BAELORS POV

Baelor both yawned and shivered at the same time. He hadn't had any sleep in what felt like ages, and he was shivering because he was stark naked and had recently been drenched in water. His position hadn't changed since he had been locked up by the pirates who had captured him. He still hung suspended from the ceiling by thick iron chains. The chain so short that his feet just barely reached the disgustingly dirty floor forcing him to stand on the tip of his toes. The awkward position making his arms, back and neck ache with a dull throbbing pain. His arms felt like they were on fire from holding up his weight, and his wrists were red raw and bleeding from where the chains had cut deep into his flesh. He didn't know how long he had been locked up, but it had felt like an eternity. An eternity of pain that never seemed to end.

Every day someone new would enter his cell, ask him the same questions that Gardner had asked him and torture him when he refused to answer. Their methods of torture were various and brutal. Sleep deprivation, waterboarding, whipping, cutting and burning were some of the more popular methods they had used. They had hardly fed him, and on the rare occasion they had; it was a measly piece of bread and a small cup of water at best. They hadn't let him go to the bathroom or allow him to bathe himself. So not only was his body stinky, sticky and smelly but was also covered in a thick layer of grime (made up a combination of blood, sweat, piss, shit, dust, dirt, and mud)

Out of all the methods they had chosen, the sleep deprivation was the worse. Every time he would be nearly asleep, which itself was difficult given his standing position, one of his guards would come in and begin another session of what they called 'fun time'.

On more than one occasion he had nearly given in. Wanting nothing more for the pain to end, and to finally be able to go to sleep. The thought of a nice meal, a hot bath, and some warm clothes also proved very tempting and all of which had been promised to him by Gardner if he had just told them what they wanted to know.

To be honest, he didn't know how much more he could truly withstand. Sooner or later he was going to either cave into their demands, or die from a combination of his injuries and a lack of both food and sleep. If he wanted to survive he would need to escape, and preferably sooner rather than later.

Since he had arrived in his cell he hadn't felt even an inkling of his magic. Although he hadn't exactly tried to. The magic that he had used onboard the ship to knock out the pirates was some of the most powerful magic he had ever used. So powerful in fact that it had depleted his magical reserves to near empty. If he was to use his magic before it was back to normal, the backlash would more than likely kill him. He had been injured several times in the past from using his magic before it was ready and it wasn't exactly an experience he wanted to relive.

But his time was running out and so he had to at least try. If he didn't at least try and call on his magic to help him escape, then he would end up dead anyway. So his choice was already made up for him. Either he would die by his own magic or at the hands of his captors, and he knew which way he preferred to go.

Closing his eyes tightly he took a large breath of air, which he held for a few seconds before exhaling through his nose. He did this several times over in order to try and block out how hungry, tired and sore he was. He would only ever get one chance at escaping, and if he wanted to succeed then he had to try and make his body and mind in the best possible state they could be. It allowed his mind to be sharper and more focused and allowed him to somehow connect with his magic in a more intimate way. He had learned this meditation-like technique about 6 years ago when he had exhausted his magic for the very first time.

It took longer than usual, given the circumstances, but eventually, he felt something change deep within him as he tugged on his magic and brought it the surface. Almost as if all of his aches, pains, and worries had been pushed to the back of his mind, allowing him to function without emotion and human judgment to affect his decisions. No longer did he feel the unbearable hunger in the pit of his stomach. No longer did his body feel like it was being stabbed by a thousand needles all at once, whilst simultaneously being covered in a thin layer of fire. But more important than his pain being alleviated was that his sense of tiredness had left him completely.

His breathing returned to normal as he withdrew from his meditative state and opened his eyes. Finally – after what felt like forever – he could think straight and see clearly once again.

Focusing on the iron chains that shackled him to the ceiling, he grinned somewhat to himself as he felt the bonds that held him begin to slowly loosen. Before long his cuffs were loose enough for him to just barely squeeze his hands through. He had to squeeze his thumb and little finger together in order to do so, causing his wrists to bleed with the amount of force he had to use. This went on for several minutes until at long last he was finally free.

He grunted in pain as he immediately fell forward, his arms sprawling out in front to protect his face from hitting the floor. His legs so weak from non-use that they hadn't been able to bear the entirety of his weight so suddenly.

Wiping his now filthy hands on some dead dried up grass, he took his time to steady himself before slowly getting to his feet. Standing on shaky legs he looked around the room properly for the first time since he had been captured by the pirates.

