A/N: Nothing to say this time, besides the usual. Many thanks to my beta reader (and sister) GrowlingPeanut. Reviews are appreciated.

Disclaimer: Nothing is mine. It all belongs to Bethesda Softworks and George R. R. Martin

Rating: T for language and mild crude humor

"It isn't that they don't believe you, per se," Tyrion said carefully, pouring another glass of wine for himself. He and Gendry were in the former's small 'office' that he had been grudgingly given by his father upon his arrival in Solitude. Between them sat a bottle of wine and a platter of cheese. Gendry had touched neither.

"They think I'm a fool," Gendry replied bitterly, picking up a slice of eidar cheese and chewing it sullenly as his companion sipped the newly opened vintage.

"Yes. But that doesn't mean they don't believe you. They think you're a fool because you dared defy the all-powerful General Lannister. Frankly, so do I, but it's been a long time since I've met anyone who had the balls to do so and I find it strangely refreshing."

Gendry nodded his thanks and took the offered goblet of wine before waiting for Tyrion to continue.

"What you did back there...you, a green boy of no more than sixteen—"

"Nineteen, m'lord," the young Imperial interrupted reflexively. He was tired of people discounting him because of his age. There were Imperial soldiers five years his junior or more fighting for Lannister's army, and he wouldn't condone being belittled.

Tyrion tipped his wine glass in concession and amended his train of thought. "Nineteen...and in less than an hour's time you managed to convince half of them that their worst nightmares are very much true, all too true." He chuckled. "You singlehandedly managed to make my father's best generals shit themselves in the middle of a war meeting."

"But if they won't face it," Gendry argued. "Then how can we do anything to stop it?"

"Stop it?" Tyrion raised his eyebrows. "They intend to do nothing of the sort. If what you're saying is true—"

"It is true!"

"—since what you're saying is true." The dwarf paused and regarded him with amusement. "You've got a nasty habit there don't you?"

Gendry flushed and took a sip of his wine to hide his embarrassment.

"Since what you're saying is true, that means their armies, their sons and daughters, are up against a lycanthrope as Ulfric's battle commander."

"Werewolf, sir," Gendry corrected. "Changing their name will do nothing to change the truth."

"Wise words from someone so young."

"There are men younger than me fighting in this war," the Imperial soldier said defensively, unable to keep the frustration from his features.

"Boys. And yes, there are. That's why we're losing this gods damned war. We have idiots who hardly know one end of a sword from the other out there fighting our battles against those bloody Nords and their big arms." Tyrion sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, a gesture that Gendry had begun to recognize as a sign of irritation.

A moment of silence passed between them before Tyrion leaned back in his seat and took a slow drink from his recently refilled wine glass. "I knew the Stark girl, you know."

"Arya?"

"Yes. And Sansa. I knew all of the Starks, to some degree. Do you know what happened to them?"

Gendry hesitated. "When, m'lord?"

"At the beginning of the war."

Gendry nodded. Everyone knew what had happened the day that High King Torygg was killed. The day that Ulfric had escaped. The day that Eddard Stark had been executed. The day that Skyrim had fallen into the war that would stain her lands red in the years to follow.

Ignoring the gesture, Tyrion continued, perhaps more to himself than his present company. "Eddard Stark was an honorable man. Perhaps too honorable. He and Torygg were boyhood friends, I suppose you know. During the Great War there was hardly a moment when you didn't find Torygg, Eddard, and Ulfric together. They were all friends then. Close friends. But on that day, when Ulfric Stormcloak came riding up to the city gates, he told Ned of what had transpired. His version at least. He told of the challenge that he had supposedly offered, and dear old Ned, upon hearing that his beloved King had been killed in an honorable duel, mourned, but saw no other choice than to open the gates and let Ulfric ride away. It was the only honorable thing to do."

"And your father chopped off his head for it."

Tyrion nodded solemnly. "Yes he did, bastard that he is." Gendry stiffened slightly, but Tyrion gave no sign of noticing as he continued. "Sansa was there when the sword came down, the poor girl."

At the look of fondness and affection in the older man's eyes, Gendry suddenly remembered where it was that Sansa Stark had been taken from.

"M'lord..." He hesitated for a moment. It was not his business to interfere with the private lives of Sansa or her captor, but Tyrion seemed privy to the knowledge he held. He was a reasonable man, and he would see why he had stayed silent when General Lannister had questioned him about the elder Stark girl.

Mismatched eyes regarded him from beneath raised eyebrows and he continued, pushing aside his remaining reservations.

"I saw Sansa Stark. In Morthal."

With surprising speed, Tyrion was suddenly attentively leaned forward, his wine glass pushed aside and forgotten as he looked sharply at the Imperial across from him.

"You did? Is she safe?"

"Yes, m'lord," Gendry was quick to answer. Tyrion relaxed slightly.

