Fire. Heat. Unbearable heat.
Esmeralda saw him. They locked eyes. He was going to fall towards the fiery pit that once claimed her life.
Hands, her own traitorous hands reached out to him. And his claws gripped at her.
And he was on top of her, pressing into her insistently, cornering her into the stone floors. She was squirming, she was screaming, no one was coming, why could no one hear her?
His face... oh his face was terrible. His smile seemed feral, a wild beast cornering his prey.
She screamed as his hands reached for her clothes.
Esmeralda jolts up from her sleep, a scream fighting its way out of her throat. Her hands claw at the ground, trying to get away, trying to save herself.
Then, a small bleating noise. Then a horse's whinny. And Esmeralda realizes where she is.
She had fallen asleep next to the river she had been following. She had sat down to rest... when sleep had overtaken on her.
Sighing in absolute frustration, Esmeralda relaxes her clenched fists, which had torn the grass from the earth.
Djali bleats again, and nuzzled next to her, his brown eyes peering up at her, as if to comfort her.
"You should've waked me," she says, her voice hoarse from screaming. She swallows, and then rubs off the dirt that now stained her hands. She had to get going. She had to move, before she became paralyzed by her own fear. Before the darkness of her own dreams completely unmotivated her to move, let alone walk.
Esmeralda pulls herself up, and moves to Skylla, the white steed that now nickers and snorts at her. She smiles as a happy memory for once enters into her mind.
"She's an absolute darling this one," Phoebus had said, handing her the reins to the horse.
"You don't have to do this," she protested, even though her hands had already gotten a tight grip on the reins. She was so beautiful... absolutely sweet too, judging by the tender way the mare nickered and blew air upon her hand.
Phoebus had smiled. "She's yours. She was only going to be used for breeding in the stables. But... I feel like you two will hit it off much better than she would with a stallion," he joked.
Esmeralda pats the horse's flank, and kept walking along the river. "Come on," she says softly, and Djali trudges with her, the three travelers walking along the worn path.
It isn't long until a clamoring noise meets her ears, much more manmade than the burbling sound of the river. Heart leaping in her chest, Esmeralda grips at her dagger, and looks behind her to see a cart bumping and creaking along the road.
The wagon, pulled by a hearty stallion, soon makes its way alongside her. A man and woman, dressed in threadbare clothing look down to her.
"Hello there mademoiselle! Where are you headed?" the man calls out, eyes peering at her from beneath his straw hat.
Esmeralda forces herself to relax her death grip on her dagger. "Just into Paris, monsieur," she replies.
A grin spreads on his face. "What a coincidence! So are Marg and me," he exclaims, patting the matronly woman on his left. She ducks under his hand, and pinches her husband's (Esmeralda was assuming they were married) cheek.
"Yes. We are. Now, dearie, would you like to travel with us?" Marg says abruptly.
"Oh no, I couldn't possibly. I've got my own ride," Esmeralda says, patting the horse's flank.
"Come on! We have plenty of room in here. Plus, it's dangerous for a woman to be traveling alone," Marg remarks with a sniff.
Esmeralda mulls it over quickly, not wanting to waste their time. It was true; their wagon was spacious. Plus, she feels so much more weary after her nightmares. It had been a while since she had last spoken to someone who didn't simply bleat in response.
"All right then, if it's still fine with you," Esmeralda says, gesturing to the couple.
Marg and the man vigorously nod, and with a pull of the reins, the cart slows to a stop. "Just tie your horse to the back. He's quite the beauty," Marg exclaims.
"She is," Esmeralda subtly corrects, giving her an appreciative glance as she climbs into the wagon. Still weary of the strangers, she keeps her dagger on hand, just in case. "What brings you to Paris?" Esmeralda asks.
"Looking for work with this idiot." Marg says, pointing at her husband who simply grumbles in response. Esmeralda has to stifle a giggle.
"We were farmers. But, to be quite frank, the only farming he ever managed to do was a half grown turnip," she snorts.
