Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games They belong to Suzanne Collins.

Note: Here we are, the final chapter of the story! It's been a tale of a lot of ups and downs, and not just for our heroine either, but for now the curtains will close on Nettle's timeline until some point in the future. I'll be going in depth with some post-story notes on my DeviantART page in the neat future though, so keep an eye out for those! Per the norm, plenty of critical reflection and unused / altered beta content to be talked about. :D Not much else to say except that I hope you'll enjoy the ending of Spoiled Sapling. But, before we end this, here's the last hint towards the identity of the 5th Lead of The Nameless Chronicles. can you work out who it is before the reveal at the end of the chapter? ;)

Hint #1: This tribute died in the Cornucopia Bloodbath.

Hint #2: This tribute's odds of winning were 10-1, or better.

Hint #3: This tribute was fifteen years old, or younger.

Hint #4: This tribute died less than thirty seconds into the Games.

I came, I saw, I conquered. A quote some would attribute to Julius Caesar from many centuries before the dark days and Panem. In some ways I feel like it fits my current situation, at least in part.

I came to the Capitol.

I saw many, many horrors without pause nor relief.

I conquered my last foe in the Arena and escape that terrible place with my life.

Alas, even as I sit on the throne up here on the raised balcony for the crowning ceremony I certainly do not feel like much of a Victor at all. I mean, what have I gained, really? Money and fame perhaps, but I was already rich and I never really desired to become famous. As for what I've lost?

My leg.

My love.

Whatever stability I used to have day to day. It's too much change and too much noise! The crowd are ever so excited, and I'm starting to worry that the sheer volume of their cheering may end up rupturing my eardrums. Mercy me, that'd be the shitty icing on this dreadful cake.

I guess what I'm saying is that all I've gotten out of this whole trauma is my life, nothing more. My life was something I already had, and enjoyed! Now... now it's never going to go back to the way it was. It's just impossible. Just like how walking the same way I used to is no longer a thing I can do.

I try not to dwell on how painful everything feels. Why would I do that when, really, the battle that raged on in the Arena is clearly only just beginning? Blight said the true fights are what happen outside of the Arena and I think I'm starting to see what he means. After all, it wasn't hard to overhear all the Peacekeepers muttering about riots and small rebellions popping up all over the place. It's my actions that led to all of it, or at least lined things up for it to become possible, so frankly I'm afraid for what my place in the future is going to be. One thing is for sure, life is going to become dangerous. Precarious, even.

Snow is addressing the crowd, his back towards me. I get the feeling he would rather acknowledge me as little as he can get away with. After all, I've caused him every so many headaches over the past few days and it surely cannot be good for his health. He's an old man, after all.

Wish he'd drop dead right here on the damn balcony, but sadly security was high and there's no way a weapon could be bought up here. If only...

The crowd's loud cheering quietens in one fell swoop as Snow lightly raises his hands. I'd be impressed over the power of his gestures alone if it were not for the fact I abhor this man for all the pain and suffering his fascist regime has inflicted upon the land. There has to be a better way to govern than through force and fear.

Snow picks up a crown from its place upon a cushion atop a pedestal, turning towards me. I try to rise as I have been instructed to, but it's still hard to even balance myself on this metal leg when standing still. I reach beside me to grab the arms of the throne for what support it'll offer, putting strain on both my legs as I remain hazardously balanced. If Snow doesn't reach me soon, I'll certainly collapse.

Thankfully he doesn't waste time and swiftly moves forth to place the crown upon my head. As soon as it's in place the massive crowd erupts into their loudest applause yet. So much cheering and screaming in delight, as if this were somehow the happiest time of the year. For them, I suppose it is. I wave to the crowd from my seat; while I remain sitting down only a few can see me, but the screens will be showing me for those who cannot spot me with their eyes, and the better show I give them the less trouble I might be in.

But Snow's firm gaze as he stands before me makes me think that I might be in deep tree sap no matter what I do. Nuts...

"Congratulations," Snow says, his tone a calm whisper. His eyes though, they betray how displeased he is. I gulp. "Certainly not an outcome I would have foreseen. You must be very happy that you're leaving the Capitol, for now, with your life mostly intact."

"...I am," I say, firmly nodding. "I've missed it in Seven. You could say I have a newfound appreciation for it. I'm glad to be able to go home and experience it once more."

"Well, I'm very happy for you," Snow says, clearly meaning precisely none of what he just said. "But whether you're in Seven, the Capitol or any other place in Panem... just remember you're being watched very closely. Right now there are many riots, and it could lead to war."

He leans just a bit closer, his snake eyes almost seeming to flare for a moment. I shudder as the scent of blood fills my nostrils. It's hard not to gag.

"You don't want a war. You don't want to be forced into any kind of a leadership role if war were to emerge. Especially as you'd certainly be on the losing side of it all," he says. I never knew a pleasant voice could be oh so horrific in its delivery. "So, do whatever is demanded of you to contain the spark... or, your admittedly good luck will turn terrible."

Frankly, I already thought my luck was in the terrible-tier, but I have no delusions about the fact it could easily get worse if Snow were to command it. I'm tight lipped, forcing calmness into my tense expression and give an obedient nod. He seems satisfied, at least for now, and turns back to the ground. Of course, he's still very firm and dangerous.

As Snow talks to the crowd - I can't be bothered to listen to what he's telling them, honestly. Just propaganda and that sort of stuff, really. - I just sit here on the throne, lost in thought. After some time I take the crown off my my head and look it over. Shiny, some sharp prongs to it and clearly made from some particularly solid gold. I'm not sure as to what the carat number is, but it's clearly made of good stuff.

All the death, all the torment, all of the loss and suffering... all those horrors and innocent lives traded for a damn crown. I'd love to just throw this piece of shit off of the balcony, but I can't out myself into even more trouble. I guess all I can do, besides try not to cry, is continue to wave to the crowd and force a smile.

