Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Lucy Gray Baird.” 

Lucy Gray vowed as she walked forward to the stage that she would live. No matter how it would rend her soul, she would live if only to force a Covey name onto the lips of everyone in Panem. To make them hear and speak the cadence and music of a Covey name, their colors not a hidden afterthought middle nothing mumble. 

She had also promised she’d honor her mama and she would not fail now, Mayfair Lipp or no. In the Hunger Games last year the Tributes from Twelve had allied with Eight and Ten, they’d stood back to back in a little circle. It had worked until it hadn’t—the girl from Eight missed deflecting a spear that killed the boy from Twelve, and the little alliance had fallen as the two children from Ten forced the Eight girl out and then the Twelve girl shortly after because she couldn’t stop crying. 

Jessup Diggs was not the alliance making kind but he wasn’t a bad boy. She liked him, he was kind to her and the Covey. He was a miner’s son who worked on an illegal night crew that one of the Peacekeepers ran on Saturdays. He much preferred to keep his head down and his hands on the work before him. He was also unfailingly kind to those who needed help. A charmed goodness out in Twelve but a death sentence for their doomed days in the Capitol because they all needed help. Much as they could get and it was Days scarce.

So when she saw their freight car had bats inside, Lucy Gray played up her fear of them.  Maybe the bats were rabid, maybe they weren’t, but if Jessup kept them off her she’d have slept on the way. If Jessup got bit, if the bats made him sick, then maybe he’d die before they locked them all in the Arena. That was a kindness, right? If they weren’t going to live anyway? Lucy Gray consciously put away her dim memories of seeing an old warning poster about rabies and plague, back in Two, before they’d traveled on through the Districts to spend spring in Twelve. Before they’d gotten stuck in Twelve.

The taste of the rose petal lingered on her tongue, earthy and sweet, as they were herded into some kind of converted dumptruck. She’d thought that things would be…nicer…here than the Districts. The propos all showed a gleaming city, with wide streets and white marble government buildings among steel high rises. 

Her mentor with his crimson suit, odd and formal and obviously some kind of uniform, was the first she’d seen of anything approaching what the propos showed the Capitol to be. Standing up at the front of the truck Lucy Gray blinked away a burble of emotion at the idea that it was all a pretty lie. The Reaping, the Games, even the beautiful Capitol and its wide streets. Perhaps it was all as bombed out and drained, empty and cold, the way all the Districts were. 

The hope that it wasn’t, that she wasn’t dying here in the same gristled misery as Twelve, had her saving her sweet mentor from the other Tributes in the truck. He was a fool with something to prove, but if it could keep her safe—one more minute, one more hour, one more day—she’d take what he offered. 

She saw on his face that she was his hope too, as he tried to hold them both up in the truck after they were all dumped out like so much garbage. It mattered to him that she wasn’t hurt. It mattered to him that she trusted him. It mattered to him that she looked good. 

Own it.

The snap of the rose stem was what told her everything else she needed to know. Delicate people, good and bad, were never decisive enough to snap the stem without turning it to loose splinters and a bad break. A melody danced a sweet reel in her ears—he was clean and cold with his kind smile and suit the color of blood, sharp like a knife too. 

And then came his smooth voice, easy and charming despite his momentary panic, introducing himself to the children as Coriolanus Snow. She gave his arm a squeeze for the cameras, for him, for herself. Pure as the driven snow, the bright new clarion shivered through her, a fresh song taking root in her heart. He needed her to survive himself, so all she had to do was flutter her eyes and he’d be wrapped around her wrist tight as an April ribbon. 

She’d have a chance then. 

Chapter Text

Suggestion: 

•  As of the 10th Games, the Victor shall become a citizen of the Capitol. This will commemorate the Capitol’s victory over the Districts. It will remind the Districts that, while we are one nation and all of our blood is as rubies, the Capitol is the real ‘gem of Panem.’

Reasoning: 

• One: The Districts did not win the war. The Capitol did. They must always be reminded that the Capitol will always win. By our wits, by our strength, by our cunning and, yes, even by our luck. We were just as hungry as the districts, our streets were just as bombed out. Our children as dead as theirs. But we won. We will always win. 
• Two: The reward of Capitol citizenship allows us to keep the Victors in the Capitol. Currently the winner receives a bit of money, extra food, a few small privileges for their family for the duration of their lives. Why must the Capitol pay for them to do nothing, when even Capitol citizens are expected to put forth effort, to show their initiative, their drive, their continued successes?

Outcomes: 

•  One: Increased control over longterm Victor narratives by proximity to Capitol resources.
•  Two: Increased attractiveness of volunteering for the Games, particularly for well-off Districts.
•  Three: Access to becoming a Capitol citizen within one’s own lifetime. Currently only those born in the Capitol may become Capitol citizens. Not even a Plinth can pay for citizenship, only residency.
  

Chapter Text

Coriolanus now believed without a doubt that it was Dean Highbottom and whatever allies he still had who had done all of this to him. To his family. To Tigris, to their Grandma’am. How else did their money go missing halfway through Reparations and Rewards years ago, when Crassus had died for Panem? All the other families received theirs, but how did the Snows, who had shared cradles with Creeds and Vickers and Cranes and Phipps babies for decades, not receive theirs?

