~*Chapter Two: Of Sanctuary And Guards*~

Amelia was a lot of things – quiet, shy, clumsy, witty, sarcastic, and an excellent violin player. But she was not athletic. The two little boys were running like smoke on the wind, suddenly vanishing for no reason at all, only to appear a few feet away with a grin on their face. Her fingers came within inches of her violin case, only to have it snatched away by the boys as they laughed and ran. She tripped for the second time in five minutes, going head over heels and landing in a sloppy, slushy, freezing puddle. Her clothes were drenched, her hair was dripping wet, and she was about to turn into the world's largest human ice cube, but she wanted her violin case back. When she picked herself up and swiped her red hair from her eyes, she saw they were nowhere to be seen. They had disappeared like mice, their dark hair and laughing eyes mocking her from behind her closed eyes. A hot sob choked her throat and she shouted incoherently several times, and then sat down on the street, cradling her face in her hands. She was wet, cold, hungry, exhausted, and missing the only thing of value that she had with her. Her skin was numb and prickled unpleasantly whenever another breeze sang through the street, and her wet clothes and hair weren't helping matters. Amelia got to her feet and hugged herself tightly, glaring bitterly down the road. She had learned to play the violin on that beautiful instrument, had played it almost every day since seventh grade, her fingers gradually moving faster and faster over the delicate strings. She had played in orchestras and bands, as a violinist and a fiddler, and she had earned a good deal of money with that violin. It wouldn't be much of a stretch to say that she even loved the violin, and now it was gone in the hands of two little boys who would no doubt break the fragile violin as easily as an egg. A patter of droplets colored the street as she wrung out her hair, and she looked down the road again, wishing against all hopes that her violin would come back to her.

She was blissfully unaware that a pair of sharp black eyes were watching her from an alley. The King of Gypsies was leaning against the solid wall of the bakery, watching the redhead curse under her breath. She was a curious looking girl, with dark red hair that plummeted to her waist in a ramrod straight fashion, with her bangs chopped low over her eyes. It was her eyes that were fascinating – heavy lidded, smirking eyes, that were narrowed with anger as she hugged herself, trying to savor the last vestiges of warmth close to her body. She had a rounded face, freckled as a plover's egg, with a small, willful little chin that was wobbling with her suppressed tears as she swore frequently to herself. All in all, she was rather pretty, if a bit too royal looking. She could be related to a duchess, with her posture and haughty eyes, but what a princess she was! Soaked to the bone, mud plastered on her face, hair a thicket of snarls, tears running down her face, and her clothes a muddied mess. He laughed a bit to himself as he slunk out of the shadows, his movements deliberately slow and careful as he crept past her. Thinking back, he could have paraded a troop of soldiers down the street and she probably wouldn't have noticed, but for the moment, he didn't want her to see him. If she was royalty, she probably thought very little of gypsies. He took off down the street when he was safely out of sight, and caught up to Pierre and Tamas, the two boys who had stolen the woman's odd black case. They had pried it open, and were now examining the sleek brown instrument with expressions of awe on their dark faces, their fingers skimming over the smooth sides. "Ah, Tamas," Clopin said genially, "Where did you get such a pretty trinket?"

Both boys leapt guiltily and looked shamefacedly at the King of Gypsies. He was the king, after all, and Pierre felt his face flush. "We took it from a lady," Pierre admitted. "We were going to return it!" He added hastily, looking at Clopin's restless black eyes and then dropping his gaze once more. "We – we only wanted to look at it, monsieur."

Clopin gathered the beautifully intricate instrument in his hands and examined it. There was a small nick on the bridge, but there didn't appear to be any great damage to it. He carefully slid it back in the case and snapped the clasps shut. "Pierre, Tamas, I will have to inform your mamas of this," He said seriously. "Now, run home and do not steal from ladies any more." The boys took off like twin rockets, vanishing around a corner. Clopin tucked the strange black case under his arm and crept stealthily back into the shadows. The violin was very expensive, he could tell that. He had never seen one of such fine craftsmanship, and it only renewed his certainty that the woman was of some nobility. He waited silently until the woman drew level with him, stumbling every other step, and at one point falling flat on her face again. He hid a grin behind his mask. If she was royalty, she was the clumsiest royalty he had seen in his life.

Amelia shrieked aloud when she heard a foreign voice sound at her side. "Ah, mademoiselle, are you looking for this?" The voice asked, a bite of an accent written in the quick tones. She turned, startled, and nearly fell over again. Before she knew what had happened, a hand was in the small of her back and righting her quickly. "You are rather clumsy, no?" He noted, and handed her the violin case. Amelia shook her head abruptly, trying to make heads or tails of what just happened. In front of her, was the gypsy who had sang on the stage. Up close, she could tell he was very tall, with a pointed goatee and a gold earring in his ear. A mask covered the greater portion of his face, so all she could see were bright black eyes that looked at her with curiosity and amusement, and a few inches of tan skin. His clothes were bright and almost an eyesore, if he hadn't been so very nice looking; his smile was quick and slightly crooked, twitching up the corner of his mouth lightly. But then all of this was driven from her mind when she realized what was in her arms. Without a second of hesitation, she fell to her knees and tore open the lid, taking the beautiful instrument out with practiced ease. She checked it carefully, examining every particle of her instrument. When she discovered it was relatively unharmed, she closed the lid and shot to her feet.

