1496…
They would reach Lyon in a few days. They had enough food to last the trip and more than enough money to rent a cheap room once they reached Lyon. He watched as Esmerelda built a small fire and rummaged through the sack of food, pulling out half a loaf of bread and a wedge of cheese. She seemed paler than he remembered, but she had essentially spent the last thirteen years locked in a house. A few weeks out in the sun and her skin would regain its coppery tone. She looked up at him, smiling.
"What are you thinking?" she asked. She picked up a stick and speared a slice of bread with it. She held it out over the fire, carefully toasting it.
Phoebus shrugged. He was rarely ever tongue-tied, but he found now that he couldn't articulate his feelings. Sitting her with Esmerelda, just watching as she bent over a campfire, kneeling in the dirt, made him feel happier than he'd ever been. "I love you," he said.
Esmerelda placed a thin slice of cheese on the toast and handed it to him. "I love you too," she said. She cut another piece of bread and speared it with the stick. "But what are you really thinking?"
"I'm the luckiest man on earth," he said, taking a bite of the toast. He chewed, watching as she cooked her own toast. "I'm here with you, we're going to get married…"
Esmerelda slid closer to him, nestling against him as she ate her toast. "I've dreamed of this," she said, "I've dreamed that you would come back for me, that you would take me and Katarina, that we'd be happy at last…" She lifted her head from his shoulder to look at him, and he saw tears in her eyes. "I never thought it would really happen. I always thought…"
"Shh…" he rubbed her cheek. Her skin was smooth and warm. "It doesn't matter what you once thought. It did happen."
She nodded. "Yes," she whispered, kissing him, "it finally did."
~xXx~
Katarina did not seem to see Phoebus, or if she did notice him, his presence didn't register with her. Esmerelda glanced at Phoebus. She hoped he wasn't offended by this; his daughter was practically ignoring him. He was smiling, however, leaning on his crutch and watching patiently as Esmerelda and Katarina embraced. Esmerelda closed her eyes, rubbing Katarina's head with her free hand. Her wispy blonde hair was cut short, crudely hacked into a boyish bob, and her hands were dirty. She smelled like the outdoors, like dirt and grass. Esmerelda realized that it was not the scent that usually clung to Katarina; she normally smelled strongly of soap and dust and other things that came with being forced to remain inside. The rich, earthy smell that now clung to her was new and refreshing, and only seemed to remind Esmerelda of their newfound freedom.
"I thought you were dead." Katarina's voice was muffled; it sounded like she was crying. "Everybody said so, and there was even a grave in the cemetery – "
Esmerelda shook her head, stroking Katarina's hair. "Your false-father tried to trick you," she said, "he thought he could catch you if he told everyone I was dead."
"He almost did."
Esmerelda opened her eyes and glanced over at Phoebus. She did not want to think about Claude anymore, let alone talk about him. The nightmare that had been living with him had lasted far too long. It was over now in every sense of the word. Esmerelda smiled at Phoebus and patted Katarina's head. "There's someone you have to meet," she said. She was speaking to the both of them. Katarina lifted her head, staring up at her, bewildered. "You remember I told you about your true father?"
Katarina nodded. "He died before I was born."
"No," said Esmerelda, smiling as she shook her head. "He was clever, and he escaped." She nodded towards Phoebus, and Katarina followed her gaze.
Katarina stepped out of the embrace slowly, wiping her eyes as she continued to stare up at Phoebus. "You were in the circus," she said. "I – you must've thought I was a boy – "
"I remember you," said Phoebus. He moved towards her slowly, as if he was afraid he'd frighten her if he moved too suddenly. Katarina continued to stare up at him, her green eyes wide. "We watched the stars when you couldn't sleep." Katarina nodded eagerly. "My name is Phoebus de Châteaupers."
"You're my father? My true father?"
"Yes."
Katarina looked as though she would start to cry again, but she rushed forward, throwing her arms around Phoebus and nearly knocking him over. He wobbled on his good leg, winding his free arm around her and patting her on the head. Esmerelda watched them. It was the first time in years she'd felt truly content, and she let the feeling engulf her.
"Esmerelda?"
She recognized Rosalie's voice instantly and spun around. Rosalie did not look vastly different; the years had been kind to her. She'd gained a little weight, and it made her hips look fuller. Her thick, dark hair was still pulled back into a neat bun that rested at the back of her neck. Esmerelda could only stare at her. Everything was happening too quickly – being reunited with Phoebus and Katarina, and now Rosalie, her best friend. The last time she'd seen Rosalie, Rosalie had been pregnant. Thirteen years had passed; she must have had the baby. Esmerelda wondered where it was, if it had been a boy or a girl. She wondered where Rosalie's husband, Enjolras was.
"It's Rosalie…"
"Yes, yes, I know," said Esmerelda. "It's been so long." She went to Rosalie and hugged her. "The baby," she said, "how – how was it?"
"I had a boy," said Rosalie. She broke the hug, then turned, calling over her shoulder. "Pierre! Come here and bring your sister!"
