Princess Fantasy D X-2
A/N: I have never been inspired enough to write stories about any fanart before, until I saw the work of deviantart artist Skirtzzz, specifically her Final Fantasy Disney Dressphere series. With her blessing, this will be another part of a series of final scene rewrites, using the powers of the dresspheres to possibly change the script, or failing that, make the scene worthy of a Final Fantasy series. Replicating the feel for such an incredible franchise will be a challenge, but I swear I'll do my best!
If you haven't seen any of the movies or their endings, this could be a little spoilerific, but if you have or don't mind, hang on for the ride!
Disclaimer: See Chapter 1.
The Wiccan Wanderer
Paris was normally a city of love and beauty. However, those traits were not exemplified on this night, with the sky colored a foreboding yellow. Chaos filled the streets as soldiers held back frightened and excited citizens, while dozens of gypsies struggled in their cages. In the center of the square, a large execution pyre was slowly being built.
Judge Claude Frollo, the instigator of this whole nightmare, glared at the young, dark-skinned woman tied to the stake in the center of the pyre. The gypsy Esmeralda was just one of the many prisoners captured in the raid on the gypsy's hideout, but she was the one that had caught his attention all those days ago at the Festival of Fools. Since then, his thoughts had been flooded with her image, and torn between his xenophobic desire to cleanse all the gypsies from Paris and his mortal temptation towards her, he decided to solve his problems with her, one way or the other.
Turning to the crowd, he proclaimed, "The prisoner Esmeralda has been found guilty of the crime of witchcraft! The sentence: Death!"
Ignoring the outraged shouts from the commoners as they struggled with the line of guards, Frollo took the torch from the black-hooded executioner as his men finished constructing the pyre.
"The time has come, gypsy," he said scornfully to Esmeralda, turning to her with the flame in hand. "You stand on the brink of the abyss…"
"…yet even now it is not too late," he added, his gaze suddenly turning smoky. Esmeralda made a moue of revulsion, seeing exactly what he desired in his eyes.
"I can save you from the flames of this world, and the next. Choose me… or the fire." In his twisted mind, he was sure that someone as self-serving as a gypsy would gladly choose slavery over death.
Esmeralda spitting in his face quickly extinguished that notion, as well the flames of lust glittering in his eyes. The crowd gasped.
The flame in Frollo's hand now seemed miniscule to the flames of fury now burning in his soul. Hiding it under his well-practiced air of the emotionless judge, he declared to the crowd, "The gypsy Esmeralda has refused to recant! This evil witch has put the soul of every citizen in Paris in mortal peril! For this blasphemy, she will be cast into the flames, first of this world, then of Hell!"
Esmeralda snarled at the judge's sanctimonious words, but deep down, her heart was gripped with terror. Please, she thought and prayed with all her might and soul, if You are there, if You are listening, please do not let these atrocities be carried out in Your name! I beg of You, rescue my people from this madman!
What is going on? Why is there all this chaos in the streets of Paris? Everything was peaceful enough just a few days ago…
Wait… that girl on the pyre… is not that the girl I heard back then within the walls of my house? Esmeralda? Even a soul as selfless and worldly-wise as her is not safe from humanity's hatred?
No… I can see it… it is the fire of hatred and cruelty of the man that calls himself a arbiter of law beside her that has burned out of control, and now threatens to consume the whole city in its pursuit of all whom he deems guilty… Claude Frollo…
I heard his words all those days ago, tainted by his pride, his lust, his anger, his desire to possess her or cast her out of this world… I remember trying to reach him, but like so many before him, his self-righteousness deafened him to my pleas. How can a man of faith have fallen so far?
His destruction cannot be allowed to continue.
Wait… in the heights of my house… the reclusive one? Quasimodo? What is he doing up there? And… why is he in chains?
Have my walls, wavering between haven and cage in his eyes, finally become a true prison for him?
How can such a debasement have occurred to the house of Notre Dame?
Slumped at the bottom of a cluster of pillars up in the bell tower, the hunchback Quasimodo looked the picture of hopelessness, the spark of wonder normally peering out of his eyes all but gone. The mass of metal chain that secured him to the pillars almost seemed superfluous; the young man's spirit appeared broken beyond repair.
Beside him, his three living gargoyle companions were trying to pull a length of chain loose, but even their stone bodies could not budge them. "Come on, Quasi, snap out of it!" cried the hog-nosed Hugo, vainly attempting to gnaw through them.
"Your friends are down there!" chimed in the soft-spoken Victor.
Quasimodo was deaf to their words. "It's all my fault…" he mumbled dispiritedly.
"You've gotta break these chains!" insisted Laverne, the lone female gargoyle.
Quasimodo's gnarled face twisted even more in defeat. "I can't. I've tried. What difference would it make?"
"But you can't let Frollo win!" protested Victor.
"He already has."
"So… so you're giving up? That's it?" Hugo couldn't believe his ears; Quasimodo had never sounded so subdued in all the twenty years he'd known him.
Laverne got right in his face, her tone sharp. "These chains aren't what's holding you back, Quasimodo! And you know it!"
"Leave me alone."
All three gargoyles recoiled and looked at each other in despair. Quasimodo stared at them with an expression with not a hint of hope left in it. It seemed that nothing they could say could get their friend out of this slump.
Hugo sighed forlornly, but turned away towards the open sky. "Okay… okay, Quasi. We'll leave you alone."
Victor hopped up beside him. "After all, we're only made up of stone."
Laverne was the last to join them, but spared one last look at Quasimodo. "We just thought maybe you were made of something stronger." With that, the three of them went still.
Quasimodo grimly looked back at them, and sadly closed his eyes. What difference would it make? Even if he did have the strength to pull himself free, why should he bother? His master had rounded up the gypsies, imprisoned them all at the behest of the army, and was now about to send his first real human friend up in smoke. And it was all thanks to him.
The hunchback felt tears well up in his eyes as memories flashed unwillingly through his head, of the moment Frollo had entered the Court of Miracles and arrested all the gypsies, all because he had led him straight to them. He had betrayed his friends and sentenced them all to death. There was no other word to describe him.
