Disclaimer: All characters belong to Disney.


Autumn had come to the village.

It was in those times of chilling wind that the tavern overflew with people.

The laughter of the villagers was as warming as the fire on the hearth. A small breeze made the flame flicker every time someone opened the entrance's door.

LeFou had his eyes fixed on the fire. His dinner laid in front of him, cold and as forgotten as the mug on his hand.

Behind him, a merry group raised their drinks and proposed a toast. They were led by Tom and Dick.

Their voices overcame all other chattering.

"Let's drink a health." Dick's slurred his words. LeFou knew he was close to lose consciousness in a drunken stupor. "For Prince Adam!"

Everyone in the tavern joined them, included LeFou.

He raised his mug, but he didn't turn around.

"And for his bel bride, Belle!" Added Tom. Some drops of his beer fell on LeFou's shoulders and on his dinner. He didn't mind; it had been hours since he had lost his appetite. "Did you hear that, Dicky? What a fine verse I just made! Guess my mother was right: underneath my rough exterior beats the heart of a poet."

"Then we'll also drink a health for you, Thomas. Our poete de poetes, our own Provincial French Shakespeare!"

"Don't say that name! It brings back bad memories, filled with of endless classes and angry teachers slapping me in the head. Dick, you summoned memories that should have remained forgotten! Thou art a villain!"

"What was that? Speak normally or I'll beat you."

"I'll beat you iambically, you scut!"

The next LeFou heard was Dick's breathless gasp when Tom tackled him. They bumped on the floor. A small circle of people formed around them, laughing at their bumbling fighting. Those not interested in their antics returned to their former conversations.

Between those two possibilities, LeFou was somewhere in the middle.

It was impossible for him to ignore the chaos when the fight was happening right behind his back, but he had little interest in joining the other villagers in their talking.

Instead, he continued to look at the fire. The heat was starting to sting his eyes, and the floating ashes made his nose watery.

The flame flickered again.

LeFou felt a cold and fleeting wind caressing his cheek.

It was in that moment that a memory flashed before his eyes.

It wasn't a peaceful reminiscence, but a sudden image that felt as if it had been branded on his mind.

For a moment, it was a clear vision, but the second after, it was harder to recall than a dream.

All it left behind was a splitting headache and a blazing pain on LeFou's stomach.

He bit his lip, trying to keep his discomfort as private as possible.

It burned, as if a chunk of the firing logs had landed on his clothes and seared his skin.

At first, LeFou thought a naughty dog of some villager had bit him and drew blood, but when he put his hand on what he thought was a fresh wound, right above his navel, he found his clothes untouched and dry.

It was nothing, just a trick from his imagination.

He stared at his hand, relieved but confused.

Had he really imagined it all?

It was likely.

After all, he had been staring at the fire for a while, and everybody knew it gave the gazer all kind of hallucinations if he looked at it long enough.

It was a convenient explanation, but it was not satisfactory.

A little frustrated, LeFou sighed and searched his pockets for the money to pay his unfinished dinner.

Maybe a good night of sleep was all he needed.

At first, he believed it; then, he felt a new memory charging at his mind, with the same strength Tom had tackled Dick.

LeFou closed his eyes, and braced for the upcoming impact.

Rest alone, it seemed, wasn't going to be enough to stop the flow of broken visions.

"You are looking broody tonight. Would a drink improve your mood, monsieur?"

A gentle slap in the back of his head erased the traces of the memory about to hit his mind.

He opened his eyes and looked at the man.

They smiled at each other.

The newcomer sat next to him.

"Though I must say, I almost don't want you to lose that serious gaze. It looks good on you."

LeFou scoffed playfully at that statement.

"So my appearance is what you like the most about me? Just think of how disappointed the Enchantress would be if she saw how easily you forgot the lesson she taught us, Stanley."

"Ah, a jest! There's the LeFou I know. And I didn't even have to invite you a drink to improve your mood." Stanley grinned. "That's fortunate, because what I have in charm, I lack in coin. Looks like the drinks are on you again."

"You are as charming as ever." LeFou rolled his eyes and took a sip from his drink.

"You know it." Stanley shrugged. He got closer to LeFou. "You know me well, don't you?"

"Maybe more than I should, but not as much as I'd like." LeFou felt his cheeks blaze, and knew it wasn't because of the fire.

"Time will fix that." Stanley whispered on his ear. "But before it does, there's something I've been wishing to ask you. It's of utter importance."

LeFou's heart thumped in his chest.

"What is it?"

Stanley got closer and lowered his voice. His lips almost kissed LeFou's ear.

He drew breath and transformed it into words.

"My dear Monsieur." His voice was velvet. "Are you going to eat that?"

Stanley kept laughing even after LeFou pushed him away with faked annoyance.

"That look on your face? Priceless." Stanley said as he nibbled at LeFou's cold dinner. "Come on, don't get mad. I can still sweet talk you in the ear after I finish eating. All night long, if you wish."

"Keep talking while you're eating and you'll-" Before LeFou could finish his sentence, Stanley had a coughing fit. LeFou put a hand on his back and offered him what was left of his drink. "Precisely this. Easy now, just take deep breaths."

