Three years later…
With a wicker basket nestled in the crook of his arm, the judge made his way up the winding staircase to the bell tower.
December had gone and so had another year of Frollo's guardianship over his hunchbacked ward. Recently the Minister had begun reading to the boy from the Bible given that he was finally old enough to grasp some of it; Frollo would then discuss the stories with Quasimodo to test his comprehension. He was a quiet boy, and probably not in the same precocious league as the Minister at such an age, but still looked up to his adoptive father in admiration and loyalty and loved his daily visits.
Climbing higher, the Minister could hear the boy's faint voice; Quasimodo had recently taken up the habit of speaking with the numerous gargoyles around the bell tower, adopting them as companions of sorts. Though Frollo wanted to inform him that they were simply inanimate objects, he knew his words would fall on deaf ears since it wasn't like the boy had many friends to substitute them with anyway.
"It looks like fun, but what are they doing?" Frollo heard his ward quietly ask his stone compatriots. "Maybe Master will know!"
"Quasimodo!" the Minister's dark voice echoed as he climbed the last few steps.
"Master!" the hunchbacked child stomped towards him, his little jagged teeth showing in his innocent grin.
The Minister of Justice might have fed and clothed Quasimodo, but he made it perfectly clear to the child at a young age that he was his keeper and shall be addressed as such. Though the boy's first year of speech was spent addressing him as "Cloud," Frollo had come to like the title of "Master" much more than a fatherly one, despite Jehan and the Archdeacon's pestering encouragement. The title reflected the power and influence that he would hold over his young ward, which only seemed to inflate the Minister's ego further.
"Good morning, dear boy," Frollo greeted monotonously, patting him gently on his red-haired head. "Conversing with your so-called "friends," I see," Quasimodo nodding enthusiastically.
Frollo motioned for the child to follow him, taking a seat at the small wooden table and removing his hat. Retrieving the tableware from a nearby shelf, Frollo filled the wooden cup with water and his goblet with wine. As he emptied the contents of the basket, Quasimodo suddenly came to his master's side and tugged on his sleeve.
"Master, come see!" he hurriedly said.
Raising his eyebrow at him, Frollo asked, "Quasimodo, what's come over you? What have you to show me?"
Quasimodo pointed his small finger towards the balcony of the tower. "It's outside, Master! Come and see!"
Reluctantly Frollo got to his feet after deciding that there was no use in trying to argue with a small child. Quasimodo led him outside, his gaze pointed down towards the square as he looked on through the stone banisters, Frollo instantly groaning in annoyance at the sight.
"What's that, Master?" Quasimodo asked quizzically, pointing.
Tents of all colors were being erected, flags and banners waving, stages being constructed; they could only indicate one thing.
"An annual nuisance of calamity, that's what," he muttered, gripping the ledge as his dark eyes pierced the sight of future pandemonium with disdain.
Though the boy heard his master's low-voiced curse, he still had no idea what he meant and looked confusedly at the man.
Frollo looked back at the boy and answered, "That, Quasimodo, is a gathering of chaos that the city celebrates every year after Advent: appropriately dubbed the"Festival of Fools",which, sadly, I must attend tomorrow."
Last year the townspeople had agreed to skip the celebration on account of heavy snow. The year before that, Quasimodo had been too young to take the sight into consideration.
"What do they do there, Master?" Quasimodo inquired further.
"Ridiculous activities: dancing, singing, drinking ale and gorging themselves on food as if the Rapture is nearing. Afterwards, the entire city will be three sheets to the wind and lose an entire day of productivity!" he vented bitterly as he sneered at the idea of the whole of Paris sleeping off the effects of never-ending beer.
Lounging around like a bunch of slothful vagrants.
The boy smiled fondly down at the people below taking no heed to Frollo's condemnation of the event. "It looks like fun! Master, may I go?"
A jolt ran up the Minister's spine at such a request. To be accompanied by such a miniature monstrosity was unfathomable given that he was constantly being humiliated by his brother.
