I kept waiting for the gut punch to come last night. I’ve had many hours of watching Game of Thrones to expect the worst. It’s like a reflex at this point. I even tweeted about it before the episode ever aired yesterday.

Though, SURPRISE, Game of Thrones’ Battle of the Bastards last night was an immense pleasurefest for those of us who’ve followed the entire journey of the series. Thrones has always been, at least to me, about the Stark journey more than any other family (I know certain Dany fans that would disagree vehemently). That’s partially why the very first season was such a shockfest – especially the ending.

I never read the books before diving into the series, though I read the first three after consuming seasons that followed. Ned Stark was kind of a stubborn fool who expected people to always act with honor and dignity and when they didn’t, he expected that they would be caught and rightfully punished. In short, he believed that the world was fair and just and in showing his hand in the great game openly. He was like a poker player who left his cards facing outwardly towards his opponents. Yet, probably thanks to Sean Bean’s brilliance, was an immensely likable character and that level of passion I felt for the character then simply transferred to his offspring when he met that inevitable demise.

That love of character for me transferred to the next natural person in line, Robb Stark. I thought I knew where this story was heading. OK so I understand, the Dad gets it, courageous first born takes over the mantle, learns some hard lessons and then eventually matches wits with the Lannisters to take out the incestuous brigade. Then you see Robb making all kinds of bad decisions and you’re like, hey, STOP IT STUPID! Didn’t you learn anything from Ned? Alas, the ginormous gut punch that was possible the most viscerally disturbing death I’d ever seen on TV (the pregnant belly stab – GOOD LORD) happens.

So then you move to the next Stark. Maybe the girls have more sense? Sansa was likely hopeless since she was perpetually the victim and painted as a frustratingly ridiculous princess stereotype but Arya was a badass and Arya will eventually avenge her father, mother, brother, sister-in-law and never-born cousin. But Arya has a much longer journey and arc so you start to realize that the Starks might never get Winterfell back. And much of it will rest in the hands of someone who isn’t even a full-blooded Stark (he might not even be Ned’s kid if you believe the popular Internet theories). Bran and Rickon are a different story. Bran is undoubtedly the most powerful Stark with his WARGing, future-altering abilities. Yet he seems like someone who is always a good distance away from everything and his destiny seems to be in the whitewalkers versus all of humanity battle as opposed to the piddling-little battle for the Iron Throne drama.

That’s ultimately why the Battle of the Bastards was so incredibly worthy of love. I’ve waited for six long seasons for the Starks to somehow retake Winterfell and have some semblance of victory. It was like one big, long, rapturous episode that was about rewarding those who stuck with the show in spite of all the heartache, pain and misery it had rendered upon us for six seasons now. The start of it with Dany laying waste to all those smug-ass slave masters, the other dragons joining the Dragon Queen on her victory ride, the unsullied slitting that guy’s throat.

The battle scene with Jon Snow’s army taking on the Boltons was earth-shattering well done. Ramsay did exactly what Sansa, who has evolved into a wise and insightful game player in unpredictable fashion, expected in her argument with Jon. He did what was expected and that was the unexpected to lure Jon’s army exactly where he wanted them, where he could surround them and eventually smother them, both literally and figuratively. Although did we really think that Jon Snow was going to die getting suffocated by his own troops around him? Not after his resurrection and very dramatic “death” last year.

As a side note, RIP Rickon – we hardly knew ye. I mean really, we didn’t know you at all so was anyone at all expecting him to serve any other function than the one he did? Also, where was Ghost during this episode? I kinda wanted to see one of the last Stark direwolves chomping on Bolton flesh. Did he run off permanently after Jon’s resurrection?

But the true MVP of the episode last night was the smirks. Both Dany’s smirk when she was bantering with Yara of the Iron Islands and especially that final, beautiful, illuminating smirk that crossed Sansa’s face as Ramsay, as horrible a character as there was – and on Game of Thrones that’s REALLY saying something, was devoured by his own hounds that he starved for seven days.

I nearly gave up on this show after the Red Wedding. I thought to myself, “Why would I continue to invest emotional energy in a show that is going to repeatedly torture me like this?” Yet because of the horrific nature of so much of what’s happened on Thrones, it made the elation of Battle of the Bastards that much more satisfying. Maybe it’s insane to sit through 59 hours or so of television for that one magical, incredible payoff.

Though I realized last night that Game of Thrones has basically been tantric television. It’s been a church that we’ve lived in for years, enjoyed moments of it, like Joffrey’s death, Cersei’s demise (though that walk of shame was incredibly hard to watch), Tywin biting it via Tyrion’s crossbow, Brianne finally honoring her vow to Catelyn Stark and kneeling before Sansa but BY FAR the horrible moments have outweighed the pleasure. My wife asked me several times over the years, why do you love the show so much when all they do is kill off people you love? I suppose it was the eternal optimist that lives deep inside that one day I’d see those Stark Direwolf banners unfurled on the walls of Winterfell once again. Sure there isn’t much left of the Stark house any more, but the payoff finally came last night.

And you’re damn well sure that it was worth that long, torturous, excruciating wait. At least until next week when Game of Thrones will inevitably somehow punch their viewers in the gut once more. Hey, I’ve been trained over hours and hours, much like Ramsay’s hounds. Oh wait…