Chapter Text
When Merlin woke up, there was a brief, glorious moment when he forgot where he was. All he knew was that Arthur's arms were around him, and that he felt safe and warm and rested.
Then he opened his eyes, and it all came back to him. His heart sank. They were still in the Hunger Games, and they were dying. Their deaths might be hours away.
He closed his eyes again, curling further into Arthur to allow himself one final moment of peace. The terror would come soon enough, but after four days in the Arena, Merlin was sick of this. Let it wait, he thought stubbornly. It's not like it'll go away, anyway. Arthur stirred at Merlin's movement, and groaned in what was probably meant to be a frustrated way, but which sent shivers up Merlin's spine.
"Seven to go," Arthur grumbled into the back of Merlin's neck as he, too, came back into awareness, and Merlin absently found himself reaching for one of Arthur's hands, running a finger over the back of it slowly, revelling in Arthur's sharp intake of breath at the contact.
Merlin forced himself to stay still as the events of yesterday came back to him slowly, resisting the urge to jump up in a panic and search for Gwen, or turn around in Arthur's arms and inspect the wound he knew would no longer be there.
Gwen is fine. Arthur is fine, he told himself, repeating the words in his mind like a mantra. The minute he opened his eyes, he would be forced to confront the reality of the situation, and the fact that they had no idea how much longer any of them would be fine for.
Except Merlin thought he did have an idea. He felt the inescapable feelings of cold dread set in as he remembered the last note he had received. He had no idea how long they'd been sleeping for, but he had a feeling that morning must be near. The final day, he thought, shivering.
He let his hand still on top of Arthur's and twined their fingers together, relieved when Arthur didn't resist.
"This is nice," Merlin murmured, and Arthur responded by pressing a soft, chaste kiss against his neck. Merlin shivered again, and this time not from fear. Arthur breathed in against his neck, pulling him closer.
He tried to enjoy this quiet, simple moment between them, ignoring the knowledge that when they got up, that would probably be it. No more privacy (or the illusion of privacy, as this was), no more of this.
And Merlin never wanted this moment to end – after all, he had never had this before. Sure, there had been the occasional quick peck and fumble behind the school building with a few of the other boys, but in all of his seventeen years, Merlin had never actually allowed himself to grow this close to someone. Ironic that he should only find it now, with Arthur, after only knowing the other boy for a week and knowing that they would only have a few shaky days together at best.
But at the same time, he couldn't help but feel like whatever this thing was between Arthur and Merlin had been worth waiting for. It felt right, in a way that nothing else in his life ever had before. And he wanted everything with Arthur. As they lay there in silence, Merlin wondered if Arthur had ever... well, no point worrying about that now. As much as Merlin might want to, he knew that they shouldn't. They couldn't.
Even if this might be – no, he corrected himself, definitely will be – their final chance.
As private as this moment felt, they were still on display. Not only for Gwen, who was only a few feet away from them, but for the entire nation of Panem. And the sick thing was that the Capitol wanted them to become animals, to give into their instincts. So, as much as Merlin wanted Arthur, he didn't want it like this.
But still, it pained him to know that for him and Arthur, not like this meant not at all. He would die without ever getting to experience love, and the thought terrified him.
But at the same time, he felt absurdly proud that despite the Capitol's games, despite everything he'd seen in the Hunger Games so far, Merlin hadn't yet forgotten himself. And neither had Arthur, who had made no further movement even though Merlin definitely felt something solid and warm poke into the back of his thigh.
It was a cruel ultimatum which his mind was slowly reaching: that they could give in, let themselves have what they so desperately craved, to lose themselves in touches and sighs and forget, even for a moment, about the pain and death which surrounded them... or they could deprive the Capitol of the sick pleasure of watching their instincts take over, and at the same time deny themselves this one, final human experience.
He sighed deeply, regretfully, already knowing what his choice would be. Arthur shifted behind him, seemingly picking up on the heavy, uncertain silence which had stretched between them.
"I wish things were different," Arthur murmured, so quiet Merlin almost missed it. Then he rolled away, hand slipping out of Merlin's, leaving Merlin's back cold and exposed where Arthur's had been pressed against it.
"Yeah," Merlin whispered, rolling onto his back to face Arthur, who was watching him sombrely. "Me too."
The silence was interrupted when Arthur's stomach growled; the other boy huffed out a laugh and Merlin joined in.
"Maybe we should see if your friend Guinevere has some food stashed in this magical place," Arthur said, raising an eyebrow, and Merlin smirked.
He rose, regretfully letting the blanket slip away, and reached over to give Arthur a hand up.
"How is your wound?" Merlin asked, eyes trailing down to where Arthur's shirt was sticking to his skin, dried blood brown and matted against what had once been white.
Arthur winced as he gingerly peeled the fabric away from his skin, and Merlin braced himself – but aside from more dried blood, there was nothing to be seen where the knife had pierced his skin; not even a scar.
"Wow," Merlin breathed, and before he could think about it he reached out a hand to trail the taut skin of Arthur's stomach, unable to help himself. Arthur shivered under his touch, and Merlin drew his hand away as if burned.
"Yeah, well, I should probably wash up a bit," Arthur said, cheeks red as he looked anywhere but at Merlin.
"Me too," Merlin murmured, glancing down at himself (mostly to cover his own blush) and finding that he was as covered in dried blood – Arthur's blood – as the other boy.
