In the past, whenever Belle had taken the time to indulge a silly, girlish fantasy (fantasies that usually sprang to life after reading a particularly compelling adventure/romance novel), she typically imagined a man's sturdy hand helping her to her feet. The hand that had taken hers earlier had not even been that of a human. It was a paw. Not the neat, lithe paw of a cat or the sturdy little foot of a forest mouse, but a massive paw that was over twice the size of her hand. Claws as long as her pinky finger extended from every toe, and Belle eyed them cautiously as she approached the creature curled up in the grand chair by the fireplace.

She said creature in her mind, but perhaps that wasn't the word for him anymore. The beast had, after all, just committed the very charitable act of saving her life. He lay in the wide, sturdy-backed chair, half-curled and wounded. His tongue scraped against the ragged flesh of his wound as he avoided her eyes. His right arm had been torn nearly to shreds by the wolves that had come close to killing her, and the flesh looked angry and agonized.

Belle had almost left him there to die. Would have been glad to do it, even, and get on with her life. If she hadn't come back here, she might have been back home with Papa right now. She might not once again be a prisoner. She might have been able to forget that this whole catastrophe had ever happened. So why had she come back? Certainly, this castle was grander than any place she'd ever lived, even if it was imposing and largely empty. She and Papa had traveled from small, leaky homes wherever they could find them. They were cramped and somewhat neglected-looking, but they were also warm and happy. She had never felt like a prisoner there. An outcast with the common folk, surely, but wherever she and Papa lived, it was a place filled with love.

She had none of that here. She most likely never would.

The beast-she realized with a start that she didn't know his name, or even if he had a name-had shown her nothing but surliness, rage, and cruelty. So why had she given him mercy? Perhaps, in that brief moment where he had lain nearly dead in the snow, she had seen something that reminded her of herself. There had been something, a look in his exhausted face that spoke of startling fear, a raw vulnerability. And the words he had spoken…

The wolves had vanished, either dead or long gone with the sense to realize that a fight with the beast was one that could not be won. Belle had slowly, achingly gotten to her feet-while it was happening, she had felt like a ghost looking on, but now her body was quickly remembering the hell it had just endured. She was painfully cold, her palms burning from where she had lain weakly in the snow. Walking over to where Philippe was still trapped in the dangling limbs of a snow-burdened tree, she spoke soft murmurs of comfort and managed to free her horse.

Belle had been terrified when the beast had first appeared, sure that he would drag her back to the castle and torture her for disobeying their agreement or simply kill her and save himself the trouble of her rebellion. But neither thing had happened; no, instead the beast had let out a enraged bellow and flung himself into the writhing mass of wolves. The air had soon been thick with pained screams and flashes of fur, and she could only watch as bones were snapped and claws scrambled frantically in the upturned snow. He had crouched in front of her, snarling, shielding her from the carnage.

It made absolutely no sense.

Leading Philippe now that he was untangled and a bit calmer, she had circled around to face the beast where he he was dead or close to it. She hesitated to close the distance any further; he was quiet and still now, but that didn't make his fangs any less sharp. Belle recalled the moment that two braver wolves had pounced on the beast, eliciting a sharp cry of pain as her captor's blood fell to mix with the blood of their own kind.

Looking at him now, Belle could easily see where the damage had been done. A fine trickle of blood came from a gash above his brow, but the worst damage was that to his forearm, which he must have flung up as an instinctive defense from the wolves. It was a gruesome sight; the wound made her stomach churn. If blood loss from that didn't kill him soon, the cold surely would.

This was her perfect opportunity to leave. If she just rode Philippe away right now and never looked back, she could forget about all this. She could get home to Papa-she prayed that he had made it home safe and sound-and act like she hadn't endured this bizarre and miserable life for the past few weeks. The servants had all treated her with kindness, but they were so afraid of their master that they didn't often get a chance to show it.

Freedom was in her hands now, and she wasn't about to turn her nose up at it. Yes, the beast had saved her life, but he'd made every moment before it a nightmare. Belle gave her horse an encouraging pat and tried to figure out which direction could possibly lead her home. Could she make it home without catching her death of cold? She hoped so; to die here would be the ultimate irony.

Belle had taken her first step when a low sound came from behind her. Panic shot through her veins; her first instinct telling her to get away, she would surely be killed if the beast regained consciousness now. Whirling around with her heartbeat protesting, she saw that the beast had opened one eye tiredly. His gaze was unfocused and delirious, not quite gripping her.

He made no effort to move, nor did she. His mouth moved ever-so-slightly, but Belle couldn't make out if anything was being said. "B-beg pardon?" She asked uncertainly. Ever curious, she wondered what dying words the creature could possibly have. When had he ever said anything that hadn't been filled with venom, or shouted? Surely he would take his last moments to be cruel.

