Brother's Narbert, Gillam, and Rawley lead the party through rolling hills, across streams, up around graves littered throughout the isle. It had seemed like such a small isle when they were across the river but soon found it to be vast and expansive. They pass barns with paddocks filled with milking cows, brother's leading calves, sheep, goats, and mules along paths. In the distance, the squawking of hens and geese can be heard above the crashing waves. There are fields of grain, cranberry marshes, fields of cotton, and finally, vast herb plots filled with every sort of healing herb, some of which Viola had never seen. Higher and higher they climb, Viola lagging behind and clutching her branch for support. Finally, they reach the highest slope, and off a bit in the distance, a large, lame gravedigger struggles to dig a hole.
Viola eyes him from behind while she catches her breath, studying the way he moves. A cowl is pulled over his head, blocking his face from the sun, and the gaze of others, his body covered by a brown woolen cloak despite the warm breeze from the ocean. From the look of it, he was worse off than she was, and she wondered idly how he wasn't sweating to death under all of that wool. She herself was pouring sweat from her climb, and he was working much harder than she. She looks around at the other brothers going about their tasks, none of them wore cowls or cloaks to cover themselves as this man. Perhaps he was being punished, or maybe hiding some grotesque injury, could be that he caught a chill, or was even sick. The man never turns to face them as he slings a spade full of dirt over his shoulder, landing with a thud on the bare feet of Septon Maribald.
"Be more watchful there." Brother Narbert gently urges the large gravedigger. "Septon Maribald might have gotten a mouth full of dirt."
The gravedigger hangs his head and tenses his shoulders but still does not turn. Dog, their ever-present companion, rushes towards the man, tail wagging violently against his legs, and sticks his snout right in the man's mud-covered hand. He scratches behind his ear and tells the dog something that Viola can't make out over the sound of seagulls flying overhead. Dog, however, heard and seemed to enjoy whatever it was the man had told him, for her jumps up on hind legs and plants his front feet on the man's stomach, tongue hanging out of the side of his mouth as he appears to smile up at him.
The brother's lead them further on towards a village square of sorts. Small cottages made of mud and hay, a large windmill, and finally the septry itself, all inside of a neat stone wall. Instead of taking them to the septry, Brother Narbert leads them behind a large chestnut tree, where a door sits snugly on the hillside.
"A cave with a door?" Ser Hyle asks, surprised.
"It is called the Hermit's Hole. The first holy man to find his way here lived therein, and worked such wonders that others came to join him. That was two thousand years ago, they say. The door came somewhat later." Septon Maribald smiles and takes Viola by the hand, leading her through before the others.
Her heart gives a jolt as he opens the door, the last time she had been in a cave, it was because she had been taken prisoner, and nearly watched her husband be killed. She swallows hard and casts one last look at the rolling hills, and the faceless gravedigger over he shoulder before allowing him to escort her inside.
Inside of the cave was nothing like she had been anticipating. While the cave the Brotherhood had brought her into was large, damp, cold, and uninviting, this cave had been transformed into something completely different. The warn dirt floors have been covered by soft woolen carpets, large colorful tapestries on the stone walls. Every space was filled with beeswax candles casting a warm glow throughout the room. In the center of the cave is a long table made of salt-bleached wood, strange shaped chairs, and hand carved shelves overflowing with books and scrolls of parchment. Every piece of furniture seemed to be made of pieces of driftwood pieced together and polished until shining and reflecting candlelight.
A man stands from one of the strange chairs and smiles warmly at them all as they enter. This must be the Elder Brother Brother Narbert had mentioned. He did not seem an elder, however. He looked years younger than some of the other brother's they had passed on their climb here. Though he smiled warmly at them, he did not seem like a gentle, warm man. His head is overly large and bald, his eyes cold and shrewd, and his nose large and red.
"It is always a glad day when our friends Meribald and Dog honor us with another visit." Elder Brother announces as he clasps a hand on Septon Maribald's shoulder before turning towards the rest of them. "And new faces are always welcome. We see so few of them."
