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One of the advantages of being the Captain of the Guard of Paris was that you had the ability to call upon the king of France whenever you wished.
It was a privilege, an honor, although it may as well have been a right. But Phoebus did not abuse it as others in his station had in years gone by. He knew his place, and he didn't want to get involved in the higher machinations of the court. He knew his job. He was a soldier. Better than most, good enough to become commander, but a soldier nonetheless. He was good at fighting, not politics. All he wanted was his family and friends-at the moment, he only had two of each, although Quasimodo was like a younger brother to him, and by extension, Madellaine a sister- and the ability to keep them safe.
But some things were important enough to warrant calling upon the Beast King. Like what he was here for.
Phoebus exhaled shakily. "The poor girl," he murmured.
Achilles nickered.
"Calm, Achilles," he said absentmindedly.
He could have come to Auradon City on one of those newfangled planes or cars. It would have been a lot faster.
But he, Phoebus de Chateaupers, Captain of the Guard of Paris, veteran of the wars, instrumental in the defeat of the tyrant judge Claude Frollo, was nervous.
His request could be construed as him standing for a villain. Which he wasn't. He was here to plead the case of a child born on the Isle of the Lost, a child born to a villain. Not the villain himself.
Never the villain himself.
But even so...those who allied themselves with the villains were very often deemed villains themselves and sent off to the Isle right after the people they had tried to help.
In addition, it was well known that the Beast did not appreciate people petitioning on behalf of the Isle residents. It didn't matter what contacts they had, or who they knew. Villains were sent to the Isle, even if they were from old, powerful, and feared families, like the de Vils; even if they were related to royalty, like the Tremaines; even if they were royalty, like Grimhilde White.
All of these had had people to speak on their behalf. Grimhilde may have been evil, but she had been the only mother Snow White had ever known. Cinderella loved her stepsister Anastasia, and Anastasia loved her sister and her mother, and so for Anastasia's sake Cinderella had tried to help all three of them. And the de Vils...
Snow White had been unsuccessful in saving her stepmother from being sent to the Isle. Cinderella had been unsuccessful in saving her stepmother and stepsisters from the Isle-although Anastasia had, at least, been sent a few years later. But Cecil de Vil...
He had spoken on behalf of his sister Cruella de Vil. Ella, he called her.
Phoebus had been there the day Cecil spoke to the Beast, before the council-Phoebus was a member, and when Isle matters were being discussed the full council was supposed to be in attendance-although he had addressed the Beast alone.
Cecil had stood tall and dignified, with a strength of character Phoebus had rarely seen. He held his head high, his dark eyes flashing with fire, and begged-actually begged-for his sister not to be banished.
He was eloquent. He brought up a dozen legal precedents. He called upon the best virtues of each of the heroes sitting before him.
His hands shook only slightly.
He had told them of his sister, from when the two of them were small children, the conversations they had had and the games they had played, until they grew up; of Ella's flair for fashion and design, of her aura of authority....of her mind's slow degeneration, of her gradual ostracization from society, of her fixation on black-and-white fur.
He spoke of two of Ella's only friends, bad influences both.
He spoke of how Ella had visited her only other friend, and seen her puppies-and what would be seen as theft from a stranger was somewhat more forgivable when from an old school friend, was it not?
He pointed out how all the dogs had been returned unharmed, and how Ella and Jasper and Horace had all been arrested and served their time.
He even called on Anita and Roger Radcliffe to support him. Which they did.
Evil, perhaps; mad, perhaps; fur-obsessed, perhaps; but the fact of the matter was, no actual harm had been done, Ella had served her time, and as her old friend and the wronged party, did Anita not have the right to forgive her? It didn't work that way, yes, but even so-since when was life imprisonment a punishment for dognapping?
None of this had helped.
Cecil had paced, raged, pleaded, with a fire and fury in his eyes and voice, but nothing had worked. When the Beast deemed someone a villain, that person was a villain.
And if you tried to advocate for the villain? You were a villain too.
Cecil de Vil had been sent to the Isle with his sister Cruella. That had been the last anyone had seen of either of them.
Which, of course, was the whole point of the Isle, wasn't it? Out of sight, out of mind?
Of course, if you believed the rumors,-and Phoebus had been there, so he knew it wasn't a rumor-Cecil hadn't been banished. Upon realizing that his efforts to exonerate his sister were going nowhere, he had volunteered to go with her to the Isle. His wish had been granted.
The end result was the same, though. He was trapped on the Isle with all the other villains.
