A/N: Hello. Just a couple of warnings: it's been a long time since I have written a story, and even longer since I've written any fanfiction, so I'm very rusty. But it's so nice to finally start writing again, and I've had this plot in mind for a while, so I am really excited to start it. I'd love feedback on what you think of the prologue, the characterizations, if you think I should continue, etc, since I'm very apprehensive of my writing at the moment. Also, I don't have a Beta, but I have tried really hard to find any and all mistakes. This fic is based entirely on the Disney movie with my own character added in (who is not a Mary-Sue, honest!) - but believe me, this is not just a character I've thrown in the movie, new events will take place over a longer period of time and (hopefully) characters will be more in-depth. On a last note, I've looked everywhere for the Archdeacon's name, but can't find it anywhere, so for now I've dubbed him as Father Quinn, but if anyone does know his name, just let me know and I'll change it immediately. So, hope you like the story, and review if you'd like me to continue. Thanks!
Warning(s): This story is rated M and contains the following pairings: Clopin/OC and Quasimodo/Esmeralda with one-sided (dark) Frollo/OC. This story will contain dark themes; mild language, graphic sexual situations, graphic violence (including mental and physical torture), discrimination and killings. So please, if you are under aged or are sensitive to any of the warnings, do not read on.
Disclaimer: I don't own the book or any of the movie adaptions of the Hunchback of Notre Dame. I do, however, own this plot and my OC's.
The Cries for Freedom
Prologue:
A friendship is born
'Sanctuary! Please, give us Sanctuary!'
The shrill cry, desperate and filled with fright, would haunt the Archdeacon of Notre Dame for the rest of his mortal days. If only he had hurried, he might've been able to save the poor gypsy woman he now cradled against his body over the holy steps of the great French cathedral, her skin pale and cold and her innocent blood staining the white snow where she had been thrown so viciously.
'My conscience is clear!'
He may not have been able to save the mother, but he would be damned if he let the child have the same fate. He would protect the child from this cruel man, who sat so regally upon his steed, his lip curled at the bundle in his arms. Judge Claude Frollo. His fury over the helpless situation boiled over, and he thrust his finger in the direction of the statues of Notre Dame as he bellowed with all his might, '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!'
And for the very first time, the Archdeacon could see the man behind the cold mask; he saw the terror within, the desperation for redemption. Frollo recoiled at the accusing stares as he whispered, 'What must I do?'
'Care for the child and raise it as your own.' And because his need for redemption was so great, the Archdeacon knew the Minister would keep the child safe. Frollo spluttered, he sneered and he cringed from the small form, his disgust for the child obvious, and for a single moment the Archdeacon doubted his plan, until Frollo finally composed himself to resemble the stoic figurehead he was known to be.
'Very well.'
He didn't give the Archdeacon any time to protest, the child would live in the bell tower, locked away from the world. At least there he could watch over the child, as well as Frollo.
'Even this foul creature may yet prove one day to be... of use to me...' A pitiless smile curled at the Minister's lips and his eyes gleamed with malevolent intent. The Archdeacon's heart swelled with pity for the youngling as Frollo uttered the child's name, a cruel name, a name that meant half-formed:
'Quasimodo.'
13 years later
Whispers began as a crowd formed from a safe distance away as a carriage pulled to a stop at the steps of the Notre Dame Cathedral. At the top of the steps an older Archdeacon awaited with a warm smile and welcoming eyes. In complete contrast, the Minister of Justice, Judge Claude Frollo stood beside the Archdeacon, his face impassive and his arms crossed against his chest. Guards surrounded the area, and more appeared once the carriage had halted, forming a tight shield around the vehicle. The driver of the carriage, barely old enough to be considered a man, hesitated only a moment, but nearly threw himself to the ground once the Judge threw an impatient glance his way. He hurried to the side door and without pause pulled it open, revealing the person within.
Out stepped a little girl, no older than six summers, her golden brown curls pulled into an elegant bun and her blue eyes staring fearfully at the imposing figure of the Judge. A tiny hand clutched her small, withered teddy bear to her chest. Her blue gown blew softly in the wintry breeze and a gasp from the Minister pulled the young child from her terrified daze. She watched how he stared at her as she hesitantly made her way up the steps towards him, towards the beautifully frightful building, and she hoped he liked how she had presented herself for him.
She stopped a step away from him, and he continued to stare down his nose at her, yet he seemed more startled than haughty, and she wondered why.
He finally broke the silence. His voice had a deep timbre and was as smooth as silk as he greeted her, 'Welcome Louise Frollo, my dearest niece.'
