Chapter 80: The Inn

The bottle shattered, producing streams of blood.

Aggressive hands made bruises all over the boy.

Shouts shook him: "Lazy!" "Stupid!" "Scrawny!" "Disappointment!"

Then there was the torch. The burning of flesh. The fear...


Claude woke with a violent breath. Realizing the nightmare had ended, he sighed with both relief and disappointment. He hated that this was still happening. Being powerless over these nightmares was becoming a serious frustration.

But mere seconds after waking up, just as Claude was sitting up and rubbing his eyes, he was shocked by a figure with a knife plunging through the opening of the tent.

"What is it?!" Phoebus yelled.

Claude jumped back with a scream.

He stared in disbelief when he realized who had just torn into his tent, and Phoebus stared back awkwardly after the apparent sense of urgency left him.

"Phoebus..." Claude said coldly. "...What in the world are you doing?"

Phoebus lowered his knife.

"I thought some animal was attacking you." He explained. "You screamed like you were being mauled..."

"I just... Slept poorly." Claude insisted.

Phoebus looked at him judgmentally, looking like he wanted to ask what kind of ridiculous dream could cause such drama. But he didn't. He only sighed.

"Well, we should get going." Phoebus informed. "If we start soon then we could make it to town by tonight."

Claude didn't need to be reminded. He was eager to move this journey along as fast as possible. The sooner they finished, the sooner he could return to Esmeralda. Hopefully with news that would make her happy.


Esmeralda took to closing her eyes when she got dressed. It was hard to look at herself and see the scar she'd gained from being stabbed. It reminded her of Claude, just as she'd known it would. That was okay because she certainly didn't want to forget, but there were times when the thought of him brought too much pain.

The scar reminded her of how deeply she loved him, since that was the reason she'd been stabbed in the first place. She couldn't forget the desperation she'd felt upon seeing him under attack, nor the torturous relief of the blade ending up in her instead.

She was also reminded of how Claude had saved her from the injury, and how guilty he'd felt for not being able to prevent it, and the way he'd lovingly kissed the scar the night before he'd left with Phoebus...

Her love for him and his love for her were what Esmeralda thought of when she saw the mark, so she tried not to look at it too much. The reminder was upsetting in excess, given the current dynamic of their relationship. And as it was, Esmeralda was already missing Claude.

At times it was still strange to think that they'd grown so close, and not only because of the brutal history between them. Months ago, it would have been inconceivable that Esmeralda could have much in common with an older, wealthy, religious white man, even if he hadn't oppressed her people. But if anything, their differences made them more alike. The times they'd spent reading together had proven that. Esmeralda likely never would have learned to read if she hadn't met Claude, and he likely never would have found such fun in a book if not for her way of seeing the humor in things. They enriched each other in a way that neither would have expected.

By now it was hard for Esmeralda to imagine a life where she and Claude didn't have each other, so it was uncomfortable just to be away from him for now.

That was what brought her to wander into his room. It wasn't the kind of thing she would normally do, since Esmeralda wasn't one to go through anyone's personal space. But she'd already shared this room with Claude and seen everything there was to see, and it was well known at this point that he didn't mind her entering as she pleased. So Esmeralda didn't think much of it as she paced through the room. She dragged her fingers over the books on the shelf, excited by the idea of eventually reading them all. She saw Elaine's painting and admired it for a moment. She saw Quasimodo's carvings on the desk, accompanied by a pile of papers.

The pile attracted Esmeralda's attention. It seemed unlike Claude to leave things in disarray like that. He'd always appeared to be a very organized person, likely because he'd been held to such high standards of perfection in his childhood. And it was awfully hard to become a judge without caring about order, so that seemed like something that should come automatically after such a long career in law.

But then again, Claude's life had been very stressful recently, so maybe order wasn't so automatic for him right now. Plus, having Esmeralda in his life had certainly influenced him to be less rigid, so he probably wasn't as concerned with organization as he'd once been.

Esmeralda looked down at the papers and recognized some poetry Claude had previously shared with her. She picked the papers up and started to read them, smiling. One by one, she flipped through the poems, admiring Claude's work. But soon, she was faced with one she hadn't seen before.

.

There was once a foolish man

Who thought love was not meant for him

And never bothered to look for it

.

But there was a wise woman

Who understood him when no one did

And made him know what love was like

.

She would have been his

And he so wanted to be hers

But his sins were a chasm between them

.

Yet he could not complain

After knowing her love

If only temporarily

.

To be hers for a moment

To taste the best of life

One could ask no more

.

