Let's address this questions::?
The first: Do nobles in Westeros work for others?
The second: If Jules kills Arthur, can he inherit his title and lands?
Let's begin with the first question.
In the southern regions of Westeros—particularly in the Reach, the Westerlands, the Riverlands, and other areas that worship the Seven—nobility is tied closely to military service. Nobles are considered armed individuals by default. Their titles are not just ceremonial—they imply responsibility for defense, governance, and justice.
In essence, a noble is a feudal warlord entrusted with a parcel of land by a higher-ranking lord, duke, or king. Their job is to keep the peace within their territory, repel foreign invaders, and ensure justice according to local custom. In exchange for this, the smallfolk pay taxes, tithes, or labor dues and swear fealty in return for protection.
This relationship is feudal in nature—almost contractual. A vassal lord owes allegiance to his liege lord, and in turn, the liege lord must uphold the rights and safety of his vassals. This system of layered obligations stretches up to the Iron Throne.
It may sound strange, but in this sense, Westerosi nobles do "work" for others—their king, their liege lord, and even their smallfolk to some degree. Like a sheepdog guarding a flock, their purpose is defined by service, not comfort.
Now, onto the second question—Can Jules inherit Arthur's lands and title by killing him?
Absolutely not. That would be considered kinslaying, one of the most reviled crimes in Westeros—second only to oathbreaking. In Westerosi culture, fratricide or patricide to gain inheritance is a path that leads not to lordship, but to ruin.
Westeros may not have a formalized household registration system like modern China, but the social memory of houses is long and unforgiving. If an heir murdered his own kin to claim lordship, he would almost certainly be arrested, stripped of lands and titles, and sent to the Wall to live out his days as a brother of the Night's Watch—what you referred to as the "Wall of Despair."
Why is this so taboo? There are several reasons:
First, such a crime would destabilize the noble house, which affects the realm. Lords paramount (like House Tully in the Riverlands) depend on stable bannermen. A house tearing itself apart from within makes itself vulnerable and invites war or opportunistic invasion.
Second, it violates Westerosi inheritance customs, which, though not written in law, are enforced through centuries of precedent. The rights of inheritance are sacred—secured by blood, not bloodshed.
Third, and perhaps most practically, no noble family wants to set the precedent that a younger son can ascend by murdering his elder. If that were allowed, chaos would spread like wildfire. Family bonds would be meaningless, and each generation would threaten to collapse into civil strife.
This is why many noble families "position" their second or third sons: the firstborn inherits, the second is made a knight or warrior, and the youngest is often fostered out as a political hostage or married off to form alliances. The idea is to keep them useful—but controlled.
Westerosi culture encourages younger sons to seek fortunes in the Free Cities, to take up mercenary work with the Golden Company, or to join the Faith Militant or the Night's Watch. Even a sellsword's life is preferable to internal bloodshed.
And of course, there is the precedent of the Blackfyre Rebellions during the Targaryen dynasty. Though often framed as a succession crisis, they were also the result of regional rivalries—particularly between the Reach, Stormlands, and Dorne. The Blackfyre pretenders were legitimized bastards, yes, but their rebellion had more to do with powerful factions using succession as an excuse for war. That's not the same as a younger brother knifing his elder in the night.
So in conclusion: Jules killing Arthur would be an act condemned by all—noble, smallfolk, and crown alike. Far from inheriting anything, he'd be branded a kinslayer and exiled, if not executed outright.
Thank you again to Zhixiao Danfeng for the thoughtful questions—and for your generous monthly ticket and support.
Now, let's touch on a broader subject: the moral philosophy of Game of Thrones, and how it contrasts with some of the values held by Chinese-speaking audiences.
If we were to divide moral alignments into a nine-grid system—lawful good, neutral good, chaotic good, lawful neutral, true neutral, chaotic neutral, and so on—George R. R. Martin's world sits firmly in the neutral axis.
The prevailing ethic of Westeros is not built on universal justice or cosmic good versus evil, but on personal loyalty, vengeance, and honor. Blood calls to blood, and the sword often settles disputes more firmly than any law.
This is most evident in how death is treated. Murder is not always condemned—only unauthorized murder is. Killing a man in fair combat or avenging one's kin is often justified, even celebrated. But killing someone outside of those norms—like kinslaying or breaking guest right—is taboo.
