DOS Ch-339

I looked around the set, taking in the controlled chaos unfolding in every direction. Crew members hurried past with purpose, some carrying lighting rigs while others adjusted cameras mounted on towering cranes. It was hectic, but it made sense. Today was about making sure we got the tone of the show right. It had to feel as grand and imposing as I’d envisioned.

“So you’re ready for this scene?”

I looked up to see James Cameron standing beside me, a familiar grin on his face.

“Don’t I look ready?” I said, gesturing down at myself. I wore an elaborate medieval costume, layers of fine fabric draped over my frame, the material heavier than it looked. I reached up and tugged lightly at a loose strand of my blonde wig, letting it fall back into place. “I even committed to the look.”

He inclined his head, studying me with approval. “Have to say, you look great in blonde. Ever thought about dyeing your hair blonde permanently?”

I scoffed, shaking my head. “And risk becoming bald in my 30s? No thanks. My co-star from [Harry Potter], Tom Felton, isn’t even 25 and is already half-bald, all because he dyed his hair blonde for years for his role. I’m happy with wigs.”

That wasn’t the only reason, of course. Jim needed Viserys to have shoulder-length hair, something that would take more than a year to grow naturally. A wig was the only practical option, and frankly, I preferred it that way.

“You know your lines, right?” he asked, turning more serious. “You still have time to go over them before we shoot.”

I gave him a flat look. “You’re talking to me like this is the first time I’m playing a psychopath.”

Jim leaned closer, lowering his voice slightly. “That’s the thing. Viserys isn’t a psychopath like the Joker. If I had to classify him, I’d call him a narcissist. Maybe slightly sociopathic. They’re completely different characters. You’ll have to create a clear divide between them to make Viserys feel real.”

I nodded slowly, absorbing his words. The Joker was chaos incarnate, unpredictable, and detached from reality. Viserys was something else entirely. He was fragile beneath his cruelty, driven by entitlement and insecurity, convinced of his own greatness despite having nothing to show for it.

I had to absolutely nail this role. Otherwise, people would say I was wasted in this show. That couldn’t happen. Every second I was on screen, people should feel something. They should want more of me, or perhaps wish I’d disappear entirely, depending on how well I did my job.

Thankfully, I’d spent the past few months refining Viserys into something layered and memorable. His posture, his voice, the way he carried himself, all of it had been carefully constructed.

“Don’t worry,” I assured him. “I’m not planning to replay the Joker for this role. I’ve already figured out what I’m gonna do.”

He smiled, satisfied. “Good to hear. I’ll leave you to your prep while I get the scene ready.”

He walked off, immediately intercepted by three crew members asking questions, his attention shifting between them as he began orchestrating the scene.

Left alone, I closed my eyes briefly and ran through the upcoming scene in my head.

This might’ve been the first scene of mine that we were shooting, but chronologically, it belonged to the fourth episode. For [Game of Thrones], we were doing things a little differently. Instead of a director being allotted to the whole series, different directors were simultaneously shooting different parts of the story. James had insisted upon directing my parts of the story, so the complete Essos arc of the first season will be directed by him.

Today’s scene was one of Viserys’ cruelest moments, when he lashed out at a pregnant Daenerys in a fit of rage and humiliation.

The scenes had been arranged deliberately. All the nude sequences would be shot at the very end of my schedule upon my request. I didn’t want my first day on set to involve standing naked in front of so many strangers, no matter how professional they were.

I might’ve been comfortable in my own skin, but not everyone else was, and people do judge you based on your first impression.

With nothing else to do, I picked up today’s script and flipped through the pages, focusing on my scenes. I reread his lines, paying attention to the rhythm and intent behind each word. I’d barely settled into my thoughts when someone approached me.

“Hey, Troy.”

I looked up to see two beautiful women standing in front of me. Emilia Clarke and Roxanne McKee. The two actresses I’d be sharing my first scene with today.

I couldn’t help but reflect on how strange it was. Despite the entire production team being different from the original timeline, their casting had remained mostly the same. For the major roles, I’d subtly nudged things along by suggesting actors I knew would excel based on how things had originally unfolded. Still, some changes were inevitable.

For instance, the actors who originally played Jon Snow and Robb Stark had somehow ended up swapping roles. That hadn’t been my doing. And Roxanne’s casting surprised me the most. I hadn’t recommended her at all, since her role wasn’t as prominent, yet here she was, standing right in front of me.

