “Good Will Hunting is one of my top ten films,” he says. “I love that line that Ben Affleck says to Matt Damon: If you don’t do it for you, do it for me—because I’d give anything to have what you’ve got. My mates back home work in construction. There’s things that they have that I want and things that I have that they want.”
Glynn-Carney chimes in: “Checking your privilege, ain’t it?”
“You’ve got to check yourself to be grateful.”
As we wrap up around 8:00 p.m., Glynn-Carney and Mitchell ponder the next day’s official duties. (Glynn-Carney: “I just wish there was puppies involved.”) I ask if they’re heading to bed.
“It feels stupid to go to bed when you’re in Manhattan,” Glynn-Carney says. “But then again . . .”
“A shower would be nice!” Mitchell interjects.
“It’s a good start,” Glynn-Carney says. “A shower.”
Opening image credits: On Glynn-Carney, left: Suit ($4,900) and shirt ($1,550) by Gucci; Constellation Globemaster watch ($7,900) by Omega; necklaces, bracelets, and earring, Glynn-Carney’s own (worn throughout). On Mitchell, right: Suit ($4,800) and shirt ($850) by Gucci.
Story: Brady Langmann
Photographs: Guy Aroch
Styling: Nick Sullivan
Grooming: Melissa DeZarate, using La Mer and Kevin Murphy
Tailoring: Joseph Ting
Design Director: Rockwell Harwood
Contributing Visuals Director: James Morris
Executive Producer, Video: Dorenna Newton
Executive Director, Entertainment: Randi Peck
This article appeared in the Summer 2024 issue of Esquire
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