A/N: Author Special Announcement Time? Lol. I know I had said that this story would only be something around 40 chapters or so which I am still trying to stick to but there is a slight need potentially for me to go beyond the 40 to hopefully tie everything up and give all our characters the ending they deserve. I hope that you will bear with me and are still enjoying the story as much as I am writing it!
*Side note: Claire and Gaston have really grown on me as characters and as a couple in this weird little AU fic of mine. I have enjoyed writing for Gaston and making him a multi-faceted character with some redeeming qualities.
He was always based on OUAT's Gaston with just a touch of 2017 Gaston, so I took the best of both and tried to make him...this. Lol. It has me sorely tempted to write a Gaston/Claire (A Glaire? They really need their own ship name!) spin-off sometime but must finish this first lol.
CHAPTER 35
THE Prince saw the hesitation the way that Belle's father trailed behind the others as the group entered the Great Hall of the castle that served as the dining hall.
The man's weathered, and reddened face crumpled in pure curiosity at the delectable sight of roasted turkey legs and mashed potatoes swimming in gravy, a tin flagon of wine on the table.
It was enough but the fact that they would not be eating the usual cold and hardened pork chops said this was something special, and the look on Maurice's face told the Prince everything he needed to know. That Belle's father had never seen a feast quite like this in his life. Only when he felt Belle's hand on his shoulder did the Prince consent to letting her down, though he quickly and firmly guided her towards the chair closest to her and bade her sit.
The candles emanated light from the middle of the long rectangular wooden table where the Prince took it upon himself to sit at the furthest end alongside Belle and motioned for the rest to join him. No doubt this strange business with this Monsieur Gold whom he was sure that Woods Witch was familiar with would take time to sort out.
He sensed Gaston and Claire's initial hesitation, while Gold merely looked impatient.
"Sit. Please. Help yourself." Prince Adam commanded the group's attention and Gaston, Claire, Maurice, and even Gold took a few seconds before their bodies responded and they all sat and began to help themselves to the platters of food. The Prince cast a worried expression towards his old friend, thinking Gaston was looking gravely troubled. He was lean and drawn, thinner than the last time he had seen him, the first time he had come to speak to Belle at the gates.
The former military captain now had pale cheeks, the beginnings of stubble along his strong angular jaw, and he could not recall Gaston Dupont ever having short hair in his life, but he or perhaps Gold had shorn it off, and it was disheveled. His dark eyes were almost too bright.
"Well." Gaston gestured towards the spread of food while Claire held the platter of turkey and speared a leg for him and set it on the man's plate. He shot her an affectionate look that she returned with a shy smile. "This is…something, Highness."
The Prince leaned back in his chair, all the while doing the same for Belle as Claire was doing for Gaston, ensuring that Belle had enough to eat.
"It is. I'm afraid I owe you an apology, Gaston, my old friend. I—I did not mean my words back at the gate, or how we fought, Gaston."
He could see the tensing on Gaston's jaw but was grateful that he nodded at least. The soldier did not flinch, however, and decided to pour himself a flagon of wine, not answering.
Only when they had all helped themselves to food did the Prince clear his throat and turned his attention towards his left, where Gaston's cloaked savior sat with his arms wound around a wine goblet, a haunted look in the older man's dark eyes, though he did not take a drink.
The Prince decided it was in everyone's best interest that he take the initiative and coax the Scottish gentleman into telling them his story, how he came to live in the Wolves' Woods, if he knew Agathe, who, as it so happened, was now standing directly behind Gold, a strangely familiar look on her face. He stiffened, having not even seen the witch enter the hall.
Nevertheless, he shoved aside his discomfort of her and forced himself to initiate the conversation. He wanted answers, and how Gaston was alive.
Adam coughed once to clear his throat and command the attention in the room.
"Perhaps, monsieur, you could start from the beginning of this so-called long story of yours?" he challenged.
"It was an ambush, Your Highness, how's that for an introduction?" Gold said hoarsely after staring down into his goblet of wine for a good long minute before taking a long, slow swallow, holding it in his mouth for a second before swallowing the burning liquid that went down his throat.
