Much speculation remains to this date about the so called 'Talk in the tent' at the battlefield of Bitterbridge between Quentyn Martell and Mace Tyrell. When he arrived at the head of the main army of Dorne, Quentyn was appraised of the presence of the Tyrell Army at the location by Lord Yronwood, who had returned to inform his liege of the recent developments.
It is said that the then Prince of Dorne showed no outward reaction at all to this surprising bit of news, and that he simply nodded in acknowledgment of the changed circumstances and proceeded further. Soon, Quentyn sent Lord Yronwood back to Mace Tyrell to request a formal parley so that they could discuss matters of mutual interest and come to terms.
Even though Lady Myriah Martell was the ruler of Dorne, by that time, it was a universally acknowledged fact that the real authority of Dorne had already passed on to her grandson and she was just holding on to her title for the duration of the war, so as to not burden her grandson with additional distractions during the war.
Mace Tyrell accepted the offer for parley, and Quentyn Martell made his way into the camp of the Reach soon after. There was no doubt that the young prince cut a dashing figure, and his poise and behaviour made a deep impression on the nobility of the Reach.
There, again in contravention to the existing norms, Quentyn requested Mace to speak with him alone, without any advisors on his side and spoke of his intentions to do the same. There was a hue and cry from the assembled Lords of the Reach who protested this breach of decorum, but a stony silence from the Lords of Dorne. When Alester Florent asked Anders Yronwood for the reason as to why the Dornish Lords were not protesting, Lord Yronwood replied that they had no need to do so.
In essence, it implied that unlike the Lords of the Reach, the Lords of Dorne trusted their Prince unconditionally and believed in his capabilities. Recognizing the implied message perhaps, Lord Tyrell agreed, much to the consternation of his people.
Then, for two hours, the young Prince and the Lord of the Reach sat alone inside a tent, while their retainers waited outside as the two of them spoke with each other. To this day, there exist no records of the words exchanged between the two men, but once the meeting was over, Lord Tyrell emerged outside and announced the terms that had been reached. Dorne and the Reach were now in an alliance till the end of the civil war that was currently raging, and combine their efforts to bring the wars to a swift conclusion. After the end of the wars, a more detailed arrangement would be sought.
For the duration of the war, the military might of Dorne and the Reach would join together in a coalition army, and Prince Quentyn Martell would act as the supreme commander of the allied forces. Lord Tyrell would act as its political representative, and the first act of the new coalition was to be the liberation of Bitterbridge.
Considering the aftermath of the battle, retroactively, many believed that Mace Tyrell had already bent the knee to Quentyn Martell and had on advice of the Prince, kept that matter secret so as not to affect the mental balance of the men of the Reach fighting the battle. And seeing the benefits that House Tyrell reaped upon the end of the war as well as during the rise of the Southern Kingdom, many doubts persist to date regarding their talks in the tent. Of course, Mace Tyrell later made a great show of pledging his alliance for public consumption once Quentyn Martell formally made a claim to the Crownlands in the aftermath of the battle where he declared his intention to crown himself the King of Southern Westeros.
To his dying breath, Mace Tyrell never revealed what had exactly been discussed in the tent, and Quentyn Martell of course never spoke of it, ever. Later on, a great friendship developed between the older Lord of the Reach and the young Dornish Prince, which would lead to great stability and prosperity for the Southern Kingdom.
Excerpts from 'The Rise of the Southern Kingdom' by Archmaester Ebrose.
Bitterbridge,
The urgent pounding on the doors of his room woke up Tygett Lannister from his slumber. Grumbling, he made his way to the door and opened it, only to reveal the worried faces of Philip Plumm and Andros Brax.
"What is it?" he immediately became alert as he looked at the worried faces of two of his commanders as they entered quickly.
"We have not received any reports from any of the lookout towers for quite some time!" Plumm exclaimed while Brax nodded in agreement.
"From how long?" Tygett asked without preamble even though he knew he would not like the answer.
"For six hours," was the reply. "As per your orders, the towers were to report on any movements on part of our enemies or lack thereof, regardless, for every five hours. Six hours ago, when we failed to receive a report from any of the lookout towers, we sent a company to each of them to investigate. They have not reported back either."
