Chapter Text
Aster's worst nightmare had finally come to life.
It was funny. When Aster thought she'd finally been reaped before she hadn't really been scared. Just numb, maybe even a little relieved that it had finally happened, that she didn't have to wait for the worst to happen anymore. She was ready, in a sense.
But this? Now? After finishing what was supposed to be her last Reaping?
Aster was furious.
She was sitting in the waiting room, in a brand new wooden chair she had carved, waiting to be carted off to die. She twisted her new ring, the one that was supposed to symbolize her new life away from the Games, around her finger angrily. Inside she cursed the President, the Capitol, and especially Orangey Proudham, who looked so pleased when she called Aster’s name.
Because it wasn't enough for them to take her. They had to take Koa, her half-brother who she had finally gotten the courage to approach, and pit them against each other.
For the Drama, as Orangey Proudham would say.
But it wasn't drama. It was her and Koa's life.
And it would be over for at least one of them. Probably both.
The door to the room banged open, and her grandparents stormed in. “I can't believe these people!“ Grandfather Spruce growled, rainwater pouring off his coat. “They wanted to interview us about how we felt about your Reaping! Before we even have the chance to see you!“
“Now Aspen, don't start. We're here for Aster right now.” Her grandmother admonished. She leaned forwards to hug Aster tightly, but Aster could still feel her trembling underneath.
So many parents had had the same conversations here. Hoped desperately their children would come home. Most of them would be disappointed.
Her grandparents were among the few whose hopes were fulfilled. Aster's father came home.
And then he died two years later from a Morphling overdose.
The thought of her father, and her grandparents in the same position back then cooled Aster's anger slightly. Put things in perspective. Reminded her that there was more at stake than just her feelings.
And that Victory didn't guarantee a happy ending.
When her grandparents spoke of her father, it was always before his Reaping. Afterwards was too painful for them. But Aster had heard plenty from the people of Seven about him, how he had disgraced the District during the Games and fell into Capitol debauchery afterwards.
Aster was not her father. She would not cause them the same pain.
So once her grandmother pulled away, Aster straightened up and remembered what she'd always planned on saying in goodbyes. “I want you to know how much I love you,” she took a deep breath, “and no matter what, I won’t disgrace myself.”
Her grandparents stood in silence, taking in what Aster said. Then, to Aster's shock, her grandfather started shaking his head. “No, Aster.”
Aster sputtered for a few seconds, but her grandmother cut her off, placing a hand gently over her heart. “Your job, Aster, is to focus on coming home. No matter what.”
She glanced over at her husband, who nodded. “And our job,” she continued, choking up as she spoke, “Is to be here for you. And nothing you do will make us love you any less.”
“I know that!” Aster said hastily, seeing tears spring into her grandmother's eyes. She wanted to reassure them, not make them feel worse. A pit of guilt settled in her stomach. “I'm just saying-”
“I know what you're saying, Aster Amelia Spruce,” Her grandmother said severely. “And I want you to know, whatever happened before, we received two more years with your father, and you. And we can't regret having you.”
Aster felt a ball of sadness well up in her chest. “I know that,” she repeated, “It's just...” Aster struggled to find the words. “There are some things worse than dying. Things you have to live with. That I don't want to live with.”
“You shouldn't be worrying about that.”
But she had to. She couldn't win, she was no star or athlete. All she had to make her stand out was her father, and Aster couldn't repeat what he did.
Not with Koa. Not with her brother.
And even if she was willing to betray family...
Aster had only just now tried to reach out to Koa, but she knew from seeing him around and from what Kauri said, he was a good person. He didn't deserve this.
And he probably had a better chance than Aster did.
Even thinking of it felt like a betrayal in itself.
So if she couldn't win, wasn't it better to die as herself?
Aster didn't say that, though. She didn't want to make things worse for her grandparents. They'd already suffered enough.
So Aster pulled back, tried to smile. “What if I become like the cannibal boy from Six, though?” she asked.
“Maybe don't become a cannibal,” her grandfather said dryly. “Even aside from the moral problems, you know that's not good for you.”
“Right. No cannibalism.” Aster looked between them, suddenly at a loss for words. “I-”
“We will talk more when you get back.” Her grandfather said firmly.
And that was that. Heart nearly ready to burst, Aster hugged her grandparents tight for the last time.
And then they were gone.
Aster's goodbyes with her friends followed the same pattern. She'd already had time to say what she needed to say over the last week. She even wrangled a promise from Kauri that she would still ask out Koa if he came back as Victor.
The only thing Aster needed to do was make sure their last memories together were good ones.
She visited with each of them separately, each trying to draw out as much time together as they could. But too soon, Aster was left alone with her thoughts.
Her thoughts, and a single question.
Would she come?
In the months since what was supposed to be Aster's last Reaping, her mother had made a few intermittent attempts to contact her. Suggested they all have dinner together, but seemed disappointed when Aster hosted the meal at her lodgings. During the meal, her mother brought up Aster's childhood home, how grand it was, and how she'd love to visit. Aster had replied that her grandparents still owned the house, and it was up to them to invite people.
Dinner wound down and her mother left early. Their visits since had been even briefer.
Then, when the Games had been announced, Aster went to see her. She was busy setting up a party. For Koa. Alone.
