Chapter Nineteen

Lord Geoffroi watched with no small level of amusement as his bastard son restlessly paced the cold stone floor of the mess hall, his footfalls sounding more and more agitated the longer Jehan kept up this infuriating behavior. The old man huffed in frustration and threw down his spoon back into the bowl of porridge that Hilda dared to call a meal. It tasted grainy and settled horribly on his tongue, that no amount of sugar could sweeten, and the taste lingered long after he'd washed his bite down with a swig of water.

"You brought this upon yourself, you know. Insulting the girl and her husband," he sneered, crinkling his nose in disgust, "What in God's name were you thinking? Oh. That's right," he snapped, pursing his lips into a thin rigid line. "You weren't. You deserved every bit of what she gave you, and more. You are lucky I do not raise my hand against you myself and flay you until there's no skin left on your bones for the horrible disgrace and shame you have brought upon our family's name, and it's suffered much in these last few years. It is no wonder she fled from you in disgust, Jehan. You shamed her, yourself, and my name in the act and therefore you've just stepped across a nonnegotiable line for which you must pay the consequences."

The low warning growl escaped from Geoffroi's throat before he could so much as stop it, and there was a large part of the Warden that felt a grim satisfaction in watching his bastard son's face drain of color and beads of sweat begin to form on his brow.

"I gave you this one chance, boy, this one chance that there might be an inkling of hope for you, yet. But you have disappointed me. I should have known better, and yet, here I am, willing to give you a second chance to fix this bloody mistake. But if you continue to play your mind games with her, then we will no longer have Madellaine Barreau, for I would not be surprised at all if your son's wife becomes so sick of you that if you should venture to Notre Dame to convince her to leave with you again that she flees. Again," he added darkly for emphasis, and the corners of his mouth turned upwards in a twisted grimace. "If that happens, we lose control of our strongholds and our grasp on the entire estate will fail, and we cannot let that happen, boy. She is the last of the Barreau name, and without her, we are nothing. That is why I give you this advice freely of my own volition, which I will say to you only once," Geoffroi snarled, baring his teeth and gripping his son's arm hard enough to break as he violently shoved Jehan up against a pillar.

He did not flinch, even as Jehan heard the cracking in his back. No doubt a muscle had been strained.

Geoffroi sneered. His bastard son deserved worse than what he would give him, and as far as the man was concerned, he would go light on Jehan.

"You must take better care to treat the girl with even an inkling of respect. Our lives will be much the better for it if Madellaine learns to even like you. She does not have to love you, but you must keep her close, for she is our key to maintaining this place, once your bastard son has been dealt with, for she cannot marry you, legally, as long as that accursed…thing lives. Her father, Lucien, could have been a king had he not made certain…choices in life," he growled angrily.

"The boy will be dealt with," spat Jehan bitterly. "You have my word, Father."

"Without her, we will fall and no longer have the family's support. We cannot succeed without it. You and I both know this, Jehan. That is what will keep her by your side. Not passion, not lust. The whole bloody household knows of the despicable way you treated the girl a few nights ago outside the library. We all know what you get up to behind the closed doors of your chamber with all those whores and strumpets of the castle. My entire staff knows what kind of monster you are. That you would force yourself on the Barreau girl like a dog in heat. What, then, pray tell, would you have me do about it, for then the entire city of Paris would know just how you treat the last surviving Barreau member like the beast that you are," Geoffroi growled, and he was surprised to see the sudden moistening of Jehan's bright blue eyes. "I could tolerate your behavior had you seduced the girl already, but you seem even incapable of doing that simple task. You truly are a failure. Were Claude here with me, he would do as I ask."

He knew as the words flew out of his mouth that they'd hit their mark, by the way Jehan's face paled in shock, anger, and even hurt.

"She—the boy will no longer be a concern," Jehan spoke up, his voice going unusually soft and quiet, his blue eyes glistening as he looked at Geoffroi. Geoffroi snorted and repressed the urge to roll his eyes in disgust.

Geoffroi gave a curt nod. "See to it that he won't. Were that I could tolerate your unnatural behavior if Barreau was pregnant with an heir by this time, but barely a day has passed since she fled from this place with that—that monster by her side, and yet, I hear…troubling rumors, of how you attempted to force yourself on her, and yet, for all your troubles, nothing ever came of it," he growled, relinquishing his grip on Jehan's jerkin and shoving him backward. "It really is a pity. I expected better of you," he commented, clasping his hands behind his back and striding over to look out the window out at the estate's grounds, the leaves in the trees changing colors as October crept towards Paris in its petty pace, though he could feel Jehan's glacier stare practically piercing the back of his skull like a fallen icicle were to hit him from above.

