Who even needs that Iron Throne? - Episode 2

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

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

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Episode 2

Part 3

Bruce leaned his head back against the edge of the copper bath, feeling the hot water softly touch his skin but offering none of the usual relaxation. Everything was... wrong. He tried to close his eyes, hoping for just a few minutes of peace, to forget about the idiot “advisors,” their stupid rules, and that ridiculous “canon.” But his thoughts wouldn’t settle.

His hands slid mechanically down his body, and there it was again— that damn softness under his fingers. The chest. Bruce still couldn’t get used to the fact that it was part of him now. Every single movement reminded him of it, and it was driving him crazy. This wasn’t something he could just accept. What the hell was going on?

He opened his eyes and looked down. The skin was smooth, pale, like it had been treated with some elite cream. Every drop of water sliding down this new body only emphasized its fragility. His muscles—the ones he had spent hours sculpting in the gym, the ones he was proud of—were gone. Replaced with thin arms, delicate lines. He was weak. And that feeling of helplessness was making him furious.

"I look like some kind of fucking doll," he hissed to himself, frowning. Back in school, those guys—the ones now sitting in the council, playing at being important strategists—had feared him. And now? Now they acted like big-shot tacticians, telling him what to do like this was all some kind of game. Even after he stood up and said he was taking control, they still didn’t take him seriously. They started babbling about how they’d figure out what’s best, telling Bruce to relax, to take a break, like he was some fragile princess who needed a little peace and quiet. That was their biggest mistake. They’d forgotten who he was. They’d forgotten who the real leader was here.

He’d stormed out to his chambers, and the servants had drawn him this bath—on the council’s orders, of course. Bruce wasn’t even surprised. But he figured, "fuck it," he did need some time to think. This wasn’t a joke, and it seemed like he was the only one who grasped just how serious this shit was. The only one who realized they were actually stuck in this damn world.

"Fuck!" he slapped the water with his hand, sending splashes flying everywhere. The whole thing was so absurd that he could barely contain his rage. But Bruce knew sitting around being pissed wouldn’t help. This body, these idiot council nerds, this fucking Meereen—it was all real. And if he wanted to get out of here alive, he had to do something about it.

He leaned back, feeling the water wash over his thin, fragile body. "Sons of the Harpy," he muttered to himself, remembering those bastards rising up because they didn’t want him—or rather, Daenerys—to stay in power. Bruce smirked. If he were in his own body, he’d just plow through them with his fists. He wasn’t the type to hide or play by someone else’s rules. But now things were different. These guys from Meereen, just like his advisors, saw him as some delicate girl, clueless to the fact that inside this "little" body was a force that was anything but feminine.

Bruce pondered, dragging his hand across the surface of the water. "This shithole’s about to blow. A rebellion is brewing. The Harpies are ready to kill me and seize power for themselves. If I were just Bruce, I’d get the hell out of this cursed city. But here, I’m Daenerys. And, damn it, I have dragons."

He lifted his hand to his face, staring at his soft fingers covered in water, and felt that familiar irritation again. This body wasn’t his. It was weak. But he had one advantage—dragons. Bruce wasn’t a strategist, didn’t know how to pull off complicated moves, but he sure as hell knew how to crush his enemies.

"The Harpies want to bring back the old order? What if I just... destroy that fucking order?" he thought. If those bastards want an uprising, let them see how easy it is to wipe them off the face of the earth. With dragons at his side, he could burn everything to the ground if he wanted to. He didn’t need to follow any damn canon. He could make his own path.

"But how do I make the dragons listen to me?" Bruce squinted, lost in thought. He couldn’t just order them around. He had to find a way to connect with them, to control their instincts. "Shit, those beasts understand her... me, don’t they? They have to!"

Right now, he had three dragons. Well, technically two—both locked up after Daenerys had imprisoned them before Bruce found himself in her body. The third one was free, God knows where.

Bruce sat with his shoulders slumped, staring at his reflection in the water. His mind kept cycling through the same question: "How do I get the dragons to obey me?" These weren’t just animals. Dragons sensed power. They respected those who could dominate. Bruce might not be in his old body, but his spirit and willpower were still there. That should be enough.

"Two dragons locked up, the third out there somewhere, but fuck, I can’t just..." He squinted, his thoughts halting mid-sentence. "Why the hell can’t I? What if I try to free them and use them to wipe out the Sons of the Harpy?"

He stood up abruptly, his n***d body instantly feeling the cool air. Thoughts of how the dragons would respond to this blonde, weak figure that was now his own made him smirk inwardly. But dragons weren’t people. They sensed fear, power, determination. They weren’t nerdy little shits who’d piss their pants at the sight of a big guy with solid biceps.

"They’ll obey me, just like everyone else. Dragons won’t care what I look like. What matters is who I am inside. And I’m Bruce, goddamn it, and I’ve never lost to anyone!" His thoughts rushed, pushing him closer to his decision.

Part 4

He turned and caught a glimpse of his reflection, and it suddenly hit him just how strange this all looked. The steam rising from the bath, the soft candlelight, and that fragile, barely covered figure with long blonde hair. Damn it, he looked like a doll in a display case. There was no ignoring it. He was the damn Dragon Queen, but this body, these curves—they were driving him insane.

