Disclaimer: To this very day I still own nothing of this story except for the OCs and portions of the plot.

Chapter XXV: We Remember

Hadrian "Thorin" Marlowe

District One is not very different than District Two, in the sense that it is large and undeniably run by a larger force than the Capitol. However… it seems much more joyful than District Two; when our train pulls into the station, I can see that House Kjarten's banners are not only displayed proudly, but many of the residents also bear the massive emerald green sea serpent slithering across a field of a deep aqua blue in some form on their body.

But most of all—the people of the District seem to enjoy the fact that they are in House Kjarten's dominion; in fact, many of them seem proud of it. Those that stay to greet us actually greet me warmly with a customary bow from the Mountains; in truth it is rather warming. I am sure they do not know of the animosity that my House bear—or bore, I should say—for their rulers.

This warm welcome was not what I expected, I must say, at least for me; Katniss I could see them welcoming, but least of all me.

After all, I killed both their tributes, having practically gutted Marvel—well, there's no practically, I suppose; my sword had pierced him so many times that his entrails were hanging through his back. I have no qualms about this, and have thus elected to say little, if anything.

The District is incredibly impressive, though not surprising for a place known to be the Capitol's lapdogs. Tall buildings climb nearly as high as those in the Capitol, and reflect a similar sort of architecture, though not without the stone greys that are an essential colour of Mountain-folk. There are many round, dome-like buildings rather than sharp-cornered ones, not unlike how places of importance are carved in mountains. These must be places of work, as there are many openings that billow out smoke; I am not sure what the District's exports are, at least not in detail, so I cannot say what sort of buildings they may be.

Most buildings have long windows, spanning much of the sides that face us. The interiors are luxurious and very cutting-edge, near Capitol-level, but the mountain influence is obvious. Many of them have large fire-pits in the middle of their sitting rooms, which are also very large typically; for every five or so houses, there is at least one smithy in between them. Each building proudly flies House Kjarten's banner.

I have rarely felt quite so welcome and unwelcome at the same time.

Tristyn and Alexander guide Katniss and I to the District square, with a healing Skald and a few members of House Sunglass and House Tawney, bannermen of House Kjarten that seem to have a great amount of respect for my House trailing behind and scouting a little further. Among them are Devan Sunglass, the House's heir, and his betrothed, Miranna Tawney, who are both very friendly and actually regard me quite honourably; according to them, Marvel was a "tall little shit" and they were pleased to see him gutted.

The population of the District is incredibly massive. There's at least twenty thousand people gathered here, all here to see my speech. I notice, moving amongst them, that many of them bare features of Mountain-folk: dark hair, grey eyes, and muscular bodies. A few openly carry weapons like swords and axes, and even warhammers and bows. It's a little unnerving, to know that there are thousands of people before you that could kill you if you so much as stepped out of line.

I squeeze Katniss's hand gently, more for my reassurance than her own. Tristyn and Alexander walk before us, the Sunglasses and Tawneys forming a bit of a perimeter as we move onto the stage. They back off slightly, but still keep around us in such a manner that they could rush to defend us if the need arose; Devan gives me a roguish grin as the crowd suddenly goes silent. Bright lights swivel around on platforms before shining on us as camera crews move into position to watch us.

And that is when he appears, a man who can be none other than Lord Nikolas Merser. He's incredibly tall, no less than seven and a half feet in height, and solidly built with broad shoulders and large hands that move constantly in sweeping gestures, as if he's pantomiming using a warhammer—which, to my understanding, is his weapon of choice. He's dressed in a charcoal grey suit that seems to counter his natural, untamed look. His long black hair flows unbound over his shoulders like a dark waterfall, and his left eye is an oddly pale blue, the right grey, but it doesn't seem to fit his face.

The people of his District seem to respect him, much in the manner as those of District Two respect Lord Aurelius, but these people appear to truly love him. He speaks to them as one would speak to their children, with much affection and care; it's no surprise that the District loves him, for he loves them—or at least seems to.

After the typical speech of how great the Capitol is and all that bull, Lord Merser bows to the people and withdraws, giving us the microphone with a smile that looks somewhat grotesque.

Katniss takes the microphone first. "People of District One—though I cannot speak from personal experience, as I never had prolonged exposure to your tributes, I do not regret their deaths." This is apparently not a shock to these people. In fact, some seem to laugh at this, as if it were expected. "I realise that this was a fight or survive game, but to kill an innocent child in such a brutal way is unforgivable," she says loudly, forcefully.

I chime in with, "Life, death, balance it may be," I say, reflecting on House Sunglass's words. "Justice and honour reign above all." I finish with House Tawney's words.

"And it most certainly was not honour with which he struck her down. He could have at least fought on fair ground, rather than catching her whilst her back was turned!"

"And that is why I do not regret gutting him like the fucking—" Alexander's hand clamps around my mouth as I let out a few muffled grunts. I relax a little and he drops his hand, slapping me on the back once for good measure and giving me a dark gaze, not quite a glare.

