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Breaking Horses V

It is with no small amount of trepidation that Esmeralda allows the servants to dress her for Mass that early Sunday morning. Her hair is twisted up and away from her face, fully exposing her neck and square jaw line. Without the cover of her voluminous hair, Esmeralda feels strangely naked, even though she has never worn more articles of clothing in her entire life.

She draws the line at adding facial paint though. She already feels like a fool, no need to look the part. So she puts her foot down. The servants just nod, bow and politely back out the door. Leaving Esmeralda alone to stare at a complete stranger in the mirror.

Folds of her dress rustling against her bare legs, she makes her way to the front gate. Two soldiers come from behind her and silently accompany her on her long journey. Once, she nearly stumbles due to the uncomfortable weight and bulk of her outfit, but one of the guards just steadies her with minimum fuss and then retracts his hand quickly, as if burned.

It is an overcast day, with a promise of rain or a late snow in the air. One of those early spring days that are really a late remnant of a winter in disguise. A winter that is not quite ready to relinquish its hold. Esmeralda steps outside and shivers, clearly not expecting the sudden cold snap.

Frollo is already there, dressed in black and silver. The only colour that bleeds from his monochromatic outfit is the trademark red sash on his hat, even though the cut of his chaperon is different from the ones she's seen him wear before. Esmeralda has seen him wear clothes other than his Judicial Cassocks, but it still jars her that that man can make any sort of outfit work for him. He is sans flowing robes, but somehow still manages to look foreboding and larger than life. Like a bird of ill omen waiting to swoop in. Coming closer she sees that his hand is still covered in bandages.

He is talking with one of the officers on duty. Perhaps the new Captain of the Guard, she muses. She sidles up to them and softly clears her throat. Conversation stops.

Frollo just inclines his head at her, offering her a thin smile, sash snapping in the wind. His eyes take in her appearance, from her dark silver dress ( she matches him perfectly, she suddenly realizes. Drat!), to her carefully coiffed hair, at which he narrows his eyes. His heavy boots scrape along the stones. "I think I like your hair better when it's loose," is his verdict.

His hand feels cold when he helps her ascend the first step into his heavily fortified carriage. She nestles herself on the narrow bench, trying to get as far from him as possible. After a moment, Frollo follows, holding the edge of his black and silver chaperon as he folds himself onto the bench opposite her. Their knees briefly rub together and she scoots back further, almost flattening herself on the back wall of the coach. Noli me tangere.

If Frollo notices her spooked reaction to their close proximity, he wisely chooses not to comment. As it is, he just smiles and whistles softly to himself. For a moment that trilling, quivering note teases past his thin lips and teases its way into her ears. Esmeralda is disgusted to note that despite her best efforts, her body minutely relaxes and her treacherous knees wind up against his bony ones again.

Frollo just hums happily and then raps his knuckles sharply on the side of the carriage. With a jolt they start moving.

"If it pleases My Lady," comes his low baritone, "I would like to take a small detour. I want to show you something." Her curiosity is piqued and she nods once.

It is really the first time she has been outside the palace since her, well, non-choice, and she happily takes in all the sounds and sights of her beloved city, awakening from its slumber. The carriage plods on, the wheels struggling to clear the thick layer of mud, created by thousands of plodding feet and hooves.

They turn right where they should have gone straight on to the Notre Dame, and the clopping of horse hooves on stone tell her they are crossing the bridge over the river Seine. The river itself stretches itself lazily along the blackened banks of the city, a pale ribbon of water reflecting the clouded sky, like a lazy slithering serpent. Silver on silver.

Before too long the carriage comes to a stop and Esmeralda cautiously looks out the small window. Blackened ruins meet her gaze. Through the carcass of one of the buildings, she can see the broken wing of the mill stretching out towards the bleak sky, like broken bones sticking out of the dirty clay. The smell of burnt debris reaches her nostrils.

