Friedi had never foreseen a time when she would be preparing for her wedding day. Not before, Nell, and not without Nell, either. But it felt strange to come to her twin with such things. They had always been a pair, but something seemed to be broken now. It was what their father always wanted, she thought, glumly, to finally separate the two, even as previous attempts had been disastrous. Perhaps he would have done this years ago, if he had only knew how easy it would be.
Without her twin to lean on, she turned now to another sister. It wasn’t that Dot was her second choice. She adored all her siblings, in her own way, but she and Nell were two faces of the same coin. Dot was something different entirely, but now, more than ever, Friedi held her little sister close. After all, they did not know how much time they had left together, now they knew she would not be returning to Germany. “On second thoughts, we should not have done things so quickly,” she grumbled. “Trying to get everything ready on short notice is giving me migraines.”
Send 🎃 for our muses to carve pumpkins together @doradoesitright
Ewan approached the familiar face, squinting his eyes slightly when he got closer to her. “What the fuck? Dorothea Fawley? Who knocked you up? Do I need to fight someone?”
It had felt like an age since Friedi had seen her baby sister. The youngest of the bunch, Friedi clearly remembered the day she had been born. She had loved her dearly then, and loved her even more now. She had watched her grow from infant to an intelligent, beautiful woman, and of that, Friedi was endlessly proud.
However much she loved her siblings, Friedi could admit she had been a terrible sister of late. She had been distracted and selfish, too wrapped up in her own affairs to care for little else, particularly when it came to Dorothea. She hadn’t seen her since before the attack, and was long overdue a visit. It was on this whim that she made her way to the youngest princess’ chambers, knocking on the door and letting herself in without waiting for an answer.
“Oh, my dear, I have missed you,” she declared, making her way to where Dorothea sat and leaning down to press a kiss to her forehead. “I like you better sitting down, Dottie - it is a strange feeling when your younger sister stands taller than you,” Friedi teased. She was the shortest of their kin, but she liked to think she made up for it in other ways. “Are you well, little one? I am sorry I have not come sooner.”
Kit approached a girl at one of the booths. “Hi, hello! Have you seen a tall blonde man, or well, he’s kind of more like a tall blonde child, goes by the name of Mason. I lost him a while back in the midst of the Ilvermorny students.”
---he has been consumed by duties, more than he ever had in his entire life and he feels trapped into this life; a life that he never asked for, that was forced on him. he steps outside for some fresh air, finds himself in the gardens and due to the cold weather, there are barely any other royals or nobles around. a sigh falls from his lips and he hangs his head for a moment, draws in a breath. but the sound of footsteps approaching, attracts his attention and he lifts his head, stands when his gaze meets the figure of his wife. “Dorothea...” he exclaims as if in a form to great her. “what brings you here in such a weather?” and he can admit to himself that he had almost forgot about her, so it is not a surprise if she was just looking for him.
Chewing his fingernails was a mistake. Now they were jagged and rough like ripped paper and far more likely to cause a scratch. It was funny how his mind could find the smallest thing to critic when he was nervous. Two years ago, it was the thinness of his wrists that made him feel unappealingly dainty, then it was the uneven way his facial hair was coming in. Even now that he could pass and was even the type of guy that people gawked at and flirted with, he could still find reasons why someone would look at him and think ‘nah.’ Today, it was his fingernails, yesterday it was the amount of gel in his hair, tomorrow it would probably be the way he laughed. His therapist had warned him that transitioning wouldn’t fix everything, and he didn’t think it would. The therapy was supposed to do that, but even after years, his anxiety refused to dissipate. And today, when he had a date with a girl, it was sky high, reminding him of every embarrassing thing he had ever done or said.
“Fake it till you make it,” he reminded himself, shaking out his hands as he stood on the steps outside the library, waiting for Dorothea. He was proud of himself for asking her out. She wasn’t really his type, but she was calling him cute and it boosted his ego and he figured it was worth it to give it a shot, considering he didn’t really have a type. He wondered if he’d get kissed, though it was a silly thought. He hadn’t been kissed since eighth grade. He noticed her walking up the steps. “Hey, Dorothea.”
I haven't submitted much of my writing here, lately. I figured it's time to rectify that situation!
So, without further ado, a 15,808 word baby, written in part with my dear friend, Dolly.
Excuse the very crappy formatting, I copy and pasted from the Google Docs file and it's late.
‘One-two. Breath. Two-three. Breath. Three-four. Breath. Four-five. Breath. Five-six. Breath. Done. Breath. Step away. Breath. Set down the sword. Breath, breath, breath, turn, bre- Oh.’
Dorothea turned around, her mind only just relaxing from the single-task grip she had on it after having just finished her individual training at the sword station, to see a very tall, rather muscular, and very serious tribute staring her down. She wouldn’t kid herself by pretending to not know who he was. Luc Oakley, silent guy extraordinaire of District Seven. No one knew, of course, but Dorothea felt the closest to Luc. Not in the sense of kinship or any of that mess, but more that they were both quiet, both watching, both...similar. Still, to see him stepping up to her was not something she wanted to see.
There was nothing to give her a chance at guessing what he wanted. Yes, she had been watching him, but that couldn’t be the source of his approach. He wasn’t the sort to ask someone, “Hey, don’t look at me.” That would be petty - not that a couple of guys had already done it. Still, from what she’d learned of Luc, he didn’t seem the type. Putting most of her weight on her left leg and hip and crossing her arms up over her chest, Dorothea threw her chin up and stared him down, just as he was to her. She didn’t say a word, but the arch of her brow and set of her lips said it all for her: “What.”
Luc had thought training was pointless. He had always felt it was a useless waste of time that had been devised almost solely as a way to terrify the weak links. Or, perhaps, as a way to encourage the stronger to band together and defeat said weaker links. Maybe slaughter was a better word. That’s how it always seemed on the television screen, at least. Even as he walked around the room, looking at people and weapons and stations with a weary but critical eye, he didn’t see it as anything more than a waste of time, at least where he was concerned. It wasn’t like someone just approached the throwing knives station and suddenly found they were skilled at it. Life didn’t work that way. Some people were just naturally capable, and this was where they showed it.
That was the reason why he had put down the bag of sand he was examining - there was rarely ever sand in District Seven; it was nice to see it, in a weird way - and approached the girl who he faintly recalled as being from one of the useless-but-not-really Districts. She looked like she knew what she was doing. The entire time they had been in the Capitol she seemed to know what she was doing. It was hard to miss someone who looked neither terrified nor cocky, so of course he had noticed her. More than that, he had realized he should talk to her. She seemed a whole lot more capable than his own district female, for one. If he was going to pick and chose friends, he was going to do it the right way - strongest first, but not so strong as to be an immediate threat. That would have defeated the purpose of an alliance, really. If you wanted to call it that. He didn’t.
“Sword station... That’s quite a choice. Do you have prior experience or were you just hoping for some luck?” he asked after another moment of them silently staring at one another. He walked closer and picked up one of the swords that lay stacked by size and weight. They were crafted nicely, not that he knew much about steel and iron. “Lightweight...” he murmured before looking up at her again.
Dorothea stared at him, expressionless, for a long time. With eyes that seemed almost blank, she watched him pick up the sword, mulling over his words in her mind as she did. There was one obvious motive, of course: an alliance. Friendship, in its most tentative and least trustful - and yet most trustful and entirely sure - form. It depended on how you looked at it. But in the end, it always boiled down to whether you failed and everyone you had formed an alliance with was dead, or you succeeded and now you have to kill them. She wasn’t interested.
If a roll of the shoulders could be the roll of an eye, then hers was. If a flickering look away from the person at hand could be a soft sigh, then hers definitely was. She tilted her head to the side, her fingers drumming a couple of times against her forearm.
“I’ve got experience with sharp edges,” she answered plainly. “But you don’t care about that - at least, not directly. You’re edging into something. Tell me what it is or leave me alone.”
Luc had looked back at the sword, hefting it from hand to hand and feeling the edge. It was rough and violent despite its smooth, sleek feel. He thought it was close to what he would like, but not really good enough. It was too artful, it wasn’t accurate. He sighed and put it down before straightening up and smiling at her. The smile was short lived, though, and just a simple reaction to her words.
“Alright. I have a compromise. We don’t kill each other until the end. Then the compromise ends.”
Short, sweet, simple. Dorothea was glad to get a straight answer, and it did soften up the edges of her demeanor, even if only just a little. She sighed, out loud this time, a little huff of breath that smelled faintly like peppermint. She liked the mouthwash they provided.
“How do I know you’ll hold up your end of the deal? What if push comes to shove? How can you trust me?” Her concerns were rapid fire, eyes still blank unless you looked into them just deep enough: then you’d see a fire blazing in them. Intense, unforgiving, resolved. “Give me good answers and I’ll consider it.”
He couldn’t help but laugh. “It’s simple. You try to kill me, compromise is over; I kill you. I try to kill you, compromise is over; you kill me. Or something like that. Trust is a finicky thing, but it isn’t binding.”
The very ends of her lips twisted up. She liked Luc, plenty more than she liked most anyone she met.
“Deal.” She stuck out her hand, sarcastically thinking of how she hoped he wouldn’t mind the callouses.
