finale: secret
I woke up as I waited, bleeding slow;
There was no way to make all this blow over, so…
I started writing the ending, but I said too much.
(And you just kept on pretending… for both of us.)
The Judge pounds its gavel against the podium once more, the sound a resounding death knell in the taciturn courtroom. Ambrosia Salazar's hand grips tighter to the hilt of her (no, Angelo's, it was Angelo's) sword, her knuckles white from the tension in her fingers, bones aching from the weariness that's overtaken her body. Half a room away, Cal Kelvin stands with his back practically against the now-closed door, a small tool knife clasped in his right hand, his weight on the balls of his feet, prepared to move as soon as Ambrosia does.
At his side, Maddy Aldrich is still as a statue, her face a hardened, unreadable mask meant to project a facade of stoicism that is no longer real. She's no stranger to fighting; she's fought for things her entire life. The right to live. The right to survive. The right to be her own person, to have autonomy, to love, to dream, to hope.
She's lost more fights than she's won. Lost more people than she's saved. Her mother. Helen. Elowyn. Celesto. Even Kahlan, for as short-lived as their acquaintanceship had been. And looking at Ambrosia Salazar standing there across from her, with her tear-stained face held high despite the odds stacked against her, she knows she's going to lose Cal, too. They aren't friends. They aren't allies. He's another obstacle in her path to winning - another tribute that will have to fall in order for Maddy to live.
But I knew that from the moment I set foot in this arena - that in order for me to survive, everyone else… everyone else… would have to die. Ambrosia will have to die. Cal will have to die.
… and with the One boy gone, our alliance is null and void.
She's a threat. But she's not the biggest one.
Maddy doesn't spare a glance to the knife in her hand before she raises it, and she doesn't hesitate as she wraps one arm around Cal's waist, pulling the Five boy so that he's standing in front of her, her blade level with his throat. He grabs at her body, trying to throw her off, but Maddy's bigger than him, taller, older, stronger. Cal steps on her foot and kicks his foot back into her leg hard enough to bruise, thrashing, saying something - pleading, maybe, it's so hazy, so unclear, she hears her name, something about winning, she needs to win, she has to win, she doesn't need him anymore -
She drags her knife across Cal's neck and he crumples.
It's over in seconds.
He never had a chance. Not to fight back, not to sway her decision. Not to win. In a way it's almost cruel; Calvin Kelvin did everything right, from the very beginning. He played through the Games with a sense of pragmatism that's rare to find in any tribute, yet alone one that's a mere thirteen years of age; he was rational, logical, calculated the moves he needed to make prior to making them, chose to acquiesce when it was needed and fight when it was necessary. He had the drive to win. Maybe he should have.
His too-small and too-still form sinks back into Maddy's arms and, finally, slips from her hold to collapse in a lifeless mess of blood and limbs and black fabric at her feet. The knife in her hand is shaky as she flicks the blood from it and lowers her arm back to her side, sizing Ambrosia up. The One girl doesn't look surprised at all, just sad; her expression is crestfallen, her tears fresh once more.
"You made a mistake," she tells Maddy, her voice hollow. Maddy presses her tongue against the inside of her teeth, a dull ache under her clavicle causing her own tone to waver as she responds.
"Maybe I did," she admits, shrugging one shoulder. She leans down to pry Cal's knife from his dead hand, taking it for her own. Ambrosia still hasn't moved. Maddy watches her with a gnawing sense of trepidation, unsure how to react to the Career's withdrawn demeanor. "Aren't you going to attack me?" She asks, her words more pointed than not, trying to bait the One girl into attacking. Ambrosia scoffs, looking to her sword, then the Judge mutt, seated in passive observation from a podium higher than they are tall.
"You'd prefer it if I did," she tells Maddy. "You feel guilty about killing him."
"That's not -"
Ambrosia chuckles, cutting Maddy off mid-reply.
"It's alright. I feel guilty too."