"You've taken me to see the fruits of your labour?" She hisses at the minister. "Are you proud of yourself, now that you've burned half of Paris down?" At this Frollo scowls darkly. He opens the carriage door and without waiting for her to make room for him, slides half over her and out of the cramped coach. For a moment, the smell of him teases its way into her nostrils, driving out the smell of ashes. He smells like rain, incense and a faint hint of leather-bound books. She huffs loudly, hoping to blow away the scent. Rather the scent of burnt wreckage. Then she scoots to the exit and hops down as well.

" I know you were there when I burned this mill down, you know." Frollo states, his back to her. Despite his simple words the message hits her like a sledge-hammer and for a moment she just stares at his rigid back, mouth opening and closing like a fish caught on dry land. The wind has picked up and the red sash snaps in the wind, coiling and uncoiling around his grey head. He surveys the blackened area. "You and that goat of yours." He turns to her, piercing her with his eyes. "I could feel the weight of those eyes on me." He steps closer, his bulk now shielding her from the biting wind. She looks up at him, brow furrowed. " You had the power to stop me there and then, and yet you did nothing."

She lashes out at him then, her brown fist landing on his chest. "Don't you dare make this about me! Don't you dare pass this off as my fault!" She pummels his chest once more, for good measure. Then she angles her hand up, opening it, going for his thin cheek. A lovely red handprint would be benefit his Majesty greatly in her opinion, she fumes.

Frollo's thin fingers snap up and close around her fist, before she can strike him. His thumb rubs circles on her rigid fingers and she relaxes the muscles in her hand.

Betrayed by her own body, again.

Disgusting.

"I urge you to look at this part of the city, Esmeralda. " She shivers, uncomfortable with the way her name rolls easily off his wicked tongue. "Look closer!" he repeats.

Giving herself something other than Frollo to focus on, she complies and takes in the site of destruction before her.

At first the fire seems to have devoured everything in its path, at random. Blackened stumps of buildings have crumbled between taller ones that have, apparently miraculously survived the Inferno intact. But as she looks closer, she can see a pattern rise up through the destruction. Where she knew old, dilapidated housed once stood, now only ash remains. The newer, brick and stone houses remain standing, almost relieved at the sudden breathing space the fire has allowed them.

"Do you remember the Great Plague, sixteen years ago?" He checks himself and shakes his head. "Of course not, where you even born then? " He sucks the air in through his teeth and for a second a teasing smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, but the wind turns again and steals the unfamiliar expression from his face, leaving his face blank once more. At her furrow of annoyance ( she is older than he makes her out to be, thank you very much, not that she'll tell him that), he continues: "Anyway, over thirty thousand people in Paris alone lost their lives during that epidemic. Nearly one-third of the housing in this city lost its inhabitants when the worst was done." He sighs briefly. "Those were often the unkempt houses of the poor. Soon, the houses fell in even worse disrepair, hindering the growth of the city and presenting an even bigger fire-hazard."

Esmeralda's eyes bulge as she finally takes in the sheer scope of the genius of the madman before her. His next words drive that point home finally.

"Everything was controlled, Girl-Mine." His voice comes, almost soothing and placating. Cajoling her to see. "A plan had been crafted, and with you as the catalyst, I had the perfect excuse to, right under the city's council's nose no less, eradicate and cleanse a large part of the inner City."

"Now," he says, sweeping his arms over the bleak barren landscape, "now, we have space. Space to build new, better buildings for the people of Paris."

She looks at him, really looks at this man gesturing broadly before her. For an instant he reminds her of Clopin performing with his puppets. Indeed, she thinks, Minister Frollo is the Master-Puppeteer.

This is the man that burned Paris...for you...That inner voice again.

Or did he?

How come a small part of her is hurt by his revelation? How come a small part of her relished and even thrived on the fact that she pushed a man far enough to go on a mad, blazing rampage? How come a small, festering part of her is disappointed that she is relegated to a "means to an end"?"

"So, where do I fit in, in this grand scheme of yours?" she asks breathlessly. "Do I continue to be "Your Excuse"? "

Her voice rises against the howling wind and she startles herself with the sheer shrillness of it. God, she sounds like a common fish-wife. As if agreeing with her, one of the horses that pull their carriage neighs disparagingly, startled by the sudden sound.