He really was a monster.
No. No, this is all wrong.
If this continues, by morning, the streets will be filled with bloodshed, so many innocent lives will be lost, and hatred and fear will reign under a fist of tyranny. And all for one man's struggle with himself?
No. He has to be stopped. And there is only one man that must do it.
Quasimodo, please listen to me. You cannot be a monster, for a monster would not care that his friends were put in danger from this. You know you are not to blame; it was Frollo's machinations that forced your hand, and you were right to make that decision to warn Esmeralda. Please do not lose faith in yourself. All of Paris is in danger of being consumed by Frollo's hatred, and only you can protect this city!
You have the strength to break Frollo's hold over you, and even if you don't believe it yet, Esmeralda does, your friends do, and I do! You are not alone, my child. The Lord and all His workers are behind you, believing in you!
Please, take heart, Quasimodo! Your friend needs you! This city needs you!
Rise up!
Quasimodo's eyes flashed open. Was he just imagining things, or was someone just calling in his ears, telling him to not give up? He did not recognize the voice… but something in it seemed familiar, as if he had heard it the moment he was born…
It was then that the sounds of the ceremony below him finally registered to him, in particular Frollo's scathing spiel of a eulogy. Slowly, he pulled himself with what little slack the chains could offer to the parapet, staring down at the pyre.
"...for justice, for Paris, and for her own salvation!" Frollo concluded, "It is my sacred duty to send this unholy demon back where she belongs!" With an air of vindictiveness around him, he brought the torch down.
And with that, the dry tinder ignited around Esmeralda's feet, quickly surrounding her in a mass of cloying smoke and a circle of crackling flame.
But in that moment, another fire ignited: the fire in Quasimodo's heart. As the reality of the situation hit him, the memory of the voice's message brought one question into his head: Do you want Esmeralda to die?
"NOOOOOO!"
He struggled. He struggled like he had never struggled before in his life. His massive arms and powerful muscles pulled and heaved, toned human flesh straining against masonry and metal. He struggled until the walls themselves trembled and the bells of the cathedral quavered in their housings.
Quasimodo could hear his arms groaning in protest, but he did not falter. Chunks of stone fell from the ceiling with every pull, the pillars cracked ominously, and the metal chains creaked and buckled as they tried desperately to restrain the gnarled and powerful man.
This cathedral is my house. It is a part of me! In no way shall it stand to keep Quasimodo from his goal! Pillars, collapse! Free the one who shall save Paris!
All at once, the carved rock collapsed under the strain and the chains finally gave way. In one final wrench, Quasimodo tore himself free of his bonds, pulling down the the very pillars he was secured to.
Even as the dust settled around him, Quasimodo barely paused for breath as he shoved the remnants of chain off him. Grabbing a rope from the ground, he tied a noose in moments and lashed it around a protruding gargoyle head, before leaping from the parapet and rappelling deftly down the wall.
Hanging by the rope, the hunchback only took a moment to observe the chaos beneath him. Running down the side of Notre Dame, he pushed off the wall and swung in a wide arc over the courtyard, barely registering the gasps of amazement and disbelief from the crowd below.
Landing on the execution platform with a thud, the first thing he saw was Esmeralda in her white chemise hanging limply from the stake, overcome by the smoke. Heedless of the heat and flames as they licked at his boots, Quasimodo leapt over to her and tore her ropes loose with one meaty hand.
As he slung her over his shoulder, he could see the guards surrounding the platform start to climb up to stop him. Gripping his rope line between his teeth to prevent it from swinging away and holding on to Esmeralda with one arm, he tore the burning stake from the platform with the other and swung it violently at the soldiers, knocking them aside like bales of hay. The hunchback didn't miss a beat, as he pulled the rope from his mouth and swung off the platform, his gypsy friend in tow.
Quasimodo was only distantly aware of Frollo glaring up at him and snarling like a rabid dog, before his swing took him right to the cathedral wall. With barely any effort, he began scaling the walls one-handedly, the cries of the crowd echoing beneath them.
The gnarled man never even paused for breath, climbing higher and higher until he had reached the main balcony overlooking the courtyard. Leaping onto it, he ran to the middle of the balcony and held up Esmeralda over his head, the huge, circular, stained glass window behind him framing his victorious rescue.
"SANCTUARY!" he bellowed to the crowd, declaring the place of God a safe haven for his friend. "SANCTUARY! SANCTUARY!" The crowd roared back in response.
However, far beneath him, the malevolent judge was so incensed that he couldn't care less about divine protection. "Captain!" he barked. "Seize the cathedral!"
Quasimodo only spared a moment to place Esmeralda tenderly on a wooden table inside the cathedral before he rushed out to do battle, the gargoyles close behind him. He leapt and slid down to a small workshop one level below, with a pillar-lined parapet overlooking the courtyard. Hearing the shouts of the rallying soldiers below, he first grabbed an enormous wooden beam and heaved it to the edge.
The squad of armed men clustering at the door to Notre Dame screamed and scattered when they saw the massive timber falling down towards them. The soldiers fled in all directions as the beam crashed onto a nearby steel prison cart, crushing it into a million fragments and making the horse pulling it take off in fright.
Frollo stared at the men, who were being routed only by falling objects, before fury and a disappearing dream spurred him into action. "Come back, you cowards!" he bawled, storming up the steps to the door. He snatched a sword from a discombobulated soldier and started snapping orders. "You men, pick up that beam! Break down the door!"
A few of the fleeing soldiers rallied, hoisting the dropped beam and using it as a battering ram against the church's massive doors. Soldiers from all over the courtyard hurried to bolster their ranks and follow Frollo's commands. However, this left other important posts woefully understaffed.
The ex-captain of the guard, Phoebus, imprisoned in a cage with the gypsies for treason and helping Esmeralda and Quasimodo, saw his chance. Before the lone remaining guard outside his prison could join his fellows, Phoebus grabbed him in a headlock through the bars.
