Author's Note: So I was in the process of writing the next installment and was re-reading my story to refresh my memory. And I realized that I somehow managed to write TWO ENTIRE CHAPTERS describing Frollo's nerve-wracking audit and then managed not to upload them. -_- Even though I'd already uploaded the fight between Es and Clopin (which happened AFTER the audit…). So here you go, this picks up where the bath scene left off.
E: After the horrid rejection by her people, curling up under the bedsheets felt absolutely divine. The judge, understanding her exhaustion, allowed her to sleep and didn't insist on pawing at her.
She was sufficiently tired, both physically and emotionally, that she didn't object to spending the next day reading in bed. Poor Claude, he had to go to work.
The minister was his usual taciturn self that morning, but he mentioned something about disrespectful young people throwing their elders in the floor. E figured that he was still sore (he must be getting older than he cared to admit) and offered him a back massage to make up for it. That fixed his sour mood. E had a funny feeling that he was soon going to start complaining about all sorts of aches and pains just to get attention.
He left that morning and came back that night. "You're moving back to the Notre Dame belltower," he said. "We're travelling under the cover of darkness this time, instead of in broad daylight."
"No armor—good," Esmerelda commented. "But why Notre Dame? We just got busted and driven from there?"
"Exactly. Nobody would expect you to go back. You won't be found; nobody visits the belltower."
"I had better not be found," she huffed. "By anyone. Citizen or gypsy. They all hate me now."
"Don't worry. I can navigate this," he reassured her. "Untangling messy knots is my life's work." The pit of her stomach tingled when he kissed her forehead. Gently, he slipped an arm around her waist and led her to the stables.
The chilly night air nipped at Esmerelda's nose and ears as they rode, causing her to bury herself deeper against his robes. Summer was turning to fall, she would soon be obliged to wear a little more clothing when she danced—forget it. After this recent mess she'd gotten into, she didn't know if she'd ever dance in public again.
They made it to the belltower without incident. The next few days passed with nothing major to report. Quasi was beyond jubilant to see her, and nobody else seemed to be aware of her presence.
Frollo had even managed to sneak a visit. Ever the crafty one, Frollo started the evening by arguing with the archdeacon and convincing him to make an all-night vigil in the cathedral. The archdeacon had lived in the church basement for years, he slept in his own little room, but given that he was spending the night in the sanctuary anyway…
Well, well, what the archdeacon didn't know wouldn't hurt him. Besides, should he find out after the fact, the clergyman's reaction would likely prove very amusing.
But Esmerelda, not being a fool, did not expect the peace and quiet to last. Her suspicions were confirmed when she was startled by a thunk and turned around to find a grappling hook wrapped tightly around one of the wooden beams of the belltower.
E's heart leapt into her throat. Her first instinct was to reach for the nearest sharp object. Quasi had a knife laying out on his carving table; that would do. She pressed the sharp edge against the rope and had just begun to saw when the bleating of a goat made her freeze.
"Djali?" She'd recognize that sound anywhere!
"Yeah, she's a good little goat. She's been helping me track you." Two calloused brown hands grabbed the wooden platform on which Esmerelda stood, and Clopin swung himself up, Djali tied to his back.
"You," Esmerelda snarled. "You. Betrayed. Me." She swung around to face her older brother, knife in hand.
"Whoa whoa whoa. Sis. Drop the knife. I'm here to apologize." Clopin held up both hands in surrender.
"Good." Esmerelda's voice remained icy. "If you were here for any other reason, I'd tell Quasi here to throw you off the cathedral to your death."
"That isn't very nice of you, Miss E," Quasi said. Damn you, Quasi, can't you play along with me?
"Look, I'm really sorry about what happened. I felt horrible when I saw my people's reaction. You didn't deserve that, Esmerelda." Clopin's tone was awkward and ashamed.
"Then why did you betray me? I'm helping you, goddammit! I told you, I'm talking with the judge—"
"Esmerelda, we need your help, please don't misunderstand me, but…sleeping with the judge is not helping anything. I made my expectations very clear, and you promised to comply."
