Chapter 5:
Frostbite
Finnick's feet struck the snowy ground sending a small flurry of ice crystals in the air. His entire body shook with each plus his heart sent out as he raced up the snowy incline.
Please. Stop. Chasing. Me!
This lone thought echoed inside his mind as the frozen air shredded his lungs. Hopefully, this mountain would prove to be too high of a root for his pursuers to take. Although, being a frost covered slope meant that any hope of trees to hide behind had died out many seasons ago. He could at least take solace in the warmth his layered clothes provided during his ascent.
Finnick's legs began to grow heavy as he continued to sprint up the steep incline as fast as he could manage, his footing nearly faltering more than once. The trek would have been far easier if the mountain wasn't covered in many amorphous boulders cast beneath a shroud of snow. After what felt like a climb that should have been documented in a famous scroll for its lengthy duration, the ground finally ceased to go any higher. The peak of the terrestrial beast was pretty level for a mountain. In fact, it was hardly a peak at all. It was almost as if someone had taken a normal mountain and cut the very top of it off. There were a few bumps in the ground here and there, but overall it was quite flat.
His sprinting quickly turned into a walk. He was not about to fall down this landmass due to careless footing. While taking what were probably unnecessarily slow steps, Finnick maneuvered to the edge opposite the side he had just climbed up. He needed a way to escape if they tracked him up here. From this height, there was really only one other option.
"No way I'd survive that," he said, as his eyes met with the formidable drop that connected the mountain to the ground.
With that option officially off the table, Finnick's gaze moved outward so that he could see off into the distance. On the horizon the sun had just begun to rise, meeting with a furrowed treeline of the forest below. The woods sat a few feet from the mountain's base and ran out far beyond what he could see. Thick branches laced together in a canopy were accented with a soft orange haze from the sun. Had Finnick been viewing this scene at any other moment in his life he might have taken more time to appreciate the sheer beauty of the vista. But right now all he could think about was how a dense forest would have made a much better place to hide than the top of the cliff. He had been too panicked and too tried to think straight. Right of the forest was the dirt path he had been traveling along, nobody along it to call for help. Not like anyone could hear him from up here anyway.
There was nothing left to do but wait and see what would happen. A tasked that proved far more difficult than he thought it would. The wintery chill felt nine times stronger here than it was back on the ground. Furthermore, the air here was purged of its oxygen. How long was he to wait up here? How long could he wait up here? With hopes thrashed, Finnick exhaled sullenly. At least the sunrise was nice.
With any luck, they won't be able to find me up here.
As if in answer to his thoughts the loud bounds of clawed paws striking the snow echoed from the rear. The sound was followed by a series of grunts that seemed to be getting louder until, eventually, the steps and grunts hushed in a foreboding manner.
"Oh, please don't be up here." Finnick turned around to survey his new situation. Three pairs of eyes stared back at him.
During his trip, he had accidently crossed some invisible line of wolf territory a crime that was apparently an unforgivable offense in their culture. This pack of three wolves had been chasing him long enough to make a high cliff look like a viable means of escape. The trio of white-maned beasts now had spread themselves out atop the side of the peak opposite Finnick, all three crouched with low, menacing snarls.
Finnick carefully backed up two steps, the only amount he could on a cliff this small. His knees were bent, ready to dive out of the way if needed. And as a final act of preparation, he tugged the leather strap that ran diagonally across his torso to reveal three holstered knives. Sliding the top one from its sheath, he held it the way Arvel had taught him: hilt out and elbow pointed at his target.
Despite all this, Finnick still found himself at a disadvantage. His targets had spread themselves evenly so that there was one wolf on his right and left and one wolf directly in front of him. As soon as he attacked one of the wolves the others would surely strike. What to do?
The four stood at the peak of the mountain in a complete standstill, each side taking in the situation. All these creatures needed was a single second of broken focus and then anyone of them could spring for the kill.
A growl broke this thought process. It sounded like it was coming from the left wolf. If it kept growling this way Finnick would be able to roughly judge where it was without having to focus on it. Though it isn't easy to look away from something that sounds so death beckoning. With a great amount of reserve, he stayed focused on the center wolf keeping the other two on the borders of his vision.
AHrrowl! The left wolf cried out louder than before.
Something about this wolf was off, it acted more provoked than any of its cohorts. The creature stared at him with eyes that showed unmistakable hate. Finnick turned his attention to this wolf while still maintaining a stance ready to deal with the one on the opposite side. The creature he was looking at bore a scar on its nose that resembled the shape of a crescent. The weird thing was it looked like a recent scar only a day or so old. The mark was probably testimony to the creature's fits of rage if not its tendency to get in fights.
