Soli Deo gloria

DISCLAIMER: I do NOT own The Hunger Games.

I reread THG and am honestly feeling the love all over again. I missed this book series!

Katniss mentioned in passing that Prim trades some of her goat cheese at the Hob—hence the idea for this fanfic came about. Enjoy!

Prim's hands shake as she pours the hot saucepan of goat's milk, a touch of salt, and vinegar into her layers of cheesecloth. The hot mixture splashes down, the growing curds settling in the thickly layered cloth as its 'whey' collects in a pool at the bottom of the wooden bowl. Prim releases a shaky breath as she gently lowers the pan down into their rust-stained sink. The handle on the saucepan is wobbly. One wrong move and the entire thing could upturn on one end. Prim never dared ask Katniss for a new one. She knows how hard her sister worked.

She understands just how hard Katniss worked to keep food on the table and clothes on their backs, now that she's in the Hunger Games fighting for her life and Prim finds herself the head of the household at the tender age of twelve.

She doesn't complain about the role (however terrified she is in filling it); her job is nothing compared to Katniss's job—the hard job of staying alive against bloodthirsty Careers and the sadistic tricks cooked up by the Gamemakers' conniving minds. Prim seals her lips shut and hurries through her never-ending list of chores so she can sit down and watch the highlights of the Games in the evening with her mother's hand in hers. The Games air live while she's in school, but the Capitol always runs a run-down of that day's exciting events when darkness falls and most of the tributes are sharing in exhausted sleep.

Prim knows the moment something happens to her sister, everyone around her will let her know. The kids around her look at her in awe (someone had volunteered for her); the teachers are kinder, gentler to her. One can't help being fond of her; one can't help wanting to help her when they know her sister is fighting in the Hunger Games. Still, Prim's anxiety is only allayed by her mother and the proof on their clunky television set that Katniss is still alive and breathing, still fighting hard to come home.

Prim silently urges for her to win, and wonders if she really will come home. She hopes she does; but the idea of that dream being a reality seems so far away that she hardly dares really think about it. So she seals her lips and pets her cat and milks Lady and gathers dandelion greens and other herbs and edible plants from the Meadow.

Gale arrives almost everyday with fresh meat or some bakery bread or greens and berries and roots. Her mother thanks him but he barely acknowledges her; he always locks eyes with Prim. At first Prim was frightened. Did Gale Hawthorne blame her for Katniss being in the arena? She did volunteer to save her after all; but after time, Prim's shy fear of the older boy lessens into a small friendship. She realizes that's not blame in his eyes; she knows that when he sees her, he sees the girl who loves Katniss just as much as he does. He can't look at her mother and know that that's true. He and Prim are the only people in the world who love Katniss as they do, so together, they hurt the most.

Prim accepts the kindness and charity of Gale better than Katniss ever did, but realizes that it's not enough. He has to take care of his family too, so she has to go out and make some money—or at least, perform some trades.

She goes out with her dried-grass basket and gathers dandelion greens, wild chives, alfalfa, and coltsfoot. Even now, with no Katniss, she isn't fearless enough to sneak under the harmless fence. The encroaching, shaded woods behind it still terrify her, especially now, with the Hunger Games being set in a similar arena. But the Meadow is her home; she picks along its windy tall grasses with Buttercup making snarly meows and stepping on her toes around her. She hums an old song her father used to sing and misses his voice and Katniss's singing voice and him and her. She swallows and breathes and gathers her basket to her.

Outside the house but away from Lady's hungry lips sits Prim's tiny herb garden. Many of them are medicinal; others for tidbits of flavor in a district where all meager food is usually bland. Prim tenderly plucks her best and broadest basil leaves and tucks them into a corner of her basket.

She smiles at her mother as she comes back inside, who sits at the kitchen table taking inventory of her dried herb collection. The smile she receives back is weak, but it's there. There hasn't been much call for smiling in the Seam Prim's whole life; even less so in the past month.

