The rains came the same day as her moonblood, soaking and destroying everything around her, filling her with anger and dread, and causing her to tremble with aggravation and cold. Viola's back aches, her head pounds, and her stomach clenches around nothing. All of the hard bread Sandor had in the saddlebag was now a mush in the bottom, covering their cheese and salt beef in a film that caused her to gag each time she forces herself to eat. Stopping was out of the question, Sandor pushed Stranger harder each passing day until she was beginning to worry that the poor beast may keel over while still running through the mud and the muck. Sandor took to dozing in the saddle, trusting Stranger to follow the game trails along the river for himself, which meant Viola and Arya were forced to sleep in the saddle as well.

The first three days after Sandor had come back for her had been spent circling the area, backtracking, and pushing Stranger to a run so fast that her teeth rattled in her head and it took everything in her to hold herself on the horse. He didn't need to tell her that it was to throw off anyone who may be following them.

For a short time, they were stopping each night to make camp, and Viola would search the surrounding area for anything edible, but almost everything was out of season this time of year. The few squirrels she had managed to snare were fat and greasy, and sat heavily in her stomach. Sandor, on the other hand, loved them. Arya picked at them with a grimace etched upon her face, but ultimately ate the small portion she was given, and almost always finished Viola's. Sandor would then roll Arya up in his horse blanket, and wrap her with rope so prevent her escape. Viola would roll her eyes, and turn her back on Sandor and drift off to sleep.

Sandor and Arya never stopped squabbling, even in their sleep, they still managed to get on one another's nerves, causing Sandor to wake in a dreaded mood each morning, rambling on and on about how the girl kicked in her sleep and woke him, how she snored, and how she mumbled nonsense. She sat in front on Viola on the horse, but that didn't stop Sandor from complaining, or Arya from arguing back. First it was that she took up too much space, then it was that she was frustrating Stranger, and finally, her little wet body kept slipping off of the horse, making them lose time and daylight. Each day that passed added a new threat from Sandor until Viola was ready to scream if the two of them didn't just shut up already. She herself had been mostly quiet throughout the trip, still furious with Sandor for leaving her stranded, and only speaking when drug into whatever argument the other two were currently in. She had to separate them on more than one occasion, grabbing the girl by the arm roughly and dragging her away in the opposite direction before she climbed Sandor like a tree and beat him with a rock.

Hitting Sandor with a rock nearly almost happened the first time they had made camp. He had been resting his eyes beneath a tree while Viola found water, and had assumed that the girl wouldn't run off or try anything stupid. As she came around the bend, she saw her with a large jagged rock held high above her head, ready to bring it down hard, and that's when Sandor reached up and jerked the rock from her grasp. Arya kicked him in the ribs and he doubled over as she backed up several steps.

"I'll give you that one." Sandor barked as Viola made her way towards the scene with the waterskins filled. "But if you're stupid enough to try again, I'll hurt you."

"Why don't you kill me like you did Mycah?" Arya screamed, her little fists balled at her sides and shaking from anger, her face blood red, her eyes threatening to spill with tears.

She's just a little girl.

A scared, lonely little girl who's lost her father, possibly her sister, and likely would lose her brother, too.

"The next time you say that name I'll beat you so badly you'll wish I'd killed you."

Viola narrowed her eyes and glared at him, which made him slink back to his resting place and shut his mouth. Arya slumped against a different tree and eyed Viola wearily. Though she could tell that the girl did not trust her, she also didn't fight her, and on more than one occasion, had allowed herself to rest against her chest as they rode, whether it was due to exhaustion, or simply needing comfort, Viola did not question it.

Another time, Arya had tried to steal Stranger while both she and Sandor were using a tree, and Sandor had caught her by the shoulder and jerked her back right before the horse was about to take a bite out of the girls face.

Finally, much to Viola's pleasure, and due to her outburst, the two of them had stopped bickering, and instead just glared and one another and grumbled under their breath when they thought that she wasn't listening.

Arya had been sucking the fat off of a splinter of squirrel bone then picking her teeth with it, and spitting the particles of debris she had dug out of her teeth over her shoulder. A bit landed on Sandor's boot, which started the worst fight they had thus far. Viola had tried her best to drown it out, as she had become prone to do, until they had each, once more, attempted to drag her in to it.

Arya was standing on her toes, her back arched upwards towards Sandor, her finger pointed at his face. Sandor stood before her, a smirk on his face, his hands on his hips. Each of them whisper-shouting, red faced and trying desperately to be louder than the other.

