"If you love me, you will keep my commandments." - John 14:15


Hours had passed after that, some of the longest hours he could ever remember experiencing, and the only way he was able to tell the passage of time was how the light changed around him and the color of the sky. The journey of the sun across the heavens warped the city under it; shadows lengthened in some places and disappeared entirely in others, and the strange red color that painted the sky that morning had darkened into gray. At midmorning a wind had sprung up and the smoke had fled to the skies and still hovered over the city like a grim specter of death, but without it rampaging in the streets and choking people they seemed to forget all about it.

Long after that, when the day's gruesome work was done, it seemed like a watery blue sky wished to break through the gray curtain of smoke and ash and dust. Frollo gazed at it as he made his way down the platform at last, his legs as heavy as wood underneath him. All of that standing and shouting and the rest of the excitement of the day had deeply exhausted him like he had never felt before. The fact that he had not slept yet did not help either.

"Sir!" one of the guards saluted him, his voice too loud and ringing in the minister's ears.

Frollo winced and waved him away, reaching up with his other hand to rub his eyes. "Go back to the Palace of Justice," he ordered. "Make sure the gypsy girl does not escape again."

Confusion met his commands. "Sir?" the guard repeated uneasily.

He snapped his head up and the guards shrank back from his glare. "I said go!" he snapped, his voice cracking them into action like a whip. "Not—" he interrupted among the flurry of movement, "—you two. You stay with me."

The two of them exchanged equally puzzled looks and Frollo grit his teeth. How in the world was he supposed to replace Captain Phoebus so soon? He would rather have a score of Phoebus's (albeit loyal ones) than the whole of his city guard. Phoebus had at least been competent. He swept past them in a swirl of robes and listening to their clanking as they tried to keep up with his long strides across the now-empty courtyard to the well. A group of four women were standing around it and gossiping, but when they saw him approaching with his scowl they scattered like sparrows before a raven. They left the water bucket behind, though, and when Frollo peered in he saw that there was still an inch or so of water left at the bottom.

Thankfully the two guards he picked to follow him weren't particularly talkative. He wasn't sure how much idle chatter he could take right now. He pulled his handkerchief from his pocket and dipped it into the water and began to gently clean his face with it. A small sigh of satisfaction escaped him as the cool water came in contact with his hot skin and he could see black smudges appearing on the cloth. Smoke, no doubt. It was on his hands as well and his robes reeked of it, who knew how long it would take to get them to smell fine again. He had to dip his handkerchief in again and again, wringing it out each time and washing his face again, along with his neck and hands until finally the water ran more or less clear. He needed a proper wash but for now it would do.

"Where is my horse?" he asked without turning around.

"Tied off, sir," one of his soldiers answered.

"Bring him here."

He heard clanking footsteps scurrying away, and leaned against the well, waiting for the steps to come back with hooves in tow. He wondered what time it was. The growling of his stomach gnawing away in his gut told him that he had missed lunch, but it was far past afternoon. Or was it? He tried to remember when he heard the noon bells, then a cold jolt ran through him as he realized that he had not heard the bells at all that day. He stood up straight, snapping up and turning as the guard appeared with his horse. With little ceremony he grabbed the saddle and hoisted himself into it, cursing himself softly for his mistake. No, he couldn't return to the Palace, not just yet.

Without a single word to his guards he turned and trotted down the streets, not to the Palace but the stores and markets. He heard a confused muttering behind him and ignored it. He didn't even have his basket with him, he would have to buy a new one.

Frollo felt the inquisitive and slightly fearful stares all around him, but he rode with his head held high and pretended they were all as insubstantial as air. His guards had no questions for him as he bought a wicker basket from a merchant and went to the baker and the butcher, the wine shop and the fruit stand, inspecting all of their items with a critical eye. A loaf of fresh bread went into the basket, along with a side of salted beef, a hunk of cheese, a square of butter, two meat pies, plums and apples, a tiny, precious jar of honey, and finally a bottle of fine Bordeaux, all of it covered with a simple, clean white cloth.

He rode back to the cathedral hastily, squinting his eyes and trying to see if he could spot Quasimodo from the ground. No luck, the sky made everything blurred and dark. How had they actually restrained the hunchback so he couldn't leave the bell tower? He supposed he would find out soon enough.

"Stay here," he said as he dismounted.

"Yes sir," he heard the affirmative behind him. Not without grumbling, and on any other day he would have snapped at them for it but now he was simply too tired and out of patience.

