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Chapter 1

Goodbye Forever

Since mornings first light, the Pale had been shrouded in a mist of frost which glazed the land in a sub-zero frosting. Many trees had fallen ill to the cold breeze, shedding their leaves in the hopes that one day they might grow again. Like the lull of a somber tune, the cold weather had sedated its audience, leaving a stark quietness in its place. Such weather had found its way into Dawnstar, where it had a similar effect on its people.

Despite its political impact in Skyrim, Dawnstar was a small, shanty town filled with only a handful of snow-capped houses. Families and workers alike did what they could to carve a life out of the destitute tundra. On such a day, the frozen air had left the streets anything but busy. Most of the people had either huddled up indoors or well below ground, mine away at the precious veins of silver and iron. In the towns northern port, the ropes of onboard the Sea Squall hung slack, twisting and untwisting themselves in the breeze. Even in what should have been a noiseless day the sounds of Rustleif's hammer could still be heard bouncing off the hot steal of his forge.

Rustleif turned over his mold within the firm grasp of his tongs to ensure that underside had retained its shape. The blade had begun to take proper form as it glowed a cherry red from atop the anvil. Setting the hammer aside, he studied his work carefully looking up and down the edges of his piece. It appeared as though it still needed a bit more work before he'd be finished.

The smith, so focused on the blade, didn't see the ash from the forge's coals sore up and settled right upon his bare chin. His tools hit the stone forge with a loud metallic clatter as he swiped a pair of thick hands at his face.

"Foo-hot," he looked down at the forge's flames with discontent. "The girl hasn't burned me in years," he bellowed in a light tone. This was met with the mocking laughter from his son.

"I thought you did this kind of thing often, Dad?" his boy snickered.

"I do. Just goes to show, you can never be too careful when working a forge. You be mindful everything and mustn't get so head-sure of yourself," he said wiping his hands on his apron.

"Not if you're gonna be as great as me, though, right?" his son replied from across the fire, a finger pointed at his own unscathed face.

"No," he laughed, "even the best smiths have to be careful. You have to trust your skills, Rorick." He went back to his work, flipping the blade over to the other side to make sure he had accurately matched the design on the back.

Rorick scowled, unamused. "How am supposed to be not head-sure and know I have skills?"

Rustleif gave him the same look he had given him earlier that week, the one that said: "Don't get smart with me, boy." The two sat there as Rorick watched in utter boredom while his father flipped and pounded the blade until he had a nearly completed shape of a sword. Then, like a father tucking a child into bed, he careful set the metal in a trough of water to cool. Rorick rushed around the side to see the result of their efforts.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" he said patting his son's back.

Rorick turned and looking up at his dad "No, it doesn't even look sharp."

"Once the blade cools, we'll use the grindstone for that. But the steel is far too hot now." He proceeded to wipe his hands on apron. A common vagary of his during the transitional stages of his work.

"How long until we do that?"

Rustleif held a hand to his chin and rubbed it with his finger creating a long black streak of soot from where he had wiped his hands. "Since we've still got to make the guard… I'd say another two hours or so."

"That'll take forever," complained Rorick.

"Hey," Rustleif shouted in his strictest tone. "I smithed plenty of swords here before, never whined once. Did I ever tell you most of the guards in Dawnstar carry—"

"Carry swords forged from this very smithy?" finished Rorick with a smug look on his face. "Yeah, you say that all the time."

His father looked befuddled for a moment then began to laugh. "You know, I guess you're right, I do." He laid a big soot filled hand down on his son's head and ruffled his dark brown hair.

The two sat by the fire for a minute and watched the flames. Together they listened to the crackle of the heat and held their hands out, feeling the heat of the flames. It had been quite up until Rorick turned and broke the silence.

"Um, Dad?"

"Son?"

"I want to go play with Finnick."

His dad eyed him questioningly.

"I'll be back before we finish the blade, I promise."

Rustleif looked down at the blade and then at his son's pleading expression. The choice was obvious, but still, Rustleif let out a huge, fatherly sigh. "Well, I suppose if it is alright with your mother."