He responded, "I don't think that would be the wisest or safest decision. Therefore, it is not a possibility, I'm afraid."
Quasimodo's smile faded at his mentor's words. "Why not?"
Frollo lowered himself slightly and placed a hand on the boy's shoulder. "Dear Quasimodo, there is so much evil out there in this cruel world; vice and sin that I must ensure that you never have to see or live amongst. Truly the church is the only environment that can protect you from its wickedness. You understand, don't you, my boy?"
Quasimodo took another glance at the preparations below before turning back to the judge and responding, "Yes, Master."
A smile crept upon Frollo's face at this demonstration of authority. For months now, he instilled to Quasimodo that the world was a dark and merciless place, from which he was safe in the confines of the bell tower. He ushered the child back inside, seating him again at the table. Retrieving the book from his basket, the judge opened it up to his place. "Now then, we left on after the fall of Man; next, Cain and Abel."
Frollo told of the tale of the ancient fratricide born of jealousy, Quasimodo's young mind barely listening to the technical terms of his master's tale (prompting Frollo to put most of it in layman's terms). Ending with the birth of Seth, "…'At that time men began to call on the name of the Lord.' " Closing his book, he narrowed his eyes at the boy. "Now, what we have learned from Cain and Abel is that jealousy only leads down the path of destruction, and we must be grateful for our place in life. Cain was not; killing his own brother as a result and ultimately cast away by God as punishment. Do you understand, Quasimodo?"
Teal eyes blinked at Frollo, unable to tell whether or not he did. "What's a brother, Master? And a son?"
Frollo was taken aback and his mouth hung agape for a moment, but he knew that the question was inevitable. "Well," he began. "A brother is a boy or man born to the same mother as someone, such as what Jehan is to me. A son is a male belonging to a set of parents."
"And what are parents?"
Frollo nervously looked down at the rings on his fingers. "Parents are…" his eyes darted from Quasimodo to the rafters above and the broken statue heads littered around. "They are a man and woman who have children of their own; the man is the father, the woman the mother. If they are not properly married, then the children born between them are impure in the eyes of God."
"Does everyone have parents?" Quasimodo continued to ask, much to the Minister's chagrin.
Oh God, please stop asking me! He inwardly begged.
"Originally," he answered vaguely. "However, not everyone has the opportunity to have their parents in their lives."
"Why not?
"Sometimes life is unpredictable and parents leave their children's lives. Other times, children never know their parents or the parents never know their children."
Quasimodo eyed the tableware, deep in thought and giving the judge a chance to collect himself by taking a thirsty drink from his goblet. It was truly something that he was hit by a multitude of questions by an otherwise quiet and taciturn boy, something that he was very unprepared for.
Before long, Quasimodo looked back at him and asked, "Do you have parents, Master?"
Cold gray eyes widened at this inquiry. "Of course I did, though it was many years ago as they have both moved on." He looked at his fingers nervously drumming on the wooden surface.
"Where?"
Looking up at the gloomy atmosphere surrounding the bells high in the rafters, Frollo replied, "To the Lord's keep, far away in the Kingdom of Heaven hopefully."
The hunchback boy stared intensely at the Minister who now kept his eyes locked on his jittery, twitching fingers. "Master?" he asked.
Frollo sighed in irritability. "Yes?"
"Where are my parents?"
The judge froze, the question shaking him to his core. Suddenly his mind flashed images of that night: kicking the gypsy woman down the steps, discovering the child's deformity, and nearly disposing of it in the nearby well. Anxiously he had hoped that out of all of the questions regarding family, this would not be one of them. He did not want to have to explain himself again over the incident.
Then again, he thought. If he is barely making such an inquiry, surely whatever I recount he would assume to be fact.
The cogs in his head turned at breakneck speed as he plotted such a scheme. If he could weave a new tale about the fate of the boy's parents, it might just strengthen his faith and loyalty to the judge.
Schooling his expression, he responded with false pity, "It pains me to say this, Quasimodo, but neither of your parents could be found anywhere."
