Belle's POV

"It's in good shape," the man with the thick red beard told them as he led Belle and her father over a short bridge towards a small cottage. "The folks who left it kept it in good condition, so you won't have much to do 'cept clean it a bit."

"Well, that's convenient. Looks good from the outside, at least. What do you think, Belle?" Papa asked her. Belle turned her focus from the village behind her to the small cottage before her.

"I think it's charming, Papa," she said honestly. It was like a cottage from a fairy tale, tucked away on the outskirts of the village. It was small, but much bigger than the last apartment in the city had been and certainly larger than all the rooms at the inns they had stayed in. There was plenty of land and even a grove of trees nearby; Belle was already picking out nooks to read in.

"You want to see the inside before you decide?" the man asked disinterestedly, motioning a large hand towards the door.

"Why not? Papa said. The man led them towards the front door but his sigh did not escape Belle's ears. It was clear that this man had other things he'd rather be doing than showing an old man and a girl around a house. Even so, he opened the door for them and let them walk in first.

"Main room, kitchen, two bedrooms upstairs," he said, pointing in different directions as he spoke. "Basement entrance is out front, and there's a bit of space for some small animals. You'd probably want to build a better shelter for your horse."

"Of course," Papa agreed. "I think we'll take it! If you like it, Belle." Belle smiled and nodded as enthusiastically as she could in response to her father's question, but was more intent on examining this new house. So while Papa and the redheaded man went outside to discuss payment, Belle remained inside.

There wasn't any furniture, which made the house seem stark and unwelcoming, but Belle did her best to imagine it furnished. There was a fireplace at the far side of the small room directly opposite from the front door and to the left of that was a charming window seat Belle intended to make good use of. To the right of the fireplace was a doorway that led into the kitchen. When Belle briefly explored it, she noticed it was equipped with a stove and a few cupboards, but otherwise was just as bare as the first room.

Belle made her way upstairs to look at the two bedrooms. The doorway to the first was on her right as she reached the landing and the other doorway was one step further straight in front of her. They seemed about equal size, each one twice as large as her room in their last apartment. Each room contained a bed frame standing empty, but naught much else.

They were nearly identical to each other, but where the first bedroom had a window that looked out towards the town, the second bedroom faced out onto the wild fields that grew behind the house. Belle stepped further into the second room and opened the window so she might lean on the its sill, mesmerized by what she saw. The fields seemed to go on forever, lined by trees on each side. With the clear blue summer sky above the fresh green grass, Belle's imagination ran wild with fairy tales.

"Belle?" Papa's voice broke into her thoughts.

"Up here, Papa," she called, turning from the window and listened to him climb the steps.

"What do you think?" he asked as he came into view through the open door.

"It's very nice," she said.

"Nice view, anyway," he added, motioning out the window. "Do you think you can see yourself living here?"

"I think so. We'll need some furniture though," she said with humor. She wasn't entirely sure she wanted to live here, but the house was nice enough and the area was beautiful. If she was to live in the country, it might as well be here.

"That might be helpful," Papa chuckled in response. "So it's all right I've paid the man for the house?"

"Definitely," she said, unable to help the smile that spread across her face at the sight of her father's excitement.

"Well, what are we waiting for! We've got work to do if we're going to be able to live here." Belle giggled and agreed, so together they set about finally unloading the wagon into their new home.

It took the rest of the day to move most of their things into the house, so they ran out of daylight before they got the chance to organize them into their respective rooms. So their boxes and bags merely piled up in the main room, awaiting the morning sun to be sorted. Any dignity she had was forgotten in her exhaustion forgotten and Belle collapsed on the floor, leaning against one of the trunks to keep her upright. For the first time, she could truly imagine how Odysseus must have felt after his own long journey finally ended.

"I say we just eat what we've got left over from the trip and start fresh tomorrow," her father suggested, joining her on the floor with a heavy sigh. Belle agreed, not having the energy to walk into town for supplies or to sustain the inevitable curious stares from the villagers at the sight of someone new in town.

"It seems strange to think we won't be traveling any more," she commented as she waited for the strength to stand and fetch the food.

"It does, doesn't it. What was it, about three weeks we were on the road?"

"Just about. Well, we were in one place for a week while you worked at that bakery, but that still feels like traveling," Belle replied. Was it really only three weeks ago that they left the city? Belle felt as if they had been traveling forever; she might as well have been an old woman for how tired she felt.

"Agreed. But see, I told you we'd be settled down somewhere before your birthday. I had a week to spare!"

"And I'm very grateful for that," she said honestly.

"I can't believe you'll be sixteen years old in just a few days," he said, his cheery mood dwindling as he spoke.

"Oh, Papa," she sighed, smiling as she finally stood to kiss her father's cheek before setting about gathering the food that remained to make dinner for them.

Beast's POV

"What now?" he bellowed as he landed on the balcony of the West Wing. He could hear his servants calling him from inside the castle, even above the wind that raged among the rooftops. It was precarious staying up there in such weather, but the Beast didn't care. If he fell, who would know? Only his servants. His servants, who apparently could not wait for him to come down in his own time.

"I-I'm sure you've noticed, Master," Cogsworth started as nervously as ever. The Beast knew he wasn't helping matters by looming over the mantel clock that had once been his major domo, but such a thing could not much be helped. "There's a storm coming and I'm afraid. . . quite afraid that parts of the roof may not hold up against it. Last time it rained, several rooms were leaking."

"And?" he demanded.

"And. . .well. . .I, that is. Would you be able to fix parts of the roof before the storm hits? I'm afraid that otherwise the rooms would be quite ruined."

"So what?" he growled, turning away to stare out beyond the balcony at the growing clouds.

