Chapter 10 - Lost Companions
Beast's mind tends to wander nowadays. His thoughts were all over the place, he could barely focus on anything.
Everything, no matter how insignificant, seemed to remind him of something from his past. It didn't matter how unrelated it was, his mind always found a way to link those two completely unrelated things together, sometimes following a long thought process to reach that conclusion.
Thinking was all he really could do. He had done it plenty of times, over the past few years of enduring this curse. It had just progressed to the point where his thoughts just spiralled out of control, and he became lost in his own mind, unaware of what was going on around him, or how much time had passed while he had been stuck in a trance like state.
Earlier that day, Froufrou, Madame Garderobe and Maestro Cadenza's pampered pooch, that had been turned into a footstool, had come running into the dining room while he was eating. It then started barking, for no discernible reason, other than it probably just wanted attention.
He could relate. He had been quite an attention seeker in the past. But he wouldn't go bounding up to people and start shouting at them, or in the dog's case, bounding up to him in particular and barking loudly.
Froufrou, which he thought was a stupid name, had done it several times before. The dog's high pitched barking, or yapping technically, was rather grating, especially to Beast's ears as he had such a strong sense of hearing.
When the yapping footstool wouldn't leave him alone, he growled at him and bared his teeth, sending the dog packing with his tail between his legs. Or his tassel to be accurate, which was a substitute for a tail, as footstools don't usually have them.
It was clear that the dog had never been properly trained, as all it did was run around and bark, getting on his nerves. No one could control him, he wasn't obedient or loyal in the slightest. Madame Garderobe must have spoilt him since he was a pup.
He didn't seem to be very bright either, judging by the fact that he hadn't learnt anything from the last couple of times he had come and jumped up at Beast's chair.
It wasn't even a proper dog, it was just there for show. It couldn't guard anything, or protect you from harm, as it was so small. All it could really do was either sit or lie down and look cute.
Nothing about that dog was appealing, and he had no idea why Madame Garderobe loved it so much. She most likely had a huge soft spot for her sweet, innocent Froufrou, who could do nothing wrong, and that she could dress up in tiny outfits and wouldn't have to deal with any protesting.
At least, that's what she used to do, but now that Froufrou was a footstool she couldn't dress him up. He didn't even recall the last time he saw Madame Garderobe, as she dwelled in one of the castle bedrooms and spent the majority of the time sleeping. He wondered if that was part of the curse, as the servants would be sleeping eternally, in a sense, once the last petal fell. Or the other possibility was that, as a diva, she needed her 'beauty rest'.
If he had to take a guess, he'd say it was probably both. It was bound to be related. The curse was changing them all every passing day, making their situation so much worse.
He did feel sorry for Froufrou though. Out of everyone, he had to be the most clueless. As a dog, he didn't understand what was going on; why he barely saw his two owners anymore, why their familiar sounding voices came out of the mouths of a bunch of objects, why there was such a huge, ferocious beast in the castle.
It was doubtful that the dog ever asked itself those kind of questions, in fact, there was probably nothing going on inside its head, but it must have been, and still is, frustrated and agitated. He probably just wanted to play, or go outside for a long walk, but nobody would take him.
It was a shame, really. If Froufrou wasn't so loud and annoying, he would have liked the dog to keep him company, as he didn't seem that bothered by his appearance, except when he snarled it him. Beast only did that to put him in his place.
He wouldn't mind it if Froufrou came and quietly sat on his lap. It would make him feel a little less lonely.
His warping and changing thoughts shifted off of Froufrou and onto another dog that had been apart of his life. And that dog had been Wilfred.
They used to have quite a few dogs in the castle. His mother had two King Charles Spaniels, which he didn't recall the names of. He had liked his mother's dogs a great deal, but Wilfred had always been his dearest and most loyal companion, who had been by his side ever since he was a baby.
Wilfred was an Irish Wolfhound. He was a dark grey, with shaggy fur, floppy ears and chocolatey brown eyes. He always had his mouth open, with his tongue lolled out to the side, and his teeth showing, almost like he was smiling.
He was a proper dog, strong, reliable, protective, not like Froufrou, who could do nothing against an attacker except maybe bite their ankles.
There were two sides to Wilfred. Around the young prince, he was a gentle giant. He never lashed out or bit him when his younger self had tugged at his ears, or pulled on his tail. Wilfred even gave him rides on his back. And in the winter months, they would curl up together by the fire.
