The Hetalia Games - evilweasel (2024)

Chapter 1: District One: Arlovska and Bonnefoy

Chapter Text

Natalya always rose early. It was something of an inconvenience to not have to that morning.

Of course, nobody had to be up until noon that day at the very least. Then they would pull on their best and finest clothes, adjust their hair, and make their way down to the square for two o’clock, and the festivities that would follow. At least two families would celebrate the hardest, for the honour of having their children picked for the Games. Natalya knew if she was picked there would be precious little celebrating. Her mother had died a little over two years ago, and with her, any connection to social events. Her once loyal friends, instead of helping her through the pain and the grief, slipped away and found people to replace her. And she had no other family members, least to her knowledge. There would be no one to celebrate.

Natalya lay for a while in her bed, staring up at the ceiling. It would be hours yet before she had to get up and she took that time to reflect for a second. When you lived in an overcrowded community home flooded with screaming children, it became difficult to even hear yourself think at times. Technically she was far too old to live at this community home -- usually they didn’t take anyone over ten -- but there had been no other place for her to go, and thus she was shunted here. There were perks. Most kids here had to share bedrooms and clothes. She was the oldest, the carers knowing she needed her space at this age in her teenage life, especially in one that had lost her mother, and for the most part was left alone, unless she was being called upon to have dinner or help with one of the chores, or help out with the children. Sixteen. This year, her name would go into the reaping ball four times.

There had been excitement all month for this moment. Natalya had seen it at her school. The lessons were more lax as even the teachers couldn’t help but become excited. The Headmaster preached frequently about what an honour it would be if any of his students were picked, which was unlikely. Natalya personally thought the Hunger Games barbaric. A cruel way to remind everyone how under the thumb they were to the Capital. It annoyed and angered her, but of course, she couldn’t do anything about it. She was just one girl and most folk here loved the Capital. Still, she would rather be living here, in relatively comfortable housing, where tributes from her district won often, than in a district like twelve, having soot blackened hands and backbreaking work.

Yes, Natalya had learnt pretty early on how to keep her mouth shut. Oh, the things she used to blurt out as a child. She never lightened her words either, even at her age now, preferring to be much more direct and save any hassle. She talked often about how the Hunger Games were unfair and unjust, giving people like them an unfair advantage while those in the poorer districts starved in the streets. She quickly learnt this was not widely accepted. She quickly learnt to shut her mouth.

Morning sunshine was just beginning to stream in through the curtains on the window. Natalya sat up against her pillow, stretching her back out and shaking back her silvery hair. It had tangled itself into a wild mess during the night. Usually she kept it up in a ponytail for school, but there was no school today, so she hadn’t bothered. Everything was shut for the grand event about to occur. She had lay for a very long time, several hours or so at the least, so she could hear the patter of little feet on the landing, the talk of the excited young ones and the occasional word of one of the carers. Natalya had only just stood up out of bed, when her door opened.

“Natalya? Oh, good, you’re up.” It was one of the more kindly carers here, though Natalya still couldn’t give a damn about her. She’d grown used to not giving a damn about anyone, actually. “If you could, I’d like you to help me get the kids ready today. Get them washed and changed for the reaping -- um. When you’re decent, that is.”

Natalya looked down. She realised her nightdress -- which had been an old one of the kids -- barely covered her. Not that she cared very much. Modesty was not much of a thing here. She gazed back at her intruder.

“I will.”

The carer nodded, turning a little pink, and left the room again swiftly, leaving Natalya to it. She brushed out her knotted hair, and changed into her community home uniform. A white blouse, dark grey skirt that hung to her calves, and grey tights. Not very flattering, but there was no point in looking nice just yet. The reaping wasn’t until two.

She had a long morning ahead of her.

__________________________________

“Sister Nattie, Sister Nattie!” One of the little boys -- Peter, his name was -- clamoured. Natalya had just finished giving him his bath, and not only were her arms now soaked, but a good portion of her body was too after Peter decided to have a splash fight with another boy called Marcello. Like everything else here, most kids shared baths. They were only six, however, and perfectly fine with sharing baths and living quarters and clothes. Not that they had much say in the matter.

“Sister Nattie!” Peter called again, tugging on her skirt. Natalya turned to face the half-naked six-year-old, with a sigh. He grinned back up at her, oblivious. “Pick me up, Sister Nattie!”

“No thank you,” she replied. Natalya wasn’t fond of the idea of picking up a sopping wet, half-naked child to her bosem and pretending like he could fly. “Ask one of the matrons.”

Peter pouted. “But I want you to do it!”

“Put some clothes on first.”

“But I’m all wet!”

“Then dry off.” Natalya picked up one of the towels hanging off the rack and rubbed at his hair gently, but vigorously. Peter giggled at the sensation, and when she stopped and he caught sight of himself in the mirror, he gave a shriek of annoying laughter. His hair was sticking up at all odd angles.

“Look at my hair! My hair!” He kept yelling, nearly slipping on the wet bathroom floor. Natalya grabbed him just in time and smoothed his hair flat again to save her eardrums.

“There,” she said, “all better.” Natalya proceeded to wrap a towel tight around him, making the boy decent, and lead him back over to his bedroom. He shared with Marcello -- who was also in a towel, sitting on his bed, his ginger hair lying flat against his head from wetness.

“Sister Nattie,” he said, the moment she came in with Peter (whose towel was falling down around him). “Will I be picked for the reaping?”

“How old are you?” She replied, sitting Peter down next to him.

“Seven. Seven and a half!”

“Then no.” The moment she turned her back she could hear Peter get back up, as she got out clothes for them both. Their best clothes; a blue and white sailor suit for Peter, complete with a matching cap, and a green button down for Marcello. “Peter, sit back down, you need to get changed.”

“I can’t!” He yelled, gleefully. “I’m too hyper!”

“Well stop it,” she grabbed his tiny wrist and lead him forcefully back to the bed. “You two won’t be chosen anyway. You can only be chosen if you’re between twelve and nineteen.”

“That’s a silly rule!” Peter protested, trying to wrench his arm away from her. “I don’t like it!”

“Well, those are the rules.”

There was quiet for a moment as Natalya wrestled Peter into his clothes and hat. Then, Marcello spoke.

“But, these Hunger Games are gonna be different this year! They’re changing the rules, aren’t they?”

“No, they’re bending them,” Natalya said, through gritted teeth. “It’s allowed.”

“Why?”

“Because this year is a Quarter Quell.”

The Quarter Quell happened every twenty-five years. The first Quarter Quell, marking twenty-five years of the Hunger Games, the Districts had to choose the children that went into the area. The second, twice as many tributes were chosen. This was the seventy-fifth Hunger Games. A Quarter Quell. Natalya had to wonder what the Capital had cooked up for them.

Once the boys were changed and ready, and Peter had calmed down somewhat, the same carer as before came into the room. She smiled at the boys, bouncing a baby girl against her hip, then looked straight at Natalya.

“I think you’re all done for today,” she told her. “Why don’t you get yourself ready? I’ve run you a bath.”

“Thank you,” Natalya said, politely. There was more gratitude in her words than she expressed. Peter was a pain and Marcello wasn’t much better.

The bathroom was soaking wet from the many pairs of children that had had to be dunked under. It wasn’t very clean now either, plus all the shampoo and conditioner bottles were knocked over everywhere. Natalya stripped and sunk into the bath. She sunk so low her ears were under, blocking out the sounds of the community home effectively.

Right now, it was just her.

Of course, she couldn’t take a very long bath. The water was lukewarm at best. Once washed and ready, she stepped out the bath, and wrapped a towel around herself to preserve modesty, took her clothes, and headed upstairs, back to her room, to make herself presentable. It was there she found a surprise.

Natalya had been planning one wearing a clean white blouse, and borrow one of the female carers sky blue skirts. But here, laid out on her bed, was her mother’s best. It was a dark blue dress, with several ruffled layers underneath the skirts, a clean white apron, and a thick black and white ribbon to tie around the waist. A plain black, ribbon tie was to be worn around the collar, as well as plain black tights. There were even black gloves to complete the look. It reminded her so strongly of her mother just then, that her heart gave a soft pang, and her hand reached up to clutch the towel around her chest.

Who laid out the dress? Certainly not herself. This dress had lived in the back of her wardrobe ever since she had possession of it. But here it was freshly laundered and soft. Natalya gently picked up the fabric, and ran her thumb over it. If she pictured hard, she could still remember the smell of her mother in the fabric.

Natalya changed ever so carefully, as if the dress would rip at the slightest of tugs. She brushed her hair -- one hundred strokes -- and adjusted the ribbon tie around her neck. Peering at herself in the mirror now, was a completely different girl. She still had a solemn face and a slight body. But looking back at her was a girl that was beautiful.

Beautiful. Hm. Natalya had never seen herself as beautiful before. This was further reinforced in her mind when she walked down the stairs. The children stared at her, already lined up by the door.

“Sister Nattie!” Peter exclaimed. “You look pretty!”

“Thank you Peter,” she replied, still as solemn as ever.

The carer that had knocked on her door that morning -- the carer that had run her a bath -- hurried down the line of children all in procession. She turned rather pink in the face when she saw Natalya.

“Natalya -- you’re down. That’s good,” she said, then looked at the children. “Are we all ready? We’re going to the town square. Are we ready to support sister Natalya?”

“Yes miss!” The children chorused back, excitedly.

“Good! Let’s go then.”

The walk wasn’t a very long one, and they all made it to the square. Natalya was separated from the others, as she was made to sign in, and then get roped off into the girls sixteen year-olds pen. It was already tightly packed, and Natalya struggled to make room for herself amongst the others. The air was that of excitement, which was stagnant around the square. Families waved at their children in their pens. Cameramen were perched like buzzards on rooftops, and screens had been put up along with the banners, so that the whole of District One could see their chosen new victors.

Natalya directed her attention towards the stage, which had been set up just in front of the Justice Building. There, sat their Mayor, their Capital escort, and their previous victors, all exchanging gleeful glances. Nataya didn’t like those looks.

Then, just ten minutes before the clock struck two, the mayor stepped up on stage. The babble of the crowds died down.

“Welcome!” He boomed. “To the seventy fifth annual Hunger Games!”

The air suddenly thickens with excitement and tension. Natalya kept her body relaxed, staring impassively at the Mayor. He begins to read off a card on the podium. He read of the history of Panem, the country that rose up out of what was once known as North America. He lists the disasters, and the war that eventually brought them their shining new country, with thirteen districts that brought peace and prosperity to its citizens. Then he read of the Dark Days, the uprisings against the Capital. Twelve were defeated, the thirteenth obliterated. The Treaty of Treason gave new laws to ensure peace, and to remind the Districts that the Dark Days must never be repeated, the Hunger Games were born.

The rules were simple. Each district must select two tributes -- a girl and a boy -- to compete in the Games. The twenty-four tributes would be imprisoned in a vast outdoor arena, where in turn they must fight to the death for the whole country to watch. The last tribute standing wins.

“However,” the Mayor continued, now nervously looking at the clock for time. It was almost two o’clock. “When the rules for the Games were first laid out, it was decided that every twenty-five years, the anniversary would be marked by a Quarter Quell. A Quarter Quell would call for a slightly differed version of the Games, to make fresh the memory of those killed in rebellion.” The Mayor glanced at the time again. It was a minute to two. “We shall now wait for the reading of the card.”

With that, silence swept over the square. No one dared speak. They all shuffled from foot to foot excitedly. Then, the screens in the square, which had previously been showing a shot of the mayor at the podium, flickered and changed as the clock struck exactly two. Now, it showed their President walking onstage at the Capital, as the anthem played in the background. Behind him followed a boy carrying a wooden box. The anthem ends, and the President launched into another speech about the birth of the Hunger Games all over again, going further into detail about the Quarter Quell. Nataya was barely listening.

“On the twenty-fifth anniversary,” he was saying. “As a reminder to the rebels that their children were dying because of their choice to initiate violence, every district was made to hold an election and vote for their tributes. On the fiftieth anniversary--” he then continued. “--as a reminder that two rebels died for every Capital citizen, every district was required to send twice as many tributes. And now we honour our third Quarter Quell!”

The boy with the box stepped forwards, opening the box for him. Inside were rows and rows of yellowing paper, for more Quarter Quells. The President picks up one clearly marked with a 75, and begins to read.

“For the seventy-fifth Hunger Games,” he said, “as a reminder of the men and the woman that gave into violence, the boy and girl tributes shall be reaped together.”

A gasp rippled throughout the crowds. Natalya took a moment to absorb that information. Boy and girl tributes shall be reaped together. Meaning two boys or two girls from a district could go into the area. Meaning that she had double the chances of getting picked for the Games.

The anthem began to play again, as the President walked back off the stage, little boy in tow. Then the screen switched back to the Mayor. He cleared his throat.

“It is now time for the reaping. If you please…?”

The district one escort bounced to the front of the stage, just as the two seperate glass reaping balls of paper were being filtered into one.

“Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be ever in your favour!” She trilled, then bounced over the the glass ball. The escort dug her hand deep into the ball, and then managed to snag a bit of paper. Natalya watched with bated breath as she held it up, and read it aloud.

“Francis Bonnefoy!”

She let out a sigh of relief as other let out ones of disappointment. It wasn’t her. She was safe.

Francis Bonnefoy appeared to be a man only a year older than her, with long blond hair falling about his face. He carried with him an air of superiority as he walked, with a smug smirk on his face. Clearly he was one of those that had trained for this position. Or at the very least was one arrogant enough to think he would win. Natalya had to doubt that. The man was slight and pretty, delicate. He’d shatter like glass in the arena.

“Let’s give him a big round of applause, shall we?” The escort cried, and there was a smattering of loud applause in return. Several girls wolf-whistled, while some of the boys jeered jealousy. But there was still another chance to be picked. “Now, for our next tribute!”

The escort dug around in the ball again. This time she barely scraped the surface of the slips of paper inside the ball, quickly bringing it up to eye level. The air grew tense again.

“Natalya Arlovskaya!”

Shock. That was the first thing she felt. It ran throughout her entire body, freezing her muscles, causing her to become as still as a statue. The girls next to her parted ways, and Natalya realised that was her cue to go up. With tremendous effort, she took a step forwards. Then another, headed towards the podium.

Four slips! That’s all she had in there! Just four slips of paper! But it hadn’t mattered. She’d been chosen anyway. And now she was going to be sent to a bloodbath of almost certain death. Natalya stepped up to the podium, next to the Francis boy. She could feel the eyes of all of the District on her.

The escort asks for volunteers but Natalya already knew there would be none. She’d severed connections with everyone. Even here, in district one, where the Games were celebrated and it was considered an honour to fight for your district, hardly anyone volunteered. The mayor began reading the long, dull, Treaty of Treason, but Natalya was hardly listening. The shock was still working its way throughout her body. She didn’t cry -- Natalya prided herself on never crying -- but she could feel her heart sink into her shoes. There would be no winning these Games. She had no survival skills, no weapons training. She didn’t have a sunny personality, or a brutal one, so no one would sponsor her. All she had going for her was that she was from a rich district.

It was almost certain death.

The Mayor finished the long Treaty of Treason, and then ordered them to shake hands. Natalya took Francis’ delicate hand in hers and shook it carefully. Their eyes met. His were astoundingly blue, leering, but innocent.

Do you know, she thought. Do you know you’re about to die?

They turned back to face the crowd as the anthem of Panem played. All she could feel inside her was a hollow emptiness that threatened to swallow her whole. She was in no danger of crying, since she knew that she would appear weak like that. The train she was to be taken to the Capital on would be crawling with camera crews.

Natalya found herself being escorted into the Justice Building when the anthem was over, and taken to a seperate room. Here, they were supposed to say goodbye to their families and loved ones. But she had no friends, no family, and no loved ones. There was no one to come for her, Natalya was sure of it. So her visitor came as a surprise.

It was one of her carers. The one that had awoken her, the one that had run her a bath. She was still pink in the face, and smiling. There were no children with her. Natalya was half grateful.

“A tribute, eh?” She asked, when she came in. “You’ll do our district proud!”

Natalya could only look at her. “... Thank you. I will try.”

“You… erm. You think you’re going to win?”

“I don’t know,” she answered. “I don’t think so.”

“Oh -- don’t say that!”

“I don’t have any survival skills,” Natalya told her. “And I don’t think anyone would sponsor me. It’s likely I’ll be dead at the Cornucopia.”

“People will sponsor you,” the carer said, trying to be consoling. “You’ve got a good head on your shoulders. You’re not arrogant. You’re direct. You’ve got spirit. Play it up at the right angle and lots will be willing to sponsor you.” She put a hand on Natalya’s shoulder. “Don’t be discouraged. You’ve as much chance of winning this as any of the others.”

Natalya doubted that very much.

“Did you… erm… see the dress I laid out for you?” The carer asked, turning pink again. “I knew it was your mother’s. I thought it would be nice, you know? For… special occasions.”

She looked at the carer for a moment. “That was you?”

“Yes. I… washed it in the week following. I thought you might like it?”

Natalya opened her mouth to speak, but just then, a Peacekeeper came in.

“You have two minutes,” he told them. The carer nodded.

“Right -- I came in here to give you this, actually.” She took a piece of ribbon from her pocket. “For your hair, to keep it tied back for the Games. It’s… a bit of the district to remember by. Here, I -- I’ll tie it in now.”

Natalya turned, as the carer fiddled around, trying it into her hair in a bow. She didn’t have a mirror -- but the tightness of the ribbon grounded her somehow.

“Thank you,” she nodded. “I… I’ll wear it in the arena.”

The carer smiled. “Thank you.”

Then, she was being taken away by the Peacekeepers. Natalya watched her go, and had to wonder at her random acts of kindness. The poor, shy, kind carer, of which she never bothered to know her name.

She had no more visitors after that, and was escorted out with the boy Francis into a car around the back of the Justice Building. Natalya had been in cars several times before, but none as grand as this. The speed made her head press back against the seat, as they headed towards the train station.

Leaving behind her district, Natalya could only think that maybe she would now be reunited with her mother.

Chapter 2: District 2: Beilschmidt and Jones

Chapter Text

“I volunteer as tribute!”

This came as no surprise to district two. Ludwig Beilschmidt had been trained for years in an academy for the Hunger Games, he was bound to volunteer. Ludwig, even now, could feel resentful stares on his back of jealous boys, and infatuated girls. He never understood why girls were so infatuated. As far as flirting, or even basic conversation went, he was duller than a brick wall.

Ludwig stepped up to the podium with the previous boy who had volunteered, a fellow boy in the academy, Alfred F. Jones. They were something of rivals, top students constantly trying to outdo each other. At least, that’s what it felt like. Ludwig never really tried to best Alfred in anything, he only did what he was told as often as he was told to do it by the instructors, and got better and better and better. Alfred got better too -- but this was out of competitive spirit.

He was escorted to the Justice Building behind him, and there was taken into a seperate room, where families were supposed to say goodbye. In just a few minutes of waiting, the door was flung open again by his brother.

“Lud!” Gilbert yelled noisily. “You volunteered! Knew ya would!”

“Let’s not lose our heads, shall we?” Said another voice from the door, as the familiar face of his Grandfather stepped in. He was the one that had signed he and Gilbert up for the Academy. Actually, he was a previous victor of district two himself. “We’re all very proud of you Ludwig. I know you’ll win.”

“Of course he’ll win!” Gilbert said, folding his arms. “He was top in training!”

“So is Alfred,” Ludwig replied, quietly. “He’s been training as long as me.”

“All ya gotta do is take him out!”

Ludwig gave a non-committal shrug. His Grandfather stepped forwards, and put his hands on his shoulders. “I know you’ll bring honour to our family, Ludwig. I’ve been hoping you would be in the arena for years.”

“Yeah!” Gilbert said, but with now with a little less enthusiasm. “For the family!”

Ludwig knew why he was less enthusiastic. He saw the slightly resentful look Gilbert gave his Grandfather. Ludwig couldn’t really blame him. They had never really forgiven each other since Gilbert’s reaping.

“My necklace,” he said, untying it from around his neck. His Grandfather then placed it into his hands. “I give this to you. Wear it as a symbol of strength and courage.”

He nodded in return. “Thank you.”

The necklace was that of a small, iron cross. He knew his Grandfather had another, but it was locked in a cupboard somewhere. It was supposed to be Gilbert’s. But he never got the chance to give it to him. Ludwig tied it around his neck now, and it bumped awkwardly against the collar of his shirt. But his Grandfather gave an approving nod.

“Now you are ready.”

Gilbert gave a snort of disdain, enough to make his Grandfather round on him angrily.

“Something to say, Gilbert?”

“No,” he replied, sulkily. “Nothing at all, Vati.”

Ludwig looked between the two of them and sighed. They were always at odds with each other. Gilbert, noticing this, crossed over and slung an arm around his shoulders.

“Oh come on! You know I’m happy for you. Do the family proud, eh?” He asked, looking at Ludwig. Was it possible? But did he see a twinge of jealousy in his eye?

Well of course he had. Ludwig would feel the same in Gilbert’s position. But then, at that moment, a Peacekeeper came in.

“Time’s up. I have to escort all family members out,” he said, firmly. Gilbert gave him an affectionate cuff on the arm.

“Go on, Lud. I know you can do it.”

“You’ll do us proud,” his Grandfather added, though as a previous victor he would be coming with Ludwig to the Capital, to mentor them. Then, they were escorted out, and Ludwig was left staring at the doors where they left. The moment the doors swung closed he could hear immediate bickering.

Ludwig was lead out the back of the room again, to the car waiting for them. Alfred was there too. On seeing him, he gave a smirk-like grin and a wave.

“Hey! So I guess we’re at odds, huh? Cool, right?” His smile stretched. “Now I guess we’ll know which one of us is finally better than the other!”

“I guess,” Ludwig sighed, climbing into the car. He felt exhausted. He always did after talking with his brother and Grandfather.

“Didja meet your family just now? Was that them on the way out?” Alfred again, asked, climbing in next to him. “They were arguing.”

“I know.”

“What were they arguing about?”

“Oh, family stuff,” Ludwig wished he would stop pestering him with questions.

“Ah, I get it,” Alfred nodded, even though he clearly could not. Their family situation was unique only to them. Ludwig vaguely recalled Alfred having a brother, but he didn’t do, or even say anything much. It came as a surprise to most that Alfred even had a brother, whereas everyone knew Ludwig’s family scandal.

The car ride was a short journey to the train station, where there were cameras everywhere. Ludwig could immediately see Alfred grinning goofily and flexing his muscles, but he himself didn’t bother. In fact he caught his face on one of the screens. He appeared to look almost angry, walking stiff with a frown on his face. Ludwig tried to relax his muscles but this only worsened his expression.

It wasn’t just he, Alfred, and the cameras on the platform, however. His Grandfather soon joined them, as he was to be one of the mentors, and their district two escort. His Grandfather looked a little red in the face and angry, no doubt arguing with Gilbert. Gilbert was to be left alone while they went to the Capital. Ludwig could only imagine his jealousy. He could also only imagine the state of the house when they got back. Gilbert would undoubtedly get drunk and make a mess. Probably get into trouble. Wouldn’t be the first time.

They had to stand for a while at the platform so that the cameras could eat up every inch of their appearances. The moment they got onto the train the doors shut tight, and the train immediately began moving. It was one of the Capital, high-speed trains too, one of those that clocked in at 250 miles per hour. It would take a night’s journey at most to get there, and then get settled in the Capital building reserved for the tributes each year. Before they would be flung into the arena.

The train was even nicer than their own home in the Victor’s Row. The district two escort assured them both that everything was at their disposal. There were bedroom chambers, a dressing area, a shower room, a fancy dining carriage. Alfred immediately asked if there was anywhere he could train -- but he told him that it would have to wait for the Capital.

As soon as he could, Ludwig slipped away into his carriage, and took a nice, hot shower. He knew he ought not to, but he felt exhausted. It took a while to adjust to the settings on the shower, before he stripped and stepped into the warm rain. Here, he finally got a good look at the cross.

It was made of iron, obviously, black, but with a white edge. It was thick and heavy for a necklace too, weighted to carry. Ludwig thought it would be more of a hindrance than a help in the arena. Still, he ought to do his family proud and wear it. If not for his own sake then Gilbert’s, who clearly felt a little put out by his own not being awarded to him. Even if it wasn’t technically his fault, their Grandfather clearly blamed him. Which wasn’t fair at all, really.

Ludwig stepped out of the shower again and went to find some clean clothes. Eventually he settled on plain black trousers, and a green shirt. He felt much more comfortable in this, rather than his stiff dress shirt and tie. It almost felt a relief to take it off again.

Tomorrow morning, he would enter the Capital. There he would be put into the hands of the stylists, who would make him up and beautify him for the Opening Ceremony, as they entered the City Circle. Then he would train. They had three days to train, the final day being that of the Interviews. And then… the Hunger Games would commence.

Ludwig almost just wanted to get it over with. He had a huge statistical advantage. It would be most likely he would win. But if he died, he would shame his family. He couldn’t let that happen. Not after Gilbert.

Ludwig was pulled out of his thoughts suddenly by a knocking on the door. It was his district two escort, rapping on the door to fetch him for dinner. He followed him through the narrow, rocking corridors to the dining carriage. Alfred was already there, along with his Grandfather, and a few other mentors. And, of course, the district two escort. Ludwig sat opposite Alfred, and the mentors immediately launched into tactics.

Where to go. What to train for. What not to train in. Allying with others. Ludwig tried his best to listen. It was clear Alfred was hooked on every word.

“The food here,” one of the mentors was saying. “Is good. Rich. You want to load yourself up with carbs, since you’ll be running around full time out there. Meat is good too. Stay away from the deserts. There’ll be plenty of time for that when you’ve won.”

Alfred gave a winning grin. “Carbs. Got it. Anything else?”

“The career pack,” another added. “You two will likely be a part of them. But it’s dangerous. At one point you’re going to have to kill off your team, remember that. You two have been trained, so you’ll likely be the one they turn on. Keep your guard raised. Betray them before they betray you.”

Ludwig hadn’t even thought that he’d be in the Career pack. The Career tributes tended to be those from one, two, four, and whoever else seemed strong enough to be a part of it. These were the tributes that almost always won. Another advantage to him. Ludwig couldn’t help but feel a little sorry from those in the other districts. He wasn’t arrogant, but Ludwig knew he or Alfred would most likely be the victors.

The desert came, and as promised, neither of them touched the enormous Victoria sponge cake brought through. Instead they got up, and made their way into the next carriage, where the recap of the reapings were played across Panem.

“This is a good chance to scope out for potential allies,” his Grandfather said. “Other than in training. Go with your gut feeling.”

Ludwig watched, but only a few people stuck in his mind. A quiet, solemn girl from District 1. A man with black curls and a huge smile on his face from 4. A huge, bulky looking man with a pink scarf from 12. And, Ludwig couldn’t quite place why this one stuck in his mind, a nervous, quivering boy from 3. He shook like a leaf up on stage, though he did his best to smile. He was small and slim. Clearly stood no chance in the Games. When asked for volunteers, there was no one to speak but the wind.

The programme ends, and the Capital anthem plays out again.

“Time for rest, I think,” said one of the mentors, rising. “Tomorrow you two will be made up by your stylists for the Opening Ceremony. And you can’t look good with circles under your eyes.”

“Right.” Alfred stood, like a soldier at attention. “I’ll be heading off then.”

“So will I,” Ludwig added, quietly. The two of them left the mentors in the room, just as a tray of alcohol was wheeled in. He was half glad. Ludwig was never much one for drinking.

They walked along in a stiff silence to their rooms. But just as Ludwig was about to open his door, Alfred spoke.

“You know, I’d advise you to stay away from the Career pack this year,” he said, suddenly.

“... Why?” Ludwig asked. It wasn’t like he’d thought about it much anyway, but this took him by surprise. Alfred just gave a half grin. But there was something dangerous in that grin.

“Well, because those are the people I’ll be rounding up. And there ain’t enough room for the two of us. If you want allies, that’s fine. Just stay away from mine.”

With that, Alfred disappeared into his room, and left.

Now, Ludwig knew they’d never been on the best terms. They were always at odds with each other in training. But that just seemed… a little too aggressive. Well, they were trying to kill each other.

The drawers were brimming over with night shirts, but Ludwig just lay in his shorts. The sun had long since been going down. Tomorrow, he would arrive at the Capital. He knew he should be thinking about his training, and what angle he should play in the interviews. But oddly, he wasn’t thinking forwards. He was thinking backwards, of home, and of his brother. What was he doing? Had he already been drinking? Or had he actually remained sensible enough so he could see him win the Games?

Ludwig sighed. The relationship between his brother and his grandfather never used to be so rocky. In fact, once upon a time, it had been as good as his. But at Ludwig’s first reaping, all of that changed.

When they first joined up for the Academy, it was Gilbert who was deemed the successor to the family. He was supposed to be the next family victor. He’d been told over and over again how he’d bring honour and pride to the family again after his parent’s disappointment. They trained him hard and Gilbert shone. Ludwig remembered his brother bragging and swaggering about the house for weeks when he got to be top in training, beating out his rival for the top score. When he was nineteen, fully trained and raring to go, district two expected him to volunteer in for the Games. But he never got the chance.

Ludwig remembered that day. He’d been twelve, just starting out at the Academy. Nowhere near as good as his brother, or even what his brother was when he was twelve, but it was a start. It was his first reaping. He remembered the shock of it when none other than Gilbert’s name came out of the reaping ball. He couldn’t volunteer. But his Academy rival could. Gilbert was never quite the same after that, when his rival was deemed the victor of that years Games.

The odds of his own name being picked out had been so slim. But it didn’t matter. Ludwig thought of his own odds in the Games. They were not slim, they were about as good as you could get, excepting Alfred’s. But of course, the odds were never that dependable in his family. Perhaps Alfred would manage to kill him. Or that nervous boy from 3 would be his undoing.

Ludwig never got to think further than that. The rocking of the train finally managed to soothe him to sleep.

Chapter 3: District 3: Vargas and Honda

Chapter Text

Feliciano awoke again with tears streaming down his face. He gave a huge heaving sob, and tried to wipe at his eyes, but more tears just came to replace the last ones. His nose was also running, covering the duvet with snot.

He’d already done a great deal of crying. He cried when he was being taken into the Justice Building by the big scary Peacekeepers. He cried when he had to say goodbye to his brother and his grandfather. He cried again in the train and then started crying halfway through dinner too, because the food tasted so good and he couldn’t share it with Lovino. Lovino would have loved the massive slices of tomatoes they were being served in the salad.

Lovino was all the way back in District 3, safe at home. Feliciano already missed him terribly. His brother was a grump and a sourpuss but he cried too when he had to say goodbye. So did his grandfather. They all knew Feliciano wouldn’t make it home again.

Giving up on trying to wipe away his tears, Feliciano just lay back on his pillows and let the tears run down his face. His fellow tribute from district 3 hadn’t done any crying yet. He wondered how. His district partner was a short, quiet boy, with black hair and a deadpan expression, called Kiku Honda. This expression hadn’t been taken off his face since Feliciano first saw him. How could he do it? Wasn’t he scared? Feliciano was terrified.

Eventually, and with some hiccuping, the tears abided, half soothed by the rocking of the train. But there was still a terrible ache inside of him. These soft clothes, nice food, and comfortable beds were nice, but they weren’t the homely things he was accustomed to. District 3 was one of those filled with poverty, and they had barely managed to afford a tiny apartment on the highest floor. His Grandfather worked in a big factory from five in the morning to five in the evening, and could barely afford to send them to school. Feliciano liked school. He had lots of friends, even if he wasn’t too great in lessons. Tears threatened to spill again as he thought of his friends. Feliciano got up and moved into the bathroom to distract himself. He almost had to laugh at the mess he looked in the mirror.

Thankfully, the tears washed off his face with the shower. Feliciano had never taken a shower before. It took a time to get used to the controls as he was first sprayed with boiling hot water, and then freezing cold. He was from the district of technology and he couldn’t even take a shower here. What hope did he have in the Hunger Games?

No, don’t think about that, he told himself. Think about the lovely breakfast you’re going to have!

The supper served the night before had been the stuff of dreams. Hopefully breakfast would be the same. Encouraged by this, Feliciano towel-dried his hair, and changed into a simple shirt, trousers, and red jumper. Halfway through changing, his district 3 escort -- a blond, smiley man called Tino -- began rapping on his door to collect him. Feliciano liked Tino. When he began crying at dinner, he had given him a handkerchief and tried to comfort him.

“You’re up already?” Tino asked, when Feliciano opened the door to his rapping. “Wow, you district three people sure must love early starts, huh? Your fellow tribute was already awake too! Come on, it’s time for breakfast. You’re going to love what the chefs have put together.”

Yes, Feliciano liked Tino very much. It was comforting to be distracted by good food. Feliciano followed Tino into a train carriage with polished, panelled walls, and a table with a white tablecloth thrown over it, the plates and cutlery arranged very neatly. Two chairs were already taken; one was occupied with his fellow tribute Kiku, and the other his mentor.

The only surviving mentor district 3 had, was a man called Heracles. He was a quiet, kooky man. Currently he was asleep at the dining table, unperturbed by the rocking of the train. Feliciano slid into the seat next to Kiku, as Tino sat opposite. Almost the moment he did so he was presented with his breakfast; fried eggs, bacon, ham, sausages, a basket of fruit, a stack of pancakes drizzled with a honey coloured sauce, a rack of toast served with butter that had been carved into a delicate rose shape with a pair of pats. There was also a strange, black liquid given to him in a papery cup. Feliciano took a sip, and grimaced at the incredibly bitter taste.

“Don’t like it? Maybe you’d prefer this,” Tino said, giving him another cup of brown stuff. He took a hesitant sip, expecting it to have the same bitter taste -- only to find it pleasantly sweet and creamy. “It’s called hot chocolate!”

Feliciano drained his cup and grinned. “I much prefer that over the icky black stuff!”

Heracles seemed to have awoken as well at the sight of food. He was clutching the cup of black stuff -- ‘black coffee’, Tino called it -- close to his chest and took slow sips of it. Kiku was also quiet, and barely ate anything. Feliciano had to frown at this.

“What’s the matter?” He asked him. “Don’t you like the food?”

“No, I do,” Kiku replied, in a quiet voice. “I just don’t have much of an appetite.”

Feliciano frowned further. He was scared too, but that never put him off his food. When he was absolutely stuffed to the brim so that he couldn’t hold any more, he sat back on his chair, sighing. Kiku was now picking at some toast, but then he looked up suddenly at Heracles.

“So, you’re our mentor, correct?” He asked, suddenly in a much more loud voice. Feliciano perked up interestedly. “Aren’t you supposed to give us advice?”

Heracles nodded, absentmindedly. “That’s right. I am.”

Kiku looked at him expectantly. “Well, aren’t you going to?”

“I will,” Heracles nodded. “Yes.”

“Then, when we get to the Cornucopia, what’s the best strategy to--”

Heracles held up a hand, effectively silencing Kiku. “I work with one thing at a time,” he replied, quietly. “Right now, the main concern is the Opening Ceremony. You know what that is?”

“Oh!” Feliciano held up his hand, like he was in school. He knew the answer! “It’s when the tributes enter the City Circle all dressed up so the Capital people can see us and decide if they want to sponsor us!”

“Very good,” Heracles smiled. “Yes.”

“No,” Kiku replied, puzzled. “They decide whether they want to sponsor us when they’ve seen our training scores, and interviews. They won’t decide on appearance alone.”

“Most don’t,” Heracles agreed. “But a good majority do.”

“But,” and here, Feliciano could hear an irritation begin to creep into Kiku’s tone, “if ‘most don’t’ then why are we concerning ourselves with it? I think I would feel much better if--”

“You are eager, and I appreciate that,” Heracles interrupted again. “But please indulge me. I find I work one thing at a time. When we get to the Capital, you will be given to your stylists. They want to make you Capital-beautiful. Don’t resist what they do to you. Resisting them is like trying to resist a wave from crashing.”

Feliciano and Kiku exchanged bewildered glances.

“That is all.” He suddenly stood up. Heracles took a pear from the basket, and then left the train. They heard it shut behind him.

“Oh, Hera’s always been a bit of a weird one,” Tino laughed, awkwardly. “But he means well. And he does give good advice -- when he gives it.”

Suddenly Feliciano felt the train begin to slow, and jolted forwards a bit. He couldn’t help himself; Feliciano ran to the window to see what he’d only before seen on cameras, Kiku soon following.

The bright, dazzling lights of the city took his breath away. It was so grand, so glorious, so bright. Shiny cars roll down the twinkling streets, houses stood tall and gleaming, and the people, oh the people. Walking around in their odd clothing, hair done up in funky styles, lips painted, nails done, strutting around the streets. None of these people had ever missed a meal. If anything it almost seemed too bright. Artificial. Fake.

These people begin to point and yell eagerly as they recognise the tribute train. Feliciano couldn’t help but wave back excitedly, and felt a thrill when these strange people began waving back. He caught Kiku looking at him oddly, and grinned.

“Won’t you wave too?” He asked. Kiku shook his head.

“These people will be betting on our lives thinking that this is okay. I don’t want to.”

Feliciano shrugged. He waved and waved until his arms hurt, and then thankfully the train rolled into the station, blocking them from view. Tino grabbed them both gently by the arm, and began to drag them away.

“Come on,” he said, smiling. “You’re going to love your stylists!”
_________________________________________________________________________

Feliciano’s body felt raw, and was stinging and tingling all over. Mei, a Capitol woman dressed entirely in pink, with an enormous pink flower in her hair and pale pink lipstick to match, ripped off another bit of fabric from his leg, causing him to cry out in pain.

“Sorry, sorry! This is the last one, I swear!” She piped in the funny Capitol accent. She was a liar, because she quickly stuck another one on the back of his leg and then promptly tore it off again.

“Ow, stop it!” Feliciano begged. “You’re hurting!”

“Oh, don’t be so silly,” scoffed Im Yong Soo, a man with bright red contact lenses and dyed golden streaks in his hair. “We’re barely touching you!”

“Once we’re done with your legs, it’ll be over,” Li Xiao Chun added. He took a step back, examining Feliciano’s naked body. Feliciano had never been self conscious before, but now he’d been told he was hairy, dirty, and a bit greasy, he was beginning to feel it. Ming ripped off another bit of fabric from his leg, causing him to yell out again. Feliciano hated this.

When Heracles told him not to resist the stylists, he had no idea what he meant by it. Now, after being rubbed down with a gritty foam that took off the dirt, having had his nails clipped into uniform shapes, and now being painfully stripped of his hair, he did.

“Okay, I think we’re just about done here!” Yong Soo said, happily.

“Good,” Xiao Chun nodded, approvingly. “Grease him down.”

Feliciano was rubbed down with a lotion by Mei. It hurt and stung at first, but then it soothed his tingling skin. Then the three of them pulled out tweezers, and began to rid any places they missed of hair. He shrieked and yelped every time they plucked one out, whining constantly.

But then finally, the ordeal was over, and Ming, Yong Soo and Xiao Chun stood back to admire their work.

“This is good,” Mei said, clapping her hands. “Let’s get Tran!”

And just like that, the three of them bustled off. Feliciano stooped and retrieved his thin robe from the floor, sliding it back onto his body. The soft fabric soothed his skin even more.

‘Tran’ was a severe looking, middle-aged woman, in a lime green robe, hair in a bun and sealed with what looked like a chopstick. Feliciano smiled nervously at her, but she did not smile back.

“Take your robe off please,” she said. “I want to inspect you.”

Feliciano, somewhat hesitantly, dropped the robe again. Tran circled his body, sometimes raking a nail down his skin, making soft ‘hmm’ noises. Several times she tried to flatten the one wispy curl of hair that never lay flat on his head down, and sighed in irritation every time it would not. He smiled sheepishly.

“Okay. I’ve seen enough,” Tran then said. “Put your robe back on. We’ll be outfitting you shortly.”

“What am I going to wear?” Feliciano asked, hastily shrugging his robe on. Tran did not answer, rather beckoned for him to follow her out the door again.

Feliciano knew what he wore would have to reflect what district 3 provided. So it would be something to do with technology. But other than that, he had no clue. Feliciano just hoped he wouldn’t look silly. One year, two tributes from his district wore wires all over their body. When they waved, half of them broke up their arms. Feliciano hoped his outfit wouldn’t break.

Several hours later, Feliciano had been spray painted silver, and then squeezed into his equally silver suit that shimmered as he moved. It didn’t just shimmer, it moved, as tiny cogs all over his body whirred. He had on a headband pretty much made of cogs resting on his forehead too, and he could hear them clicking just above his ears.

Kiku came to join him just a few minutes later, in an identical outfit, being escorted by his own prep team. He walked stiffly, as if he were a cog himself. Feliciano gave him a big grin as he entered.

“Wow! You look great!” He beamed. “Our stylists really know what they’re doing, don’t they?”

“I -- I suppose.”

“We’re going to look so great for the Capitol audience! One of them is bound to sponsor us, just like Hera said!”

Kiku just gave him a very confused look. Despite himself, Feliciano felt excited. Maybe it was the mood caused by his ecstatic prep team telling him what a splash he’ll make, maybe it was just hysteria. Feliciano didn’t care -- at least he was distracted enough not to ache for home.

They were taken down to the Remake Centre, which was basically a giant stable. The Opening Ceremony required the tributes to get onto the chariots these horses were to pull, and they would be taken to the City Circle. It was also the first time they could see the other tributes in person. Feliciano gazed around wildly.

The Careers easily stood out from the pack. They were toned and muscled, and looked confident and showy. Feliciano knew he would stand no chance against them. These were people who trained for this sort of thing. But then there were also people like him. Feliciano saw a small boy, just twelve years old, getting onto his chariot. He looked frightened. Overwhelmed. Feliciano tried to give a friendly wave, but they boys eyes flitted away.

His own horses were a dapple grey, like the innerworkings of a screen. Feliciano gave them a small pat before, and with the guidance of his prep team, he got onto his chariot with Kiku. Tran adjusted his headband, smoothed out his sleeves, and then gave him a final once-over.

“... Good,” she said. “Now, heads high. Smiles. You want these Capitol people to like you.”

Then the opening music began to play, and Tran jumped off the chariot again, the prep team following her like ducklings. The massive doors open, revealing the shining Capitol streets and the people along them, cheering and screaming out for them. He could just about see the sky turning the muted evening colours. District one -- a silver-haired girl and a long, blond-haired boy -- ride out first, wearing glittering golden jewels. District One made luxury items, and they were always a good hit.

Then District Two went on, more of the Careers. For a moment Feliciano locked eyes with a boy with slicked-back hair. He wasn’t smiling, or even very excited to see the crowd. He gave a jittery wave, and the boy looked away. Then, it was his turn.

His horses began forwards, so well-trained reigns weren’t even necessary. The moment they were outside the doors it was like someone had turned up the volume. The screaming was so loud in his ears that he couldn’t even hear the ticking of his headband just above them. Feliciano, for a moment, was scared so stiff that he forgot to even smile. But these people were all smiling. They wanted to see him, they were reaching their hands out over the ropes keeping them back as if to touch him. Feliciano relaxed, and gave a timid wave. The crowd roared in response.

This encouraged him, even excited him. Surely one of these people must be willing to sponsor him! Maybe he wasn’t so doomed just yet! Feliciano put on his best, winning smile, and began to wave his arms in a mad wave. These people loved him, surely! And one of them must be rich!

“Feliciano, Feliciano!” They cheered, and Feliciano grew so confident he even blew a couple of kisses into a crowd of girls. They squealed in response.

It was then he noticed, Kiku wasn’t waving at all. He nudged him.

“Won’t you wave? These people love you!” He cried, happily. “No one will sponsor you if you don’t wave!”

“I don’t want to wave,” Kiku replied, through gritted teeth. “I feel dizzy.”

“Don’t fall off the chariot!” Feliciano replied, alarmed. Kiku could easily break a bone, and they’d probably still send him in the arena regardless. He grabbed his hand. “There, I’ll keep you steady. Now, wave!”

Kiku gave him a very confused look, and gave a half-hearted wave to the crowd. Feliciano just grew and grew in confidence, until he was almost jumping up and down on the chariot, beaming.

The horses lead them down the streets, and then into the City Circle, around in a large loop, before coming to a stop right outside the President’s huge house. The music ended with a flourish. Peering around, Feliciano could see the clothes of these people at the windows were even fancier than the normal Capitol citizens. They must be mega-rich.

The President stepped right up onto the balcony, and launched into his speech. During the speech, Feliciano could see on the screens it was cutting to all of the tributes faces. When his came on, he gave an extra big beam, and almost waved too, but then the camera cut away to a big beefy man from District 4 behind him. His arm fell, disappointed.

It was then Feliciano realised he was still holding onto Kiku’s hand. He let go again quickly. Kiku seemed much more steady now that the chariots had stopped, and the crowds weren’t yelling anymore. He began to fidget a little himself however, as the sky darkened, and the president droned on. Thankfully the speech ended, and the chariots did one more lap of the Circle, before disappearing into the Training Centre. This would be their home for the next couple of days.

The moment their chariots stopped, the prep team descended upon them.

“You were great!” Mei squealed. “Lot’s of smiling and waving -- they absolutely loved you!”

“Your outfit looked amazing too,” Yong Soo added. “Trans a genius, isn’t she?”

Tran only gave him a stiff nod. “You did well.”

Feliciano couldn’t help but smile, and stepped down from his carriage. Not ever, in his life, had he felt such a thrill. He glanced at Kiku, who looked reserved, but okay. He was okay too. No, better than okay! Maybe, with the right sponsor, and he stood a chance!

He still couldn’t fight. But then, Feliciano realised he didn’t need to. Maybe he just needed the right allies.

Maybe, with some luck, he actually stood a chance.

Chapter 4: District 4: Fernandez-Carriedo and Machado

Chapter Text

The Opening Ceremony had come as something of a shock to Antonio. Of course, he knew it was a special event. That’s why he, along with his fellow tribute, Maximo, had been decked out in shimmering seashells, with a crown of seaweed and pearls on his head. And he knew plenty of people from the Capitol would be there. But he never knew it would be this many.

The screaming hurt his ears as his brown horses, tossing their golden manes, clip-clopped out the enormous doors. Antonio soon warmed up into waving, grinning at these funny Capitol folk. They looked so odd, but to them it was normal. He’d been made up to be odd now too. It almost made him chuckle.

Antonio, if he was honest, wasn’t too concerned with getting sponsored. He was scared witless of the Hunger Games, sure, but his District was rich enough to pay for his provisions on its own. If he wasn’t dead within the first ten minutes. Antonio knew he was good with a trident, and could work with snares if need be. He was a natural born swimmer, so if the arena was water-based he wouldn’t be drowning anytime soon. He was also technically a part of the career pack, giving him a huge advantage. And, of course, he had nothing to lose from dying. His mother had died giving birth to him, his father died at sea. Antonio had no siblings, barely had any friends. If he won, he could live out his life in the Victor’s Row and have more friends than he’d ever need. If he lost…

He tried not to think about that, focusing on smiling and waving as they entered the City Circle. Maximo was grinning from ear to ear too, waving both his arms around at once. Antonio wondered how he was keeping his balance. The chariots stopped outside the President’s house, and he stepped up onto the balcony to give a long, boring speech. Antonio wasn’t listening, instead focusing his attention on all these rich, Capitol people.

“Wow,” he whispered to Maximo, “these people must be loaded!”

“Better for us,” Maximo whispered back, “they’ll sponsor us and we’ll be loaded too.”

Antonio smiled around. Part of it was to try and get in favour with all these rich people -- most of it was because the smile couldn’t be taken off his face. Antonio felt excited. He was scared of the Hunger Games, but still determined to win it. He stood a decent chance against some of these poor, terrified children. He was seventeen, sturdily built from all the fishing he did out at sea, and strong. In some areas, skilled. He just had to watch out for the careers.

Maximo was also strong. Much stronger than he was. He seemed the cheerful type, but also the type to anger quickly. Antonio hoped someone else would take him out. Or better yet have him die by a muttation -- a mutated animal created by the Capitol to become quicker, more vicious, give them poison or something else that was deadly. Last Hunger Games Antonio watched the boy from his district get mauled alive by some crocodile-type mutt with razor sharp teeth. It was horrifying to watch.

He would rather have somewhat of an honourable death being killed by a tribute, than die at the hands of the Capitol.

The President’s speech ended, and the chariots started moving into the Training Centre. This would be his home until he was transported over to the arena. When his horses stopped, Antonio immediately jumped off his chariot with Maximo, staggering slightly.

“Careful there!” Someone grabbed his shoulder, steadying him. “Don’t want ya going AWOL before the Games!”

It was Mathias, his mentor, a man with wild blond hair and large blue eyes. He won the Games only a few years ago, and was one of the most memorable Hunger Games yet. He didn’t use a trident, but rather found he was much more skilled with a long, brutal axe, of which he beheaded half of his victims with. At the final fight, Mathias managed to bury the axe into his victim’s chest, effectively crowning himself the winner.

“Yeah, I guess. Did I do good?”

“You did great,” Mathias said, cheerily. “Didn’t you hear them? They loved you -- both of you,” he added, when Maximo joined them. “They’ll be falling over their feet to sponsor you two!”

“But you can only pick one of us,” Maximo pointed out.

“Then you gotta convince me which one of you two I gotta be rooting for in here.” Mathias turned suddenly, and gestured to the grand building that was the Training Centre. It was less like a building and more like a tower, with a floor for every district, and a garden rooftop. Then below, was the training centre of which this entire building had been named for. They had three days to train, and then show the Gamemakers what they could do.

“You’ll train here. Show me exactly what you can do, so I’ll know who to direct the sponsors to. Both of ya look pretty promising to me already. You’re both well-built and you’ve got the crowd’s attention. Now use that!” He suddenly slapped them both hard on the back, making Antonio stumble a bit again. “Tomorrow’s a training day!”

The district 4 escort was busying chatting up the Capitol folk to sponsor them, so Mathias was the one to take them into the building. It seemed simple enough on the elevator; press the button of your district and you’d be taken to your room. The elevator itself was made of transparent crystal, so when they stepped in Antonio could see the ground floor shrinking underneath his very feet. It was exhilarating -- and he was tempted to ask for another go.

The quarters given to him were even more luxurious than the train he arrived on. There were more gadgets, more technology, everything seemed somehow sleeker, more plush. Everything here was at his disposal. Antonio could zoom in and out on the windows, adjust the lighting by just talking out loud, change the heating on the floor despite the fact it was summer. Every panel seemed to have an endless arrangement of buttons, in a way that he couldn’t possibly press them all.

He killed the rest of his time in the bathroom, scrubbing away his prep team’s makeup and trying to figure out what buttons on the shower’s control panel wouldn’t either fry him alive or freeze him to death. Antonio didn’t even bother with any soaps or oils or conditioners -- it was all far too complicated for him. When he finally felt clean he dug around in the drawers, finding a suitable, plain shirt and trousers to wear. It was at that moment there was a knock at the door. It was his district 4 escort, who had finally decided to join them, calling him to dinner.

Good. Antonio was starving after all the excitement.

Maximo was already there with the prep team, chatting away to Mathias. There are also servants standing in every corner of the room, all dressed in white. When Antonio sat down, one hands him a glass full of dark red liquid. It’s alcohol for sure, and Antonio took a sip. It tasted sour and bitter all in one, and quite dry too. But surprisingly, he found himself liking the taste, and drained the glass. He didn’t refuse when the server topped it back up.

“Now!” Mathias said, raising his voice over the general, excited atmosphere of the room. “I know we’re all very excited, we’ve just made a huge splash at the Opening Ceremony, and I wanna offer my congrats to our two tributes on how well they conducted themselves during that.”

There was a smatter of applause and Antonio grinned sheepishly.

“Now we just gotta decide how to present you,” he continued. “But not now. For now, let’s eat!”

The prep team cheered, and the servers began to hand out the meal. First there was a creamy pink soup with sweet white dust powdered on it, crab cakes that came with a delicious white sauce and small salad, roast lamb studded with rosemary and garlic and vegetables swimming in a rich gravy, and finally, an apple crumble drizzled in thin cream. For a while there was no talk, only food, and severs ran back and forth, filling both plates and wine glasses.

When Antonio was full, he sat back on his chair, grinning happily, just waiting for the others to finish. Maximo was still shovelling in food like he had a bottomless stomach. When they were all done, they moved into the living room, to watch the recap of the Opening Ceremony being played. All the chariots were being pulled past the camera, giving Antonio a good look at the tributes once again. He could only remember a few from the recap of the reapings. A broad, muscled career from 2, a short and severe looking man from 5, a twelve-year-old from 11. Here they were all decked out like he had been, in finery representing their district, timidly waving or baring their teeth in confident smirks. Then the channel changed, to two men sitting behind a table, exchanging idle banter over the costumes and tributes. Antonio recognised one of these men. It was Sadik Adnan. Although he didn’t know many Capitol figures, he knew this one, because this was the man that would be interviewing them on their final day in the Training Centre. Before they would be thrown out into the arena.

Sadik was alright, as far as Capitol people went. He did truly try and help the tributes by giving them something memorable in the interview, either by reacting to something they said or spurring them on with his own commentary. Although he still looked Capitol-odd -- a mask inlaid with glittering jewels covered the top half of his face, and he often smoked out of a pipe that puffed out shimmering blue smoke.

“These are the lucky tributes this year I get to interview and wow do they look good!” He exclaimed, rubbing his hands. “I reckon we’ve got some right characters with us for interviewing this week! Just look at the pair from district 2 -- very intimidating indeed!”

The screen cut to two bulky blond men stood in their chariot. One stood stiffly, and wasn’t waving at all, while the other bounced and beamed and just radiated confidence. Or maybe it was arrogance. The man sitting next to Sadik gave a noise of agreement.

“Yes, those’ll be the one to favour indeed -- oho but what’s this? District 4 are looking very confident as well!” And then it cut again to his own beaming face with Maximo on the chariot next to him, waving wildly. But it cut away again as Sadik moved on swiftly.

“District 7 are looking mighty fine in outfits of what look like -- trees? Yes, trees, District 7 is lumber after all and they look spectacular!” Now it was showing a boy and a girl tribute, both standing stiffly next to each other. The blond-haired boy was waving, although the girl -- a long-haired brunette -- didn’t bother. Instead she looked to be almost scowling. “District 8 are coming on now. Oh, look at the girl, doesn’t she look a picture!”

Antonio had to agree. The girl -- again, a twelve-year-old -- did look a picture, in a dress made from all different scraps of fabric to show off her district, Textiles. She looked as sweet as a summer’s day, and not at all fit for the Games. It was quite horrible. The boy next to her was dressed similarly, but he did not look sweet and simple-minded. He looked angry.

They gave commentary on all the tributes, from District One, a silver-haired girl and a slim blond boy, to District 12, two men, one tall with a large nose and one smaller, but a little lanky. Antonio tried to commit a few to memory, to perhaps try and ally with them in training. The only ones that stuck was the broad blond from 2, the girl from 7, and both from 8 and 12. And none of them really looked like ally material. But this was only from appearance alone. The next three days he would be training alongside them, possibly getting to know them better then. He had plenty of time to decide who would be ally-worthy.

Mathias switched off the TV when the programme moved on, and clapped his hands.

“Well! Well well well! We’ve got the looks, we’ve got the first appearance, now we’ve just got to decide what to do with the rest of you.” He tilted his head to the side, looking at Antonio and Maximo. “‘Cause tomorrow will be your training, and I’ve gotta decide exactly how I want you two to play it. So, got any good skills?”

Antonio shrugged. “I’m pretty good with a trident. I can tie a lot of knots -- oh, and I can do snares.”

Mathias nodded. “Good. And Max -- you?”

“I can wrestle,” he told him. “I think I’d be pre-tty good at hand-to-hand.” To emphasise this, he flexed his muscles. Mathias nodded again.

“Good -- okay!” Mathias sat back. “I think you two should work on your knife skills. Odds are a trident won’t be in there, so work with knives and edible bugs and sh*t first.”

Antonio nodded. “Anything else?”

He paused. “... Make some friends. One of you get in the career pack. Impress them, show them what you can do, make them see you deserve to be a part of their pack. That’ll give me an idea of who to send the sponsors to.”

Antonio and Maximo glanced at each other. Antonio felt worried -- but Maximo had a look of determination on his face.

“You got it,” Max said, leaning back on the sofa.

“That’ll be all for now,” Mathias decided. And just then the servers came through, with trays of more wine, and a bowl of nuts to crack open with a hammer. Antonio took the wine and began happily cracking the nuts with the others, but he couldn’t shake that look Maximo had. He couldn’t shake off his worried feeling at all. The wine didn’t help, making his mind go foggy, and at some point he switched to water. Antonio didn’t like how foggy his head suddenly felt. He’d seen local drunks down at the pubs -- how did they stand this feeling?

Eventually Antonio departed to bed with the others. His sheets were soft, and he had to stop himself from just diving right in fully clothed. He managed to pull on a pair of silk pyjamas first, and then crawled into the coverlet. Antonio practically sank into the bed, warm and comfortable, but there was still a nagging worry. The same nagging worry he sometimes got when he was about to take one of his boats out into the sea on a seemingly clear day, only to have the weather change mid-morning to tossing waves.

Antonio hoped there would be no tossing waves in the arena. He didn’t want any nasty surprises. Tomorrow, the agenda was to practice with knives and learn some edible plants. Oh, and make a few friends. It should be simple enough. It should prepare him for the Games.

But then again, no one quite knew what the Games had in store.

Chapter 5: District 5: Von Bock and Kirkland

Chapter Text

Eduard was nervous about training.

‘Nervous’ was a bit of an understatement. He’d woken up in a cold sweat, shaking and terrified, having just been roused from a horrible nightmare in which all the tributes ganged up on him, and decided to bury him alive. Though that was unlikely in the arena, it wasn’t much consolation, because the way he’d actually die would probably be a lot worse. Bleeding out on the floor within the first minute of the Games. Eduard grimaced at the thought.

He had three days to train in the Capitol to prevent that from happening. Just three days to build up basic survival skills, knife skills, and an ability to kill. It just wasn’t possible. Hardly anyone from District 5 ever won, because power and electricity simply weren’t useful in the arena. It was a major disadvantage. The only way District 5 ever won was by allying themselves with stronger opponents, and hoping some Capitol muttation would kill them off and win hanging by a thread. Unfortunately Eduard’s social skills were zero to none. And the careers wouldn’t let him in the pack unless he proved himself useful, somehow.

He may as well just enjoy being alive in the Capitol while he could.

Eduard lay in bed a long time, not wanting to quite get up just yet. If he got up from the safe confines of his bed, reality would hit him and then where would he be? In tears, probably. But then he heard the knocking of his district 5 escort come to collect him for breakfast, and knew he couldn’t stay here forever. He didn’t want to miss the Capitol breakfast. Besides, he didn’t want to go to training on an empty stomach. So, with a heavy heart, he forced himself to get up and get changed into something suitable. Then headed downstairs for breakfast.

