INERLUDE NUMBER 1: CASSANDRA AND DOMITIUS

A/N: I changed my mind, inspired by people's desire for more backstory so I've decided instead of putting these one shots at the end of the story I'll scatter them through as interludes to Enobaria's story.

When: Two weeks before the 49th Hunger Games

Where: District 2 Training Centre

"Give it back!" Cassandra exclaimed indignantly, lunging for the knife. Domitius was taller though and he easily held it out of her reach, laughing down at her.

"Why don't you make me?" he teased, spinning the blade in his hand. Cassandra glared at him, then, in an instant launched herself on him, bringing them both to the ground with a loud thud. Surprised by her brazen attack Domitius struggled for a moment, only just managing to keep a grip on the knife, but soon enough gained the upper hand and pinned her beneath him. Panting for breath they glared at each other, then Domitius grinned. "Nice try, little Cass."

She growled playfully at him and kicked out, struggling beneath his weight though it was useless. Not only was he a year old than her but she was notably small for her age, and he had the advantage of being a the district's most recent, formidable victor while she was still just a student. Confirmed volunteer for that year yes, but not yet matching his victory.

He watched her struggle with an amused expression and patiently waited for her to give up. When she did she glared ferociously at him and hissed, causing him to laugh. "What are you going to do Dom? Kill me?" As soon as the words left her mouth she paled, and wished she could take them back.

His whole body tensed and then in an instant he had rolled off her, sending himself a few feet away for good measure. His expression was dark and he didn't look at her as he shook his head. "Cass you know I'd n-"

She cut him off, sitting up and crawling to her knees in front of him, ducking her head to try and make him look at her. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to say that. It was stupid."

He shook his head again gruffly and pressed the heel of his palm to his forehead briefly. He wanted to try and stop the flashes that were firing in his brain but he knew they wouldn't be halted that easily. Cassandra edged closer towards him hesitantly, like you would for a wild animal, and reached out, touching his arm. "It's okay Dom. It was the Arena. It's a case of survival, what you did in there...it's not who you are."

The sound of her voice helped more than the logical words. He knew she was right, she was always right, but it didn't stop the guilt seeping in sometimes. So many children. They'd had six 12 year olds his year and somehow his Victory just didn't feel victorious when it had been gained by slaughtering completely helpless children. There was no honour in that.

He tried to push the thoughts away and finally looked up, meeting her glittering black eyes. He loved those eyes, they held so much spirit. Realising that the playful mood had been completely destroyed he tried to give a wan smile and lighten his tone. "Yeah, you're right. I'm not Aeron. He can't seem to leave his Victory in the Capitol, can he? I swear if I hear that pig headed, arrogant smug telling me about his kills one more time..." he left the sentence hanging as he watched Cassandra's eyes drop. "What is it Cass?"

"Nothing," she said quickly, brushing his outreached hand aside. She reached over and picked up the knife that they had both discarded, running her fingers absent-mindedly along the blade. Its flawless surface calmed her.

"Cass," he said in a warning voice. He could read her like a book, they both knew that. It had been six years since Cassandra had joined the Training Centre, six years since Domitius had first laid eyes on her and they'd been inseparable friends almost from that moment. He'd made sure of it. Just as he knew there was something she wasn't telling him, she knew he wouldn't take no for an answer, so she shrugged her shoulders moodily and kept her eyes on the blade in her hands.

"My father has promised my hand to Aeron after I win the Games. It's all arranged and there's nothing I can do about it...except die, of course." Her attempt at lightening the statement failed miserably and they both fell into a dark silence. She waited nervously, knowing how angry Domitius would be. He hated her father and the way he tried to use his children for pawns. Wedding his only daughter to one of the District's most famous and powerful, but notoriously unstable, Victor's was only the latest plan in his bid to gain control of everything. He wouldn't care that Cass would be forced into a marriage with a man famous for his violence and his cruelty, both in and out of the Arena. All he would care about was that the match would bring him one step closer to power, whatever that entailed. She was surprised when Domitius spoke, expecting fury and shouting. Instead his voice was scarily quiet.

"You can't do it Cass. We'll find a way out of it, I promise. You can't marry him. He's-" Neither of them needed him to finish the sentence. She knew exactly what Aeron was and what a life with him would mean. She'd been worrying over it for weeks now, since her father told her, and her times with Domitius were the only occasions she got to escape that. She knew that nothing could be done to change her father's plans once they were made. The only way out was if she died in that Arena, and no matter what the consequences her survival instinct was too strong for her to let that happen. She also knew that Domitius was just as strong and stubborn as her father, and that he would take the powerful man on if she gave him the chance. She couldn't let that happen. It would be as good as a death warrant for Domitius, and she would not let him put himself in danger for her. So she pulled on an indifferent smile and gave another shrug, trying to lighten the mood.

"I'm sure he'll change his mind. You know how often my father's plans change. Besides, I've got to get through the Games first, and that means only one thing," she said brightly, pouncing on him suddenly and pinning him to the ground with the blade pressed neatly to his throat. "Practice, practice, practice," she recited, forcing a smile.