It was also Highbottom’s plan to snatch the Plinth prize from Coriolanus, ruining his chances at rebuilding his family. 

It was no doubt HIghbottom’s idea to force one of the ‘runts from Twelve’ on him too and hope to demoralize Coriolanus that way.

However it seemed that Highbottom had accidentally given Coriolanus had a chance, unexpected as it was. Just one, to be used for maximum advantage. The Dark Days had taught him that much. Sometimes you only got one chance, and you had to take it. It was the thing the Hunger Games were meant to represent. The fighting of the rebellion, the fact that there was one winner. Just one. People like Gaul and Highbottom and Ravinstill and all the others knew that the destruction of Thirteen had been that one chance for the Capitol. And they’d taken it.

Helping Lucy Gray win was his chance. 

Dr. Gaul had smiled, every tooth visible with her elation, as she went over his suggestions with him. He schooled his face to be as attentive as he could, with his burns shrieking under their bandages and his concussion boiling his brain with an unrelenting ache.

“Did you know that out in Twelve the blood would freeze so quickly that the snow never melted into it? Pure blankets of it, out in Twelve.” 

Your father is dead Coriolanus. In the trees. In Twelve.

“I’ve never been to Twelve. The President had my father’s body returned to the Capitol for a state funeral after the war.” 

“Of course, how could I have forgotten. Your little face, so long and brave. Hungry, but yet we all were. Your grandmama laid a rose trimming on the casket. No flowers for the dead, isn’t that your way?” 

An old Snow tradition, from before the Old War, the one before the Grandma’am was even born. The war that Panem had risen from the ashes of. A harmless tradition that felt as silly as a District wedding vow in this moment. 

“That is the Grandma’am’s way, yes.”

“And yet…a flower for your songbird, fresh off a journey whose return will require twenty three heavy caskets. It sounds like betting, Mr. Snow.” Coriolanus swallowed but met Dr. Gaul's eyes firmly.

Start treating me like I will win this thing.

“You have to believe you can win, become the winner however you can. The Districts rebelled, they outnumbered us and our allies. Even places like One and Two could not keep themselves in line. People like my father, and President Ravinstill, believed they could win. The Hunger Games will always have a Victor who believed they could. So yes, I suppose. I hope to always have flowers for Lucy Gray Baird.” 

“Crocuses, my boy, grew up through the snows. Beautiful, revitalized, their seeds kept safe from the winter winds. Fed by the blood of our war-dead.”

He’s starving.

“All the more reason our Victors must be absorbed into the Capitol, especially as the memory of the war fades. The peace we know was watered by blood, that will never change no matter how much time passes. When you are gone, when I am gone, that will not have changed.” 

Dr. Gaul giggled, patting his cheek with snake-scented gloves. 

“Casca will not like this, but he never likes anything anymore. I’ll see you receive that Plinth prize, dear boy, but it shall be up to you and your wits if you wish your Miss Lucy Gray to hold a bouquet. Oh! Oh my dear, my dear boy,” she giggled again, a nasal horrible sound, the old Capitol accent shining through, “you must give her crocuses and roses, among everything else you manage to give her.” 

His heart fluttered, wondering if he’d been seen giving Lucy Gray his mother’s compact the night before, if he’d been heard telling her of the rat poison boxes in the tunnels. Dr. Gaul did not waggle her eyebrows though, did not glance knowingly at him. Instead she promised that a bouquet would be waiting. Should he and his Lucy Gray earn it. 

Chapter Text

September, Y^10 WEDDINGS AND ENGAGEMENTS

Wedding

• Applicants:   Creed, Festus and Cardew, Livia
• Wedding Date and Time:   September 15, 5 PM
• Location:   Registry 18, Caesar’s Way, Capitol General
• Permissors:   Creed, Anatolius; Cardew, Horace
• Witnesses:   Creed, Vivalia; Harrington Jr, Pliny
• Wellwishers:   The Creed Family, the Cardew Family
• Gifts to:   100 Creed Lane, Capitol General

Chapter Text

Suggestion: 

• For a period of two weeks, Tributes should be introduced to Capitol society to better appreciate what there is to gain upon becoming a Victor. This shall include being housed and fed in accommodations akin to what our first and finest families enjoy. This shall include all transport from the Reaping Ceremony to arrival for processing at the Capitol.

Reasoning: 

• War brings humanity close to our barbaric roots. No war hero dreams of sleeping on wormy mattresses in cold bedrooms, instead they long for warm blankets and linen sheets. The Hunger Games are to punish the Districts, but the Victor should symbolize the Capitol winning against the odds. 

Outcomes: 

•  One: Alienate Tributes from their District roots before they have even glimpsed the Arena. While three to four weeks would be ideal for truly accustoming Tributes to the comforts of Capitol life, the public could grow bored.
• Two: Allow time for a full slate of interviews, soirees, salons, and other chances to show the Tributes off to the Capitol
• Three: Should any Tribute have contracted a disease prior to or during transport, Capitol doctors shall have access to not only offer treatment to the Tribute but they shall also have an unfiltered view of diseases now rare in the Capitol.

Chapter Text

He had seen the bites on several of the Tributes, had flinched from the bats that few from several of the train cars. Rabies and hantavirus were distant memories of his childhood—the friendly, lolling dogs that walked in circles, their skins twitching, the panting rats that breathed out blood—but the flinch was a habit so old it was instinct. 