Words were exchanged. Words they couldn't take back. Words Aster wouldn't take back
It made sense she'd focus on him. Try to eke out as much time as she could.
Spend time with her real family.
And Aster would manage without her. The same way she had for the past nineteen years. She'd be fine. She had people who actually cared about her. Aster wouldn't waste another thought on her.
Still, when the hour was up without any more visitors, Aster found herself getting angry all over again.
~~
Ahote hadn't fully expected to be allowed visitors.
He knew sometimes troublemaking tributes were denied goodbyes, shipped off to their deaths without a chance to see their loved ones. And volunteering in a year that had been rigged to hell probably qualified as “making trouble”.
All because he and his tribe hadn’t wanted to live in Panem. That was the “grand treason” that would have condemned Catori and himself. Rage and frustration burned inside Ahote ate the injustice of it all, keeping him on his feet pacing the small room as he prepared to wait the full hour out. His family would be waiting for him afterwards, he told himself. If he could just see them before being shipped off, that would be enough. Ahote would be okay.
That's what he told himself, at least. Until the door creaked open and his parents walked in, and all his justifications slipped away and he swept both of them up into an enormous hug.
“Mother, Father,” Ahote said quitely, not in Panem standard but in their language, which they had preserved in spite of Panem's multiple attempts to silence them. “I'm sorry.”
His father silently nodded in his arms, but his mother replied. “Now isn't the time for sorry. It's time for action.”
Ahote nodded. Then with great difficulty, he stepped back. “I'm fighting for Catori,” he said bluntly. “I'm going to bring her home, and...” Ahote's throat thickens as the thought of his own death loomed over him. But he swallowed and continued. “Catori’s alone. She needs people...” Ahote trailed off, not sure what he was even asking.
Ahote didn't know much about Victors, but he did know that they were required to move into Victor's Village so the Capitol could keep an eye on them. Victors could bring their direct family to live with them, but Catori didn't have any. She was an orphan, adopted by her grandmother. And with her grandmother having passed away...
Catori, kept caged in Victor's Village miles away from Silktown. Completely isolated from everyone she knew. Intolerable.
But was it right to ask anyone to go with her? To split the remains of their tribe even more?
Ahote had a responsibility to Catori, but also to his people. And he'd already failed them.
His father was already nodding. “Of course we'll look after her. She's practically already our daughter.”
Would have been, already. But with escape so close, Ahote and Catori had decided to wait to marry until they were free. They would have a proper ceremony, outside of Panem under the stars. Now it was too late. They couldn't have a wedding in the arena.
Ahote shook his head, trying to focus. Now wasn't the time for 'might have been'. It was time for action,
“Good. Good,” he said, thoughts racing. There was so much that needed to be done. “Now, with the Capitol looking more closely at us, we need to go to ground. The maps we gathered for the trip need to be hidden or-”
His mother raised a hand, causing Ahote to fall silent.
For decades, his mother had served as the leader of their tribe in Silktown, guiding them in their isolation. Ahote had hoped to succeed her some day. Now...
“Ahote.” His mother's voice was loving, but firm. “We will do everything we can for Catori. No matter what happens, we will look after her. But in return, we want something from you.”
Ahote nodded, relief mixing with confusion, not sure where she was going with this.
Headless of his confusion, his mother stepped forwards, putting her hands on his shoulders and looking him directly in the eyes. “We will look after things here, and you will look after yourself.”
Ahote opened his mouth to object, but his mother continued regardless. “That means you don't worry yourself sick about us at home, and you keep yourself alive as long as you can.”
She didn't understand “But- Catori-”
“I know! I'm not asking you to hurt her. But your life matters to us too.” His mother's voice cracked, sending guilt welling up through his stomach, even as he tried to keep calm. “We don't want to bury you both. You know she wouldn't want that.”
A flash of memory, of Catori's quiet rage earlier, passed through Ahote's mind. No, he knew she didn't want that.
But what was he supposed to do, Ahote wondered silently as his mother pulled him into another warm embrace. He couldn't stand by and do nothing back then, and he couldn't stand by if Catori was in danger.
She's not asking for that. She just wants to know that if Catori dies, you will still fight. That you won't give up.
Ahote winced inside at the selfish thought. To even think past Catori dying was wrong. That was the whole point of his volunteering, to save her. He couldn't afford to think beyond that. It felt like a betrayal to consider “after”. Especially when it was his fault she was reaped in the first place.
His mother pulled back, and must have seen some of the worry on his face. “You can't put the world on yourself, son. Focus on living, right now. For both of you.”
“Please, son. Please try to live. And don't worry about us here.” Again, Ahote tried to object, but she simply raised an eyebrow. “Our people have lived and endured for thousands of years. We will endure this too.” With that, the two were led out, leaving Ahote to brood about the last statement
We will endure this too. Hopefully. Ahote didn't want to be responsible for the death of his people as well. Thousands of years of his tribe’s history, gone because of him.
Just like simply getting past the fences of Panem wasn't enough to truly escape, dying for Catori wasn't enough...
Dying.
Ahote felt another surge of frustration. This whole situation was sick. The Hunger Games were sick. Because of people he had no connection to, Ahote needed to kill and die to give his fiancee even a chance at life! Leaving her alone to face the Capitol’s demangs.
