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THE RIOT
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*WARNING! POSSIBLE TRIGGER OF SEXUAL ASSAULT!*
PRINCESS MYRCELLA WAS DEPARTING KINGS LANDING. She was to marry Prince Trystane of House Martell when they both came of age, but despite the somewhat happy news of an alliance between House Lannister and Martell, it took a toll on Myrcella and Cersei.
The family of lions, along with members of the court and their guards all stood in the harbour of Kings Landing, giving the weeping Princess her farewell. Dahlia had been put in front of Sansa Stark at the ceremony of Myrcella's departure. Joffrey had enforced she stand with him, with his Lady standing behind him. The Hound was on her right, whereas Joffrey her left.
The High Septon of Kings Landing waved an oil lantern, his hand making gestures as he muttered gentle words of the Seven. "May the Seven guide the Princess on her journey. May the Mother give her health. May the Crone give her wisdom. May the Warrior give her courage..."
For some reason, whether it be by boredom or not, Dahlia couldn't pay attention to the Septon's words, or the crying Princess, or the sobbing Tommen. Her mind was elsewhere, residing on the sheer comfortableness she felt having the Hound standing so close to her, protecting her as he was ordered.
Though it hardly felt that way anymore.
Her mind was soaring with this beast of a man. For weeks he had been her guard, escorting and guarding her wherever she went. He had spoken to her a little more, but kept up with his stand-offish attitude, not that Dahlia minded. But as time went on, Dahlia began to see him more than he let on. She could tell that his strong facade was not real. If anything, it was to hide the anguish in his heart. Dahlia could see in his sad eyes that he wore his pain on the inside, as many did, but his pain had been building for a long time. He held in so much rage it terrified her of the things he could do to others, and it seemed killing was the only way to release his anger.
But Dahlia prayed one day that would change for him, that it was no longer anger and hate that drove him. That some day, he would find love in his heart for another, and they would return it.
Dahlia occasionally glanced over to the man with the sad eyes, taking a long look over him. She knew he was handsome, take away the scowl and he would be the most handsome man she had ever encountered. Dahlia was well aware of the burns, but she did not care.
His coarse beard was enough to make her knees weak, his shaggy brown hair, sharp eyes and strong nose were also contributing factors. She found herself wondering what her favourite part of him was. Was it his eyes? Or his nose? Perhaps his height? Perhaps his burns?
She picked his height, she enjoyed how he towered over her. How his large body stood against hers, he made her feel so empowered whenever she stood with him. And even though she didn't know how to fight, she felt as if she could standing with him.
The young Lady glanced to him again, but something caught her eyes that brought a smile to her lips.
A pastel blue cloth with white lace was tied into his belt, safe and secure and kept hidden, except for the lace that poked out. Dahlia's heart fluttered, and she turned back to the sea, happiness warming her belly at the thought of such a simple thing.
For the past few weeks, as she had gotten to know him more, in Sandor's hard, certainly enduring way, but she had earned herself some knowledge of himself. She already knew the background knowledge, but she had noticed the little things he did. Like how he always carried a wineskin around, taking sneaky sips whenever she wasn't watching, how he picked and puledl at his Kingsguard armour. But what her favourite thing about him was simple, it would be those small moments when he'd neither scowl or snarl, but look completely satisfied.
They weren't common, but Dahlia had seen them whenever she was with him and they discuss whatever came to mind. Despite Dahlia mostly speaking, Sandor would chip in every now and then which made her heart soar with glee.
But lately, as she became more and more comfortable with him, her womanly desires spiked increasingly. She had always liked men, whether they be broad, tall, short, lanky or anything in between, but Sandor Clegane entered a whole new category. He indeed was broad, and enormous, with thick thighs and a bulky chest and large arms. His scratchy beard, thick brows and dark eyes made her heart twitch, even his burns had the same effect.
At times, she could imagine him inside her chambers, her back against the door and his large, calloused hands gripping her body possessively. He would be kissing her roughly, his hands in her hair giving her intense pleasure. She blushed at her erotic thoughts about the man next to her.
"You sound like a little cat mewling for his mother. Prince's don't cry." Joffrey spat, snapping Dahlia out of her daze. She glanced to him, seeing his emerald eyes narrow at young Tommen.
"I saw you cry," a weak voice said from behind, Dahlia turned her head as did Joffrey and looked upon Sansa Stark.
She looked terrible, ghastly pale with red-ringed eyes. She truthfully looked ill and weak, and the pale pink dress she wore made her resemble a truly haunted young girl. She looked as if she would be swept away with a strong wind.
"Did you say something, My Lady?" Joffrey snapped with ignorance.
