A/N: This is it. The final chapter. I can't believe it's over!
The New Life
The anthem roars, announcing the beginning of the ceremony. This time the cry of the crowd is deafening, and my ears actually hurt. Now I know my prep team is on the stage, strutting across to the booming song. I imagine them taking their bows, grinning, enjoying the moment. One verse for the prep team, I suppose, and then the crowd roars again and the next verse begins.
Now Cinna and Portia must be coming out to the next round of A Horn of Plenty, because the screaming reaches an agonizing level, like it was quiet before and now the volume has been turned up to maximum. I know Cinna will be convincing, but I'm not sure about Portia. Hopefully the excitement will mask any clues she might give. I can hear Caesar Flickerman's magnified laughter as they ascend onto stage. The music lulls, then crescendoes.
The crowd's roar doesn't fluctuate as Effie and Haymitch step onto the stage. How long that woman has waited for this moment. I wonder if she enjoys it, because though she is misguided, she has a strong sense of instinct. And Haymitch will go down in history as the mentor who kept not one but two tributes from District 12 alive. The bridge of the anthem begins, and then as it builds up to the climax, the floor beneath me lifts and brings me to the stage. I look up.
Blinding lights. Cacophony that dulls the music to a faint hum in comparison and rattles the metal under my feet. Then there's Edward just a few yards away.
He takes my breath away. He looks healthy, clean, and beautiful. His face is faintly flushed, but aside from emerald green eyes that send shivers down my spine he could pass as a vampire. I wouldn't recognize him if I didn't know that no one else could make me swoon like that. A familiar dizziness sweeps over me, and then with a few strides I fling myself into his arms. He's faintly surprised, but then he's kissing me and we cling to each other while the audience loses what traces of sanity they had and all the time I'm thinking, Do you know? Do you know how much danger we're in? After what feels like an hour of this, Caesar Flickerman taps his shoulder to continue the show, and Edward shoves him aside. The audience goes berserk.
It's Haymitch who interrupts us and gives us a good-natured shove towards the victor's chair. It's a ruby-red, plastic-looking love-seat. I sit so close to Edward that I'm practically on his lap. Haymitch raises his eyebrows and, somewhat gratified that Charlie isn't watching this, I lean my head against Edward's shoulder. He puts his arm around me, and I kick off my sandals and hoist my knees into his lap. His shirt is made of the same material as my dress, but his pants are black and velvety, and he's wearing sturdy black boots. The look suits him. For that matter, I think Portia could make anything suit him, and even if she couldn't I wouldn't notice.
"Hi," I tell Edward, looking up at him. I realize it's the first word I've said to him since we exited the arena.
To his credit, he doesn't protest. "Hi," he says, tilting my chin upwards so that I look into those stunning emerald eyes. His hand is frigid like the air in this stadium but also clammy and nervous like that of a human. Edward pecks my lips, and Caesar Flickerman makes a joke out of it that has the audience in stitches. Suddenly I feel insecure, and my cheeks burn; this flimsy dress is making me feel vulnerable. But I guess that was the point.
After a few more jokes, it's time for the real show to begin. This torture session will last three hours and is required viewing for the whole of Panem. As the lights dim and the Capitol seal appears on the screen, a feeling of dread engulfs me. My heart pounds and it's all I can do not to forcibly remove myself from Edward's arms and escape from the eyes of the nation. "All those people," I murmur.
"Sh," he tells me, and I oblige.
Condensing weeks into hours is quite a feat. I remember when my mom got into video-making and tried to do a montage of a dance recital she forced me into. It took almost a month. Granted, she had to find highlights where I wasn't tripping over my feet and had been involved in various other tasks at the time, but the recital was one hour and the Hunger Games covered almost a month.
