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, as I have not yet finished reading Victor Hugo's book.
Clopin is still around 20.
Quasimodo is still around 13.
Judge Claude Frollo was not in a good mood.
His idiotic soldiers had been so close to capturing the Gypsy King! They had him on the ground, surrounded and beaten. Instead of bringing the gypsy to him, like they were ordered to, they fled. Fled!
They claimed they had seen the devil. Frollo rolled his eyes heaven-ward. The Archdeacon had a blood red cloak. If it was dark, and the Archdeacon had the hood up, he could, admittingly, be mistaked for the devil.
Not that he was excusing the act, of course, because the mistake would not have happened in the first place if they had just brought the gypsy to him as ordered!
Frollo stormed up the entrance of Notre Dame, his mood reflected in the stormy clouds gathering in the distance. With a basket perched on his arm, he threw open the Church doors. The Archdeacon jumped as the doors slammed against the stone walls; Frollo smirked.
"Oh, Frollo, you frightened me!" The Archdeacon exclaimed, a hand over his heart as he stood at the alter.
"My apologies," Frollo purred with no hint of remorse. He turned on his heel towards the stairs to the bell tower. He waltzed up said stairs, placing the best "nice guy" façade on as he prepared to meet Quasimodo.
Frollo absolutely detested the deformed creature; Frollo was forced to give up his precious time tending to something that shouldn't have been born.
However…
Frollo was unable to shake the feeling that it would become of some use to him. And if it were to be of some use to him, Frollo needed to be able to manipulate him to his will, Unfortunately, this meant he had to be nice to the beast.
…The deformed thing who didn't know anything about anything. Frollo was forced to teach him if he wanted the thing to be at least somewhat coherent. Frollo then snorted as he realized what he had thought. Quasimodo, coherent. An oxymoron if he'd ever made one. And the funniest one he'd ever heard.
Shaking these thoughts, he resigned himself to yet another day of loathing and stupidity. He put on his mask of aloofness as he climbed the last steps to the bell tower.
He found the varmint standing at the table covered in his silly little wood carvings. He was whispering to something… or someone? Frollo narrowed his eyes and greeted his charge. "Good morning, Quasimodo."
The thing gasped and spun around, eyes reflecting his surprise, panic, and guilt. Frollo glanced around for the gargoyles, his "friends" that he regularly "conversed" with. And indeed, there they were, placed next to him by the table. It was then that decided the lesson for the beast today—the difference between inanimate and animate objects.
"G-G-Good morning, M-Master." The thing stuttered back, his 'good' eye twitching. Revolting.
Frollo took the still swaying basket off his arm. "How about breakfast?" It wasn't a question. Quasimodo nodded and hurried over to shelves to get their utensils—Frollo's silver, the creature's wood. Frollo gave the thing an entirely fake smile, taking out two bottles; extremely diluted wine for the vermin, and perfectly preserved wine for him.
Frollo took a seat, the creature jerkily following his example. Resisting the urge to roll his eyes to the heavens once more, he began to introduce today's daily lesson. "Now, Quasimodo, about your so called 'friends'," He started, sweeping his arm towards the gargoyles that sat in the corner of the room. "You are well aware that they are made out of…"
Suddenly, a gust of wind from out the window managed to make its way into the bell tower and decided to run off with Frollo's hat. Frollo groped wildly for his hat, his fingers brushing against the black material as it flew out of his reach. With a frustrated sigh, Frollo stood, pushing back the beast as it started for his hat. "Don't worry, dear boy, I've got it."
Dear boy…Frollo shuddered as he reached his hat. He did not want the beast's grubby hands over his best hat. As he bent to pick it up, he noticed the wind had also caused the cover of the bells fall off—Obviously his charge had noticed the gathering storm and had prepared for it accordingly.
At least it had learned something.
Standing back up, Frollo noticed the reflective surface of the bells as he swept his hat back and onto his head, using the bells as an impromptu mirror. It worked well enough. As he adjusted his hat, Frollo's eyes flickered back to the table, where the vermin was waiting for him. However, he frowned when he recognized a flash of purple from under the table. What in Paris could that be…?
