AN: Again, this chapter was written a LONG time ago. Oh, and let me apologize about how insanely long most of the chapters are - back then I thought chapters should be long for some reason.

"Second Chances"

by EsmeAmelia

Chapter 2

High above, in the uppermost tower of the great Cathedral of Notre Dame, the bell ringer carried out his daily duties of sounding out the bells that called the city to Morning Mass. Today he rang the bells with more energy than usual, for today was an extra special occasion. The tone of the bells often reflected his moods, as the Parisan citizens had learned since the raid of Notre Dame. Down in the street they were saying to each other "Quasimodo must be excited today," and "I think something must be happening," and "Quasimodo is anticipating something; you can hear it in the bells."

They were right. Quasimodo was indeed anticipating something. He rang the bells for a noticeably long time, then he shinnied down the bell rope and landed squarely on the platform which led to the balcony. He hobbled over to the balcony and gazed over the rail down at the activity on the street.

A few early risers were already heading for worship. A bundled-up old couple was walking hand-in-hand toward the church, warmed by each other's touch. Three children were skipping merrily down the street tossing snowballs at each other and at occasionally at their watchful parents, who lagged a good way behind them. A man darted across the square to join a group of friends. And on the steps of Notre Dame stood the woman around whom this morning's worship would revolve.

Quasimodo waved down to her, wondering why she was standing there looking so melencholy on such an important day.

It took Esmeralda a few moments to wave back at him, but the sight of him perked up her spirits. Maybe she had enough time for a short visit with him; it might help take last night off her mind. She hurried into the cathedral and up the many steps to the tower.

Meanwhile Quasimodo was walking across the balcony scanning the rail for any tiny creatures who were cold and hungry. Birds. During the winter it was his ritual to search every morning for birds, and if he found any, to give them some food to help them through the cold season. He had been free of the tower for many months now, but he had never forgotten about those who had once been his only living friends.

Today a solitary young pigeon stood on the rail scraping his tiny feet in the snow. The instant Quasimodo saw the little pigeon, he rushed into the tower and returned with a croissant in hand, which he crumbled up into tiny pieces and sprinkled on the rail. The pigeon chirped excitedly and hopped toward the food. He ate heartily for a long time, then he looked up at Quasimodo and smiled-or at least gave him a happy look, for birds can't actually smile, but they can show their appreciation. And this bird did indeed show his appreciation: he bobbed his head and fluttered his wings as he made a sound of approval, as if he was saying "Thank you."

Quasimodo smiled down at the bird. This particular pigeon had been stopping at the tower for food every morning ever since the weather had gotten cold. He had never been shy around Quasimodo, and always gave him that little dance of grattitude. It almost seemed like the bird had known Quasimodo his whole life. Indeed, it had often passed through Quasimodo's mind that this was the same baby bird he had helped learn to fly on that fateful Festival of Fools day so long ago, or as he often reffered to it now, "the day he was born." After all, this bird was about the right age, he spent a lot of time at the cathedral and he would always flutter his wings for Quasimodo, as if to say "Look how well I can fly now, thanks to you!"Quasimodo knew he would probobly never know if this was the same bird, but he liked thinking about the possibility. It reminded him of how far he had come from those days. Those days when he could only observe life in Paris from above. Those days when the world regarded him as a monster and feared and loathed him. Those days when the only future for him was to spend life in isolation, never to know the simple pleasure of a friend stopping by for a morning of heart-to-heart conversation.

"Quasimodo?"

His thoughts were interrupted by the very pleasure he once thought he'd never know. He hurried downstairs to greet Esmeralda at the doorway.

"Esmeralda!" he exclaimed, "What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be getting ready?"

"I have a little time," Esmeralda said quickly, "I wanted to see you. Please, may I come in?"

"Of course," said Quasimodo, and no sooner had he spoken than Esmeralda ran up the stairs to his workroom. Quasimodo followed, a little taken aback by how shaken up she looked. He arrived at the workroom to find Esmeralda seated at his craft table fiddling with one of his figures. "Esmeralda, is something wrong?" he asked, sitting down beside her.

"Isn't it obvious that something's wrong?" said Esmeralda, "It's the new minister. He's..."

"Jehan Frollo?" interrupted Quasimodo, "Yes, I know."

"You know?" asked Esmeralda, "Has he been after you, too?"

Quasimodo sighed. "Not really, but then again I've only seen him a couple of times."

"When?" Esmeralda asked almost franticly, "What did he do?"

Quasimodo sighed again. "Well, the first time I was on my way to the bakery when I noticed the Minister of Justice's carriage pulling into the street. Out of curiosity, I followed the carriage until it stopped in front of the Palace of Justice, and he stepped out."