The story the editor decided to tell was a love story. Edward and I won, but I find myself wishing that the camera would give the others some time, as well. This is the closest thing to a memorial twenty-two people are going to get, and I wish they would get some screen time. To my disgust, Cato is painted as the bad guy from the beginning, and I think of his family with growing horror; their son will be remembered not as the brave but misguided tribute, but the villain. Pursing my lips, I tell myself that this love-story-with-a-twist idea is a good thing, because every passing minute spent on our romance is a minute that can't be spent on Cato's gruesome death.
The first half hour or so focuses on the events leading up to the arena. The reapings, the chariot ride through the chariot ride through the Capitol, our odds, and our interviews. There's this upbeat soundtrack that plays throughout and it makes it twice as awful because, of course, almost everyone on-screen is dead.
Then there's an obviously staged conversation in the rose garden between President Snow and, to my horror, Admiral Laudan, who's apparently something of a celebrity figure within the Capitol itself, about how vampires are citizens, too, and they ought to be included in the Games. Snow agrees and asks a Gamemaker to get to work on some Mutts that'll pose a challenge to us.
Once we're in the arena, the filmmakers basically alternate between gruesome death scenes and shots of Edward and I. The love is written all over his face, but my expressions are all but blank and unreadable throughout most of it, and it's really only my anger and horror that come across, the love and betrayal hidden behind a mask. Luckily, Edward makes up for what I didn't do: he misled the Careers about me, made sure they couldn't find my scent, did his best to keep me safe, and tried not to give in when he learned I'd been in a part of the arena that had been filled with vicious, werewolf-like Mutts.
Then comes the fight with the horrible things, covering my body,that make me bury my face in my lap at the thought of them. Worse, I didn't see what they did to the tributes they killed, how they died with the them piling on top of them while they screamed and screamed and screamed for it to end.
Rue's coming makes me look less heartless, and certainly ends my panic. I take care of her, and I look bordering on motherly throughout the period of her presence. They play her death in full. My revenge, how I sobbed. The song that Edward and I sang, and then the mockingjays as they took up the melody. Something inside of me snaps and then I can't feel anything at all. They omit my three-fingered salute, however.
Right. Because that was a rebellion of sorts.
As the eruption nears, my breathing accelerates. I wonder why I didn't see it coming now. The filmmakers have closeups of steam rising from the ground, little tremors in other parts of the arena, unusual weather systems from the unusual warmth, and another avalanche. Then there's my fight with Cato and the inferno begins. We run and scream and the girl dies. Then we fight with a horribly disfigured Cato who's then thrown into the lava. I clench my jaw, expecting to cry, but the tears never come, not even as he whimpers, even screaming beyond his strength, as the fiery mutants burn away his life.
Then comes the moment where we prepare to jump together. A hush falls over the audience, and then there's our victory. They end the video when Edward and I embrace and kiss afterwards.
The anthem's playing again and we rise, along with the entire audience, as President Snow himself takes the stage, followed by a little girl who must be his granddaughter carrying a cushion that holds the crown. There's only one crown, though, and the audience starts jabbering again — who will he give the crown to? Then he twists and it separates into halves. With a warm smile, he places the first around Edward's brow. When he places the second on my head, I almost wince: the smell of roses is so strong it's almost putrid. He's still smiling, but there's something cold and unforgiving in his eyes.
"This is your fault, 'little girl,'" he seems to be saying. "You're the one who humiliated me in front of my entire country, not him."
I smile at Edward, letting him know that I am just a lovesick little girl with a crush powerful enough to defy Death and the Capitol itself — the latter, of course, being a much bigger accomplishment.
President Snow's smile turns gruesome as he exhales, and now I can smell the blood on his breath. I've always been able to smell it, but now it disgusts me again, and a wave of nausea sweeps over me. The scent makes me gag; it's so thick that I almost wonder if he's another partial vampire, or if he drinks the stuff at his leisure just because he can. I imagine him lifting a crystal, ornate wineglass of blood to his lips, and the image suits him perfectly.
Much bowing and cheering follows. I can't feel the cheer of the night, but the audience can, and it's almost tangible. Caesar Flickerman bids the audience good night, reminding them to tune in tomorrow for the final interviews, as if they have a choice.
