War is coming. The threat of Renly or Stannis Baratheon taking the city a bigger threat as each day passed, so Sandor explained. He had been summoned from their quarters by a pounding at the door near a fortnight ago, and came back late into the night, skin sticky with sweat and his hair plastered to his scalp from wearing his helm all day. His arms ached the following morning, she could tell by the slight wince in his eye each time he lifted his arms as he dressed. He had been training rigorously each day in preparation for battle.
Sandor burst into the chambers every evening with a hunger; ravenous for a meal that no food could fill. He starved for her, for her body, and so he took what he craved. His face buried between her legs, sucking and lapping as though the juices that flowed from her body, the screams that escaped her throat, were fresh water and he was a man who had been lost at sea.
Lying with Sandor was better than it had ever been with Jonah, as much as it twisted her heart to admit, even to herself. He did not stop until she found her own pleasure, sometimes three or more times, and was always so gentle and worshiped her body as though she were a goddess. Afterwards, he would pull her tight against his body and hold her close through the night, planting kisses on her scars, his fingers twirling the soft curls of her hair. Being in Sandor's arms felt the safest place in the world. She felt so small pressed against him, and truly, she was. She fit in the crook of his arm, her head rests in his shoulder, and her body curls against his side, no longer than his torso as she runs her fingers through his thick chest hair.
Just as Sandor was training for battle each day, Viola was training as well. Varys had begun teaching her to become one of his birds. Each day she was go to the gardens, book in hand, and sit. He had taught her to keep her eyes trained on the pages, to keep them moving as though she were truly reading. He taught her the correct timing to turn the pages, never too fast to give herself away, yet not too slow as to seem bored with the words. She was to be invisible in plain sight, to blend in with her surroundings, and to her surprise, it had worked.
Viola had learned of Lollys Stokeworth's rape, and the babe growing within her as a result of it. She learned that Petyrn Baelish, known as Littlefinger, was madly in love with Catlyn Stark, and that his finger was not actually so little, or so said the women he had lie with. Even though Ser Mandon Moore had a face of stone, and was rumored to have a heart of one as well, watching a kitten play with a piece of string was known to make him smile, at least when he believed himself to be alone. The ugly Ser Boros Blount had been dismissed from service for cowardice, and no one at all seemed to miss him lurking about the keep. Ser Preston Greenfeild, killed in the uprising several weeks prior, had been known to visit the draper's wife whenever the draper was away. There were several knights who had a liking for young boys, several more for raping young girls. Lancel Lannister seemed to be spending entirely too much time near the queen bedchambers than what is permitted during the night. Viola's personal favorite is that each of Cersei Lannister's children were actually fathered by her own brother; Ser Jamie Lannister.
The sun in Kings Landing felt strange, not like the sun back in the Riverlands. It is strong and hot, burning her skin within moments of being in it. Before, she could go all day in the forrest and only be slightly pink in the face the following day, now she came in as red as the apples beneath roasted boar, as red as the crabs and lobster Sandor loved to wind blowing in from the sea felt odd as well. The salt carried in on the sea air made her skin feel sticky and her hair dry, and carried with it the scent of shit and fish. Even in the gardens the smell of shit was overpowering, as though the chamber pots were begin emptied atop the roses themselves.
Sandor knew nothing of her own training. Viola had been careful to remain unseen by him, or any of his companions while out of their chambers, and when a knight, or even one of their squires wandered through the gardens, would turn her back towards them and fain intense interest in the flowers that surround her, taking care to cover the scared side of her face with her hair the way she had seen Sandor do each time he removed his helm.
Her days were certainly much more interesting, and more fulfilling than they had once been while she remained locked in her rooms. Varys had asked, on more than one occasion, if she would prefer him to send a septa to her rooms to teach her the art of needlework, yet she refused. True to her word, she will not become one of the mindless ladies stalking about the place.