Coriolanus had also seen the nits in the hair of the two Tributes from Six, though the two of them hardly seemed to notice. It disgusted him, the fact that they’d all known it was coming up Reaping Day and had made no effort—until a voice that sounded suspiciously like Tigris’ whispered that perhaps there had been no soap to be had or that perhaps they’d picked the bugs up on the train ride. 

Not his Lucy Gray though, her hair was clean, her skin had been clean even under the grime of her train journey, and her dress was obviously her best one. The best one of any of the Tributes, actually. The girl from Four was wearing overalls and one of her shoes had a hole in it. 

Lucy Gray had known her name was going to be called, somehow. In her heart, in the song that had made her the talk of the Capitol in the few days since the Reaping, she had known. The mayors of the towns each Reaping visited were rumored to take bribes. Perhaps not so much a rumor in the case of the yellow-bellied creature running the big town in Twelve.

Smells like bedtime, she’d said. Buttermilk and roses—an old Capitol tradition, to show off their wealth after surviving the Old War. His mother used to soak her fingertips in a bowl of the stuff before she and Crassus would go to the opera. She’d called it rosebathing. They had been wealthy then, wealthy enough that they didn’t notice old silly things like that were fading into the past. The Grandma’am had done it too, sometimes, and had poured the milk into her roses. 

Lucy Gray’s comment troubled him though because it meant people in the Districts remembered all these old Capitol traditions—perhaps they even thought that the traditions were still kept up. It wouldn’t do to have Victors return to their little hovels with tales of greasy windows, piles of rubble in the outskirts of the city, and no buttermilk to be wasted on biscuits let alone rosebathing. 

There was power in appearances and the lightest rumor could crack the most sturdy facade. Until the Capitol gained more control, until the rebellion was a more distant dream, they could not afford for their appearances to be caught lacking. 

Chapter Text

Suggestion: 

•  Allow not only Capitol citizens but also Districts to send money to a Council of Gamemakers for the purchase of water, food, weapons, and medicine to living Tributes. These gifts should be delivered to or be made discoverable by Tributes during the Games.

Reasoning: 

• One: The Capitol survived on the barest scraps during the Dark Days, depending on what could be smuggled in by sympathetic industrials. For the Hunger Games to truly honor the war that the Capitol won, the Victor must know how to ally not only within the arena but outside of it. 
• Two: It is human nature to make sacrifices for those we care for and to hope those sacrifices are worth it in the end. 

Outcomes: 

•  One: With some fine tuning, the Games will pay for themselves. A jar of soup or a cannister of water cost nothing in the Capitol, so the proceeds of the mark-up on these items will fund additional staff for the Games as well as improvements to future arena spaces. 
•  Two: Capitol citizens may vicariously enjoy the triumphs of their favorite Tributes.
•  Three: Districts may pool their money to improve the chances of their Tributes, further reducing available cash on hand in the Districts and sabotaging the ability to purchase things such as excess food, small luxuries, or attempts to bribe officials in the Districts. 

Chapter Text

Coriolanus could not forgive the Districts—particularly Twelve—for their part in his father’s death. The three of them here at home had scrimped and saved to send Crassus woolen socks for his birthday the year he’d been killed. The letter he’d sent in reply came to them a month after his death, thanking Grandma’am for her kindness to him. A pressed and dried bachelor button had been enclosed for her, the blue petals bright against the page. The wool socks had disappeared, stolen no doubt by either some District rebel before Crassus’ feet had even cooled or put in a box of odd ends by the stretcher bearers who had brought his corpse back to base. 

He hadn’t wept for his father when they’d heard of his death, but Coriolanus had been inconsolable at the letter Grandma’am had read aloud to them. His sobs had drowned out the spark and crackle of the small fire they had. If only Father had been home, to try on his socks here where they could all see him. What he wouldn’t have given for that opportunity, even if Crassus had then walked out the front door and been blown to bits in front of them. 

There was also a cruelty in one of his Games suggestions, Coriolanus could admit that this time. If the Districts truly wanted their Tributes to win, for the Tributes to have any semblance of a chance, wouldn’t they spend their money to send something? Their poverty would create their silence, their acquiescence to the Games, no matter what weeping drama they put on for the Reaping. No packages, not even a pair of socks to send out to their loved ones. There would be nothing, or nearly nothing, even when there would be a telephone donation line to call. 

It would damn them. 

His Lucy Gray would not get much, not this year, but that would not be an issue for her afterwards. To win the Hunger Games was to be exempt from competing in that arena forever more. Not exempt from the Games, for there were no exemptions in war. No exemptions in the tally of winners and losers. One clawed for victory or one died. And victory came at a cost—every pile of rubble showed the cost, even as the Capitol rebuilt itself into a vision of marble and glass, the cost must always be there in everyone’s mind. 

Chapter Text

January, Y^11 WEDDINGS AND ENGAGEMENTS

Wedding

• Applicants:   Highbottom, Cicero and Snow, Tigris
• Wedding Date and Time:   January 4, 8 AM
• Location:   Registry 2, Academy Boulevard, Capitol General
• Permissors:   Highbottom, Casca; Snow, Coriolanus
• Witnesses:   Dovecote, Clemensia; Highbottom, Aria
• Wellwishers:   Plinth, Sejanus; Baird, Lucy Gray
• Gifts to:   Offices of Dean Casca Highbottom, Capitol Core

Chapter Text

Suggestion: 

•  Change the Arena to something new every year by theme but also on occasion by location. 