He took off his hat as he passed under the shadow of the entrance of Notre Dame. As always, the beauty and grandeur of the magnificent cathedral made him stop for just a moment, overwhelmed by the size and sight before him. How man could have built such a majestic structure could only have been achieved with the help of God, he was sure of it. He reached out and dipped his fingers into the holy water of the stoup, then crossed himself. Even that small drop of cold on his forehead was a relief, bringing his senses back into sharpness once more.

There were eyes watching him. As if sensing he had been caught, the archdeacon appeared from between the shadows of two pillars, his face a most peculiar mix of a scowl and grief. "Frollo—" he began.

"If only you were aware of how much patience I don't have for one of your lectures today, archdeacon," Frollo cut him off, his voice as pleasant as ever but his eyes taking on a flinty edge as they landed on the priest.

The archdeacon paused, if only for a second. "What in the world are you doing with that gypsy, Frollo? Putting her on the stake and then taking her off at the last moment? What do you mean she has 'recanted?'"

Frollo sighed through his nose, trying to control his breathing. "Recant means exactly what it has always meant, archdeacon. And I did not come here to talk about that. Where is Quasimodo?"

"I haven't seen him since your soldiers dragged him in here. And that is another thing—"

His eye twitched, shock flooding his body at the words, only to give way to anger an instant later. "What?" he hissed over the archdeacon's words, fury blazing in his eyes. "He is a soul taking refuge under your roof and you did not even check on him?! What if he has fallen off the tower or starved? His blood would be on your hands!" He pushed past the archdeacon, his robes rippling as he started taking the stairs two at a time.

"Why, Frollo," the archdeacon's voice followed him up the stairway, the owner traveling at a more sedate pace. "I had no idea you cared so much."

For one fleeting moment, the desire to turn back and throw the archdeacon down the stairs nearly overwhelmed him. Frollo tried to quash his anger, but such a bubbling, molten thing could not be suppressed by will alone and it burst out of his throat to become his voice: "It is not about me caring, it is about you doing your job!" He reached the top of the stairs and slammed the door behind him with a bang that had to echo through the whole cathedral and locked it behind him. There, blessed silence, for now. He leaned against the door for a moment and rubbed his eyes once more, then pushed himself away and started up the rest of the steps.

At the very least he was keeping in shape by going up and down these steps all the time, he mused to himself as he climbed and climbed in a tight circle that would have made him dizzy if he wasn't so used to it by now. The space was small and silent but he liked it, the quiet was peaceful and the corridor safe, and it let him think as he walked. Even with a moment of spare time, though, his thoughts invariably turned to Esmeralda.

He remembered how she looked up at him, so terrified and yet so willingly at the same time, throwing herself at his feet for his mercy. She chose him, him! His hand tightened on the basket, his heart thumping in his chest and his steps faster. She chose him! She was all his now, a little bird that might fly away at any moment but ah, he knew how to catch birds and keep them!

A small smile was making itself know across his face, and even his fatigue could not stop his steps from nearly flying up the stairs. She was in the Palace right at this moment, what was she doing? He knew she had gone through a very suffering ordeal but now her trials had ended and she was safe again. Was she sleeping, perhaps, recovering her spirit, or was she just sitting in her room, frightened and alone? But he knew Esmeralda, whatever fright she had would not last very long. She was simply not the type of person to dwell on things and let the past haunt her.

His staff had better take care of her, she was under his protection now. A scowl passed his face at the thought, his robes flaring out as his steps increased. No, they would no what to do, they had to. They would find a room for her and feed her, find her everything she needed, but it was those guards that made his fists clench. If he came back and found that she had escaped again he would flay them all alive in the dungeons. He would make them eat hot coals and-

Well, maybe he would do that afterwards. He would have to catch her again after all and he needed men for that.

He shook his head, rubbing his temples and slowing his steps. She would not escape, he assured himself of that. No one had ever escaped from the Palace of Justice before.

He was getting close to the top, now. He could smell the change in the air. On normal days it was cleaner and more pure from being so high off the ground, yet had a certain thin quality about it, like watered-down wine. Now, though, he could smell the smoke more thickly up here.

Finally, his eyes caught sight of the top of the stairs and he stepped gratefully onto the landing, leaning against the archway as he caught his breath. Paris stretched out before him, not near as beautiful as she usually was, but it was still an awesome sight to behold. From a half-dozen places he could still see smoke rising, but most of the fires had been put out, it seemed. Good, the faster everything went back to normal the better.

