Destroying the Iron Throne is a powerful bit of symbolism, one that not only suggests dragons have a remarkably strong grasp of abstract representation but also that Westeros is about to undergo a profound political transformation, rather than just swapping the crown between slightly better or worse autocrats.Īlas, it's all sound and fury, signifying nothing-or at least very little. I choose to believe that version of the story, at least.Īfter Dany’s assassination, Detective Drogon flies over to solve the mystery of how she died, and either figures it out and gives Jon a pass for being half-Targaryen, or decides that the Iron Throne stabbed her to death and executes it on the spot. I'd like to believe that this means there's something better and kinder waiting for her beyond her corrupted ambition and tragic death.
Moments before Jon stabs her, Dany walks into the same throne room beneath the falling ash of King's Landing, and places her hand on the Iron Throne in a nearly identical shot. "Maybe I'm dead and I just don't know it yet," she said. She reached out to grab the hilt of one of its melted swords, and then walked into the next room where her dead husband and child were waiting for her, and embraced them. Years ago in the House of the Undying, Dany had a vision: She walked into the ruins of the Red Keep, snow fluttering through its shattered ceiling, and stood in front of the Iron Throne. While Game of Thrones ultimately rejects the might-makes-right philosophy of Dany, the conclusion it offers is far less radical than you might expect from a show that relied so heavily on subverting expectations: that the best and perhaps only way to advance the cause of justice is not to break the wheel but to slightly rearrange the spokes.ĭespite the many prophecies that have been abandoned on Game of Thrones, Dany’s final moments unexpectedly breathe life into an old one.
The horse was a Rorschach test, like so much of the series in the final analysis: We find whatever significance in it not because it was earned or offered or intended, but because that's what we want to see. The horse was a prophecy, a bit of narrative gossip with the gloss of the sacred, something that promised intention and meaning but ultimately delivered something so vague it could have meant anything.
The horse was death the horse was life the horse was the friends we made along the way. Absent any intention beyond moving the pieces into place for the grand finale, Game of Thrones became a glittering charm bracelet of beautifully directed symbols strung together solely by the thin connective tissue of gravitas: the score soaring in front of a burned city, the dark wings of a dragon opening behind a tyrant, a hero locked in chains.Īrya's magical rando white horse is perhaps the clearest example of this phenomenon-a dramatic image imbued with all the trappings of meaning, but absolutely no resonance or coherence with anything that came before or after it. It was often hard to know what to make of the series as its characters, politics, and themes grew dull, sacrificed on the altar of plot to bring us to this precise moment.