"Oi! We were doing fine, till this past winter!" the man protests.
Marg gives Esmeralda a wink. "Well... fine is relative. Look at the Fondaliers! They grew so much wheat they were practically givin' it away!" she cries out, smacking him on the arm.
"The Fondaliers bribed Lord Rousseau into getting more land, and you know it!" the man says, slipping into a smattering of low-voiced grumbles.
As the two argue, Esmeralda smiles to herself. There was something so familiar, so warming about their banter. As her eyes flicker over the rolling green countryside, she let Marg's shrill voice and Bruno's gruff one float over her, the sound of it somehow much more soothing than the stifling quiet of solitude.
But she hears a change in the woman's tone. Feeling a pair of eyes fixed on her, she turns to see the farmer's wife looking expectedly at her.
"I'm sorry, what did you say again? I was distracted," Esmeralda replies apologetically.
"Silly girl! I said, what brings you to Paris?"
A personal question. Esmeralda remembers a time when she wasn't wary of divulging her past with strangers.
But then again, her past hadn't been as laden with peril.
"I have family in the city. Paris was my home for the longest time..." she says carefully.
But Marg would not stop prodding. "Why did you leave?"
Her throat is suddenly dry, and yet, it's alarming how casual Esmeralda's tone became.
"I was getting stir-crazy. Needed to travel for a bit. Gypsies are quite nomadic," she says, winking at the couple. Grinning wide even as memories of ash, of his biting fingers and rasping voice, of blazing fire, flood her mind.
Marg squints at her, as if Esmeralda's life history could be discerned like some small freckle on her visage. "It was a man, wasn't it?" she says sympathetically, reaching over to pat one of Esmeralda's hands clasped at her knee.
Esmeralda has to stifle a snort. Well, sure, it had been a man. But to be quite frank... he seemed more monster than human. "No such luck, I'm afraid! I'd like to meet the man who would inspire me to go on my journey," she lies smoothly. There was once a time she hated lying. Now... it just feels too easy.
"Your journey? Where have you been?" she asks, eyebrows rising.
She smirks. At last, something she could talk about. "I left Paris... hmmm, close to eight months ago. Decided to just go where I pleased... followed the Seine for a while, until I decided to wander around the south... found my way to the Bay of Biscay, beautiful, never saw the ocean until then," she chatters.
"Isn't that dangerous? You silly girl, travelin' alone!" Marg gasps.
Esmeralda smiles. "Oh, we gypsies are quite adept at taking care of ourselves. Even us women," she says teasingly.
"But... you must've been lonely!"
"There's always people to meet on the road... I mean, look at us. I was simply traveling back to Paris, and now I'm talking with you two," Esmeralda replies.
There had been so many friends. More than she ever thought possible. Esmeralda knew she was naturally an effusive person, able to talk with anyone. But... she had never expected people, strangers, to be so kind.
It had been her nature to avoid others, to defend herself at the beginning of her journey. Soon, though, she had met a man, a wanderer on the road, who had given her his supper in exchange for simply talking. Then she had met a barmaid, a lovely woman from Brittany, who had chatted with her for hours at a time, about her son. She had met an aimless bookworm from a provincial town, a shepherd who loved to play the lute, a former hairdresser of the king's, and countless others.
Some were... negative. But more often than not... they were trusting of her.
She smiles warmly at her memories. But Marg's voice cuts through her aimlessness.
"Well, if you were my daughter, I wouldn't let you go wanderin' about. I suppose... do you have parents?"
"No. I was raised by my brother," she says. Instantly, she feels a surge of wistfulness. "It's been so long since I've seen him... I missed him," she admits.
"Course you did! But why did he ever let you out of his sight in the first place?" she chides, waggling her finger at her.
Esmeralda tries to brush off her piercing tone, her disapproving glare. But inwardly, memories, not necessarily pleasant ones, were rising to the surface.
