The sun was rising outside his window. It painted the sky a gorgeous orange above the Capitol rooftops, but Bellamy had woken long before it. He had hardly slept at all, not that he'd expected to. He had spent his last night before the games tossing and turning, screaming into his pillow for the sister he'd as good as lost.
In the light of day, his face was too pale and there were dark hollows beneath his eyes, but despite his imminent fate, he felt a little better. He hadn't lost Octavia. He stroked her scarlet ribbon, he hadn't lost her. Whatever happened in the games, he could handle that, knowing that she was safe, or as safe as could be, back in Twelve. It was better that it was him, much better. Octavia deserved a chance at life far more than he ever had. He was glad that she could have it, for at least one more year.
Bellamy sighed and swallowed the lump in his throat as he brushed his curls back from his forehead. The view from his window really was beautiful, but not half as beautiful as his baby sister's smile. He tried not to think of how that smile might falter once the claxon sounded and Bellamy was fighting for his life. Instead, he thought about how the rest of Twelve would slip her extra food to keep her content during the games, maybe even offering her a new hair ribbon as comfort. She wouldn't take it, Bellamy knew, she would be watching him across the screens with the only ribbon that could ever hold any meaning. But it would be kind of them to offer.
He washed and dressed sombrely. It didn't matter what he wore, soon he would be given a new outfit for the coming hours, days or weeks, depending on how long he lasted. It could be that it would be the last outfit he ever wore. Bellamy had never cared much about his clothes, but it was a strange thing to think nonetheless.
His mind should be whirring, he knew, thinking about all the possibilities of the arena, the weapons, the supplies, the tributes. But instead, he found himself going about his morning routine in a horrible sluggishness, as though his limbs had already given out and resigned themselves to death. No, he scolded himself, wake up. It doesn't have to be the end, you can fight. Octavia would want you to fight.
So it was with thoughts of his sister held close to his heart that he straightened his back and strode from the room for the last time.
By the time he reached the breakfast table he had almost managed to wipe the dejected grimace from his face and replace it with his usual look full of hatred. He would need that when he faced the other tributes, along with his wits and all his strength.
At the table was the usual feast, and his three companions. Haymitch looked more resigned than ever, with a tumbler glass sloshing to and fro in his hand and a five o'clock shadow across his jaw. Charlotte picked at her meal with shaking hands and a pale face whilst Effie, the ridiculous Capitol escort, tried in vain to lighten the mood. She was tittering on about something when he sat down, but Bellamy ignored her.
His chair scraped uncomfortably against the tile as he pulled it out and Charlotte raised her head at the noise.
"You'll want to eat some of that," Bellamy nodded to her plate which was still piled high with food she had merely nibbled at. He was pleased to hear that his voice betrayed no sign of his fear or his world-weariness. The thought of Octavia burned through him like adrenaline, keeping him alert, keeping him brave.
"I can't," Charlotte squeaked, "I'm too scared to eat,"
"Everyone's scared," Bellamy replied, picking out the foods which would give him the most energy, keep him going for longest.
"You're not. You don't look scared," Charlotte tipped her face upward, her big eyes shining and Bellamy felt his heart lurch. Octavia wasn't the only one who needed his help, not anymore.
"I'm not," He lied with a smile, "Because I've got you to look after me," He shot her a sly wink and elbowed her gently. "Now eat, you need to keep your strength up,"
Charlotte nodded and picked up a piece of bread. Bellamy wasn't sure, but he thought Haymitch might have smiled.
Alodia, the skinny green stylist, wasn't exactly the person Bellamy wanted to spend what could be his last moments with, but she was all he had. So she would have to do.
"Are you nervous?" She punctuated the silence with a voice too loud after the quiet. Bellamy's head snapped up at the sound, his eyes narrowing.
"Not at all, I'm only entering into a fight to the death," Bellamy's scowl could have withered stronger women.
"I was just – never mind," Alodia crossed her legs with a sigh, playing with the golden bangles on her wrist. Her outfit was just as obnoxious as Bellamy suspected, painfully so in comparison with his; the clothes he would fight in, kill in, die in. He swallowed uncomfortably, placing his head in his hands.
