The Hunchback of Notre Dame: Heaven's Light

Fontaine's Blessing

The grassy hill had become murky from the hard rain through the night and had proved difficult for a frightful young pony, truly determined to seek his friend. He had ran afar when his rider had struck his rump hard enough to send him into a panic. He galloped afar from the crumbling place and he wandered about since until the dawn came. It was now when he could see that he had to locate his rescuer.

He slowly came back...tired and his knees in pain from the frantic run, only to see those same men crowding around two things. Two carts; one a caravan and the other...an old carriage found amidst the rubble of this useless town. The old carriage had a terrible stench to it, which brought woe and unease to the pony. It only enforced him to stay away from it.

But...within the caravan, a deep sadness overwhelmed him, knowing that his rider was in there and was not in a good way. The sounds that came from there, they hurt.

Fidele's ears were set back sharply and he grunted in agitation when a few of the gypsies spotted him and began to approach.

He counted and he backed away against the caravan, gnawing on the wood, desperately. Quasimodo was not well and death was in the air. It made him angry.

But within... meanwhile, Esmeralda was hard at work at sewing a newly found tunic, thicker and warmer for the hurt bell ringer.

Agatha remained by his side, laying down with him in the mass of silks and pillows, of which was sacrificed by the entire group. The woman had her head down as she ran her fingers through his hair, continuing on soothing him. To sleep.

Quasimodo was... respectfully, he was trying. He did with his all to stay at rest and to keep pain at bay. Yet, all at once, he was trying hard to stay awake. He kept his eyes open, as much as he could. But it was getting harder.

Too hard.

He knew that he was losing the battle....

"...quasimodo." Agatha whispered to him, aiming to try again to help him succumb. "...pl-please... please sleep. Close your eyes...." she urged, gently as she tried to keep her voice strong for him.

She was truly worried. He needed to rest. She knew that he was very still, but his breathing was becoming less stressed and was becoming quite slow and even. Which was improvement.

Quasimodo though was worried as well... for... if he even closed his eyes for a second, death would take him or danger would strike again. But the sound of the morning was soft and beautiful. The sun was taking the cold away, the birds were coming to sing to them. The cold was dying slowly and it brought ease to his aches in his back and shoulder. As he began to feel himself drift off, he began to think back... when he had first saw Rose, running away from danger. The first moments with Agatha who seemed to have so much anger, but now she was with him, selflessly, with no more scorn and negativity. Her voice was different, no longer brash or forceful, but it was soft and warm. Evrard's last words stung his heart deeply, knowing that... all along, he was never a curse to anyone.

As a final tear dared to escape, Quasimodo finally closed his eyes... feeling too tired to even try anymore.

Agatha felt his head shift in the pillows and his shoulders fell slant. Right then she knew that he was surrendering. Finally.... She did not want to lose him. He was to rest today for as long as he needed. If he fell ill too soon, and there was still a chance of that, she would never feel well with herself. Ever.

But then, there came his voice...sounding tired, shaken... but very soft.

"...agatha...?"

"Ssh, you." was all she replied with. She kept brushing through his hair. "...go to sleep, Quasimodo. Please, rest... w-we... we need you."