(*/fade*)
That had been almost three weeks ago. Luc and Dorothea sat up in the mountains, a clear view of the entire arena before them. They were back to back, leaning against one another. Silence, comfortable, simple silence, fell between them as the reminiscent story of how their alliance came to be ended. They’d laughed and bumped one another in the side with their elbows, play punching plenty, too, talking about home and their time in the Capitol. They didn’t know if they were being watched, but they didn’t much care anymore.
At least, Dorothea didn’t. The arena, the things she’d done, had taken a toll. She was tired and… She was sad. Not sad because of what she’d done, no, because that had been necessary to survive. She was sad because there were only four tributes left in the arena, and two of them were herself and Luc. The time where their alliance would dissolve was fast approaching, and she hated the thought. It had always been a threat - fail and lose him that way, or succeed and face the inevitable kill or kill be killed situation.
Failing was never an option, in her mind, but that only left one other outcome. She wondered if he would have as much trouble killing her as she would killing him. In fact, late at night, when she had guard duty, she thought about Luc’s fate. It was in her hands, one way or the other. She could kill him, or she could die. Whether she let herself be killed or if she fought back was the question.
Luc wasn’t fighting for anyone but himself. If she were being honest, Dorothea would be forced to realize that she was fighting for the same. She loved her siblings, and she wanted to bring pride to District Nine, but her mind was turning morbid. The pride she would bring would only last a little while, and she didn’t know how her own people would feel about her after seeing her murder as she had. She would be drug out every year to mentor, and every night, perhaps, she’d see the faces of those who died so that she might live in her nightmares. She might even see them during the day.
Dorothea hated herself for this softness. She should have seen it coming. She shouldn’t have become friends with her enemy. They should not have gotten to the point where killing the only person in the way of her living would be a problem. It was enough to make Dorothea want to scream.
She turned her head to look at Luc.
“There’s another tribute, just out that way.” she said, pointing. And there she was: the District One female, the only other girl in the game, and the last Career. She waited on Luc’s recognition of the girl before trying to plot out a plan. She knew that they weren’t good at compromising, so she tried to keep an open mind while they waited, a faint smirk on her lips. ‘Next to last...’
“I’ve got some ropes stashed that way,” He pointed to the incline of the hill that was lined with boulders and frost bitten rocks. “You want to toss some rocks while I go get them? She’s a hot head. She’d run up this hill before she ran away, especially if she thinks you’re alone.” He glance at her then in the direct she had pointed. It was Swift, as he had expected, and he almost chuckled at the sight of her jagged blonde hair caught in the wind. She had lost some of it trying to get free of some prickly vines while fighting a guy with an ax. She won, obviously. He sighed.
It had become easy to do this with Dorothea. Planning wasn’t the smoothest, but it was the debating and the deciding and the working together for a common good that made it seem so nice. The killing and the blood and the gore wasn’t as much of a big deal when it was with someone else. Being able to share the grief and guilt meant more than he could begin to explain. Sure, there had been others before, but they weren’t Dorothea. They weren’t open minded and kind in the coldest of ways, and they hadn’t held up their end of the deal like she had. Perhaps that was the worst part.
Especially when it was time to drag the number even further down, Luc felt a sickness deep inside, and it was because he knew the inevitable was coming too quickly. Their alliance was like a ticking time bomb, and though he knew he could catch her off guard and snap her neck with ease - just like he had Domini, right when the Games began - he knew the aftermath would drive him insane. How could he possibly hope to survive if it left him empty on the inside, cold and guilty? He didn’t know, but he knew at the same time, he was afraid of dying. He was terrified of the blackness, the pain, and the unknown, but it was shaping up to be a true dilemma when compared to having to live knowing he had killed his....best friend, as it was.
“How’s that?” he asked, shaking the thoughts away.
“Sounds great,” Dorothea agreed, standing up. She offered her hand to help him up, the voice and gesture of both oddly echoing the memory they’d just finished discussing. The visual in her mind was bright, her out struck out and his taking it. The deal was made, and there was its product, alive on the pedestal of a mountain and on its slow, tortuous descent to its break. She sighed.
Once Luc was up and on his way, Dorothea gathered some nice rocks, some small like pebbles and others almost too big to throw, and then just about every size in between. Grinning to herself, happy to have something to play and to distract her, she lifted up a medium-sized rock and chucked it. It only barely missed Swift’s head. She whipped around, enraged already.
It was only a couple more throws before Swift was screeching obscenities and on the hot path to kill Dorothea. Chuckling quietly to herself, Dorothea waited, still throwing rocks.
Luc grabbed the ropes that were stashed under a boulder up the hill. The walk up was relatively treacherous, what with loose pebbles everywhere and the occasional chance of a Gamemaker play sending it all crashing down. Luc wouldn’t have been surprised by such a thing. It would decrease Dorothea’s chance of survival if he were dead, but it would outrage their fans. Oh, and he knew they had fans. After all, they wouldn’t have made it this far without the occasional food arrival, or the splint for another tribute’s leg earlier on - that had been ultimately pointless.
He was careful of the sharp thorn edges woven into the thick, green vines ropes as he picked them up,so he avoided slinging them over his shoulder as he had done when crafting them. With careful but quick steps, being as nimble as someone of his size could possibly be, he dashed down the hill to where Dorothea was, careful not to startle her.
“How about you lure her into the forest and I’ll make a noose? We’ll hang her,” he suggested.
Dorothea shivered, glancing back at him for only a moment. It was his specialty, of course, but the thought of it - and the images that played in her mind - were perhaps mildly disturbing. She nodded. Spotting a tree that stood only just above the rest, but above all the same, she decided that that’s where it would happen - if Luc decided to be nice and agree. She grinned, the slight chill that the word “hang” had brought to her gone.
“Tall tree, right side. See it? Set the trap at the back of the tree, and I’ll meet you there as soon as I can.” She haphazardly tossed another rock at the slowly approaching - climbing, rather - Swift.
“You and your boyfriend, huh?” she screeched. Dorothea was already close to laughter. “Well, even if you do kill me - and I swear to God that you won’t! - then that’ll bring you two that much closer to having to kill one or the other!” Dorothea rolled her eyes. Luc was long gone and she knew it. As she backed up, waiting for Swift to finish her climb, Dorothea rolled her eyes. The matted blonde head appeared, streaked with flaky, dry blood. She was red in the face and practically foaming at the mouth.
“Fuck you!” Swift screamed, whipping out her sword. Dorothea had coveted that sword from day one, but Swift had gotten to it first, and Dorothea knew that there were more important things than a sword. Even one as beautiful as the one Swift held. Dorothea smirked, her hand on her own sword. Hers was smaller than Swift’s, but if time had told her anything, it had told Dorothea that her sword was just as strong. She smirked.
“Looks like you’ve had it rough, Swift,” she commented, backing around in a semi-circle. Swift tracked her with her eyes.
“You’re a lot more talkative, these days, aren’t you?” The comeback was catty, spoken lightly. Dorothea shrugged.
“You could say that. But you also couldn’t.” She launched the pebble Frisbee-style right into Swift’s forehead. Swift fell, coming dangerously close to the edge.
“Bitch!” she screamed, leaping up. Dorothea was already on her way down. She tried to be careful, but she knew that Swift wouldn’t take such precautions; as much as Swift wanted her dead by her own hand, Dorothea could tell that she’d cause a rockslide to do it for her just as easy by that point. So, she broke out into a flat run down the side of the mountain.
Swift was behind her, too, she could hear. As the Career followed her down, screaming who knew what, Dorothea whooped. It was loud, ridiculously so, and it made Swift angrier than ever. Really, it hadn’t been planned. Dorothea just felt like it. She wondered, for a moment, where the other tribute was, if he could hear her. She hoped that she hadn’t gotten Luc into any trouble. But she doubted it, and with the increasing volume of Swift’s voice behind her, Dorothea figured it’d be best to go, go, go.
So she did, running straight off the mountain and into the forest, looking up at the last moment to locate the direction of the tree. Swift was hot on her tail.
“Not so funny anymore, huh!” Swift yelled, swinging with her sword. It just missed Dorothea’s back. It was too close. Dorothea was shaken, but she didn’t slow down. The tree was close, she knew it. Looking up, she saw it above the canopy, and it was straight ahead. Her heart was pumping in her ears and the adrenaline was high. She reached the tree, slamming into it with the force of her run. Swift was right behind her, and almost impaled her with her sword. But the sword ended up stuck in the tree and Dorothea had moved just to the side. This was it.
Swift pulled out a dagger. This was going to be up close and personal. Painful, if she had time. She ran. Dorothea didn’t. Her momentary confusion was wiped away as she realized too late that she’d walked into a trap.
Luc had enough time to swing himself into the tree by climbing up a more accessible one. Days spent in the trees of District Seven served him well, for he could climb and maneuver the branches of these with ease. He crouched down on a high, sturdy branch and dropped the ropes enough to be within reach without being seen. The thorns were poised around every part of the loop that would act as the noose. There was a knot close to the top, but Luc never needed it to make sure they stayed put. Once Swift was under and Dorothea was clear, he lowered it and snagged her.