At least it's almost over. One more hour, more or less, and I'll be on the train en-route back home to District Seven. Once I'm in my bedroom on the train I can cry in peace.

But, with all the riots and the sparks of rebellion and fear... is peace even a realistic possibility anymore? I'm not overly convinced that it is.

(Later...)

The train has been moving along for quite a while now, thundering down the rails towards District Seven. From the inside of the train, it's practically soundless and you can't even feel a thing despite how fast it's going. All this as well as the stellar furniture fancy foods make the train truly appear like the height of luxury. A train fit for a king, or queen.

Alas, I can't relax on this train no matter how hard I try. Sure, the food is wonderful and the sofa is ever so soft, perfect for me to sit myself in for as long as I desire... but, how can I possibly begin to calm myself when this train has corpses on it?!

Indeed, just a few train cars down from where I currently sit my posterior upon the sofa... Wood and Ranger lay in an eternal sleep inside caskets, ready to be put to rest upon our return to District Seven. I should go there, I should be with them before they're forever gone fro the world and sleep six feet under. But... I can't, it's just too painful to be right next to the coffins.

Plus, I can hardly walk on my own. I don't think I could make it over there even if I tried to. So, I guess what I will be doing instead is speaking at their funerals. Making a real statement, something honourable and full of love... just, something for them to be remembered by. I owe it to them both.

I soon turn on the TV, flicking my way through the channels for anything to distract me from the pain. The antidepressants are working, I guess, but nothing can truly remove the torment upon my mind. Maybe nothing ever will; as father once said, scars are forever. Sure, they fixed me up and removed all the physical ones I had when I was in the hospital area, but they can't do a thing for my mind.

Eventually I spot one of my favourite shows is airing... hmm, I haven't seen this episode. I guess it's as fine of a distraction as I'm gonna get. So, I set down the remote and try to relax a little as I focus my sad gaze upon the TV.

"Oh Fiona..."

"Oh Lawrence..."

"I missed you so much. I miss you now, too. Oh Fiona, why can't you stop being dead and jump into my arms once again?! Love me like you once did..."

"I still love you just as I did when I was alive, even that time I was also a flesh eating goblin. But I'm dead, and I can't come back. Not until the penguin king returns my soul to me."

"But Fiona, I need you in my embrace now! It's not the same, talking to your ghost possessing a teddy!"

"Oh Lawrence..."

"Oh Fiona..."

"Oh Ranger..."

Tears well up in my eyes and I begin to sniffle. On the one hand I have to question the sheer unlikelihood that this episode out of all the thousands of them just so happens to be the one on TV right now. But, on the other hand... fuck... Lawrence is hanging in there for Fiona, so why can't I hang in there for Ranger and just, well, go see him?

I have no excuse. It may feel horrible and I'm ever so afraid right now, but I need to. I must! He'd do the same if the roles we have were reversed. Indeed, Wood needs a visitor too. He really came through for me and proved himself as a wonderful ally, and friend.

The issue that presents itself, though, is my inability to walk properly and how my wheelchair is packed up and put into a closet somewhere on the train. No crutches are in my sight either, so there won't be any 'easy' way to get myself to where the caskets are located.

Ok, fine. I'll just crawl myself there if walking isn't an option for me! If I could get through the rainy, flooded gauntlet to where Rammy had been holed up then I can drag myself along the ground through three train cars! Trendy and Johanna are at the bar car in the opposite direction and Blight is taking a nap to sleep off a bit of a hangover, so I shouldn't encounter anybody who might stop me reaching my destination.

Rising up, I wobble instantly and hold my arms out to try and keep some form of balance. A few seconds of worry pass before I feel confident that I'm standing with proper stability. Ok, let's try to get this 'learning how to walk again' thing figured out once and for all, shall we?

Left foot forwards, nice and slow.

Right foot forwards, careful now.

Left foot forwards-OH FUCK!

I groan in pain as I crash to the ground. How many times have I fallen on my face and landed in a most crumpled heap by this point? It's been too many times for my liking and it's certainly getting very old indeed. I sigh, knowing that I won't be relearning how to walk for quite some time yet. A few weeks at the minimum, more than likely.

Well, I did say that I could drag myself through three train cars if it were to come to it. So, that's what I start to do. It's awkward to crawl along with this cumbersome leg, but at least it's easier than attempting to walk.

"It's a good thing the doors open when you get near them," I mutter to myself as I crawl along. "Can't even reach a damn door handle from down here..."

(Three train cars of huffy crawling later...)

The train car is very silent, perhaps even moreso than the others were. You could hear a tiny pin drop in a place like this. The windows appear to be sealed in some way; the place is only lit by a lamp upon a cabinet, casting the dark train car with a sort of haunting light. The way it reveals half of the caskets to me - the latter half remains shrouded in the shadows - makes my stomach do flip-flops.

Both caskets have a sort of golden metal plate upon the top of them with words inscribed into them. For the one on the left it read, 'Wood Ivydale. District 7 Male, 74th Hunger Games. 7th Place.' Nothing more than that. A truly ugly lack of anything. It doesn't do him any justice whatsoever.

That in itself is bad enough, but the casket on the right is the biggest gut punch. 'Ranger Temrys, District 7 Citizen'. ...That's it. Nothing personal, no condolences or acknowledgement of the tragedy. Already, I'm seeing red.

I manage to move a chair over to the space between the caskets and climb myself up so that I can sit in it. I don't bother to act strong anymore. Instead, I let myself cry it all out, as if I were a little girl once again. My friend and my lover, dead because of a tree mutt and a big boy from Ten... and, really, myself as well.

This is my penance for speaking out of turn. Feeling miserable, and realising just how severely I messed everything up. If I had just taken the shot and kept my mouth shut...

