Just a little drabble. It ties in loosely to my story Miracles, but you certainly don't need to read that too understand the gist of this.

He had known well in advance that something was going to go wrong. The moment that filthy blonde soldier and that lumpy… Quasimodo had arrived, the air had thickened in anticipation. They were young – too young to realize the implications of saving a damsel in distress. Quasimodo was too naïve to know the workings of the Judge's mind, and Phoebus had to work hard to get basic processes through his blonde hair.

But Clopin had known immediately what was coming. His mind, he regretted to say, worked on a similar level to Frollo's, and he knew that there were no soldiers coming at dawn. They would take the opportunity as it arrived, and the two 'heroes' had led opportunity to the very doorstep of the Court. Oh, his hand had twitched to release the mechanism and let them choke on their own stupidity!

Instead, he slipped away as quickly as he could. He told the people –his people – to belay Esmeralda's impassioned order. To drop everything and… well… to just pray for some mercy because there could be no escape.

The crash of the gates had been a funeral peal for Clopin, and he'd dropped the heavy box he was lugging on his toe. It was a testament to the numb shock he felt that there was very little pain to accompany the soft crunch; only dull acceptance that he would have to draw attention to give someone (anyone) time to flee. He saw with some vague disconcertment that, like many monsters, be they real or imaginary, Claude Frollo seemed not to have aged a day over the years that Clopin had expertly skirted his attention.

A hand grabbed his arm, and upon that unfortunate foot soldier all Hell on Earth was let loose.

Clopin Trouillefou had never been educated. He could not read, nor could he write, and he needed his fingers and toes to add numbers, but he was not stupid. He knew what it meant to challenge Frollo, and he knew that in the long run there was no winning. Yet, perhaps Esmeralda had infected him with her impassioned idealism, because he decided then that whether he won or lost, he was going to be remembered for fighting like the Devil himself.

He did. Three… five… seven soldiers fell before he began to tire. Perhaps he wasn't quite as resilient as he had been twenty years ago, for there came a second wave of men and they toppled him with ease. Ease, in this case, being a very relative term, for the fight ended with six men nursing bloodied noses, and Clopin certainly wasn't among them.

As a boy, he'd been in fights aplenty, and he had learned to avoid serious injuries. It all came down to truly rolling with punches; he didn't know any logic behind it, but he understood that by falling back after a blow, it became easier to stand up and keep going. It was a lesson that had apparently been missed by most of these men.

Ah, but he wasn't beyond any other human, and to his disgust he found himself victim to a tight binding of rope and a knot that even he could not untie. His eyes flitted through the crowd frantically then, and to his dismay it seemed as though very few, if any of his poor people had escaped. He had to laugh then, softly. All good things truly did come to an end, did they not?

"Is this justice?" He asked aloud, grimacing when he was hauled to a group and left there. He glanced at his companions; strangers really. He couldn't recall their names. "Is it?" He demanded, searching their faces as they cowered.

"I suppose it must be." One of the men sighed miserably. "Yes. I suppose it is… for them."

Clopin scowled then and elbowed the brutish gypsy as well as he could. "I might have agreed with you once, mais, I have learned better. This is the justification of one group!" He struggled against his bonds again vehemently. "It is the justice of one man, and we are expected to follow it like a herd of cattle!" He looked up then again, seeking desperately a head of familiar black curls; a flash of green eyes. Clopin had sworn a very long time ago to watch his petite Esmeralda, and he intended to do so.

He looked with growing fervor as the screaming died, and sobbing took its place. He did not… could not trust that fool Phoebus with her safety! So help him, if one hair on her head was hurt, he would cut through every soldier and judge in his way for vengeance.

"There will be a little bonfire in the square tomorrow, and you're all invited to attend!"

He froze then, as though molten ice had entered his body. He could feel his expression descend into the very bowels of terror, and he began to fight in earnest, now seeing her through a break in the soldiers. Her expression mirrored his, and it spurred his efforts. He felt the ropes weaken just as a hand grabbed his shoulder violently.

"Lock them away."

No. It was not ending here. He wouldn't allow it. He was not going to watch this… his work… his life burn on a pyre. It was not an option. Clopin knew, in his gut, that he couldn't fight it. He didn't have the power or spirit to reverse the fate of the Court. Yet, for the sake of the faith resting on him, he would try. At the very least he would keep the attention of the Judge away from Esmeralda. So he raised his voice in protest, employing his skills to sound louder than any other in the cavernous dwelling.

"Salaud!" He exclaimed, kicking out his legs much like a child's tantrum. "Get your hands away from me you filthy—" He spat in the face of one of the soldier's and mentally applauded himself for his accuracy, grinning in spite of himself even while his companions moaned for him to be quiet before—

"You!"

He did grin then. An awful, wide smile spread on his lips that spoke of anything but enjoyment as the black cloak swept closer through the sea of armored legs. Clopin continued struggling to maintain the attention, but lessoned the fight for every step those feet took.

"Clopin Trouillefou."

He stopped combating his restraints then, and looked up in mocking delight. His smile took on a sarcastic edge and he couldn't refrain from sighing most whimsically. "I told you… you would remember my name." He reminded pleasantly, tilting his head and looking up at the scowling face of the Judge. "Really, Monsieur, I'm flattered and surprised at your memory. At your age, I though you might find it difficult remembering how to dress, let alone specific names." The gypsies on either side of him began to stare as though Clopin had finally reached a point of insanity that threatened his survival instincts. "You know, I always thought that was why you wore those robes! You don't need to remember which side is the front!"

Frollo spluttered then in fury, and drew back his hand. At the last moment, however, he regained his icy composure and simply sniffed derisively. "Is that so…" He mused coldly, waving a hand nonchalantly. His lips curled downward in time with Clopin's and he brought himself face to face with the bound gypsy. "Well, as of tomorrow it shan't matter anyway. I will see to it personally that your kind are wiped off the face of the planet! And you shall take your name with you as the only thing you have left!"

Clopin laughed then, perhaps in fear or spite, or any variety of emotions. The sound cut through the tense air like a knife and his eyes hardened. "Wipe away, Monsieur, but you will find us a very hard stain to rid yourself of."

Frollo stood straight with a sneer. "Take them away!"

The soldiers moved slowly, perhaps as unnerved as Clopin's companions by his gall. The gypsy king, however, was not done. "Hear this, Frollo, and for your own safety mark it! If you harm her, Death itself will not stop me from paying you back in kind!" His expression devolved into something animalistic and Clopin fought against the hands grabbing him. "If you dare – and I will know if you do – I will return it tenfold!" He saw, or imagined he saw, a flicker of trepidation cross that icy visage.

It vanished and a heavily ringed finger waved at the group. "Take them away."

Ah, but one could not move Clopin unless he was willing to be moved. "Your justice is a double-edged sword, Judge, and you are playing on the edge of a blade that can cut anyone foolish enough to gamble with it!" He exclaimed furiously. "I have tormented you for twenty years. I've escaped you, taunted you, and I have wounded you!" Clopin fought against the soldier holding him, and the man staggered forward in his attempt to contain him. Frollo regarded him with a mask of indifferent as he pressed on. "I have…" He pulled again. "Protected Esmeralda for fifteen years, and you will know the fires of Hell if you wound her!"

"I said take them away, you fools!"

As they were dragged into the labyrinthine tunnels, Clopin was pleased to see an expression of unmistakable fear overtake Frollo's face.