The binds that held Viola's wrists before her were attached to Sandors, still strung behind his back, leaving her to hold her arms up to her ribs and out away from her body to keep from blindly stepping on Sandor's heels as they walked. It had taken much getting used to, stumbling and tripping along behind him, but she had done it, and after a while she became numb to the ache in the muscles of her bicep.
Listening to any conversation around her was useless. Her heart pound too fast, her breath came out too quickly as she walked, and each voice began to jumble into the next. There was also the clatter of carts, the panting of dogs, the sound of horse hooves on dirt. Lord Varys would be disappointed in her if he could see her now. He had taught her to control her breathing so as to control her pounding heart, so as to not be so frightened when listening. Though, when she was listening for The Spider, it had only been for fun, to pass the time while Sandor was away. She was never frightened while doing so, never in any true danger in the gardens with his birds watching on from a safe distance. Of course, she was stupid enough to forget every moment of his council the second it could be of any use to her, or Sandor.
She could not be certain how long they walked, only that her legs ached and sweat rolled down her back. Sandor had twisted his hands around in the binds to squeeze hers in his own. Each time she stumbled or began to lag behind, he gripped them tighter. Each time Sandor stumbled or lagged behind, the noose around his neck was tightened and he would begin to choke and cough. Each time she heard the sounds of him gasping for air, it felt as though her own heart would stop beating.
After a while Sandor stops abruptly with a grunt, causing Viola to slam against his back and nearly fall to her knees, the only thing preventing her from doing so was a pair of hands gripping her shoulders tightly from behind. Viola stiffens and presses her front tighter against Sandor's back, trembling like a leaf in the process. The same set of hands attempts to pry her from Sandor, but she will not allow that to happen. She will not allow them to separate her from her husband. She makes herself heavy against his back, fully preparing to drop to her knees, even if it pulls him down on top of her and grips his hands so tightly, he will have half-moon indentations on his palms from her fingernails.
"I am only trying to untie you." A man grumbles near her ear.
He pulls her from Sandor's back roughly and wretches their hands apart. Viola shouts in despair and frustration and dips her head down and shakes it as though she were a dog, trying desperately to shake the sack from her head so that she could see. The same hands that pulled her apart from her husband unties the binds that attach them together quickly, then throws her over his shoulder.
"No!' Viola shouts, tears flooding from her eyes. "No! Please, please don't do this!"
The man drops her from his shoulder onto the ground and she rolls onto her side as pain explodes down her arm and through her knee. The man drags her by the rope across the dirt, skinning her elbows, and presses her roughly against a tree, and then Sandor's weight is pressed against her side once more and she can breathe a sigh of relief, if only for a moment. Sandor to one side, and a dog's hot breath as it grumbles and growls lowly on her opposite side. An additional rope is then pressed against her middle, securing her to the tree. The man then lifts the lower part of the sack to expose her nose and mouth, but not enough to reveal her eyes.
Viola gulps air greedily through her mouth, narrowly beginning to hyperventilate, and then a water skin is pressed to her lips. She tips her head back and allows the man to pour the cool, crisp water into her mouth causing her to sputter and choke, but the feeling was much too precious to allow him to stop. He tries, attempts to pull away so that she can breathe, but she leans forward, following the lip of the skin with her mouth to prevent its escape. She drinks until her stomach aches, until the skin is nearly empty, and she had to tilt her head all the way up to get anything from it. The cool water dribbles down her chin and trails down her neck, allowing her the first bit of comfort in the entire day.
The man pulls the sack back down over her face, and Viola nestles against Sandor's arm, her eyes becoming heavy but too tired to fight the exhaustion overcoming her. She must have fallen asleep for a brief amount of time, because the rumbling in her stomach and the ache as her stomach muscles clench with hunger wakes her with a start. For a moment, she had forgotten about the ropes holding her captive, and begins to struggle against them, until Sandor's hand closes around her knee to calm her. Someone must have moved his hands to the front, offering him a moments comfort. Viola settles back down and tries to relax her muscles, but her stomach will not quiet itself, and the smell of cooking meat and a crackling fire in the distance do not help matters any.
From what she can tell based on the number of times being tied to a tree when stopped, this journey continues on for two more days. She had never been so tired in all her life, her muscles never aching as they do now. Her legs throb, her arms and hands ache, and her head pounds. Her feet feel as though they are bloody and raw, as do her wrists beneath the hempen ropes securing them together. If only they would loosen then, if only they would tell them where they were going.
