The sensational, spidery plot of the most gripping game of thrones in modern history is best captured by two images. The first is from Donald J. Trump’s extravagant third wedding at his Mar-a-Lago estate in 2005: The junior senator from New York, glowing in gold silk and pearls, smiles up at the mogul in white tie with genuine delight as he says something that cracks up Hillary, Bill and Trump’s bejeweled bride, Melania. Donald and Hillary look “just like teenagers in love” in the flashbulb moment, as David Patrick Columbia, the editor of the website New York Social Diary, notes dryly.

The second, more sinister image is from the St. Louis presidential debate last month: A Tang-colored Trump looms behind Hillary like a horror-movie fiend as she makes a point, while three of Trump’s guests in the front row, women who accused Bill of sexual assault, give her the stink eye and Chelsea and Bill sit nearby looking grim. What a difference a decade makes: from a Babylonian celebration, with Hillary and Bill cozying up to Donald, to a seething face-off, with Donald summoning ghosts from Bill’s scandalous past and threatening to throw Hillary in the clink if he’s elected.

We are in the final days of the first presidential contest between two New Yorkers in 72 years, since Thomas Dewey ran against Franklin D. Roosevelt: The 42-year-old Republican governor of New York used a Trump-style attack on the 62-year-old Democratic president, calling him “a tired old man.” On election night, the party and the wake will both be held in Manhattan. Hillary will hold hers at the Javits Convention Center, with its literal glass ceiling and, as The Times’s campaign reporter Maggie Haberman noted, an air of trolling: Back in the late 1970s, Trump wanted to build the center and slap the Trump name on it, but the city refused.

In this historically dreadful and mesmerizing election, which could lead to the death of the Republican Party and the ideological makeover of the Democratic Party, the New York aspect has been largely overshadowed. Only Lin-Manuel Miranda made a point of highlighting it, on “Saturday Night Live,” urging people to take their minds off the crazy election by coming to “Hamilton”: “It’s about two famous New York politicians locked in a dirty, ugly, mudslinging political campaign. Escapism!”

In the “single compact arena” of New York, E.B. White wrote, a gladiator and a promoter can come together in a city vibrating with great undertakings. “These two names, for the last two or three decades, represent what has been incredible and vulgar about this country at the same time,” says the Manhattan ad man and television personality Donny Deutsch. “We can trace our downfalls or upticks as a society through them.” The story of how Donald Trump and Hillary Clinton rose and reinvented themselves and embraced and brawled is the story of New York itself. It is a tale of power, influence, class, society and ambition that might have intrigued Edith Wharton, whose family once owned a grand home down the block from what is now Trump Tower.

The Clintons started their move to New York from Washington in 2000, so Hillary could pursue her bid for the United States Senate and fly on her own after the Monica Lewinsky scandal. She had never lived in New York, but carpetbagging was no sin to cosmopolitan New Yorkers, who embraced Bobby Kennedy when he decamped from Massachusetts and suburban Washington in 1964, so she looked North to Daniel Patrick Moynihan’s Senate seat.

When they arrived, the Clintons found a lot of raw nerve endings among the moneyed elite, who were bitterly divided following Bush v. Gore. Although wealthy Democrats and Republicans in New York have largely united around Hillary this time, business executives were more suspicious of Gore than they were of the Clintons. In those days, Democrats were complaining that the election had been stolen from them, and Republicans were whinging that it had almost been stolen from them.

Hillary knew she should not be seen as a Manhattan insider, so just as Bobby chose Long Island as his base, she chose Westchester. She recast herself as a Yankees-loving New Yorker in the city and a Chicago-born daughter of the Great Lakes when she campaigned upstate. New York — and being a senator in the horrific aftermath of 9/11 — would change Hillary. “It toughened her up,” says Senator Charles Schumer of New York. “She’s harder-nosed about things. Life did that, but New York did, too.”

Bill also needed a reinvention. After the impeachment and the Marc Rich pardon, he was in bad odor. He had to abandon plans to rent lavish offices for their foundation in Carnegie Hall Tower for almost $800,000 a year after critics pounced. He moved instead into offices in Harlem for $210,000 a year. The mulligan-loving ex-president was snubbed by four of the prestigious Westchester County golf clubs he reportedly tried to join. As Trump marveled to me at the time: “Now Clinton can’t get into golf clubs in Westchester. A former president begging to get in a golf club. It’s unthinkable.” Bill started an elaborate campaign to improve his image, making speeches at colleges and enlisting former cabinet members and other surrogates to talk up his legacy. Once Bill moved up in public estimation, he moved downtown with the foundation.

With Hillary’s Senate bid underway, the Clintons held out their tin cup. They had been fund-raising in the city nonstop since 1990, but the asks intensified as they started their foundation in 2001 and rubbed shoulders with all the new wealth on Wall Street, which was driven by hedge funds and technology funds. With book deals and lucrative speeches and Bill’s role as an adviser to Ronald Burkle’s private-equity firm, Yucaipa, the Clintons worked their way out of the debt accrued by legal bills from a cascade of federal investigations to earn an estimated $230 million in the next 15 years.

As the Clintons fashioned a new life in New York, Trump was transforming himself as well — from a risk-taking developer facing bankruptcy to a low-risk licenser of his name for other people’s projects, from a brazen builder to a gilded reality-TV star on “The Apprentice.” He had come out of Queens, a pushy New York kid with family money but no social tools to climb the society ladder. “Even stuck out on Avenue Z, his head was always in Manhattan,” says Wayne Barrett, author of the biography “Trump: The Greatest Show on Earth.” Gwenda Blair, author of “The Trumps,” says Trump, resplendent in the ’70s in his three-piece burgundy suit with matching shoes and matching limo, recalled “this strapping lad from the provinces who comes to the city, like a figure out of Balzac’s ‘Lost Illusions.’ ”