roses are red, roses are white
part one
now rises the sun of york
chapter three
the fool of hearts

The very next day, Madge is woken early by a maid.

"What is it?" she asks, head thudding a bit from too much wine.

"The Duke requested I wake you, my lady, as he wishes you to prepare to leave as soon as possible."

For a moment Madge is confused. The Duke? Oh. Cold realization washes over her and the maid means Haymitch. Though still Earl of Warwick, marriage to her mother has also made him Duke of Clarence, a far more impressive title, not to mention one with royal connections.

"Did the Duke mention where we'd be going?" she asks, the word Duke tasting sour on her tongue. The maid shakes her head.

"No, my lady."

Madge sighs and collapses back into bed, frowning into her pillow.

Officially my step-father and still, he is determined to keep me in the dark.

Dressed in her one traveling gown and with her things packed, Madge breaks her fast with her mother, still with no idea where they're going.

"Has he mentioned to you where he's taking us?" she asks as she nibbles on bread and Margaret shakes her head.

"I haven't seen him since the feast last night and he didn't say a word about leaving."

Madge is both pleased her mother and Haymitch spent the night apart and beyond aggravated that he won't even trust his wife with their travel plans. She settles on a mild frown. I suppose I should have expected that this would be no marriage of equals. Her mother sighs tiredly and forces down some cheese, last night's festivities having clearly taken their toll. Madge bites her lip, worried as she always seems to be lately and then Lord Haymitch himself decides to grace them with his presence. Her mother immediately stands to greet him, Madge following much more reluctantly. They curtsy and he nods to them, a harried look on his face. He seems distracted and Madge wonders what could have him so on edge.

"Greetings, my lord husband," her mother says and Haymitch's face twitches.

"Are you packed and ready?" he asks, tone impatient. Madge feels herself bristling.

"Yes, we are both ready to leave whenever you wish it," her mother answers and he nods again. Madge cannot help but admire her mother's skill, showing not a single sign of ruffled feathers at Haymitch's snappish mood.

"Good. You'll be moving to Warwick Castle immediately," Haymitch commands and Madge barely restrains her frown. She'd figured he was probably sending them away to one of his properties, but she'd been holding out hope that it would be one of the castles he'd gained from her mother, something at least familiar to Madge. Instead they are headed to the very seat of Haymitch's power.

"Will you not be accompanying us?" her mother asks and Haymitch shakes his head, just a hint of frustration washing over his face.

"No, there is much too much to do here," he says and Madge feels her interest rise. "I will join you when I'm able. Marvel will escort you."

Madge feels her stomach drop.

Not Marvel, anyone but Marvel.

Her mother nods like this is perfectly agreeable and so does Madge, even as she wants to scream. Her step-brother is the last person she wants to spend any time with, and certainly not a long journey followed by close quarters in Warwick Castle with no one else to distract him. As much as she hates London, hates Westminster, she'd much rather stay here and find out what's gotten under Haymitch's skin than be banished away to Warwickshire with Marvel as company.

But of course, Madge won't be getting what she wants.

She never does.

They're loaded into a litter and Haymitch does not come to see them off, stalks away with murmured apologies, but there's just so much to do.

Marvel is waiting for them in the courtyard, dressed in fine velvet that must be roasting him in the summer sun. He mounts his horse, his black cape threaded through with silver swinging around him dramatically and his hat, decorated with a bejeweled peacock feathers, glittering. He pulls on his gloves and Madge rolls her eyes. He is certainly overdressed. She goes to settle back into her seat when she sees him, Gale of Salisbury, exiting the castle and moving towards Marvel. She narrows her eyes and watches them converse, her own vow from last night echoing in her ears.

One day, Gale of Salisbury, you will love me.

Just as the carriage starts to lurch forward, Madge leans out the window.

"Fare thee well Lord Gale!" she calls, waving her handkerchief at him. He turns to her with wide, confused eyes and Madge smiles as brightly as she's able. He is used to her being polite when they are forced to interact, but this, her being cheery and friendly when she could so easily ignore him and no one would care, this he cannot understand. He does not answer, probably cannot, but he watches her as the carriage pulls farther away, never once looks away.

It isn't much, not yet, but it's a start.

Madge looks out the window at Warwick Castle as they roll through its gates and only one thought comes to mind.

This is not home.

Marvel helps her dismount, somehow managing to pull her flush against him as she steps down. He doesn't let go, holding onto her for an uncomfortably long time and Madge begins to wonder how to politely extricate herself when her mother nearly trips down the carriage steps, forcing Marvel to release Madge and attend to his step-mother. He takes her mother by the arm and then thrusts his elbow at Madge, something she takes with barely concealed reluctance.

"Welcome to Warwick Castle!" he bellows and Madge looks up at the imposing castle, her blood chilling. "And now, allow me to give you a tour."

Madge peeks over at her mother, tired and swaying on her feet. She turns back to Marvel.

"Actually, would you mind terribly, my good lord, if we went to rest until dinner? The ride has exhausted me."

Marvel looks down at her and for a moment she is afraid he'll refuse.

"Ah yes, of course. Women are so delicate, so fragile," he says with a smile and reaches out to stroke her cheek. Madge feels a shudder trying to beat its way up her back and forces it down. She plasters on a smile and can feel it twitching in the corners.

"Thank you for understanding," she manages. He claps his hands to summon the servants.

"Show the ladies to their rooms," he orders. They do just that and Madge dismisses those who wish to help her unpack. She collapses face first onto the bed and tries, at least for the moment, to pretend she is somewhere safe.

(she can't help but wonder if she'll ever be safe again)

The bed sheets are cool, but she knows body heat will change that. As for the rest of the room…She pulls herself up onto her elbows and looks around, the whole place elegant but lifeless, grey and dull. It is clean, but feels unused, everything from the wall tapestries to the finely carved furniture lacking any brightness or warmth. This does not feel like a room she is meant to feel at home in.

It feels like a guest's room.

She'll need flowers, lots of them, maybe some new pillows, even some embroidery to hang on the walls, anything to add a splash of colour. She can't be sure if this is some game of theirs, to remind her of her place, but Madge won't bow to it. She will make this room her own.

After all, enough small victories and eventually, she'll win the war.

Her mother takes dinner upstairs and Madge is left to suffer Marvel's company alone.

They sit across from each other in the smaller, more intimate dining hall reserved for immediate family and Madge tries not to flinch every time she feels his foot brush up against her leg. He takes the liberty of choosing all her food for her and smiles leeringly. Madge commends herself on not vomiting.

"With all the excitement, I've been away from my properties far too long," he says with an easy laugh and Madge suppresses a frown. Excitement? Because war and bloodshed are just so very exciting.

"But first I plan to stop at my new properties, gifted to me by the Queen," he says smugly and Madge supposes she is meant to be impressed. She digs deep to summon up a smile.

"Oh," she says and winces at her lack of enthusiasm. It turns out not to matter, Marvel much too busy nodding to himself to notice.

"Yes, she has just recently presented me with Stourton Castle in Staffordshire and Clare Castle in Suffolk. I must visit them to ensure they are up to my standards. I tolerate only the best."

Madge smiles in what she hopes passes for understanding. Marvel reaches across the table to pat her hand.

"I shall be leaving in a day or two," he says and Madge's eyes widen in surprised relief, "though do not worry," he hurries to continue, squeezing her hand, "I am sure we shall not be parted for long."

Madge smiles, torn between relief and the inevitability of what he's said.

"I'm sure," she agrees, because as much as she wishes otherwise, she is sure he's right.

But at least he'll be gone soon. Thank the Lord for small mercies.

Madge embroiders by candlelight, shining silver bells ringed in red roses to hang on her walls. She is certain the servants will report it immediately to Haymitch, certain he will order them removed and perhaps burned, just like her banner. If asked, she will plead ignorance, that it was merely because the red contrasted so nicely with the silver.

Madge knows it is contradictory to her aim of winning over these Yorkists, but then, as much as she wishes she were a creature of logic, her emotions have always held greater sway. This little act of rebellion might well undermine her efforts, but hearts so rarely listen to reason.

(and anyway, the red is not for Lancaster)

(it's for blood)

(and rage)

(and heartbreak)

The next day dawns bright and beautiful and warm, but Madge hardly notices. She spends it entirely in Marvel's company, his presence casting a pall of darkness over everything. She comforts herself with the knowledge that he'll soon be gone, just survive a little longer. Just a little longer.

He takes her for a very, very long tour of the gardens, which normally would have been enjoyable, except of course, that she has to spend it with Marvel. He regales her with details of the castle, the gardens and grandiose tales of his family's glory, some of which she most certainly does not believe.

(one she can believe, on the other hand, is that apparently his ancestor once helped to decapitate King Edward II's lover Piers Gaveston)

(after all, she knows all about their murderous habits)

He sits her down on a bench and recites poetry, though thankfully not his own. She applauds when necessary and keeps a smile frozen on her face, does her absolute best not to cringe when he reads something about love and then winks at her suggestively. He tucks a flower behind her ear, fingers trailing unnecessarily through her hair and then they're off again, this time for a tour of the castle itself. He talks so much she's surprised he hasn't gone hoarse, fills her head to the brim with stories of his glorious ancestors, all the way from the time of William the Conqueror.

At this point Madge has had enough and feigns heat exhaustion, sagging into his arms and pleading to be brought to bed. He carries her to her chambers, assuring her over and over that she will be well taken care of and chuckling about the fragility of women.

(which he seems to believe is a good thing, most probably because it allows him to play the hero)

(Madge is beginning to wonder how he could possibly have managed to support Katniss, what with all his ideas about the inherent weakness of women)

(she is smart enough not to ask)

He sets her down and she allows all her mother's ladies to fuss about, pressing cold cloths to her head and fanning her, because anything is better than more time with Marvel. He offers to linger but she waves him away, invents some story about not wanting him to see her in so disheveled a state. He nods and agrees, telling her he does not want "to tarnish the image of your beauty I have in my mind". Madge barely manages not to gag.

At dinner she is forced to descend to the dining hall, but thankfully her mother joins them, dragging at least part of Marvel's attention away. He tells them all about his exploits in the war, his heroism and daring, how he apparently won the day nearly single handedly. Madge wonders how Katniss, Gale and Haymitch would feel about this particular retelling.

And then finally the evening ends and Madge is allowed to escape. Marvel informs them that he will be leaving in the morning and her heart soars amid all his apologies. She assures him all is well, that she understands how important he is and allows him to slather kisses all over her hands.

Madge falls into bed with a true, genuine smile on her face.

I have survived King Coriolanus

Survived Queen Katniss' court

And now Marvel

If I can survive all that

I can survive anything

Madge sees Marvel off in the morning, in a far cheerier mood than she's been in for quite some time.

"I hope you will not be too distraught without me," he says, entirely serious, and Madge smiles, her joy eclipsing any annoyance she feels at his words.

"I shall try my best to find a way to survive your absence," she responds and he nods gravely, squeezing her hands.

"I've given strict instructions to the Constable, after all, two women alone is a very dangerous situation."

Madge doesn't roll her eyes even though she wants to. She wonders if he's aware that she and her mother spent most of the war alone and managed just fine. He leans in very close.

"Perhaps a token, to carry me on my way?"

Madge, wanting him gone as soon as possible, plucks a ribbon from her hair and tucks into his glove. He grins and pulls her near, their bodies touching in a way that makes her very uncomfortable. He inhales deeply, nose buried in her hair and she closes her eyes, hoping he moves away soon.

"Sweet, sweet sister," he croons in her ear and then kisses her cheek, his lips pressing against the corner of her mouth. She stiffens, eyes opening wide, but knows better than to say anything. He finally pulls away and mounts his horse, Madge's good mood strangled somewhere in her chest. She waves to him as he rides out with his retinue, her stomach clenching when he tosses her a wink. The sun is hot on her head and yet she feels cold, the urge to scrub herself clean bubbling beneath her skin.

He's gone now, she reassures herself, at least he's gone now.

(he'll be back)

(of course, there are still Yorkists everywhere)

(every servant is also an informant, every groom and clerk and lady watching her every move)

(there is no freedom here)

(nor anywhere in England)

(at least not for her)

Two days later, Haymitch comes clattering into the courtyard on his horse.

