I have always enjoyed a good sword fight. When I was seven years old, my father turned on the Lord of the Rings trilogy for me, a series of films that quickly became, and still exist as, my favorite franchise of all time. I loved the bombastic castle architecture of Minas Tirith and Helm’s Deep. I loved the emotional journey of Frodo and Sam, rising above their humble natures to become the greatest heroes the world has ever known. I loved the mysticism of the elves and the stoic heroism of Aragorn.
My favorite moment of the entire trilogy, however, was the very first scene of the trilogy’s first installment, Fellowship of the Ring. It was the most epic battle scene I had ever seen.
In the charming simplicity so often contained in fantasy stories, a large barren wasteland serves as the battlegrounds between good and evil: the terrible amalgamation of cruelty, Sauron, and his grovelling army of orcs, against the upstanding alliance of men and elves resisting the encroaching corruption brought on by the power of the one ring. As Sauron’s towering figure rampages through the bodies of his opponents in the closing moments of the battle, one man, Isildor, swings his father’s shattered sword, chopping off Sauron’s armored fingers, and separating his body from its catalyst, the ring. Sauron’s armor falls to the ground, as if nobody had ever even worn it in the first place.
After I watched these films, I cared about little else other than sword fights. I would act out great triumphs over evil by the swingset, or hop around my room, imagination running wild, with the intention of toppling a ravenous giant. I was always victorious. I recently uncovered a notebook I owned when I was in the first grade where I wrote a charming story. It was about a father and his sons fighting against an army of villains. The men were unflinchingly loyal to their king, even after the usurper in command of the legion of evil decapitated the king and held his head in the air, parading it around lifelessly. I drew this, and many other gory images, in meticulous detail in the notebook. I’m still not sure if Lord of the Rings helped me or hurt me at that age.
I’ve never quite gotten rid of this fascination. Sometimes during dull moments of the day, I am transported to a muddy field, where I still possess the same swords I drew in my notebook all those years back. I still draw helmets and blades and dragons commonly in the margins of my assignments. I have a list of good names for fantasy characters on my phone. I will never quite be able to separate myself from a fascination with the stories of knights and mystical swords of old legend. Maybe everything feels easier when the obstacles in my way are more likely to breathe fire than they are to force me to confront my internal flaws. Maybe I really just like sword fights.
As I’ve grown older, I’ve looked for more adult forms of sword-fighting media. I watch high budget historical dramas like 2019’s The King, or 2021’s The Last Duel. I watch dark and gritty fantasies like Berserk and the video games that take inspiration from them like the Dark Souls franchise. The most obvious source for serious swordfighting content, however, is Game of Thrones.
In its prime, Game of Thrones truly was the greatest sword fighting story available. Developed by HBO and originating from one of the greatest series of fantasy novels ever, the A Song of Ice and Fire series written by George R.R. Martin, the TV show was able to make every sword swing feel narratively relevant. Characters in Game of Thrones are shockingly expendable, with many integral players in the story’s plot dying suddenly and unexpectedly, especially coming from stories like Lord of the Rings, where the main characters almost appear as deities on the battlefield. In this way, I am returned to the child-like ogling at the swing of swords swiping at the heads of my favorite characters, knowing that nobody is safe.
While the show eventually worsened over time, I am incredibly fond of the show’s first six seasons, and recognize that they have most likely left an impression on me for the rest of my life. It should come as no surprise, then, that I was incredibly excited for the release of A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms this year, a more simplified and streamlined story set in the same world as Game of Thrones, and based on a series of novellas also written by Martin.
The new series takes a more grounded and lighthearted approach over the sometimes overwhelming political saga of Game of Thrones. Instead of a wide array of different characters and houses competing for the throne, A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms follows Dunk, a cloutless but good-natured knight looking to make a name for himself at a tournament after his father figure and mentor, Ser Arlan of Pennytree, dies.
The series is refreshingly funny, using creative editing and deadpan writing to make an effectively quirky tone permeate throughout the relatively short runtime of the season. Dunk, through the goodness of his heart, makes a mess of many things throughout the story, exposing himself in all the wrong ways to the most powerful houses present at the tournament. It is an exceptionally entertaining story to watch unfold, and the character of Dunk is incredibly easy to root for. Luckily for me, the penultimate episode of the season features possibly the greatest sword fighting scene from any of the series based off of the works of Martin released by HBO so far, a scene so full of gritty realism and impactful emotional beats that I physically winced, cheered and even cried by the end of the episode.
While the first episodes of Game of Thrones can hit its audience like a thundering wave with the amount of exposition needed to make its symphony of moving pieces make sense, A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms is incredibly accessible and easy to digest. While, often, a first season of a fantasy show can feel like homework, this contained snapshot of Westeros does not need to focus on grand history and mythological canon, but instead on snapping lances, the quelching of mud under armored feet and Dunk’s pursuit of recognition.
The show centers around two wonderful performances from actors Peter Claffey, who plays Dunk, and 11 year-old Dexter Sol Ansell, who plays Dunk’s unlikely and morbid squire, Egg. Instantly, Claffey and Ansell’s performances are cemented in my mind as something believable and new for the world of Game of Thrones. However, Finn Bennett’s performance as the central antagonist, Aerion Targaryen, Bertie Carvel’s tempered portrayal of soon to be king Baelor Targaryen and Daniel Ings’s performance as the Laughing Storm, Lyonel Baratheon, all might be even more impressive in my eyes, with the astute realizing of their characters making an impression as impactful as the main two leads with sometimes much less screen time given to flesh out their characters.
In the funny simplicity of A Knight of the Seven Kingdom, the core of the series seems to be in tune with the tenants followed by the kind of knights the show centers on. It is pure-of-heart, honest, true, and despite scenes like the shocking beginning of episode two, thematically innocent. The show is uniquely and comfortably optimistic for a show set in the same world as the commonly depraved Game of Thrones, and fills me with a whimsy that I had been beginning to forget was possible. While I love the dragons present in fellow Game of Thrones spinoff show, House of the Dragon, or the chilling threat of Whitewalkers in Game of Thrones, the snot-nosed princes always proved to be the threats that always reminded me the most of my childhood fascinations. In A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms’s adherence to keeping its story grounded, I am returned to my completely unrealistic imagination, as if I am a child again, swinging wildly at enemies who could never strike me down.
