Ding…Dong…Ding…Dong…
The sound echoed mercilessly at three different intervals. Why would they not just stop their accursed ringing? If that were not enough, soon afterward, the sound of booms resonated through the aching head of the Minister, who tried desperately in vain to block them out.
What Hell is this?…Have I perished and gone to Hell? Frollo hazily concluded as he tried to ignore these unpleasant sounds. What have I done to deserve this punishment?
Flashes of a dark place and numerous bottles played in his head, instantly disregarding them.
He pleaded internally that the world would just stop its dreadful racket and leave him in peace, or better yet, for the pounding in his head to go away and let him disappear into nothingness—anything to eliminate these torturous sounds.
Immediately after the booms had stopped, Frollo suddenly felt a slight tug at his hair, followed by an ear-splitting crack as he felt a hand fly hard across his face—the sound deafening and pain itself excruciating. After falling back against the pillowy chaperon that lay under his head, it was like being smashed in the head with a rock for the poor Minister. Why could they have not just put the judge out of his suffering, he wondered miserably as the pain resonated throughout his skull.
The groan he emitted only made it worse, his hands clutching to the sides of his head as the pulsating sound of his blood roared in his ears.
"Rise and shine, Minister!" an irritatingly upbeat and taunting voice boomed, the sound unwelcoming to the aching judge.
Straining his eyes to open, Frollo almost immediately closed them after being blinded by the sliver of light that made its way through the small square, iron-barred window above. Focusing, he made out the blurry figure of Jehan standing above him wearing one of his expensive and colorful outfits complete with a feathered pointed cap, as cheerful and alive as ever…not the least bit afflicted in comparison to his brother.
Frollo realized how much his back hurt as he noticed that he had spent the night on the cold stone floor. Angered by such an unwanted awakening, Frollo's first instinct was to kick his brother hard in the leg, Jehan hissing and damning him in response.
"Come on, Claude," Jehan encouraged. "It's morning and you need to get up! I tried to be polite and knocked, but you wouldn't answer."
This boy is the absolute bane of my existence…Jehan's voice did nothing to ease the Minister's headache as the latter tried not to groan when he attempted to sit up, his head instantly spinning. Frollo propped himself on one elbow and quickly clutched the bridge of his nose, trying to collect himself.
Dear Lord, what kind of idiocy did I indulge in? Frollo thought. Rubbing his tired, red eyes he could feel sweat pouring from his forehead before realizing the dryness of his throat.
Suddenly he heard Jehan cackle mercilessly, doubling over. "God, I wish you could see yourself right now—you look terrible!"
No thanks to you, Frollo inwardly cursed. His dark eyes scanned around the small cell in which he resided before they fell on a nearby pail with a wooden ladle inside. Pulling himself forward on shaking arms, he immediately dragged the water bucket towards himself and eagerly drank, quenching his excessive thirst.
Legs shaking, Frollo uneasily rose to his feet, hands steadying him against the stone wall. His neck was stiff and head throbbed even harder as he stood up, wanting to collapse right then and there and surrender to sweet slumber. He glanced at his brother, who shook his head in sadistic amusement as he watched his brother gracelessly try to appear as his usual self; to see the Minister of Justice in such a pathetic state was truly a sight to behold!
"Where…where am I?" Frollo croaked out, his own voice loud in his ears.
"Well," Jehan started. "After you took a little dive, the Archdeacon and I just threw you in one of the old cells in the back of the church. Sorry for having to lay one on you but you were going insane and I had to, Claude."
Frollo could hardly recall what occurred last night; judging by the bruise forming on the side of his head, there was no doubt that his brother had incapacitated him in the former's drunken rage before anything regrettable could be carried out.
"What happened…" he began, his chest tightening by the second. "Last night?" His low voice was slightly scratched as he spoke.
Jehan shrugged and leaned against the doorframe. "We drank, we came here, you went berserk, and now you're here."
Despite not being in the right state of mind, Frollo could instantly tell that his brother was withholding details. Straightening up a bit, he narrowed his dark-circled eyes at the young man and said, "What else happened, Jehan? Tell me at once."