The boy and girl who came rushing to Rosalie had about three years between them, perhaps less. The boy (Pierre, they'd named him after Enjolras's younger brother) looked almost exactly like Enjolras. He was holding his younger sister's hand. "These are my children," said Rosalie. "Pierre and Marie."
She wondered who had delivered Rosalie's children; Rosalie herself was a midwife, but it would be impossible to deliver her own babies. Once she'd found out she was pregnant, she'd begun to teach Esmerelda how to deliver a baby. "I want you to help me," she'd said. "I want you to be the one by my side." Claude had taken her while Rosalie was still pregnant. Esmerelda stared at Pierre and Marie, fighting back tears. She was supposed to bring them into the world. She was supposed to be the one to stand by Rosalie's side and catch the baby when it came out.
Rosalie seemed to sense her sorrow, and she turned to her children. "Why don't you go and get the food from the wagon?" she said, "we'll be having a feast tonight." Pierre nodded wordlessly, then he and his sister turned and left, still holding hands. "I'm sorry," said Rosalie after they had gone. "I didn't mean – "
"No," said Esmerelda, "don't be sorry. They're beautiful. Where's Enjolras?"
"He died," said Rosalie, her voice quiet, "about ten years ago."
"Oh! I'm so sorry."
Rosalie shook her head. "It's fine."
"Pierre looks just like him."
"I know."
The world had changed so vastly in the past thirteen years. She should not have been surprised. She just wasn't expecting such a huge difference; Rosalie had had two children, Enjolras was dead. Esmerelda suddenly felt dizzy. She glanced back over her shoulder at Katarina and Phoebus. Katarina was talking about something, moving her hands animatedly as she spoke. Phoebus watched her, his blue eyes wide. Esmerelda wondered what he felt. Did he feel as confused as she did?
~xXx~
Katarina had always known that, technically speaking, she was a bastard child. Her parents had never been married. Still, the knowledge that they would be getting married that very evening made her feel strange. She watched her mother and father talking and holding hands; it felt as though she'd stepped backwards in time. It felt like she was watching the way they had been before she'd been born. Her parents were surrounded by a thick knot of people, all of them congratulating them and helping them plan the wedding. It must have been what life was like before the Judge had swooped in and abducted her mother. It must have been what life was like back when it was still good.
"That man's your father?" asked Giovanni. He was pointing at Phoebus de Châteaupers. "The man with only one leg?"
Katarina nodded. "Yes," she said. Phoebus had his arm around her mother's waist, his hand planted firmly against the small of her back. It suddenly occurred to her that her name wasn't Katarina Phoebus anymore. She was Katarina de Châteaupers now. She supposed that she had always been Katarina de Châteaupers, but had never really known it.
"Hm." Giovanni continued to stare at Phoebus, his head tilted to the side. "He's not how I imagined him."
Katarina had always been told that her true father had been a soldier, and had always envisioned him wielding a sword and wearing armor. She'd once owned a book about the saints. Each chapter came with an illustration of the saint it focused on; she had always associated her father with the image of St. George battling the dragon. The drawing had depicted a muscular man with blonde hair and a halo, and, naïvely, she'd imagined that her father might look the same. She was thoroughly surprised to find a thin man with tangled blonde hair who was missing his left leg.
"How did you imagine him?" she asked.
Giovanni shrugged. "I don't know," he said. "I didn't think he'd be crippled."
"Well, he wasn't when he met my mother," said Katarina defensively. "He lost his leg when he had to fight in the war."
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to insult him."
Katarina shook her head and turned to Giovanni. He did look genuinely upset, and he hadn't meant to offend anyone. "It's fine," she said, smiling at him. She glanced down at her dress. She would have to change into something else; her clothes were filthy. She didn't have much in the way of clothing. She'd had to leave most of her dresses behind. She doubted that she could borrow anything from Marie. It probably wouldn't fit. She supposed that she could change back into the shirt and trousers while she washed her dress.
"I should get cleaned up," she said. "I can't go to a wedding like this."
Giovanni was looking down at his hands now. They were as dirty as hers.
~xXx~
"That dress won't be dry in time for the wedding."
Katarina sighed. "It was dirty," she said, looking at Rosalie. Rosalie glanced at the dress again. Katarina had managed to succeed in scrubbing most of the grass stains off of it. Still, the wedding was in a few hours, and the dress would still be damp. Katarina had changed back into the shirt and trousers; she could not show up at her parents' wedding dressed as a boy, though.
"Come on," said Rosalie, "I'll find you something to wear." Katarina nodded and followed her.
Rosalie had set up a tent when she'd reached Lyon and had begun constructing a house immediately. The house was not yet completed; she hoped that it would be done by tomorrow evening. The tent was flimsy and cold. She was surprised to find Clopin and Phoebus near the tent. Phoebus was seated on a stool, holding a cracked mirror in one hand and shaving.
