the crown you made for me { flynn, vt }

Saffron moves into default. The young ones are hers, an unwritten rule. Unspoken law, she squeezes Mace's hand and says gently -- "I've got this."

More to reassure herself than her love.

Because they will always be hers, a clamouring that comes from deep within her chest. A desperate desire to look after them, even if they don't want to be looked after. Motherly instinct, or some messed up way of looking after herself in a way that everyone else had tried and failed to do. She stands on the train platform and thinks bittersweetly of Kassandra. The girl who hadn't needed her. A gift, a curse.

With age she becomes less wanted. Her children grow taller and fly the nest. The Capitol print her name less and less, the invitations in their letterbox scarce. Kiara and Enzo have their own little home, Kieran and Paige their own family now. Spirits that once haunted her every dream rarely visit, fleeting. Even her ghosts don't need her anymore.

Saffron is still trying to work out whether she mourns being left alone or relishes in it.

The rush of hot summer air mingles with the rumbling of the train and shuffling of townsfolk and Capitolite media, craning their necks to get a first glimpse of Flynn Garner in District Ten. Saffron stands tall in a crisp green dress and brown leather boots, ever-patient. Years of raising Quinn has taught her as much, even if patience waned thin on occasion. Eager to greet Teddy once more, nervous for the reaction of his fellow victor, thrilled for her friend and devastated all at once. It is awful, wonderful, and as familiar as breathing.

She feels the camera lenses pan to her small frame as the train comes to a rest at the station, sighing in relief from the long journey. Saffron Lowe and the young ones, she herself old and worn - but similar, somehow. It always makes for good television, a bit-piece to Panem's history. Katelyn Persimmon's wise words linger in the back of Saffron's skull, frightfully honest.

"...sometimes there's this look in your eye like you're worried that you never stopped being that frightened 14 year old."

Ten's victor swallows their truth down and beams as Teddy approaches first, wrapping her dear friend up in a hug. "Well done," she whispers into the crook of his neck, their meeting as fleeting as her secret words. She hopes her smiling eyes say the rest, a gentle pat of his arm as they break apart. I'll see you soon, her touch says. She knows how this goes -- it is Flynn's day as much as it is hers.

And there he is, mop of curly dark hair combed back neatly to reveal wide eyes. Flynn Garner, much cleaner than she had recalled through the grime and smog of that awful wasteland of an arena. Young, so young.

But they all are these days.

She wonders if she had been so small on her arrival, and then casts the silly thought away with a silent scoff. Of course she was. She was tinier still.

"Hello Flynn," Saffron smiles gently, meeting his brown eyes with her own as she extends her hand out politely to greet his. "Welcome to District Ten. It's mighty fine to have you here."

That last line is for the cameras, dripping in southern drawl. But the words are true in meaning, a beautiful summer's day with just enough heat to bear perfect for a new Victor.

She gestures for him to follow through the cornered-off crowd to the outside, the hem of her dress swishing at her knees with the movement of a turn. Heads and eyes follow them both but she pays them no mind, continuing to talk as they embarked through the eclectic crowd of Tenners, Keepers, cameras and all. Anything to distract him from how overwhelming this all is. Anything to distract herself from the reality of how young he is and how fragile she feels at the stark reminder that is Flynn.

"Heard you like burgers," Saffron continues. "We usually do a dinner at our home, but that's not 'til later. Best get some lunch in you before the tour kicks off. Picked out the best place in town just for you."

As they step out from the station into the summer sun, Saffron sighs and squints into the town square. It hasn't changed one bit since she was fourteen, save for a few new shops here and there. Paint peels, weatherboards faded from drought to blizzard, nails and rooftops rusting away. In the distance the hills arch upward toward the sky and the Victor's Village gates stand ominous over the stretch of fields once green, now patched with brown and orange from the season. Littered with creaking old ranches and herds of cattle, District Ten is as tired as its people. It is honest, rough, raw. Unapologetic.

And she wouldn't want it presented in any other way.

"Come now," she calls after a moment of drinking in her hometown. "Butchery's just up here. It's all booked out for the afternoon, so you can get away from it all," waving a hand back toward the crowds that mill and disperse around the cordoned off sections at the station to signify it all.

"Worst comes worst they'll need a few photo ops, but I'll shoo them away afterwards," Saffron promises with a smile, hoping her nerves aren't showing as they walk through the township past rickety shops and windows freshly hosed down that morning for the tour.