CHAPTER TWENTY ONE;
icarus the brave

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     Vesper cannot say she knows the mind of a Gamemaker — she hopes she never does. But still, she has to wonder what is going through their heads right now. What is taking them so long to instigate any sort of action between tributes?

     Since narrowly escaping the insatiable mud, day after day has stretched out in front of Vesper and Icarus. Day after day of being on edge, fingers grazing their weapons at every snapping stick and every slosh of swamp water; only to find nothing. They hunt, they eat, they sleep in shifts. Are the Gamemakers sleeping, or is all the action just on the other side of the arena? Then again, not a single cannon has fired since Briony perished by Fern's spear.

     The humidity and heat is taking a worse toll than ever. Wrought with irritability and fatigue, the pair from District Six are gradually grinding to a halt. With nothing to keep them on their feet, how can they keep going? Vesper can feel the past week starting to catch up to her — every limb aches, muscles twinge that she didn't even know she had. It feels tense when she urinates, and the dark colour of it is even less reassuring. The last time she slept properly was when Levin was still around... but she can't afford to let herself go. Not now, not when Icarus is so close to getting out of here. She needs to be alert. She can't shut down now.

     That's another thought that keeps coming back to bite her, time and time again. What happens near the end, if they even make it that far? What if those two are left at the end? But every time Vesper asks herself that question, she abandons finding an answer just as quickly. Everything this is hinged on is like the tip of the iceberg, and the deeper, much more raw intention behind it was shaved off at some point, floating down into a dark abyss to never be found...

As Vesper sits up on watch another night, Icarus sleeping with his back to her, she forces herself to think about the remaining tribute. She counts them on her fingers — including themselves, eight tributes remain in the arena, leaving six that stand in their way of a journey back home.

Boaz, of course, jumps to mind first. Another run-in with him feels inevitable, for if they dot bump into each other by chance, Vesper can guess he'll be hunting them down along with Hero. Well, he's doing a half-assed job so far, she manages to joke queasily to herself. Then there is Fern, who now poses much more of a threat than she ever expected. The way she turned on Briony so quickly felt unnerving — like she would stop at nothing to get out of here, playing dirty if she had to... then again, was there ever a right way to play the Hunger Games? Wasn't the very premise of it a betrayal of any humanistic values?

Then there are those who Vesper has yet to meet. Talon, who she last saw in the Bloodbath, could be a silent killer. She hasn't seen any sign of him since he drew a sickle along Emerald's throat. Perhaps like many of them, the swamp has slowed him down from getting anywhere. Then there is Coral, who apparently abandoned the Career pack in the arena, but hasn't re-emerged since — and as for Huxley, she's seen no sign of him either. She wonders what Telle's death, his district partner's untimely exit, did to him. Did he pair up with anyone else afterwards? Is he braving the swamp on his own? If Vesper is brutally honest, they never quite fused with him like they did with Telle, but she can't not wonder about him... whether she could trust him is another thing. Allies of the same calibre as Levin seem pretty hard to come by.

     The body curled up like a foetus in front of her stirs; a sluggish hand swats a mosquito from his face, before he rolls over onto his back with a frown.

     "Morning sunshine," Vesper deadpans hoarsely. Neither of them laugh. "How'd you sleep?"

     "I didn't," he mutters. "Not really. Too hot."

     She understands his frustration instantly. This heat, this humidity, it's impossible to hide from. Icarus coils his back to sit up, propping his elbows on his knees with a vacant expression. His pupils lull contemplatively from side to side. Then, brows knitting together he asks, "How many days has it been now? Since we got in here?"

"I think we're on Day Eleven. Something like that, anyway."

"Yeah, that's what I counted too."

     Vesper presses the heels of her hands into her eyes, exhaustion ebbing through the sockets. When she removes them, Icarus's stare slices through the cluster of phosphenes in her vision like a knife through hot butter. "Did you get any sleep last night?" he asks.