Reasoning:

•  We must not bore our audience and we must not allow the Districts to feel they understand us or in any way attempt to prepare their Tributes for the games beyond simple fitness and natural skills. 

Outcomes: 

•  One: Viewers will feel obligated to tune in just for the first day of the games at least to see what the theme is, at which point other suggestions (if enacted) will ensure they stay engaged. 
•  Two: The budget of the games will remain flexible depending on economic factors out of the Gamemakers’ control, meaning smaller or more grand arenas as the budget allows.
•  Three: Allow the Gamemakers to move the Arena from place to place near the Capitol to minimize rebel sabotage or bombings. 

Chapter Text

Later, in the months after the 10th Hunger Games, Coriolanus had time to reflect.

Relaxing, nearly dozing, under a honeysuckle arbor at the house he’d purchased with some of his Plinth Prize money he could admit that the sudden rebel-fueled change to the Arena was the only reason his Lucy Gray survived. The previous nine years it had been the same space, the same weapons, and the same format. Essentially no place to hide except for hoping to get into the tunnels beneath the arena before other Tributes caught up. It was little better than the public executions they held in the Districts. 

His little bird, turning from the runt from Twelve into something hardier, had hidden as he’d begged her to. Saved her energy. Used the spaces the rebels had given her to make her little nests. It had given the Capitol, the Districts too, something to watch as they waited with baited breath on whether the lumberjack boy and the fisher girl would find the songbird—or if they’d turn on each other first. 

Imagine if it was your name that they pulled.

There was of course the fact that the rebels, always waiting for an opportunity to strike when the Capitol broadcasts were live, had been able to plant explosives over months and years. Waiting for their chance to strike, taking it when it would do the most damage. They didn’t care about the Tributes, if they lived or died, but the chance to murder as many as twenty four Academy students? The chance to murder a Snow, a Heavensbee, and a Ravinstill? The chance to murder the son and heir of Strabo Plinth, the man who had made everything happen for the Capitol as his bombs forced the Districts back into line lest they too face the fate of Thirteen? It was too great a prize to pass up.  

But it could not be allowed to happen again and it would not happen again, if Coriolanus had anything to say about it. 

Chapter Text

Suggestion: 

•  Upon being crowned a Victor of the Hunger Games and upon receiving Capitol citizenship, the President should take guardianship or some other lasting bond between the Victor and the Capitol or their chosen representative. 

Reasoning: 

•  The mentor could be held socially responsible for the behaviors and actions of the Victor. By formally binding the Victor to the Capitol, this expectation shall be easier to fulfill for all involved. 

Outcomes: 

•  One: There will be less chance in early years for our citizens to reject the Victor from our society until the country is familiar with the process. 
•  Two: The Victor may not tell tales of being abandoned by the Capitol upon achieving citizenship. 
•  Three: Added prestige for mentors, who will be recognized as cultivating assets of the Capitol.
  

Chapter Text

AUGUST, Y^11 WEDDINGS AND ENGAGEMENTS

Wedding

• Applicants:   Snow, Coriolanus and Baird, Lucy Gray
• Wedding Date and Time:   August 1, 10 AM
• Location:   Registry 5, Capitoline Drive, Capitol General
• Permissors:   President Ravinstill; Snow, Coriolanus
• Witnesses:   Plinth, Sejanus; Highbottom, Tigris
• Wellwishers:   President Ravinstill and all of Panem
• Gifts to:   The Dawn Building, Penthouse, Road of Hope, the Corso, Capitol General

Wedding

• Applicants:   Plinth, Sejanus and Vickers, Lysistrata
• Wedding Date and Time:   August 1, 11 AM
• Location:   Registry 5, Capitoline Drive, Capitol General
• Permissors:   Plinth, Strabo; Vickers, Oleander
• Witnesses:   Snow, Coriolanus, Snow, Lucy Gray
• Wellwishers:   The Vickers Family; the Snow Family 
• Gifts to:   The Dawn Building, Floor 9, Road of Hope, the Corso, Capitol General

Chapter Text

One thing about the Covey, from when she was a girl, was they often had meat during the war. No matter what District they were in, come supper, there was almost always meat. Lucy Gray remembered that, remembered the way her mother would weep over the cookpot some nights. They had to live far out, among the trees in every place, but for all their problems they always had meat between foraged plants like dandelions and nasturtiums and twinberries.

Then her mama had died, just a few years after the end of the war, during a hard winter. The Peacekeepers had stolen all of their food, and Ma had been running after the last of them. It had been sudden. She’d tripped on a root in the snow, right in front of Lucy Gray and her cousins. The fall cracked her head like a melon. 

The grown folk had come to hungry little Lucy Gray, her mama’s only daughter, and asked her if she wanted to honor her mother. She’d said yes, what daughter didn’t? She’d been holding Mama’s hand where it lay purple and cold where she’d fallen. They’d shepherded the children back inside the house as the wind whistled. The next day they had a feast, and the day after that they’d taken Lucy Gray to her mother’s grave, a smallish thing. Almost too small, but they said she was right buried. 

