Chapter 79: The Journey

Esmeralda and Claude lay silently together in the early morning, warmed by the contact of each other's skin. They were only freshly awake, but they still clung to one another with plenty of energy. They badly wanted to stay like this, although they knew they couldn't.

"I should be going." Claude said sadly.

"Just a few minutes." Esmeralda begged.

He wouldn't deny her that much. A few minutes would make little difference. It was nothing Phoebus couldn't deal with.

Claude moved his hands slowly over Esmeralda's bare body, savoring these last moments of touch between them. She enjoyed it quietly for a moment, then started to rise over him, starting a slow trail of kisses up his torso until their faces were close. She then lowered her lips to his, into a deep and long kiss. Claude held her by the waist while he kissed her. He felt blessed to experience this. It felt like more than he could ever deserve, being loved by someone as perfect as Esmeralda.

They eventually got out of bed and started to get dressed. Claude dragged a set of clothes from his wardrobe, plus a pair of boots from his hunting days that would be comfortable in the woods. But when he was clothed up to the waist, about to put his shirt on, Esmeralda suddenly stopped him.

"Wait..." She mumbled.

Claude had his back to her, but he turned toward when she spoke. She was fully dressed, but now standing still and staring.

"What?" Claude asked.

Esmeralda walked up to him and slowly put her hands on his back. Her fingers pinpointed a few spots that could be identified as small scars. Upon closer examination, she realized there were quite a few of them.

"How did you get these?" She asked.

Claude sighed.

"I hadn't realized those were still visible." He said unhappily.

"Just barely." Esmeralda assured. "I never noticed them until now."

"It happened a long time ago." Claude explained. "I felt defeated after class and decided to have a few drinks. I ended up having a few too many, so I was a mess when I came home. My parents were livid... My father threw me on the floor, grabbed the bottle I'd been holding, and... Broke it over my back."

Esmeralda was visibly horrified.

"Claude... That's horrible!"

"Truthfully, I haven't thought of it in quite a while. It was mild compared to the burn."

"That doesn't mean it wasn't horrible."

"...No, it doesn't."

Amazingly, Claude realized how different this was from the other times he'd told violent stories to Esmeralda. At this point it wasn't so hard to talk to her about the things that had happened to him. It wasn't a big deal when she already knew so much about his childhood and did so much to make him feel comfortable sharing.

But although this wasn't as dramatic as other times, it wasn't difficult to see that Claude was upset by the memories. Esmeralda comforted him with a hug, which he accepted gratefully. Then, to his surprise, she went behind him, found each of the scars, and kissed them all one by one.

Esmeralda laid her head against his shoulder after she kissed the last scar, resting her hands on his upper arms. Claude touched one of her hands and closed his eyes, taking in the moment.

He questioned how he'd managed to get through so much of his life without experiencing love like this.

"We have an adventure ahead of us." Claude said to Geoffrey. "I hope you'll like it. We haven't done anything like this in a while."

He placed a saddle on the horse along with a few pouches of equipment. They were almost ready to leave.

"Claude," Esmeralda piped up. "I'm a little worried."

"Why?" Claude questioned.

"Well, now that you've told me about your history with hunting..."

"You're worried that I'm doing it for the same reasons as before?"

"No, I'm just worried that it will remind you of bad memories."

"This will be very different from what I did back then. Just two men sharing an activity. The past shall not be on my mind."

Claude would have liked to admit that this wasn't a hunting trip at all. He hoped he would be able to inform Esmeralda of that when he returned.

"Okay then." Esmeralda accepted. "I sure hope Phoebus behaves himself."

"I think he will." Claude said hopefully. "He... Knows why we're doing this."

Esmeralda unfolded a cloak she'd been holding.

"Don't forget this." She reminded, placing it over Claude's shoulders.

"Thank you." Claude told her.

Their eyes met. Despite their silence, they could each see what the other wanted, so they leaned into each other for one more kiss.

Claude was the last to arrive where the group had gathered on the edge of town. Phoebus waited with four other men, all of whom looked strong and prepared.

"These are some friends of mine." Phoebus introduced. "They know the plan. We're ready to go."

Claude nodded approvingly. He quickly addressed the group.

"Thank you all for being here." He began. "I know this isn't a very exciting task, so I appreciate your time. You'll be well compensated for your help."

He didn't receive a response apart from a few nods. It became apparent to Claude that none of them wanted to talk to him, which meant that his only source of conversation for the next few days would be Phoebus. This was going to be a long trip.

They set off riding into the countryside. The group was spread out, far enough apart from each other that they couldn't be attacked all at once, but close enough that they'd be able to communicate with a mere shout. Phoebus was the only one close enough to Claude to have a conversation at normal volume.

"You were late." Phoebus brought up.

