This is a unique story in which it has Katniss in a couple of different pairings. But she will end up with only one person in the end. Let us see who the lucky one shall be. By the way, this will be longer than a one-shot.

Thank you to all the mortals of Greek Mythology and all the loyal (and curious ;) fans of the Hunger Games! This story will feature Hunger Games characters taking on the roles of characters in beloved Greek mythology.

In a land long ago and far away, two beautiful babies were blessed to two kingdoms in the same year. But while Katniss Everdeen grew up to become known as the most beautiful woman in the world, it was foretold by prophecy that Finnick Odair will come to be the downfall of his kingdom. Little dothey know, folks often meet their fate on the very same path they set out to avoid it, especially royalty...

Rumor has it that the gardens of Troy are really celestial lands descended from the peak of Mount Olympus itself. Upon sparkling crystal waters it lies, a land of breathtaking atmosphere well-known for its exquisite gardens and luscious flora. Those who have seen the sight with their eyes deems Troy's beauty "indescribable". Few tourists have visited since it is not easy to find, yet those who have been fortunate enough have spread far and wide stories of great hospitality, delicate tree branches laden with fruit, and stunning beauty.

And it all lies in thanks of King Odairus, beloved ruler of the magnificent land known as Troy.

King Odairus ruled not with a iron fist but with the love of his people, the old washerwoman would whisper to the baker. And then the baker would tell the blacksmith, and the blacksmith the merchant, and so on and so forth until all kingdoms far and wide have their traveling merchants telling tales of this divine paradise on earth. Throughout the early years of his reign, King Odairus gained much respect and alliances with the people of his own and different lands.

He soon married a most lovely and prestigious young woman, and not long after, a son was born. The paradise known as Troy rejoiced, for now their kingdom had an heir.

Meanwhile, not long after, in the small, faraway kingdom of Panem, another baby was born. This baby was a girl and conceived out of love, just as the heir to the throne of Troy. Her parents rejoiced every bit as much as King Odairus and his wife did.

The king and queen of Panem didn't know it yet, but their daughter was blessed at birth by the Goddess of Love herself. The goddess was feeling generous (and sorry) upon seeing the tiny scowl on the little babe's face. She decided that with great beauty, this little girl could really could become somebody.

The girl would have been comely without divine intervention, but when the Goddess of Love ordered the Graces to sprinkle on the princess droplets of dew from her divine roses, something in the little baby's face changed. Her wispy brown hair thickened to rich strands of dark velvet. Her brows shifted and took shape so it looked like she did not frown so much. Her lips bloomed from a tiny pink bud into petals of the dawn. Roses blossomed in her cheeks, and her eyes shone through with a lively brilliance.

She was absolutely lovely, even for her young age. Divine.

Her parents noticed the changes. They were subtle at first, but then it became clear that their little girl truly was blessed. Princess Katniss Everdeen was not pretty. She was not beautiful. Her beauty shone with more radiance than the sun.

And everyone but her took notice of it.

(The Fates clucked their tongues as they spun the threads away. They never stopped working, never stopped spinning but sometimes one of them would get a twinkle in her eye.)

Troy had thrived as the kingdom rejoiced at the news of an heir. King Odairus and Queen Irene were filled with the tidings of joy and all seemed perfect. Troy was the island, the heart in the middle of sparkling turquoise waters that washed one's breath away and bestowed one with a strange, sudden yearning for gills. (But one look later at Troy itself would make them forget all about their wish.) Lurking in the mountains on the other side of the Troy's strait was a temple built for the worship of the god of light, music, and prophecy.

On baby Prince Finnick's first birthday, King Odairus and Queen Irene sailed across the strait and visited the temple in the clouds with grand offerings. They prayed to the god, begging to hear tidbits of their son's fortune and prosperity. The queen wanted Prince Finnick to grow up to be a noble hero of chivalrous and courageous character, admired by all far and wide as King Odairus was. The king wanted his little son to continue the legacy of Troy and leave a lasting imprint on the land.

The news they got instead impaled them straight in the heart and chilled them to the bone.

There were no tears, no expression on the old, bent soothsayer's face as she whispered, "Prince Finnick shall grow up to be Troy's undoing."

