Esmeralda didn't want to think about any of it. It was too much. Every time she thought she was figuring it out, some new piece of information shattered the whole picture again. She needed a break from her inner turmoil.
So she decided to spend the day helping Pat out at the stables, with Djali following her around happily. She helped brush the horses, and saddle the ones that were being taken by the soldiers to do their daily round in the city. When it was noon, she started worrying about lunch, but Pat gave her some good news:
- Oh, it's your lucky day miss! Master Frollo always eats lunch at the cathedral with his son on Wednesdays.
- His son? You mean Quasimodo?
- Yes, his adoptive son that is, of course.
Esmeralda was surprised to hear him call Quasimodo Frollo's son. She knew he had adopted him when he had been abandoned at birth at Notre Dame's steps. But given what she had seen of their relationship, the word "son" felt too affectionate to describe it.
However, she was glad to hear from her friend again, and wondered if maybe Frollo would be willing to bring her along next time he was visiting him at the cathedral. That perspective cheered her up, and she spent lunchtime with Pat laughing and joking around.
The boy even taught her some songs he had made up to entertain himself while working, and they both sang them to the horses while cleaning up the stables in the afternoon.
By the end of the day she was feeling much better, and she felt strong enough to face Frollo for dinner. But first she needed to get back to her chambers and change into clean clothes that weren't filled of dust and horse hair.
When she got out of the stables into the courtyard, the sky had darkened with heavy clouds, and a humid smell let her know rain was falling near. The sun was almost gone and the orange sunset blended with the purple storm in a magical view. She stood there, gazing at it while a cool wind began to rise. Suddenly, a bolt of lighting filled the courtyard, and she decided to hurry up inside, as the first drops started to fall.
For the first time, the inside of the palace felt kind of cozy, with its torches on, and the thick walls protecting its inhabitants from the coming storm. Everything was very quiet, and she figured the servants were probably busy at the kitchen and dining room, preparing everything for dinner. She climbed the stairs swiftly, but when she was about to enter her chamber, something stopped her.
There was music, coming out from somewhere. She gazed down the hall, trying to identify the source of the sound. It seemed to come from upstairs. She slowly walked up, getting closer to the melody that was reaching out to her like a siren's call. When she arrived at the top floor, she realized it came from the library. The door was slightly open, and a golden radiance showed that the fireplace was lit.
Another bolt of lighting shone brightly through the windows, and this time it was followed by the deep sound of crackling thunder, that reverberated through the empty hallways.
She took advantage of the sound to cover up her steps and reached the library's door, sliding through the opening to look at the inside.
Last night, when she had been there, she had only paid attention to Frollo. But now she stared at the shelves in the walls, covered with old books and scrolls, and some weird objects that she didn't recognize. There was a big table with some unrolled scrolls on it, and a big quill with it's tip inside an ink bottle.
Behind that, stood the seat where she had ambushed Frollo the night before, right in front of the fireplace.
At the furthest point from the door, in the dimest part of the room, there was a big object that she had never seen before. That was the source of the music. And Frollo himself was playing it.
She walked very carefully towards the man and his strange instrument. He was sitting in front of it, playing it with his fingers, that pressed a series of black and white pieces, each one producing a different song.
She didn't recognize the melody, but it was the most mesmerizing one she had ever listened to. It was so delicate, but powerful nonetheless.
Suddenly, a thunder cracked loudly, as if a ray had fallen just beside the palace, and Esmeralda gasped involuntarily at the explosion, revealing her presence to the judge.
Frollo turned around abruptly, piercing her with an accusatory look.
- How long have you been there? - he demanded to know.
- I'm sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt you. Please, don't stop. - she answered, still with a hand to her chest from the previous scare.
Frollo stared at her, confused. Last time they had seen each other she had left in a whirl of fury and tears. But there was no trace of resentment or any will to argue in her face. She just stared back at him, with a pleading look.
- Please – she repeated – keep going. - she asked, pointing at the instrument with her head.
So the puzzled man obeyed, and turning his back at her, he placed his slender fingers over the keys again, and softly resumed his song.
Esmeralda then focused completely on listening, unaware of how her body was moving closer to him as he played.
The sound of the rain on the window glass only plunged her even deeper into a hypnotic, trance-like state.
