Hunger Games: Fandom Style

The Game Behind the Games

The serene elegance of President Snow's office was marred by the persistent beeping of the machine that informed him he had messages. The names of those who had sent them scrolled across the screen in red lettering.

Pendragon, Uther. Ignore.

King, Duncan. Ignore.

West, Kara. He hit the button. His assistant's clear voice began reciting her daily report. "Sir, I have the data you wanted. This year's crop of tributes has been well received by the Capital, but the Districts are already getting restless. I've forwarded the risk assessment reports to you. I would like to take the liberty of recommending you read them as soon as possible.

"I regret to tell you that, as of yet, there's no word on how someone managed to rig the Reapings. There is, however, definitive proof that not all of it could have been managed electronically, so it's premature to assume the perpetrator is from District 3.

"Six of the Districts' mentors have requested meetings. I await your instructions regarding these."

The message ended. President Snow tapped his fingers on the desk as he regarded the bouquet of roses on his desk. One of them was beginning to wilt.

He read through the reports and considered his experts' conclusions. "Unfortunate," he said to himself. "Very unfortunate." Someone was going to pay for this. They were going to pay very dearly and for a very long time. Snow would see to it personally.

The damage had been done. He couldn't send the tributes back. Had only one of them been tagged red in his files, he would have at least been able to fix the Games to take care of the problem, but this many was impossible.

The Capital was more fragile than most realized. If not handled very carefully, these Games could be the ruin of it.

He considered his roses for a moment more. Then he hit the button on his comm. "Ms. West. Schedule individual meetings with the mentors who requested them."

As an afterthought, he called his head of security. The mentors had not gotten to where they were by being peaceful, timid people.

"Nimue." He studied the beauty of her smile for a moment. She'd used it while chopping off bits of a tied down and screaming tribute in her Games. She was a favorite in the Capital. "Are you here to protest your student's entrance to the Games?"

"Come now, Cornelius. Surely you know me better than that." She didn't ask for a chair. He didn't offer her one.

"The nation is not ready for a display of magic," he warned her. "If she becomes obvious, I will have to take measures."

"She'll be discreet," Nimue promised. "That was not what I desired to speak to you of."

"Oh?"

"Emrys is taking an interest in this year's outcome."

Emrys. With all his spies, Emrys remained a ghost. Nimue would only tell him scraps of prophecy about his power. No one had seen him. No one knew his real name. Yet Emrys thwarting him, time and time again.

"Emrys. He's fond of your student?"

Nimue laughed. "Hardly. You mean to say you honestly don't know?"

"It might go better for you if it did not take me long to find out."

She considered him for a moment, then shook her head. "He wishes Arthur Pendragon to be victorious. Why, I cannot say."

"Cannot or will not?"

"He is my kin. One of the very last of my kind. I will not betray him to you."