Madge and her mother greet him in the entrance hall, pretend to all the world that they are pleased to see him. He looks frazzled as he pulls off his gloves, hair windswept and frown lines deep in his face. He sighs and then turns to the Lord Steward waiting just a few steps behind them.

"Ale," he says shortly, the Lord Steward hurrying off to fetch it and Madge wonders if he's even noticed the two of them.

"Greetings, my lord husband," Margaret says and Haymitch finally looks at her. Something about him seems older, which is silly, Madge knows, as it's only been a week since she'd last saw him.

"I hope you had a pleasant journey," her mother continues and Haymitch grunts.

"I won't be staying long," he informs them, "just until tomorrow."

Madge blinks in surprise, hardly believing such good fortune. Her mother waits politely for Haymitch to continue.

"I must ride out tomorrow to join the Queen on progress," he explains and everything becomes so much clearer. No wonder Haymitch has been in such a sour mood. A Royal Progress is usually planned out over several months, not the single week Katniss seems to have allowed.

"Will the Queen be stopping here?" her mother asks and Haymitch shakes his head.

"No. She had wanted to, but we can be assured of my loyalty. It makes much more sense to honour those whose loyalty needs to be guaranteed."

Her mother nods.

"I won't be back until at least August, that's why I've come now. I need to make sure everything is properly arranged for my absence."

Her mother nods like it's not an insult to suggest she wouldn't know how to run a castle and Madge forces herself not to bristle. The Steward reappears and hands Haymitch his ale, the cup filled to the brim. Haymitch drinks deeply, almost as if he intends to drain it all, and then turns to Madge.

"I've brought you back someone from London. A maid, to do your hair or clean your chambers, or whatever it is you need. She's waiting outside."

Haymitch turns to leave before Madge can say anything, not that she knows what she'd say. She watches his departing back, something about this feeling off. Why would he bring her a maid all the way from London? If this girl is just meant to clean her things, would it not have been simpler just to hire a local? Madge steps outside cautiously, uncertainty prickling at her nerves and there she is, the new maid dressed in a ratty traveling cloak and a worn dress, her head turned to the dirt below her feet. She has very dark hair hanging down around her face and Madge can't get a clear look at her, something in her gut tightening in concern.

"Hello, I'm Lady Madge. My stepfather the Duke informs me that you are to be my new maid," Madge begins, hoping she sounds welcoming. The girl nods timidly, pale hands clenching into fists in the folds of her dress as she curtsies low, her skirt sweeping the dusty ground.

"May I know your name?" Madge asks and the girl pauses, bending even farther forward so her hair obscures her every feature.

"Anne, my lady," she whispers and Madge leans forward to hear her better.

"Anne," she repeats and bites her lip. "It's a very nice name. I had a friend called Anne once."

"A friend?" Anne asks, voice thin and terrified.

"Yes, or at least, I always thought of her as a friend. I can't say what she thought of me," Madge laughs, trying to make a joke but Anne inhales wetly, as if about to cry. Madge's eyes widen in alarm.

"Is everything alright?" she asks and Anne buries her face in her hands.

"I'm sorry, my lady, I'm sorry. Please forgive me," she sobs and Madge shakes her head in bafflement.

"Whatever for?"

Anne doesn't answer, still in tears, and Madge gently pries her hands from her face.

No

She gasps and drops Anne's hands, all of her blood freezing in an instant. I know that face… It's been years, but still, Madge recognizes her instantly.

"Anne? Anne of Oxford?" she asks in horror and Anne shakes her head.

"It is just Anne now, my lady. My father is a traitor to the crown, and thus he has been attainted. I am no one now."

Madge shakes her head slowly, feeling sick.

"Lady Madge, the Duchess has requested your presence inside," someone says from behind her but she doesn't answer, eyes still trained on Anne.

"Lady Madge?"

The Yorkists have to pay.

I'll make them pay.

In blood.

Madge is a storm about to explode at the dining table, sits through a meal with Haymitch while lightning crackles in her veins.

How dare they? she thinks, Anne's voice echoing in her head.

I am no one now

The eleven year old Anne Madge remembers was a bit nervous yes, but she'd smiled easily, laughed, looked alive and happy. The seventeen year old Anne of today was pale and terrified and forced into servitude against her will. Madge doubts Anne choose this career of her own volition, doubts too that Anne will receive fair wages or have the choice to leave and seek employment elsewhere.

This is a punishment. But for what? Her father's sins?

Be careful Yorkists.

Are you ready to pay for your sins?

Madge returns to her chambers and orders that Anne be brought to her. She waits impatiently, nervously, and dismisses everyone else when Anne is finally brought to her, head downturned and eyes avoiding Madge's. Anne looks frail and gaunt in the afternoon sun and Madge can feel a cacophony of words swelling on her tongue.

What do I say? What can I say?

"How did…how did this happen?" she finally asks and Anne closes her eyes. A dark shadow crosses her face and Madge digs her nails into her palms, so hard she wouldn't be surprised if she drew blood.

"My father was fighting for the King, I hadn't heard from him in so long and then…then the Yorkists came." Anne's voice is oddly flat, eerily devoid of emotion and Madge feels a knife digging deep into her gut. "They stormed the castle and took me prisoner; they didn't even give me a chance to change out of my nightclothes. They wouldn't tell me what had befallen my father, but it was clear the King had lost. I was brought to London and put in a cell in the Tower. I stayed for months, in the dark, with no news, no idea what was happening. Finally, Lord Haymitch came. He told me my father was a traitor, had been attainted and I was no one now. But he had an offer. I could leave with him, to serve you." Anne's voice suddenly becomes small, so quiet Madge can barely make it out, "Anything is better than the dark."

Madge covers her mouth with her hands and has no idea what to say.

"I apologize, my lady. It is not my place to complain."

Madge feels a hot fire erupt in her stomach, hatred clogging her veins.

"Do not apologize, Anne, not to me. It is the Yorkists who should be begging your forgiveness."

Anne looks up at her finally, eyes wide and wet.

"What?"

"They had no right to treat you like a criminal, but then, they had no right to any of this." Madge steps forward and grabs Anne's shoulders, squeezing them firmly. "You are Anne of Oxford, no matter what they say. We are both traitors' daughters, but we are not alone. You will always have an ally in me, a friend."

Anne's face crumples and she covers it with her hands, her whole body shaking.

"I…I…I never thought I'd see the sun again, never thought they'd let me out of that dungeon. I…I just…thank you, Madge." Anne pauses, voice struggling in her throat. "I don't want to be alone anymore."

Madge pulls her in for a hug, Anne's arms clinging to her tightly.

"You won't be Anne, I promise. We have each other now."

how could they do this?

how?

weren't they supposed to be liberating us from evil?

liars

Anne's tears finally run out and she and Madge sit on the floor, heedless of the dust and dirt. Madge rubs her back and Anne fiddles nervously with a thread from her dress.

"Do you…have you heard of any Lancastrian survivors?" she asks, clearly terrified of the answer. Madge squeezes her hand in reassurance.

"Your father is fine. He's in Scotland with the King."

Anne scrunches her dripping eyes shut and presses her forehead to her knees.

"Oh thank goodness, thank goodness," she sniffles and Madge smiles, happy she has good news to give.

"Were there…any others?" Anne asks quietly and Madge pauses in thought.

"Yes…Brutus, the Duke of…"

"Somerset," Anne supplies, her tone cold. Madge frowns and looks down at Anne's hands, curled tight into fists. But then she remembers Christmas, that horrid, wicked Christmas and Lord Brutus with his cruelty, the way he'd dragged that serving boy off with bloodlust thick in his eyes.

(perhaps his survival is not one worth celebrating)

"Also," she hurries to continue, wanting to blot away the memories, "Boggs, the King's half-brother and their nephew, Finnick of Richmond, are both in Scotland as well."

Anne's whole body shudders as she bursts into tears again, Madge staring at her shock.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Anne wails, "I'm just so relived. I was afraid, so horribly afraid. They're alright. Thank the Lord, they're alright."

Madge takes one of her hands and squeezes it, noticing for the first time the ring she's wearing. Unlike everything else Anne has on, this ring is beautiful and clearly quite costly. It is a gold band with a sizeable diamond in the center and tiny clusters of sapphires on either side. Madge blinks at it and somehow, Anne must have kept it hidden through her months of captivity.

"I'm sorry," Anne says again and Madge shakes her head.

"You don't need to apologize, Anne."

"Annie," she interrupts and Madge tilts her head. "If we're friends, you must call me Annie."

Madge smiles.

"Annie," she says and Annie looks up, wiping at her eyes. "We are friends, that I can promise. And I shall pray for your father every night, that the two of you will soon be reunited."

Annie smiles through her tears and Madge cannot help the pang she feels in her heart, because no matter what she prays, her father will still be lost to her. Perhaps Annie can read her mind, for she wraps an arm around Madge, pulling her close until their heads press together. Madge can feel tears prickling her eyes and frowns.

"I shouldn't be crying," she finds herself saying, "I'm sorry."

Annie shakes her head.

"Don't be. And thank you, Madge. I shall pray for your family too. Perhaps we shall still have our happy endings."

My father is dead, Madge thinks, I shall never be happy again. Instead of saying it though, Madge simply hugs Annie close and chooses, at least for this one moment, to believe in a better tomorrow.

Annie stays with her all night, the two of them not quite ready to be alone. They lie together under the covers and Madge keeps a candle burning to stave off the dark, Annie still shrinking from every shadow.

"I'm sorry," Annie breathes but Madge shakes her head.

"Don't be."

Madge tells Annie everything then, all about the war, all that has happened since. Annie listens patiently, squeezes Madge's hand when tears threaten her voice but never shares her own story. Madge does not mind. She might find comfort in telling, but Annie might find it in forgetting. Madge cannot blame her.

(strangely, even though Madge tells her everything, she omits just one fact)

(one day, Gale of Salisbury, you will love me)

(for some reason, she keeps that to herself)

The next morning Haymitch leaves as promised, loosening Madge's shackles, if only a little.

She and Annie take a walk in the gardens, though Madge is careful to let Yorkists spies think it is just a lady and her attendant, at least until they're out of sight. When they are, they lie back in the grass and try to divine the future from the shapes of the clouds.

"That looks like a rabbit. Aren't they lucky? Perhaps fortune is soon to favour us," Annie says and Madge wishes she could believe it.

"I suppose that looks like a boot," she offers and doesn't say perhaps we are soon to be crushed underfoot.

"Mm," Annie agrees, "I think it does."

At night they sit in her room and embroider, Madge stitching a memorial to her father to hang above her bed. Annie works diligently at what could be a dragon and Madge looks at it curiously. Annie notices and blushes.

"It's a wyvern," she explains and Madge shrugs, having never heard of one. "It means valor and protection."

Oh. Well, Madge can imagine why she might want that.

They could both use all the protection they can get.

(but will it be enough?)

(could anything be enough?)

Madge stands for the fitting of a new travelling gown, her old one starting to fray at the edges.

The tailor measures and pins while Madge's eyes sweep over her room, the maids busying themselves with cleaning. Or at least, that's their stated purpose. In reality, they pull back the covers of her bed, reach hands to feel around beneath her mattress, open and riffle through every drawer and cupboard. In their guise of tidying up, they are really searching for signs of disobedience, of subterfuge, of rebellion. Madge pretends not to care as they shake out her pillows, peer behind every tapestry and frown at the red roses hanging on her walls.

The best defense she has right now is that they think her ignorant of their true purpose. They think they've fooled her, think she truly believes they're just cleaning. Madge knows better. There is nothing for them to find, not really, she has made sure of that. Let them pilfer and search and comb over every inch of her chambers. Madge owns nothing incriminating and even if she did, she would never leave it anywhere they could find it. She is part of no conspiracy, has only vague ideas of vengeance. If she were to ever make solid plans, if she ever did join a full blown plot, they would never know.

Madge has no choice but to be one step ahead of these spies at her side.

So she will be.

(how exhausting it is for England, to live in such a state of utter distrust)

June fades into a hazy July and Madge thinks about the Royal Progress, wonders where the Queen and her retinue are now.