He crossed the bridge between the towers swiftly, darkness enveloping him as he went through the next archway and only faint shafts of sunlight illuminated the inside. The smell of wood flooded his nostrils and his steps now clunked against the floor instead of the sharp taps stone made. No doubt Quasimodo could hear him coming up the steps but he decided to call to him anyway. "Quasimodo!"

There was no response. Frollo blinked in surprise and hastened up the last of the steps to Quasimodo's sanctuary. Everything looked exactly as he had left it the previous night, the chaos of Quasimodo's ruined Paris included. A small sigh escaped through his nose as he beheld the sight in the daylight; it seemed more tragic now than it did before. But Quasimodo had disobeyed him again, he was absolutely right in punishing Quasimodo for what he had done, the only tragedy was that his charge had such beautiful things to destroy. "Quasimodo?" he asked again as he stepped into the room, his eyes locking on the charred piece of wood on the floor that had once been Esmeralda's figure.

Silence greeted him. Now his heart began to thunder in his ears. Where had Quasimodo gone? Or, better yet, where had his guards put him? Perhaps they had him gagged somewhere or maybe they thought to make Quasimodo's stay more permanent. No! He did not tell them to harm Quasimodo, they would never do such a thing without his explicit permission! But then where was he?

He swept away the mess on the table and placed his basket in the freed space, then bent down to pick up the plates and cups that he had knocked to the floor in his rage. He couldn't remember at all causing such a mess, just that he had been so very angry and yelling and wanting to take every bit of rage out on Quasimodo for helping Esmeralda escape him. Well, the past was the past now and it was time to fix whatever he had broken and make amends where he could. It was easy with Quasimodo, the poor child often forgave him anything and even apologized when it was not needed.

Squinting, he tried to find Quasimodo's figure among the bells. He did love them so much, but he didn't think his guards would put him up there. There was nowhere to restrain him. The bells' metal skins glowed faintly in the light, hinting at mysteries and a beautiful music to come, but when so still they seemed to be nearly sleeping. The thought made him uneasy and he cast off the thoughts with a little shake of his head, like a bird ruffling his feathers. He really did not feel like climbing another hundred stairs to hunt for Quasimodo and peering into every corner, especially not today, so he took a deep breath.

"Quasimodo!" his yell echoed across the entire bell tower, even among the bells themselves, bringing a strange, somber note with it.

When the last vestiges of his voice faded away, he heard another sound at last, so soft that he would have missed it entirely if he had not been listening so intently. It was coming from...down? Back the way he came.

Puzzled, he took off at a brisk pace, climbing down the stairs loudly and bursting out into the day again. The red ribbon from his hat swished along the corner of his vision as he turned his head this way and that, trying to pin down the position of Quasimodo with his eyes, and yet he could still see nothing. "Quasimodo?" he tried again, wondering why his charge simply did not reveal himself.

He heard the sound again, a sniffle, and a pitiful "Master," that croaked beneath him. Below again? He leaned over the railing and stiffened when he saw the multitude of chains wrapped around the supporting columns below, and right in the center of them like a fly caught in a horrid web—good heavens! They had wrapped him head to toe in chains, where did they even find so many?

Frollo took off, scowling once more as he found the steps down and began to make his way there. He couldn't help but admire his soldier's dedication to their duty, dragging all those chains up here could not have been easy after all, but did they really need to go through all the effort? And why chain him between the towers of all places, why not the bell tower like he had said? Well, no matter, be free soon enough.

Coming to the foot of the steps, he set off for Quasimodo, slowing his approach as he came closer. What a sight he made, his deformed body held down by the chains; if one was good at pretending they could imagine his twisted shape could have been produced by how tightly the chains pressed his body instead of it being his natural form. Frollo's eyes darted around, looking for a place where the chains could possibly end, a lock where they all connected to. He found it past the very first column, with the key still stuck inside, as luck would have it. He supposed his guards had moments of brilliance equal to their moments of foolishness.

He reached out and turned the key, unhooking the chains from the lock and letting them fall away before he made his way to Quasimodo. The hunchback had not moved, still kneeling like Frollo had first seen him. Automatically, out of long habit, his hand reached out to gently brush against the hump on his back, then to his hair. Quasimodo trembled under his touch, ragged, sharp breaths leaving him as Frollo stepped around to kneel in front of him.

