Disclaimer: I don't own The Hunger Games.
Note: Yep, we've reached the part of December where I catch up on editing and posting everything I wrote during NaNoWriMo, so there should be a few more updates coming your way fairly soon. Thank you to AlexFalTon and Son of Arryn for Lily and Ross, respectively.
District Two
Exactly as They Were
Harriet Bard, 35
Victor of the 37th Hunger Games
"You're sure you're okay sitting this one out?"
Harriet tried not to look concerned as she and Mortimer headed for the square. He'd occasionally missed a year of mentoring if a trainee he'd been working with didn't end up being the tribute who went to the Games, but this would be two years in a row. And Lily had been his choice – both last year and this year.
Mortimer nodded. "She asked for Prospero. And she's got a good point; the Capitol will eat it up. She steps aside, allowing him the chance to enter the Games, and the next year, he returns the favor by serving as her mentor. It's almost poetic. They'll love it."
But… The unspoken word hung in the air. "Spit it out."
"What?"
"Mortimer, we've been mentoring together for what? Seventeen years now?"
"Give or take a few hiccups."
"Something's bothering you. What is it?"
"District One."
Harriet raised an eyebrow. That wasn't the answer she'd been expecting. "What about them? Just because they're sending a backup volunteer—"
"It's not that. Jasper and Aramis are mentoring."
"So?"
"And with Harakuise in Thirteen, it'll probably be Oliver and Camden in Five."
"Probably."
"That gives you seniority."
Harriet couldn't help a chuckle. "That's what this is about?"
"You'll be the most experienced Career mentor."
"By a year. Jasper won the year after me, Camden the year after that. They all know what they're doing. And Mags will be there. She hasn't missed a year since … Has she ever missed a year?"
"No."
"And I know she wasn't a Career, but she's mentored plenty of them. So what are you—"
"She couldn't stop Misha."
Oh. "You're worried about a rebellion? Now?"
"With District Thirteen just joining the Games? Damn right I am. If something happens in the Games, I want to know there are mentors there that I trust. That's you. Jasper, Camden, Imalia … I'm sure of them. Some of these newer kids…"
Harriet nodded. "I'll keep an eye on them."
"That's all I'm asking for."
Harriet relaxed a little as they joined the others onstage. Mortimer was probably getting worked up over nothing. Maybe Aramis was a little unconventional, and Prospero had certainly been unexpected, but neither of them had ever shown any signs of disloyalty or rebellion. Just because something was new didn't automatically make it a threat.
Besides, while it was true that Mags hadn't done anything to stop Misha, none of the other Victors had been able to stop him, either. Even the Gamemakers and President Snow hadn't been able to stop what had happened during the 41st Games; they'd simply had to do their best to pick up the pieces. Still, most of the other Victors had done their best to dissuade their tributes from participating in the rebellion. It was just that some had been more successful than others…
Harriet shook the thought from her head. If their victory in Thirteen had proven anything, it was that Misha had been an anomaly, that the vast majority of the Victors were loyal to the Capitol. Even those who hadn't actively participated in Eldred's plan had done nothing to stop it, nothing to speak out against it. They knew better.
And Harakuise could handle Thirteen. He had decades of experience dealing with rebels. And that was assuming that tributes from Thirteen even ended up being rebellious. None of them really had any idea of what to expect from Thirteen. It was probably too much to hope for that they would immediately see the sense in loyalty to the Capitol, but at the very least, they would probably understand that open rebellion wasn't a great option if they wanted to live.
Probably. That was what Mortimer was worried about, in the end. None of them knew what to expect. Thirteen was an unknown. This whole year was an unknown.
But District Two … District Two could be relied on. The crowd erupted into cheers as their escort, Carenza Lesange, joined the Victors onstage. If the audience had any doubt about how this year was going to go, it certainly didn't show. The district was still riding the excitement of Prospero's unexpected victory. They wanted more. Back-to-back victories was something only two districts so far had achieved. But maybe this would be the year they became the third.