Belle's attention floated curiously from her plate of food and had been about to take a bite of mashed potatoes and gravy mixed with small shreds of her turkey leg she'd cut up into small bits and was soaking bites of her bread loaf into the gravy to make it softer on her churning stomach and easier for her to eat, as she was still sore.
Belle was drawn back to the lonely, raspy familiar voice that belonged to Monsieur Gold, who was seemingly a sorcerer and a man of many places. Shadows from the roaring fire in the hearth which sent its meager warmth and light into the Great Hall cast red and orange reflections about the room, but it looked not to reach Gold's soul.
If anything, the poor man looked, well…cold. The shadows concealed half his creased and tired face. His head was hanging like that of someone who bore an immense mark of shame. Belle parted her lips open to speak, but before she could breathe a word, it was Agathe who spoke.
"What happened to you, Gold? How could he ambush you, considering you live…so very far away?" Agathe asked in a voice as crisp as fire. "It should not be possible, so please...help a simple Woods' Witch like me to understand," she stammered, feeling utterly confused.
Agathe was careful to mind her choice of words around the others, she knew she could not let on to the fact that both she and Gold had the capabilities to travel through time via the means of their magic and portals, gateways to other realms, times, and places, such as this one.
She confessed herself curious as to what D'Arque was doing in her Wolves' Woods so close to Villeneuve here in France, when he had his own family centuries from now, back in the Americas, to go home to. Gold finally had the strength to look at her, the warlock's watery dark eyes emphasized by the coals of the fire in the hearth behind him, his tiredness evident.
"A portal," was all he answered. Sensing the others' mounting confusion as to the group stared at him with collectively aghast looks of psychological disturbance on their faces, he was quick to explain without giving too much of himself away. "A doorway, of sorts, is what we call portals," he hastily explained to the group. "In case neither of you have been able to figure it out for yourselves, Agathe and I are….ah, practicer's of magic, you could call us. We're able to come and go as we please, by opening doorways with the use of our powers to other realms and in between our homes. Agathe's home is the Wolves' Woods, she guards this realm and I have mine own to protect. She protects her people, I protect mine in kind as best as I am able to, though these days, my magic is weaker. I—I was coming to visit you, Agathe. Purely a social call, nothing more and nothing less than that, to bring you news of my home, when he slipped through the portal after me. I tried to stop him, but I wasn't fast enough."
"And then she followed, and now both are gone. She has it, Agathe. She has the dagger."
The note of bitterness and self-hatred that seeped its way unbidden to the surface of Gold's voice was unmistakable. It did not take a scholarly genius, say, someone like the old warlock Merlin, who had advised a goodly number of lords and kings for him to be present here to advise Agathe in that Gold blamed himself for this, for what had happened to those who had followed him through the portal, seemingly purely by accident, from the sounds of things.
Agathe furrowed her thin blonde brows into a frown, taking note of the way Gold's voice cracked and warbled and how the man had an incessant habit of fidgeting with his wedding band on his left ring finger. She heaved a sigh.
"Why would he do that? More importantly, why would he allow that to happen? Does he not know?" Agathe murmured in a low voice, frustrated at this turn of developments.
She had almost forgotten the two of them had a captive audience, as the soldier, baker's daughter, the Prince, the inventor, and his daughter were all hanging onto their every word, not eating a bite, the food on their plates untouched and cold.
Agathe's frown deepened as the witch ran her slender fingers through her strawberry blonde curls as she tore her gaze away and looked into the fire, awaiting Gold's answer.
"How was he aware of your position here?"
At that, Gold had little answer save for pure speculation on his part. He wearily shrugged his shoulders and ripped a chunk of turkey off a leg.
He took his time chewing and swallowing his bite of food and chasing it with a swig of wine before answering the Witch of the Wolves' Wood.
"I have no idea," he growled, looking and sounding angry. No, it was more than that, Agathe noted with keen and critical interest. It always was with him. He was furious.
