#and most importantly HOW IT WAS ALWAYS PEETA!!!! IT WAS ALWAYS SUPPOSED TO BE PEETA!!!!! /j

[mizzingyou]

i just finished rereading the hunger games and i need a moment. i just need a moment

[ssweeterthanfiction]

Glimpse of Us

summary: routine became something finnick cherished. but course, the capitol must ruin everything, including his love. but he will still find a way to get her back.

finnick odair x fem!reader

content warnings for the whole story: descriptions of death, torture, starvation, and everything described in The Hunger Games, mentions of suicidal thoughts, implications of S/A

mood board + playlist

masterlist. | next part

Prologue.

Everything was perfect that day. Finnick was home for more than a week, something so rare that he cherished. It meant he didn’t have to endure the cold touches of Capitol citizens on his body, it meant he didn’t have to fake a smile, it meant he didn’t act like a show pony, it meant that he could relax, it meant he could be his true self. Most importantly, it meant he could spend time with you.

He spent his mornings swimming in the ocean with you, afternoons in the market with you, and nights cuddled up next to you as you read, a simple domestic routine.

You decided to sleep in that day. Finnick, still wanting to go swim, decided to go alone. While he felt the cool waves against his skin, he thought about what you two would do that day, what you guys would have for lunch and dinner, what you guys would buy at the market, what book you would read, simple thoughts.

Simple thoughts that he should’ve cherished for longer.

He returned from the beach around noon, he expected to find you in the living room baking, or on the back porch reading.

Instead, he found you in the living room, a look of shock and horror on your face.

"As a reminder that even the strongest cannot overcome the power of the Capitol, on this 3rd Quarter Quell Games, the male and female tributes are to be reaped from the existing pool of victors in each District.”

“Finnick.” you whispered to him.

He saw red. How could they do this? How could they take his and yours normalcy away? “They can’t do that.”

“Finnick…”

He leaps from the couch and shuts off the TV, “They can’t do that!” he shouts.

“Finnick please!” you say, your voice raised slightly.

“They can’t- they can’t make us go back there. They can’t. They already put us through so much- They can’t do this!” he says, shaking his head. “Finnick please sit back down.”

He paces the room, “He’s doing this to get rid of her. Because of her, we’re all going back to hell.”

He was referring to Katniss Everdeen. He knew you knew that, you both were in the Capitol when she and Peeta Mellark won. You both knew that stunt she pulled would cause trouble. But neither of you expected this.

“Finny…it’s not her fault. She’s one of us. It’s Snow, it’s his fault” you say as you cup his face.

He closes his eyes and puts his hands on yours. “I won’t let them take you away from me angel. I won’t.” “I know Finny…I know.”

🌊 .·:*¨🌊🐚🌊¨*:·. 🌊

It had been ten years since his name was in the mix to be reaped, only six since yours. There weren’t that many female victors for four, so chances of you being picked were high.

Finnick prayed that the odds would be slim to none.

As you both approached the town square, Finnick squeezed your hand and kissed your forehead.

“I love you angel. No matter what happens, remember that.”

“I love you too Finnick, always.”

He then reluctantly let go of your hand, dreading the fact that that exchange of love may have been your last.

You both stood on separate sides, Finnick in his white tunic, you in a simple baby blue dress.

“The male tribute for District Four….”

“Finnick Odair.”

Finnick held back his emotions and flashed a cocky grin for the cameras. He knew he would be reaped. He knew it from the beginning.

“And for the female tribute…”

“Annie Crest-“

“I volunteer as tribute.”

Finnick’s heart felt like stopped. He hoped he was hearing things. You couldn’t have volunteered. You couldn’t.

He slowly looked over and saw you whispering something to Annie before walking to the front.

No.

No no.

No.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

You weren’t supposed to go in.

“The male and female tributes of District Four ladies and gentlemen!”

Finnick quickly walked over to you and wrapped you in his arms, placing a kiss atop your head. “Angel…why…you weren’t supposed to..”

“We’re in this together Finny. You and me.”

He gazes into your eyes, your soft, loving eyes, pressing his forehead against yours and whispering ‘I love you’ to you as the cameras shuttered.

“You and me angel. Always.”

A/N: RAHHHH ITS OUT!!! omg i hope u guys liked this, be prepared for LOTS of angst and some cute moments between finnick and reader >:) ANYWAYSSSS again i hope u guys liked this and very special announcment

🥁🥁🥁🥁

WE ARE ALMOST AT 100 FOLLOWS!!! YAYYY

tysm for all the recent love u guys, actually. im so grateful for all of you <333 have an amazing day/afternoon/night

love u guys <3

[mega-ringsandthings-world]

In one if your tumbler post you said Peeta refusing to accept that Katniss did not love him romantically/ him shutting her out over it/constantly reminding Katniss of his feelings at every turn without any regard for her own is actually tragic, because it makes Katniss always so unsure and so guilty over Peeta, even during the times when she wants to be close to him! She genuinely liked him and cared for him and would have been so happy to just know him! But Peeta couldn’t accept just her friendship, or even pretend to accept it, and made things so much harder for her over the intensity of his feelings that she couldn’t at first return.

First of all I don't think it's fair to be too hard on peeta because he's a traumatize seventeen-year-old boy who thought that the girl he like him back. There's something that people often miss: Her feelings for him were not all an act. There were many moments when she got confused because she was feelings things she wasn't supposed to feel. So how can we blame Peeta for thinking her love for him was real? Most people would have thought the same thing he did. But also most importantly he recognized he was wrong and apologize and offer his friendship and he does not pressure her about it. The same can be said about gale.

Gale would often often tried to make her feel guilty about not loving him for example when she kissed him and district 12 he was “I knew you were going to do that” “???” “B/c I’m in pain ���” 🤬🤬😡 like manipulated her into kissing him then made her feel guilty for kissing him for the wrong reason. holy sh*t! 🤯🤮. Or when he said "I thought...I'll never compete with that. No matter how much pain I'm in." He spins the feather between his thumb and forefinger. "I don't stand a chance if he doesn't get better. You'll never be able to let him go. You'll always feel wrong about being with me."

This is blame. Straight up, Grade A premium blame being put on Katniss because OMG she has strong feelings for someone NOT Gale. This isn’t about her feelings. This is all about him and how he’s been ‘mistreated’ by her. He’s laying all this guilt on her because he can’t handle

I hate that he was making someone else’s pain all about himself. Seriously, your “rival” has been tortured and brainwashed and all you can think about is how this affects you? While your supposed best friend is clearly miserable about this, and all you can do is just add to her emotional turmoil instead of making any kind of attempt at being a supportive friend? They're more examples of this of his problematic behavior but these two instances and pacifically piss me off.

So i would appreciate you not criticizing peeta for something he already apologized for especially since especially since you don't hold gale to those same standards

I was going to give an in-depth answer to this, but then you sent the same ask twice, and like, lol? How desperate do you have to be to pick a fight over your fave character that you have to put in back-to-back asks on different accounts? You're funny, telling me you'd appreciate it if I didn't do something. ...Like...do I know you?

[kriscme]

One Life To Live

Hi, here’s my latest chapter.  As usual, subject to change if it suits the plot and it will all go on AO3 when it’s finished.   Thanks to Ronja for allowing me to write fanfic of her Hunger Games fanfic “The Chance You Didn’t Take” available on AO3 and FanFiction.  Chapter 22 Johanna makes sure that Marcus is well out of earshot before she speaks.

In a low voice, she asks, “Do you think I’m still invited to the wedding?”

I glance sharply at her, unsure whether she’s trying to be funny or not.  But, no, she’s serious.  As if the worst outcome from this fiasco would be a rescinded wedding invitation.

“Not if Lace has anything to do with it,” I answer.  I doubt Johanna was ever on the invitation list, anyway.   Peeta only mentioned Delly when he talked about the people from his side he could ask to the wedding.  Not Johanna, or Annie, or my mother.  I suppose Delly is the only one he has complete memories of.   It’s a wonder that Haymitch or I made the list.  “I’m probably not either,” I add.  “Peeta’s pretty mad.”

Johanna sits in same chair in my living room that she vacated earlier this evening.  And Marcus is in the kitchen, making hot chocolate.   I drop my head into my hands and groan.  What a horrible, horrible night.   To think I’ve been waiting months for some kind of breakthrough with Peeta and tonight I got my wish.  Only it wasn’t the one I’d been hoping for – the one where Peeta discovers that it was me he loved all along.  Instead I’m back to being mistrusted.  Maybe even hated. I go over in my head how this all came about, to try to make sense of it.  The evening started well enough.  Johanna and Max appeared to have put an end to hostilities, although I did note that Max made sure to sit at the opposite end of the table, well out of striking range. But Max had no cause to worry.   To his chagrin, Johanna ignored him.  All her attention was on Arthur.   And Arthur really seemed to like it.   I don’t think anyone had paid him so much attention in his life.  Johanna leaned towards him, intent on every word he uttered as if it were the most fascinating thing she’d ever heard.  She complimented him on his appearance, his knowledge of wine (Arthur appeared baffled at this - I think all he cares about wine is that it’s red, but he took the compliment anyway), his ambition, and, most importantly for Arthur, his business acumen. She even listened, mesmerized, as Arthur described in excruciating detail, of his plans to open a clothing factory.   It was puzzling to say the least. Johanna had paid only cursory attention to Arthur the last time they met.  Johanna likes her men to be a little on the wild side, and Arthur definitely isn’t that.   But when I saw Lace’s reaction, Johanna’s motives became clear.  She was trying to make Lace jealous.  And it was working.   Lace became quieter, less effusive, and obviously distracted.  There was a moment when Peeta seemed to sense something was wrong.  I saw him lean in and whisper something in her ear, presumably something to cheer her up.  Lace laughed her pearly laugh and kissed his cheek.  And then she went right back to watching Arthur and Johanna.

I tried to see it from Lace’s point of view.  I already knew she was possessive over him.  I consider myself a bit of an expert on this. It’s like when Madge braved a snow storm to bring morphling to ease Gale’s pain after the whipping.  Haymitch insinuated that there was something between Gale and Madge and I didn’t like it.  And when I reversed Gale’s and my situation in my head, and it was Gale who became another girl’s lover, and then returned home with her, living close by, and getting engaged to her.  I was overwhelmed with hatred for them both.  He is mine, I am his, I remember thinking.  And in that moment, I genuinely believed it.  But then, not long after, waking panicked from a nightmare, I wished that Peeta were there to hold me.   So, I didn’t set much store by it, what Lace was feeling right then.  When you’re at the crossroad, and there’s a path that hasn’t been explored, but will close forever if you don’t take it, it’s hard to let it go.  Even when, deep down, you know that the direction your feet are pointed in, is the right one.

 Peeta seemed a little distracted too. It’s like he had to remind himself that, as a good fiancé, he should be extra attentive.  So, even as he held her hand, bringing it to his lips occasionally, and making sure she was never without a drink, there was an absent quality to it.  If he had been paying attention, he should have slowed Lace’s drinking down.  Lace guzzled one cocktail after another.  It was like she was going down the list.   All that liquid had to go somewhere, and it wasn’t long before Lace had to go to the bathroom.   “I’ll come with you,” announced Johanna, rising quickly from her seat.  “Katniss, come join us?”  

“What?” I spluttered in surprise.  I had been deep in discussion with Marcus over what provisions we’d need for the camp.  I was about to say no thanks, but then saw Johanna making small jerking movements of her head, which I recognized as some kind of signal.  “Ah, OK.  I suppose it couldn’t hurt.” Lace immediately sequestered herself in one on the stalls.  She really needed to go.  Johanna and I were finished first.  While I washed my hands, Johanna stood at the mirror, fluffing her hair. Over the sound of a flushing toilet, Johanna whispered, “Whatever happens, just go along with it.  OK?” “OK,” I whispered back.  “But what do you – “   “Arthur is by far the most fascinating man I’ve ever met,” gushed Johanna.  Lace had just emerged.  “And I’ve met a lot of men.” “Yes,” I say, taking Johanna’s lead.  “He’s a man going places, that’s for sure.  And he’s very attractive too.  And so nice. Most men would be full of themselves, if they had half of what Arthur’s got going for him.  But he’s not like that at all.”  It was a little bit exaggerated, but mostly true. “It’s hard to believe that some lucky woman hasn’t claimed him by now,” said Johanna, as she applied lipstick in a cupid’s bow to accentuate her sexy pout.   “When I was at the salon the other day, Flavius told me that his female clients confessed to having the biggest crush on him.  Even Octavia.  He said she’s always finding an excuse to go into his shop.  The salon and the tailor shop are right next door to each other, you know.”  

“Well, she’s wasting her time,” said Lace, in an acerbic voice.  “Arthur would never go for someone like that.  He likes natural beauty.  He’s told me so.  Green skin, dyed hair.  It’s not the way to attract Arthur at all.”  She looked pointedly at Johanna’s red tipped spiky dark hair.  Johanna stared back at Lace’s.   Lace flushed uncomfortably.  It’s an open secret that Lace’s hair colour isn’t natural.   “Octavia isn’t green anymore.” I said. “She’s let the skin dye fade out. And under it was a beautiful peaches and cream complexion.  And the blue in her hair has gone too, leaving it a natural blond.  There’s nothing artificial about Octavia’s appearance now.”  Unless you count false eyelashes, fingernails and hair extensions.

Johanna gave herself a final appraisal in the mirror and then undid all the buttons of her shirt to expose a large expanse of bare flesh down the middle of her chest.   She wasn’t wearing a bra.

“Octavia is sweet enough.  But what Arthur needs is a woman.  Not some giggly little girl.  Someone who knows how to please a man and make him feel special.   If there was ever a man who deserved to be shown a good time, it’s Arthur.  And maybe I’m the one to give it to him,” said Johanna, with a suggestive wink, as she walked out the door. I turned to Lace with a shrug, as if to say, “what else can you expect from Johanna?”  But Lace barely looked at me and swept past without a word.  I felt a little ashamed. Maybe I shouldn’t have participated in Johanna’s attempt to manipulate Lace.   I wouldn’t like to have my feelings played with like that.  Besides, making Lace jealous over Arthur won’t help Peeta find himself. I returned to my seat, and was cheered to have Marcus waiting for me with a smile and a fresh drink.  Johanna went back to charming Arthur, making sure to strategically lean forward so that the underside of her breasts could clearly be seen beneath her shirt.    Arthur’s face was pink, but whether it was from titillation or embarrassment, it was hard to tell.  Lace was all over Peeta, smiling up at him, stroking his hand, but her eyes kept flitting to Arthur and Johanna.   And that’s how the night might have continued, if not for Max.   He’d been uncharacteristically quiet.  I guess he would have felt a little left out. Johanna had monopolized Arthur, and I had been mostly talking to Marcus.  That left Peeta and Lace, neither of whom were their usual sociable selves. I guess Max wanted to liven things up. Stir the pot a little.   “Hey, Johanna,” he called out.  “You seem to be missing half your shirt.  Should we take up a collection?” “Why don’t you take up a collection for the missing half of your brain,” Johanna snapped back.  “I don’t know how you got to be a teacher.   I’d hate to see your kids.” “So would I,” laughed Max, having taken no offense at all.   “Max is right,” chipped in Lace.  “It’s disgusting how you expose yourself like that. Do you really think people like seeing you naked?  It might be how people behave in the Capitol, where they have no morals.  But not in the districts.  We have standards here – something you evidently know nothing about.” Johanna’s brown eyes flashed with fury.  It was fortunate there were no axes nearby. One might have ended up in Lace’s skull. “Standards, eh?  Well, I’ve never lied about who I am.  Or had anyone doubt where my loyalties lie.  So don’t talk to me about standards, you hypocritical bitch. “ The colour drained from Lace’s face, and her mouth opened to say something but nothing came out.  Peeta stared at her in bewilderment.  She hasn’t told him, I realised.  I really thought she would have by now.  “Lace, what is she talking about?”  he asked. “What’s going on?”   Lace didn’t answer.  She just looked beseechingly at Arthur.   Arthur rose from his chair and went to her side.  “She hasn’t done anything wrong.  It was a misunderstanding, that’s all.  We can explain it later.  But here isn’t the place.”   “We?” asked Peeta, with voice raised. “How many people know about – whatever this thing I don’t know about is?   He scanned each of our faces in turn.  “Johanna?” Johanna said nothing.  She just looked down at the table, but an almost imperceptible sideways glance at me gave it away.   “Katniss, did you know?” he asked me in a hushed voice.  I could hear the hurt of betrayal. “Yes,” I said, unable to look him in the eye. “I found out about it when I was in 8 for Sateen’s wedding.  I told Haymitch.  We thought it better if you heard it from Lace.  We thought she would have told you by now.”   “So, everyone knows except me,” said Peeta. “I don’t,” said Max.  “Anyone care to enlighten me?”

“Just shut up,” I hissed at him.  I turned back to Peeta.  “We didn’t want to interfere.  You were so happy . . . and, well, it wasn’t our place.   We figured that if things got really serious between the two of you, Lace would tell you.   I’m sorry.” “You and Haymitch . . . this isn’t the first time you’ve kept things from me, is it?” My skin prickled at the tone of his voice. I sensed danger and the memory of a similar scene cut across my consciousness, of a dome of the Justice Building in 11, of broken furniture and thick dust.  Of Peeta, furious, because Haymitch and I hadn’t told him of Snow’s threats.   “No,” I whispered. Peeta made a swift sweeping gesture with his hand, as if his body remembered striking out at some phantom object.  “This – this – game you two play, where you tell each other secrets but keep them from me like I’m too inconsequential or stupid or weak to handle them.” “It wasn’t like that Peeta – “ I begin. “It’s exactly like that!” he said, his voice cold with anger.  “After all we’ve been through together, don’t I even rate the truth from you?”   “Of course, you do.  I’m sorry.  I’m sorry.” I was on the verge of tears.  I felt Marcus’s arm around my shoulders.  “I think it might be a good time to leave,” he said quietly in my ear. I nodded my assent.  People around us were staring, fascinated.  The gossips would have a field day with this.   “Jo?” said Marcus.   “Yeah, OK.” Johanna stood and retrieved her coat where it was draped over her chair.  “Sorry, Peeta.  You shouldn’t have found out like this,” she said, with a meaningful glare at Lace.  

The last image I had was Arthur consoling a sobbing Lace, Peeta watching us leave, and Max shrugging his shoulders at the onlookers.

Fuck, fuck, fuck!   All that effort in being scrupulously honest to regain Peeta’s trust destroyed within seconds.  I guess I should have told him myself and not relied on either Haymitch or Lace to do it. But then I remember there were also good reasons for not telling him.  Between a rock and a hard place, I think they call it.  I suppose it’s definitely all over with Peeta now, even the friendship.   Maybe it’s for the best.  I was going to separate myself from him anyway.  What does it matter if it’s before the wedding, rather than after?  Isn’t it better if it’s his decision?  That way, I won’t have to find excuses for staying away from him.   And then I think of how Peeta must be feeling right now, and I feel really, really bad in a way that’s unconnected with me. With his memories either distorted and incomplete, he relies on others to be honest with him, and not to keep things from him.  How can he know what’s real or not real, otherwise?  It must feel like some kind of conspiracy that everyone but himself was included.  No wonder it’s evoked memories of what happened in 11.   And me, the person he should be able to rely on the most, has let him down.   When I at last raise my head, I see Johanna regarding me with a puzzled expression. “It was weird how he took out all his anger on you, wasn’t it?  You’d think he’d be mad at Lace, but it was like she didn’t matter.”  

“No, not really,” I reply.  “It reminded him of another time, that’s all.”  And not a good one either, I silently add.   “Do you think they’ll split up over it?” I shake my head.  “I doubt it.  Not once things settle down.  She hasn’t lied about anything really important.  It was only her first name and that she was a factory worker.  Even that can be explained away as simply stretching the truth.  Lace could be a pet name for Chantilly, and owners do work in their own factories.  They just do a different kind of work.” “It was still deception,” says Johanna.   “Yeah, but not meant to harm. He’ll understand why, although he’ll likely be disappointed that she didn’t confide him in much earlier.  And it was only Arthur who knew originally, and that’s because they knew each other before. It’s not like she told the rest of us, but not Peeta.”   “Humph” snorts Johanna. “I wouldn’t be so quick to forgive, if I were him.  A lie is still a lie.  Especially if you’re about to marry the guy.  And what about what she said to me?  What a bitch.” Well, you did provoke her.  And it was probably about time someone called you out on your exhibitionistic tendency to strip off in inappropriate places.  Like elevators, for instance.  “She’d had quite a lot to drink,” I say.   “It’s no excuse,” she sniffs.  I think Lace really did hurt Johanna’s feelings, but whether it’s over being accused of having no standards, or the notion that people don’t like seeing her naked, I don’t know.  “But what about Peeta?  Do you think I’m still welcome to stay in his house?” Good question.   Peeta might see the justice of not taking sides in this.  After all, Lace had a go at Johanna first, and he doesn’t know what else was going on.  But then, a good fiancé wouldn’t want a house guest his bride-to-be is at odds with. I was evicted from the guest room for far less. “I don’t know,” I say.  “But I think it will OK for tonight.  They’ll have a lot to talk about.  Peeta will probably get home late, if he doesn’t stay the night at Lace’s.  I’d just wait to see what happens.  But there’s always my mother’s old bedroom if you need it.”   I really don’t want Johanna staying here but I feel responsible.  I shouldn’t have told her about Lace.  Or even told Haymitch.  Peeta was the only one I should have told.  If I’d kept my mouth shut, none of this would have happened.  Oh, fuck!  All those people in the pub who heard Johanna’s accusations.  They might not know the details, but it won’t stop the gossip, or prevent anyone from making enquiries, and then finding out.   Lace might have to leave the district.  And Peeta, as her husband, will have to go with her.  He’ll have to leave his home, and his job.  Everything that is familiar.  And it will be all be my fault.  This is much, much, worse than I first thought.  And not only will Peeta and Lace hate me, Arthur will too.  I feel sick.  

Marcus walks in at that moment carrying three mugs of steaming hot chocolate.   I seem destined not to enjoy any of Marcus’s cooking tonight and it tastes like glue in my mouth.  We make inconsequential conversation, carefully avoiding any topic connected with the events of the last few hours.  Eventually, Johanna makes her leave and Marcus and I are alone. “Katniss, I know none of this is my business, but if you want to talk . . .” “Thank you, but talking is what’s got me into trouble.  I’ve made the worst mess of things.  I – I don’t . . .”  And that’s all I get out before bursting into tears.   The next thing I know I’m in Marcus’s arms, sobbing against his chest. He holds me close and says soothing words.  And I stay there, cradled against him, until I am spent.

[foreversillythings]

roses are red, roses are white chapter seven

roses are red, roses are white part two the thorns of lancaster chapter two the wheel of fortune

“Madge…” her mother breathes, hand up in front of her mouth and Madge steels her resolve. 

“It’s the only way,” she says firmly and Haymitch raises an eyebrow.

“And why would you say that?” he asks, voice level and expression inscrutable. He gives nothing away, offers no clue as to how he feels about her suggestion and this is a test, isn’t it? No matter, I am ready for you, Haymitch.