"Ladies first!" Carenza's voice shook Harriet from her thoughts. She dipped her hand into the reaping bowl and gave the slips of paper a little swirl, but they all knew it was just for show. It had been years since the person whose name was drawn for District Two had actually gone into the Games. Five years, actually, but before that … well, twenty-five years before that. Both Quarter Quells had forbidden volunteers. Outside of that, no one really cared whose name was on that slip of paper.
"Gabriella Latour!"
In fact, Carenza barely had time to finish the name before Lily came racing out of the eighteen-year-old section. She was tall and muscular, with tanned skin and a sparkle in her dark brown eyes. She was wearing a striking red suit and a playful grin, but it was the swords that caught everyone's attention – a pair of them strapped to her back. She unsheathed them as she bounded up the steps to the stage, and struck a pose barely a foot away from Carenza. "I'm ready!"
To her credit, Carenza didn't even flinch. A tribute would have to be incredibly stupid to even think about harming an escort. And Lily wasn't stupid. Harriet didn't even have to glance at Mortimer to know how she had managed to sneak the swords out of the training academy.
Carenza chuckled. "Trying to make sure you don't have any competition for the spot this year?" she asked.
Lily shrugged nonchalantly. "If I'd wanted last year's spot, it would have been mine. I wanted this one." She flashed a smile at Prospero. "You got your chance. Now I get mine."
Harriet glanced at the other Victors. Lily's words were confident, but was it true? If she hadn't stepped aside last year, if there had been a vote, how would that vote have gone? Harriet couldn't help wondering how the others would have voted.
Part of her wondered how she would have voted.
Harriet shook the thought from her head. It didn't matter. It hadn't come to that. And now Lily was turning toward the crowd, nudging the microphone towards her with one of the swords. "My name's Lily Rathna, District Two's ninth Victor!"
Carenza gave the blade a tap with her fingernail. "Be that as it may, I don't think you're allowed to bring these with you."
Lily beamed. "Then I'll just have to come back for them later." She thrust both blades downward, burying them in the stage.
"I suppose you will." Carenza was fighting to hold back laughter as she dipped a hand into the second bowl. "Wilhelm Fortier!"
"I volunteer!" Ross stepped out of the eighteen-year-old section, making his way to the stage more slowly than Lily had. There was no swagger in his movements, but there was a confidence of sorts – a confidence that Harriet recognized. Now that the decision had been made, there was no looking back. No second-guessing. Lily had been Mortimer's choice; Ross had been hers.
Most people watching probably wouldn't be able to tell why. As far as appearances went, he was fairly average. He was a little shorter than Lily, with an athletic build that wasn't particularly remarkable as far as Careers went. He had dirty blond hair and dull blue eyes, and his tan button-down shirts and pants were well-worn and certainly not as extravagant as his district partner's outfit. He didn't have the same flair.
But the Games weren't about flair.
All right, they weren't all about flair. Not everything was about style. The audience loved a show, sure enough, but that show didn't always have to be flashy and dramatic to grab their attention. Sometimes tributes just needed to wait until the right moment. She had found that moment. Maybe Ross would be able to, as well.
"And what's your name, young man?" Carenza asked with a grin.
"Ross Artisan." He reached for one of Lily's swords and gave the handle a twang. "I guess we'll just have to see which one of us comes back for these."
Lily held out her hand. "May the best tribute win."
Harriet nodded as the pair of them shook hands. Which one of us. Even after fifty-four Games, so many people in District Two were absolutely confident, year after year, that it would be one of their tributes coming home. It had only happened eight times. Eight Victors in fifty-four years. Yes, that was more than any other district, but still … It wasn't a guarantee. There were no guarantees.
And as much as they might put on a show of bluster and bravado for the crowd, the tributes usually knew that victory wasn't guaranteed – no matter how skilled or well-prepared they were. Harriet's gaze strayed to Prospero. His district partner, Norris, had been skilled. He'd been well-prepared. But it hadn't been enough. Prospero had still won. Just like she had won eighteen years ago. She'd out-thought and outlasted the rest of the pack. Prospero had outsmarted his final opponent, his own district partner – a trained Career. Training wasn't a guarantee.
