Who even needs that Iron Throne? - Episode 4 (Patreon)

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

Episode 3: https://www.patreon.com/posts/who-even-needs-3-114879112

...

Episode 4

Part 10 - Negotiations in Yunkai

"Is that... is that all of it? Am I finally home?!" Bruce thought, feeling the solid, rough texture of the wooden seat beneath him, padded with patterned cushions. He slowly opened his eyes and let out a sigh of relief—it seemed he’d made it back to his own reality, as if all this madness had finally ended. But before he could fully exhale, the scorching touch of the sun sliced through his comfort, hitting his face like it was trying to shatter any lingering doubts. The desert's blazing sun and heavy, hot air made him flinch, breaking through the illusion and pulling him back to the harsh reality.

— My queen? — a voice sounded nearby. Bruce jerked his head around, and the instant he turned, a few light, weightless strands of long blond hair fell across his face, slipping over his eyes. With irritation, he brushed them aside, feeling them tickle his neck and shoulders, their coolness an unpleasant contrast against the stifling heat. But the worst part—again, that cursed chest, he could feel it moving heavily with every step, dragging him down and reminding him he wasn’t just "in another body." No, he was still stuck in the ridiculous body of that "dragon mom" from this dumb nerd show.

Standing beside him were his "advisors": Jorah, whose tired face was as unreadable as always, and Missandei, her gaze steady and respectful. Behind them stood armed soldiers, tense and poised, as if awaiting an order. Bruce glared at them all, trying to piece together what had gone wrong this time.

— Where the hell am I!? And what the fuck is going on here?! — he spat, hearing his hated high-pitched voice again as his fingers brushed the fabric of a light dress. He was outside, at the edge of a military camp overlooking Yunkai—a desert city surrounded by walls, fortified and ready to defend itself. Shadows from its towers stretched across the hot sand, looming over him.

Jorah and Missandei exchanged quick glances, clearly bewildered. These sharp words and fierce anger didn’t match the image of their queen, the person they’d grown used to seeing. And right now, it felt especially out of place—a Yunkai envoy, a man with an arrogant expression dressed in a vibrant gold robe, raised an eyebrow slightly, clearly not expecting such a reception. His companions looked equally unsettled, exchanging glances in confusion.

Jorah took a step forward, his face serious but his eyes betraying a hint of concern. He cast a quick look at the emissaries, then leaned in closer to Bruce, speaking in a low, almost coaxing tone.

— My queen, — he began carefully, — these are envoys from Yunkai. They’ve come to propose terms for peace. — He nodded toward a chest of gold held by one of the Yunkai men. — They’re willing to give you this gold and provide ships if we agree to leave and not interfere in their affairs.

Bruce frowned, feeling the sting of realizing he was still stuck in this mess. But when his gaze fell on the gleaming gold, a slight smirk crossed his face. He grasped what Jorah had said—who seemed now just to be "Jorah," not one of those geeky fans who’d hijacked his body—and he started to think. 'That easy? Gold and ships? They should’ve led with this in the first place! Hell, this is the perfect chance to slip away!' Staring at the gold-filled chest with excitement, he was almost rubbing his hands together in anticipation.

But his thoughts were interrupted by Missandei, who, noticing the gleam of interest in her queen’s eyes, quickly spoke up.

— My queen, — her voice was soft, yet it held a note of warning, — the people of Yunkai still suffer in slavery, — she continued gently but firmly, truly unable to understand what her queen was planning. — The freed people see you as their savior, and leaving now, when they’re still in danger, would be... a betrayal of their hopes.

Part 11

Her words stirred up a mix of irritation and boredom in Bruce. 'What damn hopes? What the hell kind of “salvation” are they talking about?' To him, this was all just pointless crap—he had clear priorities, and no one’s "hopes" had any place in his plans. Besides, there was no rebellion brewing in front of him, and this deal looked way better than those past days when he’d been stuck as Daenerys in Meereen.