"I promised you that I would do something that was wrong!" Esmerelda bit back. "I can't kill the judge! He's a good man—"
"Esmerelda, for your own good, I insist that you let me take you out from under his heel." Clopin interrupted her with a very firm statement.
"You don't understand!" Esmerelda shrieked. "You don't even know him!"
"And how well do you know him?" Clopin retorted.
Unfortunately, Clopin had a point. She knew that her true love was holding things back from her—like the pentagram on his back.
"I know him better than you do!" Esmerelda retorted, but inside she quaked.
Clopin opened his mouth, but Quasi stepped between the fighting siblings. "Please be nice," Quasi said. "I do not like angry people."
Djali bleated. Quasi's face brightened. "You brought Miss E's goat!" he cried to Clopin, wrapping the gypsy leader in a bear hug.
"You are heavier than Miss E," Quasi remarked to Clopin. "I cannot carry you as easily."
"Everyone is heavier than Esmerelda," Clopin responded. He untied the goat, who happily let Quasi pick her up and carry her up the tower stairs.
Clopin exhaled softly. "Esmerelda, I'm sorry about all of this. You are my only family, and I want to make peace. This whole problem is my fault. I shouldn't have allowed you to do all of that sensual dancing. I should have known that something like this would eventually happen." Clopin knelt at her feet. "Esmerelda, please forgive me. I'll pull some strings and get them to welcome you back. Things are getting better at the Court of Miracles. My new job as an opium smuggler is really paying well, I'm making enough to support both of us, you can come home."
"Interesting that you should mention opium," came the calm baritone voice that Esmerelda recognized immediately. "And how nice of you to visit us, Mr. Trollifeau."
F: The judge had discretely been keeping an eye on Notre Dame, looking for any indication that anyone was trying to contact Esmerelda. To his great delight, he'd caught Clopin trying to reason with his younger sister. The judge had quietly crept up the belltower, determined to take full advantage of the opportunity he'd been given to see how Esmerelda spoke with her brother when she thought she was not being watched.
He was pleased to observe that the Trollifeau siblings were not on good terms with each other; he need not worry about Esmerelda's loyalty. True, she would no longer be able to spy for him, but that hardly meant that he had no reason for keeping the girl.
And Clopin had admitted, right under the judge's nose, to smuggling drugs! A smile spread across the minister's face. This day just kept getting better.
Neither gypsy was aware of the judge's presence until he spoke. Esmerelda was relatively nonplussed, but the horror smeared on Clopin's face was a delight to observe. "I'd—just—come here to turn those opium traders in, Your Horror."
Esmerelda stomped on her brother's foot. "Ow!—I mean Your Honor."
Claude almost laughed in amusement, but his years of practice at keeping a stiff face pulled him through.
"Please don't hurt me!" Clopin squeaked in a voice that was embarrassingly high-pitched.
Claude began slowly pacing in front of the Trollifeau siblings, thoroughly enjoying his moment of dominance.
"Give me one good reason not to hurt you." His cool, baritone voice made Clopin shiver.
The gypsy ringleader gazed pleadingly at his sister, but Esmerelda only sighed and shook her head. "You're caught, bub," she stated flatly. "This is what happens when you walk into the clutches of Judge Claude Frollo."
Claude allowed himself to smile at this. Esmerelda was as intelligent as he'd hoped.
"Exactly," the judge confirmed. Reaching into his robes, he unclipped a set of handcuffs from his belt and held them out at arm's length. "Esmerelda, handcuff him."
Her face emotionless, Esmerelda took the handcuffs and approached her brother. Clopin's eyes widened. "Esmerelda, I'm your brother!"
Esmerelda did not say anything in response.
"Hands behind your back," the judge ordered calmly.
Clopin glanced at his beautiful sister. "You heard the judge," she spoke flatly. "He does not like to be disobeyed; I can promise you that."
