Hello everyone! I have returned once more! Now this, my friends, is the second to the last chapter. That's right, the end has arrived. After the next update, The Light Within Us will be complete. Now I know it's been a long road and we love Quasi and Sophia and Pascal and Clare, and Gwen and even Lea, yes I have a special fondness for our overbearing mother, but I'm afraid it's getting time to say good bye. Now, there will be a curtain call for all of our characters, Quasi, Sophia, Phoebus, Esmeralda, Lea, Pascal, Clare, Gwen, ect.

HOWEVER! My friends, every single one of my wonderful and diligent reviews will also have a curtain call all of their own! That's right! Every single one of you will be mentioned. You all have been wonderful and loving and patient and kind and have given me so much. Now I wish to extend that same to you. For without many of you, this story would not exist. Many of you wanted a sequel to Heaven's Light Shines Upon You and this is the result. I can only hope I have done the story justice.

Now, enough of my rambling, I'm sure you are all anxious to get on with the show. READ ON!

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Forgiveness and Redemption

Third Person

Sophia's POV

"Mother, wait -" The young redhead started, suddenly wide-eyed and confused. She shifted slightly in Quasi's arms (which caused much discomfort to the wound in her side), suddenly terrified.

Sophia felt his arms tremble as he stumbled backwards in the attempt to escape her mother's fury. She did not blame him in the slightest. Madame Chevalier stalked towards them with a look of fury on her gaunt-like features, yet underneath all the fury Sophia thought she caught a glimpse of something else. Something she had never before seen in her mother's eyes. Vulnerability. Never before had Madame Chevalier allowed herself to appear anything else but strong, cool, and collective. Never before had she lowered her walls to such a degree of bare, raw emotion. Now, the once strong, composed woman Sophia had known ever since she was a young child, was gone. Lea Chevalier was indeed, at her very wits end.

Yet, if Sophia's mother was aware of this, she did not know or recognize it. Instead, she paid her daughter's words little to no mind, acting rather as if she had not heard her speak at all. Lea resumed her tirade of fury and rage, her voice rose steadier in volume with each word that every Parisian in the crowd (who had been previously mumbling amongst themselves in whispered tones) almost instantly fell silent to watch the exchange.

"Madame," Phoebus intervened, taking a small step forward and extending a placating hand to her, his other still wrapped tightly around Frollo's iron bonds. "Please, now is not -"

"And you!" Madame Chevalier growled accusingly, turning her fury on the golden-haired man and glaring daggers. "How dare you stand there and do nothing! How dare you let this . . this -!" Here she jabbed a slightly wrinkled finger in Quasi's direction. She was so furious and distraught that she could not find an name adequate enough to call him. Quickly realizing Phoebus was of no help to her, Madame Chevalier returned her attention to the hunchback and resumed shouting. "How dare you touch her! How dare you lay a hand against my daughter!"

"Mother!" Sophia admonished angrily, both shocked and enraged that her mother could even consider Quasi responsible for her physical maladies.

Anger lit up inside her like a torch. She struggled to get down, but Quasi, who had gone as stiff as one of the stone statues carved into the face of the grand cathedral, suddenly came to life and held her tighter in the effort to keep her still. She felt her side twitch again in distress as she struggled, but ignored the flare of pain. She was far too concerned with her mother's hostile behavior and the fear that she would try to hurt Quasi. But he held her fast, his arms becoming bars that she could not break. After a moment or two of trying to free herself, and Quasi's soft but firm whispering for her to lie still, Sophia fell back against his chest defeated. Exhaustion seemed to catch up with her and her side flared angrily. She was making herself worse.

"Lea!" A voice called from amongst the crowd, but Sophia, along with everyone else, did not seem to hear. And yet, the voice sounded vaguely familiar to her.

"Please Madame -" Phoebus again tried to place himself between her and Quasi, but all this accomplished was Madame Chevalier resorting to shouting around the former Captain's shoulder and waving a small fist.

