Chapter Three: The Teacher of All Things

Welcome, Readers, to District Three. Just a reminder to keep an eye out for perspective alliances, whether you've submitted a tribute yourself or are an outside eye. Feedback is also welcome. I don't bite, I promise. And . . . as always . . . The Hunger Games is not mine.

Thanks to jakey121 and Copycat121 for Ailis and Raivel respectively.

Cast:

Leunam Valeres – Victor of 5th Annual Hunger Games (at age 16) now 29

Iris Coralin – Victor of 6th Annual Hunger Games (at age 17) now 29

Doran Harper – Escort

POV Leunam Valeres:

Leunam couldn't help but smirk. He knew Iris frowned upon it, but through so many years of standing before the crowd as the two tributes were selected, he'd grown numb, perhaps worse than numb. Just the night before Iris had accused him of being the Capitol's tool, playing into their game. Perhaps she was right. Maybe it was just the remnants of rebel blood in her veins. Leunam couldn't help being pleased with how his life was going, though. Yes, he had to teach tributes how to fight, but it was only for a month each year. Emotions were for those less disciplined, less realistic. He'd hidden in logic. That was how he had won his games and how he had helped Iris win hers. Now life was progressing as he'd planned. They were on course to marry and, if need be, usher their children through the games. It was a small price to pay for the protection provided to them by the Capitol.

He and Iris held hands as they took the stage. What better way to demonstrate the triumph, the stability of being victors? They had both survived hell with their wits intact and, Leunam would say, were better for it. He was grateful he stood beside Iris, her black dress willowing about her and her face already wearing a look of mourning. He cleared his throat and glared at her and she put on her smile, not the one that lit her hazel eyes like a sunlit field, but one that convinced the crowd she was happy. He and Iris were the perfect team when they met tributes, she was the warm one and he was the strict one. He hoped someday soon they would be equally adequate parents.

Doran stepped to Iris's side just as the Capitol anthem finished. If anything he seemed more nervous than either of the two of them. His worst fear was mis-pronouncing someone's name, he'd confessed this morning, and somehow getting the wrong person onstage. His hands were literally shaking as he pulled the girl's name from his bowl.

"For the young ladies, please welcome to the stage" Leunam could tell he was biding his time, crossing his fingers that he pronounced the name right; he almost chortled at the escort's agony, but Iris squeezed his hand so hard that he nearly cried out. "Ailis Neilan".

There was an audible gasp from the eighteen-year old section and Leunam could tell at an instant that the tribute this year hadn't seen this coming by a long shot. The crowd parted to reveal a trembling young woman. Her hazel eyes spread wide as she willed herself to take a step forward towards the platform. She took a deep breath, steadying herself and shook out her arms in a deliberate motion. One trembling step after another she made her way towards the platform, her pace becoming steadier at every step, her long blonde hair struggling to free itself from the headband she had tied it back with. Finally she was at the platform and she had done it. She hadn't cried a single tear. Leunam could sense that for her this was a small victory; she would need it in the days to come. Iris clearly wanted to put her hand on her shoulder, but Leunam held it tight. Perhaps their example would inspire the girl, put a smile on her face. Old Doran, a true optimist at heart, waited a moment, as though hoping for a volunteer to take this girl's place like they may have in District One or Two, but there was only silence.

"And now for the boys. . ." Doran looked at the trio onstage, dreading the petrified look on the face of whatever child was brought forwards next. "Raivel Aukins" .

The smallest section parted for a boy dressed in a tattered, terribly worn jacket that added its own touch to his dress shirt and pants. The boy stood, unmoving for an instant, then, as though he suddenly went insane, a smile flashed across his face and he strutted to the stage, looking smugly. He seemed to eye up Ailis with an odd air of confidence, almost unbecoming of a twelve year old.

"May I present to you all, District Three's Tributes for the Eighteenth Annual Hunger Games," Doran announced as the two went to shake hands. It seemed as though the younger one was considering Ailis' hand for a second, but then he shook it, the same smirk still on his face. Then they were ushered in to their rooms to farewell their loved ones.

Ailis Neilan:

"I don't understand how this happened. Can't we bribe someone to volunteer?" Ailis's mother fussed, readjusting Ailis's hair.

"It's too late for that," Ailis said realistically, trying her best not to use what could be her final moments with her family moping.

