Missing the Target

(Katniss)

Archery has always helped me think. Although thinking while actually shooting arrows at a target is not particularly practical, I have found that the process of focusing intently on a thing that is completely unrelated to my troubles tends to clear the way for a solution to present itself.

I have used this technique often in the past with success. Today, it abandons me.

"Well, you're up early."

I don't look away from the target. "Gale." I blow out a breath through my gritted teeth. I'm not ready to talk to him, but when he comes to a stop just a little too close to me and settles his hands on his hips, I accept the fact that I have run out of time to think.

I sight… exhale… release. Center-target shot. A finger's width to the left of perfection. It's been too long since I've practiced.

"Nice morning," he greets.

"It's raining."

I don't have to look up to know that Gale is giving me a sarcastic grin. "Then we won't be disturbed out here, will we?"

We might. Peeta has a line of sight to me from the outdoor kitchen across the bailey. That had been one of the points that had reassured me when we'd split up this morning. The other had been his choice of company: he'd proposed helping Prim prepare our father's breakfast.

"Take as much time as necessary," he'd urged this morning, stopping me from unlatching the door and letting the rest of the world in. "Sort out your thoughts."

I have been trying. I'd cleared my head and waited – too impatiently, perhaps – for the answer to come to me: namely, what I was and, more importantly, wasn't prepared to tell the men who had risked their lives to bring me home. What I could and could not say to Gale by way of explanation.

I suspect that Gale's reaction will determine whether or not our discussion is interrupted. Peeta will not be able to keep himself from interceding if things start to get unpleasant. And, honestly, I would want him here at my side were that to occur. For reasons twine: my unignorable need to protect him and the tangible presence of his devotion, which me gives me a strength that feels unbreakable.

"Where are the others?" I ask, thinking of Mason, Mitchell, Thresh, Chaff, and Boggs. Thom has no skill in weaponry that I'm aware of, but it would be beneficial to have him join the group this morning. I don't relish the thought of having to explain myself more than once.

"They'll be here soon."

I nod and reach for another arrow from the quiver.

"But I thought you and I could speak. In private."

I shrug. This is as private as I am prepared to allow. "Speak." I can't stop my lips from twitching upward in reaction: Peeta had said the very same word to me the night before.

"Who is Peeta? Really?"

"He is the younger son of King Harald. Really," I answer, nocking the arrow, lining up the point with the next target, and drawing the bowstring back. I expect Gale to try to disprove the claim by citing the worn clothing Peeta had been dressed in for travel, but with his next words I realize I've underestimated my childhood friend.

"Is he your master?"

My arm wobbles but my fingers clutch the arrow tightly, preventing a misfire. "What? No."

"Who was?"

"You assume I had one."

He rolls his eyes upward and he shakes his head at the shooting gallery's ceiling rafters. "You can try to convince me that leather collar you were wearing was some kind of ornament, but you'll fail."

He's right. I can't give him a plausible alternative for that damned collar other than what it had been: a mark of enslavement.

He gives me a second chance. "So, who is Peeta to you?"

"He is my betrothed," I answer honestly.

Gale's eyes narrow as he dissects my reply. "In Denmark?"

I think of that moment in the forest, just a short walk from the campfire. For that instant— "He was my betrothed."

Gale scowls at me in confusion. I take advantage of the quiet to sight and shoot. Better. Just a hair's breadth off of center this time. Of course, a moving target will be the truest test—

"And what else?"

With a huff, I turn and look at him. Over his shoulder, I can see Peeta standing just under the awning of the outdoor kitchen. Watching. Gale follows my gaze. The muscles along his jaw bunch and he crosses his arms. "Maybe we should move this meeting in-doors after all," he suggests.

"No. Here is fine." I do not want Peeta out of my sight.

Gale whips back around, his eyes flashing. Through gritted teeth, he demands, "Tell me, Katniss. What is he threatening you with? I will—we will help you."

I gape. "Threaten?" Of all the utterly insane assumptions he could make, Gale comes up with this?