"Now, Glimmer—she is a different story. I only exchanged words with her once, and in mocking," says Katniss, "so I will pass it to Thorin."

Sighing I take up the microphone. "I had spoken with Glimmer multiple times throughout the training sessions. I will not go into details on what was said, only that she had attempted to seduce me more than once. I'll admit, at the time it wasn't exactly unwelcome," this earns a few laughs from the audience, "but at the same time, it did not spare her. When the time came for me to assault the pack and buy time for Katniss to escape, she simply happened to be the lookout, and thus it was her that died first. I cannot say I regret it, nor do I relish in it; it was… necessary. But nevertheless, for this one I shall apologise."

This earns applause from some of the crowd. Lord Merser steps forward and thanks us, congratulating us once more. "Now—as many of you know, it is my son Byrant's nameday today, and I would like to extend the invitation to Hadrian and Katniss, as well as their guards, to join in the feast."

"We accept," I say at once, "and we thank you for your generosity and hospitality, Lord Merser." Alexander, Tristyn and Skald all murmur their assent, and Katniss nods, not knowing the proper way of accepting such invitations.

Nobody

The Wildlings arrived in District One astride massive destriers early that morning. They had been given shelter and food out of the generosity of the Mountain-lord, being housed only a few rooms away from Lord Merser himself. Fifty of them had rode in; Farkas and Vilkas Payne, Thoring Grimm, Frederick Marlowe, and several other members of many different Houses; the Wildlings are not a picky bunch. There were Aureliuses and Marlowes, Paynes and Grimms, Sunglasses, Tawneys, Shawneys, Allyrions, Tullys, just about one form every major House.

Lord Nikolas had given them an immense amount of hospitality, seeing that each was fed like royalty and well-acquainted with the members of his House.

But Vilkas Payne held no love for these people, especially when he saw Lord Merser's heir.

Bryant Merser was no taller than Thoring, but much more lithe than the old Wildling commander. Long black hair styled in a similar manner to his father's spilled about his shoulders, but two piercing frost-blue eyes gazed cautiously from his tan face. One long horizontal scar ran parallel to his chin from the bottom of his left ear to the bottom of the other.

Yet what got Vilkas the most was the weapon he carried. It was none other than Worldcarver, the weapon of the Paynes, forged by Tyrfingr Arnthorrsson in the flames of Vvardenfell. When he saw it the young Payne nearly reached for it, but his better judgment prevented it. Farkas turned and looked at his brother, and his expression said it all. The greatsword wielder nodded shortly and hurried off to speak with Frederick and a few other Wildlings.

Hadrian "Thorin" Marlowe

"Sunglasses! Tawneys! Paynes, Grimms, Allyrions, Shawneys, Tullys, Marlowes, Aureliuses, Sprytes, Blackfyres, Peakes, Pykes, Boltons, Hornwoods… the list goes on and on! We all are gathered here today as honoured guests at the nameday feast of my son and heir, Byrant Merser!" calls Lord Nikolas from his seat at the head of the dining hall. "I would like to thank you for your presence, it means so much to my children and I. Now please, set aside any enmities that you may have for one another and feast! Drink, laugh, have fun! To the Mountains and their folk! May we endure forever!"

At least ten thousand mugs are lifted from the long tables and clanked together with a loud roar, before all is silenced for many gulps. I number among these ten-thousand; at my right is Alexander, to his right is Tristyn, and then Haymitch; to my left is Katniss, then Skald and Frederick. We have been gathered in the base of House Kjarten's seat, in their great hall.

It's massive; it would put Ered Luin's gathering hall to shame, I am sad to say. The ceiling is high and curved, with many chandeliers wrought from iron and emblazoned with gems of many colours; the Kjarten serpent dances on every wall, at least fifteen banners on each side, and one massive banner hanging behind Lord Merser. Roaring fires blaze in every brazier, casting a warm glow over everything; servants bustle around carrying trays of mugs and platters of food, and a chorus wanders around strumming on lutes and guitars, singing loudly:

"The fate of us all lies deep in the dark

When time stands still at the Iron Hill!"

They sing of the long-ago skirmish between the Capitol and the Mountain-folk of House Ragnar, in which they decimated an entire legion of Peacekeepers before losing their lord at the hands of then-President Hrolf Allyrion, a corrupt man who ended up in this effort being useless as his daughter turned around and married the next son of House Ragnar. I have to laugh a little at the irony of this song.

At my side, Katniss is more than a little tense; she has never been around so many Mountain-folk; the gathering in Ered Luin is the most she had ever seen, and that was not even a fraction of how many are present. But that isn't what's off; she and I both know it.

Whispers have been passed around, of rebellion, betrayal and murder—all targeted at Lord Merser's son Byrant. This seemingly amiable young heir has not earned many friends, it seems; but most disturbing of all is that these whispers seem to have originated from the Payne twins two tables away. I know that it is Vilkas's greatest wish to reclaim Worldcarver, but would he truly be willing to murder someone just to get it back? His brother seems to have doubts about this, and at least be less than enthusiastic about this. Farkas has always been more sensible.

