#Thond

Chapter 9: Screw your courage to the sticking place Something interesting happens… Esmeralda had spent the day alone in her room, wringing her hands and pacing back and forth. When Pierre had dropped her off the other morning, he had been quiet, reserved and hadn’t lingered long. So, anxiously she waited, like a lioness prowling behind the bars of a cage. Thoughts of Quasimodo, Phoebus, Clopin and her family clouded her. However, these thoughts were nothing like Frollo—how he gnawed at her, consumed her thoughts, her very mind. That night she slept fitfully again. Once she awoke, her hair was tangled and a mess. The sheets had been strewn onto the floor and she found herself, curled inwards, her knees tucked against her chest. She felt like a young child again, the young child that found herself snuggled up against her family members to keep warm during those cold winter nights. There was no one to warm her now. What is the plan now? What was his ? Did he really expect to keep her like this? Trapped? And of all things, doing bible studies? She could see it in the way his gaze lingered, like smoke…very akin to the same outside. The way it traveled down and flicked back up when she caught him. It disgusted her. Esmeralda had seen these lewd displays before. She had seen men leer at her while she danced, even when she walked in the streets but none such sights as Frollo. Being exotic and forbidden was something that enticed the human psyche but it did not entice the object of it. Esmeralda had always enjoyed dancing, especially with her family and friends at the Court. They did not share those same expressions of lust and lechrous need. They appreciated her beauty, her skill, and her dance. However, she could not expect that from the rest of the world and especially Frollo. She knew how it was: she was a toy. Something to own, to trifle with, to possess. It had been the object of her insanity. Esmeralda was stuck with a man that would only see her as an object. That was all he was to her and for how long would she be this thing ? The idea choked her. Understand him. Well, she was trying to and the reality of how she might have to leave was not satisfying her. Perhaps there was a way to trust him…without sacrificing herself. For a lustful man, he had declined the offer of her body when they had met all those days ago. The idea was abhorrent and disgusting but what was one act…one dreadful and disgusting act for freedom? But why did he resist? She would get him to trust her, yes. That was the plan since day one. Esmeralda despised waiting for his move but Frollo despite all his bark was a skittish thing. Not skittish in the way of cowering but that he would lash out when threatened or prodded at—even when he did the same to her. She did not want to bite her tongue but she might have to, more often than she would like to. He just…it was hard not to. He was a man with ridiculous logic and an even more ridiculous sense of superiority. What hadn’t she tried that yet? Try to talk to him . You do already. You know what I mean. Esmeralda scoffed and plodded over to the wardrobe. She knew what lay inside. Afterall, she had combed the wretched room all those days ago when she had first arrived. Tentatively, her hand grazed the doorknob and she gripped it, swinging it open. It was dark within. She had felt the fabric of his clothing before. Unlike him, it was soft and delicate, concealing all the fury which was Frollo. Her hands thumbed the fabric, pinching it in between her fingers. Throwing a glance over her shoulder, she pulled out a robe yet did not take it off its hanger. It was a cool shade of blue. Nothing like the harsh reds that he donned now. Click, click. Whirling around, she slammed the door behind her and turned to meet her visitor. She furrowed her brows as she watched the knob twist and turn to her bedroom door. Pierre always knocked whenever he came in. Instinctively, she moved a few paces away from the wardrobe. It wasn’t… wrong to look at his clothing. But a sickening feeling had settled in her stomach. Like she was invading him even while in her own room. A maid appeared. She was a small, skittish looking thing with large eyes, a gaunt face and a pointed chin. She clasped her hands in front of each other. Quietly she spoke but Esmeralda could only see her lips move. The woman might as well have been a mute or Esmeralda deaf. “What?” Esmeralda repeated. The young maid cleared her throat and spoke a little louder from across the room, “The minister requests that you join him for dinner.” What. “Huh? What did you just