I'm boycotting the ffnet xover system until they change it to the AO3 system. Or - at least I am now. I have officially joined the movement! I have a purpose in life! Wow!
SkyrimxHunger Games crossover, but there really isn't much Skyrim to it - aside from the location. Hell, this could have been on Tatooine or Hoth and it would have had the same effect on the plot. This entirely revolves around characters from the Hunger Games series and plots and themes from it as well. I don't think you need any knowledge of Skyrim to read this although it will give some context.
Katniss Everdeen took a deep breath, inhaling the cutting chill that seemed to embody the very heart of Skyrim. Here, in the dense forestry, she could feel the ground beneath her and the atmosphere above, so much larger than her, and yet still so small. She needed no map or compass to direct her through the forestry, sure of her direction and location. A half-day's walk to Falkreath, a day or night to Rorikstead.
There was something simple, something glorious, in traveling in the silence of solitude.
She felt empowered, confident.
There was nothing she needed, nothing she couldn't provide herself.
She walked leisurely, keeping to the shadows of the forest, path in sight. Though they were the easiest way of travel, roads this remote were normally laden with bandits and thugs, waiting for unwise travelers. At the sound of running water, she quickly turned away, moving deeper into the forest. Here, water clung in the cloying branches, a thick, wet humidity that hung on her shoulders and seeped into her clothes. The forests of Falkreath were normally mild temperature, but with the offset of winter all that was left of the normally sweltering forest was a cold dampness. She reached into her pocket for this morning's breakfast; a small knapsack of nuts.
She tracked a pack of elk for the majority of the morning, fingers drifting over half-eaten moss and the light patterning of hooved feet on the wet forest floor, smashed branches and stomped leaves.
Finally they lead her towards a small clearing.
From the increasing wetness of the ground beneath her, she guessed she was close enough to Lake Illinalta for recent flooding to seep over here. She sifted soundlessly through the trees, keeping to the shadows.
Katniss readied her bow, the enchantment sizzling to life, soft blue sparks rising in the air. She aimed her sights on one of the grazing elk, large antlers likely making for a decent sale back in Falkreath.
The hunter sucked in a breath, easing it out slowly, and then—
A sudden, loud crack echoed through the forest, startling her into letting loose an arrow. The jarring movement of her surprise had the arrow missing by inches, the deer already scattering back into the forest.
She'd have been more irritated, had she not been more focused on the abrupt, cacophonous noise.
A boy had been dropped right into the clearing, face down in the dirt.
Her instinct had her training her sights on him, weapon raised, wary of attack.
But there was no movement.
Cautiously she stepped forward, and at the first sign of movement leapt back, in one fluid motion pulling an arrow from her quiver, poised at his heart. Keen eyes swept over his form. He was unarmed, dressed in thin material dirtied from the ground. The cloth was shiny and eye-catching, seams lined with red and made predominantly of black. It didn't look like any kind of camouflage.
She lowered her bow hesitantly, crackling lightning diffused with the easing of the taught string. Her guard didn't falter however, eyes narrowed.
"Who are you?"
He groaned in response.
Alive, then.
A Nord, perhaps? He was pale like one, with downy, thick blonde hair—and certainly built to weather the unforgiving terrain of Skyrim. But his clothes…
He was on his knees, shakily making to stand on his legs. When he did so, his attention was diverted from her—entranced with the first thing he saw. The sky.
She stalked closer, whipping a dagger out of her belt and pinning it to his neck. "Who are you?" She asked again, viciously.
His eyes were dazed and wide, staring into the brilliant, blinding gray sky. Finally, when the blade cut against his skin, he dropped back to the world. "I—" He sucked in a mouthful of bitter cold air, looking around wildly, "I… where—what…" He swallowed. "What district is this?"
District…?
Her grip on her dagger faltered at the word.
"District…" She echoed slowly. Forlornly. And then, with more aggression, "Tell me who you are before I gut you like a fish."