"Thankyouthankyouthankyou!" She said, and hugged him fiercely. Clopin looked bewildered and easily dispatched the demonstrative girl. Those haughty eyes didn't look nearly as cold up close – she had a gratefulness in her eyes that was almost overwhelming. "You have no idea what a terrible day I've had – I had homework, and I had to sneak my violin playing, and then I ended up here, and that woman was dancing, and this mean dude told me to get out of the way, and then my violin got stolen, and I tripped, and I'm soaking wet and miserable, and then you came, and oh, thank you so much! You have no idea how much this means to me!" Amelia said.

Clopin blinked. "I think I'm beginning to get the idea, mademoiselle," he said, staving off another fierce hug with a laugh. "May I ask your name, madam?" He asked. Amelia grabbed his hand and shook it vigorously.

"I'm Amelia, Amelia James. It's so great to meet you, thank you for getting my violin back. It means a lot to me." She said.

"Oui, I can tell," Clopin said. "Now, be careful with your instrument, Amelia, and I bid you good day." He said, his restless black eyes suddenly looking very sharp. He melted into the shadows, and Amelia looked around, confused. Her confusion ended when she heard the rearing of horses behind her, and she backed up, clutching her violin tightly to her chest.

"You there! Girl! You were talking to a gypsy, weren't you?" The man demanded. He was astride a big brown horse, and his helmet was down, masking his features from view. "What is that, girl? What did he give you?"

"My violin," Amelia said. "It was stolen and he gave it back."

"Nonsense! Gypsies don't steal and then give things back!" The guard sneered. "Open the case, girl! Now!"

Amelia growled, but opened the case. "See? It's a violin. My violin." She yelped in pain when one of the guards snatched her wrist.

"You were speaking with a gypsy," The other guard snarled, "That is punishable by twenty lashes. Bring her to the Palace of Justice."

"Wait, lashes? With a belt? Oh, no, no, no, no!" Amelia said, trying in vain to jerk her arm free of the guard's vice like grip. "I have a really low pain threshold, see? I trip all the time and stuff, but I – ouch! Look, I was just thanking him for returning my violin, that's all, we weren't planning a revolt or anything –"

"You were planning a revolt?" The guard asked, his voice harsh. "Take her to Judge Frollo immediately!"

"No, you idiots! I was being sarcastic!" Amelia cried, struggling awkwardly. Her violin case was torn from her grasp, and she stamped on the foot of one of the guards. This had no effect, and she found herself being hoisted in the air, kicking and struggling. Everything froze when a piercing whistle cracked through the air.

"Oh, monsieur, surely you have better things to do than harass young ladies in the streets?" A familiar voice asked. The soldiers turned and saw Clopin standing only a few yards away, a maddening smirk on his face.

From nowhere, a small, brightly painted puppet emerged. "But they are Judge Frollo's dogs," the puppet said in a squeaky voice. "They are fat and lazy and do not have anything to do but twist poor young ladies arms."

Clopin whacked the puppet on the head with a stick from his sleeve. "Silly boy, they are not Frollo's dogs, they are Frollo's pigs, anyone can tell. See, they have upturned noses like pigs!"

The puppet shrugged. "Pigs, dogs, what's the difference? They both smell bad and need a bath."

Amelia found herself deposited on the street none too gently, the guards running after Clopin, who turned neatly around a corner. Bewildered and confused, Amelia scrambled to her feet and hugged her violin case to her chest. She did the sensible thing and tore off towards the crowds, hoping to lose herself in the masses of people. Her numb feet froze as she splashed through more puddles and tried to avoid the frozen sewer, from which a bad smell was rising. Behind her, the noises of the guards chasing the gypsy overlapped into the sounds of the festival, which was still going on. People were running around like ants at work, scurrying to and fro, guards upturning things while music faintly played in the background. Amelia was jostled roughly and pushed through the mobs, tripping over broken kegs of ale, the foamy contents gurgling onto the grimy stones. Baskets of sweet bread and other goodies were smashed and spoiled underfoot, trodden on by hooves and feet. Guards and horses were everywhere, but clowns still juggled and stilt walkers still made faces. There was a tense aura of forced happiness, despite the obvious signs of upheaval, and Amelia realized she hadn't been very smart by coming here. Yeah, leave the three guards who wanted to beat you and come into the mob of guards who want to kill you. Smart, Amelia, you're so smart! She thought sarcastically to herself.

Someone jerked her elbow and spun her around to face him, and she almost screamed. A hand clapped over her mouth, and she found herself alarmingly close to the masked gypsy who had previously lured the guards away. His eyes were cold and hard now, having lost the amused twinkle which had filled his eyes before. "Run to Notre Dame, mademoiselle," He breathed in her ear. "Run to Notre Dame and claim sanctuary. Hurry!" He pushed her back into the crowds, and she stumbled a bit, her head pounding from the changing of scenery and attitudes. One moment she was thanking him, the next moment he was saving her life twice in as many moments. This is so Disney, she told herself. Good one moment, bad the next. Just remember, happy ending, happy ending, happy ending!