Each morning while breaking her fast, Viola had a spiced egg milk which made her stomach full for the entire day. Sandor had told her it was his favorite thing when he first arrived in Kings Landing as a young boy, and made sure one was sent to her each day. He had laughed as he told her how he must have gained two stone when first arriving due to drinking three or more of them each day, and how they had made him train twice as hard as every other boy their to lose the fat he had put on and gain muscle. Viola took extra care not to drink too much of it in fear of fattening up herself, but Sandor had told her that she was too thin and needed fattening, and if she wasn't going to finish her meals, she should at the very least drink the egg milk to put some meat on her bones.
Viola sits mending a hole in her skirts, perched upon the window seat, overlooking the small section of city visible from her window. The sun hangs low in the sky, and she is counting down the minutes before Varys arrives to fetch her, as they were meant to sup with Tyrion and Shea in his private chambers within the Tower of the Hand.
Varys had dismissed her from her spying duties that day, saying nothing as to why. So she occupied herself by staring out of the window, mending a few pieces of clothing, and polishing Sandor's extra armor. The window in question, which was usually bustling with activity, had been quiet most of the day. She did not find this odd, however, as the city-wide curfew was nearing, and she had heard from the maid sent to deliver her lunch that a few small situations had arose in Flea Bottom throughout the day, leaving most of the gold cloaks being forced to go out and keep the peace.
As the sun reaches the lowest point in the sky, just before fully setting, Sandor bursts through the door, causing her to drop her mending upon the floor and jump to her feet. He appears disheveled and on edge, but does not make a sound as he crosses the room towards her, reaching into his armor to produce a large, sharp knife in the process. Sandor presses the knife's handle into her hands, and wraps his hands around hers protectively.
"Do you know where the heart is?" He barks down at her, his voice deep and threatening.
Viola nods quickly, her hands shaking at the sharp tone of his voice as shouts begin to echo throughout the room from the hall, and men begin to rush pass the window. Sandor leads her hands up, near eye level to her, to the center of his chest and presses the knife against his own armor and mail. He drops his hands from hers suddenly, leaving her hands clutching the knife still pressed against his heart. He kisses her hard on the lips through the open visor of his helm. She can't help but scrunch up her nose at the stench of sweat within, but kisses him back.
"Anyone tries to get in here, you stab the cunt just there." He glances down at the knife prodding him in the chest, then back to her eyes. "If I do not return before sunrise, you bust out that window and you run as fast as your little legs can carry you. You do not look back, you keep going until you leave this godsforsaken place far behind you. Do you understand, little fox? You scamper away and you do not return."
"What's happening?" Viola asks through panic as someone shouts for Sandor as they run past the still opened door.
"War, little one. Stannis Baratheon has finally shown up for war."
Sandor turns to leave, and Viola releases one hand from the blade she still held tightly in her fist, and grips Sandors through the leather sword gloves he wore, his hand large and hot in hers, and sweaty despite the leather covering them. He stops, looks down at her, and closes the visor of his helm, hiding his face fully from her.
"Sandor." Viola begs. "Come back for me. Please."
Sandor nods sharply before prying his hand from hers and slamming the door in his departure. Viola rushes to bar the door behind him as the shouting coming from every direction grows louder. She paces to the wall opposite the window before leaning against it and sliding down to sit in the floor, terrified that someone will burst through. It does not take long for the room to be plummeted into darkness as the sun finally sets, yet the window remains illuminated in torchlight as men continue rushing by.
It could be hours, she has not way of knowing as she remains as still as a statue, eyes never leaving the window, when a massive explosion causes her to jump to her feet as the window is showered in a green, glowing light. The shouts grow louder at this, and several men go running the opposite direction of battle, their shadows large and terrifying as they dance before her.
Viola remains pressed against the wall, blade held out before her in shaky, sweaty hands. She looks around the room for something to break the window out with should the time come, and the best thing she can come up with is the breastplate of Sandor's armor. It will take strength, even with that, and she will likely get cut, but being sliced by glass will be infinitely better than being taken hostage, or worse, raped repeatedly by whomever bursts through the door.
