Ashes of Tumbleton 
 
 
 
 
 
A pale of wind brought a rotten smell from the ruins of Tumbleton. The 
town was dead, cold and haunted by sickness. If not for the movement of 
some sellswords that were trying to fix the wooden palisades back, no one 
would have guessed that a single soul was alive in what was once a 
prosperous town in the northeast side of the Reach. 
 
With a grunt, the big, bald and muscular man finished inside one of the 
whores that was dead silent. He threw her a small bag of silvers and then 
laid down on the soft bed that once belonged to the Footlys. The keep of 
Tumbleton was overrun with drunk sellswords, gambling on their 
payments, cursing the Gods and the Kings all alike. Lucius knew that he 
would join them in an instant.  
 
Shortly after Tumbleton fell, a letter wearing the black dragon’s sigil came 
from King’s Landing. It was the day when Lucius lost the command of 
Golden Company in the favour of Portland, the man he brought to the 
company years ago. The one they called _Goldtooth_ broke a lot of noses 
and ribs of the captured people and killed some others because of the 
dreadful news. He didn’t need the command of a dying town, of a burning 
ruin. Above all this, Kharro sent him two thousand of the lowest kind of 
sellswords while calling back the effectives of the Golden Company to put 
them under other’s command.  
 
Lucius Goldtooth sighed as he looked outside only to see the same sight 
every day. T​ his wretched place smells of death, only the cockroaches still live 
among the ruins of this bloody graveyard. ​He turned his large back on the 
window and walked in the keep’s hall, sitting his ass on the Lord’s chair on 
the dais. All the decorations were burned, the former main hall was filthy 
and smelled of human excrements and cheap wine. One or two drunkards 
were sleeping on the floor. The former leader of the Golden Company did 
not bother with them. He looked towards a servant. “Bring the lady and the 
little boy here.” 
 
With the tail of his eye, Lucius saw one of the drunk sellswords on the floor 
standing up and shaking off the dust from his black clothes. “I’m terribly 
sorry, captain. Drank a lil’ too much last night.” His accent was Essosi, 
Lucius inclining to think it was even a Pentoshi one.  
 
“Who are you, scum? From the new ones? The drunkards that don’t do shit 
all day but are the first to claim loot?” Goldtooth’s voice was not pleasant in 
the slightest when he addressed this question to the sellsword.   
 
“Name is Talbert, my captain. From Pentos, I served under lot of different 
captains until I was sent here. Heard you’re the best of the lot, the brightest 
mind.” Lucius couldn’t tell if under that innocent smile, the Pentoshi 
sellsword’ words had in fact another meaning. 
 
“Don’t care about your name. Go outside and if I catch you drinking on duty 
again, I’ll take care of you.” The captain smiled maliciously, showing off all 
of his golden teeth. The Pentoshi bowed and while going towards the exit 
door, passed next to a young lady, shivering in a dirty nightgown, looking 
like she cried for days in a row. She was holding the hand of a little boy, 
merely seven years old, looking winded and sick.  
 
“Lady and little lord Footly!” Lucius clapped his hands and invited his 
prisoners to sit. “You finally accepted to come and see the new ruler of the 
place? That’s so nice of you.”  
 
Lady Rowena Footly was a comely woman of twenty and seven, tall and 
elegant looking even in those harsh conditions. In her green eyes, a slow 
flame of defiance was burning, like a pot of wildfire waiting for the right 
spark to explode. When she spoke, her voice betrayed no emotion. “I did not 
come to see your ugly face, scum. I’m here to seek help for Petyr, the little 
brother of Lord Glandon, my husband. Send a Maester to take care of him. 
Look at him, he is sick.” 
 
Petyr Footly was indeed pale and sickly. He had a strong fever for days now 
and yet no Maester was around. “My lady, I think I said the same thing three 
days ago. Tumbleton does not have a Maester available.” His smile was wet 
and disgusting, but Lucius did not really care too much about the aspect. 
 
“Then find one, my brother-in-law is just a kid. He doesn’t deserve to die in 
this way, under your rule here.” Rowena’s voice was fierce. “You 
slaughtered a whole town, you have no heart, no soul, no conscience.” 
 
Lucius Goldtooth sprang to his feet and slapped the daring bitch. Once with 
the left hand and once with his right. Petyr started crying. “You don’t 
command me, cunt. Now, take your sickly crying pup out of here and spare 
me of your demands. Be glad you’re alive and not in a common grave like 
your husband.”  
 
In that moment, the former captain of the mightiest free company felt a 
shiver down his spine while looking in Rowena’s eyes. For a man who faced 
monsters on the battlefield, that didn’t happen too often. The lady did not 
say a single word, she took little Petyr with her and left the room in silence.  
 