Sighing and darting his cerulean eyes towards the floor, Jehan looked back at his brother and answered in a hushed tone, "You were going to kill Quasimodo."
Frollo's brows furrowed at the statement, his heart getting caught in his throat at the notion of such a thing. Suddenly the Minister's stomach lurched unpleasantly, causing him to dart for some nearby bucket and heaving the remnants of last night's revelry into it. His brother curled his lip at the sight while the Minister coughed roughly as he examined the contents, his face deathly pale. Wiping his mouth, he muttered hoarsely, "What do you mean?" before turning his attention to a nearby basin (no doubt left there at the Archdeacon's insistence), splashing his face with the cold water.
Jehan explained, "A lot of it is kind of fuzzy, but I remember you screaming something like you "shouldn't have to take care of him" and you were "going to do what you should have done" and all that. I don't know, Claude, you need to talk to him."
Frollo sighed ruefully at the thought of having to explain himself, both to Augustin and Quasimodo. Rubbing the back of his sore neck, he couldn't help but wonder aloud, "How on earth are you not crippled by the weight of drink? You had just as much as me —if not more!"
Jehan grinned smugly at the judge. "Please, I've been drinking like that since I was thirteen—I don't suffer from the aftermath anymore!"
Frollo almost wanted to laugh at the recollection of seeing his young teenage brother fighting in the streets with other students, completely wrecked and stupefied from a mere bottle of wine. However, all he felt at the moment was utter self-loathing at his foolishness. His throat still burned from the bile he retched, and more nausea lingered in the pit of his stomach.
"Well," Jehan suddenly piped, clapping his hands together and sending another splitting pain through the Minister's head. "I should be off. Don't forget to talk to Augustin and Quasi, and hope the day isn't too demanding!" With a sharp laugh, Jehan spun on his heels and left his brother in the eerie, yet welcoming, solitude of his cell.
God, he did not want to go out there and face the consequences of his actions; he had a history of not exactly making the most prudent decisions when intoxicated already. He could still remember his mother's scolding the first time he had returned home after a night of excess as a young man. Had the sagacious judge learned nothing?
Exhaling deeply and dusting his hat off, Frollo exited the small cell and reluctantly made way in search of the Archdeacon.
X
Quietly rapping at the wooden door, Frollo was greeted with the Archdeacon's voice beckoning him to enter his study. Inside, he found Augustin scribbling down some notes on parchment before turning his eyes upward to meet those of the judge.
"Good morning, Minister," he greeted lightly, noting the circles under Frollo's still-red eyes. "I trust that you acquired some rest?"
Striding forward, Frollo cut straight to the point. "What sort of chaos transpired last night? Why the need for Jehan's little intervention?" he asked demandingly, jaw set in determination.
Augustin simply looked pitifully at the Minister, folding his hands before him wordlessly.
Met with such silence, Frollo continued. "By his account, I quote, tried to "kill" Quasimodo. Care to elaborate?"
"You and your brother arrived at the church in the dead of night demanding that you see Quasimodo. I ordered you to return to the Palace of Justice, given that you were not in the correct state of mind, but you became furious, Claude. The next thing I knew, you were wielding a dagger threatening to murder the boy!" Father Augustin was finding it rather difficult to hide his anger at the judge. "Jehan used violent means to hinder your actions, which I must admit was a crude yet effective way to keep you from carrying out such a deed!"
Frollo averted his gaze away towards the nearby bookshelf, taking a moment for such knowledge to soak in. Had he really attempted to murder his adopted son out of his own drunken stupidity? True, he was never exactly keen on the idea of providing the father-role to the boy—but hating such a position so much it would drive him to kill? It simply seemed too out of character for such a man of discipline and reason like Claude Frollo.
"It was Jehan's fault, not mine!" he suddenly protested. "Had he just left me alone, then I would not have carried on as I did and none of this would have occurred! He was the one who influenced me to partake in excessing myself through drink; therefore, he is to blame."
