Chapter Three

Originally we decide to keep thing simple, do things the District 12 way and just take our vows in private, at home. But I think about my mother and how she would like to be a part of such an important decision, and that makes me think of Prim. How, if she had been there, she would have made a big deal out of everything, how she talked for days about each one of the dresses the Capitol had sent for my first plans of a wedding ceremony. Peeta suggests compromising and having a simple celebration with close neighbors, friends, and what remains of our family. Hazelle and the kids are basically my extended family and I think of them next. Even though I haven't seen them since they moved to District 2 to be closer to Gale, I still want them to be a part of my new found happiness.

Gale. What will he say to an invitation? I can't invite his family and not him, but did I really want him to be there? As a friend yes, but the awkwardness of the situation gave me qualms. I decide to include his name on Hazelle's invite and leave it up to him. I am aware that Peeta is watching my growing list of guests carefully and know I am right when he seems relieved that I don't single Gale out specifically. Knowing the situation is uncomfortable for him too makes the decision feel like the correct one.

"If you're inviting your prep team then you have to invite Effie," Peeta reaches with the tip of his charcoal sketching pencil and taps the top of my paper on the table where I sit and stew over the details. This is getting to be an even bigger headache than I intended and, though Peeta is always willing to help, most of the planning seems to be falling on me. It is just a wedding, why does it have to be so complicated?

"Yeah…" I agree vaguely, but have my reservations. If Effie knows, everyone will know and that is the last thing I want.

Effie is added to the list nonetheless, lest we receive scathing admonitions for neglecting to include her. Delly Cartwright, Johanna Mason, Beetee, and Annie O'Dair and her baby…this small, intimate affair was quickly expanding into a rather large scale event.

"Where are we going to put all these people?" I moan, dropping my pencil and rubbing my tired eyes.

"Tie them up in trees for the night," Peeta suggests without looking up from his sketch of a beetle like insect which is an excellent source of sustenance in the wild if a person were ever in need of it. Scraps of paper litter the kitchen table beside his art supplies and my family book of survival tips we are working hard to finish. "Don't worry, Katniss. Between here, my house, and Haymitch, we'll make sure everyone has a place to stay."

"Haymitch?" I wrinkle my nose. "I wouldn't subject anyone to that pig sty."

"I'll make sure it's properly hosed down on the day."

"The house or Haymitch?"

"Both."

The television in the corner flashes on as the evening announcement from the Capitol arrives on the screen. Usually I ignore these, as I have no interest in government meetings, updates on the reconstruction going on in each district, or the latest footage of Sepathlon training. This new addition to Panem is Plutarch Heavensbee's idea. A seven part athletic competition to replace the Hunger Games, an annual event to be held in the Capitol where members of each district could send willing volunteers to represent their District and show off their skills in regulated hand-to-hand combat, strength exorcises, and endurance tests. The winners of each category of the competitions will receive medals, glory, and recognition for their Districts. Peeta and I had laughed at the concept when we first heard of it. Watching the training clips on television is like watching our own sessions before the Games, except for a few major differences: there are no weapons training, no survival tactics, and no fear in the eyes of the competitors that they are training to fight for their lives.

"Only Plutarch would come up with something like that," I had commented the first night the new games were announced.

"It's not an entirely new concept," Haymitch had pointed out. "There were once competitions held all over the world, just like this."

"It's so they can make money," Peeta input. "They're realizing just how much the thrill of the Games sustained the high cost of living in the Capitol."

It is true, but Putarch, head of the organization team for the Sepathlon, claims it's to bring pride and camaraderie to the Districts. After all, hadn't the 75 Hunger Game tributes shown great companionship both outside and in the arena?

"Yeah, when we weren't trying to kill each other off," I had muttered at the screen sardonically.

Maybe he has a point, but I don't want anything to do with it. I am just thankful there is no Reaping, no mandatory sign up for competitors. The fact that all participants have to be eighteen years or older also eases my distaste for the games, but if there is ever any talk of reverting to old customs I will pack up and leave. No fighting this time, I'll disappear into the woods and never return.

Tonight's broadcast doesn't say much about the ongoing plans for the upcoming Sepathlon. Within seconds of the opening greeting to the Districts from the Capitol, President Paylor appears on the screen with a grave face, and Peeta and I turn our complete attention to her words.

"Good evening, Panem," she begins. "I come to you tonight with an announcement that there are reports of grave criminal activity taking place in District 2 involving a rebel terrorist unit. According to official sources on the scene, a group referring to themselves as the Peace Restoration Force, or the PRF, has created a stronghold in the abandoned mines in District 2. Made up of old remnants of the now defeated ex-Capitol regime and their new recruits, the militant tribe triggered explosive, pre-laid devices within the children's wing of the newly constructed hospital, setting fire to the wing and killing all thirty-two patients, fifteen members of staff, and two hospital guards. In the aftermath of this tragedy, armed forces were sent, under the direction of intelligence informants, to where it was believed the PRF hideout was located. However, no traces of the rebels were found. The Capitol urges all Districts to be on alert, to keep a watchful eye for any suspicious activity in your areas as it is believed that the dissidents are on the run and seeking a new locale to set up further operations of terrorist activity. Our hearts go out to the families of the lost…"

I glance at Peeta whose eyes betray my same feelings of confusion and anger. This was supposed to be over. All of the old followers of President Snow were to have been captured, tried for their crimes, and sentenced. Who are these people and how were they missed?

"That's some intelligence if they knew who they were, where they were hiding, and what their intentions were but still couldn't stop it." Peeta voices my critical skepticism. "Why didn't they shut them down before this?"

