Viola sits perched upon a large, flat rock on the river's edge, scrubbing her dress in the cool water. Her threadbare shift clings to her still wet skin as droplets of water drip from her hair and onto her back. It is unseasonably warm this evening, and so Sandor and Viola took full advantage of the quiet, still day and beating sun by bathing and washing their clothes in the river. Sandor had threatened Arya with death if she so much as poked her head over the thick line of shrubbery separating them from where they had made camp for the day, and so for the first time in what felt like a lifetime since they had left the little village that felt like home, they had a moment alone together.

Sandor lies sprawled out behind her on the rock, his nude body taking in every ounce of sunlight. He had used his fingers to separate the knots from her hair as she washed his clothing, then once he had been satisfied that he had gotten the majority of them out, twirled his finger around her curls, muttering to himself about how he had spent the better part of eight months since they had fled Kingslanding digging her hair out of his mouth and beard. He quiets for a long while, and Viola was beginning to believe him to be asleep, until he startles her by tracing a single thick finger down the raised scar on her upper back from where she had been whipped before Joffrey and Cersei. That first slice of the whip, the one that had nearly caused her to scream out, the one that had bled down her spine and filled her shoes with her own life's blood. She had thought she would bleed out in that dungeon, had even asked Sandor to tell her father goodbye for her. By some miracle, or perhaps a jape from the Gods, she had survived, and though the wound pained her terribly each time she moved, it never became infected.

Viola finishes washing her dress and spreads it out on the rock next to them to dry in the sun, just in time for Sandor to grip her around the waist and pull her down onto him to straddle his stomach. He bends his knees so that she is leaning against them, and his hands grip her hips to keep her in place. The shadow from her head and shoulders cast across Sandor's face as he gazes up at her.

"I can see straight through your shift." Sandor says softly as he removes one hand from her hip and trails a finger from the center of her chest, between her ribs, and finally stopping just before her naval.

Her heart flutters in her chest at his gentle touch and suddenly becomes very much aware that he is nude beneath her. She flattens her hand on his ribs, and trails it upwards, watching how her fingers make paths in the thick, brown hair covering his body. She had always loved running her fingers through it, the look on his face as he closes his eyes as she pet him, and finally, the deep, low growl when she tugs on it gently when she reaches his chest.

"I am not the one that is nude." Viola smirks as she bends down and kisses him on the lips, taking his lower lip between her teeth as she pulls away, and feeling him chuckle as she does so.

"I had grown quite accustomed to having you whenever I wished." Sandor admits with a sigh and bites his lower lip, his eyes gleaming with desire as they roam up and down her body before finally settling on her breasts. "I must admit, I rather miss it."

"You know what I miss?" Viola asks with a smirk, leaning forward to press her lips against the curve of his ear. "That thing you used to do with your mouth."

Viola leans back onto Sandor's legs, a look of triumph etched upon her face as she takes in Sandor's brow knitted in confusion for a moment, only to let out a shriek when he places his hands beneath her knees and jerks her forward sharply. She barely has time to catch herself with one hand on the rock beneath Sandors head when he shoves her shift up with one hand and pulls her down onto his waiting face with the other. She makes to move, to object in some way, but he laces his arms around her legs and holds her in place as his mouth clasps onto her most private place.

Looking down between her legs, all she can see of Sandor's face behind the thick patch of black, curly hair between her legs is his nose and eyes. Those eyes; Seven Hell's those grey eyes. They had a way of boring into her soul and bringing her to her knees, even when she wasn't straddling his face and nearly howling with pleasure as the cold water dripping from her body and is chased by the warmth of his mouth as he laps at her.

Viola clutches at the warn fabric covering her, holding it up high on her stomach to better view Sandor below her, when it finally becomes too much to bear and she wretches it over her head and lets it fall to the ground, not caring in the slightest that they were out in the open for anyone to see. She arches her back and knots her fingers in his hair. For a brief moment, she wonders whether he was actually enjoying the act, or if it were solely for her, until he reaches up and pinches her nipple between two calloused fingers, and she whimpers and squeezes her thighs around his head. She knew in that very instant that this was purely for him. His eyes roll back in his head, and he moans so deeply against her that it feels as though it rattles her spine.

