Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters or places in the Hunger Games trilogy. All of that belongs to their respective owners (Suzanne Collins/publishers.)
I am awoken by the sharp chiming of a bell tower. By the lack of light streaming in from the window, I can assume it is just before sun rise. It's a bit odd, the clashing noise of the bells. I can't imagine that many of the nobles who are attending court enjoy being woken up this early in the morning. From the stories I have heard, they all seem to have large parties every night. Nobody would choose to hear such violent chiming after a long night of drinking, not that I would know anything about that.
I've never been drunk before. We never had the money for anything like that. I had tried the liquor from the Hob once before but it was on the dime of somebody else. It had only made me feel a bit fuzzy and queasy. Nothing pleasant enough to explain how many people got drunk. Unlike the people in busier towns, the water in our village was fairly clean so the people who couldn't afford it tended not to drink a lot of ale. After all, water was free.
Forgetting the topic of alcoholic beverages, I force my body to remove itself from the comfort of the sheets. My aching tired body did a lot of good with the comfort of the soft sheets and supple bed. I had forgotten what a good night's rest felt like.
Surveying the room, I stand up and rub my wrists. The time spent in the cuffs and constraints had etched red marks around my wrists. It certainly wouldn't be the last time I would spend in cuffs. This wasn't good at all, sore wrists wouldn't manage well in work fields or kitchens. Perhaps I could barter something for some salve. Not that I had anything to trade with anyways.
Peering into the small mirror that lies on the wall across from the door, I take in my appearance. I have deep dark circle under my plain grey eyes, my hair looks dull, and my body looks dirty. I'm not very attractive at the moment. The first thing I notice, however, as I turn around towards the door is the dress hanging next to the door. Somebody must have come in while I was sleeping and placed it there.
It's a real odd thing to leave a dress for a prisoner. Perhaps they thought that my current use of breeches was unacceptable if I was to be surrounded by men in the work fields (or if I was lucky, slaving away in a rich person's kitchen) . I do recall one of the guards making a comment about it. These would all be exceptional theories if the dress was the slightest bit practical. It's a simple thing compared to what ladies wear at court, but it is far nicer than anything I own as the present. The long sleeved pale orange dress is far too light in color to be used for any occasion that involves working, it would get dirty far too quickly. All of my dresses back home were black or navy for this very reason.
Maybe it isn't for me? I think to myself. But who else would it be for? Nobody else uses this room, and I can't imagine they would leave it in my possession if it was meant for anybody else. Being assured that it is mine, I step forward and remove it from the hook. Holding it out I can tell it is in one of the most fashionable styles as the long sleeves and neck to hemline buttons indicate. It's a bit difficult to get on and it requires a lot of wrangling to button it from the behind, but in ten minutes I have slipped my old clothes off and fitted on the dress.
This time when I look into the mirror I look far more attractive. The dress fits me perfectly and the color pulls away from the dirt on my face and in my hair. I take out the scrap of fabric that hold my hair in place and run my fingers through it before rebraiding. There is no point in not looking presentable. Especially if I was lucky and I was going to be meeting an employer today.
After adjusting my appearance I return to sit on the bed and wait patiently for somebody to escort me out of my room. It's not long before somebody enters the room, but this time it isn't a guard or a soldier. Instead, the person who enters is a small dark haired girl around Prim's age who introduces herself as Rue.
I notice that when she enters the door locks behind her, as if somebody else has accompanied her. No reason to give me a chance to escape.
Rue looks up at me, "I was sent here to get you ready and help you into your dress, but I see that will not be needed," the girl says, her voice revealing that she's somewhat afraid. It's probably been a long time since she has seen a criminal. I highly doubt they let palace maids like her see the gallows.
"No, I guess you don't have to do anything," I respond as I stand up and cross the room to meet her.
She pushes the bucket she is holding forward, "Here. There is a sponge in there too so you can wash yourself. Knock twice on the door when you are finished." The girl shoves the bucket into my hands and quickly exits the room, barely allowing a second to go by after the door is opened before flinging herself into the hallway.
I had never imagined I could scare anybody that much. It's unsettling to know that children are afraid of you, especially when those children look like Prim.
