A/N: Just as a warning, my sister was 'thoroughly squicked' by the torture in this chapter when she was editing it, so if that's gonna be a problem for you, now you know what's coming. Also, the one passage in italics is a brief flashback. Many thanks to my beta reader (and sister) GrowlingPeanut. Reviews are welcome.

Disclaimer: It all belongs to Bethesda and George R. R. Martin except for Endryn. He is my own creation.

Rating: M for strong language, relatively graphic torture, and character death.

It had taken longer than Gendry had expected for Vilkas to reach his breaking point. He was bruised, bloody, blind in one eye from the swelling of his facial injuries, all but crying out in pain with every movement and missing four fingers before he even spoke a word.

"Three." The word itself was barely audible, passed between bloody lips in a pitiful whisper.

"What?" Endryn looked up from cleaning beneath his fingernails with the flaying knife still coated in Vilkas' blood and raised an eyebrow.

"Three," the Nord responded weakly, wincing as he tried to adjust the way his weight fell to reduce the strain on his wrists, rubbed raw from the shackles.

"Three what?"

"Three of us...still..." He coughed. "Cursed."

"Who?"

"Me...Aela..." He coughed again, spitting up blood this time. "Torvar."

"Torvar?" The torturer looked toward Gendry for an explanation.

"Nord. He's been a member for a few years. He's usually drunk, but I've seen him fight. He's good."

"And only you three?"

Vilkas nodded and Endryn sighed, squatting down in front of their prisoner. "Hm. But see...I don't believe you. I think you're lying to me. Are you lying, Vilkas?" He ran the knife lightly across one of the fingers that still remained on his sword hand and grinned when Vilkas was unable to repress a shudder.

"No. That's the truth, I swear it."

"Swear it on what? Your life?" He laughed cruelly. "That's not worth much anymore is it?"

"I swear it on the Nine."

"I thought you worshiped Hircine."

"I swear it on all of the Daedric Princes."

The Dunmer sighed again and looked Vilkas straight in the eyes. "Hmm...I just can't seem to believe you. Why don't you tell me the truth this time? How many of you are there?"

Gendry saw a flash of terror in the Nord's pale blue eyes and he felt his own stomach twist in fear. Where was the honor and glory Tywin Lannister spoke of now?

"Four..."

Endryn spun the knife artfully between his thin fingers.

"Five."

It slid across Vilkas' bound ankles and he choked back a sob. "Six!"

Gendry closed his eyes. He'd seen this happen to enough men since Endryn had been promoted to torturer to know that Vilkas would never make it out of this cell alive. It didn't matter what he said. By the end, he'd be telling the truth and any lie that he could think of to try and make the pain stop. None of it would make a difference and by the time he was teetering on the brink of death, he wouldn't even be able to tell the truth from the lies anymore.

"Which is it?" The Dark Elf's voice was smooth, quiet; dangerously so.

"Three..." Vilkas whimpered, cringing away from the weapon that moved to trace along the underside of his jaw.

Endryn smiled and stood again. "Is Jorrvaskr the only Companions hall?"

"Yes."

Red eyes met blue.

"No."

"Where else?"

Riften, Markarth, Winterhold, Windhelm, Falkreath...it wouldn't matter any. Endryn knew he had told the truth the first time. He only wanted to see him lose what pathetic shred of dignity—and sanity—he had left.

"Have you ever seen a man broken before your eyes, Waters?"

"No."

The Dunmer grinned. "Watching them cry...scream...claw out their own eyes and try to tear out their own hearts to make it all stop...it's the most beautiful thing you'll ever see."

He'd most certainly seen things more beautiful than the scene that played out before him.

"Morthal."

Smart choice. Morthal was small enough that most of Skyrim's inhabitants—particularly those of non-Nordic descent—knew little about it, and far enough away to discourage sending someone to check the truth of his claim. But, Gendry had been born and raised in Morthal, and he knew that wasn't the truth.

"Morthal...why there?"

"Because it's close to the capital."

Endryn raised an eyebrow. "And why not just have one in Solitude?"

Vilkas snorted. "Enough people know about our secret that it would be a disgrace to have a hall inside the same city where the High King held court."

Perhaps he had lost all of his dignity, but his mind was still sharp. If Gendry hadn't known he was lying, he would almost have believed what he was saying.

Endryn nodded and paced slowly to the other side of the cell. "You still haven't told me who you were hunting with. If it wasn't Aela, and she isn't the bitch you've fallen in love with as you say, then...well," He chuckled mirthlessly. "I suppose it could be Torvar."

Once again, Gendry detected the fear that rose up in their prisoner when Endryn broached this particular subject. As hard as he tried to come up with the answer to the question being asked, he couldn't think of anyone that Vilkas had to protect.

Vilkas looked down and then sighed heavily. "It's Ria."

Endryn nodded, a slight smile tugging at the corners of his thin lips. "Ria...I should've known. She isn't one to turn a man away from her bed. I've had the pleasure a few times myself, and unlike you, it isn't hard to make her talk. You know what it is that I find hard to believe though?"

"What?" It didn't sound as if he cared anymore.

"Well, it's just that...those of you with Hircine's curse...I've heard you worship the Daedra. Why wouldn't you with one as your lord?"

"I still pray to the Divines," Vilkas replied, his voice cracking as he tried to wet his parched throat.

"Do you?" The Dunmer laughed. "And do they hear you? How about now? Hm? Where are your gods now?"

