Chapter 8

Christ was Lovely, Meek, and Mild

The nights and days begin to blur and drag together as Peeta's condition worsens. He rarely speaks to me now. On some occasions, I think he is watching me with a careful eye. I wonder if he worries that I might try and flee again. But most of the time I think his gaze holds no meaning. He sees with the eyes of a sleepy child, and what he appears to be looking at intently holds no meaning at all.

I am forced to start thinking about life without him. It's strange to me how this new reality feels as if it has swallowed me whole at times. Prim's touch and the forest I loved seem like the remnants of a distant dream I had long ago. I try and pull myself away from thinking like this. I can't be like my mother. She began to treat the world like she no longer belonged to it after my father died. If I hadn't foraged in the woods that winter, Prim and I would have surely died. I force myself to think of what life will bring after Peeta is gone. My biggest obstacle is returning home from this place. I do not know what direction to travel and the world seems dizzyingly big. I need to plan on a journey of at least four or five days, I think. Even if it is only a three-day walk I will lose time trying to find my direction. The next thing I will need is clothes to journey in. I can't travel in a nightdress, especially a white one; it will draw the eye. I make a note in my mind to check this room for other clothes next time Haymitch takes Peeta away. Boy's clothes would be perfect to travel in. If I pull my hair back I could easily be mistaken as a youth at a distance, and it is much safer to travel that way.

I'm still concerned about finding shoes. I doubt Peeta has any in the room. It would be too cruel of a joke, but I cannot walk barefoot the entire way. Especially if I must travel soon. My wounds are still healing. My mind reels back and forth between trying to steal food for my journey or trying to barter for food once I am free of this place. I have nothing to trade but the cross and chain Peeta gifted me. A certain part of me doesn't want to part with it. The grief of losing it runs deeper than not wanting to lose a pretty thing; it is the only piece of him I will ever have. But I don't have time for such foolishness. My mind has become so silly these days, perhaps because my world has become so uneventful. The other night I was considering how I could attend Peeta's memorial mass. I want to give him a proper goodbye and save him from time in purgatory. But I will have to say my prayers as I travel. I cannot risk getting trapped here. If I leave quickly no one will think of me again.

I pull the chain up from around my neck, into my line of vision. Perhaps I could find a way to break the chain into smaller parts so I don't have to trade it all at once. The necklace as a whole could feed my family for years if sold at the right price. I don't want to foolishly part with it for table scraps in my haste to get home. I'm tempted to bite into the chain to test the softness of the gold. Not that I know anything about the metal other than the finest kind can be easily dented.

I slip the chain up to my lips, but a coughing fit from Peeta distracts me. I let the necklace fall back around my neck before any damage is done. I grab a rag by the side of the bed and hold it to his mouth again. The coughing spells have become so frequent they are now a daily part of my life. Yet recently I have felt so distressed by them. I have overcome my fear of the blood that comes with them, but none of God's creatures deserve such pain. I wish more than anything I could do more for him than hush him, and softly coo soothing words at him. Peeta is good and doesn't deserve this, but what does goodness have to do with suffering? Christ was lovely, meek, and mild, and he was still stripped of his flesh and nailed to a dead tree.

I want to cry when the fit subsides and Peeta is resting again. The idea of him dying is still so abstract to me. I'm sure I will have to witness him slip away, and I doubt it will be a peaceful transition. I wish more than anything souls could be touched and captured so I could keep him here with me. But this is a fanciful thought that will serve no other purpose but to wound me later when the inevitable happens.

Hot tears run down my face and I try and stifle a sob. I have become a girl who cries easily in my time here. This isn't me at all. I was once so good at letting nothing touch me in a way that caused me to cry. I can't help it when I think of losing him. Why is he crippled and others whole? Why must he die and others live on?

A sharp, clear sound cuts through the sound of my soft sniffling, and my heart leaps. I know this sound! It is the Valley Song, and it was whistled with a trill of a bird's call at the front before the melody started. Only my father whistled it this way.

I leap from the bed with a new, inescapable hope washing over me. I don't hesitate in the least to leave the room and follow the sound of the song. I know it well, and something good has come for me.

The halls seem lighter, even in the gloom of night, and I find my way easily in the dark as if I have lived here my whole life. I round the corner and want to call out 'Papa' when I see the figure.

But then I take one step into the light and my heart sinks. It is only Gale.

