Heya. Despite being a THG fan for a few years now and dappling in a bit of fanfiction writing, I've never actually gotten around to posting something. Kinda pointless now, since the fandom is practically dead. Anywho, I hope you enjoy this take on who the first victor of District Twelve (remember, there's the one before Haymitch.)
Disclaimer: I am not Suzanne Collins and anything you recognise is not mine.
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There are the victors who the Capitol adores and their district of origin despises. Those are usually the ones hailing from the richer, better-off districts, confident and beautiful, spending time and money away from home and entertaining the Capitol. Then there are the victors who the Capitol are quick to dismiss after their year of fame and glory, waving them off back home to their district, where they seem to remain a favourite.
The winner of the Nineteenth Hunger Games was a victor that fell into the second category. Harper Jordan was the first tribute from District Twelve to make it out of the arena, and for another thirty-one years remained the only tribute from District Twelve to make it out of the arena. Whilst considered nothing special by the Capitol and other districts, her triumph being a case of blind luck, many of Twelve respected her, even coming to her for advice that wasn't solely about the Games or the government pulling their strings.
She had been a Seam rat, one with an alcoholic father and a mother that had run off to one of the rich merchants that had taken a fancy to her when Harper was eight. She had two younger siblings, for whom she had placed her name down for tesserae year in and year out, until fate that guided her name to be on the slip of paper drawn out at the Reaping when she was seventeen.
Harper had simply been another face in the pool of tributes. Her first entrance at the Parade had kept little attention, her interview had been easily forgotten about and she had barely scraped the five she had earned in training. She had turned on her heel and fled the first day in the arena, her tactic merely being to evade anyone else and to scavenge.
And despite the odds, she was the victor of that year's Hunger Games.
Crouched in the slanted shade provided by an overhanging shaft of rock, Harper Jordan had been monitoring the Careers' camp for what felt like hours now. The shade provided little reprieve from the blistering heat of the arena: sweat soaked Harper's underarms and beaded on her face as she raised the lightweight set of binoculars to her face. Just like the rest of her minimal supplies, the binoculars had been stolen, swiped from the fly-swamped body belonging to the boy from District Five.
Thanks to the binoculars, Harper could now clearly pick out the smaller details of the Career camp. Under the shade of a canvas tarp strung out between two poles and a spindly little acacia tree, five tributes had parked themselves closest to one of the few freshwater sources in the arena, that being a small underground spring with a reasonably sized opening above ground. Three of four Careers remained; the girl from One had died earlier than week, when Harper's district partner, Callum, had hacked her to pieces with an axe. One of the Careers had returned the favour yesterday.
Now, both boys from Districts Seven and Eleven had joined the Career pack. The single girl in the mix, that being the blonde beauty from Two, was sitting in Seven's lap and clearly flirting with him. Pulling an appalled face, Harper carefully trained her binoculars in a sweep of her surroundings for any signs for other tributes.
The arena was as hot and dry as any desert, only the barren terrain was hard-packed earth with the occasional sandy boulders and cluster of vegetation. The Cornucopia, a good two hundred metres or so from the Career camp, was glinting tauntingly in the sunlight. The scenery was only broken up by thick bushland bordering the south-eastern end of the arena. Undoubtedly, that was where most of the remaining tributes were hiding.
Harper had taken up residence in the steep rocky cliffs on the opposite side of the arena, having noticed when a tribute collapsed of either dehydration or snake bite. Of course, she'd already stripped both the body and the small camp that had belonged to the girl from District Nine. Only a day ago had Harper's supplies consisted of a pack containing the binoculars, a slingshot, a water canteen, a little food and some matches. Now she had added snake bandages, two knives, some more food and some kind of oil to treat contaminated water.
Being a scavenger had turned out rather well for her. It had its risks — the Career girl had started to yell for her allies until Harper had shoved a handful of sand down her throat, when she'd swiped her binoculars and the more useful contents of her pack.
It also meant that Harper hadn't had to kill anyone. Yet.
