Viola had been permitted to walk about the grounds of the Red Keep, though she was closely monitored each time she left the safety of her bed chambers. The Hound seemed to be lurking behind every corner, watching her silently as she passed by him. Based upon the silent shadow beneath her barred chamber doors, she had begun to suspect belonged to him as well. He never spoke to her, his eyes, however, betray his stern face.
Those grey eyes held such sadness, such emotion. Viola set to watching him as he watched her. He quickly learned that no one else in the palace would look upon his face. They would fake it, if they were brave, but their eyes always settled at a spot near his face, and not actually at it. Other's simply did not seem to care, they looked at their feet when they addressed him, or his breast plate if it couldn't be helped.
Could this be why his eyes were always so sad? How lonely must it be to live that way for so long, to have everyone be frightened of you for something that you likely did not wish upon yourself, something you could not control. Would she be doomed to the same fate? For the time being, all eyes were glued to her face, but the novelty of her presence was beginning to wear off to the high born ladies fluttering throughout the castle. Sandor Clegane had been a son from a knighted family, the second born son, but a son of importance and wealth nonetheless. Perhaps it was a kindness that they did not gawk at him the way they do her, but the likely reason was that she was common scum, and therefore worth nothing to them but amusement.
Viola had been mulling this new theory of hers over in the godswood when she was suddenly grabbed from behind and had her arms pinned to her side. She lets out a shout and attempts to squirm out of her captors embrace when another pair of hands grab her from her other side, the two working together to lift her feet from the ground and begin to carry her away. She thrashes and writhes in an attempt to free herself from the men she can see nothing of but helms and armor.
"They warned us you were a feisty one." One of the men chuckles as his grip tightens on her.
"What is this?" She shouts and squirms, her feet kicking in the air for purchase, but finding nothing for which she can wrap her legs around, and less to kick.
"Said you were a kicker, too. Wonder how much you'll thrash and kick when I tear your—"
"Release the girl." The Hound's voice booms from behind her.
"We have orders from the queen to deliver this one to the dungeons." One of the men holding her captive responds coldly.
"Aye. Girl can walk, I've seen it myself." The Hound growls as he pries her arm from the man on the rights tight grip and rubs his thumb over the bruise already blossoming on her flesh, a hint of anger flashing briefly in his eyes as he looks down at her.
"Was told that the girl is a fighter. Was told to see that she gets there without fleeing."
"Ha! Don't tell me you're frightened of a scrawny little girl with two missing fingers and a burnt up face!" The Hound barks with laughter, the sound of it echoing in her ribs as he pries the other guards hand from her opposite arm and pushes her behind him. "You, tell Queen Cersei I've escorted the girl to the dungeons myself. You, bring me some damn wine."
The Hound grips her wrist and pulls her along with him, his stride slower than she had ever seen it when walking alongside him. Her heart pounds in her chest with every step, but each time she stalls, each time she trips over her own feet, he tugs her gently to keep her moving.
"Why—why are you taking me to the dungeon? I've done nothing."
"Queen thinks otherwise."
"But…but I haven't. I've never done anything to anyone."
"Queen seems to have it in her head that you had a private meeting with King Robert before he left for this hunting trip of his." He stops suddenly and grips her chin between strong, calloused fingers. "Now why would she think that, little fox?"
"He…he requested my audienc the day he departede. He told me that he would take me home when he returned."
"King Robert is dead. Killed by a boar while drunk as piss."
Viola freezes in place as The Hound nods down at the man guarding the entrance to the dungeons. He pulls her forward as the iron doors are unlocked and pried open, and leads her forward through the darkness. She moves without thinking, hoping that he believes the trembling was due to the sudden temperature change as they descend lower into the cells. He stops suddenly in the darkness, fumbles with a set of keys she hadn't realized he had, and pries the cells door open.
He pushes her gently inside the darkened, ice cold cell, and stands before the opened door, blocking her escape. Her entire body shakes with terror, her eyes begin to fill with tears she tries desperately to prevent from spilling.
"What will happen to me?" Viola stutters, the tears spilling down her cheeks. "Am I to be killed?"
"You're a hard one to kill, little fox. I suspect you may just keep that pretty little neck of yours." The Hound steps back, his eyes never leaving hers, and closes her inside of the cell, locking it in the process. "I'll see to it that blankets are brought to you. You're shaking like a leaf."
The Hound departs, leaving her clinging to the bars on the cell before collapsing onto the straw covered floor and sobbing so violently she makes herself sick.
With no windows or firelight in the cell, she has no way of telling how much time has passed. She curls herself into a ball on the cold floor, and stares into space. Unable to regulate her breathing, unable to keep from shivering, unable to sleep. Her tears had long since dried, no more would leak from her eyes, but it did not stop her body from convulsing with sobs. True to his word, The Hound had a blanket delivered to her by a faceless man in a silver helm, but it was wet and smelled of piss. It remained discarded where he had thrown it at her, along with a stale hunk of bread and cheese that smelled strongly of mold and rat piss.
Lord Varys visits her some time later, yet it took several moments for her eyes to adjust to the torch flaming at his side. She jumps to her feet and rushes to his side, a piece of her hoping that he were her rescuer.
"We have but a moment, little one." He holds his hand out to stop her from reaching any closer. "The queen knows nothing but you held audience with King Robert in his private chambers. Her ears could not reach within those walls, but mine did. I know what you and King Robert discussed, and I may have failed to pass it along to the queen."
"Why are you helping me?"
"Why do any of us do anything, little fox?"
"King Robert told me that he would bring me home when he returning from his hunting trip. Nothing more."
"Good. You learn quickly. The queen believes you to be one of Robert's many bastards. That is why you are here."
"But I'm not. Why would she believe that?"
"All of his bastards had thick, black, curly hair and those bright blue eyes. Each and every one of them."
"My father did as well, but he's much to old to have been fathered by the king."
"Good. So make her believe it."
"Thank you, my Lord. Thank you for helping me."
"I believe, little fox, that you might just make it out of this place alive. Do not let me down." He smiles kindly at her and disappears back into the darkness.