Beast didn't remember any of this taking place, but he did remember his mother telling him how good Wilfred had been with him when he was a toddler. He did recall chasing him though.
The other side to Wilfred seemed like a completely different dog. When his father took him out hunting with him, Wilfred became a fierce, killing machine, being able to hunt down rabbits and foxes, which he killed himself or retrieved for his master after he had shot them.
Wilfred had always belonged to his father, but it was clear that he had always been deeply affectionate towards the young prince, as he followed him everywhere. Unfortunately, Wilfred had been getting on quite a bit when Beast was born, around eight or nine years old. By the time Beast was seven, Wilfred was fifteen and a shadow of his former self. He had slowly been withering away, hardly any food passed his lips, and he was losing so much weight. He had lost all his teeth, and his grey fur was faded, matted and a complete mess. He could barely walk, he always struggled to get up, as his legs always betrayed him, as the arthritis was taking hold, stiffening all of his joints.
He had been suffering. It was only fair to put him out of his misery.
His father ordered one of the servants to take Wilfred outside, and shoot him.
Beast's younger self had been distraught about the idea of losing Wilfred. He had clung to Wilfred for dear life as the poor dog lie on the ground, panting, every intake of breath an ordeal. He had been crying into Wilfred's fur, begging his father not to take him away.
It was quite selfish of him, to want to keep Wilfred alive, when existence was clearly painful. Most children can't deal with the thought of loss, and that was the first time he had ever lost someone he cared for.
He had been selfish for quite some time after that point. His mother had to pry him off Wilfred, so that one of the servants could carry him away. She told him that it was the right thing to do, as he was slowly dying anyway. They were doing it to save him, make it quicker and painless.
The servant probably shot him at the back of the head, so that he wouldn't feel anything.
He remembered hearing the gunshot ring out from the woods, as his mother cradled him in her arms, doing all she could to comfort him.
'We can get you another dog' he remembered his father had told him reassuringly.
But he didn't want another dog. He wanted Wilfred. No one could replace him.
They never did end up getting another dog. Probably because he protested so much.
Wilfred had been his best friend.
He wondered if their friendship would have lasted, if he was here now. Would Wilfred be able to recognise him? His scent was different, so was his voice, and most obviously his appearance.
That dog wouldn't have known it was him. He probably would have turned on him, tried to attack him. He wouldn't blame him for it. Beast didn't even recognise himself.
Well, that wasn't strictly true. He had become unwillingly accustomed to how he looked now. As so much time had passed, when he thought of himself, he didn't think of the handsome young prince he had once been, but rather the hideous beast, the form that he was trapped in.
At least now he understood how Wilfred had felt in his final days. Beast may not be dying, nor was he old or sickly. But every passing day was painful. Sometimes he didn't think he could go on.
Sometimes, the thought of being put down didn't seem so bad.
He decided to stop himself there.
Although, the memory of Wilfred, and all of those times his father took his dog hunting got him thinking about his own hunting days. Long after Wilfred had passed, as well as his mother, his father started taking him hunting with him, when he was a teenager, around fifteen years old, and continued to do so for years.
They didn't take any hunting dogs with them, just the guns slung on their backs and the horses they rode on.
It took a while, to learn how to shoot a gun. But he took to horse riding like a duck to water.
He had always loved horses. They used to have quite a few horses in the stables, although most of them had belonged to the royal guard.
Through sheer impulse alone, Beast left the confines of the castle and walked down to the stables. He was sure it wouldn't do any harm, as no one would see him in the garden. And he could do with some fresh air, as the last time he got any was... When he went to see his mother's grave. It felt so recent, and yet, it was so long ago. He wanted to visit her again.
It was no surprise to him when he found the stables completely empty. The only thing there was some fresh hay and water in one stable. He then wondered why one of the servants would restock it, when there was no point. Force of habit? Sense of normality?
It didn't matter. He would probably forget to ask about it later anyway.
His mother and father both had their own horses.
When he was younger, his mother allowed him to stroke her horse, a pure white mare, named Candide. She hardly rode her horse, but she had allowed him to sit on its back on many occasions. She loved Candide, slipped her carrots, combed her mane and tail, braided them, scratched her behind the ear. And he loved his mother's horse too. The Queen promised him that when he was older, she would let him ride Candide. But he never got the chance.
