#and wonder why everything is terrible and I want to die and am so twitchy | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

maraudersandlily20 · 5 years

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Enough

Remus felt as though all of the air in the room had been sucked out. His lungs contracted but could take in no new oxygen. Spots swam in front of his eyes and if there had ever been a time he had wanted to die, it was now.

“That’s not true,” He whispered, his voice hoarse. Moody looked apologetic, as if he wished he could take back his brash comments. But he couldn’t. The truth was suddenly out in the open, and Remus was clearly hearing it for the first time. He stood, swaying, as he got to his feet. His mind was swimming. The pressure against his ears made him feel like he was under water. He wished he was, instead of being there.

Remus staggered away from the group meeting, pulling out his wand, not sure what he intended to do. All he knew is who he needed to see.

“Potter! Grab the boy. I think he may lose consciousness.” Moody’s gruff voice seemed garbled, like Remus could almost hear it but not quite. Suddenly, James appeared in Remus’ eyesight, having heard the commotion from the kitchen.

“Moony? Are you alright?” Was there cotton in his ears, Remus thought. Why couldn’t he hear anyone right?

“I have to see him.” He said. James grabbed onto him, leading him out of the small cottage and into the fresh air. Feeling the oxygen surround him loosened the tension in Remus’ chest and he drew in his first deep breath in sometime. James’ hand was gently rubbing Remus’ back, try to soothe him, though he had no idea what had happened. Remus’ eyes found his friend’s. “I have to see him, James. I have to know if it’s true.”

“What are you talking about?”

He shook his head, closing his eyes against the possibility of it being true. “I… I have to see my father.”

James stared at Remus, watching as he tried, in vain, to calm his breathing and to stay up right. He had no idea what Moody had said to him, but it had rattled him more than James had thought possible. Seeing how determined he was, James took a deep breath. “Alright, Moony. We’ll go see your father.”

James pulled out his wand. He tried to recall every detail of his friend’s father’s home, and prayed that he would get them where they needed. Not knowing if Remus could handle the apparation alone, he wrapped his arm around his chest and quietly demanded that Remus hold on. He did.

The next moment, they were standing at the front of an old white gate that surrounded a small cottage, a vegetable garden, and a little fountain. James was grateful he had been able to get them safely there, though Remus’ state scared him more than he could admit.

Remus staggered forward, out of James’ arms, and pushed through the gate.

“DAD!” He yells, startling some birds on the roof. It was an eerie place in this lighting, James thought, when in the past it had always looked homely and warm. He followed his friend into the small yard.

Suddenly, the front door opened, and out stepped Remus’ father. James had only met the man a few times during their friendship. He was a widower and who didn’t much like visitors, Remus had always excused. James thought he looked exactly like a quiet, shy widower would. He wore a grey collared shirt and a tan cardigan with patches. Lily would have said he looked like a history professor. He was as quiet looking as humanly possible, and James wondered if he was even real.

Remus loved his father, greatly, and spoke very highly of his intellect and his kindness. But Remus was shaking, and he looked terribly upset.

“Hello, my light. I didn’t know to expect you, or I would have put on some tea.”

There was no answer from his son, as if he wasn’t quite sure what to say. Remus stared at his father, trying to understand how this could have happened.

Lyall cleared his throat and smiled at James. “Hello, young Potter. A pleasure to see you again.”

“And you, Mr. Lupin.”

Lyall smiled. “Well, to what do I owe this pleasure?”

And then Remus found his voice. “Is it true?”

There was a stunned silence, and James gathered that Remus had never spoken to his father in such a manner. His voice was harsh and his words bitter, his shoulders looking so tense that it appeared as if he would simply snap.

“Is what true, my darling?”

“IS IT TRUE? Is it true that, just after my fifth birthday, you were called to a trial for Fenrir Greyback and spoke against werewolves? Is it true that your sheer bigotry toward an entire magical race fueled him forward in his decision to attack your only child and change him to what you hated? Is it true that the reason-” Remus’ voice cracked as tears spilled down his face. “The reason that I am what I am is because of you?”

Silence, again, as both James and Lyall soaked in that accusations that Remus had hurled so violently toward his father.

It was a painful silence, the one that was full of secrets and misunderstanding, of deceit and lies. The kind of silence that ruined people.

Lyall sighed, his face becoming crestfallen and the life appeared to be drained out of him. “Why don’t you both come inside and we’ll have some tea. We can talk about it.”

“I don’t want tea,” Remus spat.

Lyall looked up suddenly, a fire in his eyes that James did not think him capable of. “Nevertheless, Remus John Lupin, you will come into this house, you will sit down quietly, and you will listen to your father until I have said what I have to say. Do you understand?” They stared each other down until Remus huffed and pushed past his father into the house. James followed behind, a sheepish expression on his face, feeling the tension surround him as he walked through the door. Lyall shook his head and patted him on the back, letting him know he wasn’t at fault.

The three sat at the kitchen table, none of them looking at each other in the eyes. James, after some awkward seconds, stood to grab some water. He meandered into the kitchen and pulled a cup from the cupboard. And then he heard Lyall speak.

“I wish I could blame it all on them. Not the werewolves, mind you. I know better than to place the blame on them. I mean, “the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures”. They were a committee of talented men and I was one of the youngest among them.

“Your mother called it a great honor, which it was. She knew how hard I worked to be the top in my field. And I was receiving recognition for everything I had done, and it felt good. I got a well paying position in the ministry, I had colleagues who I respected, and I had you and your mother. By all means, the perfect life.”

He took a deep steadying breath and James walked closer, leaning against the kitchen counter, and studied the man. He looked as if he had aged 10 years just with those few sentences, and it dawned on James that Lyall Lupin had been carrying this painful secret, whatever it was, for a very long time. “I shouldn’t have even been on the committee, it wasn’t even in my field of study. They pulled us together because they needed experts and opinions, but they didn’t need singular opinions. The committee was created to discuss and interrogate a man who claimed to be a muggle. He had witnessed the murder of two muggle children by werewolves and our job as the committee was to understand why the wolves were provoked, and, more importantly, why they left this man alive.”

“He was a wonderful actor,” Lyall said, his voice tinged with bitterness. “Quick on his feet with a silver tongue. He spun a marvelous tale of his terror, the bloody crime and his idea to hide himself. However, I knew a little better.

“I was never an expert on werewolves, and I still don’t claim to be, even after all I have learned. But I wasn’t stupid. I knew enough about werewolves that I knew they would have smelled him out, especially if they were in the blood-lust.” Lyall looked at his son for a moment. “I have seen first hand how blood-lust takes over wolves.” At this, Remus looked down at his scarred hands, his face darkening at some memory that James wasn’t partial to. It was too personal, too close to home, but it was too late to turn back now. Lyall continued. “His story didn’t add up with what we knew about werewolves and so I was thrown into doubt.

“And then, I started paying attention to his behavior. That meeting happened barely 24 hours before the full moon. The wolves always get twitchy before then. He couldn’t keep still, always bouncing his leg or tapping his fingers. Other members said that it was just him being nervous, having no idea that wizards existed, and suddenly being faced with the magical world. It’s enough to make any muggle nervous. But I could see it.”

The father reached over and covered his son’s hands with his own until Remus looked up at him. “As you grew older, Remus, it was clear that the wolf was gaining more control over your body when the moon came. You were always up and moving. It drove your mother mad. But you couldn’t stop yourself, almost like the wolf in you was mere seconds from breaking out.”

He paused, his eyes drifting to the back wall, becoming unfocused, almost as if he was recalling every small detail of the day, as if he could still see the man being questioned. He could look at it now through a lens of understanding, and compare what he knew now to what he had seen then. “It looked the same with him. And then, of course there were the scars. He claimed he had been in some freak accident as a child, but those scars…” Lyall quietly traced one of the scars that ran against the back of Remus’ hand. “They only come from ripping yourself apart once a month. And some were much newer than others.

“The last thing I noticed were the eyes. Werewolves eyes become more animalistic as the moon comes. They turn a bright yellow and get that reflecting ability that animals have. I noticed it and I was as far from him as possible.”

Lyall stood and turned away from them both, and James felt as though the moment of truth was coming. The accusations Remus had thrown at his father were serious, and James could feel that perhaps this was the moment that Lyall admitted to whatever horrible thing he had done. “I decided to speak up. We were going to obliviate him anyway, perhaps we should keep him in custody one more night. The moon was in 24 hours, and if he wasn’t a wolf, then no harm no foul. Better to be safe.

“They wrote me off. “Keep to yourself, Lupin” they said. “Stick to boggarts and sprites. You’re out of your depth when it comes to lycanthropy.” They were right of course, but they were all out of their depth as well. There was so much about lycanthropy that we didn’t know and keeping an updated log of active werewolves had fallen way down our list of priorities in that time. But, still. There were worries about the growing werewolf population.”

Lyall stopped and took a deep breath, hands buried deep in his pockets, before turning to face the both of them once again. His eyes were solemn and full of anguish. “I regretted the words as soon as I said them. I knew that they were wrong, that they were bred out of fear, prejudice, and a sense of superiority. I had grown up in a world where wizards were the top of the magical creature food chain and we had no time for creatures that killed and blew our cover. I had been raised in cruelty and that cultivated in me a hatred for anything that was different from me. I know better now, and if I could go back and change what happened, I would.”

“I said, in my arrogance and anger, that werewolves were inherently evil and only deserved death. Even as I said them, I knew they were wrong. But I had unleashed a fury in me that I never knew existed.” He returned to his seat, clasping his hands tightly on top of the table, not able to look up at meet his son’s eyes. “ To be so prejudice against people for things they can’t control,” His words faded as he looked up, first at James and then to Remus. “That is what it means to be a coward.” His words held the conviction of lessons learned through experience.

“I wish I had seen his face. In that moment. I wish that the eyes of the room had been on him and not me. I can only imagine the disgust on his face at my words. For who was I to condemn an entire people to death? Who was I, indeed, than anything more than an angry wizard with prejudice bred into me. I would have hated me too.” He shook his head in disgust at his past self’s actions.

“I was escorted out of the committee and he was released. And by then, it was too late. He returned to his pack and they discussed the plan to ruin my life. To take from me the thing I loved most. You. It was simple research, really. They found where we lived, that your mother was a muggle, that you had just had your fifth birthday. They knew it all. And late at night, when we all had gone to bed, he broke into your room.

And he tried to kill you.”

The room around them was coated in silence at the words. James had no idea the circumstances of Remus’ transformation, but it was a horror story he never had thought he would have to deal with. He walked over to the table, finally leaving his place in the kitchen, and grabbed onto Remus’ hands, who responded in kind. Remus looked sick and his tight grip on his best friend made his knuckles turn white. After a moment, he took a steadying breath and looked back toward his father.

Lyall studied his son and must have seen in him some conviction, some determination to know the truth, because, for the briefest of moments, he smiled. “You screamed, of course. Months after, you were still sleeping in our bed, from the pain and the nightmares. How cruel to make so young a child experience that pain. I stopped him from killing you, but it didn’t matter. You were changed, and there was nothing we could do to help you except endure it.”

Lyall’s smile turned to one of regret. He wiped across his mouth, as if trying to remove a bitter taste, but he kept that sad smile. “You’re right, Remus,” he whispered. “It was because of me. I am the reason you are the way you are. It was because of my cruelty and my arrogance that you were targeted. Had I said nothing, had I just left it alone, this never would have happened to you. It is my fault. I am the cause of your pain.”

Remus couldn’t help himself. He reached his hand out and grabbed onto his father’s arm in a comforting gesture. Lyall patted his hand, looking that same kind of sad through a smile. He looked over to Remus, tears in his eyes. “So often I find myself thinking what I would do if I could go back. Back to that moment, when I said those awful words. I try to think what I would do differently. I wouldn’t yell or shout or try to expose him. If I could go back, all I would do is look that man in the eye, take his hand, and tell him I was sorry. So sorry, for everything he had endured, everything he had to go through. And I would beg for his forgiveness on behalf of a world that hated simply for being different. If I had treated him with kindness instead of cruelty, perhaps the world would not suffer as it does now.”

James was crying in earnest as the story reached its bitter conclusion and he could barely contain himself. The tears in Remus’ eyes were evident as well. It was a painful thing to hear, on all accounts.

“I am sorry, my light, that I have lied to you about it all these years. But I simply couldn’t be the reason for your pain. It hurt too much to watch you suffer as you did without wanting to kill myself. Having you hate me on top of all of that pain... I am not sure either you or I could have born it. You are right, Remus. I am the cause of all of this. And more. I have not been the kind of father you needed, despite all of my attempts to be so. And I am so sorry.” Lyall was staring into Remus’s eyes, his sincerity shining through as he gave the apology he had always wanted to give his son but never had had the courage to do so. Until now. “I hope you can forgive me. If not for being the cause of your pain, at least for being a coward. I just loved you too much to want to cause you additional pain. I see now that that was wrong of me. You deserved the truth. You still deserve the truth.”

It was silent as the words settled over the three men. The weight of the revelation was a great burden on all of them. Remus stood suddenly, avoiding his father in the eyes. “I need some air,” He said, trying to keep his composure. He walked quickly out the front door and stood, bent over, in the garden.

Lyall looked to James. “Check on him, will you? He needs someone now.”

James nodded, looking at Lyall with compassion. He couldn’t even imagine the feelings of guilt the older man must have experienced for so long. James made his way to the garden, stopping right next to Remus’ hunched over figure. There was silence between them, but the world went on. Noises of birds and crickets filled the air and the tall grass waved in the wind. Finally, James spoke.

“Why “my light”?” He asked.

Remus sucked in a deep breath before straightening himself. “My father loved taking me out to look at the stars during the new moon. I once told him the sky was prettier with the light of the moon. He disagreed and said “you are the most beautiful light here, my boy. You are my light.”” Remus chuckled, and James was glad to hear there wasn’t any bitterness in it. “He was always the sappiest of all of us.”