"Nothing else makes sense," he insists. "Come, tell me. You must have been waiting for me to see it and say something. Well, I'm saying something."

I am speechless.

"It doesn't have to happen now, of course, but when you need help, say the word. Or… we should decide on a signal…" He trails off in thought before motion in the distance catches our attention. Thresh rounds the corner of the keep, followed by the others. Thom, included.

"And this marriage," Gale whispers in a rush, "I can guess why you might have to submit to it, but you do not have to submit to him. All right? He cannot force you to do anything against your will. He—"

Just then, Prim exits the outdoor kitchen with a tray for our father. Peeta glances questioningly in my direction. I nod for him to go with her. He does. That is what I see.

Gale sees something completely different. "Did he threaten Primrose?"

I shake my head and hold up my hand. I need a moment. How had this gotten so twisted up in Gale's mind? Oh, yes. Because he in incapable of imagining that Peeta, despite being from the same country as our enemies, might be a good man and worthy of my regard.

"Katniss?" Mitchell asks, jogging ahead of Thresh and ducking under the shed roof. He forgoes any attempt at greeting. "What trickery is Haymitch trying to pull?"

I wait until everyone is assembled and out of the downpour. "There is no trickery. Haymitch spoke the truth. Peeta is Harald's son and Peeta is a friend to us."

Thresh and Boggs exchange looks. Thom's brows arch. Mitchell's eyes narrow. I don't have to look at the faces of the others to know they don't believe me, either. I curse.

"The truth now," Gale insists. "Trust us. Haven't we earned that?"

"First and foremost," I begin, my frustration pushing the words out faster than I can weigh them, "I have no fear of Peeta. None. Why do you think I took him with me into the woods after our arrival?"

I don't expect the answer I'm given. I don't know why.

Mason places a fatherly hand on my shoulder. "To scout the fortress for weaknesses."

"Scout," I echo dumbly. "As in spy?" Do they really think I would aid an enemy's attempts to learn our defenses?

"No one is saying you willingly helped him, but…" He shrugs. "His father is one of our enemies."

My first inclination is to argue: Peeta did not even know our destination until we'd arrived. How could they possibly think he could plan something like that? And just how do they think he would he pass the information on to his countrymen when none of them know what has become of him? They are inventing a conspiracy woven from the brittle chains of fear.

I take a deep breath and try to organize my thoughts. With a single wrong utterance, this conversation could spiral out of control. I have perhaps one more chance to speak before their minds are set. I have to make it count. I have to take a risk.

"When you came upon us in the forest in Denmark—" I aim my words at Gale first, but then seek out the eyes of each man. "—what did you think you were interrupting?"

Before anyone can articulate their suspicions as if they were fact, I tell them, "We were returning to the farmstead of Peeta's brother after the spring gathering at the fortress… and Peeta – the king's own son – had just asked me to be his wife." I took a deep breath. "I accepted. That was what you saw. I was not in his embrace unwillingly."

"But you were not free to refuse him," Gale insists.

"Yes, I was." But I cannot tell them that I had just turned down Peeta's offer to send me home. I cannot do that to these brave men, my allies, my friends. Nor can I tell them that I had given up hope of ever seeing my father and sister again. That admission will only aid Gale's argument that my choices had been limited. "I chose to promise myself to the son of the king of Denmark. This is a good match, and now that he is here, Peeta is willing to help us form a peaceful alliance with his father's country."

Gale squints at me. "That's why you insisted we spare his life?"

One of many reasons. "Yes."

"But why is he cooperating?" Thresh muses aloud. I recognize that it is the worst kind of question of all: a leading one. He already has an answer to it that he wishes to share. "He believes he'll tuck Samland under his father's mantle along with Denmark. Make slaves of all of us."

"No—"

"You don't see it, Katniss," Chaff agrees sadly, "but we do. He will hand this land over to his father. We'll be overrun with Northmen seeking our amber, ruling our villages, forcing their gods upon us."