No one had uttered a word to them, other than the man who had untied them the first night, since they were blinded by burlap sacks and bound together with rope. Sandor himself had not spoken since the morning they were taken, only grunted and groan when being forced to stand each morning and coughing and choking when the noose around his neck would tighten. From what she could tell, they were somewhere near, of in, a forest. She could feel when the sun would dip behind tree coverage, and the sound of birds and flowing water could be heard over the beating of hooves and barking of dogs at times.
She had been fed once during this journey and based on the sounds of chewing coming from beside her, so had Sandor. Each night a man peeled back the burlap covering the lower half of her face and pressed a water skin to her lips. This precious water was the only nourishment she had to sustain herself, and she did her best not to squander it. She was greedy when it was offered, gulping and choking on as much of it as the would allow her. She could not tell whether they were watering Sandor as well, but silently prayed to any God's that would listen that they were.
On the third day, after only a few hours of travel, Sandor stops abruptly with a grunt. Viola slaps into his back, as she does each time he stops, and she can hear the sound of men jumping from horseback. They begin to talk with one another, their voices jumbling and drowning one another out. Someone pushes her between her shoulders to get her moving, and she stumbles along behind Sandor, tripping and tumbling over large rocks and what may have been tree roots. It certainly was not time to stop for the night, as they hadn't been walking near long enough yet, so they must have arrived at the location they were being taken to.
"Took ya long enough!" A voice calls from ahead.
"We took them around in a circle for a day or two to confuse them." The man pushing on her shoulder shouts back.
She had thought there had been less men than when they had started but could not be certain. The dogs and horses had definitely thinned out after the first day, but Viola had been under the impression that they dogs had turned back or wandered off, and the horses were further behind them, or maybe had traveled ahead due to the slow pace Sandor and Viola were forced to walk.
The temperature soon begins to drop abruptly, causing her tooth to shatter and her hands to tremble, and she can tell by the way her feet slide and her ankles ache that they are walking sharply downhill. She cannot be sure as to why the temperature is changing so drastically, perhaps they are near a waterfall, but even that does not make much sense, as they would be able to hear the crash of the water. Both her and Sandor are stumbling and shuffling their feet so as to not fall. If he were to fall and slide down whatever hill they were walking down, he would be strangled, and she likely would be trampled to death. If she were to fall, he would fall on top of her, be strangled, and they would both be trampled to death. It was in both of their best interest to be as careful as possible. If only they would remove the hood from their heads. If they plan on killing them, confusing them by walking in circles for two days while hooded was stupid. They must be planning on keeping them alive, and they don't want them knowing where they were bringing them.
Finally, they are forced to stop. Viola can feel the vastness of whatever room they were in. It did not feel as though they had entered a building, but they very clearly had done so, as the sound of fire, chatter, and footsteps echoed throughout the large space. Perhaps they had entered into a dungeon, or a cellar of sorts. The way the noise bounced around had to be due to stone, for it sounded just like this inside of the dungeons she had been kept in at Kingslanding before she was forced to wed Sandor.
They are bringing them back to Kingslanding. They have brought them to some castle on the way to hold them, perhaps gather supplies, and then they will be delivered back to Joffrey and be executed. It is the only thing that makes sense, the only thing she can think of that would explain any of this; Sandor had said when they stopped at Deep Den that they were likely wanted.
Viola presses herself against Sandor's back once more and grips his hands tightly, doing her best to keep from trembling. The man that had been behind her wretches them apart and unties the rope attaching their hands. Sandor is still close enough that she can feel him flexing his muscles, and then his hands are gone, and she can hear someone fiddling with the ropes around him. She stands near, trembling like a leaf as the sounds of dozens upon dozens of voices begin to whisper and chatter around her. Viola spins around blindly, trying to gather her bearings. The sounds, the blindness, the fear, the lack of food and water all goes to her head, and she feels as though she may faint. Suddenly she is grabbed and lets out a pitiful whimper as she is forced into a sitting position. She can feel heat from a fire on her sweat dampened skin, and the eyes of countless people boring into her.
"How did you take him?" A man's deep voice asks.
"Dogs caught the scent." The voice she recognized as the man who had taken them replies. "He was sleeping off a drunk near a willow tree, if you'll believe it."
"Betrayed by his own kind." The first voice answers. "And this one?"
"Claims to be his wife."
