AKOTSK Episode 2: Who are our heroes, really?

“All men are fools, and all men are knights, where women are concerned.”

HBO’s A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms continued this past Sunday in blazing fashion, formally introducing the show’s Targaryen dynasty, Duncan’s love interest, and—perhaps most impressively—setting the bar for future Game of Thrones–universe adaptations so high that HBO may one day feel compelled to reboot its flagship series just to keep up.

In Episode 2, the Targaryens arrive at Ashford: Prince Baelor and Prince Maekar, sons of King Daeron II, accompanied by their own heirs. After speaking with members of the Kingsguard—resplendent in book-accurate all-white armor—Duncan stumbles upon the brothers as they debrief following their journey. There, Baelor vouches for Duncan’s late master, Ser Arlan of Pennytree, finally granting the bumbling hedge knight entry into the Ashford Tourney.

Once again, the episode flexes the show’s greatest strengths: its reserved humanity and its absurdist comedy. These two tones coexist effortlessly, forming a near-perfect adaptation of George R.R. Martin’s work.

While the series is built on the sturdy foundation of its leads—Peter Claffey’s earnest, awkward Duncan and the young Dexter Sol Ansell’s sharp, soulful Egg, both delivering performances far beyond their years—it also makes exceptional use of its supporting cast. Bertie Carvel’s Prince Baelor and his foil, the hot-headed Maekar, leave lingering, scene-stealing impressions rivaling Episode 1’s Lionel Baratheon.

Carvel’s Baelor, the soft-spoken thinker to Maekar’s blunt problem-solver, is portrayed with remarkable grace and refinement. Viewers may recognize Carvel from his turn as Tony Blair in The Crown and will soon see him again as Cornelius Fudge in HBO’s upcoming Harry Potter reboot. In his scene with Duncan, Baelor displays surprising tenderness when Duncan boasts that Ser Arlan and Prince Baelor once broke a heroic number of spears against one another in a long-ago tourney. Baelor gently corrects him—kindly noting it was not quite so many.

Episode 2 delves deeply into Duncan’s reckoning with who Ser Arlan truly was, inviting the audience to confront how we mythologize our heroes—how legend, memory, and affection blur into something less truthful but more comforting.

There is a quietly devastating moment in a brief, vignette-like flashback as Duncan and Arlan travel toward Ashford shortly before the series begins. Arlan drunkenly sings atop his horse before faltering, visibly frail. He brushes off Duncan’s concern and presses on, while Duncan pauses behind him, watching the old knight ride ahead. In that stillness, you can feel Duncan’s heart breaking as the cracks in his worldview finally begin to show.

For anyone who has ever lost a parent, the moment lands with particular force. It’s the kind of emotional weight A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms handles with surprising maturity, a show that already feels wise beyond its years.

Martin’s Hedge Knight novellas—on which the series is based—are, in many ways, more emotionally complex than A Song of Ice and Fire. By narrowing its focus to Duncan and Egg rather than juggling sprawling conspiracies and countless protagonists, the story allows small moments to become monumental. The series understands this completely.

And it must be said: this interpretation of Martin’s world is blisteringly funny. And unexpectedly romantic.

A key through-line is Duncan’s relationship with Tanselle, a Dornish entertainer traveling with a troupe. Duncan is immediately smitten, and their shy, puppy-love courtship is executed flawlessly. He stumbles through conversations, repeatedly rescued by Egg’s blunt honesty.

After meeting Tanselle, Duncan anxiously asks Egg how it went—whether she might reciprocate his feelings.

“You’re both…” Egg struggles, then finally offers, hopefully: “Gigantic.”

Confused, Duncan presses him, and Egg explains: “Commonality.”

It’s absurd. It’s perfect.

Duncan and Tanselle mark the first Game of Thrones–universe romance without ulterior motives, manipulation, or life-or-death stakes. He is just a man. She is just a girl. The simplicity is what makes it so affecting.

Two episodes in, A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms is already—dare I say it—perfect.