Meant for Life
I finished this AU of Sameth from The Abhorsen Chronicles in the world of the Hunger Games, it's been the only thing I could manage to write today. It might get a little more polishing and I might even post it elsewhere but I don't know.
An edit as of May 13th, this story has a new version posted on Archive of our Own. Victor's son.
Though I won't worry about that tonight, sorry for the various wittering about, I've felt tired and sore all day.
Major warning for violence, death, self-doubt and two canons that really like death meeting. About 1800 words.
Victor's Son
Sam knew when he entered the arena that unless he was lucky, he wouldn’t leave it alive. His mother had been one of the youngest and quietest Victors, who brought death surely and from all sides. His father one of the bloodiest Victors who seemed to lose control when the blood began to be shed and yet still was the only one standing. Though it had seemed near the end that he had died when he hadn’t and he struck down a Career that was whispered might even have been his brother. Victors didn’t usually marry and the connection between Sabriel and Touchstone surprised everyone who knew of them but not those in their district who had watched them find each other, nodded. It wasn’t a truly happy ending for either of them but it meant they weren’t quite as alone.
When they had children, everyone was silent because they knew that in time one or both of them would have to enter the Games. Their eldest, Ellimere quickly chose her path, she found what education she could and the District spoke of how she would do what she wished. Sam took up the mantle of following his parents, he was brave and would do his duty and it soon became known that when he was sixteen or seventeen he would volunteer. Both his parents trained him and his sister as they didn’t wish her to volunteer but it was best to be prepared. They both learned how to fight, but the one part Sam could never easily learn was how to kill. His parents knew death so much better than he, it defined them and scarred them.
He volunteered at the first Reaping after his seventeenth birthday because he knew it was time. During training, he was watched and approached by everyone as they had such high hopes for him. When he had free moments, he would sketch devices he would never be able to build because that wasn’t who he was. The power of their district was in metals and he’d at times talked to men who knew them and some had even spoken of how he seemed to understand the way of steel better than many who were older. He cherished those words of praise alongside what his parents had given him; a quiet love, knowledge of how to fight and all they wouldn’t and couldn’t say.
In training, he showed himself to be competent with blades and creative when it came to constructing traps and other devices. There were no private spaces in the Capitol but he’d spend any extra time he could, trying to understand how various devices worked. Though he knew that there’d be little chance that he could ever understand them and even make things such as them. That wasn’t his role, instead his role and duty was to fight and kill and win.
The arena this year was green and rocky, it made Sam think of quarries and slag heaps. One of the first deaths was accidental, someone ran too fast down a hill and a load of scree came down with them and loosed a torrent of stones. After that, the boulders and stones only moved when they were pushed or manipulated by unseen forces, they were props. Everything was a prop or a weapon, Sam knew that, had been trained it since he was a boy, be wary and know that death can come from anywhere.
At first the Careers had tried to create an alliance with him, but he gave nothing to them or anyone. He did this as a duty and one Career worried him, a taller boy than him who had a dangerous lust in his eyes. His father never spoke of when he went berserk but Sam had been shown playbacks of when he won and who he fought, the Career who his father killed had that same look in his eyes. Sam’s guess proved right as he dodged the arena but would hear death and sometimes would spot the other boy, Hans with cruel satisfaction in his eyes. Hans knew death and could wield it.
As the first night passed, Sam hid under the lip of a quarry and thought over his options. He’d been able to grab a knife at the beginning and a small bag of supplies, nothing that would last him more than a day but something. As he heard the cannon fire three times, he sighed and tried to sleep for a few hours.
The next day he dismantled a few traps only acquiring an injury in his thigh when he miscalculated how quickly a spike would move. It wasn’t a deep wound but it hurt and he had to make do with basic ministrations and hope it wouldn’t get infected. There was a creek where he could wash but the blood would make him easier to track. In the end it was a choice between bad options and he slowly made his way down the slope, trying to not disturb anything and came across someone who hadn’t dodged a trap. A blond boy about his age though it was hard to tell with the spikes going through him, Sam closed the boy’s eyes and said something his parents had taught him, “Go to death and rest there. Go swiftly, don’t look back, your time in life is done and Death will welcome you.”
