EPILOGUE, 1506…

He wanted to believe that the Gypsy witch's death had undone her curse. Cosette believed it; he had to believe it too, if only for his own sanity. Jean-Claude climbed up into the carriage beside her. He put his arm around her, placing his free hand protectively over her stomach. She was only two months along; her stomach was flat. It certainly did not look like she was pregnant, and the doctor had assured him that it would be safe for her to travel.

Despite its majestic beauty, Paris was crawling with Gypsies. Even if the witch – that filthy harlot who'd enchanted René – was dead, there were others, hundreds upon hundreds of others, lurking in Paris. Jean-Claude told himself that he was sending Cosette away for her own good, for the good of their baby. He did not want to send her to Lyon; his mother and sister probably still lived there, and he did not want them anywhere near Cosette or the baby. He secretly feared that his mother and sister would come forth, that they would reveal themselves and disgrace him. Cosette could never know the truth about his parentage. She could never know that his mother had been nothing but a common whore.

Still, Cosette's father and grandparents lived in Lyon, and she wanted to stay with them. Jean-Claude could not come up with a good enough excuse to change her mind, and he could only pray that his mother and sister still wanted nothing to do with him. He wondered briefly if René lived in Lyon. Did he mourn the dead Gypsy witch? Was he now living among her family and friends in filth and sin and poverty? Or had he moved on? Had he delivered her corpse to her family and left immediately? Though Jean-Claude tried to tell himself that it did not matter what had become of René, he still found himself remembering him and wondering what had become of him. René had, after all, been the closest thing he'd ever had to a friend. Occasionally, Jean-Claude found himself missing René.

He sat beside Cosette, his arm around her, listening to her as she talked. She wanted to discuss names for the baby, and he listened politely. If the child was a boy, she wanted to name it after him, and he was flattered by this. He had been named after his father, and he liked the idea of keeping the name "Claude" within the family bloodline. If the child was a girl, Cosette wanted to name it after her mother. Though Jean-Claude did not like the way "Fantine Frollo" sounded, he nodded and gave his consent. At this point, naming the unborn baby didn't matter. All that mattered was bringing Cosette to a safe place, so that she could deliver the baby without witchcraft or other complications.

~xXx~

She stared down at the screaming infant she held in her hands, almost unable to believe that he had indeed come out of Marie. Her grandson seemed so tiny, so small and fragile. All Rosalie could do was stare down at him. His cries were loud and high in pitch, and they jolted her back into reality. She moved towards the basin of warm water; her legs felt stiff and sluggish, it was as though she couldn't move fast enough.

"Rosalie." She felt Esmerelda's hands on her own, felt Esmerelda take the baby from her. Esmerelda was pointing back over her shoulder at Marie. "Rosalie, she's bleeding."

Rosalie turned back to Marie, rushing to her. Cassandra was still kneeling by her side, holding her hand and stroking her hair. Rosalie bent, examining Marie. The tearing had been minimal, and she sewed the small wounds shut quickly. Marie groaned in pain and twitched. Rosalie cleaned up the afterbirth, moving quickly and numbly. She could still see her grandson's face in her mind's eye. It seemed strange and surreal. She'd been preparing for this moment ever since Marie's wedding night; she'd been telling herself that she would be the one to deliver the baby, her grandchild. It still felt strange to hold the squirming, squalling newborn in her hands and know that he was a part of her.

Marie was sitting up now, and Rosalie draped clean blankets over her shivering legs. "It's a boy," she said. Marie smiled, looking around, searching for her baby. Esmerelda was still holding him, smiling and cooing at him as she wrapped him in the soft green and yellow blanket that Marie had spent the last nine months knitting.

The door swung open behind her, and Rosalie saw Dmitri enter. Pierre was at his side, reaching for him, trying to pull him back. "I heard the baby," said Dmitri, brushing Pierre away. "Is…is it all right?"

Esmerelda turned to him, smiling as she approached him. "You have a son," she said. Dmitri's French had improved vastly, but she still spoke slowly, as though she wasn't sure he understood her; he stared down at the bundle in her arms, his eyes wide. He took the baby from her gently, cradling the baby's head and neck carefully.