"ENOUGH!" Viola bellows, causing each of them to whip their heads around and stare at her wide-eyed and open mouthed. "You," Viola points at Arya who shuts her mouth and glares at Viola, "stop picking fights with him."

"Listen to the woman." Sandor grumbled, no doubt under the assumption that his wife had come to his aid.

"And you!" Viola glares at Sandor who squares his jaw and glares back at her. "You are a man grown, stop squabbling with a little girl!"

She had left them both glaring at the spot she had been standing and stalked away, gulping down air in an attempt to calm herself. She was one more fight away from jerking the knife from Sandor's sword belt and holding them each at knife point until they just quit!

To say that tensions were high between the three of them would have been an understatement. It was all out war between Sandor and Arya especially, and Viola doing her best to ignore them both.

Sandor would not allow her to see his burned arm, nor would he allow her to wrap it, or check it for infection. Before the rains came and they remained in the saddle for the better part of four days, he would sit far off from her and Arya and quickly wrap it with fresh linen, then covered it with his steel vambrace. He would then return to them, his face etched in anger, but his eyes reflecting a hint of sadness, and perhaps pain. If the wound hurt him, he did not let it show, nor allow it to stop him from carrying on about his plan.

In the fog, rain, and near darkness even during the day, Viola had no idea where they were. Sandor seemed to have an idea, so she did not question it until early one morning when he steered Stranger from the safety of the game trail they had been following, and up onto a washed out wagon road. It was then that her surroundings, even washed out and moss covered, began to look familiar. Viola's heart began to hammer in her chest, and she had a hard time remaining in the saddle as they inched closer towards their destination.

Home.

Sandor was bringing her home.

"Father will have a wagon. He will lend it to us, I know it. We can give Stranger a break." Viola's words come out fast and jumbled as she whirls around in the saddle to eye Sandor. "And he'll have some herbs for Arya's fever. Perhaps we can stay for the night."

Sandor only grumbles, his eyes trained on the path before them, his face set in stone. Viola, on the other hand, can hardly contain herself as they veer off of the wagon trail and begin their trek through the vastly overgrown path that leads to her home. It looked as though it had been awhile since it had been used, perhaps with the unease and war, Father was not traveling for work. Perhaps he had been here all along, waiting for her to return.

Arya had been trembling with cold and fever for the better part of three days now. Though she were not in any danger of death, and the fever seemed to be mild to Viola's wrist and hand when she placed it upon the girl's head, she would much rather treat the fever than risk her getting worse, and there had been no sign of catnip or elderflowers this time of year that she could make a tea to treat the poor girl.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the small cottage comes into view, and every ouch of excitement Viola had held for that brief amount of time bottoms out, and she gasps loudly. She does not wait for Stranger to stop walking, nor does she wait for Sandor to help her from the saddle, she drops from the side like a ton of rocks, rolling her ankle, but not stopping to bother with it as she sprints towards what used to be her home.

The thatched roof was gone, the wooden door and leaded windows, all missing. The stone walls and chimney are black with soot, even in the driving rain. All that remains is the outline of what once was. Viola steps through the opening where the door had once been to find the wooden floor missing, opening up to the root cellar below, the wooden crates and large casks that had once housed their vegetables half burned and empty.

Viola falls to her knees in what had once been the doorway and finally allows the tears to come, or at least she thinks that she does, it is hard to tell as the rain stings her eyes and drips from her chin, but the sobs that come from deep within her are certainly real.

"Where did he sleep?" Sandors voice breaks the fog that had surrounded her, his voice gentle for the first time in so long.

Viola lifts a trembling hand and points towards what remained of the hearth, to the spot Father would sleep each night, his feet pointing towards the fire to soothe his aching heels. She watches as Sandor drops down to the cellar and picks up a piece of ruble from a large pile of ash. He starts at the spot she had pointed, turning over debris and digging through the ash, and when he finds nothing, moves on to another spot a few feet away. With each step he takes, her hear sinks lower in her chest. Finally, he heaves himself out of the cellar and lifts her from the ground and pulls her against his chest.

"No bones." He whispers against her head. "He likely got out. We'll go to Harroway town and cross the Trident, then check in at the inn. See if anyone's seen him."

"He got out?" Viola repeats as she looks up at him, her heart hopeful that Father was still alive.

