viii. THE VICTOR

Icara didn't expect to feel so numb.

It was kind of nice. She didn't cry when she woke up, didn't freak out, like some of the others apparently did, according to the hospital staff. No, she was a model patient, only having the energy to nod, smile, and say "Thank you" whenever someone brought her something.

When Dagmara visited her and told her she was proud, all Icara did was nod, smile, and say "Thank you."

Even when the Head Gamemaker, as he introduced himself, appeared to congratulate her on her mettle, her Victory, she only nodded, smiled, and thank-you'd.

"I'll admit, I'm curious to see what your district is going to do with you now," he said coolly, detached. "I've heard they don't appreciate rogues."

For some reason, he reminded her of sunlight-orange hair and cold green eyes.

Icara smiled quietly. She nodded. "Thank you."

When they deemed her camera-ready, Dagmara swept her into a tight hug, more motherly than she'd expected. Hell, Icara hadn't thought of her own mother in what felt like forever. Not even in the arena. Oh god, does that make me a bad person? She'd be so sad if I told her that, so heartbroken. I wonder what she thinks of me now, I didn't even think of her.

But wait, no, I did, when I told Murray about her and Dad, and their jobs, and he told me about his mom. She had a boat, he said she had a boat, I wonder if she's okay, I have to ask—

"Is his mom okay?" she mumbled. Dagmara gave her a questioning look. "His mom, Murray's," she clarified, and her mentor's brow furrowed. "Her and— oh no, he said he had a dog too, and a fish; was it a fish? Maybe it was a lizard—" Icara stopped, her eyes wide. "Dagmara you have to save his mom from the lizards, okay, they fly—"

Dagmara promptly shushed her, shooing the cameras away. Instructing Icara to take it, she pressed a large candy into Icara's palm. Obediently, Icara crunched it between her teeth, ignorant of her mentor's bewildered expression — this candy is absolutely horrible, Dagmara, why would you do this to me — but before she knew it, the walls of the District Two suite were surrounding her in safety.

Her mentor seemed relieved when Icara showed a positive reaction to the crowning ceremony dress the prep team put her in.

Golden feathers dripped from her bare shoulders, a coat of warmth folded around her in a glorious embrace. Her hair, once again silky and lustrous, empty of baubles in preparation for carrying her crown of laurels. The bodice — plunging, form-fitting, because, of course, she was a woman now — a matching gold, long enough to hide her platform heels, to leave the crowd guessing whether she had toes or talons underneath. The feathers tickled at her collarbone, down her arms, and the theme was evident, ravishing. A gilded Victor in matching wings.

How could she not be entranced?

They were so beautiful, so radiant, and ethereal, and angelic, and yet—

And yet, they could not fly. They would not catch her if she tumbled off a cliff, would not lift her if the currents of the wind so demanded, and just like that, Icara's amazement was overtaken by empty sadness.

"I miss my wings," she whispered, and Dagmara, standing at her shoulder, ran a comforting hand through her hair.

"I know, honey. I know."

And so Icara sat on stage, reduced to a mere mockery of flight, all obedient smiles and gracious nods and humble thank-yous, and watched what was now only memory unfold before her again.

I scaled a cliff for this, she thought passively as Dagmara dragged her off-stage, and for some reason, the prep team needed to attend to her again.

They brushed yet more shimmers onto her eyelids, and Icara thought, I watched Murray die for this.

The rest of the Two Victors — because she was one of them now — surrounded her like a cloud of bodyguards as they tackled the overly-loud, overly-zealous victory banquet together, though they were forced to dissolve into the crowd of greedy, hungry, lavish Capitolites, and Icara thought, I killed five people for this.

That was her count, she'd been told.

Ten girl. They said her name was Sennelle.

Alpha. He would've killed me first.

Starla. All I did was kick her out of the way.

Henrietta. I never should've trusted her.

Gauss. I'm sorry. I'm still proud of him.

Their smiles swam through the crowd whenever she blinked; determined, flirtatious, conniving, bone-white and blood-red.

The only replica she couldn't find was Murray's, but Icara didn't question it. No one in the Capitol could ever match his sheer, genuine energy.

She missed it.