Gold continued, undaunted. "Patrol scouts, I'd guess. Man is paranoid of anything with the word 'magic' in it. Even has a fear of the word itself, witch. I'd barely made it halfway through the portal when his men took them. Fiery arrows fell from the sky and through the canopy of trees, burning everything. I was forced to retreat deeper into your woods, and I've been stuck here ever since. I cannot get within a foot of the man's fortress. Guards posted at every entrance, my abilities are drained having used most of my resources to keep the portal active and concealed, Agathe. I don't know how much longer I can keep this up, my old friend. If you are amenable, I would ask your help in monitoring the portal close to my temporary home here in your Wolves' Woods, to ensure that nothing comes through it that shouldn't, while I aim to retrieve back what is rightfully mine and that D'Arque has no claim to, whatsoever."
Agathe nodded her assent. Agathe could almost feel Gold's frown as the warlock slowly lifted his gaze to look at her from across the room.
She thought the man had everything right to frown.
Monsieur D'Arque had stolen that which was most precious to Gold and was holding them hostage in his fortress, that wretched damned insane asylum where if given his way, he would hold people like her and Gold prisoner for the rest of their days, or until their executions set forth by France's king, who feared witchcraft and deemed it unholy, whichever came first.
"Your colleagues back home?" she pressed. "Could you send word to no one there? Regina, perhaps?" she asked, knowing what she was asking of Gold was a long shot, but worth it.
"No." Gold's tone was firm and unsurprisingly bitter. "Regina stays here. She's the last person I want help from, she would only muck about and make things worse, Agathe. You and I both know it. She's needed back home to help maintain order there. Our home has been relatively quiet these last few years. I don't trust it, but it's best she stayed away, that only I should have to endure this. She knows I'd have strangled her coming here or killed her for daring to let anyone else through. I don't need any of my own people falling up in D'Arque's hands. Not like…." But his voice trailed off and he was unable to finish his thought as his voice broke.
Agathe shot him a sympathetic look, signaling he did not need to say anymore, the look he was currently giving her spoke volumes without the poor man had to say so much as a single word.
As soon as Gold went back to his plate of food, the Prince took that as his opportunity to ask the one question that was burning on the tip of his tongue, just begging to be asked.
His mind felt like it was reeling, trying to piece it together.
"You said D'Arque stole something from you. Which is what?" he pressed, sincerely hoping he was not overstepping some boundary by asking this of the man who had saved his friend's life.
He knew the instant the words left his mouth that they had hit their mark as Gold's head whiplashed sharply upward to regard the Prince.
Beside him, he felt Belle's fingers curl over the tines of her fork in a protective manner, seeing Gold's lips curl back into an almost feral snarl as the older man's face contorted in grief.
"What that man stole from me is my business, Your Highness, I would kindly ask that you mind yours," he snapped, a note of meanness had crept its way into the edges of his hardened voice.
Only when Belle felt the Prince's hand come to rest over the top of hers did she allow herself to relax her grip on the fork. The Prince merely inclined his head as a visible show of respect and hoped that the man would accept his apology. He had not intended to cause any offense.
"Forgive me, monsieur. I did not intend to cause you any disrespect or harm. It was not my intent to pry. I was merely curious if there was a way that I or any of my servants at my command could be of help in aiding you in getting back what it is that D'Arque stole, sir."
Gold lifted his gaze to the Prince, seemingly startled and taken aback by the man's kind offer.
He pursed his thin lips into a frown and picked at a thread that was coming undone on the left sleeve of his set of long woolen black robes that he had swiped from Killian's closet back home without the pirate being privy to it. A strangely confident smile oozed confidence, and even Gold himself was not sure what to make of the smile that flitted across his face.
What was that Regina had said to him once?
Your love for Belle has made you fickle.
He frowned at that, thinking how all three of them were much changed. He shook his head to clear his mind and remembered he still owed the Prince of these lands an answer.
"I appreciate the concern, Your Highness, but you cannot leave this castle unprotected. D'Arque is sure to have more scouts and if you left this castle unprotected, it's as good as a free snack," he growled, clenching his fingers into shaking fists.
