Watching her be attacked… knowing how severe it could have been, his anger had manifested from fear. Of course, he did not think a woman stupid enough to marry a sleazy man like Olivier deserved for Esmeralda to step in and risk her safety. He was upset at her for endangering herself, endangering the person he loved. But she could never know that.

Observing her carefully, he did not understand her surprise over his interest, as anyone would be curious. Surely, she must understand that most people kept their heads low when there was danger. While he was happy to listen to her, he had no interest in making small talk. That did not make her speaking about her return to the theatre less enjoyable, or her parents’ relief less sincere.

Was he disappointed? Claude’s brows furrowed as he contemplated that honestly. Now that she was safe, did her recklessness sting less? No.

          “Perhaps, it does,” he admitted quietly.

Unaware of her distress, he was already on his third glass of wine as he took another bite of pasta. He did not like the idea of her paying for his drinking habits but didn’t want to be rude for taking away the entire premise of the dinner. At least, the wine wasn’t incredibly expensive. She would have to be careful of ever offering to take out Judge Remy, who had developed a refined taste --and tolerance-- for fine wine.

Her next question threw him. Staring back at her whimsical smile with guarded shock, it was the judge’s turn for his heart to beat rapidly. What an incredibly personal question. Claude’s thin lips parted briefly, as he suddenly needed more air, overcome by his thoughts. There was only one.

                     "I want to know if my love for you leads to                      Heaven or Hell. If I have lived in the right way,                    then you are what I first thought-- a sorceress!                      If I have lived wrongly, then you are my new life."

          “I do not have the same ability to act without thinking.”

Except for when it came to her. His head was spinning as he fought for composure. Looking at her, he was torn, conflicted by his feelings for her. He would banish everything he had ever known for her.

                    "Witch you rouse in me the foolish urge to set                     you free, I’ll take you somewhere I can be your                     sanctuary."  Rushing her, he  grabbed  her face                     and held it in place while he forcibly planted his                     desperate lips on hers.

Blinking, waking up from the flurry of images rushing through his head, his hands weren’t perfectly steady as he reached for his wine and took a sip.

          “You risked everything for far less than I ever could.”

Without Esmeralda… did he even have an answer? Not Lucy…not even Jehan. He wouldn’t give up his career for anyone… except for her.

          “Look down on me if you wish… no one is worth my career,” he said gravely.

THEY WERE NOT SO DIFFERENT, but she would not know that, would she? To her, the Minister of Justice's temperament was the farthest from hers. He did not stir to anger as she did, even though he would certainly turn at anything he considered impertinent from her. That had been their way, at least at first. They spoke, they disagreed, they fought, and they parted dissatisfied.

She had never imagined they would have a civil moment over a meal. At his somber answer to her idle question, she immediately arched an eyebrow and pouted her lips.

"Harsh."

She mulled over what he said over her glass of wine, leaving him to eat in peace for a while. It did not occur to her until now that just as harsh as he was with others, he was harsh on himself as well. She always thought that he looked down on people and assumed he therefore felt himself superior. She did think he would also judge himself in the same, unblinkered manner. That did not seem a pleasant way to live. In fact, she wondered whether it was exhausting to live like that. She would be absolutely sour too. At that, she smiled brightly and looked at him.

"I choose not to believe you. You just do not have the opportunity yet."

Then, another piercing memory. This time, she could not gloss over it so easily. Setting her glass of wine down, her palm pressed flat on the table for support.

"Choose me, or the fire."

Her heart was racing now. Blinking rapidly, she took deep breaths. The fear filling her, the fire at her face, they felt so real, like they were happening right in this moment. Her face became more flushed than usual, making her freckles more prominent. She did her best to recover, knowing she must come across odd. Odder than usual for him even. At first, she tried to make light of the situation.

"Oof, that wine's stronger than I expected."

But as she calmed, she felt it unfair to be dishonest with him. Besides, he might have a sensible explanation to what she experienced, whereas her family and friends might be worried about these episodes she had been having.

"Maybe it's been the stress of the case, and now everything is just gushing out. I've been having strange dreams, that's all. Have you ever had an out of body experience? Never thought it was possible."

- Now, now, listen to me, Quasimodo. - No, you listen! All my life you have told me the world is a dark, cruel place. But now, I see that the only thing dark and cruel about it is people like you!

“Come now, cherie, you know this is not how we do things!”

