Why A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms Is Basically a Buddy Comedy (And That’s Great)

If you told someone that George R.R. Martin wrote a buddy comedy set in a medieval fantasy world, they’d probably assume you were joking. Martin’s reputation in the Game of Thrones universe is built on subverting expectations, killing characters you care about, and generally treating his readers and viewers to a dark, cynical take on power and politics. Yet A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms, while definitely containing plenty of drama and tension, is fundamentally structured as a buddy comedy, and the success of the series depends almost entirely on the central relationship between Duncan the Tall and Egg.

The Unlikely Pair

The setup is almost perfectly comedic. You’ve got Duncan, a large, not-particularly-bright hedge knight who’s earnest to the point of naivety and genuinely believes in things like honor and chivalry. You’ve got Egg, a small, sharp-witted, extremely smart young boy who’s actually royalty in disguise and who often has to save the day through cleverness when Duncan’s straightforward approach fails. They meet by accident when Duncan mistakes Egg for a stableboy, takes him on as a squire, and then slowly discovers that his young squire is actually a prince of the realm.

The comedic potential is obvious. You’ve got the clash between Dunk’s strength and Egg’s intelligence. You’ve got the dynamic where the physically powerful person is often outmaneuvered by the clever one. You’ve got the contrast between Dunk’s honor-bound earnestness and Egg’s pragmatism and scheming. You’ve got the running joke of Egg hiding his true identity, which means he has to deflect Dunk’s innocent questions and prevent the larger, more powerful man from accidentally revealing secrets that could get them both killed. It’s sitcom stuff on the surface, but it’s well-executed sitcom stuff.

What makes the pairing work, though, isn’t just the surface comedic potential. It’s the genuine affection and respect that develops between these two very different people. By the time we’re deep into the Dunk and Egg stories, it’s clear that they genuinely care about each other, that they look out for each other, that they’ve formed a real bond despite their enormous differences in age, intelligence, and background. The comedy comes from the difference between them, but the heart comes from their ability to work together anyway, to care about each other’s welfare, and to form a genuine friendship across the class and ability divide.

The Comedy of Misunderstanding

A lot of the humor in A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms comes from the fact that Dunk is perpetually one step behind what’s actually going on around him. He’s a good man and a capable fighter, but he’s not sophisticated. He doesn’t understand politics. He doesn’t grasp court intrigue. He takes things at face value when they’re clearly more complicated. Meanwhile, Egg is always several steps ahead, understanding implications that Dunk hasn’t grasped yet, seeing connections that the larger man doesn’t see.

This creates a wonderful dynamic where Egg is constantly having to manage Dunk’s innocent questions and observations so that he doesn’t accidentally say something that will expose Egg’s true identity. You get scenes where Egg is internally screaming while Dunk cheerfully asks questions that could get them into serious trouble. You get situations where Egg has to deflect or misdirect because Dunk’s next observation is going to cause a problem. It’s funny because Dunk is completely unaware that he’s being dangerous, that his innocence is actually a liability that his young squire has to actively manage.

But the humor never becomes cruel. Dunk isn’t mocked for his lack of sophistication. He’s appreciated for what he is — a good man who understands honor and strength and loyalty even if he doesn’t understand politics and power plays. The comedy comes from the situation, not from contempt for the character. We like Dunk even though he’s often confused about what’s going on around him. We respect him for his earnestness even as we’re amused by his naivety.

The Odd Couple Dynamic

At its core, A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms works because it taps into the odd couple formula that’s been successful in comedy since, well, forever. You take two people who are completely wrong for each other — different ages, different backgrounds, different temperaments, different levels of intelligence — and you put them in situations where they have to work together. The tension comes from their differences, the humor comes from how they navigate those differences, and the heart comes from the fact that they grow to genuinely like and respect each other anyway.

Dunk and Egg are the fantasy equivalent of, say, Oscar Madison and Felix Unger from The Odd Couple, or Sam Spade and his various sidekicks in noir fiction, or any number of buddy cop movies where the two leads are completely incompatible until they learn to work together. The difference is that Martin has taken this formula and applied it to a medieval fantasy setting with actual stakes — real danger, real consequences, real potential for harm.

