A/N: Sorry about all the chapters lately from various minor characters. Or maybe you're welcome? If you like these short breaks from the main storylines. Anyway, no notes for this one, so just enjoy reading. :) Many thanks to my beta reader (and sister) GrowlingPeanut. And an immense amount of thanks to WinterWars for reviewing the last chapter! This one's for you, sort of. :/
Disclaimer: Nothing belongs to me except for Endryn. He's an OC.
Rating: M for language and the implication of future torture
"Get up." The command came a second before Vilkas was kicked savagely in the side with an iron boot and he opened his eyes, closing them again when the sudden light sent daggers of pain through his already pounding head.
"I said get up!"
He scrambled blindly away before he was kicked again and staggered to his feet, reeling slightly.
The Dunmer in front of him sneered and threw a pair of ragged trousers at his feet. "Put those on." He turned away and directed his next command to the man outside of Vilkas' cell. "Waters, bring him down when he's dressed."
Gendry nodded and walked inside the cell once his companion had left.
"You should give him the answers to what he asks."
Vilkas ignored him for a moment, reaching down to grab the pants and then struggling to straighten up again, gripping the bars of his cell for support and wincing in pain as the iron dug into his palms. After managing to drag himself up and slump against the bars, he glared at the younger man and pulled on the trousers. "Why would I take advice from a traitor?" His voice was rough from disuse and speaking sent him doubling over in a violent coughing fit.
Wordlessly, Gendry handed him a bottle of wine and he took it hesitantly, desperately gulping down the dark liquid once he was sure it was safe. He wiped it away as it dripped down through his beard and stared distrustfully at the Imperial.
"Why did you do that?"
Gendry raised his eyebrows as Vilkas laced up his trousers with clumsy fingers. "Do what? Give you wine?" He shrugged. "You looked thirsty."
Vilkas stayed silent for a moment then nodded and limped out of his cell, keeping one hand against the wall for support as he walked behind Gendry.
"How long will it be before the Companions send someone after you?" Waters asked, glancing over his shoulder.
Oh Gods...Arya...
Vilkas chose not to answer, hobbling down the stairs that led to the lowest level. On the last step, he stumbled, and Gendry reached out to steady him, meeting his gaze with a worried expression when he wrenched his arm away and spat at the blacksmith's feet. The blood that spattered across Gendry's boots and ran down Vilkas' broken lip tied his stomach in a knot.
"They won't be coming," he said finally. "They aren't stupid enough to risk their lives for me. The others you've taken weren't saved, why should I be?" Divines, please let that be true.
"Endryn will do what he must to get answers from you, Vilkas." Gendry said, ignoring his question. "If there's anyone that you love in this world, tell him what he wants to know and you'll live to see them again."
Arya...Gods, I'm sorry, Arry.
"The sentence for treason is death," Vilkas rasped, steadying himself against a wall as he coughed violently. Gendry laid a hand on his shoulder and led him down to where Endryn was waiting, leaning over a table with rows of knives and various devices intended to extract information in the most painful ways imaginable.
"Have you talked with him, Waters?" The Dunmer asked as he approached them, shoving Vilkas into the cell and shackling him to the wall.
"Yes. He knows that if he tells us what we want to know, his life will be spared."
The torturer laughed, his crimson eyes shining in the light of the torches along the walls. "Is that what you told him? Why bother to give him any hope? You've seen what I do to his kind."
Vilkas thought he caught a glimpse of fear in the young blacksmith's eyes. Perhaps Arya was right about him.
"Waters, tie up his feet."
Gendry hesitated for a moment before doing as he had been commanded, meeting their prisoner's gaze once before turning back to his task. On the other side of the cell, Endryn pulled on a pair of leather gloves and carefully selected a knife from the tools before him.
"Let's begin, shall we?" Turning around, he leaned back against the bars of the cell and crossed his arms. "How many are there?"
"How many what?" Vilkas replied in a low growl, shifting in an attempt to ease the pressure of the shackles against his wrists.