At least they're not here.

Annie and a few of Madge's other servants have a chamber adjoining hers, just in case she should need them. Some nights, when Madge cannot sleep, specters dripping blood into her dreams, she can hear tears, wretched, heart rending sobs, the kind that make Madge herself want to cry and bawl and wail.

Sometimes, she simply buries her head beneath her pillow and tries not to listen, but most nights Madge rises from bed and sits on the floor, ear pressed to the door between their two rooms. She knows, without having to look inside, that it's Annie. Even though Annie never speaks about her time in the Tower, even though she tries so hard to act as if nothing is amiss, Madge knows she is lying. Maybe because Madge herself is a liar, every day, smiling, happy, as if her entire world hadn't burned down into ashes. She thinks, sometimes, of going inside, of holding Annie until the tears stop, of trying to find some words of comfort. But what could she say?

It's alright? But it isn't, none of this is alright.

It'll be okay? But Madge cannot guarantee that, finds it hard to believe that anything will ever be okay again.

I'm here? You're not alone? But Annie already knows that and clearly, it's not enough.

In the end, Madge presses her forehead to the door and swears I'll avenge you Annie, I'll avenge us all.

Maybe, one day, it will be the Yorkists crying themselves to sleep instead.

At least once every week Madge receives a letter from Marvel, always filled to the brim with self-aggrandizement.

She sighs as she opens the newest one, Annie peering over her shoulder. It is mercifully short, just a bit of bragging about his new castles, the improvements he plans to make and of course, how he would so love a visit from her. Madge rolls her eyes.

"As Master of the North, it is my duty to have the grandest castles I can. Not that anyone here could ever hope to come close to my splendor, but still, I must always strive for more," Annie reads with barely concealed giggles. Madge gags.

"He's certainly something," Annie says and Madge nods with a grimace.

"The North is a wild land, but rest assured, I have tamed it," she quotes and Annie bites her lip, a smile threatening her face. Madge tears the letter into pieces. "Be glad you haven't met him," she tells Annie.

"Oh don't worry, I am."

Annie sweeps up the letter fragments with a laugh and Madge closes her eyes, tries to blot out the final few lines, the ones she'd made sure Annie never saw.

I still have your token, sister sweet, and oh how I yearn for more. Come to see me and I promise, I shall make it worth the journey.

Sometimes, Madge fells like she cannot breathe within Warwick's walls, needs to escape the eyes watching her from every corner. The gardens with their hidden grooves are her only sanctuary; even the chapel filled with spies cataloguing her every move. Nestled between the hedges, Madge feels a little safer, comforted by the illusion of solitude and she and Annie spend most of their days there, embroidering or reading or weaving flowers into necklaces.

On one such day, Madge looks up at the sky, bluer than anything she's ever seen, and sighs happily.

"I love summer," she says and Annie nods, a faraway look in her eyes.

"We used to spend most summers at my father's castle in Essex, near the coast. I loved the sea."

Her voice is wistful, yearning and Madge reaches over to squeeze her hand.

"Finnick had a castle not too far away," Annie murmurs and Madge raises her eyebrows in curiosity.

"Oh, did you know him very well?" she asks and Annie looks up at the sun, her eyes reflecting its glow.

"It almost feels like another lifetime now," she whispers.

It is another lifetime, Madge thinks, a better lifetime.

Once, just after supper, Madge stumbles upon Annie crying. She muffles her tears into a scrap of fabric and the hand wearing the pretty ring she never takes off is cradled next to her heart. Madge freezes, unsure what to do. Annie has not cried in front of her since that first day, keeps her pain carefully hidden.

Oh Annie…

Madge takes tentative steps forward and lightly touches Annie's shoulder, not wishing to startle her. Annie looks up at her and Madge notices a wyvern in shimmery thread stitched onto her handkerchief. Annie bites into her lip and ducks her head, Madge taking a seat beside her. Neither one of them says anything, but Annie leans against her, body shaking, and Madge wraps her arms around her, hoping that at least for now, this will be enough.

the Yorkists cannot get away with this, they just can't

August arrives in a golden glow and it would be easy to forget she was a prisoner, locked up tight behind Haymitch's walls. Her mother seems healthier, strength returning to her; Annie is here, her friendship a greater gift than Madge could have imagined; and the Yorkists exist only peripherally, far off somewhere on their great progress.

Except of course, she cannot forget.

Warwick Castle still does not feel like home, she must still guard her words, must act like Annie is nothing but a maid when anyone else is near, still has no freedom to leave the castle grounds.

It is a gilded cage certainly, but still a cage. She must never forget that.

(how could I?)

In those long, hot days, Madge begins her fight.

She uses Haymitch's gold to supply her maids with new clothes and furnishings. Her excuse to the Steward is that they need to look their best if they are to serve her, while proper bedding will give them better rest and thus allow them to work harder. She buys tapestries, supposedly for her own room but then hangs them in the servants' quarters, picks them flowers from the gardens, tips them handsomely from Haymitch's coffers. She smiles at every servant, from grooms to clerks to cooks, makes a point to learn all their names. She greets them as they pass, asks after them, is sure to thank and compliment them whenever appropriate.

Madge behaved much the same back home at Bedford Castle, has always despised those who treated their servants with disdain or cruelty. They may be paid to serve her, but they are still human, just as much as she is. She would be kind anyway, but now, in this new England, Madge has even more reasons for her actions.

Firstly, these maids are spies, instructed by Haymitch to keep careful watch over her and Madge hopes to win their affection, their loyalty. Underhanded it may be, but she is tired of being watched. She wants them to know that she would be happy to be their friend, if only they would be hers.

Secondly, Annie has been made a servant as punishment for her father's loyalties. Madge is determined to make this the most comfortable punishment she can.

Haymitch will not win this game. Madge has generosity as her weapon and she will use it.

Let kindness be their downfall.

"If you could go anywhere in the world right now, where would you go?" Annie asks as she helps Madge dress. Faint morning light shines through the window and there are so many possibilities, glittering foreign courts, exotic locales, but in the end, the answer is obvious.

"Home."

In late September, they finally hear word from Haymitch.

They are breaking their fast when a messenger comes bearing a letter with Haymitch's seal, the first they've heard from him in months. Her mother takes it and pays the courier, all while Madge cannot help the flood of bitterness welling inside of her. It's a wonder Haymitch even remembered they were here. Her mother breaks the seal and scans the message quickly, a frown carving deep lines into her face.

"What is it?" Madge asks, nerves tightening.

"Lord Haymitch commands us to move south immediately and to take up residence in his castle of Warblington in Hampshire."

Madge feels her stomach curdle.

"Why?"

"He does not say, but he orders that we do not tarry."

Orders? Madge wants to spit in frustration, but knows she can't. Haymitch's spies stand all around them, would be more than happy to report any misbehavior on her part.

"Can we not go to your castle of Portchester? It too is in Hampshire."

Her mother shakes her head.

"His orders are that we go to Warblington, so we will. Be ready as soon as you're able, darling."

Madge bites her tongue and nods. This is a cruel reminder, but a necessary one.

The Yorkists are still their masters.

(but not for long, Madge vows, not for long)

Warblington Castle is an austere place. Or at least, that's how it seems to Madge, this new and unfamiliar prison.

Annie helps her unpack and Madge can't help but wonder what Haymitch is up to. Why move us from Warwick? Why not tell us why? There had been no message awaiting them when they'd arrived and something about this feels secret, dangerous even. Something's going on, but what? Why Warblington? Why south?

And then it comes to her.

The King is in Scotland and for months there have been rumors that he was planning an invasion. Finally, half a year since he lost his throne, King Coriolanus must be making his bid to reclaim it. That has to be it. Haymitch has moved Madge and her mother as from the action as he can and kept them thoroughly in the dark, all to ensure they can't rally anyone to the Lancastrian cause.

They're afraid of us.

Madge drops to her knees and begins to pray. Annie looks over in alarm.

"Madge?"

"The King has invaded," she says, hands clutching her rosary. Annie doesn't question how she knows this, she simply kneels beside her and joins Madge in prayer.

Let Lancaster prevail

Let York fall

Please, let us win this fight

Madge had almost forgotten how horrible it is to wait for news.

Every day she hopes for some word from the front, but there is nothing, always nothing. Devoid of any idea of the state of affairs up north, Madge focuses instead on what she'll do if (when) Lancaster wins. Annie will surely be welcomed back into the fold without issue, after all, she is being held hostage here, obviously against her will, not to mention her father is still alive to vouch for her. Madge's situation is far more problematic.

Her mother has married Haymitch, the King will no doubt count that as a betrayal of the highest order. Their only hope is to convince the King that they have suffered greatly, have been forced into this arrangement and abused for it. She thinks about starving herself, burning her gowns, beating her skin until it turns black. The King will not believe anything she says, if she cannot show him she was mistreated, he will never forgive her.

It is not a particular appealing prospect, but if it's a choice between that and survival, Madge knows which one she'd choose.

News does not reach them until November.

A messengers canters into the courtyard, the punishing rainstorm making it impossible to discern whose badge he's wearing. He drips a puddle in the entrance hall as her mother takes the letter from him, Madge's whole body swollen with anxious desperation.

Please, let my prayers be answered

Her mother reads it without a single flutter of emotion and Madge thinks she might vomit, so powerful is the panicked curiosity inside her.

"Mother?" she asks, her voice stretched and stressed.

"We are to go to London. Lord Haymitch wishes us to join him at Baynard's Castle."

no

we lost

why do we always lose?

The only positive Madge can find is that Baynard's is not a royal palace, belongs solely to Haymitch. At least they're not headed to court. Madge clings to that thought as their carriage trundles through the countryside, squeezes it between her hands.

(of course, if they're going to London, a trip to court can't be far off)

It is a fairly mild day for November when they arrive, but to Madge it feels as if a hulking black cloud has covered the sky, blotting out the sun.

Haymitch and Marvel are awaiting them as they roll up to Baynard's and Madge knows it's time to don her mask, smiling and so happy to be reunited. Haymitch helps her mother down and Marvel extends his hand to Madge, his smile curdling her stomach. She takes it and does not wince when he squeezes her fingers and then tucks them into the crook of his arm, pulling her much too close to his side. He leads her inside, just behind Haymitch and her mother and Madge is dying to know what happened up north.

"I have asked you to come to London because my cousins are getting married," Haymitch tells them and Madge bites her lip. Cousins? Does that mean all the rumors about Katniss and Gale are true?

"Rory is going to marry the Duke of Suffolk's daughter and Vick, the Earl of Pembroke's," he continues and Madge blinks. Oh. They are very young though, aren't they? They can't be more than twelve and ten. Then again, maybe it's better this way. They won't be expected to live together for several years yet, which will give them plenty of time to get to know each other. If I was married off tomorrow, I'd be expected to be a true wife to him in every way, even if he were a complete stranger.

"How wonderful," her mother says and Madge nods along in agreement. Katniss is shoring up her alliances, using her cousins to solidify bonds of loyalty.

"Yes, it is," Haymitch agrees, sounding weary. "Before the wedding though, there will be an investment ceremony. The Queen will be bestowing a title on both of them."

Madge barely restrains her frown. Back to Westminster already?

"The court is currently at Windsor, so we'll be heading there in a few days."

Madge breathes a silent sigh of relief.

"Yes, but that's not all we're celebrating," Marvel cuts in with a boast and this is it.

"More glad tidings?" her mother asks and Haymitch frowns even as Marvel smirks.

"Indeed. Coriolanus is right now in our custody, languishing in the Tower."

Madge's mouth drops open and Marvel nods, puffing out his chest.

"He invaded with help from Scotland, but Father and I made quick work of his forces. Now the false king is ours. Those that escaped, including Enobaria and their bastard Cato, have fled to France."

Madge feels as if she is drifting out to sea. King Coriolanus captured? No, it can't be.

They've cut the head right off of Lancaster.

"Bastard?" she asks, desperate to grip onto something solid. Marvel opens his mouth to answer but Haymitch quickly cuts him off.

"Enough Marvel, this is not talk for women."