"Well, then, you'll just have to come back, I suppose. Do me proud," she insisted, fumbling for words.

"You're a smart girl, Ailis. Remember that and be proud of it," her father cajoled her, supportively stroking her long hair. Ailis smiled to comfort her parents. They deserved that at least. They had given her all she could ever desire, spoilt her as she grew up and now this is how fate repaid them, by taking their only child to the arena. She was certain that everyone else would think she was a pampered and primped smart girl from District Three, all identities she had fought in her teenage years. Her mind ran with what would come next, trying to plan a strategy, but she wanted nothing more than to stay in this moment, to relish this time with her parents.

"Any final words of advice?" Ailis asked, desperate to wake up and have this be a dream that her ill directed mind had fashioned at some evil hour of the night. Yet she knew it wasn't; the reality of the situation weighed heavily upon both her and her parents.

"Find the tributes from the rich districts. They'll be exceptional allies and some of them may have had training," it surprised Ailis that her mother spoke up. The games were required viewing, of course, but Leia had always given off the impression that she didn't pay attention, much less would have any opinion on the matter.

"Ailis, you're brilliant. Trust yourself to be able to come up with a strategy once you're forced into the arena. Remember, only one of you can succeed, all of the other twenty three have to die if I'm going to see my daughter again, so, please, remember that. Even if you have allies, you must be stronger, or smarter than them. I truly believe you can do this." Ailis's hazel eyes met his, the caring eyes that had raised her and held her. As she took both of her parents' hands, she tried to find her identity between the two of them, balancing finding a balance between her desire to be something entirely and truly not knowing who she was. Her mother began to sniffle and a knock came on the door.

"Ailis, where's your ring? The one I gave you for your birthday?" her mother fussed? Ailis looked at her hand and indeed, it wasn't there.

"It must have fallen on the way here," she excused herself. "Don't worry, I don't need a token to remember you by. I love you both." They quickly embraced and then the door firmly shut behind them. It was quickly opened again to Aliza, Ailis's best friend.

"You're coming back," Aliza stated determinately. In her fervor, she was clearly oblivious to the odds of her statement, but Ailis didn't care. For the first time since her name had been called, and possibly the last, she felt comfortable. With Aliza beside her, she felt she had an identity separate from her intelligence or her family's reputation. "I was going to say something terribly important. . . Oh, did you see that boy, the red-head on your way up to the stage? He totally looked like he wanted to ask you out. And the boy beside him, Evan, I think his name is, he'd be perfect for me. We'll double date when you get back and have even more money." Ailis took a deep breath as Aliza's eyes focused on the wall, clearly day dreaming of whatever fantasy she had in mind for them, lavishing extravagant amounts of money on splendid escapades. A huge part of her wanted to scream at her friend, protesting that she'd just been reaped for the hunger games, but years of standing on ceremony backfired and, even in these last moments with her friend. "Just think how excellent life will be as a Victor." Ailis cringed. This encounter wasn't helping as much as she'd imagined it would; instead of subsiding into one final moment of normality her thoughts were racing forward to training and how she would manage to kill enough tributes, be clever enough to bring herself home to her family, and fearing how she would change in the process. Aliza threw her arms around Ailis, but Ailis detangled herself and Aliza was heading towards the door even before the Peacekeepers knocked to dismiss her. Ailis plopped down again. Even now, the stubborn tears would not fall.

Raivel Aukins:

Raivel knew no one would come for him. He'd spent his entire life at the orphanage and even there had kept everyone at a distance. He was perky enough, friendly, enough, but he'd always had to look out for himself, had had to fight for anything and everything that he wanted. He'd had enough of that fighting. He'd been paralyzed as his name had been called, but a second later, a thought hit him: this was it. This was the solution to all of his problems. If he could just do this, could just prove his worth and win the Hunger Games, he would be set for life, bathed in riches. He would never have to work, to worry, and would at last have the glamorous life he had dreamed of for all twelve years of his life. He had the skill to do it too, he thought, as he fingered Ailis' ring in his hand. She had no idea that he had it. It would come with him. The only other thing he would bring was the gold necklace round his neck, his prize which he had gained by robbing District Three's most esteemed citizen. He had never been caught. If his luck continued, he could see himself, a month from now, indeed becoming the Victor of the Eighteenth Annual Hunger Games. And experience had taught him not to count himself out, so to the games he would go.