A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms has given Westeros its soul back

Luca Fontana

12.2.2026

Translation: Katherine Martin

Over its nine years on screen, Game of Thrones grew increasingly bigger, louder and emptier. Now the highest-rated episode since the main series ended, Episode 4 of spinoff A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms has done just the opposite. There are no dragons, no apocalyptic scenarios – just an oath and the question of who’ll take it seriously.

Dunk stands alone on the field. Gathered around him are the knights of Westeros. All with banners, armour, noble titles and bloodlines. Men who call themselves knights, but remain silent.

He’s talking about Ser Arlan of Pennytree, a man nobody remembers. About the tables they dined at when Dunk was still his squire. About the halls they slept in. He explains Arlan taught him what it meant to be a knight. That it’s not just about sword and lance, but about honour and the oath to protect the innocent above all.

Then, Dunk asks the one question that blows everything up:

«Who will stand and fight with me?»

Nobody answers.

This moment tells you everything you need to know about Westeros.

9.7 on IMDb. That’s the highest rating achieved by an episode in the Game of Thrones universe in nine years. While we once had dragons burning the Stepstones to the ground, a hedge knight from A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms Episode 4 will do nowadays. Go figure. You see, the spinoff series never set out to be nearly as big as the main series.

Though, come to think of it…that’s not entirely true.

Between Game of Thrones Season 7 and today, Westeros made outdoing itself a number-one priority. With more dragons. More fire. More doomsday scenarios. Characters lost their personalities and degenerated into triggers, purely there to drive the plot forward. At the end of the series, almost everything was at stake. Kingdoms. Continents. But almost all of it had lost its significance for us.

A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms has rejected this approach in the most radical sense. Not just with a smart episode, but with its structure. A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms spends four gently paced episodes exploring a single question: is there any place for chivalry in a corrupted world?

Rather than being posed with loud sentimentality, it’s done quietly, navigating the space between Dunk’s otherness and the hollow pomp of the great noble houses. Sure, this is a big question. But the story, told within a few days on «only» one tournament ground, starts out surprisingly small.

Dunk isn’t a hero in the traditional sense. He’s a new hedge knight with no title, no land and no ancient name to open doors for him. So he takes the one course of action left open to him: signing up for a jousting tournament. Not to win. He just has to be good enough to stand out. Good enough for a lord to take notice. Or maybe even take him into his service.

However, even this first step is a costly one. Dunk needs armour to be allowed to compete at all. And that costs money he doesn’t have. To fund his new armour, he sells one of his three horses. It’s a risky trade-off. After all, in jousting, the loser has to give up their horse and armour to the winner, and can only buy them back by paying a ransom. Dunk, however, has no ransom money. And of the two horses he has left, only one is fit for battle.

So if he loses his first joust, he loses everything. If he wins, he at least has a chance. Not necessarily to obtain fame. But to obtain a life as a knight, worthy of the term «knighthood». Sure, it’s not one of the epic deeds we’re used to from Game of Thrones. It’s not about the fate of the world or plotting for the crown – it’s just about one insignificant man.

And that’s exactly what gives the series its power.

The face of power

The tension really ramps up during a moment that wouldn’t have been worth five seconds in the latter seasons of Game of Thrones: a puppet show scene. A dragon made of wood is killed by a human. Red pollen sprays out of its throat like blood. Harmless. Ridiculous, even. But Aerion, a Targaryen prince, sees this as treason. He believes he’s the dragon incarnate, embodying a power that must never fall. Affronted and arrogant, he has the puppeteer’s fingers broken.

Dunk sees this and intervenes.

«Thick as a castle wall,» was how Arlan of Pennytree used to describe his good-natured squire. In fairness, hitting a prince is neither smart nor a good strategic move. But it’s exactly what a knight’s supposed to do. Especially if their oath to «protect the weak» – even from royals – is anything more than just decoration. To Dunk, knighthood isn’t a nice story you tell yourself later.

This particular moment of chivalry, however, makes Dunk a criminal in the eyes of people who consider it their right to be cruel. Dunk’s worth suddenly stands against Aerion’s, the gods’ judgement remaining his only way out. In a trial by combat with Aerion, he’d be able to prove «his» truth to the gods. But Aerion’s cruel, not stupid. Refusing a duel with the giant Dunk, he instead demands another way of ascertaining the gods’ verdict: a trial of the Seven.

In such a trial, it’s not just a battle between the accused and the accuser. Instead, each party has to rally six other warriors to their cause. So the ensuing battle, of Seven on Seven, wouldn’t just be a spectacle, it’d be a ploy to crush Dunk. If he doesn’t find six men who’re willing to fight by his side, he’ll be deemed guilty before a single sword has been drawn. The gods will have already decided.

And who’d stand against a prince of the realm?

This is where Dunk’s speech becomes so powerful. So revealing. He doesn’t ask for mercy. Doesn’t negotiate. He clings to the only thing he has left: his oath. Dunk reminds the assembled knights that Aerion had dishonourably won a joust the day before by hitting his opponent’s horse, and not the man himself. Everyone knows this. They all saw it. The kingdom knows full well whose word carries weight.

But knowing isn’t enough. Chivalry in Westeros no longer means doing the right thing. It means being on the right side. And the right side is the one with the power. The prince’s side.

Dunk, however, can’t accept this. Rather than putting himself to the test, he’s testing the system in front of him. If these knights truly believe in what they’ve sworn, then someone has to step forward. If nobody does, then knighthood’s nothing more than a costume used to protect power. And everything Dunk’s ever believed in is nothing but a fool’s naive dream.

The silence is deafening. Dunk isn’t just isolated in his righteousness – he’s been abandoned by his peers. Or, to quote Ser Arlan, left looking «thick as a castle wall».

The knights’ silence

«Who will stand and fight with me?»

Nobody answers. No one raises their sword. None of the knights step forward. There’s just silence and embarrassed laughter. It’s a moment that seems to reveal everything about Westeros. About a world in which oaths are merely ornamental. Where knighthood’s a costume to be worn, only for as long as it’s comfortable.

Or is it?

There’s a sound of hoofbeats at the edge of the field. Suddenly, the gate to the tournament ground opens and none other than Baelor Targaryen rides through. Knight. Breakspear. Heir to the throne. And hand of the king.

«I will take Ser Duncan’s side.»

The moment seems like a triumph, but it’s actually something else. Baelor has broken the silence. Not with his power, but with his attitude. And he knows what his decision will cost him. He knows who he’s up against: his nephew, his brother, his own family. More importantly, however, he knows he’s challenging the expectation that blood counts for more than an oath.

Which is precisely why he steps forward. It’s no longer just about Dunk, guilt or innocence. It’s about the very nature of knighthood. And whether it’s more than a word carried around like a magnificent, dazzling banner, just so long as it costs nothing. With this in mind, Baelor isn’t fighting for a hedge knight, a knight without a lord. He’s fighting with him.

Dunk’s desperate call gets an answer after all. At the last second. Perhaps this is the real trick behind A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms. The series claims to tell minor stories, and in turn, really exposes how hollow the main Game of Thrones became in its latter seasons. There are no dragons, no apocalypse and no constant barrage of escalating tensions. Just an oath. And a man who takes it seriously.

Suddenly, this «little» story feels bigger than anything that’s set Westeros ablaze over the years.

Luca Fontana

Senior Editor

Luca.Fontana@digitecgalaxus.ch

I write about technology as if it were cinema, and about films as if they were real life. Between bits and blockbusters, I’m after stories that move people, not just generate clicks. And yes – sometimes I listen to film scores louder than I probably should.

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