A/N: Hi all, and welcome back! I hope you're enjoying the story so far! As usual, I don't own any of the characters associated with Walt Disney Properties, merely a few originals sprinkled here and there.
Chapter Eleven: Friends
THE gargoyles, Victor, Hugo, and Laverne, lurked in the shadows, fearful of the light of the sun, and of being discovered by the young blonde lass that had now draped her arm over that of their young charge's, and was helping poor Quasi towards a spare chair, no doubt to tend to his wounds, the three stone figures feeling grateful, at least, that the Judge was not here to see this.
Laverne especially hated the Judge, loathed him, even. She hated those wicked grey eyes, flashing all the time rivaling that of a finely polished suit of armor, those strands of his gray but luscious hair, the vision of his fair skin, the ripples of his biceps beneath his flowing black robes that billowed with his movements.
A handsome, refined older gentleman, but she still hated him so very much. Because Judge Claude Frollo was a man who instilled fear into Quasimodo's heart, and moreover, the boy could do nothing but feel entrapped in a web of sadness.
The boy to Judge Frollo throughout the years quickly became a disappointment.
It was no secret amongst the three of them that Claude firmly believed he should have killed his brother's boy and carried the babe into the sea to drown him, let the waves wash away the screaming wretch when it had been left on Notre Dame's doorstep. Unfortunately, Quasimodo's father, Jehan Frollo himself, was dead himself.
And Judge Frollo was a many of many things, but a Kinslayer he was not. The gargoyles were broken out of their musings at the sound of the young blonde lass's voice, sweet and shy, quiet, timid even, as it reached their eardrums, causing their pointed ears to perk up at the noise.
"Here," she murmured in a low voice, her footsteps seeming to echo loudly as she helped poor Quasi hobble and limp towards his destination, being that of the wooden chair so she could help tend to his wounds.
Victor, Hugo, and Laverne, they could tell by the way the blonde girl walked that she did not particularly want anyone to know she was up here in the tower, but she wasn't necessarily hiding it, either.
Laverne frowned as the blonde lass carried underneath her arm not supporting Quasi as she guided him into his chair near his carving table, items that were used to treating his wounds, and Laverne let out a hiss.
No one but Sister Alice had ever treated his wounds before, much less another woman, so this was very, very new, for their bell ringer to allow this girl into his life.
The young blonde woman's head swiveled sharply upward, hearing the noise, and Laverne silently cursed herself for not being so careful. "Way to go, Laverne! Real smooth! There's no way the kid didn't hear that! We'll be spotted now for sure by her, you old crone!" whisper-shouted Hugo, not being cautious enough to mind his boisterous voice.
"Shut. Up, you fat miserable swine!" Laverne commanded, hissing the command through her fangs. The last vestiges of her patience tested, Laverne balled her tiny stone hand into a fist and promptly brought it down on top of the fat swine's head, not caring if she heard, though Laverne pulled Hugo and Victor back further into the dark shadows.
Madellaine de Barreau, that was her name, Laverne knew, furrowed her brows into a frown and pursed her lips into a thin. "I—is someone there? I—I know I heard you! If someone is out there, come out! I...I won't hurt you," she called out; suspicion and the beginnings of trepidation laced in her tone. The gargoyles drew in a sharp breath that pained them.
She waited. One minute. Two minutes. Three. Nothing but silence, though the three stone figures collectively emanated a tense and relieved breath as Madellaine slowly turned back around at the waist and pulled up a second chair, scooting it closer.
Quasi's gloved hand shot out from where he sat, barely conscious and still in a daze, making to still her movements, tightly holding onto her arm. "Th...there's no one up here but you and I, mademoiselle," he breathed, feeling a stab of panic at the thought of the young blonde woman discovering his companions hiding in the shadows. "Please. Don't."
Madellaine halted in her movements, becoming as still and unmoved as a deer caught in the sights of a loaded arrow. "Why not? I cannot just leave it unattended."
Laverne was surprised to hear the tinge of melancholia and desperation in the boy's voice, that musical, tenor-like tone she had grown used to over the years, now how laced with antagonized hurt he sounded.
The short, stout guardian was quick to decide she did not like it, and Laverne pursed her lips into a thin line and watched the girl's reaction, wanting to see what the young blonde would do to Quasi right now.
Victor, Hugo, and Laverne all watched and waited with bated breaths, hoping they did not have to hobble out of the shadows where they had taken refuge and reveal themselves to the young blonde woman so soon into her new acquaintance with Quasi. Though if she so much as laid a hand against the man in anger or fear, they would.
They could not—would not—let any more harm befall him today than it already had.