Rorick eyes light up. "Really, yay!"

"Oh, thank you so much, Dad," Rustleif said sarcastically to himself.

Before his dad's words could reach his ear, Rorick had already rushed off. Just as he was about to take the first step off his porch, the door to his house opened. Rustlief's wife, Seren, appeared on the other side, a small stack of ingots resting in her hands.

"Mom, Dad said I can go see Finnick so that's where I'll be, bye." he blurted out, running off towards the docks.

"What?" she said tilted her head slightly. The sound of her husband's big Nordic feet rung out as he ran across the floorboards towards her.

He looked at his wife and tossed one of his chiseled arms around her while the other one was cupped around his mouth. "Hey, be sure and tell that Captain Wayfinder that I haven't finished the new spine to replace the skeever sized one he's got."

"Will do," Rorick said waving a hand behind his head to reassure his father that he had heard him.

Seren looked up at Rustleif quizzically. "I thought today was the 'father-son-forge day' you kept talking about?"

"He said he would be back in two hours."

"He won't," Seren said removing her husband's arm from around her shoulder.

"What makes you think that?"

She bent over beside the forge stacking the ingots beside the anvil in a tidy stack. "The boy has the same spirit as his mother, adventurous. He'll be having too much fun to think about smithing." Seren turned to face the forge's fire. She blew on the coals to make flames then stretched out her hands, enjoying the heat.

"Dear," still bent over, she turned her head behind her to look at Rustleif "how about you go inside and start the stew. I'll finish the blade."

"Oh-uh, sure."

She smiled and looked down at the blade settled in the water. "And honey, one last thing."

"Yes?" He turned half way inside the house halfway outside.

"Do wash up before touching the food, okay." She said, rubbing her chin.

Rustleif looked confused and began mimicking his wife's actions he looked at his hands and saw the black smudge across his fingers. No wonder the boy doesn't take me seriously.

Below the deck of the Sea Squall was a comparatively warmer interior, solely due to the lack of wind. The ship was old but very well built as was emphasized by its considerably large living space. Waves rocked the ship back and forth and the planks creaked ever so lightly. The wood that made up these planks was sturdy in nature as were the splinters it left in the unassuming feet of its crew. However, those wooden daggers were the only weapon on this trading vessel had to offer.

Down in one of the hammocks at the stern laid Finnick, a young boy, unsure of what to do with the rest of his day. It was too late to go back to sleep and yet too early to wake up. Lying down was only made him feel worse.

I gotta get up sometime.

Slipping his right foot over the edge of his hammock he held on to a wooden crossbeam and lowered himself until his foot could reach the ground. He sluggishly found his way to the small bathroom on the ship. A room that with a few modifications would have made for decent, yet small, closet. Finnick had always found something mildly comforting about the small space, it felt cozy.

This, this is where I was when that storm hit. I was scared. I was stupid.

He shuffled his way out of the bathroom sliding the door behind him closed. He walked, more awakened now, and made his way to the ships main room. A room filled to bursting with an almost unbelievable amount of rolls of paper, inkwells, quills and bottle of Don't-Touch-Juice that his dad had warned him about. Most of these items had been hastily crammed onto a wooden shelf that had some sort of support bar to make sure the items wouldn't fall off during travel. Opposite the stairs on the left side of the room, sat the navigation table. As the name implies, it was a table big enough to unroll several maps across its surface. Of course, this had now been made impossible thanks to the many dinner plates resting on top of these precious maps.

Finnick moved towards a few maps piled in a corner. He sifted through them moving them from one pile to another until his eyes came across one he recognized. Three happy stick figures and one angry looking one with pointed ears stood aboard a ship. There were small tick marks that lead to an X on the page.

I made this for Dad. They were all mad at him because we couldn't find… something. I remember he smiled at me when I showed it to him.

RAP RAP RAP!

A banging at the door interrupted his thoughts. He quickly placed his map atop the second pile of discarded maps before shuffling them all together.

RAP RAP RAP! The knocker seemed to be very impatient.