But Phoebus...he couldn't afford to be banished to the Isle. Never mind what happened to him; he had a wife to support. A young son. A friend and his wife, both of whom were still unsure how to get along in the outside world. They needed him.
Cecil had gone to the Isle for his sister, his only family. He had nobody in Auradon who needed him.
Phoebus had no sister. But he had a wife and a son and Quasimodo and Madellaine. He couldn't leave them.
But he would have to tread carefully, lest he end up on the Isle as well-he couldn't leave them, and he could not bring them with him. The Isle was full of villains-real villains. He couldn't do that do Esmeralda and Quasimodo and Madellaine, all of whom were still haunted by demons of their own.
He couldn't do that to Zephyr. He could not condemn a child to such a life.
Which was exactly why he was here.
It had been decided that out of the four of them, he would be the one to go, since he was the most-well spoken of them, as well as the highest ranked. Not that he was wealthy or had influential family-none of them did-but he was Captain of the Guard. Quasimodo was just the bell ringer of Notre Dame. Madellaine had been part of a traveling circus that moonlighted as a crime ring. Esmeralda had been nothing more than just another gypsy woman on the streets of Paris.
Until she'd danced at the Festival of Fools. And Judge Frollo had seen her.
Phoebus clenched his fists.
In any event, having his horse with him helped him calm his nerves. Not that they let him bring Achilles into the palace, obviously. He left him in the stables outside, giving him a last lingering pat.
He was shown into a conference room-the same one the council had gathered in when Cecil de Vil had pleaded his case, at the last council meeting Phoebus had attended.
He'd specifically asked for a private audience-he had that right, and he did not want Auradon nobles and royalty to be watching. From what he remembered of his last council meeting, some people had taken Cecil's side, and some people had definitively not. He couldn't take that risk.
The Beast, now in the form of a man, sat at one end of a long, empty, oval-shaped table. There was a chair at the other end of it, presumably for Phoebus. He didn't take it.
"Your Majesty," he said stiffly, and bowed.
"There's no need for that," the Beast told him half-chidingly. "Get up, please! Sit."
"I prefer to stand, sir," Phoebus said as he straightened. "If it's all the same to you."
The Beast shrugged. "Do as you like. Shall we get down to business?"
That was fast, Phoebus thought, but he didn't say anything.
"Yes," he said. "Thank you for allowing me this audience, Your Majesty. I am here on behalf of-" he hesitated for just a moment-"the children of the Isle of the Lost."
The Beast's brow darkened as his eyes narrowed. Phoebus could almost feel the room's temperature dropping. "The children of the Isle of the Lost," the Beast repeated flatly.
"Yes," Phoebus replied.
"As I recall, the last time you spoke to me of the Isle, you were against it," the Beast remembered. "You said that your villain was dead and gone, and you wanted him to stay that way."
"I did," Phoebus said. Not that you listened. To bring back the judge from death? After everything he'd done while alive? As though they hadn't nearly killed themselves fighting him the first time?
"Death is too good for them," Auradon had proclaimed, and Phoebus had wondered what planet these people were living on. Was not death the absolute, capital punishment? Was it not what all men feared?
Besides, did Auradon really want to deal with the judge again?
Judge Frollo was manipulative, charismatic, fiery with an iron core-and, importantly, he truly believed what he said. Such a man would find himself willing followers wherever he went. Especially considering many of his soldiers had also been sent to the Isle.
Not to mention the impact on Quasimodo.
"Your friend the bell ringer didn't say that," the Beast noted, his eyes narrowing.
Phoebus didn't say anything for a few moments.
"Quasimodo is...conflicted," he said finally.
This was hard for all of them, but especially Quasimodo-and Madellaine, since she was the one who had to live with the residual aftereffects of what Frollo had done.
The judge had raised Quasimodo, provided for him. Taught him how to read and write and to do arithmetic. Gave him tools for carving.
The judge had also drilled into Quasimodo that he was a worthless monstrous creature, that he was the only one who loved him, that anyone else would reject and fear and hate him, that the bell tower was the only place he was safe, and that he owed everything-everything-to him.
He had isolated Quasimodo from everyone, leaving the hunchback in such loneliness that he had once confessed to Phoebus that he had created imaginary friends for himself long past the age most people had imaginary friends. He had imagined that the stone gargoyles atop the bell tower came to life and spoke to him, giving him advice and encouragement.
He didn't say at what point he had realized that they were imaginary. Phoebus didn't ask him.
The judge would punish Quasimodo harshly for any perceived misdeeds. When he was young, these punishments would usually take the form of beatings. Quasimodo didn't like to talk about it, but Phoebus had seen the scars once.
