Maybe the real thrones were the friends we made along the way.
In fact, it’s like she’s a completely different person! Suspiciously, abruptly, narrative-defyingly different! No wonder Jon, Tyrion and the rest of their crew are so freaked out by her.
Actually, Jon is not as freaked out as he should be. Tyrion, who is thrown in jail by Dany for freeing Jaime, tries to get it through Jon’s curly, mopey head: Dany is bad now! She roasted hundreds of thousands of people! « Fire and Blood » always did have kind of a fascist ring to it, but she’s really grinding it into the ground.
Jon has many strengths, but he’s never been the sharpest sword in the forge, and it takes an infuriatingly long time for him to break out of his « But she’s the queen » logic loop. By the time he finally picks up what Tyrion is putting down, they both look like they’ve grown another inch of scraggly beard hair.
Meanwhile, Daenerys Stormborn of the House Targaryen, the First of Her Name, Queen of the Andals and the First Men, Protector of the Seven Kingdoms and all that jazz enters the throne room and fulfills eight seasons of prophecy, vision and mission by finally. touching. the. pointy. chair!
Not even the arrival of a very despondent Jon Snow can dim her moment in the blotted-out sun. (You know you’re a really sad dude when you suck the life out of a room that is literally crumbling and covered in ash.) Dany tries to convince him that actually genocide is good and the only perspective that matters on what’s good is hers and, hey, the people of King’s Landing were kind of jerks anyway.
For one queasy, moment, it appears as if everything will work out. They embrace. They kiss. Jon stabs her in the chest with a dagger and she dies.
YES, JON STABS HER IN THE CHEST WITH A DAGGER AND SHE DIES.
Daggers really are the MVP of major character kills, aren’t they? Daenerys and the Night King are going to have a lot to reflect upon in the afterlife: « I had dragons. You had scores of zombie dead people to do your bidding. And THIS is how we went out? »
If you thought you were upset at Dany’s oddly anticlimactic ending, you have nothing on Drogon, who goes nuts and immediately sets his mother’s killer alight. Just kidding! He completely wastes the Iron Throne. Did he realize, somewhere in his tiny dragon brain, that the ultimate reason for Daenerys’ downfall was her unwavering obsession with the Iron Throne and the power it represented, and thus the fault of her death lies not with Jon Snow, but with her own hubris and the object that fed it? Probably not, but it’s nice to imagine dragons having a sense of poetic justice.
Grief-stricken and thoroughly done with humanity, Drogon scoops up Daenerys’ dead body and flies off with her like she’s the baton in a relay race. That’s it. There’s no more dragon. There’s no more war. But there’s still 50 minutes worth of story left to tell. The « Game of Thrones » is dead. Welcome to the « Game of Sensible, Neatly Arranged Chairs. »
After Daenerys’ death, the Unsullied lock Jon up with Tyrion and everyone wanders around regent-less while the remaining heads of the great houses teleport to the Dragon Pit for a grand council. Look! It’s Robin Arryn, back from his journey to Pubertyos. And Edmure Tully! Huh. We thought that guy would be dead by now.
What follows is a scene with all of the tension and drama of a briskly-run board meeting.