"None of the towers have reported back?" he asked with a feeling of trepidation, to which both men nodded.
"Should we send another patrol?" Lord Plumm asked hesitantly, to which Tygett shook his head.
"Don't bother, they are all dead already. For all the lookout towers to cease reporting at the same time means only one thing, our enemies are here and are seeking to isolate us! Wake up the army, and have the walls and towers manned immediately. Close all the gates to the city, pull up the drawbridges and have our archers take positions on the walls. Disperse the food stocks from the granaries to the pre-marked locations. We have very little time to lose," he ordered quickly, to which the two men nodded in agreement and left.
Twenty minutes later, drums began to pound inside Bitterbridge rousing the Lannister Army to the living world from the dream world.
On the other side, four miles away from the walls of Bitterbridge, atop a hill opposing the city, Mace Tyrell and Quentyn Martell had called for a joint summit of all the main generals of the two armies.
The first one to arrive was a young man, nearly twenty-one years old, and he was seating upon one of the ten stools that were set in a semi-circular formation in front of two chairs on the opposing side. He was a handsome man, possessing a clean-shaven face with an aquiline nose, high cheekbones, dark purple eyes, and a strong jaw. He had collar-length thick silver hair, divided by a streak of midnight black and exuded a mysterious aura.
Soon, from the opposing side, another man appeared. He was of a towering personality, with an imposing presence. Tall, with a keen look upon his face, with a head nearly balding, and wearing a tall Valyrian broadsword, he cut an imposing figure. "Oh, it seems someone actually has arrived before me?" he asked as he looked at the young man, who sat there without showing any emotions on his face.
"Ser Gerold Dayne, from Starfall, one of the commanders of the Dornish Army," the young man introduced himself, to which the other man seemed surprised.
"Hmm, you are pretty young, aren't you? I am Randyll Tarly, the Lord of Hornhill and the main general of the Army of the Reach," Randyll Tarly introduced himself. His name elicited a reaction in the rather apathetic looking young man, who gave a curt nod of acknowledgment.
"So, why are you sitting in the middle of this setup?" Tarly asked curiously, to which Gerold replied back, "Nothing particular, first come first served, that is all."
"Indeed," Randyll mused, as he too sat down. Soon, they could see other figures coming up as well. The next to approach was Archibald Yronwood. Archibald was six-and-a-half-feet tall, broad of shoulder and huge of belly, and towered over most of the people present.
"Well, it has been some time since I saw someone more physically imposing than myself," Tarly mused, while Archibald came and sat down next to Gerold. Similarly, others too came and sat down on the chairs. In short, there were five commanders from the Reach, and five from Dorne. Some were known to all, and some were not.
Soon, everyone could make out the figures of Quentyn Martell and Mace Tyrell making their way forward.
"It appears that everyone has arrived, Lord Tyrell," Quentyn spoke out, to which Mace nodded with a rather jovial expression on his face.
"Before we begin, I would like everyone present to introduce themselves, so that all of you may know whom you will all be working alongside with, to prevent any misunderstandings and doubts," Quentyn spoke out, to which there were guarded nods all along.
One by one, all the commanders present stood up and announced their names, after which they sat down again.
"Anders Yronwood,"
"Archibald Yronwood,"
"Gerold Dayne,"
"Trebor Jordayne,"
"Harmen Uller,"
"Randyll Tarly,"
"Alester Florent,"
"Baelor Hightower,"
"Aerys Oakheart,"
"Mathis Rowan,"
"And with this, our line-up for this battle is complete," Mace Tyrell nodded in agreement, as he too sat down.
"I see that all of you are here," Quentyn spoke without any preamble, "As agreed between Lord Tyrell and I, for the duration of this war, we will all fight as one, and the coalition of Dorne and the Reach will work together to achieve our shared aims," he continued, to which there were guarded nods from everyone.
"It was agreed that there would be no hierarchy between the two armies, and that both would be of equal rank to each other. However," here he paused, "It is essential that we have a figure who exists to oversee all our forces and bind them together."
"That is indeed a prudent course of action," Alester Florent agreed and voiced his opinion, as did everyone else using similar words.
"So, it will be Lord Tyrell, then?" Gerold Dayne asked in his cold tone, to which everyone looked shocked.
