Let’s be honest: Game of Thrones is not known for its healthy relationships. The show features some of the most dysfunctional, tragic, and outright dangerous couples ever committed to television. But that’s kind of the point, right? This is a show where betrayal, violence, and heartbreak are as common as feasts and swords. Still, scattered throughout eight seasons of medieval political intrigue and magical chaos, there are relationships that actually manage to be touching, compelling, or at the very least more functional than the disaster marriages that dominate the series. So let’s rank the major couples of Game of Thrones, from the ones that actually make you believe in love to the ones that make you want to lock your doors and check for poison.
Tier S: The Good Ones (Relatively Speaking)
Sam and Gilly take the top spot, and yes, I’m fully aware that they’re objectively the healthiest couple on the entire show. Their relationship is built on genuine affection, respect, and kindness—three things that are vanishingly rare in Westeros. Sam loves Gilly not because of politics or duty or lust, but because he sees her, really sees her, and cares about her wellbeing. Gilly loves Sam because he saved her from literal slavery and treats her like a person rather than an object. They have actual conversations. They support each other. They don’t scheme or betray or manipulate. In the context of Game of Thrones, this is basically a fairy tale. The fact that their relationship is so refreshingly normal in a sea of dysfunction actually says something important about how broken the world of Westeros is. These two could never survive on the political stage, which is partly why they’re so likeable. They’re good people in a world that punishes goodness.
Tormund and Brienne, or more accurately Tormund’s unrequited crush on Brienne, is surprisingly endearing. Tormund falls for her completely, honestly, and with genuine admiration for her as a warrior and a person. Brienne obviously doesn’t return his feelings, but the show treats his love with respect rather than mockery. It’s one-sided, sure, but it’s also kind of beautiful in its sincerity. And honestly, if Brienne were the type of person to fall for Tormund, it would actually be a pretty great match. They’re both warriors, both straightforward, both capable of genuine loyalty. The fact that it doesn’t work out is sad, but at least there’s no toxicity there, no games, just honest feelings that don’t align.
Davos and Shireen, while strictly paternal rather than romantic, deserves a mention here because their relationship is one of the most genuinely loving and uncomplicated on the show. Davos cares for Shireen with a pure, protective love that asks nothing of her except to be happy and safe. There’s no agenda, no manipulation, just a gruff old man and a smart young girl who adore each other. It’s heartbreaking because Shireen’s fate is tragic, but it’s also beautiful because what they had, however brief, was real and good.
Tier A: Pretty Good, Actually
Ned and Catelyn Stark make this tier because, despite everything, their marriage is actually based on respect and affection. Ned doesn’t love Catelyn the way he loved Lyanna—he’s honest about that (or he would be, if he ever actually talked about his feelings, which he doesn’t)—but he respects her, treats her as an equal in governing, and never cheats on her. Catelyn is fiercely loyal to her family and would do anything for her children. Yes, they have conflicts, and yes, their marriage is complicated by Ned’s secrets, but fundamentally they’re on the same team. They’re partners trying to raise their children right in a world that makes that increasingly impossible. By Game of Thrones standards, that’s actually quite lovely.
Margaery and her various suitors, while obviously opportunistic on Margaery’s part, are notable for being free of genuine animosity. Margaery married Renly knowing he didn’t love her romantically, married Joffrey while clearly unimpressed by him, and married Tommen while maintaining her political edge. She never seems to expect romance from these men; she seems to approach marriage as a transaction, which is honest in its own way. She’s not pining for love; she’s securing her position. And the men involved, despite their flaws, aren’t violent or cruel to her in the way many Westerosi husbands are to their wives. She got as good as she could possibly get in medieval Westeros.
Tier B: Complicated But Compelling
Jaime and Brienne occupy this weird space where they have genuine chemistry and affection for each other, but also enormous external obstacles and complicated personal histories. Jaime spends most of his arc being a narcissistic, privileged asshole who happens to be stunningly attractive and charming. Brienne is a woman trying to find honor and meaning in a world that constantly tells her she doesn’t belong. They develop respect for each other despite (or because of) their differences. There’s attraction there, definitely, but more importantly there’s genuine connection. The tragedy is that by the time Jaime seems to be genuinely changing, the show tears them apart in a way that feels unsatisfying to many viewers. But whatever their relationship was, it wasn’t boring, and it wasn’t entirely dysfunctional.
Jon and Daenerys are interesting because they’re so symmetrical—two people carrying impossible weights, trying to do right by their followers, both fundamentally decent despite the power they wield. Their romance happens quickly because the show is rushing through material, but there’s actual chemistry there. The problem is that they don’t really know each other, and when a crucial truth comes out, they can’t handle it maturely. But in those moments when they’re together, you can see why they appeal to each other. They understand the burden of leadership in a way few people do.