"Welcome to our humble hall, Dog. It is not so grand as Robert's throne room, but the company is better."
Without warning the sack covering her head is jerked away, leaving her flinching from the light and blinking as though she were a newborn babe. Her head swims as she takes in the large…cave?
They were in a cave so large she had to crane her neck to even take in a fraction of it. The walls are made up of clay, stone, and white tree roots, pitch black tunnels pepper the walls, with people still emerging from their mouths out of the darkened halls. The biggest fire she had ever seen is off center of the cave before her, the smoke swirling and dancing up towards the high, soot-stained ceiling. Behind her is a stairway of sorts, made of gnarled tree roots, and atop the stairs is a throne of sorts, a man atop it looking as though the roots were trying to fuse to his body and consume him.
The man with the green beard is here, so is the man who had placed the noose around Sandors neck, and the one that had carried the woodharp. There are women, men, children all huddled together alone the caves walls, staring at her and Sandor.
Sandor stands several feet away from her, standing tall and proud before a man with loose skin, grey hair, faded pink robes, and miss-matched armor. He pulls at the ropes still holding his wrists together, though someone had moved them once more to the front of his body instead of behind his back. He twists his wrists, and Viola's lower lip trembles as flakes of dried blood flutter to the ground from his arms. The two men stand snarling at one another, speaking loud enough that others near them can hear the conversation, but not loud enough for her to know what is being said. If only Lord Varys had taught her the art of reading lips.
"When we left King's Landing, we were men of Winterfell and men of Darry and men of Blackhaven, Mallery men and Wylde men. We were knights and squires and men-at-arms, lords and commoners, bound together only by our purpose." The man seated atop the root throne cries out, silencing the chatter around the cave. All eyes turn to watch as the small, handsome man with red-gold hair stands from his seat. "Six score of us set out to bring the king's justice to your brother." The man begins to carefully descend the root stairs and make is way towards Sandor, he wears a black cloak with sparkling with stars, and armor scared and dented from battle. "Six score brave men and true, led by a fool in a starry cloak. More than eighty of our company are dead now, but others have taken up the swords that fell from their hands. With their help, we fight on as best we can, for Robert and the realm."
"Robert?" Croaks Sandor, his eyes wide as the firelight dances upon his face, casting him in an orange glow and causing the burned side of his face to look angry and hot.
"Ned Stark sent us out," says a scrawny man with one eye, "but he was sitting the Iron Throne when he gave us our commands, so we were never truly his men, but Robert's."
"Robert is the king of the worms now. Is that why you're down in the earth, to keep his court for him?"
"The king is dead," the man in the black cloak admits, "but we are still king's men, though the royal banner we bore was lost at the Mummer's Ford when your brother's butchers fell upon us." He touches his breast with a fist. "Robert is slain, but his realm remains. And we defend her."
"Her?" Sandor snorts. "Is she your mother, Dondarrion? Or your whore? Rocks and trees and rivers, that's what your realm is made of, do the rocks need defending? Robert wouldn't have thought so. If he couldn't fuck it, fight it, or drink it, it bored him, and so would you…you brave companions."
"Call us that name again, dog, and you'll swallow that tongue." Cries the man with the brown beard and yellow cloak who had tied them up. He draws his longsword and sweeps towards Sandor.
"Here's a brave man, baring steel on a bound captive. Untie me, why don't you? We'll see how brave you are then." He glances at the bald, fat man behind him who had taken them prisoner that morning under the willow tree. "How about you? Or did you leave all your courage in your kennels?"
"No, but I should have left you in a crow cage." The fat man draws a knife as Sandor laughs in his face. "I might still."
"We are brothers here," The scrawny man answers. "Holy brothers, sworn to the realm, to our god, and to each other."
"The brotherhood without banners." The man with the woodsharp plucks a string and answers in a sing-songy voice, "The knights of the hollow hill."
"Knights?" Sandor sneers. "Dondarrion's a knight, but the rest of you are the sorriest lot of outlaws and broken men I've ever seen. I shit better men than you."
"Any knight can make a knight." Says the man with the black stared cloak Sandor called Dondarrion. "And every man you see before you has felt a sword upon his shoulder. We are the forgotten fellowship."
"Send me on my way and I'll forget you too, but if you mean to murder me, then bloody well get on with it. You took my sword, my horse, and my gold, so take my life and be done with it…but spare me this pious bleating. And spare my wife, she is an innocent."
