The grin slowly fell from his face as his body slide down the wall he was using as support. Immediately, he was surrounded by a mob of well intending people. Someone, he wasn't sure who with his eyes close, had his head gathered into their lap. Clopin felt his body sagging with exhaustion as multiple people began to stroke his hair. One person in particular was rubbing a small circle on the back of his head.

He wasn't sure the exact moment he had felt consciousness slip away from him. In any other situation, he would have been very embarrassed to be seen so weak. But, at least for now, he didn't beat himself up about. After all, he was wounded enough without further self-inflicted wounds.

The gypsies around him would sing soft tunes in small voices, helping to ease him back into sleep while people would continue to caress his head. It did help. However, no matter how much his body craved sleep and how powerless he was to resist, he wished people won't allow the dreams to happen. Consciousness hurt more, but it was at least less confusing.

The dreams were baffling! In one moment, he'd be running through the streets, and, in the next, he was chained. Then, he was flying. Suddenly, he was trapped under a mountain of paper. Before each moment could register, he was abruptly tossed into another. It was just as disorientating as it was painful.

The ache would bounce around his head with ragged sharp edges. Spaghetti with glass would wiggle between his ears. Gold jewelry ate him alive. Esmeralda was dancing. His mask no longer fit. Clothes were too bright and loud. Hair was too long and wild. People had clubs and were smashing his head. Glass shards were everywhere on his mind. Someone was screaming.

Noise chased the hallucinations away. Though his head was pounding, he was grateful for the release from the nightmares.

The screaming continued. That part wasn't a dream?

His eyes fluttered open, the light hurting. Someone was cradling his head in their arms. Why were they doing that? Why did everything hurt so much? What was going on?

Before he could even really consider the situation, Clopin was bounding forward, trying to grab at her. The arms holding him fell away in the shock.

A guard. A fucking guard had little Laverne in a chock hold with a knife on her neck!

"Let her go!" He gasped out. His hands managed to take ahold of her tiny arms before someone kicked him in the stomach. The force made him black out as his back hit the floor. When he came to, he was being dragged away as shrieks of his name came begging from so many directions. He found that he was unable to keep his eyes open. No matter how much he tried to convince himself that he needed his vision to know what was happening to him, he couldn't muster the willpower.

He must have fainted again because the next thing he was aware of was people kicking him. He whimpered loudly, arms going up to protect his head, even though his back hurt more than anything he ever felt possible. In that moment, he begged silently for death to take him before magnificent blackness enveloped him once more.

When he finally came back around to somewhat coherence, people were sobbing and begging. They were pleading with unseen people, trying to convince them that they knew nothing.

"Please, let him go!"

"He'll die!"

"We don't know! We swear!"

"Clopin, please…"

The world slipped from his grasp once more. When he finally managed to fight his way towards cognizance once again, he was being held up by his hair. His mouth released a moan as he stirred.

Nothing made sense anymore. Everything was just so painful. He wished he was dead. Though he wasn't sure exactly who he was, why this was happening; the only thing he knew beyond a doubt was that he wished death would claim him so he could be released from this.

"Where are the other gypsies?"

He knew that voice, didn't he? It was hard to tell. Hell, he wasn't sure who he was. Did anything at all exist before this pain became his reality? He wasn't sure. Even though he didn't have a single real thought, he mumbled, "You're a salaud."

Was it the right thing to say? Would this person finally kill him? He felt himself be dragged into an upright position. He groaned loudly.

The only bit of awareness he managed to cling to was the knowledge that there was something cold ('Probably metal,' his mind told him) was up against his cheek. He being held like that while someone, very loudly he might add, demanded that they all put on the shirts.

Shirts of all things? Perhaps this was another overstimulated nightmare.

There was quiet for a moment and he was no longer being beaten or moved! It helped clear the fuzz around his head enough to slowly open his eyes. The flickers of the torches he saw were too bright, but he was happy to see gypsies with his own vision. Oh, he had eyes again! Wait, he was thinking again!

Oh that's right! He was a gypsy. More than that, he was The Gypsy King. He was Clopin.

The knowledge that he had a name; that even before this torment became his only reality he was someone made him start to laugh with relief. If he had existed before this agony, that meant he could return to whomever he was then. Was that hope he was feeling?

The sound echoed darkly against the walls. Many people stopped dressing themselves to stare at him. He found himself wondering what emotion they looked at him in, but found he was unable to read their faces.