I want to take a step back when his sharp gray eyes look at me. There is a deep accusation in his gaze that I cannot place.

"What are you doing out?" he whispers sharply.

"Nothing," I answer quickly. The idea the song wasn't for me rattles around my head and can't take hold.

"Do you need assistance… finding your next patron's room?" He eyes my nightdress with accusation, but I still don't see his meaning.

"I have no patrons. I came out to see you."

"So you are a kept woman then. I suppose that is more honorable than being passed around."

"Gale! What are you talking about?"

He looks at me, then casts his eyes away and I can feel the fire in him, smoldering again.

"Do you take me for a fool?! There is only one reason you would be brought here and dressed in such fine things. Always in night clothes no less! You've sold yourself! Maybe just for food and pretty things, but that still is its own price!"

The weight of his words hits me, and I feel as if I have been trapped under a caved-in roof. He thinks I've done what his mother did the winter before he left. That I'm giving myself to men for my own advantage.

"Gale, you don't understand."

"No, and I never will. But that is your business. Don't seek me again, I'm sure I can't afford your price."

"No Gale! I'm still a maiden I swear! I was brought here and married to the prince here."

He flinches like I've struck him in some way. "Don't lie, Katniss."

"I'm not lying! Every word of it is the truth."

"In the same breath, you say you are a maiden and a married woman. Is it a riddle or a lie?"

"It's neither!" My head spins and I can't comprehend how he doesn't understand.

"There are no princes here. Perhaps a prince of the church, but Katniss, they cannot marry truly, and you are a fool and have been deceived." He seems to soften a bit after saying this.

"No Gale, you don't understand. The son of the king lives between these walls. You may not have seen him because he is crippled, and sick, and dying!" Tears start to run down my face against my will.

Gale's eyes go wide. "The cripple?"

"Yes, didn't you know his identity?"

"I'm not in a place to be asking questions. Did they bring you to heal him, or… comfort him in some way?"

"No! I have no idea why they brought me. He has been close to death from the moment I laid eyes on him. Gale, you have to help me!"

Gale goes rigid again and I can see I'm losing his favor. "What can I possibly do to help?"

"His leg has been cut away and his wounds are festering. His lungs have rotted and he coughs up blood and phlegm. You know I am no healer. But if you could find a way to seek out Prim and my mother they could perhaps help. They don't even know I'm alive! I was brought here after I was caught poaching in the woods. It was sudden. I did not plan this!"

He begins to shake his head in refusal. "Katniss, I have no means for such a trip and it would be foolish of me. All men must die someday."

"Gale, what do you think will become of me when he dies? I can pay you!" I tug at the gold chain at my neck and reveal the cross and pearl. "The chain alone is a king's ransom! It is a good payment for any task."

The noise of someone approaching fills the hallway. I tug the chain over my head and press the cross into Gale's hands. "Gale, you must help me!"

"I will consider it," he says as he pockets the necklace.

We break company in our old fashion. Wordlessly we move in opposite directions. We did this often when we hunted in the woods. It is better to be caught alone, and have one of us remain to help feed the other's family. It was moments like this when I could no longer tell if I was truly a hunter, or actually the prey.

I find my way back to Peeta's chambers and quietly let myself back in. He is sleeping peacefully, almost like a child. But he is thin, like the children who do not see the next summer in my village, and I can still hear his ragged breathing.

I know I have always lacked any powers of persuasion with others, but I hope against hope I was able to convince Gale. Prim would know what to do to help Peeta. Her mind can track illnesses and cures like mine can track game. It makes sense to her and was an easy skill for her to master.

I climb into bed and move to hold him close to me. I don't want to lose him. Yes, his death would cause upheaval for me, but that is not the only reason I want him spared. There is a softness to him the entire world seems to lack. And that kind of softness is so rare it would be a sin not to try and save it. He has grown on me, and I want to protect him from further harm if I possibly can.

The words of Gale still swirl around my head. It's odd having others to worry or care if I am still a maiden. I have never given it a moment of thought. I could never catch the gaze of a man if I tried, and I had no energy to try after long days of hunting and foraging. Some say all maidens carry a spark of the divine, gifted by the Holy Virgin herself. This rumored gift can help them summon unicorns, coax the clouds into making rain, or heal the dying. I never gave much thought to it until now. I wish the words were true and some greater power had bestowed on me the gift to let Peeta live and not die.

