The Guardian Games: The Wrath of Five

Chapter 4: For Those We Much Rather Forget

District 12

Yellow daffodils were wrung between her fingers, forming knots in their stems. The pale greeting of the sun on a breezy summer's day stirred no joy in her heart, as it would have once had. It was odd how the little things that had once occupied her for hours no longer held the same charm. In a matter of fact, Anna now regarded so much of them as insignificant and wondered how she could have lavished so much passion over them.

One morning after brushing out the tangles in the red-brown strands of her head, she found it almost impossible to twist them into a twin braids, as she had once done. Those were braids of a child, blissful and optimistic about the world. Now the lights of the world had been dimmed, and she found that the donning a serviceable bun. It was not as attractive or cheery as the braids had been, but it felt more appropriate for her state of mind. That was, to be alone.

She thought she had known loneliness before, but it was tinged with a hope for change. Now, that loneliness was truly irreversible. She was the last of the Arendelle family, and knowing that made her feel older, sadder and perhaps a little wiser.

That said, Anna was not completely alone. Even now as she journeyed further away from the town, another hand was clasped tightly in hers. It was entirely possible that she wouldn't have survived this experience if not for him. He was steady, reliable and sensible in ways that she could never be. True, he was not dashing, exciting or mysterious, as the Prince Charmings she had once painted in her head. But there was something refreshing about his frankness; his dry wit; his sincerity. In her world, where too often feelings were either hidden or falsified, it could only be good to have someone as honest as him.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" her blonde companion asked as the textures below their feet changed from rough rubble and stone to leaves scattered on dirt. For him, time was extremely precious. He worked twelve hours for six day a week in the coal mines. Between feeding his family and caring for his Sven, he still made time to be with her. Whether it was just having meals with her, or talking to her, or running these strange errands with her, he made the effort. He never said so in words, but he showed it in actions that he would be there for her - to be her pillar of strength, her steady constant.

She was close to his family as well. Though she had moved back to the empty shack that Elsa and her had once shared, she spent most of her time with them and the people of the Hob. She still took odd jobs like floor sweeping, or house-building or laundry, but people had noticed a change in her. The solemnity and determination by which she had carried out each task earned their respect, and they saw her less as the lost soul who had wandered into their enclosure by misfortune and more like a brave young woman battling hardship. Anna knew this because Kristoff had told her so, from the gossiping that he had overheard from his mother. People started to say that she reminded them of her father back when he was a mayor. To that, she shook her head and laughed. Elsa was the one like Father, not her. She was not very smart, nor very good, and she certainly wasn't as brave as they made her out to be.

Her lack of courage was precisely why she hesitated at Kristoff's question. The cowardly part of her didn't want confrontation, but at the same time, there was ache in her that needed closure desperately. She had been postponing this long enough, and now that Victory's Tour was coming to their District, she had best get it out of the way. It was gnaw her insides for forever if she didn't. "Yes."

So they marched on. Soon scattered leaves and dirt gave way to stone slabs glued to the ground. District 12 was a small district, so it had been agreed amongst its people that its land was better used by the living than the dead. Thus, the graveyard here was small and overcrowded patch of grey. Over time, bodies had been stacked over older bodies to save space, turning the site into a little hill of dirt and rotting remains. Standing tombstones had been done away with, replaced by flat panel bearing the names of the deceased.

With so many names carved below their feet, it took the duo both a while to find the one they were looking for. At last, they spotted it - the fresh grey of newly-installed slate tablet. For now, it was recognizable amongst the moldy, broken slabs around it, but one day, wear and tear would wash away its color and it would fade in with the rest, joining the ranks of the forgotten. Anna would be glad when that day came, for heartbreaks were not memories she treasured.

"Do you want me here?" Kristoff's voice was soft, as if afraid to break the stony silence.

"No." Then she thought through this again. "Wait, I mean. Yes. Yes, please stay."

At this point, Anna did realize that there was actually precious little that he would not do for her (one of that little being to harm Sven, his reindeer friend, in any way) and it occurred to her despite all the changes that had happened her over the last seven or so months, he was the best thing that came out of it. Perhaps remembering old heart breaks was not all that bad. As long as the pain of betrayal stung, she would appreciate how wonderful he was.

With her slender palm still gripping into his calloused one, Anna stared down at the name etched on the grey plate. As if going through a measured ceremony, she bent herself slightly to let the worn daffodils tumble from her hands, over the engravings. She then straightened herself upright, gazing down at the panel with a definite contempt.

Finally, Anna said, "I still hate you."

Was that chill in the breeze? Even the warmth of sunlight pouring down overhead could not mask the iciness of her tone.

"You pretty much crushed all my childhood fantasies." Her free palm folded itself into a fist, and even then she was almost shaking it at that stone face. "You lied. You cheated – in more ways than one. Worse of all, you betrayed my sister. If you were alive right now, I would probably kill you myself."

There was something horrifying about how murderously calm she was. Even her present boyfriend, who was used her swings of temper by now, was slightly alarmed at how steely she was – frozen, stiff and resentful. It reminded him too well of another cold young woman that had lived in the Arendelle house.

But then Anna let out a sigh and relaxed her shoulders. The fierce hate in her expression softened, becoming muted and almost pitying. "But still, not even you deserved the Games. No one deserves the Games."

Indeed, no matter how much she did hate him, she would have never condemned him to such a fate. Even monsters didn't deserve to die in such a cruel, undignified, lonely manner.