They turned towards Gwen, only to find her slumped on the ground, curled in on herself as she slept.
"Gwen," Merlin called as he approached, and she jumped to her feet like a jack-in-the-box, gun halfway raised and eyes wide before she recognised him. Merlin tried to contain his wince; he'd never imagined he'd have to see his best friend looking so haunted.
"Merlin," she breathed, then looked around quickly. "I fell asleep!"
Merlin chuckled. "Yes, we can see that."
Gwen shook her head, looking worried. "I wasn't supposed to. I was keeping watch."
"You were tired," Merlin said, walking close enough to put a hand on her shoulder. "I get it."
She stared at him anxiously for a few more moments before breaking eye contact, eyes falling on Arthur behind him.
"Guinevere," Arthur said, coming to stand beside Merlin, nodding in greeting. After a moment she returned the nod, a silent understanding seemingly passing between them. Merlin frowned, but before he could comment, Arthur clapped his hand on Merlin's shoulder. "We need to clean up a little, have you got anything we can use?"
"Hmm," she said, glancing down at their clothes and wrinkling her nose. "I suppose that's a good use as any for the rest of my shirt." And to Merlin's surprise she offered Arthur a weak smile, motioning for them to follow her to where she'd put the two backpacks that seemed to hold her supplies.
As they neared the edge, Merlin tried not to glance down and shivered; he hated heights.
"Here," Gwen said, tossing Merlin a bottle of water and taking out a tattered white rag, tearing it in half and handing them both a piece. "Try to use as little water as you can to clean yourselves, I've only got one more bottle left."
She didn't say it, but they all knew what her words implied: that she didn't think they'd be alive long enough to need more than that.
Rather than commenting, Arthur and Merlin merely nodded and moved away to clean themselves off a bit while Gwen dug around in one of the packs for some food.
"Listen, Arthur," Merlin said under his breath, twisting off the cap on the bottle and letting a bit of water soak into the cloth before lifting up his tank top to clean off his skin the best he could, "I know this was the plan, finding Gwen and all, but..."
He trailed off. Arthur had told him, on that first day, that when they found Gwen, he'd be off. But he seemed in no hurry to leave now, and Merlin didn't want to imply that he wanted him to.
Arthur took the bottle from him to wet his own cloth, and started cleaning himself off with a frown on his face. Merlin watched the wet rag move over the skin on Arthur's stomach, slowly returning it to its light golden colour, trailing over the light hairs leading down from his bellybutton. Merlin swallowed, reminding himself to focus.
"Merlin," Arthur said at last, and Merlin's eyes snapped up to his. "I know that we haven't known each other for long, and there's a lot we don't know about each other. But you must know by now that I'm planning to stick by you. After everything, I'd think that much was obvious." His tone was brisk, but Merlin heard the underlying edge of hurt there.
"I understand," Merlin said. "I'm glad."
There was nothing else to say, really, after that. They shared a small smile and continued washing up in silence.
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"So do we have any idea what time it is?" Merlin asked, before taking a bite of his apple. Not that it mattered, technically... except to Merlin, it did matter. He needed to know how much of the day was left. The final day.
Gwen shrugged. "You two slept through the anthem. It's fainter down here, but still. You must have been exhausted. And then... I suppose a few more hours have passed? I'm not sure."
Right. So it was still night. It gave him a small sense of relief, even if it was ultimately futile. The final day would start soon enough.
"Okay," Arthur said abruptly, putting down his own apple in favour of his crossbow, which he turned over in his hands a few times, tightening something, "I think we need to get moving."
Merlin and Gwen looked up from their food, sharing an identical look of puzzlement before turning to Arthur.
"Um, move where?" Merlin asked.
Arthur gave him an incredulous look. "What do you mean where? This isn't a holiday, Merlin. We're in the Hunger Games, and there are four other tributes out there who are probably out for our blood."
"But... isn't that just all the more reason to stay here?" Merlin asked, frowning. "It's worked for Gwen so far, hasn't it?" He looked to Gwen for affirmation but she just shrugged, looking down at her hands.
Arthur gave him a long, measuring look. "Sure, hiding away has worked for Guinevere so far, but why do you think that is? The Gamemakers were obviously counting on you finding her. But now that you have? They expect action again, and if we don't give them some you can be sure they'll find a way to force it on us. And I for one would rather not find out what kind of games they have in store."
Merlin winced. He couldn't help but feel horribly guilty as he realised that Arthur was right: while it had just been Gwen here alone, when more tributes had been alive, the Gamemakers probably hadn't seen the need to force her into action – especially when the viewers got to watch Arthur and Merlin struggle to reach her while she waited for them. But now that they'd found each other, that storyline was resolved, as it were. And it was time for the final act to begin.
Even though he knew it wasn't really that simple, he still couldn't help but feel like he and Arthur being here was endangering Gwen more than if they'd stayed away. But it was too late to go back now – they had to go out there and face the music, before the Gamemakers got bored of waiting for them to make a move.
"Right," he said, rising from his seat on the ground and dusting off his trousers. "No use delaying this any longer than we have to, then."
And in some ways it was easier to move around, he thought, as he, Arthur and Gwen began to get ready. Whatever horrors they'd face out there, sitting around waiting for death would be much worse.
At least that's what he'd keep telling himself, until he started to believe it was true.
