"Can you not stay another fortnight?" Viola asks her father as she helps him hastily pack a satchel with hardtack, hard cheese, salt meat from the last deer he had fell, and a water skin of mead. "If you stay just a night or two longer, and leave after the roads become less busy, you'll see the King and his whole litter on The Kingsroad. Alna at the Inn told me they'll be passing right through here on their way back to Kings Landing."
"I have no interest in seeing King Robert on the Kingsroad, or any other road for that matter." Her father replies with a sigh, taking the full satchel from her hands and placing it on the front bench of the cart he would soon be departing in. Viola rubs her cheek against one of the donkey's hitched to the front of the cart, doing her best to hide the sadness in her eyes. "I want you to stay well away from the Inn, well away from the Kingsroad, and well away from that Alna while I am away. I will not be here to protect you, and if this were not dire, I would not be leaving you right now during all of this."
"Yes, father." Viola obliges and allows her father to pull her in for a tight embrace.
She looks up at the man whom had been her only form of protection and companionship since her mother had died ny on six years past when a fever spread through the common lands like wildfire, killing several, sickening over half of the population. He looked like her, or rather, she like him. The same, dare she say, weak chin, which he kept covered with a white beard, the same high cheek bones and delicate nose, bright blue eyes, and while her hair was still thick and pitch black at ten and nine, his was now white with specs of ash when the sun glistened off of it the right way. They each burned easily in the sun, and were spotted with brown specs across their faces and hands. Her father stands a head taller than her, short for a man, but broad of shoulder and strong in the arms and legs from years of slinging pickaxes to break apart stone. They were each skinny, far too skinny if she were being honest. Though they lived well off of the land, he father was a generous man, giving more than he took, ensuring that the families less fortunate than they had enough food in their bellies for their babes and nursing mothers. Most often, her father was simply took exhausted to eat. He would come in from being gone weeks at a time building some structure, designing some monument, having lost a considerable amount of weight and gained more than a few additional white hairs and scars, and collapse onto his straw bed opposite the fire and sleep like the dead. Once Viola had even dropped a cast iron skillet near his head on accident, and the man never even ceased his snoring. While away, worry kept Viola's belly full.
Despite being bastard born, her father, Leonart, had trained alongside The Riverlands most sought after stonemason, who had taken young Leonart under his wing. Having no sons of his own, the old man had left his apprentice everything he owned, which included the tiny stone structure they had called home for Viola's entire life. The small dwelling consisted of but two rooms; the kitchen, and the bedroom that used to belong to mother and father, but now slept only her. He had insisted she take it after her mother had suffered and died in the confined space, not having dared to enter it since the night the Septon had drug her blue, limp body from the space and carted her away for burial.
"I mean it, Viola." Her father calls to her as he takes the reigns of the cart and squints down at her, one hand over his eyes to block the sun. "Stay away from The Kingsroad. There will be far too many strangers. Bar the door at night, keep your dirk close by. I will return with haste, should be no longer than a fortnight. Run straight to the Inn if you come across any trouble. Do not allow strangers into the home."
Viola watches her father depart, until all that is left of him is a thick cloud of dust from the carts wheels as he bumbles along the The River Road, and off to River Run to carve a likeness of Lord Hoster Tully before the man dies.
Despite being on the opposite side of The Trident from The Crossroads Inn, Viola was known to frequent it to visit her childhood friend, Alna, who was a barkeep and somehow related to Masha Heddle, though Viola had long since become confused with that family tree, what with all of the bastards and distant cousins, another supposed Heddle was constantly popping up about the place, running flagons of ale and cups of wine, cleaning rooms and emptying bedpans. Alna, and Masha as well, had offered to keep Viola up in one of the rooms while he father was away, but he always declined the offer. The place was constantly buzzing with activity and unsavory men, though Masha ran a tight establishment and mostly kept the place friendly, it was far too much for the man to risk, especially with The Kingsroad awakened with activity in the months surrounding King Robert's arrival to The North. It was an hour and two quarters walk to the Inn from their home, a distance that would be greatly cut in half if Father would only allow her a pony.
Constantine, Viola's mother, had been related to the Huddle's through marriage, distantly, and had worked as a barkeep there for many years, where she had met her father when he was traveling from The Eyrie. Being a bastard herself, no one minded that she mary a fellow, and completely unknown bastard from across The Trident. Being bastard born, despite being married and having a legitimate child, Viola's own surname was to be Rivers, which made an interesting tale when mocked for being a bastard herself. Had her maternal grandfather, whomever he may be, legitimized her mother, they could have taken on his surname, but what man would ever legitimize a daughter if given the choice?
Each of her parents knew their letters, her mother, however, was not a strong reader, and could barely write. She had taught Viola what she knew, which admittedly wasn't much. Her father was a strong reader, and even stronger writer, but never found the time to teach either of them what he knew. Viola knew her letters, and simple words like water, egg, berry, and meat, but anything more than that just became a jumbled mess in her mind. She couldn't read words in her head and scribble letters to herself the way father could, she needed to carefully sound each word out, often needing to be corrected on the pronunciation. The first time she had seen the word "road" written, she had pronounced it as "roo-aid" aloud, eliciting a long, drawn out belly laugh from her father. That had been but a year ago, and he had not let her forget the hilarity of it.