“How can I help you, ladies?” I asked, offering them an easy smile as I lowered the script onto my lap.

“Wow,” Roxanne muttered dramatically, fanning herself with her hand. “I didn’t know you were this hot in person, or I would’ve asked for our intimate scene to be moved up to today.”

I glanced down at my costume again. It was relatively simple by medieval standards. A fitted tunic, leather belt, and layered fabric that looked elegant on camera but felt heavier in reality. If I weren’t who I was, would she have even spared me a second glance?

I decided to take it in stride and laughed. “Yeah, right. You must be myopic to think I look even remotely good in these rags.”

“You’d look good in anything,” she insisted, her eyes trailing over me before she added with a teasing smile, “even nothing. I’m really looking forward to our scene together. You know, the one in which you’ll be wearing nothing.”

Desperate much?

I chose not to engage with that and shifted my attention to Emilia, who had been standing quietly beside her. She’d been staring at me with wide eyes ever since she’d arrived, her expression caught somewhere between admiration and disbelief.

“Emilia?” I said gently. “How’re you doing?”

She opened her mouth to respond, then froze. Closed it. Tried again, only to falter once more. The moment stretched awkwardly for a few seconds until Roxanne nudged her lightly in the side, snapping her out of it.

“Ahem,” Emilia cleared her throat, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment. “Sorry about that. It’s just that… [The Perks of Being a Wallflower] is my favorite movie of all time. I’ve watched it at least a hundred times. And now seeing you in person… It’s just… wow.”

My smile widened at her sincerity. “Thank you. You wouldn’t believe how few people actually mention that one. Most people bring up [Harry Potter] or [The Dark Knight]. And more than that, it’s usually my music fans. So it’s refreshing to meet someone who loves my favorite film that I’ve been part of.”

“I love that film too!” Roxanne chimed in eagerly. “Your chemistry with Emma Stone was incredible. I used to wonder what it would’ve been like if I were the girl you sang that song for on the streets.”

Emilia turned toward Roxanne, clearly about to correct her for confusing [The Perks of Being a Wallflower] with [Echoes of You], but I gave her a subtle shake of my head. She noticed and stopped herself, understanding immediately.

“Say, Emilia,” I said, holding up the script slightly. “Would you like to run lines with me? This is a very different character from what I’m used to playing, and I could use the help.”

Her eyes lit up instantly, surprise giving way to excitement.

Roxanne looked like she was about to offer her help as well, so I turned to her with a bright, polite smile. “Roxy, can you be a darling and give me some room? I need a bit of time to prepare for the character.”

She hesitated for a couple of seconds, clearly reluctant, before giving me a stiff nod. “Of course.”

She walked away, though not without glancing back once, her expression unreadable.

“God, some people,” Emilia muttered, shaking her head. “It’s such a pet peeve of mine when people get things wrong like that. Especially about my favorite movie. You should’ve let me correct her.”

“And what would that have achieved, other than embarrassing her?” I asked calmly.

“She should’ve been embarrassed,” Emilia replied immediately, her tone firm. “Heck, I was embarrassed for her, the way she was fawning all over you. I don’t doubt that if you’d even hinted at it, you two would be rehearsing your intimate scene right now.”

I laughed hard at that before shaking my head. “I’m engaged to a beautiful woman, and I’m a new father. I’ve got no intention of cheating. So no practicing intimate scenes with anyone, except when it’s part of the script and the cameras are rolling.”

Emilia’s expression softened into a genuine smile. “Congratulations on the kids.”

“Thanks,” I said, returning the smile before lifting the script slightly. “Shall we focus on this?”

Her eyebrows rose in mild surprise. “Oh, you were serious about that?”

I nodded. “Yeah. Come on, Emilia.”

She tilted her head playfully. “Okay, but only if you call me Mili.”

“Mili it is,” I said easily, gesturing toward the empty chair beside me.

She sat down, pulling her own copy of the script onto her lap.

“Before we begin,” I said, turning slightly toward her, “I think we should discuss how far we want to take things emotionally. This scene has to be a turning point in Viserys and Daenerys’ relationship.”

She nodded immediately, her expression turning focused.

The next half hour passed in deep discussion. We talked about motivations, emotional beats, and how their relationship had deteriorated to this breaking point. Emilia, or rather Mili, was thoughtful and perceptive, offering insights that made the scene feel heavier and more real.

