Chapter 6

Cold Feat

The trio had been making their way through the woods for quite some time now. They had unified in a single-file line lead by Galen. The line weaved, like a cobblers' sowing needle, through and around the formidable tree trunks that made up the forest. Behind the elf, Finnick followed dutifully enjoying the change of pace from his normal running. When they would stop, he could feel his feet start to sink beneath the snow as he watched Galen survey the area, only to pick up in the same direction. The first time they had done this, Finnick had come to notice a large bag that was strapped to Galen's back. With the addition of having to string his bow around his neck and quiver to his side, the elf was becoming quite the pack mule. Although, the supplies, food, and tools he most likely held in that bag would definitely prove useful in this climate. Hopefully, he left room for a tent, they would need it in this cold.

The sun that Finnick had seen back atop the mountain had long since gone down. At least he was pretty sure it had. Shrouded, leaf-filled, branches, which ran too high up trunk to reach, had intertwined themselves in a canopy-like fashion making the time of day hard to discern. But, something did feel distinctly colder about the world. This is where the conclusion of the sun having gone down was reached.

However, the treetops that separated sky from ground acted as a membrane that laid way into a world of its own. A simplistic world of barky pillars and sheet-white snow that had somehow passed by the leaves. The paleness of the frost stretched endlessly in each direction. Such a void was quite easy to get lost in. Every so often, there was a sound of a bird calling out to its mate or the rattling of twigs could be heard off in the distance. Noises like this were few and far between, leaving a feeling that was tranquil yet barren. This was a place that promised shelter at the cost of orientation: a forgone haven.

After a while of this isolation, Finnick had decided that they had been walking in silence for too long now would be a good time to talk to his companions. After all, it was now considered payment for his rescue.

"Hey, Galen."

"Not now, I think we might have… no, no harder is better if you're going north because it implies that it's colder." The elf let the snow sift through his fingers and plop to the ground.

Finnick wasn't sure what that meant but it didn't sound like anything that critical. Either way, he should do his best to not disturb him. Getting out alive was far more important than the idle chitchat of comrades. Still, he could always talk to the third member of the line if he dared.

Finnick's eyes peered over his shoulders to check behind him. Bringing up the rear of the line was Nickita. At the back, she could run forward at a moment's notice and make sure no harm befell them. And if anything tried to come from behind they'd answer to her. It was a weird feeling for Finnick, he never felt this safe while making a run before.

"Umm, Legionnaire Genawa?" he called.

She answered with a mild-mannered hum whilst keeping her eyes elsewhere.

"So how long have you worked for the imperial legion?"

"Awhile."

Not quite the conversation starter Finnick had hoped it would be. Although, if awhile meant several years then maybe she would know what became of his old friend.

"Oh, um, well I had this friend once, named Rorick, and you see he's a Redguard too."

"And?"

It seemed like Nicketa had a pension for one-worded conversation. Finnick, however, he picked up on something odd in that one word, something that sounded very annoyed.

"Well, you're a Redguard."

The silence in the forest seemed to grow even thicker. That is until Finnick heard the faint sounds of chuckling coming from the head of the line. What was going on? Had he said something funny?

"So what? Because he's a Redguard and I'm a Redguard means we're automatically friends?" She responded in a stiff tone.

"Well maybe not friends but you at least know each other, right?"

Finnick felt a chill run up his spine when he heard the unmistakable sound of Nickita's sword scraping against a leather sheath from behind him. Followed by her flat yet threatening words.

"That does it, Galen. I'm gonna kill him. Right here. Through the chest. Legion be damned."

The elf leading the trio gave a lofty sighed as if he was a parent who was now to resolve a dispute between children. As horrible as whatever was going on back there might have been he really couldn't be bothered with it at the moment. If they lost their bearings in this section of the woods their lives would surely follow.

"If you kill him that renders our little act of heroism back there totally pointless." He eventually responded.

To Finnick's surprise, this seemed to work as the warrior sheathed her blade in response. Still, he was colored with a shade of confusion and worry. Had he said something offensive? Why was there all this talk of his death?

"Oh, forgive me. I didn't know I was being rude."

"Try racist," The legionnaire corrected, sourly. "My skin color does not dictate those who I ally myself with. Same way it doesn't dictate yours."