His district 5 escort -- a dark-skinned man called Neeraja who wore his hair in a dark purple turban -- lead him down to breakfast. He was talking, blathering on again, but Eduard was hardly listening due to his nerves. Nerves about the training. Eyes would be on him, not only from his fellow, much more talented tributes and the careers, but also the Gamemakers. The ones who decided his training score.

A lump began to form in his throat but before he could break his composure completely, Eduard entered the dining room.

“We invite you to eat,” Neeraja said, with a gracious smile. “We’ll be talking tactics soon!”

Eduard just nodded, mutely, and headed over to the tables towards the sides of the room. They were piled high with food. Rich, good, Capital food. The only perk of being chosen for the Games. Eduard had soon loaded his plate with ham, slices of cooked tomato, soft boiled eggs in delicate little cups, sausages, and a blueberry muffin, and sat down at the table. Arthur had already joined him.

Arthur was his fellow tribute and, as far as Eduard was concerned, a mystery. When his name had been chosen, after the initial shock, he had maintained a calm composure. He was even pleasant to the escort on the stage. And when he was on the chariot with him, he had smiled and waved politely like the rest. But when in private his face seemed to sink into one of disapprovement and sarcasm. Arthur had little patience, and when Eduard had tried to converse with him, had snapped at him temperamentally. Sometimes it was better. Like now, Arthur’s face seemed lighter, more like his stage one. Still, Eduard didn’t talk to him when he sat down. He didn’t think his nerves could stand being snapped at.

“Isn’t the day so glorious today?” Neeraja smiled, serenely. “You ought to enjoy the beauty of these days you two. In fact, nothing brings out the beauty in the day like knowing they’re numbered.”

“They might not be,” Arthur replied, shortly.

“Ahhh, of course,” he nodded at Arthur. “You could still win.”

Eduard didn’t even ask how Neeraja knew how beautiful a day was by it being numbered. He was a Capitol citizen. He’d never had his life on the line once.

For a while there was no talk, only food. He wasn’t complaining. Eduard was just finishing, in fact, when his mentor stepped through the door. He looked tired. Or perhaps that was his usual face. Eduard honestly couldn’t tell. His mentor was a constantly deadpanned, silver-haired man called Emil Steilsson. Despite being mid-twenties -- or something like that at least -- he had the body of a fifteen year old. It didn’t help that his jacket looked slightly too long for him. Emil shuffled over to the tables filled with food, took out a soft bread roll and a plate, then sat down at the table with nothing else.

“So,” he began, in a monotone voice. “Tactics.”

“Indeed.” Arthur pushed his plate away from him, finished, and leaned over the table slightly. But Emil didn’t continue for a while, slowly peeling down a bit of the crust from the bread. But he did speak.

“First, if you like, I can coach you both separately. Decide now.”

“Why would we need to be--” Eduard began, to be cut over.

“Separately. I would prefer separately,” Arthur glanced at Eduard. “No hard feelings. If I come across a winning tactic I wouldn’t like you to know.”

“N-No, of course,” he agreed, “separately it is then.”

“Very well,” Emil said, and put down his roll to scan them both. Eduard suddenly felt uncomfortable, like an x-ray had passed over him. Arthur seemed to sit up a little straighter.

“... I’ll do you first,” he said, pointing right at Eduard’s chest. “Arthur, if you could wait outside with Neeraja please. This shall be a private talk.”

“Oh,” Arthur blinked, clearly expecting to be first. But then he stood. “... Very well. Bring me in when you need me.”

He walked out the room, escorted by Neeraja. Eduard heard the door close behind them, and their footsteps echo away. Then he waited for Emil to speak. The air was slightly awkward. But Emil just took a bite of his roll, and looked at Eduard for a long while, scrutinising him. Eduard fidgeted uncomfortably. Then finally, he spoke:

“Well, you don’t look like much. And your glasses will be a disadvantage in the game,” he told him, taking another bite of his roll. “So, give me an idea of what you can do.”

Eduard fidgeted again. “Well… not anything, really. I don’t know how to use a weapon or have any survival skills. I… don’t even have any social skills, so allies are out. I don’t think I could learn anything in three days. I don’t even look that threatening.”

Emil finally looked up from his roll, curiously. “You’ve thought a lot about this, haven’t you?”

He shrugged. “I… well. I have to if I want to try and win. Don’t I?”

“That is true,” he agreed. “But I didn’t expect you to consider yourself in as many angles as you did. Do you consider yourself a strategic thinker?”

Eduard blinked. “I… well. I suppose?”

Emil nodded. “Okay then. What about a storyline?”

This caught him completely off guard. He shook his head, then pushed his glasses back up his face. “I’m sorry… you lost me. What does a story have to do with this?”

“Hm. I would have thought you figured it out,” his mentor said, with a sigh that made Eduard feel he’d already disappointed him. “In the Hunger Games, who will be watching you?”

“Um… the Capitol?” He tried.

“Who else?”

“The Gamemakers.”

“Right.” Emil peeled another long strip of crust down the roll and popped it in his mouth. “And in order to win, you have to appeal to them both. The Hunger Games isn’t just about survival, it’s a competitive reality show. People of the Capitol tune in to be told a good story. They want someone to root for, someone to root against.” He looked up at Eduard. “You have to make sure you’re the one they want to root for.”

“R-Right,” Eduard said, startled by the intensity of his gaze. “And the Gamemakers?”

“The Gamemakers already know this,” Emil told him, going back to picking at his roll. “When you’re in the arena, they’re the ones that will decide whether you live or die. If you’re not telling a good story, they’ll kill you off. But keep that story alive… they’ll keep you alive. For their audience.”

“... Wow,” he whispered. “I never even thought of that.” Well. He knew the Gamemakers were the ones with all the power. But he never thought of appealing to them with a story.

“You should consider it,” Emil said. “Or otherwise you’re dead.”

“So… so what story could I tell?” He blustered. His mentor shrugged.

“Doesn’t have to be intricate. Just show the audience you’re someone they should root for. Tell a story of your tragic genius -- or say you’re in love with a girl from home, and you’re just desperate to get back to her. It doesn’t need to be true. Just true enough to believe.”

Eduard nodded. “R-Right. Okay.”

“And as for your training…” Emil sucked the crumbs off his finger for a moment. “... Get some allies. Practice basic, passive survival skills. Show determination. Don’t let others walk all over you. The Gamemakers are watching. In the interview, you can make it all come together when you tell your story.”

He nodded again. “Anything else? I -- I think I’ll go for the ‘girl-from-home’ story… if you don’t mind.”

“That’s fine,” he said. “In that case show you’re determined to get home. That is all.”

Eduard took that as his cue to leave. He stood up, and was almost at the door, when Emil spoke again.

“Don’t tell Arthur about appealing to the Gamemakers,” he said. Eduard blinked.

“Erm… why?”

“I want to see if he figures it out on his own,” Emil replied, turning away from him. “Besides, he stands enough of a chance without the knowledge, it seems.”

He nodded. “... Right. I won’t tell him.”

“Good.” He waved a hand, shooing him off. “Now bring Arthur in.”

Eduard left, with a feeling of worse unease than ever. The plan wasn’t half bad, he’d give Emil that, but even so, to him it wasn’t likely to work. Then again, he couldn’t exactly question his mentor.

He found Arthur and Neeraja in the living room. Arthur immediately stood when he saw Eduard.

“I assume he wants me now?” He asked, raising his eyebrow. Eduard nodded.

“Yes, he’s in the--”

“I know,” Arthur said, brushing past him. Eduard watching him leave, pushing his glasses back up his face again. Arthur was much more assertive than he was. Probably much more promising to the Gamemakers. Eduard knew he still didn’t stand a chance. This thought didn’t help him.

“Training begins at ten,” Neeraja told him. “You have a whole hour to fill until then! Spend it as you please.”

Eduard just nodded mutely. He spent the rest of his time in his room, lying on the silken sheets, just waiting for training to come. That talk with his mentor, rather than help his anxiety, rather sharpened it as now he knew what was really at stake here. He had to get their appeal. Their approval. Since there was obviously no way he’d ever do any good with a weapon.

This just brought on a whole new longing for home. Home… where his mother and father were. No doubt they’d locked the doors, closed the shutters, already overcome with grief. How many times had his mother cried for him? How many times had his father stayed out drinking? Or… were they already trying to move on, already accepted that their only son had no chance in the Hunger Games? It was probably for the best.

It was too close to ten to cry. It would show to everyone else. To distract himself, Eduard brushed his teeth and smoothed back his hair. There. Now he looked presentable.

At ten, he met Neeraja and Arthur at the elevator. His anxiety spiked, but he forced himself to push it back down. The actual training grounds were below the Training Centre itself, an enormous gymnasium complete with weapons, obstacle courses, and stations to learn edible bugs, plants and how to tie a decent knot. Eduard immediately felt out of place, not because of the equipment, but the people. He was among the last to arrive, despite it not yet being ten. Although he was decently built and quite sturdy, he was no match for these people. District 2 and 4 looked particularly threatening -- although one of those from 4 gave him a cheery smile.

They were all kneeling in a circle, a cloth square marked with their district pinned to their backs. When Eduard stepped into the circle with Arthur, he felt his own cloth get pinned on, undoubtedly with the number 5.

All that was left to do now was wait as the last of the tributes filed in. District 12 was the last -- a tall brunet and an even taller, broad man wearing a pink scarf. He was built like the ones from 2 who had trained for this. But Eduard could see the hollowness of his eyes that meant he could never eat what the ones from 2 could.

Right. Because the whole setup was against the starving districts from the start. It was even in the name.

When the two finally enter into the circle, the head trainer steps up. Eduard’s attention immediately went to a man with a plaster stuck around his nose from a fight, and hair that stuck up in wild angles despite it being attempted to be slicked back. The man introduced himself as Ralph, and went over the training schedule.

Each station had an expert in the section, and the expert would remain there to teach and give advice. They were free to travel from area to area as they chose, per their mentors instruction. The stations had a variety of skills from passive survival skills, to not-so-passive fighting techniques. They were forbidden from fighting with the other tributes, there were assistants on hand if they wanted to train in combat.

Then, Ralph began reading down a list of the stations. Eduard’s eyes flitted to the different ones. There was a weightlifting section, a spear-throwing section, even a section on how to use a trident. But then there were also ones like camouflage, knot-tying, fire-starting. Those were the one’s Emil told him to go for. But then -- he looked around, and his eyes landed on the Gamemaker’s box. They were watching. Staring down at them like hawks. Eduard locked eyes with one, and quickly looked away again. He had to swallow hard.

Right. Focus. He had to look determined to get back home again.

Eduard was so wrapped up in thought that he didn’t even hear when Ralph blew the whistle, indicating time had started. He stood up, feeling a little foolish, and looked about. There were plenty of people at the weapon’s area. The girl from one was fingering the knives, and the blond without the glasses from 2 was beginning to pick up weights. But then there were also quite a few in the passive-skills area. In the fire-starting section, there were two boys already. The brunet who had shown up late from 12, and a tiny, timid twelve year old from 11. Eduard glanced at the careers, since obviously he’d rather have a chance with them that with these two people as hopeless as he was. But funnily enough the career tributes weren’t exactly beckoning him over with bright smiles. So Eduard decided to join them.

“Hey,” he said, nervously, as he sat besides them. Great, conversation had never been his strongest suit from the start. And what was he supposed to say to people that, just in a few days time, he’d be struggling to kill? “Erm… do you mind if I join you?”

“Not at all!” The brunet said, and shuffled over slightly to make room for Eduard. “We could use some help, actually. I don’t suppose you know anything about starting fires?”

Eduard shook his head. “No. I’ve.. never needed to. I’m from district 5.”

“That’s power, right?” The man asked. “I’m from 12 -- coal production and mining. I guess we’re both going to have to learn. I’m Toris by the way -- Toris Laurinaitis.”

“Eduard von Bock,” he replied, with a nod. Then he turned to the twelve-year-old. “What about you?”

“R-Ravis,” he said, with a shadow of a smile. “Ravis Galante. From 11 -- Agriculture.”

“That’s the orchards, right?” Eduard asked, just to try and keep a conversation going.

“Yes,” he confirmed. “I climb trees to get the fruit. Or… Or I did…”

Eduard wasn’t quite sure what to say to that. So he didn’t say anything, rather started to collect up sticks and lay them in the fashion the other two were. It was Toris who spoke next.

“Well, I work in the mines,” he said. “I just started this year. You don’t get to go down until you’re nineteen. It’s hard work. And dangerous too. The mines could blow up at any second.”

“That sounds dangerous,” Ravis shuddered. Eduard had to agree. “Don’t you get scared?”

“Well, we have defenses in place,” he said. “We bring canaries down, so we know when they stop singing it’s time to get out of there. That’s when the level of dust in the air becomes dangerous.”

“That makes my district sound like a safe haven,” Ravis mumbled. “Some of us will fall out of trees occasionally and break a bone. But that’s it.”

“What about you, Eduard?” Toris asked. “How do you work?”

“Oh I -- I don’t work yet,” he said. “We’re like 3. We’re schooled on power and then when we’re seventeen we go into the factories. If we’re lucky we might get to work outside the district in the generators that power the Capitol. But… not where I live, generally.”

Toris nodded. “You must be smart to do all that tech stuff. I couldn’t do something like that.”

Eduard smiled a little. “Well, we are taught very young. And -- you’ll have more strength than I ever will. Weilding a pickaxe and all. You two have more of a chance than I have.”

“Not really,” he replied. “We only learn to use a pick when we’re nineteen. That’s too late, really.”

“How do I have more of a chance than you?” Ravis asked, curiously. “I’m the youngest here. Well -- one of the youngest anyway.”

“You can hide,” Eduard explained. “You can climb trees. I can’t do that. I… can’t do anything, really.”

“Don’t be so discouraged,” Toris laughed. “We’re not that far ahead of you. WIth your brain you’ll overtake us easily.”

The conversation was hardly normal. In fact, they were giving each other advice in the Games. Eduard was doubtful whether or not he should even be doing that. He put it down to the fact they were all scared witless. They weren’t talking sense. Of course, none of them had a chance, they all knew that. It would be one of the careers that took the crown, and that would be that.

… But surprisingly enough, joking about it a little didn’t dishearten him all that much. In fact, it was comforting to know that they were just as scared as him. Eduard, for the first time since arriving, allowed himself to relax.

About half an hour in, they could all start a decent fire with matches. A full hour they could do it with flint. For the remaining hour before lunch, Toris suggested they move over to the edible plants section. Ravis had a leg up here; he’d been around plants and trees and knew by instinct which ones to take and leave. Eduard and Toris, in comparison, struggled.

“It’s just memorisation,” Ravis said sheepishly. “You’ve just got to know what to look out for.”

“Apparently,” replied Eduard, frustrated. All these plants looked the same to him. How did Ravis know instinctively which one to choose? “I’ll just have to avoid eating plants when I’m in the arena. I’ll get poisoned otherwise.”

“So will I,” Toris sighed. But before he could say anything more, a bell rang.

“ALRIGHT, THAT’S LUNCH!” Ralph yelled. Eduard could frequently hear him yelling. In fact the past hour he’d been wrestling with the glasses-career from 2.

The twenty-four of them were supposed to eat lunch in a dining room just off the gymnasium. There were tables scattered about that room, plus dining carts to serve yourself on. The career pack had already established themselves, and gathered around the largest table together noisily. Both tributes from 1. The glasses boy from 2. Both of district 4. A girl from 7 and a boy looking a little out of place from 10. Plus the pink-scarf-boy from 12, Toris’ fellow tribute. The rest of the tributes were scattered about like lost sheep, keeping to themselves. Eduard glanced at Ravis and Toris.

“Want to sit together?” Toris asked, with a shrug. “It’s better than sitting alone.”

“Okay,” replied Eduard, a little awkwardly.

They had to wait for the careers to serve themselves, then stepped up. Lunch was beef stew served with wild rice, and more bread rolls. He was reminded of Emil that morning. Had he shown enough determination to the Gamemakers? Perhaps not. Maybe he would have to save that for the interview night.

Toris chose the table at the very end. They looked a little odd together; a great nineteen-year-old, a tiny thirteen-year-old, and a weedy fifteen-year-old, but they did their best to keep a conversation going. It felt oddly natural. Eduard loosened up again as his filled his stomach. Besides, it was fascinating hearing about the other districts. Usually they kept themselves to themselves. By far this had been the best part of being chosen. Even if he wished he had never been chosen at all.

Eduard, strangely enough, almost felt at home.

Chapter 6: District 6: Williams and Wang

Chapter Text

Oh God.

What was he doing here?

He didn’t belong here.

Matthew sat on a table alone, like many of the other tributes in the training centre. This wasn’t the first time he’d eaten alone. In school, he wasn’t all that popular. In fact, as far as just being shy and introverted went, he was practically invisible. His mentor had told him to make friends, but he didn’t know how. Matthew had spent the entire morning in the camouflage sector, trying to pluck up the courage to just go and talk to someone. In the end he had approached no one, and now had a total of zero friends. Not even his fellow tribute from district 6, Yao Wang, wanted much to do with him. He was a short but sharp man, eighteen years old, a good four years older than himself. It was clear he wanted nothing to do with Matthew, and he’d left him alone accordingly.

Matthew considered approaching him now. He was sitting on a table by himself as well. It would be better than sitting alone. In fact, he was just summoning up the courage to do it, when someone blocked his view. He looked up into the face of a man a little older than him, with shaggy blond hair around his face. He pointed at the seats opposite Matthew.

“Anyone sitting here?” He asked.

“Uh- uhh - no?” Matthew offered, timidly. “Sit wherever you like.”

“There are no other free tables,” the man replied, and looked back over his shoulder, towards the youngest girl here. She was talking to the two girls from district 9, but when she caught the man staring at her, gave a smile and a small wave.

“Lili,” he called. “Over here. I found somewhere to sit.”

‘Lili’ excused herself from women, and skipped over. “Big brother, they said they liked my dress for the Opening Ceremony! They said they liked all the different fabrics!”

Matthew stared at them. Big Brother? Surely she didn’t mean…? No, of course she didn’t. How could she? The odds of that were so slim.

“Do you have a name?” Lili asked, as she sat down. “I’m Lili Zwingli. And this is my brother, Basch Zwingli.” She patted his elbow, not at all intimidated by his scowl or generally unsociable aura. “We both got picked for the Games.”

“I’m sorry,” Matthew said, before he could think about it. He nervously stirred his stew. “I… that must be awful.”

“I would’ve volunteered for her,” Basch muttered. “If I hadn’t been picked first. Just know I’m not a coward, I just got picked first.”

Matthew shook his head. “I -- uhhh -- I wasn’t accusing you of… of being a coward. I was just saying… I don’t think I could volunteer for anyone…”

“Then you,” he said, as he scooped up a spoonful of stew and put it in his mouth. “Are the worst kind of person.”

Matthew decided to stay quiet at that.

“I saw you at the camouflage section,” Lili piped up. “You’re really good at it, you know?”

He blinked. “Oh I… I suppose. Thank you.”

“You’re better than good,” Basch said, shaking his head. “At times I couldn’t even see you. But you’re going to need more than evasive maneuvers in the Games.”

“I know,” Matthew sighed. “I’m just not… good at anything offensive. My mentor told me to build up survival skills. That’s all.”

Basch nodded. “I see.”

“We’re going to be teaming up,” Lili told him. “My big brother is going to practice with weapons, and I’m going to build shelters and learn to make snares. That’s our strategy.”

“But… what about…” Matthew began, hesitantly. “What if it comes down to only you two left?”

“It won’t come down to that,” Basch replied, roughly. “There are plenty of tributes out there. Odds are one of us is going to die.”

Lili looked down into her stew, and bit her lip. He wished he never spoke. Conversation was never his best point. And what was he supposed to talk about here anyway? Matthew stayed quiet.

After a few moments Lili went back to eating her stew. At least she was perking up a bit now.

“What district are you from?” She asked him. “We’re from 8. That’s why my dress was made from all those different fabrics!”

Matthew nodded. District 8 was Textiles. As poor as you could get as a district too, and full of factories with smog in the sky. Not a blade of grass in sight. “I’m from district 6.”

“That’s transport?” She asked, tilting her head. “What do you do there?”

He shrugged. “A few things. Not much, really. We, um… make the trains. A few of the hovercrafts. The non-weapon kind of course, those are made in 2…” Matthew laughed nervously. She nodded, absorbing the information.

“I work in a factory,” Lili said. “After school, that is. I make Peacekeeper clothes. Or, well, I’m being trained to still. Do you work in a factory too?”

“Uh, no,” he said, sheepishly. “I just go to school. We’re trained in mechanics there, to fix the trains when they break down. Or we become porters, or routers, or baggage handlers…”

“What do you want to be?”

“Me?” It was a bit of a stupid question to ask now. Even if, by some miracle, he won, he wouldn’t go back to having a job. He’d be a victor, and live in the victor’s row. Of course, if he even survived. “Oh I -- I wanted to become a conductor.”

Lili nodded. “I always wanted to become a designer! It gets boring, having to make the same things over and over again. Peacekeeper uniforms are ugly anyway. I want to make mine pretty, and functional.”

“Oh that’s… nice.”

“I know!” She smiled, but then her smile dropped. “But no one ever does get to become designers. We just make the clothes.”

“I’m sorry,” Matthew said, automatically. Lili shrugged.

“It doesn’t matter now anyway. If I win, my dreams come true! If I lose…” she didn’t need to finish the sentence. They all knew what she meant.

For another short while there was silence, just the sound of their spoons scraping up the last remains of their stew. Matthew found he had lost his appetite anyway. He knew he ought to load up but for some reason he was feeling sick. Maybe he just missed home. And he did, he ached for home so much at times it hurt. Matthew could feel tears prickling the corners of his eyes, but quickly blinked them away. He needed to district himself.

“What -- um…” he began, without thinking, then bit his lip. “... Do you guys mind if I join you for training?”

“You can join me!” Lili said, brightly. “Big Brother will be using weapons. I’m going to learn how to build a shelter!”

Matthew smiled gratefully. “Thank you. If -- if you want -- I can show you how to camouflage. If you like.”

“Will you?” She asked, and smiled a smile all too big for the circ*mstances. “Thank you so much!”

“We’re not going to be allies,” Basch suddenly said, staring at Matthew. “If that’s what you’re thinking. We’re doing this on our own.”

“Oh -- n-no -- I wasn’t implying--”

“Good,” he said, shortly. Luckily Matthew was saved from further embarrassment, by Ralph bursting back into the room.

“Alright, you can all go back in now!” He announced, with his usual bounce. “Lunch hour should be finishing up, you’ve got fifteen minutes to finish!”

All the careers automatically stood up, and filtered out in the same noisy fashion they had all of lunch. Curiously enough, Matthew spotted, one of the boys from 2 wasn’t with them. In fact he was sitting by himself. Odd, for a career tribute. He glanced over at the other two.

“Should we, um…?”

“Come on, Matthew!” Lili said, standing up. “Or -- is it okay if I call you Mattie for short? You can call me Lil!”

“Oh, um -- yes that’s fine,” he agreed. “... Lil.”

Lili’s smile stretched wide, and she slipped her little hand into his. Basch watched them leave with an air of disapproval. Matthew could feel his eyes on his back the whole way down the corridor, and back into the training room. Luckily Lili distracted him by dragging him over to the shelter-building station. “Come on!” She chirruped. “We should get some good practice in!”

Their instructor for that section had them building a pretty simple structure. Matthew found he also excelled at this, managing to camouflage the shelter into the surroundings so it looked near invisible. He was pretty pleased with his work -- and Lili seemed to be pleased too. Matthew had set her picking flowers so it would blend in better, a task she enjoyed, but one just laboured for too long over. She also mixed the flowers together in bouquets that looked definitely man-made, but Matthew didn’t like to point this out to her. Fun was limited these days.

He also kept an eye out on Basch, just for curiosity. He came out of the lunch room not five minutes later, wearing a scowl. He crossed straight over to the spear-throwing section. Matthew saw he was good at it too. His heart sank. He couldn’t throw a weapon like that. His aim was awful. He was always last picked in PE.

Lili caught him staring, and pointed proudly at her brother. “He’s good at it, isn’t he?”

Matthew nodded, dejected. “Yes… very…”

“Don’t feel bad because you’re not on our team,” she told him. “I’m sure you’ll do great just on your own.”

He nodded again, this time staying quiet. Lili changed track.

“Show me how to camouflage?” She asked, tugging his arm. “Pleaaase? I think I need lot’s and lot’s of help with it.”

“Alright,” Matthew agreed, and showed her a ghost of a smile. “I’ll show you.”

There was already someone over at the camouflage section. It was a boy from 11, much older than Matthew or Lili, at seventeen. But… there was something wrong with him. He had a crooked back. He was a hunchback. Matthew automatically felt a stab of pity for him. There was no way this boy could win, lacking so severely in the athletics department.

“Hello mister!” Lili said, not at all perturbed by his crooked appearance. “Do you mind if we join you?”

“No,” he replied, in a voice that sounded a little… pompous. “Go ahead if you like, child.”

“Thank you! I’m Lili by the way. Lili Zwingli!” She told him, with a smile. “District 8. And that’s Matthew -- he’s from district 6!”

“I can see,” the man replied, looking at her back where the pinned district number was. Matthew could now see he also had glasses. Well, he also had glasses, which was going to be a disadvantage in the game. “I’m Roderich, from 11.”

“Nice to meet you,” Matthew nodded, a little stiffly. Roderich paid no attention to him, going back to coating his arms in a thick, muddy paste. Matthew could see him cringing a little at all the mud. That surprised him. District 11 was agriculture. Surely he saw mud all the time? … Maybe not with his crooked back.

“You have a very funny looking back,” Lili ventured, gazing at it. “Why is it like that? Did you break it?”

“No I did not break it,” he said, a little waspishly. “I was born like this. It’s a deformity, and it’s called being hunchbacked.”

“It does look like it’s all hunched up,” she nodded. It was here Matthew noticed another odd thing. Roderich talked posh. He had that posh-sounding accent. Well, it wasn’t mega-posh, but distinctly noticeable. Where could he have picked that up from?

It was here he caught Roderich almost glaring at him, and realised he’d been staring. Matthew flushed darkly and looked away. Of course the man didn’t like being stared at, that was so rude of him. He mumbled out a quick ‘sorry’, and began to gather up the muddy paste Roderich had previously been using to coat down his arms.

Lili showed a disgust about having to rub mud on her arms.

“It’s for camouflage,” Matthew tried to explain, helplessly. “You might not like it but it can hide you from the enemy.”

“None of the colours are pretty,” she pointed out, dejectedly. “And the mud feels all gross. I can hide in a bush or something.”

“They might see your hair though, unless you cover it with leaves?” He suggested. Lili thought.

“Then I’ll cut it,” she declared. “It’ll probably be a nuisance in the Games anyway. I’ll cut it really short -- like my big brother’s!” Lili smiled. “I should like to look like him! Maybe I’ll look scary then!”

Matthew doubt she could look scary if she tried. Lili was just too sweet and simple-minded. Perhaps too simple-minded for her age…

“Think of it this way,” said Roderich loudly, from behind them. “I don’t really want to do this either. But if you get through it and win the Games then you’ll never have to do it ever again.”

Lili pursed her lips, but then hesitantly scooped up a handful of mud. For a second Matthew thought she was going to throw it at him, and flinched -- but then she started rubbing it on her arms. “There. How’s this?”

“Perfect,” Matthew replied, quickly. He turned to Roderich and mouthed a quick ‘thank you’. He just shrugged and carried on with his work. Matthew felt like he should say something more, but he couldn’t find the words. So he remained quiet.

After the camouflage section, he and Lili, covered with mud and giggling slightly about how ridiculous the other looked when they were out in the open, decided to move on to the edible plants. Matthew found he had an eye for this sort of thing, once he knew what to look for in the flowers. Several times he stopped Lili from choosing something that was poisonous.

“I’m no good at this,” she huffed a laugh. “Maybe you should be on our team after all!”

“Or not,” said a stern voice behind them. Matthew jumped and dropped his handful of mint leaves. He turned around to see Basch, right behind them. But he wasn’t looking at him, he was looking at Lili. “Come on, Lili. I want you to learn some knife skills.”

“I thought you said you didn’t want me learning weapons.”

“Knives don’t just have to be used as weapons,” he answered. “There are plenty of passive uses for knives too. Besides, if you get snuck up on and I’m not there…”

“I’ll learn to use a knife,” Lili replied quickly.

“Come on. Leave Matthew now.”

Matthew had been planning on joining them, but stopped at those words and wilted. It was obvious he wasn’t wanted. As Basch took Lili’s muddy hand to lead her away, she twisted around to wave.

“Bye Mattie!” She called. “We should train again tomorrow!”

He nodded dumbly, a little too shocked to speak.

The rest of his time he spent at the edible plants and insects. Some people came and went, but never engaged in much conversation with him. Matthew left the training room, still with no allies.

Well, not quite. As the elevator doors closed on him, he saw through the transparent glass someone waving. Lili. He couldn’t quite see what she was mouthing, and the lift shot upwards not a second after that to his floor, but he got a warm feeling from it anyway. Lili might not be his ally, but she might be his friend. Which, arguably, could be the first friend he’d ever had. Matthew wasn’t and had never been popular in school. Friend. He liked that.

He still cried himself to sleep that night, aching for home, but it somehow seemed less bad. Maybe if it came down to it Lili would go to him for help. Maybe Basch would let him team up with them. Matthew was still one-hundred percent certain he would die, but maybe now it wouldn’t be at the cornucopia. All he needed were a few new skills, some sponsors…

Matthew fell asleep under the silken sheets.

Chapter 7: District 7: Hedevary and Popescu

Chapter Text

The moment her District 7 escort read that name off the piece of paper, Elizabeta knew she was doomed. Not her own name. She knew at least she stood a fighting chance in the Games. She was fit, she was athletic, she could wield an axe and climb trees like a little monkey. No, that didn’t concern her. What bothered her was the other boy’s name that came out of the reaping ball.

She didn’t recognise him right away. In fact, Elizabeta didn’t recognise him until she saw his face, largely because she’d always known him by a different name. At the time she was working through her feelings of confusion mixed with anger, but looking back now she was just annoyed. How dare he look so scared and shaky, when she’d always known him as arrogant?! How dare he make her almost feel sorry for him!

Elizabeta was annoyed. And furthermore she was annoyed by the fact that she was annoyed. It had been two days into the period of preparation, she ought to have been over this by now. But every time she saw him there was a prickling of annoyance that she just couldn’t ignore. Elizabeta had tried to have very little to do with him, taking the training separately, however this was proving to be very difficult when he was her district partner.

Whatever. That would just make him easier to kill. Besides, odds were she wouldn’t even get to him first. There were twenty-two other tributes after all.

Sunlight began to stream in from the window, and Elizabeta allowed herself to sit up slowly. Second day of training would start today. She’d been lucky on the first day; the career pack had taken notice of her and she thought there was a good chance of her getting in. Banishing the thoughts of her district partner out of her mind, Elizabeta got out of bed, showered, then began to change into a simple green shirt and leggings. She combed back her wet hair, tied it into a ponytail, and then she finally made her way down to the dining area, hoping that whatever the Capitol was serving, it would be good.

The Capitol food did not disappoint. Elizabeta ignored the Avox that was to serve her, instead grabbing a plate of her own and helping herself to three little wraps stuffed with bacon and lettuce, a yogurt bowl, and a large croissant with icing drizzled over it. She wanted more, but had learned the hard way on the first night about pacing herself with the good stuff. This would do for now. If she wanted more she could always go up and get more.

Elizabeta tried to eat quickly, but it wasn’t long before she heard the door open behind her. She hoped it would just be their escort, or Michelle, their mentor, but once side-glance told her it wasn’t either of them. There was that prickle of annoyance again.

“You look as dainty as ever,” Vladimir Popescu said, sarcastically. Or, as she knew him, Alin Radacanu. “Or are you trying to make a statement?”

Elizabeta realised she’d managed to smear yogurt around her face, and half of the contents of her wrap was falling out around her fingers. She gave a grunt of admission, wiping it off with her sleeve while he busied himself with breakfast.

“Better than what you wear half the time, Al-- Vladimir,” she shot back. “You wander around in that godawful coat.”

“Feel free to call me Alin,” he replied, dismissively. “It’s weird when you call me Vlad.”

“That’s your name, isn’t it?” She snapped.

Elizabeta wasn’t sure why she was so sore about not knowing his real name all this time. It just made him even more of a lying creep, but why did she care? She already knew he was a lying creep. Maybe because out of all the lies he’d ever told, this was one of the biggest, and she was only finding out three days before she’d be sent to a bloodbath.

“It’s my birth name, yeah,” Alin -- or Vladimir -- replied. She really needed to settle on a name for him. Somehow ‘lying creep’ just wasn’t cutting it. “But you know me as Alin.”

Vladimir it was, just to annoy him. “Very well, Vladimir.”

“What did I just -- oh you know what, forget it,” he snapped back. Vladimir sat down on the opposite end of her table, as far away as he could. Unfortunately ‘far’ wasn’t very far. Elizabeta wished Michelle was here to ease the tension a little. It was unbearable, being stuck alone in a room with him.

Ever since she could remember, Elizabeta had known Vladimir. It had been so much easier to make him cry back in Primary school, and she could just shove him over into the dirt when he annoyed her. As he grew older it became significantly harder. He learned how to duck, and dodge, and give sly blows back along with infuriating taunts. Elizabeta knew she ought to feel sorry for him, knowing his parents had died, but he made it so difficult by acting like an ass. She much preferred his younger brother to him, who was sweet and simple-minded.

Elizabeta bit into her wrap, stewing away. There was a resentful silence between them she was beginning to really hate. Luckily it was punctured by the arrival of their mentor.

“Hello you two,” Michelle said, cheerfully. “You’re up early. Ready for that full day of training?”

Elizabeta didn’t understand how she could be so cheerful about this. She’d lived the arena. She’d witnessed the murder. She’d taken an axe to the last boy’s head and cut it clean off. Surely she understood training for this kind of thing wasn’t something to be all that cheerful about.

Michelle ignored both of their sullen silence, serving herself with some kind of weird, pickled food Elizabeta hadn’t touched, and sitting down beside her. “After this I’m going to talk to you a bit more about your training. See what you can do and what areas you need to work on.”

Both of them nodded mutely. There was nothing much to say. Besides, the tension in the air was still palpable. Elizabeta vaguely wondered where their escort was. Probably off somewhere getting his eyebrows done. In any case, there was no sign of him.

Michelle continued, ignoring the tense air. “Elizabeta, I’ll start with you. Vladimir can wait out in the living room while we talk. I hope there’s no issue with that…?”

She shook her head. “No. None.” It wasn’t like he could use her tactics anyway. Elizabeta doubted he even knew how to fight.

“Great! We’ll discuss after breakfast.”

Another silence swept over them, penetrated only by the sounds of eating. Elizabeta could have sworn Vladimir was taking extra long just to spite her. Well, what did she care? She’d have the last laugh when he was dead at the cornucopia. It was only just then it hit her.

She could quite possibly see Vladimir die. And, sure, he was an asshole, but no one deserved that. Elizabeta hated him, but did she want him dead? … No. She wouldn’t wish that on anyone. She ground her teeth, glaring at her wrap. She couldn’t be thinking about these things! It wasn’t going to help her win in the Games. In fact if she cared about everyone going into the Games she’d be in a very sorry state indeed. Elizabeta would rather have Vladimir go in with her than any of her close friends. Besides… she probably wouldn’t be the one killing him.

Then, Vladimir stood up, ending her trial of thought. Probably the best thing he’d done for her so far.

“I’ll leave you two to it,” he said, shortly. “I’ll be in the living room. Send me when you need me.”

With that, he exited. Elizabeta watched the door close behind him.

“So,” Michelle began, directing her attention back at her mentor. “You’ve had your first day of training. How did it go?”

She shrugged. “Pretty good. I made some friends with the careers. I think there’s a good chance of getting in with them. Um… I showed them my combat with an axe and that seemed to impress them.”

“Good! What about survival skills?”

Elizabeta shrugged again. “Less so. I mean -- I can climb trees and run… but that’s about it. It’s not going to really matter if I’m with the careers.”

“That’s true,” Michelle agreed. “But it wouldn’t be a waste even so. Try and spend some time in edible plants. Just an hour or so -- then you can get back to the careers.”

She considered for a moment. At one point or another, she probably had to go and leave the career pack. Being with the careers was a huge advantage -- but also very dangerous when they all started turning on each other. And when she did leave, those survival skills were going to come in handy. It wasn’t guaranteed that she’d be able to steal food from them, or when the food would run out. So, Elizabeta nodded in compliance.

“Yeah, alright, I’ll learn a few things.”

“Good! Other than that you’re all set,” Michelle smiled at her, and gestured towards the door. “Can you bring in Vladimir?”

“Sure.”

Elizabeta stood up and crossed over to the door. But behind it she could hear a muffled, scuffling noise. She frowned, and opened the door. The living room was adjacent to the dining room, and Vladimir was lying on the sofa. He looked up at Elizabeta when she entered.

“My turn?” He asked.

“Yeah,” she moved aside to let him through. “Go and wow her.”

Vladimir scowled and shouldered her as she passed him. It wasn’t very hard but Elizabeta felt a rush of rage from it, and felt like clouting him about the head a few times for it. Unfortunately he’d disappeared through the door before she had the chance. She could hear Michelle’s very muffled voice greeting him. And then she realised what the scuffling was. He’d been spying on her.

Well. Two could play at that game. Elizabeta knelt down by the keyhole to listen. She could see Vladimir sitting opposite their mentor, and Michelle’s mouth moving, but the sound was too muffled to hear. Elizabeta pressed her ear right against the keyhole to listen.

“Alright, tell me straight how screwed I am,” she heard Vladimir say. There was a sigh from Michelle.

“Well… your odds aren’t great, but--”

“But what?” He snapped back. “Face it, I can’t do anything! Unless you count card tricks!”

“A lot of other tributes don’t have many survival skills either,” Michelle reminded him. “It’s their first time too with a weapon.”

“Yeah, and they won’t be winning either,” Vladimir retorted. Elizabeta heard the sound of a chair scraping against the floor, and another deep sigh. “... I’ll be dead at the Cornucopia.”

“Not necessarily,” Michelle argued. “You can climb. You told me that.”

“Any fool can climb a tree,” he replied, dismissively.

“Well… no. The careers are really too bulky for the high branches to take their weight. Besides, us district 7’s don’t even need branches to climb at times.”

“Not me,” he replied, moodily. “I don’t have the brute strength.”

There was silence for a time and Elizabeta allowed herself to take her ear away from the keyhole. She didn’t want to hear any more. If she did… she was afraid she’d lose the bottle to kill entirely. If she could feel sorry for Vladimir, recognise he had thoughts and feelings, even though she hated him, what hope did she have against the other tributes? Elizabeta pushed herself away from the door quickly, heading back to her room.

For the rest of that hour, Elizabeta filled it with distracting her mind from how she could possibly kill another human being. Shook out her hair from her ponytail and plaited it back instead. Play with the gadgets and gizmos the Capitol had offered her. Until Michelle came knocking on her door to tell her that it was ten o’clock -- training time. Elizabeta rode the lift down with Vladimir, both of them awkwardly doing their best not to make eye contact. She vaguely wished she hadn’t dropped out of spying on him halfway through. She wanted to know what they talked about.

This time there was no circle of tributes, although the pieces of cloth were still pinned to their backs. Elizabeta headed straight over to the careers, who had gathered in the spear-throwing section. The careers consisted of both tributes from 1: a flashy boy called Francis, who, despite being overly smug and had the face of a quiche that had folded in on itself, could be deadly with a bow and arrow; Natalya, a quiet, direct girl of few words, with a skill for knives. Both tributes from 4: Antonio, olive-skinned with black curly hair, who’s snares could entrap anyone he set his mind to; Maximo, a broad, dark-skinned man, that used his brute strength and raw muscle to fight hand-to-hand with his enemies. Another two boys from 5 and 6: Arthur, a slim but surprisingly arrogant man, who’d proved himself worthy of the careers by both his ensnaring abilities and genius tactical plans; Yao, small and sharp, not much escaped his notice, a genius like Arthur, and found to be just as good as wielding knives as Natalya. Finally, the boy from 12, a huge, broad man called Ivan. He worked in the mines, so could wield a pickaxe and that wasn’t a far cry from a sword. He was quiet though, hardly ever spoke to them, as if he didn’t really want to be there.

Then, there was the ringleader of them all: Alfred. He decided who came and who went. A strong, confident, capable career, skilled in multiple sections from swords to, currently, spears. Elizabeta reckoned he could even take Maximo in hand-to-hand. There had been a dispute yesterday where a fight nearly broke out because his fellow tribute from 2, a broad man with his hair slicked back, had also been in the career pack when it was clear Alfred didn’t want him there. His district partner left, and Alfred stayed, effectively deciding who was the boss.

Elizabeta herself had only gotten in because she’d been showing off with an axe in front of Alfred. He’d asked her what she could do and she told him straight; wield an axe, climb trees, wasn’t bad in the general athletics department. It was decided she could stay.

Currently, the careers were only gathered around the spear throwing section because Alfred was showing off. That was a big part of being in the careers; being showy and being confident. He took a spear off the rack and threw it with full force at one of the targets. It pierced right through the human-sized dummy, prompting a round of whistling and cheers.

“Not bad, eh?” Alfred smirked, flexing his muscles. Elizabeta felt like grimacing, but instead she grinned back.

“Brilliant -- here, give me a turn.”

The careers shuffled back to give her space as she took Alfred’s place. Elizabeta took a spear, and gripped it in her hand, then threw it.

It didn’t have the pinpoint accuracy of Alfred, but it wasn’t bad. It pierced the dummy’s stomach shallowly, spilling sand over the floor. She was given a hefty clap on the back from Maximo.

“Not bad -- not bad at all!” He said, pleasantly.

“It wouldn’t have killed him,” Francis pointed out, smugly, as per usual. “It barely grazed his stomach!”

“Like to see you have a go, asswipe!” Elizabeta threw back, and stepped back. Francis took aim with the spear. He managed to puncture deeply the area just above the heart. Elizabeta made a mental note it wasn’t just bow and arrows he was skilled in. He took a step back, giving her a self-satisfied nod, and Elizabeta rolled her eyes.

“Oh sue me. You wouldn’t have a chance against me if I had an axe in my hand.”

“But you don’t,” he pointed out, making her bristle a bit. Alfred laughed.

“Guys, guys, it’s not a competition -- though if it was I’d win,” he bragged. “Arthur, why don’t you have a go?”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “Yes, because you know I’m so proficient with a spear.” Nonetheless he stepped up. Another rule about being in the careers is that failing a task was better than having never performed the task at all, in their eyes.

He was right about not being proficient with a spear; two-third of the way to the dummy the spear lost momentum and hit the ground. There was a roar of laughter than Elizabeta joined in with.

“Nevermind,” Alfred shrugged. Curiously enough, he was the only one not laughing. “Maybe leave the spears to me, huh?”

“Shall we move on?” Arthur asked, a little irritated. “It’s obvious no one here is as good as you.”

“That’s true,” Alfred replied, confidently.

“What about knives?” Elizabeta suggested, “I could use a little practice with them.”

“Alright then -- knives it is!”

There was already a boy over at the knife section. Not in knife-throwing, rather just basic knife skills as a tool. What was interesting about him, however, was that he had a crippled back. A word called to Elizabeta’s mind: hunchback. She felt a stab of sorrow for the boy. He clearly had no chance in the Games.

“Push off, cripple!” Alfred yelled, giving the boy a hard shove. “We’re here now. Why don’t you go back to the pretty painting area, huh?”

The boy huffed, adjusting his glasses. “Yes, that’s a lovely attitude,” he said, scornfully, before flouncing away. Well, flouncing as best he could with his poor hunched back. Elizabeta watched him go, a little crossly. Alfred shouldn’t have done that. She glanced at the others to see if they were okay with it. Ivan looked a little miffed too -- but he wasn’t doing anything.

Well if he wouldn’t, she would. Elizabeta marched up to Alfred and snatched the knife out of his hands as he was about to throw.

“Wha-- hey!” His eyes narrowed. “Give that back.”

“You shouldn’t have done that to the boy,” she told him. Or, rather, snapped at him. Alfred scoffed.

“What? I’m teaching the guy a lesson about being on our turf. If he’d have done that in the Games, he’d be dead!”

“You already know he’s got slim chances in the Games, there’s no reason to bully him outside of it too,” Elizabeta retorted, then threw the knife into one of the targets. She hadn’t particularly been aiming for one of the targets, so it missed by about a mile, and hit the back wall. At least it was a good, solid stick, although the rest of them guffawed at the poor shot.

“Better luck next time,” Yao said, and threw his own knife. Her efforts paled in comparison when he missed the very centre target by about a millimetre.

Knives came and went quickly -- Elizabeta’s grip being adjusted, and her aim improving considerably while Yao and Natalya hit the shots dead on almost every time. Then they moved onto axe skills. She enjoyed this very much, especially when Francis made an undignified squawking sound when she pretended to aim for him. They all got a laugh out of that one. She beat out even Alfred, and in combat disarmed the man she’d been assigned to fight.

She couldn’t help but keep feeling guilty about that hunchbacked boy with the glasses though. Elizabeta felt that she should apologise, somehow, but she didn’t know how. Or even why. In the Games she couldn’t exactly say ‘sorry for killing you’ without it feeling insincere. The boy was over at the fire-starting area, and doing a bad job of it. Elizabeta glanced at the careers, then back again.

Well… her mentor had said she needed to build up some survival skills…

“Hold on guys,” she said, putting away the axe. “I’ve gotta split off for a second. My mentor said I’ve got to do passive skills too.”

Alfred pulled a face. “Eurgh, why?”

Elizabeta shrugged. “Don’t know, but I don’t wanna say I haven’t to her. I kind of need to stay in favour.”

“Alright, you go off and find some edible bugs then,” Alfred pulled a face. “We’ll be here when you decide you’ve gotten bored of that sh*t.”

She glared at Alfred, but he’d already looked away, and the pack was re-grouping around him without her. Well, that was fine by her. Elizabeta marched over to fire-starting. It was then she realised she hadn’t quite worked out what to say to the boy, or how to apologise.

The boy looked up when he was in her shadow, and shuffled aside for her. “Sit down. Unless you’re going to bully me away from survival skills too.”

“That wasn’t me,” Elizabeta retorted. Nonetheless she sat down.

“You didn’t stop him.”

“I told him to cut it out afterwards.”

The boy nodded, and looked down at his bundle of sticks. “I know. I… heard.”

“Then what was the point of saying that?” She asked him. Elizabeta picked up a box of matches and began to strike along the log. Annoyingly, the match didn’t light.

“I wanted to know what you’d say.”

The boy was odd, she’d give him that. Then again, he’d probably never had many friends growing up. Elizabeta didn’t know about his district -- whatever it was -- but cripples were often jeered at or teased. Parents liked to keep them indoors, as if ashamed. She felt another stab of pity for him. How cruel for life to have thrusted him into the Hunger Games when things were already bad for him.

“What’s your name?” Elizabeta eventually asked, after successfully lighting a flame.

“Roderich Edelstein.” He adjusted his glasses carefully. “Yours?”

“Elizabeta,” she told him, “I’m from district 7.”

“I thought you must be,” Roderich mused. “I saw you with an axe. You’re quite spectacular with it.”

“Well…” Elizabeta floundered. “You must be good at things too.”

Poor Roderich just shook his head. “Nothing that would benefit me in the Games.”

Elizabeta was silent for a moment, unsure what to say. Then she spoke up again: “Then, what are you good at?”

He paused for a long moment. She could almost see the faraway look in his eye. “... Music,” he eventually said. Elizabeta’s nose wrinkled a bit. Music? Really?

She didn’t pretend to know a lot about music. She heard the birds sing in the morning, and sometimes the workers would sing a folk song to jivvy themselves along and fill the quota, but other than that, nothing. Vladimir used to sing some weird, creepy songs. It gave her the shivers. After that she decided she didn’t like music very much. It wasn’t like it would help her. Besides, Elizabeta couldn’t sing very well anyway.

“Sophisticated music,” Roderich clarified. “I like classical, with proper instruments. My father bought me a piano, and a violin when I was younger. I expanded from there.”

Oh, he was talking about musical instruments. Elizabeta couldn’t say she’d heard much of them. One homeless man played the lute for pennies. She shrugged in reply.

“I’ve hardly heard musical instruments,” she told him. “I know a few folk songs, that’s about it.”

“Perhaps you should listen to some,” Roderich suggested. “We have everything at our beck and call now. In my room there are these wonderful speakers that can play out any song I like with whatever instruments. It can be wonderfully relaxing.”

She nodded, vaguely. “Maybe I will…”

“My personal favourite is one called Hour Of Old,” Roderich said. “I was learning it on the piano. Well, until…”

He didn’t need to finish the sentence. Elizabeta vaguely wondered how he knew all this about music.

“What district are you from?” She asked.

“Eleven,” he replied.

Well, that didn’t make any sense at all. Eleven was agriculture -- where there was orchids everywhere. It was a poor district too. Another question lingering on her tongue was, if he was from district 11, how could he talk so… posh?

“How do you know all of this about music then?” She asked aloud, voicing her thoughts. “I’d think you wouldn’t have much time for music there.”

“Oh no.” Roderich looked uneasy. “Most of us usually don’t. But I am the son of the mayor.”

“Oh. Ooh.” It suddenly clicked, and Elizabeta blushed. “S-Sorry, I didn’t--”

“No, it’s quite alright. I consider it a blessing, just as my back is a curse.” Roderich sighed. “You won’t have known about me from the Mayor. My father… prefers to cover my existence up for my being a cripple. I’m homeschooled, and hardly ever go out. Not that I’d want to. I fear people may throw stones at me.”

“That’s horrible!” Elizabeta exclaimed. Roderich shrugged.

“Perhaps. But that’s just how it is.”

She opened her mouth, then closed it again. She had been going to say, ‘well you ought to win the Games and show them all!’ but she realised how stupid that sounded. Roderich hadn’t a chance of winning the Games. Both of them knew that.

There was silence for a time, while Elizabeta lit her fire. This time, Roderich was the first to speak.

“What about you? You pretty much know all of my life story now.”

She smiled. “Yeah, I guess. Well… there’s not much to tell. I’m an only child, I’m from district 7, lumber…” Elizabeta paused. There really wasn’t much to tell, was there?

“Do you have any hobbies?” He asked.

“Not really,” she admitted. “I’m good at PE in school. I’m good at cutting down trees and hacking off branches. But those aren’t things I really enjoy. I enjoy…” Elizabeta paused again. “Hanging out with my friends. Running. And…” Her mouth twitched in a smile. “You’ll hate me for saying that.”

“What?” Roderich persisted.

“... Throwing stones at this one kid I hate,” she admitted. “But not because he looks weird or anything! It’s because he’s an asshole. He keeps mocking me and my friends, and throwing things down from trees to land on people’s head.”

Roderich rolled his eyes. “It sounds like we’re complete opposites. You have friends and can run and bully people. I have no friends, haven’t one athletic bone in my body, and get bullied.”

“I don’t bully him!” Elizabeta defended. “I give him his comeuppance.”

“Sure. What’s his name?”

She suddenly bit her lip, contemplating on whether or not to say it. “Uh… he’s my district partner.”

Surprise reflected back on Roderich’s face. “Oh!”

“Yeah, just my luck, I know,” Elizabeta groaned. Roderich shrugged.

“Perhaps it will make him easier to kill.”

“... Maybe…”

“Well, odds are someone else will kill him before you do,” he shrugged back.

“So, um…” she looked around hastily, for a change of topic. “Do you -- um -- have a token?”

Roderich blinked at this sudden change, but then he nodded. “I do, as a matter of fact. It’s in my room right now -- but I have a little pin of a mockingjay. My mother gave it to me. It used to be a close possession of hers.”

Elizabeta nodded. “I have a carved symbol of the moon,” she said. “It’s… not very well carved, to be honest, but my father made it for me. I’ve had it for years and hardly ever worn it.”

“I suppose most of your possessions are carved?” Roderich asked, raising his eyebrows. Elizabeta laughed and nodded.

“Yeah, I suppose.”

They didn’t have time to pursue the topic of conversation further, because at that moment Ralph came bounding in, announcing the lunch room was open. Elizabeta saw the careers stood up and bustle in immediately to take the best seats -- like they couldn’t muscle anyone else out anyway. She sighed and stood up.

“Sorry -- I think I’d better go and join them,” she gestured to the Careers. Roderich looked a little disappointed, adding to her guilt. “It was nice talking to you though.”

“Yes, you too,” he replied, in a defeated tone.

Elizabeta walked away before she made it any worse. She joined the careers back at the table, but she was barely paying attention to whatever drivel they were on about. Probably more showing off. She couldn’t even care when an argument broke out on their table, and the huge man from 12 left. She wanted to go back and talk to Roderich again, but to sit on a table with him would mean getting kicked out of the careers. Luckily they didn’t seem to notice her being with him for the past hour, so caught up in their own heads.

No, no! She was getting attached! And to such a frail man as well! Elizabeta shook her head fiercely. She had better steer clear of stations with Roderich in them, even if she was guilt-ridden about it. She’d learn a few more passive skills and then go back to the careers. She’d join their group, go into the Games and apply those skills to win. There would be absolutely no getting attached to anyone. Not Roderich, not Vladimir, not anyone. Not when they were all going to be sent to a bloodbath where it was kill or be killed. From now on she would have to focus on her primary objective; winning the Hunger Games.

Easier said than done.

Chapter 8: District 8: Zwingli and Zwingli

Chapter Text

Basch was furious about how these Hunger Games had turned out. In fact he would almost say they were rigged, if he knew the world cared enough about he and his little sister. Apparently now it cared little enough to let them get thrust into a bloodbath. How dare they both get reaped into the Games! No -- how dare they allow such a sweet, innocent girl into the Games! Lili didn’t belong here. She didn’t deserve this. For both of them, it was almost certain death.

He just wished he had the chance to volunteer for her instead. He wished this with all the bitterness that was in his heart.

Instead of stew, which had been served on the first day of training to go and collect, every table had a fancy tiered sandwich stand, filled with, predictably, sandwiches, wraps, buns, and tarts, with pieces of fruit dotted about in between. Lili gave a little gasp when she entered the lunch room, and grabbed his hand.

“It’s like little fairy food!” She exclaimed, excitedly.

Basch let her lead him over to a table. Lili took a long time deliberating over each one, as they all contained different types of sandwiches and buns. Funnily enough, in a moment of what Basch thought of as fondness for Lili, no one that weren’t the careers chose a table until she’d chosen. She sat him down in front of tiers that contained delicate, white-bread sandwiches with the crusts cut off, that featured different types of jams inside. The next tier contained wraps stuffed with chicken, lettuce, tomatoes, and cheese. The last tier contained iced buns, topped with hundred and thousands. Dotted between the first and last tier were little strawberries. Lili immediately reached out for two sandwiches, and gave one to him.

“Here, try one big brother!” She said, smiling happily. Basch took an obliging bite. “What does it taste like?”

“I think… it tastes like a sandwich,” he replied, shortly. Lili laughed.

“No no -- what kind of filling?” She corrected, and peered at her own, honey-coloured filling. “I think mine is marmalade!”

“Blackberry,” Basch told him. “Now hush -- be quiet and eat your food.”

He hoped nobody would sit at a table with them. No such luck. Ten minutes later, a man slid into the seat opposite he and Lili, smiling sheepishly.

“I -- sorry. There are no other tables,” he explained. Basch looked around. Sure enough, there weren’t any. Not as far as he could see. District 9 were sitting together, district 10 had a table, and district 3 had a table, with, curiously enough, a career boy from 2. The three containing the boy as young as Lili had also claimed a table. Not to mention the career pack took up a vast amount of room, while the rest were dotted about like lost sheep.

“That’s fine,” Basch replied, dismissively. The man nodded. Basch had seen him around -- usually in the knife sector until the careers came over. He looked sickly pale, with dark blond hair as long as his.

“I’m Lili!” Lili said, sweetly, and smiled in his direction. “Nice to meet you!”

“I’m Vladimir,” he replied, smiling back. “You know, I have a younger brother who’s a bit like you. You… remind me of him.”

“I do?” She asked, excitedly. “What’s his name?”

“Aurel.”

“Aur-el,” Lili said, as if trying it out on her tongue. “How old is he?”

Vladimir blew out a breath. “... Seven. And a half.” He suddenly looked from Lili to Basch. “Are you two…?”

“Yes, we’re siblings,” Basch said, beginning to get irritated with this. “And I would have volunteered for her if I hadn’t already been chosen. I’m not a coward.”

“I would have done the same,” Vladimir agreed. “Except by the time my Aurel would be old enough to be in the reaping, well, it’d be too late for me to volunteer.”

“Big Brother’s going to protect me in the arena!” Lili announced, proudly. Vladimir’s eyebrows shot up.

“Is he?”

Basch knew that look. He doubted he would win with that strategy too. “Well, what else would you expect me to do? I won’t just leave her.”

Vladimir shook his head. “I wouldn’t either.”

There was silence for a time as they all began to deplete the amount of food on the stand. Lili took a bun after a while, with yellow icing on the top. When she bit into it, she found that the middle had been filled with sharp lemon curd.

“Capitol food is the best, isn’t it?” She sighed happily. “Back in my district, we only really had tinned food.”

Vladimir nodded slowly. “... You’re both from 8 right? That’s textiles?”

Lili nodded. “Oh yes. I work making Peacekeeper clothes, which is boring. Some people I know make Capitol clothes. They’re so lucky! They get to work with silk, and velvet, and do embroidery!”

“You like sewing then?”

“Yes -- but not Peacekeeper clothes. Over and over.”

“I suppose that would get boring,” Vladimir agreed. “They’re all plain and white. … I don’t actually see a lot of Peacekeepers.”

“You don’t?” Lili asked, surprised. Vladimir shrugged.

“I live in District 7. They guard the trees at night to make sure there’s no unauthorised entry. And they make sure we’ve filled the daily quota, and drive the logs to wherever they go for carving. But I don’t tend to go near them. I don’t… exactly work.”

“Are you meant to?” Basch asked, raising his eyebrows.

“Well…” He looked a little sheepish. “Kids are meant to help out after school. Especially if the quota’s gone up a bit. But I never really joined in. I just wandered around town with my brother or pulled pranks on people for fun. It was alright.”

“Sounds like fun!” Lili said, enthusiastically. “You’re surrounded by so many trees! I don’t think I’ve even seen a tree up close. Our district is full of factories and smog and smoke. Not much fun.”

“Peacekeepers?”

“What do you mean?”

“How many Peacekeepers are there around?”

Lili shrugged. “Oh -- quite a few. I see them guarding around the factories. It’s scary walking past them with their big guns.” She shivered.

Basch had to admit it was a little interesting to hear about life in other districts. Things the Capitol kept away, as to better turn them into strange, alien rivals to fight for their own amusem*nt. That thought made him scowl.

