The next morning, Peeta saw his brothers off with a great sadness in his heart. He assured them he was going to be fine. He would have everything he needed, and he would be safe. He'd send them money so they didn't feel his loss at the bakery so acutely. He begged them to tell their father he was happy; Peeta knew how he worried.

"You be good, Peet," Phyll murmured in his ear as he hugged him. Those were the last words he heard either of his brothers speak.

He was quickly thrust into his work, and took pleasure in the fact that, because his bread and desserts were so well-liked in the castle, he had little time for anything else. When he went to bed at night, he was tired from kneading dough all day, from carrying heavy bags of flour and ingredients, from the careful concentration it took to decorate a pastry or cookie.

He rarely saw the princess, for which he was thankful. Occasionally, at dinners and special occasions, he'd be called at and praised for his commendable work, for he did work hard.

There was never a time where he didn't have a smudge of something or another on his face, never a time where a part of him wasn't covered in flour.

The next time he spoke with the princess was, in fact, only when she sought him out personally. He was baking bread; the hardy type of bread with oats and spices and raisins that tasted of pumpkin and cinnamon. He didn't notice her until she was right next to him, watching his work carefully.

"My princess," he said in alarm, taking a step away and bowing slightly, eyes widening perceptively.

"Oh, Mr. Mellark, please don't bow in my presence. It makes me feel so silly," she pleaded, her cheeks tingeing pink.

He nodded once, unsure of what he could say. "Have you… how may I be of assistance?" he questioned. She looked around his work station, at the ingredients, at the pans, at anything but Peeta himself.

"I presume you're hungry?" he joked, grinning. Why else would she be there?

"Oh, um, yes. Yes, I was just in the gardens. I'm famished, really," she said, though it nearly sounded like a question, and it appeared she had only just arrived at the conclusion of hunger.

"Well, is there anything you had in mind?" he offered. Peeta may have been in the presence of the girl he had been enamored with for the better part of his life, but there was only so much shyness he had; then came the easy, polite confidence he so effortlessly radiated.

Katniss paused for a moment in thought, and then said, "Oh! I know. For tea the other day, you made these lovely little pieces of bread. Like biscuits, but not so dry and hard. They had the most delectable type of cheese melted not on them, but in them. You may not remember, but they were exquisite…" The words gushed out of her before she could have a second thought, and Peeta knew by her fervor she was not simply being polite. She had truly enjoyed them.

He smiled bashfully. "Those? They're just cheese buns, Princess. They-" "Katniss!" she broke in eagerly, stubbornly, intent on making it perfectly clear she expected no formalities between them. He eyed her for a moment, almost in disbelief, but then shook his head, submitting.

"Yes, Katniss," he smiled. "They are almost embarrassingly simple. But if those are truly what you desire, I can serve them to you in the Great Room twenty minutes from now?"

A hint of disappointment glinting across her features, she agreed. "That would be lovely, Mr. Mellark." "Peeta!" he interjected, mocking her only slightly. Now she eyed him, a bit shocked, but then offered him one of her rare smiles. "That would be lovely, Peeta."

As he was getting the ingredients to make the cheese buns, he was vaguely aware of a pair of eyes on him, though his back was turned. Once he had molded the ingredients together, he smirked to himself and asked, "Pr—Katniss, would you like me to show you how to make them?"

He turned around, grinning at her where she was planted in the doorway. She smiled sheepishly, caught. She still had the audacity to put on an air of indifference, however, as she accepted his request: "I suppose… why not?"

Peeta quickly measured out ingredients, reaching for a clean bowl to put them all in. The dough he had been kneading when Katniss had entered lay forgotten, as well as the dough he had just crafted for her cheese buns. He instructed her in what to put in and when, giving her tips on the best possible way to mix and add ingredients.

She surprised him, for he expected her to never have made her own food a day in her life. She was, on the contrary, quite competent and clever, catching on quickly. It was also clear that baking was not her forte, however.

She donned a look of great concentration in cutting out the circular shapes of the dough to bake. It was a task Peeta could do in his sleep. Her cuts were crude and unshapely, though they got the job done. Peeta praised her for it; she accepted none of it. She was quite stubborn in the matter, and insisted they re-knead the dough until she could cut it to perfection.