"I know you love those trousers, but you can't wear them to a wedding," said Clopin, laughing.
"My dress was dirty," said Katarina. Rosalie noticed that she was blushing. She was playing with her hair, winding an errant lock around her finger.
"Oh, it doesn't matter what she wears," said Phoebus. He wiped his face on a scrap of cloth and beckoned to Katarina. She approached him quickly. Phoebus smiled at her, and there was something sad in his expression. "God, you have your mother's eyes."
Katarina shrugged. "Everyone says so."
Rosalie went into the tent and pulled out one of the trunks that contained Marie's clothes. It was strange to see Katarina with Phoebus. They barely knew each other. They deserved their privacy. She began digging through the clothing, hoping to find something that would fit Katarina. Katarina was much taller than Marie. Rosalie pulled out a yellow dress and held it up. The dress was baggy on Marie; perhaps it would fit Katarina. She wished that she could do something with Katarina's hair. It had been cut quickly and was uneven. Maybe putting flowers in her hair would hide its raggedness. She had seen Marie picking flowers earlier; maybe Marie and Katarina could go and get some flowers together.
"Katarina," she called, "come here, I think this will fit you."
Katarina came into the tent, and Rosalie handed her the dress. Katarina changed quickly, and Rosalie helped her with the buttons. The dress was tight on her, but it covered what needed to be covered and was clean. The sleeves were long enough, as was the skirt. "I think I saw Marie picking flowers earlier," said Rosalie, "why don't you go find her? Maybe she can put flowers in your hair."
"All right."
Katarina turned and left the tent. Rosalie could hear Clopin and Phoebus telling her how pretty she looked, and Rosalie smiled. She picked up the shirt and trousers and folded them, placing them into the trunk.
~xXx~
"Do you, Esmerelda, swear to love and honor your husband, Phoebus?"
It bothered him that she was crying. It would not be the first time a bride had been so overcome with emotion, but crying seemed far too sad an act for this occasion. Esmerelda was happy. She was finally happy. She was gripping Phoebus's hands and staring at him, and her beautiful green eyes were overflowing with tears. Esmerelda nodded. "I do."
Clopin turned to Phoebus now. "Do you, Phoebus, swear to love and honor your wife, Esmerelda?"
"I do." He spoke quickly and without hesitation. Clopin glanced at Katarina and nodded to her. She came forward, holding the little glass cup that her parents would drink from. She was wearing a yellow dress that did not fit her very well. It was a size too small, and it made her look taller and thinner than she usually did. She handed the cup to her mother, and Esmerelda's hands shook as she took the glass from her. She brought the cup to her face, closing her eyes and smelling the wine. She drank, then handed the cup to Phoebus.
He drank deeply, then threw the empty cup to the ground. It broke, and Phoebus crushed the remnants of it with his crutch. He leaned in and kissed Esmerelda, placing his free hand on her waist and drawing her close to him. "I love you," he whispered, "I love you so much, Esmerelda."
"Phoebus…I love you, too."
They embraced, oblivious to what was happening around them. The tears of joy continued to stream from Esmerelda's eyes, rolling down her cheeks and onto Phoebus's shoulder as he hugged her. She beckoned to Katarina. Katarina went to her parents slowly, as if she was afraid of ruining their moment. Esmerelda and Phoebus pulled her into the embrace. It was like looking at a puzzle that had finally been completed. All of the pieces – mother, father, and daughter – were there, and they all fit together perfectly.
Clopin felt Cassandra squeezing his hand, and he turned to her. She was holding the baby in her arms, and he took him from her. Jacques-Clopin looked at him and reached for his face; he kissed his son's hand, and he could feel his daughters at his side, hugging him. He suddenly found himself wishing for an extra set of arms to hold them with.
~xXx~
Esmerelda – his Esmerelda, his and his alone – moaned his name and kissed him. She had asked him not to say her name, and he honored that wish. He closed his eyes and kissed her back. Lying there beneath her, feeling her body against his, was nothing short of bliss. He groaned, kissing her neck and shoulders. "I love you," he said, "oh, I love you…"
She said his name again. He loved the way she said it, stretching out the syllables, lengthening it. She shuddered and took his hands, guiding them to her breasts. Her skin was still smooth and soft, even after all this time. It drove him wild. For once, the remnants of his left leg did not bother him. For once, pain did not shoot through his thigh and into his hip. For once, there was no pain. No discomfort. There was only love and joy and the warmth of Esmerelda's body against his.
He held her when it had ended. He held her and stroked her hair and kissed her. He remembered the first time he'd ever made love to her; it had been quick and passionate, and he'd been dizzy from the blood loss and the wound in his back. She'd lain beneath him, shuddering and gasping and kissing him. He had spent the last thirteen years dreaming of that moment, reliving every touch and kiss. He would never have to daydream and wish again. Esmerelda was at his side. She would always be at his side. The knowledge that nothing could take her from him was thrilling, and he kissed her lips.
"I love you more than anything," he said.