Damnit, Ahote didn't want to die, but this wasn't about what he wanted. If it was, none of them would even be in Panem now!
So there was no point in dwelling on his own fate. He was dead. Accept it and focus on what could be changed.
Ahote told himself that, and continued to tell himself that as the minutes ticked by. Focus on what he can do.
“Time's up, boy,” The Peacekeeper called.out. Ahote took a moment to compose himself and headed to the door, ready to be led out.
But the Peacekeeper didn't move. Instead he smirked at Ahote. “So, what happened? Did the girl cheat on you, or just turn you down?”
Ahote blinked. “What?”
The man leaned in. “She must have done something, for you to hate her so much you volunteer to go into the Games with her.“
The implications of the man's words slowly dawned on Ahote, and without thinking, he shoved the man back “That's my fiancee you're talking about!” he roared.
The man laughed in Ahote's face, even as he grabbed Ahote by the arm and twisted it back. “Are you sure about that? She seemed pretty mad to me when we walked in.“
That brought Ahote up short. Catori was his fiancee. She wouldn't break up with him over this, right? Lost in thought, Ahote allowed the man to lead him out of the rooms, into the main hall.
Catori was already there, beautiful as ever. But Ahote could see the sorrow on her face, the traces of tears. A fresh wave of guilt came over him. ”Catori!” He cried out.
Her deep brown eyes met his-
But just for a moment, and then a giant hand pushed Ahote forwards, breaking their eye contact. “Keep moving, kid.”
This time, Ahote complied without complaint. From a distance, he could see the cameras, ready to record any sign of struggle on his part, anything that could be used to paint him as “wild” or “rebellious”
He couldn't afford that. Catori couldn't afford that if she was still tied to him. If she still wanted him.
Save Catori.
Help his people.
Don't make things worse.
Could Ahote manage even one of those things?
~~
Since he was small, Ishaan's parents had feared the Reaping. Reaping Eve was a solemn affair for his family, with everyone heading over to his grandmother's house to have everyone together before facing the next day. Both of his parents on the day were tense and distracted, but always made a point to let Ishaan and his sister Chatima know how much they loved them.
Growing up, Ishaan never quite understood why. Yes, the Hunger Games were scary, and yes, their odds of being reaped weren't zero. No one in his family had ever had to take tesserae, but as long as they had a slip in the bowl, it was possible they would be reaped. But the odds were so small...
If it was just about the Hunger Games being wrong, that would be different. That was one of the truths among the Hodakas that was never spoken aloud, but understood by everyone. Grandmother Lilia lit candles for the reaped children of Nine each year. In addition, the two times in Ishaan's life someone from town had been reaped, the Hodakas rallied behind the families left behind, offering what support they could.
That Ishaan understood. What he didn't understand was why his parents were so scared for him and his sister specifically.
Then Ishaan opened the wrong door at thirteen, and learned what his parents had been hiding. And it made sense.
Because rebels didn't get reaped. Their innocent loved ones did, both to send a message of who the rebels hurt most. The rebels themselves would be executed or Avoxed, but only after watching their loved ones suffer because of their actions.
Why his parents would worry suddenly made sense. But by the time Ishaan had learned about it, he was no longer an innocent loved one. As soon as he knew what his parents really did, Ishaan threw himself in fully (as much as his parents let him, at least.)
And that affected how Ishaan saw the Reaping as well. The Reaping wasn't just an exercise in cruelty, it was a real threat against Aofie and Chatima. If he, or any of his family slipped up once, it wouldn't matter what the odds were. So he followed in his parents footsteps, trying to avoid fights and say things he might not get a chance to later.
In all this, Ishaan never really thought to be afraid for himself.
Maybe he should have. Maybe then Ishaan would know what to do.
Instead, he was left adrift in his waiting room, trying to get his head around what happened. What it meant.
He didn't have time to fret. This was the last chance he had to see everyone. But it was there in the background of every visit. The furtive glances back at the door, the carefully worded goodbyes designed to avoid causing suspicion.
Stay safe.
Be careful.
Come home.
(But even if, by some miracle, he was allowed to come home, would he have anyone to come back to?)
The only respite from the tension was his visit with Aofie, but that was its own level of torture, seeing her cry and not being able to promise her anything. Ishaan wondered for the hundredth time if it would have been better to distance himself from Aofie once he became involved with rebellion. But she was his best friend, and he'd thought he'd been careful enough...
Now he didn't know what to think.
He didn't know what to feel either. Yes, distantly he felt fear and dread for what was to come, but sitting in the waiting room after his visits, waiting for the hour to be up, Ishaan just felt...numb.
Ishaan was a planner at heart, but there were no plans he could make here. His fate, and the fate of his loved ones, was entirely out of his hands.
There was nothing for him to do except watch the ticking hands of the wall mounted clock, and wait for the inevitable.
The door creaked open. Ishaan stood up. “I'm ready to go,“ he said in as steady a voice as he could manage.
The Peacekeeper frowned at him. “Not time for that yet. You've got one more visitor.” He said. Ishaan could hear the scorn underneath the prim Capitol accent. “Unless you've decided you don't want to see anyone else, then-“
“I'll see them.” Ishaan replied quickly.