Elder Brother's eyes settle on Viola a moment, causing her to slink towards the back of the room behind everyone else. He motions for them all to sit, and so they do. Ser Hyle, Brienne, and Septon Maribald begin telling the Elder Brother of the reason for their arrival, and Viola does her best not to scowl as they mention Sandor. Septon Maribald's eyes her as they speak of them, his face soft and kind, then turns his attention towards Dog, who was currently barking at a flickering candle.
"I thought no one could talk. Well, not no one. The brothers. The other brothers, not you." Podrick squeaks, his face reddening as though embarrassed that others could hear him speak.
"We are allowed to break silence when confessing." Elder Brother informs them. "It is hard to speak of sin with signs and nods."
"Did they burn the sept at Saltpans?" Ser Hyle asks.
"They burned everything at Saltpans, save the castle. Only that was made of stone…though it had as well been made of suet for all the good it did the town. It fell to me to treat some of the survivors. The fisherfolk brought them across the bay to me after the flames had gone out and they deemed it safe to land. One poor woman had been raped a dozen times, and her breasts…my lady, you wear man's mail, so I shall not spare you these horrors, and you, my silent girl, seem to have experienced horrors of your own, so I will continue on…her breasts had been torn and chewed and eaten, as if by some…cruel beast. I did what I could for her, though that was little enough. As she lay dying, her worst curses were not for the men who had raped her, nor the monster who devoured her living flesh, but for Ser Quincy Cox, who barred his gates when the outlaws entered the town and sat safe behind stone walls as his people screamed and died."
"Ser Quincy is an old man," says Septon Meribald gently. "His sons and good-sons are far away or dead, his grandsons are still boys, and he has two daughters. What could he have done, one man against so many?"
"True words, and wise," the Elder Brother says to Septon Meribald. "When you cross to Saltpans, no doubt Ser Quincy will ask you for forgiveness. I am glad that you are here to give it. I could not." He puts aside the driftwood cup had had been sipping from since they entered and stands. "The supper bell will sound soon. My friends, will you come with me to the sept, to pray for the souls of the good folk of Saltpans before we sit down to break bread and share some meat and mead?"
"Gladly." Septon Maribald says eagerly and claps his hands together with a smile.
Elder Brother stands and motions for Brother Narbert to come closer, he leans in and whispers something into the small man's ear, then watches carefully as Brother Nebart departs, his eyes scanning over the room and landing once more on Viola. Something about his glance makes her uneasy, though she can't seem to put her finger on what it is.
After a moment, Brother Nebart returns, two Silent Sisters in tow. The sisters are covered from head to toe in grey rough spun, only their eyes and the skin around them showing. They don't meet anyone's eyes, nor do they acknowledge the presence of anyone in the room. They each, one with piercing blue eyes, and the other with soft brown, reach out and take each of Viola's hands. Reluctantly, Viola stands but refuses to budge when they pull gently on her hands to get her to follow.
"They will show you to a bath." Elder Brother advises, his eyes softening slightly as he takes in her hardened gaze. "I will be in momentarily to see to your wounds, after I lead the supper prayer, and then we shall sup."
Viola nods sharply and finally allows the sisters to lead her out into the bright sunlight, causing her to blink several times as her eyes water, trusting the sister's not to allow her to fall or bump into anything as they guide her down a path and finally into one of the small shacks in the village square.
A steaming bath scented with lavender and sage was already sitting proudly in the center of the room, as though waiting just for her. The sister's quickly get to work undressing her, and as she steps into the waiting warm water, they immediately pick up brush and cloth and begin scrubbing her skin from scalp to toe. They were gentle on her bruises and cuts, and took extra care around her stab wound, and finally her neck. The water, cleanly scented water felt so good on her aching muscles that she nearly moans as they pour water from a cup over her head to rinse the soap, which smells of rosemary, from her hair.