The sounds he makes from then on out cause her to grind her hips against his mouth and scream out his name, until finally, the world begins to darken and whirl as she gasps for breath and her heart hammers in her chest. She looks down finally, watching him pleasure her with his eyes closed peacefully, still moaning gently as he works her body down from the summit, he had just caused her to plummet down. Every inch of her skin prickling with pleasure, her body involuntarily convulsing as Sandor licks her clean, pressing feather light kisses against her, rubbing her lower back gently when those kisses are too much for her to handle and she jerks away slightly.

"Sandor." Viola moans, and he reluctantly opens his eyes to gaze up at her, then pulls his mouth from under her and gasps for air.

Viola slides her body down his and lies on his chest, his hardness pressed against the inside of her thigh, his chest rising and falling rapidly beneath her as she trails kisses along his jaw on the burned side of his face.

"Can't feel that." He grumbles and turns his head, pushing her away with his chin and directing her to the opposite side of his face where she kisses him from chin to earlobe, stopping only to tug it gently with her lips, then moving down his neck to his collarbone.

Sandor reaches down and grips himself with one hand, then guides her down onto him with the other, entering her fully. She stills a moment, savoring the feel of him stretching her when he grips her hips and begins to move her up and down on him slowly, his head thrown back his breath coming out in shallow pants and deep moans. His fingers gripping her flesh tight enough to leave bruises, yet she does not care as he pushes her faster and faster until he growls his release into her, his back arched as hers was when she found her own release atop his face.

She pulls herself off of him and places her head on the center of his chest, listening to his heart beat in his chest as his breathing slowly returns to normal. Their legs twisted together, the sun warming their skin in the afternoon light as Sandor trails his fingers down her spine, stopping only to twist one of her curls around his finger. This is heaven. If she were to die right now, she could die truly happy.

"You have never been frightened of me." Sandor breaks the silence and smooths the hair back from her face as she props her chin up with her hands on his chest.

"Why would I be frightened of you? You are divine." She tells him as she traces the scared side of his face with her index finger, watching as he winces slightly, only to relax after a moment when he realizes that she will not hurt him.

"Fuck divinity." Sandor chuckles as he presses his lips against hers. "Fuck the Gods. This is between you and I, because we are real, and they are not."

"Varys told me that you were gentle with the whores you visited. I just didn't expect for you to be so good at it."

"What the fuck does a Eunuch know about whores?"

"He told me that you loved one of them. Told me that you were always gentle with her."

"We will not speak of her."

"I apologize." Viola mumbles and buries her face in Sandor's chest, something close to jealousy washing over her for the briefest moment.

"You know that I would never harm you, right little fox?" Sandor asks, back to running his fingers through her hair.

"I know that. I've always known that." Viola twists around in his arms to look up at his face. His arm is thrown over his eyes, shielding them from the sun, and her prying eyes. "What's wrong?"

"We make for the Crossroads Inn on the morrow. Gonna ask after your father, you said he was friendly with the innkeep, right?"

"Yes, her name is Masha. Why?"

"You could stay there while I take the girl to Riverrun."

"I go where you go."

"If your father disapproves—"

"I don't care who might disapprove. You're my husband. I'm yours, and you're mine."

"You could stay there and ask after him. Put some weight on, get some rest, perhaps make a bit of coin. It could be weeks, and it could get bad there. You could be put in danger."

"I've been put in danger this entire time. If I couldn't take it, I would have stayed in the village. You brought me home like you said you would, and it was gone. You kept your promise."

"We'll still make for the Inn. Someone there is bound to know what happened there."

The first thing Viola notices as they approach the inn she had once known so well is the silence. Despite the flooding that had devastated the area, and the fall weather, it was obvious that the outside of the inn had been left to overgrown with weeds, which is something Masha would never allow. Elias kept the shrubs, grass, and trees cleared from around the inn when he was alive, and after he had passed, the job was let to Alna's husband, Lawrence. The next thing that catches her eye is the sun-bleached bones hanging from a large elm tree, twisting and rattling in the wind. Behind the first set of bones was two more, both picked clean and bleached in the sun, no doubt left to hang for some time.

Sandor dismounts and begins leading Stranger towards the barn. Something was badly wrong. Masha would never have stood for this. The only way she would have ever allowed her inn to wind up in such terrible shape was if she were dead. Viola whirls around in the saddle and eyes the bones rattling in the wind, trying desperately not to believe that one of them belonged to Masha.

No, they couldn't belong to her. They simply couldn't. Masha fled when the war broke out. Perhaps Father had gotten here in time to warn her of what was coming, since he had been at Riverrun, he would have likely known something was amiss, and he could have come home and found his daughter missing, his house burned down and took Masha and Lawrence to safety.