But nothing can change the past. Some would say crying solves nothing, but it's not ceasing the tears from cascading down my cheeks. It feels as though nothing will, so I just continue to cry. I slump myself over the casket that holds Ranger's corpse, my tears dripping upon it. He's not even a meter away from me, not really, but it feels like he's beyond a billion miles from me right now.

"You both deserved so much better," I whisper, my throat tightening as I choke out the words. "I... I'm sorry. I always thought I was good with my words, but... but now I'm clearly not the good speaker I thought I was, having f-f-failed you both. I'm... not sure who I am..."

I stay like this for a while, just weeping and letting all the pain out. It'll be better to sob out the weakness here where nobody is watching me. I need to appear strong, somehow, once I'm at the train station in District Seven.

I remain here for quite some time. I'm not sure how long it's been really, as there's no way to look outside and I'm not really concerning myself with keeping track of the hours that pass by. I just know that the passing of time really is not healing the metaphysical wounds that plague me. I guess once I get back home I can start finding some way to move on from all of this. Te pieces of my life may be shattered, but perhaps I could put them together and form something worthwhile nonetheless. Better than just moping around.

The door opens and I raise my head swiftly. Blight sees me and what seems like understanding enters his gaze. He walks over, pulling another chair up and sits beside me. For a while, we don't say anything. We just remain silent, paying our respects to the two boys of our District who so cruelly had their lives taken away.

"I'm not gonna sugar-coat anything. You're a mature young woman and you're a Victor like the rest of us, so the truth is all you deserve," Blight says some time later. "It never gets 'better', whether you've just won or you're watching the tribute you're mentoring years later die horribly. But, it does get easier as time goes by. Just like how, with Snow getting older, it'd be easier to strangle him if somebody got close enough. Props to any who would try."

Blight sighs a bit as he takes out a bottle of wine, sipping some of it. He looks at the caskets, disgusted. Deeply sighing again he takes a full swig.

"I'm no stranger to seeing two coffins on the way back home," he says, tapping his fake hand against the side of his chair. "But, this sure is a first. Two coffins, and a new Victor sitting beside me. Whoa Nettle, we're making history! ...You hate it as much as me, huh?"

"Sure do," I say, looking at the caskets morosely. "This should never have happened. Just... no... never..."

I hold out my hand, mutely asking for the bottle. Thankfully Blight is quick to pass it over, and so I take a nice long gulp from the bottle. I'm not exactly at the legal drinking age, but I give ever so few fucks right now. All that matters is I feel like tree sap and wine is said to make one feel a bit better. If nothing else, it tastes particularly pleasant.

"I'm glad you're alive," Blight says once I pass the bottle back. "Wood had been my original tribute, but frankly any Victor is better than none. Plus, with you being the future mayor and all, I guess this does work out for our District. Oh, that reminds me, I expect you to make a rule that 'all Victors of the fifty second Hunger Games get free wine for life'."

"I'll see what I can do," I say with a humourless chuckle.

"...I'm sorry for the fact Johanna just ditched you. It wasn't right," he says, shaking his head. "She's got a few chips on her shoulder, and if you ask me I think she has some sort of a grudge against the mayor. Point is, she fucked up and I'm glad I unfucked everything. You're a credit to your District."

"Am I though?" I ask, surely seeming as bitter as poisonous bark. "My fault Ranger's fucking dead. I got my lover killed. I got one of our citizens killed. That's... it's just something that you don't do."

"The Capitol do it every year," Blight grunts. "They do it on purpose. You could never have known such a tragedy would happen. You only said what everybody thinks, anyway. Though, between you and me, I think much worse of them. Wood and I pondered the pros and cons of a Hunger Games with Capitol kids... gotta say, no cons were bought up."

"Does that make us any better?" I cannot help but ask.

"Does it really matter in the end?" he replies. "I think most in the Districts would agree to it if it were possible."

He takes another swig of the wine, soon corking the bottle once more and setting it down on the floor. He's silent for a bit, contemplative in fact.

"Yeah, maybe in some ways it may have been your fault, but it wasn't your intent. Whatever way you slice it, he's gone... so now the question is, how are you going to live life once you're back home?" Blight asks me, straight to the point. "Seventy three of us have had to get out of that Arena and put ourselves back together. I think I put myself together quite handsomely, personally. Point is, you're the newest Victor and you've got to put yourself back into one piece like the rest of us. You won the right to our life, and now you've gotta make the very best of it."

He leans closer to me.

"That means spend your time making laws to suit your mentor's needs," he says, stage whispering.

I can't help but snort over this. He is right, no questions or doubts about it; I have to stand up strong and somehow... move on. If Victors like Mizar, Spud and even Snag of my own District can do it, then surely I can as well, right? I... I don't want to end up like Pi is rumoured to have. Oh, no, ever such a bad idea to go that route...

"I'll see if I can get father to just give you free wine for life," I assure him. "But, yeah... you're right, I gotta do what any self-respecting Victor does and move on, somehow. I frankly have no idea how the actual fuckery I shall be able to do so, but I will try. I mean, I'm not the only Victor who lost a limb in the Arena."

"Exactly. Proof's all there that, in time, you'll find some way to make it work," Blight says, nodding. "I got your back if you need it, though I can't do Tuesdays. Ballet, you see."

"I'll try to keep my trauma to the other days of the week," I assure him, polite as can be. "I just... I should feel so empowered, like I can do anything. I got written off and yet I won... but I just feel like I'm much worse off and more than a little broken. Maybe I'm rambling-."

"No maybe, you are rambling," Blight states. "But, that's normal. Like I said, it doesn't get better but it gets easier and like you aid... you'll try and find a way, in time. Best you can do right now, y'know? The rest of us Victors in Seven will make you feel welcome."

"Pffttt. Even Johanna?" I ask, flat like paper.

