The Hunger Games belongs to Suzanne Collins.

A/N: This plot bunny tickled me for several days and nights until I cried uncle and typed it up. =_=

BTW, props and respect to all writers who are capable of writing in 1st POV in present tense like Suzanne Collins. 1st person isn't my style.

Any similarities this AU fic has with other fanfics are purely accidental/coincidental, as far as any HG fanfic inspired by Robin Hood could be, anyway.

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Prologue

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Rumors were spreading like wildfire. Across villages, across the counties; the country, even. Rumors of the rich mysteriously losing their purses exceeding a certain sum, and a roughly equal sum mysteriously distributed among the poor in the fortnight afterwards. The methods varied, but all of them reportedly involved arrows with a small emblem resembling a mockingjay, a species of bird that inhabited the single largest forest in the realm. All by a mysterious hooded boy who dwelt in the very forest filled with mockingjays. These consistencies resulted in the monikers 'Arrows of Benevolence' or 'Mockingjay'.

The sacks of coins were stuck to doorsteps of whomever the 'Mockingjay' deemed in need that fortnight, by an arrow.

"Did you hear about the latest heist the Arrows of Benevolence pulled off?"

"Give it a rest and just call him 'Jay' for heaven's sake."

"Word is that this time he shot a bag of money out of a moving carriage!"

"Ridiculous! A moving carriage?"

"Clear through the window! Without even ripping the bag open!"

"That's even more unbelievable than when he supposedly shot an arrow and pinned the duke to his chair by his clothes."

Peeta Mellark, the village baker's boy, had never taken much stock in rumors. But he was all for optimism and didn't discourage the hopeful villagers, so he listened with half an ear while customers gossiped about the infamous redistributor of wealth and tacked on diplomatic but vague comments when asked.

His mother, on the other hand, took a very keen interest in this thief. She insulted the thief because…well, because he was a thief, but also because she took the lack of coins on their doorstep as a personal affront. Every morning his mother (grumbling about thieves all the while) would check the doorstep and complain why the Arrows of Benevolence couldn't give them a sack of gold to their doorstep for pity's sake. Peeta had to bite his lip in order not to remind her while they weren't exactly well off, they were far from needy – they had a steady stream of customers who in turn afforded them the money both living expenses and the baking ingredients they needed.

If this 'Arrows of Benevolence' really did exist, Peeta thought that the idea of stealing from the rich to give to the poor was a well meant, but somewhat misguided attempt at a redistribution of wealth. Surely there were other ways to help the poor than stealing. Give a man a fish versus teach a man to fish, and all that.

Then again, these days, it was hard to survive if you weren't a noble or had connections to one.

But the other reason why Peeta wasn't jumping for joy at the idea of the Arrows of Benevolence was widely because his mother, who so vocally disapproved of stealing, often voiced that Peeta was useless in comparison to even a thief.

'Well,' Peeta thought to himself as he made the delivery rounds for the day, 'it's not like I even care what she thinks anymore.' He'd long accepted his mother for the bitter creature she was, one who would complain about the weather be it rain or shine.

Sharply shaking his head to himself to cut off that line of thought, Peeta headed back to the bakery; he'd finished his rounds that day.

As Peeta swung the bakery door open, he saw an unfamiliar girl waiting at the counter, the rest of his family apparently having left her to wait. 'Strange, I thought I knew most people in this village…'

He hurried behind the counter and asked, "May I help you?"

Turning to look at him, the girl asked, "Are you the one who runs this bakery? It's not very good service to make customers wait."

Smiling sheepishly, Peeta answered, "Well, technically my father owns the store, and I'm just one of the bakers, but sorry about the wait. What can I get you? Since you've been waiting for who knows how long, I'll even throw in a roll for free."

"It's my sister's birthday tomorrow." Giving the display cakes a hesitant glance, she said, "The cakes are too expensive…"

'No kidding,' thought Peeta, as the cakes were, for most people, worth a month's pay. But as someone who decorated the cakes, he knew that they as a bakery could only afford to sell them at the high prices to break even a small profit. "Maybe a cupcake then?" He offered.

The girl shook her head, and held out a hand with a clink and a grimace. "What can I get with this?"

Looking down at the five copper coins, Peeta murmured, "Budget birthday, huh…" Peeta stroked his jaw as he thought to himself, casting his gaze around for an idea. Spotting a muffin to his right, he found himself grinning. "I have an idea," he said to the girl, "care to listen, Miss…?"

"Everdeen." The girl supplied.

"Miss Everdeen. I believe I have a solution to your birthday dilemma."

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Chapter 1

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Well-worn boots of a hooded figure ghosted through the forest, making their way to a destination known only to a select few. No visible markers indicated a path to tread, but the speed of the panther-quiet feet could only belong to someone who knew the forest by instinct. As the figure approached the trunk of a particularly wide tree, eyes under the hood quickly darted about, making sure all was clear. Deft fingers and quiet feet found near impossible holds in the tree and took the figure up to the small but sturdy treehouse nestled amongst thick branches a decent height from the ground.