I shake my head, thinking of only one thing. Gale works for the defense intelligence department in District 2. Was he a part of the team that missed the evidence of dissension? Or are the PRF, whatever they are, just that good at hiding their schemes? I don't know what to think about the whole ordeal, but am thankful that my mother is working in another District hospital and not in 2.

"Why just the kids though?" Peeta breaks into my thoughts. "Why not the whole building?"

"Because," I respond as the screen goes blank and the kitchen returns to its usual undisturbed quiet. "Because of the children killed at the Capitol." I close my eyes a moment, trying not to picture the image that still haunts my dreams, of Prim going up in flames while trying to save the Capitol's dying children in a bomb riddled pen before the President's mansion. "Blood for blood, it's only fair." My voice is empty with the meaninglessness of it all. Nothing ever changes, wars never end. They all go on and on without purpose. Peace time is nothing but a mutual agreement of cease fire, a timeout to collect the dead and plan the next move.

"This isn't over is it?" Peeta understands.

"No," I mutter. Not by a long shot.

I am right about Effie not being able to keep her mouth shut about the wedding. Within a day after I send out the invitations I receive a call from none other than Plutrach Heavensbee himself. He isn't looking for his invitation, isn't upset that his name missed the final count. All he goes on about is how excited he is that we are carrying through with the plan and how ecstatic all of Panem will be to finally witness the nuptials of their two favorite Victors.

"Witness? No, Plutarch, there will be no witnessing by any of Panem besides those here in District 12," I assure him firmly. Under no circumstances will they turn our wedding into a televised event, they had no cause anymore and I told him so.

"No cause? My dear girl, we have every cause," he acts taken aback by my hostile response. "You're the Mockingjay! Peeta is the Prince of Panem, the people need this! You can't deny them the pleasure of something so inspiring at a time like this!"

A time like this…full of fear of the rebels attacking more hospitals, the threat of livelihoods with word of seasonal floods in District 11 destroying whole fields of produce and wild fires in 7 causing a downturn in lumber production at time when every District is attempting to rebuild. Yes, I understand that spirits are low, but that isn't my problem. The Capitol needs to find another mascot for their agendas.

"No, Plutarch," I repeat with emphasis, telling him how it's going to be as Peeta appears at the door with an armload of fire wood, his hair damp from the rain falling steadily outside the kitchen window. "No cameras, no lead up specials or interviews. We're having a quiet ceremony, just us and a few friends."

Peeta meets my expression with raised eyebrows, listening carefully while stacking the wood and stoking the fire to dispel the chill from the room.

"I don't think we understand each other," Plutarch is trying to remain jovial. "I feel it my duty to remind you that you are still under watch, young lady. You assassinated a President of the Capitol in front of thousands of witnesses. It is by their grace that you were not executed or are even free to marry at all. I would jump the chance at airing the ceremony if I were you, Ms. Everdeen, or you might find your life in District 12 slightly less comfortable."

"That's blackmail!" I yell into the phone, disgusted and in complete disbelief.

"That's television, little bird."

I prepare to scream several more choice phrases at him for his deviousness when Peeta intercepts and snags the phone from my furious grip.

"Plutarch? Peeta here…yeah," he glances back at me as I slump into a chair and kick the table with my heel. He pauses to listen for several seconds looking exasperated by much calmer than I. "I understand. Yes, we would be honored to have you as a guest…"

I shoot him a vehement glare and open my mouth but Peeta waves me off before I can speak and turns away, blocking me out of the conversation.

"Of course, we agree completely. I can think of a few people myself who will be grateful for the opportunity to view the event from home. Yes…but there will need to be stipulations, you know that, Plutarch. Katniss and I don't want a big show. Only the guests we have already invited will be allowed to attend here in District 12, understood? We want a District 12 wedding, no fancy Capitol fanfare, no theatrics. And only one camera crew."

"Cressida!" I jump in, insistent that if we were going to do this I want someone I could trust running the show. "I want Cressida and Pollux only, no one else."

"Did you catch that, Plutarch?" Peeta turns back around and nods at my suggestion, repeating the request and insuring that it is followed.

"And I pick my dress," I add for good measure. "No voting or photo shoots, it's my wedding, my call."

Peeta lays out all of our demands and finalizes the details, promising Plutarch that we would keep in touch as the wedding day approaches. Hanging up, he sighs and leans against the wall near the phone, giving me an ingratiating look like I have been an unruly child.

"He's the devil," I snap, crossing my arms in a huff and refusing to look at him. "Why did you have to agree with him?"

"Because he's right," Peeta reasons. "As much as you may hate it, we owe them our lives. We owe Panem their devotion and if all they want is to see us say a few words and seal our marriage with a kiss, than why not? There's no harm in it as long as Plutarch keeps up his end of the deal. Nothing's changed, Katniss. Just one little camera in the crowd of people we care about, all there to support us."

I know that he is right and refrain from turning away in annoyance when he takes the chair next to me and pulls me into his arms.

"I don't care who is watching, I'll only be looking at you."

The comment receives the desired reaction he is waiting for as I roll my eyes, unable to hold back a short laugh. Peeta can be such a sappy romantic sometimes, but I can't deny that I love it and repay the courtesy with a kiss, curling up against his shoulder with a sigh.

"I guess I can handle one little camera," I relent.

"Yeah, and now that it's going to be televised you can break the news to Effie and put her to work planning the ceremony. You're off the hook."

"Effie," I groan, joining in Peeta's amusement. "Fine, but she's definitely not staying here for the duration."

"We'll bunk her up with Haymitch." He grins with a shrug and we laugh until our sides ache, cozy before the kitchen fire while the wind howls and whips the hard, cold rain against the window panes.