They left the gravesite fairly quickly after that to go to their next destination – her childhood home. Her father, having passed on while he had been in office, had been buried on the old mayor's manor grounds. There his grave lay in an abandoned, but still delightful, garden cluttered with overgrowth and weeds. Her mother was buried besides him and that was where their eldest daughter joined them eventually.

The tattered metal gates of the estate still stood before the ruins of the manor and a gentle push was enough to make them swing open. Anna gazed down on the heap of burnt wooden planks and charred stone blocks, which were now folded into nets of vines. Crocuses of various shades had somehow continued to thrive around the wreckage without the gardener's care, for it would seem that the late Mrs. Arendelle had planted a strong breed indeed. Anna had never had to buy flowers for her own family, for all year round there were plenty of different shades available here.

She plucked a few and Kristoff helped her. Together, they created three small bouquets. The two of them then approached the erected gravestones, where Anna placed her new bouquets alongside her old ones. First for her father, who was described as 'honorable, hardworking, respected mayor, husband and father'. The next was for her mother, whose epitaph called her 'kind, gentle wife and mother'. The last was stone bore nothing but the name, for it was illegal to etch epitaphs on the graves of fallen tributes.

Yet after she lay down the last of her crocuses, Anna noticed that there was a marking there she had she had not seen before. "Kristoff, look at this."

The blonde boy immediately crouched down next to her, peering at the odd little symbol that she pointed at. It was carved into the stone, but the roughness of the texture suggested the one who did it did it in haste. It did strike Anna that it might be graffiti, but it didn't like obscene, insulting or even random. It was just a circle with a letter 'G' intertwined with it. The letter itself, rather containing a semi-circular curve and two straight lines, was drawn with only five straight lines, giving it a rather jagged look.

"I've never seen anything like that before," Kristoff admitted, finally standing back up again. "Was it there last time?"

"No," she said definitively. "I wonder what it could mean."

"Or maybe it's had always been there and you just didn't notice," Kristoff suggested dryly. She sent him a cross look, to which he defended himself, "It has happened before. Don't pretend it hasn't."

He didn't think that she was perfect, nope, but like she had said, he was honest.

After they gave up trying to figure out where it was the tombstone makers' trademark or it was indeed graffiti, they left the crumbled estate and walked her back to town, where most of the population was expected to be for the afternoon.

On the way, he asked, "Will you be alright?"

Anna shrugged helplessly. She honestly didn't know. Bursting spontaneously into tears kind of stopped about a week after the Games ended, and she had learned to give people solemn nods if they should, in low tones, give her their condolences. But just an two hours from now, she would be forced to stand on a stage while some Capitol-loving Career read a so-called eulogy for her sister (written by the Capitol escort, no doubt), broadcasted for all of Panem to see. She didn't know if she would break down into sobs or rupture into a rampage.

"Hey, if you don't want to look at her later, just look at me." He squeezed her hand comfortingly. "I'll be in the crowd somewhere."

"And how am I supposed to find you in the wash of people? Hmmh?" Anna let herself smile a little as she teasingly reached up to tug at his cap, dragging it off such that it's almost falling off. "By your unmanly blonde hair?"

Kristoff sighed as he readjusted the cap, brushing her hand away. "If emasculating me helps, then by all means."

They parted, because she needed to get a collar-pin from her home – that was, the house that belonged to her sister and her, and now just belonged to her - and he needed to change into his best coat. Kristoff planted a kiss on her forehead before they did, hoping that the sweet gesture would be of some comfort and she appreciated it the thought. The bitterness stirring in her chest however did not subside.

When Anna did arrive at her zinc-roofed residence, she was aghast to find that the door was swung open and there were two armed Peacekeepers standing outside. Another smartly-dressed Capitol attendant donning black body armor met her as she hurried forward, having to hitch her dress above her ankles as not to stumble.

"Miss Arendelle," he greeted her with a slight nod of his head. "We were hoping to catch you before the Tour presentation."

"'We'?" Anna echoed, staring at the guard. Her eyes flitted briefly to the windows of the house and through the fogged glass, she made out the figure of someone standing behind it. His skin was tinted purple, an appearance that had once scared her but not anymore, and his glassy eyes scrutinized her. Then she knew what exactly this was about. "Oh."

"We just have a few questions," the attendant continued, gesturing towards the door. "Won't you come in?"

"Yes, of course," she answered, because she knew that she didn't really have a choice. Her steps were heavy she climbed up the steps to the porch, and the heavy steps of the guards followed her menacingly.

Every time these Capitol people visited her, it was unannounced and unexpected. The first time it occurred, she had been frightened out of her wits, fearful that she had committed some offence that didn't know about. The second time it happened, she had been tensed, wondering what exactly these visits were for and whether they would be repeated. By the third time, she had become rather bored with these, though she had never said so outright to them lest they take offence and punish her. But all the same, she didn't know what they were looking for in these visits. The questions were always the same, so her answers were always the same. There was nothing new to be gained with these exercise.

"Miss Arendelle," was how she was received as she entered her living room. By the way the Capitol-bred doctor had met her, it would almost seem as if it was his home she had intruded upon rather than the other way around.

"Dr. Boggs," Anna said politely, nodding. She was glad he didn't offer to shake her hand, because she disliked the rough, scaly textures of his palm. She used to think the Capitol escort that conducted the Reaping every year was a strange-looking creature, but compared to this man - who was more like a walking snake than a man - that Capitol escort was quite ordinary in appearance.