Take Eddard Stark, for example. He personally executed a deserter of the Night's Watch in the opening episode. According to Northern custom, he had to—"He who passes the sentence should swing the sword." That's lawful behavior by Northern standards, even if it feels harsh.
Yet when Ned later interferes with the Lannisters' plans in King's Landing—trying to expose Cersei's children as illegitimate—he is arrested and executed. His crime? Interfering in the power structure, however justified. He broke the unspoken rule: you do not act unless you are strong enough to survive the consequences.
To Chinese-speaking readers, who are often raised with a Confucian view of righteousness and moral order, this can feel jarring. In Game of Thrones, there is no clear "good" and "evil"—only power, consequence, and duty.
For the Chinese population, the moral spectrum for the vast majority often leans toward good and neutral, with individuals shifting between lawful good and chaotic good depending on the situation. In Chinese culture, there exists a flexible understanding of good and evil, one that blends pragmatism with moral instincts. For example, when one yearns for a wise and benevolent ruler to make decisions on behalf of the people, it reflects a lawful good mindset. However, when rulers, princes, generals, and officials are seen as corrupt or disconnected from the people, then rebellion against them—though chaotic—is still seen as morally justified and thus falls under chaotic good. The key is the intent to fight for justice or the common good, even through unorthodox means.
This cultural inclination gives rise to sympathy for figures such as the chivalrous bandits or the "robin-hood"-like outlaws who rob the rich to aid the poor. An example is the 108 heroes of Water Margin (Liangshan), who are, strictly speaking, criminals. Yet public sentiment doesn't view them as purely evil. Lu Zhishen, for instance, is hailed as a hero despite killing several people. He is considered wise, and when the abbot remarked, "It's not easy for him to kill and burn," it wasn't sarcasm. In the end, Lu Zhishen transcended the identity of a mere warrior. This cultural understanding shows a deep tolerance for flexible morality.
Similarly, Song Jiang's actions—claiming to act on behalf of heaven and confronting imperial authority in Tokyo—are framed in a heroic light despite being rebellious. Another example is Guan Yu, who "shocked all of China." The Liang, Jia, and Luhun bandits who joined his cause essentially shifted their allegiance from chaos to a perceived righteous order. Cao Cao even proposed relocating the capital to Xudu to avoid Guan Yu's advance. These shifting alliances and moral realignments are viewed as normal within Chinese storytelling, but such dynamics contrast sharply with the moral framework in Game of Thrones.
George R. R. Martin's portrayal of morality in Game of Thrones leans toward moral neutrality, sometimes even moral ambiguity. The world of Westeros doesn't operate on rigid dichotomies of good and evil. Characters are judged not by universal morality, but by personal loyalties and pragmatic concerns. Killing is often retaliatory—blood for blood. Eddard Stark, for instance, executes a Night's Watch deserter in the very first episode as a duty to his role and the law. Later, he himself is executed, not for wrongdoing in a moral sense, but for interfering in royal politics—illustrating how justice in Westeros often serves power, not truth.
In this way, Martin's world reflects the moral orientation of a story like Forrest Gump. Forrest treats people as they treat him. He doesn't seek revenge unless it's deeply personal, such as when he beats a man who he believes is abusing Jenny. That act of violence aligns with the Westerosi concept of blood vengeance—it is personal, emotional, and morally defensible within that worldview. Jenny later becomes his family, further justifying his protective instinct.
In contrast, Chinese legal philosophy has long suppressed blood revenge. As early as the Western Han Dynasty, blood feuds were outlawed because they posed a threat to imperial order. If the family of an executed criminal sought revenge, their anger could be directed at the state, or even the emperor who issued the order. This was unacceptable in a system founded on Confucian order and Legalist enforcement, so such practices were stamped out quickly for the sake of stability.
Some readers have said I was too lenient for not executing the bandits who impersonated Brynden and others. But I believe sparing them was reasonable. They didn't massacre the villagers of Riverside Village—they were thieves and opportunists, not murderers. Their actions, while criminal, didn't warrant immediate execution. It was a dispute, not a matter of blood vengeance. However, after Santaga killed someone, the situation changed. As a lord, Arthur bears a responsibility not only to the law but also to his subjects. In that sense, a lord is a kind of patriarch or guardian of his people. When a subject is murdered, the lord is justified in seeking justice as if avenging a kin.
These are my views. If you find parts of this logic uncomfortable or debatable, that only proves you're thinking critically—which is exactly what you should be doing.
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