The music was so filled with emotion, but unlike any other music she knew. She was used to dancing, festive music, or children's songs, like the ones she had been whistling along with Patrice at the stables earlier that day.
But this music was so melancholic, so sad… it spoke of loss, but also resilience. As if it was somehow taking her pain and showing her that there was a way to transcend it, to sublimate it into something higher.
Her heart was pounding strongly inside her ribs. But then she got to Frollo's side, and it stopped in between its beats when she saw the man's face. His eyes were closed. He wasn't even looking at the keys. He was playing by ear. And the longer he played, the more his usually stone-cold mask faded into an honest expression, as if he was as enraptured by the music as she was.
He looked more human than ever.
She got goosebumps all over her skin. Only then she allowed the full meaning of Pat's story to cross her defensive barriers and reach her heart. She surrendered to the truth; although she was nowhere near to understanding Claude Frollo, she knew this; he wasn't evil. An evil man would have never been able of such compassion towards an unknown child. And he wouldn't be able to produce such a moving, delicate sound as the one that was filling her whole body at that moment. He had light, somewhere inside his soul… and she wanted to reach it. Whatever that meant about her.
Then, the music stopped. Esmeralda felt suddenly cold, and she shuddered. She felt as if she had been sweetly held by the notes, and was now left alone. She didn't like it, so she instinctively moved closer to the instrument, bumping her leg into the bench in which he was sitting. She placed her fingertips over the keys with the utmost respect.
- What is this? - she whispered hoarsely.
- It's called a harpsichord. - Frollo explained, still unsure of what was happening. - It's a modern instrument, there are only a few in the world, that I know of. This one was a gift from the king. He knows of my love for music and gave it to me as a display of gratitude.
- It's so beautiful… - she said, still mesmerized.
- Do you… do you want to play it? - he suggested carefully, moving aside to leave her some space in the bench.
Esmeralda gave him an indecipherable look. He wasn't sure if she felt honored or repulsed by the perspective of sitting by his side. But after hesitating for a second, she sat down beside him, their legs slightly touching. Frollo felt his throat tightening, and he made an effort to swallow without her noticing. But her whole attention was on the harpsichord. She pressed one key softly, but still, the intense sound caught her by surprise.
- I wouldn't know where to begin. - she admitted, embarrassed. - But maybe… perhaps... you could teach me? - she asked, turning her face towards him.
Frollo felt his mouth dry. Was she really suggesting that she wanted to learn from him? As in, actually spending more time with him, from a position of inferiority? He struggled to say the words, as she was expecting an answer with her wide eyes fixed on his:
- I… I suppose I could.
She smiled and turned back towards the keys, placing both her hands over them.
- You could teach me what you just played. It was wonderful.
- I'm afraid I cannot teach you that. - he admitted, a little embarrassed himself.
- Why not? You don't think I can learn it? - she asked, slightly offended.
- It's not that. It's just… that wasn't a written piece. It was more of an… improvisation.
Her eyes widened even more, her eyebrows all the way up her forehead.
- What do you mean? You were just… making that up as you played?
- Well, yes.
Her hands dropped from the keys onto her lap. She lowered her face, suddenly absent.
Frollo didn't want to move, to do or say anything that could make her stand up and walk away. But when he saw her eyes beginning to tear up, he was so shocked he couldn't stop himself.
- What's wrong?
Esmeralda shook her head.
- It's nothing. It's just… that music… how can that music come straight out of you?
Her words were like a knife to his stomach. His whole body stiffened, hearing the unspoken implications of her question. He turned his face back to the harpsichord, pressing his lips together trying not to let the hurt show. But she felt that sudden change in him and quickly looked up, unconsciously placing her hand on his knee.
- No. That's not what I meant. - she clarified, immediately removing her hand, the second she was aware of where it was placed.
But Frollo could still feel the burning heat at the spot she had touched him.
- I just… I don't understand. - she confessed, leaning forward to try to meet his eyes, that were fixed upon the keys and refusing to look at her.
He gave her an interrogating glance. She cleared her throat, and carefully chose her next words:
- I don't get how you can possess such sensitivity for the beauty of music… and yet be so blind to the beauty of the world.
This statement hurt him even more, and he turned towards her with an offended expression on his face.
- What makes you think I'm blind to the beauty of the world?
She narrowed her eyes, aware of the hurt behind his question, but unable to understand how he could not know what appeared so obvious to her.