"Only by a few minutes." Claude defended.

"Might I ask what you were doing?"

"Saying goodbye."

Phoebus looked at Claude with suspicion.

"About Esmeralda," The former soldier started. "why do you like her?"

"What kind of question is that?" Claude asked. "Everyone likes her."

"You didn't. You nearly killed her."

Claude was painfully reminded of the fact that he'd come so close to committing such a violent act. By now he had such love for Esmeralda that it was bewildering to think he'd ever hated her.

"I wasn't right in the head." Claude asserted. "I've since come to my senses and seen what any fool can see."

"Why?" Phoebus asked. "What did she do to make you see that?"

"She was kind."

As curious as he was, Phoebus stopped asking questions when he realized that the answers would continue to be vague. That was exactly what Claude had hoped for.

They found themselves approaching a town in the afternoon. This wasn't their destination, but it would be an interesting place to pass through. Phoebus suggested that everyone take a break and go their own way, then meet on the other side of the town in half an hour. Everyone agreed it was a fair plan.

Claude journeyed through the town's market with Geoffrey in tow, speaking his dissatisfactions to the horse.

"This trip is going to be lonely." Claude complained. "Not that I don't love talking to you, you're very good company. But I do like to have someone who can talk back to me. Someone who doesn't despise me..."

But Phoebus had good reasons to...

"Perhaps I have no right to complain." Claude realized. "It's not as if I've been quite likeable..."

Claude stopped in his tracks when he saw something significant. Some mixed items were scattered on a table to be sold. Among them was a book with a recognizable name on the cover: Geoffrey Chaucer. Claude picked up the book and examined it.

"Look at this, Geoffrey." He said with fascination. "It's the author I named you after."

He opened the book and discovered that it was a French copy of The Canterbury Tales. Claude smiled.

"Do you know who would like this?" He asked. "Esmeralda would."

Although he hadn't been a Chaucer fan in the past, Claude felt that he could enjoy this book now that he had both an improved way at looking at things and Esmeralda to read with. And knowing Esmeralda, she would definitely enjoy this book. Claude bought it and put it one of the bags Geoffrey carried.

He soon made it to the other side of the town and saw Phoebus, who was still waiting for the others. Claude let Geoffrey stop to chew on some grass while he went to stand by Phoebus.

"We've made good progress so far." Claude said approvingly. "At this rate we should arrive at our destination tomorrow."

"The sooner the better." Phoebus said eagerly. "It was nice to stop here, though."

"Indeed." Claude agreed.

He looked back toward Geoffrey, but was taken by shock at a realization. The bag he'd just placed the book in was gone. Panicked, Claude began to look around quickly.

"What are you looking for?" Phoebus asked in confusion.

Before Claude could answer, he saw what he was looking for. Fifty feet away, a ragged looking man was digging through the misplaced bag.

Immediately, Claude ran. The man who held his bag soon noticed him and took off in a sprint. Claude chased him.

"Wait!" Phoebus called. "What are you doing?!"

"He stole from me!" Claude shouted back.

He hurried, determined not to lose track of the thief. The man kept turning around buildings, but Claude was just fast enough to stay where he could see him. He was followed by Phoebus, who continued to yell.

"Whatever's in there is replaceable!" Phoebus insisted.

"NO, IT IS NOT!" Claude yelled.

He finally caught up with the thief as he turned into an alley, grabbing at him so that he stumbled and collapsed. The man looked up at Claude fearfully, throwing the bag at him.

"I'm sorry!" He beseeched. "Don't hurt me!"

Phoebus caught up to Claude.

"Just leave him be!" He snapped. "There's no need for this!"

Claude picked up the bag. He then looked back at the thief and realized how frightened the man was. Moreover, he looked almost sick. He was so thin and frail that his reasons for stealing were obvious.

As a judge, no had ever expected Claude to care in a situation like this. He'd harshly sentenced many people just like this before, people who had committed crimes out of desperation. He'd never been concerned with their struggles, he'd only cared about punishing them for breaking the law. But everything was different now.

He took out several handfuls of money and put it down on the ground.

"Take it." Claude instructed.

The thief looked at him in disbelief, as did Phoebus.

"I'll walk away if that helps." Claude offered.

There was no response, so Claude made the choice to turn around and start away. Behind him, he heard the man pick up the money and take off in another direction.

Relieved, Claude opened the bag and pulled the book out. He was pleased to find it still in ideal condition.

"A book?!" Phoebus snapped. "You ran off over a book?!"

"This isn't just any book." Claude informed. "Chaucer is English! The chances of finding this book at a market in France are slim to say the least! This had to be translated, copied by hand-"

"So?" Phoebus asked. "It's still just a book!"

"It's for Esmeralda." Claude declared. "And I know her well enough to know she will thoroughly enjoy this!"

