When George R.R. Martin sat down to write A Song of Ice and Fire, he didn’t build his fantasy world from pure imagination. Instead, he did what good writers do: he borrowed from history, taking real events, real conflicts, and real human drama and transmuting them into fiction. Understanding the real-world historical foundations of Game of Thrones is like discovering the skeleton underneath the skin—it helps you understand why the story feels so grounded and authentic, and it reveals the cleverness of Martin’s storytelling in a new light.
Martin has been remarkably open about his influences, and the good news is that even casual viewers can spot them once you know what to look for. The Wars of the Roses, Hadrian’s Wall, Medieval European politics, the geography of Scotland and England—these aren’t subtle influences. They’re woven throughout the entire fabric of Westeros, and they explain why a fantasy show about dragons and ice zombies somehow managed to feel so grounded and historically plausible.
The Wars of the Roses: The Template for Everything
If you’re looking for the single biggest influence on Game of Thrones, look no further than the Wars of the Roses, the brutal civil conflict that tore England apart during the 15th century. The conflict between the great houses, the shocking deaths of prominent figures, the shifting alliances, the betrayals—all of it finds echoes in the Stark-Lannister conflict that drives the entire series forward.
The Wars of the Roses saw two branches of the English royal family, the House of York and the House of Lancaster, fighting for control of the throne over the course of more than three decades. It was bloody, it was personal, and it was devastating for the common people caught in between. Thousands died. Noble families were wiped out. Kings were murdered. Children were executed. And the whole conflict often came down to the machinations of a few ambitious people trying to consolidate power.
In Game of Thrones, the Stark-Lannister conflict essentially mirrors this dynamic. You have two powerful houses with different philosophies and values trying to gain supremacy. The Starks, honorable and bound to duty, mirror aspects of the historical nobility that valued honor and tradition. The Lannisters, ruthless and willing to do anything to maintain power, embody the cutthroat pragmatism that actually won wars during the medieval period. The Wars of the Roses had similar players—some nobility still clung to older codes of honor, while others understood that winning required doing dishonorable things.
The Red Wedding, perhaps the most shocking moment in Game of Thrones, draws directly from the historical Massacre of Glencoe and more directly from the Black Dinner of Scotland in 1440, where the Scottish King invited the young Earl of Douglas and his brother to a feast and then murdered them. But it’s also reminiscent of the general sense of broken faith and betrayal that characterized the Wars of the Roses. In a conflict where alliances shifted like sand and family loyalty could suddenly become a liability, no one was truly safe, even under a roof that was supposed to offer hospitality.
The character of Cersei Lannister bears some resemblance to Margaret of Anjou, the wife of King Henry VI, who became increasingly powerful and manipulative during the Wars of the Roses. Margaret was blamed by many for her husband’s weakness and her fierce protection of her son’s claim to the throne. She wielded power through her husband and later her son in ways that some historians argue destabilized the kingdom. Like Cersei, Margaret’s ambition and her willingness to operate outside traditional channels of female power made her controversial and dangerous. Both women understood that being a woman in a patriarchal system meant finding alternative paths to power, and both were willing to pay the price for their refusal to accept limitations.
Even the political complexity of the early seasons owes a debt to the Wars of the Roses. The multiplicity of claimants to the throne, each with some legitimate claim, mirrors the historical reality of that period. In the actual Wars of the Roses, there wasn’t always a clear right answer about who should be king—there were multiple candidates with plausible claims, which is why the conflict lasted so long. Similarly, in Game of Thrones, figuring out the legitimate ruler becomes almost impossible because there are too many valid claims and too many interpretations of what legitimacy means.
Hadrian’s Wall and the Wildlings: Scotland and the North
If the Wars of the Roses provided the template for the main conflict, Hadrian’s Wall and the broader history of the Scottish Borders provided the template for everything north of the Wall. Hadrian’s Wall was built by the Roman Emperor Hadrian in the second century CE to mark the frontier of Roman Britain. It separated the “civilized” world of Roman-controlled Britain from the wild lands of what would become Scotland. For nearly three centuries, it was the edge of the Roman Empire, constantly threatened by people from beyond the wall whom the Romans viewed as barbarian and uncivilized.
This dynamic maps almost perfectly onto Game of Thrones. The Wall separates the Seven Kingdoms from the lands beyond, where wildlings live in a way that the southern kingdoms view as primitive and lawless. The wildlings don’t have kings or organized government in the same way; they live in clans and follow strong leaders based on merit and strength rather than lineage. This is almost exactly how the Romans described the Picts and other Scottish tribes—fierce, dangerous, lacking the organizational structures of “civilized” society, but no less human or intelligent.
The threat from beyond the Wall also echoes historical reality. Hadrian’s Wall wasn’t built because the Romans were paranoid. It was built because raids from the north genuinely did threaten Roman settlements. The wildlings represent a similar threat in Game of Thrones—not because they’re inherently evil, but because they have different values, different organizational structures, and different interests than the Seven Kingdoms. When you have two groups of people with fundamentally different systems competing for the same resources, conflict is inevitable.
The Night’s Watch, that organization of men sworn to defend the Wall, owes some of its character to the Roman legions that garrisoned Hadrian’s Wall and the later medieval fortifications that occupied it. But it also reflects the reality that defending a long border against determined enemies requires constant vigilance and sacrifice. The men of the Night’s Watch, like the defenders of any frontier, are often unglamorous, forgotten, and underappreciated. They’re the people doing the grinding, difficult work while the great lords play their games in the south.
