By the time the sun rises, Yellowcloak, who she had learned the night before was actually Lem Lemoncloak, had swapped places with Fox-face, who was actually named Tom of Sevenstrings, and had thrown the bound Lady Brienne over the back of her horse, still unconscious with her head covered by a sack. Ser Hyle and Podrick were awake and alert, asking constant questions and fumbling with their bindings. Viola took little pity on them. At least they were on horseback and not tripping over their own feet on what would no doubt be a week's long journey.
Lem takes the bound hostages, along with Gendry, and disappears along the game trails and side roads to meet up with another party outside of Stone Hedge. By mid-morning, Greenbeard, who was actually named Pello of Tyrosh, breaks off on his own to make for Saltpans. Viola is then left to follow fox-faced Tom now driving the carriage filled with food along the River Road towards their destination. As far as company goes, Tom isn't terrible. He plays his wood harp softly, humming along to the tune as they bump along the road.
The further they get from the inn, the more sparse and spread out the hanging bodies become, but not by much. They still stared down at her with grotesque, twisted faces and hollow eye sockets. Viola steers Stranger around the wagon to come up at Tom's side.
"Why are all of these bodies here?" Viola asks as Tom strums his harp one final time.
"Lions. Flayed Men. Just men." Tom says with a sigh as he glances up at one particularly bloated corpse on the roadside. "Rapers. Murderers. Robbers. You name it, they've likely done it. So, we gave them our justice, since the boy king ain't like to do it himself."
"All of them?" Viola asks, trying to count in her head just how many bodies they had come across just since sunrise, and couldn't.
"Aye. Each and every one of them."
"Is my father truly there? Where we're going, I mean."
"So long as your father is truly Chisel."
"So long as Chisel is truly Leonart Rivers."
"Then he is truly there. Or will be shortly if not."
"I haven't seen him in near two years." Viola says with a sigh, her head hanging slightly as though it were her fault. "Doubt he'll recognize me."
"Just show him the unburnt side of your face first."
Viola turns in her saddle and glares at the small man, her jaw clenched tight. She lifts her chin, allowing him to take in the angry, red slice across her throat as well as the mauled crevices of the scaring along the right side of her face.
"You act as though I asked that bastard to burn me." Viola spits in his direction. "Like I enjoyed it when he laid that burning log on my cheek and left it there until I fainted. Might be you think I deserved it."
Tom has the presumption to look almost embarrassed as she digs her heel into Stranger's side and pushes him to a gallop, staying several paces ahead of Tom for the duration of the day. By the time the sun hangs long in the sky, he calls to her to stop for the night. Not wanting to keep walking alone along the River Road after night fall, she obeys, turning Stranger sharply to backtrack and veer off of the main road where Tom was now hiding the wagon in dense, dried brush plucked from the forest floor and gathering sacks from the back.
Viola dismounts and leads Stranger to a small stream nearby as Tom fills buckets of water for his mules. The temperature was rapidly dropping, and Viola was thankful for the cloak and breeches she had taken from the isle, but they were doing little to shield her from the bitter cold now creeping along the hillside. Winter was fast approaching. Snow would be here before they knew it, and she was only a bit thankful that she didn't need to worry about finding food to feed three, and her stomach twists with guilt. She hadn't thought of Arya since she had left the isle. She did her best to push any memory of her from her mind, for she already held enough guilt over Sandor's death. If she allowed herself to grieve the girl's loss, too, she may as well run Sandor's sword through her own heart and spare the Brotherhood a length of rope.
Arya was dead, likely killed during the raid in Saltpans as Elder Brother told. It was her fault. Just like Sandor's death was her fault; and Sally, Finbar, the nameless man Joffrey had hanged as her father, Alna, Lawrence, Masha, Arthur, Mother, and likely Brienne as well, if the bite in her cheek festered.
