From Mortal To Divinity

King's Landing smells like shit. I've read that statement and heard it said so many times that I expected it. However, expectations did not prepare me for this at all. It doesn't smell like shit, It smells like everybody's shit was put together and left in the open to fester. I've only been wandering around this city for the past few hours, to memorize the layout, and my nose is already tired of the smell. Unfortunately, other than spraying a scarf with perfume and wrapping it around the lower half of my face I can't do anything about the smell. Since I'll be living here for the foreseeable future it doesn't really fill me with any positive emotions.

Turning to look at my guide, companion and, unknown to anyone nut me, one of my spies around the world, I can't help but feel like the world is laughing at me. Richard Grayson, son of a man named Gray hence Grayson, is the spitting image of his namesake and my brother figure back when I was still Bruce Wayne's ward and protege. If that wasn't bad enough there was a Jason and Timothy who just happen to look like their namesakes and are part of my worldwide spy network. Stopping my train of thought, I listen to Richard as he finishes my tour.

"...and that be most of King's Landing. The only place we ain't visit yet be the Red Keep. Only them nobles and peoples with business there be entering." he says

"Thank you my good man. You be saving me time so I ain't getting lost when my Lord be sending me to do jobs." I reply, butchering some of the grammar to come of as educated enough to be able to pass of as a noble's servant but not enough to pass of as more than a commoner. The last thing I need is for Varys and Baelish to know that a Dornish noble is here in King's Landing before tomorrow. Aside from the Martells, no one knows that I'm here yet. As for Richard and my spies, as far as they know I work for the noble who they spy for.

With the tour finished, he leads me to the inn where I reside before leaving. Once in my room, I sit down on the bed and reflect on my purpose in this viper's nest. The answer is honestly, revenge. Even before I was living this life and felt emotionally attached to the people of Dorne, I've always hated the Lannisters for the simple reason that I loathe and despise rapists more than anything. Now on top of hating the Lannisters just because of my hatred for rapists, I'm also emotionally attached to not only the Martells but to the people of Dorne. I've laughed, cried and partied with these people to the point that they are now my people even if I'm not originally from this world. This is why I've entered this viper's nest. Unfortunately for the vipers, I cannot be considered a regular snake. The closest snake that would best describe me is the basilisk, the king of snakes.

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The morning came and I woke with the sun as usual and proceed through my morning ritual. Once that was done, I start to dress myself in my armor for the tourney. The armor was made of black gamberson and designed to look like Diarmud's armor, from Fate/Zero, with a few adjustments. Unlike Diarmud, I had a vambrace on both arms and a pauldron on both shoulders. With that done, I tied my hair into a ponytail, grabbed my valyrian spear (Gungnir from Thor 2011 movie) and made my way out of the inn and towards the sign up booth for the Hand's Tourney.

Arriving at the booth for the melee, I give my name and region of origin, pay the entry fee and go inside the tent to wait. Once inside I retrieve a handful of white powder from a pouch under my gamberson armor. Looking over the tent I find my target sitting on the floor and make my way to him, all the while purposefully kicking dust into the air with my steps. Once sufficiently close I let go of the powder and watch as it mixed with the dust and drifted into the target's nose. Acting as if nothing happened, I find a secluded corner to sit and survey the competition. Sweeping my eyes over the interior I immediately find the famous knights. Jaime Lannister is sitting by himself on the far right, Thoros of Myr is surrounded by a group of warriors listening to his war stories, the hound can be found sitting near Jaime and finally, my target Gregor Clegane The Mountain. Standing at close to eight feet tall and weighing about 420 lbs of pure muscle, he's probably the most dangerous man in Westeros after me. At most for the next few hours.

We wait for approximately an hour before being ushered out into the field where we spread out across the field. After finding a position near The Mountain, but not in his crosshairs, I took my place and made a show of twirling my spear with my hands, alternating between my right and left and sometimes using both. After making sure that I have the crowd's attention, I stop just in time to hear the signal to begin only for it to be overshadowed by the roar of The Mountain going berserk. It only took five people dying from Gregor Clegane's sword for everyone to realize that something was wrong. Ignoring my fellow competitors' panic, I plant my right foot in front of me, tighten my grip on the spear, take a deep breath and sprint towards The Mountain using the fastest humanly possible speed. In seven seconds I'm three feet away from The Mountain to see him looming over Jaime Lannister, his sword and shield a few feet away from him. Squeezing in an extra burst of speed I manage to make it in time to intercept Gregor's sword an inch away from Jaime's face. Without giving Gregor time to process what happened, I redirect his sword up and away from him putting him off balance. Before he can recover, I roll to his side, using the momentum to stand back up, and stab my spear through his armpit and coming out of the top of his, shoulder only stopping due his pauldron. Instead of taking the spear out, I rip through the remaining bones and muscles of his shoulder completely disarming him in the process. With an outraged roar, The Mountain swings his sword at my head only for it to be redirected by me twirling my spear and once again setting him off balance. Anticipating his recovery, I slash my spear through the tendons of his remaining wrist forcing him to drop his sword. While allowing my spear to continue its twirl, I guide it towards his head and stab him through the opening of his visitor and twist it through his head for good measure before removing it. He stands there for a few seconds before finally dropping to the ground dead.