Warning: torture (whipping, stretching on the rack), mentions of denailing, and sexual acts. If takes this down you can also find this story on Deviantart and Ao3. Also to all my anonymous reviewers who I can't reply to, I love you all and thank you very much for your very kind reviews!
"You shall break them with a rod of iron. You shall shatter them like earthenware." —Psalm 2:9
Even if Frollo had no idea how to get to the dungeons, he could have easily found his way by following the noise Esmeralda was making. She was still yelling at him, for him, even though he was far enough behind them that he couldn't be seen. It was as if she simply sensed his presence shadowing her as they went down the halls, down the stairs, and down, down.
The air changed within the stone stairwells as they plunged deeper into the bowels of the Palace of Justice. It was warmer, definitely, bearing an eternal heat that the torches in their brackets simply added to, and heavier. The weight only came from water and Frollo could feel the dampness in the air every time he inhaled, sticking to his throat and lungs and bringing the myriad of smells with it.
Rust, smoke, mildew, the scent of unwashed bodies, blood. Fresh and old, it was an inescapable part of the dungeons that seemed soaked into the very stones and mortar. It clung to the mouth, bringing the taste of iron with it.
Frollo had long gotten used to the scent by now. But Esmeralda...her sudden silence was more telling than anything she could have ever spoken.
But of course she could have never stayed silent for long. He heard her start up again just before he came to the landing, followed by a heavy door opening. He had just enough time to see a flash of white flicker in one of the doorways and then she was gone again, taken into an empty room. Frollo's smile never left his face, even when he heard her voice rising in panic, all to an oblivious, uncaring world around her. The only responses she would hear, if she could hear them, would be the moans of fellow prisoners in their own cells.
A figure all but materializing out of one of the shadowy alcoves gave the minister pause. His dark clothes and hood hid most of his features, but Frollo recognized him after a glance. "Jaquet," he said with a dip of his head.
The man saluted him with a grin, showing off a few blackened teeth as a result. "My Lord," he said with a glint in his eye. "That's a very pretty one you brought down just now, sir. It'll be a shame to ruin it all." Despite his words, Jaquet didn't sound very upset at the idea. On the contrary his breathing seemed to be coming faster and he was gripping the whip in his other hand far too tightly.
Frollo's eyes narrowed at him until the man was squirming under his gaze and trying his best not to look away. "Quite," Frollo finally said, the simple snap of the syllables against his teeth clacking like the jaws of a wolf. Jaquet flinched. "Your services will not be required for her, Jaquet. I shall attend to her myself."
The unrestrained shock spread across Jaquet's face, so obvious and rude that Frollo found himself gritting his teeth ever so slightly to keep his temper in check. Well what did he expect from such low people as a man who would take a position as a torturer? Of course it was a nasty, necessary business that someone had to do, but in all his years Frollo had never once met a torturer who hated his job. "Yourself, sir?" Jaquet repeatedly dumbly before realizing his mistake and composing himself. "Yes, of course, my Lord! Anything you want!"
"Your whip, Jaquet." He held out his hand, palm up, eyes never leaving Jaquet's.
For a moment Jaquet stared incredulously, but again he caught himself and stretched out his other hand to give the instrument to Frollo. It was a warm, smooth leather that could only come from years of handling and caressed his skin like silk. Frollo nodded and gave it a perfunctory glance, noting that the knotted cords were free of blood (fresh anyway) and untangled, hanging in neat, straight lines. It had not been used today, then.
He held the whip in both hands and looked back up. "Leave us," he ordered. "And tell the guards they are not to disturb me unless I call for them. If all goes well I will not be needing any of you."
"I—Sir? I mean, yes sir." Jaquet gave a deep bow, but it did not hide the expression of utter confusion that Frollo glimpsed upon his face. "I shall make the preparations immediately, my Lord."
"Then go," Frollo answered, dismissing him with a wave of his hand. He did not look to see what Jaquet did next and merely brushed by him, heading down the hall to the door that he saw Esmeralda dragged into. All the cells here had thick, heavy wooden doors that were designed to keep the noise inside like how a cork kept wine in the barrel. The only connection to the outside world were little doors that could be opened to slide the prisoners food and water, and that was it.
She would be his, and his alone. No one to bother them or interfere. After that little stunt she pulled, he would enjoy this.