Edward and I are whisked to the president's manion at the center of the Capitol for our Victory Banquet, where they don't have to control our diets because we have so little time to eat. Capitol officials and our most generous sponsors elbow each other out of the way to take pictures with us. The scent of blood is replaced by that of alcohol. Occasionally, I catch a glimpse of Haymitch or Cinna, which is reassuring, or President Snow, which is terrifying, or Admiral Gwen Laudan and a few other officers around her, which makes me want to hide, but I keep laughing and thanking people and smiling as my picture is taken. But I never let go of Edward's hand.
It's dawn when we finally trudge back to the Training Center. It's only three blocks from the president's mansion, so we walk one block, get into our limo, and are finally deposited a block from our destination because nothing can get through all of the traffic from people determined to catch a glimpse of us. We walk through the doors and the people finally disperse. I think I'll finally get a moment alone with Edward, but Haymitch sends him off with Portia to get something fitted for the interview and personally escorts me to my door.
"Why won't you let me talk to him?" I demand.
"Plenty of time for talk when we get home," says Haymitch. "Go to bed, Bella, you're on air at two."
My new, remade body realizes the logic in this statement and, despite it all, trudges to the soft bed and collapses onto it. It's more comfortable than the hospital bed, and for the first time I realize how sore I've been. I don't take my dress off and I don't pull the sheets around me. I bury my head in my pillow and manage not to cry myself to sleep. Effie then alerts me to the start of another "big, big, big day!" and it feels like I haven't slept at all.
I've just begun eating breakfast and am about to finally speak to Edward when the prep team descends on me. All I have to say is, "The crowd loved you last night!" and speaking is unnecessary for the next couple of hours. Cinna finally comes in, shoos them away, then dresses me in a frilly white-red dress with silky ruby flats. The soles of the shoes must be gel, because I feel bouncy and walking doesn't hurt my aching feet. He weaves a pink ribbon into my bouncing curls and then adjusts my makeup until I seem to radiate a soft, rosy glow. Our chitchat is small talk, really, but it seems like every word has a double-meaning. I can't shake the feeling that we're being watched.
The interview is only right down the hall in the sitting room. They've brought the love-seat and surrounded it in vases filled with flowers. Each one has a tag and a name, and I suspect they're donations from our most adoring fans and sponsors. There are only a handful of cameras to record the event, and a couple of reporters are our only audience.
Caesar Flickerman gives me a warm hug when he sees me. "Congratulations, Isabelle," he says in a surprisingly quiet, mild voice. "How are you faring."
"Nervous about the interview," I say.
"Don't be. We're going to have a fabulous time," he says, giving my cheek a reassuring pat.
"I don't like having all of the attention on me," I say.
"Nothing you say will be wrong. You're charming and sweet," he promises, "your fans will love you."
Then Edward's there, absolutely gorgeous in white and the same red I wore, and he pulls me off to the side. "You look beautiful," he says quietly, into my ear as he embraces me. "I haven't gotten to see much of you. Everyone is trying to keep us apart."
'Everyone' meaning Haymitch, who's actually trying to keep us alive, but there are too many people listening. "They just don't understand how much I love you," I say instead.
"We're going home, Bella."
I pull away, and I beam at him. Going home to where the Games really begin.
We sit somewhat formally on the love seat, but Caesar says, "Oh, go ahead and curl up next to him if you want. It looked very sweet. I tuck my feet up, the shoes more like slippers anyway, and wrap my arms around his neck. Edward grins at me, then kisses me, and a shiver runs down my spine as I think how easily Snow could use this to undermine me completely.
Someone counts backward to when we're live on air, and just like that, we're being broadcast to the entire country. Caesar Flickerman is wonderful, teasing, joking, getting choked up when the occasion presents itself. He and Edward still have their rapport, and even though his musical, velvety tone has been replaced with the nerves he's actually experiencing, the banter between them comes easily. I just smile, cuddle next to Edward, flirt when appropriate, and speak as little as possible. Panem loved vampire-me. They're not going to love mousy, brown, shy, average-little-me.