"We don't want to go in there." Arya's voice cuts the silence. "There might be ghosts."

"You know how long it's been since I had a cup of wine?" Sandor snarls as he helps Viola from the saddle. "Stay with the horses if you want, it's no hair off my arse."

Viola eyes Arya, then shakes her head at Sandor as he stalks towards the inn, pressing herself as close to Stranger as he would allow.

"What if they know you?" Arya calls after him. "They might want to take you captive."

"Let them try." He loosens his longsword in its scabbard and pushes through the door.

Arya and Viola lead the horses into the barn and shuts them into the first empty stall without saying a word. Viola fills the troughs with water as Arya scoops some feed out for them, chewing her lip and glancing over her shoulder every few seconds. Finally, Viola lets out a sigh and they wordlessly abandon their task and creep towards the door.

As Viola opens the door with pounding heart, she notices a mad pinning a frightened looking woman onto his lap, one hand down her dress fondling her breasts, the other wrapped tight around her waist. Viola whips her head around, searching for someone she knew wouldn't be there. The man behind the bar, however, looks vaguely familiar to her, though she could not place him.

"Looking for your brother, Sandor?" The man asks as he wretches his hand out of the girls dress but keeps her pinned to his lap.

"Looking for a cup of wine. Innkeep, a flagon of red." Sandor throws a handful of coppers onto the floor, his eyes never leaving the man with the woman on his lap as he grips Viola's wrist tightly and pulls her down onto his knee as he takes his seat behind the bar.

"I don't want no trouble, ser." The innkeep mumbles, his eyes wide with fear.

"Then don't call me ser." His mouth twists with fury "Are you deaf, fool? I ordered wine." As the man runs off, Sandor shouts after him. "Three cups! My girls are thirsty too!"

Viola glances around again, noticing two others littered around the room. There were only three people in the inn, not counting her, Sandor, Arya, the innkeep, and the girl being fondled. An ordinary man sits near the fire, his eyes boring into Sandor as the boy sitting near him looks around timidly.

"Is this the lost puppy Ser Gregor spoke of?" The boy near the fire asks the man next to him. "The one who piddled in the rushes and ran off?"

The man with the girl on is lap shakes his head in warning, the man near the fire winces slightly, but the boy doesn't seem to know, or care, who he was speaking about.

"Ser said his puppy brother tucked his tail between his legs when the battle got too warm at King's Landing. He said he ran off whimpering."

"The lad's drunk." The man with the woman on his lap stands abruptly, dropping the woman roughly to the ground. She scrambles off on hands and knees and disappears behind the bar. "He can't hold his wine, is all."

"The he shouldn't drink." Sandor answers sharply, his hands holding on to her tightly.

"The puppy doesn't scare—" The boy began but is cut off abruptly when the man by the fire stands and twists his ear sharply, causing the boy to scream.

The innkeep appears suddenly, his knees wobbling with terror as he gulps sharply. He places an empty stone cup before the three of them, but Sandor reaches for the full flagon of wine and downs most of it in two gulps.

"Now you can pour. Best pick up those coppers too, it's the only coin you're like to see today." Sandor warns the innkeep with a growl.

"We'll pay when we're done drinking." One of the men responds.

"When you're done drinking, you'll tickle the innkeep to see where he keeps his gold. The way you always do."

The innkeep scurries from the room, plummeting them into an uncomfortable silence as Sandor drains the remaining wine from the flagon and reaching behind the bar for a second, which he pours into his cup.

"If you're looking for Ser, you come too late." One of the men warns him. "He was at Harrenhal, but now he's not. The queen sent for him. King Joffrey's dead, you know. Poisoned at his own wedding feast."

Viola turns and looks over Sandor's shoulder at Arya who was sitting next to them, her eyes darting between the two strange men, her hands knotted in her lap.

"Do you know them?" Viola whispers to her.

"That's Pulliver." Arya gestures towards the man who had the woman on his lap when they had come in. "And that's the Tickler." She glares at the other man still sitting by the fire. "I don't know the boy. A squire, likely."

Sandor shushes them, and they each sit up straight, taking in the news of Joffrey's death.

"So much for my brave brothers of the Kingsguard." Sandor snorts. "Who killed him?"

"The Imp, it's thought. Him and his little wife."

"What wife?"

