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Episode 1
Part 1 - Meeting in Meereen
Bruce, standing in Daenerys' body, watched irritably as his "advisors" debated their plans. His platinum-blonde hair fell into his face again, and he angrily pushed it back, feeling it brush against his back—and his chest... Damn boobs! Every step, every awkward movement reminded him of the way they just moved on their own. His whole body felt alien. He was weak and skinny. All those years of training seemed like a waste.
And those nerds in the bodies of his advisors—his former lackeys, who used to do his homework for him—looked entirely different now. Their eyes were filled with excitement. They seemed to enjoy being in this fantasy world, discussing their plans with such fervor that it felt like they had forgotten who they truly were. Finally, he interrupted them, leaning on the table and glaring at them like he used to, aiming to instill fear.
— Alright, let's get something straight. What are we doing about this Meereen? — He tried to sound serious, but the way his now-feminine voice filled the room only added to his frustration. — What the hell is going on?
The advisors exchanged glances, their faces showing unmasked confidence. One of them, gesticulating enthusiastically, began as if this was his moment to shine.
— Well, Meereen is the city you're now ruling, — he began with a touch of condescension, as if explaining something to a first-grader. — We took it, freed the slaves, but now a rebellion is brewing. There's a group called the Sons of the Harpy, and they want to bring back the old order and get you off the throne.
— Yeah, I know what the city is, you idiot, — Bruce waved him off irritably, trying once again to brush those damn locks out of his eyes. — I've been here for a week, just like you. I don't get why you're acting like this is some kind of game. We've got a rebellion on our hands, and you seem to be enjoying this fantasy.
Another advisor with a small beard, who still looked like he couldn't believe his luck, leaned back in his chair and smirked.
— That's because we know what to do, — he said confidently. — Bruce, you're out of your element. We're "Game of Thrones" fans. We've spent countless hours studying this world. And you... to be honest, you never really excelled at strategic thinking.
— Excuse me? — Bruce leaned forward, his palms on the table. His chest jiggled under the stupid dress, reminding him of its presence once again, but he ignored it. — Listen here, smartass, — his voice cut through his anger. — I may be in this... dragon mommy's body, but don't forget who I really am. Unlike you, I'm not going to sit around and enjoy this madness. I need to get back home.
— To do that, we have to follow the canon, — said the bearded advisor, stretching lazily in his chair. He spoke as if they were discussing a game strategy, not the fate of a city.
Bruce gritted his teeth, holding back the stream of curses swirling in his mind. He couldn't believe these idiots seriously thought they had to stick to some damn "canon." Well, if they thought he was going to play along, they were dead wrong.
— Canon, huh? — he leaned on the table, his chest, damn it, reminding him of its presence again, but he tried to ignore it. — You want me to fly dragons, supposedly "fall in love" with your Jon Snow, and then... — he rolled his eyes, unable to hide his disdain. — Hell, if this is reality, do you realize how stupid that sounds?
The advisor looked at him condescendingly, as if explaining something to a child.
— Yes, Bruce, exactly. It's important. If you don't follow Daenerys' path, the world could collapse. Everything could go wrong. You have to go through it all—from allying with Jon Snow to the final battle. That's the key to survival and... maybe getting home.
Bruce felt his throat tighten with rage. Alliance with Jon Snow? They had to be joking. He couldn't even begin to imagine such nonsense. Why the hell would he, a huge guy, have to pretend to be in love with that guy? And worse—Bruce swallowed, trying not to let his anger boil over even more. The thought was revolting.
— You really think that I, — he pointed to his chest, nearly knocking over the map, — am going to pretend to be in love with some Jon Snow? Are you serious?
The bearded guy raised his hands as if trying to calm him down.
— Look, we understand that this is... well, strange for you. — He stood up and walked closer, speaking almost fatherly. — Let’s figure this out when we get to Westeros?
— Figure it out when we get to Westeros? — Bruce nearly laughed in the bearded advisor’s face.
— You think we'll just sail there and everything will magically work out? — Bruce smirked, but his eyes burned with anger. — And when’s that going to happen? When I sit by the fire with Jon Snow, telling him how much I... feel for him? — he spat the last words with undisguised disgust.