"Aside from Jude the Apostle, we may also pray to Saint Gregory the Miracle Worker." The Minister of Justice and Quasimodo had finished their dinner and the boy had questioned his foster father about the Apostles of the Bible, whose answer became more complex than originally desired as he droned on about sainthood. "Both are the patron saints of lost and impossible causes."

"Good! You're still here!" The all too familiar jovial voice called as he ascended the wooden steps of the bell tower.

"Speaking of which," Frollo muttered irritatedly, turning his attention to his brother reluctantly. "I have already provided you with your allowance this morning; surely you could not have spent every penny in a mere few hours?"

Jehan shrugged his thin shoulders, indifference in his expression while his brother exhaled in disappointment, the negative atmosphere discerned by Quasimodo who sat quietly waiting for the brothers' exchange to finish. Though Frollo never lost his temper around his ward, he was certainly more intimidating when Jehan managed to get under his skin for one thing or another.

"Well I am not giving you anymore," the Minister sternly said, hoping to dissuade the younger from pushing his luck, balling his right hand into a fist. "You know the saying: the borrower becomes the lender's slave."

Snorting at that, Jehan threw his hands up in defeat. "Claude, don't be so stingy!" Frollo cast him a dark look, trying to remain stone-like in his brother's pleas. "Fine. If you refuse to give me money, then I'll find my own way of doing so. However, since I don't possess a trade of any kind, I guess I'll just have to get it through other means. Maybe I'll just join up with the vagabonds…the gypsies."

"Like Hell you will!" Frollo exclaimed with indignation, rising from his seat. "I would sooner have your head served on a platter to Herod and Salome before you even consider aligning yourself with such filth!" Muscles stiffening beneath his robe, Quasimodo momentarily believed that the judge would lunge at his brother right then and there for such a comment. How Jehan was able to speak to the Minister of Justice like this and get away with it was truly astonishing.

Grinning and placing his hands on his hips, Jehan decided to bait his brother further. "Well, what would you suggest I do to earn some money, Your Honor?"

Given the lateness of the day, Frollo decided the last thing he wanted to do was spend an eternity arguing in circles with Jehan over the perpetual topic of money. The tale as old as time continued as he retrieved the coin purse from his pocket and tossed it to his degenerate younger brother, who smiled greedily as thanks.

Sitting back down, Frollo rested his forehead upon his hand, trying to forget his brother's threat of turning nomad. The very notion of it was absolutely outrageous to him: to sully the family name for good by joining up with those he condemned as godless street urchins was something he would not stand for.

There was that word again: Gypsies. Quasimodo had heard his master throughout the years cursing this group under his breath. Frollo had pointed them out in the square a few times as they danced, sang, ate fire, performed palmistry, and whatever else the judge viewed as heathen revelry. Their high spirit and colorful uniquity enchanted the hunchbacked boy's imagination, who watched them with great fascination from the heights of the cathedral with the wind blowing through his red locks. Their clothes of bright blue, green, orange, magenta and everything in between stuck out from the crowds and pavement of grays and browns. There was something so magical about their ways.

Knowing the great contempt that his guardian held for them, however, prevented him from inquiring as to why he despised them so. But with Jehan's comment and Frollo's reaction to such, Quasimodo felt that he just had to ask.

"What happens if Jehan does run off with the…with the gypsies, Master?" His sudden question roused the judge from mulling over his own thoughts. Furrowing his brows, his flint gray eyes looked to the small moon that began peering from behind the night clouds outside, collecting himself.

"Should he ever have the audacity to shun what little teachings that he has retained from his upbringing in favor of their wayward practices…then Jehan would truly be lost." The last part of his answer, Frollo spoke with a trace of melancholy in a hushed voice, eyes downcast upon the small wooden table. Raising his gaze, his cold eyes locked with the innocent blue ones of Quasimodo.

"The gypsies…" he began, his voice regaining its normal vehemence. "Ensnare the common man's childlike captivation, seducing him to do away with his God-given morality in favor of their indecent practices. Instead of making their way as the rest of us do, they prefer to bounce from one location to another, distracting the weak-minded while robbing them at the same time. It is enough of a task that I must try to keep my brother on the path of righteousness, but for him to think of joining them to coast through life…I simply cannot allow it. Do you understand, my boy? I would rather have an irresponsible brother who could still be redeemed in the eyes of God, than have the last trace of our blood gone to become a follower of their vile traditions."

