The Tragedy of the Architect of Westeros

Game of Thrones GMs

The three grand masters of HBO’s Game of Thrones are the two Showrunners/Executive Producers, David Benioff and D. B. Weiss, and the architect of Westeros himself, the Author of The Songs of Ice and Fire series, George R. R. Martin. Though the book series that the show is based upon has yet to be completed, it is well known that the Author has discussed the secrets of his story with the Showrunners, so that they may utilize his plans to create the show. Fans of the books and show are very aware of this. They know that the ending has been discussed, but it has yet to be written.

“How will the Game of Thrones End?”: A Tragedy

In the darkness of the hallowed halls of a temple for the love of post-modern nerdism and geekery, attended by lovers and purveyors of the superhero, sci-fi, gothic horror, fantasy, and various something-punk genres, and known by some as the Las Vegas Comic Con, we find three cosplayers huddled in deep discussion.

The first cosplayer dressed as Arya Stark says, “He will be arriving to the hotel soon. What should we do?”

The second cosplayer dressed as John Snow says, “Should we go? I’m not sure if I’m ready.”

The third cosplayer dressed as Viserys Targaryen with molten crown says, “We’ve discussed this, and we’re ready.”

“What about the others?” asks Arya, poking her finger with Needle’s pointy end. “Shouldn’t we wait for them?”

“If they were coming, they would’ve been here by now.” Snow quips, as he pulls the hilt of Longclaw out of the scabbard and back, over and over.

“Right then,” says the Targaryen scratching his head near the molten rim of his golden crown, while punching on his smartphone screen. “Uber will be here in four minutes.”

At the hotel, George R. R. Martin arrives and checks in. The three cosplayers sneak inside and move quickly to their spots. Arya covers the elevator, Snow covers the room, and the Targaryen covers the stairwell. When our poor unsuspecting author arrives to his hotel room floor, he is accosted by Arya.

“Mr. Martin, I am sorry to bother you so late, but I’d really like to know, how is the Game of Thrones going to end?”

“I don’t really know what the Showrunners are going to do,” Martin said, trying to sidestep Arya, but she places her hand on his shoulder.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Martin, but I really, really, really need to know how it’s going to end.”

Martin pushes her hand from his shoulder and leans forward, looking her straight eye-to-eye, “I really, really, really don’t know.”

Arya pulls Needle quickly from her side and holds it up to Martin’s face. He draws back with a horrified look. “If you don’t tell me how it’s going to end, I will kill you!”

“I can’t,” says Martin as he tries to push past petite Arya, who thrusts willy nilly toward Martin, poking him with the pointy bit.

Martin runs to his room, but finds Snow at guard, holding Longclaw out before him. “Mr. Martin, I am sorry to bother you so late, but I’d really like to know, how is the Game of Thrones going to end?”

“I don’t know,” shouts Martin. “You’ll just have to wait like everyone else. HBO will release a new season very soon!”

“I can’t wait that long,” cries Snow. “Tell me the end now, or I will kill you!”

Martin eyes the exit sign and tries to push Snow out of the way, rushing toward the stairwell. Snow slices Longclaw through the air after him, slicing across his back. Martin makes haste, but stops abruptly when he sees the golden-headed crown of the Targaryen before him.

“I don’t know how they’re going to make it end!” shouts the out-of-breath, pained, and frustrated author, but the Targaryen will have none of it. He removes his crown from his head and smashes it against Martin’s head.

“If you won’t tell me,” the Targaryen scream-whispered irrationally. “Then, no one will know!”

Of course, the death of the author was caused in a moment of desperate emotional confusion. The three cosplayers realized what they had done only too late. They rolled Martin’s body in a runner, then struggled terribly to lift him onto a luggage cart. They pushed the cart to the trash drop, and struggled again to push Martin’s corpse through it. They quickly dispersed, saying they would come back when the trash was taken out and move him.

They returned to the dumpsters now placed outside and removed the author’s corpse from the trash. They drove away from the city lights toward an area of the surrounding desert where no one ventured to go and many a body might be buried by the mob anyway. There they buried the poor author.

The next day, the three cosplayers tried to board a plane at the Las Vegas airport, but they had forgotten their IDs in the haste of their escape and had to return to their hotel rooms to retrieve them. When they returned to the hotel, they found the cops waiting for them. The other cosplayers who were in on the kidnapping, but decided against it had heard the news of the missing author and reported it right away.

The cosplayers were arrested and confessed to the murder of our poor author and whereabouts of his body. When he was found, he had been badly decomposed and portions of him were eaten by various desert creatures. An officer who found his body lamented, “I guess we will never get to read the ending for ourselves.”

Another officer said, “Yeah, we’ll just have to settle for whatever substitute Benioff and Weiss come up with for the show.”

And there you have it, The Tragedy of George R. R. Martin or (What if he doesn’t hurry up and finish those damn books?)!

Rest assured, he will rise from the grave to complete these books, according to this recent report.

Until then, my friends and brothers,

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