"One minute!" Finnick called, walking to the stairs.

Before he could reach the first step, the door swung open, creating a path for the chilling air to come through. Rorick stood at the top of the stairs in the doorframe with a big toothy smile on his face. He looked like a warrior who had just taken out an entire group of bandits, both of hands placed on hips.

"Finnick, are you still sleeping?" Rorick said taking the steps two at a time. "Come on let's go play!"

"I don't wanna." Finnick turned away from his friend, arms crossed over his chest.

Rorick grabbed Finnick's shoulders and spun him around until they were facing one another.

"Don't be stupid, today's the last day I'm gonna see you in… forever! We have to do something fun!"

He knew that by "fun" Rorick meant that he wanted to play Red Mountains with him. It was a game that involved sticking your elbow out and the other guy would punch it. Then, they would stick their elbow out and receive a punch from you. You could only quit the game when it was your turn to punch and of course the first one to quit lost. The name Red Mountains came from the color of your knuckles and elbow turned after playing. Out of the twelve thousand games they had played Finnick had not won once.

"No, I hate Red Mountains! You always win." Finnick struggled to turn his away but Rorick's grip was still firmly in place. He hated how easy it was from him to hold him there.

"Okay, fine, we'll do something else but I really want to play with you. So come on let's go. We'll have fun, I promise." He grabbed Finnick's hand and started pulling him up the stairs.

"I'm still not playing that game," he yelled out defiantly as he was dragged through the doorway.

With little effort, Rorick managed to pull his friend to the deck of the Sea Squall. Captain Wayfinder stood at the bow of the ship, talking with Ravam. Wayfinder laid his arms across the woodwork and looked out to the foggy sea. His second crewmate, Guthrum hammered away as he drove an iron nail into the mast.

Rorick stopped short of the dock and turned to Finnick. "Wait I have to tell your dad something real quick." He ran off to the bow of the ship and Finnick reluctantly followed.

"I just hope you know you're going to do with the Sea Squall. It's gonna need a new captain when you leave," Ravam said to Wayfinder, the usual snide tone rolling off his tongue.

"You know it's a big job, I've got to weigh my options carefully." Captain Wayfinder moved to face his shipmate and held a hand and rubbing the back of his head sheepishly.

Ravam was infuriated at his captain's ambivalent attitude. "You've got two, two bloody options! It's either me or the…" He stopped short seeing the two kids approaching. Ravam, folded his arms particularly tightly, as he callously looked over his shoulder in disgust.

"Mr. Wayfinder."

"Rorick? Yes, what is it?" He bent down to meet the boy's eyes.

"Me and Finnick are going to play now, okay?"

Wayfinder leaned to the left to see Finnick concealed behind the boy's back. Finnick still didn't appear to be smiling but he seemed happier than he had been all week. Bless the deveins for Rorick's blunt attitude or Finnick may never have gotten out of his hammock.

"That sounds like a fine idea. Finnick," his son's face popped out from behind Rorick. "You know to be back before dark, don't you?"

"Yes, Dad."

Ravam, tapped his foot loudly hoping the Captain would remember the important conversation they had been having, but by the looks of things he would continue talking to those brats. As if anything that came out their mouths would matter compared to the fate of the ship. He then trained his eyes on the back of Wayfinder's head imagining he had a large two-handed axe. One good swing was all it would take. Alas, a little bit longer of putting up with this scrub of a man and the boat would be his.

"Sir," Ravam said trying for his warmest tone. "I believe you were saying something of great importance regarding the Sea Squall's—"

"Oh yeah!" Rorick shouted, interrupting Ravam. "My Dad told me to tell you something, Cap."

"A message from Rustleif, what is it?" Wayfinder looked curiously at Rorick, unaware of the mental daggers being plunged into his back.

"He says he hasn't finished your new spine to replace your skeever sized one."

There was a short silence.

Ravam was the first to burst out laughing. "Skeever sized It's the god's blessed truth! His jokes are as sharp as the blades he produces!" he doubled over pointing at his captain. "Son, you tell your dad that his next bottle of mead is on me."