Going against every logical thought in his mind, Finnick slowed down so that he could walk alongside Nickita. It seemed like she had some actual insight to share on this subject. It is pretty shocking how out of touch with the world couriers can be. There is a small bit of irony in the fact that he always delivers the news but was never allowed to read about it.

"Really? I always thought people of the same race liked each other better." Finnick answered honestly. A comment that warranted him a downcast glare that could pity a rich man.

"And why would you think that?"

Before he had a chance to give an answer Galen shoved his way into the conversation. Apparently, some part of him deemed gushing about his apparent knowledge on the subject more important the leading the group to safety.

"Well let's see. In our history, you have events like The Arnesian War, where sides were drawn upon racial borders. Then we have our more recent state of when the Imperials facing off against the Nordic Stormcloaks, or you could simply look to the Kahjiit who sit together outside the big city walls that they are not allowed to enter. In terms of leadership and judgment, people always stick with their own race."

"Exactly whose side are you on, Galen?" Nickita shot back, slightly perplexed.

A tickled look spread its way across his face. "Well, considering that neither of you two are bosmer, logic suggests that I'm an impartial mediator of sorts."

She rolled her eyes at the elf's sense of humor as he returned to his position at the front of the line.

"Yes. Very funny." The warrior turned her attention back to Finnick. "It's true that people generally feel more comfortable around those who they share things in common with but that doesn't mean we all know or even like each other."

The courier nodded his head. "That makes sense." Finnick was starting to understand her perspective. It's not like he knew every Imperial in existence. Though he often wondered if there was someone out there who did. Maybe a dignitary or acclaimed scholar in the prosperous land of Cryodiil. None the less, his conversation did have a basis for such unintentionally hurtful remarks.

"I only brought it up because last I heard my friend wanted to join the imperials too. I thought if he got in then maybe you knew him."

"Hmm… doubt it, divines know I barely did. Couldn't find a place for the girl from Hammerfell in their ranks."

This was a topic he had listened to a lot when he was younger. Few woman ever made it into the legion. This gender gap was largely backed by archaic reasoning and outdated traditions held by those in power. To this day, Finnick only knew of three women in Skyrim's imperial army. And this one, Nickita, she was the first of Redguard heritage.

"Sorry to hear that. My mom had to go through the same thing when she joined."

Nickita stopped dead in her tracks. Finnick followed suit out of concern.

"Hey, what's going on back there?" Galen called when noticed he had suddenly gained the ability to focus for more than half a second. "We'll never get to Windhelm at this rate."

Finnick looked up and down the frozen warrior to see if she was planning to move anytime soon. Her body show no intention of such actions. She stood with her side to him bearing an expression looked like she had witnessed a dragon burn down a small village. He wasn't exactly sure what to do with her.

"Um, Galen," Finnick spoke worriedly. "I think there's something wrong with Nickita."

"Don't worry about it. It seems you just made a new friend."

Out of nowhere, Finnick felt a force spin him around so that he was now facing the warrior. Her hands were like iron weights atop his shoulders, holding him in place with a bold-faced glare. A situation that seemed vaguely familiar for some reason.

"You know falsely claiming affiliation to a member of the Legion is considered a serious offense in the eyes of the empire?" Her gaze focused on his like an archer on its target. She looked to be searching for the smallest hint of hesitation. Her next word came out slow and controlled so as there was no room for misinterpretation, "Are you the seed of one the legions few sisters-in-arms?"

"Well, I've never really been called a seed before." He struggled to get the words out through the bone-crushing strength of the warrior's grasp. "But, yeah, my mom was a member of the Legion."

"Do not tell me you are the son of the great Legate Rikke, General Tulius' most trusted soldier?!"

A particularly weird tone of what seemed to be excitement came from the cold warrior's mouth. Which only made Finnick feel worse when he responded in an anticlimactically plain:

"…No, I'm not."

"…Oh." She said, still latched onto his shoulder.

The two were still locked in the other one's eyes with the utmost sense of confusion of how to proceed with the conversation.

"Hey! Up-forward you two! Get a move on!" Galen clapped to the back of the line.

