Sorry for the very long wait. Oh gosh, I feel miserable with this sickness. I've been hallucinating and throwing up and all kinds of crap that isn't good for the body. I hope you can forgive such a late update. Warnings: There is some torture in this chapter, but I promise the story will have a happy ending.

A woman ran through the streets, seeking the place she could get out of the snow that fell softly to the ground. She came up to a most lavish house; some would call it a palace. Guards were placed at the door, but they paid her no heed as she brushed past them and slipped through the door.

A servant came over to her to take her shawl. "Please tell your master that his confidant is here," a sly voice spoke.

The servant hurriedly ushered her inside a room where a warm fire roared and a bed loomed in the shadows. "My dear Prince, I do believe you're expecting me?" she asked in a simpering voice.

Albain turned from the fireplace and faced the woman with a smirk that rivaled a gargoyle's grimace. "Indeed, my dear. I trust you've arranged everything with my captain?" She grinned wickedly, a cat like purr emitting from her full lips.

"Oh yes, it's quite decided. By this time tomorrow you'll have the Court of Miracles in the palm of your hand, and I'll be buried to my neck in riches, if my memory serves me correctly."

Albain strode over to her, taking her face in his hands and kissing her lips soundly.

"Good girl, Dejanna."

The weeks had passed faster than Colette could comprehend. She looked up from her sewing to her husband, who was sitting on a trunk, mending his puppets after their season of wear and tear. She smiled softly to herself as he caught her gaze and held it, waggling his eyebrows at her suggestively. She laughed and shook her head, looking pointedly at the bassinette where Amsie sat up, playing with the doll Clopin had made her.

He sighed dramatically and stood, reaching his hand out in a gentlemanly gesture to help Colette stand. "Shall we take a stroll above, dearest?" he asked, smiling brightly. And how could she say no, despite the cold that waited for them.

"I really wanted you to meet some of my other friends. Friends in…high places, you could say," he told her as they walked down the road that led to Notre-Dame with Amsie in his arms. The snow crunched beneath their feet as they walked. She raised a brow, wondering what they were doing going to the church. Clopin wasn't one for attending mass, and she had given up on trying to get him to go pretty quickly. She gathered that Clopin wanted to introduce her to the bellringer. Quasimodo was his name, if she was remembering correctly. He had mentioned a gathering of Esmeralda, Phoebus, Quasimodo, and himself to her several days ago, and requested she join them.

There had been talk of possible betrayal by someone in the Court; four more guards had found them, and they'd dealt with each one, but foul play was suggested when one of them, defiant despite his impending death, said that Albain would have the Court in less than a fortnight.

Clopin took extra precautions, ruling that everyone had to be extra careful and have minimal contact with the outside world. He and several of the other leaders would gather in the cathedral to discuss the clan's safety, and prepare for potential war, ready to claim sanctuary at any point should Albain find out about their secret meetings.

This time, Colette was going with them.

A throng of people were gathered outside the church, all focused on the same point ahead of them, and Colette grew curious to see what was going on.

Her heart stopped beating as she saw a huge group of guards standing, with a group of the gypsy leaders bound and blindfolded. Albain stood on the steps of the church, speaking to the gathered crowd. "…these men have committed crimes against our city, and they must be stopped! We will draw them out, deal with them in the only language the scum of the earth know, and rid Paris of their evil!" he shouted with passion.

Colette looked to Clopin, who was looking on with horror as the group of gypsies, including Esmeralda and Phoebus, were being led to the Palace of Justice.

But the look on his face lasted for only a fraction of a second, he immediately sprang into action. Placing Amise in her arms, he leaned down to whisper in her ear, "Go. Take Amsie into the church and stay there," she tried to protest but he put a finger to her lips. "I mean it, Colette. There's no time for arguing. They're coming this way, and I have to save them. Go to the bell tower and find Quasimodo. He'll make sure you're safe. Go!" he leaned down and pressed his lips to hers, before he vanished into the shrowd of darkness the church cast over the square.

She stood for several seconds, her heart tearing itself in two while people looked at the group being led away, unaware of the pain she was bearing as her husband went to try and free his companions, risking his life to save what he held dear to him.

She gathered Amsie to her chest, running as fast as she could into Notre-Dame. She did not stop running as people looked at her strangely, nor as they ascended the stairs, taking two at a time. She ran until she reached the tower, crying out into the blackness, "Please, someone help!"

Silence was a smothering mist in the bell tower, and she sank to her knees with Amsie, sobbing in her grief.

"M-Mademoiselle, are y-you hurt?" a gentle voice called to her from the blackness. She looked up blearily, her tears not helping at all as she tried to see into the dark, where a figure stood. A candle lit and she realized who it was. Quasimodo.

He limped over to her, kneeling down next to her. She was momentarily shocked by his ugliness: his huge asymmetrical shoulders and his swollen eye. But she found she couldn't care. Couldn't be afriad. All she cared about was he was there to help.

"Please! You have to help. They…Albain…he's gone mad! He's going to kill them!" she sobbed, burying her face in her hands.