"Uh well…" Captain Wayfinder felt his face flush with embarrassment. "That's not very… um—"

"Bye! We're gonna go play!" Rorick shouted as he and Finnick ran off.

The two boys ran up off the deck and made their way to the shore where they spent hours looking at the shells and rocks that lined the beach. The same waves that had been rocking Finnick to sleep had now carried all sorts of wonderment along the frosted sands. Some of the pebbles that washed up appeared harder than the rest and we're covered and a thick black coating of minerals. Others, however, seemed to be very flat and smooth with a rosy stripped design that ran up the side of the stone and felt cold to the touch.

"Watch this, eight skips," Rorick said holding a white stone in his hand.

Finnick watched incredulously as his friend's arm cocked back and shot forward. The stone flew out across the waters surface with great speed.

"One, two, three, fou… aww!" Rorick stomped on the ground, crunching a few shells in the process. "Only three, I was sure I had that."

"Hey, that's really cool. I'm lucky if I can get one" Finnick mused, holding a black stone in his hand and tossing right into the ocean where it made a very hollow splash.

"Yeah, it's just cuz you get really strong working at forges." He tightened his arm to reveal the beginnings of a bicep.

"You get strong working on ships." Finnick tightened his arm to reveal a much smaller muscle foundation.

Rorick fluffed Finnick's hair "But not as strong as you do working at a forge. Everyone knows that." He smiled looking down at his friend when Rorick's head suddenly shot outwards, toward the sea, as if he had heard something. His eyes were trained on the horizon. Finnick traced his line of sight but didn't see anything past the immense wall of fog.

"Rorick, are you okay?"

Rorick shook his head and looked at Finnick. "What? Sure, just thinking, that's all." His foot swayed forward and backward contemplatively. The motion of Rorick's foot carving small lines back and forth into the sand suddenly sparked an idea into Finnick's mind.

"Hey, there's something I really wanna do, okay?"

"Okay, Little Ick," Rorick said, calling Finnick their shared nickname "what'll make you happy?"

"I want to race you." He said meeting his friends gaze.

"What? Why do you want to race me?"

"You know how working at the forges makes you strong? Well, working on boats makes you fast."

"Skeever-scat! Where could you possibly run on a boat? It's too small," challenged Rorick.

"I run a lot, like when we get back from a voyage. I deliver all the goods. I run all over town." Finnick's fist we're both clenched as he was getting excited about the idea of having a race.

"Okay, Little Ick, good to see you got your spirit back, where are we gonna to race to?"

Finnick's finger touched his lower lip as his upper torso rotated looking for a good spot to end the race.

"There!" He pointed to a building not too far from their right.

"The museum? That seems like a short race, suit yourself." Rorick started drawing a line by dragging his foot across the sand.

"No," Finnick said, very firmly, "Not to the museum, the lighthouse."

"There's a lighthouse here?"

Finnick was not surprised that his friend was unaware of the lighthouse. The beacon was located on the outskirts of town. Several hills covered it up making it was almost invisible from the shoreline. However, being onboard the Sea Squall, Finnick had come to know the location his towering, stone friend very well. Lighthouses were always a sign that a long journey had ended.

"It's just past those hills," Finnick said, pointing precisely where the lighthouse was. "The first one to touch the stones on the tower wins, okay?"

"That sounds fine, hope those short legs can keep with me," Rorick patted the side of his tanned Nordic leg. He finished scratching out the starting line and proceeded to place his foot at the very edge of it. Rorick's back arched forward, ready race. Finnick was standing a few feet behind with his fists still tightened.

I'm not gonna lose to Rorick. I am good at this.

"Are you coming?" Rorick bellowed impatiently.

Finnick walked up to the left of his friend, putting his foot on the line. Finnick's leading foot quickly shuffled digging into the snowy sand on the beach. Shifting his weight forward, he began to mentally trace out the best path to get to his goal.

"Ready?"

Finnick's head nodded slowly.

"Set?"