As if having said the magic words to end a paralysis spell, Nickita swiftly broke her hold of Finnick and awkwardly ushered for him to retake his spot ahead of her. Once the line had finally reformed, they continued to make progress through the dense woods. What felt like hours passed in silence walking down the indistinct pathways. For some reason, Finnick did not feel tired at all. Maybe it was the remains of adrenalin from living through a fall that should have killed him. That or his predictions about the sun having gone down could have been completely off base. Still, how much longer would before they stopped for the night? He hadn't seen a single animal during this whole trip and he was beginning to grow quite famished.

"Now, if I'm right," Galen began, pushing aside a low branch. "This forest should soon open up to a cliff-ish structure that overlooks Windhelm."

"Wait already?" Finnick spoke in shock. "That's amazing!"

Galen turned to face the courier rubbing his fingernails against his cloth covered chest plate with much pride. "Much faster than those inferior trails, right?"

"Yeah!" He agreed. "A journey like this one would have normally taken me several days! You're so cool!"

Galen smiled proudly. "No need to marvel, Finnick. Like you, I am but a humble proletariat of the world. And unlike, Nicky, I happen to be of a peaceful, and compassionate and a not-killing-everything-insight nature." The elf's candied words were now being reinforced with outrageous hand gestures. "Though sometimes my own brilliance astounds even myself. For I fear that one day I may become the next Talos and have the mortals wage wars over me. Oh, such a fate to behold." He concluded dramatically.

Nickita walked passed him unamused. "You know if you become a deity they're gonna call you by your real name, twig."

"Huh? His real name?" Finnick asked, curiosity peaking.

"Sorry, Finnick. Just ignore Nicky. Normally, we don't talk about personal business in front of our company." Said the man whose name might not have been Galen.

"One's name is hardly personal business Mr…"

Galen marched up so that the two were inches apart. Thrusting malevolent finger on her chest plate. His enraged eyes looked up to meet her unintimidated ones. "Don't. You. Dare." He spoke with an uncharacteristically threating tone.

"…Fairbush." Nickita finished with a smile.

"Baaaaaaah!" Fairbush let out a short but loud cry like someone had just stabbed him in the back. He spun around, like a flower petal being carried by an eloquent body of water, over to face a tree. Mustering all his anger into a single action, he gave a tree trunk a forceful kick, waking the delicate little snowflakes that were resting in the branches.

The other two couldn't help but laugh a little at his frustration. It seems that no matter how heavy the armor was, Galen always had a way of getting underneath Nickita's skin. It was nice to see the tables turn, for once. There was something about it all that told Finnick it was all in good fun; this was just their way of getting along. However, he did really want to hear more about Galen's true identity.

"Wait, so you're real name is Fairbush?" Finnick could help but to add a little laugh at the end of such a frail name. Although, he wondered how in the world Fairbush was changed to Galen over the years. At least the nickname twig began to make sense.

"Yes, Finnick," Nickita answered, her back still to him, secretly savoring every second of the moment. "His real name is Gallant Fairbush, The Elf."

"It's not 'The Elf!'" barked Gallant Fairbush, scornfully mocking her tone.

"I know, it just adds such a honeyed ring to it. Don't you think so," Her eye wavered to meet his. "Mr. Fairbush?"

"Oh, you are really enjoying this aren't you, Nicky?"

"Quite possibly."

"So wait," Finnick said, reentering the conversation. "Nickita hates it when she's called by her nickname and you have a nickname you go by because you hate it when you're called by your real one?"

Galen shrugged. "What can I say, opposites attract I guess." He looked over at the warrior who appeared to have had her share of fun. "Let's just distance ourselves from this traumatic experience as quickly as possible, okay?" The archer motioned for the others to follow him. He pushed aside several other low hanging branches to reveal a scene accurate to the one he had described earlier.

The three of them now stood atop a small hill that slowly declined into a stony road. In one direction, the road appeared to arc towards a mighty waterfall. One so powerful that it seemed to shrug off the icy temperature like the bite of a fly. The road continued on in that direction for several more miles before it met with the horizon. In the other direction, the road sloped up to a second hill and grew larger and grander before it became a massive bridge. This bridge acted as a safe means to cross over the subzero lake, created by the waterfall, that surrounded the great city of Windhelm.