Eventually, someone behind a camera shoots Caesar a sign, and he begins posing questions that insist on fuller answers. "Well, Edward, we know that you've loved Bella since long before the arena… since what, age five?" says Caesar.
"From the moment I laid eyes on her," says Edward. "I thought I hated her at first, I didn't know what she was doing to me."
"But, Bella, what a ride for you. When did you realize you loved him?" asks Caesar.
"Oh, that's a hard one…" The Capitol knows he'd been a vampire for a little while before the Games began. "I was fascinated by him at first. I couldn't understand him. Then there was this moment… he saved my life when someone was driving by — knocked me out of the way. We were in a relationship shortly after that. I thought I knew how much I loved him. I didn't quite realize how much until…" I look down at my hands.
"I know when it hit me. That night when you went after him, even at the risk of your own sanity," says Caesar.
I flinch at the memory, and Edward's finger strokes my cheek. "Those Mutts were well designed," I say, then add, "when I realized I had left him behind, I didn't want to go back, but there was no choice. I couldn't leave him to those… things."
Caesar Flickerman gives an exaggerated shudder. "Oh, I know. I hated those things. Creepy, and absolutely fantastic. But when you went after him… that's the moment where it turned from a late night horror movie to a fairytale. Do you remember what prompted you to go after him?"
"Maybe… I didn't want those mutts to have him. He's mine, however much I don't deserve him, and I intend to keep him," I say.
Behind the cameras, I see Haymitch give a sigh of relief and I know I've said the right thing. Caesar pulls out a handkerchief and has to take a moment because he's so moved. Edward's hand caresses my shoulder. "You do deserve me, Bella," he says. "And you do have me. What do you intend to do with me now?"
I turn in to him. "I'm going to put you somewhere you can't get hurt."
"Likewise," he says with a smile, and then he kisses me. It's soft and warm and feels so natural that I almost forget I'm on television, until people in the room actually sigh. I break off abruptly, blush, and look apologetically at the camera.
For Caesar, this is a natural place to segue into all the ways we did get hurt in the arena. He talks about the mutts, the fireballs, the other mutts, the volcano at the end, the fire, the falls, the fights. Then Edward and Caesar go back to friendly banter, and then a hush falls over us because Caesar has managed to turn the mood from fun to serious with a single look.
"Isabelle, I've got ask. The moment when you suggested you two jump. What was going on in your mind… hm?" he says.
I pause, my thoughts whirling through my head so quickly that I wonder if my shield is working against myself, because I can't understand them. This is the crucial moment, when either President Snow kills me for treason, or he doesn't. "I don't know, I just… couldn't bear the thought of… being without him," I utter, so quietly that I wonder if anyone's heard me.
"Edward? Anything to add?"
"No. I think that goes for both of us," he says.
Caesar signs off the air and the interview is over. Everyone's laughing and crying and hugging, but it's not until I reach Haymitch that I know whether or not I'm going to die. "Okay?" I whisper.
"Perfect," he answers.
I go back to my room to collect a few things, only to find there's nothing to take but the mockingjay pin Madge gave me and the codex, well-hidden in a drawer. I turn the holo-projector over and over in my palm, thinking of all the terrible things that might-have-been but weren't. Swallowing, I resolve to ask Edward how he's coping at the next given opportunity.
They drive us through the streets in a limo with blackened windows and free drinks, and somehow Edward and I sit on opposite sides of the vehicle, with very little space between us. He looks out the windows, I look down at my unidentifiable drink, stirring it, and we don't speak. It's not an uncomfortable silence, either. We're just not ready to talk yet, and there's only one thing we can talk about. I don't know if we'll ever be ready to talk.