"Well?"

"He looked at me."

"That's it?"

Quasimodo sighed for the third time. "He gave me a look, like he knew who I was. He looked at me for what seemed like a long time, then he turned to talk to his soldiers, and I hurried to the bakery."

"Are you sure that's all?" said Esmeralda, sounding almost disappointed, "He just looked at you?"

"Esmeralda, it wasn't just a look," said Quasimodo, "It was a look of accusation, the same sort of look Claude Frollo gave me when I sneeked out of the cathedral. The sort of look people give to the guilty."

"The guilty," Esmeralda repeated in her most matter-of-fact voice, "It's coming together. Obviously he thinks you're a guilty one too."

"But if he thought that, why didn't he try to arrest me?"

"How do you know he didn't?" said Esmeralda, "You said you hurried to the bakery. He could have been planning your arrest and you wouldn't even know. What did he do the other time you saw him?"

"The same thing," said Quasimodo, "The other day when I was just strolling by the frozen Seine, he was riding by on his horse, and he gave me that same look. But then he just kept on riding."

Esmeralda raised her eyebrows. "This doesn't make any sense."

"What do you mean?"

"Why isn't he seizing his chances to arrest you?" Esmeralda wondered aloud, "Last night he was after me and Melenie like mad!"

Quasimodo shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know," he said, then thinking it was best to change the subject, he added "Are you hungry? I have some leftover breakfast if you'd like any."

Now it was Esmeralda's turn to sigh. "Maybe I'm a little hungry."

Quasimodo reached into his food basket and pulled out a small hunk of cheese, a bunch of grapes, and a roll. He put the food on a plate and handed the plate to Esmeralda."Here," he said, "eat as much as you want."

Esmeralda tried to eat the meal her friend had so graciously offered her, but thanks to the incident the night before, she didn't have much of an appetite. After a few grapes and tiny nibbles of bread, she found she couldn't eat another mouthful.

"Quasimodo..." she said after a while.

"What?" asked Quasimodo, who had been looking at his figure of Claude Frollo, the man he once called "master."

"Did he..." she pointed at the figure Quasimodo was holding, "Did he ever talk about his brother when he was alive?"

"Only a few times," said Quasimodo.

"What did he say about him?"

Now Quasimodo sighed yet again. "You really have a problem here, don't you?"

"Quasimodo, don't you see?" Esmeralda scolded, "We could be in serious danger here! What did Claude say about his brother?"

"All right," said Quasimodo, "He described Jehan as 'a strange character.' Said he had a tendency to drink too much, as well as a tendency to exaggerate his points. Frollo said you had to take everything his brother told you with a grain of salt, but if he thought he was right about something, watch out. He said Jehan is very devoted to causes. He didn't really sound like someone who would become Minister of Justice. In fact, whenever Claude talked about him, which wasn't often, it seemed to always be that Jehan was in trouble again."

Esmeralda was silent. Thoughts were running through her head.

He was very devoted to causes.That meant if her speculations were correct, Jehan would stop at nothing to arrest her.

He had a tendency to drink too much.That meant he could get violent, even deadly, during persuit.

He had a tendency to exaggerate his points. That meant he it wouldn't be beyond him to lie for benefit.

Esmeralda drummed her fingers on the table. She knew what Jehan would accuse her and Quasimodo of. Not stealing. Not disturbing the peace. Not causing riots. Not even witchcraft.

Murder.

"Esmeralda!" Quasimodo shouted all of a sudden, "Think of the time! You should be in the sanctuary!"

"What? Oh yes!" Esmeralda exclaimed, suddenly remembering her baptism. She quickly jumped out of her seat and hurried toward the stairs.

"Esmeralda..." Quasimodo called after her.

Esmeralda stopped and looked back at him.

"God bless you," he said.

Esmeralda smiled for the first time that day. "God bless you too." Then she was gone.

. . . . .

Melenie paced around the Gypsy camp, still thinking about Esmeralda, Jehan, and the night before. She'd hoped to be able to distract herself by finding someone to talk to, but the camp was virtually empty. Most of the gypsies were sound asleep in their tents, worn out from the , we should probobly stop the story for a moment to explain something to you. You see, after Claude Frollo found the old Court of Miracles and ordered the arrest of all it's inhabitants, he promtly destroyed the hideout by setting it on fire. This was to insure that the gypsies would never again reek havoc on the city. Never again could a caravan arrive at the city and be hidden away underground, or could a group of vagabonds gather in secret with confirmed isolation.