There was an awful gurgling noise as the blood pooled in Swift’s throat and mouth, but she was easily hoisted two, three, four feet off of the ground, legs kicking frantically and hands flailing as she tried to reach for the noose, tried to understand what was going on, and eventually, tried to merely survive. Luc didn’t know whether she asphyxiated or if her neck broke, but he didn’t care. He dropped the ropes and her body crashed to the ground. The ropes were too important to leave her hanging around, and they had to take them quickly before Swift’s body was claimed. He sighed and climbed down, landing in a crouched position just near Swift’s head. He stood and looked down at her with a grim expression. “One down...” he sighed.
Dorothea was at his side in a moment, her arm slung around her shoulders. “One to go.” They weren’t counting down to the end of the Games. They were counting down to the moment when it would be only them in the arena; when it was Luc versus Dorothea, not Luc and Dorothea versus any and all other tributes. She felt sick, but didn’t let it show. “Now get your rope and let’s head out. Do you want to go back to the mountains?”
Her eyes held a distant look, and she wouldn’t look directly at Swift’s body. It wasn’t just knowing the fate that awaited herself and Luc that made her sick. Swift’s end hadn’t been pretty in one single way. She sighed, stepping away and turning her back. She wanted to go home. She wanted to be out of the Games. She wished that she had told Luc no, she wouldn’t go into an alliance with him. She wondered if he wished that she’d said no, too. Her practical nonchalance before the Games sickened her now just as much as those other two things. Dorothea ground her palms against her eyelids, frowning. “Or what?”
“We’ll get flushed out,” he said, crouching down as he pried the thorns from Swift’s neck. The blood gushed, but he ignored it and coiled the ropes. “Let’s just keep walking in....” He gestured idly and sighed. “I don’t know. I just don’t want to do anymore killing today.” He looked away from Swift’s pale face with its wide, gaping blue eyes. She had been pretty, he recalled. When she stood on the stage and called herself a “little six-foot lightfoot,” she had been genuinely beautiful. He supposed it was because she had been innocent. She had never cleaved a kid’s head in with an ax. She had never gutted a little girl because she was in her way. She was just a teenager standing before a crowd of strangers, vying for her life in the only way she knew how. Luc sighed again.
“Let’s go to the lake. The little one in that direction.” He pointed between the trees, directly across from where they had been sitting before Swift had shown up. “That’s probably where she came from. She’s traveling light. Might have some food stashed there.” He shrugged. “How about it?” A horrible thought made morbid by his inability to object occurred to him as he said that. ‘Maybe one of us will die on the way there. Maybe both.’
“Sounds great,” Dorothea sighed, turning and smiling faintly at him. She knew that he was probably right, and in the Games, “probably” was a very finicky thing. But, she wasn’t going to go alone. She waited for him to walk to her, and then they set off.
For a long time, they were quiet, just walking. The air grew cooler, and Dorothea could feel moisture in the air; they were close. She slowed to a stop, coming to lean against a tree. Closing her eyes, rubbing them again, she rolled her shoulders and let a shudder roll through her. It was hard to tell if Luc had stopped or if he’d kept going, but she assumed the former.
Dorothea wasn’t sure why she’d stopped. She just had. Maybe she was about to have a breakdown - she couldn’t tell. She took a deep breath, filling her lungs with air until they felt too full. She blew it all out, until she couldn’t any longer, and sunk to the ground, back at the base of the tree, and opened her eyes. She stared straight off, right at nothing, eyes as empty as anything could be. In her mind, she replayed every death she’d been present for - and she’d been present for a lot - and she whispered the names of the four from their alliance. She whispered the names of Tila and Pike, even though they hadn’t been in their alliance. She felt now as though because they had died, they had passed on the curse of what would have been their own problem to deal with onto herself and Luc.
Her chin wobbled and her eyebrows knit together. Dorothea had yet to cry during the games, but the feeling in her stomach and her eyes made her feel like she might. She took another lung-filling intake, and let it all out. Again. Again. Again. Again. She was feeling lightheaded, but she didn’t need to cry anymore. It was gone. The pain, the worrying, the sickness - gone.
Dorothea stood. She closed her eyes another time, only for a couple seconds. As she looked around for Luc, she mumbled, “Sorry.”
Luc had gotten over turning his back to Dorothea within the first few days of the first week. He came to trust her after she saved him from one of Jax Caddy’s traps, and he didn’t mind walking in silence with her when he couldn’t see her every move. He knew that she wouldn’t do anything, and at this point, he didn’t care if she did. It was a crazy, intricate mess of woulds and wouldn’ts at every turn, but he knew two things for certain: he didn’t want to die, and he didn’t care if he died by accident or on account of a surprise attack. It was just as crazy as the rest of it.
He stopped when he heard her footsteps stop, and he expected the worse due to jittery paranoia he had become accustomed to by then. But, no. She was sitting and paying him no attention, looking as if she would melt into a puddle of tears there on the ground. He knew better than to mess with her, to ask if she was alright, to offer to help her up. Instead, he stood and looked around, chewing his lip and gazing at the too-blue sky as he inhaled the too-crisp air. It was the beginning of the end; they were drawing the three of them out with cool, nice weather and seemingly calm water. He sighed.
“Don’t apologize,” he responded, turning back to her as she spoke. “We’re all a little under it by now, huh?” He tried to chuckle, but it just sounded sad and dejected. He extended a hand to her. “Let’s go?”
Her hand met his, and her fingers slid between his own. She’d always wondered what it was like to have an older brother. Now, she knew, and she wished with all her heart that she didn’t. “Let’s go.” she agreed, heading off towards the lake.
(*/fade*)
Edge was limp. The canon faded. Dorothea straddled the corpse of a torso, her hands still tight around his neck. She’d done it. “And then there were none.” The sky was pink and blue, so reminiscent of home. She rolled off of Edge’s body, willing herself to stare at it. She’d killed him. It was her, Dorothea, that had killed the last person who had been inadvertently protecting her alliance with Luc. Her.
Luc. He was unconscious, bleeding a bit from the side. Edge had sliced him up pretty deep, but it wasn’t fatal. Dorothea knew it wasn’t fatal. Fate herself couldn’t be so kind. She sighed as the whirring of the hovercraft grew loud. She backed away, and the mechanical claw lifted Edge up and away. The silence returned.
Dorothea stared at Luc for a long time. She had a lot of options, more so with him blacked out than if he hadn’t been. She considered them all.
She could kill him then and there. He wouldn’t know it. But she would. After everything they’d been through, after the trust that they’d placed in one another’s hands, she could do that. Not if she wanted to bring pride to District Nine, and more importantly, to herself.
She could run and hide, wait him out. It left too much to chance. The gamemakers had too much power in that option. They could take one of the out, and though that would be easier, Dorothea didn’t trust her life in the hands of those people.
Alternatively, she could run and hide, and Luc would find her. They would fight. One would die. The thought of it tore her apart. No, she wouldn’t do that. Not only would it kill her if she killed him, but if he killed her, she knew it would haunt him forever.
She could kill herself, before he ever woke up. He would know what had happened. He would see it, in fact, she was sure. Dorothea looked at her sword, off the the side as it had been thrown by Edge. It would be easy. Very little pain, probably. It’d be on her own terms, and Luc would live without her blood on his hands. She moved closer to the sword. Luc groaned. She stopped.
Not yet.
No.
She would wait.
Dorothea stood and walked over to Luc, leaving her sword where it was. She knelt at his side, gauging his movements with a clinical gaze. Caesar had called her the calm wild card of the 67th Annual Hunger Games. The was the moment of truth.
If he tried to kill her, then the truce was off, just as he’d said in training. She would have to kill him, then, and there would be no other way.
But if he didn’t, then they would talk. They would spend one last day together, unless the gamemakers decided otherwise. And then, once night had fallen and Dorothea got one last night’s sleep, she would get up and go. Go where, she didn’t know, but she knew that it would be the canon that woke Luc up. She sighed, looking up at the sky again. ‘I’ve gone soft.’
She chuckled, hoarsely quietly. Edge had gotten a good grip on her throat for awhile. She didn’t mind so much, except that she hoped it wouldn’t bother the talk she wanted to have with Luc. She took a breath that filled up her lungs as much as they could be filled, and let it go as slowly as possible. It was calm over the waters of the lake. She could see the Cornucopia on the other side. It was ironic that they’d end up back there.
Luc groaned again, moving. Dorothea looked down, watching. She waited for his eyes to open. She waited for him to make the first move. Dorothea was ready. Luc had been right all along; she knew what she was doing.
He opened his eyes, and for once, the sun wasn’t too bright. It was just the right mellow shade with just the right amount of cloud cover, and though he felt a pain unlike any other he had experience in a physical sense throughout the entirety of the Games, it was nice. He saw Dorothea, and like a loftily flying bird in the sky, his happiness jumped, lept, and was shot down. He closed his eyes and his chest heaved uncomfortably. He didn’t want to get up. Getting up meant facing her, and facing her meant that they were alone, their alliance was done, and it was time for someone to strike.
Once upon a time, he might have been the one to do it. He would roll over, perhaps fake pain from the wound, and then grasp her neck with all the strength he had. The bone would crack easily; she would be dead and he would be the winner. But now, he couldn’t. The very thought made him sick. Thinking of the alternative was just as bad. But, she had saved his life. That meant something. She could have let Edge kill him and saved herself the hardship of this moment. She could have taken Edge out afterwards, Luc knew that very well. Edge had sported a large wound on his back from a fight with Swift. Luc had cracked his collarbone. He would have been easy pickings for Dorothea, who was physically alright and unharmed. Luc sighed.