Clopin put his hands behind his back. The only noise heard in the belltower was the click of handcuffs on the gypsy leader's wrists. Such a beautiful, satisfying sound.
"Come," the judge barked, grabbing Clopin roughly by the shoulder. They were almost to the door when Esmerelda's soft voice rang in his skull. "Where are you taking him?"
Did she care about Clopin's safety? "To prison," Frollo replied calmly. "As for you, my dear"—he swept her into an exaggerated kiss—"you are staying right here."
Clopin vomited on the belltower floor.
Scowling in disgust, Claude ripped a large chunk of fabric from the young man's shirt and threw it over the stinking mess. He pushed Clopin out the door. The siblings must be separated, for obvious reasons, but he would be back to check on Esmerelda later.
E: The girl slumped to the wooden floor. "Oh, Clopin, you fool!" she groaned. Part of her resented the judge for separating them, although she completely understood why he had done it. He couldn't take any risks, not with his trial coming tomorrow.
Why, oh why, did she have to fall in love with the leader of the law enforcement who was trying to round up her extended family and ship them out? She'd heard plenty of stories about quarrelling in-laws, but nothing quite to the extent of locking your girlfriend's brother in jail.
"It's not fair!" Esmerelda howled into the empty space. Claude had all the right qualities: wealthy, educated, influential, devoted to her, and even gentle.
And all that Clopin could do was complain. Ok, so maybe Claude was a little old for her, but no man is perfect. If Claude was perfect, he wouldn't be real.
Quasimodo's voice interrupted her mental tirade. "What isn't fair, Miss E?"
Esmerelda's shoulders drooped as she exhaled loudly. "I'm being forced to choose between my lover and my own flesh and blood. I can't do this. I won't!" She stomped her foot. Djali bleated.
The goat came over and pressed against her; the animal's presence was somewhat calming. "The minister just made me put handcuffs on my brother. My brother!"
"Of course," Quasi responded. "Your brother smuggles opium."
"YOU DON'T GET IT," Esmerelda hissed. "Clopin is a good man trying to keep our people fed, and the minister just wants to trap him! And he isn't above using me as bait, apparently." She spat on the floor.
"Please stop being angry, Miss E," Quasi begged, gently wrapping his arms around her.
Still fuming, Esmerelda allowed Quasi to hug her.
"It will all be okay," Quasi reassured. "Djali is here for you. I am here for you. I would never, ever let anything bad happen to you."
The boy's sweet disposition insistently worked its way into her troubled mind. "I am glad that Master likes you," Quasi continued. "I want him to keep you. You are nice."
How could the judge ever keep her, when he was being put on trial tomorrow for harboring an illegal immigrant?
F: Clopin behind bars: good. Being put on trial the next day: bad.
Perhaps he'd been too hard on himself. This was his first black mark in his many, many years of office. He had made enough money to live out the rest of his days comfortably; perhaps it was time to retire after his term was up.
"I need to explain something to you." The judge reached a finger under Esmerelda's chin, lifting her head back so that he could look directly into her gorgeous eyes. "The sanctuary is empty, and will be for the next few hours. Come with me."
"You're sure the archdeacon won't show up?" E asked, logically enough, as they walked into the huge empty space.
A smirk twitched at the corners of his mouth. "I may be only human, Esmerelda, but I do learn from my mistakes. The archdeacon may or may not be locked in the janitorial closet. I know absolutely nothing about this, of course." Claude twirled his key ring around his finger.
Esmerelda smiled mischeviously at him. "Uh oh. Better kneel down and start begging for forgiveness, minister." Taking two huge fistfuls of his robes right under his collarbone, she pulled downwards. He complied, sinking to his knees.
Esmerelda now stood a few inches taller than he. "You naughty thing," she purred. Her soft, delicate hands clasped either side of his face. Quick as a cat, her face was against his, her tongue swept firmly over his lower lip. The judge snatched her by the shoulders and sat back, pulling her petite form into his lap. His tongue found hers as he clasped her more firmly, enveloping her in his robes. Obligingly, she arched her back to press her chest closer into his, curling her legs around his waist. Claude put one hand on the back of her neck and threaded the other one through her hair, holding her close as they kissed.