"Eh, she's fun to play poker with," Blight shrugs, standing up. "Take as much time in here as you need, but you may want to take a nap before we reach District Seven. Plenty of cameras and crowds there to greet you. Damn paparazzi, like a pack of vultures."

"Actually, the term would be 'flock' of vultures," I say, prompt to correct him.

"Oh, you're one of those kids," he groans, exaggerating his movements. "Give me strength!"

"I'm just saying, correct terminology is very important," I tell him, shrugging.

We soon part ways, but as Blight approaches the door a thought suddenly occurs to me. One that I simply cannot brush off or ignore. Not when it feel so... strange.

"Blight, who sent me that crate of supplies? I mean, like, the funding for it? Snow alluded to the fact it was suspicious," I say, suddenly tense. "Something doesn't feel right."

"I have no idea who sent it," Blight says. "Fake name got used, the whole 'they only exist on paper' kind of deal. Smart, but risky. But that's just it, the fake name reeks of funny business and I'm not laughing."

"Neither am I," I agree, yawning. "They said they wanted to hold me in their arms or something in the note, right? Seemed pretty personal, so... I guess I'll meet them at some point?"

"It's likely. Unless, of course, Snow gets them first. Shady sponsors that give stuff to tributes who show rebellious attitudes tend to end up on Snow's shit list. Last I heard, I was rank eighteen on it," Blight remarks as the door opens. "Keep your head down for now and you'll be fine. You've won, so now you take a rest, you hear? Maybe try some dream powder? It's good stuff. Takes you right off to the drugged up clouds, heheh."

Whistling along the way, Blight leaves and I'm once more alone with my thoughts. So much on my mind and so little time to go over any of it. I'm in no state of mind for it, not even remotely.

I feel the tears coming back and I let them flow freely. I think Blight is right; I should take a nap before I'm back home. I need to make myself presentable for the cameras. The better I look, the less trouble that I shall be in. I daresay I'm a bit above Blight's ranking of eighteenth on Snow's 'shit list'. Top five at least.

I let myself lean back on my chair, closing my eyes. For now, I'll let my tormented mind and soul get some rest. Once I wake up, I'll start the healing process and assess the damage of Seven once we're back. No way is the fighting and rioting gonna be over yet. I need to make a plan.

...Perhaps... a little bit a rebellious plan, if a way to do it and not get caught can be found.

(Later...)

At long, long last the train pulls into District Seven. The strong scent of the forest fills up my nostrils. Unlike that horrible Arena, though, this time the smell of the forest fills me up with a warm, happy feeling. Some kind of mixture of nostalgia and purest relief. It's a forest from Seven. Seven means home. Home means safety.

Slowly, the train comes to a halt at the station and already I can hear the roaring, cheering citizens of my District outside. They all sound ever so delighted that I'm back. Perhaps in part they are happy as my victory means Seven gets more money and food this year, but I'd hope they're cheering for me as a person too.

Trendy fusses over her hair and make-up beside me, wanting to look her best for the cameras. To her, the idea of not looking like her namesake would imply is comparable to being a 'pitiful bloodbath'. Yeah, maybe she doesn't realise it - I honestly don't think she does, if we're being honest here - but those bloodbath tributes had lives, names and people who loved them. Maybe even more people than I have who are alive and love me.

At least she found me a nice set of crutches. They'll do for now, I guess. So long as I don't fall upon my face as soon as I step out of the train, I'll call them fine. Trendy warned me that if I were to do such a thing to her, she'd literally die. I don't think she was exaggerating, so... all the more reason to be careful as can be, I suppose?

"Finally, home sweet home," Johanna says, stretching out a bit. "I'll be at the tree bar if anybody needs me, do don't need me."

"I've never needed you," I say, rolling my eyes.

"Good. Keep on with not needing me," she says.

"Play nice Jo," Blight says, crossing his arms. "We're all Victors, we're all in this together... besides, I don't want you two fighting and ruining poker night next week."

Johanna drops it, but she snorts. I just give her a look, but soon put my focus back to the door. She's not worth it... although, Blight mentioned she may have a grudge against my father. What could this be? Part of me wants to ask him what he may have done, but the other part of me doesn't want to spoil the reunion. The latter part wins out, and I banish the thought for now.

"Ok everybody," Trendy says, her tone giddy. "Put on smiles, walk with confidence and don't screw this up for me! I'd rather the train ride back to the Capitol be full of me feeling good about myself, not using dream powder to forget whatever incident you get me stuck into."

"We'll be little angels," Blight says. He not-so-subtly crosses his fingers behind his back, much to my own amusement.

Trendy appears satisfied, and finally the door unlocks itself. It slides open and at once a blast of the familiar scene of Seven hits me stronger than ever. The cheering of the crowd is practically triple the volume of before, making me rather dizzy. But, they're all cheering, they're all happy... happy because of me. It's enough to lift the spirits of even the most moody of teenagers.

Johanna and Blight step out first and receive plenty of cheers. They swiftly move on and Trendy steps out as well, if only for a minute or two, so she can bask in the applause. I doubt any of it is for her specifically, but whatever makes her happy I suppose. The world could do with an exceptionally higher amount of smiles, after all.

Taking a breath, I hold my head up high and carefully make my way forwards with the crutches. It's slow and a little unstable, but I'm just barely managing to keep myself standing. Carefully, I step off of the train and set both my feet down upon the solid platform.

The response is near deafening. Everywhere I look there are citizens of Seven applauding, yelling, cheering and even dancing. It's the warmest welcome that I could have hoped for in light of all the tragedies. They're all glad to see me. I'm honoured.

Of course, I can't smile for the crowd for long. Not when the most important member of the crowd walks forth from the masses, his passage towards me permitted by the peacekeepers. His tall frame, the tidy blond hair combed down and cut short, the freckles that match my own... it's Mayor Bonsai. My father, the only family I've got left.