“Now there’s a nice face!” Vladimir said, jokingly. “Careful the wind doesn’t change direction!”

That made Basch scowl harder. “That’s a myth.”

“Myths are based off truth!”

“How could that possibly be a truth?” He scoffed. Basch was about to tell Lili it was time to leave, and had half risen in his seat, when an explosion seemed to take place over on the career’s table.

Two of them were standing up, facing off with each other from opposite ends of the table. One was the glasses boy from 2, the one who, from Basch’s knowledge, had declared himself the leader. The other was the pink-scarf boy from 12. He’d remained quiet up until this point. It was odd. Looking around, Basch could see everyone else was looking at the career table.

“Are you telling me what to do, 12?” Glasses-boy sneered, eyeing pink-scarf up and down. It just occured to him Basch hadn’t bothered to get to know any of the careers. “Because I wouldn’t advise that.”

“Alfred, sit down,” another boy with bushy eyebrows warned. Alfred banged his fists on the table.

“I won’t! I can see him looking down on me like some scum!”

“Well you’re acting a lot like it,” pink-scarf replied, and a gasp rippled throughout the room. Glasses-boy -- Alfred -- drew up short. Then he marched around the table to get right in pink-scarf’s face. Well, he wasn’t quite as tall as pink-scarf, so it wasn’t so much nose-to-nose as it was nose-to-chin.

“Say that again,” Alfred dared.

“I said,” pink-scarf said, slowly, and his eyes narrowed. “You’re acting like scum.”

“Oh that’s it!”

“Hey, hey, hey, what’s going on here?!” A thick, Capitol-accent sliced through the air. Basch saw Ralph appear through the door, hurry down the lunch room, and muscle right in between Alfred and pink-scarf. “No fighting each other!”

“I just want one swing!” Alfred said, furiously. “Just to give him a taste of what I’m made of, go on!”

Pink-scarf didn’t move, but Alfred was attempting to push aside Ralph. Unfortunately it was clear Ralph had had experience with careers throwing tantrums because in one swift move he had Alfred in a firm hold.

“No fighting. You can take it all out on each other in the arena!” He barked, firmly. Alfred struggled and managed to break himself free of his grip and turn around to face Ralph, but this time he, wisely, didn’t try to push past him again. Alfred sneered.

“Yeah -- you hear that Ivan? I’ll be coming for ya in the arena.”

“Not if I come for you first,” Ivan replied. Then he turned and exited the lunch room, back into the gymnasium. Alfred sat down too. After a moment, the room filled back up with talk and less tension. Though Basch could still see Alfred stewing away on the career table. That was one he’d have to avoid in the arena.

Vladimir gave a low whistle. “Christ,” he whispered. “I wouldn’t want to be in between those two!”

“I don’t want to fight either of them,” Lili shivered. “They’re scary.”

“Well, hopefully they’ll finish each other off,” Vladimir told her, taking a sandwich off the stand. “Or they’ll get killed by some mutt.”

Lili looked down at her sandwich, but didn’t take a bite, as if lost her appetite. Basch wanted to leave still, but Ivan was the only one in the gymnasium now, and somehow he didn’t want to be alone in there with him. So he waited.

There wasn’t a lot of talk between them as the lunch hour passed. A few others filtered out, and then the noisy career pack did too, this time minus Ivan. Basch decided to take another go at spear-throwing, as the careers weren’t currently occupying it. In fact the only person there was a man from 10, with black hair. He wasn’t too bad at spear-throwing, but his spears had a habit of losing momentum mid-throw.

“Hey,” the boy said.

“Hey,” Basch replied. There was no talk after that. It wasn’t needed. No one wanted to get to know any others, because shortly they would witness them all die. Basch already regretted leaving Lili to her own devices in the survival-skills sections. The girl was friendly, and talkative. Yesterday she’d made friends with a timid man with no hope of winning the Games, although he was nice enough. She had begun to get to know Vladimir, and when he died Basch knew she’d be thinking of his little brother she barely knew. And now, she was talking idly with the girls from 9, who were helping her tie some knots. They’d die. Lili would be distraught. She just couldn’t understand the Hunger Games weren’t a place you went to make friends, eat good food, and dress up in nice clothes. It was a bloodbath. An arena. Couldn’t she see that?!

Basch threw his spear with all his might at the practice dummy. It pierced the heart directly, showering sand onto the floor as the spear went right through it. The boy from 10 took a hasty step back.

“... You’re good,” he complimented. Basch shrugged.

“As good as you.”

“No.” The boy shook his head. “Mine keep losing momentum look.”

He threw the spear, but it clattered to the ground at the halfway mark. Basch shrugged. He didn’t bother to tell the boy his grip had been all wrong, that would make for a less powerful shot. What use would be telling him how to kill him in the Games?

“You’ll get there,” was all Basch said.

Why couldn’t Lili be like this? Keep conversation to a minimum. Don’t find out names, don’t get to know them. It would only be upsetting later. ‘Neutral’ was apparently not a word in her vocabulary.

Tomorrow afternoon was the day they performed for the Gamemakers. They’d decide their score, and that would heavily influence the amount of sponsors they got. It was unlikely anyone would sponsor him or Lili so he needed a good score quite badly. Lili was cute and people liked her -- but they’d wouldn’t be betting her to win. Basch knew he was a little more promising, but he’d be the first to admit his personality was lacking just a bit. The interviews wouldn’t do much for him. So it was all on the training score. He needed to get as much practice in as possible before then.

After spear-throwing, Basch had a go with an axe. He wasn’t any match for the girl from 7, but he was decent. Decent enough to scrape through a battle if it was all he had. Then he went for hand-to-hand combat. But the best thing, he found, that he was good at, was a bow and arrow.

Basch didn’t know where the talent had come from. He’d never picked up neither a bow nor a quiver of arrows before, but he found it was quite easy. His instructor certainly seemed impressed.

“I’ve never seen a rookie take it up quite so quickly,” she told him. Basch decided to take that as a compliment.

After that he stuck to mostly long-range weapons. Throwing knives, crossbows, even back to spears. He was good with them, but never quite so good with a bow and arrow. That was it. That would be what he showed off to the Gamemakers. He could get at least a six or seven with this. It was better than the four he would have inevitably gotten before.

At five o’clock, training ended. Basch found Lili in the shelter-building with a funny, hunchbacked boy from 11. He ignored him completely.

“Come on Lili,” he said. “We’d better go.”

Lili stood up, dropping the pile of stones she had. She waved at the boy from 11. “Bye Roderich,” she called. When they began walking away, she turned to him and smiled. “Roderich is nice. He looks a bit funny but he’s nice.”

“Don’t get attached. You know what’s going to happen to him,” Basch replied, harsher than he intended. Lili drooped, but still, he couldn’t take it back now. And that didn’t mean his words were any less true.

They stepped into the lift and watched the gymnasium shrink below them as they headed back to their floor. Tomorrow was the one-to-one session with the Gamemakers. Basch had a plan.

Chapter 9: District 9: Braginskya and Maes

Chapter Text

Katyusha had no idea what she was going to do.

This fact frightened her. She was to see the Gamemakers this afternoon, and she had no idea what she was to do for them. Katyusha had found she could tie knots expertly well. So what? The Gamemakers weren’t going to be pleased with that. But she was no good with any sort of weapon she picked up. She wasn’t particularly talented with building shelter, using knives to cut wood, or camouflaging herself. She couldn’t even run fast. Katyusha couldn’t be less qualified for the Games if she tried. The fact was, the tiny tots from district 8 or 11 would outlast her in the Games.

Laura, her district partner, was in the same boat. Neither of them had done anything more than harvest grain their whole lives, and what skills were they supposed to get out of that? Laura was nice enough as it goes, with soft auburn hair, green eyes and a preference for Capital chocolate. She told Katyusha she had an older and younger brother back home. Katyusha couldn’t even talk about home without going into floods of tears.

Home. Warm, sweet home. Where her mother, father, sister and brother were. It would be all hands on deck at home as they struggled to harvest the tesserae for the other districts this time of year. Her older brother did well. He was strong and capable. She and her sister less well, although her sister was looking to go into the granaries. Katyusha was the middle child. Not particularly talented but she never minded it. She had friends and a family she loved.

Thinking about home made tears come into her eyes. Katyusha blinked them away, and finished making the twitch-up snare. Snares were just about the only thing related to knots, and even then the twitch-up snare looked slightly off. She’d probably done it wrong. The Gamemakers were going to be less that pleased with her. She’d be lucky to score a three.

“You forgot to tie the loop,” Laura said, comfortingly. She leaned over, and re-tied the knot for her. Katyusha looked up.

“Thanks. I’ve almost got it.”

The gesture made her want to burst into tears all over again. She couldn’t even outdo her own district partner. How was she supposed to kill a thirty-kilo career?

Laura gave a smile and sat down next to her. “But it was very good.”

“Not good enough,” Katyusha gave a watery smile. “I’m not going to kill a career with a knot.”

“But you might with a snare,” she reminded her. “... Though, let’s face it, neither of us have a chance really.”

“I know,” Katyusha mumbled, and looked out across the gymnasium. The careers had an obvious advantage of being well-fed and well-equipped. District 3 could blow things up. District 7 had the advantage of being able to wield an axe. District 11 could climb trees like it was nobody’s business. And District 12 could use a pickaxe. Her own District had nothing, no skills, other than picking grain. She supposed she could find the right type of grain and make something out of it for food, but those chances were slim. And there was still no way she could fight, the entire premise of the Games.

“The whole thing is rigged against us,” she murmured, as it dawned on her. Not District 9. All of them. The Capital set them all up against each other, and there was no way for anyone to truly win. Not really. There would be a victor -- but the true winner was the Capitol. Every time.

“I know,” Laura replied, sighing. “But what can the two of us do? What can any of us do really?”

Nothing. That was what. And the Capitol made that expressly clear. They took children from each district and made them fight to the death and they could do nothing about it. To make it worse they made them celebrate it. Made it into a festivity while families weeped for their lost ones. Kept the memory fresh by having a recap tour every half-year. Then July would roll around again, and the whole thing would be repeated. Again and again. Over and over. To remind them all who was really in power.

“... What do you think you’re going to do for the Gamemakers this afternoon?” Katyusha suddenly asked, as a quick change of topic. Talking was hard to do here when everything to talk about stung. “I think I’ll just do a few snares. I might get something good for that.”

“Oh, probably snares as well,” Laura told her. “Or… I might have a go at the knives. But… ha…”

Katyusha looked over at the knife station. The careers were there. Obviously, they couldn’t go over just yet. But they were running out of time before they performed for the Gamemakers.

She still couldn’t believe she was going to be fighting all these people. In a few days over half of these faces would be projected into the sky in the arena. Careers might turn on careers. Not that she thought she would be around to see this. No, she knew she’d be dead in a day. Maybe even less. Maybe even at the Cornucopia. And her family back home would watch her get slaughtered knowing she never really had a chance of making it home.

Still, perhaps there was hope. Perhaps if the Gamemakers liked her enough they’d keep her alive. Perhaps if she made a few allies… but it was far too late for that. The best she could do now was get a good training score. Then, at the interviews, make it seem like she was a person worth rooting for.

Oh, who was she kidding? No one would root for her.

Katyusha had been so caught up in her thoughts that she hardly noticed when a boy approached them in the snare section. He wasn’t quite her height, although he looked a bit older, with a pale face and black hair. Katyusha vaguely remembered that he was from District 10, Livestock -- although that was just about all she could recollect about him.

“Hey,” he began, nervously. “May I join you?”

Katyusha blinked. “Oh, um -- sure. You know--” she gave a small laugh. “Not many people ask.”

“Well… I thought I might,” the boy replied, awkwardly.

“Not many people would,” Laura said. “They usually just ignore us. We’re going to learn to make a self-locking snare. You could join if you like.”

“Thank you,” the boy replied, relieved. Then he paused, and held out his hand to shake. “I’m Nikola.”

“Katyusha,” Katyusha said, taking his hand.

“And I’m Laura,” Laura added. “Come on then. We’d better get started if we want these Gamemakers to take any notice of us.”

Nikola gave a wry smile. “So you also think you have no hope?”

“Oh I don’t think so,” she replied, with a small sigh. Then, Laura retrieved a couple of loops of wire from the bucket. Nikola and Katyusha did the same.

“What’s a self-locking snare?” Nikola then asked.

“It’s a type of snare for animals,” Katyusha explained. “It gets caught in the loop around its neck, and the more they struggle the tighter the loop gets, until it strangles them.”

“Course, it won’t be much good on a career,” Laura sighed. “They’d be able to cut themselves free with their swords.”

They looked over. Sure enough, all of the career tributes were at the sword station. Alfred from 2 seemed particularly good with this. He seemed particularly good with everything. Against him, their skills paled in comparison.

“Well… it’d get us a meal, at any rate,” Nikola said, although his tone was a little flat.

The conversation felt all wrong to Katyusha. It was too awkward and too painful. Of course, talking about anything was painful. Couldn’t talk about the past, the present wasn’t much better, and the future was unbearable. Talking about districts could bring up painful happy memories. Talking about what they were doing only reminded them of the threat looming up ahead. That limited things considerably.

“You two are from the same district, right?” Nikola suddenly asked, when they’d almost finished perfecting their first go at the self-locking snare. “9?”

Katyusha nodded. “Yep! That’s grain. I used to help pick it.”

“And I worked in a granary,” Laura added. “What about you?”

“10. Livestock,” Nikola sighed. “I looked after the horses.”

“You had horses?” Katyusha asked, with a smile. She’d seen horses and donkeys before -- strong creatures that pulled the plows. “I loves horses!”

“We slaughtered them for the horsemeat,” he replied, flatly. “I couldn’t really get to know any of them.”

“Ohh…” Katyusha deflated. “The Capitol like horsemeat then?”

Nikola shrugged. “Enough of them do.” Then, he chuckled. “Sorry, that was a bit of a downer. We also have cows. We use them for milk and making cheese.”

“Was your family well-off?” Laura asked.

“Not really,” he admitted. “But we do okay. What about you then?”

“I pick the grain,” Katyusha said. “With my siblings and parents. We use horses to plow and sew the seeds. Although this time of year we’re usually busy picking to get all the tesserae to the districts.”

“Ah,” Nikola nodded. “I see. Makes sense. I put in my name extra times for tesserae this year.” He laughed bitterly. “Big mistake.”

“My family wouldn’t let me,” Katyusha told him. “Otherwise I would have. We’re… poor.”

“I put my name in extra times,” Laura muttered. “I’m poor too.”

“The Games are rigged against us.”

“Oh -- I wouldn’t say that,” Nikola said, unexpectedly. “I’d think you’d know how to grow grain in the arena. One time a section of it was huge cornfields. Your district won that time.”

“No, I mean--” she laughed. “Against all of us. None of us ever win, not -- not really.”

“They do.” Nikola nodded his head over towards the careers, who had now moved on to wrestling. The big, beefy one from 4 -- Maximo -- seemed particularly good at this. “They’re trained for this. They’re proud of winning.”

“It’s the Capitol’s fault,” Katyusha insisted. “They set us against one another.”

“I suppose,” Nikola replied, flatly. “But the only reason we don’t just not fight in the arena is because of those. Otherwise I feel like we’d have all protested years ago.”

“I feel like it’s more complicated than that,” she said, but didn’t pursue it any further. There was no point arguing. Besides -- he had a point. The careers were well-fed, groomed by the Capitol, and ready to fight. The poorer districts weren’t. If it was only the poor going in -- well, they probably wouldn’t fight at all.

“It’s the Gamemaker’s stupid fault,” Laura muttered, darkly. “And in a few hours we’ve got to hop around for them like a bunch of trained monkeys. Just to get good sponsors.”

“You think you’ll get good sponsors then?”

Laura laughed. “Hell no. But if I don’t do anything at all I’ll get a zero.”

“I think I’d get a zero either way,” Katyusha mourned, as her snare collapsed the moment her hands left it. She sighed. “I’ve got no skills.”

“Well… not no skills…” Laura said. “But we’re no careers.”

“Careers don’t win every year,” Nikola reminded them. “Hopefully it’ll be one of us this time.”

They were talking about the future again. Katyusha could feel her chest tighten at the mention of Gamemakers and Careers. She decided to change the subject.

“Want to sit with us at lunch?” She suddenly asked Nikola. “We don’t have anyone else. You can stay, at least until we get called out.”

He blinked. “Oh, um… alright. Thanks.” Nikola rubbed the back of his neck. “I’ve been sitting with my district partner and… he scares me.”

“Who is it?” Laura asked. In reply, Nikola nodded over to a man at sword fighting. He was tall, as tall as the boy from 12, and like the boy from 12 also had a scarf. Except this one was blue and white striped. “Ah. I see what you mean.”

“The careers haven’t touched him for some reason though,” he suddenly said. “I wonder why. He must have said something to them.”

“Say something wrong to Alfred and you’re dead,” Katyusha shuddered. “I’ve been avoiding him.”

“So have I,” Nikola agreed, sheepishly. “So I’ll gladly sit with you two, thank you.”

Conversation was… easier, after that, but still not simple. There were times when they were silent, struggling to find topic of conversation. Katyusha found herself talking about more and more childish things -- like favourite colours, or favourite animals, or favourite foods. They could all agree that Capitol food was certainly the best food.

And then, at the lunch hour, Ralph bounded in to announce that the dining room was open.

“But don’t go back in,” he warned. “Once you’re done with lunch, you’ll be called in one by one, district by district, to see what you can do for the Gamemakers. They’ll decide your score later tonight. Now, go on!”

The three of them waited a bit, for the rowdy careers to go in and take their seats. It was a stew again, like they had on day one -- but a different kind. Some kind of fish stew, that had thick orange sauce and prawns, and some kind of delicious herb scattered on top. Despite the food being definitely up to Capitol standard, Katyusha was struggling to eat it. She felt suddenly sick with nerves. What could she possibly do for the Gamemakers in comparison to the careers? She couldn’t even do her snares right half the time! Now, with all this pressure on her, Katyusha was sure she was going to fail.

Conversation had dried out, not just on their table, on everyone’s it seemed. The lunch hour whizzed by at a stupidly fast pace, and soon, the first boy was being called.

“District 1, Francis Bonnefoy!”

A boy from the careers stood up, and made his way to the doors confidently. As he strutted past Katyusha, she couldn’t help but wish she had his confidence. Or his skill. Or his district. She was in District 9 -- one of the last to be called. Katyusha just wanted to get it over with.

Slowly, little by little, one by one, the tributes were called through. The careers went, leaving only the nervous, the scared, the untalented, and the air was stagnant with tension. Then, they called her name, before Nikola’s and even Laura’s.

“I guess that’s me.” She took a deep breath before standing up. “See you on the other side.”

“Good luck,” Nikola said, politely. Laura said nothing, but she gave a quick smile and a nod. Her face was pale. She was next.

Katyusha took stiff steps towards the door, and back into the Gymnasium. It was time to impress these Gamemakers. She could only hope to get a good training score.

Chapter 10: District 10: Dimitrov and Abelsson

Chapter Text

Nikola watched Katyusha go out with an air of gloom. After Laura, he would probably be next. Then he would walk stiffly out, close the doors behind him and… what? What would he do? Nothing that could impress the Gamemakers, that was for damn sure. He glanced over at Laura. She was looking as shaky as he felt.

Katyusha was a short time in there before they were calling in Laura. This time Nikola could only give her a smile that she could not return. He didn’t trust himself to use his voice for fear it might come out all squeaky, and that wouldn’t be earning himself any points. Especially not when the room was still full of a few tributes. Granted, tributes like himself, untalented nothings that didn’t stand a chance… except maybe the two from District 12. The brunet one looked calm and capable, although grave. Ivan was smiling. He clearly felt he had something to offer the Gamemakers. Or maybe that was his usual face. It was hard to tell.

He swirled his fish stew around unenthusiastically. There was still a lot left, but it had gone cold by now. He hadn’t much of an appetite anyway, too nervous thinking about those Gamemakers who, arguably, controlled how many sponsors he got. Therefore deciding who lived and who died. Nikola knew he was decent with a spear. He was better at snares. He’d taken a few rounds with basic knife skills and hand-to-hand combat too. Sure, it was nothing against a career, but perhaps it gave him a bit of a chance. A bit more than if he hadn’t trained at all for this. Nikola hadn’t bothered getting himself allies. Hadn’t bothered talking anything more than polite conversation. Katyusha and Laura were the most time he’d spent with another district. He didn’t want to get… attached.

“Nikola Dimitrov!”

And that was him! That was his name! Nikola stood slowly, and stiffly made his way to the doors. At least he was going before his district partner, before his nerves could ramp up so much he couldn’t stand. But the moment he pushed open those doors something was wrong.

The Gamemakers were all in a little box in the wall, to watch the tributes perform for them, but it was immediately evident to Nikola that this was not what they were doing. They’d been here too long, gotten bored, had too much wine at their banquet table. A few were still sitting, watching Nikola, however most were getting bored with the demonstrations. They’d already had their favourites pass through; the careers, and a few more. They’d probably stopped paying attention at District 7. If he wanted to wow these Gamemakers, he’d have to have something ridiculously good up his sleeve to make them pay attention. And he didn’t.

In those few moments Nikola had stood there, staring at the Gamemakers in mild disgust and annoyance, the few that had been paying attention to him lost focus. They turned back to their roast ox, or whatever it was, pouring the champagne like it was Christmas. Nikola decided to start at the spear-throwing and work around.

He picked up the spear that was the most familiar to him and put the head on it. Then he took aim at the dummy. Nikola had been aiming for the heart, but it skewered through the stomach instead. Hopefully they thought that was on purpose. He took a deep breath. Try again.

He threw again and again at the dummies until he pretty much had the spear shot right where he wanted it. Nikola looked at the Gamemakers for approval. Only half were looking at him, some frowning, some nodding. The other half was carving up that roast ox. He set his jaw, willing himself not to lose his temper. Snares. That was next.

Tossing the spear in his hand down, he stalked over to the snares section. People had been there already, so there was hardly any wire left. Nikola made do with what he had. He tried the self-locking snare, the twitch-up snare, and anything else he could even vaguely remember. Using nets, wire, string, anything. It was excellent work, Nikola knew it, and he was sure there wasn’t a fault to a single snare he’d set. He looked up at the Gamemakers. Now even less were watching him.

Oh if he could only catch one of these Gamemakers in his snares. He was being sent to his death, the least they could do was have the decency to watch! Nikola could feel himself biting his cheeks in annoyance. Maybe he wasn’t a career but he still deserved some respect!

Nikola had been planning to go over to the knife-station next, but one of them was stepping up to the edge.

“You may go now, District 10.”

Not even a name. He was just ‘District 10’ to them. Nikola hated these Gamemakers. He stalked out of the gymnasium and into the lift, hitting the button so hard he might well have broken the thing. Then he shot up into the air, far, far away from these Gamemakers, but not far enough. There was the roof of the Training Centre, but somehow he felt that wasn’t allowed. Nikola was tempted to go anyway, but the moment he shot up to his floor, his mentor and District 10 escort was there to greet him.

His mentor was barely his age, a man called Zack, and had won the Hunger Games just a couple of years ago at thirteen. It was mostly because of a flood that pretty much wiped everyone out. He was quite laid back and relaxed, although carried a bit of a nervous tick at times. He was known for looking after sheep, even though he needn’t, since he lived in the Victor’s Village. His escort was another man called Arman, who was very self-assured and carefree. He didn’t look too bad for a man of the Capitol; his hair was normal, and he had no noticeable makeup. But his clothes tended to be brightly coloured, and clashed a lot with each other in a way that made his eyes hurt, even if he didn’t know a lot about fashion. Both of them turned to face him now from the living room.

“Well?” Arman asked. “How did it go?”

Nikola pinched the bridge of his nose, and then stepped out of the lift. “Terrible,” he admitted. “By the time I got in half of them had lost interest. They were eating a roast ox or something.”

“It could have been worse,” Zack said, reasonably. “I suppose you’re lucky to have at least half of their attention. They usually stop paying attention at District 6.”

“Why?!” Nikola burst out. “We’re being sent to our deaths -- the least they could do is have the decency to pay attention!”

Arman didn’t say anything, being very Gamemaker-loyal, but he pursed his lips shut. Nikola took a deep breath and forced himself to calm down.

“I set a few snares and threw some spears. I was decent at it too, I thought I was going to do a lot worse,” he said. “Govert is doing his now.”

Zack nodded, absorbing the information. “Well, it could be worse,” he said again. “It’s almost dinner time. You should get ready -- and we’ll watch the scores after dinner, how about that?”

This time it was Nikola’s turn to purse his lips shut, and nod. He stalked to his room where he slammed the door angrily, then threw himself down on the silken sheets. The least Zack or Arman could have done was have a little sympathy! Not just send him to his room! He felt like screaming but that would probably be childish. Instead he let his anger run through him wearing him out, and watching the sun set over the Capitol. The red and pink hues from the sky set a pretty orange glow around his room through the glass. Nikola knew he should probably wash and change but he’d worn himself out. By the time he’d worked through anger, frustration, depression and homesickness, it was time for dinner. He got up from where he’d slid onto the floor, unable to feel anything at all.

It was probably a good thing too, because Nikola felt sure he’d be jealous of Govert. He’d seen Govert at training. He was big, strong, capable. Refused the careers, but he could probably go it on his own. But Nikola felt too tired to be jealous of Govert at this stage. He sat at the dinner table, in between Zack and Arman, and began to eat.

They were talking idly about something or other. Or -- well -- Arman was anyway, while Zack mostly listened. Govert was as silent as he but that wasn’t anything special. In fact, Nikola was the one that usually indulged in polite but petty conversation about nothing of any significance. Now he just didn’t have the energy. He could barely have the energy to eat -- pork chops, with cherry tomatoes and cannellini beans, served with mashed potatoes and some kind of apple sauce on the side. Nikola was playing with his food more than eating it. Not that anyone noticed much.

“Okay, so moving onto what happened today,” Zack finally said, with a touch of hesitancy in his tone. “Nik, I know what you’ve done, but what about you Govert?”

“Spear throwing,” he replied, staring down at his plate. “A bit of hand-to-hand. No one was paying much attention, really.”

“No one was looking at me, either,” Nikola told him. That made him feel a little better. That maybe if the Gamemakers hadn’t been paying attention enough, they wouldn’t see how good Govert really was. Maybe he’d be on equal terms with him in scores.

“Your scores are going to be televised tonight,” Zack told him, like they didn’t already know. “I think you’ll both do okay. Besides -- scores only really matter if they’re good. No one pays much attention to the bad or mediocre ones.”

“Anyway,” Arman added. “You can still win with a low score!”

Sometimes. On very, very rare occasions, when the tributes didn’t really need any help from sponsorships. Nikola looked down at his meal. “Right.”

He knew they were only trying to cheer him up but it wasn’t working very well. If he only got a mediocre score, and no one paid attention to that, then the amount of sponsors he’d get would decrease. He needed all the help he could get since he had no allies. After all, Nikola had no idea what arena he’d be thrown into.

He sulked all throughout desert as well -- a sherry trifle. Nikola only ate about a spoonful then pushed it away. Then, they all stood up and trooped into the living room, where they’ll announce the scores on television. First, they show a photo of the tribute, then flash up their score. The tributes mostly get into the eight-to-ten range. Others average about a five. They showed District 1 first -- Francis Bonneyfoy, eight. Natalya Arlovska, seven. Ludwig Belischmidt, ten. Alfred Jones, ten.

He sat through twenty tribute scores, with very little sticking in his head, before it was his turn. A boy with round glasses from 6 got three, the lowest score yet. The girl from 7 managed a nine. The two girls from District 9, Katyusha and Laura -- both five. Then they were showing his face, and his score: six.

Six?!

That was all he got?! Nikola felt he deserved at least an eight. Those snares hadn’t a fault to them, he was sure of it -- and once he warmed up with a spear he could shoot just fine! That just proved they weren’t paying attention. But Nikola could only feel more indignant when they flashed Govert’s score. Eight.

His heart sank. Great. Now he really was in trouble. His district partner had outshone him by far, no one was going to pay attention to him. Zack would direct all the sponsors to Zack and -- and --

He was going to die.

“I’m going to bed,” Nikola said, thickly, and stood up from the couch. Arman made a move to stop him but Zack put a hand on his knee. Nikola was grateful. He marched off to his room and managed to get under the covers that he’d tossed off the bed before. Then he began to cry.

It made himself feel weak, crying like this. What would his family say if they knew their only son was snivelling under the covers like this, instead of facing his future? But, oh what did it matter? If the Hunger Games wasn’t something to cry about, what was?

The sun had now set over the horizon, plunging his bedroom into darkness. The day after tomorrow would be the interviews. That was when the Capitol, for the first time, really got to know the personalities of the tributes. It was absolutely sickening. They had to smile and wave and act for these people sending them to their deaths, and they could do nothing about it. A career would come and finish him off at the Cornucopia. He had exactly two days left to live. Two. That was all.

Nikola wiped his eyes furiously on the bedsheets, then began to, finally, change out of his stained and sweaty training clothes. He threw them haphazardly onto the floor, switching them out for soft, cotton pyjamas. Then he turned over his pillow, re-made the bed, and crawled inside. There. Much better.

No more crying. What was done was done. The score… probably didn’t matter too badly. Six was still above average for normal, non-career tributes. He’d probably been overstepping, expecting an eight. Besides, training without a threat was one thing. Maybe he’d do so much better with all the pressure piled on.

Still, it was a while before Nikola drifted off to sleep, kept awake by worry.

Chapter 11: District 11: Edelstein and Galante

Chapter Text

The night they were shown their training scores, Roderich hardly slept. He was tormented with dreams filled with the career pack hunting him down, stringing him up in a net, laughing at him and pointing their weapons at him jeeringly. The two boys from district 2 were laughing. His parents from home were laughing. Even that girl from 7… she was laughing too…

He felt quite glad when the sun rose again, although his body was racked with back pains from the night. Roderich reached a hand out and felt the bedside table for his glasses, and put them on carefully. The world blurred into focus. He allowed himself to rest for a moment, but just a moment, as before long his poor back began aching for attention again. Roderich sat up slowly, and reached for the pot of cream that would soothe him.

Today was a day all to his mentor and district escort. Roshun was his mentor, and Roderich nothing less that hated him. Roshun made it clear he didn’t like him all too well either, but District 11’s only other tribute was Ravis, and he was just twelve. The odd’s were definitely not in District 11’s favour. Roshun, it seemed, had all but given up on both of them. He was a tall, dark-skinned, athletic man, with a passion for a Capitol game called ‘football’. Roderich had never heard of it, and when Roshun had shown him what it was, he didn’t think much of the game that was all men just screaming and kicking a ball. It was at that point, it seemed, Roshun seemed to give up on him.

Thankfully Iakovos was more laid-back and relaxed. Roderich liked him much better than the too bold and too brash Roshun, anyway. He was Capitol, but other than his odd accent and the beads he adorned his hair with, he was perfectly normal. Roderich just didn’t like him because he supported the Hunger Games.

Today he would be spending all his valuable time left with those two. They would be coaching him on his interviews for the Games. Two hours with Iakovos for presentation, two hours with Roshun for content. Roderich less than looked forward to it. He stretched out the time as long as he could before he had to go downstairs to breakfast; washing himself, applying more cream, getting changed, brushing his teeth. Roderich was half tempted to just order food to his room so he wouldn’t have to go to breakfast. But he would have to face them eventually.

“There he is!” Roshun exclaimed, as Roderich entered the dining room. There was a hint of malice in his voice.

Breakfast was already laid out on the table. Roderich took a seat next to Ravis and began to butter one of the soft white rolls. Roshun pointed his fork at Roderich.

“We were just about to come and get you,” he told him. “Today is all about prep for the interviews. You probably know this already -- but you’ll have four hours with me and four hours with Iakovos. You’ll start with Iakovos. And we’ll begin as soon as we finish breakfast.”

“Splendid,” Roderich replied, in a tone more defeated than anything else.

He took as long as possible with breakfast, although he didn’t have much of an appetite. Ravis and Roshun departed long before him, into the living room. Roderich could hear the quiet buzz of indistinguishable words through there. Then, with a heaving sigh, he stood up himself.

“Alright. I’m finished,” he said. “What do you have to teach me?”

“Presentation,” Iakovos replied, mysteriously. He too, stood up. “Come on. Follow me.”

Roderich couldn’t possibly imagine what Iakovos could have to teach him. Turns out, there was rather a lot, most of it highly insulting. Iakovos lead him to his bedroom, where he sat him down, and first scrutinised him for the best possible way to present him in a way that didn’t look so grotesque. Roderich felt at first affronted -- and then exhausted as Iakovos got him to work on posture. Sitting up as straight as he could, chin up, eye contact, hand gestures, and smiling. Apparently he had a tendency to frown at people in a most disapproving manner.

“It’s like you’re looking down on them,” Iakovos said. “And you want these people to like you.”

“They are betting on my life,” Roderich muttered back. But he was exhausted, and the muscles in his mouth were twitching from overuse.

After posture, came walking. Roderich had been expecting this, but that didn’t make it any less insulting. Due to his crooked back, he had a tendency to walk lopsided, and do what Iakovos referred to as ‘hobble’. At first he got him working with a cane, but it was soon apparent that he could not walk with marching, quick steps, cane or no. Although Iakovos remarked that the cane did improve it, there was still a lot of limping. Roderich changed with Ravis at lunch, feeling more self-conscious, insulted, and annoyed than ever.

And Roshun was so much worse.

After lunch he took him into the sitting room, and, just like Iakovos, stared at him for a while, a frown on his face. Roderich looked back at him, returning the frown.

“May I ask what are you doing?”

“Deciding,” he replied, shifting on the sofa. “These interviews are gonna decide how much the audience like you. And you kind of need that right now. Because you haven’t got a hope in hell in all other accounts.”

Roderich’s stomach gave an unpleasant turn. He didn’t like Roshun’s words, but he was right. He looked ugly -- something that would greatly impact the sponsors, as the Capitol was vain -- and his training score had barely scraped a four. No one was going to sponsor him on the fact that they knew a hunchback could never win the Games. Maybe a few would as a joke and to flash off how much money they could waste -- but that was it.

“I could…” he began, but then trailed off. What? What could he do? Probably the most winning personality in the world wouldn’t save him at this point. Roderich gave a defeated sigh. “I don’t know.”

“Exactly,” Roshun pointed out. “So… try and play it to the audience, I guess. Be charming. Confident. Act like you know exactly what you’re going to do. Like you have a plan. Maybe that’ll convince them to sponsor you.”

Roderich was never really one for acting, but he did his best. He thought he was coming off okay -- until Roshun pinched the bridge of his nose and groaned.

“No, no, no! You’ve got to be more mysterious than that. You can’t just reply ‘I don’t know’ to these questions!”

He felt his face heat up in embarrassment. “It is difficult,” he snapped back. “When you are quizzing me like I’ve done something wrong!”

“I’m pressuring you,” Roshun replied, irritated. “You’ll feel it on the interview night. You’re tone is also too severe. Kick it back a notch, alright?”

“Fine,” he replied, sitting back on his end of the sofa. “Start again.”

But the comment had upset and annoyed him so much that Roderich couldn’t hold his temper down, until he was going back to glaring, that severe tone creeping back into his voice. Roshun tried a different angle, fierce -- but he was too vulnerable to be hostile, not to mention it wasn’t believable with his crooked back. They tried funny too. And likeable. It was then Roshun got fed up, and stood up.

“I give up,” he snapped. “Good luck out there in the Games, Roderich.” With that, he marched off, the four hours of tutoring not even having been filled.

Roderich adjusted his glasses, willing himself not to cry, although they certainly got steamy. This was it. He had officially blown his chances of ever winning the Games at all. Hopefully his death would be quick. With that thought in mind, he gave a heaving sigh, and stood up. He didn’t want to be here. He wanted to be anywhere but here. His room? Roderich made a move towards it, but the door to Ravis’ room was open, and he didn’t want to have to stalk past them and suffer their inquisitive stares. That only left the rest of the floor -- and the lift.

Roderich started towards the lift. Perhaps he could go down to the gymnasium and get some extra practice in. He hit the button and whizzed down below the Training Centre. But when he stepped out of the lift he was stopped by an Avox. They were shaking their head vigorously.

“I’m not allowed in?” He asked, blankly.

The Avox nodded hurriedly.

“Right…” he turned and entered back into the lift, burning slightly with embarrassment. But his hand hovered over the one that would take him back to District 11’s floor. Roderich didn’t want to go back there just yet. He was too annoyed, shamed, and scared. It was then his eye caught a different button. It read: the roof.

… Well. It was better than going back to his floor.

Roderich pressed the button and let the lift shoot him up, past his room and District 12’s. It opened up into a large garden, with small pathways, and even trees. Rose bushes that were not only red, but white, jewel green, and deep purple in artificial colours. Ivy that wound it’s way around the tree trunks in clipped and clever patterns. Fruits even dangled down from these trees, low enough for him to reach, and the air was warm, blowing from probably vents hidden around the place, and making the wind chimes ring. It was a bit loud, but Roderich, for a moment, had his breath taken away. It was like a whole different kind of music.

But he wasn’t alone.

“Hey,” said a female voice just off to the side of him. Roderich turned, and -- oh just his luck -- it was the girl from 7. The one that had come to talk to him after the careers pushed him off. Elizabeta. He felt his face flush slightly.

“Sorry,” he said, immediately. “I didn’t know anyone else was here.”

Elizabeta shrugged in reply, and smiled. “It’s okay. It’s open to all tributes, not just me.”

“Is there anyone else here then?” Roderich asked.

“No. Just me, it looks like,” she told him. “Gave my mentor the slip, you know? I really can’t be asked to hop around on the stage like some kind of performing monkey for the Capitol.”

Roderich frowned. “But it would help, wouldn’t it? Getting sponsors?”

“Well, I figured I’ve already got all the information I need,” she gave another of those smiles. “Have you seen the view? I wanted to stay until the sun was setting to see what it looked like.”

How nice it must be to not have to worry about or even rely on sponsors. Well, Elizabeta was proficient enough with an axe. She could also climb, and looked as though she could fend for herself. He, on all accounts, did not. Roderich should feel annoyed and competitive with her, even hate her as she would win and he would not… but oddly enough he didn’t. Instead, he gave a weak smile.

“I haven’t. I imagine it would be quite pleasant, however.”

“Come on, I’ll show you!” She took his hand and lead him down one of the chalky pathways, to the edge of the Training Centre. Roderich had to admit, it looked exquisite. The sun bounced off each hue of the candy-coloured Capitol, making it seem so bright and shiny. Every single house had a garden, and a drive, and even a car. Roderich wondered what it would be like to live here, with everything at their disposal. He decided it must be very nice.

“Pretty, right?” Elizabeta laughed. “And so awful at the same time.”

“I -- I suppose,” he faltered. “What do you mean?”

“Well--” she gestured around at all the houses. “They get all this -- all these lovely things. While we starve.”

When she put it like that it did seem rather horrible. Roderich sighed. “I don’t suppose there is much we can do about it though.” In fact, by dying in the arena, they were rather strengthening this way of life. Elizabeta frowned.

“Yeah… I know.”

There was silence for a moment as they watched the people and the houses down below. Then Roderich spoke: “The interviews are tomorrow. Do you think you’ll do well?”

Elizabeta shrugged. “It’s hard to tell. My mentor calls me ‘fiesty’. … I’m not sure if it will gain me favour though. What about you?”

He shook his head, sadly. “I’m afraid I haven’t a hope. The Capitol is all about looks rather than personality -- and I don’t seem to have much of either.”

“You have personality!” She exclaimed, indignantly. “You’re… charming. Clever. Opinionated. You just need a little faith, is all.”

Faith? He’d need a lot more than faith to survive the next week or so. “I guess,” Roderich replied, uncomfortably. “But this morning hasn’t helped much with my faith at all?”

“Why?”

“My mentor doesn’t like me very much,” he admitted. “I’m only here because he got so cross with me he walked out. That doesn’t exactly inspire confidence.”

Elizabeta frowned. “That’s horrible. He’s your mentor. He’s supposed to help.”

Roderich shrugged. “I don’t really blame him. He has to work with a hunchback and a twelve-year-old. I don’t imagine he thinks District 11 will win this year.”

“Oh, that’s right,” she nodded. “That young one is from 11 too. The boy, I mean.”

“It’s barbaric,” he murmured. “How they force children in here, just because they can.”

“Yep,” Elizabeta sighed.

“And just to remind us how under our thumb we are,” he continued, bitterly. “It’s horrible, how they set us up against each other.”

“Yeah -- wait, what do you mean, ‘set us up against each other’?” Elizabeta asked, doubtfully. “The Districts?”

Roderich pursed his lips and nodded. “The favouring of the Careers means the rest of us resent them. I myself resent them. And it’s a good way to get us all to hate each other, to make sure than none of us stand together and overthrow the Capitol.”

“To… to…” she looked surprised, and even a little impressed. “... I never thought of that. The Capitol makes us hate each other on purpose?”

“Almost undoubtedly.” He was a little surprised she hadn’t sussed it out earlier. The girl seemed in equal match brains and brawn. Not to mention guts. Roderich knew he had brains, but was severely lacking in other aspects.

“Huh…” Elizabeta looked out at the Capitol, a look of contemplation on her face. “... Well, a lot of things definitely seem to add up under that.”

Roderich nodded. “But what I wonder is… what if we didn’t? What if the districts were united, and the tributes refused to fight one another in the arena. Then what?”

“I… I don’t know…” she faltered. “I guess the Capitol would send in one of their mutts. Try and get us to fight that way.”

“I suppose,” he sighed. “But I like to think that one day we will stand up against this. Maybe that way the Hunger Games will come to an end.”

“With that attitude, I guess,” she chuckled, and then looked away, troubled. “... I’m sorry about Alfred the other day. He… he had no right to do that.”

“The showy, District 2 career?” Roderich asked, pushing his glasses up his nose. “... It’s okay. You’ve already apologised.”

“I know, but it didn’t seem enough,” Elizabeta muttered, frowning. “He had no right to treat you that way. None at all.”

“You ought not to have that attitude for the Hunger Games,” he remarked. “We’ll be doing a lot worse in there.”

“Well we don’t have a right to kill each other!” She suddenly burst out, frustratedly. “We -- we don’t, Roderich! We only have to because the Capitol is making us! This entire thing, it’s -- it’s--”

He took a step back in shock, glasses sliding down his face comically. Elizabeta turned away, and Roderich couldn’t help but feel like he was responsible.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered. “I shouldn’t have said what I did.”

“No,” she waved a hand, back still turned to him. “No. It’s not your fault. It’s theirs.”

“Still. I should have kept my mouth shut.”

Elizabeta gave a deep, irritated sigh, that made Roderich feel smaller than ever. A nagging part of him said that if he couldn’t impress just this one girl, what hope did he have for millions of potential Capitol sponsors? He opened his mouth a few times to say something -- something comforting -- but each time he closed it again. What could he say? Sorry you have to kill? Sorry you might die?

“Should I go?” He ended up saying, meekly. Elizabeta turned, surprised, and shook her head.

“No, sorry, I -- no. I just got angry,” she said. Was he imagining it? Or was there a guilty tone to her voice? “I like your company, really. Better than my district partner’s, anyway. You actually say things that are intelligent. And you’re not annoying.”

Roderich thought back to the conversation they had. That’s right; Elizabeta hated her district partner. She liked to throw stones at him. She also liked to run and hang out with her friends, and… “Do you still have the carved necklace?” He suddenly asked aloud.

“Oh -- um -- yes?” Elizabeta gave him a funny look. “Yes. Why?”

Roderich shook his head. He didn’t know why he suddenly brought that up. “I just remembered,” he answered, honestly. “The pin I was going to use for my symbol might not get approved. They say I could use it as a weapon.”

“That’s ridiculous!”

He shrugged. “It doesn’t really matter. I was never all that close to my mother or father. They liked to keep me away.”

“Then they’re not real parents,” Elizabeta replied, hotly. Roderich shrugged again.

“I wouldn’t know. Either way, I wouldn’t be particularly sad if my pin wasn’t approved.”

“Wouldn’t you like a bit of home to hang onto?” She persisted, then sighed. “But… you said you never really liked home, right?”

“Well,” he said, “it’s between home, and a bloodbath. Not really much of a choice.”

Elizabeta chuckled. “I… suppose.”

It was nice, talking with Elizabeta, Roderich realised.

For the next few hours, the both of them just… talked. Roderich didn’t want to go downstairs and face Roshun, Ravis and Iakovos after today’s disaster. That would make the Hunger Games seem too real again. But up here, away from the world, and with Elizabeta… it was like stepping into a dream. A beautiful dream where there were gardens to explore, and soft, musical wind chimes -- and even a bit of laughter. Elizabeta took his hand at one point and began to slowly show him around the parts of the gardens she’d already explored.

But then the sun began to set.

“I suppose I’d better go,” Elizabeta said, mournfully. “You know -- you’re nice. Nicer than I expected,” she admitted. Roderich almost smiled.

“I could say the same about you,” he replied, honestly. She looked as if she was about to say more, when suddenly they came back upon the view. She gasped. Roderich didn’t blame her.

The setting sun on the glorious Capitol city was marvellous. The rays hit the rooftops and cast a golden glow around. It was bright, but not harshly so. Beautiful. This could be one of the last sunsets he ever saw, Roderich realised. Somehow that made it all the more beautiful, yet sad too.

“... What a view,” Elizabeta whispered, smiling in awe.

“Indeed it is,” he replied. But Roderich wasn’t looking at the sunset.

He was looking at Elizabeta.

Chapter 12: District 12: Braginsky and Laurinaitis

Chapter Text

Ivan awoke the morning of the interviews, to his prep team hanging over him.

This day was going to be all to them. Ivan couldn’t exactly say he liked his prep team -- personally he thought them childish and vain, self-centered -- but he supposed they could not help what they had been taught. Besides, after seeing his costume for the Opening Ceremony the night he arrived, he couldn’t complain much.

The entire morning and most of the afternoon was spent making him look Capitol-presentable. His nails were filed and polished. His skin was coated in a black powder that shimmered when he moved, although didn’t dye his skin black too. His face was erased with a pale cream and then stencilled back on; high cheekbones, black, smokey makeup, and small, pearl studs in his ears that definitely hadn’t been there when he first arrived at the Capitol. Ivan always thought makeup and earrings were something for girls. He was, evidently, wrong.

After the prep work, came the costume itself. It was mostly a long, black coat, that billowed out when he walked and left coal dust behind. That was the entire premise of the look; coal dust. That’s why everything was black and smokey, and he left behind ash when he walked. His prep team did squeal when they first saw him in all his get-up.

“I don’t know,” Ivan had said, doubtfully. “Couldn’t we have saved this until later? There’s still a good few hours before the interview.”

“You’ll do fine,” said a quivering voice behind him. Ivan turned to see his district partner, Toris, in a similar get up. Still coal dust, but he didn’t look haunty like he did, rather more just friendly, with instead of ash, flickers of flame blossomed when he walked. The overall effect was quite nice. It suggested danger. Which, after meeting Toris, didn’t seem at all likely. Toris wasn’t dangerous. He was a cheerful, hardworking, cautious coal-miner.

“I don’t want to ruin all the hard work my prep team put in though,” Ivan said, even more doubtfully. “Then this would all be for nothing.”

“I don’t think it can.” Toris rubbed had at his eye, and then showed him his knuckle. There was hardly a stain on it. “See?” He chuckled nervously, fiddling with his sleeve.

“Are you nervous?” Ivan asked him. Toris nodded.

“A -- a little, yes,” he admitted.

“Don’t be! They are only Capitol pigs.” His tone was meant to be encouraging, but for some reason Toris looked uncomfortable.

“... Right.”

“It is not like you will win anyway,” he continued. Ivan was trying to comfort him, but he wasn’t quite sure how to go about it. “So this will not matter in the end.”

… If anything, Toris looked even more uncomfortable. Before Ivan could work out what he said wrong, the prep team was back, and bustling them into the lift. It would take them to the backstage, where they’d be lined up to take their interviews, all twenty-four of them in one big arc. Ivan wasn’t nervous, although he did wish he had his scarf on him. He hadn’t been allowed to wear it as the bright pink would ruin the coal black look.

When the elevator opened again, the rest of the tributes were already being lined up on the stage in their district pairs. Usually it was girl-boy, girl-boy, but as the number of boys outweighed the girls this year due to the quarter quell, if there was a same-sex pairing the person with the higher alphabetical last name was to go first. Ivan was steered in front of Toris, and seated. He was to go first out of the pair of them, then.

The room was completely packed. Elevated seating was for the more important guests, like the stylists, mentors, and escorts. On one balcony sat the Gamemakers, thankfully in a better state than they were on the training, though still with wine glasses in hand. The other balconies were reserved for the camera crew, perched like buzzards, although Ivan could see glimpses of cameras behind the curtains, along the walls, zooming in on the audience beginning to file in from the City Circle. Even for the Capitol, they were dressed posh and fancy, although it was hard to tell it from their normal day clothes. Ivan couldn’t help but wave a little at the guests. Hating each and every single one.

Then, the lights dimmed. The talk and babble of the audience quietens down. A spotlight focuses in on the side-curtain, where, all of a sudden, Sadik Adnan bounded onto the stage with a round of stomping from the audience. Out of all the Capitols in the audience, Ivan liked Sadik the most. He’d decided this, because even he could tell that Sadik tried his best to make each tribute stand out. It was just a pity most of the tributes were petulant, frightened childen, that probably wouldn’t last even a day. Sadik was dressed in his usual suit and long green coat, although his mark was inlaid with a different set of jewels, like they were each year. Last year he’d inlaid them with rose-quartz. This year, obviously as it was a quarter quell, he’d gone with sparkling blue diamonds.

“Hello, hello ladies and gentlemen!” He greeted the crowd, warmly. “I shake you by the hand, for tonight is a very special night, as I’m sure you all know. Please welcome, this year’s Quarter Quell tributes!”

He raised a hand in gesture to them, and Ivan couldn’t help another little wave. He saw one of the camera’s zoom in on him and smiled.

Ivan knew he was already memorable. People had seemed to like him in the Opening Ceremonies. He’d gotten a score of ten in training. And now here, all he had to do was say a few lines and the crowd would love him! The only thing putting him at a disadvantage, was the fact that he’d broken with the Careers.

They were bullies. Ivan couldn’t stand bullies.

Sadik warmed up the audience with a few jokes and anecdotes, none of which were particularly funny to him but had the crowd in stitches, and then turned on the tributes, calling the first girl to the front. Natalya, he believed her name was. Spray painted silver, with flowing white hair and a simple yet effective dress. When talking with Sadik it was clear what her strategy was; cool, calm, and confident, yet sharp and direct. Very effective.

Each tribute had three minutes. After Natalya came Francis, and after Francis came Ludwig, and so on and so forth, Sadik calling each and every one up to the stage. The Careers were bold and confident; the non-Careers taking a time to open up to Sadik. Ivan waited his turn patiently. He was District 12, one of the last to go, yet not the very last. He could see much wine was being consumed between the Capitol audience. And then, Sadik called him up to the stage.

Solid, sturdy steps. That’s what his escort had taught him the day before. Ivan swept out of his seat and towards Sadik, smiling serenely.

“What an intimidating look we have here!” Sadik roared, to the audience’s approval. He stuck out a hand for Ivan to shake, and when he did pretended to wince and stagger in an over exaggerated fashion. “That’s… quite a grip you’ve got there!”

Ivan didn’t know what to say. So he just smiled wider and let the words tumble out of his mouth: “Yes, I do have a lot of strength. I think it will come in useful in the arena, no?”

“You don’t hang around, do you?” Sadik remarked, still clutching his hand like it was going to fall off. “So, big man Ivan, is it? Ten in training?”

Ivan nodded. “That’s right.”

“Just how did you manage that, eh? I don’t imagine it was all down to strength!” Here, he gave Ivan a hearty clap on the back. When he did this to others it often made them stumble. Ivan had a few inches on Sadik -- and his coat padded out the rowdy gesture a lot.

“I am good with weapons,” Ivan confessed. “I should like to show you all in arena. I am quite proud of what I can do.”

“So just what can you do?” Sadik asked, curiously. He smiled wide.

“That would be telling, that would!”

“Ahh, you’re right there,” he replied, “So, Ivan, we know you’re big, strong, and tough. But what about your softer side? You do have one, don’t you?”

Ivan didn’t know what to say. So he shrugged again.

“Any family? Siblings?” Sadik pressed.

“I have two sisters.” Ivan held up two fingers to the camera to emphasise the point. “One younger and older, and I love them both very much. My older one made me my scarf. I am not allowed to wear it tonight. I am not allowed to wear it in the arena, either. They say it would give me a thermal advantage.”

A groan of outrage rippled throughout the audience, and Ivan smiled at them again, wanting them to be on his side.

“But it is okay. When I win the Games, I can wear it all I like!”

“Well that’s certainly the winning attitude we like to hear, eh ladies and gents?” Sadik told the crowd, to a roar of approval. “Maybe you can tear a scrap off and tie it around your arm?”

Ivan looked stricken. “But that would ruin the scarf!”

“Ah, perhaps you’re right.” He checked his watch. “Just one minute left, Ivan, just one minute left, so tell us; a big guy like you should have all sorts wanting you as an ally. Yet you haven’t seem to have made any allies. Why not?”

Ivan paused. “I was an ally, for a time. For the career pack -- District One, Two, Four, and a few others,” he clarified for the unknowing Capitol audience. “But I left.”

“Why?” Sadik pressed. “That seemed like a good alliance to me!”

He shook his head. “Maybe to you. Do you really want to know?”

“Of course we do!” He roared, with a cheer of asset from the crowd. “So tell us -- come on!”

Ivan let his head drop a bit, and a shadow passed over his face.

“They were bullies,” he said, lowly. “And I do not associate with bullies.”

The buzzer suddenly went off, and Sadik took Ivan by the arm.

“Ivan Braginsky, ladies and gentlemen!” He yelled, holding up his hand. The audience cheered for a time, and then Sadik let go for his hand for him to sweep back to his seat, ashes trailing behind in his wake.

“You did great!” Toris whispered, hoarsely, an hour later. The interviews were over; the tributes had been allowed to file back across the Training Centre to the anthem of the Capitol, across the lobby, and back into the lifts. “Much better than me.”

“Oh, don’t be so silly, they liked you too!”

But the both of them knew that only one of them would make a lasting impression. Toris just shook his head sadly.

“I suppose we’d better take all this off…” he mumbled, still fiddling with the cuffs of his sleeve. “I don’t know how I’m going to sleep tonight!” A nervous chuckle.

That’s right. The Hunger Games would officially start tomorrow. No more training, assessments, or interviews. No more nice food, fancy clothes, or technology at their disposal. No, only them, and the arena.

Ivan gave a shrug. “I am actually feeling quite confident. I will win, for home.”

Another nervous chuckle. “You will, huh? Well… I suppose at least if you win my family will reap the celebrations reward…”

The lift stopped at their floor, the highest in the Training Centre, which was ironic for miners that worked underground. His prep team, mentor, and escort were all delighted to see him, and the happy, bubbly mood couldn’t help infecting him.

“Won’t you stay up with us?” Ivan asked Toris, as he began to slip away early. Toris just shook his head, brown shaggy hair beginning to become messy again from the immaculate brushing of before.

“No. I’m tired,” he said, with a fake-sounding yawn. “And -- it’s a big day tomorrow, you know? I’ll… change out of this…”

The flames flickered out as Toris left. He didn’t sound nervous anymore. He sounded a little bit defeated. Ivan knew that was good for himself, since there could only be one winner, and he was determined that would be him, but all the same. He had rather liked Toris. He would be sad to see him die.

“It is a big day tomorrow!” His escort realised, and stood up primly. “Right! To bed with you too! Can’t having you all sleep deprived for tomorrow!”

Ivan nodded. “Ah -- right, okay.”

“Surely just one more glass of wine--” One of the prep team began, to have the idea quickly squashed.

“No, no -- Toris has the complete right idea!” She said, sternly. “Bedtime, quick! No more!”

Ivan knew there was partying going on downstairs, mostly by the Capitol folk, for the big day tomorrow, but now thinking about it he was really tired, his eyes beginning to itch. He stood up from the sofa, and, with a word of goodbye to his prep team, made his way back into his room.

His exhaustion seemed to get worse with every step towards his bedroom, yet Ivan still somehow managed to scrub every last inch of makeup from his face in the bathroom, shrug off the black coat and formal clothes, and put on his pyjamas again. Then, he felt under his pillow for his special scarf. Ivan pressed it close to his nose for a moment, taking in its familiar sweet, musty scent. It smelled like home, and family.

Family. Although there was a pretty good chance of him winning, he might never see them again. His solemn little sister. His kind older one. All of his friends down in the mines, and the canary they took down with them too that he’d nicknamed ‘Dusty’, although he had probably died from the inhalation of all that coal dust. Ivan liked to name the canaries. Even if they all died.

From this angle on his bed, he could see out of the enormous glass window he had that took up the whole wall. The City Circle was lit up like a Christmas tree, all bright lights and, although he couldn’t hear it, probably laughter and music too as they paraded down below. Ivan half wanted to join them to take his mind off things. But before he knew it his eyes had slid closed, and had opened again to it barely being dawn, the sky still dark.

Today was the day of the Hunger Games.

Shujinko, his main stylist, was the one to greet him in the morning, not his mentor or escort. Those hastily said goodbyes had been done the night before. He dressed him in simple attire, then escorted him to the elevator, where they went right to the very top. Amongst the gardens up there was a helipad right in the centre. It was windy, and blowy, and even more so when the hovercraft appeared out of thin air. A ladder dropped down and Ivan stepped onto it, as instructed by Shujinko. The moment he did he felt his hand and feet freeze into place.

The ladder brought him up into the hovercraft, where a woman was waiting for him with a syringe.

“Hold out your arm,” she instructed, “and stay as still as you can. I’m going to inject your tracker now.”

Ivan obediently held out his arm, and felt a sharp stab of pain as the metal was inserted into his arm. It felt weird, and buzzed slightly under his skin, which took some getting used to once the pain had ebbed away. This was required for all tributes, so the Gamemakers could track their every move. Wouldn’t want a missing tribute, after all.

The woman disappears and Shujinko is collected from the roof. After that, not much was said, as the hovercraft began to fly them away to the arena that was specially built for them. An Avox lead him into a seperate room where breakfast food was laid out on the table. Ivan wished he had his scarf with him, all of a sudden. He didn’t like all this motion in the air. It made him feel sick. He couldn’t eat anything other than sip at water constantly, despite Shujinko’s constant presses at him to eat.

Ivan hoped it was the flying, and not nerves that were making him feel so sick. He’d been so confident about the Games before!

The journey was only half an hour, but it felt like much longer. The windows blacked out before they arrived, so that he couldn’t catch a glimpse of the arena before he would be sent in. The hovercraft landed and Ivan was made to step back onto the ladder, and lowered down into the catacombs below the arena. There, he followed the direction to his own, specially made Launch Room. The chambers were comfortable, but that didn’t really hide it’s true nature. It was a stockyard. In a few minutes, people would be killed.

