Just a reminder: Alma (based on Alma Coin from the books) is a man in this story. OK. That's all. Carry on!

Into the Fortress

(Katniss)

This is the ultimate sign of trust.

I pause beside a seemingly barren section of the fortress wall and meet Peeta's gaze. His eyes are wide in the moonlight, as if he senses the secret I am about to reveal. I could ask him to close his eyes. I should. For the sake of the people who depend on this fortress for their safety, for my father, for Prim.

But he has earned my trust a hundred times over – no, three hundred and one times over. I'll not belittle that.

"You can close your eyes and turn your back, or you can watch," I whisper, giving him the choice.

Without a word, he turns his back to me.

My breath leaves me like a crack of thunder exploding through the night. I should have known he would relinquish his right to this. He has enough imagination to understand and enough compassion to make this as easy as possible for me.

I turn back to the wall, my fingers sliding through the cracks between the timbers, seeking the lock my father had shown me one quiet afternoon about two years ago, back when he'd still been strong enough to walk about freely.

"Only in the case of dire circumstances, Katniss," he had warned me. "Never use this for me or yourself. This is a weapon that must benefit our people."

It is our people who are in danger now. In danger of being riled up to fight and die in pointless battles so that a self-loving whoreson can sit upon a chair which will give him the right to take whatever pleases him.

Killing a man like Alma would be personally satisfying, but it would mean nothing so long as his followers remain true. If fear is what has driven people to rally around him, then I will counter with something better. Something no man with loved ones can refuse.

I will give instead of take. I will offer instead of use. Just as Peeta had won me over with his generosity and patience and goodness, I will do the same for the tribes. He has already shown me how.

I wince as something small and many-legged crawls over my fingers, but I don't jerk my hand back. The latch is here… somewhere…

Click!

Ah-ha!

I reach down and grasp a natural knot in the log and lever upward, swinging the timber toward myself. A narrow opening is revealed. It is only the width of an average tree and the height of a small man – Peeta will have to go through hunched and sideways. I reach for his arm and am surprised when he keeps his eyes squeezed tightly shut, but I do not argue. I guide him through the doorway, telling him to duck his head and lift his feet.

I follow him, gingerly pulling the timber back into place and listening to the sound of the lock reengaging. I then move us both into the shadows, ducking behind a dung heap before I whisper for Peeta to open his eyes. Indulging in a moment, I briefly place my palms upon his cheeks. My smile is so wide my cheeks hurt.

"Thank you," I tell him.

He returns my grin and then I'm pulling him behind me, weaving between the stables and the blacksmith's workshop toward the outer wall of the towering keep. Prim's room faces the archery shed and targets. I used to tease her about improving her aim just by watching me and the others practice early in the morning. It hadn't been until Rory had taken up the bow that I'd figured out why my sister likes the location of her room so much.

We crouch behind a bale of straw and Peeta waits as I check the position of the guards. With his golden hair – even as dirty as it is – he'll be spotted easily in the light from the distant torches and I am unarmed. The bow and arrows have been hidden in a hollow log in the forest. I would like to believe that even if I'd brought them with me, I wouldn't have used them on my own people, but just imagining a spear pointed at Peeta's chest scares me so badly I fear I would break my resolution without a thought. So, wisely or not, I had left the weapons behind. The horse as well. When I speak to Gale in the morning, I will ask him to send one of his brothers out to fetch it.

However, morning feels a very long way off right now. It is a dark, moonless night. I can smell the promise of snow in the air. The wind is cold and the men on the walls are preoccupied with keeping warm. I only have to wait for one watchman to turn completely away. He does his job well, guarding us from what lurks beyond the fortress, not what is already within it.

I grasp the sleeve of Peeta's tunic and scamper across the bailey. The window to my sister's room is up high, but she'd placed a barrel beneath it for us as I'd asked. We move quickly into the shadows of the wall and then wait again, charting the guards' inattention.

