While the monarchical coating of many epic-fantasy works is partly a by-product of their medieval inspirations, there may be something more intrinsic to the trope. Many fantasies follow the path of fable, with invented worlds created not to themselves be examples of good societies, but rather to house those examples. Readers can admire how a character like Jon rules without agreeing with the mechanisms through which he exercises power. That his authority is sometimes flexed through summary execution doesn’t matter for many audiences as long as they perceive him as fair. Creating representative government—creating a just society—is a complex process, not one that can be realized in a sudden genesis of utopia. But fantasy often is utopian. Chosen Ones battle implacable foes, and when a foe is defeated, worlds are made right and whole.

Perhaps that idealism is why the messy process of elections is so rarely seen. In the entirety of Game of Thrones, there have been four clear instances of a leader being chosen by his or her followers. But in every case, the group was choosing a leader for a martial purpose. Grey Worm was picked by Daenerys’s eunuch army, the Unsullied, to be their commander; Jon Snow was elected to head the Night’s Watch; Mance Rayder was chosen to lead the Wildlings in their campaign to breach the Wall; and Euron Greyjoy was selected to rule the bellicose Iron Islands when its succession fell into dispute. In every case, the situation was more military than civil. These were the choices of the populace, but only a segment of it, and only in exceptional circumstances.

Preston Jacobs, a popular YouTube figure known for his in-depth examinations of Martin’s A Song of Ice and Fire, believes that fantasy authors incorporate biblically derived norms into their works, though not always consciously. “People are looking for a classic story, and they naturally go to the Bible and the Book of Revelation and Jesus coming back as a liberating figure, and … ruling in a monarchy at the end,” he told me. Fantasy often echoes the primeval and mythical realities found in early religious works. Combatting evil, in fantasy as in faith, may be less about a political ideal than a spiritual one. In the genre, freedom entails less the abolition of serfdom or granting of suffrage than the achievement of salvation. Such stories create room for discussing the ideas of liberty and equity without the need to portray them.

In this vein, the British fantasy author and theologian C. S. Lewis, whose Chronicles of Narnia were fundamentally works of faith, stands out. Where Tolkien and Martin feature relatively complex systems of government in their created universes, Lewis doesn’t bother. The justice of the society writ large, and the wisdom of its leaders, is made to be admirable—not the actual mechanisms of its governance, which are mostly glossed over. When you have a sage king, Lewis suggests, there’s no need to bother about the details.

Moral idealism, then, is a crucial part of the business of fantasy. But Martin has attempted to undermine that convention in A Song of Ice and Fire. The Stark clan is unremittingly focused on service and honor, but they’re rewarded with repeated suffering. And while many of Martin’s fans are enthusiastic about the legitimist quests of Daenerys Targaryen, Jon Snow, and the now-dead contender for the Iron Throne, Stannis Baratheon, Martin himself seems less sure of them. In the novels, Stannis is portrayed as a grouch who burns his uncle-in-law alive in ritual sacrifice (in the show, his daughter and brother-in-law meet the same fate). Jon’s leadership of the Night’s Watch begins with an execution and carries on with a series of principled and unpopular decisions that lead to his death, resurrection, and another set of retaliatory executions, including one of a child. And Daenerys might talk a big game, promising systemic change for the peasantry (“breaking the wheel,” in her words), but she shows no interest in relinquishing even a modicum of her personal power in favor of majoritarian rule.