Alodia had dressed him in dark brown trousers and boots; sturdy for outdoor wear and running. On his torso he wore a black t-shirt with '12' emblazoned on the sleeves in silver print, but it was hidden by the dark waterproof jacket she had given him. It had a thermal layer, she said, so Bellamy should anticipate cold. It had a multitude of pockets too, ideal for storing small scraps of food, or knives.
Bellamy's mind, which had been so awfully sluggish just hours before, was now whirring so fast he thought he might pass out or explode. His heart thudded behind his ribs, reminding him just how fragile his body was, reminding him his heartbeats were numbered. Of course, he had always known this, but the number seemed much smaller now. The rapid pulse was as if his heart was trying to make up for its lack of time. Stupid, you're just scared. It's the body's normal reaction, idiot. He cursed himself, that sort of thinking would only make it all worse. Instead he tried to focus on his breaths, to keep a steady head. In, out. Count to five. In, out.
"You did very well in your training, I'm sure you'll have lots of sponsors." Alodia interrupted his calming technique. It hadn't been working, but it annoyed him anyway. It was good to have something to be annoyed at, that way he could pretend he was angry instead of scared.
"If I'm not slaughtered in the bloodbath," He snapped, clenching his fists so hard that his nails dug into his palms. Alodia winced.
"I don't think that will happen. I think you have a real chance," She continued with her spiel, her cold eyes desperately seeking his, but Bellamy couldn't bear to look at her.
"Well," He spoke through gritted teeth, "Thanks."
An automated woman's voice rang through the room and Bellamy's heart almost stopped completely. He balled his hands tight into the hem of his jacket to keep from shaking as she began her countdown. He thought of the ribbon tied round his wrist beneath his jacket sleeve and thought of Octavia. She would be watching, waiting for him to emerge onto his pedestal, out into the air. Would she be crying? No, she was stronger than that. The bravest person I know. He could almost hear her voice in his mind, louder than any countdown or Alodia's stiff reassurances.
Bellamy nodded numbly to his stylist and stepped into his tube, his breathing erratic and his heart pumping with all its might.
He thought of Octavia, and worried that he might never see her again. He didn't want to remember her tears as he left; he wanted to see her smile. He wanted –
The glass snapped shut around him and Alodia watched solemnly. How can she be so calm? It took him a moment to remember that she wasn't the one rising to her doom.
He thought of Charlotte in a matching tube somewhere, was she alright? Would she remember their plan? Don't go to the Cornucopia. Look for me, grab supplies closest to you and run. Run away from the fight. Run fast and they won't catch you. Look for me. If I fall, don't wait. Just run. His voice had been calm when he told her on the way to the hovercraft, but he was filled with panic now.
What would the arena look like? Would Charlotte remember? Would Octavia weep? Would he die? Would he die? Would he die?
Bellamy pressed his hands to his eyes and took a long suck of breath. Be calm, he touched the ribbon with his index finger. Be calm.
The tube began to rise, pushing him up through the earth, into the arena. Be calm. It was a plea now, a silent plea to himself.
He rose higher and higher. Alodia was gone from his view. Is Charlotte okay?
A light began to fill his tube as he neared the surface. Will I be able to find her? Please let me find her.
Wind rushed across his face and light temporarily blinded him until he blinked, and his vision was blurs of green.
"Ladies and Gentlemen, let the Annual Hunger Games begin!"
Bellamy swallowed as the commentator began a new countdown; the countdown until he could step down from his pedestal, and begin the fight for his life.
The arena was a vast mass of woodland, with tall coniferous trees stretching out as far as he could see. The pedestals were placed in a wide circular fashion around the golden cornucopia that was placed in the middle of a small clearing. Behind the Cornucopia, across from where he stood, the ground hit a steep incline, behind him, the slope was downward. To his right was a great lake, to his left, only trees. The air was fresh and green and woody, intoxicating and wonderful and reminiscent of home, but he couldn't enjoy it, not like this.
His eyes scanned the pedestals, searching for Charlotte. He spotted her easily, for she was at least a head shorter than all the other tributes. He winced at the thought; they would so easily overpower her.
Her eyes locked onto his and she gave a tiny nod of her head in his direction, signalling which way she thought they should run once the claxon sounded.