Sancta Maria Mater Dei, he was going to miss her.
"I wanted to know," she said, "about the pentagram."
"Yes. You deserve to know." Claude took a deep breath. "My parents died when Jehan and I were little. We ended up with our aunt and uncle."
"Wow," Esmerelda breathed. "I'm so sorry. I don't even remember my parents; they died when I was still a baby. Clopin was several years older than I. He took care of me."
"My aunt and uncle were the vilest creatures in history to claim for themselves the title 'human'. They were cultists." Frollo took a deep breath, forcing himself not to shake. "I soon realized that the only reason that they took in Jehan and myself was because the cult needed some disposables to handle the dirty, dangerous work. I was eleven years old and helping them hide the corpses of people they had murdered." His next breath caught in his throat. "They branded Jehan and me." He reached a hand around his back to touch where the scar was. "They told us that we belonged to them forever, and we could never leave."
"But you did leave," E whispered.
Frollo nodded. "We had displeased the cult leader by allowing a prisoner to escape. As punishment, they tied us both and beat Jehan to try to make him talk. He couldn't talk for screaming. I finally spoke up, I…" His voice caught.
Esmerelda's hand stroked his cheek. "Let me share some wisdom with you, that Clopin told me that our dad would repeat to him over and over. Big boys don't cry, but real men do."
I'm not crying! Claude didn't dare speak because he didn't trust his voice.
"It's very brave of you to open up like this," Esmerelda continued.
The minister took a deep, shaky breath and tried again. "We ran away, but Jehan was hurt too badly. He died a few days later." He choked on his words.
"I'm so sorry." Carmel-colored hands stroked his soft hair.
Neither of them spoke for a few minutes. E broke the silence. "Is this why you became so religious, to try to make up for the cult you were raised in?"
He nodded.
"And you vowed that you would do anything to get rid of horrid people like your aunt and uncle. You felt that you owed it to your brother."
He nodded again.
"I own you an apology," Esmerelda finally said. "I made many assumptions about you that were completely wrong. You are an incredible human being." Her own voice broke. "I love you." Her hands gently pulled his face towards her, stretching up on tiptoe for a kiss.
Their tears mingled together as the minister held his dancer close. Her cheek was pressed against his, her feet dangling inches from the floor. He craved her warmth, her scent, her nails raking down his spine. Her siren's song throbbed in his skull, compelling himself to steer his ship directly into the rocks. Be it a hex, a temptation sent to snare him, or his own demented mind playing tricks on him, the judge did not care.
Gently, he sank to the floor, pulling her into his lap. Instinctively she snuggled into his soft, voluminous robes. Frollo buried his face in her hair, her scent curling into his brain like climbing ivy that slowly destroys the wall it clings to. He wrapped a hand around her back and gently tugged at the laces of her corset. One by one, they gave way to his persistent fingers. Esmerelda held still and stayed quiet, the quickening of her breathing was the only sign that she was responding to his touch.
At last, he had her dress open. The judge stroked her neck with a finger, eliciting a soft sigh. His hand combed over her silken skin, tracing the outline of her clavicle, finally coming to rest between her breasts. She moaned out, digging her soft little hands under the neck of his robes.
Her touch on his spine only stoked him further. He bent over the girl, pressing her to the floor. Frollo had one hand on her chest, one hand crawling down the front of her dress on her stomach, his teeth lightly resting on her neck. He nipped at her, deliberately getting only the very top of her skin so she would feel the pinch more keenly.
The gypsy's back arched and she moaned aloud. Her soft pleading thrummed in his ears, driving the judge deeper into his corporeal aching. He bit her again, harder this time, sealing his lips over her tender skin. Esmerelda wailed and twitched, already trembling beneath his eager hands.
The hungry animal inside of him snarled in anticipation and frustration, wishing to tear into her immediately instead of being tormented with those tantalizing dainty bites. Claude pushed the animal back down. It might be a very long time before he saw her again; he would not rush this.
It was only a moment's pause, but it was enough time for the girl to grab the back of his head, pull him in, and bite down hard right under his jawline. Claude sucked in a sharp breath in pain and surprise, delighted at those full lips on his neck in spite of himself.
"Biting me, my little pet tigress?" he purred. A smile cracked across his face. "But I bite harder, oh yes." His teeth moved down past her neck, aggressively nipping at the top of her skin. Esmerelda threw back her head and howled like a wild animal.
No chorus of angels could replicate the sweet melody of her voice. Frollo sank down on top of her, his cheek against her neck, her pulse prodding him with searing tremors. Her hands reached up under his voluminous robe, unbuttoning his shirt. Those soft, delicate little hands, that burned against his sternum. He dug his fingers into her sides, clutching her close, soaking up her shivers like a sponge.
Her hands slipped from under his robes to clasp his face, fingers stabbing against his skin like hot coals. The animal inside of him howled in pain and hunger, digging its claws into him in frustration and depravation. Sweet, sweet temptation seared him when the tip of her tongue brushed his lips. He snatched her into the kiss, his tongue flicking over hers, blood pounding in his ears.
Both of them were panting hard when she finally came up for air. "Archdeacon better not see this. You sure you locked that door good?" Esmerelda grinned up at him.
"My life's work is to lock people up, darling. I know what I'm doing." He grinned back at her, running a finger under her chin. "Which reminds me, it would be a shame if some nosy commoner happened to be peering in through a window. You had best come with me." He lifted her in his arms and swept across the marble floor with a level of excitement rarely seen in him.
The choir loft; no person walking by would have a view through that lofty window. Frollo ascended the stairs with an agility that one would not expect from a 62-year-old man with his arms full. The gypsy clutched his robes close, not wanting to tumble down the stairs. It only stoked him further.
E: She rested her chin over his shoulder, arms around his neck, watching the cathedral pews retreat in the distance as she was carried up the stairs. It reminded her of her childhood, when she would play outside until she was too tired to walk, and Clopin would carry her back to the wagons.
How strange that she felt so safe, so valued, in the arms of the public official whose job it was to enforce immigration laws. Who was being called on the carpet, tomorrow, for failing to pack her up and ship her out of Paris.
Clopin may be her closest resemblance she had to a parent figure, and she loved him with a fervent filial piety, but he could a damn idiot sometimes. Clopin insisted that the judge was just playing with her, but no man puts his career on the line for a toy!
The thought of Clopin pained her a little. Her dear brother had been rewarded for his devotion to her by being locked up behind bars. By the judge.
She pushed the thought down. Clopin had chosen to walk right into Frollo's clutches; his imprisonment was not her fault.
And yet, in a sense, it was her fault. She had chosen to tease the judge and set this entire sequence of events in motion. Clopin was right about one thing: she was good at making risky, impulsive decisions.
But right now, happily wrapped up in the judge's arms, Esmerelda regretted nothing.
Light sliced through the stained glass, splattering the choir loft with a brilliant mosaic of colors. Claude gently placed her standing the floor; the cold from the floor seeped through the underside of her bare feet. The seasons were changing, and Esmerelda had never enjoyed winter, wrapped up in whatever unattractive scraps of fabric she could gather. She would not mind wearing the shoes so much, if she could afford a good pair that actually fit.
"It's beautiful up here," she whispered. Quickly hooking the straps of her dress back up on her shoulders, she twirled across the room, somersaulted over multiple chairs, and landed on top of the grand piano with the agility of a cat. "It makes me want to dance!"
Claude waved a scolding finger at her. "The choirmaster would be furious if he saw you laying on his piano."
"But the choirmaster isn't here," E responded impishly. "But I would like to know, how do you feel about me laying on his piano?" Grinning, she laid back, kicking her left leg up in the air before bringing her toes back to rest on her knee. The minister intently watched her skirt flip into the air and slide back.