"Alone at last," he commented, before conking him on the head hard enough to dent his helmet. The guard crumpled to the ground and Phoebus jingled the ring of keys grabbed from his belt.
Focused on the door as they were, neither Frollo nor the guards noticed Phoebus unlocking his cage door and climbing up on its roof, a discarded spear in hand. "Citizens of Paris!" he shouted to the crowds of gathered townspeople, somehow audible over the din, "Frollo has persecuted our people! Ransacked our city! Now, he has declared war on Notre Dame herself!"
Phoebus gestured to the cathedral, the symbol of Christianity of the city, with black smoke billowing around its towers and the mass of guards banging at its doors. He raised his spear over his head with both hands. "WILL WE ALLOW IT?!"
"NOOOOOOOO!" roared the crowd in response. Wielding spades, pitchforks, torches and whatever weapons they could find, they shoved past the remaining guards towards the cathedral doors. The locks to the cages holding the gypsies were smashed off and their occupants handed weapons. With Phoebus at the fore, the vengeful mob charged at the battalion of city guards, even as they laid siege to the hall of God.
Blasphemy.
There is no other description. This… is… BLASPHEMY!
First he treats Notre Dame as a prison, and now as a fortress to be conquered? Has Claude Frollo forsaken all his morals so as to attack a house of God? The house of the Virgin Mary, no less? Has his lust and zealotry burned away all respect and love for Him and his teachings?
This… is all I can take. This insult to the Almighty will not go unpunished.
… and I can think of no clearer message than for him to fall at the hands of the people he hates, empowered by those that aid the righteous.
So shall it be done. The forces of nature are the tools of the Lord, and now, they shall be the tools of the woman who cares more for the helpless than herself.
Domine, sua robur date!
The last thing that Esmeralda remembered was the heat and smoke filling her lungs, the sense of dreaded fatigue coming over her, the slow, terrifying loss of consciousness…
… and then suddenly find herself standing on what appeared to be a cloud, in the middle of a bright blue sky. Confused, she looked around, but she couldn't see anything familiar.
"Where am I?" she murmured, "What happened?" A horrified bolt of realization struck her. "Am… am I…"
"No, my dear Esmeralda, you are not."
The gypsy woman turned around with a gasp, to see a woman walking across the clouds towards her. Her long brown hair was covered by a white shawl, which also covered a blue cloak that itself covered a long red dress. Her skin was pale, her features young, pure and beautiful… but those words seemed woefully insufficient to truly describe her, like she was completely beyond accurate mortal description. Her presence alone made the atmosphere all that more radiant.
"Who… who are…" Esmeralda tried to ask, but her throat seemed to choke up with awe. Her emerald eyes widened as her memory suddenly flashed back to a moment back in Notre Dame, when she was praying in front of a stone statue… whose image now looked serenely back at her in flesh and blood.
The Virgin Mary smiled beatifically at her. "At the very least, you still have your whole life to live before you meet with St. Peter at the Pearly Gates."
Esmeralda's knees turned weak, as if the woman's mere presence had turned them to water. But before they could give out, Mary's hand reached out to steady her. "Easy, child; there's no reason for you to be overcome. This is all in your mind."
"I… I'm just… confused," murmured Esmeralda, "how can I see you? I am just a gypsy…"
"Oh, come now, do you mean to tell me Frollo's words have gotten to you after all?" Mary mildly snorted. "You were right when you prayed all those days ago: everyone, even gypsies, are children of God."
The informality of her words lightened Esmeralda's spirits a little. "And I bet it's a terrible thing that some of His children can't accept that fact about each other, isn't it?"
Mary's melancholy expression said it all. "Indeed, and every conflict that stems from it makes the heart of every divine being ache." Her eyes shut, as if nursing one of said aches. "But if there's one thing that makes our hearts rankle in fury, it's a hypocrite that uses our virtues as excuses to fuel his selfish desires."
Esmeralda didn't have any trouble figuring out who she was talking about. "And his sins are severe enough that it warrants your attention?"
"It is one thing to sin," answered Mary, "but it is another thing to conceal those sins beneath a veil of piety and grace, and not only that, blame God for his transgressions. Frollo's sanctimonious pride and his hatred for the gypsies has blinded him to true guilt and innocence many times in the past, but when he used his lust for you as an excuse to commit genocide in pursuit of you, then blame both you and God for tempting him, we knew he had lost all sense of morality and fears no repercussions for his actions. Not even the act of assaulting the Notre Dame."
The Virgin Mary looked directly at Esmeralda, and the young woman swallowed when she saw the spark flickering in the otherwise placid eyes. "I plan on proving him wrong on all those accounts."
Esmeralda took a deep breath. "I wholly agree that Frollo needs to be taught a lesson, Mother Mary, but why are you telling me all this?"
Mary's flickering eyes seemed to penetrate right into Esmeralda's own. "Because you are going to be the one who will be carrying out Heaven's judgment."
That one statement left Esmeralda absolutely dumbstruck. Her mouth opened and shut, trying to get words out and failing. Mary just waited patiently for her answer.
Finally, the gypsy managed to say something. "But… but why me?" she mumbled. "There must be dozens of people out there more pious and god-loving than me. Why would you choose a gypsy, someone not of His faith, to be your champion?"
"That is exactly the reason why I am choosing you," responded the Virgin Mary. "Frollo must know our clear disapproval of his actions, and I see no better way than to display to him Heaven's support of the ones he has oppressed for all these years. As for you not being of His faith, well, that doesn't matter in His eyes. To Him, everyone, believers or not, is his children."
"Besides, to someone who would ask for her people to be blessed before herself, that kind of selflessness needs to be rewarded. With the forces of nature at your command, Frollo and his cohorts will not be able to escape what will come."
Esmeralda was quiet for just a while longer as she stared at the divine being. "But wouldn't such powers be viewed as witchcraft?"
"Not necessarily," answered Mary calmly, "If shows of unnatural power were used to harm someone at the command of one person, that could be an interpretation. But if such acts were apparently committed by nature itself, the only possible explanation would be divine judgment, and no-one would want to contest that."