— So what? — he said, addressing her with open disdain. — What the hell kind of betrayal are you talking about?! These guys look… — he glanced around at the envoys, noticing the smiles creeping onto their faces, clearly pleased with Daenerys’s behavior. — Yeah, like everyone else around here. Why should I care about these local idiots? We’ve got gold, we’ve got ships. Let’s just take what’s ours and leave, let them sort out their own crap.

At his words, the Yunkai envoy’s face lit up, and he gave a slight nod to his companion. Judging by their expressions, they were more than satisfied with this turn of events.

Missandei froze, her face darkening as though confronted with something beyond understanding. She sighed, barely shaking her head, and spoke again, softer this time, as if trying to reason with him.

— My queen, please remember that these people don’t just expect conquest from you—they look to you for freedom. They believe you will change their lives, that you are their Mhysa, their mother and liberator.

A surge of frustration flared up inside Bruce. His fingers twitched at the hem of the light dress. 'Mhysa! Mother! Damn it, this crap again!' — those words only filled him with confusion and barely contained anger. He had no desire to be anyone’s mother, much less their liberator. He wanted to be back in his world, but gold and ships would do for now.

Bruce sighed heavily, not hiding his irritation at this endless performance. He glanced once more at the gleaming gold and, ignoring the tense faces of his advisors, stood up and took a step forward.

— Fine. Yeah, a great deal, for fuck’s sake! We’ll take the gold and ships. And get the hell out of here, — he said, as if it had been obvious from the start.

The Yunkai envoy beamed and bowed, as if he’d just been relieved of a heavy burden. His companions also relaxed, their faces showing clear relief.

Missandei froze, her face a mixture of horror and disappointment, as if she couldn’t believe what was happening. Jorah, too, looked bewildered, though anger and sadness flashed in his eyes. The envoys, however, allowed themselves faint smiles, finally feeling a sense of ease.

Bruce felt a surge of satisfaction—he’d made his decision, finally realizing that he could put an end to this crap. 'That’s it, I’m out of here!' he mentally celebrated his victory, almost losing his composure from joy.

But before he could even take a step toward the chest, the air around him grew thick, almost like a dense fog. The faces of the envoys and advisors began to blur and fade, as if melting away in a hazy mirage. Sounds around him became muffled, like he was surrounded by walls barely letting in the noise from outside. At first, he felt a slight dizziness, but then everything around him began to crumble, sinking into darkness.

— No, not again! — he shouted, but his voice echoed coldly, soon dissolving into the void.

Everything around him vanished, and he was once again left alone in the endless dark, just like before—with no bearings, no sounds, not a single hint of light. Moments, or maybe an eternity, stretched out in that formless space. His thoughts flickered like tiny sparks, appearing and immediately fading one by one. He couldn’t think, couldn’t feel, stripped of everything.

Part 12 – Purchasing the Unsullied

It felt as though, just like last time, he’d been in that silent, empty darkness for an eternity before he finally began to sense… a smell. A sharp, acrid scent of hot sand and sweat, mixed with something more vile—the suffocating stench of raw meat and leather left under the blazing sun. His nostrils stung, and he flinched as the hot breath of wind hit his face, nudging him back toward reality.

He opened his eyes, squinting momentarily at the harsh sunlight. 'Damn it, this heat again?!' he thought irritably, feeling sweat start to drip down his temples. Anger began to boil inside him. Back here again, back in this insanity.

When his vision cleared, he saw before him a vast army of Unsullied—standing in perfectly straight lines, their faces blank and indifferent, as though carved from stone. Their spears gleamed in the sun, and even in their still formation, there was an overwhelming sense of power and threat, like a weapon ready for a command to strike.

To his left stood a slavemaster with a smug and obviously arrogant grin, holding a chain attached to a massive medallion—the symbol of ownership over the Unsullied. He looked at Bruce with a condescending expression, clearly convinced he was in control. Behind him, other slavemasters crowded together, watching with interest and blatant contempt.

Bruce, barely containing his irritation and tension, struggled to gather his thoughts.

— Where the hell am I now? — he muttered, mostly to himself. And although his voice was quieter than he’d intended, there was still a rough, barely restrained fury in it. His words seemed to hang in the air, and for a moment, it felt as if everyone around him had heard that raw aggression. Some of the slavemasters exchanged surprised glances at the bold tone of this troublemaker, but their smug expressions remained.