say?” Esmeralda wasn’t sure if she had heard the maid correctly. The maid in turn rolled her eyes and repeated, “The minister requests that you join him for dinner.” Idly, the maid fiddled with her hands. Esmeralda’s gaze snapped down to the dress she was wearing. It had become wrinkled over time. Her hand ran over the fabric and she pulled at the small ruffle of her sleeve. Dinner, hm? She remembered dressing up for the various feasts that the Court of Miracles had. While the amount of feasts depending on the harvest and luck, there was always a Christmas feast. The Romani dropped her hand and looked to the maid. The maid turned her gaze downwards towards the rug. For a moment the thought to say “ no ” crossed her mind. But then where would she be? In her room? Alone? For another day? Another week? Why in God’s name did he want her in his dining room? To…share dinner with him? Her brows furrowed. Frollo was truly a strange old man. Psychotic. Lustful. Weird, all around. Dinner could go any which way. I have to go. —— While she walked, her mind was at work. The maid’s footsteps whispered on the carpet and Esmeralda made sure to keep an eye on her as they wound through the endless halls. The Palace of Justice was a maze, one with many faces lurking around corners: statues and paintings alike glared at her as she passed. Esmeralda, lost in thought, almost bumped into the maid when they arrived at a set of double oak doors. The woman stepped back and gripped the doorhandle, then pushed it open to reveal the dining hall. It was a grand place, far more grand than any place she had the privilege to dine in. The room had high ceilings, floor to ceiling windows, and opposite the windows, a fireplace was roaring with life. Her gaze roamed all about the room, dodging the dining table before her. Tapestries of the finest craftsmanship and beautiful paintings were hung up on the stone wall. Then she sucked in a breath when she looked at the table. That dark stormy gaze was already fixed on her. “Leave us,” Frollo commanded. For a moment, Esmeralda hoped that he was speaking to her. The door shutting behind her told her otherwise. She was truly alone now. Frollo was wearing his usual attire, the purple and black robes, and that stupid hat. The Romani girl stood frozen, her hands held in front of her as though she were a statue. The pair exchanged stony glares from across the room. The firelight threw shades of crimson upon each of both faces, one youthful and the other gaunt. What does he want? The aroma of the feast upon the dining table hit her, flooding her senses. Unable to help it, her eyes scanned over the food. Steak, soup, bread…the whole array was out on the table. The rest of the chairs were empty…a feast for two and too much for two certainly. Esmeralda restrained a scowl and edged forward. Frollo turned his gaze to his food and began to eat in small, delicate bites. He looked like a dainty mouse, almost, if that makes any sense at all. Again, suppressing another emotion from crossing her face, she opted to get it over with and stepped to the head of the table, directly across from Frollo. Frollo looked up and his brow shot up, “You do not sit there.” Esmeralda cleared her throat, “Then pray tell, where do I sit?” A bit of a mocking edge entered her voice before she could stop it. Placidly, Frollo reached out and gripped the chair at his left side: “Here.” Too close. It was the first two words that entered her mind. Grounding herself, Esmeralda marched across the sophisticated battlefield which was Frollo’s dining room. Frollo had to be planning something, something . But thankfully, she was planning something as well. Or had planned should she say. Esmeralda had learned that when she worked on the whim…she tended to be rash. Esmeralda came to halt behind her chair. His rings caught in the fireplace light, the red and blue, she was acquainted with them. She didn’t let her sour face show at the memory. His hand gripped the back of the chair tightly, his knuckles turning white. “Do you want me to sit or not?” Esmeralda raised a brow at him. Frollo relinquished his hold without another word and returned to his food. Was he being quiet or was she crazy? Keeping her face neutral, she settled herself down in her seat and glanced down towards the food adorned upon the table. For a few long painful moments, she sat quietly, wringing her hands in her lap, quite unsure how to act. “Eat,” she heard him finally say. His eyes were on her again and gooseflesh rose on her arms. A part of her didn’t want to: for the sake of her ordering to do something at