A/N: After hearing about the fire at Notre-Dame the other week – via text while I was in French Class no less! – I decided I wanted to pay homage to one of my favourite places (and the connection was too much to pass up!)
I actually wrote this a few weeks ago, when it happened, but I am The Worst™ at motivating myself to edit!
Enjoy!
The wedding tour was to be two months on the continent; naturally it made sense to start or end in Paris, fitting the other intended cities around such a plan. Archibald Craven preferred Italy: it was more secluded – not the centre of European society – and the weather, milder. But Lilias wanted to see Paris, so Archibald chose the latter; Italy could wait for the sake of appeasing his new bride.
Thus the couple set off to London just after breakfast, staying the night before sailing out of Southampton early the next day. Later that afternoon, they were settling into the Lord Craven's flat in the centre of the city of love.
It was a quaint yet spacious flat, not too lavishly decorated, and had access to the roof of the building. There was always something blooming up there, but, as a surprise for his lovely wife, Archibald had sent Ben Weatherstaff over in advance to make it a mini Eden, which he knew Lilias would love to explore and add to once the initial excitement of the new city wore off.
Or so Archibald had thought. Though he appreciated horticulture, he liked the break the busy cities gave him from the moors. His lady on the other hand immediately was drawn to the blossoms which reminded her of home.
From this rooftop, the couple could look out over the Seine, past the Île de la Cité at the Tour Eiffel towering over the horizon.
The structure had initially worried Archibald – he'd been living at this very flat 10 or so years earlier, studying at the Sorbonne. The young man had a fondness for seeking sanctuary in the open skies, which is why he was reluctant to accept the newer buildings cropping up in cities, like London. The Tour Eiffel, however, was growing on him; it was a symbol of liberation, which is what the open skies always were to him.
That's not to say Archibald disliked architecture – quite the opposite actually. He adored the older buildings of Paris; His worry over this new monument was that it would be too much in the vein of contemporary architecture: less focus on the details of aesthetics, and more on simple practicality and functionality.. He much prefered the detailed stylings of gothic design.
Gothic, like the Cathedral which stood outside his window, Notre-Dame de Paris, which still reflected its mediæval origins (despite being partially rebuilt after Revolution swept through the streets of France.)
The new spire erected during this reconstruction rose higher than the roof Archibald was currently standing on. Looking across at the impressive structure, he was reminded of reading how Victor Hugo's novel, Notre-Dame de Paris, had helped spark a new wave of architectural appreciation among the people of Paris.
"Have you read Notre-Dame de Paris," he found himself asking his wife who was mumbling to the flowers behind him.
Lilias joined her husband at the edge of the roof, following her husband's gaze.
"Well, I am not as acquainted with the French language as you," she laughed, "but I have read the English translation of the novel. The descriptions of the church are beautiful – it's simply breathtaking to see it for myself from here; reading that book, I feel I've already stepped inside the Cathedral, without ever being in this city."
Archibald placed a kiss on the crown of her head, "just wait until you're actually inside – I'm sure it'll be better than you imagine," leading her back inside.
As the couple stepped out onto the street, the bells of the Cathedral called across the city.
"Quasimodo's hard at work, it sounds like," Lilias quipped with an endearing and playful smile. Her husband, however, reacted by stopping mid-stride.
"Maybe we shouldn't go right now – it's getting a bit late and it might be crowded and so we won't be able to appreciate the full intricacies of the art, or…" he trailed off, in search of a better excuse; he knew Lilias could see through his poor one.
"Oh, Archie, love, forget about the snickers of rude people. I'm the only person who matters today, and I love you." she cried, looking about before pecking her husband's quivering lips to emphasize her point.
"Did you like the book when you first read it?" She asked, guiding him along in the direction of the Île de la Cité.
Archibald thought a moment, looking across the Seine at the grand flying buttresses of the back of the Cathedral, as though hoping they would give him the answer he was searching for.
"I'm not sure 'liked' is the proper expression to use," he began, forming his opinion carefully. He had (from his first reading of the novel) acknowledged a special connection between himself and the book, but he'd never thought to name that connection, "it's quite a sad story – tragic, really – but I suppose that reading about someone like me, however horrific the ridicule and abuse he faced, comforted me; it made me feel less alone."
Lilias half-smiled at the explanation, but Archibald still noticed a contradictory look in her eyes. There was a vacancy in them which worried him.
He murmured her name in a an attempt to refocus her.
"Oh yes love," she responded mechanically, distantly; but after a moment, she realised what her husband was inquiring about.
"Sorry, Archie, I just," she struggled to articulate her thought process. It was really quite simple, but Lilias feared she may worry her husband more by bringing it up.
"It's just such a sad story, as you said – I don't see how you could find comfort in seeing yourself in a character like Quasimodo."
"That's just it," the unfortunate creature sighed as he and his wife continued across the bridge, "I found comfort in knowing what my future would be like."
"Or what I supposed it would be like," he added as an afterthought when he felt Lilias's grip tighten around his own.
The poor Lord Archibald Craven never could have dreamed of a life such as the one he had discovered upon meeting the woman at his side. He'd long since accepted the belief that he deserved to lead a miserable life. Thus, he could not trust his ears when Lilias first admitted her mutual affections for him.
Even with her now as his wife, Archibald still couldn't believe that he had been so fortunate as to meet her; he still anticipated the day he would wake up alone, her side of the bed cold from having not been slept in.
But that day would never come, he reminded himself, because this was real – all of it.
It was in that moment that they entered the famed cathedral, and as Archibald turned to Lilias to see her reaction to regarding the inside of the structure for the first time, he knew for certain this life was undeniably real.
"Oh, it's just gorgeous here," she admired, looking up – awe-stricken – at the west rosace above the entrance, "just think of what it would be like to hear that organ play!"
"I knew you'd love it, Lily," Archibald cooed, leading her around the cathedral. The vaulted ceilings towered over the couple as they walked about; the statues watched with keen eyes as Archibald explained the details of the gothic architecture to his curious young wife, pointing out little things he'd picked up from reading about the post-revolution restoration, as well as from his numerous times retreating to the sanctuary of the building whilst staying in Paris.
His cares were forgotten as he became absorbed in the details of the structure – the stone arches, the renaissance-era sculptures, the beauty of the way the light shone in through the numerous stained-glass windows – as well as by the details of his wife's features at experiencing it all for the first time. People may have stared and sneered a the man guiding around "that beautiful wife of his" as they'd always done – some extra speculations thrown in about Lilias's motives in choosing her husband – as they always would. But Archibald took no notice today; he was too busy focussing on how in love he was, and that brought him a euphoria he hardly accepted he could be worthy of feeling.
The young lovers soon returned to their own, private sanctuary – the rooftop garden – where they continued to admire the façade of the Cathedral. Distracted by the bliss she brought about in him, Archibald left a lingering kiss upon his lady's lips.
Before she could berate him too much for his bold action – "what if the neighbors are watching us, Archie!" she had the chance to quip – he began speaking, "I've been thinking: you're wrong about the ending of the book.
Lilias smiled up at him, "is that so?"
Archibald beamed back, "the way it happens may be tragic, but, Quasimodo does get to be with Esmeralda in the end… in a way."
"If that's how you choose to view it, then stop worrying that you don't also deserve a happy ending," she laughed, embracing her husband. "You deserve the moon and stars, the heavens themself; you deserve love, Archie – you deserve me."