The internet is bubbling with theories about the Game of Thrones Starbucks cup, but look no further for the real story.
Keen-eyed fans’ discovery of what appeared to be a Starbucks cup in the midst of last night’s episode of Game of Thrones has set the internet buzzing and the jokes flying fast and thick.
Was it a late-night filming indulgence? A nod to Westeros’s capitalist future? Baffling product placement? A straight-up production gaffe?
All compelling theories. But we here at Hypable have tracked down the cup in question, and after extensive, exclusive interviews, have been able to recreate the dramatic narrative of the Game of Thrones Starbucks cup. It’s a tale of romance and lust, young men and young women, desires flaunted, and fears conquered… and of course, most of all, of coffee.
This is the real story of the ‘Game of Thrones’ Starbucks cup
The young squire Grande Togo of House Starbucks was drunk.
And why not? He had survived the Battle of Winterfell. He had fought side by side with the likes of Ser Brienne of Tarth and Jaime Lannister, the hero Arya Stark, and Tormund Giantsbane. The great warriors hadn’t spared a glance at Grande as he spewed hot liquid at the endless hordes of the dead (or at their their feet, anyway.) After all, he was quite small and the long night had been very dark, making it hard to see his small form amidst the battle.
But the squire knew his value nonetheless, and glowed with a heady blend of rosy pride and remembered terror each time he closed his eyes.
Hopping to the defense of Samwell Tarley, burning the cursed wight who held him in a death grip. Shouting encouragement in his tiny voice to the tireless guardians of Winterfell. Attempting to douse the blue flame of the ice dragon, drawing its ire, only to be saved by Jon Snow’s distracting arrival in the nick of time.
Grande shuddered at the memory, and took another drink. The awful cold of the ice dragon had nearly undone him, snuffed out his own heat with endless winter. But he had lived. He had proven himself worthy, not only to wear the ragged green mermaid sigil with pride, but perhaps… perhaps…
Suddenly, the raucous noise in Winterfell’s great hall fell nearly silent. Attentions turned to a tall young man in the middle of the room, as Queen Daenerys began to address him.
Gods, she was beautiful.
Grande had never thought himself a romantic — he was far too dedicated to making his name among the hopeful would-be knights of Westeros to care for the attentions of anything but sword and sheath. But the first time he had seen Daenerys Targaryen arrive in Winterfell, her hair silver-white as foam and her eyes dark and rich as the prized brews of House Starbucks, he had known.
My heart, my lid, my whole circumference belongs to the Dragon Queen.
And now, sloppy with drink, another thought, as potent and real as a thread of caramel in dark liquid.
I must tell her how I feel.
When he was sober, which was most of the time, Grande never would have dreamed of being so bold. But near every man in Winterfell was drunk that night, and near every cup spilled over with the lust of living. I am alive and she is alive, and we are both froth and heat, he thought. And by all accounts, she does not mind a little man.
The Queen had finished her words to the Baratheon bastard. Her councilors had drifted away, and she sat alone at the high table.
Now was his chance.
Grande Togo hopped off the bench and tottered toward the high table. He dodged booted feat and womens’ clogs, weaving between the thick circles of dance and seduction. A man growled far above him and Grande dodged a kick; he could not be spilt now, not now!
Finally, after what seemed another long night, Grande found the chair legs and fine slippered feet of the high table. With a gulp and a strength that defied his stature, he hopped up to a ragged cushion, and then to the smooth, solid planks of the table itself.
Grande wobbled. He nearly slopped over. Daenerys Targaryen sat in front of him. Her head was turned toward Jon Snow, her lips pursed. Her eyes were fathomless and sad.
With one look, even through his brimming drunkenness, Grande’s hopes evaporated like steam. All it took was one lingering moment, noticed by no one, for him to understand.
The Queen was in love. In love with an upjumped Northern bastard, yes, but it was love. Grande knew enough of heat to see the passion that brewed within Daenerys, and he knew that there was no room in her magnificent heart for the likes of him.
A sad puff of vapor escaped from his lid. Slowly, Grande Togo of House Starbucks hopped away from the Dragon Queen and down the high table. He felt dizzy, sleepy, and strange, like he was about to wake up just before the battle and fight the dead once again.
Then, from the corner of his vision, a wink. A glint of bright metal.
A lone goblet lay on the floor, luxuriating amidst the dropped cloths and scraps of celebration that lay about her. She rolled toward him, a smile in her silver engraving.
Grande paused, the invitation seeping through him.
Why not? It was a night for heat and liquid and love. Grande Togo of House Starbucks hopped forward toward the goblet, pressing himself against her. She warmed to his heat and sighed happily.
Well, he thought, She’s no Dragon Queen. But she’s got the silver all the same.