The Guardian Games: The Odds of Five

Part 36: Aftermaths

Capitol – Game Control

"Three people died. How unremarkable. Who'd go before we start the family interviews, do you think?"

He didn't get an immediate reply, which led to him swivel around on his raised seat to the soldier cum auditor who shared the space on the dais with him. Her hands were gripping onto the rail as she gazed down to the holographic three-dimensional map in the middle of the control centre.

Just as he was about to repeat the question, Calhoun demanded, clear emphasis and weight in every single word, "Did you actually allow two victors?"

"Indeed, I did." Pitch answered her quiet calmly.

"You're dead."

The Head Gamemaker quirked a brow at her. "Thank you."

"Lotso's going to eat you whole," she added morosely, just as a short, sandy-haired Avox approached Pitch, holding a tray with a slip of paper. The Head Gamemaker nipped the envelope up with a pair of his wiry fingers, dismissing the Avox with a wave of his other hand and proceeding to read it. Then he groaned.

"Told you so," the sergeant said, not so much smugly as matter-of-factly.

"Try not to destroy anything while I'm gone," he told her sardonically, rising from his ebony seat, his black robes flowing ominously behind him whilst he stepped off the dais, heading for the exit.

Sgt. Calhoun watched his lithe form disappear down the corridor, before turning her attentions back to the Games.

Unlike Pitch, she didn't view this year's cast of tributes as 'extraordinary' or 'interesting' – they were just dangerous. All these kids were way too deviant from the ordinary, frightened breed that Panem usually presented. A rebellious little redhead who was much too lucky with her friendships and her bow. A scrawny non-Career boy who trained a mutation – well, at least they found out what became of that dragon. A mutant with healing powers, and so forth. The soldier pulled a face. This Game was just so full of …surprises. And she detested surprises, because they always meant that things would spiral out of control, and there was nothing she hated more than that.

Grimly, her gaze flitted to the display board showing the remaining ten tributes. The board had the faces of the children, with their names and ages, as well as their districts. Besides that, it also showed their health statuses, in the form of glucose levels, heart rates, even healing rates – courtesy of the microchip injected in each of their left arms.

"Sorry, M'am?" The Gamemakers automatically consulted her on matters when Pitch was unavailable, even though technically she was supposed to be just reviewing the control session and not interfering with gameplay.

But her years in the Game Control had also given her a reputation amongst the Gamemakers, and they sought out her expertise without beckoning. Perhaps another reason could also be that between her and Pitch, she was less imposing.

Her voice was crisp and acrid. "What."

Well, not that much less imposing.

The official that had called for her swallowed, before speaking, "The ice mutant – should we eliminate her?"

Ah, yes. The biggest troublemaker of them all - a volunteer, a starling, a mutant and half of a star-crossed tragedy. It was be so much easier if she were dead now. Curse Black and his stupid meddling.

"Not yet," she answered with much reluctance. "Rules are rules, and her victim-" she nodded to the display "-hasn't flat-lined." Her forehead creased as she scrutinized the board. The District 10 boy's heart rate seemed to fluctuate unevenly, as if he was slowly being smothered to death. "Yet. Keep a careful eye on him. If he dies because of the ice blast, she goes down."

"Yes, m'am."

Autumn Quarter

If Tadashi were still here, if he had been watching, what would he have said?

Nothing. His mouth would have fallen open to an 'o', his eyes gone round and he would have been completely aghast. He would have been repulsed and horrified by the little monster his kid brother had turned into.

Hiro sighed as he stepped over a protruding oak maple root, adjusting the strap of his backpack. His eyes flickered constantly between the sheet in his hands and his surroundings, before he chose to make his next move. His steps were quick, but they were heavy with guilt.

Hiccup was right – what he had just done that morning would have been something Tadashi had never in a million years wanted. His brother was always all about helping people – that's why when they had given him the job round in the 73rd Hunger Games, he had been paralyzed by the slaughter. His heart that had been so pure and good couldn't take the carnality and gore. Tadashi had spent too much time trying to save the lives of the people around him, and that's why he had failed the real mission.

With his brother's legacy in mind, Hiro had bargained for the lives of twelve, and in return he would strive to complete the job his brother was meant to do. The people on the other side were too wary – twelve would be far too obvious, and besides, it would be way too expensive. So they had given him five. That had seemed like such a small number before, but now it seemed too big.

The whole plan had fallen apart: Jack and Rapunzel hadn't had even the chance to reach the rendezvous point, and from the little he had managed to see, both had ended up being attacked by Careers. Where the dead? Were they one of the three cannon shots that were heard half an hour after the Feast began? He couldn't know till the sun went down and the death reap showed up. Even if they still lived, he had no way of knowing where they were.

As for Hiccup, his armband was one of the three that now dangled around the black-haired boy's skinny wrist. His salvation was lost.

Stopping straight in front of a mossy old wall, just as his map had directed, he began running his fingers along it, feeling for that tell-tale etching. He found it after scraping away some of the rotting ferns. Accordingly, he removed one of the arm bands and slid it into the hole.

He heard a click and hiss, and pushed through the door, entering yet another crevice. While fiercely wiping the tears that have inexplicably sprung in his eyes, he hoped to himself that this one would have a water source – he was really thirsty.

The area for the blindspot was a pleasant one, with many grand maples towering above him and a soft layer of leaves beneath his feet. But no rivers, no lakes, no water.

Groaning, he set himself his down on the forest floor, removing his backpack before reclining himself against a trunk. Digging into his pockets, he found the metal tube he was looking for. Turning the cylindrical object over, he jabbed the button at its base. The light on the top of the object flickered to life at once, then died off just as quickly.

Hiro shook his head. Good thing he got his backpack after all.

Dropping the cylinder on his lap, he grabbed his bag, dragging over and unzipping it. He pillaged it contents, finding his fingers stiffening when he spotted the muttation manual. The same thing happened at the sight of his megabot - the smiley face attached of the chain still had blood smeared on it. Even without its controller, it still looked deadly.

Forcing himself to ignore these things, he removed the new set of batteries from the bag. Picking up the metal tube again, he flipped open the hatch at the bottom, letting the dead batteries fall to the ground. He shoved the fresh set inside and closed the hatch again. Pressing the switch rather impatiently, he let out an exclamation of triumph when the light emerged from the top of the tube, forming a green rectangular holographic screen right before him.

He leaned back, waiting for the encryption on the screen to appear before making his move. Cracking his knuckles, he placed his fingers on the screen, opening up a virtual keyboard, before beginning to enter a code of his own.

Like a bulldozer in the forest, the firewalls were rammed down in that instant, and Hiro couldn't help grinning when he watched the mess in the screen vanish, replaced by the ever accommodating question – 'how can I help you?'