After satisfied that she was clean, one sister pats her skin dry with a large strip of cotton, while the other brushes out her knotted hair with her fingers. Her hair took quite a bit of time, but once the sister was satisfied with her work, plaits it tightly to her scalp and secures the end with a leather cord.
A grey dress is pulled over her head, and despite being roughspun, is smooth and warm against her body. Elder Brother enters the room then, his presence large and demanding. He places a steaming mug down on the nearest table, and glances towards the sisters. The sister's bow heir heads, then walk backwards from the shack, their eyes downcast the entire time. The door closes softly behind them as Viola begins to back away from the man before her, his eyes boring into hers, his hands clasped behind his back.
Viola backs herself against the wall, eyes darting around the room for anything she could use as a weapon should she need. All she can find is the wooden cup the sister's had used to pour water over her head, the steaming mug Elder Brother had deposited, and a glass jar with lavender oil they had used to scent her bath. The furniture itself looked to be much too heavy for Viola to tip over onto the man should it come down to it. She accepts her fate, and lack of weapon, and slowly begins inching along the wall, closer to the exit.
"Here." Elder Brother says gently, and reaches out to open the door, propping it open with a large stone he plucks from the ground outside. "I will not harm you. Septon Maribald explained to me what had befallen you before you found yourself in his company. I've brought you a moontea."
He gestures towards the wooden mug he had placed on a table when he had entered the room, and watches carefully as Viola inches towards it, and then chugs the contents in two swift gulps, not caring in the slightest as it burns her tongue and throat.
"Your neck is bleeding." He says in nearly a whisper. "Might I have a look?"
He gestures towards a chair in the darkened corner of the room, and when he notices her reluctance, grabs it with one hand and places it near the door. He pulls a dirk from his robes and passes it to her with a smile.
"I don't suspect you'll use this on me, but it may help you feel a bit safer."
Viola accepts the dirk and grips it tightly in his fists as she sinks down on to the chair. Elder Brother's hands are soft and nimble as he tips her chin upwards to get a better look at the cut that goes straight across her throat. She winces slightly at the movement, and he tisks lowly.
"You got quite lucky. Should this have been only a hairs width lower, your lifesblood would have spilled out in seconds. It is rather shallow as well, perhaps a dull blade, or The Mountain was distracted. Either way, I think you need to be stitched up, just a bit."
Viola swallows a lump in her throat and dries her sweating hands on her borrowed dress. Out of the corner of her eye, she watches as Elder Brother drags a small table and a second chair near her, then begins to gather supplies littered around the small room. He sits before her with a grunt, and opens a jar of salve, which he spreads on the tender flesh of her neck. She squeezes her eyes shut as he threads a curved needle with catgut, and then pats her hand tenderly before beginning to sew her up.
A sob escapes her lips as he begins to pierce and tug at her flesh. He reminds her repeatedly to breathe, but she finds it quite difficult as the pressure and sting in her throat begins to rise. Her fingers still clutching the dirk begin to tremble and ache. After making quick work of the stitching, he spreads yet another thin layer of salve across her neck, then wraps a clean piece of cotton around her neck. Viola takes a deep breath, her head spinning and her stomach rolling. Elder Brother stands and plucks a mint leave from a plant in an herb garden a few paces from the door and passes it to her to suck on. It takes a few moments, but the nausea eventually subsides. Once satisfied that she will not be sick, he offers her his hand and jerks his chin towards the septry, where the faint sound of music and prayer was drifting through the breeze. He holds his hand out for the dirk she still clutched, and she reluctantly returns it to him.
"Why is Stranger here?" Viola croaks as she stands to her feet and accepts Elder Brother's elbow. He raises a brow in question as he looks down at her. "The black stallion that bit off Brother Gillam's ear. His name is Stranger, not Driftwood. He belongs to my husband. How did you come about him?"
"Perhaps you are mistaken—"
"No, I am most certainly not mistaken. I know that horse better than I know the scars on my husband's hands. That is my husband's horse, there is no doubt about it. Is he here as well?"
"We can discuss matters after we have eaten. You look to be starved."