This was one of the four cities in Skyrim that held large influence in the seaward commerce. Windhelm's port made the one in Dawnstar look like a horse's stall. Aside from that, a stark, rebellious aroma had been embedded in the city's begrudging architecture. Back when Finnick had been living in Riverwood, this was the epicenter of Ulfric Stormcloak's empire. The sense of animosity, associated with its leader, was reflected in every structurally sound piece of stone that made up the cities greatness. It was from here where he led his troops, craftily titled the Stromcloaks, while working in symbiosis with three other holds of Skyrim. In the war that took place, the cities that allied themselves with Windhelm were Riften, Dawnstar, and Winterhold. United under a similar set of beliefs they fought against those allied with Legion. The two sides fought during the most detrimental period of time and in the end, settled in a newly enacted peace treaty. General Tulius' grand trap having been foiled by the most unlikely of creatures, dragons. This interference furthered the war several years more and left the town of Helgan shambles; unlike that of the state of Windhelm, a city whose masonry stood piercingly strong juxtaposed the soft snowy backdrop.

Galen turned back to face the group.

"The good news is that we made it through the forest and we are all fine, physically," Fairbush said with his bruised ego barely intact. "But the bad news is that we arrived too late, the main gates closed."

"Closed? Do gates close?" Finnick asked.

"Look there." He pointed to the base of the city where the bridge met with and two very large, very sturdy doors. "There's usually two guards standing watch but now, nothing. They do that sometimes if it's been a slow day… or an unprecedentedly fast one… with dragons."

"So what now?" He asked Galen.

The Elf stripped off the pack he had slung over his back and was the first one to officially exit the forest. He set the bag on a small powdered pile of snow out in the open.

"Well, now" Galen looked to Nickita. "I say you set up the tent here while me and Finnick do some hunting."

"Why me?" her eyes narrowed to points.

"Wasn't it little Nicky who gave the order, 'you carry it, I set it up?' back in Falkreath?" He recalled, triumphantly resting his arms on the back of his head.

She huffed in defeat. "Keep calling me Nicky and sharpen you to a point, twig" Nickita joked with one intimidating hand on her greatsword. She sauntered out of the forest towards the sack, bumping Galen's exposed gut with her hip.

"Wh-hell, you should know, Nickita. I work well with sharpened twigs." He said removing his bow from around his neck.

"Oh, clever one."

Finnick watched the warrior chuckle to herself as she opened up the pack, rummaging through the main compartment. It looked like a big job for one person. Even someone as strong as her probably needed a second set of hands. Still, Galen was staring at him expectantly.

"Actually, I should probably stay and help," Finnick said to Galen.

"Oh, really?" The elf's pointed ears seemed to slump slightly. "I kinda wanted to… never mind. I'll just leave you both to it." And with that, he placed an arrow loosely in the string of his bow. "Be sure and have a fire ready for me when I get back. Wish me luck."

Nickita, while pulling many objects from the bag, raised a hand weakly as if to say bye as the elf ran back into the forest.

"So what can I do to help?" Finnick asked.

Nickita eyed him for a moment, like she was sizing him up for a fight, then pointed to a large cloth that was at her feet. "I need you to lay that out flat, on some even ground."

This was the first of many convoluted orders Finnick received when setting up the tent. He had never done anything like this before and could tell that Nickita was getting fed-up with all the mistakes he was making. None the less, it was still quite interesting to work with her. She was so sure, so strong, so capable, so… better than he was. Together they moved onto the last step of their project which was where she stood holding a large wooden pole in place while he used the hilt of his dagger to beat a t-shaped stake through the loop on the end.

"So Finnick," Nickita said, clearing her throat beforehand. "Tell me, who was your mother?"

The question had taken him slightly by surprise. He would never have expected Nickita to initiate a conversation with him. Finnick arced his head upward to face her as he squatted over the pole. "Oh, my mom is Talva, Talva Uleren. You might know her as the pride of Camp Constantius, the imperial camp in The Pale."

"I know Camp Constantius, but I never heard word of its pride." She said watching Finnick miss the stake and hammer his own finger. The pain felt blistering in the freezing air.

He waved his hand feverishly, attempting to shake the pain from it. While doing so, he thought about what the warrior had said. It appeared his mom's story had died down over the years, only natural he guessed.

