Some of you probably have Questions. Here's Peeta's take on What Just Happened, and at the end of this chapter, I've provided some Author's Notes just in case you're still unsure on a few points.


Piecing Together

(Peeta)

A single arrow. One shot.

A single spear. One throw.

The king is dead and the two of us are damned.

I turn it over and over in my mind as I try not to stumble over tree roots and rotting logs in the dark.

Our enemy has made a masterful move, utilizing our every act against us.

The weapons demand an explanation: who else would shoot one of Katniss' arrows and who other than a Norseman would have the skill to wield one of our heavy spears with such precision? We can protest all we like, but Katniss and I have no proof of our innocence. Plenty of people had seen us head for the stables, the very place from which the attack had been launched.

However, the moment I'd realized this fact had not been the moment I'd given up all hope. Surely, not everyone would turn on Katniss. Surely, her people still have faith in her. But then, as the king had shuddered with his dying breath, as Katniss had charged forward in pursuit of his killer, I'd remembered: "They think you will make us slaves…"

Katniss' own comrades had expressed this concern not long ago; the people of Samland fear that I will give their country to Harald of Denmark. True, I had been honored here for one day of brave deeds, but I cannot trust my own good acts to matter now.

My brother – Harald's heir – has arrived on their shores, commanding a force of experienced warriors, all armed for battle. And then Katniss and I had welcomed them into the very heart of Samland. She had escorted them through the fortress gates herself. And why wouldn't she? Katniss is my wife – willingly so – and she'd spent three seasons in my country – also willingly according to the account manufactured by Haymitch – and if her people have not questioned her loyalty before, they certainly will now that it appears what we have brought Samland is not the promised alliance, but a swift invasion.

But all of this pales in comparison to the simple fact that I'd panicked. I'd convinced Katniss to flee with me rather than stand and receive judgment, and now we are damned.

The only way out of this is to reveal the man behind these vile acts. But how? There are so many questions which beg answers: Who would do this when the king had been relentlessly inching toward death to begin with, and why place the blame upon us? There's no doubt that had been the intention: they'd stolen one of Katniss' arrows and a Northman-made spear and then waited until both of us were unaccounted for before launching their attack.

How had they gotten the arrow from Katniss' bed chamber?

Where had the spear come from? One of Káto's oarsmen or… could a few members of the crew from Norway still be alive? I'd never even asked.

I should have.

I've never felt so stupid. Katniss and I had bungled right into their trap. The very thought makes me want to throw my head back and just belt out my rage in one long, gut-wrenching howl. Someone has gone to great lengths to make us look guilty of conspiracy and murder, and I'd never even seen it coming. Katniss had seen it – at the very last moment, something had fallen into place for her – but I'd been perfectly happy allowing my wife's warmth and scent to turn my brain into jelly.

My ignorance and stupidity has cost us everything.

I do not know what fate awaits my brother and his oarsmen. Or Prim.

I do not know if Katniss and I will even live to see the next dawn.

She has every right to abandon me here in the wilderness. I'd had this one chance to prove my worth and I'd failed abysmally. I shouldn't have made her flee the fortress with me. Or, no— I should have stayed behind, created a diversion, and let them catch me, taken the blame for both the arrow and the spear. I should have—

"Stop."

I jerk to a halt, my chin lifting and arms flying out to maintain my balance. "What?" I mouth as quietly as her command had been issued.

"Think later. Walk now. Quietly."

"Have I not been?"

She huffs softly. "Walk and listen."

She turns around and moves deeper into the forest, her skirts just barely skimming the brush lining our path, her leather boots sifting rather than crunching or stomping through the damp windfall. Listening to her ghost away from me makes my entire body ache with a hollowness that I've never encountered before.

"Katniss," I breathe, stumbling forward and wincing at the racket I'm making.

She pauses and waits for me to catch up. I reach out to her tentatively. "I— Please. Don't turn away."

A tremor runs through her body but she mirrors every shift I make toward her, keeping a persistent space between us: a chasm. A plea crawls up from my belly and drags itself over my tongue. "Katniss—"

"No. I cannot. We cannot stop. Yet. I… I can't, Peeta." She pulls from my tentative grasp and resumes our trek. "Walk now."

A curse bubbles up from my stewing misery and frustration. My hands clench into fists. My heart pounds. Bile surges up from my gut.

Am I losing Katniss? Have I lost her already?

There is nothing to be gained by giving in to panic yet again tonight. I swallow it back down. Most of it.

I focus on moving as quietly as I can, following blindly, wondering if my obedience will win me back some small measure of her faith. No apology could ever be enough for the mess we're in and I can't bring myself to insult her with something so petty. So I bite my tongue.

We encounter a small stream some hours later and Katniss steers us along its banks, far enough away from the burbling water to avoid leaving footprints in the soft earth. The night darkens to its deepest before Katniss pauses, allowing me to close the distance between us. As I reach her, she wraps a hand around my arm and maneuvers me toward a moss-covered boulder.

I'm so wrapped up in the feel of her grip – basking in the strength of her grasp and at the same time wondering if she's going to leave me here or raise a hand to me like Harald's horrible wife had often done when I'd been a boy in Trelleborg – that I can't quite comprehend it when she shoves me down onto the massive rock and then curls up in my lap, wrapping her arms around my chest and burying her face in my neck.

My hands twitch once and then I'm blowing out the breath I'd been holding for what feels like hours, clutching her to me in thanks.

She breathes wetly against my collar, her nails clawing against the fabric of my tunic. I can feel her body relentlessly hardening into living stone as she struggles to contain her fury.

"Katniss," I murmur into her tangled hair. She'd left it down for the night-meal and now it is a mess. I pet the snarled tresses slowly, pausing to massage her scalp and neck and shoulders and then lifting my hand to begin the journey again. My own voice is strangled with sorrow as I vow, "I'll catch you. Let go now. Let go with me."