Death seemed to follow her, mock her even, but refused to take her. Why had she now survived two fevers, but a cut on the leg had stolen Elias from her? He was far stronger that her, more worthy of life. He could have married the little red-headed alewife's daughter that he liked so well, could have had a slew of children with her and been happy. Instead, he was bones in the dirt and she was scared and mutilated. No man would ever take her for wife again, not that she'd ever want them to.
Viola pulls herself from her thoughts before the tears can begin to spill and leads Stranger back towards the campsite, where he quickly beds down among the trees. While other horses chose to stand and doze, Stranger was used to Sandor's protection, as well as running himself ragged, and bedded down with no fuss wherever they stopped, taking in every moment of sleep he could possibly be afforded. Viola sits herself against a tree at his side and pulls the dirk from her boot, clutching it in her hands as she does her best to wrap her cloak around herself. Tom seemed near harmless, and she doubt he would try to harm her, but she wasn't taking any risks. If he managed to get past Stranger unharmed in the night, she would stab him in the throat as she did the man in the woods who had tried to have his way with her.
"Here." Tom calls as he tosses a bundle of furs and a sack at her.
Viola quickly wraps herself in the furs, breathing in a sigh of relief as the warmth spreads through her body. Inside of the sack is a bit of bread, stockfish, and a chunk of cheese. She rips the dried meat from the fish from the skin and layers it on a piece of bread, then puts a piece of cheese on top. Tom watches her wearily from the tree he was now leaning against, a flagon clutched in one hand, and a piece of salt pork in the other.
"Seen Chisel do that same thing." He mimics a gag and takes a long pull from his flagon. "Must be his daughter. Can't stand stockfish. Makes my skin crawl looking at their dried eyes."
"But the corpses didn't bother you."
"Who said they didn't bother me? Besides, what those men had done bothers me more. I don't pity them."
"Nor do it, if what you say is true."
"So, The Hound didn't do that to your face, then?"
"No. Sandor didn't do this to my face."
"We head tale that he'd taken some burnt up girl from the Riverlands for bride, but no one ever said who you were, or what you looked like other than that. When you came before Dondarrion that night, Greenbeard thought you might belong to Chisel. Had his look about you, but Lem said you couldn't have been because he'd never said anything about you being burnt up. Heard him tell folks what you looked like for damn near a year, never once did he mention missing fingers or that scar. If we had known—"
"If you had known, I still would have gone with Sandor."
"You're more loyal than a dog, it seems. If The Hound didn't give you those scars, who did?"
"Joffrey." Viola snarls the name as though the boy king were in front of her; remembering that ugly scrunched face and yellow hair and wishing she could have watched as he died. "Did my father ever say how come our home got burned?"
"The Mountain That Rides. Him and his men were sent out to find your father, Joffrey wanted him brought before him. They went to the inn first, and Masha wouldn't say nothing, so they hung her. Then they found out where you lived, and they burnt it to the ground trying to lure your father when they found the place empty. Poor farmer happened to be passing through and saw the smoke and flames, and went out to see if he could help. They took him for your father, as they only had a little description of him, and took his head and had it sent back to Kingslanding with a squire. Your father had been in Saltpans looking for you at the time, and came back a fortnight later to find the farmers rotting body in the road. That's when he'd decided to go to Kingslanding to report what had happened to the king, and ran into us on the way. Been with us off and on ever since. When you were brought before us, he had just broken off from our party outside of Stoney Sept and was headed towards Deep Den."
"He was a step behind me the entire time. We had just left Deep Den when we were taken outside of Stoney Sept." Viola sighs and the memory of waking to find Sandor bound and bellowing at the fat, bald man who had taken them. "Does he know Sandor had taken me for bride?"
"If he didn't then, he likely knows know, or will soon enough if Lem makes it there before us." Tom yawns and stretches before offering her the flagon.
