As the days pass, the fever arrives like a thief in the night; swift and unrelenting. Viola shivers and moans upon the wooden table that she was far too weak to pry herself from. Sandor hadn't returned after she had watched him disappear into the darkness, though this had not stopped her from calling out for him. The girl, Viola had since learned was named Sally, dabbed a poultice made of clay, garlic, honey, and dandelion along the wound in her side twice a day. Her father, a tall, lanky men with a bald head and stubble upon his stern face, prayed to the Seven over her shivering, dying body every evening. The two of them would take turns checking her breathing when she would become quiet, dab a wet cloth along her brow to keep the sweat from her eyes, and prop her calves up with warm clothes.
"I've dug her grave along the east paddock." She hears the farmers voice cut through the fog surrounding her one afternoon. "It shan't be long now. She has been waiting for her husband's return to pass on to the other side, though I fear her soul is growing weary. I dare say her husband may never return. He was not in good spirits, nor good health upon his departure."
"Sandor." Viola cries weakly from the table, using every bit of strength to open her eyes, but finding it near impossible. "Sandor."
"Hush now, child." The farmer soothes as he lifts her head from the table gently.
He uses a wooden spoon to ladle droplets of vile tasting liquid between Viola's cracked, chapped lips. She coughs and sputters on the liquid, and the man pulls the spoon from her lips as the daughter pats her gently on the chest to help break up her cough. Her head is placed gently back on the table, and cool, calloused fingers roam across her forehead, no doubt checking her fever.
Viola flutters her eyes, peering through her lashes as her eyelids become too heavy to support themselves. The room is blurry, a haze surrounds her, and she can make out nothing but a figure moving slowly to her in the fog. The figure moves swiftly, gracefully, and when they finally come close enough to cut through her blurry vision, Viola is able to make out the curly black hair and wicked grin of her mother.
"We ask that the Mother bless this girl with peace and mercy as she makes her way through the darkness."
"Mother." Viola mumbles as her mother bends down low, her face right before hers, their noses almost touching. She tries to lift a hand, whether to pull her closer or push her away, she cannot be certain. "Mother. I'm sorry."
Her mother's once sea-green eyes are white and blind, just as they had been in the moments before her death, when the fever had stolen her vision from her, just as they had been when her spirit had taunted her after Joffrey had burned her. Blood dribbles down her chin, and Viola watches as Mother uses the pad of her thumb to wipe it away, and a chill runs through her so deep she fears she will never again get warm as she reaches that thumb, blackened with blood, to Viola's forehead and smears a line straight down between her eyes.
—
By some mercy the fever did not take Viola. Once more she is spared, but for what reason, she cannot be certain. The farmer, she now knows is named Finbar, declared it to be the mercy of the Father delivering his divine justice and sparing her for a greater good. He deemed her to be worthy then, proclaimed that she was moral and righteous, or else the Seven would not have spared her, when he once believed her to be wicked and sinful for he had heard tale of The Hound and his wrath, and knew just who he was when he stepped foot from his horse and thrust a pouch full of coppers into his hand.
It did not stop Finbar from eyeing her suspiciously, however especially when he would find her alone with Sally. Sally, for the most part, was silent, only speaking to echo her father's prayers or ask Viola to help her prepare dinner.
Nearly a moon had passed since Viola had been here with the farmer and his daughter, yet only a fortnight since she was able to heave herself off of the table. Her legs were weak and near useless, her ribs and collarbones protrude from her flesh at the amount of weight she had lost while being immobile. She could take no more than three or four steps, supported by Sally, of course, before she would begin to collapse. Her days were spent sitting before the fire mending clothing, sewing together pieces of bear hide to make blankets, or peeling and chopping root vegetables for Sally.
The majority of her thoughts were of Sandor; where he was at, if he was finally on his way back to her, and if he were safe. He would return to her, she knew it. He always returned to her. Her mind flashes to the tears streaming down his pale, sickly face as she begged him to leave her. She should have been begging him to stay, should have forbidden him from leaving until he was a bit more healed. Sandor no longer took orders from anyone, but she knew in her soul if she had made any demand of him in that moment, he would have obeyed. She had been stupid to send him off in that state, a damn fool to allow him to leave when his injuries were worse than her own. Finbar had told her shortly after she had woken that he wouldn't even allow Sally to clean the blood from his hands, nor would he accept a poultice for the deep gashes along him body. But Arya needed to be safe. She needed to be far away from this war, and the men prowling the countryside.