After she died, his father took Candide away. He said that he was sending her off to live on a nice farm, where she could spend the rest of her days pasturing on lush green fields. He believed him then, but not now. His father lied. He always lied.
In actuality, he sold Candide, to the first person that would take her. He didn't do it for the money, he did it to get rid of another lasting reminder of his mother. Just another one of his methods to erase her from existence.
His father's horse had been a black stallion, named Brunelle. He didn't like Brunelle as much as Candide, in his younger years anyway. When he was older, his father helped him warm up to him.
While Candide had been gentle, calm and playful, Brunelle was stoic, loyal, and obedient. That was mostly down to the constant lashings his father had given Brunelle, to ensure that he kept in line.
When the King was teaching him how to hunt, his father bought him his own horse. He allowed him to name him and care for him, when the stable hands weren't dealing with it themselves.
Beast named him Jean. His coat was a chestnut brown, with dark chocolate mane and tail. He had white stockings on three of his four legs and a white stripe running down his face.
Jean was a fine horse, a thorough bred, it was clear his father wanted him to have the very best.
Sadly, his father encouraged the Prince to use his own methods of discipline on Jean, to hit him with a whip, to make sure that he was completely and utterly devoted to him.
And so, the Prince had adopted that technique. But the whippings that he gave Jean lacked any sort of meaning behind them, he just did it because his father did it. He liked to think that he was in charge of Jean, when deep down he knew he wasn't, he wasn't powerful or strong, nor did he think what he was doing was right. And Jean could sense that. He was a smart horse.
After years of beating him with a whip, Jean finally snapped. Beast remembered that day well, and found himself reliving that moment as he stared at Jean's empty, forgotten stable, his name engraved in the wooden door.
It was early morning in autumn, and the sun was rising in the distance, giving the sky an orange hue. The green leaves on the trees were turning brown, and yellow, and orange, and falling off of the branches. It was quite muddy, as it had been raining heavily for the past few days, and it was still rather damp, with water droplets dripping off of almost anything surrounding them.
The Prince, at the age of eighteen, was sitting in his saddle on Jean's back, with his father standing beside him, saddled up on Brunelle.
They both had rifles strapped to their backs, and his father was scouring the trees with his telescope.
"The servants tell me there is a wild boar somewhere in these woods. Quite a large one, too." His father told him. "They say it's located around this area."
"Do you think we'd be able to catch it and have it for dinner?" The Prince asked.
"Perhaps. Or maybe we could have its head mounted on a wall." The King replied, lowering his telescope. "What do you say we have a bit of a friendly competition, my dear boy?"
"What kind of competition?" He asked curiously.
"First person to track down and kill that boar gets all the glory. And gets to decide what we do with it." His father replied.
The Prince nodded eagerly "I'm up for it."
"Well then it's settled. I'll see you back here with that prized boar!" His father shouted, kicking Brunelle, who immediately reared into action and went charging towards the trees, kicking up dirt and pieces of grass as he went.
The Prince gritted his teeth and kicked Jean, sending him on his way. Jean snorted and glared back at him "Come on, Jean, I have a competition to win!" He shouted, kicking him again, jamming his stirrups into his side and whipping his neck. Jean's nostrils flared and he begrudgingly set off, running towards the woods.
They broke through the trees, and his hooves thundered against the forest floor, as he clumsily jumped over fallen trees and unearthed roots. The orange light from the sun flickered through the branches of the trees and the remaining leaves, providing the depths of the dark forest with natural light.
He heard a squeal, and yanked on the reins, grinding them to a halt. Jean wasn't pleased about being stopped so abruptly, after they had only just started moving, but the Prince didn't care, as he was too busy focused on the large brown blur that was running to the right. It had probably been spooked by his father, as it was coming from the direction he had gone in.
He quickly unholstered his gun, snapped off the safety, aimed, and fired at the boar. It let out a pained cry, but remained upright, and continued to run away. It was resilient.
"After it!" He shouted. The Prince kicked Jean again, much harder this time, and the horse set off once more, pursuing the boar.
The boar managed to move surprisingly fast, despite the fact that it had a bullet lodged in its leg. It was also leaving behind quite a trail of blood on the forest floor.
Once the wounded beast was in sight, he took his hands off the rein just for a second, and fired at it again, but the bullet missed and zipped passed a tree, chipping off pieces of bark.
