roses are red, roses are white Chapter 8: a lullaby from the sea part two, a hunger games fanfic

Wow, this chapter took me way longer than I wanted it to, but it's done! Now we're on to part two: the thorns of Lancaster. Also, this chap has some smuttiness near the end and it's my first time writing anything of the sort, so please be kind. I hope you enjoy!

roses are red, roses are white
interlude
a lullaby from the sea
part two of two
moon dust

1464

Mary, Countess of Oxford, is dead.

It is the last week of June, one beset with thunderstorms, and she miscarries her latest baby. Annie kneels in the chapel all night, rosary beads wrapped around her fingers, but it does no good.

Her prayers aren't answered.

It is sometime past two in the morning when a midwife with red rimmed eyes comes to tell her the news and Annie looks at her hands as she wrings them. There is blood beneath her nails, dark and almost brown, and Annie pukes right there on the altar. Mags holds her as she retches and for a moment, just one, Annie wishes she was dead.

Mags half carries her up to her mother's room and it isn't that she's ever been close with her mother, quite the opposite, but it still feels like there's a hole in her as she kneels by her mother's bloody bedside, like someone has stuck a shovel in her chest and carried away a chunk of her. Her mother's skin is ghastly pale, almost gray, and Annie cannot stop her tears, no matter how hard she tries.

"Oh Mary," her father says in a pitying tone, shaking his head. He sighs heavily and gently touches her hair, but then a midwife passes by, a lump of bloody blankets in her hands. There is a half-finished baby in there, a sibling Annie will never meet and why? Why did this happen? Why? Annie buries her face in her hands, that chasm inside of her so wide she is sure it will swallow her whole.

Why?

Her father is dry eyed over his wife of fifteen years, but this lost child brings tears to his eyes, truly makes him mourn. He weeps over it, another potential heir, and Annie knows her parents never loved each other, but today at least, she wishes her father would at least pretend.

He doesn't.

Finnick finds her in the chapel, her knees cold and aching from hours of prayer for her mother's soul. The candles she'd lit have mostly burned out, making the room dim and smoky and he falls to his knees beside her.

"Oh Annie, I came as soon as I heard. I'm so sorry," he whispers and she opens her eyes to the gloom. She feels oddly detached as his arm comes around her shoulders, the familiar weight of it not nearly as comforting as it should be.

"What can I do?" he asks and she cannot look at him, a great empty hole widening inside of her.

"He didn't cry for her," she whispers and would he have cried for me?

(she hates herself as soon as she thinks it, but still, she cannot help but wonder)

"What do you mean? Who didn't?" Finnick asks, squeezing her shoulders and she feels so cold inside, like she's made of ice.

"Father, he didn't cry for her. Fifteen years and he didn't cry."

She can see Finnick from the corner of her eye, his face stricken.

"Annie…"

"I don't think she would have cried for him either. Fifteen years they were together and they never…they never cared. Do you think…do you think we'll become like them? Not caring at all, only together to make an heir?" she asks and still she feels lifeless, empty, her mother taking a chunk of her to the grave. Finnick shakes his head.

"Never," he swears and she doesn't believe it for a minute.

"Maybe that's what growing up really means, you become your parents."

"No," he says fiercely and he turns her around, hands firm on her shoulders. "We won't be them Annie, I know it. You cried for your mother didn't you?"

She nods.

"See, you're already different from them. Your parents, my parents, they never loved each other; they didn't care to start with. They only got married because they had to, for wealth and heirs and whatever else. And sometimes I guess that works out and they can grow to care and sometimes they don't, but it doesn't matter. I already care about you Annie, I always will."

She looks at him, a flicker of flame in her frozen heart and she wants to believe him, oh how she wants to believe him. He swallows.

"You…you mean the world to me Annie and I want you in my life…forever. And not for money, or land, or heirs but because I…We won't be them Annie, we'll be happy. I promise we'll be happy."

His voice is strong and confident, his words sure and Annie leans her head into his chest. She closes her eyes and Finnick holds her, his hug nice and warm and comforting. She starts to cry, an aching grief nearly overwhelming her. She and her mother had never been close and now they never will be, and it hurts, God it hurts. Sniffles come first and then great heaving sobs but Finnick doesn't pull away, he just holds her a little tighter, his voice soothing as he whispers in her ear.

"It's okay Annie, it'll be okay. I'm here, I'm here, I'm not going anywhere. We'll be okay, I promise."

Oh Finnick, Finnick, you are the very best friend I've ever had. What would I ever do without you?

And because death has just come to Canfield, she clings to him all the more.

(do not leave me Finnick, oh please don't leave me)

That night, for the first time in years, Annie takes Lizbet down from her shelf.

She buries them both beneath the blankets and weeps into Lizbet, her tears staining the pretty silk of her gown.

(a gown made by her mother when she was younger, kinder and swollen with the first of so many lost sons)

Just like when she was a child, Annie shatters with Lizbet as her only comfort, a pretty poppet to soak up all her sorrows.

(and it's wrong, isn't it, that all night all she can hear is her mother saying

stop that anne, ladies do not play with poppets)

Annie hates watching him leave, but the King has summoned he and Boggs, so off they go.

It feels as if a shroud has fallen over Great Canfield, gray and heavy and full of cobwebs. She feels lethargic, lonely and her father barely looks at her, but then, that isn't new, is it?Boggs and her father shake hands and Finnick comes up to her, his eyes sad and lacking their usual glow. He takes her hand and squeezes it, his thumb running over her knuckles.

"I'll see you soon," he promises and she nods, cannot manage anything more. He frowns unhappily and she wishes she could say something, but she has no idea what. Her heart feels shriveled and dried up in her chest, nothing but a husk.

"I'll write every day, Countess Annie," he says with a bit of a grin and quite against her will, a small smile flitters over her lips. He kisses her hand and a well of fondness springs up inside of her, breathing life back into her hollow heart.

"I look forward to it Earl Finny," she answers and it hurts still, the loss of her mother, the stark realization of the limits of her parents' love, but when Finnick smiles like that, well, it hurts a little less.

At least I'll always have you, Finnick-my-Finnick

Mags wraps an arm around her shoulders as Finnick and Boggs ride away, her care sinking into Annie's skin and softening some of the rough edges she'd felt inside. I'm not alone, not really, she thinks as Finnick turns in his saddle to wave and Mags kisses her head. I've got all I need right here.

There are no Christmas festivities this year, the country too unstable with rebellion to make for safe travel. Finnick celebrates with Uncle Boggs and wishes Annie could be here too, his two favourite people together. Instead he has to content himself with writing every day, trying to give her so many details she'll feel like she was here the whole time. He thinks of her all alone at Hedingham, still mourning her mother and thanks God she has Mags.

At least she has someone with her who loves her, he thinks and he wishes so terribly that he could be there. He keeps seeing her face as he'd rode away, so miserable and broken.

Oh Annie.

Finnick sighs and writes to her again, filling his letter with as many jokes as he can. He hates thinking of her sad, hates that he can't be there to try and make her feel better. What good is he if he can't be there when she needs him most? She's his best friend, his Annie and the thought of her upset eats away at him.

Uncle Boggs says it's too dangerous to send her her New Year's present so he'll have to keep it until they see each other again and he prays that's sooner rather than later. He's fifteen now but he remembers being eight and watching her litter take her away for their first goodbye (second technically, but they weren't really friends the first time around) and he feels ten times more awful now than he did then.

I'll see you soon Annie, I promise

(i hope)

1468
December

Their Christmas in France is a cold one.

King Louis is sympathetic to their plight but he makes one thing very clear. He will not help them regain England. He will house them, feed them but that will be the extent of his generosity. Finnick watches his aunt barely contain her rage, her eyes nearly bulging with fury. Enobaria can't argue of course, they cannot afford to alienate King Louis. If he casts them out, they will have nowhere left to turn. Worse, if he should decide to hand them over to the Yokists...

Still, Finnick knows enough of Enobaria to know she won't accept defeat. The war won't end until she's dead and even after her; there's Cato, who will never surrender his birthright. Finnick stands in the French court in those waning days of 1468 and knows this will always be his life. Exile and invasions and the terror of betrayal at every moment.

Finnick has never been the most religious of people (much to his mother's consternation), but he finds himself praying every night to a God he's still not sure he fully believes in.

I'll do anything; anything, just let me see Annie again.

He means that, would crawl through Hell itself for one last moment with her. He doesn't care how many wars he has to fight, how much hardship lies before him, if he just knew she was safe he thinks he could survive anything.

Please, let her be alright

1464-1465

It is a year, one whole year, that they do not see each other.

The kingdom isn't safe, far too unstable for travel and they both count every single day they're apart.

(392, to be exact)

Annie's heart is still sore over those many days butwith Finnick's letters, Mags' love and time, she slowly starts to heal. Will the pain ever truly disappear? Probably not she is forced to admit, but it softens until happiness can thrive inside her yet again.

(we won't be like them, we'll be better)

(but still, a small voice inside her whispers, I miss you mother, would you've missed me?)

Finnick becomes more and more the man his uncle wants him to be, handsome, charming, and skilled in the arts of war. Even his mother cannot hide her admiration of who he's growing into and Finnick takes heart in that, he really does.

(but that doesn't mean Finny's not still in there, clinging on for dear life)

(everyone else might now look on him with pride, but Finnick can't manage to feel the same)

(what's wrong with me? why can't I just be myself?)

They write as often as they can, but that's not enough.

And then finally, 392 days later, they see each other again.

She and her father arrive at Dunstanburgh at the end of July and Annie feels a sense of comfort as soon as she takes her first breath of sea air. The castle is outlined by the sky, the air carries the scent of the ocean and never has she felt more at home then she does right here.

"Annie!"

She turns in her saddle and feels her eyes widen, her chest tightening. Finnick is heading towards her and she feels breathless at the sight of him. She's missed him, missed him so much and it hits her fully then just how much, her entire body aching with the need to touch him. It's almost overwhelming, the great rush of emotion inside of her and yet she feels whole now, like there's an empty space inside of her only he can fill.

Oh Finnick, oh my Finnick

Of course, as soon as that first hurricane of feeling begins to abate within her, she starts to notice him, all of him, her heart thudding loudly in her chest. He is taller yet again, his chest broader and his hair seems to actually shine in the sunlight. Her eyes rove over every inch of him and she feels almost stunned by how absolutely beautiful he is. Every time she sees him he seems to have gotten even more handsome and every time it hits her like a stone wall. The cut of his jaw should be impossible, his skin is golden and her eyes drift down to his shapely legs and her face burns like it's been set on fire. He grins with perfect teeth and her stomach swoops, a great wave of heat crashing over her.

"Oh, I've missed you Annie," he says and lifts her down from her horse. Her skin prickles beneath her gown and she just looks at him, drinking him in with her eyes.

"I've missed you too," she says and he smiles, her stomach flipping over yet again.

"I have a surprise for you," he says and her eyes widen. He grins again, her legs feeling a bit like pudding, and takes her hand, winding his fingers through hers. Her father and Boggs talk amongst themselves and neither one of them seems to notice as Finnick leads her off, though Mags watches them with the careful raise of an eyebrow. They slip through the doors into the great hall and as soon as they're out of sight of everyone else, Finnick turns and pulls Annie into a hug. He holds her tightly and her eyes go wide for a moment before she sinks happily into his embrace.

"I've hated being away from you for so long," he whispers and she nods, keeping her arms snug around him.

"It was too long, let's never do that again," she says and he laughs. He pulls away to look at her and she smiles as he tucks a stray hair behind her ear.

"Agreed. Now come on, I do have a surprise for you."

They start off again and she stays wrapped around his arm, a gentle sort of happiness warming her blood. He brings her up to her room and sitting right in the middle of the bed is a pretty little box. She looks up at him in question and he just grins.

"Go on," he says, "open it."

She walks over and carefully picks it up, glancing back over her shoulder at him as she does. He looks nervous, maybe anxious, and she carefully lifts the lid.

"It was supposed to be your new year's gift, but I never had the chance to give it to you," he says and she inhales deeply. It is a bracelet, one made of seashells and pretty glass. She looks at him and he comes closer, his smile sweet and still a little anxious.

"I made it myself; you always said you loved it here, so I wanted you to have a piece of it you could take with you anywhere. Do you like it?"

Annie stares at him for a moment, tears threatening to spill over. She presses a hand to her mouth, he bites his lip and then she throws herself on him, her arms clutching him tight. He hugs her reflexively and she buries her face in his shoulder, the smell of him sweet and soothing.

"I love it; I think it's the best present I've ever gotten," she murmurs into his neck and he lifts her briefly off her feet. He sets her down and she wipes her eyes before holding the box out to him.

"Put it on me?" she asks and he nods, a relieved happiness glowing in his face. He fastens it on her wrist and his fingers linger there for a moment, her skin heating under his touch. His hand slides up her arm and then down again, stroking her softly and she finds herself looking into his eyes, and still, she could never hope to put their colour into words. She feels...she's not sure how she feels but there is something happening inside of her, something...too much.

"And to think I forgot to get you something and your birthday's coming up," she laughs, needing to break their eye contact and he just grins.

"I know what I want actually," he says. "I have exciting news."

His eyes shine, he smiles widely and for one horrifying moment, she is honestly convinced he is going to announce his engagement to Madge. She sits down heavily on the bed.

"Oh?" she asks, her attempt to sound normal failing entirely. He beams and sits beside her, squeezing her hand between both of his.

"Two days after my birthday there's going to be a tournament in London."

Annie actually slumps in relief.

"Really?" she asks and he nods eagerly.

"Since I'll be sixteen, the King thinks I'll be old enough to participate. It won't be too large, but they'll still be a lot of nobles there and he's made it pretty clear he expects me to win."

