Ladies and gentlemen, my first posted Hunchback of Notre Dame fanfiction; my second one ever written. Not finished, like the other one. I'll post the other one once I figure out how to divide the chapters. Yeah. Enjoy. And REVIEW!!
Prologue: There Was Something He Forgot to Mention
"Don't be this way, Renaud."
A fierce-looking gypsy male fastened his thin cloak around his shoulders, staring down at the young woman standing before him, a pleading look in her eyes. "Why did you do something like this, Tatiana? What have I ever done to you to deserve a punishment like this?"
Tatiana's gaze fell to the floor. "I mean not to punish you. I made a mistake, and I'm sorry." She tucked a strand of jet-black hair behind her ear and rubbed her own arm, crestfallen. "I am ashamed of what I have done."
Renaud paused as he set a worn hat on his head, casting a shadow over his piercing eyes. "You are forgiven, but I will not treat this child as my own." He grunted. "Nor will I treat the father as a human being."
The young mother-to-be looked up sharply at her husband. "Renaud, you mustn't!"
"It's only justice!"
"Please!" Tatiana pleaded as Renaud headed out of their caravan. She grabbed at his cloak. "You cannot hurt Clopin! He is only fifteen!"
"And you!" Renaud whirled around and bore through Tatiana's skull with his stony glare. "You are only twenty-one! Trouillefou is too young to father a child, and you are too old to bear him any! Do you not understand the position you have put yourself in, Tatiana? Do you?!"
There was a brooding silence between the two, and as Renaud strode away after wrenching himself free of Tatiana's grasp, she covered her face with her hands and sobbed.
A while passed, and Tatiana looked up at the sound of someone's voice.
"Tapi?"
"Go," she whispered to the teenaged boy as he somberly juggled in front of her. "I can't let Renaud see you here."
Clopin frowned and tossed a ball high into the air, bouncing the other two off his forehead before catching the first one and continuing his routine. "He'll never catch me, Tapi. I'm too quick for him."
"So you think," a dark voice said from behind him, causing him to stop juggling and drop all three balls into the grass.
"Please don't," Clopin breathed faintly.
Renaud grabbed the boy's shoulders and threw him against the side of the caravan. "It's people like you who make us gypsies the villains in Paris!" he bellowed. "You can't go around sleeping with men's wives, let alone those who are older than you! Do you know what you've done?!"
Clopin remained with his cheek against the wood of the caravan and inhaled deeply. The smell of cedar was both a weakness and strength for him; one whiff of the wood was all he needed.
"I want you to leave," he murmured into the planks.
One…two…three seconds of silence. "Qua?" Renaud asked.
Clopin turned around and crossed his arms. "You are to leave Paris and not return until ten months have passed."
Renaud's face reddened with anger, and Tatiana buried her face in her hands again. "You cannot—"
"You seem to forget that I am your king, Monsieur Bellumé! I may be only ten and five years of age, but I am still the authority to all of you. If I say jump, you say, 'How high?' If I say leave Paris, you say, 'Where to?' Otherwise I could have you hanged. Am I clear?"
Renaud was silent; Tatiana was sobbing. "Where to?" he asked in a deathly whisper.
Clopin rubbed his chin. "Chatillon. Ten months. Clear?"
The last time Clopin ever saw Tatiana was fifteen minutes after that, and she had tears in her eyes and sorrow in her heart.
Nine months later, Ferdinand Bellumé-Trouillefou was born. When Ferdinand was a month old, Tatiana and Renaud returned to Paris from Chatillon, and Clopin received news of this and sent someone to safely bring them back.
"Make sure nothing happens to my son or his mother," he muttered to the subject. "I don't really care what happens to her husband…." Conscience got the better of him. "Make sure he's not dead, at least."
The news that the subject brought back to the sixteen-year-old king was somber. Clopin's reaction was to idly toss a ball he used for juggling at the wall and catch it when it bounced back. He was only sixteen, but his decision was mature enough for a twenty-year-old.
"Hang him," he told the other subjects. "I don't want anyone to know of this."
"Know of what?"
His face was hidden beneath his wide-brimmed hat, but the impish grin that adorned Clopin's features was prominent. "Nothing, gentlemen. Absolutely nothing."
