A small, makeshift whipping post had been constructed at the foot of the stairs of the Iron Throne. She knew not what it's purpose was when she had been lead into the Throne Room, she had never seen one in person before that moment.
"A small post for a small girl." A man with a thick, black beard had laughed as she passed by.
The Hound growls down at the man as he passed, leading her to her doom. He had not been the one to fetch her, in fact, she had seen not of him since the day he had lead her to the dungeons, and that had to have been a fortnight or more by this point. He had met the knights dragging her from cell at the doors of the Red Keep, his armor glinting in the sunlight, and his visor drawn down, just like he had been the day she had seen him first, so many moons ago.
The guards threw her to her knees before the whipping post and forced her head down to look at the ground beneath her knees. She heard the shuffling and clanking of armor and sword belt as everyone around her took their places throughout the room. No one had been seated at the Iron Throne when she had been brought before it, though she guessed that Prince-no, King Joffrey would be joining them before long.
Her heart pound in her ears, blocking the sound of chatter and footsteps echoing around her. Her palms sweat, yet should could not dry them due to the angle at which her hands had been tied behind her back. It took every bit of muscle strength within her to keep from shaking and sobbing as she had when The Hound had lead her to the dungeons.
"The Hound could slay you all, if he wanted." She thought to herself as his shadow passed before her and stopped just shy of her left shoulder. "If I allow my hands to keep sweating, perhaps I could slip my wrists from these chains, grab his sword, and run out the doors before anyone had a chance to catch me. I'm fast, faster than they will be in all that heavy armour."
No, that was foolish. There were tens of them, and only one of her. Even if she managed to disarm The Hound, he likely had another weapon strapped to him somewhere, and would hit her as she run. She had never been atop a horse alone, so even if she managed one, she could never ride it far enough to escape them. The gates would be drawn and guards posted along the tops before she would manage to find the stables.
"Rise." Queen Cersei's voice rings throughout the room.
A guard to Viola's right grips her elbow in an effort to drag her to her foot. She rips her arm from his grasp and stands herself, knees shaking from terror and disuse, with eyes squinting in sunlight streaming from the stained glass window behind the throne.
Sitting upon the throne, a terrible, disgusting smirk upon his face, and a golden crown crooked atop his ugly, yellow head, is the boy king. Next to him sits his mother, her yellow hair gleaming with oranges and reds from the stained glass window behind her, and her green eyes narrowed at Viola, looking more like a venomous snake than a lion.
"You stand accused of treason." The king's eyes light up with delight as he stares at Viola's scared, mangled face.
"On what grounds." Viola asks, her voice strong and proud despite the terror coursing through her.
"You held private audience with my father the day he left King's Landing. Next thing we know, you're out of the kitchens and treated as a guest." He laughs at this, as though the thought of her being anything but a fucking slave to his family was the biggest joke he had ever heard.
"He told me that he would see me home to my father upon his return. That is all."
"My dear husband, your king, had a taste for young, low-born girls such as yourself." The queen objects as she runs her hands over the arm of the chair she sat on before standing and stalking around her like a hawk and leaning in close to whisper in her ear. "Did you fuck my husband? Hm? He had no thoughts from the head between his shoulders, only the one between his legs."
"No." Viola spits as the queen grips her chin and turns the burned side of her face towards her to get a better view, then pushing it away harshly.
"He did prefer them pretty, but I suppose beggars can't be choosers. I suppose he could have taken you from behind, so as to not have to look at that disgusting face. Is that what he did? Take you from behind and promise you gold and a bastard of your own?"
"No." Viola replies with a scowl as Queen Cersei takes her seat next to her son. "I did not offer the king my body, nor did he request it. He swore to see me home, that is all."
"Who is your father." The queen shouts and reaches for a goblet of wine from the table situated near her chair.
"I told you. His name is Leonart Rivers. He is a stonesmason."
"Who is your grandsire, then?"
"I do not know. My father, my mother, they were both bastards. My father's sire was a shoresman from the Saltpans, my mother's was a bard. That's all I know of them."
"What did Ned Stark say to you when he brought you to the godswood?"
"He told me of a party leaving King's Landing towards The Trident. Said he'd see that I was a part of it."
"Liar." the queen snarls and leans forward in her seat.
"Guards." King Joffrey nods towards her, his eyes never leaving her face.
A man comes at her from behind and grips the neckline of her dress, ripping it straight down to her lower back, strangling her with the front of her dress in the process. He releases the chains binding her hands behind her back and slings her around in a circle to face the back of the throne room as he places her wrists on either side of the whipping post and placing the chains once more around her wrists, locking her in place.