"Steady, boy. I can't aim when you're throwing your head around." He said gruffly to Jean, blaming him for throwing him off balance and missing the boar. There was nothing Jean could do about his head movement. Besides, the Prince was a bad shot when it came to aiming whilst moving.
He took hold of the reins, to avoid them both crashing into a tree, and continued their pursuit.
They trampled over some white snowdrop flowers as they galloped, dodging trees and ducking under low hanging branches that could easily snag one of them and slow them down.
They began to approach a fairly large ditch, which the boar jumped down into, and then scrambled up to the other side, dragging its limp, injured leg.
It was easier to go over it than around it.
"We can easily make that jump." The Prince stated confidently, kicking Jean on more, and causing his speed to increase.
Unfortunately, Jean had never been a very good jumper. As soon as he caught sight of the large gap he had to jump across, he panicked, and screeched to halt, which sent the Prince flying off his back to the other side of the ditch, where he landed face down in a pool of mud.
At least it was a soft landing.
"Urrrrrgh!" The Prince cried in disgust, sitting up and wiping the mud off his face, so that he'd be able to see. He managed to catch a glimpse of the boar as it disappeared from view.
So close. So close to beating his father, and taking home that prize boar. They would have had a massive feast, to celebrate his successful hunt.
He slammed his fist against the ground in frustration, causing mud to splatter everywhere, making himself even more dirty than he already was, which was quite an achievement.
He glanced back at Jean, who was standing on the other side of the ditch, unmoving, and just watching him. He didn't even bother to come and check on him, make sure he wasn't hurt. What an inconsiderate horse.
The Prince stood up, covered in a thick layer of mud from head to toe, and hurried round the ditch, storming towards Jean in a fit of rage.
Jean backed away, but the Prince grabbed hold of the reins and yanked on them hard, pulling Jean's head towards him and nearly ripping his teeth out. "You just cost me that boar!" He screamed angrily "All because you couldn't do a simple jump! You're worthless! You stupid horse!"
He lifted his whipped and smacked Jean on the neck. And then he smacked him again, even harder, and again. Jean retreated backwards, shaking his head so that the Prince would lose grip of the reins, but he continued to clench them firmly.
Jean's eyes seemed to darken, and he let out a cry as he grabbed hold of the Prince's whip with his teeth, pulled it out of his hands and tossed it to one side.
Jean then reared up, startling the Prince and causing him to fall over, and land in another mud puddle. Jean was about to stamp on him with his hooves, so he quickly rolled out of the way, just as Jean brought them down on the spot where he had once been. He would have broken his ribs if he succeeded.
Jean reared up again, and charged passed him, running through the trees and as far away from him as possible.
"Fine, run off, see if I care!" The Prince shouted after him as his horse disappeared from view.
It looked like he'd have to walk back to the castle on foot. He climbed to his feet once again, his front and back now completely caked in mud. He was just about to set off, when his father, riding Brunelle, came galloping towards him. He had probably come to see what all the commotion was about.
"What on earth happened to you?!" He exclaimed as he brought Brunelle to a stand still in front of the Prince. "You're filthy!"
"Jean threw me off, and cost me that boar. I almost had it, but he couldn't even jump over a ditch!" The Prince cried, throwing his arms up in the air in an act of frustration.
"Where's Jean now?" His father asked, glancing around at the complete lack of his son's horse.
"He ran off in that direction after I started telling him off and hitting him." He replied, turning and pointing in the direction Jean had fled. "He completely lost it, father. He snatched my whip from me and then tried to kill me!"
"Kill you? Well that won't do at all. I can't have my son riding such an unruly horse." His father responded.
He was quiet for a moment, and patted Brunelle on the neck before he climbed down. His father stood beside Brunelle, holding onto the reins as he smoothed out his wild, messy mane. "Why don't you take Brunelle?" His father suggested.
"Take him? You mean... You want me to have Brunelle?" The Prince asked.
"Yes." His father nodded "I want my son to have the best horse there is, and there's no horse more fitting for you than my own." He said, handing the reins to the Prince "Consider him yours from now on."
The Prince accepted the reins and hurried over to Brunelle, stroking his neck. "Thank you so much, father!" He said gratefully.
"You're welcome, Adam." The King replied.
"Wait, what about Jean? Shouldn't we send someone to go retrieve him?" The Prince asked, whilst he continued to stroke Brunelle's fur.