"My mom was one of the more valued fighters back in the days of The Great War. She told the best stories about it too. Always about how she would stand her ground and never… never run from a fight. Anyway, after it was over she was stationed in that camp for a while. Then, there was this accident. Two boats crashed nearby the camp and—"

"The wreck of the Brinehammer?"

"Yeah, that's the one. There was this other ship too, The Sea Squall. Unusual tides strayed it off course. Then the Brinehammer had to cut inwards to shore avoid a collision. That's when it ran aground on a rocky bed and started to sink."

"Never knew there was a second boat involved." Though Finnick couldn't see her face, something made it seem like she didn't fully believe his story. "To think all those lives lost because the captain of Sea Squall could stick to his damn path."

"Actually, not that many were lost and also it would be her path," the pommel of his dagger struck the wood, with a punctuated snap. "My grandma was captain of The Sea Squall back then. She and my dad rescued some of the sailors who had jumped ship."

"And the imperials brought them to shore."

"Yeah."

She waited for him to continue his story but Finnick seemed to be ruminating about his parents. Either that or he really didn't want to bash his own hand again. "So they met there, fell in love, and along came you?"

"Well my dad lived in Dawnstar at the time so there's a lot more about the political forces that kept the apart for a time but yeah, that's short vers-ION," a crushing pain jeered through his fingers again.

"Here, let me," she offered in an almost warm voice.

He handed Nickita the dagger as they traded places. Finnick looked down to watch her pound stake flush to the ground in little over two hits.

"So what did she look like, your mom?"

"She looks a lot like me actually. Short blond hair, though hers was much lighter. Brownish eyes, sturdy jaw, that sort of thing. But, well, she's really strong." Finnick said looking up at his unimpressive arms that held the pole in place.

"Sounds pretty," Nickita added casually as she got down on her knees and smashed the next stake flat.

It took Finnick a minute to process that comment for some reason. He wouldn't have ever thought a conversation like this would ever take place with someone like Nickita. But here they were, just talking away. Who knew she could be so friendly?

"…Yeah, she is. Shortly after I was born she became a guard, in Whiterun. My dad says it was because she couldn't stand being out of the legion and well Dawnstar didn't want an ex-imperial in their ranks so being guard was the next best thing. But yeah, I didn't see her much growing up."

Nickita nodded in agreement as if this was a feeling she too resonated with. They moved over to the final stake and Nickita and began to introduce it to the dirt. "Then you became the courier for Whiterun though?"

Finnick shook his head. "Yep. Well sort of. I'm mean not at first. But you know, my mom was there to help me… Anyway, I'm sure you're tired of hearing my 'exposition.' I'm sorry about that."

"Don't be. It's actually quite nice. Normally, they just remain silent during the whole trip."

He nodded in agreement. "Yeah, I bet."

Wait, who are "they?"

The warrior stood up from the tent, handing him his dagger back. With the poles in place, the tent was finished. Finnick was actually quite proud of how it turned, though that was mostly thanks to the shelter aficionado who stood beside him. Still, it would make for a great place to sleep tonight. Finnick turned to complement his partner on a job well done but she had walked over to the edge of the woods motioning for him to follow.

"Quit lollygagging. If we don't have a fire by the time he gets back we'll be in for one of his speeches about how we couldn't survive without him."

Finnick obediently followed her away from the camp. They walked to the perimeter of the forest where they collected dead wood that had fallen to the ground. The duo always made sure the campsite was in their vision for fear of becoming lost. Together Finnick and Nickita carried armfuls of branches and arranged them a safe distance away from the tent. With these sticks, they were able to build a small yet presentable fire. Finnick did so halfheartedly still lost in thought.

"…Normally, we drag around the most unpleasant company."

"…Normally, we don't talk about personal business in front of our company."

"…Normally, they just remain silent during the whole trip."

Just exactly who were these people Finnick had been traveling with? And what exactly were their normal lives like? Also, why was Galen traveling with Nickita in the first place? There were so many questions floating around in his head he wasn't sure which to ask first, if any at all. He was so close to Windhelm, perhaps it would best to just enjoy their company while it lasted. Both these people had been such good friends to him. Galen, so genuine and caring, he probably had made many friends on his travels. Then there was Nickita. Despite her cold and gruff nature, she did have a certain way about her. Perhaps it was her personality that reminded him of someone he once knew. People like this couldn't possibly harbor any true dark secrets.