It was a rhetorical question. She knew exactly how he felt about her laying on the piano.
F: Splattered with the brilliant hues from the rose window, Esmerelda's beauty could have roused the envy of the angels above; small wonder that it prevented the Minister of Justice from thinking clearly.
He reached out a hand to touch her. Teasingly, she rolled over, just out of his reach. Undeterred, he jumped up on the piano, grabbing her by the hair.
"Uh oh, you're sitting on the piano," Esmerelda scolded him. "The choirmaster will be furious!"
"Oh, I'm quite certain he will be." Being a judge had a great many benefits, one of which being that it did not matter if you annoyed a church musician. He pulled the girl back into his arms, pressing his forehead against her temple.
"Are you cold?" he asked, slightly worried by the lukewarm feel of her blue-tinged hands and arms.
"It's a little chilly in here," she mumbled.
Smiling a little, Claude slipped his voluminous robes over her. The garment was easily loose enough to accommodate them both. Happily, she snuggled up close, pressing her hands to his bare chest. Her touch was cold at first, but her tiny form quickly absorbed his warmth.
Her fingers, now warmed, methodically traced his muscle definition. The searing, throbbing pressure rose inside of him, begging for a release. Frollo could hold back no longer. Grabbing her fiercely, he tugged at her unstrung dress, pulling it down to her slender ankles. He practically tore his own undergarments, he was in such a hurry; the wild animal inside of him had snapped its chain and was free to enthusiastically follow its base instincts.
Esmerelda, who appeared to be learning obedience at last, complacently laid spread-eagle on top of the grand piano. The black robe swallowed her completely, save for her tiny bronze hands that poked from the holes in the sleeves.
The minister's own hands were all too happy to remain on the lovely girl, concealed under the judicial robes. They stroked her soft skin as she whimpered in delight and anticipation. She shivered under his weight; it delighted Frollo to realize that the shivers were as a result of him and not the chilly air.
She arched back, curling her toned legs around him. The animal pounced, eliciting a shudder from her petite form and a yelp from her red lips. "Claaaaaaaaude!" she wailed, pulling her hands back into the robe. The minister savored the sting of her fingernails raking his sides.
No choir's performance could compare to the wild and primal hallelujah that the minister drew out of his sweet beloved. He gripped her waist with both hands, holding her in place despite her shuddering and thrashing. Her nails raked down his spine, deliciously sharp against the bones in his back.
The minister was unwilling to relinquish his most valued treasure, knowing that the cruel, wicked would tear down on them with full force tomorrow, ripping them apart. Long after the fierce, boiling waves had thrown both of them to the motionless shore, he still laid slumped on top of her. His weight pinned her to the top of the piano. If he never got up, if he could just hold her there forever…
E: Still trembling, Esmerelda struggled to catch her breath. Frollo's motionless weight on top of her was not helping. She pushed against him with her hands, trying to garner a few more inches for her ribcage to expand.
"You're heavy," she grumbled.
"You're soft," he purred. "And warm." He grinned back at her, obviously unwilling to move.
His head suddenly lifted, eyes alert. "Someone's coming up the stairs," he grumbled. Quickly, he untangled her from his robes and stomped toward the door.
Esmerelda smiled at the discourse that took place.
"You don't belong up here," said the stranger's voice.
"I could say the same of you, choirmaster," Frollo replied coolly.
"But I'm the choirmaster!" he spluttered. "And I need to check on my piano! Every time I turn my back, it has dirty little choir-boys' handprints all over it!"
"The business of the Minister of Justice is far more important than the cleanliness of your piano. I suggest you walk back down those stairs immediately and not come back for another hour. The piano can wait."
The choirmaster huffed angrily as his steps retreated down the stairs. "I just want to take care of my piano," he grumbled. "People just won't stop touching it! I'd expect the judge of Paris would understand the need to keep idiots from using your things inappropriately."
Esmerelda stifled a laugh.