Bellamy wasn't sure, he didn't like the idea of heading downhill, he felt vulnerable at the thought of being lower than any tributes that might follow them. But uphill would use more energy, and they would be more easily caught. Besides, there was no way for him to convey his thoughts to her from this distance, so he tipped his chin in agreement.
The tributes either side of him were ones he didn't know by name, the boy from Three and the girl from Six. He swallowed as he looked around for the Careers. The girl from Two was three tributes away from him; he couldn't see the boy, so assumed he must be the other side of the Cornucopia. The boy from One was beside Charlotte.
That worried him, having her stood next to a Career. But he seemed the least dangerous of them, when the claxon sounded; Bellamy was certain he would search for Clarke, not in the least bit bothered by the tiny girl from Twelve beside him.
Bellamy couldn't see Clarke either. A strange thought reached him, and suddenly he hoped she didn't die in the bloodbath. He couldn't say why, it was stupid, he should want her dead as soon as possible, her and all the careers, but now that he knew her name...Well; he just hoped he wouldn't have to be the one to kill her.
The countdown reached the last fifteen seconds and the tributes began poising themselves to run. With a jolt, Bellamy realised he should be doing the same. There was a small rucksack not far from him that he had his eye on. That could have anything in it, but anything was better than nothing. But further away, in the centre of the clearing, propped up against the metal edge of the cornucopia, was the thing he was desperate for; a gleaming silver bow and a quiver bursting with arrows.
Too risky. One part of him argued. You could kill them all with that bow, you need weapons! Another part urged.
Bellamy looked back to Charlotte who was biting her cheek, watching a piece of glinting silver in the grass before her. He inhaled sharply. It's not worth it! He wanted to scream at her, but he was debating a much riskier prize himself. If he died trying to reach the bow, Charlotte would need any weapon she could get. If he died.
Five seconds.
Bellamy tensed his muscles to run, his blood pumping so fast that it was almost painful. His eye caught something silver not far from him, a serrated knife. He had to act fast. Knife, bow, pack, Charlotte.
The claxon sounded and he couldn't think. He lunged from his pedestal with as much force as he could muster, hoisting the pack from the ground as he ran – ran toward the knife. His fingers stretched out, wrapping around the handle, and then he was crashing face first into the ground.
Grass and dirt filled his mouth and someone kicked him, their fingernails scratching at his arm, trying to break his hold on the weapon.
"No!" Bellamy moaned, rolling over onto his back and using all his strength to throw the attacker off him. They weren't as strong as he was, and not as heavy. They were sent tumbling to the ground. It was the girl from Six who had been next to him. Her eyes were wide with terror, fixed on the knife in his fist as she scrambled backwards on her hands and feet.
Bellamy turned away from her, and ran.
As he ran, he looked around wildly for Charlotte, trying not to process the sickening thuds caused as blades hit bodies and the screams that followed.
"Bellamy!" Her voice reached him before he saw her, but she was there at the tree line, clutching something in her arms. "Hurry!" Her high-pitched cries carried across the clearing but Bellamy didn't need to be told twice. He sped his pace, sprinting the remaining distance. As he reached her, he grabbed her tiny hand and they disappeared beneath the cover of the trees.
Bellamy looked over his shoulder as the trees grew thicker, and could just make out the ground, already stained red with blood.
"Okay, I think that's far enough. We can rest now," Bellamy panted, leaning forward to rest his hands on his thighs as he caught his breath. They had been running for what felt like hours through the forest.
It was a downhill run, which should have made it easier, but it didn't. At one point there had been a steep drop and Bellamy had tripped, rolling down the slope into a thorny bush.
He surveyed his palms; the tiny grazes stung, but that was surely the least of the wounds he would be experiencing.
"You okay?" Charlotte spluttered, short of breath, as she stepped toward him, taking his hands in hers.
"It's just a few scratches," He yanked his hands back in dismissal.
"That wasn't what I meant,"
Bellamy knew what she meant. There were a number of things he could've answered; tired, thirsty, hungry, upset, absolutely terrified. But he couldn't bring himself to tell her any of that, so instead he surprised both of them and pulled her in for a tight hug. He even went so far as to stroke her mousy hair. It reminded him of his sister. He tried to bite back the thought of her, he couldn't do anything for her now, but he could still do something for Charlotte.
