Work Text:
"And that's why, Mr. Everdeen, I would strive to make Katniss the happiest woman in District 12 every day for the rest of our lives together," the young man concluded, having overcome the nerves that had plagued him at the beginning of the conversation.
Peeta Mellark, the baker's youngest son, who inherited his parents' business two years ago, stood out among the layers of coal that covered every inch of our house in the Seam. He wore a white shirt, probably the most elegant he owned, and a pair of black pants. His hands were clenched into nervous fists, and he didn't take his eyes off me for a second during his speech.
Katniss stood beside me, silent but expectant, as if she feared I might shoot the boy in front of us with an invisible bow at any moment. I wasn't surprised by her stance. She was more than ready to protect him.
I smiled to myself.
I couldn't believe my firstborn was already a woman; a woman who, despite her fears, had begun to allow herself to see a life beyond the Games and hunger. Her braided hair fell over her shoulder. Her gray eyes reflected something akin to determination. You could tell from miles away that she wanted more than anything to hold the young man's hand.
Asterid and Primrose already knew. They knew the boy was coming and decided to leave us alone. When Peeta Mellark appeared at our door, oddly enough, they were ready to leave, using the excuse of seeing one of their patients in the neighborhood.
So there we were, the three of us: two young lovers and me, the girl's father.
Peeta Mellark's coming to ask for my eldest daughter's hand was just a formality of the engagement in District 12. The father of the bride-to-be was the one who arranged the marriage or not. It was ironic to think that I was in that situation now, when I had never asked Mr. March for Asterid's hand when we were young. I knew he would never accept a poor miner from the most marginal part of the district as his daughter's husband.
But fuck him, her daughter had chosen me. And I would choose her in every life just so I could love her and hold our babies.
Everyone in District 12 knew that Peeta Mellark had been courting Katniss Everdeen since she was sixteen, but I knew their story began long before that.
For him, it all started when they were five years old.
It was Katniss's and some other children's first day of school; the parents were present for the opening ceremony. Asterid had stayed home with Baby Primrose, and I accompanied Katniss, who was very excited about her red plaid dress and her two braids that flew with every little jump she took. The teacher asked which of the little ones knew The Valley Song, and Katniss's tiny hand shot out, volunteering. The teacher pulled her out of the crowd and had her stand on a wooden bench.
His childlike voice repeated the words I myself had taught her.
Down in the valley, valley so low,
Late in the evening, hear the train blow.
The train, love, hear the train blow.
Late in the evening, hear the train blow.
Go build me a mansion, build it so high,
So I can see my true love go by.
See him go by, love, see him go by.
So I can see my true love go by.
There was a missing verse. A forbidden verse. Katniss didn't sing it. She didn't know what the Capitol jail was.
Roses are red, love; violets are blue.
Birds in the heavens know I love you.
Know I love you, oh, know I love you,
Birds in the heavens know I love you.
She finished the song. And that's when I heard him next to me. A blond boy with bright blue eyes had let out a strangled sound, as if he'd been holding his breath throughout the song. I watched the little boy and then looked up at his father. Otho Mellark wasn't watching his son or Katniss. He caught me watching. I smiled politely as a round of applause echoed around the room, and that was it. Katniss came back to my side, a little flushed from the attention, and gave me a smile. I returned an even bigger one.
I knew young Mellark's gaze only because that same expression had accompanied me throughout my teenage years whenever I thought of Asterid.
He's just a kid , I had thought, it will pass .
But it wasn't like that.
For her, it all started when she was eleven years old.
That winter, before Katniss turned twelve, there was a minor accident in the mines. No one died, but many were injured. I was one of them. I had to stay in bed to recover, as my leg had been fractured when a beam supporting the roof fell on it where the small explosion occurred. I couldn't hunt or work. Our family was in dire straits. Asterid was worried, but insisted that we could make ends meet by selling some medicinal plants we had gathered before winter began. I was also confident that the supply of game I had gathered during the fall would sustain us until spring. We also had some money saved to buy some food at the Hob.
But Katniss worried more.
One day, she disappeared, and Asterid searched everywhere for her. She wasn't with the neighbors, nor near the meadow. I had assumed she had escaped into the forest to try to catch some prey, even though it was unlikely she would succeed. But she was stubborn. She was sure to come back with something.
And so she did. She came back with two warm loaves of bread, slightly burnt, but perfect. Her body was cold, as the drizzle hadn't managed to turn into snow. I thought she was going to get sick, and I worried. But before I could scold her or call her out, she cried. Katniss never cried.