When Vilkas stayed silent, Endryn shrugged and continued. "Ria though...it's fairly common knowledge that she no longer worships the Divines nor the Daedra. She's fallen prey to the new god that's being worshiped by my people: R'hllor, the Red God, the Lord of Light. His followers are fiercely loyal, so I somehow doubt she would've chosen to accept Hircine's gift."

Vilkas' life was unraveling before his very eyes and try as he might, Gendry couldn't seem to tear himself away.

"Perhaps I've converted her," came the flat reply, earning a snort.

"Perhaps. Or perhaps you're lying to me. Again." He sighed heavily and shook his head in disappointment. "I wish you'd stop doing that. I suppose it's time for you to learn your lesson."

Before Gendry or Vilkas had the time to react, Endryn was sawing through skin and bone with a knife not suited for the task, grinning as his prisoner screamed in pain.

"Arya!" he yelled as the pain reached an unbearable level. He started to cry. "Her name is Arya."

Endryn didn't bother to finish his work and merely left the one remaining finger on Vilkas' right hand torn, bloody, barely connected and throbbing with pain before placing his knife back down beside his tools and frowning. "Arya?"

Gendry was shocked. Arya Stark. Of course it was. They were together almost every time he saw them and although he always thought their relationship didn't extend beyond that of student and teacher in the training yard...he should've known.

"Waters, is he telling the truth?"

Gendry nodded mutely.

"Arya who? What house is she from?"

"Stark," Vilkas replied, trying in vain to hold his finger back in place against his mutilated hand.

Gendry could tell by the way the word fell from his lips that he had given up.

"Stark? Is she related to Robb Stark?"

The young Imperial answered to save Vilkas from any further pain. He could tell that this admission had broken him far more than any of the beatings had. It made him feel ill.

"Yes. She's his youngest sister."

Endryn raised his eyebrows and looked back toward Vilkas. "Does she know what's happened to her sister yet?"

The Nord looked at him through dull, glassy eyes and shook his head.

"She's been taken by one of Lannister's dogs. If he lets her live, she'll be whelping his bastard pup within the year, mark my words. I've heard she's a pretty thing and Clegane won't let her stay a maiden for long."

Vilkas looked about ready to get sick and Gendry silently wandered over to hand him a wineskin, nodding when he gave him a look of silent thanks and greedily drank up the strong liquor.

"So Arya's the third?"

He received a nod as response and then despite the wine, or perhaps because of it, Vilkas vomited on the floor of the cell, most of it landing on himself because of his position and inability to move.

Endryn looked at him in unveiled disgust and turned away.

"Waters, end his pathetic life. I have what I need to know."

He was about to turn and walk away when they heard a bloodcurdling scream and all three men froze, looking toward the source of the sound. A loud snarl followed the cry and Endryn paled as Vilkas wept behind them, whether from shame or joy Gendry wasn't sure.

"Do it," Endryn hissed, handing Gendry one of the daggers at his belt as he grabbed a sword from the weapon rack nearby.

"What's the point?" he dared to ask.

"Just do it!" the torturer roared. "Or I'll do it myself and add your corpse to the pile." Endryn turned the sword in Gendry's direction and he could tell from the manic gleam in his eyes that he meant what he said.

His heart pounding loud enough that he was sure it could be heard by present company, Gendry moved toward Vilkas and looked down at him, the hand holding the dagger trembling slightly.

When their eyes met, the Nord looked up at him and spoke lowly. "Take this. Please. Give it to her."

Gendry shook his head, not understanding, and Vilkas nodded his head toward his bound hands, where he held a simple silver ring with what few fingers he had left.

He took it and then met his gaze again. Sighing, Vilkas nodded slightly and then bowed his head and shifted so Gendry could get a cleaner strike, straight through the heart. Despite the sound of footsteps pounding down the stairs behind him and the screams of countless men echoing in his head, he somehow managed to steady his hand, the whole world going silent for one brief moment as he tightened his grip and closed his eyes, plunging the knife forward until he felt it hit flesh and then pushing with all his might. It was his first kill. A part of him hoped it would also be his last.

When he opened his eyes again, Vilkas had a sad but grateful smile on his face and he managed to meet Gendry's eyes one last time before falling limply to the ground.

"Good job, Waters. Now come on, we have to—" His sentence faded as blood dripped from his mouth and Endryn looked down in surprise at the sword protruding from his stomach. When it was yanked free, he hit the floor with a sickening thud.

The woman standing behind him was clad in the armor of the Silver Hand and the blade in her hand gleamed as Gendry knew the silver swords he forged did, but when she took the helmet from her head, it was Arya's eyes that stared back at him.

Tearing her gaze from his, she pushed past him without a word and fell to her knees beside Vilkas' body, a loud sob escaping her lips as she cradled him in her arms. "I'm so sorry," he heard her say before she placed a kiss against his cold lips and added a choked, "I love you."

Although he knew he should be running before she recovered, Gendry found that he was frozen in place. Behind him, Endryn was loudly and slowly dying from the mortal wound seeping blood onto the cold stone floor.

When Arya stood up, he could see from her stance that there was a rage burning inside of her that rivaled the heat of any forge he'd ever worked at and she took a heavy breath, her sword dripping the blood of his dying comrade.

"I won't rest until you're all dead," she whispered, still turned away, her voice dangerously quiet. "Every...last...one of you..." She looked over her shoulder to find him still standing there and her pupils narrowed to black slits, her lips curling to let out a low howl of rage and pain.

He ran.