Author Note: Hello Everyone and welcome to The Mentor on Fire. Just a few quick words before you read this story. Number one, thank you to Suzanne Collins for her wonderful books that so many of us base our FanFiction on. Obviously all the characters and story lines you recognize are hers. Number two, I know that the original 70th Hunger Games was Annie's year, but for the sake of this story, she won the 69th Hunger Games instead.

Happy Reading!

Katniss screams as the roof of the hut she has sheltered in for the last few days rips off in the torrential winds that have suddenly swept over the arena. This is it, Katniss thinks. The finale.

Katniss leaps to her feet and looks over her meagre possessions. A wild dog leg she had been saving for dinner and a small backpack containing a sleeping bag, first aid kit, one litre water bottle and a small knife. She grabs the knife and leaves the rest of it behind, she won't be needing it anymore. Her bow and arrows are already slung over her shoulder as she makes her way out of the hut.

The boom of the cannon goes off as debris fly dangerously close to Katniss's head. Just the three of us then Katniss thinks. The strong winds are lessening the closer she gets to the town square of the abandoned village that is their arena.

The Cornucopia glints in the distance as Katniss makes her way down a street of rubble and half fallen down shopfronts. Katniss turns the corner and stops suddenly. About ten metres in front of her the two remaining tributes are wrestling on the ground, bright red blood splattered on the dirt and bricks. Katniss holds her breathe, willing herself not to move a single muscle. But it doesn't matter, between the wind and the brutal fighting, the other two tributes are completely oblivious to her presence.

Katniss watches as the boy from District Two, Pax, and Zyron, the male tribute from One, throw punch after punch at each other, trying to gain the upper hand as they roll around in the dirt and rubble.

Katniss continues to watch the bloody battle in horror, hoping that the boy tributes will somehow be able to finish each other off. They seem far too evenly matched though and the longer she stands there, the more she is at risk of being seen by the boys. She knows what she has to do. Katniss draws her bow, takes a deep breath and watches as her arrow lands squarely in Pax's head.

Pax falls back to the ground and Zyron looks wildly around. He spots Katniss standing tall with her bow and laughs.

"I don't know what I'm more amazed at, that you somehow landed that shot or the fact that you are still alive" Zyron says, pushing Pax's body off of him and standing up with a cocky grin on his face. "In fact, we had forgotten that you even existed".

"Not for long though" Zyron says as he charges towards her.

Katniss shots an arrow at Zyron's chest but it misses, the arrow lodging in his left bicep. Zyron screams in anger as he tackles Katniss to the ground.

"I'm going to enjoy watching you die" Zyron snarls, pressing his right forearm down against her throat. Katniss is no match for Zyron in hand to hand to combat. His large, muscled frame easily dwarfs her tiny twelve-year-old body. Zyron is paying little attention to Katniss's exact movements however, assuming he is mere seconds away from winning. He doesn't see her reach up and pull the arrow from where it still lies in his left arm dangling at his side. He looks down just in time to see the tip of the arrow as it spears him straight through the eye. Blood gushing from his eye onto Katniss, Zyron rolls off of her, clutching his face in pain. Katniss takes the opportunity to slip the small knife from her pocket and slit Zyron's throat.

The cannon booms.

I wake suddenly, gasping for breath and sweat dripping from my face. Just a dream I think, just a dream. But I swear I can still hear the cannon booming in my head and Claudius Templesmith announcing me, Katniss Everdeen, as the winner of the 70th Hunger Games.

I always dream of my games on reaping day. This will be my fourth-year mentoring and it is yet to get any easier. At least during most of the year I am generally left alone, with just the occasional interview or television special that I am obliged as a victor to participate in. Not during the games though. Every year I am forced to accompany Haymitch and our two tributes to the Capitol, where I am pushed into the spotlight that I hate. As the youngest ever victor of the Hunger games, I doubt the Capitol's fascination with me will die down anytime soon. I am second only to Finnink Odair, the handsome winner of the games five years before me, in popularity.

