The months rolled by and the Minister found that any attempts to locate the former Captain were utterly fruitless. Out of ferocious anger, Frollo ordered just about every soldier who was on duty that faithful night to be lashed as punishment. Over the months, he went through more changes in Captain of the Guard than any of Minister of Justice in the last century, many he had found it to be utterly inept and not up to par at as leader. He had spent many a day pounding his fist against his desk at numerous reports on temporary captains' shortcomings, refusing to stand for any negligence of the city's safety.

After a few letters to numerous ministers and magistrates, the judge had finally found a replacement for the once revered Captain Gerard: a brutal man with a booming voice and shared hatred of gypsies, Captain Alexandre Leroux. A man heavily scarred across the face and with a taste for the blood, and whose combat record included English defeats at the battles at Bordeaux and Castillon. The knowledge that a man so seasoned by war now led his soldiers offered some comfort to the high-strung Minister.

Winter had arrived and he was glad to be rid of such a turbulent year. Luckily for the people of Paris, there was no snow, only the chilling cold. Riding through the city, there were scratched voices and harsh coughs around every corner. At least Quasimodo was not around such a suffering crowd to be exposed to the winter bug.

X

"And let us remember that Advent is a time of not only fasting and repentance, but also one of charity," the Archdeacon preached over the shivering congregation gathered for Sunday morning Mass. "And while the virtue of charity goes unheeded by many throughout the year, I pray that many will bring themselves to practice it more tangibly as we celebrate the birth of Christ, Our Lord."

Frollo kept his near frozen hands folded in his lap as he listened to the man drone on. Like many others, he found himself more irritable during this time of year with the traditional fasting rearing its head.

"Amen," he muttered in synch with the rest of Notre Dame's worshippers when the day's Mass finally came to a close. While the rest of the citizens filed out of the cathedral, eager to get back to their own homes and warm themselves by their hearths, the Minister waited until the place had been cleared.

Standing up and smoothing out his black robe, Frollo made headway towards the bell tower staircase, but not before stopping at the church's wooden alms box. From his coin purse he took a few deniers and dropped them into the container before heading towards the spiral staircase.

Up in the bell tower, Frollo folded his arms across his chest remembering how much colder it was up there. The boy was staring down at the cold lackadaisical city through the stone balustrades, nonchalantly braving the biting winter wind.

"Quasimodo," Frollo greeted, the chilly air allowing him to see his breath when he spoke. The boy looked over his shoulder. "Come along. This time of year, you might as well learn some history about this cathedral." The judge figured that he might as well take the opportunity to use the empty space to teach the boy.

Getting to his feet, Quasimodo wordlessly approached his master, but without the usual bounce in his step. The hunchbacked boy sniffled, wiping his nose into his shirt sleeve, the Minister curling his lip at the action.

Trudging down the bell tower steps, Frollo spoke. "Notre Dame has a long rich history, Quasimodo—one story after another dwelling among these stone walls. Of some of its more violent history, one particularly interesting event was the wolves of Paris incident. Are you familiar with the tale?" Looking over his shoulder, the sullen boy slowly trailed behind him, shaking his head in response.

Ignoring the strange silence emitted by his ward, Frollo carried on. "It was the winter of 1450, and a bitter one at that. The forests on the outskirts of the city were depleted of prey, and as a result, a horde of wolves had found their way into Paris.

"The story goes that the pack had breached the dilapidated walls of the city, and once they did, they managed to kill at least forty citizens. Astounding, to say the least, considering that the people even graced the pack's leader with the name "Courtaud" –legend telling us the leader was missing part of its tail, or something of the sort.

"Anyhow, the group of brave souls managed to lure the pack into the square of the city—in front of Notre Dame herself. And how did they eradicate the nuisance of such beasts you might ask?"

Quasimodo's expression was tired, as though he was not even there, barely listening. He merely stared back at his master as his answer as they strolled through the frigid empty nave, lumbering on as if he were half-asleep.