Frollo's eyebrows nearly climb into his hairline at her question. "Nononono, Maiden-Mine, you misconstrue my words." The fingers of his right hand come up to rest under her chin, bandages chafing gently against her sensitive skin. Frollo tilts her face up to meet his eyes, the corners of his eyes crinkling minutely. " Never, ever, doubt my intentions for you... For us." He corrects himself with a crooked smile. His eyes take on a peculiar sheen and he turns away from her.

After a moment he walks back to the waiting carriage and holds his damaged hand out for her to take.

Esmeralda just waits him out, not quite done with that particular subject. Sensing her stall, he turns.

"What are your intentions towards me, Minister Frollo?"

There.

There is a big bull between them and Esmeralda has just taken it by the proverbial horns.

Frollo just calmly asserts her. He opens and closes his mouth, as if tasting several possible replies. Then he asks her simply: "Esmeralda. Do you even have a last name?"

She just shakes her head in the negative. Before she can open her mouth to retort however, he bends towards her, and with strangely glittering eyes continues:

"It doesn't matter. I'm feeling generous."

And softer, but equally deadly: "Have mine."

Silence. The wind bats at the red sash again and it turns and snaps in the wind. They both ignore it however, lost as they are in their each other's gazes.

Finally Frollo breaks the tension. "Come." His fingers close around hers again, tentatively, as if they are made of spun glass. " We must not be late." His hand is warmer on hers now as he helps her back into the relative darkness of the carriage. With a resigned sigh she sits down again, and he folds himself opposite her again, a little closer to each other than before. Those two small words still buzz around in her head, like a swarm of angry bees. His fingers still grip her hand.

"Have mine..."

As proposals go it's certainly not the scenario she has envisioned when she was younger.

Haveminehaveminehavemine

Feeling angry and confused, she grapples for the first thing that comes to mind, which happens to be their continued proximity and her hand that still rests in his grip.

"Whatever happened to Never Straying Within Your Arms Reach? " she challenges, secretly dismayed at his apparent comfort in touching her. Frollo just smirks and massages the fleshy mound of her palm briefly. "That rule still stands, Temptress-Mine. Don't give me any ideas."

He sits back again and after a moment of silence, he starts whistling again, a mocking little tune.

"You know, " Esmeralda interrupts the silence, "It has occurred to me that you have a fairly monotonous method of dealing with things or people as it may be, that annoy you." Frollo looks up at her, eyes narrowed. It's clear he doesn't care for her petulant tone of voice, or the sudden chill inside the carriage.

"I think you have an unhealthy obsession with fire." she states and promptly snorts at her own levity. "You don't care for the city? Burn her! You don't care for the girl? Burn her." She leans into him, enjoying the upper hand. "You have a strange way of wooing women, Judge Frollo. "And an equally peculiar way of proposing." Esmeralda scowls at him. "Or did my ears deceive me just now? What if I respectfully decline? Am I going to wind up on the next bonfire for antagonizing you, again?" She chuckles hoarsely, amazed at her own audacity.

He does have it coming though. That man and his obsessions.

"Remember that, my would-be fiancé?"Esmeralda is working herself into a nice snit and her voice rises again, easily carrying outside their carriage and amusing the eavesdroppers that ride beside the carriage to no end. "That nasty little episode between you, me and a pile of burning timber?"

Then she stares at him, nostrils flaring. Finally she collects herself and yanks her hand out of his. He lets go without protest.

Frollo's mouth puckers in thought, but then his lips part, and he grins at her, a cold shark-like feral smile that does nothing to assuage the tendril of fear that suddenly rises in her belly.

"My dear, dear, dear girl." Now he leans forward, easily claiming back the small space she occupied in her bid to taunt him. He lowers his voice and she has to tilt her head to hear him.

"Cast your memory back to that fateful day."

It's not hard to do when her dreams transport her there every night. The rough bark of the wooden pile against her naked feet, and the pungent smell of smoke in her nose, she's easily transported back there again. Struggling against her bonds. Watching him through the haze of heat, grinning at her like the madman she know him to be.