Quasimodo was taken aback by his guardian's words. Frollo hardly every evidenced such love and devotion to his younger brother, even if it was not completely unconditional. Nevertheless, his repulsion for the gypsies was fueled by his love for his brother, as far as the boy could see. No matter how cold and distant Frollo made himself to appear, at least there was some sort of loyalty to another, Jehan.

"But…but they can't be all bad…could they?" Quasimodo asked, remembering their liveliness and colorfulness as they performed in the square for passersby for what little coins they were rewarded before being chased off by local guards.

"Do not be fooled, Quasimodo," Frollo quickly answered. "One gypsy is the same as any other, all with the ultimate goal sapping the good citizens of what little they have—either of coin, or their virtue. In fact, had it not been for some gypsy witch, then perhaps my brother would not have been cursed into leading the life he does."

"A witch?"

"Indeed. A sorceress who used her cunning to deceive me as a young man, acting as though she adored Jehan, all the while I had no idea that she had placed a hex upon him that would shape him into the man he has always been." Frollo recalled how in his youth, he allowed but one gypsy to hold his precious infant brother. All of the misfortune and woe that followed in the years afterward could only be attributed to the power of witchcraft—certainly not by his parenting.

"I was fortunate enough that she did not carry off with him into the night, as her kind has been said to do," he continued. "They are wicked to the core and do not forget that."

Quasimodo looked at his master with slight apprehensiveness, pondering over those motley performers and what kind of malice they could possess, as Frollo professed. He drummed his stubby fingers against the table before asking, "Was…Jehan always like this, Master?"

His voice plaintive and expression stoic, Frollo answered, "I am afraid so. Misbehavior and Jehan go together as naturally as the moon and stars. Whether I was pulling him off some other child before he could rip out their hair, or paying off his tab at one tavern or another. It seems that no matter what, he has no regard to doing anything other than causing trouble and a life of leisure. Although I pray that he will learn maturity and give up his recklessness, and maybe then he can be saved. Recall the parable of the Prodigal Son: even those who have strayed far from the path can still repent and receive salvation."

Questions brewed inside Quasimodo's head as Frollo's words sunk in. "Can gypsies be saved?" Quasimodo was careful with his words, even though his inquiry was sure to awaken Frollo's vicious sentiment.

Frollo was very taken aback by the question. "Well…the Bible teaches that all those who believe can be, but a group so consumed by heathenry and black magic is beyond any sort of salvation and redemption. Which is why we must quell their very existence, before they can bring any further harm to the good souls of Paris."

"But Master, they don't look like they're doing anything…wrong. If Jehan can be saved, then—"

"He is not some infernal gypsy who wanders about trying to entice others with witchcraft and the arts of Hell!" Frollo raised his voice in protest as he defended his profligate brother, his eyes full of fire, but steeling himself from a complete outburst. Seeing Quasimodo shrink back at his feverish response, Frollo breathed and collected himself before saying, "Jehan may be far from a saint, but he has thus far kept from doing anything completely unforgivable, such as his proposal to turn vagabond. One day he will grow up and take responsibility for both his life and his soul, lest he desires not to see the Pearly Gates in the end."

Such a fit of temper was not something that Quasimodo was used to, leaving him uneasy of his master's temperament and slightly afraid. Frollo could see the anxious look on his ward's face and thought it best not to frighten him any further. "Forgive me for raising my voice, Quasimodo," he said composedly. "But…my brother's soul is something that I worry about constantly. I couldn't bear it if he, or even you, fell victim to the gypsies' bewitchment."

Despite the one wart covering his left one, Quasimodo's eyes shone with understanding and adoration for his master, for his dedication for both him and Jehan was without a doubt genuine. "I won't, Master. I promise that I'll never trust a gypsy."

With that said, Frollo rose from his seat, dusting off and smoothing out his black robe. "Very good. Now then," he spoke, his tone softer. "I believe it has grown quite late and the both of us should be retiring for the night." Quasimodo nodded in agreement, lifting himself from his seat and lumbering to his make-shift bed area while his master discarded the used dishware.

