Chapter 4

"But the Lord said to Samuel, 'Do not look on his appearance or on the height of his stature, because I have rejected him. For the Lord sees not as man sees: man looks on the outward appearance, but the Lord looks on the heart'."

1 Samuel 16:17

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Like an African cat stalking her prey, Safira stood on the wooden beam that allowed her to take in the sight of the confused hunchback. Her narrowed eyes watched every movement he made as he frantically began to look through the room. Upon looking at him she knew exactly who he was.

She had heard the people of Paris speak of the mysterious bell ringer but never paid mind to the stories. When she first looked at him, she had to admit she was thrown off for a moment. Never had she seen a sight like him before. Had she not woken up in a stranger's bed with severe body pain and a fuzzy memory, she would've been fascinated by his inhuman appearance. But in her eyes, he was the enemy right now. For all she knew he could be one of Frollo's minions holding her hostage.

"Where did he go?" She heard him question aloud, frowning at the desperation in his tone.

Waiting until he began to walk back towards her direction, she readied herself to pounce. With the bell tower dead silent, she tried to move subtly. Her movements caused the wooden beams to creak, drawing Quasimodo's attention.

She watched the hunchback suddenly freeze.

Leaping from above, she landed behind him with a loud thud, raising her sword over her head. With a gasp, Quasimodo turned and just managed to grab a hold of her wrist before she struck him.

"Wait!" Quasimodo exclaimed in alarm but when she showed no immediate sign of calming, he began to squeeze her wrist fiercely.

She winced as he nearly crushed it but she pushed past the pain. Instead, she used her other hand to grip his arm. Placing her weight on her upper body, she swept her leg underneath the hunchback's bow legged stance, forcing him to release her as they both fell to the ground. Quicker on her feet, Safira rolled over and stood above him.

With both hands gripping the hilt, she raised the sword above her head with the intention of driving it through his chest but he was faster than he looked. He rolled out of the way just in time, forcing Safira's sword deep into the wooden floor. She gave it a few tugs but it was hopelessly stuck. Leaving her sword, she whirled to see him lunging towards her.

Clenching her fist, she brought it fiercely towards his face but he caught it in his enormous hand, her entire hand disappearing into his fist.

"Calm down!" Quasimodo urged her, a heavy frown on his disfigured face but Safira refused to give in without a fight despite the terrible pain she was currently experiencing.

Quasimodo released a low sigh as he brought the soldier's hand sharply behind her back, shoving her to the ground with almost no effort before sitting on her back. Safira grunted through gritted teeth as her head slammed onto the floor, dizzying her further, the weight of the misshapen man proving too much. It was then she realized that he had been able to disarm her this entire time. He was only using force now because he had no other choice.

But logic had no place in Safira's heightened state as she shrieked loudly, "Unhand me, you brute!"

"I will release you if you promise not to attack me," He reasoned calmly.

Safira's jaw clenched; she felt humiliated, defeated and pained. After a moment of silence, she could hear the hunchback's voice once more.

"Or I can sit here all night and pin you down, your choice," He stated not unkindly, more matter-of-factly as if he were speaking to a child whose temper he was trying to soothe.

"You have my word," She bit out, "I won't attack you."

She gasped painfully as she felt him get up and release her, her body aching something fierce. She rolled onto her back and sat up slowly. Her eyes locked with her sword as the hunchback grasped the hilt and yanked it from the wooden floor with ease, bringing pieces of wood with it.

"Here," the disfigured stranger handed it to her, surprising her further.

She looked up at him to see him looking at her expectantly. Slowly taking the sword, she took the time to truly examine his face, taking in every detail.

She studied the harshness of his features such as his nose that looked like it had been struck upward with a heavy fist. When he spoke, he revealed crooked teeth yet no visible yellow staining, breaking or wear. The lovely shade of turquoise in his eyes was probably the only beautiful thing about him and could've made for pleasant-looking eyes were it not for the growth that settled itself over his left eye, almost covering it completely. His legs were bow-legged but they were strong enough to hold the giant hunch of a back he had. His arms were like tree trunks, roaring with god-like strength as one would expect from someone who rang bells the size of elephants every day.

What had caught her attention after his appearance was his voice. It was youthful and not unpleasant. Had she not been so panicked about her strange whereabouts, furious about being man-handled and in so much damn pain, she would've thought his voice to be strangely soothing.

Beginning to feel uncomfortable under Safira's intense gaze, Quasimodo ran a hand through his rich auburn hair, clearing his throat. It was then Safira noticed she had been staring but rather than look away or have the grace to at least appear embarrassed, she slowly stood from the ground with narrowed eyes.

"What am I doing here?" She asked sharply despite the fact that she was stumbling and struggling to stay on her two feet.