"Of course," Marvel agrees, properly chastised and Madge can feel curiosity burn in her like the sun. What does he mean by bastard? He can't possibly… Cato is now our only hope, as horrifying a thought as that is. We need him.

This is a disaster.

Madge recognizes Marvel as her best chance at getting information and duly seeks him out. He smiles when she finds him, eyes shining like two perfect emeralds. He opens his arms.

"Ah Madge, how I have missed you."

Madge stops short of entering his embrace, curious, but not quite that curious.

"Yes, it is lovely to see you again. But what did you mean about Cato being a bastard?"

Marvel frowns.

"My father was right, that is not appropriate talk for women."

Madge steels herself and then steps closer, placing a hand on his chest.

"Oh, but I'm ever so curious," she says, looking up at him. His face melts into a grin and he wraps an arm around her, holding her securely against him.

"Well, there are rumors, ones I'm inclined to favour, that Cato is not actually the son of Coriolanus."

Madge's eyes go wide.

"What?"

"It took them years to have a child and one cannot blame Enobaria for being less than impressed with her ancient husband. Perhaps he is not even capable anymore," Marvel chuckles and Madge frowns.

"But who…?"

"Who else? Brutus, the once Duke of Somerset, of course. He is well known as the Queen's favourite."

Madge feels the shock reverberate through her. True or not, the Yorkists will encourage these rumors to flourish. It can only help them if people begin to lose faith in the legitimacy of the line of Lancaster. With the King in custody, Cato will be the focus point of rebellion but if the Yorkists can undermine him without lifting a sword…then what?

The rebels turn to Mother. She's next, isn't she?

This changes everything.

Lying awake that night, Madge ponders the future.

If only I could find some way to discredit these rumors or stamp them out, but how?

I don't want to be heir to the throne. We are too vulnerable as is, we cannot afford any more dangers. But what can I do?

I cannot rely on kings or princes or knights, if I want to make it out of this alive, I have only myself.

(and never has Madge felt quite so lonely as she does right now)

I will win Gale's heart

He is the Queen's most trusted man, if I have him, I'll be safe

(he owes me, they all do)

I will spread rumors of my own

If I can convince the people that Cato is truly the King's son, they will not think to rally around Mother and me

(he is definitely the King's heir in cruelty)

I will free the King

If I can get him out, the rebels with have their leader back and the Yorkists will be on the defensive

(but how does one rescue a king?)

I'll find way, I have to. I don't have a choice

Madge wears a new dress to Rory and Vick's ceremony, red velvet and gold silk, determined to look her very best. Annie winds her hair into a complicated set of braids and rubies, glittering jewels dotting her wrists, ears, neck and gown. She slaps her cheeks pink and affects her most charming smile, armed and ready to face her prey.

When they arrive at Windsor, Marvel escorts her to the ceremony, swaggering about as if he owns the place. Madge ensures that she has perfect posture and graceful steps, can't afford a single mistake. Gale of Salisbury won't go down easy, she knows that, and he is the very first step in her loose plan to take back England for Lancaster. She has no hope of rescuing the King alone, but if she can charm Gale, if she can win him over, she will have more power than almost anyone in England. He is the kingdom's Lord Constable, charged with its safety and defense, he knows every one of Katniss' secrets and he is one of the chief Yorkists. With him, Madge could do anything.

I'm coming for you Gale, are you ready?

(and she'd be lying if she said there wasn't a tiny part of her that relishes the idea of having power over Gale, of someone else being the powerless one)

Marvel helps her to the front of the hall, where the privileged will stand, and Madge smiles pleasantly at everyone they pass. Her mother and Haymitch soon join them, followed closely by Ladies Hazelle, Posy, Primrose and the Duchess Elizabeth. Madge bows her head to them, demurely keeps her eyes down and finally the trumpets sound, the honoured making their appearance.

The Queen leads the procession, dressed in a stately blue gown and a gold mantle trimmed with ermine. She wears a gilded crown and everyone watches as she makes her way to the front of the room, settling in her throne with a stiff back. Then comes the Salisbury boys, Rory and Vick dressed in their very best. Rory looks smart in black velvet woven through with silver while Vick shines in white and gold. Gale follows behind them, his pride making him glow. Madge makes sure to keep her eyes on him as he stands just a step behind the Queen's throne, hopes her expression is suitably admiring. She doesn't listen to Katniss' words, acts as if she is far too enamored of the Queen's handsome cousin to pay attention. Part way through the ceremony, Gale must feel her eyes on him, for he turns, a confused expression on his face. Their gazes meet for just a moment and then Madge drops hers as if in embarrassment. She looks over at him from the corner of her eye and offers him a shy smile, his brows furrowing.

Gale drags his eyes away when Katniss wraps up the investment ceremony, declaring that Rory is now the Marquess of Dorset and Vick the Marquess of Montagu. Katniss stands, horns blaring again, and leaves, Rory, Vick and Gale following after her. Madge watches Gale bashfully, mulling this new information over in her mind. As Marquesses, Gale's brothers technically outrank him, even though in practice he is more powerful than any Duke in England save Haymitch. But still, why give the younger Hawthornes such illustrious titles?

Unless, of course, Queen Katniss has something even grander planned for her favourite cousin.

But what?

When she retires that night, Annie is waiting with gossip and rumours gathered from the hallways.

"I've heard whispers, that the Queen didn't just bestow titles on her cousins, but castles too."

"Oh?" Madge asks, unwinding her hair. Annie nods.

"Corfe Castle in Dorset and Rufus Castle on the Isle of Portland for the new Marquess of Dorset and for his brother, Somerton Castle in Lincolnshire and Gloucester Castle in Gloucestershire."

Madge bites her lip.

Didn't Haymitch say something about honouring those whose loyalties were not yet guaranteed? I think this might be doing quite the opposite.

Good

The weddings follow a week later.

Madge dons the same silver gown she wore to her mother's wedding and knows today will be the perfect opportunity to get a foothold on Gale. He is confused certainly, uncertain of her intentions, but that's not enough. If she wants him to love her, she must go on the offensive.

It is to be a double wedding held in Windsor's chapel and Madge takes her seat at the front, sandwiched in between Marvel and her mother. Katniss has a special seat reserved for her, gilded and cushioned with velvet. It reeks of King Coriolanus, this overt display of power and luxury in God's very own house. Katniss sits in it gingerly and Gale takes the seat right beside her, looking handsome in blue velvet, his chains of office glittering around his neck.

(and that is one thing Madge supposes she should be glad about, that Gale is, without a doubt, a handsome boy)

(if she must woo him, at least he is not ancient or hideous)

Vick and Rory stand at the front of the chapel, awaiting their brides and Madge almost smiles at the sight of them. They wear matching doublets of creamy velvet with fine gold embroidery and white rose badges made up of pearls and gold pinned to the front. They each have a gold circlet on their head, but while Vick looks excited by what's to come, fidgeting anxiously and bouncing from foot to foot, Rory does a very poor job of concealing his scowl. They're both so young and she could almost laugh at their opposite reactions. Instead, she looks wistfully over at Gale until the music starts, the two young brides making their appearance.

The Duke of Suffolk escorts his daughter Philippa up the aisle and she looks about Rory's age, with dark brown hair and a pretty blue gown offset with gold and decorated with jewels. A proudly smiling Earl of Pembroke leads his daughter Petronella, her red hair contrasting oddly with her yellow dress. She might be eight or nine and both girls are handed off to their grooms, the vows they pronounce sounding strange in their child voices. The ceremony ends and Rory kisses Philippa so quickly Madge almost misses it, but poor Vick is so nervous he lands his kiss just beside Petronella's nose instead of on her lips. His face burns red and Madge winces. Poor Vick.

Both couples make their way out of the chapel and soon everyone joins them, a lavish feast awaiting them. Madge is not given a seat at the head table this time, but she does not mind. This way she has a better vantage point to observe Gale and she sends him many a longing look, hoping the court gossips pick up on it and spread the story as far and wide as they can. Let everyone know just how infatuated I am with the handsome Earl of Salisbury. She can tell by his posture that Gale's noticed her gaze but he does not acknowledge it until dessert, the servers bringing out individual roses made of marchpane for every guest. He finally looks away from Katniss and over at Madge, who does her best to appear both pleased and nervous. She bites her lip, tucks hair behind her ear and Gale watches her with narrowed eyes, entirely unsure what to make of her.

So far, so good

And then comes the dancing. As usual, Madge suffers through the first with Marvel, his roving hands touching her in all sorts of places they shouldn't. She tries to ignore it and focuses on the newlyweds, Rory dancing stiffly with a disinterested Philippa and Vick looking down at his feet rather than at Petronella. She smiles faintly before being handed over to Haymitch for the second dance and forces herself to be as pleasant as possible. She dances once each with the two fathers of the brides and then the Duke of Buckingham for the group dance. He is young, perhaps only a year older than her, with a charming smile and very red hair. He is a much better dancer than the Earl of Pembroke and Madge spins around with a laugh, eyes seeking out Gale as she twirls. He is sitting beside Katniss, having only danced the first three dances with his mother and two new sisters-in-law. Madge notices with a thrill of victory that he is watching her and she beams at him, hoping to entice him onto the floor with her.

Vick partners her next, anxious and stumbly and then she's given to a nervous Thom who refuses to look her in the eye. Madge peeks over at Gale and he's still watching her, expression inscrutable. Dance with me Gale, dance with me she thinks and maybe he hears those thoughts as he murmurs to Katniss and then stands, heading out onto the floor. Finally! she cheers internally as the dance ends and Gale walks up to her as she curtsies to Thom.

"May I have this dance, Lady Madge?" he asks, voice devoid of any warmth but Madge will not be deterred so easily.

"Yes, of course Lord Gale. I would be delighted," she answers, suffusing her words with as much joy as she can muster. The music begins and they move well together, their dance not nearly as stiff and awkward as last time. Gale still does not look at her and keeps a healthy distance between them, but progress is still progress.

"I've never been to Windsor before, have you?" she asks, somewhat breathless from all the dancing.

"No," he answers shortly and Madge nods, not at all off put by his standoffish manner.

"I do hope they have a garden here, you know what a big fan I am," she laughs and Gale continues to look at a point just above her head.

"There is," he says, "my sister's dragged me around it many times already. She's quite impressed."

Madge gasps and smiles.

"Perhaps you could give me a tour?" she asks excitedly, looking up at him through her lashes. He hesitates, clearly trying to think of an excuse to refuse and Madge leans in a little, their bodies nearly brushing.

"If you're busy, I could ask Lord Haymitch," she says with a disappointed sigh, lips pulling down in a pout. He tenses, perhaps the thought of Haymitch reprimanding him for a lack of gallantry filling his mind, and then deflates.

"I suppose I could," he agrees and she beams, squeezing his hand. He grimaces in his attempt to smile back and Madge is flushed with victory.

Check

Your move Gale of Salisbury

(Gale doesn't quite understand it, but he finds himself watching Madge of Bedford, his eyes following her whenever she's in the room. She's pretty yes, he can't deny that, but there are plenty of pretty girls at court. Why can't he look away from her? She's the enemy, a traitor, a Lancastrian. It doesn't matter that her dresses always highlight the curves of her waist, it doesn't matter how well she dances or how she tosses her hair, that bright and shimmering gold.

He hates her, he does.

Often, he finds her watching him back, but she always looks away when he catches her, biting her lip and smiling shyly. He can feel that traitorous tug in his stomach, finds his eyes lingering on her mouth and curses himself. No matter how his body responds, his mind knows the truth. She is up to something, she has to be. There's no other reason she'd be showing so much interest in him lately. She can't possibly…she doesn't, no. It's impossible.

She may flutter her eyelashes at him and her laughter might be bright and easy, but Gale won't be fooled. She can smile at him all she wants, can look at him with blue eyes like the summer sky, but he won't fall into her trap.

Madge of Bedford is dangerous. She has Coriolanus' blood in her veins, Gale will not forget that.

He can't)

Madge takes special care the day of her meeting with Gale, carefully considers every item of clothing and the style of her hair.