They stood side by side, admiring the rolling hills in front of them for a few moments. It was a peaceful day, almost like the world was showing them that it would keep turning, no matter what they learned there.

“I almost didn’t go to Hogwarts.” Remus said, his voice quiet. “There weren’t many options to keep Lycanthropy contained, and my father was worried that I wouldn’t be safe at school. He always made sure to emphasize that it was about my safety, never talking about any of the other students, though they should have been the worry. My father just cared about me. He had every intention to see my magical school through at home.”

“What happened? What changed?”

Remus smiled. “Albus Dumbledore himself arrived at our house and he and my father had a long discussion over two cups of tea about how they could make it work. How I could attend Hogwarts safely and keep everyone else alive in the process. Albus constantly assured him that they would take care of me and that the rest of the students would be safe and wouldn’t know anything of my condition. But my father…” Remus looked over at James, an identical sad smile to Lyall’s covering his face. “He said to the great Albus Dumbledore, “I’m not worried about the other students, Albus. We are discussing my son. That is all that matters to me.””

“Your father is a good man, Remus. He made mistakes, and he’s been paying for them all of his life. But he’s trying. You are his son and he loves you. Even I can see that.”

There was a moment and then Remus shook his head. “I’m not mad at him. Not really. And though the way he was raised should not be an excuse for his actions, I can understand why he said what he said. Underneath it all, I think he had good intentions. He just wanted to keep people safe. He’s always wanted that. It’s just… what he does.”

It was a strange moment, James thought. Remus seemed to be trying to wrap his mind around the onslaught of new information and James wasn’t sure how to help. There wasn’t really anything he could do. He had never been very good at comforting people before in situations like this. Sirius would be better support for him.

“Do you… do you want me to get Sirius for you?” Remus was already shaking his head before he even finished the sentence.

“No. He wouldn’t understand. And really, I’m not angry. I mean, a part of me is because he never told me. I had to hear it from Moody first, and no one should ever hear such big revelations from the mouth of Mad-eye Moody. But… then again, I understand why he didn’t. Growing up was never easy. My parents loved me more than I ever could have hoped for. I didn’t have to worry about being loved. We moved around a lot, to keep hidden, but I always had them. I was… content with my parents. If I had learned back then that my father’s prejudice against lycanthropy was the cause of my own disease... it would have become a tool of vindication and guilt. I would have used it against him to get what I thought I needed. But I didn’t know. All I knew was that I had a father and a mother who loved me very much and wanted to keep me and the rest of the world safe.” He ran a hand through his hair, breathing out. “He always wanted to keep me safe, James. He just… didn’t always go about it in the right way.”

“You forgive him?”

Remus looked back at his father’s house and shut his eyes. In that moment, he imagined what his life would have been like if this hadn’t been a secret. He imagined the arguments that would have happened and the distrust that would have ensued. And then he imagined a life where he didn’t forgive his father. How lonely the both of them would be now if Remus held on tightly to the anger that had brought him here. He hated what that looked like and knew it wasn’t what he wanted.

“Enough,” he whispered, walking back toward the house to find his father, to make things right between them once again.

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foreversillythings · 6 years

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roses are red, roses are white chapter six

roses are red, roses are white part two the thorns of lancaster chapter one channel of treason

“No, Madge. We’re the rebels.”

(even years from now, she will remember this moment perfectly)

(she will remember the way pre-dawn light had cast shadows in Haymitch’s eyes, she will remember the sound of nervous horses and Marvel shouting “No, no! What is wrong with you?” She will even remember the taste of the wind; mud, smoke and rank, sour fear)

(because this, this changes everything)

The whole world spins to a stop, everyone and everything frozen in place as Madge sinks deep into too many terrible thoughts.

What does that mean?

Why are we running?

Are we going into exile?

What’s happening?

Where’s Gale? Is he alright?

All those questions crowd up her throat but before any can find their way out, Haymitch grabs her shoulders and shakes her.

“We need to go Madge, now.”

She looks up at him and knows, all the way in her bones, that he is right. He has never looked more terrified than he does right now and certainty lodges inside of her, sharp and cold like a shard of ice.

This is just like when we fled Bedford Castle. The enemy is coming, we have to get away

She nods, to Haymitch or perhaps to herself, and clambers up onto the nearest horse. She can feel herself hardening, can feel her blood turning to steel and it’s not that she isn't scared or angry, she is, oh God she is, but rising above that is a thought, a desire, a drive that drowns out everything else.

live

I am not going to die here

I am going to survive and when this is over, I’ll find you Gale, I promise

(A rat-faced squire with twitchy eyes and sallow skin shoves a last little coffer into their litter and Glimmer wants to snap at him, wants to demand to know exactly what’s going on. She watches him with narrowed eyes, her nails sinking into her round stomach as his skin turns blotchy from fear.

“What the fuck are you doing? Get on a horse! We need to go!” Marvel bellows from somewhere outside and the squire scurries off, tail between his legs. Glimmer loses her chance to talk to him but she doesn’t really need to. She thinks of the frantic way Marvel had roused her, the wild terror painted all over his and Haymitch’s faces and the desperation in this flight and knows.

we lost

Glimmer drops her head into her hands and sobs)

And so they ride.

They fly across the countryside and the wind howls violently in their faces, its moaning scream mixing with the rampage of hooves and the thunder beat of her heart. Dark, bloated clouds hover over them threateningly and Madge holds on to that one flame in her mind, clings to it with both hands.

live

She cannot afford to falter, not now. She is teetering on the edge of a cliff but she will not fall.

live live live

By the time they reach the coast, there is already a ship waiting for them.

It bobs and rocks as steel gray waves pound the harbour, its mast towering up to the furious black clouds above. Madge looks at it and beneath the iron shell she’s built around herself, she feels a bit like that ship, tossing and turning and about to be sick all over herself.

We’re the rebels

What does that mean?

Is Gale safe?

Please, please let him be safe

She barely feels the frigid wind as it cuts through her and Haymitch leaps off his horse, barking orders in every direction. His words are swallowed by the rising tempest but his tone is harsh and their squires scurry about, corralling the horses up the gangplank and hauling their belongings aboard. Annie too is pressed into service, her arms laden with bundles and deep down Madge simmers with anger, her fingers aching from clutching the reins too tight.

What are we running from?

The litter lurches to a stop beside her and Marvel shoves the coffer he’s holding into a squire’s arms, nearly bowling the poor boy over. Madge watches her step-brother charge over and wrench open the litter door, his eyes wild and his movements jerky. His fingers shake as he tugs his step-mother out and she stumbles down the stairs, her face pale and worried.

“Marvel-” she starts to ask but he ignores her, his face dangerous as he glares over his shoulder at the road.

“Come along, Glimmer,” he snaps, his impatience not quite managing to mask the fear in his tone, “we need to go!”

They’re coming. I wonder how close they are, Madge thinks and her stomach clenches, spider cracks running over her armour. The carriage rattles as the wind picks up and Glimmer moans pitifully from within.

“Come on!” Marvel nearly shouts and Glimmer appears in the doorway, her face ashen. She has one arm wrapped around her bulging belly and the other clutches the litter as if she does not trust her legs to hold. There is sweat on her brow, tear streaks on her cheeks and pain in her eyes, but still she manages to shoot Marvel a reproachful glare.

“This...is a terrible idea. A woman in my condition should not be forced on such a...a horrid journey,” she says angrily, her breathing heavy and Marvel grabs her by the shoulders and lifts her down.

“Glimmer,” he says firmly, his hands squeezing her arms, “we do not have time for this. We have no choice, if we stay here, we will die.”

Glimmer’s eyes widen, all her bravado withers and Madge feels his words like a punch to the gut, all the air leaving her lungs.

It really is exile then

Glimmer is gray faced, her eyes glassy with tears and Marvel hooks an arm around her waist and escorts her onto the ship, Margaret trailing in their wake. Madge slips off her horse with ice in her blood and her skirt billows around her, her heart cracking against her ribs like a hammer. Exile, exile, we are fleeing into exile. She stands there on English soil for what could be the very last time and her protective shell starts to fracture, those spidering cracks widening and growing until great chunks of her shield tumble down to the dirt below. The gaping holes left behind allow fury and fear to come leaking out and she wants to grab Marvel and shake him, claw at him until he tells her exactly what’s gone wrong.

Are the Lancastrians back? Have angry Yorkists deposed Katniss?

Or even worse, have you and Haymitch attempted your own coup?

She closes her eyes with the throbbing ache of that thought and does all she can to regain her previous calm, the urge to do whatever necessary to survive warring with all her other desperate, seething emotions.

Relax, this isn't over, not yet.

(but beneath all that she thinks,

are you coming with us Gale? Or are you the one chasing us?)

“What are you doing? Do you want to be left behind?”

Madge opens her eyes to Marvel’s snarling face, a vein popping in his temple. He does not wait for an answer but grabs her by the wrist and drags her roughly to the ship, the docks creaking beneath his heavy steps. He marches quickly, his head twisting around again and again to look behind her and she wonders what they’ll do if the enemy does show up before they’re ready. Is this how it all ends?

No, no I won’t let it

He drags her up the ramp and she thinks her skin might be bruising, a heady tide of feeling rising higher and higher within her. The deck sways beneath her feet and she’s never been on a ship before, never gone anywhere outside of England’s borders. She looks out over the rail at her home, the only one she’s ever known and the deranged urge to shove Marvel overboard nearly swallows her whole. Whatever is happening, this is your fault.

“See to the Countess, she is unwell,” he orders and then shoves her down a flight of stairs. Unprepared, she stumbles, trips and then careens into the far wall at the bottom. She is left winded and Marvel turns away without a word, his footsteps drowned out by shouting and bellowing winds. The ship rocks and Madge starts to find it difficult to breathe, air coming and going in tiny gasps. Her nails dig into the wall and she pushes her face into the wood, a scream building in her lungs. The remaining bits of her armour start to crumble, too fragile to withstand the onslaught of her terror, her rage, her despair. She is like a tiny ship lost in a storm, buffeted on all sides by hopelessness, fear, anger and she can’t do this, she can’t. They are leaving England, perhaps forever, and she has never been so scared in all her life. There is scalding bile in her throat, tears in her eyes and wouldn’t it be so much easier just to fall here and cry?

Give up, give up, chants the fear in her mind and she wants to, oh she wants to but then, then, rising in her, not like the sun but like a burning rod of iron in her heart, she thinks no, NO, I need to stay calm. I need to focus on living through this. Nothing else matters, not now.

Survival, that’s all.

I will survive

I will

It is not bravery but something else that comes over her, something hard and focused and determined. She claws her way out of the dark mire in her heart and inhales as deeply as she can, stomping her fear down as far as she can. Come on, come on, don't give up now. Her legs quake with every dip of the ship but she summons up her flagging courage and drapes it over herself like a king’s mantle, dredging up every last ounce of strength she has. You can do this, be brave, brave, brave, brave. She grits her teeth and her shield is made of paper rather than stone, but it is enough, it has to be. Her arms shake as she pushes off the wall, safe again (at least for now) in a fortress of survive, survive, survive.

She moves into the narrow hallway and follows the sound of Glimmer’s distress to a well furnished room, Glimmer, her mother and Annie already inside. Madge steps through the door and notices Glimmer immediately, propped up by a mountain of pillows on the large bed against the far wall. Her face is blurry with tears, her hand rubs erratically over her swollen stomach and her skin is flushed, a sweaty sheen making it shimmer. Madge’s mother sits beside her, Glimmer’s other hand squeezed between both of hers.

“It’s alright sweetheart, you just need to rest. You’ve had a rough journey, but a good sleep will put you to rights,” she tries to soothe but Glimmer shakes her head, tears dribbling down her pale cheeks.

“We’re going to die, aren’t we?” she sobs and Madge feels a pickaxe crack into her delicate castle walls.

“No, no of course not, darling. Your dear Marvel will take good care of you, worry not,” her mother insists, Glimmer whimpers and Madge supposes it is a trick of the light that makes it seem like Glimmer’s stomach is rippling. That chink in her shield widens as she stares a little too long, uneasiness starting to bubble in her gut. Stop. She shakes her head a little viciously and looks around the room, determined not to falter now. There is a writing desk, a little table and a stool by the door, but it is Annie that grabs Madge’s gaze. She kneels in the corner; her hands pressed together, her eyes closed and her lips moving quickly, reciting silent words. Madge stares at her for a moment and oh, she’s praying. Madge thinks maybe she should too, but she has no idea what to pray for. Gale may be the enemy now, she cannot pray for her own safety if it means his undoing.

Oh Gale, please please be okay

Her heart gives an awful tug and she bites her tongue to drive away the pain, locking him away somewhere deep even as she wraps his locket in her palm. I cannot worry about that now, later, later, later later later. She sinks down onto the stool by the door and closes her eyes, Gale and all her love and worry lingering just below the surface. She breathes deeply, slowly, her stomach rolling with every rock of the ship.

Survive

Be brave

Heavy bootsteps come from the corridor and then Haymitch enters, his face drooping as his eyes sweep over Glimmer. Her mother looks up at him, her expression turning to stone.

“Where are we going?” she asks, her voice hard, and Haymitch drags his gaze away from Glimmer.

“To Calais. I am still Captain there, they will be loyal.”

Madge looks at him and France, we are going to France. Everything was finally going right and now we are exiles, fleeing to France.

We are cursed, aren’t we?

The answer, it appears, is yes.

Shortly after they leave port the sky opens above them, unleashing a violent storm, and Madge has no idea how long it’s been, but she knows their crossing is taking far longer than it should. She feels weak from emptying the contents of her stomach (several times) and waves crash against the hull, the ship hurling from side to side. She clutches at the walls to try and keep her stool from toppling over, Glimmer sobs and moans and Madge can hear booming thunder and muffled shouts from the men up on deck, trying so desperately to keep them all afloat.