His eyes narrowed and blazed with fire. The chords of muscles in his arms flexed with a power she wouldn't underestimate, rippling with ire at her words. So he didn't take to insult very well. With a cry he threw her arm off, only to find himself overbalanced as she deftly moved out of the path of his swing. She threw him into the dirt with practiced dexterity, using his momentum against him, pinning him to the ground with a knee to the back, ebony dagger swift and cold to the fine hairs on his neck.
He gritted his teeth, bucking against her with the strength of a cornered frost troll. But she had anticipated this, holding her ground.
"I'll ask you again." She repeated slowly. "Who are you?"
"My name is Cato." He hissed through his teeth, looking unhappy and unaccustomed to defeat. "I'm from District 2."
But what's he doing here? She thought wildly, mind overcome with a flurry of emotion.
More importantly, how did he get here?
"You're far away from home, Cato." She replied eventually, blindsided by his response and reeling with the repercussions of what this could mean.
He grunted, and she remembered she was pressing her knee directly opposite of his lungs, and was quick to ease off him—but certainly not to let her guard down. A kid built like that from District 2… undeniably he was a Career.
With effort, he pushed himself off of the ground. Again, his eyes caught the breathtaking vastness of the wet sky above him, and the crisp, burning cold of the air. He pulled his gaze away from the stratosphere to the girl in front of him, watching with wary eyes. She was armed to the teeth—an incredible bow strapped to her back, a quiver full of arrows. In one hand was a dark knife, but more were strapped to her thigh. Her belt was lined with packs full of items he could vaguely make out. And her face was covered in a stone mask with an unforgiving expression ossified into malachite green slate. He wouldn't have been able to tell she was a girl at all if not for the thick braid of dark hair resting on her left shoulder, and the low but undeniably feminine voice. Although, now that he could take a good look at her, her clothes were incredibly formfitting…
But one thing was for certain.
This was no District.
"Where am I?" He asked her, suddenly alarmed at the very prospect. And, trepidation rising, "What District is this?"
He fashioned her looking at him with an impassive gaze behind the even more impassive mask. "This isn't a District."
His fears were confirmed. "Well where the hell is this?" He shouted, feeling unsure and confused and hating it. They were foreign emotions to him—a boy who'd always been confident in his surroundings, and more importantly, himself. To be flung out like this, with the very ground beneath him upturned…
"This is Skyrim." She said.
As if he knew what the hell that meant.
"Skyrim?" He echoed, feeling foolish. "What is that?"
She didn't say anything in return. He wanted to rip that goddamn mask off, just to see what she was thinking—just to understand at least something. A cornerstone of his world had been ripped out; the Capitol and its grip were supposed to be infallible. And yet here he was, outside of any District—in Skyrim, apparently—and here was this girl, if she was even a girl, who quite clearly was aware of this.
"It's a place." She deadpanned, as if talking to a slow, dimwitted child.
This irritated him more. "Yeah, I fucking get that." He cursed. "But where in the fuck is it?"
She didn't reply.
"Where is it?" His voice raised with terror. "Tell me, goddammit! And how do I get back?"
This time she turned away, as if losing patience with him.
Fear boiled in his stomach, threatening to wretch right up his throat. Moments passed, and she had yet to make a reply. He felt like he was going to throw up. He'd never been comfortable with confusion—generally it led to anger, and when he got angry, people were quick to give him what he wanted.
"You can't." She replied, flatly.
A bone-numbing cold washed over him, the strength in his limbs seemed to fail him as the world dropped out from underneath him. He almost dropped to his knees, but even still he refused to show weakness.
He barely recognized that she was moving. Moving away. Not a sound was made by her silent footfalls, an unnatural quiet he hadn't yet registered. When she approached, when she took him down—she didn't make a sound.
Finally, before she faded into the distance—
"Wait!" He called, urging his legs to move. "Wait, goddammit it!"
In comparison, his feet slapped against the cobbled path and his pants rustled together with clashing sound. She didn't wait for him, didn't slow, but rather kept her even pace until he caught up with her.
"But, you know about them right?" He fell into step with her solid strides. "The Districts… you knew what I was talking about. Can you tell me how to get there? Where they are?"