"Y-you do not n—need to," Quasi answered in a flustered manner, squeezing his eyes shut. "I—I will be just fine on my own. What you are doing isn't necessary."
"I have to," Madellaine answered in a clipped and curt tone, leaving him no room to argue with her. "Now please. Do not move another inch. You're hurt. Let me tend your wounds. The quicker you cooperate with me, the faster it will be over, Quasi."
His face shattered at the use of his name upon her tongue and he looked away from her.
But again, the young blonde, from what the gargoyles could see, was not having it at all, as they spied on the pair of them in the shadows, watching and listening. Madellaine raised her hand and cupped his chin in her grasp and pulled her close to him and held his gaze captive there, rising slightly from her chair, her other hand tugging on his tunic slightly, pulling it down to get a good long look at the rope burns.
He tensed, though something with Quasi's gaze seemed to crumble and slowly give way, and with a tense exhale, he allowed the young blonde hearth keep of Judge Frollo's to look at his wand, leaning back in his chair and turning his head to the left so as to not obstruct Madellaine's sight. He flinched as her gaze lingered on his scars.
Too old to be the work of the Judge's soldiers, she knew.
"Who did this to you?" Madellaine hissed in an angered voice, low and dangerous, tracing one of his scars with the pads of her fingertips, eliciting a shudder from the redhaired young bell ringer.
Quasimodo did not answer her. He did not want to. He couldn't. Master Frollo, is what he wanted to say, though as he felt his cracked and slightly bleeding lips part open to trying to draw forth the strength to answer, he couldn't.
It felt like there was a gag on his tongue. He flinched away from the woman's delicate touch.
Quasi heard her sigh in disappointment. No matter. She had all the time in the world to question her new friend. She was nothing if not resilient and she was quite well known for her patience.
"Why are you doing this?" Quasi asked, unable to bear the suspense any longer, and he was reluctant to look his new acquaintance he had met in the town square outside in the eyes, though something about the young woman's icy-blue eyes held him entranced and unable to tear his gaze from hers, though he longed to pull away, but can't. and what was even more strange, he thought, was that he found he didn't want it.
Madellaine did not immediately answer Notre Dame's bell ringer, pursing her lips into a thin, rigid line, focusing on wringing out the damp cloth in the wooden basin of hot water set on the edge of the man's carving table, ringing it out and bringing the cloth to rest against his rope burns that wound around the column of his strong throat.
She felt the man shirk away and let out a tiny hiss of pain, and she flinched, but only because he did so the moment Madellaine set a gentle hand upon his shoulder and gave it a slight but reassuring squeeze, or so she hoped.
She didn't want to frighten him. Madellaine could tell by the way he held himself, that he still remained cautious of her.
Instead, Madellaine focused her attention on tending to the poor man's skin, broken, beaten, and scarred, it brought a fresh wave of tears to her eyes, thinking that even with the dozens, perhaps hundreds of scars that lay hidden beneath his thick green woolen tunic and long-sleeved linen undershirt, he seemed beautiful to her, in a way.
A survivor. A fighter. Just like she was. An outcast discarded by the world. They would be fringe friends by default because no one else here in Paris would have them.
"Because you need help, Quasimodo," Madellaine answered softly in a low tone, almost too low for the gargoyles to make out, who had to strain their ears to hear her.
"What did she say?" Hugo demanded, almost forgetting to keep his voice low, though Victor promptly clamped a stone claw over the fat swine's mouth, much to his chagrin, when the young blonde caught wind that someone else in the tower was here.
"Shh!" whispered Victor, narrowing his eyes and glowering at the shorter gargoyle struggling in the refined stone statue's quite literal stony grip.
The young blonde's head whiplashed sharply upright and she almost bolted from the chair she was occupying, and only halted, faltering in her decision to pursue the strange, unfamiliar voice, her lips parted open in shock, and her wide, almond-shaped blue eyes fearful.
"Wh—what is it?" Laverne heard the bell ringer breathe, sounding apprehensive.
Madellaine de Barreau pursed her lips and knitted her brows in quandary, huffing in frustration and put her hands on her hips, though she brought a finger to her chin to tap it as she glanced around the man's desolate and empty loft of the north bell tower.
"I thought I heard…" Madellaine gave her head a sharp, curt shake to clear it, before allowing herself to sigh in an unrestrained fashion before turning back around. "N—never mind," she murmured, hearing herself start to stammer. "It's…stupid."
