BAELOR

Hours passed, and still, the unnamed Pirate ship continued to follow The Challenger, unrelenting in its pursuit of the small, yet bountiful ship. The Crew worked tirelessly to try and put as much distance as they could between them and the enemy, yet this was quite difficult given the fact that the offending ship was bigger and as such had larger sails, which meant that it was able to go faster than the Challenger, and secondly the crew were becoming increasingly weary from all of their hard work, their pace becoming slower and slower as each hour passed.

The Captain could be seen stalking the length of the deck, shouting commands at his employees and helping where possible, determined to not let he, nor any of his crew, fall prey to the devils that were pursuing them.

Whilst all of this was happening, Baelor could be found in his cabin, a teeny tiny room that had been his home for the last month or so. The room was roughly two meters wide and two meters long, containing only a bed made of straw and covered in animal skins, and a small wooden crate that acted as a makeshift table.

Currently, Baelor could be seen kneeling in the center of his room, his head bowed and his eyes closed as he prayed to the Seven, the lack of Weirwoods in this part of the world making it quite impossible to pray to his families' tradition gods.

To the Warrior, he prayed for strength and courage, so that his blade swung true and so that he may be victorious upon the battlefield. To the Crone (the wisest of the Seven) he prayed for guidance, in the hope that she would guide him well on his remaining quest and to see him safely to wherever it was that he ended up. And lastly, but definitely not least, he prayed to the Father, he prayed for protection against the unknown, he prayed that justice may be carried out upon those who would soon face them in combat, and lastly, he prayed for forgiveness. Forgiveness for the deaths that were about to be caused by his hand, for although the Pirates were his enemy, it didn't lessen the fact that they too were human.

Most people would say that one either believed in the Old Gods, the New Gods, the Drowned God, etc. and that to follow more than one religion was blasphemous and simply unacceptable, but Baelor disagreed. He believed that each god was one and the same, that although they may have had different names and took on different forms, in the end, it was all just one deity being worshipped by people with different outlooks on life. It was his meeting with the Children in the Forrest all those years ago that led him to believe this to be true, for if a god could walk in one form, then it could certainly walk in another. So even though he was praying to the Seven and not to the Old Gods that his family had worshipped for time beyond reckoning, he was, in reality, praying to all of the gods in existence.

From his position on the ground, he looked around his bedroom and shook his head with a look of amazement in his eyes, to think that a month had passed with him living in such a state was simply astonishing. All his life he had lived in large and richly decorated rooms, rooms fit for someone of his bearing and noble heritage, yet living in such a small room with no furniture and only books to read had definitely made him appreciate those less fortunate than himself.

Sitting up from his kneeling position, Baelor turned to the corner of his room and began to search through his various personal items, resurfacing a moment later with a tightly wrapped bundle of cloth. Carefully placing the bundle on the bed, he made quick work of untying the leather cords that held the package together, before grabbing a corner of the cloth and slowly unfolding the bundle.

Inside lay an assortment of items, clothes, weapons, armor, gold and other such personal effects, all of which had been given to him by his friends and family, and as such were very dear to him.

After he had been knighted, Ser Barristan had asked for him to visit him in his chambers, as he had several things that they needed to discuss. They talked of his responsibilities and duties of becoming a full-fledged knight, of how he would need to find a wife and build a home, and various other such topics. It was hours later, just when he was about to retire for the night, that his mentor revealed that he had several gifts to give him, a practice common among master and apprentice.

As it turned out, the gifts that Ser Baristan had given him consisted of a sword and scabbard, black leather boots, a dark gray sleeveless tunic and a thick woolen cloak of the same color.

Picking up the sword from his bed, Baelor once again marveled at the beauty of the blade, and not for the first time wondered how Ser Barristan could have afforded such a magnificent piece of weaponry.

Not only was the sword exceptionally beautiful, it also happened to be made of Valyrian steel, the strongest steel in the known world, steel that had been forged by magic and dragon fire.

The sword was about 95 centimeters long, had a heavy double sided blade with a fuller that went to about halfway and which had high valyrian written down the center. The crossguard and pommel were both simple in design, the pommel being a circle shape with a seven pointed star engraved upon it (obviously a new addition to the blade) and the crossguard being a solid bar with slightly upturned edges, and finally the handle was made of steel covered in a rich dark red leather, the same leather that had also been used for its scabbard.