Quasimodo sat up while his master knelt down to eye level. They crossed themselves in unison and folded their hands before Frollo's low voice incanted the nightly prayer: "Ángele Dei, qui custos es mei, me tibi ommíssum pietáte supérna, illúmina, custódi, rege et gubérna. Amen."

Making the sign of the cross over themselves again, Frollo stood up and bid his ward good night, lightly patting the boy on his protruding hunch before picking up his hat and turning to leave. Covering himself with the threadbare blanket, Quasimodo suddenly said, "I…I'm sorry about…Jehan, Master."

For a fleeting moment, there was a sadness appearing on the judge's face. Restoring his usual countenance, Frollo quietly replied, "As am I." He proceeded to march down the bell tower steps with a sort of languidness that was quite unlike him.

X

As Romulus trotted through the dark sleeping city, Frollo could not stop thinking about his brother…and the gypsies. Would he really threaten to join up with them now every time the Minister refused to provide him with money to spend on further degeneracy? He couldn't decide which was worse: being the source of Jehan's overindulgence, or allowing him to associate himself with the bane of the Minister's existence to fund such activities himself. Frollo gritted his teeth at his moral dilemma, sickened by both scenarios. He found small comfort in the idea that all in all, Quasimodo would never be allowed to live like Jehan.

Shaking himself from these troubling thoughts, Frollo noted the decreased number of loiterers, thanks to his increased number of night guards. He noted that seldom ever did he or his men encounter gypsies after dark. Retreated back to their fabled haven, the Court of Miracles, no doubt. A spark of anger flared up in the judge as he remembered twisting that gypsy apart to extract the knowledge of its location, such an attempt all in vain.

How difficult must it be to find such a place? After almost a decade of this Herculean pursuit, he had nothing to show for it, his hands tightening on the reins at the thought. Were all of them really so prepared to die by his hand for the sake of their kin's place of refuge?

No matter how many of them must perish…The judge's train of thought was suddenly halted as he heard the nearby sound of…singing. Sweet notes fell softly on his ears, leaving him momentarily winded. Without realizing it, some great force overcame him as he steered his horse to follow the hypnotic tune. Ordinarily, he would have simply ignored it and moved on...but not tonight.

He followed the music to a nearby tavern whose faded old wooden sign hanging above the door once depicted a red bull, announcing itself as La Tête du Taureau. Peering into the grimy window, Frollo could see the whole place alive with peasants…and gypsies. He saw them gathered around with their exotic instruments: a large drum beaten on rhythmically; a couple of large, gourd shaped stringed instruments with short necks; a small pear-shaped one resting on one man's knee and played with a bow. In the center of these performers, he listened as a tall gypsy woman crooned the enchanting lyrics in some foreign tongue while the tavern patrons drank and laughed…

"Ándro birtho zhas,

"Thai mol piyas.

"Amáre lové das,

"Thai mol piyas…"

The Minister found himself frozen in place as he listened, entranced by the strange and romantic tune, mouth stupidly agape. He suddenly forgot of the venomous words he had pronounced to his adopted son condemning them only minutes ago, for even he could not peel himself away from its melodious spell.

"Come keep me warm until morning…"

Frollo closed his eyes as the music filled him with a sense of peace...longing...misery. His chest tightened painfully from the onslaught of emotion. For an instant, it was as though everything ceased to exist, as though he lingered in this moment for an eternity, blissfully listening to such sweet harmony.

"Minister!" Shaken, Frollo felt himself being brought back to reality as he whipped around to a night guard riding down the street towards him, armor clanking loudly.

"What is it?!" The Minister heatedly snarled, trying to regain his composure. He realized that he had been idling in the same shadowy spot for some time, listening to the gypsies' music, Romulus growing impatient.

"Sir, we've received reports of a gypsy thief in a brothel on Rue de la Harpe."

"I see. Lead the way then, Lieutenant." Snaps of the reins and the two men sped off on their horses, leaving behind the mesmerizing music and into the night.

It wasn't long before the men reached the brothel, littered with drunk men, stumbling in and out. Making a sound of disgust, Frollo leered at this establishment of unbridled licentiousness and wantonness. Had the Church not viewed prostitution as a necessary evil to prevent any "unnatural" forms of lust, he would have it snuffed out completely and destroy every whorehouse in Paris.