Icara's hand found Dagmara's elbow in the crowd, latching on like a small child. For a second, Dagmara looked at her like she was, softness in her sharp edges. "You're almost done," her mentor said under her breath, and Icara's shoulders sagged in relief. Dagmara pulled her around for the rest of the night, doing the talking and introductions, promising to repeat it for Icara later. They even twirled around on the dance floor for a song or two, until Icara's legs once again shook with the force of gravity.

She slept absolutely, an overwhelming relief; in the morning, they had her right back on her feet, in the clutches of her stylist.

An interview, and that was it.

Icara was supposed to be good at interviews, wasn't she? She didn't remember much of this one, just more people, and sparkles, and questions, and "It turns out, you really did know what you were doing!" and nodding, smiling, and thanking, and oh my god, Icara was exhausted.

But she was free.

On the train ride home, Icara asked her mentor what would happen to Lara. The expression on Dagmara's face sent a flash of fear through her gut; she hadn't been planning to feel that so soon again — ever.

It was a minute before Dagmara spoke. "I don't know," she admitted gently. "But I do know she won't be allowed back to the Academy."

Icara blinked. "Why not?"

"Those are the rules."

That was all she got out of the older woman. Icara could imagine why; she doubted Lara would receive a warm welcome from her peers if she tried to reapply, though whether said rules were for Lara's safety or her punishment, Icara didn't know.

She also wasn't sure what kind of welcome she herself would receive.

"Dagmara?" Icara asked hesitantly. "Are they… Are they mad at me for killing Alpha?"

Her mentor seemed to choose her words carefully. "Some people, yes."

Icara bit her lip, remaining silent.

"Oberon and I did our best to mitigate the effects, both in the Capitol and back home, which had… moderate success." She folded her hands primly, looking Icara in the eye. "You will not be publicly harassed for it; us Victors will make sure of that."

"Really?"

Dagmara smiled sadly. "We all do what we have to in the arena. We can't pass judgement on each other for that."

A low undercurrent of tension peppered the crowd during Icara's return, but not enough for the cameras to detect, and for that she was glad.

Her parents' embrace felt foreign and familiar at the same time, like she shouldn't need it, shouldn't want it, but she did. Lucien and Toni took their turns too, each friend wrapping her in a tight, breath-stopping hug. (All Icara could think about was how much they would've loved Murray, imagining a universe where the four of them got to exist in laughter and easy smiles and not a single drop of blood).

Cyrus was next, never shy with his affection. "Guess I'm your boss now," Icara teased when they separated, and he laughed.

Through all the commotion, Icara scanned the crowd for Lara's face, finding nothing among the sea of people. Where is she? I need to see her.

"Where's Lara?" she said out loud, and Cyrus's face clouded. Icara caught her parents' expressions, the 'Let's get home' in so few words.

Home was a new place now, a shiny mansion in Victor's Village, and damn it all, Icara was feeling out of place again. She sighed, releasing nervous energy. Why wouldn't Lara be there to greet her? It probably has to do with what Dagmara said. Icara didn't know what she'd say to her when she saw her, but she felt — was it irrational? She had no idea — will Lara be mad at me?

The thought buzzed in her brain like a stinging static.

I stole this from her.

The camera crew hadn't followed them from the train station, thank the 'Makers. As the car pulled up to Icara's designated mansion, she caught sight of a small, curly-haired figure waiting forlornly on the porch; her head shot up as the vehicle neared, eyes wide.

Icara had barely opened the door before Lara sprinted over, flinging herself unceremoniously into Icara's arms with a gasping sob; the noise grated at her heart, and before Icara knew it, she was crying too, blinking furiously while Lara buried her head in Icara's neck. Again, she thanked whoever reigned above that the cameras had gone.

I didn't steal her Victory, Icara realized. I saved her from it.

All the pain and horror and numbness she'd gone through in the past couple weeks; she'd never wish that on the crying girl. It's not what we thought, she wanted to say. It's not the gold and glory we wanted when we were twelve, fifteen, stupid and arrogant, even if it looks like it. Icara was still new to this, but she understood that much.

When Lara calmed down enough to speak, Icara pushed the hair from her face, and, wiping the tears from her eyes, asked her What the hell happened while I was gone?

At Lara's nervous glance around the neighborhood, Icara, with the help of her parents, guided them towards the mansion.

The luxury could wait; she needed to know.

