"My Lord, we are nearing Bitterbridge," Lord Andros Brax advised Tygett Lannister who was in the leading elements of the vanguard of the Lannister host which was nearing Bitterbridge. The host counted itself forty thousand strong all-in-all. It made for a very imposing sight.
"Shall we send forth a messenger to Lord Caswell, asking him to open the city gates for the army?" Lord Quenten Banefort asked his commander who remained stone-faced.
"No," Tygett replied after a moment's pause, "make ready the host, we assail the keep, now!"
All his commanders were taken aback, and looked at him askance as if wondering if he had lost his senses.
"Beg pardon, Ser Tygett," Lord Roland Crakehall interrupted with a cautious tone, "But King's orders were to occupy Bitterbridge, not assault it."
"And my brother's order is to take this town and burn it to a cinder," Tygett replied dispassionately, "After recent events, it is irrelevant what Robert Baratheon wants. We need to demonstrate our anger over the loss of my nephew, and warn those who would assist his killers, of the cost of associating with the enemies of House Lannister. Kill every man, woman and child in that city," he ordered as he moved ahead leaving a gaggle of worried commanders behind.
"What do you make of this?" a very worried Andros Brax asked his fellow Lords of the West, who all seemed very worried.
"Sacking Bitterbridge, a city which is under the impression that we are its allies and is welcoming us in with open arms would be a most egregious transgression!" Roland Crakehall bit out with venom in his eyes.
"Moreover, for Lord Tywin to order us to massacre women and children in such a manner again, so soon after sacking Kings Landing, is this not almost akin to the work of a monster?" Lord Brax asked after a moment while all became silent.
"This is not merely a matter of morality," spoke out Quenten Banefort, his face scrunched up in furious thought, "If we do this, we risk stepping on the tail of the wolf that was blessedly sleeping! The unmoving, unfathomable wolf of Winterfell! Eddard Stark may have tolerated our actions against Kings Landing out of sheer necessity for the deposing of House Targaryen, but he will not tolerate another such act by our forces, especially when we are now tied up with the Rebellion. Our actions will reflect upon him as well, and this is one action, he most assuredly will not tolerate. We risk making the architect of the Rebellion's victory into our enemy by such actions," the Lord of Banefort finished while most of the Lords of the West flinched at the reminder of Eddard Stark and what he was capable of.
"Not Just Eddard Stark and Robert Baratheon, who is our King, and whom we are flagrantly disobeying, but we will be making enemies of Mace Tyrell and Randyll Tarly as well," Lord Brax spoke out softly, while his fellow lords became even more despondent.
"Above all else, the Westerlands can ill-afford to make enemies of the calibre of Eddard Stark and Robert Baratheon! We are already in a blood-feud with Quentyn Martell which is most likely to last till the ends of time. We cannot add two more generals of his calibre to that list, the West cannot survive against a single enemy of that calibre let alone three!" Lord Crakehall bit out, while the others became silent.
"My Lords," spoke out another voice which had remained silent till that time. It was Lord Philip Plumm, one of the oldest Lords present, and the man who had aided Tywin in the suppression of House Reyne during the Rebellion of Castamere.
"All that we discuss are fair words, but," he paused and smiled ruefully. "That is all they are, words. Unless you have the strength to disobey Tywin Lannister and escape unscathed, you can only talk, but do any of you dare disobey his orders?"
His words turned the mood of the present men, nearly fatalistic.
"What in the world is Lord Tywin, thinking?" Lord Brax bit out, while the others began to mutter vicious curses under their breath.
"He is not," was the curt reply from Lord Plumm, "I have been with Tywin since the beginning of his reign. I was there when Roger Reyne humiliated Tytos Lannister and forced Tygett to be his squire, and when Ellyn Tarbeck dared to make herself greater than Joanna Lannister herself. The humiliation he endured, the insults he was forced to bear as a child was unimaginable. It made him lose all sense of empathy for others and for himself, and the Rains of Castamere was the result. Tywin will not suffer House Reyne to re-emerge, no matter the cost to himself or his house. He will raze the world to ashes before he yields, and as his bannermen we are forced to go along with him. For all these years, we have enjoyed the prosperity he has brought us, now it is time for us to pay the price for that prosperity. After all he has done for us, are we to now abandon him at his most dire time of need? His actions may be unpalatable to many, but no one can deny its effectiveness. If every man were to stop and think how his actions would be perceived by others, then the world come to a halt. We commit these atrocities, knowing and accepting that they may be visited on us or our loved one's anytime. That is the price we pay for living in this cursed world. For the sake of the Westerlands, if it is to survive in this dangerous world, I at least am willing to walk on this path of carnage, uncaring of the world and its opinions," the old lord finished with a smile, and he urged his horse forward.
After a moment of commiseration, the other lords steeled their resolve and followed.
Two hours later, Tygett Lannister stood in front of the gates of Bitterbridge, with all his commanders standing with him, and the whole host standing two hundred yards behind.