"You will die soon enough, dog, but it shan't be murder, only justice. As for your wife, she will have her justice after yours has been delivered."
"Aye," says the fat man, "and a kinder fate than you deserve for all your kind have done. Lions, you call yourselves. At Sherrer and the Mummer's Ford, girls of six and seven years were raped, and babes still on the breast were cut in two while their mothers watched. No lion ever killed so cruel."
"I was not at Sherrer, nor the Mummer's Ford." Sandor tells him proudly. "Lay your dead children at some other door."
"Do you deny that House Clegane was built upon dead children? I saw them lay Prince Aegon and Princess Rhaenys before the Iron Throne. By rights your arms should bear two bloody infants in place of those ugly dogs." A man shouts from the side, causing Sandor's mouth to twist in anger.
"Do you take me for my brother? Is being born Clegane a crime?"
"Murder is a crime."
"Who did I murder?"
"Lord Lothar Mallery and Ser Gladden Wylde."
"My brothers Lister and Lennocks."
"Goodman Beck and Mudge the miller's son, from Donnelwood!" An old woman calls from the shadows.
"Merriman's widow, who loved so sweet." Adds the man with the green beard. "Them septons at Sludgy Pond."
"Ser Andrey Charlton. His squire Lucas Roote. Every man, woman, and child in Fieldstone and Mousedown Mill."
"Lord and Lady Deddings, that was so rich." The singing man with the harp adds. "Alyn of Winterfell, Joth Quick bow, Little Matt and his sister Randa, Anvil Ryn. Ser Ormond. Ser Dudley. Pate of Mory, Pate of Lancewood, Old Pate, and Pate of Shermer's Grove. Blind Wyl the Whittler. Goodwife Maerie. Maerie the Whore. Becca the Baker. Ser Raymun Darry, Lord Darry, young Lord Darry. The Bastard of Bracken. Fletcher Will. Harsley. Goodwife Nolla—"
"Enough." Sandors face is tight and red with anger. His eyes blazing with fury in the firelight. "You're making noise. These names mean nothing. Who were they?"
"People." Says Dondarrion. "People great and small, young and old. Good people and bad people, who died on the points of Lannister spears or saw their bellies opened by Lannister swords."
"It wasn't my sword in their bellies. Any man who says it was is a bloody liar."
"You serve the Lannisters of Casterly Rock."
"Once. Me and thousands more. Is each of us guilty of the crimes of the others? Might be you are knights after all. You lie like knights, maybe you murder like knights."
Men and women begin to shout at the same time, their anger etched upon their faces as Viola whips her head around to spot them all sneering and pointing at Sandor. Dondarrion holds his hand up for silence, and it is given at once.
"Say what you mean, Clegane."
"A knight's a sword with a horse. The rest, the vows and the sacred oils and the lady's favors, they're silk ribbons tied round the sword. Maybe the sword's prettier with ribbons hanging off it, but it will kill you just as dead. Well, bugger your ribbons, and shove your swords up your arses. I'm the same as you. The only difference is, I don't lie about what I am. So kill me, but don't call me a murderer while you stand there telling each other that your shit don't stink. You hear me?"
"You are a murderer!" A boy with shaggy brown hair, looking no older than ten shouts. "You killed Mycah, don't say you never did. You murdered him!"
"And who was this Mycah, boy?" Sandor asks.
"I'm not a boy! But Mycah was. He was a butcher's boy and you killed him. Jory said you cut him near in half, and he never even had a sword."
"Who's this now?" Someone asked.
"Seven hells. The little sister. The brat who tossed Joff's pretty sword in the river." Sandor barks with laughter. "Don't you know you're dead?"
"No, you're dead." The boy, no, girl, shouts back at him, a finger pointed at his face in defiance as it takes two grown men to hold her back.
"The girl has named you a murderer. Do you deny killing this butcher's boy, Mycah?" Dondarrion asks.
"I was Joffrey's sworn shield. The butcher's boy attacked a prince of the blood." Sandor shrugs, his eyes locking in on Viola's as she sits silent and trembling, doing her best to remain invisible as long as possible.
"That's a lie!" The girl tries to squirm from the grips of a much larger man but is unsuccessful. "It was me. I hit Joffrey and threw Lion's Paw in the river. Mycah just ran away, like I told him."
"Did you see the boy attack Prince Joffrey?" Dondarrion asks Sandor.
