31 Chapter 29: Bitterbridge Day 7: The Lion's Last Roar

The Battle of Bitterbridge is often known and called as 'The Lion's Last Roar', and it is an apt metaphor for what happened in that ill-fated city during the seventh day of the battle.

For six days, Quentyn Martell plotted and schemed and on the late night of the sixth, he unleashed his hordes upon the doomed Lannister's. By employing deceit and trickery on a scale never before seen or recorded in the history of Westeros, the young prince laid low his enemies in the vilest way ever conceived.

Had it been any other foe, then perhaps he may have earned the scorn of all high-born in the seven kingdoms for the deceitful manner in which his victory came about, but seeing that his victims were the men sworn to house Lannister, which had by now become the most reviled house in Westeros, thanks in no small part due to the excesses of its cruel and ruthless lord, Tywin, not a single person in the seven kingdoms except Westerners uttered a word of pity for those doomed men.

Of the manifold deeds of desperate valor and battles that were fought that night, much is talked about. The duels between Archibald Yronwood and Andros Brax, between Roland Crakehall and Baelor Hightower, between Alester Florent and Quenten Banefort, and many other such noted members of the highborn.

But above all else, three duels that took place that night stand above all, not because of the skills of the people involved, but because of the people involved. The first was between Barristan 'The Bold' Selmy, former Kingsguard of Aerys, against Amory Lorch, the murderer of Princess Rhaenys Targaryen. To call it a duel would be an insult, considering that the difference in the skills of the two men were as vast as the distance between the earth and the sky. In the end, Lorch threw down his weapons and begged for mercy and was taken into custody. Unfortunately, as he later found out in the most brutal manner possible, he was looking in the wrong place for any form of mercy that night.

The second and perhaps one of the most brutal duels fought in the night was between Prince Oberyn Martell and Tygett Lannister, the commander of the Lannister Army and the brother of Lord Tywin Lannister. The greatest warrior of House Martell against the best in House Lannister. This was the sort of things that songs would be written about. For forty and five minutes, the two men fought like two cornered beasts. There was to be no mercy, no quarter given, or any other such notions of chivalry. Both men were out for blood, and shed each other's in copious amounts. But in the end, even Tygett Lannister's skill had to bow down to the sheer ferocity and rage of the Red Viper of Dorne. With Tygett Lannister's capture, the battle ended and all the remaining soldiers of the Lannister Army in the field surrendered.

But the crowning moment of this battle, came between the two giants of the battlefield, who fought what was perhaps the single greatest duel to have been fought in Westeros since Prince Aemon the Dragonknight fought Ser Morgil Hastwyck. Ser Arthur Dayne 'The Sword of the Morning' and the greatest swordsman in the known world.

Against him was Ser Gregor Clegane 'The Mountain that Rides' or 'The Beast of Lannister', 'The rapist dog' and 'The baby-killer', many were the titles given to the champion of House Lannister.

Two men, two incomparable warriors, one considered the epitome of chivalry and knighthood; and the other, known far and wide as a monstrous villain shielded only by the power and patronage of his liege lord. Their skills, undeniable. Their rage, unstoppable. Their battle, so magnificent and so awe inducing that every single person on the battlefield halted their fight as these two titans fought each other in a battle so ferocious, that some say a duel of this magnitude may never again be fought.

Both the men fought atop the ramparts of the eastern wall, the tallest wall of the fortress, and there Arthur Dayne brought forth the greatsword 'Dawn' and wielded it as he had never wielded it before in his life. Even his duel with the smiling knight had not been this fraught with danger, for Clegane fought like a cornered beast not caring for his own well-being and drew forth all his monstrous strength. It was a sheer display of skill against brute strength. In the end, through judicious use of sword play and movement, Ser Arthur maneuvered Clegane to the edge of the wall and then with a leaping overhand strike, shattered Clegane's sword and his helm in a single blow, cutting deep into the left side of Clegane's face, and robbing him of that eye permanently. The severity of the blow and the resilience of the bestial man actually managed to leave a single notch in 'Dawn' which had never before in its history been stained. Then, while Clegane roared and flailed about in his pain, for the first and last time in his life, Ser Arthur Dayne broke his own moral code and with a mad cry of vengeance kicked Gregor Clegane off the wall of the fortress to the ground below, bellowing a cry of rage that sank fear into everyone watching the battle.