As he watched her, there was a moment where he felt like the entire experience was surreal. How could he, Peeta Mellark, be in the kitchens of the royal castle, teaching the princess, the apple of his eye, how to bake bread? Was she even real? He worried constantly that he'd wake up in his bedroom in the Seam, shared by his two elder brothers, and have to go cut wheat in their field or do another every day chore.

She glanced over at him, and he quickly shifted his eyes to the bread. He couldn't help but peak at her through his eyelashes when he sure she wasn't looking, though.

"You have to flour the pan before you place them on it, Katniss," he directed, and then stopped, realizing how easily the name flowed from his tongue. He liked the feeling, liked the sound. She didn't notice his missed beat.

"Like this?" she questioned, focusing intently on her project. Peeta sensed she wasn't used to getting things wrong.

"Perfect," he assured. "Only…" he trailed off, determining that it was best to show her. His hand enveloped hers, helping her to spread the flour evenly across the pan. "It shouldn't be in clumps, just a light layer, like so. Yes, that's it. You're a natural," he praised, grinning broadly. He held her hand an instant too long, but she either didn't notice or didn't mind. He couldn't help but notice the contrast in their hands. His were enormous, completely encompassing her much smaller, petite ones. For as much as her hands were smooth and soft, his were rough and calloused.

"Master Cato must've eaten five of these, he loved them so much," Katniss complemented as she worked.

It was like a slap in the face. It was as if a rug was pulled out from under his feet. It was equivalent to a punch in the gut; the wind was knocked out of him and his breath caught.

How dare she mention him now? How dare she ruin this moment that he deemed so intimate, so simple in its perfection? He stepped back.

An instant later Katniss realized her misdemeanor, turning to face him with an apology on her lips. It was a moment too late, though, and in the next, Madame Effie came rushing in, scolding her profusely.

"Honestly, Princess, you are not a child any longer. You can't just disappear on everyone. And you certainly can't be seen coercing with this… this trash!" she reprimanded.

Every word that Madame Effie spoke drew Peeta further and further in himself, away from the princess. Katniss glanced over to him with a shocked expression, horrified that Effie would ever say such things.

"He was making me cheese buns, Effie, and I certainly don't think he deserves to be treated with such harsh words," Katniss said stubbornly.

"Nonsense, nonsense, Princess. Peasants aren't hurt by such words, especially not when they know they're true," she laughed as she ushered Katniss out. Katniss put up some resistance, but knew it was futile.

"He will bring the food to your literature studies in the Great Room when he is finished," said Effie. "Like a proper servant." She eyed him sternly. He gave one quick, stiff nod.

"Of course. They'll be ready soon, Princess," he appeased. Though her back was turned to him, he saw Katniss's shoulders slump minutely. He was back to "Princess" so soon.

Though let down, with his ego slightly wounded, he finished the cheese buns and arranged them on a serving platter, along with sauce and tea. He carried the snack into the Great Room and saw Katniss across the hall, reading.

Her posture was pristine, her head held high, with the light from the early afternoon catching her silhouette. Peeta didn't allow himself to watch her, and hurriedly carried the tray over to where she was sitting at a table. She did not so much as look up from her reading until the clank of the tray being set on the table startled her. Peeta answered her glance with a polite nod. He unfolded the cloth napkin, placing it on her lap. He set out the silver ware and tea carefully.

"Is there anything else I can be of assistance with?" he asked quietly. She shook her head once. Just as he was picking up the now empty tray and preparing to leave, she latched on to his arm, pulling him down with more strength than he would have ever assumed she had, forcing him to sit in the chair next to her.

"Who," she began, looking him directly in the eyes. "Are. You?"

Peeta stiffened. "I can't say I know what you mean. I-I'm Peeta Mellark. A baker. What else-" she cut him off.

"You claim we've never met. Well, except when we were children, yes?" she asked brusquely.

"Yes," Peeta gulped.

"Liar," she said immediately. He gaped. She couldn't possibly know he snuck into her room to kiss her, could she?

"I know you. We've met, just as we are now. I'm sure of it…" she trailed off. "When… when I was asleep…" She shook her head, and stopped talking.

Peeta cleared his throat, and with great difficulty, spoke. "Perhaps I remind you of your fiancé, Princess. We are similar in appearance and-"

"You are nothing like him," she nearly growled, her teeth bared. She recovered quickly. "Do not treat me as if I am stupid, Peeta. I know you."

They sat in thick, awkward silence for a few moments.

It was Katniss who was the first to break the quiet. "Meet me in the tallest tower, tonight. At… at midnight. I wish to show you something."