I limp myself forwards a few steps just as he walks his way up to me. For a few moments the crowd quietens down, and we gaze at each other silently.

"Nettle..." he whispers, his voice shaking like he can hardly believe that I'm back.

"I'm home, daddy..." I reply, my voice already trembling and tears in my eyes.

It's barely a moment before he's taken me into a very tight hug, one which I more than willingly return as best as I can. I'm home, I'm home...

The crowd all awwwwwww and applaud louder than ever as father and I embrace. Certainly, my problems are far from being anywhere close to halfway over, but in this moment right now everything just feels... right. Like I'm safe, and nothing can hurt me. Certainly a feeling I once took for granted and won't ever feel quite as much as I used to. I let the tears fall, embracing my father.

"Welcome home, Nettle," he whispers, his hold strong and gentle. "I was so... words cannot do justice the pain and fear I was feeling."

"I feel the same," I mumble.

"...We really did become distant, didn't we?" he says, as my tears of sorrow and joy stain his shoulder. "I was a mayor first, and a father second. Maybe third, or even fourth. No, not again. I almost lost you without really knowing you. If these terrible weeks have taught me anything it's that I need to start being a father first and foremost. So, let's start doing more things together. And, when work is on, you can help me... if you'd like to, that is."

"Father, I'd love nothing more," I choke out, hugging him close. I don't want to let go, never ever.

The cheering of the crowd feels much more distant now, and the presence of cameras crews is but a minor thought at the back of my mind. All that matters is that I'm with my family, and we might be able to finally fix the rift that was between us for so long. Imagine, the two of us playing croquette together - it's a rich people's game; lots of fun - and the laughs we'll have over it if one of us knocks a ball into a river or something.

There's only one smear on this otherwise picture perfect storybook ending. I'm not referring to political danger nor my leg. Not even the trauma upon my mind of what I was able to somehow survive. No, it's the fact Ranger and Wood are dead, their caskets being unloaded from the train.

Even when a Victor has been crowned for Seven, we still have two weeping families who will never be the same again. It's the same sorrow of a year of defeat, even though this year was a triumph. It's just not right. As I stand in an embrace with my father, I can see that the caskets are being taken away to the tribute graveyard. I suppose as Ranger died in the Arena, he'll be getting put in there too even if he wasn't a tribute per-say.

"Come on father," I whisper as I slowly rise out of his hold. "I think we've got a funeral to attend."

(Time passes...)

The sunset is beautiful as its golden rays are cast upon the tribute graveyard. The crisp grass seems to shimmer under the sunlight, the orange honey-like sky making the grass appear almost... royal.

I guess it's just as well the place looks so beautiful, because everything else is so very ugly. It's a graveyard of dead children, killed by cruel rules and regulations out into place by the most terrible of regimes. As I hobbled into the graveyard, father supporting me at all times to prevent me from falling, it was impossible to miss the graves of Jakki Jones and Ty Maple-Strong of the 1st Games... may their poor souls rest peacefully.

After them, it was just a constant case of row after row of dead children. Whether they were twelve or eighteen they were still kids in the end. How can any form of government condone such wickedness? Simple, really; they don't care.

I've been here for quite some time now, paying respects to those who died. The Capitol 'funeral official' buggered off after a particularly rushed ten minute service. So, now it's become something a bit longer and more personal. Curfew isn't for a while yet and nobody here is rebelling, so it's not like there's any rules to stop us from saying goodbye to the dead.

Fuck... saying goodbye is hard. Perhaps the hardest thing I've ever done, emotionally at least. I've been sobbing for so long. From the moment I took a seat I was sobbing, right through the rushed Capitol service and now way into the personal District service. My eyes are red and feel ever so raw. This shouldn't be happening. Ranger was never meant to die! And Wood... oh, Wood... he deserved a far more dignified end. One past the age of eighty, for sure.

No, actually... better idea. Every single child who rests in this graveyard deserved better! It never had to be this way, it never had to become a yearly torment. The Districts rebelled, yes, but why? Because they had no rights, no money, no anything. The Capitol are no rulers of me, they're just filthy animals basking on a pile of greed and lies. Why not hep the poor or do everything they can to solve the typical crisis' per District? I'll forever wonder why President Orion and his wicked ministers felt child murder was the answer here. After all, I don't believe that I could ever find an answer that won't make me feel disgusted.

Right now Wood's mother speaks a few words at the front, but it's hard to make out what she's saying over her hysterical sobbing. Each tear is further proof of just how much she loved her son. My heart aches badly for her and Bramble, Wood's twin. I'm just glad that they don't cast any blame upon me for being the one here and not Wood. I'm not so sure I could handle it when I'm already broken beyond my breaking point.

I look beside me and see Bramble sits two chairs down from me. The man who had been sitting between us left a while ago, the atmosphere too grim for him. I pause for a moment, wondering if I should really say anything. But then, I remember Wood's final words before he died. His request that he made to me.

Sickly and sad as I may be, it's no excuse to not honour what Wood asked of me.

"Hey, um... Bramble?" I say, softly.

He turns to me, teary eyed. It's almost like I'm looking at Wood once again, like he never died at all. I guess that's often the way with twins; they're so hard to tell apart.

"...Y-yeah?" he asks, wiping some tears away.

"Wood, um... Bramble, he wanted me to tell you that 'it was his choice, and you don't need to feel bad'. I'm not sure what this means, exactly, but he said you would know," I say, wiping away some tears of my own. "I'm so, so sorry for your loss."

"I owe him my life," Bramble says, sniffling as he looks at Wood's grave with an ever so miserable shudder. "He was a hero, he was... he... fuck, why did I let him..."

Bramble trails off and sobs. I'm not entirely certain as to what he was meaning right there. Maybe I'll never know. What is a fact, however, is that he's a person in pain and he needs help. I failed Wood, but I can still help his brother. So long as I live, I'll do what I can for my citizen. In fact, there's one thing I can do right now.