"Take a seat, won't you?" Dr. Boggs pointed his pen towards the worn armchair across him. He himself was sitting in a shiny plastic chair that was probably brought in by his own assistants. Of course, the sky would fall before a Capitol official would sit on the moth-chewed furniture of a District 12 peasant.

Anna did seat herself down, glancing nervously at the hand-wound clock hanging from the wall. "Please, Dr. Boggs," she began, trying not to fumble on her words in her nervousness, "the Victory Train would be arriving any moment. I'm supposed to report to-"

"Yes, yes, I'm aware that your presence is expected at the Tour presentations." He brushed her concerns off as he opened a page on his writing pad, an item that he never failed to bring every time he came here. "I just wanted to ask your questions again, to clarify a few details about your sister and also the incident that had resulted in that." He indicated his pen this time to her head, but Anna knew that he was referring to the lock of white hair looped above her right ear.

Inwardly she sighed, but outwardly, she conceded to the little exercise. She didn't like thinking about 74th Hunger Games. She certainly didn't like being interrogated about Elsa, who, despite being an imperfect sister with extraordinary powers, deserved to rest in peace. However, cooperating with the Capitol people was infinitely better than arrested or sent to prison, so Anna just went along with it.

"Did you know that your sister, Elsa Arendelle, possessed powers of ice and snow?"

She answered the way she always did, "I did when I was very little, until Elsa's ice blast froze my head and I forgot it."

"And how do you know this now if you had forgotten it before?" The question was always asked in a taunting tone, as if catching her at a lie.

But Anna always held fast, replying unblinkingly, "My sister said so during the 74th Hunger Games. It was broadcast for all of Panem to see, so you must have seen it too."

She guessed that they wanted her to slip up, to say that she had known about her sister's power all along and had been hiding them. It might be enough to charge her as guilty and place under a firing squad - for hoarding a mutant and hiding 'vital' information from the Capitol, maybe. Sadly for them, and perhaps her, it wasn't true.

"Surely during all these years living together with your sister, you should have noted some evidence of your sister's abilities," Dr. Boggs noted rather coldly. "I find it quite implausible that you knew absolutely nothing about them."

"She was very good concealing them, sir," was all Anna replied. Elsa had been excellent at hiding secrets. Too excellent.

Dr. Boggs went on to the next question. "In your knowledge, do you know if Elsa had ever hurt anyone in the same way she had done for you?"

"No, but I don't still she would-"

"Do you know of anyone else surviving such an attack from Elsa?"

"I wouldn't call it atta-"

"To the point, Miss Arendelle. Yes or no."

"No."

"Have you met anyone of similar abilities to your sister?"

"No." This was followed by a snort. "Even when I saw her doing all that 'ice magic' in the Games, I didn't quite believe it myself."

"Not even your parents? Any relatives of yours?"

"My parents? No, of course not. I have no other relatives."

"What about yourself? Do you have any powers?"

"No. I'm completely ordinary." No matter how many times she said the same thing over and over, Anna felt that they never really believed her. Dr. Boggs nodded, his reptilian fronds bobbing back and forth as he did, yet he would still come back and ask the same idiotic question another day.

"With regard to your recovery from the ice-blast," he said, flipping through his writing pad, "who was the doctor who did the operation on you?"

She had to take in a breath before answering. If not, the irritation in her voice would have been far too prominent. "I don't remember, but as my sister had said during the Games, it was the old town doctor."

"Who is more coincidentally dead," Dr. Boggs remarked, sounding just as disbelieving as he looked.

"A pity, if not you could ask him questions instead," the brunette girl said snippy, barely able to keep her tone neutral. What exactly was he probing for? She really didn't know anything!

"Do you think the present town doctor have knowledge about your treatment?"

Anna shrugged. "I've never seen him before. He's too expensive. Besides, he kind of young. I don't think he has ever spoken to the doctor who operated on me."

Perhaps her frustration was more obvious than she had thought, for the purple-skinned Capitol doctor finally folded up his writing pad, straightening himself, ready to leave. "Well, thank you so much for your patience, Miss Arendelle."

"No problem at all," Anna lied, relief washing over her only for new dread to set in. She wasn't looking forward to the Victory presentation that came after this.

"I know that you're in a hurry, now, but just one last question." He gazed towards her, his cold eyes bearing into hers. "Does the term 'Man in The Moon' mean anything to you?"

The girl was taken aback by the oddness of the question, but her answer was near immediate. "No, I have no idea what it is. A 'man in the moon'? That's weird idea."

"What about 'the Big Four'? 'The Guardians'? Do any of these mean anything to you?"

She shook her vigorously.

"Alright then." A thin smile stretch across his reptilian countenance as he rose to her feet. "Thank you, Miss Arendelle. You best hurry to the square now. We'll leave shortly ourselves."

"Thank you." She scrambled up in a hurry. Darting over to a shelf to grab the coal pin that Kristoff had given her before, she all but fled straight out of the door. Again, it was as if this wasn't her own house.

The Capitol official and his associates didn't leave at once, for the former was still absorbed in pouring through his notes. Many of the questions were repeats, because he was looking out for consistency. Truths didn't change, but lies could be easily forgotten. Unfortunately, many of her answered had remained the same, except the part where she talked about the present town doctor.