Maybe Glimmer was right, maybe we are going to die here

Madge has heard stories of ships sunk in wicked storms, of some that were turned around and thrust back at England and both would mean death for them, wouldn’t they? Death by sea or death at the hands of whomever is chasing them; she cannot decide which would be a kinder fate.

I shouldn’t have to

This isn't right

Another raging crack of thunder echoes from the sky, so loud Madge thinks the ship must be shattering to pieces and then it lurches furiously, throwing her to the floor. Her shell of strength, already collapsing from seasickness, Glimmer’s weeping and her own boiling emotions, simply disintegrates and she screams in shock, landing heavily on her hands and knees. Glimmer screeches from somewhere above her and Madge looks up to see Annie sprawled nearby, her expression winded. The ship tosses again before they can stand and Madge is launched sideways, falling with a cry onto her side. She gasps and digs her nails into the wood beneath her as the ship rocks dangerously yet again, but it does no good. Her fingers are ripped away from the floor and she rolls onto her back, shrieking in surprise as she splashes into icy water. She bounces up and water continues to spill out over the floor, pooling all around her.

“Close the door!” her mother shouts and another wave smashes into them, pouring even more water down the stairs and sloshing across their room. Madge stands on shaking legs and staggers forward, only to be sent pinwheeling into the wall when the ship tilts ominously to the left. She forces herself onwards, nearly slips in all the seawater, and then grabs firm hold of the door. She tries to close it but it swings open wildly with another furious lurch of the ship and Madge goes with it. She whacks into the wall with a thud and grits her teeth, every part of her aching. Her arms tremble as she shoves the door shut, her fingers fumbling over the latch to lock it. She grips it with sweaty hands as the ship is hit by yet another raging wave and Glimmer’s sobbing fills her ears, everything else muffled by the heavy door.

“It hurts, it hurts, I want it to stop,” she bawls and Madge turns around unsteadily, her knees knocking together. The ship bounces unhappily and Madge goes stumbling into the bed, the footboard digging into her stomach. Annie picks herself up from the floor, her clothes dripping and then Glimmer shrieks in sudden agony, her whole body scrunching up. This is worse than her usual sounds of pain and Madge meets Annie’s gaze, both of them wide eyed with fear. Glimmer leans her head back again, tears spilling down her face. She clutches her belly and shudders, Madge’s knuckles turning white as she grips the bedposts.

“It hurts, I’m all wet, I want to go home. Let me off, let me off,” Glimmer weeps and Margaret’s whole face is washed with sudden horror. Madge tilts her head because how is the bed wet? The water is certainly all over the floor, seeping still from under the door, but there’s no way it could have gotten up onto the bed, could it? She looks at her mother in question but she is feeling around desperately beneath Glimmer, her expression tense. She lifts her hand and it glistens, her face losing all its colour.

“Get Haymitch,” she says and Madge tilts her head.

“Why?”

“Get Haymitch!” she orders, the terror in her voice cracking like a whip and Madge turns without thinking. She runs over and yanks open the door, an icy blast of wind slapping her across the face. She winces but then pushes on, slipping and sliding down the hall to the stairs. The men are louder now, the thunder deafening and she scrambles up the steps, pitching forward when the ship rocks yet again. Salt water gets up her nose and in her mouth as more water cascades down the stairs and she coughs, sputtering as her throat burns. She pushes herself up slightly and crawls the rest of the way up, her mother’s face flooding her mind.

Something has gone horribly wrong

Madge hauls herself up at the top, her arms vibrating as she grips a banister. The rain lashes down painfully, biting like ice into her skin, and the whole ship judders, her heart bouncing nearly out of her throat. The deck is chaos, men running and shouting and doing everything they can to keep them alive, the sea waging war with a vengeance. There is nothing but water in every direction, dark and heaving and furious, foaming waves rising and falling on all sides. Madge backs into a wall in frozen fear as a wave crashes onto the deck and she flinches, her heart throbbing in her throat.

Oh God, oh God

“What the hell are you doing here?” Marvel bellows, his fingers digging painfully into her arms and she turns to look at him, words failing her. His hair is plastered to his head, his eyes wild and a fork of lightning cuts across the sky, everything turning a bright, hot white.

“What the fuck are you doing?” he shouts again and shakes her roughly. Madge forces herself to remember.

“Haymitch,” she begins and Marvel leans in, the insanity around them drowning her out.

“Glimmer,” she yells, “something’s gone wrong with Glimmer!”

Marvel’s eyes go wide and terror stretches over his face, all his features drenched in it. He shoves Madge aside, nearly sends her toppling over a barrel, and flies down the stairs, Madge hot on his heels. They sprint into the room and Glimmer greets them with a scream of pain, the tortured sound stopping them in their tracks.

“What’s going on?” Marvel shouts over Glimmer’s desperate sobs and his step-mother looks at him with hollow eyes.

“How long until we reach Calais?”

“Why, what-”

“How long?” she repeats urgently and Marvel swallows, casting a terrified look at Glimmer.

“Soon, we should be able to see it any moment.”

Her mother nods.

“What’s going on?” Marvel demands again and Madge sags back against the wall.

“The baby is-” her mother pauses a moment as Glimmer screams again, before collapsing with a wail, “the baby is coming, but something is wrong. We need a midwife and a doctor.”

Marvel shakes his head in denial and Madge looks at the bed, her heart stopping. There is something dark and wet on the sheets, is it...is it blood?

“It’s not time,” Marvel says, his voice edged with hysteria, “it’s not time, we should have at least a week-”

“This is not a journey for a pregnant woman, and certainly not one so near her time,” her mother interrupts with an accusing look and Marvel shakes his head again, like he cannot comprehend what she’s saying.

“It’s not...it’s not time,” he repeats feebly and then a dull boom sounds from somewhere above them. Madge looks over at Annie in confusion, Marvel jerks his eyes up at the ceiling and boom boom boom.

What in the world...?

“It’s Calais,” Marvel whispers and Madge furrows her brow.

“What?”

“It’s Calais,” he repeats as another boom sounds, “they’re firing on us.”

His face has lost all its colour, his voice is horrified and Madge presses her hands to her mouth.

They will be loyal, Haymitch said, they will be loyal

Oh God, oh God

Marvel dashes from the room and Madge sinks slowly to the floor, someone’s ragged sobs drowning out the boom, boom above.

We are going to die here

God help us all

“Madge,” her mother says and Madge ignores it, lost in hopelessness.

“Madge, get up,” her mother commands sternly and Madge turns in surprise. “If Calais is firing on us, we will need to land somewhere else. That will take time; we will have to deal with Glimmer ourselves.”

Madge stares at her mother with an open mouth and Glimmer whimpers, too weak it seems to scream. Margaret throws off her cloak and rolls up her sleeves, her face determined.

“Can you stand?” she asks and Glimmer shakes her head frailly.

“I can’t, I can’t,” she moans and Margaret nods.

“It’s alright sweetheart, it’ll be alright,” she says and then turns to Madge, “I’ll need your help, both of you.”

Madge gets up shakily and Annie nods, her face impossibly white. The ship continues to rock, though gentler now, but Madge hardly notices, even the distant thumping of cannons fading into the back of her mind. Glimmer is having her baby, but something is wrong and every other thought is driven away, a sickly, cold fear clotting up her veins.

What are we going to do?

“Anne, I need you to fetch us as much water and clean linen as you can,” her mother says, eyes fixed on Glimmer and Annie nods quickly. She stumbles out of the tilted room and Glimmer gives a low moan, her eyes screwed up tight. Madge trembles and her mother must notice, for she places a gentle hand on Madge’s cheek.

“Courage my love, Glimmer and the baby need us to be strong.”

Madge swallows and nods, tying her bravery tight around herself.

“What...what do you need me to do?”

“Keep her calm for now,” her mother says and Madge thinks that might be impossible, Glimmer letting out a wretched sob. Regardless, Madge steps over and sits on the edge of the bed, the smell of blood and vomit making her nauseous. She takes Glimmer’s hand, squeezes the clammy fingers and strokes the sweaty hair from her forehead.

“Hush, Glimmer, hush, it’ll be alright,” she murmurs and Glimmer shakes her head faintly, before her face scrunches up in pain. Her whole body spasms, her nails cutting deep into Madge’s skin.

“Make it stop,” Glimmer begs and Madge feels tears burn her eyes.

“I’m so sorry, it’ll be over soon,” she promises and hopes it’s true.

“Alright, sweetheart, I need your knees up, come on now, you can do it,” her mother coaxes and she gently bends Glimmer’s legs, knees pointing to the ceiling. She prises them apart, pushes Glimmer’s skirts up around her waist and then cuts away her underthings, the material soaked through with blood. Glimmer whimpers and Madge feels her head spin, the sight of so much blood making her lightheaded. Another shudder travels over Glimmer’s body and she only groans, the end of it trailing off into a sob. Madge’s mother looks at them with consternation and then peers between Glimmer’s legs, her expression becoming somehow bleaker. Annie returns then, a jug of water in one hand and a pile of linen in the other. She hurries over to Madge’s mother and then freezes in horror when she sees what’s happening between Glimmer’s legs, her expression suddenly faint. She turns quickly as if she might be sick and Madge feels ill herself, the constant bobbing of the ship making everything so much worse.

“Courage now girls,” her mother murmurs and Annie shakes herself. Madge takes a rag from her, dips it in the jug and mops at Glimmer’s feverish skin, red blotches colouring the sickly gray of it. Annie and Margaret get to work doing something between Glimmer’s legs and Madge does all she can to keep Glimmer comfortable, whispering soothing nonsense and squeezing her hand.

Please God, let this turn out alright

“It’s time,” her mother pronounces and Madge is both relieved and terrified. She turns to look but her mother’s expression is ghastly and something is wrong, terribly wrong.

“Which of you has the smallest hands?” she asks and Madge frowns. Annie’s are more slender certainly, but Madge’s are probably smaller overall.

“Mine,” she says and her mother nods.

“Alright, come here. Anne, see to Glimmer.”

Madge stands and Annie hurries to fill her place, her skin slightly green. Madge goes to her mother and claps a hand to her mouth in horror. She had known that whatever lay between Glimmer’s legs would not be pleasant, but she hadn’t been ready for this, the dark, oozing blood, the slime, the...everything. Her stomach tosses violently and her mother grabs her arm.

“The baby is stuck; you will have to pull it out.”

Madge looks at her mother in numb shock and shakes her head, unable to form words.

“You have the smallest hands, it has to be you. Be firm but gentle, we don't want to injure the baby if possible. But it needs to come out,” her mother says and there is no room for argument. The baby must come out, if it doesn’t...if it doesn’t it will die and Glimmer right along with it.

Madge clenches her teeth and wishes she were anywhere else in the world right now, but she isn't. She’s here and Glimmer needs her.

I have to do this

She wants to close her eyes but doesn’t and she reaches in, unable to stop herself from gagging. Everything is hot and wet and slimy, a wave of dizziness threatening to overtake her. She grasps at what she hopes is the baby and tries to manoeuvre it as gently as she can, but it is both slippery and stuck, her stomach rolling unhappily.

“You can do it,” her mother says, stroking her hair, and then Glimmer lets out a plaintive shriek as the baby finally comes loose. Madge scoops it up in a daze and her mother bends over Glimmer again.

“Almost done, almost done,” she murmurs and what else could there be? Madge looks down at the baby in her arms and it is covered in blood and God knows what else, its skin wrinkled and gray. It takes her a moment to realize how quiet it is, no screaming at all, nor any movement.

No, oh no

“Help,” she says quietly, blood roaring in her ears.

“Help!” she shouts in a panic, no idea at all what to do. Her mother turns to her, something like bloody meat in her hands and Madge holds out the baby, her head shaking helplessly.

“It’s not, it’s not...” she tries but cannot finish and her mother’s face tightens with worry. She drops what she’s holding on the bed and takes the baby, Madge suddenly swaying. She covers her eyes with her hands and she can’t look, she can’t.

“Is it...is it okay?” Glimmer pants and Madge drops her hands slowly, a fist around her heart. Glimmer has propped herself up on shaky elbows, her eyes wide and pleading and her skin waxy. Oh Glimmer, oh oh oh.

Madge looks at her mother and she shakes her head, her devastated expression answer enough. Glimmer collapses back and howls, raw grief torn from her throat. Annie wraps her arms around her and they rock together, Madge’s knees folding up beneath her. She sinks to the floor and stares at her bloody hands and this can’t be real, can it? This can’t be happening.

“I’m sorry,” her mother whispers to no one and oh God, oh God, why?

“We’re almost at Harfleur, we’ll be there soon!” Marvel exclaims as he comes skidding into the room, his feet splashing over the wet floor. He looks at each of them in turn, sees the blood and the tears and the unmoving baby in his step-mother’s arms, and takes a step back.

“No,” he says, shaking his head, “we’re almost there. We’re almost there.”

“I’m sorry Marvel, I’m so sorry,” her mother says, tears streaking down her face and Marvel takes another step back.

“No!” he says louder. “No, we’re almost there. No.”

He is still shaking his head, his face pale and his expression lost. Madge covers her mouth with her hands and tastes the blood, the smell of it permanently burnt into her nose.

“What’s going on, is everything alright?” Haymitch demands as he comes in, his eyes sweeping over the room. They do not answer, but they don't need to.

“Sweet Jesus,” he whispers and closes his eyes, his expression miserable. Marvel whirls suddenly, his eyes flashing red.

“This is your fault!” he bellows and then shoves his father savagely into the wall. Haymitch connects with a dull thud and slides slowly to the floor, his body almost boneless. Marvel reaches down for him, but then stops, his hands flexing convulsively. A muffled sob bursts from his mouth and he straightens, spins on his heel and flees, Glimmer’s howls chasing him out. The rest of them stay as they are, frozen in their horrid little tableau.