"Gypsy thieves, you said?" Frollo asked, examining the place of ill repute.

"Yes, sir. A gypsy stealing from patrons during, umm…transactions."

"Typical," the judge muttered under his breath. "Let us go and investigate the matter." Dismounting their horses, Frollo and his lieutenant tied them to the posts outside before entering the building. The Minister cringed at the sight of so many promiscuous women discussing deals with these depraved men. It wasn't long before a finely-dressed older woman adorned with a pearl necklace descended the staircase, stopping before the Minister of Justice and his guard.

Her eyes falling on the austere Minister, she shot him a puzzled expression. "Minister Frollo? I must say that I'm surprised to see a man of your esteem here…although I cannot say the same for your brother."

Brushing the comment aside and schooling his expression, Frollo stiffly replied, "I am only here on official matters."

"Of course. Well, whatever the reason, welcome to Le Lys Rouge."

The inside of Le Lys Rouge was well lit and adorned in red, from the scarlet drapes hung along the grand staircase and the tapestries on its walls. Filling the ground floor were numerous dirty tables cramped with male customers and their female company upon their laps and drinking away. Frollo watched with revulsion when he glanced to the second floor and witnessed men and their escorts filing in an out of the rooms.

"I have heard that there is a gypsy prowler stripping your patrons of their wages," Frollo stated, getting straight to the point, hands behind his back. "Is this true?"

"There is a prowler, Your Honor, but I did not say it was a gypsy," the Madame answered. "Perhaps someone suggested it could have been, but the gypsies who come through are customers just as any other man who enters my establishment."

"One cannot be too trusting with their kind. Your greed prevents you from seeing them for the thieving dogs that they truly are; no doubt it has occurred before on these premises. It would be wise to bar them from your establishment to prevent any further thefts."

The Madame remained unmoved by the Minister's utterance of scorn. "How I run my business is of my own accord. Anyone willing to pay is welcome."

Frowning at such impertinence, Frollo saw that he was getting nowhere with this hardened woman. "Then just lead us to whomever claims that there is a thief."

The Madame eyed him warily. "Upstairs. Red-head, Carla. She'll tell you everything."

Giving a curt nod, Frollo motioned for his lieutenant to follow him up the stairs, brushing past idling courtesans. As the Minister and his guard made their way down the dimly-lit second floor scanning about for this so-called Carla, the libidinous atmosphere made Frollo's skin crawl. After all, he had never been a fan of places like Le Lys Rouge.

After a long silence, his soldier finally spoke. "Sir, what if this thief isn't a gypsy as we thought?"

Looking over his shoulder, Frollo sternly answered, "As with all law-breakers, whoever we find to be pilfering customers shall be brought to justice and handled accordingly."

Frollo was suddenly stopped by a round, bald man who grabbed his shoulder. "Judge Frollo! You must help! I have been robbed, I fear by the gypsy in that room!" He pointed a fat finger to one door a couple ones down from where they stood. "And it's not just me! Others claim that they've been pickpocketed tonight as well. Arrest him!"

Brushing the dirt of his shoulder, Frollo nodded, replying, "Worry not, for the man responsible will indeed be punished." Turning his attention back ahead, Frollo stopped as the indicated door unexpectedly swung open, a satiated gypsy man striding out and smoothing out his time-worn blue tunic.

"Seize him!" Frollo instinctively ordered.

Attention snapping towards the Minister and his lackey, the gypsy man did not have time to react, instantly finding himself pinned to the ground. The commotion was quick to grab the attention of every other man and harlot ambling about the corridor.

"Another gypsy plunderer," Frollo taunted as his lieutenant continued to smother their culprit.

"What are you talking about?!" The dark-skinned man bellowed, snorting roughly against the dirty wooden floor as the guard held him tight.

"Oh please, don't play coy. It would make this less painful if you do not. And though I may not be entirely fond of these establishments, the law stands and theft is theft."

"I haven't stolen anything!" His rebuttal earned a swift pull of the hair and face slammed to the ground, yelping painfully in response.

Folding his arms and looking down with antipathy, Frollo continued chide the gypsy. "Is it purely coincidental that when there is a report of thievery, a gypsy just so happens to be soliciting at the very establishment?"