     "Not really. But I'm okay."

     "You should've let me take watch... I can do it just fine," Icarus says slowly, his back straightening with an air of responsibility.

     "No need," replies Vesper instinctively, "I'm good on watch."

     "Not if you're too tired."

     "I've got my sword."

     "Well, I have my bow. And I can use it too."

     "Did someone wake up on the wrong side of the swamp this morning?" Vesper fires back tiredly. Icarus quietly clenches his jaw, whirling his head to look away from her. What is up with him today? She knows over these last few days, he has grown much wearier and irritable, just as she has. What's even worse is he keeps insisting to do everything, especially the things that could remotely put him in danger — and that is something Vesper just can't deal with.

     Ready to hunt for breakfast, she starts to get up with a small pop of her knees, when Icarus gets to his feet first. "You hunting? I can go and do it... alone," Icarus proclaims. Before she can even stop him, his boots disappear ankle-deep into the shallowest swamp water they've been surrounded by all week, scanning every branch and rock for any edible game. He handles the task of hunting as if it's the greatest responsibility of his life, face set in stone. It is almost like he craves something to do.

When he returns with a frog in each hand, Vesper gives him a curt nod. "Great. Give me those and we can cook them..."

Sulking, Icarus tosses the two frogs into her lap; with a small glare, she carefully skewers them with twigs and holds them over the fire they have going. The good news is that with the intense heat and raised ground they've monopolised the past few days, these have been some of the best fires they've had — still on a pathetic level, admittedly, but comparatively it might as well be a bonfire.

They silently tear off bits of frog bit by bit, the novelty of the taste lost long ago. Vesper hopes she doesn't have to eat frog too many times again, whether that means she's alive or dead. The conversation, or lack thereof, feels as lost as the taste of the meat.

Once they have finished their futile breakfast, Icarus rolls up his sleeves. "Alright, we should probably get going," the boy murmurs.

"I don't know... this raised ground, fair bit of game nearby... we could stay here one more night."

"Another night? Vesper, we've been here for days."

"I know. I hate this as much as you do. But if we leave, we could risk being waist-high in swamp again, or worse... bump into some other tributes."

"We could take 'em," says Icarus firmly. "We did it before, when those mutts attacked us all. We could do it again."

"Confident now, aren't you?" Vesper scoffs. "Hermes was the only Career who died there, and I'm sure you remember that more than you'd like to. Apart from that, it was..." Levin. The memory of it still stings. Steeling herself, she carries on with a deep breath. "No, we're staying here, at least for tonight. We'll need our energy. Then—"

     "Is it because of me?"

     The question completely throws Vesper. She blinks at him. "... What?"

     "You– you think I'm weak, don't you? That I can't take care of myself in here?"

     "Come on, what kind of question is that—"

     "You do! You never let me do anything!" Icarus cries, throwing his hands up in the air; Vesper lurches forward and shushes him harshly, shooting a paranoid look across the swamp. But he still continues to vent in a harsh whisper. "Everyone seems to think I'm weak... I don't know, maybe 'cause I'm young. That's all they asked me about in the interviews and the training, like– like 'Oh, so how does it feel being so young in the Hunger Games?' or 'How do you think you'll hold up against the bigger tributes?' or... or that night of the interviews, I– I walked off, and I heard someone backstage asking their friend how long they thought I'd last. Do you know how that feels? To– to have other people just talk about your... your fate, like it's some fun bet?"

     Before Vesper can cut him off, he sucks in a deep breath and keeps going. "And I've had it all my life. All my freaking life, people think I'm weak and useless. Like I need to be coddled."

     "That's because you're thirteen, Icarus, you're a kid," she interjects, sounding harsher than she intended. "There are just some things kids your age can't do, no matter how strong or weak you might be... what if Talon came along right now, huh? I don't even think I could stand up to him, and you definitely couldn't."