Mary held her hands out in front of her, and in between them, wisps of cloud rose from around her to coagulate into a long pole-like shape with a cross mounted on the end. She held it out towards Esmeralda. "So, do you accept this responsibility?"
For a moment, Esmeralda looked thoroughly intimidated by the pressure, but a moment later, the gypsy woman reached out and took hold of the cloudy shape, feeling steel under her grip. Her spine straightened and a hint of her own spark appeared in her eyes.
A small, excited smile graced her face. "Frollo asked for a witch," she said, waving her hand over the cross to conceal it inside a bulb of more cloud, "I think seeing one doing the will of God should get His point across."
The Virgin Mary gave a smile of her own. "My thoughts exactly."
The siege of Notre Dame had devolved the courtyard outside the cathedral into abject pandemonium. Enraged villagers and gypsies alike brawled with soldiers, eager to exact retribution for the desecration of the pride of their beloved city, even as the men under Frollo's command battered away at the barred front doors.
At the forefront, Phoebus proved exactly why he was once captain of the city guard. Even while nursing a shoulder injury, out of armor and armed with only a spear, the blond captain beat back every soldier that dared to engage him, even managing to out-muscle three men at once. Beside him, Esmeralda's pet goat Djali knocked countless men on their faces with firm headbutts to their backsides.
Up in the battlements of Notre Dame, Quasimodo and the gargoyles were working as fast as they could to prevent the soldiers from breaching the cathedral. The hunchback shoved huge stone slabs over the edge to shatter raiding ladders, and unhooked grappling lines from the railings, causing the soldiers climbing them to plummet into the Seine river. Victor (reluctantly) aided in dropping bricks onto the attackers, Hugo spat chunks of rock at them like bullets, and Laverne directed the birds that harassed her day and night to instead harass the soldiers instead with beaks and feet.
But despite all the efforts of Quasimodo, Phoebus, and their fellow fighters, the soldiers still managed to do their job of keeping them away from the vanguard of the siege. With Frollo bellowing at them to keep up the pace, the twelve men hoisting the beam rammed it into the wooden doors over and over again, and little by little, the door started to splinter under the strain.
With both time and options running out, Quasimodo turned to the huge cauldron of molten copper used to repair cracks in the bells. With Hugo blowing on the flames beneath it to keep them hot, the hunchback affixed a hook and pulley to the cauldron's lip and pulled with all his might. The huge pot tipped over, pouring a golden torrent of liquid metal onto the stone floor that flowed towards the edge of the cathedral.
The hollow heads of the gargoyles lining the parapet, normally only used to drain rainwater, glowed cherry red as a much hotter liquid flowed through them. Like lava from a volcano, waves of boiling-hot liquid gushed out of the gargoyles' mouths down towards the battle below.
The soldiers had just managed to break down one plank of the heavy church door before they noticed the waterfall of metal cascading down at them. Terrified at the almost biblical attack, the men broke ranks and scattered, joining the retreating crowd as they fled from the flood of liquid copper spilling into the courtyard.
Sheltered beneath the parapet as he was, Frollo flinched as the wall of golden liquid splashed to the steps in front of him, cutting off his access to the courtyard. Wincing at the heat and droplets licking at his heels, he turned to the only avenue of escape he had left: the small hole his men had managed to make in the door. Hacking at the entrance with his confiscated sword, he hauled himself in, fixated on his goal several floors above him.
Phoebus had just managed to disarm the replacement captain and throw him under his horse's flank when the stream of copper had come splashing down. Even as he retreated from the flood, he still managed to glimpse Frollo pulling himself into Notre Dame, and heat or no heat, he would not let that madman anywhere near his friends.
By some miracle, even through eyes tearing up at the heat, he still managed to spot one way through the metal flood that led right to the front doors.
Knuckles white around the hilt of his sword, Frollo stormed towards the spiral staircase heading towards the upper floors, only to find the portly form of Archdeacon Pierre blocking his way, his expression one of fury. "Frollo, have you gone mad?" he shouted. "I will not tolerate this assault on the house of God!" Despite the fact that his attacker was armed, he faced down the judge with not a hint of fear in his eyes.
Frollo didn't even pause, as he gripped the Archdeacon by the collar and threw him down the stairs. "Silence, you old fool!" he snarled. "The hunchback and I have unfinished business to attend to, and this time, you will not interfere!" He strode through the doors at the top of the stairs, locked it behind him and continued on, unaware of the low rumbling that seemed to reverberate through the building.
As he ascended the next flight of stairs, he suddenly became aware of a mournful sobbing growing closer, and when he turned the next corner, he saw Quasimodo's slumped form in front of a closed door, arms wrapped around his knees and his face buried out of sight.
Stoically, Frollo approached him, placing one hand on his humped shoulder. Quasimodo barely acknowledged the touch of his master, consumed in his grief. "You killed her…" he murmured.
The judge barely batted an eyelash. "It was my duty, horrible as it was," he said with an air of false regret. "I hope you can forgive me."
Silently, one hand reached into his sleeve and withdrew a gleaming dagger as he continued, "There, there, Quasimodo, I know it hurts. But now, the time has come to end your suffering… forever." He raised the knife over Quasimodo's neck, candlelight gleaming off the polished blade.
However, Quasimodo raised his head just in time to see that gleam, and he looked up with a gasp at the knife over his head. Frollo brought the dagger down, but Quasimodo's meaty hand managed to catch his arm just in time. The old judge suddenly found himself wrestling against someone less than half his age, twice his width, and more than twice as strong.
Quasimodo saw the outright hatred in Frollo's eyes, and rage bubbled up inside him in response. With hardly any effort, he wrested the dagger from Frollo's hand and shoved him back to crash into the stone wall. Frollo's hate turned to fear when he saw Quasimodo's gnarled form rise above him, knife in hand. Neither one noticed a small flicker of light beneath the nearby closed door.
"Now… now, listen to me, Quasimodo…" he tried to say.