Sansa's lips wobbled and she spoke quickly. "My little brother cried when I left Winterfell."
"So?"
On the inside, Dahlia was murdering Joffrey with her eyes. But on the outside she was smiling with calmness as she spoke. "I think what Lady Sansa is trying to say, is Tommen is very young, and it is normal for a child to mourn on the departure of a beloved sibling."
"Are your brothers princes?" Joffrey retorted, glaring at both Lady's.
No, but my sisters a Queen you shit-smelling rag, she thought.
Dahlia noticed how Sandor's body stiffened at the retort, his lips curling into a snarl and his nostrils flaring. Dahlia's eyes shifted to him, wanting nothing more than to calm him down with soothing words and gentle eyes. Though she knew better.
The colour in Sansa's skin began to drain once more. "No."
Joffrey smirked smugly. "Not really relevant, then? Is it?" He snarled shrugging and beginning to walk off, his Kingsguard following as Joffrey spat out. "Come, dog."
Dahlia turned back around as Sandor glanced to her, his gaze hovering over her for a moment before following after Joffrey.
This was Joffrey's punishment for defending Sansa, but taking away Sandor from Dahlia, the one person she felt safe to be around.
Subconsciously, she reached up to her neck, feeling the familiar chain before grasping the pendent in her palm. She calmed her anger, and thought of the calm story belonging to her brother, the ring pressing into her palm as she clutched it.
Forcing a kind smile, she turned to Sansa. "Lady Stark, we haven't had the pleasure to meet," she took hold of Sansa's hand, looping their arms together.
Sansa smiled weakly. "Thank you, your Dahlia of House Connington aren't you?"
"I most certainly am. I was hoping after this, you and I could have our supper together? I would love to have at least one female friend while I'm staying in the Capital," Dahlia said guiding Sansa up the stone steps, their handmaidens trailing behind.
"Oh, I'm not really allowed," Sansa responded. Dahlia frowned pretending to be clueless, her brows drawing into a frown.
"Your not allowed to have friends, I don't see why not?"
Sansa didn't respond.
"But I'm having a fitting in a few days and was hoping it wouldn't just be me, the seamstress, and uncomfortable pins poking my legs," she laughed. Sansa smiled and chuckled lightly and softly, so softly it was barely above a whisper. They had entered an enclosed street now, all the citizens watching from around them as they walked. "I think you could use some new gowns also, I'm in dire need of some."
Sansa smiled and nodded, "that would be nice."
Before either girl could speak again, screams of the crowd surrounding the royal party became known. The street they walked through was crowded with lowborn, and it didn't help when they were all starving and begging for food. At first, their chants had been gentle, hailing Joffrey, giving him Seven blessings. Then it took a twisted turn and they began chanting 'bastard', 'brother-fucker', and 'freak'.
Dahlia noticed how all the citizens watched them like vultures. Her heart lurched from her chest and into her throat realising one simple thing.
She didn't have a guard.
Sansa's guards had deserted her, and Sandor was up ahead protecting Joffrey. Dahlia's mouth went dry as she stretched to see him. The back of his head was in view, but he was to far away.
I need to get to him, Dahlia spoke to herself. She latched tightly onto Sansa and began dragging her further to Sandor, pushing past guards of the City Watch and House Lannister.
He was close now. She could see the armour across his back.
"Dahlia?" Spoke Sansa. "What's going on?"
Before she could register her situation any further, something dark flew across the crowd, and slammed into Joffrey face. Within what seemed like seconds, the Kingsguard were pushing back the rioters while Joffrey screamed for their heads. The crowd caved in on the royal party and all were separated, all except for Sansa and Dahlia who's lock on each other's arms were tighter than ever. Dahlia's mind was scattered as she fought to find Sandor again, but the crowd had hidden him from her.
She lost sight of the handmaiden's, the City Watch were being slaughtered, even the High Septon couldn't stand a chance as his ripped off arm was waved in the air.
Dahlia opened her mouth, yelling for the guards, someone, anyone. But as both girls were crushed against a wall, hands flying out and pulling at their dresses and hair, Dahlia knew she'd have to take things into her own hands.
With pain in her body, Dahlia grasped Sansa's hand and weakly began pulling her around from the fighting crowd. Her grip on the Stark's girls hand was tight and death defying, for she knew, if she let go, they'd both be doomed. Dahlia pulled them into the smallest clearing she could see, her chest heaving with panic and her heart seemed to be breaking her ribs with how fast and hard it was pumping.
"Dahlia," Sansa sobbed, holding onto the older girl. She pressed them against a wall, taking a quick look over Sansa. Her hair had been pulled out, strands hanging lifelessly against her face. Her pink dress had been ripped open and parts discarded. Dahlia could only imagine what she looked like.
