A/N: And...chapter six. Ta da! For this one you will all need to know that it was my idea that the Silver Hand is a branch off of the Imperial Legion. If any of the ASOIAF fans are still confused by just what the Silver Hand is, this chapter should help clear up some of your questions. That being said, enjoy reading. Many thanks to my beta reader (and sister) GrowlingPeanut.

Disclaimer: It's Bethesda's and George R. R. Martin's, not mine, except for Endryn who is an OC.

Rating: T for minor language.

"Waters, is that you?"

The Imperial looked up from the blade he was shaping and pushed a dark lock of hair back from his forehead. "Aye. Who else would be working at the forge? Last I checked, I was your only blacksmith. Unless of course you have a new recruit that knows how to work steel."

The Dunmer standing in the doorway shook his head and took one of the daggers off his belt to clean beneath his fingernails.

"No, you're still the only one. I came because it would seem that congratulations are in order."

"For what?" Gendry asked drily, dipping the blade into a nearby tub of water and listening to the satisfying hiss. "Do I get the bowl of soup with the leek in it again, because you know I can't stand leeks."

"No. Tonight, that honor is mine. But you...you get the Skyforge: greatest forge in Skyrim, or all of Tamriel if you talk to the right people."

Gendry set down his hammer and frowned. "What? But Eorlund..."

"Was an old man. He was long past due to join the old dog in Sovngarde."

"Endryn..." Gendry's look of suspicion clearly displayed what he was reluctant to ask.

The Dark Elf squinted. "Like I said, Waters, he was an old man. Accidents happen. Besides, he helped arm the mutts. And he was a Stormcloak sympathizer, so he deserved the same fate we give the rest of those rebel bastards whether you like it or no."

Sighing, Gendry put aside the blade, untied the leather apron from around his waist and pulled a loose white tunic on over his head.

"Speaking of which," Endryn continued. "How is your search going?"

"I only saw one with the armor, but that doesn't necessarily mean there weren't others. It was the Nord, Vilkas."

Endryn nodded and took a bite of the apple in his hand. "Aye. One of the twins. We have yet to catch...either of them, the huntress, or their new harbinger. Rumor has it there's a new member too, but we're not sure who."

"I thought the other twin and the harbinger were cured."

"They were; are. But they still had bad blood once, so they deserve an end no different from their brethren."

Gendry picked up a rag and wiped the sweat from his forehead. "They both got married," he murmured quietly.

His comrade nodded and cast the young man a suspicious look. "Aye. But that's never stopped any of us before. Farkas' wife can be spared, but the Imperial married a bitch, and she's pregnant, so they'll both get what's coming to them. You're not having second thoughts about this are you?"

Sighing heavily, Gendry shook his head and ran a hand over his face. "No. I just...I thought the Silver Hand was a noble cause. Since when was killing women and children honorable?"

Endryn walked over and put a hand on his shoulder, looking up at him through narrow blood-red eyes. "Since they started worshiping demon gods and killing innocents, Waters. Don't forget why we do what we do. If the lines blur, things tend to get complicated."

Things are already complicated.

"I know. I just need a good's night sleep so my mind can work through everything that's happened."

Endryn nodded and flipped his dagger in the air before catching it and sliding it back into its spot at his hip. "You're new. It happens to all of us at one time or another. Just don't take too long about it. We're all counting on you. The closer you get to the Companions, the sooner we can wipe them all out for good."

Gendry nodded and excused himself from dinner, offering his portion to Endryn before walking up out of the bowels of the fort they had settled and into the cool night air. Making his way across the battlements and to the main gate, he sat down on the edge of the stone tower and put his feet over the edge, supporting his weight on his hands as he leaned back and staring up at the nearly full twin moons.

Tomorrow will be our busiest night.

As conflicting as their beliefs sometimes were, Gendry was still proud to be a part of the Silver Hand. From nearly all accounts, the beast blood was a curse that sent the afflicted men and women into violent and mindless rages, killing innocent people and sometimes themselves in the process.

Once, he'd argued that there couldn't be a transformation, not even one that involved a Daedric Prince, that could render a person completely void of any reason, but after seeing one werewolf after another do nothing but kill and destroy with blind rage and no hint of intelligence in their eyes, his opinion had changed. Even with the occasional few that had managed to survive the torture they were put through long enough to make the transformation back to their human form, all were just as mad as the beast inside of them.

Gendry had traveled all the way to Solitude from his home south of Morthal to join the Imperial Legion, but when he arrived and told General Lannister his name, he was turned right around and sent down to Whiterun. Apparently, Tywin Lannister thought little of bastards. Thankfully, a little known branch of the Legion needed a man with his skill set so he joined the Silver Hand and began his work as their blacksmith at the greatest forge in all of Skyrim.

Although it was a rather thankless job, he was grateful for the fact that his work supplying swords and armor to the other men and women had kept him busy enough to avoid getting the job of torturer or hunter. To his comrades, he feigned lack of skill with a sword or bow as his reason for not wanting to join them. Silently, he was only glad because it meant he didn't have to directly harm their victims.

