**Author's Note: Sorry for two updates in one day, the muses hit me and they won't seem to stop. I will probably be writing a lot more of this fanfiction this week before they are through with me. What started as a one-shot, I am now having far too much fun with.**
Chapter Three: Unfinished Business
He had won. Frollo saw the look of resignation in her emerald green eyes and knew from that moment that he had won the game. The gypsy witch was his.
Yet, why did he feel no triumph? Perhaps it was the absence of the blaze in her eyes that made his heart turn leaden and sink. Perhaps it was the venom dripping from her tongue, or the hatred that contorted her beautiful features. Perhaps it was the knowledge buried in his subconscious that though he had won the battle, the war had just begun. She would not give in to him completely, and he would not be satisfied until that unbridled spirit of her was broken.
But what to do with her? Turn her loose into the streets? No, that was entirely out of the question. He had not come so far only to have her escape from his grasp once more. But a gypsy woman living in the palace of justice with the Minister, oh yes, the gossips could chew on that for months. Tongues would wag and while Frollo personally considered himself above petty gossip, that to even acknowledge it was sinful, the thought of his clean reputation tarnished in any manner was a revolting idea.
The wheels turned in his head as he climbed into his carriage and shut the door, twisting the long red ribbon of his chaperon around his index finger. He could hide her away from the public view. Like Quasimodo in his bell tower, she would not be allowed to participate in any of the common people's activities. Yea, even enter the city at all. He could teach her, as he taught Quasimodo, and perhaps she and the hunchback could even keep each other company.
And, with time, people would forget. And after they had forgotten, perhaps…
Frollo took a deep breath and clenched his hand around the crucifix that dangled from his neck. One thing at a time.
But of course, before anything else could be done, there was something that he had to take care of.
"Where to, Minister?" the driver asked, once they had pulled away from the execution scene.
"Nowhere," Frollo was already tired, and it was not even past seven o' clock. He hadn't received an entire hour of sleep the night before. Once he returned from the dungeon, he had collapsed on his bed, only to be awaken by the church bells fifteen minutes later. "Just wait here." Once again climbing out of his carriage, he muttered, "The hunchback and I have some unfinished business to attend to."
~*~*~*~*~
The staircase that led all the way to the top of the bell tower where Frollo's misshapen ward was currently housed seemed to get longer with each visit. Frollo refused to allow his age to catch up with him, convinced that his mind was the only thing that limited him. If he was convinced that he was getting too old to be climbing nearly three flights of stairs, then his body would respond to that sort of thinking. Therefore, he must not allow himself to believe that he was any less physically able than he had been nearly twenty years ago.
Finally, he approached the door that led him into Quasimodo's chamber. Pausing to catch his breath and straighten his robes, he lifted one graceful hand and knocked once, twice, three times on the door before lifting the latch and gliding in.
Quasimodo sat on the railing of the balcony, looking out towards the scene of the execution that never too place. He was not facing his master, but Frollo could tell from the set of his ward's posture that this was going to be a longer visit than he first anticipated.
"Quasimodo," Frollo took a step forward, and shut the door gently behind him. His ward did not reply. "Ignoring me will do you no good. I intend to stay here until we have spoken."
With a long, shaky sigh, Quasimodo threw a look over his shoulder. His face was wet with tears, and his nose was red, from where he had been wiping it on his sleeve.
"Master," The hunchback hung his head. "Forgive me, master, for ever doubting you."
Perhaps not so long a conversation as Frollo dreaded. His confidence reaching new heights, Frollo clenched his fist and brought it up to his chest as he glided towards his ward, who remained motionless on his perch, waiting. One by one, Frollo's long fingers uncurled and he lifted his hand, just inches away from his ward's face. Quasimodo shrank back, as if expecting a blow, and flinched again when he felt the cold, gentle touch of his master's hand on his cheek.
"My dear, dear Quasimodo." Frollo shook his head slowly, stroking the boy's face. "Dear boy, of course I forgive you."
"I was so wrong…" Quasimodo choked, and sniffed. He glanced out back at the sunrise that was slowly giving way to blue skies. "Esmeralda, is she…?"
"Alive and well," Frollo purred reassuringly. "The flames of Hell came to confront her and, like all things either good or wicked, she recoiled. She recanted, then, and now her immortal soul as well as her mortal flesh are both spared." Mortal flesh, he couldn't help but think. How very mortal, how very soft, how vulnerable she was…
"How could I ever have thought you would be so evil?" Quasimodo wept in despair, the hot tears spilling over his cheeks even faster, now. "Master, you really are good."
Frollo lifted his chin, and a humorless smile spread across his lips. "Now do you see, dear boy, why I had to do all that I have done? If I had not, the gypsy would have remained on her wicked path, and surely would have died in sin."
"But how could I-"
"A young mind is The Enemy's favorite tool. It is soft, like new clay, and can be twisted and warped if not guarded properly. Thankfully," he rested a hand atop Quasimodo's ginger hair. "You have me, who will guard and protect you against the evils of this world. God has forgiven you and so have I. Let it rest in the past."
He wasn't quite certain if the boy had comprehended all he had just spoken, he thought disdainfully. But his point was still across. The boy was properly chagrined and repentant, and Frollo had his hold on him once more, perhaps as tightly as ever before.
"What will happen to her?" Quasimodo asked. "Are you going to let her go?"
"No, dear boy, that would not be very wise of me. She is a traitor to her people now; they will not listen to her testimony and will kill her before she can get much further than the palace."
"Oh," Quasimodo sighed, disheartened.
"She must be educated. I will teach her, as I have taught you. She might even come up to visit you time and again. Would you like that?"
"Oh, yes!" Quasimodo replied, enthused. "I would like that very much!"
"Good," Frollo brought the conversation to a halt with an affectionate pat on his ward's cheek. "We shall see what happens then, shall we?" he began his path towards the door. "Oh, and Quasimodo."
"Yes, master?" Quasimodo looked up.
"I'm going to talk to Luc about having these removed," he tapped the top of the fat gargoyle's head with a fingernail. "So do not be surprised if he comes up here."
Quasimodo's mouth fell open, and he began to stammer a protest, but his master was already out the door.