She had described him as 'too expensive' – a term that she hadn't used before. Considering the hovel she lived him, Randall Boggs could understood why the District 12 peasant thought that way. The town doctor was often seen by the merchant class of the District, who undoubtedly were more capable of paying his fees. The impoverished denizens usually just succumbed to their ailments and died. Moreover, she brought up a good point. The person who did operation on her when she was a child had to be skilled enough a surgeon at least ten years ago. From the check-ups that his assistants had done in the town, he knew that she was right. The current doctor had begun practice only five years ago, whereas the old doctor had died seven years ago.

Randall sighed. Dead end again. Unless…

Unless his hunch was right and the ice mutant had been lying during identity of the one who conducted the surgery on her sister. After all, District 12 was such a downtrodden place. Where was its doctor going to get the training to perform such a complex operation? There were only available in the Capitol. Moreover, the equipment and medicines required would be far too expensive.

And then, the pieces fell into place.

Who were the only people in Districts that had wealthy and had connections to the Capitol? There were only two types - the mayors and the …

"How many victors does District 12 have?" Randalls asked one of his assistants out of the blue.

The assistant seemed startled at his question, but still answered quickly, "Only one that's alive, sir. They call him Pabbie in these parts."

"Pabbie? Yes," Randall said, still deep in thought, "I remember him now." An old interview episode played in his mind. It was filmed around fifty-three years ago. It was expected that all victor took up a hobby or talent of some kind to occupy the excessive amounts of free time, and the products of that talent was often showcased on Capitol television in between President's Addresses. It created quite a stir when a humble victor from District 12 devoted himself to study what he called 'healing arts'.

The reptile-like Capitol official turned sharply to his assistants and to his guards. "Clear the place. After the Tour presentation, we're going to pay Twelve's Victor's Village a little visit."

District 5

Victory Tours were supposed to be a string of fun little visits around the districts. All victors went though it a few months after their Games. It always started with the victor's district, then from District 12 to District 1, before ending off at the Capitol. It was a way of keeping the Games fresh in people's minds while waiting for the next one.

Before her entourage had boarded the train, other victors from home had warned her not to be perturbed by what she saw. Other districts were very different from Two, they said, and that was just the way things were. Astrid hadn't really taken their words to heart until she got a good look at them herself.

District 12 had been a shock for her. All the buildings around seemed to be either decayed or crumbling. The homes were a little more than metal tents. Its people were subdued, unexcited folk, wearing simple, shoddy yet clean garments, nothing like the spirited citizens of Two.

District 11 was worse, with high walls surrounding it and electric fences scaled all around its plantations. Its people wore bruises and scars along with their patched clothes. There were so many children there, scruffy, dirty little things with hollow eyes. The hunger in their gaze reminded her of the times she had starved, yet what she suffered could only be a fraction of theirs. An air of gloominess loomed over the District of Agriculture and she couldn't wait to leave.

As they went down the line, the District conditions improved, though not by much. District 10 felt just as awful as District 11, but its population was smaller, so the state of depilation did not seem quite as severe. District 9 was more or less the same. District 8's people were better dressed, but their expressions were grimmer. District 7 bore cold indifference as well, for they certainly had better things to do then listen to yet another ex-career boast their victory. District 6 was granted uneasy welcome. After a while, everything sort of blended together. Rusted metal gates. Musty old factory plants. Figures bent over fields of crops. Forlorn, hopeless faces.

Even travelling on the luxurious monorail gradually descended into a blur. The delicious food and the lavish furniture was abhorrent to her simple, warrior self, as they had been the first time she was had ridden the train to the Capitol. The other passengers also did not provide much amusment, for there was only her hook-handed mentor, the Capitol escort and her preparation team. The latter two annoyed Astrid to no end, for she had no love of dressing up or gossiping about trivial things as Capitol citizens did, so she avoided them like the plague. Gobber provided familiar and cheery companionship in the foreign environment, but she did not know him as well as she did Stoick and could not bring herself to speak of the troubles in her heart. And many troubles did plague the victor of the 74th Hunger Games. The 'fun' Victory Tour triggered many an unpleasant memory.

Her job in the entire presentation was to make a speech at every district, which would be televised all over Panem. She didn't write it herself – her Capitol escort did. It was a dull, insincere thing that she repeated to the weary cattle of citizens in every district. Adding personal comments about the tributes from the district in question was expected but not mandatory, especially if she had no connection to them. Though she had many allies, there was only one that she considered worthy of her sentiment and he was from own district. That saved her a lot of speech-drafting time.

It didn't mean that she didn't remember the other tributes though. The Capitol was very adamant for her to remember, it seemed, and for the Districts to remember too. Every time she visited a District, there would be two special platform erected in the middle of the listening crowd. Those were where the families of the fallen male and females tributes from that District would stand. The faces of the two tributes themselves would be displayed on the screen behind their mournful families, glaring down at her, hating her for living while they could not.

While it was unlikely that the deceased could ever take revenge, Astrid kept with an axe under her pillow. You never know.

Some nights when she couldn't sleep, Astrid would seat herself on the polished velvet chair in the corner of her cabin, where she got a perfect view of the door. She would lean herself back in the chair, lay her axe over her lap and watch the door the way a hawk watches a mouse for the rest of the night, until she fell asleep.

She couldn't really explain to her prep team why they sometimes found her dozed off in a chair in the morning, clutching her axe tight. They would never understand that as irrational as it was, it made her feel better, and they fussed when little cuts started appearing on her arms and legs whenever she hugged the axe to close to her body, claiming that it ruined her complexion completely. In the end, it was Gobber who defended her, telling them to let her sleep the way she wanted. It was from looking into the old victor's eyes that she found empathy and realized that despite the hearty façade they usually wore, not all of District 2 victors were oblivious to burden of the Games.