"Indeed, Gerold, it is as you say, the overall commander for our coalition during the battle for Bitterbridge will be Lord Tyrell," Quentyn replied back, pleased that the young Dayne had picked that up so quickly. His words however elicited deep shock amongst most of the commanders present, save for Randyll Tarly and Anders Yronwood.
"WHA -," exclaimed Alester Florent who stood up in shock, "Is it not you, Prince Quentyn?"
"Don't worry, Alester," Mace spoke, and it was clear to everyone that he and Quentyn had discussed all this beforehand. "The one directing this war will still be Prince Quentyn, who will serve as the supreme commander as well as the strategical adviser of the combined armies. My job will be to oversee everything and ensure that no one acts out."
"As discussed, this is a battle for Bitterbridge," Quentyn interjected. "Simply put, my lords, this is something that affects the Reach directly, and therefore it is necessary that this victory comes under the command of an army under the overall command of the Lord of the Reach. Nothing less would suffice, and for an army not commanded by the Lord of the Reach to retake Bitterbridge would tarnish the honour of the Reach for all time in the eyes of the world," he concluded, while Mace nodded stiffly.
"Do you still find this unsatisfactory?" he asked Alester, who chuckled and stood up joyously, "Why should I be, Prince Quentyn? There does not exist a more magnificent line-up than this! I knew it, joining this coalition was no mistake!"
"Good, now we are in business," Randyll nodded in agreement.
"Next will be the battleplan, Prince Quentyn …," Mace looked at Quentyn who nodded in agreement and stood up.
"I will now explain our strategy for attacking Bitterbridge."
The walls of Bitterbridge,
The soldiers on top of the walls of Bitterbridge were alert and on the lookout for the inevitable attack that they were about to face. The news of the missing reports from the lookout towers had already spread throughout the Lannister Army like wildfire, and the soldiers all knew in their hearts that their enemies would come for them without fail.
Soon, the lookouts began to notice large trails of dust rising up to the sky, and a loud rumbling sound could be heard. Few even felt minor tremors as if the land itself was shaking. And then, across the horizon the first of the thousands of the enemy banners could be seen. A huge cry went up.
"LOOK! THEY ARE HERE!"
"T-THERE'S SO MANY OF THEM!"
"HEAVENS! HOW LONG DOES THAT LINE STRETCH FOR!"
"THAT'S EASILY MORE THAN A 100,000 MEN!"
Then, a different cry could be heard.
"DORNE! THERE ARE DORNISH BANNERS AMONGST THE REACH ARMY!"
"HOUSE MARTELL'S BANNER IS PRESENT!"
"HOUSE TYRELL IS THERE AS WELL!"
Immediately, the commanders of the Lannister Army rushed to the walls to see the truth for themselves. They could see the huge army come near the city and take its positions all across their view.
"So, it is as we feared," Lord Brax spoke out in a tremulous tone as he clenched his fists.
"Yes," Lord Plumm replied, "The Reach and Dorne have allied with each other!"
"If that is the case, then we are facing the worst possible scenario. Their commander in this scenario will undoubtedly be…," Lord Westerling spoke out only to pause, as he noticed the solitary figure of a single rider coming forward. A young boy atop a destrier coming forward and looking up at them without an ounce of fear.
"Quentyn Martell," Tygett Lannister hissed in rage as he looked at his enemy standing ahead of them, bold as brass, without a hint of fear.
Meanwhile, the ordinary soldiers of the Lannister Army were surprised to see a sole rider coming out to face them all.
"There-there's a guy on a horse coming over!"
"Really!?"
"Is he mad? Coming over all alone!"
Quentyn rode as far as he could, staying just beyond the range of the archers on the wall and spoke out in his loudest tone, "I AM PRINCE QUENTYN MARTELL OF DORNE!"
His proclamation set off a sheer frenzy of panic amongst the Lannister soldiers. The Lannister Army which had been expecting an assault by the weaklings of the Reach, now found themselves facing off against the new terror of Westeros. The aftermath of the battle of Starpike had spread far and wide.
"Qu-Quentyn Martell!?
"Th-That's him!"
"What the hell is he doing here with the Reach?"
