How do you shape a king?

Someone once said that Game of Thrones was like the book of Judges.

For those who are not aware, the book of Judges is one of the darkest, most chaotic texts in the biblical canon. It documents a period of profound moral decay, brutal tribal warfare, and shifting alliances. It is a time marked by a chilling refrain: “In those days there was no king in Israel. Everyone did what was right in his own eyes.”

It isn’t hard to see the similarities with Westeros. George R.R. Martin’s sprawling epic gives us a world governed by power, betrayal, and blood! In both the book of Judges and the Song of Ice and Fire series, the overarching narrative is a bleak look at what happens when humanity is left to its own selfish devices, tearing the realm apart for the sake of the Iron Throne or tribal dominance.

But what fascinates me most isn’t the epic sweep of these eras. It’s what happens in the quiet corners of these worlds. Just as the book of Judges is immediately followed by the quiet, deeply personal book of Ruth, the brutal history of Westeros is interrupted by a much smaller, more intimate story: A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms.

When we place these two stories side by side, a beautiful parallel emerges about the nature of true nobility and how history is actually made.

The Outsiders: Dunk and Ruth

If you look at the roots of both protagonists, neither belonged anywhere near the halls of power. Ruth was a Moabite—a foreigner from a despised neighboring nation, a destitute widow gleaning scraps in a field just to keep her mother-in-law from starving. Ser Duncan the Tall (Dunk) was an orphan from Flea Bottom, the absolute poorest slum in King’s Landing. He wasn’t born to a noble house; he was just a over-sized, thick-headed kid who happened to squire for a humble hedge knight.

Yet, both characters are defined by a stubborn, almost irrational adherence to a brave decision. Ruth clings to Naomi with the famous words, “Where you go I will go, and where you stay I will stay.” Dunk, possessing nothing but patched armor and his formidable size, stubbornly clings to the ideal of knighthood—protecting the weak and defending the innocent—in a world where most “true” knights are just gilded thugs. They are nobodies who choose to act with extraordinary honor when everything in their environment tells them to be selfish.

The Champions: Boaz and Baelor

In both narratives, this stubborn valor catches the eye of established power. In the book of Ruth, it is Boaz—a wealthy landowner and respected leader who sees Ruth’s courage and steps out of his comfort zone to act as her kinsman-redeemer.

In A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms, we find a magnificent parallel in Prince Baelor Breakspear. Baelor is the Hand of the King, the heir to the Iron Throne, and the absolute pinnacle of Westerosi nobility. Yet, when Dunk is put on trial for his life simply for defending an innocent puppeteer from a cruel prince, it is Baelor who steps up. Recognizing the true, persistent courage in this lowly hedge knight, Baelor fights on Dunk’s behalf, ultimately sacrificing his own life so that Dunk might live. It is a profound moment where positional authority bows to moral authority.

The Unlikely Kings: David and Egg

The ultimate impact of these stories, however, rests in the legacy they leave behind. Both narratives climax with the shaping of a king who was never supposed to wear a crown.

In the biblical account, Ruth and Boaz have a son, who has a son, who has a son named David. David was the youngest of Jesse’s boys, a mere shepherd overlooked even by his own father when the prophet Samuel came looking for a king. Yet, the faithfulness of his Moabite great-grandmother paved the way for Israel’s greatest monarch.

Similarly, Dunk inadvertently takes on a squire named Egg. Egg is actually Aegon Targaryen, the fourth son of a fourth son. He is so far down the line of succession that he is allowed to wander the dirt roads of Westeros with a hedge knight. But because Egg grows up sleeping in the mud, eating hardtack, and watching Dunk constantly choose the hard, honorable path, he is forever changed. When tragedy and plague unexpectedly clear his path to the Iron Throne, he is crowned Aegon V—Aegon the Unlikely. He becomes a king who genuinely loves the common people, the smallfolk,spending his reign fighting the high lords to enact laws that protect the weak.

The Hinge of History

It is easy to look at our own world, or the sprawling histories of Westeros and ancient Israel, and believe that the future is forged by dragons, armies, and political machinations. We tend to think that only the loud and the powerful move the needle of time.

But the stories of the Hedge Knight and the Gleaner pose a different reflection. They remind us that the grand narrative is often steered by minor characters. Holding onto courage—even when you are poor, overlooked, and living in an age of moral decay—is never wasted. A simple act of courage in a barley field, or a refusal to look the other way when the innocent are struck, can ripple through time. It is the quiet, persistent courage of the ordinary that ultimately shapes the hearts of leaders and the reign of kings. Some of us may never wear a crown. But our actions could shape someone who will.