As her mother voice several new threats and insults, the young redhead immediately switched her attention to Quasi. She angled her face, her eyes searching for those of the one held her. But Quasi had ducked his head low and turned his face in the opposite direction so to escape the piercing, hawk eyes of Madame Chevalier. His lock of coarse red hair had once again fallen from behind his ear, creating that all too familiar protective curtain. A tiny gleam of pale blue could be seen peeking out from between the bright strands and even though the orb was mostly obstructed, Sophia could still see the ever growing fear mounting within. He looked to be on the verge of fleeing the scene entirely! A rage of her own rose within her and if she could not move from Quasi's arms, well, she would just have to make due as is.

"How could you even -!" Sophia added her own voice to the shouting, directing her displeasure at her mother while also trying to wave off Quasi's renewed attempts to make her lie quiet and still. "Don't you dare start -!"

But the young redhead was quickly overcome by her mother, who only raised her voice even higher so as to drown out the reasoning of her daughter. The twitch in Sophia's side was steadily growing, but again, Sophia ignored it, no longer concerned with how ill she was beginning to feel.

"I should have known - brutal, that is what you are - not a tame bone in you is there, boy?!" Her mother spat hatefully at Quasi, her face contorting in rage.

Then Madame Chevalier made a sudden, sharp move forward, slipping between Phoebus and Esmeralda (who, before, had thought it better not to involve herself for fear that a gypsy's presence would worsen the situation, but shot forward instantly when she saw the woman move), one of her pale thin hands shot out and made to strike Quasimodo's disfigured face.

"LEA STOP THIS!"

Without warning, a blur of white and brown sprung from the sea of Parisians, darted up the stone steps of Notre Dame, and latched itself around the rage-filled woman, preventing her from reaching her intended target. Startled, Phoebus and Esmeralda jumped backwards just as the blur came inches away from colliding with the both of them. Sophia blinked. It was the baker, Pascal. Her adoptive father. And there, standing at the bottom of the stone steps, was a rather tall, thin woman, her eyes stretched wide with fear and apprehension. It was his wife, Clare.

"Unhand me at once, Pascal!" Madame Chevalier screamed, struggling in the baker's arms.

Everyone watched in stunned silence as the older man tighten his hold around Madame Chevalier, pinning her arms to her sides, while also trying to draw her away (without causing too much harm) from Sophia and Quasi. But under no circumstances was Lea being the least bit cooperative. She thrashed and jerked this way and that, trying to break the baker's hold so as to relaunch her attack on the one who held her daughter.

"Think about what you are doing Lea-!"

"Look at him -! That is my daugh-!"

By now, what hair was left in Madame Chevalier's previously neat bun had come completely undone. Thick locks of light, brown hair fell into the woman's gaunt features and droplets of perspiration slid down her temples, causing the locks to cling to her pale face. Her dark brown eyes glinted dangerously through the strands, thus giving her the appearance of someone completely gone mad.

"And that is Sophia he's holding!" Pascal tried to reason, adjusting one of his arms so as to keep his hold of the woman. "You could ha-"

"Don't you dare berate me!" Madame Chevalier spat venomously, digging her nails deep into his bare forearms in the attempt to free herself.

The young redhead blinked, shocked as the two continued to struggle with the other. Never before had she seen either of them in such states. Her mother, never lost control and, as far as she was aware, Pascal had never physically restrained a woman in such a manner. He wasn't hurting her, no she was doing that herself, but he merely had his arms wrapped tightly around her from behind so her arms were pinned to her sides. If anyone was being hurt, it was Pascal. Her mother's nails had dug so deeply into the flesh of his arms, they were beginning to seep crimson.

"Mother, stop! Stop!" Sophia screamed desperately, tears falling down her cheeks as she watched her family, both adoptive and true, continued to struggle. "Can you not see you are hurting him?! STOP IT!"

"That is quite enough!"

All heads turned to the forgotten figure at the bottom of the steps who was now making her way up to them, her skirts swishing briskly as she climbed.

"Clare." It escaped the young redhead as a whispered breath.

The baker's wife was taller than her husband, and just two years younger, her white blonde hair cascaded freely over her thin shoulders and stopped just passed her shoulder blades. As she approached, Sophia could see the woman's golden amber eyes fall briefly on Quasi's deformed face. She thought she saw a small flicker of fear waver in the woman's orbs but before she could be certain, Clare turned her head away.