"No! You listen!" Quasimodo snapped, voice filled with anguish. "All my life you have told me the world is a dark, cruel place. But now I see the only thing dark and cruel about it is people like you!" He hurled the dagger at Frollo's feet so hard that it broke against the tilestones.
Two pairs of eyes locked. "I'm done listening to your cruel lies," stated Quasimodo grimly, "and I'm done with you."
Before a cowering Frollo could respond to his words, the door to where Esmeralda was kept suddenly opened and something flew out to embed itself in the stone in between the two men, a long half-green, half-blue staff with gold bells fixed on one end and topped with a huge turquoise orb with gold and purple patterns.
As both of them stared at it in confusion, a very familiar voice reached their ears, "Oh, Quasimodo, did you really start the party without me?"
Both Quasimodo and Frollo turned towards the voice, causing Frollo's jaw to drop in horrified disbelief, and causing Quasimodo's eyes to widen in stunned disbelief.
Standing in the doorway was Esmeralda, a smirk on her lips, steady on her feet and not looking like she'd almost been burnt at the stake. However, instead of the white petticoat she was wearing a moment ago, she wore an outfit that was very similar to the one she wore when she first met Quasimodo, except many times more vibrant. The teal-and-gold bodice was the same, but the white top that it covered had no attached sleeves, and the violet-and-magenta skirt beneath it was striped, lined with lace, reached only to her knees in front and hugged all the contours of her legs and abdomen. Her arms were covered with separate, voluminous sleeves that were colored brown and purple and embroidered with gold, and her lower legs were wrapped in lace-hemmed lavender cloth. The ensemble was completed with dark brown taper-toed shoes, and a huge violet witch's hat sitting on her dark curls, covered in gold rings and wrapped in a long pink hat band.
"Esmeralda! You're okay!" exclaimed Quasimodo in joy. Frollo's reaction was far less cordial.
"She lives?" he spat, rage filling his brain in an instant. Drawing the sword sheathed at his side, he lunged at Esmeralda.
Quasimodo was up and moving towards Esmeralda the moment Frollo had drawn the sword, but Esmeralda had moved even faster. In a blur of motion, she had darted forward, pulled out the staff Kris from the ground, and blocked Frollo's mad slash at her torso, before darting out the nearby doorway. All but frothing at the mouth, Frollo dashed after her, with Quasimodo close behind.
"Come back here, you filthy gypsy!" howled Frollo as he chased Esmeralda onto the topmost balcony of Notre Dame.
"Esmeralda! Esmeralda!" Quasimodo shouted after her. "Stay away from him; he's dangerous!"
"Oh, don't worry about me, Quasi," chuckled Esmeralda. "An old man such as him could hardly be as dangerous as I am now." She twirled Kris between her fingers, steeling herself for a fight.
"Such arrogance," sneered Frollo. "You really think you'll leave this cathedral alive? There is only one fate for you: slain by my blade and the will of God!"
Esmeralda ducked out of the way as he slashed downward, the blade actually chipping the stone railing. "You still believe God is on your side?" she growled, drawing back her staff like she was prepared to take a swing at him. "Then let's see if this changes your mind!"
Even though she was too far away to hit him, the gypsy woman whipped her staff through the air, crying out, "Ventum, opprimo!" The staff's head flared bright green as it flew through the air, and all of a sudden, the air turned a distinct greenish shade as a gale of wind suddenly swept across the balcony. Esmeralda's hair fluttered as she felt the air curve around her, Quasimodo clung to the nearest door frame to keep his balance, but Frollo was blown clean off his feet and sent tumbling back several yards along the stone floor.
Tangled ignominiously up in his black robes, Frollo struggled to free himself and stand back up, eventually throwing his cape off to stare at Esmeralda with a look of horror. "No… no… you couldn't have…"
Quasimodo was also staring at Esmeralda with wide eyes. "Esmeralda?" he said softly. "What… was that just now?"
The gypsy woman just smiled back at him. "Just a little gift from the lady of the house," she answered cryptically.
However, when she glanced back to where Frollo was, the man had vanished. "What? Where did he go?" She looked at Quasimodo. "Frollo wouldn't run from this fight, would he?"
Quasimodo shook his head worriedly. "No. Master's too far gone to give up now." He backed up towards Esmeralda, eyes darting back and forth worriedly. "Stay close to me. Who knows what he'll do now."
"Alright, Quasi, I'm leaving my back to you," she answered, gripping her staff tighter and looking around herself. "But don't think I'm just a helpless girl now. I'm strong enough to take care of myself."
"Oh, believe me, Esmeralda, I won't forget that – look out!" Quasimodo's comment turned into a shout as Frollo suddenly appeared out of the shadows of the church and slashed at them with his blade. Quasimodo shoved her out of the way and ducked back to avoid the blade, the tip scraping sparks off the tilestones.
Snarling, Frollo kicked out at his ex-ward, shoving him into a nearby pillar, before turning his attention on the off-balance gypsy."Die, gypsy witch!" he bellowed at her, intent on running her through.
With all her years as a dancer, Esmeralda quickly regained balance and shifted her grip on Kris so that she was holding it closer to the orb and aiming it straight at the dark judge. "Why don't you cool off instead?" she retorted. "Aquam, perfundo!" With a flash of blue light, a torrent of water spewed out of the end, striking Frollo and shoving him down the balcony again, this time in the opposite direction.
Esmeralda lowered her staff to stare harshly at the sodden judge as he tried to pick himself up for a second time. "Face the facts, your honor," she called. "There's two of us, only one of you, you're too old to be in a fight like this, and I hold powers far beyond your comprehension! Why don't you do the smart thing and just give up?"
Frollo was so incensed by this point he was literally spitting fire. "Not while the likes of you still draws breath, devilspawn!" he grated. "I am a man of Justice and a servant of the Righteous, and your evil sorcery cannot match it! I will never tire until you are banished from this plane!" Both hands gripped on his sword, he charged at her.
" 'A servant of the Righteous'," repeated Esmeralda with a slightly incredulous air. "Do you still actually believe that?" The bulb of Kris was lowered to touch the edge of the puddle created by her last incantation. "Glaciem, inalgesco!"