She settles on her pink dress with the golden rose pattern and Annie does her hair, leaving most of it hanging free except for at the very back of her head, where she weaves in a chain of pink and gold roses. It is cold out but not too cold, so she dons one of her lighter cloaks, the fabric pale purple with silver birds embroidered at the hem.

Annie is clearly suspicious as Madge holds several earrings to her ear before choosing a pair of pretty gold baubles, but Madge does not answer her silent question. She doesn't know why she's so reluctant to tell Annie what she's planning, but it's like there's a wall inside of her, forcing her to keep this a secret.

Madge has noticed Gale watching her in the halls, has felt his gaze and she can feel a thrill dance across her skin every time it happens. He does not like her, certainly, but just as she has been forced to admit that he is quite handsome, with his broad shoulders, strong jaw and stunning eyes, so it appears that Gale, quite against his will, admires her looks as well. Madge has never thought of herself as overly beautiful, not even when Marvel waxes poetic about her looks, but Gale's reluctant interest has kindled a fire in her bones. She is no fool, she knows the surest way to a man's love is by first capturing his lust and if Gale thinks her pretty, she is that much closer to her ultimate victory. They dab her with rosewater and Madge takes a pair of gloves just in case.

"Well, I'm off then," she says with faux cheeriness and Annie manages a limp smile. Madge nods and then leaves, unsure why everything about this feels so awkward. Why can't I just tell her? She shakes her head and heads down to the garden, needs to be focused and ready. She can worry about Annie later.

Gale is waiting for her when she arrives and his posture immediately stiffens when he sees her. Oh Gale, still as determined as ever to hate me, aren't you? Madge smiles warmly.

"Good day, Sir Gale," she greets and his face does that odd twitching thing she assumes is his attempt at smiling.

"Hello."

"I've been looking forward to this for days," she confesses, looking away shyly and he makes a noncommittal noise in his throat.

"Yes well, should we…get started then?" he asks, voice flat as he gestures out at the garden and Madge nods. They head out, a significant gap between them and Madge can't help but look around in admiration.

"Well…this is the garden," he offers rather lamely and Madge barely manages not to roll her eyes.

"It's beautiful," she says and Gale shrugs. He points out various flowers, trees and bushes and Madge listens intently, nodding along to his words. She moves a little closer as they walk and Gale either doesn't notice or doesn't mind, but either way, Madge feels a flare of confidence.

"What's this?" she asks, looking down at a stone cat resting on a bench. Gale makes a face.

"It was a gift for the Queen."

"Oh?"

He lets out a pained sigh.

"Based on her badge, it's a cat."

He sounds genuinely offended and Madge bites her lip.

"Well, I suppose that makes sense, a cat for Katniss," she laughs and Gale frowns.

"She didn't choose it for that. Cats mean courage, vigilance and liberty."

Madge ducks her head in embarrassment.

"Sorry, I don't know much about heraldry," she admits and Gale presses his lips together. "Though I wish I knew more, it's so interesting that every badge has a meaning. I think you can tell a lot about someone by what badge they choose. You can see what they value, or at least, what they want you to think they value."

Gale blinks.

"You really find it fascinating?"

Madge nods and she's not even lying.

"I do, I always have. My father had a bell and I always wondered why."

The words came out without thought and her smile drops, that great wall of grief she always feels when thinking about her father rising up within her. Gale's jaw tenses. Madge closes her eyes, her misery mixing with the knowledge that she's just ruined this whole encounter. Excellent job, our very first attempt and we've already blown it.

"It's said that bells have the power to disperse evil spirits," Gale says gruffly and Madge looks up at him in surprise. He is determinedly looking in the opposite direction, but Madge feels a smile on her lips. Perhaps I haven't ruined anything after all.

"And what does a white rose mean?" she asks, Gale's posture relaxing just slightly.

"Love and faith, charm and innocence."

"Hmm. It's impressive you know all of this by heart."

Gale shrugs and starts walking again. Madge hurries to keep step.

"Not really, it's easy to remember. I mean, I've always found it…interesting."

Madge smiles.

"It is that. Alright, what's your badge then?"

"A two headed eagle."

Why does that sound so familiar? Oh! Thom was wearing that, wasn't he?

"And what does it mean?" she asks, Gale slowing his pace to match hers. Good, he's starting to feel at ease.

"Well, all birds represent home and family. A two headed eagle specifically, means a protector."

"So family means a lot to you, then?"

Gale stops and finally turns to look at her, the silver oceans of his eyes bright and glowing.

"There's nothing more important," he says gravely. "It's my motto too. For Justice and Family."

"I like that. Most people's mottos and are all "Glory!" or "For Triumph!" I like that yours has real meaning," she says softly, looking down bashfully and Gale takes a step back as if alarmed. He clears his throat.

"Yes well, um…"

"Gale! Gale! Gale!"

He and Madge both turn to see little Posy running through the hedges towards them, her harried nurse hurrying after her. Gale softens all over and grins, striding forward to meet his sister. She flings herself at him with a squeal and Gale scoops her up, settling her on his hip. Madge cannot help but stare. This is the Gale she's only had glimpses of, the Gale without rage or hatred burning bright and hot in his blood. It's disconcerting.

"You're in the garden," Posy accuses and Gale raises an eyebrow.

"I am," he agrees and Posy pouts.

"You didn't invite me," she says and Gale laughs, tweaking her nose.

"How rude of me," he says and Posy nods fervently.

"You're mean."

Her nurse gasps.

"Lady Posy, that is no way to speak to your brother," she begins but Gale just laughs again.

"I am a bit mean, aren't I? Well, you're here now, will you let me make it up to you?"

Posy thinks about it, still glaring at Gale petulantly and that's when she sees Madge. Her eyes go wide, her unhappiness vanishing.

"Lady Madge!" she calls excitedly and tries to climb out of Gale's arms. He sets her down, brow furrowed and Madge smiles.

"Hello, Lady Posy," she says, sweeping into a curtsy. Posy's face lights up and she drops into her own clumsy curtsy, cheeks pink.

"I want to thank you for that bouquet you gave me a few months ago. It was very beautiful and it made me feel so much better. I told your brother to thank you for me, but I'm so glad I get to do it in person," Madge says and Posy presses her hands to her cheeks in glee.

"You really liked it?"

"I loved it," Madge assures her. "And I'm so glad you're here, it's always nice to meet someone who loves a garden as much as I do."

Posy smiles widely.

"I bet you know more about this one than your brother, care to give me a tour?"

Posy nods eagerly and grabs Madge's hand, dragging her off and already chattering a thousand miles a second. Madge can feel Gale's eyes on her as they walk away and she turns back slightly to see him. He's staring at her, expression a mix of confusion and suspicion. But there's something else, small and barely visible, that tells Madge she has a chance. There's a softening in Gale's eyes, just slightly, ever so slightly, eroding his ever present loathing.

I've got you now Gale, you just don't know it yet

(She's using Posy to get to me, she has to be.

Gale tells himself that over and over again, until the very thought is imprinted against his skull.

She's a liar and Posy doesn't matter to her at all.

But still, there's that tiny, tiny, tiny part of him that says what if she isn't? Gale doesn't bother to answer that part of him, because the answer is obvious.

She is)

(she has to be, because how he could he hate someone who made Posy smile like that?)

(he couldn't)

"I have a special request to make of you."

Madge looks up at Haymitch in surprise and quails at the serious look on his face. What could he possibly want from me?

"You may not know this, but currently, the Queen's only lady-in-waiting is her sister Primrose."

Madge frowns. She hadn't known that. That was an odd choice wasn't it? After all, queens were usually served by the relatives of England's most powerful men and Katniss, as a new monarch who'd won her crown by war and as the first queen regnant, could certainly use all the allies she could get. But by not giving these coveted positions to the wives, sisters and daughters of England's leading men, she was pushing away allies, instead of gaining them. What was she doing?

"I have managed to convince Her Majesty to allow you to serve her," Haymitch continues and Madge's eyes widen.

"I am honoured," she says automatically and all she can think is it can't be worse than being Queen Enobaria's lady.

(I hope)

"Yes, well, that is not all. I would like you, as the Queen's new lady, to encourage her to accept more ladies into her household. There are many women from noble families that would serve her very well, if only she would allow them."

There is an edge to Haymitch's voice and it's obvious he doesn't agree with Katniss' decision to shut out the ladies of court. Just like Madge, he must realize the damage this is doing to their cause. Clearly, he has tried to get her to change her mind, so why is she so adamant?

"I will do my very best, Lord Haymitch, I promise."

Haymitch nods and he must be very desperate if he's willing to turn to her for help.

What is Katniss doing?

Madge takes a deep breath before knocking on Katniss' door.

"Come in," the Queen's voice calls and Madge squares her shoulders before entering. Katniss is sitting by the window while Lady Primrose embroiders and Madge drops into a deep curtsy.

"Welcome, Lady Madge," Primrose says cheerily and Madge stays where she is, awaiting the Queen's command to rise.

"Thank you, Lady Primrose," she replies, "it is an honour to be here."

"Prim, you must call me Prim. We are family now, after all. And please stand up."

Madge hesitates for a moment, unsure what to do.

"Yes, please stand," Katniss says, tone somewhat dull. Madge rises.

"Thank you for allowing me to serve you, your Majesty. I will endeavor to do my very best."

"I am sure you will," Katniss says quietly, looking back down at the stack of documents in her lap. Madge blinks. Well, Haymitch did force me on her, it isn't surprising she's less than enthusiastic about it. Prim gestures her over and Madge goes, settling down on a seat beside her.

"I am so happy you're here, it's a lot of work, being the Queen's only lady."

Madge nods, remembering the many ladies Queen Enobaria had attending to her.

"I am happy to be of help," she says and Prim smiles, reaching over to squeeze her hand.

"We shall make a good team, you and I, I can tell."

If you could read my mind, I doubt you'd think that

Madge merely smiles in response, her heart squeezing.

(I wonder, would I be the villain in your story?)

A few days later, Madge is alone in Katniss' chambers when Gale arrives.

"Hey, Katniss are you-oh."

Madge turns at the sound of his voice. Gale stands half in the room and half out, his hand still holding the door. She smiles and nods to him while Gale quickly tries to turn his look of disappointment into something a little friendlier.

(he does a dismal job)

"Is Katni-" he clears his throat, "Is the Queen here?"

Madge shakes her head.

"She was, but Lord Haymitch had some matter of great importance to discuss."

Gale frowns.

"We were supposed to go hunting."

Madge nods and gestures at the outfit she'd been laying out on Katniss' bed.

"I know. I'm sure she'll be back soon."

Gale runs a hand through his hair.

"Right."

He rocks on his feet, never quite looking at her and it's obvious he doesn't want to stay here with her, might leave and wait for Katniss somewhere else. Madge can't afford to let that happen, can't squander this opportunity.

"Do you like archery?" she asks, noticing the bow in his hand. He stares at her coldly.

"I wouldn't hunt with bow and arrow if I didn't," he says and Madge barely keeps her smile on. Did your parents never teach you any manners? I really thought we'd made some progress last time…but wait. Maybe we did. Maybe this rudeness is your attempt to compensate for the fact that you don't really hate me as much as you think you should.

(at least I hope so)

"Perhaps not. I could tell how much the Queen adores it when she spoke of it earlier, it could very well be that you only partake in archery because the Queen enjoys it so."

Gale turns away to stare out the window.

"I enjoy it just fine," he says but then his face starts to soften, a smile quirking up the corner of his mouth. "Though I'm not nearly as good as she is, of course. No one is."

Madge narrows her eyes for a moment and can't help but wonder if those rumors she'd heard about Gale and Katniss had any truth to them. That is a complication she cannot afford. After all, how is she meant to compete with a queen?

"Well, you must be very good or I doubt the Queen would want you as a partner."

Gale's face hardens again and he shrugs.

"I don't much like hunting," she says and Gale rolls his eyes, "but I think I would like to learn archery."

He turns to look at her with skepticism.

"You want to learn archery?"

"Is that really so surprising, Lord Salisbury?" she asks with a smile and Gale spends a moment chewing on his words before seemingly deciding it would be wiser to say nothing. See, we've definitely made progress. You never would have shied away from insulting me before.

