This chapter holds Character Death.
Also has non-graphic child birth as well as some…very not nice things said about the child due to deformity.
A/N: Originally, this was going to be much longer.
Much longer.
However, I could never think of any other "life lessons" and, really, this is the "life lesson" that started the idea. This is the one that spawned the other four and I decided that, if I ever think of any more, I'll add them on, but...yeah, time to end this.
It was a wonderful ride, and I enjoyed writing it, even though I knew how it was going to end.
Lesson Five: The World is Cruel
When Carvell had announced that they would be moving to Paris, there had been a cacophony of protests and Clopin turned to Chantel, who was pushing her hands against her lower back to ease the pain of carrying to full term (something that had Clopin dancing for joy whenever he thought about his future niece or nephew). "Chantel, why are they acting like Papa turned them over to the guard?" Clopin asked softly and she smiled weakly at him.
"Well, they think they have. You know better than I how hard things have been since Judge Claude Frollo has taken over," she explained and Clopin immediately glanced around for the source of the name, even if they were safe in the Court of Miracles.
She was right, of course. The Judge, who everyone rightly feared, was cold and hard as the iron that made the bells of Notre Dame, but unlike the bells, held no life within him, no soul.
No kindness.
He was a cruel and vicious man, and someone Clopin felt should be kept far from them. "Won't we be dead anyway, if it continues and we aren't already in Paris?" Clopin questioned softly.
Before Chantel could answer him, however, Carvell's sharp voice was cutting through the fear. "We have no choice!" he stated and Clopin raised an eyebrow.
"If things continue as they are, we will never be able to get into Paris ever again. The Court needs to move, sooner rather than later, if we wish to survive," Carvell continued and Clopin nodded in agreement.
There was more murmuring, more arguments, but Clopin was already turning to Chantel, who was smiling, even if the smile looked a bit too tight. "As you can see, you and Papa had the exact same thought. He is riiiight," Chantel began, only to get cut off by her words turning into a wail of pain.
"Chantel?" Clopin cried out in concern, Jerome already rushing to her side from where he had been standing off to the side.
Women of the Court were also rushing over to Chantel. "Is there a pushing sensation around your middle dear?" one, the Midwife Giselle, questioned, and Chantel nodded rapidly, breathing heavily through her nose as her jaw clenched tight.
"It is time!" Giselle called and they were already herding her towards the varda meant for childbirth, Clopin turning to Jerome, who was staring after Chantel as if his entire life was being herded away from him.
(scene break)
Jerome and Clopin were the only ones not working, though no one tried to. They had worked the first day, but with Chantel's labor still going, Carvell said they would be useless until it was over. Everyone agreed, as each time Chantel screamed, Jerome would flinch while Clopin closed his eyes tight.
Carvell, when Chantel let out another pain filled shout, suddenly wished it had not happened again, that his daughter had not gotten pregnant, not if it meant this pain. He shivered as another scream rent through the air, but this was followed by orders to push.
He stilled, looking up from where he was helping hold a beam steady, the other workers stilling around him as well. More screams, and finally, after so long, a newborn babe's crying began to fill the air.
Jerome practically fell over in relief as Clopin leapt up with a shout of, "I am an uncle!"
Carvell chuckled, helping to finish taking the beam down to settle it on the ground. The babe was still crying, but after a few more moments, that too had silenced.
Giselle, however, was still within and Carvell frowned. He was about to walk over, to demand explanation, when she stepped out. "She won't let it go," she whispered and Carvell frowned.
"What?" he questioned.
"The child…he is deformed. She won't let him go," Giselle explained and Carvell pressed at her upper arm.
The midwife stepped in and Carvell stepped inside. The air was stuffy and smelled of blood and sweat. There were other scents as well, ones that he was not as familiar with, but Chantel was gripping the babe tight, exhaustion obvious in her bearing.
"No," she gasped out and clung to the babe.
"Let me see him," Carvell ordered and Chantel shook her head, the hair not even moving due to how the sweat still clung to her, but Carvell just moved her arms enough.
He recoiled slightly when he saw the slightly smushed face with the pig nose and, despite how she tried to stop him from looking further, he saw the way the back was already curling over. "He's mine. He is my son," she protested, even as Carvell carefully covered him back up again.
"What happened?" Carvell asked and Chantel just clung.
"The cord was wrapped all around him," Giselle stated and Carvell looked over at her.
"And he lived?" he inquired.
Giselle nodded and Carvell sighed as he stood up. "Then we take it as a good omen; that he lived despite the odds. She will travel last, and Jerome will go with her. Clopin, however, will be among the first to cross to the new Court," Carvell ordered and Chantel relaxed against the pillows.
He stepped out and stilled when he saw Jerome, as well as Clopin, standing there. "What's wrong with our son?" Jerome questioned.
"He's deformed. But, he lived, and so did Chantel. I will take it as a good omen," Carvell answered and stepped off.
The light footsteps signaled Clopin entering.
Carvell had crossed to help cover the vardas before Jerome entered.
Clopin crouched in the shadows, wincing at the way the snow melted into his shoes.
