Title: Vatel (Alternate Ending)
Fandom: Vatel (2000)
Disclaimer: Vatel is not mine, I am not making any money and do not mean to infringe upon anyone's rights.
A/N: The movie "Vatel" is about the legendary Master of Ceremonies, François Vatel, and the extravagant 3-day event he orchestrated for his boss the Prince de Condé to honor King Louis XIV in 1671 Chantilly, France. He falls in love with the king's newest mistress, the Lady Anne de Montausier. She loves him in return but they both realize that a meaningful relationship is not viable while they both live in the French court. This, among many other things, drives Vatel to kill himself on the last day of the King's visit.
I dearly love this movie and though it breaks my heart, I couldn't help but write an alternate ending for it. If there are any fellow fans of this movie out there, I hope you enjoy this fanfic.
He did not know what to think when he turned to find Montausier folded into a chair in his own room. He felt suddenly conscious of the mess his personal living space had become due to the frenetic nature of the past few days, let alone the past three months he spent planning the events for the king's visit. He forced himself to put that out of mind as she gazed at him with her ethereally grey eyes, full of uncertainty.
He became aware of how the palm of his hand that was clutching the candlestick was beginning to sweat. He was always discomfited by how off-kilter he felt in her presence. Even now, when the signs in her eyes should have alerted him to her feelings—even now he doubted she could return his affections. That she was sitting there and had obviously been waiting for him to arrive was not enough to quell the anguish in his heart resulting from the events earlier in the day. Neither could it alleviate the pain that added up from every little injustice and debauched act he had seen since his days as an apprentice.
Suddenly, Vatel came back to himself and realized what danger she was in.
"If the king knew you were here—"
"The King is busy with Madame de Montespan," replied the fair-haired lady, "No one has seen me."
As he felt the significance of her whispered words, he feared for his heart. He had long believed himself quite immune to the charms of any of the women from court but Anne de Montausier had long dispelled that notion. It seemed his heart longed to escape his body so that it might always be in her serene presence. He moved closer to her where she sat beside the fire and placed the candlestick on the mantle. Kneeling slowly, he began to speak to her.
At last, the grief could no longer be held at bay and it poured out of him. The senior groom, a young man of only twenty eight, had been killed that evening in the attempt to save the fantastical performance for the king. He spared her the details of the gruesome death and instead told her of the boy's family. He was horrified to feel tears prick at his eyes so he turned toward the fireplace and hoped that she would not scorn his vulnerability as so many others would have likely done.
"You knew him well," said she, tenderly.
"He was one of my people."
"Then he was fortunate in that."
Vatel turned away again. He watched the embers dance in the hearth, wondering what she was about. He felt her eyes upon him and knew a sudden impulse to snatch her up in his arms and never let go, though he knew he must restrain himself. If he took such an action he'd be more likely frighten her. As if he were trying to capture her like one of her delicate canaries he might crush her in his grip. So he held himself in check even as her voice stirred in him such unfamiliar feelings. Vatel would take whatever she consented to give him and be grateful; her words were far better than he ever received from anyone.
In the periphery of his vision, he sensed her movement to kneel beside him. He could not help but look at her at this point. Why was she here with him? What did she mean to intrude in his room, in this place where he could enjoy a semblance of solitude after a hard day's work? Vatel knew a moment of brief resentment, not at her, but at his life; that even in this little hovel of a room he was not free. He would not be free of the memories of her with him here; he knew that his sleep, when he was fortunate enough to get any, would be plagued with his ferocious longing for her.
"What has happened to you?" Anne asked softly, raising her hand toward him.
He remained absolutely still as he felt the tender brush of her fingertips trace what was most likely going to be a bruise upon his neck. From there her hand moved to rest on his cheek. The firelight cast upon her skin a golden glow, he thought she rather looked like Venus with her golden curls and elegant face.
"There was a…scuffle in the gardens just now, Madame. I was checking the vegetables for tomorrow's meals when it occurred."
He saw her eyes flash.
"Lauzun," Anne surmised correctly. "Tell me, are you alright? What did they do to you?"
"They meant no harm," He lied in the face of her concern. He wanted to weep at her sincerity. That she might understand his life, that hers might be so similar to his own…What God would be so cruel as to provide him a soul mate so unattainable?
She brought her other hand up to caress his cheek. Neither of them spoke and in that moment he thought she could never be close enough to him.
"Monsieur Vatel…" Anne began hesitantly.
"Yes, Madame." He said with a small smile.
"Tell me…Tell me if I've been imagining things."
Suddenly his throat felt dry.
"I don't know what you mean Madame."
She made a little noise of frustration.
"I wish you would call me Anne," she broke off, though she kept her hands on either side of his face, "It has been only a few days but I…I—"
"Madame. Ma—Anne."
Vatel felt as though he ought to know what she meant to say, like there was a hidden meaning to her words but he was cautious to let himself believe in them.
"François, I have come to love you so." She said plainly, her voice breaking at the end of the sentence.
