Title: Sanctuary
Author: brobdignagian
Rating: PG-13 for violence.
Disclaimer: I am not the owner the Hunchback of Notre Dame, either the book, which is owned by Victor Hugo, nor the animated movie, which is owned by Disney.
Summary: What if Clopin and Quasimodo had met before the Festival of Fools?
Notes: This story is based on the Disney version of The Hunchback of Notre Dame.
Clopin is still around 20.
Quasimodo is still around 13.
Again, I apologize if Quasimodo is out of character—he's still hard for me to write.
Quasimodo rushed up the spiraling staircase. The unconscious gypsy rested painfully on his aching shoulder, yet he paid it no mind; instead he focused his mind on the task set before him—getting the gypsy to safety one step at a time (The staircase never ended! The steps just kept coming and coming!).
After hours of running in circles, Quasimodo arrived at the bell tower. Pushing past his concerned friends, he made his way into a barren room. Carefully taking the gypsy off his aching shoulder (giving a silent sigh of relief as the pain in his shoulder lessened), he slowly set the gypsy down on his straw mattress. The gypsy's breathing was hitched and uneven, face clearly illustrating the pain he was feeling.
"What happened, Quasi?" Victor questioned as he hopped to the bed.
"Frollo's guards—they hurt him." Quasimodo explained, gazing down at the gypsy helplessly (What was he supposed to do exactly…?).
"Take his shirt off."
Quasimodo faltered, "Wha-What?" He stuttered, disfigured eyes widening as he turned to an exasperated Laverne.
She rolled her eyes. "His shirt—take it off. We need to see his injuries, and we can't do that while he's wearing a shirt, now can we?" She questioned, eyebrow raised pointedly.
Quasimodo started to turn red, but nodded. "…O-Okay…" He hesitatingly agreed, taking a step closer to the bed. Swallowing, he reluctantly reached out for the gypsy's shirt. Face bright red, he grasped the gypsy's dark-purple over-shirt and began to lift it over the gypsy's head. However, the over-shirt stretched high on the gypsy's neck, and Quasimodo had difficulty getting it over the gypsy's head. Biting his lower lip in concentration, Quasimodo moved closer to the front of the bed, so that he would get better access to the gypsy. Carefully raising up the gypsy's head, Quasimodo proceeded to maneuver the over-shirt over and off the head of the gypsy. After a bit of struggling, the shirt finally surrendered and relinquished its hold.
Once he had successfully gotten the shirt off, Quasimodo turned and placed the purple over-shirt out of the way—on the wooded floorboards near the door.
Rotating around to the unconscious gypsy, Quasimodo intended on repeating the process with the deep blue shirt the gypsy now wore (it had long sleeves and the gypsy was wearing black gloves, but thankfully, the shirt didn't have a long neck.).
Returning to the side of the bed, Quasimodo carefully took off the gypsy's long black gloves and placed them on top of the over-shirt. He then took a hold of one of the gypsy's arms and, after staring at it for a moment in confusion (How was he supposed to do this…?), grabbed the gypsy's sleeve cuff in his left hand and the gypsy's wrist in his right. Holding the sleeve in place, Quasimodo attempted to shove the gypsy's arm through the sleeve. This resulted in the end of the sleeve splitting in Quasimodo's hand; however the arm had remained in place.
Staring at the torn sleeve in his hand, Quasimodo slowly turned until he faced Laverne. He looked up and gave her a helplessly confused look.
Ignoring the hysterical laughter of Hugo, she gave him a soft smile, hobbled over and offered her advice. "Take this off first." She said, gently placing her stone hand on the gypsy's stomach. "And then the sleeves."
Quasimodo nodded. As he turned back to the gypsy, he realized exactly what he was doing. He felt his face burn in embarrassment, but he tried to shake it off. Taking a steadying breath, Quasimodo grasped the gypsy's shirt and began tugging it off. It came off with little difficulty until Quasimodo reached the gypsy's arms. However, that obstacle was easily solved by placing the gypsy's arms over his head. The shirt then easily slid off from there, unlike his other attempts.
After placing the dark blue long sleeved shirt on top of the black gloves and purple over-shirt, Quasimodo got a first look at the gypsy's injuries. There were brown and yellow bruises spotted across his dark Romani skin. His arms and chest bled where he had been struck by the weapons of the guards.
Realizing how hurt the gypsy was, Quasimodo glanced around his empty room for anything that might stop the bleeding of the gypsy. Laverne, always one step ahead, handed him one of his old green shirts that he hadn't been able to fit into for years. Giving her a grin of thanks, Quasimodo accepted his shirt and began tearing it into tiny strips, in which he then proceeded to carefully wind about the gypsy's skin.
The gypsy winced in pain, and shifted about, trying to separate himself from the pain Quasimodo was indirectly causing. "Sorry, Sorry, Sorry…" Quasimodo quietly apologized as he continued working.
The gypsy whined and whimpered, twisting and turning upon Quasimodo's tiny mattress. Quasimodo was forced into restraining the unconscious gypsy as he bound him up, lest he flip off the bed and injure himself more.
Yet, finally, the arduous, painstaking process had been completed. The gypsy lay, now peaceful, on the lumpy mattress. Quasimodo, whom had retreated to leaning against the doorway, gazed at the gypsy, wondering if what he had done was right or not…
Hadn't his Master always told him that gypsies were evil? But…he hadn't actually seen the gypsy do anything wrong. Yet, the gypsy had been at the Church to claim Sanctuary, so he must have done something wrong to need it. But, then again, gypsies did have Sanctuary at the Church of Notre Dame, so the soldiers had no right to abuse the gypsy upon Church grounds.
Quasimodo sighed. He had always thought the gypsy to be likable when he saw him at the annual Festival of Fools…But…he was a gypsy, and gypsies were evil.
He supposed he could keep the gypsy overnight and tell Frollo about him when His Master came in the morning.
Yet...Quasimodo frowned when he thought of telling Frollo. His Master would certainly be pleased, whether it was the right thing to do or not. But, suppose the gypsy hadn't done anything wrong? Then Quasimodo would really be a monster…
Quasimodo heaved another sigh. But, what if the gypsy had done something wrong? Then he would be doing something right. For once.
He shook his head to clear these troubling thoughts. Pushing away from the doorway, he headed through the main room and onto the balcony. The air was crisp, cool and refreshing, quite different from the humid and stifling air inside, which was filled with his puzzling thoughts. He took a deep breath, and slowly released it. (What on Earth was he going to do…?)
He took a seat on the balcony railing with a sigh and rested his back, which was burning from all the climbing and moving he had done earlier. His eyes glazed over as he stared out of the empty, peaceful, reassuring streets of Paris. The wind gently tossed his deep red hair in front of his eyes, which he slowly pushed out of his face.
Well, he decided, what's done is done. He had saved the gypsy whether it was the right thing to do or not and there was simply no changing that. Problem was, what was he to do with the gypsy, now that he had him?
He could easily turn him into Frollo.
Yet, he could let the gypsy free just as easily.
His Master would be pleased, that was for certain. But…but what if the gypsy hadn't done anything wrong…? Quasimodo couldn't give the gypsy to His Master if he hadn't done anything wrong, could he?
He supposed he could always ask the gypsy when he woke up…but, if gypsies were was evil as Frollo believed, wouldn't the gypsy lie to him?
He had no way of knowning the real intentions of the gypsy. Quasimodo heaved another sigh, rubbing his hands across his deformed face. He'd save his decision for the morning.
It had been a long day.