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In the end, they took very few provisions with them. They were all down to their tank tops now, and did not need a lot of weapons weighing them down. They all carried knives, while Arthur took the crossbow and Gwen took the gun. Merlin had an extra knife strapped to his arm, which he knew he could throw if he had to and still have one to spare.
We must look like Career tributes, he mused as they moved towards the staircase. But after four days in the Arena, he almost found himself a little despondent about that fact; at least, unlike the typical Career tribute, he knew that he wasn't just out to protect himself.
"Merlin," Arthur murmured, a hand on his arm, holding him back as Gwen began to make her way up the stairs ahead of them.
Merlin paused, looking round at Arthur curiously, and his breath hitched at the intense look he found on the other boy's face.
Before he could react, Arthur pushed him against the cave wall, temporarily hiding them from Gwen's view, and surged in, claiming Merlin's lips in a quick, desperate kiss. Merlin gasped into Arthur's mouth, and Arthur took advantage of his lips parting to thrust his tongue inside, licking his way into Merlin's mouth. Merlin moaned, brain finally catching up to what was happening, and he grabbed Arthur's head to pull him closer, angling his head to slide his own tongue wetly against Arthur's own.
When Arthur pulled away only seconds later, his lips were red and puffy, his breathing was ragged and his eyes were dark, and Merlin knew he probably didn't look much better.
"Right," Arthur murmured, leaning his forehead against Merlin's, his entire body sagging against him, trapping him against the wall. "Just in case."
Merlin could only nod, dipping in to place one last light kiss against Arthur's lips before reaching for the other boy's hand, squeezing before gently pushing Arthur away. Just in case we don't get another chance. Just in case we don't get to say goodbye.
When they turned the corner to start their ascent of the staircase, Gwen stood waiting for them, raising an eyebrow at Merlin but saying nothing. Merlin felt his cheeks flush, but couldn't help the small smile on his face. She rolled her eyes. He figured that was as good as it got and bumped his shoulder with Arthur's before regretfully letting go of his hand.
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They were back in the castle maze. But it was different this time: they were no longer edging along in the shadows, hoping to stay unnoticed. Four tributes remained aside from themselves, and they could be anywhere – and Merlin knew without having to ask that both Gwen and Arthur shared his desire to just see this end. One way or another. They were tired of waiting, and of being afraid.
So they moved with intent, weapons raised and ready, battle-worn and weary. Careers after all, Merlin thought, and squared his shoulders.
Arthur was the first to notice the noise. He stopped, holding up his hand, and Gwen and Merlin froze on the spot, staying completely still as they listened.
A girl was sobbing.
Arthur glanced round to catch Merlin's eye, and he thought he probably knew what Arthur was thinking: this was going to be harder than they thought.
They could play at being Careers all they wanted, but Merlin had been in the Arena with Arthur long enough to know that for all his training and cockiness, he wasn't as willing to kill innocent tributes as he pretended to be. One thing was fighting fellow Careers, and acting in self-defence... but Merlin hadn't forgotten the look on Arthur's face the day before, when he'd had to put an arrow through Kara's neck to save Merlin's life.
Merlin opened his mouth, trying to find a way to ask if maybe they should just head the other way – or maybe just to make enough noise so that whoever was crying would hear them and have a head start – when to his astonishment, it was Guinevere who moved forward, stepping in between them with a blank expression on her face and wrenching open the door to the next room, where the noise was coming from.
She slipped through the door and Merlin heard a gasp, and then silence as the sobbing stopped. He and Arthur hurried to follow Gwen inside the room, and froze at the scene before them: Gwen had raised her gun, pointing it straight at the female District 5 tribute Mithian, who was propped up against the far wall, staring at Gwen with wide, unblinking eyes.
She must have beat Vivian, Merlin realised, and for a moment he felt a surge of relief – until he took in the state the other girl had been left in.
Mithian looked terrible. Her dark hair, which had been sleek and freshly brushed the last time Merlin and Arthur had seen her, was unruly and sticky with what was probably blood. Merlin's eyes traced her slumped, dirty form and he quickly realised why she must have been crying: her left leg was in tatters, deep gashes oozing thick blood. And they were clearly infected, crusting and filling the room with a truly nauseating smell. He wondered how long the wound had been festering, and felt even more sick at the thought of Mithian limping around like this for what could have been days.
"Gwen," Mithian breathed, sounding as broken and she looked, and Merlin started at the tone of her voice. It was recognition. That was when he registered the look on her face: it was not one of fear, but one of resignation. "I hoped it would be you."
Merlin turned to Gwen, the question on his lips, but the look on her face made him snap his mouth shut, chilled to the bone at what he saw. There was so much pain there, and an anger he had never known she was capable of.
Gwen was quiet for a long time, and it seemed like time had stopped. When she finally spoke, it was only two words: "Me too."
And then she pulled the trigger.
BOOM!
Merlin never took his eyes off Gwen as she fired, and if he had, he'd have missed the minute twitch of her mouth, the tiny shuddering breath before she lowered the gun and squared her shoulders, cold and shuttered look replacing the flash of brokenness he had just seen.
"Gwen..." Merlin whispered, not able to believe what had just happened. Not able to comprehend what his friend had just done. Mithian had been hurt, and defenceless, and Gwen had... Gwen had just...
"You did her a kindness," Arthur mumbled, and Merlin started at his voice. So did Gwen, and he noticed that she was shaking. Under any other circumstances he wouldn't hesitate to pull her into his arms but now... "she would have died anyway," Arthur continued, voice impossibly steady and calm. "She was probably in a lot of pain."
