Here it is! The FINAL chapter before the bloodbath! Thanks for sticking with us, and get ready for the action to begin! Thank you for the marvelous support we've gotten in these...interesting times.

We're not going anywhere.

Updates will typically be on Tuesdays and Saturdays. We'll be having some...interesting one shots showing up soon. More details on that soon ^_^

booksandmusic97's A/N: Finally! The last chapter before the Games. Aren't you all excited? Thank you to PumpkinGrin for switching chapters with me, because I could not have come up with this chapter without the switch.

Before the chapter begins, I'm going to bore you with a short lesson about Norse mythology. It's like Greek mythology, only less popular and depending on whom you are, less interesting. I chose to use a little bit of Norse mythology because of the Vikings. The Vikings were seafarers, so I thought the connection was interesting.

Aegir and Rán and are Norse deities of the sea. In Norse mythology, the gods of the sea (called Sækonungar) were protectors and patrons of sailors and explorers. The main sea god was Aegir, and Rán was his wife.

District 4…sea…Aegir… Rán...get it?

I thought it added a nice touch. What I imagine is that while there is no real religion in Panem, maybe some traces of mythology stuck as part of their vernacular, though the real meaning behind it is lost.

To die and part is a less evil; but to part and live, there, there is the torment.

~George Lansdowne

~.*~.*~.*~

Elia Zervakos, District 4

I'm standing alone in the midst of a dark, piney forest. I am armed with nothing but a tiny, dull, silver dagger. Five shadowy figures slowly emerge from the woods, all wielding weapons a hundred times sharper than mine. One weapon is a spear with a sharp point and serrated sides meant for tearing skin. I swallow and desperately look for a place to run. Left? Right? Forward? Backward? Doesn't matter. I'm surrounded and I'll die either way.

It all happens so fast, so synchronized; I'm motionless as the five shadowy figures come towards me with their better weapons and fiercer urges to kill, each movement perfectly in rhythm with the movements of the other figures. I'm so distracted by the figures' movements that I almost don't see the smaller figure behind them. The figure is so tiny that I'm not surprised that my would-be assassins have completed neglected its presence. After spotting it, I immediately wish that I could be like those cloaked in the shadows and ignore it.

There is an infant in the arena, crawling behind two of the cloaked killers. The baby stops crawling, turns to face me, and looks right at me. Everything around me just stops; the chill of the night air disappears, the dark figures with their weapons freeze in place, perhaps even my heart stops beating for a moment or two while the child's eyes lock with mine.

"What are you doing here?" I mouth, more to myself than to the baby. And why is this child I've never seen before so familiar to me?

The infant tilts its head to the side and the blue-grey eyes continue to stare right through me. A deafening wail echoes throughout the forest as the baby opens its mouth and begins to scream, and just as suddenly as the attacked stopped, it continues at the baby's cries.

Without any further concern for self-preservation, I run towards the diaper clad baby, determined to save it from these murderous monsters. Something about the baby draws me to it. I feel almost obligated to protect it from harm, almost as if it is my own baby .In fact, I'm certain that it is, but I can't explain how I know.

Keep running, keep running, the voice in my head urges on.

I'm compliant to the little voice's demands and increase my speed. Finally, I slip in between the two figures wielding swords and dive for the baby. It's in my arms, but the figures are ominously gesturing to me with their weaponry.

"Elia," they whisper my name. The whispers slowly become more frequent as the volume gradually increases.

"Go away!" I protest, standing up and starting to run again.

"Baby," one whispers.

The cringe-worthy whispers of the shadowy people fade, and a familiar warm voice takes their place.

"Elia, wake up. Wake up, babe."

My eyes pop open and I breathe a sigh of relief when I realize it was just a nightmare. A damn scary one, though.

"Babe, you were thrashing around like hell. Did you have a bad dream?" Alex asks, running his fingers through my red hair.