“You need something to keep the King from punishing you and I can be that. If I marry Cato, I will have access to the royal family in ways you won’t. You will have someone on the inside, someone who can learn things you cannot, be privy to their secrets and plans and if I play my cards right; I may even win their regard, respect and affection. If I do, I can sway them away from punishing you. Even if I can’t, if you are tied so closely to the king by marriage, as not only his niece’s husband but now father to his daughter-in-law, he will be unable to punish you. He is clever enough to know he is standing on thin ice with the people of England right now; he cannot afford to alienate them further by attacking his own family, especially family that was so instrumental in returning him to the throne. His cruelty is one of the reasons he was deposed in the first place and though no one expects him to be generous to Katniss, they will expect clemency towards his family. Thus, the closer we are bound to him, the safer we will be.”

Her mouth is very dry as she finishes, her heart beats very loud in her ears and Haymitch nods slowly, her mother’s expression grim. Madge knows looking in her eyes that no matter how much she hates this, her mother agrees with every word she’s said. And what about you Haymitch?

“I see you have put a lot of thought into this,” he says and she nods, ears pricked to every current and nuance in his words.

“I have. Were there another option, I would take it. But there isn’t, is there?” she asks, her own voice somewhat hollow and Haymitch shakes his head.

“No, I suppose there isn’t.”

Madge had known this already and yet still she feels her stomach drop, that last vain hope that Haymitch would have some other clever plan withering to nothing. I really am going to marry Cato.

Oh Gale…

“I will arrange it with King Louis,” Haymitch says wearily, “I am sure he will be agreeable. Your blood and, even more importantly, your vast inheritance will be invaluable to a monarchy as penniless as the Lancastrians. Enobaria, however much she will detest it, will not be able to refuse the match.”

Madge nods, her hands tightening into fists.

“There is one condition though,” she says softly and Haymitch raises both heavy brows.

“A condition?”

“Yes,” she breathes. “I am doing this to help you, so you must help me in return. I want you to give me your word that Katniss, Gale and his family will be safe. I don’t care how you do it, secure a pardon, arrange their exile, just do not let them die.”

There is a moment of tense, horrible silence and Haymitch’s expression turns stormy.

“I would never let anything happen to them,” he rumbles, anger crackling in his voice but Madge ignores it.

“Give me your word Haymitch,” she repeats and he glares at her, his gray eyes dark.

“You have it. They are my family Madge; I would not see them come to any harm,” he says, a note of danger in his voice. She nods, her body taut, her blood chilled to ice.

“Good. For if anything does happen to them, I will hold you responsible and I will make sure the King offers you no clemency, no mercy,” she promises and her mother’s eyes widen.

(oh my sweet Madge, when did you grow up to be so hard?)

(if I only I could have spared you this)

“I would want none should I fail them,” Haymitch says gravely and Madge looks deep into those stony eyes, peels back layer after layer to the soul hidden beneath and believes it.

We are both torn aren’t we Haymitch?

I wonder, will we ever be put back together?

*

(Annie hears the knock on her door and gasps at the look on Madge’s face.

She does not ask what’s wrong, she merely opens her arms and lets Madge fall into them. She holds her friend, strokes her hair and sings until she falls asleep, her heart sore and weeping.

Oh Madge, oh Madge, what have you done?)

*

Madge falls into Annie and does not sob.

She thinks of the sorrowful look her mother had cast her, thinks of Gale as she last saw him, handsome and brave upon his horse, thinks of Cato and his knuckles on her cheek. She breathes in Annie, comforting, steadfast Annie and knows she will not waver from her chosen path. It is wicked this world they live in, but it is the only one they have.

Survive, survive survive.

I will

And I will cry no longer for the life I’ll never have

She closes her eyes, shivers slightly in Annie’s arms and forces down the tears straining to fall.

To weep would be to mourn and I cannot mourn. If I mourn I will yearn and if I yearn I will never forget and if I never forget, how will I ever survive this new turn of fortune?

She bites her lip, clings to Annie all the tighter and knows what she has to do.

Goodbye Gale, goodbye my heart and that future we can never have.

Goodbye

*

(Is this courage papa?

Is it meant to feel this wretched?)

*

(Gale lies in bed and tangles his fingers through Madge’s handkerchief, the silk sliding across his skin.

Burn it, says the voice in his head

Tear it, toss it aside, be rid of it

(and her)

He doesn’t, he won’t and he tucks it beneath his pillow instead.

I am yours wholly he’d carved into her brooch and he is. No matter the distance, the years, the battle lines, he is. Foolish maybe, hopeless possibly, but then, he has always been stubborn)

*

Madge wakes the next morning and swears to herself that she has let Gale go for good, forever.

(the locket still resting against her heart tells a slightly different story)

It is late in the day, noontime sun painting the chamber in hues of gold and Madge carefully extricates herself from Annie’s embrace before forcing herself up. Her feet are heavy as she makes her way back to her chambers and as much as she tries to convince herself that releasing her hold on Gale is the best thing to do, there is a stubborn streak in her that is not yet ready to abandon hope.

What a fool I am

She reaches her cold, empty rooms and as soon as she shuts the door, loneliness seems to seep from every wall. The chambers are beautiful on their own, with rich wood furniture, plush bedcovers and intricate tapestries upon the well scrubbed walls, but there is no life in them, not a single breath. Her arched window looks out at the coastline and yellow sunlight falls upon the floor rushes, but there is no warmth in its rays. Madge allows a moment for melancholy, feels it infect her every organ, but then she shoves it aside. The French are not her friends, nor the Lancastrians, but that does not matter. She has Annie, her mother and the promise of safety for Gale, Prim, Katniss and the Hawthornes. One day, she will even have the crown of England.

That is enough.

(it has to be)

Madge moves over to her coffer of things and pulls out every one of her gowns and lays them out to see. Just like when she first met her new Yorkist masters, she must choose her outfit with acre. She must make a good impression today if she wants any hope of succeeding with her plan. The travel gowns are a definite no, the more casual ones as well, but so too the most ostentatious. She needs to look pretty, young, sweet but important. A rod of iron wreathed in fragrant roses.

Her eyes settle on the white silk gown she wore to Katniss’ coronation, the gold velvet edges soft under her fingertips. For a kirtle she chooses white again, simple and innocent and entirely nonthreatening. She is laced into both by a group of maids sent by Louis and then a golden girdle with silver thread. The maids arrange her hair into artful braids woven with satin ribbons and there is an itch beneath Madge’s skin, one she cannot hope to scratch. She needs Louis to approve of her, needs him to support the idea of her marriage to Cato. If he does not, if she and Haymitch cannot convince him to, then Madge will have failed Gale, his family, Katniss, Prim, Peeta, all of them. Anxiety pours into her stomach like wine into a goblet at the thought and for a moment her vision blurs, gray stone walls and embroidered tapestries swirling together.

No, no, I must be brave

I must be my own white knight

She closes her eyes, forces away every tremor and no matter what she feels on the inside, she cannot let it show, will not. These Lancastrians are fierce, feral and if they smell even the slightest hint of weakness, they will not hesitate to tear her to pieces. Never let them see me, never never never. Madge blinks until her vision clears and breathes deeply, coating herself in frost and determination.  

I can do this

Madge opens her eyes as the maids add the finishing touches to her ensemble, Katniss’ pearl headband in her hair and pretty gold baubles hanging from her ears.  

“Thank you very much,” she says with a glass smile, “you may go.”

They each curtsy and file out, Madge’s eyes turning to her reflection in the mirror. She runs over aspect of her appearance, cannot afford a single hair out of place. Her jewels glitter, her gown is spotless, her hair shines but her gaze catches as she looks at her face. Her expression is hard and the blue eyes looking back at her are so cold she can feel their chill but I have no other choice. I cannot be how I used to be. If I want to survive I must be made of iron and ice. It is a bitter, mournful realization but she has gone too far to back down now. She stands and touches each of the three rings she never takes off before pressing her palm to Gale’s locket hanging beneath her kirtle.

I am Madge of Bedford and I am not afraid

I am brave

One last breath and then she turns from the room, refuses to cast a look back at the girl in the mirror.

Do not look back, only forward

The halls are mostly empty but even still, Madge keeps her mask in place and runs over every step of her plan again and again. I have Haymitch, now I must win Louis and then Enobaria and Cato. Be sweet and charming and graceful but do not be weak. They need me as much as I need them, remember that.

Annie is waiting for her around the next corner, dressed in Glimmer’s borrowed gown and with her dark hair gleaming. Madge’s jewels sparkle on her ears and neck, that ring that must be from Finnick bright on her finger. There is no mask on Annie’s face, no attempt to hide her feelings, but then, Annie has ever been an open book.

(is that strength? Or weakness?)

(Madge finds herself unable to tell anymore)

Annie looks at her with such stark, naked worry that Madge feels her knees grow weak and her legs tremble. She tries to smile but it is devoid of any comfort and for a moment she is afraid Annie might ask what’s wrong, might demand to know why Madge came to her chambers last night so upset.  Madge does not think she can answer that, does not think she is ready to make everything so real, and worse, she is not sure Annie would understand. She cannot lose Annie, but she knows that whatever they have in common, their ideas on survival have ever differed.

I wonder, which one of us has it right?

Thankfully, Annie asks only with her eyes and Madge can ignore that (and the sting of guilt that goes with it), so she does, and leads Annie down the hall. Their silence is thick and Madge wonders if that rift formed over Gale has ever really healed, or if they’d just bandaged over it. Annie is her best friend, Gale the love of her life, so why are they pulling her in such different directions?

Curse these evil times, curse them, curse them, curse them

They reach the solar gifted to her mother and knock lightly on the wooden door, her mother’s thin voice calling them inside. They step through the door and her mother sits alone by the window, her hair trapped beneath a bejeweled butterfly hennin. Her gown is a deep, dark blue and it makes her skin seem all the paler while the faint sun lighting her face does little to add colour to her cheeks. Madge stares and cannot help but wince at the white hands knotted in her mother’s lap, each one vivid with blue veins. I have been ailing since the day I was born, Joseph, we both know I shall never be well, Madge recalls her mother saying but Mama, how long can you truly last like this?

Her mother turns towards them and smiles, the expression not quite managing to reach her eyes.

“Good morning. Please, have a seat,” she says and they do. “Haymitch is with the King, but I thought we might have dinner together.”

Madge nods and then the door opens again, her low spirits plummeting as Marvel and Glimmer waltz inside. Marvel looks down his nose at them and just like Madge, he is dressed in his very best. Pointed silver shoes upon his feet, silken hose of blue and gold stripes, a royal blue doublet made of soft velvet and trimmed with gold, a silver belt covered in jewels, a great silver chain of office draped over his chest bearing all his various insignia, and with countless precious rings adorning every finger, he looks fit to be royalty himself. He preens just like his peacock badge and struts deeper into the room, pulling Glimmer along with him. She sparkles beside him, her ears, wrists, fingers and neck weighed down with gems. Her houppelande is green brocade with pretty silver thread and her hennin is monstrously tall, wire frames holding up shimmering lace veils around her face. Even her satin girdle glitters with emeralds and golden embroidery.

“Ah, Mother dearest, how good of you to invite us,” Marvel smarms and leads Glimmer to one of the empty seats. He sits down beside her and whatever warmth there had once been in the room seems to have vanished. Servants bring out food and Madge knows she must eat even as her stomach shrivels within her.

“So where is your husband this morning?” Marvel asks, filing those two words with more venom than Madge would have thought possible. Her mother frowns.

“He is with the King. We shall join them once we’ve finished eating.”

And what is Haymitch doing? Proposing my betrothal?

“Well, I hope the Duke doesn’t bungle things too badly before we get there,” Marvel says with a smirk and Glimmer laughs. Madge bites her tongue and cannot help but feel uneasy at the obvious divide between father and son.

I know why you hate him Marvel, but we cannot have this

There is much blame to go around; we cannot heap it all upon one person

Especially now

“That is enough Marvel,” her mother says sharply and Marvel turns so fast his neck cracks, his eyes wide and startled. “I do not wish to hear you speak of your lord father in such a way ever again.”

Her mother skewers him with her eyes and he sits there, dumbstruck, looking as shocked by the rebuke as if she’d slapped him. There is a hideous tension in Madge’s stomach and fury climbs all over Marvel’s face, blotting out everything else. He swallows with difficulty.

“Forgive me Mother, I spoke out of turn,” he forces out, each word a struggle. Margaret nods, smiles with understanding and pats his hand, but Madge is certain her mother can see the rage still smoldering in his eyes. Marvel does not like to be crossed, hates being told he’s wrong and especially with an audience.

He will not forget this.

Always needing to be the center of attention, he begins a loud tale of something or other but Madge does not listen. Marvel has not forgiven Haymitch, not for his lost heir nor his lost crown and she can only imagine how he will react to finding out they will be supporting a Lancastrian restoration. He is dangerous, commands many men and great wealth, they cannot afford him as an enemy. But how to soften him? He is arrogant, entitled and thinks he deserves the world. His thwarted ambition is like a disease, eating away at him and he is a volcano, one about to boil over.

Madge can only hope they survive the explosion.

*

As soon as they finish eating, it is time to meet the king.

Marvel rises first and offers an arm each to Glimmer and his step-mother. Madge stands slowly after they’ve swept from the room and unclenches her hands; she cannot afford any outward sign of tension. She breathes in deeply and exhales, hoping this will help to steady the waves crashing in her stomach. There is a memory tugging at her mind and she thinks back to her first meeting with Katniss, Gale and Haymitch. Was it really over two years ago? I made it through that, I can make it through this. I will be whatever King Louis wants me to be.

Warm fingers reach out and grasp hers, their pressure a welcome anchor in Madge’s sea of worry. She turns and Annie smiles at her, her own nerves flickering in her eyes. Madge squeezes her hand and they move out into the hall together, following the echo of Marvel, Glimmer and Margaret’s footsteps. I have done it before, I can do it again.

(but do I really want to?)

They come to a halt outside a pair of heavyset doors and her mother murmurs into the ear of the man stationed just beside them. He nods and slips into the room beyond, Madge’s eyes drifting out a tall window to her left. There is a church spire glinting in the distance, a small town spilling out in a tangle of streets and then lazy green fields stretching off to the horizon. It looks so peaceful, so calm and she cannot help but wonder if England looks the same, or if even the land lies as scarred as its people.

I wonder, can you smell all that spilled blood on the air?

The great double doors swing open and Haymitch steps out, his eyes probing over each of them. He nods.

“Best behavior,” he warns and Marvel scowls. He opens his mouth but his step-mother touches his sleeve and the words stall on his tongue. He grimaces and shakes away her fingers, Glimmer’s eyes narrowing and her nails sinking into his skin.

(you are a viper, mother dear, aren’t you?)

(just like your daughter)

Madge tightens her grip on Annie for a brief moment and then lets her go, knowing she cannot rely on anyone else to get her through this. You are Madge Undersee. You can do this. Haymitch holds out his arm for his wife and she takes it, the two of them leading the way inside. Marvel and Glimmer follow after, Madge and Annie bringing up the rear and this is it.

The room they enter is long and high ceilinged with great, tall windows that bathe the room in sunshine. That light glitters off silver candlesticks and pools over glossy wood benches that line either side of the room, bathing everything in shades of yellow and gold. Grand tapestries hang on the walls and a long carpet stretches from the door to the far end of the room and a gilt edged throne. A hunched man sits on that throne, elbows on his knees and fingers steepled. He is too far for Madge to see his face, but she knows he is watching them, a shiver snaking its way up her spine. She drops her head as they approach and makes sure not to meet his eyes, peeking up at him through her lashes instead. This must be King Louis but she would never have guessed it for he wears no crown, no royal insignia, nor even costly garments. He is dressed in plain, rough clothes, his skin is sallow and he has both a large nose and very little chin. He smiles at them as they grow nearer, a curling, laughing smile, but it does not reach his eyes. They are cold and dark, dark, dark.

“Your Majesty, may I present my wife, the Lady Margaret,” Haymitch says with a bow and Louis’ eyes focus on her mother as she curtsies.

“Coriolanus’ niece, yes?” he asks in an almost mocking tone and Margaret nods.

“Indeed, your Grace,” she murmurs and Louis smiles as if he’s suddenly remembered a very funny joke.

“My son Marvel, Earl of Northumberland and his countess, the Lady Glimmer,” Haymitch continues and the King drops his eyes upon them, both Glimmer and Marvel hastily falling into an obeisance. Louis looks at them for only a moment, his disinterest plain, before he rests his heavy gaze on Madge. She prickles but does not react.

“Lady Anne, the daughter of the Earl of Oxford, and finally my step daughter, the Lady Madge.”

Madge drops into a deep curtsy and holds it until her legs cramp. Louis lets out a pleased hum.

“Rise,” he says and she does, keeping her posture as straight as she can. From the very corner of her eyes she catches sight of Glimmer, her mouth thinning into an envious line.

“You must be eager to see your great uncle restored to the throne, Lady Madge,” the King says in that same nearly taunting tone and Madge’s mind races, dashing through every possible answer until she settles on the one she believes best tailored for her audience.

“It is my deepest wish for God’s true sovereign to wear England’s crown, your Majesty,” she answers softly and even though Marvel hisses something foul beneath his breath, it is Haymitch’s approving nod that tells her she has said the right thing.

“As do we all,” Louis says with a secret smile. Madge narrows her eyes and dissects that smile, pulls it apart and stares at it from every which way. Haymitch was surely telling you all about the engagement this morning, have I your approval? You cannot turn down my vast inheritance, but what of me? Do I measure up?

“I am well pleased with your family, Lord Haymitch, as I am sure my cousin will be,” Louis says and Haymitch nods gratefully, affecting another bow.

“My deepest thanks, your Majesty.”

Louis nods and smiles again, his cold eyes finding Madge’s.

He is laughing, she thinks, but who at? Me? Or the Lancastrians?

*

“What did he mean by that?” Marvel demands as soon as they leave the room. “Cousin? What cousin?”

Haymitch closes his eyes.

“He was referring to Queen Enobaria,” he says and Marvel recoils.

“Enobaria? What does that faithless whore have to do with anything?”

“Stay your tongue,” Haymitch snaps and Marvel’s eyes widen sharply. Haymitch takes a deep breath.

“Enobaria is to be our new ally. And it is she who will get us back to England and back into favour.”

Marvel shakes his head in angered disbelief.

“You cannot be serious. We fought and bled to topple the Lancastrians from the throne and now you would place them back upon it? Have you lost your mind? They are a pack of ravening lunatics intent on vengeance. They will not forgive us! They will not just hand us all we desire on a silver plate! They will n-“

“That is enough,” his step mother interrupts, her hand clamping down on his arm. Marvel stares at her in absolute bewilderment, lips parted in surprise. “Do not make me repeat myself Marvel. I have already told you not to speak to your father so. Furthermore, we have little choice. Either we join with Enobaria or we return to Harfleur and rot.”

Marvel shuts his mouth so quickly his teeth clack together and narrows his eyes, blotchy patches of rage starting to bloom all across his skin. Madge waits with bated breath for the explosion and her mother lightly increases her pressure on Marvel’s arm. Haymitch takes a deep breath, the new lines in his face suddenly so much starker.

“You still have a few days yet to reconcile yourself to the idea before you will be required to pledge her your allegiance,” he says, tone soft and almost pleading, and Madge swallows a gasp at the sudden pain flashing in his eyes.

Oh Haymitch

Marvel opens his mouth and then snaps it shut, his glare scorching as it rakes over each of them. Madge can practically feel her skin bubbling under that look and then Marvel brushes off his step-mother’s hand, contemptuous eyes boring into hers. There is a gasp Madge barely manages to restrain and Marvel grabs hold of Glimmer’s elbow, spins on his heel and storms away.

This isn’t good

A tense silence follows his departure, every one of their eyes on his back. Haymitch releases a defeated sigh.

“I suppose you will do her homage first?” Margaret asks to pull his attention away from Marvel and he nods.

“Yes. I may have Louis’ endorsement, but I still need to win over Enobaria. I am sure she will agree, but I am equally sure she will make me suffer for it.”

Madge bites her lip and cannot help but agree. She has not seen Enobaria in over two years, but the Queen she remembers is not the forgiving type.

She will make us bleed for this.

Still, what is sacrifice in the face of survival?

*

(Enobaria is cold, harsh and her hatred burns clearly on every inch of her. Haymitch had expected nothing less.

She stands tall and hostile before him as he kneels and every word from his lips draws a hiss from hers. He remains polite, dignified and eager to serve but all he can see when he looks at her are his two uncles’ severed heads on pikes, one that could be Katniss if she were a man, the other a softened, older likeness of Gale. He remembers riding into York and seeing those heads up on the gate, the Duke of York’s head decorated with a mocking paper crown. He can still feel Katniss’ quiet fury, Gale’s explosive rage and hears his own voice, more thunderous than he had ever expected.

“Whose idea was this?”

He can hear too the weeping of terrified citizens and the mayor on his knees before him.

“The Queen, Your Grace. We are sorry, we are so sorry. Forgive us, please.”

He finishes his petition and Enobaria sneers, a heap of insults falling from her lips to bury him. He may see rotting heads belonging to men he’d once loved, but when she looks at him she sees her husband riding away, leaving her and their son in London to face Yorkist wrath all on their own. She feels the icy winds on her face as she takes Cato and flees to Scotland, enemies hungry for blood hot on their tail. She sees burning castles and smells acrid smoke on the air, sees the rage on her boy’s face when he hears his inheritance has been stolen from him. Enobaria looks at Haymitch and keeps him on his knees for over a quarter of an hour, vicious, furious disparagements tumbling out of her mouth and landing upon his head. She remembers the fear and fury he had brought to her, this leader of Yorkist hopes, when he had stormed her kingdom and set her country aflame. She is an exile because of him, her son a wanted man with a price on his head.

Damn you to Hell Haymitch Abernathy

Damn you

Finally, when Enobaria’s well of insults has run dry, she has her attendants bring out one of France’s most sacred relics, a shard of the True Cross itself.

“Swear,” she commands, “swear me your fealty upon this most Holy Relic if you are truly sincere.”

To break an oath sworn upon the True Cross would be instant damnation, would be a promise of hellfire for eternity and there is an evil glint in her eyes as he makes his vow. I suppose she wins either way. If I do not keep my word she will have her revenge on me both in this world and the next, and if I do keep it, she and her family will be returned to the throne.

I have sold my soul to the Devil

Please, let it be worth it)

*

(of course, she does not agree to the engagement right away)

(she insists she must first have a look at Madge)

(this is merely a show of force, he knows, a chance for her to remind him that she is a queen)

(but she will agree in the end)

(queen or not, her choices are as restricted as his)

*

It is a little over a week after their meeting with Louis when Enobaria summons them. Madge is laced into blue damask and chains of pearls and she cannot help but remember the last time she saw the queen.

March, Westminster, a man bringing them the dreadful news of Lancaster’s defeat. She can picture Enobaria clearly, her face hard and her mind whirring, and how must it have felt to know your husband had abandoned you? Cato too she can see, angry, red and violent, and maybe frightened too (not that he’d ever have admitted it). Her cheek throbs at the memory and I wonder, will he be at this meeting too?