Tapping his answer in the virtual keyboard, the screen fizzled out for a moment or two, which might have spooked him severely, if the same hadn't happened for the last two times he did this. He waited quietly, staring down at the silver bands around his wrist.

His grin became a bitter frown. He rather doubted he was going to have the time or ability to save anyone by now. With only so many tributes left in the Games, things were bound to plummet into full chaos any second. If he had chosen to trust Hiccup instead of trying to strangle him to death, maybe he could save lives. Help people, like Tadashi.

Well, that opportunity was long gone, but maybe he could still complete this mission.

When the screen was back in action, it displayed a new array of symbols, rows and rows of it, just filling the screen like a wave of green. To an ordinary person, it would have seemed that the encryption had taken over the hack again. But when it came to Hiro, it was a gold mine.

He kept his eyes glued to the seemingly meaningless patterns on the screen, using his fingers to scroll down the page whenever he had finished absorbing the images.

Spring Quarter

"Well, well, what do we have here?"

First thing after they left the Cornucopia grounds, Rapunzel had used the remaining gold strands of the heavy braid to heal both their wounds. Gothel had been suitably impressed by her abilities, and had been indeed very relieved when the lacerations around and on her face had vanished.

Following that, they had started out into the Spring Quarter. Dusk had come on rather quickly, and at that point of time they still haven't found a suitable place for the night. Just as the sun had begun to dip into the horizon, Gothel had discovered an etching on the stone face of a cliff, hidden cunningly behind a curtain of moss. It was a perfect circle.

"You don't happen to know what it is, do you dearie?" Rapunzel couldn't fail to note the expectation in the tone.

The girl blinked, briefly thrown in a loop by the familiar carving. Stepping forward, she ran her fingers over the circular mark, still astounded. With a doubtful expression, she pulled the metallic band of her left hand, and slotted it into the hole. There was a click, and a hiss, and part of the wall sunk into the cliff, revealing an entrance.

"Well," Gothel commented, sounding much like someone has pieced together a puzzle, "that makes sense now."

The enclave beyond the secret door was much like the cove in the Summer Quarter, except that the waterfall was much taller, and the lake was much smaller. The ground was covered with sweet-smelling grass, so soft and comfortable that Rapunzel decided to just strip her boots off and go barefoot, to which Gothel rolled her eyes. It was fortunate that they managed to gather some fruit and herbs before coming in, because much like the cove again, there was nothing edible within. In every other aspect however, the accommodations were as luxurious.

"How on Earth did you ever come across such a handy armband, dearie?" Gothel asked while they set down their belongings.

Rapunzel hadn't meant to tell her everything, but the elder girl was very skilled in interrogating while sounding perfectly innocuous. So all the details came spilling out; Toothiana, meeting Hiro, allying with Hiccup, the cove, and even Toothless. She even found herself talking about the armband alliance and how it fell apart during in the Cornucopia when Hiro changed the plan.

"Well, I think the explanation is pretty simple, darling," Gothel said, while they set up the fire pit. "The two boy was never meant have that arm band, and three boy wanted to get it back."

"His name is Hiccup," Rapunzel found herself adding in a low voice.

Gothel made an exaggerated groan. "Do speak up, dearie. There's nothing I detest more than mumbling."

"…Nevermind."

Deciphering Gothel was like studying the universe. The more you learnt, the less you were sure of.

She was definitely a Career – Rapunzel had been a witness to most of her kills. She bore no shame in the act either, and treated life-taking as calmly as one would take a stroll in the park on a Saturday morning. But she wasn't without a moral compass. Rapunzel was fully aware that at least two of the District 1 girl's murders had been to protect the blonde girl she barely knew. She wasn't the typical Career that Eugene had been fearful of, but then, what kind of Career was she? What kind of person was she? Cynical, sarcastic, severely beauty-conscious, theatrical, intelligent, cold, proud and…maternal.

"Why did you save me?"

Gothel didn't answer, but Rapunzel knew that she had heard the question from the narrowing of her eyes. The District 1 girl however didn't cease her movements, and continued to strike the flints against another rock, sparking the tinder and starting the blaze. The blonde sighed quietly from her spot, wrapping her knees in her own arms, silently scrunching the grass beneath her toes.

Then the other girl said in an oddly quiet voice, "You remind me of her."

Her? There was only one possible person that Rapunzel could think of. Hesitantly, she said, "Y-your daughter?"

Gothel nodded slowly, a half-mocking smile twisting on her face – the mockery directed, it seemed, at herself. "My daughter."

Rapunzel had to admit that she couldn't quite wrap her head around that. As far as she knew, there hadn't been any mother in the Arena before. "What is her name?"

"What 'was' her name, you mean?"

"Oh, right." Oh. Oh. Is that why…is that she and Shen…oh dear…

"Daphne."

"Like the flower?"

"Quite right."

There were many uncomfortable questions that Rapunzel were dying to ask, but she didn't want to upset her newest ally. Or anger her.

"She passed when I was seventeen," the other girl continued on calmly, though there was a tinge of sadness in her tone. "She was seven."

Rapunzel's eyes went wide after she did the math. "So that means you were-"

"Ten years old when I was with child? Well, yes."

The blonde's jaw crashed to the ground, her heart probably jerking to a stop.

Then Gothel threw her head back and guffawed heartily. "Goodness, I was just teasing, darling. Don't take everything so seriously!"

"Oh." Rapunzel let out a sigh in relief, her terse shoulders relaxing.

"Alright, alright, I'll be honest with you now." Slapping the dirt off her hands, Gothel placed them over her lap. Her gray eyes turned heavenward while she thought of how to begin.

"Perhaps it would be best to tell you a little about my – parents." Rapunzel noted how her jaw tightened at the word. "Both were trained as Careers in their younger days, but neither of them got reaped. It irked them both to no end, of course." Gothel rolled her eyes. "They were always jealous of the victors back home. That's the crime of being in a wealthy district – there was always someone richer. Since they'd missed their chance, they were determined that I'd get mine - whether I wanted it or not."

At that moment, the District 1 girl removed a dagger from her coat, holding it up by its handle, the wavering flames reflecting off its silver face. "My father taught me knives, and my mother poisons. Of course, their teaching methods were very different, and my mother was constantly trying to kill anyway. She wanted to 'spare me the pain of existence' - ugly people always had it hard, she said. She wasn't lying, but still-" Gothel snorted, before replacing the knife in its slot.

The narration was told in a brisk, casual tone, such that anyone not listening carefully would have easily assumed that she was talking trivial matters like shoes or hair. Rapunzel waited for the black-haired girl to burst into cackles and say 'Got you, didn't I?' but it never came.

Then something that the Career said struck her.

"Wait, ugly?" she found herself cutting in.