Though a scowl remained on his face, Phoebus stopped talking. He was reminded of the fact that Esmeralda did, in fact, have a taste for literature. A taste that he had insulted, that he hadn't even known about, because he didn't know her nearly as well as Claude Frollo did.

Claude was glad not to need help setting up his tent that night. He was the last to have his prepared, but that was better than not knowing how to do it at all. Most of the group was asleep at this point, save Phoebus, who was sitting in front of a small campfire with a drink in hand. It was getting cold, so Claude joined him by the fire.

"What is that?" Claude asked, referring to the beverage Phoebus was drinking.

"Beer." Phoebus replied. "I'd share, but something tells me you wouldn't like this."

Claude was willing to challenge that. He held his hand out, gesturing for Phoebus to give him the bottle. Skeptically, the former soldier handed it to him. Claude drank a long sip from the bottle before giving it back to Phoebus.

"It's decent." He approved.

Phoebus looked at him strangely before continuing to drink.

"I thought you only drank wine." Phoebus noted.

"You assumed." Claude corrected. "Granted, I do prefer wine. But I'm not particular."

"Is there anything else I should know?"

"Such as?"

"Anything. Why don't you tell me something about you?"

"Just what are you trying to do?"

"What Esmeralda thinks we're doing."

Claude realized that Phoebus was determined to make it up to Esmeralda. So determined that he was willing to try to get to know a man he hated for her sake. Claude respected that, although he wasn't sure how to handle the process. As much as he appreciated having Phoebus help with this mission, Claude certainly didn't trust the man enough to tell him anything meaningful.

"Why don't we start with you?" Claude suggested.

"There's not much to say." Phoebus shrugged. "I'm a farm boy who joined the Army because I thought that was a more noble path. My folks didn't approve, but they got over it. I did well, and that's pretty much my life story before coming back to Paris recently."

"Your parents didn't want you to be a soldier?"

"They weren't happy that I thought it would make me more noble, and now I understand they were right. I didn't give enough credit to what they did, running that farm all those years. They hoped I would take it over, but one of my cousins volunteered to, so they forgave me in the end."

Claude found it tragically funny that the worst Phoebus had seemingly experienced with his parents was not having their immediate approval of his career choice. That was a normal family dynamic, the kind that normal people experienced. Claude asked himself why he couldn't have been normal. A normal person with normal parents who argued with him about his plans instead of repeatedly brutalizing him...

"Alright, on to you now." Phoebus said eagerly. "What is there to know about the infamous Minister of Justice?"

Claude tried to ignore the offensive tone. He struggled to think of something he'd be willing to share. For the sake of the conversation, he decided to merely recite the obvious.

"Nothing of importance." He replied. "I like literature. I like art. I like wine. You know all that."

"Why don't you tell me where you were before terrorizing Paris? That's something I'd like to know."

That tone was becoming too annoying to ignore.

"I might be inclined to say more if you asked more politely."

Phoebus sighed.

"Alright." He accepted. "Where do you come from?"

"I've lived in Paris all my life." Claude replied.

"Figures. Good education, no doubt. University of Paris, I presume?"

"Yes."

"Wealthy family, right?"

"Correct."

"And, let me guess... Was your father a man of the law like you? Is that how you got into it?"

Claude tried not to show his discomfort when the topic of his father came up.

"He was a professor."

"A professor, eh?"

Phoebus took a long sip of his beer.

"Well, I think I get the picture." He started. "You grew up rich and spoiled. Didn't have to do chores, so your parents had you study instead. Your father got you into the university he taught at and fought with the other professors if they didn't score you well. Then you went into law because that was a job everyone respected, and your parents bragged about you constantly. They made you feel like you were God's gift to the world, and therefore you behaved like you were that important. How am I doing so far?"

Claude was torn between laughing, crying, and punching Phoebus in the face. He felt that he could do all three, but he knew better than have such a reaction. He had to remain civil if he was going to manage the next few days with this man. So instead of demonstrating the horrible emotions Phoebus had just stirred up with his assumptions, Claude simply got up and started toward his tent.

"Goodnight." He said coldly.

"Hey!" Phoebus called. "I was just poking fun at you!"

Claude entered his tent and closed the entrance, then practically threw himself on the ground and pulled some blankets over him.

"Was I right?" Phoebus asked from outside. "Is that why you're so mad?"

Claude didn't acknowledge him. He closed his eyes in hopes that sleep would come and free him from his emotions.

"I wish..." Claude muttered under his breath, too quietly for anyone but him to hear it.

He only wished his parents had liked him half as much as Phoebus assumed. Not that being spoiled was a wise thing to wish for, but it seemed alright when the alternative was torture.

Claude tried to ignore the memories of mistreatment playing through his head as he fell asleep.