Merlin wasn't sure whether Arthur was trying to convince Gwen or himself.
"Yeah," Gwen whispered, eyes still trained on what must be Mithian's body, "but that's not why I did it."
Merlin still couldn't bring himself to look over at Mithian – he didn't want it to be real, he didn't want to see the girl whom Gwen had just killed.
"Gwen," Arthur said, and Merlin was glad that he was able to speak, that his tone was so comforting, while Merlin could only stand by uselessly as his world broke apart. "This wasn't the first time you met this girl in the Arena, was it?"
Mithian, Merlin wanted to shout, her name was Mithian. But maybe Arthur had it right, not using her name. Gwen was clearly broken, and he doubted that more guilt would fix it. He ignored the small voice inside his head that asked if he even wanted to fix it.
She's still Gwen, he told it. She'll always be Gwen. Yet another thing he would keep repeating until he began to believe it.
After another long moment, Gwen took a deep breath, closing her eyes before turning to Arthur, looking so broken and yet so strong. "No, it wasn't."
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FOUR DAYS AGO:
She opened her eyes, instantly alert as she took in her surroundings.
Guinevere had tried not to have any preconceptions about what she might find in the Arena, trying to make sure she wouldn't be caught off guard by what she did find – but this?This was like no Arena they had ever seen, and for a few terrifying seconds she found herself frozen in place, not even registering the sound of the metallic female voice counting them down.
...Seven, six, five...
Think, Gwen, she scolded herself, shaking her head. What had her father told her? Whatever you do, he'd said, blinking back the tears in his eyes, do not forget to think, Guinevere.
...four, three, two...
She forced her mind into complete awareness. You are outside, she told herself, ignoring the countdown for a few, precious seconds. You are alone. That was important. It would give her more time. Merlin. You must find Merlin. This unexpected scenery changed nothing; she knew what to do.
...one...
She was ready.
As the cannon sounded she launched herself off the platform, landing on the grass and stopping, holding her breath, taking in the massive stone structure before her and trying to listen over the sound of her heart pounding wildly in her chest.
There was nothing.
Why was there nothing? Where was everyone else?
The rush for the Cournucopia was a staple of the Games, everyone knew that. That initial blood bath was meant to get viewers' hearts pumping, satiate them ahead of the slower, more psychological game ahead.
But this was different.
A noise made her start, it was almost like a snarl; twisting around she saw a figure hurtling themselves towards her – it was someone female, blonde, and she only had a brief second in which to identify her as Morgause, one of the District 3 tributes, before her brain caught up with her.
Run! it screamed at her, and so she did.
Morgause was in hot pursuit, and it was all the reminder Gwen needed that no matter that they were all human beings, no matter that only hours before they had sat placidly side-by-side on the hovercraft which had taken them to the Arena, from here on out they had left civilization behind. Like in all other previous Games, they were now savages: the hunters and the hunted.
And right now, Gwen was the hunted. Lucky for her, she was also fast. As she raced past the boulders she glanced out towards the nearest drawbridge – surely the most sensible action would be to escape that way? But no, there was nothing out there. Nothing but empty ground, nowhere to hide.
That left her only one option: the castle. Running into an enclosed space went against all of her natural impulses, but she didn't have time to think – Morgause was still after her, and she looked absolutely murderous, probably more than ready to start the bloodshed, and if Gwen hadn't been so terrified she would have been disgusted by the unabashed glee she saw in the other girl's eyes. Morgause had been looking forward to this, she realised.
Maybe some of them really were nothing but animals.
Gwen reached the large wooden door and had a moment of blind panic as she realised it might be locked – but it wasn't, Thank god, and she wrenched it open, ignoring the sound of Morgause's footsteps right behind her, storming inside and slamming it shut – but no, no, it wasn't enough, Morgause would get through in a moment, she had to keep moving-
Another door opened down the hall and Gwen started darting to the right but it was too late, the pillars were too far away, and now she stood frozen, facing another blonde girl, this one with wild hair and wide eyes – District 6, she thought, what is her name? It doesn't matter, just go! - but where? She couldn't go back, she couldn't go forward.
The door behind her rattled, and Gwen jumped; the other girl had stopped too, seemingly paralysed with fear like Gwen herself, but now Morgause was making her way inside and there was nothing for it.
Gwen sped forwards, towards the doors, and to her surprise, the other girl made no move towards her, eyes fixed on Morgause, who was in hot pursuit.
In a split second, the look in the other girl's eyes shifted. "Over here!" she called, gesturing at Gwen, and Gwen faltered. There were other doors – but this girl, she didn't look like Morgause, the look in her eyes was more earnest, she was clearly scared...
No. In the Arena, no one was earnest. No one was anything but a cold-hearted killer. Gwen darted left, sprinting towards another door, not stopping to see if Morgause was following her or if she was pursuing the other girl.
A scream came from behind her and she gasped, but didn't stop, just kept going, going, through another door, up a staircase, she kept going, through a strange, oblong room with giant windows on either side, but she didn't stop to think, only kept going. And luckily saw no one else, finally stopping in a room with no other doors... as safe as she was going to get.
She took deep, steadying breath, wheezing, hands on her thighs as she desperately tried to gather herself. She didn't have time to stop, not now, not ever.
BOOM!
