Who even needs that Iron Throne? - Episode 3 (Patreon)

Hello everyone =)

As you can see, for this continuation, I allowed myself to use the help of an AI assistant. Most likely, if I continue writing, I’ll try to alternate between film frames and, as in this scene, create AI images... Unfortunately, these events weren’t in the film—I just made them up =D So, here we are. Seems to have turned out pretty well... ? =)

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Episode 1: https://www.patreon.com/posts/who-even-needs-114349322

Episode 2: https://www.patreon.com/posts/who-even-needs-2-114640947

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Episode 3

Part 5

Through the darkness of the dungeon where dragons were imprisoned, Bruce carefully made his way forward, feeling the damp chill and the rotten stench of the stone walls. In the dimness, amidst strange shadows and the trembling light of torches, Missandei, Daenerys's loyal advisor, stood beside him. She had been trying to dissuade him from this venture the entire way. Behind them stood two guards, pale and nervously glancing at the stone doors behind which the dragons were held captive. These mercenaries were brave enough to serve Daenerys, but wise enough to fear her "children."

Missandei, seemingly out of all her usual arguments, once again tried to talk some sense into him:

— My queen, — her voice trembled, though her face remained composed. — Maybe we should discuss this with the council once more? They—

— Screw that council; they're all a bunch of idiots, — Bruce gritted his teeth, frowning without any attempt to hide his irritation. — They have no clue what they’re doing. Give 'em to me for one day in my world, and I'd smear them all over the wall.

Missandei froze, clearly taken aback. She had always seen her queen as strong, but had never witnessed such fury. She had changed abruptly, becoming someone entirely different over these past few weeks. Missandei hesitated, her eyes glinting with confusion and doubt. She had overheard her queen drop strange phrases about "another world," and even refer to herself in the masculine once or twice. But now, looking at this tense face and hard gaze, all she felt was fear and bewilderment.

— You’re acting… strange, my queen, — she spoke cautiously. — These talks of… “smearing against the wall” and “another world”… I… I don’t understand. You don’t seem like yourself.

But Bruce was ignoring her, anticipating his meeting with the dragons. He stood before the massive doors behind which the dragons, his "children", waited. Children, for god's sake. The word grated on his nerves, and Bruce even smirked to himself. Yet, as hard as he tried to deny it, even to himself, a strange feeling of excitement surged in his chest. Dragons. He had always thought of things like this as childish nonsense, something slapped on the cover of trashy books or depicted in old games. He couldn’t quite imagine how anyone could take these stories seriously—scaly monsters spitting fire—all of it sounded like outright nonsense.

But if they really were as powerful as these nerds kept insisting, and if they truly responded only to strength, it stirred a spark of thrill in him. He placed his small hands on the shutters and tried to push the heavy doors, straining his arms until pain flared in his shoulders, but—nothing. The doors didn’t even budge. Bruce grimaced, feeling how he nearly dislocated his shoulder trying to push the massive doors. Yet the doors didn’t even tremble. He braced his foot against the floor, summoning all his strength, but all he got was a maddening sense of weakness and the ridiculous way his chest quivered with the sudden exertion. He exhaled in frustration, annoyed with this useless body. Though really, it wasn’t about the body—the damn door was immovable even for a hulking man. Bruce knew this, but he still felt humiliated and exposed.

Part 6

Against the backdrop of his struggles, a soft sigh sounded nearby. Missandei stepped forward, timidly touching his shoulder.

— My queen… — she murmured, seeming unsure of her words, — Please…

— Just shut up already! — He whipped around to the guards and shouted, — Hey, you two, what the fuck are you standing there for?! — Bruce barked at them, turning so sharply that the blond strands of hair fell over his face again, and he had to blow them aside, which only irritated him more.

His gaze locked with the bewildered guards, who exchanged confused glances before rushing to the doors. Together, they pushed against the heavy shutters, and with a long creak, the massive doors yielded, slowly revealing a dark passage that descended into the depths of the dungeon. Bruce watched this with undisguised frustration. “Fucking weaklings. I could’ve opened this with one hand if I were in my own body,” he hissed through gritted teeth, irritated not only at the helpless guards but also at himself.

As soon as the shutters opened, a cold, damp air hit his face, filled with an ancient scent that seemed to seep from every stone of the underground walls.