The man's eyes burned with hatred as they locked with the Minister's. Ignoring him, Frollo simply looked to his guard and ordered, "Lock him up." He instantly found himself in shackles, muttering curses as a small line of blood streamed down the side of his face.

Patrons who loitered in the long corridor or who came to watch the spectacle laughed and cheered at the Minister's execution of justice. Smiling to himself as he watched his lieutenant land a hard blow to the gypsy man's gut, Frollo then felt a tap on his shoulder, turning around to find a pale red-haired woman standing behind him.

Cocking an eyebrow at her, he said, "I assume you are Carla. Can I help you?"

Crossing her thin arms, she said, "Minster Frollo, I know that you can't resist booking gypsies on a regular basis, but…that's not the one we caught stealing."

"Excuse me?"

"No, let's just say that I've detained our little thief down the hall." Looking past him, she directed her attention to judge's guard holding the gypsy in place. "Lieutenant Laurent," she greeted flirtatiously, fingers waggling towards him. Frollo rolled his eyes as his lieutenant looked away awkwardly to avoid meeting his superior's gaze.

Frollo studied the gypsy in chains, his ears heating up in slight embarrassment before speaking to her again. "Well, if you have done so, then take us to him."

Giving a small chuckle of condescension, Carla's fingers motioned for the judge to follow her to the far end of the hallway, Frollo motioning his guard to stay put and keep watch over their captive.

Hand on the door handle, the young courtesan looked back at the Minister of Justice, who waited impatiently behind. "I'm sorry that you have to see this, Your Honor, but it's just business." Frollo raised an eyebrow in confusion, hesitant of what she was going to show him.

With a fluid motion of her arm, the young woman swung the door open, Frollo's eyes widening before quickly covering them in exasperation and humiliation. The only thing he could utter was a horrified, "Oh, good lord!"

"Heh heh...Evening, Claude."

In an almost mocking voice, the young woman remarked, "I believe this is yours," her eyes shifting to the center of the room in annoyance as she leaned against the door frame.

Lowering his hand from his eyes, Frollo grimaced heavily as he set his gaze on a most unpleasant sight: Jehan, naked from the waist up, bound by the wrists by an old scarf and tied to one of the bedposts above his curly blond head, smiling nervously at his guests.

Mortified, Frollo sighed in great displeasure before harshly asking the young woman, "What in the world is this?"

"As I told you, Minister: the thief that you're looking for isn't a gypsy. Your bastard brother couldn't pay up—kept saying that he'd come back and pay later. Our policy is cash upfront—no exceptions. After I told him, I saw him lifting some money off the other customers before trying again!"

Glowering fiercely at his brother, who tried to shake his bounds loose to no avail, Frollo then asked him in disbelief, "Please tell me that she is not serious. What did you do with the money that I gave you earlier?!"

Letting out a small shaky laugh, Jehan answered his brother coolly, "Well, when you hear the dice games calling, you answer them, even if the odds aren't always in your favor…four games in a row."

"So you thought it best to refund yourself by robbing other men?" Frollo crossed his arms sternly, his eyes piercing with scorn.

"I needed to, Claude! What would you have done? Look, just pay her for me, would you?" Jehan tugged on the scarf around his wrists harder, frustrated by the skill with which they were tied.

Frollo glanced back at the silent courtesan still leaning against the door frame, raising an eyebrow at her.

"Well, Minister?" Carla deadpanned. "How will you be paying?"

With a quick look back at his pathetic brother, he asked, "Just to be clear, what would become of him if I decided against compensating for his requested services?"

"Claude!" Jehan exclaimed surprised, blue eyes widening in fear of being abandoned by his brother.

"We'd just throw him down in the cellar and kick him out in the morning," Carla explained plainly. "But he will be banned from Le Lys Rouge."

"Carla, you wouldn't ban me, would you?" Jehan adorned his most charming smile hoping to persuade the woman who remained unmoved.

Rolling his eyes, Frollo reached under his robe to retrieve the spare coin purse he kept for whenever Jehan took the first. "Here," pushing the money into the woman's hands, Frollo strode forward, pulling the dagger hidden in his sleeve. Swiftly and smoothly, he cut the scarf binding the young man's wrists before picking up the discarded tunic and tossing it back in Jehan's face.