"Rapunzel," the elder girl said testily, "it's not good manners to interrupt."

"I'm sorry," the blonde apologized hastily, but she couldn't let go of the idea. "But you aren't ugly. I mean, look at you!" She gestured at the other girl's person. "You look fantastic."

"Thank you, dearie." Gothel beamed, but it didn't reach her eyes. "Unfortunately, this isn't my first face, dearie."

Then Rapunzel remembered the weirdly dressed people of the Capitol. All the gloss and glitter, the bizarre eyeshadows and eyelashes, sometimes they weren't enough. Some birthmarks in wrong places, some bones of awkward shapes, couldn't be hidden under the furs or the rouge. When the Capitol folk reached a certain age that wrinkles and sagging eye bags became too much, they went for more … drastic solutions.

Peering closely at her companion's immaculate countenance, it dawned on the blonde that District 1 developed many of the products and techniques needed for these operations. In that case, it was very probable that the gorgeous black-haired girl had the opportunity to undergo such a procedure, though it would cost a hefty sum.

All she dared to say was, "Wow."

Gothel had gone on, full throttle, as if Rapunzel's input hadn't come up at all. "One day all of that changed. It was the best day of my life. My father had been unfortunate enough to end up in a fight that went bad, and my mother got involved… Long story short, my parents died, and I found Daphne. Of course, I didn't think of it in a good way at the time. I mean, I was eleven at the time."

District 1

7 Years Ago

This arrangement wasn't just laughable. It was absurd. Ridiculous. There was no way she was going to get saddled with this brat.

"Let me explain this to you, you worthless little whelp."She wasn't exactly sure what whelp means, but whenever her late father used it on other guys, it sounded bad. Besides, the toddler – or younger, she didn't look older than two - standing before her probably didn't understand it either.

Gothel pointed to the town square, where the crowds had gathered to watch the proceedings. She made sure that the littler child had followed the finger before continuing, "My mummy is going die, because your mummy killed my daddy, and my mummy had to kill her back. So," her posture and tone are haughty, "as far as I'm concern, this is definitely your mummy's fault."

The child blinked at her. Gothel noticed that the little girl had enormous green eyes – innocent and afraid – and the river of hair flowing down the back of her head was possibly the purest gold she had ever laid eyes on. The older girl fingered with her own black curls – that, her mother said, was the only thing pretty about her. Everything else about the skinny, bony Gothel was either plain, unremarkable or both.

"So, no matter what the stupid justice guy says, you're not my problem," she told the little girl in harsh tone. Somewhere in the background, she heard the Peacekeeper reading out her mother's crimes. They weren't a lot, just a couple about disrupting peace. After all, the Peacekeepers only cared about peace – they didn't care about justice for a pair of orphans.

If the community care bothered, they would come and pick up the two girls. There were many awful stories about what went behind the walls of the home, but Gothel wasn't afraid. Her father, while a terrible man in many ways, was an excellent teacher. Under his iron gaze and leather whip, she had a perfected her knife-throw and her gutting abilities. Her mother hadn't bothered with her education, always saying that she was far too ugly to even dream of being a Career, and told her every day without fail to kill herself – save herself the pain of living.

But that's where her mother and her differed – Gothel was a survivor. Throw her into pain, torture, humiliation, she'd pull through.

She wondered if this annoying little kid with huge emerald eyes was a survivor. The child looked rather sickly, even malnutritioned – a rare sight in District 1. Gothel knew that the kid's dead mama was a poor mama, who'd rather drink herself rotten than tend to her young. Gothel's mother had always made sure her own daughter was well-fed. No, Gothel's daily problems with meals came in the form of trying to figure out whether it was the milk or the porridge that was laced with aconite.

"We have awful mummies, don't we?" she remarked to the girl, some of the loftiness replaced by bitterness. The beautiful little child didn't answer, staring back at her with a blank look. No, it was expectant. Hopeful.

Gothel heard one of the soldiers yelling a command, and the rifles were all loaded and aimed. Soon after the execution, the community people would come for them. And when they got hold of this little child, hardly more than a baby, they would break her, and she would die before the week was out.

Maybe some part of Gothel, some part that was better than her parents, felt that such a beautiful little child didn't deserve such a fate.

Jumping to her feet, the older girl held out a palm to the toddler. "Come on."

The child hardly hesitated before slipping her tinier hand into bigger girl's one, and Gothel was almost thrown off by the sheer amount of trust this child had placed in her. Well, most children weren't very smart, anyway.

Just as the squad began to fire, Gothel and the little toddler fled the city square, heading to the forest where the elder girl knew there were a couple of abandoned old houses that no one used anymore – a perfect hideaway from the community people.

The little girl never really said her own name, so Gothel named her Daphne. As a form of affection, she ended up calling the child 'Flower' most of the time. Hardly three weeks were out before the child had begun to call her 'Mother Gothel'.

"I was determined to raise Daphne the way my parents never raised me. I asked nothing from her, but to be a good girl and obey me. Of course," she huffed, "money was hard for a pair of ill-skilled children to earn their keep. When I hit twelve, I signed up for tesserae, but it was never enough."

There was a wistful note in her voice that felt so unlike the hard, pragmatic killer that she could slip into. "I wanted to Daphne to have a good life, away from all the grime and the brutality that Career-hood meant. She was too fragile for that. To get that kind of money meant I had to a Career myself, of course, but I wasn't pretty enough that get in." A sly grin crept on her face. "But I was, however, a very, very resourceful person."

District 1

5 years ago

Blackmail was a despicable act – even her parents never stooped that low. Of course, her parents were never quite as bright as she was.

"I'm well aware how costly it is, Mr. Kongque." Gothel was careful to emphasize every single word to show her seriousness. "But if you'd rather I simply expose your son's dirty secret to the whole District, by all means. Refuse. I'm sure the parents of the dead children would love to have his head on a platter."

The scene was almost hilarious; a couple garbed in the latest fashion line, done up head to toe with gold and good reputation, sitting pale and frozen across a scabby pre-teen with a crooked grin. She understood that they were shaken – who wouldn't be, if shown that their son was a murderer? Outside the Arena, at least. But seriously, did they have to care? Like, that much?

"You have two minutes," she told them, her eyes flicking to the clock. She liked watching them quaking in their velvet boots, watching them discuss anxiously with each other of possible option. She liked the power.

After several seconds of heated whispers, the man finally addressed her directly, "Alright, girl-"

"Gothel," she corrected him, deliberately choosing to examine her nails rather than look at him.

"-Gothel. We'll pay."

"Please don't tell anyone," his wife pleaded worriedly, wringing her arms together. "For Shen's sake, please."