Without waiting for them to fully open the passage, Bruce stepped forward, tossing an annoyed remark over his shoulder at the confused Missandei:

— Stay back and don’t get in the way.

A flicker of hurt crossed her face, but she obediently stayed behind him, watching as Bruce strode confidently into the darkness. After a few meters, he saw them—two enormous, almost unreal creatures, whose low growls and heavy breaths filled the darkness. In the torchlight, their eyes gleamed—large, unblinking, watching him with a predatory, ancient power, and there was something disquieting in their gaze.

Bruce stopped, assessing the situation and feeling how the weak, female body he was in responded with a tremor and a strange chill, which only irritated him more. He clenched his fists, forcing himself to stand tall. His chest became more pronounced as he straightened, lifting his chin and trying to exude confidence, as if he could command these creatures by sheer will.

He swallowed, feeling a surge of something inside—a blend of fear and simmering frustration. Those eyes, that growl filling every corner around him. This wasn’t some virtual reality or a ridiculous 5D attraction. Everything here was real—the echoing growl, the heat from the dragons’ bodies, and the heavy, icy fear creeping into his bones.

Part 7

— Alright, which one of you is Rhae—

A sudden, deep growl cut him off. The sound echoed off the walls, making the dungeon tremble, and Bruce felt a jolt of fear grip him from the inside. He took a step back, barely keeping his balance. His legs gave way for a split second, and he felt a tremor seize his entire body. Damn weakness—something he hated more than anything! He was still blaming it on this body, refusing to admit it was his own fear in the face of a real threat from these monsters. He tried convincing himself that if he were in his original body, nothing would make him falter before these snarling beasts. But the shaking in his legs and the weight pressing on his shoulders didn’t let up, making him feel helpless for the first time in ages.

He forced himself to stand upright, but his heart pounded so loudly it felt like it could be heard echoing around them. The breath of one of the dragons filled the air in hot, searing waves, like standing by an immense bonfire, but somehow the heat didn’t burn his skin. Bruce felt his hand tremble but clenched it into a fist, fighting against this traitorous sign of weakness.

The dragon, narrowing its eyes slightly as it gazed at its "mother," leaned in even closer, filling Bruce’s entire field of vision. The beast didn’t break eye contact, as if it knew that this wasn’t truly Daenerys. Bruce felt that this creature was more than just a huge, dangerous beast. It seemed to have a mind of its own, thoughts of its own, and it could see beyond appearances, beyond mere physical form. The dragon wasn’t just looking at him—it was like it was seeing through him, comparing him to the one it had once known. Sweat beaded on Bruce’s forehead. There was something ancient in that gaze, something beyond human understanding.

Bruce forced himself not to flinch, though everything inside him screamed to retreat. This wasn’t just physical fear—it was something deeper, a visceral awareness of the reality of the moment. He tried to say something confident, but his throat was dry as sand.

— You think you’re the badass here?! — he tried to sound bold, but his voice nearly cracked with a tremor. The dragons remained still, unblinking, as if weighing the pitiful imitation of Daenerys who dared to challenge them. Their gaze held a mixture of displeasure and… maybe even faint contempt. These creatures seemed to know that their “queen” was no longer who she once was. Damn it, he wouldn’t have shown any of this if he were in his own body, but this dragon seemed to sense his fear.

One of the dragons squinted, bringing its snout so close that Bruce could feel the heat of its breath. The creature’s eyes dropped to the heavy chains around its feet, and it let out a loud snort. The second dragon responded to the sound, whipping its tail so forcefully that the echo from the impact filled the dungeon, and Bruce’s eyes darted to the massive, scaly creature in front of him.

Part 8

— I’ll let you go if… — he began, but the dragons didn’t even bother listening. One of them roared furiously, and Bruce, dignity forgotten, jerked back as if ready to bolt for the exit.

— Fuck this! — he squeaked. His heart pounded in his chest as he tried to gather his thoughts. But the dragons were clearly waiting to be freed, and that was why he had come here. Bruce quickly snapped out of it and, moving his legs awkwardly and absurdly fast, rushed to the first chain, desperately trying not to show that, with each passing second, fear was filling him more and more. His legs, seemingly moving on their own, scurried across the stone floor, entirely losing their usual confidence; his pace looked more like the rushed, panicked sprint of a scared girl eager to get this over with.