     "But I don't wanna feel that way. I don't want to feel weak. Weak people don't make it far in the Hunger Games."

     Something about his outburst feels so out of character, and it leaves a bitter taste in Vesper's mouth. It is as though the Hunger Games are changing him — making him believe things he normally wouldn't believe. Before this, Icarus never minded being a little more sensitive or calm than others. But now he seems all too aware of just how fragile his life is... something Vesper has been aware of since his name slipped past Hermia's slips like an omen on Reaping Day.

     "You're not weak..." she sighs. "I've seen you with your bow and arrow, okay? Your aim is damn near perfect. Hero's got nothing on you. Where is all of this coming from, anyway?"

     "I... I heard that argument you had with Levin."

     Vesper tilts her head at him, squinting slightly. She can't recall. Still, the blood in her veins trickles like ice, and she almost shudders.

"About me. About... the promise you made to Axel."

     Her mouth goes dry so instantaneously that she almost grimaces. Looking up at him right now, from where she's sat, is the strangest of contrasts — his chest puffed out slightly and knuckles tightened around his bow, you would think he was years beyond his age. And yet a glistening lining of innocence still surrounds him, something still un-corrupted inside, that reminds Vesper of exactly why she made the promise she did.

     Icarus seems to have figured it out by himself, because he answers, "That's... such a big promise to make."

     Vesper says nothing. She knows it is.

    "Why'd you do it?"

     "Why?" She shrugs, as if it the answer comes naturally to her; but her insides are coiling like a python, her blood roaring in her ears. "Because... out of the two of us, your life could mean something more. I mean, you're thirteen, you have your whole life ahead of you. You have... dreams. And I don't."

     "But– but how do you think I'd feel if you died?" Icarus argues, voice shaking. She can't tell if it is from anger or the verge of tears. Perhaps both. "I mean, I've been trying not to think about it, but... but I don't wanna do this on my own! Not after everything we've been through. Without you, I wouldn't still be here."

     "Icarus, that's not true—"

     "It is true and you know it," he interrupts. "You've done everything to keep me safe since the beginning, and at least I know why now. But... but if we got to the end, and it was just us, what would we do? Would we be like those siblings a few years ago, the ones from District Five?"

     The mention of the past tributes plants a seed of memory into Vesper's head, that quickly blossoms into snapshots of Hunger Games footage she wishes she could un-see. But she knows exactly who Icarus is talking about — Emrys and Tanwyn Hertz, a brother and sister from about six years ago now. Tanwyn, the eldest at seventeen, was picked first and handled it all with a strange poise and grace. However, when Emrys got picked, Vesper swore the districts held their breaths... he was only twelve. A scrawny little boy, on his first Reaping day, walked up those steps to stand along his now pale-faced sister, to face a crowd of silent observers. It was a tragedy from the beginning that only worsened.

     Vesper remembers the siblings being split apart in the arena, Emrys himself going completely solo for the first few days, which was frankly a miracle. The boy, only a year older than she was, held his own quite well until he and Tanwyn reunited, after which they became allies until the end of the games... and that was when things got complicated.

     As fate decided, the Hertz siblings were the last two standing in the arena, and only one could get out. In a moment that had shocked viewers across Panem, Tanwyn turned on her little brother — in hindsight, Vesper seems to recall that she was wrought with hypothermia at that point. She wasn't herself. One thing led to another, and before everyone knew it, a heartbreaking struggle had led to the fanfare announcing Emrys Hertz as the victor of the Sixty-Second Hunger Games.

     Now Icarus mentions it, the thought of that little boy stood in the snow over his sister, wide-eyed in horror, feels hauntingly relevant — because no one knows where Emrys Hertz is now. A couple of years ago, he suddenly vanished off the grid. Mumbly reasons were given for his withdrawal from public appearances, none of which an aloof Vesper paid attention to, but one could only wonder if his disappearance was for better or for worse. She doesn't doubt that his experiences at such a young age would mess him up — which brings along a festering worry over whether Icarus, should he survive, would plummet the same way.

