Etymology

She knows the words, but they are nothing without the definitions.

"Thief!"

That's another one that she doesn't know the meaning of. It sounds like "gypsy" from the harsh way he says it, but it could just mean, "you". Like, what people might say if they don't know your name is Esmeralda, which he probably doesn't. It could have something to do with the circumstances; with the bread that she needed and the doll that she didn't. She took them from the basket he was carrying, but she hoped that the festival might have distracted people, or softened their hearts enough to let her go. She doesn't even think that he's noticed she took the doll--tiny enough to be hidden in her closed fist, so he might even have thought that she only took what she needed.

But he chases her as far as she will go, yelling all the way. There aren't any soldiers around, so that helps, but she's been running long enough to regret taking what she did. She doesn't want to spend the whole day of the Feast of Fools in trouble--even now, afraid as she is, she moves with agility that few people possess (although, of course, she's never thought of it this way) through the crowd, ducking in the spaces between them, not noticing that her feet seem to move in time to the music all around. She wants to drop the man's belongings in the hopes that he'll leave her alone, but irrational panic only allows her to grip them more tightly in her hands.

Thief.

Esmeralda has heard many words that she doesn't understand in relation to herself. "Gypsy" is one of them, but "dance" is another. She at least has some idea as to what dancing is; it's like moving your body in different ways when you hear music. But most of the time it looks like it has no point--it's just memorizing different, stiff ways of moving and doesn't look like much fun. The only people who look like they have fun dancing are the ones who get called bad names, the ones who Esmeralda is old enough only to vaguely notice that they are similar in appearance to her. But like most things, it doesn't count when they do it. When they dance, it's "strange" and "vulgar" and "improper."

In short, Esmeralda thinks that dancing is stupid and doesn't do it. That's why she doesn't understand when people say things about her like, "Young gypsy girl. Poor, abandoned thing. Shame, really. She's quite pretty, graceful. Look at the way she walks--seems like she's fairly dancing with every movement, doesn't she!" And then laugh in ways that make her feel defensive with no explanation as to why.

Even though she moves quickly and maneuvers herself through the crowds and attractions easily, he bulldozes past them and soon she is too tired to go much further. He corners her at a stone wall that's cool against the back of her bare arms. There's fire in her lungs, and she feels the people closest by staring. They cluck their tongues at her, or laugh, and move on. She hopes she won't get into too much trouble. She's afraid, and the sobs escape her before she can stop them. She sees his hand raise to swipe the bread from her, but she closes his eyes like he's going to hit her instead.

"Oh, ho!" is what the voice says, and she has no way of knowing that it is the one that will change her life.

She lets her eyes crack open, and she and her adversary are both distracted when they see him; a young man with an earring and a chipped tooth, and a bearing of authority that, at this point in his life, is unwarranted. This will work to his advantage, though--the gypsies aren't fond of electing an official leader, so it's his dominating personality will help him sidle his way to a position of authority among his kind without anyone ever quite remembering how it happened.

But that will not come for a long time. At this moment, the man with the jewelry and costume--the man who is like those that get called bad names, except for today, when they seem loved by all--is smiling widely at the people around, stepping into the space where the other man is standing and she has slid to the ground.

"Come one, come all; our main attraction!" he shouts, gesturing to Esmeralda, and everyone laughs even as she continues to cry, quietly. "The child bandit, the villainous infant! Don't be fooled by the tears, ye of soft hearts, or you'll be her next victim!"

He says some more things that she comes to realize are jokes at her expense, and then when he's done and everyone begins to move on, he snatches the bread from her and hands it to the man she took it from. "Enjoy the festival," he suggests to him. "I'll take care of our little pillager." He looks at Esmeralda with a hard gaze and grabs her wrist--hard--ignoring her cry of pain and her struggle against him.

The other man, still looking disgruntled, walks off with his stupid loaf of bread and leaves Esmeralda to her new captor, who, after a few moments, slackens his hold on her wrist and extracts the wooden doll still gripped tightly in her fist. "What's this?" he says with exaggerated surprise. "Not just food, but trinkets, too? And crudely crafted ones, at that." He "tut tut tut"s at her, and then flings the toy out onto the street behind him despite her cry of protest. He pulls a puppet out seemingly out of nowhere, but even though it's an impressive trick and the puppet is prettier than the wooden figure, Esmeralda's pride does not allow her to reveal any sign of amusement. The puppet confesses to her--while the man doesn't even move his lips!--that he has seen her before in the few weeks that he and his owner have made their most recent travel to their native Notre Dame. But the puppet does not know much about her, except that she looks like a gypsy, and is a natural dancer, and now, it would seem, a thief.

