LEGENDS ▹ the hunger games au

𝐯𝐢

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐁𝐔𝐓𝐄𝐒

SILENCE was as deadly as defiance.

That became abundantly clear as they huddled together near the entrance of the train. The weight of what had just occurred hung heavy, and the fragile system that they were now a part of threatened to be brought down by a simple salute. It had fallen apart too quickly.

Will was certain Katniss was prepared to yell at them. Demand what they were thinking. Scold them for taking such a risk. Peeta likely would've joined in on the lecture. And Effie all too happily would've nodded along, puckered bottom lip and crossed arms.

But they didn't. No one said anything at all.

The only person who truly reacted was Haymitch who simply chuckled, "You two have guts, I'll give you that."

For just a moment, the frigid atmosphere broke. Ice began to melt and golden warmth seeped in through the cracks, allowing Will and Rye the freedom to laugh. Really laugh. Obnoxiously. Chaotically. Perhaps it was nerves or the stress of it all that had led them to this moment of absurdly good dispositions.

But Will jumped when the sky darkened and the trees swallowed up the last glimpse of sunlight.

Saying nothing, Katniss pushed through them and stalked away.

They all watched her leave the train car, laughter dying, smiles fading, and a gust of shivering wind swept back over them — stunning them back into silence.

Their father squeezed Rye's shoulder and touched Will's cheek before he silently followed their mother. They disappeared into their room with the door sealed soundly shut.

Everyone slowly trickled out after them, until only Will remained. Alone in the Capitol car, pointlessly searching for one last glimpse of home. District 12 was gone now.

Will realized distantly that they never got to say goodbye to their loved ones; Aunt Prim, Uncle Rory, Grandmother, friends. She knew she could write them letters, but she also knew she never would. What was the point in saying goodbye now? Who was in such desperate need of a goodbye that she had to put herself through the pain of crafting it?

The wooden box containing her cold, stiff body would have to be consolation enough. Besides, the mourning for Will wouldn't last long, not when Rye was safely in their arms once more.

Will grew dizzy from staring out the window, the speed of the train taking her breath away. Of course, neither she nor Rye had ever actually been on a train as they had never been officially sanctioned to travel. So, she didn't have much to compare it to.

When she found her way to a room that was supposed to be hers, Will felt the longing build up in her heart. She had never been so far from home before, from her room painted with dandelions, from the safety of the woods. Here, she felt caged, stifled. Will immediately shed her mother's dress, letting it pool around her bare feet and linger there.

She wasn't tired exactly, but there was a draining ache that stretched deep into her bones. Any other pain was quickly ignored in favor of the ache in her body from being so roughly handled. Though she supposed she ought to get used to that; she severely doubted 'being gentle' was at the top of the other tributes' priority lists.

Standing there, heartsick and sore, bare in a room that was supposed to be hers, Will had to find a way to proceed. From now forward, she was on a mission that was more than just a mission. It was her last hope, her dying wish: keep Rye alive.