Work Text:
"Alright, tell me then," Walter began, leaning back on his elbow. "How'd someone like you end up in these Games?"
Bloodhound turned their face towards him and despite seeing nothing but the rounds of their goggles, Walter could tell their eyes were firmly fixed on him.
"Someone like me?"
"Ah, you know what I mean," Walter said, reaching over to his pack and pulling out a bottle of beer, undoing the cap against his metal shoulder. "You love being out in places like this, don't ya? Huntin'. Being free. Why waste your time in a dusty old arena?"
The hunter's mask turned away and Walter couldn't tell if they were shifting in their seat because the ground was making them uncomfortable, or he was.
"The thrill and honour the hunt brings still calls to me, despite the prey. That is what I fight for. Why I slátra."
"Bit ominous, Houndie."
"I'm surprised someone like you knows such a word."
Walter chuckled and took a sip from his drink; he supposed he'd earned that one.
“I suppose for me, it was a fresh start. Something I could do on me own,” Walter said, letting his head fall back slightly to look at the starred sky above their heads. “Well, it was supposed to be.”
He quickly glanced at Bloodhound, the trinkets hanging from their helmet swaying back and forth slightly, as if they were nodding along with him.
Walter had been on many trips like this in his younger years with his father, camping and hunting, though their excursions usually involved more rowdiness with a larger crowd, more alcohol and maybe a friendly fight or two. However, he remembers how even those trips had their quieter moments, when everyone had gathered around the campfire, tired as the buzz from the day tangled itself with the fire’s smoke and drifted away into the night sky. One person would begin to speak and others would eventually join, and you always went to bed that night knowing someone a bit better, their stories, their struggles, their heart. And that's exactly what he was trying to achieve right now.
“You doubt your 'fresh start'?” Bloodhound asked, without looking at him, preferring to twirl a small twig into the mud instead.
Walter ran his fingers over his moustache in thought; he honestly wasn’t sure.
“Maybe,” he hummed, quietly. “Didn’t pan out the way I thought it would but...it’s something.”
“You hoped for something different?”
“Thought I’d be the big hero. Being the first Salvonian in the bloody Games, eh? Instead...Well, you know what happened.”
“You will be known as a hero, Walter Fitzroy. You faced great peril to assist with retrieving the antigen. The Outlands will see you as a hero. Perhaps not the fate you wished for, but you are a hero nonetheless.”
Walter took a long drink from his beer, nodding thoughtfully to himself. He paused when he realised what was happening; he was the one being encouraged to speak, not the other way around.
“Come on then, tell me something,” he said, noticing the way the hunter’s shoulder twitched at his words. “Tell me how you ended up here. I bet it's a bloody ride of a story.”
Bloodhound appeared to sigh behind their mask.
“It is a long story and not a tale I wish to be told.”
“Ah, and here I am wearing me heart on me sleeve like a bloody fool,” Walter quipped, though even he was unsure if there was a hint of truth behind it.
He remained quiet after that - both of them did - and he reached into his pack to open another beer. He listened to the crackling of the fire while he swirled the liquid around his tongue, barely hearing the whisper of Bloodhound’s voice when they finally decided to speak.
“His name was Boone.”
Walter wasn’t sure how much time went by as Bloodhound told their story, the only sign it had passed at all being the new empty beer bottles that had been added to his collection. They told him how they met this Boone, of the time they spent together, though he sensed he wasn’t being given all the details, and of his untimely demise. He seemed like a right arsehole if Walter was honest, but he decided to keep that opinion to himself for now.
Bloodhound lay back slightly when they came to the end of their tale, using their hands to support themself, their gloved fingers curling into a small tuft of grass.
“His death was dishonorable. I'm no fool. I know this. That is why I fight. I shed bloth in these arenas so the Allfather may accept my offerings on his behalf and allow him to rest in the halls of Valhalla.”
"Why?" Walter blurted, feeling slightly more confident as the alcohol began to settle in his system.
"If not me, then who?" Bloodhound replied, coldly. "Who will fight for his honour?"
"I'm sure he's...wherever he's supposed to be, Houndie. We have to believe that."
"I will believe it when I draw my last breath and we finally meet again. If the Allfather wills it."
"So...you're just going to dedicate your entire life to him then?"
"To the Allfather? It is my path."
"That's not what I meant."
The campsite seemed to grow colder, despite the fire continuing to crackle away contentedly. Something about this situation was making Walter feel uneasy and he shuffled himself to sit closer to the hunter, thinking he’d already figured out the answer.
“Remember after Maggie...you told me I wasn’t responsible for the mess she caused. ‘You’re not bound by her wrongdoings’. You told me that. And I believed you.”
“You are not.”
“Neither are you.”
He rested a hand on their shoulder and they bristled, shrugging him off.
“It is not the same.”
“Isn’t it? Well…maybe not exactly. But I might have some idea of what you're feelin'.”
“Many people on your home planet would believe Maggie died with honour. She fought for a cause she believed in. We may not see it as right but…," they shook their head. "What Boone did…”
“Isn’t your mistake to make up for.”
Bloodhound stood suddenly, brushing down the front of their coat before moving to prepare their bedroll.
“I must rest now. Tomorrow’s journey will be a long one.”
Walter ran a hand through his hair in guilty-frustration; this isn’t how he wanted the night to end.
“Houndie...Come on, I’m sorry, alright? You know me and my big mouth. Didn’t mean none of it.”
They turned just enough to look over their shoulder at him, their goggles appearing to glow slightly in the low light.
“My name is Blódhundr. Prepare yourself. We leave before dawn.”