Ser Gregor fell more than 150 feet towards the ground below, and yet miraculously due to his sheer size and bulk, and his full plate armor, he survived, although he shattered both his legs and cracked half his ribs. He still lived, much to his misfortune.

Finally, the battle ended as all the remaining Lannister soldiers in the city surrendered. But what they did not know at the time, was the Quentyn Martell intended to make examples of them all in a manner in which the world would never forget. In his own words, Quentyn remarked 'That he would teach Tywin Lannister the true essence of brutality', and he kept his word.

The Lion's Last Roar, by Archmaester Qyburn

As he sat at the head of the table, with Mace Tyrell at his right side, and a severely bandaged Oberyn on his left, Quentyn was busy pondering on the next course of action, as all the commanders began to give in their reports of the losses sustained and the losses inflicted.

"The Yronwood army took the greatest losses today including the 9,000 from the last six days. Our casualties stand at 14,000 roughly," Anders Yronwood reported, while Quentyn nodded guardedly as Lord Yronwood reported his loss.

"The other assaulting half, of the Tarly army suffered 6,000 casualties today, and combined with our earlier losses, our total losses stand at 8,300 men," Randyll Tarly, the second commander reported his own numbers, as he too sat down next, while Quentyn nodded in agreement.

"This, along with the other casualties suffered under the troops of the other deputy commanders," added Lord Leyton Hightower, in his capacity as the chief of logistics and supplies for the entire coalition, as he looked through his notes and continued, "brings our tally of total dead to 25,000 men," he sighed, even as quite a few faces frowned at the number, "and the various wounded of all kinds, come up to 9,000 men. Of these 9,000, further 3,000 are not expected to survive, and at least 1,500 of these men are crippled for life, and can no longer be counted as soldiers. Therefore, overall in this battle, we have lost 28,000 men, and roughly 2,000 men due to various injuries. Of the overall strength of 120,000 men, we have lost 30,000 and we stand at 90,000. Of our provisions, we still have enough to last for four months. It is cynical, and rather ill-mannered to say this, but with so many deaths, we now have more provisions for the immediate future, as there are less mouths to feed than before. It is an inescapable fact that as distasteful as it maybe to consider all these things, war is not meant to be all beds and roses," the old lord continued in a somber tone.

"But still," Mace Tyrell continued in an uncharacteristically serious tone, "These casualties are far less than what we anticipated before the formation of the coalition. Our initial estimates had us losing as many as 40,000 men at the minimum, and nearly half the Reach army at its worst, and that is not even taking into account the forces under Robert Baratheon and Eddard Stark which are yet to come in front of us. I say this for all of us, that were it not for you, Prince Quentyn, while we would have won, we would have been at a much worse state than what we are in right now. It is not an exaggeration to say the least, that your strategies may have saved us all and the entire war effort itself," the Lord of the Reach concluded, and bowed in gratitude to the young prince, while murmurs of assent came from everyone in the room. Oberyn Martell in particular seemed flushed with pride as he watched his nephew receive his due.

He remembered his words to William Dayne. The battle of Starpike brought him worldwide acclaim. His next will cement it forever. He shook his head and whispered, "If only you were here to witness this moment, brother!" he shook his head, even as Quentyn acknowledged all the praises and congratulations and stood up.

"Lord Leyton," he spoke out, as all the talk in the room stopped, even as Quentyn looked at the lords assembled in the tent, "I would like you to assemble all the wounded soldiers who are capable of doing so, in a separate location within the next couple of hours," he ordered, while Leyton Hightower looked surprised at the request as did the other lords. "Also," he ordered, "please provide me with a list of the finances for the entire coalition, as I need to plan our next move carefully. Uncle," he addressed Oberyn who looked at him in surprise, "please add the list of financial contributions from the Dornish side as well to the list. The contribution from our side must match that of the Reach equally, dragon for dragon, stag to stag. Lord Mace, please walk with me," he concluded, and then with a curt bow to all, he walked out followed by a nonplussed Mace Tyrell.

