A/N: Finally! The second chappie is UP! YES! It's kinda short—3½ pages—but I like it. I was disheartened when my computer deleted it, but I typed it up, and I think it's better. . Enjoy. And Rowenhoodit is supposed to be a retelling of Beauty and the Beast. Sorry if I didn't make that clear...
Break
Freira was in tears as Calix carefully wrapped her index and middle fingers, which had, indeed, been broken near the top joint by the beast. "Don't go, Cal," she begged. "Please don't go. 'Twas my fault, and she seemed all alone, and she couldn't hardly come after us!"
Calix looked at his sister evenly. "You made a promise, and I intend on keeping it, Frera. 'Sides, it'll save me from the village girls who come chasing after me."
Freira smiled through her tears. "What? You mean you don't like those girls I sent after you? I'm hurt, Calix." He smiled faintly, and hit her playfully. She tapped his shoulder with her good hand. "Better get used to 'em, Cal," she said. "I hear the girls talkin' at market, and you're definitely th' most handsome guy in the town."
Calix lips quirked in what might've been a smile. "Them, not ''em.' Talking, not 'talkin'.' The, not 'th'.' I know this is the country, Frera, but they respect you highly for being 'city folk,' and they'd respect you more if you spoke like one."
Freira suddenly glared at him. "And what you would care, Cal? You'll be gone!"
Calix met her gaze evenly, grey eyes connecting with hers. She burst into tears again, and flung her arms around him. "Oh, Cal," she sobbed. "What'm I going to do without you?"
He rubbed her back softly. "Survive, I guess. What do you think?"
She laughed quietly, still crying and hiccoughing. "I just—I just—" and then dissolved into tears again. "What'm I gonna tell Papa and Johan?"
Calix rubbed her back again, cradling her softly in his lap. "Shh, shh" and then when she calmed down some, he said, "Master Healinghands got a letter yesterday from a friend in the city. There've been people acting up, people who've forgotten and want a government. Fighting's begun and there're a lot of wounded people. Healing Houses are full, and Healers are in short supply. I just finished training yesterday, too, you know that—I'm a full Healer and I figured I'd go to the city for a while, before I come back and open my own practice or move in with Master Healinghands. You'll just tell everyone I had to leave right away—tell Master Healinghands the truth, though—he knows everything about the forest and the castle."
Freira glanced at him. "But what about—Minya? You don't' want to leave her things?"
Calix stared at Freira. She was wiping tears off her nose, a small delicate thing that was so much like his older sister's. Freira was so much like Minya—she told stories like she did, although not quite as well—just for fun. Minya had been writing them down. Whenever he read them, he would cry.
Calix never cried. He hadn't cried since he was a toddler, but when he took out those stories after moving in, he sobbed like he was a baby. They were so beautiful, and sweet, and wonderfully fantastic. How he missed Minya! Missed her more than anything.
Freira extracted herself from his arms and said, "Here. I'll go pack you some food. If you want to get there by sunset you'd best get started soon."
Calix stood, walking over to his bed. He picked up the soft, old brown blanket he'd been wrapped in as a baby and used as a comforter ever since. He placed the portrait of his family that had been painted just before his mother died, when he was thirteen and Minya was eighteen and Freira was seven in it. He put Minya's stories in it. He put the mourning portrait of Freira, their father, and himself in it. And finally, he put his personal favorite of all of Johan's tapestries in it.
In it, a young woman sat in a garden of deep purple roses, leaning against the wall of a huge castle. She was crying and laughing at the same time, and blood ran down her fingers as she clutched a rose and stared at the sun, which was just coming out from behind a thundercloud.
He threw the blanket into a knapsack, and tossed in healing materials and some clothes and a bar of soap.
He took the sack of food from Freira, hugged her long and hard, squeezing a few tears out of his eyes (and a lot out of Freira's), and then he turned and left, careful not to turn back lest he turn into salt or some other horrific substance.
He would not look back. He could not look back.
Beast did no know why she had sent the girl to get her brother, until she angrily burst into the throne room and saw the rose.
Perhaps he could break the curse, the cat said.
Beast turned to her. Are you mad? No one will love me. I will love no one.
Have it your way, the cat sniffed, and stalked off, nose and tail high in the air.
Beast stared at the rose, and leaned her nose in to brush against the petals. They were soft and still and beautiful, and, if they hadn't been her curse, she would've thought them a blessing.
Her nose brushed a thorn, and she pulled away, turning on a cushion that only had a few scratches in it. Within moments it was in ribbons of velvet and shreds of sheep's-wool stuffing.
And then she hoped.
Perhaps…she didn't dare think it, but perhaps he could break the spell. She thought…where would he sleep?
The answer, after a moment of thinking, was obvious. She wandered in to check the room, make sure it hadn't been touched by weather. She nudged the pile of dust off the balcony, and then retched over the edge. She turned to leave, and spotted the mirror.