Heedless of the furore he had caused, Quentyn went on, "I HAVE AN ANNOUNCEMENT FOR THE SOLDIERS OF THE LANNISTER ARMY! UNDER THE COMMANDS OF THE CURSED HOUSE OF LANNISTER, YOU HAVE ALL COMMITTED HEINOUS CRIMES AGAINST HUMANITY ITSELF! HOWEVER, IF YOU BELIEVE THAT IT IS POSSIBLE TO DEFEAT US WITH RECKLESS VALOUR ALONE, YOU ARE SEVERELY MISTAKEN!" he roared out, as both armies watched and heard, spellbound with shock and awe.
"YOU HAVE SEALED YOURSELVES INTO A CITY WITHOUT A WAY OUT! AND SURROUNDING YOU IS AN ARMY OF 120,000 ELITE SOLDIERS FROM BOTH THE REACH AND DORNE! YOU DO NOT HAVE EVEN THE SLIGHTEST CHANCE OF WINNING! IN WHICH CASE, YOU SHOULD NOT EFFORTLESSLY SACRIFICE YOUR LIVES IN THE NAME OF A HOPELESS BATTLE! SURRENDER, ARMY OF THE WEST, AND NOT A SINGLE ONE OF YOU SHALL BE KILLED! I GIVE YOU MY WORD! THE CRIMES THAT YOU DID, YOU DID UPON THE ORDERS OF YOUR LORDS! HAND OVER TYGETT LANNISTER AND HIS COMPANIONS, AND YOUR LIVES SHALL BE SPARED! DO NOT WASTE YOUR LIVES TRYING TO PROTECT THOSE WHO WILL NOT EVEN LIFT A FINGER TRYING TO SAVE YOU IF THE SITUATIONS WERE REVERSED!" he roared out as a hushed silence fell all over.
"Oi, Oi, is he serious?" Baelor Hightower asked from atop his horse as he looked at the Prince of Dorne in shock.
"Isn't the atmosphere kind of weird?" Aerys Oakheart asked, to which Gerold Dayne shook his head.
"No, what he is doing, is sowing the seeds of fear and doubt in their minds. Basically, it is the fear of Tywin Lannister and his wrath that drives those men," Gerold explained to his fellow commanders. "The only thing that can surpass it is the fear of death. Soon, the battle will start, but that fear will eat away at the minds of those soldiers, gnawing away at their morale, and sapping their strength. When the situation will go bad for them, and it will, they will remember the Prince's offer, and turn on their own Lords and hand them over to us, to escape death. At least, that is what the Prince is hoping for," he concluded with a soft chuckle.
"Hah," came a bombastic voice, "Not unless we crack open the gates and slaughter all those shits first," Alester Florent spoke out with a bloodthirsty grin on his face, while the others chuckled.
As Quentyn waited for his answer, he got it in the form of an arrow which came and thudded in front of him on the ground. Soon, a huge roar of defiance erupted from the soldiers atop the walls, even as he looked up and noticed the man who had shot the arrow. It was Tygett Lannister.
"THAT IS ENOUGH OF YOUR STUPID PRATTLING, BRAT! NO ONE'S GOING TO LISTEN TO YOU! WHAT KIND OF A RETARD COMES OUT AND BEGS THE ENEMY TO SURRENDER? ELITES, MY ASS! IF THOSE COCKSUCKING CUNTS OF THE REACH ARE YOUR ELITES, THEN I AM A FUCKING EUNUCH! DON'T THINK THAT A SINGLE VICTORY OVER THOSE WEAKLINGS GRANTS YOU THE RIGHT TO DICTATE TERMS TO US! GO BACK AND HIDE BEHIND THE SKIRTS OF YOUR AUNT! OOPS! SHE IS NO LONGER ALIVE IS SHE!? HAHAHA! REMEMBER HER FATE, BRAT! THAT IS WHAT AWAITS EVERY SINGLE ONE OF YOU WORTHLESS SHITS IN THE HOUSE OF WHORELINGS KNOWN AS MARTELL! NOW GET OUT OF HERE AND SEND FORTH A REAL MAN TO DO BATTLE!" Tygett roared back, while Quentyn glared at him while his fists tightened. After a moment, he sighed, and reared his horse back.