Mere minutes later, a lieutenant of the sellswords from the keep’s yard 
entered shouting. “Captain! Our scouts saw a large host coming from 
southwest. Roxton and Footly banners!” 
 
Goldtooth sprung on his feet and roared. “Gather all the drunk fucks and 
send them to the walls. Prepare the horses, we can flank them while we still 
have time!” 
 
He ran outside the hall and kicked two lazy guards. Drawing his axe from the 
belt where cut ears and noses were pinned, Lucius thought. ​That bastard 
King will see how a real commander wins his battles.​ He made a few steps 
towards the walls when another sellsword came running, rivers of sweat 
pouring down his cheeks.  
 
“Captain, the stables are burning. Someone let the horses loose and set 
everything on fire.” Goldtooth made a step back, trying to think at the 
outcome. ​Fuck, the lady and the kid, they are valuable prisoners!  
 
“Keep an eye on the enemy troops, Rickard. I’ll go take the hostages and 
earn our way out of here. We can’t beat them without horses and we can’t 
run without being hunted down.” After shouting that, Lucius returned to 
the keep and with big, lousy steps, headed towards Rowena’s room. A 
shadow followed him. 
 
With a kick, he opened the door and looked around. The room was empty. 
“Surprise, surprise, captain!” The shadow appeared in front of Lucius. It 
was the Pentoshi sellsword from earlier. 
 
“YOU! You’re not one of my men.” The brute roared and tried to stick his 
axe into the stranger’s chest. 
 
“Course I’m not. I’ll never work for dimwit brutes.” The Pentoshi jumped 
back and picked up a kitchen knife. Lucius leapt forward and tried to hit him 
but the other’s speed and agility made him miss once more. 
 
After about five minutes of playing, Goldtooth saw that his opponent 
stopped from jumping around, avoiding the contact. A blade showed up in 
his right hand, a short-sword that was hidden until then. Lucius felt the 
pain in his left knee and he collapsed. 
 
“This city wasn’t yours, nor was it Kharro’s to conquer and burn and pillage 
and kill.” With every word, Lucius felt the anger in the Pentoshi’s voice 
rising. “I’ll make you die, slowly…”  
 
A sting beneath his arm, right where the artery was, made Goldtooth see 
how a small fountain of blood spilled on the floor. “You’ll bleed out like a 
pig, right here.” He heard the sellsword talking while tying him from the 
bed with the ropes Lucius used to restrain Rowena and Petyr Footly. Then, 
his mind wandered in some thick fog as he lost consciousness, the shadow 
of his attacker leaving the room without looking back. 
 
------------ 
Trumpets. Hooves. Shouts. Clanking. 
The Roxton and Footly host, numbering more than three thousand men, 
was approaching the sacked town of Tumbleton. On their way to the town, 
the small host ambushed the smaller host of House Wythers, completely 
destroying them and imprisoning Lord Wythers in their righteous fury, but 
their hunger for vengeance wasn’t sated. 
 
They marched there swiftly, eager to extract their revenge on the monsters 
who defiled it. Eager to deliver justice to all the good people who were 
slaughtered like sheep, and eager to save their own family- Alyn’s sister, 
Rowena, and Lord Erryk Footly’s second son, Petyr, were still prisoners. 
 
Alyn Roxton, Lord of the Ring and the man who was long considered the 
best knight in the Reach, sat on his white steed on the head of the host. 
Orphan Maker, his house’s ancient valyrian steel sword, hang near his hip in 
a silver-and-blue scabbard. His armor was blue and gold, with the sigil of 
two chains of golden rings forming an X on a blue field displaying proudly 
on his cloak. His raven black hair framed his handsome face, and a 
determined expression was upon it. All in all, he looked like a very 
intimidating and dangerous knight. 
 
Yet he wasn’t the scariest of the host leaders. 
That honor belonged to Erryk Footly, Lord of Tumbleton and Alyn’s closest 
ally. Normally, the fifty years old man was kind and hearty, laughing 
wrinkles near his eyes and a smile on his lips, but now he had no place in his 
heart for kindness. He wore his black-and-white armour clumsily, he had 
no cloak, and yet the sheer fury in his expression and manners was visible to 
everyone, and the laughing wrinkles seemed like scars of war. All of it left no 
doubt- he was the most dangerous man in this host. 
 
They approached the town. The walls were crumbling ruins, but some of it 
was partly intact and served as a wall, and the sellswords built crude 
palisades, wooden walls and a gate to fill in the gaps. It was a laughable 
defence. The bright host of the Reachmen marched to the gates to finally 
extract their revenge. 
 
And then the gates opened. 
 