Something about the words rings true - though certainly more for Ambrosia than for Maddy. Being here, trapped inside a courtroom of the dead, with a single tribute left standing between herself and victory, Ambrosia's overcome with a sense of wrongness. It's not a stretch to say that those feelings - incongruency and melancholy and something altogether more complicated - are symptoms of survivor's guilt. The sorrow that clung to her after finding Angelo's body is still weighing her down; it permeates her every breath, seeping into her skin, taking root in her lungs.
It should be him standing here, she thinks, and the thought itself is no stranger to her mind; it's been repeating inside her head for an insurmountable length of time, circling her skull like a vulture over a battlefield, feasting on the stench of weakness and death. Angelo should be here, not me. I'm not worthy. I don't deserve to win. I don't deserve to live.
(I don't know how to live.)
It's true; for years, Ambrosia's spent her life conforming to the whims of others, following along with the wants of her trainers, her peers and her mother, letting their wishes and opinions dictate her existence. She hasn't lived on her own terms since the day of her final performance at the ice rink, when her legs were both intact and her body was seen as flawless, before Regina had written her off as a cripple and a failure. And even then, her existence was hardly her own; she had no autonomy, no sense of self. She was the Salazar girl, Regina's daughter, Etienne's sister. Not Ambrosia.
Before the Games, she had never simply been Ambrosia.
But if I get out… if I put the Games behind me, continue to live and strive for success in my own way, separate from my mother, separate from skating, from training, from attending soirees and sorties and all of the Salazar's frivolous social functions… if I accept the challenge of this fight, the title of victor…
Perhaps then I'll finally be free.
A new life. A new Ambrosia. No more dwelling on the past.
She hefts Angelo's sword a bit, finally tilting her head to look Maddy in the face, their gazes catching, their eyes meeting… if only for a moment. Ambrosia smiles.
"Very well. If you want me to play offense, I will."
She draws her arm back at her side, squares her shoulders and charges.
For all that Maddy had been anticipating an attack - for all that she had encouraged one, really - she finds herself caught off guard by Ambrosia's rapid approach, her leg catching against Cal's corpse when she instinctively sidesteps the One girl. Something twists and there's a burst of pain in her ankle, her flesh tingling as waves of it radiate up through her leg. Maddy stumbles, throwing herself against the floor hard as Ambrosia's sword swings through the air over her head, then descends in a second, more precisely made strike than the first. Grabbing onto the Five boy's body in an attempt to keep herself present, Maddy hauls herself on weary hands and knees over Cal's prone form, Ambrosia following after her with seemingly no qualms. The One girl stabs at her, and Maddy panics, sliding her head to the side as the tip of Ambrosia's blade wedges itself into the floor beside her head. She kicks her leg out, the tip of her boot connecting with Ambrosia's thigh, her heel knock against the joint of One's knee - but not fast enough. Ambrosia's hand latches around Maddy's ankle and she drags her closer by it, the strength in her lithe body still far outmatching Maddy's own physical prowess. Maddy hurls her knife at Ambrosia, hoping to distract her - it worked once, it can work again, Four was tougher than this, I'm tougher that this - but Ambrosia's hold remains steady, even as the first knife clatters harmlessly off her shoulder, so close to finding a mark in your skin.
"I don't care if I live or die anymore," Ambrosia tells her faintly as she stabs downward again, her sword plunging into Maddy's stomach. "But fuck if I don't want to make it out of here. Not just for me. For everyone."
Maddy feels the hit before it comes. Her abdomen's tense and when the blade cuts into it, the tight coil of muscle only seems to grow more intensely rigid. She feels winded, but she forces herself to lean forward, grabbing for the sword sticking out of her body and wrapping her hand around the sharp edge of the blade, the metal cutting into her palm as she curls her fingers around it and tugs, hauling herself up as her guts shift in her body and the pain makes white flash through her vision.
"I care that I make it." Maddy says, breathless. "I can't afford not to care."