"Likely." Sandor repeats as he grabs her hand and leads her back to Stranger, where Arya still waits.

He got out.

He got out.

Father got out.

Viola repeats the mantra in her head as they slowly make their way back towards the game trail they had originally been following. She repeats it as they approach Harroway town, and the water overflowing the banks from the rain deafens her ears. She repeats it as they finally reach what once a town, and her mind immediately goes blank when she takes in what is before her. The entire town deserted and flooded. All the remains is a sea of chimneys, the tops of thatched roofs of taller houses, the upper story of an inn, the dome of a sept, and two-thirds of a stone round tower.

Viola watches in awe as the brown water engulfs everything in its wake, swallowing uprooted trees as they sail down the rapids, the bloating carcasses of unrecognizable animals disappearing in the choppy water, only to reappear further downstream with a pop and a crash as they were propelled upwards, before quickly disappearing once more. Sandor cups his hands around his mouth and shouts something, which causes Viola to jerk her head upwards to see smoke coming from the top of the tower that she had not noticed before due to the fog.

Below the tower, bobbing and thrashing in the water is a flat-bottomed boat chained to the tower itself. The boat is the largest she had ever seen; a dozen or more oarlocks, a wooden house with a thatched roof in the middle of the deck, and a pair of enormous horse heads carved out of wood on both the front and back of the boat.

"What do you want?" A man with a crossbow pops out of the tower window and shouts down. Down on the boat, two men come out of the wooden house with their hands on their hips to study them.

"Take us across!" Sandor shouts back at the man as he lowers his crossbow and turns his head to better hear. The men on the boat begin talking to one another hurriedly.

"It'll cost you!" One of the men on the boat finally shouts back.

"Then I'll pay!"

Viola turns in the saddle and raises a brow at him. Pay how? They had no coin! Sandor only nudges her with his elbow, silently telling her to turn around and shut up. Six men appeared on the deck, pulling on hoods to keep the rain from their eyes. Six more men leap from the tower window and down onto the boat. They begin getting to work, unchaining the boat, readying oars, and taking their places along the ships deck. Sandor rides down the hill to meet them as unease begins to grow in the pit of Viola's stomach.

"Wet enough for you, ser?" The ferryman on the deck waiting for them asks with a chuckle and a bright smile.

"I need your boat, not your bloody wit." Sandor dismounts and helps Arya and then Viola from the horses back as a boatman reaches for Stranger's bridle.

"I wouldn't" Sandor says plainly, but it is too late.

Stranger kicks at the man, who slips on the wet deck and curses loudly, causing Stranger to whine and dance from foot to foot.

"We can get you across." The ferryman says, no longer in a jesting mood. "It will cost a gold for you and the missus, another for the horse, and a third for the boy."

"Three dragons?" Sandor barks with laughter, though the laugh never meets his eyes. "For three dragons I should own the bloody ferry. Why isn't there a gold for the lady?"

"Last year, maybe you could. But with this river, I'll need extra hands on the poles and oars just to see we don't get swept a hundred miles out to sea. As for the lady, I thought I was offering you a fair deal, I can charge another gold piece for her, if you'd like. Here's your choice. Three dragons, or you teach that hellhorse how to walk on water."

"I like an honest brigand. Have it your way. Three dragons…when you put us ashore safe on the north bank."

Viola turns away from them should her face give them away. There is no blood gold! Sandor's going to cheat these men, and there's nothing that she can do to stop it, or prevent it should she end up floating down the river just like those bloated animals she watched moments before.

"I'll have them now, or we don't go."

"Here's your choice. Gold on the north bank, or steel on the south." Viola turns to find Sandor staring down at the ferryman, his hand on his loosened longsword in his sword belt, rattling it in the scabbard.

"How do I know you're good for it?"

"Knight's honor."

"That will do." The ferryman spat. "Come on then, we can have you across before dark. Tie the horse up, I don't want him spooking when we're under way. There's a brazier in the cabin if you and your son and missus want to get warm."

"I'm not his stupid son!" Arya spits angrily before Viola or Sandor could stop her.

"How many times do I need to tell you to shut your bloody mouth?" He shakes her so hard her teeth rattle, then let her fall to her knees, where Viola scoops her up and pulls her behind her back. "Get in there and get dry, like the man said." Sandor then Grabs Viola by the elbow and pushes her in the direction of the cabin. "You too."