I nod and adjust myself to where my head is on his bare chest.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

I shake my head and he doesn't press the issue further. I feel him slip his arms around my waist and pull me even closer. I smile and slip my fingers in between his one by one. He closes any sort of gap between us when his lips gently brush mine. There's nothing more comforting or safe to me than the feeling of his skin touching mine.

He brings his mouth to my ear and reminds me that it was just a bad dream and that I'll be okay and he'll bring me home safely. While his comforting and should ease my anxiety, it only makes it worse. Last night, I discovered something that he has the right to know too, but I can't bring myself to let him in on it. Being deceitful like this and withholding information from him when he is being so loving makes me feel like a horrible person.

Youare a horrible person, Elia. You really, truly are.I think at myself.

"We have a little more than thirty minutes before you need to be downstairs," he whispers sleepily.

"Thirty minutes?" I complain. I sit up and stare blankly at my lap. But I have to tell him. I have to.

I have thirty minutes to gather the nerve to tell my husband what I discovered last night. My eyes dart unwillingly to my stomach as I think about it. The emotions hit me like an oncoming train. I am elated and angry at the same time. Elated because this is was we've always wanted. Angry because of the way it is juxtaposed with my current situation.

Maybe it's better if I just don't tell him, I think, running a hand across my stomach. It will only break his heart. There's no way he can adequately mentor Moss and I if he has this on his mind. There's just no way. Why bother telling him, anyway? It's not like anyone will even know in the arena.

"You seem distracted," he says, cupping my face in his hands. "What is it?"

"Nothing," I lie with a bite to my voice.

"Exactly how stupid do you think I am?" He asks, furrowing his brow.

"I never implied that, Alessandro." I say coolly.

He glares at the use of his full name and starts to say something, but I beat him to it.

"The Games. That's all."

"Right, and you reallythink I'm going to buy that answer?" Alex retorts.

The irate tone in his voice almost startles me into confessing it to him. I swallow and stare at my legs as if there were suddenly something very interesting about them as I wrack my brains for a decent response. I don't want to fight with him. Not right now. Not on possibly the last morning we will spend together.

The right thing to do would be to just tell him. Tell him about my- our- little secret. But sometimes, doing the right thing isn't beneficial to anybody, especially not in this situation. So I lie to him again.

"Of course I do. It's the truth," I say dismissively, stepping out of bed and getting dressed.

He scoffs at me as he slips out of bed and grabs his shirt off of the floor. "I can't believe you're actually lying to me this morning."

The smallest potion of the inner Elia tells me to pick another fight with him and to not give in to his most likely insincere apology. The majority of me, though, knows that his apology is sincere. I let the angry part of me win as I send accusations his way.

"But you've been lying to me too Alex," I say darkly.

"About what, Elia? What have I been lying to you about?" He snaps back, rolling his eyes.

"You know full well!" I snap at him. The victor sex trade.

A part of me demands that I hound him about the sex trade further, but I don't. Alex ignores my last comment, and in a way, I'm quite grateful. Until he snaps at me again.

"Aegir Almighty, you just love making ridiculous accusations and picking stupid fights, don't you?"

"You're being such an ass!" I shout back. "Here you are on the morning of the Games accusing meof lying to you when I'm sure you've lied as well. You are a hypocrite, Alex."

"I'm the hypocrite? I'mthe hypocrite? My God." He shakes his head and laughs mirthlessly as he crosses to the other side of the room. "I'm not even going to bother anymore."

In an effort to keep from sobbing in front of him, I keep my head down and play with my hair. However, not surprisingly, it doesn't help. The first tear leaves a shiny wet path down my cheek and a hundred more are quick to follow. Soon enough, I'm sniffling and my crying is quite noticeable. I pick up a shirt from the drawers and try to silence my crying with it, but it is to no avail. The shirt only muffles the sound of my sobbing.

I hear his footsteps on the carpet before I feel the hand on my shoulder. "Hey,"

I reach up and slap his hand away and mutter a command for him to go away, but he doesn't. He instead pulls me into a hug and rests his chin on my shoulder. "I'm so sorry,"

"What do you want," I sigh. I'm so mad at him right now, I don't want to be within a ten mile radius of him, much less wrapped in his arms.