The minister’s hot stare on the darling ‘princess’ did not cease as she single-handedly caused such an uproar there was a moment he thought they would turn on her. Unfamiliar with the customs, the judge assumed Clopin’s offer to the crowd was his way of being falsely generous. A mocking offer, of course, but an offer nonetheless to strip him of his virtue before they hanged him.

“Let him go! Let him go where? Exactly?”

The king heated, there was more to it than the minister understood right away, but Clopin looked like he was on the verge of throwing a tremendous fit.

“You.. you cannot marry this man. I won’t allow it, cherie,” another exchange, and Clopin no longer held back. “You understand everything that entails! I won’t let that happen. I won’t let you sacrifice yourself to still be this man’s prize! Do you think we’re blind as to why he’s down here? He’s here for you!”

That had been the way with Quasimodo at the Feast of Fools; that was the way now. Here, at the Court of Miracles.

She was glad that her back was to the crowd, so only Clopin saw her face flush when he accused Frollo of his true aim to come here. She had not told anyone, not even Clopin, of what Frollo had said and done to her in the cathedral that day Phoebus had helped her claim sanctuary.

Clopin played the fool but was no fool. A bruised ego for a Romani humiliating him in public could no longer be the only reason why Frollo later hunted her and burnt his own city for her.

She flinched at the unexpected flare from Clopin as he kicked Frollo out of spite and frustration. They both knew he was defeated as soon as she intervened. Still, she felt another man try to save her too. Phoebus' grip on her arm was firm. She never imagined knights with good hearts and handsome features to exist.

She was no martyr. But this was no fairy tale with a happy ending.

"If you try to stop me when you yourself opened this option, you're only going to make the others angrier for showing me favour again."

"That's where you're dearly wrong. These people will be happy to see him hang."

She stepped forward, breaking Phoebus's hold on her. Arms crossed, she took a deep breath before she defied her leader and turned to face everyone. While many respected her and were fond of her, she knew that there were always those who would not mind seeing her fall and would take delight in her getting into another sticky situation. This time with no escape.

"It is late. Let's make this quick and get it over and done with. I am sure you all prefer to go back to your tents and sleep."

Ignoring the confusion on Phoebus's and Quasimodo's faces, and among the rising murmurings of her people, she got Djali to bring over a clay pot. Shoving it into Frollo's hands, she avoided looking at his eyes. If she did, she feared that she might not be able to carry her decision through.

Surliness met spark. With her hair in place and her favourite dress catching the breeze as she skipped up the steps to the porch, a little smoke and snappy greeting could not faze her.

TRIUMPH. A seemingly innocuous mishap presented itself in the way of an unwisely gifted talisman. It dangled from the hands of the deformed hunchback as he held it up. Unbeknownst to the reluctant companions, it reflected in the hungry, grey eyes of the minister. To think, Esmeralda held the secret of his career on her hip only to give it to her enemy’s ward. A fatal mistake. Claude Frollo watched, concealed in the darkness from the two ignorant men arguing too loudly in front of the red door of Notre Dame. A surge of disdain pulled his lips over his teeth in disgust. Phoebus was proof that soldiers were merely fodder, a handsome oaf who threw himself into danger for the sake of his newest conquest. The promotion to Captain of the Guard had been much too generous for him. Still, he risked it all for that girl. Jealousy soured the judge’s gut, prickling him with an uncomfortable irritation. Esmeralda’s taste in that man was an object of scorn, making his blood boil. Frollo loathed her oversight of admiring that bumbling idiot. Phoebus was about to realize that Esmeralda wasn’t worth having Judge Claude Frollo as an adversary. Frollo closed his eyes in contempt as he took a deep breath. Anticipation replaced ire, as the judge imagined his bloody, blond head roll from his shoulders.  Stalking in the shadows, the judge’s army followed his lead quietly as they trailed far behind the two oblivious men. Once they reached the graveyard, Frollo ignited a torch to survey the entrance to the sanctuary which harbored every thief and heretic in the city. The heavy stone which concealed the steps was carelessly cast aside. Flames glinted in his gaze as he smirked and permitted himself a haughty chuckle. These were the boys to whom Esmeralda entrusted her life? Claude lifted his robe with a pale, bony hand as he descended the steps. He sure hoped his little witch enjoyed his surprise. No one was prepared, and so, when Esmeralda pressed her face against the chest of her precious Sun God, he held his head high with arrogant delight. The only man allowed to touch her from this moment forward was himself. But soon, his smirk vanished when the sound of a sickly gasp disturbed the air, and then another. He barely had time to withdraw his knife as a swarm of men dressed in skeleton outfits flanked his backline. There should not have been so many of them, but over ten of his men were stabbed beneath the arm avoiding any armor, puncturing their lungs and bleeding out. Fighting for his life, the judge held onto the belief that he brought enough men, that they were more prepared and better armed, but as more and more of his men slipped away, he realized that they were saving him for last. He could not overpower ten men, although he managed to injure four of them before his dagger slipped from his left hand. Numbly, his eyes fixed on the metal of his last chance before they dragged him unceremoniously to the noose.