The food was the best that Viola had ever eaten. Loaf after loaf of fresh baked, warm bread appears from the kitchens. Bell crocks filled to the brim with fresh churned butter sit at the center of the table, along with jars of honey from the isle's hives, and flagons of berry and apple ciders. Large pots of fish stew steam upon the table, filled with tomatoes, crabs, mussels, at least four different kinds of fish, and potatoes. Viola flicks a tear from her eye as she brings a ladle full of soup to her bowl and a claw bobs in the liquid. The only time she had ever eaten a crab; Sandor had shown her how to crack it. The eyes of the brother's, all dressed in brown wool never so much as lift towards her throughout the entirety of the meal, and for that, she is thankful.
After they all had their fill of soup, bread, and cider, and the dishes had been cleared, and the hall was near empty, Elder Brother pours himself another mug of cider and approaches their group and asks Brother Narbert to show Podrick and Ser Hyle to their cots.
"You will not mind sharing a cell, I hope? It is not large, but you will find it comfortable."
"I want to stay with ser." Podrick objects, his face reddening as he glances up beneath his lashes and spots Elder Brother looking at him. "I mean, my lady."
"What you and Lady Brienne may do elsewhere is between you and the Seven, but on the Quiet Isle, men and women do not sleep beneath the same roof unless they are wed." Brother Narbert says sternly.
"We have some modest cottages set aside for the women who visit us, be they noble ladies or common village girls." Elder Brother explains. "They are not oft used, but we keep them clean and dry. Lady Brienne, Viola, would you allow me to show you the way?"
"Yes, thank you. Podrick, go with Ser Hyle. We are guests of the holy brothers here. Beneath their roof, their rules." Lady Brienne says proudly, her chest puffed out in authority as she looks down upon little Poddrick.
Viola allows Brienne and Elder Brother to walk ahead of her towards the women's cottages, her legs aching and the wound in her side throbbing. She glances around, and in the distant torch light, sees the huge gravedigger limping off in the opposite direction, three smaller men surrounding him. She had not seen him in the small septry as they ate, he would have been obvious in the small space among the other men due to his size. He still wore the cowl, and the cloak that he had on earlier, obstructing his face from the view of wandering eyes. He must be under some form of punishment, then, to not eat among the others, and be shrouded and hidden from others. Viola's lower lip trembles and moment, and she struggles to catch up with Brienne and Elder Brother so as to not be left alone outside in the dark among a man that large, who had no doubt done something serious to be punished the way he had.
The women's cottages are on the eastern side of the isle, away from the warmth and shelter they had grown used to on the opposite side. The terrain is steep, uneven, overgrown, and wild. Briers pull at her hair and borrowed skirts as she stumbles along the path, the wind whipping at her hair and causing loose strands of curls to dance about. She shivers as a particularly strong gust cuts through her, and Elder Brother stops, his lantern held out and gazes off into the distance.
"On a clear night you could see the fires of Saltpans from here. Across the bay, just there." He points, and Brienne and Viola follow his fingers across the bay, but there is nothing but blackness and the sound of waves.
"There's nothing." Says Brienne.
"Only the castle remains. Even the fisherfolk are gone, the fortunate few who were out on the water when the raiders came. They watched their houses burn and listened to screams and cries float across the harbor, too fearful to land their boats. When at last they came ashore, it was to bury friends and kin. What is there for them at Saltpans now but bones and bitter memories? They have moved to Maidenpool or other towns." He gestures with the lantern, and they resume their descent. "Saltpans was never an important port, but ships did call there from time to time. That was what the raiders wanted, a galley or a cog to carry them across the narrow sea. When none was at hand, they took their rage and desperation out upon the townsfolk. I wonder, my lady…what do you hope to find there?"
"A girl." She tells him. "A highborn maid of three-and-ten, with a fair face and auburn hair."
"Sansa Stark." Elder Brother says swiftly. "You believe this poor child is with the Hound?"