The bullies would be back.

Ivan liked that thought. The one of him teaching the bullies a lesson. He just didn’t want to hurt any of the other tributes. He was sure he would, when it came down to it, but he knew he would feel guilty for it. So, so guilty. Like putting down a puppy dog.

“Come on, Ivan,” Shujino said, nodding towards a seperate room. “You should shower. The clothes should arrive in a moment.”

Ivan nodded in reply. “Of course.”

He took long with his shower, and brushing his teeth, then drank more water directly from the tap, like he couldn’t hold enough inside him. The clothes arrived, and Shujinko brought them to him: a plain black vest shirt, a thick, waterproof jacket, a belt, camouflage trousers, and sturdy, leather walking boots. Shujinko analyses these, and told him about them.

“The jacket is good for reflecting heat,” he told him. “And the boots are solid and sturdy, made of good leather. They won’t wear down, although won’t be very waterproof.”

Ivan nodded, trying to take it all in. He tried to imagine what the arena would look like from these clothes, but evidently couldn’t. There were just too many variables for these kinds of things. He just put the clothes on, and sipped more water.

“Oh, and one last thing,” he added. Ivan looked up. It was his scarf, his pink one. “I know you said on the interview night you didn’t want to tear a scrap off, but… I thought you might change your mind.”

Ivan grabbed his scarf quickly.

“Thank you,” he mumbled, already nose deep in the familiar scent of home.

“Only a scrap mind,” Shujinko warned. “I’ll cut it carefully, don’t worry.”

Ivan knew he was a stylist, but he couldn’t bear the scissors against his most precious scarf. He hated the rasping noises coming from it. His scarf was now barely a strip shorter, but it felt wrong, like they’d just hackd off a limb. Ivan let Shujinko tie it around his wrist and then brought his hand up to his face to smell it. Home.

Then, a pleasant female voice rang out across the chambers, telling them it was time to step onto the Launch Pad, the Hunger Games will commence in just three minutes. Ivan walked over to the metal plate, remembering about the bullies. He had to do this. For home, and for his sisters. No more time to be nervous. He was ready for this.

The glass cylinder lowered around him, sealing him off from the outside world. Sounds were cut off too, so that it was only him and him alone in this glass tube. Then, the metal plate under his feet began to rise. It lifted him up into darkness for about fifteen full seconds, then something opened above him, and a bright, white light appeared above him. An icy cold wind began to blow around him, snow was falling into his cylinder before he’d even fully arisen.

Ivan was lifted into a complete, white blizzard.

Chapter 13: Welcome to the Hunger Games

Chapter Text

Although the icy wind was blowing her backwards, Natalya kept her feet firmly planted on her metal plate. Move, and she would die. They had exactly sixty seconds to get their bearings. Now -- where were they?!

Unfortunately it was hard to see her own hand in front of her face for the snowstorm she had just been lifted into. Everything was white and snowy, the wind chilled her to the bone in her thin clothing, the air felt like cold knives on her cheek. Natalya, holding her arms close with her already frozen fingers, looked left. White blizzard, no tributes. Same for her right side. Forwards she could see nothing, not even the countdown for the sixty seconds. But -- wait -- was that a glimpse of gold she saw?

Then the snowstorm lifted, blowing her hair up with it, and Natalya saw where she was just thirty seconds before they could step off their plates.

The tributes were all in a circle around the now fully visible Cornucopia, that much she had expected. Four metres to her left, was the cripple from 11, and four to her right was one of the District 3 boys -- Kiku, or something like that. They weren’t all standing on a snowy flatlands like she’d expected either. There was still snow, but about four metres behind her again, was a sharp drop, and forest below that. There was a sharp drop behind all of them. Natalya wanted to say they were standing on a mountain, but a mountain with the area of the top smoothly and expertly cut off, to make room for all the tributes and the Cornucopia. Speaking of, Natalya turned back around to face it, ten seconds on the clock. Her eyes scanned its contents.

In the middle was weapons. Around those weapons were sleeping bags, rucksacks, tents, containers of medicine, garments. But the further away they got the smaller and less useful the objects became. Like a few steps from her, was just an apple, while in the mouth of the Cornucopia was a full crate of them. Luckily she was with the Careers, and the Careers almost always took the best pickings of the Cornucopia for themselves. It was the Careers that protected it later too, and the Careers that killed the most in the first few minutes.

She was a Career now. She was going to have to kill. Natalya took a deep breath.

The gong sounded just three seconds after she’d gotten into running position. Natalya could run fast, at least faster than the two beside her, but more were closing in on the Cornucopia at the same time. The snow made it harder to run, absorbing the impact of her feet slamming hard into the ground. She leapt over a tent pack, aiming for the knives that were scattered fair around the middle bit. The moment she had one -- just a simple dagger -- in her hand, Natalya felt something slam into her side hard.

Luckily the impact was a blunt, dull one, although it still knocked her to the ground. She turned, holding the knife up protectively, but the assailant had already moved on, digging out a huge sword from the weapon’s stash. It was the huge boy from 10, the one with the blue and white scarf, and although he’d lost his scarf now the tall stature remained as large as ever. Natalya scrambled to her feet as an arrow whizzed past her and sunk into 10’s back. That’s right; he’d refused from the Career pack. Pretty stupid of him, she thought personally, as Alfred was advancing on him with his own, much bigger sword. For a second their eyes locked.

“Defend the Cornucopia!” He shouted, and Natalya took this like an order. Who was she to question Alfred anyway? Natalya dove back down into the Cornucopia, restocking on knives, looping a few into the belt, and then straightened back up.

Most of the non-Careers were grappling over small prizes far off, keeping their distance from them, but there were still a fair few advancing. Out of nowhere Francis materialised next to her, all traces of delicacy gone as he had a cut down his cheek and down his neck, plus was bleeding from the shoulder. But this apparently wasn’t fazing him, as he reloaded his bow he’d won from that scupper.

“You go ‘round to the other side,” he told her, as he took aim with his arrow. “I shall take care of things here, mon cher.”

Ignoring the way Francis giving her orders irritated her, and that nickname, Natalya gave another swift nod and took off to the other end of the Cornucopia, this time at the tail end. There were a fair few scavengers around here, including a boy from 6, a timid one Natalya could not recall the name, training score nor interview to. He was clutching a tent pack in his hands. On instinct, Natalya extended her arm forwards, and let the throwing knife fly from her fingertips. The moment it left her she half-hoped the boy would see it, dodge, and run. She would have let him run too. But too late did he look up, and the knife sunk into his chest. Right where his heart was.

The boy gave a horrid gasp, and the pack fell from his hands as they went up to grab the handle. He didn’t even pull it out, just staggered backwards for a moment, holding it. Then he tripped over one of the spears lying on the ground, and fell back, hitting the snow with a muffled thump. Natalya heard a gasp to her right and on instinct turned, a knife outstretched in her hand.

“Matthew!”

It was the girl from 8. The tiny one. Her name was Lili -- or something of that kind. She had her hands clamped over her mouth and her eyes wide in horror as she watched the boy bleed out into the snow. But, more intimidatingly, was her brother, Basch. Basch pushed the girl behind him, his own weapon of a spear in his hand, and threw it at Natalya. She ducked on instinct and it flew over her head, hitting the Cornucopia (she could tell by the metallic chink sound). Straightening up, Natalya raised her knife up again to throw at him -- but she never got the chance. For at that moment, Maximo appeared out of nowhere, charging at Basch with a bellow akin to a bull’s. He tackled him down into the snow where they grappled for a moment. But Basch was clearly no match for Max.

Natalya turned her attention back to the girl, taking another knife out the loop of her belt so she was doubly armed. In the rush and the adrenaline coursing through her, she probably would have killed that girl right there and then. Luckily -- or so she felt anyway -- she never got the chance.

Three more assailants were on top of them now. Toris -- the partner of Ivan from 12 -- Eduard -- Natalya couldn’t remember how she recalled his name, but his glasses were askew on his face -- and Ravis, the small blond thirteen-year-old. She didn’t have time to ponder the disadvantage she was at however, because a knife grazed her side from behind and entered Ravis’ leg. He let out a cry of pain as Natalya turned, thinking it was an enemy -- but it was Yao, armed to the teeth with knives like she. At least she had an ally in this.

Yao skidded in the snow to a stop next to her. “I’ll help you now.”

Natalya liked Yao. He was straight to the point, never minced around with his words, although he could be arrogant and annoying. She had just turned her attention back to the trio, when there was a bellow of pain from here Maximo and Basch had been grappling. Natalya glanced over briefly.

Basch’s neck had been snapped. But, in the confusion, in the last moment’s before he died he’d managed to sink an arrow into Maximo’s neck. Maximo howled with pain and stupidly wrenched the arrow out; blood spurted from his neck and stained the snow a bloody red as he writhed. Natalya did her best to ignore the bellows of pain. He’d be dead soon. Again, she turned her attention back to the trio. Toris had grabbed a spear and Eduard had grabbed a crying Lili’s hand, shielding her from battle, but the young one -- Ravis -- was stock still, staring at Maximo writhing in mute horror. Natalya saw Yao raise his arm next to her.

Two knives. The first plunged into his temple. The second hit his chest. Ravis dropped like a stone to the floor after a shrill scream of pain, staining the snow a further red.

“Ravis!” Toris cried in horror as the boy dropped next to him, then tightened his hold on the spear. He took a few steps forwards and gave a massive lunge towards her -- Natalya barely dodged in time. The head of the spear grazed her arm and took a good chunk of fabric off with it too. Natalya did the first thing she thought of and grabbed the spear with her free hand. Toris, instead of dropping it, tried to pull it back for a moment, but Natalya held it firm, and that was all the time Yao needed to throw his knife.

Except it missed, and bounced off the Cornucopia instead. Toris managed to wrench the spear free and threw it at Yao instead; he ducked and it sailed over his head. Natalya threw another knife at Toris, and this time he ducked, rolled, and grabbed another spear. Straightening up again, he threw it at Yao -- who wasn’t quite so quick to dodge this time.

“Toris, let’s go!” Eduard yelled, who the entire time they’d been fighting had slowly been backing away, keeping a firm hold of Lili’s hand. “Forget the supplies!”

Toris appeared to agree with this sentiment, and turned to race away, but Natalya was quick. She knew they couldn’t be allowed to get away. Only one winner was allowed, after all. Out of an adrenaline rush alone, she took a few running steps -- and then a leap. She jumped right onto Toris’ back. Toris gave a yelp of surprise as his legs suddenly gave out under this new weight -- and Natalya plunged the knife into his back.

He yelled in pure pain, and tried to struggle away. This was difficult when Natalya was pinning him down hard, pushing his head into the ground with one hand. That stab hadn’t been enough. With shaking hands, she plunged her knife in again, deeper this time, and twisted. She pushed the handle right in, ignoring his sobs and his pleas. Eduard and Lili were making their escape down the mountain, it was too late to pursue them now. Dark red was staining Toris’ back, and slowly his whimpers began to cease. Natalya finally climbed off him, breathing hard, and her heart pounding in her ears. She had just killed, in the last five minutes, not one, but two men.

“Natalya!” Came a call from behind her. She turned to see Arthur jogging up to her, looking a little puffed out from the recent events. She saw him cast his gaze on Toris’ body for a moment, gave a slight grimace, then straighten himself up and compose himself. “Come on, we’re regrouping. Grab what you need from the Cornucopia.”

Natalya said nothing for a moment but nod. “... I understand.”

She liked Arthur. Much more than she liked Yao anyway, who, for her, was always slightly too arrogant. That wasn’t saying Arthur wasn’t arrogant, but he conducted himself that bit better. As she walked back to the Cornucopia, through the blood-soaked snow, she saw Yao’s body on the ground, a spear through his stomach. So he had died… Her stomach gave an unpleasant squirm.

Over by the mouth of the Cornucopia, there appeared to be a ruckus.

“I’ll kill him!” Alfred roared, swinging his sword around rashly. “I swear to God, I’ll kill that man!”

“Alfred!” Arthur shouted over him, jogging back up to him. “What on Earth are you--”

“Ivan,” he got out, before Arthur could even finish that sentence. Alfred turned on the man and pointed his sword right at his throat. All the other Careers seemed to take a step back, along with gasps of surprise. “That bastard got away! And he took my best sword!”

“Alfred, calm down--” Elizabeta tried to get out, but was quickly silenced by a pointed glare from him. Natalya wanted to point out that the sword he had would probably more than suffice, but then she didn’t want that sword pointing at her throat either. Arthur cleared his throat.

“You’ll find him,” he replied, in a steady tone. “And to kill him with an inferior sword would be an even greater insult to him.”

Alfred paused for a second, mulling over Arthur’s words. Then a smile slowly stretched out over his face, and the sword lowered from the other’s neck.

“Yeah,” he said, then louder. “Yeah! Hear that Ivan? I’m coming for you! And I’ll kill you--” He held up his sword. “With this!”

Natalya saw Arthur privately roll his eyes.

“Right.” Alfred swung his sword back down and turned to the others. “Grab what you want and we’ll go after him!”

“We should probably have someone stay here,” Arthur told him. “We don’t want anyone else grabbing what we don’t take.”

“Good idea,” Elizabeta said, hastily. “Who’s good to stay?”

“I’m not,” Alfred said, rudely. “I’m going.”

“So am I,” Antonio agreed.

“I can stay,” Natalya said, and everyone turned to look at her. She shrugged. “I don’t mind missing out.”

“I’ll stay too,” Elizabeta agreed. “I can--”

“No,” Alfred cut over her. “I want you with us. Arthur can stay.”

Arthur appeared to give a silent sigh of relief. Meanwhile Alfred strode over to the edge of the mountain, peering down it. It wasn’t too harsh a slope on this side, but there was still the threat of falling or creating a rockslide.

“I think I should stay too,” Francis suddenly said, on seeing the slope. “I can shoot down any who try to climb up.”

“Ya sure, Francis?” Alfred gave him a funny look, then shrugged. “Okay. But I’m going!” He swung a leg down.

“Supplies first, you need supplies!” Arthur groaned, grabbing him by the arm. “You don’t have any food or drink on you! Not to mention you might need a healing pack.”

“... Right.” Sounded slightly annoyed now, Alfred let Arthur drag him back to the Cornucopia.

The hunting team, currently, consisted of Alfred, Natalya, Antonio, and Elizabeta. It was the smallest Career group the Hunger Games had had in awhile. Yao, Maximo, their death seemed to have diminished the Career group by a lot.

Natalya leant against the side of the Cornucopia, letting the rest of them pick out what they wanted. While that was going on, she heard hovercrafts begin to appear in the sky, taking the bodies. She watched this mutely, eyes scanning each body that went up. She didn’t know who had died down below, but up here there were nine bodies. They left nothing but the blood on the snow. On one of the hovercrafts she saw the boy she killed so thoughtlessly…

“We’re all geared up!” Alfred shouted. He now had on some kind of thin leather armour, and was carrying more weapons now. “We’re off!”

“Wish us luck!” Antonio added, clutching a brand new trident, plus one slung across on his back, as well as some odd sort of netting he carried like a belt.

“Goodbye!” Francis called. The hunting Careers turned, and began to slowly climb their way down the mountain.

Once they were officially gone, Arthur clapped his hands in a businesslike way. “Right! We want to give ourselves a maximum advantage here, since there aren’t a lot of us. Francis, you circle the perimeter. Natalya, stay on the snow, but near the Cornucopia.”

“Who put you in charge?” Francis asked, annoyedly. “I’m--”

“I am simply putting us to the best advantage,” Arthur replied, in a tone of equal irritation. “If you want to ignore me, that’s fine, but you’d put us all in danger.”

Francis didn’t seem to like being talked to like this very much, and flounced off towards the edge. Arthur, again, rolled his eyes like they were marbles.

“What will you do?” Natalya asked, looking to Arthur.

“I will sit on the Cornucopia,” Arthur replied, proudly. “Hand me a knife. If somehow Francis and you miss an opponent, I’ll be able to spot them easily.”

Natalya gave him three of her knives, then dug around in the Cornucopia for three more. She was also beginning to get cold, especially as she wasn’t running around anymore. She couldn’t find anything that warm to wear, but she did find a thick blanket near the edge of the weapons stash, and slung that around her shoulders like a cape. If anyone tried to jump her she’d drop it in an instant, but for now it kept her nicely warm.

The snow was still heavily stained with blood, especially around the parts where Alfred had been fighting. Natalya didn’t want to even think about what he’d done. She didn’t want to think about what she herself had done either. She hadn’t even done it to win, she just let the knife fly on instinct into that poor boy’s heart. And the little one too, the little boy, clearly horrified, Yao hadn’t even given him a chance. Toris… she had to keep plunging the knife into him… while he bled out in the snow…

Natalya turned a knife over in her hands, suddenly hating it. When she first found her skill with knives, she thought she had been given a lucky break. This was not lucky. She’d only killed two people, and she didn’t want to kill any more. But that wasn’t the kind of attitude that won you the Hunger Games. If anything that would get her kicked out of the Careers and killed.

… Well… she’d always been good at disguising her emotions…

Halfway through the guarding process, Arthur slid off the Cornucopia, and grabbed one of the tent poles. For a second Natalya thought he was going to set it up, when he just began… drawing. In the snow. Francis was on the other side of the Cornucopia, having gotten bored of circling long ago and was now just sitting on the edge. Natalya approached him.

“I’m just working some things out,” Arthur told her, before she even got a chance to open her mouth. “Give me the blanket, would you? It’s cold.”

Natalya was tempted to tell him to get his own blanket, but she did want to see what he was up to. She slung it off her shoulders and put it around Arthur’s, who took it gratefully.

“Thanks.”

“What are you doing?” She finally got to ask, peering at the snow from his angle. It looked like some sort of chart.

“Working out how we’re going to rotate the hunting group,” Arthur informed her. “Of course, if any come back dead I’ll have to rework the whole thing, and I’m trying to erase disadvantages…”

Natalya peered at it closer. Ahhh… She could see it now. Each day they had people go out hunting, while three stayed back. There was an N for her, E for Elizabeta, F for Francis, then An, Al, and Ar to represent Antonio, Alfred and Arthur. Looking closer, she could also see that Arthur had no hunting days. And… even closer… Alfred had every hunting day.

Tomorrow Francis would be switched with Antonio. Then she would be switched with Elizabeta. Overall, it wasn’t a bad setup.

“We’ll have to see what the others think, of course,” Arthur said, promptly. “But if there are no objections we should write it down -- or else commit it to memory.”

Natalya nodded mutely. “It’s a good plan,” she mused. “But why don’t you ever go hunting?”

Arthur seemed to redden a bit. “Well I’m no good with any sort of weapon,” he replied, roughly. “If they need me for tactical advantages I’d be happy to help, but otherwise I see no reason for me to leave.”

“I see,” she replied.

“Now, if you wouldn’t mind.” Arthur waved a flippant hand in front of her. “I still have a lot of working out to do, so if you would like to leave me in peace that would be very handy.”

“... Right.” Natalya stood back a little. She backed away from Arthur, peering at his chart for a while more, before finally turning her back. She needed another blanket, and the screams of that poor boy was echoing in her head.

Chapter 14: There is Only One Rule:

Chapter Text

When the gong went off, Ludwig had been off like a shot. Not towards the Cornucopia, like Toris next to him, or Antonio on his other side. He went forwards a little, to the tail end of the Cornucopia, and had managed to snag a black backpack and a single spear. That was all he needed -- then he got the hell out of there, before Alfred saw him.

He hiked down the mountain as quickly as possible without slipping. He was alone on this side, no one in front or behind to engage in battle. No Careers, undoubtedly fighting near the top. At one point an arrow whizzed past his left shoulder -- Francis, probably -- but there were no more attacks after that.

At the bottom of the mountain was a river, and beyond that a forest. Ludwig charged through the river at full speed into it. The forest gave him solitude and shelter, or at least, the feeling of it, though he knew he was probably on-camera a lot. Enough to show he was alive, he was out of the Cornucopia, he had a weapon and a mystery bag. Ludwig didn’t stop to check the contents of the bag just yet; he had to keep moving. His sponsors, grandfather and brother could stare at him all he liked for not engaging up there, but he was vastly outnumbered. If Alfred saw him, he would likely target him. Plus Alfred had allies. Ludwig had tried making a few, but after Alfred kicked him out of the Careers, he gave up on that idea. He didn’t need allies anyway. He could go it alone.

His training had prepared him for a situation like this. His first objective was to find water. His food source could come later -- water was his main priority now. Besides, the forest looked lush with fresh berries, in this area at least, and Ludwig recognised a few. There were birds too, less easily harvested than berries, and once, he saw a squirrel. These were good signs. It wasn’t some specialised arena with rabid animals. It was like the real world.

Ludwig walked on.

He saw no one as he walked, and the ground didn’t appear to change either. It didn’t slope up or down. The types of trees didn’t change. There weren’t any valleys, fields or hills, or even any geographical landmarks other than dense forest. He also didn’t see another water source. Not until he got to the edge of the arena, anyway.

It took four hours of walking in one straight line, seeing no one. Ludwig could tell it was the edge, because there was just a wall of shimmering blue, like the sky, beyond another river. The wall was slightly curved, indicating that the arena was just one big circle, entrapping them all inside. Ludwig drew up a mental map in his mind.

The mountain was in the centre, most likely, with a river running around it. Beyond that was forest, presumably in all directions. Then another river, possible stretching it’s way all around the inside. Then the wall. That was all he had to work with.

The arena wasn’t that large, then.

Thirsty, Ludwig finally knelt down by the river and took off his backpack. He kept an ear out for any assailants, but there didn’t appear to be any. Inside his pack, he found a roll of twine, a box of matches, a small water skin, a blanket, a few dried strips of beef, and a pot of some sort of cream. Ludwig had no idea what it was supposed to fix, and there was no label for it. He replaced the things carefully inside his pack, all but the water skin, which he filled with water.

Ludwig tested the water slowly. It didn’t look poisonous; the water was as clear as a summer’s day and smelled just fine. Still, he only allowed himself a few sips, before deciding he could wait again. He put the, now full, bottle of water in his bag, then slung it over his shoulder again, and grabbed his spear. The canon shots.

He crouched down and silently counted on his fingers the shots he could hear. One… two… three… on they went until it reached nine. Ten were dead, died at the Cornucopia, died at the hands of the Careers. None had died by his hand yet, but his were bound to get bloody sooner or later, especially if he wanted to come back alive. Ludwig stood when the canons shots were over, and began walking again, against the river. But what he saw was much of the same thing. More of the same oak trees, the ground never sloped upwards or down. A little way into his walking, he saw a strawberry bush, and quickly stripped it of the red fruit for eating, but other than that the only thing that was different was that he saw a pond in amongst the trees a little way off. So he’d been wrong about the two rivers being the only water sources.

The strawberries weren’t quite ripe and tasted oddly sour. Ludwig tested them slowly in case they were poisonous -- but they didn’t seem to be other than the weird taste. They far from satisfied his hunger, especially after a day of walking, but Ludwig expected he’d find something to hunt sooner or later. But by this time, the sun was beginning to set, and twilight was falling. Ludwig felt stranger than ever about this, however. There were fourteen tributes out there, in an arena that wasn’t that large. Surely he would have come across someone by now. Then another problem began to crop up: where was he supposed to sleep for the night?

Out here would be too revealing. Ludwig couldn’t climb a tree either; he wasn’t built for that sort of thing. Until he could find somewhere safe, he wouldn’t sleep. Fatigue settled on him the darker the sky became, but Ludwig shook it off easily. The only time he allowed himself to be distracted from his goal, was when the Capitol seal was projected into the sky, followed by its anthem that preceded the death’s recap.

Back home, they’d be watching the deaths in full. Here, however, it could give living tributes an advantage or disadvantage, so all they got were headshots of the dead in the sky, with their district number. Ludwig turned his gaze skywards to see the ten dead.

The first shown was Maximo from 4. That meant all those through 1 and 3 had survived. The next were the two from 6, the brother boy from 8, one girl from 9, the tall one from 10, the young boy from 11, and the brunet from 12. Then the Capitol seal was back, along with the final flourish of the music, and then silence. The sky returned to darkness.

1 through 3 survived… Ludwig had to admit he wasn’t expecting that. Both of the boys from District 3 looked like they’d never held a weapon in their life, nor ever taught a survival skill. Plus that Feliciano -- Ludwig believed that was his name -- he looked too happy to be here, along with the sense that the poor boy couldn’t say boo to a goose. Ludwig shook his head to clear his thoughts. Sooner or later, he’d be dead. There was no point dwelling on it.

He still needed to find some sort of shelter.

Ludwig walked onwards, gripping his spear tightly in his hand. The darker it became the less he could see through the trees. The rush of the river was also loud, compromising his ability to hear nearby assailants. Soon, he found himself walking back into the forest, not only for shelter and to hear again, but for the warmth and concealment of the trees. It seemed like the best option, currently, and he didn’t have a lot else. Still, he didn’t see anyone else. This was strange, not only because the arena wasn’t very large, but because the Gamemakers would want to push tributes together to have them fight it out. … Perhaps there was fighting going on elsewhere. An image of that boy from District 3 flashed behind his mind’s eye again, but Ludwig pushed it away.

Eventually, and after much walking, he did find refuge in a clump of rocks by the river. The rock actually managed to cave a little over the river, and it was on the edge underneath the rock did he decide to stay the night for cover. If he took his backpack off, and squeezed his legs up close to his chest behind a series of rocks, he was sure no one could see him. Ludwig took one last drink of water, then refilled the bottle, as he now knew it wasn’t poisonous, and put it into the backpack again lest he be wrong and need a quick escape.

The last thoughts he had before he drifted off were of his brother and Grandfather. Would Gilbert be cheering him on, rooting for him? Or would he already be drunk out of his mind through bitterness? Ludwig suspected the latter. And did his Grandfather approve of his plan of going solo? Well, whatever they thought, they were unreachable now… the only way to know would be to win the Games…

Ludwig awoke again to the sound of voices.

He gripped his backpack tightly, remaining still, for now. Ludwig groped around for his spear -- where was it?! Somehow, in the night, it had rolled away and lodged itself between two other rocks. Ludwig reached over, but in his haste accidentally dislodged some of the rocks he’d been leaning against. He gave a silent wince, but the rush of water must have been too loud, because they didn’t seem to hear. As Ludwig reached over, and grabbed the end of his spear, he tried to identify the voices.

“Look, Kiku! Water!” One said happily. There was a sudden splash, and more splashes followed. “See, I told you we’d find it!”

“Feliciano!” The other one groaned, desperately. “Get out of there! We need to use it for drinking.”

Ludwig knew those voices, and he knew they weren’t careers either. They were the pair from District 3. Of course it had to be them. These were the last people he wanted his first kill to be. And -- his muscles suddenly tightened in alarm -- if one was in the river, they would be able to see him under the shelf of rock. Ludwig tightened his hold on the spear handle and gave a yank. It didn’t budge.

“Where’s the water bottle?” Feliciano asked, and the splashing noises stopped. “I really need a drink!”

“I’m holding it,” Kiku replied, and there was a moment’s pause as they exchanged items. Ludwig tried to yank out the spear again, but it was lodged fast between the rock. “Feliciano, you’re all wet now. Please try not to act so rashly.”

“But I’m hot,” he shrugged in reply, “and besides, there’s no one here anyway. So relax!”

“Keep your voice down!”

Ludwig gave one last, ferocious tug on the spear. This time it dislodged -- and along with it a part of the rock that was holding it there. A bunch of pebbles came loose and splashed into the stream. And if the pair of them didn’t hear that, they certainly heard the sound of the larger part of the rock falling in.

There was a loud gasp, and the voices stopped. Ludwig, leaving his backpack hidden in the rocks, stood up slowly.

“... Who’s there?” Came Feliciano’s frightened voice. Ludwig remained silent, and kept close to the rocks as he crept noiselessly forwards. “I -- I warn you -- we’re armed!”

“Feliciano, be quiet…”

There was silence for a while, apart from the rush of the river. Ludwig came close to the end of the shelf of rock, but hidden behind another. Keeping his spear tight in hand, he chanced a glance around the edge.

There the two were, frozen like deer in headlights. Feliciano was hiding behind Kiku, crouching slightly as he was quite a bit taller, hands vice-like upon his shoulders. Kiku’s face was pale and steadfast, and both of their eyes were scanning the rock, but neither saw him. It was here, Ludwig found he had to make a choice.

He could kill them here and now, and he knew he had the strength, the power, and the means to do it. The Gamemakers clearly wanted him to do it, or else they wouldn’t have driven the two here, and perhaps the audience did too. But if he did, it would only give him a slight leg up. On the other hand, he could employ these two as allies. Granted, they wouldn’t be the best allies in the world, but nonetheless, allies. If they did become allies there was a better chance of them taking down the Careers…

Ludwig looked at the pair of them. They were beginning to back away from the river by now, and Kiku was slowly sliding out a small dagger in his belt. They were weak. Defenceless. Harmless. He felt a stab of pity for them. That was when Ludwig made up his mind.

“Don’t fight!” He called, as he emerged from the rock. The pair of them jumped -- and then Feliciano gave a shrill scream.

“Don’t hurt us, please don’t hurt us, we’re harmless -- really -- and I don’t want to die!” He burst forth, stumbling backwards, but still kept a tight hold of Kiku’s shoulders. “Please -- we surrender!”

“I’m not going to hurt you!” He tried to shout, desperately over Feliciano’s noise. If he kept this up, they were going to be found. “Just listen to me!”

“I surrender, I surrender!” He continued to gabble. “Both of us do -- so long as you don’t kill us -- please!”

“I’m not going to kill you!” Ludwig bellowed. And finally, Feliciano fell silent. It was then he realised he’d been beginning to raise his spear in a very antagonistic way towards them. Ludwig dropped it to the side quickly, away from him, and held his hands up. “I want to be allies.”

“Allies?” Feliciano asked. He stopped backing away, and his grip on Kiku seemed to lessen. “Does that mean -- where you help us, and stay with us for a bit, and don’t try and kill us?”

“Well…” Ludwig said, stiffly. “Yes.”

A grin stretched out on his face. “Why didn’t you say so before? Of course we can be allies!”

Feliciano made to move past Kiku and skip towards Ludwig, but before he could, Kiku grabbed his wrist. He turned, confused. Kiku still hadn’t lowered the dagger.

“Kiku--?”

“How do we know you want to be our allies?” He asked, in a clear, steadfast voice. “How do we know you won’t just kill us when our backs are turned?”

“If I wanted to kill you, I would have done it by now,” Ludwig told him, bluntly. As he talked, he began to slowly slide off his bag, and unzip it. Kiku didn’t seem to protest, but his eyes scanned the bag suspiciously. “Both of us need allies if we want to win. And…” Here, he tipped the contents of the bag out. “I’m willing to share all of this.”

Kiku paused a moment longer, deliberating, but evidently was won over by the bounty Ludwig had. He let go of Feliciano’s wrist, who beamed and skipped towards Ludwig.

“You have so much stuff!” He said, happily, and grabbed his arm like they were old friends. Ludwig gave a start, but the action didn’t seem aggressive. Just… friendly.

“I suppose we have to share our stuff now -- but we didn’t get a lot,” Feliciano continued. “Kiku, show him what we have!”

Kiku sighed, but pulled out the knife and a thick pair of socks from his pockets. “It’s not much,” he explained. “But we had to get away from the Cornucopia.”

“You did the right thing,” he replied, if a little awkwardly.

“Ooh, you have food too!” Feliciano said, enviously, as he dug through Ludwig’s belongings. He’d found the strips of dried beef. “Can we have some? We haven’t eaten since we got here, and we’re really, really hungry!”

“I think we’d better ave that,” he replied, quickly. “In case there’s an emergency in food. Have you two hunted before?”

“We tried the hunting simulator at the Training Centre!” He chirped. “... But neither of us were very good.”

Ludwig sighed. He’d have to carry this alliance, he knew. Perhaps it would be easier to kill them in their sleep. He shook his head of the thought. That was only if worse came to worst.

“Well looks like you’ll have to learn,” he told them. “I’ve seen a few fish in the river. We can start there.”

“Yes sir!” Feliciano smiled, and gave a salute to Ludwig. And, for some reason, Ludwig didn’t know why, that almost made his face flush red. He cleared his throat.

“... I’ll get my spear,” he muttered, moving away from the two.

New allies. He had new allies. Ludwig picked up his spear again, contemplatively. In an upbringing where he’d been training for the Hunger Games his whole life, he’d hardly ever had a friend, unless he counted his brother. Sure, he had people to train alongside of, but they’d never been on the best of terms as they were being pitted against each other for the Games. Alfred, his district partner, in particular. He had a brother, a grandfather, training instructors… but no friends.

Ludwig shook his head. No, these people weren’t his friends. They were allies. And allies that would soon have to turn on each other at that. It was just a matter of time.

“Ludwig! Your name was Ludwig, right?” Feliciano called, pulling him out of his thoughts. “Come on, new ally! I’m hungry, and can I have a drink of your water?...”

The rest of the afternoon was spent teaching the other two how to fish. To Ludwig, fishing was a simple task. His brother could fish, and his grandfather could fish. Really, Ludwig thought anyone could fish. Of course, that was before he met Feliciano.

“You have to stop splashing about!” He snapped at him, for the dozenth time that morning. “You’re scaring away everything!”

“I can’t help it!” Feliciano whined back. “The sun is hot. I have to splash to keep cool!”

In Feliciano’s defence, it was really hot. The Gamemakers were really ratcheting up the temperature, so much so that Ludwig felt it necessary to take his jacket off. He was fairly sure all that snow on the top of the mountain was melting.

“Besides, you can catch all the fish for me!” Feliciano added, kicking up some more water. “So loosen up!”

Loosen up? In the Hunger Games? Ludwig forced himself to take a deep breath, and remain patient with him.

“Listen,” he said, in an as patient voice as he could muster. “You’re not only scaring away the fish for yourself, but for us too. So stop it.”

“Ludwig is right,” Kiku added. “You’re making it very hard.”

In an ideal situation, he would have only Kiku as an ally. But killing Feliciano would mean betraying Kiku’s trust, and he did need allies. However, Feliciano was proving to be more of a deadweight than a help, at this point.

Ludwig sighed. He should give Feliciano at least a chance. Though that was hard to remember when he was scaring half the river away.

“Hey, when can we eat?” He then asked, turning to the two of them. “I’m really, really hungry, and I haven’t eaten since the Games started!”

“Well you’ll have to wait a bit longer,” Ludwig replied, as patiently as possible.

“Why?” Feliciano frowned. “We have six fish!”

“Because we will need to cook them,” he said, “and doing that would mean lighting a fire. The fire will make smoke, attracting enemies -- so we can’t.”

He pouted. “Not even a very little fire?”

“No.”

“Well,” he insisted, “what about one of those beef strips? We don’t need a fire for that.”

“Those should be only consumed on an emergency,” Ludwig replied, really beginning to get irritated now. Did this man understand nothing about survival? “We can’t have them either.”

“But this is an emergency! I’m really hungry!”

Luckily, before Ludwig could lose his temper completely, Kiku stepped in.

“If you’re hungry, perhaps you should go gather some berries to eat before nightfall,” he said, quickly. “That way you don’t have to cook anything or consume any rations. Sound good?”

“Oh, good idea Kiku!” Feliciano replied, brightly. “... But I don’t know which ones to pick. I hardly did the edible plants at Training.”

“Ludwig can show you.”

“What?” He replied, caught off guard.

“You can show Feliciano what berries to collect,” Kiku sighed.

“No,” he said. “I need to stay here and protect the camp.”

“I can do that,” he said, then lowered his voice. “Please. It will stop him complaining.”

It was just then Ludwig realised Kiku was getting probably just as tired of Feliciano as he was. He sighed, but nodded.

“Very well. I’ll help. But Feliciano--” Here, he turned to him sternly. “You have to keep quiet.”

“I can do that!” He replied, eagerly. “I’ll be quiet as a mouse!”

Feliciano’s definition of ‘quiet’ wasn’t quite the same as his, Ludwig realised, as they exited away from the camp. He’d lowered his voice slightly, but still talked nonstop. Feliciano also knew nothing of stealth, constantly stamping on fallen branches and kicking up leaves. Every few minutes he had to tell him to quit fooling around.

Even then his troubles weren’t over. When they did eventually find a bush containing berries -- Capitol-made ones, like raspberries, but yellow in colour and very sour -- Feliciano put a handful in his mouth and chewed. Then his face scrunched up.

“Ew!” He squealed. “They’re all sour!”

“You said you wanted berries,” Ludwig replied, shortly. He began to pick them off the bush and pocket them for later.

“Not these ones,” Feliciano decided, spitting them out. “We can find another bush.”

“Another one?” He grit his teeth, but then sighed. “Feliciano, we don’t get the luxury of picking and choosing here. This isn’t the Capitol.”

“I know,” Feliciano replied, stung. “I’m not stupid. But I bet we can find another berry bush. We just have to look!” With that, he took Ludwig arm and started dragging him away.

They couldn’t find a berry bush. The best he could do was find a few mint leaves to chew on -- which Feliciano thankfully did, although rather disheartened now. At least the leaves stoppered his mouth, Ludwig thought privately to himself. This alliance was beginning to feel more and more like a mistake. Feliciano had been more of a hindrance than a help. Kiku was better -- but not by much. Neither of them would be much use against a career.

… He could kill them in his sleep, he realised, and get a leg up.

Feliciano, humming away to himself around his mouth of mint, was none the wiser to Ludwig’s thoughts. He could kill them in their sleep, take their dagger, and start moving again. After all, they needed him more than he needed they. He didn’t need them at all, actually. And the more he thought about it, the more of a good idea it seemed. He didn’t want his audience to think he was soft, after all, for sparing two weaklings. He didn’t want his brother or grandfather to think it either. Besides, they would have to die anyway. Better sooner, rather than later.

He returned to the camp, and found nothing disturbed. Kiku had not seen anyone. In fact he admitted to dozing off against the rocks one time, as he hadn’t gotten any sleep that night from worry. The mechanics in Ludwig’s mind were still working. He was to slit their throats in his sleep that night and move on.

“It’s twillight,” Kiku eventually said, as dusk began to fall. “I think it’s safe to light a fire.”

“I agree,” Ludwig said. While in the woods he also managed to gather a lot of sticks for building a fire. No help from Feliciano. “We can cook the fish.”

While Kiku set about making the fire, Ludwig began to gut and clean the six fish they’d managed to catch that day. They looked similar to a sea trout, and ought to be okay to eat. Feliciano watched the two, fiddling with the roll of twine from Ludwig’s backpack. Eventually he spoke.

“What’s that?”

Ludwig realised he was talking to him, and looked up. “What’s what?”

“That!” Feliciano pointed to his neck. He looked down, and saw his iron cross necklace resting against his chest. Ludwig had forgotten he even had it, in all honesty.

“Oh,” he said, in realisation. “That. It’s a family heirloom. It’s… my token.”

“Who gave it to you?” He asked, curiously.

“My grandfather.”

“Your grandfather?” Feliciano tilted his head to the side. “Not your parents?”

“My parents are dead,” he replied, shortly. “There was… an accident.”

“Oh -- I’m so sorry!” He said, quickly. “But it’s okay. My parents are dead too. And my grandfather looks after me too!”

Ludwig paused in gutting his fish, and looked up. “... Really?”

“Yeah!” He smiled. “I never really knew my parents, so I can’t really be sad about them. I have my grandfather -- and my brother, too. I have a twin brother. His name is Lovino.”

“I have a brother, but he’s older than me,” he replied. “By two years. His name is Gilbert.”

“We have so much in common!” Feliciano said, in wonder. Then he stuck his hand into his pocket, and pulled out a small, off-silver coin. “This is my token.”

“A… coin?” Ludwig peered at it, in confusion.

“Not just any coin!” He whispered, enthralled. “An olden-day coin! These are worth a lot of money! But of course, we wouldn’t ever sell it.” Feliciano put it back in his pocket and tapped it twice. “Back then, they called it a nickel.”

“Oh, I’ve heard of those.” Ludwig nodded. “You’re lucky to have it.”

“Hopefully when I die, they’ll give it back to my family,” Feliciano then said, mournfully. “They’d want to have it back, I’m sure.”

“I… I’m sorry?” He must have misheard, because Ludwig could have sworn he heard Feliciano say ‘when I die’. He couldn’t have possibly said that, could he…? “... You’ll think you’ll die?”

He nodded, solemnly. “Almost definitely.”

“... You don’t know that.”

Feliciano shrugged. “Well, I don’t have much of a chance of winning. I can’t fight. I can run fast though!”

Ludwig knew, and he knew Feliciano knew, that simply running away wasn’t good enough in the Hunger Games. In the Hunger Games, you needed to fight, to survive, to learn to think quickly and act rationally. To be able to withstand anything the Gamemakers threw at them. And in their trio, only one person matched that description. It dawned on Ludwig just as it dawned on Feliciano, and their eyes met for just a second. Then Feliciano looked away to rummage in his pocket, and bring out his coin again.

“Give me your hand,” he instructed, and Ludwig did so almost without thinking. He felt something warm and metal fall into his hand, and looked down. It was Feliciano’s coin.

“You can win!” He whispered, looking at Ludwig in earnest. “You can win for me -- and give this back to my family for me. I don’t think I’ll win. And I don’t think the Capitol give back tokens, either.”

“Feliciano, I… I can’t take your coin,” he replied, lamely. “It’s yours.”

“Well you’re my ally!” Feliciano said, brightly. “It can be both of ours! Oh -- and Kiku’s!”

“I’m sorry?” Kiku asked, looking up from the fire, which was just beginning to set alight. Ludwig had almost forgotten he was there. “I wasn’t listening.”

“Do you have a token?” He asked. “Or anything -- anything?”

Kiku shook his head, sadly. “Nothing. My family doesn’t have much.”

“Ohh…” Feliciano deflated. “Do you have a big family, then? Do you have any siblings?”

A small smile appeared on Kiku’s face. “... You could say.”

“How many?”

“Four.”

“Four!”

Ludwig looked at Feliciano, and suddenly killing him seemed a lot harder than before. Sure, he couldn’t fight, survive, or even stop talking for a few minutes. He didn’t know how to be stealthy or come up with a plan to take down a career. But… he could talk. He could cheer people up. And… there was something sad about being flung into an arena you knew you would die in. He’d never considered about that before. Ludwig looked at the coin in his hand and pocketed it.

After all, there would be no need to kill Feliciano, when others could do it for him.

Chapter 15: Kill or be Killed

Chapter Text

Feliciano was unaware that in the past few hours, Ludwig had decided to first kill him, and then not kill him. In his eyes, he felt he could not have found a better ally. Ludwig was strong, Ludwig was smart. He was brave, bold, could take on five people in combat blindfolded with his hands behind his back. He knew loads able edible bugs and plants, and about general survival too. He was tough. He had been trained for this. That was why he’d given him his coin.

“The fire’s started,” Ludwig said, once Kiku had managed to get a fire going. “We should be able to cook the fish now.”

Feliciano grinned, and was about to respond, when loud music began to fill the air. The three of them turned their gazes skywards, to the Capitol seal. There were a few more seconds of anthem, then the seal disappeared with the image of a girl from District 9. Then the anthem ended. They glanced at each other.

“... That’s it?” Kiku frowned, as the seal disappeared once more. “That’s all whose died?”

“Looks like it…” Feliciano shrugged uncertainty, suddenly feeling uncomfortable.

“There should be more,” Ludwig agreed. “The careers hunt from day one.”

“Maybe -- maybe they’ve found somewhere to hide,” he suggested, “come on -- I’m hungry. Let’s cook the fish.”

There wasn’t a lot of talk as Ludwig fashioned a small spit out of a twig, and began to roast the sea trout they caught over the fire. In fact, there wasn’t any at all, as night fell. The hot day’s temperature began to plummet with the night, though luckily they had the fire to keep themselves warm. As extra warmth, Feliciano grabbed the blanket and put it around his shoulders. Then Ludwig handed him a fish on a stick.

“Here,” he said, “eat it. It’s good.”

“I’ve never had fish before…” Feliciano mused, as he took the stick. He bit into the middle part, and his eyes lit up as his mouth filled with flavour. “Oh, it’s good. You’re a good cook, Ludwig!”

“Thank you,” he replied, as he began roasting the next fish. “... Have you really never had fish before?”

Feliciano shook his head. “Never!”

“Neither have I,” Kiku added.

Ludwig looked confused for a moment. “... Why not?”

“Fish is expensive, in District 3, ‘cause we’re landlocked” he shrugged. “And I’m poor. Grandfather can barely afford to keep me and my brother in school, as well as rent. I don’t mind though!”

There was a long pause. “... Where do you live?”

“In a block of flats,” he replied, pleasantly. “I live right at the very tip-top!”

Another pause. “... And you, Kiku?”

“We have a house,” he said, quietly. “But it’s small. My brothers and I have to share beds, and we have to help out our older brother with work, as well as school.”

“... Sorry,” Ludwig said, much to the surprise of the both of them. “I… forgot District 3 was poor.”

“It’s fine!” Feliciano said. “It’s not your fault, after all. Where did you live?”

“My grandfather was a victor of a previous Hunger Games,” he replied, “so I live in Victor’s Row. But I spend most of my time at the Training Academy.”

“The Training Academy?” He echoed. Oh, right! Ludwig must have trained for the Hunger Games. He did live in District 2, after all, a career district. “That must be why you’re so smart at everything!”

Ludwig coughed into his hand. “Well… I wouldn’t say everything.”

“Well, most things,” Feliciano decided. He tore off another part of the fish with his mouth, just as the second fish was taken off the spit. Ludwig handed that one to Kiku. There were still four fish left. A real feast -- in Feliciano’s eyes, at least.

“So…” Feliciano said, after a while. “What did you do in the Training Academy?”

Ludwig shrugged. “... This, I suppose. Well -- it was more like the Training Centre back in the Capitol. But there was a holographic room we could go inside, and it artificially built up a random arena setting from a previous years. I was made to battle in that.”

“But that sounds so scary!” He squeaked. Feliciano couldn’t imagine even having to go into the arena once, let alone multiple times a week! “Weren’t you scared?”

“Not really,” he admitted, “I’ve been training for a long, long time.”

There was another pause.

“I knew Alfred.”

Kiku looked up. “You mean, your district partner?”

“The scary one with glasses?” Feliciano shivered. “I don’t like him very much. He scares me.”

“He’s okay, really,” Ludwig replied, honestly. “He’s a good fighter.”

“But being a good fighter isn’t the same as being a good person!” He pointed out, while Kiku nodded in agreement.

“It’s true.”

He frowned. “Well… I suppose not. Though he did often outdo me in training.”

“Outdo you?” Feliciano asked, his eyes wide. He looked Ludwig up and down -- not in a particularly flirtatious way, just to study him. Ludwig was tall, broad shouldered, and heavily muscled. Alfred was tall too, but not as toned, and definitely not as broad in the shoulders. Plus he had glasses! He wouldn’t be able to see without them! “... I don’t think so.”

For some reason (or maybe it was just the firelight), Ludwig seemed to go a little red. “Yes, well… I didn’t let him…”

“Were you rivals?” Kiku asked, curiously. Ludwig nodded.

“In a way, I suppose we were. I never saw him as my rival, really, though I think he saw me as mine.”

“But you weren’t even in the arena yet!” Feliciano frowned. “That’s a bit silly.”

“It is, isn’t it?” Ludwig agreed.

There was a lull of silence once more, as the three of them busied with eating their fish. Feliciano drew the blanket tighter around his shoulders as the temperature dropped lower and lower, dropping to freezing temperatures. At one point, Ludwig looked up.

“I expect we should all settle down for the night,” he said -- and Feliciano found he could only agree, sleepily. “Who should take first watch?”

“First watch?” He asked, confused.

“You know,” he replied, patiently. “When one group member stays awake to keep guard.”

“Oooh…” Feliciano nodded, understanding.

“I’ll take first,” Kiku said, sitting up a little straighter. “Ludwig, you can be second.”

“And I’ll be last,” he said. “Oh-kay! Ludwig, do you want to share the blanket with me?”

“I… I think I’ll be fine, Feliciano,” Ludwig said. Again, it was too dark to see really, but Feliciano thought he saw a tiny bit of colouring on his face. But then Ludwig stood up. “Come on. We should sleep by the rocks -- it will provide more cover.”

Feliciano didn’t really want to do anything but lie back and sleep, but he made himself sit up, and pick up his feet, while Ludwig moved camp. They took refuge between the large shelf that overhung the river, and a large, boulder-like mass of stone that provided cover for them. Feliciano lay down the blanket for comfortable bedding, then wrapped it around himself tightly. It reflected heat, and provided a little warmth. Ludwig lay down on the hard, compact earth, and moved the backpack under his head for a pillow. Kiku sat with his back against the rock, curled up with his arms around his knees, but his eyes were open.

“Are you sure you don’t want to share the blanket?” Feliciano asked, as the temperatures dropped lower. “It’s super warm, I promise!”

“No, thank you,” Ludwig declined again.

“Kiku?”

“No thank you, either.”

Feliciano paused for a second, but then sat up. He edged his way to Kiku (who was nearer to him), wrapping the blanket around his shoulders too. Kiku looked at him in surprise, but didn’t refuse. Then, since there wasn’t really any room for Ludwig, Feliciano unzipped his jacket and threw it over.

“There,” he whispered, “you should have my jacket, at least.” After all, it wasn’t really fair if he should have all the warmth to himself. Like Kiku, Ludwig also looked startled, but took the jacket anyway.

“... Thank you.”

“It’s a little small for you to wear, so maybe you could use it as a sort of blanket instead,” Feliciano continued, as he wrapped the blanket back around himself. He made himself comfortable against the rock (which really, wasn’t all that comfortable), and smiled.

“Night everyone!”

“Night.”

“Goodnight.”

Feliciano didn’t know how he found sleep that night. All he knew was that he did, and when Ludwig shook him awake to do ‘his watch’, it was far too early in the morning. With a grumble, he righted himself from where he had slid down the rock, massaging the small of his back while Ludwig settled down again. The sun hadn't risen yet. This was ridiculous, and his butt felt numb.

“There aren’t even any tributes nearby, I bet!” Feliciano whispered, crossly to himself. All he could hear was the river, no loud, angry, shouting careers at all! He shifted, still uncomfortable, then after a moment stood up. The blanket fell away from him, leaving him exposed to the cold, so Feliciano grabbed his jacket from Ludwig and slipped it on again. Ludwig was already asleep, so it was perfectly fine. If he woke up, and he was cold, he could share the blanket with Kiku.

Feliciano was suddenly reminded of how scary the night was, though. Granted, it hadn’t been as scary as his first night with Kiku -- where they had slept in a bush, which was all poky and prodding. It was supposed to have offered some sort of insulation and concealment, but it felt like it had done nothing. Every scutter of an animal made him jump, every snap of a twig made him whimper in fear. It felt like he was being watcehd by something sinister. Feliciano couldn’t see much through the leaves and the darkness -- but at one point he could have sworn he saw boots marching along in the darkness. Careers!

Luckily, however, that first night had passed. He felt a lot safer when Ludwig was beside him, albeit if he was asleep. Feliciano stretched, rolling out the stiffness in his shoulders. Then his stomach rumbled.

… He really shouldn’t break into the pack of beef strips. Ludwig had been cross enough when he had just suggested it. He also probably shouldn’t eat the fish either. But as time wore on, and the hours slowly passed, and horizon began to go grey at last, the hunger became harder and harder to ignore.

Ludwig wouldn’t be angry if he just ate some berries, right? Feliciano stared unenthusiastically at the ones they had already collected. He didn’t like sour foods. They made his face scrunch up -- overpowering. Then Feliciano looked beyond the berries, towards the forest that began just a few metres away from the river. Surely there would be more berry bushes out there. He just had to find them. The sun was beginning to rise, too, so it was much lighter now. Feliciano looked behind himself, at the sleeping forms of Kiku and Ludwig. He should wake one of them. Though they might get angry…

But it was so scary going out into the woods alone! Feliciano tapped his feet on the ground, trying to summon up the courage. He was in the Hunger Games! He should ‘man up’ and go gather some berries on his own! That was what they did in the Games! … If he got back fast, there wouldn’t be any need for them to worry. Maybe they would even be proud for doing such a difficult thing by himself.

Feliciano stood up, peeking out from behind the rock at the forest. He needn’t go far. Just one berry bush. He shuffled forwards, so he was more out in the open, but he still kept one hand against the rock. He could just wait for the others…

No. They wouldn’t be around forever. He needed to learn to do this himself. Feliciano let go of the rock, and, as quietly as he could, tiptoed into the forest.

It was light, but it wasn’t too light yet. Large shadows were still cast upon the ground, forming strange shapes. At least the birds were beginning to wake up and tweeting their merry birdsong, and that gave him a little confidence. At first, Feliciano tried to hide behind every tree, but as he walked he found himself becoming less and less afraid.

“This is easy,” he thought to himself, proudly.

Feliciano found the berry bush they had before, and the mint leaves. He walked past them, confident that he could find more. After all, there were bushes everywhere. Surely one of them had some more berries! As he walked, however, it became less and less likely. And as the sun rose, Feliciano noticed another thing: storm clouds. They were beginning to spread from ahead of him, darkening the sky from its morning light. He should turn back now, before Kiku and Ludwig woke up, and before he got…

… Lost…

… Oh no. Oh no no no. Feliciano whipped his head from side to side, pivoted on the spot, but try as he might, he could not recognise where he was. No! How could he have let this happen?! He didn’t recognise any of these trees -- or any of the terrain -- or anything! Feliciano could feel panic welling up inside him.

“Ludwig?” He called out, at first in a very small voice. “Kiku? Is… are you there?”

Silence. Well, not quite. There was a clap of oncoming thunder to answer, that made Feliciano jump with its noise. He whimpered to himself, and shouted a little louder: “Ludwig?! Kiku?! I -- I really need you now, okay?!”

Suddenly the forest felt alive with eyes, all watching him. Feliciano began to walk, slowly at first, but faster and faster the more lost he felt. None of this was familiar, none of it, oh if only he’d stayed with Ludwig and Kiku, he didn’t have to prove himself to anyone!--

A clap of thunder and the snap of a branch finally made him break into a mad, desperate run. Surely he’d be able to find something that he knew, like perhaps the mint leaves, or the odd berry bush! -- And suddenly his foot caught on something, a tree root perhaps, and Feliciano tumbled to the ground. The ground sloped alarmingly down, so he tumbled quite a way, before sliding to a halt in front of a lake. There, he finally stopped.

It was all Feliciano could do not to burst into tears right there. The area around the lake was muddy, his clothes were now filthy, he was lost, and he was still hungry! He sat up, rubbing his head, and tried to get his bearings.

The lake was a large one, that covered a good twenty metres in diameter. Mud encircled the lake, as well as a few bushes, though none that had any fruit, berries, or nuts on them. Trees lined around the edge of the mud, and on one side -- the side that he had just fallen down -- the ground sloped alarmingly up. It was a lucky thing he hadn’t seriously injured himself. Feliciano picked at his muddy clothes. Well, at least there was one bright side. He could wash his muddy face right now, in the river. He shuffled a little closer (dirtying his knees further), and stooped down to wash his face on the bank. He collected water in a pool inside his hands, and splashed it several times in his face. The water was cold, but refreshing. Feliciano rubbed the wisps of mud out of his hair too. It made him feel a little better.

But halfway through washing his face, Feliciano noticed something. Something that was peeking out from one of the nearby bushes. A small, black, furry face was peeking out, with a little pink nose, and two tiny, triangular ears. An otter? No… a mink!

The mink crawled out of the bush, looking at home in the mud, and Feliciano couldn’t help but smile a little. The animal was so cute! It stretched its neck up, and co*cked its head to one side, in such a human-like fashion, he almost laughed out loud.

“You’re very cute, aren’t you?” Feliciano whispered, delighted. For a moment he forgot where he was, his hunger, and the state of himself. He even forgot the fact that he was lost. And now he looked, there were minks everywhere! They poked their heads up above the water, noses twitching, and peeked out from the bushes. He let a grin stretch out on his face, and extended a hand to the nearest mink, which had been the one he saw originally, half-hoping that it would nuzzle its head to him. And then he froze.

The mink slowly opened its mouth wide, and suddenly it seemed less cute. Inside its mouth, appearing to grow out of its gums, were dozens of long, long, razor-sharp teeth. As the teeth grew inside of it, the mink’s eyes seemed to turn pitch black, and it made a horrible raspy, growling noise in the back of its throat. It was all Feliciano could do not to scream, as panic began to well up inside him once more, and the sky darkened further from the storm clouds. The mink were surrounding him, all growing their long, sharp, teeth! They would eat him alive! But no! He wouldn’t panic. Panic had got him into this situation last time, and if he panicked, he could potentially get himself into an even worse one. Feliciano’s mind raced: what could he do?!

… What would Ludwig do?

Ludwig was strong, and smart. Ludwig was brave. Ludwig could take out all these mink with his hands tied behind his back! Feliciano thought. Right now, he would be keeping a level head. Then he would…

… Try and get away from the mink. But, slowly. If he moved fast, he might trigger something, and they would all rush at him. So slowly, slowly, Feliciano retracted his hand, and began to stand up. The mink slowly closed in on him, growling louder and louder, which made his heart beat fast, but surely if he kept moving slowly, and everything remained quiet, then maybe--

“Feliciano!”

… Oh no.

He slowly turned around, in the midst of all these mink, to see Kiku, standing there, on the top of the slope of the bank, with their ‘hunting knife’ in hand He was staring at Feliciano with a mixture of disbelief and confusion on his face. Kiku didn’t appear to see the mink, as their growling ceased. Luckily, his shout hadn’t triggered them, as the mink eyed up their new assailant.

“Where did you get to? How did you get so muddy?” He then sighed, and to Feliciano’s horror, began to walk down the bank, towards him and the mink! “Ludwig and I woke up and you had disappeared. You didn’t take anything with you. Please don’t do that again.”

Feliciano tried to shake his head frantically, and press a finger to his lips, but Kiku, trying to navigate his way down the slope, didn’t see.

“We split up to search for you. We’re going to have to find Ludwig again,” he told him, as he finally got to the bottom of the slope. Then Kiku looked up. He saw Feliciano, wide-eyed with fear, one finger pressed to his lips. Then his eyes finally landed on the many mink around them, beginning to bear their teeth again. And that was all the trigger they needed to attack.

It was an explosion. There was a monkey-like screech from the mink, a blur of brown, and something long and sharp dug into Feliciano’s lower back, shoulder, and one of his thighs. He could feel the teeth -- the length of his entire finger in total now -- sink down into his flesh, and screamed. Feliciano staggered forwards, trying to shake the mink off him, but more teeth penetrated into his feet and ankles, though thankfully shallower than the initial attacks had been. HIs hands jumped to his thigh, ripping out first one mink, then started to stagger away for the slope as more began to jump up and bite it him. It was only now Feliciano noticed how strong their leg muscles were.