"Quasi—" was all he managed to say before he was suddenly being crushed, Quasimodo's arms embracing him with a grip that drove out all the air from his lungs. He coughed and felt Quasimodo's face press into his robes, shaking with loud sobs that startled nearby birds into taking flight.

Frollo's first, and strongest, instinct was to push him away in disgust. But his arms were pinned to his sides and as the seconds wore on he felt his harshness subsiding gradually. Especially when he started to make out words among Quasimodo's blubbering.

"I'm sorry, M-Master, I'm so sorry for everything! P-please forgive me, I won't disobey you ever again—"

His irritation cooled as he listened, a small smile twitching to life across his face before he composed himself. "There, there, Quasimodo," he spoke gently, raising up his hand as much as he could to pat him awkwardly on the shoulder. "Do not be so upset, it is all over now. Everything can go back to the way it used to be."

Quasimodo sobbed wetly and Frollo tried very hard to not think of the mess he could be leaving all over his robes. "I should have never left at all," Quasimodo whispered. "If I had never left then none of this would have happened."

At last he was learning. Frollo smiled wider and stroked his hair gently. However, he mused, if Quasimodo had never left his tower then Esmeralda would have never come to his attention. She would have just been another wild gypsy dancer. He certainly wasn't going to thank Quasimodo for that, though. "That's right," he whispered back, "you shouldn't have."

"I'm sorry. Please Master, I won't do it again, please forgive me." Quasimodo bent over even more, hiding deeper into his robes as he awaited his judgement.

Frollo considered the scene for a moment, mulling it over in his mind and simply enjoying the sight. This would be far easier than he had originally thought. He knew he could drill the lesson further into Quasimodo's mind, he was soft and hurting enough that this time it would sink in and stay there, as much as any barbed arrow could. But the wounds were already there, still raw and bleeding.

Wait between lashes. Otherwise the old sting will dull him to the new.

"You are forgiven," he said gently. This time he pushed Quasimodo gently, and the other understood and reluctantly loosened his grip. Frollo got to his feet and winced at the state of his robes; yes, they were wet and filthy just like he thought they would be. "You made mistakes, my boy, but that is why we confess our sins and beg for forgiveness in the first place, an honest admission is always deserving of forgiveness. God gave us free will, after all." He held out his hand to Quasimodo.

Quasimodo stared at it as if he couldn't believe what he was seeing, then, tentatively, he took it. His enormous hand engulfed Frollo's frail and delicate one, yet it was Frollo who pulled him and helped him to his feet. The chains fell from his body as he rose to his feet, wincing as his muscles finally got to stretched fully after being imprisoned for so long.

"Come, my boy," Frollo said, pulling him so he could step out of the chains. "I brought us lunch. Let us pray and ask God to take away ours sins and eat. Heaven knows it is a good time to do so."

Quasimodo still looked surprised, but he nodded and shuffled after Frollo as the other led the way back. Frollo took out his handkerchief and tried to wipe away the worst of the wetness on his robes, then he passed it back to Quasimodo. The younger took the hint and accepted it, wiping his face and blowing his nose with a noise that made the rest of the birds fly away.

"Master, do you—"

"No, you can keep it."

The air was clear, the gentlest of winds ruffling their clothes and whistling between the columns and niches of Notre Dame, smelling of the Seine and the city below. All was quiet for a long minute. Frollo took the stairs first, his graceful steps climbing easily, if slowly, with Quasimodo in tow. But the bellringer's voice could not stay silent for long, but he did not so much break the silence as he cracked it.

"You...you executed them all, Master."

The horrified whisper made Frollo look back, realization dawning upon him. So that explained his location and his behavior, Frollo had been so surprised to find him there and too busy freeing him to put much thought into why his guards had chained him there in the first place. "Yes, I did," he replied, turning away again. "I executed a band of thieves, pirates, witches, and scum for their crimes against the people of Paris. Perhaps now the city will have some peace for once." His thoughts raced inside his head. Executions were held in front of the cathedral all the time, but never so many as today, and Quasimodo has seen it all. Ah, he had probably watched—

"Why did you free Esmeralda?" Quasimodo asked in a softly. He said it in a trembling voice, as if waiting for Frollo to turn and strike him for his impudence.

Of course he would want to know. Frollo knew he had an affection towards her, it was his gambling on that affection that led him to the Court of Miracles, after all. But, if that was his weakness then Frollo could use it in his favor. "She recanted," he responded. "So I spared her."