---------------------- 
 
One of the sellswords cursed. “How can you guarantee that the Reachmen 
won’t butcher us all after we open the gates?” 
Gareon played with his shortsword and laughed. “They will butcher you all 
even if you keep them closed. I’ve seen better defences on Riverlands 
villages, Kozar.” Kozar was once a member of the Blades and Gareon used 
him to gain a bit of control over the desperate bunch of sellswords faced 
with Goldtooth’s death and the imminent danger of Reachmen host at their 
door. 
 
“So we have to choose between two certain deaths?” Kozar sighed. “Just like 
the old times, Gareon. If Chris would have still lived, maybe he’d have found 
a better option…” 
 
“There is no better option, my friend. Working for Kharro brought you here. 
I am afraid it’s the only end.” The Pentoshi shrugged and sheathed his 
shortsword, _Cutter_.  
 
“Open the gates!!!” Kozar shouted and a few men proceeded to follow the 
command. Soon. the imposing Reachmen’s host made their way into 
Tumbleton. 
 
The bright host split into two parts and marched through the gates, 
surrounding the group of sellswords standing there. A group of knights rode 
towards Gareon and dismounted before him. Two of them, who looked like 
their leaders, removed their helms. 
 
“Sister!” The younger of the two, a handsome black-haired lord with a 
fancy scabbard, looked at Rowena with wide eyes. 
“Get away from my son and daughter-in-law, scum.” The other one, an 
aged lord with a furious expression, glared at Gareon and Kozar. 
 
_Should have expected that..._ Gareon smiled pleasantly and made a step 
forward. “My lords, Tumbleton belongs to its rightful owners once more. 
Same as its lady and little Lord Petyr.” Kozar was stuck in his place, not 
knowing what to say or do. _If he lets me talk, he may get out alive._ 
 
The aged Lord’s eyes were burning, and the young one looked at them with 
disgust and spoke. “Your act of cowardice won’t save you, sellsword. Not 
after what your kindred did to this town, not after all the cruelties you 
commited.” 
 
The Pentoshi seemed a bit dazzled by the younger Lord’s words. Then, 
Rowena Footly’s voice was heard. “Brother, Lord Erryk. He is not one of 
them. He came here two days ago and left me messages beneath the window 
of the room where I was prisoner of a brute that took part in slaughtering 
this city. This man here saved me and Petyr and killed the brute.” 
 
Gareon smiled again, recovering his voice. “The Lady is right.” 
Lord Footly squinted in suspicion. “Is it true, son?” The young child nodded 
with a weary look. The Lord still didn’t look convinced. “If you really aren’t 
a sellsword and really saved my family, I thank you.” He turned his face to 
the other sellswords, his expression merciless. “I want the rest dead.” 
 
“Lord Footly, let’s not hurry, shall we?” The Pentoshi spoke again, his tone 
kind. “They did not kill a single Reachman. They’re here from one week ago 
when the one who lead the attack was requested back to King’s Landing. 
Killing them would be an act as vile as what the others did with your city and 
family.” 
 
Erryk Footly’s eyes lit again. “AS VILE?! You’re trying to defend your 
sellsword friends, I see. I fear for what you’ve done to my son and 
daughter-in-law to make them talk that way. These men, or their allies, 
they raped and murdered innocent men, women and children. And these 
ones…” He pointed at Kozar and the others. “They nestled in my city, 
defiled my hall, slept in my dead son’s bed. I cannot…” 
“Erryk.” Alyn Roxton put a hand on the older Lord’s shoulder. He was 
staring at Gareon. “I know this man. I remember him… from long ago, at 
Devan Manderly’s funeral. He was with the King.” 
 
Gareon smiled to Lord Roxton. “Lord Roxton has a point. That brings me 
back to the stupidity of not introducing myself. Lord Erryk Footly, my name 
is Gareon, Pentoshi at birth, for a time leader of Prince Christian 
Targaryen’s free company in Disputed Lands and for a short time, even 
acting Hand of the King. I don’t wear any titles, nor lands to prove my words 
so you are free to believe me or not.” The Pentoshi bowed his head towards 
the elderly Lord. 
 
“I know your name.” Erryk Footly’s expression softened a bit. “You were 
Master of Whisperers, and it’s widely rumoured that you were the King’s 
lover. But you can’t expect me to spare all these defilers of my hall and city. I 
can’t even bear to look at them, because I know that they look exactly like 
the brutes who raped the women of Tumbleton.” He suddenly looked tired, 
full of grief. “Do you think I don’t know what happens to a town when their 
sort sacks it? I lived long enough to know, boy. Do you think I did not 
imagine the horrors my people had to experience?” He shook his head. “I 
will not kill them all. Not enemies who surrendered. But bring me their 
leaders, the nastiest of them, those who committed horrors. I need to have 
some form of revenge, or my mind will never be appeased, and this day will 
continue to haunt me until the day I die.” 
 