all. Yet another smelled the fresh aroma. Hesitantly, she heaped a few portions onto her plate, careful not to clink the silverware or scrape the plate…the last thing she needed was Frollo’s anger. Dinner dragged on, the silence stretched thinly over the hall, taut and ripe to be sliced. The embers of the fire flickered gently, licking and eating away at the logs in the fireplace. “How did you sleep?” he said, cutting through the quiet. Esmeralda lost in thought, looked up at him, screwing up her brows. “What?” “I asked you a question, Gypsy. How did you sleep?” he reiterated, an edge creeping into his voice. “As well as one can in the Palace of Justice,” she quipped, shoveling another mouthful of steak down her gullet. She wasn’t quite sure what he wanted her to say. How in God’s name was she supposed to answer his question? She was plagued by nightmares every other night and could barely sleep. Didn’t he know that? Frollo cleared his throat and leaned forward, holding his fork daintily in his right hand. “Well then…” he continued, undeterred, “Your day then?” Esmeralda sputtered and turned to him, aghast. “My day?” she then narrowed her eyes, “Why are you talking to me?” Her voice was laced with suspicion. The Romani leaned back in her chair and observed him. “Talking?” “Yes, talking. You’re acting strange. Like for example inviting me to dinner,” Esmeralda said, her voice laced with suspicion. “Because, my dear, you are my guest,” Frollo answered promptly, taking a sip from his goblet. Guest? “Well, that is a generous way to put it, don’t you think?” Esmeralda crossed her arms over her chest. Frollo said idly, “You eat, sleep and are clothed in the way a guest would be.” “That doesn’t automatically make you one,” Esmeralda countered. “A guest can leave freely.” The Minister swiped, “Well, I can make your stay far less pleasant if you would like. The dungeons I’m sure will have a room for you.” Dodging the implication. Esmeralda frowned. “Are they empty right now?” Esmeralda probed, daring to lean a little forward. Frollo gave her a sidelong glance, “Quite. Ever since I sent out the order for your search and arrest, the city has been rather quiet.” The Minister said it so plainly that Esmeralda almost thought he was drugged. How could he say such a thing with so little remorse? At least…she supposed the dungeons were mostly empty—if he was telling the truth. And therefore, her fellow Romani or at least most of them escaped before they were captured. “Search and arrest? Was that all it was?” Esmeralda tested. “Gypsy.” he warned, his eyes narrowing at her. “I do not want to quarrel with you tonight. It is all we do, endlessly .” “Well, you know, it is hard not to. You have, after all, persecuted my people for years—by means of torture, slaughters, beatings. And other…personal things.” Esmeralda curled her fists in her lap and tried to maintain her composure. As she looked upon him, all she could see was flashes of the cruelties inflicted on her family—the green and purple bruises that scarred Clopin’s body blazed in her mind, the blood in the streets, the smell of charred bones. “I have many reasons to dislike you.” Frollo graced her with another look—it was one as equally unpleasant as her own. He set his silverware down on the table and reclined back into his sturdy chair. “And I you. Yet…” his gaze pierced her. “…I am determined to save your soul as I promised. Are you willing to break your promise to me , Gypsy?” Her fist tightened at that word . The frown etched on her face deepened. “If I break my promise, you will wreck havoc all over Paris again and my family will pay for it. Do you seriously think I would do that?” That day began to burn away at the barriers of her mind. Oh, how frightfully vague her promise had been to him: I choose you. At least, he had not asked for anything more than conversion but…she could tell by that hungry look, he desired more—it made her skin crawl. “No,” he said simply. The Minister did not comment further as predicted. How deluded he was…it made her blood boil. She had a feeling that if she kept prodding him that he would boil over, so…she took a different approach. “So, what can I expect during my stay?” Esmeralda asked. Her gaze flitted down to her food, afraid to look him in the eye. It had been a question that had been tormenting her. She would manipulate her way into escape, she had to…but what did Frollo have planned? More bible studies? “Conversion,” he said curtly, taking a swig from his goblet. “How boring,” she mumbled under her breath. Frollo shot her a look while he drank. “And what