Chapter Text
Bloodhound gathered their equipment and battle gear, laying the items neatly on their bed. They had done this hundreds of times now, like a ritual, before every match, every event that they were contractually obligated to attend as part of the agreement to fight in the Apex Games. They took stock of all their gear and whispered a breath of thanks to the Allfather that they had awoken - another day to repent and bring honor upon their ancestors and to those gone before them too soon.
They raked their hands through their auburn hair that hung down below their shoulders, slender fingers plaiting it neatly to fit under their leather cap. They dressed, pulling on each garment, fastening each button and zipper before clipping on their goggles and respirator. It was preferable to dress out here in the bedroom rather than in the bathroom - they tried to avoid their reflection when possible, not wanting to be confronted by the physical evidence of their failures. They topped everything off with their helm, turning their head and hearing the familiar clink of the charms that dangled from it. The soft tinkling noise accompanied by the wind chime dancing in the breeze outside the open window was a comfort to them.
Despite the peace of the moment, they grimaced. It was a new season, and another Legend was to join their ranks among the Games. This meant Bloodhound was forced to participate in a welcome event. ‘Fuse,’ they had heard him called by the others. Rumors and speculation traveled fast among the other Legends - if he was friendly, what his abilities were, what he looked like - but for them, he was merely a félagi or andskoti, depending on the squad. Nothing more.
They made the familiar walk to the pick-up point in the forest, following the dirt trail that had been worn away in the undergrowth. Besides this small mark, and their cabin, there was no other sign that a human lived among the trees here. This is the way it should be.
The transport ship was awaiting them, and they rode in silence to the meeting hall in the center of the city, using the trip as an opportunity to meditate. If they made an appearance and introduced themself to the new Legend, perhaps they could return home and fit in a hunt before nightfall. Their stock of meat was low, and they would need to replenish it if they wished to avoid dining in the communal areas where they would be forced to eat with the other Legends. It was not that they disliked the others, but they preferred to live a more reclusive life, among the wildlife, only venturing out on their own accord for necessities they could not forage.
The pleasures of modern life were nice, and they did indulge in some conveniences. But as much as possible, they liked their solitude. In this way, they did their best to follow the Old Ways in the footsteps of their Uncle Artur. Life was simpler like this - perhaps lonely at times, but no close bonds meant no ties to sever if the need arose.
When they arrived at their destination, they straightened out their uniform - regardless of their lack of excitement to meet the newcomer, it would do well to make a good first impression.
“Morning, Hound,” Loba’s voice called out to them, waving a perfectly manicured hand in their direction.
“Good morning,” they replied, settling into step beside her to enter the building together.
“Ready to meet the new Legend?” She raised a plucked eyebrow at them.
They uttered a noncommittal grunt - it was yet to be seen if he would be a worthy adversary. Through the threshold, they could see the other Legends were already gathered. The group formed a crowd around the newcomer, everyone’s voice raised trying to be heard above the din. Bloodhound huffed a sigh and plopped into an armchair at the edge of the room. They could bide their time patiently until the initial rush died down.
Loba sat next to them, crossing her legs and jiggling a high-heeled boot back and forth.
“I take it you are not too eager to meet the Legend, either?” they asked.
She shrugged her shoulders and tossed her braids behind her. “Honestly, hon, I couldn’t care less as long as he doesn’t get in my way. I’m in it for one thing - I’m not here to make friends.” The hint of a smile passed her lips. “Though there are those whose company I enjoy more than others.”
Bloodhound allowed themself a small smile in return under their mask. Loba Andrade was the closest they had to an ally here. Though she was wily, she was feisty and always spoke her mind and the truth - even when it landed her into trouble. She respected their need for space and privacy, never trying to delve into their secrets as the others often did under the guise of offering help or ‘emotional support’ as they had called it.
The pair sat in companionable silence, Loba occasionally making a comment, but otherwise inspected her nails, bored, while Bloodhound sat with their hands clasped patiently in their lap. They peered out the window. The sun was still high in the sky, plenty of time to hunt today, maybe a deer this time, but a rabbit would suffice in a pinch if time grew short.
The initial crowding began to thin, and Loba stood and turned to Bloodhound. “Let’s get this over with.”
They nodded their agreement and rose to join her. The new man’s booming laughter could be heard across the room as they approached and they frowned under their mask. Another loud one. From the back, they could see his dark hair streaked with white - so no young man, clearly. His right arm was metal - perhaps a story behind this, though they would not pry despite their piqued curiosity.
The man turned to face them. He was fair-skinned and broad-chested with a rugged appearance, a dark mustache, and a strong chin. He wore an eyepatch over his left eye, but his face was still expressive and open even without it. The crooked smile that slanted across his face was too knowing, showing an easiness and self-assurance that arose from deep within. His shirt’s neckline was low enough to showcase a cluster of hair near the top of his chest, a leather vest and ammo belt thrown haphazardly over it all with little care for neatness.