Oh God, why?

They limp into Harfleur and the storm quiets, the torrential rain calming to a drizzle.

Haymitch rides off immediately to find them accommodations and Madge can’t stay on the ship, cannot stay trapped in that room full of vomit and death and misery. She staggers outside and the wind is vicious, blowing her hair and tears behind her. It cuts through her dress like a knife, the sharp edges scraping her skin, and Madge hurls herself down the gangplank, Glimmer’s grief still sewn into her eardrums. She wants to escape it, wants to somehow tear the memory of all that horror from her mind but she can’t, God she can’t. It is like something living inside of her and even though she has been surrounded by death for nearly three years, there is something worse about this one, something that curls inside her like smoke and shards of glass.

(perhaps it’s because it was no soldier or criminal or adult, but a baby, a tiny, little girl who never breathed a single breath)

She closes her eyes and she can see the agony on Glimmer’s face, the torment on Marvel’s. Babies die all the time, she tries to tell herself, but it doesn’t matter, it doesn’t make this any easier to bear.

God, she was so small...

Madge sinks ankle deep into French mud, the chill of it seeping into her boots and she holds her elbows, her fingers gripping her sleeves until they start to ache. This is your fault, Marvel had screamed and was it? What had Haymitch done to bring such calamity down upon them?

A passing stranger hurries by and Madge stands there with blood on her dress, in her nose, in her mouth and cannot help but ask him what day it is. Rain trickles down her cheeks like tears and he frowns at the stains on her clothes.

“Neuf,” he mumbles and hurries off, wary eyes flickering back to her.

Neuf, she repeats to herself, nine.

March ninth

happy seventeenth birthday

And just like that, she breaks.

Madge crumples down into the mud and sobs, so hard she can barely breathe. The tears come heavy, all the pain, the fear and the anger surging through her and shattering her to pieces. She lies there heaving, too young even though she’s a year older and if she could think through all the misery she might think when does it end?

(it’s an answer she probably doesn’t want to know)

The sky is bright and silver like shining armour when Haymitch returns, the sun burning behind the clouds making them gleam. The rain has finally ceased completely, but the wind still tastes of the storm as Madge breathes in deeply, the tang bitter on her tongue. Haymitch canters over but does not question why she is sitting in the mud hugging her knees and she is grateful, her eyes stinging from too many tears and her throat aching.

“I have found us accommodations,” he announces stiffly and Madge feels oddly numb as she stands, her body cold and shivering. Her dress is heavy and wet as she climbs back aboard ship and she knows she should go alert her mother, but she can’t. The thought of descending back into Hell is too much for her to bear; she is too raw, too fragile. I’ll find Marvel instead she decides and tries so hard to feel strong. Be brave, be brave, please be brave.

Her heart is a heavy weight in her chest, her filthy fingers tangle in the chain of Gale’s locket as she walks slowly through the ship and when she finds Marvel, she almost wishes she hadn’t. She hears him first, a pitiful, broken weeping that cuts her to the bone. She steels herself with a deep breath and steps towards the sound, the sight cracking through her glass heart.

Oh Marvel

She has never cared for him, staunchly dislikes him in fact, but seeing him now, she can feel nothing but an aching sympathy. This isn't fair. Marvel has always seemed so proud, so confident but he is shattered now, nothing but a heaving ball of tragedy. He is huddled in a corner, his trembling hands buried in his hair, his whole body wracked with a sorrow she could never imagine. She bites her lip so hard she tastes her own blood, the tang of it mixing with Glimmer’s and Marvel suddenly looks up, somehow sensing her presence.

He is like an animal, she thinks, a wounded animal backed up against a wall and she knows looking at him that he is about to lash out. He stands, his hands balled into fists and there is hatred smouldering in his eyes, so hot and virulent she is almost afraid she might catch fire. Does he hate me for seeing him like this, so terribly vulnerable? Or perhaps he hates me for not saving his daughter or maybe he even blames me somehow for all the ill fortune that has befallen us? Or maybe, maybe he does not hate me at all, perhaps he hates himself. Perhaps he is burning under his own guilt.

“What are you looking at?” he barks, shaking all over.

“I am sorry Marvel,” she breathes and she is, so terribly sorry.

“I don't need your pity,” he spits but she thinks he might, his eyes red from sobbing and tears still wet on his cheeks. She swallows her sympathy though, knowing it will do them no good.

“Haymitch is back,” she says and whatever hatred she’d seen before is nothing to the look in his eyes now, a furious loathing that makes her shiver. He snorts like an angry horse and there are words on his tongue, she can tell, condemnations and curses ready to shred his father to pieces.

“My mother will need help with Glimmer,” she murmurs and he deflates somewhat, the blaze of his rage lessening to a simmer. A look of intense pain flashes over his face but then he forces it away, shoving roughly past her. He knocks her into the wall and she watches him go, the urge to sleep and never wake up pressing down on all her limbs. She closes her eyes for a moment before pushing herself up and then climbs back up top, her fingers trailing over every surface she passes. The cold sea air hits her like a wall as she makes her way up the stairs to the deck, bright opal sunlight hurting her eyes. She descends back onto French soil and she cannot look at Haymitch.

Is this all your fault?

A squire helps her up onto her horse and she has the perfect vantage point to watch the dreadful procession coming down the gangplank, the sheer misery of it like a sword thrust through her gut.

If only we could wake from this nightmare

Her mother shuffles down in front, cradling that poor lifeless baby with bloodstains all up her arms. Her head is bent, her chin wobbling, and then comes Marvel, his red rimmed eyes staring straight ahead, his jaw clenched tight. He carries Glimmer in his arms and she is wrapped up tight in a heavy blanket, only the edges of her soiled gown and her deathly pale face peeking out. Tears glitter on her cheeks in the bright light and Annie trails slowly behind them, her eyes closed and her arms wrapped securely around herself. Marvel loads Glimmer carefully into the litter, his movements uncharacteristically gentle and Madge sniffles, hating everything. Her mother climbs in after, still holding the little corpse and Madge’s heart gives an awful pang.

Will we bury her here, so very far from home?

And what happens if we ever go back? Does she get left behind?

She feels so cold, colder than the weather could possibly make her and Marvel stalks to his horse, brutally slapping away Haymitch’s hand as he attempts to lay it on his son’s shoulder. Haymitch recoils as if stung and what a mess we are, what an utter, utter mess.

How can we possibly survive this exile if we are so divided?

They set off, one of the squires sent to fetch a doctor for Glimmer, and Haymitch has found them a small house to rent just off the town square and they could probably afford something better, but then, perhaps it is best they save their money.

After all, who knows how long they’ll be here.

It is two storeys, the upstairs comprising two narrow bedrooms and the ground floor made up of one bedroom and a combined eating/cooking area. There is a small pen out back for the horses and Madge heads out there with Annie, the two of them scrubbing roughly at the blood on their skin as the squires tend the horses. The boys look but do not ask what they’re doing and Madge is grateful, she is not sure she could speak of it if she tried. There is so much filth beneath her nails and she does everything she can not to remember, not to think about just what is caught there but she can’t, the plague of those memories digging into her like flaming arrowheads. She almost wishes she could pull all her fingernails out just so she would never have to think of the horror trapped beneath them ever again.

“Madge,” Annie says softly and puts a steadying hand on her arm. Madge blinks and then looks down at her bleeding fingers, her ministrations a bit more violent than necessary. She breathes in deeply and forces herself to calm, but she cannot smile to reassure Annie, her mouth not even twitching in the corners. They stand together, their skin rough and red from washing, and take one of the second floor rooms, the tiny little bed they’ll share looking a little like heaven.

I wish I could sleep for a year she thinks and then something smashes in the room beside them. Annie jumps and Madge meets her eye, a flutter of panic in her chest. What on Earth...?

“You killed my baby!” Glimmer shrieks suddenly, her voice cutting straight through the thin wall between their rooms and Madge’s eyes widen.

“Glimmer-” Marvel begins, his voice equal measures angry and broken. Something else crashes with a dull thud, Madge flinches and Marvel swears loudly.

“This is your fault!” Glimmer sobs, yet another object breaking with a muffled crack.

“This is not my fault!” Marvel roars back and Glimmer lets out a deranged screech like some sort of wild animal.

“It is, it is! You and your damned ambition! Are you happy now, are you satisfied?” she screams, her voice snapping with anguish.

“My ambition?! And who was it encouraging me every step of the way? Who was it, Glimmer, who? Who was it?!” he bellows, an odd sort of torment in his words, and something else shatters, perhaps a mirror.

“I hate you, I hate you! Get out! Out! I hate you! You killed our baby, you, you did it!”

A door slams, heavy footsteps stamp through the hall and down the stairs and Glimmer’s wretched sobs echo through the flimsy wood, Madge’s heart crumbling into dust.

we are sacrifices then, all of us, on that great altar of ambition.

how wicked greed is

how it has ruined us

(Marvel doesn’t know where he’s going when he leaves the house, all he knows is he needs to get out out out. Glimmer’s accusations follow him as he runs blindly through Harfleur’s streets and it isn’t my fault, it isn't, it isn’t.

It can’t be.

It’s his father’s fault, Glimmer’s fault, Katniss’ fault, his step-mother’s fault, everyone’s fault but not his. Not his.

There is blood on him, Glimmer’s blood, staining his doublet and dried on his hands, like rusty red paint. His stomach cramps, his head pounds and all he can hear is Glimmer, her words but also her screams, her moans, her wailing and weeping in that infernal ship and God he wishes he could burn it, wishes he could break it apart with his bare hands. He wants to rip it into pieces, wants to kick it and crush it and demolish it, wants to scream and shout and tear it open, wants to rage and rage and rage.

fuck

fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck

There is agony in every part of him, so much pain he can barely stand and he wants to weep, cannot stop the tears that pour down his cheeks again and again and again. He has never cried so much in his life and this emptiness, this fury, this sorrow echoing in his bones, he wants it gone, wants it stomped out and destroyed.

There is only one memory burning in his eyes, one sight he cannot erase and it is Glimmer howling in a bloody bed and his step-mother holding his daughter, gray and still and dead.

make it stop

please, make it stop)

Madge sits in her room as the doctor tends to Glimmer, the soft murmur of voices just audible through the brittle walls. She clasps her hands in her lap and thinks of wasted Glimmer, pale and deathly as she’d lain limp in Marvel’s arms and then she thinks of Marvel too, bloodshot and ravaged as he’d wept. He’s still gone, off somewhere in twilight Harfleur and Madge hears their argument again, like a battering ram against her eardrums.

You and your damned ambition! Are you happy now, are you satisfied?

Ambition, always ambition. Is there anything more damned in all the world than a lust for power? What’s so great about ruling the world? How can it be worth all this?

“Maybe we should go to bed,” Annie murmurs and Madge moves mechanically, her body and mind separate and distant. She peels off her sullied dress and bundles it in the corner, wishing wishing she could set it afire. There is a deep, melancholy sigh trapped in her chest and she feels ancient as she slips into her nightgown, every muscle and joint aching. She sits heavily on the edge of the bed as Annie laces up the back of her dress, her toes curling on the hard floor.The doctor leaves, his footsteps light on the narrow stairs and I wonder, how is Glimmer? Will she be alright? Another pair of feet follow him, probably her mother, and soon the front door closes, an oppressive sort of hush settling over the house.

The moon rises slowly beyond their window and Madge stares at a whorl on the floor until Annie blows out the bedside candle, darkness settling over her like a lead blanket. Shee climbs slowly beneath the covers and holds Gale’s locket in her hand, a tide of emotion rising within her. She is exhausted and miserable and furious, the scent of blood still singeing her nostrils.

Why are we here?

What’s happened?

Annie soon breathes steadily in sleep beside her, but Madge cannot follow suit. Her fingers clench around the bedcovers, she stares up at the shadowy ceiling and she is molten with rage.

I have lost my home.

We are exiles.

Gale might be dead.

Glimmer has lost her baby.

Why?

We deserve an explanation.

She flings off her covers and stands abruptly, her whole body trembling. Perhaps it is reckless of her, but she does not care, Haymitch is going to tell her everything. No more lies, no more secrets. The Yorkists have done enough to ruin her life, now they owe her the truth. She wants answers and Haymitch is going to give them. She stomps down the stairs, Haymitch and her mother sharing the downstairs bedroom, and the door is cracked open, a flicker of candlelight spilling through. Madge strides over but then stops short at the sound of murmured voices. She creeps closer and angles her ear towards the opening, her mother’s sharp whisper reaching her.

“You cannot be serious,” she hisses and Madge slinks closer still, until she can see through the slit between the slightly open door and the door frame. Her mother is sitting up, arms folded over her chest while Haymitch lies on his side, his back to his wife and his expression drawn.

“I’ve had a long day,” he says tightly and her mother scoffs.

“We’ve all had a long day,” she retorts and Haymitch closes his eyes, inhaling deeply.

“I am not discussing this now.”

“Yes, you are. You promised me Haymitch, when we married, that you would keep me and my daughter safe. We are not safe and I deserve to know why.”

Madge’s eyes widen and Haymitch clenches his jaw, before breathing out slowly.

“What do you want me to say Margaret?” he asks wearily and her mother narrows her eyes.

“The truth. Why are we here? What have you done?”

There is a long pause and Madge’s heart beat quickens, anxious anticipation clawing its way through her.

“I took up arms against my Queen,” he says finally and Madge presses her fingers to her mouth to stifle a gasp, those words hanging there, deadly and final.

Oh Gale, oh God

How is this possible?

“Why in the name of God would you do that?” her mother asks, almost pleading, and Haymitch closes his eyes again, his expression pained.

“I thought I was doing the right thing.”

Her mother’s eyes stretch wide and Madge can barely stand, her legs so weak they could be made of water.