Soon, the gates of Bitterbridge opened, and Lord Caswell, the Lord of Bitterbridge rode forth with a few of his guards. Unaware of the fate about to befall his home, the Lord of Bitterbridge came forward and stood in front of Tygett.
"Ser Tygett, greetings," the man replied with a cheerful smile. "The hospitality of Bitterbridge is yours," he replied with a beaming look on his face, while Tygett remained gaunt and unflappable.
"I have no need of Bitterbridge's greetings, Lord Caswell," he replied with a soft tone, "What I need, is its death," he finished with a whisper.
"Wha …" before he could even react, Lord Caswell was beheaded by Tygett with a furious swipe of his sword, and his body fell listlessly from the horse. As his guards shouted in alarm, and reached for their weapons, they were all set upon by Tygett's men, who butchered them all on the spot.
"Go, take the city," Tygett ordered Lord Brax, who gave a curt nod, and raised a bugle and gave three ringing blasts.
Inside the city, panic was settling amongst the citizens. The guards on the wall had observed with horror as their Lord who had gone out to welcome their guests was brutally slaughtered. That horror turned into outright terror once the Lannister Army began to advance upon the city. Hurried orders were given to close the city gates, and the garrison of the city sortied itself to defend themselves from the coming onslaught. However, with no central leadership, each group attempted to deal with the oncoming attack in its own manner, which cost them precious time.
In the streets, criers were running around, warning citizens to flee.
"WAR! THE LANNISTER'S ARE COMING!"
"THE OLD LION IS MAD WITH GRIEF OVER LOSING HIS SON! HE IS GOING TO SLAUGHTER US ALL!"
"FLEE FOR YOUR LIVES!"
"THE LANNISTER'S WILL KILL US ALL! GET THE WOMEN AND CHILDREN OUT OF HERE! ALL ABLE-BODIED MEN TO PICK UP ARMS!"
"LORD CASWELL HAS BEEN MURDERED!"
Such scenes were seen all over the city, with different iterations, but the underlying theme was the same. They had to fight, or they would all die under the boots of the cursed Lannister's. There was no other alternative.
And so, under such chaotic scenes began the Razing of Bitterbridge.
As the sun sets over the cities, the sky is tinged red as if it is on fire. However, it is not visible as the sky has literally been blanketed by carrion birds of all type. Crows, Ravens, Vultures and many such birds numbering in thousands if not, tens of thousands.
All these birds are flying over the ruins of what used to be Bitterbridge. Everywhere one turns their eyes, one can see piles of corpses thrown atop one another. Each pile made of a thousand corpses at least. The sky is rife with the screams of the wounded, and the dying. There is another more horrible sound, of the few unlucky women who were cursed enough to live through the slaughter and now find themselves the playthings of the Lannister soldiers. Death would have been a preferable alternative. Far more preferable for those poor women.
Before the battle, Bitterbridge boasted of a population of fifty thousand people. It was one of the more prosperous towns in the Reach, and this prosperity was reflected by the amount of people who resided in it. Of the fifty thousand people, less than two hundred remain alive. Two hundred out of fifty thousand.The Stranger will have more souls than he can feast upon today.
But there is one thing that I must note, of the men of Bitterbridge who fell in battle in their futile attempt to defend their home. All of them lie dead on the ground face up directed towards the Lannister Army. There's not a single one that tried to flee.
Today the Lannister's of the West have etched their names in the lists of the greatest tyrants of all time. I know not where they rank, but if Tywin Lannister keeps on carrying in this vein, he will soon find himself atop the list.
As I see this massacre, I am reminded of an old saying. When a Lord asks for something, an overeager vassal will do everything in his power to accomplish it, to rise further in his lord's esteem. If the Lord asks for a demonstration of his power, then that vassal will carry out a massacre to prove his worth. But it does not occur to either of them to ask these two questions. What is the price of power? What is the value of life?
These are the last words of Maester Willard, the maester of castle Bitterbridge, and the chronicler of the fall of Bitterbridge. I send these words out via raven so that the world may know what has occurred here, even if we, its people should fall.
In the end, this letter would remain the sole account of what had occurred in Bitterbridge, as the men, women, and children of the city were massacred to the last soul.
At another part of city, a different scene could have been observed.
"Lord Tygett, we have killed everyone in this part!"
"Please … we beg of you, end it!"
"How many? How many people have we killed?"
"We … we guess about forty thousand people."
"Not adequate. My brother's orders were for the absolute destruction of this city. Kill every living soul in this city who does not belong to the west."
By nightfall, there was not a soul left in Bitterbridge who was native to it. That night, in his command tent, Tygett Lannister called for a meeting of all his commanders.
"What purpose did this massacre serve, Lord Tygett?" asked Lord Crakehall who was quite plainly furious at what he had been forced to undertake with his men.
"Aye, we have now become sinners in the eyes of the world! It will take generations for this taint to wash away from our names, our houses and our children! We are now damned for ever!" bit out Lord Banefort, in a similarly agitated tone.
"Simply put, My Lords, it is a tactic of war," Tygett replied calmly, as his men looked at him with jaws open in shock.