From the point where the orb touched the water, a chill spread over it and frost bloomed across the wet surface, until a layer of hard, slick ice covered the section of the balcony. The instant Frollo hit that patch, his feet flew out from under him and he landed hard on his back with a muffled thud and a shout of sudden pain, sliding across the icy ground to sprawl ingloriously at Esmeralda and Quasimodo's feet, his sword skittering from his hand.
Quasimodo wasted no time in gripping Frollo by the neck and hauling him upright, leaving his feet dangling in the air. Esmeralda leaned over to glare in his face. "People who have done nothing wrong except try to survive are hounded by you all their lives. Innocents are cut down in droves if they get in the way of your vendetta. You imprison hundreds of my kinsmen and drown Paris in fear, all to get to me. And yet you still claim to be in the right?"
"Have you not thought even for a second that such acts are completely, utterly wrong?!"
"Don't you talk to me about right and wrong, you Godless gypsy whore!" spat Frollo, defiant even as his hands scrabbled at Quasimodo's thick wrist. "Every thing I do, I do in the name of God! Even if I have transgressed, He will forgive me, for I am carrying out His will to cleanse this city of your foul kind!"
"You're wrong, Master… no, Frollo," Quasimodo said, eyes burning. "Nothing you do is in God's name, and nothing you do is God's will! All that has happened has been for your selfish dream, and I will not stand for it any more! If God will damn anyone tonight, I believe, no, I know, that it will be someone as heartless and cruel as you!"
"SHUT UP!" Frollo howled, kicking out in anger. Somehow, his foot managed to find Quasimodo's solar plexus, knocking the wind out of him in one gasp. As his arm bent, Frollo found himself close enough to jab the hunchback right in his bulbous eye, weakening his grip enough for Frollo to break free. Before Esmeralda could react, Frollo unhooked his cloak and tossed it right into her face, sending her staggering blindly backwards.
Seizing the opportunity, the dark judge grabbed his sword that was still lying on the ground, before thrusting it at Quasimodo. The young man had barely blinked the tears from his eyes when he saw the blade thrusting at him. He quickly ducked to the side, but not quickly enough, and the metal blade cut a jagged gash through his shirt and almost into his ribs.
"Quasi!" exclaimed Esmeralda as she pulled off the cape to see what was happening, even as Frollo kicked the wounded Quasimodo away and lunged at her. Quickly she struck her staff to the ground with a shout of, "Ignis, impedio!" In a flash of red light, a wall of fire blazed up in front of her, melting away the ice on the ground and cutting Frollo off from her.
For a second, Esmeralda thought she was safe, but the next second, she gasped when, like a demon seeking a doomed soul, Frollo stormed right through the fire towards her, sword held aloft. "Your infernal powers are useless against me!" he proclaimed with a vindictive sneer on his face, heedless of the flames licking at his robes. "The flames of hell will not harm a man of Justice!"
"Leave her alone!" Ignoring both the flames and his injury, Quasimodo charged into the blaze and blindsided Frollo, shoving both of them out of the flames and against the railing. Reeling from the blow, Frollo furiously slashed at the hunchback, elicting a cry when he drew blood.
With his hands bloody from the wounds on his arm and ribs, Quasimodo jumped onto the railing to try and escape, only to be forced to leap away when Frollo's blade jabbed dangerously close to his head. Wielding his sword like a man possessed, Frollo pursued him down the balcony, with the hunchback leaping from gargoyle to gargoyle along the railing and and the judge's blade leaving cuts in the stone behind him.
Finally though, Frollo trapped Quasimodo at a section where the balcony cornered back towards the cathedral, leaving Quasimodo with no where to run. Quasimodo could already feel his vision going blurry from blood loss, and although Frollo was breathing heavily, his robes were tattered from the flame, and his face was stained with sweat and soot, there was a manic gleam in his eyes that Quasimodo had never seen before.
"I should've known you'd risk your life to save that gypsy witch," he sneered, before his grin turned outright malicious. "Just as your own mother died trying to save you."
Even through all the chaos, those words shocked Quasimodo to the core. "What?!"
Stunned as he was, he was a hair too slow in reacting to Frollo's next strike, and just barely jumped clear in time, back the way he came down the balcony. But this time, he misjudged, and his foot slipped on the gargoyle's head. Luckily, he managed to grab on to the balcony before it was too late, but the flare of agony from his wounds almost made him pass out. Even as he clung on desperately, he could already feel his blood-soaked fingers start to lose their grip.
Out of the corner of his eye, he could already see Frollo leaning over the balcony, sword raised. "And now I'm going to do what I should've done twenty years ago!"
"Petram, collido!" suddenly came Esmeralda's frantic shout. A flash of bronze light distracted Frollo for a moment, before he was suddenly knocked flat by a section of stone railing suddenly taking on a life of its own and pulling free, shooting up, and smashing right into his chest. He lay flat, struggling to remove the chunk of stone that was now pinning him to the ground.
"Hang on, Quasimodo!" Esmeralda ran to the empty space left by the flying railing, dropped Kris beside her and seized Quasimodo's large hand. His skin was slick and sticky with dried blood, and she could already feel his grip on the edge slackening. "Quasi, please, you have to climb up!"
"I… I can't…" moaned Quasimodo softly. "Too… tired…" It was clear that the hours of rapid activity combined with stress and injury had taken their toll.
Esmeralda hauled up with all her strength, but the hunchback was just too heavy for her to pull up by herself. She didn't dare let go to grab her staff, afraid that if she did, he would instantly fall to his doom. "Quasi, please, you have to try! Please!"
A crunching sound suddenly caught her attention and she turned her head to see Frollo lever the chunk of rubble off him and sit up, blood dribbling down from the corner of his mouth. With his eyes blazing with anger, he pushed himself to his feet, wiped his mouth off with his sleeve, and stormed towards her.