I look through the gap in my curtains and see the sun just beginning to rise over the hills of District Twelve. Knowing I will never get back to sleep now, I slip out of bed and make my way to the bathroom. I splash cold water over my face and look up at my reflection in the mirror. The dark circles under my eyes look almost purple in the morning light and nearly all my hair has escaped from my braid, probably as I thrashed around during my nightmare. I sigh and quickly redo my braid and brush my teeth. At least I should be able to get a few hours of hunting in before the reaping.

I don't hunt because I have to of course. The winnings from the games are more than enough to keep my family fed and clothed. Initially I kept hunting once I returned to District Twelve as a means of self-defence. I was so close to being choked to death by Zyron in those final seconds of the games. I had one good shot and I missed. I vowed to never let someone who wanted to hurt me get that close ever again. After that I kept hunting to keep myself occupied and sane. Haymitch drinks and I shoot, we all have our coping mechanisms.

I return to the house a couple of hours later to find both Prim and my mother awake and fully dressed. They both look up from the kitchen table as I enter, my game bag only half full.

"Good morning Katniss, would you like some breakfast?" My mother asks quietly, her eyes not quite reaching mine.

"Just tea, please" I answer. I know reaping day is also hard on my mother. Four years ago, my mother still racked with grief over the death of my father, had to watch her eldest daughter being reaped. A twelve-year-old being reaped is essentially a death sentence.

I sit down at the kitchen table next to Prim. She is wearing the same blue dress I wore to my first reaping four years ago.

"Hey there little Duck"

Prim looks up at me, her eyes shining with tears. "Hi Katniss" she whispers softly.

"Prim, you have nothing to worry about, I promise." I try to reassure her, guessing the reason behind her tears.

"But what if I'm picked? You were picked at your first reaping, you can't say it doesn't happen".

"Yes, but I also had three extra slips for the tesserae, something you will never have to do".

I see my mother grow slightly red in the cheeks at my comment. I don't blame her for having to take out the tesserae in my name, we were starving at the time and had very little choice. But I also can't help wondering every now and then if I still would have been picked had I only had one slip in that bowl. Were the odds ever in my favour?

Prim at least, looks slightly cheered up. I can't tell her the real reason I am so sure she won't be picked today. Snow knows that Prim is the key to keeping me in line as a victor. Ever since the incident years ago I have been on my best behaviour, he would have no reason to punish me today. Plus, if she was dead he would lose the only real advantage he has over me, and I'm sure he wouldn't want that.

We clear our dishes and I head upstairs to get changed before we make our way into town for the reaping. It doesn't matter what I wear, my prep team will change it before the reaping anyway. Years of practice (and reluctance and complaining on my part), means my prep team can dress and style me in less than an hour. "If only you'd let us do it properly for once" they always mutter. But I like simple make-up and clothes and they know I have Cinna on my side.

A rush of affection goes through me as I think of Cinna. Seeing him is one of the only things I look forward to when going to the Capitol. He could have easily left for a more prestigious district, but he adamantly refuses to leave his post of District Twelve's stylist. I think he partially feels responsible for me too, as he has continued to dress me since I became a victor.

I will never forget the words he said to me when we first met. How he has never seen a braver twelve-year-old get reaped. How he knew even when I didn't, that I could somehow make it out alive. I told him all about my eight-year-old sister Prim, how I had to win so that she wouldn't starve to death.

Before I know it, I am being led up to the stage by Effie Trinket, the District Twelve escort. Haymitch sits to my left and I try to keep my face calm as Mayor Undersee reads his speech. I don't hear a single word. I know that Prim won't be chosen, but I can't help the anxiety that builds up inside me as Effie walks over to the female tribute's bowl. What if I'm wrong about Snow? What if he has decided to punish me by reaping Prim?

"Willow Kurtz!"

I let out a low sigh, instant relief flooding through me, followed quickly by guilt. I have no idea who Willow Kurtz is, but I'm sure she must have a family who will miss her. Then I see the young girl walking up to the stage from the back of the crowd and I feel worse. She can't be more than twelve, is worryingly skinny and definitely from the Seam.

Willow finally reaches the stage, looking like she might faint at any moment. Perhaps Effie sees this too as she quickly reaches for a slip from the boy tributes bowl.

"Peeta Mellark!"

Fuck.