Viola reaches forward and accepts the flagon, taking a whiff of the contents before drinking. It smells of spice and sweetness, like nothing she had ever smelled before, even while in Kingslanding. It certainly isn't wine, but it is definitely alcohol. Tipping the flagon back slightly to allow the contents to touch the tip of her tongue experimentally, she is met with a bitter, yet strikingly sweet liquid that numbs her tongue on contact. It taste slightly of spice cake she had once, but also of molasses and sugarcane. She takes a deeper pull, and coughs as the liquid hits the back of her throat. Tom chuckles at the face she pulls, and reaches forward for the flagon.
"Rum." He explains as he turns the flagon up. "Take it as you've not had rum before."
"No." Viola coughs. "Though I like it better than wine, I suppose."
"Not much of a wine drinker myself. Everyone swears theirs is the best, and it almost never is. As soon as you find one you can stomach, they up and get themselves killed, or their casks are stolen. Rum never changes, always tastes near about the same no matter who makes it. Hell of a lot more expensive, though. Lucky for me, not many around these parts seem to have a taste for it, so they leave it be."
"Where does it come from?"
"Pentos, mostly. Volantis as well. They grow the sugarcane and spices, make molasses. Got a few casks of it from an abandoned ship in Saltpans."
"Sandor wanted to go to the Free Cities. We were going to board ship to Volantis when we were taken by your lot."
"What in Seven Hell's did The Hound want in Volantis?" Tom doubles over laughing, spilling a bit of rum in the process.
"To get away. Planned on being a sellsword if need be. But we never made it, because you lot stole over nine thousand gold dragons from him."
"We didn't rob him, only took what he had."
"That is exactly what robbing someone means."
"We fed a lot of hungry women and babes with that gold." Tom passes her the flagon again, and this time the rum goes down smoother. "Besides, you took the Stark girl from us."
"Was trying to get her home to her mother."
"A lot of good that did you."
"You're right. Did no good, but at least she was safe, for a while anyway."
"And where is she, now?"
"Don't know. Elder Brother from the Quiet Isle believes her dead."
"And you don't?"
"I don't know what I believe anymore." Viola takes another long drag from the flagon, her head already beginning to swim from the little she had drank. Rum is much stronger than wine or ale. "Dondarrion going to demand trial by combat from Brienne and Ser Hyle as he did with Sandor?"
"Dondarrion is dead."
"I'd give my condolences, but I can't say I have any."
"Believe what you will, but Dondarrion was an honest, fair man."
"So, what will become of them? Who do you follow, now?"
"The lady will decide their fate."
"What lady?"
"Lady Stoneheart." Tom says solemnly, his eyes shining with a bit of fear she thought, or perhaps it was the drink.
"Who is Lady Stoneheart?"
"You'll find out soon enough."
—
The rest of the journey is uneventful as they make their way towards the cave, and when they finally arrive, are met with Ser Payne, Brienne's and Podrick's horses tethered in a makeshift lean-to outside of the caves entrance, along with half a dozen other horses. Viola helps Tom unbridle his mules and leaves Stranger in a second lean-to meant for the wagon's and carriages away from the other horses.
Several men appear then, making quick work at unloading the contents of the wagon they had brought with them. Viola is led inside of the cave by a small, homely looking woman with brown hair and green eyes names Miriam.
The moment she steps foot inside of the large, damp cavern, she spots Lem with his stained yellow cloak standing before the fire, light glistening off of the dogs head helm he wears proudly on his head. Viola sees red and her hands begin to shake as she barges towards him, anger radiating down her spine.
"Take it the fuck off!" Viola screams, tearing her throat.
Three sets of hands pry her from Lem before she could make contact with her, for if she had, she would have torn him apart. She struggles against their hold, flailing her arms and dropping her weight downwards in an attempt to escape.
"Let go of me!" She screams as she whips her head back and forth to spot dozens upon dozens of faces peering out from the shadows. "Take it off, it doesn't belong to you!"