Gothel shoved the cheque over to Mr. Kongque, which he signed with much reluctance. Examining the signature and the sum, she meticulously compared it to another document that he had signed before. Then, she leaned over the study table, grabbed his telephone and jabbed in a few numbers. She waited for a few seconds, then spoke into the mouthpiece, "It's all clear. I got it. You can kill the thing."

She heard the couple's collective sighs of relief when she dropped the receiver back on the switch hook. Flashing a smile at them, she said to them, "It was a pleasure working with you." With that, she took her leave.

Hugging the slip of paper to her chest, she couldn't help chuckling to herself at her victory. And that wasn't even the best part.

Oh, what was the best part? Well, there was no one at the other end of the phone line.

"That's how I got my face. Some girls were born with it. I earned it."

Rapunzel was speechless. Somehow a tale about Gothel undergoing teen pregnancy would have been less unbelievable. As if to occupy her loosened jaws, she hurriedly stuffed some berries in her mouth.

"Of course, Shen found out about what I did. In the year I became a Career, he was forced to pull out by his parents. He blamed me for ruining his chances at becoming a victor. He swore revenge." She noted that Gothel had balled her palms into fists. "He threatened Daphne. Naturally, I took steps."

District 1

3 years ago

"Mother, why I can't go? All my friends are."

"Because I said so." She was getting slightly irritated. Purposely ignoring the little blonde trailing her steps, she transferred the metal pot from the table to the stove.

"But I've never seen fireworks up close, Mother."

"You mean the stars, Flower." That was the way she handled it. Daphne would insist several times that the fireworks weren't stars, then she would press and say that they were, and eventually Daphne would fall quiet when she began doubting her own eyes, and that was the end of the matter. The problem was that Daphne was getting better at detecting her lies.

"They're not stars, mother. Stars don't move. I've read a book about that."

The most obvious solution then would be telling her the truth, but there was no way that was happening. She wasn't about to taint Daphne's 'perfect mother' view of her.

'Then let her go.' Another voice told her. 'Let her see the lights.'

'No!' She silenced that thought. She couldn't take the risk. She knew that the Kongques had locked Shen up in some asylum, but what if they just decided to let him out for one day, to come see the lights in a moment of sentiment? And if he laid eyes on Daphne…

"Please, mother? I'm a big girl no-"

"Enough about the fireworks, Daphne! You are not leaving this house! Ever!"

The little girl's lip quivered, her eyes suddenly going big and blury. Before Gothel could say another word, the little blonde disappeared from the kitchen, probably to bury herself in the covers of her room.

Grabbing hold of the matchbox sitting on the counter, she yanked out a match and struck it against the sandpaper. The first flared too quickly, burning out. She whipped out another match, repeating the action, but her finger were clumsy in her anger, and it burnt out too. Throwing the box with a growl, she picked off a knife hanging off the wall. With all her might, she flung it at a mirror that she hung on the end of the kitchen, which she often used to preen at her now prettier reflection. Now all that remained of it were glass fragments that littered the wooden floor.

Oh, perfect. Now she was the bad guy.

"Um, Gothel? Are you alright?"

The older girl had suddenly fallen silent, seeming to have suddenly drifted a million miles away in the seconds that she didn't speak.

Rapunzel swallowed the last of the berries that was to be her dinner, and she realized that her companion hadn't touched hers. "Gothel?"

She only answered in two words, hollow and bleak, "He won."

"What do you mean?" Rapunzel had a good guess what it meant, but all the same, she wished it wasn't true.

"When both Shen and I reached seventeen, he returned to Career Academy. I had hoped he'd forget, but he didn't. Without my knowing, he befriended Daphne – or rather, she befriended him. She felt sorry for him, because of his 'sickness'. She was also rather… rebellious at the time." Her voice became even more bitter and scornful=. "He decided to 'reward' her, of course. He gave her a roman candle. Told her specifically not to show it to me - that I wouldn't approve, which was true, of course. So one day when I wasn't home, she lit it up." Her words were starting to meld together, partially in anguish, partially in fury. "She was seven! She'd never seen a roman candle before! How could she know that those things blew up in your face!"

Rapunzel liked to think that she was a very sympathetic person, but looking at Gothel turn from a person of pride and confidence to one of sorrowful rage left her mind blank of comforting words.

Fortunately, after inhaling deeply and shutting her eyes for a while, Gothel managed to collect herself again. Turning to Rapunzel, she said, with her usual motherliness, "You should get some rest, dearie. You look exhausted."

It wasn't an inaccurate assumption, and to prove it, Rapunzel let out a yawn. "But, the death recap?"

"I'll watch for you dear."

"R-right." The District 8 tribute was too eager to do something. Scrambling up from her seat on the grass, she picked a patch of grass and lay down on it, and her eyes found themselves glue to the dark blue sky above. From the periphery of her vision, she noted that Gothel was poking the flames.

She was hesitant again, but she couldn't help herself. "Um, Gothel?"

"Yes, dearie."

"How-how do I remind you of her?"

"Well, she looks like you. Gold hair, green eyes. " There was a pause. "Your innocence, your belief in the good of people. You're exactly how I envisioned her to be, if she had a chance to grow up."

"Oh, thanks." She felt as if she should say more. "Um, thanks for sharing this with me."

"Not a problem at all, dearie. Now don't you worry your little head. Sleep."

Curling herself up in the grasses, wrapping the shorter brown cord around her arms, Rapunzel expected herself to feel more relaxed now that the mystery of Gothel was now cleared up. However, there was still a disquieting sensation running up her spine. Something didn't seem quite right about the District 1 girl's tale…

Before Rapunzel could pinpoint what it was, she had drifted into deep slumber.

District 12

9 Years Ago

He felt a snowball crash into his head, then heard harsh laughter follow.

Hans, the thirteenth and youngest son of the Westergaard household, scraped the bits of snow off his head. Tracing the path that the projectile had taken, he wasn't all surprised to find a trio of redheaded adolescents snickering behind a pine trunk.

"Go away!" he yelled at them, but his voice was squeaky and high, compared to their deeper, manlier intones, so it set them off into a fit of giggles.

"Still waiting for your girlfriend, Hansy-Pansy?" One of the boys called, while another did made a wolf-whistle. Hans tried to give him what his father called a 'withering glare', but with his chubby little features, it was impossible for it to do anything more than a childish pout.

So he turned away from them, peering past the iron gates to the magnificent old manor. Well, it was magnificent to an imaginative District 12 boy who had seen little else. Under one arm was a small box, containing a very special gift for a very special person. He had done his research carefully – finding out about her favorite colors, her favorite trinkets, and even her favorite flower, which he had slipped under the lid of the box before tying it up with a blue ribbon.

