It was two years later they learned that Claude Frollo was still alive.
It had apparently been a very quiet affair, as not even Phoebus knew until the rest of Paris did. Granted, he never truly looked into the matter of what happened to Frollo's body, after he fell from Notre Dame - no one did, as no one truly cared what happened to their own personal villain.
Most of them who had been present for the uprising had figured he had burned up in the fire, and they were all quite okay with this.
Upon Paris finding out that he was still alive, there was an immediate call for his deliverance to the people. Church-going men cried that he should be crucified and left to hang in the middle of town until his body was so disintegrated it fell right off. Children called for him to be drowned in the Seine - after being brutally beaten until no bone remained unbroken in his body, of course. Mothers felt it true justice that he be tied to a pole before Notre Dame and burned until no trace remained; they called it irony.
You see, after the dreadful storm of that night, a new day dawned. That day, people's injuries were seen to, small celebrations were held, and the rebuilding began. That day, when the sun rose putting an end to the seemingly endless night, the people of Paris were given a seed of hope, that they eagerly planted.
They created a new world full of peace and love.
Upon hearing of Frollo still being alive, people felt a fear that was almost tangible. The old Judge was, after all, a part of a world they would rather forget - that they would rather bury.
The Palace of Justice was where Frollo was rumored to have been staying - a disturbing fact for all of those who had been at the newly redone, beautiful Palace of "Peace" as was it's nickname.
Apparently he had been staying somewhere in the depths of that Palace, where no one dared venture.
When the people of Paris called for Frollo's blood, The Palace bowed its head, cowed, before agreeing.
A large crowd of people were gathered outside the Palace gates - men, women, and children of all ethnicities had gathered to see their villain released. Gypsy caravans were set up along the sides, people were having picnics...it was a regular party.
Until the doors opened.
Esmerelda and Phoebus were standing off to the side, trying to convince their newborn child to smile, Quasimodo had been dancing with several of the gathered children, and Clopin was being his normal exuberant, entertaining self.
Only one person was actually looking at the doors, when they opened.
The Archdeacon stood as still as a statue, as two guards escorted Frollo to the gates.
Escorted, of course, was too kind a word.
Frollo was bent over slightly, his head bowed low, and his arms seemed to be folded impossibly tight to his chest, bent at angles that were slightly...off. Heavy shackles were wrapped around his bare wrists, and though it was clear they were not at all tight on his incredibly thin wrists, they had been at one time, as evidenced by the scarring.
The guards who were gripping the chains attached to the shackles jerked them every so often, causing Frollo to stumble. The man's feet were were, and clearly had been broken a while back, as the deformed way they were that caused Frollo to be unable to walk properly was set.
The Archdeacon had a hard time looking at Frollo that way, not only for how obviously he had been abused...but by the scarcity of the clothing he wore. He wore a simple short-sleeved grey tunic shirt, and loose grey prison pants that seemed slightly too short.
When the trio finally reached the gate, Frollo's head was still dropped forward, in spite of the fact he was clearly conscious. Seeing such a proud man so utterly defeated hurt the religious man's heart. If the Archdeacon couldn't pity him for the torture he had been put through, he certainly could for the fact the man had seemingly given up on any sort of hope.
When the gates opened, all the festivities stopped, everyone for the first time noticing the appearance of the guards and their former enemy.
No one moved. No one breathed.
"On your knees," a guard said gruffly to Frollo.
He didn't move - he just continued standing there on his overtly thin and wobbly legs, hunched over and staring intently at the ground he now stood on right outside the gates.
"Did you not hear him?" the second guard asked, clearly irritated. "On your knees!"
Everyone present flinched then, when the second guard solidly kicked the back of Frollo's knees.
He came crashing to the ground, his scrunched up hands briefly stretching out as though to stop the fall from being as agonizing. However, his knees still hit the hard cobblestones with loud pops, his torso falling forward with the force of the action.
Then there were gasps, followed by the clanking of the gates shutting - the guards had retreated, clearly realizing that their brutality had been too much for the previous raucous crowd to handle, especially with what had just been revealed.
The back of the grey tunic, unlike the front that looked new and clean, was soaked with blood. Fresh blood, that shimmered in the sun of that lovely summer day.
Frollo shifted slightly, his chest lifting slightly from the ground as though he were trying to sit up, but being unsuccessful, as he crashed to the ground once more, ceasing to move siding from the heaving rise and fall of his back as he breathed.
With how the bloody shirt clung to his back, you could see every protruding back bone, so thin was he.
No one dared to move forward - there was only five people that truly had a right to help him. If those people did nothing, then they would do nothing.
However, at once, Esmeralda, Phoebus, Quasimodo, Clopin, and the Archdeacon were at his side, all their eyes a mixture of confusion and concern.
"Did you know about this?!" Quasimodo exclaimed, his eyes glaring at Phoebus.
Phoebus glared right back. "Hey now-"
"Both of you, put your bickering aside!" Esmeralda exclaimed, glaring.
"Quasi does have a point," Clopin pointed out, shrugging. Esmeralda hit him with the arm that wasn't cradling her child.
"Enough, children," the Archdeacon said calmly, though there was a distinctive edge to his voice. His eyes kept glancing between Frollo's crumbled body and the crowd. "Phoebus, will you please..."
The man nodded at once, standing as he began to wave the crowd away, commanding they return to their normal daily happenings.
Esmeralda hesitated for a moment, but the Archdeacon nodded slightly. "You should go home and rest. We will...take care of things."
She hesitated before nodding appreciatively. The three men that remained watched as Phoebus escorted her home, before turning back to the problem at hand.
"Maybe we should have kept muscles around," Clopin muttered.
Quasimodo set a large, but gentle hand on Frollo's greasy hair, wincing when the man flinched at the contact. "We need to get him someplace...he needs help...bad..."
Clopin hesitated before he spoke. "Maybe...maybe this was how things were meant to be?"
Quasimodo gave him a sharp look. "Don't say such things."
The two younger men looked to the Archdeacon who was standing near them, looking very faint.
"I raised him," he said finally, quietly. "I raised him, and maybe I did not do so great a job...but he..." Tears filled the man's eyes, as they were squeezed shut. "Please...he was...is like a son to me...you cannot let him die like this..."
In spite of the differences between Clopin and Quasimodo, they each had one thing in common: The respected the Archdeacon.
And if the Archdeacon deemed Frollo okay to be saved, then he was damned-well going to be saved.
A/N I am going to make this a 2, maybe 3 shot. Or I can end it here. Whichever you guys want!
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