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Description
Slowly the days lengthen and outside temperature increases, the promise of things blooming and unfurling a sharp promise in the air. Esmeralda ventures out into the wide hallways again and explores the many chambers of the Palace of Justice further.

For a building that looks so malicious and foreboding on the outside, Esmeralda is surprised at how alive with people of all walks of life it is on the inside.
Meandering through large light hallways, she often encounters people of the streets she knows in passing, more frequent than not accompanied by the Palace's guard. In one instance she almost runs into the baker, his fat face red with indignation as he turns to the gates. Quickly she sidesteps him, but not before she can hear him muttering under his breath at how unfair this city's justice system is, and he'll show that upstart of a neighboring butcher. He is followed, at a respectful distance by two guards, their shoulders shaking with suppressed mirth. The butcher in question follows shortly thereafter, a content wide grin on his pock-marked face. Doffing his hat to her, he mutters a polite greeting, before he too turns the corner.

Curious as to what the kerfuffle is all about she cranes her neck and sees for the very first time the large doors of the Judicial Courtroom opened wide. Court must have been in session. A few black robed men linger inside, heads bowed together in soft conversation. Another cluster of men sit at the table. The tall judicial court bench stands empty. The day is clearly done.

A young scribe is collecting various pieces of parchment, until a sudden gust of wind thwarts his attempts, sending his stack of parchments flying. He curses colorfully and is promptly rebuked by a portly man wearing the same purple and black judicial cassock as the others. The young man ducks his head and muttering a soft apology, hastens himself to pick up the papers, blushing furiously all the while.

The sound of scraping chairs is heard as the men get up and take their leave. Stepping back slightly in order for them to pass, she finds that Judge Claude Frollo is among them, in full judge regalia.  He has his head slightly bowed in order to listen to something the same portly man is now telling him, but his eyes rest on Esmeralda. His chaperon is slightly askew, lending him a slightly rakish air. The same unseen wind bats playfully at his red sash, making it flutter past her head for the shortest moment, caressing the side of her neck. If she were to reach out, she is sure she could tug at it, making him stop in his tracks. As it is, the small procession makes its way past her, some greeting her solemnly. Frollo just minutely inclines his head, his piercing eyes never once leaving hers. The weight of his stare is too much for her and she turns her head, breaking contact.

Esmeralda continues her journey in the other direction, feeling slightly winded. Turning around to look at the men's retreating backs, she silently wills him to turn around, if only for a moment.

He doesn't. Red sash swaying in time with his walk, he apparently gives her no further thought. It leaves Esmeralda feeling strangely bereft.

She begins to spend her afternoons in the Palace's kitchen , soaking up the bustling atmosphere. The cooks and maids are leery of her at first, but seeing as she has no malicious intent, soon warm to her. Esmeralda loves the sounds, smells and sights of this tiny micro cosmos, the way the cooks painstakingly prepare every meal. Every morning, hunters from further afield come plying their wares, and the kitchen tables fill with game birds such as pheasant and partridge. Rabbits and hare are plentiful too, due to it being a mild winter.
One time, they even offer a wild boar. In a flurry of excitement the beast is hauled in. The animal is huge, and all edible parts of it make their way into mouth watering dishes, such as honey glazed roasts, stews and even a bone-warming soup. She applauds the cooks creativity.

She learns that the kitchen even has its own stables, or rather pens, though not filled with horses, but with various chickens, cows and even a fat pig or three. One late afternoon, a clutch of eggs hatches and Esmeralda welcomes a handful of yellow fluffy chicks into the world, under the watchful beady eyes of the distrustful rooster. Another sure harbinger of spring.

From the cloisters of the neighboring monasteries come honey, mead and ale. The wine orchards beyond the city's borders yield barrels of wine, even though the land itself is still grey and still.

She is also surprised at the cornucopia of greens and fruits available to them, even this time of year. Many of which she has never even heard of, let alone tasted. One of the maids, Bernadette, takes her under her wing and patiently answers all her questions about various fruits and vegetables, and where they hail from. Esmeralda is sure though that,  even though she listens diligently, she is sure to have forgotten more than half by the time she return to her chambers.