     In response to this, all Vesper can focus on is what she can control. "I don't know... I just don't know. But I'll find a way. There has to be a way."

     "But it's not fair," says Icarus. "It's not fair that you're cutting out all your chances. You're playing this game too."

     "Wait, what are you even saying? You should be thanking me for protecting you!"

     "I am thankful. But I wanna prove myself. Not for the Capitol, or anyone, but for me."

     The deeper core of Icarus's plea falls flat to Vesper, like hitting a brick wall. Her response is simply embittered, perplexed by the whole situation unravelling, and already uncomfortable with cracking herself open like a shell.

     "You want to protect yourself? Fine. Be my guest."

Using her sword to push herself up, she hums for a moment at the weight of her body threatening to drag her back down. Icarus is right — she is getting weaker. But she simply doesn't have the time to let it grind her down. As long as Icarus still draws breath and his smaller heart the size of his smaller fist still beats, then she has a reason to keep going. What was all that he was spouting about weakness and protecting himself anyway? It isn't going to stop her from what she has been doing this whole time. She has too much momentum now, and if she stops, Vesper is afraid she might fall... God knows where.

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     The worst peak of today's heat has subsided, the afternoon growing late. As those hours inch by, Vesper begins to regret staying so close to their base — because the air between them has grown staler than she ever expected. Icarus seems to have taken a vow of silence, quietly sharpening his arrowheads with solemn concentration. Usually she would enjoy some peace and quiet, but after having spent this portion of her life with a babbling thirteen year-old, it feels much too unnerving.

     She wants to understand why he feels the way he does, but it feels... complex somehow. For her, it is simple. Icarus just has more to live for — his family, his dream of aviating, his outlook on his years ahead. When Vesper dares to look inward, in comparison, she has to admit it feels less worthwhile.

The white noise of the swamp is suddenly disturbed by a small gasp from Icarus. The whites of his eyes accentuate the alertness of his pupils, fixed on something in the distance. Not rotating his head, he mouths "Look..." while curling his fingers around his bow. Vesper follows his gaze, skating along the surface of the swamp...

Hidden among the cypress trees, a white-tailed deer feeds on some of the vegetation hiding it. She swears it's the same one they encountered early in the Games, the morning after the Bloodbath. That would be a meal sorted for days — last time, Icarus couldn't pluck up the courage to kill it, which Vesper couldn't blame him for. But this time, she barely even suggests anything before he is loading his bow and pointing the arrow towards the deer.

A shaky exhale slips past his lips, muscles flaring underneath cheekbones that have become visible this week for the first time. The deer keeps feeding obliviously with a tranquility so incongruent with its surroundings. Its inky black eyes survey the cypress trees, the slender head nuzzling the bank for its food.

"I have to get closer," Icarus whispers, swallowing thickly.

You don't have to do this, she wants to tell him. But Vesper just nods, crouching behind him as they creep nearer to the deer whilst staying hidden. It cranes its neck down towards the murky water's surface, unaware that behind it, Icarus lowers himself onto one knee with an arrowhead aimed for its head — a clean shot. Before he can release the arrow, however, its head suddenly jerks upwards and they hold their breath. Did they spook it? The deer looks to and fro, ears perked up in fight or flight, then takes off abruptly.

     Both of them canter out to the bank's edge, swamp water clinging onto the soles of their worn boots. With a defeated sigh, Icarus whirls around back to her and drops his shoulders.

     "Forget it," Vesper tells him. "Like I said last time, at least we've got—"

     She doesn't finish her sentence. Vesper hears the splash of water, the snapping of jaws before she sees it. In a blur, a giant set of alligator teeth emerges from the water and clamps around Icarus's pack. The boy is dragged down onto his tailbone with a shriek, the mutt pulling him into the swamp to drown or eat him — whatever comes first.