Prim carefully washes her plants and dries them in a grey but clean towel. Then she directs her attention to her cheese; it's settled down, a thick paste in the hold of the cheesecloth. She lifts it out and unwraps the towels. She portions the cheese out into little balls and gently rolls them into manageable logs. Each one is wrapped in the protective, aromatic folds of the basil. She tucks these small bundles into her basket, leaving a half-dozen little rolls on the pantry shelf. That'll last her mother and her the next three days. Maybe she'll make more tomorrow when she milks Lady again. She withdraws a couple of large handfuls of greens onto the kitchen counter; she'll add those to the squirrel soup sitting at the back of the stove. Only a tiny bit of coal keeps the fire alive, letting the soup bubble occasionally all day long.

Prim, armed with her basket full of cheeses and greens, kisses her mother on the cheek. "I'm going to the Hob. I'll be back before dark." She'll have a busy evening after her bartering—supper, cleaning up the kitchen, finishing her homework by the dying candlelight, and watching eagerly for highlights of her sister's day.

Her mother lets her fingertips slide along her cheek. "You look so old," she whispers. Katniss was so independent, was so proud of not needing her anymore. Now Prim has stepped up and she can suddenly see that maybe she doesn't need her so much anymore, either.

"Oh, Mother," Prim says, giving her a quick hug, her affection quick and heartfelt. She squares her small shoulders and straightens. "I'll be right back."

The hike to the Hob is short but then Prim's steps are small. She'd only been to the Hob a few times before the Games, and then always with Katniss leading the way. She used to coax a smile the sellers and wandering customers couldn't help when they saw her; she reminded them of a duckling trailing after its mother. She always bowed her head, kept her eyes down. She was in unfamiliar territory, and Katniss was her shield. As long as she stayed with her, she was safe.

That was no longer true.

Prim enters the Hob quietly; she's gone in a couple of times since her name was drawn in the Reaping; the first time people barely approached her, too much in awe, or respect for the dead. Give the girl some space; her sister was in the Hunger Games. But before she left, sure she'd failed in her mission, Greasy Sae sent over her granddaughter to take up all her cheeses and lift them high in the air. "Who's got something decent to trade? She's here to make a trade and she's gonna make one!" Greasy Sae said around her nine remaining teeth.

The cheeses were gone within minutes, leaving Prim with bartered products worth too much for what she got for them. Greasy Sae pressed a grimy finger over her lips when she opened her mouth to protest; "You got your trades, fair and square. You ain't gonna get that ever again. Take it. Go."

Prim gets it a little more now, even as she walks around the dirty, haphazard stalls with their scarce selection of products. You can starve in District 12, but District 12 will do what they can for their own. They pity her, even those people worse off than her, who have earned her heartfelt pity time and time again. She thinks it speaks much of District 12's character—they hurt, but they try to alleviate other people's pain when they can, because of pity, because they are human. Prim gets that. That's why she aids her mother in healing hopeless causes as they stumble or are carried through their back kitchen door. They must be pitied, or all is lost for them.

Prim pities all those selling their best wares here, as well. Maybe she makes worse bargaining choices than Katniss does, because she wants to make sure they go home with a homemade cheese in hand. Maybe they fix her prices, tilt the scales back to even, because they know she's no good at this and has a good heart and a better product than they do. It all comes out even, even if Prim's hardly aware of it. She works with Greasy Sae and Rooba the butcher; she makes trades with almost everyone, except Ripper, the white liquor seller. Prim only thinks she'll buy something from her if they run out of sleep syrup for a patient and need to send them into a gentle sleep the old-fashioned way. Otherwise, she stays clear of the liquor booth.

She leaves, her basket full of odds and ends—a spool of thread, two new candles, two big chunks of coal, more white vinegar, and some pig intestinal lining. This last item doesn't gross her out; she'll use it to make sausages she's hoping to smoke in the low oven and then keep in the cupboard for winter. We need meat for the winter, and if Katniss doesn't make it back, Gale's meat for everyone won't be enough . . . It's pessimistic thinking and Prim hates it; she knows Katniss will come home; she only does it because she can imagine Katniss commanding her to do it anyway.