Gareon’s look was sad. He made a step back and put his belt down, 
disarming himself. “I can’t give you their leader. He is already dead in Lady 
Rowena’s room. The other leader here is Kozar.” He pointed to the man 
standing next to him who held his head down, unable to look at the Lords. 
“_Their sort_ you say, Lord Erryk? I was their sort less than fifteen years 
ago, I committed horrors, unimaginable crimes against all kinds of people. 
But that didn’t stop me to save your son, to save your daughter-in-law. 
Killing Kozar for the simple reason of him being a sellsword is like I would 
kill you cause you’re a Lord like Ryam fucking Redwyne is. If you want to kill 
him, you have to get over my dead body.” 
 
Alyn Roxton, the younger Lord, sighed. “We… I thank you for what you’ve 
done. Kozar won’t be harmed, I see the regret on his face. But the dead 
bastard couldn’t have deported all the soldiers who participated in the sack, 
and even if he did, I’m sure Kozar, or any other of the sellswords, can point 
out someone who truly deserves death, who raped, tortured and murdered 
defenceless people.” He looked into Gareon’s eyes. “Which, despite what 
you’re saying, I refuse to believe you ever did. At least the rape and torture 
part.” 
 
Kozar finally opened his mouth. “I know one that was showing off to me 
and some others when we arrived… He said that he was the first one who 
raped a girl, a teenage girl in the market. Beat her senseless and let her there 
to die.” He looked around at the sellswords gathered next to the wall and 
saw a man trying to hide from the view. Gareon noticed him as well. “That’s 
the one!” Kozar shouted and in a split of a second ran after him, followed by 
the Pentoshi. 
 
Two minutes later, a bald man with an ugly face full of scars, same as his 
neck and shoulders and a mouth filled with yellow teeth, was forced to kneel 
in front of the Lords. “His name is Rickard and he is from the Second Sons, I 
don’t know why he stayed behind when Vareck and his monsters left.” 
Kozar said and kicked Rickard’s head. 
 
Lord Footly nodded solemnly and approached the sellsword. An empty area 
was made around the Lord and the sellsword. 
Erryk Footly held up his sword. “In the name of Christian Targaryen, King 
of the Andals, and the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven 
Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm I sentence you to death.” His sword, 
surprisingly, landed on the sellsword’s shoulder, causing him to shout in 
pain. 
Lord Footly raised up his sword again. “In the name of Galandon Footly, my 
son whose suicide you and your men caused, I sentence you to death.” The 
sword cut deep into the sellsword’s thigh. 
“In the name of all the women you raped whose very souls you crashed, I 
sentence you to death.” The sword landed very close to the man’s private 
parts, and he screamed in pain. 
“In the name of all the children you murdered without mercy, I sentence 
you to death.” The sword entered the sellsword’s stomach. 
“In the name of all the old people, the unarmed men and women that you 
murdered with cold blood, I sentence you to death.” The sword entered the 
man’s chest, hitting his lungs and not his heart. 
“And in the name of every good man, woman and child in Westeros who 
despises your abhorrent deeds, I sentence you, and your cruel ways, to 
death.” Without flinching, the aged Lord cut off the sellsword’s head, his 
face spluttering with blood. Wordlessly, Lord Erryk Footly dropped the 
sword and went towards the keep, followed by a group of Footly soldiers. 
 
“Fuck me! That gave me the chills!” Gareon mumbled for himself and then 
went towards the stables after picking up his belt from the ground. Kozar 
walked a bit after him.”Where are you going? King’s Landing?” The 
Pentoshi nodded. “Can I come along?”  
 
Gareon puffed. “With two thousand sellswords after you? No way, Kozar. 
Your army will fight for the Reach, that’s an order from your former captain. 
I can handle Kharro myself.” Kozar bowed like he used to do back when 
things were simpler and they were younger. “Aye,captain.” 
 
The Pentoshi saddled his horse and was ready to ride out the gates. 
 
Lord Alyn Roxton suddenly approached him, hugging his sister with one 
hand and holding his brother-in-law’s hand with the other. “Pentoshi. 
Wait.” 
 
Gareon turned around and smiled. “Lord Roxton, Lady Rowena. Hope you’re 
feeling okay and please find a Maester quickly for the little Petyr. I still 
remember that he’s sick.” His tone sounded worried when he looked at the 
pale face of the boy.  
 
Lady Rowena nodded, her expression weary. “We will, Gareon. We came to 
thank you.” 
“Aye…” Lord Roxton sounded a bit shy, as if he wasn’t very used to thanking 
people. “We came to thank you.” 
 
“No need.” The Pentoshi waved his hand. “Seeing you together as a family 
is the only thanks I need. Hope to find you again sometime, in better times 
for all of us.” He kicked the sides of his horse and after waving for one last 
time, went out the gates of a Tumbleton that was once again belonging to a 
Footly.