The head slavemaster, the one with the medallion, raised his chin and smirked, as though he’d just heard an amusing joke.

— Your Grace, — he said with mock respect, — it seems the sun has scrambled your senses a bit, — the slavemaster feigned concern, his lips curling into a sneer, — you are in Astapor, the blessed city, where strength and power belong to those who know how to pay for it, — he announced, his voice dripping with self-satisfaction. — Today, you have become the owner of an army of Unsullied—the strongest and most obedient warriors in the world. — He rattled the medallion in his hands as if to remind Bruce that its holder was now the ruler of this army. — But don’t forget that your dragon is part of the deal.

Bruce frowned, barely containing his anger. The dragon… He glanced to the side, where it waited—not quite the enormous monster he had seen in those caves. This dragon was about the size of a large stallion, yet it inspired no less fear than the larger dragons he’d heard about. Its dark scales glinted in the sun, and from its mouth came a menacing growl, as if it sensed an approaching storm. Bruce held his breath involuntarily; he could never get used to these creatures.

Part 13

But even more than that, he could never get used to these sudden displacements. 'Again… What the hell even is this?' he thought as irritation and rage flared within him. He felt a strange heaviness and weakness, as though every cell in his body was protesting against yet another shift. His head spun slightly, and a nervous tremor ran under his skin, impossible to shake. His whole body ached as if after a brutal workout.

Despite it all, Bruce, struggling to keep his frustration in check and not fully understanding what was wanted of him here, reached out and took the staff, feeling its cold weight in his hand. For a moment, he stared at it in complete bewilderment, not sure what to do with it. The staff seemed like a symbol of power, but all this—the warriors standing in flawless lines, the arrogant slavemasters reeking of sweat and disdain, and even the stifling air of Astapor—annoyed him to his core.

Thin, mocking voices began to murmur nearby in a foreign language, and although Bruce couldn’t understand the words, he could guess from the tone that they were insulting him. It seemed to him that every tone, every glance carried mockery, reminding him that he controlled neither the army nor the situation.

'To hell with all of this… crap! I’m so damn sick of this shit,' he thought angrily, fuming at the absurdity of it all. Glancing over at the dragon, which stood nearby, huffing irritably, he noticed that its new “owners” were hauling it away on heavy chains, as though it were just a docile beast. The dragon resisted, struggled, but the chains held fast, and the new owners led it away, while Bruce simply smirked. 'Not so tough now, are you?' he thought sarcastically, watching the dragon get dragged off like an ordinary captive. There was a strange, spiteful satisfaction in seeing this majestic creature, which had terrified him in that cave, being led away by common men.

Yet he was too worn out from all these shifts. Clutching the staff tightly, he turned, intending to walk away. At that moment, all he wanted was some peace, a chance to make some sense of this crazy situation, these strange relocations, and to rest and gather his strength.

But as he took a few steps, the hum of sounds, voices, and scents around him began to fade. The world around him started to dissolve again, like a mirage under the scorching sun, gradually vanishing into thick, ominous darkness. Bruce stopped, confused about what was happening. A familiar chill of dread swept over him.

— Again? What the hell… — he breathed, feeling his consciousness once more slipping into that endless void, leaving him alone again, unsupported, out of control, and with no idea where he would end up next.

Part 14 – The Birth of Dragons

It felt like he’d fallen back into that endless void again, but this time sensations returned slowly, as if pushing through a dense curtain of oblivion. First, he felt a faint tingling in his fingers, then a heaviness in his limbs, as if his body were taking shape all over again. Beneath his bare feet, he sensed cool, slightly damp ground, and a faint chill ran over his skin, mixed with the sharp scent of smoke and burning herbs. Gradually, he heard the crackling of flames nearby and muffled whispers, like prayers.

He opened his eyes, and a fiery glow began to emerge in his vision, like the world was sketching itself back into place. Slowly, through a haze, he realized he was standing barefoot on the earth beneath a dark, starry sky, surrounded by the flickering light of a massive ritual bonfire.