"What—what did you do to her after that?" Quasimodo asked. He seemed to be afraid of the answer.

The shadows covered them as they passed into the bell tower. Under their cover it seemed easy to tell the truth, and perhaps if Quasimodo knew that she was fine he would stop being so rebellious. "I sent her to the Palace of Justice," he said and heard a gasp at his heels. "Not to imprison her. She is my guest there."

"Guest?" Quasimodo repeated incredulously.

"Yes, guest. Now stop pestering me, boy." Quasimodo's cove opened up before him and he stepped into it, waiting for Quasimodo himself to appear. When he did, the kindling anger and hurt so plainly visible on the bellringer's face gave him pause.

Knowing he had been caught, Quasimodo looked down, but his voice spoke bitter words to his feet. "How can you have her as a guest? What is she to you after everything she has done to you?"

Frollo frowned at him severely. "I am not half as heartless as you might think, Quasimodo," he said, his voice taking on a low and dangerous tone. "Remember how I took you in."

Quasimodo winced and just like that his anger seemed to break with it. "I—yes, Master. I am sorry for speaking like that to you."

The minister nodded, picking his way over to the table and uncovering the basket with a`ceremonial air. He saw how Quasimodo's eyes widened at the feast he brought them and beckoned to him. "Do you know where your rosary is?" At Quasimodo's nod he continued, "Then bring it here and come kneel with me. Let us pray and eat. It has been a very stressful few days, hasn't it?" All he wanted, needed right now was some peace and sleep. Lunches with Quasimodo always provided him with the former, he had never in living memory ever left them in a foul mood. Irritated sometimes, but never worse than when he came in.

Quasimodo nodded and darted out of sight and Frollo could hear him rummaging through the various items he had collected over the years. While he did, Frollo took off his own rosary and stared at it in the light, admiring its cold brilliance and glittering gems under his fingers.

Yes, a small time of quiet reflection would do quite well for the both of them.


It was a little over an hour later when he finally left Notre Dame and began to head back to the Palace of Justice. His guards were still there, looking quite bored but not so much that he thought that they were doing absolutely nothing the whole time. They saluted him gratefully when he came into view and he nodded at them, mounting his horse easily.

When he turned to go, he heard the bells of Notre Dame. They clanged and sang from their tower, and Frollo looked back up with a smirk. It was not as beautiful as Quasimodo could usually make them sound, but that would change soon enough. Quasimodo was one to reflect on his past mistakes, but he loved the bells far too much to not put his heart into ringing them. "Back to the Palace," he said to his soldiers, who looked equally stunned to hear the bells pealing after an entire day of silence.

Evening was drawing upon the city as they rode back, a dark cloak wrapping around the streets like a kiss. Candlelight from the windows flared to life on occasion, and the spires of the Palace of Justice was a welcome sight to see after such a long day. It was not in Frollo's imagination that they were hurrying more than usual with Palace so close. All of the guard saluted him when they saw him riding up, and he had hardly handed away his horse and entered the Palace when his chief of staff came running up to greet him.

"Minister Frollo, we took care of the gypsy while you were away," the man said with a low bow.

Another set of good news. The day simply kept getting better and better. "Well done," he said with a curling smile. "Tell me, was she any trouble?"

The man shook his head. "Not at all, my lord, no. We gave her a room and food and she never complained, not even with the guard outside her door."

"Truly? What an unexpected change from her," Frollo mused, chuckling to himself as he listened.

"Would you like to see her, minister?"

"No, not right now," Frollo said with a wave of his hand. "Let her sit there. Take care of her needs but don't let her out."

"Sir," the man acknowledged and he brushed by him, heading for his quarters.

Now that he was back his exhaustion seemed to press on him twice as hard. His sleepless nights, chasing Esmeralda down, the whole day spent reading executions and being at the head of an enraged crowd, running up and down Notre Dame and talking with Quasimodo...even his steps seemed to stumble over one another. Once in a while his head would swim and he would have to take a deep breath to regain himself.

It couldn't have been soon enough that he made it to his own rooms, as comfortable of a place as he could possibly be. He didn't even bother to call someone to light the fireplace, he simply undressed himself and crawled under the covers of his bed. It seemed he had barely touched them before he was drifting off peacefully.

Now with the chase ended, all the cards in his hand, victory totally his, sleep claimed him easily. For once, he slept through the whole night.