His voice cuts through her memory and she shudders.

"What do you see in front of you, Gypsy- Mine?"

What does he mean by that? There's just fire. And smoke. And heat licking at her feet. And the hissing of the fire in her ears, blocking out all other sound and thought.

"I...I ,"she mutters, shaking her head.

"What do you see in front of you, girl!" He grits out. "Look!"

But it's just the hissing of the wood and the slippery wetness beneath her feet. She struggles to stay on her feet, still tugging on the wet ropes.

"Hellfire, Esmeralda!" Now he is close to her, hands clasping her biceps. He gives her a shake and her head lolls back and fro. Her teeth click together, but she doesn't notice, as she is still lost in her personal inferno.

Suddenly something clicks in her mind and a stupid simple word pops out at her, through the fire and the haze and the confusion.

"Wet?" she whispers stupidly.

Frollo forcibly exhales, a gust of hot breath on her face. Parsley and mint.

"Yes."

Esmeralda opens her eyes, meeting his grey ones in utter disbelief. He just looks back at her, almost into her, for once the mental shutters completely down. Calmly he returns her stare. Calmly he lets her adjust to the sheer scope of his machinations.

If her mind was a jumble before, now Esmeralda reels. Eyes wide, nostrils flaring, in that moment she personifies a scared and angry filly, rearing on its hind legs, caught in that instant between Flight or Fight.

"I...I can't believe you! I simply can't believe you!" Her eyes widen more and she shivers violently. Frollo's fingers tighten around her arms, fingers curling to brace her fully. Without knowing it, she leans her complete weight into him.

"You rigged the pyre! "she chokes, grappling with the truth. "Those buckets... water...next to the pyre! "

And then she levels her gaze with his. Hurt. Angry. Confused.

"You tricked me!"

A/N: Wheeew! Bombs away! The depth of Frollo's machinations are truly revealed.

Next up: A new player enters the arena and throws a bog spanner in the works for Master Frollo. Who? You'll have to wait and see!

Please comment!

Description
Breaking Horses V

It is with no small amount of trepidation that Esmeralda allows the servants to dress her for Mass that early Sunday morning. Her hair is twisted up and away from her face, fully exposing her neck and square jaw line. Without the cover of her voluminous hair, Esmeralda feels strangely naked, even though she has never worn more articles of clothing in her entire life.

She draws the line at adding facial paint though. She already feels like a fool, no need to look the part. So she puts her foot down. The servants just nod, bow and politely back out the door. Leaving Esmeralda alone to stare at a complete stranger in the mirror.

Folds of her dress rustling against her bare legs, she makes her way to the front gate. Two soldiers come from behind her and silently accompany her on her long journey. Once, she nearly stumbles due to the uncomfortable weight and bulk of her outfit, but one of the guards just steadies her with minimum fuss and then retracts his hand quickly, as if burned.

It is an overcast day, with a promise of rain or a late snow in the air. One of those early spring days that are really a late remnant of a winter in disguise. A winter that is not quite ready to relinquish its hold. Esmeralda steps outside and shivers, clearly not expecting the sudden cold snap.

Frollo is already there, dressed in black and silver. The only colour that bleeds from his monochromatic outfit is the trademark red sash on his hat, even though the cut of his chaperon is different from the ones she's seen him wear before. Esmeralda has seen him wear clothes other than his Judicial Cassocks, but it still jars her that that man can make any sort of outfit work for him. He is sans flowing robes, but somehow still manages to look foreboding and larger than life. Like a bird of ill omen waiting to swoop in. Coming closer she sees that his hand is still covered in bandages.

He is talking with one of the officers on duty. Perhaps the new Captain of the Guard, she muses. She sidles up to them and softly clears her throat. Conversation stops.

Frollo just inclines his head at her, offering her a thin smile, sash snapping in the wind. His eyes take in her appearance, from her dark silver dress ( she matches him perfectly, she suddenly realizes. Drat!), to her carefully coiffed hair, at which he narrows his eyes. His heavy boots scrape along the stones. "I think I like your hair better when it's loose," is his verdict.

