Story Context: This story takes place during the 75th Hunger Games. However, certain things occurred differently in the 74th Hunger Games. Mainly, there was no lovers decree that two from the same district can win. There was only one victor from the 74th Hunger Games. So there was no great act of defiance, no movement towards revolution, no change. A different Quarter Quell was chosen.

Fortunate One

Chapter 1:

That day hung in the back of my mind for months: the reaping. I dreaded it. I ached and begged for it not to come. And, in the morning once it finally came, I laid awake wide eyed and scared. It was about to start. The 75th Hunger Games was about to really begin. I could feel the weight of the future push down on my chest. I was to become a mentor. I was to be tasked with training the tributes from my district. It was a dreadful assignment, one I was in no way prepared. I knew the odds. We all knew the odds. It took Haymitch 24 tries before he finally had a victor. Was there really anyway I could produce a victor my first time? It felt like an impossible task. There was no chance District 12 would win two years in a row. It made me sick to my stomach to even think it, because that would mean two more dead children. Two dead children who were my responsibility. I wanted no part of it. I had suffered enough from the Hunger Games the year before. I was done. I already lost enough.

I could hear my mother and Prim move quietly downstairs. They were careful not to disturb me. It was partially out of empathy; they knew it was hard on me. The day was also the anniversary of my decision to volunteer. A choice that shook our family and followed me every moment of my life. They were scared too, because of the night before. I stormed into the house, having not seen them in weeks, and nearly snapped at Prim for asking about how I was doing. I'm sure they could barely recognize me.

It was my fault. I arrived late from the Capital. The preparations for the Games required my presence at nearly every event. I sickly trudged from one public appearance to another, desperately trying to hide my discontent. It was a Quarter Quell, so there was more fanfare than usual. After a poll voted me the best Victor in Hunger Games history, I couldn't escape their obsession. When I finally returned, I hoped to head straight home. I was worried enough about the reaping. But Gale was standing right by the Hovercraft when I disembarked.

We fought. He was angry at me. I was angry at him. He had better reasons than I did. I was angry about him interrupting my plans. He was angry about me abandoning everyone for the past month. He called me a shill. He said I'd become one of them: a slave to the Capital. I tried to explain why he was wrong. I had no more say in the matter than he did. After this year, when people finally start to forget about the Burning Girl, I'd have more time. We could actually be together. He didn't believe me; he called it all excuses. He might have been right. I offered to stay the night with him. I could have used a warm body next to me, but he spurned me and walked away.

By the time I arrived at the Victor's Village, I was fuming. How could he treat me like that? And yet, I knew that Gale was not the problem. It was the Capital. It was the stupid Games. It was the fact that my tributes felt destined to die. That I was going to lose someone else to the Games no matter what. I didn't want it to happen once more. It couldn't go through losing Rue again. I couldn't go through losing ... him again.

When I made my way down, Prim was humming in the kitchen. Her hair was braided and she wore a white dress. It was her second reaping. I watched her through heavy eyes. I could not save her this time.

"Where's mother?" I asked.

"She left," Prim answered, turning towards me. "How are you feeling?"

"Alright," I lied.

"Do you want something to eat? We got some fresh bread earlier."

My face scrunched up. "No. That's okay. I don't feel like eating."

"You should eat something." Prim replied.

"Don't worry about me." I said shrugging her off. "How are you feeling? Are you scared?" Through all the fanfare of the Capital, the dread of becoming a mentor, I had almost forgotten Prim still had to participate in the reaping. But looking at her now, she felt like an entirely different person than the scared little girl I volunteered to protect. I could only imagine watching her big sister fight for her life in the Hunger Games made her grow up real fast.

Prim stared at me for a moment. "I'm fine. There's no way I will be selected again. And unlike you, I don't plan on volunteering."

I smiled. "Good." One thing was for sure, it did not feel like she needed my protection anymore. "I should go and find Haymitch. We need to get ready. I want him to actually stay in his seat this time."

"Good luck," Prim said, as if I was the one who needed it.

It was not hard to find Haymitch. He was sitting silently in the dark at his kitchen table. He wore a pinstripe black and white suit that looked like it had spent the last year bunched up in a ball somewhere. His long blond hair was a complete mess dangling in front of his face. His hand was wrapped tightly around the neck of a large bottle of whiskey.

"Haymitch," I whispered as I took a seat across from him.

Haymitch shook his head as if breaking from a trance. "Why are you here so early?" Haymitch slurred his words as he spoke.

"The reaping starts in two hours. We have to go and prepare."

"Two hours?" Haymitch called out. "That means I've got two hours and five minutes more of drinking before a pair of peacekeepers smash down my front door and drag me there. And since this is my last ever Games as a mentor, why break with tradition?"

"Look, Haymitch. I appreciate you agreeing to help me and teach me what it means to be a mentor, but I don't want to be babysitting you the whole time. I want to focus on helping these tributes."

"Helping? Is that what you think you'll be doing?" Haymitch nearly laughed. His head perked to the side in mild amusement. "All you're going to do is make this whole process a little nicer on them. That's all. Have you had a drink yet?" He offered the bottle to me.

I pushed it away. "No. I don't plan on looking like a drunk fool."

"It makes this whole process a bit more bearable. Trust me," Haymitch said. "Not much is worse than the reaping. That's when they get the most emotional. Afterwards, the tributes usually resign to their fate, but at the reaping they just want to beg and make it all go away."

I sat up from my seat. "Well, if you're going to continue and be stubborn, I'll make my own way."

"Katniss," Haymitch spoke up as I began to walk out. "Whatever you do, don't look at them when their name's called. You have to think of them as a tribute first and foremost. Do not think of them as a child of District 12. Do not associate them with a home to come back to."

"That's pretty cold," I said.

"This job requires being cold. You need to create distance."

"But I'm the victor from District 12. I should always remember that I'm fighting for my District."

"No. The day you became a victor, you lost your District. You are from nowhere now. Not District 12. Not the Capital. You are not fighting for any of them. Just like in the Games, you are fighting for yourself. There is no coming home from the Games. Ever."

He took a swig from the bottle, and I left him in the dark of his empty house.

…

Afterword:

This is a co-write between Nyhlus and Bardic Jester. We've written many stories together but this is our first try at writing a Hunger Games story. We'll try to continue if people like it.

Please leave a review.

Till Next Time - Nyhlus and BJ