Disclaimer: I only own the original content. All names, characters, and places belong to their respective owners. This chapter is not betaed. Previous ending will be posted on AO3.
It's another four days before Peeta comes back. I try to not think of him, try not to let my brain become overwhelmed with thoughts of him touching her, but when he walks through that doorway it all floods back to me. The anger, the loss, the loneliness.
"You here for your name?" I ask him, sitting up a little in bed.
He shakes his head, "We can discuss that later. I came to apologize…"
I stare at him for a moment, take in the dark blue suit and recently cut hair. He wasn't wearing the cream waistcoat that he would usually wear with an ensemble like this, and his jacket didn't quite match his breeches. I wondered if he had lost his jacket, perhaps in a romp with Johanna or whatever courtier he was sleeping with these days.
"I didn't agree to discuss personal issues with you. If you want to talk business, then that is fine. If you are here to make empty apologies, then please see yourself out."
"Stop," he says, "we can discuss that at another time. The things I said to you the other day, they weren't right. I was quick to speak and I regret what was said that day."
I roll my eyes a little and turn my focus on the orange by my bedside, "That's great, Peeta. You do know how doors work, don't you?"
"I only slept with her once, you know."
My blood boils, how dare he bring her up again? As if only sleeping with her once was any excuse. Hadn't this whole affair started over gossip that I had shared a bed with Gale? It's not that I even care, that I have any right to care. But he was the one who had been so self righteous, who had promised me fidelity and love.
"Who did you only sleep with once, Peeta?"
"You know who I'm talking about," he pauses, "don't make this any harder than it already is."
My eyes flit up and down, "You could have slept with dozens of women since you locked me up. Who am I to presume anything?"
"Johanna," he says, "it was just after you were arrested. I was angry and well, she was there for me."
"Okay, Peeta," I look at him, disinterested, "I care little about who you sleep with," the lie roll effortlessly off my teeth, a year in this place has made me far more convincing. "What consequence is it to me who you stick your cock in? If you want to parade around with Johanna, have at it."
He stares at me, his body tensing as my words roll over him, "Katniss, what can I do to make things at the very least amicable between us? If there is something..."
I snort. He wanted to pretend we were on good terms in case I died?
"Making up is about alleviating any guilt, is that it?" I roll my eyes at him. "Well in that case, why don't you just leave, Peeta."
He sighs and turns towards the doorway, "Katniss," he says, "listen, I'll make this up to you. No matter what I have to do, I'll always follow you into the dark."
Days pass and Peeta never comes back for the name. I resign myself to my bed, figuring he has more important issues to deal with than his traitorous wife, the woman he doesn't even love. But then they come for me, not three days later.
When the guards show up at my door and announce I'm being escorted downstairs, I almost scream. For a moment I think I'm being escorted to my death, that they'll behead me pregnancy or no pregnancy. Or worse, that my sister has been revealed and I'm being brought to her execution. Or Gale's.
Back in Seam executions weren't that uncommon, and despite having been shielded from them in Panem I am sure somewhere in the city center crowds gathered to see criminals and murderers put to the death. It is strange how obsessed people are with death, how many people will gawk at a man being strung up on the gallows.
Refusing to placate a King has deadly consequences.
But I try not to let the fear overwhelm me, and instead I put on a brave face, composing myself as Peeta's men help me down the winding stairs of the tower. If I am going down, if they are going to force me to watch Gale die or some other twisted thing, nobody would get the satisfaction of seeing me squirm.
When I was in the tower I had always imagined what it would be like to get away from the musky smell of closed air and peer out into open land. During my better moments I longed for the piney woods, the fresh mountain air of my youth. But the memory falls flat, instead of being welcomed by the smells of the earth I'm forced to stand amongst the stench of hundreds of people crammed together.
Most of them are peasants, day laborers. Most of them, I imagine, haven't washed in days. But it doesn't bother me as much as confuse me. Never in the entire span of my stay here had I seen this many of the common class gathered on the King's property. And it makes me uneasy, even more so as my guards escort me toward the center of the calamity.
Murmurs radiate through the crowd as they recognize me.
"Look, it's the revolutionary."
"I'm surprised he didn't execute her already, traitorous bitch."
But at this point, my heart is beating so fast and fierce I hardly hear them. I only know that whatever waits in the middle of the square is meant for me.
When I finally break through to the cleared space, I see I am right. My heart freezes when I see him, my husband stepping up on that platform.
Peeta is wearing silk brown breeches and nothing more than a loose white undershirt. He would look almost common if he didn't carry himself with dignified stature, his jaw tightened in a steely gaze.