The train's waiting for us. We barely have time to say goodbye to Cinna and Portia, although we'll see them again in a few months, when we tour the districts for our victory ceremonies. It's the Capitol's way of reminding people that the Games never really go away: we'll parade ourselves in front of every district, and everyone will have to pretend they don't hate us for stealing the lives of their own tributes.
The train begins moving and we fly through a tunnel, but the dark doesn't bother me this time. When we clear the Capitol, I inhale deeply. Effie, Haymitch, Edward and I eat an enormous but still-silent dinner, and I've forgotten how good the many flavors and spices and textures of food actually are. The chocolate cake at the end makes me half-forget the taste of blood. We settle into silence in front of the television to watch a replay of our interview, but all I can think of is the Cullens and home.
And the nagging guilt that's plaguing me. I don't know if I love Edward enough to jump into fire or run through a crowd of animals that destroy me from the inside out. I know I hate the Capitol enough to. Biting my lip and thinking of everything that's happened, I put words to the question that's been at the forefront of my mind, waiting to form on my lips. Do I love Edward more than I hate the Capitol? I hope so. Having more love than hate is what separates a hero from a villain, or so I've always thought.
When the train makes a brief stop for fuel, Effie allows us to go outside for fresh air, and Edward and I are finally alone, walking along the tracks hand-in-hand. It's early morning, the middle of the night, and it's chilly.
"I had forgotten what it was like to be cold," Edward murmurs.
"I know what you mean," I say. "How are you… coping?"
"It's difficult. It's what I've wanted for so long now, and yet all I can think is 'Rosalie is going to kill me,' and about how hunger is unpleasant, the nausea that follows sating it is worse, and cold is awful."
"Can you still read minds?"
"The radius is smaller," he says. "But yes."
I laugh half-heartedly, then take a sharp breath. Changing the subject, I say, "Rosalie is going to kill both of us."
"Emmett is not going to shut up about how much faster he is than me," says Edward. "And about how I can't play baseball anymore." He pauses. "But it is a relief to no longer feel the thirst." To prove his point, Edward presses a kiss to my throat. Then we keep walking.
Haymitch startles me when he lays a hand on my back. Even now, he keeps his voice down. "Great job, you two. Just keep it up in the district until the cameras are gone. We should be okay." Then he walks back to the train, and Edward looks so stunned I know he knew nothing of this.
"What is he talking about?" Edward asks me.
"The Capitol. They didn't like how we defied them and now President Snow hates me," I say slowly.
"What? Bella, what are you talking about?" he says.
"It seemed… rebellious. He's been wanting us to overdo the romance for the cameras so they don't think it was an act of defiance," I tell him. I take a deep breath. "But that doesn't mean it wasn't real."
He doesn't answer immediately. "Were you thinking of saving me back in the arena," he begins, "or were you thinking about rebelling against the Capitol?"
I swallow, and the aftertaste is bitterness and shame. "I don't know," I whisper. "I'm just… confused." He waits, but no further explanation comes to mind.
"I love you, Bella," he says. "I told you that in the arena, and you told me you loved me, too. If you're doubting the validity of your statement… please let me know when you discover the truth. One way or another."
"One way or another," I echo, and my voice is pained, hollowed.
My ears are human, but even with the rumble of the engine, I can hear his boots crunching against the soil with every step he takes back to the train. By the time I've climbed aboard, Edward has disappeared for the night, and I honestly don't know whether or not I've done the right things.
He's alive, I remind myself. And we're never going to stop loving each other. But for the first time, I wonder whether or not love is enough to keep any relationship together. And I don't want to force Edward into a romance with someone who's full of more hatred than love. My soul is battered and bleeding from our not-conversation, and I feel like a jack-o-lantern, carved out, gutted, and still expected to smile. For the first time since the arena, I cry myself to sleep. And when I wake up from a nightmare with salt plastered against my face, I know it won't be the last time.
I see him again the next morning at breakfast. It's late, and we're about to pull into the station. "Good morning," he tells me, perfectly civil, over a blueberry muffin.