Her head titled to one side as the brisk wind picked up once more, small curls loosing from her bun. 'Will I...' her voice wavered and gave out on her, but she was determined not to let her shyness get the better of her. 'Can I see my mama now?' Louise unconsciously pulled the old teddy tighter to her side, her only source of comfort in this alien situation.
'My child,' a fatherly voice spoke from beside her uncle, 'I-' but he didn't get a chance to continue.
'You will never see your parents again. They are gone. You are now my responsibility.' Frollo's harsh words cut like a dagger into the child's heart, and she glanced down at the ground covered with powdery snow. She had heard it before, but it still hurt - why had her parents left her?
'You will look after me?' Louise questioned hopefully as she gazed into his grey eyes. She did not wish to be alone.
'I have no choice,' the Judge replied, his rumbling voice soothing Louise for the first time as she took in his words, 'You have been given to me, I must look after you.'
Her smile shone and she noticed her uncle gasp once more. She wouldn't be alone. She would have her uncle. Uncle Frollo. How kind he was to take her in, so unselfish. Louise slowly raised her free hand and held it out to her uncle, her eyes shinning with an innocence only a child could possess, and with caution, her uncle took her outstretched hand into his own, spidery fingers locking themselves around her fragile hand.
They stayed that way for a long moment, Louise gazing up at the Judge and Frollo staring at their entwined hands, until the smallest of snowdrops lazily drifted down from the heavens, landing gently on top of their clasped hands, evaporating instantly. 'Come,' Frollo commanded and tugged at her hand, turning towards the grand entrance doors of the cathedral. Louise followed obediently, her eyes wandering all the way to the top of the stone building, overcome by its sheer size. It was then, from the corner if her eye, that Louise caught her first glimpse of a huddled figure from the bell tower, but the person flinched away into the surrounding shadows once they noticed her stare.
For a moment, Louise pondered who the person might be; the bell ringer, mostly likely, until the sound of the ancient doors creaking open caught her attention, and at the sight that greeted her inside, she allowed the encounter to slip completely from her mind. Somehow, Notre Dame was even more magnificent inside than it was outside, and she lost her breath from its sheer beauty. 'Oh my...' she whispered, just loud enough to turn Frollo's head in slight curiosity.
When he noticed her little face filled with such blatant admiration, his thin lips twisted into a proud smirk. 'At least you seem to appreciate beauty. It truly is a masterpiece, is it not?' At Louise's enthusiastic nod, he continued. 'Well then, aren't you lucky - you will live here from now on.'
So startled by this was she, Louise halted mid-step. 'I won't be living with you, uncle?'
The Judge scoffed, as though the idea was preposterous. 'Of course not. I haven't anywhere for you to stay. I cannot have a child running wild about my home.' Louise's heart stopped in panic. He would leave her alone? 'Father Quinn has ever so kindly agreed to have you.'
The man mentioned turned as he shut the heavy entrance doors, closing the small group off to the probing eyes and curious whispers of the townsfolk. The old man smiled kindly down at the little girl, but Louise swung around to her uncle, tugging anxiously at his hand. 'You're leaving me alone?'
With a disgruntled grunt, Frollo snatched his hand from her grasp and glared down at his niece. 'There is nowhere else to put you. You will live in the bell tower,' Louise's eyes widened at this, 'I will visit you every day and dine with you whenever I can.'
'The bell tower? But-'
'Hush, ungrateful child.' Frollo hissed and loomed threateningly above her. Louise cringed around her teddy bear. 'I have taken you in when no one else will, you should be thankful I decided to take you under my wing; to clothe you, to feed you, to shelter you, to educate you-'
'Minister, that is quite enou-' the Archdeacon tried to protect the child, but the judge stared coldly at the older man, instantly quieting him.
'No, you are right uncle,' came the soft whisper. Her ripped toy was still pressed against her chest as she stared up at the adults with teary eyes. Guilt overwhelmed her, she was anything but ungrateful, yet she had continually questioned her uncle's intent. She was ashamed of the way she had acted. 'I truly am grateful. You could have refused to take me in, but you didn't - you are a kind man, sir. I apologize for the way I have behaved, I won't question you again.'
Frollo's stare became calculating as he took the small child in, heedless of the way she shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot at the weight of his stare. 'You are forgiven,' he said finally, and Louise smiled in relief. He then turned to Father Quinn and continued, 'Your presence is no longer required, Archdeacon. Go about your business.' The Father frowned disapprovingly at this, but nodded all the same, and with a quick, 'God Bless,' to Louise, which she was quick to return, he turned on his heel away from the uncle and niece.