Looking at Coriolanus Snow, who all of these others called Coryo, she understood him. Even as he twisted pieces of himself off, gnawing at the sinew of his soul, she understood him. Someone had gotten to him young, gotten to him while the hunger was awake, and had asked if he wanted to honor his father. 

Standing up beside him in this Capitol chapel, giving the clerk her gleaming Capitol credentials to pick over, she hugged him close. Crassus Xanthos Snow was not his father, not truly. No, something back in the Dark Days was his father and he would answer to it all his life. Just the same as the Covey answered to their elders, even the ones on the wind. 

Outside of the registry office flashbulbs went off in her face, the kind the newsmen here in the Capitol liked to use when they needed good photos, and Lucy Gray Snow smiled like anything. She knew her Coriolanus looked so healthy and full when he had something to be proud of, all puffed up with blood and cream and roses. 

Chapter Text

Memo to Assistant and Apprentice Gamemakers

Date: December 1st, ^Y11

From: Head Gamemaker Snow

Commencing with the finish of the 12th Hunger Games, a Grand Victor’s Tour shall be engaged in. All living Victors shall accompany the Gamemakers on a tour of all 12 Districts, which will be repeated every twelve Games from this point forward. This new direction comes after my meeting today with President Ravinstill. 

• Motor and Transport Pool are to coordinate with the Academy and the Budget Office of the President to secure a media-ready train with appropriate security.
  • Application proposals are due to the Head Gamemaker’s office by January 31st, ^Y12.
  • Ensure open communication with local Peacekeeper commanders, stress that this must be a joyous tour of our nation.
  • Security and publicity are of equal importance.
• Media Pool are to contact the Flickerman Flyover producers to secure appropriate airtime for advertisements as well as Gamemaker interviews.
  • Also secure a prime time interview of myself and Mrs. Snow, who will appear in her function as Victor of the 10th Games.
  • Interviews should be spaced throughout the month of June, advertisements should begin appearing the last week of May.
  • See page 1-3 on addendum for budget allocations.
  • Initial schedule proposals are due February 1st, ^Y12.
  • Final schedule proposals are due March 1st, ^Y12.
• Victor Narrative Pool are to begin preparing for any sudden illnesses legacy Victors may encounter.
  • Present all concerns and back-up plans to Mrs. F. Creed and Mr. P. Harrington Jr. no later than April 30th, ^Y12. 
• Sponsor Pool are to prepare new pricing lists for all gifts projected to weigh more than 10 ounces.
  • Distribute these in the usual channels beginning June 1, ^Y12.
  • Do not provide official numbers to mentors or media until July 1st, ^Y12. 
• Stylist Pool are to source additional hair, makeup, and fashion designers for legacy Victors.
  
  • Mrs. Snow has already secured Tigris Highbottom for her needs this year.
  • See page 4 on addendum for budget allocations
• Leave requests for dates in June, July, and August must be submitted no later than February 28th, ^Y12.
  • No new leave requests will be approved after February 28th, ^Y12.

Reach out to my assistant with any questions.

Regards,

Coriolanus Snow
Head Gamemaker

Chapter Text

They were out walking in a park near home when she asked. Her boy, his curls kissing his ears and crowning his head with gold, had filled out more. Pride and cream, blood and roses, what more could a growing boy ask for? Lucy Gray’s courage welled high, knowing out of anyone in all this forsaken land she could best handle him. She could never cage the monster in him, nor could she hope to train it, but she could keep his eyes on her at least. 

If she could survive the horrible death on legs that Jessup had become she could survive anything that the sugared apocalypse of Coriolanus Snow could dream up. 

“Would you have written all those fine and sweet suggestions to old Dr. V if I’d gone to Arachne Crane?” Dr. Volumnia Gaul’s funeral had only been a year ago, and there was a confidence in her Coriolanus that Lucy Gray loved on him. A understudy had to get over the jitters eventually, after all, and get on the stage to make sure the show went on. 

The horrible show that not even all twelve Districts could hope to stop unless she kept his attention. 

His glance was lasting, reading her like the slim volumes of poetry she chose for him, and Lucy Gray smiled encouragement at him. 

“My Lucy Gray, I believe I would have done much more. You bring out a particular selfishness in me, you see.” 

“What is more, then, my brave savior?” 

And he told her. Playing and preying on his friend Sejanus and his attachment to the Districts—then making an alliance with the Vickers girl and the Harrington boy, having them make deals with the others. All the little favors he’d built up over a decade in school called in, one by one by one. Until his words and plans left only the runt girl from Twelve alive. 

“That’s a balm to the spirit, like butter on cold scorched hands, my Coriolanus.” 

Always Coriolanus, never Coryo. The people who called him Coryo never saw him hungry for the kill. The people who called him Mr. Snow never knew how close to the fangs they came. 

“Would you have sung all those fine and sweet songs if the dearly departed Miss Crane had asked?” he teased. 

Lucy Gray tossed a grin up at him. 

“I imagine I would have been left with a lot to say. With you and your words falling fast and thick as a blizzard, a girl could hardly get a word in edgewise.”

Chapter Text

“Oh my Lucy—I, well, excuse me, I apologize. Now Mrs. Coriolanus Snow, we all knew you as Lucy Gray Baird the few last years.” 