Without warning, the door to the bed chambers burst open with a sickening crack. The wooden board used to bar the door splinters and sends shards pelting against the opposite wall. It takes every ounce of courage within her to keep from screaming as she continues to hold the knife out before her as the assailant enters the room, the green light streaming in from the window reflecting a bit off of their armor, but not nearly enough to see who they were, or which side they fought for.
They begin to creep closer to her in the darkness, and Viola holds her breath as they come within arms reach of her. She counts each of her heartbeats in her head as they bend over the trunk Sandor kept on the far end of the room for their clothing, and slashes out with her blade, making contact with flesh. The unknown man hisses and groans, then turns to grip her wrist tightly, their hands huge and strong around her, making escape impossible. She makes to shift the knife into her other hand, when it is pried from her fist by the man holding her in place. She spins in an attempt to free herself, and kicks out, her foot making contact with the armor covering their leg and sending pain radiating up to her thigh.
"Seven hells woman, it is me!" Sandor's voice booming in her ear as he pulls her against his chest nearly causes her heart to stop beating. "Gather your shit, as much as will fit in this bag."
He releases her in one swift motion, causing her to nearly tumble to the ground, and presses a leather saddlebag into her stomach before bending to retrieve the knife she had dropped to the ground. Viola blindly fumbles within the trunk for clothing, tossing the unknown items into the saddlebag until it is nearly unable to close. At the very bottom of the trunk, hidden within a stocking, is the leather pouch of gold and silver King Robert had given her when he released her from her kitchen duties. She places it, stocking and all, within her breast and whirls around to find Sandor.
He stands near the doorway, hidden in the shadows as he peers up and down the hall. He presses himself tight against the wall prompting her to drop to her knees and press herself to the floor when someone runs past. After a moment, she peeks over the edge of the bed to find Sandor poking his head into the hall once more. He whistles softly and motions for her to come closer.
Viola rushes to his side, the full saddlebag heavy in her arms, and allows him to grip her by the wrist and rush her out of the rooms.
Their flight through the halls are a blur as voices and shouts ring all around her. As they break free of the walls, the green glow she had seen from the window becomes overwhelming and nearly blinding. He does not allow her to stop to adjust her eyes as he barrels towards an unknown destination, her tripping over her feet to catch up.
Finally, they arrive at the stables and Sandor flings the doors open, inside the remaining horses whinny and huff in terror and frustration as the war rages beyond the walls. Sandor flings open the furthest stall and quickly saddles one horse, and then a second.
"I don't know how to ride a horse." Viola admits, sensing that he will no doubt throw her upon the second horse he was currently saddling.
"Fuck!" He shouts, throwing the saddle to the ground in frustration.
Sandor wretches the saddlebags from her shaking hands and tosses them over the rear of the horse and secures them in place. He lifts her with one arm and tosses her over the horses back before climbing on behind her and gripping the reigns. They fly from the stables, Viola clutching the horse so tight between her thighs to keep from falling off that it feels as though the muscles in her legs may snap. Her hair blinds her in the wind, making it impossible to see where Sandor is leading her.
Finally, after a lifetime, the sounds of battle begin to silence and the horse begins to slow, making Sandor's heavy breathing in her ear audible to her for the first time. As the sun begins to rise, Viola spots the nasty cut on the back of Sandor's hand from the blade she had clutched in her own. It is rather deep, and still seeping blood, though the edges seem to be closing over slightly. Viola rips a piece of cloth from the bottom hem of her skirts and takes his hand to rest in her lap. She wraps it gently and ties a loose knot on the palm of his hand to keep it in place.
Sandor allows his bandaged hand to remain resting in her lap as Viola leans back against him, her head bobbing gently with the black horse's steady pace. She closes her eyes and lifts her head to the sun, taking in the sweet scent of clean air the further they get from King's Landing. Before long the motion of the horse, combined with calmness finally surrounding her has her drifting off to sleep atop the horse, wrapped in Sandor's protective arms.