(Two chapters in one week? MADNESS! :P btw, this chapter seems a little different , style-wise, but I like it. reviews are always, always appreciated, in fact they guilt me into writing more.)

Bonjour, mon ami. It has been not so long this time, yes? Clopin has more to tell you.

The years we are skipping were good ones. After that Feast of Fools, our gypsies got bolder, until there was some small victory to celebrate each day. Esmeralda wove the maps for us, obscure enough to outside eyes, but if you knew how to look, you would find. Chante got married, and had a small son of her own. Jeanne ruled the Court, and we all flourished.

Clopin was out walking the back streets, subtly babysitting Chante's son as he pretended to amble along. He was also thinking. The Court was strong, yes, and working well, but Frollo had somehow managed to conscript more fanatic guards, and even the buskers weren't safe. Jeanne still went out and sang sometimes, and she'd almost been arrested a few days ago. She was twenty one, now, and Esmeralda was seventeen. Both girls were still single, although there were always rumors that Clopin graced one or both of their beds regularly, although he didn't. Clopin himself was nineteen, though he could pass for older, if he chose. Chante still dressed him, and tutted about his thinness. She was doing very well for herself, and was one of the best mothers Clopin had ever seen.

Thinking of Chante reminded him of her son, and he glanced over just in time to see the scamp reach out to touch a silk scarf hanging temptingly. The merchant turned, and Clopin could see him jump to a conclusion. Guards would be on them in seconds.

"Alain!" he cried out, and dashed forward, scooping up the boy as the fat men yelled "Thief!"

Armed men poured out of the market, but Clopin was already running, the boy held carefully in his arms.

He needed somewhere safe.

There! A familiar alley. Alain would know his way back to the Court from here.

"Run!" Clopin whispered, setting the boy down and pushing him.

Then, he turned and ran back into the open, catching the eyes of the guard.

"Stop! Gypsy! Thief!" they yelled as he ran, and all Clopin could think was that his mother had been right. Gypsy would be used as an insult.

They cornered him, ironically enough, on the very spot his mother's house used to be, catching him, and beating him until he lay still. Then, they paraded their new captive back to the jail, throwing him in a cell and leaving. Returning to duties, no doubt. Clopin ached everywhere.

Frollo came to gloat over his new capture, and tell the bleary-eyed boy his punishments. Public whipping, 50 strokes.

He was to made an example before the entire Court, in the square outside Notre Dame.

Clopin couldn't think, really, except to hate the Judge with every ounce of his being.

That hate sustained him through the second beating, all the way out to the platform they'd built.

They stripped his shirt off, in front of the growing crowd. Dark faces peered worriedly up from under hats, hiding in the square. He knew the bruises were obvious. Esmeralda was there, beside Chante and her husband. Alain held her hand.

Jeanne was nowhere to be seen.

He was tied down, back exposed to the jailor's whip. He couldn't help it, his eyes closed against the oncoming pain.

"Halt!"

Jeanne's voice ripped across, the square, turning all heads to her. It was the voice of a Queen.

"This boy has done no crime."

Frollo stared at her, his pale face slowly turning a vivid shade of purple.

"He's a criminal." He finally managed.

"He's innocent." She yelled back, and the crowd muttered, unsure.

"He's ours, now." Clopin felt his heart drop.

"I propose a deal. Release him, and I'll come up and take his place."

There was an outcry from the crowd, every gypsy turning to stare at Jeanne with shock. Frollo just stared.

'Who do you think you are?" some lout in the mob yelled.

"La Reinne des Ennuis." Mutters from the crowd. Some shocked, some exited.

Frollo smiled slowly, and nodded.

"I agree to your terms, Rogue." He turned to the jailor, and nodded towards Clopin.

"Release him."

The rough ropes were loosened, and Jeanne was beside him, ushering him off the platform into Pierre's arms. Pierre, who kept him from falling or running after Jeanne as she turned and marched back up to the platform. Pierre, who held Clopin still and pretended to not notice the tears as the heavy whip fell. Jeanne did not scream, not once, even when her back was a bloody mess and the lash kept falling.

Finally, it was done. Jeanne hung limp against her bonds, as Frollo and his guards rode off. Pierre released Clopin's arms, and the two of them ran to her.

She didn't make a sound as they cut her down, and just whimpered a little when Clopin picked her up.

The Court buzzed. The news had flown throughout Paris. Le Reinne des Ennuis has taken a beating for one of her subjects, one she claimed was innocent. She protected her own. Their numbers were swelling even now, more and more people who had been unsure of the Court were allowing Jeanne's sacrifice for her people decide them.

Some of the newcomers were Gypsies from out of town, some criminals of Paris's streets, and a few were men as dark in skin as Chante and Jeanne themselves.

Chante went to those men, and spoke in something barely above a whisper, in a languade Clopin did not know.

He was waiting near Jeanne's rooms, trying desperately to hear what was going on inside. Three of the most talented women were in their right now, stitching the huge gashes up. Jeanne was talking again, after they'd given her a cup of wine laced heavily with things to numb her skin. She was mumbling about all the things she had to do, still needed to do. Half the time it was in the language Chante spoke with the newcomers.

One of the women opened the door, and gestured him in quickly. Esmeralda sat beside the bed, holding Jeanne's hand. Her back was bandaged, and the bloody stitches and thread lay off to one side. Clopin glanced away, guilt crashing into his mind.

This was all his fault. Jeanne wouldn't be hurt if not for him. She was in pain and it was his fault.

"Don't think that." Jeanne's voice was weak. "This wasn't you."

He wanted to shake his head, to disagree, but he didn't want her to overtax herself arguing with him. Instead, he stepped up to the side of her head, and when she tugged weakly at his hair, kneeled down. She leaned forward, just a little, and pain crossed her face, but she pressed her lips to his forehead.

'Not. Your. Fault."

Jeanne's eyes unfocussed, and she relaxed back onto the pillows, letting go of Esmeralda's hand.

"They just gave her something to make her sleep." His sister told him, tugging him gently out of the room. When he turned to look at her, she could see the raw guilt in his eyes.

"You didn't make her go up there, Clopin. It would have been Alain there if not for you."

He just shook his head, and stalked away, deeper into the Court. Esme watched him go.

Clopin didn't know how long he walked for, but suddenly he realized he was following the sound of someone crying. It sounded like a very young someone.

He turned a corner, and found Alain crouched there, sobbing his young heart out.

"Alain?" The boy looked up, snuffling pathetically.

"What's wrong, petit?" Big, fat tears rolled down the younger boy's face.

"It's my fault."

Clopin sat down beside him, and put an arm around the child's shoulders.

"Non, non, how can it be your fault?" Alain scrubbed at his eyes, before responding.

"I was so worried they was going to hurt you, Jeanne promised you wouldn't get beat at all. So… so it's my fault she went up there." He hiccupped a little, still crying.

Clopin couldn't think of anything to say, just held the younger boy closer to him.

"None of us are to blame, Petit, for all of us were innocent." Big, brown eyes met Clopin's, and he smiled a little into the boy's face. There was a raw hope there, that Clopin would believe what he said, and make it all better.

"Someday, Alain, we won't have to feel guilty for being what we are."

(Fifth and final chapter is on it's way, I promise.)