Her other knife still in hand, she swipes at Ambrosia, dagger catching her across the cheek and cutting deeply into her flesh. Ambrosia recoils, pressing a hand to her face, losing her hold on her weapon with the momentary shock that Maddy's injury caused. Maddy tries to pull herself back to her feet, but with Ambrosia's sword still buried in her body, she can't move enough to stand.
So she pulls it out, clenching her jaw and crossing her fingers that the wound isn't severe enough to kill.
"Hells," Maddy groans as blood begins to gush out of her body, the bitter and metallic tang of it clinging to the inside of her mouth and coating her throat. She braces her hands to her stomach and pushes them hard against her gut, trying to mediate the pain and the dizziness and the exhaustion that's now nigh unbearable. She's disoriented. Too disoriented to notice Ambrosia moving toward her, weaponless but no less of a threat.
Ambrosia stalks forward, her hands balled into fists, her face stinging, her head throbbing in pain for reasons yet unknown. She can't think. Can't even reason beyond her instinct, the desperation that's filled every part of her being, the anger that's clouding her judgment (at the Capitol, at the Games, at the Academy, at One), the sadness that's choking her. It feels as if a noose is wrapped around her neck, so tightly that she can't breathe, the rope's chokehold growing tighter with every second that this fight drags on.
Her feet guide her to Maddy, and her hands fit themselves on either side of the Ten girl's head.
She's not a strong person. Not like Angelo, not like Sylvain or Aitana or Lazaro. But emotion has always been at the core of strength, and Ambrosia's letting her fear, her sorrow and her rage fuel her. In a single, decisive motion, she pushes her feelings into her hands and twists Maddy's head to the side.
Her neck cracks.
It's the loudest fucking sound that Ambrosia's ever heard.
Maddy drops. Her head lolls to the side, eyes just as glassy and surreal-looking as Angelo's had been, her skin more pallid and icy than it had seemed during the fight.
But she's still breathing. She isn't dead.
Ambrosia reaches down to flip Maddy onto her back, the Ten girl's eyes gazing up at her as her shallow breathing becomes shallower still. Ambrosia looks at her neck, the skin already purpling in response to whatever fracture she'd caused by twisting it out of place, before.
"You shouldn't have killed your ally," she tells Maddy, planting a foot on her chest, moving her toe until it's nudging at the soft flesh of Maddy's throat, too vulnerable now that she seems unable to move. "Companionship is a gift, something you should cling to and savor and carry at your side for as long as you possibly can. He was going to protect you. He was going to fight for you. He could've gone home!"
She's crying again, but she can't feel it. She can't feel anything now but bitterness, resentment, misery.
"But he won't now," Ambrosia says, chuckling wryly as she shakes her head. "No, he won't now. He's dust. A dying memory that nobody else will care enough to remember once this is all over. Ten years? Twenty? His name will be lost to history. And that's not fair, is it? It's not fair that history is written by the Victors, that the losers get nothing, that he. Will. Get. Nothing."
(It's not fair for me to live when Angelo's dead.)
(It's not fair for me to survive by killing you.)
Ambrosia's mouth twists into a frown. She shifts her foot again, the full weight of it now on Maddy's neck.
"But if there's one thing I've learned in my life it's that fairness doesn't exist."
She raises her foot and brings it down on Maddy's neck.
"Ladies and Gentlemen - it is with great honor that we present to you the Victor of the Twenty-Third Hunger Games… Ambrosia Salazar!"
3: Calvin Kelvin, District Five.
2: Madeleine Aldrich, District Ten.
A/N: And there we have it, folks. Your Victor for Lex Talionis - maybe not the most active of the group. Maybe not the strongest or the smartest or the most driven to survive. But there's always been something special about her; I knew it when I received her form, I knew it when I wrote her first POV, and I knew it when I began putting this chapter down on paper. There are many reasons why I chose who I did to win these Games - and that reasoning will be explored and elaborated upon next chapter - but quite frankly, any of my final five could have made a fantastic victor. Aitana. Angelo. Cal. Maddy. Ambrosia. They each represented different possibilities for this story's ending and the shape it would take; and they were all amazing.