"I forgot, you've been hiding under a rock. The northern girl. Winterfell's daughter. We heard she killed the king with a spell and afterward changed into a wolf with big leather wings like a bat and flew out a tower window. But she left the dwarf behind, and Cersei means to have his head."

Sandor pours a drink and stands abruptly, nearly knocking Viola to the floor as Pulliver did to the woman he had on his lap, but Sandor catches her beneath the elbow and drags her and Arya towards a table by the door, where he sits in the middle, with Arya and Viola on either side of him. He untucks the flagon of wine from under his arm and sits it abruptly on the table, his cup of wine never leaving his hand.

"She ought to dip him in wildfire and cook him. Or tickle him till the moon turns black." Sandor raises his cup in mock toast and drains it in one gulp. "So, Gregor took Harrenhal?"

"Didn't require much taking." Pulliver answers between sips of wine. "The sellswords fled as soon as they knew we were coming, all but a few. One of the cooks opened a postern gate for us, to get back at Hoat for cutting off his foot. We kept him to cook for us, a couple wenches to warm our beds, and put all the rest to the sword."

"All the rest?" Arya blurts, Sandor smacks her on the back of the head to silence her.

"Well, Ser kept Hoat to pass the time."

"The Blackfish is still in Riverrun?" Sandor asks.

"Not for long, he's under siege. Old Frey's going to hang Edmure Tully unless he yields the castle. The only real fighting's around Raventree. Blackwoods and Brackens. The Brackens are ours now."

"The little bird flew away, did she? Well, bloody good for her. She shit on the Imp's head and flew off." Sandor says, his eyes hardening for a moment as Viola glances up at him.

"They'll find her, even if it takes half the gold in Casterly Rock." Pulliver says with a smirk.

"A pretty girl, I hear, honey sweet." The Tickler smacks his lips, an evil, disgusting look upon his face.

"And courteous." Sandor replies. "A proper little lady. Not like her bloody sister."

"They found her too. The sister. She's for Bolton's bastard, I hear." Pulliver informs him, and Sandor laughs loudly. "What's so bloody funny?"

"If I'd wanted you to know, I'd have told you. Are there ships at Saltpans?"

"Saltpans? How should I know? The traders are back at Maidenpool, I heard. Randyll Tarly took the castle and locked Mooton in a tower cell. I haven't heard shit about Saltpans."

"Would you put to sea without bidding farewell to your brother?" The Tickler stands and stalks forward, taking a seat on the bench across from them at the table, and leans forward, a crazed smirk upon his face as he eyes Viola from across the table. "Ser would sooner you returned to Harrenhal with us, Sandor. I bet he would. Or King's Landing—"

"Fuck that. Fuck him. Fuck you." Sandor growls as he leans over Viola to block her from The Tickler's gaze.

"We'd heard they'd had you take a burnt up girl. Said she was uglier than you, but I don't think I'd go that far. Ugly, sure, but you can always cover that side of her face. Heard they'd wanted your brother to break her in real good, too. He said he'd still be willing."

The Tickle smirks as he reaches behind his head to scratch the back of his neck, and then everything changes. Sandor jumps to his feet, knocking Viola to the ground in the process, and from the floor at his feet, she watches as the shimmering sliver blade of a knife goes whirling past Sandor, grazing his ribs before embedding itself in the wall behind him. It would have stuck in his throat had he not lurched to his feet at the proper moment.

"I was hoping you'd do something stupid." Sandor howls with laughter above the clicking of metal blades and grunts of fighting.

Viola tries to grab Arya and pull her down to the floor with her, but she slips from her grasp, and as Viola pops her head above the tables edge, watches as she launches a stone cup across the room and hits the squire boy in the nose, which quickly begins pouring blood. Her eyes roam the room, searching for Sandor, only to find him struggling. His feet seemed heavy and uncertain, his slices rough and sloppy. He looked nothing like he had the night in the cave when he had fought Dondarrion. He had drunk too much and had no food on his stomach.

With her heart in her throat, Viola watches as Sandor begins to be beat by Pulliver. Arya launches a second cup at Pulliver, and then a third, each one missing. Viola pulls herself to her feet, searching frantically for something to throw herself. Just as she is about to throw all caution to the wind and jump on the man's back in an attempt to save her husband's life, Arya's blade goes whizzing past her head and grazes Pulliver on the arm.

Viola lurches for the blade stuck in the wall, but it was wedged in too deeply and she couldn't pry it out. Arya, seeing her struggle, runs to help her, and together, they manage to wretch the blade free. Arya's hands wrap around the stone flagon on the table that Sandor had been drinking out of, and Viola squares her shoulders, ready to lunch, when someone pulls both her and Arya back.