Gwen jumped, ready to take flight despite her pounding heart. But it was quiet. Relax, she reminded herself, this is a big castle. They aren't coming for you.
But that was a lie. Of course they would be coming for her. But the only thing she could do right now was calm down, get her breathing under control, get her pounding heart to slow down, make her ears stop ringing. And then she needed to get the hell out of this room, where she might be safer than anywhere else, but which didn't have a means of escape if someone did find her here.
Even with all the training, and the sleepless nights over the past weeks trying to imagine every horror possible, there was no way she could have been prepared for this. And this place was much, much worse than any forest or mountain could ever have been – because there was no running through solid stone. This must be the Gamemakers' intention, Gwen realised. Orchestrating confrontations, and making sure no one could escape them.
She wondered where Merlin had been let out, and whom he'd had to face. She desperately hoped that they would be too scared to fight him, like that girl downstairs had been. Elena, yes, that was her name.
Gwen allowed herself to close her eyes, just for a moment, as she leaned her head back against the wall next to the door. She'd be able to hear anyone coming. And then...
What? She would fight them with her bare hands? She knew that this might happen, had even tried to convince herself that she could do it – but now that she was actually standing here, knowing that such a confrontation could come at any moment, she faltered. Could she really do it? If it was someone weaker, someone against whom she actually stood a chance, perhaps one of the young tributes... could she really make herself kill them? She shuddered, and wanted to cry.
But she didn't. Not only because it was counterproductive, but because she knew that it wasn't only the Gamemakers who were watching her. It was her father, and Lancelot. The two people other than Merlin whom she loved more than anything else in the world, and who she would not let down. Not now, when all she had left to give them was her courage, and her dignity.
She would not let them see her fall apart, because it would destroy them.
One more deep breath, that was all she would allow herself. That was it, and then she'd have to leave this room and face whatever was on the other side. Merlin is out there, she thought. Of course, she'd heard a cannon... but that couldn't have been Merlin. It couldn't have been. She shook her head. One deep breath.
She inhaled, letting all of her panic on for one sliver of a second – she was going to die, Merlin was going to die, might already be gone, Morgause was still out there for not to mention all the other Careers, and Gwen herself might have to kill someone today – and then she exhaled, as slowly and completely as she could.
And to her surprise, by the time she heaved in another breath, she found that some of her panic had actually gone.
She didn't stop to think, but opened the door and stepped back out to where she had come. And gasped. Because the room she had sped through so quickly before wasn't as empty as she'd originally thought: over by the far wall, close to the staircase which she had hurtled up, was a giant stack of crates.
The Cournucopia, she thought, stunned. This couldn't be right – she couldn't possibly be this lucky.
Gwen took a hesitant step forwards, but nothing happened. Surely this was a trap? Surely the Gamemakers were just waiting for her to let her guard down, to...
A door slammed behind her, and Gwen jumped, but there was no one. It must have been somewhere else on this floor.
She couldn't stay here. As much as she wanted to keep all of this, she needed to go. But not before picking a weapon.
Gwen moved quickly now, because what was the point of caution? She reached the row of weapons and glanced at the handful of guns scattered around – and shuddered. No, she couldn't do it. She wasn't this person. If Gwen knew one thing for certain, it was that she was never going to pick up a gun and start shooting at children.
Resolutely, she left the guns behind and moved towards the other weapons. She selected a long knife in a sheath, clicking it onto her belt before turning to the crossbows.
She'd just picked up one, testing the weight in her hand and loading it up to get the feel of it, when a soft gasp behind her made her freeze. Gwen whipped around, letting instinct take over, raising her weapon to point it at-
Elena. It was that same girl again, same wide eyes, same terrified expression. She froze in place, and Gwen did, too. This was the moment when she decided what kind of tribute she would be.
She could do it, right now. The twenty-two competitors she had left to face could become twenty-one. It would be easy – Gwen had good aim. It would be too easy.
Gwen lowered the crossbow fractionally. I'm sorry, Lancelot. I can't.
Elena's relief was palpable, and her stance relaxed. She gave Gwen a tiny, hesitant smile.
Maybe she didn't have to do this alone, after all.
THREE DAYS AGO:
It had been a mistake leaving the Cournucopia behind, Gwen could feel it. But they didn't have a choice.
Elena was right; it was only a matter of time before it would be a hotspot of activity, and they'd already had two near misses when, luckily, the footsteps that had made them freeze in place had faltered and diverted, clearly lured by another door leading them further into the castle, away from the one place everyone was undoubtedly trying to get to.
So, grudgingly, Gwen had agreed to leave. There was something about Elena which made Gwen feel a lot safer than she would have felt had she been alone; somehow the knowledge that the other girl was just as desperate to go home as herself was reassuring rather than worrying.
On that first night, Elena had told her the story behind her token, which was a red scarf which she'd tied neatly around her neck: her little brother had given that to her for her last birthday, and she hadn't had the heart to leave it behind after her name was called at the Reaping ceremony.
"A little piece of home, to remind me what I'm fighting for," Elena had said wistfully. And that's when Gwen realised that she didn't have to fear someone like that, because like herself, Elena wasn't out to play any games. She just wanted to go home, and Gwen could understand that. And while there were so many tributes remaining, there was undoubtedly strength in numbers, so sticking together only made sense.