"The Dornishman said that she was on her way to Riverrun. Timeon. He was a sellsword, one of the Brave Companions, a killer and a raper and a liar, but I do not think he lied about this. He said that the Hound stole her and carried her away."
"And I told you—" Viola begins, but Elder Brother spins on his heel and holds a hand out, silencing her.
"I see." Is all he says before turning and continuing on down the path.
As they round the bend, several small, modest cottages made of mud and stone begin to pop up. He points towards one, and leads them inside the windowless shack. Only one cottage seemed to have been made up for them, as it was the only one to have smoke billowing from the smokehole in the roof. Viola watches as Brienne ducks to enter the doorway, and then follows closely behind her. Inside is two pallets on the floor, each piled high with furs and woolen blankets. On a small table is a flagon of cider, two wooden cups, a loaf of bread, cheese, honey, and a bowl of hickory nuts.
"May I stay awhile? I feel that we should talk." Elder Brother asks as he places the lantern on the table. "And I hope you do not mind sharing a cottage. I can have another made up quikly, if you'd prefer, but I have a feeling Viola would sleep sounder with the added protetion of having another person with her, and I dare not leave her alone at night with a man. Not that any of the brother's would do her any harm, but she would not feel safe with their presence at her bedside."
"If you wish." Brienne removes her sword belt and sits crosslegged on the pallet closest to the door. "I will not allow any harm to befall you, my lady."
"I'm not a lady." Viola mutters as she takes a seat in one of the chairs next to Elder Brother.
"Your Dornishman did not lie." Elder Brother begins, and holds his hand up once more to silence Viola when he feels her begin to seeth at his side. "But I fear you did not understand him. You are chasing the wrong wolf, my lady. Eddard Stark had two daughters. It was the other one that Sandor Clegane made off with, the younger one."
"So the lady tells it. I was lead to believe that Arya Stark was dead. Do you know if she still lives?"
"She may have been amongst the children slain at Saltpans."
All of the moisture drains from Viola's mouth, her stomach drops to her feet. Elder Brother fills of cup of cider and passes it to her before filling his own cup. The liquid sloshing due to her shaking hands as she brings the cup to her mouth. No. No. Sandor got to Saltpans before the raid, him and Arya boarded ship before any harm could come upon them. She did not send them to their deaths. She couldn't have.
"May have been…meaning that you are not certain?" Brienne asks as she pours a cup of cider for herself and leans forward to rest her elbows on her thighs.
"I am certain that the child was with Sandor Clegane at the inn beside the crossroads, the one old Masha Heddle used to keep, before the lions hanged her. I am certain they were on their way to Saltpans. Beyond that…no. I do not know where she is, or even if she lives. There is one thing I do know, however. The man you hunt is dead."
"No." Viola blurts, standing to her feet so abruptly that the chair slams to the floor with a deafening ring, and Elder Brother must pry the cup from her hands to keep her from breaking it in her grasp. "You lie. You are mistaken. You were given false information. Whichever it may be, my husband is not dead."
"How did he die?" Brienne asks as tears begin to well in Viola's eyes.
"By the sword, as he had lived."
"You know this for a certainty?" Brienne asks as she stares into Viola's eyes, a look of uncertainty etched upon her face.
"I buried him myself. I can tell you where his grave lies, if you wish. I covered him with stones to keep the carrion eaters from digging up his flesh, and set his helm atop the cairn to mark his final resting place. That was a grievous error. Some other wayfarer found my marker and claimed it for himself. The man who raped and killed at Saltpans was not Sandor Clegane, though he may be as dangerous. The riverlands are full of such scavengers. I will not call them wolves. Wolves are nobler than that…and so are dogs, I think."
Viola falls to her knees as the room begins to spin. She begins gasping for air, tearing at the bindings around her neck to offer her any relief as her stomach churns. She heaves, acid burning the back of her throat as Elder Brother Plucks her from the ground by her elbow and leads her towards the door which he props open, allowing her to gulp in the cool night air.