Reaching the first chain, Bruce grabbed it with both hands, straining every muscle. He pushed with all his might, nearly wrenching his shoulder, his legs weakening beneath him—the chain locks felt immovable. Gritting his teeth, he focused, grunting and contorting, managing to move the lock a single millimeter before it slipped back into place, mocking his efforts.

— Damn it, — he hissed, letting go of the cursed chain and nearly toppling over. "Showed off for nothing," flashed through his mind as he spun around in frustration toward the dragons. They watched him silently, barely holding back irritated growls. One of the dragons, lurking in the shadows, exhaled, and Bruce felt a wave of heat brush his face.

— Yeah, yeah, I got it! — he snapped. — I’m opening it! Quit staring at me like that!

With a mix of sheer determination and frustration, he grabbed onto the chain with both hands, feeling his heart pounding against his ribs. He had to pause several times to catch his breath before leaning his shoulder in and yanking at the shackle again. His hands grew weaker with each tug, fingers slipping as they failed to maintain a grip on the heavy lock, and with every failed attempt, his curses grew louder and angrier.

He managed to move the latch just a couple of centimeters, but it was enough—the chain link groaned, and the lock budged ever so slightly. Exhaling with renewed energy, Bruce, unable to hide his rage, yanked it again, though his shoulders burned with strain.

— Hell yeah! — Bruce exhaled in relief and triumph as the first lock finally shifted and yielded to his efforts. Buoyed by the small victory, he stepped back, trying to hide how much his arms ached.

The dragon turned its head slightly toward the second chain, as if to express its discontent with being confined. Cursing their intelligent expressions and predatory gazes, Bruce staggered toward the second chain, tripping on the narrow hem of the dress that restricted his movements. His hair fell into his eyes again, and he brushed it away with irritation, feeling clumsy once more. A few quick steps—too small and feminine for his liking—and he reached the second chain.

Part 9

— For fuck's sake… Stop looking at me like that! — he shouted, straining his arms again. His fingers trembled, and his breathing was ragged, but finally, the second lock gave way. Bruce collapsed to the ground, breathing heavily, his shoulders and arms throbbing with exhaustion.

The chains cracked as they released one of the dragon’s limbs, and without wasting a second, the beast stretched its massive neck, baring its teeth in anticipation of freedom.

Hunched beside the chains, Bruce heard the heavy steps of the dragons, as though they could hardly believe their luck. They immediately started roaring thunderously, stretching the long-stiff muscles in their wings and necks. Bruce instinctively pressed himself against the stone wall, feeling a wave of nausea from his nerves rising in his throat.

He stood frozen against the wall, his arms still aching from the strain, his heart pounding so loudly it felt like even the dragons could hear it. The enormous creatures, their claws thudding against the ground, began moving toward the exit.

— Hey, stop! Where the fuck do you think you’re going?! Listen up! — he shouted, gritting his teeth in frustration, but his voice was drowned out by the rumble of footsteps and the sharp, rhythmic beat of wings. Bruce tried to shout over the deafening roar of the dragons, but the massive beasts ignored his attempts to command them, continuing their determined march toward freedom. Not a single one looked back—he might as well have been invisible to them.

Suddenly, the ground beneath him shook, the air grew dense and prickly, and everything around him took on a hazy, distorted look. At first, the dungeon blurred as if his vision had lost focus. Cursing, Bruce tried to steady himself, feeling his body start to falter. He reached out to brace against the wall, but his fingers seemed to pass right through it. The shapes of the dragons, the walls, and even his own hands flickered from light to dark, as if the world was losing its color and solidity, then began to disintegrate into strange, glowing patches.

— What the hell… — he tried to yell again, but his voice cut off, like a record stuck on a skip.

His hands went numb, and it felt as though his body was being pulled downward, like he was caught in a whirlpool. A sickening weakness shot through him, and Bruce, feeling like he couldn’t stand anymore, dropped to his knees, pressing his palms to the floor. But he couldn’t feel the cold of the stone beneath him; instead of a solid surface, his fingers sensed only an odd, intangible emptiness.

Then that, too, disappeared. His hands seemed to sink through reality itself. He tried to clench his fingers, to grab onto something, anything, but it was like reaching for smoke—everything around him lost form and substance. The world dissolved, and the last thing Bruce felt was a deafening ringing in his ears and a weightlessness that swallowed everything into silence.

Then—darkness.