Without diving too deeply into GOT’s complex rivalries, here’s what drives the action:

Factional leaders, each with what they consider legitimate claims on the Iron Throne, lack the political support and the resources to achieve their vision on their own. So they need others to buy into their campaigns. Which requires coalition building. Which, in turn, requires the glue of trust to hold everything together till success rewards cooperation.

Those who are connected by kin and clan, of course, have an easier time pledging cooperation, even if it’s with reluctance. The penalties for betraying blood relations are severe. But other clan leaders are not so inhibited. They can weigh risks and rewards situationally, bestowing and withholding trust depending on how the calculus of advantage evolves. And if they’re harboring old resentments — as is the case with most GOT rivals — the desire for revenge can overpower even strategic self-interest. All of which means trust, especially the kind that endures despite occasional setbacks, is hard to come by and even harder to sustain.

You get where I’m going with this?

Consider current urban planning squabbles in places like San Francisco, Seattle and Portland. And coming soon to other places where the demand for the high-quality amenities of urbanism outraces the supply.

What should unite the feuding clans in Westeros is the prospect of an invasion of — I kid you not — hordes of freeze-dried zombies on the march from the north country. In high-demand cities, the unifier should be a sense of urgency to address the cumulative effect of economic and land planning policies flunking the test of inclusive community. To keep “Game of Thrones” entertaining for its two remaining seasons, we can expect more violence and intrigue among rivals, at least until the zombies are at their doors. But do we really need to wait until things are more hopeless to bridge the trust gaps in our cities and regions?