“How, Haymitch, is betraying the Queen, your cousin, the right thing?”

He sighs, a tragic, weary sound, and rubs his forehead with his knuckles, his eyes closed as if to better remember.

“It wasn’t my idea. After...after the disaster with King Louis, I was so angry, furious, betrayed. The other nobles at court, the ones that were unsatisfied with Katniss, they approached me. They wanted to overthrow her and hoped for my support, indeed, they wanted to put me on the throne in her place. After Katniss and Prim, I would be next in line and as I’m a man...well, they were sure no one would protest.”

“And you accepted?” her mother demands and Haymitch sits up suddenly, turning to her with wounded, hostile eyes.

“No! Or at least, I didn’t want to.”

He pauses for a moment and looks down at his lap, Madge’s heart stopped dead in her chest.

this can’t be happening

“They made it clear though that they were going to rebel with or without me,” he continues, sounding exhausted, “and I knew if I said no, they would turn to Marvel instead. I love my son, but I am no idiot. He is an ambitious fool; he would step over me in an instant if a crown was at stake. Perhaps they had foreseen my reluctance, for they did tell Marvel and he and Glimmer were ever so eager for me to accept. I knew listening to them that they would do anything for the throne and worse, they would have no qualms executing Gale and Katniss if it meant they might rule. I couldn’t let that happen. Nor could I turn these rebels in, not without implicating Marvel as well. And it wouldn’t have mattered anyway, even if this group was stopped, there were so many more, all over the country. I thought...I thought it would be best if I joined them. I could make sure no one in my family was hurt, I could protect Katniss and Gale and all the others. Katniss was only queen because I’d insisted on it, she’d never wanted it. I could be king, I could quiet the rebels who wanted a man, I could try and fix things with the French, I could keep everyone safe...what a fool I was, what an arrogant fool.”

He drops his head into his hands and then he starts to shake, his body trembling with tears. Madge sucks in a breath and the hard look on her mother’s face begins to soften.

“I have ruined everything. I have cost us all our home, our safety, I have...I have broken my promise to you, I have...I have lost my son, he will never forgive me. And I can’t forgive myself...oh God, my granddaughter, she is...she’s dead, because of me. I have ruined us and I do not know how to fix this. I am sorry Margaret, oh God, I’m sorry...”

He breaks off, the words caught in a sob and Madge backs away, the sight of him crying making her feel sick. Haymitch has always seemed so implacable and she feels like she’s dived straight into freezing waters as she watches him fall apart.

I am a traitor to the crown yet again

I have been pardoned once, but you only get one second chance

Oh God

That really was our last goodbye Gale

Oh God oh God

She staggers over to the stairs and sinks down, her fingers clutching the banister so tight it hurts. She claps a hand to her mouth to muffle her tears as they pour forth, the hopelessness of her situation truly sinking in. There will be no return to England now, no happy reunion.

Madge is angry, so angry she quakes, but that anger can’t do anything, it can’t change anything. She is heartbroken too, but that can’t help her either, nothing can.

Haymitch, Marvel and Glimmer, they all reached too high and now Madge must fall with them.

She curls back into bed, unable to stop her weeping and what am I supposed to do now?

The darkness swallowing her whole has only one answer.

give up

Madge spends the night sobbing, her heart shattering to pieces in her chest. Tomorrow she will have to accept what she cannot change, but tonight she mourns, allows herself to fall entirely apart.

She can barely breathe through her tears and this isn’t fair! Why does this keep happening to us? Father, England, Gale, am I to lose everything?

Oh God oh God, this isn’t fair

(The moon turns the still lingering clouds silver and Gale looks out from Dover’s cliffs, the channel black and dotted with scattered stars. Somewhere beyond his sight is France and his heart snaps painfully in half, little, tiny pieces grinding into dust.

How could you do this Haymitch? How?

In all his life, even when the Lancastrians had killed his father, he has never been as angry as he is right now. The fury is blinding and worse is the hurt living in his every organ, that vile betrayal sucking him dry. This must be a nightmare he thinks, it must be but it isn’t. Haymitch has stabbed them in the back and Gale can still feel that knife twitching agonisingly with every beat of his broken heart.

Why Haymitch why?

As if that is not enough, Madge is over there too, a traitor to the crown just like her step-father. He knots her handkerchief around his fingers and there is a hole in his heart, a ragged, seeping hole left behind when Madge fled England, a chunk of him clutched tight in her hands. This is what you get for falling in love with a Lancastrian whispers the nasty voice in his head and all he wants is to wake up, to see her and hold her and know nothing at all is going to keep them apart.

I am yours wholly he’d carved into her pin and he is, he’s hers and he’d never have believed love could ache this terribly, but it does, crumbles whatever bits of him have survived the pain of Haymitch’s treachery into ash. He loves her even though he shouldn’t, even though he knows they’ve lost any chance of a future together and that can’t have been their last goodbye, it can’t have been.

This has to be a nightmare

His family has been torn apart and he has lost Madge, lost her forever.

God, let this be a nightmare)

(“How could he have done this? He’s your cousin, how could he have taken up arms against his family?” Philippa asks and Rory wishes he had some sort of answer.

“I don't know,” he whispers and he feels like he’s bleeding, like there is some open wound he cannot staunch. Gale has stormed off, Posy and Vick cannot stop crying, his mother is worried even though she will not admit it and Rory doesn’t know why he’s come to Philippa, but perhaps it is because he cannot bear to be around his family even as he cannot bear to be alone.

“It’s despicable, families should never turn on each other,” she hisses furiously and there is something about the venom in her voice that touches him.

“No,” he agrees softly, “they shouldn’t.”

He looks down at his hands, a sick, angry heartbreak in his stomach and neither of them says a word, the silence between them oddly comfortable, so unlike how it usually is when they’re together. He closes his eyes, sudden memories of Haymitch swarming across his vision, but they snap open almost immediately when Philippa touches his face. Her fingers cup his cheek and one very soft thumb wipes away a tear, his breath caught in his throat.

“You shouldn’t cry for him, he doesn’t deserve it,” she says and Rory stares at her in surprise. Her expression is hard, her eyes blazing and he hadn’t even realized he’d been crying, his face strangely warm where her hand had brushed it.

“I...I feel like he’s cut me open,” he admits and somewhere far away he cannot believe he is saying this to Philippa, annoying, pain in his arse Philippa. She shakes her head and grabs his arm, squeezing tightly.

“You are too good a person to waste your sorrow on a man like Haymitch,” she says, harsh, fiery, and Rory’s whole body shivers with agony and something else. Never, in over a year of marriage, has he felt as close to Philippa as he does right now. He looks into her eyes, pale pale blue, and he thinks of Gale’s motto, For Justice and Family. All his life Gale has told him, over and over and over again, nothing is more important than family. Nothing.

“He chose ambition over us,” he finds himself saying, his voice odd, and Philippa bites her lip. She squeezes his arm again and the pressure is comforting in a way he can’t explain.

“He’s horrible,” she says and Rory nods, a tight knot of emotion writhing in his stomach. Haymitch has betrayed his family, their family, and Rory feels sorrow melt into rage, those words roaring in his ears.

Nothing is more important than family.

Nothing.

“I hate him,” he says, “I hope makes Katniss makes him pay for this.”)

(anger, as it turns out, is much easier to bear than heartbreak)

(Katniss thinks of Haymitch’s betrayal and thinks how could you? How could you Haymitch?)

(but then, under that, she thinks, is this our fault too? Are we all to blame?)

Two months.

They’ve been here for two whole months, two sad, bitter, pointless months.

They’ve done nothing but stagnate; sinking deeper and deeper into a rut she isn’t sure they will ever find a way out of. They are listless, hopeless and perhaps because they all know there’s nothing they can do, they never even bother to try. It makes Madge angry, furious, but even she cannot rouse herself to act. What would she do? Even if she woke everyone from their stupor, what would they do? She can never answer that and so her rage remains buried under lethargy and despair, the flames inside doused by mourning.

it’s over isn’t it? we’ve lost

Haymitch spends every day drinking, drowning himself in the oblivion of ale. Madge watches him as he sits at their little table, his hand never empty of his tankard, his face haggard and his shoulders slumped, and almost wishes she could join him. She wants to forget everything as well, wants to numb her pain but she has enough of her old anger, of hope to stop herself. She cannot quite give up, even though she wants to, there is still a chance, however miniscule, that things might turn around.

How?

I don’t know

Haymitch never leaves their house, not to go to church, not even to buy his own alcohol. He is a hermit and it is the squires who supply him, though even their numbers dwindle. They have three squires left, the rest having abandoned them and Madge cannot blame them. Why stay yoked to a sinking ship if you don’t have to? It is better this way anyway; the less people there are, the less money they have to spend. They have a finite amount of funds and Madge cannot help but worry about what they will do when it runs out, because it will eventually, especially as no one is doing anything to earn any more. She knows when the money runs dry they will start selling what they don’t need, their jewels, gowns, horses and more, but that won’t last forever either. What will they do then? Starve in a gutter?

That problem weighs heavily on her mother, whose health takes a sharp downturn. She has never been robust, always been frail but the stress takes an even heavier toll than Madge would have imagined. She has no appetite, her skin is pale and translucent, her bones jut out and bags form underneath her eyes, heavy and purple and ominous. She seems perpetually exhausted, but she does not rest, cannot. Annie is the only servant they have left, so it is up to Madge and her mother to pick up the slack. They cook and clean for the first time in their lives, scrub floors and dishes, peel vegetables and boil stew. They cannot waste money on new clothes or seamstresses, so Madge darns hems and mends dishtowels while her mother carefully keeps track of all their spending, her brow eternally creased with worry.

Glimmer does not leave her room, has not stepped outside it even once. The room next door feels like a tomb to Madge and if it weren’t for the fact that her mother went in their daily with a tray of food and that she occasionally heard muffled sobs through the wall, she might not believe Glimmer was still alive. Her heartbreak is like an oppressive veil lying over all of them, ensuring no one can ever escape the tragedy of their journey. Madge is both achingly sympathetic and selfishly resentful, wishes wishes wishes Glimmer might give them a chance to breathe, to forget the nightmare of that day. But perhaps because she will never forget it, she cannot allow anyone else to.

Marvel is much like his father, burying himself in alcohol, but where Haymitch stays home to drown his sorrows. Marvel is nearly always out. He spends most days and nights somewhere else, anywhere else, only returning occasionally to raid their food supply, pilfer funds and snore loudly on the kitchen bench or out by the horses. He smells like booze, vomit and unwashed boy, his eyes always bloodshot and his temper foul. He barely speaks to anyone and never to his father, looking through him as if he wasn’t even there.

Never once does he venture upstairs to see Glimmer.

Sometimes when Madge is on her knees washing up the puddles of sick he tends to leave behind, she thinks we cannot go on like this. Something has to be done. But when she tries to plan something they might do instead, she inevitably runs into a wall. They cannot ask for help from the French king, not after Haymitch’s last disaster of a visit. They cannot go home; the Yorkists won’t be able to forgive Haymitch’s betrayal, not if they want to ensure no one else follows in his footsteps.

(Madge sometimes imagines going back alone, begging forgiveness and insisting she had no idea what Haymitch was planning, but she can’t. It would be wrong, selfish, awful to abandon the others)

(even still, she cannot stop the dreams of it)

The Lancastrians are somewhere here in France too but they would never accept Haymitch or Marvel, two of their staunchest enemies and that’s it then, they are out of options.

how could it come to this?

Madge prays nightly for guidance, for salvation, with Gale’s locket pressed between her palms and the only place she ever goes is church, begging God to save them. Annie goes with her and they kneel there for hours, because the longer they stay in France, the more it seems divine intervention may be their only chance.

forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive them that trespass against us. And lead us not into temptation; but deliver us from evil

(please)

(Their little house in Harfleur is closer to Finnick than she’s been in two years, and yet Annie is just as far away as she’s always been.

They are finally in the same country but she has no way of contacting him, no idea even where he is exactly. She can’t go to him, not only because she has no idea where to go, but because she cannot leave Madge. Not now.

It is agony and she has never been more torn. She yearns for Finnick, her heart weeping for him but she aches for Madge too and how can she choose one over the other? Finnick is her soul mate, but Madge her best friend.

What do I do?

Annie cannot leave so she sits by their tiny window and holds the one handkerchief she’d managed to bring, Finnick’s sigil stitched in silver thread. She looks out at the sky and whispers her prayer up to the stars.

I’m here Finnick, find me, please)

Madge, Annie and their escort Robert the squire leave St Martin’s Church on a quiet day in mid-May, spring sunshine falling over them like a golden curtain. It is early afternoon on a Saturday and people are out in force, wandering the streets, popping into shops and chatting amiably from the windows of timber framed houses. Unlike when they’d first arrived, none of the people turn to stare as they trudge by and Madge cannot decide if it is a good or bad thing that they’ve become invisible.

Her knees ache from hours of kneeling and she peers around for something to do, eyes tracing over the scenery that is much too familiar to her now. Two months feels like two years and she’s honestly beginning to believe they’ll never leave. She looks to Annie, pale faced and weary, and then to Robert, grumpy and a bit too thin and please, let today be the day something happens. She wishes the same thing every day, but maybe, maybe, this time it will actually come true.

There is a dull thud at the back of her head, a feeling of curdled milk in her stomach and she needs this waiting to be over. Whether it is ruin or salvation, something needs to happen. They reach their little house and once, over two hundred years ago, Harfleur belonged to the kings of England and she thinks about that often, that this place that is her exile was once part of the only country she’s ever known.

She never knows how to feel about that.

Robert goes around back to join the other squires, leaving Annie and Madge to head inside. They shuffle through the door and it is too early to start supper, which means they have a very long afternoon ahead of them. The place is tidy for the moment, so there’s no need to clean it; she has read every book they’ve brought several times; she cannot see the point in embroidery and wasting money on the thread for it seems silly anyway; and she cannot find the energy to take part in cards or dice.