"I'm sure you will," she says and he grins, "but what does that have to do with a birthday gift?"

"I want you," he says and Annie's eyes stretch as wide as they can go, her heart actually stopping in her chest, "to come, I need you to come. My uncle wants me to win but there's no way I could if you're not there to cheer me on. That's what I want, you there. I can't do it without you."

Annie starts to breathe again and her face flames red.

"Oh...oh, of course! I'll make sure father lets me come."

Finnick beams and then pulls her close again, his arms holding her up against his chest.

"Thank you Annie. I feel like when you're there, I can do anything."

Annie feels her heart gallop in her chest and almost says, don't say things like that, don't hold me like this but doesn't.

(because if she's being entirely, totally honest, she loves being in his arms, loves his touch and all his words, sweet and lovely and heart pounding. She loves-)

"I have to show you something!" he says suddenly and bounces up to his feet. "I'll be right back!"

He runs off and as soon as he's gone from sight, Annie collapses back onto the bed. Finnick is handsome, too handsome, but what's so much worse is his sweetness, his loveliness, his perfect Finnickness. She feels almost like a fly caught on a web, except she doesn't want to break free. She wants-

"Here, look at this," he says as he comes back in and Annie sits up quickly, her cheeks stained with embarrassment. He's holding some sort of sketch and she frowns.

"Is that a dragon?" she asks and he shakes his head, his smile growing. He sits down next to her, his thigh pressed against hers and her blood pounds inside of her.

"A wyvern," he explains, "see, it has no front legs, just wings."

She nods.

"Alright, and what is it?"

"My new badge. I'm going to be in a tournament, so I decided it was high time I had my own heraldry badge. I've even started designing my own coat of arms."

Annie claps her hands together.

"Ooo, what does it mean?"

"Valour and protection. And it's silver, which means truth, sincerity, peace, innocence and purity," he rattles off proudly and Annie smiles.

"I love it. What made you choose a wyvern over everything else?"

He bites his lip and fidgets slightly, a hint of nervousness slipping over his face.

"I like the meaning and...well it's sort of like a dragon, right? So I thought...well, I could honour my Welshness with it. You really like it?"

"I do," she says and touches his cheek, "and I know your grandfather would too."

He smiles softly.

"He always taught me to be proud of my Welsh blood, even if everyone else thought it lesser than my English blood. I just wanted to show him that I do. I am proud to be Welsh and to be his grandson."

"He knows, I'm sure he does."

Finnick puts his hand over hers on his cheek and squeezes.

"I'm thinking of incorporating some fleur-de-lis in my coat of arms in honour of my grandmother too. I may not have met her, but she sounds amazing."

"That sounds perfect," Annie says and they share a smile.

"I just have to figure out a motto now," he laughs and Annie has the very strong, strange urge to kiss him.

"Well, I suppose I'd better go," he says, standing up, "before any rumours start as to what I'm doing in here."

He wiggles his eyebrows, Annie laughs and he moves to the door, only to turn abruptly and walk back over to her. He hesitates for a moment and then kisses her forehead, warmth flooding from his lips through her whole body.

"I am happy you're here Annie, I'm always happiest when you're here."

He leaves before she can say anything and she falls backwards again, the breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding whooshing out of her. She can feel her heart beating against her ribs and I'm doomed.

(but maybe, just maybe, she isn't the only one)

Finnick has to train everyday to make sure he's ready for the tournament in September and Annie brings her reading or embroidery or whatever else she's meant to be doing outside so she can watch. She isn't really meant to be watching, but she can't help herself. He is magnificent, whether he's riding around on a horse with a lance or sparring with a sword against Boggs and Annie is completely ensnared.

He always loses his shirt somewhere in the middle of his practising and he is positively stunning, all those very toned muscles she'd felt when he hugged her glistening a bit in the sun. She ogles quite shamelessly but he never seems to mind, shooting her a wink when he notices. Her heart flutters and then he always does something extra flourishy just to show off.

"He's like a peacock," Mags snorts and Annie can't help but laugh, though she still can't look away. He's beautiful she muses and she's sure no one could ever deny it. But the best part, the very best part, is that it's not just on the outside.

Her Finnick's even lovelier on the inside.

At fourteen, Annie knows she can't go swimming with Finnick like she used to, it would be entirely, completely inappropriate. They're too old for that now but she misses it, the castle's meres beckoning to her like siren calls. There are good things about growing up certainly, but still, there will always be a part of her that yearns to be a child again, never hemmed in by manners and polite society.

oh to be wild and free once more

She finds herself wandering by the water's edge as often as she can, even though she knows she'll never have a chance to dive inside. Even without Finnick, she could never go alone; it would never do for a proper lady to frolic about in lakes.

maybe you're half-fish, Finnick had teased when they were young and maybe you are too, she'd countered. Maybe we both are, she thinks wistfully and there's something about the weightlessness of floating that had always made her feel invincible.

"Oh Annie, I didn't see you there."

It's Finnick, shirtless again and wet as he sits at the edge of the mere, wet enough that he must've just finished a swim of his own. For a brief moment she is jealous, because it isn't fair that boys have so much more freedom but then those feelings of injustice fade as she stares at him, the water on all his lovely muscles making him sparkle. Quite inappropriately, she wants to reach out and touch his golden skin, to feel its warmth beneath her hand and even more shockingly, she wants to press her lips to one of his shoulders. He always smells of salty sea breezes, I wonder if he tastes the same…

Annie is instantly mortified, her mother's disapproving scowl filling her mind. Her skin begins to burn and she swallows, hoping against hope that he cannot see her embarrassment.

"Hello," she manages and almost cringes. Could you be any more awkward? He just grins and stands, picking up his discarded shirt and she watches him pull it on, her blood heating. She shakes her head and forces herself to focus on the chain around his neck instead. He's been wearing it for years, a little ring on the end, but she's never given it much thought. First she was too young to care, then she was too busy being distracted by the changes he'd undergone, but this time, for the first time, she actually looks at that ring and recognizes it. She gasps.

"Is that…is that my ring?" she asks and he pulls the shirt all the way on, his cheeks slightly pink.

"Uhh, yeah. It doesn't fit my fingers anymore," he says with an embarrassed sort of laugh and her heart shakes.

"You didn't have to keep wearing it," she almost whispers and he shrugs, scooping up his doublet.

"It's the first thing you ever gave me, I like wearing it. It's like…having a piece of you with me everywhere I go."

He doesn't look at her as he says it and she covers her mouth with her hands, the sudden urge to cry nearly overwhelming her.

"Finnick, I-"

"Dinner!" Mags calls from somewhere behind her and Finnick ruffles his hair.

"We'd best be off, wouldn't want to make Mags angry," he laughs and he offers her his arm. He smiles and Annie inhales wetly, emotions surging furiously within her. She takes his arm and looks up at him as he leads her inside, those tears threatening to fall yet again. She leans up quickly and kisses his cheek, his whole body stiffening for a moment. She hugs his arm and leans her head on his shoulder, her heart filled to the brim with him.

I think I love you Finnick Odair

No, I know I do

The tournament is held on a warm September day, the golden sun burning happily overhead. The sky is blue and cloudless, the grass a luscious green and Eltham's tiltyard is done up in grand style, from flowered garlands to the King's banners fluttering from the stands. A faint breeze tickles the hair at the back of Finnick's neck and admittedly, this tournament is no nowhere near as big or well attended as all those he had witnessed as a boy, but still, there is a definite air of magic to it. The stands are filled with lords and ladies from all over England, their jewels twinkling in the sunlight and the royal family sits under their silken canopy, the scent of rich foods wafting down from their box. Servers move through the spectators with refreshments, a bard keeps everyone entertained before the tournament's start and it feels almost dreamlike as Finnick gazes around in wonder, his heart pounding in his chest. He remembers being young and enamored of all the brave men in armour, and here he is, about to be one of them himself.

Any moment now…

The bard finishes with a bow to raucous applause and a horn sounds, summoning all the participants out to the field. Finnick takes a deep breath and rides out with the others, his armour shined until it gleams. People throw flowers down on them, the men move off to beg a favour from their preferred lady and Finnick looks around anxiously, a knot in his stomach. It dissipates immediately when he finds Annie, her cheeks rosy and her smile blinding. He trots over and she is dazzling, golden lights shining in her lovely dark hair and her ocean eyes captivating. She has her hands clasped beneath her chin and he cannot help but smile, all his worries melting away. His uncle has made it clear he expects great things and with Annie here, Finnick feels like he can do anything at all.

A hand sticks out suddenly from the stands, pale and finely manicured with a lace handkerchief clutched in its fingers, and Finnick has to duck to avoid getting it in the face. After he's passed beneath it, he straightens and up and twists around. It is Glimmer Mowbray's hand, her long lashes fluttering at him as she smiles and Finnick feels his stomach clench. Oh no. He does not want her favour, but if he turns her down, she will certainly be insulted. Worse, his uncle will surely be furious, after all, if Finnick slights Glimmer her father may take offense, and in England's current climate, the king certainly can't afford to alienate a man as powerful as the Duke of Norfolk.

What do I do?

Annie is but a few feet away, her pretty eyes swimming through his mind and as much as it may cost him, he knows what he has to do. He smiles at Glimmer with as much brilliance as he can manage, tosses her a wink to soften his rejection and then trots quickly over to Annie, hoping against hope that Glimmer won't be too upset. She swoons a bit along with the women around her and perhaps no one else noticed what happened, perhaps she will not breathe a word of it to anyone. There are plenty of knights who would gladly carry her favour, perhaps she will not be too cross with him for preferring Annie.

(he isn't holding his breath)

He finally reaches Annie and again he is struck by her, her pretty smile making his heart flip over in his chest.

"I would be most honoured Lady Anne if you would grant me your favour," he says with a grin and she beams, carefully untying a ribbon from her hair. He holds out his lance and she knots the ribbon around it, a surge of confidence flooding through his veins.

"I wish you the best of luck Lord Finnick," she says and he winks, her face turning a lovely red.

"I'll make you proud," he promises and he feels so much braver with Annie here, almost invincible. He rides back over to the centre of the field to join the other men and they salute their king before filing out. A squire brings his helmet, servants rush about preparing for the skill test that will kick off the event and this is it, he thinks; let's show the world what I can do.

His uncle has allowed for only one skill test, not wanting anyone to become bored. Each competitor will be expected to charge full speed at a metal ring suspended by a string, attempting to skewer it with their lance. Any who miss will be eliminated and after each round the ring will be adjusted to be made more and more difficult until there is only one man remaining. Brutus of Somerset is the favourite but Finnick knows he has a chance, not only has he been practising endlessly, but Annie is here, her strength flooding through him.

I can do this Annie, I know I can

He waits anxiously behind Baron Hungerford for his turn, fidgeting restlessly in his saddle. Come on, come on. It seems to take ages and when it's finally his turn, Finnick feels almost like he might burst. His pulls on his helmet and spares one last look at the crowd, heart pounding in his chest. The King looks almost bored but his eyes are narrowed dangerously, Cato sulks beside him and then Finnick swings his gaze across the field to Annie, her teeth biting into her lip and her hands clasped beneath her chin. He feels suddenly braver and slaps down his visor, excitement thrumming in his blood.

Let's do this

His horse Triton surges forward and Finnick readies his lance, knowing he only has one shot. Don't mess it up, don't you dare. He holds his breath and only exhales it as the crowd bursts into applause. He lifts up his lance, the metal ring glinting around it. He tips his visor up to smile at everyone, his eyes automatically finding Annie. The sun, he thinks a little dreamily, pales in comparison to her. He rejoins the others and the competition continues, knights and lords eliminated until only Finnick and Brutus remain. They go three rounds without either of them missing the ring and finally the king stands, an immediate hush falling over everyone.

"One more round and then we will celebrate our victor."

His eyes on Finnick are sharp and he knows what they're saying. Don't lose. The ring is smaller now, higher and off at an odd angle and Finnick can feel sweat all over him as he waits for Brutus to have his turn. The duke thunders forward and Finnick holds his breath, flinching at the clang of metal on metal. The tip of Brutus' spear catches the edge of the ring but cannot make it through the center, the stands gasping as one. Finnick inhales deeply. All I need to do now is get it in and I win.

Brutus rides back over with a vicious scowl, directing it at Finnick as if he is somehow at fault for his failure, but Finnick ignores it. He has to concentrate. He looks at Annie's pretty ribbon on his lance, thinks of her ring against his chest and nods.

Alright, let's win this

Triton rushes forward, Finnick aims as best he can and victory, he thinks, is the sweetest feeling of all. He skewers the ring perfectly and everyone leaps to their feet, clapping, hollering and stamping their boots. Finnick laughs with joy and lifts his visor, waving happily at his adoring fans. They shower him with flowers, scraps of lace and ribbons and he finds Annie, her hands cupped around her mouth as she shouts to him. He cannot hear her words but he does not need to, he can feel them burning hot in his heart.

I won!

He receives a bouquet of red roses and a silver coronet as his prizes and the King smirks as he presents them.

"I hope you do as well in the next events," he says in what many might confuse as a jovial tone, but Finnick knows better. He grins and bows.

"Of course, Uncle," he says and then he turns to the crowd, tossing roses to various ladies and they swoon and giggle. He saves the last for Annie and rides over to her, her hands pressed over her wide smile. He bows his head, the rose held against his heart.

"For your faith in me, lady," he says and offers it to her. She takes it with a happy laugh.

"I never had a doubt," she promises and he beams at her. He winks, she giggles and then he's back to join the others, knowing he can do anything.

With Annie to cheer him on, he feels like he's king of the whole world.

The next, and last, event is the team joust and Finnick's team wins, each of them receiving a solid silver livery badge from the king, his wolf depicted wearing a golden crown and with rubies for eyes. They bow to the crowd, who shower them with flowers and scraps of lace, and as soon as they've left the field, everyone retires inside to get themselves ready for the evening banquet.