Try as she might to ignore it, the image of her mother's ghostly face snarling at her plagued her dreams each night as she tossed and turned on her straw mat by the fire as the farmer and his daughter snored gently around her.
The horror and shame of being the one to end her mother's life had eaten at her for years. If the Father were real, he would not have been the one to spare her. He would have cast her down into a fiery hell for taking her mother's life, no matter how much she had cried and begged for the gift of mercy. Perhaps that is why she haunted her, perhaps it is her punishment to meet the same fate as her, or more likely, waiting for her in the afterlife to torture her with that wicked smile for all eternity. She had marked her, after all, when she came forth and smeared her blood down her face as she lie there dying.
"Is your mother living, child?" Finbar asks Viola one evening as she mends a pair of socks by the fire. "You called out for her in your fevers."
"No. She is dead."
"My condolences. Were you a young girl when you lost her?"
"Young enough. A bit older than Sally, though."
"Sally lost her mother two winters ago, in childbed." Finbar tusks softly and shakes his head as though trying to drive the memory from his mind. "The babe, a boy, lived but a fortnight. It weren't Sally's fault, she did the best she could, but she took it to heart. Has barely spoke since."
"That is awful. I'm so sorry. I lost a brother, too."
"Perhaps what Sally needs is another woman about. Perhaps you can speak with you, bring her out of this melancholy that plagues her. That girl that was with you, she is not yours."
"No." Viola answers honestly, sitting her mending down on her knee to look at Finbar with suspicion.
"She were not The Hound's either, though she claimed to be at first."
"No. She is…our ward. Lost her parents. We were taking her to her mother's sister."
"You should start walking the fields in the mornings." Finbar states plainly after a moment of silence, changing the subject. "Winter will be upon us soon, so you must get your strength up before then if you have any chance of surviving it."
The next morning, after helping Sally clean up after breaking their fast on meager amounts of plain oats and sweetened goats milk, Viola finds herself surrounding by the rolling hills surrounding the small cottage. It took hours to reach the spot she stands, but she had been determined as she gripped the large stick she used as a cane and clutched her side. The cottage is still within sight though, and she nearly screams out in frustration at the little distance she had covered in such a long time. She slowly crouches down on her knees, then rolls over on her back, sucking in air between her teeth and clutching her side as she looks up at the clouds. A soft mist of rain sprays her face, chilling her slightly as she splays her arms out as far as they will reach at her sides and brushes her fingertips over the soft, cool grass beneath her. In the distance, the goats braying echoes over the sound of the wind rustling the limbs of the trees.
After a while, her stomach rumbles loudly, and she takes this as her sign to pull herself up from her resting place and make back for the cottage. As she slowly walks back, she allows her mind to wander, allows herself to fantasize about Sandor standing inside waiting for her when she returns.
A large, strange horse tied to a post in front of the cottage makes her pause. She stares at it a moment, and it stares at her. Viola shakes her head and pushes the door open. Likely nothing but a passerby from the nearby village stopping by for something. Her eyes had not yet adjusted to the darkness when she blindly makes her way to the fire to take off her shoes. A cough from behind her makes her whirl around, Sally should have been the only one here, it was still a bit too early for Finbar to return from the fields.
Viola whirls around and is greeted by the largest man she had ever seen sitting on the table as though it were a bench, and really, for his size, it was truly nothing more than a bench. Her heart stops as she takes in his high cheekbones, the proud brow, and the hardened grey eyes before her. He looks strikingly like Sandor, so much so that she nearly doubles over and retches.
"There she is." He booms. "You see, I was nearly to Kingslanding, about to cross through the bloody gates, when I received word that my dear little brother and his wife had killed my men at that inn. Innkeep was kind enough to point us in this direction. I had planned to rob this little cottage for all it had, but that's when the little brat here told me she had seen you." Gregor motions towards Sally cowering in the corner, a sick smile on his face. "I have a score to settle with my puppy brother, so the queen can wait a few more weeks. Damn dwarf isn't like to go nowhere, and I sure as shite can't bring her bastard boy back to life."