"Ser Payne." The king shouts as Viola's legs buckle beneath her and she nearly releases her bladder.
A guard drags her to her feet and presses her body against the rough, splintery surface of the wooden post, taking care to drag the undamaged side of her face down the post.
"What did Eddard Stark tell you in the godswood!" King Joffrey shouts once more.
"That he would see me to home on the party leaving Kings Landing to The Trident." Viola snarls between clenched teeth.
The first crack of the whip makes contact between her shoulder blades and steals the breath from her lungs and her body sags forward, but she is caught and drug back upright. No sound escapes her lungs, however. She will not let them hear her scream. She will not give those golden cunts the satisfaction of hearing her cries.
Thrice more Joffrey asks the same question, thrice more she answers him the same as she had before, and thrice more she is whipped. Blood from the first crack of the whip begins to seep from between her shoulder blades and run down the small of her back, leaving a trail of goose flesh in its wake. Viola is panting at this point, her knees trembling and thighs aching in effort to hold herself up on her own two feet.
"Enough." Queen Cercei's voice booms above the sound of Ser Payne cracking his whip against the floor. "Dog, see her back to the dungeons until she is ready to speak. If I have to look upon her face another moment, I may loose my stomach for dinner."
The Hound drapes his cloak about her shoulders as another faceless, armor clad man releases her wrists from their chains. Strong hands grip her around the shoulders, Viola drops her eyes and watches as The Hound kneels down to take her beneath the knees in an attempt to lift her into his arms.
"No." Viola jerks from his grip and clenches her fists at her side. "They will see me walk from this place."
"You dumb cunt." He grumbles as he leads her from the Throne Room by her elbow. "You've just started a war."
"Send word to Ser Gregor Clegane." King Joffrey's voice orders from behind her. "I want him here, I aim to have him break her in for us. I've heard he can make a whore admit to things she's never even done."
"No." The queen's voice cuts in. "Ser Clegane is busy at the moment. I have another idea."
"If we can't have The Moutain, then—"
"We've got the next best thing." Viola can practically hear the smirk etched upon Cersei's cunt face from behind her as the doors are opened to allow her and The Hound to exit. "We have a dog."
Viola can feel blood trickling down her legs with each step she takes, until it is squashing beneath her feet within her boots. The cape The Hound had draped across her shoulders clings to her flesh, sticky and wet, no doubt drenched in her life's blood. She wretches free from his grip on her elbow and leans against the halfwall leading towards the dungeon's steps. She gulps air as though she is a fish out of water, and nearly makes herself sick due to the pain radiating throughout her body. It was only four whips, four slashes against the tender, soft flesh of her back, but it felt as though it had been bone deep. It felt as though blades had been sewn into the wrapped leather she had been beaten with and ripped her skin to ribbons. It felt worse than when he mother had beat her with a willows branch, worse than the time she had fallen into a brier patch.
The Hound escorts her back to her cell and pushes her gently inside. She falls to her knees in the darkness as he locks it behind her, and the single footstep echoing off of the stone indicated that he was making his depart.
"Sandor." She calls weakly, and the man stops. "If you ever find yourself in the Riverlands, tell my father I love him, and I'm sorry. Please."
"Tell him yourself." He half growls as his calloused hands scrub against the bars holding her in.
"I don't expect I'll ever leave this place. Dead or alive."
"You did good, little fox."
"You called me a dumb cunt and told me I'd just started a war."
"Aye." He agrees. "I did, but not for what you think."
Sleep refused to come for Viola. Each time she begun to drift off, a chill would course through her, causing her back to sting and ache. Time passed without notice, and food remained untouched. There were now four or five hunks of stale bread strewn about the cell, all untouched by her. Mice and rats nibbled at them, unbothered by her statue like presence as she lie curled in upon herself on the cold, straw covered floor. By counting the bread, you could generally count the days that had passed, but that wasn't entirely reliable, as it was likely that some days a guard wouldn't even bother tossing a loaf through the bars of the door.
"Put this on." Someone shouts at her as they throw a bundle towards her.
It lands at just beyond her reach, reeking of dust and age, with a faint hint of lavender and rat piss. Though, the latter, she could not be sure wasn't her. Viola reaches for the bundle timidly to find a dark colored, and very outdated gown. She strips her soiled, ripped dress, not caring if anyone saw her body in the darkness, and slips the new garment over her. It was obviously made for someone much larger than her, as she nearly became lost in it. When the bars open, she nearly trips in the length of the skirts. The sleeves hide her hands, the bodice hangs loose, nearly showing her breasts, the shoulders slip down her arms with every step, and her back is on near full display.