He pulls me even closer and whispers another apology into my ear. "I'm sorry, love. I don't want us to fight. Not now. I'm sorry. You know I hate being the reason you cry,"

Before I can say anything back to him, he wipes a tear away with his sleeve and kisses my forehead. "Please forgive me? "

I'm still mad at him. The urge to turn around and punch him in the face is getting more and more difficult to ignore with each passing second, but when he pulls away from me and takes a few steps back, the anger begins to fade.

Rán Almighty. I have to tell him, don't I?

"Babe?" I say softly, my shaky voice barely above a whisper.

"What is it?" He whispers back.

"There's something you should know," I say tentatively. I take a deep breath and blink back the tears threatening to fall. "Alex I-"

A series of loud, impatient knocks at the door interrupt me. A short pause precedes the heavily accented voice of Eli Montgomery. "You two had better hurry up and put your clothes back on. I don't want to get blamed for having a tribute late to the launch when she was shackin' it up with her mentor!"

Never in my life have I had such conflicting feelings for someone I barely knew. On one hand, I want to thank Eli a million times over for unwittingly stopping me from telling the truth. On the other hand, I want to strangle him. The nerve that took me so long to gather left the moment Eli knocked on the door, and the probability of my being able to find it again is poor to nonexistent.

Knock, knock! "Hurry up! Ten minutes!"

I try to slip out of Alex's arms and head for the door, but he grabs my hand to stop me. "Elia, wait."

"Yeah?"

"What did you need to tell me?" His tender voice does nothing to ease my feelings of guilt. Alex's blue eyes remain locked on mine, awaiting my response.

"Nothing," I lie, my eyes darting away from his.

"Elia, love. I asked your stylist to get you ready for the arena quickly so I can try to sneak in five more minutes with you, but I can't guarantee that. If there's anything you need to say, anything at all, no matter how trivial you think it is I want you to say it."

When his voice breaks at the end, I almost lose it. He's so loving, so patient, and so wonderful. He's always been that way, even when we were kids. Lying to him of all people just feels wrong, very wrong. But still, I am silent, too afraid to speak.

"Elia please? If there's something you're not telling me and I need to know what it is. I implore you; tell me?"

I tangle my fingers in his obsidian black hair and kiss him. "You have to promise me something first."

"Anything."

"If I tell you this and I don't make it out of the arena, you have to promise me you won't do anything stupid." Like kill yourself.

"I promise," he says, pressing his forehead against mine.

With a heavy sigh, I look down at my feet and just tell him the truth. "I'm pregnant, Alex."

At first, he reacts as he should, by grinning like mad as he struggles to form words. We'd been trying to have a baby since the day we got married, but had decided to stop trying about a week and a half ago. For a second or two, the Games are non-existent in his mind as his mind focuses on our baby. But within seconds, his eyes meet mine and immediately, I regret telling him the truth. All emotion quickly leaves his face and his arms slip from around my waist. He has to use the wall to steady himself so he won't fall. Devastation is written all over his face. His voice is distant and emotionless when he asks me how long I've known.

"Since last night. Immediately before the interviews," I answer.

I am prepared to be on the receiving end of his anger- surely he'll be upset? Alex is scary when he is angry, albeit non-violent. Even so, it is never fun to witness him shouting at someone, much less to be the target of his rage.

"Please say something?" I whisper, taking his hands, rough from years of working the fishing ships in mine.

"On estimate, how far along are you?"

"Three, maybe four weeks. Not much. Why?"

"You have to be further along than that. We didn't-" He trails off.

"Babe, we did. Remember Lucy's thirteenth birthday?"

Alex rolls his eyes. "Yes, of course. We went to my parents' for dinner, came home, then we…we-" He gulps and nods his head. "You're right. That was about three and a half weeks ago."