"Yes. Thank you, mother." Stanley said amidst gasps.

"The comparison flatters me, but I think it's very insulting to your innocent mother, Stan."

"Of course not! Any person who gets compared to you should be flattered." Said Stanley, wiping his tears with his sleeve. He turned around on his seat and pointed at the two men lying on the floor. "If I was comparing her to Tom or Dick, however…. Now, that would be a very different story. Am I right, old friends?"

"Oh, shut up, Stan." Dick growled as he gave Stanley a dismissive wave of his hand.

"Yes, shut up." Echoed Tom. "Though I must say, I can compare your mother to a summer's day; hot, really hot. Hotter than hot. Did I already say hot? Well, hot again, in case it wasn't clear."

Stanley got up and stomped to Tom's side. He grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, and shook him over and over, demanding him to apologize to his dear mother, who had left this world years ago.

Dick would have joined in, but he was already snoring loudly next to his friends.

They earned the smiles of some of the villagers, LeFou included.

He turned around on his seat, finally giving his back to the fire.

Soon, he was laughing too.

It was the first time that night that he felt one among the folk. The self-imposed isolation that had loomed over him before Stanley had arrived now seemed foolish and unnecessary.

The comfort lasted long enough for LeFou to regain some of his usual mirth, but it faded when his eyes noticed an image on the tavern's roof.

It honored those fallen in the war.

LeFou's heart sunk to his feet.

Had it always been a memorial of those who had died? Or had it, at some point, been something else?

Something less selfless and more self-centered.

A selfish monument for a selfish man.

A man he…

Then it faded.

LeFou was no longer laughing, and before he realized, an invisible wall separated him from the rest.

A part of him knew he would remain that way unless he remembered what he couldn't recall.

But how could he?

He didn't know.

He looked at the fire again. The flame was gone.


LeFou waited for Stanley outside Tom's house. After the angry lecture Dick's wife had given him and Stanley about getting drunk in weekdays, LeFou had no wish of dealing with another upset spouse.

He folded his arms and yawned, with his back against a wall.

Once Stanley returned, he looked tired but amused.

Apparently, Tom's wife had taken his husband antics with more humor. Both she and Stanley had laughed at Tom's attempt to calm his wife's temper by reciting a poem of his own invention.

"For a second, I thought he was going to throw up on us. It would have been the most eloquent thing to come out of his mouth this night, don't you think?" Stanley said to LeFou as they walked side by side. "LeFou?"

"Huh?" LeFou hesitated. He nodded, not sure of the question he was answering. "Y-yes, of course."

Stanley stopped and stared at LeFou.

At first, LeFou thought he would be angry at him for his uncaring conversation.

The moonlight made it difficult for him to decipher Stanley's expression, but when LeFou observed it with more caution, he saw only concern.

"What's wrong?" Stanley asked. "And don't say nothing, because we know that isn't true."

LeFou closed his mouth, regretting Stanley had stolen the word before he had the chance to say it.

"Are you not feeling well? We could go to the doctor. Don't worry about the money, I have enough to pay for it."

"But I thought you said you were lacking coin."

"I was just joking. I thought you'd realized that by now. What? You didn't think the tavern owner would let us go without paying just because we are so charming and handsome, did you?"

Until now, LeFou hadn't noticed how carelessly he had walked out of the tavern without paying. Had Stanley not been there, he would be spending the night in the town's cell as punishment.

He hadn't done it out of greed or lack of money.

It simply didn't come to his mind.

"I'm sorry."

"Forget about it." Stanley insisted. "So, what troubles you? You know you can tell me."

"That I know."

"Well?"

LeFou bit his tongue, unsure of what to say, even less how to say it.

Stanley understood his silence as a reluctance to talk.

He was about to assure LeFou they could discuss it at another time, but then, LeFou finally decided to speak.

"I've been having these weirds memories lately." LeFou put a finger on his temple. "But I'm not sure if I can call them that. I'm not even sure if they are really memories."

"Memories that aren't memories?" Stanley folded his arms and tilted his head.

"Maybe, I don't know. At times, they feel real, but they also seem as if I had made them up. I don't know how to put it." LeFou sighed and looked at Stanley. "Or how to prove if they are real or not."

"I see." To say that Stanley was puzzled would be an understatement.

"Stan, don't you ever feel as if we have forgotten someone?"

"Like who exactly?"

"I'm not sure, but he was important."

"To the village?"

"Yes."

But to me above everyone else.

LeFou managed to keep those words unsaid, and they left a bitter sensation on his throat as he swallowed them.

"I don't know. I'm not sure what you're talking about." Stanley confessed as he made a visible effort to make sense of what LeFou said. "Well, now that you mention it, Tom, Dick and I used to hang out with this man… Walter was his name! People around here held him in high esteem, but one day he went to the woods to hunt alone, and he never came back. Strange that I should think of him now, when I hadn't done so in years. Could he be the one you are talking about?"

"No!" LeFou exclaimed. "The person I'm talking about wasn't just a hunter. He was a hero! He's the one who did this to me!"

LeFou lifted his shirt. It had been long since the last time he had remembered the origin of the scar on his stomach.

