What’s a little speculative fiction without a bald-faced ripoff and anachronistic speculation? Imagining Game of Thrones with less imperfect, outdated information: pervasive landlines and occasional cell phones, like if Westeros was in 1995. P.S. GRRRRR Martin, please don’t sue my breeches off.

“Hello, this is the Eyrie. Maester Nubeck speaking. Who may I ask is calling?”

“Maester Nubeck, I would like to speak to my sister Lysa,” Catelyn said. She had met Nubeck once. She had liked him, for in...