Now that full awareness was slowly returning to him, Clopin was starting to gradually take things in. He was being held against someone's armor. There was a knife against his cheek. The pervious shirtless gypsies were now wearing white tops. They were all staring at him. He should do something. He wasn't sure what, exactly. It was becoming increasingly aware to him that he was in no mental state to make any decisions.

So, he did the most natural thing for him to do: he smiled at them.

A couple started to weep openly. A few more began to smile back at him. Most stare at him in what he now recognized as shock. The slightly enlarged eyes, the gap between the lips: disbelief was oozing from them.

As he took it in, he was caught off guard as the guard –'Fun choice of words, Clopin. Remember to make that a pun.' – aburtly pushed him forward. He tumbled ungracefully, unable to gather the strength it took to keep him upwards. Thankfully, a couple gypsies caught him before he was able to reacquaint himself with the ground.

"Salaud." Clopin mumbled in the direction of the man.

"Yeah!" Said one gypsy, slowly turning his gaze from the lean man to where Clopin assumed was where the guard was standing. "You're just a lowly salaud!"

"Quiet, filth!" barked a rough voice.

"Salaud!" accused another.

Instantly, the room erupted with shouts of insults. Though most became a jumbled noise to Clopin, he frowned when he heard the word 'children' be tossed around a bit. Was it possible he hadn't dreamed the bit with Laverne? What kind of man took a small child? Merde! That was low, even for one of Frollo's guards.

He was brought back to reality as the people holding him began to cry. The noise made him stand up on his own, simply to the alarm it caused him. He heard protest from both his back and other people, but he forced it out of his mind. Instead, he reached forward and wiped the tears away from one of the men in front of him.

Though his mouth moved, no audible words left his lips. Ignoring the bizarre situation where his mouth would function and his voice would not, he moved onto the next person, wiping away tears of a woman this time.

Even though his entire being screamed to continue, his body began to shake, ignoring its commands.

No one seemed to notice his inner turmoil because someone came running forward and grabbed his head into a tight embrace. Once again, Clopin could not see who held him. However, he relaxed into the embrace, feeling safe in the arms of his kin.

People surrounded him now. So many voices bundled together, merging into a single voice of gratitude. After taking a much of his selfish ego could handle, Clopin forced himself into a sitting position and tried to word his sentence carefully. "I blacked out for a moment there." He gave a laugh, mostly for himself. "What'd I miss?"

A few people avoided his gaze once he asked. A wiry smile appeared on his lips at this. Did they think he'd make them answer if they continued to look at him?

Beside him, Clair answered. Judging on her close position, Clopin had to assume she had been the one holding his head. "They took the children, Clo."

"They did?" he crooked his head, hoping to seem at ease. He didn't want anyone to see how much at rattled him. Given that his mind was still slightly fuzzy, he wasn't sure how much he succeeded in neutralizing his expression. Not wanting to see whether or not he failed, he turned his entire attention to Clair. "Lavern too?"

"Yes," the woman whispered, tears brimming. "They took everyone under the age of ten."

Clopin did a quick glance around the room and saw that, true to her word, the youngest person remaining was Alexandre, a boy of about twelve. "Can't say I'm happy about that." Clopin folded his arms, frowning only slightly. "I will assume that they mean to spare them, at least."

Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Clair give a soft whimpering noise. "Yes, I think so too. I'm grateful."

Not turning to look at her, he raised a hand and gave her a small squeeze on the shoulder. He wished he could tell her not to worry because they'd get them back, but that was a lie. No, they were all going to die. There was no way for him to protect them now. He wished there was, but wishing and hoping was a foolish endeavor that Clopin did little of. Besides, La Esmeralda had enough idealism for the both of them.

Esmeralda… no, it hurt too much to think about her right now.

"What were they talking about Clopin?" whispered a woman with wide eyes, finally breaking the silence. "Why were they asking about other gypsies? We were all captured."

"Well," Clopin feinted embarrassment, giving them a small smile while he scratched the back of his head. "I hadn't wanted to say anything, in case Frollo didn't know. But, seeing how he does know, I can tell you." He gave a large grin now, almost beaming. "About a hundred or so escaped during the raid and Frollo has no idea where they are now."

Shock flickered across many faces. Slowly, that melted away into smiles. "Ha! Frollo must be tearing his hair out!"

"He was so close; we still won!"

"Are they safe?"

"I'm happy for them."

"But where are they Clopin?"