Viola follows Arya as she tears herself from her side and hurls herself into the cabin, the warmth from the brazier reaching them before they even cross the threshold. Viola takes a seat on a bench along the wall and allows her head to rest on the wall behind her, the warmth and immediate comfort. She watches Arya for a moment, then allows her eyes to flutter closed.

A shout from above causes Viola to jerk from her sleep with a snort, she hadn't even realized she had fallen asleep. Looking around the small cabin attempting to get her bearings, she finds Arya missing. She flies from the cabin, her feet struggling to find purchase on the wet deck as the boat thrashes beneath her feet. Gabbing on to the walls of the cabin, she manages to inch herself along the deck just in time to see Arya fall hard to her knees, and one of the oarsmen fall overboard. A fellow man grabs up a rope, but hesitates as he reaches the edge, no doubt the man who had fallen was swept under the rushing currant and was long gone.

"Get back inside before I beat you bloody!" Sandor shouts, his hair plastered to his face and his eyes squinted with rain as he uses every ounce of his strength to hold on to a frightened Stranger. "Both of you, now!"

Arya slinks past Viola on her way back to the cabin, and Viola follows before sending one last scathing look towards Sandor over her shoulder. The two of them then settle onto the bench Viola, and stare silently into the roaring brazier for the rest of the voyage.

When they finally reached the shore with a jolt so hard Arya falls to the floor, Viola helps her up and they make their way from the cabin to find that they were much farther downstream than they had intended. Sandor tosses both Viola and Arya onto Strangers back with one hand as though they each weighed no more than a babe, then stalks towards the ferryman, the boatmen and oarsmen all stare on with exhausted eyes, too tired to protest as Sandor stops before them, his large presence looming over them.

"Six dragons," the ferryman demands with his hand held out towards Sandor. "Three for the passage, and three for the man I lost."

"There. Take ten." Sandor had rummaged in the pouch, the pouch that had once belonged to her, and thrust a crumpled piece of parchment into the ferryman's waiting hand.

"Ten?" The ferryman asks with raised brow. "What's this, now?"

"A dead man's note, good for nine thousand dragons or nearabouts." Sandor swings himself behind Viola on to Stranger's back, his arms wrapped around her protectively. "Ten of it is yours. I'll be back for the rest one day, so see you don't go spending it."

"Writing. What good's writing? You promised gold. Knight's honor, you said."

"Knights have no bloody honor. Time you learned that, old man." Sandor kicks Stranger's side sharply and they lurch forward as the men behind them shout curses and launch rocks at their departure. "The ferry won't cross back till morning, and that lot won't be taking paper promises from the next fools to come along. If your friends are chasing us, they're going to need to be bloody strong swimmers." Sandor chuckles as he pulls on the end of Arya's shortly cropped hair to get her attention. She swats his hand away and slumps forward in the saddle.

"Sandor?" Viola asks as they make their way further down the road, leaving the ferry and the angry men far behind them. "How much coin did they take from you?"

"Over nine thousand dragons." He spits over the Stranger's side and grips the reins tightly in his fists. "Nine thousand, three hundred, and forty seven, last I counted. Minus the stay in Deep Den, your bloody waterskin, the bit of food we took from there, and the wine."

Viola can feel her heart sputter to a stop in her chest at the thought of that much gold. More gold than she had ever seen before in her life, more gold that she would have ever seen in her life had she not been taken from her father's home. That gold could have seen their passage to The Free Cities and bought a bloody palace!

"You—They…How the fuck did you have over nine thousand dragons?"

"Tourney winnings, my pay from the crown, bit of gambling. Didn't steal it if that's what you mean. I'm not a bloody thief."

Arya suddenly began shivering violently, her little body trembling worse than the leaves on the trees as the wind picked up as the rain began to dwindle to nothing more than a spray that stung their faces as the wind whipped around them. As the sun began to set, the sneezes came, hard and strong and leaving her gasping for breath between the next sneeze would wrack her body. When she began to cough, Sandor veered off of the trail and hauled her down from the saddle before pushing her gently towards a rock to lean against. She huddled against the large rock, her little body folded around itself to keep warm, but to no avail, they, and everything that they owned, was still dripping wet.

Viola silently helps Sandor gather firewood, but it is no use. Everything is far too wet to burn. She tries herself to light a fire for upwards of an hour before Sandor becomes frustrated and takes the flint from her hands, his mouth etched into a tight line as he strikes over, and over, and over again before finally kicking the pile apart and cursing.

