Chapter 1: Falling

AN: A number of quotations taken directly from the staging of The Hunchback of Notre Dame. In an effort to build a somewhat relatable Claude Frollo, I attempted to meld elements of his character from the novel, the musical, and the Disney film. Enjoy!

"People pretend not to like grapes when the vines are too high for them to reach."

(Marguerite de Navarre)

It snowed. It snowed and had been snowing for days. Esmeralda paced in front of the towering cathedral doors; useless for ingress and egress, given the mounds of snow piled up against them. She exhaled a shaky breath, blowing an errant strand of dark hair from her eyes. She should have been prepared for this. It was not as if this type of weather anomaly, this expedited shifting of seasons, was wholly unexpected. The elder gypsies would regale her with tales of stable weather, of sweltering heat only in summer, of snow relegated to the winter months, and pleasant temperatures between the two. They expounded on slow-building temperatures, of storms, certainly, but storms of relative expectancy. Whether they experienced that stability first-hand or not was as much a mystery to Esmeralda as the reaction she'd received from the archdeacon upon her entry to Notre Dame a few days prior. How could so much change in such a short timeframe?

~Three Days Prior~

She merely wished to seek out the hunchback…to ensure that he was not harmed after the reprehensible assault he suffered at the Feast of Fools. An assault she was not fully blameless in bringing about. Her guilt was partially abated as she entered the cathedral. Entranced as she was by the beauty, by the otherworldly light of the cathedral, she was unaware of the archdeacon's presence behind her. He cleared his throat. Spoken to her with vitriol, initially.

"So, a gypsy dares to enter this holy place."

They sparred, briefly. Esmeralda backing up towards rows of candles, alight for the prayers of the repentant, for the souls of the deceased and damned. Heat rose within her. From the candles. From the match between herself and Frollo. He was unrelenting in his hatred toward her people. Why? As if their existence was the cause of pain, of the suffering endured by the general populous. How myopic. How wrong he was. He accused her of licentiousness …of witchcraft; the latter accusation more dangerous for the lot of them.

"If I had the power of magic, why wouldn't I use it to help myself and my people?!"

He faltered after her retort, unable to admit defeat fully. He called her clever. She had rolled her eyes, fully intending to walk away in search of the hunchback to whom she owed an apology. Her heart urged her to reach out toward the archdeacon, to beg for understanding. He could not be wholly evil; he cared for the hunchback, in his way. She had seen it.

"How you would wish others to treat you, could you not treat them?"

He did not falter this time. He stopped entirely, stalked toward her like a man possessed. The bells rang out, breaking the spell he seemed to be under. He invited her to remain in the cathedral, offered her discussion after mass as if offering her succor. Alone once more, she took in the beauty of the church: its stained glass, its arching ceilings, the voices of the penitent caressing her ears. So entranced as she was by the sights and sounds around her, she did not hear the Captain of the Guard enter and accost her, teasingly. Their sparring urged less heat from her heart, and he left the cathedral as she sought out the hunchback in the bell tower.

He could not hear her. He could not hear her, but he could communicate. That was her first real realization when she met Quasimodo in earnest. The hunchback led her around his small home, and she drank in the majesty of the view his tower provided. He showed her his gargoyles. His saints. His small, beautifully frightening world. Snow began to fall. Quasimodo handed her a blanket, tattered and scratchy, but warm, nonetheless. She only meant to close her eyes for a moment, truly, but the emotions and activities of the day and the sudden drop in temperature quieted her normal control. She awoke to the deafening sound of the bells. She shot up with a start, hands pressed to her ears. Quasimodo swung down to her, his features pained, his good eye searching her face. He struggled to get the words out coherently.

"Sorry! I…forget…how loud they can be!"

Her head still reeling from the sound, Esmeralda nodded and let out a calming breath. She offered him a small smile before she noted the pervasive darkness surrounding them.

"What…what time is it?"

"Just after Matins!"

She blinked, emitted a short, humorless laugh.

"Matins…that early? I…I should go home…Djiali will be positively irate! And Clopin…."

"Esmeralda can't leave!"

She smiled, honest and open.

"I will come back, Quasi. I promise I will visit you as often as your 'Master' allows. And more frequently, I'd wager. Frollo is right not to trust us entirely…we gypsies are adept in moving through the shadows."