She had never been to Notre Dame, but she had seen pictures. Pictures couldn't do it justice, and even in the frenzied rush of the crowds around her, she could see that the huge cathedral was massive and beautiful. Stone gargoyles leered and growled from the eaves, and colossal columns supported the thick roof. A stained glass window of stunning beauty depicted Baby Jesus and his mother, and it reflected the activity outside, blurry shapes twisting and moving in the reflection. Amelia held her violin tightly and began making maximum use of her elbows, pushing and shoving her way to the door. Guards were swarming around the cathedral, and they took little notice of the red-haired girl thrusting her way past them and into the cathedral. But once she was inside, she had half a mind to go back out.

Judge Frollo was there, every inch of him covered in black, his graying hair accenting his lined, proud face and crooked nose. The blonde guard who Amelia had asked directions from was also standing there, along with the flawlessly gorgeous woman who had been dancing on the stage. Also in the background were several soldiers and what looked like a short priest, all of them looking as though they were in the midst of an argument. There was a pregnant pause while all eyes slid to Amelia, and Amelia cringed. These were not the patient, admiring eyes of a crowd of people ready to hear her perform – these were eyes of mingled hate, curiosity, fear, despair, and anger, all boring into her. Amelia grasped her violin case tightly. "Sanctuary," She said, the words tripping over each other in an effort to get out. "I claim sanctuary." She remembered reading about this somewhere – perhaps in a history book – where wrongdoers could claim sanctuary in a church for as long as they wanted. Judge Frollo looked like he might have a stroke, or perhaps a heart attack.

"The Notre Dame has dropped to harboring gypsies and common thieves?" He snarled. "You, girl, what do you have in that bag?"

Amelia felt her almost nonexistent temper flare up. "Look, buster, it's not a bag, it's a violin case. And the violin is mine, it's been mine since seventh grade. Why does everyone think I stole it? And what the hell is going on here? Are you all claiming sanctuary?"

"No, just this gypsy strumpet," Frollo growled. The stunning gypsy woman made an angry noise in the back of her throat and started towards him, but the priest stopped her.

"No, my child," The priest warned. "Let him leave. Our Honorable Judge has learned quite a lot about violating the bonds of sanctuary in the past years." The priest said, glaring at the judge. Frollo curled his lip.

"Very well. She shall remain here, then. Captain, post guards at every entry. These women are not to go in or out." As he turned to go, he locked eyes with the beautiful gypsy. "As we all know, gypsies value their freedom. See how long you last within stone walls."

To Amelia, this didn't sound all that bad. Trapped in what looked like a gorgeous cathedral, with a nice-looking priest, with a beautiful gypsy, didn't sound horrible, especially now that she had her violin. But to the gypsy girl, it looked like the end of the world. The doors slammed as the blonde captain left with an apologetic glance at the women, and then Amelia turned to the gypsy. She was even more beautiful up close, with wild black hair and amazing green eyes. The priest sighed. "Come, my daughters, we shall eat in the kitchens." The priest said, gesturing to the doors. The gypsy sighed and shook her head, following the priest mutely. Amelia paused before leaving the doorway, her eyes scanning the shadows in the room.

Because she could have sworn she had seen something move.

A/N: My muse is starting to perk up a bit, so I'm throwing this chapter out just to see what you guys think of it. Enjoy!

~* Special Thanks *~

Firestorm N.: Captain Jack is awesome! I was toying with the idea of making the Author series something to expand across several fandoms, with different Authors each time, of course, but the same basic principle. Go in, kill Mary Sue, fix the story, get out. Pirates of the Caribbean was the fandom I was going to enter into, but right now I want to concentrate on finishing this little ficlet (It won't be very long, maybe 10 chapters at the most) and then trying to finish Well Behaved Women and my current Authors series. But I would probably go into that fandom and pair someone with Cap'n Jack, just because he's so awesome. xD

Eva Sirico: Wow! I've never been to Maine before, but I've been to most of the other States, so that's really cool! Is it really wet up there this time of year? I know that all of my girlfriends down here think I have this thick accent (They actually call it a 'brogue') but really, it's just a bit of a nip now and then. For instance, I can't say the letter R. Which is weird. Anyway, it'll be a while until Amelia has a 'grand old time', considering that she's in a different universe with nothing but dirty clothes, her name, and a violin. Tell me what you think about the exchange between her and our favorite gypsy! 3

Fireheart Ninja: I know! I would love to be in Star Wars with Qui-Gon. He's...wow. That's all I can say. WOW. Such a big, strong, handsome Jedi...*happy sigh*. Er, yeah, moving on.

Nostalgia's My Best Friend: Clopin is amazing, but he doesn't have as many fangirls as you might think. As I understand, they prefer Phoebus and his corny jokes over Clopin and his puppet and epicness. Which is weird. Because Clopin is made of pure, undiluted epicness.

Kira Michi:No Court of Miracles yet, sweetie. But believe me, she'll get there within the next chapter or two. xD She has to get there, in order to get her man.