Still undetected, I start to climb onto the barrel, jerking in surprise when Peeta's hands grasp my hips and he more or less lifts me up onto the thing. I decide I'll scold him later for not warning me in advance. The window is unlatched and I pull myself through before turning and offering Peeta a hand. It's a tighter fit for him, but he squeezes through it in relative silence.

Prim stands up from the side of her bed, still dressed as she had been in the forest. It is pitch black in the room, so I keep a firm grip on Peeta's arm until Prim has lit a lamp and closed the shutters behind us. She doesn't speak. We'd gone over these arrangements already and as much as I want to race off to my father's room to see him, I know I can't let him see me like this.

I accept the second lamp Prim offers me and step behind a privacy screen. The bathwater is still warm and I hurriedly strip off my tattered, smelly, and soiled clothes. I wash up as quickly as I can and then dress in the shift and gown that Prim had chosen for me. I step back out scowling.

"Prim…" I begin, picking at the lush, green fabric of the skirt. I hate elaborate gowns.

"I know, I know. You abhor the fact that you're lovely," my sister commiserates with a grin. "Come let me comb your hair. Let Peeta have his turn in the bath."

Speaking of which… "I'm sorry, Peeta. We must share the water."

"Hm?"

Is it my imagination or is he actually a little glassy-eyed? "Peeta?"

"Oh. Yes. Fine."

Prim snorts with laughter behind her hands. I gesture him toward the privacy screen. "There are clothes for you there. The bath is not… warm. Or clean. You can have another later."

He walks backward toward the screen, not taking his eyes off of me until the last possible second.

"Oh, he is smitten," Prim declares as I sit down on the bed and present my braid to her. "Almost as much as you are!"

I twist around and pinch her ankle.

"Ow!" she laughs.

"Hurry up, duckling. I want to be ready by the time Peeta's done."

She makes quick work of unraveling my braid. The fine-toothed comb moves through my hair slowly and delicately. It matches Prim's tone: "Is he your husband?"

I'd known she would ask me that eventually. "If I said he was?"

Her hand pauses. "I would be so very happy for you."

"Thank you, Prim."

She has just finished braiding my hair when Peeta comes out. The very fine, dark tunic he is wearing is one I recognize but cannot place. What's more surprising is that it's just big enough around to fit him in the chest and shoulders. The sleeves are a little too short, though. "Whose is that?" I blurt.

"Hawthorne's," Prim answers. "From Rory."

"Did you tell him…?"

"No. He gave his father's things to me so I could use the fabric again, but I haven't been able to… um. It hasn't been a year yet and I still miss him."

What? "Gale's father is dead? When? How?" The last time I'd seen the study, rotund man, he'd been fighting in the streets with the Northmen— "No…"

Prim nods miserably. "I'm so sorry, Katniss. We think it was quick. It was a clean blow."

My stomach twists into a knot and falls out through the bottom of my feet. Bracing my elbows on my knees, I bury my face in my hands. Oh, no. No. Hawthorne… Gale's father… my father's old friend… dead. Dead because of the Northmen who had come here.

This is hopeless. My plan to save Samland is never going to work. The people here have lost too much already and now here is Peeta, the son of our enemy. The perfect recipient for their hate and vengeance.

How can I possibly keep him?

I bite my lip.

"Katniss?"

I drag in a deep breath and look up at the sound of Peeta's voice.

"What is it?"

He kneels at my feet. I do not know if I take his hands or if he take mine, but I grip him hard. There must be a way for me to keep him, to protect him. He has no idea of the danger he is in and it is all my fault that he is here in the first place.

I should have left him tied to a tree near his brother's campfire. I should have convinced him I didn't want him after all so he wouldn't fight it… so he'd let me go… so he'd be home with his brother at this very moment. Safe.

"Tell me," he pleads. "I will help you. You are not alone."

I nod, closing my eyes and drawing a calming breath. "A moment, please," I require before asking my sister, "Is Haymitch guarding our father's door tonight?"

"Yes. I'll take you to him. Follow me."