Madge stands and smooths out her gown with her hands, the material cool and soft to the touch. She looks in the mirror and this time she does not flinch from the cold, bitter girl looking back. I hope Cato is there. For the sooner I start on him, the better.

Annie is waiting for her in the hall in another borrowed gown, this one a bold yellow with silver thread. Fidgety fingers tuck hair behind her ears again and again, while her teeth chew into her bottom lip, so much so that it is spotted with blood. Madge reaches forward and takes one of those twitching hands, Annie’s big eyes impossibly wide. Of course she is anxious. Today might be the day she is finally reunited with her father and Finnick. Annie barely seems to notice her, worry crackling in her eyes and every breath she takes. Madge does not blame her. They head to her mother’s rooms together and both she and Haymitch are already waiting outside for them.

Glimmer and Marvel are nowhere to be seen.

Will they really not come? Is Marvel so upset at losing his chance at a crown that he would rather sulk in Harfleur than go home? Is he to be our enemy now? She can see her questions etched into Haymitch’s face as he peers down the hallway, his posture so rigid he could be made of stone. What do we do if Marvel turns against us? Will he merely sit by and pout? Or will he use his influence to thwart us?

“We do not wish to keep the Queen waiting,” Margaret says gently and places a hand on her husband’s arm. He closes his eyes briefly and then nods, his face pinched with sorrow. He heaves a sigh and they turn to leave, only to stop at the sound of approaching footsteps. All four of them look together down the hall and there are Marvel and Glimmer marching towards them.

Never, in all the time she has known him, has Madge ever been so relieved to see Marvel.

Haymitch melts momentarily with that same relief but soon wilts when Marvel shoulders roughly past him, his expression murderous. Glimmer sniffs and deliberately turns her face away from them, the mood suddenly coated in frost. Cleary Marvel and Glimmer have decided they would rather return to England over Harfleur, but their behavior makes one thing very clear. They have not forgotten, will not forgive and their house remains perilously divided.

At least let us reach England before this gulf becomes too great to breach.

*

“We shall go in first. Wait here until we send for you,” Haymitch instructs them as they stand outside a door hung with the Lancastrian coat of arms. Armed men guard each side and Madge suppresses a shudder at the sight of Coriolanus’ silver wolf stitched upon their breasts.

“I am not a child,” Marvel says acidly from his spot leaning against the stone wall and Glimmer narrows her eyes at Haymitch, both her hands tucked around Marvel’s arm. Haymitch clenches his jaw and it is Margaret who answers her churlish step-son.

“No, you are a great and noble knight of England,” she says and though the words are mild, there is a command in her words, one that stiffens Marvel’s spine and flashes in his eyes. Glimmer glares, her grip on Marvel tightening still further. Haymitch looks between wife and son for one tense moment before he nods.

“As I said, we will go first.”

The door is opened for them and the Duke and Duchess of Clarence glide through with perfect poise, their dignity gleaming like armor. What a pair they make, Madge thinks, Mother wasting to nothing and Haymitch haggard and bloodshot. Still, there is a presence to them, one I would not want to cross. Annie strains to catch a glimpse of those within before the door swings shut and Madge grimaces in sympathy. Are the Earl of Oxford and Finnick in there right now? And do they know Annie is right here?

The wait feels torturously long and Madge covers herself in steel, for even without swords, this will be a hard won battle. Today is only about first impressions. Plant the seed and in the days to come, help it flourish. Her heart is rabbit fast in her chest, but outside she is calm, her eyes sweeping over each of her companions with cool detachment. Marvel and Glimmer stay tucked away in the corner whispering poison into each other’s ears and Madge feels her organs harden as her gaze flits over them. I won’t let them ruin this. Glimmer must feel her looking, for she turns suddenly, venom hot in her green eyes.

“Might I help you with something?” she asks, her voice sickly sweet, and Madge smiles.

“I was just admiring your gown. You look ever so lovely.”

There is nothing cruel or rancorous she can say to that, so Glimmer turns away with a sniff, her cheeks a blotchy pink. Madge drops her smile. Annie trembles to her right, so pale she looks as if she may faint and Madge feels her mask slip. She reaches for Annie in concern but the door opens again, freezing her in her tracks. A servant dressed in burgundy steps out, a Lancastrian badge blazoned on his chest.

“Lord Marvel, the Queen is ready for you,” he says with a bow and Marvel sneers as he pushes off the wall. Glimmer lifts her chin and they follow the servant into the chamber, their lordly air thick enough to choke. Annie releases a quiet, distressed sound and Madge slides an arm around her waist and squeezes. Annie closes her eyes and presses her hands to her chest and then they wait, every second stretching out until they feel as if they’ve waited days.

And then, finally, the door opens again.

Madge expects the same servant to return but it is someone else that slips through the doorway and shuts it behind him, his green green eyes anxious as he looks around the hall. Madge gasps, for though it has been eight years since she’d last seen him, she recognizes him in an instant.

“Finnick?” Annie asks in a voice so small but full of hope it makes tears spring suddenly to Madge’s eyes. He stumbles backwards into the door at Annie’s voice, his mouth open and eyes wide. He had been thirteen the last time Madge had seen him and handsome even then. At twenty one, he is positively stunning. He is golden skinned and tall with an athletic build; perfectly sculpted cheek bones; a nose straight and just the right length; even, white teeth; beautiful bronze hair; and (a real weakness of Madge’s) a strong,  well defined jaw line. But it is none of those things that draw Madge’s attention, it is his eyes. They are greener than green and so vibrant she could never do them justice, but it is the way they look at Annie that steals the breath from Madge’s lungs. He gazes at her like she is the sun, the moon and every star shining in the sky, like she is the only thing he has ever wanted to see.

(once she had been worried if Finnick loved Annie as much as she loved him)

(Madge knows now she was a fool to ever doubt it)

“Annie,” he breathes and the sound of her name wrapped in his voice sends a shiver down Madge’s back. Annie covers her mouth with her hands and starts to cry, but still she stares at him, unable to look away. And then, before Madge really knows what’s happening, they are together. They collide and nearly collapse with the force of their reunion, their arms holding each other impossibly close. Annie is not the only one crying and Finnick sobs into her hair, “Annie, Annie, Annie,” tumbling from his lips.

“You’re here, you’re here, you’re really here,” she keeps saying and there is so much joy and wonder in those words that Madge starts to cry her own tears. She wipes uselessly at her eyes and Finnick pulls back just enough to drink in Annie’s face again, his eyes hungry for every inch of her. He strokes her cheeks tenderly, tucks hair behind her ear with soft, soft fingers and leans in slowly for a kiss. Annie flutters her eyes closed, tilts her chin up to meet him and when they kiss, Madge releases the breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. She has never witnessed a kiss like this, filled with so much love and desperation and relief, and suddenly she feels intrusive for looking, like she is spying on something intensely private. She turns away quickly and it is then that she notices the door opening.

No, not now. Let them have this moment, she begs but still the door opens. Madge hurries over and blocks the servant man from coming out, her mask hastily back in place.

“Am I being summoned?” she asks quietly, not wanting to break Annie and Finnick from their moment, and he nods, looking at her in surprise. She offers him her most reassuring smile.

“Wonderful,” she says and squeezes past him into the chamber, firmly shutting the door behind her as she does.

“Was there not another?” he asks, reaching for the door handle, and Madge shakes her head quickly.

“No, not at all. Just me.”

He frowns but does not want to contradict her and eventually he bows.

“Of course, my lady. The Queen awaits you.”

He gestures to the other end of the room and Madge turns slowly, iron filling her blood. This audience chamber is not so big as King Louis’ great hall, but it still reeks of royal authority. The long room is smoky with too many candles, magnificent banners hang on every inch of wall, each one bearing England’s royal emblems, and at the far end is a dais with a high backed chair. Lancastrian exiles stand on either side of the room, but Madge pays them little heed. It is the almost throne at the back that draws her eyes, especially the two people standing just in front of it.

Queen Enobaria is much like Madge remembers her, straight backed, narrow eyed and with her sharp teeth bared in displeasure. She is dressed in royal purple trimmed with ermine, a glittering crown set upon her dark hair. Her stare is hard and unforgiving and Madge knows she is being sized up and found wanting. She does not take it to heart. After all, she knows full well she could be the Blessed Virgin herself and Enobaria would still find fault.

A step behind the Queen stands her son and Madge carefully runs over him with her eyes, cataloging every difference their two years apart have wrought. Cato is eighteen now, taller, sturdier, broader of chest and with arms thick with muscle. He is square jawed with a long nose, prominent eyebrows and brown eyes so dark they could almost be black. His pink skin is darkened by a summer tan, a silver coronet sits in his buttery blonde hair and though his face is more angular, his jaw line sharper, his expression is just the same as always. He might be handsome but it is impossible to tell through the snarl curling his mouth, the angry crease in his brow, the flaring nostrils and livid eyes. Her cheek aches but she ignores it, focuses instead on being as sweet and demure as possible. She does not hurry, keeps her steps graceful and meets no one’s eyes. Her breathing is calm, her hands folded over her girdle and when she reaches the royal family, she sinks into a deep, deep curtsy, all the way to the floor. She stays there even though it is uncomfortable, will stay there as long as necessary.

“Get up,” Enobaria commands, treating Madge more like a servant than a family member. She rises, keeps her head down and does not react to Enobaria’s hostile greeting. They stay like that, Enobaria’s eyes boring into her and Madge wonders just how long she is to be scrutinized. What are you looking for? And do you know of our plans already?

“Have you anything to say to us?” Enobaria asks, her voice like a razor blade against Madge’s skin. Madge dips her head farther in grave obeisance.

“I am humbled to be in your presence again, Majesty, and I thank our Lord in Heaven for keeping you safe. I should like to offer you my service in any way you require.”

Cato makes a rude noise but Madge does not mind. She knows there is nothing she can say or do today that will win them, that will make Queen and Prince love her. It will take time and strategy, for first she must take their measure and discover just what will please them best. Her only task for today is to open the door and give them nothing in her behavior to criticize.

“I have no need of your service,” Enobaria says in harsh dismissal but Madge merely bows deeper.

“As you wish, your grace. I am yours to command.”

(and soon, I shall make you mine to command)

*

The audience dissolves into a reception after that, exiles mixing and mingling, and Madge heads towards her mother. She is almost there when Cato snags her sleeve. He leans in close, his breath hot upon her face.

“I hear you were betrothed to that wretch Salisbury,” he says and there is something wicked brewing in his eyes. “I wonder Cousin; did you spread your legs for him? Is there even now a bastard Yorkist just waiting to burst from your wanton womb?”

There is laughter in his voice, cruel, mocking laughter and Madge shakes with the urge to slap him. You horrid, foul, nasty little beast she seethes but cannot let it show. Instead she fidgets in embarrassment.

“Of course not, your Highness,” she whispers in shy horror, “I would never do such a thing with a man not my husband.”

He drops her sleeve and steps back and one bashful peek at his face is enough to gauge his fury. He wanted a scene, wanted to make her look the fool and now he is turning crimson from her refusal to play his putrid little game. He stalks away and Madge watches him go, sweet and shy replaced by iron and vengeance.

You won’t be easy, will you Cato? No matter, if it is a battle of wills you want, it is one you will have.

*

(Annie listens to Finnick’s heartbeat and never, never, has any sound filled her with so much all consuming bliss. He is warm and soft and alive in her arms tonight and she is almost afraid to fall asleep, for what if she opens her eyes tomorrow to find all this was just a dream?

If this is a dream, do not wake me from it

“I love you,” he says again and she smiles, could hear it a thousand more times and never grow tired of it.

“I love you too,” she answers and his arms around her tighten, his lips pressing a kiss to the top of her head. She snuggles deeper into his embrace and she knows there is so much to talk about, battles, exiles, betrayals and dark days in a Tower cell, but not tonight. Two years is too long and she yearns to know everything she’s missed, yearns too to tell him everything that happened in England without him. For this moment though, this gentle, peaceful moment, she wants only to be Annie and Finnick, war and politics locked out in the hall.

Tomorrow they will talk and the shadows will creep back in, but tonight, tonight she is nothing but sunlight)

*

(“I do not like her,” Enobaria says and Haymitch knows better than to take offense on Madge’s behalf.

“I want only to help you, my Queen,” he says and Enobaria glares at him.

“No, you want to help yourself,” she snaps and he does not bother to deny it. Allies they might grudgingly be, but they will never be friends. Enobaria grinds her teeth together, stretches out the time before her answer but Haymitch does not worry. As much as she certainly hates this betrothal, she needs it. They both do.

Enobaria continues to glower and gnash her teeth and Haymitch finds his mind drifting to his stepdaughter. He had known from their first meeting that Madge had a certain measure of cunning, but he had not realized just how much until France. But then, perhaps he should have. The purest Lancastrian left in England, she had manipulated her way into the Queen’s confidence, into Prim’s affection and deep into Gale’s heart. Katniss was always slow to trust and there could not have been anyone in England more determined to loath Lancaster than Gale, and yet, Madge had won them both.

How long had he urged Katniss to behave in a similar manner, to lie with a smile and put aside personal feelings to achieve their goals? But then, perhaps it was for the best that she hadn’t. Katniss has the righteousness, the conviction and the battle prowess already, if she had Madge’s cunning and calculated charm, she would be unstoppable.

(then again, her Peeta certainly has plenty of charm)

(let us hope he never learns how to master it)

“Fine, Haymitch, you may have your cursed marriage,” Enobaria spits and Haymitch bows deeply. This is a victory, he knows that, but triumph is still a long way off.  Madge will now have to win Cato and Enobaria to her cause and Haymitch will have to win England from his cousins.

We have won the battle, now it is time for the war)

*

Madge stitches quietly beside her mother and replays the scene of Annie and Finnick’s reunion in her mind. Think of how happy they were. Annie deserves that and more. If ever your conviction wavers, think of that. The two of them are off somewhere together and even though her own heart is a ravaged mess, she can still find joy in that.

“Might I have a word, my lady? I have news.”

Madge looks up at Haymitch’s voice and sees him slipping into the room, a surly Marvel following at his heels.

“Of course, my lord,” her mother answers and sits up a little straighter. Madge feels her stomach tighten as Haymitch carefully shuts the door, Marvel stalking to the corner. He folds his arms and glares at each of them in turn as he leans back against the wall.

“So? What was so important you had to drag me here?” he demands and Haymitch looks directly at Madge. Their eyes meet and she sucks in a breath.

“Queen Enobaria has agreed to our terms. We will help Coriolanus regain his throne and in return, Cato will marry Madge.”

“What?!” Marvel shouts, outrage splashing over his face and Madge closes her eyes.

We did it

I am going to be Queen of England

I am going to marry Cato

There is bang as the door crashes against the wall and when she opens her eyes, Marvel is gone.

*

(Marvel storms into their bedroom and slams the door as hard as he can, the sound echoing down the castle’s corridors. He cannot remember ever being so furious and he wants to rip the room to shreds, wants to stomp back to his father and strangle him. He stands there breathing harshly and Glimmer stops her embroidery to look up at him.

“Whatever is the matter my beloved?” she asks in concern, her eyes wide and worried. Marvel growls and tugs at his hair.

“Haymitch!” he spits. “He is determined to ruin me!”

Glimmer is up in an instant, sweeping to his side and massaging his tense shoulders.

“What has that foul heap of rubbish done now?” she asks, pressing her body pleasantly against his.

“He-” and Marvel is so angry he can barely get the words out, “he has arranged for Madge to marry Cato! Haymitch has forsaken me, his own son, to put that stupid whore on the throne as Cato’s queen!”

He hadn’t meant to bellow it, but bellow it he does and Glimmer’s hands fall away from him immediately.

“Madge is going to be queen?” she demands and Marvel turns to glare at her in annoyance.

“I just said so, didn’t I?” he snaps and Glimmer recoils in horror.

“He cannot do this,” she breathes in outrage, “He cannot do this!”

“He already has,” Marvel retorts, his own rage climbing yet again.

“No! No, it’s not fair! I’m supposed to be queen!” Glimmer shouts, stomping her foot and great, big tears start to well in her eyes. A towering wave of frustration smashes into Marvel as Glimmer prepares to throw one of her famous tantrums and he exhales irritation through his nose. How has she not outgrown this hideous habit?

“Glimmer stop this right now. No wife of mine is going to fling herself about the floor like an ill-mannered child.”

Glimmer does not heed his command and instead shoots him a teary but defiant glare before dropping to the floor with a loud wail. Marvel clenches his fists.

“I’m barely your wife!” she bawls. “While I was lying half dead in my sickbed, you were off bedding every woman in France!”

Marvel roars, lifts Glimmer up by her shoulders and shakes her.

“How many times must I tell you? I am a great knight, noble, chivalrous and honourable. We valiant knights adhere to a strict code, one that includes being faithful to our wives! A man as gallant as I am would never debase himself with some strumpet, even if he is married to a shrieking idiot!”

This does nothing to quiet Glimmer, indeed she only wails louder and brings up her hands to claw at his face.

“What the fuck?!” he shouts, leaping away from her as she draws blood.

“You want Madge!” she sobs shrilly, “I know you like her best! I’m only your second choice!”

Marvel wipes the blood from his cheeks and sneers, the whole room shaded in red. He starts to laugh, low, cruel and he wishes Madge were here, wishes he could snap her into kindling.

“Want her? I hate that Lancastrian bitch, I could never want her,” he growls and Glimmer stops her incessant blubbering, her eyes watching him hungrily. “She is ugly and stupid and a whore. Her money, her titles, all that land, that’s all I wanted. I deserve all of it. But she would give it to Gale and now Cato...I am a better man than both of them. I did not love her, I could never desire her,” he says and Glimmer nods, her pale cheeks sparkling with tears. Fiery rage starts to cool, his mind starts to clear and revenge settles into his stomach, a desire he will see quenched, no matter the cost. He reaches out a hand and Glimmer takes it, slender fingers slotting just right with his.

“She will pay for betraying me, for stealing your throne. We will make her pay,” he says and Glimmer’s eager mouth finds his, stoking a very different kind of fire within him.

“I’m your first choice, you’d never choose her over me,” Glimmer hisses to his tongue and he nods, his fingers tearing at the infernal laces keeping her body captive.

“Never,” he swears and she sinks to her knees, tugging his hose down as she goes. He grins and yanks off her hennin, his fingers weaving through her silken hair. No, he could never want Madge, even as lucrative as she is. Glimmer is far from faultless, but as great and chivalrous a knight as he is, can forgive her womanly frailties. He cannot forgive Madge.

He won’t.

Madge, Cato, Haymitch, Gale, they will all pay, we will make them-

Glimmer’s warm mouth comes around him then and he forgets about revenge, abandons his rage)

(but only for now)

*

“Is it true?”

Madge looks up from her embroidery and Annie is before her, her eyes wide and terrified.

“Is what true?” Madge asks with a half hearted attempt at a smile. Annie grabs her hands.

“Are you really going to marry Cato?”

Madge nods and Annie’s eyes fill with tears, her fingers bruising as their grip tightens.

“Oh Madge…oh Madge,” she says and flings her arms around her.

(marriage is supposed to be a happy occasion)

(strange then, that this one has not made anyone happy)

(no one at all)

*

(“I am worried about Marvel,” Margaret tells him over a quiet supper and Haymitch sets down his spoon with a sigh.

“As am I,” he agrees and she sips her wine, shrewd eyes boring into him. He sighs again.

“He does not wish to speak with me. Perhaps in time he will understand,” he offers though he has very little hope. Marvel has ever been one to hold grudges, ever since he was a small boy.

“He might understand better if you explained yourself,” Margaret remarks and he frowns. He knows she is right, but it is almost too great a pain to bear when he sees the loathing in Marvel’s gaze. Haymitch is no stranger to being hated, but it something else entirely to see that hate on the face of one he loves more dearly than anything else.

How I have failed him

“Marvel was fully complicit in your plans; indeed he was the one pushing you forward. He bears as much guilt as you do in what’s happened. I will not deny it is a tragedy and I ache for both of them, but we cannot allow this rift to widen. Marvel must be made to see reason,” Margaret says and Haymitch wishes he could share her conviction. Marvel has lost both a child and a throne, he will never forgive that. But still, whatever Marvel’s faults, Haymitch misses him and he knows too that they need him on their side.

“I will try,” he finally says and Margaret smiles.

“Good. He is your son Haymitch and he is hurting, but he will come around.”)

*

Annie slips into Madge’s bed that night and neither one of them says a word, but as Annie holds her, the daunting task of wooing Cato does not feel quite so insurmountable.

And in the morning when her mother hugs her, kisses her brow and whispers, “you are so brave my Madge, so brave,” Madge feels even stronger still.

It will not be easy, she knows that, but with Annie and her mother beside her, nothing she has to do seems quite as frightening or impossible as it did before.

*

(“Haymitch has gone to King Louis’ court,” Katniss tells him over supper and Gale feels so ill he has to push away his plate.

“He wouldn’t,” he says because he is not an idiot. If Haymitch has gone to Louis, that means he-

“No. He wouldn’t,” Gale repeats and Katniss doesn’t say a word. She doesn’t have to, her sad eyes and mournful silence are enough. Haymitch has gone to Louis and that means he is going to Enobaria. When the Lancastrians make their inevitable return, Haymitch will fight beside them)

(Gale had thought nothing could feel worse than Haymitch betraying them)

(he was wrong)

*

Madge feels somewhat claustrophobic inside Louis’ castle, so many eyes fastened on her as she walks the halls, their whispers chasing her down every corridor. Everyone, it seems, wants to catch a glimpse of the soon to be Princess of Wales and she can’t go anywhere without colliding with a swarm of ladies or pack of lords eager to pass judgment. They stare at her like a horse at market, run critical eyes all over her and then murmur snide comments behind their hands, all of them finding her wanting in some regard. They are only so bold because Enobaria allows them to be, her own opinion of Madge made clearer everyday. She does not invite her soon to be daughter-in-law to dine with her, nor to attend her in her solar. She spares not a moment of her time for Madge and when they do encounter each other, she is both rude and dismissive. Egged on by this malicious behaviour, the nobles shun Madge too, their laughter cruel and their gazes sharp.

Madge forces herself not to care.

The members of Enobaria’s court are sheep, pure and simple, so she need not worry about them or what they think. She must concentrate only on winning the royal family, for once she has them, everyone else will fall into line.

(hopefully)

Cato is the only one who seems hell bent on avoiding her, for even Enobaria makes the occasional appearance to slap a thinly veiled insult upon her, and of course, he’s the one Madge most wants to impress. It is beyond frustrating but no matter where she searches for him; he is never anywhere to be found.

Where is he?

“Are you lost?”

Madge turns and sighs in relief at seeing Annie, a bit of the tension cramping her muscles draining away.

“No, but I think my soon to be betrothed is,” she says sourly and Annie winces in sympathy. She reaches forward and squeezes Madge’s hand.

“Is that not better though? I mean, Prince Cato is…” she trails off and looks around the hallway before leaning in close. “He’s not exactly pleasant, is he?”

Madge snorts.

“No, he isn’t. I still need him to like me though and the sooner the better.”

As soon as the words are out she realizes her mistake and flinches. Annie gasps.

“Oh Madge, you’re playing the same game as with Gale, aren’t you?” she accuses and Madge tries and fails to ignore her disapproval.