Another favorite spot of her as she finds out, is the Palace's sprawling library. She finds the old chairs there comforting as she sits in the pale sunlight, feet tucked modestly under her, the smell of knowledge and leather in her nostrils. Even though she can't read nor write, she enjoys the heavy feel of books in her hands, and she busies herself with looking through books that have illustrations in them, making up stories for them in her mind. Still, her curiosity is awakened and she finds herself asking if there would be anyone magnanimous enough to sit down with her and teach her how to read, maybe even write. Every now and then, learned men pass her as she sits in her chair, but she finds herself suddenly shy and doesn't ask anyone for help. Who would help her if she did, anyway? So she quietly sits and is lulled in a state of peacefulness by the soft sounds of life around her.

On no particular day she is startled from her careful perusal of what appears to be a history of warfare( the graphic drawings of fallen horses and slain men disturb her greatly) by raised voices outside. Abandoning her book, she makes for the window to look at the ground below.

It is the same courtyard that she has found Frollo and his horses in, that one fateful morning. Now it is filled with soldiers as they parry and thrust, sharpening their sword skills as well as their wit against one another. They have stopped however to stare at the figure making his way determinedly past the courtyard. A figure dressed in his customary gold and blue armor. The stable master stumbles from his perch in blind panic, before grabbing a young boy and hissing something in his ear, sending him scrambling away.

But Esmeralda only has eyes for the regal form of the intruder below.

Phoebus!

She turn and flies past her chair, skirts flying, startling the librarians greatly. Shouting her apologies to them she increases her speed, her feet winding down the broad staircase that bleeds into the courtyard hall, heart hammering in her throat. She almost trips, slipping over the unfamiliar soft leather of the boots that Frollo has had her outfitted with.

Esmeralda stops at the bottom of the stairs, looking at the man that has just entered the dim lit hallway. Angry voices are heard in the courtyard behind him, but the man standing inside ignores them all.
Her hand clutches the balustrade hard as she drinks in the sight of her Sun God. He has turned around at the sound of footfalls and after a moment of hesitation, his eyes widen in recognition.

"Phoebus!" she chokes.

He just stands there, as if nailed to the ground. Esmeralda approaches him slowly, eyes locked on his periwinkle blue ones. They are slightly bloodshot, she notices off-handedly, and he looks sad. Oh Phoebus! Her hands reach out to him, almost, but not quite touching.

"H- how are you?" Phoebus finally chokes out, muscles in his neck tensing. He swallows hard.
"How is he treating you? A- are you hurt? " he continues.
Esmeralda shakes her head in the negative, still staring at him."No, no, I'm fine," she hastens to reassure him.

He reaches for her then, pulling her into a bone crushing hug. The pommel of his sword bangs awkwardly against her lower ribs and she muffles a grunt of pain.
"I've come to take you away Esmeralda, consequences be damned!" His grip on her tightens. These are the words she has longed to hear and she smiles elatedly, content to be in his arms.

"I've found a place where you could live safely, far away from him and his greedy claws. You would be mine and mine alone!!" sunken eyes search for hers. "It's just a small room really, and I could come to visit you sometime, and, oh Esmeralda, we would be happy!!" he exclaims, lost in a vision.

Esmeralda just stares at him, as if seeing him for the first time. The smell of cheap wine on sour breath hits her sensitive nose and she realizes that his bloodshot eyes are not the result of a hungry torn heart, but merely a by-effect of the consumption of spirits. As if to underline her findings, Phoebus sways on his feet and steadies himself on her. Slowly her fingers glide down his shiny chest plate to finally rest limply against her own sides.

Mistaking her sudden silence for awe and acquiescence to his schemes, Phoebus continues, spinning her a tale of part-time domestic bliss. He presents her with his idea of the future and expects her to fall for it.

And as his voice rises, so does her temper.