Finnick washes and then dresses, his new silver coronet on his head and the king's pin on his front. He moves through the halls with a bounce in his step, because today, today went perfectly. The doors to the great hall are opened for him and he is announced with much pomp, the guests inside applauding loudly. He bows to them, smile wide and even his mother nods at him in approval. He feels his chest warm and then someone is pressing a goblet of wine into his hand, everyone rushing over to congratulate him.

He tries to peek over their heads to find Annie, but he cannot see her, the crush of people all around blocking out nearly everything else. He smiles at them, sips his wine and as soon as I can break free Annie, I'll find you.

It takes hours for everyone to get drunk enough to allow him to slip off and he does, searching the hall eagerly for Annie. He finds her looking out a window, the candle light making her deep brown hair sparkle with gold. He smiles without thinking about it and hurries to her side, his stomach fluttering.

"And what, my fair lady, has you so fascinated?" he asks and her reflection smiles at him. She turns.

"I'm so proud of you Finnick, you were brilliant," she says and of all the praise he's gotten today this one feels the best of all.

"It's because you were here, I can do anything when you're with me."

She blushes and ducks her head and he grins, meaning each and every word. She is wearing the necklace he'd gotten her what feels like a decade ago and he touches the golden heart gently, his finger tracing its outline. She looks up, her eyes reminding him of so many perfect summers swimming together and suddenly, strangely, he very much wants to kiss her. She has very pink lips and he thinks she'd taste like pears, her very favourite fruit.

"I have something for you," she says softly and his heart lurches awkwardly in his chest. He clears his throat, chasing his thoughts away.

"Oh?"

She nods and it is only then that he notices the package in her hands, something wrapped in brown paper.

"A birthday gift."

He blinks and takes it, and even though everyone keeps telling him he is becoming a man, he is not sure he believes it. He peels back the paper and it is a shirt of soft material, a silver wyvern stitched prominently in the middle and good luck charms sewn into the hem. He holds it out and Annie fidgets.

"I made it myself," she explains shyly, "at first I was just going to put your badge, but then I was thinking about it what meant, valour and protection, and I thought to put the good luck charms, so you'd always be safe."

He does not know what to say, this gift touching him in a way no other has. She looks around nervously and then, before he can even register what's happening, she leans up and kisses his cheek. He inhales sharply, his skin tingles and she smells like sweet flowers and rose water, all his sense flooded with her.

"Happy birthday Finnick," she whispers and he feels foolishly weak kneed. He wants to kiss her now more than ever, her face tantalizingly close but then

"Oh Finnick, you must dance with me!" Glimmer Mowbray calls from behind him, clapping her hands. The magic of the moment flutters away and he knows he has no choice; he will never get away with snubbing her twice in one day.

"I'll hold this for you," Annie says and takes his shirt back, her fingers tightening on the fabric. She folds in on herself as Glimmer's footsteps grow closer, ducking her head so her hair obscures her face. He nods and then, regardless of the fact that Glimmer is watching, he presses a quick kiss to her forehead. She flushes and looks at him, her eyes very wide.

"Thank you Annie," he murmurs to her skin, "for everything."

Glimmer comes to tug him away but it is Annie he watches as they dance, that shirt hugged to her chest, her face bright and her eyes shining in the best of ways.

I'll win for you tomorrow Annie

I'd win the world for you

He never gets the chance.

On day two they are supposed to have the individual jousts and then the melee, but everything is cancelled shortly after they break their fast. A plot is supposedly discovered, a handful of grubby men apparently planning the king's demise and all festivities are replaced with executions.

The King leads them out to watch, followed by a grinning Enobaria and an eager Cato. His sour mood at being denied a chance to participate in the tourney is gone, replaced with excitement at the bloodshed to come. Finnick holds Annie's hand, her fingers clammy, as the men are hung, drawn and quartered and why must everything be so wretched here? Were two days of joy really so much to ask for?

(the answer is yes of course)

(in this England there is no joy)

(there can't be)

He kisses Annie's hand when she leaves and Westminster looms behind him, the menace in every one of his nightmares. He squeezes her little ring is his palm as her litter trundles off, his heart trapped inside with her.

In his room, Finnick removes his doublet and shirt, sliding Annie's over his head. He runs his fingers over every charm sewn into the fabric and I wonder, will I ever feel safe here?

Will anyone?

When Christmas comes, it is unlike any Annie has previously attended.

There aren't many people who've made the trek to London in a country still bubbling with anger, so the festivities are the smallest she's ever been to at court. Annie doesn't mind, indeed she likes it better this way.

There is still too much food, loud music and plenty of dancing, but then, the King would never allow there to be anything else. Even with a diminished guest list, he is just as determined as ever to show off and prove just how undaunted he is by the rebels. The decorations are lavish, grandiose really, with sweet smelling garlands over the doors, shimmery fake snow along the edges of the walls, large silken banners hanging from the ceiling and even a life sized silver wolf wearing a solid gold crown. It sits just beside the king's throne and Annie shivers somewhat at its snarling face, its amber eyes flickering with torchlight. Each guest is even given their own rose pin made of rubies and what a show of wealth this is, a reminder of all the power at his command.

There are large buffet tables overflowing with every kind of food she can imagine on either side of the dais holding the king's throne, everything smothered over in rich sauces and seasonings. There is one whole table devoted to subtleties and confectionaries, a great wolf of marchpane sitting in the middle. He is decorated with coloured fruit paste and flower petals and stands just as tall as a real wolf, towering over all the other sweets. There are great barrels full of mead, wine and ale that never seem to empty and belled servers with feathery wings dole out goblets to one and all, Annie's mulled mead making her blood hum.

Tumblers and dancing girls frolic around the edges of the room while everyone helps themselves to food, minstrels playing loud and lively tunes. Annie eats very little dinner, too tempted by all those lovely desserts to fill up on meat but Finnick decides not to wait and alongside his supper, he brings himself a large bowl of strawberry pudding with currants.

"Really?" she asks with a laugh and cannot help but think of Madge. I wonder if she'll ever come back to court…

"I'm sorry, did you want some?" he asks with a grin and she rolls her eyes, her smile impossible to keep down. He feeds her a delicious spoonful and she sighs happily, though she cannot help but blush at the thought of them sharing a spoon. Her goblet of mead, which she was certain she'd finished, is full once again and she takes a large gulp, her eyes roving over the room. Everyone seems to be in bright spirits except the Lady Alma, who sits in the corner glowering. Annie is not surprised; Lady Alma has never been very fun. Her husband Plutarch is quite the opposite, dressed in garish clothes and laughing raucously, his hand never devoid of a tankard of ale.

"Quite the pair, eh?" Finnick jokes and Annie grins, bumping his shoulder. Darius flops next to her, his cheeks already red with too much wine.

"Do you think Glimmer Mowbray likes me?" he asks and Finnick chokes on his pudding.

"What? Why?"

Darius bites his lip, casts a bashful look over at pretty Glimmer in her golden gown and smiles.

"I think I'm in love with her," he sighs and Finnick grimaces.

"You're thirteen, what do you know about being in love with anyone?" he asks, sounding somewhat desperate and Annie tries her best not to smile.

"You'll be a duke one day and I know for a fact that's exactly the type of man she's looking for," Annie says in an attempt to be helpful and Darius beams.

"That's right. Do you think she'd marry me?"

Finnick spits out a mouthful of mead.

"You can't be serious."

Darius cocks his head.

"Why not?"

Finnick just shakes his head, expression appalled. Annie bites her lip.

"Perhaps you should go and test the waters," she suggests, gesturing at Glimmer and Darius leaps to his feet.

"I think I will, good idea Anne," he enthuses and punches her rather roughly in the arm. He saunters off and she rubs the tender spot, Finnick still shaking his head.

"Good God," he says and downs his entire goblet of mead. Annie pats his arm in sympathy.

"At least she'll strop trying to wriggle a proposal out of you," she offers as comfort and he nods slowly.

"I guess there's that. But really, what could he possibly see in her?"

"She's very pretty."

Finnick rolls his eyes.

"You're prettier. And what does that matter anyways? She's awful. If they marry, I'll have to spend my whole life being her step-cousin. I think I'm going to need more mead."

Annie laughs, her cheeks pink and her heart happy. People begin to dance, those shimmery costumed dancing girls weaving between them and Annie finishes her roasted swan, her eyes finding the king on his throne. Cherry juices drip down his chin and she shudders, the sight eerily making her think of blood. He doesn't happy, his eyes narrowed and his mouth surly, but then, he only seems happy when awful things are happening. Maybe she should find his mood reassuring.

"Dance with me?" Finnick asks and she beams, her body feeling oddly light. He takes her hand and the smaller party makes everything feel more intimate. They stand a bit closer than they should while Queen Enobaria dances a little too familiarly with Brutus the Duke of Somerset beside them. Annie giggles nervously and Finnick rolls his eyes.

"And then she wonders why people keep spreading rumours about Cato's paternity," he murmurs and Annie laughs in shock.

"Finnick!" she gasps and he shrugs.

"I'm just saying."

The music picks up in tempo and they spin and twirl, a happy sort of dizziness coming over her. She catches sight of Prince Cato devouring everything he can get his hands on, his table manners as poor as usual and he drains a large cup of something, his face flushed. Much worse is the sight of her father disappearing down a hallway with a giggling dancing girl, their hands all over each other. Annie tries to drown the image of it with a great big goblet of mead when Glimmer comes to drag Finnick away for a dance, his smile pasted on. Her head buzzes a bit and Annie moves over to the sweets table, popping a few almondy figs in her mouth. She helps herself to a plate full of honeyed pears and some more mead, a pleasant warmth in her whole body.

She sits down on a bench and fans herself, her eyes finding Finnick as he spins Glimmer around. They're easily the two loveliest people here and they make a breathtaking couple, but any melancholy vanishes when Finnick catches her eye and sticks out his tongue. Annie laughs and soon he's back beside her, helping himself to some of her pears. They smile at each other until Finnick's eyes widen and she turns just in time to see Prince Cato pass out face first into Clove Clifford's bust. Annie laughs in shock but Clove doesn't seem to mind, her cheeks red and her fingers stroking through his pale gold hair.

Glimmer, her shining silver hair slipping out of its perfect coif, attempts to rouse Cato to partner her but he merely responds with what might be a snore and she recoils in disgust. Annie sips some more mead and Glimmer settles on Darius instead, his eyes closed as he sways by himself in a corner. She heads over, flutters her eyelashes and he is wild with enthusiasm, his eyes bright. He spins her around with perhaps a bit too much exuberance, her eyes wide with alarm and her expression a little ill.

"I told him he needs to tone down the excitement a bit, but alas, he never listens," Finnick says dramatically, flinging his head back with a hand against his forehead and Annie laughs, the copious amounts of mulled mead she's already imbibed swirling around inside her. She offers him a slice of pear and feels a pleasant sort of quivering inside herself as his lips briefly touch her fingers. He feeds her one in return and her heart beats a little fast as she watches him lick the leftover honey from his fingers.

"Lady Anne! Join me in a dance?" Darius calls from across the room, Glimmer sitting down heavily on a bench with a queasy expression. Annie takes another large gulp of mead and beams.

"Of course!"

She dodges a sashaying Lord Roos as she makes her way to Darius, a fit of giggles nearly overtaking her. He is still a bit too gung ho, twirling and spinning and jumping all over, but Annie doesn't mind, her whole body buzzing. His breath smells like wine and his eyes are a bit unfocused, but she hardly notices, not even when they bump into the couple beside them. He bows low when they're done and nearly falls right over, Annie giggling furiously all the while. She stumbles back over to Finnick, the ground feeling a little less steady.

"I missed you," she tells him, those inescapable giggles still finding their way past her lips. Finnick drinks deeply from his mead and laughs.

"Darius that bad a dancer?" he quips and she giggles all the harder, losing her balance and tipping right over into him. She half-laughs, half-squeals and he catches her, his arms looping around her waist as he pulls her into his lap. There's a sheen of sweat on his forehead, a glassiness in his eyes and if you asked, there is no way she'd be able to remember how much either of them had drunk. She clumsily reaches for their plate of pears, spilling a few to the floor, and happily sucks on one of the fatter ones. It sticks half out of her mouth and her tongue occasionally darts out to lick at the honey dripping off the end, the sticky sweetness of it making her taste buds sing. She feels Finnick's eyes on her and turns a bit to see his gaze pretty firmly rooted to her lips. She swallows quickly.

"Do you want one?" she asks and he blinks a few times, his expression hazy.

"Uhhhh...yes, yes," he says with a shake of his head and she laughs, choosing a particularly honeyed one and feeding it to him. They share several more goblets of mead; Baron Hungerford entertains them all with some sort of jester routine and for the first time Annie can remember, the party seems to end too soon. Usually she cannot wait for festivities at the King's court to be over (and it's probably all the mead talking), but she almost wishes tonight would never end. It does though and she and Finnick have to help each other up to her room, their arms snug around each other. Mags is waiting up for her return and Annie trips into her, feeling flushed and giggly.

"Oh dear, you're going to have an awful headache tomorrow," Mags says before turning to Finnick. "And what about you, will you be able to get back to your room?"

He sways on the spot for a moment before nodding.

"Of coursssse, m'lady," he says and then tips an invisible hat at her. Mags sighs.

"Oh dear."

Annie reaches forward and runs her fingers through his hair.

"Goodnight, my earl," she mumbles and he catches her hand. He kisses her wrist and she feels immediately dizzy.

"Sweet...sweet dreams my countess," he manages and then stumbles off, actually bouncing off one wall.

"Oh my goodness," Mags says and marches Annie over to her bed. She sits her down and gives her a stern look.