"Fucking bullshit..." he muttered through clenched teeth, trying once again to ignore the reality of his new female form.

— Daenerys?

The sound of someone else’s voice yanked him out of his thoughts, and Bruce spun around sharply. Standing in the doorway was Daario Naharis, the pretty-boy who had been Daenerys' lover in the show. He was looking at Bruce like he was some sort of goddess, and that pissed Bruce off even more. He could barely hold back the grimace of disgust, his lips pressed into a tight line as if he’d just tasted something bitter.

— What the fuck are you doing here? — Bruce snapped, standing up straight, not even bothering to cover himself as he turned to face Daario.

Daario leaned casually against the doorframe, wearing that smug grin that made Bruce want to punch him in the face. Clearly, this asshole was used to walking in unannounced, like this was his own damn bedroom.

— Just wanted to see my queen, — Daario said with his ever-present smirk, his eyes fixed on Bruce’s body like he was admiring a piece of art.

Bruce gritted his teeth. The way this guy was looking at him—like his body was something to be worshipped, something that existed to please—made Bruce’s blood boil. That look carried power, and Bruce had always hated when someone tried to dominate him. Especially this pretty-boy, who looked like the kind of guy who never took no for an answer.

— Get the fuck out of here, you idiot! — Bruce barked, his voice sharp, cutting through the air, despite the feminine softness it carried now.

Daario, clearly not used to such a harsh outburst from "his queen," paused for a moment, but that smirk never left his face. He stepped closer, his confidence and arrogance cranking Bruce's anger up even higher.

— Daenerys, — Daario began with that usual mocking tone, — you're especially fiery today.

— Fiery? — Bruce clenched the towel around his body, feeling the absurdity of this situation making his rage boil over. Daario took another step forward, getting too damn close. His eyes gleamed with the same game he'd always played. To him, this was just another seduction routine, one that Daenerys had always fallen for. But not Bruce.

— Did you fucking hear me? — Bruce stepped forward too, refusing to back down, even though he knew this asshole was trying to physically intimidate him. — If you think I’m some bitch who’s gonna start getting wet just from looking at you, — Bruce jabbed a finger into his chest, — then you’re fucking mistaken.

Daario, despite the clear threat in Bruce’s voice, kept smirking. He grabbed Bruce by the wrist, pulling him closer with that annoyingly soft, yet firm, grip.

— Your words say one thing, but your eyes... they tell a different story, — Daario said, his voice dripping with confidence, like he’d already won.

— I said get the fuck out! — Bruce clenched his fist and shoved Daario hard, pouring all his hatred into the gesture. The man staggered back a step, his smug smile faltering, though it didn’t disappear completely.

— Daenerys, — Daario started, but Bruce cut him off immediately, giving him no chance to speak.

— Call me "Daenerys" one more time, and I’ll snap your damn neck! — Bruce snarled, his face contorting with rage. — I’m not that weak little chick you were messing around with! And who the fuck’s the queen here, huh?! You outta your fucking mind just barging in here like that?!

Daario froze. He might not have fully understood what was happening, but he could sense that this was more than just a tantrum. This was a threat, and one he couldn’t brush off.

— Fine, — Daario muttered, his hand easing off the hilt of his knife. — Looks like you’re not in the mood today. — He tried to smile, but it came off strained. — I’ll come back when you’ve calmed down.

Bruce took a step forward, muscles tensing, and Daario quickly backed toward the door.

— Don’t come back at all, got it? — Bruce growled, locking eyes with him. He could feel the rage boiling inside him, but now he was in control of it. Daario finally understood he’d crossed a line.

— As you wish, my queen, — Daario mumbled before slipping out the door.

When the door slammed shut behind him, Bruce let out a heavy breath, feeling his clenched fists slowly relax. But the anger inside was still bubbling. He was sick to death of all this bullshit.

Bruce paced the room, reaching for the flimsy piece of cloth that was supposed to serve as some sort of robe. He yanked it over his body, the ridiculous fabric clinging to his skin, irritating him even more. He glanced around the room, as if trying to gather his thoughts, but there was only one thing on his mind: this shit wouldn’t end until he took full control.

"Fuck them all," Bruce gritted his teeth, stepping over to the table where a map of Meereen was laid out. His fingers traced the marks that indicated the areas where the Sons of the Harpy were stirring up rebellion.

His mind drifted back to the dragons. Beasts stronger than any human army, they could burn this city to the ground if they wanted. He just needed to find a way to make them listen. After all, if dragons were considered Daenerys’ children, then hell, that made him their father now. Bruce smirked at the thought. It was ridiculous, but if it was true, he’d figure out how to bend those creatures to his will.

"Two dragons locked up, the third... who the hell knows where," Bruce muttered to himself. — "But it doesn’t matter. I’ll free them. I just need to get to those damn cages. And then..." — He squinted, staring at the map. — "Then we’ll see who’s in charge."

He slowly dragged his hand along the line representing the city walls, imagining the dragon fire turning them into ash. The plan was starting to take shape in his mind, and with it came a sinister sense of satisfaction.

"First the dragons... Then the Sons of the Harpy... And after that, those idiot advisors."

Bruce grinned. They were all going to regret ever thinking they could control him.