else?” Esmeralda asked, reaching for her own goblet and taking a sip of the wine. “What would you like?” Frollo countered, rather casually—dropping those four words as if he were asking about the weather. Esmeralda sputtered. She grabbed frantically for a napkin and coughed into it. Frollo watched her with a disgusted curl of his lip. Did he get hit on the head before dinner? The Romani girl took a few moments to compose herself and then straightened herself. “Well,” she turned to him. “I would like to leave but I’m sure that’s out of the question, right?” “Yes. Certainly.” Frollo’s fingers were wrapped around his goblet and idly he tapped the rim. “However, I can provide anything else you may require until your Journey to God is complete.” “When will that be?” “When I determine you are redeemed,” Frill said sternly. Ah, how convenient. Esmeralda stayed quiet for a few moments. The firelight flickered, casting long shadows along the wall behind her. Her own shadow stretched far above the tapestries, clawing at the windows above. “I would like to freely leave my room,” Esmeralda asked. She did despite being trapped in there all hours of the day apart from her studying sessions with Frollo—which were not a treat. If he truly wanted to grant a request of hers…it would be that one. “Then you may. I will instruct the maids to keep the door unlocked,” Frollo replied, placidly. “But…” he raised a finger and gave her a grim look, a stare that made her straighten. “You may not speak to my nephew under any circumstances.” Esmeralda suppressed the urge to raise her brow. Well, I already did. And your nephew didn’t tell you? Frollo continued, “He is a rather impressionable boy and I do not want the likes of you to taint his mind.” The Minister raised his knife and began to cut at the steak on his plate with ferocity. While the Minister had his gaze turned away, she rolled her eyes, “If you wish.” That was one less person to talk to, she supposed. And it was such a shame because she could learn a lot about Frollo through the boy. However…it did seem that Jehan Junior did not tell his uncle about speaking to her… Interesting. That could be an advantage. “I didn’t know you had a nephew,” Esmeralda piped up. The Minister raised his head to look upon her, he said curtly, “Yes, I have a niece as well. Both are spawns of my younger brother.” And a younger brother? How hadn’t she heard of any of these family members? And why was the nephew with Frollo? “Hm, and you are taking care of the nephew? Why?” Frollo momentarily had a quizzical look upon his face before answering, “John. Or I suppose Jehan Junior as my brother named him. My niece is under my care as well.” As he was still cutting, the knife scraped against the plate. Esmeralda winced. “They are under my care because my brother is away .” Esmeralda nodded her head, awkwardly as she took in the Minister’s words. Quasimodo. The niece? The nephew? How many children does this guy take care of? A giggle escaped her before she could clasp a hand over her mouth. The Minister’s neck snapped in her direction and he barked, “What are you laughing about?” “Just…” Esmeralda drew her hand away from her face and sucked in a deep breath, trying to contain herself. “I was just surprised about how many children you have been saddled with.” Frollo stared at her for a moment as if frozen, his utensils held inches from the plate. “Ah.” he said. “That does tend to happen to me, doesn’t it?” His lip twitched. Esmeralda shrugged, “I guess so.” The faint crackle of the fireplace caught her attention. The Romani girl poked at her food with cautiousness before taking another bite. She snuck another glance at him once he was sure he wasn’t looking—his eyes were glued to his plate. Is he trying to be charming? The dinner? The talking? She suppressed the urge to shake her head. What a ludicrous man. And that was certainly understating it. Esmeralda studied him as his gaze shifted from the plate to the fireplace—the furrowing of his brows, the frown tugging at his lips. The flames reflected back in his dark eyes like a mirror, blazing and red. “Do you have any family?” he asked, breaking the silence once more. His gaze turned to meet hers and he caught her. His eyes widened and she snapped her attention elsewhere, gazing at her own plate. “Family?” she reiterated and looked up. “The whole court is my family.” “Blood family,” he said drily. Esmeralda answered, “My parents but they both died when I was young. And you know, blood isn’t everything. My brother Clopin is the closest thing to family for me.” Esmeralda pointed out, prodding her fork in his direction. “Blood is thicker than water…” he challenged and raised a brow. “The blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb,” she countered. Frollo said in return, “And yet blood is about 4.5 times thicker than water, scientifically and in actuality.