Dahlia cast a look over the crowd, but no face resembled one she knew and with a loud call she screamed for her possible protectors.
"Guards!"
Nothing.
"Guards!"
Tears pooled in her eyes seeing no Lannister red turn and advance to them, she doubted they would come, and so did Sansa as her nails dug into Dahlia's arm.
In one last hope that someone was near, she screamed. "SANDOR!" She wailed, desperately wishing he was near. "SANDOR!"
He wasn't there, and fear only coursed through her veins at an accelerated rate.
Dahlia wished Valencia was with her, Valencia would help and save her as she always did. Valencia would protect her, and kill whoever tried to harm either Dahlia or Sansa. Valencia was everything that Dahlia wasn't.
That's when the brunette saw the curly blonde head of Cersei Lannister, surrounded by her guards, racing into a building, covering from the crowd. It wasn't far away, but it was right in the heart of the fight, but she needed to try.
Tears burned in her eyes but none fell as she turned to Sansa who looked as fearful as she did. "We need to run, okay?" Sansa nodded and Dahlia held her hand once more and the girls began sprinting and pushing through the crowd.
It was suffocating, the stink of blood, sweat, piss and shit stunk up Dahlia's nostrils and made her want to hold her breath. But she kept breathing and pushing, holding back the tears that begged to fall through. She nearly fell over dead bodies and felt Sansa trip up a few times from the torn off limbs and bodies on the stones.
Dahlia saw the last glimpse of the Queen being ushered inside a building, it's doors opened and guarded by struggling guards.
Dahlia saw their salvation...
Then, it was gone.
A middle-aged man cut the girls off skidding them to a halt. He looked at them and raised his eyebrows, staring them down. Dahlia was no idiot, and neither was Sansa. They made an attempt to turn back around but another man had cornered them. Sansa took the lead this time, pulling Dahlia down one of the alleys as fast as the could. They rounded a corner and Dahlia quickly stopped Sansa, forcing her to look at her.
"Sansa go hide, now. They'll hurt you, in more ways than one. Hide and I'll steer them away, but don't come out until it's safe. Go!" She exclaimed fearfully, Sansa with teary eyes did as told and took off, running with exhaustion, carrying her heavy dress.
Dahlia sighed with a shudder and turned around, hearing the pounding of footsteps coming for her. She reached up and grabbed the ring around her neck, wishing for the strength of her brother and sister, mother and father. "Let me be brave," she whispered, just as five men came into view. More had followed them down.
Dahlia knew the sacrifice she was going to make, but she'd put up a fight at least. She spun on her heel and raced for a large brass dish, swinging herself around she luckily collided the dish with her attackers skull. She heard a loud crack and the heavy thud of a body hitting the ground, their blood pooled onto the cobblestones.
She turned to run in the opposite direction from Sansa, but the others were faster and grasped her hair, spinning her around. They yanked her back, earning her hair to be ripped from her scalp. She wailed in pain as they grabbed her waist and slammed her into the ground. The man that had grabbed her straddled her as he turned her body underneath him, his weight crushing her.
He was bald, with a heavy scar over his eye.
Dahlia cried wriggling and struggling to get out from underneath him, but the other two men had come over and grasped her wrists, brushing her tender flesh. One with blonde hair and the other with grey hair.
"Hold her boys! She's a slippery one!" The bald one on top barked.
Then they assumed positions. The blonde hair man pinned down her wrists with his knees, his hands gripping at her face and pulling her hair. The grey-haired man gripped her ankles, pulling them apart and holding them, just as the bald settled in her parted legs.
Dahlia wailed wriggling as the bald man between her legs began ripping up her skirts, tearing at her layers of fabric. She twisted and turned her body violently to escape their grip, but they were much stronger.
"Hold her down!" The bald one shouted.
She began to truthfully cry as the blonde-haired man ripped open her bodice, exposing her breasts. He began grasping, clawing, pinching and scratching at her breasts like he was an animal. She screamed at the pain, just as the man between her legs ripped apart her gown, exposing her legs and sex.
She wailed even more as he began unbuttoning his pants.
Dahlia shrieked, kicked and wriggled even harder than before. But they were much stronger than she, and were holding her down too tightly. She saw as the one at her legs pulled down his pants and flopped out his member, beginning to aim it for her lower regions.
She shot out her leg and hit the man holding her ankles, he grunted back kept a firm grip on her leg. Then, the man above her let go of her breasts and smacked her directly in the side of the head, his hands taking up the position of his knees.