“Lucky, you know me from old bone-picking times, you can call me Lucy Gray as you like.”

They giggled together a moment, the weatherman and the wanderer. Mr. and Mrs. Snow sat side by side, she in a dress of rainbow snakeskin and he in vivid emerald. Across from them sat the host of the 10th, 11th and now 12th Hunger Games, Lucretius “Lucky” Flickerman relaxed, the days of amateur magic long gone.

“Speaking of bones, you’re to see your mother soon I think. This year we are going to get a Grand Victor’s Tour, is that right?”

“Yes, my husband perhaps tipped the scales for me since we’ll end in Twelve, but it’s to benefit everyone. We’ll be taking the Victors of the first eleven Games as well as this year’s Victor across the Districts, to encourage people. You know how it goes: See what—”

“—What happens when you do stuff! Oh I have, I have missed you, my Lucy Gray.”

“You’ll hush that ‘my’ talk now, Lucky, or you’ll call an avalanche on our heads,” She leaned forward, resting a light hand on Lucky’s knee, a nearly innocent glimpse of her cleavage to the cameras as she did. Just as quickly she’d leaned back into her seat again, her husband’s arm slung across her shoulders. 

“Alright, alright, Lucy Gray, I can feel the cold front from here. Would we be able to tempt a song during the Games———”

Mr. Coriolanus Snow smirked as Flickerman rambled on, apparently tuning the man out and bringing his wife’s hand up to feather a kiss at her knuckles. Even on the grainy quality of the tape, the pearls and rubies on her wedding ring gleamed like bone and blood. 

Chapter Text

“Tigris, what do your people do for names?” Lucy Gray asked knowing full well that Coriolanus had the door to his study slightly open and that her man was an eavesdropper. 

“What…you mean…like for nicknames?” Her sweet almost-sister, Tigris reminded her of something between Barb Azure and Maude Ivory. A lone bird, missed from the roost. If Tigris had been born Covey her name might have been Frances Rose, from the old riddle song and of course she was as soft and pink as roses. 

“No, for the new ones,” Lucy Gray clarified, pitching her voice just right, intending to get Coriolanus’ attention, playing up her roots as not being of Capitol-born Quality. Tigris continued to look puzzled so Lucy Gray added with a short embarrassed laugh, “babies, Tigris. What do your people do for names?” The cotton quiet from Coriolanus’ study changed to steel silence—funny the way she could tell when he was holding his breath or not. 

“Oh—oh, Lucy Gray, oh you mean—”

“Hush, he’s not to know yet. But I don’t want surprises when I ask him on names, since I intend on keeping something of home. Break things to him gentle-like, so neither of us are on the backfoot.” 

She already had a few ideas in her mind—Ulysses Vermilion, for a boy, Holly Sapphire for a girl—but the Snows had traditions of their own. A rose for luck and life, bounty and beauty. A compass from father to son, for guidance. Surely they had their own way of giving names. The Everdeens and the others who were kind to the Covey all had their own ways too. 

“Coryo certainly hates being on the backfoot,” Tigris giggled, her voice barely carrying but loud enough that even if Lucy Gray’s questions hadn’t gotten his attention his cousin’s happiness certainly would have. 

“We…well I know that Coryo’s name is from the old play,” Tigris continued, “I can get the book it comes from. I was—well, I was there the night that his father opened it up and picked the name. I know…well, I know you and the Grandma’am don’t get on as well as you’d maybe hoped, but she knows better than I do. I do know that it must come from a play and a history. My mother’s family used an old twelve year calendar they’d saved from before the Old War for their names.” 

Well, what is a play if not a song. Grandfather’s brother was Romeo Gold after all, Lucy Gray mused privately, saying aloud instead: 

“So it won’t disturb the powder to bring a Covey touch, then?” 

“Lucy Gray, I think you could run down the whole Corso in only your socks and he wouldn’t stop you so long as you came back to him.” 

Smiling back at her almost-sister, Lucy Gray was reminded that not only was rose a color but the plant could wound and claw. Coriolanus would perhaps take issue with being Coriolanus Rose, but Rose fit him just as well as it did his cousin. For his own reasons.

“Don’t give me ideas, Tigris,” Lucy Gray laughed out, her voice loud enough to draw Coriolanus out of his study, a light smile touching his mouth as he looked at them curiously, a question of ideas for what? in his charming, smooth, cold voice. Lucy Gray walked to him, slipping an arm around his waist and winding her fingers into his shirt as she tipped up on her toes to peck a kiss at his jaw. 

“Writin’ a new song, my darling love, just writin’ a new song. D’you want to hear some?” 

“Given that you were singing a song I’d never heard the moment I saw you, you can count on me to always want to hear some more.” 

“Good. This one’s about honor, and mamas, and papas.” 

Chapter Text

“Coriolanus, if I don’t—”

“No, sh, we don’t—I don’t want to have you speaking this way, Lucy Gray, I won’t—”

“Coriolanus, Coriolanus—if I don’t live, you promised to give them Capitol names. You make sure everyone forgets me. Let me go out in the snow,” she said through gritted teeth as another contraction wracked her body, “let me be Lucy Gray, never to be found. It’ll hurt you, to see their colors and miss me. It’ll break you, you know it’s true.” 

