Imagine you're an immortal ice wizard who has systematically been planning an apocalypse for thousands of years. You've amassed the greatest army of zombies Westeros has ever seen. You killed a freaking dragon with a javelin like an Olympic champ, and you dragged that dead dragon out of a frozen river and made it your zombie steed. After using said dragon to destroy the magical ice wall that's kept you out of Westeros for millennia, you marched your assembled forces to Winterfell where all the good guys have sequestered themselves. Real geniuses, this bunch. None of them seem to have the slightest grasp of military tactics. They waste their light cavalry on a morale-destroying charge. They stack all their infantry behind their trenches. They don't use pitch or armor the castle walls with obsidian. They have two dragons to your one, but instead of roasting your army, they fly off into your magical blizzard like two jabronis.
So your army breaches their walls and slaughters pretty much everybody. You should've sensed that something was wrong when Brienne of Tarth survived several zombie mobs without explanation. Same goes for pretty-boy Lannister. But since everything was going to plan, you decide to march into the weirwood garden to decapitate the autistic savant. That was probably the big fuck-up, in retrospect. The Three-Eyed Raven knows the past, present, and future, so if he's sitting there, chill as a cucumber, when you're about to whip out your ice sword, then he knows something.
But you just let it pass. After all, the idiots are all either occupied or about to be dead. Jon Snow, the military genius, is stuck in the courtyard battling a zombie dragon. The Queen is dragonless, so she's basically useless. Those are the only two remotely on your level. Little do you know that there's an assassin lurking about. Maybe she's in the trees. That's pretty much the only explanation since much of your army is in the weirwood garden about to bear witness to Bran's execution. When she drops behind you, your super-reflexes manage to grab her by the neck. Unfortunately, she's got quick hands and you've got a obsidian knife in the belly. What the fuck?
If you were going to die, it was going to be to that doofus Snow or dragonfire, and you passed both of those tests. Who gave Arya the ability to teleport? Did somebody toss her like a dwarf past the zombie horde? Hell, she literally came outta nowhere to RKO your ass like a tiny Randy Orton. What a bunch of goddamn bullshit.
Couple of seasons ago, the show switched genres on you, and you never realized it. Game of Thrones started as a medieval political drama with a dash of fantasy thrown in to spice things up. If characters made mistakes (Nedd, Rob), they paid for them. Once they ran out of book material to adapt, however, Game of Thrones became a Hollywood fantasy where the good guys are protected by plot armor, and evil is defeated, even when evil is so much smarter than said good guys. Come on, isn't it hard to root for Jon Snow or Daenerys when they keep making stupid decisions and never learning from their mistakes?
Oh well, you say. You're just a bunch of crumbling ice now. There are no rules, so maybe you'll reconstitute yourself and show up in the season finale like a Bond villain that won't die. That would be pretty sweet, right? You have something to hope for now. Maybe winter really is coming. Again.
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