“I have to Annie, alright? I have to.”

“Do you? Why do you have to seduce him?” Annie demands and Madge clenches her fists.

“You think I want this? You think I want to marry Cato?” she asks and all those tears she’d sworn she wouldn’t cry start to burn against her eyes. “I know he’s a monster. I hate him. But I don’t have any other choice. To keep Gale safe, my family and myself, I need the royal family on our side. I don’t want this, this is the last thing I want, but I have to.”

“Oh Madge,” Annie says softly, sadly and then her arms are around her. Madge leans gratefully into her embrace.

“I don’t know what else to do. No man would ever let me have a say in politics and I cannot ride to war. This is my only chance to keep everyone safe. I have to Annie,” she whispers and Annie nods, stroking her hair.

“I know.”

(but oh, how I wish neither of us did)

*

Madge blots at the last of her tears and drags up a smile.

“Speaking of betrotheds, where’s Finnick? I’d have thought you’d be spending every day with him.”

Annie squeezes her hand and sighs.

“I’d like nothing more, but there are all these meetings to plan for the invasion and Finnick has no choice but to be a part of them.”

Madge nods and feels her heart hardening.

How long will it take to plan, I wonder? How soon will we be going to war with Gale?

“At least it will all be over soon. We’ll be home and the war will be finished,” Annie says with a tremulous smile and Madge does her best to smile back.

Will it though?

Will it ever be over?

*

(Marvel will never forgive Haymitch, but he knows too that he must at least pretend he has. He cannot afford to give anyone reason to doubt him, not if his plan is to work. He will have his revenge, but first he must make nice, must allow no one room to suspect him or his loyalty.

You will regret crossing me, you all will, he thinks and allows his father to corner him after one of the invasion meetings. He crosses his arms, glares death at his father and knows he must play this just right. He cannot forgive too quickly, but nor can he remain at his father’s throat. It is time for a most convincing lie.

“Marvel, might I have a word?” Haymitch asks, wringing his cap in his hands. Marvel exhales angrily and rolls his eyes.

“If you must.”

Haymitch swallows.

“I am so very sorry Marvel, for all the pain I have caused. I never wanted any of this.”

He is earnest, wretched and Marvel scoffs.

“Oh well, that’s good to know,” he says, filling his voice with scorn. Haymitch flinches and Marvel would be lying if he said he did not feel a great deal of satisfaction at the sight. His father gathers himself and tries again.

“I cannot change what happened and I will regret it until the end of my days. I find our new course of action as distasteful as you do, but we have little other choice. I must make up for what I have done. I will see us returned to England and to favour. I understand if you cannot forgive me, for I do not think I will ever forgive myself. But please Marvel, my son, do not turn against us. We need you and I…I love you.”

Haymitch is teary eyed in a way Marvel has rarely seen and his voice is both pleading and heartbroken. It does nothing to soften Marvel’s rage. Still, he knows what is required of him, so he turns his face away as if overcome by emotion.

“I know…I know you did not want this. And I-I shall never be happy about helping the Lancastrians regain the throne but I understand why we must. You needn’t worry about me, I could never betray our family. No matter how angry I am, and I am, I could never truly turn on you.”

He allows his voice to break in just the right way and has to hide a smile as Haymitch reaches for him. He does not return the embrace, that would be too much, but he does drive one final nail into the coffin.

“And I take comfort in knowing my little Helen is with Mother now. She will be well loved with her.”

Haymitch gasps, a sad, pathetic sound and Marvel relishes his triumph. He had thought long and hard on how he was going to pull this off and he cannot help feeling proud of his stroke of genius. His father is a fool, but a predictable one. If there is one thing guaranteed to make him so guilty he would never doubt Marvel again, it will be the thought of his dead granddaughter named after the wife he still so dearly misses.

Oh Haymitch, Haymitch, Haymitch. They used to call you Queenmaker.

Look how far you’ve fallen)

*

The garden at Louis’ castle is not quite as lovely as Windsor’s, but it is the only place in France where Madge feels almost content. Amongst the hedges and sweet smelling flowers she feels safe from prying eyes, no hushed voices buzzing in her ears. She can breathe out here and so every free moment she has is spent wandering the perfumed paths, her heart calmed by the soft gurgle of fountains and twittering of birds.

(and it may be the memories too that draw her here)

(Gale handing her Posy’s sweet little get well bouquet)

(Gale taking her for a walk)

(little Posy laughing amongst the blossoms)

(She and Gale talking after that very first kiss)

(the proposal of her dreams)

Madge sighs and takes a break from strolling to sit on a bench surrounded by fragrant lilies. She inhales deeply and manages a real smile for the first time in much too long. Who needs to woo Cato? Perhaps I’ll just stay here until the wedding.

“Lady Madge, I hope I am not intruding.”

Madge turns in surprise and feels her eyes widen at the sight of Finnick Odair. He bows before her, cap clutched in his hands and Madge feels her stomach tighten. She has no idea why Finnick would want to search her out like this, but experience has taught her to be jaded.

(after all, not all her memories of gardens are sweet)

(there is Bristel riding into Bedford’s garden with horrible news of approaching Yorkists)

(Marvel dragging her around Warwick’s just after her mother’s wedding, his voice loud and hands possessive)

(Marvel again, this time with a whispered threat of marriage and her blood running cold in her veins)

“Oh no, Lord Richmond,” she says with a practiced smile, “not at all.”

He nods and straightens up, his face serious and his gaze intense. Madge lowers her eyes so as not to appear bold and settles back into court-Madge. She should’ve known there would be no haven for her here.

“I was hoping for a word with you,” he says and again she feels that knot in her gut clench.

���Of course,” she says and already her mind is running through every possibility. What are you up to? Are you here on your aunt’s behalf? On Cato’s? Or perhaps you have some scheme of your own?

He nods, runs a nervous tongue over his bottom lip and then kneels before her, her mask slipping before she can stop it. This is very bold a move from a man I hardly know, she thinks and her mouth nearly drops open when he reaches for her hand and slides it between both of his. His skin is warm and softer than Gale’s, but she can feel the same calluses from handling a sword and for a moment her vision starts to blur. Stop. Stop right now. She focuses back on Finnick and he looks deep into her eyes, fear jolting in her blood. What is he doing?

“Forgive me Madge, but I…I wish to thank you.”

“Thank me?” she asks, cheeks hot and heart pounding. He is being overly familiar, addressing her without title, and what does this mean?

“Yes. Annie has told me all about her time in England since my exile and…and I cannot tell you how worried I was for her, how terrified. After I heard of Hedingham’s fall, I thought I would go mad if I could not go to her, if I couldn’t find out if she was alright. To know now that she had a friend like you, to know what comfort you gave her in this dreadful time…there are no words to express my gratitude. Thank you, Madge, thank you so much.”

He bows over her hand and Madge feels her eyes go wide.

“Oh no no no, you needn’t thank me. Annie has been as much a comfort to me as I have been to her.”

He looks up and smiles and for a moment it is like looking into the sun.

“I do not doubt it. Annie has ever been a ray of light.”

Madge feels herself softening and every worry about his intentions drips away at the look on his face. His smile is wide and easy, his eyes bright and she does not think he could ever look more handsome than he does right now.

“She is that,” Madge agrees and squeezes his hand. She frowns. “But where is she? I would not think the two of you would be parted if you could help it.”

He nods.

“If it were up to me I would not part with her for the world, but her father wanted a moment alone with her. I thought I would take this time to seek you out.”

Madge bites her lip and it is strange looking at this beautiful boy. On the one hand she is overjoyed that Annie has found him again but on the other she feels almost resentful that he will be snatching up so much of her friend’s time. She hates the thought as soon as she has it and how wicked of me, how selfish.

“I want you to know that I have no intention of getting between the two of you. I know I am not the only one with a claim on Annie’s heart and I do hope you are not alone out here because you think we do not want to see you. Indeed, I hope you will spend more time with us.”

He is very earnest, his hands warm around hers and she stares at him in shock.

“Oh no,” she says, waving away his words, “I would never want to intrude.”

He laughs.

“It would not be an intrusion. You are Annie’s dearest friend and I hope you will be my friend too,” he says, still with that lovely smile on his face and Madge’s feels her heart do something funny.

“Really?”

He nods.

“Yes. We are cousins you know, well, first cousins once removed. And we shall be cousins again when you marry Cato. More importantly, hearing of you from Annie has convinced me that you are just the sort of person I’d love to be friends with.”

The soft look on his face and the sincerity in his voice causes tears to well and Madge looks down in embarrassment. They are perfectly suited these two, they are both much, much too lovely.

“I would like that very much,” she admits and how odd that at this lowest point of her life, she has more friends than she ever has before.

“Wonderful. Now,” he says, standing up and offering her his arm, “even though neither Annie nor her father will ever admit it, after so long alone together they will definitely be looking for an escape. Shall we give them one?”

Madge smiles and takes the offered arm.

“Let’s.”

*

As a humid, scorching August rolls over France, Madge decides it’s time to force a meeting with Cato.

(she has no idea where he is of course, but she does know how to find him)

“I am going to go meet Annie,” she says to her mother as they finish their dinner and hopes she cannot see the lie. Margaret nods, her wan face turned to the window, and Madge stands, brushing off the last dust of crumbs from her dress. She moves through the halls at a loping pace, ever conscious of looking entirely normal and not at all suspicious. Most people are still eating it seems, so Madge encounters only a handful of servants on her way and she is glad, for they will ask no questions nor speculate with lords and ladies as to her business. She stops just beyond the entrance to Enobaria’s chambers and tucks herself into a corner, her eyes fixed on the door while the rest of her remains out of sight.

No one passes by her hiding spot (thankfully) and shortly after beginning her vigil, she is rewarded, for out comes Clove Clifford. If anyone knows where to find Cato, it’ll be her (not that Madge has any intention of actually asking her his location). Clove tosses her plait of ink black hair over her shoulder and sets off down the hall, Madge hastening to follow. Of course, discretion is key, so Madge keeps a healthy distance between them, takes very light steps and hugs the walls, ready at any moment to dart out of sight. Not that it matters, for Clove never once looks back, her strides sure, her posture perfect and her head held high.

(Madge cannot help but admire her confidence)

Clove finally comes to a halt and turns into a doorway, a smirk gracing her mouth. Madge can practically feel the anticipation crackling through her and quickens her steps, but Clove does not bother to shut the door, leaving herself, Cato, and their clandestine love affair exposed to one and all. Madge feels herself bristle, her hands and toes curling in anger at this obvious slight. Everyone knows of Madge’s coming engagement to Cato and his shameless carousing is both demeaning and insulting. It is Madge that will be laughed at, rather than Cato, Madge who will be looked down on and the injustice rankles far more that she would have imagined.

Gale would never have treated me thus, she thinks furiously, nor even would Marvel! Even with his many, many faults, he has remained a faithful husband to Glimmer. It is that fact, more than any other, that drives a knife into her chest, that boils the blood in her veins. She does not even care that he is unfaithful, for she never expected any different. No, it is his complete and utter lack of discretion that turns her red with rage. He is shouting to the world just how little he thinks of me, just how little respect I am due.

But then, before her anger boils over and she does something rash, a thought occurs to her. Gale would not have behaved like this and nor would Marvel. Gale is a good man with a good heart and Marvel is ambitious and arrogant. I could woo Gale with love, affection and common ground, Marvel with wealth and flattery. Cato is a different creature entirely. And he has Clove.

Cato is not soft, never sweet and he will see my kindness as a weakness. I must show him I am strong, undaunted and unable to be pushed around. Love and affection may wear him down later, but first I must prove to him that I am someone to be reckoned with. With parents like Enobaria and Coriolanus, that is what he has been taught to respect. I will show him my mettle, break Clove’s hold on him and then, then I will be soft and loving, a haven from a cruel father and demanding mother.

Madge takes a breath and smothers her fury. This is a delicate operation, one she has to play just right.

(and if there is something oily beneath her skin, something guilty and dismayed and unhappy at what she’s doing, Madge ignores it)

Now

Madge barges into the room with little grace, her eyes burning as they sweep over Cato and Clove. Clove is sitting on a table, her hands in Cato’s hair as he stands between her legs, his mouth fastened to her neck. Madge narrows her eyes.

“Oh no,” she says loudly and more than a little scathingly, “I seem to have interrupted something.”

Clove’s eyes snap open and she stares open mouthed at Madge, fury and shock mingling in her gaze. Cato jerks around and sees her, his cheeks instantly flushing.

“What are you doing here?” he demands and Madge smiles coldly.

“I was looking for you, my prince. I had hoped we might become better acquainted,” she replies, acid dripping off her tongue. His eyes pop, his face flushes and Clove digs her nails into his shoulders, livid eyes fastened on Madge.

“I want nothing to do with you,” he snaps, his fists shaking and Madge feels her cheek throb. Still, she cannot back down. It is time to fight fire with fire.

“How unfortunate, seeing as we’ll soon be married,” she says, calm and cool and unaffected on the outside. Cato spits at her feet.

“I’ll never marry you,” he swears and Clove smirks. Madge offers him a pitying smile.

“You don’t have a choice. Your mother has already agreed. We will be married Cato, you’d best get used to the idea.”

She is being very bold, especially in talking this way to a prince, and Cato lunges for her with a snarl. She steps to the side just in time and he snags only her sleeve, tearing the fabric as she pulls away. Fear flinches inside her but she will not let it show, cannot be anything but steel and ice. Think of Mother, Annie, Gale, the Hawthornes, Katniss. I must be as cruel and as cutting as Cato if I want to save them.

“I will be your king!” Cato bellows. “How dare you speak to me like that!”

“If you are to be a king then act like it,” Madge retorts, makes sure every inch of her appears unimpressed, and Cato’s eyes start to bulge, veins standing out beneath his red skin. She braces herself for the fury to come. Whatever he does, do not flinch. Courage, courage for those I love.

“What big talk from such a little girl,” Clove says nastily and slides off the table. Cato watches her as she walks towards Madge, his breathing ragged and his hands clenched so tight his knuckles pop out white against the rest of his flesh.

“Let me give you a little advice,” Clove says, her eyes bright and glowing, “give up. You can’t win this fight, not against me.”

Madge returns Clove’s cutting smile and knows she must best her here if she is to have any chance at dislodging her from Cato’s side.

“I have no interest in fighting you Clove, all I want is for my soon to be husband to show me the respect I am due,” she says and Clove’s face turns cruel.

“Back off you little whore, he’s mine.”

Madge’s eyebrows go up as Clove leans towards her, their noses nearly touching.

“Whore? I can’t see how wanting my future husband to be a bit more discreet with his passions makes me a whore. Let me give you some advice, Clove. I’m the one you don’t want to cross.”

Shock, pure and clean, washes over both Cato and Clove’s faces. There is a flare of triumph in Madge’s stomach, but it is the bitter kind, its taste burning on her tongue. Clove clenches her fists, her chest starts to heave and Madge readies herself for the onslaught to come.

“You think you’re so high and mighty, I’ll show you,” Clove growls, eyes a bit manic, and shoves Madge back against the wall. Cato watches with a wild sort of excitement and Madge hardens her heart, for there is no room for kindness now.

“Go ahead,” she says, “It won’t change anything. I’m still going to marry Cato. The Queen will not change her mind, she cannot. She needs my step-father’s help as well as my inheritance and that only comes if we marry. Beat me black and blue Clove, but you’ll still be the one who loses in the end.”

Clove raises her hand as if to strike but then freezes, her eyes flashing.

“You…you…foul little bitch. You stay away from Cato. I promise you now if you don’t I’ll make you regret it.”

Clove’s voice shakes with the force of her threat but Madge meets her eyes levelly.

“I’d be careful about making such threats. One day we will free King Coriolanus and whose side do you think he will take? I am his blood Clove, you aren’t. Maybe you should remember that.”

Clove’s eyes go wide and she does strike then, slamming Madge’s head so hard against the wall she sees stars. She sinks to the ground and she is so disoriented she doesn’t notice them leaving, though she does feel the spike of pain from Cato kicking her as he passes.

It doesn’t matter. Clove’s reaction has made one thing very clear.

She is the frightened one now.

I am wicked and cruel.

But I am winning.

*

(Cato and Clove stride out and pretend they’ve won, but they both know the truth)

(Madge is the victor here)

(and no matter how hard they fight, they’ve already lost the war)

*

Madge doesn’t fool herself into believing that Cato and Clove have ceased their affair, but she never expected them to. They keep things secret now though and that is the triumph she wanted, the one she bled for.

Reckless, foolish, asinine, Annie had called her as she tended to her wounds and maybe she was. Still, she had achieved her goal and even though she is not yet in Cato’s good graces, he has learned her mettle. She will not be insulted, will not be pushed around and soon, soon she’ll have Cato and she won’t ever have to be afraid again.

*

“I’ve always wondered if maybe they loved each other, after all, they’ve been together for so long,” Annie says softly and Madge can see the empathy in her eyes at the thought of Cato and Clove being forced apart if they do truly love each other. Madge thinks the old her would have cared too, would have felt wretched for being the one to pull them part but she cannot care about that, not now.

Oh Annie, Annie, you are soft and sweet and kinder than you ought to be and what am I? Burning, angry grudges with nothing inside but ashes and lies

*

(and if Madge cries herself to sleep that night, it doesn’t matter, for there is no one there to hear it)

*

(Peeta knows he is at least somewhat to blame for the turmoil in England. The fact that he is a foreigner has set the people’s teeth on edge and made every grievance they have with Katniss so much harsher. She never says it of course, never once blames him, but she doesn’t need to. Their marriage was supposed to help her, but it has done nothing but cost her.

War threatens with France, Haymitch and Marvel have betrayed her and now riots spark across the country, shattering the peace she’d fought so long and hard for. He might not have brought the kingdom crumbling down alone, but he is certainly one of the cracks causing its collapse.

Oh Katniss, oh Katniss, I’m so sorry.

As the people demand he be sent back to Burgundy and the shadows in her eyes grow darker, he starts to think maybe I should go back)

*

The smoky, humid August weather continues to plague France and it is Annie who suggests they go for a walk by the coast, insisting that the sea air will be a welcome respite from the blistering heat of the castle. She is right.

The salty breeze wafting from the water is a blessing and Madge sighs happily from her spot in the grass beside Annie. She hugs her knees and ignores the shimmering Channel just ahead, hideous memories trying so desperately to rise up like specters from a grave. Will you never stop haunting me? Am I to live all my days in your shadow?

“I could almost be home at Dunstanburgh,” Annie says wistfully and Madge furrows her brow. Finnick grabs Annie’s hand, his eyes set on the horizon.

“God willing, we’ll be back there soon,” he says and Madge bites her lip at the longing in his voice. She wants to ask about Dunstanburgh, is it one of the Earl of Oxford’s castles? One of Finnick’s? but the gentle smile on Annie’s face as she turns to look at Finnick makes her bite her tongue. It doesn’t matter, not now, this moment too fragile to break. Finnick smiles back at Annie and Madge can feel the hope reflected on their faces, feels herself wishing with all her might that this is one dream that will come true.

Annie bounces up with a beam and tugs on Finnick’s hand.

“Come on, let’s get a closer look,” she says and Madge cannot help but marvel at this new Annie. Ever since her reunion with Finnick she has been lighter, brighter and far more alive, all her sorrows softened. Madge cannot help but love him for it.

Finnick laughs and gets up, his eyes so tender Madge has to look away. She moves them instead to the escort they’d been forced to bring along, a small clump of men with swords that Finnick had instructed to stand a little ways off so they might have some privacy. Each one wears a silver wyvern badge upon his surcoat, Finnick’s badge as it turns out, and of course it is, she thinks, it is just like the one Annie is always stitching. She frowns though as she notices something clutched in its teeth, a plant of some sort. What is it? She turns to ask but Finnick is gone, Annie having pulled him down to the water’s edge. Madge hurries to catch up and Annie inhales deeply, a soft, peaceful expression washing over her face. Madge smiles and comes up beside Finnick, his own lovely smile turned to Annie.

“So what is that, in your wyvern’s mouth?” Madge asks him as Annie bends down and dips her hands into the gentle waves.

“Heliotrope,” he answers and drags his eyes from Annie to Madge. A mistake, as it turns out. Madge is just about to ask him the meaning of the heliotrope when Annie lifts her hands, scooping up a great splash of water to throw at Finnick. Madge’s eyes go perfectly round as the water hits him and he turns, his hose and doublet dripping.

“Annie Cresta!” he starts to reprimand but his grin is so wide it ruins the effect. Annie laughs.

“Oh no, poor Lord Finnick fell in,” she teases, her expression mischievous in a way Madge never would have imagined. Finnick laughs too and reaches for her, Annie just managing to dance out of reach.

“Such a pity,” she continues and he lunges again.

“Oh yes, and even more a pity that his lady love fell with him,” he says and this time he does grab her, lifting her up and carrying her into the sea. He walks straight in and Annie shrieks with laughter as the water swirls up to her waist, Madge watching them in utter bewilderment. Finnick lifts Annie up as high as he can then and throws her, Madge clapping her hands to her mouth. Annie lands with a great splash amid peals of laughter and bobs up almost immediately after, her cheeks flushed and eyes bright with mirth. Finnick pushes through the water towards her and he is soon drenched, both their lovely clothes ruined but neither seems to mind, splashing and flopping about like a pair of fish people. They share a grin and then Finnick reaches down and undoes his belt, Annie untying her girdle.

“Here, catch!” Annie calls and throws it at the shore, Finnick following suit. Madge is too baffled to move and she just watches both belts land a few feet short and sink below the water. Annie then hikes up her sopping skirts and lifts one leg all the way up, offering her booted foot to Finnick.

“Help?” she asks with sparkling eyes and he laughs, quickly unlacing it and then doing the same to the other. He tosses them over at the shore and then tips onto his back so Annie can tug off his boots as well. They both sail towards shore as well and Madge is sure she must be dreaming as she watches Annie help Finnick out of his doublet, even more so when Finnick undoes the ties of Annie’s houppelande and kirtle. Finnick gathers their sodden garments in his arms and struggles towards the shore, Annie swimming deeper in nothing but her chemise.

Have they gone mad?

“Come in, it feels amazing!” Annie calls to her with a wave and Madge would be lying if she said there was not a tug in her to do just that. She is hot and sticky, flushed and boiling, and a dip in the sea sounds like magic. Except…she is supposed to be making a good impression on the Lancastrians and there is little she can think of that would be more scandalous than swimming barely dressed with a boy who is not even her husband. As if to prove her point, Finnick drops their clothes on the shore and then pulls off his damp shirt and hose, Madge’s face burning suddenly red. He is standing there in nothing but wet breeches and Madge has never seen a man in such a state of undress before, indeed, she never expected to see anyone but her husband in such a way.

(it doesn’t help that Finnick’s bare torso is certainly a sight to behold)

“Do you not want to?” he asks and Madge tears her eyes from the ground and focuses on his face.

“It would be very improper,” she mumbles and he stares in her eyes for a long moment, his expression thoughtful. Suddenly he grins.

“It would be,” he agrees, his smile turning wicked. “But a proper lady could not be blamed for being set upon by brigands and forced into the water. And you know, I hear this particular stretch of coast is rather prone to brigands.”