"If you have quite finished with making a spectacle of yourself Lea, I suggest you cease using my husband as a knife sharpener." The older woman said tersely, her eyes narrowing sharply at the sight of Pascal's bloodied forearms.

Madame Chevalier paused in her struggling, looking from Clare to Pascal, then to Phoebus and Esmeralda before her eyes finally fell upon her own daughter. Sophia's sky blue eyes meet her mother's dark brown ones and a cold shame began to worm its way through her, clawing icily at her stomach as she saw the worry, deep concern, and even fear buried deep underneath all the fury and rage. The young redhead had worried her mother on a whole different level, well passed what she should have ever have done. This, she felt, would not end well. Not well at all.

"Perhaps," Pascal began slowly, looking between the two Chevalier women, while still retaining his hold on Madame Chevalier for fear if he released her she would resume her attack on Quasi. "We should discuss this elsewhere."

"A fine idea!" Piped Phoebus, who was nervously looking between Quasi and Sophia; Pascal, Clare, and Lea. "Any suggestions?"

"I believe my home is closest." Pascal said, unwinding his arms from the widow while also giving her a pointed look, then he turned and addressed the small group as a whole. "Follow me."

"Right." Phoebus nodded and held out an arm for Clare and Madame Chevalier to pass first, Pascal flanking Lea's other side just in case.

Esmeralda and Quasi, Sophia held firmly in his arms, who was still looking rather nervous and quite frazzled, moved to follow but the ex-Captain held them back.

"There is something I must do before I can join you." Phoebus conveyed, looking rather apologetic. "I will not be long, I promise."

He tugged Frollo, who had been remarkably silent throughout the whole exchange, closer and gave the ex-minister a withering look.

"The Palace of Justice is quite familiar to you, I believe." The golden-haired man began, suddenly taking on a rather frosty tone of voice. "I'm sure you'll feel right at home there."

Phoebus coaxed (and none too gently) the elderly man forward and began the decent to the square below. As Sophia looked on, something tugged at the back of her mind and a strange twinge which had nothing to do with her injuries pulled at her heart. Frollo, without his scarlet tailed hat, without his lustrous black cape, grey hair ruffled, face sporting a rather dark bruise upon one of his hollow cheeks, robes slightly burned and torn, looked, for the lack of a better word, utterly defeated. His grey eyes no longer held the unforgiving steel they once did and he looked remarkably frail underneath the large billowy robes that now seemed to be practically falling off his thin frame. The ex-minister never before seemed so small.

And, to Sophia's own surprise, she found, that deep down, she pitied him. All he had ever accomplished in his time as Minister of Justice was the mastering of fear and manipulation. Holding the law in an iron tight fist and pursuing it severely with the lack of mercy or empathy. Perhaps Frollo himself had never known what it is to be loved wholly and unconditionally. Perhaps his own past was just as sad and dark as Quasi's and that was why he could never fully embrace it. He did not know how. Could Frollo himself, too, be a victim in the search for real love and belonging?

Suddenly, the young redhead felt compelled to do something for the man. Anything at all. Hate had to stop with someone, least it consume all those touched by it.

"Wait."

Third Person

Quasi's POV

He halted in his steps, taken aback by Sophia's sudden request to linger. And he was not the only one. Her family, from the foot of the steps, too stopped and turned abruptly on the spot, expressions ranging from puzzled to incredulous clearly worn upon their faces. Even Phoebus, his hold still tight upon the ex-minister's bonds, with Esmeralda at his side, halted and turned around, confusion also on his features. What puzzled Quasi further was, Sophia did not look directly at him when she voiced her request to stay. Her gaze was, instead, fixed upon Claude Frollo! However, before Quasi could inquire as to the reason why, the young woman asked of him a request of a different sort; one he most certainly was not expecting. Nor one he was completely willing to yield to.

"Quasi, please put me down." This time Sophia did turn to look at him, her sky blue eyes solemn and serious. There was something else behind them, but what he could not place.

He hesitated, reluctant to release her from the safety of his arms for fear she would somehow vanish. That she would cease to exist and he would wake to find that all was but dream and he was alone. He also feared that the woman, who he now understood to be Sophia's mother, who had been, and still was, ready to rip the young redhead from him despite her thin frame. He did not want to be anywhere near the woman, nor did he want to lose physical contact with the young woman whom he held. He felt ashamed to admit that Sophia, even in her present state, made him feel safe. Her close presence seemed to expel a kind of unseen protection and, as long as she was not far from him, he had nothing to fear.