'Follow me.' Frollo demanded, and turned into a long, dark hallway, lightened only by the candles burning on either side of the hall. They made their way right to the end where another dimly lit hallway could been seen around the corner, with a dark, cramp, twisting stairway built into the opposite wall. Louise stopped beside her uncle in front of the slightly corroded stone steps. He reached out and stole a candlestick from its holder and held it out to her. Louise took it with caution and glanced at him with questioning eyes.
'Follow the stairs right to the top, that is where you will be staying.' He instructed.
'You... You won't come up with me?'
He stared at her for a beat, a bored expression on his face. 'No.' He offered no explanation, and Louise dared not ask.
'Will I see you soon?'
'I will dine with you on the morrow.'
With that he turned from her and retreated back down the hallway.
'Goodnight, uncle,' Louise called after him, and she watched him pause in his step for a moment, before he continued once again, calling out a monotonous, 'Goodnight,' without so much as a glance back at his lost niece.
Louise continued to stare after her uncle's broad back until she could no longer see him, then, with a racing heart, turned to the inky blackness of the winding staircase. She was terrified of the dark. She buried her head into her teddy bears body, greedily inhaling the fading perfume of her wonderful mother, and found she drew strength from the familiar scent. She pulled back, lifted the burning candlestick out in front of her and cautiously began to make her way up the twisting stairs, pulling her cloak closer to her small body as the air slowly began to grow colder the further she went up.
A snap had her whirling in the direction it had come from, her body tense and her breathing coming out in trembling gasps. She waited a moment, her ears straining, before she gradually began to relax. Her feet took her another two steps before another snap rang out, closer, and she couldn't stop the screech that ripped from her throat. She dropped the candle and it tumbled down the steps, its flame instantly extinguished. She ran, taking two steps at a time, picturing demons and ghosts and goblins right behind her, chasing her, wanting to drag her to hell.
A wooden door came into view, and Louise almost sobbed at the sight. She threw herself up the remaining steps and crashed through the sturdy doorway and scrambled to pull the door shut. She found the latch and locked the door, refusing to take any chances. She leaned against the door, gasping and shaking, struggling to regain her composer. She took one last deep, shuddering breath and lifted her head.
Louise was astonished to find a homely room. It was very much a bell tower; it had an impressive amount of bells of every size, rickety ladders, ropes dangling from every corner and a surprising amount of wooden beams to hold everything together. And yet, what made it so homely was the crooked dining table and matching chairs, the patterned patches of carpet thrown about the floor, the colourful drapes and the sparkling, stained glass chandelier hanging from one of the beams. Candles surrounded the large space, lighting it beautifully, causing the chandelier to cast a rainbow throughout the room.
'Wow...' the little girl whispered, treading carefully into the middle of the room. Had uncle Frollo done all of this for her?
A cold gust of wind startled her and she turned, curious as to where it had come from, and found a large entrance leading out onto a stone balcony. Placing her teddy bear on the tabletop, Louise rounded the chipped table and stepped out onto the balcony. Her eager hands reached out towards the stone railing, brushing off the thick snow, and used it to balance as she rose onto her tip toes. She could just see over the edge and what she saw took her breath away. 'Paris...'
It was something out of a dream; the city was covered with a sweet white blanket of snow, torches lighting up every street, giving off a warm, inviting glow. It was a beautiful contrast for the inky night sky, which held thousands of silver stars twinkling down at her; like diamonds scattered over dark velvet. If only she had someone to share this sight with.
And suddenly she felt the crushing pain of loneliness settle in her heart once more, and she rocked back onto her heels. She missed her mama and papa. She missed her village. She missed England. A single translucent tear rolled down her rosy cheek.
BONG!
Louise gasped and her hands flew to her thumping ears. What?
BONG!
Her eyes flew to the bells and found a dark silhouette pulling at one of the ropes.
BONG!
That's the man I saw before! Louise hurried towards one of the ladders and began to climb closer. I'm not alone.
BONG!
'E-Excuse-'
BONG!
She finally reached the same platform, and was thankful she had never been afraid of heights. They were so far from the ground. The bell that swung was massive, she felt the wooden platform vibrate with every ring. On the opposite side of the bell was the bell ringer. She could just make out his arm, but he seemed to swing with the rope, so the bell constantly hid him from her. It was frustrating.
BONG!
The rope on her side moved with the man's strong tugs, and she marveled at his strength. Hmm...
BONG!
Seven. Just one more ring...
Quasimodo jumped into the air once more, gripping the rope tightly between his palms, and then threw his entire weight back to the ground. He watched as Sophia, perhaps his most beloved bell, swung once more, ringing loudly in the otherwise silent tower, and he gave a satisfied sigh. Eight. Master would be pleased with his numeracy progress. He felt the familiar strain of the opposite rope as it flew into the air, yet it was off somehow... heavier. As the bell began to fall, to Quasimodo's utter horror, Sophia unveiled a pair of tiny hands barely clutching to the rope, then a mop of curly brown hair, then a set of blue eyes, then the smiling face of a little girl.