Her brows remained together in a frown as she gave Quasimodo a once-over, continuing to dab the damp cloth at his wounds, occasionally reaching up with her thumb and forefinger and plucking out bits of rotten food from his thick tuft of fiery ginger hair that sent a tremor of something unidentifiable, but not altogether unpleasant, down his spine.
Madellaine set the cloth aside and merely proceeded to look at Notre Dame's bell ringer with raised eyebrows.
"You asked me why I'm helping you. Because…you need help, Quasi," she sighed, sounding frustrated, though not with him, but with the very individuals that did this to him. "What does it matter why, my friend?" she challenged, and just the word friend sent a sudden spiraling warmth inexplicably throughout Quasi's wretched chest.
"Friend," he repeated the word numbly, blinking owlishly at the young blonde as he almost sanguinely lifted his head to regard his master's newest hearth keep in silence. "Are…are we friends now?" he asked, suddenly feeling dizzy and alarmed all of a sudden. He really needed a moment to himself, though he felt sure it would not come.
There weren't many things that Quasimodo would still want for himself. Not after today. He had been bruised, tortured, despised, tormented, mocked, mentally, and physically abused.
His dream to spend just one day out there amongst the simple-minded peasant folk of Paris had come to an abrupt end the moment that woman, the ebony-haired raven beauty had pulled him up onto the stage for all of Paris to see him.
As such, Quasi was a man who was broken, having no one left in this world who gave a damn about him except for Master Frollo and Alice. And perhaps now this girl. He couldn't stop a shudder that ran through his wretched spine at the thought of this woman, this fair-haired, pale beauty, wanting to be friends with the likes of him.
After the torment and humiliation at the hands of their master, he had caused her! Quasi squeezed his eyes tightly shut, bracing himself for the inevitable moment the first woman in his adult life other than Alice de Beaumont to show him an ounce of kindness to reject his friendship, for the girl to tell him to his face what she really thought of him.
An almost-made, a monster. There was no denying what he was. But to his surprise, he heard her sigh again, and it did not come. Instead, what he heard the young woman say next almost caused him to topple out of his chair in alarm and shock.
"Yes. We are, Quasimodo. Just because I have to…treat your wounds like this right now, doesn't diminish our friendship," she joked. "Yes, Quasi. I am your friend, monsieur. If…if you will have me. B—but only if you want." Came her soft, shy voice.
Startled, and at a loss for how to react to this unexpected development at the turn their conversation had taken, Quasi blinked at her as he heard the scraping sound of wood against wood reaching his somewhat damaged hearing.
Being the bell ringer of Notre Dame was simply an occupational hazard. Over ten years of ringing the proud, massive, iron bells of Notre Dame had caused him slowly but surely over time, to not hear as well as he could.
Before he could think of stopping himself, he felt the beginnings of a somewhat lopsided smile curve at the edges of his mouth, and to his relief, upon noticing it, the girl returned it with a beautiful, bright smile of her own.
Madellaine's smile held for a few moments, though her smile slid off her face as her gaze drifted downward to the wound at his collarbones, where a small cut trickled and oozed blood down his chest, staining his tunic. She let out a tiny gasp of surprise.
Quasi followed her gaze and grimaced. For a moment, in the young blonde's company, he had quite forgotten that he was injured, the more time in her presence leading to something brand-new entirely.
What he had dreaded the most was still upon him, and he flinched and tried to shirk away as Madellaine turned away from him for a moment, wringing out a fresh wag and soaking the damp cloth with wine from the wineskin, turning back around to face him with an apologetic look brimming in her bright blue eyes the color of a robin's egg.
"This is the part that's going to hurt, Quasi. I—I'm sorry for this, but it—it has to be treated. If we don't, it could get infected."
The bell ringer nodded hastily, tilting his head back slightly and focusing his gaze on the dozens of massive iron and brass bells over their heads, focusing on his breathing alone, deep through his mouth. Inhale, exhale, repeat, just like Alice had taught him.
Inhale. He let Madellaine gently lower his tunic, slowly exposing more of his neck than he was comfortable with. Exhale. It will be all over in a moment. Breathe.
He now felt a damp sensation, and he recognized she had taken the second cloth with just the water and was trying to sponge off more of the bits of food before taking the first that was absorbing the wine in order to treat it and clear away the rot of infection.
Quasi tightly closed his eyes, grinding his molars in anticipation as he sensed the young blonde hearth keep's movements, moving higher, her hand hovering over his collarbone, her other arm clutching onto his right arm to prevent him thrashing about.
"You feel ready?" she urged, unable to keep the note of trepidation out of her tone. He nodded, offering up no verbal retort, and there was no time to think as, without any warning that it was coming on her part, Madellaine set the wine-soaked cloth on the stinging cut near his throat in one swift movement, flinching as he threw back his head and let out a cry.