"I heard it from the royal lips. It's not my place to question princes." Sandor jerks his head towards the girl. "This one's own sister told the same tale when she stood before your precious Robert."
"Sansa's just a liar." The girl cries. "It wasn't like she said. It wasn't."
Dondarrion pulls the scrawny man aside and they begin talking in hushed whispers. Sandor's eyes remained locked on Viola as though pleading with her. She tries to stand, but a man behind her pushes her back down against the clay walls of the cave. Tears seep from her eyes as her heart begins to pound in her chest.
"You stand accused of murder, but no one here knows the truth or falsehood of the charge, so it is not for us to judge you. Only the Lord of Light may do that now. I sentence you to trial by battle." Dondarrion declares as he turns to face Sandor.
"Are you a fool or a madman?"
"Neither. I am a just lord. Prove your innocence with a blade, and you shall be free to go."
"No!" Cries Viola and the girl at the same time, though she doubt it were for the same reason.
Viola had never seen Sandor fight, though she had been told her was fearsome and brutal. But he is three days starved, still sweating wine, and weakened from their months of travel. If he should fail, if he is overpowered…
Before Viola could even process what was happening, Dondarrion was stripping his armor from himself, revealing his shriveled, thin body with loose hanging skin. Along the walls, men draw their arrows and notch them in their bows, ready to strike should Sandor or Viola attempt to flee. Sandor was given his swordbelt and an oaken shield. He rips the sword from scabbard and tosses it aside. The cave is soon filled with chanting of men, women, and children.
Lord of Light, look down upon us
Lord of Light, defend us
Lord of Light, protect us in the darkness.
Lord of Light, shine your face upon us.
"Light your flame among us, R'hllor." A priest cries alone as the other voices begin to silence themselves. "Show us the truth or falseness of this man. Strike him down if he is guilty, and give strength to his sword if he is true. Lord of Light, give us wisdom."
For the night is dark, and full of terrors.
"This cave is dark too." Sandor mocks. "But I'm the terror here. I hope your god's a sweet one, Dondarrion. You're going to meet him shortly."
Dondarrion lays his sword along his palm of his left hand and draws it slowly, his eyes never leaving Sandor's, his face never felnching as blood begins to drip from his elbow, covering the steel of the sword.
And then the sword catches fire. Several gasp, Viola lunges, only to be thrown back once more. She screams in terror and frustration as Sandor curses and spits on the ground.
"Burn in seven hells." Sandor shouts. "You, and Thoros too." He throws a glance at the priest with his arms stretched towards the fire. "When I'm done with him you'll be next, Myr."
Dondarrion's face is still and calm, despite the flaming sword in his hands. Sandor charges him, and Dondarrion moves faster than Viola would have ever dreamed possible. Their swords meet in a cry of metal, leaving streams of fire and smoke in their wake. Sandor is fast, but not fast enough for Dondarrion. Viola wishes to look away, wants to run from this cave and never look back, but she will not allow her husband to die alone. She had meant what she had said to the bearded man days prior, if they kill Sandor, they will have to kill her, too.
"You've got him!" The crowd roars. "He's yours! At him! At him! At him!"
Dondarrion's sword comes close to Sandor's face, and he shouts curses as he block another blow and paces backwards away from the flame, his eyes alight with fear and his body beginning to sag. Viola sags as well, her elbows on the dirt floor beneath her as she screams, sobs wracking her entire body, causing her to choke and sputter between breaths that don't bring near enough air into her lungs. This is it, she thinks, as she watches Sandor to fall to his knee and bring his shield above his head. The shield cracks with the force of Dondarrion's blade, causing her and Sandor to each shout in horror at the same time. The shield catches fire, but Sandor makes it back to his feet, the whites of his eyes showing with terror, his face etched with anger and grief.
"Finish him! Guilty! Guilty! Guilty!"
Sandor hacks at Dondarrion's shield, pulverizing it to splinters, all while fanning his arm in an attempt to put out the fire from his own shield that was nothing more than two small pieces of wood attached to his arm. His whole arm is alight with flame, and only spreading. Dondarrion, sensing his growing terror, comes in close for his kill as the crowds shouts become louder and louder.
Without hesitating, Sandor shrieks wildly and raises the sword high above his head before bringing it down onto Dondarrion's burning sword, snapping it in two and delivering a blow to his shoulder where it meets his neck, and slices him clear to breastbone, showering Sandor and all those closest to the battle with blood.