He knew he could have learned the boy’s name, maybe even had an ally but that seemed a foolish risk. If he took the time to care and wonder then it would all hurt even more, because every death hurt. Once he’d turned away from the body and reached the creek, he was sick, he’d learn how to push down on his nausea until he wasn’t being watched. Here he was always being watched but at the least he wasn’t making the corpse look worse or insulting the other boy’s death. He’s not sure why he’s been lucky, Hans must be making a production elsewhere to keep everyone’s eyes far from Sam.
When the cannon started firing with three shots, it must be true, one for the boy in the trap and two others elsewhere. His leg was starting to ache and bleed, soaking through his pant leg and the piece of his jacket he’d used for a bandage, if he wasn’t careful he’d be easier to track. One step, one day, one night, keep it simple, don’t make grand plans, always be prepared and you’ll stay alive. It’s the advice that he’s been taught since he was twelve, but now it feels like just words as there was always the other advice on how to kill. Those he listened to and are all still somewhere in his head but he won’t use them, he can’t.
The little food he’d picked up is almost gone, but there are fish in the creek, he won’t starve and there’s water. As he makes his shelter and hides in it for the second night, he knows his luck won’t last, more is expected of him as his parent’s child. Before he sleeps, something descends from the sky and he grabs it, trying to hide the shine of the parachute as quickly as he can. Only when he’s in the relative safety of his shelter does he open the package to find some energy bars and a basic salve and bandage. Slowly, he shifts out and waves in thanks, someone will see, they always do then he gets to work properly bandaging his leg. As he works, the cannon sounds once more, this time with five, perhaps there was a planned rockfall as that kind of destruction is rare unless there’s a true killer in here. Hans might be one, seems to be one but this is still more than Sam expected of him. His leg is getting stiff as he inches his way back under the protection of branches and tries to get some sleep. He’s woken in the night by someone moving through the water, they’re not taking the time to hide their steps and Sam stays as still as he can, but this probably is the end of any good chances he’s had.
There seemed to be some sort of light and then he heard Hans, “Come out, Victor’s son, I know you’re here. Come out so I can kill you.”
Sam’s throat went dry but he’d promised himself that he would die fighting if he could. It took a moment to sit then he stood up, breaking up his shelter and had to close his eyes against the lamp that Hans had set into a tree, “What’s that for?”
“To give a proper show. After all, you’re the death everyone’s waiting and hoping for,” There was a sneer in his voice as Sam watched him.
His blade was drawn and he stepped forward, but not all the way to where Hans waited in the creek. Fighting in water was stupid, too many things could go wrong but it looked like he wouldn’t have any choice in where he died. He took another step forward and watched the mean curved knife in Hans’ hand before attacking.
The makers of the arena had done their jobs well as the creek ran cold and fast with slippery rocks that were hard to get a grip on. With a move from his father, Sam was able to disarm Hans but he slipped and his knife went flying and both blades disappeared in the stiff current as they wrestled. Sam used all the techniques he knew but he couldn’t find any purchase on the rocks and soon Hans held his wrists and was pushing him into the water. He pushed back and was able to rock Hans slightly but couldn’t stop his own descent into the water. Time seemed to stop working as there was only water, cold and swift and inviting death that he fought until he couldn’t.
When Sam stopped resisting, Hans put a boot on his neck and held him below the water to make sure he was dead then called out, “I killed the Victor’s son.”
Silence greeted him but his cry echoed off the rocks of the arena as in Sam’s District, his parents watched; anger and fear in their eyes. His mother gave a strangled cry and his father held her tightly as his sister fainted in shock. While far away in a created place of death a cannon fired for the Victor’s son.