The room itself hadn't changed, it was still just as small and made out of solid rock with no windows or sources of light. The floor that was once littered with clean dry grass was now dirty beyond recognition, especially the area closest to where he had been imprisoned. A thick layer of blood, piss, and shit covered the ground, all of which had mixed with the dirty water the pirates had constantly poured over him to keep him awake when he was on the verge of falling asleep.

Looking around the room he was surprised to see a large wooden table pressed up against the wall that his back had been facing when he had been chained to the ceiling. What surprised him more was the fact that all of his personal belongings had been carelessly left in the open. From the looks of it, even his weapons and rucksack had been stored within 3 feet of him. He assumed that the pirates thought he was unable to ever escape and had foolishly not locked away his personal effects in a more secure location of the building.

'A mistake they will not soon forget' he thought to himself as he walked over to the table.

Everything he had brought with him on his journey lay untouched upon the table before him. His cloak, his sword and dagger, his leather rucksack (full of the few personal belongings he had brought with him), his leather boots, his shirt, breeches and tunic, and his hefty coin purse were exactly as he remembered. He thought it odd that they hadn't taken his gold at the very least. Perhaps the spell of warding he had been testing out had actually worked.

Here he used the term 'Spell' very loosely. He didn't know any words or incantations to make his magic do what it did. How could he when he was the only person he knew of who could control magic they way that he could.

There were stories of course. Myths and legends that spoke of certain individuals in ages past being able to perform great feats of magic, but most didn't believe in such nonsense. Especially those who lived in Westeros, who thought magic was nothing more than a mythical force. People in the East, however, held very different beliefs and rituals of blood, fire, and death were often practiced by the people of Essos.

His magic was vastly different to what they could do. He didn't need to perform a human sacrifice or pray to a god in order for his magic to work. His magic was very real and very powerful. All he did was envision what he wanted and then use his will to make it happen. Nothing more and nothing less. Small feats of magic he could do with little to no effort, but bigger, more advanced feats of magic required an extreme amount of willpower and concentration.

Before departing from Kings Landing he had cast a 'spell' of protection over every one of his belongings. Any person who had any thoughts about stealing one of his possessions would have a strong urge to put down whatever they were holding. He was pleased to see that one of his more advanced spells had worked and he at least didn't have to worry about his things going missing.

Shivering in place from the freezing cold, Baelor grabbed the black long-sleeve undershirt from the table and pulled it over his head. He winced slightly in pain as the fabric clung to his open wounds but the warmth that enveloped his body was definitely worth it. He pulled on his undergarments and trousers next, followed closely by the rest of his clothing.

He had just finished attaching his sword and dagger to his belt when he heard a noise come from the direction of the door. Quickly grabbing his rucksack and throwing it over his shoulder, he withdrew his sword from its sheath as he turned to face the door full on.

He waited with bated breath as he held his Valyrian steel sword in his left hand and a small ball of free ice in the other. Out of all the elements he had experimented with, Ice had been the easiest master and fire the most difficult.

His eyes locked on the door handle as it slowly began to turn in place. The door opened with a loud BANG! As it connected with the stone wall behind it, revealing the shocked faces of his two main torturers. Two huge ugly brutes with black hair and piggy little eyes, who had about as much brain power as a newborn infant.

Baelor grinned widely as his eyes almost pulsated with raw power as he looked up at them with pure scorn and loathing. They had made him, a boy of but 14 name days – suffer an unimaginable amount of pain. Pain no child should ever have to endure.

Now that the tables had turned and he was the one in control, he was going to return the favor. He wanted them to feel what he had felt, every single iota of it. He wanted them to know what it felt like to be damaged and degraded like he had been, to be stripped of all humanity and made to endure what he had had to endure. He wanted them to know what it felt like to be whipped to within an inch of their lives. Of the feeling of being so hungry and so tired that even death felt like a better option than life itself. At this moment of his life, revenge for his suffering was all that could bring a smile to his face.

But he wasn't like them. He would never be like them. Never could he take fun in causing another human pain, no matter how much they deserved it. He wasn't that type of person, 'not yet at least' he thought to himself as he gazed into their terrified eyes.

So instead he did the merciful thing and just shot two icicles towards them. The sharpened points piercing each of them directly in the heart, killing them instantly and without any pain at all.

'Which is far more than you deserve' thought Baelor viciously as he stepped over their twitching bodies that had fallen in the doorway and began to walk down the dimly lit hall without a backward glance.