Viola is drug from her knees and tossed into the center of the pit, next to where Dondarrion now lay face first in the dirt. She can't find Sandor, but she can hear him screaming or help, saying that he is burned. Her heart stops, time moves slowly. If she is meant to fight, she will surely die. Sandor is trained, he knew what he was doing and still narrowly missed dying. Her bound hands reach for Sandor's sword still lodged in Dondarrion's body, but her hands are pulled from it just as they begin to close around it. Someone drags Dondarrion's body away as the ropes around her hands are cut free by the man with the green beard.
"What are you crimes, girl?" He asks.
"No—none." Viola sputters through her tears.
"What is your name?"
"Viola."
The man with the green beard raises a brow and studies her face a moment before lifting her chin with a gentle hand and looking into her eyes. He glances over at the man with the yellow cloak standing near them, and elbows him in the ribs to get his attention. Yellow cloak studies her the same, and the two share an unspoken moment of raised brows and cocked heads.
"Nah." Yellow cloak finally says. "Chisel's girl doesn't have a burnt up face. He would have said so."
"You're right." Green beard agrees and releases her chin. "Stay here with us, girl. We'll keep you safe from The Hound."
"I want Sandor. I'm going with my husband, you can't stop me!"
"You go out there with him and you'll die. May not be today, or tomorrow, but you will. Mark my words."
"Then I die." Viola sets her jaw and glares at the men before her.
They study her another long moment, then green beard chuckles and leads her from the cave. The night is bright and cool as they exit, her feet struggling to find purchase on the uneven ground. Once out of the cave's mouth, Viola drinks in the air through her mouth and falls to her knees. Green beard turns and leaves her there in the dirt and darkness, alone. A horse whinnies in the distance, and Viola jerks her head around to find Stranger, his angry eyes shining in the darkness, their saddlebags gone. Foot steps come barreling out of the caves mouth, and Viola narrowly escapes behind a tree to conceal herself.
Viola peaks around the trees trunk to find Sandor standing before her. She launches herself from her hiding spot and lunges into his arms, narrowly pulling him down atop her. Her sucks in air through his teeth as she makes contact, but she does not loosen her grip from his neck as she pulls him closer to her. Her hands go to his face as she peels herself rom his front and looks into his eyes. They are red rimmed at wet. He has been crying.
She kisses him on the lips and rests her head against his for a moment, calming her heart as it pounds in her chest. Finally, she releases him and studies the arm he was still cradling to his chest. It is wrapped in wet, sticky bandages that looked as though they may have been white when they were placed there, but are now grey from the soot on his clothing, and the blood seeping through.
"Are you hurt badly?" She asks, her voice raw from screaming.
Sandor does not answer, only jerks her arm towards Stranger and helps her up. He does not mount the horse, instead takes him by the reins and bends to allow green beard and yellow cloak to place the sack back upon his head and lead them off into the darkness. They did not bother concealing Viola's face, it was much too dark to see where she was going, and they must have deemed her to not be a threat, besides, Viola dozes in and out of sleep on the horses back as she had seen Sandor do countless times. The men walk in silence for a mile, maybe two, until Sandor stops abruptly, startling her from her sleep, and pulls her from the horses back. The other men are gone, and Sandor no longer has the burlap sack over his head.
He begins to fondle her roughly the moment her feet touch the ground, patting at her dress and ankles, before finally reaching a hand between her breasts. He was searching for the coin. She jerks back away from him just as his hand closes around the stocking that still held the leather pouch, and tries to push him backwards, but it is not use. He is solid as a rock and much larger than she is. His hand closes around the pouch and jerks it from her bodice. He tears into the pouch, dumping the contents into his hand before cursing loudly.
"What are you doing?"
"What does it look like I'm doing?"
"Why do you want it so badly? Clearly it was the safest place for it. They never found it, but they found all of yours."
"Aye, they would have found it the moment they killed me and had their way with you!" Sandor shouts at her, spittle flying from his mouth to pepper her face. "Need some fucking wine."
"You are not spending my coin on wine."
"Watch your fucking mouth, woman."
"Don't you see, none of this would have happened if you weren't drunk!"
"I warned you, watch your mouth."
"You're a bloody drunkard! We have no food, no water, no bedroll, and that is the only coin we have got!" Sandor raises a hand as though to strike her, and Viola takes a step forward, her eyes narrowed at her husband. "Do it. Strike me and it will be the last thing you ever do, Sandor Clegane."