The priest that had prayed the night she and Sandor were here, just before Dondarrion sword blazed with fire, stands from his spot at a long table on the opposite side of the fire, and Viola looks to the left to see four nooses swaying slightly in the drafty cave. Before the table stands a woman, still as a statue, with the hood of her grey cloak covering her head as she examines a sword lying before her. Just then the swordbelt she had thrown over her shoulder is removed, and as well as the dirk hiding in her boot, and the knife tucked into the waistband of her breeches. She tries to struggle once more, thrashing about in search of Tom, when Lem and the priest take their leave together and disappear behind her.
"I am truly sorry for this, my lady." Tom whispers in her ear as her hands are bound behind her back. For a moment, she truly believes it.
Viola is led to one of the nooses, and as she looks up at it swaying slightly, does not feel fear. Not when Tom helps her stand on a log, not when he slips the noose around her neck, and not when she gazes out over the crowd of people now forming around the fireside.
It isn't until Podrick, little, nervous Podrick Payne, is led trembling to her side and helped onto a log does she begin to panic. He is but a boy, an innocent little boy! Viola opens her mouth to protest, but Tom places a finger over his lips and shakes his head sadly, and so she swallows a lump in her throat and does her best to comfort the boy using only her eyes. A tear slides down the boy's nose, and his lips begins to tremble. Before she can stop it, she is crying too. Not for herself, she realizes instantly that she no longer cares whether she lives or dies. Does not care that this was all a trap. Her father was likely never here. Soon, should the God's will it, she will be reunited with Sandor.
Ser Hyle is brought next, his noose on the far right, beside Podrick. Next they bring out Brienne, her arm splint, likely having been broken when she was slammed to the ground during the fight, and her missing cheek inflamed and weeping, packing with some sort of foul smelling poultice. The priest hands a bit of parchment to the grey lady, and then takes his seat at the long table next to Tom, Lem, and several other faces she does not recognize.
And then the grey lady turns, removing her hood as she does, and all air leaves her lungs. Half of her hair is missing; the other half is thin and dry. Strips of flesh lie in ribbons from her waxy, bruised face. She is bloated, yet thin at the same time. Splotches of brown and green rot and decay littering her face and neck. And her neck, oh Gods her neck. Slit from ear to ear, bone deep and trickling a greyish liquid. Viola nearly vomits at the site of it. Then she turns her red eyes towards Viola, and a hand, bloated and blue, reaches up to point at the slash on her neck just above the noose, then cups her own throat and makes a wheezing, rattling sound.
The others were talking around her, but she could not make out the words they were saying. She remained trapped in the red stare of the grey lady before her. Her eyes roaming every inch of Viola's face as though trying to delve into her mind to recover every secret she may hold. And then in an instant, the spell is broken when the grey lady tears her gaze from Viola and takes in Brienne next to her. She grips her throat once more and tries to speak, but the sound is rattling and near impossible to make out.
"I don't understand." Pleads Brienne. "What did she say?"
"She asked the name of this blade of yours." Tom tells her.
"Oathkeeper." Brienne says proudly.
"No, she says. Call it Oathbreaker, she says. It was made for treachery and murder. She names it False Friend. Like you."
"To whom have I been false?"
"To her." Tom says as he raises both hands to gesture towards the lady before them. "Can it be that my lady has forgotten that you once swore her your service?"
"That cannot be." Brienne says with a gasp. "She's dead."
"Death and guest right." Murmurs a woman at the table who has the Heddle look about her. "They don't mean so much as they used to, neither one."
"Lady Catelyn?" Brienne sobs and Viola's blood runs cold. "They said…they said that you were dead."
"She is." Says the priest. "The Frey's slashed her throat from ear to ear. When we found her by the river she was three days dead. Harwin begged me to give her the kiss of life, but it had been too long. I would not do it, so Lord Beric put his lips to hers instead, and the flame of life passed from him to her. And…she rose. May the Lord of Light protect us. She rose."
"I never betrayed her. Tell her that. I swear it by the Seven. I swear it by my sword."