As he approached the main camp, he looked at Oberyn and nodded, "HE IS NOT ALLOWED TO DIE TILL THE END! CAPTURE HIM AND BRING HIM BEFORE ME!"
Oberyn just nodded in agreement. No more words needed to be said.
"It would seem that we can start the battle now," Randyll Tarly spoke out, to which Quentyn nodded.
"Very well, go forth, General Tarly! Carve the name of Bitterbridge into history as the "City of Tragedy".
Soon, the preparations were complete. Out of the 120,000 men, Quentyn selected 80,000 to attack the city, while 40,000 were kept as reserve. Furthermore, the 80,000 were divided into four groups of 20,000 each and were assigned the responsibility to attack from each of the four directions.
For the North, it was Randyll Tarly and Archibald Yronwood in command.
For the West, it was Alester Florent and Baelor Hightower.
For the South, it was Gerold Dayne and Aerys Oakheart.
For the East, and the main entrance of the city, it was Anders Yronwood and Mathis Rowan.
To the great shock of everyone, Quentyn allowed Oberyn Martell, Barristan Selmy and Arthur Dayne of all people to act as ordinary foot soldiers and participate directly in the assault instead of commanding.
Oberyn was assigned to the West, Barristan to the North, and Arthur Dayne to the South.
Then, it began.
West Wall,
"Here they come!" roared Philip Plumm as a wall of archers advanced forward, hiding behind huge tower shields. Firing volleys of arrows as they made their way forward.
A truly humongous number of arrows arched through the air and fell upon the men guarding the wall.
"Counter volley, now!" Plumm roared as their own archers tried to retaliate.
"Keep shooting! Do not allow them to near the wall! No matter what!"
The Lannister archers feverishly shot their arrows at the enemies, despite suffering a bit of casualties from the volley fired by the attackers.
On the ground, Alester Florent was in his element.
"Straight ahead! Concentrate on the area where you can see most of their banners!"
"Hooah!"
"Focus and Fire!"
The assault from the archers of the Reach was truly tremendous. The men atop the walls were peppered with many arrows, and there were enormous casualties, as the men were struck in the face, in the eyes, in their arms, their legs, their torso's. It was a relentless assault.
"Gah!"
"Augh!"
"Damn it!"
"Curses!"
"Do not falter! This is what it means to fight for your lives! If you lose the will to fight, then you will lose your life! Remember who you are fighting and know that you will receive no mercy from them. So, show them none!" Lord Plumm roared, even as the galvanized archers shot back.
North Wall,
The assault on the North Wall, by Randyll Tarly was already much ahead than that of the others.
Amongst the continuous onslaught of arrows, the men on top noticed something terrifying approaching the wall.
"SIEGE LADDERS! THEY ARE BRINGING SIEGE LADDERS AHEAD!"
"WHAT THE FUCK! IT IS SO HUGE!"
"STOP IT NOW! IF IT LATCHES ON, WE ARE ALL FUCKED!"
As the men on top of the wall watched, the huge ladder came forth being pulled by some contraption which bent it backwards. As they all watched, the ropes binding the ladder were severed, and the ladder shot up in the air like a rising snake, before gravity reasserted itself and it collapsed right on top of the wall.
"AH! IT HAS LATCHED ON!"
"OH NO! THEY HAVE GAINED A FOOTHOLD!"
"THEY ARE CLIMBING UP!"
"THREE MORE LADDERS INCOMING!"
"FUCK! FUCK! FUCK!"
"BE QUIET!" roared Roland Crakehall, who came forward, in full plate mail swinging his Morningstar in hand.
"The walls of Bitterbridge are not tall! This was already in our calculations! It was always going to come down to a brawl on this place here! But that does not mean, we have to make it easier for those cunts! Shoot the ladders with fire arrows! And bring forth the cauldrons of boiling oil and pitch! Pour it down the ladders!" he ordered as his men raced to obey his commands.
Soon, as his men began to pour down boiling oil and pitch down the walls and onto the men climbing the ladders, screams of a different sort could be heard all around.
But it was not enough. There were too many ladders. Soon, the top of the wall turned into a frantic melee as men tore into each other with abandon and the cries of dying men rent the air.
It was a scene that could be seen all around.
The assault of Bitterbridge had begun.
Author's note:
Well, We have finally started. This is going to be a wild ride!