It would not be until after evening for Fantine to reach the city of Porthos. For the present, the day was hot and heavy, and the journey long, relentless. Even the map she held was wet with sweat oozing from her palm.
"How many more fucking hours till I get there?" Groaned the young bounty hunter. "Wouldn't any of my brothers like to see me now, several miles into the heat of the desert plains, and not a village in sight? I say, by Jesu Maria, I'll die of dehydration before I see anything CIVILIZED."
She untied the water skin from her belt, her mind swarming with curses of her foolish insistence to walk the path of a chivalrous bounty hunter, whose job, she always believed, was to protect the children, aid the widows, assist the weaker vessels, slay the wicked and pick up lots of tasty treasure along the way.
Unfortunately, her perverted but sober sensei did not share her excitement.
"The path of such an occupation is flowered with thorns and bristles," he whispered. "You must purchase the crown of glory with labour, wits, skill, and most disgusting of all- a heart of gold. Which is why I insist you marry me instead. It's so much easier and beneficial for everyone!"
"Goddamn pervert," she muttered, and put the water skin to her lips. "Ahhhhh, fuck, it's empty. Well, I guess I have to control my thirst."
The sun shifted westwards; if Fantine had not the many years of intense endurance training, she would've collapsed long ago. In the desert, as soon as you stop moving, it's all over. You would never want to move again, and that'll be the end of you. Fantine shivered when she heard stories of skeletons found in deserts, still desperately trying to crawl on in hope of finding a fantastical oasis.
But she was on the outskirts of the desert, still many, many miles away from the heart- or so her map told her.
"Shit!"
Something was coming up from the horizon.
Was it a band of thieves? Desert muggers? Or merely a desert illusion?
Fantine whipped behind a cactus, still keenly observant, a firm grip on her katana. Muggers were the last thing she wanted.
Thankfully, it wasn't. All there was were two guards and three men, the latter in prison uniforms, chained together, parading through the desert. The dusty twilight rays cast strange glows unto these men's form, so they looked more like animals than any human in blood and flesh.
A boy was trailing behind them, but his pace was shaky, and sweat was poring from his hair and limbs. Yet he insistently followed the group, almost like a natural instinct.
The chain gang stopped near Fantine's cactus. One of the officers said to the other:
"He's been following us halfway by now."
The boy, seeing the group had stopped, seemed to feel a little relieved, and excitement recovered a little of his energy.
"Oy, you," one of the officers called, and threw the boy a water skin. The boy immediately put it to his lips, and drank as would a babe sucking on her mother's bosom.
"Go home, Jean Valjean," the other called as the boy drank. "You've followed us long enough by now. Go home before you die of thirst out here."
The boy stopped drinking abruptly: "Oh, but I wouldn't! As I have told ye gentlemen many times over and over: my father would never steal. I beg you, take him back to Porthos- and don't tell me you can't, either. Artemis, I know YOU are Prince Vlotheron's cousin, and Apollodorus, YOU are second captain of the prince's co-ruler, Lord Beltino's guards. The citizens of Porthos all know your names and titles, so I entreat you, go back and have the prince reconsider his sentence. My father is no thief."
"Well said," thought Fantine. "What a clever little boy." Even though she has no idea what's going on.
"We don't know what you're blabbering about," said the officer. "If you want to live, I think you'd better turn now. Porthos is still near; and if you continue to follow us, we will kill you. You don't have any other family, do you?"
Jean Valjean paused a moment, his eyes lost, for a moment. "Papa," he called out hoarsely.
None of the three men moved.
The two officers put their hands on their sword hilts. "Away, little shit. NOW."
"Here is a grand opportunity now," thought Fantine. "Here I was, complaining of boredom and these two officers are brought before me, almost as if by heaven's will. Here then! Here in the Hamagayen Desert, behind Sandfell the Cactus, I, Fantine, will now heed my duties as a chivalrous bounty hunter. They shall say this is where my blade was first drawn in my holy life."
Under the great, drunken influence of new happy hopes, she stepped out from behind the cactus:
"Good evening, gentlemen."