Sandor steps back, his burned arm clutched to his chest, his face bruised and swollen from being hit by a rock, and his wrists bloody from the ropes that bound his hands far too tightly. His eyes are sad, his face angry, his hair plastered to his head with wine sweat.
"I nearly watched you die tonight and the only thing you can think of is another drink. Fuck you. Go then. Go find your bloody wine and drown yourself in it."
Anger courses through her veins as she grits her teeth and watches her husband mount his horse and ride off into the darkness, leaving her alone on the deserted path. She stumbled blindly, the sound of Stranger hooves on the dirt disappearing in the night.
She walks all night, her legs aching and her head pounding. She wanted to scream, to curse Sandor and every other man in that cave. She wants to kill Joffrey, maim Cersei, and bury Ser Payne alive. If it weren't for them, if she had never set eyes upon them, she would still be safe with her father in her home. Now, she will likely never see him again. She will never hear his voice, see his gentle eyes, listen to one of his stories. No man will ever take her again in this state. If she never sees her husband again, so be it. He left her, alone and frightened in a strange place because wine were more important. She knew what he was, knew there were likely unspeakable things he had forced to do at the hands of Joffrey, but the way that girl had told it, he murdered a child in cold blood. The Hound doesn't care for anyone, The Hound only cares for himself. Dogs were meant to be loyal, but this one is only loyal to himself. She was nothing more than a warm body to get him through the night, but not anymore.
As the sun rises over the valley, Viola could not care less whether she lives or dies. Should one of the outlaws ride her down on the road, so be it. If she starves, good riddance. She had no idea where she is going, or even what direction home is. She won't make it there, she knows this deep within her marrow. She will die on this road, just as green beard had warned her of only hours before.
Home is the dream of a stupid little girl who thought she knew everything, who believed the tales Mother told of knights and true loves were real. Father is likely long dead, even if the head Joffrey had once forced her to look at was not his, it is likely on a spike just like that one along a road somewhere, or even in a knight's saddlebag on its way to him as she walks. It had been over a year since she had seen him now, and he hadn't come searching for her once. Two ravens had been sent to him letting him know that she lived, and he never came to collect her. If he had, Joffrey and Cersei would have made a spectacle of it, would have forced her to watch Ser Payne take his head just as they had made that Stark girl watch on as he took her father's head.
No, Viola is alone. Fully, and completely, for the first time in her life, alone. There is no one to come rescue her, no one to even care enough to. Sandor abandoned her, Father forgot all about her, Alna is long dead, and if her husband, Lawrence, were alive, he certainly did not care whether she lived or not. If Elias lived, he would come for her. If Elias lived, he never would have allowed this to happen in the first place. He would have protected her, he would have stopped even The Hound.
The sun hangs low in the sky, but still Viola carries on, one foot before the other, marching towards an unknown destination. Her face, neck, and hands are badly sunburned, her lips dry and cracked, her tongue sticking to the roof of her mouth with thirst. Her stomach clenches around nothing, causing her to stop every few feet to dry heave and fill her mouth with acid. The bottoms of her feet are blistered and raw, cracking open with each step she takes, filling her shoes with blood. Just one more step, only one more step. She repeats this mantra in her head over again, willing herself to just keep walking.
Each step is agony, every hour that passes hardens her heart. She could not have put many miles between herself and the cave that housed the outlaws, but still, the lack of hoof beats behind her has her somewhat surprised. No one is on this road, no one passes her. She should be thankful, should be proud to have made it this far, but all she is, is numb. After all that had happened, all that she had seen, this is how she will die. Alone and numb on some far off road, left to be plucked apart by wild animals.
Finally, as the sun sets and the moon rises, clouds come in fast and hard, darkening the sky and deafening her with thunder. The trees are near bare this time of year, offering no coverage as the clouds finally break and drench her to the bone within moments. Viola collapses down on the road in the mud, and rolls onto her back to stare up at he inky black sky. She opens her mouth and allows the cold rain to fill it. She swallows, the rain tasting metallic and stale as it flows down her throat.
She stays there until the sky turns grey with what should be morning light, hoping that a team of horses tramples her to a pile of mush in the road, but it never happens. No horses come, death escapes her once more. She stands then, mud squishing beneath her feet, and tries to take a step, only for her shoe to come off in the mud. Having enough of it, anyway, she takes the other off, ties to laces together, and slings them over her shoulder.