"Stay here, I'll be right back."

She runs off after Finnick and Annie falls backward into her pillows, her whole body humming. What a lovely night she thinks and by the time Mags gets back she's already fast asleep, her dreams bright and filled with Finnick.

She does have an awful, splitting headache the next day, but so does nearly everyone else. It doesn't take them very long to sober up though, as the king rouses them all to witness his latest executions, a string of miserable men hung from the scaffold.

It is just like with the tournament and whatever magic she'd felt last night is gone, dying a quick, violent death. She'd forgotten briefly, beautifully, but now it's time to remember.

This is Coriolanus' England, there is no happiness here.

1469
April

The end comes in the form of Haymitch Abernathy.

He arrives in April and though Finnick never actually sees him, his presence is impossible to ignore. He is one of their chief enemies and every single Lancastrian is on edge as soon as his delegation arrives. King Louis keeps them far apart, sending his Lancastrian guests to some smaller palace and keeping them under heavy guard. It is obvious why.

Haymitch has come to negotiate a treaty, probably to do with trade, friendship and even a royal marriage for Queen Katniss. But every Lancastrian in France is well aware that any treaty will be sealed with their deaths, that King Louis will have to hand them over if he wishes to have any lasting alliance with this new England. A few try to comfort themselves with the thought that Queen Enobaria is Louis' cousin and surely he wouldn't sell her and her son to the Yorkists, but Finnick is not so sure. Louis is called 'the spider' and Finnick is not sure he trusts family ties to save them. If the offer from England is lucrative enough, will King Louis really deny the Yorkists their great prize?

Unfortunately, of course, his cousin Louis is their only hope. If he sides with the Yorkists, they are finished. So Finnick, like every other Lancastrian, is forced to place all his trust in Louis and hope, hope, hope that he is a true family man.

If not...

1466

More riots flare up all over the country and Finnick wonders if they'll ever end, wonders too if the House of Lancaster can really survive this onslaught. He'd never say it out loud of course, would never ever cast a single doubt on Lancaster's superiority, but it's been years and these rebels haven't given up, in fact they seem to grow with every violent put down.

He'll be seventeen this September and he knows if these rebellions continue, he'll be called up to fight. This is what he's been training for, preparing for and he's ready, he really is.

(but he'd be lying if he said he wasn't scared)

(he is scared, scared of dying, scared of never seeing his loved ones again)

(not, of course, that he'd ever admit it)

Annie sits with her feet in the river just beyond Great Canfield Castle and the water laps at her calves. The early August sun is warm on her head and the breeze is light, just tickling stray hairs against her cheek. She inhales deeply, breathing in wet earth and summer flowers, and a pair of hands covers her eyes.

"Hello Finnick," she says and smiles. She tilts her head back and he grins down at her, his hair blown about his head from the ride he must've just finished. He's still dressed for travel and she is so happy to have him here, even if his visits seem to come later every year. He holds out a bouquet of wildflowers and she blinks before taking them.

"What are these for?"

He grins a little sheepishly and sits down beside her.

"I may have accidentally forgotten your birthday present at home," he admits and she laughs. She brings the flowers up to her nose and breathes in, her eyes closing for a moment.

"They're lovely, thank you."

He nods and then reaches out to stroke her cheek. There is a callous on his thumb and she leans into his touch, a soothing feeling coming over her.

"I'm sorry I missed it, I really wanted to be here. There's so much going on in London though, my uncle couldn't spare me."

She nods and squeezes the flower stems in her hands.

"It's alright, I know you're busy. I don't expect you to come running every time I want you to."

He looks at her for a long moment before he drops his hand and tugs off his boots, his movements jerky. She frowns.

"Finnick?"

"I hate this. All this waiting, worrying, wondering. I just wish the war would happen already and we could be done wi-"

She interrupts him with a gasp and grabs his knee.

"War? You really think there's going to be a war?"

He looks at her, his expression impossibly sad and Annie feels her heart break. He looks down into his lap.

"Yes, I do. The rebellions, they're getting worse. And that's what all the talk in London is about, what to do when the war comes."

He stands to pull off his hose and Annie drops her head into her hands. She can feel tears building behind her eyes and fear starts to lick her insides, sharp and cold. Oh God, oh God.

"Annie?" he questions softly, sitting down beside her yet again, and she feels suddenly like she might burst.

"You'll have to fight, won't you?" she mumbles through her fingers and even before he answers, she knows what he's going to say.

"Yes."

She takes a shuddering breath and those tears begin to fall, Finnick's hand soft on her back

"Annie..."

She straightens abruptly and grabs his free hand with both of hers.

"Promise me you'll be careful. I know you have to fight and I'd never ask you not to, but please, please be careful Finnick, I don't know what I'd do if anything happened to you. I-"

She never finishes, Finnick moving that hand from her back to the back of her head and pulling her into a kiss. Annie's eyes go very wide and then flutter closed, the fingers of the hand she's holding curling over hers. A feeling a little like all that mulled mead she'd drunk at Christmas runs through her veins as his lips press to hers, warm and soft and wonderfully Finnick.

"Annie..." he whispers softly and she leans in, kissing him again. She lets go of his hand to wrap her arms around his middle and he cradles her face, her heart skipping beats in her chest.

This is per-

"Anne!"

Mags' voice sounds from not far off and they freeze simultaneously, their eyes snapping open. Annie and Finnick share a look of alarm and then Mags calls out again.

"Anne!"

She's close, very close and Annie immediately rolls away from him, crawling hurriedly over to her boots. Finnick jumps up, expression terrified, and quickly gathers up his hose and boots. Annie fumbles with her laces in a panic and Finnick looks around wild eyed before sprinting off and diving behind their rock. Annie leaps up and sweeps grass from her skirts just as Mags finally comes into view, her arms folded across her chest.

"Didn't you hear me calling?" she asks and Annie tries to smile.

"Sorry, sorry, I was daydreaming."

Mags looks at her with narrowed eyes.

"Have you seen Finnick?" she asks and Annie feels her face heat up.

"Finnick? No, no, why would I have?" she asks and curses her breathless, high pitched voice. Mags gives her a suspicious look.

"He arrived not too long ago; he said he was coming to find you."

"Oh, well, I haven't seen him," she says and then laughs. Mags frowns and then her eyes slide down to the flowers Annie hadn't even realized she scooped up when she stood.

"Those are lovely," she says, still suspicious and Annie can't help but smile.

"They are, aren't they? I picked them myself."

"Hmm," Mags says, clearly not believing it, "well, it's time for supper."

"I'm sure Finnick will come in soon when he realizes he can't find me," Annie says and Mags nods slowly. They head back inside and Annie buries her smile in Finnick's bouquet, her blood actually singing.

Oh Finnick

(and hiding behind that rock from their very first meeting, Finnick cannot help but lean his head back and sigh a little dreamily)

(oh Annie)

Finnick shuffles into dinner and Annie bites her lip to keep down her smile. She can feel herself blush and Mags watches her with knowing eyes. Her father doesn't seem to notice anything amiss though and offers Finnick a hearty greeting.

"Ah, Lord Richmond, a pleasure to have you here as always. A pity your uncle couldn't make it."

"Yes," Finnick agrees though he looks at Annie as he says it, "but he's very busy right now. He sends his regards."

He sits across from her and she smiles at him, her heart fluttering when he smiles back. Somehow, their feet find each other beneath the table and end up tangled together. Her boot rubs along the back of his calf and his voice becomes very uneven as he talks to her father, while she blushes very red when his foot ends up beneath her skirts. Mags rolls her eyes at the both of them.

They play cards after supper, but they don't sit across from each other as they usually do. Mags just shakes her head at them as they sit glued to each other's sides, so close they are practically one person. Annie feels fluttery and bright, her heart soaring, and she is beyond glad that Mags is king enough to let proper manners slide for the evening. They should most certainly never be so close to each other but Mags is wonderful enough to allow it and Annie might honestly be flying.

He walks her back to her room when it's time to retire and she leans her head on his shoulder. Mags follows directly behind so nothing at all untoward happens and Finnick kisses her fingertips when he bids her goodnight, those eyes of his bright and glowing like two precious gems.

"Goodnight, my countess," he murmurs softly and her heart beats up in her throat.

"Goodnight, my earl," she whispers back and when she falls into bed, her dreams are happy and shining.

(but there is a darkness in them too, because not even sweet kisses from the boy of her dreams could ever eclipse the gnawing, awful fear of war)

They go walking in the gardens the next day, Mags following behind just far enough to see them but not hear them. Annie feels a surge of gratitude and sighs happily. She hugs his arm, her cheek against his shoulder and he leans his head against hers.

"I suppose this means you don't think I bungled the first kiss then," he teases and she laughs.

"It was perfect. It could have been the worse kiss in the world and it still would've been perfect."

He grins.

"I suppose it could've been, it's not like you have anything to compare it to."

"And you do?" she asks with a grin of her own. He laughs.

"No, and that's exactly why I was worried. I've had no practice at all, and you know how things usually go when I don't practice."

She laughs again and then hums in pleasure.

"I think it went very well," she assures him and he grins.

"I'm glad."

"Me too."

They share a shy, happy smile and then skirt around a fragrant lilac bush.

"Though, you know, practice does make perfect," he says and she bites her lip around a grin. They've lost sight of Mags for the time being and she nods.

"It most certainly does."

He kisses her then, mouth firm against hers and one of her hands finds its way up to weave through his silken hair. It is much too brief a kiss, but they both pull away, knowing Mags might catch them at any moment. Still, even short as it was, Annie can feel its heat in her bones. They start walking again just as Mags regains her line of sight on them and Annie peeks up at Finnick, a sad sort of resignation creeping across his face. She frowns.

"Finnick?"

He sighs.

"I have to leave soon," he says and she bites her tongue. "My uncle doesn't like me being away from him for long, I suppose he's afraid I might throw in with the rebels.

"How could he? You would never, not after...not after Henry," she trails off and a black silence hovers over them for a moment, heavy with Henry's ghost.

"No," Finnick finally says, "no I wouldn't. But you know my uncle; he isn't very big on trust."

Annie nods and hugs his arm a little tighter.

"Well, Christmas is only four months away, that's not too long," she says as brightly as she's able. Finnick nods and manages a smile.

"Right, four months, that's nothing."

She smiles back at him, he kisses her head and maybe, one day, they'll finally be able to spend more time together than they do apart.

They lie side by side on the grass as the sun sets, the sky painted in brilliant pinks, purples and oranges. They are shoulder to shoulder, fingers intertwined and she is fifteen but feels almost ageless. She could be four years old and meeting him for the first time, fourteen and realizing just how deep she's fallen, six and freshly his friend, twelve and afraid of what's to come for England. How many times have they done this? How many summer evenings spent gazing at the sky and dreaming of tomorrow?

Nearly all her life, Finnick has been beside her and she can't even remember her life without him. He is a part of her, a part she would never want to live without and it doesn't matter that he's leaving, that it will be months before they see each other again. He'll be back, he always comes back.

Even if she lives to be a hundred, she knows Finnick will still be lying beside her in the grass.

The air is mild when he leaves, white clouds scuttling across the sky. It is Annie alone that sees him off and he holds both her hands.

"I'm getting very tired of goodbye," he jokes and she smiles sadly.

"Me too. Safe travels Finnick."

He looks around the courtyard and then leans in quick to kiss her, a shiver running pleasantly along her spine. He pulls away and she keeps her eyes closed, humming softly.

"I'll see you soon," he promises and she nods. She opens her eyes and he climbs on his horse, one of her hands still held in his. He squeezes it.

"I...I love you Annie," he says and she breathes in deeply, her eyes widening. She smiles.

"I love you too, Finnick."

He smiles, that beautiful, adorable, cheerful smile that weakens her knees and then he is gone, Annie watching him until he is out of sight.

Soon, we'll be together again soon

Four months.

It should have passed quickly, but England is different now, the king's court one of barely concealed misery rather than over-indulgent extravagance. Oh, the luxury is still there, but it is hollow now, a pale veneer over the rot beneath. The fear in the air is rank, the cold certainty that worse things are still to come lingers in every room and the paranoia about who can be trusted is in every pair of eyes. The king stems the flow of terror somewhat, his imposing presence, his oozing confidence, the grandiose celebrations, they mask the worry somewhat, but never enough.

Those four months sludge by and it is so hard to keep up his facade, but Finnick knows he cannot afford to falter. His uncle has made it very clear that he must be in the best of spirits at all times; he must be always confident and cheery. It is hard with desperation in the air, Annie far away and Henry dead, but he does it, for four endless months, he does it.

And then, finally, Annie arrives.

There is a faint dusting of snow outside when she arrives, the sight of her litter lifting Finnick's heart. Her father nods at him and Finnick nods back, the chilly wind not even fazing him. A groom opens up the litter door and Annie steps down with Mags just behind her. His eyes sweep over her from top to bottom, already some of his tension melting away. She is wearing a costly sable cloak and hood, her dark hair sneaking out to fall over her shoulder. It shines like rich silk and her cheeks are rosy from the cold, the tip of her nose starting to turn red. His heart warms and she smile at him, trapping him momentarily in her glittering ocean gaze.

He strides over to them and bows, Annie and Mags curtsying in reply.

"Mags," he greets with a kiss to her hand and she rolls her eyes, smiling fondly. He grins and then kisses Annie's hand, the soft leather of her glove sweet smelling with her perfume.

"Lady Anne."

"Hello, Lord Finnick," she says and they can do nothing but smile at each other here, wicked gossips lurking behind every corner. He offers them both his arms and then leads them inside, eager to get Annie alone. They make their way up to the Oxfords' chambers and Mags very politely offers to oversee the unpacking of Lord John's belongings, giving Annie and Finnick at least a moment to themselves.