He turned back around, striding intently to the table to see what was under it. Sure, it could be a bird or an animal or something (Which was most likely exactly what it was), but there was always the chance that it was something, or someone, else. He ignored the panicked Quasimodo as he arrived at the table and ducked down to see this animal Quasimodo had, once again, dragged into the bell tower.
It wasn't a bird.
In fact, it wasn't even an animal.
It was a gypsy.
And not even a gypsy, it was the gypsy. The gypsy his guards had beaten the night before. The gypsy that had eluded him for years. The one gypsy he had ever needed to successfully rid himself of the Court of Miracles forever.
The Gypsy King.
With a raging cry, Frollo grabbed the arm of the gypsy and dragged him from under the wooden table. Hauling him up, he shoved the gypsy in Quasimodo's face. "What." He demanded. "Is. This?"
The creature gulped, looking as panicked, frightened, and as guilty as ever before. "I-I-I-"
Growling, Frollo grabbed one of the filthy arms of the beast, and dragged them both, the Gypsy King and the monster, down the hall. Once they made it to Quasimodo's room, Frollo yanked open the door, threw Quasimodo inside, slammed the door shut, and then proceeded to lock the door. Frollo knew fully well he'd get out somehow—he always did (The Archdeacon's doing, most likely.)
Hands full of struggling gypsy, Frollo physically dragged him down the stairs. Luckily, the gypsy seemed to be missing the dagger he always had on him. Instead, he was punching Frollo's arms, chest, and face, yelling, "Sanctuary! Sanctuary! Damn you, Sanctuary!"
Sure the Gypsy might have Sanctuary, and sure, Frollo might be bruised in the morning, but if he could manage to get outside the Church and into the Palace of Justice, it would all be worth it.
As they made their way down the steps and into the Church, the gypsy began resisting more than ever. It was a constant fury of punches, and yelling at the top of his lungs. (Frollo silently Thanked God that it wasn't a Sunday, full of church goers who would be staring at him in shock and disbelief.)
But the Archdeacon would still be there.
Frollo stopped for a moment, and aimed a punch at the gypsy's head, intending on easily knocking they gypsy out. That way, the Archdeacon wouldn't be notified, and it would make it easier for Frollo to drag him out of the Church. However, just as he was about to act on his intention, who should appear but the Archdeacon?
"Frollo!"
Frollo snarled and threw the gypsy to the stone floor in his anger. He had been so close!
Instead of turning to the safety of the Archdeacon, like a many a gypsy hand, this one let out a cry of his own and lunged at Frollo. Now with nothing holding either of them back, Frollo and the gypsy battled it out on the floor of the Church. Punching, kicking, pulling, screaming, anything that might give them the upper hand.
Their battle was short but effective. The Archdeacon reached them, grabbed the gypsy, and held him back, prohibiting him from continuing his attack on Frollo. They gypsy quickly calmed down, but did not tear his glare away from the Judge. Frollo glared back with all his might.
The Archdeacon just shook his head in disappointment. "I thought you were better than this Frollo. Resorted to this."
"You don't know who that is!" Frollo shouted back.
"It's a human being. Just like the two of us." The Archdeacon tried to reason.
"He's a gypsy!"
But the Archdeacon just shook his head once more and with a gentle hand on the gypsy's shoulder, started to walk off. "I suggest you leave before you are forbidden to come back."
With eyes that could kill, Frollo glared at them once more, before gathering himself and pulling himself off the floor. He turned and strutted out of the Church of Notre Dame. He would get the Gypsy King. Even if it killed him.
Waii!! *bows* My apologies guys! I had a bad case of writers block, followed by a horrible case of life…However, I am back now, and you can expect updates about every week or so. Thanks to all of you who reviewed/faved/alerted this story during my time off! It was all of you who convinced me to continue writing! Thanks!!