Regardless of the personal machinations of your 70 some-odd characters, and regardless of who ended up sitting on the throne, regardless of who lived and who died and who saved and who killed, regardless of any of it, this book was destined to end in a way that disregards the lot of it. If there's one thing you've sought to teach your readers, it's narrative nihilism. And if they haven't gotten it by now, this ending should drive the philosophy home.
The walkers may have been temporarily defeated at the wall, but there were more of them. Far more. And eventually, they break through to the South. Westeros has spent too much gold and far too many lives fighting each other to stop the undying army sweeping through their farms, homes, castles, and kingdoms.
Everyone dies.
Hell, even the walkers die after killing everyone else.
The world is a frozen, sinister heap of crap.
The universe won't be happy until everyone is miserable, dead, or both.
Everyone you ever love will one day be eaten by worms and then dumped back into the soil meaningless and cold, without even a hope that the nutrients released by their decomposition will find use because the world is dead, and the ideas of rejuvenation and growth are nothing more than forgotten memories.
The end.
You've done it. You've written The Best. Game of Thrones Book. Ever. And everyone will love it. Your last decision is to name your masterpiece, and see how well your fans receive the decisions you've made.
