Ranko: So this story idea has been on my mind for a while and I really wanted to do it justice, considering that the Hunchback of Notre Dame is one of my favorite movies! I was inspired to write this after spam watching the video: Heaven's Light/Hellfire that BlueFireTigerLion posted on the youtubes! I would suggest checking it out ; )
Disclaimer: Hetalia nor The Hunchback of Notre Dame belong to me. The characters, story, and property belongs to their respected owners/creators. This is a nonprofitable story!
Enjoy!
-/-
In the city of Paris, the toll of the bells are the first thing heard rather than the sight of the morning sun. And no sooner do the shutters and doors open to let in the crisp morning air and the blissful sound coming from their dear Notre Dame.
And like any other morning, the children rush to the town square to see their favorite group perform for them.
A group of small children stand eagerly around a small stage set up daily. Standing on the stage were three men, with their heads hung low and their bodies limp, like dolls waiting to be wound up and to play. Standing in front of the stage were two twin boys in similar positions.
The children giggled in anticipation, some shouting, "Begin! Begin!" but the group did not move from their spots until the final bell tolled and the man in the center raised his head, a smile gracing his lips and his long blonde hair tied back with a blue ribbon.
He looked on at his small crowd and grinned at them and took a step forward on the stage.
"Morning in Paris, the city awakes, to the bells of Notre Dame," sang the man in the native French tongue. More children that were passing by with their parents or grandparents stopped to stare, even some of the adults growing a bit intrigued.
"The fisherman fishes, the bakerman bakes, to the bells of Notre Dame."
The Frenchman made small steps, moving his arms dramatically as his two companions on stage raised their heads as well, the performance running like a well-oiled machine after much practice and many times performing it.
"To the big bells as loud as the thunder," the one with white hair sang.
"To the little bells soft as a psalm," the other sang, his tan skin almost glowing in the golden sun.
The three stepped on so they were lined up and all sang, "And some say the soul of the city's the tolls of the bells…The bells of Notre Dame."
The children giggled as the two men who were standing at the front of the stage raised their heads, revealing them to be twins, and began to dance and then fall to sit on the front of the stage, listening in eagerly as if they were also a part of the crowd.
The tan skinned one knelt down beside the two boys and tilted his head to the side to catch the sound of the bells as they rang once again. "You hear that?" The man spoke in French but his accent was not native. "They are beautiful, si?" He smiled at one of the twins and winked.
The man chuckled and stood up, standing in front of his two friends on stage. "So many colors of sound, so many changing moods." He sighed in a poetic fashion. The children erupted in fits of giggles as the blonde swooned and fell into the awaiting arms of the silver-haired man.
The tan one did not take notice of this and continued, addressing the twins sitting on the stage. "But you know that they do not toll on their own?"
"Ve~? They don't?" he asked curiously, leaning in with interest, his curl bobbing with every movement he made.
The tanned man chuckled. "Of course not, mon ami!" The man stretched his arms out wide and high. "Up there in the mysterious bell tower lives a man who rings the bells with a face unlike our own!"
The twins rose from the stage. The one with darker hair spoke, addressing the children. "Who is this man?" he asked.
"Who?" his twin echoed, bouncing around.
"What is he?"
"What?" came the echo.
"How did he come to be here?"
"How?" the chipper voice followed.
The children laughed at the agitated expression on the older twin's face and hit his twin lightly. "Hush and I will tell you," he said, expressing his annoyance.
The younger twin whined, his curl falling limp, expressing his emotions. "I'm sorry," he said."
The white-haired man took a step forward and the story's atmosphere suddenly became creepier. "Allow me to continue from here," he said, speaking in low tone. "It's a tale of a man…a man, and a monster."
A small rowboat sailed down the cold river, carrying four shadowy figures cloaked in darkness, a small bundle in a woman's arms. She rocked the bundle soothingly, whispering sweet nothings to hush the crying that came from it, holding it close to her chest, as close as the snow was hugging the banks of the river.
"Dark was the night when our tale was begun, near the docks of Notre Dame."
One of the figures wrapped strong arms around the woman and held her and his child close, hoping to ease the crying.
The other passenger with them that was rowing the boat was sweating bullets the more the baby cried.
