The Keeper of Secrets
I am immensely proud that I finagled getting my significant other into Game of Thrones in general. It’s not that we don’t ever share TV interests, or even that we don’t share some nerdy TV interests. Game of Thrones is just prototypically “not her thing.” She doesn’t like things that are overly trendy. She doesn’t like things that people talk about often and involve a billion names she doesn’t know. This show was her perfect storm.
She took to it very quickly once we started, though. We’re already a good ways into the second season (I know, not primed for the upcoming premiere, but we do what we can). What’s perhaps more pride-inducing is how she’s already impossibly cynical about the livelihood of characters. Every time someone comes on screen that she likes, now, she says, “aw, I’m gonna be so sad when he dies,” or something similar. I’m sure that my mumblings about G.R.R.’s killtacular tendencies primed her a bit. For her, though, I’m excited about it because I think it’s liberated her watching, to a certain extent. She’s a master predictrix when it comes to television and movies, with the kind of accuracy that could make you suspect she was rewatching. But when, as Arya defiantly tells Tywin Lannister, “Anyone can be killed,” her radar gets skewed. Now me, I’m the best audience member ever. I don’t see anything coming until it happens. Nonetheless, I remember the suspense from the first GoT book onward of knowing that no character is safe. I like the raised stakes. I hope she does too.
Admittedly, it’s also just fun to noncommittally shrug whenever she makes a theory, so I’m happy either way.