The Games had dragged on for just under a week now, a rarity for the Hunger Games. The audience must have been getting bored, because yesterday the Gamemakers turned the bushland into a raging inferno. Now, less than seven tributes remained, most of them killed by the flames or the fights they had been manipulated into.
The Career alliance had gone from five to three, and then two today. The boy from Two hadn't exactly appreciated it when the boy from Seven took things a little too far with his district partner. Harper could clearly still see them out on the plains at this very minute. The girl from Two had clearly moved on from Seven, because she was already running her hands over her saviour for all to see.
Hopefully they'd be distracted enough tonight, for Harper to slip into the Cornucopia and steal a few more of the supplies remaining there.
Apart from Harper, four other tributes remained. The girls from Six and Eleven had formed an alliance. The kid from Nine. The tribute from Three was taking it solo — though Harper suspected Three wouldn't last very long. Even with the Careers' attention elsewhere, his attempt at sneaking past them was pretty pathetic.
Deciding enough was enough, Harper rose from her hiding position and cringed. She'd been caught in the bushland yesterday — tracking down more abandoned bodies to scavenge from — when the fires had started. Her burns had been bad, but not severe enough to slow her down — or to finish her off, as was the case with several tributes. And not only did she have the burns to contend with, but she hadn't had a proper meal in days, and she was beginning to feel lightheaded from dehydration.
Harper began trudging back into the outskirts of the bushland, charred and smoking, holding her sleeve over her mouth as she did so. Reckless to be doing so, but she was certain the boy from One had died in this particular area, and if his pack hadn't somehow been burned …
She wasn't the only one with that idea. Because stepping through the charcoal skeletons of the trees were the girls from Six and Eleven.
Harper immediately held her ground, unsheathing her knives and loosing the weight of her pack off her shoulders. Whilst outnumbered, it appeared she was a bit better off, physically speaking . They'd gone without food even less than she had, both skinny and hollow-looking, and Harper knew for a fact that Six was useless in conflict. Her three in training proved that. However Eleven was a lot taller than her, and the armed one out of the duo.
"Is this the furthest District Twelve has ever made it?" crooned Eleven, clearly the more confident one.
"It's the furthest you're going to make it," Harper grit out.
Eleven lunged forward, her dagger clumsily at the ready. But Harper had spent years dodging her dad's blows when he was drunk. She ducked under Eleven's arm and seized her elbow. Eleven growled, swapping hands and slashing her dagger towards Harper's face. The tip of the blade broke her skin, swiping down her forehead and cutting a little deeper down her cheek. Harper gasped at the pain, and energised by a sudden boost of adrenaline, yanked her forward and sunk her kneecap into her bony side, effectively winding her.
Harper spun out of range, Eleven dropping on all fours as she rasped for breath, looking towards Six as she ran at her uncertainly. But Harper was armed, and Six was not. With a horrible, squelching sound, Harper had thrust her knife forward, burrowing itself in her stomach up to its hilt.
For a long moment the two girls gaped at one another: Six at the blade in her belly and how there would be no coming back from a wound like that, and Harper at the hard, cold evidence of what she'd just done.
"Thyme, help me!" cried out Six, her knees collapsing from underneath her. She was going to die, realised Harper, looking at how quickly her skin had gone white and how much slick crimson was staining her shirt.
Seized by a bout of panic, Harper heaved her dagger from Six's stomach, spun around, and kicked Eleven swiftly in the head. Not enough to kill her, but it knocked her out clean. The girl slumped face first in the ash, impassive to how her wailing ally was now bleeding out less than ten metres away from her.
Harper grabbed her discarded pack and then slipped Eleven's off her, ignoring Six's sounds of outrage. Though she doubted there was any food or water left in here, there could be something else useful. Barely glancing back at the bloody scene — the scene that she had caused — Harper scrambled to her feet and fled back into the dry wilderness.
Later that night, the face of the girl from District Six was projected into the arena's night sky as the Panem anthem played.