Another mink jumped up and made a bite for his shoulder. Thankfully Feliciano saw it just in time and lurched forwards to avoid it -- and his movement snapped him back to his senses. He couldn’t stay here, he had to make for the slope! … But now, with mink hanging off him and pain exploding in his lower back, thigh, and shoulder, (and another one ripping at his ankle and causing him to bleed), the slope suddenly seemed a lot bigger. Nonetheless, and still shrieking in pain, Feliciano forced his legs to cooperate, acting on adrenaline alone.

He got about halfway up the slope before collapsing onto his knees, screaming in pain as another landed onto his shoulder. His hands scrabbed at the mink, ripping off first one, then another, even rolling in a vain attempt to squash them. More leapt up the slope in a blur of brown and Feliciano was forced to kick them back, hands and arms moving of their own accord to get as many mink off him as possible. He heard splashing from behind him -- splashing disproportionate to the size of the mink -- and his head turned towards the possibly hostile sound.

It was Kiku. Kiku! Feliciano gasped, and it wasn’t because of the pain. Kiku was standing right where most of the mink were, and he was staggering yet still backwards, right into the lake. They were overpowering him, it wasn’t long before Kiku had actually fallen backwards, his hands scrabbling to get the mink off him like Feliciano was. He tried to cry out, to tell him to run, anything -- but the mink got there first.

A blur of brown over his neck. Then there was a gasp. Then, all of a sudden, the water of the lake was being stained red. The mink had ripped his throat out.

For the second time, Feliciano was snapped to his senses. Scrambling to his feet, he stumbled up the hill, shaking the last of the mink off him, and ran. Feliciano didn’t know whether the mink were chasing him, and he didn’t look back to check, crashing through trees and foliage, probably making more sound than he should be, but he didn’t care. The image of the mink ripping Kiku’s throat out flashed behind his mind’s eye. He brushed away the tears that were threatening to spill. Even though he didn’t know a lot about Kiku, he knew he had four siblings, siblings that would miss him so--

Tears were blurring the way ahead, and Feliciano didn’t know there was a person in front of him until he’d slammed right into them, gone sprawling on the floor. His mind reverted into panic mode, and before he knew it he was screaming.

“Please, I surrender, I surrender!--”

“Feliciano!”

“I’ll do anything, don’t kill me!--”

“Feliciano!”

“Please, PLEASE!--”

“FELICIANO!”

The yell was enough to make him hiccough himself back into sense. Feliciano looked up, and saw Ludwig’s concerned face peering back down at him. Briefly, relief washed over him, and he didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

“Feliciano, what is the matter?” He asked, though Feliciano could hear a hint of worry in his voice. “Why are you covered in blood? Have you been attacked?”

He opened his mouth to tell him, but then heard the sound of spinning blades behind him. Feliciano looked back over his shoulder, and over the tops of trees, could see a hovercraft come to pick up a body. The body was too far away to see properly, but when he squinted he could see a mop of black, wet hair… the image of Kiku lying with blood around his throat resurfaced to his mind again… before he knew it, Feliciano had burst into tears all over again.

Great, gulping sobs shook his body. He heard a sigh, and a rustle, then Ludwig was crouched down next to him, looking significantly more worried, and now there was a hint of urgency in his tone now.

“Feliciano, listen. I don’t know what’s just happened, but if you’ve been attacked by a Career, then we need to get out of here, now--”

“It wasn’t a Career!” Feliciano got out, and grabbed Ludwig’s arm, finally finding his voice. “It -- it was--”

“Yes?”

“It was mink!” He sobbed. “But they weren’t mink! They were -- they were all -- they had sharp teeth -- and Kiku, he, he…” Then, a new thought hit him, and Feliciano burst into a wave of fresh tears. “And it’s all my fault!”

If he hadn’t gone out, if he hadn’t tried to be brave, if he could have just ignored his hunger for one more hour, then Kiku might still be alive! Feliciano bent his head, shaking with tears, and making to attempt to brush them away. Vaguely, somewhere above him, he heard a sigh.

“Feliciano…”

There was a rustle, and Ludwig drew his arm away. Feliciano didn’t know why, but that made him feel worse.

“Listen. I know what they are, but I’ll have to explain later. If you were making as much noise as you are now, then even if you haven’t been attacked by Careers, you will be soon. This arena isn’t very large.”

He gave a gasp, and a gulp, and one last shuddering sob. Then Feliciano looked up at Ludwig, confused. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” he explained, patiently, “the Careers will have heard you, since the arena is not large, and they’ll be coming for us right now. They will find us, unless we move now.”

He stared at Ludwig.

“Kiku is dead,” Feliciano finally brought himself to say, just in case Ludwig hadn’t noticed yet.

“Yes, I know,” he replied, “but we need to move.”

Feliciano kept staring. He couldn’t understand it at all. Kiku was dead, and Ludwig was acting like it was nothing more than an inconvenience! But before he had time to voice this thought aloud, Ludwig had stood up, and was looking out.

“We seem to be safe for now,” he said, lowly, “but I suggest we move back to the river and get our supplies quickly. Then we can move. And remember -- keep quiet.”

He hastily stumbled to his feet, then began to follow after Ludwig. They didn’t talk at all as they headed back to the river, apart from the occasional hiccough from Feliciano. With every step, guilt hit him like a brick. Kiku is dead. Kiku is dead. Kiku is dead and it’s all my fault.

They gathered their things by the river, Ludwig carrying most of it in his backpack, and holding his spear, while Feliciano only had his lone knife. Then the silence really did begin to get unbearable, and he spoke.

“What -- what were those things -- those not-mink?”

Ludwig jumped, like he had forgotten Feliciano was there. There was only a slight pause, before he spoke.

“I can’t be completely sure. I didn’t see them for myself. But from the way you described them -- they were Capitol muttations.”

“Capitol muttations?” Feliciano echoed.

“Yes,” he answered, “they’re animals that have been genetically mutated for the Hunger Games. Made in the Capitol for the Gamemakers request, I should think. They’re often made to kill better.”

Well, Feliciano thought dully, they are much better at killing now.

It was midday. The sun beat down on them from above. Distantly, Feliciano could have sworn he heard screaming.

Chapter 16: Winning Will Make You Famous

Chapter Text

It was the third day of what Alfred called ‘hunting’, and so far they’d come up with nothing.

“I can’t believe this!” Alfred had exclaimed, angrily. “We haven’t found anyone! No one’s even lighting any fires!”

“Don’t worry,” had come Antonio’s advice. “I’m sure people will spring up soon.”

There was always a positive to every side, but even Antonio had to admit, with Alfred’s increasing bad temper it was hard to see them. A fight had nearly broken out between Alfred and Elizabeta, when both of their tempers flared up. On the second day, in accordance to Arthur’s hunting plan, he had switched out with Francis. Now Elizabeta had switched with Natalya, and Antonio wasn’t entirely sure that the two of them wouldn’t refrain from killing each other.

“I hate him!” Elizabeta burst out, quietly, when their fight was over, and Alfred was sound asleep under the Cornucopia. Arthur had also drawn up a nightwatch plan, with the nightwatch being done in pairs, and Elizabeta had been partnered with him. “I hate him so much, the arrogant ass.”

“Oh,” Antonio replied, in an attempt to save Alfred, “he’s not all that bad.”

This had been met with such a glowering glare, all conversation had dried up completely on their watch together.

Luckily, when early morning arose again, Alfred was in much better spirits. In fact Antonio found himself being shaken awake by him, and he grumbled, but sat up obligingly. “What is it?”

“Don’t you hear that?!” Alfred replied, excitedly. He was practically bouncing around the sheltered Cornucopia. Antonio strained his ears, but didn’t hear anything. He frowned.

“No. What?”

“That!” Alfred grabbed his sword. “Screaming! Come on, we can finally get some killing done!”

Antonio sat up quickly and scrambled to wake the others up. Today his hunting partner’s consisted of he, Elizabeta, and Alfred, though the whole camp awoke with his feverish excitement that he was finally able to get some killing done. And Antonio couldn’t help it -- he was excited too. Every death meant one step closer to home.

“Come on!” Alfred shouted, swinging his sword about. “Or they’ll be dead by the time we get there!”

He grabbed his trident quickly before Alfred’s mood could turn, and Elizabeta seemed to be thinking along the same line, taking up her two axes. They left the others in the dust as they trekked down the mountainside: the screaming stopped as they did so. The sun had barely risen.

“I goddamn hope we haven’t missed the chance!” Alfred groaned. “That would be annoying.”

“We know the kind-of direction it came from,” Antonio began, but then cut himself off as the familiar sight of the Capitol aircraft appeared in the sky. From their position halfway down the mountain, they could see it was near the very edge of the arena, but only carried one, small body, with black hair. Antonio tried to remember the tributes with black hair.

“I think it’s one of those boys from 3,” Elizabeta said, a hand shielding her eyes from the sun as she watched the hovercraft carry the body away. “But I can’t be sure from here.”

“If it’s one boy from 3 the other won’t be far away!” Alfred exclaimed, raising his sword. “They made an alliance, right? Well come on!”

Antonio didn’t quite dare to point out that in the time it would take to get there, his teammate would probably be gone.

They walked along, steady and silent, to the bottom of the mountain, then began to move through the forest. Elizabeta was stealthy, Antonio less so, and Alfred didn’t even try to mask his footsteps, crashing through the trees and leaves eagerly. He travelled far ahead of the other two, occasionally shouting back things like: ‘we’re really close!’

“Does he even have any brains about him?” Elizabeta asked, in a furious whisper. “He’s such a show-off!”

Antonio smiled sheepishly. “I suppose he’s just excited. I’ll say this for him; at least he has enthusiasm.”

She gave him an exasperated look. “No. Well, yes. But no one should be that excited to kill.”

“Well, I’d rather be a killer than dead,” he answered, honestly, and perhaps a bit more bluntly than he meant it to be. He hoped Elizabeta understood. But she just gave a non committal grunting sound, and they continued on through the forest.

“This is round about where I heard the screaming,” Alfred said, after a while. “And it’s where we saw the hovercraft! Maybe we’ll see some people hiding around…”

“Then we should be quiet,” Elizabeta pointed out, “take them by surprise.”

He snorted, but didn’t disagree. Whether he tried to be more stealthy, however, Antonio couldn’t tell. Alfred definitely moved slower, but he was still very loud, and apparently couldn’t stop swinging his sword about for more than five minutes. Elizabeta was getting irritated, and, when Alfred couldn’t find anyone yet again, so was he. Antonio hoped a fight wouldn’t break out. But then Alfred exploded, before he could think of a way to diffuse the two.

“God dammit! We still haven’t found one -- single -- stinking -- person!” He yelled, punctuating those last words by slashing his sword at a tree. A flight of birds took off from behind them in fright. “I can’t believe this! This has to be the worst Hunger Games ever!”

Before Antonio could respond to calm him down, Elizabeta was speaking.

“Yeah, what a shame it is you can’t murder people.”

Alfred whipped around, his eyes narrowed. “What was that?”

Antonio gulped. They were eyeing each other up now. What’s worse was Elizabeta’s use of the word murder. Murder. No one got any points in the arena for saying something like that so upfront.

“We mustn’t fight,” he said, weakly, and was ignored. Alfred gripped his sword more tightly, and Elizabeta put her hands on the handle of her axes slung into her belt.

“I said -- what a shame it is you can’t murder people,” she said, her tone icy, “didn’t you hear me through your thick ego?”

Alfred marched right up to her, raising his sword threateningly. “Nah, I heard you,” he replied, “I was just wondering if you really were going to even try to fight someone like me.”

“Watch me,” she hissed back. Yet neither of them moved. Antonio tried to step in between them.

“We mustn’t fight!” He insisted. “The Career pack is already as small as it is. We need each other. Don’t fight.”

Maybe it’s because they already knew what he was saying that they didn’t move a muscle to fight each other. Instead, Alfred twisted his mouth into a sneer.

“Yeah. ‘Cept you need me more than I need you. I’ve been trained for this. You guys haven’t a hope in hell without me.”

Then, he turned around, and marched off through the trees. Elizabeta turned and did the same thing, in the opposite direction. Antonio was left stuck, standing in the middle, having no idea what to do.

Antonio didn’t like what Alfred was saying. But it was true. He didn’t need them very much. In fact his willingness to fight and techniques were carrying the team, despite his temper and his loudness, and his arrogance. Even his willingness to murder was an asset, because, like it or not, that was what the Hunger Games were centered around. Murder.

He watched the two march away from each other, and sighed. Things really couldn’t get any worse. Not only were they probably the most unsuccessful Career pack in years, but tensions were also running high through the team players. Antonio had half a mind to leave, to go it alone and see how far he made it. But he didn’t. Instead, he turned, and went after Elizabeta instead.

She was walking away with lengthy strides, not making much effort to be stealthy. It was easy to catch up, jogging through the path in the undergrowth she was making.

“Don’t talk to me right now,” Elizabeta said through gritted teeth. “I don’t want to hear you defending Alfred any more.”

Antonio mimed zipping his lips shut, but still kept after her. She marched right into a clearing with a lake in a furious temper, threw her axe down (the blade dug itself into the mud), and sat down. There, she finally stopped.

He still wasn’t sure whether he was allowed to speak. Antonio decided against it, and sat down next to her. He could see his reflection in the water. Antonio smiled at himself. It looked forced.

“Don’t grin like an idiot,” Elizabeta muttered, “I’m still angry.”

“But are you less angry?” He pointed out, crossing his legs by the bank. She scowled.

“Yes. He’s such an idiot. Mister ‘I’ve got a bigger weapon than you’ Alfred,” Elizabeta grumbled, “just because he knows he’s better than everyone else…”

“Well…” Antonio sighed, “you can hardly blame him.”

She rounded on him angrily. “There you go again! Defending him!”

“I’m just saying--”

“Well you shouldn’t! You saw what he was like at the Training Centre! Pushing everyone around just because he could. And--” But suddenly, she stopped. Antonio raised his eyebrows.

“And… what?”

“I--” Elizabeta hesitated. Her eyes weren’t looking at him, she was looking past him, just to the side of his head. He looked around.

“What are you--?”

“No wait!” She grabbed Antonio’s hand and yanked it, like that would get him to turn his head. It worked; confused, he turned back around.

“What is it?”

“And… he’s just so annoying!” Elizabeta carried on, quickly letting go of his hand like nothing had ever happened. “Just -- and he thinks he’s better than everyone else -- thinks he’s all that--”

Antonio blinked, confused. Now she was looking directly at him, determinedly, like she was afraid of looking anywhere else. He frowned.

“Are… you feeling okay?”

“Yes, yes.” Elizabeta tucked a stray hair behind her ear. “Why?”

“You’re acting odd,” he pointed out, “what’s going on?”

“Nothing!”

Antonio hesitated. Then he said, “I don’t believe you.”

“Oh, believe what you want,” she suddenly snapped, and stood up, grabbing her axe. “Come on -- we better go back to Alfred.

“R-Right,” he mumbled, picking up his trident, and standing up. Elizabeta was already halfway back into the trees.

“Well, come on!”

But, just before he took a step forwards, Antonio glanced behind him, to where Elizabeta had been staring before, and perhaps, if the sun hadn’t been shining directly on Roderich’s glasses, he would have missed it. There was a flash of light in the bush. His eyes followed it to a face. Antonio’s heart skipped a beat: it was the cripple from 11. Before he knew it his mouth was moving.

“Elizabeta!” He shouted, loudly. “Alfred! There’s a tribute in here!” And, he raised his trident to strike him down. It had just left his fingertips, when he heard an additional cry, and something sharp dug deep into his back.

“No!” Elizabeta screamed. Antonio turned around, to see an axe buried deep between his shoulder blades. He staggered, and tried to turn to rip it out, gasping with pain. His trident was lost in the bushes: he had nothing to defend himself with. That was when something knocked him to the ground, something hard, but warm, knocking him face-first into the stream. Antonio struggled for a moment, confused, trying to keep his head above the water, Elizabeta was on his side wasn’t she?!--

Then, the same kind of pain exploded on the back of his head, cutting deep, deep down. Antonio couldn’t keep his head above the water any longer; it gushed into his nose and mouth. Then, his vision went dark.

Chapter 17: Losing Means Certain Death

Chapter Text

Arthur had no idea what happened down the mountain, and for the most part, he didn’t want to. If it was any other Career pack during the past few years their expeditions would be riddled with killing, and though all the tributes had managed to evade them so far, there was still Alfred to contend with. He didn’t like dealing with him as it was for the few hours a day he did see him. He pitied those who had to hunt with him.

In truth, Arthur was slightly anxious for the moment someone realised that they didn’t need him. He couldn’t defend himself against one person, let alone the whole Career pack, so when they noticed that they didn’t need someone to strategize for them, he’d be a goner. Fortunately, he had a plan, and that plan was that after a few days, he would take some supplies, hopefully be able to poison some of the rations they had with the tiny vial of poison they had in the Cornucopia, and leave just like that. That was, of course, before Alfred came storming up the mountain, completely alone, and without his two hunting partners. None of them even needed to ask where they were: he had the answers ready on his lips the moment he reached the top.

“Elizabeta’s gone!” He snapped out. “She killed Antonio and now she’s gone. God knows where she is. Couldn’t find her anywhere. She scarpered quick.” And then, he spat in the snow.

Arthur caught Natalya’s eye, and was sure she was thinking the same thing as he. But, surprisingly, it was Francis who voiced the question.

“But why would she do that?” He frowned. “She had little supplies. Only her two axes. It is ridiculous!”

Distantly, underneath his feet, Arthur could feel rumbling. He ignored it: more pressing issues at hand.

“She must have had an ulterior motive,” he said instead, “Elizabeta wouldn’t put herself at a disadvantage like that. She’s cleverer than that.”

“Maybe she’s not,” Alfred shrugged, throwing his sword down. “Maybe she is just stupid.”

“Maybe Antonio had something she wanted,” Natalya suggested.

“I don’t know what that would be,” said Arthur, “besides, she could have just asked for it.”

“Maybe she did, and he refused.”

He shook his head. “No. There’s nothing he would have that she would want.”

“His trident, perhaps?” Francis put in. This time, Alfred shook his head.

“Nah. I saw it in the bushes a little way off. Plus Toni’s body didn’t look looted…”

“Then I’m all out of ideas,” Natalya shrugged.

“It’s not really that important,” Arthur dismissed, “what is important that we adjust. We know she’s good with an axe and has good stamina and speed, so that’ll come in handy if we ever come into combat with her. In the meantime, I should just guard the Cornucopia while you all go out.”

Natalya turned to him, with a frown on her face. “Why don’t you ever go out hunting with us, Arthur?”

“I’m no good with a weapon,” he replied, simply.

“Then why do we keep you around?” Francis put in, glancing to Alfred to see if that was okay with him. Alfred was frowning too. Arthur’s stomach plummeted.

“Because I’ll guard the Cornucopia,” he replied, quickly. Francis snorted.

“But you just said you didn’t know how to use a weapon!--”

“Guys, drop it,” Alfred said, sharply. Arthur peered at him curiously. That was uncharacteristic for Alfred. Still, he didn’t question it. Not when it was saving his life. “If we kill him we’ll only have three people left.”

The rumbling under his feet was getting more violent. Arthur ignored it still, and turned back to the Cornucopia.

“Right,” he muttered, “okay.”

“Should we still stay by the Cornucopia?” Natalya asked. “Personally I think we would cover much more ground hunting below. We wouldn’t have to trek back up a mountain at dusk and dawn at any rate.”

“We can’t take all the supplies with us though,” Alfred pointed out, “and I don’t want anyone else getting ‘em!”

“Then we’ll dispose of what we don’t need,” she replied simply, “take the rest with us.”

“I don’t know…” he muttered, “we could. I guess.”

“I’d feel more comfortable with the supplies,” Francis said, looking over at the Cornucopia. The bushel of apples were shaking due to the rumbling sound; was a storm about to arise? But Arthur couldn’t see any storm clouds… “Plus it shelters us.”

“We’re a foot deep in snow,” Natalya replied, dubiously.

“Arthur? What about you?” Alfred suddenly called over, and Arthur turned back.

“Oh… um…” He thought about it. Really, he’d rather stay here, where he knew they had everything they needed, and he didn’t have to join in on the hunting. “We should stay here. If we dispose of some we may need it later.”

Natalya dropped the subject. The rumbling grew in volume and violence, until Arthur could feel the ground shaking under their feet. He frowned, and looked up at the others, who were mimicking his confusion.

“What’s that sound?” Alfred asked aloud, stamping on the ground a little. “I can feel it.”

“It sounds like--” Francis began, but what he thought it sounded like they never knew. A deafening crack sounded from below, and Alfred gave a yell, lunging forwards, grabbing Arthur’s arm, and yanking him out of harm’s way sharpish.

In the middle of the mountain, where the Cornucopia stood, and where Arthur had been standing moment’s previous, the ground had all of a sudden just fell away, taking the golden horn and most of the supplies, with it. Arthur jumped back, as more of the edges began to fall, heart beating fast. But even from there, he could see quite clearly what was below, before the smoke began billowing up in great wreaths. Lava. One, great, bubbling, pool of it.

“We need to get out of here!” Alfred roared, his hand suddenly vice-like upon Arthur’s. His sword had fallen in with the initial fall, but one spear remained. He grabbed that, then began yanking Arthur away from the edge, as more of the ground -- and supplies -- fell. Arthur couldn’t really tell him at the time that he was being more of a hindrance than a help with grabbing his arm.

So that had been what the rumbling was! This wasn’t a mountain at all, but a great volcano, just ready to explode at the Gamemakers command! Arthur stumbled to the edge, Francis on his heels, and could hear more cracking as more and more began to fall away. Chillingly, it felt as though it were right behind him. Then Arthur heard a shrill scream. Natalya. He turned his head, just in time to see her lunge forwards, trying to grab the edge of what was falling away. But the rock crumbled under her fingertips, Arthur had no time to extend a hand to her: she was already gone.

“Faster, climb down faster!” Francis screamed in his ear, and Arthur remembered what he was doing. He swung both legs down, no time to mourn for poor Natalya or how horrible it was to die by lava, and began scaling back down the mountain. Luckily, they were scaling down the easier part, but that didn’t stop it from being exceptionally dangerous, especially when the rocks were slowly growing hotter and hotter, and the whole mountain -- volcano -- was rumbling.

“Come on!” Alfred roared. He finally let go of Arthur’s hand to keep ahold of his spear. Francis was still clutching his bow, a quiver of arrows strapped to his back. But that was all -- that was all they had. No food, no blankets. Arthur climbed as quickly as he could downwards, slipping and stumbling every now and again. Some of the rocks were sharp, cutting his hands to shreds as he tried to hang on. Others were just blisteringly hot. Their desperation grew and grew as the rumbling grew in increased volume and violence. Francis in particular was beginning to look more and more panicked, scrambling down faster than was wise. A few rocks slid out from under his foot, and Francis reached out for a rock that wasn’t there. Realising his mistake, he tried to turn, giving a small ‘oh’ of surprise--

--And then fell backwards down the mountain.

“Francis!” Alfred bellowed, but he was hanging onto rocks with both hands; he couldn’t do anything, and Arthur was the furthest away. He could only really watch as Francis fell, like a ragdoll, crashing down the rocks. There were several loud cracks. And when he stopped, near the bottom, he could see red beginning to pool beneath his limp body.

“He’d have never survived that,” Arthur whispered, horrified. In the span of one day, they had lost four members of the Career pack, plus all their supplies except for a spear. And things were about to get a lot worse, as soon as that volcano exploded.

“Take it slow,” Alfred advised, desperately, but even as he said that he misplaced his foot and slid down a way. Arthur’s heart was hammering in his chest. He would be lucky to survive this. He would be lucky to scale down the mountain before the volcano exploded.

But he did. Maybe more hastily than he ought to have been, especially considering Francis’ death, but both of them made it down. Alfred all but shoved him through the river, whose cool water felt like bliss on his sore and blistering hands and legs, and then into the cover of forest. Then, they ran.

Alfred took the lead. He ran forwards, charging ahead with his spear, uprooting any undergrowth that got in their way. Arthur was beginning to feel very winded now, and a stitch was bursting at his side, but he kept on running anyway. Any moment he expected to see bits of debris and rock, lava and fire fall in front of him and set alight to the forest. It never did, they must have gotten out of the blast radius, but he still kept running away. However, he was slowing. He was never meant for long periods of high-speed running. Eventually, Arthur slowed to a stop.

“Dude!” Alfred yelled behind his shoulder. “Get your ass back up, we gotta run!”

“Can’t…” Arthur panted, “we’re… I think… blast radius… no falling rock…”

Alfred looked up. “... D’you wanna risk it?” He asked, uncertainly. Then he looked at Arthur, as only just realising how out-of-breath he was. “I could carry you piggyback, if you like.”

Arthur shook his head. “No… thanks…”

He shifted from foot to foot. “Right… well, we still need to find somewhere sheltered,” Alfred concluded, then looked around as if a shelter would materialise out of thin air. “... But I’m good to wait for a bit.”

He nodded, and leant against the tree, just trying to get his breath back. He could still hear the volcanic eruptions, but nothing ever fell down. Arthur squinted up at the sky, trying to peer towards it. From the cover of trees, he could see rock disappearing upwards… but it never fell back down. The Gamemaker’s doing, probably. Didn’t want to accidentally kill too many people, or start a forest fire. Lava was beginning to run down the edge by this point. Francis’ body would be melted. Curiously enough, no hovercraft ever came for him. Possibly because it was too dangerous?

Arthur straightened up, having finally got his breath back. “I can walk,” he told Alfred, “we just… we just have to take it slow, okay?”

Alfred nodded. “Sure.”

It was odd. Arthur would expect Alfred to be fuming about all of this. Two more team members gone, plus supplies, and his precious swords. But he was calm. Completely. In truth, it unnerved Arthur slightly. Shouldn’t he be throwing tantrums and howling to the moon about all this?

They walked for about an hour longer. Arthur was glad they were not running, but his legs were sore all the same, and his side-stitch went from painful to a ceaseless ache. Several times they looked back at the mountain-turned-volcano, expecting to see lava on their trail. But there wasn’t any. No falling rocks, no lava. Nothing that would impair any other tributes but them. The Career pack. The one place he thought he’d have a chance of winning if he got into it. Arthur was miserable; what chance did he have now? He’d blown off any and all survival skills to get in with the Careers, now look at him… He didn’t even have a knife. It was only a matter of time before his last remaining teammate picked him off.

Bitterness filled him from the inside. Arthur stopped and leaned against a tree, finally unable to walk. Alfred turned.

“Come on, man, we have to keep going,” he urged, “I don’t want any lava sneaking up on us.”

“There isn’t any…” Arthur replied, pointing back up at the mountain. “Look.”

Alfred squinted. He took off his glasses (which hadn’t somehow fallen off in the panic), rubbed them clean of any remaining soot, and squinted again.

“... You’re right,” he finally said, “that’s one weird volcano. Mountain. Molcano? Vountain?”

“Don’t make jokes,” said Arthur, bitterly, “I don’t want the last thing I ever hear to be a bad joke.”

“Oh, come on, Arthur!” Alfred groaned. “Don’t make this worse. We’re still alive, aren’t we?”

“But for how long?”

“Listen, if you wanna lie down and die, fine, but I’m keeping on going,” he retorted, “there’s gotta be a lake or something nearby. With this spear, we can hunt. We can kill other tributes when we find them too--”

“No, Alfred, not we!” Arthur exploded. “It’s never “we!” It’s you, it’s all you -- you’re the one talented enough to win this thing -- you can hunt, you can kill -- not me! What can I do, Alfred? I’m useless now! Without supplies or a plan, I’m a goner! You may as well just kill me now.” He ended bitterly. Arthur covered his eyes with a hand. He wasn’t crying, he just couldn’t bear to look at Alfred or the arena any longer.

“... You want to be killed?” Alfred asked, in a low voice. His voice was suddenly hard. “Actually snuff it? Have the life drained out from your body?”

Arthur could hear Alfred stepping near him, and he could only imagine how he was holding his spear. Directing towards his heart, he assumed. Arthur slid down the tree, and nodded.

“It may as well be now,” he muttered, “and I’d rather a death by spear than Natalya or Francis’ deaths.”

There was a long pause between them. A pause so long Arthur wondered if Alfred was going to kill him at all. He looked up. And Alfred was just… standing there. The spear was held limply by his side. His expression was that of confusion; Alfred’s face was all scrunched up like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Arthur himself couldn’t believe what he was seeing. By his calculations Alfred should have killed him by now. Arthur was growing impatient.

“If you’re not going to kill me, I’ll do it myself!” He said, and made a snatch for the spear. Alfred pulled it back.

“Wh-- no! That’s--” His shoulders slumped. “That’s suicide, Arthur.”

“No, it’s being sensible,” he snapped back, “I’m not dying by any hands other than mine, and now I have no chances at all. You or that Ludwig or the Ivan guy will win, and that’s that. I’m just prolonging the inevitable otherwise.”

“Don’t you want to win?!”

“Of course I do! But don’t you see?! I have no chances, Alfred!”

Arthur bellowed the last part. After that he wished he hadn’t. The silence after it was too silent. Perhaps the whole arena had heard him. His heart sank down with his gaze. This was just shameful -- bartering a career for his death. The only thought that comforted him was that perhaps it was just as shameful for Alfred, whose refusal to kill him, as a Career, might make him seem weak.

“Listen. Arthur…” Alfred knelt down in front of him, and sunk the spear in the ground, far further than Arthur knew he’d be able to pull up. “We all have a chance at winning.”

Arthur sniffed. “We don’t.”

“Sure we do!”

“No, we don’t,” he insisted, “look me in the eye and tell me, that someone from district five, with no knowledge on anything in the Games, has a chance against someone from district two, having been trained for it.”

And Alfred looked him in the eye. “It’s all the same.”

Arthur stared. “How?”

“I would’ve thought you’d figure that out by now,” he replied, shifting to sit cross-legged, “you’re all clever and stuff. Because there’s one strategy that’s sure to win, that everyone can use, and it’s so dangerous to everyone else, that they’re almost sure to die.” But then Alfred looked around. “... But I’m not sure if I can say it here.”

“Do the gamemakers know about it?” Arthur asked curiously, and Alfred nodded.

“Oh yeah. They invented it.”

“What is it?”

Alfred bit his lip. “... I can’t tell you. Not in here.”

“... Right,” said Arthur, disappointed.

“But I promise you. You can use it too,” he continued, “hardly any of the Careers are told about it. But I… I was.” He admitted. “And I’m scared of it. I was told to late and now it’s the one thing I don’t have. Well…” He looked at Arthur earnestly. “Until you came along.”

“... I’m the strategy?” Arthur asked. He shook his head. “You’re not making sense. There’s no weapon or strategy like that. The gamemakers would have banned such a dangerous device.”

“Oh no they wouldn’t,” he said, “that’s why I’m going to try and use it now. That’s how you could still win, see? You’re good at things too, Arthur. Strategising. Common sense. Thinking under pressure. You’re the cleverest person in this arena. That’s why I picked you to be in the Careers.”

“I can’t fight,” he said, lamely. Alfred shrugged.

“Who cares? So long as you can lure other people into a trap, you won’t need to.” Alfred stood up, then extended a hand down to Arthur. Arthur took it cautiously, and Alfred hauled him up off the floor.

“So, Arthur,” he grinned, “what’s the plan?”

“Our plan…?” He said slowly. “Stay alive.”

Chapter 18: Choose Your Allies Carefully

Chapter Text

This was absolutely crazy. She could not believe she was doing this.

Roderich was napping in the evening sun. A warm sunbeam had split through the leaves, lighting up his face in a nice glow, and bouncing off his glasses that lay next to him. He napped against rocky terrain that continued further up the river, and Elizabeta sat upon the rocks, more elevated than Roderich, to guard him while he slept. And he slept soundly. Roderich admitted he hadn’t had much sleep the past couple days in the arena. It wasn’t just being on guard; lying in bushes had done no wonders for his poor hunched back.

The eruption had happened mid afternoon. They had both been there to watch it; they way the top caved in, and debris shot up but never came back down. Lava too, had poured over the top, but had somehow dried up midway down and stopped there. If she had still been a part of that Career pack, she would have been caught in that explosion. Over all the noise, she couldn’t count how many Careers had died, but hopefully enough. With any luck, Alfred too, had died.

Elizabeta paused in fingering her axe, and stared down at Roderich. It had been against her survival plan to ally with him. She didn’t know why she had even done it. Guilt? Regret? These were no such things for the Hunger Games. There could only be one victor after all. He didn’t stand a chance. So why did she ally with him? Why was she helping him? If it came down to them being the final two…

… It was getting late. Elizabeta shook her head to clear her thoughts. They were becoming too worrying.

“Hey, Rod,” she said, giving him a tap. “Roderich. Wake up; we have to move.”

Roderich opened his eyes with a huff and a grumble. “Already? Where are my glasses… God, my back is killing me…”

“Here.” Elizabeta picked up his glasses, dusted them off haphazardly, then handed them back. “Better?”

“Not really,” he admitted, as he got to his feet. “I’m hungry too.”

“I only have a pack of dried fruit…” she replied, biting her lip. “It won’t last. I don’t know much about foraging but maybe we could hunt?”

“I can forage, you can hunt.” He groaned, reaching up to pat his lower back. “All this exercise is putting too much pressure on my spine…”

“Well maybe you can lie down while collecting berries,” she joked weakly, “don’t forget the trident.”

“Like it’s of any use to me,” he sighed, “unless I am roasting three mashmallows at once.”

A trident, a pack of dried fruits, and some string; that was all she managed to rob off Antonio before scarpering. Thankfully Elizabeta herself had been carrying a little more: a flashlight, a first-aid kit, a small bottle of water, an axe sharpener, and of course, her axe. Roderich had gloves, a large water skin, and a leather pouch of salt. Now a trident. There wasn’t a lot of food between them, but at least a means of procuring some. And, Elizabeta couldn’t forget, teaming with Roderich might have saved her life.

“We should find somewhere better to sleep for the night,” she said, looking around. “Can you climb a tree?”

Roderich laughed humorlessly. “Do I look like a climbing type to you?”

“Right…”

She bit her lip. Elizabeta didn’t much fancy kipping in a bush overnight. Her gaze turned upstream.

“Then maybe a cave? There’s got to be a cave-like structure in those rocks over there…” She suggested. Roderich shrugged.

“It’s a good a bet as any.”

They began their way upstream, uncomfortably silent. It had been so since Elizabeta betrayed the Careers for him. Not that she minded silence, or would take back what she’d done, but it was as if the boy she met over at the fire-starting station, or in the beautiful garden, had been stripped away, replaced with someone who could barely make himself talk. It was the effect of the Hunger Games. But it was a depressing effect.

The silence was interrupted as the sky darkened to dusk, and the Capitol seal appeared in the sky. Mutely, they both turned and watched.

It had been a rough day for the Careers, it seemed. Natalya was first, solemn-looking and serious as ever as her picture appeared in the sky. Then came Francis, the little black-haired boy from 3, and finally… Antonio. The man she’d killed herself. That racked up her kill count to two whole people. Elizabeta was sickened with herself.

“Let’s keep moving,” she muttered. Roderich didn’t say a word about Antonio, and she was grateful.

They did find a cave structure upstream, when the rocks became bigger and more sloping. It wasn’t very concealed, so Elizabeta turned her flashlight on to the lowest setting and began shifting to make it blend in a little more. But it never seemed quite right. Frustrated, she rebuilt and rebuilt several times before handing over the reins to Roderich.

“It’s useless though,” she snapped, “I wouldn’t bother. We’ll just find somewhere else.”

Again, he didn’t say anything but raise his eyebrows a little, as she flounced off to refill their water bottles. The river water was freezing and the night air wasn’t much better. Elizabeta splashed a little on her face to soothe her sizzling temper. It helped -- a little. She turned back.

… She almost lost the placement of the cave. Roderich had disguised it so well in the time she’d taken. He’d used rocks, pebbles, and the natural vegetation to disguise it wonderfully. Elizabeta felt a smile breaking out on her face. The first one today, in fact.

“... Wow,” she murmured, “how did you do that?”

He shrugged. “I spent a bit of time in the camouflage sector. I… also used to paint a bit, before I got into music.”

“It’s brilliant,” she told him, “now we have somewhere to sleep. We could even use this as a sort of base in between hunting.”

“For food or for people?”

Elizabeta opened her mouth, but didn’t have a response. Roderich looked crestfallen.

“Sorry. I shouldn’t have--”

“No, no. Let’s get our stuff inside.”

The river was loud outside the cave. If anyone did spot them, they wouldn’t have much pre-warning in terms of noise. Still, Elizabeta was confident no one would. She squeezed inside, after Roderich, and sat down against one of its walls.

“We should have a watch,” she whispered, “in case someone ambushes us.”

“I can take first watch,” said Roderich, “you haven’t slept today.”

“I’m not tired,” Elizabeta said. This was a lie. She had been awake early to hunt with the Careers, spent the first half of the day hunting, and the second half fleeing. She was as tired as hell, but she knew she would not be able to sleep. Not after seeing Antonio’s face projected into the sky. “You sleep. I’ll wake you up later.”

“Only if you’re sure,” he said, in a troubled tone, and she nodded.

“I am.”

Roderich settled on the ground. They hadn’t a blanket, so he covered himself with his coat, that barely covered him and his back. Elizabeta turned her gaze to the entrance, silently picking up her axe for protection.

She realised she could do it. How easy it would be to cut off his head in one fell swoop. It would be quick and painless -- Roderich would hardly feel a thing. And her axe was sharp. Sharp enough so that he wouldn’t even realise until it happened. Maybe it would be the kindest thing for him. Elizabeta knew she’d rather die at the hands of a merciful ally, than some kind of muttation, or a twisted Gamemaker landmark. He served no purpose to her. There was literally no reason for her to keep him alive, if she wanted to get back home.

Moonlight filtered into their makeshift base. It bounced off her axe and caused it to shine. Elizabeta adjusted her grip, then slowly… slowly… maneuvered herself next to Roderich. The sound of the rushing river masked everything; in fact it was getting louder and louder, roaring in her ears. She raised the axe…

… And brought it back down again. It wedged itself in a crack in the floor, inches from Roderich’s neck, and lay there. Elizabeta let go of its hilt.

She couldn’t do it. Try as she might -- will herself as she might -- she just couldn’t. Elizabeta put her head against the cool surface of the cave wall. Roderich was too defenceless, too hopeless, too… too full of personality. She’d made the mistake of getting to know him. He was a man like any other. A man with a passion for music, a mayor’s outcast son, someone who talked softly yet severely, but with sincerity in his tone. She almost killed him. The same person who watched the sun set on their last days in Panem.

Had the ginger-haired girl been the same? So full of life and personality and humanness? Elizabeta couldn’t even remember her name. As soon as she’d picked her her axe she’d thrown it at her first victim, without thought, without even stopping to consider… Maybe that girl had a family. Friends, co-workers, siblings, cousins, all who would mourn because of her. Plus Antonio. Elizabeta knew he had people who cared about him. He talked endlessly about tossing on rowboats with his mates, laughing, stealing crates of beer and cliff-diving. Things a normal teenager did. These friends… They’d be heartbroken to find Antonio was gone.

Suddenly Elizabeta felt clogged with emotion. Tears threatened to spill from her eyes. She rubbed them furiously -- no. No, she could not cry. There were cameras everywhere. The people of Panem had to see that she was strong, not blubbering over her victim’s deaths. There could only be one victor.

… So then why. Why. Why was she allowing Roderich to live.

“I hate the Games,” she whispered under her breath, “I hate the Games and the whole rotten lot of ‘em.”

It didn’t change things. But it made her feel better. A little.

After a few hours, Elizabeta felt fatigue really beginning to weigh her down. But she didn’t wake Roderich. It probably wasn’t even midnight yet. She could power through this. But after at least an hour of worrying and overthinking, the mind numbing capacities of legarthy was blissful… She ought to wake Roderich, but she just couldn’t bring herself to move… Vague shuffling sounds could be heard outside, but no one could find them, they were safe here...

Elizabeta had a terrible nightmare that night. She dreamt she was looking through a keyhole of a door she could not open, watching tributes die. Tributes she’d seen in the arena, tributes like her parents, her friends, even Vladimir, as they all screamed and snuffed it -- she tried to force the door open but couldn’t -- she turned to find a key, and there Roderich was, impossibly tall, weilding an axe -- he swung, she screamed and closed her eyes--

“--Zabeta!”

Her eyes flew open at once. Elizabeta’s head shot up, narrowly missing Roderich’s, gasping and panting for breath as if she’d just run ten miles. Gentle morning light was filtering into the cave. She reached up to push stray bits of hair out of her face.

“Are you alright?” Roderich asked. He sat beside her, glasses back on his face, and brow creased with worry. “I think… you may have had a nightmare.”

He said it awkwardly. Elizabeta nodded, and bent over for a second, recollecting her thoughts.

“Was I making noise?” She asked finally. He shook his head.

“No… No. Just sweating, and shaking, and… I thought it best to wake you.”

She nodded again. “Th-Thanks. For waking me.”

“Do you, er… Do you want to talk about it?” He rubbed the back of his neck. “It helps. Sometimes. I mean -- I used to get night terrors when I was really little.”

“Night terrors?”

He nodded. “My mother made me see a therapist and talk about them. It -- It does help. Talking.”

Elizabeta looked at Roderich, scrutiny in her eyes. He looked genuine. For a moment she forget about the Games, forgot about appearing weak. She wanted to tell him. She just didn’t know how to say it. Elizabeta had never been good at expressing feelings.

“It was about… others.” She began, roughly.

“Others?”

“Other tributes.” She pushed the hair out of her face again. “I… I was watching them all die through a keyhole. But they weren’t just these tributes, it was -- it was other people. Like my Ma and Pa, or my friends… my District partner…”

“I thought you hated your District partner?”

“Yeah but I don’t want him to die either!” She suddenly snapped. “None of us should die! Th- These Games are just -- they’re sick!” Elizabeta kicked forwards at the cave. It didn’t do much but cause an echo. “Only one person ever wins. It’s horrible.”

“No…” Roderich sighed. “No one ever wins.”

“Of course they do,” she scoffed, “Careers win. Thugs win.”

“Yes, and then they have to go back to the Victor’s Row, and live with what they’ve done.” He pushed his glasses up his face. “It doesn’t sound like much of a win to me.”

“Yeah, but do you think those types of people -- the type who win the Games -- actually feel that?”

“... No,” he murmured, “no. They don’t.”

“Exactly.”

“I don’t know how they do it.” Roderich squeezed his hands shut in his lap. “Even arrogance can only take you so far from reality. I am arrogant.”

“No you’re not--”

“I am arrogant because I think I’m better than some people,” he admitted, “bullies. I think I am better than the Careers -- not in skill, no, but a better person. I used to think I was a better person than my parents, because it was wrong to shut me away and be ashamed. I think I am better than all the people who threw stones at me for my crooked back. And… truth be told… I think I am the best person in my whole District for playing the piano. But I still couldn’t kill.”

Elizabeta managed a smile. “Well… it’s hardly difficult being a better person than Careers. The people who threw stones at you were wrong, you know.”

“I know,” he sighed, “but my attitude doesn’t help.”

“And besides…” she continued, “you definitely couldn’t kill with your back. No offense.”

“It goes beyond that. If I was fit and able-bodied, I still couldn’t kill,” he said, “I couldn’t ever want to.”

Elizabeta’s stomach twisted. The faces of Antonio and the ginger-haired girl flashed in her mind. “Yeah, well… I guess you’re better than anyone in here then,” she said, a little more roughly than she intended to. She stood up, and Roderich, sensing a shift, looked meek at once.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend--”

“Are you hungry?” She asked abruptly. “I’m starving. Let’s eat those dried fruits and we can spend the day hunting. We have some string, I should’ve set snares last night…”

“Er… What fruits?” Roderich asked, looking in the pack. “There aren’t any in here.”

“What?” She snatched it up and, after rooting around for a while, dumped its contents out onto the floor. Roderich was right. There weren’t any dried fruits. “Damn! I could’ve sworn we had something…”

“Perhaps it was stolen?” He suggested, helplessly. “I didn’t take any, if you think that.”

“If people could get in we’d be dead.” Elizabeta sighed. “I guess we’ll just have to do this on an empty stomach. I hope you spent time in edible plants because I didn’t…” As she said this, her stomach growled. She had provisions for a meagre dinner yesterday with Roderich, from supplies she took from the Career base, but that had long since gone. “Come on…”

Roderich sorted out the packs again, and they crept out the cave together. Elizabeta refilled their water skins and sharpened her axe. Both of them failed to notice that the mouth of the cave had been disturbed, and even now, as they set steadily off, failed to notice someone high up in the trees watching them, eating a pack of dried fruits.

Chapter 19: A Wrong Foot Could Result in Death

Chapter Text

A canopy of leaves overhead sheltered her from the rain that morning. It was the first rain of the arena. This was its third day, and so far, thirteen people had died already. Died at the Cornucopia, died at the eruption, died at the hands of others… She watched them die every night in her sleep, tormenting her with nightmares. Her brother especially. Lily cried daily about him.

She watched the leaves collect water on them and drip down onto the earth again for quite a while. A bush didn’t provide a lot of protection from rain, or the elements in general, but she was too short to climb, and there were no other suitable places. She lay there for a while, watching the rain, wondering if the arena was crying because all of the people that died in it, when she heard rustling.

Eduard was up.

“I don’t hear anyone,” he whispered, “come on, Lily. We can’t just lie in the mud all day.”

So with weary arms and an aching back, Lily sat up again, and rubbed her eyes. There was dirt on her elbows, knees, all along her back, and even in her once soft yellow hair. A previous Lily would be fretting about all this. But not now. What did it matter how dirty she looked, anyhow? Basch couldn’t see it. Three days in the arena had already aged her beyond her years. She’d seen innocent people die, and adorable rabbits turn sabre-toothed on the second day (Eduard’s arm still had puncture-marks in it), and animals die at the hands of hers and Eduards and their survival.

They didn’t even have a pack. Lily and Eduard stuffed most of their provisions in their pockets, and what they couldn’t hold, stashed in bushes to be recollected later. Not that they had much. Thick gloves, a roll of bandages half-gone, and a sharp bit of stone they used for cutting things. They had a roll of string, but that was currently setting a snare for some rabbits. They also had a pair of night vision glasses -- but those had gone mysteriously missing one night, along, Lily noticed, with a handful of root. Eduard seemed a bit miffed, and asked if she’d eaten any, but she hadn’t. She still wasn’t sure if Eduard quite believed her. Her brother would’ve.

… But her brother was gone now.

It was probably about time Eduard started turning on her anyway. Lily gathered what little they had, stuffed her pockets full, and rolled out of the bush. Her hair was coming undone from her two braids, but it couldn’t be helped; she didn’t know how to tie plaits herself.

“We’d better head to the riverbank first,” Eduard told her, “then we can check the snares. Sound good? Are you hungry?”

And Lily nodded. She didn’t talk much these days. Once a chatterbox, now they only communicated through Eduard’s suggestions, or awkward attempts at conversation. So she followed Eduard quietly down to the river, which was only a brief walk away from their hiding spot, to drink directly from the river and re-hydrate, as they had no bottles. It was a cool, crisp morning, the first of its kind, with all kinds of birds singing up in the trees. Lily had no idea what kinds -- both she and Eduard had grown up in very urban districts -- but they sounded pretty up in the trees. Pretty, until they needed to be shot down for fowl-food. She blinked back tears.

“Now we have to check the traps,” said Eduard next, and she nodded.

They didn’t catch birds. They were too high in the trees, and they had no projectile weapons. Instead Eduard had tried his hand at a couple of mesh net rabbit snares. They’d left out greens she had found for them to be lured in, much to their stomachs dismay, but Eduard assured her it would all be worth a dinnerless night when they had a few fat rabbits to skin in the morning. But, as they came across the traps…

“... Nothing,” said Eduard in dismay, wincing as he lifted the last bush up with his punctured arm. “Not even an injured one. I must’ve set them up wrong.”

“It looks right,” she replied, her stomach groaning at her. She knew she should have kept some for herself.

“How else would the rabbits have eaten the food without setting it off?” He snapped at her. Lily had to force back tears again, nose stinging. Eduard sighed, pinching his brow. It was the hunger, making them both act unnaturally. “I’m going to re-set it. God knows how with my bad arm. We’ll just have to hope rabbits stumble in without bait. In the meantime -- you go look for some more roots down by the riverbank.”

“The riverbank is quite far away…” she bit her lip, “what if I get in trouble?”

“You won’t,” said Eduard, waving a hand, “and no offense, Lily, but I really don’t want you hovering over me. Just… get some greens. Please.”

So it was with great reluctance and a beating heart that she began to make her way down to the riverbank by herself. Lily never had to undertake many trips alone. She and Basch had always stuck together like glue, and even Eduard preferred to have her near in these lonely games. Suddenly she was having to wipe her face again, as more tears brimmed her eyes. Eduard was kind enough, and good company sometimes, but he wasn’t Basch. In her mind’s eye flickered her brother’s body, beaten and broken, eyes wide open yet unseeing. She gave a great sniff.

She had done enough crying in the arena already. What she needed to do was concentrate now. It was no good trying to look for edible plants when she couldn’t see past the tears.

The gushing flow of the river was loud, and hunting for vegetables distracted her mind. Lily took a while squatting next to the river, wishing she was more concealed, trying to find anything that could satisfy her. But there wasn’t so much as a handful of mint leaves. No tubers, no greenery. Nothing at all. There had been nothing she missed from yesterday, and all of it had gone to the rabbits.

Her stomach complained again. Lily put her hand over it to quell it, but it did nothing. She knew she’d have to live a largely vegetarian diet out here, but a nothing-at-all diet was not one she could survive on. Perhaps she ought to look further downstream. Lily looked behind her, where Eduard was a ten-minute walk away. He wouldn’t know where she was if he came looking. They had no meet-up point.

… But she was so hungry.

Eduard wouldn’t be done in just a few minutes after all. Maybe she had time for a quick search? Lily stood, unsure. They hadn’t explored much downstream. There could be tributes down there. Maybe the Careers had sought refuge there after the almighty explosion. The arena wasn’t big. She chewed her lip. She wished Basch was here to consult. He wouldn’t let her troop off to a river all alone. They stuck to each other like glue, until the glue had been forcibly severed.

“He is inside my heart now,” she whispered. It had been what her mother used to say when their father had passed. Now both her father and brother were inside her heart. The glue wasn’t broken, just hard to see now. Perhaps having Basch inside would make her braver. Lily liked the thought. But she quaked a little when she began the descent downstream. She was so hungry. Eduard wouldn’t mind if she’d scrounged up a little by going outside their boundaries, surely -- he would be as hungry as she was.

But the river was depressingly barren of all life. Just mud. Mud, mud, mud -- Lily kicked it in frustration, but underestimated how slippery it was. Her foot ended up soaked in cold river water on a crisp morning, freezing her toes half to death and nearly plunging her in the river. She righted herself just in time, but in her re-balancing she looked towards the sky just as a bird flew overhead, and was promptly shot down by an arrow.

Lily’s heart froze in her chest.

The bird squawked, and took a nose dive into the trees. Her eyes watched, but the rest of her body was as still as a deer in headlights. Was that a Career, or just another tribute? They were close whoever they were, the arrow having been shot from not too far away. She couldn’t hear voices, so perhaps they were on their own. She head single, loud footsteps rustling through the undergrowth, and snapped to her senses at once.

Without hesitation she jumped the rest of the river (it was small in this area anyhow), and raced for the cover of trees, and in the nick of time too. The someone that had shot down the bird emerged from the bushes on the other side, muttering under their breath and… searching? Lily peeked out from behind the trunk, suddenly grateful for the mud in her hair camouflaging its bright blondness. Yes, it was a tribute, and a boy too, older than her by several years, with fair skin, untidy black hair, and a crossbow in hand. It was loaded. Lily hid hastily again, and over the rush of the river, could just about hear snippets of what the boy was saying:

“... must be the only one able to lose their kills in this damned arena... shot it, I know it went down... Kingjay, what the hell…”

She peeked out again, hoping he was venturing away, absolutely coursing with anxiety. Unfortunately he was doing nothing of the sort. The boy had sat down by the river, opened his pack (which, curiously, was one held by the hand, unable to be carried over his back), and was getting out a water skin to fill it. Once filled, he reached in again, and brought out a small bottle, to which he put a few drops of it into the water. Lily blinked in curiosity, and leaned forwards to try and make out the label. Too far forwards. She felt the snap under her feet before she heard it, and her heart gave a great leap into her throat. Lily whipped herself out of sight, but not before the boy had a chance to look up, and catch her in the act of spying.

“Wh-Who’s there?” She heard him call nervously. Lily could almost hear the rattle of the crossbow being aimed at her back. “I warn you -- I -- I’m armed!”

She was trembling, locked up and frozen again, unable to respond even if she wanted to, heart beating erratically up her chest. It beat faster when she heard sloshing water -- the boy was coming right for her! And she couldn’t move, she needed to run but she couldn’t, oh why had she even gone downstream?!--

She had been like this when Basch died too. Frozen to the spot, only able to watch in horror as the heavy man had crushed her poor brother to death. She could have done something then -- leapt on to distract him, strangle him off, fight -- but she hadn’t. Tears began to brim Lily’s eyes again. So this was how she was going to die? Unmoving like a helpless deer?

The sloshing of water had turned into footsteps again, but then they stopped, just short of the tree she was hiding behind.

“Hello?” He said again, even more uncertain now. Maybe he was going to go away, when…

“Lily?” Someone else called. Her heart sank. It was Eduard. “Lily, where are you?”

She heard the boy turn and freeze like she had. Lily could hardly bear to look, but with great difficulty, she twisted her head around the trunk.

It was like a very bizarre game of musical statues. Eduard frozen in place upon seeing the boy’s left pack, then the boy, and then, his eyes raked over Lily herself. The boy had eyes only for Eduard now, crossbow half-lifted, more in shock than anything else. As Lily and Eduard’s eyes met, she could only mouth: “help.”

But Eduard just stood, mouth half agape. It was the boy who spoke first.

“Please don’t take my stuff,” he said, weakly, “I’ll have to shoot you.”

“Don’t shoot him!” Cried Lily shrilly. Then she clapped a hand over her mouth. Stupid! Oh God, he was going to shoot her now then turn on Eduard!--

“Who said that?” She heard his voice raise an octave. “How many of you are there? Please, I can just… I can take my stuff and leave!”

Her heart skipped a beat. Lily could hear the crossbow rattling in his grasp. The way his voice had risen. The boy was nervous. No -- he was scared. Lily realised he was scared out of his mind, just like them. Exactly like them. And finally, she had the courage to step out from behind the tree.

“It’s just us,” she said, then swallowed hard. Her mouth refused to moisturize. “I promise. A-And we don’t have many weapons between us. But…”

He relaxed visibly. The grip on the crossbow slackened so its bolt was aimed at the ground. This encouraged her, though the glasses had fair slipped down Eduard’s face.

“We won’t take your things either,” continued Lily, “just… d-don’t kill us… please?” She winced at how terrible the last part sounded, but the crossbow didn’t rise up at her. Or Eduard. Something compelled her to keep talking too -- perhaps the silence. “We’re just hungry, and tired, and… we -- we don’t want to hurt you, a-and we can’t, really, just…” As if on cue, her stomach gave an almighty growl.

“You’re hungry?” He asked, unexpectedly.

“W-Well yes, both of us are…” she hung her head, “we haven’t been able to find much food out here…”

The boy looked at his pack, deliberating for a moment. He too, Lily noticed, nibbled his lip in anxiety. Then he seemed to come to a decision in his mind.

“I could share some food with you if you want?” He offered tentatively. “If you really need it. I can’t spare much. But I can hunt more. Maybe… we could… ally?”

Lily was gobsmacked. So, it seemed, was Eduard. Now it was her that was struggling for words, and Eduard got there first:

“You want to ally with us?” He asked blankly. The boy flushed.

“Um, well… three people are better than two and one…” he said, “you don’t have to take me up on the offer, I just thought…”

“Yes!” Lily blurted out. Then it was her turn to blush. “I mean… yes. That would be nice.”

He looked relieved. “That’s great. My name is Nikola.”

“Nikola,” she repeated, smiling her first smile of the arena. “I’m Lily.” She offered a pretty curtsey with her coat. “Do you really have food?”

He smiled wryly. “Yes, I -- I was hunting birds earlier, but, um, we can’t cook them now…” The boy -- Nikola -- with the crossbow drooping by his side, sloshed back across the river to his pack, Lily following tentatively. Then he lay it to his side altogether, and dug in his bag. “I have half a pack of crackers left though. You two can share that.”

“How do we know you won’t shoot us in our sleep?” Eduard asked, still wary, though he’d come closer now. Nikola shrugged.

“I suppose you don’t,” he admitted, “it’s the Hunger Games. We’ll just have to… make do.”

It was as a good an explanation as any. Eduard finally decided to trust him, and punctuated this by kneeling next to him, and taking his offered cracker. “Thanks. I’m Eduard.”

Lily took one too. It was stale and salty, but somehow the best thing she’d tasted in her life. She wolfed down her share, as did Eduard, while Nikola looked them on and smiled.

“I don’t have any more,” he said. When Lily offered him the last cracker he shook his head. “You need it more than me.”

“What about the things you’ve been hunting?” Eduard asked. “Surely there’s that to eat?”

“Yes, but we can’t cook them until nighttime.”

“Why not?” Lily quizzed.

“Smoke,” Nikola explained, “we start a fire and the smoke will be like sending up fireworks to the Careers. They’ll know exactly where we are. The second day in the arena, someone started a fire -- I remember, because I was near -- and the Careers were on her like a pack of wolves. I was careful after that.” His expression turned sad. “I knew that girl. I trained next to her in the Capitol.”

“Was she from your District?” Lily asked quietly. Nikola shook his head.

“No. My Distract partner died in the bloodbath.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, more quietly.

“I’m just surprised any of the Careers left that explosion,” sighed Eduard, mercifully changing the topic. “Mind you, there weren’t many to begin with. Now there’s just two left. One of them’s my District partner.”

“The one with the eyebrows, I’m guessing?” Nikola asked, and he nodded.

“Yes.” Eduard sighed. “Look, not to pry or anything -- but why did you decide to ally with us? We’re hardly a first choice. Look, we can barely afford to feed ourselves, and one of us is thirteen!”

Lily cast her eyes down again. Nikola looked to be struggling with his words.

“... I don’t know, really,” he finally admitted, “I guess I’d just… rather have allies… than go it alone. It’s difficult alone. Besides… The boys from 2 and 12 are alive. I’d rather fight them with you two, than without.”

Lily nodded. “I get it. I’d rather have Eduard with me than without me, and he doesn’t know much more than me.”

