Tumbleton...
In response to Lord Footly's desperate plea for help, Lord Ormund Hightower took charge and swiftly commanded the troops of Oldtown to march towards the besieged town of Tumbleton, which lay approximately fifty leagues away from King's Landing. The reason for the ongoing siege on Tumbleton remained a mystery, confusing all involved. Initially, many believed the remaining Caltrops troops still lingering in the Reach were responsible for the assault on Tumbleton. The Caltrops had long been a thorn in the side of the Blacks throughout the Dance of the Dragons, wreaking havoc and causing chaos wherever they went. However, as the invaders' armor and armaments did not align with that of the Caltrops, confusion began to arise among the Blacks' forces regarding the true identity of their enemies.
"Stand your ground until reinforcements arrive!" Ormund ordered.
"Enemies spotted near the dam!" a scout informed.
"The Mander? Could they be planning a water attack? Stop them before these upstarts cause significant damage!"
"Leave that to us!" Roderick hollered.
With the help of 2,000 Winter Wolves, Lord Roderick Dustin and Ser Garibald Grey made a strategic decision to split off from the main army and halt the advancing enemy troops at the dam. If breached, this crucial point would have allowed the enemy to launch a devastating water attack on the vulnerable market town of Tumbleton, whose garrison consisted of less than 40 men. The clash of swords and spears reverberated through the air, accompanied by a relentless torrent of arrows descending from all directions, and the resounding clash of shields and battle cries echoed across the battlefield as both factions engaged in a ferocious struggle. As Lord Ormund fought alongside his loyal soldiers, he could feel the weight of his armor pressing down on his tired muscles. Every swing of his sword became heavier, every parry more difficult. The relentless pace of the battle threatened to drain his energy, yet he pushed forward, refusing to let exhaustion consume him.
"My lord!" Ser Bryndon Hightower, Ormund's cousin, positioned himself between his lord and the oncoming enemy forces. His movements were precise and calculated, each swing of his longaxe striking true and felling his opponents. The clang of metal on metal echoed through the air as he defended his lord with unwavering determination. With each strike, he pushed back the enemy forces, creating a barrier between them and Lord Ormund, who stood behind him.
Amidst the chaos, the fierce battle cries of warriors on both sides pierced through the air. The shouts of victory and the screams of pain mingled, creating a cacophony of emotions.
"Gah! There seems to be no end to them," Ormund cursed. "Where did these lots come from?"
"Are they Caltrops?!"
"No, their armor is pure silver and lacks the color orange, and their weapons look unrefined. Sellswords, perhaps?"
"But who hired them?"
"I don't know. Keep fighting, men! The pride of Oldtown will not let this stain plague the land!"
For what felt like an eternity, House Hightower's army continued to clash with the unknown invaders, their banners flying high as they pushed back against them with all their might. The clash of steel on steel echoed through the battlefield, the sound of battle cries mixing with the screams of the wounded and dying. Spears were hurled through the air, their sharp tips finding their mark in the bodies of the enemy; swords sliced and clashed against the other; shields absorbed the blows of the enemy, providing a solid barrier against relentless attacks; arrows rained down from the sky, their deadly trajectory finding their targets with lethal precision. Both archers from each faction, positioned strategically on higher ground, unleashed a relentless barrage of arrows, thinning the enemy ranks with each shot; both infantry and cavalry charged through the opposing lines, their determination unwavering. The Hightower forces, mounted on mighty steeds, thundered through the enemy ranks, trampling all who stood in their way. The infantry, armed with swords and shields, fought with a ferocity that seemed to defy human limits. The clash of steel on steel echoed through the battlefield, the sound of battle cries mixing with the screams of the wounded and dying.
Yet, despite the relentless assault, the invaders refused to concede. Their own determination matched that of the Hightower soldiers, and they fought back with such tenacity.
"Ngh!" Ormund let out a strained grunt as he felt the sharp blade pierce his left flank. Despite the pain, the Lord of Oldtown swung his sword, taking down two more sellswords with a decisive strike. However, his efforts were short-lived as another enemy swiftly attacked from behind, plunging a dagger into his back. "Gah!" Overwhelmed by the excruciating pain, Ormund's strength waned, and he collapsed to his knees.
"Lord Hightower!" soldiers cried out.
Ormund clenched his jaw tightly, feeling the searing pain coursing through his body. Crimson liquid streamed from his exposed wounds and mouth, staining his once pristine armor. The taste of iron filled his mouth, a bitter reminder of the battle that had brought him to this moment. He had fought too hard, endured too much, to let it all end here. With every ounce of strength left in his battered body, he forced himself to raise his gaze, his eyes meeting the cold, determined stare of the silver-clad sellsword. The sellsword stood tall and imposing, his sword gleaming in the dim light. He exuded confidence, knowing that victory was within his grasp. With a swift motion, he hoisted his sword above his head, readying himself to deliver the decisive strike that would end Ormund's life.
However...
"*Reeeeee!*"
With Maelyx's timely arrival, the young dragon snatched the sellsword in his talons, his grip unyielding and powerful. As the onlookers watched in awe, Maelyx ascended into the heavens. High above the ground, Maelyx surveyed the world below, and, with a single, swift motion, he released his grip on the unfortunate soul, who now found himself hurtling towards his inevitable demise. The sellsword's screams echoed through the sky, a haunting melody that seemed to fade into the distance. As the sellsword's life flashed before his eyes, he could only marvel at the sheer might of the dragon who had snatched him from the clutches of certain death. The wind rushed past him, whipping his hair and clothes, as the ground grew closer with each passing second. With a final, thunderous crash, the sellsword's body collided with the unforgiving earth.
"Dragon!" a soldier called out.
"Wait! There's another one!"
Ormund looked up at the sky, spotting Maelyx and another dragon, Essovius.
"Reinforcements! It's Prince Viserys!"
"Prince Viserys Targaryen is here!"
"And Prince Lucerys is with him!"
"All right! We can do this!"
Viserys and Maelyx rise higher into the sky with the raging fire beneath them. The young Targaryen prince carefully observes the battlefield, strategizing his next move. As they soar through the smoke and flames, Viserys can feel the heat of the fire licking at his skin, but he remains focused on the task at hand. Looking backward over his shoulder, Viserys spots Lucerys and Essovius soaring close behind them. "Follow me, Luke," he beckoned. With a firm grip on the reins, Viserys gently tapped his dragon three times, a signal that Maelyx had come to recognize. It was a command for them to loop around and prepare for another assault. Maelyx, ever obedient and loyal to his rider, responded immediately, adjusting his wings and changing direction to prepare for another attack run. "Dracarys!"
With a mighty roar, Maelyx unleashed a torrent of fire, engulfing the enemy ranks in a blazing inferno. The screams of the defeated filled the air. They were progressing, but Viserys knew they couldn't afford to become complacent. The battle was far from over, and enemies were still left to be defeated. With a determined glint in his eyes, he tapped Maelyx once again, urging him to rise back into the sky. They would regroup, strategize, and then return to the fray, ready to unleash their fury again.
Further away, Essovius joins in and spews forth an arc of flame. As they completed their next circle, Viserys gave a subtle nudge with his knees, signaling Maelyx to dive towards their target. The dragon responded instantly, tucking his wings and hurtling towards the enemy with incredible speed. Viserys, his grip on the reins firm, felt the rush of adrenaline coursing through his veins as they descended upon their unsuspecting adversaries. Maelyx unleashed another arc of dragonflame, engulfing the enemy's defenses in a blazing inferno. The destructive force of their attack left the enemy disoriented and scattered.
"Dracarys!"
Viserys and Lucerys fly side-by-side on Maelyx and Essovius, circling the Blacks and the opposing army. Though the sellswords and mercenaries that had joined the enemy ranks were unfamiliar to the princes, they knew the dire situation that had befallen the besieged Tumbleton. Regardless of the motives behind their attack, the two princes were resolute in their decision not to forsake the townspeople, who fervently cheered for their deliverance. The flames danced and roared, engulfing the enemy soldiers and mercenaries in a fiery embrace. The sellswords, who had once fought for coin and personal gain, now faced the wrath of the Targaryen dragons. With each pass, the dragons unleashed fiery breath upon the enemy forces, decimating their ranks and scattering them in disarray. The princes' resolve remained unyielding, their determination to protect innocent people unshakable.
"Stay close to me, Luke. You're doing good," Viserys reassured.
"I'll follow your lead, cousin," Lucerys replied.
"Begin your attack run!"
"*RAAAAAAAAAAA!!*" Maelyx roared.
"*Reeeeeeaaah!*" Essovius screeched.