He looked at a loss, trying to calm her down, speaking kindly to her, "I know what's happening. I saw it from here, and I'm preparing to help. Please, don't fear. I'm going to the Court to rally everyone and Madellaine has gone to the square to gather supporters who may help us."

Her crying finally subsided, and he took her hand, leading her over to a room where she could sit and have a glass of water. "Quasimodo, I need you to get Linnie for me when you go. Tell her she must watch over Amsie for me. I have to go help Clopin," she said as calmly as she could, her voice breaking in several places.

Quasimodo looked at her apprehensively. "Clopin would not want you to risk yourself or your daughter—" she cut him off.

"Would you let Madellaine fight without you?" she asked, voice stern, and Quasimodo realized she was right. He nodded in understanding. "I'll be back as soon as I can," he said in a grave voice.

Colette watched as he left her and Amsie to gather everyone for a revolt. She did not cry. Instead, she looked into her baby's face, memorizing her dearest daughter's eyes. She knew this could be the last time she would see that tiny creation or hold her small hands.

The time went far too quickly for Colette, before Linnie ran in, hugging Colette fiercely and taking Amsie from her. "Please, Colette. Be careful," she called out as Colette took one last look at her little one and ran down the stairs to the foreboding streets of Paris.

Clopin was dragged into the Palace of Justice, grimacing.

Well, damn. That didn't work out very well at all. He sighed internally, wondering how the hell he was going to get out of this one. He had snuck up behind the guards and held a knife to one of their throats, demanding to the others that his friends be released of he would kill their partner. Apparently, they didn't really care, nor stop as they attacked him. He was able to slit the one's throat, but only right before they had grabbed him and shackled him with the others. He had put up a fight, kicking one away and ripping flesh from another using his sharp teeth, but all in vain. Now he had the salty taste of blood in his mouth and a bruising jaw to prove it.

The men who held his arms (they weren't taking any chances) threw him into a cell separate from the others. He knew what that meant. It had happened to his father before him. But Clopin was not going to fail like his father had. He was strong, and was not going to budge. They would have to pry information from his dead body before they could succeed. They would not have the Court of Miracles.

Albain strode into the prison, accompanied by a guard, a haughty smirk on his face. "Well, gypsy, it would seem that I have won," he sneered. Clopin laughed.

"Not yet, you haven't. You may have caught some of us, but you still haven't a clue where the Court is. And you'll never know," he said in a patronizing voice. Albain growled and motioned to the guard who unraveled a whip, trying to intimidate Clopin. He wasn't fazed.

"You honestly think pain is going to make me talk?" he snorted. "I've endured pain from your type before, and believe me, those scars are much deeper than anything a piece of leather can do."

Albain glared at Clopin angrily. "We'll see if you talk or not. Or if your pretty wife talks," he added in a sly voice. It was Clopin's turn to glare.

"Liar. You don't have her. She's safe, and there's nothing you can do about it," he said disdainfully. Albain smiled his ugly smile and leaned down to face Clopin.

"Oh, I wouldn't be so sure about that. She came in after you, trying to protect her dear husband who couldn't protect her. And I just left her with the other guards. You know, she's a very pretty one. I think my guards are getting their fair share of payment for the month. And I'm sure you know what that means, with that twisted gypsy mind of—" he was cut off as Clopin spit in his face.

"I know you don't have her. You can't toy with my emotions that easily. She is safe," he said, as much to himself as Albain.

Albain staggered back, wiping his eye, and glared daggers at the gypsy king. "Captain, let him have it!" he roared, and Clopin heard the whistle of the whip through the air, gritting his teeth when it ripped into his back. The new captain of the guard was much better at this than the last had been.

"Tell me where the Court is!" Albain yelled, punching Clopin in the jaw. Clopin's head turned, but he laughed breathlessly anyways.

"You'll never find it. I'll take it to the grave. Feel free to do whatever you want, it won't change a thing!" he yelled back.

The whip cracked again. Albain spoke louder, "If you do not tell me, you will die here, as well as your wife. Tell me!"

"Go to hell!" Clopin roared back. The whip descended again and again, until marks crisscrossed his back, the blood seeping through his tattered tunic. Albain, who realized that he would get nothing from the leader, turned to leave, with instructions to the guard to beat him until he talked or died, whichever came first.

Clopin's vision blurred as the whip bit into him many more times, but he did not cry out in pain, though it was nearly unbearable.

In a hoarse voice, he began to sing to his beloved Colette, who he knew he'd never see again. To his wife, his lover, his soul mate. His one and only, his friend, his strength.

Come what may, Come what may
I will love you until my dying day

He prayed, the first true prayer he'd ever made, that no matter what happened to him, Colette and Amsie would be safe. He had vowed he would give up everything for them, and he was now keeping that promise. He felt her; he felt as though she would hear him if he called to her.

"Colette, I love you!" he cried out as the whip snapped once more.

Read and Review! Hm, don't know how I feel about this chapter. I don't like to write torture scenes especially after I've witnessed it myself. I hope you can forgive the morbidity.