As if out of overenthusiastic joy for the impending fight the wolf then made a leaped forward, declaring its attack.
Finnick reacted in seconds launching his arm clasping the knife forward. At the apex of the throw he stopped and held onto the knife, something was wrong. The wolf hadn't committed to its lunge. It had stopped. It was barely half the distance towards him. Then he felt the cold realization. He had left himself completely vulnerable. The unmistakable sound of paws pushing off the snow stood out all the more in the silence of the moment.
The one on the right! Finnick's body snapped in synchronicity with his thoughts. Using his fingers, he managed to flip the knife around in his hand so that the blade faced outward, but his reaction was a second too slow.
A mixture of skull and claws crashed into the courier sending him careening across the peak.
Leather scraped against the powdered covered plateau as Finnick slid blindly toward the edge. The snow began to pile up against his side creating a small buffer to hold him in place.
When he opened his eyes, he found himself now looking skyward and was unsure of where he was in relation to the cliff or worse yet, the wolves. Acting on instinct alone, his hands pushed against the ground to get himself back to his feet. He faltered and his side smacked back into the ground, his right hand had failed to find anything solid push against.
So, that would be the edge. Finnick thought with one arm hanging over what would surely be a fatal drop.
In the same moment, his other arm erupted in pain as he felt sharp teeth dig into his skin. He cried out in agony as he tried to bring his arm close to him, a bad decision.
He was met face to face with the scarred wolf its jaw clenched around his arm. For a brief moment, the two locked eyes and there was an odd exchanged of fear and rage. The moment ended when the wolf began to flail its head ripping at the arm. The feeling of the enamel based daggers lubricating themselves on his own blood warranted more than a scream of pain. Finnick's body went tight with fear and he did the first thing that came to mind. He reached his free arm up from the side of the cliff and struggled to push the beast off him.
The snowy wolf resisted the boy efforts well. Her feet firmly planted on the ground as she clenched her jaw hard to deter the prey from fighting back.
With all his effort, Finnick tugged the snared arm rightwards, toward the edge, and gave the beast one final shove, just below the ribcage. The wolf's toppled over to her side tripping over the boy's body and over the edge. Having put little to no thought into this action, Finnick was left breathless when he felt the weight of the still attached wolf flip him sideways and slowly begin to drag him off the plateau.
"GODS! No no no. Stendarr save m—"
Finnick was unable finished his sentence. There were no words. No action he could make to contest his fate. He simply fell.
His vision tumbled as he rolled down the side of the mountain. In the flurry of movement, he could see the peak and then ground, a much further away peak and a much closer ground. Everything else was a disorienting mix of white snow that he and the wolf had kicked up. Thankfully, though the furred creature had released him early on in the fall. Finnick felt his body give up and go limp. Moving the only muscles he could still control, Finnick shut his eyes. All it would take would be one of those buried rocks he had seen earlier and that would end him. Eyes open or not, he wouldn't see it coming either way.
The wind seared his frosted face as he kept rolling and gaining speed before his back crashed into something very hard.
His eyes still closed, showed a world of blackness. This did not make the pain seem any less real. His body had gone numb from plummeting down the frozen cliffside and his arm reeled in unbearable pain. Finnick forced his eyes open and tried to make sense of the double vision he was looking at.
He saw what seemed to be the bottom of the cliff dancing around in place. Right of that, he noticed what looked like a thick black pole, most likely a tree from the forest he had seen earlier. Finnick tried to move to his feet but felt an explosion of pain and fell back against the solid object the kept him propped upward, also most likely a tree. Thankfully, there was no sign of the wolf who had dragged him off the edge.
The young man's eyes wavered to look at his damaged arm. His black tunic had been ripped open just below the end of the sleeve. From here it was hard to assess how much damage he had sustained. He gritted his teeth and peeled back the cloth, pretending not to be able to hear the gelatinous sound of cloth separating itself from skin and blood.
"Owe, oh that is a lot of my blood…I-I think" moaned Finnick, looking at the oddly shaped bit mark that ran along the side of his arm. The beast had still tried to hold on for life when he had shoved it off the side of the cliff, leaving long jagged cuts along his arms. The gashes looked like brilliant artistic strokes of dark crimson on a skin canvas. Looks, however, could not compare to the feeling. The thought of having the tooth marks imprinted on the bone seemed like an apt metaphor for the amount of pain he was in.
Finnick's "good arm" felt heavy as he dragged it across his body to his left side and felt along his hip. His hand brushed the top of the dagger strapped there, the same one his friend had made for him many years ago.
