I want to emphasize something here that I think might get overlooked. Every death on Game of Thrones last night had meaning, because the people who died chose that meaning.
Take the Dothraki. Wild and unrestrained, supreme warriors. Not for them to retreat into the castle and wait for their enemy. Their swords alight with fire, they rode directly into the heart of darkness. One by one the swords went out, but they kept riding directly into the Night Lands.
Take Lord Commander Eddison Tollett. How did he die? Turning to help his brother.
Take the Unsullied. When the retreat was sounded and men fled behind the walls. They did not. They took a step back. As the dead ate at their ranks, they took a step back, covering the retreat. The Unsullied know no fear.
Take Lyanna Mormont. From the moment we first saw her, she challenged bigger men who tried to look down on her. Who tried to dismiss her.
Take Beric Dondarrion. He died fighting for Life. He found the reason he was brought back at last.
Take Jorah Mormont. He died for the woman he loved. To serve his Khaleesi was all he ever wanted.
Take Theon Greyjoy. His entire story was about identity. Who was Theon? “Theon. You’re a good man. Thank you.” This wasn’t just Bran Stark. This was the Three-Eyed Raven, the memory of the world.
Take Melisandre. Her work was done; her faith rewarded. It was time to rest.
Every death had meaning; every death was a completion of an arc, not because of plot armor, but because of choices. No one died to show the ‘futility of war.’ No one was Anya or Quicksilver – killed to prove that the director was smugly smarter than the rest of us.
We see meaningless death every day. Isn’t it powerful to show us meaningful death? Isn’t it why we have fiction?
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