F: The minister was lonely.
But for the first time in sixty-two years, he felt that his life had a definite purpose. He compensated for his loneliness by spending more time with Quasi, to both of their benefit. The boy even went with him to the next peasant festival.
And it hadn't been as bad as Frollo had feared. The minister had never liked the festival-as part of the law enforcement, it was more or less his job to babysit a large, rowdy, noisy crowd of drunks who couldn't even wear clothing that matched-but lucky Quasi was free of such responsibilities. The boy ran around hugging people, eating food, and helping to round up the dozens of dogs, goats, and chickens that kept getting loose.

Also, to the archdeacon's great annoyance (and therefore to Claude Frollo's great delight) a goat now lived in the belltower of Notre Dame. Esmerelda had let Quasimodo keep Djali when she was deported, and the boy was overjoyed. The minister thought it a wise idea as well—it was high time that the boy socialized with something besides stone statues.
Explaining the situation to the archdeacon had been incredibly satisfying. Hadn't the archdeacon often chided Frollo for not taking care of the boy? Now Frollo had found a pet for Quasi, and see how happy Quasi was! Surely you see how excellent this is, Archdeacon.

Even now, Frollo grinned and rubbed his hands together at the mere thought of his victory.
Esmerelda's absence laid heavy on his heart. The scratches on his ribs and spine—parting gifts from her nails—eventually faded, but memory did not. Frollo decided that he would retire when his term ended; he would go to Germany and find Esmerelda, and get married properly, and find somewhere to settle down. Probably a little town, where Quasimodo could get out and explore and meet people.

He wouldn't feel obligated to live in a castle with guards, now that he no longer lived in a city where half of the denizens wanted him dead. Without his stressful responsibilities, he could spend more quality time with Quasi, be a better father.

****************

E: Germany was safe...for a grand total of five months. Then, a white man and a gypsy got into a brawl and the white man ended up dying. It was enough to turn the city against them, and more than enough to override any protection that the signet ring would have given them. The gypsies were forced to move yet again.

However, this sudden loss of fortune was hardly at the forefront of Esmeralda's thoughts. As the weeks went by, she noticed subtle changes in her body; slight enough that at first she could ignore it, but slowly accumulating to form an ominous black shadow that sank over her thoughts like a pall, suffocating her, terrifying her.
At first it had been little things that were easy to find an explanation for. First came the fatigue and headaches; nothing out of the ordinary here, she had just been through a physically and emotionally exhausting relocation.
Then came the vomiting. Likely it was merely a case of food poisoning; hunger will motivate a person to eat food without feeling the need to consider its level of sanitation. The thought of food reminded her of Claude and all the good things she had to eat then—stop it, idiot, you mustn't think about him anymore. He's ancient history at this point.

The sickness soon eased, to be replaced by a powerful need for—sausage, of all things. The German butchers had plenty of it, and Esmeralda happily devoted some of the money Claude left her to fulfilling her newfound passion. She cooked so much sausage that the lingering scent absorbed into the fabrics of the wagons. Clopin made a snarky comment on this, and Esmeralda gave him an equally snarky reply that she was merely trying to disguise his disgusting body odor.
When she first noticed her clothing fitting more tightly, she blamed the sausages. But surely sausage was not to blame for the fact that her menstrual cycle was months overdue, or that she was constantly needing to use the latrine, or that she felt the need to rest more than usual…

It almost brought Esmeralda relief to eventually acknowledge that, yes, she was actually pregnant. Her initial reaction was a smug realization that Clopin had NOT succeeded in disgustedly kicking her romantic life under a rug. She would keep the baby, and enjoy the look of defeat on Clopin's face every time he saw his little niece or nephew. Esmeralda loved her brother, but she had no reservations about putting him in his place when the situation called for it. The humiliation would serve him right for trying to control her life! Already, she could feel the tiny fluttering of life inside of her when she laid down to sleep at night. The gypsy could imagine her little baby dancing inside the soft cocoon of its mother's body; the picture brought a smile to her face.

But no amount of prenatal dancing could erase her people's macabre image of the minister. No child of Claude Frollo would be welcome within a hundred miles of their residence! Perhaps Clopin would never wish to see his niece or nephew at all, and would take serious measures to ensure that he was never required to. Esmerelda had attempted to conceal her pregnancy with loose clothing and layers, which had worked well enough over the winter, but as her pregnancy continued to progress and as the weather got warmer…it was a lost cause. The baby would be killed, no doubt, and very likely the mother with it. At best, Esmerelda would be banished yet again, this time with no Palace of Justice in which to hide.
Her only hope was the possibility of running back to Paris to beg the minister for help. She had no assurance that his response would be favorable; accepting that the child was his would undo his valiant efforts to sponge clean his smeared reputation. Much easier it would be to have her thrown out again, deny that he had anything to do with her, maybe even have her punished for daring to slander the honorable Minister of Justice by suggesting that he'd fathered an illegitimate colored child.

Perhaps he would not even believe her; what proof had she, besides her word, that the child was genuinely his? If he suspected that she had played him false…
Sobs wracked her poor body at the very thought. The Minister of Justice would wring her neck in a heartbeat at any demonstration of infidelity; his protective jealousy for her would turn into violent wrath at her refusal to remain behind his shield.

Running out of options, Esmerelda gave it her best effort and explained her plans to Clopin, omitting the pregnancy. "We can move back to Paris," she said. "I will kill the judge this time, and we will be safe. Believe me, I have learned my lesson." If she killed him, she would become a hero; even her pregnancy would most likely be forgiven.
"You'd better have learned," he sighed. "I wish I could say that I trust you to keep your word, but…"
"No, I understand," Esmerelda replied. "I'll swear an oath in front of the entire clan that the day I return to him will be his last day on earth."

**Author's Note: Thanks to everyone still reading this story, special thanks to stargate5789 and Mumingmir. It feels awesome to know that I'm not invisible 3

To anyone: This is my first fanfic and I'm still developing my writing style, feel free to leave feedback! :D