"You cannot honestly blame your brother for what you did," Augustin retaliated, running his hands over his face in exasperation. "You could have possessed the willpower to resist overindulging, but you did not, Minister. You must take responsibility for your own misdeeds!"
Frollo shut his eyes tight and shakily let out a breath, resting one arm upon one of the nearby shelves. "Say it then."
"What, Claude?"
Frollo gritted his teeth. "That I made a grievous error in judgment; that I endangered the boy's life; that I am unfit to carry out my duty as Minister—every criticism that you wish to deride me with!"
The man could think of a hundred things to use as factors for damnation, but what good would come from that? Augustin sighed. "Claude, I have been trying to help you for years now, you never heeding my advice. At such a point, I can only pray that you make the proper decisions. And judging by your current state, I think that you have suffered enough for your actions. However, I believe that you owe poor Quasimodo an apology for neglecting to see him yesterday. I just hope that the boy did not hear your rant last night, lest he might become more intimidated by the world than he is already."
"I suppose so," the judge replied regretfully. "Then in that case, I should be going. And may this occurrence never be spoken of again." Frollo hastily retreated from the study before he could witness the look of disappointment etched on the Archdeacon's face.
The throbbing in his skull was ebbing away slowly, however, it returned with a terrible dizziness as Frollo made his way up the winding staircase. He tried not to lose any more of his stomach's contents and soldiered forward. The cold air tightening his lungs mixed with lingering nausea made him wish that he could just return to the Palace of Justice and sleep off the rest of the pain…or drop dead. Up and up he ventured from the stone steps to the creaky wooden ones, the stuffy air of the bell tower filling his nostrils, before a familiar voice pierced his eardrums.
"Master!" he heard Quasimodo's small voice cry as he enthusiastically lumbered forward with a crooked smile on his innocent face.
"Quasimodo, please lower your voice," Frollo greeted, trying not to sound too irritated as he rubbed his temple trying to alleviate the returning pain.
Resting on one of the nearby wooden stools, Frollo held the bridge of his nose again trying to stifle the headache. Quasimodo looked on at his master in confusion, who sat with slumped shoulders, not bothering to glance at the boy.
"Master, are you alright?" he asked curiously, uneven teal eyes studying the tired expression worn by his caregiver.
"Yes, I'm fine," Frollo lowly snapped, inwardly thanking the Lord that the boy did not witness him at his weakest earlier that morning.
"You didn't come yesterday. Father Augustin said you were sick."
"That's a polite term for it," he commented under his breath. Frollo tried to collect himself back to his usual demeanor. "Forgive me, my boy, but I am in the worst state possible at the moment."
The judge's words only confused the child. "I thought you weren't going to come back, Master," Quasimodo confessed, looking at the Minister in almost fear.
The weary Minister raised his eyebrows at such a statement. "Is that so?" he asked nonchalantly.
Quasimodo nodded as he stepped closer to his master. "You told me that no one else will like me because of how I look, and I was scared I was gonna be alone." With that, Frollo could see tears escaping from his eyes and down his misshapen face and simply gaped at the child.
For a moment the judge forgot about the dull throbbing in his head as he was somewhat surprised by such words from a child. True, Frollo always assured that he was Quasimodo's only ally in the world, but he never quite given any thought to how much he must truly matter to the boy.
However, soon the shock dissipated as a wicked thought came over the judge. If the boy was this distraught at the notion that without his guardian, he would truly be alone…then there was really no reason to worry of some future act of rebellion against his master.
A sly smirk etching on his face, Frollo then said, "You needn't worry, my boy. I swear that should I not show up to visit, it will be for a good reason. But you understand that occasionally my work requires more of my time and I might not be able to visit as often, correct?" Quasimodo nodding in agreement.
"Then you must trust that I will try and visit here as soon as I can afterwards," he stated smoothly, stern expression softening with feigned sincerity. How comforting it was to know how much loyalty Quasimodo exhibited at such a young age…Like a dog and his master, Frollo thought cruelly.
"But enough of that," the judge suddenly said. "Tell me, my lad, have you eaten at all today?"
"Father Augustin brought me breakfast, Master," the boy smiled. "I know you were too sick."