"He's beautiful," said Pierre. He stepped closer to Dmitri, leaning down to look at the baby. "He's so small."

Dmitri smiled now, and Rosalie could see tears of joy forming in his eyes. "Hello Mikhail," he said, kissing the baby's forehead, "I'm your father…" he shifted, moving across the room, bringing the baby over to Marie. "I loved you before I even met you, Mikhail, and now that I know you, I love you more." He sat down on the bed beside Marie, looking at her. He kissed her cheek. "I love you."

Rosalie watched as Marie made the motions that meant 'I love you' with her hands. Dmitri eased the baby into her arms, and she smiled down at him. Rosalie felt a familiar hand on her shoulder, and she turned. "Come on," said Pierre. "They need some time alone with the baby. We can come back later."

She washed her hands, dried them on her apron, then left. Esmerelda and Cassandra had gone out ahead of her, and they were waiting for her. Rosalie found herself glancing back over her shoulder at the house, wishing she could see through its walls. In her mind's eye, she still saw Dmitri holding the baby, kissing his forehead and talking to him. She felt Heracles's hand on her waist, and she turned to him. "I have a grandson," she said.

"That's wonderful." Heracles hugged her. She found herself standing up on her tiptoes, looking over his shoulder, watching as Giovanni clapped Pierre on the back.

"Well come on, don't keep the rest of us waiting," said Giovanni, "have you got a niece or a nephew?"

"A nephew," said Pierre. "Marie had a boy!"

"Congratulations!" Much to her surprise, Giovanni hugged Pierre. In her own joy, she did not notice the look of delight that flashed in her son's eyes as he returned the hug, and even if she had seen it, she would not have given it much thought. Rosalie closed her eyes; she could feel tears of joy stinging at her eyelids, and as much as she did not want to cry, she let them trickle down her cheeks.

~xXx~

Jean-Claude and Cosette were in Lyon. René's first thought was that Jean-Claude had somehow found out about Theresa, that he'd returned to execute her. The thought, René soon realized, was stupid and irrational. If Jean-Claude had returned to kill Theresa, why would he have brought Cosette with him? Why would he arrive without a group of soldiers to aid him? Cosette had family in Lyon; they were clearly only here for a visit.

Still, he raced to find Theresa. She was in her usual place, dancing for coins. Though he loved to watch her dance, and though he appreciated the extra money her dancing brought, René was always slightly irritated when he saw other men staring at her. Theresa had explained to him that she didn't notice the stares, that dancing always put her into a sort of a trance. Still, she was his wife. Other men had no right to ogle her like that, to undress her with their eyes. Occasionally he found himself wishing that the wound in her leg hadn't healed properly, that she had a limp that prevented her from dancing, and these thoughts made him hate himself.

"Theresa!" he grabbed her arm, startling her. She stared at him, stunned. "Come on," he said, stooping and helping her pick up her coins. "You need to hide."

"Hide? From what?"

René glanced over his shoulder. The street was crowded. He couldn't see Jean-Claude or Cosette in the crowd. Still, he had to get Theresa home, had to keep her inside until he was certain that Jean-Claude was gone. "Jean-Claude is here," he said, tugging on her wrist, leading her. "I saw him on the road earlier. He's here."

Theresa's eyes went wide, and she gripped his hand. "Oh God! Does he know? Is he here to kill me?"

Her terror was stark, unhidden, and it made him angry. Jean-Claude's mere presence frightened Theresa, and there was nothing René could do about it. Nothing short of killing Jean-Claude, that is; he'd never get away with it. He'd be executed, and Theresa would be a widow, and then what would happen to her? Would Cosette recognize her? Would Cosette cry witchcraft and have her burned at the stake? Though it would be thoroughly satisfying to end Jean-Claude's life, it came at much too high a price.

"No," said René. He pulled her into their house. It was small, but much nicer than the room they'd been renting when they'd first married. Theresa was pulling the curtains closed, blocking out the sunshine of the day. "I think he's only here because his wife has family here." He went to her, putting his arms around her and holding her close. "He doesn't know about you," he said, stroking her hair, "I just want you to stay inside and out of sight until he leaves."