His small, weak hands were holding something heavy yet cool. Bruce glanced down and saw three eggs—they lay in his palms, their smooth, slightly rough surfaces etched with patterns that looked like serpent scales. The eggs gleamed in the firelight: one dark green, another sea blue, and the third coal-black with crimson glimmers that seemed to shift deep within. He stared at them in disgust and confusion, not understanding why he was holding them or how he had even ended up here.

— What the hell?! — He jerked his hands back, and the eggs fell with a dull thud into the grass by his feet. Bruce looked at his hands in revulsion—they were still small, weak, and scrawny, but now they were coated with a fine layer of ash, as if he’d just dragged them through something burning. He looked around with disdain. Surrounding him were Dothraki, their faces showing a mix of reverence and fear. They murmured, bowing their heads, as though he were part of some ritual he neither understood nor cared to. Their eyes held a belief that something extraordinary was about to happen, and that only made Bruce even angrier.

— Goddamn it! This crap again! — he yelled, grabbing at his long blonde hair and yanking it in frustration. — What the hell are you all staring at?! — he shouted, stomping his foot and feeling tiny rocks dig into his soles. But his outburst only made everyone freeze, as though to them it was some sort of mystical sign. The Dothraki around the fire didn’t understand what was happening, but to them, it all looked like some sacred ritual. They saw their “khaleesi,” who, in their minds, was performing an ancient rite, and they were afraid to interrupt her.

'Not this… Some other bullshit again!' thought Bruce, feeling the urge to punch everyone around him, to make them stop staring at him like he was some sacred spectacle. But just as he was about to turn and walk away from the fire, something inside him, warm and heavy, pulled him back.

He glanced again at the eggs lying by his feet. The firelight danced on their surfaces—black, green, and red—they looked as if a hidden life was boiling inside them. Something clicked in his head, as if a puzzle had finally come together.

'They… They want me to step into that fire?!' it dawned on him. Bruce suddenly realized he was once again in a scene that seemed to be an essential part of the story.

— You’ve got to be fucking kidding me… — he muttered, stunned and seething with anger. Bruce felt his hands clenching into fists against his will. He froze, staring at the three eggs on the barren ground, at the strange savages around him who were looking at him with reverence. It slowly sank in that this whole series of relocations was no accident. He was clearly being forced to play along with some damn storyline those geeks talked about, and every time he resisted, he’d just get thrown further back in the past, further away from that moment in Meereen.

Part 15

'Damn it, I should have figured this out sooner…' Bruce gritted his teeth, fuming at himself and this cursed world. Every part of him rebelled against following the storyline. Memories of the smug faces of those nerds, who’d explained all this “canonical importance,” flashed through his mind. They’d yammered on about how “the plot is inevitable,” “the story has to follow the destined path.” Those memories stoked his anger to the limit, and it took everything he had not to scream in powerless rage.

'So those idiots were right… Goddammit, just great,' he thought as he looked around, trying to calm himself. 'Think, Bruce, think, damn you!' He stared at the fire, feeling as though it were drawing him in, yet the very idea of stepping into it seemed sheer insanity. He leaned down toward the eggs, feeling long strands of blonde hair fall forward, brushing his face, while his chest tugged down uncomfortably, weighing on his skin. 'God, I hate being a chick!' He angrily brushed the hair from his face, lifting the heavy eggs from the ground.

The fire’s heat was palpable even at this distance as he tried to gather his composure while holding the eggs. 'Alright, if that dumb Mother of Dragons actually survived here, then… obviously she didn’t walk into the damn fire! Where are these crazy thoughts even coming from that I need to go in?!' Bruce shook his head, letting out a sarcastic snort. 'This is ridiculous! She clearly didn’t walk into the fire; she just tossed the eggs in. Dragons hatched, everyone’s happy, the end!' With that thought, he looked around, noticing the Dothraki holding their breath, watching his every move.

— Yeah, yeah, I’m going! — he grumbled, clenching his jaw as he noticed the Dothraki’s faces frozen in awe, as if they were already witnessing a miracle.