This entry is also posted at http://ceitfianna.dreamwidth.org/330682.html. Please comment wherever you'd like.
An edit as of May 13th, this story has a new version posted on Archive of our Own. Victor's son.
Though I won't worry about that tonight, sorry for the various wittering about, I've felt tired and sore all day.
Major warning for violence, death, self-doubt and two canons that really like death meeting. About 1800 words.
Victor's Son
Sam knew when he entered the arena that unless he was lucky, he wouldn’t leave it alive. His mother had been one of the youngest and quietest Victors, who brought death surely and from all sides. His father one of the bloodiest Victors who seemed to lose control when the blood began to be shed and yet still was the only one standing. Though it had seemed near the end that he had died when he hadn’t and he struck down a Career that was whispered might even have been his brother. Victors didn’t usually marry and the connection between Sabriel and Touchstone surprised everyone who knew of them but not those in their district who had watched them find each other, nodded. It wasn’t a truly happy ending for either of them but it meant they weren’t quite as alone.
When they had children, everyone was silent because they knew that in time one or both of them would have to enter the Games. Their eldest, Ellimere quickly chose her path, she found what education she could and the District spoke of how she would do what she wished. Sam took up the mantle of following his parents, he was brave and would do his duty and it soon became known that when he was sixteen or seventeen he would volunteer. Both his parents trained him and his sister as they didn’t wish her to volunteer but it was best to be prepared. They both learned how to fight, but the one part Sam could never easily learn was how to kill. His parents knew death so much better than he, it defined them and scarred them.
He volunteered at the first Reaping after his seventeenth birthday because he knew it was time. During training, he was watched and approached by everyone as they had such high hopes for him. When he had free moments, he would sketch devices he would never be able to build because that wasn’t who he was. The power of their district was in metals and he’d at times talked to men who knew them and some had even spoken of how he seemed to understand the way of steel better than many who were older. He cherished those words of praise alongside what his parents had given him; a quiet love, knowledge of how to fight and all they wouldn’t and couldn’t say.
In training, he showed himself to be competent with blades and creative when it came to constructing traps and other devices. There were no private spaces in the Capitol but he’d spend any extra time he could, trying to understand how various devices worked. Though he knew that there’d be little chance that he could ever understand them and even make things such as them. That wasn’t his role, instead his role and duty was to fight and kill and win.
The arena this year was green and rocky, it made Sam think of quarries and slag heaps. One of the first deaths was accidental, someone ran too fast down a hill and a load of scree came down with them and loosed a torrent of stones. After that, the boulders and stones only moved when they were pushed or manipulated by unseen forces, they were props. Everything was a prop or a weapon, Sam knew that, had been trained it since he was a boy, be wary and know that death can come from anywhere.
At first the Careers had tried to create an alliance with him, but he gave nothing to them or anyone. He did this as a duty and one Career worried him, a taller boy than him who had a dangerous lust in his eyes. His father never spoke of when he went berserk but Sam had been shown playbacks of when he won and who he fought, the Career who his father killed had that same look in his eyes. Sam’s guess proved right as he dodged the arena but would hear death and sometimes would spot the other boy, Hans with cruel satisfaction in his eyes. Hans knew death and could wield it.
As the first night passed, Sam hid under the lip of a quarry and thought over his options. He’d been able to grab a knife at the beginning and a small bag of supplies, nothing that would last him more than a day but something. As he heard the cannon fire three times, he sighed and tried to sleep for a few hours.
The next day he dismantled a few traps only acquiring an injury in his thigh when he miscalculated how quickly a spike would move. It wasn’t a deep wound but it hurt and he had to make do with basic ministrations and hope it wouldn’t get infected. There was a creek where he could wash but the blood would make him easier to track. In the end it was a choice between bad options and he slowly made his way down the slope, trying to not disturb anything and came across someone who hadn’t dodged a trap. A blond boy about his age though it was hard to tell with the spikes going through him, Sam closed the boy’s eyes and said something his parents had taught him, “Go to death and rest there. Go swiftly, don’t look back, your time in life is done and Death will welcome you.”