Jon Sunglass, Devan's cousin, sits across from me; it is him from whom we hear the rumour. He's a soft-spoken man, but he seems to be rather interested in this plan. He's ridden with the Wildlings since he was fourteen, and now ten years have passed and he seems to trust Vilkas's judgment above all else.

As the night draws on we drink, eat and laugh; more than a few brawls break out. Jon Sunglass grins at me from across the table as Devan knocks an Aurelius to the ground with one punch. "We drink, we fight; we make our ancestors proud!" he says quite happily.

At the end of the evening, before we must return to the train, we respectfully make our way up to the Lord's table and, bowing before him, thank him for his hospitality. He accepts our thanks with a smile; we then bow before his son and give him blessings on his nameday, which he very graciously accepts. I was right—he is very likable; there is no way that the usual kind-hearted Vilkas could want to kill him.

There is something wrong with Vilkas; something wrong with this whole ordeal. But we must return to the train right away; there is no time for me to question this. But with all my might I pray to Ather, Oion, Enir and Ofmjir that they will not follow this crazy notion; there must be some other way.

But should this whim be followed, then I fear for the future of our people.

Nobody

The calm, placid eyes of Vilkas Payne fall across those gathered before him at the long wooden table; the nameday feast ended several hours ago, and all have returned to their respective places. All except the Wildlings, who have gathered in Thoring Grimm's sitting room, which can barely fit them all.

Fifty of them around a large table, speaking in hushed tones as the sounds of a bard's drum silences them to any who may try and listen. "I'm telling you, Rydan Shawney! Arin Storm is the key to this plan," argues Jon Sunglass, slamming his fist against the table. "You saw how Merser fought to get his bastard brother at the table, despite his protests, didn't you? Lord Nik is sending Arin with us on the next ranging; if we can get Byrant to see his brother off…"

"Then we can kill him as soon as we're out of the gates," finishes Vilkas coolly. Despite Thoring's occasional input and stern expression, it is clear that Vilkas is in charge in this moment. "And Worldcarver will be in the hands of its rightful owners once more."

"Then it will be done!" says Bran Morrigen. "But who is the question?"

It is his brother Hakon who speaks up. "I will—urp!—do-o-o it," he slurs drunkenly.

A few laughs go around; Hjalti Hornwood spills his mead, and Vignar Tully simply says, "Sit down, Hakon!"

"Why yes sir, I will have a-an-another!" burps Hakon before putting his head on the table and dozing off.

"I think you've had quite enough," replies Vilkas in an even tone, the sheer way he said it making people laugh.

Farkas, however, frowns slightly. "Brother, I have just one question about all this."

"Yes, little brother?" asks Vilkas, his look softening.

"Why can we not simply ask him to return it? Surely if he is of any sense he will realise that Worldcarver belongs to House Payne," he wonders. Vilkas smiles slightly at his younger brother.

"If only all men were like you, Farkas. Good-hearted, knowing right from wrong," replies the elder Payne brother, "but the world is not like that. Things are not returned simply because one asks for it back; if they are stronger than you, they will keep it until such a time you can take it back… and this is that time."

Farkas frowns once more, but nods. This is not his brother, but he knows that there is no way to dissuade him; this is a man driven by the urge to reclaim something stolen from him. "Of course brother… forgive me," he says finally.

"There is no need for that, brother. Your question was justified; I know your heart, brother, for it is also mine. But these people have something of ours, a part of our home; I will have it back," says Vilkas, standing up at once. "Will you have it as well? Will you help me take back what belongs to us?"

"Aye!"

"For the Mountains!"

"We remember!"

The men all stand and pound their chests furiously, the young Payne having appealed to their true hearts at the root of the Mountains. In that moment there was no doubting their bravery and courage, and Vilkas had never felt so proud, nor had Farkas ever been so inspired.

These men epitomise the true spirit of the Mountains, battle-ready to defend what is theirs.

Theirs is the fire; theirs is the strength, the willpower.

They are the Mountains, and they remember.

AND THERE WE GOOOOO! Stuff's starting to pick up real fast as we get closer and closer to the start of the 75th Hunger Games; we're moving into another phase in the story in which we start to explore other characters' sides of the story. We'll be seeing a lot more of characters like Farkas and Vilkas, Tristyn, Alrek, Ulfric, and all sorts of others who have yet to be introduced. After this next chapter it will be mostly past-tense in the writing style, simply because I think it fits better for the sort of narrative I'm going for.

Anyways in this chapter we saw Thorin and Katniss's visit to District 1, where we meet Lord Nikolas Merser who seems to be a genuinely good Lord, loved by his people and very hospitable, as well as his bannermen and sons. However, we also see the Wildlings again, and Vilkas has finally found Worldcarver, and has managed to convince the Wildlings to help him kill Byrant Merser in order to get it back. Will his plan work? More importantly, what are the consequences if he does?

Buuuuut as always thank you all so much for reading, feel free to leave a review/follow/favourite, and until we meet again, have a wonderful time!

~Jordan