"So... that's it?"

"Yep."

I groaned as the lights slowly flicked back on in the dorm's lounge, watching the throng of people slowly make their way toward the doors. I mean, I wouldn't say I was surprised by the fight's results, it's just that I was hoping for an upset. There's no fun in rooting for the safe choice, you know? Besides, I'm pretty sure I was obligated to root for McGregor on account of being a proud half-a-dozen-generations-removed-from-the-homeland Oirish-American.

"I mean, he's still standing, though. Did he indicate he wanted to tap out or something?"

"Nope. It was a TKO, the ref called it."

"And I assume the T stands for 'technical'?"

"Yep."

"Oh," I replied a bit dejectedly, "okay then." Ten rounds was pretty impressive for McGregor's debut boxing match against who is arguably one of the greatest champions in boxing history, but I was thinking he'd either go down early or end up winning the whole thing. Or at least last all twelve rounds. I mean, he was holding his own pretty well and was tied for the first five.

With a slight spasm of protest from my sore knees, I peeled myself off the couch and started the long trek back to the comforts of my dorm and the sweet release of sleep. Occasionally, I'd stop focusing on the mission at hand to say hello to a familiar face I'd spot in the crowd. A fair majority of them were rooting for Mayweather, but a surprising amount of them vocally supported McGregor. I'd have trouble cheering on a boxer who practices his technique on his exes, misplaced Irish diaspora nationalism aside.

One walk down half the hallway and a flight of stairs later (five miles and three hours in college student time), I arrived at the particle board door of salvation. Fuck, I dropped my keys. After a moment of awkward fumbling and a silent prayer that nobody noticed, I at last pushed open the door and silently shut it behind me. Tim was already laying on top of his bed, his eyes reflecting the blue-white glare of his phone. Probably browsing iFunny or some other shit-tier meme site, one that didn't offer the enlightenment of a historical discussion forum.

Oh Jesus, that was an actual thought I had. I don't know whether to laugh or feel ashamed about myself.

A few brief minutes later, I was snug and secure beneath a set of sheets that I should seriously consider changing out sometime soon. As my eyes slowly shut, I glanced over to the poster of the Seven Kingdoms that adorned the wall just above my cluttered desk. Oh yeah, the season finale was tomorrow night! GET HYPE. I wonder if someone's gonna put it up on the TV in the lounge again tomorrow night?

At last, I managed to expel all thoughts of boatsex and Cleganebowl (HYPEHYPEHYPEHYPEHYPE) from my head, firmly shut my eyes, and let the soothing embrace of sleep pass over and envelop me.

_

I jolted awake as my entire body flinched, my hand reflexively snapping to the back of my head. Jesus, I have a splitting he- wait, it's gone now. Weird. Maybe it's like one of those things where you have that weird falling sensation right as you're about to fall asleep?

I tried to close my eyes, when I noticed something odd. Was the ceiling... higher? And since when do ceilings flutter in the breeze?

My eyes shot open. This wasn't my dorm at all! I was in some kind of... tent? Yeah, a tent. Had I gone to some sort of outdoor party last night and blacked out? I mean, I did some crazy shit when I visited some friends in Milwaukee and they brought me along to Summerfest, but I never did anything to the point of actually losing consciousness. Oh Jesus, maybe I was roofied or something.

There had to be some other reason. Maybe I sleepwalked. But then again, how the fuck could I have sleepwalked out of a bed that's four feet off the ground, out of the dorm, down the hallway, out the door, and into a random tent with literally nobody noticing?! And it sure as shit didn't feel like the weather I'd expect from a New England fall.

This has to be some sort of fever dream. Maybe I contracted some rare illness that had incubated overnight and my brain is oozing out of my ears. Maybe I fell out of bed and cracked my skull, and these are the last neural misfirings of my brain before it shuts down for good. Maybe someone spiked the water by my bed and I'm having the most detailed and mundane trip of my life. Or maybe I'm just having a nervous breakdown and hallucinating all this, who knows.

I groggily pulled myself into an upright position and began rubbing the crust from my eyes. I don't know how it was physically possible, but I was lying on a mattress that was actually shittier than the ones in the dorm. I brought my hands down and-

What.

The hair on my arms is blond.

Why is the hair on my arms blond?

I threw off the sheets and got a look at myself. On one hand, where the fuck is my shirt? On the other, holy shit, I'm actually in shape. And the rest of my body hair's blond too. How the- why- WHAT THE FUCK.

I need a mirror.

Or any reflective surface.

I found a polished silver plate on a little nightstand a moment later. It'll do.

Oh Jesus, my face is different too. Eyes, hair, nose, cheeks, ears, chin, all of it is alien to me. At least I'm handsome now, but that's hardly a concern at the moment considering that I just got body-swapped or some voodoo shit.

The moment I made eye contact with my reflection, it's like something unlocked in my brain. A veritable tidal wave of memories came rushing into my mind, bouncing around before I could sort them into something vaguely chronological. Friends, family, love, hatred (Jesus, that's a lot of hatred), red and gold lions circling each other, all of it connected to a single name. A name that I really didn't want to have.

Tywin Lannister, heir to the Westerlands.

FUCK.