Prologue- Peeta's Games

“Peeta Mellark” those were the first words he heard on arrival to this world. This dystopian marvel of a reality. This abomination of a universe created in the depths of Suzanne Collins’ imagination. Here he was now. When he said Peeta Mellark deserved much more before going to bed, he wasn’t inviting extra-terrestrial creatures to take him and snap him in this body.

“Peeta Mellark” the woman called again. Evie, he knew her name to be. She would only call his name one more time before Peacekeepers would drag him kicking and screaming to the stage. That would be bad. The Games were as much a popularity contest as they were anything else, and he would have his work cut out for him.

He remembered the smile he wore to collect his silver medal after losing out on Gold due to old pain from an injury that had never been his fault. It was fake, but convincing. That was the same smile he wore now as he straightened his back, flashed pearly white teeth and marched to the stage like he had been called for a prize and not a death sentence. He waved at the crowd of his mates, juniors, and seniors. Some of them even waved back, too shocked to do anything but- they were also overtaken by relief from it not being them or someone they loved.

When he reached the Mayor, he gave the man a firm handshake. Evie, he grabbed in a hug before touching cheeks with her in the same way he knew that people from the capitol greeted each other. Then he walked to the Podium set for the male tribute, waving to the crowd as they settled down to wait for the female tribute.

As the eyes turned from him, he kept the smile on his face for the cameras even as he turned his mind inwards. He had been placed in this body, and he had its memories. He knew things about this universe that a casual reader of the books like he should not have. He knew things about Peeta. His sorrows, his despairs, the depths of the feelings he held towards one Katniss Everdeen.

He had a few advantages, he thought to himself. Not the fact that this body had survived the games. No, that wasn’t an advantage. He couldn’t trust himself to act out exactly as Peeta had to win the game by some fluke of luck. No. It wouldn’t work. He had to win on his own merits. His advantages were that this body was fit. It was strong, and even best, it was not wounded. These legs followed his will with no hesitation. He wondered how the careers would fare against a five-time Olympic gold medalist fencer. He doubted they would last long. He wasn’t just a fencer, he had practiced with all sorts of weapons as part of his pursuit of HEMA as a hobby.

He watched as Primrose Everdeen’s name was called, and her sister volunteered to save her life. It almost brought a tear to his eyes, so touching the scene was. He’d found it romantic while reading the book, but now he just found it horrific. Katniss was so young. Primrose even younger. How could a society look at this people and declare them ready to kill or be killed? Evie brought an end to the event with suitable flare, and both he and Katniss were ushered to separate rooms- probably didn’t want them killing each other before the time came, and they could do so for entertainment.

Their families were sent in to see them, and Peeta found himself….unimpressed by his parents. His father, a weak wallflower of a man. His mother, abusive and inconsiderate at best. They both stared at him like this was the first time seeing him. It was. This was a new Peeta Mellark. A Peeta Mellark that would be making the best of his life.

“Are you even listening to me?” His mother barked as she realised his attention was not on the conversation she was having with herself.

“I am, Mother. Oh, dear Mother. Oh, sweet Mother mine. I was listening. And I disagree. District 12 will have a winner. There’s no might about it. And it won’t be dear Katniss, Mother. I’m going to win the games” He said, and that was that.

A/N: Sat down to write something for And so the Dragons Danced, and this idea just refused to fucking leave me alone until I wrote it out. Now I hope that I can actually work on what I’m supposed to be working on. Tell me if you do enjoy it, though. I’m a glutton for praise, and your likes are my favourite meal.