"Will you go hunting again tomorrow?" she asks and he shakes his head.

"No."

"Too busy?"

"No, I always make sure to have some time off in the afternoon, lest I go insane."

Madge nods and then looks down, fingers fidgeting in her skirt.

"Would you…I wouldn't want to be a bother, but…well, would you be willing to teach me?"

Gale blinks at her.

"It's just the Queen clearly sets good store by your skills and I cannot imagine there could be any better teacher," she hurries to continue, peeking up at him shyly.

"You want me to teach you archery?" Gale repeats slowly, as if he must've misheard. She nods and Gale shakes his head in disbelief.

He's already told her he's available tomorrow, to change his mind now would be an obvious slight. A little while ago, Madge is certain he wouldn't have cared in the slightest about offending her, but things have changed now. Katniss has been trying hard to convince the rest of the world that Madge and her mother are fully entrenched on the Yorkist side, she would not take kindly to Gale threatening that illusion. Furthermore, Madge has been working hard to chip away at Gale's rage, even if just a little. She knows he does not like her still, knows he does not trust her, but that's fine. All she needs is for him to loathe her a little less, to see her and think person I hate rather than enemy. Madge is more than willing to play the long game.

He sighs.

"I suppose I could."

Madge beams and curtsies.

"Thank you, Sir Gale, thank you."

He grimaces.

"Yes, well, my…pleasure."

It will be Gale, I intend to make sure of it.

(She is up to something, she has to be.

Madge has wormed her way into their lives, has somehow even tricked Haymitch into nominating her for a position in Katniss' household. Whatever power she wields, Gale will not succumb to it. The others may have fallen for her beauty and charm, but Gale will not be so easy.

Marvel may be smitten and Haymitch may think her a dutiful step-daughter, Prim might think her friendly and sweet while Katniss finds her competent and Posy may adore her, but Gale knows better. He can see through Madge of Bedford, all her pretty smiles and perfect manners.

She is a Lancastrian and they never change)

(but should resisting her really be this hard?)

Gale stays true to his word and brings her out to the archery fields, the weather crisp and clear. He demonstrates his own skills first and Madge is genuinely impressed.

"You're quite good," she tells him and he shakes his head.

"Katniss has me beat, easily," he laughs, always more at ease when Katniss is the topic. "Do you want to try?

Madge nods and moves towards him.

"Alright," he says, "have you ever done this before?"

She shakes her head. Gale nods and hands her the bow before moving around behind her to help her position her arms. He is very close, chest occasionally brushing her back, but she does not feel nearly as uncomfortable as she does when she's with Marvel. But maybe that's because Gale is merely trying to help and not making any attempt to grope her inappropriately.

"See, you have to tilt it slightly, not too much, just a bit, there. No, no, hand a little higher, bend your elbow. Not entirely, just a little. Hold it…see? Like this. Good. Alright, I think you might as well give it a try."

Gale steps back and Madge takes a calming breath. Eyes on the target, you've got this. She pulls back the string and releases, her arrow going only a few feet before sinking into the grass. She frowns.

"Well, that was awful."

"It was your first try, it could have gone worse."

Madge rolls her eyes.

"Oh, well that's good to hear. I was terrible, but not as terrible as I could have been. What glowing praise," she teases and Gale looks at her in surprise, eyebrows slightly raised. He laughs, just once, and then stops suddenly as if shocked by himself. Madge smiles.

"Well," Gale says, clearing his throat. "Maybe you should try again."

Madge nods and takes her position. She fires and her arrow goes slightly farther, still falling well short of the target. She frowns.

"Here," Gale says, coming towards her, "you're grip isn't quite right."

Madge nods and hands him the bow.

"Hold this, will you? I think it's these gloves, my fingers are too stiff."

She pulls them off and Gale frowns.

"You could get calluses," he says and Madge shrugs.

"Better calluses than continual failure, right?"

Gale blinks and then almost smiles, something a little like the beginning of admiration in his eyes.

"Right."

Madge takes back the bow, assuming position and Gale stares at her hands. At first she thinks he's just focused on her form, but there's something else in that look, a question he's unsure if he should ask.

"Am I doing this right?" she asks and he shakes himself.

"Yes, yes, it's fine. I was just…you're always wearing the same three rings," he says and Madge is surprised he noticed, a hot splash of victory crashing inside of her.

"Most ladies change it up," he continues somewhat lamely, as if trying to justify his observation. Madge bites her lip and looks down at her hands

"Well, they're the only ones I brought with me when we left home."

"I'm sure Haymitch would buy you more, if you wanted."

"I don't though, want anymore. These three are special."

Gale is clearly surprised and Madge smiles wryly. Did you think I was some sort of greedy witch, planning on bleeding Haymitch dry? Which is funny, since half his money is mine.

"This one," she says, indicating the ruby ring on her left hand, "is from my grandmother, Princess Cecilie of Norway. I never met her, she died before I was born. But I have this, not just to remember her by, but to remember my royal roots, the king's blood running through my veins."

"I didn't know about your grandmother," he says, sounding slightly uncomfortable and Madge almost smiles. Does it worry you, that I'm more royal than your Queen? Madge stares at her other two rings and knows she should make up a story, something fluffy about how she thought they were pretty. The truth could ruin everything, could thrust her right into the fire. Lie, you have to lie.

(she won't)

"This was a present from the Earl of Huntingdon, Henry," she says and holds up her right pinky so Gale can see it. He stares at it and blanches, clearly recognizing Henry's name.

What are you doing? Stop!

"I was going to marry him," she continues, voice growing a little harder, "this was a token of his esteem. Of course, we never did marry. Rebels made sure of that."

Gale stiffens, hands balling into fists.

"He chose to fight," he says, voice taut and Madge snorts.

"He was fourteen and he had no weapon. But you're right, he did choose to fight. He chose to fight for his King. At least he died with honour."

Gale steps back, face so shocked she could have slapped him and Madge takes advantage of his stunned silence to keep going, heedless of the danger she's putting herself in.

"And this one was a gift from my father, when I was a child. It's all I have left of him."

She glares at Gale as she says it, his ire climbing with very word.

"He was a traitor! You should not want to remember him," he explodes, voice savage enough to draw blood.

"A traitor?" Madge shouts back, hysteria mixing in with her fury. "How is it treason to fight for your sovereign? To honour the oaths you made to him and to God? It is your father that died a traitor!"

(Madge is honestly surprised Gale doesn't strike her, she knows most in his position would)

"How dare you," he whispers, voice frigid. His whole body shakes, an angry red creeping up his neck. "My father died to free this country of a tyrant!"

"Your father died fighting his king! He broke his oath and plunged this country into chaos. He betrayed us all."

"Shut up! You don't know anything! My father was a hero! He fought to save us, would you really celebrate those that wanted to keep someone as evil as Coriolanus on the throne?"

Madge laughs and shakes her head.

"You ignorant fool. You think you hate the king? You don't know hate."

"Excuse me?"

"I hate King Coriolanus far more than you could ever. You never walked his halls in terror, you never watched him execute someone and laugh, you never smiled and curtsied all while knowing he held your life in his hands and would love watching you suffer."

Gale stares at her with a mixture of horror and outrage but Madge cannot stop, feels almost insane from the anger pounding in her ears.

"You never cursed his every breath as you sat in his hall, never prayed the ceiling would collapse on both your heads so you could be rid of him. Prince Cato never beat you to the floor because you dared to suggest going into Sanctuary. The King did not abandon you and your mother to the Yorkist hordes. Did you ever wonder if you were going to Hell for hating him, did you ever cry yourself to sleep because you thought it an utter betrayal to think him evil?"

Tears start to blur her vision, but still she goes on, years of pent up feelings spewing out of her, her voice rising in pitch and gaining momentum.

"I hate him. I hate him for taking my father from me, for ruining this country, for his wickedness, his cruelty, for abandoning us after everything we did for him. I hate him for the murder and the bloodshed and the fear. I hate him, I hate him because I knew him. Did you know him, Gale? Did you talk with him and walk with him and serve his wife? Did he haunt your every dream and waking moment? Did he reach into your home and drag your father away? Did he make your mother sick and frail? Are you suffering now, still punished for his evil deeds? Because I am."

She can barely breathe, chest heaving and Gale looks at her in complete disbelief.

"And yet, you still think your father a good man? After supporting a king like that?"

"The best of men. He would have fought for the Yorkists, had he a chance. But he did not. How can you blame men for following their oaths? How can you blame them for remaining loyal? It is all fine and well to call yourselves heroes now, but you were the traitors, you were the rebels. The men of England swore before God to support King Coriolanus. How can you hate them for doing just that? If you had lost, they would have died-"

"Better to die for freedom, than live for oppression," Gale interrupts and he means it, face set and determined. Madge wants to laugh, wants to cry, could almost admire his convictions if her heart wasn't seething with rage soaked despair.

"And what of their families? The King wouldn't have spared anyone. They would lose everything and then their wives and children would have died gruesomely, horrifically. For someone who claims to believe so highly in the bonds of family, you are very quick to condemn others for loving theirs."

Gale opens his mouth to speak but Madge doesn't give him the chance.

"And what could my father have done? You would not have welcomed us. The King is my great uncle, you would never have forgiven me that. My parents knew it, knew the King was their only option. And yes, they fought for him. Should I condemn my father? Should I hate him for loving me? Tell me Gale, what would you have done, if your father had chosen the King?"

"He wouldn't have. He never would have."

"Maybe you're right," she whispers, heart aching. "I'll give you the moral victory, Gale, if that's what you want. Lord knows that the House of Lancaster is rotted to the core. But I will never, ever give you my father's memory. He was a good man, a better one than you could ever hope to be. Hate me Gale, report me to Haymitch and the Queen, lock me away in the Tower forever. I don't care. But don't you ever speak ill of my father again."

She can barely see Gale through her tears and Madge turns, rage and heartbreak weaving through her like a million tiny needles, sewing their suffering into her skin.

I hate you Gale, I hate you so much

Madge runs, flees, gasping for breath she cannot find.

I will never, ever forgive you

(Gale watches Madge leave and feels as if the world has tilted sideways.

No one has ever spoken to him like that, not once in his life.

He is supposed to hate her, despise her and yet, in this moment, he thinks he might just understand her. The pain in her voice when she spoke of her father, he can feel it echoing in his bones, mingling with his own still aching grief. What would he have done if his father had chosen Coriolanus? Could he really have turned against him?

He never would have dreamed that she could hate Coriolanus so much, never would've thought she would admit to wanting him dead. He believes her too, knows no one could fake that level of loathing, that fear he could still hear as she spoke of him, the fury crackling through her voice.

What the hell is going on?

Madge of Bedford is supposed to be the enemy. She's a Lancastrian, she supports that monster Coriolanus, Christ, she's related to him! He cannot empathize with her. He can't. She is everything he despises in the world, but as he stares at the empty space she once stood in, he is having a hard time remembering why.

She's the reason Father's dead.

Is she? She didn't fight at Wakefield, she didn't order her forces to mass there and attack. Coriolanus is the enemy as are his lackeys, like Brutus of Somerset. Madge was sitting at home the whole war. What exactly did she do that was so terrible?

She… she wanted Coriolanus to win!

Of course she did, her father fought on that side.

That's not an excuse, Coriolanus is a monster, any decent person would support his overthrow.

At the cost of their family? Would I have, if I was in her position?

Gale has never known such turmoil. All Lancastrians are evil, he's always known that. He's been raised on the stories of Coriolanus' atrocities, the cruelties inflicted by his supporters.

Madge never supported any of that. She stood with Lancaster because she had no choice, because of blood and love for her parents.

We did the right thing. We're not the bad guys. We did what we did for all of England.

Maybe, but you know not everyone on our side was a saint. You were horrified when you heard about Henry Holland, weren't you? You condemned the men that terrorized Ludlow, all the rapes and murder. If we were the good guys but there were still bad apples on our side, doesn't it stand to reason that though they were the bad guys, there might still have been good people on their side?

