Katniss has traveled from the past to the present and is a stone's throw away from Snow and his camp. Will Snow be alerted?


Snow's Camp

Seneca inhaled deeply, before turning to his page. After the evening meal, Snow ordered the men to rest. On the morrow, they were going to attack the dilapidated stronghold the Mellarks called a castle. The only ones allowed to be outside were the guards on the night watch.

"I want my clothing resplendent for tomorrow," Seneca said, throwing his dark tunic and hose to his page.

"Sire?"

"I need you to mend my tunic."

"Yes sire," his page said bowing. His page set a bowl of dates and nuts on the table for him.

"Go…" Seneca ordered.

His page picked up the clothing and scurried away. Seneca waited a beat before he grabbed handfuls of the mixture and ate them. When he was sure his page was gone, Seneca made his way to the entrance. Normally that damned Lyme was stationed outside. The beast was not out there, but there were two guards walking past.

He stepped back quickly and made his way back to his chair. He needed to wait. It was imperative that he complete the ritual tonight.

Crane knew his magical abilities were still fragile and that any use could set him back. At the same time, the King was looking for an assurance that his power was back because they were on the cusp of victory.

Then last night happened.

Last evening after hours of doing ritualistic cleansings and hours of meditation, Crane was exhausted. He did not think he would be able to fall asleep. However, not even half-an-hour later Crane woke up panting. He sat up and clutched his shirt where his heart lay.

He had a nightmare. It was an impossible dream but it seemed all too real. It started with his vision. In his glimpse of the future Crane watched Snow lead his army to the gate of Mellark's castle. He saw the way power flowed from his fingertips and the gates of the castle came down. Just as he had foreseen Crane walked into the inner bailey to see the massacre of all of the Olvidados.

However, as he stood there a small lad approached him with a bow and arrow. That lad morphed into a fierce Amazonian warrior. She was surrounded by flames but they did not lick at her clothing or skin. They branched out from her, consuming all that was around her. A great cry could be heard. The tide of the battle swung and Snow's army began to run.

With growing horror Crane had watched as an arrow flew from her bow and pierced the eye of Snow right before she set her eyes on him. Crane woke up just before, the arrow she nocked and let fly, pierced his heart.

Crane stood and walked over to the stand where the pitcher and basin lay. He poured water into his hands and wet his face. Dreams were almost often not taken seriously. Natheless, this dream still perturbed him.

He could still see a cold fire in the eyes of the Amazonian woman.

Crane's hands shook as he put down the pitcher. He needed to calm down. A calm mind would always prevail against a chaotic one. Crane lit several candles and sat in the midst of them. He went to his snack, grabbed a handful, and nervously chewed.

The rhythmic crunching somehow grounded him. He took deep breaths and became calm. Gathering his wits about him he quickly made his way back to the exit.

This time when he peered out of his tent the coast was clear. Seneca snuck out of his tent. He still was not at his full potential and, after that dream, it was vital that he be ready for tomorrow's battle.

The clear moonlit night was a good omen. A clear moon meant the battle would not be bloody. The cloudier the moon the bloodier the battle.

Seneca came to a small clearing that was close enough he could dive into a bush, but far enough so that he could not be seen. He took the stick he'd hidden in the grass earlier and made a circle on the ground.

The camp was quiet. Twas an hour after twilight.

Seneca took the vial he had in his pouch and poured it into a bow he had placed near the stick. He removed his tunic and dipped his fingers into the bowl.

The sound of a man coughing made him pause. His heart beat heavily as he listened for the sound of movement.

In the semi-darkness, Seneca heard two guards approaching. He quickly hid and waited. He could not be caught outside.

"I am tired of this waiting," a guard with a deep voice said.

"Tomorrow, we'll be done," the other guard grunted.

"Do you think they will offer resistance?"

The other guard snickered. "Do you not recall, they have no defenses."

"Yes, but they have Haymitch," the guard with the deep voice said in a quieter voice.

"That man is a drunk. What happened was a fluke. We will be victorious."