"I-I . . ." Quasi trailed off, sparing a quick, uneasy glance at Frollo, who was now looking at Sophia with a rather blank expression.

He was the last person Quasi wanted Sophia even remotely close to right now. Especially after all that the man had inflicted upon her. Yet, when he turned back to the young woman, her face was set in soft determination and her eyes held a sort of pleading. Quasi felt his heart tighten and constrict for several moments, unwilling to give in for fear that Frollo would attempt to harm her again. His mind could not help but flit through all the rather unlikely possibilities that could happen if he relinquished his hold upon her. Yet, never before had he been able to deny her what was in his ability to give.

"Very well." He sighed heavily, reluctance thick in his bell-like tones, which was so quiet, none but Sophia could have heard him.

With the utmost care and gentleness, he lowered the redhead slowly to her feet, not removing his support until she was fully upright and her balance restored. Even so, Quasi could tell her equilibrium had not fully returned. This was proven when she took a careful step forward, wavered on the spot for a moment, then pitched to the side. Quasi's arms shot out so fast that he caught the young woman before she was even halfway falling. No longer trusting her to walk on her own, he swung her up into his arms again and carried her down the steps, ignoring her as she quietly voiced her protests on the matter. He stopped approximately three feet in front on the bound minister and, after giving the man a rather distrusting look, once again set Sophia carefully on her feet. However this time he kept his hands firmly on her shoulders, thus steadying her and preventing her from falling over again.

He watched as Sophia and Frollo simply stared at each other, neither making a move towards the other, yet neither backing away. The ex-minister lowered his head slightly and looked at her with a rather indifferent, unreadable expression. As if he did not wish to truly show what it was he was feeling, if it was anything at all. Sophia too kept her own expression neutral, but her's was less of putting her emotions completely away and more of trying to keep them under control.

"Who are you Frollo?" She finally asked, her voice soft and barely audible. "Is this the man God intended you to be?"

Whatever Frollo was expecting, this clearly was not it. Yet, he retained still his emotionless expression though, his eyebrows furrowed slightly in puzzlement. Quasi, however, could have sworn something flashed in the ex-minister's eyes. It was brief, for in the next moment there was not a trace of whatever it was in the man's gray orbs. Frollo did not answer.

"I do not believe this was the path He intended for you." Sophia continued, her voice still soft and quiet. Her eyes reflected a kind of sadness that comes when looking upon something that no longer has any hope left for itself. "Yet, it is the path you chose to follow. I cannot help you, though I admit, a part of me does not want to."

She took a rather shaky breath and ducked her head low to hide whatever it was that was showing through. Quasi gently rubbed her shoulders, trying to relay some kind of comfort to her. She was not alone. He wanted to draw her away, she did not have to put herself through this. She did not have to confront the former minister. And yet, it seemed to Quasi that Sophia, in her own way, was looking for a kind of closer. An end to a very long nightmare.

The young redhead raised her head and looked the man in the eyes, a new kind of strength in them. "Yet, I know you do. But, whatever help I can give you would not be enough, nor I think, could ever be enough," Another pause. "I-I do not forgive you. Perhaps, in time, I will. But now," She faltered and Quasi could feel her shoulders begin to shake. "Now all I want is for this to end. And you, Frollo, what is it that you want?"

Again, Frollo did not answer. He just looked at her with the same blank expression, and yet, something flickered in the old man's eyes. Something that had nothing to do with the cold, unfeeling steel that usually shone there.

"There is nothing I can do for you." Now Sophia's soft voice was beginning to shake and Quasi could tell she was fighting back tears. "If it was in my power to do so, I'm not sure I would. I truly don't know." She bowed her head once more, but this time she lifted her hands and pulled something over her head. It was a simple, silver medallion on a rather thin chain, also of silver. There was some sort of image engraved upon it but it was too far away for Quasi's eyes to discern. "But, I can give you this."

She held it out for Frollo to receive. "It's not much, if anything really."