"You can't just go! I can't allow it!" Clopin had said, shaking his fist.
"Clopin, you can't make me do anything," she had shot back.
"Esmeralda, I'm the only family you have. That makes me in charge of you. And you're not going on some aimless wander about the French countryside! You know what's out there? Thieves. Murderers."
"There's plenty of those men here in Paris."
Clopin had been livid. But, he knew his little sister all too well to think he could possible stop her from leaving. Esmeralda had left the next afternoon, with a worried Clopin following her as far as the city gates. They hadn't spoken a word to each other, Esmeralda still burning with absolute anger at him.
Regret fills her. She knew she had to leave. But now, she just wishes she hadn't been so angry with him in the end. Her stupid temper got the best of her.
"Well, it's getting late. I'm going to get some shuteye. We should be in Paris tomorrow morning, as long as this lug keeps on pulling along through the night," Marg says, leaning back.
She tosses her a hay filled sack. "Nighty night!" she croons, curling up in the wagon. Snores were soon heard, and Esmeralda saw Bruno struggle to contain his laughter.
"Snores like a pig, she does," he says quietly, grinning. She gives him a small smile and nods.
"You can sleep too. And your goat's free to have some of the hay... even though I suspect he has already."
Esmeralda looks down to see Djali nibbling contentedly on straw. Biting back laughter, she pats him and murmurs, "Thank you."
"You're welcome," Bruno said.
Marg's husband was much less talkative. Esmeralda listens to the creaking of the wagon, the soft sounds of the horses. Both lull her to a sleepy state.
Her eyes still warily flicker on both of them. They seem harmless enough, but you could never know with strangers. Esmeralda shifts and subtly grips her knife, hidden by her cloak. She slowly stares ahead, trying to keep awake.
Soon, however, the rhythmic creaks of the wagon rock her to a hazy, unfocused state. And before she can stop it, her eyelids drift closed, and she surrendered to exhaustion.
xxx
He is above her, mouth twisted into an unforgiving sneer. Hands curled into wretched claws hook into her shift, twisting it tearing it. She can't move, can't even scream as he slips his claws up higher, higher...
Esmeralda wakes with a jolt, chest heaving. Her heart-rate is so powerful, it feels as if her heart would beat its way out of her chest.
She shudders. Just a nightmare... not real, she thought.
"Are you all right?"
The voice was distant. Her gaze snaps up, to see Marg staring at her, brow furrowed in concern.
Her immediate reaction is to lie. "I'm fine, just a nightmare," she says.
She doesn't feel fine. Especially since, as she now realized, they were at the gates of Paris, waiting in line for their turn. Paris. Her home. The place where she nearly died.
The nightmares were getting worse. The closer in proximity she is to the city, the more the nightmares frighten her. It was the same one, over and over again.
Think of Clopin, Quasi, and Phoebus. Think of how happy they will be that you're home, she thinks, forcing herself to close her eyes and take a deep breath.
She isn't calm, that would be too easy. She just feels a little more detached than anything else. As she opened her eyes again, she feels outside of her body, staring at herself in the wagon as they finally reach the guard.
She doesn't listen, entirely in her own world. That is, she doesn't listen, until the man says in a gruff voice, "Papers."
She instantly snaps back to herself. "What?" she says dumbly.
The man groans. "Papers. Give me your papers," he says exasperatedly.
Instantly she stiffens. "I've never had papers," she blurts out.
Marg and Bruno stare at her. Esmeralda clings to Djali, lips pursed. Papers? "Last time I was here, I needed no papers to leave and enter the city," she explains, in her calmest, sweetest voice.
The man seems unaffected. "New policy from the minister. We check them now. And since you don't have them, we have no proof of your residence in Paris," he says, irritated.
Esmeralda feels her heart drop to the pit of her stomach. She is about to speak, when Marge beats her to the punch. "Can't she just come in with us?" she says fiercely.
"No ma'am."
