Chapter 122: First Battle of Tumbleton

                                    

                                          
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.