A/N: Hey, happy Monday. Here's a short one for you, I just needed a way to get quickly through the rest of the war and to where I really need to be. So we are hearing from Hot Pie rather than Sansa as we would typically following Sandor, and her next chapter won't be until the next cycle through. That being said I don't really have any notes. I think I've mentioned that I altered the game timeline a little to make the duration of the war seem more believable. And I don't ever remember having the thought about Rikke and Lanius, but as I was rereading the other day I noticed that I apparently paired them up, at least subtly, so I just continued that a little here. Other than that it will explain itself. As always, many thanks to my beta reader (and sister) GrowlingPeanut. Reviews are appreciated.

Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Bethesda Softworks and George R. R. Martin except for Lanius.

Rating: M for a bunch of references to death and suicide/suicidal thoughts and brief self-harm.

After the battle for Whiterun, the Imperial Legion returned to Solitude, defeated and demoralized. Balgruuf the Greater marched among them, forced from his home by the Stormcloak sympathizer who now called himself Jarl. His children would follow by carriage once the smoke had cleared.

Their casualties were high, and half of the men who had survived long enough to retreat were badly wounded. Many of them were buried along the roadside.

Even far from the city's walls, the soldiers could smell the stench of burning flesh, and it was a small comfort to know that their dead had found their peace atop a funeral pyre, as was the Nordic way. The Stormcloaks had at least enough decency for that.

Hot Pie stumbled along amongst his brethren, images of the battle dancing before his eyes. He could still see the flames that had met him as he rushed into the market square. The heat had been unbearable, the sight before him even more so. As the memory of Gendry's death returned to him, he staggered from formation, retching into the bushes. A few of the others cast him sympathetic looks, for not even the most hardened soldiers had escaped from the city unscathed.

If only he had never urged Gendry to fight in the battle. If only he had stayed in the inn, Gendry would be alive and at his side. But the angry stares and the cries of "traitor" that had rained upon him from the Nords huddled inside had sent him into the streets. He was no traitor. He was just a pie maker with a sword in his hand.

Wearily, he returned to the line of soldiers trudging toward the capitol, and by the time they reached the city gates, those who were still alive had begun to wish they weren't.

They had a ceremony for the fallen soldiers on the night after their arrival. The cemetery grew crowded with headstones, but beneath the ground there were no bodies, for their brothers in arms were no more than piles of bone and ash in the streets of Whiterun.

The priestess from the Temple of the Divines spoke to the crowd of soldiers, asking Arkay to bless their fallen and lead them from the mortal realm to that of what lie beyond. When it came time to speak, Hot Pie stayed silent, for he had no words to say. Gendry had always been the one who knew what to say, and he was dead.

So many of them were dead.

After spending several long moments staring down at the cold stone etching of his friend's name, the young Nord turned away from the graves and made his way to the tavern. Legate Rikke was seated at the bar nursing a tankard of her own as he paid for his drink, and when he turned to walk away, she stopped him.

"Do you ever feel like a traitor?"

The word stung, and when he didn't reply, she continued.

"I said a prayer to Talos, for all of those men. Because no matter which side of this bloody war I'm fighting for, I still believe in him."

"Then why are you here?"

Sighing, she shrugged helplessly. "I thought it was the lesser of two evils. Our people may not be able to worship our god under the rule of the Empire, but we aren't trading our freedom for that of every other man, woman, and child on Nirn. Ulfric Stormcloak is a bigot and a bastard, and not even his own men can deny it."

And yet, they fought for him, and soon, they would bring him his victory.

Talos, give us strength.

While Stormcloak gloated over his victory, General Lannister kept a level head, planning their next move against the rebels as his men recovered from their injuries.

It was less than a week later that they were called once again to the yard of Castle Dour, battered and bruised, but ready for their orders.

"We suffered a great loss at Whiterun," Tywin began, though there was no regret in his tone, no emotion at all. "There is no denying that. But we will strike back; we will rally, men, and we will fight, and we will send every last rebel to the depths of Oblivion!"

His gaze fell on the men below and he raised a fist into the air. "We will win this war. For the Empire!"