The last question made silence fall on them. Many, if not all, turned to stare at his face. During Clopin's hesitation, a woman spoke up. "You know, don't you? That's why…"

She didn't have to finish. Shaking his head, Clopin willed himself not to take in their pity. Gratitude was one thing, but he would not allow himself to be pitied. "Don't ask." He finally snapped, coming out harsher than he intended. "It's better if you don't know."

"Oh, Clo," whispered Clair.

"None of that." Clopin chided playfully, wagging a finger at her. "I will have none of that."

They all looked too tentative to say something, but it was clear they all had something to say. Clopin folded his arms, looking at them with a smirk, daring them to commiserated him.

"It's – that's – I'm sor–" one began.

"Moving on." Clopin interrupted, rolling his eyes. "Did Frollo come himself? Did he grace us with his wondrous presence?"

To his relief, the comment made a few smiles. A gypsy named Alphonse spoke up after it became clear no one else would. "Yes. He asked us about the gypsies. When we told him we didn't know, he had them finally stop kicking you. He told us that he would be back tomorrow to ask again after his 'bonfire'. He then made the comment we needed to dress up, so they forced us to wear these stupid things." With his face screwing with disgust, he made a point to gesture at his white shirt.

As he spoke, Clopin became aware that he was also wearing a shirt as well. Well, whatever. It helped with the heat if nothing else. Giving a small bleak chuckle, Clopin said, "Really? What does that salaud think will happen? 'Oh, you are killing my family? I'll definitely tell you where to find the rest now'!"

"Clo," came a soft whisper.

"Don't start, Clair. We all already know we're not making it out of this one. No need to be so gloomy until the end, though." Searching his brain was harder than he would have liked, but he did managed to recall some of his pervious speech. "I meant what I said earlier." He said, voice gaining volume. "We will die, but our spirits will be just as free as they always have." Looking carefully over his attentive audience, he continued with a convincing grin. "We'll ride the wind forever."

Turning his attention to the small opening in the wall, he noticed that the sun was rising well into the afternoon. "They'll be back soon enough to take us. When they get here, there's no reason to delay the inventible. Let's just hope that by cooperating, they'll be even kinder to the children."

He wanted to tell them that it was the only hope they had left. But, telling them that was for his sake alone. No, he refused to burden them with the gloom he held inside.

"Clopin?"

"Yes, Alexandre?"

"You said about a hundred gypsies escaped."

He grinned at him. "They did."

"Then…" The boy's brows lowered, looking deep in thought in both the literal and the figurative sense. "Then, we gypsies still won, right? It doesn't matter than Frollo got most of us, he didn't get all of us."

"He will never rid of us." Clopin gave a laugh, ruffling the boy's hair with great affection. "Gypsies are freedom, and one can never fully chain freedom."

"Then why do they try so hard? What do they have against people that are different? Why do they fear us?"

"Because when someone is different, people get confused and scared. Most people want so badly to belong; they're blind to the knowledge that everyone is different. So when they come across someone who not only embraces the idea of being unique, but is happy about it? They get so scared, because they are forced to realize they themselves aren't as normal as they liked to believe. And, even worse than that, that they had given up on something as wonderful as being free to be themselves for nothing. They see that we are truly happy being who we are and they are at a lost. And that confusion becomes fear."

"If they're just confused, then someone should just explain it to them!" The lad curled his fists, looking furious now. "Don't they have someone to explain what freedom truly is to them? Don't they have someone like you?"

"Worse, Mon Petit." Clopin admitted, feeling rushes of affections for the lad. "They have someone like Frollo twisting their fear and confusion into hatred."

"Then–"

"It doesn't excuse their actions." Clopin amended, quickly. "Ignorance doesn't excuse crimes or hatred."

"Ignorance…" The boy murmured thoughtfully.

A part of Clopin wondered why he felt so insistent on giving this boy some wisdom when he would be dead so very soon. "Remember that, Alexandre. Hatred born of ignorance is foolish. Hatred born of experience is wise."

Unable to see the young man's earnest face any longer, Clopin forced himself to avert his gaze. He didn't want to see such a young face full of hope while hearing the little voice in the back of his mind telling him that the boy would die. Instead, he looked to the rest of his people, giving them a small sad smile. "Everyone, take a moment to say your goodbyes. They will be here soon."

Few acknowledged him, but they did as he suggested. Not wanting to say a single goodbye to anyone, Clopin curled up against the cold wall, but was careful not to let it touch his back.

He avoided having his thoughts wander too far away from fluffy happiness as everyone did as they were bid. He would appear happy and content for the people around him until his dying breath.

Clopin would not cry; he would laugh.