The man looks at her expectantly, in hopes of a reply or a laugh. But now that she realizes that she is not in as much trouble as she had originally thought, Esmeralda cannot help but be indignant toward the man and his puppet friend, and remains tight-lipped and unsmiling. After a while, he puts the puppet down, looking disappointed.

"No name, then? Should I just call you Dancing Gypsy Thief, little one?"

Finally, the child is inclined to speak. "I am not a dancer or a gypsy or a thief," she says, spitting out the words in the same way that they have been spat out to her; dancer, with a mocking sweetness; gypsy and thief with unmitigated hatred. "Don't call me that."

He looks at her with an expression she cannot name--sadness, maybe--but the moment passes so quickly that she will never be certain afterward if it was just a trick of the light. Then he laughs. "But how could you possibly know that you aren't? You don't even know what any of those things are!" He laughs delightedly, like a child, and Esmeralda finds herself inexplicably embarrassed by his display. As he goes on and on about how maybe she thinks she knows, she begs him, in a whisper, to be more quiet.

Kneeling down beside her and rocking on the balls of his feet, he says in a more gentle tone than she ever could have expected, "I know you, little one. You don't believe me, but I do. There are so many like you and I. Come with me. You'll flourish with us--I'll teach you."

She tries to come up with an answer, but all that comes out is, "What's a thief?"

He looks at her for a long time, but she meets his gaze the whole way--tiny peasant child and costumed young man. His reply: "You're good-hearted, talented. A thief is something that many people will accuse you of being in your lifetime, but it is not something that you are. It's not something that you ever have to be."

It isn't the answer she wanted, but it is all she needed. They stand together, rising in unintentional synchronization more fitting for two people who have been partners for a lifetime than a mismatched pair without knowledge even of each other's names.

"Ah!" he cries out suddenly, and glares at the puppet which she has only just noticed is still on his hand. "You forgot to remind me!" He bonks the thing on its head, finally earning a giggle from her, and smiles with satisfaction as the doll and its master confer in mutters to each other.

He moves the puppet so that it is hovering in front of her face, and then it makes some strange bowing movement to her, like the hand beneath it is closing into a fist. There is a puff of pink smoke, and then the puppet is presenting a gold bangle encircling its arms to her. With a nervous glance for approval to the man controlling the doll, Esmeralda gingerly takes the bangle, admiring its sheen in the sunlight, the tiny ruby embedded in it.

She slips it on her wrist, and all he says is, "Only the best toys for you now."

She doesn't sense the beginnings of a paternal love for her from the stranger from that seven-word sentence. Likewise, he doesn't understand that the way she hurries to keep up with him for the rest of the day marks his first supporter as a leader in the gypsy community. It doesn't matter, not now. Now he performs humorous acrobats to the crowds, his little disciple in tow. Now she, after some prodding from him, joins the dancing women on stage, and within minutes the act seems as natural as breathing. Now they look over their shoulders else they should be seen by people that he calls "outsiders", and he lifts her into his arms as they make her first retreat into the Court of Miracles, all in the midst of a sunset that marks the beginning of a new life for her.

She sheds her old skin and takes on this new one with more ease than should have been possible. She is proud enough to tell herself that this has more to do with her own ability to adapt than with the feeling of kinship for the man whose neck she currently has her arms wrapped around.

A/N: Wow, this was much more difficult to write than I'd expected. My original plan was to make a series of short one-shots, but I don't know if I'm going to do that, mostly because I made this chapter much longer than I wanted, and sort of with a sense of finality to it. So, I don't know what I'm going to do with it. But, yeah, tried revising it three times to make it short and sweet, but somehow it just ended up longer every time, so I'm just going to leave this chapter alone, at the very least.

Oh, man, Clopin's lines? Awful to come up with. I was trying to phrase things the way I pictured him to say them, but he doesn't have many non-singing lines, so I didn't have a lot to go off of. And I love him, I really do, so it was even more frustrating that I sucked at it so bad ("Only the best toys for you now"? The lameness kills me). But I'm gonna stop complaining now. xD Thanks for reading, and please, critique to your heart's content! I'm planning on writing another HoND fic involving Clopin, even if I don't continue this. So if you have any suggestions for his dialogue, or any inconsistencies between this and the movie or the time period, or just corrections in general, I'd really appreciate you letting me know. Thanks again!