He knew he could have learned the boy’s name, maybe even had an ally but that seemed a foolish risk. If he took the time to care and wonder then it would all hurt even more, because every death hurt. Once he’d turned away from the body and reached the creek, he was sick, he’d learn how to push down on his nausea until he wasn’t being watched. Here he was always being watched but at the least he wasn’t making the corpse look worse or insulting the other boy’s death. He’s not sure why he’s been lucky, Hans must be making a production elsewhere to keep everyone’s eyes far from Sam.
When the cannon started firing with three shots, it must be true, one for the boy in the trap and two others elsewhere. His leg was starting to ache and bleed, soaking through his pant leg and the piece of his jacket he’d used for a bandage, if he wasn’t careful he’d be easier to track. One step, one day, one night, keep it simple, don’t make grand plans, always be prepared and you’ll stay alive. It’s the advice that he’s been taught since he was twelve, but now it feels like just words as there was always the other advice on how to kill. Those he listened to and are all still somewhere in his head but he won’t use them, he can’t.
The little food he’d picked up is almost gone, but there are fish in the creek, he won’t starve and there’s water. As he makes his shelter and hides in it for the second night, he knows his luck won’t last, more is expected of him as his parent’s child. Before he sleeps, something descends from the sky and he grabs it, trying to hide the shine of the parachute as quickly as he can. Only when he’s in the relative safety of his shelter does he open the package to find some energy bars and a basic salve and bandage. Slowly, he shifts out and waves in thanks, someone will see, they always do then he gets to work properly bandaging his leg. As he works, the cannon sounds once more, this time with five, perhaps there was a planned rockfall as that kind of destruction is rare unless there’s a true killer in here. Hans might be one, seems to be one but this is still more than Sam expected of him. His leg is getting stiff as he inches his way back under the protection of branches and tries to get some sleep. He’s woken in the night by someone moving through the water, they’re not taking the time to hide their steps and Sam stays as still as he can, but this probably is the end of any good chances he’s had.
There seemed to be some sort of light and then he heard Hans, “Come out, Victor’s son, I know you’re here. Come out so I can kill you.”
Sam’s throat went dry but he’d promised himself that he would die fighting if he could. It took a moment to sit then he stood up, breaking up his shelter and had to close his eyes against the lamp that Hans had set into a tree, “What’s that for?”
“To give a proper show. After all, you’re the death everyone’s waiting and hoping for,” There was a sneer in his voice as Sam watched him.
His blade was drawn and he stepped forward, but not all the way to where Hans waited in the creek. Fighting in water was stupid, too many things could go wrong but it looked like he wouldn’t have any choice in where he died. He took another step forward and watched the mean curved knife in Hans’ hand before attacking.
The makers of the arena had done their jobs well as the creek ran cold and fast with slippery rocks that were hard to get a grip on. With a move from his father, Sam was able to disarm Hans but he slipped and his knife went flying and both blades disappeared in the stiff current as they wrestled. Sam used all the techniques he knew but he couldn’t find any purchase on the rocks and soon Hans held his wrists and was pushing him into the water. He pushed back and was able to rock Hans slightly but couldn’t stop his own descent into the water. Time seemed to stop working as there was only water, cold and swift and inviting death that he fought until he couldn’t.
When Sam stopped resisting, Hans put a boot on his neck and held him below the water to make sure he was dead then called out, “I killed the Victor’s son.”
Silence greeted him but his cry echoed off the rocks of the arena as in Sam’s District, his parents watched; anger and fear in their eyes. His mother gave a strangled cry and his father held her tightly as his sister fainted in shock. While far away in a created place of death a cannon fired for the Victor’s son.
This entry is also posted at http://ceitfianna.dreamwidth.org/330682.html. Please comment wherever you'd like.