Peeta simply nodded, standing up. He thought that by this time to point out the fact that a meeting such as the one Katniss spoke of was wildly scandalous was unnecessary, and so held his tongue.

The silence of darkness like a cloak over his form, he waited in the highest room of the tallest tower for his company. He sat on the floor, knees tucked to his chest, leaning against the wall built of stone. A pool of sweat was collecting at his brow, though he wasn't entirely sure why. His only entertainment was to watch as the shadows on the wall across from him shifted with the moonlight and wind, pushing the trees. He had the tense feeling of anticipation in his gut.

The faint echo of footsteps could soon be heard on the steps. Peeta shrunk into the darkest part of the room, afraid that those steps did not belong to the princess. The steps he heard were those of stealth, belonging to someone who did not want to be heard, someone who could creep so quietly that their prey wouldn't even know what had hit them by the time the steps were directly in front of them.

They were the steps of a hunter, and when Katniss stepped through the doorway, Peeta almost did not recognize her.

Her body was lithe, her face serious. She wore a peasant's blouse, tucked in to trousers much like a man would wear. This alone shocked Peeta to the core. He had never seen a woman in trousers before. The curve of her hip was all the more enticing now.

She wore a pair of faded leather boots that laced to mid-calf. Her braid was around her shoulder, the same as always. The most astounding characteristic of her person, however, was the bow and arrow in her hands, her arrow pulled tight against the bow string, ready to shoot. There was a quiver on her back and Peeta could see several other arrows poking out of it.

"Peeta," she whispered, peering into the darkness. Peeta blanched. For one moment, he truly believed that she had come to kill him. An armed huntress, lethal by design.

She sighed, shaking her head, assuming he had not arrived yet. Peeta watched as she turned towards the window. Everything was quiet as she took aim with her bow. As she inhaled, she pulled the arrow tightly back on the string. One moment of contemplation, and then a near silent release as she exhaled. She allowed herself a confident half smile as she watched the arrow fly.

Peeta only noticed the rope attached to the arrow once it had begun to rapidly unravel at her belt. He knew when the point had hit its destination, for the slack of the line pulled tight. With capable fingers, she untied the end of the rope from her belt and looped it securely around a hook on the castle wall. She had done this before.

Peeta was so wrapped up in the scene before him that he accidentally shuffled forward, making a quiet but distinct rustling sound. When his eyes turned to Katniss, another arrow was in her bow, and it was being aimed directly at him.

"Katniss!" he started. "It's Peeta, only Peeta." He stepped out of the darkness, and Katniss lowered her weapon slowly.

"Why did you not answer me when I said your name?" Her eyes were accusing.

"I'm sorry," he said, searching for an answer. "I was just watching. What… what are you doing?"

She did not answer, but instead, eyes glinting, nodded her head towards the window. He walked over to where Katniss stood and looked out. The arrow was stuck in a tree, a ways off, and the rope was at a diagonal angle downward.

His eyebrows shot to his hairline. "You can't possibly think we're going to climb down there?" he whispered harshly. He eyed the ground, noticing how impossibly far it seemed from where he stood.

"No," she said simply. Peeta's shoulders slumped in relief. "We're going to fly."

She did not give him time to react as she swung her quiver to the front, pulling out two pieces of silk cloth. She stood up on the sill. "Come," she said, holding out her hand for him. Peeta stared at it, as though it was bringing him to his death.

"Why, Mr. Mellark, are you scared?" Katniss teased.

"Katniss, why don't we just walk out the front doors?" he asked incredulously.

Katniss was only half paying attention as she attached the cloth to the rope. "Cato does not like me to go far from the castle. Besides, my father thinks it too dangerous. I have to go like this. I cannot stay imprisoned in this God-forsaken castle my entire life. Even so, disregarding any of that, the sight of you and I walking out the front doors… I dressed in a men's clothing with a weapon, at that. If the guards saw… why, I think we'd both be put to death." She finished her monologue, and directed him to watch carefully.

She glanced at him, and, seeing his unease, explained, "It is not as though I haven't done this before, Peeta. You are safe."

"You are much smaller than I, Princess," he returned.

"Your cloth is thicker. Just trust me. Don't you trust me?" she asked. He looked up at her standing on the sill, a complete paradox to all she should be, her grey eyes like storm clouds, stirring. He did, he trusted her completely, and so nodded.

"I will go first. Watch me," she told him, gripping onto the cloth with both hands.