For a moment, the chain swung slowly back and forth between them. Sophia made no move to take it back and yet, Frollo made no move to accept it either. Several, long, drawn out moments passed while Quasi, Phoebus, Esmeralda, and Sophia's family stared at the two, their gazes flitting back and forth between them. Watching. Waiting. Anticipation and apprehension hung in the air, like a sword waiting to fall. And then, the unthinkable happened.

Claude Frollo, the former Minister of Justice, persecutor of hundreds of gypsies and murderer of several innocents, slowly closed his now defeated, steel gray eyes, and bowed his head low.

Phoebus' eyebrows shot so high on his brow that they nearly disappeared into his golden hair. Esmeralda blinked owlishly at the old man, her emerald eyes stretched so wide that they rather resembled dinner plates. Madame Chevalier simply gaped and both Clare and Pascal wore expressions of complete surprise and utter disbelief. Quasi's own reaction was one of severe shock and bewilderment. He blinked rapidly for a moment or two then shook his head slightly as if to clear the sight from his eyes. Of all the things he expected of his former master this was not one of them.

Sophia, who was certainly surprised in her own right, on the other hand, took this with slightly more tact and composure. She took a deep breath, then slowly drew nearer to the ex-minister, slipping out of Quasi's support entirely, before placing the medallion over his head and letting it fall against the older man's chest. Frollo raised his head and merely looked at her, his expression unreadable once more. And yet, something had changed. For deep in Frollo's steel gray eyes, something flickered in the light of the sun. It looked like . . . vulnerability? Fear?

Before Quasi could pinpoint the emotion completely, the older man closed his eyes in a rather tired way and for the first time since his capture, he spoke. "Lead on, Captain."

Frollo's voice was so small and so quiet, Quasi barely heard him. Phoebus, gathering his composer, and shaking his head to bring himself back to reality, straighten himself to his full height, offered Quasi, Sophia, and Esmeralda (along with Sophia's family) a brisk dip of his head, and, this time much more gently, lead Frollo away through the crowd in the direction of the Palace of Justice. Frollo's tyrannical rein over Paris, France had finally come to an end.

As Quasi watched the man he had once, early on in his years, called father being lead away, he felt a sense of loss. Frollo, for the better part of his life, had been the only family he had ever known. He had been a father, a caretaker, a teacher, a source of comfort and truth. Yet, seeing the man he truly was, was painful. To come to know that all his life he had been lied to, deceived and manipulated by the one person he felt he could place his most absolute trust in . . . it hurt. It hurt to know that Frollo had, if ever, no love for Quasi in the slightest. Or if he did, that love withered and crumbled long ago. Quasi could not help but wonder, what family did he possess now? What comfort was there in knowing that the sole being who raised you, was to no longer be apart of his life?

Despite Frollo's actions, terrible and horrible and cruel as they were, Quasi wished there had been a way to turn back time to a place where Frollo had loved him. Truly loved him. He wanted to be someone's pride. Someone's joy. He wanted to be someone's son. And now, who's son was he? Clearly not Frollo's.

A small pale hand suddenly fell upon his arm, gentle and soft, and when he turned to look, Sophia was by his side. A sad sort of smile tugged at her lips and her brilliant, sky blue eyes glittered faintly with unshed tears. Without a word, she slipped her oh so tiny hand into his great, large one and intertwined her fingers with his, giving them a small, gentle squeeze. Then she moved as close as her wounded side would allow and leaned against his shoulder where her head came to rest.

"You are not alone anymore, Quasi." Her soothing voice was barely above a whisper. "No matter what happens, you will never be alone."

Tears instantly sprung to his eyes. He looked at her for what felt like a very long time, unable to speak. She had been with him almost as long as Frollo had been. For ten years he had known her. For ten years loneliness had become almost nonexistent. She was his friend. His very first friend. She had never left him if she could help it. When he needed someone, for whatever reason, she had always been there. How was it was this person, this wonderful, beautiful person, existed? What had he ever done to deserve such a companion? Frollo, the one he called father, the one Quasi believed would always be there for him, was gone. Yet, Sophia remained. Here she stood, by his side, just as she always been.

As long as she remained, standing here with him, Quasi knew he would never feel the cool touch of loneliness again.