Eduard blushed. “Well… Here. If we’re really going to be allies.” He spilled out the contents of his pockets. Lily did the same, revealing their gloves, bandages, and sharp stone. It looked even less showing it to Nikola. “We also have some string, but it’s being used for snares now. Not that they’ve caught anything…”

Nikola nodded. He unzipped his bag to let them look inside. Along with his crossbow weapon was his water skin, a box of wooden matches, several more crossbow bolts, twine, a rolled-up sleeping bag, and a swiss army knife! Eduard picked it up to fiddle with, while Lily dug further, and found the small bottle Nikola had used before in his water, labelled iodine.

“What is this?” She asked.

“You use it to purify water. My mentor sent it,” said Nikola.

“We haven’t received anything from our mentors so far,” said Lily, a little mournfully, “I expect they’re banking on Eduard’s District partner, and I’m a lost cause to them.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, awkwardly.

“Why didn’t you use the twine for snares?” Eduard asked, as he relinquished the knife. “It’s all just balled up in here.”

“I don’t really know how to set them,” he admitted, “I’ve just been using the bow to try and get birds and squirrels, and it’s sort-of worked. My aim’s definitely improved out here. You can set some, if you like.”

“No, I don’t think I’m much cop at it either,” he sighed, “the rabbits get the food, but they manage to evade the netting since I hurt my shoulder. I must be setting it wrong.”

“You hurt your shoulder?”

“On the second day.” He rolled his sleeve up, showing the puncture marks from the sabre-toothed rabbits. “It doesn’t hurt so long as I don’t put pressure on it though, so I don’t think it was deep. It was a rabbit muttation with big teeth. I’ve got a graze on my ankle too but that’s fine.”

“I didn’t get hurt at all,” said Lily, “we made a run for it the moment we saw them. They didn’t chase us long.”

“Nothing’s gone after me so far,” said Nikola, “it sounds like you two have been in the wars.”

“Nothing’s gone our way, really,” Eduard admitted, “rabbits, snares… and Lily hasn’t been able to find any more greens… You’re the best thing we’ve found in this arena.”

“Oh yes,” Lily agreed, “thank you so much!”

“Ahh, well…” He looked awkward. “Thank you.”

“We should make a plan for today,” said Eduard, grabbing the twine decisively and standing up. “I’ll go and set some snares with this, and re-set the old ones. Nikola -- it was Nikola right? -- you can hunt for sundown. And Lily, you can get us some more greens. If you can find any.”

“That sounds good,” Nikola agreed, as he and Lily also scrambled to their feet. “But we should all stay in shouting distance from each other though. Where are your snares?”

Eduard smiled a rare smile. “Follow us.”

That day was the most enjoyable of the whole arena for Lily. For the first time, she loosened a little, and became curious again like her old self. Perhaps wanting to impress Nikola made her more watchful, because Lily managed to find a whole host of arena-made roots just ripe for eating, that they devoured amongst themselves for a satisfying lunch, with even enough for later too, which they stored in Nikola’s bag. Nikola too, managed to shoot down two more small birds too, and Eduard found the previous third, so together they had one each for dinner. And Eduard re-made the snares.

“They’re absolutely perfect, I’m sure of it,” he said determinedly, “The knife was a help, and I checked each one three times. There’s no bait though.”

“We can use the leftover roots?” Lily suggested. “We won’t really need them for tonight. We have three birds!”

“Shh, Lily… I agree,” said Nikola, “there isn’t too much left though. We’ll have to ration it small between the traps…”

He walked over to his bag, which he’d left by the base of a tree, not too far away so they could keep an eye on it. Nikola opened it up and searched around in it. And kept searching.

“Hey, guys?” He asked with a frown. “You didn’t take the roots did you?”

“No?” Eduard turned out his pockets. Lily did the same, but there was nothing inside them now. “Why?”

“They’re gone. I’m sure I put them in here, in one of the gloves, but it’s not…”

They came over to look, but not even Lily’s careful eye could spot a white root anywhere. It was most odd.

“We definitely had some,” said Eduard, puzzled, “I remember. No one ate them, right?”

Lily and Nikola shook their heads.

“Maybe a squirrel or something went through it,” huffed Nikola, “though I can’t think why. Squirrels don’t normally do that, right? Though I did think it was odd the bag wasn’t zipped all the way up, when I know it was…”

“The trap’ll just have to be baitless,” sighed Eduard, “look, the sun’s going down. How about we fill up the water skin at the river and cook the birds for the night.”

They all agreed this was the best course of action, so the three of them trooped to the water’s edge, just as the sun was setting. Nikola added the drops of iodine, Eduard built a fire, and Lily collected pebbles from the bottom of the river to line it with, rolling her sleeve right up so she wouldn’t dampen it. Then Nikola showed them how to fashion a sort of spit, how to pluck and clean the birds (mostly -- and Lily had to look away when the took the poor creature’s innards out), then how to roast them over the fire. It was deliciously fatty in places, washed down with pure water, as they talked and just… talked.

Their third day in the arena. When the Capitol seal flashed up in the sky, there were no deaths to show. Lily was both relieved and worried. For all she could act so simple-minded, she wasn’t stupid. This little alliance couldn’t carry on forever. In the end, one would turn on the other. And she had a horrible feeling in her gut she wouldn’t come out of it alive.

“... I’m from 10,” Nikola was saying, as Lily tuned back into the conversation. “Livestock. My family are sheep-shearers mostly, though we look after chickens too, sometimes. It’s how I knew how to clean the bird.”

“I don’t work yet,” said Eduard, “but my parents work in a huge powerplant that powers my county. They do the electrics mostly, and at the end of the day, my father has to touch a huge wire to check it’s not live. If it is it’ll electrocute and probably kill him on the spot.”

“That’s horrible!” Lily said, mortified, because even she, who had been with Eduard longer than Nikola had, hadn’t heard much about his District, or even his life. Eduard shrugged.

“Electrocutions happen. It’s not uncommon, just… tragic. Not usually fatal though.”

“I’d love to go to school,” said Nikola, “proper school. Education’s a bit of a joke in 10. Most don’t even attend; we just raise the animals we’re told to by our families. I’m lucky to be a shearer. Most kids my age… They have to take out the animals. Some have to work in factories making them into food. Only few of us really own farms.”

Lily looked queasily down at her bird.

“But I’d love to learn real science and maths,” he said wistfully, “I think it’s amazing what humans can do with numbers. And we’re never taught any of it!”

“Most of it’s quite boring,” Eduard told him, “physics and chemistry are mandatory in 5. But if you do well you can work outside the District at Capitol power plants. That’s what most aspire to do. It’s… sad, really.”

“Better than a farmer,” said Nikola, darkly.

“I like school,” said Lily suddenly, “not really the lessons, but I had lots of friends to make it better. I think I might like to be a farmer, so long as I don’t have to work in a factory.”

“You’re in 10, right?” Nikola realised. “Textiles. I thought you’d be in factories by now.”

“I am,” she said, “I have to do that after school, and extra-long shifts on Saturdays. I make Peacekeeper clothing, but it’s all very boring and fiddly. My brother had to help me a lot.”

Her voice wobbled suddenly. Thinking of Basch made tears spring to her eyes again. Lily blinked them away, rubbing her eyes vehemently.

“I want to be a designer,” she suddenly declared, to distract herself, “I want to make clothes I want to make. Pretty dresses in pretty colours. I made this--” She shook back her sleeve, revealing a tired friendship bracelet from old strands of thread. “... But that’s all, really.”

“Is that your token?” Nikola asked and she nodded.

“It reminds me of my dream,” Lily said, truthfully, “do you have a token?”

“My family doesn’t have much,” he muttered, “nothing suitable for the arena. Besides, even if I had something, I wouldn’t take it with me. It might sound weird, but I wouldn’t want it to be “tainted” by the arena.”

“I have nothing either,” said Eduard helplessly, “I was going to have my father’s ring. But the reaping was all so sudden, and he wasn’t wearing it at the time, and had no time to go fetch it…”

The conversation ended depressingly. After that, and with the birds all devoured, they decided to turn in for the night. They found a large bush to kip in, rolled out the sleeping bag, and found it could fit two comfortably. Nikola offered it should be Eduard and Lily, since he’d used it plenty already, and they certainly had no qualms about that. They gave Nikola both their jackets instead to keep him from the elements. The bag was remarkably warm, with heat-reflecting qualities. She closed her eyes.

Lily wished she could say she slept well that night. She was warm, full-bellied, and had a wonderful new ally to their little team. But nightmares still plagued her. She watched Basch, herself, Eduard, friends, family, unnamed tributes, and now even Nikola die one by one to the hands of sabre-toothed rabbits, or snares would snake up and strangle them. Once, when it was incredibly early morning, she awoke with a start, tears pouring down her face, to see Nikola awake as well. She wiped her eyes fiercely at once.

“Did you have a nightmare too?” Lily asked tentatively.

“No,” he admitted, “no. I’m just used to waking so early. We have very early starts in District 10.”

“Oh.”

“I was thinking about the roots that went missing today,” he continued, though she hadn’t asked. “I just find it weird. An animal wouldn’t do that. And I trust you two enough to believe you when you say you didn’t eat it either. So who did?”

Lily, admittedly, had forgotten all about the incident. “I don’t know. Maybe we did just eat them and forgot.”

“No, that’s not it,” he muttered, “and it’s not the first time it happened. I thought I was just forgetful. But I lost another bottle of water I had, plus pieces of meat here and there. Has it happened to you?”

She thought back.

“Once,” she whispered, “though we never had much to take in the first place. We lost these funny glasses that gave you nightvision, and some greens.”

“Hmm…” Nikola rolled over to look at her properly. “That’s not just coincidence, I’m absolutely sure.”

“But what does it mean?” Lily asked.

“It means,” he whispered, “we have a thief on our hands.”

Chapter 20: In the Calm

Chapter Text

“... A thief?” Eduard asked, disbelievingly. “What do you mean a thief?”

“Exactly that!” Nikola replied. “Someone has been scrounging around the tributes, watching them, stealing from their resources, and all without getting caught.”

It was the morning of the fourth day in the arena, cold air pressing against their cheeks like knives, everything wet with light rain. The three allies had divided their loot between them, and had headed down to the riverbank to refill the water skin, and make a plan for the day. All through the night Nikola had been trying to deduce what was happening around them, who it might be, and how they could be stopped. Lily’s contributions, in his mind, proved the hypothesis.

“Do you think that’s even possible?” Eduard asked dubiously. “I mean -- a thief out here? Surely we would have seen them.”

“Perhaps so,” he said, “but Lily told me of supplies going missing. A pair of sunglasses was it? And…”

“And some greens!” She added.

“Right!” Nikola turned on his heel, loaded crossbow by his side. “And I’ve lost an extra water bottle I had, plus a leg of squirrel once. That’s not just us being forgetful, that’s theft. Someone’s been spying on us. Don’t you think it’s strange that you set those traps perfectly, but the bait was taken anyway? Or maybe the thief took the rabbits as well…”

“There might have been… a small flaw…” Eduard faltered, “but alright. Say there might be a thief. Who? And how?”

Those had been the questions Nikola had been trying to deduce. There weren’t many left alive. The boys from 2 -- unlikely. They could get their own food, being trained, and besides, their style was more upfront and brutish. Maybe the boy from 3? He was small and slight, but Nikola doubted it. He had seemed an utter airhead in the interviews, unless that was his strategy. There was Eduard’s District partner, who had seemed sharp, but he was part of the Careers, and likely still with the boy from 2 and axe-girl. Ivan perhaps -- the boy from 12? But that wasn’t right either.

Nikola was forgetting people, he knew. And there was still how they did it, without getting caught. Sneaking around was no mean feat for the Hunger Games. If they were caught, they were dead.

“I don’t know,” he finally admitted, “everyone I think of just feels off.”

“The boy from 3?” Lily asked.

“Too stupid.”

“My District partner?” Eduard suggested.

“Allied with 2 and 7.”

“Roderich?” Lily asked, and Nikola frowned.

“Who?”

“He’s the boy from 11. He’s got a funny back,” she explained, “maybe he did it. I mean, I don’t think he’d be able to hunt very well.”

“But he can’t be sneaky!” Nikola groaned. “We’d spot him in an instant. He’d be too slow.”

“You don’t know that,” she replied, stung, “he can do as much as anyone. I was with him in the camouflaging section, and he was really good at it. I wonder if he painted much…”

“I still think it’s unlikely,” he said.

“In any case,” interrupted Eduard, “it doesn’t really matter. What does matter is preventing the thief from getting anything from us again. I think we should count our things, and keep the bag on at least one of us from now. And we should stop setting snares with bait -- or maybe stop setting them in general, if they’re just going to take its catches from us.”

And Lily nodded in agreement.

“... What if we set a different kind of snare?” Nikola asked, slowly, as an idea sprang to mind.

“What do you mean?” Eduard asked.

“I mean…” He lowered his voice. The thought crossed him that they could be listening in even now. “What if we actually tried to catch our thief? That way we could eliminate him, er… for good.”

None of them wanted to say it. It was the uncomfortable truth of the Games. Nikola hurried on.

“What’s the point of making an alliance after all if we don’t take action? We have each other’s backs if something goes wrong. We have more knowledge between the three of us.”

Lily still looked frightened, but Eduard seemed to be coming around to it, though it was hard to tell what he was thinking. As a matter of fact Eduard was thinking of his mentor’s words, what he had last said to him about strategies, and the Gamemakers…

“Okay,” Eduard said, “if you think that’s what we should do. You’re… right. And we can’t stay passive forever.”

“Exactly,” said Nikola.

“And…” he continued, “I think… I know how to catch him.”

That morning was spent between them in their known area by the river. Eduard set the trap (he had studied a few on how to catch tributes and was fairly confident he could recreate them now) using the snares previously used for rabbits. Nikola and Lily hunted for their daily meals down by the river, not too far away from him. Certainly within shouting distance, even over the rush of water.

They were less successful than yesterday -- one squirrel and a small mockingbird -- but Nikola felt that was largely due to Lily insisting on a turn with the crossbow. Her aim was completely skewered, and she had to fetch every bolt she missed, cutting into her time searching, but on the other hand, one of the crossbow bolts landed in a sweet blackberry bush, which was soon stripped barren. They didn’t make the mistake of lending them to the “rabbits” this time!

A more lively atmosphere soothed his worries a little, though of course there was the looming black fog of the fact that this happy trio couldn’t carry on forever. He evaded it by getting to know Lily -- the girl, not the tribute. She told him about school, and her friends, and how horrible this one teacher could be, and how she and her group exacted their revenge upon him. She told him of the long hours in the factories, her sketchbook where she would pretend to be a high-society fashion designer, creating the latest trends, and what her family was like. She cried a little then. Nikola remembered -- she’d come into the arena with her brother. It was an unfortunate case. And what she told him he reciprocated. Nikola taught her how to identify the different birds, told her of his daily life in 10, and just how cute baby lambs could be, not to mention how once he’d accidentally wandered into a field, and got chased by a rampaging bull, which made Lily laugh.

“I mean, they could have put a sign up or something, to warn about the bull,” he’d said annoyedly, recalling the memory. “It was a downright hazard!”

By midday, Eduard joined them again, having completed his mysterious trap.

“It’s in the clearing, over there.” He waved his good arm towards it (though his injured one had almost completely healed by now). Eduard took off his glasses to polish them. “And it was mighty hard work remembering how it was all set up. I got it working though; now all we need is the bag.”

“The bag?” Nikola asked. He held his duffel bag up. “What -- you mean this?”

“Yes, that’s it,” he said, “we’ll take out its water though. Bear in mind all this hinges on him not spying on us now.”

“Why do you need the bag though?” He asked blankly, yet nonetheless handed it over. Eduard began taking out its essentials.

“To lure him in. We’ll leave the bag out in the open, then place ourselves not too far away. Hopefully he’ll try and steal some things from it… And when he does…”

“Ah, I see.”

“We can pretend we’re looking for more blackberry bushes!” Lily exclaimed. “I can teach you two how to look for greens. Then we can have a feast with our rabbits!”

“Or perhaps we can try shooting for fish in the river. I thought I saw a few earlier,” said Nikola.

Eduard smiled. “It sounds like a plan.”

That was exactly how the afternoon was spent. They kept themselves more low and subdued than before however, and a part of it was unease. There hadn’t been another death for a day now. The Capitol audience would be getting bored. Perhaps their stunt was keeping them intrigued, although privately Nikola felt unsure if Eduard’s plan would work. His hypothesis could have easily been wrong. Or maybe the thief managed to evade Eduard’s trap. Or, even worse -- there was no thief, and someone stumbled across their bag of belongings, and made away with it. That would be significant progress lost.

To distract themselves, they tried catching fish in the river. The sun was warming them immensely by now, enough so they could take off their coats and boots, roll up their trousers, and paddle in the river as they fished, although they weren’t very successful. Nikola wasn’t even sure if he could gut and clean a fish in the first place. Lily was having fun kicking up water though.

“Hey, we never got to asking,” she said suddenly, turning to Eduard, “Nikola and I have been talking all morning about what we wanted to do if we had the chance to grow up. What did you want to be?”

And Eduard blew out a breath. “... I don’t know, really,” he admitted, “maybe something to do with statistics. They’re quite easy. Or travel. I always thought I might like to travel and see different Districts.” He laughed, a bitter note in it now. “That worked out for me, at any rate…”

“You could’ve gone into census records,” suggested Nikola, “those are quite statistic-heavy. I always wondered how they recorded them though…”

“There’ll be a margin of error,” he said, “other than that, I guess my dream was just… work in a power plants next to the Capitol. That way I could support my family, and, who knows… maybe I’d have a better chance at marrying.”

“I never really wanted to marry,” admitted Lily, “all the boys in my class are gross anyway. Some people say I can marry a girl, but there’s no girls I really like more than friends.” She huffed. “I think I’m too young.”

“No, I’ve never had a crush either,” said Nikola, though he was the oldest, “I’m starting to think I don’t know how.”

“I don’t suppose it matters now,” muttered Eduard, which dampened the mood a little. He needn’t elaborate.

They tried for a few more minutes of “fishing”, then settled down by the river, starving hungry, but unwilling to risk a fire just yet. Lily said she could try and find another blackberry bush, but it was too close to Eduard’s snare, and they didn’t want to scare away their thief.

“If it even works,” sighed Eduard, “my track record with traps hasn’t been the best.”

“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” Nikola said, in a voice that was trying to be reassuring, but failing badly.

“Couldn’t we just have one little peep?” Lily asked.

“Absolutely not,” Eduard replied, “besides… we’d have known if we caught them.”

So they were resigned to sitting around on the riverbank and paddling their toes.

“No canons today,” observed Nikola, when the silence stretched, “I wonder what the other tributes are up to…”

“Nothing good,” said Eduard, darkly.

“Don’t let’s talk about death,” said Lily suddenly. Her voice was small. “It’s scary enough being in here as it is. If we talk about other things, nice things… It’s easier.”

Guilt tugged at Nikola’s heart. Of course. He sometimes forgot how young she was. Lily seemed to have grown far beyond the sparkly, optimistic girl from the Capitol. What she’d seen -- what they’d all seen -- it was all probably irreversible. Especially if they were to die in the next few days. That thought gave him a horrible feeling in the pit of his stomach.

“Of course,” he said, “but I think we’ve ran every bearable conversation dry.”

The sun was beginning to go down over the horizon by now, casting everything in an orangy glow. Still no canon. Nikola heard Eduard sigh next to him.

“I suppose I’d better get some firewood--”

He was interrupted by the sound of something springing up from the wood, followed by a short, muffled yelp. No one needed to consult what that might be.

“Come on!” Nikola cried. He snatched up his crossbow at once, and all three of them began dashing back through the wood. They made more noise than was wise, crashing through the undergrowth, and Lily was too small to hurdle most of the thickets, but then they got to the small clearing Eduard had been operating in. Nikola screeched to a halt underneath the small mesh net. Its four corners, having previously been flat on the ground, were now tightly knotted over a bough, and inside it, their thief.

It was the boy from 7.

“Vladimir?!” Lily shrieked. So they had a name. He seemed to have realised the dire situation he’d gotten himself into as well. The boy frantically pulled on the netting, but it was holding fast. Nikola scrambled to get a bolt in the crossbow, fingers trembling, he cursed himself for not having loaded it sooner--

“Hurry up and shoot him, Nikola!” Eduard yelped, but the crossbow stubbornly refused to load. From out of his pocket, Eduard grabbed the swiss army knife he’d kept, and threw it up at him. It narrowly missed his cheek and stuck into the bough overhead that the net hung from. Out of the corner of his eye, Nikola saw Lily cover her eyes.

This might have to be the first kill of the arena. That only made his fingers shake more. Nikola glanced up, to find the boy -- Vladimir -- having gotten his hands on the knife and pulled it out the bark, and was making hasty work cutting a slit in the net devastatingly fast. The bow finally loaded, he aimed it up, pulled the trigger--

--It missed by a mile. The bolt went sailing over the branch entirely and into the thicket. With no time to retrieve it, he loaded up again…

… But the boy had climbed out by now, and was hanging onto the outside of the net for dear life. Eduard tried jumping to reach him, but he was too far up, even for Nikola. No, the only way was with bolts.

“Please -- don’t -- stop shooting at me!” Vladimir cried desperately.

“I have to!” Nikola retorted. What was the use in asking that? This was… This was the only way to win. He aimed up again. Vladimir had climbed up the netting, having torn a hole in it, and was balancing on the branch by now, his slim body no weight at all to it. He was obviously experienced in trees -- of course. He was from District 7. And if he allowed him to get much further, they’d lose him for his ability to climb around like a squirrel, endlessly able to evade them. Nikola grit his teeth, took careful aim, and fired. In a moment of fierce ruthlessness, he aimed for the heart.

But Vladimir turned to scramble back, and it hit his upper arm instead. The bolt penetrated deeply. He cried out, as red began to stain his jacket, and pulled it out -- a mistake. Now with nothing holding the blood in, the red began to bloom larger than ever.

Nikola’s heart skipped a beat. For a moment he was sickened with himself, lowering the crossbow. The next, Eduard had grabbed his hand, looking at him intensely.

“Finish the job.”

… Of course. He had to finish him off. This wasn’t optional -- this was the Hunger Games. For a split second Nikola wished he was as young as Lily, able to cover his eyes and look away while the cattle was slaughtered -- but he was from District 10. He had to show some grit in taking out the animals. But his fingers were fumbling as they attempted to load the final bolt into the holder.

Meanwhile Vladimir, ignoring his wounded arm, was backing further towards the trunk, where he could swing up and away, but his recent injury was proving more than a problem. It simply had no strength left. He could only really try and hoist himself up with one arm, and two feet as footholds. Well, not if Nikola had anything to say on the matter. He aimed up and fired.

One miss. Two misses. Three. The third one was remarkably close though, it was just his hands, they were shaking too damn badly. He’d never killed before.

Four misses.

“I think he’s out of range, Nikola,” said Eduard, helplessly, “we tried our best.”

Nikola looked up. Vladimir was a bigger target than birds, but the trees here ran high, and his body was slim and light, able to reach the high branches. Not to mention other branches obscured and obstructed him. Nikola scowled, shook his head, then sighed. He would have so liked that to be a split second decision, one shot straight through the neck to finish him off, and he’d never have to think about the boy again...

“Yeah, but… Now what?” He asked hopelessly.

“Is it over now?” Lily squeaked from behind them. The two turned. She was backed up against a tree in fright, hands over her face, though she was now peeping through gaps in her fingers.

“Yes, it’s over,” said Nikola.

“No.” Eduard pointed up, and Nikola squinted, following his finger. “He’s still up there. I… don’t think he can get from tree to tree anymore.”

“... It’s his arm,” he slowly realised. Nikola’s heart sank. This meant they had a second chance to kill him. He should be happy, it was one step closer to home, but… “We’ve trapped him.”

“Does that mean you’re going to try again?” Lily whispered.

“Yes,” Eduard sighed, “look, he can’t stay up there forever. He’ll starve. So we either starve him, or if he makes an attempt to run, we shoot him.”

Nikola nodded, but his heart sank, if possible, even further. He knew he was going to have to do the shooting if it came to it. He was the only one able to work the crossbow, and besides, he couldn’t appear weak to the Capitol audience. No one sponsored pathetic, even if it was Lily. Sure, the girl was sweet and simple-minded, but she was not a winner. Nikola knew if he wanted to be victorious, he’d have to be ruthless.

So he tightened his grip on his crossbow.

“We’ll keep a guard on him,” he said, “Lily and Eduard, you should get our stuff from the river. Get some sticks and rocks for a campfire too, it’ll be dusk soon. I’ll stay here, and… and…” He trailed off, but they understood. They were probably glad to be out of it, even for a little.

Meanwhile Nikola took his duffel bag, lay it at his feet, and stood guard against the tree. One snap of a twig, one suspicious rustle, and he’d be pointing his crossbow at the sky faster than lightning. The boy Vladimir was quiet for now, though every so often he’d wince or groan too audibly. It set him on edge. Nikola knew he was attending, or at least attempting to attend, the wound he himself caused. He burned with guilt, but tried to maintain a brave face. After all… people were watching.

Nikola jumped out of his skin when he heard the loud snap of a twig, a gasp, a swear, and then something fall on his shoulder. In a trice he whirled, and aimed up at the sky, like he told himself he would. Vladimir’s white face peered back down at him, hanging precariously off a tall branch. He attempted to crawl backwards onto the thick of the bough, and Nikola’s knuckles whitened on the trigger.

“Don’t move!” He shouted up.

“Don’t shoot!” Vladimir shouted back, frantically. “Don’t -- I just dropped -- that’s my token -- you have to give it back!”

His grip didn’t slacken (though it shook like mad), nor did Nikola take his eyes off him. Even from down here, the dark stain of blood was evident on his sleeve.

“Please!” He called again. Desperation was beginning to seep into his voice. “It’s mine! Give it back!”

His hands were beginning to shake again, and Nikola cursed himself out for it. He allowed his eyes to flick down to what had hit him. Lying in the grass was something shiny and reflective, but the grass covered most of it. A trick? A trap? He was certainly crafty enough for it…

“What is it?” Nikola called up.

“I said -- my token,” he replied, growing frustrated, “it’s nothing to you, it’s mine. You can’t keep it.”

“I don’t see how I could give it back,” he snapped right back. Vladimir was beginning to edge back along the branch again, so he redoubled his aim. “And I said don’t move!”

“Or what? You’ll shoot me?” Vladimir retorted. “You can’t reach from up here.”

“I could climb up into range,” Nikola replied stoutly. Vladimir laughed. It wasn’t malicious. It was more hysterical than anything.

“No offense, but you’ve got a f*cking good build. You could lift weights and sh*t and you’ve got muscle on you. These branches couldn’t hold that.”

Nikola was torn between feeling flattered and offended. Thankfully he was saved from feeling either, because at that moment Eduard and Lily came bursting through the forest.

“We heard shouting!” Eduard cried. “What’s going on?!”

“It’s nothing,” said Nikola, teeth grit. “Probably just one of his ploys. We’ll ignore him and set up camp here. I don’t… I don’t think there’s many tributes left to come along and startle us, so let’s not bother sleeping in bushes tonight.”

Eduard and Lily nodded in compliance, but Nikola only had eyes for Vladimir, high up in his trees. His face had crumpled for a moment, but a moment later, he’d sat back against the trunk, clutching his bad arm. Nikola did feel a stab of sorrow for him then. But a moment later something shiny and reflective caught his eye from the ground, drawing his attention away. It was the dropped item. Glancing behind him to check that Lily and Eduard were busy setting up, Nikola quickly bent down, and scooped it up.

… It was a brooch. A fine one at that, made from some kind of dark green gemstone, with detailed golden edging. From the back several beads also hung down, clearly meant to fasten to something, though Nikola couldn’t think what. There was already a clasp for fastening it to fabric. Nikola ran a hand over the gem. It was smooth and cool.

“--Nikola!” Lily suddenly called. He hastily stuffed it into his jacket pocket and turned around.

“What?”

“Can you help us?” She asked. She gestured to the firewood set up. “I just can’t make it light!”

Nikola looked at her, and gave a half-smile. “Alright. The trick is, you have to…” Then he stopped. Nikola turned to look behind him.

“... Are you alright?” Lily asked, frowning.

“I… yeah. Yeah -- I’ll light the fire,” he said, turning back around. For a moment he could have sworn he’d heard the snapping of a twig. It didn’t sound like it had come from Vladimir…

Chapter 21: Before

Chapter Text

Roderich found himself becoming increasingly more agreeable to Elizabeta’s company. He remembered the first time he saw her: the girl with the long, light brown hair, tied back in a high ponytail, two axes swinging in the cool Training Centre arena, catching the harsh bright lights. He remembered thinking what a beastly girl she must be, to swing with such violence, and to thud her axe so deeply into the soft, felted ground. How despicable must she be, for the Careers to want her.

His opinion had mollified a little when she had come over to apologise for her alpha dog’s behaviour, Alfred, a boy far more beastly than her. At first expecting her to come bearing harsh words and snide remarks on his back, Roderich had been pleasantly surprised to be greeted by a girl who did not condone bullying behaviour. Even more pleasantly surprised to find she had a personality beyond the axes -- she liked to run, and be social with her friends, and had a hot temper to boot about injustices. Roderich remembered almost everything they spoke about -- then she had to leave, and he supposed he understood, because of course, like everyone else, she wanted to have a chance to win the Games. He still felt secretly superior over her for not sucking up to Careers and Capitol citizens, but he understood the merits.

There had been one, shining moments in the Tribute Tower gardens further still, when they watched the sunset disappear over the shining streets of the Capitol on one of their final days of freedom. He felt close to her then, when they talked about intelligent things like music and books. But she left almost as soon as she arrived.

Oh, what luck to have chanced upon her in the arena again! To even have her throw away her chance with the Careers and pick him to help! Roderich knew it came from a place of pity, but curiously he did not detest it. She certainly never treated him like an invalid. Every day, she woke him up at the crack of dawn to hunt, gather, and refill water skins. Roderich was put in charge of camouflaging the cave, and did a much better job than her too. He could also expertly conceal traps and snares -- maybe a little too expertly. They often came up with nothing to offer them. Elizabeta pushed him to his very limits in the arena, so his back was positively wracked with pain by the end of the day, but it was worth it. He was useful in their team -- he was. Roderich had never felt such glowing pride in himself, combined with deep sadness.

It was now the sixth day of the arena. It had been kickstarted by two canon fires, but neither of them could be too sure of who it was until dusk. Elizabeta, unsurprisingly, was already awake, and polishing her axe.

“Nowhere near us,” she whispered, though there was an edge brought on by uncertainty in her tone. “We should be fine.”

Roderich slowly soothed his back out. He had made himself a bed of leaves and moss, but for all the good it did he may as well have slept in a river.

“I don’t doubt it. So, what’s on the list today?”

“We stay alive.”

It was their little joke. Not a very good one, but neither of them were great comedians.

They packed and were ready for the day in an instant -- Elizabeta had done most of it while he was still asleep. Firstly they refilled the water skins and checked the traps -- nothing. Again. The sun was also hiding behind clouds, so the weather was cold and blowy, and both of them had to wrap their jackets around themselves tightly.

If a tribute jumped out at them, Roderich had no weapon. They had Antonio’s trident, but neither of them knew how to use it, so it lay forgotten in a corner of the cave. Not that he’d be any more proficient with any other weapon; this was something of which he mostly depended on Elizabeta for. And he knew, all too well, that at any point she could turn on him. It was deeply unsettling to think about. Especially recalling their very first night together, on the third day of the arena…

He had been awake when she raised the axe above his neck. Just barely, but awake. He recalled how his heart pounded, his body tensed… But Roderich never cried out. He didn’t even try and jump up and defend himself. Because if he wanted it to be done any way… He wanted it to be quick. She had attempted to mercy kill him. But she didn’t.

Why?

He had no idea.

He spent the morning digging for katniss roots in the riverbank. There weren’t many, but enough to feed them one meal, and Elizabeta hopefully wasn’t far off, catching dinner with her axes. Unfortunately axes weren’t the best for hunting small animals, so they mostly relied on his greenery knowledge. She had absolutely insisted at one point that they had a pack of dried fruits -- she had searched the cave high and low, practically tore his moss mattress apart -- and nothing was to be found. So many nights they were starving hungry, living a seemingly vegetarian diet.

And it was harder and harder to identify plants. His glasses had become dirtier and dirtier as the days progressed. Roderich washed them in the stream every day, but somehow they always became filthy with mud flecks and smudges and steam.

“You could tell me what they look like and I’ll find them,” Elizabeta suggested once. But she proved to be hopeless at defining anything but flowers.

Afternoons weren’t much different from the mornings, except Roderich rested more, since his back positively creaked from strain. He wished he had his painkillers on him, or even some kind of soothing cream. He had small morsels to keep him going -- a nut here, a berry there -- for all the good it did. They were practically starving.

The only good part was evening. Roderich would slump against his mossy bed, lying completely flat on his front until the pain had subsided. Sometimes he’d accidentally doze off, though he was meant to keep first watch. Elizabeta seemed to understand, though he felt the guilt anytime he noticed the bags under her eyes. In the arena, sleep and normal conversation before night was blissful. Not to mention fascinating to find out how different lives they lead.

“I’d have to get up at half six, every morning,” Elizabeta told him, “so I could wash and dress, and then get to school. I was never that good at school. English and maths were okay -- and PE was my best subject -- but other than that... I was pretty hopeless.”

“I never went to school,” he told her, “my parents were too ashamed to let me out the house, though of course I don’t mind. I had a tutor instead, a lovely woman. She taught me piano, cello, and the violin.” He sighed wistfully. Roderich longed for a violin now. Playing it always comforted him; a sad-to-happy tune could change his mood in an instant.

“If only I had a teacher like her,” Elizabeta snorted, “I had horrible old teachers, though maybe it was fair because we were pretty horrible students. We locked our physics teacher in a locker once, and he never forgave us for that. Tiny man, he was, but so angry, all the time.”

“Did you have many friends in school?”

“... Sort-of,” she admitted, “people liked me because I shouted back at the teachers when I lost my temper. They found it funny. And I had a group of girls I’d jog with, and hang around after school with. We went into the woods a lot, but we never really did anything besides our chores.”

“I bet they’re missing you.”

“Bet you they’re not,” she snorted, “I got them into trouble a lot.”

“Even so,” Roderich insisted, “you’re not just what you do. You’re funny, and bright, and sporty. You said yourself the class liked you.”

Elizabeta went silent for a while. He blushed, realising how forward that sounded coming from him.

“I’m sorry--”

“People would miss you too,” she finally said. Roderich shook his head.

“My tutor was dismissed when I was seventeen. My parents would be glad to be rid of me. There’s no one left to miss me,” he said, sadly. Then, to his surprise, Elizabeta gave him a smile, and a funny sideways glance.

“I’d miss you.”

Chapter 22: The Unrelenting

Chapter Text

It had almost been a full week in the arena. A full week of hunting and gathering. A full week of looking for his next victim to kill. Once upon a time, Ivan didn’t know, he might have only killed when necessary. Now he killed, and he killed -- and he wanted to go home.

The girl from 9. She’d made the mistake of lighting a fire in the daytime. Ivan had followed the smoke and destroyed her before the Careers got near. She had screamed and screamed and screamed, and wouldn’t stop even when he begged her to, until he delivered the killing blow. The blood was still all over his clothes, and Ivan wore them as a mark of shame and anguish. Even his precious strip of pink scarf had been stained red, much to his dismay.

Ivan lived in the mountain now, in one of the caves littered about it. It provided good shelter. Ivan also found he could hunt, and hunt well. He lived off a diet of poorly cooked and cleaned rabbits and foxes, while scouring the arena for new tributes. Ivan didn’t want to kill, but he wanted to go home. Then at last, he found victims, on complete accident, as he was hunting down for his next meal. His ears pricked up at the sound of a crackling campfire, and… voices? Yes, voices! Ivan started towards them at once, sword ready in his hand. He got nearer and nearer the voices, until he could actually see the tributes just ahead of him, then ducked behind a tree for cover.

There were three of them. Two men, and a young girl. Ivan eyed them for weapons… Only one of them had a weapon. A crossbow, laid across his lap like a puppy, as he sat around the fire with the others. If the others had weapons they were smaller, but what was a knife against a sword? Ivan drew it slowly, carefully, and waited for the opportune moment.

He also caught snatches of their conversation.

“That’s the last of the fish, Lily,” Eduard was saying, as he handed over a small sardine on a stick. “Here. You have it.”

“Oh, thank you!” She said, grabbing it off him. Then, curiously, she glanced upwards. “But what about…?”

Ivan followed her gaze, then did a double take. There was a boy up there -- the boy from 7. He was leaning against the trunk with an injured arm, unable to get away. Ivan looked to the trio on the ground, then to him again. If he killed the three, then he’d have to be the one to climb up there and finish him too, and Ivan didn’t know if all those branches could hold him. He waited.

Nikola huffed. “He’s stolen enough off us I think he’d be able to feed himself.”

“That’s not fair!” Vladimir called down. He sounded frustrated, and desperate. “I’m injured!”

“Yes, and serves you right!” Nikola called upwards.

“Shut up!” Eduard added.

Lily looked at her fish, troubled, but she did start eating it, albeit with a guilty look on her face. “Well… I think it’s quite clever. His strategy.”

“Lily, he’s the enemy,” Eduard reminded her.

“I know,” she replied, stung, “I’m not stupid. I’m just saying. It’s clever.”

There was a short, sombre silence that followed. Ivan kept his ears pricked for more. This was good! At this rate they’d end up luring him down the tree with friendship… Then he’d strike.

“... Not that clever,” Vladimir admitted, sullenly, “it’s a lot of work, memorising where everyone is, then I have to alternate between them, and you’re all so far apart--”

“Seriously, be quiet,” snapped Eduard.

“--And I only do it because I can’t hunt or shoot or memorise leaves like the rest of you,” he finished, ignoring him.

“It’s still clever though,” insisted Lily, for it was in her nature to find out about people. “I couldn’t climb trees like you.”

“I grew up in district 7. We all know how to climb trees; it’s not clever at all.”

“Then--” she continued, “it’s clever you know how to be sneaky. We didn’t know we were being stolen from for ages and ages!”

A thief! So that’s why they netted him. Though Ivan couldn’t remember any of his possessions being taken. He felt a streak of pride then. No one would dare steal from him!

“Oh…” Vladimir actually sounded a little pleased at that. “Yeah. I’m pretty good at being sneaky. I’ve been doing it all my life.”

“Please don’t go into your whole life story,” Nikola begged.

“Then give me back my token!” Vladimir said. He angled himself so he could look down on the trio, who were all gazing back up at him with mixed expressions of annoyance, wonder, and anger. “Please, for pity’s sake! It’s of no use to you. It’s mine!”

“You have his token?” Lily asked, and a strange, scrunched up expression crossed her. “... Can I see it?”

“It’s only a brooch,” said Nikola, handing it over. Ivan saw something vaguely green and reflective pass from his hands to Lily’s, and she clasped it like it was incredibly fragile.

“Oh!” She gasped. “It’s so pretty!”

“It’s glass,” sniffed Eduard, looking over, “it’s made of glass. That’s not even a real gem.”

“It’s still pretty,” Lily argued. She looked up at Vladimir. “I’m sorry. I don’t know how I can give this to you. Is it really yours?”

“Yes!” He replied in exasperation. “Mine and my brothers. It used to belong to my mother.”

“You have a brother!” She exclaimed happily. “So do I.”

Then she stopped. Ivan remembered Basch’s picture in the sky on the first night of the arena. He couldn’t help feeling happy about it -- he never liked the overprotective types, he would have ruined his chances of killing her in the arena.

“... Or, I did,” she said, then appeared to clam up, stroking the pretty brooch. Eduard sighed.

“It’s okay,” he said, patting her awkwardly on the shoulder, at the same time, glaring up at Vladimir. “It’s okay…”

“It’s not okay,” he snapped down, “her brother’s dead. That’s the opposite of okay. If I were her, I’d have completely given up by now.”

“You’re not helping!” Nikola called up at him. “Be quiet, or I’ll -- I’ll throw your precious brooch in the river.”

“It’s true though. I couldn’t even try to live without him -- he’s all I have left.” He shifted. “So Lily, you might not be okay, but you sure as hell are brave. Braver than any of us, probably.”

“I’m serious, I will!” Nikola shouted again.

“No, no--” mumbled Lily, clutching the brooch to her chest. “... It’s helping. Kind-of. I -- I mean -- I don’t think anyone could be okay in these Games. So we’re all brave. Right?”

“Right,” Vladimir agreed.

Wrong, Ivan thought, with a scowl. This child could not be more wrong. It was not brave to hide in trees and wait for other tributes to be picked off. It was not brave to train yourself for the arena to slaughter everyone else and emerge victorious. No, only he and a few others were brave. People who had the incentive and drive to murder, just like the Capitol wanted. Only the very bravest survived these.

“... My brother was very brave,” mumbled Lily. The two men exchanged glances over her head -- this was the first she was opening up, properly opening up -- about her brother. “Very brave. He wanted to give up his whole life to save mine. But, he…” she sniffed thickly, “... he couldn’t. And I don’t know if I can win without him.”

“I don’t think any of us really win,” muttered Eduard, “we just… live.”

“Of course one of us wins,” said Vladimir scathingly, “it’s the damned Careers. They got what they sacrificed their whole youth to do; they won. It’s what they want.”

“No, it’s what they think they want,” he snapped back, “if there was a way to get fame and money by a way other than this--”

“Right, but there isn’t,” he interrupted, “and they’ve only grown up with this, we all have. So they do win.”

“Can you really say surviving through all this hell, murdering people, and being forced to live with what you’ve done afterwards, can be counted as winning?” Eduard retorted. “The nightmares and the guilt and the… the insanity of it all!?”

“... Do you really think they get nightmares?” He asked, quietly. They all fell silent.

“... Some of them might,” mumbled Lily, “... I would.”

Ivan was on the verge of tearing out of the trees and shouting at them. Wrong, wrong, wrong! There was a winner -- and it was the people like him, who had the actual grit to get sh*t done! They all sat around their campfire, holding their little pity party, and not one of them was even attempting to kill the boy in the tree! None of them were winners, by any means. It just made his blood boil. How dare they be so self-pitying and foolish -- how dare they!

“... Just, do me one favour, okay?” Vladimir asked, his voice thick and shaky. “When you kill me… give the brooch back. Stuff it in a pocket, or something. The Capitol people will return it to my brother. It should belong to him.”

“Maybe you won’t die,” said Eduard, dully, “maybe you’ll outsmart us all and get away.”

“I’m devious, but I’m not that devious,” he muttered, “all my sponsors are going to the other girl, mark my words. I hate her so much. You’ve all got me pretty trapped up here, with my arm and all.”

“I want to return your brooch now,” said Lily suddenly, standing up. “Nikola won’t shoot. Will you?”

“Uhh--”

“Good,” she said, in a firm little voice. “I’m gonna try and climb up. You try and climb down, a bit, and I’ll hand it to you.”

“... I want his crossbow on the other side of the clearing,” said Vladimir, suspiciously, “I don’t trust you.”

“That’s fine.”

Lily took the crossbow and laid it at the base of a tree, far away from either of them. Ivan peered round -- but no, it was too far away from even him to use. He growled in annoyance, but it sounded like he was about to get his opportune moment after all.

Slowly, carefully, Vladimir navigated his way down the tree. Whether that was due to suspicion or his still bleeding arm though, it was probably a mixture of both. Lily tried to make her way up to him too -- to find she was absolutely hopeless at climbing, and much too afraid to try. With every bough downwards he stepped, Ivan felt his gut begin to curl in excitement. He tightened his grip on his sword.

All eyes were on the two to see if the exchange went without a hitch. Ivan crept forwards, body trembling. He gently snuck up to the nearest tribute. They had his back to him, a little hunched over, and gave a short gasp when Ivan grabbed the back of his hair suddenly, then put his other hand to his mouth to prevent crying out. Luckily it was muffled anyway by Vladimir jumping the last part of the tree. He turned to face the campfire, and Ivan could see his eyes widen as he saw him standing them, opened his mouth to shout, but too late--

--Ivan drew his sword and slit Eduard’s throat.

He made a horrible, elongated choking sound, and his eyes rolled upwards. The moment Ivan let him go he slumped forwards. A pool of blood began to flood out, but Ivan wasn’t done. He lunged for the second nearest, Nikola, who had scrambled out of the way with a shout, but he ducked, yelping, and the sword grazed his side instead, drawing blood but not nearly deep enough. Ivan ran forwards and nearly lunged again -- when a great pain exploded on the back of the shoulder he held his sword with.

Ivan twisted with a scowl at once. His eyes narrowed at what he found -- Vladimir, while he had been distracted, had dashed forwards and picked up the crossbow. It was a wonder he even knew how to use the thing, as he loaded up again and fired once more, though his bloody arm trembled from the strain of holding it. It shot past his neck. Ivan could actually feel it breeze past.

Vladimir was standing protectively, Lily shielded behind him though they were not allied. Ivan turned to finish Nikola off but another arrow plunged into his lower back -- and he’d had the last straw. Snapping, Ivan turned to march forth; the two of them scattered in two directions and Ivan went after Vladimir, the one with the weapon. His arm would prevent him from climbing away in time, nor could he run very fast -- Ivan, with his long legs, was catching up -- then something else plunged into his leg, sinking deep and spurting blood. Ivan shouted, and pulled it out, and threw it away before thinking. It had been a swiss army knife. And Lily had been the one to throw it.

She stood in shock of herself even now, staring at the hand that threw it, as if she couldn’t quite believe herself. Ivan was over to her in a matter of strides, leg aching with the strain he put on, and she stumbled back -- then something smashed over the back of his head. Furious, pale cheeks reddening in rage, Ivan turned. Nikola, again. He’d smacked over the back of his head a large chunk of log from the campfire. Ivan thrust the sword forwards at him again, and again it grazed his side, but wounded it further, and stained his clothes a deeper, darker red. Ivan advanced on him, ready to deliver the killing blow, when another bolt dug deep into his back, painfully so painfully, and he turned, eyes flashing.

He was really becoming tired with all their distractions. Killing these tributes should have been easy, instead it was annoying and it was going to take days to recover from all these wounds. There Vladimir stood again, protectively over Lily, the crossbow rattling worse than ever on the strain of his arm. Ivan gave a howl of rage and threw his sword like a spear at them. Vladimir dived. Lily didn’t.

She fell to the ground, her body bending backwards in a graceful arc. She hit the ground with a decisive thump, and cried out. The sword had plunged right into her stomach. There was no way she could survive that.

“No, NO!” Came a cry from behind him. Nikola. Ivan now had no weapon, but he did have brute strength. Yet he didn’t want to turn his back on Vladimir, the one with the weapon. The two of them were stronger and more dangerous than he initially thought.

Perhaps he ought to leave them here, and finish them off another time. He jabbed an accusing finger at Vladimir.

“I will go now,” he said, threateningly, “but you will be afraid of me next time you see me.”

Then Ivan ran.

He ran back to where he hid, swordless, breathless, and giddy. The dark night made it hard to see, and Ivan had lost a lot of blood from the fight. He felt like a porcupine from all the arrows digging into his back. Ivan ran and ran; it must have been a good forty-five minutes of straight running, before he even reached the stream around the mountain. Then on the verge of collapsing from the blood loss, Ivan climbed up.

His base was situated in a cave on the mountain. Not where the lava from the explosion had reached, although it had certainly given him a scare and set him running for the hills. Ivan all but crawled inside, then lay on his front, panting hard, uncomfortably hot, and dripping with sweat.

Those damned tributes. They had more grit in them than he realised. Clenching his teeth, Ivan reached up, and pulled the first arrow out of his shoulder. He didn’t yell, but he did bleed. At least he’d picked off two more tributes. That dwindled their numbers. Nine left. Only nine tributes. Ivan grabbed the second, which had lodged much deeper, and pulled. There was Alfred and Ludwig from 2. That weedy little boy from 3. Both from 7. That Nikola, the cripple (he was surprised he’d remained so elusive so far), and himself. Who was he missing? All this was giving him a headache, or maybe that was from where he’d been smashed over the head. Ivan pulled the last bolt from his back.

His whole body now wracked with pain -- the leg where the knife hit, three crossbow bolts, and a bruised back of the head. Ivan dragged himself over to the medical kit, wedged in with the rest of his tools, and grabbed the rolls of bandages. It was not nearly enough.

He stripped his jacket and his shirt. Then Ivan made himself sit up and begin wrapping himself. He was in for a painful and restless night. A parachute floated down, supplying him with more bandages, and some strange pills that Ivan swallowed down dry. At once they soothed his pain and allowed himself to bandages himself without grunting and groaning. Even his headache was cured. Then Ivan slipped his clothes back on, grabbed his sleeping back, and had been about to burrow down, when the Capitol anthem sounded, in the early hours of the morning.

“Surviving tributes of the Seventy-Fifth Annual Hunger Games.” Sadik Adnan’s voice boomed and reverberated around the cave. “You may be wondering the reason for my announcement. Well, I am here to invite you for another chance of supplies. Some of you may remember the Cornucopia, our beloved symbol of the Games, having fallen into the volcano our Gamemakers have designed. Fear not! The Cornucopia is not gone, and in fact, is still as full as ever with all of your hearts desires! Go to the volcano, today at evening, to find out.”

Then, the wall behind him fell away, enveloping the cave in the deadly hot glow of lava.
_______________

The night Ivan attacked had been a brutal one. The moment he ran, Nikola dropped to all fours, exhausted, his side bursting in pain, and heaving with sobs. Never, in his life, had he cried as he did then. He cried for the pain, he cried for the Games, but most of all, he cried over Eduard and Lily’s deaths.

Eduard, so practical and doubtful of himself, who only dreamed of doing something beyond an electrician. Lily, so sweet and simple-minded, so cheerful and optimistic, who just wanted to design something more than a peacekeeper wore. These dreams died with them, and with him. Nikola looked up, and her body lying prone on the floor didn’t help. The damned sword was still sticking out of her still!

Then he saw Vladimir, kneeling mutely by her body, and he was filled with rage.

“Get away from her!” He shouted, staggering to his feet, only to collapse again with a grunt at her other side. “Get… You’re the reason for this, you… If you hadn’t distracted us…”

“I know.”

His voice was quiet. It seemed to have closed up Nikola’s own throat, and suddenly he couldn’t blame Vladimir anymore. Because he knew it wasn’t his fault. It wasn’t anyone’s. It was just the Games.

“She was so young…” mumbled Vladimir weakly, “she reminded me of my own brother.”

A pause.

“Maybe, in a weird way, this is a blessing. I don’t think any of us could have killed her.”

Another pause. This time Nikola physically twitched when he spoke.

“Maybe she’s reunited with her brother now.”

Another twitch.

Do you think there’s a place after death?”

“Oh, shut up. Just shut up,” he snapped, in a weak voice, though the rage inside him was real, “you knew her for barely an hour. You didn’t even defend her, when it came to it, just jumped out the way. You’re just shocked you saw a person die. But I knew Lily. We talked, and I made her laugh, and she told me things about herself. I didn’t know her long, but… but long enough to feel… pain…”

He stifled another sob. Vladimir bit his lip.

“I’m sorry--”

“You should be. Now just shut up. You pretend like you know everything but you just don’t. So shut up.”

Vladimir didn’t speak after that, just sat in silence, across from Nikola. Several times he saw him wipe his eyes and felt bad, but was too overwhelmed with grief and pain right now to apologise.

He supposed he ought to have killed, or at least attempt to kill, Vladimir. The crossbow was right there, discarded by her feet. Yet somehow Nikolas couldn’t bring himself too, because he was too tired, too weary, his side aching too much, and too sad. He wanted to do something, but there was nothing left to do. They were dead.

“A hovercraft is going to come for them soon,” mumbled Vladimir eventually, “we should move away from the bodies.”

Neither of them moved.

“This whole thing is despicable,” whispered Nikola. Then he caught sight of Lily’s bracelet. It was just a few loose threads of string, half falling apart. The colours reminded him of wildflowers -- and suddenly he knew what he needed to do.

Nikola grabbed the crossbow at her feet. Vladimir flinched and began to crawl back, alarmed, but the next moment he’d thrown it away, uncaring whether it broke or not. Nikola didn’t want weapons anywhere near her right this moment. Then he knelt gingerly by some bushes, mindful of his wound, and began to pick handfuls upon handfuls of flowers. They hid near the base of trees, along bushes, and just along the grass, hidden beauties in the ugly games. Then he returned to her side and began to weave them throughout her body. He tried to arrange it so the colours looked nice on her. Different colours in her hair, entwined about her fingers, yellow ones covering the ugly wound. Her favourite colour was yellow. Vladimir watched what he was doing, then after a while, swallowed.

“Can I help?” He asked.

“No,” snapped Nikola harshly. Vladimir helped anyway, so that between them they collected such an abundance of flowers, so that they could cover Eduard as well, burying him in a scarf of flowers, though Nikola was sure he would hate that if he ever saw it. The last thing he did was remove Lily’s bracelet from her wrist, and slip it on his own. She wouldn’t need it anymore.

By the time Lily and Eduard were sufficiently covered in flowers, it was nearly daybreak. Birds were beginning to chirrup in the trees as the forest lightened again. They stood back and looked at their handiwork, Nikola with a hand to his side still. It had stopped bleeding, but his hand and clothes were stained red.

“What now?” asked Vladimir eventually, in a feeble voice.

“Now, we part ways,” muttered Nikola, “I hope to god I never see you again Vladimir.”

He said nothing. Nikola turned away, picked up his bag and crossbow, and left him there. Two minutes later the hovercrafts appeared to take away the bodies. Nikola turned to watch it lift them high above the trees, flowers gently falling from them. His heart ached to see Lily’s blonde hair waving in the breeze, the flash of Eduard’s glasses in the sunlight.

Then sounded the announcement.

Chapter 23: Unforgiving

Chapter Text

The sound of Sadik Adnan’s voice booming through the trees startled Ludwig awake. At once he grabbed his spear, and his other hand reached over instinctively to check if Feliciano was still there. He was, and he gripped Ludwig’s arm back, looking at him with big, frightened eyes.

“What’s going on?” He whispered.

“Shh!” He replied sternly. “I need to listen.”

He was saying something about a second chance at the Cornucopia… A second chance for fresh weapons and supplies… Dusk today, at the volcano…

Feliciano’s eyes widened when he heard it. As the anthem began to blare out as Sadik’s announcement closed, he whispered frantically. “Oh no, we can’t go!”

Ludwig frowned. This was the opposite of what he had expected from Feliciano. He’d thought he’d jump at the chance of food, especially since the river fish were beginning to become more and more elusive, and berries became more scarce. The Gamemakers were depriving them of sources, he was sure of it. “Why not?”

“A second chance at the Cornucopia! I couldn’t think of anything worse!” He declared.

“Why? It means good supplies, and fresh weapons.”

“But the bloodbath!” He exclaimed. “The first two minutes of the Games are the most deadly, everyone knows that! We can’t go and do it again!”

“There’s only nine tributes now -- including me and you,” said Ludwig, “it won’t be much of a bloodbath. Besides, I’m stronger than most in there. I can get in, fight my way to the supplies, then run out again.”

“But Alfred and Ivan are so scary,” he whispered, “anyway, I can’t go. I’m hurt.”

Feliciano’s wounds from the mink still hadn’t patched up, nor had his mental wound of losing Kiku. He cried on and off about him daily, blaming himself, becoming downright miserable. Ludwig couldn’t understand it. Surely Feliciano knew tributes would die in the arena? Kiku hadn’t been alive that long. And even if there was an argument to be made about him killing him -- Feliciano hadn’t set the mink on him. But it was his way to be overly emotional and Ludwig put up with it. In all other senses he quite liked Feliciano, and could be put to simple, dull tasks with ease.

They had only received short rolls of bandages to patch Feliciano’s wounds. These quickly ran out, and now he was wearing the last of them. Thankfully they’d finally scabbed over by now, though still very sore, and Feliciano had to limp everywhere with an aching lower back and shoulder. Ludwig used the unidentified pot of cream to rub over them tenderly, but whether it actually did anything neither of them knew.

“... We’ll see,” said Luwig, sighing, “let’s start the day. There’s no point going back to sleep now.” Though Feliciano was meant to be keeping watch.

Ludwig eased his teammate to his feet, and he leaned heavily on him and the rock, the blanket falling down around him. He left it there to sit him down by the riverbank. Feliciano dipped his toes in (he’d long since stopped wearing shoes, because they aggravated his ankle), and Ludwig left him there with some nuts to slowly peel and eat, the water bottle to fill, and the cream to rub on his wounds again, while he stowed away their things behind the rocks.

His spear, a knife, a blanket, half a box of matches, and some odd assortments of food left over from hunting. They also had a roll of twine that Ludwig used for various snares. Feeding themselves had become more and more difficult as the days progressed, as if the Gamemakers were trying to starve them out of their camp by the rocks. Ludwig stowed at all away, apart from the knife and spear, the re-joined Feliciano. He’d removed his jacket and shirt, and was busy applying cream to his shoulder. Almost bashfully, Ludwig kept his gaze averted, as he came towards him with the knife.

“I’m going to go check the snares,” he told him, “you should stay here, and try and spear some fish. I’ll leave you the spear.”

Feliciano blinked. “Shouldn’t I stay out of sight under the rocks? That’s what you told me to do last time.”

“Yes, well…” he coughed, “no one ever seems to come down here. I’m sure you’ll be fine -- and you’ll have the spear to defend yourself with.”

“I can’t even catch fish, and I definitely couldn’t kill someone…” he sighed mournfully, “can you cream my back?”

Ludwig went red. “I’m sorry?”

“You know!” Feliciano handed him the little pot of cream. “I can’t reach the bite on my lower back.”

“Ah. Right.”

Ludwig took the little pot of cream and knelt behind Feliciano’s thin frame. Whether it was thin from the Games or the District 3 poverty though, he was unsure. In broad daylight, his bites from the mink looked worse than ever. Deep, dark, tender red, barely healed properly, and felt a bit like thick jam when Ludwig dipped two fingers in the pot, and gently rubbed it on. He began on the lower back. Feliciano winced and fidgeted.

“Gentler!” He whined, though Ludwig was being as soothing as he could.

Their little pot of cream was running out fast. The bandages had also run out as Feliciano had taken the last of them off today. Ludwig bit his lip. Maybe he should go to the Cornucopia tonight after all, and get some medical supplies for him. Then he gave himself a shake. Feliciano was meant to die in this arena -- the more wounded the better.

So why did his heart sink to think that?

Feliciano stopped fidgeting and paddled his toes in the water. The spear lay limply by his side.

“I always wanted to see a proper river,” he mused as he paddled, “I lived in a big big city, so I’ve never even seen grass this green before. The water from our taps wasn’t as clear as this.” He splashed his toes a little more.

Ludwig moved onto his shoulder-bite… Then paused. He frowned. The bite wasn’t just sore… It was inflamed. Swelling. A word called to mind, a word Ludwig strangely dreaded -- inflected.