Anyway, after Claude Frollo died the very next day, the gypsies scattered like the seeds of a dandilion. Without their central gathering place, they were a large community no more. Some had fled Paris forever, while the others now lived in small groups of maybe twenty to thirty members. A gypsy could move to another camp at any time, and any camp would welcome a new member at any time. Clopin still considered himself king of all the gypsies in Paris, so he moved from camp to camp quite frequently. A large celebration like the one held the night before would briefly bring the gypsies together as one again, but once the festivities were over, they would go their seperate ways. The old community was gone forever.

With the new majestrate, there was no more need to hide underground. True, Jehan Frollo despised gypsies, but he did acknowledge their right to exist, thus gypsy arrests were kept to a minimum, but they were still always wary of soldiers.

Now we hope you understand all this, for we are returning to the story now!

Melenie was circling the camp for the forth time when she noticed three gypsy women chatting heartily outside one of the tents. She would have just passed them by-for Rosanna, Mirrette, and Lenorra were known for spreading wild gossip-but the word Esmeralda caught her ear. She couldn't resist stepping closer to them to hear what they were saying about her friend.

"If you ask me, she is nuts," said Mirrette."I know," said Lenorra, "She keeps blabbering on about how God wants her to do this. Ha! Doesn't she realize that part of the beauty of being a Gypsy is your freedom from religion?"

"You know, some say she hallucinated while she was being consumed by flames," Mirrette giggled, "That she saw visions of herself being thrown into a pit of fire and heard a voice saying 'CONVERT OR ELSE!'"

The three of them laughed hysterically. Meanwhile Melenie had peeked around the side of the tent to hear them. She quickly ducked back when she saw Rosanna's dark blue eyes glance in her direction, but it was too late. They had noticed the one spying on them.

"Hey, Melenie!" called Rosanna, "Come over here!"

"Yes, Melenie," said Lenorra, "Tell us why Esmeralda's making such a foolish move."

Melenie hesitantly made her way around the tent to join them, intent on explaining to them that Esmeralda had been through awful circumstances and that converting to Christianity was a ray of hope for her. However, Mirrette started up before she could say a word.

"The thing that confuses me," said Mirrette, "is why Clopin is letting her stay with the tribe."

"Isn't that obvious?" inquired Lenorra, "He's afraid she'll curse him if he doesn't let her stay! The real question is why she wants to throw her heritage away. Did that little time she spent trapped in the cathedral influence her?"

"No, I think the rumors about her hallucinating at the stake are true!" said Mirrette.

"No, you're both on the wrong path here," Rosanna stated matter-of-factly, "Don't you see? It's not the Christain God that's making her do this: it's the sun god!"

"Huh?" said Melenie.

Lenorra ignored her. "You know, you may be right. It could be Phoebus!"

"Who?" Melenie asked blankly.

All three gossipers looked at her with surprise. "Melenie!" Rosanna exclaimed, "You're Esmeralda's best friend and you don't know who Phoebus is?"

"I, uh, travel a lot," fumbled Melenie, getting the feeling that she didn't know something she should know.

"As do we all," said Mirrette, "but you have to be blind to not know who Phoebus is!"

"Well I travel a whole lot..." Melenie began.

"Melenie, don't you remember?" interrupted Rosanna, "The night of the raid on Notre Dame? The man who led the riot against Frollo?"

"What about him?"

"That was Phoebus," said Rosanna, "The former Captain of the Guard. He and Esmeralda have a serious attachment."

"Yes," said Mirrette, "everyone's talking about them! If you ask them, they'll deny their relationship, but mark my words, there is definitely something going on between them!"

Melenie was silent. Her mind was thinking back to the day when she and the other gypsies had all been locked in prison carts, forced to watch Esmeralda burn. The night when Notre Dame's bell ringer came flying down from the sky and carried Esmeralda to the cathedral. "Santcuary!" he called repetitively.

With that, everything happened at once. A beam fell from above and crushed the minister's carriage. Frollo ordered his men to use the beam to break down Notre Dame's door. And a tall blonde man whom Frollo had sentenced to death freed himself and rallied the citizens against concentrated on remembering the image of the man on top of the cart. The golden-haired man with the wide shoulders and the authoritative voice who waved a spear. Was he someone who would intrest Esmeralda? Melenie couldn't perceive how.

"You know," said Mirrette, "some say Phoebus has made her ashamed of her heritage."

"It's making sense now," said Lenorra, "She and Phoebus are a couple. Or rather, they can't be a couple until she joins his religion, which is why she's done this to us! She's abandoning us for that man!"

"She would never abandon us!" Melenie exclaimed.

"Don't be so sure," Rosanna stated in her matter-of-fact voice, "The other night he invited her to dine at his house-or should I say his room-and she practically flew into his arms!"