Putting the sword aside, he stood up and began to undress for the impending battle, quickly relieving himself of his breeches and shirt, until he stood in nothing more than his undergarments. Firstly he pulled on new shirt and breeches, both black in color, he then pulled on his chain mail (a shirt made of tiny metal rings that linked together and acted as armor), which was mid-thigh long and elbow length in the arms. Next came his tunic, which was dark blue in color, had a long split down the front, was sleeveless, and went all the way down to his ankles. Picking up his sword he secured it to the left side of his waist, before sitting down and pulling on his black, knee-high leather boots, and clasping his thick woolen cloak around his neck (also black of color), before pulling the hood over his head in order to mask his appearance.

He had asked Ser Barristan about putting his family sigil on his tunic and cape but had been reminded that he was supposed to keep his identity a secret, and so he decided to wait until he was back in Kings Landing in order to do so.

Knowing he didn't have time to waste, he decided to put everything that he owed, his books and clothes, his quills, ink, and other valuables into a rucksack in case he needed to grab them in a hurry. And all in the nick of time it seemed.

For as he stood in the center of his room, the contents of which now lay in his ruck sack, he was made aware of the ships impending danger by the loud blast of a horn, a signal that the Captain had told him would signal everyone to get to their battle stations.

Quickly placing his rucksack near the door, he quickly made his way from his room at the back of the ship. As he made his way above deck, he was forced to duck and weave between the hustling and bustling of the ship's crew, all of whom were scuttling around, tripping over objects and bumping into one another in their haste to get ready. Shaking his head, Baelor quickly pushed his way past the remaining crewmembers, before climbing the wooden ladder that led to the surface of the ship.

What awaited him above deck, however, was not what he had expected. He had expected the same type of chaos that was happening below deck, yet where there was running and stumbling below, the complete opposite was occurring above.

The Crew stood in the center of the ship, all of the scattered around hap hazardously as all of them looked to the east, not a sound to be heard from any of them. As he made his way over to the Captain, he could practically feel the fear and tension in the air, the men having given up all sense of hope as they await for their inevitable deaths.

"What is it? Have they caught up with us already?" asked Baelor as he came to stand beside Captain Santagar, who had his blade in one hand and his trusty spyglass in the other.

Santagar didn't say anything, his expression pale and caked in sweat as he instead pointed east, the same direction that had the Crew looking so afraid.

In his rush to find out what was going on, as well as to prevent himself from throwing up all over the deck due, Baelor had completely forgotten to take in his surrounding, not noticing how the sky had darkened to a light grey color, nor how the ship was moving more so than usual as it responded to the waves beneath it.

Turning his head in in the direction that the Captain had pointed, he finally saw what had everyone looking so hopeless, and he would be lying to himself if he himself wasn't a little bit afraid by what he saw. For although he may have been a fully-fledged knight, at heart he was but a young man who hadn't experienced his first kiss, let alone his first taste of battle.

A large ship (twice as large as The Challenger), flying black sails and a skull and crossbones flag, wasn't but a league and a half away, and was gaining on them with an increasing amount of speed. At this pace, they'd reach The Challenger in a matter of minutes.

Baelor turned around, his hand on his sword hilt as he once again surveyed the solemn and dejected faces of Captain Santagar and his men. If it was the will of the Seven that he and the men aboard The Challenger should die, then he was going to make sure that they would die the most heroic of deaths.

Seeing a pile of crates near the main mast, he climbed upon them so that the entire crew could see him. Clearing his throat loudly, and seeing that he had gained the attention of everyone on board, he began to speak.

"Death. That is what awaits us in the upcoming battle, there's no use denying it ... not anymore. You stand before me, men of simple means and humble origins, men who have no knowledge and no need for warfare, and yet despite your best efforts to avoid it, war has come to you. They enemy outnumber us 3 to 1. They have superior weapons, and a lifetime of battle experience, but all of this means nothing, for they lack the one thing that every man here possesses ... and that one thing is Honor. Although all of us may die here today, it doesn't mean that we cannot show our enemy - that we, men of lesser numbers and less experience, can still bring death and destruction down upon those who would see us tremble before them. And so I say unto each and everyone one of you, do not fear Death. For Death, in time, comes to us all. If it is our destiny to die here today, that at least all of us can die in the most glorious of ways, fighting to the last breathe even though we are scared and there is no hope of victory. For the real heroes are those who fight even though there is no hope, real heroes do not let their fear of death overpower their sense honor, and real heroes do not bow down to the like of which we are about to face! What Say You?"