They continued down the path, him without answer. She was a ways shorter than him, but then again everyone was, and a part of him grew angry again. Who was she to defy him? From here, he could see the slight cusp of her arm between the sleeve of her shirt and the beginning of her gauntlets. It was tanned, but thin. He could crush her wrist in seconds.
"Answer me you fucking—
She ducked under his wild swing, kicking him in the back of the legs and taking him down before he could fight back. She moved like lightning; swift and deadly. So much more deadly than any other Career he'd fought at the academy. This wasn't just showing off to her—this was real.
He growled into the dirt, feeling his anger rise the more she ignored him. She hadn't even tried to take him down, not really. This marked the second opportunity she'd had to slit his throat that she hadn't taken. Two opportunities that, had they been in the arena, would have cost him his life.
"What do you think the Capitol's gonna do to you when they find out that you're on the outside, huh?" He shot up racing after her. "What District are you from? I'll be sure to—
This time, he blocked the punch, but didn't have time to bring his guard up for the other. She connected a solid left hook to his face, picked him right off his feet. Privately he'd admit she was stronger than he'd given her credit for.
"You're not in a District anymore!" She shouted at him, her vague annoyance with him giving way to legitimate fury. "There is no Capitol! You're not even on Panem! Get that through your head!"
With that, she spun smartly on her heel, making route for the tree line rather than following the winding cobble road. She didn't need a path—and she'd much prefer the solitude of the wilderness than this blubbering fool. A part of her was curious as to how someone had managed to cross the barrier between the two worlds—whatever kind of barrier that may be. But mostly she didn't care to know. And this boy, this… Career from District 2 didn't belong here, didn't deserve to taint the wilds and glorious beauty of Skyrim with his very presence. He could die out here for all she cared. Hell, he probably would, considering a Career like him only knew how to brutally kill others, certainly not how to survive on his own.
"Dammit." He hissed, rubbing at his bruised jaw.
His eyes strayed to the long, infinite path for him. The road seemed to stretch for miles—the entire place seemed to stretch into the ambiguous boundaries of forever. Mountains cusped into the blinding sky, towering over him and instilling within him a vague sense of intimidation. Everything here was so foreign, so wild. Nothing manmade was in sight but this road, which unlike the ones back home, didn't seem to overpower nature, rather, conformed to it.
And he knew, laced with his frantic, racing heartbeat was the truth.
He couldn't survive out here.
He jumped to his feet.
"Wait—!"
Cato stumbled into the forest after her, his eyes training amongst the foliage for any sign of movement. Any sound of it. But there was nothing, and he recalled her brown outfit and how unfortunate it was she was wearing it. She blended right in.
"I'm sorry!" He called loudly, into the forest, even though the words burned his pride. "I'm sorry! Please, just wait!"
He staggered onwards in the dense forestry, legs scraping against the shrubbery at his legs, the forest loud beneath him. He couldn't hear anything beside himself. Couldn't see anything aside from the camouflage of thick trees. He squinted into the dim lightning, cursing himself but mostly the world for this predicament. How did he even get here? He couldn't recall it now—too busy on trying to find his last link to survival. Last link to home. Nothing looked even vaguely familiar. He knew what a forest was, sure, but he'd never really been in one. Or in one that didn't end in a few meters with a giant, metal wall anyway.
"How do you intend to find something making such a racket?"
It seemed his search had been in vain.
A calm figure leaned against a large trunk, surmising him coolly with that blank, unnerving mask.
He sagged in relief at the sight of her, the majority of his falsely directed animosity seeping out of him.
"I didn't think it would be this difficult." He huffed, before shaking his head. "Look, I didn't mean to insult you—
At this, she snorted.
"—I… I'm just confused and I don't understand anything. What the hell is going on?"
She tilted her head, pushing off the tree. "Maybe the better question is; how did you get here?"
He blinked, unsure. Without another moment, she turned swiftly and began to delve deeper into the forest.
He started. "Hey—wait come back! I thought you weren't mad at me anymore!"
"Mad at you?" She looked over her shoulder. "No. But it's almost dusk—I suggest we keep moving."