"I give you this one chance to make amends, to bring honor to our family name, restore glory to our house, and you squander it. I should have known that you are nothing but a useless wretched little worm. I should have taken you into the sea and let the waves carry you away and rid me of your boorish stupidity when you emerged from your mother's womb, and yet, something within me compelled me to keep you. She begged me. Do not make me regret my decision, Jehan," he growled, letting out a low warning growl from the back of his throat as his hand hovered over the hilt of his dagger he carried on his person. "Perhaps you think it funny?"

Jehan's gaze drifted towards his father's hand and Lord Geoffroi could have sworn he heard the catch in his son's breath. "No, Father."

Lord Frollo smiled, though there was no warmth in the gesture, nor in his eyes. "Good." He felt his fingers give one final twitch and he relaxed his hand and let it fall to his side. He coughed once to clear his throat and reached up the other to smooth his hair. "Do what you must in order to get rid of your son, but as long as he's alive, she cannot marry you or produce a legitimate heir. Do not fear or trouble yourself about the demon spawn the monster got her with, Ashan will take care of that," he snapped, and even Jehan felt a chill of fear run down his spine at the mention of their best healer, their maester, an old man who admittedly had some…questionable practices when it came to the ethics of his patients. "Make sure of it, and should I see one hair on her pretty little head harmed when you bring her back here, there will be consequences. If you should fail to procure the Barreau girl…well, do I really need to say it?" he drawled. "She will show. Or else. Do not make me say it again a second time, Jehan."

He swiveled his head back around to regard Jehan with bemusement in his eyes and was pleased to see his son's ashen face. The boy was terrified of him, of what he would do to him. Jehan did not need to ask what 'or else' meant in this case. He knew.

"Yes, Father." He murmured it in such a quiet voice that was unlike him, for a moment, Lord Geoffroi was uncertain if his bastard son had spoken at all. "I will make you proud of me, Father. By God, I swear it." Geoffroi gave a curt nod and turned his back on his son, silently signaling the end of their conversation. "You and Claude will be proud."

There's that look, he thought stoically, without so much as sparing Jehan a second glance as he exited the mess hall. I've seen that look on his face since he was but five. He hates me, and I should think that my bastard son will die with all the hate for me in his veins.

He did not look up from his mindless staring out the window as he heard Maester Ashan's soft footfall as he entered the room. Lord Geoffroi snorted, rolling his eyes as he watched, turning around slowly, and pouring himself a fresh flagon of red wine, as his old colleague and quite perhaps the closest thing to a friend the old warlord of Paris had.

The maester and something of an advisor to the man, began to pace irritably back and forth, constantly wringing his withered hands together in agitation, his knuckles white. Tersely, every few minutes or so, the old man's eyes would flicker back and forth between Lord Geoffroi and the door from which Jehan had just vacated, as though he were looking for any sign or signal that at any given point in time, Geoffroi's son would burst right through doors in a wild rage.

Maester Ashan was a godforsaken mess. A muscle twitched involuntarily at the corner of his right eye; his mouth formed a rigid grimace. With his arms folded tightly across his chest across his broad chest, he tapped his foot furiously and all the while stared out the window of his office.

Cold sweat glistened on his furrowed brow. With his hands clasped tightly in front of his stomach, he constantly fiddled with his knuckles, weaving his fingers in and out of each other and began unnecessarily picking at a sleeve on his brown robes. "Lord Frollo."

"Speak," commanded Geoffroi in somewhat of a lazy drawl as he gestured for the maester to take the seat across from him. "Sit before you suffer a complaint of the heart, Ashan," he chuckled darkly. "What ails you on this fine fall morning, Maester Ashan? Speak your mind."

Maester Ashan continued that incessant fidgeting of his fingers, but at last he relented, seeing Geoffroi Frollo would not take no for an answer. "It is the little blonde lass, milord Frollo. The—the one who visited us? She is quite a kind and gentle soul, and for Jehan to speak of her and her husband in this way… I fear that the girl remains in danger as long as she remains in your son's crosshairs and under his watchful eye. I fear for her life," the old healing maester practically wailed in distraught.

Geoffroi scoffed. "Oh?" he asked in a bored sounding voice as he studied the maester over the rim of his goblet as he lifted it to his lips and took a long drawn out sip, relishing as the burning alcohol went down his throat.