Gregor laughs, chilling her to the core, and hauls himself from the table, stalking towards her slowly. She had only thought Sandor to be large, had foolishly believed his voice to be deep and his scowl menacing, but after seeing Gregor, Sandor seemed nothing more than a boy. Viola's eyes dart around the room, searching for a weapon, anything at all to hurl at his head and rush past him out of the door. As her eyes land on a cast iron skillet hanging above the fire, hoof beats pounding on the ground outside catches her, and Gregor's attention.
Viola lunges towards the skillet hanging on the wall as Gregor opens the door, but it was too high for her to reach without wasting time, so she grabs a fire poker propped against the wall instead, squaring her shoulders in attack.
Three men come barreling through the door, dragging a tied up and bloodied Finbar between them. They toss him roughly to the floor, kick him once a piece for good measure, and depart. Gregor towers over him as he grabs him by the collar and forces him into a sitting position against the wall. Sally crawls from her hiding place in the corner and cowers in her father's lap as Viola's heart pounds in her chest. Her fingers sweat against the metal handle of the fire poker as Gregor stalks towards her. He grins as his eyes travel up and down her body. One more step, she tells herself, just one more and I can hit him with this damn poker and run.
Gregor comes within striking range and Viola swings, hitting his so hard in the elbow with the poker that it vibrates in her hands and causes her wound to ache deep inside of her. This does nothing but make him laugh as he grips the end of the poker and jerks it towards him roughly, forcing her to step into it and nearly fall to her knees. Gregor grips her by the hair on the back of the neck and slams her hard against the floor. Viola screams at the impact and struggles beneath him as he pins his arms to her sides and straddles her legs, locking her in place.
"Let them go." Viola pleads. "Just let them go, you want me. You just want me."
"Where is my brother?" He snarls in her face as his hands tear her dress from boddice to navel, exposing her to the room.
"I don't know!" Viola cries, struggling to free her arms from under the weight of him to cover her breasts.
"Liar." Gregor snarls as he eyes her still healing wound and presses his thumb into it, causing tears to sting her eyes as she howls in pain. "Where is Sandor?"
"I don't know!" Viola shouts between sobs. "I swear it, I don't know! He left, he left me here!"
Gregor snarls and begins to shift on top of her, Viola squeezes her eyes shut as he frees himself from his britches, bunches her skirts around her waist, and shoves himself inside of her. She throws her head back at screams at the intrusion and uses every ounce of her strength in an attempt to free herself from his clutches. It does no good, if anything, it only excites him more. The cold, metal blade of a knife makes its way against her throat. She screams louder, her ears and throat aching at the force at which she shouts. In the distance, Sally whimpers and Finbar prays loudly. Viola screams louder and louder as Gregor violates her.
"Ser!" Someone shouts from outside, causing Gregor to still a moment. "Ser, fire! Ser, we dropped the torch, fire!"
Gregor snarls and swipes the blade across Viola's throat without so much as looking at her, then pulls his britches up and releases her. Viola rolls onto her side, gasping for breath as smoke begins to fill the cottage. Out of the corner of her eye, she watches as Gregor removes his sword from his scabbard and shoves it through Sally's head, and straight through to Finbar's heart, impaling them both against the wall.
Viola groans and pulls herself to her knees, her hand clutching her throat as blood seeps between her fingers and Gregor grabs the fire poker from the floor and slams the door behind her as he leaves, using the poker to lock her in. Viola rocks back and forth on her knees, tears streaming down her face as she begins to cough from the smoke that was now beginning to blind her. She pulls her hands from her throat and looks down at them, there wasn't near as much blood as she had thought there would be, but still enough to worry. She rips a piece of her skirts and ties it around her neck as the sound of hoof beats echo above the crackling of the fire outside, the flames beginning to slowly lick beneath the door.
Standing and looking out of the small window next to the door, Viola can make out the team of men racing along the road towards in inn. She pills her dress from her body and quickly pulls on a second dress from the pile of mending in the corner of the room. She throws herself against the door, desperate to escape, but it does not budge. Finally, she pulls the heavy wooden table in front of the window and climbs up. Using her feet, she busts the glass from the frame and heaves herself out, cutting her arms and tearing her dress in the process.