Concerned, he leaned forward to help but she immediately drew her sword warningly at him, the harshness in her tone actually causing him to flinch.

"Don't touch me!"

"I'm not going to hurt you," He assured her, a deep frown settling on his brow as he looked at the sword she pointed at him.

"It's a bit late for that, isn't it?" She sneered, placing her sword back in its sheath when she realized holding her balance would be difficult.

"You gave me no choice," He insisted softly.

Ignoring his statement, she continued to focus on keeping her feet rooted to the ground without falling.

"You haven't answered my question," She pointed out.

"I found you," He answered simply, "You fainted outside the cathedral. I brought you to my home before the soldiers found you."

Her eyes widened, she was being continuously stunned by this man and she was not in the best state of mind for surprises. She responded irately and without gratitude.

"Why?" She asked suspiciously.

"Look, please sit down," He motioned to his bed, fearful that she would fall and hit her head, "And I will answer all your questions."

With a growl, Safira forced herself to walk stiffly to the floor-made bed she had roused from, clumsily sitting down to press her back against the wall. She exhaled lowly, her bones practically groaning in satisfaction at being rested. Pulling up a chair to sit across from the wounded soldier, Quasimodo watched him carefully, using this time to analyze Safira in the same manner she did to him.

He was shorter than the average man, definitely shorter than most soldiers. He was completely garbed in black; armor, cloth, gloves, boots, helmet. The only thing visible to Quasimodo were those icy-blue eyes that seemed to be weapons of their own with their sharp intensity.

"I'm sitting," The soldier pointed out impatiently, "Now talk."

"I saw what you did," Quasimodo began, ignoring the other's attitude.

She only stared at him, once again making him edgy under that fierce gaze. He wished the other wouldn't look at him that way; it made him feel almost paralyzed.

"Who else knows I'm here?" Was the next question.

"Just the archdeacon. He's granted you sanctuary."

"Well, isn't that kind of him?" She asked, the resentment in her tone alarming the other man, "That a soldier be granted sanctuary after taking the lives of so many."

"You saved that boy's life," Quasimodo exclaimed with wide eyes, confused at the man's hostile words.

"And sacrificed many as a result," Safira stated through gritted teeth.

"What do you mean?" Confused eyes peered at Safira curiously.

Safira realized she had been thinking out loud and opted for another question instead.

"What's your name?" She countered with sudden distrust.

"Q-Quasimodo."

She raised an eyebrow, the name as unusual as the man, "Who else lives here?"

"Just me," He assured her.

A moment of silence passed, her eyes finally drifting to scan the bell tower, giving Quasimodo a chance to breathe. He tapped his fingers together nervously, so many questions running through his head but he was too fearful of the other's temper to ask. Patience was not this soldier's best quality. When the soldier remained silent long enough, Quasimodo decided to ask anyway.

"W-Why were they after you anyway?" Quasimodo questioned hesitantly.

To his relief, he received a calm response yet his question brought those blue eyes back up, the intensity still present.

"I was instructed to execute the child and refused."

"B-By who?" Quasimodo blinked in alarm.

"Who else?" She scoffed, disgust evident in her voice, "The ever righteous Judge Claude Frollo. If I've ever met a more despicable man, I'd be in Hell greeting the devil himself."

Quasimodo paled, nearly flinching at the scathing remarks regarding his master. The sudden change in the hunchback did not go unnoticed by the soldier. She leaned forward slowly.

"How does one end up living in the bell tower, Quasimodo?" Her tone softened to a mere chill, "Part of the job as bell ringer?"

"I-I've always lived here," He responded anxiously, avoiding eye contact.

She narrowed her eyes questionably. If he was hiding something, he did a terrible job doing it. He hadn't had much practice in lying unlike Safira.

"I see," She kept her tone casual, "No family?"

"No-"

Quasimodo stopped mid-sentence, locking eyes with Safira as they both heard voices getting louder and louder. Quasimodo recognized his master's voice immediately, alarming him into jumping to his feet and immediately reaching for Safira whom he effortlessly threw over his shoulder with little care. Safira grit her teeth at the pain that radiated through her body, ready to demand that he release her but Quasimodo spoke before she could shout.

"Be quiet," Quasimodo urged, quieting the girl when she heard the urgency in the other's voice, "Whatever you do, don't make a sound."

Brought to a shadow-filled corner, Quasimodo hid her where he knew his master would never look. He set her down swiftly behind the wooden structure that held plates and cups. She sat in silence as the hunchback left her there frantically just in time to greet his master. Safira peered through the shelves to see Quasimodo frightened to death and making horrible attempts of appearing casual.

"Good evening, Quasimodo."

Safira froze at the all too familiar voice, her heart pounding as she became as still as the gargoyles perched outside the cathedral. The pain she experienced was suddenly gone, replaced by dread.