But at what cost? Esmeralda sat up and buried her face in her hands. This was not a simple matter of escaping blundering soldiers and being forgotten. She had not thought of the horrendous consequences that could follow, and that did follow. She had not calculated on the sheer... pettiness of the Minister too embarrassed to lose to a lowly Roma.

Not pettiness. She remembered.

It would be unwise to arouse Frollo's anger further.

The Archdeacon proved to be right. In a single day, Frollo wrecked havoc across the city. It was only late in the day that news travelled to Clopin and the rest of the Court of Miracles of Roma living above being arrested and even citizens' homes being turned upside down to search for her. Her! Nothing but a common dancer. Unable to sit by, Esmeralda disguised herself with Djali under her hood and left to see the situation for herself.

Her terror when she arrived at the miller's home, in time to witness Frollo torch it. The family's screams echoed in her head as she recalled the scene. She could feel the heat of that blaze, and imagined what it must have felt for the children. No one knew, but she would have stepped forward to save them, even if it meant being caught by Frollo and facing certain death herself. Thankfully, Phoebus braved the fire and pulled the family out.

Was it gratitude that moved her?

She might have had a brief moment of sweetness in the kiss she and Phoebus shared in the belltower, but that moment vanished swiftly. The miller's home was only the start. Having tasted fire, it was as though Frollo's self-righteousness spurred him on to burn the city.

Did he not love Paris himself?

Now alone, the guilt that she had pushed aside when she had to focus on saving Phoebus returned tenfold. Perhaps not everyone was so fortunate to have a captain rescue them. Did people get injured? Did people... Esmeralda clutched at her dress. What should she do? Continue to hide?

As though the fates chose to reply, she heard a commotion and saw Djali hurry back to the tent to pull her out. People gathered around the platform usually used for Clopin to make announcements. And an announcement he shouted out in glee, while Esmeralda's eyes widened in horror when she saw both Quasimodo and Phoebus standing there with the nooses around their necks.

"Stop!"

No. No deaths because of her. Esmeralda leapt forward with great determination and quickly explained the whole situation. Embracing both Phoebus and Quasimodo affectionately, what no one anticipated was yet another dramatic twist of events. Frollo and his men were here, but the fates protected them and it was Frollo and his men who were the prey and not the hunter.

Esmeralda's mind whirled. Phoebus, ever the chivalrous hero, wrapped his arm around her to keep her steady. For many minutes, she could not react. Disbelief filled her as Clopin and his men stripped Frollo down to the barest of clothes. Was this truly it? Was this how it would end? All her inner struggle would vanish as this man perished and her people became free?

"Master..."

It was Quasimodo's voice, the voice of an angel, that snapped her out of her daze. She looked at him and saw how he too was torn. At that point, she related to him more than anyone else. They bore guilt, a different sort of guilt, but guilt all the same.

No deaths because of her. Could that include him?

She felt the sunlight from the rose window of the cathedral bathe her with warmth.

She told herself she must be mad. He did not deserve to be saved.

Shrugging herself out of Phoebus's embrace, she walked towards the platform.

"There won't be bloodshed today. Let him go, Clopin."

But... Camilla was a bit on the rough side. The only solace found was in the swipe of oil from the back of her hand onto Esmeralda's scalp. "I'll lay the edges when I'm done with this side... Pass me your ribbon, I'll braid it in."

GRIN AND BEAR IT, and Esmeralda grinned through her wincing, as Camilla worked her way through her voluminous hair. She had no mirror in front of her, so she could not see Camilla's skill changing her appearance. She also could not remember how she got persuaded into trying this, but she did vibrate a little with anticipation as she handed her ribbon to Camilla.

What are the ROOTS that clutch, what BRANCHES grow        Out of this stony rubbish?