He breathed out slowly through his nose and looked towards Gaston, who caught his stare and offered Gold the tiniest inclinations of his head.
"I have all the help that I need, Your Highness," was all that Gold said in a frosty tone.
The Prince stared across the length of the long table at the older Scottish gentleman, inquisitive and vigilant that it almost set Gold smiling, thinking how the histories would remember this man as a fine Duke one day, and his wife, a wonderful Duchess to be beloved by the people.
Prince Adam furrowed his brows, lost in thought. He could question the older gentleman's motives, yes, but right now, he does not have much left, does he?
Next to Belle and this castle, the Prince had admittedly very little to call his own, and even Belle was not rightfully his yet. Not until he discussed the matter with her father, a conversation he was not admittedly looking forward to having, but a necessary evil.
"Very well," he answered with a hint of suspicion, his shoulders slumping forward in defeat. "Whatever you're to do, do it fast, and don't take too long," the Prince cautioned coldly.
He was still suspicious as to the man's intents, but he could not argue that this man had brought Gaston back to them alive via the use of his seemingly supposed skills in magic, and for that, he was forever grateful.
Sensing that the man was eager to leave as Gold was already fastening the clasp of his robes tighter around himself and shuffling towards the door, the Prince heard himself call out to the man in a hoarse voice as he half-rose from his chair.
"Have the servants attend to you, I can send you and whomever you choose to escort you to D'Arque's…residence, with horses. Supplies, food, whatever you need, monsieur."
Gold had just reached the doors to the mess hall and had been about to open them when his words gave him pause and he turned.
He had just been about to speak, a curious look plastered all across his lined and weathered features, when Gaston rose from his chair, Claire half-copying his movements, though she was halted when the soldier shot out an arm to stop her.
"Don't," he murmured to the baker's daughter, firm but not unkindly. "You stay here with Belle and Maurice. I need to talk to Adam alone."
Claire furrowed her thin dark eyebrows into a frown, looking less than pleased, but she nodded and reluctantly sank back into her chair, only able to pick at her plate of cold, untouched food.
Gaston slowly swiveled his gaze towards the Prince, whose blue eyes were narrowed and cold, watching the former military captain intensely.
"Your Highness, I wonder if I might have a word freely? For old times' sake? Perhaps a walk out in the courtyards?" Gaston suggested, his tone surprisingly stiff and formal. The Prince's gaze drifted down to where the man's hand rested on the hilt of his sword in its scabbard.
Occasionally, one of his fingers would give a spasmodic little twitch, as if he itched to pull it.
The Prince looked questioningly at Belle to his right, unwilling to move. He had scarcely left her side for the last two days while she had healed from that brutal ordeal Agathe had put through and was almost fearful to do so again. He felt as though somehow, it was his sheer will that was keeping Belle healthy and recovering. It felt as though if he were separated from her for too long would leave them both vulnerable. He frowned, seeing how little she'd eaten.
"Won't you eat?" Adam asked, concerned.
Belle slowly shook her head.
"I—I'm afraid I'm not very hungry, Adam, perhaps later, I might have a small bite of something," she whispered, her pale face showcasing nausea her stomach felt.
She swallowed down hard and reached up to clasp his jaw gently between her hands, and gave the Prince as brave a smile as she could manage.
"You should go," she encouraged, glancing curiously towards Gaston who had moved to stand by the door alongside Gold. "Talk with Gaston, see what he wants, though I think I already know." A dark look, one of worry coupled with anger, flitted across her face, and she grimaced, the skin near her scar pulled taut and tight.
But as quickly as the emotion registered on her face, it was gone, and she was smiling once more, though, to Adam, it looked strained, as though she could sense what it was that Gaston wanted to discuss and had figured it out.
He wished she would tell him, as he himself was lost.
"You've been tending to me nonstop for days," she acknowledged shyly, her eyes glistening and telling him just how grateful she was that Adam had doted on her so wholly. "You need some rest too," she told him with concern. "I'll be alright. Papa and Claire are here with me," she nodded, smiling to reassure the Prince. "I will be just fine. You're sweet to worry about me, but I think you and Gaston should talk. Alone," she added, almost as an afterthought.