"Master, the castle will be destroyed if we do not maintain it. Few of us are able to get onto the roof to do it ourselves." The Beast listened to Cogsworth, but could not understand why he might want try to keep the already crumbling castle from falling into further disrepair. What was the point?

"Now? You're asking this of me now?" he growled, almost a roar as he motioned a paw towards the oncoming storm. He was expected not only to fix the roof, but to do it minutes before a storm?

"But Master, the castle—if we don't do something now several rooms will suffer in the storm. It won't be long before floors and ceiling cave in and walls weaken, then we can no longer live in the castle. Where will we all go when it falls?"

He had a point, the Beast grudgingly admitted to himself. He had no wish to be driven out of his castle, his only shelter, to live in the forest like the beast he was. Three short years remained before the rose would begin to wilt and he had no plans to spend his life, human or Beast, in a collapsed castle or wild forest. But that did not negate the fact that he had no idea how to fix anything, especially a roof. But he was inarguably the only one physically capable of performing such a task, so he really had no choice.

"Fine," the Beast grunted. "Fetch me what I need and I'll do it." He was not looking forward to struggling on the rooftops during such a high wind, but if what Cogsworth said was true, rooms would be ruined if he didn't see to it before the storm hit. Though why this situation couldn't be reported to him sooner, he didn't know. He waited impatiently as the minutes ticked by, pacing the balcony as the wind whipped at his fur.

The storm was getting closer; he would have to work quickly and fix only the worst parts for now.

Cogsworth returned with a hopping toolbox in tow. The Beast rolled his eyes; now he'd have to worry about losing the toolbox over rooftops, too. According to Cogsworth though, the hammer inside had memories of working on the roof and would help the Beast any way he could. The Beast shook his head at the idea of asking help from a hammer, an object that should be all means lay still and silent.

"Very well," he grunted. "Where are these holes?" Cogsworth gave him several locations of the rooms where leaking had been found. Having spent years now exploring the rooftops, the Beast understood where these holes might be. Without another word, the Beast took firm hold on the large toolbox and leapt out onto the balcony to make his way to the nearest leak.

"Well?" he demanded when he had reached the first rift in the roof. It didn't appear to be too badly damaged, but some tiles were missing. In response to his growl, the hammer hopped out of the toolbox and began examining the gap. It slipped once as a particularly fierce gust of wind blew him over, but the Beast caught it and impatiently replaced it. When it recovered itself, the hammer proceeded to instruct the Beast on what needed to be done.

The toolbox was large enough to contain what was needed, so the Beast had to only reach in and follow the instructions the hammer relayed to him. When the first hole was patched to the hammer's satisfaction, the Beast moved on to the second and the third, all the while swallowing his pride long enough to allow the repair work to get done. Besides, if he paid attention to what the hammer said now, the Beast would not need to suffer the indignity of being instructed by his inferior again.

The parts of the roof Cogsworth told him about were mended, and not a moment too soon. As the hammer hopped back inside the safety of his toolbox, a blinding flash of lightning struck the trees in the forest, followed quickly by a great roll of thunder that shook the rooftops. As quickly as he could, the Beast scrambled down the tiles towards the nearest balcony. The West Wing was too far to reach safely now, so he had to make do with another. Lightning flashed a second time, closer than before. Just as the Beast reached the edge of the roof, the rain began to fall in sheets. The roof quickly became slippery, but his paws managed it well and he was able to make it onto the balcony beneath him. By the time he forced the stubborn glass doors with its stiff hinges to give way, his fur and cloak were soaked through.

He put the toolbox down and shook himself, spraying droplets of water everywhere. He straightened up to make his way back to the West Wing, but stopped short when he realized where he had ended up. This was his childhood room, the room he had left behind after his father had abandoned him when he was eight years old.

Nothing had changed since he had ordered it shut; the sheets were still on the bed, his old toys still spilling over the edge of the open toy chest. He had been so adamant that no one should enter the room, not even to tidy it up. He had his sister's room shut up the same way, and it was only by some small bit of luck that he had not jumped on that balcony instead. The East Wing had belonged to his parents, so he had the servants close that too and ordered the West Wing prepared as his new quarters. Though Mrs. Potts insisted that he was too young at the time to have an entire wing to himself, there was no talking him out of it.

As a boy, he could not stand the sight of the room where his mother had read him stories, where he had played with his sister; now as a Beast he found it no easier to bear. What would they think of him now to see him as this monster?

As he glanced around the room covered with a thick layer of dust and neglect, he found it difficult to breathe. He clutched his chest with his paw as he stared wide-eyed at a room belonging to another time. It was difficult to remember that he had once been human, that he had played and slept in this room, that he once had a mother and sister who cared for him. His sister might have loved him; she was young enough not to have fallen under their father's withering stare that she might have still believed in love. He wasn't sure about his mother, though. She had cared for him and acted as a mother should, even teaching him to play the piano as a way to calm his anger, but he felt there was always something missing from her eyes when she looked at him.

A stirring sound within the toolbox on the floor brought him back to the present in a rush. He scooped the box into his paw and fled from the room, slamming the door behind him before the ghosts of his past could follow him. The Beast made his way as swiftly as he could towards the West Wing, letting the toolbox roll out of his paw at the base of the staircase to let it hop its way back to wherever it came from.

He rained heavy blows upon the already badly broken furniture in the West Wing, but it was not enough. He felt as though he was choking on the memories that had been so forcibly thrust upon him. He roared, attempting to free his throat from the emotion that threatened to close it up, but that did no good either. The Beast continued to roar in his agony, ripping curtains and linens, tearing apart furniture and rugs. But nothing he did eased the bitter, painful sorrow of a life that had been taken away from him.