AN: I want to thank the beautiful AlwaysEverlark for pre-reading and making a few suggestions. Thanks, P, hope you like the finished product :)
As some of you already know, this chapter is a bit different. We're finally going to hear Peeta's POV!
Hope you like it!
CHAPTER 8 The Tribute
The smooth golden pin was heavy in Peeta's hand. He turned it around in his palm. It was a bird frozen in mid-flight, trapped in a hoop.
Peeta sighed, he knew exactly what that felt like.
He turned to face his cousin. "Madge, I can't-,"
"Yes, you can," Madge interrupted.
Unlike some of his other visitors, Madge wasn't teary-eyed or upset. The quiet, gentle girl was as determined as he'd ever seen her.
"You're going to take it, and you're going to wear it," she said. "Everybody needs a token, Peeta."
He nodded. There was no point arguing with her, not when this was likely to be the last conversation they ever had.
Seemingly satisfied, Madge leaned in and kissed his cheek.
With a sad smile, she turned to leave. She was almost at the door when she spoke once more, "Oh! And one more thing, make sure he sees it."
"He?"
Madge's blue eyes narrowed. "Abernathy. Make sure he sees the pin."
A moment later, she was gone.
XXXXX
Peeta stepped out into the hallway. The crowd assembled in the main hall caught him by surprise. He could feel their greedy eyes inspecting him, eager to take one last look at the boy who was about to be sent to his death.
He had spent the last hour saying 'goodbye.' The parade of dejected friends and family members who had visited him with tear stained cheeks and shaky hands had left him feeling hollow and dispirited. He couldn't wait to leave them all behind.
He lowered his eyes to the ground and waited for the peacekeepers to start issuing instructions.
Suddenly, he heard it. A faint noise. Something between a sigh and a quiet sob escaping someone's lips.
Peeta turned towards the sound and found her. Katniss Everdeen.
The taciturn Seam girl was a bit of a celebrity among Peeta's classmates. At 16, Katniss was already one of the best traders in the district. Her skill with a bow and arrow was almost legendary, and everyone knew she dealt fairly with both Seam and merchant folk.
What most people didn't know, but Peeta couldn't forget, was that Katniss's voice was as sweet and pure as dew drops on a spring morning. Or that she had wilted like a flower left unattended in an empty vase after her father's death.
He remembered finding her one awful day, huddled under the apple tree in his backyard as cold raindrops pelted her sallow skin. Her gray eyes, dull and lost under the weight of hunger and grief, had reflected the depth of her despair.
Peeta had fed her that day. Without even thinking, he had thrown two loaves into the embers making sure only the crusts were burnt, and he had given them to her.
His mother hadn't been pleased. But Peeta didn't care. Katniss needed that bread far more than he did. He refused to stand by and watch as she wasted away into nothingness.
Maybe that made him weak like his mother said. But, in his mind, it only made him decent. And, in Peeta's book, being decent was far more important than being strong.
Years went by. Peeta never spoke to the elusive girl with the silvery voice. He wanted to, but Katniss wasn't exactly sociable, and he didn't want her to feel obligated because he'd given her the bread.
He had kept an eye on her, though, watching her progress through the years; forever intrigued by the delicate curve of her lips, her graceful movements, her fierce scowls.
In all the years of watching and waiting Peeta had never seen Katniss corresponding to his interest in any way. So he was genuinely surprised to find her, standing right in front of his doorway, and looking straight into his eyes.
Startled, he held his breath and, for the first time in his life, refused to look away.
Trapped in Katniss's gaze, the whole world disappeared. For a moment, there were no more peacekeepers, no Capitol officials, no crowds. There was nothing except for Katniss and her deep gray eyes calling out to him, inviting him to run towards the light at the end of a dark tunnel.
A sudden warmth spread through Peeta's chest and reached every bit of his being.
Katniss's gaze, insistent and demanding, felt like a caress which danced over his skin and reached deep into his soul.