The Peacekeeper smirk at him. “Are ye' sure?” Now he switched to what Isshan guessed was supposed to be a mockery of a Nine accent, “Ifn' you finished visiting, I can tell him-”
“No, I'll see him.” The Peacekeeper didn't respond, just stared at him scornfully. Waiting.
Inwardly, Ishaan steeled himself. Ishaan didn't trust the Peacekeepers of Nine even a bit. Logically, there had to be some that were decent people, but he hadn't met one yet. But there were times when you pushed back and times you had to give in for the greater good.
“I'll see him, sir. Thank you for your consideration” Ishaan forced out.
“Aww, the Districtfolk are using some big words.” But despite the mockery, the Peacekeeper still turned and opened the door. “Three minutes, remember.”
Like Ishaan could forget his time with the people he loved was now measured in minutes. But once again, he didn't say anything.
If there was any chance he could avoid making things worse for them...
Ishaan had already guessed who the visitor would be. One family member who hadn't shown up, not even in a group. But what Ishaan hadn't guessed was why he'd waited. And that made him worried.
Ishaan liked to be prepared, but his uncle Giani's thought process was one he sometimes had trouble following. Ishaan had no idea what to expect from him now.
So he waited for Uncle Giani to speak first.
His uncle, never one to hesitate, strode into the room. “Rotten luck, kid,”
Ishaan couldn't help but raise an eyebrow at that. That was what his uncle had to say? “Right. Luck,” Ishaan replied, unable to keep a trace of bitterness out of his tone.
“You're right. It is luck. And you need to get that through your head if you're going to win this.”
That made Ishaan's head snap up so fast his glasses nearly fell off. His parents, his cousins... they'd all made token pleas for Ishaan to fight, but they'd all understood Ishaan wasn't coming back.
Rebels don't win, after all.
But Uncle Giani sounded different. He sounded sure. “I know this is a shock. But people like us don't get reaped.“
”Obviously they do.” Ishaan said confusedly, still not sure where his uncle was going with this.
Uncle Giani shook his head. “They don't want people like us in the arena. They want people like your friend, Aofie. Her in the arena, and you at home watching.”
That's what Ishaan had worried would happen. But-
His uncle wasn't done, though. ”So if you're worried that you or your mother pissed off a Capitolite, like Miss Punasco-“
Inwardly, Ishaan's stomach coiled at the mention of his new district partner. He'd heard her story second-hand, and it sounded like she'd been set up as a scapegoat by both the Capitol and the District. It was disgraceful, the way the people she should have been able to count on were so quick to turn on her.
“-don't. Remember, if no one is watching us, that's a good thing.”
Ishaan almost didn't understand. Yes, he understood the need for the family to stay under the radar-
Wait... “No one is watching you?”
His uncle shook his head.
On the surface, a simple statement. But it was also impossible.
Five years ago, a Nine girl from a rebel family was reaped. Not anyone directly connected to Ishaan's family (or else they wouldn't still be around) but the attack on one rebel was an attack on them all, and Ishaan knew his parents felt the same. He heard his parents whispering late at night. The girl was doomed, but there was still hope they could save at least one of her family members.
But they couldn't. Because the second the girl's name was read, the Peacekeepers surrounded them, not allowing anyone to get near. Supposedly just looking after the family of a tribute, but the second the girl's cannon went off in the Bloodbath, the whole family was arrested. They were all executed the next day.
Same as Ishaan expected for his own family.
But if no one was watching them... that meant no one was worried about them fleeing.
And Aofie hadn't been reaped. Instead, Romilly Punasco had been. She might have angered a rich Capitolite, but she was no rebel. Surely they would choose to reap a random field worker with a rebel connection over a girl who came from a loyalist family and was still useful to the Capitol...
It didn't make sense. Unless the Capitol didn’t know they were rebels. Weren’t looking for evidence of rebellion. Nothing they’d said in goodbyes gave it away either. Even Uncle Giani’s statement about how Aofie should have been reaped instead could just have referred to her being a laborer while Ishaan was from town. An awful way to categorize people, but not rebellious.
If they didn’t know…
Ishaan licked his parched lips, trying to focus. “Bad luck, you said?”
His uncle nodded. “Only nineteen-year olds in the pool, and you with eight slips. A smaller pool means the odds of everyone still in it get that much worse. Someone had to be Reaped, this year it was you.”
Just bad luck...
Ishaan didn't know if he could believe it. If he could afford to believe that his family could be safe, that he might have a chance.
That he could live.
The realization hit Ishaan like lightning from a sudden storm. And with it came more feelings.
Hope. And fear.
“So you see, you can do this. Play to your strengths, and the crown could be yours. Imagine what that'd mean.”
Imagine. Ishaan a victor.
A rebel victor.
The possibilities...
Ishaan shook his head sharply. “I can't get ahead of myself. there's still too many possibilities.” Ishaan said severely.
Reaped purposefully or not, his situation was still precarious. If he moved wrong once, he could still get everyone he cared about killed.
And there was the other thing. “I still need to beat twenty-three other kids.“ Potentially kill other kids.Even as a rebel, his efforts had been focused on helping people, not hurting them. Outright killing… Ishaan didn't know if he was capable of doing that.”Besides, plenty of them have more skills than I do.
