"The bell tower, perhaps," Frollo suggested, his gaze drawn to the top of the Notre Dame cathedral. "And who knows? Our Lord works in mysterious ways."

He studied the misshapen child he held in his hand, swaddled in rags. Thank heaven that it only cried briefly after its gypsy mother had suffered an accident mere moments ago.

"Even this foul creature may improve one day to be…of use to me," he said lowly to himself, his lips curling into a conniving smile.

Father Augustin, the Archdeacon, gave Frollo a quick condemning expression as he still held the gypsy's lifeless body in his arms as the winter snow whipped through the air.

"The bell tower? Are you sure that you wouldn't rather the child live with you in the Palace of Justice instead?"

Frollo shuddered to think of living under the same roof as such a beast. He thought of the humiliation and disgrace he would be subjected to should he be seen with the child. The Minister might have thought himself above all others in the city, but even he could not bear to endure the reproach he would receive from simple peasants…not when he knew that this whole mess was his fault, no matter how much he tried to deny it.

He gave a self-assured glance and nonchalantly replied, "Positive. This thing would not at all benefit from the scorn it will receive from the common folk. No...it is a monster and must be shielded for its own sake."

Augustin sighed. "Very well, Minister," he said. "We will make suitable arrangements for the child. I must see that this poor soul is properly put to rest." With that said, the Archdeacon shouldered through one of the church's wooden doors and carried the woman's body in.

Solemnly nodding, Frollo pulled himself off of the great black beast of a horse and followed the Archdeacon inside.

Frollo exhaled in irritation at the thought of another problem to worry about; it was enough that he was constantly pulling his teenage brother Jehan out of trouble for his reckless behavior—now he had another child to keep watch over?

But this thing was human by no means: its body was uneven and mangled and born of gypsy descent, and Frollo could not decide which was worse.

He made his way to the church's pews and directed his attention to the great rose window that bore the image of the Virgin Mary and Child. He wondered how many times had he looked up at this stained glass beauty in times of turmoil and great shame. The only thing he could think was, I was only carrying out my sacred duty to uphold the law and apprehend wrongdoers. Any misfortune that followed was through no fault of my own.

But why me?! He internally pleaded. I have done nothing to deserve such a burden to bear!

He looked down at the boy and studied his features: of course there was the unsettling sight of the large wart almost completely covering his left eye; a small tuft of red hair on his head; and even under the rags that swaddled the boy, Frollo could feel the baby's spine curved upward and creating a small hump in its back.

Suddenly the child began to fuss and wriggle in his arms, bringing the judge out of his thoughts. Nervously, he rocked the child to calm it, his heart beating fast out of a long forgotten emotion that he had felt only moments ago when all this chaos began: fear. Fear which made him see the reality of his situation.

Frollo denied to himself over and over in his head that he was to blame and hoped to be relieved of having to care for this creature. Unfortunately, there seemed to be no comforting bright side at all in this situation.

"Minister?" Frollo was shaken from these thoughts at the Archdeacon's voice. "I believe we have matters to attend to," he addressed, motioning towards the staircase that led to the bell tower, Frollo following behind.

"Once again, Frollo: the child can stay in another–more suitable–part of the church." Frollo gave him a cold stare indicating that his mind was made up. "Alright then," Augustin concluded. "I've never been able to stop you before…no matter how rash your decision may be." The last part he muttered to himself.

Frollo's lip curled at the man's words. "Don't test me," he said harshly. "I'm perfectly capable of deciding the fate of this child. Besides, what better place to become close to the Lord than in His own House?"

The Archdeacon decided to leave it at that knowing that such a stubborn man would not be so easily persuaded. Attempting to make light of the situation, Father Augustin said, "Tell me, Claude, when was the last time you traveled up to the top of the church?"

Thinking for a moment, he responded, "I haven't ventured up to the top of the cathedral since I was a child." Frollo tried focusing on climbing the stairs and carrying the child to avoid any unwanted memories that might come flooding back to him.

"Well, since you intend to house the child in the church, you do know that you must still visit and raise it as your own? Your penance does not end at simply finding it a place to live," the Archdeacon explained.

The Minister scoffed at this. "Isn't it enough that I spared the wretched creature its life?" He glanced disdainfully at the child who barely looked back at him with his good eye. "I have done my fair share of raising children, as evidenced by my brother. In all fairness, Father, I never intended to be a parent, let alone to a child that isn't mine, but rather what I assume can only be the wicked spawn of the Devil!"

The priest stopped dead in his tracks and turned to face the Minister on the lower steps. "Claude," he said sternly. "What we want may not always be aligned with what God expects from us. He obviously has other plans for you, and are you willing to challenge that?"