Hence, one morning, she found herself blinking awake after hearing rapping on the door. Aches burned on her back and legs due to the uncomfortable positions they had been held at, so it took several groggy minutes before Astrid could stretch them out fully. By the time she crawled herself off the chair, the door had already slid open and her Capitol escort, looking as if a pot of blue glitter had just been dumped over his head after he had garbed himself with seashells, stepped in.

"C'mon along now, Astrid," he called to her in his maddeningly affected accent. "We're almost there and you're not even dressed up."

If he hadn't exited the very next second, he might have left with an axe in the head.

Her prep team had thirty minutes to transform her from a haggard, nonplussed teenager into the epitome of warrior beauty. Despite the airhead chatter, they were good at what they did, and her stylist had her garbed in a luxurious fur coat and yet another spiked belt. It was only after they set the metallic band over her forehead did she feel fully dressed. She was however not permitted to bring the axe with her, though no true warrior travelled without a weapon.

"Ready to go, lass?" Gobber called her as he detached the mug appendage from his wrist and twisting on his hook as replacement. His own garb was formal, but significantly more comfortable, for he wasn't expected to appear on stage like she was.

To be honest, she would never be ready. District 5 tributes were probably the highest on her list of people that she didn't want to remember, next to the District 1 girl that came so close to killing her.

Astrid took one last look out of the mirror before her prep team ushered her out of the train car, her stocky mentor following behind. An armed guard of Peacekeepers awaited them outside, and they were directed to a SJ-7, an armored truck-like military vehicle, which would be their transport for the road. Such had been the same when they were in other districts.

From what Astrid had heard from the sickening, whinny Capitol escort, such methods of the transport were unusual for they weren't very festive. But some of the Peacekeepers who had accompanied them, being from District 2 as well, had mentioned briefly that certain Districts have not been all that peaceful. The choices of transport vehicles were hence part of safety protocol. Astrid could not help but wonder whose safety the soldiers referred to.

They were taken straight to the Justice Building. From a distance, Astrid could see the crowds of people already gathered in front of the building's verandah, where she was to make her speech.

They drove up to the back of the building, where were greeted by a tall lady in green upon alighting the truck.

"Welcome to District 5." Despite the heavy mood set by the Peacekeepers assigned all around the entrance, the warmth that she emitted that helped to settle some of the queasiness building in the Astrid stomach. The woman, who probably their hostess, brightly smiled at the entourage. She then turned to her and held a hand out. "Congratulations on your victory."

"Thank you," Astrid said, shaking the offered hand. "Are you the mayor?"

The woman laughed. It was a very refined laugh; not too loud to be boisterous, yet not too soft to sound meek. "No. My husband is. He's preparing to make the speech." She gestured at the door. "Why don't you come inside? It'll be starting very soon."

Astrid and the entourage followed the mayor's wife into Justice Building. It was better maintained then those of other Districts, for the power-generation paid better as a vocation than the agriculture-based ones. The wallpaper had yet to yellow and the wooden flooring below their feet was well-polished. The crystal lamps on the sides of the walkway were sparkling. In the air, the scent of warm bread and grilled meats wafted in towards them. Gobber remarked something about getting this over with quickly so that they could eat, which earned a twitter of polite laughter from their hostess and wild chortles from the Capitol crew. However, Astrid felt goosebumps running up her skin as she noted the white-armored soldiers positioned along their route, submachine guns displayed prominently.

They were taken to a hall which stood directly behind the verandah. The wooden doors leading up to the performance stage were now still closed, but Astrid could hear the Panem anthem ringing out in the square, as it usually did before the ceremony began. She then spotted what must have been a giant of man. He was almost as large and muscular as Stoick, dressed in an uncomfortably formal suit which clashed horribly with the crimson curls that covered his beard and his chin.

It was then Astrid remembered one small, but extremely important detail that she had neglected until today.

"Fergus, dear, do you have your speech cards with you?" the kindly hostess spoke to the brutish mayor.

Astrid swallowed and took a step back, hoping that despite the bright blue blouse and her gleaming spike belt she might somehow blend herself into the background.

She didn't stand a chance, for the Mayor of District 5 glanced towards his wife and thus towards the victor that graced their presence today. His grim expression turned into a fierce scowl, one that darkened his whole countenance.

"Yes, Elinor, I do," he answered in a gruff tone, but his eye were glued to Astrid. If looks could burn, she would be nothing more than a smoldering pile of ash.

And could she blame him? His daughter had been lost to the Games, and she, the redheaded tribute's greatest rival, had won.

"Good." Mrs. Mayor smiled brightly, but Astrid had at this point realized that the pleasantness she showed was a form of defense, a way to diffuse the tension between her husband and the visiting company. "Now, the anthem's wrapping up, dear. That's your cue."

They must have rehearsed this, for just as the anthem ended, the doors of the hall were pulled open, exposing the company in within the Justice Building to the crowds waiting below the verandah. The mayor climbed the steps up the stage, and there he gave his obligatory speech. Astrid never really bothered listening to those speeches in the other Districts, for they were all more or less the same. However, as she heard him read words such as 'our glorious nation' and 'thankful to our rulers at the Capitol', there was a hardness in his voice, almost turning what should have been sweet rhetoric into coarse sarcasm. There were shouts from the crowds woven with jeers.