"Make sure to squeeze the cloth tight at the end, and brace your legs. You don't want to hit the tree with too much force. You could break something. It's about an eight foot drop from where you hit. As long as you roll into the fall, you will be fine. All right?" she asked.

Peeta gulped, nodded, and then, without further prelude, she jumped.

Peeta watched as she flew so gracefully down the line, and, for what felt like the thousandth time, he couldn't help but be reminded of a bird. She hit the tree barely making a sound, and landed on the ground seconds later. She beckoned for him to jump.

He took a deep breath and stepped up onto the window sill. He closed his eyes for a moment, remembering her words, Don't you trust me?

He latched on firmly to the silken material, stole himself, and jumped. He could not register much, other than the wind ripping through his hair and the feeling that his stomach had bottomed out. He hit the tree too harshly, with little grace, and crumpled to the ground in a heap.

He heard her laugh bubble over her restrain before he saw the grin on her face, and was thankful the night covered his crimson blush. He could hardly be angry at her; pulling a rare smile from her never ceased to please him.

"Har har, Princess," he said, satire leaking from his words. He stood up and brushed himself off.

"Are you quite alright, Mr. Mellark?" she asked, finally composed.

"Fine," he grumbled.

"Well, that is fortunate," she said, her eyes glinting.

"Why's that?" Peeta returned, slightly confused.

"You'll need your full health… that is, if you wish to catch me." She tore off before Peeta had even registered what had happened.

He stood, staring dumbly into the forest before his legs began to function, racing in the direction Katniss had fled.

Peeta had the speed, but Katniss the suppleness. Weaving through trees was no easy task, even more so when sprinting.

A few times, Peeta almost had her, clasping his hands to the back of her shirt, but it continued to slip from his grasp, and Katniss's laugh would fill the air, part from the terror of being caught, part from the exultance felt in escaping.

They came into a clearing, and Katniss halted, though Peeta did not notice that, nor his surroundings, and fell into her, chuckling deeply. They hit the ground with a thump, Peeta's farmer's build protecting Katniss from any harm. They caught their breath, his arm slung over her person, chests heaving.

Once Peeta had caught his breath, he started to take in his surroundings. They were on the bank of a pond, lying in the grass. The only tree in the clearing was an enormous weeping willow, larger than any other tree in the forest, the trunk as thick as three normal trunks, with knarled branches and vines that hung down onto the ground and into the water. This tree had lived many lifetimes. It was a wise tree.

"What are we doing here?" Peeta whispered. Anything louder than a murmur seemed out of place in the scene before them.

"I come here often," she returned. "I had never been here when I was younger, but I… I dreamt about it much while I was under the curse. When I woke, I simply found my way."

Peeta could barely make out her features, with only the light of the moon to guide him, but knew for certain that the distant look she sometimes wore was on her face then.

She took his hand in hers. "Would you like to know why I brought you here, Peeta?" she whispered. He nodded, though could hardly focus on anything other than the feel of her touch.

"When I had dreams about this place… you were always here with me. When I first met you I couldn't quite place you, but my memories from my time asleep have grown stronger with you in such close proximity. And now that you're here, I'm certain it was you," she finished, eyeing him anxiously for his response.

His voice came out hoarse and unrecognizable. "Why though? What purpose did my company serve? I am not your true love. It is not I who will marry you," he said in frustration.

"I sometimes entertain the idea that if you had come first, perhaps it would have been different," she told him quietly.

He turned away, not able to meet her gaze when he replied, lying through his teeth, "Perhaps."

Katniss led him towards the weeping willow. "Have you ever seen anything like it?" she asked. Peeta shook his head. "I like to climb it sometimes. I think it enjoys the company." Though, when Peeta reflected on this moment later, he thought that perhaps this lonely girl enjoyed the company, too. They walked below the waterfall of vines to the base of the tree and sat down.

"Peeta," she began. "Yes?" he returned, pulling pieces of grass out of the ground absently.

"Have you ever heard the story of The Hanging Tree?"

"I can't say that I have."

Katniss placed her hand on the tree. "They say this was the first weeping willow in existence. Many years ago it was a tree like any other. However, it was used for execution. By hanging, that is. It is said that many lives passed from this tree. Over the years, the tree grew more and more sad, until it started to weep and droop. The leaves fell downward, making vines, making a weeping willow. It was called The Hanging Tree.