She lands painfully on the ground below as the fire spreads from the wooden door and up onto the thatched roof of the cottage. Viola slams her hands into the dirt, pulling up fistfuls of mud and grass as she screams and rages as she sobs. She screams once more for good measure, then heaves herself to her feet, rage coursing through her with every painful step she takes in the opposite direction of the men who had just left her there to die, who had just killed two of the kindest people she had encountered since being forced out of her home.
She limps onward, using a branch she had found on the roadside to support herself as she makes her way towards the Saltpans. That is where Sandor was headed, to catch a ship and bring Arya to her aunt. She will wait there for him to return, perhaps beg an innkeep or a farmer to allow her to stay on in exchange for work and a bed.
May the God's have mercy on any man who tries to ride her down; any man who so much as allows their eyes to wander towards her.
May the Father go to Hell along with his mercy and divine justice, may the Mother give her the woman's strength to ripe their hearts out with her bare hands, may the Maiden stay the fuck back, may the Crone give her the sight to seek out her prey, may the Warrior strengthen her fists, may the Smith sharpen her teeth to points to rip out their throats, and may the Stranger stand at her side as she devours them all.
As Viola travels on, the trees and soft hills give way to sandy dunes and salt marshes, and before long the road dips in and out of view, swallowed by shallow tidal pools and reeds. Before long, small shacks made of grass and mud begin to pop up along the path, and in the distance, the salt bleached walls of the Saltpans appear. Viola decides to circle around the town, come in on the opposite side, and not the front gates to keep from attracting unwanted attention to herself.
She stumbles and her feet squelch in the wet sand, but as she makes it around the wall, using her hand to glide along the smooth wood, she almost bumps in to a donkey pulling a wagon loaded with crates and sack. A dog begins to bark at her, his tail wagging and his tongue flopping out the side of his mouth. Before she can get herself to safety, a man with a weathered face and bare feet intercepts her, reaching for her elbow to help her through the mud. Viola grits her teeth at him, ready to strike, when the dog jumps up on her in an attempt to get at her neck.
"Sit, sit." The man urges as he leads her towards the wagon and pushes her down on the end. "Here, my child, here." He reaches into a sack and comes up with a waterskin, which he thrusts into her hands.
Viola gulps greedily, draining the skin and panting as the man stares at her with kind eyes and a gentle smile.
"I am Septon Meribald." He says as he squats down in the sand, wet sand seeping between the toes on his bare feet. "This is Dog. He's mostly harmless."
Just then a large man with short yellow hair, a shortly shorter man with shaggy brown hair, and a small boy come around the bend. Viola jumps to her feet, ready to flee once more, but the Septon puts a gentle hand on her arm, causing her to flinch, and urges her to sit once more.
"There, there." He coos at her softly. "No one is going to harm you. You look half starved. Have you ever tasted an orange?"
Viola nods her head timidly. She had tasted the sweet, though a bit tart, juicy fruit once in Kingslanding and had loved it. The man beams at her with dazzling brown eyes, his leathered face cracking and creasing.
"Ah, then you are lucky. I have none, mind you, we feasted upon my only three just last night. I wish I had a piece to spare you. I do have some cheese, however, and some bread. You are welcome to it." He flutters his hand at the others who had appeared, silently giving them their leave. As the tall blonde turns, Viola realizes that she was, in fact, a woman, and not a man. "Why don't you tell me what's happened to you, my child."
Viola accepts the bread and cheese with shaking hands, and nibbles on them to keep from being sick as she tells the Septon the horrors that had just befell her, as he sits silently, nodding occasionally.
"I just want my husband. I need to find my husband." Viola sobs, wiping the tears now streaming from her eyes with the back of her hand.
"Where is your husband, my dear?"
"He was headed here to board ship, I hoped to find an inn to take me in while I waited for him to return, but I didn't want to go through the front gates."
"What is his name? Perhaps you and I can go in together on the morrow and ask after him?"
"If I told you, you wouldn't help me." Viola admits with a sniffle.
"Nonsense, child. There is nothing that you could tell me that would prevent me from aiding you."