"Perhaps you're right," the guard said with a deep voice as they moved away.

Seneca sat back thinking about the discussion the two guards had. He suspected that many of the men had similar feelings to the man with the deep voice. Natheless, there were others who were not afraid of that drunk.

Seneca was determined to complete the final ritual. He spent these two days resting and conducting rituals to aid in the recovery of his magic. He had to be careful, magic was fickle and he could drain himself easily instead.

However, he had to be cautious so he waited, to make sure that the coast was clear.

Hearing nothing Seneca continued with his plan.

When he finished Seneca stood within the circle. He'd drawn on the ground powerful symbols drawn on his chest, arms, and face. Crane looked up at the night sky and began to mutter an old incantation that would allow him to harness the moonlight's energy. In his mind, the symbols glowed in the dark. Seneca believed he could harness the power of the moonlight, he wanted it to steep it into his magical core.

Seneca could feel the power rushing through his veins. He wiggled his fingers and he could see small bolts of lightning arcing each digit. He began to chant louder. The louder he chanted the more energy he accumulated.

He felt invigorated.

Everything around him became silent, and the moonlight combined with the lit torches was the only source of light as the guards crossed from one end of the camp to the other.

He could hear the soft coo of an owl.

Crane relaxed knowing he was safe for the moment.

With this thought in mind, Crane decided to concentrate on his vision. He had seen their victory and as he fell deeper into the trance his mind focused on the moonlight. The moon shone brightly down on him and he could see the Castle walls torn asunder he could see the battle. That dream last night was only the result of the indignity he suffered before going to bed.

Angrily he straightened his posture. He threw his head up toward the moon.

"Breathe in and out," Crane told himself.

He began to take deep breaths trying to clear his mind. He took a deep cleansing breath. He exhaled. He felt his magic slithering softly across his skin. Flashes of his vision flashed through his mind. He saw the destruction of the wall. However, when he found himself standing in the bailey, he turned to stare at the heavens, the moon, and the sun morphed into the piercing gray eyes of the woman staring at him.

"Agh," Crane cried out. He fell backward onto the earth. The moon stared down at him serenely.

The wind blew and the owl coo's turned into screeches. Crane stood up from the ground and looked around. His heart began to pound in his chest. "I can't be wrong," Crane mumbled to himself. "The vision…must be real."

Once more he shut his eyes and began to chant. Rapidly he felt the power and energy of the moonlight as it caused his magic to roar. The power feeling was swept through him making him feel invincible. Crane pushed the silver-eyed fabrication his mind concocted into the back of his mind. He needed to concentrate on the actual battle tomorrow and the victory they would have.

As his power increased he could feel the pull and push of the wind, the way the ground felt heavy. He could hear the way the waves crashed upon the land. It was as if he was connected to the earth in a profound way.

As he stood there he saw a spark that turned into a flame and he realized it was no flame it was an arrow heading straight for him. Seneca's eyes flew open startled.

"Sire," his page gasped loudly.

It was followed by a grunt.

Seneca turned his head toward the sound. His page stood outside of the circle clutching his hands. Lyme stood behind his Page, looking bored. There were the King's right-hand men and personal guards, Apollo and Fabius. They were with Lyme and seemed rather small standing next to the brute.

In a fit of rage, he sent a small bolt at them. Lyme grabbed his page by the arms and quickly shifted them away. Seneca sent another bolt toward both of them tired of being manhandled by the brute and interrupted by his incompetent page.

"Sire, mercy!" His page cried.

Lyme was dexterous and moved quickly for a large creature.

"Mercy!"

"Please sire, the King…"

"The King?" Seneca leveled a look on his page who was cowering behind Lyme. In Lyme's hand was the large sword aimed at Seneca's heart.

"King Snow sent for you, sire," The words tumbled out of his page's lips. "Tis' the only reason I would interrupt sire."

Seneca breathed in and out, his breaths coming out in puffy clouds. "Fine, take me to see the King."

"Sire your cloak," his page said, holding out the dark purple hooded cloak with the night sky embroidered in silver thread.