"The citizens greeted them by raining spears and stones on them," Frollo replied, his icy fingers locking together before him as he marched on. "But this church has seen darker times as well."

As the Minister proceeded in telling the history of the English occupation of France, Quasimodo's motion became even more sluggard as he followed his master through the church, arms hanging limply by his side, blue eyes glazing over the black and white tiled floor.

"…after a crushing defeat, Paris was captured by England," Frollo droned on, granite eyes taking in the windows of holy figures in reverance. "December 1431, almost forty years to the day, Henry VI declared himself King of France in this very cathedral—humiliating and sickening to say the least. But at least under King Charles VII, we were able to free ourselves from English rule, which has rewarded him with the appropriate nickname of Charles "the Victorious"."

Frollo looked down to the lumbering hunchbacked boy at his side, who was much slower in his usual gait. Quasimodo had been utterly silent as the Minister gave his lengthy history lesson. "Dear boy," Frollo began, pausing for a moment and raising an eyebrow at him. "You seem quite lethargic today. Have you been getting enough rest?"

Quasimodo roughly coughed into the crook of his elbow before looking up at his guardian, his face flushed red. "Master, I don't feel well," the boy tiredly stated, his eyes glassy.

Brushing back some red hair from his face, Frollo pressed the back of his hand against his forehead, surprised by the intensity of heat radiating from the boy's face. "A fever—dear Lord, it might be the influenza as well. Come, best you rest now and try to keep this illness from worsening."

Coughing violently into his sleeve, Quasimodo was steered out of the nave and towards the spiral stairwell. Frollo gently pushed him along up the steps until the boy suddenly halted in the middle of the staircase, his bowed legs buckling under him and holding himself up on shaking arms.

"What is it?" Frollo asked concerned, bending down to try and help him up.

Coughing again and clutching at his stomach, Quasimodo muttered wearily, "Everything hurts." With a sudden wheeze, the boy collapsed.

"Quasimodo!" Frollo cried, bending down and inspecting the boy's empty half-lidded expression. He sat the boy up, Quasimodo going limp in the judge's grasp. Thinking quickly, the Minister lifted the boy up and hoisted him onto his shoulder. With a grunt, Frollo vigilantly carried the boy up the spiral staircase and up to the bell tower.

Frollo carefully placed the boy down on his sleeping mat. He scrutinized the boy's fatigued misshapen face, which was miserable to look up, the illness eating away at him. Standing up, Frollo uttered, "I am going to get help, my boy—don't worry!"

Black robe and red sash whipping behind him, Frollo rushed out of the bell tower and back down the stairs. Gliding through the corridors, he stopped before the door of the Archdeacon's study, harshly banging on the wooden door.

"Frollo, what's the matter?" Father Augustin greeted, opening the door to a shaken Minister of Justice.

"Quasimodo has fallen ill," he quickly answered. "I need clean cold water immediately. He has a high fever along with influenza—how in God's name could he even catch something like this?!"

"Don't worry, Claude," the Archdeacon reassured, leading the judge down the corridor. "We will do everything in our power to help him!"

The two men made their way to the church's kitchens where various monks and nuns were busy preparing meals for the weekly alms. Augustin handed Frollo various supplies: a wooden bucket, linen rag, wine bottle, and wooden cup. Glancing at the bucket in his hand, Frollo asked, "Why the need for this?"

"You said the boy was running the flu; trust me, Claude, you will need it," the Archdeacon answered. "I will take the water upstairs for you."

Frollo nodded, suddenly hearing a rough airy cough behind. Craning his neck around, he narrowed his eyes at a nearby monk coughing harshly into his elbow, the sound very reminiscent of Quasimodo.

"Go back to the bell tower and check on Quasimodo, I will be there with the water shortly," the Archdeacon said, Frollo taking his leave instantly.

Back in the bell tower, Frollo rushed to the boy's side, who looked as though he hadn't moved at all. Snapping his fingers in front of the boy's face, he asked, "Quasimodo, can you hear me?"