Blight had placed the bag of tribute tokens I collected in the Arena by my chair. Even with my inability to walk properly it's child's play to grab the bag up and root through it. I soon grasp hold of what I am looking for. It fills me with a stronger sense of melancholy than I already had when I gaze upon Wood's tribute token. The wooden doll.

"Here," I mumble as I pass it to Bramble. "It rightfully belongs to your family. I'm sorry."

Bramble sobs, holding the doll like it were a precious treasure. In this macabre context, it truly is a treasure. A reminder of the boy who was lost.

I sit silently for a while, continuing to listen to the funeral as it goes on. Father speaks some words, as do Ranger's parents. Friends of those who knew Wood and Ranger in life take the chance to get up and say words in their memory. Naturally, it's my turn soon enough. In some ways, it feels almost fitting that I am the one to close out this whole thing.

After all, I was the last person from the District to talk to them before their untimely deaths. It takes me a bit to hobble my way up to the front of the funeral area between the two graves - in the end, father has to help me make my way there - but, once I'm there I waste no time in getting right to the heart of the matter.

"On this summer evening, we're here to say goodbye to a pair of brave, wonderful young men. A... a goodbye that has come far, far too soon. I never expected my summer would have such a day come to pass, but then I suppose nobody ever expects to be reaped and have to live with the things they saw in the Arena," I suppress a shudder at the thought of it all, almost stumbling over in the process. "It's hard to know where to begin, exactly. But, for the loving memory of the two innocent lives that have been lost, I will do my best."

I wipe away a tear, trying to think of the right words to say. I guess it's hard to think it all over. It's gotta come from the heart. So then, let me brain stand on the wayside and my heart lead me forth. Let it help me say something good in memory of my friend and my... my... oh God, Ranger...

"I didn't know Wood at all before the reaping. But, he's the kind of guy who when he is first met... he's hard to forget, and I'd never want to forget him. Not for a moment," I say, starting to find the words at last. "I mean, why would anybody want to forget a boy so smart, so funny, so brave, so... himself. He was loyal and he fought like a badger. I didn't always get along with him and there were times I worried that... that he was my biggest foe. In the end though, I know beyond doubt that he was my truest friend in that horrible place. He was a loyal, he was an upstanding citizen... he'll.. he'll be m-m-missed..."

My heart pounds and tears leak down my face, thoughts of Wood swimming throughout my mind. His wolfish grin, that crazy laugh of his, the way he'd say something so inappropriate and then have the mocked party usually laughing anyway. He'd have made some guy the luckiest man in Panem. Wood...

But now, I cannot claim to be the luckiest young lady in Panem. Not when the young man who made me feel like that lays dead within a casket, buried in the other grave that has been dug. The mere sight of a grave I didn't expect to see for decades - or maybe even not at all if I'd passed of old age first - is enough to break me down all the more than I already am. I'll certainly be visiting the grave a lot in the near future. New flowers every day, no excuses.

I'm crying long before I realise I am doing so.

"Ranger was the love of my life," I sob out, shaking upon my crutches. "He brightened every day I was with him. He s-s-saved me from a falling tree at the cost of his leg. We... we did everything together. He even gave me hope when I was in that Arena, hope when I m-m-m-most needed it. I... I... oh Ranger! I'm sorry! I'm sorry! It's all my fucking fault!"

I can't stop myself stumbling over this time. I flop down and come to a stop beside Ranger's grave. My weeping becomes hysterical sobbing, my screams of regret and pain the loudest noise in all the graveyard. I feel somebody come forth to embrace me - father, maybe? - but all I can focus on is my stingy, salty tears and holding my arms around the grave as I scream and sob.

I did this.

I did this.

I was a hesitant little bitch who couldn't act when it mattered most, and then I spoke when I should've been silent. Now it's gotten my true love killed!

I cry and cry until I have no tears left, only the ability to wheeze and choke. Everything feels dark, every so distant from reality. I feel myself being led off, but I'm pretty much blind to it all. I'm suffocating on regret and panic.

I'm sorry Ranger. Whenever we meet beyond the curtain of death, if there's anything at all, please forgive me...

(Later...)

I'm home, for real and for always.

I never knew just how much I would miss just being able to sit around the manor and relax. I guess I took many things for granted. Far too many of them. I lived a lazy life, never leaving my comforting bubble of security and safety. Only now do I see just how precious, how fragile, life is. Tomorrow, I begin living it to the fullest that I can.

Admittedly, that will be tough. I'm broken, both in my mind and body. I'm still terribly scared and full of so much guilt. It fucking hurts. My leg is gone, and walking on this fake leg is impossible for more than a few steps. Crutches are only good for a short distance of limping. Beyond that, I'm entirely dependant on something being beside me for physical support.

Is this my life now? Unable to even move much by myself and forever plagued by heartbreak? When put like that, was death ever such a bad thing... no. No. That's enough of that.

Ranger, bless his resting soul, was able to rise again after he lost his leg. I was there for him every step of the way. He rose up and kept walking as time passed by. He did it, I can do it too. Father is here, so I'm not totally alone.

It's so hard. So fucking hard... but, I can't give up. What kind of a disgraceful disservice would giving up on life be to all those who died in that wicked forest, those desperate to live? It'd be one bad beyond measure. Glancing at my feet, the bag of the tokens I collected only further confirms it to me.

I swear to it, these token will make it back to the families of the dead. I swear it as the future mayor of Seven!

...But, it's hard to feel any sort of drive right now. Hard to know what to feel in any way, shape or form. I'm home, back to normalcy, but not really. Nothing's the same. Every shadow I've seen has me feeling shaking and scared. Even a wonderful family dinner with father hasn't helped.

