Title: Sanctuary

Author: brobdignagian

Rating: PG-13

Disclaimer: I am not the owner the Hunchback of Notre Dame, either the book, which is owned by Victor Hugo, nor the animated movie, which is owned by Disney.

Summary: What if Clopin and Quasimodo had met before the Festival of Fools?

Notes: This story is based on the Disney version of The Hunchback of Notre Dame, as I have not yet finished reading Victor Hugo's book.

Clopin's a bit younger than in the movie, maybe around 20 or so…

I hope Clopin isn't too out of character…

Clopin whipped his head behind him, gauging the distance between him and Frollo's horseback guards, and flung his head back around, praying the guards had not noticed his momentary judgment of distance.

It was getting colder--his breath was already visible--and getting darker. His deep purple outfit--which he, thankfully, opted to wear instead of his bright, jingly, recognizable, festival outfit--merged quite nicely with the setting sun.

His pocket held a bit of a clang as the few coins he managed to make banged together. He shoved his hands in his pockets and tightly gripped the coins, fearful that was the sound giving him away.

He wandered the streets of Paris in hopes the guards would soon lose interest--he was, after all, needed at the Court. He fought down a shiver as the biting wind blew across his form. The temperature had dropped yet again.

After aimlessly passing the bakers' shop for the third time, Clopin racked his brain for an escape—or at very least a place to stay until it was safe. The butcher…no, too dangerous. The baker…no, just passed it. The candlesti-

He tripped.

His foot had caught hold of the uneven cobblestone and refused to let go. His hat took flight, the yellow feather landing in a puddle, the bright color immediately becoming consumed. His hands shot out of his pockets and in front of him before his face could get formally introduced to the ground. The coins flew out of his hand, irritated at their close confinement, and dove in every different direction. However, the sound of coins hitting the street was not the sound of another perfect puppet show performed—it was the sound of a gypsy desperate to get away from his pursuers.

He scrambled to his knees, grabbing every piece of gold in his sight. He heard the laughter of the guards draw closer…

He shot to his feet, making sure to sweep his hat out of the puddle and onto his head, and, after risking another glance behind him (They were gaining!), hurried off around the corner. Thinking quickly, he hasted down the first visible alleyway, hoping, praying, he blended into the darkness.

He held his breath as the laughing guards on horseback rounded the corner and passed his hiding place (One, two, three, four, five, six—six of them.) As soon as Clopin decided it as safe, he tiptoed out of the shadows and hurried in the opposite direction, to the one place he knew he would be safe for the night---Notre Dame.

However, it was not long until the guards noticed his absence.

"Dammit, where'd he go?" One of them cried, looking wildly left and right.

"Domine, we can't let him go again…Frollo'll kill us!" Another stated. (Clopin couldn't stop a smile, remembering some of his earlier, more daring, escapes).

Clopin sped up. If he could just make it around the corner… Unfortunately, Lady Luck was not with him,

"There he is!"

"Get 'em!"

The sound of the horses' hooves hitting the street harmonized with Clopin's racing heart. The horses neighed and huffed as their owners urged them on. The yells of the soldiers broke the silence of the cold, dark night.

Clopin hurried his pace, running, sprinting, flying down the roads of Paris, dashing past the bakers' shop he had briefly considered as a hide-out only moments before. Up ahead, the glorious church of Notre Dame came into view, He let out a sigh of relief, persuading his legs to run just a bit faster.

The guards were catching up. He rapidly entered the plaza that lay before Notre Dame, where the Festival of Fools was annually held. Even so, he had no time for fond memories of crows cheering, a petrified Judge Frollo, and the innocent laughter of children. He took off up the steps, a smirk slowly settling across his features.

He was almost there…

So close…

Suddenly, the guards were there beside him. He ducked, avoiding the punches aimed at his head. He laughed wildly as they yelled obscenities at him, and flipped to the top step of the church. Turning slowly, he walking backwards, and with arms swinging to emphasize his words, he said, "Really now, monsieur's, must this needless hunt continue?" He tsked, looking down at them, hands on his hips and shaking his head. "After all, it's you who are all the way down there, and I am claiming…"

He was two steps away from the open church doors. He opened his mouth to say the one word that would save him…

Without warning, his face finally introduced itself to the ground.

(He should have just run into the church. He knew he shouldn't have taunted the guards. Or, at the very least, he should have realized there was one guard missing. But they'd been after him for hours and he was within steps of freedom, so he was simply unable to help himself.)

After slamming into the ground, Clopin spun over, eyes widening upon seeing a guard, sword over his head, ready to strike. He backward-somersaulted to his feet, letting out a short laugh as he back-hand-springed out of the way of yet another guard on horseback. All of the sudden, a guard grabbed a hold of his arm. Reacting quickly, Clopin took his dagger out of his satchel, and thrust it into the shoulder of his captor, piercing the bone. The guard let out a shattering yell as blood streamed out of his armor. Clopin withdrew his dagger, and spun around—letting the wounded guard fall to the ground—grinning madly, to face his other attackers. One down—only five left.

Clopin shortly realized that, while the guards were quite possibly drunk, they were not stupid. They circled around him, attacking him at once. Blows came at him from all directions: shoulders, stomach, head, chest. Clopin valiantly fought back, swinging his dagger violently at the guards. Nevertheless, it did not take long until the guards managed to overcome him. He collapsed, bloodied and bruised, attacks still forthcoming. He heard the laughter of the guards as he lay on the cold stone, unable to stand.

However, the laughter soon turned into screams, and Clopin--dragging his head up and pealing his eyes open—glanced around. The guards had vanished and a large, determined figure strode quickly toward him. Too weak to stop the blows guaranteed to ensue, he simply gazed at the oncoming figure.

His world soon turned black.