"But, you didn't check our papers."
"You're not gypsies."
Esmeralda feels her temper flare up. "I've lived in Paris for most of my life! I have family behind those walls. I can take you to them-"
"Shut up, and get out of the cart!" the man orders.
Esmeralda grits her teeth, stifling a cry of frustration. She had thought Paris had put this garbage behind them. Apparently not.
She debates whether she should stay in the cart. But, as her angry green gaze turns to the couple's, she knows that starting a new life in Paris did not mean hiding a gypsy fugitive in their cart.
"Fine." She snarls, rising from her place. "Esmeralda, no!" Marg says, grabbing her arm.
"Don't worry, I'll be fine. Now, may I please have my horse?" she says.
Skylla's reins were handed to her hands, and both Djali and Esmeralda look up at the couple. Forcing a grin, she waves a hand at them, all the while feeling her stomach twist in knots. "Thank you so much! I'll see you at the other side!" she says, trying not to feel apprehensive as the soldiers patrolling the gate surrounded her.
Marg opens her mouth to protest, but was silenced by a frantic glance from her husband. Shutting her mouth, Marg watches as the small gypsy girl disappears from view as their cart turns into Paris.
"Saints protect her," she mutters nervously.
Xxx
Esmeralda plasters a grin on her face and turns to the men now gathered around her. From previous experience, when dealing with soldiers, it was best to wear the most full lipped of smiles and walk the most full-hipped of walks.
"I'm quite sorry about not having papers. But I've been traveling for quite some time. I do have family in Paris. If you let me, I can tell you where they are," she says charmingly, hands on her hips.
While some of the men are assuaged by her warmth, the leader she first spoke to is less convinced. "Any gypsy caught without papers cannot enter the city. Since you aren't leaving, we have no choice but to take you custody."
Esmeralda's brows knit together, and her lips turn downward. "I was never given any papers! How can you possibly expect me to have something which wasn't in existence the last time I was in Paris?!" she says, fury rising quick.
The solider ignores her question, eyes wandering to her horse. "Pretty horse. Quite rare, for a gypsy to have one," he says pointedly.
"I didn't steal it, if that's what you're thinking. It was a gift from your Captain Phoebus," she says bitingly.
"Five guilders that it's stolen," grumbles one of the men behind her.
"I heard that, and how about you ask the Captain himself?"
"The Captain's not here to save you," one of them pipes up.
Esmeralda finds herself surrounded by six men, over-eager for action after months of mundane patrolling around a city that never seemed more boring.
Her green eyes dart from man to man, and she subtly reaches for her dagger.
"Gentlemen, I'd hate for my first day in Paris to be spent leading you all on a fruitless chase. Perhaps we should delay for another day?" she says in a sickeningly sweet voice.
The men around her step closer and closer, and energy spikes in her veins.
But before she can make her move... a man rides in, quite literally, on a white horse.
"What seems to be the problem here, lieutenant?" Phoebus says, quite literally breaking through the circle. Esmeralda feels her cheek muscles ache from the giant grin that now stretches on her face.
Suddenly, all the men stand straighter, and are filled with nervous energy. "Captain! What are you doing here?" the leader of their group asks.
"Oh, you know. Patrolling. Following orders. The usual," he says with wave of his gloved hand.
"We've caught a gypsy attempting to sneak into Paris without papers!" the man said, puffing his chest out and grabbing Esmeralda's arm.
With a single movement, she yanked the limb from his hand and proceeded to spin away from the company of men. "Not true. I wasn't sneaking anywhere. I was stopped when I was trying to enter, in a very not sneaky way, into the city," she says wryly.
Phoebus has to stifle his laughter with a cough.
"No need to stop this one. I know for a fact she'd want to get home."
"But she stole this horse!" the lieutenant says.
"Oh, Skylla? I gave that horse to her as a gift months ago. Glad to see she's in good condition," Phoebus comments. The company whisper, shooting suspicious glances between them. Esmeralda simply rolls her eyes.