The guards were now stationed outside her door and they saluted him as he approached. He nodded, but he was in no mood to have them, or anyone, hovering nearby while he worked. "Wait by the stairs," he said. "If I need you I will call you."
They bowed, the same as Jaquet, and obeyed. When their clanking steps had retreated almost halfway down the hall Frollo opened the door. He paused in the archway, his attention arrested by what the light spilling into the room had revealed. A rack, the centerpiece of the chamber, and tied to it was Esmeralda.
Her arms were stretched high above her head, her legs pulled straight and rigid by the chains. One could almost imagine she was caught frozen in the middle of one of her dances, where her body pointed as straight as a spear but was far, far more flexible. Even from her position, bound, exposed upon the rack which left nothing to hide and everything to shame, she still glared at him. Frollo saw the fear there most definitely, but it was gone quickly when she realized who was staring at her.
"You?" she asked, her voice laced with sarcasm and disbelief. "You must be joking."
Frollo ignored her jibes, but the spell was broken and he could move again. He stepped inside the room and shut the door behind him with a heavy, resounding thud. Now that it was closed, darkness descended in the room. The space was only lit by a few candles and the coals in the brazier, barely enough to chase away the shadows, and most of the room remained in a perpetual gloom because of it. Frollo moved forward, letting his eyes adjust to the dark as he made his way over to a table that rested against one of the walls.
"This is your plan? You can't handle rejection so you take it all out on me?" Her voice was harsh, mocking, but underneath all the bravado it quivered. She probably hated that, knowing her. "You know who does that? A child. A spoiled child throwing a tantrum because he didn't get what he wanted!"
He supposed that she was trying to rile him up, to make him angry and prove in some petty way that she was correct about him and inhabiting some sort of moral high ground because of it. Did she think such ridiculous insults were enough to provoke him? It did not matter what she said, she was still the one tied to the rack, not he, and whatever she had to say would soon be reduced to the meaningless babble that it truly was. The rack always brought people crashing down, no matter how high they were flying before.
There were various instruments strewn neatly across the table, and Frollo pretended to examine them with care. A large pair of forceps caught his attention and he reached over to pick them up, testing the weight in his hands and clicking them a few times. They would easily tear out nails, but for now he didn't want to disfigure her. There was no reason to. Torture was as much of an act and it was true action, both the mind and the body needed to suffer for it to have any effect.
He turned it a little in the light, as if to examine it further, knowing that Esmeralda could easily see him from her current position.
The pause in her words was noticeable. "And what was the point of saving me anyway if you were just going to bring me down here? What was all the nonsense about redemption, then? I always knew you were a liar but why the whole ruse?" She still growled and from what he could hear she was struggling against the restraints. Unsettled, then.
Frollo set the forceps down, making sure they made a loud clank. His eyes darted around, looking and looking, until they landed upon a wicked pair of thumbscrews. He scooped them up and tested their weight in his palm. Pure, heavy iron that seemed all the more menacing with how much they dragged at his hand. Ah, but maybe she did not know what these were? He held one up and wiggled his thumb into the crevice, as if to test its size.
"Do you know how long it takes for nails to grow back after they have been ripped out?" he finally broke the silence, his voice soft and calm as he held out his thumb for her to see. He did not turn around but held his hand in its position.
There was a handful of long, thick seconds of silence. He longed to turn around and see her face, to read the expressions painted across it, but he restrained himself. He would not look at her just yet, he would not let her see him.
When she spoke again, her voice was much softer. "What's the point of all this? You should have just tortured me earlier."
"Usually, around eight to nine months." He answered his question for her, ignoring whatever she had to say. "These, however, do more than that. Your nail would crack from the pressure and fall out later. A few more turns of the screw and your bone would break afterwards. But that would heal much more quickly." He removed the thumbscrew and set it back down. "It doesn't take that much, and these are so very easy to turn."
"Frollo."
A thrill passed through his body, licking down his spine and shooting to the tips of his fingers and toes. She said his name! She said it so... He shivered slightly, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up. He wanted her to always whisper it like that, no one could ever affect him so deeply just with his own name.
Finally, he turned around. He didn't even need to search for her eyes, he locked upon them instantly. It must have been uncomfortable to Esmeralda to crane her head like that to look at his face, but it did not deter her. Her eyes were huge, staring at him with outright fear, but now that he was looking at her she scowled and tried to hide it. Honestly, Frollo admired her spirit. He had seen grown, older men break down long before this.