Esmeralda's heart pounded when she read the words. There was nothing quite surprising about this poem, which was clearly about her and Claude, but it still shook her.

She knew Claude was in love with her. It wasn't a fact he tried to hide. But while knowing that was one thing, it was another thing for Esmeralda to hold such evidence of it in her hands. It took much thought and adoration to write a poem like this about someone.

Esmeralda felt a touch of guilt after reading it. Even though Claude had assured her (and written in this very poem) that the brief moments she'd allowed herself to love him had been enough, Esmeralda was sorry that she couldn't give him more.

She felt like she might cry, so she decided to get out of this room. Esmeralda put the papers back on the desk, but one slipped out of the pile and onto the floor. She picked it up, but the content of the page caught her eye quickly. It was a letter...

rise in the gypsy population... from Paris...

Esmeralda's eyes widened.


The day's travel had been easy until the storm started. Now that night was falling, rain and wind were battering the group. Claude shivered under his cloak, which was doing little to protect him. The weather was causing everyone to grow cold and miserable.

"We need to stop!" Phoebus yelled. "We can't keep going like this!"

"We can't have much farther to go!" Claude insisted. "And setting up camp in these conditions would be a nightmare!"

"It could be hours before we get to town!" Phoebus argued. "We need to get under cover before someone gets sick!"

"If we make it there, we'll find better shelter! It's definitely not far!"

"Stop being so difficult! I know you're thinking of Esmeralda, but we can help her just as well if it takes us a little longer!"

Before Claude could respond, one of Phoebus' friends who had been traveling at the front of the group rode toward the center, where Claude and Phoebus were.

"Look!" He shouted, pointing into the distance at something. "Smoke!"

Sure enough, puffs of smoke were rising over the trees up ahead, in a volume that would come out of a typical chimney.

"That might be an inn." Claude suggested.

"Let's find out." Phoebus said decisively.

They accelerated their riding speed to quickly reach the source of the smoke, a comfortable looking house on the side of the path. It certainly appeared to be an inn, so Claude and Phoebus went inside to check for vacancy. They were met by a polite man who asked how he could help them.

"We need lodging." Claude explained. "Do you have any rooms available?"

"I have a few vacant rooms." The innkeeper replied. "How many of you are there?"

"Six men, plus six horses." Phoebus answered.

"I can give you three rooms," The innkeeper offered. "two men to each. Go ahead and put your horses in the stable. I'll make your beds and get you some towels."

Claude and Phoebus went back outside to let the others know and take care of the horses.

"I guess we'll be rooming together." Phoebus decided.

Claude was taken off guard by that idea. He could see no reason for Phoebus to want that. And the idea was even more of an issue for him than it would be for Phoebus, especially after Phoebus noticing his nightmare earlier. Claude was frightened by the prospect of that happening again.

"Why would you want to share a room with me?" Claude questioned.

"I wouldn't subject any of my friends to you." Phoebus replied.

Of course the reason was hostile. It was unthinkable that Phoebus would have any sort of friendly cause to room with Claude. But either way, Claude didn't like this.

"I think it's a bad idea." Claude said firmly.

"Why?" Phoebus questioned. "Afraid you'll 'sleep poorly' again?"

Claude scowled at the taunt, but didn't say anything sharp in return. He still wanted to get through this mission without a fight.

It unfortunately occurred to him that sharing a room with Phoebus was the safest decision. Phoebus was the only member of the party who was willing to speak to him, so it would be incredibly awkward to room with anyone else. And if another nightmare were to occur, Claude realized he would rather suffer it around Phoebus than let a new person, a complete stranger, become witness to his agony.

"Never mind." Claude sighed. "I suppose I'd prefer to stay with someone I know."

They were glad when they got to their room. It was simple, but comfortable. There were two beds and two small tables, where a few candles had been placed for lighting.

"This sure is a relief." Phoebus remarked, putting his things down by his bed.

Claude threw his cloak off, then found the towel on his own bed and brought it to his face, soaking up the raindrops that chilled his skin.

But when he lowered the towel, he was stunned by the sight of Phoebus dragging a towel over his bare torso and starting to undo his pants.

"What are you doing?!" Claude blurted out.

Phoebus stopped and looked at him confusedly.

"What? I'm just drying off and changing. So should you. Unless you want to wear wet clothes."

Claude stared in disbelief. As sensible as this was, he hadn't expected it in the least. Claude had never been in a setting where it was seen as normal for people to change in front of each other, except for married couples.