Now running nearly five minutes late, I scramble to find a place for this conversation to end without leaving anything unsaid. "Alex?" I whisper softly, like the flapping of a butterfly's wing.

He softly places his hands on the small of my back, touching me like I'm porcelain, and pulls me closer. "Yes, Ellie?"

"I love you. So much."

He inhales, but it's uneven as if he is holding back tears. "I love you too. Which is why I'm going to do everything I can to bring you home. Even if it means…well, don't worry about it."

Again, he trails off. I understand why. He thinks I don't know, but I do.

"The not-so-secret victor sex trade."

Alex tenses up and pulls away. "How do you know about that? You're not supposed to."

Being one out of nine children, I've mastered the art of eavesdropping. My older brother and my husband have been best friends since we were children, and after Alex won his Games three years ago, he was forced into the "business." Master eavesdropper I am, I listened in on Alex telling Atticus about it three years ago.

Until I married my husband, it really didn't bother me. Yet now that we're married, I struggle with it sometimes. The thought of another woman taking off the clothes I helped him pack, their hands roaming his body in the same paths mine have. Him kissing the other woman, holding her, touching her. I normally pay no mind to the issue, but once in a blue moon I think about it, and it hurts.

"I overheard you telling my brother one time."

He purses his lips and shakes his head. "Just so you know, I don't enjoy a second of it."

"A twenty-one year old man not enjoying sex? For some reason I find that hard to believe. Can't you say no to them?" I say evenly but uncertainly.

"I only enjoy sex when it's with you," he says. "It's something that should be between two married people. You. And me. Believe me, there's nothing I'd rather do than say no to the Capitol women. I can't, though. You've no idea what the president does to victors who say no."

He pauses, waiting for me to say something, but I say nothing.

"Elia, please believe me?"

The smallest part of me wants to be angry, but one glance at the look in his blue eyes makes me believe him completely. "I believe you, but why didn't you tell me? I loved you enough to understand…"

"I was afraid of what you would do if I told you. I'm so sorry; I never should have thought that you wouldn't be understanding. That's not like you."

I don't say anything back, I just smile at him and lean against his chest. His reasons for trying to keep his victor business a secret are totally understandable. On a normal day, I'd still be angry with him. But this is the morning of the twenty-fourth annual Hunger Games. I don't have time to be upset with him.

"Hey," He whispers."If you head downstairs now, I might be able to sneak in those five extra minutes I asked your stylist for."

I nod and leave for downstairs.

By the time I get to the first floor, Moss is already waiting there. He smiles when he sees me and says, "Finally! You were taking forever!"

I shrug, "Could've gone without me, you know."

Moss freezes and stares at me as if I have two heads. The tall, long-legged seventeen year old tilts his head to the side, his shaggy dark-brown hair almost hitting his shoulder. "Aegir knows we're really all we've got left of home. Why leave home behind until you have to?"

Oh! Moss is making sense! Perhaps he is a bit brighter than I gave him credit for.

For just a moment, I regret not taking advantage of any of the opportunities I had to join his alliance. Lilly, the District 11 tribute, asked me once, and Moss asked me three times. On one hand, it was a stupid decision. On the other hand, I'm glad I'm not allied with Moss.

It's not that I don't like him, because I do. The Dorians are fishermen, like most of the people in District 4, but what sets Moss's family apart is that they're poorer than the vast majority of the District. I went to school with several people whose socioeconomic backgrounds mirrored Moss's, and most of them were spiteful people with extreme anger issues. Despite the cards life has dealt him, Moss is an optimist and generally a nice guy. He's determined, he's a fighter, but he also lacks the brutality that is a commonplace character trait in District 4 boys.

This is why I'm glad to not be in an alliance with him. It would be a hundred times easier to watch him die if I hated him. But I don't hate him, and I want his picture in the sky to be the only evidence I see of his death.

A tap on my shoulder interrupts my thoughts. Moss's sea green eyes meet mine before darting away. "No use keeping the stylists waiting. This way,"

"Right," I say, following Moss through the building.