He sighed, sensing she was not about to take no for an answer.
"If you say so," he reluctantly conceded, lowering his face, and closing his eyes.
He wanted to keep her presence with him.
Slowly, he opened his eyes and turned away from Belle, a fiery heat creeping its way to his cheeks as he took notice of how Belle's father, was eyeing her.
Maurice, Maurice, his name is Maurice, his conscience chimed in from somewhere within the recesses of his mind. The Prince filed that fact away for later and parted reluctantly further and further away from his former hearth keep, the woman that he loved.
Belle smiled at the Prince and waved a shy farewell to him as Gaston closed the door.
Gold was already walking down the hallway, arm in arm with Agathe, and seemingly engaged in their own conversation, talking about God only knew what. The Prince decided he did not want to be privy to such a conversation. The Prince furrowed his brows and stared at the door, trying to glimpse Belle for as long as he could until the door shut.
"Follow me, Your Highness, if it pleases you," Gaston mumbled. "I would speak with you alone."
The servants' eyes were prying as Gaston preferred to lead the way out into the courtyards, some of them even close to threatening as the previously dead-military captain walked quietly through the bustle of servants parting way for him, as the Red Sea had done on Moses's command.
Most of them trembled at seeing Gaston stalk his way down the hallway towards the courtyard. The Prince could only watch on in awe as Gaston's pale face darkened in anger, and the Prince dared not speak out against his friend. He was sure Gaston had been through his own few nights of hell these last few nights if the soldier even remembered anything while dead.
"What are you stopping for?" Gaston bellowed at the servants paused, seeming in a right foul mood. "Get moving! There's nothing to see here! Your Prince pays you gold to work for him, not for an audience with his friend! Get moving or I'll make short bloody work of your fingers!" Gaston barked, his voice sounding hoarse and somewhat raspy. Exhausted, even, he'd say.
Almost immediately, the servants resumed their tasks at the commanding order of Cogsworth.
Mrs. Potts had been in the midst of ordering three serving wenches to deliver more food to the Great Hall and then see Belle's father to his own room to rest and recover, and prepare quarters for Claire as well, which Gaston felt instantly moved by, the lengths they cared.
It comforted him and supplicated him some, assuaging his guilt in that at least Claire would be looked after well enough in the Prince's care and his servants while gone.
Men went about carrying logs of firewood for the hearths that were to be lit in the guest rooms and others carried stacks of tough meat for supplication in the event the raging blizzards as winter dragged on in its petty pace grew worse, and access to their food storage in the barns was limited.
Gaston and the Prince did not speak until they were out in the courtyard, and only when the solider turned towards the Prince and the Prince swept his blue eyes up and down Gaston's thinner form.
"You look terrible, Gaston, my friend," the Prince frowned, worried. "Get some sleep. And sunlight if possible." Adam crinkled his nose. "Your eyes are darker than my dead father's soul," he growled, pointing at the rims of Gaston's sleepless eyes, feeling the need to be blunt.
The Prince wracked his brain and tried to think of something to say as Gaston turned from the Prince and stalked his way down the frozen over stone steps of the courtyard, admiring the white roses on one side and the crimson, blood-red roses on the other side.
It was a moment before the Prince managed to regain control of his voice, having finally thought of something to say.
"I don't think that I have ever seen you like this before, my friend. With a woman before. It suits you. It is a good look for you, my friend," Adam tried to compliment Gaston.
The Prince felt a muscle in his jaw twitch, feeling awkward to voice what he suspected was a growing bond between his friend and the young woman who bore a strong likeness to his Belle.
Gaston stiffened and peered curiously at his monarch out of the corner of his peripherals.
There was a part of him that did not want to discuss the nature of his growing relationship with Claire, preferring to keep such matters private, though, from his friend, it would do him no good. He heaved a haggard sigh and nodded.
