Redeemer
The funeral was a small one – his mother, a few of his closest friends, his sister. Just a small gathering around a hole that was marked with a single ragged cross, on the outside of town. It was all they could do, considering the circumstances. They did their best with the body, once they found it. It had been mangled almost beyond recognition by the rain and the wolves, not to mention the drop, but Lefou knew him by the boots. The traditionally glossy, clomping weights he used as footwear were muddied and weather beaten, but without a doubt his. Lefou shined them himself before they buried him, making them as bright as if Gaston himself had done it. The mere thought made him cry.
The prince had been pitying but firm in his opinion of what happened to the body. He allowed the friends to do with it as they pleased, but he was not to receive the sacrificial rites traditional to those who had died in the township. Rather, he was to be given the funeral of a thief, buried on the far southern part of town, where the sun rarely shown, with an unmarked grave. His mother had insisted on adding a cross, even though it went against the prince's command. Lefou tended to agree, though he said little on the matter. He had seemed to have lost his spark.
Gaston had meant everything to the young man – they had grown up together in the small French town and were paired quite surprisingly from the start. Lefou would be the first to admit their relationship was an odd one. Gaston had the curious trait of manhandling whomever he was closest to relationally. He never hurt his mother, or his sister, but they sniffingly reminisced about the way he swept them through the house, throwing them high into the air like small children and catching them snuggly in his unbelievably strong arms. With Lefou, he was less gentle, but that was fine. He was tough, and would bear through anything for the sake of his dear friend. He had never thought, however, that he would have to bear through his death.
The attack on the castle had seemed inevitable to Lefou from the moment he realized where Belle had gone. It had not taken long, even stationed at her house as he was – the boy was sharper than the image of himself than he often created. Knowing Belle, and from what Maurice had said, he knew that something was amiss in that old, abandoned palace. He stayed steadfastly in place, however, just as Gaston had commanded. Letting down Gaston would be like letting down his own mother – impossible to bear from both ends of the situation. Gaston would never allow his folly to be forgotten, and Lefou would never forgive himself for letting Gaston down. He would rather stay put and act the fool than disappoint Gaston.
But he had never expected his choice would end in Gaston's death. He was, in fact, stunned that the man could die. The image of his friend Lefou had created placed him nearly at godhood, leaving the man flabbergasted beyond speech that such a being could be destroyed in a mere fall. He refused to accept it, once the battle between the bewitched servants and the townspeople had died down enough to understand the full extent of what had occurred. He heard the stories from the prince and Belle in a disappointed but disbelieving stupor, insisting that they simply could not be true. It was not until they found the body, and Lefou saw the boots, that the man could comprehend the truth: the once mighty Gaston, his closest friend and hero god, had fallen.
When Gaston had rushed up the stairs after the beast, Lefou took over downstairs, trying to keep the ragtag posse of men and boys from the town in control while fighting down his own terror. The normally inanimate furniture, kitchenware, and appliances were strong fighters, besides disarming purely in that they could attack at all. Just as the fight had gotten to its climax, an odd ripple had run through the room, causing everyone (and everything) to freeze. Mid attack, the enchanted objects were restored to human bodies, some recognized by townsmen as long since forgotten friends and relatives. Amongst the chaos, a disheveled Belle and unknown young man entered from above, causing the transformed individuals to bow. Whispers danced through the crowd, answering nothing and adding to the confusion. Lefou pushed his way to the staircase where the two stood conversing, flanked by a former candlestick, clock, and teapot.
"But Master! What 'appened?" The candlestick was pressing the man for details, while the clock bustled about trying to control the situation. The teapot, beaming at Belle's side, held the woman's arm crooked in her own and cooed her pleasure. Managing to brush past the clock, Lefou stood flustered before Belle.
She noticed him almost immediately. A waterfall of emotions fell across her pretty face: surprise, uncertainty, fear, and, most of all, sadness. Pulling her arm from the grip of the teapot and giving the young man a knowing glance, she pulled him away from the gradually growing crowd surrounding the initial group. Taking him to a window suddenly brightened by an exuberant sky, she took a breath and gave him the grave news: Gaston was dead.
The search was started almost immediately, while the complicated story of the lost prince and his curse was explained to the shocked town. Lefou refused to wait around to hear it; his focus was Gaston, finding him whether dead or alive, and deciding what to do next. It took days, but the search was eventually brought to an end. Now, standing at his nearly unmarked grave, Lefou was at a loss. His life had revolved around Gaston; without him, Lefou was uncertain of his purpose.