“You're all nineteen, you're hardly children anymore. And winning the games isn't just about fighting. It's about outlasting the others. Stay hidden, stay forgotten, and you can come out with a crown on your head. You can live.”
His uncle's voice trembled slightly on the last word. “You can live. Promise me you'll try, Ishaan. You're my favorite nephew, you know that.”
Hearing the sorrow in his normally flippant uncle's voice brought another stab of guilt in Ishaan's gut. “I'm your only nephew,” Ishaan tried to keep his voice light as he completed the old, familiar saying. He thought he succeeded about as well as his uncle.
“Right. That's why you're my favorite. Because you remind us of things like that.” Uncle Giani's voice was definitely wavering now. “We need you, Ishaan.”
“Time's up.”
The sing-song tone of the Capitolite Peacekeeper broke through their conversation. “Now get on out of here,“ he said, grabbing Ishaan's uncle roughly by the shoulders.
Uncle Giani could only give Ishaan one last, fleeting glance before he was forced out of the room.
Ishaan was left alone with his thoughts once more. But things were different now.
If he wasn't caught... if Ishaan was just reaped by chance... if he really could win...
Then, that opened a lot of possibilities.
~~
“What kind of games are you playing here, Ydira?!”
Ydira blinked. “The Hunger Games,” she replied with some confusion.
This was all wrong. Ydira had finally done it. She was officially a tribute in the Hunger Games, ready to show her strength on Panem’s largest stage. She’d volunteered and walked off full to bursting with excitement and pride. Just for a little bit, she wanted to live in the moment.
The small room designated for goodbyes was packed almost to the breaking point with kids. Sunny, Roan, Argus, Palomina, Daisy... Over a dozen kids Ydira had helped train to defend themselves and be strong inside her family's barn. All talking over each other, and looking for Ydira to explain herself.
Inwardly, Ydira squirmed with discomfort. She wasn't good at talking to people. And while with other things Ydira struggled with, she could practice and get better at, people were complicated. Most of the people she talked to didn't accept “I said that wrong, why don't we try again?” That was one reason Ydira preferred action over words.
But it seemed even her actions hadn't been clear enough in this case. Ydira attempted to clear her throat and explain, but one of the boys in the crowd cut her off.
Argus was sixteen, short but built wide. Came around training with unmatched skill with a sling, able to scare off wolves, but not his own bullies. He’d since taken extremely well to both hand to hand combat and axe work, growing in confidence as well as skill. He was one of Ydira's favorite pupils, but now he looked at her with an unnerving level of rage. “You do know training for the Games is illegal, right?”
“Like, really illegal!” Daisy, one of the newer students, piped up.
At that, Ydira shook her head. “It's true that for most districts, training is not permitted. But some Districts-”
“What, we're Careers now?”
“We can't be Careers!”
“Are you expecting us to volunteer next?!” That was Bella. She was seventeen, but despite her training still tended to be jumpy and nervous. ”Were you expecting one of us to volunteer if the twist was something else.?”
Ydira shook her head even more vigorously. She would never ask any of them to take life-changing risks while she sat comfortably on the sidelines.
(And watching someone else fulfill Ydira's dream for her would be too painful to watch)
Daisy's voice wavered as she spoke up. “I can't believe you'd do something like this. Drag us into this mess. How could you be this selfish?”
To Ydira's surprise, Argus shot back at Daisy. “Hey, Ydira's been helping and protecting all of us for years. Maybe instead of yelling, you should be grateful?!”
“What, grateful she's going to get us killed?!”
“That hasn't even happened yet!”
The noise increased. More voices joined the mob, yelling, arguing. Accusing Ydira of recklessness. Selfishness. Cruelty.
So many voices grating and piercing through Ydira. Pressing on her, almost painful.
“ENOUGH!”
Ydira screamed above the din, and the room fell blessedly silent. The whole room turned back towards Ydira as she took several deep breaths, trying to calm herself.
One person stepped from the crowd. Sunny. Ydira's first pupil. “Are you okay?” she asked.
Ydira nodded stiffly, still trying to gather her thoughts. She was a tribute in the Hunger Games, she could not let herself be intimidated. She could do this.
Once Ydira felt her control returning, she considered the group's accusations. Ydira certainly hadn't meant them any harm, but did they have a reason to worry?
Ydira thought back to her barn. Hours of sparring, both with weapons and hand-to-hand. Everything she learned and trained for, she'd done with the group. Even if she'd never quite been a part of the group, Ydira wouldn't be here today without their assistance. She couldn't simply leave them to die.
But she wouldn't
Ydira cleared her throat. A few kids towards the back jumped, but Ydira ignored them. She knew what she wanted to say.
“To make things clear, my volunteering today has nothing to do with you. I wished to volunteer for the Hunger Games, so I did. That is all. If asked, I will make it clear that none of you had any awareness or knowledge of my intentions. I simply needed people to practice with, and lured you in with promises of food and shelter.”
Lured in... a few of the parents had said that, warning each other about the odd Gelding girl. Ydira had wanted to help the other kids in her town be strong enough to protect themselves, but if the way to help them now was to repeat those words, Ydira would do it. She was strong enough to bear it.
The crowd murmured. Several of them stormed out. But they stopped yelling.