Seneca snatched his cloak and put it on his shoulders with a flourish. He turned to walk in the direction of the King's tent but ran into a solid mass.

"He's watching you know," Lyme said. "And I can't wait to kill you."

Lyme did not sheath the sword, only pointed it in the direction Crane should take. Crane obediently changed direction but walked with his back straight and nose in the air.

His page left, but Crane followed Lyme and the two guards were behind him. As they made their way through the silent camp. They came to a clearing where Crane could tell the outline of Plutarch's corpulent form and several other men were around him.

As they approached, Crane could see clearer as there were several lit torches around the small group of men. Plutarch's men were readying their horses.

It was then Crane spotted King Snow.

The King was speaking to Plutarch. Plutarch had been away seeking information. Crane strained his hearing trying to make out what the two men were speaking of. Crane hoped they weren't speaking of him. There was an expectation that tomorrow they would attack as soon as he gained his power. He could use his power to listen in but it was a poor excuse.

Crane needed to be strategic.

Plutarch stepped away from the King momentarily to see to his own mount. Crane wondered why the King asked to meet with him.

When they came to a stop Lyme and the two men bowed before the King. Crane did the same but in a far more elegant way.

King Snow nodded in recognition toward their group. Plutarch, who was addressing the men, stopped and came over to stand by the king.

"Crane," Plutarch greeted.

"Lord Plutarch," Crane said, as the King stood watching the interaction. "Shouldn't you be resting?"

"I was just readying the men for a perimeter ride," Plutarch said.

"Oh." Crane hated the man's proclivity to always land favorably with the King. "Riding on the night before the grand siege."

"We always must be prepared," Plutarch said, giving Crane the side eye.

Crane wanted to frown at the man, but he kept his face impassive no matter how heated he was feeling.

"What is it that you said to me last evening…we must have?" The King asked Plutarch.

"Moves and counter moves," Plutarch stated.

"Yes, moves and counter moves. One must always be prepared for every event. Isn't that right, Crane?"

"Yes, sire." Crane forced a smile on his face because the King said he hadn't been prepared to face King Daniel. It wasn't his fault though but he could not defend himself against the belief that it was his fault.

"Are the men ready for the evening Plutarch?" The King asked.

"I have men who are ready for the night watch," Plutarch said. "As I explained before, my men here will be riding with me shortly."

"Good," King Snow said, giving Crane a cold stare. "Plutarch, walk with me to my tent."

"Yes, Sire," Plutarch nodded.

"You too," the King said with a wave of his gloved hand.

Seneca was not about to be belittled; he followed with his head held high.

The tree Lyme was not too far away following them as they moved toward the King's tent through the camp.

"I am glad that I can count on you Plutarch to do what is needed to ensure our safety," King Snow said.

Crane understood the King was doing this to make him feel ashamed. Normally along with the nightly watches Crane would set up magical shields to protect the camp. Last night before he was forced to come and watch, one of Plutarch's trusted men set the rotation for the men who were to watch the camp at night.

When they reached the King's tent, the guards relaxed their hold on the halberds when they saw Snow was with Plutarch, when they saw him they crossed it. He burned with indignation. Plutarch had to give them an order to let him inside.

"Yes, we are well protected tonight," Plutarch smirked at Crane as they entered the King's tent.

Crane stewed silently as he watched the King pour and serve Plutarch his favorite mead. He had to stand there as he listened to the two men chat as if they were lifelong friends. Plutarch was clearly enjoying the situation Crane found himself in.

"I bid you a good night," The King said. He did not make eye contact with Crane as he spoke. "Do not stay out too late, remember, tomorrow we will attack and I want all of the men ready for war."

"As you wish, your grace," Plutarch bowed once more before walking away to do his perimeter ride.

Lyme grunted before following Plutarch.

Crane made a move to leave.

"Not you," King Snow said sitting.

"Sire," Crane bowed.