She wrenches herself away from him hard and glares at him, chest heaving in anger.

"You would have me live the life of a kept woman, a…a concubine? "She shrieks at him, hands flying.
"But how is that different from the life you lead now? " he counters, eyebrows knotted together in earnest confusion. A glimmer of uncertainty breaks through, before he shakes his head, focusing his gaze on Esmeralda again.
"How is that different?"she shrieks. "How is that DIFFERENT?!! How about the lives of my people? How can you not care about them? Don't you remember the bargain I struck?"

Her eyes tear up and Esmeralda is furious at him, at his sheer stupidity, but foremost at herself for her poor judgment in people.

"You would have me all to yourself, conveniently forgetting the fact that the moment you whisk me away to have your wicked way with me, I break my end of the bargain, and my people once again have to fear for their lives?!!"

In reply, Phoebus does the worst thing possible.

He just shrugs.

"I just want you to be mine, Esmeralda, just like you promised!" He pleads, once again reaching for her.

"Don't you remember, Esmeralda?" he whines."You promised yourself to me, and I have come to rescue you!"

At his last statement his chest puffs out and he looks at her as if fully expecting her to fall at his feet in adoration.

Esmeralda's vision swims and she furiously blinks back the rising tears.  She wills them not to fall desperately. Not worth it. She looks at her first lost love.
"Oh Phoebus!" She sighs, but his name tasted like ashes now, no longer bringing the sense of elation it used to carry before.

"I really haven't been seeing you, haven't I?" she whispers, more to herself.

Phoebus reaches for again, pulling her limp form against his, fingers tightening around her arms painfully. Esmeralda grunts in pain. "We must hurry now, if we want to make it past the rest of the guards!" he speaks urgently, shaking her, hard.

Even Esmeralda sees the practical gaps in his plans as she struggles against his much larger form. This drunken fool comes walking in, fully expecting to grab the damsel in distress under the dragon's own nose? Not to mention the dozen guards she can see moving about in the shadows behind him, listening in on every word. How could she have mistaken his happy-go-lucky attitude for what it really was? Sheer stupidity!...

Just then, Phoebus lowers his mouth to hers in a last desperate plea, planting a sloppy, wet kiss on her uncooperative lips. His tongue wrestles its way past her teeth and her senses are overwhelmed with the taste of wrong.

Dimly Esmeralda hears the sound of more footsteps approaching and she beats her fists against his breast plate in desperation and anger, finally succeeding in wrenching herself away from him.

Frollo is standing at the top of the chairs, nostrils flaring, eyes spitting fire. He is baring his sharp teeth at the tableau beneath him. Next to him the young stable boy stands with his hands resting on his knees, panting loudly, clearly out of breath.
Not breaking his gaze from Phoebus', Frollo pets the boy's head.
"You did well to summon me, young Benedict". He grits out. The boy visibly preens and gives Phoebus a look of pure loathing. Frollo's low voice is like poisoned honey.
In a few steps Frollo barrels down the stairs and closes the distance between them, fully intent on eviscerating his former Captain.
"Claude!.." she calls then, in an attempt to weather the oncoming storm. Frollo wrenches his gaze away from Phoebus. His eyes are wild and she can see the madness shimmering underneath. ( "Claude?" Phoebus mouths.)

"It.. it isn't…I didn't.." she stammers in a desperate plea for herself. She searches his wild eyes for a trace of the human beneath.

After a beat his eyes soften minutely and he reaches out for her, pulling her away from the Captain and behind himself. Cold fingers run gently over her arm, exploring the finger shaped bruises already blooming on her skin. At the same time, soldiers have stepped up behind Phoebus, grabbing his arms.

"…I know, Maiden Mine", he replies coarsely.

Phoebus grunts at this and then promptly grins, baring his dirty teeth at the judge. He struggles in his captivators' grip. They only grip him tighter.

"Pro'lly don't know what to do about that little thing anyway, wouldn't you, old man?" he leers, waggling his eyebrows in Esmeralda's direction. " A nice little flower like that doesn't fall into your lap every day, I'll bet!"
Esmeralda just closes her eyes in exasperation, and the tiniest bit of fear.