What the monster spoke next was something Belle would have never guessed to come from him, half-conscious or not. "Mother," he breathed. "I suppose you believe...that I deserve this...but I'm just happy...to see you again..." His eyes had fallen shut, and something like a faint smile twisted his grizzled face. Taken aback, all Belle could do was stare. That was as far from what she'd imagined as was possible.

An unexpected pang shot through her chest. How pitiful. He lay here, bleeding, dying, speaking to a mother who was not there. Belle guessed that she had not been for a long, long time. What had happened to her? Had she left the castle, unable to deal with the beast? Was she dead, like Belle's own mother? The thought of her mother made the feeling in her chest deepen and expand, like a knife being forced through her stomach and then twisted about. How very long it had been since Belle had seen her. If Belle herself had been lying on the biting cold snow, would her last words be to a mother that no longer lived?

Something in her crumpled. Kneeling down carefully, she called to Philippe and motioned for him to lie next to the beast. It took some persuading, but eventually the horse was positioned so that the beast might be able to clamber aboard. Belle couldn't imagine him being able to walk in this state. "Hello, er..." she began awkwardly. She'd never spoken to him before. "Please, get up. Mount my horse, I'll take you back to the castle now." There was no response.

Setting her nerves to hardened steel, Belle reached out a hand and shook the shoulder of the hulking creature. "Beast?" She tried again. He growled softly, eyes coming open and taking her in. He seemed to recognize her this time, and she wasn't sure if it was a good thing or not. "Can you hear me? I'll take you back to the castle."

He stared at her for a long moment, and Belle questioned her compassion. "...Alright." He croaked finally, struggling to his feet. Moving back to allow him to climb atop Philippe, Belle heard him whine like a kicked dog as he tried to straighten himself. Attempting his first step, his legs buckled, and before Belle registered what she was doing, she realized she had reached out a hand to steady him. It won't steady him any...more likely to drag me down into the snow, Belle thought, but her hand remained extended.

Looking at it oddly, the beast paused only for a moment before grasping her hand in his. It felt very strange to Belle: like grasping the paw of a bear. It completely swallowed her hand, and the pad of his paw felt rough against her palm. He squeezed her hand lightly, appearing briefly fascinated, before coming to his senses and dropping her hand like it was a venomous snake. Looking away, he clambered onto Phillipe's back, slumping over in exhaustion to let the horse support his full weight.

They began the slow, mostly silent walk to the castle. Speaking only to let Belle know if the direction they were heading was correct or not, the beast said nothing more.

When the castle was at last within sight, Belle could have cried with relief. She felt frozen to the bone, and her fingers were tinged blue. She daydreamed about sitting in front of the fire for hours. When they reached the gates, the rusty things opened immediately, as if they had been anxiously awaiting their master's return. Even if the castle would never be a home to her, Belle moved as quickly as she could up the steps, longing for the warmth of the fireplace and her bed in the tower.

Behind her, the beast had dismounted Philippe gracelessly and was shuffling up the steps at a much slower pace. Pausing, Belle almost offered some sort of help (though she fully doubted she could support him anyway), but he'd brusquely uttered "Go. Leave me. It's fine." Bristling at his cold tone, she did exactly that.

The castle's warmth felt better than she ever could have imagined. Closing her eyes for a minute and simply allowing herself to be swallowed by it, she sighed. She was beaten and battered and nearly frozen to the core, but she would survive. Within seconds, the castle's servants were upon them, voices high with concern. What appeared to be normal furniture like coat racks and teacups and closets were actually living, breathing servants, things that spoke and moved and had personalities. It intrigued Belle to no end; how could it be possible?

In minutes, she had been ushered into the front room and made to sit in front of the fire. The beast settled himself carefully into his grand chair, and there he remained as Belle continued to ponder how the situation had changed. She supposed she was, once again, a prisoner. The thought weighed heavily on her, and she dreaded leaving her little refuge in front of the hearth and continuing on as she had for weeks before. Wandering the halls, always wary of encountering her captor. Always anticipating another outburst when he didn't get his way.

And sometimes...sometimes, he would simply be watching. Lurking around a corner and disappearing once she'd noticed him there. It was odd, and unsettling. The enraged yelling she at least understood, but this was another thing entirely. There didn't seem to be anything menacing or perverse about it-it wasn't like he was there when she'd just come out of the bath-but it unnerved Belle a little bit.