His upper lip nervously overlapped his bottom one, and then they unmingled themselves.

"Go!" Rorick shouted taking off.

The crunch of the shells beneath their feet was the only sound to be heard. Finnick had fallen behind early on in the race, being on the side closest to the ocean the sand still wet and much harder run across. Rorick had still not gained too much distance away from him. Both of them came up to a set of houses as shore banked north.

Rorick's gonna go straight here, bad idea.

As he had predicted Rorick had barreled on ahead unaware of the steepness of the mountain on that side. Moments later thought he had heard someone shouting.

Finnick went to the left and made his way around the museum. Here the hill was much more manageable. He ran up the first slope as he felt a faint pain in his lungs. The cold air had caused a burning sensation in the pit of his chest. He did his best to ignore it.

Where's Rorick?

Finnick's shortcut had caused him to travel at little bit out of the way to the lighthouse; if Rorick had somehow traversed the hill easily, he would have a huge lead. While keeping his pace, he glanced over to the right where he thought he'd see his friend, he was not there. He must have either been ahead of him or far behind. Finnick assumed the worst.

Oh no, di-did I lose.

Finnick's pace slowed in defeat. Then suddenly, he felt a second wind coming on. It was as if someone had just reinvigorated him with energy.

No, never, lose or not I'm not slowing down!

Finnick arms pumped faster and his legs quickened their pace. His insides felt like we're on fire. Well, they would just have to burn to a crisp because there was no force in Skyrim that could stop Finnick from running.

The tower rose over the hill, its flame beckoning to Finnick. However, there was no sign of Rorick at the base.

I did it! I'm winning!

That's when he heard it the sound of footsteps trampling behind. Rorick must have been just a few paces behind him and closing in fast. The shock victory being snatched away from him when he was so close was enough to motive a little more speed out of him. In a matter of seconds, it would all be over. The tower stood less than a bodies distance away now.

Annnnnnd… There!

Finnick's hand touched the stone first. He collapsed on the foot of the steps leading up to the flame. He laid nestled between two stone walls the acted as guide rails keeping him out of the howling winds. Completely fatigued he sucked in deep breathes of air that only seemed to burn his lungs worse.

"I won!" he shouted between pants. "Rorick I wo… Rorick?" He peaked out from his stone cove and looked around but did not see his friend. He looked around and saw his own set of footprints, but no others. He was too tired to get up from his spot on the steps, so he sat there looking for his friend. He thought he had heard something chasing him while he was running here. Finnick arched an ear into the frozen winds.

The silence that was only broken by the distant echo of a pickax striking ore and the sounds of snow shuffling off somewhere. Then he heard it, an unmistakable growling that came at a low pitch, very nearby.

"W-wolves!" He cried.

Finnick had never actually seen a wolf in person before, at least not that he could remember, but Rorick's Dad had told them several stories of the fearsome creatures. Their calling card was a low growl that could rustle the highest of leaves and echo in the darkest caverns. Though Finnick never told his friend, those stories had scared him deeply.

He reached for the stones on the guide rail above him to pull himself to his feet, but misplaced his footing and ended up falling down on the stair again. Too tired to go anywhere he curled and put his knees on his face, sitting in defeat hoping the creature would take mercy on him. He heard the deep noises made by the fearsome paws as they bit into the snow. It moved closer to him. Finnick felt around on the steps and began to slowly pull himself upward.

"No, go away." he whimpered. Lungs hurting too much to make a fearsome sound or call for help. Finnick realized that he had no one here to help him, he was all alone. In all his life it seemed like there was always someone he could turn to for help, but not this time. With no way to defend himself, he gave a futile attempt to call for help.

"Daaaahaaaad," Finnick sobbed, tears streaming down his face. The words came out sounding more beastly than comprehensible speech. Then he remembered the story of the boy who had gotten into a fight with his father and ran off. When the boy didn't come back that night and the father got really sad. He went out looking for the boy but only found a torn up shirt that belonged to his son. The dad spent the rest of the story wishing the boy had not run off alone.

People aren't going to find me, ever.