As foolish as it is, Madge grins back.

“I’m no match for brigands,” she says and then laughs in shock as Finnick swoops her up into his arms. She clutches his neck and then he wades into the sea again, the fresh breeze teasing her hair. She closes her eyes, breathes in deeply and before she knows what’s happening, Finnick drops her. She plunges in with a shriek and flails back up, the water coming up to her waist. She splutters and pushes sopping hair from her face and he is laughing, Annie joining in and though Madge means to be outraged, she is laughing too.

Still, she cannot let him get away with this without a little revenge.

She plunges her arms into the sea and splashes him with as much water as she can, her conjured wave crashing against his chest and face. Annie lets out a cheer and Finnick coughs, his face slack with surprise. He recovers quickly, a grin flashing across his face, and suddenly he is grabbing for her, his lack of heavy clothes making him much more maneuverable than she.

“Have you no chivalry, sir? No great knight would ever attack a lady and certainly not one so unfairly encumbered!” she calls over her shoulder as she tries to flee, laughter caught in every word.

“Have no fear my lady, I’ll save you!” Annie shouts and dives at Finnick. He catches her and falls back into the water, both of them giggling like children with their arms tight around each other. Madge hurriedly unties her girdle and fumbles with her boot laces, already feeling freer. Her toes scrunch up in the mud below her feet and she pushes her way over to Finnick and Annie with her hands held high in surrender.

“I should like to request a temporary truce.”

“A truce?” Finnick asks as he stands back up, his arm still snug around Annie’s waist. “And why should I agree to such a thing?”

“Because I cannot get out of this dress alone and it wouldn’t be very sporting to attack me while I’m at so obvious a disadvantage.”

Annie giggles and Finnick taps his chin with a smile.

“Well alright, as I am an honorable sort, I shall allow it.”

Annie shoves him playfully before coming over to help and Madge sticks out her tongue. Annie peels off her wet layers and Madge should be mortified to be with a boy in nothing but her chemise, but strangely, it doesn’t seem to matter. Finnick looks at her the same as he did when she was fully dressed, the sun is bright overhead, the water feels wonderful and she has not laughed so hard in years. In this moment propriety does not matter, war and loyalty and lost love do not matter.

She is young, she is with her friends, and finally, after such a long time, she is happy.

*

Later, when they lie down in the grass to dry, Finnick whispers to her ear.

“I want you to promise me something. Should Cato prove ungallant, and I am sure he will, please tell me.”

She turns her head to look at him and blinks.

“Why? He is a prince; there will naught that you can do about it.”

Finnick smiles wryly, his eyes suddenly sad.

“I do not fear Cato. After so long being on his bad side, I am well used to his temper as well as his father’s punishments. I remember how much scorn he heaped on the Scottish Princess Margaret when he was meant to wed her and it will be worse with you, for you are no king’s daughter. He will be cruel.”

Madge thinks suddenly of all those faded scars on Finnick’s back, ones she had written off as battle wounds and her heart shudders. She thinks too of violent Cato and the parting gift he’d given her two years ago. Wouldn’t it be nice to have a champion? Wouldn’t it be nice not to have to fight all her battles alone?

It would, but it is much too late for that.

When she was young and so enamored of fanciful tales of gallant heroes and swooning ladies, it would have been easy to promise Finnick what he wants. But she is older now and for better or for worse, she will not let someone else bleed for her war. She smiles at him and looks back up at the clouds.

“Do you know, I think that one looks like a dog?”

“Really? I would say cat,” Annie offers and Finnick sighs.

*

(That night when Finnick has snuck into Annie’s room, he wraps her in his arms and tells her about Madge and the promise she wouldn’t make. Annie squeezes his middle and places a kiss against the fabric over his heart.

“Of course she wouldn’t, as you would not had your positions been reversed.”

Finnick frowns even as he knows she’s right.

“I think you would both rather be crushed than allow anyone else to help you carry any weight. Fools, the both of you. But then, perhaps I am the most foolish,” she says, smiling as she cups his face in her hands, “for loving you both so much.”

Finnick grins despite himself, still just as giddy hearing those words as he had been the first time. He leans down and kisses her, his blood humming for her.

“I am worried,” he whispers to Annie’s lips, “Cato will not be kind.”

Annie nods sadly.

“I know, I sometimes do not think he is capable of such a thing.” She pauses for a moment and there is a hitch in her voice when she begins again. “Did you know this was her idea? She saw it as the best way to keep her family safe and you know what? I think she is right and I hate it. I hate it. And I hate this war and what it is doing to us. Why have they done this? Why have our parents cursed us to live like this?”

She buries her face in his doublet, tears dripping down her cheeks, and Finnick tightens his hold on her, pressing kisses to her head. He cannot answer her questions, nor can he make this right. He would do anything to stop Annie from crying but there is nothing he can do. He cannot save Madge from Cato, he cannot stop this war and he cannot make Annie happy, even though that is the only thing he has ever wanted to do.

I am useless, helpless. Forgive me Annie)

(and as Finnick holds her, all Annie can think is forgive me Finnick, forgive me Madge.. Forgive me for not being able to help you, to fight beside you)

*

Madge tells herself, every chance she gets, that she has let go of Gale, that he is nothing now but a memory. She must look to the future and during daylight hours when she is surrounded by enemies in Enobaria’s cutthroat court, she does. She focuses not on what she has lost but on what she must gain to survive and Gale is but a dull throb in the back of her mind, another wound to push her forward. He is like Henry, her father, her life of before and it is a pain she is long used to bearing.

It is only at night that despair catches up with her.

In the dark there is nothing but loneliness and silence to fill the hours and soon he is sweeping over her like a wave, drowning her in the ache of missing him, in the sorrow of loving him. She looks at the moon outside her window, at the stars shining ever on and wonders if he is watching those same stars, if he is missing her with the same virulence as she misses him.

Some nights, the worst nights, she whispers to his locket or runs her thumb over the words carved into his brooch or flips through his heraldry book. For those brief, brief moments, she can almost imagine there not standing on either side of this war, that there is still a chance they might find their way back to each other.

A fool’s hope maybe, but it is better than nothing.

Tonight it is the book she tries to find solace in and she leafs through each beautifully illuminated page, her heart sagging in her chest. Without really thinking she comes to a stop on the page for heliotrope and she brushes her fingers over the intricate painting, her eyes suddenly blurring with tears. She wipes at them hastily with her sleeve and thinks of Finnick’s wyvern badge and the sprig of heliotrope clutched in its mouth. The wyvern itself is identical to the one Annie’s always stitching, bar that heliotrope. Madge cannot imagine Annie forgetting such a detail and the only explanation she can find is that Finnick must have added it during his time in exile.

But why? What does it mean?

Her eyes drift down to the definition and she gasps softly, those tears returning with ferocity.

Heliotrope: Eternal love and devotion

Teardrops splotch upon the pages and he added it for Annie as she crowned her dolphin with rosemary for him.

Madge looks back out the window at the moon, the very same silver as Gale’s eyes and I wonder Gale will you weave me into your badge? Could our love survive a separation of years and so many miles?

(and even as her heart shouts yes! the wicked voice in her mind whispers perhaps it would be best if it could not)

*

(If you ask Glimmer, Countess of Northumberland, if, after everything that has happened, she still loves her husband, she’ll say yes, of course I do. I love him just as much as I always have, for all the same reasons I always have. And she won’t say this just because it’s what she’s meant to say, but because it’s true.

What are those reasons? you might ask and she will say because he is powerful and rich and will make me powerful and rich in turn.

Is that all? you’ll ask and of course, she’ll say, for what other reason could there be to love a husband?)

*

Every day that passes brings the invasion ever closer and soon, Madge is certain, the Lancastrian leaders will set a date for the taking of England. They spend hours every day sequestered together, planning and plotting out every detail, and each report from Finnick makes it clear that the time for action is nearing.

Soon, Lancaster will sail for England, soon war will bathe its shores once more.

(and Madge cannot help but wonder if finally, finally, she has chosen the winning side)

*

(but worse is the thought that once the war begins, Gale’s safety will be in Haymitch’s hands alone)

(if these years of turmoil have taught her anything, it is that relying on others is the most dangerous gamble of all)

*

The sky overhead is dark and morbid, the wind rising ominously as Madge sits in the garden and she knows a storm is coming. It has been a humid, muggy August so far and today is the culmination, the rupturing of the oppressive heat with a thunderstruck deluge. She should head inside before it starts but it is so peaceful here, so quiet, and she finds herself lingering a little longer.

Soon, I’ll go inside soon

She plucks a wilting rose and rolls the stem between her thumb and forefinger, careful not to prick herself on one of its thorns. She thinks she catches the sound of distant lovers’ giggles over the wind and perhaps this is where Cato and Clove have taken their trysts. It would be just be her luck to stumble across them now and ruin whatever progress she’d managed to make. Oh she knows Cato hates her, encouraged heartily by Clove, but at least he has learned not to cross her. If she interrupts them though, she is certain his temper will not survive intact. She must tread carefully with Cato if she is to woo him and right now, he needs time to cool down.

I have made the first strike, now I will let him grow used to this new normal. He will try and break me, but I must stand firm. He will require a two pronged attack, strength and steel to win his interest and admiration, but sweet and flirtatious to stir his heart and loins. It may take longer than Gale, but in the end, I will-Ow!

She winces and looks down to see blood welling from her thumb, the rose crushed in her palm. The wind pulls the petals away and she watches them as they fly, a smear of dark red against the blackening clouds.

Still, for now, I will leave Cato alone. As much as I am able to at least.

For now she will focus on securing Enobaria instead. After all, it is Enobaria who will decide if this marriage happens or not, not Cato. Once they are married he will have to spend time with her and then, then she will work on wooing him. Even better, with Enobaria in her corner it will be much, much easier to separate Cato and Clove. Thunder rumbles above and Madge looks up at the sky, a sigh slipping past her lips. Oh let me have just a moment more, just a few more moments…

“Madge.”

She turns and sees her mother heading towards her just as the rain begins to fall, each drop like a cold needle sinking through her dress. There is a serious, somber look on her mother’s gaunt face and Madge feel her heart harden, can feel walls building themselves up.

“What is it?” she asks as her mother reaches her bench. Margaret places a cold hand on her daughter’s cheek.

“Haymitch has just informed me that a date has been set for the invasion. They leave at the end of September.”

Magde nods, her fingers aching to clutch Gale’s locket.

“Your betrothal ceremony will take place the day before they leave, at Haymitch’s insistence,” her mother continues and Madge takes a steadying breath. It is pouring now, nearly blinding her, and she nods again. Haymitch is being very clever, after all, with him away in England, Enobaria might invent any number of excuses to stop the betrothal from happening. Yes, he is very cunning indeed.

The end of September, the beginning of Fall.

Five Weeks.

Five Weeks and then I will be bound to Cato forever.

Five Weeks.

*

(Finnick cradles Annie’s face in his hands and kisses the tears from her cheeks, his own falling with abandon.

“I love you Annie, I love you so much. This parting will not be for long, I swear it. I will retake England and I will send for you and we will be married at Dunstanburgh just like you wanted.”

Annie nods, her hands tightening on his hips and Uncle Boggs knocks on the door, his voice heavy with apology.

“We must go, Finnick. The Queen will not be pleased to be kept waiting.”

Finnick kisses Annie desperately and hopes she knows she is the love and light of his life, hopes she knows that there is nothing he will not do to return to her arms where he belongs.

“I love you Finnick. You have my heart and all my courage, all my strength. I will send it to you every day,” she promises. He nods, his forehead against hers, and breathes her in, all his nerves calming.

“I know you will,” he whispers. “Thank you.”)

*

Madge pushes open Annie’s bedchamber door and finds her lying back on the bed, her cheeks wet as she stares up at the ceiling. The room is shadowed and gray, rain lashing angrily against the window and Madge clutches the door, her nails sinking into the wood.

Finnick must have told her

Madge walks over to the bed and lies down, her hand finding Annie’s.

“I’ll pray for Finnick,” she promises and Annie squeezes her fingers.

“And I will pray for you, Madge.”

*

(Prim knows she has been very fortunate when it comes to arranged marriages.

Her mother would have sent her far, far away to marry a man who could have been twice her age and of a foul temperament, but instead she has been blessed enough to remain close to home and family with a young, handsome, charming husband like Darius.

Yes, Prim is very lucky indeed.

Which is why she finds it so odd and disconcerting when Darius chooses not to ride out with Katniss to quash the newest batch of small scale uprisings flowering around the country. He has been steadfast in his loyalty to York, has been ever since he became Duke of Buckingham. So why is he suddenly so reluctant to fight for Katniss’ crown?

It takes her two weeks to pluck up the courage to ask, that unsettled feeling beneath her skin finally forcing the words out. Darius smiles his best, most heart melting smile at her question, but for once, Prim does not turn to butter beneath its glow.

“I want to stay here with you and the baby,” he says easily, placing a hand on the small bump just starting to push through her layers of skirt. She smiles and believes him, after all, ever since they’d first found out he hasn’t stopped talking about how excited he is, how overjoyed, how he cannot wait to meet their little boy.

(Prim would be happy with either a son or a daughter, but she does not bother to say so. She may only be fifteen, but she knows full well that most men would find such a sentiment ridiculous)

“And anyway, these uprisings are so small your sister doesn’t need my help. The Queen and Salisbury are more than capable of handling them,” he adds and she believes that too. And yet…that unhappy feeling persists, a nervousness she cannot explain lingering in her stomach.

It’s just Haymitch’s betrayal; it still has me on edge. And I am worried too about having a baby and of bringing them into a world so ravaged by civil war. Worried for Katniss, for her crown…for her life.

That’s all.

That must be all)

*

(Prim loves her husband, but she loves her sister more.

She does not want to choose between them, hopes and hopes and hopes she is wrong to be uneasy, but if Darius is up to something, she has already chosen.

Prim stands with Katniss)

*

Time seems to race by, days slipping past faster than Madge can count.

She wants summer to last forever, but it can’t.

Soon it is September, then fall.

Soon, it is time.

*

(Gale sighs as he stares out the window, something tired and heavy weighing in his bones. He watches the sun rise from the sea and bleed its colours into the sky and cannot help but think of Madge.

I’ve never watched the sun rise. I think I’d like to, someday

Maybe I’ll join you

The memory stings and Gale shakes his head, but can’t quite dislodge it. As much as he might say otherwise, he doesn’t really want to forget her or to let her go. It is stupid, he knows that, but somewhere, buried very deep, he still has hope they’ll find their way back to each other.

God, I’m an idiot

And what about you Madge? Are you alright?

Are you holding on just as tight?

“Gale.”

He turns and Katniss is standing in his doorway, her eyes somber. He sighs again.

“Where is it this time?”

“Yorkshire.”

“Right.”

Uprisings have been flaring up all over England since Haymitch’s revolt and Gale has stamped out every single one. Kastniss rides out and Gale follows, just like he always has. These flare ups are small, not terribly threatening but Katniss never leaves them for someone else to handle and Gale could never stay behind. But maybe it’s a good thing, maybe he needs the distraction. He nods at Katniss and pushes Madge from his mind.

(at least for now)

As he steps past her into the hall, their eyes meet and he hates what he can read there. Her look is too sad, too filled with their last conversation.

I’m sorry

Sorry for what? I made my choice a long time ago and I don’t regret it. I’m with you until the end, Katniss

I know. Still, I’m sorry about Madge

So am I

Katniss blames herself for all of this, but of course she does. She isn’t faultless sure, but it’s his fault too. And Haymitch’s and Marvel’s and Coriolanus’ and so many others. They all let England down and now they have to pay the price.

“Come on,” he says, grabbing her arm, “let’s go remind them all how you won a kingdom.”

She doesn’t smile like he’d like her to, but then she hasn’t smiled since Haymitch betrayed them.

He’s starting to wonder if she ever will)

*

(“Going somewhere?”

Rory turns from the coffer he’s been packing to see Philippa standing in the doorway, her blue eyes bright with curiosity. He nods eagerly.

“Gale and Katniss are taking me with them to suppress the newest uprising in the north. Finally, I’ll have a chance to prove to them both that I’ve grown up, that I’m a man now.”

He deepens his voice somewhat and puffs out his chest but Philippa’s hands immediately jump to her mouth, smothering her giggles.

“Is fourteen considered a man now?” she asks from between her fingers, eyes dancing. Rory deflates and glares at her.

“Man enough,” he grumbles and returns to his packing. Philippa laughs again and steps into the room, her hands coming to rest on his shoulders.

“Go then,” she says and he twists his head around to look at her, “and prove to Gale you’re a man.”

“I will,” he promises, voice odd even to his own ears. She smiles and leans in very close.

“And then join him in revenge on Haymitch.”

Rory turns fully to face her, her hands squeezing his shoulders and he can feel a fire raging within him.

“I will. I cannot wait. I hate him Philippa, I hate him so much. I feel…I feel as if I’m…burning,” he admits, his voice taut with fury. Philippa moves her hands to his face, her fingers soft on his cheeks.

“Then burn Rory. And know I shall burn with you.”)

*

(he doesn’t really remember his wedding vows but he knows in this moment that had he the chance to write them himself, he would want them to sound just like that)

*

The night is cloudless, starless, moonless and yet not dark as Madge sits by the fountain in the courtyard, her fingers trailing though the cool water. The pale smudge of a girl reflected there is sad, her eyes dull with sorrow and Madge sighs, dreading tomorrow and the betrothal ceremony that comes with it.

Oh Gale, oh Gale it should be us up there

“You know I hate seeing you sad,” comes a soft voice and Madge looks up to her left and there he is, Gale, tall and handsome and here. She gasps, her heart pounds in her ears, beats loudly in her chest, and oh Gale, oh Gale, it’s really you. She stands and he frowns, his eyes sweeping over the misery still etched into her expression.

“What has you so sad?” he asks and she swallows, burning tears gathering in her eyes.

“I’ll be betrothed to Cato tomorrow and when that happens...when that happens we’ll have lost any chance of ever being together.”

It hurts to say out loud, feels like a hot knife sliding through her skin and he nods, his beautiful beautiful eyes turning up to the midnight sky.

“You said you’d have me forever, do you still mean that?” he asks and she nods, her limbs shaking with the need to touch him.

“Yes, yes, forever and ever and ever,” she promises and he smiles slowly, her favourite, achingly perfect Gale smile.

“Then we have nothing to fear,” he whispers and steps forward, his warm fingers wrapping around hers.

“I will never let you go Madge, not as long as you love me,” he vows, pulling her closer and tears blur her vision.

“Then you shall never let me go for I will never, ever stop loving you Gale.”

He smiles a little wider, brighter than every star there ever was and tilts her chin up, her skin tingling beneath his touch. She closes her eyes and I love you he breathes against her lips, her heart glowing gold. His arms are strong around her, his name is carved into her bones and for a moment at least, she really does feel invincible.

And then she wakes up.

She is alone in bed with no Gale to hold her, wrapped not in his arms but blankets that cannot warm her. She closes her eyes and tries with all her might to conjure up that perfect dream, to sink back into it but with daylight comes the sharp sting of reality and she cannot go back to dreaming.

Today she will be betrothed to Cato.

It is not marriage, not yet, but she will be his officially, irrevocably, unless death or the Pope puts an end to it. This is what she set out to do, the victory she strove for and still, there is that small, wretched part of her that wishes she had lost.

*

(And somewhere in England, Gale looks out his window and thinks we’ll be together again someday Madge, I swear)

*

A legion of maids comes to prepare her for the ceremony, Madge’ whole body cold and numb. She sits on a velvet stool as they twine red ribbons in her hair and coil blonde strands around a single ruby rose, the fragrant scent curdling her stomach. She stands and they lace her into a stiff brown kirtle, the fabric heavy and unwieldy. Over top goes a saffron houppelande that washes out her skin, little brown blossoms etched over it in dull thread. The entire ensemble is a gift from Queen Enobaria, one that leaves little doubt as to her feelings towards Madge and her coming marriage to Cato.

If you think this will be enough o break me, you are wrong

She is no great beauty as she stares in the mirror and as much agony as it brings; she forces herself to smile, to look pleased and excited. She needs Cato, she cannot afford for him to see her miserable today. She pinkens her lips and cheeks, dabs herself with rose water and even though she knows she should, she cannot bear to take off Gale’s locket. It rests against her heart and she takes courage from it, and from the rings she wears every day, from her grandmother, from her father, from Henry.

“Are you ready, sweetheart?”

Madge turns slowly to see her mother in the doorway, her skin sallow and her expression sombre. There is no point in pretending today is a joyous occasion and Madge nods, steeling her shivering heart and queasy stomach.

Courage Madge, be brave

Her mother nods back and takes Madge’s hand, her fingers bony as she squeezes. They move out into the hall arm in arm, steps sure and backs straight. The palace has not been done up in any great style but Madge ignores that along with every other insult Enobaria heaps upon them, focuses only on her act, her perfect charade to ensnare the Queen and Cato. When they are led into the great hall she looks nothing but a sweet, blushing maiden, both thrilled and shy at her coming betrothal. She peeks bashfully at Cato, ignores the daggers sent her way by Clove’s dark eyes, and smiles softly. Cato merely sneers, the silver coronet in his hair glinting in the sunlight from the windows. He stands with his mother, her hand on his shoulder and her expression filled with distaste.

“Your Majesty,” Margaret murmurs, sinking into a curtsy and Madge follows suit, dragging up every ounce of poise and dignity she can.

“Let us get this over with,” Enobaria says, disdain pooling on her tongue and still Madge does not allow her mask to falter. She bites her lip, flutters her lashes at Cato and allows a little gasp as she takes his reluctantly offered hand, her fingers sliding slowly over his. He tugs her up, his grip painful and drags her before the priest, her skin bruising under his hold. He looks at her then, his eyes bright and his lips curling savagely and Madge knows what he wants. He wants a scene, wants tears and pain and winces but she will not give it to him. She digs her nails into his skin and continues to smile, his dimming into anger.

You wanted a war Cato, so have one

“I, Cato, Prince of Wales, Duke of Cornwall and Earl of Chester, do pledge here before God and these witnesses that I will take you, Madge Undersee of Bedford and Clarence, to be my lawful wife,” Cato says in a bored, annoyed sort of voice and he is just as determined as she is not to show any pain. Madge shoots him a very quick smile, filling her face with excitement and then takes a deep breath.

“I, Madge Undersee of Bedford and Clarence, do pledge here before God and these witnesses that I will take you, Cato, Prince of Wales, Duke of Cornwall and Earl of Chester, to be my lawful husband.”

The priest blesses them and Cato kisses her to seal the betrothal, catching her lip between his teeth and biting down hard enough to draw blood. She gasps and flinches, his answering smirk full of triumph. Tears sting her eyes but she blinks them away, ignoring the pain growing ever larger in her chest. Cato leads her away, his grip still too hard and that’s it then. It’s done.

I will marry Cato.

I will be Princess of Wales and then, one day, Queen of England.

Please, let this be enough to save us.

Please.

*

There is no banquet or ball to celebrate, and as much as it should annoy her, Madge is glad.