'Hi.'
He cried out in alarm, letting go of the rope, his hands instinctively diving to cover his misshapen face. He watched through panicked eyes as the rope in the girl's hands dropped to the platform, taking her with it. She gave a tiny squeak as she fell. He stumbled away from the bell, from the girl. How did she get in? In his state, Quasimodo managed to stagger right off the edge of the platform, and he flung his arms out in blind panic, gripping the first thing he happened to find: the rope. It was of no help, however. The rope flung him downwards then sideways, completely rounding one beam, then swung him headfirst into Sophia.
'Oh no, are you well?' The girls soft voice, laced heavily with concern, was closer than Quasimodo wished it to be. Ignoring the white-hot pain in his head, he began scrambling away from her on his back, one arm hiding his face and the other shifting him towards the ladder. The child followed. 'I think you're bleeding.'
'I-I-I,' he repeatedly stuttered, 'I... am f-fine, please. Please! Du-Don't come closer.'
His hand finally touched the ladder, and he was quick to swing himself down it.
'Wait. Please!' Quasimodo heard her plead, and something within him wanted to listen, to do as she asked. But this was for her own good, she wouldn't want to see something like him. He would give her night terrors. 'Oh, please don't run. I didn't mean to frighten you.'
Quasimodo tried to ignore her, but his heart was still racing in fear and he stumbled about his little home like a startled lamb, until finally he tripped over a chair and fell to the floor. He struggled helplessly to get up as he listened to her tiny feet pad cautiously towards his form, unwilling to put himself through the rejection he was sure to come. 'Please, don't come closer!' His voice rose a whole octave in fear.
Her footsteps halted, and Quasimodo allowed himself to hope that she might listen and leave. Instead, he heard the peculiar sound of a cork popping from its bottle and slight shuffling. My bottle of water? What could she possibly want wat-
Her footsteps started towards him then, and he hardly had time to tense his body before he felt a soft hand against his revolting hump and was tentatively turned to face her. His eyes stared up at her crouching form with devastating defeat, his left eye half shut from his deformed browline. Yet they were a beautiful shade of hazel. Quasimodo watched her pretty little face with bated breath, waiting for the moment she would get up and run from his ugly form. But nothing could have surprised him more than when she slowly reached out and began to gently pat the wound on his forehead with a wet cloth.
His breath hitched at the soothing touch and his heart ached. He had waited so long for someone to touch him so lovingly, yet he never believed he was worthy of such affection. He choked on his emotions, and he had to know why... 'Why aren't you disgusted?' Or perhaps she was, yet was just too kind to leave him helpless and bleeding.
The girl scanned his features with intense eyes and he wished he had the strength to turn from her. 'I once found a dog with a missing leg. My papa wanted to kill him; he said the dog would never be able to hunt, nor play, nor run like a normal dog. But I wouldn't let him hurt it. I begged to keep him as my own until my papa finally agreed. I named him Bruno.' Her lips curved into a soft smile at the name. 'I loved him,' she continued, and Quasimodo was enthralled in her story, 'He proved to my papa that he could hunt, he could play with me, and he could run just as fast, if not faster than the other dogs. Bruno was as happy and full of life with a missing limb as I'm sure he was before his accident.' She paused in tending to his wound to laugh, lost in her memories. 'Even my village grew to love him in the end.'
'What happened to him?' Quasimodo asked eagerly.
Her smile gradually faded and he noticed a sad gleam to her eyes. 'Bruno ran away one day. Chewed right through his collar. A man in the next village found him, declared him useless... and killed him.'
Quasimodo's head hung, disappointed at such a sad ending, and whispered a dismayed, 'Oh...'
Noticing her error, the child stumbled over her words to explain, 'Oh, but, I, that is - I-I weeped every night for months after he died, I loved him so much.' She blushed here and ducked her head in embarrassment, 'I still do, sometimes.' She smiled again, bashful, and Quasimodo much preferred this to her saddened state. She was made to smile. 'The village even built a small memorial in his honor. They loved and missed him that much. I like to think Bruno proved that even though he looked a bit different, he was still normal.'
Quasimodo's heart lightened, hardly able to believe the girl was so accepting of his foul form, and gave her timid smile, causing her own to grow.
They sat in silence for a while, the child fussing about Quasimodo's forehead, until she finally made a satisfied sound in the back of her throat. 'There, at least it's stopped bleeding. I don't have anything to bandage it with, though, I'm afraid.'