As he stood solemnly contemplating his fate, he heard someone behind him clear his throat. Turning, he acknowledged one of the prince's servants. "Monsieur Lefou?" he said with a bow. "His Highness requests your presence." Sighing, Lefou stepped to Gaston's grave, pulling a ring off his index finger and placing it atop the cross. It had Gaston's family seal on it, a gift he'd received from his mother and discarded, thoughtlessly giving it to Lefou. He'd treasured it as the only gift from his friend, a rare thing from someone so unwilling to part with his goods. Lefou straightened and followed the servant back into town, where a simple carriage awaited them. It led them down the twisting, slightly treacherous path to the formerly derelict castle, now brightened by the lifting of the spell. As they travelled, the servant attempted to make conversation.
"So, Monsieur Lefou," he said as the carriage rattled its way through the woods, "you were a member of the attack party, yes?"
Lefou nodded, gazing sightlessly out the window. "Yes. Gaston had me collect the weapons." Curious despite himself, he turned to face the man. "Were you there as well?"
The servant smiled grimly. "I was, as one of various saucers. It's unfortunate that the situation became what it did. Master…" He stopped, frowning slightly and looking down. "The prince lost control of everything when Mademoiselle Belle left. Your friend…the leader of your group…he is dead?"
Lefou's face turned blank as he turned back to the window. "Yes," he replied dully as they drew up to the castle's gate. "He was killed fighting your prince." The other man was silent as the carriage slowed to a stop at the castle entrance. A footman opened the door, allowing Lefou and the servant to step down and into the entranceway where they had battled a week before. The clock turned man stood anxiously nearby, ordering multitudes of former appliances and furniture around the ballroom. Noticing Lefou, he bristled forward and bowed reluctantly, mouth straight in a disapproving line.
"Ah, good, Master Lefou, you've arrived. I'll inform His Highness immediately. Lumiere?" The gangly candlestick bounded forward with an "Ah! Cogsworth! Our guest 'as arrived, no?" Beaming at Lefou, he broke into a torrent of French, pulling him away from the clock and the servant and up the broad staircase. They darted past numerous servants cleaning and organizing the castle, preparing for the upcoming festivities of Belle's wedding to the prince. As he watched the frenzy, Lefou's mind drifted back to her almost wedding with Gaston, mere months before. That day had been doomed from the start, Lefou knew, but as always, he went along with everything Gaston wanted…
He was forced back to the present by the active pounding on a large door by the candlestick. Instantly it was pushed open by a small boy he recognized as a teacup and his mother, the teapot. She beamed when she saw Lefou, a hint of pity behind her aged eyes. "Master Lefou! Welcome, welcome, my dear! His Highness and Belle have been expecting you." Taking him by the arm, she led him into a small study with the largest fireplace he'd ever seen. It crackled peacefully for its master, the young man Lefou had learned was the mysterious lost prince. He sat in a comfortable chair before the fire, absentmindedly scratching the ears of a scruffy dog that sat on the floor by his side, tail contentedly wagging. His free hand stroked his chin as he thoughtfully studied nothing. The teapot stopped Lefou abruptly, turning to whisper to him hurriedly, "His Highness has been so anxious for this meeting, you see, dearie. It's had him worried for days." Shaking her head sadly, she announced loudly, "Your Highness, Master Lefou has arrived. Should I send for tea?"
The prince lifted his head slowly, turning to blink, startled, at Lefou and the teapot. He rose quickly to his feet, coming to meet Lefou with a grim smile on his face. "Tea would be wonderful, Mrs. Potts," he said, placing a hand on Lefou's shoulder and guiding him to the fire. "Please, sit down." The prince gestured to the chair he had vacated, choosing to lean against the fireplace instead. Lefou sat and gripped the arms of the chair nervously.
"Monsieur Lefou," the prince began, looking Lefou straight in the eyes. "Allow me to begin by saying how sorry I am about your friend, Monsieur Gaston."
Lefou's expression hardened as he glared at the fire. "You killed him."
The room was silent for a moment, except for the sounds of the dancing fire. "I did," the prince said quietly. "I did what I could to avoid it. I'm sorry if it disturbs you to hear, Monsieur Lefou, but Gaston caused the situation to be inevitable. Without his provocation, the whole thing might have been avoided."
Lefou raised his head to stare daggers at the prince. "Gaston was trying to protect the town, and Belle!" he yelled, pulling himself to his feet. "If you hadn't taken her captive, he wouldn't have had to act as he did! This is your doing, prince – don't you dare place the blame on those who acted to protect the good of the people!"
"I have failed my people as a prince, that is true." The prince's steel edge glance cut through Lefou. "I spent years in seclusion here, attempting to hide from my problems and my duties. But I am trying to make good on the situation, Monsieur Lefou. I asked you here today to make things right, not to debate who was right or wrong in an event that we cannot change. Gaston is dead; I am sorry it ended that way, but I can do nothing about it other than try to better today. I do not wish to place blame – I think that, once you have calmed, you will see that everyone was equally at fault. Gaston, although acting for the safety of the village, was rash in attacking my castle. I was foolish to sulk here alone for years instead of trying to make the best of the situation, while continuing to do my job as a ruler. I sense you are an intelligent individual, regardless of the façade you place over yourself for others to see. You could have stopped him, Lefou. You could have prevented the attack that killed Gaston and my servants."