Harriet's gaze strayed to the crowd as Lily and Ross were led away. That was what kept them coming back for more, year after year after year. If the best tribute always won, there would be no suspense. There would be no surprise. It wouldn't be a show. The audience wanted a show. They wanted to be surprised. They wanted to be entertained.
In the end, that was all they wanted.
As the crowd finally began to disperse, Harriet caught Mortimer's gaze. He nodded. He didn't say anything. He didn't have to. There were no guarantees about how the Games would go, but there were some things that were certain. Some things that wouldn't change. That couldn't change. Whatever else might happen this year, District Two's tributes would play the Games to the best of their ability.
They would just have to wait and see whether that would be enough.
Lily Rathna, 18
Everything was going exactly as she'd hoped.
Lily flopped down in a chair, grinning, as her parents finally left the room, leaving her and her brother Fern alone. Fern stayed where he was, his smile a little too forced, his fingers fidgeting with the friendship bracelet on his wrist. Lily gave her matching bracelet a twirl. "What's eating you?"
"Nothing. It's just … you went through with it. After what happened last year, I thought…"
"You thought I'd chicken out?"
Fern couldn't hide a slight cringe. "Not chicken out exactly, but … well, there's always someone else who wants to volunteer. I thought you might let them this year, too."
Lily shook her head. "Not this time. Not when it's my last chance." Last year had been different. She had only been seventeen. She could afford to wait. And then Prospero had come rushing up to the stage. Frantic, desperate, pleading with everything except his words for her to step aside.
No one had expected her to – not seriously expected her to give up a spot in the Games. The Victors had been prepared to vote – and almost certainly to vote in her favor. They'd been shocked when she'd asked them not to. But last year, there had been a choice. Last year, her decision had simply meant that her opportunity was delayed. There had never been any doubt in her mind that the trainers would choose her again this year. But now…
It was now or never. And she couldn't bear the thought of never entering the Games, of never feeling that thrill. Fern didn't understand that – not really. He'd joined the Career Academy because all of his friends had done the same. He was good, but not that good. Good enough to stick with training and enjoy the camaraderie, but not good enough to be seriously considered as a contender for a spot in the Games. He wouldn't be on that stage next year, or even the year after – and then he would be too old. But that was all right. The Games weren't for everyone.
But they were for her.
Lily sprang to her feet and wrapped an arm around her brother's shoulders. "Hey. Hey, listen. There's nothing to worry about. Just a few weeks – maybe even less – and I'll be right back here. For now … just enjoy it. How many people can say their sister is a tribute in the Games, huh?"
"No one in District Two last year, at least," Fern pointed out, his smile finally genuine. Lily gave his hair a ruffle. She'd been the first person Fern had come out to, the first to know that he was really her brother. Their parents still thought it was a phase he was going through, but how could they ignore that smile? It was the same smile she'd seen on his face when he'd filled out the paperwork to switch which reaping bowl his name was in. The same smile he'd worn when Prospero had whispered his secret to his ally Ariel in the depths of the mines – and then gone on to win the Games. Having something like that in common with a Victor, seeing someone like himself win the Hunger Games … That was heady stuff.
"Just a few weeks," Fern repeated, more to himself than to her.
"Maybe even less," Lily agreed.
"Just…"
"Just what?"
Fern wrapped his arms around her. "Just come back."
"I will," Lily promised. If not for Fern … Well, it wasn't as if she wouldn't try to survive, but the fact was that only one tribute would. One out of twenty-six this year. Every tribute wanted it to be them. If it weren't for Fern, merely having a place in the Games would be enough. The idea of finally being able to experience the Games, to be able to swing a weapon and actually take a life rather than merely injuring an opponent when the trainers at the academy got a bit complacent about their safety precautions, to hold that sort of power – the power of life and death – in her own blade … that was worth the risk. Worth the price.