"I know a little of this man, Sandor Clegane. He was Prince Joffrey's sworn shield for many a year, and even here we would hear tell of his deeds, both good and ill. If even half of what we heard was true, this was a bitter, tormented soul, a sinner who mocked both gods and men. He served, but found no pride in service. He fought, but took no joy in victory. He drank, to drown his pain in a sea of wine. He did not love, nor was he loved himself. It was hate that drove him. Though he committed many sins, he never sought forgiveness. Where other men dream of love, or wealth, or glory, this man Sandor Clegane dreamed of slaying his own brother, a sin so terrible it makes me shudder just to speak of it. Yet that was the bread that nourished him, the fuel that kept his fires burning. Ignoble as it was, the hope of seeing his brother's blood upon his blade was all this sad and angry creature lived for…and even that was taken from him, when Prince Oberyn of Dorne stabbed Ser Gregor with a poisoned spear."
"He did love." Viola stutters between sobs. "He loved me. Sandor loved me. Gregor? Gregor was slain?" She whirls around on her knees by the door to glare at Elder Brother, tears streaming from her eyes and blurring her vision.
"Yes, word came only before you arrived. He made it back to Kingslanding after having assaulted you in that cottage, and was slain but three days ago. You do not need to live in fear of ever running across him again."
"You sound as if you pity The Hound." Brienne says, her eyes still locked on Viola.
"I did. You would have pitied him as well, if you had seen him at the end. I came upon him by the Trident, drawn by his cries of pain. He begged me for the gift of mercy, but I am sworn not to kill again. Instead, I bathed his fevered brow with river water, and gave him wine to drink and a poultice for his wound, but my efforts were too little and too late. The Hound died there, in my arms. You may have seen a big black stallion in our stables. That was his warhorse, Stranger. A blasphemous name. We prefer to call him Driftwood, as he was found beside the river. I fear he has his former master's nature."
No.
No.
No.
No.
Pain, regret, remorse, sorrow, and anger spill from her stomach and burn her nose and throat as she pants in the dirt, her head hanging out of the door to gulp the chilled sea air. She sent him to die. She ordered him out of that cottage and sent him to his death. It should have been her, she should have been the one to die. Why had the God's spared her only to take him? What kind of fucking God's would play a jape so cruel upon someone? She wants to scream, to curse and rage, to pull her hair from her head and hurl herself from the cliffs. She wishes Gregor's blade had been true, had the squire's knife struck her heart and killed her dead. She longed, in this moment, to feel the icy touch and terrifying glare of her mother's blind eyes for the rest of eternity, if only it meant Sandor could live on.
"It is true, then." Brienne says dully. "Sandor Clegane is dead."
"The Hound is dead. Sandor Clegane is at rest." Elder Brother says softly as he grips the back of Viola's head softly and forces her to look into his eyes as he squats in the dirt next to her sick. "The Hound is dead."
Elder Brother pulls a vial from his robes and pours the contents into her cider before pressing the cup into her hands, his eyes glazed over with unshed tears of his own. He then pulls a handkerchief from his sleeve and dabs the tears from her face gently. When he fingers shake too violently to lift the cup to her lips, he does it for her, and gently lifts her chin to help her drink. It takes but a moment for her eyes to grow heavy with the effects of the dreamwine, and Elder Brother helps her to her pallet on the floor.
"Be gentle with her, Lady Brienne. I know you mistrust The Hound, but he was, after all, her husband. She saw him in a light that none other ever has, and never will again. He, despite his reputation, was known to be fiercely protective of her. Perhaps she is right, and he did indeed love her. Perhaps there was a side of The Hound that he reserved only for her. At any rate, her world has been destroyed with this loss."
The next morning, before Brienne wakes, Viola marches from the cottage, down the path, and towards the stables by the shore they had passed on their way in the previous day. No one stops her, no one shouts at her to come back. She carries on, the morning sun hidden behind grey clouds, and the sea air chilling her to the bone. Once inside of the stables, Stranger's cries of discontent fill her ears. He was the only horse here, even Ser Hyl, Lady Brienne, Poddrick, and Septon Maribald's horses and mules had been removed, likely for their own protetion.