"No, it's the other side."
Finnick wasn't quite sure if this dizziness was from the endless tumble or a significant loss of blood. His right arm reached down by his side to unlatch the satchel strapped there. His hand made contact with a papery object, a grainy object, and glass object. He pulled out the pink bottle from the satchel. He must have been more injured than he thought, as his arm barely held the potion still.
"The last one."
After a few dizzy misses he sunk his teeth into the cork and pulled the top off of it, swallowing half of the bottle's thick, sweet nectar. He felt his head clear as his vision returned to normal. Finnick's eyes now looked down at his arm and then back at the bottle.
"This… is gonna hurt."
He poured half of what remained in the bottle on the laceration. Finnick winced in the sudden burning and itching sensation that now spread down the arm. When he opened his eyes his wound had completely closed with new skin and everything. He turned his arm over and repeated the same process on the underside of his arm where the wolf's lower fangs had sunken in.
"Next time I see Rustleif, I'll be the one telling the story." Finnick chuckled to himself as he sat, still laid up against the tree, and waited for the other wound to close. When it had done so, he rolled up the sleeve to its original position taking pride in his meager knowledge of medicine.
"Hey, Rorick!" Finnick called out to no one. "Didn't cry this time either!"
To his dismay, his call was answered with bone-chilling howl.
"Again? Oh, don't do this," begged Finnick, suddenly really starting feel like crying.
A lot can be said about these wolves that chased the courier but one thing is for sure, they were determined. The two remaining snowy hunters managed to ford down the way they had come and were now rounding the side of the mountain ready to kill their query.
Finnick eyed the creatures still unable to stand from his position against the tree. They were about a bridge's distance away which wasn't much considering their speed. He reached for the dagger Rorick had given him and drew it from its sheath. The hilt still felt so comfortable in Finnick's hand. He held his arm forward and prepared to make a stand.
"I remember when you guys used to—used to scare me." Finnick taunted, his words teetered with confidence.
The two snow wolves raced at him at break-neck speeds and straight for their wounded prey. When suddenly, the closer of the two wolves stopped and shuddered in pain, before falling to its side.
What in the name of Stendarr?
Finnick looked at the dead creature to try register what had just happened.
Was that an arrow?
This, however, did not discourage the second wolf in the slightest. The creature continued to charge Finnick. It paused within a body's length from his resting spot and lunged at him, mouth fully ajar.
Despite the application of the potion, Finnick still couldn't muster the strength to stab at the creature. All the boy could do was close his eyes. From within the black vail, he heard the most gut-wrenching squish followed by a small splash of warm liquid on his face.
When he opened his eyes the sight that befell him was quite unusual. The profile of an imperial guard was standing over him with the white wolf skewered through the torso on the end of a long two-handed sword. The soldier brought up the boot of their brutishly heavy armor and kicked the beast off the end of the blade. Then, after sheathing the bloodstained sword, the heavy-set warrior turned to face Finnick, a hand was stretched out to help him up.
"Citizen, can you stand?" an austere voice asked.
He nodded unconfidently. Sheathing the dagger, Finnick's had weakly reached out and grabbed the hand in front of him. His savior forced him to his feet with an abundance of strength that sent a slight pain down his back.
"Yeah, I think I can. How did you g…"
Finnick met the eyes of the helmetless warrior. To his surprise, they were not the typical imperial legionnaire but rather a redguard and a woman. She looked to be a few cycles older than him. Her dark brown eyes read the utmost serious expression. The same feeling of militancy also reflected in the tightly wound bun that sat atop her head.
"I'm auxiliary legionnaire, Nickita Genawa." She stated formally. The warriors faced shifted countenance as it in took every aspect of the person she had just dragged to his feet.
The crude stare ran over what he had been referring to his as the commoner's doublet which consisted of a tidily green vest that had been layered over a relatively heavy black tunic. The bottom of which was complemented by black linen pants, at least in terms of color. The ensemble was tied together with a pair of shoes so tattered looking the seams pleaded to be cut free. However, the most notable part of his attire, at least in the legionaries' eyes, was the harness that ran over the top of his vest that currently holding two iron daggers.
"I'm Finnick Wayfinder," the words came out less like an introduction and more like he was reading an unfamiliar passage in a book. "Courier of Whiterun hold." Finnick waited for the women's expression to shift but she was still looking at him like she expected to hear something more.
"Oh! I'm sorry. Thank you so much for saving my life. That was really an amazing move back there." Finnick looked to the wolf that was laying on the ground. It appeared to be the one that took the center position back atop the cliff. He returned his eyes to the women, whose face still held the expression of someone without trust.
