With thanks to Glassgift, AbbyCoraby123 and akuhilangditelanbumi for their reviews of the previous chapter.
Young children, thin and frail, stood in the streets waiting for kindness. Their clothes were ragged and caked in mud, but there was no gentle hand to lead them to a washbasin. Their stomachs were empty, but there was no generosity to be shared; a district that deals in masonry could not eat rock, and handouts in return for products were all the children could hope for from the Capitol. But there were no handouts for those without the figures to earn them that food.
The children went hungry in the cooling summer streets of District 2.
Three children, unrelated but bonded in their mutual hunger, sat together in the dawn with outstretched hands. People would pass them by- some quickly with averted eyes, some slowly with trained disinterest in the ground. They had nothing to spare; any of them. Three children sat with outstretched hands that were empty, their eyes dulled by hunger and thirst, the monotony of their existence.
Abruptly, a large cloth sack crashed onto the paved ground in front of the children. All three stared open-mouthed and glassy-eyed at the sack, before one who could be no older than four stood to inspect the sack more closely. Upon the discovery of food inside, he did not hesitate to inform his compatriots- he settled instead for tearing a hunk of bread from a loaf and jamming it into his mouth. The others caught on soon enough, and soon all three were crouched by the sack, eating the bread and drinking the water that was contained within.
They did not pause to look up at their saviour, and he did not care. He walked away, footsteps echoing on stone flags.
His hand went to his pocket, taking out a small metal box. He paused on the path, against the thinning flow of the masonry workers going to their jobs. He flipped open the box, taking a thin sheet of paper and a small wad of what appeared to be dried grasses. He put the grasses in the paper, rolled it against the box to form a thin cylinder, then flipped the box closed again and put the cigarette in his mouth. Bringing out a match, he leant against one of the many chunks of granite lying in the winding mountain streets, ducking out of the morning wind as he struck the match against the granite and lit the cigarette.
Standing straight again, Theon Veux watched the match burn to the tips of his fingers, then flicked it away before it could scorch him. He
observed the glowing red embers of the match on the rocky ground, before blowing out smoke pensively into the pale golden sky. His breath fogged with the smoke; it was late summer, but in a mountainous region the cold was hardly unexpected.
"Hey!"
Theon toyed with ignoring the voice a moment, before grudgingly turning to address it. Higher up the winding mountain path, a young man with a neck built of corded muscle stood staring at him. Theon took his time removing the cigarette from his mouth.
"Yeah?" He replied, keeping a relaxed tone to his voice in an effort to infuriate him.
"Where've you been?!"
Theon shrugged, unwilling to respond and disinterested in either telling the truth or making up an excuse. The man looked like he wanted to throw one of the head-sized rocks littering the path, and he looked as if he could without issue.
"Get to the center. Now, Veux." A thumping of footsteps and Theon was alone again in the sunrise.
Theon pulled the cigarette from his mouth and held it to the sky for a moment, inspecting the meagre glow of red embers against the pale gradient of blue and gold.
Presently he felt cold air wash against his jacket, and he replaced the cigarette in his mouth and walked up the mountain.
The Training Center had, technically, no real affiliation with the Capitol or the Games. They permitted financial support for a parental figure, in return for taking the child for training in martial arts, weaponry training and emotional retraining- technically, they were not endorsed by District 2 or the Capitol.
Technically, District 2 also did not supply Peacekeepers for the state.
It's strange, Theon mused, how common these technicalities are.
The Training Center was set into the mountainside, glass walls against stone. The single path to its pane glass doors was half a metre wide, and on either side was thirty metres from the ground. After seven years of treading the path, Theon had become adept at it. He looked up to the glass walls, made quick eye contact with half a dozen of the girls training within, winked, then cartwheeled effortlessly across the thin stone path.
That's when a large hand gripped him by the lapels of his jacket and tipped him sideways, and Theon found himself held over the edge of the mountainside by a large man of exceptional height and width.
"Veux." The name was forced out with a rarely-used voice, more breath than sound. A thin scar wound across his throat, and despite best efforts the Capitol never truly fixed the damage done by his opposing tributes.
"You...showboat." The man breathed. Theon was forced an inch further back, and he fought for purchase on the small ledge of stone he had left. "You... are funny."
Theon attempted a weak smile. "You really think so, Bartner? 'Cause I have some good jokes I can-"
Theon was cut off by losing almost all purchase on the ground; he was forced back across the edge, tilted back so far he was at the mercy of the man holding his jacket.
"Being funny...won't help you...with a knife-" Bartner held Theon effortlessly with one hand, and placed the other at Theon's throat. "Here."
Theon nodded weakly, aware assent was now his only choice at the mercy of this man. "You're right."
Bartner stared impassively at Theon with pale blue eyes. For one terrible moment, Theon wondered if he was about to discover the fate of so many that had gone against the will of the Training Center instructors. They had no shortage of waiting applicants.
"Bartner."
The training instructor looked around, then promptly yanked Theon back onto solid ground, standing to attention at the sight of the man in white kevlar armour.
"I do not appreciate seeing my son held over a precipice, Bartner."
Bartner nodded sharply. The Peacekeeper took one short step forward onto the thin path.
"You are a Victor. You know that I, of all people, appreciate that. But if I see you mishandle Theon again... Accidents happen, Bartner, and an autumn landslide is not an unusual matter. Do you understand me?"
Bartner nodded again, breaths a little shorter.
"Leave us."
Bartner left, and Theon was left alone outside the glass walls of the Training Centre with a tall man in white armour.
"Theon." His voice was impassive.
"Father." His voice was equally impassive.
"I did not place you here for you to abuse your position."
Theon's fingers twitched. "Yes, father."
The Peacekeeper wrinkled his nose slightly. "And you are smoking again. The practice will hinder your chances of success in the arena."
"And how would you know?" Theon muttered under his breath.
"What did you just say?"
"Nothing, father."
The Peacekeeper took a short step forward, blue eyes sharp as they bored into Theon's brown ones.
"Do not forget who put you here, Theon, and do not forget where you came from." Theon was tall, but he was taller, and when the Peacekeeper came to stand opposite him he towered over Theon with silent ease.
"You are from the streets, child." Theon felt his cigarette start to burn his lips, but he could not move to take it. "Do not presume I cannot return you to them. Or return you to your street rat siblings. Remember Arya?"
The cigarette burns Theon, falls from his mouth.
"Yes," he manages. "Yes, father."
The Peacekeeper stands closer, eyes burning holes in Theon's. "Train properly. Enter the games. Win the games. That is your purpose. That is your creation. Do not presume to act differently."
Glass may be clearer than stone, but backed against them both, they felt equally as cold. Theon could not tell the difference between them both.
"Yes, father." He murmured.
The Peacekeeper returned his helmet to his head, drew his baton. Theon made an urgent noise before it can be raised, and flicked his eyes to the glass walls of the Training Center. They were being watched.
The Peacekeeper paused. He returned his baton to his belt. With a final lingering gaze, he left.
Theon is still there.
He reaches for his cigarettes.
Theon Veux was submitted by SeungriPanda98- with thanks to them.