"Very well then. If that is true, then I suppose I should be on my way while the day is still young." Frollo stood up and smoothed out his black robe, when a question popped into his head. "Quasimodo, did you happen to hear anything…unusual at all last night?" He unknowingly held his breath at the image of Quasimodo seeing his guardian acting like a drunken vagrant, his chest tightening anxiously once again.
The small hunchback rocked back on his heels, eyes traveling to the rafters above in thought. Shaking his head, he answered, "No, Master."
Nodding and exhaling in relief, Frollo quickly and stoically replied, "Good. Not that there was anything of interest, I suppose." He could only imagine Jehan stumbling around the nave, howling with laughter at his brother's expense.
Now that that was cleared up, the judge decided that there was no reason to worry about the events that took place. With a small pat on the boy's red-haired head, Frollo inwardly thanked God that he had enough work to make him forget the previous evening.
Stepping outside, Romulus showed hesitance upon his master's appearance, remembering how he handled the horse with less ease on their way to the church last night.
Frollo chuckled and said, "Don't worry, old man, I've learned my lesson and don't intend to repeat that mistake again," before lifting himself up onto the obsidian steed.
The sun was bright behind clouds and the brisk late winter air blew as the Minister rode through the city. The sun was less harsh now, thankfully, than upon first awakening. Though no one eyed him suspiciously or with reprehension, he inwardly prayed that it would remain that way and there would be no unflattering gossip about last night. Passing by merchants and peddlers, fishers and beggars, mothers and children, Frollo could not help but feel nervous that somebody could have picked up any rumor about the tavern scene last night.
Calm yourself, Frollo reminded himself, eyes shifting left and right. You needn't worry about a thing…no one will dare speak a word of this.
Halfway through his journey back to the Palace of Justice, a boisterous and jovial voice called, "Minister Frollo! La Falourdel's, remember!"
Blood running cold and pulling the reins to a harsh stop, the judge turned his head in the direction of the voice. A large round man, red in the face and brown tunic covered in grime unsteadily walked towards the direction of the Minister, who was now dismounting the horse, jaw tightening.
Pointing a plump finger at the judge, the man greeted him, "I recall seeing you there last night! You and your brother—the devil—you two raised quite a bit of hell!"
The de facto law was that whatever business occurs in a tavern remains so there, not to be aired out to the public. This spoken word agreement, however, seemed to have escaped this misguided soul.
Striding towards the ignorantly laughing buffoon, Frollo gripped the man by his shoulder and pulled him close so that his words might not be heard by any passersby. Fingers digging into the man's thick arm, Frollo spoke in a low voice, "I believe you have me mistaken for someone else."
Mouth agape for a brief moment, the man replied, "No, I know for a fact it was you, Minister, and that brother of yours last night about to tear the whole goddamn place up!"
Eyes quickly glancing over his shoulder and around, Frollo tried again. "I assure you, that it was not myself that you witnessed at whatever degenerate hole that you wallow about in." The judge's dark eyes cast a dangerous presence, warning the man to heed his statement.
"But…I could have sworn that-"
"It would be in your best interests that you promptly forget whatever false images you might have deluded yourself with in such a state. For such a statement made public would be met with direconsequences. Do I make myself clear?"
Foggy eyes darting around trying to make sense of the judge's words, the man instinctively nodded in understanding.
Releasing his boney fingers from the man's flesh, Frollo mounted his horse again, steering back to his destination.
Witless simpleton, he grumbled internally and shaking his head in annoyance.
Never again, Jehan, he thought ruefully as Romulus marched down the cobblestone streets, the Palace of Justice on his sights.
Only did the sight of dozens of legal documents awaiting him on his desk did the Minister finally feel the uneasiness ebb away.
x
*A/n: It's been a while but a lot of shit came up and got distracted. So hoping that this chapter is satisfactory. I've had serious writer's block and am not sure where the story should go from here.
You never want an ass like Jehan waking you up after a night of drinking, not cool, man. Would love to hear what you guys think. Here's to Malakaii for her story "Renascence" having a string a great chapters and for her kind words!