“I didn't want to sit around doing nothing. I tried selling some old clothes, but no one wanted them. I knocked on doors, but no one was interested. Sorry, Dad.”
That confession, coming from the lips of a little girl, broke my heart. I hated myself for having hurt myself, even though I had no control over the mining accident. But my daughter was eleven years old and didn't deserve to bear the burden of worries that only adults should bear.
I pulled her wet little body towards me and hugged her very tightly.
“Where did you get that bread?”
She hesitated for a moment, but replied:
“The baker’s youngest son.”
She didn't say anything else. I didn't want to ask for more information either. But I promised myself that one day I would thank the boy for giving Katniss that hope.
After that, spring came and they both became friends.
Katniss and I returned to our adventures in the woods. One day, she shot a squirrel cleanly in the eye. I congratulated her and told her she could make a few coins if she sold it to Greasy Sae. She shook her head.
“I want to give it to Peeta. Squirrels are his favorite,” she said simply.
I'd made several deals with Otho Mellark: deer meat, some berries, and occasionally squirrels. So Katniss's gift to the youngest Mellark made sense. But it still surprised me. She was never the type to have many friends. She'd always devoted all her time and energy to our little family.
I was glad to know that she now had someone she could trust.
The years passed, and every July 4th, she managed to escape a cruel fate in the Hunger Games.
But when Katniss was fourteen, one of her classmates, another fourteen-year-old boy, was reaped. It affected her deeply. For a whole week, she didn't want to go to school and also refused to watch the Games. She wasn't friends with the boy, but I knew my daughter could be deeply empathetic, even though she tried to hide it behind her facade of always being strong. It pained her to think that that fate would be hers or Prim's. It pained her that her classmate would die.
However, Katniss also felt anger at the injustice and cruelty we were experiencing.
One Sunday, after the Games had started and the boy and girl from District 12 had been killed in the bloodbath, Peeta Mellark knocked on our door and I opened it.
He was a handsome teenager, but he still had a boyish air about him. His hair was messy, and his eyes were clearly worried. He looked nervously behind me, trying to find something.
Or specifically someone.
“Katniss is asleep, kid.” I said, not trying to sound too harsh, but the boy still flinched at my response. A noticeable blush rose on his cheeks. Was he nervous?
That wasn't the answer he'd expected. Disappointment graced his face, and his shoulders slumped in disappointment. But he quickly recovered.
“Could you give this to her when she wakes up, Mr. Everdeen? When I’m sad, drawing helps me collect my thoughts. It feels relaxing. Maybe it could help Katniss.” The boy handed me a small canvas sack. I took it and quickly examined the contents. Inside was paper and some colored pencils.
Art was a luxury in our small district, so I knew the gift had been expensive for the boy. I couldn't turn it down, not when I had every intention of helping my daughter, who had been depressed for days, so I accepted it and promised to give it to Katniss.
He was about to leave when he pulled a handful of wildflowers from his backpack, ones found only in the meadow. The boy took a lot of courage to do so, as it was clear he was embarrassed, but he never backed down.
“I also brought Katniss some flowers to cheer her up.” He carefully placed them in my other hand, whispered ‘good afternoon’ and disappeared back to his home.
When I closed the door, Asterid appeared in the small room, took the flowers and placed them in a can with some water.
“Peeta is a very sweet boy.” Asterid had a small smile on her lips as she admired the boy’s thoughtfulness. “Katniss is very lucky to have him.”
Asterid came over and kissed me on the lips. That's when I understood. It was obvious, but a father is never ready to accept that a boy is in love with his daughter.
That same night, I gave Katniss the sheets of paper and the crayons, and her reaction was instantaneous. Relief. Katniss was relieved. It was then that I felt an absurd envy that the baker's son's small gift had brought joy back to Katniss's sad expression. I was jealous of a teenager for being able to help my daughter when I couldn't.
I went to bed. I pondered my thoughts for a couple of hours and realized it wasn't the gift that helped Katniss. It had always been the boy.
The next day, a hot Monday in mid-July, Katniss went back to school.
After that, it was easier to understand that Katniss also reciprocated the boy's feelings. She was more subtle, a fortress that carefully guarded the desires of her heart. But I saw her. I saw the smiles she gave the boy, and it was painful to appreciate how her heartbeat thumped noticeably in her chest when she spoke of him.