He held up his arms and closed his eyes, pleading one last time. "Don't… kill… me… please."

There was a sudden silence that wafted through the air, the wind creased the side of his face. He realized that the growling stopped. Then, strangely, there was a curious, non-threating, snort echoed from somewhere nearby.

Finnick raised his head from his tears and looked up. The world was a soggy blur of colors that seemed to swirl in every direction. He lifted his hand to his eyes and wiped away his tears. He blinked several times for good measure. There, about seven feet away, stood a snow fox. Body faced horizontally, but head looking at Finnick. The creature seemed curious as to what the boy was doing.

He breathed a much-needed sigh of relief and wiped his still tearing eyes. This was not the creature Rustlief had described in his stories. It was small and friendly looking. Finnick slowly slid down the three steps he had managed to climb up and was now level with the fox.

"Could you come here please," he asked stretching his hand out. "I could really use a friend. I think I lost mine."

The fox blinked once, almost like it was trying to understand. Then it stared downward at the boy's hand.

Finnick looked at his hand too, now trying to understand the fox.

"Sorry, I wish I had some bread to give you, but I don't have any. I forgot to eat breakfast today so I'm really hungry too."

The Fox looked over its shoulder towards Dawnstar.

"Yeah, that my home. Where are you from?"

It looked back at the boy and moved closer. Finnick instinctively retracted his hand before gaining the courage to put it back. The fox lowered its stance and looked very wary of him. After several seconds of waiting, its body rose upward and continued to inch closer to him.

Finnick was happy that for some reason the creature had taken to him. It must have been mother fox that was used to comforting kids, he reasoned. Now, the animal was only a finger's distance away. The fox bobbed its head up and down sniffing his hand. Then out of nowhere, its ears shot up and it ran over to where it had been standing, head bent down to pick something up off the snow and ran off, away from Dawnstar.

"Wait!" he called after the creature, it was long gone. "Come back, please," whispered Finnick defeated.

No sooner had he finished his sentence than had Rorick's head appeared over on the opposite side of the hill as he climbed up the side of the mountain and ran up to the lighthouse. He tagged the stone guide rail with his palm and sat next to Finnick.

"What took you so long to get here?" Finnick asked.

"Well remember when you went you made that turn, between Beitld's house and the museum?"

"Okay"

"Well, I looked over to see where you had gone and wasn't watching where I was going and I accidently ran into Ms. Brina, knocked both of us flat on the snow. That milk-drinker guard of hers, Horik grabbed me by my collar and started yelling at me." He paused and took a breath. "Show some respect you miserable whelp!" he said in his best Horik impression. "After Brina got up, she told him to put me down. Then she lectured me about the proper way to treat someone who you run into. So I said I was sorry and came up here as fast as I could."

"Oh," Finnick lowered his head.

Rorick would have beaten me if that didn't happen.

As if he had read his friend's mind Rorick responded with, "You still would have won anyways."

"Really?" Finnick looked up, wide-eyed; Rorick was not one to dole out compliments.

"Yeah," Rorick said flatly, embarrassed by his own generosity. "Hey, so why are your eyes all puffy? Did you get scared?"

"No," Finnick mumbled, wiping his teary eyes.

"Lair. Jeez, you need to toughen up. What are you gonna do when I'm not around?" He thought for a minute. "I know what will do it," he announced snapping his fingers.

"I'm not playing Red Mountains with you!" yelled Finnick.

"Why do you always think that's what I'm gonna say?"

"Because it is what you always say."

"No, it's not I just… Never mind, just follow me."

Both boys made their way back towards Dawnstar. When they came to the edge of the hills the wrapped arms around each other and slide down the slope, as a unit, cheering and screaming until they slowed. Once they had reached the bottom of the last hill Finnick noticed that the sky was now a darker blue than before; it would be dark soon. Rorick waved for Finnick to follow him to the backside of the rundown museum. Behind the building sat several barrels one just tall enough for Finnick to see over.

"What kinda game is this?" Finnick said looking at the barrel.