Had it not been for the rising and falling of the boy's curved back, the judge would have assumed he was dead. Feeling his forehead again, it felt as if Quasimodo's temperature had risen, burning the Minister's hand.

"Claude!" Frollo whipped his attention back, seeing the Archdeacon enter the boy's loft with a cauldron. "Here you are," he said, placing it next to the Minister. Filling the wooden cup with enough water, Frollo then poured some of the wine in before setting it aside. Soaking the linen rag in the cauldron, he then pressed it to Quasimodo's forehead, whose face was now red as a beet.

"I should procure some supplies from the apothecary," Frollo suggested, looking up at the Archdeacon looming above him.

"I understand, Minister. Go and hurry back. I will look after him until you return."

"And make sure he drinks something," Frollo instructed, raising the cup of watered down wine. "No doubt the fever could dehydrate him. I will return as soon as possible."

With that Frollo swiftly exited the bell tower and the cathedral. Outside, as he mounted atop his steed, he suddenly heard someone call, "Claude!"

Turning his attention around, he shook his head as Jehan jogged towards him, his face worried. "There's something I need to discuss with you!" he urgently told the judge.

"It's going to have to wait until later, Jehan," Frollo snapped. "I have an errand to run and I can't deal with your nonsense at the moment." Snapping the reins, Romulus took off down the cobblestone streets, leaving the younger Frollo in the dust.

The winter wind nipped his face as the Minister rode through the city en route to Rue de Bièvre over on the left bank. Stopping before a building with a sign depicting a mortar and pestle, Frollo tied up his horse and stepped into the facility.

Inside the dark shop, Frollo studied the vials and jars of herbs and liquids lining the shelves, then the numerous mortars and set of scales cluttering the countertop. Emerging from the back storage room was a tall pale man with a long white beard, dusting his hands off. "Minister Frollo!" he greeted, bowing respectfully. "How can I be of service today?"

"My charge has fallen ill," Frollo stated. "Influenza with a high fever, so for that I will need…" He looked over the inventory on the shelves, recalling his education in the science of herbs. "A few ounces of ground coriander for the fever…No doubt he'll experience stomach pain, so some mint as well. Hildegard recommended cinnamon for the flu, so I suppose I will take a few ounces of that as well."

As the white-haired apothecary measured and packed the amount, he commented, "My lord, if I may be so bold, a combination of influenza and fever is a deadly one; it is highly unlikely that a person can recover from something as severe as that."

"I will do what I must to treat it," Frollo bit back, cold flint eyes boring into the withered old man.

"As you wish, Minister. But if you are looking to use cinnamon as a flu remedy, might I suggest honey as well? A combination of both is commonly used for it."

"I have heard of such a thing. Honey as well then."

Scribbling the amount and prices down in the record book before him, the old man said, "For you, Minister, two deniers, considering honey is scarce during the cold season."

Reaching under his robe and rummaging through the coin purse, Frollo paid the man before striding out with the supplies in hand.

X

"How is he?" Frollo asked as soon as he climbed up the wooden steps to the bell tower, vials of ingredients in his hands. Throwing his hat aside on the table, his eyes rested on Quasimodo who was barely sitting up with the help of the Archdeacon.

Father Augustin looked up at the approaching Minister. "Quasimodo was quite dehydrated but he managed to drink the water you left."

Frollo studied the boy's sickly countenance which was still incredibly fatigued. "I've purchased the supplies necessary so I will take it from here, Father."

The man rose, nodding at the judge and laying the boy back down. "We'll prepare more water downstairs for you later, Claude," he said before brushing past Frollo and making his way out.

Behind him, Quasimodo coughed violently, wheezing as he tried to catch his breath. With some difficulty, Quasimodo raised one hand and pointed away, continuing to cough. Frollo redirected his attention to where the boy motioned, eyes falling on the wooden bucket given to him earlier.