"A courier you say?" She began in the same harsh tone, "Tell me, what's a messenger doing this far away from his designated path?" Her expression hardened into a more judgmental one. Probably the same one she used when she was interrogating the filth of the Skyrim.
"HEY! NICKY! DID WE SAVE HIM!?" A voice far-off called out.
Finnick eyes darted leftward toward the source of the yelling. His gaze met with nothing but the cliffs side. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught brutish warrior mutter something while rubbing an armored hand across her forehead.
"YEAH! HE'S FINE!" She yelled over her shoulder while maintaining eye contact with the so-called courier.
The snowy crunch of footsteps sounded as the person who had been shouting drew nearer.
Finnick attempted to look around the women in front of him to see whom she had been calling to when he saw the body of the second wolf. An arrow had pierced its lobe. Finnick didn't recognize the wolf he was staring which probably meant it was the creature that took the rightmost position, the one that knocked him to the ground. Whoever was coming, must have been the same person who killed that wolf. There is no way that this warrior could have made that shot and seconds later stabbed the other wolf, at least not while dawned in that armor.
"Great," the voice answered, much closer now. "Another life saved, another thank you letter from the general right, Nicky?" A fair-skinned elf materialized from behind the warrior. He was wearing a simple set of layered clothes with a green cowl that was pulled down to reveal hair that fell just past the shoulders. Both him and the warrior appeared to be around Finnick's age, maybe slightly older.
"You call me that again and I will…"
The elf side-stepped around the women, mid threating speech, and came up to meet Finnick.
"Hi, there." He spoke warmly and considerably more friendly than the women. "A pleasure to meet you. You'll have to excuse my friend here. Judging by the stiff stance," he looked Finnick over from head to toe, "You probably got the 'I'm auxiliary legionnaire, Nickita Genawa' speech, right?"
"Um yeah, that's it," he nodded "word-for-word actually."
"Ahhhhh," the elf's silvery hair spun around as he looked over his shoulder to Nickita. Both sides of his mouth rolled upwards into a smug grin as he spoke in a slow, over-enunciated fashion,
"Word-for-word."
"Be quiet!"
"Anyway," The man returned his attention to Finnick, taking a more official tone. "You can call me, Galen. Very nice to meet you Mr.?" He extended his hand.
"Finnick," he answered laying way into a deceptively strong handshake. It was during the shake that Finnick saw the bow that was strapped to the man's back, accompanied by a meek quiver of arrows. This officially confirmed his "who shot the wolf" theory. However, a new mystery had arisen: this man didn't look like an imperial soldier at all, so what was he doing traveling with one?
"And that's how you case a threat, Nicky." Galen ended the handshake. "You should try being more friendly. If you just stare at them with that draconian glare of yours, they'll only act more suspect."
The legionnaire crossed her arms over her chest plate. "I'm not gonna be soft with a potential killer."
"Killer? Nickita, he was just being attacked by wolves."
"That's circumstantial."
"Just look at him. He doesn't even have any armor on just a common set of clothes." The elf motioned to Finnick's unprotected yet warm clothing choice.
"You look, twig." She said moving uncomfortably close to the courier. "He's got blood on those clothes, armed with at least three daggers, and his story's shaky. That constitutes a threat in my book."
Finnick looked down to where the legionnaire had pointed. Sure enough, there was darkish stain right of his heart. When did that happen? Not mention, only three daggers. There should've been four. He searched himself from head to toe. The top dagger from harness was missing. The wolf that crashed into him back atop the cliff. That must have been when he dropped it.
The Elf sucked in a deep breath of exasperated defeat. "Okay then, your call, Nicky. What do we do?" His arms folded into a relaxed mood as he laid himself against the base of a nearby tree.
"First, we get you to show some respect. Stop calling me, Nicky!"
"Another order… got it."
"Was that sarcasm?"
"Yup." The elf answered in a voice that was hard to tell if had been or was currently being sarcastic.
"Make no mistake, I will snap you, twig."
"Um, wait, I-excuse me, uh Ms. Genawa." While the couple's temper had had been rising Finnick had been thinking of a way to explain himself to the warrior and her cohort. Well, he now had her attention… every harsh, bone-chilling fiber of it.
"Well, the thing is, I know I'm a long way from Whiterun but you see I've got this really import letter to deliver from Ivarstead. It's taken three couriers just to get it here. I just happen to be the last leg of the journey and when they told me about it—
She held up a hand. "Spare me the exposition."
