Hunger Games: Fandom Style

Witch of a Storm

The squat, domed building looked unremarkable, but Calypso could smell the waters within. They were shallow, polluted, and lacking in salt, but still hers. She strode in.
She stood on a high walkway far above the glistening canals. She descended as elegantly as if it were a ballroom. She didn't bother with the derelict boats that lay half-sunken in the water. She waded right in, not noticing the chill.
Ripples spread out from her. The water thrummed with her presence. The ripples came back carrying a warning.
Ah. The guardians of this place were hostile, it seemed. This should be delightful.
The water came up to her waist, then her chin. She barely noticed. She just walked on into the tunnel ahead.
Tinny music swept over the waters. "It's a small world after all, it's a small world after all . . . "
The dolls that lined the walls and smiled and started walking jerkily towards the water. The horde tumbled in, rusted limbs clawing through the water, steel jaws snapping.
Tia Dolma blew on the water gently. Ripples spread out from the breath. She turned slowly in the water, still exhaling softly.
The breath grew into a gale force wind. Waves splashed against the tunnel walls. The dolls flew up with them and smashed to bits. Parts splattered down with soft patters. Dark oil mixed with the water.
Calypso smiled.
A storm crackled on the edge of her senses. She tilted her head to catch it better. "Little sister," she purred. "You came too late to this weary world. They would have trembled at your name. Let me help you."
It had been so long since she'd summoned up a proper storm. She simply didn't have the power while trapped in this form. But if another started it . . .
The water whirled around her as her power began to build.
"Let it go," she breathed.

The nightmares had come to Elsa through the long night. The ice around her fortress had spread accordingly. There must have been a real sky above the arena this year, because when the nightmares still did not abate, the snow began to fall. Left unchecked, the arena would become a winter wonderland. The Gamemakers, unable to stop it, tried to take credit for it. It was, after all, fairly harmless.
Tia Dolma dismisses harmless as boring.
Winds swept up, driving the snow until it was all but a whiteout. Snow mixed with bitter pellets of frozen rain and hailstones as big as her fist. Deadly spears of icicles guarded the roofs of buildings. Thin black ice coated every inch of water it could find. The clouds roiled in confusion over the impossible weather. The tributes huddled together for warmth. None dared to go outside.
None save Morgana.
She walked unafraid through the storm. There was only one thing Morgana feared now, and it certainly wasn't a bit of snow. The ice bounced off her without leaving a mark. The wind only refreshed her. In fact, the storm seemed a bit . . . tame.
She thrust a hand at the sky. A lightning bolt struck the metal scaffolding to her left. Electricity sizzled across it as the thunder rolled. The ice melted instantly and crackled as it fell.
She smiled. Much better.
She stalked through the snow. Emrys was here, yet he'd had a chance to kill her and hadn't taken it. Had he weakened? She snarled. It didn't matter. One way or another, she would defeat him. She knew better than to try and kill him. Knew now, at least. Emrys the immortal. She'd tested that theory thoroughly and was forced to admit killing him was beyond even a high priestess.
But then who said defeat had to mean death?
She would gouge out her brother's eyes. She would cut off his hands and tear out his lying tongue, but only after she'd gotten to listen to his screams to her heart's content. She would leave him mad and beyond the reach of the strongest magic.
Then she'd tie him up in a big Christmas bow and leave him on Emrys' doorstep and watch his face as his last hope was crushed.
She sighed. Happy thoughts could wait till later. Right now there was work to do. There were rival magic workers in her territory. It was time she saw to that.
The sign announced it to be a gift shop. She narrowed her eyes and her vision danced beneath the crack of light under the door to let her see inside.
The girl was using her wand to bedeck the ceiling with streams of gold ribbon. The boy was dueling her with red ones and laughing.
Red. That brought back memories. Red like Camelot.
Red like the color of Arthur's blood.
"Forzare," she whispered. Her eyes flashed gold.
The door flew open. A terrible wailing of some sort of alarm system immediately went off. Cute. But unnecessary. They had probably already guessed that someone had arrived, and she didn't intend to leave them guessing as to who.
She strode in. The force of the magic had blown the girl to the ground. She lay there, stunned. Morgana grabbed her hair and yanked her to her knees. She pulled a knife from her belt and laid it at the girl's throat. She toyed with it absently. Maybe she should practice before she went after Arthur. It had been a while since she'd tortured anyone.
The girl reached for her wand. Morgana kicked it away.
"Stupefy!"
Morgana ducked the jet of red light easily. "Forzare," she said again.
"Protego!" The blast deflected off his shield and punched a hole through a wall. Impressive.
The girl drove her elbow up into Morgana's stomach. She doubled over, barely missing another stream of light.
"Let her go," the boy snarled.
Morgana smiled. "Of course."
Then she slit the girl's throat.
The cannon roared into the sudden silence.
Then several things happened at once.
Morgana released another burst of force that deflected off his shield and brought down most of the ceiling between them.
Harry let out another curse with a shout of rage. Vicious cuts raked Morgana's side. She let the girl's limp body slide to the ground as choking dust filled the air.
Morgana coughed and made a gesture. She disappeared with a crack.

Harry forced the dust to part just in time to see her disappear. Luna lay like a discarded rag doll.
Harry rushed to her side. "No! NO!"
Even through his tears, he couldn't help but notice that even in death, there was a brilliant smile on her face.

As one Jack Frost would be happy to testify if anyone could actually hear him, there is nothing a spirit appreciates so much as belief.
Luna Lovegood believed in Nargles. She believed in the Crumple-Horned Snorckack. She believed in creatures that could set fire to the ground as they ran.
It was an odd sensation to have a knife at your throat. It was just a cold piece of metal. As long it was in one place, you were alive. If it moved, you weren't. How odd.
Luna's eyes were distant as she considered this. So this was how she would die. How interesting.
She happened to catch sight of a passing nargle. She asked it politely to take a message for her. It was happy to.
Luna Lovegood believed in nargles and snorckacks, in Jack Frost and faeries.
And they believed in her.
A cannon boomed. Xenophilius wept.
And far more than six impossible and very angry things began gathering from all corners of the shattered earth into a storm that even a high priestess of the old religion couldn't harness.