Grabbing it, the judge came to the boy's side and rested it beside Quasimodo. There was a pause on the boy's sullen face, Frollo instantly detecting something wrong. Suddenly the boy lurched forward into the bucket, a retching sound echoing from the container, startling the judge for a moment.

Getting to his feet, Frollo looked down at the boy, hunched over with his red head still lingering inside the bucket as he held it securely to his chest. "I will back shortly, Quasimodo," he stated, receiving only a nauseated groan from the boy before heading back downstairs.

Exiting the kitchen with a pitcher of water and more linen rags at hand, Frollo exhaled as the stress began taking its toll on him in the form of another terrible headache. When he returned, Quasimodo still hugged the wooden bucket weakly in his arms, resting his face against the rim and looking up at his guardian through half-lidded eyes. Frollo quickly poured some wine into the small wooden cup before diluting it with water.

"Drink up, my boy," Frollo instructed, lowering himself and pouring the drink into the boy's mouth, some water dribbling down his chin. Frollo wiped the boy's face, which was still bright red. After soaking another linen cloth in the cauldron of cold water and wringing it out, Frollo pressed it again to Quasimodo's forehead.

"Keep this here," Frollo directed. "It will help the fever go down." Sluggishly, Quasimodo lowered himself back again his pillow, his illness crippling him back to sleep.

"Claude!" A familiar voice piped up, Frollo cursing under his breath as he saw Jehan coming into view, lowering the hood of his fur-lined robe and tipping his cap. "Brother, I need to talk to you-"

"Jehan, I am not sure if you can see, but this is not the most ideal time!" Frollo spitefully stated as his brother took note of the current state of the bell tower.

"I wanted to speak to you earlier, but you took off," Jehan retorted. "What's going on here?"

"Quasimodo has contracted the flu, and I am seeing to it that he gets well. So I am not particularly interested in what you have to say at the moment. First, I must give him the medicine from the apothecary, then I must dispose of this," Frollo said, pointing to the sick-filled bucket. "And most likely put him in tepid water to subdue the fever. And I still have work to oversee back at the Palace."

"Busy day, I see. You know, Claude, if you need a doctor, I can ask Robin to stop by. He'll reduce the bill for friends and family—which includes his best friend," Jehan commented, pointing to himself. "And his best friend's brother, who just so happens to be Minister of Justice."

"I appreciate the offer, but that won't be necessary. I may not be a doctor, but I have enough knowledge of medicine to take care of the boy on my own."

"If you say so. Anyway, there's still, uh…something I need to talk to you about," Jehan said, following his brother who took the wooden bucket to the table.

Casting Jehan an irritated glance, Frollo curtly replied, "Well I am very busy at the moment." Taking the vials from the pouch beneath his robe, the Minister began pouring out the cinnamon and honey into the wooden cup.

As Frollo began to mix the syrupy concoction together, Jehan continued, "Look, it's really nothing, so if you would lend an ear for a second..."

Picking up a spoon, Frollo bent down and nudged the boy awake, feeding the tired child the mixture. "It is said that this will help the flu," he gently told Quasimodo, whose unfocused teal eyes barely glanced at Jehan. "And hopefully this will stay down."

"So…if I could just talk to you for a moment?" Jehan asked again, hands folded behind his back and eyes nervously going back and forth between his brother and the floorboards. "Then I'll get out of your hair and you can get back to playing nursemaid."

Scowling at his brother, the judge acridly answered, "Not. Now!"

Solemnly nodding, Jehan replied, "Alright then, later."

"Thank you," Frollo said, exasperated. Taking the filled bucket in his hands, he said, "Now if you don't mind, I have my own concerns."

After Jehan left, Frollo spent a great deal of time trying to get Quasimodo to take his medicine. The poor boy could not even eat with the fever weakening his muscles, Frollo resorting to crushing up the mint leaves and sprinkling them into a cup of water. Quasimodo's muscles prevented him from sitting up on his own, resulting in the Minister having to steady him while he fed him. The boy would have easily fallen forward under his large hunch had his guardian not held him up by his shoulder.