“Mr. Snow we really must get your wife—”

“Promise me, again, Coriolanus,” she managed, not flinching at the pop of his knuckles from how hard she clutched at his hand. 

“I—”

“Mr. Snow, to treat your wife—”

“You interrupt my husband again you’ll have front row seating come summer,” Lucy Gray growled at the orderly. It brought a trembling smile to her husband’s face, and he kissed her hand before reaching up to cup her sweat-slick cheek, drawing her attention away from the orderly and to himself again.

“I know I promised but you know me. Can’t let go of what’s mine, and what’s mine is a Covey girl from the Districts. So you have to live, or I’ll just have to go mad.” Despite her pain, his Lucy Gray managed to roll her eyes at his antics before turning to kiss the heel of his palm. 

“I’ll do my best, gorgeous, I’ll do my best.” And with that they finally let go of one another, and Coriolanus was left in the empty hospital room while they wheeled Lucy Gray to an operating room. Once she was well out of sight, the sounds of her medical team fading away, he turned to the orderly who had kept interrupting him. 

“You had better hope she lives, Mr…Synthis,” he said, glancing at the name tag on the man’s chest, “because if she does not you’ll wish that she had, and sooner than summer. Do tell the doctor, too.” 

And with that his vigil began, the orderly having blanched and fled the room. 

To occupy himself, Coriolanus went about unpacking the bag they’d brought. A little harmonica he’d pinched from Sejanus on the windowsill, to wheeze out a melody to her and the children once they were all here, a basket of raspberries and honeysuckle from their garden, rosewater spritz for her face, bergamot oil for her hair, jasmine lotion for her hands. Also set out and arranged neatly were their own washcloths, embroidered by Tigris with their initials—LGS&CS—and some swaddling that her Covey relations had sent them. A pillow that Lyssie had given Lucy Gray for her birthday last year. Into the tiny closet went a few changes of clothes that Ma Plinth had had made up for her adoptive daughter. 

Then he folded the bag away, leaving the room perfectly staged for his family to see and arrive in. Gone was the mortifying ordeal of having his beloved see the crumbled penthouse on the Corso, the Plinth Prize money still marked as pending in his accounts as he’d led Lucy Gray into the place the first time. In its place now was all evidence of a well-heeled and better connected Capitol family welcoming their first children. A penthouse in the city center, a sprawling home nestled on an entire acre further out in the foothills, and a pre-war cabin above the treeline in the mountains that surrounded the Capitol. 

“Snow lands on top,” he muttered, the words doing little to center him, before beginning a careful pacing of the room. Not too fast but not aimless. Pup Harrington had said moving around helped with the anxiety when Clemmie had had to have her appendix out last year. Tigris disagreed, having watched her husband pace himself to fits in the hospital she and Cicero taken Dean Highbottom to for an overdose. 

No one came to him with updates, even as two and then three hours crept by. As he paced, imagining he was just walking the Corso like he had as an Academy student, he put away a pang of hunger in his gut. A fifth hour passed into a sixth. No one knocked, no one bustled in. Nothing. He almost regretted his threat to Mr. Synthis, wishing for news now but too proud to poke his head out and ask. 

When he’d waited at the hospital with Sejanus for his little daughter it had been the whole day, with orderlies and doctors hardly leaving Sejanus any time for his own panic between updates on Lyssie. When Festus Creed’s son Gawain had been born by c-section Coriolanus had not even made it to the hospital to wait with his friend by the time the baby was presented, though it had taken Livia some time to recover enough for visitors. 

As the wait ticked into the seventh hour Coriolanus debated badgering the staff for answers but decided against it. Instead he called Tigris and left a message. No one picked up at the Creeds. Ma Plinth called, having deceived the reception staff into thinking she was Mrs. Snow’s mother calling in from Twelve, and her warm voice had soothed him somewhat as she shared what she remembered of how different District clinics were to real Capitol hospitals. She’d ended the call promising to bring some cookies for him and some treats for Lucy Gray. Her hope buoyed him for a few minutes before darker thoughts crept in as he checked the time. 

So he called the Grandma’am, who was staying at the penthouse. 

“Coriolanus, my handsome, beautiful grandson,” her face was more wrinkled than ever, her watery eyes fixed on the visport, staring right into his soul.  

“Hello to you too, Grandma’am,” he said, putting a stern leash on his emotions before asking if she remembered the night his mother died. Her face sobered instantly, the flash of disgust quickly papered over. 

“Your little District girl is going to tear your heart out after all, is she?” It was never quite clear how much Grandma’am remembered from day to day anymore, though her team of carers said she hid things she knew on purpose because of her experiences during the Dark Days. It was apparently fairly common in her generation. Too much war, too much strife. They hid knowledge like his generation hid food. 

“I’m hoping not, at least not yet.” Coriolanus managed to say, keeping his voice even, not crumbling to a whisper. 

“What did my father want to name my sister?” he asked when the Grandma’am stayed silent. His mother and sister were forbidden subjects normally, had always been forbidden. Grandma’am hesitated, glancing away from the visport, seeing back through the years to that bloody night. Finally she ventured in a soft, sad voice:

“Regan, so she would say she loved him best.” 

“That’s one of the tragedies,” he managed, tears starting to sting at his eyes. The Grandma’am pursed her lips in transient sympathy. 