Perhaps I’ll take a nap, thinks the quiet melancholy of her mind and why not? It’s isn't as if she has anything better to do. The boozy, unwashed smell of Haymitch drifts towards them and he is sitting at the table, head in one hand and a mug of something strong in the other. He looks a mess as usual and Annie skirts around him quickly, making sure not to make eye contact. She bounds into the stairwell and then up the stairs and Madge follows slowly, her very soul lethargic. She takes the first few steps just as Annie reaches the top and disappears over the landing, her footsteps flying over the creaky floorboards. Where does she find the energy?

“Alright Haymitch, that’s enough.”

Madge stops at her mother’s aggravated voice, a tiny pinprick of curiosity blooming inside of her. She stays where she is, hidden behind a wall, and tries desperately not to make a single sound.

“Give that here,” Haymitch grunts and Madge hears footsteps and then a heavy clunk as something, Haymitch’s tankard most probably, is set down on the counter.

“No, I’ve had enough of watching you drink yourself to death.”

“You have no right,” Haymitch slurs slightly and her mother snorts.

“I have every right. We cannot afford for you to waste our remaining funds on drowning your sorrows. We need action Haymitch; it’s time you made yourself useful.”

Madge blinks in surprise at the force in her mother’s words and even Haymitch is quiet for a long moment.

“And what would you have me do?” he asks finally, his voice half annoyed and half despairing. Her mother clucks her tongue.

“Sober up to begin with. You are not helping anyone like this. I know you feel guilty, but we would all be better served if you’d focus your energies on rectifying your mistakes, rather than compounding them.”

Haymitch scoffs bitterly.

“If I could fix this, wouldn’t I have?”

“You can and you know it. You don't like your options so you’re hiding here drunk, but I’m tired of living like this. If you won’t help us, I will.”

“How?” Haymitch asks sceptically and Madge waits with bated breath.

“I’ve written to King Louis,” her mother says evenly and the temperature seems to drop several degrees. Madge’s eyes go wide and Haymitch’s silence is deafening.

“You did what?” he asks with deadly calm, not even a trace of alcohol in his voice.

“I wrote to the King,” her mother repeats firmly, “I expect an answer shortly.”

“You are a fool. He will not see us,” Haymitch says, still eerily, frighteningly calm, and her mother snorts.

“He will. And you know it even if you won’t admit it. King Louis wants the Yorkists to pay and he is prepared to back a Lancastrian invasion. Your insider knowledge of their tactics, my royal blood, our wealth in England and the large number of supporters you can muster will be invaluable. Louis will want to take as little risk as possible; they do not call him ‘prudent’ for nothing. With our help, he lessens the number of men he has to commit and heightens the chance of victory and a return on his monetary investment. He will see us and he will want our help.”

Madge stands frozen, her mother’s words rushing over her like icy waves. She wants us to join the Lancastrians, to depose Katniss and put Coriolanus back on the throne.

Oh my God

“We got into this mess because I tried to overthrow Katniss. Your solution is really just to do the same thing again?” Haymitch demands, his voice as sharp as a sword, and her mother exhales loudly.

“We have no other choice. You can rot here if you want, but I won’t. I don't care who we have to betray, I am not going to die here.”

Madge cannot breathe and never, never has her mother sounded like this.

Survival Madge, that’s what matters most, no matter the cost

“Enobaria will never agree,” Haymitch insists, that veneer of calm just starting to slip.

“She will have no choice. She cannot afford to disagree with Louis and if he vouches for us, she will have to accept us. You know it Haymitch, that’s why you brought Anne, isn't it? To try and win her father’s favour? You know just as I do that the Lancastrians are our only hope.”

Madge’s eyes go wide and of course! How didn’t I see it? No servants but Annie, he’s been planning this since the beginning. Oh Haymitch, you always have a contingency plan, don't you?

“You cannot ask me to do this,” Haymitch suddenly pleads and his voice breaks over the words.

“Yes I can. I am asking you Haymitch, I am asking you to save your son, his wife, my daughter. I know you hate the Lancastrians, I know you don't want anything to happen to Katniss and Gale, but you cannot have both. Either we survive or they do, it’s time to choose,” her mother says, voice gentle but insisting and Madge feels as if she’s fallen over, like the whole world has turned upside down.

“God help me,” Haymitch says and Madge covers her mouth with her hand.

God help us all

Madge climbs back up to her room slowly, her mind churning.

Her fingers shake slightly on the rail, her heart beats unevenly and this is the chance she’s been waiting for, the salvation she’s been praying for. They will return to England, they will be safe from starvation or homelessness; her father will even be avenged.

But at what cost?

Coriolanus will rule again, plunging the kingdom back into hell with his cruelty; war will ravage the country yet again; and the Yorkists will be slaughtered, Gale among them.

no, God no

Her heart lurches painfully at the thought and she closes her eyes, pressing his locket into her chest so hard it hurts.

This isn't fair

I’m so tired of being on opposite sides

Tears touch her cheeks and you cannot have both, it’s time to choose. That’s what her mother had said and Madge realizes now that she too has to make a choice. The war will come either way, that is inevitable, but the rest...

Gale’s family or mine?

Avenge my father or protect the man I love?

Lancaster or York?

(Margaret is right of course, Haymitch knows that well. His error has cost them everything and he has to set things right.

Marvel, Glimmer, Madge, Anne, they need him to swallow his revulsion and do what needs to be done)

(but he will never forgive himself for this)

(how could he?)

(we always said Coriolanus was the monster)

(we were wrong)

(i’m the monster)

The King’s letter arrives in June.

They are eating a meagre dinner when the courier arrives, Thomas the squire fetching the message and bringing it in for Haymitch. Madge watches him intently as he opens it, so intently that she doesn’t even notice the cheese sliding off her bread and back down to her plate. Haymitch’s expression is pained as he reads it and Madge feels her heart pound.

This is it

He meets her mother’s eye and nods slightly, lightning crackling through Madge’s blood. Her mother nods back and Haymitch stands, scooping up his bread and cheese.

“Robert, ready my horse, I ride out immediately,” Haymitch commands, his voice rough, and Robert nods before hurrying off. Haymitch sighs, a tired, heavy sound, and then disappears into his room, her mother standing abruptly and following after. Annie looks around in confusion and Madge forgets about eating, her mind awhirl.

King Louis has sent for him

This is really happening

Now what am I going to do?

Haymitch emerges with a packed bag and his neck is red, suggesting he and her mother have had heated words. He strides out into the faint summer sun and her mother leans back against her bedroom door, her face drawn but determined.

They are planning, now I must plan too

Madge stands and walks over to the window, her fingers clutching the wood frame. She peers through the slightly warped glass and watches as Haymitch mounts his horse, his shoulders sagging. He does not want to do this, that’s obvious, but survival is what matters and they need Louis to survive. Her nails dig into the wood and he straightens up, forcing a look of resolve onto his face.

Win this day for us Haymitch

And what will I do when he does?

Haymitch gallops off and Madge cannot help feeling somewhat sick as she follows him with her eyes. He is going to make a pact with the devil and Madge knows he must. Still, if he makes this alliance, she will lose Gale, for good, for certain.

It doesn’t matter; I don't need happiness to survive

(but is it really so wrong to want it?)

Madge tugs Annie up to their room and sits her down on the bed.

“I’m sorry I didn't tell you sooner, but I didn't want to get your hopes up,” she says and Annie tilts her head.

“About what?”

Madge squeezes both her hands.

“Haymitch has gone to talk to King Louis. The hope is that he’ll help Haymitch gain the favour of the Lancastrians.”

Annie’s eyes go wide, she inhales sharply and Madge smiles, even as her own heart aches. Annie ducks her head, eyes wet, and her shoulders shake.

“Oh God, oh God, I never dared hope...” she trails off in tears and Madge pulls her into a hug. Annie cries into her arms and what does it matter that I’m unhappy? Annie was happy for me in England, now I shall be happy here for her.

If only there was a way we could both be happy...

(there isn’t)

(Sometimes when Gale can’t sleep (and that is most nights these days), he thinks of Madge in France, the soft gold of her hair, the summer blue of her eyes, the curve of her lips and the brightness of her smile. He can see her so clearly sometimes it is like she is there beside him, warm and smelling like roses and the pain is fresh each time and always bittersweet. He can imagine the exact cadence of her voice, the sound of her laughter, can remember how it felt to touch her, kiss her and he wants so fucking badly to talk to her, to tell her I love you, it doesn’t matter what side of the war you’re on, I will always love you.

Madge is lost to him and even though they won, he cannot help but feel as though he’s lost too)

As always, the wait is excruciating.

Madge cannot concentrate on anything, her thoughts too tied up in Haymitch and his meeting with King Louis. This is their one and only chance at salvation, their only hope and yet...and yet, if they join up with the Lancastrians, she will have lost Gale for good.

She shouldn’t care about that, because survival is what matters most. She does not need Gale to survive, she knows that and yet she cannot just forget him, brush him aside as if he meant nothing. She loves him, loves him so much and she whispers to his locket each night, as if it were Gale himself and he might hear her. She knows she will never have him back, will never marry him or grow old beside him and she will bear that pain if she has to, but she will not let him die.

The world has taken much from me, but it will not take this

A dangerous, foolish plan begins to formulate in her mind and it is reckless yes, but Madge is tired of reacting. It is time to go on the offensive.

I am going to survive

And so will you Gale, I’m going to save you

I’m going to save all of us

(even if it means never seeing you again)

(It isn’t that Rory likes Philippa, he doesn’t, she is still Philippa, obnoxious, bothersome, irritating Philippa, but she is also the only person who lets him hate without any judgement.

His family still loves Haymitch even as they curse him, but Rory can’t. He sees the melancholy lines carved into his mother’s face, the haunted anger in Gale’s eyes, hears the sound of Posy crying herself to sleep and sits with Vick after every terrible nightmare and he cannot forgive Haymitch, he can’t. Rory loves his family, would die for them (not that Gale would ever let him) and he cannot forgive someone, anyone, who has hurt them. His family is suffering and they mean everything to him, everything, and that means whoever made them suffer has to suffer too, even if that man is his cousin.

Philippa is the only one that understands. His mother would be disappointed in him for wishing misfortune on anyone, Posy and Vick would only be made sadder and Gale...Gale might understand, for he too is furious, a smouldering pyre of heartbroken rage, but even though Rory’s fourteen, to Gale he is still a child. Rory knows it’s only because Gale is so used to taking care of him, to being father as well as brother, and so he doesn’t blame him, but still, he isn't a baby, not anymore. With Philippa at least, he can be as angry as he wants to.

“I’ll never forgive him,” he vows and Philippa nods, eyes bright.

“Never,” she echoes and Rory remembers being younger and listening to Gale talk about the Lancastrians, those wicked, vile monsters that stole Papa away. At the time, they had seemed the height of evil, but he knows better now. The worst crime, the worst ever, is to betray your family)

(and for the rest of his life, all the way until he dies, Rory will never believe anything as firmly as he does that)

It is the first of July, the sun is warm overhead, and Madge brings the squires their breakfast.

She offers them bread and some boiled beef and they dig in with gusto, thanking her with full mouths and half-done bows. Their manners have slipped somewhat in the four months they’ve been living here, but Madge doesn’t mind. She’s never really cared about that sort of thing, but especially not now. They’re all in the same boat here, she’s just grateful these boys have stood by them. She heads inside and she thinks oddly of Bristel, that squire of her father’s that used to partner her in dance lessons with a scowl. I wonder what happened to him. He was at Towton, wasn’t he?

She shakes her head to banish the sting of pain and her mother is waiting for her in an oddly chipper mood.

“Good, you’re here,” she says and Madge sets down her tray with a confused look.

“Mother?” she asks and her mother smiles, colour just slightly returning to her cheeks.

“Your step-father has sent me a letter; we are to join him tomorrow at King Louis’ court. I want everyone to wash up and pack today so we might leave first thing tomorrow morning. I’ll have one of the boys bring in the tub and beg another off the neighbours, you two should start boiling some water. Oh, and make sure you pick out something nice for Anne to wear tomorrow, after all, she’s just as much a lady as the rest of us.”

Madge blinks at her mother’s rapid speech, her heart beat quickening. Margaret heads outside to talk to the squires and Madge turns to Annie, her own wide eyed surprise reflected on her face.

It’s happening, it’s really happening

Annie brings her shaking hands up to cover her mouth and Madge hurries over to hug her. The fact that this is truly, honestly happening does not feel real and Madge almost expects to wake up.

Oh my God, this is really happening

It’s time

Annie starts to cry and Madge squeezes her, her heart pounding. I won’t let you down, she thinks to her mother, Annie, Gale, to everyone, I am going to save us, I swear. William the squire drags in the tub from outside and Annie pulls away, wiping unsteadily at her eyes. Madge immediately starts a fire to heat the water and her mother comes in smiling brightly, setting a basket down on the counter.

“I’ll rouse Glimmer and have her come down. You three can use this tub; I’ll have the boys take care of Marvel in the neighbour’s outside.”

Madge nods and her mother heads upstairs. Annie peeks in the basket and gasps.

“Oh look,” she says and pulls out fresh soap and bottles of oils, lotions and sweet perfume. She sets them out on the counter and Madge feels her spirits start to lift just looking at them. She’s had plenty of baths since they’ve been here, but never like the ones she used to enjoy back home. It might be a small, silly thing, but her heart shivers a bit in pleasure as she fills up the tub with hot water and pours in some lavender scented oil. Not of course, that such good feelings last.