"Good morning." My husky voice feels rude, and I want to cry, because even with both of us human, I'm not good enough for him, and I never will be. We eat in silence, the sound of forks and knives against plates deafening. This time it's not a good kind of silence: he's waiting for me to speak.
"Bella," says Edward suddenly, "I want to ask you something."
I look up from my almost-eaten pancake. "Anything," I say.
"Is my father alive?"
My mouth goes dry. "Yes," I say quietly.
"Why is he in the Capitol?"
"He had information," I say, "that he'd been keeping from us. Information that the Capitol wants and the Volturi wants, too." I proceed to tell him about how Carlisle confronted me when I first woke and my encounter with Gwen Laudan. I omit the codex.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"Only my mind was safe until we got out of the Capitol. I'm sorry. Is there anything else you want to know?"
"No. Is there anything else you wanted to tell me?" He's a good lie-detector, and it takes all of my willpower not to bite my lip as the codex starts to feel like molten lead, heavy and burning, in my pocket. I need that password; I have to know what Carlisle wanted to tell me.
"No," I lie. "That's it."
"Thank you, Bella." He presses a kiss to my cheek as he leaves for his room, and I don't respond to it for some reason I can't process. My heart hammers painfully as he walks away.
Is he sulking? I brush the thought away as soon as it comes. He's over a century old, of course he isn't sulking. Then again, I realize, Edward is only seventeen.
It's an hour later that we finally pull into District 12. He smiles at me, and I smile back at him despite myself. His emerald eyes are beautiful, he's beautiful, and I'm too plain and too hateful for this to ever be real.
I want to tell him that I miss him already, but that wouldn't be fair. And it wouldn't make sense. We're still together. We're staying together. "I'm not going to lie to you, Edward," I say finally, even though I didn't tell him about the codex. "I'm broken. I don't know how I'm going to last. I'm not built to last forever like this." Not anymore. "Any you're just so perfectly alright…" My voice breaks. It fails me.
"I'll be here, Bella," he promises. "I'll be here as long as you want me to be."
"But you deserve better than me," I say. "You deserve someone who can be strong and can stand on her own."
"You don't have to stand on your own," says Edward quietly. "The Capitol may want us dead. President Snow may hate you, and Admiral Laudan may hate my father. You've been honest, so I will, too. I don't know if we're going to survive this. But either way, we're going to be together."
Through the window, I can see the cameras on the platform. Everyone is watching our homecoming. My stomach flips as I think of the publicity, a thought much heavier than Esme and Emmett and Alice.
My voice small, I say, "Hold me?"
Edward extends his hand. "Always." His voice isn't pained like mine, it's civil, polite. He's still Edward Cullen, the beautiful, the handsome, the charming, though he's human and somewhat fragile, and I'm just a frail shell of who I used to be.
I take his hand as he pulls me into him, holding on like he's my lifeline, preparing for the cameras like they're the executioner's weapon, and dreading the moment when I will finally have to let go.
END OF BOOK ONE
This is it. Endgame. The final chapter of Heart of Ice. I want to thank everyone who's reviewed this story over the past two years since it was uploaded. Yes, the last line is an homage, or rather a tribute, I suppose, to Suzanne Collins' wonderful Hunger Games.
Originally I planned to have two sequels to this story — Heart of Fire (loosely based on Catching Fire) and Heart of Ashes (very loosely based on Mockingjay). In all honesty, I'm not sure whether or not they're going to be written. I'll be basing this on the response I get. If I get five or more reviews for this chapter (bringing me up to ninety reviews!), I'll post my acknowledgements and a brief epilogue, and I'll consider whether or not I want to invest time in writing the sequels. Otherwise I'm going to post acknowledgements and a summary of the next two books.
So ultimately, it's up to my wonderful reviewers. Do you guys think I should keep going or stop it here? Did you enjoy the chapter? What did you think of the story? Thank you for reading!
~ Midwinter Sun