Once Quasimodo was ten, however, he was big and strong-much bigger and stronger than others of his age-and the judge feared that if he hit Quasimodo, Quasimodo would hit back, not realizing that violence would be the last reaction the gentle hunchback would think of. Instead, Quasimodo's punishments were things like having to do disliked tasks, having to skip meals, and, accompanying every punishment was a sermon about gratitude and loyalty and Phoebus didn't even know what else. Quasimodo didn't like to talk about that either.
And even after Judge Frollo's death, Quasimodo was still haunted by him. He'd spent hours excoriating himself, trying to see if there was anything he could have done differently that could have led to Esmeralda's rescue without the judge dying. Disgraced, imprisoned, but not dead!
Quasimodo also had a habit of blaming himself for everything. Nothing was ever Frollo's fault, after all; therefore the blame must lie with Quasimodo.
Quasimodo also had very little concept of social skills. Oh, he knew his manners-Frollo had made sure of that-but when it came to actually interacting with people? Body language, expressions, senses of humor? He was clueless. Especially in a group setting. Up to three people at a time he could handle somewhat comfortably. More than that overwhelmed him.
Quasimodo constantly doubted himself, second-guessing his own decisions.
It had taken him years to work up the courage to ask Madellaine to marry him, the belief that he was worthless, a failure, barely deserving even to live, let alone have friends, having been drilled so deeply into him that Phoebus worried it would never fade.
And yet Quasimodo still saw the man as a father.
He had, after all, been the only father Quasimodo had ever known-although that was actually Frollo's fault, the judge having killed both of the hunchback's parents, one directly, one on his orders.
Fear and respect of him was still ingrained in Quasimodo. He never spoke disparagingly about him.
The judge had left his impact on the others as well, of course. Esmeralda still feared fire, even more than a decade later; she would rather sit in the back of a room bundled up in a coat than sit anywhere near the fireplace. She also admitted to constantly being afraid that she was being followed, to jumping at shadows.
And Phoebus? He still had a scar from that arrow. But besides that, the judge had been his superior. Phoebus must obey every one of his commands or die trying. And he had...until he'd been ordered to burn down a home with innocent people-with children-still inside.
Sometimes, Phoebus still felt like he was a traitor for disobeying his superior, like he was unworthy of being captain.
Also, he still subconsciously called Frollo "the judge" in the back of his mind, instead of by his full name or his last name like nearly everybody else. He had a feeling that if he and Quasimodo's foster father ever met again, he would still be calling him "sir."
After the ju-Claude Frollo had been brought back, but before he'd been sent to the Isle, Quasimodo had applied, and been given permission for, one last visit.
Phoebus and Esmeralda hadn't even known about this until Quasimodo had returned, shaken. To this day, he refused to tell them what he and his erstwhile foster father had spoken of.
Also, he wrote Frollo twice a year, exactly six months apart. His letters were not answered, but they were not returned either.
Esmeralda had once asked Madellaine if she knew about this, and she replied affirmatively, so she and Phoebus left it at that. While it would be better for Quasimodo to let go entirely, it was very hard for him, and the letters were between him and Madellaine.
Frollo did not answer the letters. Frollo was trapped on the Isle of the Lost. Frollo could cause no harm.
That was what they had believed, until two weeks ago, when the news from the Isle came, along with a list of names.
"So," the Beast said, bringing Phoebus back to the present, "what are you here for now?"
Phoebus took a deep breath. "I'm not sure if you've heard the latest news from the Isle?" The Beast, being king, had certainly heard the news from the Isle, but it was better to seem unsure, instead of looking as though he was coming in with a foregone conclusion. Which he sort of was, but still...
"Oh, not you too." The Beast waved a hand in annoyance, confirming Phoebus's suspicion that he did know. "Come to talk to me about the villains' children?"
"I-yes. Sir." The Beast was his king, whether Phoebus liked his attitude or not.
The Beast sighed. "Ever since Yen Sid released that list of his, people have been saying that we should bring them all off the Isle..."
"They are children," Phoebus said. "Children should not be imprisoned for their parents' crimes."
The Beast continued as if he hadn't heard him. "Even Anita and Roger Radcliffe came-they wanted to adopt Cruella de Vil's baby. They said she was in no state to raise a child, and that her brother agreed with them." He snorted.
"And did you let them?" Phoebus asked, although he already knew the answer.