She can't help but shoot a smug smile as Phoebus motions for both her and her horse to come forward. Still holding Djali, she saunters away, blowing a mocking kiss to the men. "Goodbye lieutenant. I'm sure we'll meet again, when you accuse me of another crime I didn't do," she says tauntingly.
With that comment, she mounts onto her horse and follows Phoebus into the city.
Once past the walls, Phoebus quickly got off the horse and walked over to her, white teeth flashing in an enthusiastic grin. "Esmeralda... do you always have a habit of getting into trouble, or is it only when soldiers are around?" he comments.
Esmeralda rolls her eyes and gracefully slid off of Skylla. "Well, you seem to enjoy playing the knight in shining armor. I might just be doing it for your benefit," she says, punching him in the shoulder.
"Why is it you can't see me without hurting me?" he says, rubbing the shoulder.
"I didn't answer your question back then, don't think I'll do it now," she replies.
He shakes his head, still smiling. With about as much grace as a pup, he pulls her in for a hug. "How are you? I can't believe you're here! I was starting to think you had run off with some man in the country," he says.
"I'm fine. Happy to be home," she says warmly, patting his shoulder. She broke from him, her entire being feeling so light as happiness overwhelms her. Of course, this city had its unpleasant memories. But, there were too many people that she was so fond of to truly leave it.
"You're going to have to fill me in on all of your adventures. I'm sure there are many," he says.
"Eh, here and there, everywhere. Sometimes it was interesting, sometimes it was utterly boring," she says flippantly. Then, her tone is serious. "How's Clopin?"
"He's fine. Just fine."
If she were more focused, she would have sensed the change in his tone to something more foreboding. But instead, her eyes see the glint of his wedding ring. "And how's Fleur? Still as lovely as her namesake?" she says teasingly.
Phoebus suddenly grins. "She's great. And so's my daughter."
"Daughter?!" Esmeralda gasps, hand flying to her mouth.
"Yes," Phoebus says proudly, and at that moment, he looks every bit like a prideful father.
"Oh, I can tell already, she's going to have father wrapped around her little finger. What's the little princess's name?" Esmeralda says, suddenly so giddy with excitement.
"Aurore... means dawn..."
"I'm assuming Fleur picked it?" she says, nudging him.
"What?! Why does everyone say that!" Phoebus says, frustrated.
Esmeralda folds her arms, "Well. Did she?"
"Yes, but that's not the point! I could have thought of a pretty name too!"
"What were your options?"
Phoebus opens his mouth, only to realize he hadn't had any names picked out for a girl, but for a boy. Sheepishly, he clasps his hands behind his back, causing her to laugh loudly.
"Well, whatever her name is, I hope I get to meet her," Esmeralda says.
"Of course!" Phoebus replies.
For a moment, Esmeralda turns to the road ahead, suddenly lost in a swirl of sensation and familiar faces. There was the butcher that everyone avoided because of his rotting meat and surly attitude; there was the woman with the pushcart selling eggs; there was the tavern Clopin always went to have his fun, and the nearby baker who seemed to always take pity on gypsy children in the winter.
"It all looks the same," she comments, suddenly overwhelmed by a myriad of feeling.
Well, the same, save for the soldiers that now patrolled. Narrowing her eyes, she turns to Phoebus. "When did the guards become so active? Did something happen?"
Phoebus is suddenly quiet, and she saw guilt and apprehension seep into his frame. "Phoebus, what's wrong? What happened?" Esmeralda asks, anxiety twirling in her gut.
"Esmeralda... you're not going to like what I'm about to say," he says carefully, eyes following her every movement.
"What? What?! What the hell is going on?"
He's too afraid to say it all at once. "We have a new Minister. He's been cracking down on illegal activity. After you left, the city... it wasn't great."
"I remember, Phoebus... and although I hate you lot, we kind of needed extra soldiers," she says, instantly remembering the many times she had to run from cutthroats and men with very strong, wandering hands.