A hand pulled the wooden door open and a voice murmured quietly, "I'm back."

A small blonde girl who couldn't be more than twelve years of age jumped and turned around, blue eyes widened in mild panic before they consecutively softened in recognition and then narrowed in agitation.

"You didn't use the rope," she accused. "Again. Use it for my sake, at least. Getting surprised so often can't be good for the heart. Even for a twelve-year-old."

Shrugging off the bow and quiver of arrows, hands pulled back the hood, grey eyes meeting blue. "Sorry Prim. It's just quicker to scale the tree."

"…I wish I could climb as well as you." Prim sighed, before tacking on mischievously, "Mysterious Arrows of Benevolence."

Grey eyes rolled. "I swear, that's the most idiotic nickname ever. When are arrows ever benevolent? They're weapons."

Prim shrugged, strands of fair hair falling out of her braid. "I think the 'benevolence' bit was inspired by your use of the arrows." When a disgruntled snort was the only reply, Prim continued, "Well, since 'Arrows of Benevolence' is a bit of a mouthful, most people still just call you Mockingjay. Or just Jay. But I hear they all think you're a boy, Katniss." Prim teased.

Dumping the squirrels and raccoon on the ground, Katniss took out her skinning knife and retorted, "Probably because of the pants. Heaven forbid girls ever wear trousers." Skinning knife stopping just short of the squirrel skin, Katniss eyed Prim suspiciously. "And I suppose this knowledge comes from your latest venture to a village?"

Suddenly looking uncomfortable, Prim looked at everything but her older sister. "…Maybe I got bored of sitting and studying texts…"

Barely refraining from stabbing the skinning knife down into the treehouse floor, Katniss exclaimed in exasperation, "Prim! How many times have I told you, it's not safe! You stay at home when you're alone. What if somebody noticed that you weren't from the village and started asking questions?"

Crossing her arms, Prim said defensively, "It was District 12, the town you said had the laxest security against outsiders. And I thought it would be nice to celebrate, for once."

Her statement caught Katniss off guard. "Celebrate? Celebrate what?" What could there possibly be to celebrate?

Prim's voice was barely audible. "Your birthday."

Katniss softened at this. "Oh, Prim. I…" She desperately tried to think of something to say. "How do you even keep track of days here? Even I forgot."

That caused Prim to laugh again, albeit softly. "Katniss, you wouldn't remember your birthday even if it smacked you on the nose. That's what I'm here for."

The small blonde revealed a cupcake on the table. It was frosted in forest green, Katniss' favorite color.

"Prim…" Lost for words, Katniss swallowed thickly and hugged her younger sister.

"It's not technically a cupcake, because those were out of my budget, but the baker was nice enough to frost a muffin."

Kissing her younger sister's forehead, Katniss said, "Cupcake or muffin, it's the best present ever." She eyed the treat speculatively before firmly saying, "But dinner first."

They didn't need to take so much care in their rationing, as it was far from winter, but Katniss didn't want to get into bad habits, so she had Prim prepare dinner from their hanging garden of herbs and store of smoked meats, while she skinned and drained the blood from that day's catch to smoke them.

Over the muffin-made-into-a-cupcake, Prim asked, "What are you going to wish for?"

The inquiry made Katniss stop. "...Equality between the classes?" Katniss' statement came out more like a question.

Prim crossed her arms. "That doesn't count!"

Katniss tried again. "A proper house?"

"No! It has to be something for yourself." Rejection again.

"A house is for myself." Halfheartedly, Katniss protested.

But Prim was adamant. "Still doesn't count. Wish for something else!"

There were a lot of things Katniss wished for, but they were impossible things. Things like wishing that their parents were still alive. That things could back to the way they were before the damned Duke came.

In the end, Katniss said, "For a safe winter." She tacked on, "Let's skip the wish-making. We can't light a candle up here anyway."

Prim opened her mouth like she wanted to argue, but gave up, huffily handing a small knife over to Katniss for her to cut the muffin.

Deftly splitting the treat in half, Katniss took a bite. Both muffin and icing tasted good, and she smiled at Prim. "Tastes good."

Face lighting up, Prim nibbled at the muffin. "The baker – well, his son, actually – was really nice."

Katniss felt rare amusement spread through her. "So you've said. Do I have to kill this boy?"

Prim flushed. "It's not like that! He's about your age, too old for me."

Deliberately raising an eyebrow, Katniss drawled, "Oh? So you're saying I'm old now?"

"You know what I meant, Katniss!"

Katniss laughed and leaned forward to tweak Prim's nose. "Just teasing, Little Duck."

"I swear, when I turn thirteen, you can't call me that anymore!"

"Sure thing, Little Duck."

After night fell, the two sisters went to sleep, feeling a bit more content than usual.

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A/N: Not sure if I'll continue this, but we'll see. I feel guilty neglecting my LotR fic...