Slowly, (the Peacekeepers must have been counting the group as several visits, with the number of people there,) the remaining kids said goodbye. Ydira didn't know if they truly believed her that she could protect them. But there were no more accusations. Just goodbyes and good lucks.
Finally, there was only one left. Sunny. One of the nicest girls in town. Even though she wasn't interested in fighting, Sunny still sometimes came around to spend time with the others. When Ydira looked at her sometimes, she'd shy away.
But she didn't shy away now. “Good luck, “ she said, her voice trembling. “I—I hope you come home.”
Ydira nodded. “I won't need luck, but thank you.“ She replied.
This did send Sunny scurrying off, covering her face. Ydira sighed, aware of a feeling of disappointment. Ydira would have liked to be friends with Sunny, but whenever she got close, Sunny shied away. Ydira could never quite figure out what she was doing wrong.
But now wasn't the time to think of Sunny. Because the visitor she had been dreading arrived.
Her father.
He stumbled into the room, eyes already brimming with tears. He looked right at Ydira, causing her to drop her gaze.
”Ydira...” he said. “Why?”
Ydira knew this was coming. Her uncle had argued with her for the past week, saying anything he could to convince Ydira to not volunteer. The argument that hit hardest was how much her death would hurt her father. And looking at him now, streaks of tears down his face, Ydira faced the first real pang of uncertainty she'd had since she first decided to volunteer seven years before.
But she couldn't have stood by. Ydira knew that.
She'd tried writing her reasons out, practicing reciting them in front of a mirror. How much training meant to Ydira, how she never felt more alive than in combat. How much the Hunger Games occupied her thoughts, the different tactics and possibilities so often whirling through her head. How much she wanted to prove herself as the strongest, and make District Ten strong with her. That this wasn't about him, or anything he'd done or hadn't done. That she loved him so much, but couldn't watch someone else who never had a chance die when she could act.
After she'd lost her chance to volunteer, Ydira felt like she was dying a little bit every day.
But the right words didn't come. So she stood up, and gave him the biggest hug she could. As he cried into her shoulder, Ydira gave him the only answer she could put into words
“Because this is what I'm meant to do.”
~~
Was this what it meant to be in the eye of the storm?
All around Sorghum his family was a tempest of emotion. If Sorghum focused, he could pick out each voice from the wall of noise. Anger from his eldest brother Collie, raging about the Quell, the Reaping and everything stacked against Eleven. Desperation from his only sister, Noelle trying to remind him of how smart he is, and how with his knowledge of plants he can outlast everyone. Sorrow from his mother, holding him tight in her arms sobbing.
And in the center was Sorghum.
If he closed his eyes and stopped listening, he could almost imagine they were back at home from when he was small. All his siblings, so much older than him, all crowding around and talking at once. A wall of noise as they cooked, cleaned, and set the table, with Sorghum bouncing from sibling to sibling, seeing and hearing everything he could.
Then they all grew up and started their own lives and families, leaving him in a house that felt too big for just him and his parents, even though it had felt so crowded with them there. Later still, Sorghum moved out so he could be closer to his job. He traded his familiar space for a tiny apartment in the city with a few tomato plants on the windowsill as the only splashes of color. And that was life for you, but it was one of the reasons Sorghum enjoyed the moments they could all get together, like Midsummer or New Years. Or even Reaping Day.
Right now, he didn't want to think about the future. He just wanted to exist in this moment, with everyone there.
But the future was still there, even if Sorghum didn't want to admit it. It threatened to crush him with the weight of its finality.
Sorghum was going to die. And there was nothing he could do about it. Nothing any of them could do about it. No luck or hard work could turn a meek botanist into a Victor.
It was odd that he hadn't broken down yet. Sorghum had been right on the verge of crying on stage, with death staring him in the face. But here, in the Waiting Room with everyone around him for the first time in months, terror and misery had evened out to a kind of detached, flat despair, nodding along as his family offered what comfort they could.
There was probably something Sorghum should be doing. Reassuring them all. Telling them he loved them. Asking Noelle to look after his tomatoes with him gone.
But he didn't have the energy for any of it. And he was the one being Reaped, so it felt like his decision to make.
“Time's up.”
A wave of pain ripped through Sorghum's chest at the Peacekeeper's words. He felt his mother pulling away, leaving a single kiss on the top of his head.
Sorghum opened his eyes and saw them all. Collie, Noelle, Rhubarb, and Lake, all together. His mother, being strong for them all. And his father. The person Sorghum looked up to most.
His siblings gave last parting bits of advice as the Peacekeepers ushered them out of the room.
“We love you.”
“Good luck. Not that you need it.”
“Come back or I'll probably end up killing your plants.”
His father was last. Staying strong in place as the Peacekeepers ordered him to move along. But he stayed put, looking Sorghum straight in the eye.
“Son,” He said softly. Sorghum wordlessly nodded.
“Fight.”
Then he was gone. They were all gone. For good.
Fight?
A fresh wave of misery came over Sorghum. He felt himself begin to shake as tears welled up. He couldn’t fight. He couldn’t do anything except grow plants, and that wasn’t enough to save him any more than his supposed luck could save him-
The door to the room slammed open, disrupting Sorghum’s train of thought. Before Sorghum had a chance to guess what was happening, his boss, Ms. Strong stormed in. “What did you do?!”