He swallowed thickly at the idea of what could lie in this forest… what predators descended on the unwary under the cover of night. He was certainly under the category of 'unwary'. He moved to follow her. "I don't know how I got here." He frowned. "I was in training. I think. At the Academy, one on one. The other guy fell pretty quick, but they weren't letting me out. I kept calling to them… I must've been in there for an hour. I thought they forgot about me, left me in there to die or something. I started freaking out, breaking shit… I hit something and the force field went down. Or I think it did. I hit my head real hard in the blast and then… I dunno."
"The force field…" She repeated, but didn't seem to be talking to him.
"Yeah. Uh, what is this, exactly? I mean, you said it's called Skyrim but… where is it? Is this…" His eyes widened. "District 13?"
"I told you, this is no district." She replied. "This is the province of Skyrim, on the northern part of the continent of Tamriel. To the left is High Rock, and the right, Morrowind."
As if sensing his incomprehension, she turned to look at him. "But this probably makes no sense to you. However, there isn't much else I could tell you either. Wherever the continent of Tamriel is, it is far, far away from District 2 and Panem at large. In fact, I largely believed there was no physical way to get from here to Panem."
He paused, mind reeling and going numb with shock. "So… there's no way back?"
"Not that I know of."
He looked at his hands. His clothes. He was still dressed in his Academy clothes. "Is this... is this real?"
She paused, musing darkly, "Maybe this is all just a dream…"
A part of him wanted to believe it. The majority of him, however, shook his head.
"Your punch connected pretty solid." He refuted wryly. "I think, if this was a dream that would have definitely woken me up."
Then a thought occurred to him.
"Hold on; if there's no way to get from here to Panem, how do you know of it?"
"That," She began quietly. "Is an even better question."
.
.
.
She didn't say anything further after that, and though it angered him greatly and all he wanted to do was physically wrench it out of her, he knew there was nothing else he could do. And that burned even more. This helplessness… it was unbecoming of him. He had no idea how to handle it. He'd never been so powerless before.
And he had no other option but to follow her.
Because he couldn't survive on his own.
He sat at the bottom of the tree, trying not to make a sound. She told him curtly that he 'breathed so loud she could shoot him in the dark', and he'd wake up half the forest with that noise.
And she was out there, somewhere, hunting game—as much a part of the forest as the trees and the animals, blending so effortlessly, so silent and swift and deadly. He begrudgingly recognized her prowess. Here, she was in her element, while he struggled for footing. But where was his element? Where would he have the upper hand? In the arena? He realized bitterly that the arena, the Hunger Games, were meaningless. There, thousands watched you enclosed in a relatively small area to fend for yourself. But not really. They gave food, water, shelter, supplies—all within reach. There were twenty-four other people to ally with and assist you, if you had need of them. Sure, they could kill you. But they were all just kids.
Here, he was alone. No other Career Tributes to ally with. No cornucopia to feast upon, no sponsors to aid him in his time of need. Here, not only was the forest itself out to kill you, weakening you slowly through exhaustion, poisoning you with dangerous fruit—but the wildlife itself. What was a weak District kid in comparison to a towering cave bear? Here, no weapon was gifted to him from the skies. All he had was his strength and his head.
But even those were failing him.
Cato grimaced at the wound on his arm.
Why did bears get vicious claws and humans get thin, frail skin?
You couldn't take out a bear with your bare hands.
Their scuffle with the bear lasted about two minutes. Had it been him alone, it most likely would have ended in the same duration—but with his dead corpse feasted on by the wilds of the forest. He had no doubts that, had she not been there, he'd have been dead.
She didn't have his brute strength, no, but she was swift and quick and incredibly agile, predicting the clumsy animal's movements and aiming directly for the heart. She wasted nothing but a steel arrow, which she quickly cleaned and placed back into her quiver.
Normally, she had said, she'd spend the time to skin the bear and clean the meat, keeping the pelt and claws to sell and the meat to eat. But apparently they couldn't spare the time.
"We'll want to reach Falkreath by sundown." She had said, like he knew what Falkreath was.
He looked up at a faint rustle from his left.
He'd gotten better at hearing the indistinct, almost inaudible noises she made. This one was louder, however, and curiously he stood.