And even if they didn't have the Cournucopia at their disposal anymore, they had weapons now, at least. Elena had taken a gun, while Gwen had stuck with a crossbow, somehow feeling like that made her less like a killer (even if they both knew that wasn't a claim any tribute could make for long if they wanted to survive this – but they tried not to talk about that). They also both had several knives, and had packed a pair of rucksacks with food and water, as well as some medical supplies.
But now they were just like everyone else; lost in this maze of a castle, with no idea where to go or what to do.
That was when they heard the scream. Gwen opened her mouth to remind Elena that they should be getting the hell out of the way of whatever was happening, but Elena's eyes had widened.
"Mithian," she whispered.
Gwen's heart sank. Elena and Mithian had gotten to know each other really well before the Games began, and had even talked about making an alliance – although Mithian also wanted to ally herself with the Pendragons, which hadn't sat well with Elena.
None of that mattered now, of course, seeing as the Gamemakers had clearly designed this Arena to facilitate unlikely run-ins and alliances, and Elena had now allied herself with Gwen.
But it looked like some of the loyalty still carried through, because Elena started resolutely walking towards the noise, not away from it, and Gwen had no choice but to follow.
They moved through two empty rooms before they saw it: Gwen felt herself freeze as she recognised the terrifying shape of one of the Capitol's muttations. It looked like a lion, except it was much too large, and was bare as a sphinx cat, its sickly pale pink skin stretched tight over its bones.
It was standing on its hind legs, long razor-sharp claws poised to strike at the terrified, dark-haired girl crouched on the ground, defenceless without a weapon.
At Gwen and Elena's arrival, the mutt swung its head around, and let out a threatening snarl. But then it turned back to the girl, who whimpered and cowered, covered in blood (though Gwen didn't see any injuries, and suspected it might not be her own).
"Mithian," Elena breathed, voice shaking.
"Elena!" the other girl cried, sobbing, "Elena, help me!"
"Elena, no," Gwen said, reaching out and putting a hand on her arm. She tried to pull her backwards, but Elena didn't budge, staring at Mithian with wide eyes. "Elena, come on, we can't risk it!"
Even as she said the words, she felt terrible. Every fibre of her being was screaming at her to move forward, to help this poor, defenceless girl – but they couldn't, they shouldn't, this went against everything they had been told about the Arena.
One thing was letting someone live. It was quite another to help them survive, in a game where they were all fated to die.
"Elena, come on, let's just go," she urged again, tugging on Elena's sleeve. The creature was lashing out at Mithian now, one of its claws catching in her trousers and leaving behind bloody gashes. Mithian screamed, and the sound cut straight through Gwen's bones. She wanted to help, of course she wanted to help, but this was a fight to the death. She was caught by the door, in a terrible indecision which shamed her even as she held on to Elena's sleeve, trying to pull her back to safety.
"Elena, please!" Mithian cried, tears streaming down her face as she scrambled further backwards, holding her leg.
Elena looked between Mithian and Gwen, eyes wide. "She's my friend," Elena whispered. "I can't leave her to die like this."
You've only known her for a week! Gwen wanted to shout, but she couldn't; she found herself terrified as Elena shook her head, her decision made. She tore herself free of Gwen's grasp, passing her the gun.
"Cover me," Elena said, closing both her hands around Gwen's over the gun for a moment, nodding, before rushing forwards; before Gwen had a chance to even react.
She wanted to scream. She wanted to cry out. But she was frozen by the door, crippled by her panic and fear as Elena, brave, sweet Elena, hurtled herself forward to save her friend.
The monster heard her approach, and spun around, snarling as Elena darted around to stand protectively in front of Mithian, shielding with her body and allowing the other girl to pull herself to her feet before facing the beast again, only armed with a small knife.
It happened so quickly, Gwen almost missed it: Mithian's eyes widened as she saw the mutt bear down on them again, and with a desperate cry she reached out and pushed Elena forwards, making the other girl lose her balance as she tumbled right into the path of the monster.
Elena's scream was paralyzing, excruciating, but Gwen couldn't look away; not as Mithian stormed out of the room sobbing and holding her leg, not as the beast sank its pointed teeth into Elena's throat, not as Elena's wild, desperate eyes found Gwen's – but even as Gwen's body caught up with her mind and she made a desperate surge forwards, raising the gun and fumbling with the safety neither of them had thought to click off, she knew it was too late.
BOOM!
Gwen's vision was blurred by tears even as she fired at the beast – Bang! Bang! Bang! - and as it crumbled to the floor beside the broken and bloody body of the girl who had once been Elena Mills, the bravest girl in the Hunger Games.
"Elena," she whispered brokenly, kneeling down to lightly touch the girl's forehead, shaking as she carefully moved her hand over Elena's eyelids, closing them as gently as she could.
Gwen's hands traced the outline of Elena's red scarf, still tied neatly around her neck. Looking up, she let her eyes sweep the room, blinking back her tears, hoping a camera caught her words.
"Thank you, District 6," she murmured. "For your sacrifice. It will not be forgotten."
She undid the knot of the scarf. Even if the Capitol would be removing Elena's body, Gwen would make sure that one small part of her got to stay in the Games, and that everyone watching were forced to remember her. At least for as long as Gwen herself survived. It was the least she could do for Elena now, the person she had failed to save.
BOOM!
Gwen started, heart hammering in her chest. Someone else had just died, but who? Her eyes flickered to the door Mithian had run through. I want it to be you, she thought, her grief turning to a deep bitterness she couldn't shake.