Like a lost child, he held onto her, desperate for one last connection before leaving his town, his home.
A few steps down the hallway, Tessa's door opened. A peacekeeper stepped out of the girl's room.
Peeta didn't move a muscle.
The fog of confusion, despair, and self-pity he'd been walking under since Effie Trinket had read his name was beginning to lift.
As Peeta's mind settled, one thing became clear. Unlike the others, Katniss hadn't stopped by to pat his shoulder and commiserate with his bad luck. She wasn't there to beg or cry.
Katniss had gone there to ask, to demand actually, what no one else had dared say.
In the crowded room, her silent message reached only him. Two words -repeated insistently- matched the beat of Peeta's heart. "Come back, come back, come back…"
Peeta straightened his stance and squared his shoulders. He locked his jaw, and nodded, just once.
Katniss smiled.
Outside, peacekeepers were issuing instructions.
The train station's whistle rang.
Peeta turned towards the exit, following his peacekeeper's lead and effectively ending his silent conversation with Katniss.
Visiting hours were over. It was time to go.
XXXXX
The first thing Peeta Mellark learned about Haymitch Abernathy, was that the old victor's reputation as a drunkard was well deserved.
The man had spent the past 23 years of his life taking tributes to the Capitol and coming back empty-handed. Peeta wondered whether Haymitch had begun drinking to forget his tributes' deaths, or whether the tributes had died because the victor had lost track of them in his drunken stupor.
Either way, Peeta's career as tribute didn't look very promising.
The first dinner on the train was a quiet affair. Effie Trinket sat on the far end of the table and wrinkled her nose in disgust as she pretended to be someplace else.
Tessa sat stoically across from Peeta and ladled spoonfuls of food onto her plate. Even though she was trying to come across as aloof and detached, he could see her anxiety reflected in her Seam gray eyes.
A cold shiver ran along Peeta's spine as he tried to put himself in Tessa's shoes. She looked like every other tribute from their district, small, weak, and scared. She was probably counting down the heartbeats she had left in her ticker.
He wanted to say something to make her feel better, maybe let her know she wasn't as alone as she thought. But they had never spoken to each other before. In fact, he didn't even remember seeing her around town. He knew nothing about her, so what could he possibly say that would ease her anguish and her pain?
They were on the same train, bound for the same horrible place. Peeta had no more expectations of surviving the arena than Tessa did but, somehow, he didn't think any of that mattered.
The fact that he was bigger and better fed gave him a physical advantage neither one of them could ignore. And pretending they weren't on opposing sides of a cruel competition wasn't going to help them either.
They had almost finished eating when Haymitch Abernathy decided to break the silence.
He had been seating at the head of the table, quietly sipping his liquid dinner from the small silver flask he kept tightly clutched in his fist, apparently lost in thought. His eyes, unfocused and bleary, danced around the room never stopping for long on anything specific until they landed on Peeta's lapel.
"Where did you get that, Boy?" he slurred.
Surprised, Peeta faced his mentor. "Sorry, sir?"
The victor straightened in his seat and waved his hand in dismissal of Peeta's words. "Forget about that "sir" crap, Kid. The pin. Where did you get it?" Haymitch demanded, pointing at the golden bird.
Peeta's hand flew to his chest, his fingers traced the brooch's delicate lines. "It's my token. My cousin gave it to me," he answered.
"Your cousin?" Haymitch drawled.
Peeta froze under Haymitch's inspecting gaze. He felt like a bug stuck under a magnifying glass. Swallowing the knot of nerves in his throat, he answered, "Yes."
"And this cousin of yours is…" the mentor prompted.
"Um, her name's Madge. Madge Undersee."
Haymitch's eyes narrowed. "Undersee? As in Mayor Undersee?"
Peeta nodded.
"I see," Haymitch mumbled.
Silence wrapped around them once again.
Peeta turned to face Tessa, her eyes were shimmering with unshed tears. Her delicate features hardened under his gaze.