"Faster." Nickita order Finnick.

"Harder, you've got to apply more pressure."

"…You'd better finish before Galen comes back. If see us like this, we'll never hear the end of it."

An angered huff escaped Finnick's chapped lips as he twirled the stick both faster and harder, blowing on the sparks when he could. Starting a fire was never an easy task for him.

Nickita watched from the other side of the pile of sticks they had collected. To her, this was like watching a child trying to lick his own elbow, a task with which one could never accomplish even if they were given several lifetimes to complete it. "Honestly, how have you survived this long and not made a fire before."

Finnick had, in fact, learned to make many fires in his time with Arvel. However, he had never been good at starting them. Thus far, his quickest record stood at nine hours before he finally lit the smallest of kindling. By that time the sun had already risen and there was little to no use for the light. When Arvel had come back from the bushes he quipped that his fire was brighter than he was. A rather harsh insult considering how then elf proceeded to extinguish it with his two fingers.

"Here, do you mind?" Asked Finnick passing her the stick.

She looked at him like he was a lost dog looking for its master. "Let me show you something Galen taught me about fires."

Finnick watched as the warrior shuffled a hand around in her armor and pulled out a small glass container of what looked like tiny, bright rubies settled in some blackish dust. The red stones sizzled and glowed as Nickita spilled one out of the container and onto the pile. She took Finnick's stick and struck the gem, dead center. Flames shot out from the stone and ignited the kindling they had gathered instantaneously.

"Fire Salts," she replied to the face that was clearly amazed at what had just happened. "Perfect for camps and forges alike. Though, if I can, I prefer not to waste them."

"Wow. That's… magical."

"Not even slightly."

After lighting the fire, there wasn't much left to do but to sit and wait for Galen to return to the campsite. At least it wasn't so cold anymore. Finnick couldn't help but think about all the nice food Galen would bring back. He had already proven his efficacy with a bow when he brought down that wolf. Maybe he would even manage to bring back some quail or better yet elk. Finnick hoped he'd return soon it must have been really freezing without a fire.

His eyes peered across the flames to view Nickita sprawled out on her front, hands holding up her head. Maybe now would be a good time to get to know his saviors a little better.

"Um, hey, Nickita can I ask you something?"

"…sure."

"Well, when did you meet Galen?"

She shifted positions so that she was sitting the same way he was.

"I get asked that a lot. Except most Imperials ask it like 'what's an able-bodied soldier doing babysitting some pathetic Bosmer?'"

Finnick laughed, holding his hand to his face. To hear Nickita's voice transform into that of a thick-skinned lummox was a truly an enchanting experience. She was such a strange person, Nickita. She was first and foremost warrior trained to be cold and rigid. But, there were moments, like this one, where she would cast that part of her aside and enjoy being human for once. If only Galen could have been here to hear this.

"Do people really say that!?"

Nickita gave a most satisfactory nod, "All the time."

"Actually," The elf interjected, once again materializing out of thin air. "It's more like, 'what's a handsome and kind elf like you doing with such a garish brute?'"

"Right on cue, oh humble one."

Galen strode toward the fire looking around the campsite rather unimpressed.

"I find it despairingly funny how there's a forest a stone's throw away and you two chose to set up out here in the open. It's like begging to be ambushed."

"Hey, we set up the damn tent where you left it, blame yourself, twig."

The hunter shook his head in a belittling manner. "Sometimes I wonder how you would survive without me." He unfastened a bag that, when opened, spilled choice cuts of what had once been free animals of the forest onto the frosted floor. Now, the creatures would serve a higher purpose, dinner.

Finnick looked down exuberantly at the size and diversity of the spread.

"You got all this! I didn't even see one bird in that forest."

The elf nodded.

"And they're already skinned!?"

"Yes, they are." His words were that of a father paying acknowledgment to his son remarking on how white the clouds were. He then moved to doll out the sticks they were to cook the meat on. "Remind me, Nicky. How does the order feel about killing other hunters and robbing them of their food?"

"…Finnick was just asking about when we met." She said, avoiding that topic entirely.