"Well, I am lost, does anyone know what he is planning now?" Alester Florent asked in a gruff tone as he scratched his chin, while others shook their heads.

"I suppose we will find out soon enough," Leyton replied, even as he got up, "Please excuse me my Lords, I must gather and provide all the details to the Prince as soon as possible," the old Lord then walked out of the room leaving a gaggle of confused lords behind.

Two hours later, at an open field on the backside of the Bitterbridge fortress, nearly two thousand wounded soldiers from the Reach and Dorne alike gathered at the field, surprised by the sudden summons. Soon, a restlessness grew amongst them all, as they observed all the Lords of the entire army coming forth and standing atop a small mound on the front of the wall, facing them all.

Facing them all, Quentyn Martell stood atop the mound, dressed in his armor, with the Lords of the Reach standing to his left, and the Lords of Dorne to his right, with him in the middle. By now, all the soldiers in the two armies knew that it was the Prince of Dorne who was their supreme commander, and that he was the one who had led them to this magnificent victory. An air of expectation rippled across the ground as everybody waited for the Prince to speak.

"Faithful soldiers of Dorne and the Reach," Quentyn began with a clear and crisp voice, his tone carrying over to the entire field. "You have all fought bravely and made great sacrifices for us all. This sacrifice will ensure that your homes are no longer threatened by the tyrants who now claim the Iron throne, and we have avenged ourselves for the cruel sack of Bitterbridge by the hated Lannister's. This is a battle that will never be forgotten, nor will those who fought in it, from the highest ranked lord, to the unknown common soldier. Today, you have all carved your names into legend," he concluded, even as the men cheered hoarse with shouts, approvals and whistles.

After a couple of minutes, he raised his hand and after a few minutes, silence reigned again on the field. "For all of you, who have been wounded in battle and crippled for life, though I cannot heal you, I can at least offer some form of recompense. Every soldier who has been crippled for life will be given a reward of 300 golden dragons and your families will be exempt from any taxes for the next ten years. For those of you, who have not been crippled, but wounded severely and are no longer capable of battle, a reward of 150 golden dragons will be offered, and your families will be exempted from any taxes for the next 5 years. For those of you who are not gravely injured but are incapable of fighting anymore, anyone who still wishes to remain in the army despite your injuries, you will be given a leave of absence till you recover, and paid a sum of 50 golden dragons. Furthermore, all such men will be promoted by one rank in the army. My soldiers, my men, you have nothing to be ashamed of. Go home with your heads held high! I offer you my undying gratitude and thank you for your efforts," with these words, in front of the stupefied lords and soldiers alike, the prince did the unthinkable. He brought his right forearm to his chest in a form of salute, and then clearly bowed to his waist, offering the deepest form of gratitude of thanks. After a second, every other lord in the retinue with him did the same involuntarily, carried forth through the sheer charisma of their leader.

For the soldiers in front of them, it was a surreal experience. To be honored in such a way, and in so grand a manner, filled their hearts with a searing admiration for the young prince. The roar of gratitude that erupted literally tore the skies apart, even as Prince Quentyn Martell made his way back to his tent, leaving behind a bevy of stupefied lords.

"Flawless," whispered Randyll Tarly, as he watched his commander leave. "This act alone will do far more to cement the loyalty of our men to us in an unshakable bond that no amount of fear or terror caused by Tywin Lannister or Robert Baratheon can break apart. He knows not just how to win battlefields, but also the hearts of men as well. I never knew that Dorne had such a diamond hidden in the rough. I must thank Tywin Lannister! In his arrogance and act of cruelty against Dorne, he has delivered to the Reach its means of salvation," the Lord of Hornhill wondered aloud, to which his fellow lords nodded mutely in agreement, still too numbed by the atmosphere.