Tessa's hopes and dreams of a life and a future were being shattered right in front of his eyes. Peeta could see her pain and heartbreak written all over her face.
He wanted to apologize, to explain that he hadn't asked for any preferential treatment, that he didn't want it and didn't deserve it. He didn't even know what the token meant, he was just wearing it to keep his promise to Madge. But it was pointless, the damage had been done. There was nothing he could say or do to make things better. So, once again, he kept quiet.
The air in the room was thick with resentment, fear, and guilt as the district partners waited for their mentor to speak.
Eventually, Haymitch let out a loud huff and shook his head. He brought the flask back to his lips and took a long pull, draining the remaining contents in one long gulp. "Looks like dinner's over," he said, shaking the empty bottle in front of his face.
Clumsily, he stood up from his seat, stumbled to the door and left the room.
"Well, how delightful," Effie Trinket deadpanned. Her high-pitched voice made Peeta cringe. "Another fabulous evening with the victor of the second Quarter Quell."
Peeta sighed and focused on finishing his food. He couldn't wait to go back to his room. He needed time to think. Maybe, once his thoughts had settled down, he'd be able to figure out what the story behind his token was and why Madge had thought it was a good idea to give it to him.
He still hadn't decided whether Haymitch's reaction had been good or bad. But he comforted himself thinking that at least he wasn't being ignored anymore.
XXXXX
"So, are we still wearing matching outfits tonight?" Peeta asked.
It had been a long week, he was tired and stressed. The prospect of spending his last night in the Capitol talking to Caesar Flickerman on national television made him nauseous.
Portia, his stylist, inspected his reflection in the mirror and smiled. "Yes," she confirmed, "you've been acting as a team all week long. We just need you to keep up the illusion a little bit longer."
Peeta nodded.
As soon as the tribute train had arrived in the Capitol, Portia and her partner, Cinna, had taken over. Haymitch and Effie had still played their part, discussing strategy, answering questions, and making sure the tributes stuck to their scheduled activities. But it was the stylists who had come up with a plan to make the tributes from the poorest district appear stronger than they were. They had presented them as a team, which meant that Tessa and Peeta had to spend all their time together.
Tessa had been reluctant at first. She already resented Haymitch for ignoring her in favor of Peeta, and she didn't understand how pretending to be part of a team was going to help her case. But Cinna's explanations and Peeta's willingness to play along had convinced her to at least give it a try.
What had really sealed the deal, though, was the spectacular presentation the stylists had prepared for the opening ceremony.
Showing up at the City Circle surrounded by flames had turned them into instant celebrities. According to the TV anchors, Tessa's poise, Peeta's solid frame, and their stunning entrance had become the most popular topics of conversation among Capitolites. Even Claudius Templesmith had spent a substantial part of his show dissecting every aspect of the team's intriguing alliance.
For the first time in years, people were talking about the tributes of District 12. And while doing well in the Capitol had nothing to do with doing well inside the arena, being popular and securing sponsors was just as important as learning a new skill.
So Peeta and Tessa followed the stylists' instructions. They showed up at the training center wearing matching outfits every morning, took turns choosing the training stations they used and, when possible, they practiced their newly acquired skills on one another. At lunchtime, they sat at the same table and talked amiably while most of their competitors ate alone, casting wary glances in their direction.
By the end of the week, both tributes were exhausted. The stress of having the arena looming over their heads all the time was wearing them down, but there was one more hurdle they needed to overcome before leaving the Capitol for good.
Caesar Flickerman greeted his audience, his electric blue wig shimmered under the bright lights.
Inside the studio, spectators fidgeted while the presenter made what, he thought, were witty remarks about the newest crop of chosen tributes.
"It's time to bring them in!" Caesar announced, "Miss Glimmer Stanton, from District 1, please come join me!"
The voluptuous blonde pranced onto the stage.
The audience erupted in applause.
Backstage, Peeta and Tessa waited for their turn to come up.