I drift off into a deep and dark sleep and hold Peeta close all night. Haymitch comes in the next morning and takes him away as ever, but when Peeta is brought back I can sense a kind of stillness within him. The kind of peace I don't want to see. His body is failing him, and withdrawing from the fight. He won't eat more than a bite of bread or drink more than a sip of water. The days begin to lose meaning within the small and dark room. Haymitch no longer tries to make friendly talk with him and goes about his tasks weeping. The maids who change the linens whisper among themselves how they won't have to do this duty soon.

I wonder where Gale is in all of this. I have no way of knowing if he went away to find help, or simply sold the cross and sent a small treasure to his family. As the days pass I begin to feel more and more like a fool for trusting him. He always had so many mouths to feed, and I have asked him to spend time trying to gain medicine for a stranger. I wouldn't have been above taking such advantage of a fool to feed my kin.

I try not to cry that night as I look over my boy. He is sleeping again and if the next morning he is a corpse I will not be surprised. I begin to fear Snow bursting into the room any minute to give the last rights. I don't want him reminded of my existence in any way.

Thoughts that I had pushed away for four years come back to me. Why are good things always so fragile? Before I was such a skilled hunter I used to marvel at the mystery of a bird who would sing at the crack of dawn or a solitary doe whose breath would cling to the mist of the morning. Delicate things had a way of falling into ruin and I was part of the cycle. The bird became the simple keeper of a nest of eggs. The doe became a way to feed my family in the winter. Peeta holds the goodness and the mystery of those forest creatures, and I am forced to fathom the lack of mercy in this world.

I stroke the crown of his head and feel his downy hair slip through my fingers. I realize why lovers give each other of a lock of their hair, and why parents cut a curl of their dying little one. It is a way to hold on. A way to prove to yourself and others that they once existed.

I continue to stroke his hair, as I wonder if there is a way I could take a lock of hair for myself. To prove that this strange tale of me marrying a prince was true to others. To prove to myself I once held onto a boy in the night and did my best to comfort his cries. There is nothing in the room sharp enough to cut through hair and I try and let the idea go. Peeta was kind enough to try and gift me something precious already. I threw it into the hands of Gale in hopes that shiny gold and a pearl were enough to pay for a miracle. It was silly of me. I have done nothing in my life to gain the favor of a miracle, but I hope Peeta has. He seems good enough to gain some heavenly assistance.

My arms loop around the boy I want to hold onto, and I rest my forehead by his temple. I can hear him breathing. And while it is still ragged I treasure it, because it is a sign he is still here. Some petulant voice inside me cries out 'don't die!' and I do my best to stifle it. I have no control over such things. No one does really, no matter what the Church claims. I must not panic over what is coming. I have to remain calm so that whatever influence I have over Peeta can help keep him calm. The good part in all of this is that I think he will die in his sleep, and not in a violent fit with terror in his eyes. I consider praying for a gentle passing, but can't settle on any words. I want a gentle death for a gentle boy.

A light sleep must have drifted over me for a moment because the next thing I am aware of is a steady and firm rap at the door. I almost can't comprehend the sound. No one ever knocks to enter Peeta's chamber. I gently move my body away from Peeta's, doing my best not to unsettle him. My stomach lurches as I think of Snow coming to give the final sacrament. Snow never visits as far as I can tell, and perhaps he thinks he has to knock, or that the room is locked in some way. I wish I could send him away. He is disruptive, cruel, and vile. I don't want him upsetting Peeta in his last hours.

I place my hand on the door's latch and try and brace myself for the worst, and all the horrors the Cardinal will bring with him. The door swings open and I am left standing face-to-face with Gale.

Author's Note: Misscyn is an amazing editor and deserves all the praise in the world. Yes I am going to thank her each chapter! Because a good editor is hard to come by!

I'm so happy to be posting again. This is the first true chapter I have put up in a long time! I don't think I will be posting weekly, but it might be close to it. The next chapter is going to take a lot of careful writing, so if there is a small delay no one panic.

Thank you very much to all of my readers! You are all so supportive and that makes everything more fun. If anyone would like to share their favorite everlark quotes or thoughts with me that would be amazing. My copy of THG was tragically lost when I moved to university, and it's a bit of a struggle for me to write without the source material.

Thanks again!