The moon was a ball of ice, bringing forth no cheers – only memories of cold hatreds and past grievances. Thought it was right in the middle of the night, a constant rumble filled the air; the incessant twangs from thousands of bows, some in tandem, some in succession, the collective sound adding to an eerie symphony that at once evoked dread.
For the first time ever, the men of the Westerlands truly realized what true war was. It was disturbing, ruining their senses, contorting the very sight in front of their eyes, and above all, it instilled in them a primal fear. A fear, that perhaps for once it would not be them doing the killing, but others doing the same to them.
Bows sang, horses neighed, arrows whizzed past them without end, and men screamed themselves hoarse, as they hacked each other to death. The night was rife with the screams of the wounded and the dying, and curses for the enemies, and a relentless sound of metal clashing with metal.
Atop the central tower, Tygett Lannister stood with clenched fists and rigid jaws, as he watched the renewed attack upon his positions by the cursed brat of Dorne. He was in the utterly helpless position of having realized what his enemy was doing, and being completely incapable of stopping it.
Next to him was old Philip Plumm, who stood next to him and was watching the night assault by the alliance forces with a baleful gaze.
"You're right," he addressed Tygett, "Tarly and Yronwood know what they are doing. Now that the brat has given them a free hand …"
Tygett shrugged noncommittal, and said nothing. The two men stood under the large banners of the west hanging at the top of the tower which acted as their headquarters. Across them, in the field, his forces displaying their own banners, Randyll Tarly led his men forward for the fifth straight night assault of the battle. It was clear that unlike Tygett and his men, Tarly's men were arranged in a precise and composed formation, and were diligently moving forward.
On the other hand, discipline within the ranks of the defenders was at an all-time low point. Orders to maintain ranks and to hold positions were more frequently ignored than listened to. Five straight days of continuous battle with nary an hour or two of rest had taken a vicious toll upon the morale and the will of the defenders. Tygett sighed and leaned back on the pillar and closed his eyes for a moment, being completely exhausted. It had been 4 or was it 5 days since he last slept?
All my family's gold for a single night's rest, he thought with a bleary prayer even though he knew it was impossible. Forget a night, half a day, hell, even three hours of rest would do. He would have paid anything to get a reprieve of any sort. He blearily looked around and it pained him to see the condition of his men. There, Tarly was again retreating after another harassing attack by his archers. At this point, it was just like a stray dog coming and pissing on the front door of his home, and him being too weak to even beat it off. As the most recent attack retreated there were no cheers from his forces, most of his men slumped wearily, too tired and dispirited to even smile or cheer.
His armor itched against his skin. His skin was raw in some places, and he had developed rashes due to the armor being stained with his sweat and blood, since he had not removed his armor nor changed his clothes, since the beginning of the battle. Hell, it was a miracle that he was able to take off his breeches to take a piss and shit when time permitted. Not that anyone noticed, they were all in the same situation.
Despite his burning anger, Tygett was forced to give his enemy his due. Quentyn Martell was a uncaring and unfeeling monster, it was plain and simple. Ever since he changed his tactics, the Lannister army was denied rest of any sort. Even during the respite between attacks, his men fired using catapults to keep the defenders from getting any real rest. And it was beginning to take its toll. Soldiers were becoming sluggish in their fighting and their casualties were increasing.
To put it bluntly, this was a vicious and completely inhumane way of conducting war, in which all the established norms and conditions were thrown out of the window with a zealous desire for victory by any means necessary. And I thought Tywin was a monster, he chuckled. A kingdom of weaklings and debauched whoremongers, how wrong you were brother, do you even have any idea of what you have unleashed upon the Westerlands?
He looked around and saw that his commanders were in no better shape. A lot of the older bannermen had already collapsed with exhaustion. His second in command Lord Andros Brax approached him staggering like a drunken man.
"Milord, new enemy forces are approaching the wall. Again." he said in resignation, as he pointed out men under the command of Archibald Yronwood rushing ahead to attack them again.
Tygett closed his eyes in despair as the screams started again. He had fought dozens of battles but never had he fought a battle that stretched out this long, nonstop. The continuous and repeatedly steady attacks had leeched the very life and strength out of the Lannister Army with its sheer efficiency. Each lull between battles only served to heighten the dreaded anticipation of the arrival of next attack. This entire battle was a slow and steady torture intended to wear down his army and it was working. They were being bled out by thousands of pin-pricks of uninterrupted attacks.