“How’s your boyfriend?” I asked her one day while we were hunting in the woods. The girl had stopped looking like a girl, and the woman appeared in her lovelorn sixteen-year-old face.
She blushed violently, but did not deny that he was her boyfriend.
That hurt, because I refused to accept that she was growing up. My baby wasn't a baby anymore, and while I was excited about the idea of her one day growing up, I wasn't ready to see her get married and start a family so soon. But I knew. One day, she would sing the same songs I had sung to a chubby, dreamy-eyed baby in her arms.
Because Katniss had too much love for not to share.
Mockingjays flew overhead and the sounds of the forest were a wonderful orchestra.
“Good. He came in first place in the school wrestling match.” I watched a proud smile spread across her lips as she used her nimble fingers to set a trap for the wild dogs.
“That’s great. A strong kid. Maybe someday I’ll have amazing grandchildren.” I joked a little, trying to be supportive in some way.
I failed, of course. Katniss froze instantly, her gaze lost in the sea of internal worries drowning her. She still had two more years until her name would be off the Reaping papers, and I also knew she was terrified of bringing children into this world where the spilled blood of innocent children was the symbol of this nation.
I approached her and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. That brought her back, and she looked at me, still haunted by fear.
“I’m scared too, Katniss,” I admitted. Being vulnerable was a strength, and I wanted to show her that. “Every day I’m afraid I’ll go underground and never see you again. Every month I’m afraid I won’t be able to survive the hunger. And every year I’m afraid I’ll lose you or Prim at the Reaping.”
It sounded terribly daunting, but I knew all that fear was worth it. The wind blew, the forest was eternally green. The sun shone brightly overhead.
“But every morning I wake up with your mother, your sister, and you in our home. It reminds me that every day I can choose to have hope for the future. I'm not saying the Games will cease to exist or that the Capitol will change. But living in fear is what they want us to do. I'm not going to give them that pleasure, not when I'm the happiest man in my life with you.”
Katniss looked at me and the peace that the forest offered us settled in her chest.
“Choosing not to be afraid is difficult,” she replied.
I nodded and brought my face closer to hers.
“It is, but I know you’re brave enough. You’re also somewhat stubborn, so it’s hard to beat you easily.” It was impossible not to laugh at her frown.
She gently pushed me, shook her head, and a few minutes of silence followed until she spoke again.
“I’m afraid something will happen to Peeta,” she admitted sadly.
I wished I could give her something tangible, not just words. But, for now, words would have to suffice.
“You can choose not to be afraid. You can choose to appreciate every good thing he does for you and others and let that give you hope. He's a good boy.”
She smiled slightly.
“Do you like him?” she asked.
I shook my head slightly and pretended to think twice.
"Sometimes I wish he was a bad person so I could tie him to a tree and have him be taken by a bear. Maybe that's the only way I could make you my little girl forever."
For the first time that day, Katniss let out a real, loud laugh.
“I wouldn’t let any bear or father take him away.”
“I know. Kind people always manage to soften your heart.”
"Dad?"
"Yeah?"
"I love you".
“I love you too, little one.”
The seasons advanced, winters and summers came and went. Katniss's final Reaping arrived, her name wasn't selected, and I felt like life couldn't be more perfect.
“Everdeen, they saw your daughter talking to her mother-in-law at the bakery. Well, talking sounds pretty civilized compared to the shouting you heard inside.”
The lack of oxygen oppressed my lungs. The coal dust seeped into my lungs, making it painfully difficult to breathe as I dug deep into the solid rock with a pick in hand. We were miles underground in the mines.
The comment came from one of my squadmates, Hawthorne. A few years ago, he confessed to me that his oldest son had some sort of feelings for Katniss. But they had never spoken. The Hawthorne boy just watched her from afar. I think he didn't want to make a move on Katniss because he knew he didn't stand a chance.
Everyone in the district knew that she and the baker's youngest son had something special.
Everyone had accepted them, merchants and people of the Seam, because it was impossible not to see them and think that teenage romance was the purest and most sincere expression of love. People could be divided by class, but everyone loved a good romance and a bit of harmless gossip here and there.
Everyone except the baker's wife.
I never worried about Katniss having to deal with Melanie Mellark. Melanie was tough, but Katniss could be even tougher if people important to her were messed with.
Melanie Mellark had thought her youngest and most talented son's crush would be fleeting. She didn't give the Seam scum any thought. Except when she saw that the years passed and Katniss remained a constant in her son's life.
