Among readers of A Song of Ice and Fire, discussion of George R. R. Martin’s historical influences usually begins with England: the Wars of the Roses for the Stark–Lannister struggle, Hadrian’s Wall for the Wall, or medieval dynastic conflicts generally. Martin himself has spoken openly about transforming history into fiction rather than reproducing it directly. Yet some of the most intriguing parallels in Westerosi history may come from a less frequently discussed source: the Carlist Wars of Spain.

While there is no known statement from Martin explicitly identifying the Carlist Wars as inspiration, the similarities are striking enough to suggest at least familiarity with the conflict. In particular, the succession crisis that sparked the First Carlist War bears remarkable resemblance to two of the most important civil conflicts in Targaryen history: the Dance of the Dragons and the Blackfyre rebellions.

The parallels do not rest simply on names or isolated events. Rather, they involve recurring patterns: contested succession laws, struggles between reform and reaction, disputes over female inheritance, charismatic alternative claimants, and defeated dynasties whose descendants repeatedly renew civil war.

The Origins of the Carlist Wars

The Carlist conflict emerged from a succession crisis within nineteenth-century Spain during the reign of King Ferdinand VII.

At first glance, the dispute appeared straightforward: who should inherit the throne? Yet beneath this legal question lay a deeper ideological struggle over the future of Spain itself.

On one side stood those who supported Ferdinand’s daughter, Isabella II. They increasingly represented liberal and reformist forces seeking a more constitutional and modern political order. On the other stood supporters of Ferdinand’s brother, Don Carlos, who became the focal point for absolutist, traditionalist, and reactionary elements resistant to liberal reform.

The immediate trigger involved succession law. Under the traditional succession system influenced by Salic principles, women could not inherit when male dynasts existed. Ferdinand altered these rules through the Pragmatic Sanction, reopening the possibility of female succession and allowing his daughter Isabella to inherit.

This was not merely a legal technicality. It transformed the political order and created two rival interpretations of legitimacy.

The resulting question would sound familiar to readers of Westeros: Should longstanding tradition prevail, or can the sovereign legitimately alter succession? That dilemma sits at the center of the Dance of the Dragons.

Complicating matters further, Don Carlos possessed characteristics often found in Martin’s rival claimants. Many contemporaries considered him more personally capable and decisive than Ferdinand himself. Importantly, Carlos did not initially engage in open conspiracy. As the presumed heir under traditional succession law, he had little need to.

However, he tolerated and entertained circles around him that increasingly discussed his claim and cultivated support.

That dynamic recalls another Martin pattern: alternative claimants who publicly remain passive while allowing supporters to transform them into political symbols.

The Dance of the Dragons and the Question of Female Succession

The most obvious parallel appears in the origins of the Dance of the Dragons.

The Dance begins when King Viserys I names his daughter Rhaenyra heir despite the deeply rooted Westerosi expectation favoring male succession.

Martin repeatedly emphasizes that this issue concerns not simply one individual woman inheriting but the challenge posed to an entire political culture.

As Fire & Blood notes:

>!“The Iron Throne by rights must pass to His Grace’s eldest son.”!<

This argument ultimately becomes the Green position. The similarities with Spain are difficult to miss. Ferdinand altered established expectations regarding succession in order to secure his daughter’s inheritance. Viserys likewise insists on Rhaenyra’s legitimacy despite resistance from traditionalists.

Even more interesting is the famous “La Granja” episode during Ferdinand’s reign.

When Ferdinand became gravely ill in 1832, factions favoring Carlos reportedly convinced members of the court that the king was dying and pressured him into revoking the decree allowing female succession. Believing death imminent, Ferdinand complied. But then came the twist, he unexpectedly recovered.

Upon regaining strength, Ferdinand reversed the reversal, reinstated the Pragmatic Sanction, and purged ministers associated with the pro-Carlos faction.

You must admit the sequence feels extraordinarily Martin-esque. A king nears death, court factions maneuver behind closed doors. Ambitious supporters exploit uncertainty surrounding succession but the ruler unexpectedly survives.

Punishments and purges follow. This shows a striking resemblance to the political atmosphere surrounding Viserys I, whose declining health turns succession into a shadow war fought in corridors long before actual conflict begins.

Fire & Blood:

>!“Whilst His Grace still lived, no man dared speak openly against Princess Rhaenyra’s rights.”!<

Yet everyone was already choosing sides. Like Ferdinand’s court, Viserys’s realm became divided before the king had even died.

Don Carlos and Daemon Blackfyre

The Carlist parallel may become even more interesting when viewed through the Blackfyre rebellions.

The Blackfyre conflict was never simply about succession. Like the Carlist Wars, it evolved into a struggle over competing visions of the realm.

Daemon Blackfyre himself resembled Martin’s archetypal tragic claimant: handsome, charismatic, martial, admired, and viewed by many as more kingly than the reigning monarch.

As The Sworn Sword tells us:

>!“Daemon was the better man.”!<

Martin repeats this sentiment constantly: not necessarily the lawful king, but perhaps the king people wished they had. Carlos occupied a somewhat similar symbolic role.

Supporters often portrayed him as embodying traditional Spanish virtues in contrast with the political world surrounding Isabella.

Even more interesting is the ideological layering.

The Blackfyre cause gradually attracted opposition to Dornish influence at court. Under Daeron II, integration with Dorne represented political modernization and reconciliation, yet many nobles viewed these developments with suspicion. Anti-Dornish sentiment became one of the emotional engines of Blackfyre support.

As The World of Ice and Fire explains:

“>!Many men believed Daeron loved the Dornish too well.”!<

This begins to resemble the Carlist struggle, liberal reform and constitutionalism increasingly aligned with Isabella. Traditionalist and reactionary factions gravitated toward Carlos.

The issue was never merely bloodline; it became a cultural and ideological battlefield.

Likewise, the Blackfyres transformed from a dynastic dispute into a banner under which broader resentments gathered.

The Persistence of Defeat

Perhaps the strongest parallel lies in what happened after the initial defeat. The First Carlist War ended in failure yet the movement did not disappear.

Carlos’s descendants continued asserting claims generation after generation, producing multiple Carlist Wars throughout the nineteenth century.

This is remarkably similar to the Blackfyres, the defeat at the Battle of Redgrass Field does not end the movement, instead Daemon’s sons continued the cause.

New invasions follow exiles preserve dynastic memory and civil wars recur.

A political identity survives military collapse.

As Martin writes:

>!“The Blackfyre pretenders troubled the realm for five generations.”!<

That continuity resembles the Carlist pattern almost exactly.

Both movements become dynastic ghosts refusing to disappear.

Conclusion

George R. R. Martin rarely copies history directly. His genius lies in taking historical structures and recombining them.

The Carlist Wars therefore should not be seen as a hidden “answer key” to Westeros. Rather, they may represent one thread among many that Martin wove into the Targaryen story.

Still, the similarities are striking:

- a disputed succession altered to allow female inheritance;
- a king’s near-death crisis exploited by rival factions;
- a charismatic alternative claimant surrounded by supporters;
- ideological divisions beneath dynastic arguments;
reactionary coalitions resisting perceived foreign or reformist influence;
- and descendants who repeatedly renew lost causes.

Whether intentional or subconscious, the Carlist Wars fit Westerosi history surprisingly well.