“Kill me now,” he groaned, sitting up. “It’s time. Time’s up. You can walk out of here alive if you kill me now.” He opened his eyes and looked at her. “Or not. I... I’m hungry. Let’s go find food, how’s that?” He knew Dorothea would understand. He knew she knew him well enough to understand that he wasn’t trying to trick her. She would know he was being his usual straightforward self. He really was hungry. He really was offering her a chance to try killing him. It was her choice. He smiled, pain in his eyes.
Dorothea’s hands were shaking, even though she already had her resolve. She hid them behind her back and returned the smile.
“Never say that again.” He would know what she meant. The shaking came to a stop, slowly. Just as slow, she reached out and let her hand rest on his side. She glanced at him, looking into his eyes. She moved aside the flaps of cloth that were his shirt and jacket.
It was bad. Very bed. Edge had gotten that sword in deep. But still, Luc would live… If he got out before infection set it. He would. She knew he was in pain: it was plain on his face, obvious in his eyes. Dorothea hated to see him in pain. But Luc was a big boy. He could and would take care of himself. She’d just have to give him one last helping hand.
“You aren’t going anywhere. I can leave you here, since it’s all said and done. I’ll go get food and be back soon.” She smoothed the hair back from his eyes. Blood smeared on his forehead; Dorothea cringed. His words echoed in her mind, and for a few seconds she wondered if she was going to be sick. ‘He can’t really believe that I’d do that.’ she told herself. ‘He’s just being stupid. How unusual.’ She grinned at him, her own thoughts lightening her mood. Perhaps she would be dead in a matter of hours. Perhaps everything she’d done, ever, was all going to be for nothing. She was giving up her life for this boy. and for a moment she wondered why.
Dorothea swallowed hard, pushing up off the ground. “I’ll be back soon.” With that, she turned and walked off. As soon as the woods concealed her, she ran. She ran and ran and ran until her legs gave out and she simply fell. For the first time in the Games, and even longer before then, Dorothea cried. She knew that she was being watched by millions, and she couldn’t find it anywhere within her soul to give one single damn. She sobbed and cried and curled in on herself and screamed for all she was worth. She didn’t care about pride anymore. She didn’t care about District Nine. She didn’t care about anything except that fact that if her best friend - her only friend - was going to live, she would have to die.
There was mud in her mouth and eyes. She felt tired, sore. She wanted to go home. But home wasn’t District Nine. Home was with Luc. She was cared about with Luc. She was protected. They were friends, and if they could both make it out of here she was pretty sure that they would get married just because they would never be able to deal with anybody else, and because there would never be anyone else who cared for one like the other. They had an understanding, from the beginning. It had made them stronger in the Games, and weaker in the end.
She screamed, as she thought of it. Maybe he didn’t feel the same, but for Dorothea, Luc was like her brother, and more than that, he. was. home. She sobs wracked her chest for a long time. She shook and writhed and for all the world she could have sworn that she knew that outside in the real world where this was happening to no one else, there was silence, and she knew it. She breathed. She opened her eyes. She stood and brushed off the dirt, spitting the mud from her mouth.
Luc was hungry. She didn’t know how much time had passed, but he was probably getting worried. Sword in hand, she stalked. A couple hours later, she had blood all over herself and a skinny Mutt slung over her shoulders. It was a long trip home, but she made it. ‘Please, please let Luc still be there.’
“Hey, guess who got dinner!” Her voice was happier than her heart.
Luc felt an unfamiliar, sharp pain of fear run through his body like an unwelcomed chill as soon as she was gone. He was afraid, if only fleetingly, because the grass beside him was tinged red, because he was alone and out in the open, because he was defenseless. Sure, he knew Edge was dead and that the only thing standing between him and safety was...her...but the paranoia had grown over the weeks, and now it was second nature. He hated that. Being afraid wasn’t supposed to be a constant. It wasn’t even supposed to be a frequent. The cold fear was replaced with hot, red anger, but that wasn’t any better. He felt like screaming, but even simple breathing hurt. He closed his eyes, feeling the wetness of tears falling from his lashes.
Dorothea seemed to be gone for too long. He began to worry, but he didn’t move. He didn’t get up and go look for her. He didn’t even roll over and look around. He just hoped that she was okay. He hoped that he might start bleeding again, that she might get held up by something or another, that he would fall asleep, and she would return to find herself the Victor. That was the new hope he clung to, and it was so perfect. It was peaceful, it was kind to them both, and it would spare them both the guilt and regret. He liked that idea. He reached to touch the wound. It was still bleeding, yes, but not so badly. He could feel an ugly sob in his chest, but he refused to let it out. It was an uphill battle, just as perfectly as could be, and he was losing.
But the crying was halted by her voice, by her tone. He opened his eyes and leaned forward, his insides protesting with sharp pain through his torso. He fell back to the grass, smiling through it all - a sad smile. “Oh, good,” he said, loud enough for her to hear. “Good....”
She walked over, placing the carcass on the ground and then flopping down beside Luc. Now that she knew what she had to do, and she’d already cried it all out, everything felt calm. “We’ll have you right as rain before too long,” she murmured, blowing some hair out of her face. “But hey, y’know what they say: no pain, no gain.” ‘And you’ll gain a lot before this time tomorrow.’ Dorothea laid on the ground for a moment, staring up at Luc. Her smile was as sad as his, and sighed as she looked away, sitting up and looking at the dead animal with an oddly predatory gaze.
“Did you miss me?” she asked, perhaps rhetorically, hopping up and going over to it. She started walking around, clearing a place for a fire pit and looking for rocks to contain it in. She’d skin the mutt and eviscerate it, leave all of that mess out in the woods while the meat cooked, and before they ate she’d made Luc take a nap or at least close his eyes while she went to bathe. Dorothea figured that she might as well clean up for her last meal. Kicking a too-small rock out of her way and off into the water, she breathed back the urge to cry. ‘Too emotional. I’m too damn emotional. Luc, what did you do to me, you crazy idiot?’ Her chuckle was forced as she meandered away, still looking for rocks.
Luc watched her as she went looking for the rock, wondering faintly of what she might be thinking. He told himself, though, that he probably didn’t want to know. Sometimes it was better to not see things coming, whatever they were. It left a lot of questions unanswered, but it left the wounds closed for the time being. He shook his head, a small laugh escaping him as he thought of how weird humans were, and how it wasn’t really until you were caught in such a position that you realize the tiny, earth shattering decisions that had to be made everyday. “Most people make the wrong ones...” he whispered, looking away from Dorothea and at the bloody grass.
Dorothea got her fire pit together, made it close enough to Luc that she could get him over when the cold night fell, but far enough away that the smoke wouldn’t be too overpowering. She brought the mutt carcase closer, sitting cross-legged with her back half turned away from Luc. She could still see him if she looked to the side.
As she began to skin the animal, Dorothea did look over to him, her friendly, almost smiling, gaze resting on him for a moment before she looked back to her task. “You know, you never answered me.” she said casually, a smirk tucked away in the corner of her lip.
“About what?” he asked, looking up from the speckled blade of grass he was holding. He had sat up and was awkwardly leaned to the side on one hand to avoid hunching over the wound on his side.
“Lay back down before you tear something,” Dorothea muttered, smirk spreading like honey on toast in the morning. Slow, warm, and sticking. For a few moments, she thought of home. That was what she’d eat, in the morning. Two slices of bread - grain, of course - with honey on them. The bees had always been there, in the district. No one knew when they’d shown up, or how, but they were always there. Their hives were underground, and looked like giant anthills. The Capitol didn’t seem to care much about them, and so District Nine was always rich in honey. Dorothea almost smiled. She would miss that.
“But I asked you if you missed me.” She rolled her eyes at him, laying a layer of fur and skin on the ground beside her. “I feel like I was gone for a pretty long time.”
“Yeah,” he said, smiling sadly. “I did. Stupid, but I did.” He shook his head and dropped the blade of grass. “It’s stupid because I’m going to miss you forever, one way or another. It’s stupid because we have a really beautiful friendship going and we have to throw it all away for people who don’t even understand what it means to care about someone. It’s just sad, you know? Our families won’t miss us as much as we’ll miss each other. They’re not the ones hurting. Only one of us is going to feel that hurt, and they’ll feel it for a long time. That’s the stupid part.”
Dorothea paused. Her expression was blank as she looked over to him, but her heart was weeping. “If it’s me, promise that you’ll live for me, alright? I know that you won’t forget me, but don’t let it ruin you. You’re right, totally and completely right, but it’s unavoidable unless we both die. I don’t think that that’s an option.” She shook her head, looking back to the carcass and returning to her work. “But just tell me, right now, that if you’re the Victor then you will live on, if not for anything else, then for me.”
It hurt so much to say it. It was making everything concrete. Once he promised her that, Dorothea would be on the fast track to death. But, there wasn’t any other way. She cracked her jaw - Luc hated that - and began the careful evisceration of the mutt.
He sighed. “That can’t be an option, Dorothea,” he said. “None of it. It can’t be. You need to go home. You... You will go home.” He pressed his hand against the wound on his side and groaned. “It... You’re going home, Dorothea. That’s all there is to it.” He wasn’t sure how he would make sure of it, but he planned on it, somehow or another. Perhaps he could get up and walk, and walk, and keep walking until the Gamemakers tried to flush him back to her. Then he could let himself get in the way of whatever they used, and that would be it. It wouldn’t be suicide, it would be quick - hopefully - and Dorothea would be safe. He sighed. Or he could wait for an infection and beg for her to kill him. Or he could just tear it open and bleed out. He sighed again. “Somehow, you are.”
“Be quiet.” Dorothea stared down at the carcass, taking big, deep breaths. Why did he have to make this so hard? “And don’t say that.” She clicked her jaw again, pulling out organ after organ, placing them on the skins. Her hands were steady, careful. His words had yet to upset her calm.
“And I swear, Luc, I swear, if you try to run off or do some stupid thing, I… Hell, I don’t know what I’ll do. Tie you to a tree and click my jaw a hundred times over. I don’t know, but don’t you dare try anything.” She huffed briefly, blowing the air out almost as if she were angry, but there was a hint of a laugh in it. “Got it?”
He had to promise her that he’d live for her. She needed him to say it. She needed to know that if she died, he could live on and not be held back by her death. Dorothea wasn’t one to make vain sacrifices. She would try again later. For the time being, she settled with cooking and lighthearted banter. It eased her mind and soul, and she hoped that he wouldn’t try and be too morbid anytime soon.
Dorothea knew he wasn’t someone to lie or make false promises. He never said things he didn’t mean, and if he did, it was only because she interpreted as him not meaning it. He groaned. “I don’t got anything,” he said after a few moments.
The knife came to a stop. The air was silent. Dorothea was still. She closed her eyes, sighing heavily. She didn’t want to be irritated with Luc, and she didn’t want second thoughts. He wasn’t helping with either of those.
“Luc. Luc Oakley, listen to me. Neither of us what is going to happen next. I believe that neither of us will kill the other, and I know that one of us has to go home. Unless you want us both to die here, then that’s that. And since we don’t know what’s going to happen, I need you to promise that if I die, you won’t feel guilty for it. If I die, don’t make it in vain. Don’t betray me like that. Keep your end of the deal.” She looked over to him, blue eyes piercing and hair a halo as the morning sun rose.
“If you die, then I promise you that I will live for you. I need you to do the same.” Her voice held the same tone, the same command, as when she had said ‘“Tell me what it is or leave me alone.”’ To Dorothea, that felt like a lifetime ago. In a way, it was.
“I’m not giving you a promise I can’t keep.” He wanted desperately to be able to walk off into the distance, out of sight and away from her, but he didn’t want to go through the pain of getting up only to hobble a few feet and fall the rest of the way. He didn’t want to have this conversation with her. He didn’t like what she was implying, making it seem like she knew for a matter of fact that she was going to die. She couldn’t know that. She didn’t get to make that call. It wasn’t fair, and it certainly wasn’t right.
She was going to throttle him. “Why not?” Dorothea didn’t want it to sound like the words were coming through gritted teeth, but they were. She was angry. “Why can’t you make me the one promise, after all the things that we’ve done, that will give me the peace of mind I need to carry on? I’m not saying I’m gonna die,” ‘Yes I am. Don’t lie to him.’ “I just want to know that if I do,” ‘When, you liar.’ “That you won’t die, too. We’re alive inside our minds more than we are in our bodies. I won’t let your death and my victory be a vain act, if that’s what happens. I really expect the same from you.”
Dorothea didn’t like talking as much as she had to. Her point should’ve gotten across by now. Breathing deep was becoming less and less helpful.
Luc stared at her. “Do you really, really think that life outside of this arena is going to be worth living? Dor, I’ve killed people here. I hung them with a rope and got the blood all over my hands. I saw a kid get ripped to shreds by animals. I broke the neck of a girl who I’ve known all my life and her parents would never believe that she asked me to do it. Do you really think I could go on outside of these walls? I couldn’t even try.” He spat the word and wiped the bloody spittle that came out away with his hand.
“That’s all there is to it. I didn’t enter with the intention of living for anyone else. I was going to survive because I was afraid of dying. And now?” He laughed, harshly. “Now I couldn’t care less. If it meant you could live and be happy like you’ve just said you would, then I would gladly greet death in any form. I would. I swear on it.”
“Fuck!” Dorothea screamed, throwing her sword to the ground, jumping up. “I want you to live, Luc. I don’t want you to die.” She paced, hands digging into her scalp. “Why do you make everything so hard? I was fully prepared to die for you, and then you have to go and… And do this?” She was furious. Her one solid plan was useless. “It was going to be so simple, so easy! But now, of course, nothing is all over again. I’d come to peace with the fact that I had to die so that you could live, and now the tables are turned!” Her hands scrubbed down her face. She wanted to wail.
The air in her lungs were pent up. The pressure in her head was building. The Games had messed her up. She wailed, falling to her knees, back to Luc. The sound tore itself straight from her soul, and it petered off in a hacking cough as she ran out of air. Dorothea was so tired. Mentally, physically, emotionally. She just wanted to be with Luc, safe, happy, without the threat of death over their heads. She wished that she had met him under different circumstances. She’d wished a lot of things those past few days, and none of it was getting her anywhere.
She sighed, shoulders slumping. Head hung, Dorothea turned. She stood, practically drooping, and shambled over to Luc. At his side, she collapsed down. Normally, she wasn’t one for dramatics, but nothing was normal anymore. There wasn’t a plan, there wasn’t a clear future, there wasn’t anything but the moment they lived in. It was his uninjured side. She curled against him. Home.
“I’m tired. Are you still hungry?” she asked, eyes closed, expression one of irritated concentration. The dark circles under her eyes seemed to have grown. She hoped that he wouldn’t lie.
“No. I feel sick,” he said simply. “Go to sleep. I’ll watch for whatever’s still out here.”
Dorothea reached up and pressed the back of her hand to his forehead. No fever, not yet. She brought her arm back to her own side, stretching out beside Luc. “Don’t go anywhere, okay? I need my pillow.” Her head rested on his bicep as she said it. As she closed her eyes, she remembered her sword. With a weary sigh, she sat up and stood, walking around Luc to grab it. She glanced at the almost unrecognizable carcass. “Want to move closer to the fire? You can cook while I sleep.” Her fingers drummed against the hilt.
“Yeah,” he said, reaching over so as to push himself up. The gesture failed and only caused more pain, but he tried anyhow to carry on with it. He waved Dorothea away when she tried to help, grunting that he had to do it himself. And, indeed, he managed to stand and stumble the few feet over before dropping to his knees and slumping down into a sitting position by the fire. His side ached and was bleeding again, but there was nothing he could do about it. “It’s going to get infected,” he muttered as he motioned for her to sit down. “Whatever.”
Dorothea had the meat all set up be the time he sat down. It was sizzling on the hot stones. She sat beside him, scowling. Luc was just as obstinate as ever. “I know. And I’m going to try and keep it from getting too bad. I’m not going to let you hurt, not if I can help it.” Laying on her back, she stared up at the sky. Light grey clouds dotted the air above, and she hoped desperately that it wasn’t going to rain. But she couldn’t worry about rain. She was tired. Dorothea sat up for a minute, then laid back down, curling on her side with her head on Luc’s knee. “Remember, don’t go anywhere. Especially not without waking me up first. Got it?”
“I’m going to sit and eat and wait for the bacteria to set in,” he said, giving her a wink. “Don’t worry.” He was completely serious, as it were, but the truth was so bizarre, so unreal, that he couldn’t help but laugh at it. His side hurt, and he was fairly certain it was growing numb on the outside as the torn insides burned and grew inflamed, but was nice to smile. “Sleep well.”
“Shut up,” Dorothea mumbled, rolling her eyes and chuckling quietly. Settled in, she finally relaxed. They were alone in the arena. The last two tributes. And they were friends. She smiled, sadly, but it was still a smile. Slowly, without thinking about much of anything at all, she fell asleep.
FADE
Morning came too quickly, and it brought a brightness with it that was too, well, bright. Of course, Luc had been awake. He hadn’t slept. How could he have possibly drifted away and missed what was certainly his last few hours with Dorothea? Sure, she was unconscious herself, fast asleep with the soundness that only exhaustion could bring. Emotionally exhausted, he figured. He himself was tired, too, but he felt a clear headedness that made him feel like he could carry on without needing a wink of sleep. He’d get plenty of that soon enough, he supposed. The sad part was saying goodbye, and that would wake him up. Goodbye meant it was over, and it meant that their new compromise was made. Someone had to do it, and he knew by now that if he let her do it, it would be in vain.
She was stronger than he was. He assured himself of that as he rebuilt their fire, and he reminded himself of it as he cooked a strip of meat for her to eat. He knew she was stronger because she would be able to carry on without him, and it was something he couldn’t imagine. He admired her for it, for making his decision such a good one. He marveled at how his simple act of trust had blossomed into a kinship between them that had kept them alive, both physically and in their own heads. Now, the stronger of the two would prevail. It almost made him feel so nice, if he wasn’t so sad and cold feeling.
When he heard birds chirping and the sun was positioned at its usual morning angle, he stooped down beside where she lay curled on the ground. She looked so peaceful that he almost didn’t want to disturb her. But, he knew how wrong it would be to leave without saying goodbye. It was the heroic thing, but it left her hanging. He would leave her and she would see him disappear into the trees, but only after he had told her how much she meant to him and how much faith he had in her. Only after hugs and tears and forced smiles that represented the grief more than anything else would be he able to go. Otherwise it didn’t feel like a good deed for a friend. Otherwise, if felt like plain cowardice. He sighed.
“Dor,” he said quietly, gently patting her cheek. He knew better than to shake her awake. After weeks with death hanging just behind your shoulder, being shaken awake was the worst way to greet the day. “Come on, Dorothea, it’s time to wake up.” He smiled, and despite his careful control, he could already feel the sobs and tears and stuffy nose. He swallowed hard and shook his head. “Come on, now.”
She groaned. Dorothea had been smelling the scent of cooking meat for awhile, but only faintly. As she opened her eyes and blinked at the almost white brightness of the sharp morning light, she fully realized that Luc was cooking breakfast. She was glad he hadn’t left her. It didn’t seem like the sort of thing Luc would do, but she couldn’t help but worry. Dorothea rolled over, face in the grass. “Come on, Luc,” she moaned. “We probably have all day, and yet you wake me up? You’re cruel.” She peeked at him. After another beat, she grinned, rolling back and sitting up. Even though it was almost surely their last day together - if they didn’t do something, the Gamemakers would - she couldn’t help but smile. Dorothea wasn’t going to let morbidity ruin whatever time she had left with Luc. One way or another, she would never see him again. And just like that, morbidity shot down her lighthearted, easygoing joy.
Another, longer blink. She rolled her shoulders, tilting her head as she gazed at him. Something was wrong, something more than the physical pain she knew he was in. Her eyes narrowed. The question was on her lips. She swallowed the lump in her throat.
“So, is it the mutt or did you and your side actually go and kill something?” The grin was jaunty, and it was hollow. She hoped he hadn’t left. She’d have to punch him if he did, even if it was playfully. She’d have to try not to cry at the thought that he could have so easily have been killed and that she would have been none the wiser. Dorothea shuddered at the thought. Her grin remained painted in place.
Luc watched her with weary eyes, but there was still a warmth in his gaze that no amount of sadness could drown. It was so nice to see her still manage to be playful, it was nice to see her grin. Those were things he wanted to remember for as long as he was able to do so. He exhaled quietly when he realized she knew something was wrong. How could she not notice, really? But it didn’t matter. His mind was made up and she would go along with it if she knew what was good for the both of them. He knew she did.
“I cut it off of the mutt,” he said with a little smile. “This is it. I wanted the farewell to be nice. Not good to be sad on an empty stomach, I’ve heard.” He tried to laugh, but it was just a breathy sigh in the end. There wasn’t anything to laugh at anyhow. His jokes were pale compared to the gravity of the situation, and that gravity was near dragging him down. He sighed again.
Dorothea flinched, stiffening. She knew that he was only trying to lighten the mood, but it was a terrible attempt. That was what made her laugh. A few seconds of awkward silence followed his words, and then she would laughing, loud, whooping, gales of laughter. If she’d thought about it, Dorothea would have found herself stunned at how alive Luc could make her act. Before the Games, she’d always been hard as a rock, and cold as that rock in the middle of winter, in just about every way. And here she was, on the verge of death or facing the death of her best and only friend, laughing like they had all the time in the world.
“What sort,” she panted out. “Of a joke was that?” She laughed harder, wrapping her arms around her sides and shaking her head, slowly calming herself down. “Whew,” she breathed, wiping her eyes. “That’s one way to wake up in the morning.” She shook her head again. “Count on you to state the obvious when it doesn’t need stating. And in the most tasteful manner, but of course.” Dorothea punched his shoulder. “But, at least you cooked. For that, I forgive your terrible table manners.”
Luc wanted to laugh. He wanted to fall into peals of uncontrollable laughter, if not because it was funny then because he was nervous and anxious beyond being able to control it. But, it didn’t happen as such. He wasn’t that lucky. He just sat with a small smile on his face, leaking grey sadness, while she laughed. It was another sight he wanted to remember, a sound he would like to hear for the rest of his life. Though the moment was dull compared to so many others they had experience together in the arena - fancy that - he knew this one was infinitely more important.
“At least I did, indeed,” he said with a smile. “Now, eat up. You’ve got a big day.”
The soft sound of her faded laughter came to an abrupt end. Dorothea glared at Luc, a mix of shock and pain on her face for a few moments. She looked away, the look going blank.
“Yeah.” she said tonelessly, shuddering inwardly as she fished the strip of meat onto an out rock, waiting for it to cool. “Did you cook yourself a piece?” Dorothea didn’t want to think about what would have to happen by the end of the day. Not yet, at least. She wanted a little longer with Luc, just to be. Be friends, be allies, to be themselves as much as they could be before everything would all be over. She cleared her throat, eyes glancing over to him as she waited for an answer.
“No,” he said quietly. “I’m really not hungry. I feel...” He shrugged. “Not hungry.”
“Not at all?” she pressed, gingerly picking it up and tearing off a chunk and holding it out to Luc.
“No. Full of something else; couldn’t keep it down.” He shrugged. “Sorry. Now, eat up.” He smiled, or tried to smile, but it felt empty. Indeed, he did feel full of something else, and that something else was fear - fear and apprehension. But, yet, there wasn’t much doubt. He couldn’t doubt something so important. He could doubt the method, the effectiveness, even the way in which he hoped to leave it all standing, but couldn’t doubt his decision. It was too late to do that, much too late.
She frowned, but said nothing. As he’d told her to do, Dorothea ate. It was a silent breakfast, almost tense. The inevitable was uncomfortably close. Dorothea finished the last of the meat, her gaze looking out over the water.
“Do you think that they’d keep the cameras on me if I went to go take a bath?” she asked distantly, her mind not really on the words she spoke. Dorothea had to prolong it. Accepting it openly wasn’t an option. “I think I’d like to clean myself up a bit.”
Luc stared at her for a moment, a painful tug in the pit of his stomach telling him that it would drive him insane to sit and wait. He had done enough of the sitting and waiting. It was time, whether she liked it or not. He shook his head. “No, no. We need to talk, Dorothea. We need to talk now.” He looked at her with an urgency in his eyes that conveyed that the emotion he felt was close to fracturing his otherwise calm expression. He waited.
She flinched, only just slightly, but all the same the flinch led into a statuesque stillness. When she moved, Dorothea knew that she’d have to face it; the inevitable. So instead, she gave it a last shot. All that moved were her lips, and she never looked at Luc. “I just want to tidy myself up, okay? We have all day.” she said quietly, wariness in her voice as much as there was a forced tone of nonchalance. “It won’t take long.”
“No, we don’t. You’ll regret not waiting.” That was all he said.
Dorothea turned sharply to glare at Luc, the pain of the implication making it sharp. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“There isn’t anything I wouldn’t do right now, Dor,” he said simply, sounding like all of the emotion had drained out of him, leaving him exhausted. He actually slumped a little.
Dorothea closed her eyes. “Luc… Fine. I didn’t want to do this, not yet, but for you I’ll do this now.” She opened her eyes. They were calm, solid. She wasn’t ready, but she was as ready as she could ever be. Dorothea took a deep breath, moving closer to Luc as she sighed it out. “Let’s talk.”
He exhaled, closing his eyes. His heart was beating at a million miles per hour in his chest, getting no traction but burning the surface of his chest with every passing second. It was uncomfortable. He felt ill. He opened his eyes. What was there to say, exactly? How would he begin such a delicate conversation? How did one broach such a topic which was even more delicate than the conversation itself? He didn’t know, and that made him feel even sicker. But, as he stared into her eyes, it was obvious how it would be done. Painfully obvious.
“There isn’t much to say. In less than an hour, I’m going to leave and you’re going to go home. The cannon will go off for some reason, I don’t know how exactly, and it will be all over,” he said quietly, but with an edge to his voice which virtually forbid her from trying to contradict him. “You will live happily, and you promised you would. That’s it, basically. Now’s just goodbyes and tears.” He sighed. “And don’t try to stop me, either,” he added.
Dorothea bristled, hairs standing on end and eyes wide, livid. She’d been expecting it, of course, she’d known he would do this - he hadn’t been the least bit subtle about it - but for him to say that he would leave her, that she would go and alone… The very thought ignited passionate anger in her. He was her best friend: he deserved something else, something better. Unless that was absolutely what he wanted to do, Dorothea would find another way.
“Luc.” Her voice was unwavering, commanding attention, but in a gentle way. “I don’t want you to go alone.” The tone of the statement implied the question, ‘Why do you want to go alone at all?’
“Well, you’re not going with me,” he replied. Internally, he was boiling over with irritation. Why couldn’t she just take it for what it was, be crippled with sadness, but just let it go? Why couldn’t she do that? He sighed. He couldn’t do that either.
He might as well have slapped her. Dorothea glared at him, mind unable to come up with even one helpful thing to do or say. Her jaw set, and she looked away, surveying the land around her. “Do you want to go alone?” She felt like she were beginning to repeat herself, and that feeling left her with latent, burning irritation left from wherever inside of her that wasn’t consumed with sadness.