On the first night, when the attacks first began, Tygett wondered what Quentyn planned to achieve, by keeping half of his army back. Furthermore, the attackers did not seem to try very hard to secure a foothold, and instead they seemed more intent in trying to wound and kill as many of the defenders as possible all over the place, instead of focusing all their strength on one side of the walls. If they had attacked one side of the wall with overwhelming strength they would have broken through. It was only later that he realized his enemy's main intention. Quentyn Martell was forcing the defenders to expend their strength and stamina by forcing them to move around the city in order to defend it. He was forcing them to commit all their reserves in order to prevent themselves from being overrun. That Dornish brat knew that he could not be strong everywhere at the same time, so he had to utilize his reserves to reinforce any threatened area, and once when they were fully committed Quentyn would withdraw, but not before blooding them extensively. It was like being slowly bled to death. His remaining reserves were as exhausted as the rest of the army and it showed by their slowing response to any breakthroughs.
Discipline was suffering as a result. Sentries have been found asleep in their positions. Soldiers only ate haphazardly, preferring to sleep during meal times. They were fighting a losing battle to keep the men alert and rested. Morale was melting away like sand on the beach.
Curse him! Curse the damned cur of a snake! Who in the world gives birth to such a hell-spawn anyways?
Suddenly, he was dragged out of his stupor as he heard a ragged cheer arise from his men, accompanied by renewed sounds of battle.
"REINFORCEMENTS ARE HERE!"
"THE DORNISH ARE RUNNING AWAY!"
"THE REACH ARE RUNNING AWAY AS WELL!"
"WE ARE SAVED! THERE ARE SO MANY OF THEM COMING THROUGH THE WOODS!"
"THE BANNER OF THE STARKS! IT IS THE NORTHERN ARMIES! EDDARD STARK IS HERE!"
With his heart beating like a drum, hoping against hope, Tygett raced to the parapets of the eastern wall and looked out, only to see the army under Archibald Yronwood's command fleeing to the four corners after being scattered by a ferocious assault from thousands of cavalries which were pouring out from the woods from the eastern side of the pass facing the city. That was the path leading to Kings Landing! Could it really be? With his heart racing, he hurried towards the walls and looked at the assaulting reinforcements. In the pale moonlight, he could somehow make out the Direwolf banners of the Stark's, the flayed men of Bolton and the giants of the Umber's amongst the men assaulting the alliance army.
The first to be hit had been the flanks of the Dornish infantry under the command of Archibald Yronwood who had been scattered by the surprise attack. Unable to withstand the fierce assault, the attackers fled with the reinforcements chasing them relentlessly.
Due to how suddenly everything occurred, all the men on top of the walls were also in a state of confusion.
"Lord Brax! We have reinforcements!"
"Lord Westerling! Lord Stark is here!"
"What? We have aid?"
"Are you sure?"
Meanwhile, reinvigorated at the sudden fortune, Tygett glanced over the walls and focused his gaze upon the enemy command tent which was in real danger of being overrun. He turned to Lord Plumm "Gather our men! Get all the cavalry forces ready! This is our chance! The enemy is disorganized and their command tent is defenseless! If we attack now, we can end this! We can kill Quentyn Martell and win the war! Prepare and open the gates! We will go out and aid the reinforcements!"
Lord Plumm seemed to be overwhelmed, "Perhaps we should let Lord Stark and his men handle Quentyn Martell! Our people are in no position to sortie out, we can barely stand as it is!"
"And let Stark add another victory to his list! That northern barbarian has had enough victories already. He has already crushed Rhaegar Targaryen himself! I will not let him have the honor of slaying another great general! Besides, House Lannister has too many debts to pay to that accursed brat! Prepare the men!" he barked as he fled down the stairs.
Soon, within an hour, the gates of Bitterbridge opened, and the Lannister cavalry sortied out with great fanfare and raced out towards the headquarters of the enemy camp. After racing for nearly a mile, the Lannister vanguard finally reached the outskirts of the enemy camp, where they noticed the Northern cavalry surrounding the enemy headquarters with scores of corpses of the defenders lying around.
They were greeted with cheers and whistles, and nods of encouragement. The northerners opened up a path for them and allowed them to go ahead. A horseman came forward and bowed. His tabard marked him as a Bolton.
"My Lords, I am a soldier under House Bolton. Lord Stark and Lord Bolton invite you to come and aid in dealing with the prisoner's," the man introduced himself while Tygett nodded in appreciation.
"You lot made good time! I was surprised to see the northern army come to our aid so fast," Tygett asked the man casually, even as he kept his guard up.
"Lord Stark had already placed a force of significant strength to guard the passes leading to the Reach once Kings Landing fell, My Lord. It was a precaution, so that if the Reach were to rebel, we would have an advance vanguard ready. Once we received King Robert's raven four days ago, we rode non-stop to get here as soon as possible," the man replied, while Tygett shook his head in reluctant admiration.
"Well, I won't deny that you came in the nick of time! We were nearly done for! I will speak to my brother and see that the North gets its due! We Lannister's pay our debts!" he smirked as he raced ahead, while the soldier bowed shallowly in thanks.