Phoebus winces and before he could speak, she says, "And even if the minister does have something against gypsies, that's nothing new. Nothing could be as bad as Frollo," Esmeralda says darkly, instantly glaring at a point far ahead of her.
"That's the problem. It's Frollo."
Her eyes widen minutely as her heart thuds furiously, an automatic response to what he's suggesting. But, she soon forces a smirk, and rolls her eyes. "Very funny, Phoebus," she says, inwardly cursing at how her voice still shook, still betrayed the fear she tries so desperately to bury.
But his face is still wan and pale. And she realizes that the next words he will say will destroy whatever hope for a new life she has left.
"He's been reinstated. The Crown needed a new minister, so they looked into their dungeons to find him," Phoebus says, spitting the last word in disgust.
Reality crashes down on Esmeralda as devastatingly as a falling stone. No... no! her thoughts screamed in horror.
She backs away from him. "You're lying!" she snarls, fists clenching, muscles tight and ready for a battle.
Phoebus attempts to call her name, calm her. But she can't be calm; not when visions of smoke, fire and him spring before her eyes, blinding her vision. He stands in her personal hell, his smirk sadistic, as if it were only a matter of time before he caught and tortured her in his fiendish claws.
She doesn't know she's running until she almost crashes into one of the pushcarts. "Hey! Where do you think you're going?!" the woman shrieks.
But Esmeralda keeps running, bare feet slapping harshly against the cobblestone streets. Running from a monster that will never stop, from a beast that reappears over and over.
Her breaths gasps from her heaving, aching chest, and her legs burn from the exertion of running. But she runs faster fear running her blood cold, oh so cold.
She runs away, bile rising in her throat, hot needles of pain twisting in her abdomen...
She doesn't know she is on the bank of the Seine until she feels cold mud squish under her feet.
She finally stops, raggedly panting, stomach hurting from both running and thoughts of... that man.
She shakes uncontrollably, and her legs give out from under her, sending her down into the mud. Curling in on herself, she feels frustrated screams fight their way out of her throat, harshly crying out into the day. It's not fair! She thinks bitterly, tears burning in her eyes.
She feels sick. And absolutely angry. Why is it that he of all people is forgiven? Of all the prisoners who have been sent to rot in the Palace of Justice, he is the one that receives reprieve?
There had been so many gypsies sentenced for years because they simply stole to feed their families. And after one year, a monster, a killer, had been let loose and given honor.
It seems to be all one giant, cruel, cosmic joke. After all she went through... she's back at square one. Running from soldiers, running from his reaching, wandering hands
A choking sob claws its way from her hurting throat. "It's not fair," she cries hoarsely, the bitter taste of hatred lingering on her tongue.
I've come from so far... she thinks, heart constricting painfully in her chest. She had been running, trying to leave behind the past... only to come walking back into it just when she thought herself... not fully healed, but certainly able to walk around Paris without the crippling fear of before.
Except... now, all she can think about is his face. How is she expected to move on when the very monster who haunts her nightmares rules the city?
She shudders, feeling ice cold, even as the sun blazes down on her with all its heat. Fear, anger, and desolation swirl within her, a lethal cocktail that threatens to strip away whatever hope she has left.
She hears someone behind her. Gasping, she springs to her feet, turning with her dagger brandished... to see blonde hair, brown eyes, instead of a harshly lined face and hooked nose.
"Oh," she says pathetically, awkwardly lowering her knife while her heart pounds furiously in her chest.
He has such a painfully uneasy look on his face, and she instantly feels guilty... for what, being afraid? She thinks pointedly.
"I... this little guy couldn't keep up with you," he says, redirecting her gaze downwards towards Djali who bleats in joy that his beloved friend is not lost.
Esmeralda feels a stab of guilt. "Oh! Right! Sorry Djali," she murmurs, bending down and picking up the goat. For a moment, she buries her face into his coarse fur, breathing in that musky, yet comforting, scent.