His hand feels cold when he helps her ascend the first step into his heavily fortified carriage. She nestles herself on the narrow bench, trying to get as far from him as possible. After a moment, Frollo follows, holding the edge of his black and silver chaperon as he folds himself onto the bench opposite her. Their knees briefly rub together and she scoots back further, almost flattening herself on the back wall of the coach. Noli me tangere.

If Frollo notices her spooked reaction to their close proximity, he wisely chooses not to comment. As it is, he just smiles and whistles softly to himself. For a moment that trilling, quivering note teases past his thin lips and teases its way into her ears. Esmeralda is disgusted to note that despite her best efforts, her body minutely relaxes and her treacherous knees wind up against his bony ones again.

Frollo just hums happily and then raps his knuckles sharply on the side of the carriage. With a jolt they start moving.

"If it pleases My Lady," comes his low baritone, "I would like to take a small detour. I want to show you something." Her curiosity is piqued and she nods once.

It is really the first time she has been outside the palace since her, well, non-choice, and she happily takes in all the sounds and sights of her beloved city, awakening from its slumber. The carriage plods on, the wheels struggling to clear the thick layer of mud, created by thousands of plodding feet and hooves.

They turn right where they should have gone straight on to the Notre Dame, and the clopping of horse hooves on stone tell her they are crossing the bridge over the river Seine. The river itself stretches itself lazily along the blackened banks of the city, a pale ribbon of water reflecting the clouded sky, like a lazy slithering serpent. Silver on silver.

Before too long the carriage comes to a stop and Esmeralda cautiously looks out the small window. Blackened ruins meet her gaze. Through the carcass of one of the buildings, she can see the broken wing of the mill stretching out towards the bleak sky, like broken bones sticking out of the dirty clay. The smell of burnt debris reaches her nostrils.

"You've taken me to see the fruits of your labour?" She hisses at the minister. "Are you proud of yourself, now that you've burned half of Paris down?" At this Frollo scowls darkly. He opens the carriage door and without waiting for her to make room for him, slides half over her and out of the cramped coach. For a moment, the smell of him teases its way into her nostrils, driving out the smell of ashes. He smells like rain, incense and a faint hint of leather-bound books. She huffs loudly, hoping to blow away the scent. Rather the scent of burnt wreckage. Then she scoots to the exit and hops down as well.

" I know you were there when I burned this mill down, you know." Frollo states, his back to her. Despite his simple words the message hits her like a sledge-hammer and for a moment she just stares at his rigid back, mouth opening and closing like a fish caught on dry land. The wind has picked up and the red sash snaps in the wind, coiling and uncoiling around his grey head. He surveys the blackened area. "You and that goat of yours." He turns to her, piercing her with his eyes. "I could feel the weight of those eyes on me." He steps closer, his bulk now shielding her from the biting wind. She looks up at him, brow furrowed. " You had the power to stop me there and then, and yet you did nothing."

She lashes out at him then, her brown fist landing on his chest. "Don't you dare make this about me! Don't you dare pass this off as my fault!" She pummels his chest once more, for good measure. Then she angles her hand up, opening it, going for his thin cheek. A lovely red handprint would be benefit his Majesty greatly in her opinion, she fumes.

Frollo's thin fingers snap up and close around her fist, before she can strike him. His thumb rubs circles on her rigid fingers and she relaxes the muscles in her hand.

Betrayed by her own body, again.

Disgusting.

"I urge you to look at this part of the city, Esmeralda. " She shivers, uncomfortable with the way her name rolls easily off his wicked tongue. "Look closer!" he repeats.

Giving herself something other than Frollo to focus on, she complies and takes in the site of destruction before her.

At first the fire seems to have devoured everything in its path, at random. Blackened stumps of buildings have crumbled between taller ones that have, apparently miraculously survived the Inferno intact. But as she looks closer, she can see a pattern rise up through the destruction. Where she knew old, dilapidated housed once stood, now only ash remains. The newer, brick and stone houses remain standing, almost relieved at the sudden breathing space the fire has allowed them.