And not five feet away from him on the platform is a whipping post.
Even if he didn't love me, even if he wished to bed Johanna every evening, I couldn't let whatever this was happen. By the look of things he was going to take a beating, and from the number of his guards it didn't seem like he was being forced. What on earth is his intention?
Allowing the crowd to part around me I surge toward the center, stopping when I reach the wooden platform. Much to my surprise, nobody pulls me back or orders me to halt when I get close to him.
"Peeta,"I hiss, tugging on the edge of his sleeve, "what are you doing?"
His eyes meet mine with desperate sincerity, "I have to give myself," he says, "I have done my wrongs and I need to face what is mine. Thirty lashes, it is the only way to end this, to be a leader."
What did he think? That taking a beating, risking his life, would be best? How far gone was he that playing the sacrificial lamb made sense. Thirty lashes? He would be dead before the tenth hit his back.
"I never betrayed you," I tell him, low and desperate, "don't do this. You're being a fool."
"I know," he says as the guards urge him up the stage, "I know you're not a traitor...and I love you. I will always love you." His voice grows louder as he moves farther up the stairs and onto the platform, his shouts echoing throughout the courtyard, "I love you, Katniss."
I shake the thoughts away from my head, dismissing his declarations of love as he takes a stand on the platform, peering out into the crowd.
Peeta's eyes are bright as he speaks, no hint of fear clouding his features, "Sometimes men forget that a King's duty is to his people. It is his people that he must protect, it is people who he must provide for. And in turn those people protect and provide for him. When a King faces trials he ensures that the guilty are punished and the unrest is put to bay. But a King must also face his people, he must give himself wholly and devotedly to them. And so that is what I am doing today, giving myself to you. For it is through my brokenness, my punishment, that I hope we can heal as a nation."
I choke up as the guards lead him to the whpping post. They have to restrain me when the whipsman, a masked guard, probably one of Peeta's own, takes the first blow. It must look comical, two grown men restraining a pregnant Queen.
At first Peeta takes the lashes with dignity, biting down onto the leather bit they give him and doing nothing more than grimacing. And then slowly he seems to fade, the blood on his back pooling more as the lashes go by.
By the twenty fifth lash I can't contain myself anymore. He slumps unconscious on his knees, held up only by the ropes at his wrists. What used to be his back is a raw, bloody slab of meat.
"No!" I cry, and spring forward, pushing back against the weakened grip of the guards and pounding up the stairs. It's too late to stop the arm from descending, and I instinctively know I won't have the power to block it. Instead I throw myself directly between the whip and Peeta. I've flung out my arms to protect as much of his broken body as possible, so there's nothing to deflect the lash. I take the full force of it across the left side of my face. The pain is blinding and instantaneous. Jagged flashes of light cross my vision and I fall to my knees. One hand cups my cheek while the other keeps me from tipping over. I can already feel the welt rising up, the swelling closing my eye. The stones beneath me are wet with my husband's blood, the air heavy with its scent.
"Stop it! You'll kill him!" I shriek. I get a glimpse at my assailant's face and I freeze. Even behind the mask I know who it is, Peeta's redheaded guard Darius. My husband trusted him, I knew that. Why wasn't he more hesitant then, to deliver blows to his King?
One of the royal doctors comes to my aid, and the hands of steady guards pull me away kicking and screaming. My voice is dry, my body weary. And the pleading must have some affect on the situation, because the crowd quickly turns in the King's favor.
"Let him go," an older man shouts, "nobody needs a dead King."
Murmurs of agreement pass through the crowd, and in an attempt to quell the people one of the guards, an older man I don't recognize, says, "It is the King's decree. Thirty lashes and not a single less. I have orders."
"If you go through with this," I shout against my restraints, "King's orders or not you will all be put to death."
The guard seems to contemplate this, "She's not wrong," he says, nodding to the men in red and gold livery, "release him to the doctors."
Nobody seems to know what to do with me. They won't let me come with Peeta, won't let me accompany him to the medical chambers, but now that I'm outside of the tower no man is going to take the initiative to lock me back up. Peeta, it seems, has taken favor with me again and none of his guards are foolish enough to try to gain his anger.
It's Effie who comes to my rescue, "Come along dear," she says, a sad smile gracing her lips, "come see the King."
Author's Note: This is the original ending I planned. I lost my original notes and had to re-write it, the tone changed a bit while being re-created but overall I'm sort of proud of it.
One more chapter and the epilogue left!
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