Chapter Text
It wasn’t often that a volunteer choked at a Reaping.
But Mags had been doing this a long time. She’d seen hundreds of kids walk up to the stage, and let hundreds slip right through her fingers. She’d brought a handful home - more than most districts could say - and all of those had been borne from the Academy that she’d built up off the ground.
After the sixteenth Hunger Games and rumours about what One and Two were doing with their children to prepare them, Mags had funded District Four’s own training academy, disguised as a boarding school. The Capitol turned a blind eye, anyway. They all knew what the Career districts were doing, and they didn’t care - it made for a better show, at the end of the day.
Mags just wanted to bring her children home. She wanted them to go into the arena with at least a fighting chance and, yes, it didn’t work every year. But, if her system meant that a strong and willing volunteer could take the place of a puny, terrified baby, then so be it.
It had been at least ten years since the last time someone chickened out, though. Mags - along with the trainers, and some of Four’s Victors - chose one boy and girl from the top class of the academy every year. By the time the kids reached sixteen, the trainers grouped them into pairs so that, if their time came, they’d go into the arena with someone who they knew like the back of their hand.
A group of possible volunteers were narrowed down ahead of the Reaping, and prepped on a personal level. They were the best of the best, the cream of the crop, the strongest in their class. Mags and Kai - the 40th Games’ Victor, and her fellow mentor - had worked with Luke and Nixie, tightening their strengths and bettering their weaknesses.
And yet, it had all been for nothing.
The name was picked from the bowl by Cassiopeia, District Four’s escort. It was a boy who couldn’t have been more than twelve but he didn’t look upset whatsoever because he knew that someone would take his place. If anything, it was a few minutes of fame before the actual tribute stepped forward. Any minute now, Luke would call out, “I volunteer!”
Any minute now. Cassiopeia asked the boy’s name, and the crowd cheered. Mags scanned the eighteens at the front, looking for Luke. People’s heads were beginning to turn as they did the same. A quiet murmuring could be heard from the adults at the back of the square. Any minute now.
“Before we get to the ladies, have we got any volunteers?” Cassiopeia said into the microphone. She’d been Four’s escort for around three years and, every year, someone had stepped forward to volunteer. Any minute now. Mags felt her heart drop into the pit of her stomach. The boy’s mother was beginning to panic. Any minute now.
Silence had never felt quite so loud. And then, just as the boy looked like he was going to throw up on national television and Cassiopeia was clearly about to move on, a clear voice shouted, “I volunteer! I volunteer as tribute!”
Mags could see Luke in the eighteens, head bowed. It wasn’t him. But, still, it was a volunteer, and a ripple of relief fluttered through the crowd. It instantly turned to mumbles of dissent, though, and Mags didn’t understand why until the volunteer came into view.
Because it wasn’t a strong, academy-trained tribute at the age of sixteen or above. It wasn’t the person that Mags and Kai had worked one-on-one with, though they’d known that already. The volunteer currently taking the boy’s place on stage was none of these things - he was barely older than the kid originally selected. He was small, with bronzed skin, and golden blonde hair. He was—-he was—-
“Finnick Odair,” he said into the mic, flashing a pearly-white grin at the crowds, who had got over their shock to whoop in surprise for him.
If Mags hadn’t been very much aware of the cameras on her right now, she would’ve let her eyes fall shut heavily in despair at the name; at the current situation in front of her.
Everyone knew the Odairs, you see. They were a big family in Four - people often joked that they spawned like gnomes. Odair cousins were constantly running underfoot at the markets, and harbours. A lot of them were relatively loud, and well-liked amongst those in the district, and Jasper Odair was Head Fisherman, meaning that respect ran deep for the family as a whole.
But Finnick….Finnick was just a baby. Mags had seen him briefly at the academy, but he wasn’t in any of the top classes due to his age. It was only a slight comfort that Finnick was somewhat trained because, no matter how much he might’ve technically been a Career volunteer, he didn’t stand a chance against the sixteen to eighteen year olds that One and Two would put forward.
Mags took a deep breath, inhaling the salty July air, and tried to focus on the scene at hand. Cassiopeia had just selected the female tribute - a girl with strawberry blonde hair who couldn’t have been much older than Finnick - but, no sooner than she was approaching the stage, Nixie Cresta’s voice was calling out. Like she was supposed to.
“At least someone knows what’s expected of them,” Kai murmured to her, a bite to his tone. She should’ve known that he’d take Luke’s lack of action personally - he had been destined to be his mentor, after all, and now he’d be in charge of the less experienced Finnick.
But Mags didn’t blame Luke. How could she? Yes, it wasn’t ideal to shy away from volunteering when you’d been selected, especially when it was a twelve year old standing on the stage. However, at the end of the day, all he was doing was saving his own neck and the Games weren’t for everyone. Luke might’ve thought they were for him, only to realise the severity of his situation at the last minute.
And that was okay.
If only it hadn’t been Finnick Odair who had volunteered in his stead. If only it had been anyone but him….