From her position off the stage, she noted that a perimeter of Peacekeepers surrounding the listeners of the tour presentation. There were two layers of them; the ones in front with shields and the ones behind with automatics at hand. All stood to attention, alertness seemed to have heightened by the restlessness of the crowd.

"What's going on?" she hissed to Gobber, feeling uneasiness rising up her system.

Before her mentor could say anything, she felt Mrs. Mayor – mother of the fallen District 5 girl – tap her on the shoulder. The smile stretched on the older woman's face was thin with worry, but she was insistent on maintaining appearances. What good it did, Astrid didn't know.

"It's your time, dear. Get up there." She herself hurried up onto the stage to join her husband.

With much reluctance, Astrid ascended the stairs, and only splatters of applause greeted her. Then cold silence fell, as the liveliness that had been with their Mayor had died in her presence. Again, she saw the wash of faces – dirtied, bruised, scarred. But not hopeless. No. In their eyes, they held a remarkable lightness - a glimmer of hope, something that Astrid had not yet seen during the Games. But that hope alone was hiding something else, something dark that she could not place.

"Won't you say something?" the suggestion came out behind gritted teeth, almost sounding like a growl. The mayor of District 5 glared at her even as he beckoned her forward, a hand raised toward a microphone just on the edge, right in front of the crowd. It occurred to her then that unlike other Districts, there were no raised platforms for the families of the fallen, only the screens – one showing an image of a boy with a tuft of yellow hair, and a girl with brilliant red curls.

But then Astrid realized that maybe there was no need. The Mayor was already standing here on the verandah with his wife and three young boys that she assumed were their sons – the brothers of the District 5 girl. The boys twirled locks were a shade of red that could only be earned by inheritance, so it was impossible to mistake them for anyone else. Astrid saw no representatives for the male tribute, but perhaps he had no family.

The mayor's wife bore a serene expression, but the mayor himself looked like he wanted to rip her apart.

Astrid fought the urge to run. She was from the District of Panem's greatest warriors. She wasn't afraid of anything. Other than her own shadow. And an assortment of nightmares. And a certain redheaded archer.

The sooner she did this, the sooner it would be over.

She stepped forward, confident and proud as people of District 2 had always been. The cards in her hands were crumpled from how she had clenched them, but she merely straightened them between her palms. The tremors that attacked her were barely noticeable when she stepped before the microphone and began reading her speech.

"I would like to thank you all for having me here today. It is a true privilege to be standing here before you all as I share my victory with you. There are few words that I can use to express how my gratitude to the Capitol for granting me a title of victor of the Hunger Games, but one that I do like to use is 'honor'."

Next card. "As citizens of our Great nation, there are many hardships that we face, but honor make all it worth it. To have honor in one's life is to have a beacon in the darkness. And indeed, the greatest beacon that guides us all is the Capitol. What much more can there be in life?"

Next card. "To serve is an honor. To fight is an honor. To die is an honor. To kill-" her hand shook, and she had to still it to keep reading "- is an honor. To win the Games is an honor. As long as it all done in for the glory of the Capitol, whatever it might be, it is the truest honor. There is nothing more than I, or any of us, could ask for, than to be a piece in the grand future that the Capitol holds in store for us."

Her chest tightened as she realized which part of the speech she had come to. Astrid could hardly stop her quivering arms as she drew up the next card. This was what she had been dreading since the beginning of the Tour – reading this in District 5 of all places.

"I would also like to share with you," she read slowly, "the sorrow of your losses. The tributes of this district were great and noble warriors." Without meaning to, Astrid lifted her eyes to the Mayor and his family. The cold gaze that he shot her was unchanged, and she could even feel the hate radiating of the tinier members of this redheaded clan. The only one that showed the slightest sympathy was the Mayor's wife, who nodded kindly. Astrid returned to the cards. "Truly, they have brought honor to their families and pride to their-"

"LIES!"

Astrid recoiled at the savage outcry, so sharp and intense that it sent a fizzle of static running in the feedback. The words on her tongue died as her head jerked up, find a flushed, glowering face staring up at her in the thick throng. He was no youth, by the white of his hair and the wrinkles on his face, but the strength of his bellows could have deceived her to believe otherwise.

"You!" He jabbed a ruddy finger towards her, gnashing as his teeth as he hollered. "Do not pretend that you sympathize with us, you Peacekeeping scum! You do not share our sorrows – you do not deserve to!"

Members of the crowd that surrounded him looked upon with surprise, but there was no reproach in their expression. If Astrid's eyes did not deceive her, some of them appeared to have agreed with what was said.

Peacekeepers lined in the front extended their batons and started to weave their way through the masses, closing in on the craggy old man. He paid them no heed, fixing his scorching gaze upon the blonde victor on stage.

"Read your cards if they placate you," he growled at her, still reeking derision and hate, "but do not pretend that you understand my loss." He thumped a fist against his chest, his harsh voice welling suddenly in emotion. His head was bent forward in grief, making him appear more broken than crazed. "H-he… he was my only son."

And everything clicked together. Astrid compared the old man to the blonde male tribute gazing back at her from one of the projected screens. Why he wasn't up on the verandah like the mayor's family was, she didn't know, but the resemblance was undeniable.