Lefou had been standing, fists clenched, before the fire. He raised his head with a jolt at the prince's last statement, a flash of surprise in the man's eyes. "Your servants?" he asked quietly, his face questioning. "You lost servants in the fight?"
The prince looked away, hidden from the glow of the fire. "I did," he replied, a catch in his throat. "Servants, who stayed by my side throughout the ordeal not only because they were enchanted but because they cared for me, dealing with their condition as best as they could while still striving to serve me, undeserving as I was." He lifted his gaze to stare hard at Lefou. "You, sir, are not the only one who lost friends." He strode to the chair and sat, hands running through his hair. The two men remained still and silent, until the teapot returned. Sensing the mood, she placed the tea tray on a table by the door and left, barely making a sound. Her entrance and exit broke their silence, however unnoticed she may have been. The prince was the first to stir.
"I asked you here, Monsieur Lefou, to make amends. You were part of the attack on my home – you ought to be punished for treason. Gaston was the leader of the incident, and you were his second in command. You destroyed my home, killed my men, and attempted to take my future wife from me. You should have been arrested and brought to me in chains…which is why I asked you to come to offer you a place in my castle."
Lefou, who had been staring stoically at the ground, slowly raised his head to stare dumbfounded at the prince. "A place in the castle?" he asked incredulously. "But…I ought to be hanged! You nearly said so yourself!"
The prince stood and stepped to place a hand on Lefou's shoulder. "That is what the old prince would have done, the prince before the beast. I vowed to myself that if I could break the spell, I would change for the better. That change means helping my people improve, rather than punishing them or locking them away. After the deaths of many of my servants, I find myself in need of new help. I asked you here to offer you a position in my staff. There's kitchen work, the grounds, butlers, menservants…I leave the choice to you. Whether or not you choose to be employed by me, I intend to do everything in my power to help you move on." His voice lowered, and he gave Lefou's shoulder a squeeze. "I am sorry about your friend. If I could have changed what happened…but I cannot. I can only do what I can to help you mourn and continue to live. Gaston is gone, and from what I have been told, you two were very close. Please, Lefou…let me help. I cannot forgive myself until I have made this right."
Lefou was silent, studying the pleading eyes of the prince and considering what was said. A job in the castle…a way to move on…Lefou was unsure. His emotions battled one another – anger at the prince and grief at the loss of his friend, hope for a purpose and need for a change. He found himself liking the prince, against his better judgment, for his persistence in doing Lefou good. He was obviously loved and respected by his people, who remained in his service even after their spell was lifted. Belle, a pillar of wisdom in Lefou's eyes, respected and loved him even when he was at his worst. His mind drifted back to the offer of service, and the reasons given for his choice. He hoped for a chance to change, and was allowing Lefou to be the means for his change, an honor Lefou was unused to. To be respected himself, and no longer keep the form of mindless lackey…that prospect touched him most of all.
"Your Highness," he began at last, straight-backed, "your offer astounds me, I will admit. I am undeserving of your kindness. Believe me when I give you my thanks for such a chance, for both a means of moving on as well as an opportunity to have a new life, one far more like that which I deserve. I know what I deserve…what I ought to say in response to what you lay before me. But that Lefou died with Gaston. I would be honored, Highness, to join your house, in whatever position you may see fit." He bowed deeply to the man, no longer the gangly minion of Gaston of most of his life. As he straightened, he glanced the prince's broad smile.
"Thank you, Lefou," he replied, returning his bow. "Thank you for your help. Your honor is equal only to mine." Pulling him to the door, he opened it and ushered Lefou through. "Now. On to business. Which position would you prefer?"
Lefou stood in the prince's livery beside a window, observing the festivities of the ball. Belle looked radiant, happier than Gaston ever could have made her. The prince thrived off her joy, whisking her through the room as if the two were alone, dancing as they once had as woman and beast. Cogsworth stood nearby, as did Lumiere and Mrs. Potts. While the teapot and candlestick had taken to his surprising new position as second in command to the lower servants, the clock had been indignant at best. "But sir!" he heard the man cry when the three were alone with the prince. "He was second in command during that brutish attack! He helped that odious man breach the castle walls!"
The prince had smiled at the clock's outburst, grabbing the man's shoulder and giving him a half-hearted hug. "That he did, Cogsworth, and who better to be my redeemer?"
As Lefou watched the prince and Belle spin, preparing to rush off and take care of the prince's guests, he smiled. Redeemer, he thought, savoring the prince's words. How Gaston would scoff. Shaking his head, a linger of a grin still on his mouth, he returned to the men who awaited him.
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