This was supposed to be the first chapter of a romance story between Clopin and Esmeralda, but after I wrote this, I literally didn't have any ideas for a good plot. Go figure :P So I thought I'd just post it as a one-shot because I worked really hard on it!
The King of the Gypsies
In the chilly, snow-covered Parisian night, just near the bowels of the city, a group of gypsies were met by their fate and their doom. Judge Frollo had them cornered and they were arrested. One of them was the king of his people, who, with his right-hand man Antoine, had kindly agreed to escort a poor widow and her devil child in the city, who was said to have the face of a monster, and it was the king's son who sat atop a tall building made of stone, scanning every inch of the silent streets awaiting their return to the Court of Miracles. The thunder in the black velvet sky seemed to growl and roar as it grew more vigorous and the sound of the lightning reminded the boy of two cymbals being clashed together, a sound he savoured for he had an undying love for music. He closed his eyes, becoming entranced by that holy sound, until he heard commotion down below, and a man's frantic, pained cries. A tall, dark figure of a man, his gait lumbering and loud, suddenly appeared by a lamppost. Knowing instantly that it was Antoine, the young gypsy climbed down the wall in silence and with ease – he had always been known as a talented acrobat. But as he approached Antoine, he realised that he was nursing a bloody wound to the chest, where he had been shot with an arrow.
" Clopin!" he wheezed and fell to his knees, weak and helpless.
The king's son caught him in mid-fall and he tried desperately to hold him up, until the grown man slipped from his grasp to the ground. " Antoine!" he cried.
" Clopin. We tried to get away…but it was no use. He had us in his web!" he cried, his voice hoarse and breathless. He tried to sit up, but he stumbled, so he laid his head on the ground to hopefully regain some strength.
" Who? Who?" Clopin demanded.
Gasping for air, Antoine turned his head away in shame and despair. " Frollo. He took…He took your father away…Marie and I managed to escape, bu-but…I didn't see what happened to her!" he whispered. He winced and writhed in pain, clasping the wound near his heart as the blood dripped onto the white snow.
Clopin's eyes widened in shock. " He took my father, where?" he commanded.
Antoine knew his life was about to end, so instead of a straight answer, he muttered, " He is to be with your mother now, Clopin. It is up to you to protect the others, and Esmeralda."
" But how can I take care of them without you to help me?" riddled the young boy.
Succumbing to the wrath of death, Antoine gave a small smile. " You're a smart little man, Clopin, you'll figure it out." Then, he slipped away, once again leaving Clopin all alone in this cruel world of prejudice and injustice.
" An-Antoine? Antoine!" he hissed, shaking the lifeless body of one of his oldest friends, before edging away and curling up in a tiny ball to work out what to do next.
Shivering in the cold, the boy began to weep with every possible question galloping through his mind. How could he be King of the Gypsies when he was nothing but a scrawny little ragdoll of a person? Would the others even listen to him? Was his father really dead? Would he ever come back if he was alive? Clopin wiped his eyes with his sleeve and looked up to the bell tower of Notre Dame. It had always been a wonder to him and he often imagined himself going up there to see the gigantic bells that awoke him every morning. The Archdeacon was a friend to the gypsies and the newly-crowned king decided to try and think like him to help decide whether he should go back or run away, leaving his child-sister to fend for herself, and never come back. Despite the fact that he was loved for being a joker and prankster, his people believed he could never be serious, let alone be in charge. This was his chance to prove them wrong. Soon, with Antoine's body on his shoulder, he slipped silently down the streets to the secret hideout in the sewer. When he got there, he saw his people contently slumbering in their beds, and he ached for them. They were going to be heartbroken, especially Esmeralda.
" Um, excuse me," he squeaked nervously after carefully laying Antoine's body on the floor. No one moved a muscle. Determined to prove himself, his eyebrows knitted together and he cleared his throat. In a loud, clear voice, he bellowed, " Everyone! Please!" The gypsies began to awaken and there was a humming sound of their tired, confused murmurs. " There has been news from my father!" he cried. " On their way into Paris, Father, Antoine and the widow and her baby were caught by Frollo."
There was a cacophony of protests and boos as the gypsies expressed their disgust for the despicable man who had persecuted their kind for decades. They had lost many a man, woman and child to him, and taking their king was the last straw.
" Father was captured, but the widow and Antoine managed to get away…He didn't make it. But no one knows where the widow is," he said sadly, gesturing to the body beside him. " Before Antoine died, he told me to take care of you all, so that's what I'm going to do," he added, the uncertainty sneaking into his tone.
Everyone exchanged strange looks. He had blown it. He had embarrassed himself. Blushing violently, he leapt off the stage and dragged his feet as he wandered hopelessly into the king's private room, which now belonged to him. He pulled back the curtain, and for a second, he looked back. The others were staring at him with dumbfounded expressions on their exhausted, grubby, flea-bitten faces. He lowered his head and he heaved a deep sigh, his black eyebrows rising and his bottom lip sticking out in misery. He stepped into the room, expecting to find his little sister to be bouncing around the room, too anxious to sleep knowing about her possibly deceased father. But Esmeralda was still fast asleep, gentle snores passing her thick, handsome lips as she undoubtedly dreamt of dancing and playing and soaking up the burning rays of the golden sun. She was so blissful, so unaware of the treacherous, unaccepting world that stood in straight, narrow roads above her. A grin began to spread across Clopin's face and he edged closer to her. In that moment, as he tenderly stroked her long, thick curly raven hair, he remembered his dear mother, who had tried so desperately to survive during birth. Esmeralda was her exact double, and everyone told her that she had been blessed with such beauty, and Clopin vowed to protect that beauty, even if it meant not sharing it with anyone else.