For a family that was almost too huge to be healthy, the word about little Hans' crush had gotten around at an obscenely rapid speed. He had only told one of his brothers – the one just a year older than him, whom he believed would not betray his confidence. But confidence was betrayed easily at the price of two sugar gums, and Hans' secret became the hottest gossip amongst the Westergaard boys. The big boys had pretty much just ignored him, saying he was a lost cause, while the younger lads, who held similar affections and aspirations to the little lady in question, had told him to lay off their 'Future Mrs. Westergaard' or risk a thrashing. The middle bunch who had no stake in the matter whatsoever just decided to mock their kid brother and see who could get a rise out of him first.

Taking deep breaths, Hans forced himself to endure the derisive remarks and the emasculating comments, choosing to focus on the task at hand instead. He kept his eyes fixed on the manor house, flitting from one window to another, hoping that he could catch a glance of the lovely maid who he had fallen for.

Yes. Hans, at the rare age of eight years old, had decided that he was very much in love. Well, why shouldn't he be? She had the fairest hair, like flaxen gold mixed with snow. Her eyes were abrilliant shade of azure, and she carried herself with a grace and loveliness far beyond her years.

"That has to be the stupidest thing I've ever heard," one of his brother had ridiculed him. "You can't be in love with a girl that you've just met."

Well, Hans had retorted that that showed that his brother's pea-sized brain couldn't possibly understand true love. That was why the little redhead now sported bruises under his left eye.

That had been one reason why he opted to go for the indirect approach – he didn't want to scare his lady-love off whilst he wooed her. Hence, he had the box, the flower and the note. The last of the gifts had taken him twenty tries before he had deemed it worthy for her eyes, and he had to debate with himself whether or not to sign it off with his name. Being painfully shy, he opted not.

After what seemed to be forever, his brothers decided to leave him alone so that he might conduct his surveillance in peace. Just when he did that, he was delighted to discover that the Mayor and his wife were living the house, as they were visiting the Seam that afternoon. They were kindly folk who genuinely wanted to help those in need, thus Hans knew for certain that such visits were routine. He also knew that the Mayor's daughter was also away from home, staying temporarily at the doctor's after having ridden a bike down the spiral of stairs in the manor. Hans had been envious of that. The Westergaards were well-to-do enough to afford a family bicycle, but with thirteen boys, it was hard to share.

Anyhow, all these factors meant that she was alone in home.

Waiting the Mayor and Mrs. Mayor to disappear down the hill, Hans rushed through the manor gates. They were closed, but unlocked, he got through after a hard push. He wondered if the creak of the hinges would send her running to the window and discover the intruder. The self-deprecating, awkward part of him really didn't want her to, but the other gleeful, excited part of him quietly hoped that she would.

But as far he could tell, there was barely a stir in the manor, as if there were no one home at all.

He went straight up to the door, before placing the box onto the snowy welcome mat. He had to tiptoe to reach the door knocker, and delivered a sharp rap.

Almost immediately, he heard steps pelting the wooden boards of the house, so he picked up his feet and ran over to a huge pine tree near the house entrance, hiding himself behind the huge trunk and praying that his tracks in the snow wouldn't be so obvious.

He heard the oaken door swing open, and the angelic voice – the same that he had been dreaming about all week - said hopefully, "Papa?"

There was no answer, only the cold winds and the little redhead's silent grin.

Taking a peep, Hans mirthfully observed that the girl of his dreams – who looked as she had just stepped down from heaven - had spotted and taken up the box. Eagerly, he watched as she read the little note on the box, before removing the ribbon to see the other gift. After lifting the lid, she carefully removed the purple crocus, holding it out to the sunlight, twirling it in her gloved hand. He wanted to punch a fist up in the air when he spotted the ghost of a smile on her lips.

That second of triumph had faded when the crocus slipped from her finger and tumbled to the ground.

Confused, Hans stared intently at the blonde girl's face, almost forgetting that he was supposed to hiding. Her eyes were glued to the gift at the bottom of the box – a gift that he had chosen with the utmost care and caution, and also spent six month's of allowance on. He had expected joy, or even disgust. Not distress.

Without retrieving the fallen crocus, the blonde girl disappeared back into the manor, slamming the door behind her. Alarmed, Hans emerged from the hiding spot, gazing at the manor porch, not understanding. Desiring to discover what was so troubling about his precious gift, he went around the house, hoping that she went to a room which had outside-facing windows.

He was in luck, because he found her in the living room. Wiping the snow caught on the window pane, he peered through the frosted glass, his anxious breath forming mists and clouding his vision occasionally.

She was kneeling down by the fireplace, taking a poker and poking the ashes till they became bigger and brighter. Then, she picked up his gift box and removed the lid. Holding the box at arm's length as if it contained a snake, she slowly moved towards the fireplace, her feet stopping right before the black rail. Her lips drawn tight and her entire body rigid, she tipped the contents of the box straight into the flame.

Hans' eyes could only bulge in horror as he watched the pair of pale-blue gloves, with snowflake pattern rosemaled on the edges, shrink and crinkle in the heat till it was nothing but soot and dust. Just like his heart.

Autumn Quarter

"So it was you."

He made a sheepish grin. "Um, yeah."

Sitting by the fire light's glow in the darkness, under the shade of the crimson maples hanging over head, there couldn't have been a more uncomfortable duo.

After the Feast, the District 12 tributes had been taken into to the forest and set up camp near a lake. Ordinarily, Elsa would have never dared set up camp near a water source – it was far too obvious an attack-hotspot. But her hand burns needed cooling every now and then, so they decided to throw caution in the wind and set up camp here anyway.

Burns in her hands didn't mean that she couldn't produce ice – the patch of snow under her knees was sure evidence of that. Rather, she just couldn't direct it properly. Well, it wasn't as if she had much control over her powers in the first place.

Hans however didn't share that belief, thinking that as long as she had the gloves, she could. He was wrong, of course, but his faith in her was flattering.

Speaking of gloves –

"I'm sorry about that," she told him, quite sincerely. She hadn't actually remembered much about Hans in her childhood. In a matter of fact, she was pretty certain she didn't even know about his existence till she had spotted him linking arms with Anna in high school.

"When I saw the gloves the box, I was afraid," she ventured on to explain, hoping to somehow redeem herself from the whole 'heartbreaker' image. She had remembered that day quite clearly – she had been trembling with fear when she flung the pretty white gloves into the fire, clutching her own gloved arms, nearly calling up a snow storm out while praying that the giver of the gift hadn't meant anything by it. "I thought someone had found me out. That's why I-" burnt your heart-felt love confessions to cinders.

"I totally get it. It's fine. Now it really does make sense." He's so maddeningly patient. Sometimes Elsa wishes he would just be bitter or sulky or something. It would have made her felt as if she had paid her debt to him in some way, but his adamant persistence in forgiveness and kindness made her only pile up her own personal guilt.