Mithian had betrayed her friend. However scared she had been, Mithian had let someone else pay for her own life – and even though those were the rules of the Games, Gwen still couldn't believe that anyone would be able to betray someone like Elena, someone who had stepped in to try and save their life.
BOOM!
She sprang to her feet, looking around wildly, heart hammering. Something big was happening right now, and whatever it was, she needed to get the hell away from here.
She ran.
TWO DAYS AGO:
It was strange, Gwen mused, how a beam of light had managed to illuminate the secret passage leading her to the cave when she could have sworn it wasn't there the last time she'd gone through the entrance hall.
But it had led her to this place, this glorious safe haven when she got to sit down, close her eyes, and let the events of the past three days process in her mind.
She still hadn't found Merlin. She had no idea if he was even still alive anymore – and a small part of her wondered if maybe it wouldn't be best if he'd died quickly. We're all going to die anyway, she thought hopelessly. At least if he was gone, she could worry about herself, and wouldn't have to suffer the pain of watching him die.
Or maybe he'll watch you die, her brain supplied, feeling sick with herself. She had not cried since Elena had died. She hadn't even let herself think about it, not really, but now it all came back to her: how Elena had trusted her with the gun, how she hadn't even thought to use it on the mutt herself, rushing forward to save someone else.
How Gwen hadn't thought to do it either, standing by uselessly while Elena got killed right in front of her.
It was my fault, she thought, feeling hollow. I could have helped her. I could have killed the mutt. I could have killed Mithian.
Gwen couldn't get Mithian's face out of her mind, remembering the way her fear had shifted into something truly terrible as she'd pushed Elena to her death. It had been panic, yes, but it had also been triumph: Mithian had gotten one step closer to victory, and she knew it.
If she was completely honest with herself, Gwen didn't have high hopes for her own survival. From the moment her name had been called at the Reaping ceremony, a part of her had known that her chances of beating out all the other contestants were slim to none.
But if she were to die, she decided, it wouldn't be while cowering in a corner, too scared to even defend herself. She had failed to fight when it counted, and Elena had paid the price, but never again. The next time, Gwen would face her enemies, and even her death, like Elena had: charging into battle, brave and strong and believing that she was fighting for something bigger than herself.
Ultimately, Elena's downfall had been that she trusted someone, that she believed that this trust would still be reciprocated in the Arena. She had sacrificed herself for someone who had spat in her face, and who had not been worthy.
Even if Gwen didn't win this thing, she was going to make damn sure that Mithian didn't, either. That was what she was fighting for now. That, and Merlin. If he was still there to fight for.
She looked up, wondering how many cameras were trained on her right now. Probably none, she thought, considering that she was sitting alone, doing nothing interesting. But still, she couldn't help but hope that maybe they'd cut to her, and that back in District 11, Lancelot would be watching.
She missed him so terribly, she once again had to fight down the sobs she knew would wrack through her body if she let herself give in. But she took a deep, steadying breath, because if Lancelot was watching, she didn't want him to see her cry.
"I love you," he had told her, kissing her through both of their tears as they'd desperately said their goodbyes right after she had been Reaped, before being taken away for what they both knew would probably be forever. "Do whatever it takes to win, Gwen," he had told her honestly, pushing up her chin to look into her eyes, making her see that he was serious. "I just want you to come home."
But she hadn't been able to promise him that. She could only assure him that she loved him too, before grabbing his shoulders and pulling him to her fiercely, desperately needing to feel his warmth and strength, needing to be able to remember it for as long as she still drew breath.
As the Peacekeepers had come in to take him away, Lancelot had surged forwards, kissing her one final time and grabbing her hand, forcing something small and cold into it.
"I bought this weeks ago," he whispered against her lips. "No matter what, I want you to have it. To know that I always have been and always will be yours. I love you."
It wasn't until he had been physically dragged from the room and the door had closed, leaving her in solitude that she opened her hand and found the thin, silver band inside. Her free hand came to cover her mouth as she sobbed in earnest, tears streaming down and dripping down onto what should have been her wedding ring.
And as she sat in the cave, she reached into her pocket and pulled it out, tracing the edge with her finger and resisting the urge to put it on. She had been so relieved when she'd been allowed to take it with her into the Arena, but she would not wear it. She knew what it meant: it was a promise from Lancelot that no matter what happened, he would never love another.
"But you must," she whispered, as if he could hear her. "No one should go through life alone."
She was going to try for him. She was not going to be weak, or scared. But she needed to believe that Lancelot would still be proud of her even if that wasn't enough.
YESTERDAY:
Gwen shuddered, resisting the urge to wrap her arms around herself to stave off the goosebumps on her uncovered arms. She missed her shirt, which had been lost to her what felt like years ago. Along with a lot of other things.
She was so tired. But she knew that Merlin and Arthur deserved the rest more than her – plus, she didn't know if she'd even be able to let herself sleep, knowing that Merlin had brought a Career to the place that was meant to be her safe haven.
A faint rustling sound came from behind her, and she startled out of her reverie, jumping to her feet and spinning around, weapon halfway raised until she remembered where she was and who was with her.
But to Gwen's surprise it was not Merlin who walked towards her now, but Arthur. The Career tribute Merlin had somehow found and picked up along the way, and who, for unfathomable reasons, hadn't fed Merlin to the wolves the first chance he got. Gwen knew how the game was played, she knew that was what people did. This boy puzzled her, but she wouldn't let that show. Uncertainty was just another weakness they could exploit.