The boy's expression fell into one of shock and alarm. "Wh-What happened to them, Master?"
The Minister shook his head in feigned grief. "I know not of what became of your father, but it was your mother who had left you on the steps of this church. Many of the townsfolk had gathered and did nothing to help you, but it was I alone who had taken it upon myself to raise you and care for you as my own. Had it not been for me, you could have perished at the hands of the townsfolk!"
Quasimodo tore his deformed gaze from the man and stared down at the table's surface, a small choking noise escaping him. Frollo noticed that tears now streamed down the child's face.
Lightly gripping his shoulder, Frollo comfortingly said, "There, there, Quasimodo. It is an awful thing to do to one's own child, but know that you have a guardian who has saved you from great harm and given you a place to call home."
Quasimodo nodded and looked up at the tall judge beside him. Before Frollo could say another word, he felt the boy's small arms encircle him in a tight embrace. Frollo looked down at the sniffling child who buried his face in the obsidian robes. Not knowing what to do, he glanced around in confusion and simply let Quasimodo cry it out for a while.
"Come now, my boy," Frollo calmly spoke. "You needn't worry about something that happened so long ago. As I have previously stated: you have a guardian who provides for you as no other, and for this you should be grateful."
Gently he pulled Quasimodo away from his now tear stained robes, the boy finally stopping his crying as he wiped away the last of his tears with his tunic sleeve. Frollo smiled at the regaining of the boy's composure and suggested that they finish their meal.
Breakfast was eaten in silence much to the Minister's reprieve. Looking up, he noticed the reclusive church bell ringer climbing up towards the bells; Frollo and Quasimodo covering their ears as the man above chimed the hour.
After the resonance of the mighty bells finally died down, the judge rose and said, "It appears that I must be off. There is much to do and time is of the essence," placing his hat back on and turning towards the stairs. As he left, Quasimodo stared in mystification at the industrious nature of his master. Soon afterwards, he lumbered back outside, eager to watch the festival from above.
X
The heavy doors of Notre Dame were hastily pushed open as the Minister of Justice struggled inside with his inebriated brother squirming in his arms.
"Come on, Claude!" Jehan slurred, his face bright red and stinking of ale. "The festival is barely getting underway!" His voice echoed throughout the empty nave.
The judge groaned as Jehan pushed him in an attempt to get back to the celebration outside. Frollo had found his brother early on trying to court a few dancers at the festival and instantly detected no good from him. "Given your history, I have decided that you will not be partaking in the festivities this year. The day is demanding enough without your capricious behavior getting the better of you again!"
"Minister? Jehan?" The Archdeacon was approaching quickly as he saw the brothers again in one of their squabbles. "What's going on here? Shouldn't you two be at the festival?"
Still gripping Jehan tightly, Frollo looked at the Archdeacon. "I'm glad you are here, Father. Is there anywhere that I might detain this one until the day's madness has ceased?"
"Don't listen to him, Father!" Jehan cried, his blond curls disheveled and trying to wriggle out of his brother's hold. "Claude just envies me because he has to work during the festival!"
With a roll of his eyes, Frollo simply replied, "I wish that were true. Anyway," he looked back to the perplexed looking Archdeacon. "May I? I cannot risk him wreaking more havoc than necessary."
With Jehan looking more than intoxicated from today's endless drinks and the expression of growing impatience of that of his brother, Father Augustin hesitantly complied. He led the judge to one of the back cells of the church, Frollo instantly pushing his brother in and slamming the door shut.
Ignoring Jehan's slurred protests, Frollo locked it and turned again to the Archdeacon. "I will return for my brother in due time, until then make sure that he stays here."
"As you wish, Minister," he monotonously replied, knowing all too well that trying to break up the brothers in a fight was futile.
Already the day was starting to take its toll on the weary judge, who could feel a headache forming in his skull. At least the absence of his pest of a brother would make the day more bearable. Still, he needed something to remedy this pain now.
It was then Frollo remembered that he still had wine up in the bell tower that might be of aid.