- Well… whenever you speak about the world, or the people in it… You sound so disappointed. You say the world is cruel, and ugly. You say people are cruel and ugly. You seem to distrust everyone.
His face softened a little, understanding why she would have that image of him. She was right, that's what he always said. But it only was because it was true.
- And isn't it so? - he asked her, with a sad, tired hand gesture.
- Well… yes. But also, no. - she answered, thoughtfully. - It's true that the world is messy, and chaotic. And people are messy and chaotic too. But where you see chaos… I also see freedom. And joy. You know, my people – she paused, suddenly hesitant. She knew she was stepping on thin ice here, but she was trying to prove a point. - we have always been wanderers. We never know what tomorrow will bring. But that's precisely what makes us live each day so intensely. And yes, our appearance may not be the finest, most elegant one. But our loose, colorful clothes allow us to dance better. And our bare feel help us feel the earth beneath us, and remind us that we're connected to something bigger. And if you remember the court of miracles, you'll know our homes are messy and chaotic too. I've slept on the floor my whole life. But we always share what we have, and you know you're never alone there. Common people may be simple, even dull at your eyes… but they know how to laugh, and how to love. I believe that's truly beautiful. And I fear you may be missing it, looking it from afar and only perceiving the chaotic big picture instead of the beauty that lies under the surface. You won't find beauty hiding away from life between these cold stone walls. - she affirmed, instantly afraid she had gone too far.
Frollo's expression was inscrutable. His granite eyes were looking at her so deeply that she felt she might fall into them, as if they were a bottomless pool of water.
She couldn't tell if he was profoundly mad… or actually considering her words.
- You're wrong. - he finally stated, in a low voice. But he didn't seem to be mad. He actually seemed eager to explain himself. - I do find beauty here. For, you know… where you see cold stone walls, I see protection. Where you see rigidity, I see structure, and order, and balance. I see harmony. All the lost souls of this world yearn for a place where they can feel safe. I made a vow to defend the innocent, and to make sure that justice was made in this world. And to do that, I need to have control of what's going on, and I need to have people willing to do as I say. I know you think… everyone thinks, that I'm ruthless. But sometimes, someone's got to play the role of the villain in order to get things done. I don't mind if people think badly of me, even when I'm working to their benefit, and they will never know. Because I don't do it for the praise. I do it 'cause it is right. And that certainty, that moral compass… that is beauty to me.
Esmeralda was unexpectedly moved. She thought of Quasimodo. She had quickly judged Frollo for keeping him up at the tower, but maybe the man was honestly just trying to protect him. She then thought of Pat as well. He had told her that Frollo's steadiness had made him feel safe for the first time in his life. Perhaps the man had a point.
- Maybe... – she whispered, timidly. - Maybe we both are right. It's like tonight's sky, you see? The colorful light of the sunset… and the powerful darkness of the storm. Maybe there is beauty everywhere… and we're all in this world to help each other find it wherever we find it ourselves.
Frollo's face suddenly displayed an ironic, cynical smile.
- That's easy for you to say.
- What do you mean? - she asked, confused.
- I mean it's easy for you to think beauty is everywhere. I bet you've been called beautiful more times than you've been called your own name.
Esmeralda hadn't seen that coming. She didn't know if he meant it as a compliment or an accusation. But she saw past it anyway. She saw the bitterness in his tone, and her heart melted in understanding.
- Have you? - she then asked, all of a sudden.
- Have I what? - Frollo replied, puzzled.
- Have you ever been called beautiful? - she clarified.
Frollo's face paled strongly, a sudden void in his stomach and a knot in his throat. She was mocking him. Of course. How could he have thought otherwise? How could he be such a fool? He didn't know how to answer without making an even bigger fool of himself. He tried to discard the question as if it was stupid nonsense in a desperate attempt to save his pride:
- Of course not! Why on earth would have I…?
But he was completely frozen mid-sentence when she raised her palm and leaned it on his cheek.
Esmeralda gazed at the stunned man before her. Just in time, another bolt of lighting filled the dark room, illuminating his face with a white light. She watched his hair, carefully combed backwards, but slightly messy on the sides, above his ears, where the chaperon usually rested. She felt the softness of his neatly shaved cheek, not hardened by the sun or the wind like those of the men she knew. His felt like silk under her touch. She saw the wrinkles on his forehead, where his everlasting frown of worry or distrust had made its home. She thought of how exhausting it ought to be, being always in charge of things and then being despised for it. There also were small wrinkles at the edge of his lips from keeping them pressed together, like they were now, in a tense grimace, always ready to defend himself from any external attack.