Just as Madge inhales dreamily, Glimmer comes into view, looking more like a ghost than a living person. She leans heavily on Margaret’s shoulder, her feet bare and her long hair hanging down her back in greasy tangles. It is dull and dirty, so unlike the usual gleaming silver-blonde mass Glimmer was always so proud of. There are dark purple bags beneath her eyes and her skin is pale and waxy, her eyes cloudy and dim. She looks tired and underfed and Madge presses a hand to her stomach, feeling suddenly winded.

“Come now darling, you do want to look your best for the king, don't you?” her mother-in-law cajoles and Glimmer takes a shuddering breath.

“Yes,” she says with a raspy voice, “yes of course.”

Margaret smiles, pats Glimmer’s hair and then heads out back, taking a few of the bottles with her. Glimmer turns to Madge and Annie and tries to give them her old imperious look, but it falters somewhat and that shouldn’t make Madge ache so terrible, but oh, it does. She and Annie strip off Glimmer’s stained nightgown and Madge has to stifle a gasp. Glimmer is too thin in most places, has clearly not been eating well, but around her stomach she is pudgy with sagging skin. Madge feels a little ill looking at it, that stark reminder of the baby dead and lost.

Oh Glimmer

Annie offers her hand and helps Glimmer climb into the bath, her breath hissing out between her teeth at the heat. She sinks low into the water, folding up until everything beneath her nose is submerged and she looks eerily like a drowned corpse as she lies there, her chest barely rising. Stop thinking like that, stop it, Madge tells herself firmly and picks up a hairbrush, determined to work through the snarls in Glimmer’s hair. She works carefully, methodically on every greasy knot and Annie lathers Glimmer’s whole body with soap, scrubbing her spindly limbs and baggy stomach. No one speaks, the only sound the splish splash of bathwater, and Madge massages soap into Glimmer’s scalp, coating every inch of hair in bubbles. They rinse and rinse until Madge feels confident it is entirely oil free and Glimmer starts to look slightly more alive under their ministrations, her skin taking on a slightly more natural hue and even her eyes starting to regain their typical attitude.

(perhaps they are not just washing off the grime but the pain as well)

They help her out, dry her off and then Annie brushes out her hair while Madge rubs her with sweet smelling lotions. She is soft and fresh when they are done, the darkness hanging around her lightening just a shade. Annie helps her back upstairs to dress and Madge plunges her grubby nightgown into the tub, though she thinks they might be better off burning it. She scrubs at it roughly, working furiously on the various stains from sweat, blood and things she is not sure she wants to know about. It feels almost cathartic to attack them, like she is not just washing them away, but all they represent

let this be a new start for us, let us all begin again

Annie comes down and starts heating more water, Madge sitting back for a moment. She wipes the sweat from her brow and stands, taking the nightgown outside. She arrives just in time to see the squires attempting to wrestle Marvel into the tub and her eyes widen in disbelief.

We gave Glimmer an entire bath and dressed her, has it really taken them all this time to rouse and strip him?

Her mother watches from a safe distance and Marvel is apparently as slippery as an eel, even though he is clearly still inebriated. Every word is heavily slurred as he tries to escape the squires, the three of them struggling to stop him.

“Off! Off you...you peasants! Un...unhand me! Rrrruffians!”

They stuff him into the bathwater and Madge hangs up Glimmer’s nightdress, somewhat bemused as Marvel continues to thrash half-heartedly.

“I was hoping two of you might help us empty the tub,” she says and William immediately leaps to attention.

“Of course, my lady,” he says and dashes inside, Thomas snapping at his heels and a dismayed Robert is left to hold Marvel down on his own. Madge offers him a sympathetic smile and then follows the boys into the house. She starts heating more water as they lug out the tub and dump it, before retuning reluctantly to their belligerent captive. Annie climbs in slowly once they’ve refilled it and she seems almost mystified at the flowery scent coming from the water.

“Oh you don't have to,” she says awkwardly as Madge prepares to cover her in soap. Madge frowns and hates the way Annie won’t meet her eyes.

“Nonsense, a lady never washes herself,” she attempts to joke, her heart panging in her chest and Annie tries and fails to smile. She is very stiff as Madge washes her hair and scrubs her all over, every part of her clearly uncomfortable.

(Annie knows it’s silly, she used to have baths like this all the time, but somehow, for some reason, now it just feels wrong)

Madge wishes she could say something but no words come and she feels so useless, so utterly, utterly useless. Annie pops out quickly when it’s over and dries herself, Madge watching her back with a miserable frown. Oh Annie...

They have the boys empty the tub again, Marvel’s difficult bath nearly over, and Madge steps into the hot water, steam curling over its surface, and sighs contently. She sinks all the way in and all her aches and pains seem to vanish, her whole body warm and comfortable. She cannot imagine anything more luxurious than a sweet smelling bath and she never wants to get out, lingering just a bit after Annie has finished scrubbing every inch of her.

whoever invented hot baths deserves every praise

“I hope you’re almost done,” her mother says as she comes into the room and Madge sighs. “I’m going to heat us up yesterday’s stew; I think we’ve earned it.”

Madge nods and climbs out reluctantly. She dries off, brushes her hair and Annie laces her back into her dress just in time, as the squires come in half-supporting an unsteady Marvel. He is dressed in clean clothes, his hair has been cut and brushed neat and he’s even had a shave, his cheeks a fresh pink. He collapses into a chair and groans, resting his forehead on his arms.

“It is much too early,” he mumbles and Madge sits across from him, just barely managing not to roll her eyes. The squires squeeze onto the bench and Annie heads upstairs to fetch Glimmer, the aroma of warm stew making Madge’s stomach rumble. Her mother serves them each a steaming bowl and sits at the head of the table just as Annie and Glimmer come back down, Annie’s arm around her shoulders. Glimmer looks better in clean clothes, her back a little straighter but she tenses as soon as she sees Marvel, her skin drawing tight and her eyes narrowing. A flush crawls over her ice white skin and Madge remembers their fight that very first day, her heart starting to pound.

oh no

For a moment it seems as if Glimmer is going to turn around and head back upstairs, but then she straightens her shoulders and sweeps over, her old self possession trickling back in. She sits beside Marvel and peers at her stew in thinly veiled disgust as Annie slips in beside Madge, the two of them sharing a worried look.

“Are you tired my lord?” Glimmer asks in a tight voice and everyone in the room seems to stop breathing. Marvel lifts his head and looks at her, deep bags hanging beneath his eyes.

“I have not been sleeping well,” he replies curtly and one of her fine eyebrows shoots straight up.

“Oh? Well perhaps if you slept in your own bed rather than someone else’s, you might be able to get a good rest,” she suggests with poisonous sweetness and Marvel’s expression turns immediately ugly. Madge swallows a gasp, everyone’s eyes going wide. Glimmer’s implication is obvious, the accusation clear and Marvel sneers furiously.

“I’d love to sleep in my own bed, had someone not banished me from it,” he snaps angrily and red spots bloom in both of Glimmer’s cheeks.

“And that gives you an excuse to go whoring in every brothel in France?” she demands, her voice rising in pitch and Marvel stands abruptly, his chair clattering to the floor.

“I have not been whoring anywhere!” he shouts and Madge cannot help inching back unconsciously. Glimmer lets out a high pitch laugh.

“Really? You expect me to believe you’ve been celibate all these months?”

“Yes!” Marvel barks. “Not that I have any idea why , seeing as I’m married to a shrill cow!” he bellows and Glimmer leaps to her feet, her expression outraged.

“I have been suffering-”

“And I haven’t been?”

“It was your fault!” Glimmer all but screams, tears gathering in her eyes.

“No, it wasn’t!” Marvel roars, enraged and frantic for it to be true.

“I think we should go eat outside,” Madge’s mother says mildly, as if there wasn’t a volcano erupting just beside them.

“Yes it was! It was your idea! This only happened because we had to flee England and we only had to flee because you failed to overthrow Katniss! It was your idea!” Glimmer yells and launches herself at Marvel. She slaps his chest, scratches at his face and pummels his shoulders, her expression somewhat deranged.

“It really is a lovely day, come along,” Margaret says and stands, taking her stew and heading for the door. Is she really not going to intervene?

Or perhaps she thinks they need to work through their problems?

“Fine, fine! It was my idea, but it’s not like you were unaware or in any way opposed to it! You encouraged me every step of the way!” Marvel retaliates, pinning Glimmer’s arms to her sides. “You wanted to be queen just as much as I wanted to be king!”

“Come along, you lot,” her mother calls from the door and they file after her, Glimmer and Marvel turning redder by the second.

“If I’m guilty than so are you!” he bellows and Glimmer shrieks in fury.

“This is not my fault!” she screams and Madge can hear the desperate need in her voice for that to be true.

“Then it isn’t mine!” Marvel shouts back, his eyes bulging out of his head.

“Then whose fault is it?” Glimmer sobs, her body sagging in Marvels’ grip and then Margaret shuts the door with a snap, muffling whatever comes next. She leads them to the very edge of the yard and sits down easily on an upturned bucket, the squires gaping at her. She doesn’t seem to notice and nibbles thoughtfully at her stew.

“I think the litter and the horses should be cleaned up as well, we want to make as good an impression as possible on the king,” she says and the squires all nod. She looks them over as they sit in the grass, her gaze roving over each of them in turn.

“Once that’s done, I think it’ll be time for you to bathe,” she says and Madge sits gingerly on a bale of hay. Robert sniffs himself.

“I suppose we need one,” he agrees and William snorts.

“Ya think? You smell like a rat’s arse.”

He straightens suddenly in alarm, realizing just who he’s sitting with.

“Begging your pardon, my lady,” he says bowing his head and her mother smiles.

“It’s perfectly alright; I’ll have the girls boil you some water.”

Sometime later her mother deems it safe to go back inside and Madge and Annie take in the dishes. They step tentatively through the door but Marvel and Glimmer are nowhere to be seen.

“I suppose they’ve gone upstairs,” Madge says and looks up at the ceiling. Annie shrugs and begins heating the water, Thomas bringing them over some buckets. Madge places the dirty bowls on the counter, ties back her hair and then pushes up her sleeves. She waits for Annie to fill up the sink and a muffled sort of scream travels through the floor above them. Madge frowns and looks up, Annie’s face suddenly red.

“You don't think they’re still fighting, do you?” Madge asks her and she shakes her head quickly, hurriedly filling up Thomas’ buckets. Madge furrows her brow as Annie rushes out to tell the boys their water’s ready and why is she acting so strange? And what are they doing up there?

They wash the dishes and then Madge dries her hands, Annie boiling more water so the boys can take their baths.

“I think I’ll go and pick out our clothes for tomorrow, Mother did say she wanted us to leave bright and early,” Madge says and Annie nods, her cheeks still tinted red. She heads upstairs, mind running through all the dresses she owns and it occurs to her that she might have a problem finding a dress for Annie. They aren’t the same size in any way, Annie being taller, slimmer and with a smaller bust size. The latter two aren’t too big an issue, she can always lace the dress very tight, but the height will be a problem. They can’t exactly claim they’ve been keeping Annie in good estate if her ankles are showing.

Glimmer!

Glimmer’s about Annie’s height, she has a larger chest to be sure, but that’s nothing a good lacing can’t fix.

Madge walks over to Glimmer’s door and then pauses. What if they are still fighting? She bites her lip and even if they aren’t, she hasn’t stepped foot in this room once since they’ve been here, it feels almost forbidden. There are memories tied to this room, memories Madge wants nothing more than to forget. Stop it; we have more important things to worry about. She knocks firmly and then waits, but there is no response. She knocks again.

“Glimmer? It’s Madge, I really need a favour,” she calls and an audible sigh comes from the other side of the door.

“Fine,” Glimmer snaps, sounding very much like her old self. Perhaps shouting at Marvel helped her work through her pain? There are sounds of movement, a low rumble that might be snoring and then the door swings open. Glimmer stands there in nothing but a robe, her skin flushed and her dishevelled hair tumbling over her shoulders. Madge blinks at her and then her eyes slide over her shoulder to the rumpled bed, a very nude Marvel snoring away on top (on his stomach, thankfully). Madge’s eyes go wide and oh, OH.

I suppose they’ve made up then.

“Can I help you?” Glimmer demands in annoyance and Madge shakes herself.

“Yes, yes, of course. I need a dress.”

Glimmer glares at her.

“For Annie,” Madge clarifies and Glimmer scoffs.

“I didn't realize we were dressing the help,” she says snidely and Madge forces a smile.

“Annie isn't the help and my mother insists she have a nice dress for tomorrow. You’re closer to her height than I am.”

Glimmer scowls but seems to realize Madge won’t leave without a dress and makes an aggravated noise in her throat.

“Fine, come on then.”

She walks over to a chest by the window and Madge follows, determinedly looking anywhere but at Marvel. Glimmer begins to riffle through her things, probably trying to find her least favourite gown, and Marvel grunts, making Madge jump.

“Here,” Glimmer says, thrusting a dress at her, “don't bother giving it back.”

Madge nods, assuming Glimmer is insinuating the dress will be ruined once Annie uses it.

“Right, thank you,” she says and Glimmer rolls her eyes.

“Close the door on your way out,” she returns in a clear dismissal and when Madge turns to do just that, she catches a glimpse of a naked Glimmer slipping under Marvel’s outstretched arm. Madge pulls the door shut quickly and hurries back to her own room, her cheeks red and burning.

At least they’re getting along again, that’s good, isn’t it?

(Marvel’s hand is hot as it rests on her stomach and Glimmer traces a finger over the knuckles, her heart sick.

There are no scars she can see, but she can feel them beneath her skin, feel them inside of her and the memory is still so painful she thinks she might faint. You’re right my darling, Haymitch did this to us, she decides, running a hand through Marvel’s hair, Haymitch lost us the crown and then he lost us our baby.

He ruined us. He is to blame.

But never again

He will not drag us down again

We deserve the world my love, and we will have it)

Madge lies awake that night and dwells on Marvel and Glimmer, her mind stuck on their apparent reconciliation. She tells herself it is only because she is so mortified, but that is a lie.