"I could make the same assessment of you, Your Highness. It is obvious how much she cares for you." He furrowed his brows and waited.
Gaston did not need to name whom he was referring to.
Always Belle, of course, it was her.
"Aye," the Prince quietly confirmed in a much more subdued voice than before as he broke away from Gaston's pensive staring and joined his friend in staring at the roses as they walked. "I owe you, Gaston, you tried to save Belle's life, and mine. I don't think I can ever repay you."
At that, Gaston allowed a morose little chuckle to escape his lips as the winds whipped his bangs off his forehead as he ran a hand through his newly shorn short hair and winced, missing the ponytail, but he thought perhaps it was for the best.
"You can look after the lady for me while I'm gone. Both of them, that would be all that I ask of you, Adam," he emphasized darkly. "Gold has asked for my help in…getting rid… of D'Arque, I cannot have Claire or Belle follow. Or you, old friend. You're needed here at the castle."
The Prince felt his stomach drop and start to churn at the thought of the insane asylum owner's vileness and cruelty.
He knew better than most what despicable acts the man was capable of, having seen his own friend's throat gets ripped out as he was mauled to his death by wolves.
The Prince was not exactly sure why he or Gaston should be surprised at the lengths to which the deranged man would go to keep what he rightfully believed was his, and whatever he had stolen of Agathe's acquaintance was likely of great value for the older man to need some help in getting it back.
The Prince wasn't sure how he knew, though he suspected this was a condition to which his revival had come at a cost: his life given back to him in exchange for retrieving what Monsieur D'Arque had taken from Gold.
He could see the guilt in Gaston's eyes that he knew all too well.
Adam knew what his friend was thinking. That he should have done more to stop him, that his efforts had simply not been enough.
Had he been faster and perhaps done what was necessary, and evil though it was, D'Arque had almost cost both men everything.
Even still, Adam was steadfast and determined that neither Belle nor Gaston nor this young mademoiselle Renaud that Gaston seemed so taken with, nor anybody else for that matter, would ever be subjected to the mad man's evil again.
Not if the Prince could help it and constitute a favor from the king to stay this madness and shut down the man's operations.
The Prince swallowed down past a lump in his throat and shook his head, not wanting Gaston involved in Gold's affairs.
If the man truly possessed magical means, he had Agathe at his disposal to assist him, did he not? Enlisting Gaston's help made no sense to him, he thought.
He frowned and shook his head, trying to send the images away.
"But you are here now, alive, and safe, returned to the land of the living and have the love of a good woman," Adam reminded Gaston. "You and Mademoiselle Renaud are welcome in this castle anytime, old friend, I meant what I said and did not take back my words inside. I…apologize for my reaction at the gate, they were spoken out of anger, old friend. I did not mean them and hope that you can forgive me."
Only when the soldier nodded his head, looking shocked but less so than Gaston had expected himself to be, did Adam continue.
"You are both safe and free from D'Arque. You can start to heal. You and Claire, is that her name, Claire?" Another nod from Gaston and the Prince pressed onward. "Claire, then. You and she can build your life together alongside Belle and me. I think I can safely speak for the both of us when I think that Belle would welcome you here, just as I would. She could use a female companion by her side. Claire seems a good woman." He tried to smile but it felt strained. "You need never think of D'Arque again, Gaston."
Even as he spoke the words, the Prince knew that simply trying to forget the literal hell that D'Arque had put him through by giving the man such a gory and violent means to an end.
Trying to forget would now never be enough for Gaston.
He watched as a dark tempest cloud settled over his best friend's face as Gaston's lips curled back into a feral snarl that made even Adam flinch.
Gaston turned away, standing still and quiet in the cold for the longest time, staring at nothing in particular, his gaze fixated on some distant point, though whether or not the soldier could actually see anything in the snow remained to be seen.
When at last, Gaston Dupont spoke up, his tone chilled Prince Adam to his core and turned his blood to ice in his veins.
A violent shiver clawed its way up and down his spine that Adam knew had absolutely nothing to do with the cold.
"I have to go after him, my old friend," he said, plainly, turning towards the Prince, a placid expression settling on the man's handsome face.