On the ground, Lord Roderick and his Northmen forces fought a brutal clash with the soldiers attempting a devastating flood attack, which was nothing short of a gruesome spectacle. Despite being outnumbered approximately ten-to-one, the Winter Wolves fought valiantly, slaying five times the number of sellswords before ultimately succumbing to their demise. The grizzled, grey-bearded Lord of Barrowton pressed forward amidst the chaos, his entire body drenched in blood from head to toe. Despite sustaining grievous injuries, he refused to yield. In a cruel twist of fate, a sellsword wielding a formidable longaxe delivered a devastating blow that severed Roderick's shield arm at the shoulder. The pain was excruciating, but the indomitable spirit of the North surged through his veins, fueling his resolve to continue the fight. With adrenaline coursing through his veins, Roderick defied the odds, pushing himself beyond the limits of his physical capabilities. He continued to fight, ultimately defeating the last remnants of the enemy soldiers at the dam. However, the toll of his injuries proved too great, and he succumbed to his wounds, his body finally giving in to the relentless brutality of the battlefield. Among the fallen heroes who also died on the battlefield were Ser Pate of Longleaf, who was trampled under a horse by the traitorous Ser Roger Corne, and Ser Merrell the Bold, the latter of whom fell victim to treachery when Lord Owain Bourney betrayed him by cowardly stabbing him in the back with a spear.
"Dracarys!" Viserys commanded.
As Maelyx unleashed a scorching fireline, the flames danced and crackled, painting the sky with a fiery hue-the intense heat radiated from his mighty jaws, engulfing the enemy troops in a blazing inferno. The ground trembled beneath the force of his power as the destructive flames consumed everything in their path. Meanwhile, Essovius, with his sleek and agile form, swiftly strafed the area, his wings slicing through the air with precision. He unleashed a barrage of razor-sharp claws and teeth with each swift maneuver. The two dragons banked past the enemy forces as Tumbleton's garrison and townspeople gave a great cheer to their saviors, thinking the tide of battle had turned. As Maelyx and Essovius continued their aerial assault, their wings beating in perfect harmony, the enemy troops began to falter. Fear and panic spread among their ranks, their once-confident demeanor crumbling under the relentless onslaught.
"Viserys! Look! They're pulling back!" Lucerys pointed.
Perched atop his dragon, Viserys surveyed the battlefield with a keen eye. He scrutinized the scattered movements of the enemy troops, analyzing their positions and tactics. Despite suffering losses, the Blacks chose not to pursue their foes. They focused on regrouping and recovering before devising their next strategic move. Something's not right... "Disengage and hold back for now, Luke. Do not give chase. I want you to descend to Lord Ormund Hightower and find out who or what we're up against," he said. Something tells me we're not out of the woods yet... I've got a bad feeling about this.
Lucerys guided Essovius, the young dragon's wings beating against the wind as they descended in compliance with Viserys's request to survey the damage and ascertain the root cause of the invasion of Tumbleton. As Lucerys dismounted from Essovius, he surveyed the devastation before him. The acrid smell of smoke filled the air, mingling with the stench of death. Whoever these attackers were, they did not appear aligned with the Caltrops or the Blacks but instead were of a different rogue faction. As he questioned the survivors and gathered information from the locals, Lucerys began to piece together a picture of the mysterious faction that had orchestrated the assault. Their motives remained unclear, but one thing was sure - they posed a significant threat to the realm's stability.
With each new piece of information he uncovered, Lucerys couldn't help but feel a sense of unease. The destruction was not random; it was targeted. It was as if the attackers had known precisely what they were looking for, what they wanted to destroy. This was not a mere act of violence; it was a message, a warning to those who dared to oppose them. He had to be cautious. Whoever was behind this assault was dangerous, cunning, and elusive. They had managed to strike without leaving a trace, without being detected by the armies of either side.
However, before Lucerys or Viserys could even begin to think about their next course of action, a sudden eruption of dragonflame engulfed Tumbleton, instantly transforming the jubilant cheers into horrified screams.
"What the...?!" Lucerys quickly turned around, shock and horror etched on his face.
Tumbleton went up in flame: shops, homes, septs, people, all. Men fell burning from gatehouses and battlements or stumbled, shrieking through the streets like so many living torches. The air was thick with smoke and the acrid smell of burning debris. Buildings that once stood tall and proud were reduced to charred remnants. Panic spread like wildfire as people desperately tried to flee from the wrath of the dragonflame that had engulfed their homes. As the flames danced and roared, consuming everything in their path, Lucerys and Viserys were forced to confront the harsh reality of their situation. The people they had hoped to save were now being burned alive by this sudden attack.
