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Preview: Episode 5 - 2
— Forgive me… I only wanted to support you, — Jorah said quietly, lowering his eyes.
Clearly unsure of how to respond, he still tried to keep calm, as if he couldn’t quite believe this fury wasn’t just some temporary madness.
— Support? — Bruce scoffed, feeling a surge of authority. His angry face shifted for a moment, and he felt a fleeting echo of his old self. He took a step closer to Jorah, looking at him as though he were beneath his feet. — I don’t need your damn suppor—
He was cut off by a mocking voice behind him. One of the Dothraki warriors, perched on his horse, chuckled and threw a guttural phrase in his direction in their tongue. Bruce didn’t understand the words, but the tone made it clear: they were openly mocking him. The other Dothraki also laughed, their low, contemptuous laughter piercing the silence of the plains, washing over Bruce in a wave of humiliation.
For a moment, Bruce’s face froze in an expression of wild rage, an almost uncontrollable urge to tear each of them apart with his bare hands. But he knew he was powerless, his body weak, unfamiliar, alien—a stark reminder of how far he was now from his former strength. Even Jorah, standing beside him, sensed his helplessness, looking at him with a hint of pity.
— They think you’re weak, — Jorah observed softly, not with sarcasm, but as if contemplating aloud, oblivious to how deeply it stung Bruce.
Bruce felt his hands begin to tremble with anger. He clenched his jaw, wrestling with the helplessness, with the fury that was tearing him up from the inside. The Dothraki laughter grew louder, amplifying the waves of humiliation that crashed over him. At that moment, he felt his old self, his unshakable confidence, crumble completely, leaving him alone with his rage and impotence.
— Tell them to shut up, — Bruce growled, his voice quivering with barely restrained fury.
Jorah seemed to grasp the gravity of the request and turned to the Dothraki, raising his voice sharply in their language. They fell silent, but a few still had mocking glints in their eyes, as if this were just a temporary lull. They didn’t take their “Khalessi’s” threats seriously, seeing only a helpless, foreign creature, barely familiar with their language and customs.
Bruce glared at the Dothraki as if they were dim-witted animals, barely restraining the urge to spit at their feet. They were quiet now, but only because Jorah had ordered them, not out of any respect for him, Bruce. He slowly shifted his gaze to their indifferent faces, realizing that, despite the command, they continued to look down on him. Their sneering stares rekindled the sharp rage and helplessness within him, impossible to silence.
‘Think I’m weak? Think I’m nothing now? Screw all of you!’ he thought, gripping his rage tightly as he moved forward with the horde. Bruce walked among strangers, feeling isolated and powerless. Their stares, Jorah’s pity, those foreign hands that had seized his body… All of them now saw “the queen,” but they had no idea who stood within this body. ‘They don’t realize I’m the one who would’ve torn them apart piece by piece if I had my old body.’
He was trapped in this scenario, or this “canon,” as those morons had called it. Faces of those “experts” from the council flashed in his mind, their smug, seemingly all-knowing looks. “Stick to the canon,” “Don’t stray from the path,” they’d chanted like incantations, assuring him it would “fix everything.” He’d looked at them with disbelief back then, unable to accept that they’d truly leave him stuck in this new body, flung back so far in time and alone.
‘Canon. What the hell do you know about the path, about the canon? I hope you all rot in hell,’ he thought, scowling as he tried to push away the memories of what had happened that night. But the images washed over him one after another, making him feel small, weak.
‘If I’m still here… that means I’m doing everything right. Otherwise, I’d already be thrown out of here, and since that hasn’t happened…’ he thought, shuddering, feeling a stab of fear. Bruce drew a shaky breath, realizing it wouldn’t be so easy to shake off the fear that rose in waves. If he hadn’t been thrown back, it meant he still hadn’t broken the “canon,” that everything was going according to their plan. ‘I’m on the right path,’ he smirked bitterly to himself. ‘To what, I wonder? Even more humiliation? Even more…’
He caught the irritated glances around him and was overcome with the urge to rip off this mask and stop playing along. But as his hand trembled slightly, he felt a twist in his gut, as if reminding him that he had to play by some “script” he didn’t fully understand. He stifled a groan of despair but quickly steeled himself, knowing he’d have to see this through. If he was still here, it meant he was on the “right” path, and that was his only thread.
‘Well, if it hasn’t thrown me back, if I haven’t been sent back to that damn “save point,” then I’m… doing everything right,’ he repeated to himself, as if trying to convince himself. ‘And they… they’ll get what’s coming to them when I get back.’
A shadow of concern flickered in Jorah’s eyes, as if he could sense the fury simmering within his lady. But Bruce merely gave him an icy look and abruptly turned away. Inside him, a thought was growing—dark and clear, like a rumbling growl ready to break free. ‘When I get to them… then they’ll see. Canon… Right path…’
With each step, Bruce gathered his rage and cold resolve, mentally picturing those smug faces as they flashed through his mind’s eye.