One drink before having to return to such chaos couldn't hurt, he told himself as he turned towards the spiral staircase and began climbing his way up, his pulse pounding heavily in his ears.
"Master, you're back!" Quasimodo greeted spiritedly as he saw his adoptive father marching up the wooden stairs again.
Falsely smiling, Frollo nodded and responded, "I am only here to retrieve something. After which, I must be on my way immediately." Brushing past the boy, Frollo went straight to the top shelf where his wine was stashed.
Uncorking it quickly, the judge took a hearty swig from the bottle much to Quasimodo's confusion, the sweet red substance relieving his nerves instantly. The boy came to Frollo's side and stared up at him. Corking the bottle up and returning it to its place, Frollo looked down his long nose at Quasimodo and raised his eyebrows in curiosity.
"What's it like out there, Master?" he curiously asked. "I heard singing and shouting. It sounds like fun!"
The Minister scoffed. "Our definitions of 'fun' are quite different," he quipped as he walked out towards the balcony. Looking down again at the sea of peasants gathered together, Frollo sneered at their indulgent delights. The blue sky, throngs of ebullient festival goers, and colors bursting from all ends; just looking at such joviality left him feeling drained. He dreaded being forced to return and endure another painstaking year of observing the common man shun his virtues for a day of frivolous behavior.
I should have done away with this damn revelry years ago, he thought cynically.
"Be forever grateful that you do not have to take part in such foolish nonsense, Quasimodo," he said, his back still turned.
Sighing weakly, he walked back into the belfry and expected to hear the voice of his ward, probably asking another question about the Feast of Fools. Hearing nothing, the judge scanned around for the boy, but found nothing.
"Quasimodo?" he called, still glancing around for him. He peeked around some nearby broken gargoyles and brushed away the curtain that concealed the boy's sleeping area, only to find that he was still nowhere to be found. Trying not keep his frayed nerves at bay, he continued to search any other nook and cranny that Quasimodo has been known to inhabit, but to no avail.
Oh no.
With a quickened pace, he moved forward to the stairs and descended quickly, hoping to God that the boy was simply hiding somewhere in the lower rafters or something. As he approached the spiral staircase, Frollo could hear the boy's footsteps echoing as they clopped down the stairs eagerly, his heartbeat picking up speed.
The door!
Stewing in such a relentless headache, he had been so quick to get in and out of the bell tower that he had foolishly forget to close, let alone lock, the door at the bottom of the staircase.
"Quasimodo!" he called, rushing down the steps.
The restless boy stomped down the stairs, the Minister racing to catch up with him. Quasimodo ran (if it could be called that) through the empty nave before coming to a halt at the imposing wooden doors, misshapen eyes staring up at the intricate design above in wonderment.
Out of unbearable curiosity, Quasimodo lumbered forward stretching out his small hand. Frollo, finally reaching the bottom of the staircase, laid his eyes on the boy in bafflement, quickly beckoned, "Quasimodo!"
The boy, too lost in his juvenile fascination, seemed to not hear his master, only inching forward closer to the doors. Perhaps the Master was wrong and the world out there was not as terrifying as he purported it to be…
"Quasimodo, stop this instant!"
The hunchbacked boy suddenly heard the low voice of the Minister and gasped in fear at the sudden sight of his master's twisted expression of livid rage upon the realization that Frollo now held his small arm in his iron-like grasp, swiftly dragging him away from the church's entrance and back up the staircase.
Quasimodo was absolutely petrified that half-way up the journey Frollo had still not reprehended him. The Minister's breathing was laborious with frustration and beads of sweat collected on his forehead, never bothering to look at the child he held forcefully pulled up the staircase. He only kept his eyes set ahead and as he frowned heavily with displeasure.
When the pair reached the top of the tower, Frollo released his hold on the boy and turned away, gripping one of the wooden beams nearby and turning his knuckles white. Back stooped and his other hand pinched the bridge of his nose, Quasimodo dared not say anything out of fear that he could aggravate the judge further.