Bruce could barely stand, his legs almost buckling from exhaustion after the endless relocations. The eggs in his hands felt heavier than they really were. His body felt weak, even more so than usual, every muscle and cell pleading for rest. The fire ahead flickered ominously, casting eerie reflections, and the heat radiating from it grew more intense with each second, as if it were purposely pushing him away.

He took a step closer, his mind circling around one insane idea. 'Well, I know that crazy woman got her dragons here, so all I have to do is get close and toss the eggs into the fire. No need to go into the flames—it’s just plain stupid. At best, I’ll get thrown somewhere else, and at worst, I’ll be dead as hell!'

Each step was an effort, and his heart felt like it would burst out of his chest. His vision blurred as he pushed through the heat, feeling his knees grow weaker with each step. 'Damn it, why am I so weak?' Bruce gritted his teeth in frustration, fighting with each step as he moved closer to the fire. His arms strained to hold up the eggs, which felt impossibly heavy, and the hot air around him spun his head even more.

Finally, he reached the fire and stood there, breathing heavily, clutching the eggs so tightly his fingers turned white. The heat scorched his face and hands, and every breath felt like swallowing hot coals that burned his lungs. He felt his clothes sticking to his body with sweat, and a tremor rose from his legs that he could barely control.

Part 16

'That’s it… Enough,' he thought, his mind a silent scream. 'I’ll toss this crap into the fire and… damn, I just need some sleep.' His fingers, white-knuckled around the eggs, trembled, and his mind struggled not to give in to the temptation to just drop everything and walk away.

At last, he jerked his arms forward, throwing the eggs into the flames, feeling relief as they left his hands. The bright flickers of the fire burned his eyes, but Bruce forced himself to keep watching the fire, waiting, standing firm against his weakened body after all these relocations.

— Well, where are your dragons, huh? Show me the miracle! — he snarled through gritted teeth, crossing his arms and grimly watching as the fire, like a vulture, consumed the eggs in its flames. A minute passed. Then another. The crackling of the fire grew louder, but the eggs remained unchanged—no magic, no hatching, just faint sparks flying around. Bruce, feeling frustrated, stood there, hoping that any moment now the flames would part and this nightmare show would end.

But nothing happened. The heat didn’t lessen, and the eggs in the fire darkened, black spots spreading over their surfaces. Bruce watched as the eggs slowly blackened, cracked, as if they were on the verge of breaking open, but instead they just charred, crumbled, leaving an acrid scent of burned shell in the air. He felt his anger rising, turning to helpless frustration. 'Come on, where the hell are those dragons?!' he thought, almost hysterical. The fire continued blazing, rising higher, but there was no magic, no miraculous birth of dragons.

Inside, he was seething, but the fury quickly faded, replaced by something heavier—almost despair. After a moment, he wasn’t even looking at the flames anymore, but staring blankly through them, feeling the wave of exhaustion growing stronger—the eggs had burned to ashes. His body was drained, every muscle trembling from strain and weakness. 'I… I’m a man, and I… I have to show them, show them what I’m capable of, damn it!' Bruce gritted his teeth, fighting against his own powerlessness, stubbornly forcing himself to stay on his feet even as everything inside him screamed to give up.

He stared again at the smoldering fire, where only ashes remained of the eggs, and a smirk crossed his lips. 'Fine, so they’re gone, they’re gone. Guess that was just a tale for those damn geeks! She must’ve found those dragons somewhere else.' At that moment, he staggered, his vision blurring, and as though underwater, he faintly heard the crackling of the fire. Everything began to blur before his eyes. His legs gave out, and he collapsed to his knees, feeling a throbbing ache in his head from utter exhaustion.

'No… not again?!' he wanted to scream, but no sound, no movement followed. Just another failure, another darkness swallowing him whole.

Part 17 – The Beginning of Beginnings

This time, he felt as if he’d been lost in that darkness for an eternity, a void with no escape, before he suddenly sensed something else—a feeling of warmth, softness, and a strange calmness settling into every cell of his body. At first, he wasn’t quite sure where he was, but the gentle warmth enveloping him felt so pleasant, so relaxing, that his exhausted, worn-down consciousness gave in. For the first time in this torturous cycle, he allowed himself to drift for just a moment.