Of course, she could never make it last. Esmeralda could never keep her mouth shut. "You're sick. A sick, twisted man with no soul."
The words were a slap to the face and jolted him out of his reverie. He felt a snarl coming across his face, anger blazing to life in him, his fire burning through the water she tried to throw upon him. To question his immortal soul! "Be silent," he said, his voice far too calm and collected for his anger.
What would have sent Quasimodo into the most placating of bows flew completely over Esmeralda's head. Of course it did, she was so unobservant sometimes. "Oh, touched a nerve, didn't I? You know that too, you know how cruel you are and how God will punish you—"
His hand lashed out, the tails of the whip flying through the air before landing across her stomach and thighs with a loud crack. The rest of Esmeralda's words were drowned out by her scream and she twisted in her restraints as if to escape from the pain. He didn't let her recover, though, there was no escape. Again he let the whip fly, again, and again, striking her flesh unrepentantly and listening to her renewed screams each time.
Five, six, she writhed and clenched her teeth, trying to hold back her cries against the whip. But Frollo knew better. No one could stay silent forever.
Seven, and her lips parted to scream again, and Frollo stopped. He could see red welts already forming along her skin, her chemise would have taken some of the blow away but it was only a thin fabric, at best it would stop her from bleeding. It had to feel like fire along her skin, inescapable fire that could only be dulled but never numbed. He came forward and Esmeralda's eyes fluttered open at the sound of his footsteps, gazing up at him angrily. "You shall speak no more, witch," Frollo snapped at her before she could say anything. "I will no longer hear your treacherous, deceitful words which Satan puts into your mouth."
Her chest heaved, struggling for breath and fighting to regain control of herself. "Y-you mean you jus-just don't want to hear the truth!" she spat, her teeth snarling at him like an animal.
He felt his anger growing, bubbling under his lips and filling his face with a heat that had nothing to do with the stifling air of the dungeon. His hand reached out and grabbed the lever of the rack, gripping it so hard that his knuckles turned white. "This can tear the limbs from your body, gypsy," he said in a low voice. "Now be quiet."
Esmeralda's eyes darted to his hand, uncertain, and back to his face. Their gaze hardened, driven by some deeper determination that he had not touched yet. "You're pathetic."
The words hung in the air between them and he watched Esmeralda tense, waiting for some immediate punishment, and that more than anything was what stalled him. When no pain was forthcoming, her gaze found his face again, confusion loosening her muscles and opening her expression. And Frollo smiled at her.
Too late she realized her mistake. He wouldn't give her enough time to recover, and in that instant he shoved on the lever, its clicking nearly drowned out by the shrieks of the gypsy as the rack stretched and pulled her arms and legs farther and farther. She tried to curl up, to fight it, but it was useless and he only stopped when she was stretched as taunt as a bowstring across the wooden frame, barely able to even twitch held in her position as she was. Tears streamed down her face as she fought it, harsh, sobbing gasps tearing out of her throat as she tried, and failed to get a hold of the pain.
Frollo leaned over her, inspecting his work. It would take only a few more clicks of the lever for the dislocation to begin. Being in his position for decades, one simply gained an instinct for such things. He reached out and grazed his knuckles tenderly against her cheek, wiping away a tear as he did. She jerked her face away, more sobs coming from her throat at the contact. Frollo let her and simply moved his hand to her hair, running his fingers through it once more, letting it slide between them and tease his skin. He leaned down, placing his lips right against her ear and admiring the sensation for a moment before whispering: "Do you denounce Satan, witch?"
She jerked a little. "W-what?" she gasped.
In a moment he was gone, leaping to his feet and raising the whip again. The thongs cracked along her skin again and he relished in her new scream, all the louder as the whip hit right over the old marks. Esmeralda thrashed, at least tried to as best as she could, but her restraints barely let her move and Frollo was relentless as he lashed the whip. "I said, do you denounce Satan?!" he said, raising his voice over the whip and Esmeralda's screaming.
"Why, why?! I didn't do anything! I'm not a witch!" She was crying to him, each slap of leather against her skin producing another small scream that had her trying to run and hide.