When shock prevented him from properly reacting, she removed her hands from him and moved away to stand up, believing that he meant to reject her but desired to be polite with her regardless. He saw her expression of pain and everything made sense. He let himself believe.
He raised himself to his full height, though still a little shorter than she, quickly clasping her slim hands in his own.
"Forgive me Anne."
Because he still did not assure her that he loved her in return, she believed that he was only being kind to her out of pity. She tried to escape his grip, but two tear drops already ran down her cheeks. He did the only thing he could think of to prove his feelings.
He pulled her close and when she stilled from shock, he placed his lips chastely over hers.
It was, perhaps, the single most perfect decision of his life. No dish prepared for any royal, no play, no opera, no exhibition he had ever executed had ever come close to this simple perfection. Her—Anne's arms twined around his shoulders, holding him tightly as their kiss deepened.
When they could bear to part, she kissed his cheeks, his nose, his forehead, his chin then back to his lips. Her fingers were tangled in his hair as she kissed him back. He felt dizzy with utter happiness, intoxicated by the glory of being loved by the woman he so adored. Looking at her, seeing her lips plump from his kisses, desire set his blood almost to boiling.
The journey to his bed was a flurry of limbs quickly moving to divest each other of their garments. He was acutely aware that he was no treasure, that his hands were thick and callused as he dared to caress her bare skin. He could not help but feel his stoutness next to her fragility, fearing he might crush her. She must have read his thoughts on his face, since she smiled her intimate smile and settled his hands upon her body where she wanted him. Amazingly, she welcomed his touch, arching when he found what delighted her the most. In her pleasure she clutched frantically at him and it was then that he surrendered himself to the idea that she loved him in every sense of the word.
In the depths of the night, they lay together. Her hand remained on his chest, she was nestled into his side. He wrapped an arm around her snugly; loathe to let her go when they had only just found each other. The warmth of her body was more than enough for him when the fire burned out hours ago. He himself felt spent, though renewed.
"We cannot stay here, my dear." She whispered, lifting her hand to caress his chest.
"You will have to return to your room before dawn," He acknowledged regretfully. "What shall we do when the king calls for you?"
It pained him to think about, though it was undoubtedly a reality. She was meant to be his and his alone, but he would be forced to give her up.
"No, François. Versailles, the court…It's no place for us. Is there somewhere we can go so that we can be just ourselves, instead of pretending? Always pretending," Her last two words were a sob.
Realization struck him. She wanted to run away with him.
"What do you want, my lady?" He asked earnestly, glancing at her upturned face. The moonlight that filtered through his window painted her as a fresh-faced Artemis with wildly curling hair.
"I…I want to be with you always. I want to devote the rest of my life to making you happy—to see you smile and know that I caused it. And I…" Anne looked away, unable to finish.
"What else?" He whispered, sweetly kissing her forehead.
"I want to bear your children."
The admission made his heart soar.
"Tell me that you mean it, Anne. I will not bear ill will toward you if you rethink this plan come morning."
"I mean it, I mean it with every fiber in my being. We'll live in a cottage somewhere the sun always shines and the trees sway in the breeze. It will be an honest life where the stains of this one cannot touch us. I'll give you a son so that you many teach him everything you know—"
"Or a daughter with your grace and kindness," He finished fervently.
In response, she laughed delightedly, joyfully. "It may be happening as we speak, my love."
He moved over her, meeting her where she leaned up to kiss him. It felt like drowning and he never wanted to be saved. Groaning quietly when her hands fitted him into her, he sought to please her again and again to erase the loneliness in her and in doing so erase his own. To think that not two days ago, he placed so much pride upon pleasing the Prince de Condé and King Louis through his artistry. Nothing could compare to this glory, this utter rightness. This was the meaning of true perfection.
Seeing the yearning in her face as he moved within her, knowing it was reflected in his own expression…Soon she was softly biting his shoulder to keep from crying out and alerting the entire chateau to her whereabouts so determined was he to see her reach her pleasure first. When she gasped and moaned his name aloud, his iron will snapped. He tried not to collapse on top of her but to his surprise she tightened her arms and legs about him so he could not move.
"I never want to be parted from you. You will have to chase me from your side." She joked breathlessly.
This drew from him a little laugh.
"Then it's a good thing that I will never desire you to be anywhere else."
"I have money from my estate, enough for us to leave anywhere we wish."
"We must wait for the king's visit to end, I cannot abandon my people and subject them to the Prince's wrath. He must first receive his commission. Then you and I can go to Le Havre or Calais and sail for England."
"…I shall await your word at my family's estate."
Vatel rolled to his side and waited as she readjusted her body to drape over his once more.
"When do you rise for the day, my love?"
"Just before the sun."
"I have to leave you before that, then."
He knew she was thinking of Lauzun and his bullies, or perhaps the threat of war with the Dutch by the haunted expression that passed over her face. These things and probably many more unknown as of yet, would undoubtedly hamper their journey.
They spoke no more, only laying together in comfortable silence.