Frollo's jaw tightened he whipped around to face the child, arm suddenly raised back and he impulsively wanted to strike him down for such insolence.
Eye widening, Quasimodo raised his small arms in defense as he expected the judge's heavy blow for his actions.
Suddenly Frollo saw his ward's terror-stricken face as he shrunk in fear of his master's fury. He could see himself cowering from his own father's rage as he trounced the young Minister for his own wrongdoings. Letting his hand fall to his side, Frollo turned back and breathed as tried to collect himself.
Frollo cursed himself for his anger overwhelming him and mentally admitted that he never allowed it to be displayed so evidently in front of his ward. He knew that such emotion stemmed from the idea that Quasimodo had attempted to venture outside and explore the world that he had so feverishly condemned. He had never even allowed the boy to leave the bell tower, let alone Notre Dame.
And so it begins…he thought.
Taking a last breath to calm himself, Frollo then faced Quasimodo who looked away in shame, plump arms hanging shielding his face from whatever his master might do.
"Quasimodo," he said firmly but trying not to sound too stern.
"Y-yes, Master?" Quasimodo squeaked out, his eyes glued to the dusty floor.
"Look at me when I speak to you," Frollo ordered, Quasimodo mechanically obeying. "I have reminded you countless times of the terrible nature that lies outside the walls of the church, have I not?"
"Yes, Master."
"Precisely. I have always emphasized that the world is a cold and dangerous place; a place that one should try to limit his time in and dread every moment, particularly, a person such as yourself."
Quasimodo sniffed and his blue eyes now shone with tears building up at his adoptive father's bleak scolding.
Out of some quick inner concession for being so harsh, Frollo placed a gentle hand on Quasimodo's protruding hump, the boy looking up at the looming judge pitifully.
"Quasimodo, understand that I only keep you here to shield you from the horrors and pains of the world. It would be best for all of us that you stay here in the safety of the church. Do you understand?"
The boy could only nod in agreement with his master's words. Frollo, in turn, lightly ruffled the boy's red hair and half-heartedly replied, "Good lad then."
Frollo stepped forward to leave and return to the festival when he suddenly felt a small tug at his cape, blinking stupidly as he saw Quasimodo looking up at him inquisitively.
"Master?" the boy's small voice addressed. "What do you mean a 'person like me'? Why can't I go outside like you?"
Another question that was bound to manifest itself sooner or later.
Frollo knelt down to Quasimodo's eye level and responded, "There is no proper way to say this, Quasimodo, but you are not normal; you do not resemble any other person in the world. For such a trait, you will not be rewarded, only hated and shunned. Should you go out into the world, you will never find anyone who will accept you as I do. They will insult you, hurt you, and deem you a monster. Your place is here in the bell tower where they cannot do such things."
Quasimodo hung his head at the realization that Frollo was right. The few people that he interacted with in the church more closely resembled his master in terms of appearance; Quasimodo had contemplated it before when he would see his reflection in a pail of water, before seeing it as his own unique look—not deformity and hideousness.
"They won't like me because I'm different?" he timidly repeated.
Frollo nodded gravely before rising up to stand tall. "It is a cold truth, but yes; a harsh reality that we must endure as we go about our days in this miserable world."
"What about you, Master?"
"My role is to punish the evil-doers; to make the world more bearable by cleansing it of such filth. I know my place in this world, and what is yours, Quasimodo?"
The boy twiddled his thumbs. "To stay up here?"
"Correct." Frollo turned to exit the tower, determined to get the rest of this day over with as soon as possible. He gave a self-assured smirk, hopeful that such a lecture would prevent any future defiance.
X
"Was he any trouble?" Frollo asked, retrieving the key from his pocket as he approached the back cell containing his brother. The day had finally drawn to a close and another Feast of Fools had come and gone to the Minister's relief and he once again returned to Notre Dame to feed his foster son dinner and release his brother.
"Of course not," Father Augustin replied. "You know your brother, Claude. He'll kick and scream until he tires himself out."