"Words are wind, she says. She says that you must prove your faith."
"How?"
"With your sword. Oathkeeper, you call it? Then keep your oath to her, milady says."
"What does she want of me?"
"What does she want of me?"
"She wants her son alive, or the men who killed him dead." Says Lem proudly, still wearing Sandor's helm as Viola heart hammers in her chest at Podrick's whimpers at her side. "She wants to feed the crows, like they did at the Red Wedding. Frey's and Boltons, aye. We'll give her those, as many as she likes. All she asks from you is Jaime Lannister."
"Lady Catelyn, I…you do not understand, Jaime…he saved me from being raped when the Bloody Mummers took us, and later he came back for me, he leapt into the bear pit empty-handed…I swear to you, he is not the man he was. He sent me after Sansa to keep her safe, he could not have had a part in the Red Wedding."
"She says that you must choose. Take the sword and slay the Kingslayer, or be hanged for a betrayer. The sword or the noose, she says. Choose, she says. Choose."
"I will not make that choice."
"Hang them." Lady Catelyn croaks loudly, the only phrase Viola had been able to understand.
Lem stands in an instant and kicks the logs from beneath Ser Hyle's feet, the sound of him choking making her panic rise as she fumbles with the bindings around her wrists. Next comes Podrick, and as the boy kicks and flails beside her, Viola lets out a cry of anger and frustration. She lifts a leg to try and steady the boy, but it is of no use. Finally, he kicks the log from beneath Brienne's feet and the sound that escapes her lips makes Viola heave acid into her mouth.
"He's just a boy!" Viola sobs as she watches the boy's face turn red, and then blue as she struggles beside her.
"Sword!" Brienne calls through her chokes. "Sword!"
And she is cut down, landing with a loud thump to the ground and crying out and clutching her broken arm. He cuts Podrick down in the nick of time, and the boy heaves and gasps for air from the ground. It is too late for Ser Hyle, but they cut him down anyway, and his body lies motionless on the cold cave floor.
"What of this one?" Lem asks. "She wants to know where The Hound truly is."
"Dead." Viola spits. "Killed by his brother's men."
"You have a Lannister sword upon you."
"It was Sandor's."
"Lannister's dog. You took her girl from us, too."
"Sandor was no one's dog. He was his own man. He thought you to be taking her to the Lannister's. We tried to get her to you, Lady Catelyn. I will not beg you for mercy, nor my life. Kill me if you're going to, but know that no harm came to your daughter under our care. We brought her to the Twins, but it was too late. What was done had been done."
"She wants to know where Arya is."
"I sent her to Saltpan's with Sandor. He died of his injuries on the journey there. I had hoped that she had still made ship to the Eyrie, that's where Sandor was taking her, to your sister in the Eyrie, but I'm not sure. Elder Brother thinks she may have been among the children killed in the raid. He couldn't be certain. If she lives, and she isn't at the Eyrie, she mention The Wall. Said she had an elder brother there who would protect her and take her in. Had wanted Sandor to bring her there instead of the Eyrie, but he said it would be too dangerous."
"What did a dog want with a wolf?"
"To protect her. To get her someplace safe. He tried to get the elder girl to leave with him the night we left Kingslanding, and she wouldn't."
"Then he should have made her!" Lem shouts, the sound echoing in the helm.
"And have her run off the first time we stopped? To have a target on us everywhere we went? It was hard enough concealing and controlling Arya and she was made up like a boy! Sansa would have been raped and dragged back to Kingslanding, and had us hanged before the week was out!"
"She's just another Lannister whore, m'lady." A voice from the table calls out.
"You can call me anything you wish, but you will not call me that." Viola snarls and lifts her chin high, allowing them all to see the full burn along her cheek and the slit to her throat. Brienne had carefully plucked the catgut stitching from her neck with the blade of her dirk the night before they had made it to the inn, and the fresh skin pulls tight, threatening to split, but still, she lifts her chin higher. "You think you are the only ones to have everything taken from you by those golden cunts? You think you're the only ones who have suffered at their hands? Maybe I got off easier compared to others, I don't know. What I do know is that I got this from them. I nearly gave my life protecting that Stark girl. My husband gave his trying to get her to safety. So don't you fucking dare call me a Lannister whore."
