So much Esmeralda/Phoebus stuff. Sorry, I'm just kinda obsessed at the moment.

Oh man. I never write fluff. I'm terrible at writing fluff, so I don't know why I did this. I guess I was just in the right mood. Well, I did start it off with some pretty heavy violence (so **WARNING** on that: graphic violence in the beginning!), so I guess it evens out haha.

In the stage musical, Phoebus was only made a captain once he came to work for Frollo, so I'm doing the same for the Disney movie character here. Hence why Phoebus is a lieutenant in the beginning. And yes, I did add Zephyr in here. But he's only a baby so if he annoys you, don't worry. Honestly though, when looking at the spectrum of Disney sequel kids, I kind of like Zephyr. I don't know, he just never managed to rub me the wrong way I guess (unnnnnlike Melody and Jane). *shrug* eh. Maybe it's cause Haley Joel Osment did such an adorable job voicing him? (Don't get me wrong, by the way. The sequel itself is TERRIBLE. But I just don't mind Zephyr. Or the idea of him, I guess.)

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The sun beat down upon the outstretched field before Phoebus, illuminating the horrific scene he was both witness and participator to. It was summer, and the heat was doing no favors for Phoebus, who was sweating heavily beneath his armor. The golden metal that was meant to protect him was a miserable sight – dented and smeared with grim and blood, it hardly looked the proper uniform befitting a lieutenant. Wiping a gloved hand across his brow, he pushed his bangs out of his eyes and glanced about him.

It was a massacre. Men savagely hacked at each other with swords, maces, and polearms, stumbling through the mass of dismembered limbs and pools of blood to get at each other. Horses neighed wildly, trying to escape the fray as their masters fought to control them. Thousands of soldiers – French and English alike – were strewn across the grass, their mangled remains pale in the sunlight. And the sounds – screams of pain, shouts of fury, moans of agony…they alone were enough to make Phoebus want to vomit.

Clenching his jaw and tightening the grip on his sword, Phoebus suddenly whirled left towards the sound of an alarmingly close battle cry. An English soldier had lunged right at Phoebus, his sword dripping crimson blood. Phoebus immediately brought his own weapon up, catching his enemy's blade and holding it still in the air between them. Twisting his arms and body, Phoebus wrenched his sword free and swung it around at the Englishman. The soldier deflected the attack and returned the blow. Their weapons connected and ricocheted off of one another over and over again, and the two men danced around fallen comrades and enemies alike as they fought to cut out the life of the other.

Phoebus had already been in battle for hours by this point, and his exhaustion was catching up with him. His sword felt abnormally heavy in his hands, and his fingers ached from the vicelike grip they struggled to keep on the hilt. Then Phoebus' boot stepped on something soft; the object slid across the ground beneath him, taking Phoebus' foot along with it. His balance was lost, and the sky tipped back as Phoebus crashed to the muddy ground.

Shaking his head, Phoebus caught sight of what had caused him to fall: a severed hand, lying by his boot and bloody at its wrist. Feeling sick, Phoebus tore his eyes away and looked up at his attacker, who loomed above him with his outstretched sword. Phoebus' own weapon lay on the ground less than a yard away. He lunged wildly for it, but he had barely thrust his body forward when the English soldier stabbed his sword downwards – directly into Phoebus' back.

Gasping, Phoebus shot upright, the bedsheets that had been covering him flying wildly. Taking in heaving breaths he frantically glanced about, trying to orient himself. His hair and undershirt clung to his sweat-drenched body, and he realized that he was trembling.

It was just a dream. Come on, Phoebus, get a hold of yourself.

Phoebus looked to the left of him and saw with surprise that he was alone in the bed. The only clue to another person having been there was a soft impression in the mattress. Throwing off the remainder of the blankets, Phoebus swung his legs over the side of the bed and stepped onto the cold floor. As he treaded across the bedroom, he noticed a faint orange glow seeping in from the small crack beneath the door. Pushing it open with care, Phoebus made his way down the short hallway and into the kitchen, where a raven-haired woman sat in chair rocking a sleeping baby.

The floorboards creaked beneath Phoebus' feet, making the woman's head lift up and her gaze lock onto his. She gave him a weary smile. "Did I wake you?" her voice was soft, and hoarse from lack of sleep.

"No, though you should have," Phoebus replied, pulling a chair over to her and sitting. "Esmeralda, you don't have to get Zephyr every time he wakes. You know I'm more than willing –"

"Oh hush," his wife said gently. "We both know he likes me better anyway." Phoebus grinned, knowing she was teasing him; leaning forward, he gave her a small kiss on the cheek.