Tier C: Messy But Memorable
Robb and Jeyne (or Robb and Talisa in the show) are almost too heartbreaking to rank. Robb loves Jeyne, she loves him, and their romance is genuinely touching. The tragedy is that this love destroys everything. Robb’s military campaign, his position as King in the North, his family’s future—all of it sacrificed for love. It’s noble in a way, genuinely romantic, but it’s also catastrophically stupid. Their relationship shows how love and politics cannot coexist in Westeros without one destroying the other. It’s tragic because they’re right to love each other; the world is just wrong.
Theon and Yara, while never romantic, have one of the most complicated and genuinely moving sibling relationships on the show. They start as rivals, move through periods of distance and misunderstanding, and ultimately develop a fierce protectiveness for each other. Yara fights for Theon’s life and honor even after he’s been tortured and broken. That’s loyalty, and it’s one of the few relationships that feels truly unshakeable.
Tier D: Toxic But Fascinating
Cersei and Jaime are siblings, which is already a problem, but they’re also two people so damaged that their relationship becomes mutually destructive. Jaime loves Cersei, or he loves the idea of her, or he loves what she represents—it’s hard to say. Cersei loves Jaime as much as she loves anyone, which is to say she loves him in the way a wounded animal loves its mate. They’re codependent, incestuous, and ultimately unable to help each other. But they’re also weirdly compelling to watch because there’s genuine affection mixed with genuine harm. This is not a healthy relationship, and the show never pretends it is.
Stannis and Selyse are a couple that highlights how love can be twisted by ambition and faith. Selyse is devoted to Stannis, probably loves him in her own way, but she’s also willing to support his increasingly dark choices in the name of their cause. Stannis cares for Selyse but is ultimately willing to sacrifice her children for victory. It’s a relationship built on shared belief rather than mutual respect, and it’s deeply unsettling.
Tier E: Absolutely Cursed
Robert and Cersei are the template for toxic royal marriages. Robert drinks constantly because he’s miserable, Cersei despises him because he’s miserable and treats her as a brood mare, and neither of them has any affection or respect for the other. Robert doesn’t even bother to be faithful, and Cersei doesn’t bother to pretend to care. They’re stuck with each other out of duty and political necessity, and it makes them both worse. This is a marriage where both people would be better off if they just admitted they hate each other.
Joffrey and Cersei (in a twisted, borderline-incestuous way) represent psychological damage at its most visible. Cersei is desperate to control her son because she’s terrified of powerlessness, and Joffrey is a spoiled, violent sociopath who reflects his mother’s worst qualities back at her. Their relationship has echoes of something unhealthier than standard mother-son dynamics, and the show never quite explores it, but it’s definitely there.
Joffrey and Sansa are almost too toxic to watch. Joffrey is cruel, sadistic, and violent, and Sansa is his complete victim. There’s no relationship here, only abuse. Joffrey doesn’t love Sansa; he’s obsessed with controlling her and punishing her. Sansa doesn’t love Joffrey; she’s terrified of him. This is domination and cruelty, not romance, and it’s important that the show presents it that way.
Ramsay and Sansa continue that pattern of abuse in a horrifying way. Ramsay is a violent sociopath who gets off on power over others, and Sansa is trapped with him after surviving Joffrey. Unlike Joffrey, Ramsay doesn’t pretend there’s love here. He’s just a sadist who has a sadist’s obsession with his victim. This relationship is presented without any romanticization, and that’s the right call.
Khal Drogo and Daenerys start with rape and gradually become something more complex, which is one of the most interesting—and most controversial—narrative choices the show makes. Drogo doesn’t begin by respecting Daenerys; he begins by ownership. But over time, he develops genuine affection for her, and she develops affection for him. It’s a complicated dynamic that the show handles imperfectly, and it’s definitely not healthy in any real-world context. But within the show’s logic, it represents a kind of healing and mutual respect that develops despite traumatic origins. Still, the fact that their relationship needed rape to begin makes it tier E material.
The Final Word
Game of Thrones isn’t a show about romance, which is partly why the good relationships stand out so sharply. Sam and Gilly’s genuine affection is so refreshing precisely because the world around them is so full of betrayal and cruelty. The show uses romance as a tool to explore power, loyalty, ambition, and the fundamental incompatibility between love and the game of thrones. Some couples burn bright and burn out. Some are built on mutual ambition. Some are just two people making the best of an awful situation. But almost none of them are actually, straightforwardly good. And maybe that’s the real message: in a world as broken as Westeros, a couple that actually loves each other and treats each other with respect is a fantasy more fantastical than dragons.
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