Bloodhound felt their blood turn to ice in their veins and stopped dead in their tracks, heart and mind racing. Their muscles suddenly stopped listening to their commands, and they almost fell to their knees - but somehow remained upright through sheer willpower. He looked familiar in a way that tugged deep within their chest - he looked like - it could not be - it was not possible -
Their mind took them to a time long ago, the memories returning unbidden.
Limbs entangled together near a warm fire, huddled under furs to ward off the evening chill. Meals hunted and caught together, a joint effort, a shared feast. Flashes of a smile, the come-hither look of a lover, the cocky smile of one too sure of himself. Jokes and pranks that grated against their nerves, but that they still treasured and recalled fondly decades later. The lightheartedness of youth, of one barely a man, not yet world-weary and jaded. Long summer nights spent with another they held dear, lips hardly leaving the other except to come up for a breath. Dark hair tangling with copper. The freedom of sharing in their true form, their body, scars and failings. Everything laid out bare before their love. No mask, no hiding. Passion given freely, words exchanged in hushed whispers, secrets that only the fireflies overheard. The feeling of hands caressing every inch of them, comforting and exploring - and their hands offering the same in return, a gleði that they had not known since. A love, deep and true - their first, their last, their only.
The man's voice brought them back from their reverie, snapping them back to the present.
“The name’s Fuse - well, nah, it’s not really - but y’know, they made me choose a bloody nickname for the Games,” he said, stepping forward to take Loba’s hand, which she held out daintily before her. “Walter Fitzroy.”
They felt out of breath from the wave of emotion that rolled over them all at once, the dam that held it back for years had cracked, letting loose a stream that started to fill the empty, dry riverbed. They blinked under their mask, remembering where they were. They tried to steel themself. Those days were long gone. That Blóðhundur was long gone.
Walter turned to Bloodhound, who was standing still a few feet back. “Y’alright mate?” he asked, approaching.
All they could manage was a small nod - why did their mouth suddenly feel so dry? Every drop of moisture had left them, it seemed. They tried to reply - where was their voice? Likely wherever their saliva had gone. He slapped Bloodhound on the shoulder and gave them a squeeze. Their entire body tensed, but an odd warmth spread from the man’s hand, seeping down inside of them into a place that had long been devoid of anything other than bitterness and disappointment.
“And who might you be?” he prompted, unfussed by their silence.
“B-Blóðhundur,” they stammered. They lifted their hand in the customary greeting.
The man took their gloved hand in his large mechanical one. He scrunched his face up, mouthing the word Blóðhundur a few times. “Can I call ya Houndy for now? I’d hate to butcher your name right off the bat. Gimme a little time and I’ll get it. Ya might need to tell me again.”
The others had often referred to them this way, and they had been quick to correct them. But coming from him, it sounded…alright. “That would be acceptable.” they replied stiffly.
Walter brought his other hand to grab their forearm, the smile never leaving his face. His grip was firm and solid, his fingers with a dusting of dark hair over the knuckles. Bloodhound was unable to look away from the scarred and calloused hand on their jacket.
“Can’t wait to join the fight. Pleased to meet ya.”
“Likewise,” they said softly, lifting their goggled gaze to him with great effort.
Walter gave their forearm one last friendly squeeze before he turned to speak to Natalie who had approached and tapped his elbow.
“What was that?” Loba asked as the pair walked away. “I’ve never seen you act like that before,” she accused.
“It is nothing,” they replied quickly. “I am not fond of these group activities. I wish to return home.”
“Mm,” Loba hummed, eying them suspiciously, but dropped the subject. “Well, he seems like he’s nice enough. We’ll see how he performs.”
Bloodhound returned to the ship, on legs that felt like those of a foal newly born, their heart still thumping in their chest. Their knees practically gave out as they slumped into the seat, buckling themselves in as the ship began to take off to bring them home. Bloodhound stumbled through the forest impatiently, tripping over divots and branches that they normally stepped over with ease. Their plan for a hunt now forgotten, they rushed inside and locked the door behind them.
They went into their bedroom and shut that door as well. Though there would be no one around to see them, they had to be sure. After sitting on the edge of the bed, they hastily pulled off their glove and reached into their innermost jacket pocket with clammy, shaking fingers. They slipped their hand into the small, secret slit in the lining over their heart to withdraw the small, folded scrap they kept so close. The material was softened from years of wear, the corners dotted with holes from being bent so many times - but it was their greatest treasure.
With trembling hands, they unfolded the photo, tracing their finger over the long-faded image. A man, dark-haired, strong features, scruffy-faced - much younger, but reminding them too much of the Legend they had met today. Their breath hitched in their throat as they turned it over, tremors overtaking their arms. Their respirator hummed more loudly to keep up with their quickening breathing. They read the words scrawled on the back, inked in tiny black handwriting and seared into their memory:
‘All my love, Boone’