But Fern … Fern was a reason to come back. Their parents were distant at best, and the other trainees … Well, you didn't exactly make friends by maiming your competition. But she wasn't at the academy to make friends. She wasn't in the Games to make friends. She had plenty of fun by herself, and Fern … Fern was enough of a reason to come back, all on his own. She didn't need anything more than that.
She liked things exactly the way they were.
Ross Artisan, 18
He wasn't sure exactly what he'd expected.
Ross paced up and down the small room, the silence and uncertainty creeping back now that his family was gone. He had assumed that he would feel different now – now that the decision was made, now that there was no going back. But it hadn't really been his decision. The trainers had been the ones to decide, to make the biggest decision of his life for him. He simply hadn't said no.
Part of him had wanted to. It happened every so often – a potential tribute declining the trainers' choice, or even backing out in the time between when they were chosen and the reaping. It wasn't common by any means, but it had happened. Officially, there would have been no shame in it.
No shame except the shame of having to go to work every day with his parents in the quarry. Every day for the rest of his life. It had seemed so simple, all those years ago when he'd joined the academy. It had seemed like such an easy choice. Either backbreaking work every day for the rest of his life, or a few weeks of the Games, and then … nothing. No work, no hardship, no expectations. Time – time that was really his, for the first time in his life. Time to figure out who he was and what he wanted to do, rather than what was expected of him.
It had seemed so simple to an eight-year-old. Now…
Ross turned as the door opened, tucking his family photo into his pocket. His friend Farrah returned his half-smile as she entered. "Well, well, look who actually went through with it."
Ross nodded. Went through with it. That was probably the best way of putting it. He hadn't chosen this for himself; he'd followed through on what the trainers had expected, what the Victors had expected, what his fellow trainees had expected. "I had to."
"You chose to."
Ross shook his head, struggling to put words to why that was wrong. "I just … didn't choose not to," he said at last.
Farrah nodded. She was one of the few people in his life who understood – really understood – that there was a difference between the two. It was a choice that had been made for her, as well, when she'd tested out of the academy when they were both fourteen. Part of her had been devastated, but she had always told him that there was another part – a part that had been relieved. She would probably have to work every day for the rest of her life … but she would live. It would be a long life – certainly longer than twenty-five of the tributes this year. However this year's Games went, she wouldn't die.
And she wouldn't have to kill. She wouldn't have to make that choice – to hold someone else's life in her hands and make the decision to end it, to destroy all their hopes and potential and possibilities for the future. He wasn't looking forward to that, but … well, they were going to die anyway, weren't they? And it wasn't as if he would personally have to kill all of them. Prospero, Tosh, Talitha – they'd only killed three each, and no one thought any less of them as Victors because of it. He couldn't imagine killing ten tributes, as Mortimer had, but two or three … maybe he could do that.
He would have to. In fifty-four years of the Games, only one Victor, Glenn, had made it out of the Games without killing. Two – Hazel and Basil – only had one official kill to their name, and there were a handful who had only killed two. On the other end was Mortimer, who had killed ten, a record that had stood for twenty years before being broken by Avery, and then three years later by Adalyn, who had killed sixteen tributes. Sixteen.
He couldn't imagine that. He wasn't interested in breaking records. He just wanted to survive, to come home able to build a better life for himself, for his family, for his friends. If he came home victorious, he could share those winnings with his parents, his sister Erin, his friends Kell and Tristan and Farrah. Farrah could stop working in the quarry. Erin would never have to face that sort of labor. She could have the freedom he hadn't – the freedom to choose between more than just a life of hardship and the possibility of death in the Games.
"Good luck," Farrah said softly. It was all that was left to be said, really. He had trained as hard as he could. The Victors had decided he was their best option. He was exactly where he'd always told himself he wanted to be, where every child in District Two dreamed of being.
All that was left was to hope that luck would be on his side, as well.
"Doing things changes things. Not doing things leaves things exactly as they were."
