Six years later, Conán Doherty has just heard of Game of Thrones. Six years later, he’s decided to write reviews of the show as he goes along.
Hodor.
Nine episodes in and there’s no turning back now. The confusion that initially made me stop watching after three instalments last year has long since lifted and the only words left at the sight of every end credits are short, simple and unoriginal, “What. The. F**k?”
Robb Stark is a leader of men, Drogo is a handsome, fearsome beast, Cersei’s the devil, and Tyrion Lannister is one of the most resourceful little legends there ever was.
As well as I’ve done to avoid any spoilers up to this point, I’ve constantly heard the name Jon Snow prop up but, honestly, I don’t get it. I was expecting more from him. I assumed he was the main character and some sort of beacon of heroic glory but, when everyone else is riding south, he’s pissed off to The Wall to join a band of brothers protecting the world from supernatural creatures that they’re not even sure exist. Overrated.
And I’m sorry, but Ned Stark simply flailed from one blunder to the other until he was eventually put out of his misery.
An honourable man, sure (apart from his illegitimate son). A servant of the realm, surer. But he allowed his wife to run off on some crusade, imprisoning an innocent man who was no less the brother of the queen. He allowed Jaime bloody Lannister and his men to attack him and get away with it – this is the Hand of the bloody King we’re talking about. And then he was warned – twice – about the need to be clever and act when Robert Baratheon was on his death bed.
Cersei herself warned him when she said “you win or die in the game of thrones” – when he, for some reason, decided that it would be a good idea to confront her about the legitimacy of her children. As if she would’ve taken it well, like.
And then Baelish warned him that he had to do something himself rather than wait around like a chump for Stannis to arrive from God knows where and wait for ‘what is right’ to fall into place. Not only was he warned – twice – but he also saw fit to entrust the two most conniving people with life-or-death information.
I don’t even know much about this Baelish character but anyone who’s anyone could tune in to one scene of one episode, take one look at his moustache and know for certain that this is not a man to be trusted.
Ultimately, Eddard was betrayed, he was taken prisoner, he was thrown into a dungeon where his only visitor was a bald man with no genitalia – not literally, not figuratively. Varys would love to help, sure. But he just doesn’t want to. That’s how you keep your head intact and attached to your shoulders, I suppose.
So, whilst Robb has stepped up like a true warrior and rallied the troops to descend upon the capital, what’s Ned doing? He’s lying around on his arse, confessing to treason – which, ironically, is actually treason against Stannis, the one true king – and he’s proclaiming Joffrey as the rightful heir.
Joffrey… the bastard child of a queen who conspired against Eddard; and the child of her brother who attacked him. God almighty.
Joffrey wouldn’t make the same mistakes though. He’s young, he’s impetuous, he’s an evil little shit but he knows what he needs to do. If he lets Stark away with this carry on, he’ll not only have a powerful man set free conspiring against him, everyone else will be looking to walk all over him too. And, in one of the most admittedly shocking bits of television ever, because it looked for all the world that somebody somewhere would ride to the rescue of the honourable lead character, Joffrey declares, “bring me his head” and not one being is there to even raise an eyebrow.
Ned gets the pointy sword, Joffrey gets the fear of Westeros and, ultimately, he gets the throne. You win or die. Ned chose the latter.
LISTEN: You Must Be Jokin’ with Aideen McQueen – Faith healers, Coolock craic and Gigging as Gaeilge