"Shut that thing up already!" the man whispered harshly.
The father sent a harsh glare the man's way but his wife took no notice and continued to rock her child, his crying slowly ceasing until it became nonexistent. "Thank you, my love," she said gratefully to her child.
"Four frightened gypsies slid silently under the docks on Notre Dame."
The rower stopped at the destined dock where they had agreed to be taken. They carefully got out of the boat, their boot covered feet crunching into the snow. The mother held her child close to keep him warm, her hood still drawn tight over her head so her face was barely visible.
"We must hurry," her husband warned, beginning to drag her away. But then an arrow flew past them and sunk itself into the chest of the man who had taken them there.
"But a trapped had been laid for the gypsies, and they gazed up in fear and alarm, at a figure whose clutches were iron as the bells…"
The parents stood in shock as the body of their friend fell. They looked up and saw a group of soldiers, all with their arrows positioned, ready to fire, and behind the small fleet directing them was none other than…
"Lord Ivan Braginski," the man said, the name like venom on his lips.
The tall man smiled, but his eyes glowed with anger and resentment.
"The bells of Notre Dame."
"Ivan Braginski longed to purge the world of sin and vice."
The man spurred his white horse to a walk to approach the small group, towering above them menacingly, still smiling his shark smile as the gypsy man was put in chains and was separated from his wife.
"And he saw corruption everywhere, except within…"
"Take them to the palace of justice, da?" Ivan asked, though it was more a command by his harsh undertones than a suggestion.
The guards began to push the woman along to put her in a prison cart when they finally noticed the bundle she had been protectively clutching to her chest.
"What are you hiding?" the guard spit out, shoving her harshly.
Ivan overheard this and his eyes glazed over with bitter feelings towards the street rat. "Stolen good," he deducted. "Take them from her and give them to me."
"She ran."
The woman gasped and broke free from the guard's grasp and took off in a run, her long cloak tangling up in her legs and her feet slipping, but never faltering, on the snow. She ran through the streets, going down directions that would be hard for anyone to follow, knowing exactly where she was going.
She heard the sound of the clopping of hooves and that spurred her legs into a faster run, holding the bundle close to her chest, feeling the warm tears rush down her frozen face, blurring her vision.
Her legs could only do so much against the speed of a horse but she was close to Notre Dame where she would be safe. She stumbled up the frozen steps, nearly falling, and fell against the thick doors of Notre Dame. She huffed for breath but allowed no moment of relief until she was inside those doors.
She began to pound on the doors, hoping to awake the priest, crying out despairingly, "Sanctuary! Sanctuary! Please give us sanctuary!" She sobbed, her whole body shaking as she pounded on the doors until her hands were bruised and bleeding.
She turned and saw Ivan coming down the desolated street on his horse and the tears rushed down faster as she began to ran again. But Ivan had jumped off his horse and had grabbed the woman by the shoulders and began to struggle as they fought over the bundle in her arms.
He gained the upper hand, snatching the bundle from her hands and pushing her down the steps. She let out a voiceless scream as the back of her neck hit the edge of the step and she died.
Ivan huffed for breath, not quite realizing what he had done yet, too satisfied with having won this little game of chase. It was then he noticed the noise that was coming from the bundle in his arms. Crying?
He looked down and saw something squirming beneath the blanket, the crying muffled by the warm fabric. "A baby?" he questioned, lifting the flap that had fallen over the child's face and gasped, nearly dropping the child right there.
He was so different. He had never seen a child like this before. A beautiful face, but it was not right. It was unnatural to have an appearance so different. It was the face of a demon. A demon shouldn't be allowed to walk this Earth, let alone his dear streets of Paris that he had worked so hard to rid of anything unnatural.
He looked around frantically, searching for a way to dispose of the thing and spotted a well. Perfect. He walked up to the well, gently holding the child to him and then lifting him up above his head and over the well, the baby's cries mixing in with the howling winds that spoke their disapproval.
"'Stop!' cried the Archdeacon."
Ivan looked up, lowering the child back down to his chest as he noticed the kindly priest step out from the church doors, his white robes fluttering in the wind and his dark brown curls streaked with gray unruly and mussed.
