His Punishment (A Claude Frollo fanfiction)

The Warden is Now the Prisoner

He awoke slowly, gathering each sense one by one and waiting for his conscious to fully return. First came smell, the stench of sweat, filth and rotting hay invading his nostrils along with the faintest whiff of smoke. Then came hearing, the sounds of yelling, cheering and arguing throbbing painfully I his head. Next came taste, his throat raw from smoke, dried lips tasting of soot and blood, dried blood. He licked his lips, the rest of his mouth as deprived of moisture as his lips. Yes, that was blood, he knew that taste well. Coppery, thin, bitter sometimes. After came touch; his hands twitching slightly as they brushed the burned fabric of his robes, the garment battered and beaten. They also touched burned skin, causing pain to jolt from his arm. A dry noise of discomfort passed his lips as the burn throbbed angrily. And finally came sight, but when he did open his eyes, he found empty darkness. 

At first he was confused, what was he doing here? Where was he? How did he get here? Then he went cold; who was he? What was his own name? Fortunately, memory returned before he panics, causing his muscles to relax. Claude, yes that was his name, Claude. Sitting up slowly he recoiled as pain struck him square in the temple. Eyes shut he rubbed his forehead, only for his fingertips to come away wet. "More blood?" he wondered, gazing at his hand curiously. 

Yes, more blood, fresh and strong. Suddenly, he saw a bright light, causing him to wince as it partially blinded him. Arms reached out and grabbed him, causing him to give a dry, croak of protest, the arms dragging him from where he had lain. He looked around wildly as he realized where he had been. A cell. He was dragged into a crowd of people, their jeering laughter and shouts searing his mind, a brand of words and sounds. If he looked closely though, eyes managing to put the bright world in focus, he found them to be...gypsies. These were gypsies! Now he began to struggle, slowly gaining power as he writhed. Only for one of the arms to smack his cheek.

"Stop squirming you old bat!" a voice snarled, causing him to go still .He was weak as it was, another beating would only drain him further. He felt wood under his legs, finding himself being dragged up steps to a wooden platform. The same used for performances. And standing before him was a man he knew all too well. Memories flashed back, and he managed to choke out.

"Clopin?" The gypsy sneered at him, hair cut short and his chest partly bandaged. He wore dark purple trousers and a loose shirt, his feet bare.

"Good morning my lord. Sleep well?" He was speechless, what on earth was he doing here? What had happened last night? How did he end up here. Suddenly, Clopin spoke up.

"Gypsies of Paris. Today we execute the punishment of a man who nearly ruined the lives of our families and friends, who nearly exterminated our race. It was he who attacked the church and began the war between gypsy and Parisian. And it is he who captured our home..." he suddenly looked around, finding that he had been brought to the...the court of Miracles, yes that was it, Court of Miracles. His palms grew sweaty as he watched Clopin speak further.

"and nearly killed our people. Today my friends, we will have him suffer for his crimes against us!" the crowd broke into wild applause, Clopin's hands spread like Jesus upon the cross, welcoming their cries for blood. He suddenly felt his arms being yanked and he was upon his shaky feet, only to be stripped of his robes. He gave a hoarse shout of anger as they tore away his burned garments, now he was angry, what were they doing? The crowd jeered and howled once he was naked. His robes and pride lay before him, shame the only thing cloaking him and keeping him from being completely exposed. With rough, brutal shoves they bound his wrists in opposite directions, kneeling with his back to the bloodthirsty crowd. He was frightened now, the anger vanishing as quickly as it had come. What were they doing, what had he done to deserve such treatment? Rope biting mercilessly into his wrists he heard Clopin behind him, shouting over the laughter of the crowd.

"Today, we punish the man who nearly killed us all, he shall be treated like the dog he is, lowly and abhorrent!" Without warning there was a crack and he cried out brokenly, back arching as pain shot like an arrow through his skin, burning every nerve. The crack came again and he gave a sobbed shout of agony, trying furiously not to cry as the sensation came again, the tips of the whip knotted, sinking and pulling out flesh and muscle. He tensed, trying to prepare for the next attack when it came, randomly to keep him from predicting it. And as the whip fell upon him Clopin went on, bringing memories with every strike.

(Continued in part two)