Her voice had cast a spell upon the king and queen. A shudder seemed to rang through the island. Then out broke chaos.

The king was outraged and slammed his fists down on whatever surface was unfortunate enough to lay in sight of him. The queen fainted, and later woke up in her chambers, weeping and screaming at her concerned and terrified maids. The king paced back and forth, his mind racing. Troy. His beautiful Troy. Undone by his beautiful little son. Troy, with its beautiful land and people and all its glorious civilization, its culture, its natural wonders turning into ashes at the hands of his very own boy, a boy with sea-green eyes like his own and matted crimson curls and the most adorable dimpled smile...

No! Something had to be done. He must protect Troy at all costs. It was his duty to his country as king. But how could he...his own son...

His son was one life of upmost important to him. But he was one life, while Troy's citizens ranged to the thousands...

King Odairus squeezed his eyes shut, as if that'd prevent the tears from leaking out. He balled his hands into fists, as if that could immobilize and somehow immortalize them. He knew what needed to be done.

She was rumored to have been extremely beautiful in her youth, but they whispered that little of her beauty remains.

Mags was a woman of elderly age with some hearing difficulties and a cane to guide her old, tired feet. She lived on the very edge of the village. The village folks and local fishermen would sometimes whisper about her eccentricity. Some even believed she was a witch who'd been living there for centuries.

But in reality she was just a woman with a long-dead husband and no children or grandchildren to spoil. Since she had been isolated for so long, she didn't speak much but she found that she enjoyed very much the company of the little animals. Nothing would make her happier than to be hobbling alongside her dog Mojo in the forest, listening to the little creatures of nature in their language and natural habitat. Mojo seemed to enjoy their company as well, so long as he got to satisfy his curiosity by sniffing at every passing thing.

This day started out just like any other day. Armed with her hand-woven basket of pottery, trinkets, and precious little bundles of fruit, Mags was hobbling along the worn dirt path she'd walked so many times. Mojo trotted easily beside her, panting happily. (Some of the fishermen who had a good catch that day might sometimes throw him a fish or two.) The sun was shining through the green branches of the forest.

Suddenly a shrill cry pierced the sereneness. The birds fluttered away, and Mojo began to bark. Mags stopped humming and put a hand over her good ear. "That is some racket," she said to a frowning Mojo, "Let us go see what it is, huh, boy?"

And with those words Mojo suddenly took off, leaving the old woman to stumble as fast as she could after him.

She came into the familiar clearing that she passed countless times, the one with the stump of an old growing smack in the middle. What greeted her, however, was a most unfamiliar sight. There, lying right on the ancient stump, was a fresh-faced, bundled babe.

Mags blinked and rubbed her eyes. The child was really there, and it was sobbing oh so sadly.

"Mojo, no!" Mags reprimanded as the dog tried to sniff the child. She hobbled over at a quicker pace than she'd had in years. Setting her cane aside, she glanced over the child. A boy, a rather tan boy with lots of freckles and wild, rumpled hair. Bright eyes sparkling with tears. And gracious, not a single person around for miles! She picked up the child, oh so gently, oh so motherly.

"Where did you come from?" she softly murmured. "Who brought you here?"

The boy, seeing the unfamiliar face, screamed louder. Mojo whined and tried to shield his soft, sensitive ears with his paws.

"Aw, shh, shh, there, there, " Mags gently rocked the baby in her bosom. An inner maternal essence seemed to arose from her tired old body, which wasn't feeling so old and so tired anymore. "Who could've left you here?" She said aloud to the forest. No one answered except for the chirping of some very distant birds.

"Well, it doesn't matter where you came from. Seems like whoever left you here wasn't taking good care of you, poor thing. If night fell and no one found you, you could've been left to the wolves! Well, you can come with me now."

Something about Mags's gentle voice was so kind and maternal, something about her eyes crinkled with such a degree of warmth that the baby had stopped crying and was now gazing curiously at her.

"Come, little one," she said. "You must be hungry." And then she picked up her cane, and with cane and basket in one hand and bundle in the other, the old woman set off for her cottage. Mojo was panting once again, and the baby never shrieked on the way there, not even once.