Soon they reached the middle of the gathering, where a group of men who had dismounted and had surrounded the leaders of the alliance were standing around. The leaders of the Reach and Dorne had been bound securely and were kneeling down on the ground in supplication.
With a vicious grin, Tygett halted his horse and dismounted as well, as he and his men walked forward.
"Well, well, well … how the tables have turned! Not so smart now, are you bra …," Tygett froze, as he looked at what was supposed to be the kneeling form of Quentyn Martell, only to see the burnt face of Sandor Clegane, with his hair dyed red, looking at him and smirking in malice.
"Ambu …" before he could even get his warning out, the soldier who had guided him in, whirled around and knocked him flat on his ass with the butt of his sword, as all the northmen surrounding his group drew their weapons and advanced upon him and his men.
"Tygett Lannister! Oh, how I have wished for this moment! My dear nephew really does spoil me with lavish gifts," a smooth lilting voice came out, whispering, almost snake-like and with a lurch, Tygett sprang back and bared his sword, only to blanch as he came face-to-face with Oberyn Martell himself who was wielding his famous spear.
"Do not disappoint me, Lion of Lannister! Prove to me that a Lion can prevail against a Viper! If you can, that is …," Oberyn snarled as he sprang like a coiled snake at the cornered lion.
From atop a hilltop from the opposite end, Quentyn observed dispassionately as his trap was sprung and the defenders of Bitterbridge fell for it. Even now, they could hear the desperate screams of the defenders of the city, who had by now lost control of the city. The disguised reinforcements which had entered the city under the guise of saviors had shown their true colors and were now butchering the defenders in the thousands. What the Lannister's had inflicted upon the citizens of Bitterbridge was being inflicted tenfold upon them by the bloodthirsty men of the Reach who were cutting down any Lannister soldier they could find. No quarter was given, and many a man who attempted to surrender found himself cut-down regardless. Few of the westerlander's even futilely attempted to jump down from the walls of the city in a desperate bid to escape only to fall screaming to their deaths ingloriously.
"Your plan worked, Prince Quentyn!" Mace Tyrell spoke out in a hushed whisper of awe as he looked at the systematic destruction being heaped upon the feared and renowned army of the Westerlands, which currently looked more and more as if it were a band of armed mob of unskilled peasants being set upon by a live fire-breathing dragon instead.
"I see it, but I still cannot believe it!" Leyton Hightower whispered as he struggled to acknowledge the scope of what had just occurred.
"How did you know that Tygett Lannister would fall for your trick, My Prince?" Baelor Hightower asked respectfully as all the Reach Commanders as well as the Dornishmen alongside him looked at him with curiosity rife in their eyes.
"All my attempts till this day were for this moment, Ser Baelor," Quentyn spoke out as he led his horse forward with a cantor as everybody followed.
"The true purpose of the combined day and night assault was simply to fatigue and tire the men of the west out. I needed them tired, drained, listless and incapable of deep thought or action. By continuously forcing them to battle without reprieve day and night, I lowered their strength, their stamina and their capacity for thought itself. The human body requires a certain amount of rest to work and perform at optimal capacity. By denying them that rest, I deprived them of any chance to regain their momentum. For five days now, Tygett Lannister has been battling without rest and is tired and angry, and in desperate need of rest, and is incapable of rational thought. He is weakened, his body is wounded and his mind strained, and above all else, he has been trapped in despair, knowing that eventually his defense will fail and he will be killed," Quentyn explained, while everyone who was listening nodded their heads in agreement at the points he raised.
"In this situation, Tygett has been desperately waiting for reinforcements. That's when he suddenly sees the light when we are attacked. He thinks that we have been taken by surprise. We are now defenseless. The tables have turned. Now is his chance to take the head of Quentyn Martell, who is the main cause for all the troubles he and his family are facing till now. For a man who has been trapped in a despairing darkness awaiting only certain death, it is a dazzling light. A small light the size of the eye of a needle in enveloping darkness which will make him dizzy. And furthermore, his pride will not allow others to claim the head of his most hated enemy. Buoyed by the thought of reinforcements, he will throw all caution to the wind and race out to get me. Caution, which he would have ordinarily exercised, had he not been so tired and fatigued for the past few days," Quentyn chuckled, while Mace involuntarily shivered as he looked at the imposing figure of the prince. Leyton Hightower swallowed nervously, and thanked the gods that his idiot son-in-law had done the most intelligent act of his life by siding with this monster given flesh.
"In the end," Quentyn continued, "for all his vaunted capabilities, Tygett Lannister is just an inexperienced idiot who believes in his own legend too much!"
Author's note: A special thanks to Avoc for helping me draft parts of this chapter!
Next chapter:
Three duels to the death!
Arthur Dayne finally steps on the field against Gregor Clegane!