I didn't discuss Angelo in the last chapter, and I didn't post his eulogy, for the reason that he deserves to be here. He's as much a part of this finale as the three tributes who were involved in it, and I hope it's evident how dear he was to me as a character and how important he was to this story. I'll go into it a bit more with his eulogy, but for now I'll simply say that he had my heart and I connected with him more than probably any other character I wrote. Thank you so much for submitting him to me, Padraig. I couldn't have asked for anyone better. His eulogy is now up on the blog.
Cal… was very special to me. He had the sort of rational and cautious mindset that's hard to come by in anyone and a maturity beyond his years even if it wasn't always so prominent. His POVs in this story have been a joy to write, partially because he's just this impossibly unique blend of realism and altruism (although ultimately he did have to sacrifice a bit of that concern for others for self-preservation.) Nobody really expected him to do as well as he did or probably even come this far, but I've left hints since the beginning that Cal's potential was always significant… he just hadn't quite unlocked it prior to the Games. Such a well-layered character and one of my absolute favorites in this story. Thank you so much for submitting him to me, Elim, and I hope I wrote him well for you! Expect his eulogy to be up soon.
Maddy, again, was something special. From the moment I received her form, I knew that she had the possibility to add something to this story on a deeper level than any of the other characters I had received; her personal history and how it weaved into the concept of a post-war Panem that still held flashes of rebellious activity contributed not only to the subplot of LT, but the development of other characters such as Valentin, Maryse and Elowyn as well. And she was just so complex to write; multifaceted and yet so distinct in how she thought of herself and presented herself to the world. Dawn, I'm so glad that you submitted her to me, and I hope you can see how much I loved her over the course of this story. It was nearly impossible for me to let her go. Her eulogy will be posted soon.
As for Ambrosia… congratulations, Z, on your first true Victor! Ambrosia was the first character I wrote for LT and it's almost fitting that she's also to be the last; though her growth was more subtle than some of the others and primarily came at the tail end of this story, I think there's a lot psychologically to unpack with her. Some might say that she wasn't the clearest or best choice for victor, and honestly? I agree. But there's a reason that she's here while Cal and Maddy are not… and I think you'll see why once I tie up this story. Thank you for giving her to me and allowing me to work with her!
Questions!
Are you happy with the Victor?
Who would you have chosen?
Which death was your favorite and why?
Alright… epilogue should be up in a couple weeks. Time for some shoutouts! A HUGE display of gratitude for Firedawn'd, BamItsTyler and twistedservice, who provided continued creative assistance on this story, be it through allowing me to bounce ideas off them or by actively looking over and helping me to edit my chapters. Y'all are so rad and I honestly don't think I could've finished this story so quickly without you! My thanks and more, I owe you the world. Some additional appreciation for JabberjayHeart and District11-Olive for looking over a couple chapters and letting me discuss my finale plans with them. Thanks for lending your advice!
Thank you to daydreamer626, cactusjuiceboy, dirtwolf and ladyqueerfoot for reviewing and/or talking with me about this fic despite not having tributes in it! Your enthusiasm is the reason I write and it means so much to me that LT left enough of an impact on y'all to keep you engaged as readers. I am truly grateful for your support.
To silversshade, recklessinparadise, sock-feet-and-stirring-sand, bobothebear, dyloccupy… your continued support in reviews and/or DMs gives me life and I'm still very thankful to you all for reviewing and submitting to me. Alice Kingsleighs, nevergone4ever, l'il fat necrosis, thank you all for reaching out to discuss the fic and let me know your thoughts from time to time. To Elim9 and tear that cherry out, thanks again for submitting your boys and following along with my chapters. And to all of you who I haven't mentioned, and who may be reading this story and enjoying it in any way, thank you for giving my writing a chance and supporting me silently. You're the best!