For a long time I've been wanting to write a "The Beauty and the Beast" AU for FrUk, so I tried my hand at it for the 2nd day of the FrUk Spring Festival, which unfortunately is the only day I'll be participating because… As always, I found myself unable to do a oneshot, and this kind of became way bigger than I thought it would, and while the first chapter is meant to be for the Festival, the next two ones will not be.
This is the first piece I post online, so I'd love to hear what you think. Constructive criticism over the characterizations and my writing style is most welcome. ;)
(Also, my first language is not English, so I'd appreciate any corrections on my grammar and spelling as well.)
Some other notes: I changed France's name to "François" for this one, because it sounded more french, specially because of the time setting (I'm really sorry, please don't kill me). Also, Genevieve is Seychelles, and François' father is just a necessary (nameless) OC, so he represents no nation.
...And ugh I admit I didn't do enough historical research for this, just roll with it.
Once upon a time, neither here nor elsewhere, there lived a young nobleman who was put in charge of his father's land too early for his own good. However, he did his best to be fair and just, if not good and kind.
But the nobleman's ambition became bigger and bigger as the years passed, until it froze his heart, making it as hard and cold as stone. And though his temper was fiery, it did not warm his cold heart, just pushed those who were once closest to the man farther away, until there was no one left.
And then, all alone, the once a man became a monster, cursed by the same people he once swore to protect.
François' grandmother was quite fond of tales, especially if it held a lesson.
The story of the cursed man was a favorite of hers, and although the beginning was always the same, the middle and end changed depending on her always wavering mood. Sometimes a beautiful maiden broke the beast's curse with her undying love—those were the good days, when no moral lesson was needed. Sometimes the beast was stabbed to death for being "ill-mannered", as Grand-mère said, or remained cursed forevermore—those days, as expected, were not as good.
Grand-mère had passed away a good ten years ago, and it had been longer since they heard that story, but somehow, it had stuck with him. Maybe it was because Grand-mère always started her story with conviction in her voice, as if she truly believe her story was true. Maybe she did.
François, on the other hand, had never felt much inclined to believe in fairy tales. But he was starting to change his mind on such matters as he watched the imposing wrought iron gates opened all by themselves as if by magic.
"Please, let us through, we need shelter for the night!" He'd pleaded a few seconds ago, and apparently, the gates granted his wish.
If he was to be honest, he now wished they didn't.
Riding beside him, his cousin Genevieve seemed as stunned as he was. By his other side, his father swayed unconscious on his horse.
It had been a rough day for the travelers: they lost their carriage and money to an attack of road bandits—highwaymen—and were lucky to not have lost their lives. The bandits had seemed apprehensive to be around as the night fell and, as François heard the howling of wolves in the distance, he understood why.
He had dislocated his shoulder when their carriage tumbled to its side and he felt the sting of a cut on his forehead. Genevieve had fallen on top of him, so she was not hurt, but his father had not been as lucky: either by nerves or a strike on the head, he'd fainted.
François walked on foot, guiding Genevieve's and his father's horses until they'd seen the gates and were given passage through them.
Now, in the dim light, it was hard to see, but it looked like they were in extensive garden. Ahead there was light, and that was where they headed to. The garden gave way to a large courtyard, a badly tended one, with grass sprouting from between darkened stones. From there they could see what was either a huge country house or a small palace.
The old-fashioned architecture made François believe it had been built three-hundred years ago.
Above, in the single lit window of the last floor, a shadow watched them approach, only to retreat right away. François wondered if that was their host.
Beside the house, they found a solid barn, where they put their horses. Genevieve then helped François pull his unconscious father along into the house through the service entrance.
Once again the door opened and closed by itself, but François did his best to ignore it in favour of a roof on top of their heads and a warm place to rest.
Unexpectedly, the fireplace in the kitchen was lit and the table was set with food and wine, all of it smelled divine.
"Hello?" Genevieve called out, but no one answered.
François yelped when someone—something—pulling on his coat, taking it off. He winced in pain, and clutched his left arm. "What…?" he asked in wonder as the coat levitated by itself and disappeared.
He had been also relieved from his father's weight as the invisible forces levitated the old man until he was laying on air as if it was a litter. An invisible litter that, seconds later, started moving, taking the old man towards the door.
"Wait! Where are you taking him?" François lunged forward, but invisible hands held him back, luckily by his good arm, and guided him towards the table. And then, standing beside the table, both him and Genevieve were made to sit at their respective chairs, and their plates spontaneously filled themselves with food.