She tries to will herself to stop shaking, but cannot. Suddenly angry, she lashes at the one person there. "Why didn't you stop him?" she accuses. She still grips Djali tight, as if the small animal anchors her to this world, keeps her from sinking down and despairing in the mud.
Phoebus, after tying off Skylla and Achilles, faces her. He flinches in the face of her anger, and cannot help but be defensive. "It was the king's will. I didn't know it was going to happen until the papers had been signed!
Anger burns within her like fire, scalding each nerve ending until she becomes too heated to even think anymore. "You're the fucking captain of the guard! If anyone can speak out, it's you! You know what he's done!" she snaps at him, voice ringing out across the river.
Phoebus's glance darts frantically across the river. "Keep your voice down!" he says warningly, attempting to near her.
But she reacts as if he is the very threat she fears, stumbling further back, dragging her skirts farther into the muck. Her muscles twitch and tremble, and in that moment, she feels like a cornered animal: agitated, threatened, and angry.
"How can I possible keep my voice down when you have allowed that monster to waltz in and take power?!" she yells, her voice howling and raging like the most deadly of storm winds.
"I had no choice!"
It was as if something broke apart with an audible snap in her mind. Still shaking in both fury and fear, she sloshes towards him through the dark, grainy mud.
"Had no choice?! My brother, a gypsy, a man who's thought of as subhuman, chooses to openly mock Judge Frollo. He has so much more to fear than you do! But he chose to not give up! I would think the least you could do is make sure the people you serve are protected from the likes of him!" she cries out passionately. Phoebus steps back, genuine fear in his wide eyes. "Esmeralda..."
"No, dammit, I'm talking! You are telling me that there is absolutely no way that you, a military officer who everybody thinks is the city hero, can just... protest against him?!" she cries out bitterly.
"Esmeralda, if I spoke out against him... it's treason!"
"So?" she hisses.
Phoebus staggers back, absolutely floored by the coldness that seeps into her usually warm tone. And as she stares into his shocked eyes, she realizes the absolute stupidity, no, cruelty of her statement. In only a few moments, she can see his future had he refused an imperious monarch's wishes; a future that truly no longer had him living with his head atop his shoulders.
She gasps at her own blind fury. Immediately, apologies fall from the lips that once spewed such acid words. "I'm sorry, I... I didn't mean..." she says, clasping a hand to her mouth, as if to physically push the hateful words back down her throat, back to that dark, panicked place that frightens even her.
Phoebus's eyes still betray hurt, but he nods. Esmeralda believes that he lies when he says, "It's fine."
She turns away from him, still holding Djali tightly. The animal, vaguely aware of his mistress's turmoil, bleats mournfully as if to sympathize.
Subconsciously running her fingers through gnarled fur, she looks out at the Seine, too ashamed of her outburst to even meet his gaze. "I'm sorry, I couldn't help," Phoebus says lamely, and she can hear him shifting awkwardly in his stance on the riverbank.
"It's not your fault," she says lowly, sighing. Her eyes flicker to the other side of the bank, where three children, unaware of the grim-faced woman before them, splash and dunk each other into the cold spray. She watches, detached from their actions. She can't even smile. All she can think about is how the fire burnt, how his eyes burnt... their high pitched laughs and screams of delight take on something more macabre and frightening in her mind, as suddenly memories of gypsies, screaming in terror at the approaching fire and guard, spring before her.
Heat... terrible heat... Flames licking at the bundles at her feet... choking smoke...
"Esmeralda?"
It occurs to her that he's been calling her name repeatedly for the past few minutes. She feels as if she's swimming in murky waters, unable to surface.
Blinking, she turns back to him, breathing labored. "Earth to Esmeralda," he says with an awkward, halfhearted laugh.