Two days passed since the death of District Six before another cannon finally sounded. Knowing that Thyme, the girl from Eleven, was probably tracking her down, Harper was using her binoculars to keep an eye on both Thyme's profile, stalking furiously around the briefly abandoned Cornucopia, and the spot in the burnt forest where the pair from Two had disappeared to hunt.
She guessed it was either of the boy tributes from Five or Nine, unless one of the Careers had died. Something viciously satisfactory flared inside Harper at the thought.
It turned out that Thyme had stashed away a little food from her ally, because Harper had found a collection of crackers, dried meat, and roots buried at the bottom of her pack. Enough to keep her going once the nausea from killing Six had passed. She still felt guilty about it, hadn't even gone back to the site to see if she could nick anything from what Thyme had left with her dead ally's body. What she wouldn't give for a donation from a sponsor …
Like she had any in the first instance.
For a long moment, Harper allowed herself to imagine what was going on back home in the district. One of their tributes in the top five meant that labour in the mines would be called off for the mandatory viewing. Her father was probably passed out somewhere, or playing the my-daughter-is-in-the-Hunger-Games card to try and guilt trip some woman into being his arm candy. Her mother was probably remembering her existence for the first time in nine years. Her little siblings, Rosie and Caleb, were probably being looked after by batty old Mrs Mullins from down the street.
A commotion in the distance seized Harper's attention. She raised her binoculars immediately.
Tearing out of the burnt bushland and out onto the terrain was the kid from Nine, closely followed by the bellowing Career from Two. She waited several long moments for his district partner, only to realise — Nine had killed her. She wondered how, especially since the kid didn't appear to be holding any weapons.
Harper held her breath as she watched Two pursue Nine, clearly upset he no longer had somebody around willing to roll around in a tent with. If she remembered correctly, Nine was barely fifteen, still with a squeaky voice and a smooth, hairless jaw. And compared to the ballistic rage of Two, so much taller and stronger, easily catching up to him with his longer, more powerful legs.
She closed her eyes when Two seized Nine, only reopening them when the second cannon of the day rang through the arena. His head was split open against a rock, as easily as you would crack the shell of an egg.
Four tributes remained.
Just as Thyme had taunted, this was definitely the furthest a tribute from Twelve had ever made it. Thyme was still alive, as well as the boy from Two and the kid from Nine. And Harper, of course.
Deciding that Thyme and Two would be the ones arrogant enough to consider anyone else stupid for doing so, Harper lit a fire to lure them in, before hastily making tracks. She was tracking down the boy from Nine.
Having not seen him since watching his tribute interview, it took Harper a moment to recall him. She was surprised it took her so long. He had easily been a forerunner, handsome and cocky, with an impressionable training score of nine. Sponsors were sure to be flooding his donation box. His district was probably thrilled, thinking that they'd get another Victor this year.
Harper searched all day and well into the night, scourging the rocky cliffs, the Cornucopia and what remained of the Career camp, when Two had noticed Thyme and ran off to kill her, and as far into the bushland as she dared, until she realised that was the only place left where Nine could be.
It was early morning, the sky bleak and grey, when Harper finally located Nine.
He'd set himself up by a small pond, right in the most dense, heavily burnt part of the arena. A few unremarkable flames were still licking away. He was sound asleep as Harper slipped into a hiding spot and took up position to observe. His sponsors had clearly been overwhelmingly generous: a large, comfortable tent, a load of food kept in a hastily assembled food safe, and a reasonable supply of weapons. He'd even had the supplies to rig up a system that let him know of nearing trespassers: one that Harper had luckily noticed, and evaded.
Harper sat there watching for hours, chewing on the inside of her cheek thoughtfully. She didn't want to kill another person, not after Six. She could try poisoning his food, or luring Two into this territory …
She jumped at the sound of the cannon, cringing when the leaves around her rustled. She looked up at the sky automatically, squinting at the pale projection. Her mouth parted in a silent gasp of shock.
The boy from District Two was dead. The last Career eliminated.
Harper didn't realise Nine was awake until she heard his disbelieving guffaw.
"This is too good. I can take down those other two chicks, easy."