“ “Scientifically?” Esmeralda blinked and narrowed her eyes. “Science has no weight in love.” “The art of science is the love of knowledge,” Frollo said, waving a hand. “I am talking about the love of people, not things.” Esmeralda responded, a grimace tugging at her lips. And you would know all about that wouldn’t you? “Science is not a thing —it is alive, tangible. It is something that you would not understand,” Frollo spoke rather indignantly, crossing his arms. The pair—inches away—stared at each other with narrowed eyes, crossed arms and closed hearts. “For a man of the law, you have a lot of opinions of things that are not of your expertise.” Esmeralda brushed a strand of hair out of her eyes as she glared at him. “I could say the same for you, Gypsy,” Frollo swiped. The Minister snatched up his goblet and held it in his hand, all the while staring back. “You have quite a lot of opinions for a street urchin. I myself have indulged in study all my life—law, science, philosophy, religion…” “To read a book is one thing, to live it is another, Frollo,” Esmeralda said with finality. She caught his left eye twitch. It seemed she was getting on his nerves finally: good . Although, a headache was beginning to pound behind her own eye. “I have to ask…” she blurted out before he could speak. “You say I am here so you can convert me, right?” Esmeralda waited with baited breath. The Minister took his time to answer and studied her carefully before he spoke, “Yes.” “Then…” The Romani girl twiddled with her fingers in her lap but her eyes were unflinching. “Why not have the Archdeacon convert me? You know, it would be a lot more pleasant for both of us.” Frollo visibly stiffened, his shoulders becoming more square. A nasty sneer contorted his face, “I am more than capable of converting you on my own. And I’m sure you remember the whole fiasco that followed after you escaped Notre Dame.” Frollo downed a sip of his wine. Esmeralda bit her tongue. “Do you really think I am that naive? That I would let you back in there and escape from the law again ? I am not one of your boys that you may charm at will. Quasimodo may have fallen prey to your wiles but not I.” Esmeralda felt her hands close around each other, squeezing, “He did not fall prey to me.” “You bewitched him,” he said, plainly. “He helped me of his own free will. Because he is a kind person. Because he didn’t want me to be trapped and depressed in a place with no way out.” Esmeralda bit out, shooting him a scathing look. Something I am sure you will never know. The implication was not lost on Frollo as his gaze flicked to the Romani girl. Instead of facing her, his attention turned to the swirling drink in his goblet. “I am more than capable of teaching you in the ways of our Lord.” He snapped, the facade of calm disappearing before her very eyes. “I know far more than that Archdeacon could ever know. It would be best if we continue your education here and purge you of your heathen habits my way.” Esmeralda let out a sigh and buried her face in her hands. Heat was beginning to build in her chest, threatening to boil over any minute. He’s lying. He has to know it. Everyone knows it. “I am after all your judge,” Frollo continued. “You are under my care.” How comforting. Esmeralda pulled her hands away from her face and asked, “May I excuse myself?” Her nails were digging into her thighs, the fabric bunching up under her touch. How she wanted to claw at his face until those loathsome eyes were nothing but fleshy sockets. “Did you eat enough?” Frollo returned, a calm eeriness in his voice. Esmeralda for the third time tonight stared at him, her jaw slack. The plate was almost empty before her and she wasn’t sure if she could eat anymore without vomiting. “Yes—yes! I’m fine,” she sputtered out, waving a hand at him. The Romani girl was about to stalk off towards the double doors when she stopped in her tracks and spun around. Frollo, as expected, was still looking at her, even as she was leaving. “Are you…” she knew it was a mistake to ask but it was so bizarre she had to. “Are you trying to be charming?” Frollo blinked at that statement, “What?” “I can see right through you, Frollo. Do not play with me. It doesn’t suit you, at all,” With that, Esmeralda finally left, leaving a dumbfounded Frollo in her wake.