Whether she liked it or not, the only reason why both of them now stood a chance of getting home was because of him. He had started the romance, and the Capitol had bought it. He had saved her life in the ice castle, almost resulting in his own death at the hands of the Careers. And again he had come back for her during the Feast, literally carrying her out and away of danger. He had done so much for her – for Anna, yet with one single action, she had ruined it all.

Speaking of Anna, why was Hans actually telling her this story? Wasn't he supposed to be in love with her sister? Wasn't this entire 'star-crossed lovers' thing supposed to be nothing more than a cover story?

Or was the cover story just another cover story for the truth?

Frankly, that thought sent an unwanted shiver down her spine, adding to the queasy feeling she already had in her gut.

Truth or not, the game was over – Jack was dead, and by ice too.

Or was he? If he was, then why hadn't the Gamemakers done anything to her?

The lull that fell between them brought back the awkwardness once more, and Elsa found herself boring her eyes into the flames, purposefully avoiding those of the redhead. She wore the gloves over her hands still, to prevent herself from rubbing the blisters and cover the laceration on she had received in battle, if nothing else. Her ankle had been wrapped in her own coat. Once her hands healed – if they ever would – she would be able to make fresh ice bandages for it.

Both of them shared the bland meal, some tree roots and berries that Hans had foraged. It wasn't half as good as the game she and Jack used to catch, but Elsa had to remind herself of why the District 10 boy was no longer with her.

No, here she was, sitting side by side with her supposed romantic interest, like an unwilling actor thrown on the stage with the name of the pantomime and without a script. The quaking in the pit of her stomach was building up her nervousness, and she might just throw up.

But she didn't. Conceal. Don't feel. Don't let them know.

Don't let them know that you harbor no romantic sentiments whatsoever towards this boy. That meant that she had to play along.

She tried to start conversation again. "So, when did you start liking me exactly?"

He blushed slightly, his neck turning almost as red as his sideburns while he jabbed the tip of his blade into the ground. He was a wonderful actor.

Or maybe it wasn't acting.

"I met you – or rather saw you – in art class. The teacher showed the rosemaling designs you did to the whole class – called you a genius. That's when I found out about you liked rosemaled patterns." He chuckled slightly, pressing both his hand down on the sword hilt while he reminiscence. "That's when I also noticed that you were perpetually wearing gloves."

"Ha, I see," she commented, twisting the fabric in her hands. Unconsciously, her eyes flicked up, and she found herself staring into his green oculars. They were kind, and concerned, and hopeful. How many times had she heard Anna describe them as 'dreamy'?

She dropped her gaze immediately.

"So, right the moment I laid eyes on you, I just – well – I was a goner." He had probably interpreted the fall in eye level to be shyness, which inclined her to start fiddling with her platinum-blonde braid and really feel shy. "After that, I tried to work up the nerve to talk to you or at least-" he grinned wryly "-give you a token of my affections."

Elsa couldn't help but give a little laugh. "Without success, I suppose?"

"Without success," he agreed.

She stifled the urge to ask him,'So, was Anna your second choice or something?', because it would reveal to the cameras their biggest secret, and because she might just not like the answer. So she said instead, "If it helps, I think I remembered liking the crocus."

The firelight was not very bright, but it was enough for her to make out the boyish joy written all over his face. She smiled at the sight, and it was hard not to let it be genuine. Her hand went up to the pin she wore on her collar, and she lifted the latch, pulling it off her person.

"Anna-" the name comes hesitantly to her lips, and she noted a knowing flicker pass his eyes "-gave me this before she entered. As my token."

He took it from her to examine it, unwittingly - or perhaps not - sidling up closer to her. He made a noise of astonishment. "It's made of ice."

"That's my own addition," she confessed with some pride.

"You really have a knack of making things beautiful." He placed the pin back in her palms. Instead of focusing on how warm his hands were even through the focus, Elsa's mind starts reeling away on its own.

Striking Anna on the head with an ice blast…killing the tree with a single touch…killing Jack…

"No, I don't." She pulled her own hands away from him suddenly, shaking her head as she did. While fitting the pin back on her collar, she found herself stammering, "I-I can't – I don't – I only can destroy things."

She tried to shift herself away from him, knowing that the ice below her was starting to spread, but he just shifted himself too, refusing to leave her side. His voice was firm and resolute. "Not true. Think of the wonderful things you made – remember the tribute parade? When you turned the chariot into ice? Or when you transformed into the ice dress on stage? That stuff, Elsa," there was no hesitation or doubt in his tone, "that is beautiful."

She didn't want to, but a smile crept up her face then. "So now you know it wasn't a magical ice suit?"

He chuckled, before answering, "No. Just a beautiful, talented, magical ice girl."

She could swear his eyes were glowing when he said that. She had a very good look into them, after all, since both of their faces were merely inches apart, and their eyes locked in the other's.

Everything in Elsa wanted to hit the pause button on the scene and dash away, hide herself under a rock, and never see the light ever again. It was her curse again, except it didn't need to use ice to mess thing up. She was already doing that by flirting with her sister's boyfriend. That was her only purpose in life – to destroy things, and hurt people she love.

But what if Anna understood? What if Jack wasn't dead yet, and she wasn't condemned? What if this was the only way both she and her sister's beloved could make it home was to do the one thing that could destroy her sister?

Put on a show. For Anna.

She leaned in, and her lips touched his.

She had never kissed anyone before. Anna hadn't either, but she claimed that when it happened, it would feel like sparks and chocolate and fireworks bursting in the sky.

But Elsa felt nothing. Well, there was perhaps a little fear that she might accidentally freeze him up when she pecked his lips, but besides that, no sparks.

It had only been a second or two before they both hear a 'clunk' near their feet. Startled, they separated, both their eyes going to the ice covered leaf-litter, where a silver parachute lay.

Hans eagerly picked it up, undoing the latch on its side, holding it open so that both of them could see what was inside.

It was a small tube of liquid that was unfamiliar in appearance or smell to he, so she couldn't help feeling disappointed. Hans on the hand seemed elated.

Removing the cap on the tube, he told her, "Take off your gloves."

Curious, she acquiesced, letting the gloves drop on her lap. In the red of the fire, the burns looked even more swollen, and she could feel an uncomfortable throbbing in her palms. Without a word, he took one of her hands in his own, while the other was used to squeeze the tube. The transparent liquid was cool and soothing on her sweltering skin, and he helped to spread it evenly over both hands.

"I'm guessing you've never used burn cream," he said, when he observed her inquisitive expression. Elsa wasn't the type of girl who blushed – she often believed her complexion was far too pale for that – but she could feel the blood filling her cheeks. Well, why shouldn't she, since the boy whom she had just kissed now had his own fingers entwined in his, holding her like he never wanted to let go? And strangely, the ice around her had stopped spreading. The blank awkwardness that she felt during the kiss was replaced by a truck load of confusion.