Her brow furrows and she presses a hand to her temples, ears ringing. "Sorry," she murmurs, gut clenching in anxiety. What was happening to her? She can feel panic mounting in her chest, as solid and immovable as a lead weight.
She tries to shake off the alarming visions and distract her harrowed mind. "How long... has he been... back?" she says haltingly folding her arms tightly over her chest, as if the physical action will seal herself off from her surroundings.
"For a couple of months," Phoebus replies, still eyeing her carefully.
"Has he done anything exceedingly awful yet?" she says sardonically, slowly regaining her calm demeanor, and masking the previous vulnerability underneath the forced, wry demeanor. She knows it sounds false to her own ears, but she just hopes that Phoebus believes her.
She doesn't know if she is relieved or secretly disheartened when he does not seem affected by the false tone of voice and does not push the issue. "Not yet. He's been put on a short leash. There's a man named Nicolas Bonhomme, from the king. He seems like a decent man, and he's kind of Frollo's babysitter," Phoebus says, attempting to get her to smile at the quip.
Her lips quirk up minutely, but she can't laugh with him without it sounding absolutely forced. "Frollo's babysitter. Poor man. I would rather swallow a rat whole," she says, shuddering.
Still so serious, she turns her guarded gaze back to the children across the river. Concern is present in the smooth facets of her face, in her drawn together brows. "No matter how short the leash is, a mad dog always yanks itself out eventually," she says.
Phoebus stares at her tense posture, completely clueless on how to react in the face of her utter anxiety. "If he makes one slip up he goes back to prison," he volunteers sheepishly.
Esmeralda shoots a disbelieving glare, causing him to audibly gulp.
There were the words again-angry, bitter words fighting up her throat to gain entrance out of her mouth.
She had never been good at controlling her mouth. Nor her temper. So it's not really a surprise to her when she says:
"Unless the king just wants him to just get rid of the gypsies for good."
Phoebus gasps loudly, eyes glinting in alarm. "Esmeralda, you can't think like that!"
"Why shouldn't I? The moment they put Frollo back in as Minister, they proved they want us gone." She retorts fiercely.
Unfortunately, he doesn't have a suitable response for her. Sighing in frustration, she closes her eyes, trying to relieve herself of the heavy weight that settles down upon her, drags her down like shackles in the Palace of Justice itself.
"He doesn't know you're back."
Esmeralda frowns. "What do you mean?"
"Frollo. I told him you had left Paris months ago. That you were gone. He still doesn't know you're back. The soldiers at the walls never send full reports of what goes on," Phoebus says calmly.
Esmeralda turns to him. Without saying the words out loud, she knows what he means. She's invisible. A ghost. As long as she stays hidden... she's safe from him.
But what kind of life is that, to be a fugitive in your own home? She thinks. It feels so... cowardly. It doesn't sit well with her, especially since it is so evocative of the last time she had to be "invisible".
She combats the wave of memories by thinking of other things. Thinking of the present. After all the bad news he's said today, Phoebus has granted her a boon. "Thank you," she says, her green eyes glinting with understanding.
"Here..." Phoebus pulls out a scroll from a pocket of his belt, then a quill. Leaning onto a nearby tree, with Esmeralda's intent eyes watching his every brush stroke, he begins to draw on a map of the city.
"Frollo's pretty routine, so his routes don't usually change. If you want to avoid him, stay off of these paths from about noon to four. He goes to Notre Dame on Sundays, morning and evening mass. Just lay low, and he won't find you," he promises.
While the tendrils of fear still clutch her heart tight, she still is overwhelmed with tenderness by his actions. "Thank you," she repeats softly, hands reaching for the map.
He nods, eyes still concerned. Esmeralda folds the map and places t in her bag. For a moment she kicks at the muddy water, unaware of what to say. She had so many questions, and yet she was afraid to know the answers.
"I should go to Clopin," she breathes out in a rushed exhale. Phoebus nods. "I'll walk you there," he volunteers.
xxx
Thanks for reading and the reviews! -Cgal