She also had a far better sense of humor than I’d expected, slipping in witty remarks that caught me off guard.

Talking to her, I lost track of time completely until the assistant director approached us. “We’re ready for you.”

We both stood, exchanging a small smile before heading toward our marks.

I walked over to Roxanne, who immediately perked up when she saw me approaching.

“Hi, Troy,” she said brightly.

“Aren’t you supposed to be crying for this scene?” I asked, glancing at her dry eyes.

She gained an excited gleam in her eyes. “I’ll cry when you manhandle me.”

Her tone made something in me tighten slightly. This scene required intensity, but it also required control.

“Listen,” I said, keeping my voice professional. “I like to improvise certain physical moments when it feels natural, and I had an idea. Would you be comfortable with me kicking you while you’re on the ground? I’ll make sure there’s no real push, just a mild touch, but I need you to react as if it hurt bad.”

“Sure,” she said immediately. “You can kick me hard too. I don’t mind.”

I gave a small nod, though internally, I dismissed the suggestion entirely.

There was no universe in which I’d risk actually hurting a co-star. Especially a no-name actress like Roxanne. That was a lawsuit waiting to happen.

“All set?” James Cameron asked.

I gave him a single nod, choosing not to respond verbally. I was already slipping into the character’s mindset, letting the outside world fade.

“Alright then. Get in position. Lights! Camera! And action!”

I’d been building the aggression within me for minutes now, feeding it slowly, letting it simmer beneath the surface like a slow-cooked meal waiting to be served. Viserys wasn’t explosive by default. His cruelty came from entitlement, from humiliation, from the certainty that the world owed him everything.

And now, it was time to let it surface.

I stepped forward and grabbed Roxanne by the neck, my fingers wrapping firmly but safely around the sides, careful to avoid actual pressure. I began dragging her toward the tent, my face twisted into silent fury. My jaw was clenched, my eyes burning with restrained violence, my breathing steady but heavy.

“Cut!”

Jim’s voice snapped through the air, pulling me out of the moment instantly.

“Roxy,” he said, walking closer, his tone firm but controlled, “I need more helplessness from you. Whimper a bit while he’s dragging you. Let the audience feel your fear.”

He turned to me. “Troy, dial up the emotion even further. I need to see the monster inside Viserys.”

I nodded once. No point in making arguments right now. We just reset.

“Action!”

I grabbed her again, dragging her across the ground.

“Cut! Roxy, what was that?”

We reset again.

“Action!”

“Cut! Roxy, I need more from you!”

Again.

“Action!”

“Cut! Roxy, do you need a break?”

The cycle repeated over and over, each time collapsing for the same reason. Her reactions were delayed, unconvincing, or completely absent. The emotional rhythm was absent from the scene entirely.

After nearly a dozen failed takes, Jim finally snapped.

He marched straight toward her, his face flushed with anger.

“What the fuck is wrong with you!?” he shouted. The entire set fell silent instantly. Every crew member froze in place. “If you can’t act, why are you even here? I will fire…”

“That’s enough,” I said sharply, stepping in before he could finish.

He turned toward me, stunned.

“Calm the fuck down.”

“But Troy…”

“But no buts,” I cut him off. My voice was steady, but firm. “That’s not how we treat our people. If there’s a problem, there’s a process. You don’t humiliate someone in front of the entire crew.”

The silence around us deepened.

“Give us five minutes,” I continued. “I’ll prep her for the scene.”

Jim stared at me for a long moment, his jaw tight, his eyes filled with frustration. Then he turned away abruptly, muttering under his breath as he walked back toward the monitor.

“In the old days, directors had all the power. Now it’s all about inclusion and feelings and bullshit…”

I waited until he was out of immediate earshot before turning back to Roxanne.

My expression hardened.

“Cut it out,” I said quietly, so no one else would hear it.

She blinked, feigning confusion. “What do you mean?”

“You know exactly what I mean,” I replied, my voice controlled despite the lingering frustration. “You’re ruining the takes on purpose. You’re dragging it out, so I have to keep holding you.”

Her lips parted slightly, but no words came out.

“I let it go the first few times,” I continued. “Not anymore. If it happens again, I’ll have you replaced within the hour. I’m not joking.”

She swallowed, her confidence evaporating under my stare.

