I didn’t know what to expect when A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms began. Following Game of Thrones’s disastrous finale and House of the Dragon season 2’s many disappointments, the franchise that at once felt like the most talked-about TV show of all time started to feel like it was doomed to repeat the same mistakes forever. It often feels like HBO set up an audience with a massive story, only to knock them back down with excuses over budgets, terrible wigs, and the fact that they had to finish the story before creator George R. R. Martin even wrote the next novel.
When I heard that A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms was telling a smaller tale about one character in a single location, I was intrigued. Based on Martin’s Dunk & Egg novellas, this story has no dragons, no magic, and no zipping back-and-forth across Westeros. It sounded like the perfect solution to two of the streaming industry’s largest problems: 1/ Every entertainment company wants universes of IP until they realize that scale does not easily translate into TV, and 2/ No showrunner can predict how much they can or cannot deviate from the source material and still hold their fanbase intact. So, A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms took a knife to both and tried something brave by trimming the dragon fat. If it didn’t work, it’s only six episodes. But from the first forty minutes, it feels like the first story in this franchise that’s finally free.
First off, A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms is much funnier than I expected. House of the Dragon is so dour and serious, and Game of Thrones basically forgot how to have fun once all the Stark children grew up. Here, comedy immediately takes center stage. Instead of the sweeping opening credits detailing the rich map of Westeros and its intertwining family trees, the first swell of Ramin Djawadi’s celebrated opening music is immediately cut off by a character shitting in broad daylight like a horse. That sounds like a stronger metaphor than it really is—this isn’t a Wayans family parody of medieval fantasy TV—but it’s a series that doesn’t ignore how downright disgusting, and darkly funny, it is to live in this time. (Westeros is, after all, a world in which zero technological advancements have been made in the 300 years of history we’ve bounced around on screen so far.)
But back to the shitting. The ass belongs to a lowly knight named Dunk (Peter Claffey), who is an absolute giant of a man. Played by a 6’5″ former ruby player, Dunk is a naïve, country lad who doesn’t seem to know much of anything about the world other than the good-hearted morals he believes in. In the opening scene, he tearfully buries his sworn liege, Ser Arlan of Pennytree (Danny Webb), who died of a cold on their latest, meandering journey across Westeros.
As Dunk blubbers through his words, he says that Ser Arlan was a good knight who never beat him when he didn’t deserve it, except for one time when he falsely accused him of stealing a widow’s pie. A montage shoots by of each time Ser Arlan slapped him. Then, as Dunk ponders what he’ll do next with his life (maybe join the city watch?), he holds up Ser Arlan’s sword and practices a tone of voice with more authority. “Stop raping, Ser!” he says. Maybe, he’s just not cut out for it. So, he sets out to join a tournament in the nearby town of Ashford, where he hopes to prove himself and possibly earn a decent job afterward.
For readers who are more invested in the timeline, our story is set in 209 AC roughly 100 years after House of the Dragon and 100 years before Game of Thrones—smack dab in the middle. Westeros is ruled by King Aerys I Targaryen, who is still four kings before his descendant, “The Mad King” Aerys II Targaryen. Thrones fan may remember that Aerys II—Daenerys’s father—was assassinated by Jaime Lannister at the very beginning of the series. (I hope that helps, but just know that the exact timeline doesn’t matter much here.)
For now, our adaptation of the Tales of Dunk and Egg is not complete until Dunk meets Egg. So, in our second scene of the series, the giant man first encounters his tiny sidekick—a know-it-all, snarky bald kid named Egg (Dexter Sol Ansell). Audiences don’t know much about Egg just yet, other than that he desperately wants to see the world as Dunk’s squire. (I won’t spoil anything from the books in these recaps, unless the mere mentioning of something to spoil here simply gave it away already.) But by now, if you’re a real Thrones fan, I’d say that anytime you don’t know someone’s last name … it’s not because they don’t have one.
I hope we see more of Ser Lyonel Baratheon (Daniel Ings).
More comedy awaits Dunk when he arrives at Ashford. The towering fool can’t walk through a single doorway without needing to lean down to not bump his head. Plus, the tournament organizer clocks early on that this “hedge knight” standing before him probably isn’t even a real knight at all. It’s most likely a lie, but Dunk swears that Ser Arlan of Pennytree dubbed him a knight right before he died. He shows off Arlan’s sword, which contains a penny lodged into its hilt. It doesn’t get more common-folk than that.
So, after the tournament organizer finishes hocking up phlegm and swatting at flies, he suggests that Dunk should find someone to vouch for him. So, our hero wanders about town and meets a cast of descendants from familiar houses: Ser Lyonel (Daniel Ings), the “Laughing Storm” and heir to House Baratheon; Ser Manfred Dondarrion (Daniel Monks), the rude lord who forgets the men who fight for him; and the abusive Ser Steffon Fossoway (Edward Ashley) with his squire Raymun (Shaun Thomas).
Dunk and Raymun strike up a quick friendship. He still has more in common with the squires in town that the fierce knights in the tourney. But it isn’t long before Ser Lyonel Baratheon takes a liking to Dunk as well. Everyone in town plays a little game with Dunk where they act threatening until they reveal that they’re just bullshitting the man, and Ser Lyonel is damn near undefeated. It’s too easy with Dunk as gullible as he is, but it’s endearing all the same. “The Seven above gave you tallness, so be tall!” Lyonel advises. The two of them dance the night away and play-fight by trying to step on each other’s toes. If you’ve seen Step Brothers or RRR, this is Dunk and Ser Lyonel’s “Did we just become best friends?” moment.
One big guy and one small guy is always a funny sight.
Without a way into the tourney just yet, Dunk names himself Ser Duncan the Tall and accepts the little Egg as his squire. They witness a shooting star outside in a field that night, and Egg says that most other knights in town probably missed it because they’re looking at the ceilings of their tents. “So, the luck is ours alone?” Dunk asks. It’s sweet.
This isn’t a Thrones series where someone is out to take back the Iron Throne, play politics, or worry about much of anything other than how to find their next meal. Dunk just wants to prove himself worthy of some respect, which is, really, what all humans want. If anything, all those King’s Landing monsters and Targaryen incest freaks are the villains of this tale—the lucky elite who were born with a name, a silver spoon in their mouths, and a set purpose in life. It’s easier to fall in love with Dunk. More importantly, it’s refreshing to follow someone in Westeros on his level. Even if HBO only green-lit Dunk’s story because it was far cheaper than one that involved a long sea voyage or new material from Martin, they may have just lucked out.
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