Quasimodo shook his head.

"No…the snow," he held his hands out in front of himself, wiggled his fingers as he drifted his hands down. "Too much snow. Snowed all night. And will continue!"

He gestured to the sky above.

"The sun will rise soon…maybe it will melt the snow."

Esmeralda nodded, still in mild disbelief.

"Quasimodo, I know it's cold, but that is no excuse for falling behind in your," Frollo's harsh baritone drifted off when he caught a glimpse of Esmeralda wrapped in the tattered blanket Quasimodo had given her. "You. My child I…I looked for you after Mass. I thought…I thought you left last night after we…after we spoke."

She offered a small smile.

"I came to see your charge…and his bells. I must have gotten so comfortable I…I couldn't keep my eyes open; I suppose."

Frollo turned to Quasimodo, offered him the small parcel he had tucked into his robes as he ascended the stairway to the bell tower.

"Breakfast, Quasimodo. After you finish your duties."

Quasimodo bowed.

"Yes, master."

Frollo steeled himself against the railing overlooking the city. When they were alone, he turned to her, stared at her, with an intensity Esmeralda felt in her soul.

"And now you're filling the boy's head with dreams?"

"Just thoughts," she offered. "Nothing wrong with thoughts, is there?"

He scoffed.

"So long as they do not twist the truth."

"As I twist my body in dance?"

Frollo coughed, glared at her.

"Your words, your Honor."

He straightened his thin form, exhaled a controlled breath through his hooked nose.

"I would expect no less from a degenerate gypsy."

She closed the distance between them.

"I am no degenerate. I am beautiful because God made me so. I dance because I enjoy it. I live on the streets because I am not afforded any other means of obtaining a living simply because of who I am."

Frollo's anger rose, his pale face deepening in color.

"You would have me welcome them with open arms, then? Allow their crime and debauchery to run rampant in our streets? Let their sickness fester and flourish in Paris until all are tainted with their evil?"

Esmeralda stared up at him, trying desperately not to allow his height, his position of authority to cause her strength to waver. Her green eyes bore into his steel grey orbs.

"We are not evil. How you can judge us to be so without even knowing us I…."

"I KNOW ENOUGH OF YOUR KIND!" His baritone echoed in the metal of the bells above them. "I was chosen by God to act as his emissary of justice on earth. The Church, and by extension, myself, are his instruments. I merely deliver His righteous judgments."

"And no judge has ever condemned a criminal wrongfully? The Maid of Orleans? Saint Cecilia? Our Lord? Your Honor, I may be no more than an uneducated gypsy dancer, but I listen to the sermons. I hear your own reverence to those souls…why can we not be offered at least some civility?"

Frollo hadn't taken his eyes from her face while she argued with him.

"You've bewitched me, gypsy."

"Esmeralda."

"It's of no consequence. I…I must attend to the flock below. It is not only the three of us stranded in Notre Dame."

"Stranded?"

He nodded, still reeling from their verbal struggle.

"We are well-stocked, at the very least. Those who could not find shelter below…well, we will offer an extra prayer for their souls this morning. Have Quasimodo show you to an empty room when he has completed his morning routine," he said, his back to her, his form rigid and speech clipped. "We will continue our discussion after I've completed my own duties."

"I don't believe I…"

He turned to face her, his eyes ablaze, barely containing his desire to throw her over the wall or onto a bed…Esmeralda was unsure. Frollo himself was unsure.

"It was not a question."

He left in a flourish of black robes, the red liripipe of his chaperon trailing after him. Esmeralda slunk to the floor, leaned against a strong beam behind her, and wept. Quasimodo discovered her a quarter of an hour later, believing it to be merely due to the cold.

"I cannot stay here," she said, trembling.

Quasimodo nodded.

"I will find you a room!"

Suddenly beset by terror, Esmeralda rose to her feet and fled. Quasimodo could not keep up with her, did not attempt after she made it down to the cathedral proper. It was no place for a monster like him, that he knew. His master had told him so. He let her go, went back to secure a room for the gypsy. There was no possibility of her escape from Notre Dame until the snow melted. Quasimodo let the thought drift into his heart and lighten it. A friend, a kind, beautiful friend, for him! And she was real.