Just an idea I had while watching Hunchback again. Like it or loathe it - please review it! Oh yes, The Hunchback of Notre Dame is owned by the Victor Hugo estate (or whoever owns the rights to the novel) and of course Disney's interpretation is owned by the Disney corp and not by me. Please, no suing, they're not mine - I've just playedwith them for a while and I promise to tidy up after I'm done.
Esmeralda crouched under the bridge and watched in horror as Phoebus fell to the river below, an arrow embedded in his shoulder. She heard Frollo's commands to rescue his horse and the shouts of the soldiers as they carried out their orders. The miller's family were running into the distance, sobbing fiercely. Esmeralda skidded down the bank and scooped Phoebus from the icy river, kneeling next to him and holding him out of view of the soldiers above. As the cacophony of the chaos above subsided, she pulled Phoebus to the top of the bank and into the nearby copse. Clopin scurried over.
"Is he alive?" whispered Clopin fervently.
"Barely. He would be safe in the cathedral – Quasimodo would help care for him and he could always claim sanctuary." Esmeralda wrapped a cloth around the arrow, intending to remove it later when she could treat the wound fully.
"Why not just leave him here and be done with him? He is one of Frollo's guards."
"He tried to save that family Clopin! And he could easily have dragged me into the street and had me killed, but he had more honour than that! I owe him."
"You like him, don't you?" Clopin gave a thin smile.
"A little. But it's more important to save his life right now." She put an arm under Phoebus' shoulder and hefted, dragged him along with her. Clopin moved to help her and slowly they dragged Phoebus towards Notre Dame.
Esmeralda winced with Phoebus as she poured wine over the wound in his shoulder. She chatted casually with him as she stitched the wound, aware of his closeness and the restful lighting in the belltower. He held her hand and she felt drawn to him, aware that in a few moments they would share their first kiss. Coming to a sudden decision, denying herself and Phoebus that moment, she pulled back.
"Rest now – Quasimodo will be in later to check on you." She walked out of the room, turning her back on Phoebus. Quasimodo was leaning on a windowsill, staring moodily out of the window to the city of Paris. The flames from the poor quarter reflected eerily on the river, the Seine turned amber with the flickering embers of the homes of people Esmeralda had never met. To think Frollo had caused such destruction in search of her made her wince. She touched Quasimodo gently on the arm, causing him to jump.
"Esmeralda! I did not see you! Is the captain well?"
"No Quasimodo. But he will be. Can I ask you to keep him here and out of harm's way until I return? He's stubborn, so tell him I have a plan but for it to work he must stay here. Will you do that for me?"
"Of course! Anything for you Esmeralda!"
"Thank-you Quasimodo. Goodnight." She stroked his face lightly and turned to leave. Djali bounded behind her until she kneeled and took his face in her hands. "Stay here – Quasimodo could use the company." Djali brayed in reply and curled up to sleep. Quasimodo looked quizzically at the gypsy, but she spun on her heels and left without a further word.
The flames of the poor quarter were dying in the early morning light. Frollo stood staring at the flames, hands clenched on the stonework of the balcony of his private chambers. His face unmoving, Frollo watched as black shadows raced in front of burning buildings, trying desperately to control the blaze. Their efforts were finally paying off. Frollo fancied that the Seine was running lower this morning, most of the water seemingly poured over the city. He stood rigidly, muscles locked as he looked at the result of his obsession with a girl he had barely seen since the Festival of Fools. As the sun rose above the horizon, the first shafts of sunlight illuminated his sharp patrician features. His cheeks shone with silent tears that had flowed, unbidden, as he watched the city he loved burn like a funeral pyre. The desecration of the beautiful old city became clearer as the sun rose higher. Frollo felt the night-chill leaving the air around him and started to shiver, suddenly aware of how cold he was. He gulped air as the sun reached the docks, now burned and beyond repair.
"What have I done?" he whispered to the morning. Unable to carry on watching the horror unfolding in front of him, guilt forcing him to continue, Frollo felt his heart breaking. He had prided himself on his utter control of every situation, his reputation and his unyielding loyalty to the king and Paris. What would the king say when he returned from Spain and saw Paris destroyed? Frollo closed his pained eyes and sank to his knees, crawling into his bedchamber and drawing the curtains to the world. Alone, Frollo gave a pained howl to the dawn, his agony pouring into the expression as he tore at his greying hair. Collapsing into sobs, he held his knees to his chest as he let his pain pour into his tears. After some time, he quietened and he pulled on the bell-pull to summon a maid to fetch water for him to wash ready for the day ahead.
Frollo looked into his mirror and straightened his hat slowly. He met his own gaze for a moment and looked away, unable to accept he had committed such atrocities the night before. I tried to burn a family alive, he thought. He saw the baby's innocent face and shut his eyes against the sight, terrified again for his immortal soul. If it hadn't been for Phoebus that family would be dead, his mind scolded, but then you've always been lucky in that respect haven't you Frollo? It was lucky for Quasimodo that the Archdeacon had happened to be there – lucky for the miller that the brave captain had been there. Frollo stood and walked to the balcony, pulling back the curtains and facing his lady, the city of Paris.
"I'm so sorry," he muttered. He felt his heart reaching out to the city, abandoning himself to the pleasure of belonging to Paris, the city of Saint Genevieve, his only mistress. At least, the only mistress he had needed until he laid eyes on La Esmeralda. He sighed inwardly, then turned to leave the balcony and his chambers. Duty called, as always, but somehow he must now continue the search for Esmeralda while trying to rebuild his city and repair his relationship with her. As he past the curtains, they dropped behind him and closed. Startled, Frollo reached instinctively for the sword at his waist, but a gentle hand on his arm stopped him. He relaxed a little, but still felt his nerves poised for a fight with the intruder of his sanctum. The judge inside him already weighing out the sentence for a trespasser, the man inside hoping the intruder had not seen him crying, he turned slowly to greet the invader. Even in the dim light, she was instantly recognisable. It was Esmeralda.