Phoebus rolled his eyes.

"Right." He sighed. "I guess this is another thing you wouldn't know about. But you see, I was in the Army a long time. I'm used to constantly being around a bunch of men and doing everything with them. Changing around each other was daily life, so I just don't care."

Claude wished he was as unbothered by this as Phoebus was. But even if he could accept that it wasn't a big deal, he didn't want to expose the scar on his chest. As far as he knew, Phoebus wasn't aware of it. And even if he'd heard rumors about the disfigurement, hearing about it wasn't nearly as bad as seeing it. The last thing Claude wanted was to let that mark of his trauma be seen by someone who hated him.

"I'll turn around if you want." Phoebus offered, turning so that his back was to Claude.

Claude still didn't feel completely safe, but he did need to get out of his wet clothes in order to warm up.

"...That will do." He accepted.

He tried to do it quickly, before Phoebus got tired of looking the other way. Claude turned his own back and swiftly stripped off his soaked clothes, dried himself, and got dressed in dry clothes. He then sat on his bed, still facing away from Phoebus.

"Can I move now?" Phoebus asked when he finished dressing.

"Yes." Claude replied.

Phoebus turned around again.

"There, all dry and comfortable." He said gladly. "That drama was really unnecessary, though. There's nothing to hide. It's not like I don't already know how thin and scrawny you are."

Claude started to furiously scowl, his hands clenching into fists.

Thin... Scrawny...

He thought of every time those words had been used to hurt him, those attacks on the slender appearance that he'd tried so hard to change, only to continually be bullied and abused for it. The upsetting memories seemed to culminate at this moment, where Phoebus reinitiated the humiliation after so many years.

Civility be damned. Claude was done with this.

"Stop..." He murmured fiercely.

Phoebus was taken off guard by the tone.

"Excuse me?" He asked.

"I said..." Claude growled, turning his head to look at Phoebus. "STOP!"

Phoebus hesitated to speak when Claude raised his voice, but he soon resumed his prior attitude.

"Stop what?!" He challenged.

"YOU KNOW WHAT!" Claude thundered, rising to his feet and facing Phoebus with a brutal glare. "Stop playing this cruel game! You keep going out of your way to provoke me, and I've had ENOUGH!"

"Oh, you're offended by a few jabs?" Phoebus sassed. "Well, I'm offended that you set half of Paris on fire! You can't expect-"

"To terrorize all those people and have everyone forgive me? I don't! I don't expect that at all! I know I've done many horrible things, and I know I don't deserve to be forgiven. You have every right to hate me, and I perfectly understand if you never feel any differently. However, you are driving me MAD! I took it when you criticized my past actions, but you've gone far past that point! Making pointed assumptions about my childhood?! Insulting my appearance?! This is ridiculous! I will take no more of this blatant mistreatment!"

Claude started to walk toward Phoebus angrily.

"When you arrived in Paris, you never would have said these things!" He snapped. "You called me Sir and acted politely at all times!"

"Only because I had to!" Phoebus responded. "I just didn't want to die!"

"Exactly! You acted like you respected me then because my temperament was too dangerous for you not to! But now that I've learned compassion for others, you're taking advantage of that and attacking me as much as you can! What are you even hoping to accomplish?! To make me hate myself more than I already do?!"

Claude's fingernails were nearly piercing his palms. He again felt like punching Phoebus, or throwing him against the wall to show that he wasn't as weak as he looked. But that was a line Claude wouldn't cross. He had too much love for Esmeralda to possibly lay hands on someone she cared about. And besides, he was committed to goodness now, and good men didn't respond to words with violence.

"You remember why we're here." Claude said instead. "You agreed to this for Esmeralda's sake, and like it or not, I'm a friend of hers too. Hate me if you must, but if you care about her, knock it off!"

Claude returned to the spot where he'd been sitting on the bed, leaning over and putting his aggressive hands against his head. He was exhausted, both from the harassment and from finally yelling about it. The thought of Esmeralda was all that eased him. He imagined her comforting him like she always did, telling him he was good enough...

All Claude wanted was to stop talking and relax for the rest of the night. Thankfully, that was what happened. Phoebus didn't say another word to Claude that night. And while he didn't go as far as apologizing, he looked regretful and sullen over his behavior. Still, Claude didn't know if that remorse extended to him or if Phoebus only felt bad because of Esmeralda.

But either way, he could tell that the bullying was finally over for good.

With a newly quiet environment and the comforting thought of Esmeralda, Claude managed to sleep peacefully that night.