"It's so good to see you," Annie says as soon as Mags is gone, squeezing his arms. He grins somewhat dopily and pulls her in for a hug, her body fitting just perfectly against his.

"You have a real flair for letter writing, but still, this is better," she murmurs and he kisses her head.

"It really is," he agrees. She pulls back and looks at him shyly, her hand coming up to touch his face. Her thumb strokes his cheek and he leans forward, his lips meeting hers. She is soft against him and the memories he'd taken with him pale in comparison to this, every one of his senses drowning in Annie. She stands up a bit on her toes and his arms slide around her waist, holding her closer. Without really thinking about it, his mouth parts and hers follows suit, the taste of her on his tongue feeling like a blaze of fire in his every organ. Her arms wind around his neck and he pulls her closer still, as close as he possibly can. It feels as if there is a coil within him being wound tight, a flush of bright heat in his lower half and then there is a heavy thunk against the door.

"Oh blast these old things," Mags says very, very loudly and Finnick and Annie spring apart. Finnick breathes in deeply and quickly spins to face the wall, cursing his anatomy and the impossibility of hiding anything while wearing hose. Annie clears her throat.

"Having trouble Mags?" she calls and Finnick focuses on a rather gruesome tapestry on the wall, the crucifixion demonstrated in extremely gory fashion.

"Oh no, I've got it," Mags says cheerily and steps inside. Do not think about Annie, think about Jesus, Finnick tells himself firmly, eyes still fixed on the hideous tapestry.

"Something interesting over there Lord Finnick?" Mags asks and he shakes his head, praying his voice will come out sounding normal.

"I was just admiring this tapestry," he says and though it is rather disturbing, he can't help but find it extremely useful. It does enough to slow his roaring blood and he turns to Mags with as normal a smile as he can manage.

"Well, I'd best be off," he says and leaves before either one of them can say anything. He hurries into the hall and sticks his head out the nearest window, the cold air doing wonders to cool him down.

Why does the fashion have to be short doublets and hose? Everything would be a lot less embarrassing if men still wore those big long houppelandes...

Annie finds him a little later and he almost jumps at her hand on his shoulder.

"Are you alright? You ran off rather quickly."

"Yeah, no, of course. I just didn't want Mags to think we were up to no good," he attempts to joke and she bites her lip.

"I think she already does," she says with a nervous laugh and a slight blush. He snorts.

"Yeah, she probably does. She was a bit obvious with her entrance, wasn't she? Well, you can assure her I have no intention of sullying your honour."

Annie nods slowly and presses herself up against his arm. He swallows.

"Take me for a walk in the gardens?" she asks and he looks down at her, his heart feeling oddly large in his chest.

"I love you," he blurts and she smiles, a breathtaking, perfectly Annie smile. It shouldn't be possible for someone to be so lovely in both personality and looks...

"I love you too," she says sweetly and he beams.

"Right, a walk in the garden was it?"

She nods and they set off, her head resting against his shoulder. Their fingers end up entangled and if he's being honest, Finnick feels a little like he's walking on air.

Christmas is unpleasantly sombre; the kingdom's fracturing leaving few people in the mood to celebrate. There are fewer people present than ever and Finnick cannot help but count the noble lords who have chosen not to attend. There is no Duke of York, no Earl of Salisbury, Earl of Warwick or Duke of Suffolk. There is no Earl of Kent, no Baron Howard nor even the Duke of Norfolk and his obnoxious daughter Glimmer. Finnick cannot believe he is thinking it, but he thinks he might prefer her to be here, at least then he would not need to worry about whether or not her father was planning to betray them.

The food is still rich, the music lively but it does not have the same effect it used to. Still, everyone smiles, laughs and dances, trying their best to pretend everything is alright and nothing at all is amiss. Cato is the life of the party, boisterous and exuberant. He eats heartily, drinks heavily and dances with Clove Clifford for hours on end, his loud laughter filling up the hall. It is almost a blessing, his genuine lack of concern of what's hovering just beyond their horizon making it almost seem like a silly triviality and nothing to be at all worried about. Perhaps, a few of them think as he cavorts with Clove, perhaps war is not so inevitable after all.

Finnick himself dances with all sorts of women, from Alice Willoughby to Baroness Neville to Eleanor Talbot to the Countess of Ormond, but he saves his first and last dances for Annie. She is lovely in emerald green and she wears the necklace he'd given her years ago, the golden filigree heart, his heart, hanging right next to hers where it belongs.

"I love you," he whispers softly, so softly only she can hear him, and he loves saying it, wants to say it as often as he can. She hums happily, her fingers tightening on his.

"I love you too," she whispers back and he knows he will never ever get tired of hearing it.

Christmas is unpleasantly sombre, but for Finnick at least, there is still some light to be found.

New Year's creeps ever closer and Finnick looks down at the two gifts he'd gotten Annie, both of them sitting on his pillow. One is fairly straight forward, a rosary with beads made of crystal and coral. Finnick himself has never been the most devout of people and Uncle Boggs had scoffed at the price, but Finnick knows Annie puts greater stock in such things and he'd been unable to resist buying it. It is a perfectly good gift; certainly an expensive one and he is fairly confident Annie will love it.

It is the other gift that gives him pause.

Not the gift itself per se, a gold ring with a large diamond and tiny sapphire clusters on either side, but the meaning behind it. His hope is that this ring will serve a greater purpose than just that of a new year's gift, but will he have the courage to give it to her?

I'll be your countess Earl Finny, happily

Will you Annie? Will you really?

Though Christmas was somewhat lacking in cheer, New Year's has a slightly more upbeat feel.

(it may have something to do with the presents)

Everyone lavishes the King with magnificent things (Finnick himself presents him with a pair of silver goblets engraved with the royal coat of arms) and then exchange their own gifts, a little bit of merriment managing to be found. Finnick's gifts for Annie seem to burn in the pouch hanging from his belt, a hideous worry eating him up.

Courage you lily-liver, courage!

Annie comes up to him, her smile shy and he might be melting, all of his bones turned to mush. All his training to be brave, strong, hard, it all falls completely apart with just one look at her.

"Happy New Year, Finnick," she says softly and he grins at her, a happy swoop in his stomach. Her dark hair gleams in the candlelight and it is easy being in love with her, easier even than breathing, but wanting her, God, he thinks he might be going mad.

"Happy New Year," he answers and offers her his arm. She takes it, drawing a bit too close for propriety but no one notices, all of them much too focused on all their gifts. He leads her over to a bench beside a great tall window, the stained glass showing St George slaying the dragon and rescuing a pretty maiden. They sit, knees just brushing and Finnick cannot help but hope for some of George's bravery. Annie bites her lip and Finnick can feel a quiver of nerves starting in his spine and spreading out over him.

you've asked her twice already, what's once more?

"Here," she says breathlessly, almost worriedly, and she holds out her gift to him, her cheeks very pink. It is a book of some sort and he takes it, the brushing of their fingers making goosebumps skiddle over his skin. He turns it over to read the cover, the letters written in gold.

"Love poems?" he questions and she ducks her head, her hair falling to cover her face.

"I'm...I'm not very good with words, but I thought maybe...maybe someone else might have better luck describing just how I feel."

Her red blush works its way down her neck and he smiles, his chest very warm.

"Thank you, I look forward to reading it," he says sincerely and Annie looks up, her expression relieved. He grins and then reaches into his pouch, his fingers closing around the rosary.

"For you," he says and holds it out for her. She takes it with delicate hands and gasps softly, her eyes widening.

"Oh Finnick, it's beautiful. It must have cost a fortune."

He shrugs.

"It's alright, I only ever splurge on you," he teases with a grin and she turns redder still. He shouldn't of course, not with so many people around, but he can't help reaching out to gently push her hair away from her face, his hand cupping her rosy cheek.

"I'm glad you like it," he says and she shakes her head, her fingers coming up to wrap around his wrist.

"I love it," she corrects and squeezes, his skin burning under her touch. He can feel that ring in his pouch and do it, ask her!

He looks away from her briefly and out around the room, so many people gathered about. He catches his mother glaring at them from across the room and his stomach clenches. Her eyes are narrowed, her lips thinned into an angry line and he can't do this here. He wants this to be romantic, happy and it can't be, not with so many strangers around and certainly not with his mother's damming eyes.

He turns back to Annie instead and she smiles, his whole body made of custard.

I love you, he thinks and it doesn't matter what his mother will certainly say, I love you.

I will always love you

He walks Annie back to her room and she kisses his cheek before ducking inside. He hums happily to himself and fingers the ring in his pouch, an anxious thrill lodging somewhere in his chest.

I'll do it soon Annie, soon

"A word Finnick."

He stiffens and he knew this was coming, of course he did. He turns and his mother is there, her expression just as disapproving as it had been in the great hall. He does not bother to smile.

"What can I do for you Mother?" he asks even though he knows full well. She scowls.

"I have seen you with the Oxford girl," she says and her voice drips with disdain. He bristles.

"Her name is Annie," he says coldly and she seems to sour further, her face tightening.

"She is an earl's daughter-"

"And I am an earl's son."

His mother frowns at him, her eyes glittering with frustration.

"You are a king's nephew; you are worth a far greater bride. You could have Madge of Bedford!"

"Never," he swears and she blinks in surprise at his vehemence.

"And why not?"

He sighs in annoyance and runs his hand through his hair.

"You know why, Mother. I'm in love with Annie, I always will be."

She snorts.

"So? Do you think I married your father for love?"

"No-"

"Do you think I married Plutarch for love?"

"I know you didn't."

"Exactly, none of us marries for love, Finnick," she says as if he's too stupid to know that and he clenches his fists.

"Well no wonder we're all such miserable sots then!" he snaps and her eyes darken.

"Don't be such a child. Whatever you feel for this girl, it is immaterial. You have a great destiny ahead of you Finnick; I can't understand why you are so determined to throw it away."

All his life, Finnick has heard about this supposed great destiny. All his life he has tried to live up to his mother expectations, to make her proud. Even now, seventeen and convinced he no longer cares what she thinks, he wants her to smile at him and tell him she loves him. They have never been close, but still, Finnick is so small in her presence, wishing desperately he could be everything she wants him to be.

"I will be greater with Annie than without her," he says softly and she opens her mouth to interrupt. He doesn't give her the chance. "I have always done everything you wanted Mother. I read the books you gave me, I befriended Cato and everyone else you told me to, I dress the way you suggested, I've practiced hard at every skill you insisted I had to master. Have I ever let you down? Is there anything I haven't done that you've asked me to? Can you not let me have just this? I love Annie, Mother, I love her more than anything. Won't you allow me this?"

He hadn't meant to sound so pleading but he does and she just looks at him for a long, painful moment and he knows her answer before she even says it.

"I only want what's best for you," she says and he closes his eyes.

"Then you should be happy, because Annie is what's best for me."

He turns and leaves before she can say anything else, his heart in his throat as he stomps back to his room.

Why can't you let me have just this one thing?

Is it so wrong for me to want to be happy?

Finnick slams his door behind him and throws himself on his bed, his heart still hammering in his chest.

Every once and a while, he fools himself into believing that maybe, one day, he and his mother will get along. He snorts to cover the weepiness in his chest. A vain hope indeed. He rolls onto his back and looks up the ceiling, the anger still simmering in his veins.

how dare she

It is not that his mother's disapproval is an impediment in itself, as Boggs is his guardian not her, but it could still be dangerous. As a member of the King's family, he requires royal permission to marry. What if she convinces the king to forbid the match?

Then we'll run away, he thinks but knows they never could. Where would they go? How would they live? Could he really ask Annie to give up everything for him?

No, I couldn't.

His hand brushes her book and he lifts it up, running his fingers over the golden title. He rolls over onto his stomach and opens it, Annie's words playing over in his mind.

maybe someone else might have better luck describing just how I feel

He starts to read and soon every last shred of his anger, his worry, just fades away. It does not matter what anyone says, it does not matter what they think, he loves Annie and she loves him. He is no poet, he could never spin such pretty words as these, but he feels each one burning in his heart.

We'll figure it out, some way, somehow. Tomorrow Annie, he decides, tomorrow I'm going to ask you to marry me

Finnick waits anxiously the next morning for Annie to leave her rooms, his heart thudding loudly in his throat. He'd wanted something grand and romantic but that was impossible at court, unless he wanted everyone and their uncle to witness the entire exchange. He could wait until the summer of course for privacy, but he doesn't want to wait. He's just going to have to hope that whatever words he might come up with will be romantic enough.

You beat Brutus of Somerset in a tournament, you can certainly do this

Annie steps out of the door and he lurches forward, needing to get a hold of her before Mags arrives. He grabs her wrist and her eyes widen in surprise. She looks at him in question and he tugs her into the relative privacy of a hallway nook, a nervous sweat starting to prickle on his brow.

"Finnick?" she asks and he swallows.

"Sorry, it's...it's just that I have something for you," he tries, failing miserably at sounding anything other than nervous. She tilts her head.

"But you already gave me a new year's present."

He nods and takes a deep breath.

"This isn't...this isn't quite a new year's gift. And it uh, it comes with a bit of a catch."

She blinks.

"A catch?"

He nods and takes a deep breath.

"Yes, um...it um...it comes with me."

Annie's eyes go impossibly wide and she inhales sharply. Finnick launches ahead, taking her hands and twining their fingers.

"I love you Annie, I think I've loved you almost as long as I've known you. Before I even knew what love was, I think I was in love with you. And I want to be with you Annie, for as long as I live. I want to marry you, grow old with you and love you for the rest of my life. So that's what my other gift is," and he takes it out of his pouch, Annie gasping softly, "I thought...I thought it could be a betrothal ring, if...if you wanted it to be."

