Winter had arrived in Paris. And upon it's breath, it carried flakes and flurries of snow floating down from the heavens and across the city. The sky had grown dark and only the street lamps were aglow. Swift and steadily moving through the darkness was Esmeralda. Wrapped up in a violet cloak, she wandered down the cobble stone and towards the square. And before her stood Notre Dame. For many, it was a sight of splendour. Of safety and sanctuary. But a smile did not grace her lips, nor did fondness shimmer in her eyes. The Cathedral was unusually silent at an hour when normally it would be shaking with sound. This concerned her greatly. It was the reason for why she was here.
High up in the dark tower, the bell ringer of Notre Dame was asleep. The upper half of him was slumped over on the edge of a table. One hand sprawled out upon it, the other elbow propped underneath him. Every so often, he would twitch and mumble incoherent words. If one was skilled at listening, they would have detected a few words here and there, but nothing more. It wasn't at all uncommon for one to move or speak while dreaming. However, Quasimodo was not dreaming.
He was experiencing a vivid nightmare. One which he had already lived through once before.
His heart was pounding in his ears. The fiery smoke was billowing up towards him; the heat pierced his skin like knives.
He didn't dare look down, lest he become afraid and plunge down into the fiery abyss below. His strength was failing him. His body was getting weaker. He couldn't hold on much longer. He dared to look up upon the balcony and saw his master standing above him, a sword's hilt held firmly in his hands…his pupils burning with Hellfire.
"And he shall smite the wicked and the plunge them into the fiery pit!"
Two hands placed themselves gently upon his back and Quasimodo sprung up to his feet, jolted awake and startled. His eyes still partially closed; his mind half asleep. "M-master! I didn't…I didn't mean to!" He yelled in a half-conscious and frightened state of being. Upon opening them further and turning around, the bell ringer could now see that the person in front of him was not the late Judge Frollo, but Esmeralda, his dearest friend. A long sigh escaped him. Fear had passed in waking reality and was now replaced with both relief and embarrassment.
Esmeralda smiled kindly upon him, just as she had the day they had met. "I didn't hear the bells tonight….I was worried about you. Are you…all right?" She asked calmly. A hand returned to his shoulder. Quasimodo gave a modest nod of his head. "I….I think so." In truth, he did not know for certain.
Unwrapping her cloak and sitting down beside him, Esmeralda turned to look at her friend in the eyes. He wasn't as shy around her as he used to be. She was so proud of him. And yet….she knew demons followed him to this place. And one demon in particular was haunting Quasimodo's mind tonight. She could see it plainly.
"I hope I didn't scare you…" Esmeralda said. The bell ringer could not help but smile faintly. He had once said those very same words to her.
"N…no. I was…..I was just startled." He paused for a moment, rubbing his hands together in a nervous state. The memories were still too close and the nightmares far too real.
Quasimodo wondered if they would ever stop.
"F…for a moment I thought…." Esmeralda looked at him with steady eyes, ready to hang onto every word he said. The bell ringer chose them wisely.
"I thought he was here…." He muttered quietly, still avoiding her gaze…as though ashamed. "…but it was just a dream…" Quasimodo said with a sigh in an attempt to reassure himself.
"Frollo?" Esmeralda asked quietly. She did not say it lightly. She suspected that the name would have brought upon a flood of memories, some fair but most bad….into her friend's mind. She suspected correctly. For now, all Quasimodo could do was nod his head solemnly.
The wind was picking up, stirring a drafty breeze into the tower. The bells above them swung every so slightly in the air. A voice within Esmeralda was crying out to be heard. And her intuition had never proved wrong before. She felt a tug on her heart and followed it with some degree of caution.
"Quasimodo? Do you…miss him?"
How could he answer this? She had not lived his life. She did not know Frollo as he had. From the comforts of an infant's blanket to the metallic vespers of the bells, the Minister had taught him every single thing he knew over twenty long years. There had been no lesson, no preaching and no lecture that had not come from him….until he met Esmeralda.
True, the man he had once called master was a heartlessly cruel man. And no one above or below this mortal realm could deny that. But even so….some naïve part of Quasimodo's mind still clung to a sense of obedience. Of loyalty to him, even beyond the grave.
A gentle soul can still see the best even in a wicked one. And for many years, he had been grateful to Frollo for many things. But now…. everything was different. He had only been told one truth. One lie, his entire existence. And now….he had to unlearn it. Unlearn everything he thought he knew about the man who raised him.
He felt no grief. Only deception. He had been deceived by the only person he could have ever called family.
If Quasimodo missed anything, it was not the man himself. Only the comfort and security of the lie which he had told him. Nothing more. He missed being ignorant of the truth. He missed the obliviousness of the reality which had been so carefully guarded from him for all of those years.
A part of him desperately wished he had never been told the truth about his mother. The times when he had believed his mother had heartlessly abandoned him is what he missed most of all. The truth was far more horrible than the lie had ever been.
"…. no. No, I don't." He said at last. The pause had felt like one hundred years for him. But for Esmeralda, he had made his answer quite quickly. This would have deluded her into believing that her friend had made up his mind months ago. But in truth, Quasimodo had not been so sure himself until she had asked.
"I….I just keep thinking….about the last thing he said to me." The bell ringer admitted. "About me….about…..my mother…"
Quasimodo let out a sigh of anguish and threw his hands up upon his face. "I wish I could remember her…." He whispered, holding back tears. Tears which had been festering in his heart for many weeks now.
Esmeralda frowned sympathetically. She reached over and gently took her friend's hands away from his face and held them in her own. She stared deeply into his eyes, emerald into blue.
"She would have been so proud of you, Quasimodo…." She spoke softly, a gently smile caressed her full lips. A smile that brightened even more when she saw one appear on her friend's face.
"You….you think she would?" He asked doubtful yet hopeful that Esmeralda was speaking nothing less than the truth.
"I know she would." The raven-haired woman answered with a nod. She then placed a kiss on the bell ringer's forehead before gently letting go of his hands. The two shared a pleasant, silent moment together.
"Well….I can't leave Paris waiting, now can I?" Quasimodo asked with a faint smile.
The bells for evening mass did not quite sound as beautiful as he had been able to make them before, but he was making admirable progress. In light of recent events, the bell ringer's spirit and vigor for his work had dampened slightly. However, he remained confident that one day…his passion would return.
The bells rung, the city asleep…it was now time for Notre Dame's bell ringer to take his rest for the night as well. Laying down upon a cot in a less drafty quarter of the tower, it didn't take long before the wind and snow soon lulled Quasimodo to a much-deserved rest.