"G-Good evening, master," came Quasimodo's kind voice.

"Dear boy, whomever were you talking to?" Frollo questioned, forcing Safira to suck in her breath and hold it anxiously.

"O-Oh, m-m-myself."

"I see..." Frollo stared down at the hunchback curiously. Had Frollo not caught Quasimodo talking to himself or his "friends" before, he would've found this suspicious.

"W-What brings you to the cathedral so late, master?" Quasimodo tried to question with feign ignorance but Safira didn't even need to see his face to know he was doing a terrible job. She brought a hand to her eyes in frustration, rubbing them roughly.

"My men were on the... lookout... for a fugitive," Frollo spoke as his eyes seemed to be scanning the bell tower, "He seems to have disappeared around the cathedral; they're checking the church right now and I thought I'd stop by and make sure you were safe, my boy."

"O-Oh," Quasimodo managed to fake horror at the news very well.

"Not to worry, Quasimodo," Frollo gently patted the hunchback's soldier, "He will cause you no harm. My men will surround the cathedral to make sure he doesn't come in... Or out."

Providing a cold smile, Frollo began to descend back down the stairs after bidding Quasimodo good night. Safira waited until the footsteps faded before standing up slowly and walking from behind the dark corner, looking at Quasimodo who seemed to be having his own internal struggle.

"He's your master," Safira stated simply, the words coming from her lips as an observation rather than a question.

Quasimodo nodded slowly, biting his lower lip as he anticipated a raging tantrum from the other man but received only a sigh. Safira knew what having brought her into the cathedral meant for him; Quasimodo had disobeyed his master to keep her safe. Though he didn't know why she had been running from the soldiers when he rescued her, he knew she was running from Frollo's soldiers. To have done what he did meant he put himself at risk… for her.

"You should probably get some rest," Quasimodo suggested quietly.

"I need to find a way out of here-"

"You heard him," Quasimodo cut her off, "There's guards at every door. You're in no condition to be plotting an escape right now. We'll talk about it in the morning. Go get some rest."

With his back turned towards her, Safira stared after him wide-eyed. Never, in her adult life, had she had someone speak to her in such a manner. The only thing holding her back from yanking at his tunic and forcing him to help her escape was the truth behind his words. Even if she were to escape, where would she go?

She had no family, no friends, no housing, no way of leaving unnoticed and in her physical condition, she couldn't get very far. With a grumble of defeat, she walked back to the bed he had offered her and laid down.

Her dreams were haunted by dancing gypsies set aflame the entire night.

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Quasimodo perched himself on the wooden beams above the bell tower where he had a good view of the soldier. He would sleep there and make sure the other man didn't try to escape in the middle of the night.

What have I gotten myself into?

He rubbed his eyes with a heavy sigh before looking down to stare at the seemingly sleeping soldier. He had to watch himself with this man. With a short temper and a hand that seemed to be constantly ready to draw his sword, Quasimodo wasn't sure if he stood a chance once he healed.

He had been lucky the soldier was disorientated and weakened when he woke up. But what if he hadn't been and had been able to put his skills to full use? Even so, the more he had interacted, Quasimodo wondered just how experienced this soldier was.

His voice, muffled by the bizarre scarf he wore around his face, made it difficult to hear him but he detected no real bass to his voice. It was raspy and husky, yes, but if Quasimodo didn't know better, he would swear he was speaking to a boy who had yet to develop a man's voice.

There were also those eyes. Those sapphire eyes that held no warmth or trust within them. The soldier had been suspicious of Quasimodo's intentions immediately, even attacked without question. Quasimodo didn't see the same man who had saved a child and risked his own life for the sake of another.

Maybe there's more to him than meets the eye... He tried to reassure himself.

Quasimodo had no idea how incredibly right he was.

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The Following Morning

"Judge Frollo," Phoebus greeted the judge, tension making his body ache.

"Good morning, Captain," was the short greeting before the judge carried on, "Any sign of him?"

"No, sir," Phoebus shook his head, "We've searched through every gutter, every street, every home and building. We believe he may have left the city."

"Coward," Frollo spat, causing Phoebus to roll his hands into tight fists in annoyance, "Well, no matter. He's the least of our worries now. Thank you, Captain."

"Thank you, sir," Phoebus nodded before dismissing himself.

Indeed Phoebus knew more about Safira's whereabouts than he let on. He had purposely led his men astray to give her more time to escape. By the time they circled Notre Dame, they found no sign of her or the child she had taken with her. But patrolling through the cities this morning, he had caught sight of a black figure from afar standing at the Notre Dame balcony.

As quickly as he had seen the figure, it had disappeared but Phoebus was no fool. It had been Safira. As much as he had tried to lead his men away, one soldier couldn't outrun seven on horseback. They had lost her around the cathedral because she was in the cathedral.