Finnick shook his head. "On my run, I ran into some wolves and they chased me out here. The knives are well… for self-defense. As for the blood, I hope—I mean I know it got there when you saved a life just now." He ended on a shaky note.
Galen shot forth from the tree and looked to Nickita. "Wow that story sounds, what are the words?... perfectly reasonable. Yes, yes those are the words."
The warrior ignored him and leaned in so that she was only a nose's distance away from the suspect. "Okay then, let me see the letter."
Finnick jerked his body away from her, put his side where his satchel was strapped up against a tree. Couriers are told to keep all letters unseen by anyone who wasn't the recipient or the courier themselves... But this was a special case. Once this soldier saw the blazonry on the letter she would have to let him go. No, Finnick wasn't about to break his oath. Especially not with this letter. Whatever time was wasted here he could surely make up on his own two feet. Finnick prepared to stand his ground.
"I-I'm sorry, but I can't let you see it."
The warrior named Nickita seemed almost pleasantly delighted with his answer. "Suits me. Then by the order of the—"
"Submit, Nickita," Galen jabbed her in the arm in a manner that seemed to hurt him more than her. "Couriers follow a strict 'show none but the recipient' code when it comes to letters." He paused looking at Finnick once more. "Any thief or brigand would have sooner produced a forgery. I'd say you owe him an apology."
She looked at him with an expression that mixed elements of annoyance and disbelief. It was one matter to have the prowess of her criminal profiling abilities called into question but to have her own follower be the one to do so. How had he known what rules couriers are to follow?
"Oh stop giving me that look. I read it in one those things you use to test the sharpness of your blades. Believe the common folk call 'em books."
Nickita huffed angrily, upset that her conviction had been rebuked. She appeared motionless for a few seconds considering the situation thoroughly. Upon reaching a conclusion, she acted in a way that conveyed the utmost sense of disdain. Backing away from Finnick so that she was now aligned with the elf. Her eyes held the same serious expression as before.
"I'm sorry…" She stopped short looking to her cohort.
"Finnick" Galen finished for her.
She looked back to the courier. "Finnick. However, I do not apologize for handling my job with care. You are now free to leave."
"Deveins, Nicky! Contract bone break fever backhanding that out?"
Nickita glared at Galen.
Well, this was certainly an odd turn of events for Finnick. The person who had just saved his life was now about to get into a fight over a poor apology. If anything he should be the one apologizing for his inability to escape danger properly. That's a basic requirement of being a courier.
"No, really, it was a fine apology!" Finnick stated, interrupting their staring contest. "But I have to, you know, got important deliveries to make. Oh and I'm sorry for all the trouble, Legionnaire Genawa."
Nickita looked Finnick over for the second time. For whatever reason, she seemed to carry more malleus than before, if that was even possible.
Finnick nervously smiled back. Then he remembered the reason he had come all the way out here in the first place. He was still a courier. Albeit a slightly injured one. Finnick pressed his way between the two of them already having spent enough time in the same spot. He ran back to the dirt path he had been on and looked back to his two saviors.
"But really, thank you both for saving my life." he waved goodbye.
"Wait!" called Galen. "You headed north, to Windhelm?"
"…Yeah." Answered Finnick, remembering the sign he had seen a ways back.
"You see, we're heading but few paces past there," Galen answered. "If you wanted, we could escort you there. I mean, we'd love to have you."
"I wouldn't," Nickita muttered under her breath.
Finnick lightly considered the offer. "Thanks, but I'll move a lot faster on my own."
"No, you won't," Galen called back with a slight musical tone to his words. "I know Skyrim in and out, come with us and we can cut your travel time in half. I know all the shortcuts. Come on, say you'll join us."
"Um well," he wanted to say yes but something about this felt very sudden. "Is it safe?" Finnick asked moving back toward the group.
"More so than these roads. The paths we take are scenic so you won't have to worry about thieves or bandits stealing your letters."
"And if we run into a troll or saber cat?"
Galen motioned to Nickita. "We're more than equipped."
"But you've already done so much for me."
"Please, consider your companionship as payment. Normally we drag around the most unpleasant company."
Finnick thought about the offer more seriously this time. It was urgent that this letter is delivered to Ulfric as soon as possible and these people seemed like the trustworthy type. One was nice and the other was a soldier. But, would this really be a wise choice? Oh, what would Arvel had done in this situation? Probably make some sort of amusing joke out of the at Finnick's expense. None the less, even if there was a small amount of risk involved, it was Finnick's duty as a courier to make sure letters arrived at their destination as quick as possible. If any hitches came up it was his responsibility to deal with them.
"Alright then, let's do it."