And then she looked at his eyes. His infinite, profound eyes, that were fixed upon her own, displaying a wide range of emotions; confusion, fear, caution, concern… but under all of it, she saw something else. She saw him, his true essence, desperately yearning to be seen and acknowledged, and above all, to be accepted as he was. And she saw it crystal clear.
- Because you are beautiful.
Frollo's breath stopped. His brain stopped. He could have sworn even his heart had stopped.
He knew in his soul that she was telling the truth. He saw it in her eyes, that suddenly became all he could see.
Her green, emerald eyes, so full of light, and compassion, and… could it be? He didn't dare thinking the word.
He wanted to skip the small distance between them, and melt into her. He wanted it more than anything he'd ever wanted in his entire life. He just simply couldn't.
But she could.
And she did.
She leaned forward and pressed her lips against his.
She was very gentle at first, as if she was afraid she would scare him away, or would get violently pushed back.
Frollo stood there, still completely frozen. He couldn't believe it. Her warm soft lips caressing his own, her hands holding his face between them, her sweet scent filling his nose.
Nothing had prepared him for this. For what it would feel like. Even in his wildest dreams and fantasies, he never would have imagined it.
His heart just broke in release, and with a sharp breath, he melted into her.
His hands searched for her waist, and pulled her closer avidly. She gasped at the unexpected response, but a soft moan on her throat let him know she was pleased. She pulled his face closer, and opened her lips, allowing her tongue to gently touch his.
He hadn't kiss anyone before, but his insecurity was taken over by an ancient knowing, and his body responded on its own. His tongue met hers at the intersection of their lips, and they tasted each other eagerly.
Esmeralda was torn between two equally strong feelings. On one hand, the utter surprise. At herself, at him, at everything. Never in a million years would she have imagined that scene taking place, much less after he had persecuted, captured and detained her. But on the other hand… she felt it just made sense. She didn't know why, but feeling his skin against hers, his hands on her back, his mouth kissing her lips… It just was right. It felt as if they had done this a thousand times before. As if they belonged to each other. As if they were just remembering it now, finally coming home after a long journey through oblivion.
She felt more complete than she ever had.
And then, a loud gasp at the other side of the room broke them apart.
- I'm so sorry Sir! - Magdalene said, visibly disturbed, and looking the other way. - The door was open and I just thought… - she tried to justify herself, nervously rubbing her hands on her apron.
By the time Esmeralda wanted to react, Frollo had already stood up and he was a few feet away. Wow, he was fast.
- It's nothing. - he said, with a calm tone that however, didn't completely conceal his embarrassment. - Did you need anything?
- Mr Flamcourt is here, Sir. He insists on having dinner with you. He says it's urgent that you both discuss some matters.
Frollo let out an irritated sigh.
- I wasn't expecting him today. Please, ehm… - he hesitated for a second, throwing a fleeting glance at Esmeralda's way. - Place another set of cutlery for Mr Flamcourt at the dinner table.
- It's okay – Esmeralda quickly replied – I'll leave you to it. I can eat in my room. He can use my spot at the table, Magdalene. - she indicated, and the nervous housekeeper nodded and left as fast as she could.
- Do you see the harm in the lack of order? - Frollo asked with a crooked smile when they were alone again.
It was the first time she had seen him joke with her, and it gave her a warm feeling, so she accepted her defeat with a big smile:
- Can't say that I don't…
Frollo seemed suddenly hesitant.
- Are… are you sure you don't want to join us? You don't have to eat by yourself…
- I appreciate it. Truly. - she reassured him, before adding – But I've spent the day at the stables and I'd rather take a bath than making acquaintance with a noble man all dressed in horse shit.
Frollo nodded, visibly relieved.
- Well then… I'll … see you tomorrow. - he said, unsure of how to say goodbye to her.
She decided not to push her luck, so she stood up from the bench as well and walked to the door. But before leaving, she turned around and gave him a warm smile.
- See you tomorrow. - she said, in a promising tone, and closed the door.