She returns to her room and sits on the edge of her bed, Cato’s ring heavy on her finger. It is a plain gold ring, nothing special, nothing extravagant, but it feels white hot against her skin. There is an urge in her, an irrational one she knows, to tear it off and fling it out the window, but even if she did, it would not change a thing. She and Cato, they belong to each other now.

How strange, that out of Henry, Gale and Cato, it is the one I hate the most that has actually become my betrothed

She sighs and closes her eyes, pressing a finger to her stinging lip. A soft hiss slips past her teeth and without opening her eyes; she knows her finger will come away spotted with red. Cato’s triumphant smirk flashes against her eyelids and something ugly flickers within her. She pushes it down before it can grow and lets Cato have this moment of victory. A little blood will not be enough to stop me.

The door opens and Madge opens her eyes to see her mother, pale and ghastly and far too thin. Margaret comes over to her daughter and sits beside her, skin and bone arms wrapping her in a tight embrace.

“I love you darling; I love you so so much.”

Madge feels her pain flee, the memory of Cato fading into nothing. She clutches her mother, buries her face in her shoulder and for a moment at least, she feels safe.

*

(Annie breathes in time with Finnick’s heartbeat, the steady thump thump beneath her ear soothing in a way nothing else could ever be. His fingers are soft as they play with her hair and she never wants to leave this spot, never wants to rise and face the outside world. They are warm and safe tonight, snuggled close beneath the covers of her bed, and she dreads the rising sun, dreads the morning and the war it brings with it. Finnick is leaving her again, off to fight another perilous, bloody battle and tears sting her eyes at the mere thought.

When will it end?

“I suppose the Yorkists gave Dunstanburgh away?” he muses and she nods, squeezing her eyes closed.

“Probably. I know Haymitch received your Baynard’s Castle in London.”

Finnick forces a laugh.

“Haymitch, eh? I wonder if he’ll give it back when this is over.”

He is trying to sound light and joking but there is an edge to his voice, a bitter, frightened edge that cuts her to the bone. She clutches him tight and breathes him in, tries to drown herself in the summery soft smell of him. Run away with me, she wants to beg but never would. Instead she counts each and every one of his heartbeats and prays that this separation will be over quicker than the last.

“I love you, Finnick,” she whispers and knows by the way he tightens his hold on her that he understands everything else she is trying to say, all the feelings she can’t quite put in to words.

“And I you, Annie. Always,” he vows and kisses her hair. Tears burn against her cheeks and oh, how I hate goodbyes.

Let this be the final one, please, let this be the last)

*

The fall morning is brittle and cool, the sky clear and the breeze salty with sea air. Madge breathes it in as she stands at her window, her fingers tight around the ledge and her eyes fixed on the great channel glittering in the sunlight before her.

This is it

Today’s the day

(be safe Gale, oh be safe my love)

*

(Clove wakes in Cato’s arms and stretches with a yawn.

It is early, far earlier than she usually rises and she rolls over to look at Cato, his mouth open and a string of drool dribbling down his chin. On anyone else she would be repulsed, but with Cato she merely shakes her head fondly and wipes it away with her thumb, an odd melancholy suddenly squeezing her chest. She pulls her hand away as if burned and that feeling starts to swallow her, its poison spilling through every artery and vein. It is an alien emotion, one she does not want to feel, and she cannot help but reach out to touch him again, to stroke his jaw, his soft hair, the bare skin of his chest. She can feel his heartbeat in her palm and how much longer will I have this? whispers a traitorous voice in her head.

Go away, she thinks back, falls upon that phantom voice with sharpened knives but for once, it does not work.

Soon you shan’t have any of this, it continues, mocking, gleeful and sounding dangerously like Madge Undersee. Clove cannot bear to look at him anymore, melancholy choking in her throat, and she sits up quickly, her eyes turned to the window. She cannot see the Channel but she knows it’s out there, laughing at both her and Cato. Cato should be sailing out today, as should she, but instead they will stay cooped up here with wretched, foul, infuriating Madge.

(Clove has hated a great many people in her life, indeed she hates far more than she likes, but never has she loathed someone as much as she does Madge Undersee)

Clove knows how to use a sword, is lethal and quick on her feet. She has bested more squires than she can count, matches Cato in every spar and she would ride out to war today, if only that war were on the battlefield and not the bedchamber. She is not afraid of bloodthirsty men or power hungry lords, but Madge, rich blooded, well-mannered, scheming Madge, that is a battle she does not even know how to fight.

Clove is not made to marry a prince, her blood is not high enough, her father nowhere near rich enough and how is she meant to compete with a lofty little tart like Madge? Madge who is destined to marry Cato even though she could never hope to understand him as Clove does. Madge who will sit beside him even though it is Clove that has stood by him all these years. Madge that will rule with him even though we were made for each other, I know we were. Madge will take center stage and then what is to stop Clove from being pushed farther and farther aside until she disappears?

(it was easy to be confident before the betrothal, but now she is beginning to understand just how hopeless her situation really is

Cato is hers, has been since they were children but no matter what she does now, their time is running out)

“You’re already up?” comes Cato’s sleepy voice from behind her and Clove curses herself.

“Your dreadful snoring woke me,” she teases though she cannot manage to turn her head and look at him. He sits up and scoots closer, his chest pressed against her back. He kisses her neck as his arms come around her and she would never say it aloud, but she is forever grateful it is only women that wear betrothal rings and not men. She does not think she could stomach the feel of his against her skin.

“You’re tense,” he mumbles and though she does not mean to say it, the words slip out anyway.

“I do not want to be replaced.”

He laughs and she can feel it through her back, but she does not laugh in return. There is nothing funny about this.

“How could you be? I’m yours, you know that.”

She clenches her teeth.

“No, your Madge’s now. You are betrothed Cato, so unless we are blessed by God and she dies, you will marry her. And you will go to her bed and sit on your throne beside her and rejoice in the children she bears you.”

“So?” he asks and she exhales in frustration.

“So, she will do everything she can to win you, too woo, to make you love her!”

She feels him pull away, his hands dropping from her sides.

“And what? You think I will be seduced? After all these years together, you really have so little trust in me?”

She turns, surprised by the hurt in his voice. He glares at her as she meets his eyes.

“Never, not once, have I touched another woman. I have never even wanted to. Do those years of loyalty count for nothing? Am I so low in your eyes that I would throw myself at the first whore that smiles at me?”

He is loud by the end, angry and almost shouting and Clove feels her eyes widen. He is always quick to temper, always ready to yell, but never at her.

“Madge is not just some whore,” she snaps back, shocking herself. She too is fast to rage, but never has she turned it on him.

Madge is already ruining us.

“She will be your wife, your queen. She will give you your heir and secure your kingdom. She will wear your crown. She will be at your side, always at your side. And what does that leave me with?” she demands and he recoils, his eyes so wounded she is momentarily short of breath.

“Me. Is that not enough?”

“That’s not what I meant,” she says immediately, realizing now how her words must have sounded.

“Isn’t it?” he demands and throws off the covers. He stands and then, because fury has always been physical with Cato, he picks up a vase and shatters it against the wall. She glares at his back and clambers out of the bed.

“No, it isn’t. If you would let me explain-”

“What is there to explain? You want to be queen. You want to wear a crown, sit on a throne and wield power over the country. I’ve always known that Clove, I just always thought you wanted me more.”

Beneath his rage is sadness and Clove wants to be calm but can’t, her nostrils flaring.

“I do! I want to be queen and I hate that bitch for taking it from me. I should be queen; I should be the powerful one, not her. But that is not my biggest concern. What I meant, you idiot, is that Madge will share things with you I never can. You will not be able to spend as much time with me as you do now, not with your duties and a wife, so I will start to fade. But she, she will be beside you when you greet ambassadors and important visitors. She will birth your heir. She will sit at your side at every banquet, pageant and tournament. You will not be able to be rid of her.

All that time together, all those things you will do with her that you will not with me…what if you begin to realize she is not so awful? She will do everything she can to win you, she will find out just what to say to make you laugh, she will flatter and be interested in every one of your words, will giggle at your every joke. What if you decide you do not loath her anymore and then you begin to see her qualities and all the while I fade a little more? What if from necessity comes admiration? And from that…love?”

He stares at her, stares so long she is afraid he does not believe her.

“I would choose you over any crown, Cato. I am not nearly so concerned about losing a throne as I am about losing you. After everything we have been through, can you really doubt that?”

He curls his hands into fists.

“You doubt me,” he points out. “You truly believe I will toss you aside for Madge.”

“I do not doubt you,” she begins and he opens his mouth to interrupt. She does not give him the chance. “I am just afraid,” she admits and never, not once in her life, has she said that before. Cato blinks in surprise.

“I am afraid, alright? I do not want to lose you. I do not want to think of her touching you, of everyone looking at you and thinking of you as hers. I know I am being unfair, I know you have always been faithful. But I am scared and angry and jealous and I do not know what to do about it. You will have to spend time with her which means less with me and then…” she trails off, unable to finish the thought and he exhales loudly.

“You needn’t be afraid. It does not matter how much time I spend with her, I will never want her more than I want you. She may have my ring, my crown and even my heirs, but you will have me, as you always have.”

“That is easy to say now,” she interrupts and his eyes narrow. She thinks for a moment that he will give up, but he squares his shoulders and assaults her defenses with perfect courage.

“I will sleep in your bed every night no matter how many times I visit hers, I will relish every moment with you, while I dread those with her and it is your counsel I will seek, never hers. You will still be the only one who knows my secrets and it is you I will wish I’m with every time I have to touch her. You will be the one with power over England because I will never care what she wants, what she thinks or what she says. You are who I would choose to rule with, to fight by my side in battle, to marry. She can try her damndest to seduce me, she could be Venus herself and it still would not work. You may not have faith in my constancy Clove, but I do. I am yours, I always have been. No one could take your place and certainly not some foul royal cousin like Madge. If you do not already know that, I don’t know what else to say.”

Clove does not know what to say either, is stunned speechless. Cato is not one for declarations or romance; he laughs at poetry, scorns flowery sentiments and prefers actions to words. This is so unlike him that she cannot answer and he turns away from her to the window.

“Perhaps if you think so little of me I should leave,” he says and Clove smiles then, perhaps wider than she ever has. She is across the room in moments, her arms circling around him.

“How dramatic you are,” she says and kisses his shoulder. He stiffens.

“Now you are mocking me.”

“No,” she says softly, “I am apologizing.”

He turns quickly in her arms; his face blank with surprise, for neither one of them can remember the last time she apologized to anyone.

“You are right, I have nothing to fear. If there is one thing I have always known, it is that we were made for each other. I am sorry for doubting that, even for a moment. You are mine and I am yours, always. If I cannot have faith in that, then I cannot have faith in anything.”

One of his hands weaves through her hair while the other tilts her chin up and she smiles.

(there is still fear of course, there always will be)

(but she does believe in them and she will not bow out graciously to Madge fucking Undersee)

(if Madge wants Cato she will have to fight them both to get him)

(and when they are together, Cato and Clove are invincible)

“Forgive me my momentary lapse in sanity?” she asks and he smirks, her fiery, ardent Cato once again.

“Make it up to me first,” he growls and she laughs as he scoops her up, his mouth hungry as it meets hers. He stumbles back to the bed and Madge Undersee doesn’t matter.

Cato and Clove, they belong together.

That’s the only thing that matters)

*

It is a crisp, breezy day, the sky a pale, watery gray and the sun a faint yellow smear. Great ships lent by Louis and others bought on loan bob in the harbor, each one swarming with sailors readying for the crossing. The Lancastrian forces stand on the pier, an assortment of English exiles, French troops and mercenaries. Madge shivers and wonders what the people of England will think at the sight of them. An army of liberation? Or one of conquest?

Enobaria surveys her troops with cold eyes, looking the very picture of majesty. Her back is straight, her crown sparkles and she is dressed in her very best, all her jewels, a gown of cloth of gold and a mantle lined in soft fur. Madge, Cato and Annie stand just behind her and behind them are the queen’s ladies, Clove’s eyes cutting into Madge’s back like daggers. Madge ignores the prickling in her spine and rubs her hands together to keep them warm, Haymitch stepping forward from the crowd to kneel before Enobaria. All the other men follow suit and the air is heavy, solemn, momentous.

“I promise you, my Queen, we will free King Coriolanus and restore him to his throne,” Haymitch vows, every word turning to ash upon his tongue. Enobaria lifts her chin and glares down at him, her face as hard as iron.

“See that you do, Lord Haymitch. See that you do.”

There is a threat there, a sword held up against his neck but Haymitch does not flinch. A gamble of crowns is always a risk and Haymitch will not throw the dice with an unsteady hand. Enobaria can make all the threats she likes, he already knows the price of failure. Enobaria looks out at the rest of the men then, a fire kindling in her gaze.

“Your king awaits you in England!” she bellows. “Free him from that thieving Yorkist whore and be remembered as heroes!”

The men leap to their feet and cheer, stamp their feet and rattle their swords, their great roar soaring up to the sky and shaking the very heavens.

“Go, men of England! Go forth and save your homeland! For England and King Coriolanus!” she booms and they take up her cry, voices and swords raised to the sun.

“For England!”

“For King Coriolanus!”

Madge stands in silence; her tongue trapped behind teeth clamped tight, and watches as the men board their ships, their chant still ringing through the air. Haymitch shares a long look with her mother just before he steps aboard, Cato scowls and Finnick comes up to Annie beside her, his smile shaking on his lips. He takes both her hands and holds them up to his heart, his brilliant green eyes staring deep into her lovely blue. Madge turns away, feeling as if she has intruded on something private, but she cannot help but catch his whispered words.

“I will return to you Annie, my love. I will be back. And when I am, finally, we will marry. I swear it.”

Those words are so like Gale’s last to her that Madge feels her heart quake, feels the ground shift beneath her feet. She presses his locket against her heart and from the corner of her eye she sees Annie reach up to touch Finnick’s cheek.

“I know Finnick, I have no doubts. You have always come back to me, I know you always will.”

She leans up and they meet in a soft kiss, lingering close for a moment, their eyes closed and breath mingling. Madge shuts her eyes to avoid the sting of tears.

“Come along now son, England awaits us!” the Earl of Oxford calls and Madge opens her eyes in time to watch Finnick clamber aboard the largest of the ships. He stands at the railing, his desperate eyes fixed on Annie, and Boggs rests a hand on his shoulder. Annie covers her mouth with her hands, her eyes glistening with tears and Finnick reaches beneath his doublet to pull out something small, a ring perhaps, on a chain. He kisses it, his eyes never leaving Annie’s, and presses it to his heart.

And even through her tears, Annie smiles.

*

(“This is it then,” Marvel says with a smirk, something dangerous in his eyes and Glimmer beams, a thrill shaking her bones.

“Oh, I cannot wait,” she trills and flings herself on him, pressing kisses to every inch of his face. His fingers dig into her waist and she shivers with pleasure, hopes he leaves his fingerprints bruised into her skin until they see each other again.

“We are going to win Glimmer,” he breathes, his tongue darting out to caress her ear and she nods, her body glowing with confidence and wicked delight. Haymitch cheated us of our crown, but he will pay, they’re all going to pay. We have been planning, you wretched fools, and we are going to win.

Marvel kisses her roughly and she sinks into him, excitement like hellfire in her veins.

In this game of crowns it is us that will emerge victorious my darling

us us us)

*

Madge grabs Annie’s hand as the ships push out to sea and knows her grip is bruising. She cannot blink as she watches the fleet head out, their great flags and pennants snapping in the autumn wind. Her heart feels twice its normal size and this is it, this is really it.

Oh God Gale, please please make it out of this okay

A great purple banner ripples from the rear of the largest ship, Coriolanus’ snarling silver wolf prowling across it. His crown glitters gold in the faint sun and Madge cannot look away, her entire body going cold.

And that is what we’re fighting for, isn’t it?

To unleash that wolf upon England once more.

Forgive us

[xerxia31]

Aperture - an Everlark Ficlet for Burkygirl

It’s Burky’s birthday! 

My dear, sweet friend, beta extraordinaire, #tumblrqueen and fellow smutkateer @burkygirl is celebrating a birthday today! This is for you, T! Thanks for making this place so very much better!

Aperture

rated T

I shift my bag further up on my shoulder as I fish around in my pocket, finally extracting a deckle-edged piece of notebook paper and squinting at the messy scrawl on it. Panem Arms, 12E. This is a swankier hotel than I’ve ever been in before, the carpeting under my feet plush and  pristine, high quality reproductions in expensive frames lining the corridor. The room I’m looking for is in the corner, the door propped partially open, revealing an opulent space with a full wall of windows. My bag thumps against the heavy wood as I shove it open a little wider, and a voice floats towards me from somewhere deeper in the suite. “Peeta? Is that you?”