Somebody is about to die a gruesome death. Opening them again she sees Frollo looming over Phoebus. The captain's grin has faded and he looks rather pale.

Funny how she never noticed how much taller than Phoebus Frollo really is. The thought bubbles up and she stifles a sound at the timing and sheer absurdness of it.

Frollo looms closer to the mulish captain and his voice is a deadly whisper.

"I could have you hanged for this, you foolish boy!" His left hand comes up to grab Phoebus's throat and he squeezes, choking the captain. Time slows to a trickle as everybody stands and watches transfixed as Frollo tightens his hold further, slowly denying the Captain oxygen. Frollo's arm shakes but he only increases his pressure. The short hairs on the back of his neck are stuck together with sweat, making his neck look strangely vulnerable, almost boy-like. As Esmeralda watches, a drop of sweat appears from under his chaperon and slowly meanders its way down.

No sounds are heard, other than the sounds of a desperate man struggling for life. Even the birds have fallen silent. The heavy man's knees buckle and Esmeralda swears she can see the light slowly dim behind the captain's bulging eyes. It's almost as if she can see his life force trickling out of him, spilling over Frollo's white fingers, to splash on the pristine floors.

Phoebus turns a rather unattractive shade of blue and he stumbles, spittle flying out of his uncooperative mouth in a desperate bid for air.

Suddenly Esmeralda feels the stable master push past her and grab Frollo by the shoulder, large clumsy hand encasing the older man's tensed shoulder. He bends his head to Frollo's and whispers urgently:" He's not worth it, sir! We saw ev'rything and it was over ere it was begun!"

What does he mean by that? Esmeralda wonders.

It serves to break the tension however and Frollo drops his hand. He does seem to find reason and truth in the horse master's cryptic words however as he steps back suddenly, flexing his hand.

Phoebus drops to his knees completely, almost dragging his guards down with him. His fingers are scratching at his throat, clawing for air. He retches once and promptly is violently ill all over the flagstones. Viscous purple fluid splashes on the floor before Phoebus collapses totally, landing in the puddle of his own sick. He closes his eyes and shudders.

Frollo groans in disgust, teeth bared.

"Have that cleaned up immediately," he orders tersely. Giving her the once over, eyes still wild, he turns away. After a moment he halts.

"And take out the trash!" he hisses.

Frollo turns again and then walks away rapidly, sash snapping behind him like an angry viper eager to strike. His angry footsteps reverberate against the stone walls of the corridor. Even the echo sounds furious.

The guards are on Phoebus like a swarm of hungry locusts then. They drag him away kicking and screaming.

The show is clearly at an end and the remaining crowd stands for a while, blinking sheepishly. Then, as if snapping out of a trance, they turn and disperse. None of them seem eager to linger and meet her eyes.

They leave her alone and confused, a stinking puddle on the floor the only evidence of what just occurred. She hears the birds outside start up again tentatively.
Esmeralda closes her eyes and rubs her abused shoulders. Ugly bruises bloom on her flesh and she examines them, hissing in pain as she touches a thumb impression too roughly.

"You should have somebody look after that", a soft voice behind her states.
She turns around.

It's the boy, Benedict. He gazes at her frankly, a blush apparent on his young cheeks. He shuffles his feet, almost stepping in the horrible puddle himself.

He holds out a small dirty hand.

"Come," he says softly, as if coaxing a frightened animal. "I'll take you to Bernadette in the kitchen. She's bound to have some form of ointment you can rub on those bruises. And maybe we can have a taste of her special mulled wine as well!"

He looks so sweet and pure at that moment that Esmeralda simply steps up to him and takes his outstretched warm hand in hers. His palm is slightly sweaty. He squeezes her hand softly in thankful reply and together they make their way to the kitchens, his young voice and light spirit chasing away the ghosts of her afternoon ordeal with its tales of innocence.