He looks at her anxiously, his heart beating painfully in his chest and her hands cover her mouth, her eyes as round and wide as the moon. It takes her only a second to make a decision but it feels like a thousand years to Finnick, his nerves frayed and shaking.

"Yes!" Annie shrieks and throws herself on him, her arms around his neck. He catches her automatically and she kisses his cheeks, his chin, his jaw, anything she can reach.

"Yes, yes, yes! I love you Finnick, I always have, I always will."

Finnick smiles in relief and laughs, spinning her around. His heart feels like it may burst out of his chest and never ever ever has he been as happy as this.

"Really?" he asks and she laughs, perfectly, beautifully Annie.

"Yes!"

He spins her again and then kisses her, lost immediately in the intoxicating taste of her. She smiles against his lips and there is a sort of bliss in his blood he never could have imagined.

I love you Annie, I think I was born to love you

"Anne!"

"That's Mags," Annie whispers, pulling away reluctantly, "I have to go."

Finnick nods and kisses her again.

"I love you Annie Cresta."

"I love you Finnick Odair."

She leans up to kiss him goodbye, her arms wrapping around his neck. He melts into her and her tongue slips into his mouth, his whole body immediately on fire.

"Anne!"

They pull apart again and share a smile. She kisses him quick and he catches her hand as she walks away, pressing his mouth to her palm. Annie looks at him, her face flushed, her eyes bright and no one in the world could ever hold a candle to her. He slides the ring onto her finger and she smiles widely, her joy wrapping around him and making him glow.

"Anne! Where are you?"

"Coming!" she calls and blows him one last kiss before rushing off. He falls back against the wall, smile goofy and heart singing. He still has to get both her father's and his royal uncle's permission, but he hardly cares.

Annie wants to marry him.

That's all that matters.

Annie blows him a kiss from her litter and he catches it, holding it up against his heart. She laughs and he grins and I love you, he thinks as she rides away, I will never stop loving you.

Annie looks at her betrothal ring, the most precious thing she's ever owned, and wants to swoon. Finnick has asked her to marry him, officially this time, and all they need is the king's and her father's permission. If they can get that, they'll be together forever. It will be an agonizing wait to hear from him, to know if he's succeeded, but it feels a little easier to bear with his ring on her finger. Not just because of the future it represents, but because it feels a little like he's with her, like she has a piece of his heart to carry with her through the days to come.

It's like…having a piece of you with me everywhere I go.

He'd said that about that very first new year's gift, that ring he keeps on a string and she knows exactly what he means. She wears his sea glass bracelet to remind her of ocean breezes and the best home she's ever known and his ring to banish lonely nights. The moon is bright and round beyond her window and I love you Finnick Odair, I will love you even after every star has fallen from the sky.

1469
June

Finally, fortune seems to favour them.

Katniss of York is betrothed to Peeta of Burgundy.

The news hits the French Court like a cannon blast and King Louis is enraged. Haymitch scrambles to salvage the situation but there is nothing he can do. Katniss has gone behind both their backs to arrange this marriage and it is clear now that she never had any intention of making an alliance with the French. This was all a ruse to buy her time to negotiate with Burgundy and she might as well have spat in King Louis' face. Her decision not only to distract him with Haymitch but then choosing a Burgundian groom has insulted and humiliated him in a horribly public way. Finnick's not really sure she could have done anything worse.

Haymitch is sent home in disgrace, the Yorkist threat recedes and suddenly, new life is breathed into the House of Lancaster. It is not just that they have been spared a traitor's death in England, but now, now King Louis is angry, furious. He wants the Yorkists punished.

And what better way to punish them, than to help their enemies overthrow them?

1467

Finnick has been nervous before, but never like this.

He stands before the King's audience chamber, his heart beating so loud he is sure everyone in Westminster can hear it. Uncle Boggs is beside him and offers him an encouraging smile, while Finnick takes a deep breath and squares his shoulders.

You can do this

All he has to do is convince the king to allow him to marry Annie. Piece of cake. Right? Right. He pushes open the doors and walks in, his nerves tightening. His uncle is seated in his throne, dark eyes narrowed and bloody lips pursed. Finnick forces himself not to shiver and dips into a deep bow.

"Your Majesties," he greets and he can't help but feel relieved that Cato isn't here. Coriolanus and Enobaria aren't exactly easy to deal with, but still, it could be worse.

"Rise, our dear Lord Richmond. What might we do for you?"

The King's voice is sharp, challenging and Finnick breathes out slowly. He smiles his best, most charming smile and hopes he can work a little magic here.

"I have a request to make of you, my most beloved king," he begins and the king raises one white eyebrow.

"A request?" he asks, a slow hiss working its way into his voice and Enobaria smirks.

"Yes, I hope you will grant me permission to seek the hand of Lady Anne of Oxford, the daughter of the most illustrious Earl of Oxford."

The king leans forward in this throne and Enobaria honestly looks like she might laugh. The king's tongue comes out to lick his blood smeared lips and Finnick makes sure to keep his smile on and his expression light and easy.

"And why should we allow that?"

Finnick nods, because he knew this was coming. All he can do now is hope the arguments he's been working on will be good enough.

"The Earl of Oxford is a wealthy and powerful man, not to mention one of your most loyal servants. He has fought willingly against your enemies many times, as I myself hope to do. Would rewarding such loyalty not be prudent? There are those within England who still contemplate throwing in with the rebels, if they see how well we treat our allies, might that not sway them to our side? Furthermore, if they see one of England's greatest magnates joined to you in holy matrimony it might deter them from pursuing any form of treason, knowing what formidable forces are arrayed against them. All I want, my most admired royal uncle, is to serve you as best I can. If you do not think this marriage is to your benefit, I will never think of it again. But I truly believe uniting with some of our staunchest allies will strike fear into the hearts of those foul traitors polluting your magnificent kingdom."

His speech done, Finnick feels both relieved and terrified. What if he says no?

"Would the daughter of a duke not be more to your liking?" Enobaria asks, poison in her smile. "I know that is what your mother desires."

The king watches him curiously, awaiting his response and Finnick inclines his head to the queen.

"Indeed, my lady mother does wish to see me wed a duke's daughter, for she hopes to enrich my coffers and my prestige. I admit, your Majesty, that a marriage to one such as Lady Glimmer Mowbray might well make me rich and perhaps powerful, but I have no interest in self promotion. My one and only desire is to serve my king to the best of my ability," he says and Enobaria's lips curl over her fang like teeth. His uncle smirks.

"And we are ever glad to hear it. And what say you brother, do you agree with our nephew?" he asks, addressing Uncle Boggs.

"Yes, your Majesty, I do. I think the Lady Anne will make an excellent wife, as her father has made an excellent ally. Finnick is right I believe, that this marriage will bind a great family to us and may even convince those who waver in their loyalties," he says and Finnick shoots him a relieved smile.

"And if we said we were contemplating a marriage for you with our great niece Madge of Bedford?" the King asks, his eyes boring into Finnick like heavy nails. Finnick smiles and bows again.

"A most generous and noble offer, my king. I will happily accept if that is your wish, but I think perhaps her hand may be better served given to someone else. My loyalty to you is absolute as is our cousin of Bedford's, would we not serve you better by marrying into other families and guaranteeing their loyalty?"

He doesn't look up and knows he has tread on dangerous ground. To suggest he might know better than the king would be reason enough for his uncle to remove his head from his shoulders, but he had to say something.

Please, let this be enough to convince him

"You are presumptuous nephew," the king begins and Finnick closes his eyes, "but we approve your petition. You have our permission to ask the Earl for his daughter's hand."

His uncle's voice is tight with anger as he says this and Finnick can easily guess why. The king needs allies, needs them desperately and this marriage is a sure fire way to ensure the Earl of Oxford's loyalty. He cannot pass it up, even if he wanted to.

(and Finnick will never be glad of all this instability, but still, it might be the only reason the king will let him marry Anne, instead of forcing Madge on him)

Finnick feels almost as if the sun is rising within his chest and it takes all his effort not to start grinning like a fool.

"Thank you, your most magnificent Majesty."

"The betrothal ceremony will take place in our presence and we shall dictate the terms of your marriage contract," the King commands and Finnick nods, every part of him from skin to bones humming.

"Of course, my king."

"Very well, you may leave us now."

He does and as soon as he's out of the room, he flings himself on Uncle Boggs with a jubilant laugh.

"We did it!" he says and Uncle Boggs laughs too.

"Indeed, but remember, you still need the Earl of Oxford's permission."

Finnick remembers, but he isn't worried. The Earl of Oxford is at court to attend the king's parliament and there is no way he'd refuse when the king himself backs the marriage. The Earl will give his approval, they'll be betrothed and then, finally, he and Annie will be married. Finnick practically spins down the hallway, that perfect shining future stretching out before him.

I can't wait

I love you Annie

In May, two months after her father had left for court, he returns.

He doesn't come alone.

Annie heads down to the entrance hall to greet him and feels her heart jump at the sight of Finnick beside him. He grins at her, bright and excited, and Annie feels warm happiness wash over her. Could it...has he... She cannot finish the thought, too excited and nervous.

Oh Finnick, Finnick

"Greetings, Father," she says and curtsies, though her eyes can't leave Finnick, the joyful glow in his eyes making her heart race.

"I would like a word, Anne," her father says, offering her his arm. She takes it.

"Of course Father."

He leads her to his study and she shoots one last look at Finnick, who nods to her, his smile threatening to overtake his entire face. She almost feels like she might pass out, excited anticipation thundering through her blood.

"Sit," her father says when they reach his study and she does, trying her best to keep her explosive emotions off her face.

"I have good news," he continues, "you are to marry the Earl of Richmond."

Annie feels for a moment as if she cannot breathe.

"Really?" she manages and her father nods, all her hopes coming to fruition.

"We still have to hammer out the last few details, but yes. There will be a betrothal ceremony soon and a wedding after that. It is a good match Anne, I'm...very proud of you."

Annie inhales sharply, her heart lurching in her chest. She is stunned nearly to silence, a sudden urge to cry rising up inside of her.

"Oh," she whispers and wishes she could say more. He nods again and begins to straighten a pile of parchment on his desk. He clears his throat.

"I have a lot of work to do; I would appreciate if you would entertain our guest."

She stands and nods.

"Of course, Father."

Annie leaves the room and feels as if she has fallen into a dream. She is going to marry Finnick and her father is proud of her.

Can this really be real life?

She sends Mags off to see to the arrangement of Finnick's rooms and then invites him to walk with her. He offers her his arm, his smile wide and goofy and Annie takes it with a silly grin of her own. They make their way outside to the garden, bright with freshly blooming flowers and as soon as they're out of view, Finnick scoops her up and spins her around. Annie laughs and wraps her arms around him, her heart near bursting with joy.

"I can't believe this is happening," she says and he beams.

"Me neither, I feel like I'm living in a dream."

She leans in and kisses him, the dizzying taste of him making her heart race. Her fingers wind through his hair, his hold on her tightens and she wants to stay like this forever.

"I want to get married at Dunstanburgh, right by the sea," she says and he nods, his forehead touching hers.

"Alright."

"And Mags can come live with us, can't she?"

"Of course."

"Are you going to agree to everything I say?" she laughs and he grins, squeezing her.

"Yes. As long as I'm with you, nothing else matters."

Annie smiles at him, feels almost as if she might overflow with love for him, and sighs happily.

"I love you Finnick Odair."

"And I love you, Annie Cresta, forever and ever and ever," he says softly, impossibly sweetly and then he is kissing her again. She kisses him back eagerly, her blood singing for him and this, right here, is the meaning of perfection.

The betrothal ceremony happens in August, a week after her sixteenth birthday and Finnick is positive he's never been so happy.

It happens at the King's Sheen Palace and Finnick dresses in his very best doublet of light blue brocade. He dons a silver coronet, the whitest hose he can find and boots shined to perfection. He pins a livery badge for the king to his chest, a solid silver wolf with a golden crown and adds a jewelled belt as the final touch, a thrill of nervous excitement running through him.

He stands beside the priest in the chapel and waits for Annie, Uncle Boggs shooting him a grin. Finnick beams and when Annie arrives, he honestly forgets there is anyone else in the room. He does not see his mother glowering, Cato sneering, the King observing them with calculating eyes. All he sees is Annie, radiant and breathtaking like every star in the sky. She is dressed in silver, diamonds sparkling at her neck and ears, while her dark brown hair is woven with flowers. She smiles shyly with rosy cheeks and he looks into those perfect ocean eyes and falls in love with her all over again. He takes her hand when she reaches him and the ceremony begins, an exhilarated sort of joy starting to pound within him.

"I, Finnick Odair, Earl of Richmond, do pledge here before God and these witnesses that I will take you, Anne Cresta of Oxford, to be my lawful wife," he says and slides her ring onto her right hand, already fantasising of the day he will be able to move it to her left and truly be her husband.

"I, Anne Cresta of Oxford, do pledge here before God and these witnesses that I will take you, Finnick Odair, Earl of Richmond, to be my lawful husband," she answers and he might be flying. The priest blesses them, he kisses her to seal the betrothal and never, in all his life, has any moment been as blissful as this one. It is not marriage, not yet, but he is hers now officially, not just in his heart.

If ever he had to choose one moment to define happiness, he would choose this one right here.

They move into the great hall, Annie on his arm and Finnick is genuinely surprised he hasn't started skipping. He cannot stop smiling and Annie beams up at him, the whole world bright and golden.

He signs the betrothal contract with her father and then the celebration truly begins, food and music and dancing for everyone. There are toasts from her father and Uncle Boggs, Finnick and Annie sharing the same cup of wine and then they are in each other's arms, spinning around the dance floor as if there is no one else but them.

"I love you," he whispers just for her, "today and forever."

She smiles, eyes sparkling and the thought that he will get to be with her for the rest of his life steals the breath from his lungs.