"What?" He could hardly believe his ears. "Why?" he demanded, his face falling, crestfallen.
Gaston looked up sternly at his best friend and held the future Duke of France in his icy glower.
"You know why, Adam, don't feign ignorance with me, Your Highness, it has never suited you," he stated coldly as a muscle in his jaw twitched. "Belle and Claire will never truly be safe while D'Arque lives. And neither do you. And Gold, that man, like it or not, he saved my life. I don't know how and damned if I do, but I owe him."
He voiced what the Prince had already feared.
"Even your castle, Highness, is a prison for the women. You know what D'Arque would do to them if they ever left this place. Or to you. He would take the women and kill them by association, claiming them to be cursed as well, simply by remaining in your presence, Prince."
The Prince nodded deliberately, his mind still feeling like it was reeling from all the nonsense he had listened to indoors about Gold and Agathe's abilities to travel from one place to the next via means of witchcraft.
He understood admittedly none of it, but then, Adam supposed he was not intended to understand.
It was all too much, entirely too much, sounding like something out of a fairy tale he might have indulged in as a young boy, but trying to entertain the concept as an adult was positively and completely, utterly, equivocally overwhelming.
He forced his mind to return his attention back to his and Gaston's conversation.
"You're going to kill D'Arque," he acknowledged, more or less blurting it out.
"Aye." Gaston nodded, his expression as grim as a grave. "I have to," he told the Prince, looking pained, though Adam thought he saw the familiar flicker of bloodlust flit across the former military captain's face.
Considering what D'Arque had done to him, he supposed he could not fault Gaston for wanting to take his revenge. Gaston continued, trembling with rage.
"I cannot allow him to be a threat to you or to the women. Or to anyone else," Gaston snarled. "He does not deserve to live after what he's done." His resolve was stern and steadfast.
Adam knew Gaston better than anyone else when the man's mind was made up. There was no changing the soldier's newly plotted course of action once Gaston had reached a decision.
Again, the men were silent for several long minutes that seemed to last an eternity, with only the winds of winter whipping about them and sending their shrieks through the trees, causing the rustling of the branches, and skittering of ravens and crows.
Adam was the first to shatter the heavy, awkward silence that fell between them, broaching a topic he was sure Gaston did not want to discuss but saw no other way now.
"What about Claire?" he asked quietly. "How will she feel about that?" the Prince pondered.
"About killing the man who murdered me, who has harassed and tormented our homes for months on end when he comes to do 'house calls' on our older relatives, claiming them to be 'sanity checks,' and who would kill her likely too, if given the chance, now that she's associated with me, and I've been your friend for ages, Adam." Gaston snorted, finding it difficult not to roll his eyes at his monarch's ridiculous question. "I imagine I will have to hold her back, my old friend. I think that Claire wants that pleasure." He grunted, a flicker of affection darting through his dark eyes as he folded his arms across his broad chest. "Tch," he scoffed, turning away from the Prince, and looking out towards the edge of the Wolves' Woods, though Adam doubted that he could really see anything. "If I'm being honest, I…like her feistiness," he grunted.
Adam had to let himself smile briefly at his friend's quip, thinking he felt the same of Belle.
It seems their tastes in women weren't so drastically different. He frowned and once again had to redirect his attention towards the more urgent matter at hand.
The Prince let out a sigh and pinched at the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger, fighting off a headache.
"I mean about your leaving, Gaston!" Adam clarified, a hint of impatience and annoyance seeping to the surface of his voice, despite his best effort to tamper it back. "Have you discussed this with her at all, in any way?" he demanded.
"No." Gaston's jaw tensed. "I've not had the time, I've been a little busy in being dead," he snapped, a surge in his temper flaring to the surface. The Prince tensed and stiffened his posture, but only because Gaston did so the moment the words were out of his mouth.
Gaston wearily closed his eyes and breathed raggedly through his flaring nostrils. He was quiet for a moment or two, willing the worst of his temper to cool a little before continuing.