"Well that's good. When was this that you saw her?"

"Just last night, m'lord."

"That's promising, although who knows what that bastard Clegane has done to her since then. I swear to the gods, when we catch him, I will personally gut him, from his brains to his b—"

Gendry opened his mouth to argue and the mere motion quieted his companion, earning a look of suspicion.

"What? Do you not see such a punishment fitting for a man who would take a young woman away against her will and do...gods only know what to her?"

"That's just it, m'lord," he said slowly. "I...I don't believe it was against her will."

Suspicion gave way to disbelief, horror, and then confusion. "What?"

"When I saw her, when I saw them, she looked...happy, m'lord. She was smiling at him and...holding his hand. If I didn't know better I would say that she might even be...fond of the Hound."

Tyrion looked as though he didn't know whether to be repulsed or amused. "Fond of him, eh? I find that hard to believe, but...I do know the girl. She was always very trusting. Perhaps your eyes haven't deceived you after all." He paused for a moment and then reclaimed his goblet of wine. "To be honest, I had similar suspicions of my own. A part of me just hoped that they were wrong."

Another moment of silence passed and it was with hesitation that Gendry spoke again. "The other Stark girl...Arya." Just saying her name, just thinking it, sent shivers down his spine. He would never forget the look of hatred in her eyes. "She won't stop until we're all dead."

Tyrion nodded, his eyes returning to meet Gendry's as he refocused on the initial reason for their meeting. "Where is she? Do you know?"

Gendry shook his head, a bit sheepishly. "I...came straight here, m'lord."

Tyrion snorted. "You mean that you ran away from a fifteen-year-old girl as if Dagon himself was on your heels." Gendry flushed hotly and opened his mouth to speak, but Tyrion silenced him with a casually raised hand. "No, I suppose you're right. Hircine would be more appropriate." The dwarf grinned toothily when his companion scowled deeply and he laughed as he poured himself another glass of wine.

"All jests aside, I understand the haste with which you arrived here. And...I think I have an idea. Being an expert on the matter, you can tell me whether it would work or not."

Gendry couldn't quite tell if he was being mocked or not so he wisely chose to stay silent and let his companion continue his train of thought.

"One of the Imperial scout regiments recently found the Stormcloaks' battle plans accidentally left behind at their camp from the night before. As far as we can tell it's no trick, and the plans say that Ulfric himself is going to negotiate with Falkreath to take his side of the war."

Tyrion paused and then shrugged slightly. "Using the term negotiate loosely. He's not taking many men, so as to stay below the notice of our patrols, but those he's taking are his best. Robb Stark included. So he's prepared for a fight if it comes to that."

A shiver ran up Gendry's spine and he could feel himself tense. From what he had seen of Robb's sister, he could no longer see the Nord commander's title, the Young Wolf, nor his undefeated reputation on the battlefield, as a simple coincidence.

Tyrion nodded solemnly at the young man's reaction and raised his glass of wine to his lips with a subtle raise of his eyebrows.

"I thought that since you've seen his kind firsthand and know how to both hunt and kill them, you could be made a part of the Imperial regiment that's going to meet Ulfric at Falkreath and end this bloody war once and for all."

"I'm honored, m'lord..." Gendry began slowly, trailing off as he pondered how to voice his misgivings. His pride kept him from getting down on his knees and begging not to go. For as long as he lived, he never wanted to see one of them again. It seemed Hircine had a personal vendetta against the Silver Hand for their capture, torture, and slaughter of his children and as far as Gendry knew, he was the only surviving member.

"But you're not trained for battle." Tyrion finished, nodding in understanding. "Yes, I know. My father told me about the training that the members of the Silver Hand had to go through. It's somewhat of a...different nature."

Gendry thought of his former comrade, Endryn, and couldn't agree more. Although that wasn't his reasoning in the least bit for finding a small town to hide in for the rest of his life, he found himself nodding in agreement and a queasy feeling rose in his gut.

"But I talked to our dear General Stick-up-his-ass," Tyrion continued. "And he agreed to let you join the training sessions of the men who will be going with you." He stopped and then frowned slightly before regarding Gendry quizzically with his eerily mismatched eyes. "You will be going, won't you?"

Now was his chance. All he had to do was politely decline, and then, he could leave his old life behind and start anew. Preferably in the middle of the Alik'r desert.

"Again, I'm honored, m'lord, b—"

"Good," Tyrion said brusquely, cutting Gendry off and leaving him floundering in confusion as he hopped down from his chair and drained the wine from his goblet. "Report to the barracks when you leave and talk to Legate Rikke. Training begins at the break of dawn."

With that, he nodded respectfully and strode off, leaving the slightly panicked young Imperial to his own devices.

Gendry helplessly watched him go and then dropped his forehead to meet the table as soon as Tyrion had rounded the corner and he was alone again. What in the name of the gods had he just gotten himself into?