Would it not be so suspicious, Phoebus would have verified this himself but knew it would be unwise. All he could do now was hope the soldier was alright and figure out a way to talk to her without getting them both discovered.

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Bells.

The first thing Safira heard were the deafening roars of the bells. She groaned, her head throbbing at the vibrations sent through the tower. Rays of sunlight shone through the bell tower. She winced as she slowly sat up, the sun greeting her eyes harshly.

With a hefty sigh, she forced herself to stand, placing her hand on the wall to keep her balance, her shoulder burning. She stood and cracked her sore back, reaching around to rub her shoulder. She began to walk sluggishly away from where she slept.

Her aim was to the balcony but her eyes landed upon Quasimodo's work table, his crafts and projects piquing her curiosity. As the bells continued to ring, she walked slowly to the table and picked up a wooden figurine. Her eyes studied the amount of detail of the carved townsfolk, running her thumb over the finely carved wood, perfectly painted to each indentation.

That was how Quasimodo found her.

After an initial panic of seeing an empty bed, Quasimodo began to look around the tower from above only to find the standing soldier observing the wooden replica of Paris and its people. Sighing in relief, Quasimodo grabbed the ropes to the still-ringing bells and climbed down, landing with a heavy thud.

Having sensed the hunchback's presence before he landed on the ground, Safira didn't flinch nor did she bother to look in his direction. Instead, she set down the figurine she held and picked up another.

"Good morning," She offered quietly when the bells stopped to a deep lull, keeping her back to him.

"Good morning," Quasimodo returned with a nod, "How are you feeling?"

"Like I was tossed around and crushed by a giant," She said dryly, finally looking towards him with a raised eyebrow.

"Sorry," Quasimodo rubbed the back of his head guiltily.

She went back to the figurines, eyeing them before setting one down and picking up the carving of what was obviously Quasimodo.

Quasimodo was a man of strength that she had never seen before. To pull the bells themselves was no easy task yet he seemed to do it so effortlessly. He had picked her up, armor and all, with almost no struggle and had nearly crushed her wrist into dust. Yet she was holding a work of art that could be done only by a man of gentle, detail-oriented hands. She set the figurine down and finally turned to face Quasiodo fully.

"You shouldn't be walking around yet," Quasimodo spoke in mild disapproval.

"I've had wounds worse than this," She spoke truthfully, "I've had a sword go right through my body."

"Really?" Quasimodo's eyes widened, "H-How did that happen?"

"War," She answered simply, "Truth be told I didn't feel much of it until after."

"After what?"

"After I killed the bastard who stabbed me."

Quasimodo swallowed his spit, "O-Oh."

The hunchback rubbed his arm, standing awkwardly. Safira was staring again. She couldn't help herself. He was truly a sight to behold. Quasimodo, too, studied Safira's face for a moment. She was still wearing the scarf around her face.

"Why do you wear that?" He gestured towards the scarf.

Safira hesitated. This was the second time she had been asked so bluntly but having relied on the rumors and stories to be the answers for her, she had no immediate answer for this particular man. Standing there now, she found it difficult to tell the lie herself. She opted for silence instead, hinting to the hunchback that he had probably crossed a line but before he could apologize, Safira began to ask questions of her own.

"How old are you, Quasimodo?"

It had been the first time she spoke his name.

"Twenty."

Same as me.

"You mentioned you've always lived here?" She asked, sitting down on the wooden chair by his working table. She began to toy with the figurines as she spoke.

"Yes."

"You don't leave?" She picked up a figurine and studied it.

"No."

"Why not?"

Quasimodo frowned at him as if the answer were obvious but Safira wasn't looking at him as she questioned him.

"I wouldn't exactly fit in out there."

"Neither do I but I go out anyway."

"Yeah, well… You don't know what it's like to be a monster," Quasimodo spoke quietly as he hobbled over to his work desk, taking the figurine from her hands.

Safira noted the change in him and realized she struck a nerve.

"You think I don't know what it's like?"

"I know you don't," Quasimodo began to walk away.

"For someone who fears so much judgement, you're giving a lot of it."

Quasimodo turned with wide eyes just as Safira stood, their eyes locking.

"W-What?"

"You make assumptions of me based on my appearance."

"I am not-"

"You assume that I don't know what it's like to have people fear me, recoil when they look at me just because I don't look like you. Maybe you should get to know someone first before you make rash judgements, Quasimodo."

Safira headed towards the balcony. She stopped just before she stepped out, looking over her shoulder at the stunned hunchback.

"I've seen my fair share of monsters. You're not one of them."

Quasimodo watched speechlessly as the soldier disappeared out into the balcony.

Author's Note:

How is everyone liking the interaction so far?

Leave your thoughts, questions, critiques and/or praises!

~ Laruto