“And tragic it was to lose your mother. The same as it will be tragic to lose your District girl.” 

“I won’t lose her, I can’t lose her, Grandma’am.” 

“And your child?”

The selfish and vile part of him, the one that District people could scent on the wind a mile away, answered: 

“I don’t know them. They’re twins, and I don’t know them. I can’t lose her, Grandma’am, she’s mine.” 

It was true. He had never cared about any Tribute sent to the Hunger Games until he’d seen her, and he had not cared about any since. Lucy Gray did, but he didn’t. He didn’t know them and they didn’t belong to him. She did.

What about when you’re President? When all of Panem is yours? Lucy Gray’s voice was a snake hiss in his ear, her belief in him as powerful as his belief in her. What he wouldn’t give to hear it all his days. Maybe he was already mad, had been driven mad by seeing her that day on the Reaping five years ago. All his hopes and dreams of the future shattered only moments before seeming to rewind and reverse, the crash, the fall, becoming whole again as he watched her sing. She was his future and always would be, alive or dead.

“Mr. Snow?” 

He glanced up at the ceiling, blinking once to rid his eyes of the tears brimming on his lash line, and then turned to face the orderly—someone new this time, a woman named Ms. Allam—who held a chart against her chest like it was a shield. A ringing started in his ears.

“Call me after, Coriolanus,” the Grandma’am said distantly in his ear, the visport in the corner of his eye crowded and darkening as she pressed a kiss to the screen on her end. He mumbled a goodbye before hanging up the receiver. He took one more moment to steel himself for whatever news Ms. Allam had for him. 

“My wife?” 

“Mrs. Snow is recovering well, you did the right thing bringing her in early. Twins are often risky for…” she trailed off, meeting his gaze before her eyes flicked to the wall behind him before focusing on him again, “District-born parents. Childhood malnutrition and underlying factors like a history of hypertension or anemia, even stress, can cause unexpected complications.” Coriolanus decided he liked her a great deal more than he’d liked Mr. Synthis. She didn’t cringe from him or from what she had to say, only chose her words carefully. 

“Tell me.” 

“The medical team believe it could be due to her time in the Hunger Games. She is the first Victor to have children in the Capitol, so they cannot be sure, but that intense period of stress did her heart and nervous system no favors. The doctor says you must be careful with any future children, and that they’d like to keep her here for a few days to ensure she’s close to care for any concerning changes.” 

“Yes, that’s…that’s all…I understand. When—?”

“They should be bringing her back in the next few minutes, both her and the children. The doctor will have more detailed information, too.”

 Coriolanus swallowed thickly, giving as patrician of a nod as he could to the orderly who understood the dismissal for what it was. Fishing his stenopad from his pocket, he jotted down her name. Ms. Allam would need to be added to his personal physician’s cadre, if things went as planned this coming year. If she wants the job, sweetheart, Lucy Gray’s voice reminded him. 

“Hey gorgeous,” Lucy Gray mumbled as they wheeled her back in. They had an oxygen line at her nose, a blood pressure monitor on her finger, an IV of saline attached to her arm, and her face was drawn and pale. Just behind her another orderly, accompanied by Ms. Allam, wheeled in a tented crib with a few monitors and wires snaking into it. 

“Not normally one for hysterics,” she whispered as he came up to her bedside, “didn’t mean to scare you.” Coriolanus gave an affectionate shake of his head as he bent to kiss her lips before pressing another kiss at her hairline, reveling in the scent of her. 

Together they listened to the report their medical team had. She had been able to deliver naturally but had lost a concerning amount of blood, other medical jargon that passed over his head. What did make it through was that his Lucy Gray would need to take it easy, as the risk of hemorrhage was going to be high for the next few days it would be best if she stayed here in the hospital. She would be able to have more children, though any more would be high risk pregnancies given the circumstances of this one. 

“Now, your twins. The elder is a girl, strong vitals, weighing 4 pounds 12 ounces. The younger is a boy, he has a slight bit of jaundice which should clear up in the next few days or weeks. Strong vitals for him as well, also 4 pounds 12 ounces. True twins, in that sense. Have you given any thought to names?” 

Lucy Gray looked up at him, a victorious tilt to her mouth. She’d lived and he would be giving them Covey names—as he’d promised when she’d told him she was expecting. When their doctors had warned of the risks twins historically had even in the Capitol her words had been simple. We live, they’re Covey. Any of us don’t live, they’re Capitol, she’d said. The logic six months ago was that if she’d died in the Hunger Games she would have died Covey, but she’d lived and had to endure being Capitol because of him. 

“Yes, we have,” he said, “for our daughter we’ve settled on Imogen Silver, and our son is to be Vespasian Vermilion.” 

“Those’re whole names,” Lucy Gray added, watching Ms. Allam closely as the woman wrote down the names, “no middle nothing names that’ll be forgotten save in anger.” Coriolanus squeezed his wife’s hand, making no correction to her words. 

MAY BIRTHS, ^Y15

• Mr. and Mrs. Coriolanus Snow are happy to introduce their twins Vespasian Vermilion Snow and Imogen Silver Snow, born May 7th. Both are reported as thriving after a safe and speedy delivery from which their mother is recovering well. Mr. and Mrs. Snow have yet to decide who the children’s cribmates will be, but are thankful for the effusion of tender care their friends and family have offered.