Feliciano’s wound was infected. Without the proper treatment, that infection would spread and spread. Again that panicky feeling on Feliciano dying rose in him, yet Ludwig forced it down, making himself calm. This was a good thing. It meant he would die and he had no reason to kill him… Right?

“Me and my grandfather had to boil the water on the stove every morning to make sure no horrible little germies were in it,” Feliciano praddled on, unaware, though whether he didn’t know he was infected because he couldn’t see or he just didn’t know the signs, he didn’t know.

“You… did?” Ludwig asked, trying to distract himself. Then he sighed. Of course he did. Ludwig knew he could never understand; he lived in Victor’s Row all his life, never once having to worry about basic needs.

“Uh-huh. It was our special morning task. We’re both early birds,” he said proudly, “it would be our special time together, before work and school. My brother never got up early enough.”

Gilbert never got up early enough either, though this was due to raging hangovers.

“Grandfather worked in a big factory, making television parts. He was working there since he was eighteen. I was going to work there too, and Lovi probably will, but he doesn’t want to. Lovi doesn’t really want to do anything. He just likes sleeping -- oh, and his tomato plants.”

“My grandfather mentors our tributes,” said Ludwig, “he gives good advice, too, since he was once a part of the Games.”

“How horrible for him,” Feliciano shivered. He shrugged.

“Not really. He’s proud of himself for it. He keeps his victor’s crown in the parlour, so new guests will see it the moment they arrive.”

Ludwig thought about where the crown rested now. His grandfather had cleared a space for Ludwig’s own crown when he returned with it. The notion wasn’t new to him; his grandfather went on and on about it all the time, much to Gilbert’s chagrin -- but now thinking about it, the thought was strange, detached. He felt the weight of his iron cross around his neck, but even that felt like it belonged to someone else.

“I don’t think I like your grandfather very much,” said Feliciano, truthfully. Ludwig shrugged.

“It’s okay. I don’t blame you.”

He screwed the lid back on the pot, then averted his eyes from his body again, as Ludwig went to replace it back in the pack behind the rocks. Thankfully Feliciano was fully clothed again by the time he turned back around.

“Now, just try and get us some fish by the time I get back,” he sighed, “or you’re going to be awfully hungry for lunch.”

“We ate all the beef strips yesterday…” Feliciano recalled mournfully. “Okay. But I keep telling you -- I’m just not good at fishing.”

Ludwig headed into the forest to the sound of his teammate over-aggressively spearing his spear into the stream. He sighed, but… curiously… he wasn’t nearly irritated with him as he was at the beginning. He’d gotten to know Feliciano a little; his home life; his brother and grandfather, and all of his school friends' names. And, as he trekked deeper into the foliage, his hopes, his dreams, his fears. Feliciano was scared stiff by the thought of killing another. All he wanted to do with his life was find happiness somewhere, maybe selling his brothers tomatoes, and live.

He suddenly stopped, paralysed in the woods. That boy was going to die.

Feliciano would die, here, in the Games, maybe even in the next few days. And whether Ludwig was going to have to do it himself, or let another tribute, he didn’t know. The thought filled him with a strange emotion -- a heavy emotion, one filled with dread and anxiety. The heavy iron cross suddenly got so much heavier, not a token anymore but something weighing him down.

Putting it out of his mind was no good either. Ludwig walked, but now he felt the cross bumping on his chest, like a death toll, and not for himself. There were only few people he would consider sacrificing his life for. Was Feliciano one of them? Could he bear to shame his whole family, especially after Gilbert’s disgrace, and let him live?

Ludwig came to the snare he set. It was totally empty. It was the Gamemaker’s doing, he was sure, because this trap never failed him before. That was when he heard it: Feliciano’s scream.

It wasn’t the first time he heard him scream, but it was the first time it caused his blood to run cold. Without thinking, without stopping to re-cover the trap, Ludwig began running. He crashed through trees and bushes, not bothering to stay quiet, and desperately hoping whatever he was screaming about was something stupid. Maybe one of the fishes just brushed one of his toes, or else he accidentally cut himself with the spear, don’t let it be a tribute, don’t let it be a tribute--

But the sight he saw when he leapt out of the trees was unmistakable: his old training rival, Alfred, leering over the top of poor Feliciano with a spear to his chest. Feliciano’s own spear was being held by the blond boy with thick eyebrows from 5, Arthur or something like that. The moment Ludwig hurtled out of the trees Feliciano saw him, and he cried out for help. Alfred saw him too. But not before Ludwig had leapt on Arthur from behind, pulled the knife out of his belt, and put it to his throat.

“Drop the spear,” he ordered. Arthur attempted a vain stab behind him, and Ludwig pressed it tighter to his throat, so that beads of blood trickled out. “I SAID DROP THE SPEAR!”

Arthur dropped it. It rolled down the bank and nearly landed in the river.

“Well well well, if it isn’t my old training partner,” said Alfred, scowling. “Put the knife down, Ludwig.”

“Take the spear away from Feliciano first,” he replied.

“So that’s his name? Feliciano?” Alfred looked at him, then seemed to dig it deeper into his chest. Feliciano gave a whimper of pain. “Doesn’t look like much to me. Beats me why you’d want to partner with him. Didn’t he cry at the reaping?”

Ludwig grit his teeth. “I said take the spear away, or I’ll slit your partner’s throat.”

Alfred’s eyes flashed for a moment behind his glasses. He surveyed Ludwig and Arthur for a moment. His eyes were completely off Feliciano, who Ludwig noticed, his arm was beginning to creep towards Arthur’s lost spear. Then he humphed.

“Who says that I care? There can only be one winner,” he said, “you -- you always had the advantage of coming from a victor’s family. You’ll shame them when I win.”

Arthur opened his mouth, doubtless about to warn his partner about Feliciano’s hand, which was almost within reach of the weapon now. Ludwig re-doubled his grip, and noticed Alfred flinch, as more blood began to drip, and it was all he needed to know he did care about him after all.

“Alfred, this isn’t the training arena!” Ludwig snapped, determined to hold his attention. “This isn’t a simulation that’s going to melt away! People’s lives are at stake -- this man’s life is at stake. Let Feliciano go, and I’ll let him go. We can fight this out, me and you, with our spears. That’s what you’ve always wanted, right? To beat me?”

“... No…” Alfred muttered, “it’s not about beating you. It’s about -- aRGH!”

For Feliciano had finally managed to get a hold of the spear, and plunge it deep into Alfred’s leg.

Alfred staggered back at once and his grip on the spear slackened. With very little time to act, Ludwig pushed Arthur away, down to the ground, and ran at Alfred instead. He brought the spear up defensively, but with his grip all wrong (he’d never been able to get quite the right grip on spears, Ludwig remembered--), giving him time to grab the shaft, yank it out of his grip, and toss it aside.

Now! Now was his time to do it! He slashed with his knife up Alfred’s chest, staining his top dark red, then slashed again, in the opposite direction, forming an X on him. Alfred did his best to duck, dodge and defend, always stepping backwards, but then he hit the riverbank unexpectedly, and began to overbalance into the stream. Ludwig caught a hold of the front of his shirt, and raised his knife to deliver the killing blow--

“STOP!”

His knife hovered in the air. That was Feliciano’s call. He whipped his head back in case Arthur might have gotten up and was threatening his teammate’s life, but Feliciano was just kneeling there, an expression of shock and horror on his face, clutching the bloodied spear like a lifeline. Arthur was whole metres away, massaging his throat. So Ludwig frowned, confused.

“What?”

“Don’t -- don’t kill him, Ludwig,” Feliciano pleaded, “this isn’t you. I know it, this isn’t you! You’re not… you’re not a…” He gulped. “Murderer.”

His feelings of confusion deepened. “He was about to kill you, and he would have laughed.”

“I know,” he said, “I know… But you’re not him. You’re better than that!”

“Feliciano, the whole point of the Games is to--”

“Please Ludwig!” He shouted, and now tears were beginning to stream down his face. “You’d be playing right into their hands!”

“Who’s hands?”

“The Capitol!”

“You’re not making any sense,” he said, and redoubled his grip on his knife, “there’s no way any of us can win if we don’t kill each other. That’s how it all works. None of us ever get out otherwise.”

“Ludwig, look at him,” begged Feliciano, “you know him. That’s a whole life! You can’t just -- just--”

He finally gave way to tears. Feliciano’s sniffles and sobs struck a chord in Ludwig, and he didn’t know why. It made his heart tug a little to see him so cast down. He looked to Alfred -- actually, really looked at him -- and he didn’t see a tribute. Ludwig just saw a boy, who had been filled with glorious, fantastical ideas of life in Victor’s Row; who let the praise go to his head and with no one to burst his bubble, remained that way. His large, leering blue eyes looked frightened, and his glasses were askew on his face. He was… just a boy. They were all just boys. There was no real enemy here.

Ludwig lowered Alfred down, so he could stand on his own two feet in the river.

“Go,” he muttered. Alfred blinked.

“What?”

“I said go! Leave us alone -- don’t take your spear, don’t take anything, just go!”

He stared numbly at the river, as Alfred finally took the heavy hint. He splashed out the river, and behind Ludwig’s back grabbed Arthur’s arm, and they both ran out, into the forest and away. They did even leave their spear behind. Ludwig wouldn’t have thought him to do that.

Slowly, gently, Feliciano sniffles subsided. Ludwig was still in shock. For the first time in his life, he was completely frozen stiff, stuck staring at the rushing water. He just… He just let a tribute go. A highly trained, dangerous one at that -- he had him dangling over a river, completely in the palm of his hand, and he just -- he just let him go!

“You did the right thing,” murmured Feliciano from behind him. He jumped; Ludwig hadn’t even known he’d gotten up. Feliciano was slightly lopsided still in the way he walked, and his eyes were still red, but he had a watery smile on his face. “I’m -- I’m so proud of you!”

Proud. Proud?! How could anyone have been proud of that?! The whole of Panem just watched his blunder at a soft-hearted little boy’s command! Proud -- he should be ashamed, that’s what. And -- Ludwig groaned -- his grandfather. Gilbert. They’d be watching him in horror. How could he have forgotten his family, the few people who needed their pride back the most! Ludwig felt he’d let them down horribly.

“No,” he muttered, “that wasn’t right. That was all wrong. This isn’t -- these aren’t -- that’s not how the game works.”

“... Do you really want to play a game that kills innocent people?” Feliciano asked. There was too much innocence in his voice. All of a sudden he felt anger boiling at the pit of his stomach. Feliciano didn’t understand, how could he?! The chances of him being picked for the Games were so small, whereas to him, it was of utmost importance he volunteered! There had been a chance, a probability, that Feliciano could have continued his life as normal, with his loving grandfather and his loving brother, who didn’t mind what grades he got, who were proud of him whatever factory he worked in -- he couldn’t understand, because he had the luxury of being him!

So Ludwig exploded.

“Yes! Yes, Feliciano, I do!” He bellowed, rounding on him. The iron cross necklace bounced and flashed angrily in the sun. “It’s all I’ve ever known! It’s all I have to be! My family, my grandfather and my brother, they all expect me to kill, the whole of Panem wants me to kill! I can’t back out, I can’t refuse, I can’t give this any less than my best!” Ludwig ran a hand through his hair. It was tarnished and filthy now, as if he were truly coming apart at the seams. He was too angry to see the true fear Feliciano’s eyes -- Ludwig felt hurt, and angry, and betrayed, and he felt he had every right to be. “Now because of you and your suicidal ideals, I have to pick up this mess! No one will ever let me forget this; the Career tribute that let their victim get away! My grandfather has been shamed, again, this will haunt me to my grave -- and it’s all your fault!”

“M-My fault?” Feliciano gasped.

“Yes, your fault!” He bellowed. “My letting him get away has cost me everything -- everything -- don’t you see?!”

He stopped. Ludwig realised he’d been advancing on Feliciano the entire time he’d been speaking, and Feliciano had been limping back in haste, tears brimming in his eyes once more. He was looking at Ludwig with fear, real fear in his eyes. Ludwig trembled, now not from anger, but shame.

“... I’m sorry,” he said, quietly, “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“I’m not scared of you,” Feliciano whimpered in reply, “I’m scared of the way you’re acting.”

He saw his bitten ankle was trembling from his weight. Ludwig remembered it was still very swollen and sore. He reached out to offer an arm, steady him, but Feliciano flinched back, like he was going to hurt him instead. The flinch was a little too much on his injury; he went tumbling onto the grass, almost falling upon the spear he’d discarded. Feliciano sobbed again with pain.

Deeper shame, more shame than he’d ever felt in his life, filled him. Ludwig was sure his face was a bright, furious red. He was still furious, but now with himself more than anything. It was not Feliciano’s fault he was borne of district 3, with little to no cares in the world. It was not his fault he was silly and stupid, and he should have known better to take out his frustrations of his situation on him. Besides, in a few days, Ludwig was sure it would all be resolved. Either he’d be the victor, or he’d be dead.

He remembered the announcement from that morning, and resolved himself to go. It would all be over much quicker in that sense anyhow. He’d die at a second bloodbath, or they’d be steps closer to winning. Besides -- Feliciano needed medicine. He knew he could never stand it if the boy died and he could have done something about it. Ludwig knelt down by Feliciano’s side, who was still sniffling a little, then sighed.

“I’m sorry,” he apologised again, “let me make this up to you.”

Chapter 24: Relentlesss

Chapter Text

“Let me make this up to you.”

His back and shoulder ached terribly from where he’d fallen on them, but his ankle throbbed most of all, because he’d forced himself to walk on it. Feliciano wanted to believe Ludwig’s apology, he really did, but he just acted so scary back there. Almost killing Alfred and Arthur, then snapping at him, because his stupid talking had changed his mind at the last second. But what Ludwig refused to believe, that Feliciano knew was true, was that he was good. He’d seen it the moment they allied together in the arena. Ludwig could have murdered them in cold blood for being so imcompetant and foolish, but he didn’t, and that just had to mean something!

Unfortunately being a good person wasn’t seemed to be taught back in district 2. Feliciano let his tears collect in his eyes again. They rolled down his cheeks, but he couldn’t lift a hand to wipe them away. Ludwig stood again and set off, and was now rustling around in the rocks for something, but at this present time he couldn’t care less. Ludwig might be deciding to leave him and Feliciano would stay, lying here, until a mutt or a tribute got to him. It was the sad truth that both of them couldn’t survive here.

Two weeks ago he was normal. Two weeks ago he was happy and normal, sitting in lessons, picking up the groceries on his way back from school, chatting and laughing amicably to his family. They’d be missing him too. Maybe grandfather was drinking. He did that when he was particularly sad, but Feliciano couldn’t see why, because it just made him sadder. Lovino would be even more rude to people than normal, but even he would cry. Hopefully they could comfort each other, though their relationship was a little rocky at the best of times.

Finally, Ludwig had finished whatever he was doing in the rocks. He walked back over, and his shadow cast upon him. Feliciano squinted back up, and fear gripped his heart to see him holding their pack, and all of their stuff, including the two spears.

“You are leaving me!” He burst out -- then began to cry bitterly again. It was to be expected, he supposed…

“No -- no, I’m not going to leave you,” said Ludwig quickly, “we just need to find somewhere else to stay. It’s no use camping out here if Alfred and Arthur know where we are. They could sneak up on us again.”

Feliciano hiccuped. “Oh.”

“Here, hold these,” said Ludwig, thrusting the spears into his hands. Feliciano hated holding them and wanted to discard them at once, but for Ludwig’s sake he clutched at them tightly.

“I can’t walk,” he said, sniffling, “I don’t have the energy right now.”

“It’s alright. I’m going to carry you.”

Then, before Feliciano could have a chance to protest, he felt strong arms wrap around him. His instincts were to squirm away and break free, but right now, he was far too exhausted to do more than loosely grip the spears. Plus Ludwig was warm and comforting. Feliciano let his head loll back over his arm, so his hair fell away from his face, to stare up at him. Ludwig was looking resolutely away, a gentle blush on his face.

He was embarrassed from the argument, Feliciano realised. So he did his best to smile and pat his arm, as if to tell him “everyone makes mistakes”. Oddly, that made him blush more.

Ludwig carried him for quite a time, but he didn’t mind. In fact the gentle rocking of his body soothed him some, and if he closed his eyes and blocked out sound, he could almost imagine he was back home, seven years old, safe from the reaping, maybe being carried up to bed by his grandfather after a special treat of hot milk. Then a bird would chirrup jarringly louder than the others, awakening him from his fantasy, and he’d have to begin all over again. Yet strangely, Ludwig carrying him felt comforting too.

Because Ludwig was strong, and Ludwig was smart. He was brave, bold, could take on five people in combat blindfolded with his hands behind his back. He knew loads about edible bugs and plants, and about general survival too. He was tough. He had been trained for this. … Yet his smile faded when he thought of him winning. Feliciano didn’t want Ludwig to get killed… But he didn’t want him to kill either. It was a monstrous thing to do.

Ludwig walked for hours, until the sun was high, high in the sky. Feliciano could hear him beginning to grunt a little from exertion.

“Do we need to take a break?” He asked him.

“No. I can keep going.”

“Until what, you fall over?” He scolded gently. “I think we should rest. Look, we’ve got plenty of time until night!”

So Ludwig laid him on the grass. By this time Feliciano was able to sit up, although his ankle still hurt like the devil, as did his back and shoulder. They’d been following the river (Ludwig hoping to find another structure of rocks), so he took the time to refill water skins as well. He was completely quiet as he did so. Too quiet, even for him. By now he’d be telling him about future measures they ought to take, and how they should divide up ration for the day.

… Nothing.

Feliciano was worried. “Are there… Is there anything bothering you?”

Ludwig paused. “No,” he eventually said, “not at all.”

The pause in itself was suspicious. Ludwig never held back information from him before.

“Are you sure?” He pressed. “Was it about the fight we had? Because I swear, I’m not mad at you or anything! We’re friends!” He smiled warmly. “Friends forgive each other.”

“I wasn’t thinking about the fight,” he said, and by his tone Feliciano could tell he as being truthful. “I was… I was thinking about the announcement. I think I should go to the bloodbath.”

The very blood in his veins seemed to freeze. Feliciano’s smile dropped. “What?”

“Hear me out,” he sighed, “I think it would be beneficial for both of us. I’d get a chance at fresh weapons, at any rate--”

“I don’t want you to have fresh weapons!” Even as he thought it, Feliciano could feel baby tears beginning to form in his eyes. He blinked them back as best he could. “I don’t want you to die!”

“Please keep your voice down!” He implored. “I could get painkillers and medicine for you--”

“I don’t need painkiller!” He insisted.

“You can’t even stand up on your own.”

“I can too!” If it would stop Ludwig from going, Feliciano decided he would endure the pain. He began to his feet, wobbling a little--

--But Ludwig leapt forwards, and eased him back down, holding his hand so that Feliciano might have something to squeeze the pain away. He almost burst into tears all over again at the simple act of kindness, knowing he only meant to be comforting, but it wasn’t working!

“See what I mean?”

“Why did you say medicine?” Feliciano began to sob. “I’m not sick! I don’t need it!”

“You are sick,” said Ludwig, “look at yourself.”

“That’s not what you meant though -- was it?” He asked, and by the way Ludwig went pale, he knew he struck gold. “I’m sick?!”

“You’re infected,” he finally admitted, “I’m sorry. I should have told you earlier.”

“I don’t feel infected!” Feliciano wept, hardly understanding the word. “I feel fine!”

“You feel fine now,” corrected Ludwig, “I saw it in your shoulder, when I rubbed the cream onto you. It was bright red and swelling. I don’t know what you’ve touched, or what you’ve leant on, but if the poison travels…”

His lip wobbled. “Am I going to die?”

“You’ll die if you don’t let me go to the Cornucopia,” replied Ludwig, shortly, “you do want to win these Games, do you?”

“No! I -- I mean, yes, of course I do!” He swallowed. Feliciano gazed at Ludwig, looking right into his incredibly blue eyes (it only struck him now just how blue they were -- truly something special), as if he could make him understand. But there was no understanding in them. Just concern. Feliciano let his hand fall away, bitter. “I just… want you to stay safe.”

An utter oxymoron in the arena.

“I’ll stay safe,” replied Ludwig, “I promise.”

“You can’t promise that,” mumbled Feliciano, but he didn’t think Ludwig heard him. He was heading back to the river to pick up the water bottle, which was by then completely full. He gave Feliciano a drink, then stood back up to scour around.

“There’s no real places to sleep…” he heard him mutter to himself. “I need to keep you somewhere secure for tonight.”

“Why?” Feliciano asked blankly, because it hadn’t quite clicked yet.

“For when I go to the Cornucopia, remember?” He sighed.

… Oh. Oh. Feliciano’s eyes went round and wide in his head. Ludwig, up at the volcano, all alone, no one to defend him…

“I want to go to,” he said, firmly.

“You can’t.”

“I will!” He said, stubbornly. “I -- You need protection -- and I can kind-of stand up, o-on my own that is--”

“Feli--”

“Ludwig!” He replied, crossly. Stupid, stupid tears were beginning to form again. But Feliciano gave a great sniff, for once refusing to cry. “I could -- I couldn’t stand it if you died, and I wasn’t there, and -- and not knowing for ages and ages whether you lived or not--”

“I can’t let you go,” replied Ludwig, although there was a certain tremor in his voice. “You’ll be killed. You’ll be shot and killed before you knew what hit you.”

“That’s not such a bad death,” he argued. Why was Ludwig such his polar opposite -- why did he refuse to understand?! “I -- I won’t let you go otherwise. I’ll stop you.”

“How,” said Ludwig, unkindly, “I’m much stronger than you.”

“I’ll follow you. I’ll drag myself there if I have to, screaming and screaming!” He declared boldly, and for a moment felt stubborn enough to hold up on that promise. “If a tribute doesn’t find me then, a mutt will, and I’ll die, like -- like--”

Finally the tears spilled over. Feliciano couldn’t bring himself to remember Kiku. He whimpered at a shadow of his memory, though it was wicked and cruel to push him out of his mind and let him be forgotten just because of his cowardice.

He heard Ludwig give another of his deep sighs, and come to sit across from him. Feliciano rubbed his eyes and when he opened them, was greeted by the sight of the iron cross he wore, a token from his family. He remembered his coin and longed to hold it, to turn it over in his hand and be comforted, but Ludwig had it.

“Why do you have to make things so difficult?” Ludwig asked. He didn’t sound angry, just… pained. It pained Feliciano too. But didn’t Ludwig see? -- He just had to go!

“I have to see that you’re safe,” was all he got out, “I h-have to -- you’re the -- the best ally I’ve ever had -- a-and so nice to me, even when I’m bad--”

“You’re too good to be bad,” he replied, with awkward affection. “You’re the most good person I’ve ever met, Feliciano.”

He gave him a watery smile, a little lightened, but only a little. “I -- I -- thank you, Ludwig.”

“I’ll let you come with me,” he decided, “on one condition.”

“Anything--” begged Feliciano, “anything.”

“You’ll stay out of sight.”

That was the best deal he got out of Ludwig, and Feliciano was relentless. He argued with him, begged him, and finally sobbed at him, but to no avail, and only stopped when he threatened to leave him here after all. They had just enough time to re-apply the last of the cream, throw the now-empty pot into the river, then begin their way back to the volcano. Feliciano wanted to walk, just to prove that he could, but after several minutes of dejected limping had to concede defeat, so instead he wore the backpack, and rode on Ludwig’s back, and Ludwig carried the two spears.

It took hours and hours of travelling on foot. Feliciano tried chattering quietly to keep up spirits, and to distract himself from the bloodbath that would inevitably come, and though it wasn’t working, he blathered on anyway, unable to stop. It was only when they reached the mountain again reality hit him like a brick again, shocking him to silence. It was a steep slope, made dangerous by sliding rocks, but Ludwig picked a more gradual side and began up. The sheen of what had once been lava had cooled entirely another layer of grey, solid rocks. Not one word of complaint passed his lips of the weight he was carrying of Feliciano and the backpack, not once. It made him feel oh so guilty.

The cornucopia had been at the top of the mountain. Ludwig gently let Feliciano down with the pack in a nearby clump of rocks, hidden from view. Feliciano looked worriedly up at him, and Ludwig didn’t even look so confident now, as the sun was dipping low.

“Stay here,” he whispered hoarsely, “don’t come for me.”

“Don’t get hurt,” Feliciano whispered back. All he could do was watch, uncomfortable amongst the rocks, as Ludwig set off, up and over the top.

Feliciano waited. He waited. And he waited. But he didn’t wait long enough.

Fights could be short, but not even mini-fights were as short and silence as that. Not a few minutes later Feliciano saw his ally, Ludwig, climbing back down to his hiding place, a frown on his face.

“What is it?” He whispered.

“The Cornucopia,” Ludwig replied, “it’s not there. Just a big crater in the ground. Feliciano, there’s… There’s nothing there.”

Chapter 25: Ceaseless

Chapter Text

“Nothing. Nothing! There’s just -- this can’t be it!”

Arthur stared at the crater where the Cornucopia had once stood, grand, gleaming and glorious. And he was no fool: he knew it had been here. He sat upon it, ate around it with the other Careers, hell, even slept in it for insulation at night. The volcano had blown it sky-high, despite the lure of the announcement, and Arthur was one-hundred percent sure it had all been a scam.

“It’s all there is, Alfred,” he snapped temperamentally, “we were there when the volcano blew. We saw it fall in -- damn thing’s fell in the lava and got melted by now. We’ve been tricked.”

He thanked his wits; they'd come earlier than most, or else the air would be alive with assailants who had also been lured in, eager for the promise of good food and a battle. They themselves had been lured in with good food. Alfred was a fighter, not a hunter, and Arthur could scarcely remember how to set a snare, not that they had anything to set it with to begin with. For the past couple days they’d been starving, staggering around the arena blindly, desperate for anything. That morning Arthur thought they’d been granted by a stroke of luck when they came across that boy from 3. An airhead, he’d been so sure they could rob him, slit his throat and run. If only they’d known Ludwig had been with him.

And then, the Gamemakers had the gall to give him false hope again! The announcement, the Cornucopia -- and it wasn’t here! Just an empty promise, a way to lure people in then make them fight for entertainment. Arthur hated being their guinea pig. He resented the fact his death would be played live for sport.

His stomach gave a sharp growl. It was enough to make a man bend over with how sharp and painful it was. Arthur glanced to Alfred warily, sure he’d be fuming… But he just looked more depressed than anything.

“... Maybe it’s around the mountain,” he said, dejectedly, “I can’t just give up like this. I don’t wanna eat bugs for the rest of my time here.”

“Are you blind? There’s nothing here!” Arthur snapped again. His stomach clamoured for attention again and he ignored it. “No weapons, no food -- not even your precious swords. Nothing!”

“That’s your stomach talking. Humour me, Arthur, come on,” he pleaded, “just for a little while. Then we can scarper down the mountain and no one need ever know we were here.”

Alfred had been acting so strange ever since the loss of all their supplies, and his Career pack status. He should have been fuming, yelling to the winds about all of this, pointing the blame at anyone to take out his rage… Not this. Not the suddenly-responsible, too-mature-for-his-age, depressed middle-aged man he was acting. Arthur squinted at him in suspicion.

“... Fine,” he said coolly, “fine. But I’m telling you, there’s nothing here.”

They began back down the mountain, making great loops around to cover the whole basis. Like Arthur expected though, there was just a whole lot of nothing. Some big rocks in areas, the layer of cooled lava… and nothing. He kicked a stone in frustrated and listened to it tumble all the way out of earshot.

“It doesn’t even make any sense,” Arthur growled, “the crater at the top of the mountain is too small. I saw more of it fall away. Natalya died at the very edge, if only the rock hadn’t come out from her fingers. It doesn’t make any sense.”

“Nothing makes any sense,” replied Alfred gloomily, “it’s the Gamemaker’s world. They can do what they want. Natural doesn’t live here.”

“I know that!” He snapped, exasperated. “But usually they at least follow the rules of nature, rather than doing whatever the hell they please!”

“Sure,” he said, just as gloomily as before. Arthur just couldn’t stand it.

“Oh, lighten up won’t you?” He bit out. “I can’t stand you acting so mopey.”

“I’m sorry -- I can’t help it,” replied Alfred, stung, “I just thought, with all my training and sh*t… Winning would be easier.”

“Even with that special weapon you told me about?” asked Arthur, slyly. To his bitter disappointment, Alfred just shook his head.

“It’s too late for that now.”

Ever since he’d first heard about it, Arthur had been pestering him non-stop about this “special weapon”. This devine tool that would make anyone win the Games. It would be incredibly useful, especially now, especially if it got them food. All they’d received was one measly bit of bread from their sponsors, which had been devoured in less than a day. Arthur was tired, hungry, cranky, and so, so frustrated.

“My family is going to be so disappointed if I lose,” admitted Alfred. Arthur snorted.

“Lose the family honour? I’m sure they’ll manage fine without you,” he scoffed, imagining a fine red-brick house, with a neat little front garden and even maybe a car. But to his surprise, Alfred laughed.

“The thing is Arthur -- they couldn’t,” he explained, “I’m… not actually rich. My parents are miners, like all the poor folk. They scraped up all they had for years so that I’d be able to get into a decent academy. Actually, they got me into the best academy there is: the Champion’s Institute. It’s our one and only chance of having a decent life.”

“... Oh,” was all Arthur could think to say. Alfred suddenly looked embarrassed.

“Sorry. I shouldn’t have told you.”

“No, no--” he shrugged. “It’s not like my family are, er… well-off either. I mean, we have a house, but it’s not big…”

“I sleep at the Institute,” Alfred told him, “or, at least, I did…” He gave an awkward laugh. “Beats out sleeping in the Nut anyway.”

“The Nut?”

“It’s this huge mountain miners are still digging in,” he explained, “the Capitol kind-of uses it for storing major weaponry. We’re not allowed anywhere near the stuff though. I was born in the Nut, and when I was ten I started work. Then, when I was twelve, we finally had enough to put me in the academy.”

Arthur nodded slowly. “So you trained, and trained…”

He grinned. “My parents were so proud of me, even when I did bad. But I soon shaped up. All the teachers went from telling me I was a lost-cause from a dirt-poor little miner setup, to a brilliant star! It was great.”

He nodded again. Maybe that was why Alfred was the way he was. So desperate for his moment of glory, so eager to get away from the “Nut”, he’d take any praise and use it as fuel for his training… Then win, and be the family saviour, their hero…

He could not have more different circ*mstances.

“I could never understand that,” sighed Arthur, “I have four brothers. My parents act like we’re a hazard, most of the time. They just want maybe one of us to do well, and don’t care how the rest of us go. They’d disown us in a heartbeat if it meant extra salt on their meat.”

“Four brothers?!” Alfred yelped. “They all survived birth?”

Arthur shrugged. “My mother was a strong, sturdy woman. Still is. It bloody hurts when she boxes your ears, especially if she has her sewing thimble on.” He winced and rubbed his ear, even at the memory. “But I suppose we deserve it at times. Four rowdy boys is enough to keep away from your feet.”

“How could you have ever been bad?” Alfred snorted. Arthur raised his eyebrows.

“You’d be surprised. When I was a kid I’d do anything to get attention from her. I soon grew out of that phase though,” he ended with a note of superiority.

“What were your brothers like?” He asked. “Were you close? It must’ve been nice to have people there to confide in all the time…”

Arthur couldn’t help but snort. If he ever “confided” the elder ones with his petty problems, they’d laugh and mock, and if he told the youngest he just wouldn’t understand. They already laughed and mocked him for talking in a sophisticated manner, instead of the swear-ridden street talk they picked up.

So he scoffed. “Close?! I’d sell all three of my brothers for a packet of beans. That’s all their worth, anyway.”

“Arthur!” Alfred looked shocked.

“It’s true,” he griped, then forgot himself, “oh yes mother, just because Scott is doing “so well” being made a Senior Operator in electricworks… It’s all a crock of nonsense, they’re paying him the same wage whatever fancy title they give him.”

“That’s hardly fair,” agreed Alfred.

“It isn’t. I’d take to my other brother, Seamus. He started drinking at fifteen, and I wish I had too, if I knew how little time I had left. Most of the time he’s taking up on Earth is boozing up his factory wages with girls. He knows he can’t be the family pride. I thought I could be -- until all this happened.” He ended bitterly.

There was a silence not even Alfred could break, as now it was time for Arthur to be the sullen one, kicking rocks down the mountain as he mooched. There was still no hint of gold for the Cornucopia.

“What about your younger brother? You said you had a younger one, right?” Alfred asked finally. “He can’t be all that bad.”

“Oh, Dylan? Yes, I suppose…” muttered Arthur, recalling his memory. “Everyone’s sweet on him, and though he’s a saintly little sneak, I suppose he’s okay, really. Mother loves him equally to Scott, though he hasn’t even done anything but start work in the factory.”

“Good for him,” said Alfred, and Arthur shot him a glare.

“You’re an only child, you wouldn’t understand.”

“I guess not…” he gave an odd chuckle, “but -- uh -- I know if I had brothers, I’d try and help ‘em out all I could. I couldn’t hate my own kin. My father used to say -- hating kin is for the privileged folk who have too much.”

“Your father wasn’t very wise then,” huffed Arthur, “you couldn’t be close to my brothers if you tried. Scott definitely wouldn’t look after me in a disaster. Seamus is alright when he’s had a couple -- but Dylan is a spoiled little sneak-brat, and I wish I could slap sense into him sometime. It’s all his fault I never get a look in with my brothers.”

“He can’t help being the youngest!”

“He can help being a little brat,” sniffed Arthur. Then he stopped. A dark shadow was being cast on the mountainside, such that he didn’t know what it was. “Hey, Alfred -- I think I found something.”

“Huh?”

Alfred turned, as Arthur carefully ventured closer. His eyes widened when he realised what it was: a cave. A whole, cavernous cave, nearly at the very bottom of the mountain. Arthur slid down to the level of its mouth, and gasped again. A dozen Arthurs echoed his gasp back, as it reverberated around the walls. A bright, orange glow was coming out of it.

… The orange glow made him feel uneasy. Only one thing could make that sort of glow, and he’d come too close for comfort with it before: lava. Hot, thick, bubbling lava, doubtless situated in the very core. Arthur glanced to Alfred, who had slid down by his side. He looked back.

“Nothing else to do but go in, I suppose,” Alfred said, but there was a level on uncertainty in his voice Arthur didn’t like.

“Neither of us have a weapon,” he said, stating the obvious.

“All the more reason to go in I suppose.”

“I suppose.”

Still, Arthur hesitated again, before walking in.

His footsteps made more echoes around the dripping walls, try as hard as he might to muffle them. The air became hotter and hotter too, as the orange glow got brighter and brighter, and more and more luminous, until it enveloped them both. Alfred walked a little ahead of Arthur, almost protectively, something he was grateful off because Arthur felt scared and shaky on his feet. His stomach cramps turned into deep-rooted unease, until it became a physical battle not to turn tail and run.

Then the cave opened out, and the uneasy sense turned into terrible, outright, dread.

They were at the very centre of the volcano, which had been hollowed out to the very top. If Arthur had bothered to look inside the crater at the top, this was what he would have seen: the shining gold Cornucopia, gleaming in the orange light, having thudded into the very centre of the room, as if it had fallen directly down into here. It was on a platform of flat, smooth rock. And around that, a river of lava.

It bubbled up, hot and thick, casting the room into sweltering heat. There were pathways from different caves on the mountain entering out onto the Cornucopia-island (he and Alfred must have missed them on the way down), at least five others, plus more dotted up high above, though there was no way to get down to these. But the thing that filled Arthur with the most dread of all, was the man leaning against the Cornucopia, heavily armoured, two swords held loosely in his hands.

“Ivan,” Alfred growled out. His growl echoed around the walls of the room, a miniature arena in of itself. “What are you doing here?”

“I wondered when you would show up,” he replied. Ivan inspected one of his swords idly, then sat up to glare across from them. “You are the one I will enjoy killing the most, I think.”

Alfred scowled. “Put the swords down Ivan. You’re not even holding them properly.”

To which his eyes flashed. “I don’t need to hold them properly to destroy you. I never liked your type, Alfred. Big, strong, scary -- pushing others around just because you could… Kicking me out of the Careers… Well, now it is my turn to push you.”

Alfred was boiling in rage, Arthur could just see it swelling up inside him, but he was fixated on something else.

The tail-end of the Cornucopia was facing them. But something was happening near its mouth, something that he couldn’t quite see, though Arthur occasionally caught flashes of clothing, a boot here, a hand there, was that an axe--?!

Alfred and Ivan certainly hadn’t noticed it. Each only had eyes for the other, staring like it was a glaring match instead of a death battle. Arthur looked to their stagnant tension, and wished he’d never decided to set foot in here. He tugged the back of Alfred’s jacket insistently.

“We should go,” he whispered. Arthur misjudged how that whisper would echo.

“Your little friend is right,” Ivan mocked, “maybe you should go. I am the one to be feared now. I have all the weapons and food I need. You should go--”

“No!” Alfred suddenly snapped, and began to march forwards. Ivan did likewise. Arthur did all he could to keep his feet firmly planted on the ground and not hightailing it to the forest, when everything was interrupted by a noise. A short, sharp clang, of metal against metal. Or more precisely, weapon against a Cornucopia.

A beat. For a fraction of a second everyone was frozen, almost comically, as Alfred was mid-step, and Ivan in the process of raising his swords. Then the moment passed.

And all hell broke loose.

Chapter 26: Storm

Chapter Text

In a way, there wasn’t really anything left but to go to this feast. That was how Elizabeta saw it, anyway. It was either go to the feast or later get hunted down by some kind of mutt; that was just how the Games progressed. If they didn’t hunt and kill for sport, they weren’t long for the arena.

Unfortunately Roderich did not quite share her views.

“All that’s going to be there is a bloodbath full of raging Career tributes and death!” He spluttered out, when she shared her views. “We can’t go. And I can’t fight to save my life, much less kill someone. I’ve told you that already.”

“Yes, I know.” She waved a dismissive hand. “But look, Rod, we’re starving. We need this. And I can’t think how else the Games will end otherwise.”

“By survival and keeping our wits about us!” He replied hotly. “I didn’t come this far in the Games by throwing my life away on a whim. I can’t afford to!”

“Well, I can,” replied Elizabeta stubbornly, “and, if I don’t make it back… Win the Games for me.”

Roderich stared at her. She refused to meet his gaze, collecting her axe from inside their cave-base, along with a handful of nuts. That handful was all she had left but she knew she needed something to keep her going up that mountain.

“... I can’t stop you going, can I?” He asked weakly, and when she didn’t reply, sighed. “Then I’ll come too.”

“But--”

“Lord knows you’ll need the help when you’re arm has been cut off by a Career,” he snapped, “it’s the least I could do.”

A small smile grew, and Elizabeta didn’t know why. Her arm being cut off wasn’t particularly funny. “Thanks. Just leave the fighting to me.”

“Wouldn’t want it any other way.”

Elizabeta fashioned a sharpener from the rocks to give her blade a buff first. It had been getting considerably blunter and blunter since trying to use it for everyday hunting. Roderich took Antonio’s trident, but for all the use it would be in a fight he may as well be carrying a twig. At least a twig would be easier to carry. Then they walked, and they walked, and they walked, towards the mountain, peeling and sharing the last handful of nuts between them.

The sun was already beginning to set by the time they even made it to the foot of the mountain, with the river running round it. They paused to take a quick drink, and see if there was any food about. There was none.

“We’ll be late to the feast,” grimaced Roderich, “are you sure you still want to go?”

Elizabeta bit her lip. She looked up, and the mountain seemed very high. At least an hour’s climb, maybe two.

“... Yeah,” she said, “we came all this way. Maybe some of the Careers have already been picked off.”

“Okay, Eliza,” said Roderich. He just sounded tired. He probably was from all the relentless walking; it was probably doing his back in.

“You can stay here, if you want,” she offered, “hide among the bushes. If I get hurt I can just about make my way back down to you.”

“No,” he insisted, “you wouldn’t. I won’t be shaken off that easily.”

“But your back, and climbing--”

“I’ll be fine,” Roderich interrupted. But as they began the ascent, Elizabeta could see that he clearly wasn’t fine. It was too much strain on him, and climbing was too much work. Within not fifteen minutes, they had to seek refuge in a small cave at the bottom of the mountain, so he could stop and rest.

There was a curious orange glow coming from the back of the cave. She ignored it for now as she sat him down.

“Are you okay?” She asked.

“Yes…” wheezed his reply, “well… I will be, in a moment…”

“You can’t keep climbing,” Elizabeta pointed out, “I should go on my own. I promise I’ll be able to make it back to you…”

“What I don’t understand… is…” Roderich took of his glasses and attempted to clean them on his sleeve. “How… How did they get the Cornucopia back? Surely… surely it would have been blasted to smithereens in the… in the eruption…”

“Well… yeah…” She frowned. “Maybe they brought it back? I don’t know.”

“We didn’t see a helicopter come down and… and replace it though…” he muttered, “... where’s that orange glow coming from, anyway?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted. Elizabeta twisted round. The cave twisted and continued on; there was no back to it. “We could find out, I suppose. But I’d much rather go and find this Cornucopia.”

“No, I have a feeling its significant,” he frowned, “we ought to find out. We’re late enough to the feast as it is, we have time.”

“I mean…” She sighed. Well, Roderich was usually right about his hunches, although she didn’t much care for cave-exploring herself. “I suppose. If you’re set on it.”

“I am.”

Roderich struggled to his feet, putting his glasses back onto his face. The cave didn’t have an uphill gradient, so he was able to walk along just fine. There was rubble and debris lining the cave, as if it were made fairly recently, and now come to think of it, Elizabeta couldn’t remember there being any caves in her long treks up and down it when she’d been with the Careers.

The Careers… Alfred. She’d have to face him again, she was sure. There was no way Alfred would pass up a good opportunity for a murder spree like this. He wouldn’t take too kindly to seeing her again, since she also killed… no, she murdered Antonio. In cold blood. Without a second thought. It sent a chill down her spine. But there was no time for remorse now. Elizabeta gripped her axe tighter. When all this was over, she could cry as much as she wanted to about her heartlessness.

“The caves opening up,” Roderich whispered. He was right. It was getting bigger and bigger, as was the rubble, and then all at once they were able to see where it filtered out. Elizabeta’s heart skipped a beat.

“Get down!” She hissed, nearly pushing Roderich over to get him behind a rock. She crouched, shaking. The rocks were warm from the glow of the hot, thick, lake of lava that had been in the room. And on a rocky island in the middle of that lake had sat Ivan, sturdily upon the golden horn, idly sharpening a massive sword.

Elizabeta looked at Roderich, and he looked back. His brows were knitted together behind glasses, his grey eyes peering back up at her in sudden realisation.

“The Cornucopia never left the arena…” he murmured, “... it just fell through the mountain. You can even see the cracks by its feet where it landed.”

Elizabeta stared at him. Who cared about the Cornucopia, what about Ivan?!

“What are we going to do now?” She hissed. “I can’t take on Ivan and a sword!”

Luckily, she didn’t have to, because before either of them could say another word, a new voice spoke out. A new voice that Elizabeta had been dreading, and turned her insides to ice.

“Ivan,” came Alfred’s voice, from the direct opposite side of the cavern. Fearfully, Elizabeta peeked up over the rock.

She couldn’t see him very well, because the Cornucopia half-obscured him, except from a muscled arm holding a spear, but she could see Arthur. He was just as sour-faced as usual, and now even sourer, because Ivan had beaten them to the loot. He’d beaten them all.

Ivan looked up from his sword, to gaze at Alfred, the silver steel glinting in the lava light. He slid off the Cornucopia. “I wondered when you would show up,” he said, turning his back on them completely. “You are the one I will enjoy killing the most, I think.”

Elizabeta ground her teeth, feeling antsy. The last thing she wanted was a fight between two violent characters in front of her, while she tried to figure out how to steal from the feast. But as she was working through the possible solution in mind, she heard something. A soft, sliding noise from above and to her left. With a finger pressed to her lips for Roderich’s stead, she quietly maneuvered herself around the rock to get a look at what was causing it, when she saw him.

Just when she thought the situation couldn’t get any worse… It was Vladimir. He appeared to have slid down from a higher-up cave, and was now taking full advantage of Ivan’s distracted gaze. He didn’t see her, but padded up quietly towards the lava-lake. There were pathways from the outer ring where mouths of different caves on the mountain lead onto it. Elizabeta’s grip on her sword tightened.

She had managed to convince herself he wouldn’t be a problem. That he’d manage to kill himself within a few days. But now clearly, she was going to have to intervene. In a moment of ruthlessness, without a backwards glance to Roderich, she snuck out from behind the rubble, and towards the Cornucopia. Ivan and Alfred were still talking.

“Put the swords down, Ivan,” Alfred was saying. Elizabeta did her best to keep behind the Cornucopia. “You’re not even holding them properly.”

So long as they kept talking, the echoes muffled her footsteps, and she’d be able to get this done quickly and quietly. No second thoughts, no compassion. This was the Hunger Games. Kill Vladimir, grab what she could, and run before they even realised she was there.

Vladimir was picking his way through the lesser of the loot. He didn’t even know she was there. Silently, Elizabeta crept closer and closer, and as he crouched down to pick something off the ground, she raised her axe. Briefly closing her eyes, she counted: one… two…

“I don’t need to hold them properly to destroy you!” Ivan suddenly shouted. Her eyes flew open and she wobbled on her feet a second. Vladimir had flinched at the sound and looked up. Elizabeta swung her axe down--

-- And he rolled to the side. Elizabeta’s muscles contracted and stopped her axe just in time from slamming down hard on a crate and loudly shattering it to pieces. She looked up, and realised; he’d caught sight of her damned reflection on the horn. She whirled around, ready to try again.

“I never liked your type, Alfred. Big, strong, scary…”

She brought her axe down again hard, slashing for his chest, but Vladimir leapt away again. He’d always been light on his feet. But -- wait a second. Her eye caught a dark red stain on one of his arms. He’d injured it! Even now as he backed away, it was hanging more limply at his side. Now she knew what she was aiming for, it was easier to strike.

“Pushing others around just because you could. Kicking me out of the Careers. Well, now it is my turn to push you.”

On Ivan’s last word Vladimir gasped, as Elizabeta had managed to made a slash on his already weak arm. It was difficult to tell whether she’d punctured the skin though, since his arm was already so bloody and red…

“We should go,” came Arthur’s hushed whisper, which made her draw up in alarm. No, no -- she had to finish this fight now, and fast, before they got bored of each other. Elizabeta struck harder and more ferocious than ever, so Vladimir was made to back away further and further, several times stumbling on all the discarded loot.

“Your little friend is right,” Ivan cooed, over her furious hacks, and Vladimir’s clumsy dodges, “maybe you should go. I am the one to be feared now. I have all the weapons and food I need. You should go--”

“No!” Alfred replied furiously. Elizabeta could hear his footsteps marching forwards to pick a fight, but that was alright; she had him up against the Cornucopia now, and wiith her heart pounding and the blood rushing through her ears, she raised her axe, ready to deliver his killing blow in one swift slice…

But Vladimir rolled to the side, and this time, she was not so quick to pull her axe to a stop.

It made the most jarringly loud clang she’d ever heard against the metal of the Cornucopia. It rang around the entire cavern. For a moment, just a moment, everything came to a screeching halt. She didn’t move, and Vladimir didn’t move; not even Alfred or Ivan moved, until the ringing had died away. Elizabeta took a slow, shaky breath, and gently moved her axe away from the Cornucopia… But it was too late. The game was up.

Ivan, the nearest and by far and away the most threatening; Elizabeta could hear him coming around the corner! She held up her axe again and turned to him, and then there he was, charging at her, knocking supplies aside to get to her. He lunged with his sword hard and she blocked it with her axe, and it took all of her strength to push him off again. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Vladimir making his escape, so she picked up a nearby knife and hurled it backwards at him. She had no time to see whether it hit or not though, as she turned back to Ivan, who had lunged again.

He slashed and stabbed brazenly, using rage to fuel his fight, a stark different to how he had been in the training arena. Ivan had always been so calculated about his movement, not to mention only fought defensively. Elizabeta leapt over a crate to get away from him, and looked back over her shoulder. His eyes were wide and insane. Was it true? Had his time in the arena caused him to slip?

But now they were just playing ring-a-round-the-roses around the Cornucopia. Elizabeta couldn’t fight him, and she couldn’t escape him either. Tributes she hadn’t seen for the entire Games started to appear: the black-haired boy from 10 had now managed to catch Vladimir in her absence; Alfred’s district partner, Ludwig, had appeared out of the caves and had just gotten his hands on a sword. Elizabeta blocked another blow from Ivan, walking backwards so she wouldn’t have her back to him. Then he lunged again, and managed to catch her leg -- she gave a shrill scream of pain as she felt it cut right down, down and down…

The sword left her leg again but now all that was left was pain. Elizabeta’s eyes were watering as a hand went down to grasp it, and came up slick with blood. She saw Alfred tackle Ivan to the ground, having gotten his hands on a falchion, and they fought, knocking the weapons out of their hands and scrambling to get a decent stranglehold on the other, maybe she ought to help one of them and take down a stronger tribute once and for all -- No -- no she couldn’t stay here now, she was losing blood and everything was too crazy -- where was Roderich? What cave? Elizabeta limped around (everyone was too busy having their own pseudo-fights to take her), and saw it -- the flash of his glasses catching the light behind a rock.

Elizabeta forced herself to put one foot in front of the other, praying she wouldn’t faint and stumble into lava -- what a nasty way to go -- when she felt someone shove past her and send her worldview tilting. She caught blond hair, thick eyebrows -- Lord, no, it was that boy from 5, and he was heading right into the cave where Roderich was, a stolen pack in his hands. She tried to limp after him, waving her axe fruitlessly. Arthur would have shot right past Roderich -- had he not jumped out at him, and tackled him to the ground.

“Roderich!” She shouted. She limped as fast as she could towards the scuffle -- Roderich was trying to impale him with the trident, but badly, as Arthur got a grip on the handle and was slowly forcing him off. She saw a knife sticking out of his pocket. Elizabeta tried to run, but her leg was slowly giving out from underneath her; she sank to the ground half-sobbing in rage, praying Roderich would have the sense to run and save himself. Someone could take her own life; she didn’t care anymore; she didn’t deserve to live and the pain in her leg couldn’t make her think straight; her hands were covered with blood but whose blood was it now--?

And then, out of nowhere, the fighting stopped. Someone had blown the golden horn.

Chapter 27: Quiet

Chapter Text

Nikola hoped he would never have to see Vladimir again. The cause for Lily and Eduard’s deaths; the one who distracted them so that Ivan could sneak up on them; the root of all his hatred right now, though he knew this was far from fair and he hadn’t truly meant any of it.

He’d gone to the feast because there wasn’t anything else for him to do. There was no Lily to look after. No Eduard to help set traps with. Either he would die here, or remain the only victor, and Nikola didn’t care which anymore. All he cared about, was taking ot his anger and frustrations, and right now, that person was Vladimir, since it was the only person he could reasonably take on. Not to mention he was the one he blamed for all of this -- not entirely wrongfully.

His hands didn’t even shake anymore as he loaded yet another bolt into the crossbow and fired; another miss, but it had been closer than before. It grazed Vladimir’s cheek and fell into the pool of lava behind him. He was fast backing himself into a corner too. Just a metre away from him, there was a sharp drop into lava. Nikola didn’t even care. He kept walking steadily forwards, blind to what was happening around him. He locked in another bolt, and Vladimir had stopped, right on the very edge of the island.

“Nikola…” he said, in a last ditch effort to save himself. “Please…”

“No,” he snapped, “for the last time. Shut up.”

He aimed directly at his heart. Vladimir couldn’t move, or take another step back, or risk overbalancing into hot, thick, bubbling lava. Nikola’s finger tightened on the trigger.

Then the horn blew.

It was the only thing that snapped him out of his mindframe in that moment. Nikola jumped, then, with his crossbow still aimed at Vladimir, looked behind himself. He was standing pretty near the tail end of the Cornucopia. And someone had blown it.

Nikola didn’t think it was actually possible. Indeed, the loudness of it shook the cavern and made all fighting cease. Pebbles even fell from the ceiling. Then the sound stopped, and with everyone’s attention finally on hand, someone stood on the golden horn.

… And it was the boy from 3. The one who cried on his reaping day. The chipper character at the interviews that seemed too much of an airhead to even be a threat. Even now, tears were sliding down his face as he stood, slightly lopsided, on the horn. He was clearly injured.

“Stop!” He said, in a loud, but shaking voice. More tears spurted down his cheeks as he blinked. “Please, just… everyone stop.”

“Feliciano, what are you doing?” Hissed a voice from the other side of the Cornucopia. “Get back to your hiding place!”

“No, Ludwig.” He took a breath, then drew himself up to his full height. “I can’t. I can’t -- I hate this. We’re better than this! Isn’t it…” ‘Feliciano’ gulped, as if suddenly all too aware of everyone’s eyes on him. “Isn’t it time we all just… just… surrendered to each other? We could even be friends! We could… could…” He trailed off into silence. No one interrupted him. Shock, probably. That was all Nikola felt. This was a first of the Hunger Games, he was sure. But nice as the speech was… It wasn’t convincing.

“Tuh!” Ivan scoffed. “Now that is out of the way. I have a crown to win.”

There were the sounds of swords beginning to clash again, and Nikola whipped back around, crossbow trained on his target again.

“WAIT!”

Feliciano’s squeaky, shrill voice cut through the air like knives. Nikola winced. The swords scraped against one another, but now in a way that they were locked together, causing less noise. Feliciano looked around desperately.

“You might win the crown, but you’ll never ever win the Games!” He declared. Maybe he was just trying to say the most outrageous things to give himself screentime. Nikola’s finger tightened on the trigger again.

“You… You don’t know what you’re saying…” gasped Alfred, pushing his sword against Ludwig’s with all his might. Lack of nourishment had made him weaker. “The person at the end wins. We get money, and fame, and glory…”

“And only that!” Feliciano stamped his foot. It made a dull thud against the Cornucopia. “Can’t any of you see that none of us ever win? -- Never! We might get bonuses, but we’ll always have to live with what we’ve done, a-and watch the Hunger Games over and over next year, a-and get treated nice all because we murdered someone!” He was talking faster now, as if all too aware at any moment their interest in him could drop. “It’s all because of the Captitol, th-they’re to blame here, bec-because we’d never have to do this without them forcing us to. None of us want to be here, but we’re here, a-and… I don’t want to fight any of you. I won’t fight any of you. And I won’t kill, and if the Cap-Capitol has a problem with that -- I don’t care! They can’t force me to kill!”

… But they could. And they were. That was the whole basis of the Hunger Games. Ivan wouldn’t have killed Lily or Eduard if he didn’t have to…

“How?” It was Vladimir that spoke. He was gazing at Feliciano with something akin to wariness in him. “... I don’t disagree. But… how?”

Nikola tightened his finger on the trigger. He was convinced he was only agreeing with Feliciano because he had a bolt at his throat.

“We-Well…”

“I can’t believe you’re so weak to think like that,” snarled Ivan, “is it because you know you can’t win by force? We do win! We have to win! Or we die!”

“It’s different! It’s not winning!” Feliciano shouted. “I don’t think it is. The only people who win are the people who are never afraid to come here in the first place!”

… He had a point there.

“But what can we do about that?” Nikola asked weakly. “That’s just how it is.”

“It doesn’t have to be!” He replied earnestly. “If -- if we all agree to stop fighting each other… I don’t want to fight any of you…”

The crossbow tilted downwards slightly. Nikola looked at Vladimir, and found that… Feliciano was right. He didn’t want to fight Vladimir. He was just a boy -- like him. And as Vladimir looked back at him, Nikola was sure he was coming to the same conclusion.

“I don’t want to fight you,” he muttered, as he lowered the crossbow completely. “Hell, I don’t ever want to see you again. I don’t like you… But that doesn’t mean I want to kill you, either.”

His words were small, but they were amplified by the cavern. Nikola could feel everyone’s eyes on his back, undoubtedly thinking he was weak, but he didn’t care, he didn’t care, he didn’t… Lily and Eduard, they weren’t coming back, and no amount of fighting would make them…

“I don’t want to fight,” said someone else unexpectedly. There was a cough, and Nikola turned to see on one of the paths over the lava lake; the girl from 7, having collapsed on the ground with her leg bleeding out. “I don’t want to, but I have to, so I will.”

“Well…” came another voice. It more distant, coming from a cave that lead into the cavern itself. Nikola turned to see it was the hunchback. He was slowly untangling himself from the blond-haired boy, Arthur, from 5, and Arthur was just letting him. He didn’t lash out, just rubbed his bruised neck. “I don’t particularly want to kill you.”

“I’m not really keen on fighting you either,” he told him, sitting up.

“Wh-- Arthur!”

Alfred. His sword was still locked with Ludwig’s. In fact, seeing his previous ally turn pacifist seemed to fill him with some of his old rage.

“We can’t just -- we can’t just decide to stop!” He shouted. Then, with a flourish, his sword disengaged with Ludwig’s, and Alfred guarded. “We have to do this! How is -- how will we ever--?”

“Win?” Arthur guessed bitterly. “It’s like the crybaby said. We don’t win. If I got out of here, it wouldn’t be winning. I’d have had to murder… even you.” He added the last part softly. “Would you kill me, Alfred?”

“I…”

If Nikola hadn’t been staring at the back of Alfred’s head, he would have seen that his eyes had filled with angry tears. There was a tense moment, where his fists shook, as the anger coursed through him. Then he took a step towards Ludwig, an angry, rage-filled step, and the whole room flinched… As Alfred stuck out his hand. Not an act of aggression. A peace offering.

“I’ve realised something in this arena,” muttered Alfred, “and it’s that… it wasn’t how I thought it would be. Not at all. So there’s something in that winning can’t be what I thought either. I can’t kill my allies -- my friend. Let’s make those bastards pay.”

Ludwig nodded stiffly. He reached out a hand as well, and the whole room blew out a breath as they shook on it. “No more fighting.”

“No more fighting,” agreed Alfred.

“No!”

Nikola turned. Ivan was standing a little away from them, staring in horror. His eyes were wide with crazed rage and fury. He pointed an accusatory finger at them all.

“No!” he repeated. This isn’t how this is meant to go! I don’t understand -- how can you all just -- how can you--”

“Hey, take it easy…” said Alfred, lowering his sword for good.

“No I can’t! You’ve all gone mad!” Ivan looked around at them all -- then his eyes landed on Feliciano. His face darkened at once. “You…” he muttered. “You… You! You caused this, you spread the insanity, I’ll--!”

“Ivan, no!” Ludwig yelled, but Ivan was already running towards the Cornucopia, stretching his sword aloft. The blade was long, easily enough to reach him, even as Feliciano stumbled back to get away. He placed his hands on the hot metal to climb up to him. Ludwig and -- surprisingly -- Alfred were hot on his trail though. They yanked him back down, and Ivan went sprawling on the floor. There, they backed off him a little, as he scrambled to his feet again.