Description
Slowly the days lengthen and outside temperature increases, the promise of things blooming and unfurling a sharp promise in the air. Esmeralda ventures out into the wide hallways again and explores the many chambers of the Palace of Justice further.

For a building that looks so malicious and foreboding on the outside, Esmeralda is surprised at how alive with people of all walks of life it is on the inside.
Meandering through large light hallways, she often encounters people of the streets she knows in passing, more frequent than not accompanied by the Palace's guard. In one instance she almost runs into the baker, his fat face red with indignation as he turns to the gates. Quickly she sidesteps him, but not before she can hear him muttering under his breath at how unfair this city's justice system is, and he'll show that upstart of a neighboring butcher. He is followed, at a respectful distance by two guards, their shoulders shaking with suppressed mirth. The butcher in question follows shortly thereafter, a content wide grin on his pock-marked face. Doffing his hat to her, he mutters a polite greeting, before he too turns the corner.

Curious as to what the kerfuffle is all about she cranes her neck and sees for the very first time the large doors of the Judicial Courtroom opened wide. Court must have been in session. A few black robed men linger inside, heads bowed together in soft conversation. Another cluster of men sit at the table. The tall judicial court bench stands empty. The day is clearly done.

A young scribe is collecting various pieces of parchment, until a sudden gust of wind thwarts his attempts, sending his stack of parchments flying. He curses colorfully and is promptly rebuked by a portly man wearing the same purple and black judicial cassock as the others. The young man ducks his head and muttering a soft apology, hastens himself to pick up the papers, blushing furiously all the while.

The sound of scraping chairs is heard as the men get up and take their leave. Stepping back slightly in order for them to pass, she finds that Judge Claude Frollo is among them, in full judge regalia.  He has his head slightly bowed in order to listen to something the same portly man is now telling him, but his eyes rest on Esmeralda. His chaperon is slightly askew, lending him a slightly rakish air. The same unseen wind bats playfully at his red sash, making it flutter past her head for the shortest moment, caressing the side of her neck. If she were to reach out, she is sure she could tug at it, making him stop in his tracks. As it is, the small procession makes its way past her, some greeting her solemnly. Frollo just minutely inclines his head, his piercing eyes never once leaving hers. The weight of his stare is too much for her and she turns her head, breaking contact.

Esmeralda continues her journey in the other direction, feeling slightly winded. Turning around to look at the men's retreating backs, she silently wills him to turn around, if only for a moment.

He doesn't. Red sash swaying in time with his walk, he apparently gives her no further thought. It leaves Esmeralda feeling strangely bereft.

She begins to spend her afternoons in the Palace's kitchen , soaking up the bustling atmosphere. The cooks and maids are leery of her at first, but seeing as she has no malicious intent, soon warm to her. Esmeralda loves the sounds, smells and sights of this tiny micro cosmos, the way the cooks painstakingly prepare every meal. Every morning, hunters from further afield come plying their wares, and the kitchen tables fill with game birds such as pheasant and partridge. Rabbits and hare are plentiful too, due to it being a mild winter.
One time, they even offer a wild boar. In a flurry of excitement the beast is hauled in. The animal is huge, and all edible parts of it make their way into mouth watering dishes, such as honey glazed roasts, stews and even a bone-warming soup. She applauds the cooks creativity.

She learns that the kitchen even has its own stables, or rather pens, though not filled with horses, but with various chickens, cows and even a fat pig or three. One late afternoon, a clutch of eggs hatches and Esmeralda welcomes a handful of yellow fluffy chicks into the world, under the watchful beady eyes of the distrustful rooster. Another sure harbinger of spring.

From the cloisters of the neighboring monasteries come honey, mead and ale. The wine orchards beyond the city's borders yield barrels of wine, even though the land itself is still grey and still.

She is also surprised at the cornucopia of greens and fruits available to them, even this time of year. Many of which she has never even heard of, let alone tasted. One of the maids, Bernadette, takes her under her wing and patiently answers all her questions about various fruits and vegetables, and where they hail from. Esmeralda is sure though that,  even though she listens diligently, she is sure to have forgotten more than half by the time she return to her chambers.

