[COLUMN] A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms Asks Whether It's Better to be a Great Knight or a Good Man | by Darren Mooney (Patreon)

Note: This piece contains full spoilers for the first season of A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms, which wrapped on HBO last night and was a pretty good watch. The season ends much stronger than it starts, building to a cohesive central theme in a really satisfying way and earning a real warmth. The piece will also contain spoilers for George R.R. Martin’s The World of Ice and Fire, which alludes to the ultimate fates of certain characters. So consider yourself warned. I don’t want to end up with egg on my face.

During the third episode of the first season of A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms, a young squire named “Egg” (Dexter Sol Ansell) finds himself contemplating a bawdry drinking song about disabled woman named Alice renowned for her ability to sexually satisfy her lovers.

“Do you think her name was really Alice?” Egg asks his knight, Ser Duncan the Tall (Peter Claffey). “No,” Duncan answers. “I just think Alice is a nice name to write a song to.” Egg considers Duncan’s answer. “That means there was a cripple girl who was so good at pleasuring men in their bums that they saw fit to celebrate her in song, and yet they could bother to credit her true name,” Egg observes. Duncan replies, “If there’s a lesson in that, it’s for wiser men than me to say.”

It’s a small exchange, but a telling one. Most obviously, it foreshadows the reveal that “Egg” is not really the squire’s name. The child that Duncan knows as “Egg” is really the errant Prince Aegon Targaryen, the son of Prince Maekar Targaryen (Sam Spruell). As such, Egg very obviously feels a connection to the song, wondering how he might be remembered if future generations memorialize the story of “Dunc and Egg” as knight and squire.

However, this idea of service and anonymity also feels somewhat central to the larger themes of the season, which is an exploration of the very idea of nobility. Duncan is a “hedge knight”, a knight who does not belong to a major house. “It’s like a knight, but sadder,” explains sex worker Daisy (Abigail O’Regan) of the title. Ser Duncan is an unknown, the former squire of Ser Arlan of Pennytree (Danny Webb), seeking to participate in a tournament to make a name for himself.

When Ser Duncan arrives in Ashford, he finds nobody who will vouch for the deceased Ser Arlan. “Ser Arlan took a wound in your father’s service,” he appeals to Ser Manfred Dondarrion (Daniel Monks). “How could you have forgotten him?” Ser Manfred replies coldly, “We’ve forgotten men that reaped much more than a wound.” The truth is that Ser Arlan was not especially memorable. As Ser Duncan concedes, “He held no land, sired no children.” He was not noteworthy.

When Ser Duncan does find somebody who can vouch for Ser Arlan, Prince Baelor "Breakspear" Targaryen (Bertie Carvel) hardly offers the romantic assessment of the dead knight. “He never won a tourney, but he never shamed himself, either.” It is perhaps a backhanded compliment – the best thing one can say about Ser Arlan is that he was not actively awful – but it affords the knight more dignity than any of the other lords and knights in attendance at this celebration of chivalry.

Duncan concedes as much to Egg. “Do great knights live in the hedges and die by the side of a muddy road?” he asks, rhetorically. “I think not. Ser Arlan wasn’t gifted with sword or lance, and he drank and he whored, and he was a hard man to know. Had no friends either. He lived nigh on sixty years and never was a champion – what chance do I have, truly? – but he was good to me. I wasn’t his family, but he kept me like we were. He raised me to be an honorable man. And all these noble lords can’t even remember his name.” Is it better to be a great knight or a good man?

This is the tension that simmers through A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms. One of the more interesting aspects of Game of Thrones was the show’s willingness to engage, particularly in its earlier seasons, with the lives of those who existed in the shadows of the noble upper class. The show would often feature guest appearances from acting troupes or farming families or even religious communities, to create a sense of context for the show’s epic struggles.

Indeed, this is arguably one of the bigger issues with House of the Dragon, the first of the Game of Thrones spin-offs. That show has largely lost sight of the “small folk” who live caught in the gravity of these great leaders and these epic events. Game of Thrones was often a deconstruction of the romantic fantasy of “the good queen”, the myth of the noble leader anointed by prophecy or divinity who rules unquestioned and unchallenged.

A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms feels in some ways like an extension of that central theme, focusing as it does on a common born orphan who claims to be a knight but has no evidence to support it. Similarly, Egg conceals his nobility for the first half of the season to walk among the common folk, with Duncan ultimately arguing that Egg will be the richer for having that experience. Egg will become a more well-rounded individual for having an experience of ordinary life far removed from those who make the big decisions.

Throughout A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms, there is a recurring sense that Duncan understands more of honor and duty than those who had the luxury of being born to it. He balks when Plummer (Tom Vaughan-Lawlor), the steward of Ashford, proposes a scheme to throw the tournament to make a profit on the long odds. When he happens upon Prince Aerion Targaryen (Finn Bennett) assaulting puppeteer Tanselle (Tanzyn Crawford), he instinctively steps in to protect the innocent woman.

When Baelor chides Duncan for intervening, Duncan responds by asking whether Baelor might have stepped in to stop his nephew. “I might have,” Baelor concedes. “But I am a prince of the realm, not a hedge knight.” Duncan offers a fairly simple retort, “Don’t all knights make the same oath? To protect the innocent?” Later, justifying his actions to a crowd, Duncan insists, “A knight defends the innocent, that’s all I did.” There is a sense that Duncan is one the few knights to actually believe this.