"Have all the granaries of the city been seized?" he asked Andros Brax, who nodded curtly in agreement. The mood of the Lords was rather mutinous, as their actions during the day appeared to weigh heavily on their soul.
"Good, now send a message to all the Lords of the Reach, warning them that helping Dorne will invite the wrath of the Rebellion, and more specifically Tywin Lannister," Tygett continued, while opening a roll of parchment and began to write upon it.
"Do not be so concerned, My Lords," Tygett continued, "What we did here is one of the darker tactics of war. We have massacred one city to frighten ten more into submission. As horrible and as immoral as it is, the tactic will work with proper application."
"How?" asked Lord Brax with a strangled whisper as he looked at his commander with his facial expressions a mixture between horror and awe.
"Pull out a thousand of our men from the ranks," Tygett ordered. "Have them disguise themselves as civilians, and spread them out throughout the Reach. They must spread the news that we have killed a hundred thousand civilians without hesitation!"
"WHAT!"
"BUT WE HAVE KILLED ONLY FIFTY THOUSAND OR SO!"
"Hmm … considering the size and the population of the Reach, it is too less. Make it two hundred thousand instead."
"Lord Tygett, this will make us sinners in the eyes of the world! Please reconsider," Lord Banefort spoke out in agitation, while the other lords also began to protest.
"Why not make it three hundred thousand?" Lord Plumm asked quietly from a corner, as everyone became silent in shock at the blatant nature of the question.
"Plumm! Are you insane! Do you want us to be even more reviled than we already are?"
"I agree," Tygett smiled quietly, "The Reach has a population of 25 million. It would barely make a dent if we kill just fifty thousand. Three hundred thousand seems more terrifying does it not?" he chuckled, even as he continued, "My Lords, the point of this exercise is to terrify the populace of the Reach to such an extent that Mace Tyrell will be forced to abandon any plans of rapprochement with the Martell's. So much so, that once the news of this massacre spreads, the populace themselves will force their Lords to remain loyal to the Iron Throne out of fear of this act happening to them and their loved ones. Even if Mace Tyrell wishes to ally with the Martell's, the fear of this massacre and the possibility of it reoccurring will force his small folk to prevail upon Mace to abandon any such plans. If we are lucky, it will even force them into outright rebellion which will also work to our advantage."
"You really think this will work?" Roland Crakehall asked in a curious tone as he sat at the table, while his fellow lords followed suit, with their indignation giving way to an awkward curiosity.
"The King appealed to the greed of the Tyrell's in order to keep their loyalty," Tygett replied back as he began to dig into his meal with relish. "What the small council failed to understand was that after the battle of Starpike, the men of the Reach will be under tremendous strain to prove their worth. A defeat of that magnitude will hurt the pride of any warrior. Under such a situation, offering enticements or mere threats are like rubbing salt on wounds. The King's offer as well as threats would have inflamed their passions and they would object to it on principle," Tygett explained, while his men gave guarded nods of acceptance.
"So … what have we gained from this act, exactly?" asked Lord Westerling, who seemed very perplexed as though he could not make out the underlying point.
"At the very least, we have put a serious obstacle into the path of an alliance between the Reach and Dorne," Tygett continued. "Our act at Bitterbridge has given us one advantage. We are not burdened with the responsibility of looking after the populace of an occupied city. And with the food stores of the city in our grasp, we are now well provisioned to withstand a siege comfortably even with forty thousand troops. If the boy from Dorne wishes to make an alliance with the Reach, then Mace Tyrell will demand the boy to prove his sincerity by liberating this city from our grasp. Mace Tyrell will want to make sure that Dorne has the capability to protect the Reach from any reprisals from the Iron Throne. However, that is impossible. Because, to besiege a city, an assaulting army will need men three times the amount of the defenders. In essence, Quentyn Martell will need at least 120,000 soldiers, which without the aid of the Reach is impossible to achieve. Even if he besieges us, the siege will destroy itself from within. This besiegement will give Robert Baratheon enough time to reassemble the full might of the Rebellion and he will descend upon the Martell's from the other side. Caught between the might of the Rebellion to his back and our army in front of him, Quentyn Martell will be destroyed."
"If you cannot have the love of the people, then be satisfied with their fear instead. Tywin has always operated on this principle. Always," Philip Plumm replied after a moment's contemplation to which Tygett nodded.
"I may not always see eye-to-eye with my brother, but the re-emergence of House Reyne is the one thing that even I will not tolerate. For that purpose alone, even if it chafes me, I will obey my orders from Tywin without complaint if needs be. Besides, after a long time, I have met what appears to be a promising enemy. I will take the measure of Quentyn Martell in this battle, and prove to the world, that be it wolves, stags, falcons, snakes or any others, it is the Lion's that are the true kings of the wild."
Unknown to them all, the raven containing the now dead Maester Willard's account of the slaughter of Bitterbridge was making its way to Oldtown towards the citadel. That letter would prove to be the catalyst in deciding the fortunes of the civil war of Westeros.
Author's note:
Things are picking up steam. Few more chapters to go before the battle.