Viola creeps forward as Stranger rages and stomps, his breath coming out of his nose in short, fast puffs of white as though he were a dragon. His black eyes are wide and angry, though he stills as Viola approaches.
"I told you I'd come back for you." Viola whispers as she inches closer. "He's gone, isn't he? Is that why you're so upset? Me too." Viola allows a single tear to fall from her eye as Stranger lowers his head and huffs, allowing her to place a hand on his nose. He whinnies gently as she rests her head between his eyes and takes a deep breath. "It's just you and me now, boy."
"Perhaps you would like to stay here." A voice behind her causes her to flinch, and Stranger to stomp and huff.
Viola whirls around to find Elder Brother leaning againt the stable door, a steaming mug in each hand. He holds one out to her, and she accepts. Inside is acorn tea, something she had not had since she was in her father's home. He had sweetened it with a bit of honey, and the aroma causes her mouth to water.
"I don't want to stay here." Viola says as she brings the mug to her lips and takes a sip.
"The Silent Sister's are always welcoming of widow's."
"I do not wish to be a Silent Sister. I'm going to find Sandor's grave, and then search for my father."
"It is dangerous out there. I'm sure Sandor would wish for you to be safe."
"If what you say is true, I mean to find his grave and learn for myself whether he lives. He would not rest without knowing my fate, and I shall do the same for him."
"Driftwood is—"
"His name is Stranger. Like it or not, it was what Sandor named him. He comes with me."
"We have other horses. Gentler ones. If you insist upon this mission, take one of them."
"No. He is all that I have. I will not leave him behind. Plus, it isn't as though any of you can get close to him without being injured. He knows me. He doesn't like me, but he knows me."
"Wait here a moment." Elder Brother says as he disappears around a corner, only to return a moment later carrying a worn swordbelt and scabbard, the sword within aged and dinged from constant use. Dripping down the handle and onto the blade is a stream of dried blood. "This belonged to The Hound. Had it on him the day that I found it. We have no use for it here. I cannot offer you coin, nor any advice that I have not already given, but perhaps this can aid you in some way."
Viola reaches out her hands and allows Elder Brother to lay the sword across her arms, the swordbelt dangling down to her knees. She trails a finger down the stream of dried blood, and her heart lurches at that though that it was likely Sandor's own blood.
The swordbelt is much, much too large for her waist, even with the aid of an additional notch in the leather, so Viola drapes it across one shoulder as though it were a sash, and allows the hilt of the sword to sit against her ribs. Elder Brother leads her inside of a small cottage beyond the stable, the inside filled with clothes, boots, and various other forgotten artifacts left behind by brothers and sister's past. He allows her to take what she wants, stating that they give up their earthly goods and take on the brown or grey roughspun in their place.
Viola chooses a pair of breeches once belonging to a small boy no older than Poddrick, a pair of old, but still soft leather boots that come nearly to her knee, and a brown tunic. She drapes a hooded cloak around her shoulders, and as she makes to leave, passes her a knife and a dirk. The knife she recognizes immediately as the one she had been stabbed with, the dirk was the one Sandor had taken from the man he had given the mercy to in the riverlands, and had passed this very dirk to Arya.
Once back in the stables, she finds the party to already be gathered around, saddling their horses in the paddock away from Stranger, and readying for their journey. Stranger stands proudly in his stall, already saddled and ready. She stands on the stall door in order to climb on his back, and as she takes the reins in her hands, gulps hard as her fingers find the warn imprints along the leather from years of Sandor gripping them.
His brief lesson so many months ago now rings in her ears as she sits straight and presses her chest forward, ensuring that her heels are places correctly in the stirrups. She gives Stranger a quick squeeze and he walks slowly from the stable before stopping and staring back at her, the look on his face almost peaceful.
"If you do not find your father, you are always welcome back here, Viola Clegane." Elder Brother calls after her as she files in behind Lady Brienne.