Such was the power of his words, that by the time he had finished speaking, he had the entire crew standing straighter with their various weapons raised high in the air as they began to stamp their feet and shout.

"BAELOR! BAELOR! BAELOR!"

Baelor couldn't help but let a satisfied grin grace his expression as he listened to his name being chanted over and over again, quietly proud of the fact that he had changed their outlook on their inevitable death, and had given them something to fight for in the process.

But as the crew was so wrapped up in their shouting, cheering and stamping their feet upon the wooden deck, they were completely unaware that their enemy was heading straight towards them at full speed. By the time that they noticed that their enemy was upon them, it was already too late.

The crew of The Challenger watched in absolute horror as their enemy came speeding towards them, and it wasn't until it was too late that they realized the Pirates had no intention of slowing down. They were proven right moments later when the pirates sailed their much larger ship, straight into the side of The Challenger.

Everyone on board The Challenger was instantly thrown backwards by the force of the blow, their bodies landing scattered amongst the deck. Baelor himself had been blasted some 10 feet back, landing quite roughly on his side and bumping his head quite hard in the process.

Moaning loudly from his position on the floor, Baelor slowly got to his feet, his head and the entire left side of his body aching from where he had landed on the hard wooden deck. Knowing that he didn't have a second to lose, Baelor withdrew his sword from its sheath and began to help his fallen comrades get back onto their feet.

He was halfway through helping the ships cook when the screaming began. Looking up from his crouched position, he saw something that made him drop the person he was holding. It appeared as if the Pirates had finally made their way onto The Challenger, and without further ado, had begun to attack anything and everything in sight.

Without even a second thought, Baelor sprinted towards the nearest pirate, his sword raised high in the air as he positioned himself to attack. The pirate before him was twice the size of him and at least three times as wide, he was wearing a collection of mismatched armor, as if each piece had belonged to various people, and carried a large double-sided axe in hand and a spear in the other. But as he went to strike the larger man, his hand all of a sudden became still and for the first time in his life he questioned whether he was ready to be cause of someone's death, but his decision was made for him a moment later when the extremely large pirate before him, roared at the top of his lungs and swung his mighty axe straight at Baelors head.

Quickly ducking the enormous blade, Baelor turned his own weapon horizontally in order to deflect his opponents' blows, an action he was thankful for as not a moment later the unnamed pirate was once again taking aim at his head. This time, he was able to deflect the incoming blow (a blow that would've broken any other blade), although the vibrations from the strike were painful enough.

Not to be discouraged, the Pirate threw his spear to the ground and grasped his axe with two-hands, what came next was onslaught of heavy blows, each more powerful than the last. Baelors blade was continuously vibrating as each blow landed upon the flat of his blade, his forehead dripped with sweat and his teeth grating against one another as he struggled to keep his arm in the air.

Eventually he wasn't able to take any more of the pain, and so as the pirate went to strike at him once more, he quickly moved his blade out of the way, which resulted in the pirates axe hitting the floor with tremendous force, so powerful in fact, that it became lodged within the wooden panels of the deck.

Seeing a golden opportunity, Baelor began to go on the offensive, his sword swinging forward with amazing agility, the pirate slowly backed away, not as sure as he had been a few moments ago. But just as Baelor lunged at his opponent, his sword aimed for his enemies stomach, his blow was cut short by a sword blocking his path. Looking upwards, his eyes locked onto the now grinning face of his opponent, who had somehow made a sword appear from thin air.

Quickly getting himself under control, he once again leapt forward, his sword once again plunging forward, only to be knocked aside once again. This continued for some time, he would strike at the pirate and the pirate would strike at him, each of them trying to land a blow, only to fail. What the pirate had in experience, Baelor made up with sheer energy and determination, his blade moving twice as fast then his opponents. What seemed like hours past, but in actual fact was only a few minutes, and slowly but surely they were both beginning to wear themselves out, but they both knew that whoever faltered first would be the first to die. Taking advantage of his youth Baelor began to quicken his pace, his blade flying through the air at such speed that the pirate was having trouble keeping up with him, and it wasn't long before he made a mistake.