The loud boom of a canon made them both jump; the bloodbath was over then. They waited quietly until the count was done.
"Eight," Bellamy said hoarsely. He wondered who they were. It doesn't matter, he shook his head, it only mattered that he and Charlotte weren't among them. He would see who they were once the sky was dark and they displayed the nightly death toll.
He shivered, though he was still warm from exertion.
"Let's see what we've got in the way of supplies shall we?" He asked with a forced brightness and Charlotte nodded eagerly.
She had scavenged a small belt of knives and a bag of dried fruit. Bellamy had his knife, and in his pack was a vial of purification tablets, a few strips of dried meat, a coil of wire and to his absolute exultation – a two litre bottle of water. It wouldn't last them long, he knew, but it meant they could rest. And that was a small wonder.
They moved a little further through the forest with their remaining hours of daylight, taking it at a walking pace so as not to use too much of their energy or their water supply. But once darkness began to fall, Bellamy suggested they stop for the night. It would do them no good stumbling around blind.
They couldn't risk building a fire, not when he knew the Careers would be out hunting stray tributes. But even as the sky turned from grey to black the air grew increasingly cold.
"Here," Bellamy unzipped his jacket and slipped it from his body, offering it to Charlotte instead. Her brows furrowed at the gesture and a small crease appeared on her forehead.
"No, you can't," She shook her head, but her eyes remained fixed longingly upon it. He could see the war within her, she was a selfless child, she didn't want Bellamy to suffer, but she was cold. He could see it in the paleness of her face and lips, in the way her body shook slightly with visible shivers.
"Oh go on, I'll be fine. You need it more than I do," Bellamy managed to force his lips up into a smile and after a moment's hesitation, Charlotte took the jacket gratefully. It was huge on her, hanging down to her knees, but she did regain some colour.
Bellamy tried to ignore the goose bumps that were appearing upon his bare arms. She needs it more. She's more important. Octavia would have given up her jacket. Bellamy sighed, settling into a sitting position against the trunk of a tree. It was uncomfortable, but it would keep him awake. Charlotte was nuzzled against his side.
"Should we have some of the food?" She whispered in the dark, her eyes shining slightly as they reflected a great silver moon above them.
"Yeah," Bellamy squeezed her close to him. "Just a bit. Tomorrow, I'll hunt," He was a good hunter, and already they had passed animal tracks and heard the rustle of them in bushes. No, Bellamy wasn't worried about their food supply, as long as the animals were edible, they would be fine.
That didn't ease his mind though, there was no shortage of things to worry about; finding water, the cold, the other tributes, the weapons he had seen piled inside the Cornucopia. He was reminded painfully of what the Careers could do with those weapons when the Capitol anthem rang out suddenly through the hush and the seal lit up the sky.
Charlotte hid her eyes as the faces of the dead appeared above them. Bellamy couldn't blame her, but he had to look, had to know. The eight dead tributes were no one he knew by name, but he had seen them all during training, even talked to some of them. The girl from Six who had tried to steal his knife was up there, he wondered who had got her. Both tributes from Eight and Ten were gone, along with the girls from Three and Eleven and the boy from Five.
All the Careers had made it, of course. He wondered how many of the kills had been by them, most of them, he would've guessed. Had the princess killed anyone? She was still out there. Bellamy wasn't sure whether he was relieved about that or not.
He didn't want her to die, but she had to. They all had to, if he and Charlotte were to win. They had to win; he had to see Octavia again. Bellamy had the urge to stroke his ribbon, an urge he always got when he was panicked or scared, but that arm was wrapped around Charlotte now.
Octavia isn't here, he reminded himself, Charlotte is. He tilted his head to watch her, her arms curled around her body and her eyelids drooping. He was all she had now, he couldn't let her down.
"Go on," He leant forward to press an uncharacteristic kiss to the top of her head, "Sleep. I'll take the first watch,"
A/N This chapter felt really dramatic to write so I hope you felt the same when reading it! Please leave me a review to let me know what you think :) - J x