After the door is shut I examine the contents of the bucket. It's nothing special, just some water and a sponge, but it will do fine for the purpose of cleaning myself up. I will never know when I might get a chance to be clean again. After squeezing the sponge of excess water I scrub away the dirt from my arms, neck, and face. Finally I look presentable. Not even just that, I almost look pretty. What a waste, to look pretty when you are just a prisoner.
When I'm done I do as I'm told, knocking on the door twice and standing back as the door is opened. The guard waiting for me is different than the two from last night. This one is taller and older. He's of a higher rank too, with metals and a gold band around his waist. Far more than any common prisoner needs.
The man motions for me to turn around, which I comply to, allowing him to cuff my wrists and pull me forward down the stairs that we took last night.
"I'm afraid that we are going to be taking a special route today," the guard says in a softer tone than I am used to being spoken in, "You will not be sent to a judge as you would usually be assigned. Instead, we have made other arrangements."
"Other arrangements?" I ask him.
"It isn't my place to answer that Miss," he says as we reach the landing and come into what must be the courtyard from last night.
In the morning light I can see more details of the place. A desolate stone fountain along one wall, carved mahogany doors across from the gate, and several flowering bushes reaffirm my thoughts from the night before. This courtyard was certainly not meant for any prisoners of my status.
There is a simple black carriage waiting at the gates. It's a lot nicer than the cart that Gale and I were brought in, so I'm suprised when the guard loads me into the passenger section and accompanies me inside. I'm not exactly an expert on these things, but I cannot imagine they normally transport prisoners to court in real carriages. It is just the cherry on the top in terms of odd events that have happened during my arrest.
The carriage journeys through the different sections of the palace. With only the clop! clop! of the horses to break the silence, my wanders off to the thoughts of Gale. I wonder if he too is being treated in the way that I have been. I'm not stupid though. It is highly unlikely that Gale got more than a cell and some stale bread.
When we finally stop we pull into a side door around the central location of the palace. With my wrists still chained, I have to wait for the guard to exit first and come around to help me out. It's awful being that defenseless. I couldn't protect myself if I tried.
We are pulled into what must be a back hallway since there aren't many people other than the few guards and myself. It's still fairly luxurious though, with marble flooring and gold accents along the molding. I wonder what it would be like to live in such a grand place your entire life. Seeing this everyday must make a person not appreciate it as much. If there is one thing to be happy about, it's that everything seems marvelous in comparison to the life I have been given.
Eventually when we reach the more crowded section of the palace I am handed off to another guard. The new guard is younger, probably just back from war. Unlike the previous guard he barely looks me in the eyes as he shoves me through the mingling crowd of servants and nobles that bustle through the central hallways.
Much to my thanks the crowd is far too preoccupied to notice me. Perhaps the dress is the reason they don't notice my cuffs. The color and style blend nicely with the throngs of people.
The guard finally stops pushing me around when we reach a door at the end of a small hallway. The room appears to be somewhat hidden or placed aside from the main quarters, obscured from view unless you have followed a maze of passageways. The two guards posted outside of the ornate door open it almost immediately as we come into view. They must have been expecting us, as they don't check identification.
This time the guard doesn't bring me inside. He stops at the doorway and motions for me to go inside. When I don't comply immediately, he gives me a little shove into the room. It's some sort of throne room from what I can tell. The walls are covered in recognizable tapestries from different times in my country's history, dark red curtains pulled across the sides, a warm light cast from a gold chandelier in the center of the ceiling. It's a very expensive room, that I can tell, but it isn't the chandelier or the wallpaper that catches my breath.
No, what surprises me is the man sitting in the large gold and damask chair in the center of the room. Surrounded by a number of bookkeepers and secretaires of some sort, the man demands the attention of everybody in the room. To any stranger who visited this room, it would be very apparent that he was in charge. He's changed quite a bit, the familiar gold locks pulled back in the current fashion, his jawline sporting the slight presence of light stubble, and the once undefined shoulders sporting a gold cloak over his lush green jacket. But it's the same man, and the sparkle in his bright blue eyes is evidence of that.
Regardless of how he may change his appearance, you never forget the face of somebody who has saved your life once. You certainly don't forget the face of somebody who has saved your life twice.
Peeta.
Author's Note: There is the update:) Any constructive criticism is welcome and appreciated. In advance, this is not betaed because my internet/power is flickering and I wanted to get this up while I can. Let me know if you enjoyed it by giving a review.
As always, you can follow me on tumblr at starveinsafety.