"Always," he agreed, unlocking the door and swinging it open. Inside Jehan lay huddled on the stone floor, obviously still asleep. Stepping forward, Frollo nudged him in the back with his boot only for Jehan to respond with a tired groan.
"Would it be too much trouble if I just left him here until he's back among the living?" Frollo asked the Archdeacon exhaustedly. "Unfortunately I don't have time to wait for him to wake and escort him back to his home."
"No trouble at all. Should he ask, I shall tell him that you had matters to attend to."
Frollo nodded. "Very well." With that, the judge and Archdeacon turned and left the sleeping man in his unlocked cell.
An hour or so had passed before Jehan woke from his intoxicated lethargy and warily raised himself up. Much to his delight, the door from his cell was unlocked.
The inside of the church was dark from the falling sun outside, the colors of the rose window becoming less distinct. If it was this late and the cell door wasn't locked, then maybe Claude was still here in the church, no doubt with Quasimodo. The idea in his cloudy mind, Jehan made way for the steps to the bell tower.
He kept his hands plastered to the stone wall as he clumsily trekked up the staircase, fighting every urge to vomit all of the poison he had consumed during the day.
"Claude!" he shouted weakly when he finally made it. "Claude, you here?"
Glancing around, he was surprised to see a small figure emerge from behind a wooden beam and shyly stare at him.
Crookedly smiling, he said, "Evening, Quasi. Have you seen my brother tonight?"
Rubbing at his good eye tiredly, he answered, "Master left."
"Dammit, Claude!" Jehan cursed under his breath and slammed his fist against the palm of his hand in frustration.
Quasimodo recoiled a bit at Jehan. "He was angry, Jehan."
The young man laughed at the statement. "When is he not?" Waving his hand.
Quasimodo looked down at the floorboards. "He never gets mad at me."
Jehan's laughter ceased at this. "Wait, Claude was mad at you?"
The boy nodded sadly. Jehan looked at him in disbelief. "Huh…what did you do to piss him off?"
Quasimodo forgot the reprimand he should have given Jehan for his use of colorful language, instead sniffling and answering, "I tried to go outside. He told me to stay here because it's dangerous."
Crossing his arms, Jehan nodded. "Yep, that sounds like my brother. But then again, who am I to argue with his "superior intellect"? No point in trying to fight with him; that's a battle that's lost as soon as it begins!"
Quasimodo shuffled closer to Jehan. "Does he always get mad like that?"
Jehan smirked. "Don't worry, Quasi. Claude gets mad at me like that all the time. At least you haven't seen him when he's drunk; not a good time to be around my brother." He chuckled at the thought, Quasimodo looking at him in confusion.
"I don't like when Master is mad at me," Quasimodo stated sadly.
Something about the boy's disappointment in himself unnerved Jehan, given that he himself had never taken his brother's frustration over his behavior into consideration. Quasimodo showed only dedication towards the judge, and it didn't look like that was changing anytime soon.
"Well, just try not to make him angry again. If he says to stay up here, just listen to him. Can you do that?" he asked softly, kneeling to reach eye level with the boy.
Quasimodo looked up to his de facto uncle with his dark blue eyes and nodded. Jehan patted him lightly on the shoulder and commented, "Good. The last thing my brother needs is the both of us acting up!"
x
*A/n: Sorry that this is a longer chapter, but I couldn't resist! I figured that the story was too slow and it was time to fast forward and start really developing Frollo's relationship with Quasimodo. Now we get to see Frollo using his famous scare tactics on Quasi! I'm working on what Jehan's relationship with his adoptive nephew would be. Heads up: next chapter we might see a couple of familiar faces!
I want to thank you guys for all the views, and don't be afraid to leave reviews! They encourage me to keep up with this story! To owleyes1213: glad I can be an influence on someone's story!
Btw, if you haven't already, you should totally check out the story "Monster Lines" by owleyes1213 and "Profondeurs Interieures" by dionysuspark; they're both really well-written stories that I personally cannot wait to read more of!