Lady Catelyn steps closer, her red eyes boring into Viola's once more. She grips her throat with one hand, and the other flutters up to push the hair away from the burned side of her face before tracing and ice cold finger across her throat.
"She wants to know how you survived this." Lem tells her after Lady Catelyn finishes her wheezing. "Who gave it to you."
"Elder Brother said it was only a hairs length too high from death. It came From Gregor Clegane. The Mountain That Rides. Gave it to me after Sandor killed some of his men at the inn." Viola looks down at four men dragging Brienne away through the tunnels, and the woman who had brought her in wrapping Podrick in her arms as he trembles and leading him behind her. "Get on with killing me if that's what you're going to do. I've grow tired of talking. My husband showed his innocence in this very cave, with that very sword. The quicker you let me hang, the quicker I am to being with him again, should the God's allow it."
"You've got a smart mouth on you, girl." Lem tells her with a chuckle.
"Take off my husband's helm, it belongs to me by right. I wish to take it and his sword with me upon my death." Viola snarls down at him. "And you, Tom. My father was never here, was he? All that talk on our journey, for what? You knew what they'd do to me once you led me here."
Lady Catelynn grips her throat tightly and wheezes something over her shoulder as she turns to walk away. Lem removes the helm and takes a step towards Viola. She closes her eyes and lets out a long breath, ready to greet death calmly. Instead, the wind coming off of a sword stroke ruffles her hair, and the next thing she knows, she's greeting the floor and rolling onto her side. She opens her eyes then, and Lem tosses Sandor's helm onto the ground next to her head. She scrambles to her hands and knees on the cold, unforgiving floor and clutches the helm to her chest.
"He will be here shortly." Tom says as he crouches down in front of her and offering her the flagon of rum. Viola takes it from him and gulps greedily, not caring that it stings her eyes and burns her throat. "Left Silver Hill a few days ago. Should be arriving back tonight or tomorrow. I should have known this would happen, but I thought Chisel would be here to talk them down. I was wrong."
Tom leads Viola down a darkened passage, deeper into the heart of the cave. They stop at one of the first stone and tree root doors, and he holds out a hand, instructing her to enter. Inside is a steaming hot spring, two women stationed on either side of the shallow pool, waiting for her. Tom closes the door behind him and Viola steps further inside, the flagon of rum and Sandor's helm still clutched to her chest in either hand. The women gently pry the items from her hands and help her into the pool.
The water, while warm, still chills her in the damp coolness of the cave, but having the miles or dirt, horsehair, and grime scrubbed from her skin feels incredible. Once they are satisfied that her hair and skin are clean, they dry her with rough strips of cloth, then help her into a warm, brown shift and take her clothes off to be cleaned. Viola plucks the helm and the rum from a bench, and steps out into the hall to find Tom leaning against a door waiting for her. They walk past several more doors, along sharp bends, and finally arrive at a warn wooden door which is left propped open. A pallet on the floor is piled high with furs, a single candle flickers in a corner on a small table, lighting the room. A bowl of soup and a plate with cheese and bread waits for her. Viola takes a seat and digs into the food as Tom closes the door softly behind him as he leaves.
Her eyes dart to the door, finding the bolt on the inside. She breathes a sigh of relief. She will not be locked in here tonight, and can bar it to keep others from entering. She finishes her soup in silence, her stomach bloating from the sheer amount of food left for her, which she had nearly devoured most of.
The door creaks open and Viola makes to stand, either to defend herself or flee, whichever the intruder may call for. Lady Catelyn enters the room silently, moving as though she is gliding. She motions for Viola to sit back down, which she does. The grey woman moves behind her, blocking herself from Viola's view, though her shadow is still present on the wall before her. A deep shudder runs through Viola as Lady Catelyn begins to run her fingers through Viola's still wet hair to untangle it.
She takes her time, ensuring each of her curls is smooth before moving on to the next. After she is satisfied with her work, she begins to slowly plait her hair to her scalp into two sections the way the Silent Sister's had done for her. She pulls hard, taking care to make sure that the plaits remain tight against either side of her head, and secures the ends with a two pieces of leather cord and cups the back of Viola's head tenderly before patting her shoulder.
Viola watches as the woman slowly glides from the room and closes the door gently behind her without making a sound, as though she were a ghost. She remains frozen a moment, too afraid to move should death have given the woman the ability to see through stone.
After she was certain that the woman wasn't about to return, she lies down on the pallet in the floor and buries herself beneath the piles of furs and quickly drifts off to sleep, the tallow candle in the corner still burning.
Sandor's face cuts through the darkness, his grey eyes glistening in the candlelight. He pulls her close against his chest, protecting her as he whispers in her ear all the things he will buy for her once they reach Volantis. She smiles up at him as his chest hair tickles her nose with every word he speaks. He smells of wine and horse, and his rough hands scratch her back as he rubs them up and down his spine. Viola props herself up on her elbow, lowering her face to his to kiss him on the lips, when a crashing sound jolts her to a sitting position.
She looks down, though her eyes are still blurry from sleep, Sandor is nowhere to be found, even when she moves the piles of furs to check. It had been a dream. A sob escapes her lips as she stares down at the spot he had been lying only moments before, and pats it once for good measure, just to see whether it was still warm from his spirit.
Another crash draws her attention away from the pallet beneath her, and as her eyes travel towards the door, it is thrown open abruptly and slammed against the packed dirt and thick tree root wall, a few pieces of dirt fall from the ceiling and ping against her skin. A man stands in the doorway, his chest heaving from running. His hair is thin, white, and mostly gone on the top. His white beard hangs near his chest and is stained a slight yellow color around his mouth. His eyes are impossibly huge as he stares down at her, his mouthed opened wide as he sucks in air. Behind him stands Tom, his arms crossed over his chest.
"Father?" Viola asks, still confused from sleep.
The man takes a timid step towards her as though afraid of her, then rushes to her side and falls to his knees at her side. He pulls her flush against him, his hands cupping the back of her head as they both sob. Her hands are locked in his tunic, holding him as close to her as she possibly could. He pulls away slightly and cups her cheeks in the palms of his impossibly large hands, and truly takes in her face for the first time.
"Oh, my girl. What have they done to you?"
"I'm alright, Father." Viola sobs as he pulls a handkerchief from his sleeve and passes it to her. "Truly. I'm alive."
They are given no time to bask in their reunion, however, as Lem Lemoncloak bursts through the door, nearly knocking Tom to the ground in his haste. His eyes are bloodshot and furious, his face set in a scowl.
"There's been a raid on the Quiet Isle." He declares. "Tom, get a move on. Chisel, if you wish to ride, we leave as soon as we pack up."
"I'm coming with you." Viola jumps to her feet and retches Sandor's helm from the table she had left it on last night.
"You are to stay here where it is safe." Father insists, but it is too late.
Tom is already leading her down the hall and towards the main room. Before she so much as turns to ensure that the other two men are following her, her laundered clothes and swordbelt are being thrust into her hands. She is dressed and packed in minutes, and atop Stranger's back shortly after.
Sandor's helm is tied to a length of hempen rope and dangling at Stranger's side the way Sandor had always let it ride. His sword had been polished and gleams in the morning sunlight as they push their horses to a gallop, just the way Stranger prefers. He leads the pack, his coat glistening and his muscles rippling with every step he takes. He breathes hard, his breath coming out in plumes of white in the morning fog. He looks every bit the hellhorse he had always been rumored to be.