Using a trick that Ser Barristan had taught to him, Baelor swung his blade left, and as he expected his opponent went to defend himself, but at the very last second, just when his opponent's sword was about to strike his own, he pulled back as fast as he could. Because his sword wasn't there to block his strike, all of the power that the pirate had put into his defense was wasted, which caused him to stumble forward. Seeing an opening on his enemies' side, Baelor quickly swung his blade forward with all of the strength that he possessed, the tip of his blade entering through his ribcage and lodging itself deeply within the pirates chest, streams of blood splattering his face and front as he repeatedly stabbed his, by now, very dead opponent.

Having no time to stand around, Baelor quickly found another pirate to battle, only this one was around 5 ft. 5 and carried a sword and shield. This battle didn't take nearly half as long, this pirate clearly wasn't a very competent one, and it wasn't long before he too found himself lying in a pool of his own blood.

This was pretty much the pattern as Baelor went from pirate to pirate, killing each one that came at him. Some were more competent than others, landing a few blows here and there but for the most part, they were nowhere near as skilled as the first pirate he had battled, nor as large either.

Half an hour had passed and the battle was beginning to take its toll on Baelor. His arms felt and legs felt like lead, he had several injuries (including 3 broken ribs, a deep gash going from his shoulder to his elbow on his left arm and large cut across his right cheek), and his whole body was covered from head to toe in a thick layer of sweat and blood.

Pulling his sword from the body of his latest victim, Baelor breathed heavily as he stopped to take in the chaos that surrounded him. What was once a beautiful ship now lay in ruins, pieces of broken wood, dead bodies and blood littered the entire deck. From his position at the very back of the ship, Baelor had a pretty good view of what was happening, and it didn't take an expert to see that the hordes of pirates were decimating unending against the meager forces of The Challenger.

Seeing death after death of The Challenger's crew made him feel guilty, it was he after all who had given them this big speech about not fearing death, even though he himself was scared of it. How he wished they had raised a truce flag and given everything of value to their enemy, maybe then they would have left The Challenger alone. Just as he was about to go back and join the fight, he saw something that made him cry out in anguish. Captain Santagar was in the middle of fighting a pirate (and winning by the looks of it), when from out of nowhere came another pirate, this one carrying a large broadsword, and whilst the Captain was busy fighting the first pirate, the second pirate swung his large sword straight at Santagar's head, splitting it straight down the middle, brains and blood flying everywhere as his limp body fell to the ground in a heap.

Baelor didn't know what to do as someone who he had lived with for the better part of the month was killed before his eyes. Sure, he hadn't Santagar for very long, but the man had kept him company on many a long night and had always done his best to be a generous host. To see him die in such a gruesome fashion was simply beyond belief, and only gave evidence to the fact that this needed to end now before any more of his comrades' lives were lost.

He didn't know if his plan would work or not, having done nothing of this magnitude before, neither did he know if it was such a wise decision to do what he was about to do, but as he had very little options left he was going to do it anyway. When he had visited the Children of the Forrest all those years ago and been gifted with the ability to use Magic, they had told him three things. Firstly, that he wouldn't have the full use of his powers until he had seen 14 name days, the Second thing they had told him was not to do anything over complicated until he had reached said age, and thirdly that performing great feats of Magic before he was ready could result in life-threatening injuries. Even since that day, he made sure to only use his gift for small deeds, moving objects and the like, but it seemed today would be the day that all changed.

Sheathing his sword, Baelor slowly raised his arms, quite the chore given he had three broken ribs and every bone in his body felt like it was on fire. No incantations or special action was required for the magic to take shape, instead, it required concentration and control. Standing with his arms spread wide, Baelor began to envision what he wanted to happen and it wasn't long before he his vision became reality.

No magical lights or glowing beams suddenly sprang from Baelors hands, but what did emerge from his hands was the strongest gust of air ever to be seen, air so powerful that it rocked the entire ship from side to side. Aiming his hands at everyone on deck, it wasn't long before the sheer pressure knocked the pirates and crew members into the nearest object, the force of the blow knocking them all unconscious before they had even hit the ground.

Baelor sighed in relief, even though he had knocked his own side unconscious, he could now go around and tied up the rest of the remaining pirates and wait for his comrades to awaken. Just as he was about to go and look for some rope to tie up his prisoners, he began to feel extremely dizzy and disoriented, not a moment later his head was wracked with an extreme amount of pain. Clutching his head in agony Baelor fell to his knees, his hands clawing at his head as tried to make the pain go away. This continued for several minutes until the pain became so unbearable that he too fell to the ground, his body landing with a heavy thud as he succumbed to the darkness.