P.

The idea comes—of all places—from his granddaughter.

"Grandpa," she asks him at breakfast one day, "will we ever have another pair of star-crossed lovers?"

Her mother, sipping coffee across the table, nearly chokes. "Atia!" She scolds, casting an apologetic glance towards the president. "We've talked about this, sweetie." She gives her daughter a pointed look, clearly intended to prompt an apology. Snow knows that his only grandchild has been forbidden from asking about his work when he's been especially busy. The last few weeks have been extremely stressful, but it appears this morning Atia can't help herself.

He dismisses his daughter-in-law's concern with a wave of his hand, leaning across the breakfast table towards the nine-year-old. He dabs the blueberry compote smudged on her nose with a napkin. "Why do you ask, my darling? Was one pair not enough?"

"Thank you, Grandpa. No, it's not that. I only think I should like to see more, that's all."

Moira visibly balks at her daughter's statement. Snow steeples his fingers on the table. "Gamemaker Heavensbee and I have been in near-constant discussion concerning these past Games, but I'm intrigued by what you suggest. What have you been thinking?"

Atia shifts in her chair for a moment, thinking, before straightening her posture and lifting her chin. Snow can't help but smile. "Well Grandpa, having only one winner means that if you make an alliance you know you'll have to break it, which means less alliances—"

"Fewer alliances," Snow corrects.

"Fewer, right. It means fewer alliances, and not very strong ones. But Katniss and Peeta were in love, so instead of turning on each other they teamed up and beat all the other tributes together. They could beat Dominic, even though he was favoured from the beginning, and all the other strong Tributes." She sits infinitesimally straighter in her chair. "After all, 'united we are strong, chaos descends on a country divided by its own interests.'"

Atia beams, and Snow chuckles, shaking his head. "Quoting my inaugural address at the breakfast table. And your mothers wonder why I spoil you so."

Moira hides her grin behind her mug.

Snow returns his attention to the girl. "So what do you propose, darling?"

The nine-year old is careful to hide her excitement at being called on for her opinion in such an important matter. "Well, this year is the Quarter Quell, maybe…" She looks around cautiously. She knows, of course, that the ultimate power which decides the theme for the Quell is her grandfather, but that is a family secret she has only recently been entrusted with. There are only Avoxes around, so she continues, "the special rule could help make more."

He is quiet for a moment, and he can tell Moira is holding her breath to see if Atia will be reprimanded or not. The child is prodigiously intelligent, and she knows it, but on occasion her precocious nature gets her into trouble. Snow remembers, years ago, a tantrum here and there, but his daughter and daughter-in-law have done an excellent job of correcting the girl's manners and temperament.

A fond smile breaks across his face, and Snow laughs. "I will take it under advisement, my dear. But now let us finish our breakfast without any more discussion of the Hunger Games. Tell me about your fencing lesson yesterday; I hear you did very well."

Snow calls Plutarch in for a meeting after lunch, having spent the whole morning mulling Atia's idea over.

"Certainly, it has its merits," the Gamemaker conjectures, sitting in a plush chair in Snow's office. "Your granddaughter came up with it? Cited your famous speech?" He exhales loudly, shaking his head. "She's already a force to be reckoned with."

"Indeed." Snow adjusts the rose at his lapel, unsmiling despite the pride he feels at the praise of his granddaughter. "I imagine there will be issues to sort through on both our ends, but this provides an intriguing, alternate solution to our… star-crossed-lovers problem."

Plutarch nods. "This reminds me of the conversation we had after you elected me Head Gamemaker. There is a spark lighting, we both know this, but the wrong wind can blow that spark into a fire rather than extinguish it. This would certainly be an act of great benevolence toward the Districts." He hesitates for the barest fraction of a second before continuing. "I propose we be the young sapling from the parable, not the old tree. It is better to bend in the storm than to be broken beyond repair." He leans forward. "Panem is young, and she has endured seventy-four years of unrelenting authority. Show the people that we hear them, that we can be benevolent and loving, so long as they obey. We must not let them forget that we—that you—are in complete control."

Snow smiles at the younger man. "How do you propose we find this balance? I'm sure, of course, that you're not suggesting we do nothing about the Everdeen girl and her act of rebellion."

Plutarch shifts in his chair, rubbing his chin. "I suggest we do with the sister as Gamemaker Iberilia suggested-put her in the Games. The Trinket woman won't accept any bribes, I'm sure, and is too simple to be trusted to keep quiet. Her attachment to the pair would further complicate things, but we can easily find a way to pull those string without her cooperation. And of course, with her sister in danger, Katniss will be completely compliant."

"Excellent. Gamemaker Iberilia can see that through, but what more do you propose for the Games themselves?"

"I think… I think we need to make something of these Games that has never been seen before. Make this year unforgettable; we'll drag them out, make it an elaborate ordeal that will make everyone forget about last year. And of course, we can create a new pair of Victors and eventual lovers, as your granddaughter suggested. In their company, Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark will not shine as brightly as they do now."

"Good. Anything else? The other Victors?"

Plutarch knows he walks on thin ice. Snow interacts with the people around him like a man making a purchase, testing and prodding for weak spots, inspecting them for their value, and completely willing to discard them and move along if his examination is less than satisfactory. Plutarch knows that as much as it seems the president is inquiring of him, he's also making sure his new Head Gamemaker won't make the same sort of mistake that killed Seneca Crane. "Having all the Victors entered in the Reaping, as we were planning to, would certainly crush the rebellion building amongst them. They are the strongest; they represent the success of the people. But they are also the favourites of the entire country, Capitol included. We ought not to seem overly cruel, or we risk making things worse."

"A diplomatic response, Plutarch." Snow nods once, and the other man visibly relaxes. "I thought about this issue much this morning. Perhaps we might ease up slightly on the Victors. Increasing their privileges will have a two-fold effect: it will improve our relationship with them—which will be helpful in presenting a united front—and it will increase the envy of the masses. As you know, in recent years, District Four has seen a drastic decrease in volunteers, but with increased Victor privileges, it will refresh the interest in glory and prosperity."

"Excellent idea, sir. And as for the arena? You recall, of course, the complications with the island. We are in a pickle as things stand..."

At this, Snow's smile is genuine, if predatory. Plutarch feels a chill course through his body. "Yes, I have just the idea that will tie everything together quite nicely."

6101719: It's been a while, hasn't it? I told myself I wasn't going to post any more until I had the whole Games planned out, and the first little bit written. Well, the whole Games are outlines, and the first bits are rough-drafted, so here it is. To newcomers, welcome. To those of you who've been here for the five-and-change years it's been since I first posted this story, I have a lot of things to say, but I'll limit myself to saying thank you so much, and I hope the new direction and replacement chapters live up to the encouragement and praise you gave my old ones.