"Do you remember the Great Plague, sixteen years ago?" He checks himself and shakes his head. "Of course not, where you even born then? " He sucks the air in through his teeth and for a second a teasing smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, but the wind turns again and steals the unfamiliar expression from his face, leaving his face blank once more. At her furrow of annoyance ( she is older than he makes her out to be, thank you very much, not that she'll tell him that), he continues: "Anyway, over thirty thousand people in Paris alone lost their lives during that epidemic. Nearly one-third of the housing in this city lost its inhabitants when the worst was done." He sighs briefly. "Those were often the unkempt houses of the poor. Soon, the houses fell in even worse disrepair, hindering the growth of the city and presenting an even bigger fire-hazard."

Esmeralda's eyes bulge as she finally takes in the sheer scope of the genius of the madman before her. His next words drive that point home finally.

"Everything was controlled, Girl-Mine." His voice comes, almost soothing and placating. Cajoling her to see. "A plan had been crafted, and with you as the catalyst, I had the perfect excuse to, right under the city's council's nose no less, eradicate and cleanse a large part of the inner City."

"Now," he says, sweeping his arms over the bleak barren landscape, "now, we have space. Space to build new, better buildings for the people of Paris."

She looks at him, really looks at this man gesturing broadly before her. For an instant he reminds her of Clopin performing with his puppets. Indeed, she thinks, Minister Frollo is the Master-Puppeteer.

This is the man that burned Paris...for you...That inner voice again.

Or did he?

How come a small part of her is hurt by his revelation? How come a small part of her relished and even thrived on the fact that she pushed a man far enough to go on a mad, blazing rampage? How come a small, festering part of her is disappointed that she is relegated to a "means to an end"?"

"So, where do I fit in, in this grand scheme of yours?" she asks breathlessly. "Do I continue to be "Your Excuse"? "

Her voice rises against the howling wind and she startles herself with the sheer shrillness of it. God, she sounds like a common fish-wife. As if agreeing with her, one of the horses that pull their carriage neighs disparagingly, startled by the sudden sound.

Frollo's eyebrows nearly climb into his hairline at her question. "Nononono, Maiden-Mine, you misconstrue my words." The fingers of his right hand come up to rest under her chin, bandages chafing gently against her sensitive skin. Frollo tilts her face up to meet his eyes, the corners of his eyes crinkling minutely. " Never, ever, doubt my intentions for you... For us." He corrects himself with a crooked smile. His eyes take on a peculiar sheen and he turns away from her.

After a moment he walks back to the waiting carriage and holds his damaged hand out for her to take.

Esmeralda just waits him out, not quite done with that particular subject. Sensing her stall, he turns.

"What are your intentions towards me, Minister Frollo?"

There.

There is a big bull between them and Esmeralda has just taken it by the proverbial horns.

Frollo just calmly asserts her. He opens and closes his mouth, as if tasting several possible replies. Then he asks her simply: "Esmeralda. Do you even have a last name?"

She just shakes her head in the negative. Before she can open her mouth to retort however, he bends towards her, and with strangely glittering eyes continues:

"It doesn't matter. I'm feeling generous."

And softer, but equally deadly: "Have mine."

Silence. The wind bats at the red sash again and it turns and snaps in the wind. They both ignore it however, lost as they are in their each other's gazes.

Finally Frollo breaks the tension. "Come." His fingers close around hers again, tentatively, as if they are made of spun glass. " We must not be late." His hand is warmer on hers now as he helps her back into the relative darkness of the carriage. With a resigned sigh she sits down again, and he folds himself opposite her again, a little closer to each other than before. Those two small words still buzz around in her head, like a swarm of angry bees. His fingers still grip her hand.

"Have mine..."

As proposals go it's certainly not the scenario she has envisioned when she was younger.

Haveminehaveminehavemine

Feeling angry and confused, she grapples for the first thing that comes to mind, which happens to be their continued proximity and her hand that still rests in his grip.