Fuming, Harper stayed silent as she watched Nine get to his feet and fill a pack with all kinds of supplies. Clearly not considering the slightest possibility he was being watched, as he left the safety of his camp and back out into the arena.
Thyme's cannon sounded at noon.
Harper knew it was hers because she'd been following Nine, keeping a very safe distance. She could only watch as the boy finally tracked her down and got his hands on her, drawing her life out slowly and viciously. When he was done with Thyme, he had tipped back his head and roared, "I'M COMING FOR YOU, DISTRICT TWELVE!"
"Fantastic," Harper muttered under her breath, perfectly out of his earshot but loud enough for the cameras to easily pick it up. "He's now a wannabe Career."
Then Harper set off to do the same thing she'd been doing these entire Games. Scavenging.
It barely crossed her mind that she was in top two. All she could think about was taking down Nine. It didn't ever occur to her that once she did, this would be over.
She went back into the burnt forest, wondering if she could locate the body of the girl from Two. As festy as it was to leave the bodies lying around the arena, it was serving her purposes.
Nine had taken up camp at the one Two was previously occupying when Harper scurried back to the treeline, now with the bow and quiver of arrows that she'd stolen from Nine's camp after being unable to locate any other bodies or weapons. She'd also swiped some of his shirts, a lighter, and a container of cooking oil.
Back in training, Harper had visited the archery station, several times. Her skill was far from remarkable, but hopefully it would be enough for what she was planning.
From all her days scurrying around the arena, Harper had a very good idea of this forest. So she knew exactly where was the best spot to fire a burning arrow. As Nine stalked around the Cornucopia, gleaming in the moonlight, screaming obscenities and threats and goads, Harper quickly assembled her plan. She pulled out four arrows from the quiver — she only really needed two, but just in case — and used a knife to tear the shirt into clean strips. She doused the fabric in the oil before wrapping them around the arrow heads and knotting them firmly in place.
Harper sucked in a shaky breath. She was really going to do this.
She struck a flame, holding it to her first arrow and quickly placing it on the bow as the fire caught. She was sloppy with her aim, missing her target by a good thirty metres. But nevertheless, a section of what straggling green bushland remained went up in flames.
Nine loosed a battle cry, springing to his feet and sprinting for the direction of where that flaming arrow had come from. He was fast, and perhaps a little too carried away. And clearly dumb enough to come running right into Harper's range.
Her fingers were sweaty as she fumbled with the lighter. She didn't want to kill another person, she really didn't. But she had no choice if she wanted to escape this damned arena.
The arrow she fired at him missed.
Nine's laughter bounced around in the cool night. "Pathetic! You can't shoot straight to save your miserable life, Twelve! Might as well start running!"
Harper grit her teeth, bracing herself to drop everything and flee if this failed. He was coming closer, closer, closer … her heart was practically ripping out of her skinny chest thanks to its frantic rhythm, and she was shaking like a leaf.
He didn't realise she had a third arrow.
Not until it pierced him in the shoulder, and set fire to the rest of him.
The Capitol didn't know what to think of her.
Both her stylist, Marla, and the Capitol escort, Ferna Gleam, had clearly been expecting to never see her again. That she would die, just like twenty-two other kids in the arena. That the last thing that she'd ever wear was the clothes they stuffed her in to bury her.
But she was alive.
And Callum, her district partner, was not.
She had liked Callum. A quiet sixteen-year-old, from the Seam like her. He'd done better than her at the interviews and the training, and yet she was the one who made it out. Back home, he had a grandmother, parents, three younger sisters. All inevitably distraught and grieving.
With her newfound abundance of money, Harper made the promise to bring them food once a week.
She was interviewed several times, and dragged off to a photoshoot. Each time they would doll her up in pretty clothes and cosmetics and shoes that made her feet hurt. Each time afterwards, Harper would sit on the tiles in the shower, the steamy rose-perfumed water sliding over her bare, recently healed skin. She'd often be in there until the wee hours of the morning.
The Capitol seemed to be glad to be rid of her, as she boarded the train back to District Twelve.
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