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.

"Master! Master!" Quasimodo shrieked, his voice breaking as he beat on the door of his room. He urgently yanked on the door handle to no avail. He closed his eyes, desperately fighting the tears that pricked at the corner of his eyes.

His Master had not been happy.

So unhappy to the point that he had actually locked Quasimodo in his room. Frollo had been angry at him before, yes, but never to this extent. Quasimodo banged both hands on the door in aggravation, before sighing and resting his forehead against the strong, hard wood.

He knew he should have just handed the gypsy over to His Master! If he had, His Master wouldn't be mad at him, he wouldn't be locked in his room, and he wouldn't be sitting there batting his feelings of self-regret.

Wouldn't he?

Quasimodo sighed. He supposed it didn't really matter in the end—the gypsy was still being taken to the Palace of Justice. Resigned, he half-heartedly tried the doorknob one last time (Maybe be could find his Master and find out what the gypsy had done wrong; the gypsy had to have done something wrong if his Master got this upset about the whole thing), yet to his surprise, found it open.

He snapped his head up and threw open the door, finding Victor, Hugo, and Laverne standing outside with looks of concern on their grey, stony faces. He didn't answer the question that was clearly written on all their faces; instead he asked an urgent question of his own, "Where's Frollo?"

Laverne was the one who answered, pointing an arm to the staircase. "Down to the Church, but Quasi, I don't think—" But Quasimodo wasn't able to hear the rest, as he had jumped up and spun down the spiraling staircase.

He reached the bottom in enough time to see His Master storm out of Notre Dame, as well as the Archdeacon and the gypsy strolling in the opposite direction. Quasimodo was momentarily torn—should he go after his Master, or the Archdeacon?—before deciding that conversing with the Archdeacon would be, admittedly, the safest option. (If Frollo was upset enough to lock him in his room….he shuddered, unwilling to continue on that thought.)

With one last look at the Church doors Frollo had stormed out of, Quasimodo made his way to the Archdeacon, the gypsy having wandered out of sight.

The Archdeacon turned with a smile upon recognizing him and set a hand on top of Quasimodo's head. "Ah, Quasimodo. How are you?" He questioned.

Quasimodo gave a little smile, ducking his head. The Archdeacon was always so nice to him… "Ah…F-Fine sir. Thank you for asking."

The Archdeacon gently smiled and ruffled Quasimodo's blood red hair. "What are you doing down here?" He kindly asked. A valid question—even when the Church is empty, Quasimodo rarely ventured down the steps. Yet, whenever he did, the Archdeacon always went out of his way to make him feel welcomed.

"Ah…I was just……the gypsy, he….was beaten yesterday, and I-I…" Quasimodo stammered out, eyes on the gypsy who was wandering about the church as if he had never been in one before.

"Were you the one who rescued him?" The Archdeacon questioned with a knowing smile.

Quasimodo slowly nodded, eyes flicking from the gypsy up to the Archdeacon. The Archdeacon gave him another smile, and put a hand on his back, gently pushed him towards the gypsy (who was now sitting in a pew, tapping his fingers on his knees and looking around nervously, anxiously). "Go talk to him." He suggested.

Quasimodo's eyes widened at the very idea. "W-What?" He stammered out.

"Go and talk to him. You saved him, right? You should introduce yourself. Besides, you might have more in common with him than you think." He said with an impish wink before walking away.

Quasimodo stood, flabbergasted, as he watched the Archdeacon walk away. What in Paris…?

He turned his sights back to the gypsy. Talk with him? And what had the Archdeacon meant, the idea that they might have something in common? Him, a bell ringer deformed creature, and a gypsy? With a gulp, he slowly made his way to the gypsy-filled pew. The Archdeacon had never led him wrong before...

The gypsy looked up with a look of apprehension as Quasimodo approached. Quasimodo hovered for a moment, before finally taking a seat on the pew in front of the gypsy. Neither of them said anything.

Just say something! Quasimodo silently berated himself. He's not going to run away—he didn't when he saw you up in the Tower, and he hasn't run away now. Just…ask for his name; it's not hard. Just, open your mouth and say, "What's your name?" It's not hard. Just open your mouth and say it, now, now, now!

Before he could talk himself out of it, he opened his mouth and quietly asked, "W-What's your-your name?"

The gypsy looked up, a bit emotionlessly at first, before offering a small smile. "Clopin. Clopin Trouillefou." He introduced. "What's yours?"

Quasimodo was a little surprised that the gypsy—Clopin—had asked. Who would want to know the name of a creature like him? But he answered nevertheless. "Oh, I-I'm Quasimodo."

They gyp—Clopin—simply nodded, and they were quiet for a while longer. The Archdeacon had come back into the Church, and began lighting the candles.

Clopin gave a dramatic sigh and flung himself down into the pew, so that he was laying down. Throwing an arm over his eyes, he finally spoke up. "I need to get out of here…"

Quasimodo turned to him, blinking. "How come?" He couldn't help but ask.

The gypsy didn't move. "I have to get back to my people." He simply answered.

"The Court of Miracles." Quasimodo spoke in realization. The gypsy nodded. Frollo was constantly ranting and raving about the urgent need to find it. Even if Quasimodo couldn't understand the reason why.

Another silence. Quasimodo couldn't think of another conversation starter. He was debating on whether or not he should leave, when the gypsy spoke up again.

"Don't you hate it here?" Clopin wondered. Quasimodo glanced down at the gypsy, still laying on the pew, arms now crossed over his chest, looking up at Quasimodo with a question in his eyes. "These stone walls! This…containment! I can't stand it." He said, gesturing all around, shaking his head at the mere thought.

Quasimodo shook his own head. "I don't live down here. I live up there," He pointed up at the roof. "In the bell tower." He explained.

"It's still the same." The gypsy reasoned, waving off Quasimodo's logic. "Why don't you just leave?" It wasn't an accusing question--he actually seemed intersted in the anwer.

"No, no, no. I couldn't do that. I couldn't betray my Master like that." Quasimodo rapidly shook his head, denying even the thought of leaving the Church without Frollo's permission.

Clopin raised an eyebrow. "What? Your 'Master'?"

"Frollo."

Clopin's eyes immediately narrowed at the name of the Judge. "Frollo? He's your 'Master'?" His eyes darkened at the thoughts that idea evoked. He shook his head once more, asking, "How can you put up with someone like that?"

"Because….because I owe him." He whispered. "He saved me when I was little. He let me live here. I owe him." He repeated.

The gypsy gazed at him in silence for a moment, before simply stating, "I'm sorry."