"Oh boy, story time beside the camp fire, how cliché. Do take the lead." The elf produced a sense of excitement comparable to a dying oxen, having also had to answer this question many times before. Still, everyone around the fire cooked their food and ready themselves for a tall tale.

Nickita looked from the elf to across the flames of the warm fire. "Well, there's really not that much to tell. Galen's a native here. Born in a tent just off of the trails of Solitude. He came from a family of hunters. You know, the real nomadic type, hence the bow and his knowledge of the woods."

Galen waved a particularly half-hearted two-fingered salute.

"Okay," Finnick said watching as the shadows the fire cast accent Nickita's face.

"Yeah, well, I'm sure you have heard about what happened at Cidhna Mine, right?"

Finnick nodded. This was a horrific event that seemed to come out of nowhere. In the far western city, Markarth, there had been some sort of incident in their so-called inescapable jail, Cindhna Mine. Somehow the convicts there banded together and managed to escape into the city. The story had been told many different ways, no one is exactly sure what happened when they got out. The most popular iteration says that a powerful hero happened to be in the city at the time and was able to keep losses minimal.

"Yeah, I delivered a lot of letters that day."

"Did the letters ever mention that it wasn't just convicts that escaped?"

Finnick shrugged. "I don't read them, I just deliver."

"Fair enough," she answered, "Well, the jail was actually filled with these aborigines of Skyrim called The Foreswore. Men dressed in the afterbirth of animals, primal weaponry, the minds of savages. After they escaped jail they unleashed many horrors onto the land around Markarth, and Whiterun too. I was stationed in a town on the border between the two, keeping the peace."

"You see, at the time, there was talk that the Stormcloaks were going to attack Whiterun so a lot of imperial soldiers were forced to remain relatively nearby in case something started to tip the scales of that insipid war," Galen added, referencing the conflict that used to exist between the Imperial and Stromcloak factions.

"Yes, back then things were different." She said looking over her shoulder to the towers of Windhelm. Finnick noticed a slight pause in Nickita's words too.

"So while I was there. I heard this racket echoing out of a nearby cave. So I go to investigate. And, low and behold, I come up behind this guy and dressed in this deer headdress and he's got this poor, screaming elf in his arms like he's about to snap his neck." Nickita leaned forward so that her face was inches away from the flames. "So I come from behind, draw my sword, and wham!"

Finnick jumped shocked by the metallic clash of her mitts.

"Split his head in two." She then proceeded to untangle her hands. "Ever since then the little elf I rescued felt like he owed me something. And now I can't get him to stop following me."

Finnick felt himself become slightly entangled with the story for some reason he couldn't quiet place. "Wow, that was really good!"

Galen shook his head in agreement. "Yeah, and that kill was annexed in the history books as the first time anyone has ever snuck up on someone while clad in heavy armor and holding a greatsword." He paused for a moment to take a bite of his rabbit-on-a-stick. "By the way, I found the use of wham for the sound of your sword makes to be very… fitting." He added moving closer to Nickita's side of the fire.

Finnick looked over both of the people he had been traveling with today. Galen rested his arm around Nickita, grinning as his teeth bit into the cooked thigh meat at the end of his stick. Nickita, who didn't seem particular found of Galen's arm, wore an annoyed mask to hide her joy. In short, this was the best day ever. Finnick hadn't traveled with anyone since his time with Arvel and that had ended pretty so suddenly.

Now, however, Finnick had met new friends. These people also seemed to care for him in their own sort of way. The last time he had this much fun was when he had first become a messenger.

"Really, that was an amazing story, Nickita," he repeated in admiration. "Until now, I had always figured you two as lovers or something."

Nickita smirked, shimmying her way out of the Elf's hold. "Only in Galen's dreams,"

Galen looked back at her with a mouth that wasn't sure if it was open in shock or to laugh. "Geez, ow."

"If I didn't say it you would've." She spoke truth through bites of charred hawk.

Galen agreed and readjusted into a more lofty position.

After finishing off her food, Nickita got up and walked past Finnick and went inside the tent to look around for something. He dismissed this action as he was too focused on Galen's boots which had now been thrust closer to Finnick's side of the fire. They were of a brown leather and shiny gold button-like buckles that ran up the side. He wondered if Galen would be willing to trade for Finnick's own ragged pair. Not that it would be easy to run in boots but the design was extremely appealing.