She began to fear the coming of another kiss when something interrupted them again. To her joy, it was the Panem anthem.

She withdrew his hands from his just in time for the Capitol insignia in the sky to disappear, revealing the tributes who had fallen during the Feast. The list was shorter than expected; Shen for District 1, the scarred boy from District 4, and the grey-skinned boy from District 6.

When the blue lights in the sky dissipated, Elsa found a strange lightness in her chest. She breathed it out, relief in her voice, "He's alive."

She didn't notice the redhead boy mutter darkly, "So he is."

Winter Quarter

Merida had expected him to be chatty, flirty, or even obnoxiously childish. That's how he was with her when they were in the alliance of five. But in her sole company, he was the complete soul of solemnity, walking ahead of her and saying next to nothing.

When she had asked for water, Jack had shown her the lake – though she could have eaten the snow around them. When she had wanted food, he had taken her hunting. Her left arm had still been smarting like crazy due to Turbo's maiming, so he had taken the lead in the hunt, and she had to admit he was fairly proficient with the bow, though she had bitingly vowed to mutilate his face if he had ever dared to snatch her weapon from her again. He had shown her a tight smile, before going back to the silent treatment.

Before she had even the chance to ask for shelter, he had led her to a cave near another frozen lake, built a fire place and divided the cave into two spots, so that both of them could keep a comfortable distance from each other. She had the feeling that this cave was familiar to him, and she suspected that the inner layer of frost in the interior might have some role in it. He hadn't explained anything to her though, telling her that if she could put off killing him till after the death recap, she would have new snug coat to keep those exposed appendages of hers warm. If she let him live till morning, he might be able to get something for her cuts and her broken arm then. That was when she realized that he didn't trust her, and she realized that she couldn't blame him.

Then he had ripped open his backpack – a little bag around the size a wristwatch – pulling out a syringe that presumably would cure his infection, he had declined for her help. She had watched him pull back his own coat, shivering in the cold while his own red fingers clasped the booster and shakily stabbed it into his wound, holding her own breath throughout until he had managed remove the needle without breaking it. If anyone had asked her then though, it had seemed as if the injection didn't help at all. Instead, his skin appeared to become even whiter than before, and his skinny form looked like it was on the verge of breaking.

True to his word, after nightfall and the death recap, their coats came. She shouldn't have doubted him, since his attractiveness hadn't completely declined with his strength. Of course, hers had been a simple black coat, bearing the number five, while his was thick woollen hoodie, complete with gloves, a scarf, and even new boots. He definitely had throngs of sponsors. Yet somehow, she felt as if all that he had was insufficient to keep him from trembling in icy wonderland.

He had offered to take first watch for their camp, which she had objected instantly, stating she didn't trust him. He had made a sharp laugh as a response, saying nothing in reply. In the end, it was just her forcing her eyelids open, while he gazed out of the cave, staring at the moon reflecting off the lake, resting his chin on the head of his staff.

"Have you ever talked to the moon before?"Her drowsy being was startled awake by the sound of his voice breaking the chill.

When she managed to absorb the absurdity of the question, her reply ended up being a short "No."

He chuckled a little, not taking his eyes of the unnaturally glimmering yellow circle hanging in the sky. It was pretty obvious that the Gamemakers were tampering, since it hadn't been too long ago since the new moon phase had occurred. But Jack didn't seem to dawdle on the artificiality, but rather what it reminded him of.

"My sister used talk to it a lot," he informed her. There was a lightness in his tone, one that sounded much more like the Jack that she had first met, rather than the sullen boy that became her ally. "She believed in the man in the moon, you see."

"The what now?" The redhead tipped her head to the side questioningly.

He turned to face her, a smirk threatening to envelope his features. "Let me guess – not a fairy tale fan either?"

She shuddered, but not from the cold. "No. Of course not."

"Leprechauns? Brownies? Leviathans?"

She shook her head, the height of her brow increasing with every name he gave.

Jack sighed. "You don't have much of a childhood either, do you?"

Being her fiery self, and feeling rather put out with him, she took offence. "I spent my childhood learning how to use my bow. I didn't have time to sit around reading – fairy tales." The word did sound rather foreign on her lips.

He reclined himself against the cave walls, almost lazily, but she noted traces of a grimace on his face. "I didn't either. I had to clock twelve hours in the fields every day. Fairy tales was something I only did it for my sister."

It then struck Merida that both of them were elder siblings, but that's probably where the similarities stopped. From what she had made to discern from him before and during the Games, he was poor, and his family relied heavily on him for their income. If he died here, what would happen to them? Would they starve?

No, she had to stop this. She couldn't allow herself to sympathize with him, to connect with him. That could only be one victor, and she wasn't going to give that up. Besides, the last time she befriended someone – truly befriended, not allied with – the loss almost killed her.

He was as if he could read her mind. "Sorry. I'm not trying to make you sorry for me. I just-" one of his gloved hands went up to his jaw, rubbing it while he tried to put his thoughts to word "-I just miss her. I guess."

He stared out of the cave mouth again, shifting himself closer to outside and away from the fire.

Before Merida could reply to that, he let out a sudden gasp, collapsing back against the cave wall, one wobbly hand grasping his chest while the other drove his staff into the ground to steady himself. At the same time, the redhead noticed that several strands of his chocolate brown hair had turned white, and couldn't help taking a sharp inhale herself.

Once his shivering spell was over, he noticed her gaping at him. "What is it?"

She could only point at the brazen white locks on his head.

He ran his own finger through his tufts, yanking his discolored bangs into his vision. Sighing, he let his arm drop, stuffing both of his hands into his pockets, looking away from her, biting his own lip in thought.

Her throat became curiously dry when she asked him, "What's happening to you?"

There was a pause before the unwilling reply came - "I have no idea."

She wasn't satisfied with that. "It has to do with the snow witch striking you, doesn't it?"

"Her name's Elsa," Jack corrected, oddly defensive. "And don't call her witch - she doesn't like it. And she didn't mean to hurt me."

"Sure." Merida's heart wasn't in it, of course. "But she did, didn't she?" Without a second though, she had risen from her spot, crossing the camp to his side of the cave, plonking herself beside him. She can literally feel cold radiating off him, as if the fire wasn't there at all.

"You're really cold," she told him.

Despite his exhaustion, he gave a wry grin. "And here I thought you were warming up to me."

"We're still not allies," Merida insisted, but there wasn't much fire in her words. Observing how he huddled himself in his coats, the offer slipped out before she could stop herself, "Do you want my coat?"

She immediately wanted to slap herself for those words. Sure, she wasn't suffering as badly as he was, but that didn't mean she needed to get pneumonia out of it! She was supposed to be focusing her own survival!