“And what did Melanie Mellark say?” I asked, wiping the sweat from my forehead. I didn’t like gossip, but this was about my daughter, after all.
“He threatened to disinherit her youngest son, but that obviously wasn't a viable option since he's the only one who stands to inherit the family business after his two older brothers took over their wives' businesses.”
“Right.” I kept digging with my pickaxe. The heat was monstrous down there.
“So they say Melanie tried to hit Katniss,” Hawthorne confessed.
“What?” The mining faded into the background when I thought about that woman trying to hurt Katniss.
Hawthorne shrugged and went on with his business.
“Yes, but the son intervened. Of course. Although that made the woman even angrier.” Hawthorne laughed. “They say Katniss threatened to destroy the bakery if she laid a finger on the boy or her. Katniss had a wooden board in her hand. But that might be an exaggeration. You know how people are. They exaggerate everything. But it sounds terrifying.”
“Did anything else happen?”
Hawthorne tried to remember what people were talking about thoughtfully.
“Nothing. Mrs. Mellark made the boy choose between her and Katniss. But there was no competition there. Melanie was never the most loving mother, after all. When the boy chose Katniss, Melanie packed her bags and left the bakery. They say she went back to her parents’ house.”
"How did I find out about this from you and not Katniss?" Confusion colored my words. Now I waited anxiously for the whistle to blow, signaling the end of the day, so I could head home and have a serious talk with my daughter.
“She’s an adult, Burdock. She’s eighteen. And she knows how to take care of herself. She doesn’t need you anymore, old man.”
The day ended, and I returned to our home, but Katniss wasn't there. I found Primrose doing some homework. I approached, dirty and exhausted, and placed a small kiss on the top of her blond head.
“Have you seen your sister?” I asked.
“She was with Peeta at the bakery.” Primrose smiles without looking at me, her eyes fixed on her notebook, as if she knows something I don’t. She is completely loyal to Katniss.
“Do you know what happened with Mrs. Mellark?” Maybe I could get more information out of Primrose than I could out of Katniss.
“Everyone knows what happened, Dad.” Prim looked at me. At fourteen, she’s the spitting image of Asterid when I first met her.
“So what happened?” I was a little annoyed at being in the dark in this situation.
Prim laughed. Her blond hair hung like golden curtains, framing her youthful face.
“Peeta inherited the bakery. Mr. Mellark returned to his assigned home this morning. Katniss is with Peeta.”
“Alone?” I didn’t like where this was going.
Prim nodded playfully.
“Katniss won’t be coming home today, Dad. She let Mom and me know when she came by to pick up some things earlier.”
I couldn't believe the words I was hearing. It was a crushing blow to my fatherhood. Your eighteen-year-old daughter sleeping with her partner alone under the same roof? Being a father was certainly a challenge to maintain my sanity.
Peeta Mellark inherited the bakery at eighteen that day. What I would never know were all the love promises he made to Katniss that night.
But one of those promises was marriage. But neither of them rushed it.
Young people in District 12 married at eighteen. When your name was no longer eligible for the Reaping, your adult life in Panem's poorest district began, and it was easier to cope with someone to share the expenses. Survival was a two-player game.
But that wasn't the case for them. They waited a couple of years until they formalized it today by coming before me.
Over the years, I spoke to Peeta on several occasions. It was actually a relief to know that someone like him could make Katniss happy. He would come visit Katniss, and they would sit for hours on the porch until it got dark and he had to come back. We went to the hidden lake in the forest several times with Katniss, and she taught him how to swim while I fished. I watched Peeta draw Katniss with charcoal in the meadow. I also heard Katniss sing to the boy as they lay on a blanket while she knitted a flower crown. I watched them disappear together before sunset several times.
They both came and went, making their lives around those gestures of love, and I knew that together they were sowing the seeds of hope that will blossom in the future. Seeing them together gave me the certainty that one day there would be a sunrise without Reaping or Hunger Games.
So much love, so much hope, couldn't die so easily. Because it’s the things we love the most that make us stronger. They build us up and solidify us. They give us a horizon and a path to follow.
So when Peeta Mellark asked me if he could marry Katniss, I smiled.
“Don’t ask me, kid. Have you asked Katniss yet?”
He had already done it and Katniss had already agreed, but I needed to see that new story begin with my own eyes.
Peeta Mellark was smart too. He understood this old man's desires, and like a gift, he got down on one knee, took the hand of Katniss, my little hunter, my child, and asked her if she would be his wife.
She said yes.