Once again, Sorghum found he couldn’t speak. But this time, it was confusion that held him back. “I-wha?”
Ms. Strong barreled in, not waiting for his reply. “You know how much we invested in you? Bringing you up to scratch with the other students, providing lab space, books and samples? I personally stuck my neck out for you with the Capitol, and you throw that all away?”
Sorghum felt even more bewildered. No matter how he tried to parse her words, they made no sense. Sorghum had always behaved, followed every rule, never talked back. Why was she acting like it was his fault he got reaped?
This time Ms. Strong seemed to be waiting for an answer, so he swallowed pointlessly, and tried to respond. “I, you know, things just happen? Luck runs out?” he replied.
To his own surprise, he felt a humorless smile forming on his face. All his luck, all his opportunities and gifts, still to end up reaped.
But that wasn’t the answer she wanted to hear. “Luck doesn’t exist,” she said scornfully. “Its just a superstition for the uneducated. No, people like us, who are useful to the Capitol, don’t get “unlucky”. Not unless they do something wrong.” She glared down at him. “Treasonous things. Like the riots after the last Games.”
The accusation burned Sorghum, and he was shaking his head before she even finished talking. “I only ever did what I was told,” he said, painfully aware of how empty, how pathetic that sounded. He had only ever done what he was told. And in the end, had it meant anything?
His boss’s lips curled, unimpressed. “Then one of them” she said, gesturing back towards the door. “Rioters. Troublemakers. You should have cut ties with them long ago-”
Sorghum shook his head vigorously as she spoke. None of this was true, and if anything he hadn’t spent enough time with his family. “My family are all good people. Hard working, dedicated people who help Panem as much as I do.”
As he spoke, Sorghum felt himself begin to shake. But this time, he wasn’t shaking from fear. Something else was coming over him. Anger.
In response, his boss actually threw her head back and laughed. “They’re field rats. One falls, dozens swarm to take their place-”
“Don’t talk that way about my family!”
Sorghum didn’t know when he stood up. He didn’t realize how loud he was speaking. Only that he was literally trembling with rage, angrier than he’d ever been.
Field rats. How many times had Sorghum heard that phrase flung around? Directed at him, his family, or aimed at field workers in general? Like working to look after the food they all ate was something to be ashamed of?!
Sorghum wasn’t ashamed of where he came from. Just of not having spoken earlier.
“Any of them are worth dozens of you! And I’d rather work the fields than be a miserable bootlicker like you!”
Ms. Strong simply stared at him, like she couldn’t comprehend what he just said.Then slowly she shook her head. “What a waste,” she said, before turning to leave. A Peacekeeper opened the door, holding it for her.“You think you know some kids…”
But Sorghum wasn’t done yet. “I’m not a kid. And I know plenty too.” His boss stopped in her tracks.
“I know about the bribes. The embezzlement. How the money that was supposed to go to new equipment went into your secret accounts. I know you’re falsifying the results on the latest strain of drought resistant parsnips. Lots of things that I kept quiet about, because I had to if I wanted to keep my job.” Sorghum laughed humorlessly. “But I guess that’s moot now, huh?”
She spun around, and for the first time, Sorghum saw real fear on her face. “You ungrateful brat-”
“Time’s up.” A singsong-y voice cut Ms. Strong off. Suddenly she was surrounded by Peacekeepers. Capitol Peacekeepers, not the locals in her pocket. One placed a firm hand on her shoulder. “It sounds like we have some important things to talk about, ma’am.”
“Let go of me” She attempted to pull away from the Peacekeeper’s grasp, only for more to rush in. She was forced out of the room, screaming about how she knew the mayor, and they’d all be sorry.
But that wasn’t likely. Once the Capitol actually looked into embezzlement in the Districts, the perpetrators didn’t get away. The Capitol hated people who stole from them almost as much as they hated traitors. Sorghum had thought it was insane of his boss to even try. But she had gotten away with it. Until now.
His boss might actually be dead before Sorghum.
Because of Sorghum.
Sorghum listened to his boss’s cries fade away, the magnitude of what he’d just done finally hitting him.
Maybe Sorghum did have some fight left. And that was terrifying in a completely different way.
~~
This couldn't be happening.
Garland was supposed to be safe. She had never even taken tesserae. Her parents had made sure of that. She had endured years of worn out dresses and old shoes so her parents could afford to feed the three of them without taking tesserae! What was the point of any of those sacrifices if she was just going to be reaped anyway?
Garland could have gotten a new dress every year. She could have bought a whole basket of ribbons. She could even had bought the necklace at the dressmakers with the sparkly green stones that had been on display forever because no one could afford it. Garland had hoped to buy it after her wedding if Valerian agreed, but that wasn’t happening now.
At least if she had bought it earlier, she would have had time to enjoy it before...
Garland felt tears welling up again.
She'd tried to stay calm, really she had. Even managed to smile and wave during the ceremony itself. Effie had called her charming, and spirited, too.
But in the old room, waiting to see everyone for the last time, she just couldn't take it!
At least most of her friends didn't hold it against her. Garland was popular, and she had so many visitors. People came and hugged her, cried with her, said how much they missed her.
Garland drank in their support and their affection. It meant so much that people cared to come see her.