Slung over one shoulder was the body of a dead fox, orange pelt dim in the dying light.
"We're eating that?" He balked, feeling a bit sick. Sure, he was hungry… but was he that hungry?
She narrowed his eyes at him. "Of course not." She replied, shortly, motioning for him to follow her.
He didn't like the idea of following anyone, but was quickly getting used to following her. At the very least, she was an equal. He'd never admit to calling her a superior, so he stayed at that. She was his equal.
She led him through the growing darkness as if she could penetrate through it. Eventually, they came to a break in the trees, a cobble path running horizontal down it. She quickly made for it, and he followed, giving a last look to the forest which had housed them for what seemed like eternity. It was almost completely dark now, and he could barely see past the first line of trees.
"What is Falkreath?" He asked, for lack of anything else to say.
"A town." Was her bland answer.
He looked up at the sky, the clouds had dissipated, leaving him breathless in their wake. Stars glittered and twinkled, speckling the gradient of Prussian blues and violets, chambray hands of light twisting for the moon from the burning horizon. And the moon—so large and overpowering in the sky, almost a sentient being of its own.
It was then, that he truly began to believe.
It was then that he knew.
He was far away from home.
.
.
BREAKBREAKBREAK
.
.
Gale picked up the snow white rabbit, looking satisfied. So far his snare trail had been giving marginal success, up until now. The pelt was fine and soft—would probably go for a lot with that coloring. "Not bad, not bad." He whistled low. "This'll fetch a decent price at the Hob, don't you think?"
Katniss rubbed at her eyes, sleep still clinging to the edges of her vision. She nodded, absentmindedly.
Gale frowned, turning towards her and contemplating her with those dark grey eyes. "You alright?"
"I'm fine." She replied, honestly. There wasn't anything physically wrong with her, at least.
"You've barely been paying attention all morning." He pointed out, looking more concerned than annoyed by this.
She shrugged, holding up a furry, dead animal. "Got this, didn't I?" Squirrels weren't the most difficult to hunt, but in winter finding one was almost a miraculous blessing.
"Barely." He was quick to add. "You looked half asleep when you shot that."
Which undeniably was true.
The hunter shrugged. "Just haven't… been getting a good sleep I guess."
Gale tilted his head. "Bad dreams?"
They neared the fence, both stilling for a moment to listen, ears straining. But the electric current was silent, nothing but the winter wind whistling far above them, twisting among the bare trees.
"I guess so." Katniss sighed.
The problem was—she didn't remember them at all. Even now, after waking up half in a daze, she couldn't pinpoint exactly what she had been dreaming about. A vast, stormy sky. Foreboding mountains, and tall, tower-like trees. And hunting.
But it continued to feel like a part of her was missing.
And she was just beginning to realize.
.
.
.
Cato woke up feeling like he'd only just fallen asleep. Dawn seemed to come too early, and even though his body felt exhausted and ready to collapse, his mind was racing and still etched with confusion and sleep wrestled away from him every time he grasped for it. He hadn't done much, honestly, aside from walk through the forest with that girl—whose name he still didn't know—and yet he felt like he'd sprinted a great distance and sparred with at least a dozen other Careers. Who knew foraging around in the forest was such a difficult, tiring ordeal.
The girl had managed to sell off the fox, bartering for some time over the price. She had a way with words, truly. A slippery, cunning tongue to match her deft and deadly aim. Though she couldn't procure a better room at the inn from the innkeeper. Apparently a marching of 'Imperial' soldiers had come through on their way to Solitude, and they were booked solid. She managed to wheedle a single room for him, but refused to stay in the same room.
It was only now that he realized she had never told him where she was going.
His heart leapt into his throat as he scrambled out of the bed. He crossed the hallway with heavy strides, furtively looking about the inn. She was nowhere in sight. He raced out of the building, and into the streets now full of wakened people that hadn't been there last night. None of their haggard, worn faces looked familiar.
Children swept by his legs and he almost stumbled over them in his haste, turning down road after road, trying to spot her familiar stone mask.
He was panting by the time he found her, not from physical exertion but from terror and adrenaline shooting through his blood.