Viola turns on her heel and heads back into the small stone cottage, careful to bolt the door behind her, and stokes the fire in the hearth. There is a large pile of mending to be done, mostly her fathers, and the new homespun dress she had been working on in preparation for winter was nearly complete. A large pile of deer hides wait for her in the tree line, ready to be scrubbed with salt once more before being stretched and smoked. On top of that, there were black walnuts to hull, produce in the garden ready to harvest, and water to carry from the spring.
Perhaps, if she timed it just right, she could sneak out in a few days and lie low in the cover of brambles along the rivers banks and catch sight of the kings litter as it crosses The Trident. Father only warned her not to go near the Inn, he said nothing about going to the river in hopes of catching a glimpse of Ser Jamie Lannister. Alna said he was the handsomest man you could ever lay eyes upon, though she herself had never laid eyes upon him. Alna was married to Masha's niece's good brother, Lawrence, but that didn't stop her from fantasizing about running off with a knight. If this man were truly as handsome as she was led to believe, she had to see him for herself. Though, if she were being honest, The Imp, Tyrion Lannister, and The Mountain Clegane were whom she were more interested in spotting. The Mountain was the tallest man in the whole Seven Kingdoms, and The Imp was said to be the smallest.
How could Father not wish to stay to witness this? Though, she supposed he saw enough of Lords and Ladies in his line of work. If he had ever seen Ser Jamie Lannister, The Imp, or The Mountain himself, he had all but refused to tell her of them, opting instead to warn her to mind what she had before her and not go dreaming of king slayers, giants, and dwarfs.
—
On the fifth day of her father's departure, a bustling through the weeds as she was fetching a pale of water from the spring causes her to jump upright and spill water all down her skirts.
"Viola!" The voice calls as the body of Alna crashes through the clearing. "Viola he's here! I saw him! Come, quick!"
Viola discards her pale and rushes after Alna who had just changed direction and soon catches up to her, linking her arm with the girl only slightly taller than herself as they rush along the road towards The Trident.
"Father says I'm not to go to the Inn." Viola complains as she allows Alna to drag her atop the horse she had left tethered to a tree along The River Road.
"Your father isn't here! Besides, when else are you to see a real knight? Prince Joffrey is with them, Viola, I saw him with my own eyes!"
"Really?" Viola exclaims as her eyes bug out and her mouth gapes open.
Alna answers by giving the horse a swift kick with the heel of her shoe to speed him along the road. They bounce and giggle all the way to The Trident, where two Kingsguards were stationed on either side.
"State your business." They demand in unison, the sun glinting off of their silver armor.
"I work at the inn." Alna answers as Viola dries her sweaty palm on her green rough spun skirts.
"And you?" The one one the left asks with a tip of his chin in Viola's direction.
"I—uh...Just going to the Inn."
"State your business at the Inn." He responds with a snap as the two step aside to allow two men atop one white and one black horse to pass.
The man on the black horse is huge, the biggest man she had ever seen. He wears grey mail and armor, and a large dogs head helm atop his head. Strung across his back is a massive great sword that looked as though it could cut through bone like butter. Atop the white horse is a tall young man with a pinched face and yellow hair. Alna's horse whinnies and prances in the wake of the two unfamiliar horses, and it takes everything in both of the girl's power to contain his discomfort. He had always been a worrisome creature.
"Whole place smells like shit." The young man complains as they each push their horses to a gallop.
"Was that him?" Viola whispers to Alna as the two horsemen disappear along a bend. "Was that The Mountain?"
One of the guards snickers at her remark and Viola blushes a deep crimson color as Alna smiles.
"No, he isn't here. That was his brother, The Hound, with Prince Joffrey."
"Whoa." Viola exclaims as she strains her neck to get another look, but the two figures were long gone.
"State your business at the Inn, girl." The guard on the right repeats to her.
"I only—"
"If you've no business at the Inn, then away with you."
Alna pats her hand and helps her down from the horse with ease. Viola watches his depart across The Trident as she wrings her hands in her skirts.
"I said away with you, girl." The guard on the right repeats as he makes to step towards her.
"I'm going." Viola turns on her heel and makes her way back from which she came.
If Alna intended to waste her time, she could have only said so. They should have known she would never been allowed in with the whole place overrun with royalty and noble folk. Had she lied to get in, Masha would have given her away the moment she stepped foot inside, then she would have been drug out and tossed in the dirt for everyone to see.
The trek back home is slow going, mostly due to Viola stopping to gather acorns from the ground for tea later that evening, and a few springs of mint that grew under the trees alone the road to suck on before bed. Eventually though, she makes it, just as the sun reaches the highest point in the sky.
Sweat beads at her neck as she drops her foraging on he table in the kitchens and makes her way to stoke the embers glowing in the hearth. She had left the door open for a breeze, the house had grown entirely too stuffy since the fire had died out in her time away. Rays of sunlight flittering in from the open door swirl with smoke and specs of dust. Viola fills a kettle with the remaining water from the pale from the previous night and sets it in the hearth to warm as she busies herself with shelling the acorns before she begins the slow, tedious process of leaching them for tea. There were more than enough to roast as well, so she need not cook anything for dinner. A few roasted acorns and walnuts, a hung of hard cheese, and perhaps a mug of mead would be her lunch, and dinner.
Viola picks up her pale with every intention of going back to the spring for more water when the sunlight filtering through the open door is suddenly blocked. She turns suddenly, expecting it to be Alna returning to apologize for wasting her time, but instead is met with the pinch-faced yellow haired boy Alna had identified as the prince.
"What have we here, Dog?" The prince asks with a smirk as he steps into the cottage, followed closely by the tall man in the dogs head helm known as The Hound.