After the euphoric meeting with the soldiers, the leaders of the coalition now returned to one of the most important tasks at hand, dealing with their prisoners. Of the nobility of the west, nearly half had met their ends in battle preferring death to dishonor. The remaining half were now to be judged for their crimes against the Reach and Dorne.

"Bring forth the prisoners," Archibald Yronwood, now acting as the captain of guards for Prince Quentyn spoke out.

The trials were to be held in front of the gates of Bitterbridge in full view of the coalition army. A separate platform had been constructed by the servants and squires, upon which Quentyn now sat with most of the commanders of the army standing behind him. Even Mace Tyrell and Oberyn had declined to sit, realizing the importance of what was about to happen.

In front of thousands of cheering Dornish and Reach soldiers, the leaders of the Lannister army were dragged forth. Divested of all armor, dressed in rags, and clad in chains, they cut a sorry figure. As they all came forward, Tygett Lannister, who had been taken into custody after being defeated in a most brutal manner by Oberyn Martell glared at Quentyn only to flinch as he noticed the look of tranquil fury upon the boy's face. At that moment, he knew. There would be no mercy here, no quarter given. He and his men were about to pay a most brutal price for Tywin's hubris.

"Bring out the first prisoner on the list," Quentyn ordered, to which Areo Hotah, his personal servant nodded and moved ahead with Archibald to drag the first prisoner forward on the dais.

"Amory Lorch," Quentyn spoke out pleasantly, even as he filed his nails, without bothering to look at the man. "Fighting in a war is far different compared to stabbing a three-year-old girl fifty times, is it not?" he asked coolly while Lorch was shaking madly and looking around wildly in a futile attempt to escape. The pig-like man was terrified out of his wits knowing that he was about to pay very dearly for the death of Rhaenys Targaryen. Too confident in the fact that Tywin Lannister's all-powerful hand would protect him from any retribution, he had never in his wildest dream's thought that he would end up in such a situation.

As he looked at the eyes of the Prince, it felt as if he was looking deep into an infernal abyss which would swallow him whole. For the first and last time in his miserable life, he managed to drag forth any and all ounces of courage he possessed and squeaked, "I ….I … I demand … trial … trial … by … combat!"

All the people on the dais were stupefied, while Oberyn snarled in rage, and picked up his spear and made to step forward, only to halt as Quentyn raised his hand indicating him to stop and stood up himself.

"You … demand … trial by combat?" he asked in a quiet tone which literally caused every man on the dais to shiver in terror, his enemies and allies alike. His voice seemed so cold, and an unnatural pressure enveloped the entire dais.

Perhaps it was the fear of death, which drove him to such recklessness, but Amory Lorch held his ground. "I am a knight … I demand a trial by combat," he insisted, pale and sweaty, but there was a glint of desperation and hardness in his eyes now.

"Hmm….," Quentyn mused, and then cruelly crushed his hopes. "Denied. I have never considered you to be a true knight and as such you will not be granted this right," he spoke out harshly, while the eyes of everyone on the dais and the vicinity, who heard those words, bulged out in shock at the blatant breaking of this most sacred of laws.

Mace made to step forward, but his father-in-law shook his head and silently warned him not to interfere. This was not the time.

"You talk as if you are a great warrior or knight, of the likes of Lyonel Baratheon or Gawayne Corbray, or Duncan the Tall. Let me tell you something, shit-licker of Tywin Lannister, weak and worthless pieces of trash like you do not have the right to pick the way in which you die!" Quentyn growled, while Lorch squeaked in fear at the raw anger in the voice of the Prince of Dorne.

"Fifty times, fifty times you stabbed a little child, your death will not be pleasant, Amory Lorch!" he growled as he looked at Areo Hotah and ordered, even as he looked at the gate of Bitterbridge castle standing dark and shining in the moonlight with a dark sheen.