As one might expect in a spin-off from Game of Thrones, the nobles of Westeros are motivated largely by self-interest. When Duncan challenges Aerion to “trial by combat” to prevent Aerion from claiming his hand and his foot as compensation, Aerion responds by insisting upon an archaic tradition of seven-on-seven combat to protect himself. This naturally benefits Aerion, who has the luxury of a royal household and honor guard to protect him.

As Duncan struggles to find six other champions to support him, Ser Steffan Fossoway (Edward Ashley) betrays the hedge knight, promising his loyalty to Duncan and then selling it to Aerion “for a lordship.” Even the seemingly selfless actions are ultimately self-serving. Baelor ultimately joins Duncan’s party, but – as Ser Lyonel Baratheon (Daniel Ings) points out – Aerion’s loyal bodyguards are also sworn not to hurt a member of the royal household.

“I fought for you,” Lyonel insists, bitterly. “Your prince fought for you against men who were sworn to protect him. He risked nothing!” Lyonel is not wrong. Baelor’s strategy during the contest is to tie up the royal bodyguards who have sworn an oath to do him no harm so that the rest of the party can focus on the other challengers. This is a life and death struggle for Duncan, but it is largely treated as entertainment for the local nobility – even seemingly decent nobles like Baelor.

These nobles live a life completely removed from the commoners. Duncan is impressed by Ser Donnel of Duskendale (Bill Ward), who presents himself humbly as “but the son of a crabber.” It’s the myth of the self-made man. Egg reframes that for Duncan, “His father owns half the crabbing fleets in Westeros.” According to Egg, Aerion “thinks he’s a dragon born in human form.” There is no humanity to be found in this ruling class.

As with both Game of Thrones and House of the Dragon, there is a sense in which A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms is a fairy tale for a nation in decline. “We were dragon masters once,” opines a drunken Prince Daeron Targaryen (Henry Ashton). “Hard to believe. Now they’re all gone, but we remain.” These nobles do nothing for their subjects. “I never knew a joust to change the price of eggs,” opines an innkeeper (Jenna Boyd), as if speaking on behalf of the median voter.

Naturally, the folly of this ruling class has consequence. During the tournament, Maekar strikes his elder brother Baelor with a mace. This cleaves the back of Baelor’s head open, a wound that does not become apparent until his helmet is removed. Both Aerion and Duncan survive the match, but Maekar kills Baelor, his beloved brother. Baelor is a decent man, beloved by his family and his people. His son Valarr (Oscar Morgan) argues that Baelor could have been “the greatest [king] since Aegon the Conqueror.”

All of this potential is thrown away in a foolish and pointless trial by combat to assuage the wounded ego of a psychopathic young prince, with Duncan caught in the middle of it for nothing more than doing the right thing. There is an appealing smallness to A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms, which paints this sort of power structure as inherently pathetic compared to the awesome scale and scope of Game of Thrones or House of the Dragon. Even Baelor’s funeral seems quaint compared to similar scenes in those shows, his body cremated in a quarry on a dull and overcast day.

There is an interesting and knowing irony in all of this. As Maekar points out, all of this might have been avoided if Duncan had been willing to let Aerion claim his leg. “How can a foot be worth a prince’s life?” Maekar asks, glossing over the fact that all of this is Aerion’s fault. “Mightn’t it be that some morrow will come when I’ll have need of that foot - when the realm will need that foot even more than a prince’s life?” Duncan counters, thoughtfully. Maekar sighs, “Not bloody likely.”

For those familiar with the larger lore of writer George R.R. Martin’s A Song of Ice and Fire, this exchange has a bitter edge. In The World of Ice and Fire, Martin reveals the fate of Duncan and Aegon. Aegon becomes king and dies tragically in a fire at Summerhall, an event that a fortune teller (also Boyd) opaquely alludes to midway through A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms, revealing that Egg will become king and will die in flames.

According to Martin’s guidebook, Aegon tries to reignite the family’s dragons as a way of restoring their cachet. In doing so, Aegon causes a disaster that kills many. Martin implies that all the guests might have “died, but for the valor of the Lord Comman”, Duncan. His foot may have saved Rhaella and his great grandson Rhaegar (Wilf Scolding). As with most of Game of Thrones, it’s ultimately somewhat ambiguous whether this was a good thing, given Rhaegar’s role in plunging Westeros in chaos, but Duncan’s nobility ultimately serves Aegon to the end.

Game of Thrones is a cynical franchise. It portrays a deeply cynical world. There are decent characters within that world, but they are often victims of forces beyond their control. The first season of Game of Thrones focuses on the truly honorable Ned Stark (Sean Bean), whose decency ultimately plunges the realm into civil war. In contrast, A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms is positively optimistic. Duncan is not only decent, but also ultimately vindicated. It’s almost wholesome.

Duncan is a nobody. The series leaves it somewhat ambiguous whether Ser Arlan actually did knight him, or whether Duncan is simply claiming that he did. Is Duncan playing make believe at chivalry like Egg is? Either way, Duncan will be largely forgotten by history, much like Alice from that bawdy song. “Perhaps it is a story of honor,” Egg muses. “A misfortuned girl making the best of her natural gifts.” Duncan replies, “One might wish for more.” Egg counters, “But is this not the act of a dogged spirit, giving more than what is asked? The whole arm bone, as it were.”

Duncan takes a moment to consider that argument, and makes a fairly wise observation of his own. “Perhaps her name does not matter then. It’s her story that abides.” In a deeply cynical fictional universe reflecting a deeply cynical time, there is something romantic in the way that A Knight of the Seven Kingdom believes in the true nobility of its common man and what happens when he gives more than what is asked. Perhaps the story abides.