She was not a large wolf; rather, she was average-sized, perhaps a bit small. Her eyes were still green, unnaturally so for a wolf, and she still wore shreds of the corset and petticoat she had worn that night. The dress had fallen apart long ago. Her wound was becoming green around the edges; she shook her muzzle and felt the breeze sting it. She looked over the dresser; miniature portraits covered it. There was one of her—no, one of the Queen. The beautiful, vain last Queen of Imperial Soneh.
She wanted to break the mirror; she could see the Queen in it, but she didn't. She turned into the next room, and picked up a gold chalice on the floor, hurling it into the mirror.
The Queen shattered into pieces, and the Beast did as well.
She ran through the halls, dodging into a sitting room that was dusty but untouched. She ripped though cushions and curtains for hours and then saw that the room had a view of the rose garden.
A young man was walking into the garden.
Instantly Beast saw the resemblance between the girl from the day before and the man; they both had blue-black hair and dark grey eyes.
She bolted out of the destroyed sitting room and down the grand staircase and out the door, prowling through the gardens.
"Hello?" the man asked nervously. "Is anyone there?"
Beast growled softly; the man turned towards the bushes she was hiding in.
"Who's there?"
Beast pushed through the bushes, showing herself. "I am."
The man looked slightly afraid. "You?"
"Me." Why should he be afraid? Beast wondered. She was not a scary creature; she was thin and underfed, she was average and weak, and she was covered in rags. Why would he be afraid?
She whirled angrily and said sharply, "Follow me."
He slung a knapsack on his shoulder and did.
Beast wandered through the halls at what seemed to be random, taking servant's passages and small, portrait-less hallways to get to where she was going. There were too many pictures of her family anywhere else—too many pictures of what she used to be.
"Excuse me? Are we lost?"
"No!" Beast snapped, green eyes angry as she prowled. "I know where I'm going, dammit!"
With that, she suddenly turned into a main hallway, beautiful with rich carpet and brilliant tapestries and portraits. Wall sconces were lit with Glow-globes, small globes of glass that, when once lit with a touch, stayed lit permanently unless touched again.
Beast stopped at a door, nudging it open with her nose. It opened into a large room, with a huge bed. The hangings were scarlet and gilded, and there was a balcony looking over the forest. A tall bookshelf stood in the corner, full of thick books that Beast had dared not touch.
"This is your room," she said, barely restraining anger. "There are clothes in the closet, if you wish to dress in them. The bookshelf is full of medical texts, I believe. Most are over a hundred years old." Actually, they all are. "The washroom is right over there. The kitchens are down the hallway and at the bottom of the small staircase in the corner. The library is down the hallway, down the grand staircase, in the hall to the left, the first door. I will not join you for dinner."
"Why not?"
She turned on him and growled. "I don't eat like you do. Would you expect me to sit at a table and use a fork and spoon? Would you expect me to get up and dance between courses or wear a fine gown and put up my hair? Trust me, Sir Healer, you don't want to see me eat."
He threw his knapsack on the bed and crossed behind her, slightly afraid but also looking very calm. "What's your name?"
She didn't turn around. "Beast."
His tone was confused. "Surely you've another—"
"I chose to forget. My name is Beast now."
After a moment of silence he spoke. "My name is Calix."
Beast did not answer. She did not care. "Do not enter the room at the bottom of the large staircase to the right under any circumstances."
"Why—"
"Don't go in it!"
"I have a right to go in it," the man stated. "I live here now, if anything my sister said was true. Apparently, I'm never going back to the village." He sounded amused.
"You're not. But you are a permanent guest in my house, and that is my private room. You are forbidden to go in there."
Calix was silent. Beast hoped it meant that he would not protest anymore. He made her feel—strange, odd. She felt different when she was near him. After a moment of thought, she decided that it was because this was the first time in a hundred and thirteen years (she had counted the rose petals just after the girl had left) she was in close proximity with a human.
"Will you join me for dinner?" the man asked.
She whirled and snapped at him. He backed away onto the bed as she growled at him. "Did you hear anything I said?" she hissed.
Calix nodded. "I'm a healer. I've had dogs before. I am not disgusted by their eating patterns, and I assume yours are not terribly different. Also, I've worked with blood, vomit, bile, and many other sickening things on a daily basis for nearly a year. Your eating will not disgust me. Please join me for dinner."
He was being kind to her. She backed away. "I don't need charity. Look at me,. Look at my home."
"It's not charity. It's kindness. It's extending a hand of friendship."
"I don't want your friendship."
"Then what do you want?"
Beast stopped. Sat down. That was an—unusual question. She shook her head. "Nothing you can give me," she said softly, and walked out.
Well? Like? Hate? Love? (Ha. Ha.)
Please review and tell me what you thinkit's the only payment I get.
I don't own the plot, but I do own the charries. Wow, that's strange to say...usually it's the other way round...
Oh, well,
nebulia