This is important because it keeps the comedy from becoming too light or too silly. The humor is there, but it’s grounded in genuine situations with real consequences. When Egg has to stop Dunk from doing something stupid, it’s not just funny — it matters because Dunk’s stupidity could actually get them killed. When Dunk unknowingly almost reveals Egg’s identity, it’s not just amusing — it’s genuinely tense because exposure could be catastrophic. The comedy exists in a context where bad decisions have real consequences.

The Fish-Out-Of-Water Element

There’s also a strong fish-out-of-water element to the buddy dynamic. Dunk is a hedge knight trying to navigate a world of nobles, tournaments, and courtly intrigue. He’s constantly out of his depth socially, even though he’s perfectly capable physically. Egg is a prince hiding as a squire, deliberately stepping down from his world into Dunk’s. Both of them are fish out of water in different ways, and their attempts to navigate situations where they don’t belong create countless comedic moments.

Dunk’s attempts to live up to the standards of noble knights, his confusion about court etiquette, his genuine bewilderment at how complicated everything is beyond the simple matters of physical courage and honor — all of this is played for comedy but also for genuine character development. We like him precisely because he’s trying so hard and because he’s willing to admit when he doesn’t understand something. That kind of humility and honesty is rare in a world as cynical as Westeros.

Similarly, Egg’s attempts to hide his true nature, to act like a normal squire even though he’s been raised as a prince, provide their own comedic moments. He occasionally forgets to be careful, or he makes observations that are a bit too sophisticated for a common squire to make, and Dunk has to wonder about it, even if he doesn’t fully understand the implications. The comedy comes from the ongoing tension between who they are and who they’re pretending to be.

The Heart Beneath the Humor

What really elevates A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms beyond just being a funny buddy story is that Martin doesn’t lose sight of the emotional core beneath the comedy. These two genuinely come to care about each other. Dunk would die for Egg without hesitation. Egg genuinely respects and values Dunk, not despite his simplicity but partly because of it. Dunk’s straightforward decency in a world of compromise and pragmatism is something that Egg, surrounded by the cynicism and complexity of court life, finds genuinely valuable.

The best moments in the series often combine the comedic elements with genuine emotional weight. You’re laughing at the situation, but you’re also feeling the real affection between these two people. You’re amused by their dynamic, but you’re also invested in their welfare and happiness. Martin has managed to create a buddy comedy that doesn’t sacrifice emotional authenticity for the sake of laughs.

This is part of what makes the HBO adaptation so important. To work as a TV show, A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms needs to nail the chemistry between the actors playing Dunk and Egg. The show lives or dies on the audience caring about the relationship between these two, on believing that they genuinely like and respect each other despite their differences, and on finding the comedy in their dynamic while still taking the dramatic elements seriously. Get that right, and you’ve got compelling television. Get it wrong, and the whole thing falls apart.

Why This Matters for the Series

In a broader sense, the buddy comedy structure is what makes A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms accessible to mainstream audiences in a way that pure politics and intrigue might not be. Game of Thrones had plenty of humor, but it was often darker, more cynical, sometimes cruel. The humor in A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms is warmer, more human, more centered on genuine character dynamics rather than on the failures and flaws of people pursuing power.

This doesn’t mean the series is light or silly. There’s genuine darkness in these stories, genuine tragedy, genuine stakes. But there’s also warmth, humor, and genuine human connection. There’s a friendship at the center of the story, and that friendship is what makes us care about everything else that happens. We’re invested in these characters, so the dangers they face matter to us. The injustices they encounter anger us. The triumphs they achieve satisfy us.

The buddy comedy framework also allows Martin to explore some serious themes in a more accessible way. Questions about honor and knighthood, about the nature of power, about legitimacy and class and the structures that hold society together — these can all be explored through the lens of a relationship between two very different people trying to navigate a complicated world together. The comedy keeps things light enough to be enjoyable, while the dramatic elements keep things grounded enough to be meaningful.

In the end, the reason A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms works so well is that it’s fundamentally a story about friendship and loyalty told through the framework of a buddy comedy. It’s funny, but it’s also genuinely moving. It’s entertaining, but it also has something to say. It’s accessible to casual fans, but it also satisfies those who want deeper character development and thematic exploration. That’s a rare combination, and it’s part of what makes Dunk and Egg’s story so special.