The first Peacekeeper who reached the disruptor of the presentation placed a firm hand on his shoulder. However, with a show of surprising strength, the old man elbowed the soldier hard in the head. The helmet should have protected the Peacekeeper, but it seemed that blow was so powerful that the soldier ended up stumbling back. The people who were gathered around this scene gasped in astonishment as the Peacekeeper's back hit the ground. Astrid didn't know how everyone else on the stage was reacting, because all her attentions were fully channeled to the bizarre scene unfolding before her.

So when the old man snatched the automatic from the fallen Peacekeeper and pointed it towards her, she was aware enough of it to duck.

A shower of bullets had Capitol attendants scuttling over the stage wildly, hands flying over heads as the bullets met glass. Shattered fragments and splinters rained above them as the churn of the automatic cackled on. Only when more Peacekeeper reached the old man did the firing cease. The gun was seized from his hands and Astrid winced involuntarily as she watched a soldier slam the baton down him, sending blood spilling down his forehead. The crowd was in uproar – whether in shock or fear, whether in condemnation or support, she didn't know - but the guards forming the perimeter began marching forward, their shield pressing against the tide of people while the bleeding, now-dazed old man was roughly yanked from the crowd, Peacekeepers hooked to him by the arms.

Astrid felt a gloved hand latch onto her own, and her first instinct was to struggle. "Let go!"

"It's not safe here!" an familiar voice told her and before she could pull away, Astrid was hoisted back up to her feet and dragged away from the crowds, down the steps and back into the hall of the Justice Building. Even as she was led away, Astrid saw a Peacekeeper throw the old man onto the stage, dropped to a kneel, while another pulled his revolver from the holster. The crack of a bullet was muffled by the cries of the crowd and before the old man's limp form fell limp to the platform, the door facing the verandah were drawn to a shut.

Astrid felt her head swirling with shock, disbelief and horror, tossing inside her like waves in a storm. Her heart was slamming against her chest as she tried to compose herself. Yet the explosion of bullets echoed in her mind as she recalled the time that another projectile had nearly killed her. She quickly placed a hand to her chest, feeling for the hole where a dagger had once lodge itself – a dagger had threatened to send her toppling over the edge towards death.

"Astrid, are you okay?"

She whirled around to find herself face to face with a Peacekeeper, the one who had dragged her off the stage. Yet the voice was one she knew. Her throat was parched and she was barely able to croak out, "Fishlegs?"

There was a slight chuckle as the Peacekeeper removed his helmet, revealing the chubby face that she had known growing up. He gave her a small smile.

Despite the harrowing events that just occurred, she was glad. A friendly face was welcome after the cold frowns. "What are you doing here?"

"It's part of training," he told her simply, shooting a grimace towards the shut doors of the hall. "I'm not actually a full-blown Peacekeeper yet."

"I thought you'd spent a year in barracks at least before going out field." It seemed strange to converse about such mundane military details as they did back home, but considering the events that gone down, Astrid was appreciated something that she was accustomed - something that didn't send bile running up her throat.

"They sped up the barracks-side training because they needed more people on the ground," Fishlegs answered. Astrid was about to ask why they would, but when she thought about the jeering, violent population of District 5, she realized she knew the answer.

"Lass, ye alright?" Gobber clambered forward, looking over her anxiously. "Heard some coot from Five lost his h'eed outside. Nasty business, that is." He then noticed Fishlegs standing beside her. "'Eh? Aren't ye that Ingerman boy? Wha' ye doin' 'ere?"

As Fishlegs began yet another explanation of his presence, Astrid's attention drifted across the hall. The mayor and his family were huddled close together on the other side. The mayor was, of course, furious, his face burning scarlet as he quarreled with his wife in hushed, but fervid, tones. The warm lady who had greeted the entourage no longer wore her strained smile, appearing as grim as her husband.

Though she couldn't hear what was said, Astrid knew without a doubt that it had to do with the shooting. She wondered if the Mayor had known the old man. By their ages, she could imagine that they would be friends, - perhaps not the closest of brothers, but drinking buddies, who had shared hardships and dreams along with pints of beer.

By the feet of the couple, the blonde girl saw the three young boys hovering about uncertainly, their adorable miens torn with worry and fear. One of them was whimpering, his thin knuckle twisting against his eye, while another had was squirming next to his mother, trying to get her attention by tugging her sleeve. The last of the redheaded lads accidentally raised his head towards Astrid and for a brief moment, his gaze met hers. She did not know what he had seen in her eyes, but whatever it was, it made him shrink back.

He quickly clutched onto his father's large coat, trying to hide himself behind it, though his father was too absorbed in the heated discussion with his wife to notice. Perhaps the boy might have been too young to understand the hullaballoo, but he was old enough to guess that the strange blonde girl from District 2 had been the cause of it.

She didn't know why it bothered her, but Astrid didn't like the idea of a boy being afraid of her. Yet the blonde tribute from District 5 – a boy just a little older than her, but still a boy - had been more afraid of her, she wouldn't have been able to slam her axe into his back during the Bloodbath.

A sharp jolt of guilt struck her heart as it occurred to her that the death of the old man was on her shoulders now as much as that of his son.

Capitol Undergrounds

Scare Floor

A howl of anguish rocketed off the rafters, ricocheting through the observation deck. A short buffer break was given, before the guard inside the torture chamber pressed the button again. A fizz of electricity spurted out, mixing with a sharp moan.

"Anything yet?"

Randall turned himself from the observation glass to face his superior. He reported wearily, "He's a stubborn old fool. I don't know why he bothers keeping mum. This would've been a lot faster if he just cooperated."