"And I love you Finnick, until the end of my days and even after."

He kisses her then, not caring even a little what anyone else thinks.

They are betrothed now; nothing in the world will ever tear them apart.

She leaves a scant few days later, back home to Hedingham while he stays in London on the king's orders. It is sad to part, just as it always is, but there is still a lightness in his bones as he watches her ride away, his heart beating out her name against his ribs.

Oh Annie, Annie, Annie

You are the greatest love any man could ever have

(he is hopeless really)

(but honestly, he doesn't mind at all)

They write as often as they can, their letters filled to the brim with lovely dreams of the future and there is a glow to both of them, the gentle glow of happy love.

Sitting in her garden smiling over his handwriting, Annie has no idea what's coming, the black cloud rising to cover all of England, swollen up with English blood.

Lying in bed grinning over her words, Finnick forgets for a moment the rising tide of terror in the king's court, the promise of a fast approaching war.

They are young, they are blissful but soon, soon they shall remember exactly what era they live in.

In September, two days after his eighteenth birthday, Finnick comes to see her.

Annie is embroidering a purse for her father when she sees him through a window, his horse charging in through the gates. Her heart leaps and she rushes down to meet him, but as soon as she sees him, all that joy starts to dissipate. He is grim faced and so is Boggs behind him, the both of them solemn and washed with gray.

"Lords Richmond and Pembroke, I didn't know you were coming," her father says and the serious look in Boggs' eyes chills her to the bone.

"I'm sorry, but I didn't have time to send a letter. Might we speak in private?" he says and her father nods. Annie feels sick as she watches them go, fear thick in her blood.

"Annie."

She turns to Finnick and he has dismounted, such a tired, weary look on his face she almost wants to weep. Without a word he offers her his arm and she takes it, the two of them heading out to the garden where they might have at least a little privacy. He leads her to a bench and they sit, a heavy weight settling over them both. She takes his hand and winds her fingers through his, her heart starting to quicken with fear.

"Finnick?"

"I'm going to war," he says stiffly, staring straight ahead at a particularly wild rose bush and she feels her breath catch in her lungs. She cannot speak, can barely think, only that one word repeating through her like a mocking echo.

war

"The Duke of York has declared war on the king," Finnick spits and she barely remembers the duke, his presence at court during Christmas so very rare.

"He has nearly half of England on his side," Finnick continues bitterly, "for he is very clever. He says he wishes to rid our fair kingdom of its evil tyrant, that he wants only to spare us all the calamity of Lancastrian rule. And to those who are not swayed by such talk, he declares himself rightful ruler of England, his claim to the throne stronger than our 'false king's'."

He pauses for a moment and with mounting horror, Annie can see just how brilliant a strategy that is. He is painting himself a liberator, winning all those who have been mistreated and for those determined to remain loyal to the king, he argues that he is king, and thus their loyalty should be to him.

"I think he is greedy, ambitious and that is why he suddenly presses his "superior" claim," Finnick says harshly. "The people are fed up with King Coriolanus; the Duke of York sees an opportunity to seize the greatest prize. I think he is a liar, I think he cares only for himself. I hate him. I hate them all."

His voice breaks a little on the end and he swallows thickly.

"Uncle Boggs has come to summon your father to arms and I...I had to say goodbye."

He turns to look at her, his eyes wide and wet, and she covers her mouth with her hands.

"I don't know how long it'll be until we can see each other again, I don't even know if I'll-"

She presses a finger to his lips to silence him, cannot bear to hear him even speak of not coming back. She feels almost as if she's been tossed off Dunstanburgh's great ramparts into the ocean below, the sea churning and tossing her against the rocky coast. Oh Finnick, oh my love, oh oh oh. She flings her arms around him and he follows suit, pulling her close. They hold each other and her heart weeps in her chest, the great, horrid enormity of what's coming nearly swallowing her whole.

"I love you," she whispers into the soft skin of his neck and "I love you too," he promises.

They don't bother to say anything else, because really, what could they possibly say to make this better?

Annie has been saying goodbye to Finnick for most of her life, but never has it been as hard as it is right now.

The sun hangs low in the sky, the whole world bathed in golden light, and Annie feels as if her heart is made of fractured glass, just seconds away from shattering.

"Keep warm, there's no shame in wearing an extra pair of hose if need be," Mags tells him and Finnick grins, that easy, boyish grin that makes him look years younger.

"I will," he promises and Mags smiles, touching his cheek lightly.

"Here, for your journey," she says and hands him a bag heavy with food. He takes it and Mags is always sending him home laden with too much to eat, a fond smile curling at the corner of Annie's mouth.

"Be smart," Mags continues and pats his cheek. Finnick's smile softens a little and then he pulls her into a hug, catching the old woman off guard. It takes only a moment for her arms to come around him, her expression almost mournful.

"Thank you Mags," Finnick says, "for everything."

There is something final in the way he says it, an acknowledgement that this could be the end and Mags sniffles, Annie feeling her heart break a little more.

Why is this happening?

Why is England cursed like this?

He pulls away with his best, brightest grin and Mags steps back, wiping at her eyes. He turns to Annie and she walks over to him slowly, dreading this goodbye like she has no other. She stops right before him and she is almost afraid to touch him, the dam inside her sure to crumble if she does. She reaches up to untie a ribbon from her hair and then knots it around his wrist, her chest aching.

"Good luck," she whispers, unable to meet his eyes and his hand comes to rest over hers.

"I'll come back to you Annie, I promise," he says and she looks at him, tears starting to drip down her face. She nods and, unable to stop herself, she leans up and kisses him. It is a soft kiss and he rests his forehead against hers when it's done, their noses touching.

"I love you Annie Cresta," he says and she swallows a sob.

"And I love you Finnick Odair."

They stay like that, breathing each other in, and then finally he pulls away, the air around her filled with ice. He mounts his horse and Annie clutches her hands over her heart, her knees desperately wanting to fold up beneath her. He turns back to look at her just once before he leaves and his eyes shine bright, betraying the tears he is fighting to keep down. She stays where she is, watching him until he is out of sight and please God, keep him safe.

Bring him home to me

Finnick and Uncle Boggs make one last stop at home before they go off to war, gathering their arms and setting their affairs in order. Finnick stands in his room for what could be the last time and it is a humbling moment, a sobering one.

this could be goodbye

He breathes deeply to steady himself and dresses carefully, Annie's undershirt going on first. He runs his fingers over the good luck charms sewn into the hem and I can do this. We can do this. He heads downstairs when he's done, saddle bags packed, and finds his uncle in his study organizing a last few documents. He looks up as Finnick enters, a not quite convincing smile on his mouth.

"Good you're ready, you'll be heading out to join the Duke of Somerset's command," he says and Finnick frowns.

"Aren't you coming with me?" he asks and Uncle Boggs shakes his head.

"No, I'll be staying in Wales; the King wants me to drum up support here," he answers and Finnick feels a sudden flush of panic. Perhaps Uncle Boggs notices it, for he claps Finnick on the shoulder with a laugh.

"Now you'll have plenty of opportunity to impress your future father-in-law. You do want him to see how worthy you are of Anne's hand, don't you?"

Finnick grins his best grin and nods.

"Of course. I'll make you proud," he says and Uncle Boggs suddenly looks sad. He moves his hand to Finnick's face, a smile not quite managing to touch his mouth.

"I am proud, I always have been," he says and Finnick swallows, the sudden urge to fling himself on his uncle and never let go swarming over him. He forces it down and tries to smile.

"Good luck," he says and then Uncle Boggs pulls him into a hug, his arms tight around him. Finnick blinks in shock and then melts, wrapping his arms around his uncle.

"Good luck to you Finnick," he says fiercely and maybe, just maybe, all he's been told about real men is a lie. Uncle Boggs is clearly terrified, he clearly cares and yet there is no one in the world Finnick admires more.

Maybe, just maybe, the king is wrong.

(it wouldn't be the first time)

Her father leaves soon after and it is a bitter parting.

Whatever his faults, he is her father and she wants nothing but victory and safety for him. He rides off, looking confident and poised on his horse and Annie remains behind at Hedingham with Mags, left to wait and pray and hope.

Let this war be over soon

Let peace prevail

And just like that, England goes to war.

Waiting is the most difficult thing Annie has ever done.

She waits at Hedingham for news that never seems to come, prays as often as she can and she feels stretched so thin she might snap apart. Please let this war be over soon, please let them come back safe. Please please please

For over three months she hears nothing, no word, not even a whisper. Are they alive? Who's winning? Are they safe?

Finally, finally finally, a messenger arrives in December. Annie sees him coming from her window and the book she's holding slips to the floor. She stands abruptly and sprints towards the stairs, Mags' admonishments chasing after her. Annie ignores them, doesn't stop even as her feet tangle in her skirts and nearly send her flying, because she can't, she can't. The winter outside is cold but she doesn't care as she flings open the doors, the snow almost blue in the moonlight.

Please let it be good news, please

The messenger's fingers tremble with chills as he hands her a letter and her hands shake as she tears it open. The note is in her father's scrawl, short but to the point.

The Duke of York is dead.

We have won.

Annie falls to her knees, the letter clutched to her heart.

Thank you Lord, thank you thank you thank you

The celebrations never seem to end, their great victory cheered and cheered.

The Duke of York is dead.

King Coriolanus is triumphant.

It's a great time of feasting, drinking, dancing and Finnick is glad, he really is, this war finally over. Still, he can't quite bring himself to match everyone else's soaring spirits.

I just want to go home.

The war's done, isn't it? So why can't we go home?

"You look down boy, have a girl," someone laughs and Finnick looks up from his barely touched mug of ale. A man wearing the Duke of Buckingham's sigil stands before him, ruddy faced and sweaty. He has a girl under each arm, both of them buxom and scantily clad.

"No, thanks," Finnick says and the man shrugs. He laughs again and saunters off, Finnick gazing back into his cup with a sigh.

I already have a girl; I just want to go home to her.

1469
July

King Louis continues to simmer with rage, the Lancastrian forces are reinvigorated and Finnick looks out his window at the English Channel with only one thought on his mind.

Soon Annie

Soon

1468

Finnick and her father do not come home and in February she finds out why.

Katniss of York.

They have killed the Duke but his daughter has not given up the fight. She and her cousins slaughter the Lancastrians at the battle of Mortimer's Cross, revive every Yorkist hope and Boggs is forced to flee for his life.

Annie thanks God for Boggs' survival but every scrap of news is worse and worse, the Yorkists sweeping through England like the plague, devouring everything they come across. These new Yorkists are young and full of fire, Lancastrians crumbling like kindling beneath their flames.

It is only rumours, Annie tells herself, I'm sure this only a minor setback. She will fall like her father before her and all will be well again soon.

I know it will

Annie lies in bed at night and stares up at the ceiling, her heart heavy in her chest.

February never seems to end, this cursed month dragging on and on, and Annie just wants it all to be over. Let the fighting and the battles and the bloodshed be done. England does not deserve this mayhem. She can feel hatred boiling up inside her, because this is all the Yorkists' fault. They started this war, they took Finnick and her father away from her, they are the ones staining England red.

Why would you do this? Is ambition really so important?

Her thoughts are interrupted by a knock at her door and she frowns. She rolls over and looks at it, because who could it be so late at night? Whoever it is knocks again and Annie pushes herself up. She walks over to the door, still wondering, and opens it. She gasps.

Standing there, looking like something straight out of a dream, is Finnick.

Annie flings herself on him immediately and his arms come around her, lifting her off her feet for a moment. He buries his face in her shoulder and she squeezes him, tears starting to gather in her eyes.

"Finnick, oh God Finnick," she mumbles, too overwhelmed to say anything more and he hugs her even closer.

"Annie Annie, I missed you Annie, so much, so much."

"You're alive, oh thank God you're alive," she all but sobs and they sway a little, his own voice choked.

"I had to see you, I couldn't stay away. I love you Annie, God I love you."

Her heart shudders and she kisses him, the taste of him just as intoxicating as she remembers. He kisses her back, more ardently than he ever has before and she feels like she is melting in his embrace. She wraps her arms around his neck and all those months of missing him come rushing back to her, a desperate need to be as close to him as possible springing up inside her. His hands are warm through her nightgown and he pulls her up against him, so close she swears she can feel his heart beating. They stumble backwards into the door and it suddenly occurs to Annie just what they're doing. Anyone could wander by and see them and worse, she's dressed in nothing but her nightgown, the material thin and flimsy. Her face burns and she pulls back reluctantly. She looks at him and he is sweaty, his hair blown back by the wind and he looks tired, exhausted really, but there's something underneath that, something almost like fear. Annie feels her chest tighten.

"Come inside," she murmurs, pulling him into her room and shutting the door. He threads his fingers through hers and squeezes, a tingle shooting up her arm. She reaches forward and strokes his cheek, his eyes closing as he leans into her touch.

"How are you here?" she asks and he sighs.

"There's a big battle coming, some of the men think it'll be the final one. They think it'll end the war for good. I couldn't...I had to see you again, just in case."

Annie feels fear flare up inside her and she presses her face into his chest, her arm pulling him close.

"Don't say that," she whispers, terror stinging her words and he breathes her in, his hands running over her back. They stay like that for a moment and sink into each other's arms.

"How did you get away?" she asks.

"I volunteered to deliver a message; I had to find some way to see you."

"Do you have to leave soon?"

"Tomorrow morning at the latest," he says and Annie holds him tighter, dreading goodbye.

"Stay with me tonight," she murmurs and he pulls back to look at her. His green eyes are wide and Annie meets his gaze levelly, her cheeks burning. He swallows.

"Okay," he says, voice a little wavery, and Annie leans up to kiss him. How can I say goodbye tomorrow? How can I let you leave for a war you might not come home from? He kisses her back, his mouth warm and her body tingles with every touch of his tongue. She wants to stay like this forever, wants to kiss him until the morning hours but she knows they can't.