The three of them sit huddled together beneath a large oak tree listening to the rainwater drip from the limbs above them in the howling wind. Arya's coughing becomes louder, her eyes lined with dark circles, her chest heaving with each gasping breath. Viola puts her wrist on the girl's head as Sandor pulls out chunks of moldy cheese and some smoked sausage. She is still quite warm, but Viola isn't overly concerned, yet.

"Don't even think about it." Sandor grumbles as he slices off a piece of sausage and shoves it into his mouth with the tip of his dagger.

"I wasn't." Arya mumbles between sneezes, but leans forward and accepts a large piece of sausage Sandor had cut for her.

"I never beat your sister, but I'll beat you if you make me. Stop trying to think up ways to kill me. None of it will do you a bit of good." Sandor passes Viola a smaller piece of sausage and a large chunk of the moldy cheese. "At least you look at my face. I'll give you that, you little she-wolf. How do you like it?"

"I don't. It's all burned and ugly, and so is your wife's."

Viola drops her eyes to her lap and sets her jaw. While the girl hadn't been outwardly cruel or argumentative to her during their journey, she still never missed an opportunity to mention her face any chance she got. She suspected it had more to do with angering Sandor than it did with hurting her feelings, but it still made her feel terrible. Some days she could forget that her face was mauled, especially way out here away from others lingering eyes, where there was nothing for her to catch sight of her own reflection. She could pretend that it was just a dream, that her face was marked with nothing more than freckles from the sun. Even her missing fingertips didn't bother her, they didn't even need to be hidden, plenty of people lose fingers for the simplest things, a missing finger was nothing to take a second glance at, nothing to mock. People didn't feel the need to bring up that your middle finger was shorter than the rest, or that your index finger was over half-way gone. A face, now that's a different story.

"You're a little fool. What good would it do you if you did get away? You'd just get caught by someone worse." Sandor says, ignoring Arya's jab, but lifting Viola's head gently with his fingers beneath her chin.

"I would not. There is no one worse."

"You never knew my brother. Gregor once killed a man for snoring. His own man." Sandor grins at Arya, but not the sweet grin her reserved only for her, but a wicked, menacing grin meant to scare the poor girl.

"I did so know your brother." Arya says defensively, her mouth full from gnawing on the chunk of sausage she was still working on, causing her words to come out jumbled and uncertain. "Him and Dunsen and Polliver, and Raff the Sweetling and the Tickler."

"And how would Ned Stark's precious little daughter come to know the likes of them? Gregor never brings his pet rats to court." Sandor asks, and narrows his eyes at Viola as she passes Arya the remaining hunk of cheese she had left uneaten, her stomach full of the greasy sausage she had been nibbling on.

"I know them from the village." Arya ate the cheese, and reaches for a hunk of hard bread resting on Sandors knee that had somehow managed to stay in one piece. "The village by the lake where they caught Gendry, me, and Hot Pie. They caught Lommy Greenhands too, but Raff the Sweetling killed him because his leg was hurt."

"Caught you? My brother caught you?" Sandor laughs, a cold, snarling laugh that makes Viola and Arya each shudder. "Gregor never knew what he had, did he? He couldn't have, or he would have dragged you back kicking and screaming to King's Landing and dumped you in Cersei's lap. Oh, that's bloody sweet. I'll be sure and tell him that, before I cut his heart out."

"But he's your brother."

"Didn't you ever have a brother you wanted to kill? Or maybe a sister?" Sandor eyes Arya a moment, sensing something that Viola could not in her expression, for he leans forward, his elbow resting on Viola's thigh as he eyes the girl up and down. "Sansa. That's it, isn't it? The wolf bitch wants to kill the pretty bird."

"No." Arya spits back at him, leaning forward to glare at him, the two no more than Viola's thigh's width apart from their noses touching. "I'd like to kill you."

"Because I hacked your little friend in two? I've killed a lot more than him, I promise you. You think that makes me some monster. Well, maybe it does, but I saved your sister's life too. The day the mob pulled her off her horse, I cut through them and brought her back to the castle, else she would have gotten what Lollys Stokeworth got. And she sang for me. You didn't know that, did you? Your sister sang me a sweet little song."

"You're lying."

"Both of you—" Viola begins, her wits nearly at their end as the two of them glare at one another while leaning over her lap, their food forgotten in their hands as they size one another up, but Sandor cuts her off.