I cut in. "Peeta did not know who I was until he arrived here! How could he plot all of this when he didn't even know my father's identity?"

"Well, if he wasn't plotting it before, he is now," Boggs predicts darkly. "He'd be a fool not to."

"Then he is a fool!" I snarl. Oh, how good it feels to just give myself over to my fury. I want to scream at them, tell them how Peeta saved my life, explain how he'd patiently taught me his language and never once touched me with force or asked me for the use of my body or anything nearly as disgusting as what they debase themselves by imagining. "He is a fool," I repeat slowly, "but I am not. He has a purpose here, one that works in our favor."

Gale stubbornly shakes his head. "We can fight the Northmen on our own. We don't need him."

"Do you say that because you welcome their arrival? You want the chance to kill more of them to avenge your father?" His jaw clenches again. His grey eyes simmer with temper. I jab my finger at his chest. "Those men have sons, too. And fathers. Wives, mothers. With Peeta as my companion, I have a chance to forestall further bloodshed on both sides."

"They deserve death!"

"And Rory? What of him? If not this year, then certainly the next, he'll be out there with an ax and shield. Will you risk your own brother's life when I can offer another way?" I step back and straighten. I can hear my breaths blasting over the sound of the unending rain. A pale face in the distance – Peeta standing in the downpour outside the entrance of the dining hall – soothes my fury.

"Give this plan a chance," I say flatly. I would implore, but I simply don't have the energy required. "Peeta can – and will – help us."

I wait while they exchange glances and decide in silence. "One chance," Mason agrees, "and only because we love you as much as we do, Katniss."

His choice of words surprises me. Love, he had said. Not trust.

I have to accept that. Just as I have not trained and fought and bled and trusted them for nearly a year, they have not done the same with me. My actions since my rescue have broken the bond we'd forged together. We will have to begin again. Re-form our friendship.

There is nothing I can do or say to change their minds. They are giving me all that they can. I nod. Thrusting the quiver of practice arrows into Thom's shivering hands, I stalk across the bailey.

"Katniss! Wait!"

Gale again. My fingers curl even tighter around my bow. I have nothing more to say to him.

He is not so disinclined. "I meant it. About the marriage. He has no power over you here."

I want to hit him in the jaw. I look away from Peeta, still waiting for me in the rain and getting soaked to the skin. I stomp to a halt. Facing Gale, I explain with exaggerated care, "Marriage in Denmark was Peeta's idea. I agreed. Marriage to him here is mine. My choice. Do you understand?"

Gale leans down, nearly pressing his nose to mine. "And I have no choice at all. That's what I understand. For some reason – perhaps one that begins and ends with Haymitch and some scheme known only to him – your father approves of this. I won't be your husband. I have no say in the matter and that is not my choice. Do you understand?"

I think I do. I don't want to. "No promises were ever made," I remind him.

"I didn't think they'd be needful."

Again, words abandon me.

"Katniss," he rallies, "the seven of us came after you. We brought you back. We are offering you our allegiance. You know this marriage is not necessary and, besides, these arrangements often fail! Why do you persist if you are not in league with Harald?"

"Did you… did you just accuse me of treason? Against my own father?"

"No, I'm just… I'm trying to understand you!"

"I don't think you want to." I turn away.

He hooks a hand around my arm. "The only other explanation is that you actually want… him." Gale's face twists with disgust.

I would rather die than deny the one truth I value above all others, so I say nothing. When I pull my arm from his grasp, Gale lets me go.

Don't hate Gale because his life is suddenly out of control. Admit that you'd be torqued, too.

Next chapter will be Peeta's POV.

AND JUST IN CASE YOU MISSED THE ANNOUNCEMENT: The rating of this story will soon change to M for violence, gore, and sexytiems stuff. Nothing too explicit, though. I'm just trying to follow the rules here.

Still loving and adoring your feedback, those of you brave enough to leave notes for me. PMs are OK, too! It makes my day when I hear from you.