"You need to rest," she whispers to his lips and he nods. She lets go of him reluctantly and climbs back into bed, her legs folded beneath her. He stands for a moment in the center of her room, a flush creeping up his neck as he looks at her bed. She blushes.

"You should...you should get comfortable," she mumbles and feels her stomach swoop. Did she really just ask him to get undressed?

"Mags might have my head," he jokes and Annie shakes her head.

"She's visiting family."

Finnick swallows again and Annie thinks maybe she should give him some privacy, but she can't look away. He undoes the clasp of his cape, the brooch holding it together a gift from her when they were nought but children. He bends over to pull off his boots and her heart starts to beat very fast. Stop, nothing's going on here, just sleeping. He takes off his belt and then pauses, her temperature rising steadily.

"That doublet doesn't look like it'll be good for sleeping," she says and his face starts to turn red.

"I don't mind, I wouldn't want you to...to feel uncomfortable," he says and Annie tries to stop from flushing.

"It's fine," she says, voice higher than she'd like, "I've seen you shirtless before."

(of course, neither one of them brings up that swimming and sharing a bed aren't quite the same thing)

He nods and removes his doublet, then the shirt underneath, her shirt, the one she'd made him for his birthday, and Annie inhales deeply. She has always known he was gorgeous, the handsomest man she'd ever met but she wasn't quite prepared for this. It was a little less than two years ago when she saw him shirtless last and somehow in that time he's managed to become even more perfect. Her body starts to flood with liquid heat as she looks at him, the sturdy shoulders she very much wants to kiss, the muscled chest and rippling stomach she desperately wants to touch. He is beautiful, truly, and there is something squirming around inside of her. She clears her throat.

"Were you at Mortimer's Cross?" she asks, needing to take her mind from the chaos inside of her. He slumps.

"No. Uncle Boggs was."

"I heard, thank God he's alright."

He nods slowly.

"Yes, but we lost a lot of good men. The Duke of Buckingham and his son were two of the casualties."

Annie covers her mouth with her hand.

"Oh no," she says softly and he nods again, his whole body looking weighed down.

"Darius, he's the new Duke of Buckingham. And he's chosen the Yorkists."

Annie thinks of little Darius and gasps.

"If this keeps happening, if we lose any more allies...I don't...I don't know what we'll do. We could lose," he says and there's so much fear in his voice, so much worry she feels as if she may weep. That can't be true, can it? He sits down heavily on the edge of the bed and drops his head into his hands. Annie bites her lip and stares at his back, helplessness welling up inside her. What do I say? How do I make this better? She scoots over to him and places her hands on his shoulders and squeezes, his whole body tense. She leans her head on his, an ache in her heart. Oh Finnick, oh my sweet Finnick. Without really thinking about it, she bends down and presses a kiss to his shoulder blade. His skin is warm under her lips and he stiffens, the muscles beneath her fingers tightening.

"Annie," he says a little roughly, but not unhappily, and she nuzzles his back, breathing in that perfectly Finnick scent, like summer and ocean breezes.

"I love you, Finnick," she whispers and kisses her way up his spine. His breathing is heavy as her lips reach the back of his neck and she wraps her arms around him, her fingers dancing over the hard muscles of his stomach. She hugs him tight, chest against his back and a shiver skiddles over her skin, something warm starting to bubble in her stomach. She presses her mouth just beneath his ear and he inhales sharply, turning his head to look at her.

"Annie," he says raggedly and she feels a fire in her stomach, her name so much better on his tongue than anyone else's. His eyes are bright with the same heat she can feel in her blood and she drowns in them, yearning starting to beat within her. She leans forward and kisses him, the taste of him sweeter than any wine. His lips, his tongue, they answer hers with passion and she can feel her lower body tightening, that yearning spilling through her veins. He turns a little more and his arms come around her, one snug around her waist and the other tangling in her hair, tilting her head back and deepening a kiss she could never have imagined being any deeper. There are shivers beneath her skin and he drags her up against his chest, the solid feel of him making her burn in the most magnificent of ways. Her little ring around his neck presses into her and she almost wants to weep for love of him. She wraps her arms around him instead and traces over the skin of his back and she needs to be closer, so much closer. Annie shifts until his thigh is between her legs, a spiral of desire sparkling through her. She moves a little more and the friction is delicious, his breath hitching. His arms tighten around her and then her lips move down his neck, down to where his pulse beats beneath his skin.

"Annie," he pants and even without words, she knows what he is asking.

"We can't do this," she says suddenly, her voice sounding oddly far away. She pulls back and looks at him, his face flushed and his eyes hazy, and she knows she's right, logic and sense creeping back into her mind. If he doesn't come back after the battle and anyone found out about tonight, she'd be ruined. And if he left her with child...It would be the height of folly to do anything at all with him and Annie knows it well. She brushes the hair from his forehead and he closes his eyes and I love you, God above, I love you.

"I know," he murmurs, "I know we shouldn't."

She nods and presses her forehead to his, her blood still screaming for him. She reaches up and takes his face in her hands, her heart thudding beneath her ribs.

"You are coming back to me, Finnick," she says and he nods, fingers squeezing her without thought.

"Always," he promises and Annie knows it, knows this will not be their last night together.

"Then I have nothing to fear," she says and he opens his eyes, her favourite pair of eyes in all the world. She kisses his chin, the tip of his nose and both his cheeks. He swallows.

"There is no sin in being with one's betrothed, many consider it as valid as a marriage," he murmurs against her heated skin and squeezes her again.

"That's true," she agrees, rubbing her nose against his. They stay that way, breathing each other in and out and there is a choice to be made here, except of course, that she has already made it.

"I...I am not afraid Finnick, I know you will not abandon me, I know you will come home to me," she says and his fingers dig into her waist, the pressure making her shiver. "I trust you, I love you and I want this if...if you do," she mumbles and he laughs a little breathlessly, the feel of it tickling her face.

"I want this, God I want this," he groans and she nods, because so does she, that wanting sizzling in her bones.

"Then love me," she whispers and kisses him slowly, feels her blood rising with desire. "Love me like it's our wedding night and we have forever ahead of us. Because we do, we do."

Whatever hesitation they'd had melts away and he kisses her back, a searing kiss that turns her limbs to liquid. She shifts so she is sitting astride his lap and his breath hitches again, a shiver running up her spine. He pulls her flush against him and their chests press together, nothing between them save the flimsy material of her nightgown. There is a further tightening in her lower body, a cascade of warmth through her blood and she wants him to touch her everywhere, to feel him on every inch of her skin. She pulls back to kiss his neck again, to kiss his chest and feels his heart beating beneath her lips. He shudders and drags her back up to his mouth, his hands running up her sides. They graze her breasts and a delicious frisson snakes over her, passion screaming in her blood. His hands slip beneath her nightgown and find her thighs, each and every touch fanning the flame inside of until it becomes an inferno. Without thinking, without any thought at all, she reaches down and grasps the hem of her dress, pulling it up over her head and tossing it aside. Finnick sucks in a breath and then stares at her, his gaze hungry with desire.

"God Annie," he says hoarsely and then she pulls him against her, bare skin to bare skin. She feels like she is about to boil over with need and she isn't sure there are words for the feeling of her breasts pressed up against his chest. There is nothing between them now except his hose and touch me she wants to beg, touch me everywhere. Perhaps he can read her mind, for his hands move down her back, slide up underneath her, her whole body quivering, and then they come around to run over her thighs again. Then they are on her sides, his thumbs rubbing along her stomach and higher, higher. She feels dizzy and his hands go up, up, until the heat of them on her breasts makes her gasp into his mouth. He is tentative at first, squeezing her breasts softly and she hisses, her head falling back. He pinches her nipples between his fingers and she grabs his chain, the ring cutting into her palm.

"Finnick," she breathes and he shudders slightly, her other hand ghosting down his back and then to his thigh. He leans forward and kisses her collarbone, then lower, lower, until his mouth finds her chest. She squeezes his thigh and he kisses her breasts all over, a moan slipping past her lips. He takes her nipple in his mouth, the rasp of his tongue over her making lights burst behind her eyes.

"Finnick," she pleads, not entirely sure what it is she's begging for, and he stands abruptly, lifting her with him. He lies her down on the bed and stares at her for a moment, his chest heaving. He steps back, her body already aching for his touch. He never takes his eyes off of her, his gaze scorching, as he throws off his hose and breeches and she inhales sharply. He stands naked before her and she can feel a blush stain her cheeks. She stares at him, drinks in his beautiful hair, his handsome face, the strong shoulders, his heaving chest, the well defined stomach, the firm thighs and then him, thick and hard between his legs. Her blush deepens but she doesn't avert her eyes and she lifts her arms, beckoning him closer. He comes and then he is hovering over her, his legs tangled with hers. His mouth is urgent on hers and she pulls him closer gently by his chain, that ring clutched in her hand. She touches his chest and then drags her hand down, her nails scraping lightly over his skin, past his stomach until she finds him. He makes a guttural sort of sound in his throat and she's not entirely sure what she's doing, but judging by his reactions, she is doing something right. He is so hot beneath her fingers and he mumbles something incoherent into her shoulder, the feel of his breath making her shiver.

"Annie," he moans, "Annie" and she's not entirely sure what's supposed to happen next, but she feels as if there's a great big hole inside of her, a chasm she needs him to fill. He kisses her then, his passion making her weak, and she wonders if he knows what to do. Her need for him is fierce but neither of them have done this before, but then, boys talk, he's surely heard from someone.

"Are you-" he starts to ask and "Yes," because whatever comes next, whatever he's meant to do, she wants it, God does she want it.

"I love you, Annie," he swears, gently removing her hand and twining their fingers.

"I love you too, Finnick," she promises and he takes a steadying breath. He hesitates for just a moment more and Annie pulls his head down for a kiss, can feel his need quivering inside him like it is in her.

"Make love to me, Finnick," she breathes to his mouth and he does, God Almighty, he does.

The morning comes too soon.

Milky streaks of dawn light pour into her room and across her bed, Annie's heart quaking in her chest. Not yet, please not yet. She knows he cannot stay and she would never ask him to, but she is not ready for goodbye. I need more time, please please, I need more time. He breathes evenly, the sheets are tangled around his waist and Annie struggles to hold in a sob, her fingers shaking as she strokes the hair at the back of his neck. Please not yet. She presses her other hand flat against his chest, needing to feel his heart still beating with life and it thumps up her arm, both reassuring and terrifying. This could be the last time...

Finnick wakes slowly and Annie wishes she could freeze time, wishes she could turn back the sun until it was night again and he could stay safe in her arms. His fingers caress her lower back and he leans his forehead against hers, breathing deeply.

"Annie," he whispers and there is so much in that one word, so much she feels as if she may fall to pieces. Tears gather in her eyes and why Yorkists? Why are you doing this to us? He places his hand over hers and then kisses her slowly, so so slow, like he is trying to engrave this very moment into his memory forever. She closes her eyes, kisses him back and God, please God, let this moment last.

But it can't, not forever.

Finnick pulls away, her whole body immediately cold, and climbs out of bed. Annie sits up slowly as he gathers up his scattered clothes, the memory of last night stirring her blood ever so faintly. Did that really happen? It almost feels like a dream.

Annie tugs the blankets tight around herself, as if to armour herself against the heartbreak she cannot escape and wishes everything was a dream, wishes she could wake up and there would be no war at all. Why are we living in a nightmare? He starts to get dressed and she watches, her eyes tracing over every part of him. She had tried last night and she tries again now to memorise every inch of him, to burn his image deep into her heart. I love you Finnick Odair, I love you so much.

He sits down on the edge of the bed to pull on his boots and she stares at his back, a great torrent of feeling rising up within her. Oh Finnick, oh God Finnick. She lurches forward and hugs him, her face pressed against his neck. She gives up on holding back her tears and sobs into his skin, her whole body shuddering. His hands come over hers, his shoulders tremble and this isn't fair, it isn't fair. She doesn't know how long they stay like that, crying and shaking, but she knows he has to go. And she has to let him.

She pulls back finally, his doublet soaked through with tears. She wipes uselessly at her eyes and he breathes in deeply, his shoulders squaring. He stands and for a moment she wonders if he is just going to leave, to try and spare them both the heartbreak of goodbye. But then he turns, his cheeks wet and Annie aches, deep down into her soul.

"I..." he starts, so many emotions running over his face and she feels them all, each one burning in her chest. "Annie, I..."

He surges forward, abandoning his words, and he takes her head in his hands, dragging her up against him. He kisses her, kisses her like he never has before, not even last night. This kiss is searing, blazing, forever and she clings to him, her nails digging into his skin.

"I love you Annie, I'm coming back to you. I swear to God, I'll be back," he whispers fiercely, his lips brushing hers with every word. She nods.

"I know. I love you Finnick, I love you so so much. I'll be waiting."

He breathes her in, every part of them pressed together and then he pulls back, lifting her hand to his lips. He kisses her betrothal ring and she feels her heart shake, their eyes meeting in a look she hopes will never end.

And then he is gone.

She watches through blurry eyes as he hurries out the door, her arms hugging herself close.

Good luck Finnick

May God favour you my love

I'll wait for you

Forever

Finnick climbs up onto his horse and looks back at Annie's window one last time, a surge of courage filling him up.

You are the love of my life, Annie Cresta, I'm coming home to you

This is not goodbye, my dearest heart

I'll be back

I swear I'll be back

1470

Two years, Annie thinks as the wind tears at her hair, two years it's been Finnick.

Is the wait finally over?

(Annie knows it's foolish to hope, knows Haymitch's words could mean so many other things, but hope is all she has)

(so hope she does)