"Those are some really nice boots, Galen."

The elf looked up from his food and down to his shoes. "Oh, thank you."

"I don't suppose I could try them on, could I?"

"…Yeah, not in this weather. My feet would freeze solid."

"Just for a second, please. We could trade shoes or something."

"I'm sorry Finnick, no."

"Are you sure there's not some way we could—"

Galen had retracted his legs inwards as if out of fear that Finnick would start wrestling him for his footwear. "Yes, you'd have to steal them from me when I'm sleeping. That's the only way."

Despite what had been said, Finnick still had the elf's boots at forefront of his mind. Even when he had taken the bread from his satchel and made rabbit haunch sandwich. It was the tastiest thing he had eaten that day. After the third bite, the one that left him with only a sliver of food left, he heard the sounds of Nickita emerging from the tent.

"There's no way all three of us can fit in there. There's room for two, at best."

"Yeah, that is a problem, isn't it?" Galen agreed.

"You two take it." Nickita offered. "Of all of us, I can best resist the cold."

"Yes, you're very strong, Nickita," He said in a particularly condescending tone, "but if you contract an illness then we'll be in for it when we reach Sightless Pit. Please, sleep in the tent."

Nickita scowled, not liking to be ordered what to do.

"Finnick, seeing how you also helped set it up, you can have the remaining spot."

The courier shook his head in disagreement. "Thank you, but it's okay, I don't mind sleeping outside."

"Finnick, you already said no to going hunting with me; you owe me this."

The courier smiled thankfully. Gallant surely was living up to his namesake, but still, Finnick couldn't take the last spot.

"If you want to make me happy you'll let me sleep outside. In one day you guys have saved my life, provided me safe and fast transport, and shared your food with me. For once, let me feel like I'm not burdening you."

Galen faced shifted expression as he began to formulate a rebuttal. To both of their surprise, it was Nickita who spoke next.

"Damn. That has got to be the most convincing argument I have ever heard a man make to not sleep with a woman. Galen, you're stuck with me tonight."

"Great, get to be kicked in my sleep, just pleasant." After that pained quip, everyone finished what remained of the food, they all set off for bed.

Finnick walked around behind the tent for it was the only part that was out of the reach from the winds. Gods know that it would be hard enough sleeping on the snow.

Before he even began to sit down, Galen returned with an unused tarp in hand. The two of them laid it flat on the ground and anchored it underneath the tent. He even gave Finnick the forest colored cloak he had been wearing to serve as covers. This having been his first time seeing the elf without it on, Finnick was surprised to see a physique that was leaner than his own. Galen's build was that of someone who preferred running to heavy lifting. A feeling Finnick could relate to.

Then, with a brief goodnight, the elf shuffled back to the tent only to be replaced by Nickita seconds later. Who, like her elfish compatriot, had also shed her armor. Finnick was so used to seeing her with it on it took him a second to recognize her. Though her brazenly toned torso stowed beneath her lining shirt and legs that could court an orc severed as proper identification.

"Hey! Eye's front n' center!" she ordered, forcing what appeared to be the back plate of her armor into Finnick's hands. "You may use it as a pillow."

The weight of the metal compromised Finnick's sustainable carrying capacity as he dropped in the center of his make-shift bed, right atop his "covers." He looked to the warrior to see if she had noticed.

Nickita's eyes, staring blankly at her armor, bore the expression that pleaded to the gods to help this man find a noose with which to hang himself with.

"Turn it over. There's a soft leather inside." And without so much as a wave goodnight, Nickita marched back inside the tent. At least the thought was a nice gesture.

After spending a far too long trying to flip the armor on to its side, Finnick finally had the makings of a decent bed. He removed his harness and belt setting them aside as settled his head atop his mostly empty rucksack that sat inside Nickita's armor. Granted this bed was still ages away from being anything nearly comfortable but it was better than nothing. Now reposed against the cold ground, Finnick could look to the sky which held the two moons that in danced secular divinity. Such a setting seemed to only be laid just for him to rest under. He forced his eyes shut and attempted to find sleep. Completely unaware of the horrific events that border on the horizon.

[End of Chapter]