Minutes turned into hours. The long line of sparkling tributes standing ahead made Peeta dizzy.
Tributes weren't allowed to talk to each other while they waited, so everyone was forced to stand and watch, riddled with anxiety, while a seemingly endless line of competitors took their place on the stage.
Some tributes smiled, others bragged, a few of them even cried. They all vanished in the darkened upstage once their three minutes in the spotlight were done.
"Last, but not least," Caesar intoned, "it's time to welcome the tributes from District 12!"
At Caesar's request, Tessa twirled. The hem of her dress came to life, glowing like a bonfire around her calves.
The crowds went mad.
Peeta pulled his eyes away from the stage as a deep sadness settled on his chest.
He liked Tessa. In spite of his better judgment, he had come to consider her a friend. But he knew she was just as doomed as he was.
He still hoped, though, with every fiber of his being, that someone out there would be smitten enough with the lovely girl to sponsor her. Having outside help wouldn't guarantee her survival, but it might make her last days a bit more bearable.
Caesar's words cut through Peeta's thoughts. "And now, ladies and gentlemen, the last tribute of the night. Please welcome, all the way from District 12, Mr. Peeta Mellark!"
Peeta closed his eyes for an instant. For the hundredth time in the last few days, his mind conjured up the memory of Katniss's pleading eyes looking deep into his soul.
The recollection was as soothing as the actual event had been, and he held onto it for the few seconds it took for the applause in the studio to die down.
A production assistant pulled gently on Peeta's sleeve. "You're on," he whispered.
Peeta nodded. With a deep breath, he opened his eyes and squared his shoulders. It was his turn to shine.
XXXXX
Being in the arena was nothing like Peeta had expected.
The gore and brutality of the bloodbath had rattled him. And, even if his strategy of running away as quickly as possible had spared him from witnessing what had probably been the worst of it, he would never forget the agonized screams he'd heard as he ran through the forest looking for shelter.
He had spent his entire life watching the Games on TV, and he had never seen the arenas as real places. Having maps displayed on the screen at all times reinforced the notion that these stages had been created with one particular purpose in mind. But things looked a lot differently once you were actually trapped in one.
He had expected the place to feel foreign and artificial, but it didn't. Maybe it was because he wasn't a great outdoorsman -he had never snuck under the fence which separated his town from the woods- but he couldn't find any evident differences between the forest surrounding his district and this place.
The textures and color of the trees, the smells, even the sounds of nature were just like the ones he remembered from back home. He was surprised by how comforting it was to hear the soft trickle of water from the lake or the hoot of a distant owl after nightfall.
He filled his first days with simple activities designed to keep his body busy and his mind sharp. But he couldn't help the cold chill which ran along his back every time a cannon went off in the distance. He was always left shivering, drenched in a cold, anxious sweat as he half expected his own blast to be the next to ring through the forest.
Every night, as the sky reflected back images of the fallen ones, he tried to recall their names and anything he might have learned about them while they were in training. The fact that they had ceased to exist while he was still alive weighed heavily on him, and he refused to forget that even if he wasn't the one doing the killing he was still benefiting from it.
He sometimes wondered what his mother would think of his strategy. Would she commend him for keeping out of trouble and staying safe? Or would she see him as a coward? A spineless creature who hid and waited for others to die.
One morning, he woke up to the joyful realization that it didn't matter anymore. There, in that beautiful, terrible place where every minute could be his last, his mother's opinion no longer mattered.
My time will come soon enough, he reasoned, the game makers won't let me hide forever. Why would I waste what little time I have left worrying about my mother and her petty resentments?
He honestly believed he had given up, that he'd accepted his imminent death, but the fire raining from the sky rekindled his desire to live. And, once his instincts took over, there was nothing he could do but run.
Later, as he trembled under a bush and dreamed of Katniss's smoky eyes, he wondered whether he had been killed by a blast and didn't know it yet.
XXXXX
Peeta liked Rue.