The day continued on just as the one before it had, thought the rain from the previous night had stopped, leaving her wet and shivering. Once night fell, she lie in the road once more, not daring to sleep, but staring up into the cloudy, starless sky until the clouds broke again and soaked her once more.
She must have dozed, for when she woke, still alive and untrampled, it was morning, and the mist rising from the forest from the rain made the world look grey and eerie. Her feet still bare, she continues on her lonesome journey. In her mind, she had forgiven Sandor for abandoning her, she would throw her arms around his neck if he came barreling through the rain and fog on Strangers back. She would fall to her knees and beg his forgiveness, drunk or not. If only he would return, she would hide the anger in her heart until she had some coin, or at the least an idea of where she was, then slip away while he slept and get herself to the Free Cities until the war was over. Hell, she didn't even have to make it to the Free Cities, fuck the Free Citites. Masha would take her in. All she has to do is make it to Masha and all will be fine.
On the forth morning, the rain had yet to stop. It hammered against her skin, stinging slightly. Thunder cracks overhead, deafening any sounds that may be around her. Hunger has made her desperate. It had been five days since she had eaten anything, and that was only a single piece of jerky her captor had allowed her. Viola crouches on the roadside and begins to dig in the mud for any trace of something edible. Movement along a fallen log catches her attention, and without thinking, she scoops up a large black beetle. She studies it a moment, debating whether or not she was truly this hungry, but her stomach rumbles and her head begins to swim, so she closes her eyes and slowly raises her to her mouth. She gags as her teeth close around the beetles shell, causing its insides to squirt against her cheek. Still, she chews; she chews and chews until the hard shell is stuck between her teeth and the legs no longer move. Before she can even swallow, her hands and frantically searching for more. The taste is bad, the feel of it between her teeth is worse, but still she searches.
Four, five, six beetles meet their fate between her teeth. She looks as though she is a mad woman, digging in the dirt with her bare hands, her hair matted with knots and plastered to her face with rain, her dress ripped and stained, her feet bare. She continues on her search, not caring about the globs of soil that end up on her tongue as she shoves two beetles at a time into her mouth.
"What the fuck are you doing?" Someone shouts.
Viola jumps to her feet and whips her head around. There in the road, one hand on his hip and a look of horror on his face is Sandor. Viola snarls at him, looking every bit the feral animal that she now was. She charges him, ready to strike, but he catches her wrist instead and pulls her against him. She struggles to free herself, hitting and kicking, about to take a bite from his burned arm.
"Here." He says as he pushes her away from him and presses a piece of salt meat into her hands.
Viola takes it and tears into it, the taste of salt mingling with the mud and beetle in her mouth, causing her stomach to churn and her mouth to dry. Sandor watches her in silence as she devours the meat and licks her fingers clean, not caring that they too are covered in mud. He passes her a water skin and she drinks from it greedily, allowing the water to pour from her mouth and run down her chin to mingle with the rain flowing from her jaw.
"You left me!" Viola shouts at him as she empties the skin and throws it at his head. It pings against his scalp and falls to the ground, leaving her satisfied.
"Aye I left you, and for damn good reason, too!"
"Fuck you!"
"That is our ticket!" Sandor grabs her by the wrist and pulls her towards Stranger standing in the road, a small brown bundle on his back that Viola can not make out in the rain. "This is going to bring us all the gold we could ever want!"
Viola walks around the horse, studying the bundle that begins to squirm and moan through a rag in its mouth. She moves closer to be met with the angry, grey eyes and long face of the girl that had been in the cave. The girl that Sandor claimed was a Stark.
"What the fuck is this?"
"Lord Stark's girl. We take her to her mother, we ransom her. We get paid, we get the fuck away from this bloody war and on the first ship to Volantis."
"We?" Viola lets out a wicked laugh, frightening even herself. "There is no we! Point me towards The Trident and go fuck yourself in Volantis!"
"You are my wife!" Sandor roars as he tackles her and throws her over the back of the horse with one hand, to sit behind where the Stark girl lay tied across the front of the saddle. "You go where I go. Said as much yourself."
"I hate you." Viola spits at Sandor who was now glaring up at her.
"No, little fox, you do not hate me."
"You left me alone to die!"
"If I thought you'd die I wouldn't have left you alone! You're a tough, mean little bitch. I knew you'd be fine."