Oh, wrong answer. A very wrong answer indeed, even if delivered under such pain. He would have to persuade her more then. After all, demons could stand pain no more than the humans whose bodies they were inhabiting. "Do not lie to me! I know what you are!" Another crack across her as he spoke. "Denounce your master, Satan, and be redeemed in God's eyes!"
She was screaming loud enough to hurt his ears as her echoes bounced around the room, but through them he could hear her words. "I do! I denounce him, I denounce him! Stop, please!"
And stop he did. Frollo waited and listened to her sob, her body sagging against the ropes by centimeters. Stretched like a rag now, wrung out and beginning to fray. He came forward, watching her. She was trembling. Her body shook with the force of her crying, her face turned against her arm to hide her tears. Was this truly a demon who lay in front of him now? By denouncing Satan did the demon flee and leave her alone with her pain? She looked so vulnerable now, nothing like the witch who put a spell on him and tried to make his soul dance to her music.
Now that he thought about it, he didn't feel like it either. It felt as if he was in control now, not the other way around.
His hand reached out to trace her face, and this time she did not move. He bent down again and whispered into her ear, "You chose me, Esmeralda. A part of you, no matter how small that part is, is still a stronger voice than all of these defiant games." Drawn by her smell, by her gentle, sweet cries, he kissed her temple.
Esmeralda shivered and nodded slightly. "I-I did," she said through her gasps.
"You want to be redeemed, Esmeralda, I know it. Some part of you knows that I am right and what I am saying rings true." Frollo's hand wandered, tracing the edges of her face, then down her neck, feeling how soft her skin was underneath his fingertips. God how she scorched him, but she did not control him, he still burned but the fire was his.
He couldn't stop himself, he turned her face to look at him and kissed her once more.
The wound on his lip blazed to life, causing his hands to curl a little against her, but he refused to stop. Then, to his surprise and infinite pleasure, her lips moved against his, kissing him back. Just like that all of his pain was forgotten, its memory buried under the onslaught of her lips alone. It was like plunging into a blizzard, except instead of the harsh cold bringing his senses to life it was a shock that anchored him in place. He pressed closer, suddenly aware of how her body was splayed out beneath him, a banquet upon the feast table, and his hand seemed to move of its own volition. It trailed lower, following the center, dipping between the valley of her breasts to reach her navel—
A moan came from his throat, deep and desperate and his hand paused, feeling Esmeralda quiver under him. And she pushed back, arching into his hand with a moan of her own echoing in her throat, but then shied away as much as the restraints would allow her to go. He followed her every movement, tracing patterns into her skin through the chemise, his mind afire with the sensations it brought, so dark and previously hidden from his sight. She was all his.
He broke away from her kiss, his head falling helplessly into the crook of her neck afterwards, burying himself into the net of her hair and skin. They wove around him, trapping him effortlessly in their embrace, binding the both of them together with chains that were insubstantial yet stronger than the hardest steel. He could still hear her gasping, feel her trembling against him, and his hand was drawn inevitably lower, to the hem of her gown and underneath.
Esmeralda gave a mighty gasp that nearly came at the same time as Frollo's. She tried to jerk away but she could not move, and yet Frollo found himself locked in place even though a part of him screamed at him to flee. She was so hot, so burning under her dress, he could never have imagined such a heat! Truly the gateway to hell was through women, and yet what a tempting, sweet gate it was! A helpless groan was torn from him and he pressed harder, exploring her desire under his gentle and quite suddenly hesitant fingers. So this is what such indulgences were like, then? This warmth, wetness, exquisite and smooth feeling was what he had given up when he had taken his vows?
His mouth was parched, his heart beating far too fast in his chest. Frightened by the depth of emotion and sensation that welled in him, that his body compelled him to mindlessly obey, he took his hand away, reaching up instead to trace the curves of her body once more.
A noise of confusion reached him, laced through with pain, and that made him raise his head. Esmeralda turned to look at him, her expression a mixture of emotions so profound that he found himself staring in awe. Fear, sorrow, yet also a strange sort of innocence, a vulnerability that was dragged out of her by the pain, a pure openness that begged him for mercy. He knew the look well. Had she ever been caught by the guards, he wondered? Had she ever been beaten or assaulted in her whole life? How lucky she must have been to avoid the fate of so many other gypsies!