As we walk, I think about what impending doom awaits in the arena.

Twenty-four go in. I am one of the twenty-four. One comes out. Hopefully, I'm that one….that means twenty-three must to die.

I shudder at the thought of twenty-three teenagers, most younger than I, dying bloody, violent, painful deaths.

Including Moss.

I clap a hand over my mouth as if I said those thoughts out loud. I look over at Moss and notice he's not looking at me oddly, so luckily, those thoughts were silent. Be that as it may, I don't feel any better about it. In fact, I'm appalled with myself.

What am I doing? Who am I becoming?

I just wished death upon somebody. That's not me. Yes, the want for his death is vague, but no matter how great the nebulousness of my thoughts, the fact of the matter is, I still thought about it.

How can you do that, Elia? You never even wish death on your enemies! Flower pots falling on their heads and crushed dreams maybe, but death?

And what's worse? He is from home. He has been nothing but nice to me even though we are competitors in this deadly game.

I'm beginning to reconsider my surviving. Perhaps I don't even deserve it. Perhaps he does.

I hope he doesn't speak to me when we finally reach the end of the hall, but he does. He turns to me and shakes my hand. "Good luck," he says firmly.

"Good luck," I mumble.

The hovercraft flight to the arena flashes by in a blue. When the hovercrafts land, we are handed over to our stylists. Mine is a thin man with neon pink skin and cotton candy blue hair named Thallium. Thallium's prep team, Castor, Belladonna and Monkshood, are equally strange. Their skin colors range from bleached white to carrot orange and they have tattoos all over. Belladonna has an assortment of glowing geometric shapes all over her mint green hair. They don't even look like people, and it's hard to believe that they are.

Monkshood takes one of his sunshine yellow fingers and twirls one of my red curls around it. He furrows his brow in contemplation and turns to Belladonna. "I know Thallium told us not to cut it, but don't you think it's too long?"

Belladonna parts her plump orange lips to respond to Monkshood's question, but Castor slaps his hand over her mouth to silence her. She glares at Castor, who rolls his eyes.

An irritated Monkshood turns to Castor and folds his arms over his chest. "Well?"

"Whatever Thallium says, goes. Thallium says no cutting her hair more than we already did. We will leave it be," is Castor's stern reply.

The rest of the prep session passes in silence, which gives my mind ample time to wander. Unfortunately, it wanders to things I'd rather not think about right now.

The Games.

Killing.

My family.

Being pregnant.

Protecting my baby.

I hang my head, letting my curls shroud my face. Even when the prep team calls in Thallium, I keep my head down. He tilts his head of blue hair to the side and pulls my hair from my face.

"Why so serious?" He asks, but it's not like he really cares. He's just here to get a job done.

I search my brain for the right answer. I don't want to tell anything intimate and personal to someone making me look pretty to the arena, but I don't want to be short with him either. "Anticipation," I tell him. "That's all."

Thallium nods and hands me a pile of black clothing, this year's tribute uniform. He tries to help me get dressed, but I wave him away and put on the leggings and skintight shirt myself, and sit on the edge of the table to put on the black boots. I am halfway done tying the left boot when Thallium sits beside me and begins to tie the right.

As much as being treated like a child bothers me, I don't wave him away this time. "I'm married as well, you know."

My interest level in what my stylist has to say is suddenly multiplied a hundredfold. "Really? For how long?"

"Twelve years. Her name is Calantha- Callie."

"Twelve years? That's awesome," I say, truly happy for him but I'm also a little sad. I might not even get to see my first anniversary, much less my twelfth.

"For Capitol standards, it's a pretty long marriage," he says, handing me another article of clothing.

"The arena will be cold?" I ask, gesturing to the jacket.

"I can't answer that," says Thallium.

"Of course," I say quietly.

He stands up at pats my shoulder. "I'm not supposed to do this, but I told your husband he could say goodbye. You have exactly five minutes, but no more than that."