"I'm scared," Genevieve whispered, picking a bread and nibbling on it half-heartedly.
"Don't worry," François whispered back. "I don't think they mean us any ha-aaAH!" His sentence ended in a scream when the invisible hands prodding him suddenly put his dislocated shoulder once again to its place. "Ouch," he whined as a cloth appeared from thin air was then tied to his neck so as to suspend his arm.
Genevieve let out a giggle. "Yes, indeed they seem to know what they are doing."
Next they tended to his broken nose, putting it into place—which elicited new screams from François—and the gash in his forehead, cleaning all the blood off his face afterwards. He hadn't realised how all of those hurt until now, and wanted nothing but to sleep in a warm bed.
François and Genevieve were left alone to eat then, and Genevieve seemed them put at ease.
After they were finished, the invisible hands were there once again to guide through a maze of corridors, and soon they were out of the servants area and into a much more refined wing of the mansion.
They stopped in a particular corridor and two different doors opened. Genevieve only had time to wave him goodnight before she was gently pushed towards her bedroom and François to his.
The bed in the middle of the room was large and seemed soft. François wanted nothing more than to lay down on it.
After the invisible hands helped him change to a nightgown, he laid down and pulled the comforter to his chin, falling asleep.
The next morning, François found his father and Genevieve in the dining room, where they were having breakfast.
He half-expected their host to be among them, but the head of the table where the master of the house was expected to sit was empty.
"Good morning," he greeted the others as he sat. "How do you feel, papa?"
The old man grumbled something under his breath. His head was bandaged and he seemed in a bad mood.
"He's terrified of the invisible servants." Genevieve giggled.
"So should you be!" he exclaimed, watching wary as his cup refilled itself. "I do not wish to stay in this cursed house a minute longer than necessary! We are leaving as soon as we have finished breakfast!"
"Of course," François agreed, trying to appease the old man. "We shall not abuse of our host's kindness."
After they were done, François asked the servants to lead them to their horses, and so they did. Once again they were taken through a maze of corridors until they were not at the service entrance through where they'd come in, but in the main entrance hall instead.
The main doors were large and solid, but they opened with ease for them.
Outside, François heard Genevieve gasp and, as he followed her gaze, he felt amazed as well. The garden that the night before had seemed dark and dreadful was now bright green, with adorning fountains and sculptures punctuating the greenery here and there. Beautiful roses, red and white, blossomed everywhere. They looked like someone spent an awful lot amount of time taking care of them.
He lowered his gaze to the horses standing right before the stairs that lead to the portico they stood at. They were already saddled and each carried a bag which, François found upon further inspection, were filled with provisions for their travel and gold.
"Thank you," he said to the servants. Then he remembered the person lurking in the window the night before, half wondering if their host was, indeed, a phantom. "Can't you take us to your master so that we can thank him as well?"
No answer came from the servants, no nudge or push or pull, so he guessed the answer was "no".
He helped his father and Genevieve to mount their horses as much as he could with his injured arm, and then proceeded by foot, guiding the horses, holding their reins.
As they carried on between the flowers, Genevieve sighed: "They are truly beautiful, aren't they?"
François agreed and, without thinking twice, he plucked a white rose for its bush and placed it on her hair, the whiteness contrasting beautifully with her dark hair and skin.
From further ahead came the sound of a furious animal. A beast jumped over the tall bushes and stood before them.
"A demon!" François father whispered, terrified.
There was no lie in that. The beast looked half human, half lion. His eyes, far apart from one another, and his nose, feline in its nature, seemed unnatural on his hairless face. His mouth, though human, was stretched wide to accommodate his fangs. From above his human ears, sprout huge horns proper of a wild animal.
He was hideous.
"I give you shelter, food, and warm beds. I made it so that your injuries were treated and your horses taken care of. And yet you insult me, and you steal from me."
"It is just a rose," François said, and rage bristled from behind the beast's eyes. He lunged towards François and held him up by his throat.
"It is a rose I did not give out of free will. You. Stole. It." And with each word the beast increased the strength in his hold, until François started feeling dizzy and faint, his feet barely touching the ground.
"Please forgive us!" Genevieve pleaded, tears streamed down her face. "We will do whatever you wish us to, so please, let him go!"
The beast seemed to think of the matter for a single moment and then let go of François, who fell to the ground with a loud "thunk", coughing and gasping and cradling his neck. The beast turned to the crying girl. "Very well, I will accept your offer. In exchange for the stolen rose, you, its bearer, shall stay here."