Without prompting, a cry rang out from the men below, unanimous and instant. "For the Empire!"

Fort Neugrad was the first to fall. It lay deep in the heart of the Falkreath hold, and the Stormcloaks stole it right from under them. Ulfric's capture in Falkreath still weighed heavily on the minds of the rebels, and so they fought with fury to reclaim the lands for their lord.

It was not even a full moon after their victory at Whiterun that the Stormcloaks marched south from Windhelm and swept through the fort without warning, their bloodlust high as they slaughtered the Imperials within. Nearly two dozen fell beneath the blades of the Nords, and though Tywin Lannister ensured his men that victory was still well within reach, they were losing hope, and losing the war.

"They are traitors to our people, and they shall pay the price for their treason!"

Ulfric looked down at the Nords in their Imperial armor, his eyes on fire and his blade wet with blood. His extended finger was like a sword through his gut, and he closed his eyes to try and escape the sight before him.

Behind his eyelids, the flames began to rise, and the grey eyes of Arya Stark blazed through them as she swung her sword. Gendry fell to the ground, entrails spilling from his body, and Hot Pie could taste the bile in his throat as though his friend's death had been mere seconds ago and not nearly a week.

When he opened his eyes again, he saw the bloodstained earth before him and when the axe fell on his neck, he felt at peace. In death, there was no more pain, no more fighting, no more war.

Captain Caius Lanius died on the 25th of Sun's Dusk, 4E201, five long years after the start of the war. Praefect Bruscius, now Tribune after his bravery at Whiterun, found him in his bed at the infirmary with his wrists cut open. The dagger he had used was found covered in blood on the floor, and when the medics raised questions about its appearance, his fellow soldiers stayed silent.

Legate Rikke took his death with difficulty. Their relationship had been kept hidden from their fellow soldiers, but she could not hide her grief as she gazed upon his corpse. Though she was many years his elder and not a beautiful woman, they had both been born to families of soldiers, raised to know that their place would be beneath Imperial banners. They had found a small comfort in the understanding they shared and in a time of war, their need for camaraderie had turned to intimacy, and the feelings that grew between them were borne of pain and desperation.

Though he couldn't understand her affection for his arrogant former commander, Hot Pie recognized the look of pain in her eyes as she stood before his grave. He watched the words of a prayer on her lips and knew that she prayed to the god that her lover had fought so hard to outlaw, and he knew that with each death, she was torn further between her chosen cause and that of her homeland. He knew because he felt the same.

At his funeral, their expressions were not those of grief, but rather of envy. Though he had not died bravely on a battlefield, Lanius was in a better place, for in the halls of Sovngarde, there was no more death.

The Stormcloaks continued to push onward, and though Lannister sent more men out each day to defend the forts under Imperial control, their resolve had wavered, and the rebels cut through them easily. With the fall of Fort Sungard, the Reach came under Stormcloak control, and Riften's new Jarl, Jorah Mormont, bent the knee to Ulfric's rule.

Overconfident in their victories, the Stormcloaks sent a single regiment to take their next trophy, and the Imperials beat them back, securing Fort Snowhawk for the Empire. It was only days later, as the Imperials were licking their wounds, that the Stormcloaks struck once more, Ulfric's new Stormblade at their helm as they cut through their enemies. Those who survived the onslaught were executed, and their bodies burned.

Back in Solitude, the graveyard continued to grow.

It took less than a moon for the Stormcloak army to push its way to the west, and though they suffered casualties, they won each battle, whittling away at the Imperial troops until they had no choice but to drop their weapons and run back to the capitol with their tails between their legs.

Hot Pie didn't see another battlefield after Whiterun, for Gendry's death had left his regiment without a commander. They were simply forced to watch as their brothers died, unable to grant them a proper burial or do little else but pray. And so that was what they did.

They prayed for the lost and the fallen, for friends and foes alike, to the Divines and to the Daedra. They prayed on the day of every battle, and on the night of every loss. And when the Stormcloaks came marching on Solitude, they prayed as well, for there was nothing else that they could do.

As the sound of boots echoed from the countryside, they stood on the walls, and swords in hand, they prayed.

Talos, save our souls.