“Yeah,” I call back, wandering fully into the room. It’s bigger than my entire apartment, tastefully furnished in sleek leather and warm wood. It occurs to me for half a moment to wonder how she can afford this place, before I snicker to myself. There’s no way Johanna Mason has paid a dime. She’s a master of getting people to give her whatever she wants. Which is why I’m here. Setting my bag and tripod on a glass table that probably cost more than my tuition, I wander over to the windows, a full wall, floor to ceiling. The view is phenomenal, but more importantly, the light flooding in this afternoon is gorgeous, warm and golden. Say what you will about Johanna, she’s got a great eye for photography locations. “Find the place okay?” I spin at the sound of Jo’s voice right behind me, the thick carpeting having masked her footfalls, allowing her to sneak up on me. Then I do a double take. I’ve known Jo for more than three years, we’ve had classes together at Panem U and have a few mutual friends. I should be accustomed to her habit of wandering around only barely clothed by now. “Put your tongue back in your face, Breadboy,” she smirks. “Put your tits back in your top, Mason,” I chuckle, and she laughs too. “Hey, I paid a fortune for these,” she says, cupping what are indeed a very nice pair of boobs encased in two nearly transparent lace triangles. “I’ve gotta get my money’s worth.” I roll my eyes. Jo’s okay, but so not my type. “Is that what I’m supposed to be photographing you in?” Johanna is a fashion design major, and I’m here to do a shoot of her latest clothing project. I’m still not certain how she managed to convince me to give up my Saturday afternoon, but here I am. “You’re not photographing me at all,” she says, sashaying away towards a door at the other end of the room. “I already told you, my roommate is modelling. I don’t need Professor Plutarch pulling his pud over pictures of me.” I shudder a little at the thought. “But it’s okay for him to leer at your roommate?” She shrugs. “Brainless is a science major, she’s never going to meet the man.” “You’re cruel, Jo,” I call after her retreating figure, and she pauses, glancing back at me over her shoulder. “She fits better in the outfits, okay?” Jo screws up her face in distaste. “She’s got an ass like a twelve-year-old boy, and vegan leather is expensive.” I have to bite my cheek not to laugh out loud. Classic Jo. I set up my tripod so that the window will be the backdrop for our photoshoot, and lose myself in erecting the light stand and reflectors I brought along. Though I’m technically a business major, my minor in photography gives me ample excuse to buy nice studio equipment. When Jo emerges from the other room again some ten minutes later, I’m making a last few adjustments with my handheld light meter. This time, she’s a whirlwind of sound and sputtering, a flannel shirt tossed over her shoulders, though still not buttoned up. “Forgot the damned bustier,” she groans, twirling a set of keys around her finger. A soft snicker catches my attention and I glance up from my work. Standing beside Jo is a ghost, a dream, a vision that can’t possibly be real. Katniss Everdeen. Katniss Everdeen, the girl I’ve had a crush on since I was barely out of diapers, star of practically every wet dream I’ve ever had. Katniss Everdeen who, last I knew, was still back in our hometown, attending the local college. I haven’t seen her in sixty-seven days, since the last time she came into my family’s bakery before I left for my senior year of school. She ordered two cheese buns, and I’d managed about ten words in her presence, an eight word improvement over the previous visit. Not that I was counting. “Breadboy, this is my roomie–” “Katniss?” My voice is an embarrassing little squeak of awe, and she nods at me. I think I’m going to die. “Hey, Peeta,” she says in that smoky smooth bourbon voice, nonchalant, as if we’ve been buds forever. I’m definitely dead. I was on the debating team in high school and served as class president. I excel at making presentations and have been described as charming and persuasive. I am, by all accounts, a confident, articulate man. Except where Katniss is concerned. I’ve always been terribly intimidated by her, by that scowl and those sharp silver eyes, not to mention the omnipresent boyfriend she had all through high school. Though the boyfriend has been gone awhile, my awkwardness around Katniss has only gotten worse. As more and more time passes without me being able to conjure up a word, it gets harder to think of anything I could possibly say or do to change that. And it certainly doesn’t help that she’s incredibly hot. Just her presence turns me into the shy little boy I used to be. “You know each other?” Jo’s stops her stomping long enough to look between Katniss and me with a confused expression. “You don’t have any classes over in our building?” she says to Katniss. “Peeta and I grew up together,” Katniss says, while I stand there, mouth open like a fish out of water. “Oh did you?” An almost evil little smile curls Jo’s lip. I have no doubt she can see fifteen years of unrequited longing for her roommate written all over my face. Hell, they can probably see it from Mars. “Well I left the top part of Brainless’s outfit in my car, so she’s practically naked under that robe.” I hazard a glance at Katniss; she’s shooting daggers at a clearly bemused Johanna. “You two entertain each other while I’m gone.” Then Jo winks at me. I’m never going to live this down. But it doesn’t matter, because Katniss Everdeen is standing in front of me, wearing a thick, white hotel robe, her lush ebony hair spilling in soft curls over her shoulders. Though I’ve known her most of my life, I don’t think I’ve ever seen her with her hair down like this. It’s exquisite. My hands itch to touch her, to paint her, to capture the way the amber light crowns her in fire. She clears her throat; only then do I realize I’ve been gawking. “I, uh. I thought you were going to college back in Twelve?” I ask, my voice a little more even. “Prim’s here this year,” she says, referring to her little sister, the reason she stayed behind in our dinky hometown while everyone else got out of there. Katniss’s dad died when we were in sixth grade, and the whole town knows her mother isn’t right in the head. So it shocked no one when Katniss - smart, studious Katniss - stayed in Twelve instead of accepting any one of the scholarships she was offered. She’s been more of a parent than a sister for years. “She got a full scholarship, so I transferred here from Seam College.” “You’re letting Prim live with Johanna?” Katniss scowls, and I have to fight not to physically recoil. For five-foot-nothing, she’s awfully scary. “Absolutely not,” she says, and I grin, she’s so indignant, like I’ve insulted her common sense. “Prim is in the freshmen dorms. I wanted to be nearby, so my cousin introduced me to Jo.” “What’s it like, living with Jo?” Katniss wrinkles her nose. “She’s a little clothing-averse.” I bark out a laugh, and Katniss glances up at me through her eyelashes. How have I never noticed before how thick and full they are? “But she’s tidy and she pays her bills, so I can’t complain much. How, um, how do you know Jo? I thought you were a business major.” Something hot flares in my gut at the idea that Katniss Everdeen knows what I’m majoring in. “I, uh, wow, yeah. I am. But I’m minoring in photography.” She nods. “Makes sense, you’ve always been so artistic.” I have been, but I’m shocked she noticed. She frowns. “Well of course I noticed, you designed the yearbook cover in senior year, and your dad’s bakery is full of your paintings.” My face heats up as I realize I said that out loud. How can I simultaneously be unable to speak and unable to prevent myself from speaking to this girl? This woman. It takes me another awkward moment to answer. “Uh, right. Sorry, that came out wrong.” I shake my head, ready to slink away and hide behind my camera. But then Katniss does something completely unexpected. She smiles at me. It’s a small smile, more bemused than anything. But it’s glorious. And it’s for me. And I relax a little. “Sorry,” I mumble again. “I wasn’t expecting…” I trail off, waving my hand vaguely. “Oh,” she says, expression shuttering. “Right. You were probably expecting Glimmer.” “Who?” I ask, distracted by the annoyance I can see creeping onto her beautiful face, how this perfectly kissable little line forms between her brows. “Jo’s friend. The blonde?” I shrug, Johanna has a ton of friends and I’m sure half of them are blonde. Katniss huffs. “She knows who you are.” There’s something in the tone of her voice that snaps me out of my stupor. “I thought Jo was going to be modelling her own designs actually.” “She has a boyfriend.” Now I’m the one wrinkling my forehead. Why would I care who Jo is with this week? “What?” “Yeah,” she shrugs, looking at me sympathetically. “A few months now.” That pity on her face confuses the hell out of me. Surely she doesn’t think… “We’re just friends,” I blurt. Katniss cocks her head curiously. “But you were hoping…?” “No,” I laugh. “Johanna’s not my type.” I run my hand across the back of my neck, roughly, fighting the heat rising there. “I was actually dreading this, until you walked in.” Katniss still looks confused. Fuck it, I need to grow a pair. “I’ve always wanted to talk with you, Katniss.” Silence stretches between us, twists my guts. Finally she laughs, just softly. “Seriously, Peeta? I’ve come into your father’s bakery twice a week all summer and every break since high school finished. You could have talked to me any of those times.” I feel like an idiot. “I know.” “Or before, at school, or at the lake, or at one of Madge’s parties-” “I know.” “Then why?” I shrug helplessly. Her lips purse. “You know, you never had any trouble talking to anyone else, mister senior class president.” “Well yeah, but none of them were you!” “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” “Fuuuck,” I groan, tipping my head back. This is why I don’t talk to Katniss. She turns me into a simpering idiot. “I mean they didn’t matter, none of them. And you do.” I sigh. “I like you, okay?” She freezes, almost unbreathing, for what feels like an eternity. Then a slow smile steals across her face. “Really?” “Yeah.” I return her smile. It’s a relief to finally tell her, and the fact that she hasn’t run screaming seems like a good sign. Behind us, the door crashes open. “Let’s do this,” Jo barks, stalking towards Katniss and towing her to the other room again. They’re back just a couple of minutes later. I’m making a few adjustments to my set up when I hear them approach. Jo is again in only a bra, but I barely notice. Because Katniss isn’t wearing that plush white robe anymore. I am thanking every deity I’ve ever heard of - and a few I invent on the spot - for Jo’s taste in clothing right now. Because Katniss, gorgeous Katniss, star of nearly every wet dream I’ve ever had, is wearing little more than a cocktail napkin. A white vegan leather cocktail napkin. Though Jo joked about Katniss’s participation being an afterthought, it’s clear these pieces were made to her measurements. They fit like a second skin, and the ivory colour makes her olive skin glow. The top is little more than a structured undergarment, the skirt a deep breath away from indecent. And wrapped around her legs, stretching from ankle to thigh, the kind of boots that make adolescent boys wake up stuck to the sheets. Grown men too. “Holy fuck,” I say under my breath. “Not bad, eh?” Jo preens. I know she’s talking about the clothes. I’m not. I can barely breathe, barely even blink. But Katniss looks uncomfortable under my ravenous stare. “Well,” I rasp in a voice that’s not my own. “Shall we begin?” o-o-o She’s gorgeous, wrapped in that skin-tight faux leather and bathed in the afternoon glow. But fifteen minutes into shooting, it’s just not working. Everything about her posture is rigid, self-conscious, the angles wrong, her expression pained. Johanna paces somewhere behind me, making aggravated little noises. Though I try to direct Katniss to position her head or hip differently, nothing seems to help. I’ve done a lot of shoots over the years, worked with kids and pets and all sorts of subjects that are hard to pose. But none have been more difficult than this, and it makes no sense. Katniss is beautiful, she has to know that, and usually so self-possessed. My frustration mounts, none of this is how I envisioned. “Dammit, Brainless,” Jo’s voice rips through the room, startling me. “You’re not even trying. If I wanted a freaking mannequin I’d have bought one! You’re as stiff as a coathanger, you’re making my sexy designs look like Quaker wear!” With each of Johanna’s barbs, Katniss’s shoulders climb higher, her frown deepens. Her fingers are white where her hand is wrapped in a death grip around the window’s edge. “Jo,” I warn, but she cuts me off. “Do you want me to fail? Is this a jealousy thing because I’m hot?” she taunts, and Katniss bristles, anger flashing in her silver eyes. “That’s it,” I growl, and though I keep my voice low, Johanna stops her tirade and looks at me, mouth partly open. “Go for a walk, Johanna, I can’t work with you disrupting my session.” “The hell, Mellark, this is my project,” she sputters, but I’m already shoving her towards the door. “Don’t care, this is my shoot, and you’re killing my vibe.” At her hurt expression, I soften my own. “I’ll get you good pictures, Jo, you know I will. Trust me to do this my way.” “Fine,” she grunts. “I’ll be downstairs at the bar. Don’t fuck this up, Breadboy.” She glances back at Katniss, as if she’s going to berate her roommate again, but I close the door between us, preempting any further insults. For a moment I simply stand, face against the door, breathing away the tension that Jo’s interference caused. Then I turn back to Katniss. Her fire is gone; she looks devastated. “Hey,” I say, all of my pique rushing away, replaced only with concern. I creep as close to her as I dare, she’s stock-still, looking out over the city, sky just starting to pinken. “I’m not a model, Peeta,” she says quietly, still looking away. “I told her that, over and over. This isn’t me.” She gestures to the getup that clings to her curves like a second skin. “I’m bony and awkward and plain and this is such a stupid idea.” I huff out a bewildered laugh. “Katniss, you can’t be serious. You are stunning.” “I can’t do this,” she says, not a trace of self-pity in her voice. “All you have to do it be you,” I tell her. “Unscripted.” Her lovely brow wrinkles. I reach out a tentative hand, slowly, as if with a spooked horse. But she doesn’t bolt. “Trust me,” I implore, wrapping a lock of her silken hair around my finger. And she nods. I take my camera off the tripod and approach her again, needing the intimacy of being close, the serenity of hushed voices. I’ll get her comfortable with me with a few headshots, and get the long body shots Jo needs after. “Just relax,” I murmur as she watches me warily, arms crossed protectively across her chest. Gently, I guide her to lean a shoulder against the window. “Relax,” I breathe again, smoothing her ebony locks over her shoulder. “Tell me why Prim chose Panem U.” Just as I anticipated, her expression softens, her eyes light with happiness. “They have an amazing pre-med program here,” she says, and pride is evident in her eyes and in her voice. As as she talks about Prim, about the one person I know she loves above all others, I raise my camera. I’ve shot off four or five frames before she even notices. Her expression darkens, and she raises an eyebrow at me. “Look,” I tell her with a grin, turning my camera around so that she can see the preview images on the back screen. Her breath leaves in a startled rush. “How?” she whispers, toggling picture to picture with a shaking fingers. Each depicts her relaxed, smiling softly, bathed in gorgeous golden light, shadows emphasizing her fine bone structure. “You made me look pretty.” It’s so quiet, I don’t even know if she intends me to hear it. But I do. “You are pretty. The camera doesn’t lie.” She wrinkles her nose. But she’s smiling, just a little. And I laugh, a relieved sound. “Let’s try some longer shots.” With my camera back on the tripod, I hold the shutter release loosely, not hiding it, but not making it the centre of attention either. We talk, and Katniss leans back against the window, relaxed and smiling. I just keep triggering the shutter. Every so often, I’ll reposition her, naturally, as easily as guiding a friend through a doorway. The faux leather pieces glow in the late light, curving over a jutted hip, sweeping over the soft swell of breast. With her guard down, each picture is perfect, sensual but with a purity that elevates them to something special. For as many times as I’ve imagined myself interacting with Katniss, I couldn’t have pictured this. How natural it feels to speak with her, how right. She’s everything I fantasized, and yet so completely different too. I’d always thought she was intimidating, but I can see now that she’s simply reserved, even a little shy. And in the tranquility of our little hideaway, she blooms. I am transfixed, and utterly reluctant to break the spell. But we’re losing the light. “Jo, uh. I think she said we need to get the back too,” I say, and Katniss spins to face the window. The gloom is gathering outside the window, chasing the orange and amber light. I adjust my reflector, trying to take advantage of the last bits of natural light. And when I glance back, Katniss has lifted her hands above her head, resting against the glass. Partly silhouetted, she’s all long limbs and clean lines, as evocative as any Vogue model ever could be. Her legs, encased in those hot-as-sin boots, stretch on forever, disappearing under a skirt that’s too tiny to even be called clothing. And above that, inches of undulating spine bared to my greedy eyes as her top pulls upward. Fuck, she’s hot. I snap a few pictures, adjusting my aperture to the light. Then Katniss arches her back. It’s an innocent movement, designed probably to work out a kink in her spine. But it has the unintended consequence of lifting that ridiculous skirt just a little higher. Exposing just a hint of ass cheek, gently rounded and smooth as silk. Alluring and enticing. Absolutely nothing like an adolescent boy. A sordid vision of grabbing those sweet swells as I thrust into her, pressed against the cold window glass, flashes before my eyes and I groan. I can’t help it. As I lose the battle I’ve been waging for an hour against my recalcitrant dick, the pained little moan that escapes me catches her attention. Her eyes meet mine in the window reflection. For a moment we simply stare at each other. Then she smirks. Her eyes never leaving mine, she arches more, the skirt lifts almost to the point of obscenity, bare millimeters of fabric hiding her charms. I’m fairly certain that she’s not wearing panties. I’m nearly hyperventilating, watching her face in the window, watching her ass sway just slightly, clicking the shutter remote convulsively. The vixen reflected in the window glass bites her lip, then her tongue sneaks out, swiping along the sting, leaving a glossy slick in its wake. Those perfect peach lips purse, then form my name. “Peeta,” reflection-Katniss whispers, the word a puff of fog condensing on the glass. Silver eyes beckon, I’m powerless to resist. She turns just slightly to look at me over her shoulder, eyes hooded and so fucking sexy. I click off a few more frames of her come-hither stare, of her sweet ass and firm breasts and long, long legs silhouetted by the sunset. Then she whispers my name again. I go to her. She’s still facing the window, hands against the glass when I stand behind her, not quite touching her. “You are so sexy,” I rasp in her ear, and she shudders, pressing backwards, closing the space between us. My arm wraps around her waist as naturally as in my dreams, palm splaying over her flat stomach, the skin warm and soft under my fingers. I lean into her, burying my face in the silken cloud of her hair. She smells like the woods, and a meadow of wildflowers. She smells like home. “Like what you see?” she murmurs, her voice deeper than usual, husky and hot. I groan again, thrusting just a bit against the small of her back so she can feel just how much I like it. She sighs and tilts her head sideways, baring that sweet spot where her neck meets her shoulder, and I don’t resist. Each open-mouthed kiss I press into her hot skin evokes another sigh, a little wiggle of her hips. She reaches up and slides her fingers through my hair, tugging and I thrust against her again, harder. She moans, and I can feel the sound in my dick, throbbing for her. Though her hand remains firmly entwined in my hair, I free my own to explore, skimming along hot skin and cool leather to cup one perfect breast. My name is a breathless plea on her lips, and the words I’ve always struggled with around her spill out. “I have wanted you ever since I first noticed girls were different than boys,” I murmur. “Have always dreamed of touching you like this. It’s always been you.” Then I slide my hand into that ridiculous bustier. Her head tips back, landing on my shoulder, her sharp pants caress my cheek and I squeeze and stoke her breast, firm and perfectly proportioned. Real. “Do you want me?” I whisper, lust and vulnerability battling in my voice. “Yes,” she sighs, the first thing she’s said other than my name. I sink my teeth into her shoulder, hard enough to mark her and she mewls. Then she’s pulling away, leaving me confused and horror-struck. But just as quickly she spins, I catch a glimpse of her silver eyes flickering like candles before her body is again pressed to mine, hands back in my hair, tugging me to her. Kissing Katniss Everdeen is the most incredible experience of my life so far. Her lips are soft but demanding, controlling. And I meet her stroke for stroke, tasting and exploring. Her hands slip from my hair, slide down to wrap around my neck and I draw her closer, cradling her against me. She slows our kiss, drawing back, tapering to soft pecks, until we’re simply holding each other, lips brushing languidly, intimately. “Go out with me,” I whisper. She nods. The quiet beep of a keycard pulls us apart. Johanna. She wanders in, less blustery than before, but smirks when she sees us standing so close. “Did you get my pictures, breadboy, or is your camera card full of porn for the spank bank?” I snort, she’s teasing, but I have to bite back the urge to tell her it’s a little of both. Katniss groans. “Are you ever not vulgar?” She scowls at Jo, who is chuckling now. Then she turns those murcury eyes back to mine. “Have you eaten?” It’s barely a whisper, shy and uncertain, as if I hadn’t just had my hand in her shirt and my tongue down her throat. I shake my head and she shrugs, needing, I think, for me to make the next move. “There’s a great diner, not far from here. Do you want to get dinner together?” Please say yes, I chant in my head. She nods. “Take off that outfit before you cream yourself all over my expensive material,” Jo barks, bemused, and Katniss flips her the bird before stalking away. I show Jo some of the earlier images on my camera back and she’s genuinely pleased, even if she tries to disguise it. Then she wanders off to help Katniss while I pack up my gear. Lost in my thoughts, when I hear his voice I don’t immediately register it as real. “Mellark?” My jaw nearly hits the floor at the sight of Gale Hawthorne hovering in the doorway, stupidly tall and imposing. Gale Hawthorne who Katniss dated all through high school. I haven’t seen him in Twelve in at least a year and a half, stupidly, I thought he was gone. “Gale,” I say, shaking his hand. I’m nothing if not polite. “I didn’t know you were out here, man,” he says, and seems almost pleased to see me. The feeling is not mutual. I shrug. “I’ve only been here a few months,” he says. “Moved out here to be closer to my girlfriend.” He grins; I don’t know if I’ve ever seen Hawthorne grin before. He was always so serious when we were younger. “Hey,” he says. “Does Catnip know you’re here?” As if summoned, Katniss appears from the other room. “Gale!” she shouts, running to him, jumping into his arms. He laughs and spins her around, hugging her tightly. “I thought you weren’t back until next week?” My heart clenches at the sight of them. Just like in high school, they make a beautiful couple, both long and lean, attractive. And it hits me like lightning - this thing between Katniss and me? It was all for the camera. I’m a fool. I shove what’s left of my gear into my bag haphazardly and head for the door. “Peeta?” Katniss says with confusion. “Where are you going? I thought…” she trails off. I turn to face her. She’s changed out of the costume, wearing jeans and a slim black tee, the worst of the war paint scrubbed from her pretty face. Even her hair is back to normal, braided over one shoulder the way she always wore it when we were young. How many times has I sketched that braid in the margins of my notebook? “Figured you’d want to be with Gale,” I grumble, fiddling with the strap of my bag. “Oh,” her expression lightens, the little worry line softening. “I’ll see him later. I’d rather spend time with you now.” She slides her hands into her back pockets, which thrusts her small breasts forward. Fuck. She’s gorgeous, but I don’t know what kind of game she’s playing, and I don’t want to be a pawn in it. “But he just got back?” She shrugs. “Don’t you want to catch up with him?” “I think he’s got plans,” she says, her expression wry. I’m confused as hell. “Plans that are more important than you?” Now I’m teetering on pissed. What kind of plans could possibly be more important than your girlfriend? If she were mine, I’d make certain she knew nothing mattered more to me that her. Katniss laughs. “I expect he wants to spend time with his girlfriend,” she says, echoing my thoughts and leaving me completely perplexed. I glance over at Gale, only to find he’s gone. And then, as if on cue, I hear groans from the other room. Groans clearly of the sexual variety. What the fuck? As the noises increase in volume, words join the mix. Jo, mostly. Clearly she’s happy to see Gale. Now freed from make-up, I can see a blush steal across Katniss’s cheeks. “Ugh,” she says. “They’re like rabbits. Let’s get out of here. It’s only going to get worse.” I am completely lost. She grabs my elbow, propelling me out the door. “Gale is with Jo?” I manage. Katniss nods, glancing at me as if I’m a little slow. “He’s not with you?” Katniss stops dead in the hallway and snorts, the strangest little noise, cute and unfettered. “Gross, Peeta. Gale is my cousin. And this isn’t Kentucky.” “In high school?” I say, and she laughs. “Was my cousin then too.” “You were always together.” “Well yeah, he was pretty much the only one who’d put up with me.” She shrugs. “I didn’t have many friends.” “He might have been part of the reason why,” I grumble. And she laughs, just lightly. But she sobers quickly. “Do you really think if I had a boyfriend I’d have kissed you? I’m not like that.” Deep down, I know that’s true. “I just thought, I don’t know. We were in our own world, and I came onto you pretty hard.” I drop my gaze to the plush carpet. “I guess I thought maybe it wasn’t real.” “Peeta,” she breathes, and echoes of our photo shoot flood my mind, make my dick twitch. She steps closer, looking up at me through lashes just as thick without all of the goop on them. I can see a smattering of faint freckles scattered across her nose. “Do you know why I come into the bakery so often?” she asks, her words skating over my lips. I can almost taste the answer. “You really like cheese buns?” She laughs again, soft puffs of pleasure that tease my senses. “That too,” she admits. “But mostly I come to see you.” She reaches for my free hand, twines our fingers together. “I only agreed to model for Jo when she said it was her friend Peeta who would be taking the pictures.” I swallow hard at her confession. “Really?” She nods. “Is this real?” “Real,” she says. …………………… ……………………

[thegirlfromoverthepond]

Kissing Tybalt - A birthday gift for @xerxia31

Today is the day, the big day of @xerxia31. You know her as an awesome writer, an impeccable beta ( the Queen of Red Pencil), but most importantly, I know her as a friend - and here I lack words and superlatives to describe what her friendship means.

With the help of @burkygirl for the betaing (and there was a lot, thank you so much for helping me) and the amazing art @akai-echo did for this story, here is my humble birthday gift.

Have the bestest of days, my friend !

KISSING TYBALT

“How do you feel about kissing Tybalt?”

 How do I feel about kissing my friend on stage ? Last I checked, the script says nothing about exchanging saliva with Tybalt. Well, technically with Peeta. My friend, who’s playing Juliet’s cousin in this musical he dragged me into.

 “Uh-” is all I manage to say. I’m so eloquent, right? But what can I say? Maybe something like: Shouldn’t we have discussed it  more than three days before the premiere of the show? But that’s how our director, Effie, is. Crazy. She has two thousand brilliant ideas just like this one on a bad day. Don’t get me started on how many she has on a good day.

“Effie, it’s not in the script?” Peeta chimes in, saving me - once again - from this dead-end I’m in. “She’s supposed to be the last one that believes in him, and he pushes her away… so no?”

 “So, yes!!!” Effie was throwing her hands in the air enthusiastically. “ Don’t you see it? She has to use everything she has to make him give up his crush on Juliet!” She adds, so animated her pink wigs teeters dangerously on her head, and the gaudy baubles hanging from her ears are swish back and forth. I swear, this woman lives on another planet. No, scratch that. She’s from another galaxy. Or maybe another universe, far far away. Wherever she’s from, even Peeta’s intervention isn’t changing her mind.

“Katniss, you have to kiss Peeta.”

 So, as the adult I am, I do the only thing that comes to my mind.

 I run backstage, racing past props and discarded sets until I dive into the janitor’s closet where I sit down, my back to the door and try to gather myself.

 I can’t face Peeta or Effie - or worse, both of them together - again until I’ve got control of my emotions because I’m pretty sure what I feel about kissing Tybalt is written all over my face.

 Here, in the dark of a closet, I can admit it. I want to kiss Peeta. And I have for quite a long time. I’ve even pictured in my mind how it would happen and how soft his lips would feel on mine. I’ve wondered if his mouth would explore mine boldly or let me take the lead, if his hands would cup my cheeks …

 I close my eyes. I can’t take it anymore. I can’t. I can’t let my mind wander to thoughts of Peeta kissing me senseless because I know it will never happen.

 So how do I feel about kissing Tybalt? I know, but I can’t tell.

 “Katniss, you there?”

 Of course he wouldn’t leave me alone when he knows I’m upset. He always seems to know how and where to find me. It would be disturbing if it weren’t so sweet.

 I freeze and hope he decides to look elsewhere.

 “Katniss, come on, I know you’re there. Your scarf is on the floor.”

 Damned fabric. It keeps falling when I sing or dance, and of course it had to fall just before I entered the closet.

 “Katniss….”

 He’s persistant, my Peeta. Even though I know he isn’t mine, or will never be. I stay silent. I’m pretty sure I cried, and I don’t want the whole cast to see me like this.

 I hear a muffled sound, pressure added against the door.

 I’m pretty sure Peeta sits on the other side, waiting for me. That’s confirmed when I hear his voice.

 “What did I do, Katniss? Tell me so I can make it better….”

 How can I tell him he did nothing wrong without explaining what’s going on with me?

 “What’s going on with you, Katniss? Are you ill or something?”

 Because of course I had to speak my mind out loud. I beat the back of my head against the door in frustration. I have to answer, I know I do. But what can I say ?

 “I’ll talk to Effie. You won’t have to kiss me, don’t worry.” Peeta’s voice seems so fragile, so .. tired?

 I can hear noise, again. A groan. He’s standing up. He’s about to leave, thinking I want nothign to do with him - when it’s actually the opposite.

 A bang on the other side of the door causes it to shudder.. He must be getting up.- He’s had trouble standing up since  a wrestling accident tore his ACL apart years ago.

 He’s really going to leave me here.

 Alone.

 In this closet.

 Without him.

 That’s a first.

 Something constricts in my chest and then snaps like a wire in an icy wind.

 I know exactly what just broke.

 Hope.

 And, deep down, I know that I’m the only one who can fix it.

 I stand up as fast as I can and twist  the door handle, throwing the door wide so I can stop Peeta from leaving me alone.

 He’s standing in front of me, hand extended, as if he were about to turn the knob himself.

 “I was going to try to open this door one more time,” he explains. “There’s something I need to tell you before … before I go back on stage.”

 His right hand climbs to rest on his blonde curls, before his fingers start to comb through them. It’s always been his way of sorting his thoughts when he’s confused.

 I’ve never wanted to be fingers more in my life than in this precise moment.

 “I don’t want to kiss you on stage either,” he says, unaware of the sound my heart makes while it’s breaking. But he’s not finished. I can tell by the way he shifts on his feet. Go for the kill, Peeta, I’m already down. “Because ….” He takes a deep breath before going on and l brace myself for the hit. “Because I don’t want the first time I kiss you to be on a stage in front of people.”