“I wouldn’t have said it if that wasn’t the case,” he retorted. And then, with those words, a dam he hadn’t know he had built burst. How could they possibly part well if things continued going as they currently were? He didn’t want anger, he didn’t want frustration and irritation. Sadness was alright because it was inevitable, but the red emotions were too much. They were heartbreaking, and they weren’t beautiful in the slightest. He dropped his head into his hands, ignoring the sick pull in his side.
“I don’t want to die, Dor,” he whispered. “But I’m not afraid of it anymore. I can do it, I can, if it means you get to walk out alive. I’m willing to do that. I know it’s the right thing to do because I know I won’t regret it. How could I?” He sighed. “Don’t ruin it. Just be grateful. Be happy we made it this far, alright? I am.”
Dorothea launched herself at him. For all the ferality of the attack, she was strangely gentle. Her arms wrapped around his neck and she hugged him tight. She’d done it because the world didn’t deserve to see the tears that had very, very quickly begun to spill out. Only Luc needed to know they were there, and he would as they dripped onto his skin. She took a deep, shaking breath, rubbing his back and pressing her face to the crook of his neck.
“I’ll miss you,” she whispered, her voice not nearly as strong as it had been a minute earlier. “Luc, I’ll never, ever forget you. I will be happy. I will move on, as best as I possibly can. I’ll forgive you because you saved my life and you are my best, my only, friend. I will live every day of my life thankful to you, and I just want you to know…” She trailed off, voice fading. Was it right to tell him? It was such a confusing thing to say, because it was so different than what most people believed it to be. She swallowed down the lump in her throat.
“I love you.” Her lips opened in a trembling smile. He knew, now, and no one else did and ever would. She was sure that they couldn’t hear her, couldn’t broadcast her words to all of Panem. She hoped that they didn’t. No one needed to hear this. This was for Luc, and Luc alone. “You’re like the brother I never had and never wanted. The one I never knew I might need. I love you more than most people love anyone, and I just thought that I’d tell you… Not because I want you to stay, but because I think now it might be easier for you to leave.” She gave him a final squeeze, and wiped the tears away from her eyes as she released him, sitting back on her knees and staring into his eyes. “I don’t want you to go, but I know that you will. I’m not gonna make that any harder for you.”
She was still angry, of course. Still irritated, agitated. The injustice of it all fueled that. But the sadness of it all, too, was quickly beginning to drown it out. She knew that once it was extinguished, it would only lay still for a little while. However, when it returned, it wouldn’t be directed at Luc. It would be for everything and everyone else. But never Luc. She smiled, worn, tired, loving, and waiting for the inevitable to come at the unwanted last.
It was strange that he couldn’t cry. He wanted to, and he felt the closing of his throat and the stuffiness in his chest that pointed to sobs and weeping, but there was nothing. He only held her close and closed his eyes, listening to the words that meant more to him than anything else. It was her kindness, her honesty, her strength, her brilliant ability to express everything without falling apart that reassured him that his decision, the one that was already made and marked and sealed, was the right one. Even in a world as awful and despicable as theirs, being without Dorothea signified that it had sunken to a new low unlike any other. She was a necessary light, and it made his death a necessary evil. He swallowed hard and looked at her with tired eyes.
“You’re brave, Dor,” he whispered. “You’re brave and kind and strong, whether you know it or not, and anyone who had the honor of knowing you was afforded a major privilege. I can’t...” He sighed. “I can’t find the words to describe how vital you were - are - to everything I’ve become. I think I’m a different person now than I was when I entered the arena, and all thanks to you. You’re my best friend, you’re the sister I never had, you’re the person who’s given me the strength I didn’t know I had. I can’t thank you enough, but I hope that what I’m going to give up for you is at least a start.” Still no tears, but his heart fluttered and ached.
“I’m going to leave you, but I want you to know I’m always there. When you say something clever, I’ll be laughing. When you cry, I’ll be there, When you need someone to talk to, I’ll be there. Never, ever forget that.” He sighed, shakily and squeezed her gently. “It’s you against the world, but there’s going to be a procession of kids who’ll need your help. Don’t get bitter, don’t shut down... Just...” He sniffed and shook his head. “This isn’t the best life but it’s the only one you’ve got, so make the best of it. I know you can. You’re the best person I know.” He looked around then, at the trees just to their left, at the Cornucopia which, in the morning light, flickered red spots he distinctly recalled as being from the bloodbath weeks ago. He couldn’t believe how long it had been, but it was so vivid in his mind. Hadn’t Connie died in the gruesome way, at the hands of little Lula? He shook his head and looked out at the lake. It sparkled a blue that he hoped wasn’t the only beauty to be found in the life he had been leading since the Reaping. But, no. Dorothea was the other beauty, and the friendship they shared. He sighed.
“I love you, Dor,” he whispered. “More than I could really describe but enough to last, I hope.” He smiled and kissed her forehead, right where her hair had blown over and decided to stay. He loosened his arms, moving them from around her, and placed his hands on the ground between his knees. He stared at his knuckles, skin broken and blistered and bruised. At least they were clean. Life could be heard all around, from his own breathing to the birds calling from the trees beyond, calling for him perhaps. It was eerily calm and serene, but at least the ending would be a simple one. Abruptly, he stood up, ignoring the sharp, shocking pain that felt like someone was winding a dagger into his side, perhaps with dirt packed around the edge. He knew the blade Edge had used hadn’t been a fair one. He didn’t know what had been on it, but it was doing its job. He sighed and cracked his knuckles, looking off toward the forest line again,
When he stood, so did she. His words had reached a deep place in her mind, and she had them memorized from the moment they became hers. She would never forget them, so long as she lived. Dorothea would head them for just as long, too. When the next Games came - something she really couldn't even wrap her head around - Dorothea would think of his words and she would do the best she could to help those tributes. The still waters of that part of her mind stirred. Almost more than anything, those words changed her. There would never be any ‘ifs’ or ‘maybes’. Her resolve to live, to live for Luc, would forever be unwavering.
The spot on her forehead, where he had kissed, was warm. So were her cheeks. She smiled at him, warmly, sadly, the prickling feeling still present around her eyes. She stepped close, standing at his side. Again, her hand slipped into his, her fingers clasping through the spaces between Luc’s own, and she held it tight. “I’ll always remember what you’ve told me. They’re just as much a part of me as they are you, now. So, when you go,” She paused, closing her eyes and warding away a shudder. “When you go, remember two things.” She raised up on her toes, just the tiniest bit, enough to be able to whisper directly into his ear. “That I love you, and that you will not die in vain.” As she settled back on the ground, she leaned her head against him, looking out over the arena. The two of them, despite going through almost all of it together, had had something of a different experience of the Games.
The end of it, what they had been living in that day and the small handful of days before it, had been almost one and the same for them, Dorothea thought, but before that… No. It’d been different. Their mindsets weren’t so similar yet, and it was only as they grew closer that they began to see things through the other’s eyes. She wondered what he had seen before that point, the point they were entering into then. Was it all grey, bland and inevitable and awful in that, or was it awful in its neon brightness, its garish parade of death in so many forms? She didn’t know, and she wasn’t going to ask. Some things would go with Luc to the grave, and she was okay with letting him take them there.
It still hurt to know that he would be gone. It hurt to know that he was leaving her. She’d forgive him for it, of course, but she would never forgive the people who brought them to it. Dorothea would never again be angry at Luc, but she would always be angry at those behind the Games. She sighed, long and quiet. She squeezed his hand again. Her other hand reached into her inside jacket pocket, her fingers wrapping around her District token. She smiled and looked up at Luc. “Do you want to stay awhile, or are you ready to go?” The words ripped her apart as the left her, even if they sounded as light and gentle as they did. On the inside, Dorothea was crying.
“It’s time to go.” He said the words after several silent moments had passed, during which he looked around at the beautiful scenery. The sun was settling into itself, and though it was unnaturally comfortable, it signalled midday was falling, that the clocks around the Capitol would be striking twelve soon, and that the Districts were recoiling from yet another day of waiting, wishing, and in two very different cases, hoping.
He knew his dad was hoping. He knew his uncle and brother were hoping as well. They were probably staring at the screen, allowed to stay and wait because of extraordinary circumstances despite all of the work needing to be done. He could imagine his dad being in his room, probably unable to watch. If anyone understood what was going on, that it was a solid and decided fate, he would. He knew what it meant to let someone go because you loved them. He knew what it meant to watch people suffer and die. He knew loss, and while Luc felt certainly he knew it on a more personal level, he knew his dad would understand. He would see the silver lining, even if it only mean never having to lose a child again. He sighed, thinking with dull amusement that his brother would probably never have children himself, and that his uncle had been a wise man for deciding long ago not to do it.
He looked down at Dorothea, uncertain of whether she would let him just walk away now, so suddenly. He extended a hand to her, helped her up, and then reached into his pocket. “I have something I want to leave with you. I... I’d like for you to have it, and if my dad asks you about it since, you know, you’ll visit Seven and all, just say I gave it to you and that he can’t have it.” He chuckled sadly and held his hand out to her. A small cube, cut in some places and appearing to splinter down the middle in others. It was dark and grey with shock-white streaks here and there, and little brown spots. It was perhaps from one of the oldest trees in District Seven, and considering how old and beautiful the existing ones there were, perhaps in all of Panem. He wanted her to have it, even with the small carving on the side that read the name, “Terra.” On the other side were six scratches that haphazardly formed “Luc.” It had been through a lot, having been in his pocket through everything - even back home in District Seven - and he wanted its final home to be with her.