"You don't know half as much as you think you do. The Blackwater? Where in seven hells do you think we are? Where do you think we're going?

"Back to King's Landing. You're bringing me to Joffrey and the queen."

"Stupid blind little wolf bitch." His voice harsh and mean as he throws his head back and laughs, then leans back against the tree and crosses his arms behind his head, staring off into the distance, then reaches for the waterskin at his side and takes a long, deep gulp before passing it over to Arya, who drains the last of it. "Fuck Joffrey, fuck the queen, and fuck that twisted little gargoyle she calls a brother. I'm done with their city, done with their Kingsguard, done with Lannister's. What's a dog to do with lions, I ask you? The river was the Trident, girl. The Trident, not the Blackwater. Make the map in your head, if you can. On the morrow we should reach the Kingsroad. We'll make good time after that, straight up to the Twins. It's going to be me who hands you over to that mother of yours. Not the noble lightning lord or that flaming fraud of a priest, the monster. You think your outlaw friends are the only ones can smell a ransom? Dondarrion took my gold, so I took you. You're worth twice what they stole from me, I'd say. Maybe even more if I sold you back to the Lannister's like you fear, but I won't. Even a dog gets tired of being kicked. If this Young Wolf has the wits the gods gave a toad, he'll make me a lordling and beg me to enter his service. He needs me, though he may not know it yet. Maybe I'll even kill Gregor for him, he'd like that."

"He'll never take you. Not you."

"Then I'll take as much gold as I can carry, laugh in his face, and ride off. If he doesn't take me, he'd be wise to kill me, but he won't. Too much his father's son, from what I hear. Fine with me. Either way I win. And so do you, she-wolf. So, stop whimpering and snapping at me, I'm sick of it. Keep your mouth shut and do as I tell you, and maybe we'll even be in time for your uncle's bloody wedding."

—

Five days later, Sandor leaves her, again. This time, however, he warns her before she watches him and Arya ride off into the sunset on their stolen wayn filled with casks of pigs feet and salt pork, and Stranger trailing slowly behind them, his black tail flicking away flies as he walks.

They had met up with a farmer on the Kingsroad, a large farmer with a wayn full of everything they needed to get through the gates.

"I'm not going to be dragged before your brother in chains." Sandor had told Arya as he veered Stranger in front of the farmers horses, forcing the man to come to a stop. "And I'd just as soon not have to cut through his men to get to him. So, we play a little game."

He had ordered the man to remove his boots and his green rough spun. When the man cursed at Sandor and refused, he pulled his sword from his scabbard and jumped from Strangers back with ease. He held the tip of his sword beneath the man's chin and sneered at him, until the man, near as large as Sandor, looked as though he may piss himself.

"You're a bloody robber!" The man had spit, his voice shaking with either fear or anger.

"No, a forager. Be grateful you get to keep your smallclothes. Now take those boots off. Or I'll take your legs off. Your choice."

And the farmer had obeyed, sparing his life, and Sandor pulled his stolen clothes over his mail, and tossed his own boots in the back of the wayn before pulling on the farmers. He then hid his helm, his sword, and his remaining armor he would allow to hang from Strangers side in burlap sacks he had found stuffed around the casks. Next he removed the saddle, blanket, and bags from Strangers side and left them in the back. He hoisted Arya onto the front of the wayn and climbed in beside her, motioning for Viola to get on the back.

They traveled in silence for many miles, Sandor feasting on pig's feet and tossing the bones off to the side. Finally, Sandor stops the wayn on the wagon trail, and Viola cranes her head around to see the outline of the castle over the treetops. Sandor jumps down from his perch and begins to unload Stranger's saddle, along with the blanket, saddlebags, and the larger pieces of his armor into the tree line.

"You're to wait here."

"Why?" Viola protested.

"Because, I said so. If it goes wrong in there, I can't watch out for you too, and I'll be damned if I watch you be bound up, again."

"And what if you get bound up again?"

"I won't. Now, wait here with our things, and if I'm not back by morning light, then walk back the way we came and go to the Crossroads and find your bloody father."

Sandor made to leave, but Viola grabbed his arm and turned him around to face her. She wrapped her arms around his waist, it was much smaller than it had been when they were in Kingslanding, and he pulled her tightly against him before kissing the top of her head gently.

"Come back for me." Viola said, her voice trembling slightly.

"I always do."