She nodded. "Of course."

"He doesn't know you're still alive," said René, "just stay in here, out of sight. He'll probably leave in a few days. He'll never know." Despite his best efforts to comfort her, he could feel her shudder. It was stupid of him to think that Jean-Claude would never leave Paris, especially not when his wife had family in Lyon. Perhaps he and Theresa should move. He hated the idea of pulling her away from her family. He hated the idea of fleeing. Perhaps they could go somewhere that wasn't too far away. There were small farm towns that dotted the road that led from Paris to Lyon; surely they could live in one of those. They wouldn't be too far from all that Theresa held dear, and they wouldn't be in danger of being discovered by Jean-Claude.

~xXx~

"I'd like to stay for a few more months," said Rosalie, "just to make sure the baby's all right."

"Well, according to Frieda's letter, the circus won't be back until summer," said Heracles. He leaned against her. She had scrubbed her hands and arms thoroughly, but she still smelled like blood and sweat. In a few hours, they would go to see Marie, Dmitri, and the new baby. Rosalie shifted impatiently; she wanted to hold her grandson again. "And we don't have to leave if you don't want to."

"I know how much you love to travel."

"Oh, I've already seen the world," he said, shrugging, "it's nothing special."

She smiled at him. "Well, I haven't."

"Fair enough. But we can always decide later." He wasn't sure if he wanted to rejoin the circus. He'd grown accustomed to staying in one place, to living with Rosalie. He liked it. He liked waking up beside her and knowing that he'd never have to leave her again. He found it strange that she wanted to go with him. All Gypsies traveled, it was n their blood; still, this was Rosalie's home. This was where she'd brought her children and raised them. Now she had a new grandson. Did she really want to leave it all behind?

"Did they name the baby?" he asked.

She nodded. "Yes. His name is Mikhail." She smiled. "You should've seen the way Dmitri held him…"

"He'll make a good father." Heracles was tempted to ask about Pierre, but he knew better. Rosalie never spoke of her son's brief marriage to Theresa; everyone acted as though it had never happened. Theresa lived in town with René. She came by to visit every Sunday, and it was nice to see her. Her leg had healed, and she had begun dancing again, still graceful as ever. Heracles had seen her in town, twirling in the street for coins.

"He will," said Rosalie. She stood up now, moving towards the caravan's window and opening the curtains. She gazed out at the little house where Marie, Dmitri, and their new baby lived. Heracles could practically see the impatience emanating from Rosalie, and he went to her. He put his arms around her, kissing her cheek.

"Come on," he said, "let's go see them."

~xXx~

He told himself that he should not have been surprised to see René digging graves in the churchyard. René had probably been the one to bury the Gypsy witch; naturally he would fall into this line of work. Still, seeing him swing the shovel, stabbing the ground angrily with it, made Jean-Claude shudder.

"René?" Something inside of him was telling him to ignore René, to turn and leave, but he ignored it. Against his better judgment, Jean-Claude opened the little gate and entered the graveyard.

René turned to him, setting the shovel down. He stared, his blue eyes blank and hollow-looking. It was strange to see René without his uniform. It was strange to see him slouching beside a pile of dirt. "Can I help you?"

"René, it's Jean-Claude." He knew that René had recognized him. Eight months had not changed either of them.

"I know." René wiped his dirty hands on his trousers. "What do you want?"

Whatever spell the Gypsy witch had cast on René, it clearly hadn't lifted. His voice was angry and bitter, and he glared at Jean-Claude. Jean-Claude began to wonder about Cosette. What if the curse hadn't been lifted from her? What if this baby died too? There was nothing more he could do; the witch was dead. "I'm surprised you stayed in Lyon," said Jean-Claude.

René shrugged. "I don't have anywhere else to go," he said.

"You have the world."

"Why are you here, Jean-Claude? What do you want?" René sounded irritated. He picked up the shovel and began to dig again. "Are you here to execute me? Did you change your mind about letting me live?"

"No," snapped Jean-Claude. René's sudden rudeness was infuriating, and he wished that he could do something about it. It was not René's fault, he reminded himself; it was the witch and her spell. "Cosette is pregnant again," he said, "I'm bringing her to stay with her father."