Ivan took a step away from the well and bowed to the priest. "Archdeacon Roma," he said in respect. "I was doing the work of the Lord, for you see, this is an unholy demon and must return to the hell from which it had come."
Roma frowned and took a step closer to Ivan, also taking notice of the poor woman lying dead on the steps of the righteous Notre Dame. He shook his head as he felt his heart break.
"See there the innocent blood you have spilt on the steps of Notre Dame."
It was then that Ivan finally seemed to realize what he had done. He looked on at the dead woman lying there, the snow falling gently on her pale skin and he saw the gypsy woman had a similar face to that of the child. He gulped but kept a straight face at the priest. "I am guiltless. She ran, I pursued; if she wasn't guilty of something she never would have run from me."
Roma ignored the man's fruitless words as he picked up the woman who he only presumed was the child's mother. He uttered a soft, quick prayer and looked on sadly at Ivan. "Now you add this child's blood to your guilt on the steps of Notre Dame."
Ivan shook his head, that familiar insanity beginning to creep into his eyes as what he was doing suddenly pressed in on his soul. "My conscious is clear."
Roma shook his head again and spoke harshly, "You can lie to yourself and your minions, you can claim that you haven't a qualm, but you never can run from nor hide what you've done from the eyes…The very eyes of Notre Dame."
Ivan took deep shallow breaths as he felt the weight of the saints stares press down on him. He took step after step forward, closer to Archdeacon Roma and fell to his knees on the steps, trying to fight off the insanity that was claiming him.
"And for one time in his life of power and control…Ivan felt a twinge of fear for his immortal soul."
"What must I do?" he asked helplessly, his head falling forward.
Roma stared down at the guilty man with raised eyebrows. How strange this man was. He turned fully towards the man, the dead woman still in his arms and spoke softly, "Care for the child." He looked down at the dead woman who was supposed to care for her child and nurture him, but that life was stolen from both the mother and the child, and it was now Ivan's responsibility to take on what he had stolen. "Care for him as your own."
Ivan raised his head at this, his mouth agape. "What? Be burdened by this…?" He didn't finish his sentence, the stern gaze of the priest, like an offending angel, staring down at him. Ivan sighed and rose to his feet. "Alright then, he will live here, in this church."
Roma was taken aback by this and gasped. "Live here? Where?"
Ivan looked down at the child, staring upon his strange face. "In the bell tower perhaps?"
Roma was about to object but then Ivan quickly spoke up, his chilling smile that was colder than the winter air returning. "You never know, Archdeacon. Our Lord works in mysterious ways."
"Even this strange creature may yet prove one day to be of use to me."
Roma stood there in shock for a moment and then lowered his head. This is not what he had expected. "Very well."
The children had listened attentively during the whole story, some shuddering and others having begun to cry and had been dragged away by their parents.
The twins at the front of the stage had been reenacting as much of the story as they could in a form of dance.
The blonde took a step forward and took over the story. "And Ivan saw that the name embroidered on the blanket he was wrapped in that night was Kiku. Kiku grew up in the bell tower, all alone, for all of his life with no other company besides Ivan himself and the bells."
"Now here is the riddle to guess if you can. Sing the bells of Notre Dame."
The twins joined the trio on stage and they all lined up, surrounding the blond.
"Who is the monster and who is the man?"
As if on cue, the bells above them rang once more, startling the children and snapping them out of their daze that had fallen over them while listening to the story.
"Sing the bells, bells, bells, bells."
"Bells, bells, bells, bells!"
"Bells of Notre Dame!"
-/-
Ranko: And that is it for the first chapter! I think I will really like this story, just because everything seems to be falling into place so perfectly. I hope that you enjoy reading it as much as I love writing it!
And the characters too! Now, I just want to clear up that I don't hate Ivan, in fact, I love him! He's one of my favorite characters! But him as the evil Frollo was too good of an opportunity to pass up. (fangirl squeal) I mean, I love how Russia has that scary-calm, dangerously insane thing about him.
And Kiku as the hunchback? While he's not misshapen, his Asian features were found to be very disturbing during this time in Europe because it was something no one had ever seen before and they are not used to that kind of appearance.
So, enough of my blabbering! Review and I will see you all next chapter!