"Are you the puppies puppy?" The squire asks with a smirk. "And you must be the puppies bitch."

Without thinking, Viola plunges the knife into the boys stomach and watches as his eyes go wide and he falls to the ground, but not before she feels a sharp, deep punch to her stomach. Viola ignores the punch, and the pain that had accompanied it, and Arya gives her a quick nod of approval, and together they spin around to see that the Tickler and Pulliver had Sandor backed in a corner, blood streaming from a gash where his ear had once been on the burned side of his face, another on his neck, and one more on his thigh.

Sandor says something that Viola can't hear, then bellows loudly before kicking the bench, driving it into Pulliver's shins, and ducks Pulliver's blow. When he comes up, he slashes back, his blade catching Pulliver's head and sending blood spraying along the back wall, coating Sandor in the man's lifeblood.

"Viola." Arya gasps suddenly, and she pries her eyes from her husband, and looks into Arya's impossibly large eyes.

When the girl lifts a shaking finger towards Viola's middle, she doesn't understand at first but looks down anyway. Imbedded nearly to the hilt in her stomach, slightly below her lower left rib, is a knife. The squire hadn't punched her, he had stabbed her.

Viola begins to pant as she drops the blade she had been holding and clutches the skin around the blade stuck in her middle, finding the cloth around it already soaked in blood.

Time moves slowly as she watches Arya drive a blade through the Ticklers back, all while shouting things that she couldn't hear, couldn't bring herself to understand. She turns and makes her way to the bar, clutching it tightly with one hand as the other remains clutching her side, the blade of the knife protruding from her cold in her hands.

She can feel Sandor's uneven, limping gate as he moves past her, the Arya's quicker, lighter stride as she follows.

"Pricked him in his bowels, that's the end of him. He'll be a long time dying, though." Sandor's voice cuts through the fog, finding her from across the room.

Her heart beat speeds up as sweat begins the prickle on her face and neck, the pain in her side coming in waves and making her nauseous. That would be her fate too no doubt. A long, slow, painful death as he bowels slowly seep into her body and poison her blood. Viola whimpers, listening to Arya and Sandor squabble for a moment, before Arya's small, gentle hand grips the hand Viola was holding the bar with, and forces her to turn towards Sandor. Despite his injuries, he lunges towards her.

"No. No. No." He repeats as he grips her face in his large hands. "Oh, Viola. Oh, no, no."

Viola can feel herself begin to pale as she grips Sandor's arms, his thumbs trailing her face, forcing her to look into his eyes. Pressure on the blade causes her eyes to snap down, but Sandor's grips on her face only tightens as Arya wretches the blade from her side, causing her to screech in pain and nearly fall to her knees. Sandor catches her, and with a grunt of pain, hoists her into his arms and limps from the inn.

"No. Please, please no. I can't" Viola begs as Sandor makes his way towards the stable where the horses are waiting. "I can't, please!" Viola begs as Sandor lifts her onto Stranger's back and turns to Arya.

"Where are we going?" Arya asks as she mounts Craven.

"Get some wine, she-wolf. And take whatever coin they have as well, we'll need it. If there's ships at Saltpans, we can reach the Vale by sea." Sandor gasps at her as he places his hand on Strangers back to steady himself.

Arya jumps from Craven's back and rushes into the inn once more. Viola presses her hand into her wound as she lulls forward against Stranger's neck, the world disappearing and her vision going black. The pain was bad, not as bad as when she was burnt, but bad enough.

Sandor needs Arya's help mounting Stranger, and Viola screams in agony as he jostles her. They ride for miles, or so she believes, it is hard to tell when she nods in and out of consciousness as they ride. As they round a bend, Viola spots a small, stone cottage in a field. A man tending to a mule, and a small child plucking something from the ground.

"Please." Viola lifts a shaking finger towards to cottage. "Please. I can't go any further."

Sandor grips her hand tightly in his, but veers Stranger towards the cottage. He slides from his back with a groan as they approach, and the man eyes him a moment before allowing his eyes to fall to the ground.

"Please, ser. I have a girl. She's all I've got. I have no coin, no wine, no ale. There's a bit of food in the root cellar, but it ain't much. You're welcome to it, if you just leave us be."

