Who: Leto and Beetee (and Wiress?) What: An improbable encounter When: The eve of the Quarter Quell games Where: The Capitol Rating: PG-13
Few societies were ever truly absent the cruelty which parents visited upon their children. Panem was no exception. Propped against the wide rail of the President's box, Leto observed the circus as men and women guided animals into an arena meant for the consumption of boys and girls as young as twelve years old. Closer examination revealed the stand-ins to be white horses draped with black reins and tethered to silver chariots. The arena should have been empty save for these creatures and their minders, but so few plans had reached fruition in the Capitol in recent months that Leto was hardly surprised to see the familiar figures of aged victors at one end of the stadium, their group small and its members less than talkative. Body language confirmed what reason suspected: they were no happier to be back where they had started than the audience was to have them there. All of Panem was invested in their fates. The Capitol seemed to deem this to be a good thing. Leto was not convinced.
Visiting heads of state had no opinion, as Regent Alia was keen to remind her nephew. In her image, Leto kept his views buried deep and waited in the wings. It would be a matter of time before the red tape was cut through and his request could be honored. Like all guests of the President, the Atreides were met with excessive largesse and hospitality to rival the receptions offered to celebrate victors in the Games. The only difference lay in the degree to which such treatment was deserved; in a place like the Capitol, that difference encompassed the breadth of social stratification, the tumultuous history and the simmering dissent nestled in every nook and cranny.
Revolutions did not need much more to ignite.
His father's memory loud in his ears, Leto turned sharply away from the window upon hearing the near-silent hissing of the door. It proved difficult not to feel pleasure that his boyish desire to meet a victor in the flesh had not engendered suspicion or refusal. Perhaps had he chosen last year's improbable pair, the surprise might have been of a different nature. Perhaps not. After all, victors were the President's toys. There was no secret, in the right circles, that these brave gladiators were often put to good use in the payment of certain debts and the procurement of favors.
"I apologize for taking you away from your friends," Leto began, dispensing quickly with the pretense of the tongue-tied princeling. "I can only imagine how high emotions must be running at such a time. Please." He gestured to one of the plush couches that made up the furnishings of the President's box. All were oriented to the arena, so that the wealthy might observe their unfortunate victims in comfort and luxury. There were no seats available for the bodyguards and servants in attendance, but then the games weren't held for their voyeuristic pleasure.
It was telling that Leto stood there alone, that he dismissed the Avox responsible for Beetee's presence with a careless wave of the hand. He was the heir apparent to an Emperor and yet he wanted no witnesses to this meeting. True to Capitol form, what rich boys wanted, rich boys got in spades.