Low evening slowly drifts over the Seam, an already grey place. Prim's just about to enter her front door, glad being out and about is done for the day, when she hears a throat clear behind her. She looks up, surprised, to see a familiar face over her. It's the face of the baker. She sees it sometimes, when she used to drag Katniss over to the bakery window to ohhhh and ahhh over their pretty decorated cakes.

"Hi, Mr. Mellark," she says. She knows Katniss and Gale sometimes did trades with him. Maybe he still does with Gale. Prim doesn't go after all the people Katniss used to. She sticks to the Hob.

"Hi, Prim," he says. Clears his throat again. If he smiled, Prim think he'd look kind. "I wanted to do a trade. Heard you have cheeses at the Hob."

"Um, I did," Prim says, hastily searching her tiny bounty but only confirming what she knows to be true—she'd traded them all, just as she'd hoped to do. A sudden inspiration hits her. "Oh, give me a moment!"

Her mother, puzzled, watches as Prim, with uncharacteristic energy, plops her full basket on the kitchen and scrambles into the shelf to pull two of the precious little logs of cheese into her eager hands. She runs back to the front door and offers them. "I've got these two left," she says.

Mr. Mellark holds up a large loaf of bread; Prim's mouth waters. It's dark and most of the crust is hidden in the paper, but she recognizes tiny nuggets of almost black on the bread; this has nuts and raisins in it. "Does this sound like an even trade?" he says.

Prim nods quickly. He chuckles. She's a terrible haggler. "All right," he says. The transfer is made and Prim has to put both tiny hands on the bread to hold it. It's denser than his large hand had made it look.

"Thank you," she says, meaning every word. Her big eyes smile at him.

Mr. Mellark smiles back at her. His smile fades as he says firmly, a command, like Katniss, "Eat plenty of it tonight, okay?"

She nods.

"Maybe we can work out a system. Two cheeses a bread like that?"

Prim's eyes brighten. "That sounds good."

It's decided, just like that. Mr. Mellark bids her goodnight and leaves, hurries back before his wife discovers he's missing and screeches at him, wondering where he'd gone. It was hard keeping a promise to Katniss when Prim made no move to come to him like Katniss did. He'll have to be sneakier; he won't get any squirrel out of this deal, but that's okay. He does this for him and for Peeta and for Prim. He hopes it's a fair enough trade. He knows if Katniss ever finds out (if she makes it out alive, which she might), she'll want to know that he was being fair with Prim, wasn't being too charitable. Somehow he knows that Katniss doesn't like owing people; she'd see it as charity, while warm-hearted Prim, bless her, would just see it as it is—a gift, a kind gift with no strings attached, just for the sake of being kind.

Prim closes the door. Her mother says, "Who was that, Prim?"

"Mr. Mellark," Prim says. She gushes as she puts the bread down on the table and grabs the knife. She stops short and says, "Let me set the table first." That's what Katniss did, and what Katniss did, Prim tries her hardest to do.

Mrs. Everdeen closes her eyes as her twelve-year-old scurries around her, tidying their tiny hovel, making this little shack a home. She thinks of the baker being far too generous, thinks of their children fighting for survival in that damned arena. Maybe the bread and cheese are their solidarity.

Prim slices the bread into uneven slices despite her best attempt and spreads them with the goat cheese. Her mother squeezes her hand. "Prim, thank you," she whispers. Prim is made of tender fright, but she has just as much tenacity and determination as Katniss. Both her daughters prove themselves when the pressure comes down on them. They have that grit, that will, from their father, who came from the Seam. They aren't truly soft, like some people from Town. They vary in personality, but are ultimately cut from the same cloth. She's so sorry she can't help either of them more.

Prim squeezes her hand back. "Of course, Mother."

Katniss resents her for it, while Prim pities her. Somehow, to Mrs. Everdeen, they both end up feeling the same.

Mint tea in mugs, they munch on bread and breathe deep together and squeeze each other's hand as they turn on the television, ready to see how Katniss's day went, together.

As we see in Catching Fire and Mockingjay, Prim becomes stronger, not so young and scared. I do believe she and Katniss, while differing in some aspects, are really a lot alike, at the end of the day.

Thanks for reading! Review?