AN: I do not own The Hunger Games Series. That's Suzanne Collins. And I've always thought that while the Hunger Games were good, and that I loved the female protagonist (as I'm female myself), she didn't seem to cater to Peeta's skill set. That's what I've set out to do. The Mockingjay will still be Katniss, but this is an AU. Let's see where it takes us.
Arc One: The Scholar.
Prologue.
If I had known the trouble a simple rhyme would have given me, maybe I wouldn't have had my father recite it to me every night before bed.
If I had known wondering why our country's so-called democracy had a Presidency that has been handed down from parent to child without a single call for elections would have sent a white rose to our doorstep, maybe I wouldn't have spoken up.
If I had known convincing others that maybe we could change what was happening here at least would have landed me in a room which I share with three others; broken mockeries of the people they used to be, never seeing my district again until I was like those roommates of mine, maybe I wouldn't have done that.
But no.
I did ask my father to recite the family rhyme to me every night of my early childhood.
I did wonder why free elections in Panem suddenly disappeared.
I did convince others to try and change what was happening in our district.
And despite everything, I'm glad I'm here. Because it means I did something. It means the Capitol finds me a threat. That President Snow is aware of what I am and can do.
And it means that I was strong enough to be placed here, in a room with others my age, two of which are slotted to return to their district at long last as shells of the people they used to be. And I can see the spirit of my third roommate breaking before my eyes. That one is slotted to return within the next three months.
The four of us all arrived here at the same time.
I haven't broken yet, and I hope I never will, but circumstances change. I could. I've kept going though because unlike the others who built their beliefs on little clues they found in our history texts, I have some reinforcements. A reminder of a time before the Dark Days; handed down from parent to child for generations.
A rhyme.
My father and I walked through the meadow many times when I was still very young, tooyoung to learn much physically but old enough to remember things well. On this occasion the air was filled with the sounds of melodious birds, and often I would see them flitting about – whites and grays and blacks – from tree to tree in the not far off forest just beyond the fence.
"Dad, what's that?"
"Ah, that little one, is a Mockingjay."
"A Mockingjay?"
"That's right."
"They sound pretty."
"That they do. Do you know there's an old rhyme about them?"
"Really?"
"Yup."
"What's it called?"
"See them there? How many can you see?"
"Um… One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Eight!"
"Eight for a wish."
"Huh."
"Listen carefully little one. It goes like this:
One for sorrow,
Two for joy.
Three for girls,
Four for boys.
Five for silver and
Six for gold,
Seven for a secret ne'er to be told.
Eight for a wish,
Nine for a kiss,
Ten for an aim that ne'er will miss.
Eleven for a pen,
Twelve to survive,
Thirteen for worlds that restore – life.
You see?"
"I don't understand Daddy…"
"One day you will. Now how many you saw again?"
"Eight!"
"And if you count eight…?"
"I get a wish!"
"Wish away my child."
I never told him what I wished. And now, I never will. Funny thing though, that wish never really came true, it came true in part but I'll never know if it can come to completion. Not now.
Not that I'm in this 'School for the Gifted' – surrounded by the best of District 3 security and District 2 checkpoints.
Not while I'm encased in the Capitol.
Where would I go if I were to escape? I know from our geography lessons last year that this school is next to the President's home, and that everyone in the Capitol wants their kids to come here.
Where's here?
The Coriolanus Snow School for the Gifted and Talented – established when he was twenty, the first year after he took the presidency. Counting this year, the year in which I turn sixteen, it has been around for 45 years.
There are three types of students here, the first are the 'private schoolers' of the Capitol – they are just here to get the best possible education. Then there are the 'grant holders' – they are usually from the 'Career' districts. These student usually have very strong leanings towards P.E – guess what they do in those sessions?
Then there are people like me.
We are known as the 'Scholars', here by invitation-only. What we get is probably ideal for others: three Capitol meals a day, free medication and health checkups; and something which is attractive to most of us who live in the districts, complete exemption from the Hunger Games.
I'd rather take the Games.
Supposedly, to be offered an invitation to the Coriolanus Snow School for the Gifted and Talented is a great honour. That's a lie if I'd ever heard one. A 'Scholar' is called because we put things together, we can influence people and we can see what others don't. We are a threat to the Capitol, to the President, and so when we get called and are placed in the so-called 'High Honours' class – we get brainwashed, the most resistant ones to the brainwashing get hijacked. It only takes a year to a year and a half to create a quivering mess of a previously strong and defiant boy or girl.
I do not know why I'm still fine, maybe a little insane from seeing my classmates from the different districts break before my eyes, but compared to them? The brainwashing, hijacking combination 'therapy sessions' haven't been doing their job right. I don't know, but either I have a random gene that allows me some resistance or someone, somewhere has decided to be nice and do a shoddy job.
I think the random gene theory is more likely, Capitol people are too much under Snow's control.
My name's Peeta Mellark. I'm sixteen years old. I have a gift for words. I haven't seen my district in a little over a year. For some reason, the 'therapy' is not working on me. And Snow has called me to dine with him.