He almost didn't recognize her, aside from the magnificent and recognizable bow strapped to her back.
Her dark hair was pulled back, bobbing slightly as she moved. She was standing in front of a workbench of some kind, and belatedly he realized the loud clanging he'd heard all over town was coming from her. Next to her, a man was shoveling ores into a smelter, and a woman was at the grindstone.
She spared him a glance. "Oh, you're awake."
A part of him wanted to yell at her. The other part felt rather lame. Instead, he cleared his throat. "Um… what are you—?"
She held something out to him.
He grabbed for it immediately, hands shaking.
She snorted. "Don't get too excited."
How could he not?
It was a sword. A weapon. A way to protect himself in this foreign, dangerous world.
"It's just a steel blade—fortunately that fox pelt sold for more than I thought it would." And, appraising the way his eyes lit up as he studied the sword, "If you prove well with it, I'll make you a better one."
"Yeah?" He replied, not really listening. He was enraptured with the weapon in front of him, relieved even. It wasn't the worst blade he'd seen, not as good as the ones he'd been allowed to train with at the Academy but decent enough. A thought occurred to him, and he lowered the blade for a moment. "How'd you know I used swords?"
She shrugged. "You have the build. Unless, you'd prefer an axe?"
"An axe?" He hadn't even thought of it. "No. No this is good." He hefted it again in his hands. A decent balance to it, too.
He studied her closely.
It was then he realized she wasn't wearing that mask of hers. From here, he could almost count every freckle on her face. There weren't many, a few sprayed across her cheeks, framing the almost unnaturally light, gray colored eyes. She looked… incredibly young. With women, it was hard to tell how old they were judging from their height. He'd assumed she just had a smaller build. But looking at her youthful, lovely face, he supposed she couldn't be much older than him.
The thought made him a bit jealous—she seemed so much older than him, wiser. Better.
"Good." She nodded, unaware of his staring. "We'll leave today then."
He blinked. "Wait. Leave?" He echoed, dumbly.
Without the mask, it was easier to decipher what she was thinking. She raised a brow, looking sardonic. "You want to get home, don't you?"
At the very prospect of it, he immediately brightened. "Yes! So you know how? When can I go?"
"I don't know how." She cut in, quickly. "But—and it's a long shot—I may know someone who does."
"Who?" He was practically jumping at her.
She held her hands up, looking to push him away. "There's a college, far away from here. The Winterhold College of Mage's. I don't know much about them, and certainly I'm no mage, but they're the only ones I can think of that would have any explanation for how you ended up here. We could talk to the Archmage maybe he would know."
He frowned, feeling his excitement ebb away, leaving only a feeling of sharp, painful loss. Mostly, he wanted to lash out. It'd be so easy to just swing this blade and slice her in two—no. What would that accomplish? This wasn't the Hunger Games. Had he been back in District 2, arguing with his teachers, he might have. But this wasn't District 2. There was no logical reason to kill her. If anything, he'd only be floundering around further.
"Alright, how far is it?"
At this, she gave him a dubious look. And then, with a hint of a smile, she shook her head. "You're really not from around here."
He flushed indignantly, growing impatient and irritated when she didn't answer his question.
"Depends on how fast we travel." She mused. "What roads we use." At this, she gave him an appraising look. "If you can keep up with me."
That rage, again. How could this girl think she was better than him? Didn't she know who he was? "That won't be a problem." He insisted, coldly.
Thankfully, she had no other derisive words for him. "Alright. Well, we should get supplies." She handed him a small sack. "Try the market—buy anything that'll keep for a long time."
He looked around for something to do with the greatsword in his hands, eventually sheathing it onto his back. The leather holding it was uncomfortable around him, and the sword itself was incredibly heavy. But he refused to show weakness in front of her. He took the coins from her. "Where should I meet you?" He'd be sure not to make the same mistake twice. Running around half the town in fear she'd left him wasn't an event he wanted to repeat.
"The gates. Try not to take too long."
And with that, she waltzed off.