"Forgive me, my friend. I did not mean it," Gaston mumbled, sounding, and looking truly remorseful. Only when the Prince nodded coolly did Gaston take that as his sign to continue speaking. "Claire knows that I care for her and her alone. You have your love now, and I have mine," he asserted, a slight twinge of possessiveness creeping into his voice, though it was quickly replaced by affection as he thought of the feisty baker's daughter who had broken the fool LeFou's nose, with whom he still needed to have words with. "Surely, she will understand."
Gaston tried to convince himself more so than Adam, but even he knew that his voice lacked the conviction to sell the argument he really wanted to make as they lingered out here in the cold, alone and away from listening ears.
"And what if you do not return?" the Prince cautioned, not even wanting to think of Gaston dying yet again a second time but had to voice the unpleasant thought and present all angles.
"Nothing will keep me from Claire and our future together. I would not be such a fool as to throw away my chances with the first woman who has dared to show me an ounce of affection. I may be many things, Highness, but I'm no idiot. Besides, I owe a man a debt," Gaston swore passionately as if he and he alone controlled the very outcome of his grand plan.
"But think on this a moment, Gaston, I beg of you, what he asks of you is utterly insane!" the Prince beseeched, no longer caring if it sounded to his old friend like he was begging.
If he was, then so be it. He would beg, grovel on his knees if he had to, to make him see.
Prince Adam continued his desperate plea. "Killing D'Arque is a dangerous mission, my friend," the Prince advised. "Man has many in his asylum who would protect him with their lives. Do you honestly think that he would spare your life if it meant hers, just because the two of you have worked together and had dealings in the past?" the Prince warned, still fearing the worst.
Gaston vehemently shook his head, disagreeing with the Prince.
"It will not come to that, Your Highness," Gaston proclaimed, lifting his chin, and jutting it out slightly defiantly, as though daring the Prince to contest his words and his confidence in his abilities. "I know how to get to him, privately. I've been in the asylum before. That man, Gold, he was right when he said it's essentially a fortress, but I know a way in. I know how to sneak away, unseen by most, Prince," he patiently reminded his old friend.
Gaston furrowed his brows into a frown at the thought. He'd spent his whole life in the shadows, always striving for and hoping to live in the light, but never quite reaching it.
But now, he supposed that Claire was his light, his ray of sunshine in the dark tunnels.
"I have got a reason to come back now. I will return here to collect Claire, my old friend, I can give you my word, and I will come back with the man's head in a gunny sack," he growled, gnashing his teeth together in anger. "Put it on a spike here or feed it as a snack for the wolves or even your own hunting hounds, Adam. They would surely get hungry," he snapped meanly, turning on the heels of his boots and made to quit the scene of the courtyard.
The Prince was left to watch Gaston go. He did not call out where he was going, but he could only guess that he was heading back inside the castle to speak with Claire, no doubt to have a difficult conversation that Adam was almost confident was not going to end quite as he thought. He breathed out a heavy scattered sigh.
"I hope you are right, my friend," the Prince murmured in a low breath to himself.
He made it a habit glaring at Gaston's backside as his friend retreated back the way they had come as he swallowed down hard past the lump in his throat as he made to follow his friend, now hellbent on finding Belle's father, hoping that he was still in the Mess Hall downstairs.
It was time he had that 'talk' with the man. As the Prince stalked his way through the snow and ice, shivering as he braced himself against the biting cold wind, he swayed a little with exhaustion and nervousness, taking in a final steadying breath as he reached the doors.
"Time to go make a fool of yourself," he murmured and wrenched open the door to his castle that would take him to the servants' quarters, where most of their spare rooms were.
Adam let the door slam shut behind him. The man was smart enough to look back as he let the warmth of the hall envelope him and he began to search the halls for Belle's father.
He tired of waiting and wanted to do nothing more than what Belle had originally asked of him the day they had ventured into the Enchantress's magical book.
To find her, to keep her, to have her. But it was not enough to have her as his hearth keep anymore. He wanted…more of her. He wanted…her. Just her, just his Belle.
But as his wife.