(Even if they mostly said all the same things. Even if none of them seemed to think she could live. Even if deep down Garland still felt the same ache of loneliness she’d felt since she was small)
A few of the visits did stand out from the crowd, though. Her parents came first. They didn't say much, just held Garland and cried for her. Her parents might not have understood Garland, why she wanted to move up in the world, why she wouldn't be satisfied with the same job her family had done for generations. But they loved her, and as they held Garland and begged her to come home, that was enough.
Then there was Gerenia, and she was... Gerania. Loud and talkative. Garland could barely get a word in as Gerania rambled on about how awful this was and how Garland's wedding would have been amazing, and everything Garland would be missing out on.
It was a bit much, but Gerania was Garland's first town friend, the one who supported her when she first started trying to make friends among the Merchants, and Garland owed her for that.
And then at the end as she was being pulled away, Gerania tossed out one last line of encouragement.
“Go and show them what a real Girl on Fire looks like!”
That set Garland crying again, because who could really compare her to Katniss Everdeen? She'd been the best tribute Twelve had seen in years, but she died the same as the others. What could Garland do in comparison?
Garland wasn't sure she had an answer.
Eventually, the visitors dried up, leaving Garland alone with her thoughts. For the first few minutes, she just sobbed on her chair, not even trying to keep anything in or worry about how she'd look.
But slowly the tears dried up, and she began to think.
Garland wasn't a fighter. But she wasn't helpless either. Her main skill was building bombs, and she doubted there would be any gunpowder in the arena, but there were... other things she could do. Other tricks she'd figured out during long afternoons trying to entertain Gerania.
And she could make friends. There hadn't been a lot of alliances among the outliers lately, but that just meant they were due for one, right? Garland alone might not be able to do much, but if she could find someone looking for a partner, or a friend, or a confidant... Garland could be that.
It wasn't a huge advantage, but it wasn't nothing, Garland told herself.
Time ticked on, and Garland began to feel a bit nervous. Not just at the end of her visitation, when she'd be forced to leave Twelve and head off to the Games. But because so much time had passed, and he hadn't shown up.
Surely he would come? He-he at least always said he cared, and even if it was just words, he'd still come to visit her for show, right? It wouldn't do for the future mayor to not visit his fiancee after she'd been Reaped.
Garland's stomach squirmed. What if he was with Lydia, already thinking of replacing Garland?
No, he'd come. He'd definitely-
The door burst open, and Valerian Henshaw swept in. “Garland! You're still here!”
In an instant, Garland's worries dissolved, replaced by the general butterflies that always showed up in Valerian's presence. She didn't resist as he swept her up in his arms and kissed her hard and long.
Then he pulled back, still looking very grave. “Garland...I'm so sorry. I- we don't have enough time. You have to come back.”
Garland silently nodded, agreeing as she usually did. But he continued. “You're beautiful and brilliant. You'll captivate them just like you've captivated me since we first met.”
Now that, Garland knew wasn't true. They'd known each other for years before they danced together at the harvest festival and he asked her to be his girlfriend. They'd been in the same class, and moved in the same groups. Gerania had even directly introduced them once she and Garland had become friends, and Valerian had barely glanced at her.
But if Garland said any of this, Valerian would just say that they hadn't truly met until that day, and it would become tedious. Garland knew by now things went more smoothly when she let him carry on.
So she simply listened in his crushing embrace as he promised eternal faithfulness and love. She would be faithful to him, at least. No one had ever really interested Garland that way, so she'd have no reason to stray.
The end of their visit came as quick as all the others. But unlike everyone else, Valerian didn't respond when the Peacekeeper called out to him.
Instead, he loosened his grip on Garland just long enough to pull an odd cloth bundle out of his pocket.
“Part of the reason I was late was I needed to get this for you. Maybe it's selfish, but I wanted some part of me to come with you.”
He unwrapped the bundle, and Garland gasped. Inside was a golden ring with a diamond that sparkled like the rainbow in the center. It was simple, but beautiful, surely the most beautiful piece of jewelry in Twelve. And likely the most expensive as well.
She looked up in shock. Garland knew he had planned to get her something special for her wedding ring, but real gold and diamonds? Almost no one in Twelve had real gold, and even fewer people could afford real gems.
It was almost too much. Garland began shaking her head, dazed. “I...I don't-”
“You deserve this, and more.” Over Garland's murmured protests, Valerian slipped the ring onto her finger. “Wear it in the arena. Tell everyone we're engaged, promise them a big wedding. The Capitolites will love it and love you.”
Garland nodded along. It made sense. Last year proved they responded well to romance.
So why was her stomach clenching at the thought? Why did the beautiful ring weigh so heavily on her finger?
A harsh voice broke through their conversation. “Alright Romeo, you've had enough time. We need to keep moving.”
A look of distress came over Valerian's face. “Just one more minute, please.”
“I'm holding you to that.”
Given permission, Valerian leaned over and kissed Garland one final time. Garland reciprocated as best she could.
Then he pulled back. “Come back, Garland. I don't know how I'd live without you.”
Garland never quite knew how to respond when Valerian said things like that, so she borrowed a phrase from a battered old romance from the school. “You do me great honor.”
Valerian nodded, and let himself be pulled away. “I love you, Garland,” he called out as the door closed in front of him.
But Garland did know what she was supposed to say to that.
“I love you, too.”