 Wait, what ?

 “Wait, what?” I repeat out loud. I grab his arm. I need some stability right now, in the tornado my life has just become. I can’t believe he said what he, well, just said.

 Because if he did say what I think he just said … His arm bends under my hand, derailing my train of thought. The muscles are like granite.

But he doesn’t repeat himself or move. His eyes are fixed on my hand, the only thing preventing him from walking away.

 From me.

 But I’m sure, I don’t want him to go away from me.

 Ever.

 The realization cascades over me, like a waterfall.

 And I know there’s only one thing I can do.

 Step forward, lean into him, and taste his lips.

 If he lets me.

 The first touch is uncertain, before he takes control of the kiss. His lips are soft and hungry, kind and demanding. He smells like cinnamon and sweat. His body is so warm so close to mine, I think he tries to melt me. I realize I don’t care.

I want more. More of his tongue touching my lips, more of the rush he instigates in my heart, more of the warmth that builds within me, more of the butterflies that are now nesting in my belly, ready to fly away.

 I want to discover all the detours of his lips, all the planes of his arms, I want to feel if his skin is still as smooth as when we were kids, want to learn what makes him moan, want to know if I can make him moan.

 I realize I want him to know all of that about me, too.

 I think I’m going to be addicted to his kisses.

 He pulls away slightly; his nose and his forehead touching mine, his hands cupping my jaws, his thumbs caressing my cheeks.

 I hope he’s going to kiss me again. Instead, he speaks.

 “No way Tybalt would have been pining after Juliet after a kiss like that,” he whispers before leaning in again.

 I have to  agree with him.

 I’m not letting Juliet near him anytime soon.

 Tybalt’s mine.

[allonsysilvertongue]

Chasing Hope

Summary: “If I ask you to name all the things you love, how long will it take for you to name yourself?” A story on finding hope, forgiveness and love in a world they never imagined they would survive. Post-MJ. Previously

13. Release The Chains

“They always say that time changes things, but you actually have to change them yourself." — Andy Warhol 

Her footsteps echoed on the parquet floor, the sound of which seemed distant to her buzzing ears. She was feeling lightheaded as if her head was clouded in haze and all she could do was to stare at her hand in Haymitch’s. She felt herself being dragged down the hallway, out the main door and towards the direction of Katniss’ house.

Katniss’ house…

Something urgent must be happening there if Haymitch was insistently urging her towards that course.

Effie blinked and stopped abruptly, forcing Haymitch to glance behind him.

She remembered now. Katniss had mentioned Peeta and she had stood there trying to understand Katniss’ words. Peeta had been doing so well… He had been getting along wonderfully that his relapse struck her. There had been nightmares, naturally. None of them could escape it but there had been nothing that would have made Katniss run to them in a panic.

“Stop, stop,” she tugged hard on Haymitch’s hand until he released her. “Both of you,” she looked at Haymitch and Katniss in turn, “return to the house – Haymitch’s house. I will see to Peeta.”

Katniss opened her mouth to say something but was beaten to it by Haymitch.

“Sweetheart, he’s in an episode. He’s not himself,” he protested with a frown.

Haymitch did not say it out loud but Effie heard his insinuation all the same.

He could be dangerous.

“I am quite capable of reaching out to him,” Effie assured except Haymitch did not look the least bit convinced which irate her a little. “Have I not been doing the same during the months I was with him in the Capitol?”

Haymitch dropped his hand from her upper arm as if her words had scalded him. She meant no harm by it but she supposed a part of him would always feel as if he had failed the boy in more ways than once. Peeta had been left behind twice while he was with Katniss.

“Be careful,” he murmured, cupping her cheek. “Shout if you need help.”

She nodded. “Yes, I will.”

It was disconcerting, she thought, that just moments ago, her heart was racing from the way Haymitch was kissing her and now, it was thumping erratically with anxiety at not knowing what to expect when she finds Peeta.

Slowly and cautiously, Effie made her way through the back door of Katniss’ house in search of Peeta. The kitchen was clear so she made her way out past the display cabinet by the stairs and into the sitting room.

“Peeta,” she called out his name softly when she spotted him rocking in the far corner away from the bay window.

The coffee table had been upended and there were mugs clattered on the floor, spilling liquid and soaking the rug.

“It’s me. It’s Effie.”

She stopped just steps away from him. Carefully, Effie lowered herself down to his height and sat cross-legged in front of him, an act she would have normally frowned on when there were perfectly functional seats to be found around the room but this was desperate times.

From experience, Effie knew not to touch him, the same way she would never touch Haymitch if he were deep in a nightmare. Instead, she started talking, letting her voice carry in the stillness of the house. She had nearly finished recounting the dinner that Haymitch had cooked up the night before and confessing that he might have stolen some of his herbs from his garden when Peeta raised his head.

“That is …. sweet,” he said with just a slight hint of confusion as if he wasn’t sure if it was an appropriate adjective to describe something concerning Haymitch. “Was it – was it sweet?”

“Well…” Effie blinked when he spoke before smiling gently at him. “It is but let us not say that to Haymitch. You know how he is.”

“Yes,” he agreed. “I – I always knew.”

“What about?”

“That there must be something… with you and Haymitch,” he said with a straight face. She could tell he was still swimming in some far distant memories and was trying to grasp at the current situation around him to make sense of his reality. “It’s real.”

It wasn’t a question but a proclamation to himself to bring his senses around.

“Yes,” Effie nodded, the memories of the night before would now always be fondly held in her heart, “I supposed there is something.”

He blinked suddenly, looking around the house.

“Where is Katniss?” he asked, his voice rose a pitch.

“She is with Haymitch,” Effie was quick to assure before things could escalate. “They are at his house. She is safe. She is worried about you but she is safe.”

Peeta sagged against the wall, still shaken but he reached out to her and Effie did not hesitate to hold his hand between her own.

She never asked what happened. She didn’t need the details to know that the book Katniss was working on, currently lying on the floor with the upended coffee table must have triggered something in Peeta.

He followed her line of sight and with a cold shudder told her, “It was the mutts. Katniss was…. She’s gotten passed the previous Games so… so now she’s working on ours. I – I forgot that we’re safe. I forgot that – that’s she’s not a mutt. I couldn’t see anything passed it – I’m sorry.”

“There is nothing to apologise for, Peeta. Not to me at least. It happens but what is important is that we come back from it. It must be really frightening for you to have your memory clouded for a moment there.”

He fixed his gaze on the floor.

“Sometimes, I don’t know if I’ll ever escape this,” Peeta admitted in a whisper.

Effie scooted until she was sitting next to him, her back against the wall and her shoulder bumping into his. She stretched her legs in front of her, wondering what Haymitch would say if he saw her in this manner. Chances were, he would smirk at her and say something to the effect that being in the district must have had an influence on her.

“I have the same fears amongst other. On some nights when I am too afraid to sleep and I sit by the porch, listening to the little noises in other parts of Twelve, I give in to the fear that I might never escape the person I was in the past,” Effie admitted the one thing she had never dared to voice out loud, even to Haymitch. “I am afraid that no matter where I am and where I go, I will always be judged for my sins in the past, that I will always be seen as the escort. It is a difficult chain to break or escape. I have no words to comfort you, darling, but … If it is something that we must live with, then we have no choice but to shoulder it bravely, yes?”

Peeta looked her way, a little surprise by the ferocity with which she said it. She was determined to move forward. Her sins were hers to bear and she would carry it with her throughout but moving forward was the only way to live. She had to let Peeta understand the same. She refused to let him be dragged by what was done to him in the past.

“You are not alone,” she comforted him. “We can all do this together. We’re a team, aren’t we?”

“When I – I slipped, I was afraid I’d hurt her.”

“She was afraid that she lost you,” Effie spoke gently.

Peeta shook his head. “I’ll come back. I’ll always come back for her. It’s just… sometimes I forgot and it slipped, and I get lost in… in the memories.”

“Katniss will be there to help you tell what is real and what is not. You and her… You have a system, a way to sort out the memories, don’t you? It has been useful, hasn’t it?” Effie asked.

He had told her about it once during their walks and personally, she thought it was good that Peeta trusted Katniss to be able to go to her to validate his memories. It meant that his treatment had served him well for him to have that level of trust restored once more.

“I am not going anywhere either, Peeta,” Effie informed. “I will always be here should you need me… or in case we need each other,” she smiled.

That made his eyes widened as he stared at her.

“You are staying? For good?”

“Yes, I am,” she affirmed. “I would hope for good.”

His lips twitched and bloom into a genuine smile that made Effie’s heart swell. It reaffirmed the fact that she must have made the right decision to stay, after all.

“That is good news,” Peeta declared. “Family should stay together and that’s what we are – you, Haymitch, Katniss and I – we’re more than just a team, we’re family.”

His words touched something in her.

Hearing the word family and knowing she was part of it for the second time in two days meant the world to her. Effie swallowed the lump in her throat. She would not cry. She would not but her heart was full. She felt happy and most importantly, accepted; a feeling that she had not harboured in a long time since the moment the Rebels fled for District Thirteen. It didn’t matter if the district was still learning to get past the person she was before as long as she was accepted by the ones who mattered.

“Come now,” she stood up and dusted herself. “Let us do something different today and have breakfast at Haymitch’s place.”

He agreed and together, they made their way but not before Peeta grabbed some left over loaf of bread and jam from his kitchen.

The next time, Effie thought to herself as they walked the short distance across to get to Haymitch, she would let him have a chance to bring Peeta around. It would be something they both needed. While Peeta never doubted that Haymitch loved him too, it would also be good for him to know that Haymitch would be there for him the same way he would for Katniss and it would do Haymitch good to know that despite them both growing up on their own, Peeta still needed him in his corner.

Effie and Haymitch were all they had now, and it would be up to them to try and fill the voids Katniss’ and Peeta’s parents had left behind.

XxX

The train station in Twelve was unlike those in the city or even in Four. There, it was a mess of commuters, throngs of people walking shoulder to shoulder, slithering in and out to get to their destination. Here, it was quieter with more room to navigate. It was easier to look out for familiar faces, an activity Katniss and Effie was engaged in since the train docked in the station a few minutes ago.

Katniss spotted them easily enough and gave a wave to get their attention. Effie stood by the side as Katniss warmly embraced the man. Behind him, a familiar looking woman approached.

"Isn’t this a lovely surprise?” Effie exclaimed as Cressida leaned forward to give her a one arm hug.

Cressida was sporting a different undercut hairstyle, choosing to shave a portion of the hair at her back and pulling the long locks into a top knot to show it off. There were also lines criss-crossing the shaved part to accentuate the style. Effie glanced at it briefly before averting her gaze, suddenly reminded of the time she was made to watch as the guards shaved off Johanna’s hair.

“I did not know you will be coming,” Effie commented.

Effie had heard of her work in District Thirteen and had subsequently met her at the Presidential Mansion after the Rebels had stormed the Capitol. While the young woman was a little rough for her taste and at times, reminded her of Johanna, Effie liked her.

“It was all in the last minute. Pollux told me the reason Haymitch invited him to Twelve a day before he was scheduled to leave and did you really think I will miss out on an opportunity to film a rehabilitation programme for the avoxes?” Cressida raised a questioning eyebrow. “It is part of the post-war efforts and it should be in our film. Tell me you think the same.”

She had point, naturally.

“As much as I agree with you, I do not speak for Haymitch,” Effie answered and since she was working with him on this, then she knew that he had no inkling of Cressida’s plans. “You will have to talk to him about this before you start anything. He is not fond of cameras trailing after him.”

Not to mention that the last thing Haymitch wanted was all the publicity and attention. He did not take on this cause for the attention.

“I will,” Cressida assured as they made their way out of the station. “Is he getting government funding?”

“Not that I know of, it has been purely out of his pocket.”

“How about showing me around that medicine factory tomorrow?” Cressida asked, her eyes gleaming with the possibilities she could get out of the trip “Victor’s Village is barred from journalist and by that extension, this film as well, but I do intend on getting other shots of Twelve just to show the progress.”

Effie nodded. There had been a filming crew during the early weeks of the rebuilding in Twelve so it would make sense for Cressida to now want to film the progression and improvement.

When Pollux and Cressida met Peeta in the Village upon their arrival, the boy stood uncertainly on the road. His time with them during the squad’s journey in the Capitol had not exactly been pleasant but Pollux broke into a heart-warming smile and stepped forward to shake Peeta’s hand. Both Pollux and Cressida seemed genuinely pleased to see that Peeta was doing well.

Peeta insisted on preparing dinner and roped Haymitch to help, claiming that he had cooked for Effie once which meant he certainly could help for the night. It made Haymitch shot Effie a look but all she did was to give his hand an encouraging squeeze as she sent him off to spend some time with Peeta.

Dinner was a simple affair and Effie found herself relaxing as she listened to Cressida regaling stories from her numerous trips in other districts. Somewhere in the middle of dessert, Haymitch had poured her more wine, leaned back in his seat with his hand stretched behind Effie’s chair, his finger tracing random patterns on her arm. Peeta glanced at them once and smiled indulgently at the pair without saying a word.

It made her a little curious if there had been anything said between Haymitch and Peeta about her in the kitchen earlier.

As dinner wound down to a close, Effie insisted that their guests stayed with them and showed them to the guest bedrooms in Peeta’s house.

“Come, stay the night with me,” Haymitch whispered, placing his hand on the small of her back.

She glanced at him and to his credit, Haymitch waited patiently, not wanting to push her.

“Or not,” he shrugged it off as nonchalantly as he could, but Effie could read the disappointment on his face.

Effie slipped her hand into his and smiled. He relaxed.

“Lead the way,” she gestured, as if she didn’t know the way to his house.

Effie was sure he could hear the racing in her heart when it became clear to her that he was leading her to his bedroom. It gave him pause and the uncertainty fleeted through his eyes. He glanced at the stairs behind her, a silent question if she would rather they settled on the sofa like they had done before.

What difference does it make? Effie rationalised. She had brought him to her room and they had spent the night there before. The flip side of the coin shouldn’t mean any differently.

“Not the sofa. Your bedroom,” she told him with confidence.

She trusted him, and sleeping with his arms around her had always made her feel safe.

Haymitch undressed her when she struggled with the zipper at the back of her dress and as he let the dress fall to the floor, he kissed her shoulder. It was an innocent kiss, something she noticed he tended to do with her lately – a kiss on her head, on her temple, on her shoulder – and it made her think that it was his own way to show some tenderness, but his thumb accidentally brushed against the scar on her hip bone. The involuntary shudder ran through her and he drew back.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “It’s not … you. It’s just – “

“It’s okay,” he murmured gently, kissing her softly on the cheek as he handed an old shirt of his for her to put on. He made sure it was clean and that little gesture made something in her heart flutter. “We’ll get there when you’re ready.”

Snuggled on the bed, Effie kissed him and time slowed down when she was with him under the covers; her fingers lost in his hair, his weight pressing her down slightly into the mattress when he deepened the kiss and the gentle stroking of his thumb against the pulse on her neck.

They eventually fell asleep holding on to one another until Effie startled awake in the middle of the night. He stirred slightly but since she wasn’t thrashing or screaming in her sleep, Haymitch was oblivious to what was happening. She leaned against the headboard and drew her knees to her chest. Resting her cheek on the bend knees, she watched Haymitch in his sleep.

Once in a while, he would mumble something and his fingers would twitch, and Effie wondered if their dreams would ever be of something pleasant and if they would ever find peace at night or would they always be haunted by demons?

When he woke up to find her watching him, he frowned. His hand reached out for her, curling itself on her ankle.

“Did you sleep?”

“For a few hours,” she answered.

“You had a nightmare? Why didn’t you wake me? Should have woken me up,” he grumbled.

“It wasn’t a nightmare. I woke up because… I think I am not used to here, in your bed and my body couldn’t rest because – “

“I get it,” he muttered. “Your mind’s on the alert, it ain’t lettin’ you rest well.”

“Yes, I was the same when I moved into Peeta’s house when I first arrived.”

“Then you just have to sleep here often,” Haymitch shrugged, pushing himself up. “Yeah?”

She laughed lightly, and answered him with a peck on his lips.

“We have to get up,” she reminded when Haymitch pulled her by the ankle until she was flat on her back so he could kiss her soundly. “You promised to show them the site.”

With Cressida trailing after them, the camera mounted on the shoulder so she could record the scenes in Twelve, Haymitch led the group to the construction site. Pollux would have been behind the camera but as it were, he was walking next to Haymitch, communicating as best as they could.

“This is it,” Haymitch paused when the building came into view.

Shielding his eyes against the glare of the sun, Pollux inspected what would soon be the halfway house. As it were right now, the construction workers had only started working on the roofs a day before and if everything proceeded as Effie’s schedule, then the house would be ready by the month’s end.

Cressida approached, the recording device blinking red as she circled the building. Haymitch had given his consent for this to be filmed in the hopes that it would get the words out to the avoxes in other parts of the districts and for them to know that help could be found it they ever needed it.

Out of the corner of her eyes, Effie saw Pollux excitement increased which meant, he was signing fast.

“Slow down,” Haymitch chuckled. “I ain’t fluent in signing yet. You gotta treat me like a kid learning to talk for the first time.”

“That’s why you’re here,” Cressida grinned at her teammate. “You’re here to teach the other avoxes to sign so slow down and be patient.”

“Show us around,” Katniss demanded, walking into the building without any care for her safety.

Haymitch handed Effie a yellow helmet which she accepted only after making sure the others put on theirs, too. The last thing they needed was an injury from anything falling on their heads.

Peeta flanked Effie on the left as she explained the function of each designated room. Peeta knew all of this already since he had a hand in drawing the ideas Effie and Haymitch had in mind. He had spent hours on it, giving his input once in a while as well.

The main dormitory was towards the back of the building and several rooms had been designated as classrooms and activity rooms. Here, Pollux would teach them to communicate and it was Haymitch’s idea to open the class to the public as well. He argued that it wouldn’t do for the avoxes to only be able to communicate with each other and not with people outside their circle. Of course, his argument had merits and Effie’s only hope was for that programme to be well-received by members of the public.

Peeta had assured them that once the classes are up, he could lead by example and sign up. Katniss eventually agreed, too. If the country’s Mockingjay would do it, perhaps others would, too. Haymitch did not have to say it but Effie knew that he appreciated that gesture tremendously.

Since avoxes were assigned specific jobs in the Capitol, it meant that they acquired specialised skills which they could teach to one another to help increase their chances of employment later. That was what the other rooms would be for.

“I do not think I have said this enough but I am immensely proud of what you are doing here,” Effie told him, “prouder still of what you have achieved.”

“I haven’t achieved anything,” he countered. “Place is barely up.”

“You underestimate yourself. You are doing something good with your life and by doing so, you are making it better for people like the avoxes. You are giving them another chance.”

“Just trying to help,” he mumbled, clearly uncomfortable by the praise. “You and I… We got the chance to have another shot, why shouldn’t they?”

Effie smiled. Her gaze dropped to his hand and she wondered if it would be pushing it too far to slip her hand in his as they walked back to Victor’s Village. Haymitch had never been one to display affection in public and she wasn’t sure if that sentiment had shifted despite his desire for them to be something.

If she wanted to take things slowly, she supposed then that she should presume the same for him.

Effie walked next to him with her hand firmly by her sides except for the occasional moments when they brushed against each other.

That afternoon, Ailes reached District Twelve from Seven. Effie recognised him immediately from the years she saw him on the train serving them. She hesitated, unsure of his reception of her. While she had not been outright mean or cruel in her behaviour of him all these years, unlike some of her acquaintances had been to avoxes, she had still been dismissive of him until she needed him and she had been mostly indifferent to his presence in the train.

He smiled politely at her and extended his hand to her in greeting but otherwise, he seemed more comfortable being with Pollux and Haymitch. Together, they drafted a list containing names of avoxes they knew could benefit from the rehabilitation programmed and those they knew wanted to be here. It was a small number, less than twenty, but it was a start.

“Peeta,” Katniss breathed out and the tone in her voice made Effie turned towards her.

From where he was bend forward, elbows on the table, reading off from Haymitch’s list of names, Peeta raised his head.

“What is it, Katniss?”

“Come here,” she beckoned.

Standing next to her with a hand on the small of her back and a hint of worry etched on his face, he repeated his question. Katniss parted the curtains further by which point, Effie had already wandered to the window and Haymitch was pushing the chair back to join her.

“That woman sitting by the fountain watching this house… Isn’t that Johanna?”

That was a long chapter so I hope you had a good time reading it! :) If you can’t send me cake, you can send me reviews because they bring the same amount of happiness to me :)) let me know what you think of Mama Effie with Peeta or Effie spending the night in Haymitch’s bed or Pollux & Cressida’s visit or… Johanna!

See you in the next chapter.

(also Cressida’s hair that I imagine is something like THIS).

[mega-ringsandthings-world]

In one if your tumbler post you said Peeta refusing to accept that Katniss did not love him romantically/ him shutting her out over it/constantly reminding Katniss of his feelings at every turn without any regard for her own is actually tragic, because it makes Katniss always so unsure and so guilty over Peeta, even during the times when she wants to be close to him! She genuinely liked him and cared for him and would have been so happy to just know him! But Peeta couldn’t accept just her friendship, or even pretend to accept it, and made things so much harder for her over the intensity of his feelings that she couldn’t at first return.

First of all I don't think it's fair to be too hard on peeta because he's a traumatize seventeen-year-old boy who thought that the girl he like him back. There's something that people often miss: Her feelings for him were not all an act. There were many moments when she got confused because she was feelings things she wasn't supposed to feel. So how can we blame Peeta for thinking her love for him was real? Most people would have thought the same thing he did. But also most importantly he recognized he was wrong and apologize and offer his friendship. The same can be said about gale.

Gale would often often tried to make her feel guilty about not loving him for example when she kissed him and district 12 he was “I knew you were going to do that” “???” “B/c I’m in pain 🥺” 🤬🤬😡 like manipulated her into kissing him then made her feel guilty for kissing him for the wrong reason. holy sh*t! 🤯🤮. Or when he said "I thought...I'll never compete with that. No matter how much pain I'm in." He spins the feather between his thumb and forefinger. "I don't stand a chance if he doesn't get better. You'll never be able to let him go. You'll always feel wrong about being with me."

This is blame. Straight up, Grade A premium blame being put on Katniss because OMG she has strong feelings for someone NOT Gale. This isn’t about her feelings. This is all about him and how he’s been ‘mistreated’ by her. He’s laying all this guilt on her because he can’t handle

I hate that he was making someone else’s pain all about himself. Seriously, your “rival” has been tortured and brainwashed and all you can think about is how this affects you? While your supposed best friend is clearly miserable about this, and all you can do is just add to her emotional turmoil instead of making any kind of attempt at being a supportive friend? They're more examples of this of his problematic behavior but these two instances and pacifically piss me off.

So i would appreciate you not criticizing peeta for something he already apologized for especially since especially since you don't hold gale to those same standards

I was going to give an in-depth answer to this, but then you sent the same ask twice, and like, lol? How desperate do you have to be to pick a fight over your fave character that you have to put in back-to-back asks on different accounts? You're funny, telling me you'd appreciate it if I didn't do something. ...Like...do I know you?