"Of course not! Should I rip away a baby from his mother! Even villains love their children! And even if what they say is true, well, Cruella has her brother to help out." His face twisted. It was no secret that Cecil de Vil was despised by the upper echelons of Auradon nobility for throwing his lot in with the villains and voluntarily choosing to live on the Isle. His decision was a slap in the face to them. They rounded up all the villains and exiled them, so the good people of Auradon could live in safety....and he chose to go with them.
"So you're saying," Phoebus clarified slowly, "that you will not take the children off the Isle because it would be cruel to separate them from their parents?"
"Yes." The Beast stared at him. "Do you have a problem with that?"
The Beast did have a point. But...
Not all villains loved their children.
"Not every child will have an uncle willing to step in and care for him or her instead of the child's parents," Phoebus pointed out. And besides, Cecil would have his hands full with his sister.
The Beast pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and index finger for a moment, and exhaled. "Can you please get to your point?"
"My point," Phoebus said, and he realized he was nearly shouting but he couldn't help it, "is that Judge Frollo has a daughter. A daughter! You cannot seriously expect him to be a good father! It would be a kindness to take her away from him!"
Phoebus breathed heavily as his words echoed in the air. Was this it? Was this when he handed over his sword and armor, and was led away to the next boat to the Isle, and all Esmeralda and Zephyr would get was a note-
"You do not know this for certain," the Beast finally said.
"My best friend was raised by him! You think he was a good father to Quasimodo? I can bring him here to testify!" Quasimodo hadn't come along, because this would simply bring all his conflicting feelings to the fore yet again, but he had confided to Phoebus that for this little girl's sake, he would do whatever he had to.
"Quasimodo wasn't his natural child," the Beast pointed out, like that made any difference. "Surely he will treat his own flesh and blood differently?"
"Not necessarily." Phoebus paced. "He will see her as something to mold in his exact image, but he won't succeed, because nothing will ever be good enough for him. He genuinely believes only himself to be perfect, and everyone else as flawed human beings to correct. Imagine being raised by such a man. And any sense of-of kinship or caring or love that he might feel towards her as his biological child will be cancelled out by the fact that she is female!"
"We can't simply start taking children off the Isle," the Beast objected. "For all we know, their parents have raised them to be villains exactly like they are!"
Phoebus stared at him. "You have seen the dates on the list just like I have! She's two years old!"
The Beast continued. "Besides, they would need to be placed somewhere. Not many people are willing to take in the children of villains."
Anita and Roger Radcliffe are, Phoebus thought. Have you even asked anyone?
He didn't say that. Instead, he said, "My wife and I are happy and willing to adopt Claudine Frollo." It was the first time he'd said her name aloud.
He and Esmeralda had discussed this, and they both agreed. Quasimodo was still trying to work things out, and he and Madellaine had been married for less than a year. Quasimodo wouldn't be able to face raising the daughter of the man who had raised him.
But Phoebus and Esmeralda were older than Quasimodo and Madellaine. Frollo hadn't impacted their lives quite as badly. And Zephyr would love a little sister.
The Beast's eyebrows twitched. "Are you indeed?" he asked, genuinely interested and surprised.
"Yes," Phoebus said, and it was the truth.
The moment stretched like taffy, long and endless; either Phoebus would receive permission to adopt Claudine or he would be sent to the Isle as well.
"No," the Beast said.
Phoebus's stomach dropped, but before he could say anything the Beast said, "Leave."
"Leave?" Phoebus repeated. He wasn't going to be arrested? But the little girl-
"Go," the Beast said, his face expressionless, and he was Phoebus's king, and Phoebus was only the Captain of the Guard, and he had to obey his monarch.
At the door, Phoebus looked back. "He's evil," he said. "He's a sadist. He's insane. He's a fanatic. He's a-he's the monster. You can't let her-you have to do something. Please."
"Leave," the Beast repeated, and Phoebus left.
Perhaps the Beast was right. Perhaps the judge would be kinder to his own daughter than he had to Quasimodo.
Esmeralda didn't believe him when he said that. Phoebus didn't believe himself.
It would be a dozen more years before the first villain children were allowed off the Isle, and nearly two more years before the rest of them were, and when he caught his first glimpse of Claudine Frollo-a pale, dark-haired girl with fathomless dark eyes-not dark in the chromatic sense-who flinched from fire just like Esmeralda did, who rarely spoke, who blamed herself for everything just as Quasimodo did, who cringed whenever anyone so much as looked at her, who walked stiffly, as though in pain, who recoiled from every touch-
When he first saw her, he knew without a doubt that he and Esmeralda and Quasimodo-and not the Beast, never the Beast-had been right all along.