They lived their afternoons in the steps of Katniss' lullaby.
Deep in the meadow, under the willow.
It was a graveyard now, one they didn't tell the children about. One they pretended wasn't there. She found Haymitch out there some nights, Katniss too, mourning lives that should have past them by far too long ago.
It was Effie's idea to get out to the meadow more than they had initially done. Picnics, on a warm Sunday happened every possible week since River was born. They avoided the slush in the winter months, opting to stay indoors, rather than catch a cold and soiled clothes.
The sun was earnest, on that particular day. A gentle breeze kept them cool. It teased at the empty ends of the picnic blanket, the corner opposite from Effie was free, no longer held down by Peeta Mellark. He had abandoned his place to chase his daughter across the grass. She was beautiful, long dark hair and bright blue eyes, the perfect mixture between both her parents. At five-years-old she was creative, out-spoken, curious and inquisitive. There was never a second where she was not asking questions or testing the boundaries of her little life.
She knew about The Games, she had started asking questions. Effie could see the pain on her parent's faces, the agony, discomfort. They fought to find the right words, coming to Effie in the middle of the night for the answers they, themselves, sought.
'Aunt Effie!' River squealed, panting as she ran towards her aunt, ignoring her mother and brother, hands full of flowers. 'Can I put flowers in your hair?' She asked, softly, blue eyes blown wide. River had mastered the art of getting what she wanted. Puppy dog eyes, her father had called them. She held her chin down, her little lips pulled into a pout, as she batted her eye lashes over big blue eyes.
Effie had no need to say no to the girl. She got everything she ever asked for from her favourite aunt. Dress up, especially. Effie's hair had grown long in the years after the rebellion, it fell down her back in thick waves. The little girl loved it, had done since she was born.
'Please, please, please?' she begged, hands full with buttercups, asters, clovers and daisies. Effie nodded with an easy smile, the one that was permanently in place for the daughter of her victors. She pulled her hair away from her shoulders and fanned it out across her back. River squealed again, her five-year-old enthusiasm made her uncle laugh and her mother smile.
She was peppering flowers in Effie's hair, giggling as she placed them with intricate attention. Haymitch was beside her, offering his support as the little girl tapped his hip with her bare foot, occasionally, begging for praise. Effie asked that he checked the girl was not tangling her hair in knots. Haymitch never answered her concerns, only kissed her cheek with a playful smile. He told River that she was doing a beautiful job with gruff disinterest before he offered to help.
Haymitch chuckled as he made sure to tie a vibrant blue knapweed to one end of his partner's curly tresses. His throaty chuckling caught the little ears of West, which bristled at the man's laughter, intrigued. The two-year-old, with his father's blond hair and his mother's seam eyes, adored Haymitch. He couldn't get enough of the rough-and-tumble old man who secretly ruffled his hair and kissed his cheeks when no one was looking.
West picked himself up, out of his mother's lap, and ran on chubby leg, full bolt into Haymitch's unsuspecting chest. The man gasped sharply, taken aback, before he turned to the boy, bopping him on the nose. West howled with laughter, his little head thrown back as he giggled with his small teeth bared.
'All done, Aunt Effie. You're a flower princess, and this is your kingdom!' River moved to stand beside her, her arms outstretched above her head as she span around. The meadow wasn't her kingdom, she was not a princess; not to anyone but Haymitch and that little girl. It, however, was her home, it housed her family, she did feel like a queen for being that lucky.
They spent their Sundays as a family, in the meadow, above a graveyard. Ghosts haunted them, shadows in their sleep, anger in their voices. After twenty years it was a tedious game. Living with the angst, with the anger, with the inability to find complete solitude.
But there are much worse games to play, worse places to live, worse situations to exist within. They were happy for all that they had, all that they would ever get. They were happy for the peace, for the love, for the children.
They were happy.