For now, I've taken shelter in my bedroom. I just need a break from it all, and... and... oh, I don't know what I need. Whatever it is, maybe it doesn't even exist?

My room is just as I left it. My president sized bed with the tree plushies neatly arranged upon it, my kettle collection carefully ordered on the shelves, my walk-in closet that has not a singe item out of order, the glass doorway leading to the moonlit balcony and, of course, the grand piano that I am currently sitting at.

All the same, yet nothing is ever going to be the way it once was.

Still, as bad as my leg has become my arms and hands made it out of the Arena without any long term damages. Aside the fact they're the hands of a killer, they the same as they always have been.

So, it's of no surprise to me that I've been able to sit at the piano - with help from father, of course... - and started to play some music. It's a sombre melody that I play as my fingers gracefully tap the keys. It all comes back to me like I never stopped playing the piano for the weeks I was gone. It's... soothing, in some ways.

But as my melody continues to play, certainly able to heard throughout the manor, I just can't get my worries off of my mind. I heard it from father himself, all the Districts were going mental in some areas. Even Two was having riots, and they never rebel! Times are changing, and I'm not so sure it's for the better.

Is this how it all ends for me? The song I play is an old tune, one just known as 'An Ending', written by a man only known to Panem as 'T.F', but I certainly don't want this to be the way it comes to an end. With me broken and living a shattered life.

I narrow my eyes as I continue to play the piano. My tears burn, but the fire in my burns harder.

"I'm not broken. I'm a tree that's been chopped, battered, blown around and all kinds of other things... but I'm a tree that is still standing," I tell myself, firmly.

As much as I pep myself up, though, I am aware that I won't be sleeping tonight. It just hurts far too much right now.

Ranger, Wood, Gadget, Urchin... they and many others are all dead. I can't help but ponder if they may have deserved to live more than me. Urgh, look at me, pitying myself like I am. Nobody likes a Victor who cries and sobs day in, day out. The Capitol often mock that sort of a Victor on their talk shows, and I shan't be spoken of in such a way. I doubt my heart can take it...

A knock at the door gets my attention, and I call to whoever it is to come on in. No surprise to see it's father, though it's certainly nice that he's bought in some tea. He even used my favourite teacup, the one with the autumn leaf pattern on it.

"You're as talented as ever," he notes as I finish off the song, turning away from the piano.

"Just playing it the way you taught me to," I can only mumble.

"You're surpassed me, long ago," he says, waving off my praise with a smile. "Here, this is yours."

Ever so carefully, he passes me the teacup, gently laying it down upon the top of piano for when I'm ready for it. He warns me that it's hot, so I assure him I'll wait for a minute or two. For a time, we're quiet.

"How can I help?" he asks, setting down his own teacup.

"I'm honestly not sure," I say, sighing deeply. "I have no answers at all. Father, I have no idea what to do now. Tomorrow I'm supposed to move into the Victor Village, but... why? I'm happier here, with my personal space and everything I know. With you. not to mention all the riots and raging across the nation... how bad is it?"

"Our area is a tad better than most, if only because the Peacekeepers got everything fixed up for the cameras. But all the outer towns and poorer areas are a mess. Vandalism, riots, all sorts of criminal activity that I can't even blame anybody for... civilians and Peacekeepers died. I'm meant to punish several people, but I fully agree with them on this. They have righteous anger..." he begins to pace, looking particularly fretful. "Filling it all up will take a while, and that's even after the riots settle down. In out District and the rest... Nettle, it'll take months at best. I shan't sugar-coat, dearest, this may turn into an all out war if something isn't done about it."

"Snow wants me to end that war," I say, shuddering. "I don't even know if I can possibly do that, talk down so many angry people! ...Do I even want to? What do I care if the Capitol has a hard time, after what they've done to me and many others?"

"I agree. I don't wish to help those who took my daughter away," father says, sitting beside me. "I doubt I could do much, even with the power I have in this District. I've already rebelled as it is, and if they find out about it, well, I won't be long for this place."

My breath hitches, my face a bit paler all of a sudden. I feel a pit form in my stomach. Father... rebelled? What did he do? What could he, such a by the book worker, possibly have done?

"That tea has some special antidepressants in it," he tells me, quickly. "Blight said it will help you. Now, I don't know the man very well, but he did step up to mentor you and so I trust his word."

"... You know what, so I do," I say as I take a long, deep sip of the tea. I gulp it down, the warm feeling spreading throughout my body. "Does it act quickly?"

"I'm not sure, but it's the best stuff medical technology has. I'd assume this to mean it will be a prompt aid to you," father says, finishing his tea. "Now, you'll probably want to know what did, right?"

"It would be nice," I say, nodding slowly.

"Well... Nettle, I'll get straight to the point of the matter. I was the one who sent you that supply drop," he tells me, staring off into space. "That crate of gear was all from me."

What?! How... how can this be? It was surely massively expensive, beyond what even father can afford. I know this for a fact! Furthermore, how is sending a sponsor a rebellious action?

Wait... he can't have been able to afford it... oh dear...

"I can see it in your eyes that you're catching on," he says, appraisingly. "Early on you had supplies, so I felt it was safe to hold back a little when you were already well equipped. Plus, Johanna was hardly cooperative when it came to sending in funds, so people say. Then it all went wrong when the Arena began to fall apart. Prices kept being jacked up before anything could be done, and then you said what you did."

He pauses, thinking hard.

"Short and sweet, I... I embezzled quite a lot of money from Seven's funding meant for District quota to be met. I had to pull in so many favours and contacts to get it done, but the money was sent in under what I've been assured is a secure anonymous 'exists only on paper' method. So, you got the supplies you needed... it was all you in the end, really, but I'm just so glad I was able to do something for you, dear," he trails off, shutting his eyes. "If they find out it was me, I'm dead. But, frankly, if it means keeping my daughter alive then I'd do it a thousand times more. We've been strangers in the same home ever since your mother passed. It couldn't end like that."