“I’ll do better,” she said quickly, nodding. “I promise. I’ll do better this time.”

I held her gaze for a few seconds longer, making sure she understood. Then I gave her a single nod and turned away.

I motioned to the assistant director. “Call him back.”

The AD hurried off and returned with Jim a moment later. He didn’t say anything this time. He simply lowered himself into the director’s chair behind the monitor, his expression cold and unreadable.

He gestured stiffly toward the AD, who raised his voice, “Positions, everyone!”

We did as instructed and waited for the call to action.

The moment I heard that, I grabbed Roxanne by the neck again. This time, the anger came more easily. It wasn’t just Viserys’ fury anymore. It was fueled by the frustration that had been building inside me for the past hour. I channeled all of it into the performance, letting it sharpen my expression and stiffen my movements.

I dragged her forward forcefully, my grip firm but controlled. Around us, the actresses playing the Dothraki women watched with wary eyes, their expressions filled with unease as they parted to let us pass.

Roxanne did her part this time.

She whimpered, cried, and pleaded weakly, her voice trembling as she struggled against me. Her body language finally conveyed helplessness, her resistance desperate but futile.

Good.

I shoved her forward, throwing her onto the ground inside the tent.

She landed hard on the padded surface, sliding slightly before coming to a stop at the feet of Daenerys Targaryen, played by Emilia Clarke.

I stepped forward, my breathing heavy, my eyes locked onto Emilia.

“You sent me this whore to give me commands,” I hissed, my voice dripping with venom. “I should’ve sent you back her head.”

Roxanne lay on the ground, trembling. It was her cue.

She hesitated.

Without breaking character, I delivered the planned motion. I lifted my foot and drove it forward in a controlled kick, making contact exactly like we’d agreed, careful and measured while maintaining the illusion of brutality.

She cried out loudly, curling inward.

The effect was immediate.

Emilia flinched instinctively, taking a small step back before looking up at me sharply. Her eyes filled with shock and fear because this was not planned. While I didn’t look around, I could guess that the crew was equally stunned by my action.

“Forgive me… Khaleesi…” Roxanne whimpered weakly. “I tried to…”

“Hush now. It’s alright,” Daenerys said softly, kneeling beside her for a moment before looking toward the other servant. “Take her and leave us.”

The servant obeyed quickly, helping Roxanne to her feet and guiding her out of the tent.

Now it was just the two of us. Emilia turned back toward me slowly. I glared at her, my posture rigid, my presence looming.

“Why did you hit her?” she asked quietly. The line wasn’t in the script, and it felt as if Emilia actually wanted that answer.

I stayed in character and continued.

“How many times do I have to tell you?” I snapped, stepping closer to her, invading her space. “You do not command me.”

“Cut!”

Jim’s voice broke through the tension.

“That was great work,” he said, standing up from behind the monitor. He nodded approvingly at all of us. “Very good intensity.”

Then his gaze shifted to me, a sarcastic smile present on his face.

“Though it would be better if you didn’t kick our actors on set, Troy. I’m pretty sure that won’t look any better than shouting at someone.”

Before I could respond, Roxanne spoke up quickly.

“Oh no, it was planned,” she said. “Troy and I discussed it beforehand. We thought it would make the scene more real. We didn’t tell anyone because we wanted a genuine reaction. And he didn’t actually hit me.”

Jim studied her for a moment, clearly unconvinced, but he didn’t argue further.

He simply nodded and turned his attention back to the crew as they began preparing the next setup.

Beside me, Emilia looked up with a small, challenging grin.

“It’s a shame you didn’t warn me about that improvisation,” she said.

I leaned slightly closer, lowering my voice.

“Don’t tell anyone,” I murmured, “but I wouldn’t enjoy hitting you, even for pretend. Unlike her.”

She laughed out loud, her shoulder brushing lightly against mine as she leaned closer.

“But what if I want you to?” she teased. “For realism.”

“No,” I said immediately. “Not happening.”

She tilted her head, her eyes playful. “Come on. It’ll make for a great story afterwards..”

I shook my head, unmoved.

“I’m not hitting you,” I said simply. “Not even for acting.”

She pouted briefly, exaggerating the expression for effect, then laughed it off. I ignored the rest of her attempts to persuade me. There were lines I wasn’t willing to cross. Not for realism. Not for performance. Not for anything.

I had no intention of getting cancelled before getting cancelled was even a thing.