Another favorite spot of her as she finds out, is the Palace's sprawling library. She finds the old chairs there comforting as she sits in the pale sunlight, feet tucked modestly under her, the smell of knowledge and leather in her nostrils. Even though she can't read nor write, she enjoys the heavy feel of books in her hands, and she busies herself with looking through books that have illustrations in them, making up stories for them in her mind. Still, her curiosity is awakened and she finds herself asking if there would be anyone magnanimous enough to sit down with her and teach her how to read, maybe even write. Every now and then, learned men pass her as she sits in her chair, but she finds herself suddenly shy and doesn't ask anyone for help. Who would help her if she did, anyway? So she quietly sits and is lulled in a state of peacefulness by the soft sounds of life around her.

On no particular day she is startled from her careful perusal of what appears to be a history of warfare( the graphic drawings of fallen horses and slain men disturb her greatly) by raised voices outside. Abandoning her book, she makes for the window to look at the ground below.

It is the same courtyard that she has found Frollo and his horses in, that one fateful morning. Now it is filled with soldiers as they parry and thrust, sharpening their sword skills as well as their wit against one another. They have stopped however to stare at the figure making his way determinedly past the courtyard. A figure dressed in his customary gold and blue armor. The stable master stumbles from his perch in blind panic, before grabbing a young boy and hissing something in his ear, sending him scrambling away.

But Esmeralda only has eyes for the regal form of the intruder below.

Phoebus!

She turn and flies past her chair, skirts flying, startling the librarians greatly. Shouting her apologies to them she increases her speed, her feet winding down the broad staircase that bleeds into the courtyard hall, heart hammering in her throat. She almost trips, slipping over the unfamiliar soft leather of the boots that Frollo has had her outfitted with.

Esmeralda stops at the bottom of the stairs, looking at the man that has just entered the dim lit hallway. Angry voices are heard in the courtyard behind him, but the man standing inside ignores them all.
Her hand clutches the balustrade hard as she drinks in the sight of her Sun God. He has turned around at the sound of footfalls and after a moment of hesitation, his eyes widen in recognition.

"Phoebus!" she chokes.

He just stands there, as if nailed to the ground. Esmeralda approaches him slowly, eyes locked on his periwinkle blue ones. They are slightly bloodshot, she notices off-handedly, and he looks sad. Oh Phoebus! Her hands reach out to him, almost, but not quite touching.

"H- how are you?" Phoebus finally chokes out, muscles in his neck tensing. He swallows hard.
"How is he treating you? A- are you hurt? " he continues.
Esmeralda shakes her head in the negative, still staring at him."No, no, I'm fine," she hastens to reassure him.

He reaches for her then, pulling her into a bone crushing hug. The pommel of his sword bangs awkwardly against her lower ribs and she muffles a grunt of pain.
"I've come to take you away Esmeralda, consequences be damned!" His grip on her tightens. These are the words she has longed to hear and she smiles elatedly, content to be in his arms.

"I've found a place where you could live safely, far away from him and his greedy claws. You would be mine and mine alone!!" sunken eyes search for hers. "It's just a small room really, and I could come to visit you sometime, and, oh Esmeralda, we would be happy!!" he exclaims, lost in a vision.

Esmeralda just stares at him, as if seeing him for the first time. The smell of cheap wine on sour breath hits her sensitive nose and she realizes that his bloodshot eyes are not the result of a hungry torn heart, but merely a by-effect of the consumption of spirits. As if to underline her findings, Phoebus sways on his feet and steadies himself on her. Slowly her fingers glide down his shiny chest plate to finally rest limply against her own sides.

Mistaking her sudden silence for awe and acquiescence to his schemes, Phoebus continues, spinning her a tale of part-time domestic bliss. He presents her with his idea of the future and expects her to fall for it.

And as his voice rises, so does her temper.