But the image of the responsible was a silhouette without a face.

"Whoa." Stan inspected the wound with the seriousness of a guard. Once he was finished, he patted it. "Nice belly."

"Stan, I'm serious!"

"What makes you think I'm not?"

"Forget it." LeFou put his shirt back on its place and began to walk down the street. "I'll forget about it in the morning too, so why bother?"

Stanley blocked his way. He stood under the starlight and spoke quietly.

"Alright, you've been honest with me, so now I'll be honest with you." He put his hands one LeFou's shoulders. "I don't understand a word of what you just said. If the others hear you, I'm sure they'd throw you into the asylum right away. That or they'll put you in a cell for drinking too much beer in one night."

"Thanks for the uplifting scenarios." LeFou said, exasperated and tired.

"What I mean is that I don't understand you, but I believe you!" Stanley exclaimed out of a sudden. "And I don't know how, but I'll help you solve all this mess with the memories that aren't memories, or I-don't-know-what!"

"Stanley…"

"I have no idea about what we can do, but we'll find a solution along the way, alright?!"

"Yes!"

"Good!"

"Wait, why are we yelling?!"

"Because I feel smarter if I talk this way!"

"It…it actually works!"

"I know!"

An old lady emerged from the window of a house's second floor. She held a bucket on her hands, and promised to empty it on Lefou's and Stanley's heads if they didn't stop their uproar.

"I'm sorry, but this conversation is private!" Stanley yelled at her. "Do you mind?!"

It was only because of LeFou's intervention that the water splashed on the floor rather than on Stanley. They both ran away before other angry villagers decided to show what they thought of their shouting in more aggressive ways.

"These people are always getting their noses in other's people business, I swear." Said Stanley once they stopped running. They had reached his home, a humble lodging with signs of tear and wear. "There's no room for privacy in such a little town."

"That's true, especially when it comes to people as subtle as you, dear Stan." LeFou was starting to catch his breath.

"Precisely." Stanley agreed. His smile froze on his lips, and it disappeared as quickly as it had appeared. "You were being sarcastic."

"Who? Me? With you? Never." Said LeFou, acting as if the accusation offended him.

"At least you're back to a merrier mood. Though I wish that the dear part wasn't part of the mockery. Ow, my heart."

LeFou laughed under his breath.

"I'll let you decide the answer."

After biding goodbye, LeFou decided to go to his own home. He hadn't taken three steps when he felt Stanley's hand on his.

"Won't you stay?" He asked.

Though the question had come without a warning, it didn't feel unwelcome.

For an instant, LeFou felt a 'yes' on the tip of his tongue. He would have said it, but his head stung again.

He knew what would follow, and didn't want to worry Stanley further that night. Hiding his pain under the pretense of being tired, he declined the invitation and went on his way before Stanley had the chance to reply.

It was a clunky farewell, but LeFou knew he had done the best he could.

Soon, he was at doorstep of Belle's former home.

Now that she and her father lived in the castle, and after LeFou had settled on the village after Stanley's endless insistence, Belle had allowed him to use her home as if it was his own.

It would only be temporary. LeFou had no wish to abuse such an undeserved generosity. Had he been in her place, he often wondered if he would have forgiven himself as quickly as Belle had.

It was a common thought, but it wasn't one LeFou liked to ponder about for long. He already knew the answer, and it made him uncomfortable.

Stanley, almost daily, suggested him to move in with him. His home, as he put it, was no palace, but it was a good place to live once you got accustomed to its flaws, like the creaking windows at night, and the occasional rat that could be found in the cupboard at least once a month.

The flaws could have been more numerous and worse, and yet, they wouldn't be the reason of why LeFou couldn't bring himself to accept the offer.

The more he thought about it, the more he realized he couldn't pinpoint the real reason. In a way, it was just like the fading memories: he knew it rested on his mind, but he couldn't make sense out of it.

He wished he could, but he didn't know how.

Ignorance, LeFou was starting to realize, wasn't as blissful as the common saying claimed.

He entered the house, didn't light any of the candles, and went directly towards the bed. His head beat harder than his heart, but the surrounding darkness prevented it from getting worse.

He dropped flat on the bed without taking any of his clothes off, not even his shoes. He laid on his back, waiting for sleep to take over him before the memory would.

The last thing he heard before his mind drifted from reality was the distant howling of a pack of wolves.

The same wolves that would have devoured Maurice if he had gotten away with his plan. A plan LeFou had allowed to happen.

Once again, shame poked at his heart.

He had already apologized, and he had already been forgiven. But it wasn't enough, not for him. Tomorrow the prince, Belle, Maurice, and many others of the palace's staff would come to visit the townsfolk.

Maybe then LeFou could explain his actions again.

He could tell them he had only acted that way because of him.

Him whom was like no other LeFou had ever known.

Him whom did things in a manner no one else could.

Him whose name LeFou's had once known, but could no longer recall.

In his dreams, unknowingly, he said it out loud.

The name died in the air, and once LeFou woke up, it would be gone and forgotten.

In the meantime, LeFou had dreams of his own, and they were of wolves hunting in a snowy forest.