He watched her, for a moment, the graceful slide of her body as she moved, contours shifting with cat-like nimbleness. He felt heat rise to his cheeks when he noticed the blacksmith watching him watch her. He was about to tell the old man off when a better thought occurred to him. "Hey," He tossed over his shoulder. "You ever heard of District 2?"
The man gave him a blank look. "What now?"
"District 2. Panem. The Capitol?"
He mostly looked perplexed, but a little annoyed.
Cato sighed. "None of these are ringing a bell?"
The smithy shook his head, shoveling more rocks into the smelter, and looking like he was going to ignore him.
With that, Cato took off too, privately thankful that he had spent the better part of the morning searching for the girl—whose name he still did not know—and inadvertently acquainting himself with the town of 'Falkreath'. He'd never heard a name like that… but then again, there were no towns in Panem. Just Districts.
By the time he reached the market, he realized with a sinking feeling that he hadn't any idea what food to buy. He never paid attention to survival lessons in school, quite confident in the fact he'd be one of the Careers who took over the cornucopia. That, and he assumed his time in the Arena would be relatively short. With a guy like him in there, they'd get done with the rest of the Tributes in less than a week and start offing themselves, and if he died, there'd be no point in learning what foods to eat and what foods will keep anyway. Even more so if he won, because then he just wouldn't care about things like that at all.
Thankfully, after swallowing his pride and asking one of the shopkeepers to assist him, it seemed he didn't have to know after all. She picked out cured meats and dried fruit for him after he handed her the sack of coins and asked her to give him as much as was worth. She didn't look like anyone he'd seen before. People in District 2 generally were well fed, clean, and took great care in their appearance. Here, everything seemed encrusted in a layer of dirt, including the people.
Speaking of the people in Skyrim, he literally balked as a man with a cat's body walked past him, excusing himself as he did so.
His baffled and utter astonishment was so clear the woman handing him the food gave him a curious look.
"Never seen a Khajit before?"
"A what?" He asked, numbly, as the cat-man walked down the road, turning at the corner.
"Khajit." She repeated. "They're people from Elsweyr."
"Elsewhere?" What a funny name. "Where is that?"
She blinked at him, slowly. "…It's in Elsweyr."
He figured this wasn't going anywhere. "Have you ever heard of District 2?" He pressed on. "Panem? The Capitol?"
"Capitol?" Something in her voice sounded like comprehension. "You mean, Cyrodill?"
Cyro—what?
"No." He deflated. "Nevermind."
True to her word, his companion was waiting for him by the gates, lounging with that unflappable countenance of hers. Her mask was back on her face, leaving him with a vague sense of loss—it was incredibly difficult to relate to her when she looked as inhuman as possible. Even the guards seemed to treat her with uneasiness, pacing some feet away from her and occasionally tossing stray, wary glances at her leaning form.
He tossed the sack to her. "This good?"
She nodded, not looking at the contents, simply tying them to her belt. He had no real connection to this simple, small town of Falkreath, and yet leaving it instilled within him a slight terror—of the unknown outside of its basic, lopsided stoned walls. Everything here was so unfamiliar to him… not for the first time this morning he wondered if all of this was real. Maybe he'd just hit his head, or ate something bad, and was experiencing some serious hallucinations. And yet, the bitter chill of the wind, and the overwhelming mountains seemed to ground him in place. This was real. It had to be… even if it didn't feel like it.
They rounded around the town with the stone path, gradually climbing up with the slow incline of the winding road, until Falkreath was nothing but a small, smoky speck when he turned back round to look.
Finally, once Falkreath was completely out of sight, he trained his sights on the girl in front of him. "Are you ever going to tell me your name?"
She turned to look at him briefly, not stopping her grueling pace.
For a moment, Cato thought she wouldn't answer him at all, as she returned her unnerving mask back in front of them.
Eventually she spoke.
"Katniss. It's Katniss."
Cato blinked. It… wasn't like any kind of name he'd ever heard. It fit her aptly, somehow. Now that he knew of it, he'd never be able to think of any other name that would suit her better.
They didn't speak after that.
They trekked for some time, up until the point that Cato was almost dozing on his feet. He wasn't kidding when he had said he could keep up with her—
And then the bandits struck.