Dahlia's head violently bounced off the cobblestones, a heavy crack echoing in her brain as her ears began to ring. She could hear nothing, feel nothing, even as the man between her legs pulled out a knife and sliced her across the forehead. Tearing through the skin, allowing blood to pool from her face. He then proceeded to cut along her chest, slim slices along her neck, above her breasts and below. Dahlia felt nothing.
Dahlia brain felt mushy, and soft, pooling inside her skull. It was if all sound was cut off with vibration, and all she could hear with the tune of ringing echoing in her ears. She felt her eyes grow heavy as she looked to the walls of the alley.
For a moment, she stopped moving. For a moment, she paused and let her head fall to the side. And for a moment, she gave into defeat.
There was a window in front of her, showing off the clear blue sky with some birds flying free. Dahlia watched their effortless movements as they soared through the sky like daredevils without a care or wonder in the world. She felt the sun warm her cheeks, but she was unclear whether it was the sun or her blood.
A shimmer caught her eye, stirring her sights away from the window and to the shining golden ring on the cobblestones. Edric's ring.
She went to grab it, until a warm and soft hand touched her cheek, and her eyes met matching brown ones.
"Valencia?.." She whispered to herself as her body was yanked down. Valencia kneeled down, her eyes full of horror. She was in her armour, a crown nestled on her head as she took in what was happening.
"Dahlia," she cooed touching the said girls wrist.
"Valencia...please...help me," Dahlia tried to get her words together as well as she could, but the tears that streamed down her cheeks, and the lack of activity in her brain brought great difficulty.
Valencia nodded, her wide eyes viewing the scene, before pure hate burned through her dark eyes. "Bite him, bite him now!" She exclaimed. Dahlia looked up dazedly to the man above her, holding her wrists down. She willed all the energy she had and sunk her teeth into his flesh.
His skin tasted dry and disgusting, but she didn't let go, not even as she felt the hard member of the men at the other end of her body against her thigh. She bit down harder as the man above her screamed.
"You little fuck! Let go!"
"Don't let go Dahlia! Bite harder!"
She pressed her canines deeper into the skin as blood pooled in her mouth, she nearly gagged at the taste. But she didn't stop until she felt something pop between her teeth, and more blood poured into her mouth. Only then did she stopped and she yanked her head away, a piece of flesh between her teeth. The man who had been holding her fell back as he held his wrist, screaming in pain. The man at her ankles suddenly was at her side, taking the knife from the man between her legs, who was still trying to assault her. The grey-haired man pressed the blunt knife to her neck, halting her movements.
"Punch him!" She wailed.
Dahlia thrusted her tiny fist forward and hit the man in the jaw.
CRACK!
Pain surged through her knuckles, her fingers howled in pain as a burning bit into her knuckles violently, dragging down her fingers and into the back of her hand. In an attempt to ignore the pain in her hand, her dazed eyes looked over to the man she had punched. He had fallen back and fell onto his arse, cradling his jaw.
"Grab the knife! Quick Dahlia!" Valencia shouted.
With a dazed state, Dahlia grabbed the knife and waved it in the air. Her own mind not being able to register what to do with it. Lifelessly, she went to fall, but Valencia's hand cupped her and drove it through the grey-haired man.
Blood spurted out and poured over Dahlia's chest, a few droplets pinching her cheeks as he screamed bloody murder. First it was his eye she had targeted, but as Valencia was guiding her hands, it hit his throat, chest and stomach. Blood was sported over her chest, hands and arms, the hot sticky liquid dripping down her arms.
"You little cunt!" Roared the man between her legs. Effortlessly, he grabbed the knife from the mans eye and thrusted it at Dahlia.
"DAHLIA!"
She had somehow moved in time, the knife hit the cobblestones and Dahlia twisted her body resulting in him fallen over her legs. With what little strength she had left, Dahlia left her leg, happy she wore boots today and brutally slammed the heel straight into the mans face. The heel burst straight into his forehead, a repayment for the cut he had given her.
With exhaustion, she pulled her foot back, but the heel would not retreat. Leaning up, she slipped her foot out of the boot, her body shaking with terror as Valencia's hands reached out and took her within her arms.
Then fatigue took over.
~~~
THE NIGHT HAD GROWN DARK AND COLD WHEN DAHLIA WAS FOUND. Surrounded by dead men, her skin slicked with heavy blood, padded with bruises as she laid lifelessly on the dirty cobblestones.
Sandor Clegane was the one who found her. He had been searching for her during the riot, and after it ended.