She wrenches herself away from him hard and glares at him, chest heaving in anger.

"You would have me live the life of a kept woman, a…a concubine? "She shrieks at him, hands flying.
"But how is that different from the life you lead now? " he counters, eyebrows knotted together in earnest confusion. A glimmer of uncertainty breaks through, before he shakes his head, focusing his gaze on Esmeralda again.
"How is that different?"she shrieks. "How is that DIFFERENT?!! How about the lives of my people? How can you not care about them? Don't you remember the bargain I struck?"

Her eyes tear up and Esmeralda is furious at him, at his sheer stupidity, but foremost at herself for her poor judgment in people.

"You would have me all to yourself, conveniently forgetting the fact that the moment you whisk me away to have your wicked way with me, I break my end of the bargain, and my people once again have to fear for their lives?!!"

In reply, Phoebus does the worst thing possible.

He just shrugs.

"I just want you to be mine, Esmeralda, just like you promised!" He pleads, once again reaching for her.

"Don't you remember, Esmeralda?" he whines."You promised yourself to me, and I have come to rescue you!"

At his last statement his chest puffs out and he looks at her as if fully expecting her to fall at his feet in adoration.

Esmeralda's vision swims and she furiously blinks back the rising tears.  She wills them not to fall desperately. Not worth it. She looks at her first lost love.
"Oh Phoebus!" She sighs, but his name tasted like ashes now, no longer bringing the sense of elation it used to carry before.

"I really haven't been seeing you, haven't I?" she whispers, more to herself.

Phoebus reaches for again, pulling her limp form against his, fingers tightening around her arms painfully. Esmeralda grunts in pain. "We must hurry now, if we want to make it past the rest of the guards!" he speaks urgently, shaking her, hard.

Even Esmeralda sees the practical gaps in his plans as she struggles against his much larger form. This drunken fool comes walking in, fully expecting to grab the damsel in distress under the dragon's own nose? Not to mention the dozen guards she can see moving about in the shadows behind him, listening in on every word. How could she have mistaken his happy-go-lucky attitude for what it really was? Sheer stupidity!...

Just then, Phoebus lowers his mouth to hers in a last desperate plea, planting a sloppy, wet kiss on her uncooperative lips. His tongue wrestles its way past her teeth and her senses are overwhelmed with the taste of wrong.

Dimly Esmeralda hears the sound of more footsteps approaching and she beats her fists against his breast plate in desperation and anger, finally succeeding in wrenching herself away from him.

Frollo is standing at the top of the chairs, nostrils flaring, eyes spitting fire. He is baring his sharp teeth at the tableau beneath him. Next to him the young stable boy stands with his hands resting on his knees, panting loudly, clearly out of breath.
Not breaking his gaze from Phoebus', Frollo pets the boy's head.
"You did well to summon me, young Benedict". He grits out. The boy visibly preens and gives Phoebus a look of pure loathing. Frollo's low voice is like poisoned honey.
In a few steps Frollo barrels down the stairs and closes the distance between them, fully intent on eviscerating his former Captain.
"Claude!.." she calls then, in an attempt to weather the oncoming storm. Frollo wrenches his gaze away from Phoebus. His eyes are wild and she can see the madness shimmering underneath. ( "Claude?" Phoebus mouths.)

"It.. it isn't…I didn't.." she stammers in a desperate plea for herself. She searches his wild eyes for a trace of the human beneath.

After a beat his eyes soften minutely and he reaches out for her, pulling her away from the Captain and behind himself. Cold fingers run gently over her arm, exploring the finger shaped bruises already blooming on her skin. At the same time, soldiers have stepped up behind Phoebus, grabbing his arms.

"…I know, Maiden Mine", he replies coarsely.

Phoebus grunts at this and then promptly grins, baring his dirty teeth at the judge. He struggles in his captivators' grip. They only grip him tighter.

"Pro'lly don't know what to do about that little thing anyway, wouldn't you, old man?" he leers, waggling his eyebrows in Esmeralda's direction. " A nice little flower like that doesn't fall into your lap every day, I'll bet!"
Esmeralda just closes her eyes in exasperation, and the tiniest bit of fear.