"Have you ever heard of arm wrestling?"

"Yeah, Guthrum and Ravam do it a lot when we're on long voyages."

"Okay, good, saves me the time of having to explain it to you. I thought of a way to make it more interesting," He rummaged around in one of his pockets for something. A flash ran its way across his face as he pulled out two long nails. "My dad had a lot of these lying around so I thought we could use them to… toughen us up."

"H-how?" Finnick wondered, not really wanting to hear the explanation.

Rorick's smiled got darker as he turned toward the barrel. "First, we place them in like this," He position on of the nail going at a diagonal angle on top of the barrel, Finnick assumed by that Rorick meant he would hammer them in.

"Then, when we're playing," while holding the nail diagonally in his left hand he set his right hand, awkwardly, to the left of it. He then proceeded to grapple with an invisible hand. "And if we lose," His slowly move closer to the other nail, struggling as if it didn't want to be impaled on the object. "Well," he moved his hands back to normal, "You get the idea."

Finnick nervously pressed his thumb and four fingers over his own right hand, as if he was holding a wound closed. "Are-are we really gonna get stabbed on the—"

"Of course not," Rorick admitted. "Well, I mean, maybe a little,"

Finnick remembered how scared he had been just a few moments ago when he thought a wolf was attacking him. If this would somehow make him stronger he would have to try it. Despite how cruel it seemed to him.

"Let me see the nails," Finnick extended a hand out in Rorick's direction.

"Sure."

The nails made a small clanking sound as they dropped into his hand. He ran to the shore with them jiggling around. He crouched down beside a pool of salt water, and held the two nails, by their heads, and dipped them in the water. He gave them a few good twists to make sure that they were well covered in the liquid then he pulled them out and ran back to a confused Rorick.

"Guthrum always told me to put sea salt on cuts. So I figured if these are gonna cut us we might as well salt 'em."

"Cool," Rorick said unimpressed, "hand them here."

With a large stone in hand, Rorick adjusted the angle of the nail until he deemed it good and began whacking it into place. It came through the lower part of the barrel and arced up at a menacing angle. After Rorick finished the first one he ran around to the other side to pound the other one into place. Finnick saw the wicked design of the barrel and for the first time in his life, wanted to play Red Mountains.

After Rorick had finished, he looked at the top of the barrel, from left to right, and shook his head with pride. He laid his arm down and glanced at Finnick.

"Okay, left hands only!" he said in an excited tone.

"Why?"

"Because I'm stronger with my left, that's why!"

"Oh, okay" Finnick answered, weaker than he wanted to.

He moved up to the barrel and placed his arm over top of it, grabbing Rorick's. He studied the nail to his right and gulped down some saliva.

"Come on, Little Ick, stop shaking, it's just for fun."

"Big Ick, why are fun things with you usually painful for me?"

Rorick laughed at his joke.

"Okay, are you ready? Set?" Rorick breathed out a small huff of air as they both tightened their grip on one another.

"GO!" he shouted.

Both hands matched equally in force, neither moved for a few seconds, they just teetered back and forth in the center. Suddenly, Finnick felt his hand start to go down towards the nail. He looked over and saw the strain in Rorick's face and could only imagine how red his own had become. However, that didn't really matter at the moment; Finnick was now practically touching his nail. Despite how much his body tried to contest the action Rorick's hand wouldn't budge. Then, somehow, Rorick briefly let up as Finnick gained ground until he was stopped back in the middle. Again like last time, Finnick lost ground and came in light contact with the nail. His efforts eventually turned to grunts.

He let up last time, he must be getting tired. Any second now he will let up again.

But that second never came. Rorick kept pushing as Finnick was pressed up against the cold, wet nail. Then the spike punctured his skin and chilling pain shot up his arm, followed by an insane burning sensation. Rorick must not have noticed because he kept pushing.

Finnick's pitch grew louder as the pain increased, "Ow, ow, Rorick s-STOP, YOU'RE HURTING ME!"

Rorick's hand released as soon as he heard Finnick's calls.