“No, no, no! It’s all wrong!” He screamed, and Nikola realised… The arena really had sent him round the bend. Ivan lashed out with his sword again, so fast and so furiously that Ludwig and Alfred had no choice but to draw theirs again, and then there were furious clashes and swears as the two Careers in unison tried to disarm him.

But in trying to still not harm Ivan, they couldn’t, even as he was backed further and further away from the Cornucopia. Ivan was beginning to sweat as he got nearer and nearer to the edge of the island, despite Feliciano’s pleas over the clash of swords for them to lay off. Nikola raised his crossbow again, despite the fact Ivan wasn’t anywhere near him, defensively, in case they needed a critical shot.

And as Ivan got to the edge, the two Careers did back off him, unwilling to push him right into the lava. Ivan glowered at them from his precarious position, trembling with rage.

“I can’t believe you all -- cowards!” He spat. “You’ve all just proven that I, alone, am the only one here with enough grit to win! I want to kill, I have to kill, I killed that stupid woman from district 9, I killed the simple girl and the boy from--”

Then Ivan gasped, as something punctured his leg. It caused him to teeter off balance; he rocked on his heel, then with horrible realisation, began to fall, he outstretched a desperate hand to try and regain balance, and both Ludwig and Alfred reached back.

… But he didn’t take their hands.

Ivan could have saved himself. He had the opportunity, it was right there in front of him! Instead he snatched his hand back like touching them would burn him worse than his inevitable fate. He fell backwards, screamed as his back hit the fiery orange substance, and sunk away. Melted. Vanished. Dead.

And that was the moment they all heard the dull thunk, as Feliciano fainted on the Cornucopia.

The cannon fired, signalling his death. Nikola lowered his rattling crossbow, hands shaking. The something that had punctured his leg? His own crossbow bolt. It had been a split-second, spur of the moment decision! He was only so angry that he was proud of the murder, that he had the audacity to speak Lily and Eduard’s names when he so ruthlessly killed them! Nikola hadn’t actually meant… He didn’t want…

… Had anyone seen him? His heart leapt to his throat on that realisation. But the two Careers hadn’t seemed to, and everyone else was on the opposite side to him… Everyone except…

Nikola turned. Vladimir was looking at him.

Ludwig was busy scrambling up the Cornucopia to get to Feliciano, and Alfred was rushing to see if Arthur was okay. Even Elizabeta was stumbling to her feet and, with the help of Roderich, limped over to the golden horn. Nikola turned away from Vladimir. He had no time for him now. They had plans to make, the Capitol to defy… Anything.

“Someone get us some bandages!” cried Ludwig’s worried voice from the Cornucopia. “I think he sprained his ankle.”

There was a first aid kit right at the edge of the supplies, kicked open by one of them in the fray, so Nikola took them, and climbed the horn to hand them to Ludwig. He grabbed them gratefully to start wrapping his bandages.

“He’ll wake up in a moment…” Ludwig was muttering. It sounded more to comfort himself than anything. Nikola realised he was still holding his crossbow, and then, realising he wouldn’t need it anymore, set it down to the side.

“I just can’t believe everyone stopped fighting,” he murmured, “this has to be a Hunger Games first.”

Yet there was no helicopter to transport them back, no way to get home. The way the Capitol saw it there was only one victor, so who could it be? Especially now they’d all taken a -- however temporary -- vow of non-violence.

“Hey, uh, Ludwig?” Alfred asked from below. Ludwig had just finished patching up Feliciano, who was still out cold, and looked down. “Could you, uh, also wrap up Elizabeta? Ivan caught her leg pretty bad… I never really learned to do this stuff…”

“Bring her up. I can’t leave Feliciano’s side.”

There was a huff of annoyance from Elizabeta, but Alfred gave her a boost, and Nikola helpfully gave her a hand to hoist her up. She groaned when the metal scraped against her injured leg, and they all winced in sympathy, and when she was up, there was an awkward moment where Ludwig had to ask her to take off her trousers in order to see her wounded thigh. Thankfully it was so urgent she didn’t mind, so Nikola saw it fit to slip off the horn again quietly while he attended to her.

Mostly, everyone was sitting around the supplies, resting, finding themselves food or drink. Nikola wasn’t one to pass up the opportunity, so he took a pack of beef strips, peeled off the packaging, and began to slowly eat them.

“So… What now?” Arthur asked, from his position on a crate. He peered inside a barrel of apples that had been tipped over and scrounged one from the floor. “Now that we’re all ‘friends’.”

“Will the Capitol even take us back?” Roderich asked hopelessly. “I seriously doubt it. Nothing can ever escape their radar.”

“Well, we can’t kill each other now,” huffed Alfred, “not now we’ve all stopped. Maybe Panem will side with us and we can go home anyway.”

“I seriously doubt any of this is airing,” scoffed Arthur.

“So then, what? We’re just stuck here?” Nikola asked.

“There are worse places to be stuck,” ventured Vladimir.

“Like? The Gamemakers control the whole land!” snapped Arthur. Vladimir went silent. Thank God.

“There’s no way for them to make us fight either, right…?” Roderich asked, nervously. “Like a chemical, or a drug or something…”

“Jeez, kid, don’t give them ideas,” muttered Alfred.

“I’m surprised they’re not doing something right now,” Arthur said, with a frown. “Gamemakers are usually quick on the uptake. I watched dozens of Hunger Games recaps to prepare for the arena, and usually there’s an exclusive interview with the Head Gamemaker about his plans, and how he adapted them to the tributes, and what went wrong and how he fixed them…”

“Let’s hope they’re not so quick this time,” Nikola said, “I’m exhausted.”

“I’m pretty beat too,” agreed Alfred.

He finished the strips of dried beef, but he was still hungry. Nikola didn’t know if the hunger was ever going to go away at this point. He took an apple instead and bit down.

“I wonder if Elizabeta’s okay,” murmured Roderich.

“She will be,” said Alfred, “Ludwig knows what he’s doing. We trained together, you know.” He scratched the back of his head. “I was always competitive with him. I… kinda let that consume me in the arena.”

“At least you didn’t go the way of Ivan,” Arthur muttered, and the four of them went silent at the memory. Ivan’s screams echoing around the cavern, and he had a chance to save himself too… and he, Nikola, gave the killing blow. Hot shame filled him, as well as nervousness. He glanced at Vladimir to see if he would rat him out, but Vladimir was busy staring at the floor.

Then, there was a sharp cry from the top of the Cornucopia. The five of them stiffened, but the next moment Ludwig’s murmurs were heard. Feliciano had woken up.

“I suppose we ought to pay our new saviour a visit,” grumbled Arthur, tossing aside the apple core.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” grinned Alfred suddenly. He stood up. “I think we all owe that Feli kid. C’mon.”

Thankfully Elizabeta was all wrapped up with her trousers back on, on the top of the Cornucopia, so they began to climb, using the tail end for support. Most of them needed no help, although the Cornucopia was blisteringly hot from the heat of the lava -- all except Roderich, who’s poor back couldn’t handle climbing in the least. Alfred carried him on his back instead, and once up, they could see their wounded soldiers, Elizabeta and Feliciano, sitting up and smiling. Feliciano’s smile was the biggest of all.

“We’re not fighting!” He nearly sobbed for joy. “I can’t believe it!”

“All down to you, Fel!” Alfred grinned. “You’re the one that snapped us out of it.”

“Are you two okay?” Roderich asked as he slid off Alfred’s back, but he was looking at Elizabeta, who shrugged his asset.

“I won’t lose a leg, if that’s what you mean,” she replied, “Ludwig did a pretty neat job, although there was a hell of a lot of blood to clean.”

A worried crease appeared in his forehead again as he shuffled closer to her. “I’m sorry.”

“What for? It wasn’t your fault,” she reminded him.

“But what’s happening now?” Feliciano asked, looking around them eagerly. “Surely they can’t make us fight. So we have to be taken out of here. Right?”

Alfred scratched the back of his head. “Right…”

“Well, it’s meant to be like that,” Arthur muttered, “but I’m not sure of it will be. No one’s sent for us. Maybe the Gamemakers will keep us in here ‘til we rot.”

Feliciano chewed his lip. “... That sounds bad.”

“It is bad.”

“But… I guess there are worse places to be…” he continued, “I mean. We have food, and we can hunt, and there’s plants and things…”

Nikola heard a mutter behind him of “that’s what I said…” and knew it was Vladimir. He tried not to be too irked.

“That’s optimistic of you,” sniffed Arthur, “the Gamemakers can take all of that away in a blink.”

“‘Sides, they wouldn’t let us rot,” Alfred muttered, “they need someone to crown victor.”

“Maybe they’re waiting for us to all turn on each other?” suggested Elizabeta grimly. “They can’t do much else to make us kill each other.”

“But that’s horrible!” Feliciano cried. “No. No, he have to tell them straight.” He outstretched a hand to Ludwig, and Ludwig, bemused, took it. “Um… Gamemakers?” He addressed, somewhat lamely. “We won’t fight each other. You… You can’t make us. So…”

He trailed off into silence. That ‘speech’ had been even weaker than the first one he gave. Nikola felt the hope slowly trickle out of him. They really were going to rot here…

It was about a minute of dejected silence. Then, from one of the caves surrounding the lava lake, there was a howl.

Chapter 28: Only Unified

Chapter Text

Everyone froze on the Cornucopia. Not even hot-headed Alfred of the Careers moved a muscle, as they heard the sound of heavy, four-footed thumps on the ground, vicious growling echoes from the caves, and downright frightening yaps and howls. The heavy pawsteps got louder and louder, shadows of a hairy, quadruped creatures were vivid on the walls for a moment -- then they came into view. Roderich blanched.

Wolves. No -- not wolves. He was certain wolves weren’t as big as that, didn’t have claws as huge and knife-like as that -- and wolves certainly didn’t balance on their powerful hind legs and wave the rest of the pack on with a wrist-like hand like that.

“What are those things?!” He heard Vladimir shriek, and Arthur’s response was chilling.

“Mutts,” he said, “they’re mutts -- made by the Gamemakers. Those aren’t normal animals!”

“Everyone grab a weapon!” Alfred shouted, but none of them wanted to scramble off the Cornucopia to retrieve one as the mutts were closing in to circle around it. Elizabeta had an axe, Ludwig had his sword still, and Nikola had a crossbow with a depleted quiver of bolts, plus a swiss army knife in his back pocket -- but that was all. The rest had been discarded down with the supplies.

The swiss army knife was pressed into Roderich’s hands, but he hardly knew how to hunt regular rabbits and squirrels, let alone these great beasts! They were beginning to close in too, although unable for an immediate way to get onto the Cornucopia, they scratched at it with their claws, sniffed and slobbered on it with their huge snouts, all while making high-pitched yipping noises to each other. They had all different textures and colours of fur too, and something else, something Roderich couldn’t place his finger on immediately…

Ludwig tried to take a stab downwards at a mutt scratching at the base, and he must have at least hit the thing because it turned tail and fled the next, and the rest seemed to follow. Unsettlingly, they paced the horn from a distance now, unwanting to be stabbed again.

“Did you scare them off?” Elizabeta asked, shaking kneeling, and gripping her axe like it was a lifeline. Roderich looked at her, and saw paleness, and weakness, and injury. She would need protecting now. Though he wasn’t much of a protector…

Then, quite suddenly, one of the mutts started forwards. It had a black, curlyish coat, and when it leapt up on those muscled back legs, Roderich realised it was going to jump for them -- for him. He leapt away from the edge at once, nearly squashing Elizabeta, as the mutt leapt up at them, snapping its huge teeth, spraying spittle everywhere. It yapped and snarled and bit, but Roderich managed to kick it squarely in the snout, and the mutt tumbled away, to rejoin the group.

“Are you alright?” He asked Elizabeta. She looked shaken, which was uncharacteristic of her. Pale, distraught… “Did it bite you?”

“Rod,” she choked out, “Rod, it was him.”

“Who, Eliza?” He ripped his gaze from her to scan the mutts, but they looked just like that: Mutts. And worse, they seemed to be cottoning to the idea of jumping up to try and pull them off, even as they spoke another thickly-coated, slim, silvery-haired mutt began to bound up, and was only thwarted by a decisive crossbow bolt to the chest. It yelped then fell, limp. “Who?”

“It was him. Antonio. I killed him to get to you -- and they’re the others, all the others!” She was gripping her axe so tightly her muscles were white. “Everyone, they’ve -- they’ve turned them into mutts! Stolen their eyes, their hair…”

His head snapped back towards the mutts, and his heart sank to find… she was right. The silvery-haired slim one, that had been the cold girl from 1! The tiny mutt with the dark blond fur, that was his own district partner, Ravis! And… And Antonio, the curly black-haired one, pink lips pulled back in a snarl of hatred. Roderich gripped the knife that bit firmer in his hands.

“Blimey, you’re right!” Arthur exclaimed, who had heard her. “Oh God -- do you think they remember us?”

The statement made Elizabeta visibly blanch, and Roderich couldn’t blame her. His stomach twisted in guilt; after all, she had only killed Antonio to protect him.

“Alright, everyone form a circle around the injured ones!” ordered Alfred, as the mutts growled and began to square up for more of them to leap. At once everyone tightened their positions around Feliciano and Elizabeta, the former who had been whimpering in fear for the past five minutes. Roderich knew he wasn’t much protection, but he had to try; after all, Antonio could be going after her…

The assault began. Mutt after mutt jumped up, claws scraping down the horn, and slid off again. Roderich aimed a stab at a medium-sized red-coated mutt, and managed to catch it in the snout, as it slid away again. What was curious about this fight though, was their unwavering unity. Roderich saw Ludwig yanking Arthur back from a long, wavy, blond-haired mutt with startling blue eyes as Alfred stamped on one of the mutts jaws before it could bite Feliciano legs. Most of them only had their fist and their legs to fight them off, but Nikola proved himself very useful, firing bolt after bolt into the fray, taking down each one with new, deadly accuracy he didn’t have before the arena. There was only one he couldn’t kill; a little light blond one, the smallest of them all, for his hands were shaking too badly, so Vladimir snatched the crossbow off him and fired for him; miraculously it punctured the neck and the mutt fell limp.

But too, the mutts were getting wise. The yipped and yapped to each other -- then started jumping nearer the low, tail end of the Cornucopia, where he was attempting to defend Elizabeta. Roderich suddenly found himself on the front lines with Ludwig, clumsily slashing and stabbing, kicking away these mutts. The circle loosened as they all attempted to crowd around the tail end. Elizabeta found herself suddenly out in the open. And that’s when it happened.

If it had been any other mutt, Roderich felt sure she would have axed it straight in the neck and kicked it aside without hesitation. It was because it was Antonio. It leapt up the side, not the tail, using his powerful legs to bound and powerful jaws to grab. It was going to bite her injured leg, and Elizabeta’s axe was raised, but never swooped down -- she was to fearful, too guilty, too, too…

Roderich attempted to lunge his hand forwards and go straight for the snout. But he missed, and with a horrible swooping sensation, he felt his footing slip on the round of the Cornucopia -- He reached for Elizabeta’s hand but they were holding the axe -- he reached for someone, anyone, his glasses flying askew on his face and sending the world into blur -- he caught something, like a chord or a rope, but it snapped in his hand -- and then he felt a dozen teeth puncture his leg, yanking him away from the safety of the horn, and Roderich fell flat on his back, wheezing and dizzy.

He hadn’t even the time to run. The mutts were on him like a pack of starving cannibals; with fierce, terrible teeth they began to rip through his body. Roderich screamed in pain as he felt jaws clamp onto his arms, legs, torso, shoulder -- and the pain just kept ripping away at him. Roderich only distantly heard someone screaming. He squeezed his eyes shut so he didn’t have to see, but a moment later was blinded by a pivotal snap to his face. The pain kept coming, and he kept screaming, mind becoming foggy with it all. He was going to die, the mutts were going to kill him, and in the most horrible, horrible drawn out way, as his vision went red, his glasses lying shattered beside him.

Chapter 29: Are we Strong

Chapter Text

Ludwig heard the gasp, and saw Roderich fall. At once he lunged towards him, extending a hand out, but it was too late; his fingertips only managed to catch the chord of his iron cross necklace, before he felt it snap on the back of his neck, and they both fell away. Ludwig watched it clink to the ground by Roderich, as he struggled, wheezing for a moment to sit up -- but he was no match for the mutts. They descended on him like a swarm of locusts. With a sickening feeling, he turned away, as his screams began to pierce the air.

“No. No -- Roderich!”

And then there was Elizabeta. She screamed in rage too, tears spurting down her face, and waved her axe like a madwoman, uncaring whether she hit mutt or human. Her screams mingled with Roderich’s, but so much louder, as if trying to drown him out. Ludwig was only just able to pull her back from the edge with Vladimir, while she screamed more and swore at them both.

“We can’t do anything for him now!” Ludwig tried to bellow over her desperate cries, but she paid no heed. He couldn’t really blame her -- it was a disturbing sight to see, not that he could see much. He was completely covered in mutts looking to tear him slowly, painfully, limb from limb. This was the final word in entertainment from the Capitol -- though Ludwig didn’t know if any of this would still be airing or not.

The canon fire for him took a long, long time. Nikola was able to pick off most of the far-range mutts with his crossbow, while Ludwig tackled the ones on Roderich, putting the task of restraining Elizabeta to Alfred. Each mutt died with a decisive stab to the head, until there truly were no more left. Then they were silent -- apart from Elizabeta’s furious sobs.

“f*cking let go of me -- let go, or I’ll--” A fresh wave of anger seemed to enliven her. “There are no more left! I need to go down there, I need to recover his body -- his pin, his token--”

“They could send more at any minute,” Alfred puffed back. He truly was struggling to hold her down. “If you’re caught down there -- you’ll die--”

“I DON’T CARE!” Elizabeta screamed. It echoed around the cave so a dozen Elizabeta’s screamed with her. “I have to see him -- you can get me back up if they come back -- just let me -- just let me go--”

“Do it,” murmured Ludwig quietly. She was grieving. He didn’t know how close they were, but maybe Elizabeta needed to see this.

Alfred let her go, and she slid off the Cornucopia at once. Her leg gave out the moment it hit the floor, but she pretty much dragged herself towards his mutilated dead body, hauling the dead mutts that had collapsed on him. Ludwig, who couldn’t bear to watch the sad scene any longer, turned away.

“Are you okay, Feliciano?” He asked quietly. He nodded, trembling all over, and attempted to speak -- it sounded like he was murmuring something about Roderich’s death -- but was too overcome with fear to say properly. Ludwig gently put aside his sword to awkwardly sit beside him, and then, after a moment of hesitation, put his arm around him. “It will be okay.”

“God, this horrible,” Arthur muttered, “so what, they’re just going to keep sending us mutts until we all decide to turn on each other again?”

“No,” said Alfred, loudly, “no. I’m not gonna turn on any of you. Fighting when we were all together -- it was so much better. I mean, I want to win, but Feli’s right. The one person who goes home isn’t a winner. I’d rather die in here, with you guys.”

“All together. They can’t have their victor,” agreed Arthur, though he sounded more bitter than anything. Ludwig held Feliciano a little tighter, and he didn’t object. He liked Feliciano -- hell, he might even love him from the way he was acting; Ludwig didn’t know -- but was he prepared to give up his whole entire future for this… this… act of rebellion? He thought of home. Of his grandfather, of Gilbert, of District 2.

… They’d never accept him back with open arms. Not even if he slaughtered everyone here and know and let the lake of lava turn to blood. He’d already shown too much compassion, too much kindness, all for a boy he’d met a week ago. All for tributes he hardly knew.

“They’ll be setting mutts on us again anytime soon,” said Alfred, leaning down to look at Elizabeta. “You should… uh… probably get back up here. Do you even think they can get a hovercraft in here?”

She didn’t respond, rather wiped her tear-stained face messily, and sat back, then reached out to take Roderich’s glasses. She gently replaced them on his face, and then she took something shimmering slightly gold attached to a breast pocket of the jacket. Elizabeta tugged and tugged, tried to turn the jacket inside out, but it wouldn’t budge. Finally she gave one last pull. The shimmering gold thing -- whatever it was, perhaps a token pin -- ripped away, taking a good chunk of fabric with it. And from there, spilled just about a dozen little black berries. Ludwig’s face smoothed in shock as he recognised what they were, and barely got the words out in time as Elizabeta reached to take one.

“Don’t take that!” He shouted quickly. He caught Alfred’s eye and could tell he was thinking the same. Elizabeta looked bemused. “That’s nightlock. It’s the most poisonous berry there is.”

“You’d be dead before they even got to your stomach,” Alfred added, “he probably thought they were blueberries or something.”

“Dead before they got to our stomach…?” Elizabeta looked thoughtful. She picked up a handful of them, and examined the dark berries for a moment. Ludwig felt uneasy.

“Hey, hey, c’mon now, put those down,” said Alfred when she didn’t cast them aside, “we gotta prepare ourself for the next wave of mutts, make sure none of us--”

“No.” She stood up. Her back was turned. “... No. I can’t -- I’m sorry. We can’t continue like this forever. Mutt after mutt… You realise… They’re just going to keep picking us off. One by one if necessary.”

The uneasy feeling inside him too. Suddenly it was stagnant in the air.

“... She does make a fair point,” muttered Arthur, “there’s more than one way to ensure a strong victor after all…”

“Exactly. Or worse -- they’ll murder us all for threatening the sanctity of their Games.” Elizabeta turned suddenly, and her eyes blazed. “But I’m sick of this. We’re more than just pieces in their Games; we’re people.”

“... Right…” said Alfred, “but what can we do about it?”

In response, she held out the berries.

“... No,” whispered Feliciano, horrified, and Ludwig held him that bit closer. “No -- you can’t -- we couldn’t--”

“Why not?” She asked harshly. “What’s our other options? Rot away in this arena forever, or get mauled by a mutt to be made an example of.”

“So that’s it, is it? It all boils down to what death we prefer?” Arthur asked.

“Well dying of a ripe old age was out the moment any of us were chosen,” snarled Elizabeta, “even the Careers. All the previous victors were empathyless or loonies. This is our best option!”

“I don’t know, couldn’t we just… wait?” Alfred said desperately.

“Wait for what?! Mutts to pick us off? Open your eyes, all of you!” She shouted. No one wanted to agree. But she was right.

Feliciano began to sniffle again.

“Are you okay?” Ludwig asked softly, while Elizabeta climbed up. “You don’t have to agree to this, if you don’t want to.”

He whimpered… But then began shaking his head. Feliciano pushed him away, until he was almost sitting upright. “N-no… She is right. If nothing else… I don’t know… Maybe our deaths could start something. Anything.”

Elizabeta nodded to him, almost in approval, and passed along one berry for him. It was all that was needed. Ludwig watched in despair as he took it in his grubby blood-stained hand.

It was the harsh truth of the arena that people would die. But not like this. Never like this. Ludwig had made himself a promise to protect sweet Feliciano. He had that goodness inside him that was so unbreakable, so absolute. He had stopped him from murdering Alfred and Arthur, had shown him unwavering loyalty, and absolute faith, all a death warrant in the arena. If his judgement was good enough for anyone, it was good enough for him.

“I’ll take a berry,” he said quietly. The others stared at him.

“... Seriously?” Arthur asked. He nodded.

“Seriously. Feliciano is who stopped us from all senselessly killing each other in the first place. I trust his judgement. And, well, there’s no hope of District 2 welcoming me back with open arms now…”

“That’s true…” Alfred heaved a sigh. “They’d hate me if I ever went back. This place might even give me nightmares. But my parents…”

“Not all of you have to do this,” said Elizabeta, “but I am. I couldn’t go back now. I’ve seen… I’ve seen too much.”

“So have I,” muttered Nikola. He put his head in his hands. “That bastard -- Ivan -- he murdered my allies. That little girl, Lily. I watched her die. I can’t go back knowing I couldn’t prevent that. Give me a berry.”

She mutely handed one over. Nikola didn’t look up from his misery, just took the berry. Ludwig felt a stab of pity for him. Such a young girl, he’d forgotten all about her…

“... Aw hell,” said Alfred, “give one to me, too.”

“Alfred!” Arthur said, shocked. He merely shrugged, looking downcast.

“I’ve done things I’m ashamed of here -- and now they’ve been broadcast for the whole nation to see,” he said, “man, I was a jackass when these Games began. And hey, Arthur… It’ll give you a tiny chance to be victor instead.”

Arthur’s shoulders slumped as Alfred took his berry. “No,” he muttered.

And Alfred looked genuinely surprised. “Are you sure? I mean… With all of us taking them… And you’d finally be the family favourite… Don’t you want that?”

He gave a wry smile as he reached out for his nightlock. “If it’s the one thing I don’t want to be, it’s the family favourite. My brothers would never let me live it down.”

Ludwig looked at the depleted amount of berries in Elizabeta’s hand. In fact, now she was only holding two. Just enough for all of them, he realised. Maybe everyone else was realising it too, as they all turned to the one person who hadn’t taken one.

Vladimir wilted under all their stares. “Well I don’t see how you all expect me to do it,” he attempted to huff, but his gaze wasn’t quite meeting all of theirs, “what, you all took turns to… This is suicide!”

Elizabeta scowled. “Fine. You go back to a district you hate all alone, why don’t you, where both they and the Capitol will hate you.”

“But I… But… I have…” He bit his lip. “I can’t, I just… I have family…”

She snorted. “No you don’t.”

“Hey, it’ll be easier all of us together,” said Alfred bracingly, “and totally painless too. I’d rather have this than death-by-mutts.”

Still, Vladimir hesitated a second longer, before taking a berry, and inspected it in his hand.

“You sure this will be enough?”

“More than enough,” Ludwig affirmed, “we learnt all about them in the Academy.”

“On the count of three,” said Elizabeta, “and quick, before they have time to send more mutts out.”

They all hastily brought their berries to their lips. Ludwig’s was slightly crushed in his hand from tension, and the juice stained his thumb, but with all the blood and grime on it it hardly mattered.

“One…”

He didn’t have to do this. He had a District and family to go back to. His grandfather, who taught him to swing a sword, and Gilbert, who took pride in showing him the ropes of the Academy.

“Two…”

Maybe he could just hold the berry in his mouth, and when they’d all collapsed from the poison, spit it out. He’d wipe his mouth out on his sleeve to make sure there were no juices, however disgusting that was, and have a long drink on the hovercraft, if the medics didn’t force him to already.

“Three…”

Ludwig felt pressure on his hand. He looked down briefly, and saw the slim, long fingers of Feliciano’s over his own. Without thinking, Ludwig pulled his hand over to clasp it tightly, encouragingly. They locked eyes for the slimmest of moments. Feliciano’s eyes were brown, yet the orange light of the volcano was bringing out flecks of gold and honey. So innocent. So filled with determination. And in that moment Ludwig knew what he was to do.

“Now!”

He pressed the berry in. To his surprise, as he looked around, so did everyone else -- they’d all meant what they said. Even Vladimir and Arthur, who had seemed so hesitant. And then there was another voice, other than Elizabeta’s, that rang loud and boomed from every orifice of the cavern.

“STOP!” Boomed the unmistakably frantic voice of Sadik Adnan. “Ladies and gentlemen, may I present to you all a Hunger Games first! The -- seven? -- seven Victor of the third Quarter Quell: Ludwig Beilschmidt, Alfred Jones, Feliciano Vargas, Elizabeta Hedervary, Vladimir Popescu, and Nikola Dimitrov!”

Ludwig spat out the berries at once, and wiped the leftover juices of his sleeve. So did everyone else -- and the water bottle by Feliciano’s side he’d used to clean Elizabeta’s wound earlier was passed around, so everyone could rinse out their mouths and spit over the side. There were no cheers or laughter -- just a ring of disbelieving faces around them all. They had gotten away with it?

“So that’s it?” Feliciano asked, voicing his thoughts. “That’s… we all won?”

“I think so,” said Arthur, unsteadily.

“Well, hooray for us,” Elizabeta said. There was no cheer in her voice. Just bitterness.

The volcano above them began to open up in neat segments, letting in light, and a hovercraft materialised overhead. Shards of rock and debris rained down, so Ludwig held Feliciano close and shielded him from the worst of it. He didn’t let go of his hand. Right now, it was the only thing grounding him.

A ladder was dropped, and the bottom rung clanged loudly against the golden Cornucopia. They clearly hadn’t the foresight to add more ladders, but it wasn’t as if Ludwig wanted to -- or even could -- let go of Feliciano. He eased him to his feet, although Feliciano was still leaning heavily on him, and then guided him to the rungs. An electric current froze them both in place. Feliciano’s leg probably wouldn’t have been able to withstand a whole ride without it. Not to mention Elizabeta -- her wound had pierced her right down to the bone. Ludwig had already known then bandages would be merely more than a thin cover for the blood. It was probably already soaked. Indeed, she did need a lot of help from Alfred finding a place on the one ladder, and then they all awkwardly gripped as tightly as possible, squeezed together, as they were lifted in.

Ludwig became acutely aware then of Feliciano’s increasingly pale face. When they were lifted into the hovercraft, doctors in white jackets, facemasks and sterile blue gloves tried to take him, and Ludwig knew it was only to get to his infected bite quickly to treat it, but suddenly it was all he could do to hang on to him. Feliciano’s face was whiter than ever, and terrified.

“Ludwig--” he began fearfully, before they were ripped apart. His heart began to beat erratically.

“Wait!” He shouted. Ludwig tried to stumble after him, but hands stronger than he own held him back, and began pushing him into another room. All of a sudden he had to be there for him, he’d find the doctor’s scary, he’d hate the sting of injections and blood tests-- “Wait -- Feliciano -- you’ll be okay--” He tried to yell after him. Then automatic doors slammed in his face, leaving him trapped in the next room.

The doors weren’t glass, but opaque, so Ludwig couldn’t see what they were doing to him in the next room. He tried to thump on the doors and shout to be let through, but they didn’t open. He was consigned to pacing back and forth in front of them.

Feliciano wasn’t the only one they’d taken away. Elizabeta too, was missing from the solemn party. The rest of them were deemed okay enough to make it back to the Training Centre. They sat around, shocked and unfeeling in the waiting room, which was uninspiringly white and bland, with some plush blue chairs and a blue rug. Even the very lights seemed too white. It highlighted how out of place they all looked. Mud-caked, beaten, bloody, and bruised, with tears in their weather-beaten clothes and each had matted hair. Alfred hadn’t his glasses. There was a mirror in the room, and Ludwig caught sight of himself, once. He almost didn’t recognise the person in it. Hollow cheeks, a thinner frame than he knew, and his hair -- slicked back, neatly parted, once the pride of his appearance -- was now filthy, muddy, and tattered. An attendant -- probably an Avox -- was there and pressed small glasses of crystal clear water into their hands. Ludwig drank half of his back thirstily, and so at least his mouth would feel cleaner.

There were no windows nor any other doors, and the hovercraft’s flight was as smooth as possible, but Ludwig knew they were landing by the way his ears began to ring and pop painfully as air pressure changed. Then more Avox’s arrived, each bearing a syringe, and all of them, every single one physically cringed away from these Capitol people. Ludwig was sure they were all thinking the same: what were they being injected with? Where would they wake up again? Would they wake up? But fought too late, and were truly too weak to do much by this point. Ludwig let the world slip away.

He didn’t register much after that. Everything was plunged into hazy white-yellow mist, and vague, strange shadows, and the beep and whir of machines. Nothing was in clarity, not even other senses like touch and noise. Only one memory seemed to truly stick in his mind as Ludwig went through a dreary routine of things almost becoming clear, then sinking back into deep slumber. Two people, blurry and grey in shape, were standing over, or maybe at the foot of his bed. Ludwig tried to sit up, tried to reach out for them, to ask where he was, where anyone else was, where Feliciano was most of all. His ears strained for any kind of noise, and at last, something sharpened into clarity.

“A price will be paid.”

Then something cold seeped into his veins, and Ludwig was forcibly sunk back into his sleep.

Chapter 30: The Aftermath

Chapter Text

Feliciano was only very dully aware at first. He was aware of the soft yellow light, and the gentle hum and whir of the machines, and the tubes linking into his body, but they registered nothing inside him but a vague stirring buried too deep down to care about. His mind was so foggy he couldn’t even think most of the time. Thoughts about the Hunger Games and the tributes and Ludwig swirled around inside… And then they started to become clearer.

Had he won the Hunger Games? And if he had -- where was he now? No one ever seemed to come into the room to explain. Feliciano couldn’t lift his head from the pillow either. If he won… What did that mean for the others? Were they going to be killed? Was he going to be killed? And Ludwig… Ludwig… Where was Ludwig?

Thankfully he was always knocked out again before his thoughts became too panic-stricken. And then one day he woke up, the bed having been risen so that he was in a sitting position, a tray resting on a table sort-of thing attached to a machine, so he did not have to rest it on his knees and spill what was on it everywhere. Feliciano saw food. There was a bowl of clear broth, a small pot of apple sauce, and a clear glass of water. There was also a spoon and napkins -- but was this it?

Feliciano couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten so he chowed down at once. Questions were then the furthest thing from his mind. Despite the meagre servings, he was struggle to eat it all up, even though he knew he was a big eater. All that time in recovery, laying on his bed and doing not much else seemed to have shrunk his appetite. Well, at least the food was good.

He also caught sight of his hands when he picked up his spoon. They were completely smooth, smoother than they had ever been before. His nails too, were clipped to perfection. Feliciano (with some squirming against the tight bedsheet), stuck his leg out of the bed, and examined his foot. There was no bite on the back of his ankle. Not even a red mark. That too, was as smooth as silk. His chapped lips were healed. He’d put on some weight, despite this being the only meal he’d had so far. And -- Feliciano reached up into his hair with dismay -- his curl! They’d cut his curl, right off! Maybe they found it too unruly, but they had no right!

Obviously he’d been here quite some time. There was usually a lag between the final day in the arena and the victor’s presentation, so they could heal any wounds. But he wasn’t the only victor! The others, Alfred, Arthur, Nikola -- Ludwig! Oh, especially Ludwig. He’d been fighting off wolves and Ivan, and protecting him -- suddenly he just had to see if he was okay. But Feliciano had scarcely finished his broth, and was just shuffling out of the bedclothes, when one of the tubes started pumping into him a cold liquid, and he was knocked back out.

It remained that way for a while. Feliciano waking up, eating, and then even though he felt fine, being knocked back out again. He heard and saw no one but the room. Not a tribute, not his mentors or prep team, not even a doctor. Then finally, it all changed again, when he woke and found no tray of food, and no whirring machines by his bed. There wasn’t an IV plugged into him either, and Feliciano rubbed the spot where it once was. He was probably allowed to get out of bed now… Yet he was unsure about how his feet would bear his weight.

His feet were solid and steady on the ground. No trace of a scar, and no trace of lasting injury either. Feliciano went down to rub his ankle again, then caught sight of what was at the end of his bed.

… It was the tribute costume. The same rain jacket, trousers, and even socks they wore to the arena. They weren’t stained and bloody anymore. Likely they were a brand new make. But Feliciano’s fingers trembled as he ran his fingers over the fabrics. No, they… They couldn’t make him wear this. They weren’t going to thrust him back into a brand new arena were they?! No, they’d refused to kill each other! They couldn’t make them do it over and over until one victor truly remained!

Then the sliding doors opened on the other end, and his prep team, mentor, and stylist stepped in.

First, unabashed by his nudity, his prep team -- Mei, Xiao Chun, and Im Yong Soo -- descended on him at once to give him one massive hug, jabbering and talking excitedly in their off Capitol accent. They’re excited -- but Feliciano couldn’t make out what they were saying. Tears of he didn’t know what began to roll down his cheeks.

“Oh -- please -- they’re not going to send me back, are they?!” He sobbed, and finally, they broke away, confused.

“What are you talking about?!” Mei asked, the woman in pink, who now had large, pink ornamental butterflies trailing along her plait down her back as well. “You won -- oh, you clever thing Feli -- you’re a victor!”

“Clever?” He sniffed. “What do you mean? I -- I can’t be the only victor. Where are the others -- where’s Ludwig?!” They hadn’t killed him had they?!

“What? Oh, your ally,” said Xiao in realisation.

“He’s more than my ally!” said Feliciano fiercely. “He’s my friend! Where is he?!”

“Calm yourself,” Tran advised, and even her usual sharp attitude was dented slightly by a smile. “Everyone’s perfectly fine. You just can’t see them yet. They want to do your reunion live at the ceremony. This is quite the Hunger Games first.”

“Yeah! But they allowed it because it was a Quarter Quell,” said Im Yong Soo, giving him one last, squeezing hug. He’d by now dyed his whole hair gold, instead of just streaks, with glittering golden lipstick to match. “That was so cool! You basically unified everyone, I watched it live!”

Feliciano smiled weakly. Then, realising he was naked again, began to blush. No one else might mind but he certainly did!

“Go with Tran,” said Tino soothingly, politely looking away. “She’s going to get you ready for the reunion tonight. Then you can see Ludwig.”

“Oh, good,” said Feliciano, beginning to pick up the tribute clothes, but Tran stopped him.

“There won’t be any need for that. I’ve got a new outfit for you,” she told him, taking him by the hand to lead him away with the prep team, who were by now all clucking about the amazing work the doctors did on him.

Feliciano was swept into the elevator and taken back to his District 3 room. The place still seemed completely deserted, but then they said they were keeping them isolated from each other to do the reunion onstage. He was given new stage makeup, using a gold and black palette, and they attempted a lip gloss on him to make them look fuller, but the idea was taken down because Feliciano kept licking it off accidentally. Then he was given a shining new set of clothes -- but this time instead of silvery for the techwork of District 3, it was glittering gold with a black cyber circuit effect, and a new crown of cogs, also done in gold, but this time much, much grander. Feliciano’s heart ached when he saw it, as he remembered Kiku, and how stiff he’d been in his own suit. Kiku… If he hadn’t been so stupid, maybe he’d been alive. Tears began to brim his eyes now, but he couldn’t cry, because then Mei would attack him with the mascara brush again, and he hated things near his eyes.

Next came a meal in the dining room. Feliciano had to take care not to spill anything down his crisp new suit. It was finger-food to keep this to a minimum; things like devils-on-horseback -- lovely little prunes stuffed with mango and chutney and wrapped in bacon, and salmon tartare with beetroot and avocado. Each was gone in a quick bite, but his portions were still being controlled, since Feliciano was only allowed so much of each -- and only one measly spoonful of its delicious dessert, which was an apricot pudding topped with a crystalised apricot.

“We don’t want it all coming back up on stage,” said Mei -- but then slipped him the crystalised apricot, to show she was on his side.

Afterwards, Heracles and Tino took him to the elevator where he trained, and taken to a new room underneath the stage, while the rest of the stylists got ready for their appearance onstage. Typically there was only one victor, prep team, escort, and previous victor/s, but now there were seven of them it had to be rethought. Feliciano found himself in a poorly-lit understage area still smelling of fresh paint, wires exposed, and sawdust on the floor. There’s also a brand new metal plate for him to rise up on.

Feliciano could hear the crowds up above him and began to feel a knot of anxiety in his stomach. It only got worse when Tino and Heracles had to step away to change, and he was left all alone in the tiny room. Doubtless on the other side of the four walls were the other tributes. Maybe they were just as scared as him. Maybe one of them behind it was Ludwig. That gave him a little confidence.

He was going to see Ludwig again. He was going to see Ludwig again. He was going to see Ludwig again -- and Ludwig was strong, Ludwig was smart. He was brave, bold, could take on five people in combat blindfolded with his hands behind his back. He knew loads able edible bugs and plants, and about general survival too. He was tough. He had been trained for this. Even the afterwards bit, in which he addressed crowds and lived in comfort. Everything would be okay.

The blare of the anthem began to play, so the show was beginning to start, and Feliciano could only imagine how many cameras were pointed at the stage right now. Sadik Adnan’s voice greeted the audience, then the crowd clapped as he introduced the everyone’s prep team, then the escorts, and then, the mentors. The stage must have been getting quite full by then, but Sadik interviews each of them, every single prep team, asking them their influences in designs, and every mentor, asking them if they’ve ever seen anything like this before. Then it’s the victor’s turn -- and Feliciano felt the metal plate begin to rise with Sadik’s introduction.

Lights blinded him. Cheers roared in his eyes. Feliciano was trembling -- for a second he was overwhelmed, unable to move, or take in anything other than how bright everything was, and when it begin to dim, how vast the audience was. Then he caught sight of Ludwig -- and everything else melted away.

His blond hair was smoothed and slicked back. His body was fatter and broader again, and his face was clean, healthy, smooth, and… beautiful. He was wearing a nice shirt made out of the same gold shiny material as his, except decorated. Feliciano saw him, and his feet took off. Without thinking he was charging across the stage, past all the others, and had launched into his arms.

Ludwig held him, slow and steady as a rock. Tears were collecting in his eyes again, and Feliciano just couldn’t blink them away. The audience behind him was going wild, but he paid no attention, as Ludwig took him by the shoulders and managed to prise him off at last.

“You’re alive!” He burst out, then looked at the others. All of them were regarding Feliciano with expressions of shock, stiffness, and worry. He paid no mind to it, and hugged Ludwig harder. “I just -- I can’t believe it! All of us!”

Yet no one was celebrating as he was. Even Ludwig, as he guided him to his seat, seemed stiff and awkward, though Feliciano put this down to his usual self.

Usually, there was a single ornate chair for the victor to sit on while the recap played, but since there were so much more of them than usual, it had to be artfully extended into a plush velvet sofa. They all sat, twitching their decorative clothes into place, Feliciano still glued to Ludwig’s side, then Sadik Adnan began his spiel.

The next few hours he knew were going to be difficult, but just how difficult he was totally unprepared for. Feliciano realised… he didn’t want to see tributes die. Not again. Not when they’d died so horribly the first time. He felt his body began to tremble, as the lights dimmed and the seal appeared on the almighty screen he’d have to watch from. The impulse to run away and hide until it was all over surfaced. Feliciano could just feel the close-ups on his face right now.

Then he felt a hand clutch his own, and looked down in surprise. Ludwig’s huge hand had grasped his, and was holding it tightly. Feliciano looked at his face. He was pale, brilliant blue eyes fixed upon the screen, but he gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. Feliciano looked back down the sofa at the other tributes. Of course. He wasn’t facing this alone. Everyone here had things they’d rather not see. Alfred’s knee was jogging up and down; Elizabeta was clutching something gold in her hand hard; Arthur was totally still, eyebrows knitted in a tight frown, as if they were thick enough to block out the screen. He took a deep breath. No, he could do this. Everyone else had to. Why should he be any different?

This year’s Games were only a week long. It seemed like an age, and the amount of footage being crammed down into three hours was probably still grueling. Feliciano remembered his software lessons, as brief as they had been as he was from the slums, and didn’t get to programme fancy high-tech Capitol machinery. Every year, it was the footage-makers jobs to tell a story. Whether it be of a girl-from-home with a longing to do her family proud, or a boy wanting glory and finally achieving it. This year, for the first time, all of them must have their turn in the limelight, and have all of their experiences shown off, instead of choosing a sole survivor.

The first half-hour or so was dedicated to the pre-arena activities: the reaping, the chariot-ride, the training score, the interviews. Usually an upbeat soundtrack played over training montages, but this year they went with a different tack; showing little moemtns of bonding between tributes, even before the Games began. Like him smiling at everyone on the first chariot-ride. Vladimir and the little girl Lily talking over lunch. And Elizabeta and Roderich, twice, first in the training centre, and then on the roof. Feliciano gripped Ludwig’s hand harder than ever whenever Kiku was shown, tears prickling his eyes. He was only fifteen. So young, fresh, and healthy in these camera shots.

The bloodbath was horrifying. Not as many people died as usual, but Feliciano still saw Alfred’s brutality in taking out Govert, and attempting to combat Ivan. The Alfred now -- the changed Alfred -- Feliciano noticed him look away during this moment, and audibly winced as the camera showed his meltdown when he found Ivan got away. Not only that but Basch Maximo, Feliks, the little boy Ravis from 11, Toris...

There were shots of him and Ludwig too. How he’d dragged Kiku away from the bloodbath with what little they had. How Ludwig grabbed a pack and was off at once, immediately identifying berries on his journey and eating them periodically to keep jogging through the wood. Meanwhile the Careers were already beginning to hunt -- Arthur stayed behind with two others, dead now -- found the girl from nine, and killed her. Nikola practiced use with his crossbow. Vladimir took to the trees. Then, the next morning, his and Ludwig’s allyship. There were a lot of recorded conversations with him to fill the second day’s time. They even put in the moment where Feliciano gave him his token, and the audience actually sighed.

“Do you still have my penny?” Feliciano asked in a whisper. He felt something warm, hard, and circular press into his hand next, and his fingers curled around it. His token. Feliciano then looked up -- but noticed Ludwig wasn’t wearing his own iron cross. Maybe it was underneath his shirt.

They played Kiku’s death in full. Feliciano had to hide his face in Ludwig’s arm, but it didn’t block the screaming sound played with intense action-music. Ludwig comforting him was also thrown in, in full. Then thankfully they moved away, and Feliciano saw Elizabeta betray the Careers for the hunchbacked boy Roderich, killing Antonio in the process, and Nikola teaming up with Lily and Eduard. A great mystery was solved when Feliciano saw the extra fish he and Ludwig had set aside that night was stolen by Vladimir. In fact throughout it all he had been stealing from everyone. The volcano exploded, and Natalya and Francis tragically didn’t make it. Then, that very night, Elizabeta raised her axe above Roderich’s head… And put it aside, while touching music played.

Ivan was shown too, but as an antagonist, a predator. They showed only his most brutal moments of killing the girl from 10, totally hacking her to pieces, and hunting and poorly cooking animals, so that blood dripped down his face. Maybe that was what turned him insane. It was totally unfair either way, because Feliciano knew he had good in him. He’d trained alongside him at one point, and he’d been very gentle, telling him how he liked to free the canaries before they were sent down the mines when he was a small boy. He noticed the filmmakers didn’t play that footage. They -- they were butchering his memory!

Nikola, Lily, and Eduard captured Vladimir next, but failed to actually kill him. The filmmakers played yet more conversation, sweet, harmwarming ones, and Vladimir dropping his token -- then foreboding music began to play. Feliciano knew something horrible was about to happen, especially as Lily and Eduard were not sat with them. Ivan. In shots that made him look akin to a tiger. He attacked, and attacked viciously, slitting Eduards throat, and stabbing Lily. The argument and flowers were not played.

From there it was all relatively simple. There was Sadik’s announcement, and everyone began to head to the Cornucopia in their own unique ways. More conversations where tributes connected to each other were shown, so Feliciano guessed that was the theme they were going for -- then the most horrible part of all. The finishing fight. He watched as Elizabeta and Vladimir got into a scuffle, then the Careers; any injuries that were given were given gruesome close-ups and slow-mos… And then there was him. Begging them all to stop. And Ivan’s terrible, tragic death.

Feliciano had to squeeze Ludwig’s hand tight again when the wolves came on and Roderich died. Elizabeta was depicted as a madly-in-love, twisted-with-grief fool. And the berries. That was maybe the best part of all, as they all unanimously began to take one each.

The anthem played again as the move ended with them all being taken up, and the screen fades out. The President -- a woman called Amunet in a flowing blue dress that gave off the impression of water, and a rustic headband -- walked on to the stage, prompting a round of cheering, with a girl holding a cushion behind her. On it isn’t a crown, but several badges with the Capitol colours on the ribbons. She smiled and declared that this Quarter Quell, they were not victors -- but victorious.

Feliciano stood to receive his badge. She clasped the golden badge on, and for a second their eyes met. He noticed her smile didn’t quite meet her eyes. But he couldn’t imagine why.

Bowing and cheering ensued. His arm began to ache from all the waving, as Sadik Adnan closed out the show and reminded everyone to tune back in tomorrow for the interviews. Then they were whisked away into the grand President’s Mansion for the victory banquet. Feliciano wasn’t that hungry but couldn’t resist all the good food; there were platters of meats and pastas and vegetables and soups and sandwiches! All throughout the night he kept close to Ludwig’s side, and Ludwig let him, but he didn’t talk much to any of the Capitol people eagerly trying to converse. Well, Feliciano was all too happy to share his life story!

He was going home! A few more days of celebration and fine food, and he’d see his Grandfather, Lovino! All of his school friends, and they could finally move out of their little box apartment and live in Victor's Row. Lovino could grow all the tomatoes he wanted! Feliciano was aglow with pride.

Yet again, none of the others seemed to want to celebrate with him. Their smiles seemed a bit too forced. Their laughter was too monotone. Maybe it was seeing their experiences played live all over again -- Feliciano did his best to put it out of his mind. They all wanted to retire to bed but the sun was just peeking over the horizon before they actually managed it. Feliciano actually wanted a private word with Ludwig, to ask him if he was okay, since he seemed so quiet, too quiet, since they’d gotten out. But Heracles put a stop to that, telling him sharply that he should go to bed. Heracles was never sharp. He was dreamy and vague. So Feliciano went to bed.

However, as he tossed and turned in the silk sheets, he couldn’t shake the feeling something was wrong. They should all be so happy! Everyone should be dancing to the moon and back about all this, and they just weren’t. It was something more than being melancholy over the events of the Games, or simply tired from a night of fine wine and food. It was something more sinister than that.

Feliciano was determined to find it out.

The next day was interviews. He was drowsy from the late late night, but any thought of sleeping during the day was put out when his prep team descended. He had about five minutes to eat a bowl of hot grain and fruit, before they tugged him away for makeup, re-scrubbing away the dirt, modelling his nails again from last night, brushing out his tangles (and commenting on how much nicer it was now that his curl was gone, much to Feliciano’s chagrin, but he was too tired to truly take offence), and putting on makeup rid him of how hollow his cheeks still looked. Then Tran took him away for wardrobe, kitting him out with a brand new white suit, with the same pattern used as the night before, but in blue. There wasn’t a cog-crown, but there was a belt with a cog-buckle, that Feliciano fingered with delight as it clicked into place.

Tino came to collect him after wardrobe.

“How’re you feeling?” He asked warmly. Feliciano did his best to smile.

“A bit tired,” he said truthfully. Tino pressed a papery cup with a lid on it into his hands with a wink.

“I don’t expect you’ve had this before. Drink it up, and it’ll get rid of the tiredness.”

It tasted disgustingly bitter, but Tino was right; it did wake him up. Feliciano had his suspicions it was the “coffee” he tried on the train to the Hunger Games though. Tino took his hand and led him down the corridor, towards a sitting room, with only a handful of cameras. There were two small, plush chairs, and a table between them. One of them was taken up by Sadik Adnan. Only two chairs… Feliciano looked to Tino, confused.

“Aren’t we all getting interviewed?” He asked, unnerved.

“Yes, but one at a time. They don’t want you all talking over each other -- or some of you just not talking at all,” Tino replied, pushing him towards the seat. Sadik rose and gave him a hearty slap on the back.

“Congrats, Feli!” He said at once, guiding him to his seat, as if the doctors hadn’t regiven him two fully functioning feet again. “How’re you feeling about the interview? Nervous? Don’t be -- you’ll have a great time.”

Feliciano gave him a weak smile in return. “Oh -- good. I just thought I might see someone here…”

“Or a whole bunch of people!” He roared with laughter. “Oh, you’re a card! Sit down, sit down, we’re airing in just a moment. We’re doing it a little differently than normal, as there are so many of you. We’re cutting the interview into chunks and doing you all separately. You’re the last to get an interview; I just did Ludwig not ten minutes ago.”

Feliciano felt his heart stop. Ludwig, here, not ten minutes ago! He so wanted to see him again.

Someone from the camera crew counted backwards, then a red blinking light came on the camera, and just like that, he was being filmed live to the whole of Panem. Feliciano had a hard knot of anxiety in his stomach -- but Sadik was easy to converse with and joke around with when he tried. He had a rough and rowdy sense of humour that Feliciano could easily spike up. He began with easy questions at first. Then they got harder.

“Now Feliciano, not to grim the mood or anything, but where the other tributes have a certain grit in them, you are lacking… And when you gave Ludwig your penny! Who didn’t get choked up at that? Why were you so against killing?”

“It’s wrong!” He declared. “I couldn’t if I tried.”

“Or indeed, if you were to be thrust into an arena where you have to kill to win!” Sadik joked. “You were truly prepared to die because you wouldn’t kill?”

“Yes,” he said firmly, “maybe others would… but I don’t want to add to the negatives of the world. Even in the most negative place in the world.”

“Well isn’t that sweet,” he said, “there was one other moment that stood out to me as well, a moment that stood out to us all. In that volcano, with all the tributes fighting one another again, why did you call for them to stop? You knew the premise of the Games.”

Feliciano, uncertain, gave a shrug. “I… I don’t know. I guess I just… I couldn’t bear all the fighting. Everyone was getting hurt. We didn’t have to fight. So I… I asked them to stop.”

“... Thank you, Feliciano,” said Sadik, but from the edge in his tone, maybe it wasn’t quite the answer he was looking for. Feliciano’s hand curled and wished he had his penny suddenly, but he left it on the bedside table. “Well, that’s all the time we have for today I’m afraid…”

Sadik signed off and it was over. The blinking red light of the camera went off with someone’s signal. Feliciano was allowed to stand up and, with Tino’s help, was escorted to the next room to wait while they wrapped things up officially after the next commercial break with none other than the President. To his great surprise -- everyone else was in there too.

“Everyone else” was the other tributes. They all stood in their various suits and dress stiffly, as if expecting him. Indeed all eyes were on him at that moment, as Tino retreated back out again. Feliciano beamed at them all, happy… and confused.

“... What?” He asked, as they all continued to stare. “Have I got something on my face?”

“Is the door closed properly?” Alfred said, striding over to check. He pushed the handle. It didn’t budge. “Damn. They even locked it.”

Feliciano frowned. “Why does it need to be locked?”

“So no one can hear us,” answered Elizabeta determinedly. She was standing fine on both her legs now, in a flowing dress of a leaf pattern.

“There’s no cameras in here. And no one’s bugged, right?” Arthur asked.

“My prep team dressed me, why would I be…” Feliciano began blankly, but was cut over by a chorus of “no”.

“Good,” he affirmed, “Feli--”

“You’re all acting weird!” He said in an accusatory, high-pitched tone. “I don’t get it. You’ve all been acting weird since we got out of the arena! No one seems to be actually happy we’re alive.”

“That’s nothing to be happy about,” snarled Elizabeta. Feliciano could only stare.

“You’re -- you’re not happy you’re alive?”

“Does he not know?” He heard someone whisper. By the direction it was probably Vladimir, at… no one in particular. Feliciano frowned.

“Not know… what? Ludwig?” He looked to him most pleadingly of all. “What’s going on?”

And Ludwig sighed. He looked more sorrowful than anything. “Feli…”

“Maybe we shouldn’t tell him,” said Arthur dismissively.

“No! No, I want to know! I have a right to know!” He said. Feliciano stared around at them all. “It’s because -- well -- it’s because of me we’re all here and not just one! Please, you have to tell me.”

“Shut up!” hissed Elizabeta. They all quietened as they heard the shouts of the cameramen telling Sadik and likely the President that they’d be on in a moment. “... Okay, we have to be quiet now. Tell him, Ludwig. It’ll be best coming from you.”

Ludwig sighed more deeply than ever before. Yet he did look resigned.

“Alright. Feli, be quiet, and listen hard, because I don’t have much time to tell you all of this.”

“Tell me… what?” He asked blankly.

“Word is, the Capitol hates our stunt with the berries, and how we’re all survivors, not just one of us. The one thing the Capitol hates most of all is being laughed at, and they’re the joke of Panem. Worse… They blame you most of all.”

“What?!” Feliciano asked fiercely. “How?!”

“Shh! Our only -- your only -- defence is that we had formed such a strong bond with each other since the beginning, we simply couldn’t kill each other. They only make out they “let us” all to be victors because the Quarter Quell rules allow it, which we all know isn’t an actual rule at all. They’re turning it into symbolism for the Districts and Capitol unified -- but everyone knows it’s bullsh*t.”

“But what can they do about it now?” argued Feliciano. “We won. That’s the rules. No taking it back!”

“Yes we know,” he sighed, “but who knows what the Capitol will do. They’re all-powerful, and might set up little “accidents” for all of us, and turn us into examples for what happens when we go against the Games.”

And suddenly Feliciano understood. The real meaning behind the theme of gold in all of their outfits. The reason why all those conversations had been preserved in the film. And now they were making “accidents” for them. He was still being hunted. The Hunger Games hadn’t stopped.

Feliciano felt his shoulders slump but he said nothing. Tears began to prickle his eyes but he still said nothing. Ludwig didn’t even reach out to comfort him, as whispers started up amongst the “survivors”, about him and the Games. They stopped abruptly when Tino knocked on the door and told them, that interviews were over, and that they should all go back to their rooms to collect their things now.

Home. He’d been so excited to go home. Now Feliciano thought he’d rather stay here, where at least if he died only Capitol audience would care. Now he was putting the safety of his own kin at risk -- or his whole District. Ludwig steered him out the room and into the elevator, but even had to push him to get into his room. Then Tino swooped in to tell him his train home was just arriving, and that he should collect what he wanted from his room and go. Feliciano tried to smile, but there wasn’t a scrap of excitement inside him. Just hollow, hollow dread.

There was nothing in his room to take apart from his penny. Then Tino took him to a car, where he was drive through the streets were blacked-out windows, and the train. He had to say goodbye to Tran, Mei, Im Yong Soo and Xiao Chun, though he’d see them again in a few months. Then he was taken onto his carriage and sped away, back to District 3.

He wasn’t even hungry when a huge dinner was served just for him, and felt nothing of the interview recaps and Tino’s running commentary. He was accompanying him back with Heracles. As soon as Feliciano could he escaped to his bedroom, claiming that he was tired, and shut the door in the face of any interruptions.

But Feliciano could not be more tired. Instead, he threw himself on his bed -- and began to cry.

Now he’d done it! Now he’d gone and screwed everything up, not just for himself, but for the other tributes, and for his family too! Would it really have been so hard to die in the arena? Was it really that bad to watch other people die, when this was the comparison?! He should have thought. He should have stopped for a moment to think how his actions would reflect the Capitol, and because he didn’t, these were the consequences! Feliciano curled up. He wanted his Grandfather to come and stroke his hair and soothe him -- but no. No, that wasn’t right. He’d have to tell him then, of how much danger he and Lovino were in. It was better for them to be blissfully unaware, as he was just a few hours ago.

No, oddly, he wanted Ludwig. Ludwig wouldn’t fob him off with kind words and tell him how everything would be okay in the end. He’d tell him the truth. And then he’d begin to plan how they could make things right.

But Ludwig wasn’t here. He wasn’t here, and that made all the difference. He’d have to go home and face these months alone, constantly afraid, constantly pretending everything was fine. Not even a District partner to share the pain with -- Kiku was dead and he had only himself to blame. Feliciano sobbed harder than ever, thanking the soundproof walls and clutching the pillow, for now, more than ever, the most deadly part of his Hunger Games had just begun.