After two hours of searching through the streets, he returned to the Red Keep to see if she had returned. He hoped she had somehow made it back, that she had not been harmed. Sansa Stark had made it back on her own, tattered and bruised by otherwise fine, she had told Tyrion Lannister who's concern was primarily over her that Dahlia had distracted a group of men long enough for Sansa to escape. Sandor had never been more enraged.
That stupid, stubborn girl, he hissed to himself. She's probably dead by now.
Sandor hated the anger he felt for Dahlia's sacrifice, that she had been brave enough to track on alone with the threat of vengeful men behind her. Sandor just hoped that whatever they had done to her, they did it quick and left her alive. But he had his doubts.
But with men like them, who would not even been given a second glance by a woman like her, Sandor hated to believe that if she were to remain alive, she would be horribly disfigured.
Sandor saw her beauty, he'd have to be blind not to. With her thick raven ribbons, dark eyes, fair skin and plump features, she was everything most men wanted. When he discovered that Littlefinger had propositioned her to come to his brothel, Sandor was pissed at the mere thought of her accepting and allowing men to climb all over her. To allow them to touch her in places Sandor had only fantasied about.
He would be lying if he wasn't attracted to her, he saw her beauty, and he had seen her semi-naked. And even with the thin shift, she had managed to rouse his manhood. It wasn't hard for him, but the thought of women he'd fuck being disgusted by his appearance always dulled his lustful thoughts. The women he'd slam into down at the brothels never thanked him, or were kind to him, they treated him like he was a dog. So he did the same.
But not Dahlia, not this sweet woman with the eyes of blackened stone and skin so soft they were like clouds. She looked at him as if he wasn't disfigured, and that he hadn't murdered hundreds because he was ordered to, that he wasn't the monster he made himself believed. She looked at him the way he had desired from a woman for so long, he hadn't at first recognised it when she first met his eyes; affection.
He could always tell when her complete and utter affection was on him. It wasn't by touching, or by words, but her eyes. They were large and round already, but when her eyes radiated with fondness, they seemed even larger, and even more round, with a glimmer of kindness swirling around in her eyes. Sandor forever liked those looks, but he never acted upon them. Never.
In his time searching the streets where the riot occurred, his ears were peeled for sobs and screams, and his eyes bulging for any woman the remotely resembled Dahlia. More than once he had stumbled upon a woman with dark hair, but when he moved them, he would always discover that it wasn't her.
A crawling feel scratched at his throat, his heart that had been somewhat cold was beating harder than a hummingbirds wings. Was he...frightened?
Then, he found her.
Down a dark alleyway, where the afternoon sun managed to gleam through, she was lying on her back. Both her arms were extended on the same side, her upper body slightly twisted around the shreds of her emerald green gown, her black hair was knotted and was an untamed curls wrapping around her face. Her bodice had clearly been ripped apart, but the shreds managed to cover her bulging breasts. Her legs were spread, her womanhood covered by the shreds of her gown, bruises stained her pale skin, cuts and scratches littered her skin, a large gash across her forehead, along with tiny cuts on her throat and chest. What alarmed him most was the bright red blood on her hands, arms and chest, and the limpness in her small body.
Sandor approached her with haste, anger surging through his body at the thought of her dying. She didn't deserve to die, she had been kind to him when others weren't. She treated him like he was more than just a sworn shield, or human, she treated him with love. And he wasn't going to give that up.
He crouched down and touched her cheek, it was still warm against his fingers. She was lying on her side and he rolled her onto her back, gently grasping her shoulders and hoisting her up bridal style. The shards of cloth that had covered her bosom had fallen and it took all of Sandor's strength not to look, but once he saw the scratching, cuts, and bruises littering all over, he was filled with rage. He feared for what they had done to her. Her breasts were scratched into, fingernails that dug into her soft skin, bruising and blood scattered all around, and the plain fact that her legs had been widely spread did not leave much to the imagination.
Those men had raped her, but they died soon after.
Swallowing his anger, he ripped off his white cloak and wrapped it around her skilfully and continued to carry her.
She had begun to stir, the pain of the bruises and her breasts waking her up. At first, she was afraid, until she saw the scared face of Sandor Clegane. Then, she was no longer frightened.
She parted her bloody lips. "Sandor..."
Her voice was as quiet as a mouth, her cheek pressed against his cold chest plate.
Sandor glanced down to her, noticing how small she looked in his arms. Her eyes were barely open, but he could see she was watching him.
"Yes, little Lady?" He rasped, his voice quiet.
"Is Sansa safe?..Is she alright?" Her voice carried off with the wind, though she was still conscious.
"She is, don't fall asleep," he said, gently rocking her to wake her up more.
"I won't..." she hummed before her head fell back onto his chest plate and she fell asleep once more.