"Sandor Clegane. My husband is The Hound."
Viola watches as the septon's face falls and his eyes sadden, he looks around towards where the other's had just disappeared behind the wall and makes to stand. He pats her gently on the hand and sighs softly.
"I told you." Viola mumbles and focuses on the chunk of cheese in her hands.
"No, no. Wait here a moment."
Septon Maribold takes but one step towards the wall when the boy, no older than ten, pokes his head around the corner. He stares a moment, opened mouthed, then darts his eyes to the ground.
"I—I know of you." He stammers. "You—you were who the queen gave to The Hound."
The blonde head of the tall woman whips around the side of the wall before she comes barreling towards Viola, one hand on her sword belt, the other held up to push the septon back.
"Are you quite sure, Podrick?" The woman asks, her blue eyes bright with anger.
"Yes, my lady. Ser." Podrick stammers, his eyes darting between Viola's feet, and then back towards the woman in knights armor. "I was there, I seen it. Then The Imp, T—Tyrion…he told me about her. Said I should watch her when I could, and so I did."
"You were watching me?" Viola asks, outraged.
"Yes, my lady. He said—he told me to make sure you weren't in danger, and to call for him if you were."
"Sandor would never harm me." Viola declares proudly, narrowing her eyes at the impossibly large woman before her.
"It weren't The Hound he was worried about, my lady. It were King Joffrey."
"We're looking for a maiden. A highborn girl of three-and-ten, with auburn hair. Folks say she was taken by The Hound." Viola shakes her head, ready to open her mouth to object when the lady-knight shakes the sword in her scabbard. Viola snarls and narrows her eyes, daring the woman to strike. "Folk says he's been raping and killing his way across the Riverlands. Plenty of folk searching for him to bring him the king's justice for what he's done."
"Sandor hasn't done a fucking thing!" Viola bellows as the woman takes another step and grimaces down at Viola.
The woman reaches out a hand and makes to touch the strip of cloth tied around Viola's throat, but she smacks her hand away before she can. She brings her own hand to her throat, feeling around the edges of the cloth binding to make sure she it wasn't seeping blood. It was.
"He do this to you?" A tall, dark haired man asks as he comes around the corner.
"No." Viola spits. "His bloody brother did. The Mountain That Rides."
All four faces grimace at once, their eyes hardening at her words as though they pitied her. Fuck them and fuck their pity.
"The Mountain doesn't often leave survivors." The man says. "Ser Hyle, and this is Brienne of Tarth." The man gestures at the woman before her, her hand finally releasing from the hilt of her sword as she sweeps her hair from her face and sits on the edge of the cart.
"He didn't leave any survivors." Viola mutters. "He killed good people. People who helped me."
"If The Hound isn't the ravishing maids and butchering babes, then who, pray tell, is wearing his helm and doing so?"
"I don't know! Perhaps it was taken from him, or maybe he sold it to pay for his passage on a ship. But I swear to you, it was not him. Until two moons ago, I was with him every moment from Kingslanding."
"Why was he booking passage on a ship, and why didn't he take you with him? Why leave you behind to be ravaged by his brother?" Brienne asks, her voice sharp with accusation.
"He thought me dead. I thought me dead, too. I begged him to leave me behind. I told him to go on without me, and so he did. He left me with a farmer and his daughter, and his brother tracked me down after he got word that we had killed some of him men at the Crossroads Inn. They attacked us, I was bad hurt, so was he. He had to keep going, though."
"Where was he going?"
"The Eyrie."
"What's his business there?"
"You're looking for the elder Stark girl, aren't you?" Viola asks, eyeing Brienne as she darts her eyes to Podrick. "You said you were looking for a highborn girl with auburn hair. You're looking for Lord Stark's daughter."
"Aye." Ser Hyle says with a nod.
"He was taking the little sister, Arya, to her aunt."
"He had Arya? This whole time, he had taken Arya and not Sansa?"