"Go!" Ormund coughed, badly wounded. "Go to King's Landing! Get them to send help! Go!"
Lucerys, now panicking and filled with fear, hurriedly mounted Essovius. "Sōvēs, Essovius! Aderī! (Fly, Essovius! Hurry!)" he commanded.
"*Reeeeee!*" Essovius released a piercing screech as he propelled himself into the air, his feet leaving the ground swiftly.
However, in their attempt to reach King's Landing, Lucerys and Essovius were immediately intercepted by a sudden eruption of dragonflame in a striking cobalt blue hue, effectively blocking their escape route. As Tessarion emerged from the clouds, the Blue Queen unleashed a stream of blue flames toward Luke and Essovius, causing them to change direction quickly. Lucerys couldn't help but feel a wave of terror wash over him, as this situation resembled the intense chase he had experienced over Shipbreaker Bay. The stakes were higher now, and they had to find a way to outmaneuver the Blue Queen to survive. No! Not again! "Viserys! Help!" he screamed.
Viserys, momentarily frozen in shock, quickly shook his head and patted his dragon. "Hold on, Luke! Aderī, Melex! Jorarghutan pōntā! (Quickly, Maelyx! After them!)" he commanded.
"*Raaaaaaa!*" Maelyx let out a roar as he flapped his wings vigorously, soaring to intercept Tessarion's assault on Essovius and Lucerys.
Ulf White glanced over his shoulder, spotting Viserys and Maelyx moving to pursue him and his dragon, Tessarion. Smirking confidently, Ulf maintained course, targetting Lucerys and Essovius. As Ulf and Tessarion approached their targets, the dragonseed readied himself for a fierce and decisive attack. That's it, boy. Come and get me. Just a little closer now... "Dracarys!" he commanded.
The air was filled with a loud screech as Essovius tried to flee with all his might while Lucerys struggled to hold on tight in the face of the looming danger. The blue flames of Tessarion's attack threatened to engulf them both, and unlike Vhagar's pursuit, there was no escaping this fiery onslaught. The dragon Tessarion was smaller than Vhagar but was much more agile and swift in the air and was rapidly closing in on them. Lucerys tried to hold back his tears and keep his eyes shut tight, hoping against hope that they would somehow manage to shake off Ulf and his dragon's relentless pursuit.
Viserys felt a sense of tension building inside him. He tightened his grip on the saddle and urged Maelyx to accelerate, to close the distance between them and Tessarion. The wind rushed past his face, and his heart pounded as he prepared to engage in a daring maneuver. Despite the risk, Viserys was determined to save his cousin. Damn you, Ulf White! "Adere! (Faster!)" he urged. "Come on, come on, come on!" Hang on, Luke! I'm almost there!
Just as Maelyx was preparing to unleash a powerful blast of dragonflame, a sudden jolt hit him from the side; a much older and larger dragon had rammed into him with incredible force. The impact sent Maelyx and Viserys tumbling off-balance, leaving them both stunned and disoriented.
"Ngh!" Viserys let out a pained grunt as he struggled to regain control of his senses. The young Targaryen prince's head was pounding, and his vision was blurred. But even in his disoriented state, he could recognize the dragon that had attacked him. It was Seasmoke, once ridden by Ser Laenor Velaryon, now claimed by Hugh Hammer. Viserys struggled to fend off its deadly attacks despite the pain and confusion. "Shit!" he cursed.
"Ossēnātās jāla! (Kill him!)" Hugh ordered.
"*Raaaaaaaaaaa!*" Seasmoke roared.
"*Reeeeee!*" With a piercing screech that echoed through the air, Maelyx struggled against Seasmoke's firm grip, thrashing and biting with all his might, determined to break free from his captor's grip.
Viserys grits his teeth, feeling frustration and desperation as he assesses the situation. As the young Targaryen prince shifted his gaze between Seasmoke and Tessarion, Viserys found himself in a dilemma trying to rescue Lucerys from Ulf White, hindered by Hugh Hammer and Seasmoke blocking his path. Seasmoke's size and battle experience made him a formidable dragon, and Viserys knew a confrontation would be dangerous. His mind raced, searching for a solution that would allow him to rescue his cousin without putting himself and Maelyx at too significant a risk. He knew Seasmoke's strength and size could overpower them, but perhaps another way could outmaneuver him. He realized that to save Luke, he might have to attack Seasmoke.
I've got to stop this, but I have to save Luke!
Seeing no other choice, Viserys had to fight.
"Get out of my WAY!!"