Quasimodo continued to cough as he slept, Frollo regularly pressing the cold compress to his forehead. It still burned the judge's hand when he checked the boy's forehead, Frollo knowing that the fever had to be taken care of immediately.

"Minister, the water is prepared," the Archdeacon informed him, surprised that the judge had lingered on so long to care for the boy. Kneeling down, Frollo carefully gathered the hunchbacked child in his arms, once again hoisting the boy over his shoulder and following the Archdeacon downstairs.

Frollo struggled to keep himself steady as he cautiously took one step at a time down the spiral staircase, clutching the boy's misshapen figure to him as he carried him. Father Augustin guided him through the cathedral corridors and down more stairs until arriving to the cells where the church's priests and nuns resided. Augustin led the Minister and child to Notre Dame's washroom, a large wooden tub in the center of the cell, only filled with a few inches of water.

Placing Quasimodo's limp form on the nearby wooden bench, Frollo stretched his arm and asked, "Is it lukewarm? I cannot risk him catching pneumonia if the water is too cold!"

"It is," Augustin evenly replied. "See for yourself."

Dipping his fingers into the water, Frollo nodded in approval of its temperature.

"I'll go fetch you some supplies," the Archdeacon said, marching out of the washroom.

Frollo turned back to his bleary-eyed ward, the boy's red hair falling messily over his face.

"Quasimodo," Frollo spoke, trying not to sound frantic as he gingerly sat the boy up. "Quasimodo, we need to bring the fever down immediately, so we must use more water. Do you understand?"

Weary teal eyes looked up at his usually stern master, whose grim countenance had softened for once, Quasimodo weakly nodded.

"Can you lift your arms, my boy? Even slightly?" Frollo asked, his voice colored with worry.

With difficulty, Quasimodo barely lifted his plump arms. The Minister struggled somewhat, but managed to remove the boy's tunic, placing him in the wooden tub. Grabbing a clean linen rag and rolling up his robe and shirt sleeves, Frollo soaked the rag in the lukewarm water and carefully doused the boy's crooked back.

Much to the Minister's relief, Quasimodo's face began returning to its usual color. One of the church's nuns appeared with a stack of fresh linens and dry clothes for the boy, Frollo thanking her as she exited the washroom.

"Are you able to stand up?" Frollo asked him, checking to make sure he was not shivering.

Eyes more focused now, Quasimodo looked up at his master. In a small, raspy voice he answered, "I think so." Clutching to the judge's arm and the rim of the wooden tub, the hunchback uneasily stood up, Frollo lifting him up and sitting him down on the nearby bench.

After helping his charge dry off, lest he catch cold, Frollo helped the boy ease new clothes back on. "Come," the judge said, once again gathering the boy in his arms and carrying him back up the stairs to the bell tower. Along the way, Frollo could feel the boy nodding off in his arms.

Before the judge could carry his charge back up to the bell tower, the same nun from earlier reappeared before him. "Minister Frollo," she addressed. "Given the boy's current condition, it might be best if he stayed in one of the back cells while he recovers."

Looking down at the boy nestled in his arms, Frollo looked back at her and nodded compliantly. "You might be right. Very well, show me to it."

In the back cell, Frollo placed the boy down on the wooden pallet, Quasimodo still drained and asleep. After covering him with his blanket, Frollo rested his weary bones on a stray wooden stool from the corner of the small cell. He sat there keeping watch over the boy, constantly checking the temperature in his forehead.

X

Frollo sat slumped forward, resting his forehead against his hand while the boy still slept, not stirring once. The Minister let out a tired sigh—he had been Notre Dame for hours now watching over Quasimodo even though he longed to return and finish the amount of work left at the Palace. He shifted and leaned back against the cold stone wall and folding his hands in his lap, irked for his own lack of productivity today.