I feel a sudden upsurge of affection for my extraterrestrial of a stylist. "Thank you. Thank you so much."

Thallium winks and walks out the door, but before the door even closes, Alex walks in. His eyes are red and watery, but I pretend that I don't notice and throw my arms around him.

"Thallium's awfully nice for allowing us these five minutes," I tell him. "How did you do it?"

"I'm very amiable and convincing when I want to be," is his answer.

A short silence passes before he abruptly says, "Give me your ring."

"My wedding ring?"

"No, your purity ring. Of course I mean your wedding ring."

"Why?"

"You're only allowed one token," he says, gesturing to the shell necklace Isobel brought to me on behalf of my mother.

I gaze achingly at the ring on my left hand. It has become such a permanent part of me and the thought of handing it over pains me. Reluctantly, I slide the ring off my finger and place it in my husband's hand. He pockets it and promises I'll have it back when I win.

"You don't know that I'll-"

Alex slams his palms down on the nearest table and turns his head to me with a manic look in his eye. "Don't say that! You have to win, you just have to! You're pregnant, Elia. You're pregnant. You have to win. For…for the baby."

"Our baby," I correct. "You're going to be a great father.

"If your interactions with your younger siblings are any sort of indicator, you'll make an amazing mother. She'll love you."

"What makes you so sure it'll be a girl?"

"I'm not; I just really want a little girl," he says thoughtfully, a jovial smile appearing on his face.

"You've thought about it before?"

"Often," he admits. "I've thought of names too, but one never sticks for more than maybe five minutes. I always picture her with red hair like you."

I pretend to be offended. "You want our daughter to be a ginger? I'm sorry, but do you hate our child?"

"Ginger kids are cute. I see one and I just want to hug them!"

"You do realize that you sound like a creeper when you say that, right?" I chuckle.

Alex leans over and kisses me playfully. "I love you, even though you constantly point out my creeperism."

"And I love you, even though you're a freak." I say, returning the kiss.

His eyes shift to my still flat stomach. "I'll bring you two home. I promise."

I lean in to kiss him one last time before the door opens and Thallium walks in to tell us that our five minutes are up. Alex kisses me one last time and wishes me good luck. As he exits the room, I try not to cry. Thallium plays with my hair absentmindedly in a feeble attempt to mollify me. Surprisingly, Thallium's half-hearted effort is enough to hold back my tears. I mumble thanks to the stylist as he leads me to the launch tube. He offers me an array of encouraging words as he motions for me to step into the tube.

The thought of the arena is daunting, but I am ready. I got a ten in training. I have an eidetic memory. I know my survival skills. I am a decent people reader. All of these skills can help me survive in the arena and win.

"I can do it," I affirm to myself as I set foot in the clear soundproof tube. Thallium presses a button and it closes around me before slowly rising up to the launch pad. I keep my eyes closed until I feel the launch pad come to a stop. Eyes still shut tight, I rub my stomach and count to five.

We can do this, kiddo. Daddy will help us.

"Open," I whisper to myself.

When I open my eyes, I see nothing but neatly trimmed yet ferocious looking hedges in front of me, a maze perhaps, and the golden cornucopia towering above us, acting as a guiding beacon. A second look at the hedges confirms my initial theory.

The Gamemakers have really outdone themselves this time.

Food, weapons, supplies. We must find our way through the maze to the cornucopia where we can obtain those objects necessary for our survival. Surely there must be dangers hidden among these hedges. I've watched enough Games to know that nothing is as it seems.

I look to my left and to my right in hopes of catching at least a glimpse of the other tributes. Negative. I swallow, close my eyes, and take a deep breath to suppress any last remnants of fear. I can't help but to wonder how much of our sixty seconds is up at this point.

My question is answered by the sounding of a gong and the booming voice of Pontius Felix, Games announcer.

Ladies and gentlemen! Let the twenty-fourth annual Hunger Games...begin!