The history of Scottish independence movements also informed the worldbuilding here. For centuries, Scotland and England existed as separate kingdoms with different cultures, different laws, and periodic conflict. The idea that the North in Game of Thrones would have its own distinct identity, traditions, and desires for independence echoes this historical reality. Just as Scotland maintained its autonomy for centuries before unification with England, the North remains somewhat separate from the southern kingdoms, with its own traditions and its own sense of identity.
Medieval European Geography and Politics
The physical geography of Westeros is also built directly from medieval European maps and structures. The overall layout of the Seven Kingdoms roughly mirrors the geography of Europe, with different regions having distinct characteristics that reflect real-world equivalents. The Reach, the most fertile and productive region, is based on the rich agricultural lands of France. The Dorne, mountainous and harsh, reflects the Iberian Peninsula. The Iron Islands, rocky and storm-tossed, are based on various island regions with fierce maritime traditions.
This geographical grounding makes the world feel authentic. The travel times matter. The logistics of armies and supplies matter. The fortified castles are designed in ways that make sense for medieval warfare. Because Martin invested time in understanding actual medieval geography and architecture, the world he created feels lived-in and historically plausible in a way that purely invented fantasy worlds sometimes don’t.
The political structures of the Seven Kingdoms also draw from medieval Europe. The system of feudalism, where land is held in exchange for service and loyalty, reflects how medieval societies actually functioned. The great houses serve the king in exchange for the right to rule their regions. The smaller lords serve the great houses. The common people serve the lords. It’s a system built on personal loyalty and sworn oaths, which is exactly how feudal society worked.
This hierarchical structure also explains why breaking oaths matters so much in Game of Thrones. In a system built on personal loyalty and sworn oaths, a broken oath isn’t just a social transgression—it’s an attack on the entire foundation of society. When Robb Stark breaks his oath to marry a Frey, he’s not just being rude; he’s challenging the concept of oaths that binds the entire political order together. That’s why the betrayal carries such weight and has such devastating consequences.
The Succession of Kings and Questions of Legitimacy
Medieval European history is full of succession crises, and these inform the complex question of who actually has the right to rule in Game of Thrones. When a king dies without a clear male heir, what happens? Does the crown go to a daughter? To a brother? To a distant cousin? Different medieval kingdoms answered these questions differently, and those differences often led to wars.
The Salic Law, which excluded women from royal succession, was used in France and other kingdoms. But in other places, women could inherit and rule. This ambiguity about succession is built directly into Game of Thrones, where the question of whether a woman can rule is genuinely contested. The fact that powerful men throughout the series resist the idea of a female ruler reflects historical reality. Women did rule kingdoms, but they often faced resistance and had to be exceptionally capable to overcome patriarchal prejudices.
The whole concept of legitimacy in Game of Thrones—the question of whether Jon Snow is legitimate, whether Joffrey is the true king, whether Daenerys has the right to rule—all of this echoes real medieval concerns about legitimacy and succession. In the medieval world, legitimacy was often the difference between a recognized heir and a pretender to the throne. And legitimacy could be established through various means: being the firstborn son, being the anointed king, having the support of the nobility, being named heir by the previous king. When these different measures pointed in different directions, you got civil war.
Dragons and Magic: Where History Meets Fantasy
While dragons and magic are purely fantastical elements, Martin grounded them in historical precedent where possible. The idea of great powers rising and falling, of ancient civilizations being lost, reflects historical reality. Rome fell. Empires crumbled. Advanced civilizations declined. By presenting the world of Game of Thrones as one where dragons once existed but are now extinct, where magic was once more powerful but has faded, Martin grounds the fantasy in a historical sensibility—the idea that the world is declining from a golden age, losing power and knowledge it once possessed.
This reflects genuine historical consciousness. Medieval people lived in a world of impressive Roman ruins, ancient texts they could barely understand, and legends of a more magical, more powerful past. They felt like they were living in a diminished age compared to the ancients. By using this sensibility, Martin made his fantasy world feel more medieval and historical, even as he added dragons and ice demons to the mix.
The Influence on Storytelling
Understanding these historical influences also illuminates why Game of Thrones felt so compelling to audiences. Because it was built on real historical precedent, it tapped into a sense of authenticity and inevitability that purely invented worlds sometimes lack. When you watch characters making political decisions that parallel real historical decisions, it feels like you’re watching an interesting historical drama rather than pure fantasy spectacle. The stakes feel real because they’re rooted in real historical experience.
This is one reason why the early seasons of Game of Thrones were so successful. They took the complexity and moral ambiguity of real history and translated it into a fantasy setting. Good people made mistakes. Honorable actions had terrible consequences. Pragmatism often beat morality. Evil people sometimes won. These are the lessons of history, and Game of Thrones delivered them in a way that felt authentic and grounded.
Understanding the real-world history behind Westeros adds a new layer of appreciation to the story. You see how Martin took genuine historical events, archetypes, and dynamics and reimagined them in a fantasy context. And you understand why, even with dragons and magic, the world he created felt so real that audiences became deeply invested in its politics, its characters, and its fate. The best fantasy, as Martin proved, is built on the foundation of historical reality.
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