It takes several moments for her eyes to adjust to the sunlight, but when they do, she finds the dress is a deep purple color with violets embroidered on the bodice with ivory silk thread.
This is a jest.
The queen is parading her through the grounds in a royal colored, ill-fitting dress from an ancient royal lady, all for everyone watching to mock her. Viola's hair is a tangled, greasy mess of curls and filth. Her fingernails are filthy, her skin brown from lying on the ground, blood flakes off of her skin as her legs rub together with each step, and her scars and whip marks are on full display.
Viola hardens her eyes and sets her jaw into a tight scowl as she's led through the grounds and up the stairs of the Great Sept of Baelor. She blinks through the smoke of incense and tallow candles lining the walls as she is marched up the center of the aisle. Standing before her is a septon in white robes and a colored belt, with a crystal dangling around his neck. Queen Cersei stands to his left, King Joffrey to his right. Before them all stands The Hound.
For the first time, she sees him without armor and for a moment, she freezes. It should not be possible for a man to be so large. His arms are as big around as small tree trunks, his legs are boulders. A single hand could wrap around her throat and squeeze the final breath from her lungs.
He wears a simple tunic of forrest green with brown breeches and leather shoes. Draped across one shoulder is a cloak the yellow color of his house. Viola is pushed roughly towards him, and raises a brow at King Joffrey who stands smirking red faced before them as though he had just finished laughing before she had been brought in.
"Mother and I thought to give you to The Mountain, but he likes his women fresh and untouched."
"So, we decided instead to do the next best thing, being as though you match and all. What other man will want a girl as mauled as you?"
"My father is not here to give his blessing." Viola manages to growl between clenched teeth.
"I am the king!" Joffrey shouts as he stomps his foot on the ground and points a single finger at her.
The Hound remains silent unless prompted to speak by the septon, and instead of having her repeat the marriage vows herself, the queen speaks for her, ensuring that the words are said and blessed on her behalf, giving her no choice to object in silence. The Hound wraps the cloak about her shoulders as the guard behind her forces her down to her knees, then places a gentle kiss between her brow, his beard rough and scratchy on her eyelids.
Viola is then led to the dining hall, every high lord, lady, knight, and servant in Kings Landing present and gawking as she trips over the skirts of her borrowed dress. She is sat in the back of the room, away from everyone else, with two guards posted on either side of her as King Joffrey and Queen Cersei make their way to the front of the room and take their seats before everyone. Her new husband disappears in the crowd, not to be seen again.
A plate is placed before her of stewed prunes and boiled mutton. Another jest on her behalf. The prunes look like the side of her face, and the mutton her back. She doesn't touch the food upon her plate, only glares at the king from across the room as he becomes more drunk by the minute.
"Time for the bedding!" The king shouts from behind his place at the high table, hi voice ringing in her ears as the room begins to cheer.
Without warning, she is drug to her feet and the dress is torn from her body, leaving her bare and filthy as everyone points and laughs at her. Three knights hoist her into the air as she tries using her arms to shield her breasts from everyone's eyes. They tear her arms from her body and pin them against her sides. Someone grabs her by the shoulder and begins to pull her from the shoulders of the knights holding her in the air.
"Bitch stinks." One of them shouts and then begins to laugh.
"Bitch can walk." The Hound barks in her ear as she is placed down on her own feet and his yellow cape is draped around her shoulders.
Viola pulls the fabric close to her body, it is large enough to shield her nudity, but not enough to repair her dignity, if there were any of it left to be lost in the first place.
The Hound marches her through the castle, ignoring the crowd of people spilling from the hall to follow them down to what she assumes is his own chambers. He pushes her roughly inside once they reach the place. It is large and dark, with bits of armor and rolled scrolls littering the floor and nearly every other surface. The bed is unmade and the sheets knotted in the center of the bed, pillows spill onto the floor to mingle with used clothing. The hearth is clean and empty, a fire had likely not been set in it for many, many years. The tallow candles placed throughout the room are all short and nearly spent. It smells of sweat and musk in the room, but it is not entirely unpleasant.
"If any of you cunts think to knock down this door I will strangle you with your swordbelts! You, have a maid fetch a bath and some water. You, I don't want to see your face again or I will knock your teeth down your fucking throat." The Hound shouts, his face reddening with effort as he slams the door and throws himself onto the bed. "I am no raper, girl. Sit down somewhere and quit slinking in the shadows like I can't see you."