“Gift from my mom. She’s been dead for a while now. Freak accident; took her like a year to actually die from it though.” He shrugged. “She was good at carving, even into stone. Really artsy. Me....” He chuckled at his own name. “Not so much.”
It was time, he said. The inevitable was approaching. Dorothea wasn’t prepared, but she didn’t think that she ever could be. Then and there, she decided something. She wasn’t going to let him go alone, no, not all the way. To the end of one thing, which would be the beginning of something else for him, would be where she would let him leave her. The treeline, where the forest started. There was where they would part ways. Not before it and not after it. Just there.
Dorothea understood the weight of the gift Luc was giving her. She stared at it and smiled, looking up to him. “Hold on to it a little while longer,” she told him, her own hand pulling out of her pocket, the vial of home, her little bit of District Nine, clutches in her hand. The glass was strengthened, but it too had cracks in it. Small, slender, long cracks in the surface of the glass. It wasn’t enough to break it, but it wasn’t indestructible. When they went their separate ways, they would trade. She wouldn’t take no for an answer.
Her hand rolled his fingers back over his token, and she watched it be hidden from her sight. Looking back up to him, she sighed. “I’m sorry about your mom.”
They were silent for a few moments. Then, Dorothea began walking. Slow, easy steps. Not too big, not too small. Not hesitant. It was time.
He followed her just as obediently as he had put the little cube back into his pocket and closed the zipper. The walk he had envisioned throughout the night had been a somber death march, a lonesome stroll in which he would think of despairing thoughts and try to entertain himself with her laugh and smile, and the good times they had been fortunate enough to enjoy, but this was not that. With her by his side, he felt as if he were simply walking toward a new beginning, something bigger and better than the both of them could ever hope to be. It was a chance at something unbelievable. He would welcome the enveloping darkness in any form, so long as Dorothea got her own new beginning. She would go on, and he would finish what he hadn’t even been aware he had started. But now he knew, and with her there, silently but present, he accepted it.
The treeline appeared much too quickly, rising up above them with the large, broadleafs and smaller conifers. He recalled laughing at how ridiculous it was to choose the certain genuses of the species that were there, knowing it wasn’t the proper match and that in the real world, it didn’t grow that way. It was just another reminder that the Capitol’s Gamemakers weren’t perfect, and neither were their games. They tried, oh did they try, but they failed more often than not, and it was amusing to catch the little missteps. Now, he had no laughs. He stopped walking, mere feet from the darkness within, and stared up for a long time.
When he finally did look back to Dorothea, he felt much heavier than he had before, whatever weight of worry he had been carrying returning. It was parting time, and though he wished with all of his heart that he could be strong and face it with confidence, he didn’t know what laid ahead in the next few hours, and it was enough to flush him with fear and anxiety. But, he would be okay. He would have to be. There was no doubt, no regret, only the itching worry that came with realizing he was preparing to shake hands with death. More than that, he was willingly doing it with his family watching. The words, “I’m sorry,” came to him, and he didn’t know who he was thinking of, really. Domini? His dad? Flagg, Lula, Swift? The thousands of kids that had died before him? His mom? Himself, even? Dorothea, perhaps? He didn’t know. It was a fleeting thought, and he pushed it away as he turned to face her.
He retrieved the cube and held it out to her. “Don’t say anything,” he whispered. “Just take it.”
Dorothea reached out and took it. She held it reverently clasped within her own hand, and left in Luc’s the little glass vial which contained a single piece of wheat, a small flower with lilac petals, and a pinch of rich, dark soil. It was home, in miniature. The wood-turned-stone in her hand, held tight as her clenching heart, Dorothea looked up to where the sky disappeared into the forest. It was dark in there, even in the daylight as bright as it was. For a moment, she wanted to hold him tight and forbid him from going. It’d be useless and it would truly ruin everything they had, but still the urge coursed through her.
It passed, and all she had to show for it was the twitch of her arm. She blinked slow, and then looked down to Luc. Her best friend. Her brother. He was really her everything at this point. Living without him would always hurt. But she would live, and she would live gratefully and prosperously and fully. The walk had given her closure. He had let her do it, and now it was time to let him go. Her hand went loose for a moment, but Dorothea couldn’t do it just yet. The tears gathered in her eyes. She turned and hugged him, wrapping her free arm around him.
“Goodbye, Luc.” she breathed, shaking as she tried to hold back the sobs. It hurt so much to let him go, but she did. Her hand held tight, but the time had come and she accepted it as best she could. Dorothea pressed a kiss to his cheek and stepped away. He was closer to the forest than she was. But he would have her token, and she had his. They would still be together, even more for that. “I love you.” she mouthed, her hand loosened enough for him to pull his own away as he left. She took a deep breath and wiped the tears from her eyes. Then, big and bright as she could and ever had, she smiled. As he left, it would be the last thing that Luc ever saw of her, she knew. It would be something good to remember her by. She wondered if she would keep smiling even as he left. She thought that she might.
He hugged her once more, even after she had let him go and stepped away. “Bye, Dor,” he said softly. “I’ll see you sometime, I’m sure.” He smiled, forcing it at first but unable to stop once he saw her own. He closed his eyes and nodded once, slipped his hands into his pockets, thumb against the glass of her token, and then with a lingering but resolute last look, he turned and walking into the forest. It didn’t take very long at all for the darkness between the trees to swallow him, and once he was out of sight, he turned and looked back. He couldn’t see anything other than green leaves and ferns, but the forest itself was alive with the sound of life. He sighed and turned again, walking onward. It was a straight path he would take, and he would continue walking until something stopped him.
He was gone. Just like that, like a mirage wisping away, like a hallucination fading into the nothingness, Luc was gone. Dorothea knew that, despite what he said, she would never really see him again. At least, not in her lifetime.
She stared at the forest for a long time. At first she had heard the sounds of his feet over the leaves and twigs, but that had hardly lasted for a few seconds. All that was left were the simple sounds of nature, calling out to nothing in particular. And she stared. He would never come back, not that she would see. He was gone, gone forever, and her heart began to break. The tears were back and she could hardly breath around the lump in her throat. All she wanted to do was the run after him, to tackle him and beg him to “Please, please don’t go!” but she couldn’t. Dorothea wouldn’t do that to either of them. It was, she found after the feeling passed, like closure.
She had seen him go. She knew what would happen, not specifics, but the end result. She had seen him smile, truly smile, and she knew that he had seen her do so. It comforted her.
As time wore on, Dorothea realized that she was vulnerable. The Gamemakers didn’t have to adhere to the unspoken pact that Luc and she had made. They could still try to kill her. That was something that she would not allow. Dorothea walked back to their little overnight camp, never looking away from the forest for more than a little while, and sat down. She picked up her sword and waited. How long it would be until the cannon went off, she didn’t know, and it was hard to decide whether she’d prefer it be soon or later. As she waited, awful thoughts flashed through her head. He could die by attack from the mutts. He could be attacked by spiders and starve. Poison, suffocation, crushed… None of it was comforting to think about in the slightest. She hoped that the Gamemakers would be merciful.
Dorothea rubbed at her eyes. The sky was getting to be a dark blue. It was late afternoon, and she didn’t know where all the time had gone. She wondered where Luc was, what he was doing, what he was thinking. She hoped he was okay. Thinking about the pain he had to be in was uncomfortable, but she did anyways. It would be wrong of her to lighten his situation, disrespectful. Her sighs were shaky. Nothing had happened. Nothing did happen. Her day passed in silence as she thought of little more than Luc.
It was getting dark. Dorothea was getting anxious. That’s when the rumbling began. It came from the mountains. She took a deep breath. Something told her that that was it. The rocks started falling a minute later. Only seconds passed before the cannon went off.
Her heart might as well have been ripped out. Luc was dead, crushed to death by boulders. The aircraft appeared, its giant claw reaching down. The knowledge that it was coming to retrieve his body, Luc’s body, sickened her. She didn’t look away. As it lifted him up, she saw his form. It looked, from a distance, like he was the same. She smiled as she cried, the tears running down her face, and saluted him. She was glad she hadn’t looked away.
Her own aircraft appeared. She went willingly. It was all over. She was whisked away to the Capitol, made up and fixed and coddled and celebrated. All she could think about was how she would never truly get to go home.
She returned to District Nine, their first Victor in years, decades. She had made them proud. Her parents hugged and her took her to their house. She couldn’t call it “home” anymore.
Dorothea grew up. She trained tributes, she played the Games in the way that she had to, and toured and she talked and she lived. It was all real. Nothing was hollow. She lived, and she lived for Luc. She met his family. His father asked about Luc’s token. She carried it back to her District with her.
Life wasn’t always easy. Things were good, more often than not, but not easy. Dorothea liked to sleep, because in her dreams she could be with Luc, but one can’t sleep forever, even if you try. She gave up on trying because she couldn’t live if she were sleeping. There were nightmares, too. Things that triggered her. She wasn’t as cold and unfeeling anymore, and her temper was none changed, but to some, the change was unsettling. But she lived. She lived her life as best she could.
And she knew that Luc died knowing that she would. To her, truly, in her heart, that was all that mattered.