When he opened his eyes, a soft glow filled the bath, along with the light scent of floral oils. Bruce, still dazed by this sudden shift, realized he was submerged in water up to his shoulders. Heat seeped into his muscles, melting away the pain and exhaustion. He closed his eyes, feeling the water calm his nerves as if each ripple smoothed out layers of accumulated fatigue.

'Damn… this feels good,' he thought, feeling his muscles gradually relax. He wasn’t used to this sort of treatment; he’d usually consider it some frivolous indulgence. But after all he’d endured, his body practically sank into this pleasure. The rough-and-tumble brute who’d learned to handle pain and restraint was now letting himself savor this moment, mentally smirking: "Who the hell would’ve thought… Here I am, lounging like some chick at a spa and actually enjoying this crap. If only they'd bring me a beer… or a massage… I’m basically the goddamn queen here, for fuck's sake!”

He closed his eyes again, feeling his long hair skim the water, barely moving with the gentle ripples. Another moment, and he nearly groaned as warm currents massaged his back and neck, relieving the weight he’d carried through countless crossings. It was an unusual sensation—as soon as his body recalled pain and tension, the water would lift it away, wrapping him in a cocoon of peace. He stretched his legs, sinking his head a bit deeper into the water…

'Wish this would never end,' he thought as a soft smile crossed his lips. It even felt like this place, this quiet pool, was the only real peace he’d been granted in all this time.

But, as usual, peace was short-lived. Suddenly, through the haze of relaxation, he heard the sound of a door creaking open. Bruce lazily opened his eyes and noticed a figure standing in the doorway. It was a scrawny little pipsqueak, one of those nerds from his world, with a face full of smug self-importance and arrogance. For a moment, Bruce barely registered who it was, still floating in his calm state, a light, almost lazy smile on his lips. 'Just another jackass come to ruin my moment,' Bruce thought irritably, barely moving from his relaxed position. He tilted his head, lazily watching as the skinny geek swaggered forward with a look of superiority, as if every step he took was proof of his dominance. The guy had his hands behind his back, staring down at Bruce like he expected him to hang on every word.

An ironic half-smile crept onto Bruce’s face as if he couldn’t quite believe the nerve of this stick-thin punk daring to interrupt his rare moment of peace. 'What a pretentious little shit,' he thought. He raised an eyebrow slowly, sizing up the geek from his position of relaxed calm, making it clear his airs of grandeur weren’t impressing him one bit.

Part 18

Viserys seemed to sense something off; his confidence wavered slightly. He paused for a moment, frowned, and, trying to sound authoritative, said:

— Dear sister, I believe you’ve… — he trailed off, choosing his words to assert what he thought would bring her “compliance,” — you’ve grown too comfortable, forgetting your place and the responsibilities you owe to me. I am the last dragon. The rightful heir to the Iron Throne. And you, sister, must remember that your place is at my side, supporting me in my fight for our throne.

Bruce barely held back a laugh, though the corners of his mouth twitched in an ironic smile. "The last dragon"? This scrawny nerd with his arrogant smirk and self-important tone was calling himself a dragon? 'He really does sound like one of those morons, what does that even mean, dragon-this, dragon-that,' he thought, looking at him with amusement. The whole thing was becoming even more absurd, and Bruce decided to play along a little, but with a good dose of sarcasm. A dragon? He hadn’t even seen one—unlike Bruce.

— Sure, sure, “dragon,” — he drawled, lazily stretching and then sinking back into the water, clearly enjoying himself. — For a second, I was worried someone important had come in. Hey, do you have a dragon certificate or something? — he finished, laughing. 'If you’re a dragon, I guess I’m some sort of phoenix. I keep coming back to life in this insanity,' he thought, chuckling even more.

His laughter, soft and melodic, was nothing like Bruce’s usual rough chuckle, echoing off the stone walls. Even Bruce was a little taken aback by the sound, as if at that moment his true nature—his sarcastic self—had been softened by a tenderness he’d never have associated with himself. Still, the laughter was infectious and genuine, filled with open mockery at this self-proclaimed "dragon."