For months now, Gale has been looking at Madge and seeing the enemy, a liar, a coward. But what if she's none of those things? It took courage to shout at him like that, to admit to her anger and hatred. He can't blame her for wanting to protect her father's memory, can he? He would do the same. As for supporting Lancaster…maybe she's right. Would they have accepted her and her family onto their side? Would they have trusted her, as closely related to the King as she is?

You don't trust her now, so why would you have then?

Just like him, she holds the other side responsible for her father's death but unlike him, Madge has at least made an effort to be friendly. Maybe she wasn't up to something all these months, maybe she was trying to move on.

And maybe, it's time Gale did too)

Madge runs into her room, slamming the door with so much force Annie jumps in her chair.

"Madge?" she questions, sounding worried but Madge ignores her, rushing into her bedchamber and flinging herself onto the bed. She presses her face into her pillow, her tears soaking into the fabric. Well, that's it then. I've officially ruined everything. Gale will certainly never love me now. I'm sorry Mother, Annie, Father. It looks like I won't be avenging us after all.

"Madge?" Annie asks again, settling down beside her. "What is it, what's the matter?"

Madge can't answer, feels the weight of her failure pushing down on her. What was I supposed to do? Let him attack Henry and Father? They were good people, how I could stand by and let him say those things about them?

Madge is so caught up in her thoughts she doesn't notice Annie leaving, not until she returns, voice concerned.

"There's someone here to see you," she says and Madge forces her head up.

"Who?"

"The Earl of Salisbury."

Madge blinks. Come to insult me some more? She feels a spiteful urge build inside of her and rises, not bothering to clean her face, after all, she has no reason to try and impress him now. Annie looks at her in surprise but Madge moves past her into the next room where Gale is waiting. He turns at her entrance and winces. That ugly am I?

"Would you give us a moment, Annie?" she asks and Annie frowns before curtsying.

"Of course, my lady," she says and returns to Madge's bedchamber, closing the door behind her. Madge does not say anything; she merely looks at Gale, wringing his hat in his hands. The silence is painful but Madge is in no mood to be helpful. If Gale has something to say, he can say it.

"I came here to…apologize."

Gale won't look at her and Madge feels her eyes go perfectly round.

"You did?"

He nods.

"Yes. What I said earlier, that wasn't very fair. I realize now that I've been blaming you for a lot of things you had no part in. You did not fight in the war; you did not take my father from me. I have spent a very long time hating Lancaster, but you are not Lancaster," he says and Madge nods.

"No, I'm not."

"You're right about Henry Holland, I was horrified about what happened to him. He was just a boy. He shouldn't have died. You're right to be angry about that, we should all be angry about that."

Madge feels her heart lurch and squeezes Henry's ring around her finger. Gale takes a deep breath and nods.

"I understand how it feels to lose a father; I cannot blame you for missing yours. I didn't know him and I will never agree with supporting Coriolanus, but…I can understand why he might have done what he did. I don't know what I would have done in his position, but I cannot fault him for trying to keep his family safe. I shouldn't have said what I said about him, I'm sorry, Lady Madge. I am sorry too, that I have not made you welcome these last few months. I've always said that we fought this war to liberate England, but here I am, treating you like a pariah. I can't take any of it back, but I hope to do better in the future." He pauses, thinks for a moment and then nods again. "I should thank you for opening my eyes, Lady Madge. I have been very determined to hate you, to blame you, but I realize now I was out of line."

He bows and Madge bites her lip, her chest feeling uncomfortably tight. How strange to have a Yorkist apologize. I feel like I'm dreaming.

"Yes you were," she agrees, wiping at the smudges around her eyes. Gale nods, head still downturned and Madge feels oddly light as her rage drains away. "But so was I."

Gale looks up in surprise as she continues.

"I let anger get the best of me. I hope you will forgive me."

"I do, I have," he says and even though it's strange, Madge believes him.

"I'm sure your father was a good man," she says and Gale nods, finally straightening up.

"He was, thank you. Perhaps…we could return to the archery field another time? I didn't finish your lesson, after all."

Madge smiles slowly and nods.

"I would like that, Sir Gale."

"As would I, Lady Madge."

(and if Madge feels any guilt, buried deep down inside her, well, that's a secret she'll never tell)

"What was that about?" Annie asks after Gale leaves and Madge bites her lip, emotions still shaking.

"Nothing. We had a bit of an argument, but it's fine now."

"About what?"

"Nothing, just…he doesn't think I'm very good at archery."

Madge smiles faintly and Annie frowns, clearly not believing a word of it. Why won't you just tell her the truth? She must hate the Yorkists as much as you do, she'd probably love to hear about them being made to pay.

"You're sure you're alright?" Annie asks and Madge smiles, squeezing her hand.

"Yes, thank you. I'm fine."

Madge sits down and picks up her embroidery, a clear sign that she's done with this conversation. Annie continues to watch her and again Madge thinks just tell her.

She doesn't though, keeps this secret locked up tight.

Why?

(because)

The canopy above her bed is dark, shadows dancing across it in the flickering of her bedside candle. Madge stares up at it and wishes she could get comfortable, but there's something writhing inside of her, an emotion she can't afford to have.

This is what I wanted, I can't fold up now

She tells herself this over and over, but still guilt stings her nerves and turns to lead in her stomach. Gale's apology fills her ears, hacking away at her resolve and he wasn't supposed to be sorry.

It doesn't matter. He can be as sorry as he wants, it doesn't change who he is.

He forgave me.

For what? I did nothing wrong. He did though, he fought in the war, he condemned my father, brought blood and battles to England. I have every right to hate him.

But if he's truly sorry?

Sorry won't bring Father back, it won't remove Haymitch from our lives, it won't change what they did to Annie. And he isn't sorry, not for what matters. He's sorry I yelled at him; sorry he thought I was a threat, when now he thinks I'm just a silly girl who misses her father. But I'm going to make him truly sorry, I swear.

But he's right, Coriolanus is evil. If he can't blame me for loving a father who supported a bad king, can I really hate him for fighting against one?

And what about Annie?

He might not have had anything to do with that.

The Yorkists have to pay. And now they will.

(a conscience, Madge decides, is the wickedest thing of all)

Madge heads to Katniss' chambers, arms laden with a special delivery. The royal dressmaker had just finished a new, glittering, gem encrusted gown and Madge is almost afraid to hold it, like she might ruin or sully it with her hands. It is gorgeous; truly, the type of dress only a queen could get away with wearing. Katniss will look lovely in it, but then again, Madge is fairly certain anyone would look magnificent in such a finely crafted gown.

"This is not a discussion Katniss!"

Madge stops short just outside the door to the Queen's audience chamber, surprised at the loud, angry voices drifting from under the door.

"I am the Queen, Mother."

"Yes and Queens have responsibilities! This is not something you get a choice about. You will do this, whether you like it or not!"

Madge gasps at Duchess Elizabeth's tone and can't help but wonder what they're talking about. What is Katniss refusing to do?

"Where are you going? Katniss!"

Madge's eyes widen and she hurries away, well aware that the price for being caught will be far too steep.

And really, she's heard enough.

(cracks are beginning to show)

(it will be Madge's job to widen them)

Gale does take her back to the archery field and there's an air of awkwardness between them, an invisible barrier wedged between them. Madge wishes she knew how to surmount it, but Gale is distant, not in a rude way, but almost like he's afraid to upset her, like he's trying as hard as he can be to be polite. This is no good. He's traded hatred for fear. Madge watches him as he picks up her scattered arrows and chews on her lip. What do I say? How do we get past this?

"Do you want to try again?" he asks and Madge feels a lump forming in her chest, like a rock has replaced her heart.

"I'm happy we're doing this," she blurts and Gale stares at her in surprise. "I know it may seem hard to believe, after what I said, but I really do want us to get along."

Gale nods slowly and steps back a bit, sinking down onto a nearby tree stump. Madge interweaves her fingers and squeezes.

"I can't believe I'm saying this, but so do I. I fought hard against Haymitch's marriage to your mother, I couldn't understand how anyone would want that, Coriolanus' niece as a wife. I know she's rich, I know she has many lands and a title, but still. I suppose that was another thing I was wrong about."

"I didn't want it either," Madge admits, catching him off guard. "I was furious. But now…I'm glad."

"You are?"

"I never had a big family and now I do. Haymitch treats my mother well, treats us both well. I will always miss my father, but I'm happy too, to be your family."

Her voice lowers as she says it, quite against her will and Gale just looks at her, looks at her in a way that makes her stomach tie itself into knots. What's happening to me? He smiles then, the kind of fresh, young smile that makes her knees feel weak.

"So am I," he says and she feels that guilt again, like ice in her veins. He's…he's the enemy. There's nothing to feel bad about. The wind picks up and Madge seizes the opportunity to turn away from him.

"Perhaps we should go back inside before we freeze," she says, fingers starting to numb. Gale nods and offers her his arm. She takes it and her skin prickles all over, straight down to her toes.

"You're getting better," he assures her and she manages a grin.

"Who knows, maybe I'll soon be better than you."

Gale laughs and Madge knows she should be proud. He despised her only months ago and now look; one might almost call them friends.

this is wrong whispers the voice in her head, sounding strangely like Annie.

the whole world is wrong she whispers back.

"You've been spending an awful lot of time with the Earl of Salisbury," Annie comments during their nightly session of embroidery and Madge shrugs.

"Have I? Well, we are cousins now, aren't we? It can't hurt to get to know him better."

Annie narrows her eyes but doesn't say anything and neither does Madge.

(Why? Well, that's a question Madge doesn't want to examine too closely)

Defeat though, is always just around the corner.

She has been hitting wall after wall with Katniss, the obvious distrust she holds her in as grating as it is expected. Madge spends every day smiling, pretending, keeping her feelings bottled up and locked away. The Yorkists are nowhere near as kind. While she does everything that is asked of her without complaint and does her utmost to be the best lady in waiting she can be, the Queen rewards her by behaving as if Madge is doused in poison, as if her mere presence is a threat to the entire kingdom. Madge does not expect them to trust her entirely, does not expect them to love her, but they could at least put on a show, could at least make some effort to disguise their dislike.

Katniss never speaks to Madge except to give her orders and even those come through Prim far more often than they come from Katniss herself. Madge is given the most mundane of tasks, from laying out Katniss' gowns to acting as scribe for generic thank you notes and boring summons. When anything of even the slightest sensitivity comes up, Katniss always contrives of some reason to send Madge away, usually something as ridiculous as asking the cook what they'll be having for dinner. She is not allowed to even hold sealed letters containing any real information and anyone who comes to speak to the Queen stares at her with hostile eyes, refusing to utter a word until she is shuffled off.

Madge suffers this with as much graciousness as she can muster, greeting every suspicious envoy and minister politely, diligently performing her tasks and never showing even a hint of annoyance as she is sent on yet another pointless errand. I have never done a thing to any of you. You hate me based solely on the actions of my family. My hands are bloodless, unlike most of yours.

Madge is currently on her way to talk to the Steward to ask if any messages have come for the Queen, even though if they had, he certainly would have sent word immediately. The real reason she's been sent away is because Haymitch had arrived with urgent eyes, clearly harboring information of some importance. Madge had known instantly what that meant. Maybe, one day, if she does everything right, never complains and always smiles, they will decide she can be trusted.

(she is not holding her breath)

Madge turns a corner and stops in surprise. At the end of the hall is Gale, walking hand and hand with Posy. They're talking, laughing and he may be the enemy (he is, he is), but at times like these, she could almost forget. She smiles unconsciously and heads towards them. Posy is the first to see her and she beams, skipping forward with renewed enthusiasm.

"Lady Madge!" she calls and Gale looks over at her, the faintest of smiles touching his lips.

"Hello Sir Gale, Lady Posy," she greets and Gale bows his head.

"Gale's taking me to the stables! I get to see the ponies!" Posy tells her excitedly and Gale smiles fondly down at his sister, Madge's heart softening just a bit.

"Wow, that sounds amazing. I'm a little bit jealous," she says and Posy's eyes go wide.

"You can come with us! Can't she Gale? Can't she?"

Madge watches him, wondering what his answer will be. Let's see how far we've really come.

"Well, if she wants to," he says and Madge smiles brightly. How times have changed.