"I'm not sure if I believe all that codswallop about the tree weeping, but I do believe that this was once The Hanging Tree. It isn't used anymore, since execution by hanging is outdated and cruel… but I'm sure it was once. But… perhaps the willow did weep," she finished.

It was silent for a moment. Their silences were no longer awkward.

"How tragic," Peeta commented, shuffling so that he now was lying down. "I never considered how the weeping willow received its name."

"I think I once heard a song about it, but I've long since forgotten," Katniss said absently, following suit.

"Katniss, where on earth did you get trousers? I don't think I've ever in my life seen a lady in trousers and a blouse," he wondered aloud. "As a matter of fact, where did you get a bow and arrow? How did you learn to shoot?" His questions weren't accusing, only painfully curious.

"I think the trousers were a servant's. It isn't quite practical to wear a corset, stockings, a gown, or those dreadful shoes whilst traipsing through the woods," Katniss explained, shuddering at the thought.

"And the bow?" he prompted.

"The bow was my father's, when I was a child. I doubt he'll ever realize it's missing now, he's so different from who he was. I taught myself to shoot a few months ago. At the risk of sounding narcissistic… I was quite the natural at it," she reflected, blushing.

From quiet, a faint fluttering sound started to crescendo, and Peeta began to glance around, confused.

"Oh, I nearly forgot!" Katniss exclaimed, rising to her feet. She reached a hand down and helped Peeta up, too. He raised an eyebrow at her, though he wasn't quite sure if she saw it or not.

"What we came here for. What I wanted to show you," she said in explanation, strutting purposefully through the willow vines, toward the pond. Peeta followed closely.

"This wasn't it?" he asked, his voice rising with the rise of the fluttering sound. "What in the world is that?"

"You'll see," Katniss told him patiently.

They arrived at the edge of the lake, where a little row boat was floating atop the water, tied to a post.

"Where did this come from?" he asked.

"Can't be sure. It was here the first time I came here. Whoever it is, or was, they don't seem to mind much that I use it. Or perhaps they simply haven't noticed."

After Katniss had untied it, Peeta handed her into the boat, and climbed in after, each facing the other. The oars were on either side of the dingy.

"Will you row us to the middle?" Katniss asked politely. "I can, though I think you can do it much faster, and we don't have much time."

Peeta nodded. "Of course."

He rowed them quickly to the very center of the pond, and Katniss took his hands in hers, directing him to watch the weeping willow closely.

At first, nothing. Slowly, and then all at once, little blue and golden lights began to light up the willow. Peeta watched with rapt anticipation. The lights then started to slowly float off the tree, one by one, over to the pond, until they were surrounding the two in the boat.

They were everywhere; high in the sky, close to the water, and anywhere in between. With the lights also reflecting off the water's surface, it seemed as though they were all-encompassing.

"What… what are they?" Peeta whispered.

"They're called sprites, but I cannot describe them," she told him, holding out her hand. A blue-lit sprite floated towards her, but as soon as it landed, its light went out. "Whenever someone gets close enough to see them, they disappear."

"I wish I could paint this moment," Peeta remarked quietly.

"You paint?" Katniss asked, as another sprite landed on her shoulder and extinguished.

"I haven't in a long while. It's just a hobby, I'm not very good at it," he answered humbly. Then, with all the courage he had, he spoke again. "I've wanted to paint you for a long time. The way your hair looks in the sunlight. Your blush. But I don't think I've ever longed to paint something more than I do right now. The way you look with the light from the sprites reflecting in your eyes… it's lovely. Although, you always look rather lovely."

As quickly as the sprites had appeared, they were gone, and it was soon so dark that neither Katniss nor Peeta could see a hand in front of their faces, let alone one another.

No words were spoken. The sprites were quiet. The world was silent… as his lips ghosted over hers.

I'd like to thank you all for your patience. I didn't receive one nasty PM or review telling me about how I hadn't updated. I know it's been a long time, but I've been going through a lot lately. A friend of mine has recently been diagnosed with bone cancer. It's terminal, but we're still hoping. I've been so busy with finishing school and that and everything I just haven't had time for writing, but I got back to it a few days ago and I've worked on this and it's been pretty therapeutic (though also a tad stressful… I just wanted to finish this damn chapter already.)

I don't know how I feel about this chapter. It may not seem that important but it really is, I promise! Please review, and be honest, criticism is okay! Thanks for reading.

EmmaoftheValley