The twelve-year-old girl was funny, resourceful, and smart. She taught Peeta how to treat his wounds and laughed at his jokes. Time seemed to fly by while she was by his side.
They were making their way back to his camp one morning when, suddenly, Rue began to laugh.
Baffled, Peeta looked at her.
His shocked expression only made the girl laugh harder. What had started as a giggle, soon turned into a full belly chuckle.
"What's so funny?" he asked, as he began laughing himself.
After a few calming breaths Rue explained, "Has anyone ever told you how loud you are?"
"Loud?" he exclaimed. The sound of his own voice startled him. He smiled. A moment later his eyes narrowed. "But I wasn't even talking!" he whispered.
Rue grinned. "I didn't mean your voice!" Pointing to his feet, she added, "Your tread is as noisy as a tractor's."
Wide-eyed, Peeta asked, "It is?"
"Yeah. No one's ever told you before? It's pretty evident."
"Well, no. But I've never been out in the forest before. I guess people don't notice these things when you're walking around town," he mused.
"Probably not," she agreed, "but we're not in town anymore," she reminded him with a pointed look.
"You're right. What can I do, though?"
"Just try stepping wherever I step," she suggested, "it won't be perfect, but it might be better."
"Alright, lead the way," he said gesturing to the path ahead of them with his open hand.
The system hadn't really worked. As much as he tried, Peeta seemed determined to crush all the dry leaves and branches on his path. Almost every step he took made him cringe, worried that his noisy movements might attract some unwanted attention.
The only thing that eased his apprehension was the sight of Rue's slight shoulders shaking as she unsuccessfully tried to keep her laughter under control.
XXXXX
Rue was dying.
Peeta's eyes filled with tears as the small girl who had helped him heal slowly bled in his arms.
She had been foraging when the career from District 1 found her. The boy had wasted no time throwing his spear at her.
Peeta had heard the young girl's cries and rushed to where she was. He found her laying on the floor, clutching her stomach as the boy from One clumsily tried to remove the spear which was still lodged in the girl's torso.
Blinding hot rage spread through Peeta's body. Without even pausing, he flung himself at the boy.
What happened next was a hazy blur. There had been punching and screaming, yelling and kicking. Ultimately, a neck had cracked, and a boy had died.
Peeta cradled Rue's small frame in his lap as fat tears he couldn't contain rolled down his cheeks.
"Tell me something happy," she asked.
Peeta sniffled. With the steadiest voice he could manage, he said, "There's a place called the Meadow back home. It's not much to look at, just a little bit of grass and some trees where people like to run around. But, come springtime, the whole field turns yellow. Dandelions start sprouting up all over the place turning it into a field of gold."
Rue's teary eyes locked with his. Her voice was barely a whisper as she said, "You know you still have a chance, don't you?"
"A chance?"
"Yeah, Peeta. You have to go back there," she insisted.
"Where?" His forehead creased in confusion as he tried to understand what Rue was saying. "The Meadow?"
"Mm-hmm," Rue nodded. She was looking very pale all of a sudden, her body temperature was dropping quickly.
Peeta tightened his hold on her as he desperately tried to keep her warm.
Her chapped lips parted once more, and she whispered, "Promise me. Promise you'll try."
"I promise, Rue," he vowed.
A moment later, Rue went limp in his arms. He didn't need to hear the cannon blast to know she was gone.
XXXXX
AN. I know this chapter didn't cover any new ground. But I thought it was important to show some of the things Peeta went through. I hope I answered a few questions for some of you. Let me know what you think :)
Oh! One more thing, CH9 is ready! I'll be posting it on Sunday. Get ready for some Everlark goodness!
I want to thank the lovely AlwaysEverlark for the beautiful banner she made for this story.
I love reviews as much as Effie loves good manners. You always make my day when you share them with me. Thanks!
You can also find me on Tumblr. I'm javistg over there, come and say hi!
The Hunger Games Trilogy is the property of Suzanne Collins. No money was made off of the creation of this fanwork.