She does.

We weep.

The injustice of it all makes me feel ill. King Everdeen, who had extended his hand to me, who had given me his trust in the form of his beloved daughter and heir, Katniss, is dead. I'd never even heard him speak. Never learned enough Samish to express my gratitude.

Now that will never happen.

Katniss whines softly into my tunic, a mewl of agony which ekes out through gritted teeth. She fists her hands in my clothing and twists the fabric mercilessly. I expect it to tear, but it doesn't. The woolen weave merely creaks in her grasp. The soft sounds of her pain call forth mine and I must bite my lip. I force the tears that spill from my eyes to do so in silence. I inhale sharply, preventing the snot from smearing in her hair, but there's nothing I can do to reroute my tears.

"We—" She hiccups but forces her wavering voice to cooperate. "There's a hunting, um, room. Behind us. At dawn we will—rest there. Dark now. Can't see. Perhaps there are animals within now."

I nod, pulling her closer, rocking us both and ignoring the way the unforgiving surface of the rock makes my already exhausted left leg throb. My heartache is a far worse pain, so I dismiss the discomfort.

"I am so stupid!" she suddenly hisses. She clutches my arms from behind, pulling herself even tighter into my embrace. "I saw Gale. He made the arrow. Today. I saw him! I thought he is—we will be friends again—but he—he—!"

"He knew," I finish, remembering the look on the man's face just before he'd suddenly sprinted from the archery shed toward the tables in the yard. He may not have shot the arrow or thrown the spear himself, but he had sensed the oncoming attack. I am certain of it.

Katniss nods miserably. "Yes. At that moment. He knew… and I didn't. I didn't!"

She twists away with a snarl, baring her teeth in the darkness as if to snap at the shadows, warning them to draw back from us. But the shadows do not move. How can they? They live inside us now. In her heart and in mine. Not even the promise of dawn can banish them.

Katniss angrily scrubs at her face with the sleeve of her gown. I reach for her arm, wrapping my fingers around her wrist and stilling her.

"Hush," I choke out. I'd murmured the same thing only hours earlier as I'd kissed the soft, warm skin of her neck, intent only on coloring her exhalations with quiet moans of approval. The recollection breaks something deep within me and I have no hope that it will ever be repaired.

I wipe her face gently with my fingers. My shift sleeves have been tucked into my bracers so I cannot offer her a corner of soft fabric for her tears. I am failing her unrelentingly tonight.

"I am so very sorry, Katniss."

"Why?"

I force myself to say it. "I wasn't thinking clearly when I asked you to abandon the fortress with me. Haymitch would have defended us against—"

"Haymitch will kill us."

"No!" I cannot believe that. I cannot permit my darkest fears to be real. "Your people won't believe—"

"Haymitch will kill us," she repeats, shaking her head. "He must."

Could so harsh a law truly govern this land? There is no assembly? No vote?

Katniss insists, "If we are there now, we will be dead, Peeta. My arrow. Your spear. From the stables – we were there. People saw us – we went there and…" She releases a very deep breath and grimly concludes, "It is enough."

Enough to condemn us. Perhaps my panic had been timely after all. Perhaps, but… maybe… what if…?

I don't know what to say, so I simply hold her tighter.

"You saved us."

That point is debatable, but Katniss is alive and for now she is safe.

"Knife?" she grunts out. "Do you have your knife?"

I nod. "You?" I'd watched her strap it to her leg this evening, both loving the evidence of her indomitable spirit and fearing the implications of its concealment.

"Yes."

I wait for her words, certain there will be more of them. I cannot help her plan if I do not know what the first step must be. Katniss excels at drawing that out, defining it, turning a specter into a conquerable foe.

"Gale will find us," she tells me. "We will be ready."

"Is he our friend?" I feel as if I am still bumbling around in dark, foreign territory.

"Maybe," she allows… barely. "We will ask and he will answer. After that, we will decide."

I pull her even closer, terrified by the chill in her tone, the rock-hard tension of her body, the fury that turns her to ice. I hold onto her, willing my warmth to melt her before she cracks and shatters into a thousand shards.

I almost pity Gale. Katniss will be merciless when we permit him to catch us. For his own sake, I hope his answers to her questions are good ones. And if they are not, if Gale has willfully betrayed us…

May the gods be merciful to him because I am certain that Katniss will not.


NOTES: Samland has an older (archaic?) concept of justice (not the modern one where motive is a necessary component of proving someone's guilt). If there are witnesses and/or physical evidence, that's enough to convict. In this case, Katniss and Peeta have basically no alibi and the weapons that were used in the assassination were ones that everyone would recognize as theirs. In an era when handcrafted goods were costly and time-consuming to make, personal belongings (including weapons) were very personal and unique, such as Katniss' arrows... and everyone will assume that Peeta got the spear from his brother.

(The fact that the spear is described as being Norse-made hints that only a Northman would be able to throw it with any accuracy. After all, where would a Samlander have gotten a weapon like that to practice with? The weight and balance of Samish spears are different. That's mentioned in Chapter 39.)

So, yeah, according to the law of the land, Katniss and Peeta are guilty. Peeta's idea about ferreting out the truth and exposing the real killer is pretty much the only way they can clear their names, but it's gonna be an uphill battle because the burden of proof is now on them.

Oh, and Peeta's brief thought about being denied an assembly and a vote on their guilt or innocence is a vague reference to how criminal courts might have been conducted by Norse people during this era (but again, I have no concrete sources to cite on this).

Coming up next: Gale's POV. (Don't haul him out to a dark corner of the fandom parking lot and beat him senseless yet, okay? Hear the guy out.)