"The gateway of the castle and the wall above it are the shortest in height in the entire castle, about seventy-five feet I believe. Very well, take him to the top of the gateway and drop him down headfirst, and repeat this process fifty times. Should he die mid-way, drag his corpse up and continue until you reach the set number!" he ordered, while muted gasps came from everyone. A group of soldiers rushed to the dais and grabbed Lorch and began to drag him away, while Lorch looked at him with wide, terrified eyes even as his bowels gave away in sheer terror and he pissed and defecated on the spot in his tunic.

Even as Amory Lorch screamed and thrashed as he was dragged away to his ignominious death, everyone else was left shivering at the barbarity of the sentence. A couple of squires ran up with a bucket of water, and a mop and began to clean the dais.

"Next prisoner," the Prince growled, even as everyone stilled, while Areo Hotah looked at his list and uttered the most hated name in Dorne.

"Gregor Clegane," the bearded priest uttered even as a ripple of what seemed like static passed through everyone on the dais.

"Bring him forth," the prince ordered in a tone that brooked no opposition, and the priest mutely nodded.

Soon, everyone observed a group coming forward led by a maester with ten men carrying a large bier upon which laid the broken figure of what used to be Ser Gregor Clegane.

"What is the meaning of this?" Mace Tyrell asked in a horrified whisper as he witnessed the shattered form of Tywin Lannister's most feared enforcer.

"You look my lord, upon the results of what 'The sword of the morning' did to his most hated enemy," the maester replied in a somber tone while Mace Tyrell blanched. Upon the completion of his momentous duel, Arthur Dayne had retreated into his tent and not come out at all. Looking at the shattered form of Gregor Clegane once again sank into everyone's mind as to how terrifying the greatest swordsman in the world could truly be when he went all out.

"What are his injuries?" Quentyn asked with a curt tone, to which the Maester replied, "He has a shattered collarbone, fifteen slash wounds of various intensities, six puncture wounds from a sword, left shoulder dislocated, and both his legs are shattered beyond repair, and his left eye is gone" the maester replied, while the crowd on the dais looked at the broken man in horrified fascination.

"And he is still alive!? A monster indeed …," asked an aghast Leyton Hightower. He was not the only one.

"Areo, summon four horsemen here," the prince ordered curtly, while the bearded priest nodded and went off, while others looked surprised, though they held their tongue.

Soon, the bearded priest returned with four horse and horsemen alongside, at which the prince gave his orders. "Get some ropes, tie one each to both of his hands, and the other two to both of his thighs on both legs," he ordered, which confused almost everyone present, while the prince remained stony faced.

Once it was done though, the cruelty behind those orders was revealed as the prince ordered each of the four horsemen to take hold of the other end of the ropes and ride in each of the four different directions, at the same time. He was essentially ordering Gregor Clegane to be torn apart by horses.

In front of the horrified onlookers and the entire army, the horsemen obeyed and moved forward, literally pulling each limb of the man in four different directions. The primal and guttural scream of pain that Gregor Clegane let out in that horrible moment seared the souls of everyone present. The screams continued for a minute more until Gregor Clegane was horrifically torn apart in a visceral scene of blood and gore, with his limbs and internal organs scattered to the four ends, essentially turning him into a lump of meat and nothing else.

For a second, even the stout heart of Tygett Lannister skipped a beat, as finally the fact that he and his family were now facing someone who was a hundred times more ruthless and dangerous than his brother sank inescapably into his mind.

He gazed defiantly at Quentyn, as the boy now stood in front of him.

"Do your worst, boy, I am not afraid! Know that whatever you do, my brother will inflict it ten times upon you and yours!" he spat on the prince's face in a final act of defiance by a condemned man.

A roar of outrage came forth as nearly every man on the dais drew forth his blade, or spear depending on the person intent on running the Lannister through.

Oddly enough, it was the prince who stopped them, as he brought out a silk napkin and wiped his face, and inexplicably, began to laugh, hardly and uncontrollably.

That more than anything, filled everyone else on the dais, allies and enemies alike, with sheer bowel-dropping terror.

"Archibald, is your uncle done yet?" he asked the captain of his guards, who nodded mutedly, even as the prince finally brought himself under control.