"We are leaving now," he said hotly, not looking at his embarrassment of a brother. Looking back at the stunned young woman, Frollo spoke in a dangerously low voice, "This never happened," her nodding in understanding. Exiting the room, he tried to collect himself as he waited in the hallway, livid anger building up inside him. When Jehan emerged with his haphazardly dressed clothes on, Frollo took hold of his arm and roughly pulled him along.

Unable to break from the judge's vice-like grip, Jehan decided just to vex him out of spite. "So what's next, Claude? You going to throw me in the dungeon again? This was a one-time situation—I swear it will not happen again!"

Ignoring him, Frollo brushed past the onlookers before stopping before his lieutenant, still holding the anxious gypsy. "Take this gypsy back to the Palace of Justice; I will deal with his situation tomorrow."

The soldier looked at the clumsily dressed Jehan and back at the injured gypsy, stammering out, "But-but, sir…if this man wasn't stealing…You-you said that all lawbreakers—"

"Follow your orders, Lieutenant, and I will deal with this one as I shall." His hold on his brother's arm tightened at his indication.

The man looked at his commander in disbelief before escorting the gypsy in chains down the stairs and out of the brothel. Frollo continued to pull Jehan out of the building, not once casting a glance at him and neither of them speaking. Once outside, the judge pulled his brother aside, slamming him against the wall of the building.

"Why is that your rapaciousness must follow me everywhere like a stray?!" Frollo's eyes burned with fury and his fingers dug into Jehan's shoulders mercilessly. "Why is it that the concept of prudence is one that is eternally lost on you?!"

Jehan barely managed to push his seething brother away, shoving him back and rubbing at his shoulder. "Calm down, Minister, it's not like I murdered anyone or anything. Lucky thing you showed up too—who knows what would have happened?"

"Listen to me," Frollo said severely, pointing a finger at the young man. "Legally I should be stowing you away in the pits of the Palace and setting up your trial. You were fortunate enough that there is someone else to take the blame for this incident, but heed my words, Jehan: There will come a day where your actions will cause irreversible damage, and I will not be there to clean up your mess. At almost twenty-five years, one would think that you would've learned that already! Do you understand?"

"I see. So…would you rather I turn gypsy to do what I want, or let things remain as they are?" Jehan smirked triumphantly, thinking he might bested the Minister of Justice into giving in.

Frollo looked at him as the moonlight shone brightly on his brother's smug features. In a grim voice he replied, "Then I imagine that you would rather try to join a group who would sooner slit your throat, than try to keep the debauchery to a minimum so that I may retain my position and continue to provide you such funds. Take your pick."

Jehan scratched his head, eyes wandering around the dark streets, unable to think of a rebuttal. "Fine," he conceded reluctantly. "I'll try not to embarrass you too much. And look on the bright side, Claude: you picked up some more gypsy trash, and saved your baby brother, so a job well done!" Jehan stretched his arms outwards, jokingly calling for Frollo to engage in a brotherly embrace.

Shooting him a bitter expression and scoffing, Frollo monotonously said to him, "Good night, Jehan. But remember what I have told you. What goes around, comes around." Frollo left his brother as he made his way back to the front of Le Lys Rouge, untying and mounting his horse to set off for home.

With his brother still in ear-shot, Jehan shouted, "My soul will be just fine!" as the Minister rode off.

Inwardly, Frollo prayed, One can only hope...

x

*A/n: I realized that I need my writing to be livelier so here's this. Frollo cares too much about his brother, tbh, even in the book. I like this chapter a lot better than the last one too.

I remember how lazy I was with my last fic, so the instruments played were typical medieval ones: lute, oud, Byzantine lyra. The lyrics come from the song "Thai Mol Piyas" off the HoND musical soundtrack, which is the Paper Mill version cause I swear I don't remember that version of it from La Jolla Playhouse. But apparently the song is from an old Romani song, which roughly translates to wanting to drink wine and what not. And I basically saw the brothel like the Rosa in Fiore from Assassin's Creed Brotherhood.

I also found out that Rue de la Harpe, where Jehan lives, is the street that inspired Sweeney Todd, so...pretty cool. And the pearl necklace is just some dumb wordplay, if you know the meaning.

Read and review!