Somebody is about to die a gruesome death. Opening them again she sees Frollo looming over Phoebus. The captain's grin has faded and he looks rather pale.

Funny how she never noticed how much taller than Phoebus Frollo really is. The thought bubbles up and she stifles a sound at the timing and sheer absurdness of it.

Frollo looms closer to the mulish captain and his voice is a deadly whisper.

"I could have you hanged for this, you foolish boy!" His left hand comes up to grab Phoebus's throat and he squeezes, choking the captain. Time slows to a trickle as everybody stands and watches transfixed as Frollo tightens his hold further, slowly denying the Captain oxygen. Frollo's arm shakes but he only increases his pressure. The short hairs on the back of his neck are stuck together with sweat, making his neck look strangely vulnerable, almost boy-like. As Esmeralda watches, a drop of sweat appears from under his chaperon and slowly meanders its way down.

No sounds are heard, other than the sounds of a desperate man struggling for life. Even the birds have fallen silent. The heavy man's knees buckle and Esmeralda swears she can see the light slowly dim behind the captain's bulging eyes. It's almost as if she can see his life force trickling out of him, spilling over Frollo's white fingers, to splash on the pristine floors.

Phoebus turns a rather unattractive shade of blue and he stumbles, spittle flying out of his uncooperative mouth in a desperate bid for air.

Suddenly Esmeralda feels the stable master push past her and grab Frollo by the shoulder, large clumsy hand encasing the older man's tensed shoulder. He bends his head to Frollo's and whispers urgently:" He's not worth it, sir! We saw ev'rything and it was over ere it was begun!"

What does he mean by that? Esmeralda wonders.

It serves to break the tension however and Frollo drops his hand. He does seem to find reason and truth in the horse master's cryptic words however as he steps back suddenly, flexing his hand.

Phoebus drops to his knees completely, almost dragging his guards down with him. His fingers are scratching at his throat, clawing for air. He retches once and promptly is violently ill all over the flagstones. Viscous purple fluid splashes on the floor before Phoebus collapses totally, landing in the puddle of his own sick. He closes his eyes and shudders.

Frollo groans in disgust, teeth bared.

"Have that cleaned up immediately," he orders tersely. Giving her the once over, eyes still wild, he turns away. After a moment he halts.

"And take out the trash!" he hisses.

Frollo turns again and then walks away rapidly, sash snapping behind him like an angry viper eager to strike. His angry footsteps reverberate against the stone walls of the corridor. Even the echo sounds furious.

The guards are on Phoebus like a swarm of hungry locusts then. They drag him away kicking and screaming.

The show is clearly at an end and the remaining crowd stands for a while, blinking sheepishly. Then, as if snapping out of a trance, they turn and disperse. None of them seem eager to linger and meet her eyes.

They leave her alone and confused, a stinking puddle on the floor the only evidence of what just occurred. She hears the birds outside start up again tentatively.
Esmeralda closes her eyes and rubs her abused shoulders. Ugly bruises bloom on her flesh and she examines them, hissing in pain as she touches a thumb impression too roughly.

"You should have somebody look after that", a soft voice behind her states.
She turns around.

It's the boy, Benedict. He gazes at her frankly, a blush apparent on his young cheeks. He shuffles his feet, almost stepping in the horrible puddle himself.

He holds out a small dirty hand.

"Come," he says softly, as if coaxing a frightened animal. "I'll take you to Bernadette in the kitchen. She's bound to have some form of ointment you can rub on those bruises. And maybe we can have a taste of her special mulled wine as well!"

He looks so sweet and pure at that moment that Esmeralda simply steps up to him and takes his outstretched warm hand in hers. His palm is slightly sweaty. He squeezes her hand softly in thankful reply and together they make their way to the kitchens, his young voice and light spirit chasing away the ghosts of her afternoon ordeal with its tales of innocence.