The King sat before the fire staring at his crown. The flames gave the stone of Panem an eerie glow. Seneca waited and dared not speak. There was such a difference between how King Snow treated Plutarch and the way he treated Crane. It was embarrassing. The King did not acknowledge him. He sat staring at the fire for a long time. Seneca waited frozen in place.

"I thought I ordered everyone to rest?" The King's voice was soft.

"Sire, I was preparing for tomorrow," Seneca answered as he bowed.

"My orders were for all of the men who were not tasked to be on duty, to rest. It is impolitic to fail on such a simple request."

The king's words were so quiet Crane had to strain to hear him.

"Are you wooden-headed?"

Crane frowned; he was not dimwitted. "No, sire."

"Then why was I alerted that you were spotted by the edge of the camp acting like a berserker, barking unintelligible things at the moon, looking as if you had lost any modicum of intelligence."

"Sire…"

"I do not prescribe your babble on magic. I do not believe in superstitious acts or divine providence. I have never believed in the old ways nor do I believe in the rhetoric of learned men." The King stopped speaking.

Crane did not respond. He sensed the king was searching to speak his next words. The King's words were always deliberate, there was a reason he was telling Crane these things. Crane began to dissect the situation. Snow's tone was hard as he spoke. Though it still maintained that softness that alerted Crane, King Snow was still angry at him.

"I understand that what you have is a weapon much like the Romans used the natural slope of the land to build aqueducts. Or like the Greeks harnessed the sun rays through mirrors as weapons. Weapons I understand -"

Crane lifted his eyebrow shocked by the frank way the king was speaking to him.

"But to allow yourself to be bested by a man who you supposedly destroyed makes me question the validity of your claims to be great."

Crane took a small step backward as the king stood up. With morbid fascination he watched the King place the crown atop of his head. Suddenly Crane saw the man grow in stature and power. King Snow was an impressive man, Crane had seen him strike like a snake without warning.

"Are you hiding anything from me, or are all your victories without a hint of deceit?"

"I have never lied to you, Sire."

"In all of your supposed visions, you did not see Haymitch of Abernathy. No can you predict what that drunkard does, can you?"

"His magic is unpredictable," Crane knew he was reaching, but he said, "Much like a fire, it can be a deadly weapon but it is uncontrollable."

Seneca could see the King was mulling the words in his mind.

"I do not care for your analogy or words of persuasion." King Snow's voice was barely a whisper.

The King finally looked at Seneca.

King Snow stood there with the fire behind him, with a harsh look on his face, his eyes looked like that of a hunter seeking its next prey. Goosebumps broke out on his skin and he shivered out of pure fear. Momentarily Seneca forgot he was a great wizard. The man looked like he came out of the pits of hell. Crane wasn't sure what was going to happen to him.

"I do not want a repeat of the other day," King Snow hissed.

"Your bumbling gave them hope."

"Sire?" Seneca did not understand.

"Hope is powerful, and you gave them a useful tool to rally around."

The King's gaze penetrated Seneca's soul.

"It is imperative we wipe that hope tomorrow during the battle." King Snow turned his head back to the fire. "Do you understand?"

"Yes, Sire."

"Now leave."

He was dismissed but Seneca didn't want to leave just then. He had proven his loyalty to the King, siding with him when Alma descended into madness. He had destroyed Haymitch. Seen to it that Eragon of Everdeen died, along with his progeny. Seneca had given it all for the cause of glory and now he was being dismissed. He feared Snow for the man was ruthless but he was tired of cowering.

"Why have you not left."

"Sire, I have my powers back," Seneca blurted. He stood straighter daring the King to say or do something to have him struck down.

The King turned his face toward Seneca. "You do?"

"Yes."

"Then we shall attack tonight. Gather up the troops, Crane we march tonight."


Just wanted to give a huge shout out to Jrosely for Betaing this chapter. I don't know if you've noticed the chapters are getting longer. The reason we are getting closer to the end. I hope that you're enjoying this story so far, especially my bestie Norbertsmom.

Next week - Rook's camp where things are a little dicey...the road to freedom is always fraught with difficulties.