Frollo stood agape at this argument, unsure of how to respond.

"Besides," he continued, collected. "I think that this endeavor will benefit the both of you: the child will grow up cared for, and you might learn something as well."

They continued their trek up the stairwell until finally reaching the tower; memories of days hiding up here as a boy briefly coming back to the judge, only for him to quickly suppress them and any more nostalgia. The air in the tower was extremely cold and much darker than the rest of the Notre Dame. Frollo glanced around the tower which was cluttered with broken statues and tattered cloth.

"You are absolutely sure that the child should live here?" Augustin asked once more. Frollo shot him another irritated glance as his answer. "Well then, you do know that the proper necessities must be provided by you, Minister?" the Archdeacon reminded him.

"Money is not an issue," he assured. "I will personally see to it that it receives the appropriate provisions."

"It should be noted that our current bell-ringer should be informed of the tower's new occupant, although I'm not sure that he will be quite excited by the news."

"He will adapt," Frollo bluntly replied. "He is almost completely impaired by his hearing and I doubt that the boy's presence will affect him much. Simply explain that as the child's guardian I will visit it as often as time permits me, and that he does not have to pay any mind whatsoever to him. And should anything happen to the boy, I will hold the man personally responsible."

"By the way," Augustin continued. "If you are going to raise this child, then you must give it a suitable name to address it by."

"'Suitable'? This thing is not even completely human, but rather something incomplete and half-formed!" Frollo wondered what kind of name could at all seem fitting to grace this poor soul with. After a brief moment, he reevaluated his statement and chuckled darkly to himself. "'Half-formed'," he muttered again. "Quasimodo," he wickedly stated.

The Archdeacon furrowed his thick eyebrows at the Minister. "Claude, you cannot be serious. A name such as that is simply cruel on your part. Would you not prefer giving it a better name?"

Frollo frowned at this challenge of authority. "You did say to give it a suitable name, and what could be more fitting than naming it for what it is?"

Irked by the judge's smugly assured attitude, the Archdeacon retorted, "To be fair, Minister, you are not crippled despite your name suggesting otherwise."

Frollo scowled at the irony. "That is neither here nor there. But since I am to be its guardian, I will decide what is best for him…Quasimodo. Unless of course, you would like to place it in the foundlings' bed yourself and release me of this penance?"

The Archdeacon could only look disapprovingly at the Minister, still holding the quiet child in his gloved hands.

"I didn't think so," Frollo arrogantly clipped. "Anyway, I must go and sort out these arrangements for him. In the mean time I will need to leave him here while I attend to them."

"And how long do you expect these arrangements to occupy your time, Minister?" Augustin distrustfully asked, crossing his arms.

"No more than a day or two. But who knows? It could take more time than desired." Frollo handed Quasimodo over to the man as he turned back towards the stairwell.

"Claude," Frollo turning around at the stern tone of voice. "Remember: if you do not return to care for the child, it will only be a hollow gesture that you cannot pass off as penance."

"I understand," he replied, barely hiding his annoyance. "But I assure you, my soul will be just fine. Now if you excuse me, I have matters to attend to," before taking his leave down the flight of stairs.

The Archdeacon looked at the now sleeping child and shook his head. Softly he said to himself, "Lord have mercy on you both."

Walking down the stairs, Frollo suppressed a scream of anger as he furiously pulled at his hair.

That night, back at the Palace of Justice, Frollo drowned his frustration in spirits, each drink becoming more aggravating as he replayed the day's events over in his head.

He cursed himself for being subjected in serving a penance in his position: to be a young, up and coming Minister of Justice saddled with being an unwilling parent would most definitely put a damper on his mission of uncovering the legendary gypsy hideout, the Court of Miracles.

Is this all a part of Your plan? He lamented to God as he stared out at the dark winter sky from the balcony of his chambers. Have I not suffered enough? What have I done to deserve such a punishment?

Do you intend for that abomination to be of some benefit to me in the future? He prayed.

Will it assist me in finding the Court of Miracles?

He instantly doubted it as a possibility. Quasimodo was so ill-fitted to function properly that Frollo wondered how long the boy would actually live for.

"Deus, da mihi virtutem," he prayed before heading to bed.

Frollo slept restlessly, plagued by constant memories of first seeing the child's horrible, disfigured face—a face that could in no way be created by nature, only by Satan himself.

He was only relieved when the dawn began to break so that he may start his day as early as possible to escape such sleepless torment, albeit with an unbearable headache.

x

*Let's hope this story turns out to be a'ight ;) R/R please

"Deus, da mihi virtutem": "God, give me strength"