"Don't want your bloody food." Sandor barks as he tears the pouch of coin from the village from his belt and thrusts it into the man's hand. "My wife's bad hurt. She needs help."

"I ain't no healer, ser, but I've got a bit of herbs about if you think it'll help her. Look bad hurt yourself."

"Don't give a shite about me. Help her." Sandor bellows and pulls Viola from Stranger's back.

Viola screams in his arms as he stalks past the man and into the small cottage. He swipes bowls and utensils from the large, wooden table in the center of the room, allowing them to crash to the ground as he places her on top of it. He grips the fabric around her wound and tears it open.

"Stay with me." He tells her softly as he places his hands above and below her wound causing her to flinch. "This will hurt badly."

He gives her no warning as he lowers his face to her wound and presses down hard. She nearly arches off of the table completely as she throws her head back and opens her mouth in a silent scream before the world goes black once more.

When she comes to, Sandor is mopping her forehead with a wet piece of cloth, Arya is ringing her hands at her other side, and the man is whispering something she can't make out to Sandor, who is glaring at the man and shaking his head frantically.

"It won't stop bleeding, ser, it must be burnt, or she will lose all of her blood."

"No fire!" Sandor bellows, sending the chair he was sitting in flying across the room.

Viola whimpers and he is back at her side in a flash, smoothing the hair from her sweating face and gripping his face.

"Ser, please. It must be done." The girl in the corner pipes in, her eyes sad and worried.

"It has to be burned." Arya agrees.

Viola looks down at her side, the table, what remained of her dress, and piles of cloth all stained red. She looks back up at Sandor, her lower lip trembling, and nods solemnly at him. Everything happens quickly after that, Arya takes a flagon of wine from Sandor's hands and begins to pour it into a metal pot, then places it in the fire. As it warms, the man begins to tear apart more pieces of cloth, then disappears for a moment, only to reappear with a large butcher knife which glistens in the firelight. Viola gulps as the girl presents a wooden spoon and places it near Viola's head.

"You are certain that it didn't puncture her bowels?" The man asks.

"I check when I brought her in. Didn't smell anything, you'd smell it if it had. Think it's just a flesh wound."

The man cleans the knife with the hot wine Arya had put on the fire, wipes the blade with a clean bit of cloth, and places it in the fire for several moments before retrieving it and approaches slowly. The girl motions for Viola to open her mouth and places the handle of the wooden spoon between her teeth. Arya places her hands on Viola shoulders, the girl grips her hand tightly, and Sandor holds her legs down.

With no further warning, he places the red hot metal against her flesh, sending a shock wave of red hot agony coursing through her entire being. She struggles against the hands holding her down, biting so hard into the wooden spoon that she is surprised her teeth don't crack. Finally, the room fills with the smell of her burning flesh and Sandor scrunches up his face, squeezes his eyes shut, and turns his head away from her.

One more pass of the knife against her flesh is all it takes for Viola to black out again. When she wakes the room is dark and still, and only Sandor remains at her side.

"You're bad hurt." Viola mumble, her tongue sticking to the roof of her mouth.

"Don't worry about me." Sandor says softly as he lifts her head from the table and helps her drink some water.

"You have to get her to safety, Sandor."

"Fuck safety, fuck the girl. I won't leave you."

"You have to. You have to get her to her family."

"I will not leave you."

"You have to." Viola urges him as she reaches out and grips his hands in hers. She watches as he brings her hands to his lips and kisses them softly. "I'm not going to make it, Sandor. You have to go on without me. Protect her, get her home. She's just a little girl."

"Don't say that. Don't you dare say that." Sandor sobs against her hand. "It's just a scratch, you're going to heal up and you're going to be fine."

"Please." Viola begs as she pulls her hand from his and wipes the tears from her face. "I love you, Sandor Clegane. I'm still so glad that it was you."

Sandor sputters, his breath catching on his sob at her words and swipes angrily at the tears streaming down his face. He stands and begins pacing the room, his hands on his hips and his gait slow and unsteady from his own wounds.

"Sandor." Viola calls to him, and he comes to her side. She gasps for air but continues on. "She's a little girl, she needs you."

"I'll come back for you."

"You always do." Viola smiles weakly and reaches out for Sandor.

He wraps his arms around her, causing her to whimper as he pulls her into a sitting position to hold her against him for a moment. He cups her face with his hands and kisses her hard and deep on the lips before helping her back down on the table.

"I love you." Sandor whispers as he kisses her forehead before disappearing into the darkness that surrounds her once more.