"Very well, let us go there, drag the prisoners along!" Quentyn ordered, as Archibald Yronwood ran forward surprisingly quickly despite his huge bulk while a company of soldiers dragged the prisoners behind.

Soon, the company made its way to a field on the western side, where an army of 40,000 men under the supervision of Randyll Tarly were supervising the remaining soldiers of the Lannister Army in a massive excavation process, digging many large pits for some reason.

As he approached, Anders Yronwood and Randyll Tarly came forth with a stony expression on their faces.

"Is the work done?" Quentyn asked without preamble to which Yronwood nodded, "Yes, My Prince!"

"How many are there below? How many did we capture?" he continued, to which Tarly replied tersely, "There are eighteen thousand men below, My Lord. The rest all died at our hands."

"Good," the prince replied, steeling his heart knowing that he was about to inflict one of the greatest crimes in humanity's history. Something that once upon a time in his previous life had been inflicted upon his people by the leader of Qin's six generals, 'The Human Butcher', Hakuki.

"Nephew, what are you going to do?" asked Oberyn in a terse and worried tone, even as everybody else too seemed to realized that something horrible was about to occur.

"I told you before this battle, uncle," Quentyn uttered in a tone completely devoid of any emotion, "that by the time this battle ended, I would teach Tywin Lannister and this world, the true meaning of terror!"

"Lord Tarly, Lord Yronwood! Hear my orders, bury alive these remaining eighteen thousand men of the Lannister Army along with all the leaders of the west!" he ordered ignoring the look of unmitigated horror that sprang upon everyone's faces, friend and foe alike.

Battle of Bitterbridge: Order of Battle

The Grand Army of the Westerlands

Total men: 40,000

Supreme Commander: Ser Tygett Lannister (Executed after capture)

Deputy Commanders:

Lord Roland Crakehall (killed in a duel with Baelor Hightower)

Lord Andros Brax (killed in a duel with Archibald Yronwood)

Lord Quenten Banefort (Killed in a duel with Alester Florent)

Lord Reginald Westerling (Executed after capture)

Lord Phillip Plumm (Released after captivity)

Ser Amory Lorch (Executed after capture)

Ser Gregor Clegane (Executed after capture)

Total casualties: 39,950

The Coalition of Dorne and Reach:

Total Strength: 120,000 men

Committed to Battle: 80,000

Supreme Commander: Prince Quentyn Martell

Deputy Commanders:

Prince Oberyn Martell (Wounded in Battle)

Lord Mace Tyrell (Non-combatant)

Lord Leyton Hightower (Non-Combatant)

Lord Anders Yronwood (Wounded in battle)

Ser Archibald Yronwood (Wounded in battle)

Ser Gerold Dayne

Lord William Dayne

Lord Harmen Uller

Lord Randyll Tarly (Wounded in battle)

Lord Alester Florent (Wounded in battle)

Lord Baelor Hightower (Wounded in battle)

Ser Aerys Oakheart

Lord Mathis Rowan

Ser Barristan Selmy

Ser Arthur Dayne

Total Losses: 30,000 men

Of all the battles fought in Westeros, no battle has ever outmatched the number of those dead, as recorded in the Battle of Bitterbridge. Of the entire army of 40,000 men, Quentyn Martell spared only Lord Phillip Plumm, the oldest of the Lords in the Western Army along with 50 men, to act as the old lord's retinue, and as messengers to spread word of what would happen to those who would dare stand against him and the coalition army.

The complete annihilation of the Lannister Army destroyed the fighting potential of the Westerlands for at least two generations. The Westerlands, after this battle were finished as a political and military power for good for the foreseeable future. The entire cream of the crop, so to speak of the West's martial power had been annihilated. Its reputation and prestige had suffered a death blow from which it would not recover for the next twenty years. Tywin Lannister had from one stroke been turned from one of the most feared and powerful men in Westeros and in the entire world to a laughing stock. And yet, Quentyn Martell was not yet done with the old lion, not by a long shot.

The reaction in Kings Landing as well as the rest of the world towards the battle and to its terrifying aftermath was downright explosive.

The Lion's Last Roar, by Archmaester Ebrose