"Please..." her quavering voice reached him, unable to form anything else, it seemed.
Pain and suffering was the great tool that broke so many. And to one so inexperienced, the shattering was quick indeed. Too far and the damage would be too deep. He glanced at his hand as it trailed over the curve of her breast, the mere sensation sending fire skittering along his veins, and he could see in the dim light how his fingers glistened. Esmeralda shivered under him again, another noise breaking from her, and he made his decision.
He stood up straight, the effort taking more out of him than it should have a right to. His head swam and he steadied himself for a moment before reaching for the lever and releasing it, snapping the tension back to normal and letting Esmeralda's arms fall down in place. Her sob of utter relief was almost joyous to hear and he set about untying her, undoing the knots in the ropes holding her wrists, and then moving to her ankles. He had the keys for the manacles, being master of the palace, and they sprang open s if glad to be rid of her.
Esmeralda was too busy shaking to stand up, and the hissing noises of pain she made between her teeth when she moved also told of a different reason for her inactivity. She merely lay there and rubbed her wrists, the skin red and inflamed and even bleeding in some places, and Frollo took pity on her again.
She flinched as he put his arm under her legs and her chest, but when she realized what he was doing she held onto him as if afraid he was going to drop her. Frollo was by no means as athletic as some of his soldiers, but his thin frame belied the strength underneath and he picked her up easily and set her down on her feet. All of which proved fruitless as she nearly collapsed against him, hiding her face and sobbing into his shoulder, clinging to handfuls of his robes as if they could protect her from what she had just endured.
Frollo stumbled under her weight slightly, but when he recovered he smiled and drew her closer to him, holding her and running a gentle hand through her hair. "Hush now, gypsy," he whispered and fished around her his handkerchief. "It is all over now, you will be just fine." He tried to clean her face as best as he could, with her hiding it and all, and managed to at least somewhat succeed. "Here, dry your tears with this and let us go."
That, at last, seemed to have an effect on her. She pulled away from him slightly and took the handkerchief that he pushed into her hands, and looked up at him. "W-what do you mean?" she managed to say through her hitching breaths.
"Exactly what I said, gypsy. Now wipe your tears." He watched as she clumsily obeyed, trying her best to clean herself of the tears that were insistent upon refreshing themselves every time her face was cleared. "Come, let us take you to a bath. After that it will be most refreshing for you."
She looked stunned, as if unable to comprehend what he was saying. "A bath?" she said, her voice small.
He knew his sudden change in treatment would confuse her, and he tried not to smile wider at it. Let her be confused, perhaps she would learn better this way. "Try to listen to what I say, Esmeralda. I assume you know what a bath is?" He turned and pulled away from her for just a moment to open the door and call for the guard at the foot of the stairs. "You will go and—"
The judge turned back around in just enough time to see her wobble on her feet, and he dove to catch her as she fell. She sagged into his arms, a dead weight, although she still moved and mumbled something like a slurred apology. He tried to stand her up again and while he did succeed, he knew that without something to hold onto she would just fall again.
"Sir?" the bewildered voice of a guard asked him from the doorway.
He snapped his fingers. "Come here, you fool. Take her to the servants and tell them to give her a bath." He handed her over to the guard, glaring as the man tried to awkwardly pick her up without making her chemise flutter and show anything too revealing. "They will wash her thoroughly, you understand? And treat her pain." Now that he thought about it for more than a second, she was probably filthy. She hadn't had a bath after she came here, after all. "Burn that rag she is wearing and find her a new one. And the servants will bring her back to her room when they are done. Do I make myself perfectly clear?"
The guard nodded swiftly, if looking a little overwhelmed by the flurry of commands Frollo had given him. "Yes sir, right away Minister." He performed a small bow, as much of one as he could do with the weight in his arms, and carried Esmeralda out of the room.
Frollo listened to his steps fade away, then he lifted his hand to examine it again. He still smelled like her, except it was a hundred times more potent than before. Slowly, pulled by a force deep in his gut, he touched his lips. A shudder wracked his frame and he could taste her on his tongue, the most careful of sips he could take from such a chalice, placing his trembling, unsure mouth against the wine and letting it invade his entire being with but a single drop.
He took a step back and shook his head, and then belatedly followed the path of his guard. He needed to be out of this place, where the air was fresh and clear...and where Esmeralda was.