She is jealous.

Marvel and Glimmer, they have each other, but Madge does not have Gale. She never will. They won’t find their way back to each other and tears slither down her cheeks as she lays there, his locket ice cold against her skin.

This isn't fair

Glimmer and Marvel, they have suffered, she knows that, but even still, envy spends that night breaking her already broken heart.

(Posy and Nella (because Petronella is such a mouthful) look at Vick with pleading eyes and ask, almost in tandem, Will Madge be okay?

He wants to say yes but then pauses, because even as grown up as twelve, the workings of kings and queens and traitors is something he doesn’t quite understand. He worries his lip, looks at his little sister and the wife he loves as if she too were his sister and he wishes he were brave like Gale, strong like Rory.

What do I say? Will she be alright?

Posy starts to cry, the sound cutting into his heart and Vick finds himself talking, desperate to stop her tears.

“Of course she will, Gale won’t let anything bad happen to her,” he says and for a moment he believes it. After all, Gale is invincible and valiant and the most amazing person in the world. There is nothing he cannot do and he loves Madge, so of course he’ll protect her.

Except...except there is a tragic look in Gale’s eyes these days and something worse, something Vick is entirely unused to seeing in his brother’s gaze. Fear.

And if Gale is afraid, Vick knows deep in his bones that they should all be afraid)

Her mother rouses them early the next morning and Madge swallows a miserable groan. She is achingly exhausted as she trudges downstairs, her whole body leaden and tired. Annie shuffles ahead of her, just as sleepy and neither one had slept, but how could they? Worry had eaten them both all night, nibbling at their toes and scratching at their nerves, chewing little holes in their hopes and plans. Today is the day that changes everything, how could they possibly have slept?

Madge drops like a stone into her chair at the table and she cannot help but scowl as Marvel and Glimmer flounce down into the kitchen arm in arm, both of them rosy cheeked and smiling

(and there is an ache in her heart as they sit glued to each other’s sides at the table, Marvel’s arm around Glimmer’s waist and her eyes watching him adoringly)

(Gale and I, we’ll never have that)

“We’ve got a long journey ahead of us, so eat up,” her mother says and Madge sighs dismally.

wonderful

There is sop in wine, beef, cheese and apple tarts and Madge rubs at her bleary eyes before digging in. Her mother carries out a tray for the squires, busy readying the horses and litter, and Marvel serves Glimmer, selecting all her food like he used to do with Madge. He seems to think himself quite chivalrous and Glimmer bats her eyelashes at him, her smile coy.

(if you asked, Madge would say she was trying not to gag)

(but really, she’s trying not to cry)

Her mother returns and takes her seat at the table, selecting only a single apple tart to eat. Madge frowns and wants to insist she have more, her figure far too thin and fragile.

“Why does the French king want to see us?” Marvel asks as he feeds Glimmer some sop, his loud voice cutting through Madge’s thoughts. His step-mother smiles.

“Your lord father has been talking with him and now the king wishes to aid us in our time of trouble,” she says and Marvel snorts.

“Hah, how unlike Haymitch to actually succeed in something,” he says nastily and Glimmer titters obnoxiously. Margaret frowns.

“You should not speak of your father in such a way,” she admonishes gently and Marvel grimaces, his green eyes flashing. He opens his mouth, no doubt to say something rude, but Glimmer places a hand on his arm and murmurs something in his ear. He smirks and whispers back, Glimmer giggling and his anger seems to pass, at least for the moment. They finish eating in silence and then it is time to get ready, her mother wanting to leave as quickly as possible. Madge slaps her cheeks in an attempt to wake up and shakes herself all over.

Today’s the day, I need to be alert

She and Annie make their way to their room, but before they can go inside, Glimmer’s annoyed voice stops them.

“Where do you think you’re going?” she demands and for a moment Madge is confused, before she scowls. It is obvious Glimmer expects Annie to help her dress and Madge grinds her teeth together. Annie isn’t your servant, you cannot boss her around anymore. Have your lovely husband help you, she wants to say but doesn’t, knowing it will do little good.

“I’ll help,” she offers instead and Glimmer shrugs, allowing Marvel to tug her into their room.

“Fetch a squire to help dress my lord,” she calls back over her shoulder at Annie and Madge exhales angrily. She follows them into their room and Marvel flops on the bed and leans against the headboard, his expression insolent. He folds his arms behind his head and Glimmer sits primly on the edge of the bed, the sheets a rumpled disaster beneath them. Madge feels her chest twinge and heads over to Glimmer’s chest of things, jealousy still thriving in her heart.

She can feel Marvel watching her and when she looks over, there is something sharp and rude in his eyes. Do you hate me Marvel? Why? Because Katniss wouldn’t let you marry me? Because I couldn’t save your baby? Or is because hating me makes it easier to avoid hating yourself? She makes a point of dropping his gaze and kneels, popping the lid on Glimmer’s chest. Buried near the bottom is a pretty blue dress sewn with pearls and she stands, holding it out. Glimmer takes one look and scoffs, Marvel offering his most aggravating smirk.

“Green,” Glimmer barks, her tone suggesting Madge is an idiot and Madge sighs in frustration before choosing a green brocade gown. Glimmer stands with a huff and sweeps over, sticking her arms out so Madge can undress her. She unlaces Glimmer’s nightgown and it puddles around her feet, her skin almost as white as the fabric. Madge winces as she scoops it up and Marvel grins licentiously, his eyes traveling slowly over Glimmer’s naked body. Madge feels distinctly uncomfortable but Glimmer just looks at him with smoldering eyes, her bottom lip caught between her teeth. The room seems suddenly much warmer and Madge fumbles with Glimmer’s chemise, her heart prickling as she catches sight of the baggy skin around Glimmer’s stomach. The reminder of that nightmare on the boat is still there, and Madge cannot help a wave of pity.

If the memories are hard for me, I cannot imagine how it must be for Glimmer.

Madge closes her eyes and forces away the stinging pain, lacing Glimmer into her boots, kirtle and gown. She does her hair for her, binding it all up under a jeweled hennin and there is a burning need to escape inside of her, an urge to flee that shakes its way through her bones.

I need to get out of here

“I trust you are able to choose your own jewelry,” she says and leaves before either of them can protest. Her chest feels tight as she passes Thomas in the hall, off to help Marvel dress she supposes, and she slips into her own room. She breathes deep for a moment, back resting against the door and Annie is staring at the clothes Madge had laid out yesterday, a strange expression on her face.

“Annie?” Madge asks tentatively and Annie continues to stare, touching the damask gown from Glimmer with gentle fingers.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, “I know I used to wear dresses like this all the time, but it feels almost like a dream now.”

Madge feels her heart squeeze and hurries over to throw her arms around Annie. She wishes she could say something but she isn’t sure what she could ever say.

Sorry my step-father forced you to be my servant?

It doesn’t seem like enough, but then, Madge isn’t sure any words could be enough.

Oh Annie, I’m so sorry

(It is easy, Glimmer realizes, to slip back into the person she used to be.

It’s like putting on her favourite pair of shoes and what does it matter than they aren’t really mended? This new-old attitude allows her to fool herself into thinking they are and that’s the only thing that matters.

For four months she drowned in misery and she cannot do that anymore, she can’t. She needs to believe that everything is alright, that they are going to be okay. She needs to be the Glimmer of before, the one that was never broken, the one that stood on top of the world.

So she is)

(and maybe she likes grinding everyone else down, maybe it makes her feel in control, powerful, untouchable)

“Well, I certainly won’t be sorry to see the last of this place,” Glimmer says, casting a sour look back at their little house as Marvel helps her up into the litter and Madge can’t help but agree. Nothing good happened here, nothing but misery and hopelessness.

That’s over now, things are changing.

Glimmer takes a seat and Marvel helps her mother in, but when it is Madge’s turn to climb inside, he turns and walks away as if she doesn’t even exist. Madge rolls her eyes and climbs inside, Annie just behind her. She shakes her head and goes to sit beside her mother, but then reconsiders. Knowing Glimmer, it is probably best she lets Annie have the seat beside Margaret. She bottles a sigh and sits to Glimmer’s right, receiving an unimpressed look in return. Madge ignores it and then Glimmer curls her lip as Annie enters, looking perfectly ladylike in her borrowed gown. Madge had lent her some jewels and tied ribbons in her hair, but looking at Glimmer’s expression, you’d think they’d allowed a slug to come in and sit beside them. She and Marvel really are perfectly suited; she thinks caustically, they’re equally as rude and unpleasant.

“I hate long journeys,” Glimmer declares as Annie takes her seat, shooting an almost accusatory glare at her mother-in-law. Margaret chooses not to notice.

“We should reach the king by evening,” she informs them as the litter lurches into movement and Glimmer pouts. Madge slumps slightly, not looking forward to so many hours trapped in this tiny litter, but perhaps it is better this way. Now she will have time to prepare herself.

She will have to approach Haymitch first; winning his support will be crucial. He in turn will convince Louis and after that, well, Enobaria is so dependent on Louis she will have no choice but to accept. Yes, all she needs is to win over Haymitch and she will, she knows it. She runs over every aspect of her plan, again and again, looking for any holes Haymitch or King Louis may try to rip open, but she can find none. She has spent over a month rehearsing what she will say to Haymitch and what she will have to do to make this plan a success and she is determined to see it through.

(of course, convincing Haymitch, Louis and Enobaria is only step one)

(step two…step two will be complicated)

Her survival, her entire family’s and Gale’s and his family’s, it’s all resting on her shoulders. It is a bit like that moment waiting in Westminster to see Katniss for the first time, the rage and fear and desperate plan to save herself, but this is so much stronger, the stakes so much higher. It is not just her and her mother any longer, it is all the others she has come to love and she will not let them down. She ignores the melancholy still bubbling in her blood, cannot let it distract her from what she needs to do. She needs the anger and the confidence of her royal blood, not the heartbreak of knowing that if her plan succeeds, she will be officially, permanently, definitely, signing away any possible chance of a reunion with Gale. If she succeeds in this, they will never see each other again.

(even knowing that, she cannot take off his locket)

When they arrive at King Louis’ palace, Haymitch is waiting outside to greet them.

The sky is deepening into sapphire, the sun a fiery orange as it descends below the horizon and Haymitch looks haggard as he stands there, the toll of these negotiations visible in the bags beneath his eyes and the new lines dug into his skin. He has done his duty, Madge thinks, but it has cost him dearly. Will it cost me just as much?

The castle is tall and imposing behind him, fleur-de-lis pennants fluttering from the ramparts and she can feel her whole body tightening. She closes her eyes for a moment and breathes steadily, will not be intimidated by Louis’ great stone fortress.

Be brave Madge, do not falter now

Marvel leaps nimbly off his horse and does not greet his father, offering him only a sneer. Haymitch wilts and it is clear that even though he has reconciled with Glimmer, Marvel still blames his father for all their misfortunes.

Perhaps he needs to, perhaps it is the only way he can avoid blaming himself.

Marvel opens the litter door but doesn’t offer his hand to Annie or Madge as they step down, waiting until his step-mother’s turn before becoming helpful. Madge does not even bother hiding her eye roll and she smoothes out her dress, her chest squeezing as she looks up at Louis’ castle. This is it. Margaret kisses her husband’s poorly shaven cheek in greeting, a question in her eyes. Haymitch nods slightly to her and she takes his arm, her expression not so much pleased as satisfied. He must have succeeded, he must have. He wouldn’t have summoned us here otherwise.

“King Louis is eager to meet you all,” Haymitch says and good, that’ll make things easier. “But that will have to wait for tomorrow, tonight we’ll get you settled and have some supper.”

He turns and leads her mother inside, Madge linking her arm with Annie’s. She offers her a smile, but Annie can’t quite manage the same, looking as if she might faint. Madge cannot blame her. It’s been two or three years since she’s last seen her father or Finnick, I can’t imagine what that must feel like. Madge squeezes her arm and they follow after Haymitch and her mother, Glimmer and Marvel whispering behind them as tiny, little stars start to dot the sky. Haymitch leads them to a suite of rooms, Annie receiving her own bedchamber, and maids arrive to help them unpack. They haven’t been treated like this in months and Madge feels a flare of confidence in her blood.

if the king is being so kind it must mean Haymitch has gained his favour

now it’s my turn

She can feel her plan burning in her stomach like a hot coal and finally, it’s time to put it into action. She leaves the maids unpacking and walks over to her mother’s room, where she knows she will find her talking with Haymitch. The French castle is old and somewhat chilly now that the sun has set, and Madge cannot help a shiver. She studies the weathered tapestries hung on every wall and this place seems a bit in disrepair for a king. Why would he want us to meet here? Unless…unless this castle is the one he’s given Enobaria…

Her skin prickles and she stops just beyond her mother’s door, listening carefully to the voices within.

“He’ll help us then?”

“Yes, you were right. He’ll make it clear to Enobaria that his help is conditional on her accepting us. She will have no choice, she needs Louis and thus she’ll need us. The problem is what we’re going to do after we’ve taken England. As soon as the Lancastrians are secure on their throne, they will no longer need our help and they hold grudges. My aid in this won’t absolve me for helping to remove him in the first place, Coriolanus will be sure to turn on us.”

“We need leverage then.”

“Yes, something we can use to keep them on our side, something to bind them to us.”

“I can do that,” Madge says as she pushes open the door and steps into the room. Her mother looks up in surprise and Haymitch narrows his eyes.

“And how do you plan to do that?” he asks, a shrewd, calculating curiosity on his face. Madge feels Gale’s locket burn against her heart and she knows what she has to do. She takes a deep breath and looks Haymitch straight in the eye.

“I’ll marry Cato.”

#madge undersee #gale hawthorne #gadge #fanfiction #wars of the roses au #Hunger Games #historical au

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