"I'm surprised you weren't woken by him this time," Esmeralda said. "You were sleeping fairly heavily tonight."

"Mmm," Phoebus muttered, his mouth dipping into a frown as the memory of what had woken him crept back.

A concerned crease appeared on Esmeralda's brow as she studied his expression. "What is it?" she asked.

"Nothing," Phoebus whispered, careful to keep his voice low. He gazed at Zephyr, purposefully avoiding Esmeralda's questioning eyes. A moment passed, with Esmeralda waiting for Phoebus to go on, and Phoebus hoping that she would simply allow the silence to continue.

Esmeralda finally sighed, reaching out with one hand to brush back her husband's messy bangs. "You had a nightmare again, didn't you?"

Phoebus continued to study his son's face, unwilling to speak.

"Phoebus, you know you can talk to me about these kinds of things. You did for me when I had trouble sleeping after…well, after…" Perhaps it was because they were in the presence of their infant son, but she couldn't quite bring herself to say the words my near execution out loud. But Phoebus didn't need her to. His face took on an even more pained expression at her implication and he reached out, grabbing her hand and holding it fast. Esmeralda squeezed his warm, calloused palm in response and continued. "What I'm saying is…this is a normal thing. Reacting emotionally to a horrific time in your life is not something to be ashamed of."

Still Phoebus said nothing. Snoring softly, Zephyr shifted in his mother's arms; then one of his small hands reached out and latched onto Esmeralda's nightgown. A small smile pricked at the corners of Phoebus' mouth as he watched. Then he sighed, running a hand through his hair.

"It's just…it's been so long since I've fought in the wars. These…emotions, memories – they should be a thing of the past. I should have moved on by now. Shouldn't I have?" He finally matched gazes with his wife, who was watching him with a kind of sadness in her eyes.

Esmeralda shook her head. "Phoebus, these emotions that you have – you have them because you are a good man. Any person with a conscience and an appreciation for human life would feel the same way after experiencing what you had. I can't pretend to know what it must have been like, all of those years at war. And if I could, I would change it so that you – or anyone else – would never have had to have gone through that. But I can't; all I can do is be here for you now, and reassure you that having these nightmares does not make you any less of a man."

Phoebus nodded, not trusting his voice with words at the moment. Esmeralda laid a gentle hand against the back of her husband's neck and pulled him towards her so that their foreheads were touching.

"I love you," she whispered.

"I love you, too," he said back, his voice low.

Keeping her hand on his neck, Esmeralda kissed Phoebus' forehead, and then gently pressed her lips to his. Phoebus deepened the kiss, bringing his hand up to preciously cup her face. But, as though he could sense her exhaustion, he reluctantly pulled away, staying close enough so that their lips still brushed against each other when he spoke next.

"Thank you."

Esmeralda smiled against his mouth and gave him one more quick peck before sinking back against her chair, her eyes drooping in weariness.

Phoebus bent down and pressed a kiss to his son's temple. After receiving a warm smile from his wife he reached out, and Zephyr was gently shifted from his mother's arms to his father's.

Phoebus eased back against his chair, careful not to jostle Zephyr, and once the two were settled Esmeralda nestled up against them, lying her head on Phoebus' shoulder and wrapping both her arms around his one that was closest to her.

Peaceful silence fell over them. They both watched the flickering candles Esmeralda had lit with sleepy eyes, not a word needing to pass between them to convey the sense of comfort they both felt. Just then, Zephyr began to move restlessly, his eyelids flickering and his mouth turning into a pout as a small sob escaped him.

Phoebus looked at Esmeralda but she shook her head, giving him an encouraging smile. "You hold him," she said. Apprehensive, but determined, Phoebus rocked Zephyr as Esmeralda began to sing softly. Phoebus recognized the song instantly; it was a lullaby Esmeralda had learned as a child, and she had taught to him once they had learned they were going to have a baby of their own.

"Everything could change with the dawn...let the night go on. As long as there's a moon to guide us…"

Comforted both by his mother's voice and his father's embrace, Zephyr began to calm his movements.

"Don't let the morning come too soon. You know we all want someone beside us…"

Phoebus gave Esmeralda a playful nudge at those particular lyrics, to which she responded with a poke in the side.

"None of us are truly solitaire. Every moon is new when someone cares."

By now Zephyr had fallen back asleep and had snuggled deep into his father's chest. Esmeralda smiled at her husband and looked directly into his eyes as she finished the lullaby.

"I will care for you as long as there's a moon."