"You can keep the gun raised, it that helps," Arthur said quietly, holding out his hands in front of him to show that he didn't carry any weapons. Gwen's eyes darted to the place where Merlin lay, and for one panicked moment she thought she might find him hurt, or worse – but he was lying as still and peaceful as he ever slept, and there had been no cannon sounds for hours. He was fine.
She refused to let the relief show on her face, however, and did not click the safety back on the gun even as she reluctantly took a seat, gesturing for Arthur to join her on the ground. He did, sitting down across from her and wincing a little as he bent over, clearly not completely healed yet. Good, Gwen thought. She might need the advantage.
"Do you need some rest?" Arthur asked after a moment's uncomfortable silence. "You can go lie down by Merlin, he's out like a light. I'm feeling much better," he added with a wry smile, but his eyes betrayed him. He looked exhausted.
"No," Gwen said, shaking her head. "I'm not tired." It was as much of a lie as the one Arthur had told, but he couldn't exactly call her out on it.
Arthur grimaced as though reading her mind, but said nothing. For a moment they let the silence stretch between them, eyeing each other warily.
He was the first to break the contact, eyes sweeping over the cavern before landing on her stash of food. "Where'd you get all this?"
Gwen shrugged. "I found the Cournucopia."
Arthur's eyes narrowed. "And you never encountered anyone else there?"
"No, it was just me."
He opened his mouth as if to say something else, but then closed it. Gwen suspected that he didn't believe her, but it hardly mattered. No matter what Merlin meant to either of them, they would never be able to trust each other.
"I know that this can't be easy," Arthur allowed, scratching his neck self-consciously, seeming oddly at ease even as Gwen still had a weapon trained on him. "And I know that this doesn't change anything, but I wanted to say thank you. For doing what you did." His eyes met hers, and Gwen was slightly taken aback by the sincerity she found there. Although for all she knew, that was just another trick.
"I didn't do it for you," she said honestly, once again glancing over at where Merlin was sleeping.
"I know," Arthur replied, and a small smile tugged on his lips. She refused to see it as fond, even though that was what it looked like. It was probably a trick.
"I can't say that I don't want to win," Gwen said after a moment, not sure why she was even telling him this at all, but finding it oddly comforting to speak these words to a stranger, "but I don't want him to die, either. I won't let that happen." She tried to make her words sound like a threat, but there was a slight waver in her voice, and she cursed herself for still being so emotional. Emotions were a weakness, too.
Arthur stayed quiet for a moment, eyes searching hers. "Well, Guinevere, I suppose that means we have something in common, after all."
She didn't want to trust him him. All of her experiences in the Hunger Games had taught her not to believe anything that people said, that desperation would cause even the purest of souls to do the most despicable things. After all, she'd had a friend in the Arena too, even if she'd never admit that to anyone. And she'd watched that friend be betrayed by someone she considered a friend. The last thing she wanted was to see Merlin suffer the same fate.
And yet, looking into Arthur Pendragon's eyes, she couldn't help herself. She didn't trust him, but she believed him. He wanted Merlin safe.
She nodded. "Good. We can work with that."
NOW:
Gwen took in a deep, shuddering breath, seeing nothing even as she knew she was staring at Mithian's body. Mithian was dead.
I killed her. Gwen's vision was full of black spots, her ears were ringing, and she felt like she was teetering on the edge of something which felt dangerously like a bottomless abyss which she knew there was no getting back from. If she fell, she would be gone.
She heard her name. Gwen. It was Merlin's voice who had spoken the word – because how could it be anything but just a word now, now that she wasn't Gwen anymore? She wasn't the girl who had held her brother's hand as he walked her to school. She wasn't the girl who had blushed when Lancelot had brought her a handful of flowers carefully picked through the fence. She wasn't the girl who had laughed with Merlin and Will, who had made a game out of packing sacks of grain.
She was a killer.
The knowledge left her cold and empty, devoid of emotion, even as she thought she might be drowning in it.
I did it, Lancelot, she thought, the words hollow even in her own mind. Was this what you wanted? No. She didn't think so.
I just want you to come home, he had told her. But it wouldn't be her, not anymore. Even if by some miracle she did get to go home at the end of all this, would they even recognise her there? Would she even recognise herself?
"...did her a kindness." Gwen started at the new voice. It wasn't one she recognised, yet it felt soothing to her. She waited, feeling like she was breaking apart, suddenly wishing for more. "She would have died anyway. She was probably in a lot of pain."
Yes, she wanted to say, yes, she was dying. I just made it faster. That's all I did.
But that would be a lie. Gwen had wanted Mithian to die. She had wanted to know that this girl who caused Elena's death to save her own skin wouldn't get to go home, wouldn't get to outlive all of these people who deserved it so much more than she did.
What hurt the most was the fact that now, Gwen knew that she didn't deserve it either. She was no better than Mithian now, was she?
"Yeah," she whispered, taking a deep breath. She knew she owed them an explanation – even though she wasn't sure it would help. But she had to try. She couldn't stand the look in Merlin's eyes, and selfishly, she didn't want to die before he at least understood why she'd done what she did. "That's not why I did it."
I did it because she killed my friend.
I did it because I should have killed the mutt, but was too much of a coward to save Elena from them both.
I did it because if I hadn't, she would have found a way to do the same to you.
But she wasn't sure any of those reasons would ever be good enough.