Then again, he thought to himself. You couldn't very much let the boy die, could you?

Still, now that Quasimodo was sleeping soundly and the fever reduced, Frollo still wanted to spring from these seemingly closing walls and return to his home.

Suddenly a knock at the door tore him from his seat and swiftly answering it. Standing in the corridor was the Archdeacon and a handful of the church's clergy members, the judge's chaperon cradled in Augustin's hand.

The Archdeacon spoke. "Minister, if you wish, we will look after Quasimodo for the time being. You've been here for hours and-"

"Thank goodness," Frollo gratefully expressed, taking his hat from the man. "Keep the boy in check, for my day is far from over and heaven knows how much work is waiting for me. Good day."

As fast as he could, the judge exited the suffocating cathedral, welcoming the icy winter air that breezed past his face. He sped his horse away from Paris's center of piety and back towards its home of justice.

When Frollo arrived back to his study, he was utterly dismayed when he looked up the stack of documents greeting him on his desk. Running his hand over the length of his face, he slammed the door behind and got to work.

X

By the time he had signed the last document, night had already covered the city. Staring out his study window towards Notre Dame, the bells began to toll the hour. In that moment, Frollo wondered the state of Quasimodo's health. He was exhausted beyond belief and was reluctant to ride off to the cathedral now.

I will check on him first thing tomorrow morning, he told himself, rising from his seat and stretching his stiff neck, his back cramped as well from his hunched position for the last few hours. Frollo trudged out of his study down the corridor and up the stairs to his chambers, massaging the back of his neck.

Once inside his room, the judge ungracefully collapsed flat on his back onto the large bed, rubbing at his tired eyes. He exhaled heavily, enjoying the comforting silence filling the room as his taut muscles minutely relaxed.

Peace at last, he thought, his mind beginning to lull itself to sleep, which was still addled with court case after court case. Of course there was also the sense of worry over Quasimodo's well-being, Frollo reminding himself that the boy was in good hands and that his fever was falling when he left him. But now, to put aside all those worries and regain his depleted energy…

A furious knock at the door roused the Minister before could get some much needed rest, tearing himself from the bed with an aggravated groan. Pulling the door open, a skittish-looking Jehan stood there, nervously glancing from the corridor to his brother.

He had stood up too quickly and was blinded by the hallway torch light. Blinking his vision back to normal from black, Frollo grimaced at his younger brother. His voice tiredly rumbled, "Whatever this is about, can it wait until morning?"

"It really can't!" Jehan replied, his body twitchy. "It's urgent and I need your help now! Please!"

Leaning against the doorframe and blinking himself awake, Frollo answered, "Jehan, I am extremely exhausted, so whatever dilemma you have entangled yourself with, it is going to have to wait until tomorrow."

Before the judge could close the door on him, the young man quickly halted him. "Claude, remember when I said I had to speak with you earlier?" he asked, gripping the judge's shoulder.

"What did you do now?" he growled, furrowing his brow. No good could come from this boy if he was here of all hours asking for his brother's time.

"To put it lightly…woman troubles," Jehan hesitantly answered. "So to speak."

Frollo raised an eyebrow at him, not interested in the least in some verbal dance to retrieve an answer from his brother.

"Alright, alright…There's a certain Basque woman who claims that I…sort of, might have…fathered her children," Jehan gripped the back of his neck uneasily.

x

*A/n: Hope this chapter is up to par, I really liked it. I think we need to see Frollo not acting like a dick so much anyway. And the Wolves of Paris incident was real, I swear! What sayest thou?

Also, I don't understand how there are so many views of "Love You to Death" and hardly any reviews-makes me sad x'c. Here's to all you reading and reviewing my stories, your support means the world to me! And if you haven't seen, I'm revamping "Little Boy Frollo" so it's better and more accurate. And here's to Malakaii's "Renascence" which is just phenomenal right now!

Read, review, PM, whatever! Thanks!