Endryn considered the question for a moment. "Members of the Circle. There were six, but then we killed Skjor and Kodlak. That makes four, but your brother and your Harbinger both left so...two? Surely you've recruited someone else."
The only response he got was a dark look.
The torturer met his gaze indifferently and glanced back at his fellow soldier. "Waters, how many are there?"
Gendry shrugged. "They never trusted me enough to tell me information of that nature. From what we know the Circle is made up of the best and most seasoned warriors. Most of the recruits they have are young and inexperienced, so there may only be the two."
Young and inexperienced...
Vilkas closed his eyes as he thought back to the first time he and Arya had met. She had shown up in the training yard with a sword nearly as skinny as she was and Vilkas had only reluctantly agreed to teach her when Jed had given him a direct order to do so. When he'd asked her what she knew about sword fighting, she'd just laughed and replied with a grin. "Stick 'em with the pointy end."
"Why won't you talk? Are you so eager to lose your skin?" The Dunmer torturer spun the flaying knife between his fingers and raised his eyebrows. His prisoner shifted uncomfortably at the thought, but remained silent.
"Are you protecting someone?"
Unbidden, a flicker of fear crossed Vilkas' features and before he could hide it, a sadistic grin tugged at the corner of Endryn's lips. "So that's it. Waters, who's he been fucking?"
Gendry looked utterly bewildered and he shook his head. "I...didn't know he was with anyone. There's...I...I don't know..."
Thank the Gods.
"What's her name, Vilkas? Is it Aela?"
The incredulous look Vilkas shot at the torturer was answer enough so Endryn moved on. "Ria? Njada?"
When his prisoner simply shook his head, the Dunmer narrowed his eyes and stalked closer. "Are you lying to me?"
Vilkas stared up at him. "What would I gain from lying?"
"The respect of your comrades," he replied. "The Companions are honorable, so surely they won't take kindly to one of their own spilling all their darkest secrets." The disdain in his voice made a rush of anger rise in Vilkas' chest and he shot Endryn a seething glare.
"I'd say you already know our darkest secret."
The torturer gave a mirthless laugh and nodded in agreement. "Yes, I suppose we do. Now...what are their names? The others of your kind. Is Jorrvaskr the only Companions hall? Are there more of you in other cities? If so, where? And how many?"
"You know the answers to all of those questions," Vilkas said drily. To be honest, he didn't know many of the answers himself, but hopefully, neither of the Silver Hand men would call his bluff and would simply assume they had missed a briefing at some point. "I can't say it looks like you need me."
Endryn punched him squarely in the jaw and left him turned away, fresh blood flowing from his broken lip. "You're lying. I know that you are. The other night you were hunting with someone else, but it wasn't the bitch Aela so I'll ask you one more time...who is it?"
Vilkas snarled and spat in the Dunmer's face. "Fuck you."
His captor turned away and wiped his face, composing himself with great effort before retreating back to lean against the bars beside his comrade. "Answer me this time, Vilkas. Are there any Companions outside of Whiterun? If so, where? How many of them are werewolves? What are their names?!"
With each question, he strode angrily toward Vilkas until the Nord found a flaying knife against his throat and a boot pressing firmly into his ribs to cut off his breath. "Tell me..." Endryn hissed lowly, a fire burning deep in his eyes.
Vilkas sucked a thin breath through his mouth and met the torturer's gaze, staring into his eyes at his own reflection. He could see what he looked like. How close to death he was; would be. Unbidden, he heard a familiar taunting voice echoing in his head. "You're dead." "Alright, I surrender." Arya laughed. "You can't surrender; I already killed you."
No matter what I say, I'm already dead.
"I won't..." He wheezed and managed a weak cough. "Tell you anything."
Endryn sighed heavily and moved the knife to carefully circle one of Vilkas' exposed nipples before digging it deep into his flesh and grinning widely at the cry of pain that escaped his prisoner's lips. "Alright. Let's start over, shall we? I'll give you one...more...chance... So...How many are there?"