He was quick to placate her, waving his arms in earnest. 'Oh no, there's no need. You've done more than enough! Thank you.'
She twisted her body and lightly threw the blood stained cloth onto the table where is landed with a quiet squelch. She turned back to face him and tilted her head, seemingly content to just watch him.
This girl cannot have her sanity intact. I can't even stand to look at myself for so long.
He had to break the silence whilst he had the chance. He didn't know when he would next have another visitor that wasn't his master, if ever. 'I, um,' Quasimodo started, uncertain. 'What's your name?'
'I'm Louise. You are...?'
'Quasimodo.'
He watched the girl, Louise, as her eyebrows knotted into a frown as she tested his name, 'Quah... zee... mo... do. Quah-zee-mo-do. Quasimodo. Quasimodo.' She suddenly sent him a brilliant smile and declared, 'I like it.'
His face heated with modesty. He spluttered, nervous once more, barely able to form his words. Yet he found he drew strength from Louise's encouraging smile. 'You... You're the girl my master was with earlier.'
'Your master?'
'Uh, Frollo.'
The child's eyes lit up at the name and a wide grin blossomed on her face. Her words were rushed from excitement as she answered, 'Yes, yes, it was I! He's my uncle, he's going to take care of me from now on. He said so himself.'
Quasimodo blinked in surprise. 'Your uncle?'
She confirmed his incredulous inquiry with a zealous nod.
Louise certainly didn't look like she was related to his master. She didn't have his aristocratic nose; hers was rounder, like a button, nor his stormy eyes; hers were bluer than the French summer sky. Neither did she have his long face and sharp features. And she defiantly didn't have his personality - at least, not from what he had witnessed so far. She was far too happy, too expressive and too amiable to be a Frollo. But yet, hadn't it been Frollo who had looked passed his hideous form, much like his niece had just done, and raised him as his own son, something his own mother couldn't bare doing?
'You will live here?' Another nod. 'Why?' Louise drew away from him suddenly, her smile fading and Quasimodo panicked, believing he had crossed a line. 'I-I mean... you don't have to answer- I just thought... that is-' He quickly became frustrated with his inability to form a sentence, hardly having any past experience in conversing, and gave up, hoping he hadn't offended Louise.
Her head hung, more curls breaking free from her bun, almost shielding her face from his view. Her voice was tiny when she finally replied, and cracked with emotion, 'My parents... they've gone away.'
'O-Oh? When will they be back?'
Louise's head slowly moved from side to side and she glanced up, eyes glistening and her bottom lip trapped between her teeth. Quasimodo felt drawn to protect the girl in that moment, wanting nothing more than to brush the tears from her eyes. 'They... they're gone. D... Dead. Uncle Frollo,' she sniffed, her hands balling into tiny fists, 'My uncle said I'll never see them again.'
Quasimodo's heart sank at her words. He could understand her pain, in a way, for he too was an orphan. And he was well acquainted with the sting of loneliness. He felt an uncontrollable urge to comfort the young child, and tentatively shifted towards her, barely registering his words until they had left his mouth, 'Of course you will see them again.' Her eyes told him she doubted his words, and she tried to turn away, but he was insistent, 'You will, one day... in heaven. But until then, they will still be with you in your memories, in your dreams,' here, he cautiously placed a finger lightly to her chest, sure she would bat away his hand, but she didn't. He felt her steady heartbeat beneath his finger and relished in the feel of human contact. 'And in your heart.'
Her wide and expressive eyes, damp with fresh tears, stared into own, pondering his beautiful words, and it took all his courage not to look away, wanting to be strong for this strange, wonderful child that had, even if only for a short while, made him feel normal. Human. He watched with bated breath as her face pinched and tears began to fall, and for a moment he froze, confused, until he saw a beautiful, grateful smile stretch her rosy cheeks. Complete and utter relief flooded his being, and for the first time he felt pride in himself; he had helped someone.
'Quasi...'
Two small hands encircled themselves around the finger that lingered against Louise's chest, over her thankful heart, clinging tightly, and Quasimodo felt something inside him melt for her. Her eyes openly reviled that she, too, had felt it. And then he realized, he couldn't let this child leave, and knew she didn't want to, and he felt elated, for he finally knew what it was like to have a friend. He would keep her with him up in the bell tower, protect her and keep her happy no matter what.
And for twelve years, he was able to do just that, living according to Frollo's rule, the only other people to come into contact with either of them being Frollo and Father Quinn.
But one can only keep free birds locked in their cages for so long before they break free, and when that day comes, not even the burning fires of hell will keep them from their freedom.