"The master becomes more volatile every day the longer he remains unchanged like this, and the girl, oh, the girl, she has quite the mouth on her!"

"Aye, Maester Ashan, will you calm down?" spoke up Geoffroi at last, sounding exasperated. "This stressing of yours will no doubt give you an aneurism or a complaint of the heart, and you are needed to ensure my new great- grandson is born safe and sound. We need you, Ashan. Calm down."

"But the girl..." Maester Ashan's voice cracked and trailed off. "She has your son's full attentions these days, milord."

Geoffroi shot Ashan a withering look. "That is not necessarily a bad thing. Why should my son not take an interest in his son's wife? She's a rather interesting girl, is she not? She is outspoken, opinionated, and quite kind, perhaps even loyal to a fault. A fault that is apt to get her killed one of these days when she puts her faith in the wrong person. I do believe deep down that Madellaine Barreau could do my bastard son a world of good, but first they both have to give each other a chance, no more avoiding each other like we've seen them doing the past few days."

"But there is no telling what the master will do to the poor child!" protested Maester Ashan wildly, almost looking unhinged as his dark thoughts crept into his consciousness. "I would not put it past the master to force himself upon her again like some kind of wild beast—"

"The boy is not that kind of man, deep down, I think," offered Geoffroi Frollo, his voice surprisingly calm and light, his arms folded across his chest as he leaned against the wall for support. "Think what you want of my son. I have seen it in his eyes since the girl came into his life, whether he knows it or not. Already, he is much changed, and in no part thanks to Lucien Barreau's daughter. If she were not already married, she would be the perfect match for my Jehan. She really is a tiny little slip of a thing, isn't she?" He allowed a dark chuckle to escape his lips as he drank. "You are worried for her." It was not a question from him.

"I do not trust Jehan to be able to control his urges! If she suffers any more abuse at his hand, I fear the girl will try something rash, and..." retorted Maester Ashan hotly. "I've seen him the last few days, there's no telling what he would do, and he..." his voice trailed off, lost in thought.

After a moment of silence, Ashan opened his mouth to retort, but was interrupted by the sound of a loud, ferocious roar echoing throughout the castle, originating from his chambers upstairs, followed by the sound of something being thrown, and the muffled yelps of the voice that could only belong to the boy Jehan had saved. Jamet.

"Oh, no," he groaned. "What has the boy done now to upset him?"

"Whatever it is, he sounds quite upset," muttered Lord Frollo, his eyes widening in shock as he dared to peek out the mess hall door. He suppressed a snort as the young boy's shouts mingled with his son's threats. He couldn't make out much, but he knew by Jamet and Jehan's echoing shouts they were discussing Madellaine.

Clearly, this girl was not one to be tested and his son had underestimated her, as he did not intimidate her, and he knew that because of that fact, Jehan was lost. "I do believe this girl could very well be the one to break my son out of this vicious cycle of disgusting violence and bloodshed if all goes well for the two of them," he chuckled, motioning for Maester Ashan to follow him to investigate the matter further to see what was going on.

Maester Ashan lingered for a moment, his lips pursed into a thin line and looking thoughtful. "Perhaps," the old withered healer said softly, daring to hold onto that last shred of hope. The maester, as a general rule, hid his emotions. It was the way the old man had learned at an early age to survive in the servitude of the Frollo family. He figured his emotions were information he would rather not divulge, lest the master find him weak and dismiss him for being too soft, so his face often remained impassive, indifferent. But in the moment, it was different.

For the first time in perhaps his life, Jehan Frollo had met a woman who was not intimidated and afraid by him, and dared to speak her mind and even put the wretched young man in his place, more than a few times, as he rightfully deserved from time to time.

Judging by the shouting echoing in the corridor, Ashan stifled a smile as now appeared to be one of those times. Before the man could stop himself, a smile cracked on his face that hadn't been seen in a few months that made Maester Ashan look years younger than his age, and he walked a little faster to catch up to Geoffroi.

He could not quite explain it, even if his life depended on it, but the healer just had a good feeling about this girl and having her here with them couldn't possibly bode ill for the master.

Nothing would go wrong now that the little blonde Barreau girl had entered Master Jehan's life. It just couldn't.

"My dear Madellaine," he whispered admirably, careful to keep his voice low so that Lord Geoffroi would not overhear him as they headed for the stairwell to see what in God's name was causing such a ruckus, what Jamet had probably done now to anger Jehan. "You may survive us yet."