Sniffling, Lara cleared her throat uncomfortably. "After I didn't volunteer, my parents—" she cut herself off, her sad laugh saying all. "Well, I broke contract, didn't I? Your parents took me in, I don't know how long..." She glanced at them nervously.

"You can stay, Lara," Icara's mother said, offering her a kind smile.

Lara's round eyes turned to Icara.

"Please," Icara said, wrapping the shaking girl into a firm hug. "As long as you want."

Icara didn't know what she would've done without Dagmara and the rest of the Victors.

They never mentioned this shit in training, the days when it was so bad that Icara thought she'd melt into madness and guilt. Every now and then, she'd glance at Lara and see Gauss's eyes staring back, hear Toni tell a joke that sounded straight from Murray's mouth.

Sometimes she'd even feel the piercing glare of cold green eyes, tracking, following her, but it wasn't Henrietta; it couldn't be.

A month in, and the speeches and dinners and parties had finally died down. They'd held the tribute bonfire about a week ago, and Icara had hated Alpha, she really did, but attending as his killer was a mark she didn't want on her leger. Dagmara had forced her anyway, saying it would be worse if she didn't.

I don't know, Icara thought sarcastically. The spitting and yelling was pretty bad in my book.

The Victors' guard had definitely been necessary to keep the other Terrero kids from tearing her apart, though his parents seemed to have already moved on. Harsh.

Icara sat at the kitchen table in her mansion now, cup of steaming coffee in hand. The sun was on its way to rising, but Icara hadn't slept a wink; some nights were just like that. Others, she slept straight through until lunch, a solid twelve hours, no drugs. Lara was impressed. Icara had started making another cup of coffee for her, having heard the girl clambering around upstairs — the adoption papers had yet to go through, but she'd been living with the Slates ever since — when a sharp knock at the door made her flinch.

Hauling herself to her feet, Icara passed a curious glance at the clock on the oven — six a.m., who the fuck — before opening the door.

The expectant stare of her mentor greeted her. "Your grace period's up, Slate," Dagmara said without preamble.

Icara blinked, exchanging a glance with Lara, who'd appeared in the kitchen. "What's… going on?"

Dagmara raised an eyebrow. "You didn't really think that winning would get you out of Academy instructing, did you?" she said wryly. "You, Miss Icara, need to do your time before even thinking about retiring."

It took a minute for her words to sink in. "The Academy still wants me?"

The older woman smiled. "Of course. Everyone wants to learn from our newest Victor."

Oh. Icara could almost cry. With a renewed vigor in her step, she bounded up to her room to grab her duffel, changing into athletic wear as quickly as humanly possible before meeting Dagmara by the door.

On a second thought, she turned to Lara. "Are you okay with me going back?"

Since Lara's failure to volunteer last Reaping, she wasn't permitted back on Academy grounds, let alone allowed readmittance. Though Lara took it in stride, Icara detested the rule. She hadn't returned since her Victory, half out of protest and half out of, admittedly, fear of retribution.

Retribution from her peers for her actions in the Games, from the other instructors for her own disregard of the rules. And Lara… Returning almost felt like a snub to her now-sister's plight.

But Lara only grinned. "Icara. It's what you're made for."

And it was.

A/N: So what we learned here was, I don't know the definition of the word one-shot :v That being said, I am pretty proud of this, I wrote it in... like 20 days? Is that how long we had..? Around that, which. for 20k+, that's a lot for me ;-; I definitely neglected TrV for this so sorry about that to those who were waiting for another chapter during that period of time, but I hope you enjoyed this anyways ! I definitely did my best to not spoil the outcome of TrV during this aka whether some certain people live or die lol c: I had a lot of fun with Icara and Dagmara's mentor-tribute dynamic too; honestly, as soon as I decided that, I think that's where this thing ended up escalating LOL..

Anyways, thank you again Anya (glimmerglint on FFN btw) for the absolutely amazing character, and for organizing this wonderful event ;-; I hope you like what I've written with Icara, I had so much fun with her, she's such a sweetheart ;-; I'm super excited to read everyone else's fics for this event too, I know we all had so much fun with this ! I'm so glad I got to participate in this event with everyone, and anyone else who's made it to the end of this story, thank you so much for reading ;-;

- Nell

Edit: Blog ! destined to fall 163 . weebly . com (remove spaces)