Once again, Esmeralda tugged up on Quasimodo's arm to no avail. "Quasimodo, please, you have to move! He's coming!" Her head glanced back towards her staff, but the bell-ringer's grip on the railing was barely existent at this point; her arms were just about the only things holding him on, and she knew it. If she let go…
She turned back to see where Frollo was, and she gasped in horror when she saw him right next to her. The gleam in his eyes was filled with a mixture of madness, rage and glee, low, evil chuckles were emanating from his throat, and the grin on his face was practically satanic.
His knuckles were white where they held his sword, as he raised it high over his head, aiming right for her unprotected back. "AND HE SHALL SMITE THE WICKED AND PLUNGE THEM INTO THE FIERY PIT!"
Esmeralda didn't think, only acted. Eyes shut tightly, she released one hand, grabbed hold of Kris, and aimed it straight at Frollo. "FULGURA, OCCIDO!" she screamed.
A flash of yellow light blinded Frollo for a moment, before the loudest thunderclap of his life literally blew out his ears.
From the sky, a bolt of yellow-white lightning dropped out of the dark smoke above, splitting the air in twain, to strike Frollo's raised sword dead-on. The air around the man practically exploded as another bright flash lit up the entire balcony. Frollo's sudden scream of agony was drowned out by the roaring of thunder, causing Esmeralda to flinch.
And then, just a split second later, it was over. Esmeralda let out a breath when she heard Frollo's body drop senselessly to the floor, but that sense of relief was quickly replaced by a sense of sheer panic when she felt Quasimodo's skin start to slide beneath her white-knuckle grip on his arm. Quickly she dropped her staff and flung her arm out, praying against hope that she could reach him before he slipped free entirely…
Her hand fell on his arm, but the sweat and blood mixing on it meant that it too started to slide through her aching hands."No, no, nonononono…"
But just before he slipped free entirely, a pair of strong arms dropped down beside her and seized Quasimodo's tunic with a firm grip. Esmeralda gasped, then glanced beside her, to see Phoebus stretching down, face beaded with sweat, but unwilling to let their friend go. He briefly flashed her a relieved smile, before gritting his teeth as he pulled Quasimodo up to get a better grip.
Between the two of them, they managed to wrestle Quasimodo back to stable ground on the balcony. When Quasimodo finally opened his eyes and saw Phoebus there smiling at him, the first thing he did was throw his arms around the other man and give him a big hug. Phoebus blinked, before smiling and patting him on his hump.
Esmeralda threw her hands around both men in an attempt to hug the stuffing out of them. "Thank you," she whispered at Phoebus, tears glimmering in her eyes. "Thank you for saving him."
Phoebus gave a warm smile back. "Hey, he's my friend too."
On impulse, Esmeralda kissed him.
A moment later, she gasped and pulled back, almost forgetting that Quasimodo was right there. She looked at his face, expecting to find hurt, but instead, his misshapen face was curled in a big, crooked smile.
But suddenly, before he could say anything, a low groan came from their side, and all three turned in shock.
Frollo's robes and shoes were smoking at the hems and filled with scorched and shredded holes, and the skin visible through those holes was lined with angry, red, branching scars. His hair was smoking and singed, and the ground around him was visibly scorched, but as he raised his head as he slowly staggered to his feet, the three of them could still see the malice and vitriol in his eyes.
"You… haven't won… yet, witch…" he wheezed as he shakily lifted his smoking, blackened sword. "Whatever… unholy patron… you have…, he cannot match… the might of… the Almighty! … As long… as I still draw breath… I will never, ever… rest, until you… have been cast down to Hell… where you belong!"
While Phoebus and Quasimodo were gaping, both at the fact that Frollo had survived and at his sheer blindness, Esmeralda stepped forward, Kris in hand. "Fine then, Frollo. If even that couldn't convince you, let's make this very clear then."
Her free hand went to the bulb on her staff, and she ran her hand over its surface. "If I really was as unholy as you say, do you think I would be carrying this around?" Slowly, the blue surface of the orb retracted, and what was revealed caused Frollo's hate-filled eyes to bulge out of their sockets.
A holy cross made of solid gold sat in the middle of the exposed orb.
Frollo seemed to break down before their eyes. "No… it cannot be…"
"Yes it can, your honor," Esmeralda said firmly. "My so-called unholy patron is the Virgin Mary herself. It was God's will this whole time that your acts of hatred and genocide be stopped, and they chose me, a gypsy, to carry out His will. Your transgressions have stooped so low, that the Lord decided to choose someone not of His faith to become his champion, just to show how far you have fallen."
Esmeralda placed the end of Kris on the floor and folded both hands around the handle. "There is only one more opportunity for you to achieve redemption: penitence. Acknowledge and repent for your sins, and He shall grant you peace."
Quasimodo and Phoebus waited with bated breath for Frollo's answer. The judge's breathing grew more and more erratic, as his fractured mind tried to make sense of it all.
Finally though, it couldn't take the strain.
"You… YOU… BLASPHEMOUS BITCH!" howled Frollo as his mind completely snapped. "YOU FILTHY, GYPSY WHORE! HOW DARE YOU DISGUISE YOUR EVIL BEHIND HIM AND HIS GLORY?! HOW DARE YOU CLAIM HIM AS YOUR PATRON?! I WILL NOT STAND FOR THIS INSULT TO THE HOUSE OF GOD!" Practically frothing at the mouth, he charged.
Quasimodo gasped, while Phoebus drew a sword of his own, ready for more combat, but Esmeralda remained calm. "Then I shall consider that your final answer." With both hands, she raised Kris and rapped the end sharply on the ground.
"Lumen, iudico."
With those words, the cross started to glow a pure white, before blazing out with a corona of light that briefly lit up the balcony as bright as the midday sun. Quasimodo, Esmeralda and Phoebus all shielded their eyes from the glare, but that was unnecessary, as all of its radiance was focused directly on the evil judge.
Frollo howled as the light all but burnt away his sight, and he stumbled away blindly. Unfortunately, what he stumbled towards… was the empty space in the balcony railing.
Before any of them could make a move towards him, he had already taken that final step into thin air.