Viserys watched his “sister” laugh with irritation and indignation, clearly not accustomed to such disrespect. His face twisted, he straightened, puffing himself up, as if trying to appear bigger and more imposing. He took a slow breath, evidently struggling to contain his anger, and coldly hissed:

— Daenerys, enough. This is not how my sister should behave, — Viserys snarled, trying to maintain his composure, but his voice betrayed his growing fury. — You need to remember your place and everything I’ve done for you. Everything we have, everything you have, is because of me. You owe me everything. And without my care, you’d be nothing.

Bruce kept looking at him with a lazy half-smile, as though this fiery monologue was nothing more than an amusing play. But Viserys, oblivious, went on, slowly getting to his main point:

— I do all of this for our house. For our family. And I don’t need simple gratitude; I need your absolute obedience, Daenerys. You must follow me without question. I have already prepared a place for you in this new world—you’ll marry a powerful ally who will help us reclaim the Iron Throne.

Bruce couldn’t hold it in and laughed, openly and loudly, unable to hide his amusement. He leaned forward, covering his eyes with a hand, as if trying to stifle himself, but the laughter broke through, echoing across the room.

Part 19

— The fuck?! — Bruce could barely contain his laughter, staring at Viserys. His face took on a look of pure astonishment, his brows raised, as though he’d just heard the most ridiculous joke of his life. Bruce, still trying to make sense of what was happening, suddenly realized that this “skinny nerd” seriously thought he was someone important and had the nerve to try and decide his fate. He snorted again, leaning back slightly to hide the irony in his expression, but it was useless.

But Viserys, oblivious to the mocking glint in his “sister’s” eyes, stood there, arrogantly puffed up, seeming even more self-important. He looked down at her as if expecting admiration, not open laughter.

— Hold on, hold on, bro, are you, uh… serious? — said Bruce, barely suppressing a smirk that radiated pure confusion and mockery. He looked Viserys up and down one more time, as though trying to figure out how this scrawny “dragon” thought he’d control his life and even dictate whom he’d marry… let alone the absurdity of him, Bruce, being someone’s… wife?! Even the idea sounded insane.

— Seriously?! — Bruce repeated, raising an eyebrow and maintaining his smirk. — You’re here talking about thrones, marriage, dragons, and I… I don’t even know who you are. — He smirked, pretending to try to recall something important. — Look, maybe we missed the part where we got acquainted? Tell me, who the hell are you, and why are you acting like some great ruler?

— I am your brother! — Viserys burst out in outrage, his voice shaking with anger. — The rightful heir to the Iron Throne, the last dragon of House Targaryen! And you, sister, are bound to respect me and follow my orders! Enough of this madness!

He exhaled heavily, as if trying to regain control, and, ignoring Bruce’s smirk, sharply gestured toward the doors.

— Servants! — he barked, his voice sharp and commanding. — Prepare my sister for her meeting with her future husband. Bring the finest cloth, jewels, and everything needed for a proper attire. I want her to look dignified, like a true Targaryen.

Bruce was now barely containing his laughter. The thought of being “prepared to meet her husband” seemed so absurd he nearly burst out laughing again. He stretched lazily, savoring the warmth of the water and watching the bustle around him unfold.

'Oh god… this is all such ridiculous crap,' Bruce smirked, barely holding back laughter at the absurdity of it all. The servants hurried to obey Viserys’s orders, unrolling fabrics, bringing jewelry, as if each little detail in this scene was crucial. His ironic smile seemed innocent enough, but it hid much more beneath it.

'But it looks like I don’t have a choice,' he thought with irritation, realizing that he might actually have to play along with these bizarre rules. In this world, his fate seemed prewritten, and resisting only led to new “transitions,” each one rougher than the last and seemingly pushing him further into the past. Perhaps, to finally escape, he needed to play along, at least a little. Maybe by following the script, he’d find an opening to finally return to his old life.

His gaze lingered on Viserys, whose face shone with smugness and confidence that he had everything under control. Bruce allowed himself a wider smile, tucking away this strange, rebellious resolve. 'Alright, dragon-boy, I’ll play along. But don’t be surprised when those pathetic little wings of yours get clipped.'