Carvell had been caught by Judge Claude Frollo, leaving Jerome as King, though Clopin had been filling his shoes as he awaited his sister's return to the Court. He had already silenced those who spoke of the ill a deformed child would bring, reminding them all of the fact it was his nephew they spoke of, the child that had finally returned a light Clopin thought long dead to his sister's eyes.
That this was the son that survived, the child that had made it and, despite being wider at the shoulders and hard to be born, had neither died nor killed his mother. That silenced many in his presence and, even with Carvell being caught, he had been caught saving some children from the guards, and the whispers of an ill omen had died.
Now, Clopin waited in the shadows near Notre Dame, able to overlook the river, to welcome the last members of the Court home.
He smiled as he heard the distressed cries of a babe echoed across the water and he shifted his weight, readying to move when he saw something out of the corner of his eye. He stilled and, slowly, turned his head, eyes widening in horror when he saw a guard.
He opened his mouth, preparing to shout, but it was too late.
Chantel was already on shore as the arrow flew and the guards poured out, and worse, Judge Claude Frollo had appeared as well. He couldn't really hear them and could only watch as Jerome, another of their Court, and the bargeman were dragged away. Each step reassured that they were leaving Clopin as King and he could only continue to watch, frozen in place, as the hat Jerome always worse fell off his head and into the shadows as the guards shoved too hard.
Judge Claude Frollo had come closer to Chantel in the moments and a guard…Clopin snarled silently when he saw them grab his nephew and then…
Chantel kicked out at him, holding her son close before she was taking off.
And Frollo was right behind her.
Clopin unfroze and immediately began to ran.
If he knew his sister as well as he thought he did, he knew exactly where she would run. And maybe, just maybe, he would get there first.
He slid through the snow, kicking it up as he ran through the silent streets of Paris, the wind brushing past his ears. Sometimes, he could hear Frollo's great horse galloping through the streets and he shifted, hopping over a gate only to realize he was hearing something a street over, just barely avoiding hitting either Chantel or the horse.
He continued to run, dodging through small alleyways, almost too big to fit through them anymore, and he stumbled out, the courtyard stretching before him as Frollo kicked Chantel away from him. She fell and her head hit the stone steps and Clopin knew, knew like he knew he'd never see Jerome again, never see Papa again, that she was dead.
He drew back into the shadows, clenching his eyes tight when he saw Frollo had his nephew. His crying nephew.
He watched, knowing he could not save his nephew, as he wanted the one who had now taken everything but the Court from him recoil from the boy. The way he guided his horse to a well, prepared to drop him down the well, wondering if he could continue to watch as his nephew was murdered without even trying to save him…when the Archdeacon shouted for Frollo to stop.
Clopin fell, the snow clinging to his clothes as he watched.
It was only when they went inside Notre Dame that Clopin stood and retraced his steps.
He collected Jerome's hat and gave a sharp nod to himself, settling it on his head before he took off once again.
Notre Dame first and then…then the Court.
The Archdeacon nearly fell over when a tall, lithe, figure stepped out of the shadows. "Where is he?" the figure demanded and the Archdeacon narrowed his eyes before a memory of a young woman with a boy that was hers by soul had sought sanctuary.
Of the way they hid from the guards and he stared at the young man. "You have grown," the Archdeacon stated and the boy, now a young man, merely scowled.
"Where is he?" he asked again.
"Who?" the Archdeacon asked.
"The boy my sister was carrying. Where is he?" he demanded, stepping forward and the Archdeacon frowned.
"He is in the care of Judge Claude Frollo. Do not worry, my son…" he began, only to get cut off with an angry snarl of, "Frollo has no heart! He will never care for my nephew!"
"He will, to repent for the death of the boy's mother," the Archdeacon promised, but the boy shook his head.
"No, he won't. He hates us, Archdeacon. Please, give him to me," he pleaded, but the Archdeacon shook his head.
"I'm sorry, but it is done. He has accepted the responsibility. To take the boy from him will only end in disaster," the Archdeacon stated and the young man frowned, before he pulled away.
"Will my sister at least be buried properly?" he inquired.
"Yes. I know of your custom to carry payment in your earrings and her earring will be enough. Will you be there?" the Archdeacon responded and the young man merely stepped away.
"You know, she was wrong, my sister," he stated and the Archdeacon watched as he stayed half in the candlelight, half in the shadows he had come from.
"What do you mean?" he inquired.
"The world is cruel and it is people like you, who think you are doing so much good, that make it that much more so," the man answered and was gone before the Archdeacon could protest.
A/N: I wasn't trying to be sneaky, I promise.
Pinpointing Clopin's age was next to impossible, so I decided to let the end be very vague about how much time has passed between Lesson Four and Lesson Five.
My guess of his age, at the beginning of the movies, was somewhere from late 30s to early 40s, as Quasi is said to be 20, somewhere, so Clopin here could be anywhere from age 15 to 20-something when Lesson Five, mainly, takes place.
Chantel is actually "old" by this time's standards, but an adult in ours, and is about 8 to 10 years older than Clopin.