Embezzlement... crime... rebelling... his life is on the line! All for me. All for how much he loves me...

I fling my arms around him, hugging him tightly. He returns the embrace in moments. I try to hard to not let the tears out, but it's quite a losing effort.

"Surely they'll notice the money is gone," I whisper. "Father, please, don't... don't leave me!"

"Fortunately, that's been taken care of," he says, as relieved as I am. "There exists the slim chance of them working out that the money was gone, but it was made back through bets placed upon your victory. You never had those odds in your favour, and thankfully my contacts knew just the amount to bet. So... the tracks have been covered. Perhaps you'd like to meet my contacts, actually? This will be easier to explain if you knew them and-."

I silence him with a tighter hug. This results in a tighter hug for myself... it's nice. but now my heart is pounding, a sickly feeling building within me. I finish off the tea quickly, hoping the soothing effect of what's in it might calm me down somehow.

Father rebelled and sent in an illegal sponsor.

He admitted there is a chance he could be caught.

He could be killed for this.

No, no, no... nononono. NO! The thought, the very idea... it's terrifying, especially as he's all I've got left. Please, not him too...

We're silent for a while, just sitting. I'm scared, but... to think father loves me so very much he'd do that, put his life upon the line and say he'd do it a thousand times more. He could've been caught at any time before I got home - he surely would've been if I'd not won and the bets wouldn't recuperate the finances that were missing! - and he still did it all the same.

I'm not just scared. I'm touched... there's no feeling quite like the knowledge somebody loves you, and would do anything to make sure you find your way through towards the end.

"...Thanks, daddy," I whisper, soft as a mouse.

"You're welcome, dear," he says, warmer than I've heard in years.

"...War is coming, isn't it?" I mumble.

"I'd call it more likely than not," he agrees, giving a slow nod. "Times are changing as the riots go on. They've probably not stopped completely for even an hour since Ranger passed."

"Think this might be what it takes to defeat the Capitol and end this horrific madness forever?" I ask, hopeful.

"Maybe. I don't know the answer to that question," he admits, tapping his chin. "It would take a powerful leader to oppose them, that much I do know. Right now, ideas of rebellion aren't my priority. Neither is my job."

He places a hand on my shoulder, gentle as can be. It's certainly not unwelcome.

"Right now, my priority is being your father and being here for you. So, please, whatever way I can help you, I want you to tell me. No matter how silly you may think it might be or if you think an issue is minor, tell me anyway and I will get it done. We're in this together as father and daughter," he says, bold and confident. I've never seen him so... alive. "...Axe no questions, tell no lies?"

"...Axe no questions, tell no lies," I agree, weakly smiling despite my many tears and hardly concealed heartbreak. "I'm so afraid. I'm so broken... I'm a fucking mess."

To this, he gives me a firm look.

"You are not a 'fucking mess'. You are Nettle Bonsai, my daughter," he says, leaving no room for argument. "I don't see how being who you are makes you such a dreadful thing. Oh, I know it'll be hard. I expect dark days ahead, but I'm on your side. I'm at your service. I am not letting you be alone in this testing time."

I try to believe him, but I'm not sure if I can. I may be alive, but the girl I used to be is dead. He looks over the music sheets I'd set up for my piano play and flips through them a bit. He spots one, weakly smiling.

"Want to play a duet?" he offers. "We haven't done that since you were six."

"... I'd love that," I say, nodding and wiping away the tears. "What song?"

"How about Fallen Down? The same one I used when I first started teaching you how to play this instrument," he suggests, putting the music sheet into place.

"Exquisite choice," I whisper.

With enough said, we begin to play the gentle melody side by side. No note out of place, no sound anything less than sublime, we make a great team as we continue to play the most soothing of melodies.

But even as we share this musical moment and patch up the void that had been between us, I can't stop the fear that's filling up my heart. I angered the Capitol and, whether deliberate or not, have led the world to a very unstable state and an even so uncertain future. War is likely, and Snow is going to be watching me with those terrible snake eyes of his.

I've lost so much and only kept the bare minimum of things in the end. My life. It feels like I've fallen down to rock bottom, though I suppose the best thing about this would be that I can only go up from here. Or, will I dig through rock bottom and downwards to to all new depths? I have no idea.

Past all of the pain, the trauma, the heartbreak... I do know at least one thing to be true. A grain of gleaming truth in this world of violence and lies. I'm stronger than Johanna believed me to be. I'm much stronger than I ever thought I could be.

Whatever comes next, I'll face it with my head held high.

I just pray that it'll be high enough...

END OF BOOK 1...

There we have it, the curtain closes upon Nettle's first tale in this deadly, dark nation of Panem. A story of many ups and downs, mistakes and fixes both for Nettle and myself from a writing standpoint. I'll be going into depth on my notes on Nettle as well as plenty of beta / scrapped content on my DeviantART page, and trust me when I say I have a lot to talk about. In the end though, I feel the things I have learnt writing this story will help me future writing quite a lot, both HG stories and original projects for later dates. So, on the whole, having learnt a lot I'd call this a worthwhile venture. But, as I said, the DA journal will have deeper evaluation.

Until then... how about we find put who is the next tribute to make their debut in this series? :o

THE 5TH PROTAGONIST OF THE NAMELESS CHRONICLES

STARLIGHT SPECIAL

Katniss wasn't the only volunteer for the 74th Games outside the Career Pack. An overlooked volunteer with power to rival that of a Career, the District 8 Male steps up for the Games as part of a special plot from District Eight. Avoiding the accident of falling off of the training equipment thanks to his District Partner, Callico enters the Arena at full power from the get-go. With great courage and a heart of gold, can he win these deadly Games he's prepared himself for, or will being too friendly and the #1 target of the Careers lead to a grisly, terrible fate?