In his eyes, she could tell he desperately wanted to take it up– any extra bit warmth would help, no doubt. But to her surprise, he rejected it after all "You keep it."

"You sure?" She wanted to chide herself again. The boy decided to be more chivalrous than she. Don't. Risk. It.

Fortunately, he held fast to his decision, and the redhead happily sunk into the cave wall, stuffing her own hands in her coat pockets. Nonetheless, she found herself edging herself closer to him, perhaps to offer a little of her own warmth.

There was a stillness, before he broke it again, "Do you mind if I-"

He trailed off for quite a bit, and she was about to prod him to finish it, when he finally did it on his own "if I protect you?"

She scoffed him at once. "I don't need protecting."

"That's what she said too," he remarked, softly as speaking to himself. When he faced her again, he explained, slightly embarassed, "I just need someone to protect."

Merida deadpanned, "You're the sick guy."

"Which is why you should trust me," he answered laconically. Any humor faded from his visage soon after that. "I'm already dying, anyway."

The archer by his side found a strange pang in her heart when he uttered those words. It wasn't as if she hadn't already suspected it – just look at him! But the quiet admission was something she wasn't prepared for.

As uninterestedly as she could, she answered, "Fine. Whatever."

He laughed at that, which made her want to laugh too – it was pretty infectious - but she was too tired. Hugging her bow to herself, she found that the ache in her heart had not subsided, but expanded instead. The bloodbath, the castle battle, Vanellope, Astrid, Turbo – everything that happened over the last week came pouring into her mind, somehow making her feel weary and worn from all the destruction around. She wanted to get away, go back home to the manor, to her father's protective arms, to her mother's constant nagging and her brothers' endless tattling. Seeing the misty look in her companion's eyes, it struck her that he must be thinking the same for his family, except unlike her, he was pretty certain he would never see any of his ever again. He didn't honestly believe he would make it out anymore.

She found herself saying in a small voice, "Could you tell me a story, Jack?"

Just take her away – from the cold, from the blood, from everything in the Arena. Just escape.

She detected surprise in his tone, but he didn't mock her like she had expected. "What kind of story?"

The usual type that she had heard from her Da' before were all action-packed, fighting ones, but right now, she had her fill of violence. "Maybe a sappy one. Like romance, and princesses, and-" her voice cracked slightly, "-happy endings."

"Okay." She could almost hear him smile indulgently. "How about Cinderella? Or Sleeping Beauty?"

Before the princess even had a chance to prick her finger on the cursed spinning wheel, Merida nodded off, her head resting on the shoulder of the white-brown-haired storyteller.

S/N:

Elsa and Hans' conversation is partially based on the one that Katniss and Peeta have in the book.

And let me reiterate – THIS IS NOT HELSA. NO HELSA.

Kong Que – Chinese for 'Peacock'. (Thank you MissiriKoharehnfor the correction.) So Shen's full name is Shen Kongque. In English, it really looks unpronounceable.

Daphne's an OC. Fun fact – I actually hate OCs. If you do too, just imagine that Daphne's just a little clone of Rapunzel. Because essentially, that's what/who she is.

(No, no, Daphne's not Rapunzel biological clone. I'm just using a long-route to tell you she's a plot device.)

Told you Gothel's backstory was complicated.

Up Next: Not entirely sure, actually.

A/N:

This chapter was 10 000+ words. Again. I'm getting annoyed with myself. I'm supposed to be studying for my upcoming exams, and clocking this is very time absorbing. I'm killing myself at this rate. Pray that I can manage this, guys, if not its gonna be a long, long hiatus.

Mailbox:

Minerbuilder12: Hah! That is a hilarious thought!

Waveringshadow: You know, the 'old, alone, done for' quote was actually ringing in my head when I wrote that line... I hope your wrist,'s getting better? Typing must hurt. I'm not going to be a best selling author either, but I just wrote coz I like too. Literally everyone who 'died' in chapter 34 got revived in chapter 35 - something I really enjoyed doing. There's nothing more cliche than brining back people from the dead.

the fam man: Really glad that you like this! Will do my best to keep up standard. And for the '3 responses of fanfiction writers while reading' list - totally agree. And banging my head and waiting for the next chappie of Moonsong to turn up.

WarriorQueen 14: Your enthusiasm is very obvious indeed! Sorry, but that's all the Helsa you're gonna drag out of me. I'm not sure if there would exactly be more Tangled in these bits (I'm saving some Tangled stuff for the future.) but as you might be able to tell, there will be more involvement of Tangled characters. You spotted the Anna reference! Good one you! I thought I might as well throw it in since it's pretty likely Elsa's never gonna have a chance to freeze Anna's heart, I mean since she might never see her sister ag- oops. Too much. Oh, Jack was just feeling sad because he gave up his own escape plan to come back for Elsa, but in the end Hans saves the day. Something like that.

that one evil girl: Hope you enjoyed the flashbacks, because really, they were a pain to write.

QueenElsaOfArendelle: Yep,they ain't anymore. Don't lose hope though. Not everything is as it seems...

Nightingale82: Rap's pretty shaken by the whole thing, so that all the feast events probably drove her to allying herself with Mother G. I really like the Jack and Merida alliance - adore it, actually. It serves a purpose, of course (that isn't romantic.)

Awsomaniatica: I've been planning the reshuffle scene ever since the beginning of the stories, so it's purely intentional that the first bunch of alliances are very difference from the present ones. Oooh, sorry if Shen's murder grossed you out. I think I liked that part just because I've been dying for Gothel to reveal the twist factor about herself. Haha, as you would note by now, Jack's not exactly on Hans' list of favorite persons at the moment.

clara0414: Haha, the Gothel twist prevails once again. I can't promise what will/won't happen to Gothel or Rapunzel, so, yep. Haha, Snow White and her powers on snow…that's hilarious. The berry stunt is probably not going to happen – I can reveal that. I can't have everyone I love dying, so I cheat majorly. Yep. The rule change serves its own purpose, though not quite the same as the THG one. Tissue would be provided when necessary, of course.

Maggietheawesome: Jack has…half-white hair at the moment. Rapunzel kinda goes along with Gothel coz the Arena's tipping her over, and Gothel did save her twice, and maybe as twisted as Gothel is, she would protect her… maybe. I love the Merida/Katniss and Ralph/Thresh bit, of course. As for Hans….hehehe. There's a bucket in the corner if you need to use it.

Pearlness4700: Will Hans be a good guy? Well, define good guy. Will he be going against his character in the film? Well, this Hans is certainly different from the film one due to motivations and context differences.

BurningMoon101(chap1): Exactly like the movie? No. Anything else? Well…

Bye guys. Studies and Research Paper calls.

Review. Critique. Ask Questions.