"Congratulations." René's voice was flat and emotionless, and he refused to look at Jean-Claude.

Jean-Claude glanced around the graveyard, his eyes wandering over the crooked tombstones. The graveyard was well cared for, the grass neat and trim. Fresh flowers had been laid on several of the graves; they would undoubtedly be thrown away once they began to wither. "Where is she buried?"

He noticed René's muscles tighten. "Who?"

"The witch."

René turned to him. He was holding the shovel, gripping it with both hands, and for a brief instant, Jean-Claude wondered if he meant to strike him. Eight months of harsh, outdoor work had probably built up René's muscles, but Jean-Claude had his sword and his own military training. He gripped it, drumming his fingers along the handle. He would not draw it unless René advanced. "You know she isn't buried here," said René. "You know Gypsies don't get a proper Christian burial."

"Especially not witches," said Jean-Claude. There was something strange and oddly satisfying about the way René was glaring at him. "Where is she buried?"

"The Gypsies have their own plot near their camp," said René.

"Were you the one to bury her?"

René shook his head. "Her father did it," he said. He turned back to the grave he'd been digging. "I offered to help him, but…" René's voice trailed off and he sighed, "Go away, Jean-Claude. Just go away."

"I'm leaving Lyon tomorrow," said Jean-Claude.

"But Cosette will remain?"

"For her own safety, and that of the baby, of course."

René only nodded. "Of course."

Jean-Claude watched him. He found himself pitying René; perhaps that was why he had spared him, even though he'd committed treason. René, poor stupid René, had let himself fall into the Gypsy witch's spell, and she had taken everything from him. His own mother had come to Jean-Claude, brandishing a letter René had written, begging him to tell her that it wasn't true, that René hadn't sacrificed and lost everything for a Gypsy girl. She'd broken down, sobbing into her hands, her tears soaking the letter. She had treated René as though he'd died; she'd even held a funeral for him. It was all the Gypsy witch's doing, but René was too stupid to realize it. He would probably hate Jean-Claude for the rest of his life, and when he died and went straight to Hell, only then would he realize his folly.

Still, Jean-Claude could not change his mind, and he didn't particularly care. René could go on digging graves and pining over a dead witch. It didn't matter to Jean-Claude. He had his own life to lead. He left René without saying goodbye, and René did not seem to acknowledge him. He returned to Cosette and held her. Her father would send a messenger to him once the baby was born, and he would return to Lyon to collect the two of them. Jean-Claude closed his eyes, inhaling and taking in Cosette's sweet, clean scent.

"Stay with me," she whispered.

"You know I can't," he said, stroking her hair. "But I'll return, you'll see. I'll come back for you."

"I'll miss you."

"And I'll miss you. Moments without you are agony, Cosette." He kissed her. "But I'll return. I swear to you, I'll return."

She nodded. "I know. I love you, Jean-Claude."

"And I you."

END

Author's Notes:

Props, thanks, and recognition go first and foremost to Victor Hugo and his masterpiece, "The Hunchback of Notre Dame." Same for the Disney version (although the book is better).

Props, thanks, and recognition also go out to Tod Browning's film "Freaks," which serves as my inspiration for Hans and Frieda's circus. It's a good movie. I know that there is a circus in "The Hunchback of Notre Dame II," but I've actually never seen it. Hans, Frieda, Heracles, and everyone else in the circus is a nod to "Freaks."

I really didn't do any actual research for this story, aside from watching "The Hunchback of Notre Dame" and looking at a map of medieval France. And I found that map on wikipedia, so it's probably a map of a shopping mall in downtown Detroit.

When I started this story, I realized early on that I had way too many romantic subplots (Quasimodo and Frieda, Heracles and Rosalie, Dmitri and Marie, just for starters). One plot that I cut was about Pierre struggling to deal with the fact that he's gay (congrats to Sunrise19 for picking up on that). Not to worry, though; Pierre's getting his very own story at some point in the future.

I kind of went nuts with all the "Les Miserables" references in this story; can anyone catch them all?

Mad crazy thanks and props to the people who reviewed, especially Tonyboy and Sunrise19.