Rorick looked down at his friend stuck to his own contraption. "Finnick! I am so, so sorry! I-I was… I didn't mean to hurt you!" he stated very profusely.

Finnick pulled his own hand from the nail and buried it deep in the snow, packing the ice over the wound. Thankfully, it was smaller than he thought it would be.

Rorick looked at his own hands, and then at his friend on the ground than at his invention, this time with less pride. He raised his hand over the needle on his side and pressed his palm onto it, wincing in pain from the salty jagged spike. He now could empathize with Finnick's pain. Little bits of blood dripped out of his new cut and painted the nail. Rorick careful raised his hand and sat alongside Finnick, who was still looking down at his injured hand.

"Here, let me see it," said Rorick, tenderly.

Finnick placed his hand in Rorick's, as he inspected the wound. There was a small hole less than an inch wide and not that deep in Finnick's hand. Blood seeped out of it. Rorick looked at his own hand, their marks looked identical. He slowly clasped his hand over Finnick's, matching the two holes together. He looked and saw Finnick's confused face and tried to give him a proper answer.

As their blood mix together, Rorick began to talk, "Finnick, you remember how people always say we spend so much time around each other that we could be brothers? Well, there was this one time when my mom told that in order for two people to be brothers they have to share the same blood. I-I cried for a whole day. I guess I knew that because we didn't have the same blood we could never be brothers. And if we were brothers then maybe you wouldn't have to leave. And Finnick, you're… you're my best friend, I-I don't know what I'm gonna do when y-you."

Finnick broke the connection and wrapped Rorick in his arms.

"Rorick, I am not just your best friend anymore," he held up his hand, "I'm your brother." Finnick rushed Rorick with a big hug.

To Finnick's surprise, Rorick returned the hug.

After a while longer of sitting there hugging the two final decided that it was getting late and that they should each head home. As they we're walking back Finnick scanned Rorick's face and saw the beginning of a tear.

Rorick, cries too?

"Hey Rorick, did you notice?"

Rorick looked at him.

"I didn't cry, not once when I got stabbed," Finnick claimed proudly. "I think that now because we're brothers, I am gonna be a lot stronger, like you."

"Yeah, who knows, maybe there will be a forge in your new town. Then you can get really strong."

The two of them laughed with one another and walked along the shore until they had to part ways, for good. They both looked saddened and weren't sure what to say to one another. So a simple hug and goodbye sufficed as Rorick went inside his house and Finnick boarded the Sea Squall and went to walk below deck before he turned back to look at Rorick's house.

Goodbye, Brother.

Seren sat in her house by the fireplace, having seconds of some potato leek stew. Rustleif had already gone to bed and she stayed up waiting for her son to come home. The sound his footsteps as he trudged up the wooden stairs to the door echoed from outside the walls. She stood up, brushing the dust from her apron and walked towards the handles. Right as she got there the door opened and there was her little son, standing the doorway, hands behind his back.

"Well come on in, it's getting dark," she said in a motherly tone. "Did you and Finnick have fun?"

"Umm, yeah, lots of fun," He stayed in the doorway. "Mom? Could I please get your help real quick?"

"With what, dear?"

"I want to smith something, for Finnick, before he leaves tomorrow."

Seren knew it was getting late, but what harm could this possibly have, after all, it's not every day when your son's friend moves, or, in Rorick's case, says please. Not to mention, this would be a fun story to tell her husband when he woke up.

"Sure, sweetie, what do you want to make for him?"

[End of Chapter]

A/N: …Huh you seriously read all that? Dang, thanks. I feel all warm 'n fluffy now. But seriously, I will keep future chapters at more manageable fifteen pages (this one was 21). But hey, maybe long chapters are good too (I don't know, it's only my second fic). Anyway, let me know what you thought of this one. While I try everything to avoid it, I'm super open to criticism. Additionally, if you have any questions about the story feel free to PM me.

Oh! One last thing. A sincere thank you to everyone who reviewed the prolog. Your comments were so amazing to read and I only hope to keep you all entertained. Expect the next update soon!