"Whatever happened to Never Straying Within Your Arms Reach? " she challenges, secretly dismayed at his apparent comfort in touching her. Frollo just smirks and massages the fleshy mound of her palm briefly. "That rule still stands, Temptress-Mine. Don't give me any ideas."

He sits back again and after a moment of silence, he starts whistling again, a mocking little tune.

"You know, " Esmeralda interrupts the silence, "It has occurred to me that you have a fairly monotonous method of dealing with things or people as it may be, that annoy you." Frollo looks up at her, eyes narrowed. It's clear he doesn't care for her petulant tone of voice, or the sudden chill inside the carriage.

"I think you have an unhealthy obsession with fire." she states and promptly snorts at her own levity. "You don't care for the city? Burn her! You don't care for the girl? Burn her." She leans into him, enjoying the upper hand. "You have a strange way of wooing women, Judge Frollo. "And an equally peculiar way of proposing." Esmeralda scowls at him. "Or did my ears deceive me just now? What if I respectfully decline? Am I going to wind up on the next bonfire for antagonizing you, again?" She chuckles hoarsely, amazed at her own audacity.

He does have it coming though. That man and his obsessions.

"Remember that, my would-be fiancé?"Esmeralda is working herself into a nice snit and her voice rises again, easily carrying outside their carriage and amusing the eavesdroppers that ride beside the carriage to no end. "That nasty little episode between you, me and a pile of burning timber?"

Then she stares at him, nostrils flaring. Finally she collects herself and yanks her hand out of his. He lets go without protest.

Frollo's mouth puckers in thought, but then his lips part, and he grins at her, a cold shark-like feral smile that does nothing to assuage the tendril of fear that suddenly rises in her belly.

"My dear, dear, dear girl." Now he leans forward, easily claiming back the small space she occupied in her bid to taunt him. He lowers his voice and she has to tilt her head to hear him.

"Cast your memory back to that fateful day."

It's not hard to do when her dreams transport her there every night. The rough bark of the wooden pile against her naked feet, and the pungent smell of smoke in her nose, she's easily transported back there again. Struggling against her bonds. Watching him through the haze of heat, grinning at her like the madman she know him to be.

His voice cuts through her memory and she shudders.

"What do you see in front of you, Gypsy- Mine?"

What does he mean by that? There's just fire. And smoke. And heat licking at her feet. And the hissing of the fire in her ears, blocking out all other sound and thought.

"I...I ,"she mutters, shaking her head.

"What do you see in front of you, girl!" He grits out. "Look!"

But it's just the hissing of the wood and the slippery wetness beneath her feet. She struggles to stay on her feet, still tugging on the wet ropes.

"Hellfire, Esmeralda!" Now he is close to her, hands clasping her biceps. He gives her a shake and her head lolls back and fro. Her teeth click together, but she doesn't notice, as she is still lost in her personal inferno.

Suddenly something clicks in her mind and a stupid simple word pops out at her, through the fire and the haze and the confusion.

"Wet?" she whispers stupidly.

Frollo forcibly exhales, a gust of hot breath on her face. Parsley and mint.

"Yes."

Esmeralda opens her eyes, meeting his grey ones in utter disbelief. He just looks back at her, almost into her, for once the mental shutters completely down. Calmly he returns her stare. Calmly he lets her adjust to the sheer scope of his machinations.

If her mind was a jumble before, now Esmeralda reels. Eyes wide, nostrils flaring, in that moment she personifies a scared and angry filly, rearing on its hind legs, caught in that instant between Flight or Fight.

"I...I can't believe you! I simply can't believe you!" Her eyes widen more and she shivers violently. Frollo's fingers tighten around her arms, fingers curling to brace her fully. Without knowing it, she leans her complete weight into him.

"You rigged the pyre! "she chokes, grappling with the truth. "Those buckets... water...next to the pyre! "

And then she levels her gaze with his. Hurt. Angry. Confused.

"You tricked me!"

A/N: Wheeew! Bombs away! The depth of Frollo's machinations are truly revealed.

Next up: A new player enters the arena and throws a bog spanner in the works for Master Frollo. Who? You'll have to wait and see!

Please comment!