What was that he had thought he'd known pain at Master's hand? Far from it. Though he felt like he was being torn apart as the wine stung. The pain wasn't sharp like needlepoint or a knife. It burned better than boiling water.
Everything felt scolded, and move or not, he was in more pain than Quasi could have ever imagined was even possible. He didn't want to scream and frighten his new friend away for good, so he chose the next best alternative and bit down on his bottom lip, tasting the blood.
Everything hurt, burning in unpleasant ways, and tears pricked and stung at the corners of his eyes, her nails digging into the material of the brown fingerless leather gloves he wore on his hands to protect his hands from the bells' ropes and the cold.
"Breathe, my friend. Just breathe. It's almost over. I'm almost done, Quasi."
Madellaine's shy voice startled Quasi, and he felt his eyes snap out, immediately stumbling upon the youthful blonde's pale gaze. The bell ringer quickly realized just how well the young woman's advice applied to his current predicament, as for a moment, it would appear that he really had forgotten how to breathe, had forgotten his rhythmic pattern, and had ceased his movements. He felt himself nod rather frantically.
To distract himself, thinking he had no idea how the burning sensation lasted, he slowly lowered his head and stole a little sideways glance at the girl out of his good eye.
Damnation, he thought through gritted teeth. She really was quite pretty. Not as tall and statuesque as that dancer, the lovely La Esmeralda had been, but petite, tiny. A good head or two shorter than him, at best, and when Madellaine drew her hand and the cloth away, giving a curt little nod of satisfaction in response, he felt something slowly building within his chest at the sudden loss of skin-to-skin contact.
For a moment, he felt…angry, and he almost growled resisting the urge to restrain himself, though he did his best to remain unmoved from his chair until she was done.
"How is it that you know medicines, M—Madellaine?" he asked, letting out a hiss as he felt her hand come to grip onto his arm, and he glanced down and stared at it. He cursed himself for stammering on her name.
He never stuttered like this, only when around Master Frollo, so why now? He was more than capable of coherent speech around the gargoyles, his bells, the saints, and especially the saint in the window.
She startled, wide-eyed and unblinking as she, somewhat unsteadily, rose to her feet, an arm outstretched to help him up, and he let out a shuddering breath as she reached up a hand to pick one final piece of rotten tomato out of his hair, ruffling it slightly in order to do so, and Quasi felt a chill travel down his spine that had nothing to do with the bitter Parisian January breeze that also wafted through his loft at this time.
"My…father taught my sister and I when she and I were younger, before his death," Madellaine murmured, ducking her head and turning away from him, causing a stab of panic to prick at his wretched heartstrings, and again, he cursed himself, wondering how he could have been so careless as to ask such an intrusive and personal question of her.
"I—I'm sorry," Quasi murmured, turning away the very moment he witnessed the young blonde turn towards him with an unreadable expression in those blue eyes of hers, though if he wasn't mistaken, he could see the traces of sadness that lurked, brimming as unshed, glistening moisture, these cursed tears that threatened to escape.
Madellaine blinked at him, and she made a move as though to grab onto his shoulder as she set down the basin of medical supplies back on the table, though something within her caused her to falter in the decision, but must have thought better of it, for she stopped, let out a tired sigh, and raked her fingers through her short blonde hair.
"Y—you could not have known, monsieur," she murmured. "It…happened a long time ago," Madellaine whispered, though Quasi was no fool. He heard the crack in her voice, the way she inclined her heard, heard her sniff once or twice, letting out a cry.
Muted though it was, Quasi heard, despite his less-than-stellar hearing, and it felt as though a piece of his heart shattered, though, by the time the young blonde managed to compose herself enough to the point where she could lift her head and meet his gaze, she was smiling at him kindly that caused his heart to pound against his broad chest.
Her beauty was, quite something, and frankly, too much for Notre Dame's bell ringer to process, as he noticed Madellaine close off the gap of space, close enough that her nose was almost touching his, and he stiffened involuntarily at the sudden closeness.
The way that he was looking at her, the torment and pity in her blue eyes, the likes of which he was all too familiar with, for Quasi saw it every time he met his own reflection staring back at him in a shard of mirror. It was the last thing he expected to see in those sapphire eyes of Master Frollo's new hearth keep.
"There. Good as new. Thank you for allowing me to help treat your wounds. You're going to be fine, my friend," Madellaine murmured lowly in a voice meant to convey reassurance, though all it really succeeded in doing was causing his heart to beat even louder in his chest.