"Less fun though," the Head of the Undergrounds murmured with an amused expression as a flash of electricity appeared again, followed by a mournful cry.

The scientist shrugged. "The screaming gets quite irritating after a while."

"Well, I suppose in such excess, it would," Pitch conceded, the black folds of his robe rustling against one another as he swung about. He peered down the enclosed chamber, where the torture master carried on with their works. "It's pity we can't harness it for some other purpose than deafening ourselves."

"Actually,-" Randall was cut off by a strong yowl – remarkable, considering the age of the one on the torture bed. "Actually," the purple-skinned scientist began again, "I have been working on a prototype of a machine that converts the sound energy from screams into electrical energy. Been at it for a while."

"Really?" Pitch's brow rose with interest. "Why haven't I heard of this before?"

"Calhourn halted the project while she was in charge. Something about it disgusted her. Of course, now we know she's traitor, so that explains the kid gloves on the whole torture deal." Randal made a sneering noise, a mix of annoyance and scorn. "I haven't touched it for months."

"Well, I think you should start it up again." A sadistic visage stretched itself across the greyed countenance. A wicked glint glowed in Pitch's dark eyes. "It would be a remarkable feat indeed if we could utilize a resource that we have in such surplus."

Down in the enclosure, the interrogators on duty had seemed to pause their work for a moment as one of the leaned down towards the subject of torture, listening as the worn old fellow whispered hoarsely into his ear. The interrogator then straightened himself upright and pressed the communicator in his ear.

"Dr. Boggs," the voice of the interrogator crackled through the announcement system of the observation deck. "He's ready to talk."

"Excellent," Randall replied through his communicator on the computer interface. Lifting his hand from the button and prepared to rise from his seat, he asked his superior, "Just wondering, Mr. Black, that after he does give us the information we need, what should we do with him? He is a victor, after all. We can't keep him here forever."

"Then don't," Pitch answered without hesitation. "Arrange him to pass away peacefully with a heart attack. He's an old man. The public won't even blink." He gazed down at the torture enclosure contemptuously. "It seems a light punishment for one who keeps secrets from the Capitol."

Randall considered this for a moment, before remarking, "Fair enough." Of course, it wasn't as if he could have objected to the orders of the Head of the Undergrounds if he wanted to.

As the scientist made his way out of the observation deck, Pitch felt the hair the back of his neck standing – a familiar sensation that came with someone watching him. He whipped himself around, finding that the eyes that were locked on him belonged to a golden-haired Avox, stationed at the back-wall of the deck where he was to render assistance upon orders. The fellow was small, stout figure who was no match to Pitch in height or strength, yet he glared at him with such great intensity.

Pitch merely gazed back at the silent slave in cruel glee. "Don't worry," he said in mocking comfort, "at least he'll never suffer the humiliation you do."

The Avox said nothing, for it was not his place to do so. Moreover, with his tongue removed, it was impossible for him to utter so much as a word. But the fury in his expression spoke volumes.

Pitch could have punished the slave severely, for expressing emotion alone was not permitted of an Avox, but ex-Gamemaker found that it was more entertaining to let him seethe. There was nothing the sad little creature could do anyway. Like the old man hooked to the torture bed, he was too merely a prisoner of the Capitol.

S/N:

This chapter title name is actually in reference to another chapter title name back in The Odd of Five (TOO5), Chapter 10-11: For Those We Love So Dearly. The contrast is that Chap 10-11 of TOO5 was about the interviews of the tributes (my, that was ages ago…) where they talk about their families and people they care about. As for the Victory Tour, unless you have an ally that you were close to, you have basically have talk about all these dead kids that you don't want to care about.

If it wasn't obvious enough, the first grave that Anna and Kristoff visited was Hans'. He's sad, sad guy. And yes, though they might not say so, Kristanna are totally dating by now.

Astrid obviously no Mockingjay – she's quite the opposite, actually. If you don't remember, the male tribute from District 5 was Wee Dingwall. The old man who created the ruckus is thus Dingwall Snr. If you can't remember what exactly happened in the Bloodbath, see first part Chap 14 of TOO5.

I think we all know who the golden-haired Avox is. He's actually been around for some time. Some of you have spotted him way back in TOO5 even. Hehe. Is he significant? Of course not! That's why I waste so much foreshadowing on him.

Up Next:

The Victory Tour goes to the Capitol, and somebody makes a comeback.

A/N:

I used to post my chapter on Sundays. Now I either post them on Saturdays or Mondays. It's all rather odd. Well, consistency is the defense of the weak, I suppose (that maybe a misquote…hmph.)

Guest Mailbox:

SmilingStarcat (Chap 2): Nice to see you around again! Glad that you still like the weird mix bowl that this story is. The 'revival' of Jack and Rapunzel are weird little anti-climax twists that I added in, so I do understand if you found it disappointing or anything – but trust me, they are essential for the story. It's fine to be confused by the snowman part. It's nothing more than a little girl's imagination(...or is it?) I'll try not to drag out the mental problems parts too much, but it has to comeback every now and then to bite our character's in their backs. After all, you never really do leave the Games… Anyway, I love your scattered thoughts! Any little thing is appreciated, so thank you for taking the time to write this!

As usual, I would love to hear your thoughts and collective anguish (when appropriate).

See you in two weeks! (One reader has pointed out to me that this is the last thing that Anna said to her parents before they got on the ship and, well, you know… I'm still going to say it anyway. There are only so many ways I can say it, after all.)

Review. Critique. Ask Questions.