Now she was doing the same to him. He ignored her glance and licked gingerly at the wound on his forearm, wincing every so often without seeming to notice he was doing it. The beast was so bizarre; in some ways he acted just like an animal, but he also had some oddly human-like tendencies, just like his servants. In some ways, he was even more mysterious than them. Was he the only one of his kind? How was he capable of human speech? Why was he the master of an abandoned, dark castle with all these servants tending to him? Belle's curious mind positively ached to know. She imagined Papa was still pondering it, too, maybe even at the same moment she was.

Maybe that was what had compelled her to stand and approach the rolling table that had parked itself at the beast's side. Mrs. Potts perched there, carefully pouring piping hot water into a bowl. A fresh cloth lay nearby, and Belle had picked it up and dipped it within the boiling water without knowing exactly why she had done it. Facing the beast and bracing herself, Belle moved closer to his injured arm.

Instantly a low growl ripped past his lips, and his fur bristled. Clutching his arm closer, the beast pinned her with furious eyes, a silent warning to come no closer. Ignoring his theatrics, Belle commanded, "Hold still. This might sting a little." She pressed the rag to his arm. Roaring with pain, the beast jerked so violently away from her that he nearly fell from his chair.

"That hurts!" He shouted, glaring at her.

"If you'd hold still it wouldn't hurt as much!" Belle snapped.

"If you hadn't run away, this wouldn't have happened," the beast fired back.

"If you hadn't frightened me, I wouldn't have run away!"

"Well, you shouldn't have been in the West Wing." The beast looked smug, apparently thinking be had won the argument.

"Well, you should learn to control your temper!" Her last quip had wiped the smirk from his face, and he fell silent.

"Now hold still." Belle ordered, approaching again with the rag. "This will sting." She placed it hurriedly on his wound before the beast had a chance to get away again. "Agh-" he hissed, cringing away from her with teeth bared. But surprisingly, he had managed to stay put.

Feeling triumphant, Belle applied a little more pressure to the rag, deftly removing a significant amount of dried blood and dirt. The beast continued to growl under his breath, but made no more attempts to stop her from her work. "By the way," Belle began softly, feeling almost shy, "I wanted to thank you...for saving my life, I mean."

A surprised look crossed the beast's face. "You're welcome," he said slowly. "And thank you...for saving mine."

Not quite knowing what else to say, Belle murmured her own 'you're welcome' and continued to work on his wound. Before long, it looked devoid of all grime and old blood. The injury was still incredibly raw and painful looking, but it was at the least clean, and the beast was much less likely to develop infection now. Wrapping it in cloth, she let her busy hands drop at last. Out of thin air, the thought that she'd had earlier came back to her.

"Er, I've just realized something." Belle began, to get the beast's attention. He looked over at her, his eyes not appearing hostile for once; simply curious. "Eh?" "I don't know your name. Strange, isn't it?" Belle lifted the rag from his arm, where she had been checking the fur around his injury, and deposited it on the edge of the rolling table. She suddenly hadn't a clue as to what to do with her hands.

At first, she got no response. Had he even heard her? Was he simply being churlish? Then, he murmured something so quickly that she hadn't a hope of understanding it. "What was that?" The beast let out an irritated sigh. "Adam. My name is Adam." Belle was taken aback; it was such a normal-sounding name. "It's nice to meet you, then." She replied, though she wasn't entirely sure that she even meant it. "Likewise." The beast-er, Adam-said quietly.

He was perplexed. How long had it been since he had even thought of himself as Adam, let alone have someone call him by the name? No one in this castle had called him that in nearly ten years. His servants all referred to him as Master. His father had only ever called him "my son" or "young prince".

Even before, so long ago, no one had ever seemed to say his name, or remember he was more than heir to the throne. And now here was this infuriating girl saying it like it belonged on her tongue. He wasn't sure he could get used to it. But if the girl remained here as his prisoner, and insisted upon using that name...he supposed he would have to grow used to it again.

How strange, having a human in the castle. How strange, that he no longer thought of himself as one.

Belle soon withdrew back to the floor in front of the hearth, the warmth making her eyelids grow heavy. She tried to stay sitting upright, but exhaustion had a hard grip on her beaten body. Sinking onto the thick, lavish carpet and spreading out her skirts, Belle let sleep take her. At one point, she felt a servant spread a quilt over her, and she murmured something that she hoped was a proper thank you. How taxing the last few hours had been.

At some point in the night, Adam had taken his leave from the grand front room. Pausing for a moment to glance at Belle curled up in front of the hearth's dying embers, he decided that perhaps being around her didn't always have to be a struggle. Before this, they had only fought and screamed at one another, but maybe tonight had changed things.

He prowled the empty halls of the castle, nothing but the scratching of his claws against the floor meeting his ears. Perhaps things would be different now.

Perhaps.