"I'd love to, but I'm on an important mission for the Queen," Madge tells them, leaning in like it's a secret. Posy gasps and covers her mouth with her hands.

"Next time then," Gale says and Madge looks up at him in happy surprise.

"Definitely," she agrees. "Enjoy the ponies."

"Don't worry, we will. And good luck to you on your mission," he says and Madge raises an eyebrow. Are you teasing me Lord Gale? Times certainly have changed then, haven't they? Madge watches the two of them leave, her previous melancholy thoroughly trampled.

Who cares if Katniss doesn't trust me, I have Gale.

That's all I need.

December settles in softly and gently powders England in white.

Windsor Castle looks picturesque in the snow, like something out of a fairy tale and Madge tries her best to find joy in that. All she can think of though, is last December, sitting anxiously at home awaiting news, finally hearing that the Duke of York was dead and foolishly rejoicing, believing the war was won. It feels like it's been so much longer than just one year, decades maybe, a lifetime perhaps, but not a year. What a cold, bitter anniversary…

A soft giggle interrupts her thoughts, followed by a lusty grunt. Madge feels her ears burn and wonders why this keeps happening. First Prince Cato and now this… Judging by the sounds, Madge would say they're nearby, just around the corner. She knows that knowledge is power, knows finding out just who is moaning nearby could be a potential weapon, but there are some lines Madge is not quite prepared to cross. She starts to turn around, intending to just walk away but that's when she hears it.

"Faster, Gale, faster."

Oh.

"God , yes," is his answer and Madge feels odd, embarrassed certainly, but something else, almost hollow.

Oh.

Madge leaves quietly, feet light as she moves through the corridors and she doubts either of them even had an inkling she was there. That's good, at least. Madge closes her eyes for a moment and no matter how far away she goes, she can still hear them.

faster Gale faster

God yes

(oh)

For two full days, she and Gale do not interact.

Madge is always busy, always finds some reason not to be in the same room as him, the mere thought of speaking to him making her face burn. Her imagination has become a monster, filling her head with all sort of lurid images. She remembers Cato but now it is Gale she sees, thrusting thrusting thrusting up under someone's skirts. There are legs around his waist, hands in his hair and he's kissing someone, her mouth, cheeks, jaw and neck. Madge shouldn't be thinking anything of the sort but she can't stop, and worse, she is invaded by other worries as well.

Does he do this often?

Is she his mistress? Does he love her? Or does he just enjoy doing…that with random women purely out of lust?

If I do succeed in winning him, will he continue to rendezvous with women in corners? Will I win this fight only to have to fight against all the other women in his life?

And what of the Queen, is he involved with her? Does he want to be?

What if his heart is already won? Or what if it doesn't matter? What if he's a carnal sort of man who cannot resist temptations of the flesh?

What ifs plague her worse than any disease and the thought of Gale with this mystery woman bothers her so profoundly she cannot hope to explain it. She tries to tell herself it doesn't matter, she must continue on with the plan just as before. Make him love me, so much that no other woman will be able to compete. Nothing's changed.

(except it has)

On the third day, Madge pulls herself together.

It doesn't matter what he does or who he does it with.

Nothing has changed.

Nothing.

She seeks him out, finds him just as he's leaving from a meeting with Haymitch and Katniss. He's mussed up his hair, always runs his hands through it when he's frustrated. Madge watches him, with his eyebrows pulled down and his nose crinkled (all his tells for annoyance) and wonders what it was about, wonders what could have bothered him so much. She waits until Haymitch has gone off in another direction, waits longer for Gale and Katniss to part ways and then she moves towards Gale, a jovial smile on her face.

"Sir Gale! There you are, I've been looking for you."

He turns at her voice and tilts his head a bit in surprise, some of his tension already starting to fade.

"You were?"

"Yes," she says with a nod, "I was hoping you wouldn't be busy. Are you?"

He bites his lip and looks for a long moment in the direction Katniss left in, so long Madge fears he might say he is, but then he turns back to her with a shake of his head.

"No, I think I can find some time. Why?"

"You did promise me a trip to the stables," she reminds him with a grin and he starts to smile.

"That I did. But Posy will be disappointed if we go without her."

"Well, we'd best go and get her then."

"You wouldn't mind?" he asks and Madge looks at him confusion.

"Why would I?"

Gale's whole face seems to lighten and he shakes his head.

"No reason. We'd better go, she's probably terrorizing her nurse as we speak," he says and Madge laughs.

"That does sound like her."

"It does, doesn't it?" he agrees, joining her in laughter and then he offers Madge his arm. She takes it and they start down the hallway together, Madge's almost crumbled confidence building itself back up.

It doesn't matter, nothing's changed.

(she may be older, but Madge is still naïve)

Madge embroiders quietly while Prim chatters beside her, Katniss staring pensively off into the distance. Madge can't help but wonder what she's thinking about, wishes she could peer inside her head. What has you so deep in thought?

"I was just telling Philippa that there was no way-"

Prim is suddenly cut off by a sharp knock at the door, followed shortly by Duchess Elizabeth's voice.

"Open the door Katniss, we need to talk."

Katniss' whole face turns stony.

"I'm sorry, Mother," she calls, "I am terribly busy now, you must come back later."

Duchess Elizabeth is silent and Prim bites her lip, looking anxiously between Katniss and the door.

"Of course," comes the Duchess' icy reply and Madge feels a kernel of hope plant itself in her belly.

Perhaps the Yorkists will tear each other apart and save the rest of us the trouble.

Madge makes her way back to her chambers with heavy limbs.

Even with that potential ray of hope, serving the Queen feels a bit like swallowing glass. Every smile, every kind word, it eats away at her, rubs her raw until she is sure all her bones must be showing through her skin. All these lies, how am I ever supposed to find my way out? Sometimes I think I might forget what the truth even is.

Madge knows she has no choice. This is her life now, whether she likes it or not. It could be worse, she tells herself, repeats it like a mantra. However awful she finds her current life, it could be worse.

(while true, it isn't exactly a comforting thought)

Madge turns a corner and suddenly it is worse, for standing a few yards away is her step-brother. She thinks of going back the way she'd come but Marvel looks around at the sound of her footsteps and smiles, an oily thing that makes her feel dirty.

"My darling sister," he purrs, bowing nearly in half. Madge inhales and moves grudgingly towards him, allows him to press kisses to the backs of both her hands. He doesn't let go, keeps her caught in his grip and she feels something hot growing in her stomach.

"We have not spent nearly as much time together as we should," he says and forcing a smile has never been so hard.

"The Queen keeps me very busy," she apologizes and he grins.

"It is a terrible pity, that one so lovely must spend so much time shut away."

Madge supposes she is meant to blush at the compliment and hopes he isn't too offended when all her skin does is crawl.

"I do not mind," she answers and wishes he'd let go of her.

"Well everyone at court certainly does," he insists and she's not sure she believes him.

"There is many a young man who would wish to win your hand," he continues and this she can believe. With her Lancastrian blood, her connection to the Yorkists and her grand inheritance, she is sure many men would eagerly wed and bed her. She's just not sure the feeling is terribly mutual.

"I have been thinking a great deal on this matter, sister dearest, and I believe I have found the perfect husband for you."

"Oh?" Madge asks, feeling slightly nauseated.

"Who better than the Queen's most loyal cousin? I am already Earl of Northumberland, with a grand estate up north and I am the descendant of kings. I am wealthy, young and I promise, I would love you very well." His voice lowers as he says it, grin salacious and Madge tries hard not to retch.

"I will be Earl of Warwick as well when my father dies, and you would make me Duke of Bedford and of Clarence. No couple in all of England would be a match for us."

His tone is thick with ambition and Madge cannot find any words to answer. Thankfully, he does not appear to need one.

"The Queen could not possibly refuse. Dispensations would be needed of course, but we have the money and the Pope is eager to make friends with England's new queen." He leans in then, breath wafting over her face and heating her ear. "I will speak to her," he whispers, "and soon, my love, we shall be joined forever."

He kisses her cheek, lingering much too long and then finally he is gone, leaving Madge feeling as if there is a sword dangling just above her head. She has always known she would be sold off to whomever the Queen wished to reward, but the reality that it could be soon, so very, very soon, has never hit her until now. All her plans, so carefully plotted, could go up in smoke in a heartbeat if the Queen decides the time is now. It may not be Marvel, but it will be someone, some loyal Yorkist who cares nothing for Madge aside from her money. He will be her jailer, ensuring no one can rally around her to dislodge the Queen and he will reap the benefits of her inheritance while she is kept hidden away from court. Her life stretches out before her and she is nothing but a prize for the Queen to give away as she pleases, nothing but titles and land.

She's not even a person, not anymore.

Madge is meant to be embroidering an undershirt but her hands shake, her stitches coming out messy and uneven. She looks down at her fingers as they quake and abandons her task, a heavy ball of lead weighing down her stomach. Annie's eyes are on her, anxious and worried but Madge turns to the window and counts snowflakes as they drift past.

"Is something the matter?" Annie asks quietly, coming to stand behind her. Madge thinks of saying no, thinks of pretending all is well but lies have become harder and harder to spin.

(maybe because they come so easily now)

"Yes," she admits and Annie rests a soft hand on her arm, her reflection in the glass one of sympathy. Madge sighs.

"I know the Queen is going to marry me off and I'm…afraid. Those loyal to York still hate me, have branded me a traitor as sure as if I'd cut down their men myself. I don't want a husband who'll want me only for my inheritance, my blood, and despise me for everything else. Is it so wrong to hope for happiness?"

Annie gently turns her around and Madge feels silly for the tear she can feel sliding down her cheek.

"It's not wrong, hope is never wrong."

There's an odd conviction in Annie's voice, less like confidence and more like desperation, like she needs it to be true, like hope is all that's keeping her afloat. Madge nods and wipes at her eyes.

"I'm just being silly," she says and the light catches on Henry's ring. She runs a finger over it and almost laughs.

"You know, I used to be so excited to get married, I couldn't wait. And now I'm starting to hope I never will."

Tears try and build in her eyes again and Madge presses her thumb down on the ring until it aches. Perhaps this is a part of growing up, she thinks, realizing happiness is just a dream. She looks back at the window; the dark sky dotted with white and wonders what it would be like to swim among the stars, far away from all her worries.

"I should be married now," Annie whispers, gaze distant and Madge turns to her in surprise.

"Really?"

Annie nods, twisting her pretty ring around her finger.

"I should be Countess of Richmond."

Madge feels her eyes go wide. "You were going to marry Finnick?"

Annie doesn't answer and Madge bites her lip, gaze drifting down to the ring Annie's still fiddling with. Is that from him?

"I suppose it doesn't matter now, he's so very far away," Annie murmurs, a lonely, aching sadness dripping from her words. Madge feels a pang in her chest and presses her hands to the fabric over her heart, grief and sympathy welling up inside of her.

"I'm sorry," she breathes and it feels so inadequate. Annie smiles, eyes wet and shining.

"Don't be, he's alive. That's what really matters."

Madge nods, tears gathering and threatening to spill over. She doesn't ask if Annie loves him, knows it can't do anything but make everything worse.

Oh Annie….

Madge knows there's nothing she can say, so she flings her arms around her and hopes a hug can soothe the heartbreak in her eyes. Annie doesn't say anything either, but her fingers cling to Madge's sleeve, tears wetting the fabric.

Wasn't the whole point of this rebellion to lift the King's shadow from England? To give everyone a chance at a happy life?

Why then, are we still miserable?

December continues on, the holiday season inching ever closer.

Madge has not spent a Christmas at Court since she was nine years old and horrid memories start to rise up, blanketing the season with dark clouds. They are at Windsor, not Westminster and it is Queen Katniss' court, rather than King Coriolanus', but still, she cannot fight the chill lingering just below her skin. That Christmas, six years ago exactly, ruined her, peeled back the layers and exposed the rotting core of England, stripped away the illusions she'd been clinging to. It had marked the beginning of the end, her first taste of the nightmare to come.

Madge cannot help but fear what this Christmas will bring.

(the end)

(of what?)

(everything)

AN Happy Gadge Day! This took me way longer then I thought it would to post, but I hope it was worth he wait! Thanks for reading :)