Only realizing too late his mistake, his fingers scrabbled for purchase on a nearby gargoyle, but the stone, damaged from his own previous sword swings, simply gave way. With the demonic head of the gargoyle leering gleefully at him, he fell the several stories to the ground below, screaming all the way.
As he tried to look to the sky, to beg the Lord for His aid, he saw the crowned statue of the Virgin Mary, looking out from her place on her cathedral with her stone eyes.
Eyes that refused to meet him, as if in disgust.
Then, as the pool of molten copper at the bottom enveloped him, everything ended.
Quasimodo closed his eyes in sorrow, while Esmeralda let out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding. Phoebus solemnly placed his arms over their shoulders, offering what comfort he could.
"It is over, Frollo," whispered Esmeralda. "May God show as much mercy on you as you have shown others."
It was then her words caught up with her. "It is over…" she breathed, all the fatigue she had accumulated finally hitting her all at once.
As if in response to her words, the cross on Kris lit with a bright white flame, a moment before it and her whole fancy outfit suddenly went up in that same white, heatless fire. Quasimodo and Phoebus gasped, but didn't move away.
When the flames finally evaporated, Esmeralda was sagging in Phoebus's arms, back in her white petticoat and with an odd card clutched in her hand. As her eyes flickered open, the first thing she saw was Phoebus's kind smile looking down at her. Slowly, she smiled too, before both of them turned to look at Quasimodo.
The hunchback was beaming at the sight. Slowly, he raised his hands, which were still covered in his own drying blood, and enclosed both her and Phoebus's hands in them.
Both of them could see the approval and happiness in his eyes, and that just brought more joy to their own hearts when they kissed again.
When Phoebus and Esmeralda stepped out of the cathedral doors, hand in hand, into the bright morning sun, the crowd outside erupted into a cacophony of cheers and yells. Villagers and gypsies alike stood shoulder to shoulder on the layer of cooled copper to applaud their victory over Frollo and his men, as Archdeacon Pierre stood at the side with a bright smile on his face. Beaming like the sun above, the two raised their hands in triumph, and the cheers grew even louder in response.
As the cheers died down, Esmeralda turned and walked towards the ruined church door. She reached her hand out inside and beckoned with a warm smile.
Slowly, out of the shadows of Notre Dame, Quasimodo stepped out into the city of Paris, his wounded torso wrapped in bandages, and his gnarled back and features visible for all to see. Briefly flinching at the bright sunlight, he stared out at all the people of Paris, a part of him waiting for the screams and shouts that would follow.
But no one did. For the most part, everyone just stared back at him in astonishment, as if connecting the face with the hero that had all but saved their city.
Then, one little girl stepped out of the crowd to get a better look, ascending the cathedral stairs towards him. She looked at his lumpy features in quiet contemplation, before reaching out to gently touch his face. Quasimodo briefly recoiled and held his breath, praying against all hope that she wouldn't see him as a monster…
But his fears were completely unfounded, as a smile blossomed on her face.
All the weight fell away from Quasimodo's shoulders in a heartbeat, as he leaned down to receive the girl's hug. Beaming, she took his hand and led him down the steps towards the crowd.
Hanging from a pole above them, the gypsy entertainer Clopin crowed out to the crowd. "THREE CHEERS FOR QUASIMODO!"
And with that, the entire crowd cheering converged on Quasimodo, laughing with him, talking to him, not even caring about his humped back or his twisted features. Before long, he was hoisted onto the shoulders of the crowd and carried off into the city.
Laughing gaily, Esmeralda and Phoebus followed close behind, Djali the goat bouncing around them. From up in the bell tower, the three gargoyles watched the proceedings with huge smiles on their faces (although Victor was shedding tears the entire time).
From within their chambers, of their own accord, the bells of Notre Dame sang the brightest song they had ever sung, as if knowing that the man that was their constant friend and companion had finally achieved the freedom he had dreamed about at last.
And from her position overlooking the city, a certain statue's lips curled into a beatific smile as she heard Clopin's singing below her.
So...
Here Is A Riddle To Guess If You Can
Sing The Bells Of Notre Dame!
What Makes A Monster, And What Makes A Man?
Sing The Bells, Bells, Bells, Bells...
Bells, Bells, Bells, Bells…
Whatever Their Pitch, You Can Feel Them Bewitch You,
The Rich And The Ritual Knells,
Of The Bells Of Notre Dame!
Well, here's another chapter ready for everyone! Hope you enjoy it!
Once again, I hope this chapter passes muster. I'm really sorry for the wait. It was a lot harder than I thought to put all this religious rhetoric in writing.
Which brings me to something else: Whatever divine words or acts are shown in this story are my own conjecture. I am in no way, shape or form theorizing or insinuating the thought processes of any divine figure, nor am I seeking to insult or rewrite any religious doctrines out there.
Skirtzzz, thank you so much for waiting again! I know it's been a long time, but I really hope you enjoy this installment!
If you're wondering about the words used in this story, I've listed them below (and I admit, I used Google Translate). I know my Latin grammar is probably horribly wrong, so if anyone versed in Latin sees this, I apologize for my language-butchering, and would appreciate any corrections!
Domine, sua robur date! – Lord, give her strength!
Esmeralda's staff, Kris – Justice; Romany language
Ventum, opprimo! – Wind, suppress!
Aquam, perfundo! – Water, drench!
Glaciem, inalgesco! – Ice, freeze!
Ignis, impedio! – Fire, obstruct!
Petram, collido! – Stone, strike!
Fulgura, occido! – Lightning, fall!
Lumen, iudico. – Light, judge.
I know Black Mages can't learn Holy, but with her powers given to her by God, I had to show something of the sort! It wouldn't make sense otherwise!
Find Esmeralda's black mage costume, created by the talented DeviantArtist Skirtzzz here (scrap all the spaces)!:
skirtzzz . deviantart dotcom / art / Black – Mage – Esmeralda – 304084396
Review and Critique please; I'd really like to know someone's reading this! But please, no flaming!
Next Chapter: The Bengali Beast