"His room?" Melenie asked nervously.

"He's lived in a boarding house ever since he was thrown out of his room in the Palace of Justice," explained Rosanna, "Anyway, she came home exceedingly late that night, and I know I'm not the only one who suspects there was more than dinner going on!"

"Yes," said Mirrette, "I've had the same suspicions. After all, the bed is in the same room as the dining table!"

Not true, not true, not true, Melenie thought repeativly to herself as they burst into laughter. How glad she was that mass would be starting shortly. She said goodbye and raced toward the cathedral, her mind a tangle of questions.

Phoebus? Was Esmeralda really letting a man influence her to join his religion? Melenie's sensible side was telling her that those three loved gossip and you had to take anything they said with a few grains of salt, but even so, she couldn't shake the distant warning that they weren't far from the truth...

Esmeralda paced around the crowded sanctuary, feeling a mixture of exhilaration and terror. In a few minutes she would be reborn. It was probobly the excitment and uncertainy of that thought which prevented her usually sharp eyes from noticing Melenie enter and caused them to collide.

"Oh! Melenie!" she exclaimed, momentarily surprised.

How could Melenie even begin? What could she say? She touched her friend on the shoulder and took a deep breath. "Esmeralda.." she began uneasily.

"Melenie," interrupted Esmeralda, "would you please do me a favor?"

"What?" asked Melenie.

Esmeralda removed her golden hoop earring and handed it to Melenie. "Would you please guard these for me?" she asked as she proceeded to remove her bracelets and her anklet, "I'm not allowed to wear jewelry during baptism."

Melenie nodded and took the jewelry. "Of course, I'll guard anything you want."

Esmeralda leaned closer to Melenie and lowered her voice. "In that case, would you please guard something else?" She reached under her skirt and pulled out a tiny drawstring bag with flowers embroidered on it-her most prized posession.

Melenie's jaw dropped. "Isn't that...?"

"Yes, it is," said Esmeralda, "and you're the only one I can trust to guard it."

"But why...?"

"No secret charms allowed either," explained Esmeralda, "Even if the Archdeacon doesn't notice it, the higher authority would."

Melenie nodded and Esmeralda started to walk away, but something inside Melenie was telling her she needed to know the truth. "Esmeralda?" she called.

Esmeralda stopped. "Yes?"

Melenie took a deep breath. "Esmeralda, who is Phoebus?"

For a moment Esmeralda appeared startled, but she quickly gained her composure. She stepped closer to Melenie. "Sorry, what did you say?"

Now an alarm went off in Melenie's head. She could tell Esmeralda had heard her perfectly.

"Esmeralda," she repeated with a hint of annoyance, "who is Phoebus?"

"Phoebus?" said Esmeralda with a hint of hesitation, "He's a retired army captain."

"Retired?" Melenie asked with disbelief.

"Well, actually he was thrown out of the army for insubordination," Esmeralda said quickly, "Do you remember him? He's the one who helped Quasimodo warn us about Frollo's attack.""

Frollo's trick attack, you mean!" inturrpted Melenie.

"Hey, they didn't know they were being tricked," defended Esmeralda.

"Indeed not," said Melenie, "No one ever does!"

"Anyway," said Esmeralda, clearly annoyed, "Phoebus and I have become good friends since I saved him from execution."

Melenie's brows went up. So, she saved him from execution. That would certainly give him a valid reason to love her, but what would she see in him?

What should she say now? "Do you think anything could develop between you?" No, that sounded like an accusation. "Did you have dinner with him the other night?" No, that sounded even more like an accusation. "Is he nice?" No, that was too vauge. "Are you really, really good friends?" No, she would just deny anything with that question.

Melenie couldn't think of anything to do now except kiss her friend on the cheek and offer one final word.

"Esmeralda," she begged, "please don't forget who you really are.

"Esmeralda fingered the bag dangling from Melenie's hand. "Melenie," she whispered, "you know perfectly well that I don't know who I really am."

There she stood at the alter, her eyes gazing up at the sunlight dancing around the intricate stained glass patterns of the rose window. It felt like she was looking up at heaven. The golden rays sent jitters through her body, which grew stronger as the Archdeacon approached kneeled down and bowed her head. A smile crept across her face as she was realizing for herself what was really happening. She had been told countless times what would happen during her studies, but now she really felt it. She breathed rapidly. Her heart pounded. Every nerve on her skin stood up on end at the exhillerating thought. She was being she was conscious of that, she would never forget the absolutly breathtaking feeling she got when the Archdeacon poured the holy water onto her head.

"I baptize you in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit."