"You're not meant to be laughing, you're meant to be screaming!" The Hound whispers towards her as she jumps up and down on the bed, causing the frame to clatter against the wall and the boards to creak loudly.

After her bath, he had begun bouncing up and down on the mattress, but quickly gave up when all of the wine began to slosh around in his stomach from the effort, and pulled her to her feet and forced her upon the bed. He stood in the floor before her, lifting his arms above his head and bringing them back down to his waist to indicate that she should jump harder. It was hard, though. Her back ached and her legs were weak from disuse, yet she tried. After a few moments, he began to slam a chair upon the floor each time her feet made contact with the mattress, keeping perfect timing with her jumps. This had made her laugh, the first real, true, cackling laugh that had come from her lips for the first time in so long she couldn't remember.

She puts her hand over her mouth to stifle her giggles and closes her eyes as she bends her knees to bring herself up into the air once more. Then her face is doused in ice cold water from the pitcher in the corner of the room and she shouts loudly as the water dribbles down and chin and beneath the white tunic that belonged to her husband that he had given her to wear after her bath.

Laughter comes from behind the door at her scream and The Hound looks at her expectantly before making to pour another cup of cold water to toss at her. Viola throws her head back and screams until her throat is raw and threatens blood, letting out every ounce of anger and frustration she could muster within her. After a few moments, he lifts a small, round flap from the top of the door and peeks out.

"Shut up already, they're gone."

"Good." Viola croaks and takes a gulp from his wine cups to wet her throat.

He snatches it from her, dribbling a bit of wine down her chin, and raises a brow at her with a smirk.

"You are smarter than you look. I will give you that, girl."

"What makes me look not smart?" Viola asks, genuinely curious as this is now the second time he's told her that very thing.

"Those big, 'fuck me' doe eyes you keep flashing my way any time you think I'm not looking."

"The—What? I do not!"

"You do so. Can't so much as walk through a room without those damn eyes on me. Don't I frighten you, little girl?"

"I'm a woman grown, not a little girl. No, you don't frighten me. Not anymore."

"Aye. Because we're the same now, so I don't frighten you any longer."

"You don't frighten me anymore because you've never harmed me. Has nothing to do with this." Viola's fingers trail down the now healing scars of her face, the pain while still present, no longer ached from touch or wind. "I never even saw your face that day. I didn't see your face until we were here. It was your size that frightened me."

"You were staring daggers through me when I carried you back to the king on my horse. Bled all over my damn saddle, too." He gestures down at her two missing fingers and tisks. "Still got your damn blood stains all over my pommel."

"I don't remember anything after Alna lost her head. It's all just…black from poppy dreams."

Viola stands and stokes the fire a maid had started in the hearth as three others were filling the tub for her bath and rings the water still clinging to her wet hair. She smelled of mint and something foreign from the soap The Hound had thrown to her, no doubt his own. The tunic he had allowed her to wear is freshly laundered and soft against her skin. It felt exotic, expensive, not at all what she was used to in her rough homespuns and threadbare, hemp chemise.

"Ho old are you anyway?" Viola asks, spinning around to spot him watching her stoke the fire, his face twisted into something unrecognizable.

"Six and twenty. You?"

"Nine and ten. Maybe twenty by now, I don't know. I was born in the autumn, when the last of the chestnuts begin to fall before the snow."

"Don't even know how old you are?" He laughs into his cup, the echo of it making her smile as well. "May have spoken to soon. You are twenty by this time, then. You know your letters?"

"Enough to get by."

"You can read?"

"As I said, enough to get by."

"That's a no, then. Anything you can do? Besides thrash about and piss people off, that is."

"I used to forage for my father. Cook, mend, keep house, that sort of thing. I suppose that doesn't matter here, though."

"So he kept you on as a housewife. Would he ever have let you scamper away, little fox?"

"He did not keep me on as anything. It was me who stayed. I'm all he's got, he needs me."

"You've got a highgarden name." The Hound says out of nowhere, causing Viola to raise her brow at him to continue. "Just an observation."

"What should I call you? You know, now that we're married."

"I don't give a fuck what you call me."

"Can I call you Sandor? Or would you prefer Hound?"

"I told you, I don't give a fuck."

A fortnight since they had wed had passed, and Sandor had not forced himself upon her, hurt her, or frightened her in any way. He was gone most of the time, leaving her alone in their rooms. She spent her time cleaning the room, cleaning his armor, mending his clothing. Dresses were brought to her daily, each one as soft and beautiful as the last. He had brushes, combs, and hair pins delivered, soaps and oils for her baths, books, and even slippers and proper shoes. They would sup together each night, their food delivered to their rooms upon his request, and then he would watch from the bed as she bathed, and by the time her hair was near dry, would be sound asleep, snoring loudly. She never wanted to leave this room, where she was safe and protected by her husband, but knew that she would need to eventually.

Viola would wake early each morning as he clambered about the room, knocking over armor as it clanged to the ground in his haste. He had taught her to help him attach his armor, though he was much better, and much faster than she was at it with her two missing fingers. Still, she liked helping him. She liked the way his muscles felt beneath her hands, and the warmth of his skin. Once, he even allowed her to comb his hair out, yet he flinched slightly as she neared his face, then took the comb from her hands and hastily parted it over towards the burned side of his face.

"What the fuck is that?" Viola asks as Sandor pulls the silver cover from the plate before her as he sits across from her at the table in their room.

The food in question is a red thing with spikes, long, clawed arms, and beady black eyes atop yellow circles. Next to that is what she recognizes as fish, yet the color is odd and pink, not the white as she is used to. Followed by what resembles rocks split in two, with bits of yellowed meat between.

"What the fuck is what?" He mirrors, leaning across the table to look at the contents of her plate, then back up at her face, and towards his own plate of food with the same things upon it.

"That." Viola pokes at the large red thing only to find it hard as a stone and cold.

"A crab?" He laughs out loud and shakes his head. "Never seen a damn crab before."

Sandor lists the other things on her plate then. Mussels with cream sauce, the bit in the middle is meant to be eaten, and the shells tossed. Viola eats three and gives the rest to Sandor. They tasted buttery, and not near as slimy as she had expected, but after awhile began to feel gritty between her teeth, as though she were chewing on sand. The fish she had not recognized was salmon, and Viola ate all of hers, and most of Sandors. The crab, which he cracked between two fingers, and should could not, was not entirely bad, but not her favorite. Sandor ate hers, then sent the maid back to the kitchens for eight more. The yellow circles beneath the crab were called lemons, and Sandor laughed so hard he choked on his wine when she took a bite and scrunched her face up at the taste. The lemon was her least favorite bit of the meal.

After dinner, Sandor watches from his bed while sipping his wine as she pins her hair up for a bath. He watches her bathe every night, his eyes burning in the flickering fire light. The warm water laps at her skin as she settles against the back of the tub and trails her fingertips over the surface. The oils he had sent to her make her skin feel like silk and smell of the lemon she had tasted. They certainly smell much better than they taste.

As Viola steps from the bath and warms herself before the fire, Sandor's eyes had still not left her. She had long since stopped caring whether he saw her body, he had seen it well before they were wed, and had not seemed to care whether he saw it now.

Viola slips into a shift and stokes the fire, holding her hands out before it to warm her skin. The flames dance and embers crack, sending sparks high in the chimney. The wood the maids had brought up this evening was still a bit wet.

"You don't mind fire." Sandor's deep voice comes from behind her.

"Why would I?" She turns her head to look at him as he fingers his own scared face and suddenly feels like a fool.

Of course. She had never seen him come anywhere near the fire, in fact, he went out of his way to not cross to this end of the room any time one was lit. He is frightened of it. A wave of remorse washes through her at this realization. An entire fortnight of him lying on the bed, too frightened to even walk through his own bedchambers, all while she couldn't think of anything other than how safe she finally felt.

"I'm sorry. I didn't think, I didn't realize." Viola douses the fire with water and rakes the burning embers with ash to ensure the log does not become engulfed again, then crosses the room to sit next to him on the bed. "You should have told me. I wouldn't have kept lighting a fire every night had I known."

"Told you what?"

"Told me that you didn't like fire."

"It doesn't bother you?"

"No." Viola answers honestly. She had never even thought to be frightened of fire, even after what had happened to her. "It wasn't the fire that burned me, it was Joffrey. I've built a thousand fires, cooked over a thousand more, and not once had I ever been burned that way until he walked into my father's house. I'm sorry I made you uncomfortable, it was never my intention."

"It's fine, little fox." Viola eyes his hands upturned on his knees, and slips hers into his for the first time. He squeezes it gently in his, covering her entire fist with his fingers, but doesn't make a move to push her hand away.

"Why do you call me that?"

"You are far too clever for your own good. A fox will chew it's own foot off when caught in a snare so as to not be captured. Don't even make a sound when shot with an arrow, just keep on running. You're just the same. You gave one hell of a fight, and would have kept on fighting, too."

Viola runs her tongue over her gum where the gap from her missing tooth was and stares down at her missing fingers while Sandor rubs the back of her hand with his large, calloused thumb. He is a good man, she can feel it deep within her. Whatever he had done to gain the Lannister's trust, whatever horrors he had inflicted upon others to become as feared as he was, she knew it was to survive. He would not hurt her. He would not allow anyone else to ever again, either.

Slowly, Viola turns to look up at him and uses her mauled hand to gently lift the hair from the burned side of his face and push it back. He grimaces slightly, but allows her to cup his cheek in her hand. His face felt like hers, but different. While hers was still hard and scabbed, his was cold and slick. He rubbed tallow on it each morning when he woke, making the skin look wet and oily. It itched him in his sleep, and he scratched it without realizing. Hers itched too, often times so badly she wanted to scream from frustration, but had been too frightened to attempt should she draw blood and make it worse than it already was.

Without thinking, she leans forward and kisses him gently on the side of his mouth. He stiffens at her touch, but leans forward and kisses her back just as gently. She kisses him again, and again, and he allows it, meeting each of hers with the same energy she was giving, allowing her to lead. His breath tastes of wine and his beard scratches against her skin, yet it is far from unpleasant. Viola attempts to lift the shift from her body, when his large hands stops her with a groan.

"You do not wish to be ruined by me, little one."

"I am a woman grown." She reminds him. "Besides, I am already ruined, and your wife, am I not?"

"So long as this mummer's farce of a marriage remains unconsummated, you can call an end to it the moment you're released to your father. Go on to marry some Riverland bastard boy, or become a saltwife for all I care."

"What man in their right mind would ever want me now? You said yourself I shouldn't consider myself a beauty." Viola asks, gesturing towards her face. "Besides, should that time come, believe me, Sandor Clegane, nothing will stop me from ridding myself of you should I choose to."

"I find you rare beauty."

"You're only saying that because your cock is hard." Viola gestures towards his crotch and he lets out a howl of laughter.

"Never heard such a mouth on a lady before."

"I'm no lady." Viola kisses him once more, lips parted to swipe her tongue across his lower lip, eliciniting a deep groan from the back of his throat. "I rather enjoy kissing you."

This pushes Sandor over the edge, he throws her back roughly onto the bed and towers over her, he rips the shift from her body and stares down at her naked before him, his eyes bright and wide with desire, is fists clenched tightly at his side. He lowers his head to her stomach and begins kissing his way up her body, his beard scratchy against her skin. Gently, he takes her let nipple between his lips and sucks hard while squeezing her right breast in his large hand.

Viola scrambles to untuck his tunic from his breeches and wretches it from his body while squirming beneath him. She runs her fingers through the thick carpet of soft brown hair on his chest. The scaring, as she had suspected, trails down the right side of his neck, towards his shoulder blade, and down to just above his right nipple. Most of the damage looks like her own from the scalding water thrown at her; just slick, red, shiny skin absent of hair and the craters and divots flowing across each of their faces.

Sandor allows her to untie his breeches and helps her slide them down his legs, she watches in surprise as his hardened prick springs out. It is large, much larger than Jonah had been. He is a large man, she should have known that he would be large below as well, but she had little experience on the private parts of men. At one point, she had been naive and believed all men where the same size below, Alna had howled with laughter when she had told her that one night over a bottle of wine.

She watches with interest as he grips himself firmly, rubbing his thumb over the tip in the process, and pumps himself hard and fast several times before spreading her legs and plummeting within her. She arches her back at the intrusion as he buries his face in her neck and moans loudly. He slowly rocks in and out of her, allowing her time to grow used to his size, and before long, her fingernails are digging into his shoulders and her moans match his own.

"Seven hells, woman." Sandor growls into her ear as he picks up pace and slams in and out of her.

"Kiss me again." Is all Viola can manage, and Sandor kisses her sloppily on the mouth, their teeth clicking together and their tongues exploring the other's.

—

"I hear The Hound had quite the time during your bedding." Lord Varys smirks at her from across the small table in her rooms.

The Spider had knocked upon her door before daylight, just after Sandor had been summoned from their chambers by King Joffrey. He had tea delivered to the room, and the two of them sat gossiping for the better part of an hour.

"Did you?" Viola smirks, her face alight with mischief.

"I see no bruises, and my little birds report that you were in rather good spirits during you confinement period. Something tells me, little fox, that the queen may have overestimated your dear husband's similarities to his older brother."

"We didn't consummate the marriage during our bedding." Viola admits as Lord Varys matches her smile. "We were jumping on the bed, and the scream that was heard was him throwing cold water on me. It worked, it got them all away from our door."

"Oh?" Lord Varys laughs behind his hand, the sound high pitched and feminine. "I knew from the moment I saw you that I would rather enjoy your company. I am rarely wrong."

"I've not seen, or heard from the king or queen in well over a fortnight. I had half expected to be paraded through the castle half nude for everyone to see the bruises they expect Sandor to give me."

"The king has a rather short attention span, and his mother has been quite busy dealing with the current events of wartime."

"Wartime?" Viola asks, knowing nothing about a war.

"You see, while you were being held in the dungeons, King Joffrey took Eddard Stark's head, which then—"

"He what?" Viola's mouth hangs open and her heart skips a beat. She had liked that kind, northern man.

"He had him executed before the Sept of Baelor, and has since spent almost all of his time tormenting his betrothed; the young Stark girl. He's had little to no time for much else, I'm surprised he even found the time to wed the two of you with the energy he uses to torture her. The queen is scurrying about the place cleaning up after his messes and tormenting his dear brother, Tyrion."

"So, you're saying I'm invisible right now?"

"No, I'm saying they've all but forgotten your existence. They did while you were imprisoned, as well. It took your husband reminding them of you to get them to formulate a plan. I think they had anticipated you'd fall to your knees and confess to anything at all that they said to you, and when you didn't, well they had an audience then and couldn't very well execute you. It was the queens idea to hand you over to The Hound, anticipating he would be rid of you for them. King Joffrey heard of this little jest his grand sire and uncle played upon his Uncle Tyrion, where they convinced a whore to marry him, and then had her fucked by the entire Kings Guard before his very eyes. Joffrey thought that utterly hilarious, and had planned on doing something quite similar to you involving The Mountain. Do not worry, though, I believe he's all but forgotten that idea, and The Mountain is off wrecking havoc on the common folk."

"Sandor is actually rather kind to me."

"I do not doubt it. My birds tell me he was actually quite gentle with the whores he frequented once upon a time. Had one he actually fancied himself in love with, until his brother decided to pay her a visit. But, I am here for another reason. The queen had your father tracked down."

"She…No. Tell me he's alive!" Viola's heart pounds in her chest at the thought of her father being harmed.

Lord Varys stands without a word, smooths his robes of wrinkles, and exits the room as Viola begins to pace. She tries and fails to formulate a plan, a way to somehow find out whether or not her father was safe, since Lord Varys was not divulging this information to her.

The chamber doors being slung open forces her to freeze in her tracks, and she stares open mouthed at the man with the black beard Sandor had growled at the day she had been lead to the Throne Room and whipped. He grabs her roughly by the arms and drags her from the room. Waiting in the hall is King Joffrey, a satisfied smirk upon his face.

The two march her through the castle, and up to the top most section of the castle, known as the Traiter's Walkway. As they near the walls, the stench becomes so horrible that Viola is forced to double over and vomit.

She is pushed roughly onto the walkway, where she is then greeted by several decaying, disfigured heads upon spikes. Some heads are nothing more than skulls with empty eye sockets and lower jaws missing. Others are fresher, yet bloated and grey in the sun, their eyes open and staring at her. Most were picked apart by crows, only the hair upon their heads the only thing making them distinguishable to a human and not a butchered hog.

"Ser Meryn." King Joffrey orders and points at a head to the left of them.

Ser Maryn grabs her by the hair on the back on her neck and forces her to look at the head for several seconds, then pushes her roughly towards it. The man is bloated and grey, eyes missing completely, a scar above his left brow, a receding hairline of silver hair, and a large white beard.

"I had our men find your father for you, since you wanted to see him so badly." King Joffrey smirks down at her then turns to look at the head once more. "This is what happens to traitors. You will do well to remember this, or your head will be up here as well."

Viola lets out the most guttural, devastating scream she could muster, her throat aches and her ears ring at the sound as she falls to her knees where she had stood. Tears begin to sting at her eyes and she gulps and gasps for air as another scream forces it's way from her throat. Rough hands drag her to her feet and haul her from the spot she had collapsed, as tears stream down her face and her body is wracked with sobs.

"This is how I wanted Sansa to react." Joffrey scowls from somewhere behind her.

Meryn shoves her roughly back into her room and slams the door behind him, leaving Viola to gulp wine left on her table and splash water onto her face. The door is flung open once more, the sound causing her to jerk in its direction. Sandor comes barreling into the room and makes to grab her, when out of the corner of her eye, she sees Lord Varys pass the doorway and wink at her with a smile. Viola winks back at him and smiles up at Sandor. He freezes in his tracks as she wraps her arms around his neck and pulls his ear down to her mouth.

"That wasn't my father." She whispers into his ear with her hand cupped around her mouth.

Sandor pulls her away from him, holding her at arms length as she smiles up at him and uses the hem of her skirts to dry her eyes.