Gendry's mind wandered back to his mentor and he sighed again. Even sympathizers were condemned to death. Even somebody as well-liked and powerful as Eorlund Grey-Mane couldn't escape the claws of the Silver Hand.

And what about Arya?

Arya Stark was just a girl. Maybe sixteen, if that. A woman grown by all accounts, but still young enough to have her whole life ahead of her. And yet, just for being a Companion, it was likely that she wouldn't live to see her next name-day.

Honestly, he was surprised to find himself thinking of her. He had never met her formally until earlier that morning when she came to retrieve the weapons shipment, but on occasion, he caught her and Vilkas training out in the yard when he left the Skyforge to return to Gallows Rock. Or perhaps it was Farkas; he couldn't really tell them apart.

When he thought about it, he realized that truly, as much as he didn't want to believe it, his work as a blacksmith was only a cover. He really served as the Silver Hand's spy, quietly watching the Companions and returning back with information on their next targets. He wasn't sure whether he should feel guilty about that or not.

Endryn had told him not long after he'd first arrived that his true purpose for joining them was to infiltrate Jorrvaskr and act as their friend until they trusted him enough to give them their secrets. He had also suggested he use a bed and the recruit named Ria to get information, but Gendry had stopped listening at that point.

His musing was broken by a long howl and seconds later, the fort sprang into action. Gendry stood and stretched, preparing himself for the journey back down to the forge to wait until the men returned with weapons and armor in need of repair. He had just crossed the main compound when Endryn ran past and thrust a silver sword into his hands.

"You're joining the hunt tonight, Waters! We're short a man."

"But, I—"

The Dark Elf slowed to a stop beside Gendry and fastened his sword belt around his hips. "Come on, you need this. It'll help to remind you why we do this. Once you fight one of the bastards, you'll never forget again."

Gendry just nodded and curled his fingers around the hilt of his sword, jogging after the rest of the men as they headed into the forest.

They ran under the cover of darkness, silent save for the dull thud of their feet against the wet earth. Deeper into the forest came the sound of a large animal, then a brief moment of silence followed by a howl. The Nord leading the hunting party signaled the others to a stop and waited until the movement resumed before waving them on.

In a small clearing a few feet away, a shaft of light from the twin moons broke through the canopy of leaves and shone on a hulking figure crouched in the shadows. All six men and the beast stopped moving before both slowly moved toward the other.

Gendry heard someone behind him nock an arrow and the werewolf in front of them snarled, pawing at the ground with a large clawed hand.

"Steady now..." Endryn hissed to the archer. "We want to take him alive."

When their target prowled forward, his frame separated from the darkness of his surroundings and Gendry squinted. The werewolf was big and black, with pale blue eyes that looked almost white in the light of the moons.

Vilkas, he thought to himself, a second before the same name was whispered by someone behind him.

The werewolf took another step toward him and Gendry was vaguely aware of the sound of a few stumbled retreating footsteps from his fellow hunters. He stood still and stared straight into the eerily blue eyes that met his gaze, his heart beating faster as he detected a hint of recognition. If Vilkas realized who—and what—he was, and told his harbinger, his cover would be blown.

The look in Vilkas' eyes shifted to one of hatred and he bared his fangs, stalking forward. Just as Gendry raised his sword, a howl echoed through the forest and Vilkas' ears shot up, his head turning toward the sound.

Gendry followed his gaze and realized with surprise that he seemed to be able to identify the voice of the other werewolf.

When he directed his attention away, the archer behind Gendry raised his bow and drew back, aiming for an area that would incapacitate but not kill the large beast. Before he realized what he was doing, Gendry stepped between Vilkas and the arrow and shook his head.

"Don't do it."

At the sound of his voice, Vilkas looked back over and shot one last glance in his direction before snarling and loping away, getting down on all fours and sprinting through the trees before any of the Silver Hand could move to follow.

"Waters...what in Oblivion do you think you're doing?"

Endryn stepped forward and glared up at him through shining red eyes.

"I..." Gendry hesitated and swallowed when he noticed that everyone's gaze fell on him. "He...heard something. Another one. Of them. And he seemed to recognize it by its...voice. The moons will be full tomorrow night, so we know they'll be back. If I follow Vilkas after Eorlund's funeral, he'll lead me right to whomever he was with, and we can get them both when they least expect it."

There was a moment of silence before the others all nodded slowly and Endryn grinned, slapping him on the shoulder. "That's the spirit, Waters! I knew you had it in you."

The Nord hunter just nodded toward Gendry then sheathed his weapon and turned to the others. "Alright boys, you heard him. We'll meet here tomorrow night and finally give these bastards what they deserve."

Their footsteps crunched away through the fallen leaves and their voices faded as Gendry stared off into the forest where their prey had disappeared. Looking down at the shining silver sword in his hand for a moment, he sighed and let it fall down to disappear beneath the leaves.

Gods...what have I done?