"ICARUS!" she cries, scrambling for her sword.

An adrenaline charge pulsates through her the strength to lift the sword above her head, but just as she is about to lunge forward and bring it down, she stops... confused. A guttural cry of being wounded has just echoed from in front of her — and it's not from Icarus.

The mutt twists and writhes its giant head, now sporting an arrow straight in the eye socket, and drops a human-less pack to the water. Icarus, having narrowly escaped, is already loading his bow with frantic precision. He lets another arrow fly, right in the cranium; another one, straight into the alligator's opening mouth. Vesper can't believe what she is seeing — this is insane. In all honesty, she wasn't sure the boy had that in him. All she can do is watch in stunned silence, as he completely unleashes every bit of wrath he has on the mutt.

As the alligator goes still in the water, miraculously targeted in all the right places, Vesper lets her sword slip from her hand onto the ground — but Icarus has not given up yet. He can't stop now. Blinded by adrenaline, rage, terror, whatever it is, he kicks and punches the limp carcass in the water with everything he has, a string of incoherent curses escaping him as he does.

"Icarus, stop," she says.

The boy either doesn't hear her or doesn't want to. Vesper rushes around behind him and locks his body firmly between her arms. He writhes and struggles, begging her to let him go, that he needs to be sure, but she practically drags the boy over to more level ground as her voice grows firmer.

"Hey, cut it out... just stop, STOP!" she almost yells.

Icarus finally goes slack in her arms then, like a rag doll, tugging her down to the ground with him as he starts sobbing; wounded cries, raw, the likes of someone who's seen their life flash before their eyes. Someone who's had enough of it all. His face is buried in her shirt, muffling his sobs, and all of a sudden Vesper knows what to do — one arm cradles him close to her, while the other holds his head between her cheek and shoulder in an embrace.

"You're okay... you're okay..." she whispers. We're okay, we're okay.

It's catharsis, for both of them. Vesper feels her hands begin to tremble as adrenaline wears off, the shock of how close that was and how quickly it all unfolded... to hold Icarus in her arms, knowing he is safe and she is not alone, is everything right now. Her responsibility. Her friend. Her brother.

"I'm sorry for everything I said earlier..." Vesper grabs his face then, cupping it in her hands, caressing away the floods of tears down his cheeks with her thumb. Her voice begins to shake as she insists, "You are so brave, you hear me? So brave... you don't have anything to prove to me. To them. To anyone. I know you're brave. I know you are... and I always will."

A bubble of emotion pops inside of her, leaking her stoic facade all over the place. Before Icarus can see it, though, she brings him back close, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. Vesper feels him reciprocate, hands clinging onto her shirt and brushing her shoulder blades. For a moment, she thinks she might crumble — right here, right now. She didn't realise how much she needed this, maybe more than Icarus did. For everything they have been through, and everything that they will still go through, Vesper would like a moment to just forget...

So the two souls, just as brave and scared as each other, cradle each other like fragile children.

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A/N;

i kind of had a love/hate relationship with this chapter, because it took me SO LONG to feel inspired and i don't know why. perhaps because this is kind of another filler-ish chapter (although in hindsight, very important to the story!). but honestly that ending?? that got me really emotional to write, the pair of them have just been through so much, and icarus's whole insecurity about feeling weak in the arena got to me... i've tried hinting it subtly throughout, but it has really all caved in at this stage. you might see from now on that icarus is slightly maturer due to his experiences 🥺

also EMRYS HERTZ!!! that was a little bit of backstory i drip-fed into here, but definitely remember that name, because emrys is an OC of mine who may or may not be making future appearances, so stay tuned! as you can tell by what little i've shed light on, i've really put him through the ringer before the boy even turned 18, and it probably just gets worse... sorry emrys.

as always, thank you for reading, and hope you have a lovely day/evening!

[ published: 7th september, 2022 ]

— Imogen