When the opening scene of the latest GAME OF THRONES spinoff shows a lumbering oaf taking a dump behind a tree, you know something has shifted in Westeros. This isn’t the bloody intrigue of the original series or the dragon-heavy courtly drama of HOUSE OF THE DRAGON. A KNIGHT OF THE SEVEN KINGDOMS occupies its own strange territory, chronologically sandwiched between those two juggernauts but tonally adrift in uncharted waters where comedy and bleakness converge in ways this franchise has never quite attempted before.

That oaf eventually gets a name: Dunk. He’s a knight, technically, though of the hedge variety, a lower-status category whose members cannot afford proper lodging and sleep under trees like vagrants. The show wastes no time reminding us that any knight can make a knight simply by dubbing them, a lack of gatekeeping that has created a rigid class system where highborn warriors scorn their ignoble brethren as knights in name only, and only just. There’s nothing just about any of it, of course, but the show trusts us to see the cruelty embedded in these hierarchies without underlining it.

The plot is deceptively simple on the surface. Dunk journeys to a tourney, a jousting competition where he hopes to prove himself worthy, and we follow his fumbling attempts to get on the ballot given his nondescript lineage. He falls for a girl, participates in a tug-of-war, muddles through various humiliations. He’s both hampered and assisted by his new squire, Egg, a bald pubescent boy who latches onto him at an inn and refuses to leave. Their dynamic carries the show, two misfits stumbling through a world that has no clear place for either of them, trying to manufacture dignity from the scraps they’ve been handed.

What makes A KNIGHT OF THE SEVEN KINGDOMS glorious is precisely what makes it a risk. This is GAME OF THRONES as grossout comedy, embracing bodily functions and base humor while maintaining the franchise’s visual splendor and attention to detail. It’s the series at its best because it remembers that even in a world of dragons and prophecies, most people are just trying to survive with some shred of honor intact, however that word gets defined by those with nothing else to their names. The show finds its heart in that struggle, in the gap between what Dunk aspires to be and what the world keeps telling him he is, and it plays that gap for both pathos and laughs without ever losing sight of the fundamental human dignity at stake.