"We were taken by the Brotherhood outside of Stoney Sept. They had her, and Sandor was afraid that they would ransom her back to the queen. He took her from them, and we've spent the last half a year trying to get her to her family. We got to The Twins too late though, and the Frey's had already killed her mother and brother. We tried to take her to the Eyrie, but couldn't get past The Bloody Gate, so we stayed on awhile at this village and Sandor helped them build a palisade. We were headed towards Riverrun when we stopped in at the Crossroads Inn to see if we could get any news on the state of things there, but learned it was about to fall. We were going to board ship in the Saltpans and travel by sea, but that's when I was cut down, and I sent Sandor off to get her there alone. She isn't in any danger. Sandor would never allow harm to come to her, I swear it."
"We're making for the Quiet Isle." The septon tells her gently, pointing across the water towards a small island. "You should come with us. The war hasn't reached the isle, it is quite safe there. The Silent Sister's will take you in."
"I don't want to be a Silent Sister." Viola objects.
"You do not have to be a Silent Sister." The septon chuckles. "But they can offer you safety. We can leave word with the dock master in the Saltpans when we travel there on the morrow and instruct him to let your husband know where you are should he arrive back by ship."
"Okay." Viola nods. "Septon? You travel a bit, do you not?"
"Yes, my child. I have been known to travel a bit."
"Do you know of my father? His name is Leonart Rivers."
"Oh, do I?" Septon chuckles and slaps his knees. "I know of Leonart Rivers, yes. Though, he goes by Chisel these days."
"He lives?" Viola's heart pounds in her chest and she can't help the grin that spreads across her face.
"Saw him but three moons ago outside of Stone Mill. You must be little Viola, he has been searching for you."
"He—he has?"
"Why, of course he has."
"Do you know where he is now? Where was he going after Stone Mill?"
"Back towards Stoney Sept. He runs with the Brotherhood quite often, though he is known to go off on his own in search of you."
The man in the cave, the night that Sandor had won the fight with Dondarrion, he had grabbed her chin and looked hard at her face. Then the other man, was it the one with the green beard, or the one with the harp? Viola couldn't remember, their faces were morphing together after so much time, he had said the name Chisel. He had told the other that she couldn't be Chisel's daughter, because Chisel's daughter didn't have a burned up face. She was so close, this entire time, he was one step behind them. He did look for her, he searched for her the whole time she has been missing.
Viola clutches her neck and lets out a shuddering breath of relief as the realization that her father was alive. She smiles brightly at the septon, a single tear streaming down her face, and allows him to take her hand and lead her across the marsh towards the isle.
As the make their way across the wet sand that sucks their feet in, the scent of fish and rot fill their noses. Finally, after what felt like trudging through rotting oatmeal for a mile, the ground begins to firm beneath their feet. Three men in brother's robes meet them atop a set of stairs and lead them onward. Viola lags behind a bit, slower than the rest with her many injuries and the ache between her legs given to her by Gregor Clegane. Finally, they approach a stable and Viola's eyes lock on the black eyes of a massive, black horse struggling in his reins, and Viola's blood runs cold.
"A handsome beast." Ser Hyle says as Viola elbows her way forward through the group.
"The Seven send us blessings, and the Seven send us trials. Handsome he may be, but Driftwood was surely whelped in hell. When we sought to harness him to a plow, he kicked Brother Rawney and broke his shinbone in two places. We had hoped gelding might improve the beast's ill temper, but... Brother Gillam, will you show them?" One of the brothers informs them.
Driftwood? What sort of fucking name is Driftwood? No wonder he bit off Brother Gillam's ear.
"The horse bit off your ear?" Podrick exclaims, mouth gaping.
"Forgive me, brother, but I might take the other ear, if you approached me with a pair of shears." Says Ser Hyle.
Viola chuckles and reaches a shaking hand forward, allowing the horse to smell her. He nudges her hand gently with his snout, blowing hot air onto the palm of her hand, then whinnies softly, and dips his head down for her to rub between his eyes. All three brothers gasp at her, their eyes wide, their hands thrown up as though unsure of what to do.
"Stranger." Viola whispers into his ear as the Hell beast whimpers as though sad. "How did you get here, hmm? Where's Sandor? Where is he, boy?"
"If you will. Elder Brother will no doubt be waiting." A brother announces, breaking the bond between her and Stranger.
"I'll come back for you. I promise." Viola whispers to the horse as she breaks away, turning back to eye him one last time over her shoulder.