"It doesn't matter. Forget about him. Whatever peasant comes across him is welcome to have him. They can put him to work on the fields, or get him pulling carriages. Or just eat him if they're that desperate for food. It's about all he's good for. He's certainly not worthy enough to be your horse."
"I guess so." He murmured, looking passed his father, who was obstructing his view, and stared at the area where Jean disappeared "But what if he gets lost, he could die." He said worryingly.
"He's none of your concern anymore. He's an untameable horse, there's nothing you can do about him now. Besides, you have Brunelle now, you don't even have to think about Jean. He's not worth your time or energy."
The Prince lingered for a moment, his eyes fixated on the line of trees, where Jean had gone. "Yeah, you're right. I don't need him, anyway. I have Brunelle now." He declared, patting the black stallion on the neck.
"Come on, let's go back to the castle and get you all cleaned up." His father suggested, climbing back into the saddle, rather slow and sluggishly, heaving and huffing as he struggled to get back on.
The Prince climbed on behind him with ease, but tried not to brush up against his father, so that he wouldn't get him dirty too. "What about the boar?" He asked.
"We'll get him next time."
Beast never did see that boar again. It probably died of blood loss and ended up being eaten by predators. What a waste.
He didn't see Jean ever again either. He wondered what became of him. Wherever he ended up, he hoped it was with someone that treated him with care and love. Someone that would give him what he didn't.
It was nice of his father, to give him Brunelle on a whim. He wondered if he did it out of the kindness of his heart, or just to make himself look good in his son's eyes.
He didn't have any problems with Brunelle. He was already well trained, and never did anything to harm him, like Jean almost had. He just never formed a very strong bond with Brunelle like he did with Candide or Jean, back when he was kind to his own horse.
He thought that his father would get himself a new horse, but he never did. He went hunting less and less too, and eventually the Prince ended up going alone.
'I'm not as young as I used to be' his father would say. An old injury he had sustained in his leg had started to catch up with him, so he couldn't do as many physical activities.
It occurred to him that most of his animal companions had left him. Perhaps he had never been good with animals, which was ironic, since he was an amalgamation of several animals. He'd laugh, if he actually found it funny. But that wasn't true. Wilfred liked him, and Jean had for a while, until he started treating him so badly. How did the old saying go? 'Treat those how you wish to be treated'? Perhaps he should have listened to that, rather than his father, and his treatment of animals.
In fact, it would seem that everyone he cared about had left him at some point in his life. Maybe he had always been cursed to live alone and miserable.
It also occurred to him that some of his recent thoughts and memories had been following a similar pattern. And that pattern was that quite a few of them heavily centred around his father. Was there something he was trying to recall on that he wasn't aware of?
Truth be told, he knew exactly what it was his brain was trying to lead him and his thought process towards. It was a troubling experience, something he'd much rather not dwell on but... He had to address it at some point, to come to terms with it and deal with it. Whether he wanted to do so or not.
But that was a story for another day.
A/N - To answer Guest52's question, I've stated before that the movie plot starts at chapter 15. Technically chapter 16, due to this websites format. In hindsight, I probably should have called chapter 1 the prologue and went from there, but ah well. I'm currently writing the movie plot, I'm currently 3 chapters in. We're almost there now!
To answer Guest749's question, or questions, I'm afraid you'll have to wait and see.
I hope you liked Angelica in the last chapter. I wanted to introduce a character to show that the Prince had talked to women before, he just never managed to find love.
I realise that the Prince and his father having guns might not be completely historically accurate, but I'm not trying to be. Well, I am, as best I can, but I am taking a few liberties. It is a fairy tale after all, and I don't think a Prince turning into a beast is very historically accurate either. I know it takes place in the 1700-1800, and I'm also assuming in this fantasy setting, the French Revolution never happened... Because that would be bad. Plus, Gaston had a gun in the movie, a musket and pistol, and a rifle in a deleted scene.
If there are any Attack on Titan fans reading, then the Prince calling his horse Jean is a reference to that. Jean is one of my favourite characters, and everyone calls him horseface, and I was struggling for a name for the Prince's horse, so I just thought 'why not?'. There are some hidden meanings behind the names of his mother and father's horses ;). The last few chapters of Beast recalling on his memories of his mother and father are building up to something, which is being explored in the next chapter. Stay tuned my friends, the next chapter is a long one. I hope you enjoyed, whether it be this chapter or any of the previous others. Let me know in a review, I love reading them as much as I love writing for you all.