Viola perches herself on the edge of the a chair and wraps the cloak tighter around herself to combat the chill in the air.
"Can I light a fire?" She asks timidly as he sits up to gulp from his wine cup.
"I don't give a fuck what you do, girl."
"There's no wood." Viola's eyes scan the room to find the log rack next to the fireplace empty and the kindling box on the floor next to it only housing a single piece of bark.
"Aye, there's no wood." He agrees and sits up on his elbows to watch her. "Have the maid bring some wood when she fetches your bath water. You do fucking stink."
"I've been in a cell for—"
"Aye. I know where you've been, girl."
"Thank you." Viola whispers into the darkness while The Hound stares at her from his place on the bed.
"For what?" He howls with laughter.
"For getting me away from them." She motions towards the door with her chin where the crowd was still roaring with commotion outside of the door.
"Doubt they'd steal your maidenhead from you with the way you reek."
"I'm not a maiden."
"Good. I don't have time to teach a girl how to fuck." He pours himself another cup of wine and rests back on his elbows to study her once more before shaking his head and draining his cup in two gulps. "One of those bastards get to you while you were locked in that dungeon and steal it from you?"
"No." She answers truthfully, not able to meet his eye. "I gave it willingly. Not to them. It was long ago. I was intended to another, but he's long gone, now."
"Your sweet intended going to come barging into the castle looking for you? He hasn't yet. Maybe he's got himself another bitch by now."
"He's dead. Got drunk and fell off a barge. Got it in his head that he'd go to the Saltpans to find work, didn't even know how to swim. He didn't last two moons before he died."
"Dumb cunt."
Viola can't help but laugh at this remark, despite the morbidity of it. To her surprise, when she lifted her eyes towards The Hound, he was smiling back at her out of the corner of the unburnt side of his face.
Her intended, Jonah Rivers, had been a bastard boy she had known since girlhood. He was kind to her, always had been. They began courting shortly after she had turned four and ten, and she had given her maidenhood to him freely, and loved him often while Father was away. He was a good man, always showering her with wild flowers and honey he had collected in the forrest. He had asked her father for her hand, and he had agreed. Jonah asked her to come to the Saltpans with her, and she declined. Father was surprised, Jonah hurt. She could not leave her Father, though. If he had stayed, if he hadn't have left, she would have gladly agreed to marry him, but he had insisted that he would not be able to provide for her if they remained, and after she had turned him down, couldn't stand to be near her. So, he left, and he died. She cried at first, hated herself, blamed herself, but ultimately, had been relieved that she was no ones wife.
Now her she sits, unrecognizable. Scarred, burned, humiliated, and the wife to a stranger.
"Why did they do this?"
"Because my bastard brother was too far away to come quickly enough to satisfy Joffrey's latest impulse fast enough."
"What did he want to give me to your brother?"
"Because he's a mean fucker. Killed our sister, killed four wives, killed a hundred dogs, killed a thousand whores. He knows nothing but killing. They would have handed you to him, and he would have fucked you bloody and not stopped until you were dead."
"And they're hoping you'll do the same?"
"Aye, little fox. They're hoping I'll do the same."
"You won't hurt me."
"No, little one. I won't hurt you."
The door opens a crack and The Hound jerks from his spot on the bed and into a fighting stance until he notices it is only maids bringing a tub and buckets of water, then settles himself back down on the bed. A second later, as the maids depart, a knight clad in armor with his helm drawn around his head, shielding him from recognition appears in the open doorway holding a screaming cat. He tosses it in the room and the thing begins to hiss at The Hound. It is a pretty little white thing with large spotches of orange and black, missing half of its tail. The poor thing can't be a year old, still very young, and very pregnant.
"Gift from the king!" The knight shouts as The Hound removes his shoe and throws it at the knight.
"Get that fucking cat out of here!" He picks the cat up by the scruff of its neck and tosses it out of the room carefully, ensuring the poor thing lands on its feet and is able to scamper away through the feet of the crows still waiting outside of the door. "Fucking cunt."
"That was intended for me, wasn't it?" Viola dips a toe into the water to test the temperature, and steps back as the maids appear once more to top off the tub. "I heard how he killed a pregnant cat. That was meant to be me."
"Probably." He watches Viola lower herself into the tub and tosses a rag and bag of soap at her before baring the door, the impact of the soap splashing water into her face and dripping grime down her cheeks as the water trails down her face. "Hurry up. If they want a show, I intend to give them one."
"What kind of show?"
"You'll see." He smirks at her from over the rim of his wine cup and drains the remainder.