Madellaine latched onto his shoulder and gave it a gentle, reassuring squeeze, and Quasi knew this all had to be some kind of a dream. A cruel, horrible nightmare. One so blissful that any moment, he would wake from and be forced to ring for Lauds to signal the starting of a new day, and this celestial-like, fair creature would be just gone.
Quasi drew in a sharp breath of frigid air as the petite little blonde sank into a low curtsy, seemingly at a loss for words, and turned away on the heel of her brown boots.
Moved with emotion, he managed in a hoarse whisper, "Wait! A—a moment, mademoiselle," Quasi pleaded, trying to think of something—anything—to keep this creature by his side for a moment longer. To prove to him that he was not dreaming.
A pause in her response this time was exactly what Quasi had hoped for, for the young blonde stopped at the edge of the ladder's top rung that would take her to the lower level of the mezzanine and back down the stone stairwell to the main sanctuary.
"Yes?" When she spoke, her voice was soft, and faint. Barely above a whisper, and if Quasimodo hadn't already been hanging onto her every word, he'd have missed it.
Madellaine slowly shifted at the waist, craning over her shoulder to regard the elusive bell ringer in silence, twisting her knuckles in between her fingers, waiting for him to speak.
She herself was not aware of it as she heard herself exhale slowly, to meet that haunted expression she had seen in the man's brilliant azure orbs when she had run into him, almost quite literally, in the town square earlier, and she did not like this look.
It did not suit him. He really did look better when he smiled, she thought.
It's all right, was what Madellaine wanted to tell him, as he struggled, stammering to find his words. I know who you are, who our Master is. I won't let anybody else hurt you.
But even she couldn't seem to get her own words out, and she felt her frustration begin to well in her chest, and Madellaine resisted the urge to stomp her foot in agitation. Though at last, the bell ringer seemed to find his voice.
"Will I…see you again?" he asked, a note of hope lingering in his voice that almost made her smile.
Madellaine heard the lilt in the gentle man's tone, hearing the colorful orchestra of his voice, and paired with the small, slightly crooked smile, she could not refuse him.
"Yes." Her answer left her lips without any semblance of hesitation, and she inclined her head, and she shot him a kind white smile, which he quickly returned, and her first initial thought of the lonesome man's smile was that it was bright, golden.
Though by the way his brows furrowed in a slightly worried frown, Madellaine could tell Notre Dame's bell ringer was not at all assuaged by her words and would need more convincing.
Almost as if on cue, she heard the boisterous voice of Captain Phoebus emanating from the lower level of the sanctuary, and she inwardly groaned.
Time had flown so quickly up here, that she had quite forgotten to explain to her new friend that Captain Phoebus was meant to escort her back to the Palace of Justice before nightfall so that she could serve Master Frollo his dinner, or else she would be in grave trouble, and she was already walking a thin line with the judge as it happened.
"May I come back tomorrow? I promise this time not to bring any wine," Madellaine asked, joking with him weakly, and gesturing towards the bowl of medicinal supplies tucked underneath her arm that she intended to give back to Sister Alice before allowing Captain Phoebus to escort her back home, pausing to poke her head over the top rung of the ladder, nervously biting down on her bottom lip in anticipation.
He did not answer her, merely proceeded to nod. His smile was that of a pleasant sunset this time, his lips curling into a soft, gentle grin that instantly sent a flood of fiery heat to her cheeks and caused her heart to drop into her stomach and sent it churning.
As she slid down the rungs of the ladder and headed at a leisurely pace towards the door that she knew would take her back down to the main sanctuary of the cathedral, Madellaine heard the man's magnificent voice call out to her once more, no longer timid and afraid of her, nor laced with pain as it had a few moments ago from his wound. But rather, this time, more confident, surer of himself, and even... hopeful.
"Goodnight, Madellaine."
She was still smiling as she descended the stairwell, unable to stop thinking about the man's eyes. Madellaine de Barreau was a young Parisian woman who possessed the rare gift of being able to see past a person's exterior and into the psyche and worlds of those around her, something that her father, Lucien Barreau, had instilled in her and her older sister, Maria, at a young age.
It was this that stumped Quasimodo and left him puzzled for the next hour as time dragged on in his desolate and cold, dark tower, already instantly missing the warmth and brightness his new friend emitted when she had been up here.
The young blonde hearth keep of Judge Claude Frollo had achieved something that nobody else in all of Paris ever had. She had befriended the 'monstrous' bell ringer of Notre Dame de Paris.
And her new friendship with the man was about to have dire consequences, beyond anything Madellaine could have ever imagined.