At that, François turned to Genevieve, whose eyes were wide in terror, her mouth slack. He jumped between her and the beast, feeling slightly ashamed to be gasping for air and holding onto his bruised throat.
"No, take me, the one who stole your rose, instead. I should be the one to pay for my transgression."
The beast did not look happy at that proposal. But then again, it did not look like there was much that could make such a creature "happy".
After what seemed like a whole minute, the beast nodded and growled: "So be it."
At that, he raised his hand in a violent move towards the gates, which opened, and the horses took off, taking Genevieve and François' father along with them. The last thing he saw before the gates closed once again was Genevieve's terror stricken face looking back at him as she held onto her horse for dear life.
François turned to the beast, his hands closed into fits by his sides, his eyes burning in anger. "You did not even let me say goodbye, you bastard!" And at that, he lunged towards the beast.
With the element of surprise, he managed to get the beast to the ground, where they rolled and kicked and punched each other. But while the beast had had the disadvantage of being taken by surprise, François had a injured arm against him. Soon, he was pinned down to the floor by the beast and was wincing and clutching his arm.
"You did not even let me say goodbye," he said again, but now his voice lacked its fire, and there was only pain.
The beast seemed to deflate at that, his anger leaving his demeanor. He got up and away, and gave time for François get to his feet.
"I made it so that while they have that rose they will not get lost, and the horses will take them to the nearest village unharmed," he said, in manner of apology. But François did not feel like forgiving or thanking. He turned away and retreated towards the mansion without exchanging a single glance with the beast.
After a minute he heard the beast's careful steps behind him and he closed his eyes, trying to control his anger. His arm stung from their hurried scuffle. He wanted to yell and instead he said nothing.
By the time they'd gotten to the entrance, the beast had caught up with him and passed him by. He turned his beastly face towards François. There was a slight cut in his lip and his chin was bruised. François felt irrationally satisfied at that.
"Follow me. I will show you your room," he said. His French sounded unusual, François realized, heavy with what he supposed was an English accent, posh and aristocratic in its own manner.
"Why can't I stay in the same room as of yesterday?" he asked.
"Those rooms are made for guest, and you are not one of those anymore. You will be living here, and therefore you need your own room."
François shuddered. You will be living here , the beast said. The realization of everything he'd lost hit him in full force once again: his family, his friends, his freedom, he would not have any of those again.
Before the bandit attack, he and his family were traveling north to meet the fiancèe his father had arranged him. As much as he hated the idea of a loveless marriage, he couldn't thank the beast from saving him from such fate, for he hated the idea of being trapped just as much. No matter how stunning the mansion could be, with its extensive gardens and breathtaking fountains and countless rooms, a gilded cage was still a cage.
"What should I call you?" the beast asked, still guiding François through the corridors.
"My name is François Bonnefoi."
The beast nodded. He seemed to think for a while before saying:
"It has now dawned on me that I haven't properly introduced myself, which must have seemed rude. Forgive me."
"Well, you do realise that, after you nearly strangled me to death, your lack of manners is hardly surprising, nor is it something I am willing to forgive.
François half expected the beast to try to kill him once again, but held his ground, eyeing his host defiantly. The beast opened and closed his clawed hands and breathed deeply, as if trying to calm his nerves.
"I am Arthur Kirkland," he said, as if he'd never been interrupted. "Lord of this state and this house. You may address me as Lord Kirkland or Sire."
François wished to make a witty (and disrespectful) comeback, but held his tongue, and they kept quiet until they arrived to a closed door. Arthur—François refused to call him "Lord" or Sir anything—opened the door and said: "This will be your room. If you need anything, call the servants and they'll cater to your every need."
François tried to suppress his astonishment at the room. It was larger than the one he'd spent the previous night in, and finely decorated in dark blue. Across the door, there was a balcony that had view to the gardens and its roses.
"Supper will be served at Six, Monsieur Bonnefoi," Arthur said, still standing by the door. His accent made "monsieur" sound something like "mursee" which was slightly amusing. "The servants will guide you to the dining room when it's time. I will be expecting you, so do not delay. Until then, you are allowed to do what you wish with your time."
Nothing was amusing anymore to François in that moment. He pursed his lips and fisted his hands, angered at the sheer arrogance in the beast's voice. He wanted to reply, but Arthur had already left, closing the door behind him and leaving François alone with his angry thoughts.